Kilometer 66

Sichuan

88.00
sold out
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CH SCHN Tibetan door -9.jpg

Sichuan

88.00
sold out

Is this not the coolest lock? These layered billboards plastered and peeling on a Tibetan doorway have completely captivated us.

Every time we wear it we find ourselves pulling it off our necks to reveal the full photo in a conversation. It's the perfect remedy for the armchair wanderlust which strikes us on gloomy winter days when we're stuck at home. We have a hunch it will do the trick if you need a dose of whimsy as well. 

Our scarves measure 48" x 48" and are made from a carefully chosen blend of 30% silk and 70% modal, making them ethereal, wispy, and softer than these pictures can portray.

Keep on scrolling for lots of styling inspiration and the story behind the photo.

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Is this not the coolest lock? These layered billboards plastered and peeling on a Tibetan doorway have completely captivated us.

Every time we wear it we find ourselves pulling it off our necks to reveal the full photo in a conversation. It's the perfect remedy for the armchair wanderlust which strikes us on gloomy winter days when we're stuck at home. We have a hunch it will do the trick if you need a dose of whimsy as well. 

Our scarves measure 48" x 48" and are made from a carefully chosen blend of 30% silk and 70% modal, making them ethereal, wispy, and softer than these pictures can portray.

Keep on scrolling for lots of styling inspiration and the story behind the photo.

 
My friend had devoted decades of her life to people groups whose identity the government seemed intent on erasing. They persisted with their traditional way of life, clinging to the land that had nurtured the generations before them. But in this Tibetan region of western China, there was a sense of tenuousness … about a lot of things.

I had come to spend time with her, with them, in the land she cared so deeply about. We roved and hiked, drank yak butter tea in yurts and downed shots of baijiu with local officials. We pondered and mused, planned and prayed, laughed and even cried a little.

One day, enroute somewhere else, we stopped by a tiny village cresting a narrow ridge. She knew someone who knew someone there, so thought we’d pay a visit. Turns out that community had been selected for demolition by the authorities. Most of the population had already been relocated into rows of concrete block houses at the edge of a nearby town.

We wandered the ghostly-quiet track through town, chatting briefly with a couple of women that scurried past. Peeling signage wished one and all a Happy and Prosperous New Year. Many of the ancient doors had already been locked for the last time.
— Photographer's Notes