We narrowly missed getting an eyeful of the legendary Gyarong beauties in Rongchag, Sichuan Province, about whom our local hosts had so proudly bragged.

The 56,500-people county in the Garze Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture prides itself as a "valley of beauties." Some local officials have even printed that proud label on their business cards.

But there had been an exodus of local lovelies to a pageant in Tardo, the prefecture's capital, immediately prior to our arrival, we were told.

Still, our hosts promised to show us something no less visually appealing.

After zigzagging slowly uphill on a dirt road on the north bank of the Dajinchuan River, from the town of Drakgo, the county seat, our vehicles stopped by a brown rock that carries the carved characters, in Tibetan, Chinese and English, "Gyagyu Tibetan Village."

Getting out of the car, we found ourselves exposed to another of Rongchag's visual charms.

We were some way up from the restless river, which was dyed by autumn floods from the mountains. At the bottom of the green valley, between steep slopes, runs the reddish water belt, from east to west.

In the distance, amongst the lush green trees blurring the outlines of terraced fields, Tibetan houses of white, cardinal and brown dotted the sprawling slope.

From riverside up to the foot of towering cliffs whose tops are shrouded in a thin layer of mist, the 140-household community is stretched into an area of about five square kilometers.

Along the winding path leading to the village, we were greeted by inviting bunches of pears, apples and chestnuts hanging heavy on the branches.

The distinctive upper part of the buildings, painted white, diffuse a prevailing sense of mystery from among the rich shades of green.

At each corner of the flat roofs, there is a white horn-shaped half-crescent. They stand in tribute to the deities of Tibetan Buddhism.

Gyagyu has done a good job preserving the authentic style of Gyarong Tibetan residential buildings, according to local experts. Most buildings in the village are four-storey stone-and-wood structures, though we did see some three- and five-storey ones.

As in other parts of Tibetan-populated areas, the functions of the home are defined in the order of animal, people and deity, from the ground upward.

The ground floor is spared for domestic animals. The second floor is devoted to the kitchen, living room and storerooms. Bedrooms and the family granary are located on the third floor.

The upper-most, typically the fourth in Gyagyu, features a lone sutra hall, where the family's religious rituals take place.

No matter how welcome a guest you may be, setting foot in the sutra hall is impolite, and even offensive to your hosts.

I learnt the hard way after climbing to the top of a house open to tourists to get a better view of the village.

Thankfully, I was generously pardoned after pleading ignorance.

Forgiven on earth but not up above it seems, as I banged my head on two doorway crossbeams that afternoon.

On the exterior, the wooden parts of Gyagyu's residential buildings, including the eaves, are painted cardinal red. Bellow the wide belt of cardinal is a black one. From the second floor up, the walls are painted white, or partially white.

Seen from a distance, each building is said to resemble a pious Buddhist disciple sitting cross-legged, reciting scriptures.

The relatively easy access to timber in the area resulted in the extensive use of logs in the residential buildings.

You do not see much of the wood from outside, except for the engraved wood ornaments on the doors and windows.

Once inside, however, you will be surprised to see carved beams and painted rafters.

The most striking part of the Gyagyu buildings may well be the fancily carved and colored dragon-heads guarding the main entrances.

Traditional Tibetan residential buildings share the bold use of bright colors. But in Gyagyu, the obsession with bright colors, and timber, is breathtaking.

Increasingly more timber and decoration can be found from the second floor upward.

Wooden window frames on the second floor are not traditionally popular as they are more vulnerable to break-ins.

The descent of less solid, but more decorative, wooden window frames, to the second floor, local experts say, is the result of a safer and friendlier local environment.

Peace and comfort inspired the omnipresent signs of enthusiasm for lively colors and fine craftsmanship.

From wood structures to the walls, little is left unpainted in present-day Gyagyu houses.

The interior decoration of such a house usually takes months, according to locals.

The houses of some better-off families are like showcases of local arts and craftsmanship. The decoration is so extravagant that you often feel overwhelmed.

But if you permit yourself a little more time to take it all in you truly begin to appreciate the details.

Workmanship varies from house to house, which is dependent on the owner's financial resources.

But the rural artists' ability to co-ordinate and harmonize bold colors is outstanding.

Their sophisticated command of colors is enough to make those artists trained at ultra-modern metropolitan art academies blush.

But there's more to learn than art and architecture in such houses.

Your patience may be rewarded with a profound insight into the Gyarong Tibetan culture - their kinship with other branches of the Tibetan ethnic group, and their peculiar historical relations with the area's non-Tibetan population.

While the murals and patterns present unmistakable symbols of Tibetan Buddhism, the more frequent and significant presence of the dragon set me wondering whether this was an outcome of the Gyarong culture's proximity to Han areas.

I wish I had stayed there longer to unravel the lingering riddles of the mysterious culture.

And, of course, to see, with my own eyes, the Rongchag beauties.

China Daily