“I’ve got some banking to do, would you mind waiting here for me?” asked the deferential young security policeman assigned to follow me everywhere on my recent holiday in western China.

It seemed only fair: he had waited for me while I did my own banking earlier in the day, and had even offered advice on what traditional Chinese medicine could combat my altitude sickness in his native Xiahe, a mountain town that is also home to the Labrang monastery, one of the most important centres of Tibetan Buddhism outside Tibet. He seemed a nice young chap and he was only doing his job: making sure that I didn’t accidentally interview anyone Tibetan while on my holiday.

Since I don’t speak Tibetan, and most Tibetans I met apparently spoke neither Mandarin nor English, the chance of any meaningful communication taking place between us seemed slim – even on topics such as whether the hotel had hot water (it did not) and what time was the next bus out of there. Luckily for me, my policeman friend was there to help me buy a bus ticket; I knew his bosses would want to know where I was headed next anyway, and figured it would be easier for us all if he actually saw my bus ticket. That way he could be sure to have another helpful policeman meet me when in the next town: no wasting time waiting for my tail to arrive.