The Road to Shangri-La

28 July 2009

Very excitingly, we managed to do laundry in the Lhasa hotel, which makes jeans bearable amidst 9 nights of bush camping. Dinner on a rooftop, some frantic souvenir shopping, and drinks in the Dunya bar to say farewell to the six who have now left us, and thence to the hotel internet for some downloading, some uploading, and some unsolicited Chinese porn.

Currently on the road to Shangri-La (seriously). Long days, but with the extra space it's really quite comfortable. The scenery changed drastically as soon as we put Lhasa behind us, from the high plateau steppe laden with yaks, to the current Green Green Hills of, well, Eastern Tibet. Deep, steep valleys covered in towering pines and deciduous trees, with a really reasonable sized river running through it. Camped last night on said river, in what appeared to be a nice enough spot...until whilst wandering about in search of someplace to wee, Louise stumbled upon our own perfect little beach...pristine soft white sand, blue-ish water, rocks for the boys to throw and even a few scorpions to poke. Tropical paradise. After dinner we had a Georgian-wine soaked bonfire on the sand.

However, since our blissful evening on the previously mentioned beach (for reasons too complicated to be witty except to me, now christened Ko Wee Wee), we've had some weather issues. In short, it is raining. And has been for the last three days. On the plus side, we've been involuntarily upgraded to hotels the last two nights—the first one, in Markham, was fine and some rooms even had hot water. Last night, in Deqin, not quite so lovely...Amy & Debbie preferred sleeping bags to the saffron-tinged sheets, and David and I made the acquaintance of what is the largest spider I have ever seen. He lived on our curtains, though he is currently and happily deceased. Deqin is described as a charmingly wild west sort of place in the hopelessly upbeat Lonely Planet (which I have come to believe only likes places that make Camden New Jersey look salubrious). I can only say that in the rain? Not my favourite part of the journey. But still, a bed is a bed, and not a soaked tent, and we did have a good meal out, and semi-cool beers. Still better than being at work.

On a personal note, I haven't enjoyed the last few days of driving as much as the rest of the contents of this truck. Mainly because I have a healthy respect for mountain roads, and also a perfectly rational rrational fear of dying on them. Precarious, dodgy, crumbly, narrow, un-safety-railed roads, overhung with boulders which appear to be attached to said mountains by the geological equivalent of dental floss. Vanessa tells me that the road is the most dangerous one in China, with rockfalls every week. The Chinese Army is posted along it to clear out falls (and bodies, one assumes), as emergency services in China consists entirely of the army—they are the firefighters, emergency workers, paramedics, etc.

Have spent a good portion of my time with my eyes closed, huddled into a corner, damning the retarded boys who take every pee break as an opportunity to throw boulders down the sheer vertical drops for fun. Am beginning to suspect that we will never leave these mountains, that we will instead spend the next three months edging past buses of Chinese people—who seem more interested in photographing us than noting that they are 2 inches from the edge of a 15,000 foot drop—as punishment for some crime in a previous life. Karma hates me.

Somewhere on the Highway of Hell, we've left Tibet proper and entered into Yunnan Province, which is home to 50+ ethnic minorities, Tiger Leaping Gorge, and the road out of China to Laos.

The Roof of the World

The Roof of the World

22 July 2009

 

And so to Mt Everest (or Qomolangma in Tibetan, which sounds something like Chumbawumba...Tubthumping has been stuck in my head for 3 days). Two days drive from Lhasa along the 725K Friendship Highway, via the thriving metropoli of Lhatse, New Tingri, and Shigatse, through several rather high passes, all 5000+ meters, and a lot of Diamox. One turns off the Friendship Highway at Pang-la Pass, where one can be swarmed by Tibetans selling fossils and offering photos with their yaks, and can pee in a hole in the floor of the 'toilet'. Thence down the spaghetti road, which apparently has 160 switch-backs (lost count at like 9), and appears to be made of corrugated clay. Bouncy bouncy.

Arrived at the hotel complex (I am being slightly facetious), consisting of about 25 yak-felt tents each with a yak-poo stove in the centre. We took over five of these, five guests to a “hotel”. Our personal one was the Yak Hotel, but the more creative Tibetans have named theirs things ranging from “Steel Firm Hotel” to “Qomolangma Grand Hotel,” which seems a slight overstatement, but give them credit for trying. Couple of guys made us dinner, gave us all the plain hot water you could ask for, and handed out thick duvets to ward off the -15 celsius temperatures at night. All surprisingly cozy, really. Abby and Elaine and Paul got tucked in by their Tibetans, we are clearly less charming and did not.

The more ambitious of us trekked the hour up to Base Camp One (I took the minibus, is there anyone on earth who will be surprised by that?). David is ambitious, went on up wearing only a hoodie with Amy, Rich, Debbie, Denis, Lindsay, and Steve. For $3, worth the bus. Base Camp sounds somewhat cooler than it is...actually a tent full of Chinese soldiers, all aged about 15, who declined to let us past the barrier as our guide's name is spelled wrong on the permit. Whatever—the barrier bars only a scree hillock, and there's another (better!) one just outside it anyhow, which we scrambled up and took photos from. Everest is in fact more photogenic from the Yak Tents, and really, how often does a girl get turned away from a mountain by five-foot tall Communist bouncers? I like to think that I would totally have climbed the entire 8800+metre thing myself in flip-flops, if not for that pesky barrier. Sigh.

Clouds can obscure the whole thing, which is, I'm told, what happened to the Dragoman truck recently, but come dusk, all blew clear and the mountain loomed over us, pristine and fierce. An intrepid posse got up at 5am to see sunrise from base camp—I did not—but when I did finally rouse myself from my yak tent at 7:30, it was absolutely gorgeous. It's stark and white and very strange in the surrounding tan sandstone and shale hills. I think I expected a more Alpine experience, but not a yodeler in sight. The Himalaya are not the Alps. Shocking.

As we've driven through Tibet, the little villages and towns are so strange. They're uniformly white, with little frills of cotton at every window on the outside—I have noted the textiles, Frost—and with Buddhist eternity symbols hung at every door, appliquéd on white cotton, and the same blue and red and yellow painted window sills and trim. I do sort of wonder—what if someone wanted a pink house?

 

Drove all day yesterday to bush camp in a sort of quarry, up early today. Today is the solar eclipse, which we all got to see via Jenny's little glasses at about 9am. Into Shigatse to leave Steve, who is going off for a Kora or ceremonial pilgrimage, around a mountain on a yak for the next 9 days. Six of us had hash browns with cheese for late breakfast in a cafe called the Third Eye Restaurant, and now we're back up to Tibet for a night before five days of bush camp as we cross all of Tibet on  the way to Yunnan, and thence to Laos.

Dear John

19 July 2009

We said goodbye to John, who's been with us since the start but has decided to make his own way through to Australia, after the pleasures of the Beijing 5's little jaunt. Not everyone is cut out for overlanding, fair enough. The rest of the 5 are planning to leave us as well, as they prefer the more traditional backpacking-hostel-flying thing.

It's made the rest of us think a bit. For myself and David, we're having an amazing time and the whole point for us was the actual overlanding, driving across parts of the world no one else gets to and that you just don't see if you fly in and out. And the bushcamping, which I was just slightly concerned about to begin with, has produced some of our most entertaining  stories and experiences—though it's not always a cakewalk. Sleeping in a tent fixed with metal poles in a fierce thunderstorm in the Kazakh desert, how many times in your life does that happen? Possibly not many, and probably for good reason (tent pole=lightning rod?) But still.

We will enjoy the extra space on the truck, and as our trusty blue tent has finally had an Incident (the tent fly zipper committed suicide the other night, resulting in laundry line tying it shut in a windstorm that would have put Katrina to shame) this works out well for us. Rachel and Alan's tent will now be available, complete with zippable fly. We used one of the trekking tents last night, which was actually fine, but not designed for long-term use. The expedition tents we use regularly are terribly sturdy, quite roomy, and the closest thing to home at the minute.

 

Sad to see the others go, and we hope they enjoy their traveling as much as we will.

Fake North Face Karaoke with Michael Jackson

17 July 2009

Another day in Lhasa (beautiful weather). Up early-ish circa 8am for the Potala Palace, the oddly empty but staggeringly situated former residence of the Dalai Lama. He is, of course, banned from China for criticizing the government and for not enjoying the whole not-being-in-charge-of-his-country-anymore thing, and now resides in northern India. There is obviously much more to all this, but as I am not a Charmingly Idealistic New-Agey Western Wannabe Buddhist of any sort (hi, Brian!), I'll leave it to you to go read up on it on your own. Suffice it to say that the Palace, formerly home to vast quantities of monks and the Lama himself, is now a weirdly vacant place, with more than 1000 rooms. The two-tier pricing  structure of tourist China (locals pay one rate, foreigners much more, gradually being phased out) is ironically still in place here: Tibetans pay 1 yuan, and the chattering flocks of Chinese tourists have to shell out the same 180 as we do. Nice.

Lunch on a rooftop cafe serving everything from American breakfast to Nepalese curry, by way of yak steak and fermented barley beer with Denis and Louise, then a pedicab to the National Museum. Which was a bit of a trek, as we hopped in rustic pedicabs only to realize they can only go about 3 blocks on from where we boarded. Lost Louise and Denis along the way, got a taxi, then went in the wrong entrance. Shooed away by a man with a very big gun, and finally welcomed into the beautiful building, which, it turns out, is free. Score one for Tibetan museums, and slightly less for Tibetan transport. The museum has lovely things, decorative arts and costumes and whatnot, all labelled to illustrate how benevolent and friendly the Chinese are to Tibet. Random Chinese yellow silk five-toed dragon robe laden with 12 auspicious symbols labelled as a Tibetan dressing gown. Annoyed companions with a lecture on why this is very wrong. Quick quiz: Clare, why is it wrong?

Last day in Lhasa, ditched the boys for some girly indulgence. Louise's 26th birthday, she and Lindsay and Amy and I had pedicures in what I suspect is also a brothel, then our hair cut (not in a brothel). The shampoo girl washed for about 20 minutes, then massaged head, arms, neck, face and shoulders for another half hour. Then a nice pudgy Chinese boy cut my hair into layers I didn't want (communication is difficult when his English consisted mainly of “Michael Jackson” and “Obama” and my Mandarin consists of hello and thank-you). In fact he kept saying Michael Jackson and making choking/dying gestures, which is funny in any language. Unity among nations. They got in a photographer while I was there, and the senior hairdresser shooed my nice pudgy boy away, so he could pretend to cut my hair for the camera. Suspect I am new hair supermodel in Lhasa.

Karaoke in the evening for the birthday. David and Denis performed a lovely duet involving fannies (US people, this is naughty to UK people). I avoided singing entirely, so I count that a success. Debbie heroically sang the entire length of American Pie, and our Chinese guide Vanessa did Hey Jude. All good fun and also somewhat surreal.

Bought a (very) fake North Face three-in-one jacket while shopping with Lou, as my hideous white waterproof has finally drowned in a torrent of red wine. Warm and cozy for Everest, also cute, and the equivalent of $23. Intellectual property? Pah.

Yakkity Yak Yak

15 July 2009

And here we are in Tibet! I feel like Richard Gere would be proud. Stopped in the small town of Amdo for a long-awaited night inside, to find that the bridge into town has been washed away. The only options were a series of truck-stop guest houses; Tim and Cheryl took one look and off we went for another bushcamp. Having seen just the outside, I support that decision 100%. Camped in a field off the highway, surrounded by herds of yaks and curious Tibetans who wandered down and closely investigated our tents, truck, bags, etc. The boys dug the toilet tent in about 50 yards from the campsite, which proved daunting to pretty much all of us. Peeing required a 15 minute nap afterward, because of the altitude. Next night at Nam-tso Lake, which I'm sure is lovely but I pretty much slept through it—exhaustion.

All feeling better yesterday, though, and we drove into Lhasa about 3:30pm. The outskirts are disconcertingly modern and very Chinese; somehow I expected a 16th century religious centre. Hotel is good, quite close to the old city, though very modern. Our bathroom comes complete with wads of hair in the drain (see above re: Chinese hygiene issues). Dinner at Dico's, which is fast becoming a theme of China for many of us. Dico's is sort of a KFC, but they have an extremely helpful menu card in English. Now, I loves me some noodles and rice, but when you absolutely cannot speak even the most basic Mandarin, it's a nice break to be able to point once in a while.

The Beijing Five have returned! Really good to have them back with us. (David & Ausma, have conveyed your comments to Emma!)

Jokhang Temple this morning, the 1300 year old spiritual centre of Tibet. Having never been in a Buddhist temple, wasn't sure what to expect. It was like strange mix of nightclub and cathedral—colours and silks and statues and incense, and also sticky floors and lots of red and black. Tibetans come from all over the country on pilgrimage, bearing thermoses of yak butter that they pour into huge metal bowls lit with candles. Alright, not exactly St Pete's, then.

This afternoon, we drove up a bit to Sera Monastery, home to 600+ monks. Similar inside, the highlight was the outdoor courtyard full of red-draped monks slapping their hands and leaping at one another as they debated points of dogma, laughing all the while. I might be a better Catholic if we got to yell at each other more.

Drive, Baby, Drive

13 July 2009

                

Recall those lovely Chinese roads we've recently been discussing? New theory—good roads only go to areas that might be contemplating an uprising, and hence might need military vehicles in a hurry. Xianjiang, Tibet, decent roads. No one in Golmud is talking about a revolution, and hence the roads? Not a priority. The Qinghai-Tibet Highway is a case in point; crap, but currently undergoing complete renovation. The upside of this is that the road is only open between 9pm and 9am...so, we'll night drive.

       

The Dragoman truck we met with in Kyrgyzstan had also done this, so it wasn't entirely unexpected. Still, 17 people plus guide and crew on a truck for 20+ hours, going over an extremely high pass, with no lights, in the middle of the night? This is the adventure part of Exploration & Adventure that Odyssey promised, I gather. We stocked up on massive quantities of junkfood and water, scrimmaged for the better seats on the truck, dressed warmly, and got stuck in. Dinner in a roadside hovel with really very nice soup (served boiling) and really very dirty floors, then off we went. David managed two seats at the front, and I settled on the bench at the front with Abby, which at least meant I could lay down and try to nap. Most of us were sleeping sitting up, between constant pee breaks...altitude means loads of water to drink, and hence the breaks. In reality, all more entertaining than it probably sounds!

 

The only real issue was the aforementioned altitude. We hit well over 5000 meters in the passes, so more then 15,000 feet. It's a strange thing, you're perfectly healthy and yet you suddenly feel like utter crap...nausea, shortness of breath, blinding headaches, exhaustion. We're mostly all popping the Diomox, the usual treatment. 125Mg twice a day, which is meant alleviate the symptoms while you acclimatize. The side effects are hilariously similar to the altitude sickness—nausea, shortness of breath, etc., with the extra bonus of tingling. Fingers, toes, and even faces all feel slightly numb. Remind me while I am on vacation in a place that makes me feel ill?

The Pretty Good Wall of China

11 July 2009

 

Bush camp after our pause in Dunhuang; we drove out into the Gobi desert, to overnight in the Yadan National Park, at the Jade Gate Pass. Apparently the final scenes of Hero were filmed here—it was a military outpost during the Han  Dynasty, and important to the trade along the Silk Road in Khotanese jade (hence the name). More interestingly, and also entertainingly, there's a chunk of the Han-era Great Wall of China extant here. As the Lonely Planet says, “refreshingly unrestored”. Read: shite condition. Brilliant, though, as it's deserted and once the only other minivan of tourists had left, we drove through a gap and camped ourselves in the shadow of the Wall. Not your typical day at the office.

 

From the clean and modern and thoroughly pleasant Dunhuang, we moseyed on toward the rather crappier city of Golmud, on the road to Tibet. Golmud exists mainly to house workers in the salt pans, mining and oil drilling, with all the resultant attributes one might expect. We've left Gansu province, and are now in Qinghai (ching-hai), gateway to Tibet. The hotel is decent, but I will never live long enough to understand why Chinese beds are closer in nature to, say, plywood, than to what one might expect of where one will be sleeping. Whatever. Frankly, I'd prefer they looked into some hygienic plumbing. You haven't seen a shite toilet until you've been to China. Ghastly. But funny.

 

Had dinner in a Dungan (Chinese Muslim) restaurant, based solely on the fact that they had pictures to point at. David had a massive pile of ribs, more noodles for me (still better than shashlyk). Mostly Szechuan, which means spicy, and not always agreeable to my tummy. But so good...

 

The boys tried to order beers, only for the Chinese guys working there to point to their prayer caps and laugh at them...but the extraordinary range of sweet tea available everywhere in China makes up for it. Dungan are not Uighur (and therefore not currently being oppressed) but ethnic Chinese. I was sort of torn about hopping off to the East with the Beijing Five, to see some urban culture (and avoid the long driving days in the desert out here), but am so pleased that we stayed the course. This China is not like anything we experience at home—the mix of peoples and food and languages is fascinating. The government's party line hammers home how happy the various groups are to be united under the People's Republic; ethnic unrest while we've been here says otherwise. Beijing can wait.

Rest and Unrest

8 July 2009

News is limited in China—see the blocking of blogs, CNN, YouTube, etc. It's a precious commodity, and Louise's dad came through with a text to her concerning the political unrest in Xianjiang Province. Where we have been for the last week. Rest easy, kids, we're in Gansu now, the next prefecture over, and all just fine and dandy. The Uighurs (you will be familiar with them if you've been reading along) are rising in demand of independence from the ethnic Chinese who claim this land. Now, it's a bit complicated because the Chinese and local people have been fighting for this place for about 1000 years, back and forth. It also sits atop about 30% of China's oil reserves, which fuel the factories producing all the crap we buy for cheap in the West. China can't afford to give it up, so they've been actively encouraging ethnic Han Chinese to resettle here for generations. The two groups don't mix, which is markedly obvious in Kashgar, half the city like a little Beijing, and half looking like old Kabul.

The regional capital of Urumqi saw real riots this weekend, and there's a bit of protesting in Kashgar itself now too, I gather. It has been on the state-run news a little, and we can see some western news, so I know it's all over the place out there as well. But frankly, it's pretty calm here. Police state and all. Did see a column of army vehicles steadily rolling along towards Xianjiang as we left.

In Dunhuang since last night, at the Fei Tian Hotel. Dunhuang feels like proper China, although we're still in a mixed area technically. Very neat and orderly, loads of neon, and excellent food. David had the famous Dunhuang lurou huang mian—noodles with donkey meat. Uh-huh.

This morning we went out to Mogao, a set of unbelievable Buddhist caves about 25K from the city at the edge of the Gobi Desert. There are hundreds of caverns hand-dug from the sandstone, then plastered and with every square inch painted, filled with sculptures, and generally quite impressive. The statues include two massive Buddhas, both of which it's impossible to see from outside or even in one go—there are two levels of viewing windows carved into the rock, so you can see just the head, or just the feet upwards at a time. Lonely Planet tells me they're one of the greatest repositories of Buddhist art in the world, founded in AD 366, home to 18 monasteries at one point, and only ceased being used when this are became muslim. I tell you they're super cool.

Lunch is not agreeing with me, so am at the hotel using painfully slow wifi to keep my loyal readers informed. David etc have gone to the other sight in Dunhuang, the Singing Sands. Apparently the massive sand dunes make a moaning sound when the wind blows, and you can sled down them. Also ride camels and quad bikes, which I suspect is what they're doing. Am gutted to miss it, but planning to have a nap and rejoin them later for the night market. Souvenir shopping!

Donkey Burgers

4 July 2009

Happy Independence Day, fellow Americans! Bush camp in the desert last night, apparently on land belonging to China Mobile. Guys in vans kept showing up and insisting we were sleeping on their road. I suspect a truck full of white people is almost more of a novelty to people here than they are to us. Every time we stop anywhere for more than 3 minutes we acquire an audience of staring natives. They don't seem to want to chat or anything. Just make with the staring.

Am festively dressed for today in a $2 hot pink t-shirt emblazoned with stars-and-stripes flip-flops and some rhinestones (I am your fashion icon). Spent 4 July camped on a lakeshore, on the beach. The lake is called 'Bosten'. And we did dunk tea bags into it, because we're wild and crazy patriots like that.

The distance between Kashgar and Turpan is about 1100 kilometers, which we're covering in two days, to make up for the time spent in Kashgar. Long days on the truck, but as the Beijing Five took off from Kashgar, we've loads of room and are actually fairly comfy. Aiming to stop by 4:30 today to set off the $200 worth of dodgy Chinese fireworks we've somehow acquired, eat potato salad, BBQ chicken wings, burgers, watermelon, beer and Oreos. Mmm. Lesson to foreigners on 4 July: America is obese for a reason.

Stopped at an animal market this morning; considering buying a donkey for the truck. Well, I'm not, but this nerdiest truck of overlanders ever not only is obsessed with backgammon and lollipops, they've also developed an overweening fondness for donkeys in general. Even have affectionate nicknames for them—you've not seen funny until you've witnessed fully grown and well educated British adults adoringly shouting 'Honkey! Honkey!' out a truck window. Lord.