Point2Point

Saturday March 8th - Day one

The tour was going to be for 8 days. Like most tours the 8th day was actually where everyone leaves, and not part of the tour at all. So in actual fact we were going for 7 nights and 7 days across the highest road in the world. Still suffering from my last few nights in Kathmandu it took me a while to wake up on the overcrowded bus from Thamel to the border of Tibet. There were about 12 of us. 5 was what had been told to me at the agency. Large groups in my own experience were never good to travel with, and I just wondered how they would match up to the guest house group. It was better not to think of that I decided right off the bat. This was a new group heading into a new land. A fresh start.

Introductions over lunch had been minimal. All I knew was that there was an old Dutch guy, a large and quite tall Dutch guy, and a premature greying Australian mixed into a rather silent group. Our guide was surprisingly good. Informative and approachable, though that could have a lot to do with the fact that he was leaving us at the border for a local Tibetan guide to take over the tour.

The Friendship Bridge into Tibet was not exactly its name sake. After filling up various registration cards and thankfully not having to give blood as one form said for entry into the People's Republic of China we crossed the traffic strewn bridge. The guide was correct about one thing. As I took my phone out to check for reception, and maybe try a quick illegal photo, a man in plain clothes came rushing up and waved my phone away. My first taste of Chinese law.

On the Tibetan side we waited for our new heavy set guide to round everyone up. Anil was better than I expected as well. He had a big smile and wore a stylish if a little outdated black leather coat. He smoked often and had rather sad worried looking eyes. He commanded a group of ramshackle drivers. A mix of cowboy hat wearing smokers and sleepy denim clad silent types. Only Anil seemed to speak English.

The biggest surprise was the condition of the 4x4 Jeeps that they had lined up for us. Battered old land rovers they were not! Brand spanking new Toyota Landcrusiers were all lined up the dirt border road. What's more there would only be 4 in each Jeep, no overcrowding. The downside, there always is, was that another 12 people were joining our 8 day tour.

As Anil explained our itinerary no one noticed me moving my bags into a rather empty looking beige land cruiser at the rear of the vehicle queue. I suspected that after the instructions everyone would be making a bee line for the Jeeps nearest to them and causing a mass of squashed confusion. The big tall Dutch guy had similar ideas and upon seeing me load my backpack into the rear truck soon joined me. As he did, Anil finished and, the rush started. The majority of people headed to the Jeeps at the front, causing a bottle neck and giving me time to settle into the rear window seat on the right. I could have chosen the empty front, but figured on not drawing too much attention to myself having already scored an empty vehicle.

A tiny little Korean woman jumped in the back seat by the other window. Her only luggage was a small day pack and a rather large hard cover book written in Korean. With most of the Jeeps now full, and all 6'8 of the Dutchman, Stefan, in the front seat we looked on at the stragglers. A slender guy in his mid 20's wearing a green sweatshirt headed our way. Not wanting to be pushed into the middle I hoped out and offered him the center seat. He had a strong French accent and body odor to match. Still, the windows were down.

No sooner had I closed the door than our sour looking driver started up the Jeep and our convoy of 6 Jeeps rumbled off into Tibet.

My neighbour, Quinnell, aside from the odor, was actually a good seat buddy. He was thin and with the tiny Korean beside him it meant I could spread out quite a bit myself. Imagining the Stefan's large frame in the middle I decided it was a good thing to let him keep the front. I wasn't sure if I liked our group so much as the more livelier people that had gotten into some of the other vehicles.

We were all very different. The driver spoke no English and preferred to play funky Chinese music on the stereo. The Korean Lady was more engrossed in the philosophy of life, and reading her book than about the trip. While Stefan and Quinnell were garnering a friendly chemistry in common interests relating to India. Having said that, I was quite too. My mind was fighting to stay in Tibet, but often times it wandered off to the conclusion of this journey and my time in Nepal.

Our first overnight stop was in Nylam, a small town that had a deserted air about it that seemed to follow on to every Tibetan town thoughtful the journey. We arrived at night there was little happening. We were bundled into two separate guest houses that were fairly rudimentary. Thin plywood partitioning and thin foam mattresses for all. Not to mention a single fairly overused squat toilet come shower room.

Some people headed out in search of food, never venturing off the main road we were on. I sat upstairs and watched Chinese television for the first time with two Slovenian girls. Mara and Natashka were full on for my dubbing of the Chinese movies they flicked through. It was late though, and it wasn't long before I headed to bed.

Sunday March 9th - Day Two

Breakfast was seriously poor. Steamed bread and an egg. It seemed Tea was on rations too . It would also be the first morning when the Altitude Sickness would strike at us. Quinnell was in pain, and looked paler than anyone should. He was throwing up, and said his head hurt badly. A German lady took command arranged a impromptu meeting in the breakfast area. Tall, dark haired, bony framed and very commanding the German lady aggravated most of us immediately. She referred constantly to her experience as guide in Nepal, and her LP book with references to people dying of Altitude sickness.

She read an excerpt from some small medical book about the symptoms of Altitude sickness right before death. Quinnell looked on with sunken eyes from his seat next to me.

"Da guides are not trained professionals!" She exclaimed, "Dis man could be dying."

Whether true or not, Quinnell was not amused at her bedside manner. "This lady has a mental problem?"

Stephan chuckled in reply, "Take it easy man. She was issues with everyone."

Our guide Anil showed up, his permanent look of worry heighten my what he saw.

"And," the German lady said pointing at Anil, "you guides need to decide. We turn back now, or we go on without the sick man?"

His eyes widening, Anil used his hands to motion calmness. "It is normal to experience headache for some people. We should move on. There is a good hospital in Lhatse. We go there next."

"Dhat's not in da guide book!" barked the German lady, and with that an agitated discussion broke out between the two.

Meanwhile Stefan urged Quinnell to head into the Jeep. Seeing my slight concern at his lack of care he turned to me and whispered. "It's OK man. He was out drinking with the locals last night, that's all."

It seemed someone had picked up on Quinnell's hangover as being altitude sickness. The rumour of truth quickly spread and soon we were all on our way again.

The Tibetan sky was about as blue as you could ever see. Not even the Nepalese trek produced a skyline so piercing in its perfection. The air was dry and calm. A cold wind blew steadily as we drove along the long winding well conditioned road. We were at about 3500m and would soon climb to over 5000m along one of the passes. There was no real sign of life once were outside the town areas. A herd of Yak's would be the most of life we would see.

We ate at a predetermined roadside hotel. The groups were sticking to socializing and sitting with their Jeep companions. But we all did share a common realization. As we had climbed so steeply in altitude, we were all showing signs of Altitude Sickness. I thought my prolonged stay in Kathmandu would have helped. But I had a headache. A slow, ache that told me to stock up on water and swallow some paracetamol.

Desolately beautiful, if you can imagine such a thing. That was my feeling as I looked out at the mountain peaked landscape. It held a privileged feeling. Almost like the rare photographs from Mars, or from another far off planet. The vistas were not from everyday life. They ranked as almost being beyond the realm of normality. Something few people get to see in person. Yet there I was on the roof of the world looking out at it. And on frequent toilet stops leaving my mark.

Maybe it was the slight oxygen deprived light headedness or maybe it truly was the place. But it did feel somewhat surreal as we stopped to look out over Everest. Like my time at the Taj Mahal, it seemed almost dream like to actually put this wonder of a place form postcard form into reality. We were at 5050 meters and it truly felt like we were the only ones on earth.

Everest was one of three peaks along a wonderful ice capped ridge that stretched out before us. We were surrounded by prayer flags and isolation. No one or nothing could be seen nor heard. The cold wind was strong and blocked out all sounds. My head was pounding now and the blasted German ladies sermon on death in the mountains repeated itself.

We drove on in continued silence. Stefan was the only one not suffering from a headache as he bounced along to the tunes of our drivers repeating tape of funky Chinese music.

Lhatse accommodation was another dorm affair, however we did have working toilets though still no shower. In the evening the guest house broke out some local musicians and it got some of the Jeep groups together at last. At the helm were the two Slovenian girls.

Mara was seated next to me and was also curious about the group as a whole. To say she wasn't gifted in the mammary section would not do me justice as a man. Her blue eyes and long lashes fluttered in conversation about travel and life. Natashka on the other hands was an attractive slender girl who seemed to take a more philosophical approach to everything. What was obvious is that they were out to enjoy their travel from every aspect. Two twenty something Australian lads also picked up on this and soon began wooing them with their own musical talent.

Monday March 10th - Day Three

Some headaches amongst the group began to pass. Mine did this in the morning, but by late afternoon it was always back. It wasn't so bad as to have me saying I was ill, but it was enough to keep me quiet.

The spectacular and isolating views continued to surround us. Imagine if you would a constant colour scheme of dusty brown earth, majestic white mountain peaks and then a brilliant blue sky. It was almost dream like. Again the feeling of being oxygen deprived could have something to do with it. But on the whole it was something special we were passing through.

On one pit stop this changed. I went with Stefan and Quinnell to photograph a mountain top Yak farmer. We crunched over frozen tundra. Is it wasn't below freezing I was sure it would have been marshland. In background was a picturesque snow covered mountain range with a brilliantly bright sun shining over us all. In the foreground was a tattered earthy dressed man herding his long haired yak's. He saw us and waved. We stopped and took out our cameras. Within a minute we were surrounded by three boys, hands outstretched and all asking for money in return for the photo's.

It was surreal to hear the touristic plea in such an isolated place. It sent me crashing back into reality. The boys persisted and blocked our camera's from getting a good shot of the scene. Their English was perfect, if only for that one repeated sentence. "Money for Photograph, no money, no Photograph."

Tradition also marked our day as we stopped along the friendship highway to watch as all our drivers got out and bought small packets of multicoloured confetti from a road side stall. They climbed the roadside embankment and threw the paper into the air where it caught the wind and fluttered high in a bright display. It was a good luck ritual and one that told us we were heading back into civilisation.

Tuesday March 11th - Day 4

We visited our first Monastery, Basophilic. Isolation was the key here. It was a brief but good stop,heightened by a good hotel and our first proper shower. Our days of spectacular mountain vistas were ending, now we were embarking on the cultural aspect of our tour.

The monastery itself was large and seemed set into the base of a large mountain. Anil deserted us here to Our guide left us
of us were able for a small look into Tibetan monks lives. A simple life to most, yet one caught up in ritual and devotion. It was a monastery styled city in its own right. Surrounded by hight grey stone walls it was broken into various temples, statues of Buddha and Thunkpa schools.

I diverted from the group with a 19 year old Swedish girl and we met with some locals who enjoyed telling us about the place. It was search of an Internet café in the town proper that I found Karl to be a strange case. She wasn't the typical blond Swede I was accustomed to. She had light brown hair and a dislike to everyone on the tour. She also proclaimed her wallet just got stolen, without undue concern.

Walking her back to the hotel I quickly decided that Karla was a loose cannon and to be avoided. Stefan was getting a some beers so I joined in. The two Australians had managed to commender a couple of guitars and were once again trying to win the Slovenians hearts. Yes indeed, reality was coming back.

Wednesday March 12th - Day 5

We were on the way to Lhasa now. The mountain ranges still hung picturesquely in the backdrop of our views. The road was as near perfect as it got and were speeding up quite a bit. Headaches were all gone, and the group was getting excited to soon be in a true forbidden city.

We stopped along Yamdruk - Tso Lake, a bright turquoise colored lake that looked almost man made it's quest for perfection. It would be our last stop for photo's outside a town and city. Our tour still had three days left, but essentially it was over. We were now on the final road to capital of Tibet.

Almost as if expecting fortified walls, or a giant white stupa to be sense in the distant capital we drove along a quite highway. A few golden road markers dotted our path as we turned into more traffic. The buildings were not old, they were new concrete blocks set into the remain bright blue sky. Confirmation that no matter where its placed, communist block housing remains ugly.

There were no majestic temples, or old crumbling signs of the past. It was not ancient Nepal. It was not Tibet either. At least not the Tibet we had imagined. There were no monks walking along chanting. Instead there were men in suits, flashing neon signs and fast food restaurants.

We pulled up to a plush city center hotel. Inside Stefan and I were aghast at our luck. It was as close to a 5 star hotel as we could have expected. Teaming up we got a double room with a huge en suite, plasma TV, and a mini bar with plenty of choice. The tour operator could have easily dumped us at a local hostel, but instead had come up trumps.

AS we headed out that night to eat Anil mentioned that we were no longer able to visit a Monastery on our list due to a protest, so instead he would find us an alternative. We had little interest, we had arrived and were in slight shock at the modernness of this new Lhasa.

It was vastly more built up than all the other towns we had stayed in on our way there. We ate in plush restaurant with an American woman and son from the tour. She had been working in Iraq as a police trainer and was taking her college bound son on a tour of the ancient world. We looked out the window as night fell and neon lights came into full swing.

Thursday March 13th - Day 6

Anil was more worried than usual as he announced that the second monastery we were to visit had also been closed due to a protest. Quinnell, Stefan and myself were not so concerned. Lhasa was not doing it for us and we were already planning our individual travel plans out into mainland china. Though all heading in separate directions we needed to find out more about the trains leaving Tibet.

We followed the tour to the Potala Palace, the former winter residence of the Dali Lama. A striking white washed and gold peaked fortress like temple that rose 13 stories out of a redden hill. It contained many inner places and temples, all strewn with statues of Buddha alone incense filled and dark corridors.

Statues of Buddha never quite did it for me. The affluent gold body, the sometimes blue hair and the many different forms he took. While not being fully versed in Buddhism I found the lines of countless lifeless faces staring out from behind red painted railings in yak butter candlelight somewhat diluted the essence of the tour. I wanted explanation, but our guide had left us alone again. It let down the whole idea of a tour, as tours very often due. I wanted to know more about what I was looking at. Unless you spend a day making sure you are on the right spot, in the right room and staring at the correct statue the LP guide was useless.

Anil had arranged for the group to visit the Tibetan Museum that afternoon. We never went. Instead I headed with Stefan and Quinnell to the railways station on the outskirts of Lhasa. The railway station was new. A new building for the new rail route from Xi'an in in Central China to Lhasa, the highest railway in the world. So high that the trains had to be pumped full of oxygen to prevent people suffering from the the high altitude.

Quinnell had failed in his attempt to head east to Chengudu, there were no trains and something about obtaining a new pass for the territory he had to cross meant he had to head to Xi'an as well. So with that all three of us bought sleeper tickets for the 2 night trip to Xi'an in two days.

Our successful ticket run was something we discovered other members of the tour also wanted when we returned to the hotel that evening. All in all about 10 of us would be making the journey together, I would not be alone in Xi'an it seemed.

Friday March 14th - Day 7

In hindsight I should have seen something coming. There had been nothing on the internet as I booked my flights out of Shanghai. Anil had been cancelling our mandatory trips due to protests, again we were caught up in getting our onward journeys sorted. Protests meant little to me, there had been one every other week in Nepal. What was so different here?

Hindsight. I thought about that as I stood choking from the fumes of our burning hotel. The building next to our hotel room could be reached if we climbed out. But not everyone could make it. Outside the city rocked with another blast as plumes of black smoke drifted across the horizon. Troops marched in with relentless force on the streets below. We were trapped.