Sabai dee Laos

Is it my imagination or are the Laotians more humble in their following of Buddhism? While in Tibet I wouldn’t have dreamed of accusing the devout in being less than humble, though the religious fervour within the Potala Palace was frenzied and hinged more on throwing donations at every icon than at any form of devotion. I’m not wholly sure, but now I see slight differences in methods to which people follow the Eightfold path. What I see in Laos comes from the heart, there’s no frantic show of worship, reverence; they just seem to get on with it. Even the pilgrims, prostrating themselves for hundreds of kilometers, would stop their actions and hail the passing traffic. Such actions smack of attention seeking for their glorious righteousness, watching a line of monks gathering alms in Udomxay gave a completely different feeling. Humble is the only word for it, they were almost coy about it. As they stood in line accepting a handful of rice in turn there was certainly no arrogance in their attitude, which I’m afraid can’t be said for the monks I encountered in Tibet. That is of course a gross generalization, and I’m sure there are extremely devout adherents seeking enlightenment in Tibet. It must also be borne in mind that Tibetans do follow another branch of Buddhism, they practice Tantric Buddhism and I do believe they view it as a purer form of Buddhism. Could this be the root cause to a certain arrogance amongst the practitioners, or does my mind go too far along flights of fantasy? In my humble opinion I think the Delai Lhama has been away from home for too long. If only the Chinese would sod off out of Tibet, then the poor guy could go and do some house cleaning. I think he’d be appalled to see monks hiding bottles of beer in their bags, playing argy-bargy in the courtyard and carrying wristwatches and mobile phones. (Photos: 1] Monks receiving alms - Udomxay, Northern Laos; 2] Nam Uo - Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

But it sounds like I’m picking holes, which I don’t mean to. I found the people of Tibet inspiring for their warm friendly nature, my criticism rests solely on what smacks of religious arrogance. Maybe looking at the political situation they have a right to a touch of arrogance, they have after all maintained their devotion under the harshest of regimes. In Laos life does not have such pressures, and it shows. From the minute I crossed the border the atmosphere changed in my eyes. I wasn’t hustled at all, whilst not bothering me people did enquire as to where I was going. Of course I didn’t know my first destination, only that a bus left for Luang Prabang, which I missed by dithering with my map. Someone suggested I take a minibus, again I messed up by assuming she meant a private hire. So I took songtheaw, a pickup converted into passenger transport. I headed for the nearest town, and form there caught the shared minibus that had been at the border. Oh well, you live and learn! (Photo: Not quite a Dragonfly- Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

I find it hard to say no to nice mannered people, so reaching Udomxay I took a room in the first guesthouse I looked at. I took the £4.50 one with a balcony instead of £5 with toilet ensuite. My hosts were a lovely old couple, she’s the one doling out rice to the monks. Despite travelling a lot through Buddhist SE Asia, I’ve never seen a procession of monks gathering alms before. I loved the shy glances and barely concealed smiles of the three youngest members of the entourage, poor lads found it hard to join in the mantra they were smiling so much. That was at 6am, so heaven knows what time they got up. I’d forgotten to change the time on my clocks, so got up thinking it 7am. It wouldn’t have mattered as the bus I wanted to ensure I caught didn’t go, there weren’t enough of us going to Nong Kiew so he buggered off again. (Photo: Riverside village - Nr Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

Pak Mong is little more than a transit point, which is where I had to take another bus. This time it was a full size bus heading for Luang Prabang, but it would take me to within about 20km of my destination. With all day to play with I wasn’t concerned, the only aspect I do find hard is the policy of being given literal information. Inquire about Nong Kiew and a person is as likely to point in the direction of the place, rather than at where you can catch a bus. As it happened I got a lift from a pickup, not free gratis, any space in transportation costs money here. You can put goods or luggage on the bus and have it picked at it’s destination by someone else. And you can transport anything by bus; one had five motorbikes on the roof. If you’re willing to pay for it they’ll find a way of loading it for you, and there was me worrying about my rucksack being strapped to the roof. (Photo: The burden of village life - Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

Nong Kiew is a sleepy little place with a growing tourist infrastructure, though I don’t mean much in the way of luxury accommodation. There is only one place that exceeds basic backpacker needs, and that’s only £25 a night. I’m trying to be frugal though, funds are hard to access here, the nearest ATM is hours away by bus. The only alternative is the luxury resort, who no doubt make a fair wedge for every cash advance against your card. I discovered this morning that a bundle of notes I thought were of 10,000kip denominations were in fact only 1,000 kip notes. So I’d been ripped for about £30 at the border by the Chinese money changers, no wonder she was in such a hurry to get away after we’d completed the transaction. Don’t I feel stupid now? After countless times of changing money on the street I’ve never been had like that, the worst has only ever been a fairly low exchange rate, often the exchange rate is better than at the bank. (Photo: River trading- Nong Kiew, Northern Laos)

None of it matters, I’m here now, in Nong Kiew and about to leave tomorrow to head up river to Muang Ngoi, an even quieter more remote destination. So although I’ve been telling people I’ll have better internet access I’ll actually have less. That’s the price I’m willing to pay to finalise my book.

Farewell me old China

I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry about leaving China, the tour had taken its toll and not in a physically arduous way. Neither was I about to sink back into the depths of despair, I’d missed first hand exposure to the delights of Tibet’s great outdoors, but it’s no good crying over spilt milk. The final days were like most others, long hours of driving and few chances of feeling a part of the passing environment. Sitting behind a car windscreen will never really do it for me, it’s too far removed from the surrounding nature, it’s too closeted. Maybe if I were the one driving I could associate better with the experience, as a passenger I feel no better than a casual viewer. Of course none of this changes the beauty we pass through, merely dilutes it to a tepid experience. If the tour had been as promised, the days sat in the car would have been marvelously offset by nights in the wilds. (Photo: Rice paddies at harvest - Nr Dali, Yunnan)

So unlike Tibet, Yunnan is Chinese in every way; intense agriculture, stylised architecture and even fewer hotels that can accept foreigners. Dali was described as a nicer version of Li Jiang, unfortunately not in my eyes. With dressed up characters of Chinese myth parading the streets, and rams attached to carriages, cutely adorned in pretty bows, all for tourist's photos, it was rather tacky. Along the main thoroughfare there was not a single establishment that wasn’t selling tourist souvenirs. The buildings were rather lackluster, in desperate need of a new coat of paint. It didn’t accentuate their age, it simply made them look uncared for. There was one nice aspect, the restaurants. Displays of fresh food lined the streets outside the old city, food harvested from the lake being abundant. (Photo: Harvesting by hand - Nr Dali, Yunnan)

A host of freshwater fish floundered in tanks, unable to move, but oxygenated by pumps. Mussels, snails, crayfish and prawns sat in buckets; actually the snails had a habit of escaping, but not to quickly. Water plants were also kept fresh in buckets of cold water, some resembled sea moss, I assumed the various bulbs were from such things as water lilies. Loads of local mushrooms were on offer, a variety of different boletus, oyster mushrooms, beefsteak fungus and even some that looked suspiciously like Fly Agaric, but couldn’t have been because they’re poisonous. It was an impressive array anyway, I really like the practice of seeing the food before you order. How better to ensure you’re eating quality food. This has been the one part of travelling through China that is exceptional, I haven’t once grumbled about the food. (Photo: Water buffalo - Dali to Pu Er road, Yunnan)

It’s strange the manner in which the Han talk about the minorities, which is the term they use when referring to different ethnic groups. Their paranoia verges on the ridiculous, they really are convinced the various minorities hate them. I shouldn’t really scoff at this idea, because they would have every right to do so. The worst of it is that each group are actually dominant within their region, despite the influx of Han business opportunists. Wherever you go the majority of businesses are run by the Han Chinese, in particular restaurants and hotels, whatever the local ethnicity. In places that have any form of tourism, or seasonal slump, the businesses will close down during the quiet period and the Han return to their home towns. So it isn’t as if there is much investment locally from their presence, they make their profit and take it out of the area. Forgive me if I’m missing the point somewhere here, but surely that would incite any local population to loathing the intrusion of outside businessmen, ask any local in wales about that one. (Photo: Maize growing terrain - Dali to Pu Er road, Yunnan)

This is particularly the case in Tibet where the Han empty out for winter. It’s a strange situation in China, people are registered in the town they’re born in. To move or work elsewhere they must gain permission, which seems to be easy if you’re from a wealthy background. It sort of puts a sham on the term communism, but there again China has a strange form of capitalist communism. There may be wide ranging areas of China with a heavy Tibetan influence, but for those within Tibet permits are rarely granted for freedom of movement outside Tibet itself. For the amount of censorship and control in China I didn’t actually feel secure making such criticism whilst in the country. Few people will voice an opinion against the party, especially to criticise the great Chairman Moa. My first guide was a perfect example, praising the actions of the leader of the cultural revolution, yet failing to realize that as an educated man he would have been sent to toil in the back of beyond. (Photo: Misty tea hills - Pu Er to the border, Yunnan)

Well I’m out now, and free of the yoke of an oppressive regime. My last two days didn’t feel like China, not while driving through the countryside. The vegetation took on a more tropical flavour, bananas sprouted from the roadside, huge stands of bamboo hung heavy over the carriageway and birds and insects filled the air with the sound of nature. We had plenty of tropical downpours too, it got to be hot and steamy. But it wasn’t just the areas we drove through, the local minority looked much more Asian than oriental. The houses were less ornate, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me, shabbier too. The countryside was hilly and generally less ordered, though in tea country the regimented rows of tea bushes dispelled this illusion. Gone were the vast acreage of rice paddy, replaced first by the slopes of tea then huge plantations of bananas. On the rough broken slopes nearing the border the land must have been useless for intense agriculture. Rubber trees inundated the near hills, only on fairly flat land could bananas be seen. (Photo: Banana plantations - Nr Laos border, Yunnan)

A great sigh of relief escaped my lips on reaching the border, so much so I gladly allowed the moneychangers to have the last of my Yuen, I was pleased to be shot of it. And so with no further ado, I ambled, unhindered, through a deserted border crossing and emerged instantly relaxed. Welcome to a land of the free Les!

's no snow!

For the final leg of Tibet we were caught up in a whirlwind of mad departures, desperate attempts to outrun road closures ahead. More road construction barred our path, they work from 8am to 8pm making it impossible to drive normal daylight hours. With two mountain ranges to cross it was going to be impossible to appreciate the views of both, if we were lucky we could squeeze in one. Well, what can I say but we were bloody lucky and copped for them both. It isn’t always the case, but sometimes the road crew stops for lunch. It just so happened we struck lucky, not only had they stopped to eat but they’d cleared their machinery out the way. We made a mad dash of over 30km trying to get there before they resumed work, and we made it. It did come at a cost though! (Photo: Sandstorm on mountain peak - Yunnan province, China)

It was another case of false promises, another failed attempt at camping. Of course I could camp by another holy lake, but it would mean getting up at 4.30am so we could make the roadblock before 8am. In all my bloody mindedness I was sorely tempted, but my spirits were too low for it. What was the point, there wasn’t actually very good places to camp anyway, and I was buggered if I was packing away all my stuff at that time of the morning. And so began the hell for leather drive to beat the roadblocks. Amazingly it all went well; though the tent hasn’t seen the light of day since I have stayed in a few reasonably nice hotels. Hot water is one luxury that didn’t seem to come in the price. Which may be very well in hot steamy countries, but in the chilly mountains it’s a touch too bracing in my opinion. (Photo: Snow Mountain - Dequin, Yunnan province)

Somewhere along the way we made the last checkpoint in Tibet, another holdup by less than intelligent police officers, frightened of allowing a foreigner through without checking with their superiors. And like most superiors, they’re never there when you really need them. I’m amazed at the state of dress of Chinese police officers in general, they may seem fairly presentable in the main cities, but out in the sticks they’re slovenly slobs. I’m assured they do receive training, that they should understand the various permits allowing me free passage. If this is the case they are either too thick to interpret the instructions given, or too scared to make the slightest mistake. Most of them look so young you’d expect them to be phoning their mums for reassurance rather than their inspectors. I should think myself lucky though, they don’t seem to get off on the same power trip the UK police do. (Photo: Shangri-la plain - Yunnan province, China)

There were no sudden changes to the landscape. We remained in gorgeous mountainous terrain, the style of housing remained the same, and indeed so did the people. A big overlap occurs, Tibetan people and influence stretches for a long way into Yunnan. Bearing in mind the centre of power in China was based in Tibet (thanks to the Mongols) sometime around the 14th century, this is hardly surprising. They remain a fairly accountable minority through half of Yunnan, long after evidence of their classic style architecture disappears. First sign of entering a region of an alternative minority ethnic group was by the apexed roofs, with up curved corners and rounded tiles. The Tibetans favour flat roofs, maybe to hold the snow and so form an insulated layer, making it easier to keep the house warm in winter. The Naxi homes are at lower altitude, it rains more so more efficient dispersal of water is necessary. They still sport fanciful decoration on the exposed woodwork, but it’s different, it’s carved but not as intricately painted as on the Tibetan houses. (Photo: Tiger Leaping Gorge - Yunnan province, China)

Snow Mountains, as the Chinese refer to glaciated peaks, draw in the domestic tourists. They don’t attain the lofty heights of their Tibetan counterparts, nor do they maintain such abundance of snow. In fact over recent years many have been slowly receding, some have vanished altogether. At least my guide could associate this with global warming, even linking it with the increased activity of local road construction. I’m not sure how accurate the latter information actual is, but I’m sure the increase in dust particles in the local environment must contribute to the rather dirty appearance of many of the glaciers in Yunnan. Most of the snowy peaks were obscured by cloud, only keeping a constant watch from my hotel window did I manage to appreciate the sun setting behind one of the most impressive. It was a little off putting watching a bunch of geriatric Australians trying their damnedest to bastardise the practice of Tai Chi, they would insist on doing this in public rather then hiding away in shame at their uncoordinated attempts at poetry in motion. But each to their own, eh? (Photo: Tiger Leaping Gorge - Yunnan province, China)

Although we’ve still been twisting and turning our way over mountain passes, our elevation has steadily dropped over the last few days. Snow Mountains or not, Yunnan in distinctly lower than Tibet. Yet it’s been delightful to note the presence of naked rock hasn’t diminished in the slightest. If anything the mountain terrain has become more stark, more unruly. As we’ve dropped in height more gorges cut through the landscape; as the waterways join forces the rivers become raging torrents. Murky waters pound their way through towards the distant sea, scouring out an ever increasing channel, giving rise to dramatic drops, spectacular views. Much of South East Asia relies on the water pouring down from this area, so the building of many new Hydroelectric dams by China does no favours to it’s southern neighbours. There are few points to cross these torrents, yet perched high on the slopes of bare rock are farmed terraces, accessible only along miles of tiny paths cutting across nightmare mountain slopes. (Photo: Romantic Lijiang - Yunnan province, China)

Reaching Shangri-la a huge waterlogged plain stretched for miles, edged by cultivated land. Cows and horses dotted grasslands, wooden frames laden with hay were everywhere. Some form of beet seemed the only other crop, the wooden frames alternated between hay and this root veg, hanging high out of harms way. Certainly with the hay it served as a means to dry it, I can’t imagine they successfully dried the beet though. Renamed in recent years, after the publication of the book, the city fails to conjure up any magical illusions. It’s newly built, in fact mainly still under construction, dirty and unwelcoming. We didn’t delay, merely passing through on our way to Tiger Leaping Gorge. Now that is impressive, and you can hike down into the lower confines of the Gorge itself. But as with everything in China, it comes at a price. At numerous points payment is requested, if anyone has set down a log of a rickety plank there is a toll. It adds up quickly and sort of takes away the sense of freedom. We managed a three hour hike in one and a half, it had me puffing a bit, but I coped rather better than my 26 year old companion. (Photo: Gorgeous valley scene - Yunnan province, China)

And so my organized tour draws to a conclusion, a few brief days and the border of Laos will greet me. A quick succession of cities await, and many thousands of acres of agricultural land. It doesn’t matter how steep the hills are, terraces line their slopes. Between the hills are vast areas of flat land, wet land, perfect for rice paddies. For the first time in China I’m faced with large scale rice production. There’s plenty of other crops, tobacco, maize, peaches, but the rice is definitely dominant. Lijiang is probably the most famous city in this part of Yunnan, one of the most ancient of cities to survive in China. It’s without doubt incredibly beautiful, a very romantic place to visit with its crystal clear, coy filled, waterways running past lantern strewn, cozy restaurants. It’s also renowned in China as a singles pick up point, or as they call it, “the place to come for one night stands”. The food stalls were brilliant, delicious grubs and maggots, the yak kebabs were a delight, though I couldn’t bring myself to try the grasshoppers or dragonflies. (Photo: Farming community with waterwheel - Yunnan province, China)

Tibet, beyond Lhasa!

Cruising down the highways of Tibet can easily be likened with the highways of life. There is plenty to occupy the mind, to appeal to the peripheries of the imagination; but it’s more profound experiences that really matter. No matter how wonderful the scenery, how amazing the formation of rock, if your heart isn’t there, it’s an empty unfulfilling time. How wondrous the sight that befalls the eye, how amazing the swirling patterns that volcanic layers form. Seeing the spectacle unfold is delightful, yet it holds holds no substance, there is more to life than a slideshow. Sat in a car, watching the scenery unfold, doesn’t fulfill me. I want so much more; I refuse to succumb to the vagaries of mainstream tourism, and so I instead plummet into misery. (Photo: Little Switzerland - Route 318, Tibet)

Who could criticise the bountiful sights that line the highway of Tibet? It’s a country that merits attention, a kingdom of heavenly wonder. The mountains beg to purge your soul of wanton thoughts, enwrap your heart and soothe your soul. This is the land to leave it all behind, forget your worries and heal your hurts. The faithful travel for many a mile to pay homage to the holiest of sites, they prostrate themselves for a thousand kilometers or more on their pilgrimage to the holy capital. I thought it admirable to see the faithful a few hundred km from Lhasa; after two days of travel to still see them heading to the holy city, well, I’m impressed. To see these people taking a few steps forwards then prostrating themselves, for hundreds of kilometers, makes me ashamed of failing to ride my bike the distance. (Photo: Pilgrimage - Route 318, Tibet)

The last thing on my mind was being a humdrum tourist, a rich bitch with more money than sense; Tibet was never about buying my ticket and enjoying the ride. My aim was to live the life, get out there and breath the natural freedom; the environs no government can curtail. But life is never so simple within the domains of Chinese control, they dictate every aspect of life. However far flung the destination, their say so is ultimate. And don’t the tour agents play on this, it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s possible, their say so is final. They play the system, lulling in the unsuspecting tourist and blaming the authorities for their own shortcomings, their own failures to deliver the goods as promised. And they do indeed promise to ends of the world: but delivery is seldom sweet. (Photo: Little Switzerland - Route 318, Tibet)

How many days I’ve been held in suspense amounts to how many days I’ve been travelling since re-entering Chins. The constant promise of camping, the constant failure to comply. My desires were simple yet explicit, I intended to travel the length of Tibet, camping along the way. I was assured this was possible, although neither the guide nor driver would accompany me; they’d retreat to the secure environs of the nearest town or village. The trouble was they wouldn’t even give the opportunity for me to camp at all; once a week was only managed with the greatest of effort. I’m sorry but pitching tent on the outskirts of a busy town doesn’t fulfill my criteria of a tranquil setting; it’s a measure of necessity not luxury, and I intended the luxury of full on natural bliss. (Photo: Homestead - Route 318, Tibet)

Tibet is amongst the most wonderful of places one can imagine travelling through, there is no doubt about that. No two days are comparable, from alpine scenery to arid desolation, it offers the lot. Terraced hillsides spring up in the most inhospitable of places, high altitude springs feed remote villages, veritable oasis of fertility nestle in the driest of hills. The people survive where least expected, along tiny paths threading between plunging drops on precipitous slopes. These are the villages where Han Chinese fear to tread, the living is too harsh for them to contemplate; profit is doesn’t exist, only a pernicious tenacity to survive can endure. The new towns are where the incomers abide, along the newly constructed roads, where passing traffic provides a steady flow of cash. (Photo: Arid mountainscape - Route 318, Tibet)

How delightful it was to awake one morning, to the sound of cows mooing, pigs grunting. On a quiet meadow, in a misty valley, I could escape the trappings of modern life; pretend for an hour or so I’d fond utopia. Of course it was all illusion, before I’d shaken loose the sleep from my eyes my chaperone had emerged, requesting when I’d be ready to make a move. How I wished I could maintain the dream of freedom, pretend I was truly at loose in the spiritual centre of the universe. But no, it was just another Han illusion, a pretense of being at one with nature. In reality we had hot and cold running water, flushable squat toilets, Wi-Fi and cooked breakfast; such is the Chinese sense of adventure. Mind you the pot-bellied pig was quite cute, she even rolled on her side to allow me to scratch her neck. (Photo: Terraced agriculture - Route 318, Tibet)

Oh, the relief of my new guide taking over the proceedings, my initial contact with the tour agency, this was a person who knew exactly what I wanted, a person who promised to deliver the goods. She was certainly better equipped to deal with people, but most important she knew of my insistence to be out there amongst the thick of nature; it had after all been the main selling point of the tour. If the first guy, Shanshan had rejoined the tour I think I would have refused. He was a brainwashed idiot, a fat fool able to do no more than regurgitate facts from the official book of Chinese trivia. Further more, he spoke English in a high class, patronising tone; of course he wasn’t going to enamour old working class Les. (Photo: High altitude road - Route 318, Tibet)

It was so nice to have friendly chatter filling the air, the driver became positively animated, clearly relieved at the new company. It relieved me also, no longer was the journey stifled with awkward conversation; I could stare mesmerized at the rolling slideshow of spectacular scenery without pregnant silence. Accompanied by her boyfriend there was a choice of English speakers to interrogate. And fair play, they were both willing to give honest opinions of the current state of China. Such a shame I had to break the reverie and confess how dissatisfied I was with the tour. Not that the country lacked much in the way of wonderment, only the complete lack of opportunity to grasp it by the balls; to eat, live and sleep amongst the best it had to offer, to savour Tibet’s great outdoors. (Photo: Rocky paradise - Route 318, Tibet)

And that is all I’ve wanted to do, to appreciate the true nature of this fabulous country. I wanted to sleep amongst the hills, by the lakes, gazing at snowy peaks from the shelter of my tent. There’s no taking away the marvelous scenery I’ve passed through, the huge smiles and well wishes hailed from the roadside. Tibet is amazing, the mountains beyond belief, the people lovely. But sat in a car, viewing it all from the comfort of a metal box, it’s sorely lacking. It’s never like this on a bike, and the only chance of recreating the experience was to be under canvas. Going from town to town, hotel to hotel, has failed to hit the mark. If only, oh if only, the powers that be opened the world to allow me to open my heart fully. What a lovely place the planet could be, if only! But we can’t live with if onlys, we have to make do with what we’ve got. What a bummer! (Photo: Rocky gorge - Route 318, Tibet)

Lhasa - City of devotion

It’s hard to beat an experience that is as uplifting as that of visiting Everest base camp. Neither the beauty nor the wonderful people alone could have achieved the state of tranquility I found myself in. The only thing that could have improved on this is to have spent more time there, to have camped out and felt even closer with nature. That was the plan, but it didn’t happen, such are the restrictions of organised tours. Is it only me, or are people generally promised the stars and dumped on the moon? However much of an improvement my Tibetan guide may have been, he was still reluctant to fulfill my wishes to camp out, away from civilisation. No matter how I’ve tried putting it, and I’ve been assured by the agency these wishes have been made known to the guides, they have found any excuse possible to transport me from town to town, from hotel to hotel. (Photo: A rather affluent beggar - Shigatse, Tibet)

And so I found myself deposited in Shigatse, at another hotel, another run of the mill, glitzy tourist trap. “This is cheap price,” I’m assured by the guide. To be honest I’ve almost given up trying to object, my thinking isn’t at it’s clearest or most understandable. Yes, in a word, my head’s a wee bit F****d at the moment. We seem to have skipped between the worst hovels and the most expensive hotels, the difference in price didn’t always reflect the difference in quality. But for once paying slightly more was worth it, to have internet in my room. I wanted contact with home; hey it was my Mum’s birthday, I wanted to wish her a happy day! But it was more than just birthday wishes. Since receiving bad news of another tragic accident within Cai’s peer group, my emotions were all over the place. I wanted contact with my family, I wanted to hear familiar voices. I could have handled the emotional stress isolated in the wilds, in solitude, but not stuck in a hotel room alone, not wandering the streets of a strange city on my own. (Photo: Monastic life - Shigatse, Tibet)

Every day travelling through Tibet has been like a film gradually unrolling, a glorious landscape unwinding before my eyes, every minute of every day. But it’s failed to hit the mark. Being driven from place to place, escorted by my chaperones, hasn’t been fulfilling, not as I’m used to. Moments of wonderment have come and gone, but I feel cut off from the amazing world I’m passing through. Chances to stop and mingle have been few and far between, I’ve yet to feel at one with my surroundings, like I do when mounted on my motorcycle. Many times I’ve wondered on the wisdom of my choice to continue in a hired vehicle, with a constant escort. From the Tingri valley we passed through a rich and fertile land, a natural world of simple folks working their butts off to survive; from the comfort of a chauffer driven Landcruiser it was hard to associate with the land we passed through. (Photo: Churning Yak butter - Nr Lhasa, Tibet)

Shigatse is a mainly Tibetan town, though swarming with Chinese tourists. The road has become chocked full of tourist buses and groups of 4WD cars of happy snappers. God, I’ve become one of the masses; it doesn’t rest easy on my soul. Luckily my visit to the monastery was a quiet one, the hoards didn’t arrive until I was leaving. I was blessed, I wandered peacefully, with only the monks to disturb the tranquility. As one adjusted his bag I spied a bottle of beer hidden within, my how the world has changed. Not only sparkly watches and mobile phones, now inebriation relies on external fortification rather than inner devotion. It was also housekeeping day, the monks were busy sweeping and tidying, a task that apparently didn’t bring out the best in all of them. A couple of situations unrolled before my very eyes, almost a scuffle between two initiates, signs of bullying from superiors. But in all fairness, it was a far cry from the dog eat dog world of outside life. (Photo: My boudoir - Lhasa, Tibet)

Between towns and cities Tibet has increasingly been a hive of productivity since travelling south from Mount Kailash. The countryside has been busy with harvest time, all and sundry hard at it, if not with the physical task of harvesting, then with the responsibility of overseeing the livestock. Even kids as young as the pre-teens are left to ensure the safety of the families animals. Bearing in mind the inability of Europe’s youth to take responsibility for themselves this is a pretty remarkable fete. It broke my heart to see a young girl almost apoplectic at the sight of her family’s sheep being panicked and driven in a frenzy in all directions by my driver forcing his way through the flock, horn blaring. Poor thing, it was her worst nightmare. All I could think of was the ignorance of my driver, his lack of understanding, lack of care; he actually seemed amused by the event. How I wish I could make a difference, maybe I’m too cowardly to force the issue, maybe I should do more than show mild disapproval. (Photo: Potala Palace - Lhasa, Tibet)

But onto Lhasa, the true home of the Delai Lhama, the spiritual centre of Tantric Buddhism. Probably the two most important aspects of Lhasa for Tibetans is the Potala Palace and the Jokhang Temple; the former being the official residence of of his holiness, the latter venerated for the statue of Sakyamuni, who we consider, ‘The Buddha,” though there are many Bodhisattvas; those who have attained enlightenment. A constant flow of pilgrims circle the old town that encompasses the temple. People of all ages, of all walks of life, complete many circuits, thus ridding themselves of accumulated sin. They all walk clockwise in their endeavours, many completing the circuit by prostrating themselves every inch of the way. It isn’t obligatory to walk clockwise, though I do wonder whether we accumulate sin by walking in the opposite direction. I think I’ve achieved a balance since arriving, so I’m still an awfully bad sinner. (Photo: It's for your own protection, honest! - Lhasa, Tibet)

The Temple is the heart of the old town, which is a wonderfully lively place; busy, bustling, truly alive. It may be thick with tourists, but the locals and Tibetan pilgrims easily outnumber them. Lining the devotional route stalls sell every imaginable item of tat a tourist could desire, it’s the purely for them, there is little to interest the pilgrims. Almost every side street is filled with shops and stalls for the locals; which I guess is good, there is little to tempt the devout from their religious administrations. Probably the biggest distraction is the constant trooping of the security forces, through every part of the old town, but in particular the circuit around the temple. Every couple of minutes a patrol forces its way through the throng of devout; one commander, at least three with automatic rifles, and one with a fire extinguisher. It’s a sad fact that most protests against the Chinese occupation are by the self-immolation of monks; and we can’t have that can we? (Photo: Never too old for devotion - Lhasa, Tibet)

As for the Potala Palace, what a fantastic place. A seething hub of despicable tourism possibly, but so beautiful, so phenomenally gorgeous to visit. I nearly didn’t bother when told I had to hire a guide to visit at all, I nearly bailed out when joining the tourist throng at the gate; I’m so glad I didn’t though! True, there were constant tour groups hustling through, with barely enough time to even see what the guide was talking about. They were hustled through at a stupid rate, too fast to appreciate anything. People came with bundles of 1 Yuan notes, thrusting them through wire mesh safety netting, hurling them over wooden barriers, even lobbing them over the heads of anyone in front. Clasping their hands in supplication they hardly even noticed what it was they paid homage to. For me it was ugly, it was a show of false reverence, very few managed more than a superfluous imitation of sincerity. (Photo: Modern monk - Lhasa, Tibet)

Initially my only thoughts were, “what the hell am I doing here”? My guide knew how negative my thoughts are on being lead around by the hand, being filled with facts I’ll never remember, hustled through to a set timetable. He done the wise thing, took me in through the gate and said you’re on your own. And as I reached the first walk-through of the Red Palace, and saw the tour groups packed in tight, I retreated. Attempting to cut in front had me turned back by security. The guy was trying to help, gesturing the correct entry point, trying to lead me in. No chance, I gestured there was too many people and backed completely away. I hung around for nearly half an hour, when it went quiet I ventured in. You know what, it was amazing! The opulence, the beauty, the vast wealth invested in thousands of years of devotion was truly spectacular. Hardly a beam of wood anywhere was left undecorated, not a single surface of anything was unadorned. Never before have I seen such attention to detail, such a huge display of worship to one central theme; the propagators and key followers of one individual faith.

I actually abhor the waste of money and resources thrown at opulent shows of wealth under the guise of religious devotion. Seeing countless stupas and tombs with thousands of kilos of gold, and millions of precious stones, is gross. Such wealth would be better spent feeding the poverty struck areas of the world, maintaining a balance of health and wealth for the whole planet. But in all honesty, when immersing myself in these places of reverence, I feel the spiritual pull, I get off on the profoundly intoxicating nature of tranquility. So instead of getting pissed off, rather than storm through in a huff, I stood back and waited. I spent all morning in the palace, each time a tour group caught up with me I retreated into a corner and let them pass. I took my time and thoroughly enjoyed it. I didn’t need to throw money at every available opportunity, but I seemed to appreciate much more than those around me. It doesn’t do to just go through the motions, I’ve seen this displayed before my very eyes here. I need to bear this in mind, adopt it into my own life. If your heart isn’t into what you’re doing, you’re doing something wrong. Now I need to carry that with me, keep it foremost in my mind. There is no point travelling because it’s easier than being at home, if I’m getting nothing out of it, it’s time to quite, seek some other solace in life. (Photo: Prayer wheels - Lhasa, Tibet)

Top of the world Ma!

One negative point, that I want to tackle at the moment anyway, is the inherent bigotry I’ve encountered travelling under the care of my Chinese chaperones. Invariably , whenever we arrive at a town or stop to eat on the road, it’s always establishments of Han Chinese we frequent. This was the same in Xinjiang, the Uigyr region of China. In fact today is the first time I’ve been taken to a Tibetan restaurant, courtesy of the local guide I’ve been allocated until we get to Lhasa. The last guide warned me about eating in, “local restaurants”. I never realised they were such dirty people, that they never washed their hands and would spread their diseases to me. He also informed me how to tell who the Tibetans were, “they are the ones with black skin,” of course, again why hadn’t I realised? Oh how I miss Shanshan (Harry), he’s such an arrogant jerk! I’m just hoping he doesn’t rejoin the tour from Lhasa; I’ve been reassured he won’t be, but who knows. (Photo: Valley spreading out from the village - Tingri, Tibet)

There’s a difference between expecting something and facing the reality. Tibet really is in the grasp of the Chinese authorities. Just about every town we approach there is a police roadblock, they record all personnel and check their papers. It’s actually with relief to report they aren’t too heavy-handed, though a spark of doubt by any minor official is likely to delay you until he’s cleared his doubts with the highest available official. This was a problem when we tried to enter Tingri Valley, the approach route to Everest. It took over an hour of waiting for the station inspector to arrive, once the appropriate arse licking had been accomplished he allowed us through. All this was due to not having a police endorsement from the regional city, Shigatse, which was 240km out of our way. It’s a routine established to cater for the flow of tourists coming up from Nepal to tick off visiting Everest. The minor police officer, a snotty nosed little kid, hadn’t come across someone coming south from Xinjiang before, his poor little brain couldn’t cope with the situation. (Photo: Typical smiling local - Tingri, Tibet)

Miraculously I’ve been on my best behaviour, not even showing the slightest sign of irritation when faced with the petty bureaucracy. I’m fully aware it would not go in my favour if I did so, any member of the security forces seems to have the power to screw up all the careful preparation of the numerous permits essential for a foreigner to be in Tibet. Within the country it’s obvious the Tibetans are treated as second class citizens, the police might not overtly treat them so, but the general Han populace certainly do. I must be honest too they appear ill kempt, clothes and general appearance are dirty, uncared for. Considering that large numbers of the population live rurally it’s hardly any surprise. Houses do not have running water or inside toilets, in fact from what I’ve been able to see many don’t have toilets at all. Villages will often have a community lavatory, and if they’re lucky water tap; many areas still rely on natural water flowing through the village. Take my word for it, the river or lake water is freezing, I wouldn’t go in there and spend my time cleaning myself thoroughly. Hot water has to be heated over a fire of some sort, generally of wood or pressed dung. You do find some coal in places, but not out in the sticks. Tibet isn’t renowned for a plentiful supply of wood, so animal dung is most common. Don’t be squeamish though, it doesn’t burn with much of a smell. Appearances aside I still find Tibetans to be the friendliest people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Not a single person has shown anything but immense pleasure at seeing me, Sasha Dilay they constantly call out. I haven’t a clue who she is, but they’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else. On a serious note though, it means good luck! The enthusiasm with which it’s given there’s no doubting the sincerity of their wishes. (Photos: 1] Valley towards the village; 2] My first view of Everest - Tingri Valley, Tibet)

Everest base camp was never felt to be the highlight of the journey, I don’t actually think there was one. The whole trip through Tibet was meant to be a onslaught of natural beauty, with me living rough amongst it. It has turned out to be the most touching experience, I suppose the power behind the myth of Everest was bound to make it a bit special. I was worried it would be overrun with tourists and macho mountaineers. I’m glad to say it was neither, in fact it was incredible, I had Everest to myself. Of course it wasn’t as simple as that, the drive in was a long and bumpy ride, and once you’re there how long do you just sit and stare at a huge lump of beautiful snow covered rock. Without knowing it’s special significance maybe not too long. I was happy to stay in awe for as long as I had it to myself. It seems I was truly blessed that day and wanted to make the most of it. For days before the peak had been obscured, for many of them most the mountain had been hidden form view. A spectacularly clear day dawned for me, by the time we got halfway and reached a high viewpoint it was bright sunshine and only a few wispy clouds. Before me lay the Himalayas, a line of the highest peaks in the world, crispy white with snow, every detail as clear as a bell. Forget the name or facts behind the myth, it’s a stunning view, and a rare one to see as clear. And true to form, in recent years anyway, my emotions got the better of me and the tears sprang forth. I’ve explained this before, and it doesn’t go away. Not that there was any sadness or regret in the experience, it merely made me miss Cai. I rationalise it by telling myself it’s because he never got the chance to experience it himself, but that’s just me trying to understand it. Amazing sights or experiences now have that effect on me, they always bring him to mind, and how could not feel saddened by his death? So I had my moment, cherished it for what it was, then set off again because base camp was still a long way off. (Photos: 1] The Himalayas, 2] Everest summit - Tingri Valley, Tibet)

In many ways the focus is so strongly on Everest itself people’s attention misses a whole host of natural beauty. The whole of Tingri valley is amazing, an absolutely formidable record of geological magnificence. The layers or grain within the rock swirl in exquisite style, obviously patterns formed by flowing lava. My head itself was swirling trying to decipher exactly how the phenomenal array of geological wonders came to be. My guide was a fountain of knowledge on Tibetan Buddhism and injustices, but he seemed unconvinced about the Himalayas beginning life as the ocean floor. Having been there so often he confessed to not finding it anything special any more. What a shame, even when I return to North Wales I only have to look up and see the Carneddi and feel awe at it’s beauty. No matter how many years I lived there, how often I looked up and saw the range it had the same effect. How can we allow ourselves to become numb to beauty? That it such a shame. (Photo: Mount Everest from base camp - Tingri Valley, Tibet)

So now, inserted in another hotel I feel quite taken back by the whole experience of Everest and the Tingri Valley. It’s one of the first areas of agriculture I’ve seen in Tibet, barley is grown in abundance, then ground using water mills. They also grow Rape Seed for oil, it’s a very poor area but the housing is ornate and the people happy. Despite restrictions on their political freedom, the life they lead doesn’t reflect this. It is indeed a magical place, populated by a very special group of people. It touched my heart, however exorbitant the cost of reaching the valley, you can’t equate money with such things. Like the local population display all too clearly, money is not the be all and end all. (Photo: Mountain road - Tingri Valley, Tibet)

Kailash, religious flith!

With my guide ordered off the tour I was left to travel alone with the driver, who speaks no English at all. I was happy enough with that, I preferred to spend the days in quiet contemplation of the superb scenery. After climbing out the stunning canyons we mounted the high Tibetan plateau, but not before passing yet another stupendously twisty mountain pass. For days the road had been good quality tarmac, the going was good and we made swift progress; they’d be delightful to ride on the bike. Just dropping over the edge of one, with the plateau stretched out before us, an eagle soared the heights, only just above us. In reality its view couldn’t better ours by much, but I forgot about the scenery and sat, mesmerized, by the grace with which it soared.I bet it managed to make better progress than us as it descended though. Where it flew was topping 5,000m, it felt like the whole world lay below. For once the surrounding rock stood bare, darkened crags formed by volcanic action. Surprisingly, even at those lofty heights, screed slopes reached to their very crests. More and more I try to discern the processed that shaped this landscape, without fail much has been subjected to glacial erosion; it makes the mind boggle to think of the whole landscape covered in an ocean of ice. Looking down into a valley it isn’t so hard to imagine a glacier scouring it’s way through, but the high peaks? (Photos: 1] Between sandstone canyons and plateau; 2] Soaring high - Nr Zhada, Tibet)

Once onto the plateau the land opened up drastically, but in this paradise the hills are never that far away. Humanity seems to be though, yet again there were seldom any sign of life at the very few homesteads we passed. Maybe not too much of a shock, considering the terrain. As is often the case when looking over a broad expanse of land, it looked green, but that was misleading. The sun baked earth can support little than the hardiest of grasses, it isn’t nourishing and there is actually very little of it. What did come as a shock was the fencing running alongside the road, and it went on for many miles. I was just glad it wasn’t barbed wire, though it did restrict the movements of the wild animals. A couple of wild asses, spooked at our passing, couldn’t do much but run in a blind panic, hemmed in between the road and fencing.Not having noticed this before I thought it might be specific to that particular area, unfortunately it became a regular feature. I think this is synonymous with a good quality road, with fast moving traffic. The presence of animals on the road can be very hazardous, it does make me wonder who initiated the practice; I can’t imagine the Tibetans putting in so much effort. When their animals are loose a member of the family generally oversees them, they are too precious to risk in that way. Almost without fail, a herd of animals grazing are accompanied by someone during the day, and secured in an enclosure each night. Certainly on the central plateau livestock aren’t abundant, there are very few yaks and it can be hours between seeing a flock of sheep or herd of goats anyway. (Photos: 1] All praise for the plateau; 2] Nice ass - Arid plateau region, Tibet)

Distant mounds of glacial till had been the only break in a fairly boring landscape, I actually fell asleep as there was so little to see.Hours passed like this, I hadn’t imagined such an enigma. But then, as the afternoon wore on, dark outlines of more distant mountains broke up the skyline. The plateau narrowed and the peaks became clearer, showing their snowy caps faintly against bright white clouds. To our right the sparse plain still stretched far away, but looming ever closer the thick white peak of Mount Kailash towered above all else. Between the hills in the foreground and dense white clouds it was hard to see clearly, but the view just got better with every passing mile. The peak remained obscured, it’s notorious for hiding behind a bank of dense cloud, and just when I thought we’d passed it by a side road swung towards it, it was supposed to be one of the highlights of Tibet. (Photo: My hovel, Mount Kailash in background - Kailash area, Tibet)

It was with dismay that I stared in disbelief at the forlorn village, that acted as staging point for thousands of pilgrims each year. It was shabby, dirty and not in the least inviting. For sure there were more Tibetans traipsing up and down the road than I’d seen in total so far; it still wasn’t a pretty sight. I was taken to a couple of hovels they called hotels, they were no better than cattle sheds. Not having the benefit gained from a thrilling drive my reserves plummeted. I couldn’t face other people, so I paid for all the beds in a four-bed dorm room.No running water, no toilet, absolutely no facilities at all, and I mean the whole establishment, not just my room. It was my first encounter with Tibetans en masse, and I didn’t have the energy to interact. Wandering through the village did nothing for my resolve. Litter lay in heaps everywhere, everything was covered in a layer of filth. People pissed on the roadside, male and female, only yards further off they squatted and shat. I must be honest, I was appalled! Even more so to realize that it took at least half a day’s hike to get a glimpse of the fabled mountain. Maybe I should think myself lucky, for a brief moment the clouds lifted and I actually got to see the peak itself; apparently a good luck omen. I’ll be buggered if I felt very lucky though, in all honesty it proved to be the lowest point of my excursion into Tibet. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice to see the large number of pilgrims in traditional dress, there were hoards of them. But I just wasn’t in the mood, I hid in my room and tried my damnedest to sleep through a cacophony of dogs barking throughout the night. (Photos: Wrapped up traditionally - Keilash, Tibet)

So far I’d got to camp for only one night, on a tour where it’d been agreed I would get to camp out as many nights as I wanted, in beautiful isolated places amongst the best that nature had to offer in Tibet. Little wonder I was feeling disenchanted! Without an interpreter the situation was hard to redress, but contact with the agency in Chengdu managed to alleviate the problem; my trusty friend gave implicit instructions to the driver to drop me where I wanted on the side of Manasa Sarovar Lake. That really saved the day, I felt so fed up Tibet seemed the stupidest idea I’d ever had. I know the days had been wonderful, the views stunning, but each day had been plagued by negative thoughts over what hellhole I’d end up I that night. Not so at one of the holiest of lakes in the country. Mr Joa looked dubious when we got there, he wanted to take me to the tented village close by, so I could camp in safety.That one period of 24hrs wiped away all the stress I’d inadvertently allowed to build up. Camping near the main religious structure isn’t a problem for the locals, and it was my saviour. The first thing I did after pitching my tent was to crawl in and have a couple of hours sleep. Lulled by the sound of lapping waves it was inevitable, the sound of rain on canvas kind of helped too. Somehow there is nothing quite as nice as being snug in your tent when the rain patters on the flysheet. Little disturbed me while I was there! A few people came to bathe in the holy waters, and fill containers of the elixir. I merely acknowledged them and remained in my own private reverie. For me it saved the day, it washed away the worries of my world, leaving me fresh and hopeful. Tomorrow is another day, why carry into it that which has spoilt today? (Photos: 1] One good tern deserves another; 2] Heavenly lake - Mana Sarova, Tibet)

Good grief, how true that turned out to be. Still maintaining altitudes of 4,500-5,200m a long and weary day ensued. Another night of camping didn’t turn out to be on the agenda, that is still an ongoing disappointment to be remedied, the route was fantastic though. We climbed over a pass from the quite boring plateau and were in a different world. It got greener, a darker, denser green, but that wasn’t due to the grass cover; moss became the predominant vegetation.

The landscape in general had become more broken, outcrops of rock thrust from the mossy terrain.Spiny ridges formed arcs like the backs of sleeping dragons. Crags jutted from every conceivable angle, first a lonesome protrusion breaking a soft cushioned plain, and then they fought for space. Rough walls of broken rocks with a smooth sloping back, softened by moss. At times neighboring outcrops would tilt backwards in opposing directions, or the stratified lines in one may lay horizontal, as formed eons ago on the ocean floor, while the next might be nearly vertical. Uniformity does occur, rows of crags poked through the glacial till, one after another, same morphology, same angle of tilt, facing in the same direction. Whichever way they tilted or faced, they’d still be graced with the velvet softness of dark green moss. Any dip or hollow would be lined with its softened sheen, even incredibly steep surfaces would be so coated. Until I noticed the most uniform phenomenon amongst the elements of nature; moss only grows on one side of the outcrops. It doesn’t adhere, or thrive on the side facing the prevailing weather. Actually if my memory serves me correct, you can tell north and south if in the woods by the side of trees etc that the moss grows on. If that is the case, it’s north it grows on, at least it is here. Any surface facing south is devoid of the slightest sign of the stuff. (Photos: 1] Beauty awaits in the early morn; 2] All aboard for fertility - Central plateau Tibet)

A crust of moss grew everywhere, it was patchy but widespread, over rock and shale. The top layer of substrate was peaty soil, held together by the moss itself. At points where the lower aggregate had collapsed, ragged edges of mossy crust would hang on the brink. Now it became clear why I hadn’t seem so many Yaks up to that point, I realised their preferred diet is one of moss. Once in suitable terrain their numbers grew incredibly, they weren’t the only livestock, but they became the most numerous. And of those supposed empty abodes I’d been passing for days, this was no longer the case. Smoke rose from the majority of huts, people tended to their daily chores; milking the yaks, washing clothes, caring for the very young. I can only assume once they can toddle they’re left mainly to the care of their older siblings. A number of infants were spotted wandering along the road, a couple of miles from any home, with a kid of 9 or 10 yrs old. What freedom, what a lovely life for young ones. That’s the sort of life I remember trying to lead. Turning up at relative’s houses miles from home, unannounced, unbeknownst to my family; and that was while still in primary school. (Photos: 1] Daily chores; 2] Off for a yak - Central plateau, Tibet)