Hanging around for a few days in a hotel isn’t my idea of fun, I’m too restless. Being so impatient is hardly surprising; this is the meant to be the highlight of my trip. I’m gagging at the bit to reach Tibet, to wallow in the natural splendour the country has to offer. I don’t have many lifetime dreams, having spent too many years realising the ones foremost in my mind. I can’t claim visiting Tibet to be one, but neither can I claim to remember a time when Tibet hasn’t enthralled me. Of course for years it’s been totally out of bounds for foreign scum like me. Of the few I’ve personally met, who have actually managed to visit, it’s been as part of an organized tour group. To have coughed up a ridiculous amount of money to travel through alone, my patience was running thin. (Photo: Desert and snow - Southern Xinjiang, China)
But of course I’m not alone, I have to be accompanied by a Chinese guide, driven by a Chinese driver. The deal is that this is a tour like no other. Despite having an itinerary, it’s meant to be flexible. Neither of my guardians seem to grasp the basic principles of camping, they just can’t get their heads round it. Why should someone be so determined to camp out in the first place? Secondly, however many times I’ve explained, my guide can’t appreciate that camping in places of natural beauty is the main reason I’ve lugged my tent all the way from Wales. My driver lost his rag in an effort to find a campsite, he couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to pitch my tent in a thin line of trees next to a busy road. I thought I explained quite well, but it obviously didn’t hit the mark. So instead of finding a quiet spot by the river, to placate an irritable driver, we stayed at a hotel in town. They weren’t even going to camp, merely drop me off and pick me up the following morning. (Photo: Weird combination of sand and snow - Southern Xinjiang, China)
So we had a pep talk, emphasising the need to work as a team. It was made clear that tantrums weren’t acceptable, I even pointed out that if anyone, it should be me who felt upset, being as I’m the one financing the trip. But if I thought my entourage was proving difficult I’d yet to meet the local party leader we met on the first section of the road to Tibet. I’d had to wait for five days before this particular road was open; due to construction works they’ll only let traffic through for three days out of every ten. Our time slot was 1st-3rd September, so we got there early on the 1st, and waited for over an hour arguing with the petit party leader. We had all the relevant permits and permissions, but he was having none of it. Claiming my passport to possibly be a fake, fretting over me being a spy, he used every excuse possible to hinder our progress. But we managed, in the end, after numerous cigarettes and posing questions he couldn’t answer. (Photo: Camels and snow don't go- Southern Xinjiang, China)
Yet again my thoughts have centred on the negative aspects of the journey, I’ve not found it hard to appreciate the stunning scenery, but it’s been severely tainted by my own dissatisfaction with the organization. However many hours are spent driving I gaze in wonder at an awesome, ever changing environment. Xinjiang may well be a huge desert, surrounded by arid, inhospitable mountain ranges, but boy isn’t it beautiful. The views from up high are awe inspiring, the drops into the valleys breath-taking. Zigzagging up and down is arduous, the terrain horrendous. However bad the route is proving my driver handles it with confidence. He may not understand the western psyche, but he does his job extremely well. Again my biggest regret is my inability to communicate effectively, how I wish there were such a simple universal translator as a Babel Fish. (Photo: Climbing the heights to Tibet - Southern Xinjiang, China)
My geography was way out, I thought we’d be in Tibetan territory almost immediately, but it took the best part of two days before we crossed into Tibet itself. Each day we drove for about ten hours, in blistering heat, through the southern reaches of Xinjiang province. Most of the province is desert, much is barren and flat wilderness. We had the joy of travelling through one of the more scenic routes, but it was not easy going in the slightest. For over 700 km we picked our way through horrendous road works, never was there any hint of tarmac, rarely was it even a clear track. They weren’t going about it systematically, the entire length was ripped out and being rebuilt. In typical Chinese style there was no consideration for anyone or anything, least of all the natural environment. (Photo: Desert, snowy peaks and biiig sky - Southern Xinjiang, China)
Xinjiang may well be beautiful, it’s far from hospitable though. Whole mountainsides were waste slides; rubble, dust, sacking and human excrement combined to foul our way. Valley floors were bulldozed out, the gravel and sand used in the construction, cobbles and boulders were piled high alongside the road. It was hard but keeping my eyes above the devastation the area was actually amazing. The peaks soared high, snow glistened peaks lined our route, and wide rivers beds followed our course. An army of tents dotted the roadside, to house the thousands of workers drafted in; they were the only sign of habitation for almost the whole two days to the Tibetan border. (Photo: High altitude lake - Southern Xinjiang, China)
My last full day in Xinjiang ended with a pounding headache, at first I thought it was simply due to staring out at an intensely bright landscape. Popping a few painkillers and getting a good night sleep should have sorted it, but it didn’t. It hampered me the following day too, as we wound our way into higher and higher altitudes the inevitable thoughts lead to it being altitude sickness. As we were due to reach our highest elevation of the trip to reach Tibet, I hung on in there, relying on codeine and paracetemol to provide sufficient relief until I acclimatized. Entering Tibet itself staved off the worst temporarily, I still reached for more medication before casting my eyes over the cold and gloomy environment. Not that I could see far, we stood amongst the cloud bank, snow lay around us, and as we climbed back into the Landcruiser more snow descended. (Photo: Tibet and snow, only what's expected - Northern border with China)
Though the apparent nature of the land changed immediately we crossed the Tibetan border, no sign of human habitation miraculously sprouted up, not for another few hours. By the time we’d reached Douma, the first Tibetan village I could hardly think straight. So I double dropped and tried desperately to block out the pain. Having dropped from over 5,500m to a mere 5,000 there was no discernable relief from my headache. I began to realize that it was indeed a problem due to the altitude, but as that was the only symptom I put up with it. I was sure it would ease off, I certainly wasn’t going to make an issue of it without giving myself a chance to adapt. Maybe this was a bit foolhardy, it could get worse very quickly; there again I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. (Photo: Tibetan lunar landscape - Northern Tibet)
Hanging around for a few days in a hotel isn’t my idea of fun, I’m too restless. Being so impatient is hardly surprising; this is the meant to be the highlight of my trip. I’m gagging at the bit to reach Tibet, to wallow in the natural splendour the country has to offer. I don’t have many lifetime dreams, having spent too many years realising the ones foremost in my mind. I can’t claim visiting Tibet to be one, but neither can I claim to remember a time when Tibet hasn’t enthralled me. Of course for years it’s been totally out of bounds for foreign scum like me. Of the few I’ve personally met, who have actually managed to visit, it’s been as part of an organized tour group. To have coughed up a ridiculous amount of money to travel through alone, my patience was running thin. (Photo: Desert and snow - Southern Xinjiang, China)
But of course I’m not alone, I have to be accompanied by a Chinese guide, driven by a Chinese driver. The deal is that this is a tour like no other. Despite having an itinerary, it’s meant to be flexible. Neither of my guardians seem to grasp the basic principles of camping, they just can’t get their heads round it. Why should someone be so determined to camp out in the first place? Secondly, however many times I’ve explained, my guide can’t appreciate that camping in places of natural beauty is the main reason I’ve lugged my tent all the way from Wales. My driver lost his rag in an effort to find a campsite, he couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to pitch my tent in a thin line of trees next to a busy road. I thought I explained quite well, but it obviously didn’t hit the mark. So instead of finding a quiet spot by the river, to placate an irritable driver, we stayed at a hotel in town. They weren’t even going to camp, merely drop me off and pick me up the following morning. (Photo: Weird combination of sand and snow - Southern Xinjiang, China)
So we had a pep talk, emphasising the need to work as a team. It was made clear that tantrums weren’t acceptable, I even pointed out that if anyone, it should be me who felt upset, being as I’m the one financing the trip. But if I thought my entourage was proving difficult I’d yet to meet the local party leader we met on the first section of the road to Tibet. I’d had to wait for five days before this particular road was open; due to construction works they’ll only let traffic through for three days out of every ten. Our time slot was 1st-3rd September, so we got there early on the 1st, and waited for over an hour arguing with the petit party leader. We had all the relevant permits and permissions, but he was having none of it. Claiming my passport to possibly be a fake, fretting over me being a spy, he used every excuse possible to hinder our progress. But we managed, in the end, after numerous cigarettes and posing questions he couldn’t answer. (Photo: Camels and snow don't go- Southern Xinjiang, China)
Yet again my thoughts have centred on the negative aspects of the journey, I’ve not found it hard to appreciate the stunning scenery, but it’s been severely tainted by my own dissatisfaction with the organization. However many hours are spent driving I gaze in wonder at an awesome, ever changing environment. Xinjiang may well be a huge desert, surrounded by arid, inhospitable mountain ranges, but boy isn’t it beautiful. The views from up high are awe inspiring, the drops into the valleys breath-taking. Zigzagging up and down is arduous, the terrain horrendous. However bad the route is proving my driver handles it with confidence. He may not understand the western psyche, but he does his job extremely well. Again my biggest regret is my inability to communicate effectively, how I wish there were such a simple universal translator as a Babel Fish. (Photo: Climbing the heights to Tibet - Southern Xinjiang, China)
My geography was way out, I thought we’d be in Tibetan territory almost immediately, but it took the best part of two days before we crossed into Tibet itself. Each day we drove for about ten hours, in blistering heat, through the southern reaches of Xinjiang province. Most of the province is desert, much is barren and flat wilderness. We had the joy of travelling through one of the more scenic routes, but it was not easy going in the slightest. For over 700 km we picked our way through horrendous road works, never was there any hint of tarmac, rarely was it even a clear track. They weren’t going about it systematically, the entire length was ripped out and being rebuilt. In typical Chinese style there was no consideration for anyone or anything, least of all the natural environment. (Photo: Desert, snowy peaks and biiig sky - Southern Xinjiang, China)
Xinjiang may well be beautiful, it’s far from hospitable though. Whole mountainsides were waste slides; rubble, dust, sacking and human excrement combined to foul our way. Valley floors were bulldozed out, the gravel and sand used in the construction, cobbles and boulders were piled high alongside the road. It was hard but keeping my eyes above the devastation the area was actually amazing. The peaks soared high, snow glistened peaks lined our route, and wide rivers beds followed our course. An army of tents dotted the roadside, to house the thousands of workers drafted in; they were the only sign of habitation for almost the whole two days to the Tibetan border. (Photo: High altitude lake - Southern Xinjiang, China)
My last full day in Xinjiang ended with a pounding headache, at first I thought it was simply due to staring out at an intensely bright landscape. Popping a few painkillers and getting a good night sleep should have sorted it, but it didn’t. It hampered me the following day too, as we wound our way into higher and higher altitudes the inevitable thoughts lead to it being altitude sickness. As we were due to reach our highest elevation of the trip to reach Tibet, I hung on in there, relying on codeine and paracetemol to provide sufficient relief until I acclimatized. Entering Tibet itself staved off the worst temporarily, I still reached for more medication before casting my eyes over the cold and gloomy environment. Not that I could see far, we stood amongst the cloud bank, snow lay around us, and as we climbed back into the Landcruiser more snow descended. (Photo: Tibet and snow, only what's expected - Northern border with China)
Though the apparent nature of the land changed immediately we crossed the Tibetan border, no sign of human habitation miraculously sprouted up, not for another few hours. By the time we’d reached Douma, the first Tibetan village I could hardly think straight. So I double dropped and tried desperately to block out the pain. Having dropped from over 5,500m to a mere 5,000 there was no discernable relief from my headache. I began to realize that it was indeed a problem due to the altitude, but as that was the only symptom I put up with it. I was sure it would ease off, I certainly wasn’t going to make an issue of it without giving myself a chance to adapt. Maybe this was a bit foolhardy, it could get worse very quickly; there again I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. (Photo: Tibetan lunar landscape - Northern Tibet)
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