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)
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