Our first night in Tibet was also the first to camp out. Douma is a pokey little cluster of mud brick, single storey houses; little more than huts really. Descending from the clouds a sunny evening awaited, but if failed to lift my spirits. Having sunk into a melancholy mood I hadn’t the energy to do more than tackle a blinding headache. Both guide and driver took this to signify that I was extremely unhappy. So rather than stay in the village, allowing the driver a much needed rest, they pressed on to a secluded lake. Thinking another night stuck in a village was depressing me, they drove to the brink of darkness. And then there was no choice, we were in the middle of nowhere and I only wanted to lay down and close my eyes. I barely even had time to vent my amazement that the guide hadn’t even put his tent up before setting off to meet me. (Photo: The barren heights - North Tibet)
Having lost its intensity by the time I woke up, my headache was merely a dull thudding pain. That was fine, I could work with that. Though the boot was now on the other foot; Shanshan, my guide, sat forlorn on a jetty feeling very sorry for himself. “It was so cold I had to put on a sweater, now I’ve caught a night cold. I couldn’t sleep at all, my mat was too narrow, I couldn’t turn around in my sleeping bag. I never want to camp again”! It turned out he’d never camped before. I was starting to have concerns as to how well my tour of Tibet was going to go. Although he professed to want nothing less than to make my tour perfect, his actions failed to back this up. No matter how many times I explained things, they were not taken on board. He had a habit of cutting in while I spoke, of refusing to consider a different opinion.
I know he means well, but I think through all the bluff and bullshit he isn’t the ideal man for the job. As I say, I know he is only trying to be helpful, but I don’t need to be told what a camel is, or a yak; not in such a boring monotone one would assume I was a simpleton. But at least that particular day he sat quietly on the back seat, at least when he wasn’t snoring or snuffling. Not wishing to diss him entirely, there is a big difference in cultures, I don't think he can even begin to understand where I'm at. I guess I'd feel somewhat better if there were signs that he was trying to overcome this barrier. I don't know how much I can take of him regurgitating facts about China and the official party line. (Photos: 1] A little bit of everything; 2] Descending into the valley - Heading for Ritu, Tibet)
As each day wore on I was quite content to sit silently and gaze out the window, from the comfort of the front seat; which I’d insisted on despite it being the guide’s privilege. Without a shadow of a doubt the scenery was superb, I was more than happy to gaze in delight at the mobile slide show. For such an immense landscape it was surprisingly empty. Of life anyway, there is no shortage of wonderful mountain vistas to beguile such a simple soul as myself. Pick a direction, any direction, and marvel at the beauty. Beneath the largest sky imaginable, there are innumerable delights to behold, which change in the blink of an eye. Wide expanses of sparse grass softly slope towards the velvet smooth mounds of glacial till. Water erosion bares rocky substrate, leaving craggy buttress’ poking through the otherwise undisturbed conglomerate.
This is supposed to be a young land in geological terms, I imagine the mixed conglomerate will weather relatively quickly, leaving more and more bare rock exposed. As water finds tiny crevices in the surface of the baked mud mounds, so it wears it away, forming rivulets that flow down slope, widening on its way. And thus forms the vein like patterning found so often in landscapes of shale, amongst areas of glacial till. Once water find its way through the hardened crust, the expansion of snow and ice rapidly increase the erosion. I’ve been amazed at the extent of shale/glacial till during my journey through Asia, I expected rough and bare rock dominating the landscape. It’s still very much a work in progress. (Photos: Amazing Sandstone monoliths- Ritu to Zhada, Tibet)
When not enclosed in snow and ice water flows freely. Large areas of wet grassland shine deep green in the sun, pools glistening in the bright light. The glare makes wearing shades imperative. Where the water doesn’t gather the sun baked earth can only support the thinnest and hardiest of grasses. None of it is exactly great for grazing, few herds of animals are to be seen. Though many dilapidated buildings can be discerned throughout the landscape few seem inhabited. Are these winter accommodations, are the people spread far and wide over the richer areas of pasture for the short summer season? When herds are seen grazing it is most often on the higher plains, tents are the only sign of human habitation. The Tibetans I see all seem to be busy working on the roadside, there isn't anything traditional about them at all. For them the tents are stood amongst piles of discarded waste, it isn't a pretty sight. (Photos: Far reaching Sandstone canyons- Around Zhada, Tibet)
There isn’t any shortage of craggy rock, it stands stark against every skyline. Rare are the moments when snowy ridges can’t be seen. Maybe best are cresting the high passes, when a never ending spectacle of stretches to infinity. The colour variation is gorgeous; velvet green mounds, russet red walls, outcrops dappled grey and black, always with a line of pure white snow crowning the furthest peaks. But biggest of all, overshadowing everything, is the immense deep azure sky, with a wealth of fluffy clouds floating effortlessly, casting their shadows willy nilly on the landscape below, adding further depth, supplying a million different hues to the already countless colours on display. How could such beautiful displays of nature not enthral me, Every day fills me with reverence for the delights at hand, it's truly a wonderful place to travel through. My only grumble is the manner I must do it in. (Photos: Even more Sandstone monoliths- Ritu to Zhada, Tibet)
And I don't mean the bode of transport, it's the lack of control I have over the decisions that need making. I don't appreciate being told when we will leave each day, where our final destination will be, and invariably where we stay. I exclude being given a choice whether to camp, as given the option of camping in a run down village or on the edge of a busy town my answer will always be a resounding NO. But there's been a slight hiccup in the proceeds. The guide got worse and worse over a 24 hour period, he ended up having a transfusion (I'm not sure if that is entirely correct, I think he means an injection) and oxygen. He continued to deteriorate, getting delirious and incapable of even standing steadily. He's been taken off the tour, finally at my insistence, due to his severe symptoms. He was still claiming to be fine, though instructed to stay put he still continued. Last I heard He'd reached Lhasa safe and was much better, he's in real shit with his boss though. (Photos: Hanging around Yakking- Nr Ritu, Tibet)
Our first night in Tibet was also the first to camp out. Douma is a pokey little cluster of mud brick, single storey houses; little more than huts really. Descending from the clouds a sunny evening awaited, but if failed to lift my spirits. Having sunk into a melancholy mood I hadn’t the energy to do more than tackle a blinding headache. Both guide and driver took this to signify that I was extremely unhappy. So rather than stay in the village, allowing the driver a much needed rest, they pressed on to a secluded lake. Thinking another night stuck in a village was depressing me, they drove to the brink of darkness. And then there was no choice, we were in the middle of nowhere and I only wanted to lay down and close my eyes. I barely even had time to vent my amazement that the guide hadn’t even put his tent up before setting off to meet me. (Photo: The barren heights - North Tibet)
Having lost its intensity by the time I woke up, my headache was merely a dull thudding pain. That was fine, I could work with that. Though the boot was now on the other foot; Shanshan, my guide, sat forlorn on a jetty feeling very sorry for himself. “It was so cold I had to put on a sweater, now I’ve caught a night cold. I couldn’t sleep at all, my mat was too narrow, I couldn’t turn around in my sleeping bag. I never want to camp again”! It turned out he’d never camped before. I was starting to have concerns as to how well my tour of Tibet was going to go. Although he professed to want nothing less than to make my tour perfect, his actions failed to back this up. No matter how many times I explained things, they were not taken on board. He had a habit of cutting in while I spoke, of refusing to consider a different opinion. 
I know he means well, but I think through all the bluff and bullshit he isn’t the ideal man for the job. As I say, I know he is only trying to be helpful, but I don’t need to be told what a camel is, or a yak; not in such a boring monotone one would assume I was a simpleton. But at least that particular day he sat quietly on the back seat, at least when he wasn’t snoring or snuffling. Not wishing to diss him entirely, there is a big difference in cultures, I don't think he can even begin to understand where I'm at. I guess I'd feel somewhat better if there were signs that he was trying to overcome this barrier. I don't know how much I can take of him regurgitating facts about China and the official party line. (Photos: 1] A little bit of everything; 2] Descending into the valley - Heading for Ritu, Tibet)
As each day wore on I was quite content to sit silently and gaze out the window, from the comfort of the front seat; which I’d insisted on despite it being the guide’s privilege. Without a shadow of a doubt the scenery was superb, I was more than happy to gaze in delight at the mobile slide show. For such an immense landscape it was surprisingly empty. Of life anyway, there is no shortage of wonderful mountain vistas to beguile such a simple soul as myself. Pick a direction, any direction, and marvel at the beauty. Beneath the largest sky imaginable, there are innumerable delights to behold, which change in the blink of an eye. Wide expanses of sparse grass softly slope towards the velvet smooth mounds of glacial till. Water erosion bares rocky substrate, leaving craggy buttress’ poking through the otherwise undisturbed conglomerate. 
This is supposed to be a young land in geological terms, I imagine the mixed conglomerate will weather relatively quickly, leaving more and more bare rock exposed. As water finds tiny crevices in the surface of the baked mud mounds, so it wears it away, forming rivulets that flow down slope, widening on its way. And thus forms the vein like patterning found so often in landscapes of shale, amongst areas of glacial till. Once water find its way through the hardened crust, the expansion of snow and ice rapidly increase the erosion. I’ve been amazed at the extent of shale/glacial till during my journey through Asia, I expected rough and bare rock dominating the landscape. It’s still very much a work in progress. (Photos: Amazing Sandstone monoliths- Ritu to Zhada, Tibet)
When not enclosed in snow and ice water flows freely. Large areas of wet grassland shine deep green in the sun, pools glistening in the bright light. The glare makes wearing shades imperative. Where the water doesn’t gather the sun baked earth can only support the thinnest and hardiest of grasses. None of it is exactly great for grazing, few herds of animals are to be seen. Though many dilapidated buildings can be discerned throughout the landscape few seem inhabited. Are these winter accommodations, are the people spread far and wide over the richer areas of pasture for the short summer season? When herds are seen grazing it is most often on the higher plains, tents are the only sign of human habitation. The Tibetans I see all seem to be busy working on the roadside, there isn't anything traditional about them at all. For them the tents are stood amongst piles of discarded waste, it isn't a pretty sight. (Photos: Far reaching Sandstone canyons- Around Zhada, Tibet)
There isn’t any shortage of craggy rock, it stands stark against every skyline. Rare are the moments when snowy ridges can’t be seen. Maybe best are cresting the high passes, when a never ending spectacle of stretches to infinity. The colour variation is gorgeous; velvet green mounds, russet red walls, outcrops dappled grey and black, always with a line of pure white snow crowning the furthest peaks. But biggest of all, overshadowing everything, is the immense deep azure sky, with a wealth of fluffy clouds floating effortlessly, casting their shadows willy nilly on the landscape below, adding further depth, supplying a million different hues to the already countless colours on display. How could such beautiful displays of nature not enthral me, Every day fills me with reverence for the delights at hand, it's truly a wonderful place to travel through. My only grumble is the manner I must do it in. (Photos: Even more Sandstone monoliths- Ritu to Zhada, Tibet)
And I don't mean the bode of transport, it's the lack of control I have over the decisions that need making. I don't appreciate being told when we will leave each day, where our final destination will be, and invariably where we stay. I exclude being given a choice whether to camp, as given the option of camping in a run down village or on the edge of a busy town my answer will always be a resounding NO. But there's been a slight hiccup in the proceeds. The guide got worse and worse over a 24 hour period, he ended up having a transfusion (I'm not sure if that is entirely correct, I think he means an injection) and oxygen. He continued to deteriorate, getting delirious and incapable of even standing steadily. He's been taken off the tour, finally at my insistence, due to his severe symptoms. He was still claiming to be fine, though instructed to stay put he still continued. Last I heard He'd reached Lhasa safe and was much better, he's in real shit with his boss though. (Photos: Hanging around Yakking- Nr Ritu, Tibet)
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