China – Matthew Woodward

“In Trouble Again”

Matthew Woodward — Sun, 21 May 2017 11:46:00 +0000

I was talking with an old colleague last week. Colin is the creative director at an agency that I used to do some work for. He was helping me sort out a proof copy of my latest book, and confessed to having had a quick read as he was converting the file. He told me that the first chapter, In Trouble Again, was so funny that he nearly soiled himself when he read it. I had to point out that I nearly soiled myself too, out of fear during the experience I was describing rather than amusement. Here is a short extract –

“Although the temperature outside is now well below zero, I am lying in the snug and sweaty darkness of a seriously overheated Chinese train compartment. After about half an hour tossing and turning I have a bit of a moment and finally lose my self-control in a high-temperature-induced panic. I feel an urgent and desperate need for fresh air. I need to do something, anything, so I grab my tool kit, get out some pliers and begin to remove the bolts around the frame that obviously keeps the window closed. There are eight bolts, and I remove them one by one and put them each carefully on my table like I’m working on an unexploded bomb. My compartment door is locked, so as long as we don’t stop at a station I can continue my work unobserved by Li and Chen, my minders. The bolts are now all out, but the window still won’t open. I push, shove and try and slide it in all directions. Nothing happens. Taking a break, and sitting on my berth I scratch my head and wish that I were a qualified engineer. Why won’t the window open? I realise that I’m going to have to admit defeat to living in a sauna. But then in a horrible single moment of mechanical deduction, the reason it’s not opening finally dawns on me. This window is fixed shut and, unlike the windows in the corridor, has no opening part. What I have actually done is to unbolt the entire window and its frame from the carriage. At this moment there is nothing other than ice and grime holding the window onto the rattling and bumping carriage as we sway down the line towards Irkutsk.”

It would of course have been highly amusing to imagine me trying to explain to the Chinese officials why the window in my compartment was absent from the train in the heart of the Siberian winter. But the two viewpoints of fear and hilarity also made me think about the richness of adventure. When I first started out as a long range rail traveller I tried to plan everything so carefully. The smallest problem stood out as a personal crisis, and I was always worrying about something trivial. It is only over time and with some miles under my belt that I now see most problems as actually generally good things. Not only do they give me something interesting to write about, but they seem to make me a better traveller. So as I have raised my game as a rail adventurer, and now an author, I have actually learned to embrace the odd crisis. I’m also a bit more chilled out now too. By accepting that these things will happen and I will overcome them, I seem to become a more open minded, confident, and a more flexible person.

My first book is about my rediscovery of the joy of long distance train travel. After a longer gestation period than I had planned, it was finally published this week. Trans-Siberian Adventures is based on my first ever journey across Siberia – from Edinburgh to Shanghai.

My original blog has proved to be a useful journal, but the book has allowed me to take my writing to a new place – one that perhaps only two years ago I would not have imagined. I have been able to write about my experiences in much more detail and to provide what I feel is a more real insight into life on the rails. Blogging on the move has become a daily ritual of my travel, but like an artist, this is really just an initial sketch, rather than the full painting.

I had originally planned to include all my Siberian escapades in just one book, but after I started writing I realised that there was so much material that I should try and put each journey into its own book. I’m now writing the second adventure, and hoping that it will take less time to complete than the first one did. The story is actually longer, but I have learned so much about publishing that things should be simpler now – as long as I don’t get too distracted in planning my next adventure!

I feel I should point out that the photo at the top of this post might imply my impending custody in a Korean jail. I have to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. I found Korean policemen to be the nicest law enforcement agency that I have ever encountered. This gives me a closing thought, one that I also mention in the book. It doesn’t matter if you don’t speak a word of the same
language; nearly all people in this world are innately kind and generous to
strangers. Don’t be put off travel by what you read in the newspapers.

I really hope you enjoy my book and that it might inspire you to give long range rail adventure a try. You can read more about Trans-Siberian Adventures on my book page. Please let me know what you think.

The Snake House

Matthew Woodward — Sun, 10 Jan 2016 11:54:00 +0000

My arrival in Hong Kong has feels like a bit of an anticlimax at first. It’s not like anyone was there to greet me or say “well done, old chap” or “are you the only person to have ever completed both the Trans-Manchurian and the Qinghai-Tibet railways in one journey?”. I walked the streets of Kowloon amongst throngs of tourists who had no idea that I had just joined them by taking the train from Edinburgh Waverley to Hung Hom, not to mention a side journey to Lhasa. I was very careful at first not to tell everyone what I had done, but did occasionally drop it into polite conversation after the odd beer. As if I hadn’t had enough of the rails, on my single free day I hopped on a local train from Hung Hom to a place called Taipo Market. It’s close to Shenzen, and about five minutes from the place that I crossed the Chinese border the other day.

The plan was to sample some edgy food in some local restaurants – the sort of places that don’t have menus. The expansion and growth of Hong Kong is such that you have to travel this far out to find such places. Even the New Territories are today full of branded chains that you could find in any big city. But in Taipo the brands have yet to arrive, and the family run places are still there. All you need is someone who knows where to find them. Cue Silvana, my “Cantonese Girl” and foodie guide for the trip.

My afternoon was busy sampling all sorts of things, but towards the top of the list was the crispy goose (I acquired a new and unexpected skill – I can now sex a goose by looking at its head), and the snake.

My snake experience wasn’t quite the one that I was expecting to be telling you about. The place we visited was run by a well known purveyor of snake in the Hong Kong restaurant industry. I was told he was in fact the “go to guy” when the police had any major reptile problems. But sadly he wasn’t there when I visited. I like to think maybe he was on an emergency call out to capture a vicious Python from someone’s apartment in Causeway Bay. Anyway, back at the Snake House I tried the snake soup, served with snake broth and dried shredded lemon leaves. Snake wine was optional, unless you needed a boost of virility, in which case it was essential.

I was both surprised and a little disappointed to discover that my snake wasn’t actually from Hong Kong. It wasn’t even from mainland China. Apparently there are now laws that prevent the export of mainland Chinese snake, even to Hong Kong. My snake today was in fact from Indonesia, which seemed a little unnecessary. Having read the fantastic book “Big Snake”, by Robert Twigger, I happen to know that Indonesia has some of the biggest snakes in the world. But in the same way as getting your asparagus from Peru or your tomatoes from Tenerife back home, it felt slightly wrong.

I returned to Kowloon in time for a few cold beers and an early night. I needed to prepare for an unfamiliar experience the next day – that of taking an aeroplane. The beers were German and remarkable for both their cost as well as their refreshment quality. I allowed myself a little smug reflection on another mission accomplished, this one definitely being the longest and most physically demanding that I have completed so far.

Although (perhaps understandably) I feel a little ambivalent towards travel by train right at this moment, I suspect in just a few months I will be sat back in expedition HQ looking at large maps and thick timetables once again. I hope you have enjoyed reading about this journey. Do let me know what you think.

Enter the Dragon – the Z823 to Hong Kong

Matthew Woodward — Fri, 08 Jan 2016 04:29:00 +0000

After the experience on the train from Lhasa, I gave myself 48 hours in a reasonably plush hotel to decompress. I must have had some train related PTSD, as I found myself on sentry duty during the night, guarding my bathroom from non existent smoking Chinese passengers. Also without really thinking about it, I worked out that the square footage of my bedroom would accommodate 32 people in the density of soft class. My time in Guangzhou was short, but I felt very relaxed here. I last visited in 1990, and of course hardly recognise the place now.

I took the concierge at his word and hopped into the hotel courtesy bus just 37 minutes before my train was due to leave. I didn’t spot that my ticket says to arrive at the station 45 minutes prior to departure, but fortunately I had no problems on this occasion. Departing from Guangzhou East railway station you ascend some huge escalators to get to the long distance and “international” waiting rooms. Chinese exit formalities and customs are completed here before boarding the train. If I had known this I would have given myself some contingency time to be safe (my rail travel rule number 5).

The Z823 is one of two different direct high speed train types that travel between Guangzhou and Hong Kong. This one is run by KTT. It’s not quite as swish as the other type, but the timings of this one made more sense, as I had to go and see a man about a snake in the afternoon. More on this in a later post.

The train is a double decker. Today there are only a few people on the top deck so I can spread out and relax for a couple of hours. I haven’t been on a day train (one without beds) since I left Berlin more than a month ago.
I decide to confront my inner demons and visit the toilet. It’s very shiny inside and there are some great notices on the wall. One says there is a 5000 RMB fine for smoking, and the other is a cleaning inspection rota with a telephone number to call in the event of any dissatisfaction. I have written it down just in case I need it. You might wish to make a note of it too – (852) 2947 7888. Happy days. I’m now very much in “new” China rather than “old” China – but confusingly I suspect to many, both are called “Z” class trains..

Immigration and customs at Hung Hom (Hong Kong’s station) take 10 minutes, and I’m in a taxi to downtown Kowloon in no time. My driver looks like he might have other things on his mind. He is clearly good at multi-tasking. A bet on the horses at Happy Valley, a debt for equity swap deal, and maybe what’s on TV tonight are all coming through thick and fast in Cantonese on his custom built head-up display.

My immediate priority is to resolve some kit issues. Owing to the dryness of the atmosphere in Tibet there was a lot of static electricity flying about, and I received some big visible blue shocks when touching my iPad whilst it was charging. Since this happened I can no longer connect my camera SD card. As my blogging is dependent on being able to do this, I head straight to the Apple Store in Canton Road. Unlike in mainland China, it is a real one, and the support is reassuringly brilliant. The diagnosis isn’t good though – I need a new iPad, as the Lightning connector has apparently been fried. They offer to give me a replacement on the spot, but that’s no good to me as I have no back up of my work. But I have a cunning solution, and it takes me less than an hour to get hold of a wireless SD card reader (from Sony) that does this job perfectly. I’m back in the blogging game.

Reasons Not to Be So Cheerful (Part 2)

Matthew Woodward — Thu, 07 Jan 2016 23:00:00 +0000

My second day on the Z266 train from Lhasa to Guangzhou begins with a gentle but firm tug on my ankle. It is the guard. We go through the Chinese train ritual of me returning my train plastic gold card in exchange for my original ticket (I think they do this so they can remind passengers when they will be getting off at the next stop). Then she surprises me by getting out her smartphone and pointing to the words “change train”. This wasn’t in the script, as my train was already going to Guangzhou. Anyway, I shall go with the flow – at least she has given me an hour to prepare. I checked my diary for the day, and it was blank, so I added “Z266 – change trains at West Xining”.

I have to report that physically I’m in bits this morning. It’s basically “man flu”, but with complications. The complications are that I have earache from a pressure squeeze of descending with a cold, and I can’t clear it, as I’m totally bunged up. I have cracked lips and a split tongue owing to the dry air and a desperation to get enough air in my lungs. I have a headache, as my body reacclimatises to the normal human range of air pressure, and I have a mild dose of Khumbu cough. I have a stomach ache and I haven’t eaten in over two days. But perhaps worst of all I feel sick and wretched as the locals are openly smoking all over the train and I must have passively smoked a packet of cigarettes already today. I think my lungs are working flat out to get enough oxygen into my system and smoke prevents this. I’m just keeping positive about all this, but secretly I really hope things get better soon.

Why are we changing trains? I can only assume it is so they can keep these special high altitude carriages for this upper stretch of the line. We didn’t have to change on the Beijing train, but I am guessing that this is perhaps a less prestigious service and it is a practical use of limited resources. As we slid in to Xining it was clear they had done this before though. They actually managed to match the carriage positioning so the journey to the “new” train was about 10 meters away on the same platform – just a quick game of musical berths really. You have to be a bit of a train anorak to spot the differences between the trains. My view is that in the new carriage the fake flowers are less sophisticated, and there is about six inches less width to the compartment, possibly because the berths are wider. I didn’t mention it to you before, but the single squat toilet on the last train was very, very grim, so I’m hoping that there might be a western type WC on this one.

I’m not going to pretend that I have got too much done today, other than regular consultations with my well equipped expedition medical kit. Eventually I have managed to clear my ears using an old diving technique of blowing my nose whilst squeezing it, yawning and moving my jaw about in a funny way – all at the same time. Thank you PADI. I have now had at least 3 hours sleep in the last 24 hours.

The smoking in this carriage is sending me to the brink of despair. It is by far the worst aspect of Chinese train travel. I actually don’t mind people smoking at the end of the carriages, but they smoke everywhere and ignore the signs. The guards don’t seem to care. I’m also surprised we have not had a fire. The smokers just chuck their butts in the bin to retrospectively hide their openly illegal activities. The bin is full of garbage, but mainly paper towels. Given the atmosphere is enriched air, to me this has the makings of an Apollo 1 disaster.

I hestitate to tell you of my evening experience visiting the WC, but on balance think you should know how things are here. Half of the toilets are locked for some inexplicable reason (working theory – for the staff to use only) so it’s 32 people per WC in soft class. The toilet that is locked is the western style one, leaving just the squat type one open. The first one I went for nearly killed me when I got in. It was a gas chamber, but not of the type that you might imagine. I could handle the faeces and detritus all over the place, but the concentrated smoke from someone’s (unnecessarily) crafty smoking nearly made me vomit and collapse in a coughing fit on the spot. I had to perform an immediate retreat whilst doubled up. The old man outside in a leather coat and matching hat just stared at me and then spat on the floor with a gap toothed grin. He looks guilty of serious cigarette crimes to me. On to the next coach.

The real risk is that get it wrong and you would need some proper decontamination – but yet I’m 30 hours away from a shower. My Crocs are going in the bin at the end of this leg. If you are reading this and this puts you off train travel, please don’t panic. This is an “old school” train – the modern G trains are far cleaner and more comfortable. I also think my train is occupied mainly by pilgrims and farming families from remote provinces. I am not being judgemental, but their outlook on things is very different to my own, and possibly yours as well.

Making an early start on my third and final day, I pass a man sleeping in the corridor on the way to the toilet. I don’t recognise him at first as he is wearing a puffer jacket with an enormous “snorkel” hood. It turns out to be a friendly student I met in the wash area last night. He was busy charging his hugely oversized laptop amidst all the muck and water. He speaks English reasonably well and it’s nice to have a brief conversation. He has that geeky but commercially hungry look about him that tells me one day he will be a billionaire, and probably quite soon.

The only other remaining passenger in my compartment gets off at a city called Wuchang at around 10am. Sounds like an 80’s new wave pop group doesn’t it? I now have the compartment to myself, so I reorganise, clear up a bit and then settle down to rest, as I hope to be getting to my destination later today. Outside it is wet and misty, and I have no clue where we are, as I have forgotten to pack the right map (again). Please don’t tell the RGS. The blocks of flats are bigger than any I have seen so far, and they also have individual air conditioning units, so I sense we are on the edge of domestic Chinese prosperity. It’s also a signal that we must be heading south, where the climate would justify such a device, assuming you could afford one.

At this stage in the journey some home creature comforts are getting overwhelmingly big in my mind. I go to sleep dreaming of a home cooked roast dinner (I can’t decide if it’s beef or chicken – I fantasise about both Yorkshire pudding and bread sauce..) and wake dreaming of a perfectly cooked seafood paella. In between these dishes, I also think about steak pie quite a lot. This is odd, as I have absolutely no physical appetite and have been on liquids only for several days now.

To keep me entertained today I have been watching some classic television episodes on my iPad. My favourites have been “Lovejoy” and “Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons”. As an aside, I had forgotten that Spectrum attacked the peace loving Martians in the very first episode, so I think the Mysterons and Captain Black have been given an unfair reputation.

The train is much quieter now as we speed south. I think I am the only person left in the carriage. The guards do what they do best, which is to slope off to the restaurant carriage and drink tea. To be fair though I did spot one of them with a mop this morning – it was a bit of a surprise to both of us I think.

Our altitude is now 28m according to my stop schedule (which has an altitude profile) and I’m enjoying the rich sea level air. Time passes quickly and without the smoke, the shouting and the spitting. I’m beginning to feel quite settled. If only the whole journey could have been like this.

This train has certainly been one of the most challenging ones of this trip, and I will be pleased to arrive in Canton tonight. I considered re-editing this post, but have left it untouched. After all, every adventure has both good bits and not so good bits.

Z266 – The Slow Train to Canton – Part One

Matthew Woodward — Thu, 07 Jan 2016 04:12:00 +0000

I’m back on the train. My plan is a bit mad, and even I can’t remember why I decided to do this. I’m on the Z266, which runs daily from Lhasa to Guangzhou. It takes three days. This is a big trip, but yet in my mind I’m treating it like a short journey for some reason. I bet I am actually the only person travelling the full 4390 km to Canton. How many Chinese people would want to do this? Perhaps like wanting to take a single train journey from Edinburgh to Istanbul.

I’m on a Z train again, and to prove that “Z” trains are really not actually that slow, this train only makes 11 stops in total. Tomorrow it will stop at Lanzhou at lunchtime (12.49), then not again until it gets into Zhengzhou later the next morning at 03.13 – a journey of over 14 hours and 1200 km between stops. I should not underestimate the distance and good speed that we are covering – it is nearly 20% of my total trip mileage owing to the good average speed.

Lhasa station is pretty new, and once you are inside it is a fairly easy place to navigate. I’m sad to report that my lucky black handled Swiss Army knife has been seized by the police here. This is a shame as it has covered the last few years of travel with me and has opened some quite interesting bottles of wine. After surrendering it I realise that I could probably have just offered up my cheap KFS set that I keep in the same part of my bag – I don’t think their x-ray machine actually revealed my scary Swiss Army knife, it was just a random question as foreigners tend to have such things. Nothing I can do about it now, so no point in getting fraustrated..

Once on board the carriage seems a bit different to the Z21 service that I used to get up here. My first reaction is that it is slightly more civilised. So far I am sharing with a couple of Chinese chaps going to Xian. They have been super helpful rearranging the place and making space for my luggage – the spaces in this carriage type seem quite small.

I’m in carriage No 6, berth 25. The good news is that it’s a lower bunk this time. The mountaineering up to the top bunk on the last train was hard work at night, and I’m glad not to have to repeat this (although my technique was improving). There appears to be no extra oxygen being pumped in at the moment. In just a couple of hours we will be back up at the Tangulla Pass at over 5000m, so I would happily have some were it on offer. On the plus side, altitude will cease to be a problem later on tonight when we get back to Golmud, so all things being equal, some sleep might be on the cards.

Chinese rolling stock is more modern than you might think it to be. I think the carriages often look older than they actually are because of the way that they are painted in a dull green colour (If I were the Marketing Manager for Chinese railways I would immediately rebrand and paint them all in some sort of more modern and appealing “airline” style). At one end of our carriage there are some pretty sophisticated climate control systems – I can read the exact altitude, and even the pressure inside the carriage.

Rather bizarrely I have just been made to complete a “health declaration”. No form was required on the more challenging route up to Lhasa, and we have set off today from over 3500m. Anyway, it’s no problem once you have an English version of the form. I had a Chinese one at first, and thought it might actually be a tax return.

The drill here is to doze and sleep whenever you think you can, because when you normally would be trying to sleep it might not be possible. The door has been open to our compartment and whenever I look up there are a couple of Tibetans or ethnic Chinese standing there staring at me like I am an alien from another world. This gets quite tiresome, but I’m not closing the door, as I like the open “drop in” feel of the carriage. The kids also like to shout “hello” at me and then disappear before I can further test their English.

Later on in the day we leave the specially constructed permafrost part of the line, and the train immediately speeds up to express speed. I decide to switch from speaking Tibetan back to Chinese at this point. It’s not a big deal though, as I speak perhaps a dozen words of Chinese and only four of Tibetan (“Tashi Delek” and “Tujay-chay”).

I have noticed the marked effect that altitude has on my appetite. I really haven’t been interested in food for a few days. I have eaten nothing again today. I am going to force myself to eat some instant porridge for breakfast tomorrow. Signing off from the Z266 for now.

The Man Who Would Be King

Matthew Woodward — Wed, 06 Jan 2016 11:50:00 +0000

My time in Lhasa is fast drawing to a close. It’s been a wonderful and unique experience to be amongst all the pilgrims. The winter is a good time to visit Tibet. Okay it’s cold – just a couple of degrees in the daytime and freezing at night, but the climate is dry and the days are generally clear and sunny. Best of all though, there are hardly any (non Chinese) foreigners here.
I’m hoping that you might have seen the epic British film from which the title of this post comes from. It’s Kipling fiction of course, but there have been several moments during my stay when I have really had the sense of just such a mythical place. I have had to remind myself that I have no lucky arrow in my bag, or an all seeing eye pendant around my neck. This is not actually that surprising, as parts of the monasteries and palaces here date back to before the 7th Century. The place feels completely untouched by the progress of time.

I have had a brilliant guide here in Tibet. His name is Tenzing. You have to have an official guide to get the permit to travel, but I think it has really improved the quality of my time here – there is so much to learn. Tenzing is “Mr Tibet” and he makes a real effort to show me everything. Occasionally this goes a bit too far, and I spent some time one afternoon being accidentally locked in a room in the Sera monastery. Our “escape” had a slight Indiana Jones feel about it.

Lhasa is one of those places where the sense of place and history is such that it really touches you. It’s history needs careful explanation, and Tenzing has been great at this.

The Potala Palace looks amazing at this time of the year. I started my ascent of the many hundreds of steps at around 10am on my final day in Lhasa. This has been deliberate to give myself the best chance to acclimatise before attempting the climb. Tenzing keeps telling me not to push myself too hard, and we stop about every five minutes to allow me to recover my breath. Some of the pilgrims have the same problem as me, whilst others (I assume from the mountains) just skip past. After about an hour we reach the top of the religious part of the palace (the red bricked area in the photo above). Inside there are hundreds of people giving offerings at each of the shrines – and there are lots and lots of shrines. There is money scattered everywhere. The pilgrims exchange their Kuai notes for thick bundles of near worthless “Jiao” notes, and this enables them to proffer money at every deity they see – in exchange of course for good fortune in this life and the next one.

Tenzing knows the place like the back of his hand, which is just as well as I would be hopelessly lost in moments without him. Inside the dark wooden chapels of the palace we peer through the smoke of freshly made juniper incense and take in the remarkable stupas and shrines, most made of gold and precious stones. The pilgrims are mesmerised. Monks and holy men chant, offer prayers and generally supervise the process of receiving the offerings. He tells me that only 700 individuals are allowed entry each day and tickets have been issued to us in advance. Today it is 696 Chinese pilgrims, myself, Tenzing and a couple of Americans I spot outside, who are dressed like climbers.

As we leave one of the galleries a monk with a lady follower approaches Tenzing. Tenzing has an amazingly polite and respectful way with anyone he meets. He nods his head from side to side and smiles at the end of every sentence. There is a lot of nodding and smiling going on in this conversation. He tells me that the monk notices that I wear glasses, and would I like my vision restored? I think about this for a moment, but it becomes clear this is not a service one declines, so I follow him to a special mandala where with an offering is made and a blessing is given. I will let you know what my optician says about my eye sight when I next have a check up. No photography is allowed inside any of the palaces or monasteries, so I’m really sorry not to be able to share what this looks like.

Lhasa is at 3650m, and I have had no problems acclimatising. After the Tangulla Pass it feels quite forgiving until you actually try to do anything – when you have to stop almost immediately and take a break. My hotel is used to dealing with people who live at more modest altitudes, and offers an oxygen lounge for people to recover in. It also has pure oxygen cylinders available on room service. I have declined both as I feel I am dealing with things well “naturally” – albeit with the help of a bit of Diamox.
The food has been interesting and very yak based. It seems to be the “go to” ingredient of many Tibetan dishes. I have enjoyed yak steak, even spicy yak pizza, and of course yak butter tea.

I have given my final offerings, made my wishes for world peace and safe onward travel, and tomorrow I’m rather sad to be back on the train – destination Guangzhou. It’s with some trepidation that I get back on the rails, as I’m feeling like I have had quite enough train based hardship this trip. But I only have one more “tough” journey to make, one that will cover nearly 5000 km in around 54 hours. So stiff upper lip, and as Shackleton would say “keep on going”.

Climbing to the Roof of the World on the Z21

Matthew Woodward — Tue, 05 Jan 2016 08:54:00 +0000

We reached Golmod at 10.30 last night. This is the place where the climb really begins. I didn’t get off to supervise, but I could feel lots of shunting going on. I’m guessing that this is where the high altitude engines are added and whatever changes are made to the air supply take place. I was trying to get to bed early. Some hope!
Once we set off there was a new noise in the darkness of our cabin. At first, it sounded like I might have accidentally switched on the radio, and all that was coming out was static or white noise. I found my headtorch and had a look round. The answer was that oxygen was now being pumped into each of the connectors, one per berth.

It made me wonder how they can do this, as to keep this up would surely consume vast amounts of O2 – we would need a tanker of the stuff. I wondered also if it might be just air enriched with a bit extra O2. If it is pure I hope the smokers on board are aware of the inherent dangers that now give our carriage fire characteristics similar to an Apollo spacecraft.
I would like to tell you that I slept soundly, but it was another dreadful night. I lay in my berth panting and suffering from what I think they call “periodic breathing”. From what I understand your breathing pattern changes and getting rid of CO2 becomes more important than breathing air at altitude. This can cause problems with sleep, and the result is that you can actually stop breathing for short periods, then wake up in a panting panic. My dreams were about running out of air whilst diving. When I woke I would find my ears popping and my body was very hot – the train seems not to be able to support both air con and enriched air supply at the same time.

For the record, here is the altitude profile of the journey –
Local time/elevation above sea level (meters)
16.40 3200m
19.36 2980m
22.30 2828m (Golmud)
00.39 4159m
00.55 4767m
04.10 4500m
06.11 5072m (Tanggula Pass)
07.36 4594m
08.35 4513m
11.02 4306m
13.03 3641m (Lhasa)
I am sure that without the Diamox it would have been much worse, but the other complication with taking this drug is that it makes you want to pee more, so I had to negotiate my way down from my upper bunk and through the wet end of the carriage several times in the darkness of the night.

Dawn broke and I could not bear to be in bed any more, so I got up and perched on a pull-down seat in the corridor whilst watching the sun slowly rise. I thought my own experience last night was a bad one until I went back into the cabin to make tea. Both of my Beijing friends were in fact plumbed into the oxygen supply on nose tubes. They looked far worse than I felt. I did recall some coming and going in the night – they must have summoned help. Later in the morning, a guard I had not seen before came by to see how we were. I’m not sure if he was genuinely concerned for our health or just compiling a report on overnight casualties on his train, but by this time we had crossed the Tanggula Pass and the train was slowly descending towards Lhasa.

I hopped off at a tiny stop to sip some fresh mountain air. The guard who did most of the paperwork and ticketing agreed with me that it was a 20 min stop, and this was denoted by two fingers and a pointing gesture at one’s watch. However, what she meant on this occasion was that it was just a two minute stop and I had to perform my emergency boarding procedure further up the train. This was a tad scary as I had foolishly left all my paperwork and even my jacket on the train.

The Chinese passengers continue to consume stunning quantities of instant noodles as we push on towards Lhasa. I have found that the altitude has taken away my appetite, and have had one meal in three days. I have made an extra effort to remain hydrated though and have been adding sugar to my tea to keep me going as best I can.

It is comforting to know that I shall hopefully have a big bed and my own bathroom in just a few hours time.

Heaven and Hell in Zhongwei

Matthew Woodward — Mon, 04 Jan 2016 10:36:00 +0000

Last night I went into a bit of a negative thought spiral. This annoys me as I like to think that one of my most precious skills on the rails is remaining positive and even madly happy in the face of adversity. The subject of my thoughts was the rapidly deteriorating state of the train. The toilets had become seriously bad so quickly that I secretly wished I wasn’t on the train. Then just to push me over the edge, I returned to my compartment to find an overpowering stench of stale urine. I lay in my berth desperately trying to understand this. Is the toilet plumbed into the aircon of the carriage? Or have my cabin mates just been caught short and relieved themselves on our floor? After half an hour I come up with something I like to think is more plausible. I think that they must have been eating Durian, also known as stink fruit. It can sometimes be all about mindset. I give myself a stern talking to and resume positive thinking.
I tossed and turned and failed to get any real sleep. The air is very dry and I sleep in fits then wake with a dry mouth and eyes. A small boy in the compartment next door kicks and screams through the night. My last boss used to say to me that “the darkest moment of the night is just before dawn”, and I felt considerably better as we stopped just after dawn at Zhongwei. I pulled myself together and tried to embrace all that was going on – the man next door singing at the top of his voice, the lady with the trolley passing by every few minutes shouting what I guess is the Chinese for “breakfast”, the endless phone and text ringtones, the wet end of the carriage. It’s all about the experience, so I should just suck it all in – right?

There are some very good things to say about this train. Firstly, it is air conditioned to the right temperature – about 21C. It heats up then cools down in cycles, but the system seems to work. Secondly, it is very very smooth. At some points in the night I could not even feel movement. I can only imagine the line is modern and the track has been laid in a straight line. Thirdly, it is authentically a long distance Chinese “Z” train. Although I feel I am on the edge of my comfort zone, this is where I get a lot of personal satisfaction from.
Jenny leaves the train at Lanzhou, but the couple down below are travelling with me all the way to Lhasa. They are very nice (despite their love of stink fruit) and insist that they share their food with me. This includes a frequent dose of a rather severe looking glass vial of “health medicine”, sucked up through a straw. I hope no endanged species has been involved in producing it, but have no way of telling.

On the platform at Lanzhou there is quite a bit for sale. One woman is selling some sort of tasty looking ethnic food – what look like flatbreads stuffed with fried chicken. But I dare not risk it, as a stomach upset at altitude would be seriously debilitating. Instead I score some nectarines and hang out with the locals, who are very friendly. They all insisit on having their photo taken with me, and I oblige with a genuine desire to set a good impression as the resident single foreigner travelling on the train in their remote province. If I had remembered to pack the right map, I could even tell you which province.

The landscape outside the train is very unfamiliar to me. I sit for a few hours in the restaurant car drinking green tea whilst looking out at the steep bare mountains and huge flood plains. Everything starts to feel good again. Like any adventure, the negatives are quickly forgotten and it is the positives that become lasting memories.

From Beijing to Lhasa on the Z21

Matthew Woodward — Thu, 31 Dec 2015 10:50:00 +0000

If you have followed my blog on some of my other Chinese adventures you will know that I’m not a big fan of Beijing West railway station. Once you have managed to get into the place, the design is based around a number of huge waiting rooms. I don’t think “waiting room” describes it very well though. “Shouting Room”, “Spitting Room” or “Standing Room” would all all be better descriptions in my experience.I showed my ticket to a couple of guards and they concluded between themselves that my best shot was to hang around ticket check no. 4, where my train would board after a delayed train to Xian. At this station where you wait for your train has no bearing on your platform. You might wait in room number 1, go through ticket check no. 4 and then board on platform 9. All the announcements are in Chinese and make little sense, so I would advise that you use my “river” technique – get swept towards your intended gate by the crowd for the train departing before yours, and then pull out of the scrum right by the gates pretending you thought it was your train. Once there you shrug your shoulders point at your ticket and have no where to go – but you are then in poll position and have access to a guard on the gate to talk to prior to boarding on your train. This is the Chinese railway equivalent to “Speedy Boarding”.Getting on the train itself is straightforward enough and it’s not long before music plays on the platform and we pull out of Beijing West platform 4, bang on time.

For this trip I am in carriage No 5, and one of the best things about it is that is coupled directly with the restaurant car next door. The carriage is “Soft” class, which is made up of eight four berth compartments. It seems mainly full of Chinese couples headed for a short break to Tibet. The atmosphere is actually quite nice, as for now the shouters and the spitters are mostly back in second class hard as far as I can see.At the end of the carriage is a samovar. It’s a fully fitted one, not like the exposed polished boilers that you find on Russian trains. It’s very popular and there is an orderly a queue of passengers (as orderly as it’s possible to have on a Chinese train) waiting to make their instant noodles. In case you are interested, I can report that Chinese instant noodles are considerably more sophisticated than those that can be found in the U.K. Inside the carton there are a series of packets that need to be added in just the right order. Some patience is required, and you can’t just dive in like a student back from the pub on a Friday night.

I’m pleased I bothered to bring my Crocs in my daypack, as there is very much a “wet” environment at one end of the carriage. There are three sinks in an open plan bathroom, next to two toilets, one squat, one western. The area is part flooded and seems multi purpose. For some it’s for vegetable preparation, for others it’s for waste disposal. All I want to do is brush my teeth and get far away as quickly as possible.

On the subject of luggage, my latest strategy has paid off. As my big bag is soft sided, it can be squeezed into the roof space which is quite deep in this carriage (not all are like this). The trick is not to have to get anything out of it during the journey, so all the kit I will need access to is already in my daypack. I have been allocated one of the the top bunks in the compartment and I wish I had completed a mountain climbing refresher course before setting out. I clearly don’t yet have the technique required. The first step seems far too low and there is no rope to pull on to get up and onto the bunk. I have developed a technique, but it involves perching on both upper bunks with my knees, like parallel bars. I think this scares a girl called Jenny in the other upper bunk as she is not sure of my intentions. If only I could tell her in Chinese that they are purely honourable, and simply to remain up here without falling into the abyss.
Once up in the berth it’s pretty comfy, with a small TV (not working), air conditioning (working), and a place to plug in my own oxygen mask (not yet working).
The restaurant carriage is busy. Inside it is a lively mix of off duty police and slightly drunk and shouty passengers. It has beer of sorts – Chinese Budweiser for 10 RMB (£1). The bottles are not cooled though, just out of a cardboard case stacked on the floor at one end of the carriage. This is probably a blessing in disguise, as I should not be drinking – I started taking my diamox this morning and I need to get hydrated. But I have about 30 hours until we start getting up to serious altitude, so allow myself a beer to celebrate having Beijing West behind me.

I have been given a special card to prove that I am a legitimate passenger on the train. They take your ticket and give you this instead after you board. Mine is a gold one, so I wave it at the staff in case it’s going to get me into some sort of special lounge, but I haven’t found this yet. Or the executive washroom.Time to turn in for the night and see if I can grab some low altitude rest.

The Scorpion King

Matthew Woodward — Tue, 29 Dec 2015 05:20:00 +0000

I woke to a distinctly strange sensation. I wasn’t sure quite what it was at first. Then I got it. It was one of stillness and a total lack of movement in any direction. I reached for my clock to find out what the time was, but it wasn’t on the table next to my berth. In fact there was then a further incomprehensible discovery. There seemed to be no edges to my bed at all – it stretched on and on in all directions, well beyond the dimensions of my compartment. It took my brain about 30 seconds to wake from a deep sleep and realise I was in fact now in a Beijing hotel bedroom.

I haven’t tried to do too much on this stopover. Although I thought I was resting well on the train I clearly wasn’t getting the full amount of sleep as it took about 24 hours of mainly bed rest to get my full strength back.

A courier has delivered some of my tickets, including my next leg from Beijing to Lhasa. What is of some concern to me though is that I have no ticket out of Lhasa. It takes a few email exchanges with Moscow to discover that more than one local ticket agent has been used. So for now I have just a one way ticket to Lhasa and a photocopy of my Tibet permit. I hope this is enough to get on the train. My ticket is actually issued to a Mr “Matthew”. Whilst this would not work back home, in Chinese there may be some confusion about my family name, and my plan is now reliant upon this.

I have been enjoying much dim sum and crispy duck here. So much in fact that I had a message from hotel reception yesterday morning questioning my ability to settle my room account. After two weeks on the rails I think I’m due a bit of a splurge.

I reached a bit of a low point yesterday when I thought that every person in Beijing must be trying to separate me from my cash. But just when you think everyone is against you, you meet someone very kind and from an unexpected quarter.

In this case it is a bug chef in Wangfujing, the road famous for exotic snacks. He cooks the full range of scorpions, worms, star fish, and grubs. No Tarantulas are for sale, but I can make up for that in a few weeks time. He refuses to take any money from me and insists on sharing his wares and even taking my photograph.