Lhasa – Matthew Woodward

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.