July 15th, 2006. and one more

The trip is over, and so I'll leave you with a couple of videos.



This video features less white noise and more rooster calls, bus honks, SaBaDis, kids rolling tires, bathing, and some screams of introduction.




Wish I had a wide angle lens for this...

July 5th, 2006. TIBETAN HERDERS STOLE MY BICYCLE

Everything I've written below is true. Photographic evidence is included.

To properly tell this story I need to start a day earlier. I had just ridden over the fourth consecutive pass of the day when the thunder storm that had been chasing me for the past hour caught me. I was tired. It started pouring as I put on my soft shell, covered my rear panniers with my rain coat, and opened my umbrella to protect my front bags. I continued slowly downhill in this awkward fashion, noting that lightning was striking the ground nearby, and I was on the biggest chunk of metal for miles. Then I saw a little shack right off the road, with a little curl of smoke promising a warm and dry break. A 10 year old boy beckoned for me to come in, and I happily did so.

Inside it was clear that the ten year old was in charge, as there were only a seven year old and a three year old besides. I sat down and asked where MaMa and BaBa were, to which they just gestured out into the wet hills. The boy stoked the fire and put on some tea.

When the rain slowed up, we all went outside to check out my bike. They were particularly interested in my blue umbrella, which I quickly learned the Tibetan name for as they discussed its merits. Nyigdugs.

Then came a whispering session in which my nyigdugs was often mentioned. Soon after the oldest boy told me that he had to go fetch water, and could he borrow my nyigdugs? Well, it was still raining a little, and I'm no man to let a little guy get more wet than needed, so I lent it to him. I went inside and sipped my warm tea. He sauntered in a few minutes later. He looks at me. I look at him. He casually stokes the fire. And the umbrella? Following this question came an elaborate pantomime, the meaning of which seemed to be that a gail force wind had ripped the umbrella out of his hands and blown the umbrella into oblivion. I pointed out that there wasn't a breath of wind, but this only lead to a repeat of the prior performance. I implored him to go get my umbrella. I begged. Eventually he started ignoring me.

I have often found myself in situations similar to this while teaching english. My angry face is apparently not very convincing. I appealed to sympathy, pointing out that I had no home and that if it rained, I would get very cold and wet. Nothing. A motorcycle with two grown men stopped soon after. Now I've won, I thought. I explained the situation to them. They spoke with the kid, and he gave them the same explanation. I told them that he was a liar, and please get me my umbrella back. They looked at me. I looked at them. They drove off without a word.

I searched in some of the obvious places for a minute or two, and then left the little bastards in their hut.

So it goes.

I rode on for another ten km, and knowing that the next town was over 70 km down the road, started looking for a place to camp. I passed by a small group of herders on the side of the road. In all there were about eight black yak hair tents. I noticed that these folks, like the past few groups, did not seem very friendly.

I rode on another 2 km and found the perfect campsite. It was perfect because it was a depression, well off the road, hidden from all view. I set up my tent in the last minutes of light and went to bed soon after.

I woke up to a "woah" (it's like "hey" I think). "Woah" I replied. The zipper zipped. This is not unusual. Most people here have no concept of privacy (this reminds me of my third night in China when I found that hotel managers literally hold all the keys, and will open your door without knocking to deliver hot water while you are watching T.V. in your underwear). Anyway, I was not alarmed, and I opened the inner door though I had not been awake half a minute. The man outside my tent looked at me and my tent and gestured that I should come with him and have some food.

This is also not unusual. Almost every herder I pass invites me into have a tea or some food. Thoughts of butter tea and tsampa filled my head. I was still dazed from sleep, but I agreed to go with him. I dressed and grabbed the bag that I keep all my most valuable possessions in (my money, camera, mp3 player etc... I just may be a "flashpacker").

Above is a picture I took of my new friend, whipping rocks at straggling yaks we managed to herd back to the camp.

We went in his tent and he quickly poured me some butter tea and prepared the tsampa. To make a good bowl of tsampa, follow these instructions.

1.) Fill a bowl about two-thirds with barley flour.
2.) Add a good sized chuck of yak butter.
3.) Cover the flour with butter tea.
4.) Add sugar to taste.
5.) Mix with your hands, forming golf ball sized chunks to pop into your mouth.

After the third bowl of butter tea, and a bowl of curd to follow the tsampa, a friend arrived. He could speak much better Chinese than my first friend, and so we got into an in depth discussion about the finer things in life. Herding and biking.

Friend #2 invited me back to his tent. Inside, I met a young boy. He reminded me of someone... My nyigdugs! It was the ringleader from yesterday.

"Who is he?" I asked friend #2.

"My son."

Oh shit.

"I've met you before," I said to the kid.

He grinned.

That's friend #2 on the left.

And his son in a cowboy hat. Who would suspect him?

Half an hour later I was heading back to my tent. I took some fine pictures of their camp through the fog. I struggled for a few minutes to find my campsite, but I soon found it. Everything looked cool on the home front until I went around behind my tent.

My bicycle was gone.

The loudest expletives that this part of the Tibetan Plateau has ever witnessed followed over the next few minutes. I found that my panniers were also gone. More expletives followed as I remembered that my portable hard drive, which holds every picture I have taken over the past four months, was in one of my panniers.

I should say that I locked my bicycle to my tent through a nylon loop.

The lock was smashed.

At least, I thought, he hadn't ripped my tent.

Eventually I lay down on the wet grass and yak shit to think about what I should do. At this point I own a tent, a sleeping mat, a sleeping bag, my leatherman, and a piece of bread. They also left me my three books, which was nice. Of course I still had my money which, along with the fact that I know hitch hiking is dead easy here, were my only consolations.

What to do?

I remembered that while I chatted with friend #2, friend #1 slipped out. I assumed he went to tend to the yaks. About 20 minutes later I went outside to take more pictures of yaks, and I saw friend #1 return on a motorcycle. I had my culprit. No one could have just stumbled across my campsite.

I summed up my assets: I had pictures of my two friends. I had three really heavy books. I had an awful lot of money. I had my leatherman?

Unsure that the police would be of any help - and beside they were at least five hours away - I decided to employ a diplomatic measure common in this day and age.

I'm speaking about bribery of course.

Don't get me wrong. I was scared. I decided that I should stay on the road away from the camp, and that I should not get really angry or make accusations. These guys carry twelve inch blades on their hips you realize.

This plan quickly fell through once I got close to the camp. I found friend #2 talking to a new man on the side of the road and immediately launched into some of the most fluent and emotionally charged Chinese I've ever used. It went something like:

"We've got a big problem. All my things are gone! My bicycle is stolen! I know you know who did it! I know who did it! Where's your friend? Tell him that if he returns my things, I will give him 500 yuan. My things are very important! You have one hour. I will wait on the road. If you don't return my things, I will call the police. Many many police will come. Many many! One hour!"

I didn't give him a chance to respond. They looked quite stunned. I turned around and dragged my things to a spot with a good view of the camp a couple hundred meters away. I sat down and opened Thoreau... I believe he was writing about the virtues of the savage.

I was quite confident at first. I set my alarm for one hour. This confidence faded after half an hour.

I should say that 500 yuan is a ridiculous sum of money in Chinese terms. I would guess that it is nearly a months salary for a peasant. It is about 60 American dollars.

Two motorcycles came roaring out of the camp. I thought they were doing a runner, but they turned in my direction. They pulled up and gestured for me to jump on.

Not on your life.

They insisted. Friend #2 said they would get my stuff, and that I should jump on. I told them that I was scared of them. I would walk. They took off up the road and I slowly followed. I walked about 2 km up the road, and finally saw one bike cruising across the plain towards the road. Friend #2 pulled up with all of my bags strapped on the back of his motorbike. My bicycle remained missing. He took off again and I continued up the road, looking a little strange I'm sure, barely managing to carry all of my bags. I really felt like I was in a bad movie.

I crested a hill and sat down to wait. A car load of Chinese tourists stopped to take some pictures of the view, and a passing monk strolled by and stopped to stare at me. The movie got worse. Everyone watched quietly. What the hell was this hapless foreigner up to?

I saw Friend #1 riding my bicycle across the plain towards us. "Oh shit," I thought, "these tourists are going to blow the trade". Friend #1 saw the crowd and veered off. There being a lot of witnesses, I got up and started after him. "Is it fun!?" I yelled. Seeing the situation, he thought better and turned back towards us.

Soon after I had my bicycle.

Everyone continued to stare. With the 500 yuan I had prepared still in my pocket, I started putting my panniers on my bicycle. My sweet sweet bicycle.

More staring. I finished. I looked around. The friends rode off, and a minute later so did the car load of tourists. Only the monk remained. We smiled at each other.

I decided that if I took off, they might get angry and follow me. I rode back towards the camp. They were waiting on the side of the road. I was being very cool about the whole thing since the yelling. We were almost like friends again. We all stood quietly.

"Do you still need money?"

"Only a little" replied friend #2.

I think they were relieved that I hadn't ratted on them. I gave them 50 yuan and went on my way.

I couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

So it went.

If you're interested in reading a somewhat similar, though surely better and more tragic story, check out this telling by the famed Brit 2wheels, a.k.a. Edward Genochio. "Mongolian horsemen stole my bicycle"

July 4th, 2006. Plateaud

I found myself climbing over a 5000 meter pass the other day, and going down the otherside wasn't what I expected. It was rolling rolling rolling all day long, and has been for the last four days riding. I guess I've made it onto the Tibetan Plateau, though I can't be certain. It's all pasture land and peaks as far as the eye can see.

The piece of geography above lasted for half a day. I spent a lot of time lying off the side of the road watching that sky.

Looked a bit like this from that perspective.

I did come down to around 4000 meters once and found myself in some southern Albertan coulees, except these ones were green. Almost made me want to go home. As they say, the grass is always greener on the... oh.

June 30th, 2006. Herdin'

Found a map of the area around XiangCheng and noticed a group of lakes just north. We set off to find the lakes, and in the end spent four days getting there and back.

Once we found the trail leading the the lakes and stashed our bikes in the forest, it was pretty easy going. The trail was over a meter wide, and followed a river up into the mountains from the main road for about 25 km. We later learned that the trail had been a branch of the Cha Ma Gu Dao or "The Tea Horse Trail", the famed ancient trading route that runs from China into Tibet and Myanmar.

On the second day we neared the lakes and found grasslands full of yaks and Tibetan herders. Most were from the small villages down below along the road, and said that they spent about four months grazing animals before heading down. These kids where spending the summer with Grandma. I swear that the little girl looks a little Irish.

We were making our way up to the lakes that evening when I took this picture.

The next day we went to summit a mountain overlooking the lakes in the hopes of getting a fine view and breaking 5000 meters. Though the peak turned out to be 4950 meters (over 16000 feet), the view of the lakes and surrounding valleys was spectacular. The air was thin, and so the trick was to breath heavily through your mouth as you climbed. Every 20 or 30 steps up the mountain required a little rest to catch your breath. It was cold, but well worth it.

These are the top two lakes in a chain of seven that run down the valley. There were two huge waterfalls connecting the lakes, one of which you can just see here.

While heading back to camp later that afternoon we were caught in a thunder storm. By the time we got back to camp we were soaked and freezing cold, and so we decided to head to a nearby herder's house. They had suggested that we should sleep there the night before, and we finally took them up on it.

We warmed up quickly around their fire, and eventually feasted on momos (Tibetan steamed bread), hot butter tea, boiled yak's milk, yak cheese, yak yoghurt, and bai jiu. I like Yaks.

They were up at the crack of dawn to milk the yaks. Everything was fogged in and the air was biting.

A little while later the sun crested the peaks and began to burn off the fog. By this time the four had milked over one hundred yaks and were prepared to start churning the milk.

We left their shelter a while later, full after a breakfast of butter tea and tsampa - a delicious mixture of barley flour and sugar moistened with butter tea. We bought some cheese that I've been eating on the road during the past few days. Perfect to stuff in the local pan bread with some of the chives I've been finding on the high platues.

June 21th, 2006. up and over to SiChuan

Bought camping equipment on our last day in ZhongDian and set off on "the back road to SiChuan." Judging from it's name, I guess we should have known better what to expect. The 240 km of gravel roads over two huge passes took us four days of cycling. The first pass "Little Snow Mountain Pass" was just under 4000 m, while "Big Snow Mountain Pass" was 4360 m. We arrived in this honky tonk Tibetan town called Xiang Ba La yesterday, way in the backwoods of SiChuan, after a tiring and incredible ride though some beautiful areas.

I haven't got a map of SiChuan province yet, and so I'm having a little difficulty in orienting myself to the roads, nature reserves, and passes in the area. Fortunately Brett has his trusty GPS, which he frequently consults. Although the maps it contains never note Chinese towns and rarely have the roads we travel on, it can report our altitude with astonishing accuracy.

A view of the peaks while climbing the first pass.

We found great campsites next to running water each night, and kept strong and healthy eating a strict diet of noodles and cookies. The last night we spent on top of "Big Snow Mountain Pass". We had considered camping up high, but in the end we didn't really have much choice. After climbing for most of the afternoon, we summited about an hour before sunset. It was crazy windy and really cold. Luckily we found an old abandoned herder's shelter just below the pass that we stayed in. It's stone walls provided the perfect windbreak, and we managed to start a fire and have tea and more noodles. Nice.

The alpine Himalaya burst into bloom over the past week. Blue and purple and yellow and white and red flowers cover the sides of most mountains. Some of the flowers are similar to those found in the Rockies, while others are unlike any I have ever seen. In this meadow we also saw many different birds and some pikas. I think that's what they were anyway... like a gopher crossed with a rabbit, only smaller.

Upon descending from the pass, we rode through a valley unlike the others. This one is steep and dry. The Barley has recently ripened, and the farmers are harvesting and threshing the crop by hand (you can see the man on the roof there is threshing hard). The Tibetan houses here are much different than those in YunNan, though still very imposing.

We met a group of backpackers upon arriving in town, and they directed us to an amazing guesthouse in one of these traditional Tibetan homes. The interior is all wood and very dark, vaulted ceilings and huge beams, with every wall covered in depictions of stories from Tibetan Buddhism painted in primary colours.

The owners don't speak English, and so Brett and I find ourselves serving as interpreters for both groups. "Can I have some sugar for my tea?" "You need to pay your bill now." "What time do you close the gates?" "How do we get to BaMu lake?" and so on ad infinitum. Maybe I will stay here for awhile and help manage the place!