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Adam’s China Trip Report #4

‘Do not remove a fly from your friend's head with a hatchet’ -- Chinese proverb

The Quingzang railway was completed July, 2006. It connects Xining, Qinghai province to Lhasa,Tibet Autonomous Region nearly 2000 kilometres away.

The line passes through the Fenghuoshan Tunnel, at 4905 meters, the world’s highest, before spanning the Tanggula pass at 5231 meters, the highest railway in the world. A large section of the track is laid on permafrost which is kept solid during summer by liquid nitrogen fed through concrete pillars sunk deep into the ground. The carriages are pressurized to prevent passengers passing out due to lack of oxygen at altitude, the water in the toilets is heated to prevent it freezing, and earthquake monitors are installed along the track. Passengers are required to complete a health registration card before embarkation.

This is a serious train, an engineering marvel, the embodiment of Beijing’s unshakable will to harness the vast south west. And yet, before this trip, I’d never heard of it.

Before boarding we meet Liang, Lee, & Aries, who will be sharing our six-berth sleeper. I’m delighted to see my suitcase again, but dismayed to see it wheeled away by a small figure clad in red civara; the traditional robes of priesthood. This is no case of case theft, but my first experience of Buddhist hospitality, for the monk is none other than Zhong Nan Shi, acolyte of The Master, an abbot from Lanzhou partaking holy pilgrimage to Tibet. The Master radiates a calm benevolence. He has, as the Chinese say ‘Fuo xiang’, meaning "charisma of the Buddha". I take in his presence. His prolific ear lobes, Jenny explains, signify a personage of great fortune and wisdom. I’m immensely honoured to meet a lama of such high repute, and extend my hand in greeting. The Master bows, palms together in a gesture of namasté. A brief comedy moment ensues, as I hurriedly adopt the same posture, only for The Master to simultaneously offer me his handshake. The Master has no English, but appreciates the joke, as does everyone else. I feel like a pillock.

The Quingzang train glides away from Lanzhou to begin it’s twenty-nine hour ascent. The compartment is Spartan, but comfortable. It’s about lunchtime, and we decide to investigate the dining car. The steward shakes his head. It turns out the entire restaurant has been pre-booked by a party of Germans. Unbelievable. It’s a wonder the chairs aren’t strewn with beach towels.

Back in our cabin, we dine on cucumber, noodle soup, and tea. I unfurl my travel games board. What better way to pass the journey than teaching Jenny the intricacies of chess and checkers? Best to start with checkers, shouldn’t be too difficult for her to pick up. Ten minutes after explaining the rules to her, she’s slaughtered me. Beginner’s luck. We play again. Same crushing result.

I explain the rules of chess. We play. I rapidly lose my queen and several major pieces, having taken two pawns. It must be the altitude effecting my judgement, I explain. Jenny points out we’ve only been travelling for two hours.

Outside, urban sprawl gradually gives way to distant tundra, as the official song of the Qing-Tibet railway is played repeatedly over the speakers.

Aside from myself, the aforementioned Germans, and a carriage of native Tibetans, most of the passengers appear to be Han Chinese tourists, businessmen, and assorted officials. The new railway is the subject of some controversy. Some fear that Beijing’s aim is to effect the erosion of Tibetan national identity by encouraging a huge influx of Han tourism and investment. Where once the Red Guard came to physically smash the icons of Tibetan culture, will families and entrepreneurs from China finish the job? I’m curious to see for myself what effect the new tourism is having.

We’re already at 4000 meters. It’s said that ‘four seasons in one journey’ are experienced on the Quingzang railway. Beyond the frosted window, icy wilderness broadens to mountains fringing the darkening horizon. Occasional silhouettes emerge of rabbits, goats, and lone eagles. A mesh fence bobs and weaves for hundreds of miles alongside.

My companions are from Beijing, tourists curious to understand Tibet. It turns out they were all students in Manchester! We consider the parallels and tangents of our cultures. As we chat in the crepuscular fade, the rhythm of the track lulls. I recline on my hard bunk, under a thin blanket. Five hours later, I wake with an altitude headache. The scene passing by outside is transformed; Vivid sunlight unmediated through spotless Himalayan sky, vast plains and pastures, leather tepees, and yaks. Hundreds & hundreds of yaks…