16/5/97

Woken at 6-30 by disco music this time, and cause much comment by indulging in a little strip washing; hairy chests do that to the locals. My compartment sharers are a mixed bunch, a trio of Uighurs and a couple of Chinese. They don't talk much, but this is made up for by one of my neighbours, a young man of 22 or so. He insists on introducing himself and presenting me with his card; though with only characters on it, it's a little pointless! We have a slightly awkward chat in which he announces that he would like to be my friend, and asks whether he can have my home address. To an American this would probably seem halfway normal, but to the average Brit it's a bit of a social faux pas approximately on the level of asking which of your relatives had had certain social diseases lately! I responded in what I hoped was a suitably friendly and neutral fashion, and we discussed our lives. He works for a big company in Shanghai, and is apparently doing rather well for himself, so I ask why he is going to Urumqi. He replied that he was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him, which sounded a touch dashing, especially as it turned out that she was due to marry someone else in two days time! The story was that two years ago he couldn't ask her because he had no money, but now he did he was free to make her an offer, as it were. He showed me some photographs from two years ago of them together, and she looked very pretty; made you wonder why he didn't just marry her anyway, but I suppose money is a lot more important in the average Third World country when it comes to picking out a mate. In the end I just wished him luck and got off the train.

Lanzhou held no real interest for me or Ryan, and even less for Tiffany and Lisa who immediately departed for Xiahe, where there's a large Tibetan temple. I figured I would see quite enough temples shortly, so resisted the temptation to follow with ease! Ryan and I installed ourselves in a local hotel for a mere 50Y a night in a hotel room, and went out for lunch at a nearby restaurant where- joy of joys- we found some decent Chinese tea. It consisted of leaves with rock sugar and some round fruits of some sort (I think it's called Muslim tea in Chinese), and it tasted lovely. We also acquainted ourselves with the local booze, a beer called Huaghe, which lived up to it's name in that it tended to make you cough! I then went off to get a new camera to replace the one that broke down on Huashan, with the proviso that buying on a price basis would prove rather foolish; I'd been warned about the lifetime of Chinese cameras. I finally found a compact Ricoh which sounded foreign, and headed back off to the hotel.

I had gone about halfway when a Chinese man in his early thirties stopped his bike next to me. Laying it on the ground he asked me "How do you do?"; quite common in China, they show all the signs of having watched BBC language programs from the fifties! We talked for a while about our backgrounds; he's an economist, and I assumed that he was motivated by curiosity and an interest in learning English. I was wrong there, 'cause after a long discussion of manufacturing economics, he asked me how he could "date foreign girls"! The flippant response of "I wish I knew, I've been trying to pull Swedish blondes for years" did spring to mind, but I'm afraid that I got a little mischievous and told him that Western women preferred men who were mysterious and charming; so if any female backpackers should stop in Lanzhou in the future and be accosted by a snaggle-toothed economist sporting dark glasses and a manic grin, it's all my fault!

While looking for somewhere to eat, I spotted a rather familiar figure in the crowds; Zoe's, who recovered from her shock with commendable speed to accompany me to dinner. It turned out she had just returned from Xiahe, which she had found a little isolating as all the Westerners there had insisted on speaking Tibetan; either way she only stayed a day before coming straight back. In the process she found herself without her LP guide and it's attendant phrase book, so we embark on a fruitless search for anywhere with a photocopier that was willing to help us out; sadly, it was one of those "meiyou" days. Getting a train ticket for the next day was equally problematic, so we resorted to copying out transliterations instead after getting a little tipsy in a local cafe, then said our goodbyes. There's definitely no prospect of us meeting again this time!

Lanzhou station; a picture of socialist efficiency!	The reality; the sign says "High Speed Baying Ticket, Office of the Green Passage!

17/5/97

Woke up feeling very stiff, and a quick run didn't make me feel any better. Ryan was off at 6-30 for the bus to Xiahe; doubtless he'll be US Attorney General one day. If so I promised that I wouldn't tell the papers that we shared a hotel room; unless the money is really good! Moseyed off to the bank to get the requisite wads of RMB I thought I might need to get to Lhasa, which is almost certainly the next place I can easily cash travellers cheques. There I met a set of Brits and Aussies passing through from Kathmandu via Lhasa by truck. I pumped them for information, in the process learning that the 55 year old woman who was the eldest of the party was the one that coped the best with altitude. Perhaps I should pass the word round Bournemouth when I get back!

The train to Xining was my first experience of hard seat in China, and to be frank, it's a lot better than British Rail, though the "Fast Bay Ticket Counter" was anything but! I seem to be the only foreigner, and I'm seated opposite an Army officer and a keen football player in his twenties, and after ten minutes of me writing this they were obviously bursting with curiosity, so I told them that I was going to Urumqi by a circuitous route. The army man and I carry on a spirited argument about Hong Kong and the Korean War, to which the scorecard ran to lost and won respectively! The conversation was assisted by a Fijian woman who spoke English, who had come here after marrying a Chinese man. I'll presume that she must have been consumed with passion to give up all that to come here! In the end we declared an armistice, and turned to discussing football instead; the young man was in the Xining team.

Getting off the train, I notice a hard eyed PSB officer staring at me as the only foreigner as I progress through the barrier. I'm pounced on by a lady as I come off the train, and offered a tour to Quighai lake, which I decline for the time being. I'm then asked where I'm going next, and as I begin to reply the PSB officer stealthily slides up to my right shoulder. Just as well I said Urumqi! The man had no sense of humour either; loudly saying hello in English and trying to shake his hand met with a stony stare that seemed to turn his eyes to pebbles. The reason for this high level surveillance becomes clear as I walk across the road from the station, where a series of sleeper buses are parked. I'm offered trips to Lhasa twice in twenty metres; the going rate seems to be 600-700 RMB. I'll think about it tomorrow night, but I figure I should see Quighai lake first.

The LP guide is rather out of date, and it takes me till past midnight to find anywhere to take me in; the Xining Hotel, which has three person dorms. They come with a TV and a bathroom, so I think that qualifies as luxury!

18/5/97

Xining is the usual Chinese city, with the significant difference that it is very noisy; bangers are going off everywhere. I went off to the market for breakfast, where cockles and mussels in hot sauce went down very well, though messily! The bangers were going off right next to me, so I stuffed some of the toilet paper I had been given to clean my fingers (there's no such things as napkins in China most of the time) in my ears. All six of my fellow diners followed suit with disconcerting speed; I've not started a craze before. Wandering back to the hotel, I called in on the hotel travel agency which was advertising tours to Quighai lake. Sadly, this turned out to be a bit of a scam; 120Y for the tour and "120Y for the Public Immunity Insurance", the latter a requirement in a neighbouring state and not in Quighai. This was my first experience of the public trying to fiddle me (as opposed to the police), and I left rather more in sorrow than in anger to get a tour from CTS in the Xining hotel. I then went for a very severe haircut; well, shave actually, as I wanted to avoid the need for things like shampoo. The hairdresser I selected was staffed mainly by women, and though I motioned what I wanted, they started out by trying to give me a Mao cut. Once they understood what I was after, the first hairdresser recoiled in horror, and then sent for her assistant. She was a little nervous about using the strimmer at first, but she eventually got the idea, though the gasps of horror from the other staff made it clear that this was not their preferred option! I calmed them down with by now familiar standby; show them the family pictures.

Getting back to the hotel later, I met some new roommates, both of whom were Japanese. Nobuya worked in advertising and his friend was an electronic engineering undergraduate. The former spoke good English, so we managed a useful exchange of views. They're both going to Lhasa too (big surprise!), and they knew why there was so much gunpowder going off; there were four weddings today. Turned on the telly once we had finished talking, and what should I see but my "drama series" I had last seen in Beijing; it's just as enjoyable second time round.

Xining market; you can't hear the bangers!	Those birds at Bird Island

19/5/97

Woke up rather late; 6-55am, so a mad rush to get to the pickup point in time. I'm the only foreigner, but I meet a twenty five year old control systems graduate called Feng Yemei who spoke a little English, and had no trouble recognizing a simple control system equation. She hopes to be sent to Cambridge for an MSc in a couple of years time, so I was bombarded with questions that I couldn't answer; I haven't been there for years.

The journey started with a long climb up to 3500m (Xining is about 2200) to a pass where there was a small temple and a set of prayer flags -my first. I jogged up and down a bit and had no trouble at all (resting heart rate 61, respiration's 12 per minute), so Lhasa should be fine. We then started a long ride alongside Quighai lake, which is colossal; it took us about 4 hours to get to Bird Island. Our bus overheated at one stage, so we were treated to the sight of the driver trying to keep the lid on the radiator with a boot while pouring cold water over the top. The engine was then left for 15 minutes while the driver indulged in the universal Chinese pastime of drinking jasmine tea from a jam jar. Eventually we reached the small village by Bird Island and went into a hotel for a huge meal of fish. The oversupply of the stuff must have been stupendous, because it cost very little. We then crossed over to Bird Island proper and motored about 20k to the far end of the island where thousands of birds were flying. Sadly, being a keen non-birdwatcher, I could identify precisely none of them!

The journey back was long and via a different route once we had crossed over the pass, going through a series of interesting looking villages. By the time we got back I was starving, so after saying goodbye to Feng Yemei I marched into town for a meal and a look at the nightlife. I had dinner under a karoke bar whose staff were so overwhelmingly friendly I forgot completely about the racket; they even tried to undercharge me! Eventually I went into one of the larger karaoke bars where I had expected to see dozens of Chinese lining up to murder the mike, but the noise was apparently due only to a bunch of enthusiastic businessmen and a group of PSB officers. The compere soon approached me asking if I would like to sing a song. English subtitles were not available, but I managed a drunken and tuneless rendition of "Sailing" for my audience, who applauded with an appreciation that suggested tone deafness and/or a tendency to massercism, and then kept me supplied with drinks. The compere turned out to be a guitarist and heavy metal fan, so we swapped details of record collections until I felt it was time to leave. Sleep was easy that night!

20/5/97

I got up a little late today, and joined my Japanese friends for a traditional breakfast; momos and seaweed soup. The former are delicious, consisting of mincemeat wrapped in pastry, usually dipped in soy sauce. The latter was more of an acquired taste which began to grow on me as we discussed how we were to enter Tibet. Their experience of the trade in illicit tickets to Lhasa was that 300Y was the going rate, but let's face it, Japanese stick out rather less than us whiteys! The local PSB have obviously cottoned on to the situation though, so it might all end rather quickly. The electronic engineer announced that he was leaving today to visit a local monastery but would be back for tomorrow when they would get a bus to Golmud.

Spent the rest of the day getting some camera film and looking around the town, which is fairly standard Chinese fare. Unusual bits would include the post office "stamp museum" full of collectors and the availability of 400 film, the latter being nearly unprecedented. Nobuya and I had dinner in the "Peace Restaurant" where the staff seemed rather upset to see us; well, I suppose they had wanted to look after all those children they had brought into work. However, the food was nice so I can hardly complain. Back at the hotel, we bumped into a German of 45 or so who was visiting his Lamaist teacher locally. The latter lived in a restricted area, so getting a permit was proving a bit of a problem.

Feng Yemei at Bird Island	Nobuya, friend and momo's