I really do breathe rather well at sea level...

Greetings my friends. You are now presented with a very happy, possibly smug (probably) smug Miss Nicholas. Not even a soul searchingly bad bout of a dickie tummy in Chengdu can dent my no doubt irritating good humour. Actually, in a very Mariah-esque fashion I may be secretly a little pleased with the resulting weight loss of said bout. It’s hard to shape up for Thailand with banana pancakes on every single hostel’s menu ok?

Do cease your prattling and tell us why the good humour I hear you mutter. Well, not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve been to Tibet and loved it. Despite many provocations I tell thee. As mentioned on my previous post we travelled for 40 odd hours on the train from Xian to Lhasa. We climbed & criss-crossed the Qinghai plateau and northern mountain ranges, sometimes reaching heights of plus 5000m (thank gawd for the o2 on the train!) all the time veering between confused amusement and murderous rage, all focused on our fellow cabin mates. We couldn’t get a soft sleeper (much more civilised for a woman of my stature and…..well, age) so plumped for 2 hard sleeper beds. Picture if you will Al & I shoehorned into the top bunks (12 inches from tip of nose to ceiling) sharing our cabin with the Chinese version of the chuckle bros and their better halves. The brothers both looked like the fat laughing buddhas and one had a, shall we say, certain zest for life? Honestly there wasn’t a moments peace in the entire journey. He was either asleep and indulging in some window rattling snoring of herculean proportions or making as much noise as possible doing whatever he was doing whilst awake. A selection of activities for your delectation; yawning/sighing at the top of his lungs at any given moment just to make sure the entire carriage is awake, eating an apple with lip-smacking, juice swilling gusto, sucking on a slice of watermelon with the power of a dyson, playing cards and squealing like a stuck pig at. Every. Given. Moment. Holding a loud, excitable conversation with the rest of his family whilst he was in our cabin. His family happened to be 2 cabins down. Honestly I could go on. A highlight was his farting so loudly that he woke himself up. Happy days.
So we arrived in Lhasa shadows of our former selves, possibly with post-traumatic stress. We got over that quickly when we looked around us in the very grand railway station with amazing vistas, and realised that we breathless after literally walking 50m. Welcome to the world’s highest capital and try to catch your breath! Very much in keeping with the very spiritual feel of Tibet our trip had 2 extremes in a yin and yang fashion. First the good (read amazing). Tibet is something different for 3 very good reasons: the land itself, the people and the religion.


Throughout our entire stay in we never dropped below 3300m. This was all very much obvious when we were winding up one of the many vertigo inducing roads snaking up the side of a snow capped mountain but there were many more subtle clues. Imagine looking out of your window and seeing a modest hill, say 400m high. Now imagine that there are clouds happily resting on the hillside lower than the peak. It was a constant reminder that even a modest little hill can be 4000m or higher, Mt Blanc territory. Now imagine going for a gentle drive over this hill and passing through a gate festooned with bright prayer flags right on the peak.

You get out of the car wondering what the fuss is about and casting about for an available loo. Whilst using said facility you look out of the window sized hole in the wall and wonder why there are no other hills obstructing your view and you feel rather breathless. It’s at this time that you realise that you are surveying the scene from one of the many mountain passes at approx. 5400m and this is probably the highest place you’ll ever go to the toilet. And you’re car is waiting outside. Ridiculous. Of course I can’t mention elevation without mentioning Mt Qomolangma (or its lesser known name Everest). I still cannot believe that I have seen the highest point on earth, the roof of the world or the first step that the gods will take when they come down to earth. The ridiculous thing is we drove to within a mile or so of base camp. In a little minivan, not even a 4x4. We arrived at the camping area a little before sunset and strolled the last mile to base camp. I say stroll when I really mean gasped, wheezed & coughed up our lungs for the hour it took us to cover that last mile. We arrived lightheaded and unsteady on our feet and my heart sank to my toes when I looked up and saw Everest enshrouded in mist.

 Now this was very atmospheric and strangely menacing but blast it I wanted to see the peak! We had heard countless stories of the gods not obliging and people never getting to see the peak at all. So we stood and stared (shivering) at the gloomy peak and pleaded, prayed & harangued the mountain with all of our persuasive powers. So slowly that we couldn’t’ be sure it was happening we say a dark shadow looming through the clouds.

There is was, the highest point on earth, and I, Efua Nicholas, in my bright pink jacket, grey lips (forgot lip balm so sunblock would have to do) and sucking on a chupa chup, could see it. Honestly it was a moment I’ll never forget.

 As the sun sunk low and the clouds moved back in on the mountain we turned around to walk back, freezing, exhausted but very very happy. Well, this obviously called for a celebration so I whacked on the iPod and walked back to the camp bellowing the Mumford & Sons album at the top of my very constricted lungs. Now I couldn’t hear anything and it was pretty dark but I’m pretty sure from the head banging and hip swinging that Master Southern was listening to the Tenacious D album.


Now this was all very good, true, but as I tried to sleep (and failed miserably needing more oxygen than the air could provide) I couldn’t help but wonder if I was going to have to leave Everest without a decent picture. Sunrise was our last chance. Well, my friends, I think the photos below speak for themselves don’t you?

Now the people. In a word, gorgeous. I don’t know if it is the karmic elements of their religion or the tough terrain that they make their living on but the Tibetan people that we met on our travels all seemed to be happy, relaxed, curious without being intrusive and incredibly hospitable. Let me give you an example. In China you look around and you will invariably find someone staring at you. As in stop what you are doing analyse every aspect or your appearance & actions staring. You catch their eye and stare right back. This does nothing, absolutely nothing. They will hold your gaze and then run their eyes up and down your body again without a flicker of emotion. If you stare back for log enough they might get bored and wander on. In Tibet you look around and catch a few people looking at you with smiles on their faces. You catch their gaze and the grin gets even wider and they may even wave at you. You grin back and you may even shout hello in Tibetan. This goes down a storm and they bob their heads at you and move on. All the time smiling happily. You see the difference. Perhaps an over simplified picture but that’s all you need to know. Alex’s new photographic hobby is taking sly portrait photos of people so happily we have many examples of the Tibetan smile……

Last but certainly not least is the religion. Unlike Mongolia for the most part the monks and the general population genuinely seemed to believe in what they are doing. Silly I know but when you hear of monks in Mongolia who go out drinking, have girlfriends and wives and return to their families for an eve it does bring on a healthy dose of scepticism no? I’m happy to say I didn’t feel this in Tibet or else all of my grand illusions would have come crashing down around my ears. You can’t visit the Potala, the Jokhang, the various other monasteries or watch the koras without seeing some faith in action! Despite the hordes of Chinese tourists and their incessant photo taking all of these religious buildings were incredible inside. Creeping around these tourists were the many pilgrims from all corners of the globe, hands together in prayers, heads down, gazing in awe at the huge, glittering statues and stupas, add more yak butter to the huge candles that provide the only light, all the time chanting under their breath in a haze of sandalwood incense.

 I felt a bit like I was intruding in what for many was the pilgrimage of a lifetime but they either didn’t take a blind bit of notice of us or seemed genuinely pleased that we were there. Nowhere was this more true than the Jokhang which is called the spiritual centre of Tibet. It was here that the Chinese wife of the first King of Tibet who brought Buddhism to the country put the country’s most precious image of Sakyamuni (present Buddha) and here it has stayed ever since. It was here that Buddhism started in Tibet and everyone comes here to pray. Outside the Jokhang they do the Kora, where they circle the big Jokhang complex an odd number of times (1 time just won’t cut it people!) Many walk but a large number of them prostrate themselves fully on the floor, stand up, take one step forward and go through the whole process again. I’d say a single circuit was about 300m and they do this countless times flat on their fronts. That is what I call belief.

 If you add to the mix the fact that the kora around the Jokhang is lined with stalls selling absolutely anything and everything and is heaving with tourists & pilgrims buying trinkets (myself included) and locals going about their daily life you start seeing how their faith is such a deeply ingrained part of everyday life. For everyone.


If the Jokhang is the spiritual centre of Tibet then the Potala is the internationally recognised symbol of Tibet.

This is where the Dalai Lamas lived, held court, held festivals, prayed with their monks and basically just were. The building is incredible, the red part of the building was built in the 17th century which I think you’ll agree is pretty impressive considering how high the bleeding thing is. Another bout of wheezing had to be endured whilst walking up the many steps inside. It was a shame to walk around what basically is a museum instead of what should be a living, working seat of political and spiritual government. I really shan’t bore you with the details of the current situation in Tibet and of the Dalai lama as you’ll already know what’s going on but you may not know about the Panchen lamas who are second only to the Dalai lamas in terms of spiritual leadership. Google the 10th and 11th Panchen lamas and tell me there isn’t something wrong with this situation! Of course you have to wonder what Richard Gere and co are getting their collective knickers in a twist for….I mean, the Chinese government is perfectly willing for the Dalai Lama to return, unharmed, to Chinese soil, they’ll even give him a job! A desk job in local government in Beijing apparently. Uh huh.


Now I did mention some yang to the above yin didn’t I? Well, let’s just say that our group of 7 wasn’t the Waltons. Now in keeping with the karmic beliefs of the Buddhist religion I’m not going to spew too much bile. I’m a changed woman can’t you see? But next time you see me do ask me about the make a mountain out of a molehill, would rather whinge about something for 2 DAYS than do anything constructive American and the clutch fisted, president of the fun police, narrow minded Dutch girl. See how restrained I’m being people?? But, to be honest, nothing they could do could take away from the fact that Tibet was amazing. I’m definitely going back, but not until I’ve met the Dalai Lama and told him that I’ve seen the tiny bicycle he used to ride when he was 6!


So, my friends, there you have it, the reason for my effortlessly irritating smugness. Long may it last.

The good (the warriors), the bad (Mongolian Del boy) and the ugly (you try looking good when you're dead Mao.)

So, communication from China, easier said than done. Facebook, internet in general, local sim, the language, all with their distinct and exciting challenges. I shan’t bore you with the details but please accept this as my meagre excuse for not blogging in such a while. That and the lesser known fact that blogging whilst I’m having such an awesome time is, well…..its takes discipline. Getting rid of such a trait is one of my reasons for travelling so you see my conundrum.


Snapshot to the present, I’m squished in the top bunk of a hard sleeper cabin on the way from Xian to….drum roll please Lhasa. This fills me with such excitement and maybe a few nerves (I get sick when someone else drives round a roundabout too quickly so altitude sickness is a concern) that the fact that my face is 12 inches from the roof of the cabin and someone with the physiology of a rabbit has left a little present in the squat toilet that just WILL NOT be flushed are brushed aside with abandon. It’s taken us a week to get to grips with the permit situation in Tibet and get a hold of the golden ticket like train tickets but to be honest we’ve done pretty bloody well to do this is such a short time. It can take anything from 1-3 weeks for people to finally be on their way. Access to Tibet has become much harder over the past few years by all accounts. I had these grandiose dreams of getting a permit to get into Lhasa then an Alien permit in Lhasa to travel further afield but basically to do this on our own steam and hire a driver and jeep who would be at our complete disposal whilst we were there. However the fates were against us. You cannot get a train/plane ticket to Lhasa without a permit and you cannot get a permit without booking a full tour through an agency. You can book private tours but they are hideously more expensive ($1200 each for 7 days!) to do through an agency rather than just rooting out a man and his van. In a nutshell we are doing a tour of Lhasa then down to Everest Base camp (wooooooooooooooooooooooo!) visiting some holy lakes and monasteries on the way. Plus we get to get this awesome train rather than fly which has been a bit of a dream since watching the making of the train line across the plateau on MegaBuilders on Discovery. I shan’t say anymore this as I have no idea on what to expect but I’m pretty sure that the net blog and photo albums are going to be blinders.

So, what have we been doing with ourselves for the past couple of weeks? Well, we had an eventful border crossing, in that we basically got on the train from UB to Beijing through the oily services of a Del boy wannabe agent (overly loose pleather jacket, tinted glasses, slicked back hair) who asked for $95 each to get on the train (any spare bunk, in separate cabins) and left us at the mercy of a friendly but equally shark like train guard who wanted $160 each for the pleasure of not kicking is illegal migrants off the train at will. After polite negotiations with strained smiles (it was 6 in the morning) we managed to get away ‘scot free’ by paying about $100 each. So $200 each to get out of Mongolia. Worth every penny I say. Don’t get me wrong I really did enjoy Mongolia but you know when it’s time to move on and it was definitely time.

Now, I lived, worked and travelled in China for a year when I was 18 (cough….14 years ago) but I knew if ever a country would change in that time China would be it. And so it has. I feel like this a different country! The only comfortably familiar things are the ridiculous toilets, the spitting of lugees dragged from the deepest recesses of the soul inches away from your flip flopped feet and the love of all innards, boiled, fried, bleeding fricasseed, you name it. But my point is it wasn’t the albeit amazing sights that I revisited (Forbidden City, Tianamen Square, Summer Palace and the great wall) that blew me away it was the city itself and the day to day stuff that we did.

But I digress. Beijing is AWESOME. And huge. Big shiny buildings, tip top infrastructure, clean streets, huge shopping malls, lovely little hutongs and an H & M. Important when your only pair of lightweight trousers died a death pretty much as soon as you put them on…thanks New Look. I had a great time, made great by the awesome travelling team of Nelly, Al & myself. We zipped around the city in cheap as chips cabs, ate in an amazing restaurant or 2, stayed in an amazing hotel so far removed from a dorm room in a hostel it was silly, dressed up in our glad rags, drank mojitos, bought Cuban cigars and shook our tail feathers with the beautiful people in the World Of Suzie Wong’s and basically lived it up. We managed some culture with the aforementioned sights and also managed to squeeze in a hungover ridden viewing of dead Mao who, by the way, is in MUCH better shape than Lenin. And can you believe the guards are friendlier than in Russia? Who’d have thunk it.
 Following Nelly’s departure back to Miami Al & I sulked for a few days in her junior suite eating Subways and watching STAR movies (Die Hard 2, Blond & Blonder, Meet Dave….good times people, good times) before girding our loins and moving back into a hostel. Sob. Actually the hostel was pretty good and we managed to meet and the skilfully coerce some people into joining us for some light American style refreshment in Hooters. A rather attractive Italiano who was the spit of Big Rick who was called….Ricardo. after that revelation I practically strong armed him to Hooters! The high point of this evening was watxhing the very attractive, scantily clad young ladies murdering their dance routines. That and the chicken wings with blue cheese sauce. Following that it was time to move on again and get the train to Xian. The one 15hr train ride perfectly sums up China for me. We have to drive an hour across the megaopolis that is Beijing in gridlock traffic to get to a huge imposing train station. We have to push our way through security with judicious use of elbows and big north face trainers as there is no such thing as queuing in China. We provide wide-eyed entertainment (this is better than TV!) for the masses as we race through the station. We get on the spotless train exhausted and ready to drop. But then 2 lovely and very friendly young ladies quickly strike up a conversation and eventually ascertain that I am Al’s gf (grrrrr) and do a swap so that we can sit together. I watch a woman bring out mountains of Tupperware and whip up a cordon bleu cold meal for her husband who eats it gracefully and delicately whilst supping on some fresh tea. This was all lovely but then they left the fluorescent lighting all night so no one could sleep, the guy behind me talked ( well shouted) allll night and there was a man very loudly and copiously vomiting in the loos at around 2 in the morning. Happily Al slept through all of this. Sigh.

I was, understandably, a dead woman by the time we got to Xian.

We used this to justify our week of very late morning wake up calls (well….early afternoon at times), good eating, rivers of g&t’s or whatever cocktails were on offer that night and sightseeing at a very gentle pace. Most of this as in the distinguished company of Emma, Phil & Jimmy from Oxford who thankfully were faithfully following the same eating, drinking and relaxing pattern.

We did manage to squeeze some cultural sights in mind, namely the fantasico Terracotta Warriors. Now. I know that there is a Subway on the doorstep. I know that you have to watch a very badly made and dubbed film on the origins of the warriors and the eviiiiiil emporer who killed all the artisans. I know that it is heaving with chinese tourists. And I know that they are basically stored in 3 soulless plane hangers. Doesn’t matter. They really are the most awesome things and none of the above detract from this. Each is lifesize, they all have different features and are dressed differently to reflect their rank.

 They even had a ‘headquarters’ where the upper ranks were to plan any future wars. Soldiers made of clay planning military excursions. Madness.

 Don’t even get me started on the horses. Just don’t.