...And so to Beijing. It is a long two day drive from Xian to Beijing and so to save us the bother we abandoned the truck in Xian, packed up all we were to need for five days in a hotel and headed out on the sleeper train.

Aside from a mild panic induced by Xian's taxi drivers apparently putting the word out that the 23 odd westerners with rucksacks had some kind of highly infectious disease and should be avoided at all costs causing us to very nearly miss the train, the journey was pretty uneventful. The sleeper trains are reasonably pleasant. Despite being crammed like agoraphobic fish into beds that are bunked three high and make no pretense at being designed for 6'4'' westerners, they are at least air-conditioned, clean, the mattresses are relatively comfortable, the toilets relatively clean (certainly, in general, a lot more so than on British trains) and the food is much better than the Lonely Planet would have you believe. The only real discomfort is the continual snoring which, for some reason, even my ear-plugs could not eradicate.

I spent most of the conscious part of the journey (until the mandatory 10pm kurfew) exercising my newly acquired and woefully inadequate 'Mah Jong' skills. This under the watchful eye and abusive tuition of a local expert who was clearly exasperated with my obtuse inability to appreciate the subtleties of the game. The rest of the journey was spent looking up at the plywood ceiling of the bunk above me thinking up novel ways of killing the Chinese guy in the next bunk who was engaged in a rousing counterpoint to the noise of the train through the medium of snore. A Hurculean effort on his part to keep it up for a solid 10 hours ensured that I achieved only a bear minimum of sleep. It was, in my mind, justifiable homicide.

Arrival in the hazy morning sun of the Beijing dawn 14 hours later was, as a result of sleep deprivation, somewhat surreal. It was a huge relief to be bundling into a taxi and whisked away through the mistifying confusion that is Beijing towards our hotel.

Arriving in Xian, we found ourselves once again in a very nice hotel looking like we had just emerged from a coal mine. The pollution does not improve.

Xian is another modern Chinese city. Our hotel opened onto main square which, aside from the afore mentioned McDonalds, was very pleasant. Evening time brought crowds of people, some obviously enjoying the atmosphere, some flying strings of small kites and some finding new and novel ways to make money out of unsuspecting tourists. Just along from the hotel was an open air theatre where one could sit with a beer and enjoy nightly displays of dance, song and the occasional Karaoke. Unlike the usual drunken British affair, the Chinese take Karaoke seriously and as a result the show tends to be surprisingly good. In chinese style we had our own Karaoke evening whilst in Xian, and the results were nowhere near as impressive.

Xian also sports a very nice street market with a multitude of nice restaurants and other permanent and semi-permanent stalls. Adjacent to that is the Muslim quarter where you can find just about any kind of souvenir you can imagine. All in all, aside from the heat and humidity, Xian is a very pleasant place to spend two or three days.

The star attraction here is of course the Terracotta Warriors. For those who don't know these are a 2000 year old army of clay Chinese warriors set up to guard the tomb of the first chap (on record) to have united China under one leader. I have obviously heard of the Terracotta Warriors and kind of knew what to expect, but I have never really read much about them. As a result, I was not really prepared for the spectacle that greeted me. There are three distinct pits on the site. The third of these is the 'command post' and is a small pit about the size of a large house containing 40 or so figures. Impressive, but not outstanding. The other two, however, are housed inside buildings the size of large aircraft hangers and contain literally hundreds of figures (the second is yet to be fully excavated). It really is quite astonishing to see this rank and file of incredibly detailed figures all of which were originally rendered in full technicolour. The whole display represents a show of decadence on the scale of the Great Pyramids or the Taj Mahal, and once again you have to take your hat off to an historic figure who commanded the power and resources to produce such a spectacle. What is perhaps even more astonishing is that only one of these hundreds of figures was found intact. The rest have been painstakingly reconstructed by Chinese archaeologists.

Some people clearly have too much time on their hands!

As an aside, whilst on the visit we were 'lucky' enough to encounter the farmer on whose plot of land these figures were discovered. He is reputedly now well past his hundredth birthday and dodders around the site occasionally deigning to sign programmes for visitors. Considering that he probably has and is continuing to make a handsome living out of this, he is a miserable, rude, cantankerous old git. Lucky my a*se!

Leaving Lanzhou we headed eastwards towards Xian. On the way we stopped at a very pleasant rough camp by a damn where those of us who were keen took a day's wander up to the Taoist temples that sat atop the adjacent hills (those of us who were not took the cable-car). There we whiled away a very pleasant day exploring the heights of the mountains, the temples and appreciating the clean air and the stunning views.. The next day was once again on the road this time our destination Xian.

The road from Lanzhou to Xian once again passes though some stunning country. High steep mountains neatly terraced to maximise available space for agriculture lends a tamed, manicured look to the landscape, which, whilst not wild, is certainly very beautiful. Unfortunately, it would seem the Chinese are determined to enhance their beautiful natural landscape with an array of astonishingly ugly industrial installations. The sight of monstrous, smoke belching carbuncles nestling amongst idyllic mountain scenery is common-place, and gives the impression that a high-tech cancer is infecting the landscape. Combine this with China's climate, which does not apparently act to disperse the fall-out, and you have an air-quality nightmare. There is no doubt that industrial China is moving fast. Really fast. Everywhere you look there is development, investment and activity on a scale and at a rate that would leave western countries winded. The rapid progress is no doubt a result of the lack of political opposition here. There is quite literally nothing standing in their way. Unfortunately, in their haste they appear to be paying little attention to the landscape or the environment. There is no doubt that China has potential to be the next big economic power of the world, but it is also fairly clear that it has the potential to be the next big environmental disaster too. It will be, at the very least, interesting to see which way it goes.

Driving the road out of Tibet is like falling off the edge of the world. In one day you pass from nearly 4000m to closer to 1000, and it feels every bit the fall from grace. Just about everything changes this day. The landscape changes from rugged mountains and vast planes to a much more intimate landscape of small terraced hills, every square usable inch given over to agriculture of one form or another. The roads change too, variable surfaces and single carriageways morph into smooth tarmacked express-ways. Most noticeable, though, is the change in atmosphere. Tibet is a land of blue skies, dramatic clouds, searing sunshine and vibrant colours. The rest of China could not be further from this if it was separated by an ocean.

We were now firmly on the road to Beijing, our first stop en-route: Lanzhou, the capital of China's Gansu Province. Once a major centre on the silk route, Lanzhou is located at the geometric centre of China and is notable for just about no other reason than being (apparently) the most polluted city in the world (a title that is presumably hotly contested by Mexico City). Travelling towards Lanzhou it is not hard to see where this auspicious accolade originates. Spaced at depressingly frequent intervals along the express-way are a veritable battalion of factories and other industrial complexes, all rabidly belching forth astonishing volumes of thick, often black smoke. The result is a pea-soup atmosphere that must be reminiscent of industrial London in the 1950's. Visibility is reduced to no more than a few miles in any direction making the drive into Lanzhou a magical mystery tour as the landscape in front of you emerges dramatically from the smog. Unfortunately a combination of landscape, climate and prevailing winds then obligingly funnels this gaseous gloop straight into Lanzhou.

Arriving in the city itself we found ourselves at yet another very comfortable hotel, and retiring to the room on the 14th floor the result of the smog was immediately evident. The first evidence stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. It is hard to imagine how I could have been dirtier after a week in a coal mine. It took three washes before my hair stopped yielding grime, and it is almost embarrassing to admit the colour of the water. Of course some of this was down to the previous four days rough camping, but a quick glance out of the window across the vista of high-rise buildings that rapidly disappear into the thick smog were enough to convince me that Tibet was the minority contributor to my dishevelled state. In the days ahead we would be almost continuously breathing this gloop, and it wasn't long before the inhalers and antihistamines put in an emergency appearance.

Lanzhou is a modern city. Aside from some pagodas that sit atop one of the local hills and are apparently worth a look if you can be bothered with the climb (I couldn't) there is little to see and do here except eat, sleep and shop. Which is what we mostly did.

Our one notable experience in Lanzhou was our first hotpot. This is a kind of Chinese version of Fondue, where you are given a vat of hot oil and a bunch of assorted ingredients ranging from things as mundane as slices of pork to things as exotic as tripe and duck's tongues.. The clue is in the name, however, and in true Chinese style the main component of the meal is chilli. Lots of chilli. The event starts out civilised enough, but as the evening wears on more and more of the chilli infuses into the oil and the ingredients become more and more absorbent. By the end of a three hour eating experience you will either have become adept at fishing slimy, oil covered ingredients from the toxic broth in front of you with chopsticks or you will be very hungry. Assuming the former the table in front of you (and possibly your clothes) will be strewn with a detritus of leftovers and your mouth will feel like a raging furnace. A very pleasant and enjoyable evening was had by all, and we were left anticipating the inevitable (and quite literal) sting in the tail.

Remember, if nothing else, to stow the toilet roll in the minibar!

...Last one for now.

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Last photos from Tibet...

I will refrain from commenting too much on the politics of this area. The Tibetans are a wonderful people and it is perhaps a great shame to see their ethnic routes being diluted. In many ways, though, what is done is done and there is little doubt that the Chinese investment in this area and the creation of the Beijing-Tibet railway is bringing a prosperity to Tibet that could not have happened otherwise. Everywhere there are signs of new building, infrastructure improvement and of on-going investment. As always progress is a double edged sword. Whilst some may find the stealthful cleansing of Tibetan culture distasteful, though, more than anything I think we should lament the inevitable dissolution of one of natures great wildernesses. This is a harsh and beautiful environment and it seems clear to me that the Chinese intend to tame it. The day that the footings are laid for the 'Everest base camp hotel' will, in my opinion, be a day of unparallelled tragedy.

From Base-camp we made our way to Shigatze, Lhasa and then out onto the plateau towards China proper.

Shigatze was an interesting pit-stop, notable primarily for a nice modern hotel and the Tashi restaurant where we got our first dose of western food for a while. I am pretty keen, in general, to try local cuisine, but, well sometimes, you just need a break and this gave us the opportunity to do just that. You can, after all, eat only so many momos.

Moving on from Shigatze we arrived in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. This is backpacker central, and there are a plethora bars, eating houses, and other trappings of western tourism. Plenty to see and do here the obvious first stop being the Potala palace, the erstwhile domicile of the Dali Lama, assuming you can get tickets - no easy task - along with the main temple square and the incredible scenery. The main attraction of Lhasa for me though, aside from the obvious pull of the Dunya bar, was the opportunity to indulge in some outdoors activities. Mountain biking and rafting here are a must-do experience and accounted for two very enjoyable days. The four days spent in Lhasa were a welcome respite from travelling and gave us an opportunity for some R&R post the rigours of base-camp and a welcome taste of normality.

From Lhasa we headed out across the Plateau for some long days driving and some incredibly beautiful rough camping on our way into lowland China.

From Base-camp to Lhasa, the Dunya bar and Potala palace, rafting and mountain biking and the wide open spaces and cold blue skies of the plateau, the astonishing achievement of the Beijing-Lhasa railway to the (less than wonderful) communal loos, Tibet has, to be sure, been a whistle-stop tour of amazing experiences.

A note on food and stuff..

As a number of my friends will testify I have long had a 'thing' for oriental women. Let me tell you, being in China is doing nothing to help me. The Chinese are a very well put together race; everywhere you look there is olive skin, almond eyes, tall delicate bodies, slim well-toned limbs and pert attractive derrieres... And that is just the men! Te-he :).

This is very definitely the land of the pretty people. Obesity is virtually non-existent as far as I can tell and when you do see someone who has had 'more than their share of the pies' they stick out like a beacon. We hit China proper around two weeks ago now and, having adopted a predominantly Chinese style diet since, I am gaining some insight into why this may be the case. For a week or so I have started pretty much every day with a healthy dose of stomach cramps. I am kind of hoping I have an unwanted passenger who will respond to a heavy handed antibiotic hint, cos the alternative is an intolerance of the food. The latter is not inconceivable, however, because Chinese food consists largely of high levels of protein, fat, spice and lashings of MSG. Carbs are something of a rarity. Contrary to the British image of Chinese food, rice is often served here as an optional extra or simply to cleanse the palette at the end of a meal.

Boil this down and you realise that the majority of China is apparently on the Atkins diet, which goes a long way to explaining their slim physiques.

Whether you appreciate Chinese food or not, however, it was with dismay upon entering the main square of Xian that I was greeted by a double whammy of super-sized golden arches. I normally avoid MacDonalds like a particularly virulent plague, it not being my preference to eat cardboard food. I have to hold my hand up, though, and say that for the last two days, in an effort to quell the fire in my gut through the consumption of something bland, I have broken my self imposed embargo and passed within the sphere of the golden M.

MacDonalds' on-going conquest of the civilised world is, I guess unstoppable, and it is inevitable that shortly behind it will follow the inexorable wobble of thousands of cellulite encrusted arses. It is, I think, a tragic indictment that, more than anything else, it may be a fast-food inspired obesity problem that signifies China's arrival as a truly 'developed' nation. Certainly I saw more 'fat kids' within the 100m^2 of Maccer's floor space than I have seen in most of the rest of China. Hmmmm.

For my own part this trip has been a diet revolution. I have spent most of the past year or so before this trip trying in vain to reach 14 and a half stone, a weight that I have not seen since I turned 23, or there abouts. It was with some considerable delight, therefore, that in Lhasa I came across some scales and discovered that since leaving home I have dropped nearly 8 kg, putting me at 88kg for the first time since long ago saying a sad farewell to my teens.

Considering that I have spent the last 5 months more or less stuffing everything I can get my hands on down my throat, sitting inactive on the back of a truck for days at a time, drinking more beer than I have consumed in years, and generally throwing culinary caution to the wind, this result is something of a coup.

Forget Weight Watchers. Join the Exodus diet plan!

Everest is perhaps the ultimate iconic image. To stand within what seems like touching distance of the black peak with your puny body steadfastly wrapped against the elements it is hard to believe that above you is almost three vertical miles of solid rock. It is almost impossible to comprehend how anyone could stand at this point, cold and gasping for breath, and look at the mountain with conquest in mind. To me the peak seemed as remote as the stars.

It is a long and rough ride to base-camp. If you are lucky Everest pokes its head through the clouds so that beyond a certain point in the journey you can appreciate its gradual approach. Toyota land-cruisers carry you on the first leg to a ramshackle collection of huts and monasteries where you can get a bowl of momo's/noodle soup for lunch and further plumb the depths of Tibetan toilets - which provide a constant source of incredulity. Here you transfer to horse and cart for the final bone-crunching leg. This slow journey through the barren, moon-scape approach to Everest is fun, though, and provides a source of income for the local Tibetans. Presumably much to the frustration of the Dingry Land-cruiser consortium.

Base camp itself is nothing more than a collection of tent 'hotels', trinket shops and bad smells that huddle beside the glacial run-off river from the now not-so-distant mountains. Disembarking from the carts is a welcome relief for ones abused backside and transferring to your allocated 'hotel' and supping on a warm glass of jasmine tea is a pleasant end to the journey.

Once again the toilets here deserve a special mention cos they are, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst in the world. If I were ever to travel this road again I would consider a large cork essential equipment. Avoiding the facilities here is definitely the recommended course of action.

All the time the huge bulk of Everest dominates the skyline; it is impossible to forget that here you sit in the shadow of the roof of the world. A short walk to the end of the base-camp village takes you up a small hill to a stupa which forms the main viewing platform. If you are lucky and the mountain is not feeling coy, the sun transits the sky, clouds roll past and the light patterns change it is easy to lose yourself in the many faces of the mountain.

We have been fortunate to bear witness to many of man's great achievements on this trip but without exception they are dwarfed when compared with one of nature's mighty icons. For me, Everest base-camp has been the crowning moment of this trip. It is all, quite literally, down hill from here.

Leaving Zhangmu we headed out on the friendship highway, our goal: Everest base-camp.

The friendship highway is a rude introduction to Tibet. As you climb from the Nepalese foothills along precarious roads that cling stubbornly to the edge of high-sided, steep valleys the grubby and unwelcoming border towns make a stark contrast to the dramatic, beautiful and rapidly changing mountains. It took us six days to get from Kathmandu (at about 1200m) to Everest base camp (5200m) and the speed of the ascent from leech-infested rain-forest (of which I had first hand experience) to the barren moonscape of the high Himalaya literally leaves your head swimming. The rapid reduction in oxygen levels make even the simple task of putting up a tent a major undertaking as we found out on our first rough camp in Tibet. The scenery as well as the lack of oxygen takes your breath away, however and leaves you in no doubt that this is a journey through one of natures masterpieces.

I fell in love with the Himalayas last time I was there, and while Tibet does not have the 'up-close-and-personal' drama of the Nepalese mountains, it is every bit as spectacular in its own way. This land is about wide open spaces and distant mountain scenes, barren high passes and lonely, far-away figures. There is rural landscape here too and it comes as more than a small surprise to see impossibly picturesque villages surrounded by fields containing the bright greens of unripe wheat and barley and yellows of mustard flower. Parts of this landscape could almost have been created in homage to a Don McLean song. It is astonishing and wholly unexpected.

It is so that you approach the rear guard of the high Himalaya. The final stop on the road to the roof of the world is Dingry, another scab on the mostly clear complexion of Tibet. Situated within view of Everest, this is a one-horse town that provides the last bastion of civilisation on the road to base-camp. Tumbleweeds welcome, oh and we met the horse.

Despite appearances here we stayed in a quaint and relatively comfortable hotel which among other things introduced us all to the novel experience of communal crapping. The loo quality, shall we say, was on an inversely proportional trend to the landscape. It is at Dingry that you pick up the 4WD's that carry you on your penultimate stretch to base-camp and the following day that was our intention.

...And so, from The Last Resort, plagued by dreams of the ground rushing up towards me at terminal velocity, we departed for Tibetan border. Here we encountered Chinese bureaucracy for the first time. The crossing into China involved forming lots of orderly queues, waiting around and jumping through flaming hoops. But if we thought out own transit was protracted the progress of the truck could reasonably have been studied by geologists. It was lunch time of the following day before we finally got our transport (and clothes) back, which gave us ample time to appreciate the dubious delights of Zhangmu. This is a scabby blot-on-the-landscape of a border town that smears itself lazily along the friendship highway for some distance and comprises a ramshackle collection of scummy hotels, internet cafes, phone booths, brothels and flem-flinging locals. This was made all the more attractive by a night of torrential rain. Still the hotel served reasonable food, the rooms were acceptable (at least Aleppo standards) and, well, honestly it could have been a whole lot worse. At least they had wide-screen satellite and we got to see the final of the world cup. The first match we have successfully managed to watch.

It turns out that I can edit this blog ok in China, I just can't look at it. I am not exactly sure what I have said to offend the Chinese sensors, but whatever it is I am well and truly barred. :)

Tibet is now recent history for me, and as I sit in this crowded, humid, smoky internet cafe in Xian slowly sweating onto the keyboard, the wide open spaces and cold clean air of the Tibetan plateau seem even more appealing in retrospect than they did while I was there.

It has been a while since I have posted anything here other than photos. For all the infrastructure improvements that the Chinese have made in Tibet the comms links are unreliable as hell and access speeds are slow. This adds up to making internet access on the plateau a major headache to the extent that I pretty much gave up on it. Now in China proper, and on my second visit to Xian I have a couple of days to catch up so, deep breath, and here we go...