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!
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!
posted by Al at 3:56 am
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