We’ve been in China for 30 days, half the allowance of our visa. We’ve just crossed into Sichuan and are making a dash across the high plateau and down to the capital of the province, Chengdu.
Apart from a few days early on we’ve managed to keep to back roads, often up and over the mountains.
We’ve been back and forth through autumn countless times as we rise and fall in altitude. The snow capped peaks have crept closer with each mountain pass till snow drifts brush our tyres at the sides of the road. Winter has edged closer, mountain tops disappearing in to the heavy clouds. Closer still, we got caught in a snowstorm, horizontal hail and snow battering us as we crossed the plains.
We’ve been kidding ourselves for some time that we’ll beat the winter by heading south…
It’s been interesting seeing the different peoples living in the provinces we travel through. Cycling through Gansu then the Qinghai province, then Gansu again we’ve moved between the Hui, the Tu and the Tibetan strongholds.
Although almost in the middle of China we’re also in the borderlands, skirting around the ‘difficult’ territories of Xinjiang and Tibet.
The most obvious religion now is Tibetan Buddhism, with monestaries, stupas, prayer flags in every town. The flags flutter atop every mountain pass, sometimes with a recorded prayer chanting to the mountains. There are Muslims of different flavours too, women in headscarfs, men with their white caps. It seems that out here the Han Chinese are more prevalent in the cities. In Xining we wandered through the Tibetan market and were pleasantly surprised by the sheer variety of faces – face structures and skin tones so different from one another. But we’re the ones who stand out.
Everyone stares at us, unashamedly. As we ride by, walk down the street or attempt to eat a bowl of slippery noodles with chopsticks.
They covertly or obviously take photos of us. They’ll stop us in the supermarket and ask for selfies. Sometimes they don’t even ask.
It’s disconcerting, the kind of behaviour that at home would be regarded as borderline racist, certainly rude.
But I take the opportunity to stare right back, with as genuine a smile as I can muster. The reactions to that are varied -a surprising number of people just keep staring blankly. Sometimes I think I see wariness or suspicion in the eyes of the locals, particularly the Tibetan men.
As we move south it seems people are cheerier, the monks wave and call hello, or chuckle to their neighbour at the absurd foreign cyclists. The locals seem more amused and cheerful to see us. I’ll get a wry smile from a bent backed woman, a wave from a child crossing the road, the workers on the road will laugh and shout hello as we pass. Before this change it seemed to be only the Han Chinese who approached us, waved or smiled. I suppose they have nothing to loose whereas for the minorities the distrust runs too deep.
We have some occasional conversations or meaningful interactions with people. A Muslim restauranteur one day, a Tibetan shepard who came and looked over all our equipment as we set up camp – I think to determine whether we’d be warm enough. He peered in the tent, in our bags and only appeared appeared when we brought out our down sleeping bags.
Most conversations are reduced to mime. For one read on or another Google translate doesn’t help much. It’s rare to get much of a chance to talk to people, the language the last of many hurdles to overcome.
At one monestary town we visit we are required to join a tour to see in the main buildings. The English speaking monk seems cheery enough, informative and pleased to chat. Seguewaying smoothly from the Buddhist principle of compassion for all humankind, he launches into an anti-Muslim rant. Not exactly what I was expecting. Otherwise it’s great to get a few answers to the ever increasing number of questions I have when I visit these places.
The food remains a delight, and eating out is the highlight of an often gruelling – if beautiful – day.
Mounds of spicy, oily tofu, piles of stir-friend pakchoi, green beans or spinach – fiery hot or laced with garlic. Egg fried rice with minutely cut vegetables, meats deep-fried and smothered with sticky sweet and sour sauce. Noodles in countless variations – flat, round, short, long, glassy – in soups or stir-fried with vegetables and meats. The Tibetan restaurants give us momos, steamed or fried, yak meat, yak milk yoghurt and butter.
We eat out fairly often, but we’re still not always sure what we’re walking into. Some places have menus with pictures, but more often than not we pick something from the menu which includes the one or two characters we know (noodles and meat) or point to something someone else is eating.
It seems to work ok.
We’re camping two nights out of three. The temperatures have dropped below freezing every night for the last week or so. It makes everything harder, struggling to keep warm and not seizing up overnight. I’m even more glad I brought Jamie along, it’s much easier to stay warm with two in the tent.
The last few places we’ve stayed – even the grottiest which had no running water or working lightbulb – has had electric blankets, something that makes it just as hard to get going in the morning as it is fighting to leave the hard-won warmth of the tent.
Up here in the mountains you can see people are used to living through long and cold winters.
The days are short now too, darkness reigns from 7pm – 7am, which means there’s not so many hours for cycling.
We are snaking our way across and down China, trying to keep ahead of winter and our visa expiration.
A few calculations on the remaining distance suggest that we need to up our daily mileage if we want to make it all by bike before our visa runs out. We like a challenge it seems.
It keeps us warm if nothing else.
Probably unsurprisingly by now, we’ve planned a fairly optimistic route for the rest of our journey through China, involving some pandas, lakes and one or two fairly sizable mountains…
But we love the mountains.
There are yaks and feral dogs and eagles (maybe vultures?) and small squeeky rodents.
The scenery is stunning.
What’s not to love?
I wonder if we’re getting addicted to the low-oxygen lifestyle.
China seems to be growing on me. It remains utterly impenetrable. I have at least one moment of total bafflement every day. But the longer I spend here the more that seems ok.