The controversial Lhasa train line

Carl gets some oxygen as we head higher into the plateau!

According to the train announcer, the line to Lhasa was built by the Chinese for the economic benefit of the Tibet Autonomous Region of China. Apparently, it adheres to the highest environmental standards and, as the world's highest train line (reaching 5070m), is a monumental engineering feat.

We'll concede the last point, but the rest? I don't know.

The Chinese train line to Lhasa opened this year to much controversy and, we have to admit, we did think twice before purchasing our tickets. We can't really comment on the environmental cost of the train line, but it's hard to believe that there has been no impact when you see how the Chinese have turned their own countryside into an industrial heap. We've been passing factories and industrial wasteland for hours now - no sign yet of mountains or the clear blue sky the announcer has been talking about.

More worrying, I think, is the apparent economic and cultural impact. The train is packed the brim with Chinese, which is perhaps testament to the success of the Chinese Government's Han-Chinese immigration policy. Lured by financial incentives, a more relaxed one child policy and the promise of a better life, it seems the Chinese have been flocking to the roof of the world.

From what we've read, an estimated 50% of Lhasa's population are Han-Chinese (although official figures put the figure at about 12%) and the modernisation of Tibet is well underway. Add all this to the well-documented destruction caused by the Red Guards during the cultural revolution and it's hard to know what to expect when we get there - just another Chinese city?

Whatever you think about it, for us the train line has certainly opened up a part of the world previously only accessible to hardcore travellers (willing to risk dangerous bus journeys or illegally hitchhiking their way to the capital) or the wealthy and the extremely patient (who could afford to fly and be bothered with the bureaucracy).

Walking the great wall (from Jinshanling to Simatai)

Not just a stroll in the park, but a 10km hard slog up and down steep inclines, stairs and loose gravel. True to form, the Great Wall really does have to be seen to be believed. It stretches for miles and weaves its way over and around mountains and through the countryside as far as the eye can see.

Emma struggling to get her little legs up some pretty big steps!

More pictures from the great wall

October is out of peak season so we didn't have to battle with any crowds. In fact, at times we felt like we were the only people for miles. We started at Jinshanling and finished at Simatai. This section of the wall has about 30 watchtowers and remains pretty undeveloped (which is no mean feat in China).

Loved every minute of it and actually enjoyed getting some exercise. But now we are safely ensconced in our soft sleeper compartment ready for the 48-hour train ride to Lhasa in Tibet. (Had to go straight to the train so, luckily, the food that our chinese travel companions are eating completely masks the smell of our stinky sweaty clothing).

This was a bit of a last minute decision and a bit of a risk. Foreigners wanting to go to Tibet are meant to get a travel permit and be on an organised tour. But it's all a bit of a hassle and too expensive for us, so we sweet-talked our way into a couple of train tickets and are hoping like hell that they don't ask us for permits on the train. So far so good ...

Hanging out in Beijing

Cruising around the hutongs of Beijing, it's easy to believe that you've stepped back in time ... dirty, dusty and smelly alleys, meat skewers cooking over hot coals, steam buns for sale on every corner, and people and bicycles everywhere. Some of the houses in the hutongs still don't have plumbing or electricity - although the government has installed some spiffy flushing squatties just in time for the Olympics.

A short and crazy taxi ride across town, however, and it's easy to see how China is one of the biggest energy consumers in the world. Skyscrapers dripping in flashing fluro lights, glowing restaurants and highways of cars, cars and more cars.

We've been kicking around here for a couple of days now, trying desperately to put the memory of the UB to Beijing train journey out of minds. Here's a tip: never get the local Chinese train from UB. It was the filthiest train we have been on so far and we had to spend four and a half hours at Jinning train station (the middle of nowhere), listening to people hock their insides up all over the place. And don't even get me started on the staring ...

Anyway, we've done some of the sights - tiannamen square, the forbidden city and the temple of heaven park. We've seen all sorts cooking on sticks at snack street - starfish, seahorses and cicadas, you name it. We've scoffed on steam buns, pastries, dim sum and god knows what else.

We spent a fantastic day exploring the summer palace, which was once the playground of the Qing and Ming Dynasties. Back then it was used as a retreat from the city. But the Beijing urban sprawl has caught up and now it is a beautiful Chinese oasis surrounded by roads, cars, ramshackle houses, high rises and your typical Chinese madness.

Gotta say, we love this city despite the smog, the spitting and the giant tour groups that swamp every inch of it, dressed in matching caps and lined up in rows.

Attack of the backpack (another Emma moment)

No bad karma this time. Just Emma being plain clumsy, once again.

To be fair, we did know it was a risk loading her up with a backpack double her size, which stood at least a foot above her head. And we did predict that at some point or another she was going to do something stupid or injure herself, or both.

Picture this.

We leave ourselves an hour to get to UB train station for the train to Beijing. Should be no problem, right? It's a Monday night and only a 15 minute taxi ride away. Wrong.

We step out onto the street and the main drag, Peace Avenue, is heaving with traffic. And this is no ordinary traffic. This is Mongolian traffic. So it's chaos, and crazy driving. And accidents. (We joke that when we get back to Oz we are going to make bumper stickers which say 'I'm not a bad driver, I'm Mongolian'.)

We try in vain to hail a cab. The police try in vain to keep the traffic moving. There are four of us - each with a backpack on front and back, plus groceries for the 30+ hour train ride ahead of us. Even if we did manage to get a cab, we realise, we won't make it in time.

A brief consultation. A quick look at the map. We decide our best chance is on foot. We have 30 minutes, so we hotfoot it. There is no pavement, just dirt and rocks. And there a people everywhere. We dodge, we swerve, we bang into people.

Then, all of a sudden, Emma hits a rock. She flies through the air, propelled by the weight of her backpack. She doesn't stand a chance and we can't catch her. She skids along the dirt and finally come to a halt, arms and legs flailing, unable to get herself of the ground. In fact, it takes two of us to haul her upright again. She's covered in dirt and has a graze on her hand. Her pride is bruised again, but otherwise she's unhurt. Saved, it seems, by the day pack she was wearing on her front. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my phone. She smashed it up. Still it was amusing ...

Back in the comfort of the hostel in Ulan Bataar and in one piece

So we made it back to UB in one piece. And we think the bad karma may be gone - or at least we hope it is.

The rest of our trip went fantastically well and was well worth that crazy first day on the road. We spent two nights chilling in the gers at the white lake, rode big stocky (and slightly coco) Mongolian horses around the area and hiked to the top of a volcano.

Carl at the top of the volcano

We drank Mongolian wine (definitely not something to look for next time you feel like a drop of red) in the evenings and feasted on rice or noodles, indiscriminate meat and, of course, some trusty potatoes. One night we even went Mongolian gourmet and ate vegetable dumplings. We finally tried Mongolia's national dish, fried mutton pancakes - and they weren't bad if you like your meat meaty and your arteries nice and blocked.

We visited the Erdenne Zuu Monastery, watched a German straddle 'penis' rock (less said about that the better), had the best shower in the world at a local bathhouse in the middle of nowhere, and froze our butts off in the mini Gobi.

I even think that, by the end of the trip, Moshi had forgiven us for the incident on the buddhist shrine. It seems a shot of vodka fixes everything, even in these parts.

The White Lake, Western Mongolia

Finally we arrive at the White Lake! Watch the video ...

Bad karma, four breakdowns, lost for 150kms, and no white lake to be seen

It's fair to say our western Mongolian adventure didn't get off to the best start. At 11am on the first morning, our driver was already annoyed. We were meant to leave at 9am but had spent an hour and a half trying to re-arrange our tickets to Beijing.

"Must go," said Moshi, our driver and, according to the hostel, the Mongolian super mechanic. "Very long drive today, 400kms".

We'd eyed the car suspiciously. It looked tough, that's for sure. A relic soviet van, it was apparently the only car equipped to tackle Mongolian roads (note: the term 'roads' should be used loosely in Mongolia). We piled in.

At about 12pm, after bouncing through the Ulan Bataar traffic, Moshi stopped the car and got out to go to the toilet. Nearby was a large pile of rocks with a piece of wood sticking out of it. The wood was wrapped loosely in blue ribbon. Crutches, rubbish and all manner of crap scattered the bottom of the pile. For the girls, it seemed like the perfect spot for a quick squat.

When Moshi got back to the car and realised Natalie and Yvonne were missing, he looked even more annoyed. When they appeared from behind the pile of rocks, bladders empty and ready to hit the road, we sensed that we had really messed up.

"No toilet. Buddhist spot," glowered Moshi. "Make Mongolian people very angry." They'd peed on a Buddhist monument.

Problem #1
A couple of hours later, Moshi stopped the car on a bridge. A herd of sheep were blocking the road. We thought he'd stopped to let us take pictures. We were wrong.

Turns out, Moshi the supermechanic and the soviet beasty van were 'one'. He'd sensed that something was wrong and he was right. The van was leaking oil. So, while we scurried out of the van like paparazzi to take photos, he got comfortable under the van and set about blocking the leaky oil tank ... with a tire tube. Sure enough, an hour or so later, we had our photos and the car was ready to roll. We piled in again and went on our merry way.

Problem #2
The engine cut out and the van sputtered to a stop. We'd only been back on the road for an hour or so. Moshi lifted the engine cover and got to work. We piled out of the car again and started to wonder if this was bad luck or bad karma. It was a problem with the distributor, but thankfully nothing that Moshi couldn't fix. Half an hour or so later we hit the road again. This time, according to Moshi, it was dirt road all the way. And I'm not talking smooth dirt road, our path was covered with potholes, rocks, dead-end tracks. In fact, it no longer even resembled a road.

Problem #3
Moshi slammed on the brakes. Oh no, surely not another problem. Moshi inspected the tyres and found the problem. The rim of one of the tyres had snapped. He looked concerned but set to work immediately, armed only with a couple of metal levers and a bicycle pump. It was getting dark and it was certainly getting cold. He jacked up the car and removed the broken tyre. He pulled the bladder out and removed the rim. He fished the spare tyre from the boot and removed the rim. Within minutes, he'd swapped the rims and was jimmying the bladder back in. Moshi worked at a furious pace. We took turns pumping up the bladder. Eventually, the tyre was fixed and we were back on the road. Phew. We looked at each other, relieved. Surely nothing else could go wrong.

"How long?" we asked Moshi. "Very bad day," he said. And scanned the dirt tracks in front of him. We wondered whether he was lost.

Problem #4
It was now pitch black outside. We were definitely lost. Moshi stopped sporadically at gers and asked directions, but we sensed he was getting very little help. A little while earlier, we'd stopped to help another van that was bogged in mud. Apparently, we weren't far from a village. Every car light we saw (and there weren't many) we hoped was the village.

Eventually, we saw it up ahead.

Problem #5
BANG. Moshi slammed on the brakes again. This really didn't sound good. We got out of the car. It was freezing. Moshi checked the tyres. They were fine. He got under the car and started rummaging around. We discussed whether we should walk to the village or sleep in the car. Another large bang. Moshi flung the drive shaft into the dirt. "Very bad day," he mumbled. A big round disc followed. We wondered again about bad karma ...

After a few minutes, Moshi got back in the car. We scurried in after him and didn't ask any questions. As it turns out, we'd left the 4WD shaft behind and continued towards the lights. We tensed at every bump.

11 hours after leaving Ulan Bataar, we stopped in front of a small hotel. Moshi sorted a room and some food. The boys opened a beer. We had driven 150kms out of our way in search of the right track. We'd insulted the Mongolians, lost car parts, and were still no closer to our destination. We wondered what tomorrow would hold.

Arrival in Ulan Bataar

Finally made it to Ulan Bataar this morning at about 5am. We'd pre-booked our hostel so for the first time we were treated to a train pick-up. Bliss. We met a couple of Aussies, Natalie and Mark, on the train while we were waiting to pass through the border. Turns out that they were booked at the same hostel, and had planned to meet another couple here (a Canadian and a German). We've all decided to delay our train to Beijing and head out into Western Mongolia for six days in search of gers, the white lake, horses, the Erdenne Zuu monastary and the mini Gobi.

Border boredom

Took seven hours to get through Russian customs. Now we are sitting at Sukbataar, waiting to pass through Mongolian customs. Border crossings are a painful affair to say the least - carriage searches, bag searches, customs forms, and no access to a toilet since 3pm.

The number of people in our cabin has bulged to five, not including the man who ate dinner here and then left or the drunk guy who delivered pickled cucumbers to Jargal in exchange for a bottle of vodka. It's chaos ... but it is certainly keeping us entertained.

Irkustk to Ulan Bataar

Our three days in Irkutsk were pretty uneventful. Not much to see there - and unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to head to Olkhon Island for some R&R before boarding the train to Ulan Bataar. We did, however, manage to squeeze in some football (much to Carl's delight). We watched the Russkies spank the English in a pub called Liverpool (again, to Carl's delight), with an English guy we met at our hostel (so we even got a little of our own back after the rugby world cup). We also managed a day trip to a little village called Listvyanka on the banks of Lake Baikal, where we ran into the Aussie women we'd met on the Moscow to Irkustk train.

They'd organised a boat trip on Lake Baikal and let us join in the fun, which made the crazy minibus ride to and from Irkutsk worthwhile. Lake Baikal is 636km from north to south, although it's only 60km wide. It's the world's deepest lake (1637m at its deepest point) and contains a fifth of the world's fresh, unfrozen water. It was formed by a rift between tectonic plates and will apparently form the earth's fifth ocean, splitting the Asian continent. We spent two hours on the lake, surrounded by mountains and checking out the little villages that dot the shoreline. Not a bad way to kill an afternoon!

But now, we are relaxing on the train the Ulan Bataar. We boarded at about 8pm last night and have just worked out where we are. We are passing along the western shore of Gusinoye Ozero (Goose Lake), and are about halfway between Ulan Ude and the Russian border post, Nauski. Outside, the environment is much the same. We are surrounded by long, low mountain ranges and yellowy-brown grassy plains. Occasionally there is a little wooden house or an isolated village.

Inside, things are completely different from the previous legs of our journey. The miserable unsmiling Russian provodnitsas (who are in charge of each carriage) have been replaced by Mongolian provodnitsas. Because this is a Mongolian train now, everyone is smiling and laughing. The carriage is a buzz of activity - the cabin is full of young Mongolian men who never sit still. They wander the carriage, saying hello to everyone in Mongolian, Russian, German, and English - basically, whichever language they think works.

Our cabin comes complete with chintzy gold tasselled upholstery and our new Mongolian friend, Jargal. He speaks little to know English, but we have managed to work out that he's from Ulan Bataar, rides horses like all good Mongolian men, and we think he may have been a tailor, butcher, hairdresser or all of the above.

At the moment, he's trying to teach Carl another weird card game. I sense he wants to play for money, which could spell disaster for us.