7 Years, Never Changed—Yunnan-Tibet, Sichuan-Tibet, Qinghai-Tibet Routes

Events from 2018, only written in 2020. In 2011, Jingjing and I cycled the Yunnan-Tibet Route. Seven years later, the two young people had become four, plus my mother and others, so we bought a car. The purpose of buying the car was to take the family out to have fun while we were still young. This trip had two destinations—Xinjiang and Tibet. Since I had been to Xinjiang once in 2018, and my mother was relatively young, to avoid more severe altitude sickness in Tibet as she aged, we decided on Tibet. To go to Tibet, we needed to choose a route. In 2011, Jingjing and I had cycled the Yunnan-Tibet Route, so this time we decided to take the Sichuan-Tibet Route and the Qinghai-Tibet Route. We planned for a long time, making a serious travel plan PPT with pictures and text, and gave several emotional presentations at home—partly to share the itinerary details, partly to spark the family’s anticipation for the trip. But in most cases, plans change on the go. For example, in 2011 when cycling the Yunnan-Tibet Route, the route map I spent three days drawing was left behind at a guesthouse in Deqin, and the rest of the trip was done blindly—but it was just one national highway, so we couldn’t get lost. This time was the same: as soon as we left Chengdu, the rhythm fell apart. On July 8, 2018, taking advantage of the summer vacation, I used my family reunion leave and annual leave to gather 30 days, and we set off!

Passing through Guangxi, “Among the countless peaks in the world, only here they form a forest.” Jingle loved the little car in his hand, playing with it all the way in the car, but unfortunately he lost it later in the journey and cried sadly over it once.

Tinkering with it. The usually bold little sister had never seen this “rare thing.” Encouraged by her mother, she cautiously touched the goat’s horn.

Our first stop was Guiyang. After settling everyone in, I went out and found a popular “Silk Baby” place to satisfy curiosity. Some vegetables wrapped in a thin pancake, drizzled with sauce, and we ate. Jingjing and I started laughing—it didn’t seem worth it.

This was better. Late at night, after everyone else had gone to sleep, Jingjing and I snuck out again to “Brave the World.”

This Changwang noodles were delicious; I added three pieces of dried tofu.

The next day, we went to Qianling Mountain Park. I had been here in 2016; this time I specifically brought the family, especially the kids, to play.

Behind us, a monkey imitated our pose.

But when it was time to pose with Brother, they weren’t as cooperative.

Sure enough, the lively little monkeys “conquered” them. Later, when they saw monkeys “fighting in gangs,” they got a bit scared.

From Guiyang to the “surreal” Chongqing. GPS navigation in Chongqing is almost useless; we circled several times before finding the hotel. The hotel was downhill from Hongya Cave. Night views with cruise ships are a signature feature of some developed cities—Shanghai, Guangzhou, Wuhan, Nanjing, etc., and Chongqing is no exception.

Hongya Cave was brilliantly lit at night, selling the same kind of stuff as other internet-famous spots.

During college in 2008, I once took a 17-hour green train from Wuhan to Chongqing and played for a week. A decade passed in a flash.

The next day, we queued for over two hours to ride the Yangtze River Cableway. I saved a window seat for Little Wang. I have acrophobia and dared not look; he found it fascinating.

These two also found it very interesting and were very happy.

Today’s Chaotianmen is quite different—the ubiquitous cries of “stick men” and wandering cooked food vendors are gone. As the city develops, many similar phenomena disappear. On the way there, I told them to try the braised tofu, chicken legs, and other cooked foods I had missed ten years ago—those sold hanging from the neck in flat wooden boxes. Unexpectedly, once missed, it’s truly missed.

Do you know which cave this is? It’s a passage under the Mountain City sculpture.

At Ciqikou in Chongqing, the line for buying fried dough twists was as long as ten years ago. We bought some to eat on the way into Tibet.

In the afternoon, from Chongqing to Chengdu, we made a detour to Leshan to see the Great Buddha. It was drizzly with few people. I passed on the commentary I had heard during my last visit to Leshan Big Buddha—read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles.

Where the Three Rivers meet, imposing and magnificent.

In every city I visit, I like to explore the museum.

Then we strolled through People’s Park. The kids weren’t into pure walking; they preferred rides.

Afterward, we went to Kuanzhai Alley. It rained on and off, and we just skimmed through. Originally, we planned to have hotpot and watch a show there in the evening, but everyone said they had been eating hotpot every day and wanted to rest at the hotel.

Early the next morning, we went to Chunxi Road, strolled around, and saw the climbing panda statue. Every time I travel, I tend to fill the itinerary to the brim, afraid of missing any attraction and leaving regrets. So my family kept saying I wasn’t sticking to my original intention from the home PPT presentation: stop and go.

That noon, after eating in Chengdu, we set off to truly embark on Highway 318! A fun phenomenon: when we started, everyone’s car was shiny and clean, but when we later met the same group on the Qinghai-Tibet Route, they were all dusty and grubby.

This time we brought two tents, originally planning to camp at Miyaluo Scenic Area. But due to several hours of traffic jams, we arrived around 8-9 PM. We found a spot outside a primary school—since it was summer vacation, no one was there. We prepared to “camp” against the side wall, hurriedly setting up the tent while cooking self-heating rice. During setup, we realized one tent wasn’t quick-assembly; it needed steel pegs hammered into the ground. We just managed it anyhow.

As soon as we left Chengdu, the weather turned cool. Yesterday in the rain we wore short sleeves; this morning we needed coats. Our campsite was about 20 meters from a rushing river, roaring all night long. If you quieted your mind, you could feel a bit of nature.

Passing here reminded me of Alai’s “The Dust Settles.” He wrote the book in his early thirties, which he could never surpass later, but I didn’t quite like the ending—too introverted and superficial.

Today the weather was nice, wild monkeys everywhere, and the great river rushing. For some reason, the water along the way was very muddy. Very different from before.

Arriving at Sertar, sacred sounds filled the air. Many places had loudspeakers playing chanting, making you feel like being in a holy land. The flowers in Sertar were passionate and free, living their own lives, neither understanding the sutras nor seeing people. One flower, one world—nice. The old dogs and old yaks here couldn’t call each other brothers, just like tourists and monks: they are in the same world, yet not in the same world. A little girl airing quilts, touching an old yak, feeding an old dog—that was the only bond connecting them.

At night we camped on an empty grassland outside Sertar. Initially, some Tibetans were picnicking there, along with college students who had rented a car from Chengdu to do the 318-214 small loop. When the students saw our family, they asked if we were camping overnight. I said yes, and they were delighted, saying that having us as company gave them a sense of safety. There were about four of them, including one or two female students. They didn’t have tents, just cracked open the car windows and slept inside. Nearby, a Tibetan family brought their own cooking gear and speakers, and even a diesel generator. After eating, they danced the Guozhuang until 10:30 PM. Our kids played well with theirs. When parting, a Tibetan child gave Little Wang a small toy—seemingly a Decepticon helmet or something, finely crafted. Little Wang loved it, ran back to show it off, with his sister toddling behind repeating every word he said about how he got it. Seeing his joy, it made up for the lost toy car at the start. The grassland looked beautiful, full of wildflowers and undisturbed—but there were many mosquitoes, and in the middle of the night, it poured rain. And “poured” wasn’t an exaggeration. Fortunately, the tent was sturdy and didn’t leak a drop. I had climbed a mountain alone all day; though the dry weather quickly dried my sweat, I had no place to shower. Once in the sleeping bag, I felt sticky. I might have had mild altitude sickness; sleeping was uncomfortable. After several tries, I moved the luggage from the trunk to the front seat, folded the rear seats, and slept inside the car, finally a bit more comfortable. I had to leave the window cracked, and rain poured in, but I couldn’t care less. Early the next morning, while we were still half-asleep, the students—probably unable to sleep all night—couldn’t take it anymore and drove off. We dozed a while longer, letting the kids sleep more until the rain lightened, then started reloading the car. We left the blankets and such in the back, let the elderly and kids sleep in the rear, then took Panda Road to Xinduqiao. Later I realized that was a mistake—both adults and kids got even more carsick. Lesson learned.

Leaving Xinduqiao, we wound through the “Sky City,” the sky low and clouds wide, refreshing and exhilarating; prosperous scenes stretched before us, making the heart carefree; gazing far, beauty overwhelmed the eyes.

Clouds rolled and unrolled beyond the sky, yaks covered the ground. Sometimes it poured, sometimes it cleared. Wildflowers everywhere, grass competing, streams murmuring, green mountains serene. Taking it all in, the vitality of heaven and earth filled the view. When traveling the Yunnan-Tibet Route in 2011, I missed this section. Today, I made up for it.

During this period, there was heavy rain, and the Jinsha River was under constant repair. Once traffic jammed, you never knew when it would clear. While stuck, I bragged to Little Wang about my bicycle trip to Tibet. Actually, deep down I always hope that when Little Wang is in middle school or college, I can take him—or the whole family—to travel the Yunnan-Tibet, Sichuan-Tibet, Qinghai-Tibet, and Xinjiang-Tibet routes. I often tell him: read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles. This world can be vast, infinite as the universe, or small as a grain of sand in your eye. We don’t take the largest or the smallest, don’t fuss over the present nor aim too high. Under suitable conditions, choose a suitable world. Suitable is the most comfortable.

After seven years, I finally touched the border of Tibet. Joyful and excited. All the fantasies and plans turned into reality at this moment—though only seven years, it felt like a lifetime. Many places, once visited, may never be visited again. I came to this familiar land again, as if touching the threshold of memories from a past life.

Mount Rawu. Markam is the meeting point of the Yunnan-Tibet Route and the Sichuan-Tibet Route. As soon as we reached Markam, familiar sights came into view, interweaving with long-stored memories. In a trance, I couldn’t tell reality from the past.

Next came long sections comparing seven years ago with seven years later. Same places, same people, same events—memories surfaced, stirring sighs. Seven years ago, at Rumei Town between Rawu Mountain and Dongda Mountain. The road wasn’t cement then.

Seven years later, at Rumei Town. The old road was abandoned; new road underfoot.

Seven years ago, Dongda Mountain. There was still snow at the end of July.

Seven years later, Dongda Mountain. Many mountains’ heights had changed; original features were gone, with many high-voltage transmission lines built everywhere.

Seven years ago, the 72 Bends.

Seven years later, the 72 Bends.

There were many cyclists along the road, but still much quieter than before. Far more cars. If time and stamina allow, cycling or motorcycling is a great experience. Many people might not know where this small pond is. When we cycled back then, we hitched a ride on a minibus passing by here; I filmed a video with my camera, deeply impressed, always yearning to return. This time, the water level had dropped significantly, and many high-voltage towers lined the shore.

The small pond seven years ago and seven years later.

Ranwu Lake. Seven years ago, Ranwu was just a small street less than 150 meters; now it’s all developed for tourism. The cookie-cutter modern attractions contrast sharply with the pristine landscape. Seven years ago, chance-met fellow travelers gathered at Ranwu. On the left, a college couple from Guangxi; on the right, two Hunan buddies—one good at drawing, dreaming of college in Hainan. I wonder how those strangers are doing now.

Seven years ago, another couple met on the road.

Seven years later, Ranwu Lake. A pleasant surprise on the way to Ranwu Lake—stopping to listen to the pounding waves. Nice.

Seven years ago, locals recommended Laigu Glacier, but we thought it too far to go. Now I deliberately came to make up for that regret. Unfortunately, villagers blocked the way, demanding we eat and stay at their homes to enter. We just looked from afar and left. The glacier had little ice; the peaks were yellowed.

Seven years ago, Yarlung Tsangpo River Grand Canyon.

Seven years later, Yarlung Tsangpo River Grand Canyon.

Little Wang and I collected water here, touched rocks, and brought many back as mementos.

After all these years, the water here never stopped flowing. Seven years ago.

Seven years ago, Lulang area.

Seven years later, Lulang area.

Seven years ago, the same mountains, same people.

Seven years later, the same mountains, same people.

Seven years ago, Nyang River.

Seven years later, the Nyingchi-Lhasa Expressway was built over the Nyang River. We took the newly opened expressway all the way to Lhasa. The expressway runs above the Nyang River, which has lost its former grandeur, depth, and steady flow. The water level has dropped drastically, the river yellow; without signs, I wouldn’t have believed it was the Nyang River of old. Back then, standing by the Nyang River felt like standing by the ocean, open and vast. A breeze brought the damp chill of the lake, mixed with the primal temperature of melting mountain ice, catching me off guard with the scent of billions of years. I shivered. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, I felt I had truly merged with Tibet.

On the streets of Lhasa, the kids still liked this kind of thing. Like adults, different people react differently to high altitude. I advise against bringing kids who suffer severe altitude sickness to highlands. This trip, the kids had a terrible time on the highlands; I regretted it deeply. So we had to cancel the planned Yamdrok Lake, Rakshas Lake, and Guge Kingdom—only hoping to detour there next time when we do the Xinjiang grand loop.

Seven years ago, Jokhang Temple.

Seven years later, Jokhang Temple.

Seven years ago, Lhasa.

Seven years later, Lhasa.

After resting a few days, we returned via the Qinghai-Tibet Route. Due to rushing, the original plan was completely disrupted. Many places had no accommodation. After passing this pass, we saw not far away a well-built maintenance station with a basketball court. We planned to set up tents on the court. Going in to ask, we found many self-driving tourists lodging there. The station, besides road maintenance, also provided lodging and altitude sickness rescue. We met a middle-aged motorcyclist and a Tibetan family returning from pilgrimage to Lhasa back to Qinghai. The Tibetan warned me not to eat too much at night (difficulty breathing); before I knew it, I had eaten a lot. Actually, on the Qinghai-Tibet Route, I was numb all over, driving alone over ten hours a day, never aware of hunger or fullness. The station staff let us stay overnight—the whole family in one room, two people per bed. Then they asked us to write a thank-you letter, and we truly appreciated them. The staff were very nice, inviting us to warm by the fire, constantly adding dried yak dung to the stove to keep the room warm, and provided hot water. We slept there one night, struggling to breathe but feeling at ease.

The scenery on the Qinghai-Tibet Route was magnificent, but the road was badly damaged. Fewer cyclists now.

Here we really saw wild antelopes. I zoomed in with the lens, so it’s a bit blurry. Moments ago it was clear; then suddenly a blizzard started, surreal.

Kunlun Mountain—so many stories and legends.

On the expressway from Golmud to Xining, over 400 km without a single gas station. At the entrance, the toll collector asked if we had filled up, kindly reminding us that we might need to top up before entering the expressway. This expressway was amazing—only a few cars, and the straight roadside was filled with wind turbines—spectacular.

The two siblings—so sweet.

I seem to be getting thinner.

On the grassland by Caka Salt Lake, we spotted a young hiker camping there, and wild hares darting around.

Finally back to our hometown. Looking forward to the next trip.