Infrastructure investment opens up remote Qinghai

On July 1, 2006, the 1,142-kilometer extension to Lhasa opened. At the time, it was a railway engineering achievement without parallel. Golmud experienced a small boom during the construction period, which dropped after completion. The city was no longer a transit point. Highway freight to Lhasa also declined significantly. Tourism however has steadily developed, with travelers spending some time to discover, for example, the nearby salt lakes before heading on to Lhasa.

Golmud, the third largest city on Qinghai-Tibet Plateau after Xining and Lhasa, was compact enough in 1997 to walk around or make excursions into the surrounding desert. I frequently enjoyed simply sitting at popular street stalls that served spicy barbecued meat on sticks. Many ethnic groups were noticeable, particularly around the railway station. Having come by road from Lhasa, these people including maroon-robed lamas continuing on to Qinghai’s capital Xining, their ultimate destination being the fabled Ta’er Monastery.

I left Golmud on an almost empty afternoon train heading east across vast salt beds. Increasingly, the landscape turned arid as the rails continued along a track protected against the ever-present threat of sand encroachment. I could see no sign of settlement except for isolated stations, simple passing loops on that single track line. Thinking I would have a quiet night ride to Xining, that myth was dispelled at a seemingly remote station crammed with workers waiting to board. Rapidly, every hard sleeper bed filled up. It would prove to be a long, hard journey to Xining.

In 1997, there were two daily trains, both terminating at Xining, after around 17 hours of travel. Now nine daily trains, connecting several major Chinese cities with Lhasa, complete that journey in only seven hours.

My railway experience in 1997 skirted along the northern edge of Qinghai Lake in darkness. However, one year previously I had traveled to the lake from Xining on a cold and at times snowy October day. The city sits in the Huangshui River valley below the main plateau. A highway wound steeply up from that fertile locale to higher, almost treeless but extensive pasture land. Soon the presence of yaks, seminomadic tents and distinctive building styles of small settlements increasingly suggested a more Tibetan influence. The road continued over Sun and Moon Mountain Pass, skirting patches of snow before descending through the roadside town of Daotanghe. Mules pulling wooden trailers for people or goods slowly moved past monks in maroon robes and yellow peaked hats. Motorcycles also appeared popular.

Approximately 300 kilometers from Xining, I encountered the calm waters of Qinghai Lake, China’s largest, which was sheltered north of a snowcapped mountain range. Girls in red and white headscarves traveled by donkey cart, and yaks were grazing before arriving at a village. There, I enjoyed lunch at the Bird Island Hotel, its name reflecting a nearby island attracting many migratory birds between June and September. With fascination I wandered around, meeting local schoolchildren while venturing past a white stupa, until I reached a recently upgraded harbor with anchored fishing boats. Near the lake sat a small Tibetan encampment. I was invited in, where I saw staple barley dumplings or tsampa being prepared. Outside, shepherds were coaxing flocks of sheep into a field.

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