An unforgettable recent adventure together with João Paulo Peixoto.
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We had signed up for a two week driving tour across the entirety of Tibet, but in the back of our minds, there was always a higher goal - the remote disputed area of Aksai Chin.
Aksai Chin is one of the most difficult locations in the world to visit, both because it is so far away from normal transport channels, and because it is a disputed military area tightly controlled by the Chinese. Demarcated during the 19th century by the British as part of Kashmir, Aksai Chin was essentially occupied by the Chinese in 1957 when they built national road 219 straight through in order to connect Tibet to Xinjiang. The area is so remote that the Indians didn't even learn of the road's construction until 1958, through published Chinese maps! In 1962, India and China fought a brief war over Aksai Chin and Arunachal Pradesh, which remain some of the most sensitive border areas in China. Definitely a no-go zone for foreigners.
We had tried to get a permit to go there legally (as a few other pioneers had done in the past), but our agent in Beijing said that the rules had changed. With the recent deterioration of relations with India, Chinese border security had tightened up, and permits for foreigners were no longer being issued.
We knew all about these challenges, and took the mindset that we probably wouldn't make it to Aksai Chin, especially after every other travel agent we asked concurred that the area was off-limits.
Nevertheless we asked for 2 full days of "sightseeing" to be added to our program, in the far northwest corner of Tibet, in the town of Rutog. In a nod to our quixotic dream, the agent also secured a permit to visit a lake north of Rutog up highway 219 towards Aksai Chin, which gave us a pretext for passing the last Tibet checkpoint, and to drive up in that direction.
Our intention was to try to enter Aksay Chin any way we could, but of course we didn’t say this overtly to the agent. We hoped that perhaps we could convince the guide to find a way, or could locate someone locally who could help us.
When we arrived in the region, though, the situation was exacerbated by extreme tensions in Kashmir. During our first few days in Tibet, India had cut off Kashmir's autonomous status, as well as their phone lines and internet, and we were told that the Chinese were shifting military resources to that border in response. So our hopes for crossing into Aksai Chin were low.
Our Tibetan guide was very experienced and service-oriented. If anyone could get us through, we thought it could be he. Still, we approached the subject of trying to cross into Aksai Chin gingerly. At first he was adamant that there was no way. But as we repeated daily that this was the most important priority for us, he began to start considering it a new challenge. We described how happy we would be if we made it, and that we might "share that happiness" with him and the driver.
Arriving in Rutog on our 6th day in Tibet, we had steadily adjusted to the altitude (in Lhasa on Day 1, we had been huffing and puffing). Still, the prospect of facing military checkpoints and other unknowns on the road to Aksai Chin had us short of breath, and we didn't sleep well in our primitive Rutog guest house. As with all locations in Tibet, we had been required to register with the local police on arrival and our guide had taken this opportunity with the officer on duty to subtly broach the subject of deviating from our permitted program. We had noticed a few other possible roads into Aksai Chin, and our guide inquired about the bird and wildlife-watching opportunities in those directions. The answer was unequivocal: It didn't matter what wildlife was where, what mattered was what was on our permit, and therefore we could go to the specified lake, and no further, and in no other direction.
A sliver of hope emerged that evening, however, as we were able to show our guide that the Aksai Chin border lay entirely within Tibet, prior to the Xinjiang border. As far as our guide knew, there were no checkpoints before Xinjiang, so he agreed to support our quest, and try his best to bring us up to 50km beyond the limits of our permit. So there it was. We were actually going to do this thing. For better or worse, we were going to make a run for the border in the middle of the most highly militarized border region in China!
We rolled out of Rutog on the morning of August 10, grabbed some dumplings at a local kitchen, and headed up National Route 219 with our hearts in our stomachs. At the alleged "last checkpoint" Duoma, we received shabby treatment from a harried group of Chinese who revealed that a "VIP group" was about to arrive, and, because of that, hurried us through. Soon enough, we were playing tag at 16,000' with a military motorcade of about 25 transport vehicles running point for that VIP group. On these desolate roads, we thought: should we pass them, and risk drawing undue attention to ourselves, or should we stay back, and lose time and perhaps the advantage of surprise? Our guide surmised that this was the Governor of Ngari Province, as no one lower in stature could arrive to such a reaction.
At the Song Xi pass, nearly 5400m (18,000') high, we decided to stop and let the motorcade proceed. It was snowing. This was the highest altitude either of us had ever been in our lives. We were astounded to see a lone long-distance biker stopping also at the pass, rearranging his gear in the snow. Even after 6 days of altitude adjustment, we felt high as could be. Our guide told us that extreme Chinese university students sometimes tackle National Route 219 as a rite of passage following graduation.
As we drew nearer to the border of Aksai Chin, we were tracking our progress via the new MTP app, which clearly showed our progress on the map. Our guide didn't know of any more checkpoints ahead until Xinjiang. And at the very last village, about 50k before the border, the military caravan decided to take a break and pull over. So we decided to sprint past them and go for the border ourselves.
We soon reached Lake Hongshan- the limit of our official permit, at which point we had calculated there were 33 more kilometers of road left until the border. The scenery was spectacular. But every time our driver asked if we wanted to pull over as usual for photos, we responded "No - we'll get them on the way back." The tension was mounting, and we didn't want to get mixed up with this VIP and military convoy.
With about 3km to go, we spotted on the horizon the first man-made structure we had seen in 50km - and our heart sank when we realized there might be a checkpoint. But as we drew near, we realized that this was a construction site. The moving bodies we thought might be soldiers were workers, constructing what appeared to be a large new military post. We exhaled collectively as we passed by with no one stopping us.
But there was still another kilometer or so to go, and the road had taken a turn to follow a twisting river, so we couldn't see very far ahead. Suddenly around the bend, a turret-like structure appeared before us at the side of the road, and at its base, we made out at least 15 Chinese soldiers, standing in line, facing us, with assault rifles drawn. This, then, was the real and present checkpoint.
"Oh, shit," our guide said softly. Our elation had turned into severe concern. Not only were we clearly out beyond our permit, but there was a VIP delegation on the way, Kashmir was in flames, and it was clear that this checkpoint staff was prepared to clear the decks however necessary to cover their own reputations.
We couldn’t turn back either, because the soldiers began to approach the car, shouting in loud voices.
After an initial entreaty from our guide, we were directed to pull over, slightly beyond the mass of soldiers. Damn these Chinese! Not only had they erected a new checkpoint to foil our dreams, but they had placed it at a strategic point alongside an extremely scenic lake! As our driver stepped outside to smoke a cigarette, we sat there, silent in the car, tenser than I had remembered feeling in years. This was the moment where dreams were won or lost.
Suddenly, our guide burst out of the checkpoint, and came running towards us at full speed, with anxiety written all over his face. "Go, GO, GO!!!" he cried. "We only have 10 minutes!!" Our driver dropped his cigarette, restarted the car, and left skidmarks as we pulled away from the soldiers. "What is happening?! we cried in unison.
"I begged and pleaded with the officer in charge" our guide said. I told him that your whole reason to come to Tibet was to take pictures of the next lake, and he agreed to give us 10 minutes, but I had to leave all of my credentials and our permits behind with him. Thank goodness he was Tibetan and not Chinese. I could tell he was from my region - we were speaking our local dialect.”
So... we stared at each other... did that mean... we were... in!?! There were still about 5 kilometers to go. We stared at the MTP app as the border approached. There was nothing to mark the border in real life - the checkpoint effectively served that purpose - but we wanted a confirmation nonetheless. Sure enough, soon we got that fateful notification on our phones: "It appears you are in Aksai Chin. Would you like to check in?"
Schoolboy elation took over from that point, as we whooped and shouted, cheering with joy, and jumping for photos, panning the landscape (which was far more mountainous and verdant than expected), and wondering at our good fortune. In the course of a few minutes, we had gone from the edge of despair to the pinnacle of ecstasy, and at least 15 years of longing had gone from wiped away to writ large - large as can be, on the edge of that desolate lake.
The drama was not entirely over, as on our return through the checkpoint, the military convoy had arrived (perhaps 30 minutes later, not the 10 minutes we had promised). Therefore, the VIP delegation (having mimicked our 4 hour route either to appraise the new checkpoint, strategize against the Indians, or for whatever reason) was there, and could easily compel the checkpoint guards to arrest us if they found us out. We were now coming in from a no-man's land without any permit whatsoever. We sat again in tension, as our guide went in to retrieve his credentials. The wait dragged on interminably.
Once again We waited in the car, covering our heads as the military convoy passed by within a meter of us. No one could know there were Westerners in the area.
Eventually he emerged. We were free to go! The VIP leading the convoy turned out to be a high-ranking Beijing official, whose arrival, along with TV crews, had diverted the attention of everyone in the checkpoint building. Thankfully, our guide's prior "10-minute" Tibetan contact had foreseen our potential dilemma, issued an official permit, in our names, to "arrive" from Xinjiang and proceed through to Tibet. Through Aksai Chin. So the permit we had craved for so long, and which was deemed impossible, had somehow magically been produced, but in the opposite direction!
Probably the official had produced this permit to cover his own ass in case the convoy members noticed Westerners in the area, but we’ll never know the real reason. We were just thrilled to have some kind of permit in writing, and hoped to high heaven that word about this permit wouldn’t be passed along to the other checkpoints on the way back.
Those final fears turned out to be unfounded, as the staff at those checkpoints were entirely distracted by the return of the convoy, which returned south to Rutog roughly on our schedule, and turned out to be something of a miracle force for us, creating distraction and confusion at checkpoints which normally would have been far more scrutinizing.
There were many forces of good fortune in our favor on that day, we realized, as we paused later to reflect on the edge of beautiful Lake Rutog. Think of it - not only had we visited Aksai Chin, but we had done so legally. Somehow, in the the dust and desolation of the farthest reaches of Earth, one of our greatest dreams had come true.