There are two main ways that tourists reach Lhasa in the Tibetan Autonomous Region; by plane – which is risky due to the high altitude, or by train which helps gradually adjust the body to the elevation change. 

We opted for the cheaper train, which was due to take 22 hours, travelling from Xining in Qinghai to Lhasa. The route is the highest railway in the world, with 86% of the line above 4000m, and half the track lying on permafrost. They even had to create a cooling system to keep the ground frozen year-round, to prevent the tracks from buckling in the summer thaw. 

We opted for the hard sleeper, offering a compartment with 6 beds for around £50 per bed. It was a classic, green-skin slow train, and we managed to be the first on the platform. It seemed strange to rush when everyone had allocated seats, but we wanted to make sure we got our luggage in our cabin. 

Each carriage had a member of staff waiting to check our ID and Tibetan permits (a requirement for non-Chinese ID holders). We were carriage number one, beds 5 and 6, which we assumed were the bottom bunks because the price on the ticket matched that position. But as we made ourselves comfortable in the extremely small room, we were met by a German man who was in his 70s and said he had the lower bunk – which made sense because geez, there was no way he would manage to climb up the precarious metal blocks running up the walls to the top bunk. 

Then a mum turned up with a child and I was starting to envision the next 22 hours being my absolute worst nightmare with a screaming child. 

The problem was, she also seemed surprised that we thought we were on the lower bunk, so we began searching for a staff member to clarify the seating plan. I asked in my translator “Are beds 5 and 6 on the lower bunk?” To which she nodded, confirming my suspicions, but then she walked me along the corridor to the third cabin, and pointed to a sign saying ‘5-6’. 

Then the penny dropped. The carriages were numbered 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 etc and then you take the position that you paid for. Geez. It wasn’t very clear and we felt like right fools, apologising to our neighbours, but feeling absolutely delighted that we weren’t sharing a cabin with a screaming toddler because I have zero tolerance for that. 

From our previous experience on Indian sleeper trains, all six passengers use the lower bunks during the day, then move to their allocated beds at night. 

But in China, it appeared that everyone used their allocated bed, so Craig and I had the entire lower bunks to either lie down, sit or use the table, whereas the other passengers in our compartment were lying down for 22 hours like they were in a coffin. 

Along the aisle, there were pretty pathetic fold-down seats with a mini table and some of our room-mates sat there for hours. 

There was a dining carriage which we didn’t bother visiting as we had pot noodles, and all trains in China have free hot water dispensers. At the end of our carriage were three squatter toilets which were kept fairly clean, minus the splatters of urine and shit sitting on the floor. There was loo roll provided – but of course no soap, because who needs to sanitise their hands on a 22-hour train journey? 

Each bed had a box with an emergency oxygen supply but I assume you had to speak to a staff member for them to provide the nasal cannula to breathe it in. 

The scenery was a little bleak to begin with as we travelled through a barren, desert area, passing Qinghai Lake, the largest lake in China, roughly six times the size of Singapore. 

We spotted a group of camels which we hadn’t expected to see in China, let alone on the train to Lhasa. At one point, after being stopped for a long while at a traffic light, I pointed out an animal I’d been looking at to Craig – “What’s that? I thought it was a deer but it’s sitting weirdly” just as the train began chugging along the tracks we began to wonder if it was a snow leopard, after all Qinghai is one of the best provinces to spot them. 

Towards the early evening, the scenery became more dramatic as we passed arid mountains and eventually snow-capped peaks. One big downside though was the sheer amount of electricity cables and pylons that ruined the otherwise remote landscape. 

Sunset was a lovely surprise as the clouds all took on a vibrant peachy glow. That’s one thing we haven’t had in almost two months in China – a good sunset. I don’t know why they’re so rare, when other countries like the Philippines have insane ones every night. 

The sun set at around 9pm, just as we were going through another stretch of snow-covered mountains rising to 7000m. By 10pm we lay down and tried to sleep.

We both slept terribly – during the night we went over mountain passes, rising to a maximum of 5070m and boy did we feel it. The air was so thin and dry, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever had such a dry mouth in my entire life. It was like every drop of moisture from my body had vanished and after sipping water my mouth would dry up instantly. 

The high altitude caused me to breathe in a panicked manner. I was constantly moving from my left side to my right, and it felt exhausting, like I’d just finished a workout. 

At one point I took a sip of water and it went down the wrong way – Craig never seems to suffer from this, but when I do, it feels like a near-death situation, and I suffer from the most excruciating stabbing pain in my chest. It’s bad enough on a normal day, but add in my panicked breathing and I thought I was about to perish right there and then. The pain eventually subsided and I managed to lie down again. 

You can imagine people struggling when coming from Beijing, at sea level, and rising to 5000m having issues, but I should have been fine. 

Anyway, after a restless night of tossing and turning, I got up at around 6:30am, and Craig was already awake and sitting up. Outside was a winter wonderland with a blanket of snow covering the landscape. It was a complete blizzard as we passed remote Tibetan communities home to hundreds of yaks, their furry backs covered in thick snow.

Mountains slowly began to appear as the weather perked up towards Lhasa and we gradually lost elevation. The snow became patchy until the grass was visible again and snow only remained on the highest peaks. 

It was a slow final slog as the train stopped for almost an hour in the middle of nowhere, but eventually we rolled into Lhasa railway station, ready for our seven-day trip to begin.