Unfortunately, I’d be seeing this milk again, in a deeply unpleasant way.

Although my travel schedule had been delayed by the difficult bus ride, I refused to let that diminish my enjoyment. After my usual spicy pancake breakfast, I started preparing to visit Sera Monastery, one of the three great Gelugpa university monasteries of Tibet. While waiting for my friends I met a woman from Corsica, and when I mentioned my dream of owning a vineyard, she told me that people from Corsica are chaotic. I tried to joke about what was clearly a serious statement, but she went on to describe the pseudo-xenophobia, threats, bombs, and fires associated with the island. The warning did make an impression and opened my eyes to other places where I might want a vineyard. I left for Sera Monastery.

The flowers were in full bloom, which must have been wonderful for the tour groups walking around. I took the local bus, as usual. After walking up a long straight road lined with knick-knack shops, I passed the point where the buses dropped off the higher-end tourists.

Inside the monastery, things looked much like any other monastery until a little after 14:00, when a swift commotion began. The monks exited into the open pit and the “debate” or “discussion” started. I had debated in high school, trying to speak as quickly or smoothly as possible, but this was a different form of debate. Several monks would sit down and start talking, while the “opponent” came around slapping his hands. I am not entirely certain what the method was, but it was unique.

Several hours later I returned near my hostel. I know all too well that there are things I should not be doing, but I somehow justify them by saying “I’m travelling.” At 17:00, I stepped inside a small Tibet-style tavern and ordered sweet tea. This time I joined the woman at the back to get the tea. She moved to the back of the dirt-floored room, dipped a spoon into a large wooden vat of yak milk, and made my tea. I sat back down, drank the milk, gave some to a beggar, and left for dinner. Unfortunately, I would be seeing that milk again in a deeply unpleasant way.

The next day my friends left for the train station, and although I would have loved to join them, my tickets were not until the 15th. The rest of the day was spent waiting, which is the hardest part of being stuck travelling but unable to move on. I visited an internet cafe and ate YHDW for dinner. After the internet cafe I realised something was wrong with my stomach. I’ll fully admit that I do not have a weak stomach; I had eaten food all around Asia, in some rather interesting places, and never became sick. Part of my medical kit included some, well, you get the idea. I was ready for the worst.

The 15th finally came, and late in the afternoon I boarded the overnight train back into China. Just before getting on the train it was apparent that I would need to take the pills, so I took one. Just one.

I’ll give future railroad travellers a bit of advice: don’t do overnight trains in China, and if you must, do not get hard-seat class. Because no sleeper tickets were available, I was forced into the hard seats back to Xining. After several hours of cruising through the plateau, the sun went down and I started to contemplate sleep. Unlike the trains in Europe, which are somewhat clean, the trains through China, especially hard-seat class, get dirty at an unbelievable rate. One frustrating habit on this train was sunflower seeds. One of two things would happen: first, a chewer would suck on the seeds, finish, and drop them under the seat in a neat pile; or second, the chewer would throw them out the window, and because I was on a train they would fly back into the cabin a few rows back. When the cleaners did come through, they just swept under everything, and by the end of the cabin it looked like an invisible garbage truck had exploded somewhere near the front.

I arrived the next morning in Xining, tired and dirty.