After visiting Xiahe and its monasteries, Chi and I got a bus to a village called Langmusi. It was a long journey but as we got closer, the hills and grasslands started appearing. Tibetan prayer flags formed huge teepees along the roads and on the
hills bringing a riot of colour to the green and blue of the landscape. In Langmusi we had already booked a few days horse trekking up in the high grasslands above the village.
The first thing we had to do was to reduce our possessions to one small bag. I was told I wouldn’t need my pyjamas or my towel as I would be sleeping in my clothes and have no opportunity to wash. Luckily I had bought an industrial pack of wet wipes and these were to prove indispensible and keep us at a basic level of cleanliness.
The horses were nicely kept and looked strong (luckily). I had a black one which I immediately Christened ‘Black Devil’ much to the amusement of its owner, a lovely Tibetan nomad who was to be our guide for the three days and two nights. We were told his name but both of us immediately forgot it and then we were too embarrassed to ask again. Heading out of the village we were soon on the grasslands and walked at a painfully slow pace for around four hours. When the guide wasn’t looking I encouraged my pony and he did trot for a few meteres but then stopped. Eventually we came to a black tent made from yak wool, perched on the top of the mountain. We later learnt our guide had made this tent himself.
All around this area the mountains are dotted with white nomad tents and black yaks, against a landscape which seemed unreal – bight blue skies and deep green grass. The weather was ideal – warm and bright and making a hat a critical piece of kit. 
We arrived at our tent for the night and met our guide’s wife, a hardworking woman who made us dinner and saw to the animals. We soon realised that the lot of a woman in a nomad family is not an easy one.
She awoke at 4:50am the next day and left the tent in the pitch dark to see to the yaks, untie them, pick up the dung and spread it out to dry. She came back into the tent, lit the stove, stuffed it full of dried yak shit and started to make bread for our breakfast. The bread was delicious and cooked on a pan on the top of the stove.
After making the bread, she headed back out to the yaks and spent another hour or so milking them. She came back in as Chi and I and her husband (our guide) were still lying in our sleeping bags. I crawled out of my sleeping bag feeling very weak as a result of the altitude and partially because I had had almost no sleep thanks to the dog barking all night long next to the tent. I don’t know how anyone else got any sleep.
Because I was suffering from the altitude, I felt like I was on the verge of vomitting the whole time and decided to spend the rest of the morning lying in the tent. I had never experienced altitude sickness before and it really wipes you out. I certainly couldn’t function properly and was very keen to lose some height.
The afternoon saw us get on the horses again and head downhill through the most beautiful wild flower meadow I have ever seen. It had been fenced off from the yaks, I think because the ground was pitted with holes – a sure recipe for broken legs.
Our horses took their time, stumbling at times and stepping carefully over the holes and marshy ground. We stopped for half an hour in the meadow to allow the horses to have their fill of wild flowers. And did they eat? They feasted on the flowers as if they hadn’t eaten for days.
It was lovely lying in the meadow looking up at the blue sky with fluffy white clouds. It seemed too perfect, but then I was brought down to earth by the numerous plastic bottles there which has been discarded by (I assume) the locals. I fail to believe that any tourist would chuck rubbish in such a beautiful 
place.
After the horses were full, we made out way between two hills, into a steep sided gully, then entered a gorge flanked on each side by high rock cliffs where buzzards nested.
There we came across a handful of young boys playing in the stream and a short time afterwards, arrived at a small group of tents near a bend in the stream at the exit of the gorge where we were to spend our second night. Here we had out first sight of sheep. The sound as they were rounded up was incredible. Chi had not seen this before but it reminded me of home – the smell and noise of sheep is homely for me.
Another evening sleeping next to a pile of dried yak shit was a much more peaceful experience than the previous night as there were no barking dogs. The next morning, we awoke with the sun and emerged from our sleeping bags feeling dirty and in need of clean clothes. It is surpisingly cold in the mornings and I had to wear a fleece jacket as well as my down jacket to feel comfortable.
Neither me nor Chi had any appetite for a climb up a mountain and suggested we head back to Langmusi where we knew we could change our clothes and have a decent meal and coffee.
In any case, I had still not regained my appetite for food and was feeling very thin. (Altitude sickness is a great diet!). Our friendly guide promised it was less than 1:30hrs to the road where we had a taxi waiting but as was his habit, he vastly underestimated the journey and it was over 2:30hrs until we would see the white car waiting to whisk us towards Langmusi.
I felt like ordering every item off the menu at the Black Tent Cafe in Langmusi but I stoped at a chocolate and banana pancake and some chips and coffee. Not a very balanced meal but it was just what my body needed.
If you are thinking about doing the same trip, I would say ‘Go for it’ but take wet wipes, headache pills and sleeping pills. Your experience will be better if you can sleep and not have an altitiude related headache. The life of the nomads, especially the women is hard, especially in the winter when temperatures are deadly.