There were a few weeks during the summer when the sky wouldn't get dark until after midnight, and dawn would arrive again just past 4. I would leave my 7-9:15 class feeling like it was the middle of the day. Since I've been back from Tibet, it gets dark about halfway through my evening class.

If it's light from 4 to 12 in the summer, and from about 9 to 5 in the winter, we lose twelve hours of daylight in 6 months, or half an hour every week. I've never lived in a place where the change is as palpable as it is here. It gives me this bizarre feeling of hurtling around the sun that seems particularly suited to Moscow life.

I got back from Tibet on Sunday the 26th. As I got off the express train that runs from Domodedovo Airport to Paveletskaya Metro on the circle line, I had a bizarre and entirely unexpected feeling of coming home. I told Aubergine about it, and he said I'm sucked in now, Moscow's got me, I'm one of "us" now, there's no escape. Shudder.

Tibet was...I can't think of an adjective. What a bizarre interaction between my group and the place. Cast of characters:

Tyler, my friend from the geology summer thesis program. He's getting his masters in geology (salt tectonics) and planning on working in the oil industry for a while (I love the new breed of environmentally-minded but steelily ('steely' should have an adverb) pragmatic recent college grads). He spent all summer in the field with...

Thomas. Enormous gravitational pull in a group. Entertaining, considerate, smart, decisive, stunning green eyes. There was a certain chemistry between us from the get-go (funny how quickly "I'll never be happy with someone who's not with me intellectually every step of the way" turns into "I'm a thinker and he's a doer and that's perfect"...) but nothing came of it. It might have made for weirdness in the group, and it would have felt like a betrayal of Tyler, perhaps for no reason in particular. (Pineapple: "Did you pull?" Me: *pause* *long-winded explanation about the complexity of the situation...* Pineapple: "Right, whatever you want to tell yourself to feel better.")

Ward is Thomas's childhood friend. He's working in Beijing for a company that sets up hotels or something. As far as I can tell his job consists of listening to conference calls. He lives in an Ikea-perfect apartment in some sort of "international" building, well-insulated from actual Chinese people. For the last part of the trip he complained nonstop about the food, the weather, the people, you name it. He was always really kind to me, and it was great of him to put us up in Beijing, but I have no burning desire to keep in touch. (Damn, now that Americans are entering the picture I have to be vigilant about partitioning the blog-readers and the blogged-about).

Nelson is Thomas's college friend. He spent a couple years working for the Chicago stock exchange as one of those guys down on the floor who waves tickets around. That, combined with his carving out his own personal plush expansive territory in our tiny train-cabin, raised my hackles a bit, but he grew on me a lot as the trip went on. He's got this great, super-competent outdoorsy streak that he doesn't rub in your face, and he's 100% who he is and will accept you as the same.

Traveling with a group and traveling alone are like night and day. Half the time I felt almost like I was back in America hanging out with these guys and watching Tibet on TV. So much of my mental space was occupied by group stuff that the place itself almost seemed like an afterthought. It's impossible not to be struck by the contrasts in Lhasa between old Tibetan life and the new influx of Chinese, or by the tiny yak-herding towns with mud buildings draped in prayer flags, or by the opulence of the monasteries (is there any religion immune to gold and war?), or by, um, the Himalayas, but I felt much more removed from it all than ever before.

Granted, I've never been to a place where the lifestyle is so different from my own, and I'm sure that had a lot to do with my feeling of distance as well. It affirmed my choice of Russia as a place to live--I don't think I'd get as much out of a place where I felt like a complete outsider.

I'm writing from an internet cafe in Lhasa...everything's in Chinese, so if you're reading this that means I guessed right as to which button is "publish post" and which is "discard."

We took the train from Beijing to Tibet from the 7th to the 9th. Me, Tyler, Thomas, Alex, Nelson, and Ward (who met up with us later in Lhasa). Alex has since had to go home because of HAPE (high-altitude pulmonary edema)...he was fine once they put him on oxygen, but he was coughing up pink stuff and pretty out of it for a while. It definitely sobered the rest of us up. (I've been fine, save for a barfalicious encounter with some questionable palak paneer.)

The remaining 5 spent last night at a "resort" (some canvas tents) by Namsto Lake, 16000 feet above sea level. Tibetan yak-herders were camped nearby as well, and some of the little kids came up to us and made friends. All of the yak-herders have motorcycles, decked out in the same bright colors as their clothing. Prayer flags (a staple of college dorm rooms) hang across the valleys, and the highways are lined with little souvenir stands selling beads and statues.

The day after tomorrow we're going to Tengri (Tingri?) and starting the hike to Everest base camp. I think most of us are pretty acclimated. It's a great group...sometimes I'm not quite sure of my place among all these guys from the Carolinas who've known each other forever, but they're fun. I'd definitely be experiencing it differently if I were by myself, and traveling with a group has a whole new interesting set of challenges.

Lhasa is changing fast. The population has skyrocketed in the past few years, thanks in large part to the Chinese government providing incentives for ethnic Chinese to move here to basically dilute the Tibetans. The Chinese quarter is new and ritzy, with fancy hotels and western stores, but there's still a substantial Tibetan part of the city. Narrow roads with people hawking homemade bread, pasta, dumplings, yak meat (which will be fine if I never smell again), and vegetables; bicycle rickshaws competing for space with pedestrians and carts and the occasional mini-bus; robed monks strolling around; public squat-toilets wafting their smell out onto the street (the boys complain, but add worse aim and blood and you've got the women's).

Right now a Tibetan girl who looks to be about 6 is staring transfixedly over my shoulder. I think I'm going to go back to the hotel now, probably to sit up on the roof with the guys and have a Lhasa beer (think my stomach's in good enough order now) and look at the rooftops of the city and lit-up Potala palace.

It just hit me that I'm flying to Beijing tomorrow. I bought the tickets, got the visa, talked to Tyler and his friends about everything, but I've been so distracted by other things that the trip didn't seem real until I was packing today.

I fly into Dubai tomorrow night, spend the night in the airport/cave and get a hotel room (or follow Aubergine's advice and explore the city's party scene), then Dubai to Beijing the next morning. I'll be the last to arrive--Tyler's getting there tomorrow, his brother Alex arrives a few hours before me, Ward's already there (he's been dealing with all the Tibet logistics), and the other two get in around the same time as Tyler.

We're taking the train to Tibet on the 7th, spending a couple days in Lhasa, then hiking to Everest base camp. After that, the group might split in two, depending on what people want to do and how much money we want to spend, then we're flying back to Beijing in time for Alex and me to catch flights out on the 25th. I'm glad the trip will start with a couple days on the train--it'll be nice to relax, catch up with Tyler, and watch the world go by.