Crisis and Connection: Guiding 12 Australian Retirees in Tibet

Every traveler heading to Tibet (Xizang) carries, at least quietly, the same concern - altitude sickness. I remember one tour vividly. I was leading a group of twelve retired Australians. Though seasoned travelers, it was their very first time venturing into such high-altitude terrain.

The Joyful Beginning in Lhasa

Initially, everyone was thrilled. From Chengdu we flew into Lhasa, and when they first laid eyes on the Potala Palace, their faces lit up with awe. The laughter and excitement carried us through monasteries and turquoise lakes. We watched monks debating at Sera Monastery, walked slowly around Jokhang Temple turning the prayer wheels, and strolled through Barkhor Street, full of bright shops and the smell of butter lamps.

But on Day 5, everything changed.

High-Altitude Emergency at 4,900 Meters

We were on our way from Shigatse to Everest Base Camp. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the snow-capped mountains were magnificent. We had just taken a group photo by Yamdrok Lake, laughing together. Suddenly, 72-year-old Margaret slumped against the bus, her face as pale as the prayer flags above. "Can't... breathe," she wheezed, her fingers clutching at her scarf. Her husband, David, frantically waved me over.

Although I had prepared them for this。During our Chengdu briefing, I’d emphasized hydration, gradual acclimatization, and the portable oxygen tanks each carried. But here we were, at 4,900 meters, facing what every mountain guide dreads: a severe case of acute mountain sickness (AMS).

"Margaret, look at me," I said, crouching down to her eye level. I immediately noticed her bluish lips—a telltale sign of hypoxia. My Wilderness First Responder training kicked in. Her pulse was 120 bpm, and her oxygen saturation was at 78%. We were in the danger zone.

I had David immediately give her the oxygen mask from her pack while I got medicine and a portable hyperbaric chamber from my first-aid kit. I was able to stabilize her vitals, but it was clear we couldn't continue to Everest Base Camp. After a quick discussion with the group, we decided to head directly to the Lhasa People's Hospital.

A Race Against Time

“Jigme,” I radioed our Tibetan driver, “we need to reach Lhasa People’s Hospital. Now.”

“But the road—”
“I know.”

The 180 km drive over the Gawu La Pass is a bone-rattling, five-hour ordeal. Yet climbing higher could cost Margaret her life. As the bus lurched downhill, I held her hand, monitoring vitals. Her oxygen crept up to 85%. Still not enough. Behind me, hushed voices carried their fear: “Will she make it?” “Should we cancel the trip?” I kept reassuring them, while silently counting every kilometer.

At 2:17 AM, we burst through the hospital doors. Doctors swarmed her, quickly confirming pulmonary edema. One shook his head: “Another hour, and it might have been too late.”

Gratitude and a Bond Beyond Travel

For three days, I became more than their tour leader. I was translator, advocate, and stand-in family. I filled medical forms in Mandarin, negotiated with doctors, found a café serving oatmeal when Margaret longed for something familiar. During nightly calls with headquarters, I argued for delaying the itinerary, even at financial loss. The group noticed.

On discharge day, sunlight streamed into Margaret’s hospital room. She gripped my sleeve, tears glistening. "You didn’t just save a client. You saved a grandmother, I will never forget you and your company-Asia Odyssey Travel."

Later, around a butter tea toast in Barkhor Square, David handed me an envelope. Inside were twelve handwritten notes:

"We’ll follow you to any mountain." - Joan & Mark

"Real heroes don’t wear capes. They carry oxygen tanks." - Liam

But the truest testament came six months later - a booking request for our Bhutan trek. All twelve names signed beneath two words: "Our family."

Trust, Care, and the Real Reward of Travel

This experience taught me that my job is about much more than planning itineraries. It's about being present, adapting to the unexpected, and prioritizing people's well-being above all else. When I saw the relief on David's face or the gratitude in Margaret's eyes, I realized that true travel expertise isn't just about knowledge of a place - it's about the ability to handle a crisis with calm compassion; it means carrying lives, emotions, and the faith that strangers place in you. That is both the greatest challenge and the greatest reward of this profession.