Yak burgers, sky-high burpees and loud cheese on the plateau

Yak burgers. Sky-high burpees. Loud cheese.

I'd expected to roam the passageways of the Potala Palace, mingle with monks and yak it up, literally, during my most recent visit to the Xizang autonomous region.

But I've already learned to expect the unexpected, as previous visits have conferred such surprises as pineapples grown on the planet's "third pole".

This time, I didn't expect to get a ground yak patty with a side of fries at a five-star hotel, to perform burpees at an elevation of 4,600 meters, or to rediscover Tibetan yak cheese that's so tooth-cracking tough it crunches loudly when you chew it and sounds like a rock when you drop it.

I'd previously gobbled lots of yak and plenty of burgers but never a yak burger.

The verdict? Surprisingly generic. Honestly, I wouldn't have known it wasn't anything other than run-of-the-mill beef if not for the menu listing.

The burpees I executed in Nyingchi — known as "Xizang's little Switzerland" for its resemblance to the Alps — were a challenge from my martial arts coach. The stunt attracted quite a crowd, who rooted for me, while some trip organizers hoped I'd stop after 10 reps out of fear of the thin air.

Several others in our group were greedily suckling oxygen canisters just to walk, or even while lying down on the bus.

Thing is, I've spent a lot of time at elevations of up to 6,000 meters without a trace of altitude sickness.

Tibetan friends joke I must have been a Tibetan in my previous life. I joke I must have been a yak — a quip that gets a giggle in both Chinese and Tibetan.

I'd seen the yak cheese prepared in a shack behind the house of herders I'd stayed with in Qinghai province, where a growling generator-powered pump sputtered butter into one bucket and dribbled curds into another.

And many nomads I've visited draped tarps clumped with chunks of cheese outside their tents to dry.

They appeared to me more like fossils harvested from underground than dairy processed on the prairies.

I've had this one ring-shaped dollop for about a decade that seems the same as the day I brought it home. I took a nibble of it earlier this year, and not only did I not fall sick but I didn't notice any difference whatsoever compared to when it was fresh.

I wonder what unexpected discoveries I can expect during my next trip. Because no matter what we plan, Xizang, it seems, has its own itineraries in mind.