Crossing to Nepal

Something was wrong.

I'd crossed from Tibet into Nepal—in the rain—and no one cared.

Where were the money changers? The taxi drivers? Where was Immigration? Didn't anyone want to stamp my passport?

I asked a guard at the end of the bridge for directions to Immigration. She casually waved me on.

Maybe it's just because it's Sunday morning and I was first through from Tibet today, I thought. And all of China is on one time zone. Which might make sense in Beijing but doesn't make a lot of sense out west in Tibet. So by crossing to Nepal, I'd gone back to 7:45 a.m.

Yes, that's right. Nepal is two hours AND 15 MINUTES behind China.

I saw no open doors, no signs for Immigration. Every business was shut. I walked down a hill and suddenly realized I'd paced the entire one-strip border town. I turned around and walked back, cursing the hill and my poor fitness. Immigration had opened while I'd been on my rainy stroll and was now easy to find. The officers cheerfully greeted me, sold me a $25 visa, and waved me down the block to a coffee shop that changes money.

From Everest to Zhangmu

We drove away from Tibet's Everest Base Camp along the old road through the plateau back to the steep switchbacks leading to the Friendship Highway. Once there, we pulled up to a rural roadside restaurant for some noodle-and-vegetable soup.

Which is where I realized I had a small key in my pocket. The key to the padlock on the door back at the Rangphu Monastery Guesthouse. I left it with the restaurant staff, with instructions to hand it off to the next group heading in the other direction.

I hope the key found its way home.

I sat alone until some Indian-American tourists struck up a conversation. They were traveling with their families, but had left Everest early when one of them had gotten altitude-sick. They now waited for the rest of their group.

But one of their group had gotten seriously ill and was in a hospital back in Lhasa. They were scheduled to depart for Nepal tomorrow but were on a group visa.

Room With A View

I went to bed without supper—god forbid I should get food poisoning with the toilets on offer at the Rangphu Monastery guesthouse—and in the morning, woke up at six to look out the window.

Fog.

And snow.

Snow? Where had that come from?

My guide, Rinchin, had made sure that I got a room with a view of Mt. Everest. Except the fog had messed up his plan.

But at seven, Rinchin peering into my big window. (Fortunately, I was clothed, though I was blowing my nose.)

"The mountain!"

I hurried outside with my camera.

"It has never disappointed me yet, not in a hundred times of coming here," he murmured as we stood in the center of the tiny village, between the stupa of Rongphu Monastery and our guesthouse. He even took a few photos with his phone.

"We were lucky because it snowed. Snow is good luck."

On to Everest

I made the mistake of waking up too early. The Shigatse hotel turned on the hot water an hour AFTER I showered. Sigh.

We left the tired old hotel—which had rooms left yesterday since it was about to be renovated—after breakfast, which was a unique experience. Breakfast was included, so I dutifully traipsed into the huge, dilapidated hotel dining room at 7:30, where I learned that the meal was buffet-style and all eastern—that is, soup, noodles, vegetables. I didn't have high expectations here so I found a bun, ordered some instant coffee, and went to sit down.

A waitperson noticed me and motioned me over to a small table by the kitchen.

I was sitting there, nibbling my bun and waiting on my coffee, when an array of foods was presented to me.

Suddenly, the waitress brought me a fried egg. Oh. I ate it, amused by this new treat.

Dancing Tibetan Men of Shigatse

Here's some video footage of the Tibetan men practicing their pageant dance outside Shigatse. I apologize for the annoying sound of the generator.

And click here for more photos of the entire day.

Gyantse to Shigatse

"The ride is short today, but we're leaving early because we need to pick up your permit for Everest," explained my guide as he opened the car door to let me hop up into the 4x4.

There's a lot of opening and shutting doors for me here. And carrying my luggage. Not that I'm complaining, but I feel kind of silly when someone waits for me to get into a vehicle and then closes the door behind me.

Permits…what is all this about permits, I wondered. Tibet's Everest Base Camp is sensitive as it's in a border region and they're afraid I might try to go to Nepal illegally…by CLIMBING EVEREST? I don't think so. I appreciate what mountaineers do (especially Reinhold Messner when he tried to find the yeti), but I think they're crazy. More like the Chinese government wants to know who to fine if a banned Tibetan flag ends up unfurled and plastered over a Tibetan hill when I happen to be at base camp.

Lhasa to Gyantse

Some Chinese fishermen walked alongside the road as we headed along the river out of Lhasa. My government-mandated guide and driver both chuckled from the front seat of the white Land Cruiser.

Okay, I'll bite.

"What's so funny?"

My driver, a 60-ish Tibetan man in tinted 70s glasses, didn't speak much English and didn't answer me. My guide, a fluent English-speaking Tibetan in his forties, did.

"Tibetans don't fish. We find fishing to be really funny."

That didn't really answer my question, so I tried again.

Lhasa: Day Four

I showered fearlessly. I'd been mocking the tourist literature all week, which suggested that washing my hands and showering might cause me to catch a cold at altitude. This was, of course, insane.

Then today I'd realized that this was based on most people outside the city having no hot water. So yes, washing in glacial-melt water probably wasn't a good idea.

But the Yak, though it had a stinky bathroom, did have hot water.

My guide met me to escort me to Jokhang Temple, which is at the center of Lhasa's old town and is one of the holiest, most sacred sites in Tibet. Pilgrims used to hike for weeks to reach it, but now they can just take the bus—thanks to the new Chinese roads (oh, the dilemmas offered by the modern world!)—and boy, do they. In droves. Pilgrims were everywhere, along with hundreds of Chinese tourists.

More Lhasa Photos

Here are more photos of my second and third day in Lhasa.

And here's a link to the previous photos.

Lhasa: Day Three

Hic.


Hic.

Are hiccups a symptom of altitude sickness?

Or maybe they're just a symptom of being crabby. Tibet itself was charming my socks off while being simultaneously heartbreaking with the hardcore military presence, but I was still feeling crabby, given that the enforced tour didn't include hotels or admissions or taxis within Lhasa.

But yesterday, I'd learned that my guide was actually paying attention when I'd complained about the price of the taxi and he'd effortlessly switched us to the public bus for the return trip. Maybe being on a leash in Tibet would work out all right in spite of it being annoying.

Lhasa: Day Two

"Where is breakfast? I was at the front desk of the Yak Hotel in Lhasa.

"Fifth floor."

"Where is the elevator?"

"There is no elevator.

Oh. 

I live on a 4th floor walk-up at home (no elevator there either) but at home I live at sea level. Lhasa is at 3650 meters, or 12,000 feet. That's a lot. It's not the highest city on earth or even the highest city I've ever visited—that honor prior to this trip belonged to La Paz, Bolivia, but only just as it wasn't much higher than Lhasa. Because I'd been there, I knew I'd be okay in Lhasa, though I was concerned about Everest Base Camp later in the week. But having been to La Paz didn't mean I breezed up the stairs here. I was puffing a bit by the time I got to the top. I was glad I'd booked in for four days to acclimate before heading down the Friendship Highway.

Lhasa: Day One

 I waited an hour in my room, wondering when my guide would show up to do whatever guides do when you first arrive in a country. He'd been at the airport straightening something out with a departing group's tickets and sent me ahead to Yak Hotel, which was crumbling and had a stinky sewer drain in the room (I quickly got into an ongoing battle with some invisible force of housekeeping, who took the towel off that I'd throw over the bathroom drain every day), but was a damn sight better than having no room at all. Plus, the location was great for access to the center of Lhasa's old town.

I unpacked and stared at the wall for a bit, before getting bored. I took my laptop and went to the restaurant next door, Dunya, which turned out to be delicious and had wifi. 

"I'm going next door," I told the hotel receptionist. "When my guide arrives, can you tell him I'm in the restaurant having a cup of tea?"

I worked there for a few hours until my MacBook battery ran down, then tried my iPhone via wifi on a proxy server just to see where the bigger world thought I was but all I got was a loop of interwebs confusion, so I went back to my room. The phone rang immediately.

Heading to Lhasa

I plucked this choice bit off of the New Yorker's website. It's from 2007, when the train to Tibet first opened.

Between this and the consideration that the ethics of the train to Tibet were complicated, maybe it was for the best that I couldn't get a sleeper and had chosen to fly instead.