Nepal and Tibet

Soon we enter Zhangmu, a Chinese town, relatively low at 2 300 metres on the border of Tibet and Nepal. This quite large town clings to the cliff face not unlike Positano in Italy. It is a pretty, clean and modern town. There are many lovely looking hotels here so why, why did we have to stay in Nyalam? We know, from the Lonely Planet Guide, that the Zhangmu Hotel, which is situated conveniently close to the customs office, is luxurious. We weren't actually looking for "luxurious" but "clean and safe" would have been nice. I for one would have gladly paid the 400-yuan for the night. Had we left Tingri at the time we usually set out and did not stop at the Milarepa Cave, which could easily, from all reports, have been bypassed, we could still have driven quite leisurely down the road we have just been on and enjoyed the comforts of the clean and picturesque town of Zhangmu. I really am convinced that it had nothing to do with our comfort just profit for our guide and her company.

As we enter Zhangmu, we are told of all the official things we must attend to, to get ourselves out of the country. We have to get out of the vehicles at the customs house where we must show our passports. We must double check that they have stamped them and then we are to go outside to where moneychangers will be waiting to change Chinese yuan into Nepalese rupees. This will require bargaining for the best exchange rate possible before agreeing to a deal. This, our guide stipulates, must be done as quickly as possible. After this we will hopefully return to the vehicles to drive the ten kilometres across "no-man's land" to the actual border. Apparently, sometimes the vehicles are not allowed to go across "no-man's land" and so travellers are loaded onto the back of a truck to traverse this area. I hope we can stay with the vehicles as clouds are threatening. Once at the border, we will be inundated with offers by young Sherpas to carry our bags across the Friendship Bridge into Nepal. We have to again agree on a price here before we decide on a boy to help us with our luggage. What a rigmarole!

We enter the customs house, worrying that we will do something wrong, because our guide seems frantic about everything running smoothly and, for some unknown reason, very, very quickly. We hurry into our queues and soon get through customs. We rush out to a barrage of moneychangers all wanting our business. As we are trying to conclude the transaction, she is shouting out to us all like a fishwife, to hurry up. We pocket our money and thankfully get back into the Land Cruisers for the ride to the border. It has been raining and the road is slippery and sloppy. We are finally set down near the bridge and again we are swarmed, this time by young Sherpas. We give a couple of young fellows our business and set off. They carry our bags in true Sherpa style with the straps across their foreheads and the bags over their backs. Halfway across the bridge, they point out the markings, which indicate the border.

Birendra, our Nepalese guide, has sent a message to tell us that the bus he has brought to transport us back to Kathmandu, has been held up by a landslide. We fill out immigration papers in the tiny Nepalese Immigration Office while our now very unpopular guide continues to barrage us with instructions as to how we should fill out the forms. If anyone asks her to clarify anything, she sighs a deep sigh and answers in a tone that indicates her belief that we are all stupid. No wonder some people refuse to travel in a group. Paper work done, we discover a little restaurant, where we decide to have an early lunch whilst we wait for the bus. We order our food and we are just about to start eating when Birendra turns up. The road has been cleared and we can leave as soon as we have finished our lunch. The owners of this little cafe rush around to serve us. They have probably never had so much custom for lunch. Before we leave, I notice a young boy doing the washing up, out on the back landing, in a bucket, beside the pump, in cold water. Great hygiene but hey, if the truth be known, we have probably often eaten in such restaurants and have lived to tell the tale!

Eventually, we make our way to the bus. Our entire luggage is packed onto the roof and covered with thick blue plastic. Janice tries to get one of the men to sit up the front with the driver, so that they will have more leg room but no one wants to so she then tells me to go. By this stage I am doing as I am told so as to avoid any further confrontations. Once up the front, I think I am the lucky one because indeed, I do have good legroom and I will also have a good view through the lovely big clean window.