End of the line

23. END OF THE LINE

Our first night back in “Civilization” just added to the lore of the trip. The hotel definitely qualified as basic. Showers were available but you had to go up three floors to a big room where a family ran a small bar/card room operation. There was a group of men playing mah jong at one table. Another table contained another group of men playing cards and drinking beer, while several other members of what seemed to be the family of the people running the shower facility sat around and watched TV. We were watched with detached curiosity upon entering the room, but the TV, card games, or mah jong was obviously more interesting, because they quickly turned back to their activities. We were then ushered into the shower rooms. The water was tepid, which qualifies as hot showers here, but we could actually wash the entire body and hair, and we all pronounced the whole process well worth the effort.
This morning I had ice crystals in my beard at 17,000+ feet and tried to stay warm while drinking hot tea, and now we were running around the streets in flip-flops and tee shirts, drinking cold beer, and eating Pringles. From North Face base camp yesterday morning to the valleys floor today we have dropped over 15,000 feet in elevation. Indeed, what a difference a day makes. In any way that we can name, this is a total contrast.
Crossing the border into Katmandu was our final adventure. Manoj said that the border was supposed to open at 10:00 a.m. and so he wanted to get in line early because it could be quite a disorderly scene. Well, he was right, as usual.
Dozens of money changers lined the street, each with their own particular method of calculating how many of this you will get in exchange for that. Rates varied from person to person, and in the end, we decided on just spending all our extra Yuans on munchies to eat while in line.
We got in line about 8:30 directly behind a group of Indian Pilgrims, probably to Mount Kailish. They got in line at 5:00, which was over-kill for me. This was my first night in a bed and I wasn’t going to get up any earlier than I had to. Soon a group of Austrian tourists filled up the places behind us, and that’s where the fun began.
It all started when another group of Indian tourists started to work their way through the “queue,” instead of waiting in line. We ragged on Tony for the failings of the British Empire. They could make the trains run on time, but couldn’t get the people to understand that when someone is in line, you don’t wrestle your way to the front of it.
The Austrians took particular affront to this maneuvering. We were only six people in line, but the Austrians were a large group of 30 or so people. So when another group of Indians tried to outflank the queue and get ahead of everybody, the Austrians just moved like some ancient phalanx and cut them off, accompanied by jeers and hoots from the Austrians. At the time we didn’t know they were Austrians, we just knew they spoke German, so we attributed the moves to their ex-Panzer training.
This thrust, counter thrust, protect the right flank stuff went on for over an hour as group after group tried to penetrate this version of the Siegfried Line, all without success. The Indians looked quite perplexed. This is just normal jostling in a country of a billion people where the bold make their way and the timid get pushed aside. They obviously didn’t know that Germanic people have defined the word bold in the Western world.
The line grew quite long as several hundred people waited with varying degrees of patience for the border to open, and when it did at 11:30, there was only one immigration official examining everybody’s passport. My passport is due to expire in December, and since it is ten years old, my picture is not “Lasered” on, but just affixed with glue and has a plastic cover over the photo. This caused great concern about being a doctored passport and it was passed around, examined, inspected, and finally approved. I obviously appeared to be some Tibetan, or Chinese dissident trying to escape. I can only imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t had my shower last night.
From the border inspection area to the “Friendship” bridge which spans the river we had followed yesterday was another serpentine route that took us down to actual river level about three miles down the road. There were porters to carry all the equipment across the border because our vehicles couldn’t cross the bridge into Nepal.
Crossing the bridge was like coming into another world. Nepal may have a long border with Tibet, but, other than the Himalayas and the Sherpas, they share nothing in common.
Clothing in Tibet is very subdued - simple, utilitarian, almost drab. But crossing into Tibet was like watching a black and white movie that has suddenly been colorized. Brightly colored saris were everywhere - reds, greens, yellows - not subdued colors, but traffic-light brilliant hues.
The noise level was amped up. In Tibet even crowds have a subdued level of talking and communicating. But in Nepal it’s like the look on Carol’s face when she turns the key on in the Nissan and I have forgotten to turn the volume down on the radio before I got out. It’s just in-your-face volume.
Every stream cascading down the mountain side had a rock and cement pool built where groups of people were doing laundry and discreetly bathing.
We faced the same type of traffic jam on this side of the border as we did coming into Zwangmuu last night, but it was just noisier like everything else. The porters carried the bags, tents, and all the camp equipment to a bus, which served as our transportation back to Katmandu.
In Tibet we were continually confronted by children asking for money. When we came upon a village or when we stopped in Tassi Dzom, for example. They were satisfied with whatever they got, but it got to be a drain on our patience. The first thing that Carol commented on when crossing the border was the lack of this. It was very refreshing not to have to deal with children begging.
The border “town” on the Nepal side is really just clap-trap wooden shacks all built precariously on the side of the gorge in a long line of shops and homes.
Our trip back was enlivened by the world’s highest Bungee Jump, a drop of almost 600 feet to the river below. We passed, thank you.
We were stopped about a dozen times on our five hour journey by police blockades, searching vehicles, buses, trucks, etc. for the Maoist rebels. The “Terrorists” as they are referred to have no quarrel with the tourists. Their big thing is the corruption of the government officials who rip off the poor people of Nepal. To this end, if a tourist is stopped individually, or in a group, by the rebels, they have to pay a “Donation” to the cause. However, to keep things fair and equitable, after donating they are given a receipt for their contribution and can present this if they are stopped again later in their trek. Talk about a unique souvenir. There has been a lot of concern at home about our safety. People asked us whether we really knew what we were doing going to Nepal. People gave us articles about people dying in hotels in Lhasa because of strange illnesses. But with all the possibilities for things to go bad, we never once considered not going, and the subsequent events did nothing to make us regret our decision.

Arriving back in Katmandu was a whirlwind of activity and noise. Everything is just so much more so here. You name an aspect of life, and it just seems to be higher on the scale of 1-10.
We did get our beers at the pool bar at the Radisson, but because we’d had showers the previous night, we refrained from jumping in and clogging the system. We had one last day together since we had gotten to Katmandu early. So that was nice. It was a good finishing touch, rather than everybody just bolting for the airport.
But then it was time to go. Tony left in the morning, Dave in the Afternoon, Kathleen the following morning, and lastly Carol and I. We all parted with the knowledge that we had shared something extraordinary, something which in all likelihood we would not repeat again (well, certainly not for the old farts), and something for which we were very thankful that these five personalities all came together in this time and place, for each of us added something to the trip which would have been lacking if any of us had not come. It was a wonderful karmic adventure and I wouldn’t have changed any of it.

A fellow travel agent for whom I had little affection and even less respect, absolutely astounded me one day when she gave the most insightful observation on our trips. She liked to sit at the resort, drink piña coladas, read, and just hang out.
Therefore, she said: “I like to vacation, you two like to travel.”
I couldn’t have put it more concisely myself. It’s very disconcerting to have the essence of my life summed up by someone I don’t even like
Travel is the one aspect of my life that I enjoy most. Carol being less of a one-dimensional person has more interests and variety to her life. But ever since I left home at 19, seeing as many places and cultures as possible has been- month odyssey in South America we had in 1991 to this trip, the trips have been Carol’s vision. Our trip to Mongolia was so that she could experience the yak culture for the first time. Last year’s Camino walk in Spain again was her suggestion. I don’t care where we go, I want to experience it all, but she has a wonderful ability to choose trips that are so multi-dimensional. We enjoy them from so many different angles. Then, too, I get to see them through her eyes as well as my own. So as you can see, she adds so much to my life in so many ways. Like Jeff Rutan said when he won the Olympic gold medal that nobody expected: “I‚m a lucky dude.” I couldn’t say it any better than that.
Thanks for going along with us and letting us share the adventure with you. We hope you enjoyed it as we did.
Carol and Jim