My travel diaries
Tuesday 24 April, 2007 - Lhasa, Tibet
I must have slept very soundly, but we are woken up by the phone beeping very loudly at about 6.30. Just as well. Our bus to the airport is due to depart at 8, so we have plenty of time to drink copious amounts of coffee and wake ourselves up.
At Kathmandu airport the mayhem starts. Lots of trolleys full of luggage are trying to get in, but there's only one point of entry. While we're waiting outside, Mic collects money for the departure tax, 1700 rupees from 8 of us. Tim decides to pay his in small change. "Three tigers, one rhino, a pheasant, four antelopes and two yaks," he counts out, echoing the animals depicted on each of the Nepalese bank notes. Then when Mic takes his wad of 13600 rupees to the cashier to pay the tax, he drops them all the floor. I hear a roar of laughter from Mark and turn round to see Mic sprawling on the ground, being helped by a luggage porter to retrieve all the notes that have drifted across the concourse.
We find ourselves at the back of another very long queue of trolleys to check our bags in. I take the opportunity to answer the call of nature, but the toilet in Kathmandu airport isn't the best. I go into a cubicle without toilet paper, then into a cubicle with toilet paper and a wet floor. There's nowhere to hang my bag without soaking the bottom - a prospect I'd prefer to avoid. Eventually, with much fiddling, I manage to hang it on the hinge of a door. Then, of course, I find a fresh turd floating in the bowl. As I continue with my business I hear the sound of someone vomiting from what I think is an adjacent cubicle, but when I go to wash my hands I find one of the basins full to the brim with puke. I'm glad to get out of there, and don't wait to use the hand drier.
A short while later we've passed through passport control and are waiting for our next queuing session. Tim is reading The Ascent of Rum Doodle by WE Bowman and laughing out loud. He complains of having "airport lassitude".
The next queue to scan our hand baggage is very slow indeed. This is because, in addition to be scanned, the bags have to be searched individually by hand. I wonder what purpose the scanner serves. Then we have to wait for Mic because they've found a roll of gaffer tape in his rucksack. Apparently this could potentially be used to hijack the plane. They take it off him and put it in a sealed envelope, giving him a receipt to retrieve it later.
There's a scrum for the departure gate when boarding is announced, but all is not over. Outside on the tarmac lies all our hold luggage, which we have to identify personally before it can be loaded onto the plane. I'm one of the lucky ones - I manage to get into my seat and find space for my bag in a nearby overhead locker fairly quickly, but everyone else seems to be putting baggage in available spaces several rows away from where they're sitting and then returning to their seats against the flow of passengers. This means it takes an inordinately long period of time before everyone is seated. The Air China stewardess is getting quite stressed, but just when everyone is settled she decides it's an appropriate time to give Mic his roll of gaffer tape back. But he's wedged in by the window and needs to show his receipt, which is stashed in his bag in an overhead locker several seats away. When the stewardess opens the locker several bags burst forth.
By now we're all laughing and in a slightly silly mood. During the flight Chris decides to photograph his sandwich, which consists of a single lettuce leaf and a square centimetre of cheese paste, and Bunter takes a picture of Tim's crotch after he spills his drink going through a patch of air turbulence. Some people even get quite good photos of Everest as we pass over the Himalayas.
We arrive in Lhasa and pass through lines of green-suited and green-hatted officialdom. One of the rules on a notice reads, "You cannot bring human blood into the country," which I think is a bit harsh. Eventually we're through and driving out of Lhasa airport in Toyota Landcruisers. I share one with Mark and Bunter. Bunter tells us about the time he joined an auction for the personalised vehicle number plate BUN 73 R, but gave up when the bidding reached £3000. The conversation moves onto rude number plates. I say I'd think about paying 3 grand for BOI 10 X, but Mark says XOI 10 B would be more subtle because then the driver in front would be able to read it in his rear view mirror.
"In any case," says Mark, "the rude ones get filtered out by the DVLA."
"Does this mean I can't get PEN 1 S?" I ask.
"No, but famously they once sold someone PEN 15 without noticing," Bunter replies.
It turns out it's over an hour's drive from the airport to Lhasa. The scenery on the way is magnificent. We're driving through a flat valley with brown snow-dusted peaks on either side. In the middle of the valley floor are deep blue lakes with shelducks flying in formation overhead. I think again about how lucky I am. Three days earlier I'd woken up at home in London frustrated by some personal issues, and a feeling of resentment had been flowing through me; but two days later Tina had quelled that feeling completely. Memories of ingratitude had been contrasted by this incredibly generous offer from someone who is clearly appreciative of the help I've given them. Petty small-mindedness is quickly forgotten about when contrasted with the generosity of kind-hearted people, and I'm feeling good about life again. A feeling of great calm and happiness flows through me as I look out of the window and gaze out at this sweeping Tibetan landscape.
This feeling comes to an abrupt end when the jeep in front pulls over and Tim jumps out, running down the bank by the side of the road. We stop and wait for him. I think he's got out to take a photograph, but then I realise he's having a piss. There's nothing but a wide expanse of flat earth stretching out in front of him to the mountains on the opposite side of the valley, no vegetation anywhere for him to hide behind, and cars zooming past on the road behind us. A single yak looks on blankly. Several of our group are pointing their cameras out of our jeeps taking pictures of Tim.
"It must be raining outside," Bunter remarks. There's a clear blue sky overhead, and we look at him questioningly. "Tim's shoes are wet," he says.
Eventually we reach Lhasa and drive along the wide, smoothly tarmacked, Chinese-built roads, where we pull up outside the Himalaya Hotel. Beijing time is 2 hours ahead of Kathmandu, so it's 5 o'clock by the time we check in to our rooms. We go to a restaurant down the road for pizza. I order a black tea but get given something which looks more like hot milk with a tea bag in. The pizza goes down well, though. We meet again for dinner at 8.30, but are all still full from 5 o'clock lunch. We eat as much as we can before returning to the hotel at 10 o'clock for some much needed sleep.
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