Dhingri to Kodari on Nepalese border

Thursday 6th July 2006

Dhingri via Zhangmu and back to Kathmandu

Then came the absolutely worst part of the entire trip...

Last day on the trail

Woke at 0430 – best night's sleep since my I left my own bed. I actually managed to stay in bed until 0500 when we had our early morning call – a bang on the window. Unfortunately, I needed to squat again. Hoped last night was to be the last until in a place with a decent, clean western loo, but you cannot trust your bowels in this country from one hour to the next, let alone overnight.

Breakfast followed which for all but me, consisted of a boiled egg sitting on top of a pancake. Pancakes are made from flour and water – the same main ingredients as Clag – so pancakes have never appealed to me. They tend to sit like bricks in one’s stomach, particularly if you are going to sit still for hours on end.

Now, last night, a large green plastic garbage bag had been circulated by Howard to collect leftover food from our picnic lunches. I retrieved a Cup-of-Noodles. Perhaps noodles are ‘clag’ too come to think about it, but at least these came with a couple of mysterious little packets with even more mysterious contents. When combined with some hot water and poured over my preferred ‘clag’, these made for a tasty meal.

We were all packed up and on the road by 0610. It was still pitch black and a bit cold but not frosty. The sun didn’t start to make an appearance for around 40 minutes when the first streaks of light broke the horizon. By the time the sun was up we were at the first and last high pass we were to cross for the day. The mountains were clear and the view spectacular. The last of our prayer flags were hoisted on a high metal structure built across the road for the purpose. There was a stiff, cold breeze which kept the prayers blowing briskly away from the flags and kept our arms flinging and wrapping around our bodies in an attempt to keep the blood circulating.

A little after leaving the pass we came across some Himalayan donkeys and a wolf. We drove down into a beautiful and fertile green barley and yellow canola filled valley. We followed the river in the bottom of the valley for some distance and passed through some lovely Tibetan villages - we were a long way from Lhasa here.

Around lunch time we arrived at the Chinese border town of Zhangmu but not before travelling through some wonderful ecosystems as we dropped from the rain shadow of the Tibetan Plateau down onto the southern and much wetter side of the Himalayan range. I saw yellow primulas over a foot high, a rose species, anemone, buttercups, edelweiss, then through a conifer forest followed by rhododendron forest. The spruce sported lovely blue-purple cones but the rhododendrons were no where near being in flower.

Zhangmu is an awful place. Ratty, tatty buildings and dirt, filth and rubbish were everywhere. Hundreds of trucks waited to empty their contents into trucks on the Nepalese side. The whole town is built on the side of a very steep valley which means the road is narrow and easily blocked.

We walked across the Friendship Bridge to the Nepal side and were processed by customs. I had to pay a USD5 fine as I’d left my spare passport photos back in KTM by mistake when deciding what to leave and what to take to Tibet. Lunch was had in a dark little café beside the road. Veggie fried pakora and a cup of Nepalese tea which was sweet and milky. It reminded me of the tea I used to crave for when out trekking when living here 25 years ago. Every teashop had the large aluminium teapot stewing away all day on the little wood stove waiting for passers by. The only difference on this occasion was that the tea was served in a cup, not a glass. In the good old days the tea shopkeeper would fill the tea glass to the very top which left nowhere to hang on to the thing to drink from it. You had to resort to holding the very top part of the rim and, with a very tricky manoeuvre that required a twist of the wrist through 90 degrees, small sips were possible. The luxuries of a cup with a handle just didn't seem the same. I don't think it tasted the same either.

From here we had to get into jeep-like vehicles to travel a few kilometres down the road to a place called Tato Pani (trans. Hot Water) because a large landslide had blocked the road to all but people and the odd courageous or stupid, motor bike rider. A bulldozer and a front-end loader were working in tandem to clear the road which had already been blocked for a couple of days before we arrived.

Our shoes were the worse for wear by the time we had negotiated the muddy and rock strewn landslide area - a distance of maybe 200 metres. A normal small bus was waiting for us on the other side of the landslide. All aboard, but extra money had to be found for the jeeps and for the extra handling of our bags. That was all taken care of by Howard. An expectant wait followed while the driver attempted to start the vehicle. Nothing - our bus was as dead as a doornail! The fuses came out one by one and were replaced in their rightful place. Meanwhile another man, the driver's 'shotgun', stood around with a 5cm. long piece of green insulated wire that was bared at each end. Was this the secret answer to the problem? Up went the engine covering to see if looking at the problem might fix it. Slammed down again. Obviously looking didn't fix it. So, under the bus the 'shotgun' went. A few minutes later the engine leapt into action. The shotgun emerged into daylight once more, tossed the keys to the driver and we were ready to leave. Isn't it amazing what can be achieved by hot-wiring a motor?

Then came the absolutely worst part of the entire trip - and that includes having to use vile smelling, unhygienic 'loos'. To begin with, the Indian 'Walla' driver was as angry as all hell. He was already mad when we all got to the bus, so I don't know what was the root cause. We were a bit late, caused by the road works in Tibet, but this information had been conveyed to KTM the day before. So that couldn't be the answer. Maybe because the motor wouldn't start. Maybe that was the cause. Whatever it was he took out his frustrations and temper on his bus and therefore us. It was on for young and old. He drove at breakneck speed for the condition of the road for four hours and caused much consternation among us all. He had the bus sliding sideways on the corners, hit rough parts of road so hard on two occasions that he damaged cowlings under the bus so that the radiator fan ground away at nearby body parts until the racquet stopped. It was truly scary.

Birenda, the tour company guide who had come up from KTM to meet us, spoke severely to him, not once but three times. That only seemed to make the driver even angrier. What should have been a lovely welcome back to Nepal was totally ruined by this crazy driver. The last half-hour or so through the city was at a slower pace due to the traffic, but with equally reckless driving. I wouldn't put him in charge of a rickshaw! I told Birendra that he should black list the fellow for any English speaking group. He certainly wasn't given the usual tip by Howard.

We arrived back at the Vaisalli Hotel and were reunited with our left luggage and passport photos and a tap with running water - hot and cold. A shower seldom felt so good. We had dinner at the ‘New Orleans’, our eating haunt from before. Some more veggie fried rice and a most wonderful tasting chisso (trans. cold) Everest beer … followed by another and I was happy - all for AUD9. Bed and a good sleep until 0600 made for a very enjoyable return to KTM.