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TRAVEL BLOG ENTRY
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“Chomolangma, the Tibetan name for Mt Everest means 'Mother Goddess of the Universe'” |
4th July 2006
Lhatse to Rongbuk
I did manage to sleep until midnight, then again until around 0445. The roosters started at 0503, so, as we had to be up at 0530, I decided at that point that I might as well be first to the smelly loos. A quick splash followed in one of the enamel basins with some of the still quite hot water from the Thermos in the room.
Our drive this morning followed a river, so the going was quite steady – but on dusty unsealed roads. As usual, they are working on it! Lots more stops and starts. The road wandered up and down between passes - Gyatso La at 5,160m and then Rang La at 5,200m. The weather was clear affording wonderful views into the valleys on both sides. And from Rang La we could at last see Chomolangma. Unfortunately, its top was cut off by cloud. This mighty peak, the highest in the world at 8,844m, is of course known in western countries as Mt Everest, but henceforth I shall use the Tibetan name which means 'Mother Goddess of the Universe', an apt title.
This part of the journey took us through some very authentic Tibetan villages before the road began a long climb up what could only be called a scree slope. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, ever upwards, still on very dusty roads until we finally reached Rongbuk. This was our destination, a place with some basic accommodation and only about 8km from the base camp on the Tibetan side of the mountain Chomolangma.
Rongbuk consists of a monastery and compound. This monastery once had 8 sub-monasteries including a nunnery. It was destroyed during the Cultural Revolution. Gradually it is being restored but still lamas and nuns must share the same building.
Our hotel is opposite what used to be the only accommodation available. I’m told that the old place, with its missing panes of glass and doors that don't close, was even worse than last night's hotel in Lhartse. Thankfully, we don't have to stay there. We are staying at a much newer hotel - a three-year-old Chinese Hotel. Better? No! Not at all! There's still no running water and, this time, there's not even a basin. And we have to share rooms, even though many of us have paid single supplement - not a problem, of course. But really, the standard of accommodation for a three-year-old hotel is pretty abysmal. There's just one vile smelling toilet for the men, although two can share the side by side 'holes'! It's the same for the ladies and that's all, for the whole hotel, which I understand has 100 beds. The place to carry out private ablutions is very public, out on the open balcony. Facilities consist of a broken urn filled with warm water from the kitchen and a couple of battered and bruised enamel basins. But, I ask you, where else can you ablute with such a magnificent view of Chomolangma?
PS. Some days later we learned that we could have paid extra (quite a lot extra) to have access to a western toilet and ablution area!
Wednesday 5th July 2006
Base Camp near Rongbuk to Dhingri (4,350m)
Still with Everest in view!
After a pretty awful dinner last night of veggie noodle soup and shredded curried potato, which I couldn't manage to eat, I was not looking forward to bed and trying to sleep at 5,000m, especially as I had to share the room. I just hoped my roommate didn't snore, nor I annoy him! In the end, I slept reasonably well. I must be getting used to it.
We had a leisurely start for today. No one was expected up early as we didn't have to make a start until 0930. I was up a bit before 0700. The morning was cold, well below zero. The vehicles below in the car park were covered in hard to remove ice. Frost, of course, indicates a brilliantly clear sky – next to no cloud anywhere. This augured well for a good day of filming the magnificent Chomolangma which rose almost 4,000m higher than we were at the hotel.
Rising earlier than the others, my first task of the day was to hit the squat loo where, even if you have the galloping squirts, retention is likely to set in! As you squat, thinking about the effort required to get back up and the possibility of losing your balance, big blow flies rise from beneath you …up through the ominous hole that goes to who knows where… a place I, for one, don't want to know about. The vile, odious, nauseating, putrid … in fact indescribable smells and fumes that fill the tiny room just add to your retention problems. And then, enter someone else to use the second stall and you begin to wonder if it will all come to an end, ever? Only a large bucket of water and a dipper is available to consign your job to the depths of THAT hole.
And now, to escape as quickly as possible and head for the ablutions section on the balcony. There to find the broken urn, sitting on a broken plastic chair with a rock under its front edge to give it level seating. But what's this? Only a trickle of cold water falls from the urn's tap. Too early for a top-up from the kitchen just yet. A basin with last night's grey scum sits under the tap. What to do? Grin and bare it of course, and wring the last few drops of water from the urn to wash face and hands and add my scum to that already in the basin. What am I doing here?
That question was readily and admirably answered as I turned to see the sun rise on a brilliantly clear Chomolangma. A dash back to my bedroom to grab the camera and the sunrise was recorded. What a sight! I wondered just how much better the view could be from the Base Camp - it was pretty spectacular from the balcony vantage point which I now shared with a couple of others. Most were still asleep. I guess that for some it was just another morning, just another mountain!
Breakfast over and we assemble for our visit to the Base Camp, the place from which Chomolangma climbers leave for the summit from the Tibetan side. Most people who come here, have to travel the 8km to the Base Camp along the very bumpy road in wobbly little carts drawn by ponies - a bone shaking journey of 40 minutes. Because we are 'seniors', (yes, even me) we were permitted to drive in our cars to the camp - but we still had to pay the same amount whether we went by car or cart! Heading off in our own vehicles for Chomolangma Base Camp we soon realised just how good it was to avoid that long rough ride in one of the horse-drawn carts. It took us just ten minutes to get to the end of the 'road' - a dusty dirt and rock-strewn track.
Dirt and dust. They had become an integral part of each of us since everything, everything is always covered in dust. I smell like dust and look the part. I'll be able to make a mud pie from the water I use when I next wash my hair. I wonder where and when that will be?
Chomolangma is indeed a spectacular sight from the northern side although I have to say that the view from Base Camp was not much better than from the hotel. Obviously we were a bit closer, only about 8-9km as the crow flies from the summit. As we tried to absorb the majesty of this mighty mountain, we gave thought to those climbers who did not return from their climbs. We stood by a small stone cairn to the memory of British men George Mallory and Andrew Irvine who were last seen on 8th June, 1924. Chomolangma continues to claim the lives of those who risk everything to reach its summit. Another plaque we saw is in memory of Krzysztof Liszewski, a 55-year-old Polish climber, who lost his life on 22nd May 2003. It seems that it was his third expedition from the Tibetan side, each one without oxygen and also without Sherpas. And yet, each year, new groups attempt the ascent for the adventure, for the glory… for whatever it is that drives them to attempt this feat.
Brightly coloured prayer flags flew from the highest point above the small Tibetan village that has sprung up around the road head. From their canvas or yak wool tents the locals offer accommodation as well as trinkets and tea. I wonder what sort of 'loo' facilities they had!
This visit to Chomolangma was an experience not to be missed. It was unfortunate that one of our group didn't make it, laid low with a headache and next to useless with altitude sickness. Even those on tablets had dull headaches. Luckily for me, I'm doing fine apart from a lot of huffing and puffing and a bit of shortness of breath on lying down. It seems that it doesn’t matter how young or old you are, how fit or unfit, you are either predisposed or not to altitude sickness. I'm glad that I'm one of the lucky ones.
After about an hour and a half, in which time I was able to find and film several more ground hugging alpine plants, we ventured back down the bumpy road to the hotel. Our vehicles were loaded and we set out on our drive to Dhingri, marked as Tingri on maps that do not use the traditional Tibetan names. It was not all that far to travel today. We retraced our tracks of yesterday for a bit and then headed off on a ‘walking track’ for Dhingri. It was a bit better than a walking track, nonetheless it was slow, rough going. It was just as well we had our 4WD Land Cruisers to negotiate such tracks and detours, river and creek crossings, all of which are necessary in this area.
At one creek crossing we stopped for lunch - another of those 'picnic' lunches brought from KTM. This time I had tuna and ginger from a tin with some of the remaining 'Ritz’ biscuits, still fresh as the day they were opened due to the dry air. I also had the second of the two peaches bought in Lhasa. As it turned out, the peach fitted perfectly inside my yellow use-for-anything Melamine travelling mug. In fact, it fitted so snugly that it suffered no bruising at all and was just ripe for eating. I also had a 'cappuccino' courtesy of Jim, my roommate from last night, who had brought along a veritable delicatessen of goodies.
After we had finished our repast, I wandered off in search of more wild flowers and to film the bridge and creek. My attention was drawn to a horse-drawn cart that was heading in my direction. This was one of those rare occasions when I was able to set the camera up first and be really ready for the action that I wanted to capture on film. In general when travelling, that's not possible. I just have to capture what I can when I can with the activity well under way when filming begins. This time, though, I was able to film the cart and family it was carrying as they crossed the bridge. Then the unexpected happened… they stopped at the creek to allow the horse a drink. This was also, it turned out, an opportunity for one of the guys on the cart to hop off and relieve himself. No I didn't capture that on film! But I thought I'd tell you anyway - it's all part of the roadside scene. It's just a fact of life here. Happens all the time.
I put the camera down. I had my shots of horse and cart and we were preparing to move on. What transpired next was one of those little incidences that make a trip even more memorable. One of our group had been looking for some yak bells all through our trip. He had already bought some but he was very much drawn to the bell that jingled and jangled around the cart-horse’s neck. In any case, he reckoned that to buy it from the cart man would be much cheaper than buying from the rip-off merchants at 'touristy' places like the Base Camp.
So, after waiting until the guy who owned the horse no longer had a pressing problem on his mind, Jim began his bargaining process. To do this, he wrote in the mud at the edge of the road the amount he was prepared to pay for said bell. This would be scrubbed out by the foot of the bell’s owner who would write what he wanted for the bell. Eventually, after much toing and froing, a price was settled on which was 80 yuan, compared to 180 yuan, which was being asked for similar bells back at the Base Camp. Money changed hands and the bell was duly taken off the horse and handed over… but the bell only, not the woven neck ribbon that Jim had expected would be part of the deal. Then the fun really began. Jim was adamant – the deal was off unless the neck ribbon was included. The bell’s owner was equally adamant and was prepared to forego the sale rather than include the ribbon. After a great deal of urging from members of our group, Jim at last gave in and paid the extra 10 yuan for the ribbon. All in all it was a bargain price (USD10) for a wonderful bell, ribbon and for the experience.
With bell in Jim’s possession, we moved on to complete the rough and dusty kilometres to Dhingri. On the way, I spotted four dwarf blue flowering plants that looked for all the world like the elusive blue Himalayan Poppies…a real find. I have always wanted to see them growing wild in their natural habitat. These were small, only a few inches high, not nearly as tall as the garden grown variety but the flowers were a beautiful sky blue. I was looking out for some more when the vehicle in front stopped at an insignificant pass marked by a stone cairn. Right where this vehicle stopped, a foot off the edge of the wheel ruts, was a lonely blue poppy. How somebody hadn’t walked on it getting out of the car is beyond me. I duly photographed the plant and pointed it out to our Tibetan guide. Then, as he was getting back into the car, he put his foot fair smack on top of the flower! To say that I was flabbergasted is a gross understatement!
Our ‘staying place’ at Dhingri (no, I won't call it accommodation) is a couple of kilometres from the dusty town centre. We are again short of rooms, so some doubling-up is needed. Our room is as big as the one last night but on ground level as that is all this establishment extends to. There are the usual Tibetan colours, decorations and furniture in the room and big windows let in plenty of light. We even have a TV but its dubious electrical wiring has been unplugged so that our camera batteries can be plugged in. There is no running water but we do have enamel basins and a Thermos of hot water boiled, so they say, for the necessary 20 minutes required to kill amoebic dysentery cysts – I think not! Two pairs of scuffs are also provided. These are to be worn when venturing to the loo which is to the left after having gone out of the front gate! Solar hot water showers are available but only after 1900. As that just happens to be our eating time, I wonder if any of today's sun-heated water will be left by the time we are ready to have a much needed shower. Only about 6 other westerners have been spotted so far, so maybe we’ll all be lucky. It is 1830 – I’d better look at the loo.
The loo. It is probably still within the building line, but maybe not. It is up near the road, well outside the compound fence. Its sulphurous odor draws one, as if magnetically, towards the two doors – one for the ladies and one for the men, as you would expect. Some thoughtful westerner, who can read Chinese characters, has scrawled in red paint a ‘W’ and an ‘M’ on the appropriate door. That should certainly help those unfamiliar with Chinese writing from making a mistake they may regret.
Once inside there is a wooden floor with four slots. Now, if four gents wanted to use the facility at once, they would not only have to share each other’s company, but they would have to share footpads as well. There is one plank short! One does not linger longer – its in and out as quickly as possible. I would say that it is perfectly OK to be still adjusting your clothing as you bolt for some fresh air!
Dinner was nothing to write home about. Actually I’ve not selected well for the last three nights. Tonight’s choice of egg fried rice was only just passable (my stomach will make the decision on that I guess - let’s wait until tomorrow!) and the Lhasa beer just off the shelf at room temperature left a little to be desired.
But, after tea came a warm shower. Ah! There still is such a thing as running water – only lukewarm but running and not cold. I washed my hair – wonderful.
The room has walls about two feet thick with heavy iron window frames. The centre section was manufactured to slide but hasn’t done so for eons. One of the three panes of glass is broken but has been sticky-taped up a couple of times. The more recent layers of tape are themselves starting to curl and detach from the glass. A bare light globe swings slowly in the light night breeze whilst the generator in the background just pumps out enough juice to maintain a vestige of light that flickers with each rotation of the system.
Not to worry! We have just witnessed a most wonderful sunset on the mountains in front of the hotel. Chomolangma, although not as close or as big as this morning, glowed with a brilliant orange hue. And that is well worth all the afore said hassle.
previous travel blog entry
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