Excerpt from an Himalayan Diary

Day 1

All I need are a land cruiser, a driver, a guide, a stack of food, a handful of travel permits and a couple of other crazy travelers to join in and make the whole lot affordable. I am in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet, and for several days I have been trying to organize this trip into the Himalayan highlands: I looked through the obscure permit requirements, posted notices in the big hostels, and talked to virtually everybody who did not seem to come from Tibet to ask if they want to join in. This is how I finally met Arata from Japan, and today in the afternoon, the last before departure, Christian from Norway joined the party. Over a big meal, probably the last decent one for a couple of days, we decided on our route and went over the details again. The necessary preparations kept us busy for the best part of the afternoon, until finally, everything seemed set for our trip to the roof of the world.

Lying in bed this evening, I felt excited as I have done before only very few trips in the past years. As a child, I used to be so excited on the evening before our yearly family vacation that often I could not sleep. Now travel has become such a routine that, somewhere along the road, I had lost this quite desirable kind of insomnia. Up here in Lhasa today, I felt like a child again: I could sense that a true adventure lay ahead.

Day 2

It was still dark when we loaded the car this morning. We left Lhasa by sunrise, heading southwest along the Brahmaputra River. Our first destination was Namdrok Tso, one of the four holy lakes in Tibet. As we inched our way up the southern flank of the Brahmaputra valley, the weather gets worse and worse. When we finally reach the high pass at 4800m above sea level one hour later, we find ourselves in a genuine snowstorm and can hardly see the lake in the distance. Thus we decide to cut this stop short, head down into the valley again and continue westward.

In the fertile valley, we see farmers plough their land with yaks and oxen. It is spring, time to sow. The locals need to make best use of the short warm period from spring to fall, because Tibetan winter is long and unrelenting.

In the afternoon we reached Shigatse, Tibet’s second largest town. Here we needed to buy another travel permit. At the edge of town, a dubious agent boarded the car, collected our passports and disappeared for a couple of hours. As my passport is the item that of all things on a trip I favor least to lose, I was deeply relieved when the agent returned with our passports and the necessary permits. So we continued our trip along the friendship highway, the most important route through the Himalayas, the link between the two capitals Lhasa and Katmandu in Nepal. From these accounts, I had expected something quite different: The friendship highway is more like a continuous pothole, a one-lane dirt road where walking would often be faster than driving. Again and again flocks of sheep, donkeys of yak blocked the road. Slowly, the idea sunk in that the region we are heading for is indeed one of great remoteness.
Today we pushed on until late into the night to reach Shegar, little more than just a truck stop with a few guest beds. The only electricity comes from a screaming generator in the middle of the yard, there is no running water, and there is said to be one telephone. Since it is my grandmother’s birthday, I ask if I could give her a ring. The patron ushers me to a locked wooden box in the corner of the room. After opening it ceremoniously, he took out a thick piece of cloth, wrapped in which laid the telephone, a model any museum would be proud to own. As I was probably the first to ever attempt an international call from this device, I was also the first to find out that such were not possible from here. Well, belated happy birthday, then.

Soon thereafter, I retreat to bed, under two horrendously heavy blankets under which probably twenty seven Chinese truck driver had slept already since they had been cleaned for the last time.

Day 3

Before we can continue our trip, we have to once again buy travel permits. After having cleared two police stations, the road winds itself ever higher into the mountains. We have now left the friendship highway and travel on a southern side road towards the Nepalese boarder. To the south, the steep slope of the mountain rose high above us, while to the north, the dwindling abyss became deeper and deeper. No end seems in sight until suddenly we drive through a portal of rocks and find ourselves on the top of the pass, well above 5000m above sea level. In front of us, the next valley laid deep and wide. The sight at its far end is hard to describe in words: The snowcapped string of the world’s highest peaks lay in front of us in cloudless splendor. I take a look on the map and try to put names to the mountains. Makalu, Lhotse, Everest, Cho Oyu.

After a few more hours of helter-skelter driving, we reach our next stop for the night, the Rongphu Monastery at the base of Mount Everest. At 5200m above sea level, this is the highest monastery in the world, and we pay tribute with headache and nausea. Later the afternoon, Christian and I set out for a hike to Everest Base Camp. After two hours, we reach this barren city of tents at the edge of the Rongpuh glacier. We take a look around, snap the obligatory shots at the base camp marker, until gradually the peak disappears in a massive bank of clouds drifting in from the south. Back at the monastery, altitude really takes its toll, and after throwing up, I go to bed early. Dressed in my thermal underwear, in a sleeping bag, under two big blankets I get warm soon and fall into good sleep.