"Nepal: once is not enough."
– Iumlenepal
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| Morning Monk at Everest Sunrise |
After a very cold overnight at the rooftop of the world, I rose early to capture the sunrise at Mount Everest and to take in the mountain's majesty one more time. I had waited years to get here and leaving was bittersweet.
Our return to Kathmandu would prove to be even more challenging than our departure from it. We saddled up and departed Everest base camp in the Qomolangma National Park, making a beeline back to Gyirong Village; the gateway to the Chinese border with Nepal. Gyirong is where we spent our second outbound night on the road, even though it was only 40km from our first overnight. Once again, the chaotic unpredictability of the China/Nepal border required us to bake in an additional day to accommodate unforeseen delays.
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| Border Jam |
Our team of six would have to seek permission to cross the border, despite the fact that we had visas in hand. Our guide was first in the queue at the Gyirong customs office, which placed us first in line at the vehicle staging area a few kilometers from the border. We were in place by 10:30am, but had to wait for the border office to open at 12:30pm. At 12:20pm, we all raged through the rocky, sorry excuse for a road that was dangerously slick from rains earlier that morning. This was not a race, but in a sense it was because every truck, car, and scooter wanted to be first in line at the border bridge. Two weeks ago, I would have found myself behind dozens of vehicles. But my time riding in China hardened me and fine tuned my aggression skills. Nobody passed me as I flew through the canyons and chasms. Riding a motorcycle gave us a distinct advantage over the others and we built a gap between ourselves and the other vehicles. Then it all suddenly ground to a halt. I could see the border bridge ahead of me. Problem was, there were dozens of massive trucks headed to and from the border, fighting for space in what what was barely enough for one lane; much less two. It was clear nobody was going anywhere anytime soon. But why?
Truck drivers were outside their vehicles, sitting at portable tables, and playing cards. Construction workers attempting to build an actual road went about their day as if we weren't even there. Finally, word made it back to us that the border was closed till 2:30. No reason was given. My mind began to calculate our arrival time back in Kathmandu, remembering the absolute hellish road ahead. It took us seven hours on our way out ten days ago, and that was with clear weather. Today, we were being chased by storm clouds and had been doing a great job of staying ahead of them until we were unexpectedly halted.
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| Gateway to Tibet - Just Call it China |
Some time later, the border re-opened and we were allowed to enter a semi-paved staging area. I had figured exiting China would have been faster than entering because we had all been thoroughly vetted for our entry a couple of weeks prior. I figured wrong. Once inside the building, there were several administrative stations to pass through, each of which had a myriad of cameras and microphones; and those were just the ones we could see. We were forewarned that our actions, facial expressions, and everything we said were being recorded. The locals all covered their mouths as they spoke to one another, like an NFL football coach calling plays on the sideline. I just (uncharacteristically) kept my mouth shut. The entire process was clearly about intimidation. I'm not easily intimidated, but I am easily pissed off. It took all my patience to remain stoic and just comply. We were fingerprinted and frisked. Our bags were tunneled through an x-ray machine and then manually rifled through. Our phones were collected and photos were reviewed for any images of flags, monks, monasteries, etc. which are contraband. I had already offloaded anything I thought might raise eyebrows. At one point, there were three Chinese agents right in my face, one toe-to-toe with me and the other two on either side of me; our faces just inches apart. They just stood there, silently staring. My resting bitch face took over and I just stared back, eyes shifting to the left and right, but never turning my head. It was a really awkward position. I had no power whatsoever. The held all the cards. I was an American in China at a very politically tense time. All I could do was try not to look pissed off. After what felt like eternity (but was likely only about 30-seconds), one of the agents' radios barked out something in Chinese and they all stepped aside, I assume to intimidate the next in line behind me. I didn't look back to confirm.
I was free to gather and repack my belongings and carry them to the awaiting porter who would deliver them to our awaiting truck on the Nepal side of the "Friendship Bridge". We were pushing our bikes and just ten feet from the borderline when they suddenly dropped the gate and ordered us all away from our motorcycles. We were lined up and led into a small office for one final passport verification with fingerprints scanned and a photo taken with a Chinese agent on each side. It felt like a conscripted political selfie. Nothing could have changed between this stop and the last one. I'm convinced it was just an intimidation play.
Finally, they raised the gate and a few steps later we were back in Nepal. It was 3:30pm China time, but upon crossing the border, it was magically only 1:45pm in Nepal. We gained almost two hours back by just rolling across the bridge. We would need every minute of that gain because the storm we had outrun had caught up with us and it was beginning to drizzle.
Thinking we were out of the woods, my resting bitch face morphed into a slight grin. This was it. The road ahead would be seven hours of sloppy, rocky, off camber crap, but at least we were finally able to get on it. Turns out this wasn't it. We still had to clear Nepali inbound customs.
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| Gateway to Nepal from China |
Customs on the Nepal side was just a tin shack with a porch and a desk behind a window. An unmanned desk. We were losing daylight, the storm was approaching, and there wasn't an official in sight. Our Nepali guide (we said goodbye to our Tibetan guide before the staredown) found a local Nepal soldier and asked him to help find the customs clerk. The clerk, not expecting any business due to the border closing was sleeping in an empty office. Four out of the six of us were processed with passports stamped, and then the clerk began closing up shop. When we protested, he just pointed at the Business Hours sign indicating that his office closed at 3:00pm. We had waited almost two hours for this clown and he was abandoning us...and the dozens of people in line behind us. We hastily collected about $100USD and offered it to him to process our last two riders. He grabbed the cash, stamped them through, and closed shop. The others had no choice but to spend the night in their vehicles, beside their motorcycles, or to grab a room at the nearest shack of a hotel a few hundred yards away. I suppose they could have just ridden off, but we had to have that inbound stamp to reconcile the outbound stamp from when we crossed into China ten days prior. Our bribe complete, we fist-bumped, praised capitalism, and rode off into the hellish hills, trying to outrun the storm again.
The route back to Kathmandu was only about 100km, but the weather, terrain, and the unusual amount of other vehicles made it seem much longer. When I rode this same route (in the opposite direction) on our way out, it seemed easier, perhaps because we were all full of curiosity for what lay ahead and full of energy from our non-riding days in Kathmandu. We hadn't been on the road for a few hours and yet after the Chinese drama at the border, I was already feeling tired and it was showing in my slowed riding pace. I battled a few more hours up, across, and down numerous tightly wound mountain passes slowly making my way closer to Kathmandu. Two environmental factors began to occupy my mind. My fatigue had slowed my riding pace to the point that the rain had caught up with me, and it was getting dark. I don't mind getting wet, but my vision sucks at night and trying to focus behind wet, foggy goggles didn't help. My slow pace was pissing off the locals behind me for whom this route was just another day in their lives. Furthermore, the rest of my crew were long gone because I was held up at a police check point and told them to go on without me. With no GPS and no map, I had no idea where I was nor how far I was from Kathmandu. There was only one way to go, but not knowing the remaining distance was having a draining effect on me. Drivers use the left lane in Nepal and in my fatigue, I drifted into the right in a tight off-camber corner and found myself staring into the headlights of a large truck that skidded to a stop just a few feet in front of me with its horn blasting. All I saw was a visor full of headlights. All the truck driver saw was a visor full of eyeballs.
I was done. I rode to a pull-out space on the road, pulled over, dismounted, and waited for the support truck. When Kumar arrived, I was almost choking back tears of defeat as I explained that I had no night vision and that I just couldn't safely go any further. He just said "hop in my friend". I was experiencing a whirlwind of emotions...defeat, excitement, relief; but mostly defeat. Although I had ridden as far as I could, I recognized that there was no valor in dying on that mountain. I swallowed my pride and hopped in the truck as our young locally-raised mechanic gleefully hopped on the bike and sped away.
The sting of giving in subsided as I settled into the warm, dry truck, caught my breath, and wiped the rain from my eyes. Then, I looked over at the dash-mounted GPS and the sting renewed itself instantaneously and exponentially. Turns out, I had thrown in the towel only six kilometers from the hotel in Kathmandu. Six kilometers. Once at the hotel, I poured myself out of the truck, joined the others in the bar, and heaved a long sigh of relief as I downed a shot of Nepalese whiskey. Nobody gave me any grief, perhaps because I was the old guy and they were shocked I made it that far in the first place. It was just hugs, handshakes, and pats on the back. It occurred to me that up to the point when I hopped in the truck, I had been the only rider who had not yet needed a lift at some point during the trip due to altitude sickness, cold, or fatigue. It was little consolation for my pride, but I'm alive to tell the story and after my close encounter with the truck near the base of the dark, muddy mountain, I can't say positively that that would have been the case had I not stopped riding when I did.
I managed to sneak away from our small celebration just long enough to visit the hotel desk and book an massage for early the next morning. I was facing thirty hours of travel time and needed the kinks worked out that I had built up of the the previous fourteen days' riding. Our host Kumar ordered up a fantastic meal for us all and we wasted no time gorging on it. Ever-disciplined, I skipped the elevator and climbed the 72 steps up to my third floor room and began packing. Being back in thicker air, thoroughly exhausted, and emotionally drained, I slept so deep I woke up underneath the mattress. I cursed my alarm until I realized that a massage awaited me.
The masseuse, a short yet rotund woman, handed me a robe and a pair of disposable paper-like black panties and then she just stood there while I undressed and put them on. I'm not remotely bashful, but it was a bit awkward. She must have thought I was an idiot because I couldn't tell the front from the rear of the paper panties. It didn't matter, as I would soon find out. As a practicing Licenses Massage Therapist for nearly twenty years, I had experienced every variety and modality of massage there is. At least I thought I had. This little round woman crawled up on the table and gently yet thoroughly beat the living shit out of me whilst twisting my extremities into a pretzel. I had become a bit proud of the muscle definition in my calves and thighs gained from my training and the previous days' riding, but she turned them into noodles in mere minutes. When she got to my glutes, she tore the paper panties away and turned them into a thong of sorts to expose my butt cheeks, which she then tenderized like a rump roast. The rest of the massage is still a blur. It was the best massage I have ever experienced and probably ever will. She poured me off the table and I staggered back to my room to change for my trip to the airport.
The drive to the airport was every bit as crazy as that first trip when I arrived twenty days prior. It was different this time, as there was no flinching, no butt puckering, and no life flashing before my eyes. It was just another day in Kathmandu traffic and I was absolutely chilled. After nearly seven years of scheming, dreaming, and planning, the adventure of my life was over. In 36 hours, I would be home to start taking action to realize yet another very different goal that I had set for myself five years ago.
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| L to R: Princess, Shrug, Romeo, 6-4, and Management |
