Where In The World Is Evan?

After spending a couple of days hanging out in Lhasa and seeing the sights Sergio, Jacek and I hired a tent and hopped on a bus to Shigatse–the second largest city in Tibet–on our way to Mt. Qomolangma (i.e. Mt. Everest).

Shigatse is by far the worst city that I have been to in China. Despite its relative size the streets remained almost constantly empty, giving the city the feel of a ghost town. In the middle of the afternoon when we arrived most shops were inexplicably closed and rubbish lay strewn along the roads and footpaths. Despite the Lonely Planet asserting that prices across Tibet decreased outside of Lhasa, both food and accommodation in Shigatse were more expensive and of a significantly lower quality. Requiring some additional equipment we found the only sizable trekking goods store in town. As I perused their selection of compasses it occurred to me that of the eight they had on display only three pointed in vaguely the same direction–the other five choosing their own unique perspective on north. What amused me most about this situation is the stupidity involved in placing such defective compasses next to each other, thus highlighting their worthless made-in-China quality.

As I’ve mentioned previously travel in Tibet is solely targeted towards rich package tourism. In keeping with this policy the Chinese government has outlawed all independent trekking. The only way to legally trek in Tibet is to use an official travel agency. Inconveniently these official operators charge a minimum US$100 per person per day. In terms of my local income I could afford less than six days trekking for a full month’s salary! These outrageous prices are justified by the compulsory inclusion of guides, cooks, porters, and a team of yaks to carry all the equipment. This sort of trekking is the antithesis of what I came to Tibet to do.

Considering this we secured an “Alien Travel Permit” allowing us to travel outside of Shigatse (remember Tibet’s a police state) with the intention of going it alone once we reached the town of Tingri, nestled at the base of the Mount Qomolangma Nature Reserve. After being informed by the official who issued us with our permits that (a) it’s illegal for foreigners to use the public bus; (b) hitch-hiking is illegal; and (c) all licensed transportation is unavailable, he naturally encouraged us to pay him a bribe such that bus transport would suddenly become available.

Looking at the map of Tibet in the Lonely Planet (LP) we surmised, based on travel time from Lhasa to Shigatse, that it should take about 4 hours to get to Tingri–along the Friendship Highway that connects Nepal to Tibet. What we failed to account for is that when the Chinese say Friendship Highway what they really mean is near-impassable-muddy-trail-under-extensive-roadworks-along-its-entire-length. Understandably they went with highway as it fits better on maps. As the road decreased in quality and the afternoon rain set in, our capable driver got our bus bogged in the middle of the highway. Taking six men to shift the bus from its hole, we soon got underway again. Riding the bus was highly reminiscent of a game of pinball, as our bodies were ricocheted from wall to ceiling by the absence of any suspension.

Twelve bruising hours after setting off from Shigatse our driver announced that we’d reached our destination. Staggering out into the dark we quickly found a hotel, had some dinner, and dropped off to sleep. In the morning we secured our bags for the planned three day trek to Everest Base Camp (EBC). With only a photocopy of the trekking chapter from the LP Tibet to guide us, we set of down the road in search of the trailhead. After asking a slew of locals for directions we found ourselves inexplicably marching down the friendship highway. After an hour and a half we reached a large police checkpoint. Unable to reconcile our current position with the tiny photocopied map, we asked for directions. After a frustrating and uninformative conversation with the captain of the checkpoint it soon became apparent, thanks to a passerby, that the bus had dropped us off at the wrong town, leaving us 55 km short of Tingri.

After concocting a story about how Sergio and I were former army service-men, to ingratiate ourselves with the young captain, he soon agreed to organise us transportation to Tingri. Jacek, having previously voiced his fears about trekking without permits and guides, saw this as the ideal opportunity to bail on our expedition. Negotiating separately with the captain to gain four-wheel-drive transport direct to EBC he said his goodbyes and set off to buy the requisite park entrance ticket. Despite the illegality of hitch-hiking, our lack of a park entrance ticket, and our obvious intention to trek to EBC our friend the captain soon sent us on our way in a free jeep to Tingri.

Arriving in the mid-afternoon we decided to set off on the trek so as not to lose an entire day. Finding the trailhead proved extremely easy this time, as we happened to be departing from the right town. The text and map in the LP that we were using described a trek from EBC to Tingri, and not the other way around. The idea of driving to EBC and trekking down had little appeal, so it seemed a simple matter of doing the trek backwards. Of course this meant that the suggested times had little bearing, as they represented a downhill gradient.

After walking for 4 hours in the intense summer sun we arrived just before sunset at our intended destination–a small Tibetan farming village. After setting up camp Sergio and I scoured the area for fuel to start a small camp fire. Unfortunately most of the Tibetan plateau is desert, and there was nothing combustible larger than my fist. Two of the local herdsmen saw our plight and arrived with a small bundle of dead grass for us to burn, which we thankfully reciprocated with an offer of food. The fire, however, required constant bellowing to keep it burning at such an altitude and we soon lost interest and let it smolder out.

Shortly after dawn we rose and slowly packed up our camp. Day two turned out to be quite an ordeal as we discovered that the map we had was filled with an unbelievable number of inaccuracies. Landmarks were arbitrarily placed on the map, regardless of their actual locations, giving the impression of a straightforward and easy to follow route. Ironically Sergio and I had previously met the author of the LP trekking chapter in a restaurant in Lhasa. For his own safety he’d best not meet either of us again.

After a full day’s slog through barren, rock strewn valleys we reached what we believed to be the major un-bridged river crossing described in the LP. With the current moving at an alarming speed, and the temperature barely above zero, we resolved to build a bridge of stepping stones across the narrowest part of the river. An exhausting hour later we managed to get across safe and dry. After nine hours of hard work at an altitude of over 4,500 meters we were nearing our physical limit of endurance, yet an hour later we still hadn’t reached our intended campsite. Desperately scouring the landscape with my eyes for anywhere that could accommodate a tent we were forced to keep walking. As we rounded a bend into a new valley we were confronted with another un-bridged river crossing, the description of which was inexplicably absent from the LP!

With daylight beginning to fade and being unable to find a narrow enough section to jump across we were forced to repeat our bridge building exercise from the previous crossing. This time, however, the current easily carried away the largest rocks that we could lift in our weakened state. In frustration we decided to cross at the widest, yet shallowest point, of the river and arrived at the other side with varying degrees of wet feet and pants. Struggling onward for another hour, we finally arrived at our camp site, eleven hours after setting off that morning.

Beginning day three late, because of residual fatigue, we ate our breakfast of bread, nuts and dried fruit with cold resignation. Towering above our camp site was Nam-la, the deceptively rounded mountain that we’d planned to cross that morning. Frustratingly the top of the mountain seemed to be only a few hundred meters ahead, yet no matter how high you climbed the top never seemed to get any closer.

After innumerable cursing we finally reached the apex of the mountain, at 5,250 meters above sea level, to be rewarded with a sweeping view down into the line of narrow interconnected valleys that we were soon to be trekking through. Being unable to fully reconcile the vague descriptions of the valley in the LP with what we faced, we set off with a strong sense of trepidation.

As the midday sun burnt off the morning’s clouds we soon found ourselves taking repeated, yet much needed, breaks resting in the warming sun. As the hours rolled on without sign of the path we were notionally following our previous trepidation began to grow. The valley had narrowed such that it was no longer possible to walk along the bank of the stream that ran its course. Being forced to scale the side of the valley wall we were rewarded with the sight of a road ahead. In an emotional outpouring of joy Sergio and I embraced before falling to the ground to bask happily in the sun. Marching onward with renewed vigor we were soon trekking along the road towards the final stage of our journey. Unfortunately the map in the LP once again proved inaccurate, and as fatigue and night were soon to overcome us we decided to camp beside the road on a rare patch of grass.

It’s at this point that I might note that Sergio, whilst being in better physical condition than I am, had never been trekking before. As such he’d overexerted himself during the day and not saved enough energy for the duties of camp building. As he crashed alarmingly to the ground, looking deathly pale, I quickly pitched the tent and put him to bed before going to fetch water from a river that flowed 50 meters below us. Shortly after I returned a heavy rain set in, resulting in bitter complaints about the so-called Everest “rain shadow”.

The following morning the rain still hadn’t ceased and the prospect of having to trek in freezing rain seemed all too real. As the rain had been falling steadily for over 12 hours the likelihood of a sudden reprieve seemed slim. Thankfully the rain ceased around 10:30 and we quickly packed up and made a dash for the EBC.

Covering the final distance in the best time since departing Tingri, we lunched at a restaurant across from Rongbuk Monastery–the highest Monastery in the world–before making the final ascent to EBC in uder two hours.

Check out the Tibet photo gallery.