Tibet to India: a view of Everest, out of the mountains, flying home

I intended to write and send out this update weeks ago, but very sad events at home in England overtook me and, once again, plans have changed in unexpected ways.My last update, in February, saw me arriving happy, tired and relieved in the city of Lhasa, the heart and capital of Tibet, after a rough but exciting month of dodging Chinese checkpoints and climbing over icy passes. I spent one week in Lhasa, admiring the grandness of the vast Potala Palace perched amongst the still grander mountains, but frustrated to have once again landed amidst the tourist touts after such a remote journey to get there. I soon tired of the heaving traffic and ugly buildings which have so altered this once fabled city on the roof of the world, so I set off towards Nepal – now following a relatively well surfaced road across the Tibetan Plateau known as the Friendship Highway (though I was soon to rename it, more appropriately, the Headwind Highway).The landscape had changed once again – now it was a high altitude desert of brown sandstone valleys enclosed by crumpled and riveted hills, hiding, often far behind them, awesome peaks of snow and ice. Gentle glacial rivers flowed alongside the road and at night I could camp under bridges, or in gentle hollows near the road – I always prefer to be out of sight from the road when I camp, but here, I really don’t think it mattered. I would attempt to rise early each day – if possible, even before dawn – because I had soon come to realise that after lunchtime the plateau winds would pick up and invariably blow against me, halving my speed and filling my mouth with dust. Out here, I felt really quite alone. There were still people around: young boys or old men herding their goats and yaks – calling to me hopefully as I struggled past, as if I were a saving ship passing the desert island where they were stranded. And there were also villages – a jumbled bunch of old and new houses, often flying a Chinese flag as a telltale sign that they had been given financial help from the state in order to settle down and partake in the Chinese dream. Although many of the people were genuinely friendly and would happily offer me Yak butter tea as I passed, or lead me through a maze of courtyards and corridors to fill up my water bottles in their kitchens (past an array of sombre yaks and snarling dogs), there was also a distinct increase in their demands for money and handouts. The unashamed begging of local people is something that a rich traveller in poor places should learn to get used to, to understand and accept as a natural response to unimaginably hard lives. However, I found myself really losing patience with it all. After one night sleeping squashed against the leaky fabric of a goat herder’s tent, half way to the top of a snowy pass, I thought he would be happy that I had given him my trainers to replace his own rotting shoes (moneywise, my trainers were worth at least 3 nights in a Chinese hotel). However, as I prepared to leave the next morning, he began asking me also for my coat! That just felt rather rude, as did the women who picked up their skirts and ran across the plains towards me with their outstretched palms, shouting eagerly the only word they seemed to know in my language “MONEYâ€?. I realised that I was beginning to get rather jaded from being on this trip. The novelty of encountering exotic cultures, and sleeping alone under the cold starry nights was beginning to wear off. I was bored of always being on my best behaviour amongst people who were still forming their first impressions of me. I was fed up with always being an object of special, bizarre fascination before the people whose lives I was bypassing all too briefly. I had also had enough of chilly Himalayan nights, feeling not quite warm in my sleeping bag as the cold sun went down on the night yet again, and waking in the morning with no idea where I would be sleeping the next night. Each day, a battle rages in my mind to be positive and appreciative. There was however one highlight of the Tibetan Plateau which I was very happy not to miss… the big mountain. I took a 9 hour detour up an immensely steep and bumpy track to get to the top of the 5,200m (16,000 feet) Pang La pass, from where I would get a decent and unobscured view. As I rounded, gasping, the final switchback and pushed the bike through a ferocious wind at the top, I saw the mountains fold away before me, and there, some 50 miles in the distance and yet towering above everything else on the earth, was Mount Everest. The mountains around its feet tossed and foamed like broken waves, spilling glaciers and snow carelessly into the valleys below, whilst out of this desperate confusion rose the massive and awesome stone hulk, like a monster rising out of the sea. Clouds danced around the summit, and I, feeling exhausted and nauseous at only two thirds its full height, could not imagine what depths of courage and determination would be needed to get to the top. (Please see the photos attached) Over the next few days I finally began to descend: out of the windswept desert plateau; through the ice filled valleys that cascade downwards alongside the glacial torrents; then suddenly, into the warmth of spring and across a chaotic but friendly border and into Nepal. Soaking up waves of sun and warmth, I took a good break in the backpacker district of Kathmandu where I was happy to catch up with Ben and Gen (whom I cycled through the night checkpoints with on my way into Tibet), an old friend I had met in Japan, as well as an inspiring Nepali man, Dhan Raj, who worked with Viva Network to help connect and equip many children at risk projects throughout the country. The terrible fact that over 2000 young Nepali girls are trafficked and sold to Indian brothels every year is enough to remind us that the days of slavery are far from over. Without much time to spare, I sped off again, out of Nepal and onto the sweaty north Indian plains, eventually arriving in Delhi in time for a much looked forward to Easter holiday with Christine. We visited some essential tourist spots of northern India, taking shelter from the 42 degree heat in air conditioned restaurants and enjoying one another’s company once again. Shortly after Christine left, whilst I was doing a bit more sightseeing on my own, I received from home some tragic news – an accident – in which my mother’s sister had died and her daughter and granddaughter were badly injured and in hospital in London. Throughout this trip I have often been forced to consider the fleetingness of our years here on earth – how quickly and subtly they slip past, and how easily they can come to a sudden end. My dear Aunt Elizabeth was not taking any big risks when she died, but was just walking to a bus stop in London. I am still struggling to accept what has happened. After briefly thinking about how my family must be feeling, I decided the only right thing to do was to come home. 48 hours later I was on a plane, and then, after 2 years 7 months away, I was finally back on English soil. I am very glad to have returned home to be with loved ones and to be able to visit my cousins in hospital and to be at my aunt’s funeral. I have realized too on this trip that, on earth, there are few things as precious as family and I hope I will not forget this in the years ahead. I do still intend to resume the bicycle trip – it is something I would like to finish properly. So, tonight I shall be flying back to Delhi and getting back on the bike to ride through Pakistan, Central Asia and Iran to bring me to the edge of Europe as I had always hoped. Many thanks for your emails, prayers and generous donations to Viva Network and their work with children at risk around the world, please do visit www.justgiving.com/cyclinghomefromsiberia if you would like to give.