31 May - to Zhangmu
We drove from BC to Zhangmu, the border town of many reputations. Here is
Kevin's experience.
Full service haircut
Kevin writes:
Ok, so we roll into Zhangmu, after an eight hour ride from Everest Base Camp
on what was mostly an extremely rough 4-wheel drive, teeth-jarring "road". By
"we", I mean Anne from Britain-USA, Johan from Sweden, Patricio from Ecuador, me
from USA and our Chinese driver in a Toyota Landcruiser.
Zhangmu is a border town that is built on a series of switchbacks (the road)
that zig-zags steeply up the side of a canyon. Large waterfalls (and I mean
LARGE) shoot down between the buildings in what would normally be a side alley.
Very bizarre. The buildings that are dug into the side of the mountain (uphill
side), have water squirting off their roofs onto the street. The buildings on
the downhill side of the street are built on all manner of unsafe stilts and
pylons. There are hundreds of garishly painted trucks from Nepal waiting to go
through Customs squeezed into every conceivable turnout and parked bumper to
bumper in front of all the businesses. These trucks have one-liner sayings
emblazoned across the tops of their windshields and front bumpers. Mostly from
Rambo and Schwarzenegger films though my favorite was the one that simply said,
"God Help Me". The truck interiors are festooned with silk flowers, plush pink
carpeting, posters of female Indian movie stars, multiple statues of Hindu
deities, etc. It reminded me of the often colorful plumage of male birds.
Since I was in dire need of a haircut and shave, I asked one of the
ever-present money changers on the street if there were any barber shops still
open. This fellow took me by the hand back up the road to a respectable looking
place and I asked for a haircut and shave using hand gestures and mime. It was
obvious to me that the barber (stylist?) was gay and that the two lovely Chinese
girls were his assistants. Not a problem, I just want a haircut and shave.
He sets me down and proceeds to cut my hair with nothing but a scissors at a
speed that I thought excessive. Watching him in the mirror, he was an absolute
BLUR of motion - the Edward Scissorhands of Zhangmu. I swear I thought I might
lose an ear to this clown! The shave (with a straight razor) was even more
harrowing. The girls were all smiles as they handed Torquemeda his instruments.
By the end, my nerves were pretty well shot so he asked if I wanted my hair
washed. I'm thinking, "This should be a soothing contrast to my ordeal, why
not?". One of the Chinese lovelies then washed my hair in a fashion that was
indeed relaxing. At the end, the barber asked me if I wanted the girls for the
night. "Excuse me?", I asked. He then proceeded to use finger gestures to
emulate a rather crude depiction of copulation for my enlightenment. The girls
smiled. I was somewhat flumoxed by the offer, but managed to gesture toward my
own finger to imitate the putting on of a wedding ring. This was entirely
misunderstood however, and was interpreted as some new, kinky American
perversion. The barber dismissed me with disgust and I then exited his FULL
SERVICE establishment.
Everyone back down at the hotel commented on my new, improved appearance.
1 June - To Kathmandu...
Damn Commie fund raisers!
The Maoists wake Kevin on the way back to Kathmandu
By Kevin Moore
[Note: I, Jamie, have a bit of experience in dealing with
trailside Maoists. The bus and Nepali staff already has a pass from the Maoists
so they were not the target and me aggravating them would not endanger our local
staff. The two other "Maoists" with him clearly did not want to back him up, I
asked them. If there had been any danger of a real incident I would have taken a
different approach and paid...]
On the bus ride down from Kodari at the Chinese border to our destination of
Kathmandu in Nepal, we were all starting to go half asleep with the rhythms and
jostlings of the road. Village after village, young boys herding goats, terraced
fields of rice, corn, and barley, patches of forest, hand-cut stone houses, a
flash of color as we sped past women in saris, there seemed to be an overall
hypnotic tranquility to the rural images that came into momentary focus as my
head lolled toward the side window. This stupor induced by the pastoral scenery
and rhythmic vibrations of the road was suddenly interrupted, however, by the
bus coming to a sudden stop in a semi-forested stretch of highway across from
some huts. Three small Hindu-looking Nepalis had flagged down our mid-sized bus
and one of these men boarded up at the front left side (the driver is on the
front right, as in the UK). After a short conversation with the driver, it
became immediately apparent that this unwelcome halt in our progress was in fact
an attempt to extort money from the rich imperialists courtesy of the local
Maoist faction. What they didn't count on, however, was that our expedition
leader spoke fluent Nepali and had very little patience for skinny little
unarmed twerps trying to take the funds of his clients. In fact, our fearless
leader got right up into the comrade's face and let him know in very precise
Nepali that the "peoples struggle" wasn't going to get a single rupee from us!
Since we all knew that the Maoists have a fondness for tossing grenades into
non-compliant vehicles, it was no surprise that I began to hear windows begin to
slowly slide shut behind me. I love it when people think. [Jamie says: that was
an isolated incident when Alex plus one climber from 7 Summits was in an
unmarked vehicle travelling alone during a major shutdown of the road in 2005. A
grenade was lobbed thru the window of their vehicle and the climber had part of
his heel blown off, Alex received some shrapnel which he had removed only after
the expedition finished. See Explorers Web.]
The argument up front was starting to get heated, and I began to surmise that
this whole situation could "go south" real easily. Our leader was just short of
poking this little communist in the chest as he unleashed what was clearly some
of his own pent-up feelings regarding their method of fund-raising, if not the
very heart of Chairman Mao's ideology. Despite my apprehensions, it was
heartwarming to see someone with the courage to stand up to what was
supposed to have been a routine extortion of trembling tourists. In fact, you
could actually see the regret and perplexity in the eyes of this little Maoist.
Clearly, it wasn't supposed to go like this.
For my part, there wasn't much I could do ( can't speak the language), so I
ended up fantasizing what I would LIKE to do if I were able. My imaginings are
not politically correct, or even suitable for family viewing, but I can dream
whatever I choose and in this particular instance I visualized a response that
gave me a primal comfort. I saw myself slowly pull a 9mm Glock automatic pistol
out of my daypack and walk briskly to the front of the bus and, without
hesitation, put the barrel of my weapon six inches from the forehead of the
astonished commie leader. Ignoring the pleadings from behind me, I pull the
trigger and watch in calm satisfaction as my weapon fires and his head snaps
backwards. The inside front windshield is now spattered with carnage... the body
crumples down and falls out on to the pavement as the two remaining Maoists
watch in horror...the next day, headlines scream; "AMERICAN FIGHTS BACK!!!" (or
in the case of more anti-US dailies, "WEALTHY AMERICAN SHOOTS UNARMED
PEASANT!!!" - Whatever - ). My secret little mental reverie was deliciously
satisfying in it's own special way. It actually surprised me that my mind was
able to conjure such violent imagery.
In the meantime, while I was busy dispensing vigilante justice in my mind,
the confrontation had spilled out onto the highway in front of the bus and now
included all the male members of our team backing up our intrepid leader. At
this point I snapped out of my little fantasy and realized I was sitting in the
bus with all the womenfolk daydreaming while the men were all outside defending
democracy. I then scurried out , joined their ranks and assumed the most
menacing posture of which I was capable. Our miserable little bandit was now
surrounded by tall, angry foreigners who demanded to know why they should be
expected to help pay for a cause they don't believe in. Even Patricio from
Ecuador was squared-off, hands on hips, leaning in and unabashedly defending
capitalism, hard work and personal responsibility.
In the end, our fearless leader threw down 40 yuan (less than $5) and we all
re-boarded our bus. We then sped off, now fully awake, revelling in the happy
outcome of our little ordeal and feeling a certain triumph over the severed
tentacle of communism. Of course, had we been looking down the business end of
an AK-47, my spending money for Kathmandu would have been much diminished.
all rights reserved --
frozen in time 2006
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