When I think back to Nyalam I think concrete. Not that everything was made of concrete, although much was, but more because the town was grey, featureless, and without spirit. We were in Nyalam for one reason only, to acclimatise. There are few places to stopover on the Tibetan Highway. The previous night was spent at the Nepalese border town of Kodari at a height of 2,300m (7,500ft) while our next destination is Baiba (a small town outside Xegar) at 4264m (just under 14,000ft). This is too great a height gain to enable a gradual and sickness/headache-free journey and as there are pretty well no other hotels between Kodari and Baiba/Xegar we found ourselves in Nyalam, which sits at 3,750m (12,300ft). This is not too bad an option as there are small hills around the town which lend themselves to a leg stretch while gaining a few more metres in height and provide grand views of the area, but the town itself would not normally be a tourist destination.
Just 35 miles from the border and traditionally known as Tsongdu, this small town was known as 'The Gate of Hell' by traders of old due to the dreadful trail between here and the border. We had driven this in just a couple of hours and had marvelled at the grandeur of the vertiginous wooded gorge; the speed of our journey having been facilitated by a new switchback road despite the frequent piles of rock on the road and the tented camps on the tarmac occupied by road-repair gangs indicating ongoing instability. The large numbers of prayer flags on some of the more precipitous sections and around some of the tighter corners gave cause for comment but nothing could dull our wonder at the spectacle of the gorge. Nothing that is until we saw Nyalam.
There is a section of the town dating from earlier times with many traditional houses. Typically Tibetan these stone-built heavily weather-beaten dwellings were easily identified by their decorated window casements. Commonly seen along the Tibetan Highway, and I presume throughout the area and perhaps Tibet as a whole, these all decorated window casements. Having the appearance of 'eyes with heavy make-up' all windows and door casements are lined, mascara-like, in black, wider at the base tapering towards the top with a gaily painted lintel normally of red and blue. Fanciful I know but this decoration on an otherwise featureless and austere facade seemed to bring the houses to life and give them a welcoming demeanour. Not so the modern, Chinese-inpired (and probably Chinese funded), buildings that now make up the majority of the town. Undoubtedly practical and mercifully without the need to dry yak poo on the walls to use as fuel these new buildings exude conformity and dullness which not even the occasional splashes of coloured paint or patterned brickwork can dispel. Along the main street (there is only one) the lower stories are all given over to commerce. There are many shutter-fronted shops and a few workshops, with most shops appearing to stock the same goods. Some have music piped to the street to increase the allure of what lies within (without too much success) and almost all feature large gaudy signs. Occasionally these would be in English, such as 'China Mobile', but mostly of course they are in Chinese, unintelligible to our uneducated Western eyes.
The concept of a pavement doesn't seem to have reached Nyalam so pedestrians and traffic share the same space. At least the hooting has stopped. Whereas in Nepal a journey along any road or back-street was accompanied by incessant hooting and uncertainty as to exactly which part of the road was safest for those on foot, Nyalam at least embraced the concept of pedestrians to the outside and vehicles towards the middle of the road. As to which side of the road to drive; that appeared less clear, predominantly due to the number of dogs resting in the hot sunshine, including in the middle of the roads. But then, to be honest, there wasn't that much traffic. Indeed there wasn't much going on at all. The town gave the impression of having been expanded in the Chinese style in anticipation of commerce which had yet to materialise.
It was into this relatively uninspiring, if not actually dispiriting, town of grey facades and sidelined tradition that we arrived in the early afternoon and were shown to our hotel; the Nga-Dhon. Its completely washed-out advertising hoarding should have given us a clue as to what awaited. I should explain at this point that while in Tibet (China) we are the 'guests' of the China Tibet Mountaineering Association (CTMA) . On crossing the border into Tibet we were met by Mr Nawen our Chinese CTMA liaison officer. Mr Nawen traveled with us as far as Chinese Base Camp where he awaited our return from the mountain and escorted us back out of Tibet. The CTMA is responsible for all mountaineering in Tibet and is the sole source of services for mountaineering expeditions such as transportation, guides, food and other stores; indeed everything expeditions to Cho Out, Shishapangma, and Everest need in Tibet is supplied through the CTMA. Naturally, this being China (irrespective of how often I refer to it as Tibet) things are not always what they seem, and services rendered are not always what was expected. Take transport for example. we were supposed to have travelled from the border to Nyalam in two 4x4 Jeeps whereas we were in a small minibus and we had to practically beg the driver to stop for occasional pee-breaks let alone the opportunity to enjoy the majesty of the Sun-Kosi gorge other than through a grubby window; presumably as the driver had another job to go to afterwards and was keen to make rapid progress. Anyway - I digress. You get the picture now that our hotel was booked by the CTMA who are keen to maximise profit by not necessarily delivering the service contracted. I do not allege fraud! Rather that in any transaction where the service cannot be absolutely and explicitly specified in advance there is liable to be difference in interpretation, and thus we return to the subject of the Nga-Dhon 'hotel'.
Where to start. How about: Ugh! Now, I'm not prissy about hotels and we had our sleeping bags as insurance against lice, bed bugs and other things that go 'munch' in the night but this was towards the lower end of the scale. It went very quiet as we were shown our rooms. I would give a description of the room beyond cramped, thin-walled, multi-bed, musty and utterly without spirit if I could have seen through the murk. Never mind I thought - let's open this curtain and let some light in. Drawing back the curtain revealed not a vista but the bathroom. Holidaycheck.com reports that 'Hotel Nga-Dhon is recommended by 0% of its guests'. Indeed. Once our expedition leader, Tim, saw the state of our rooms there was a discussion with Mr Nawen. While not party to the exchange so unable to recount the details, suffice it to say we moved shortly thereafter to the Snow Land Hotel across the road. It later transpired that the Nga-Dhon has a 'modern' section and a 'traditional' section. Apparently we were supposed to have been in the former, but it was full. Apparently.
The Snow Land Hotel was a different proposition entirely. While still 3 to a room (I was to share with Robert and Chris) the Snow Land was bright and airy, had proper matresses and duvet covers, a flat screen TV on the wall, and instead of towelling robes provided silk robes for its guests. Furthermore the shared toilet and shower were only a short step down the hallway (which we found not too long after managing to get out of the room once we realised the handle and locking mechanism was installed upside down) and if you were quick out of the stand-up cubicle door you could avoid having your feet washed by the marginally enthusiastic flush. In the middle bed Robert was slightly disconcerted to see the large ceiling light rose directly above him half-hanging away from the ceiling - however after the Nga-Dhon this was heaven. After all this hotel rates 'average to poor' on Trip Advisor - a significant improvement on the other place. We were alerted fairly quickly to the fact that this was an emergency arrangement and that we would have to move back to the Nga-Dhon tomorrow once the current occupants of the 'modern' wing had moved on. We speculated as to the nature of these 'occupants'.
Once settled into the Snow Land we hit the streets in search of water. We were under pain of death from Tim to drink copiously. While falling short of the enthusiasm shown by Father Jack Hackett for 'drink', Tim nonetheless uttered this directive sufficiently often for us to get the message. While acclimatising we needed to drink upwards of 4 litres per day. Needless to say the tapwater was off-limits so we raided the local store for bottled water. It was obvious thereafter who were the mountaineers in town: they were the oddly-dressed bunch permanently clutching 2 litre bottles of spring water and peering curiously at all Chinese signs hoping to find the public loos.
Having mooched up and down the main street several times, and walked down by the river (almost completely hidden and inaccessible in amongst some fairly serious concrete engineering works and some new concrete apartment blocks) it was time for dinner. I refer you to the previous section detailing the role of the CTMA. Well, it extends to providing food too and we were booked into the restaurant owned by the CTMA. It masqueraded as the Snow Land Restaurant. Ring any bells? Yep - the same name as the hotel. So the CTMA owns the restaurant and the hotel were staying in, and the one we were put into initially and to which we shall return tomorrow. Hmm! So up the concrete steps we went from street level to pavement level. Then up a none-to-solid-looking wooden stepladder with a dodgy handrail to filthy shop-level, and finally, ducking to avoid strangulation on some hanging power cables, up a wooden staircase to the restaurant. Surprisingly welcoming and friendly, decorated in wood and with myriad adverts and 'business cards' for various past mountaineering expeditions, we were nonetheless a little disconcerted to find the serving staff all wearing face masks. Was it us? Only 2 days out from Kathmandu we didn't think so. Were they embarrassed to be working here and didn't want to be recognised? Either way our take-it-or-leave-it dinner was served onto the lazy Susan tabletop and we tucked in. It was delicious. All concerns about the meaning of the face masks (joking aside - most local people wore a mask due to the extremely dusty atmosphere - and we followed suit with various buffs and scarves) and the likelihood of falling to our deaths on exiting the restaurant in the dark soon disappeared as we tucked in. Unlimited rice and 7 or 8 different meat and vegetable dishes were served together with bottled water, coke, and yak-butter tea. The latter tasted about as good as it sounded but Tim assured us it was great for acclimatisation and was a favourite with our Sherpas. Well, that was good enough for me but it was a taste that took some acquisition. We were to come to like this restaurant, despite (perhaps because of) its oddities and foibles. Just as well really given that every meal was taken there. However there was one meal that drew less-than-rave reviews. Avid readers of my blog may recall the chicken-feet soup incident? Remarkably, even several weeks later this was still being referenced as a low point in Tibetan cuisine. Personally I enjoyed it, but mostly due to the looks on the faces of my co-diners. The flavour wasn't bad but the meat was a little sparse; and I never did find the toenails.
The following day saw us heading north out of town on foot, through the traditional area of town, up one of the local hills. Once away from the town the wind blew more strongly and it wasn't long before jackets were buttoned up and hats pulled on. As we reached the summit, adorned with colourful prayer flags of green, red, yellow, blue and white, the views were magnificent both looking across the valley in which Nyalam sits to the grand mountains beyond, and also of Nyalam itself. Concrete-dull it may have been but fascinating all the same. The small traditional area with its prayer wheels and drying yak poo was completely swamped by modern, brash, character-free, blue-roofed, concrete, Chinese boxes. The newest building, just nearing completion, was apparently a college (according to Mr Nawen). I heard mutterings from our Sherpas who knew the place well that it was a Chinese military academy. Well that would at least explain the extensive building elsewhere in town when this certainly did not seem to be justified by the low-level of commerce or enterprise seen by us. Most people seemed to be sitting watching other people sitting and watching the few people and vehicles in the street. Even the dogs seemed bored and the cows that wandered the street were only energised by the occasional treat found in a bin, or by the broomstick wielding street cleaners. We dubbed these the street ninja for that is how they appeared in their black attire with day-glo jackets.
After lunch we decamped from the Snow Land Hotel back to the 'modern' wing of the Nga-Dhon. To be fair it wasn't bad. There were large and airy rooms, decorated in traditional style, along one side of a courtyard, with carpets for bedding and orthopaedic mattresses. On closer inspection the mattresses weren't orthopaedic, just thin to the point of non-existence but then at least they wouldn't harbour livestock. The small window at the back of the room was large enough to let a little light in and once the intricacies of the 2" screw holding the window closed had been mastered it opened enough to let in a little fresh air. The courtyard was variously used as a car park, a 5-a-side football pitch, washing and peeing. While the latter wasn't frequent it wasn't unknown, predominantly as the shared stand-up toilet was perhaps the most disgusting ever. The smell would stun a yak at 50 paces. Used only in extremis it was no surprise that while we gagged and put up with it some foreign co-inhabitants of the Nga-Dhon preferred the relative freshness of the drain in the courtyard. Pass the hand-cleanser....
The following morning, having been kept awake most of the night by the chorus of dogs barking incessantly, and this having been added to by the Nyalam community alarm clock sounding at 6 o'clock and again at 7 'o'clock (no- I'm not joking), we headed one final time to the Snow Land Restaurant. After breakfast, efficiently served as ever by the mask-wearing girls, and following their cries of 'Finishy! Finishy!' to indicate that no matter how long we tarried there would be no more yak butter tea, we stumbled down the rickety stairs and into the minibus. Heading out of town we were afforded a view of the town not seen before and in particular the rear of the Nga-Dhon Hotel. It looked every inch a prison - and I suspect that is precisely what it had been.
Farewell Nyalam. Mercifully we didn't stop there on the way home.
Just 35 miles from the border and traditionally known as Tsongdu, this small town was known as 'The Gate of Hell' by traders of old due to the dreadful trail between here and the border. We had driven this in just a couple of hours and had marvelled at the grandeur of the vertiginous wooded gorge; the speed of our journey having been facilitated by a new switchback road despite the frequent piles of rock on the road and the tented camps on the tarmac occupied by road-repair gangs indicating ongoing instability. The large numbers of prayer flags on some of the more precipitous sections and around some of the tighter corners gave cause for comment but nothing could dull our wonder at the spectacle of the gorge. Nothing that is until we saw Nyalam.
There is a section of the town dating from earlier times with many traditional houses. Typically Tibetan these stone-built heavily weather-beaten dwellings were easily identified by their decorated window casements. Commonly seen along the Tibetan Highway, and I presume throughout the area and perhaps Tibet as a whole, these all decorated window casements. Having the appearance of 'eyes with heavy make-up' all windows and door casements are lined, mascara-like, in black, wider at the base tapering towards the top with a gaily painted lintel normally of red and blue. Fanciful I know but this decoration on an otherwise featureless and austere facade seemed to bring the houses to life and give them a welcoming demeanour. Not so the modern, Chinese-inpired (and probably Chinese funded), buildings that now make up the majority of the town. Undoubtedly practical and mercifully without the need to dry yak poo on the walls to use as fuel these new buildings exude conformity and dullness which not even the occasional splashes of coloured paint or patterned brickwork can dispel. Along the main street (there is only one) the lower stories are all given over to commerce. There are many shutter-fronted shops and a few workshops, with most shops appearing to stock the same goods. Some have music piped to the street to increase the allure of what lies within (without too much success) and almost all feature large gaudy signs. Occasionally these would be in English, such as 'China Mobile', but mostly of course they are in Chinese, unintelligible to our uneducated Western eyes.
The concept of a pavement doesn't seem to have reached Nyalam so pedestrians and traffic share the same space. At least the hooting has stopped. Whereas in Nepal a journey along any road or back-street was accompanied by incessant hooting and uncertainty as to exactly which part of the road was safest for those on foot, Nyalam at least embraced the concept of pedestrians to the outside and vehicles towards the middle of the road. As to which side of the road to drive; that appeared less clear, predominantly due to the number of dogs resting in the hot sunshine, including in the middle of the roads. But then, to be honest, there wasn't that much traffic. Indeed there wasn't much going on at all. The town gave the impression of having been expanded in the Chinese style in anticipation of commerce which had yet to materialise.
It was into this relatively uninspiring, if not actually dispiriting, town of grey facades and sidelined tradition that we arrived in the early afternoon and were shown to our hotel; the Nga-Dhon. Its completely washed-out advertising hoarding should have given us a clue as to what awaited. I should explain at this point that while in Tibet (China) we are the 'guests' of the China Tibet Mountaineering Association (CTMA) . On crossing the border into Tibet we were met by Mr Nawen our Chinese CTMA liaison officer. Mr Nawen traveled with us as far as Chinese Base Camp where he awaited our return from the mountain and escorted us back out of Tibet. The CTMA is responsible for all mountaineering in Tibet and is the sole source of services for mountaineering expeditions such as transportation, guides, food and other stores; indeed everything expeditions to Cho Out, Shishapangma, and Everest need in Tibet is supplied through the CTMA. Naturally, this being China (irrespective of how often I refer to it as Tibet) things are not always what they seem, and services rendered are not always what was expected. Take transport for example. we were supposed to have travelled from the border to Nyalam in two 4x4 Jeeps whereas we were in a small minibus and we had to practically beg the driver to stop for occasional pee-breaks let alone the opportunity to enjoy the majesty of the Sun-Kosi gorge other than through a grubby window; presumably as the driver had another job to go to afterwards and was keen to make rapid progress. Anyway - I digress. You get the picture now that our hotel was booked by the CTMA who are keen to maximise profit by not necessarily delivering the service contracted. I do not allege fraud! Rather that in any transaction where the service cannot be absolutely and explicitly specified in advance there is liable to be difference in interpretation, and thus we return to the subject of the Nga-Dhon 'hotel'.
Where to start. How about: Ugh! Now, I'm not prissy about hotels and we had our sleeping bags as insurance against lice, bed bugs and other things that go 'munch' in the night but this was towards the lower end of the scale. It went very quiet as we were shown our rooms. I would give a description of the room beyond cramped, thin-walled, multi-bed, musty and utterly without spirit if I could have seen through the murk. Never mind I thought - let's open this curtain and let some light in. Drawing back the curtain revealed not a vista but the bathroom. Holidaycheck.com reports that 'Hotel Nga-Dhon is recommended by 0% of its guests'. Indeed. Once our expedition leader, Tim, saw the state of our rooms there was a discussion with Mr Nawen. While not party to the exchange so unable to recount the details, suffice it to say we moved shortly thereafter to the Snow Land Hotel across the road. It later transpired that the Nga-Dhon has a 'modern' section and a 'traditional' section. Apparently we were supposed to have been in the former, but it was full. Apparently.
The Snow Land Hotel was a different proposition entirely. While still 3 to a room (I was to share with Robert and Chris) the Snow Land was bright and airy, had proper matresses and duvet covers, a flat screen TV on the wall, and instead of towelling robes provided silk robes for its guests. Furthermore the shared toilet and shower were only a short step down the hallway (which we found not too long after managing to get out of the room once we realised the handle and locking mechanism was installed upside down) and if you were quick out of the stand-up cubicle door you could avoid having your feet washed by the marginally enthusiastic flush. In the middle bed Robert was slightly disconcerted to see the large ceiling light rose directly above him half-hanging away from the ceiling - however after the Nga-Dhon this was heaven. After all this hotel rates 'average to poor' on Trip Advisor - a significant improvement on the other place. We were alerted fairly quickly to the fact that this was an emergency arrangement and that we would have to move back to the Nga-Dhon tomorrow once the current occupants of the 'modern' wing had moved on. We speculated as to the nature of these 'occupants'.
Once settled into the Snow Land we hit the streets in search of water. We were under pain of death from Tim to drink copiously. While falling short of the enthusiasm shown by Father Jack Hackett for 'drink', Tim nonetheless uttered this directive sufficiently often for us to get the message. While acclimatising we needed to drink upwards of 4 litres per day. Needless to say the tapwater was off-limits so we raided the local store for bottled water. It was obvious thereafter who were the mountaineers in town: they were the oddly-dressed bunch permanently clutching 2 litre bottles of spring water and peering curiously at all Chinese signs hoping to find the public loos.
Having mooched up and down the main street several times, and walked down by the river (almost completely hidden and inaccessible in amongst some fairly serious concrete engineering works and some new concrete apartment blocks) it was time for dinner. I refer you to the previous section detailing the role of the CTMA. Well, it extends to providing food too and we were booked into the restaurant owned by the CTMA. It masqueraded as the Snow Land Restaurant. Ring any bells? Yep - the same name as the hotel. So the CTMA owns the restaurant and the hotel were staying in, and the one we were put into initially and to which we shall return tomorrow. Hmm! So up the concrete steps we went from street level to pavement level. Then up a none-to-solid-looking wooden stepladder with a dodgy handrail to filthy shop-level, and finally, ducking to avoid strangulation on some hanging power cables, up a wooden staircase to the restaurant. Surprisingly welcoming and friendly, decorated in wood and with myriad adverts and 'business cards' for various past mountaineering expeditions, we were nonetheless a little disconcerted to find the serving staff all wearing face masks. Was it us? Only 2 days out from Kathmandu we didn't think so. Were they embarrassed to be working here and didn't want to be recognised? Either way our take-it-or-leave-it dinner was served onto the lazy Susan tabletop and we tucked in. It was delicious. All concerns about the meaning of the face masks (joking aside - most local people wore a mask due to the extremely dusty atmosphere - and we followed suit with various buffs and scarves) and the likelihood of falling to our deaths on exiting the restaurant in the dark soon disappeared as we tucked in. Unlimited rice and 7 or 8 different meat and vegetable dishes were served together with bottled water, coke, and yak-butter tea. The latter tasted about as good as it sounded but Tim assured us it was great for acclimatisation and was a favourite with our Sherpas. Well, that was good enough for me but it was a taste that took some acquisition. We were to come to like this restaurant, despite (perhaps because of) its oddities and foibles. Just as well really given that every meal was taken there. However there was one meal that drew less-than-rave reviews. Avid readers of my blog may recall the chicken-feet soup incident? Remarkably, even several weeks later this was still being referenced as a low point in Tibetan cuisine. Personally I enjoyed it, but mostly due to the looks on the faces of my co-diners. The flavour wasn't bad but the meat was a little sparse; and I never did find the toenails.
The following day saw us heading north out of town on foot, through the traditional area of town, up one of the local hills. Once away from the town the wind blew more strongly and it wasn't long before jackets were buttoned up and hats pulled on. As we reached the summit, adorned with colourful prayer flags of green, red, yellow, blue and white, the views were magnificent both looking across the valley in which Nyalam sits to the grand mountains beyond, and also of Nyalam itself. Concrete-dull it may have been but fascinating all the same. The small traditional area with its prayer wheels and drying yak poo was completely swamped by modern, brash, character-free, blue-roofed, concrete, Chinese boxes. The newest building, just nearing completion, was apparently a college (according to Mr Nawen). I heard mutterings from our Sherpas who knew the place well that it was a Chinese military academy. Well that would at least explain the extensive building elsewhere in town when this certainly did not seem to be justified by the low-level of commerce or enterprise seen by us. Most people seemed to be sitting watching other people sitting and watching the few people and vehicles in the street. Even the dogs seemed bored and the cows that wandered the street were only energised by the occasional treat found in a bin, or by the broomstick wielding street cleaners. We dubbed these the street ninja for that is how they appeared in their black attire with day-glo jackets.
After lunch we decamped from the Snow Land Hotel back to the 'modern' wing of the Nga-Dhon. To be fair it wasn't bad. There were large and airy rooms, decorated in traditional style, along one side of a courtyard, with carpets for bedding and orthopaedic mattresses. On closer inspection the mattresses weren't orthopaedic, just thin to the point of non-existence but then at least they wouldn't harbour livestock. The small window at the back of the room was large enough to let a little light in and once the intricacies of the 2" screw holding the window closed had been mastered it opened enough to let in a little fresh air. The courtyard was variously used as a car park, a 5-a-side football pitch, washing and peeing. While the latter wasn't frequent it wasn't unknown, predominantly as the shared stand-up toilet was perhaps the most disgusting ever. The smell would stun a yak at 50 paces. Used only in extremis it was no surprise that while we gagged and put up with it some foreign co-inhabitants of the Nga-Dhon preferred the relative freshness of the drain in the courtyard. Pass the hand-cleanser....
The following morning, having been kept awake most of the night by the chorus of dogs barking incessantly, and this having been added to by the Nyalam community alarm clock sounding at 6 o'clock and again at 7 'o'clock (no- I'm not joking), we headed one final time to the Snow Land Restaurant. After breakfast, efficiently served as ever by the mask-wearing girls, and following their cries of 'Finishy! Finishy!' to indicate that no matter how long we tarried there would be no more yak butter tea, we stumbled down the rickety stairs and into the minibus. Heading out of town we were afforded a view of the town not seen before and in particular the rear of the Nga-Dhon Hotel. It looked every inch a prison - and I suspect that is precisely what it had been.
Farewell Nyalam. Mercifully we didn't stop there on the way home.