At the bottom of this road was the route to the holy mountain of Khailash I had stood at the t-bone intersection hitchhiking a ride to Nepal to the South over the Himalayas.
I couldn't have been happier in such desolation whereas I freak out in airports. Safe and sound from the elements.
A Tibetan driver heading to the border picked me up.
The dirt road crested a 5000-meter with the horizon filled by the Himalayas
We stopped at a tea shop and ate a bowl of noodles.
Millions of flies covered the walls and windows.
I said, "This place dirty." The driver replied, "Before dirty. Now clean."
I slurped down my noddles with my eyes on northern face of Chomolungma.
The next day in Kathmandu I damn near died.
Guardia.
After two weeks I drove a motorcycle across Nepal to Jomsom.
Under Annapurna.
Yaks, Sherpas, trekkers, snot-nosed children and lamas.
Never-changing life in the rain shadow of the monsoon.
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