By 8am we were on the road making the perilous journey to the Chinese/Nepal border. Crossing through the Himalayans from the Tibetan plateau was a tremendous experience because the landscape becomes sub-tropical on the Nepali side, and the road is built ominously into the side of mountains the entire way. There were waterfalls all around us, and many parts of the road still had the markings of recently cleared landslides. I heard horror stories about the numerous tourists who die each year because their vehicles topple into the ravine, but I felt some relief knowing most of the deaths are from bus accidents. This also seemed to be a cause for comfort for our driver because he had no qualms with accelerating around turns or passing trucks on the narrow roads…

Passing through Chinese customs was a fairly painless process, as was crossing the bridge from Tibet to Nepal. It was memorable standing over the line between the two countries and saying goodbye to Tibet, and the imposing power of the Chinese government.

After getting a Nepali visa (I only have one spare page left in my passport), I found a ride to Katmandu. The six hour journey was as rewarding as before because it was complete with the most stunning scenery I have seen thus far, and the Nepali people are unlike anything I have ever seen – the best way I can describe them is as a somewhat mountainous Indian people. All along the road were girls washing their hair, old woman cleaning clothing, boys playing with each other in the streets, and men building and laboring on the mountain's layered fields.

I suppose the highlight of the ride to Katmandu came at the halfway point when our vehicle was stopped by a group of Maoist rebels. They had a very non-threatening demeanor, but from their violent history and the reaction of the driver I knew they meant business. They came around with an a receipt book and explained that they required a donation to the Maoist cause before our jeep could continue on its way. I thought it was ridiculous that they actually used a receipt book and used a term like “donation”, but we eventually paid the money so that we could continue without ending up on the front page of CNN. Ever since the king seized power from the Parliament and fighting broke out several months ago, more and more foreigners have been taken hostage or shot by the rebels – an idea I was not particularly keen of. It was quite an experience, and another example of how fate has smiled kindly.

When we finally reached Katmandu (after passing no less than ten military checkpoints) it was every bit the amazing city I had imagined. Perhaps it is just me, but the name Katmandu somehow brings to mind a kind of fantasy land like Timbuktu. That I am actually typing away in the heart of the city is a reality that will take me some time to get used to.