After what seemed like an interminable search for a Land Cruiser willing to take us to Everest we ended up where we had started at the Tensing Hotel.  We joined up with an Israeli recently discharged from national service and a homesick Brit for the 8 hour drive to Shegar - the nearest town to Mount Everest.  Usually the route is via the Friendship highway but as this is currently under reconstruction we were diverted via a back road.  Even the main roads in Tibet are terrible making the back roads unthinkable.  A few metres out of Shigatse the road deteriorated into a gravel track passing through streams and switching back on itself as it climbed.  In the summer the Tibetan plateau is surprisingly barren and is more akin to a Morroccan landscape than an Alpine one.  Along the way our travel mates occupied themselves trying to get a sound out of the radio and the driver ensured that despite traversing some of the worst roads in the world not a speck of dust should grace the dashboard.  We began to understand why they wanted so much money for the trip as we passed by buses stuck in the mud and skeletons of lorries long abandoned shining in the sun at the roadside.  Despite moderate temperatures in the shade Tibet is ferociously hot in the sun and the locals simply position their kettle on top of a mirror to make a cup of tea (bearing in mind the boiling point of water is also considerably lower at high altitude).  After lunch at a small Sichan restauant the afternoon drive revealled the first view of Mount Everest or Quomolonga as it is known locally.  The mountain is unmistakable; its shape being imprinted on products from Double Glazing to Nepali cigarettes.  It rises from the red brown foothills above its close competitors for the title earning its sacred status among the Tibetans.  By night fall we had reached Shegar - a dusty collection of traditional style resthouses at the corner of the spur road to Everest.  The symptoms of altitude sickness alternated with travel sickness, cold and, for those disposed to them, piles.  The guest house was a traditional Tibetan one, however, set around a courtyard with a cosy restaurant serving various bits of Yak.  There was some dispute among our party as to whether the toilets were the worst in China. 

Our driver returned at 9am with the necessary permits in hand and we headed for Everest.  This time the road was really steep winding up through small villages harvesting barley, each high pass adorned with prayer flags.  At the end of the road we switched to an official Chinese minibus for the stretch to Rongpu monastery at the base of Everest.  This is a working Buddhist monastery with dormitories for guests and a warm room to escape the cold.  Despite the temperatures Tibetans usually have no heating but a stove rather like an aga.  After an unusually welcome pot noodle we set out to walk the remaining distance to the base camp where a small huddle of moutaineers waited for the perfect weather for the ascent.  Besides them there are a few tent-hotels including the 'Hotel California' and the remains of a few picnics and campfires.  We contemplated being the highest people on earth (legally anyway) and Nathan went behind a rock for one of the world's highest poos. 

I asked a policeman for a ride back on his motorbike but was informed that motorcycle travel is not permitted for foreigners and we had to go by horse and cart.  That we did although we felt a little sorry for the horse.  That evening the monastery lounge room filled with Tibetans in the whole range of costumes and a monment of the 'real' Tibet appeared.