We met the girls in a side-street cluttered with ramshackle guest-houses and ran towards each other with all the melodrama of a Bollywood blockbuster. Then, after they had got over the shock of Tsedup's scarred face, we all settled into the cool of their hotel room. It had been a long time since I had talked in depth to anyone of the same sex and the joy of speaking my own language was indescribable. Also, I had been living in the tent for so long now that I had almost forgotten the pleasure of sitting in an armchair and reclined, sighing with pleasure, as they spilled out the goodies they had brought from England. Sadly for them I was immune to the wonders of anything, except the chair. Even the scrumptious biscuits lay unopened on the table. I had lived without such trappings for so long that they no longer tempted me. Among the items they had carted lovingly across China were boxes of packet soup, soap, a huge mountain of books, a bottle of champagne from our friend Tenzin – we would save that for a special day – and magazines, one sporting a semi-naked woman on the cover. I tore out the page inside that revealed a little more than was necessary – a small dose at a time of western anatomy for the tribal elders. Censorship was a must if I was to protect them from the wantonness of my culture. I pored over the pages of the magazines, discovering a world I had forgotten. I learnt that kitten heels were in, and that black was out. I enjoyed the glossy images, but had trouble finding a relevance to them now.
Then Ells inspected my neck, gave me her washbag and pointed to the door. 'Shower. Now!' she commanded. Her father was in the army. The layer of grime that I had been lovingly cultivating for the past few months would have to go, along with leg hair of unmentionable length. So far I had only escaped once to de-fuzz. Ells was here to instil some order.
The next day we drove back to the tribe listening to some strange Moroccan music the girls had brought with them, which they proclaimed 'atmospheric'. I don't know what the driver thought of it, but he seemed happy to experiment. We stopped beneath some rocky mountains on the way and Ells, overcome with emotion, cried at the beauty of her surroundings. When we finally arrived home in the tribe, the family ran out of the tent to greet their guests. Everyone except Gorbo, of course, who had mysteriously disappeared, fearing that he would be devoured by his 'bride'. He didn't know how these weird English people would behave and he wasn't going to risk it. Ells and Chloё were ushered inside, where they took pride of place by the fire. Annay served them tea and they sat in embarrassed silence as everyone stared at them. It was difficult being scrutinised at such intimate quarters and I knew how they felt, for that had been me, not so long ago. On the journey, Tsedup had taught them how to say, 'Hello, how are you? I am very happy to be here,' at their instruction, but they had forgotten it in the rush of emotion. They both spoke a bit of the Lhasa dialect, but nobody understood that here.
'Arro,' they said instead, flushing crimson.
'Hello, dog!' replied Tsedo, grinning.
These were the only two English words I had so far managed to teach him, though I had not intended him to use them simultaneously. He was well aware of his clever joke, though, and the whole tent burst into laughter. As I had discovered, a nomad needed little excuse to tease and the girls were going to have to get used to it. Rhanjer asked for their passports and examined them in his usual, serious way. He asked about each country they had visited, what it had been like. He was fascinated by the world and everything in it. So was Ells. Tsedup's job as translator was thus secured. I hoped he wouldn't tire of it too quickly over the next couple of weeks as Ells and Rhanjer became more and more animated: he thirsty for new knowledge, she characteristically happy with her role as informant. Ells was a formidable talker.
We talked long into the night, then settled them into their white tent. It had been especially lent by Tsedup's uncle, Gombo Sonnam, who had also made a clay fire for them inside. It was a splendid home and we all tucked under the quilts and listened to Tsedup strumming the guitar and Ells's voice until the small hours. Then, after squatting together under the stars, which we would not have done in England, and concluding that, in Chloё's words, we were now 'closer than close', we retired for the night. I was glad to have them there.
Since they had come so far to see us, Tsedup thought it was only right that he plan some excursions for them. The next day he went off to make some arrangements in town, leaving us to amuse ourselves. They wanted to go for a walk, so I suggested we go down to the Yellow river for a dip. Nomads don't walk anywhere – why walk when you have a horse, yak or motorbike at your disposal? Still, they felt protective enough to accompany us through the minefield of mastiffs. Amnye was worried. 'Be careful,' he warned, as we tripped off through the grasses.
But by the time we got to the river, we were too shy to go in. About six or seven young men from the tribe had chaperoned us and were now sitting impassively on the bank, smoking. They stared at our white legs as we paddled pathetically. Since we were all dressed in our Tibetan chubas (Lhasa-style dresses), swimming would involve stripping to our underwear, which none of us felt comfortable about. I hadn't seen any Tibetan women swimming here. Instead we watched the men splashing self-consciously and flexing their muscles. They really were a vain bunch.
No women played volleyball either, but somehow that afternoon we found ourselves invited to join a game in the middle of the tribe. It seemed that different rules applied to us. We tried to convince Sirmo to accompany us, but she declined and for the first time I felt uncomfortable with my role. I was aware that I needed to maintain an air of respectability and behave like the other women as much as I could, but the presence of my English friends meant that I was having to compromise my position. It was dawning on me that we Englishwomen occupied some sort of middle ground between the sexes here. With the women, I had been comforted to discover that despite our cultural differences there were universal female characteristics that bound us. Yet as foreign women we were able to enjoy similar freedom to the men, which set us apart from the nomad women. We drank beer, enjoyed the occasional cigarette, sat on the wrong side of the fire. It was complex. In the end I sat and watched most of the ball game. I was rubbish anyway.
In the evening the girls played with the children, who adored them, and, determined to get to grips with nomad life, helped tie up the yaks. Shermo Donker and Sirmo giggled as Ells chased them through the mud. Needless to say, it was harder than they had thought.
'Do you miss England?' Chloё asked.
It didn't take me long to reply. 'No,' I said.
We stood staring at the blaze of golden cloud, dazzling the vermilion horizon, our breath clouding, watching Ells spinning the children round, laughing. I think they both knew exactly what I meant. That evening was as seductively beautiful as every evening in this strange land. They, too, were falling under its spell.
A few days later, we found ourselves honoured to be accompanying the men up to the summit of Amnye Kula. For a woman to climb a holy mountain is a sensitive issue and the brothers had agreed that we could go, provided we did not climb on to the offering site or participate in the ritual for fear of offending the mountain god. Tsedup, Tsedo, Gondo, Cumchok (their monk brother), Samlo (Rhanjer's son), Tsering Tashi (our neighbour) and Tsering Samdup (Tsedup's sister Dombie's husband) were all escorting us. Our convoy left the encampment early that bright morning armed with tent poles, bread, dung and a rifle: essentials for a night in the wilderness. We trailed through the dewy valley and through a deep gorge of fresh spring water, as the mountains closed in around us. These guys knew how to ride. They guided the horses with such adept ease and grace, and as we ascended the sheer slopes, they wove a lateral path through the dense scrub for us to follow. The girls were also experienced riders. I was undeniably the worst. My bravado went when I was unable to grasp the infinitely subtle complexities of using the reins. My horse got bored and confused by my ineptitude and began to stumble and descend. Below me the ground receded into a dizzy kaleidoscope of scrub, rocks and gushing water as the poor beast struggled to find a foothold. Tsedup attempted to save me, but his frisky horse refused to obey him and he fell down the slope, the horse tumbling after him. He wasn't crushed, just swung himself back into the saddle, swearing, but I was terrified. If he couldn't stay in the saddle, there was little chance for me. Thankfully, Gondo, with more sense than I and with the aura of an experienced mustang drover, took my reins and led me the rest of the way to our base camp, where I slipped gingerly from the saddle with aching knees. I was disappointed not to have impressed them with my equestrian skills, but told myself that for me, on my second ride, to try to compete with men who had been born in the saddle was ludicrous.