You wouldn't think that one could talk about the same journey for a third time, but here I go.

Its all about the feed before the journey, we've slowly learnt to have a good fill of the chinese favourite dish of tomato and egg with bread if we can find it, and rice if we can't. We then also order some fried rice to take with just in case. We can then contently bid farewell to our recent home before walking a mere 100m and begin sticking out those all important thumbs. Hitching the 10km to deqen was a breeze as we were almost instantaneously picked up by a hatchback, but the challenge had only just begun.

The bravest part is hiking past the bus station (we find out the times of departure in case our plans fail, smart hey) a few hundred meters and beginning the process of making yourelf seen to every passing vehicle. The adrenalin settles into the routine as each car passes by, slwowing to have a quick stare at the foreign red head and tall one (as we so adequately get described by the Chinese). We each have our separate tactics, I smile maniacally while Prue pulls a pleading look, how these methods combined ever achieve results I have no idea. But they do, within 30 minutes a Jeep window winds down and a smiling face greets us, within seconds we are off.

There is some form of English communication between us and our 3 travel buddies who have been to 'play' in Feilai on a long weekend off. Our main man was a lawyer accompanied by his friend and nephew and they love to laugh and obviously are proud of their beautiful country. Atop of the world at 5000m we remained the lowest feature around beneath breathtaking glossy hills, forests and mountains streaked with snow as if they had ice cream running down their sides. Excited by our luck with the weather we all run across the meadow to get the best views while also putting the heart at some serious altitude strain.

Indicating to the dashboard to signal that 1pm has already passed and that therefore we are late for lunch we pull over and enter a restaurant on the outskirts of Benzilan. We had just viewed its fantastically located hill perched monastery from the car window. A wave of cash induced endulgence from our hosts sees our table ladened with more and more dishes from which we pick and choose without finishing since there is just too much.

I think back while flicking the pips from my watermelon onto the table top (my hosts were setting the example and also because well why not, how often do you get to be this messy at lunch) and watching them float amongst the juices already spilled. A vivid image of the waitress I met in Sumatra who screwed her face up at the disgraceful portrayal of etiquette from her Chinese customers passed before me. I can't help but sympathise with her and our current patrons and feel a wave of guilt at my own manners. At home, fine dining includes a behaviour code. The more money thrown at a host the more intricate and delicate the cutlery along with the methods with which we use them, yet here we see extravagance and waste. I can afford to order much more than I can eat and I will gorge myself quickly so as not to waste my precious time. What we left was a collage of cigarette ash, soup juice, endless watermelon seeds, pork bones and gravy upon our dining surface. Photo worthy for sure.

Generously our offer to assist with the bill was refused, yet we were plied with gifts from our travel companions. Constant streams of cigarettes, water and snacks... like these people havn't given us enough already.

We traverse the potholes and weave amongst the cliff edges so smoothly in comparison to the bus rides. Suddenly Namphai Lake which sits on the edge of Zhongdian gracefully catches our gaze. It is a seasonal lake that has so little water during this time of year the locals send their animals within it to graze. Hearing us gasp at its beauty our driver yells 'we go play' and we come to realise that this word is the one that many a Chinese person has latched onto, and literally means anything from travelling, to sightseeing to drinking and so on. Bless. The detour for play allows us to circumnavigate the would be lake had the rains begun to fall. Still, we were treated to some glorious reflections of the colourful backdrop, heards of yaks grazing and a carpet of spring flowers. Unexpectedly, the boys are thrilled at these blue and yellow flowers, we try to show just as much appreciation but are more impressed by their excitment.

Thinking our arrival signalled the end to our drivers kindness was a dire underestimation. We were entreated to join them to dinner with a 'few friends.' Are you kidding me, we wander to an eatery boldly named the Potala Restaurant after the holiest of Palaces in Lhasa. (FYI: The Potala Palaces' construction was ordered in 1965 by the Great Fifth Dalai Lama. It then became the residential unit of subsequent Dalai Lamas until the Dalai Lama number14 was forced to flee in 1959 since fighting between Tibetan rebels and Chinese forces increased in its ferocity).The name aptly alligned with the beauty of the restaurant, and in a waft of a curtain under the label VIP we are ushered into a golden plaited room, carvings etched into the timber walls, chandaliers sparkling from above and two huge tables beneath a bright patchwork ceiling.

There is barely time to be embarassed about the dirt that has edged its way up my trousers or the fact that I am wearing a duffle coat that would rival Santa Claus' before I am gestured towards a free chair and green tea is poured. At the same time the traditionally clad hostesses bring an assortment of juices and it seems that beer is also on its way.

The gold trimmed crockery alongside eloquently designed chopsticks was overwhelming enough never mind the soup bowl sitting atop of our own individual gas cooker (gold plated of course). What we realise is that we have just been invited to a high class Tibetan banquet and this takes some sinking in, what a treat.

A feast of epic proportions, the like of which I have never come close to encountering before unfolds before my eyes. Huge plates of meat dishes are alligned on the revolving inner table to allow maximum capacity. Plates of vegetables, a basket of salad, mushrooms, platters of tofu and all the spices Tibet has to offer sit uncooked waiting patiently for our wandering chopsticks to add them to our boiling soups. I have never been so grateful to be able to use chopsticks, not that I dont lose three of them during the 2 hours we spend dining. Thankfully the diligent waitresses who not only remember which juice you chose, fill your beer without it reaching zero and invisibly clear ashtrays also have bionic hearing and replace the wanderingsticks before Ive had a chance to blush.

Amongst our lawyer and friends other members of the party include the project manager of Shangri la, miss beauty regional competition winners, and local (they are all rich whispers our travelling nephew) businessmen plus guests. I shunt my nerves and absorp the experience.

The feast goes on and on, near empty platters are replaced with new more colourful delicacies, noodles and finally, fruits. Each person has their broth refilled enticing them to concentrate it back up with new ingrediants, cooking the items together before using an array of spices to complete each mouthful.

I am more than honoured to be a part of such a feast although I will confess as equally relieved that I do not have to repeat the procession. The fine dining transforms into an epic drinking game. Chopsticks are exchanged for wine glasses and a standard two hands on the glass salute requires each participant to demolish their drink. Apparently there is much saluting to be done and as the only foreigners present we are certainly no exception, the waitresses don't help with their watchful eyes on everyones glass levels. Time and time again we overindulge on beer, the drinking culture performs the impossible task of exceeding the extravagant dining culture. We are told there are two ways for us to complete the evening, either by falling asleep or vomiting. Swallowing the gas building up in my stomach I am pretty sure which one will hit me first. It is hilarious noticing the voices starting to slur and the chatter turning into song and praise, the room revolves from tipsy to dizzy as fast as the centre table spins to deliver me to the cashews. I would have sat slowly grazing at the delicacies on the table had I not been more concerned about what I may be required to revisit later on.

Talks of a Karaoke have Prue in jitters but it appears upon leaving that our hosts want to keep us to themselves and do not follow the crowd. Instead we are taken to a three quarter empty thumping disco where we proceed to drink budweisers in shot glasses while playing drinking game with dice whos rules, well, there are no rules. I join Prue for a dance and for a moment it feels amazing to groove, until the white strobes throw me off centre and I feel instantly sick. I struggle to see for the rest of the night my eyes smarting to any light and I hate to admit that I drag Prue away from all that booty shaking. We do have a couple of dilemmas to solve, one is shaking off the notion that we are going to go home with our hosts -don't you just love what too much alcohol turns great people into- and the other is finding a home. We collect our bags and say farewell to the owners of the jeep who have given us so much and find sanctuary in Dragoncloud Guesthouse once more. Feeling stupid for having ended the night I realise just how drunk I am when I begin to question whether this day really happened, the extravagant suprises that has accompanied our hitch definitely make this day unforgettable.