The group reached the small town of Hor by late afternoon. Daniel, who was returning to Lhasa, found a ride in a truck and left. They had suffered two punctures in quick succession on the drive down from the salt lake and they got them replaced. Hor was a gloomy place devoid of vegetation. It only had dust and rocks, liberally scattered with years of accumulated refuse.
Hor’s only cafe which, like all the other buildings in town, was constructed from badly painted concrete and had three broken windows. The good view of the lake through one of them helped to compensate for the draught. The narrator was served by a Chinese youth in military uniform who spread the grease around on his table with a filthy rag before bringing him a glass and a thermos of tea.