I'm back.

Hi .

Nice to see you. I miss you, believe it or not.

Here's the skinny: I'm in Kathmandu. I've seen Everest (and I've no intention of ever, EVER climbing it), I've toured Tibet, I've avoided crazy army antics and been in China for the 60th Anniversary of the People's Republic of China. I've also been sick for a lot of it, so I'm taking a break from my fantastic adventures for a few weeks, and returning to Ireland on the 7th of October or thereabouts, before flying back to Hong Kong to do the more extended part of the tour. My original intentions - as you may or may not know - were to fly Kathmandu - Bangkok - Shanghai, and spend October in China, but my stomach and I have decided it's better to take a few weeks out. And I've seen Shanghai, whoopee. AND... what was the other thing (this entry is a bit more streaming thought than the other because I'm exhausted, hungry and had really weird cocktails last night that didn't agree with me AT ALL) ... oh yeah, AND it would be ridiculously difficult to sleep or navigate through eastern China again, during all these National Day Shenanigans. They say there are 200 million Chinese travelling during the 9 day holiday. I'd prefer not to be in the middle of all that queueless spit fest.

So instead, I'll attempt to update you on how things have been going for me, because it would be really annoying for you, dear reader, to have to trawl through all my past stops and entries and figure out when what happened. And after setting up my map all nice yesterday, I honestly couldn't be bothered typing every one for you. :D

No offence.

Oh, and the pictures here are all for Kathmandu. To see pictures for everywhere else, click that town and entry. I went to all the trouble of putting them in the right places, so you'd better look at them!!!

Okay. So.

Last time you heard from me, I was in Lhasa, but before that I flew to Kunming and met my group . My darling Ying got up and got me a taxi at 5am and I waved a fond farewell. As I've said before, I really like Beijing Airport, but it's a deluding starting point, because it's really the nicest place in the whole country. I was the only white person flying to Kunming at that ungodly hour, and my plane was at the far end of the airport. There were some non-Han Chinese flying in a group, and I provided my regular entertainment of just sitting there and being interesting, but the REALLY entertaining thing was the plane.

It. Was. A. Rustbucket.

The row I was in was narrower than normal, for some reason. If anyone ever complains about Ryanair within earshot of me again, they're getting a slap across the jaw. The wing didn't have the fin that most planes now have (that makes them go faster you know. True story.), but that wasn't the problem. It was all rusty joints and seams and something that looked like plaster that I never want to see on a plane again . The whole plane rattled, even when it was just standing still (so use your imagination to figure out what it was like when it was moving). A Ukrainian Air plane trundled arthritically down the runway and disappeared into the fog before us, which made me feel slightly better, until we started to take off ourselves. We didn't seem to be going fast enough and all I could imagine was a pile up of failed take offs at the end of the runway, hidden in the fog. We managed, somehow, and it didn't take long to get out of the fog, but I saw about as much of Beijing on the way out as I did on the way in. Which, if you remember, was nothing. It didn't improve my confidence in the whole affair when the captain came on the radio and announced we were going to Huangzhou. Luckily, he came back on in a few minutes and changed his mind.

I've loads more to tell you about this flight, but I might just give it it's own entry another time. Suffice to say that it was entertaining and memorable and I never want to do it again.

Kunming was definitely different to Beijing. It was cluttered and messy and much less conducive to foreign tourists. I was exhausted anyway, so after a while hanging around my hotel lobby while they fussed over my mysterious appearance, I went to bed. My bed was as hard as a rock and twice as uncomfortable, but I had been awake for a long time, and didn't really care, as long as it was flat . I was woken a few hours later by a knock on the door and a little Chinese girl strolled into my room and took over the second bed. We were both a bit confused for a while, until we discovered that she was actually cockney and we were on the same tour. Gold stars all round.

I've told you about these people in my Lhasa post, but just so you can distinguish them in my photos, Nigel is the tour leader, and he's the giant Australian. Thanh is my roomie, the little Chinese girl, who's actually Vietnamese and English. Sara is the other girl, she's also from England, and she's with Mark, who's very pale, and probably beside Sara. Nadav is the redhead and Eyal is his father, they're the Israelis who live in Miami. There may be a guy with a black fleece in some photos - he's Jimpal, our Tibetan guide, and I can't spell his name, so just go with whatever I use that starts with J. K? :)

We didn't do anything in Kunming, besides have a scary briefing on the current state of affairs in Tibet. Things aren't great there, politically, at the best of times, and everything was worse due to the National Day celebrations on Oct 1st. And we were trying to cross the border on Oct 2nd, which had Nigel quite worried. Halfway through our tour, we were informed that foreigners weren't allowed in Lhasa on Sept 30th or Oct 1st, 2nd or 3rd. AND they were closing Mount Everest. Seriously. So we had to switcheroo our plans, and, as you know (unfortunately, or this would have been riveting, eh?), we got to do everything! Well, we had to skip the town of Sakya, but we were just glad to know we'd see the Big Fella (that's Everest, I'm really tired, sorry) that we didn't really care about someplace we'd never heard of .

We had a long and harrowing bus journey to Lijiang on Sept. 21st. Our bus upped and went on fire and we had to change to a crappy one in Dali. Lijiang is the most visited tourist spot in China. And I'm serious. It's because most of China's tourism is domestic. Only about 8% is crazy foreigners, such as yours truly. Lijiang is home to the Naxi people and their unique culture, but in reality the place is like China Disney. It's full of tea shops, silver shops, scarf shops, tea shops, silver shops, scarf shops, tea shops, silver shops, scarf shops, tea shops....you may see the pattern. We didn't want to push through the throngs for all that, so some bright spark decided to bring us to Black Dragon Park and suggested we climb Elephant Hill.

We did this tour the right way - i.e. gained altitude slowly - but it somehow slipped our minds that we were now dealing with much less oxygen than usual. Probably because we were dealing with much less oxygen than usual . But no one prepared us for the utterly insane amount of steps there were. Give me five Great Walls any day. Sara and I were well matched. We were the slowest and unfittest, but every time one of us gave up, the other was able to go just a bit further, and, happily, we made it to the Pagoda on the top. Which made being passed out by old ladies, in bare feet, sting slightly less. The following day, Thanh and I got lost in the back streets of the town, which was much more fun than continuous scarf shopping with Eyal, and we also climbed Lion Hill, which was a cinch after Elephant Hill. I also got to wear a red panda on my head, which thrilled and disturbed me in equal parts.

We got another bus to Zhongdian, which China has renamed Shangri-La (because why not?) and there were no pyro-shenanigans this time. It was much more authentic than Lijiang, and though slightly scruffier, it was much more enjoyable. Nigel, Eyal, Nadav and I went to a wine and cheese tasting (which was described by our eloquent leader as "shit wine and yak cheese") . It was interesting, but the wine was like Ribena, and although the cheese was gourmet... it was still yak cheese. We DID have a gourmet yak burger though, which was divine, but meant that all subsequent yak meals were a trifle disappointing. We also saw and spun the Guinness World Record approved Largest Prayer Wheel in the World. Points for us!

Shangri-La has a fantastically modern airport, for a tiny place that's difficult to find on a map. We flew with a less rickety plane to Lhasa, and everyone had a row to themselves, since most people in China were wise enough to avoid Tibet for a few weeks. We met Jimpal at the gate and he took charge of our Tibet permit. From then on, we weren't allowed go anywhere without him, or a private bus. He was very good though, a respectable, knowledgeable and devout man, and there's no way I'd ever want to be Tibetan tour guide, so I really admired him. The countryside we passed through on the way to Lhasa (the airport is hours from the city, for some reason) was like a rougher Connemara . It was bleak, stony, brown and barren. It was amazing.

Our hotel in Lhasa was nice AND had a lift, to my surprise and delight. My favourite feature though, was the budgie outside our bedroom. He and I became great friends, until he disappeared on the last day. :( It was while we were in Lhasa that we learned about the new rules regarding foreigners and Everest and so on, and poor Nigel had to work like a trojan to get through all the paperwork and red tape. We were also told that we weren't allowed wander around the city without a guide, but that was slightly more impossible. Lhasa is so religious and colourful after coming from eastern China. The people are darker and more weathered, and they wear traditional clothes everyday. The contrast between the little old ladies and men spinning prayer wheels and walking the kora (i.e. a clockwise path around a temple or stupa), and the platoons of soldiers in the squares and snipers on the roofs was jarring. We had to be very careful when we were taking pictures, since they don't take very kindly to the outside world realising what's going on in there .

We visited Potala Palace with Jimpal at 7:30 in the morning. We weren't allowed bring bags so I was much more fleet of foot with the steps this time round, and made it up first. We were only allowed an hour inside, so poor Jimpal had to practically run us through it. It's big and colourful and maze-like, and full of stupas. The most fascinating thing about the stupas here was that they contained the relics of the most of Dalai Lamas previous incarnations (except number 6, who sounds like my kinda guy - he preferred singing, dancing and parties to sombreness, and instead of dying, he just wandered off into oblivion. Cool, eh?!)

We also visited Jokhang temple in central Lhasa, but it's full of frantic Chinese tourists and their whiny guides with tinny microphones (if they don't push you out of the way and get there first, they'll never see it, you know...). It's also full of incense and yak butter candles, which makes breathing very hard . And, no more than in Italy, all the temples and religious sites start to blend into one another after a while. What much more fun is to walk the kora outside the temple and mess with the heads of all the stall owners. You kind of have to walk the kora, because walking against that many people heading in one direction is madness... The stall owners have their own little mantras too:
"Lookee lookee!"
"Cheapy cheapy!"
"Yak bone!"
We made up a rap to go with it, but I'm far too cool to tell it to you. I'm also afraid the kid we saw in the McDonald's jacket and the "Princess" trucker hat will beat me up for mocking him. He was real badass...

On food, one of the running jokes among our tour group was my inability to eat spicy, strange or unusual food. I met my complete opposites in the Israelis, who covered everything in chilli and were highly amused by my persistence in eating plain rice, bread or cereal. However, I have discovered something new that I like! It's a yoghurt drink called lassi, and it's delicious . The plain one, of course. ;) It was useful to know this because every menu in Tibet is the same. Literally. They just change the name of the building on the front. We saw the same white and blue menu EVERY. DAY.

On the last day in Lhasa, all but Sara and Nigel decided to do a day hike in the Drip Valley with some nomadic yak herders, which I told you about briefly here. We were joined by another tour leader, a friend of Nigel's, called Mil. She was a tiny little African American woman who put all of us to shame with her amazing mountaineering skillz, but she took to us very well and tried to swap us with her group, which boosted everyone's confidence but Nigel. It was a long day and I was completely wrecked, but I'm glad I did it. And hopefully I'll be so amazingly thin and athletic when I get home, you won't even know me.

After Lhasa, we were introduced to our bus driver for the rest of Tibet - Nima. He's a thin little man with a jaunty green fedora and is, as Nigel said, an "ace" driver . Our bus was quite big, so we all had our own row. We actually spent so much time on the bus that I believe there's a mould of each of us left in our seats. The drive to Gyantse was very long (I don't even remember how long anymore - the long drives blend into one another, like the temples), but the views were amazing. At least that's what my diary says. I suppose we'll see when I get the pictures up. ;) We stopped at Yamdrok Lake (Scorpion Lake) several times. It's enormous, cold, and the most stunningly vivid blue I've ever seen below the sky. There are four Holy Lakes in Tibet, and water is generally considered sacred to the Tibetans, so there's no swimming or dumping in these lakes, which means they're unlike almost anything you've ever seen anywhere else in the world. The most famous, Lake Namtso, is also the highest saltwater lake in the world, at about 4720m. This day, we also passed Mil's group of Germans several times, and were introduced to Ralph, who was going to be joining us later due to some visa problems he was going through.

We stopped in a nowhere town and had a buffet meal (mine was mostly just plain rice, of course), but I made the mistake of looking into the kitchen on the way down.

NEVER. Look into the kitchen.

There were flies everywhere and the pots and pans were disgusting and there was no light and I just remember dark, green horror . I blame it squarely for how ill I've been since then.

When we finally arrived in Gyantse, we were disappointed by the hotel, but not surprised. Some of us took a walk up to Gyantse fort, where the dirty Brits were defeated in the early 1900s. I gleefully ribbed Mark about this and happily pointed out all the proud and amusingly worded signs, such as "Eternal glory to the hero martyrs of jump in cliff!" and "The place of jump in cliff that against British hero martyrs". We followed another that advised us "This place danger, take a devious route" and ended up walking back through the old town. You know those historical photos you see of old Ireland? That's where I was. I time travelled. There was a cow outside every door, and calves outside most too. There were dogs here and there and grubby little children running around your feet with their hair in the their eyes and their hands out. "Hallo! Chepee!" I'm not sure what this meant, but I'm going to assume it was along the lines of "You filthy rich foreigner, if you're gonna take photos, gimme some moolah!"

The following day was Yom Kippur. We had four fasting Jews, one sick Catholic, a chirpy little Buddhist and an Australian. My stomach and I decided that fasting was a good option, and Nigel decided to join in since he hadn't fasted in years. Jimpal took us to Palcho Monastery and its Kumbum, which is the largest chorten in Tibet . You can look them up if you care, but basically it meant tonnes more steps and 7 gasping westerners. There were some statues in the Protection Chapel of the monastery that were so scary that they're constantly covered by veils. I'd believe it. We drove to Shigatse in the afternoon and Jimpal dropped us at the Tashilunpo Monastery and went off to register us with the local police. This monastery is the traditional home of the Panchen Lama (the second highest ranking lama in the Yellow Hat Sect, after the Dalai Lama), but there's - unsurprisingly - conflict over that too. We learned the ins and outs of it, and the new factoid that Catholics in China are not allowed recognise the Pope as head of the church, or they'll be arrested, and all the bishops are appointed by the Party. On a brighter note, we saw a Buddha statue that's 26m tall. That's about 26 Thanhs tall. I think his nose was longer than her. Yom Kippur fasting breaks when there are three stars in the sky, but we ended up with a rather crap meal and a lot of grumpy people, so we all turned in early, to make the best of it .

The next day we passed thousands of children on bikes going to school in their little tracksuits. Somehow, they were always coming towards us, no matter which way the bus turned, but we never saw the school. The drive was another loooooong one, but interspersed with stops at high passes draped in prayer flags on whatever electricity pylon or phone mast happened to be at the highest point. Nadav and I made the mistake of racing to the top of a little hill, which is really quite silly at such an altitude. We didn't catch our breath until about three hours later, and I got a nasty little cut on a rock that got infected despite my best efforts. Didn't that information just brighten your day up? ;)

That was the day we were driving to Everest, and the scenery was pretty barren and lifeless. Every now and again we'd pass through a tiny farming town and everyone would stop threshing or harvesting and run up to the bus and wave at us . These people weren't begging like the children in the towns, but it was like falling back through a time warp to watch them. They even make mud bricks like we make turf, and use them to build their square little houses. They also have these strange tractors, which are basically just a lawnmower engine on two wheels with a trailer attached, and the driver steers with a long metal bar. They're also generally all decorated with oddly contrasting plastic flowers and flags.

The first sight of Everest was breathtaking.

You can't mistake it for anything else, and it rises slowly towards you as you drive down the valley. Although Nigel had been here five times this year, this was only his third time actually seeing the mountain, since it's usually covered in clouds. We were very lucky. Rombuk Monastery Guesthouse was less awe inspiring. We were four to a room in mangy, smelly little beds, with no running water, no electricity, and - most importantly - no toilets . I'll never forget the smell of the womens hole in the ground (which you can see here). It got stuck in your nose and your clothes and anything you touched and had you gagging for several minutes after you came out. The men weren't brave enough to try theirs (even though there was actually a door on it, unlike the women's), so one had an Electric Picnic flashback as one walked to the toilet through a row of men with their backs to one, standing against the walls. Just as memorable an image was the sight of Everest in the moonlight. I don't really know how to describe it in words, but it's so big and silent and there... you could just sit and look at it for hours.

The following day, we were only too glad to get out of bed. I had slept in almost everything I owned, and put the rest on before starting the 9km hike to Base Camp. For some reason, Thanh and I were the only ones feeling good, and Nigel was stressed out again, because there had been more emergency changes to our plans. Thanh, Eyal, Nadav and I walked to Tent City, where we met the others when they arrived in the bus, and we continued the rest of the hike together. My earlier confidence was beginning to wane, and I had to resort to canned oxygen at one stage. There's a shuttle bus from Rombuk to Base Camp, but I was with intrepid explorers who wouldn't dream of giving in like that, and I couldn't disgrace the group by quitting. Even though at one stage my legs felt so heavy that I could barely lift them off the ground . At Base camp, our passports were taken and we were warned not to walk any further than a particular sign (and being the eve of National Day, we didn't want to push our luck). We walked up one more small hill (took me about ten minutes) and just sat, admiring the mountain in silence.

...

I need a pause here, or something.

...

After a while, we got the shuttle bus back to Tent City, and Nima picked us up and we headed off down Earthquake Road (as we'd christened it) to find Ralph. Due to his visa issues and the surprise sanctions imposed by the government, Mil's group weren't getting to go to Everest or stay at Rombuk, so they had only come a short distance to take some pictures, before continuing on to Mount Kailash. They hated our guts, and we were annoyed at how long they spent taking pictures and holding up our party. Nima had decided to take a short cut through the Middle of Nowhere (seriously, I've found it) to get us to Nyalam before our permit expired, but it turned out to be a dirt road, not designed for buses. However, his ace driving skills came into play, and I'm happy to report that we're all alive and well, with only a few loose teeth and jarred vertebrae. My high spirits in the morning had dwindled to all but nothing and in the evening someone told me "I thought you'd fallen asleep, but then I realised you'd just lost consciousness ." I was very bad, but I remember looking out the window a few times and realising that the bus was barely clinging to a scree slope over a steep ravine with a thin trickle of a river in the distant bottom. I missed all the fun of stuff falling around the bus and people being knocked out of seats, but I do know that it was a very bumpy ride. And that's an understatement, if I've ever used one.

5 hours later we reached a tarred road and Sara all but kissed Nima. We refuelled at Tingri, since the army had requisitioned all fuel at Nyalam and further. Since Tingri is basically Nowhere with the bonus of a tarred road, Nima had to check the petrol by tasting it, then the seller pumped it out of a can with a hand cranked pump. I was beginning to look forward to going Back to the Future. It was dark for a few hours before we got to Nyalam, and we were staying in a rather manky guesthouse, but it was a few hundred metres lower than Rombuk, which made it preferable to most people (for some unknown reason, Thanh and I were the only one who slept well during the entire trip . More gold stars for us!)

The following day was the drive to Zhangmu, the border town, and more importantly, National Day. There's nothing in Nyalam, but as I took a wrong turn when I went for an early morning walk, I passed several groups of soldiers marching in the streets, barely avoiding the mangy dogs. I turned around at a cow eating out of a garbage can, but attracted a dog with ticks all over his rear end back to the bus, and he wouldn't let anyone else get on. Ralph tried to shoo him off, but the dog clearly didn't understand either German or English, and Nigel ended up pulling him off by the scruff off the neck, before amputating his arms to clean them. I'm joking of course, but the dog was pretty disgusting.

Zhangmu wasn't far, but we had to time our drive precisely to coincide with the construction workers lunch break, since the road isn't finished, and is often blocked. Despite being National Day, these people were still working, and they've been living in tents on the side of the road, clinging to a hill, for the last year . We picked up a soldier on the way, for some reason, so we decided to get off and walk into town ourselves when we were within sight of it. It's just one street, but it corkscrews down the hill to the Friendship Bridge for what feels like miles.

I was very sick, and our TV plug had been stolen, so I missed the parade in Beijing, but even in little Zhangmu there were soldiers parading through the streets all day, chanting and cheering. We weren't allowed to leave town, all the local Nepalese had "disappeared" for the day, and the border was shut. Nigel was in shock again at the amount of military, the lack of Nepalese trucks in the street and the fact that most of the shops were shut.

In the morning we had a slow breakfast, then queued up for immigration. Getting through was very hassled. We had to say goodbye to Nima, and Jimpal had to take us through in a certain order. Nigel had a run in with a cranky German lady who wouldn't let us put our bags through the x-ray machine and nearly got us all kicked out . When that was over, everyone had their bags and books thoroughly searched and flicked through. It's irksome, having your carefully wedged backpack spread all over the ground, but I have to say that my solder was very polite, and even helped me re-pack and put my bag on my back. We crossed more armed guards on the Friendship Bridge and then suddenly...

...We were in Nepal.

Halfway across the bridge were urchins and potholes and colourful trucks and more mangy dogs than even Gyantse. Immigration in Nepal was in a concrete shack with children running around stealing food out of bags and taxi and bus drivers offering you all sorts of deals and special prices. We got a bus to Kathmandu along a road that made us recall Earthquake Road at Rombuk with fondness. Mark and I were attacked by a giant spider with legs out to HERE. We stopped for food against my better judgement, and it took almost two hours to get it. I ordered plain rice, but I got more protein than I bargained for with a grub and a beetle included . I was shocked by how much Nepal reminded me of what I know of India.

Saris, orphans, goats and cattle, bumpy roads, crazy driving, people on top of buses, colourful signs, street food, litter, mud, tiny streets... It's nuts. I wasn't prepared for it at all.

Nigel gave us a brief overview of the town, and we got two tiny taxis (called Suzuki Marutis, made in India, ubiquitous in these tiny streets) to Boudhanath stupa. It was dark when we got there, but the difference between here and Tibet was striking. Monks were walking around casually in happy groups, not scurrying from one place to the next; people were slower and less harried; it wasn't just old people walking the kora; and there were no soldiers. We just caught the end of a chanting session by some monks at a temple nearby, then suddenly everything went dark. They have scheduled blackouts here to save electricity or something, so, while tourist places have generators, most places just use candles for a few hours.

Although the following day was technically the end of the tour, we were all still here for a while more, so we stuck together. I was moving hotel, but I left my stuff in Thanh's room for a while and we had breakfast together, where Sara and I were delighted to find milk and butter from a cow, instead of a yak (and the waiter also offered us chicken milk, and I'd be pleased if anyone could enlighten me any further) . Then we took a really long and roundabout walk to the Monkey Temple, where we were only thrilled to find about a million more steps up the hill. We took some photos of the monkeys, climbed all the steps, then realised that the clever monkeys hadn't bothered coming up this far at all. I was getting fed up of hawkers with singing bowls and pashminas, of Suzuki Marutis and motorbikes honking at me, of people spitting and snorting and of rubbish and filth everywhere you walked. I took a break in my hotel, which is lovely, but down a rather dark alley, then we all went for our last meal as a group. This is where the bad cocktails came in and I'd rather not speak about it, so on to today!

Thanh had an early morning flight to London and Nigel was off on another tour of South East Asia, so Sara, Mark, Eyal, Nadav and I took ourselves to Pashupatinath Temple complex. It's on the Bagmati River and it's where the people here cremate their dead.

And it's bloody freaky .

First they lay the body with it's feet in the river and the sprinkle some red stuff over it. Mourners wash their hands or faces in the river, then pour some of the water into the body's mouth. This river grants the same release from rebirth that the Ganges does, so I suppose that's why they do it. Then they carry the body over to a pyre that can only be built by certain men. They walk around the pyre three times clockwise, then lay the body down. We saw several of these happening and some were restrained and small, while others were big and glamorous. Some people had elaborate cloths on the body and threw money at it too. They start by lighting a fire in the mouth and underneath the pyre, then someone covers it with sandalwood, and off it goes. When it's all burned out, the men who work there knock everything into the river and rinse down the pedestal with water.

Now. That's all good and well, but while this is going on, there are sadhus (Nepalese holy men) smiling and offering to take a photo with you for a donation; there are temple workers throwing rubbish into the river; there are cows, goats and monkeys eating the rubbish and climbing all over the buildings; there are orphans jumping off a bridge and swimming in the river; there are children washing dishes and women washing clothes in the river; there are kids fishing for money and grabbing whatever the mourners throw away, or going through all the rubbish looking for something worthwhile; and there are bemused tourists goggling at everything that's going on .

It's insane.

It's one of the craziest, messiest things I've ever seen in my life.

On the way out, we passed an armed guard and were shoved to the side as the highest High Priest was escorted through. I didn't want to risk taking a picture, but I was right beside him, although no one is allowed to touch him. Go me!

We split up for a while, and I started this monstrous essay before the power went out and I had to stop. We met up for our last meal, since everyone is going to India tomorrow (which is now today) except me. :(

AND THAT, ladies and gentlemen, IS THAT!

Today is my last full day in Nepal, and since it gets dark at 6pm, I will be doing nothing but catching up on world affairs through the medium of print (my room doesn't have a TV). You may be interested to know that I am 4 hours and 45 minutes ahead of you GMT folks, since Nepal and India don't want to share a time zone. I'll be flying to Bangkok tomorrow afternoon and will go forward in time for a day, before flying back home via Frankfurt. Don't ask me why it's so convoluted, just accept it.

:)

See you soon!