Nepal
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| 30 January | Kathmandu |  |
Out on the streets, I agreed with my last assessment of the place: After mellow and modern Thailand, this place bursts with energy. Plenty of "cool" travellers out on the streets of Thamel, "Change money? Hashish? Marijuana?" Tibet and Buddhism were up for sale in every shop. Thankas, carpets, books, paper, anything you could desire. Enlightenment guaranteed! Spiritual experiences, incorporated! Yet some things were changed, if only in minor ways. The one email centre, Global Communications, had expanded to literally dozens of internet/fax/long distance telephone shops. The best used book shop was torn down, but replaced with many others, and the great peanut cookies at Brezels were now dry and stale. But the old beggar still worked the streets, "Hello! Hello!", untouched by the three years in between. The embroidery shops still buzzed away, "Tin Tin in Tibet!" "Are you going trekking?" half the people ask me, and "You want rickshaw?" the other half inquire.
Needing some music, I popped back into Tom and Jerry's Pub for happy hour. A stray comment to the girl sitting next to me led to an evening of excess. Erin was celebrating her 28th birthday with a couple she met on the bus from India. She insisted on paying, and many hours and many drinks later, we closed out the shop, shuffled out into the street, bleary eyed and swaying. "Money for rice?" a street urchin demands. At the gate to KGH, Erin turns and gives me a great big hug and a buss as I wished her Happy Birthday again. G'night!
| 31 January | Kathmandu | |
Sitting up on the roof of the KGH, I met Andrew, a Yank from Colorado, who was spending the next 5 months here in Kathmandu teaching English for an international organization. (I can't recall the name.) First, he will teach at some children's school, then, the monks at the monastery behind the "Monkey Temple." For free. They will pay for his room and food, but he turned down any other money. He will do this for the experience, for the good of helping the people. He didn't strike me as a crusading missionary out to save the world. Instead, he was more of a traveller looking for life.
I put off buying a ticket to Pokhara for too long today, and was forced to spend another day in Kathmandu before leaving for the mountains.
An email from England pleaded for resolution. And it ended, words written in water. I finally said goodbye and rebuilt the walls.
| 1 February | Kathmandu | |
My last time in Nepal, I wanted to take a white water rafting/camping trip, but the season had ended, and no one was going. Despite the season, I made some inquiries. Only one company was running tours, and it was their first of the season. Most others all said it was too soon. The water was so cold, it would kill you in minutes if you fell in. Who to trust? Forget about it for now, maybe I'll try again after trekking.
At night, Fire and Ice Pizza produced one of the finest pizzas on the four continents, the Italian woman who ran the place sitting with guests and making it a home. A couple Irish men sitting next to me tried to convince her of the virtues of a real Guinness, their descriptions making me drool more than the pizza.
| 2 February | Pokhara | |
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One reason to take a tourist bus: Overturned (public) bus on the way to Pokhara |
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Things had changed in Pokhara since I last visited. Hotels used to force tourist buses to stop at the bus terminal, allowing their touts and the taxi drivers to overwhelm the poor tourist and carry them off to a nearby taxi. This time, we pulled in right near Lakeside, a short walk away in the torrential downpour that started as soon as the bus stopped. I looked at a couple places, then ended up at the empty New Traveller Lodge. The initial room price (for ensuite) quickly dropped from 700Rps down to 200Rps with only a couple minutes effort. Competition here has reached the point when there are just too many hotels, and prices are plummeting. Lakeside has not changed much. Endless restaurants, trekking agencies, grocery shops, bookshops, curio sellers in the streets cornering the poor tourist in front of a deep puddle. Internet has arrived here as well, with fierce competition. Names have changed, the faces are different, but the place is the same. No response to the last email. Word from a friend reaches out, a hand extended into the darkness, pushed aside in a rapid descent.
| 3 February | Pokhara | |
| 4 February | Pokhara | |
| 5 February | Pothana 1900m | |
Eavesdropping on a couple British girls at the table next to me brought me luck: They were also going to Annapurna Base Camp (ABC). We agreed to share a taxi and they took off to collect their gear. I rushed back and packed my bag, leaving my daypack and some gear behind. I met Lauren and Judith at their hotel (Tranquillity Lodge), and they introduced me to Laxman, their porter/guide. Whoops, I have a couple tourists here. They agreed to 500Rps for the taxi, but I was stuck for it. The battered Corolla sped the 4 of us on our way, dropping us at Phedi, the start of the trek.
The track started with a steep climb up the stairs into the hills to Dhampus, my unfit body protesting every step and my back aching under the 10-kg pack I was carrying. It was a sweaty slog. At the top, there was a great view of the mountains. After a rest, it was a quick hour or so up to Pothana, the end for today. I knew what to expect from the Annapurna Circuit, but Lauren and Judith were surprised at the accommodations. A bare cell, with two narrow beds with thin foam mattresses. Outhouse toilets and cold showers, Annapurna lodging. We sat out with mugs of hot lemon and watched the sunset in the mountains.
Dhal bhat, dhal bhat, dhal bhat! Time to eat. As soon as the sun set, the temperature plummeted. A kerosene heater was lit and placed under the table, providing much needed warmth at the cost of reeling from the fumes. My first dhal bhat in years, and it wasn't a disappointment. Dhal, rice, potatoes, and pickled whatever, nice and spicy.
After supper, Lauren, Judith, myself, and a Japanese trekker gathered downstairs (outside) with a group of porters, guides and locals around a nice blazing fire (in a half-barrel). There was singing, dancing, quite a riot. At one point, two young girls managed to get the Japanese fellow up and dancing. He proved to be a passable mimic, following their moves with a notable lack of self-consciousness. "Raiso fi di ree, oh raiso fi dee ree" Don't follow me, I don't like you, the translation goes...
| 6 February | Landruk 1565m | |
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| Along the trail to Landruk |
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Soon after we arrived in Landruk, the skies opened up and provided quite a show, with thunder rumbling up the valley, lightning, rain, winds, etc. The temperature plummeted and it grew quite bitter. This didn't stop Lauren and me. I had read in my "Trekking in the Annapurna Region" book that Maya Guest House, down the road, made a great banana cake. Taking advantage of a break in the weather, we dashed through (down) the village and into Maya. There, we found out they made it fresh, 30 minutes. OK...
While we waited, we spotted an eagle circling outside. We were perched on the edge of a sheer cliff dropping down to the Modi river, so the eagle was at eye level. Suddenly, he swooped down, making an attempt to grab one of the many chickens clucking outside. A dog came to their rescue, barking furiously, and almost catching a wing as the disappointed bird flew off. It must be a hard life here.
When the cake arrived, we had a surprise. Somehow, I was expecting just a couple slices. But they had no guests here, so instead, we each got half of an enormous yellow cake. Very good, but sickening after too much.
Bedtime comes early here, after rising for the sunrise and walking half the day, as soon as it gets dark, and you've eaten, it's time to sleep. One thick blanket, and I was nice and warm all night long, though the girls needed their sleeping bags and a blanket. There were only enough blankets for one each.
| 7 February | Chomrong 2170m | |
So far, Laxman had continuously been showing us things people had given him. The shoes, the watch, the knife... After this incident, he asked if I would sell my jacket to him, obviously hoping for a gift, knowing he could never afford it. He never gave up, and kept trying until the last day I saw him.
In the rain, we had a steep climb to go, thankfully without very slippery stairs. Descending down into Chomrong I was very grateful to dump my pack and rest my aching legs.
The lodge at Chomrong had fire heated showers, providing blessedly scalding showers for our filthy bodies for the first time in 3 days.
But now came a problem. There were other trekkers there who had just come back from attempting ABC. Bad news. ABC is closed, MBC is reachable, but no one is at the hotel. The snow reaches up to your hips for much of the treacherous climb up, and avalanches are continuous. It's suicide to attempt, in other words. I considered trying anyway... For a time.
| 8 February | Tadapani 2595 m | |
A hard day. The first part was easy, a gradual climb, a steep descent down to the river. But then it got harder. The trail went straight up. And I mean up. 10 minutes of walking brought you up 10 metres, it seemed. Judith and Lauren didn't know what they were in for when they decided to do this, and were in over their heads, being the stereotypical "whinging Poms", complaining and moaning and going slow. I decided to join the faster Japanese, and we took off up into the forests.
This part was rather nice, yet strenuous. Thick dark pine and rhododendrons, bright red blossoms set against the hanging moss. We saw our first snow, and the day grew colder. The Japanese set a blistering pace, despite the 15kg pack he carried for him and his girlfriend. I managed to keep up, but it cost me.
Reaching the first lodge in Tadapani, I collapsed and ordered some hot lemon, trying to regain control of my legs. By the time Lauren and Judith arrived two hours later, the sun had again disappeared behind the clouds, and I had every item of clothing on to keep warm.
This village was locked in ice. Snow everywhere, slicked to a slippery glaze by the warm daytime sun. The coals they placed under the table in the lodge toasted my feet, while the fumes caused an unpleasant light-headedness followed by a headache. It seemed everyone was in one of those moods that they wanted to be left alone, and everyone was grouchy, yet the only option was to retire to a blazing cold and dark room upstairs. The trip to the loo crossed an ice field, dumping the unwary to the ground. Not a good night.
| 9 February | Ghorepani 2750m | |
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| View of Machhapuchhre from Tadopani |
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Leaving Tadapani seemed easy enough. Last night, people coming the other way related doleful warnings of the day ahead. I considered it just the usual exaggerations people relate in these situations. The first part was easy enough: a steep descent with a little ice, snow, and mud to make it interesting. We descended to a suspension bridge (Lauren's bane) and crossed over.
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Trail between Tadopani and Ghorepani Beginning of the nightmare ice valley |
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Local models in some village along the trail. "Photo? Photo?" |
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| High altitude basketball |
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By the time we arrived in Ghorepani, there was a miserable chilly drizzle, and no visibility. Luckily, the lodge had a wonderful stove in the middle of the room heating it nicely, and luxurious hot showers to wash off the trail grime.
| 10 February | Tatopani 1190m | |
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| Poon Hill |
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The climb to Poon Hill in the daytime is not a problem. A half-hour puff up 450m or so on a decent trail. But in the pitch black, it is another matter. Laxman had disappeared somewhere, so Lauren and I followed some others up. We all had our torches, slowly walking up in single file. There was a little ice and snow, but nothing like yesterday. One girl had trouble breathing (I guess the altitude), and had to go back down. As we walked, the glorious stars overhead slowly faded out in the east and the sky took on a prisms colors, from pitch black in the west, to purple, blue, and red in the east. The mountains slowly took shape around us. Judith had stayed behind. She missed the show.
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| Poon Hill |
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After the mandatory pictures, Lauren and I had to get down to keep all our fingers. We told Laxman we were leaving, but he was too involved talking to a friend to join us, so again we followed others... at a jog. Fast run down the hill. It felt good to walk without a pack! But the other group ended up going down to the real Ghorepani (we were staying in Ghorepani/Deurali, about 15 minutes further up), and when the trail diverged, we took the wrong one. This meant another 15 minutes of walking back uphill on a new trail. This got Lauren really upset, as Laxman should have been there to direct her.
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| Descending from Ghorepani to Tatopani |
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| Descending from Ghorepani to Tatopani |
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| Typical sign along the trail |
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We stayed of course, at the Dhauligiri Lodge, for great food and the Hot springs, located down a steep stair directly behind the lodge. Even downhill, the walk had been tiring, though, so today, we just took our hot showers (ah!) and found a table in the garden to eat. We must have arrived at the perfect time of the season. It was nice and warm, there were few tourists about, and the trees! My god, I've never seen such abundance! Lemons as big as grapefruit, oranges falling off the trees into your soup! Tangerines everywhere, within picking distance. Very nice.
| 11 February | Tatopani | |
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| Orange trees in Tatopani |
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While Judith went to buy postcards, Lauren and I took a walk down to see the springs. But on the way, we noticed some very nice looking rooms on the side. Private toilet/shower, very roomy, set in a private garden. She immediately went to locate Judith, and soon, we were moving in. They took one, I haggled a fair price for another, and we were styling. The oranges were just falling and rotting on the ground here, so I decided the lodge didn't care. I helped myself, and stuffed my face with juicy fresh oranges. Then Judith went back to shop, and Lauren and I went to the springs.
At the bottom of the stairs, a number of concrete pools were spread out. At the first, women were washing clothes in a quiet algae filled pool, the steam rising in the cool air. Then a few smaller, empty pools, then the main one. A large pool, with pipes running off it so people could wash. We paid our 5Rps ("To maintain the hot springs") and slowly climbed in. Ahh! Ouch! It was extremely hot, but felt wonderful on my sore muscles. 5 minutes in, 5 to cool off, and repeat! My book said to respect Nepalese modesty, so Lauren was wearing a sarong and shirt in the pool. I was wearing the same (I had no shorts) Then an old Nepalese woman strips to a sarong from the waist down (no top) and climbs in with us. Seeing this, Lauren stripped to her sports bra and underwear, following other westerners lead. No problem, no one stared. Em, almost no one. *blush*
A day spent resting in the garden, eating good food, fresh oranges, and no walking. Recalling a story I had told her previously, Lauren dragged me off to the lodge I stayed at last time, in search of the "special lassi". The place was still there, greatly expanded, but the menu had changed. The waiter sadly shook his head. "Sorry, now we have only normal lassies..."
| 12 February | Ghasa 2010m | |
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| Waterfall along trail to Tukche |
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"Eat dessert first Life is uncertain" -Sign at a teahouse along the trail |
In the evening, I met an Aussie who was walking out from Jomsom in 3 days. Hard walk. For 5 days, there had been no flights out of Jomsom. He waited as long as he could, but to make his flight home, he had to walk out (with an expired trekking permit). Glad I didn't bother trying...
| 13 February | Marpha 2670m | |
This was a much longer day, even at my pace. I didn't arrive in Marpha until 3:00. Late day! At Paradise lodge, I found myself the only guest. The season is starting, but hasn't reached here yet.
| 14 February | Kagbeni 2800m | |
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| The Mustang |
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| Warm welcome to the Mustang region |
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| Kagbeni |
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Evil spirits beware: A fetish protects those within. |
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| The Mustang |
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| 15 February | Tukche 2590m | |
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| Kali Gandaki Valley |
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For the first time, there was a small crowd. A whopping eight people were staying here tonight. It begins!
This afternoon, on the road into Marpha, a child held my hand as we walked along. No more than 5 years old, the boy had the hands of an old construction worker, so heavily callused they felt more like a tough leather glove than skin. Similarly, he examined my soft computer consultant hands, running his rough thumb over my smooth palms. Last night in Kagbeni, a girl handled bare flame in her hands, unflinching from the hot coals. A hard life breeding tough people...
| 16 February | Ghasa 2010m | |
| 17 February | Tatopani 1190m | |
| 18 February | Tatopani | |
| 19 February | Beni 830m | |
| 20 February | Pokhara 850m | |
Back in Pokhara, I walked the 4km from the bus station to lakeside without breaking a sweat, my poor blistered feet comfortable at last in my Tevas. Checked back into New Traveller Guest House, and took a splendid 10 minute scalding hot shower.
Then a lonely meal at Tea Time restaurant, reading the paper and looking forward to returning to Thailand.
| 21 - 22 February | Pokhara | |
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| Visit Nepal '98! |
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Locking myself in my hotel, the days passed. The sun set, the sun rose, I did not sleep. I read, attempted to write letters with my swollen hand, continued to fast, and indulged in a orgy of self-pity and misery.
Outside, the city came alive in a celebration for the tourists. It's Visit Nepal '98! Music, traditional dancing, and the streets decorated to the hilt.
"He sits alone in darkness
Nothing left but pain
And the raging storm outside conceals
The sound of Lathi's tears."
| 23 February | Kathmandu | |
It failed.
| 24 February | Kathmandu | |
| 25 February | Kathmandu | |
Today is Shivaratri, a day of ritual bathing and puja for the Hindu. It is also a day of display for the government at the RNAC fields, soldiers surrounding the field on display. All government offices are shut down. The power goes on and off. I considered going to Pashupatinath to see the festival, but thought again as the skies continued to pour. I'm a bad tourist... Instead, stay in, write letters (hand almost healed), and update the journals...
A miniature circus has erupted outside in the courtyard. A traveller playing a full sized accordion of all things fills the air with gypsy music. Another twirls the devil sticks nearby. And a third juggles knives, flashing through the air. Only on the road...
| 26 February | Kathmandu | |
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| Monkey Temple |
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Instead, up to Monkey Temple, not to visit the temple itself, but rather for the grand view of Kathmandu and the mountains beyond. Annoying, now they charge 50Rps to enter the temple grounds, but it was easy enough to get past. Last time, I donated 100Rps, willingly, so I felt no guilt. Rather, I sat on the ledge, watched the many monkeys on the grounds, and enjoyed the cool breeze.
On my way there, I made a wrong turn at the square. Rather than leading me down to the river, I ended up at Durbar Square. Why do I always get lost at noon, when the sun is no aid for direction? Some Italian girls there let me use their map, and I quickly regained my bearings. Rather than backtrack, I walked straight down to the river and followed a dirt trail along the "water". A side of Kathmandu the tourist authorities would rather you don't see. It had the smell (and look) of a city dump. Raw sewage being poured straight into the river. A man used the river as a public toilet 10m upstream from where a woman in rags was washing clothes. Poor hovels stretched along the river. People living far worse than anywhere I'd seen elsewhere in Nepal. Children running around naked, many misformed. The slums of a poor city in a poor country.
| 27 February | Kathmandu | |
In need of some spiritual recharging, I revisited the monastery I saw many years back, behind the monkey temple. Sitting in the gardens looking out over the mountains, I tried to connect again with the flow I felt last time. The mind refused to settle, the body failed to relax. I spent the day struggling against demons.
For the last five days, I had been visiting the GPO in search of a package and letter my mother sent. No luck. Finally, running out of time, I confronted the powers that be at the GPO and forced them to let me search the packages personally. There mine was, right at the top. They insisted I made the mistake, not finding the slip that should have been placed with the letters. After 5 times of desperate searching? I don't think so. The letter never arrived.
Walking the streets of Thamel. The shops sell thankas, rugs, books, and tourist trash. Hundreds of restaurants, bars, bakeries. New supermarkets drive the old cold shops out of business. Walking down the street is a dance. Avoid the passing cars, motorcycles, and rickshaws. Watch your step you don't step in something. "Violin" players play simple tunes to demonstrate their wares, stepping into your path to make sure you've seen them. Boys selling "Tiger Balm, very cheap!" follow you down the street. Others pull glittering Ghurka knives out of ragged cloths as if they were rare treasure to show you. "Yes? Rickshaw, yes?" Tweet! The bicycle rider scrapes your shoulder as he cycles past, you didn't move quickly enough. Men with darting eyes furtively step up to your shoulder behind you and whisper in your ear, "Hashish?" This, finally, provided amusement, as I would invariably respond in a very loud voice, "You want to sell me hash? You have hash with you? I thought that was illegal?" And as they run off, panicking, "Wait, come back! Can I see it?" I play the dumb hick very well.
| 28 February | Bangkok | |
Sitting now in the departure lounge, having spent my last rupees for a bottle of water. I talked to Noi yesterday via email, and she will pick me up at the airport in Bangkok. It's good to know people when you fly somewhere. Will be very good to see her again. Wonder if she will recognize me with a beard?
©Copyright 1996-2001 Seán Connolly