The Chateaubriand...ahem!
April 16, 2005
And he's off again...
I spent the latter part of the week recuperating from the excesses of Don’s visit and the privations of my trek. I met up with Anna several times and we treated ourselves to coffee, cheesecake and all kinds of other delights as I felt my body trying to rebuild itself after the punishment I’d inflicted on the trek. Smadar and Michael, by chance, came back from Pokhara on the same bus and, as Anna and I were walking back to the hotel on the Friday afternoon, we bumped into Michael who’d just dropped Smadar off. She was as keen as me to enjoy the benefits of civilisation now that we were back amongst Thamel’s relative wealth of good restaurants. She suggested a visit to the Everest Steak House and, when I heard that they sold real beef (and not buffalo – a rarity in this predominantly Hindu nation), I couldn’t agree quick enough.
The four of us arrived with purely carnivorous intent and it didn’t take me long to spot the temptation of chateaubriand on the menu. It claimed to be a dish suitable for three persons and, having not eaten at the ESH before, I assumed that this would be a slight exaggeration. Michael was taken by the idea of the chateaubriand too and we agreed that I would take 2/3 and he would take 1/3 – at 1000NRs it was exceptionally good value (less than 10 quid – never seen it for less than forty at home) and we didn’t want to pass the opportunity by. Of course, when this entire fillet of beef came out, we immediately realised that we might have bitten off more than we could chew. My appetite has rarely been so sorely tested and I have to admit that I barely ate a dozen of the potato field of fries that came with it – let alone the bloody vegetables. Michael wasn’t the best of help in the meat-devouring department but, to give him credit, he managed to consume just enough that a little over 30 minutes later, I was able to cram the last forkful triumphantly into my tired mouth and swallow. My jaw ached from the continual mastication and my stomach swayed dangerously like that of a lion after feasting on its kill. There certainly wasn’t much room for anything like beer and, consequently, at Tom & Jerry’s that evening I swept all-comers majestically before me on the green baize.
Saturday was a quiet affair as I spent much of the day catching up on correspondence after almost two weeks without decent e-mail access. In the evening, Smadar and I went for a very pleasant Japanese meal before meeting up with Anna and Edd for a few quiet ones at T&J’s. Both Anna and I had to make an early night of it – she had to be up even earlier than me to go rafting and I had to pack my bag and get a good night’s rest before heading off to the airport for my flight to Lukla and the start of my trek to Everest Base Camp.
The four of us arrived with purely carnivorous intent and it didn’t take me long to spot the temptation of chateaubriand on the menu. It claimed to be a dish suitable for three persons and, having not eaten at the ESH before, I assumed that this would be a slight exaggeration. Michael was taken by the idea of the chateaubriand too and we agreed that I would take 2/3 and he would take 1/3 – at 1000NRs it was exceptionally good value (less than 10 quid – never seen it for less than forty at home) and we didn’t want to pass the opportunity by. Of course, when this entire fillet of beef came out, we immediately realised that we might have bitten off more than we could chew. My appetite has rarely been so sorely tested and I have to admit that I barely ate a dozen of the potato field of fries that came with it – let alone the bloody vegetables. Michael wasn’t the best of help in the meat-devouring department but, to give him credit, he managed to consume just enough that a little over 30 minutes later, I was able to cram the last forkful triumphantly into my tired mouth and swallow. My jaw ached from the continual mastication and my stomach swayed dangerously like that of a lion after feasting on its kill. There certainly wasn’t much room for anything like beer and, consequently, at Tom & Jerry’s that evening I swept all-comers majestically before me on the green baize.
Saturday was a quiet affair as I spent much of the day catching up on correspondence after almost two weeks without decent e-mail access. In the evening, Smadar and I went for a very pleasant Japanese meal before meeting up with Anna and Edd for a few quiet ones at T&J’s. Both Anna and I had to make an early night of it – she had to be up even earlier than me to go rafting and I had to pack my bag and get a good night’s rest before heading off to the airport for my flight to Lukla and the start of my trek to Everest Base Camp.
April 14, 2005
A bientot, mon frere
There was no question of getting out of bed early – apart from anything else, there wasn’t much for Don and I to do anyway. We could have taken trips out to a number of places for sight-seeing but we saw no point in making work for ourselves. Instead, we strolled leisurely around Thamel enjoying the unusual absence of street-hawkers (probably suffering from similar excesses after New Year) and making a few last-minute purchases before packing up the bags and clearing out.
We went for one last lunch together at The Roadhouse Café and enjoyed their fine pizza with one final Everest (hair of dog), followed by their delicious cheesecake and the best fresh coffee in Kathmandu. After lunch, as Don scribbled postcards, I took the time to scrawl a few notes to be passed on to friends at home – Don would act as courier and mule, taking Uncle Al’s masks, my kukris, the Prem Lama Ganesha and a whole bunch of unnecessary kit (including my tent and stove, which I’d finally admitted to myself that I just didn’t need). Fortunately, virtually all of this fitted into the spare bag I’d bought in Bangkok and the rest he managed to squeeze into his own rucksack and carry-on bag (still smelling faintly of whisky!).
We took a taxi out to the airport and, while I was sad to see him go – particularly, as so much of our trip had been cruelly stolen from us by his stomach bug – we parted more with conspiratorial grins than sad smiles. It would be less than five weeks before we saw each other again and in the meantime we were both going to have immense fun, scheming and plotting our surprises on people back home. If there’s one thing we both love, it’s pulling off a good joke and we were both looking forward to seeing the looks on certain people’s faces when I suddenly appeared at The Cross.
After I waved him off I took a long contemplative walk instead of jumping in a cab. Much as when Dave had returned home in January, I felt deflated and perhaps a little lonely. It was lessened by the knowledge that I’d be seeing virtually everyone so very soon anyway but I couldn’t help feeling a little melancholy to be without my brother once again. Eventually I came to my senses as I realised I was walking alongside the pollution and noise of one of Kathmandu’s busier roads and I hailed down the first empty cab and high-tailed it back to Thamel.
I had no plans that evening and ended up making an early night of it with a book Don had lent me by the Frenchman Maurice Herzog, who had led the first legendary success on an 8000m peak. ‘Annapurna’ was a truly gripping tale, which highlighted the hardships of mountaineering in the Himalaya back in the 50’s with limited equipment and an even more limited Nepali infrastructure than the few paltry roads available now. Over recent weeks I’d been reading a lot of inspirational stuff – much of it focused on the crazy world of high-altitude climbing. It was the perfect prelude to my trip to Everest because, time and again, I was reminded of the depths of strength found in the most ordinary human beings…and yet also forewarned of the dangers of pushing oneself too far. After my somewhat shaky performance on the Jomsom trek, I had my doubts about being able to complete the Everest trek. However, as I read about the heroic struggles of Herzog and his team I found myself developing a strong determination to succeed and I knew it would take something pretty disastrous to prevent me from reaching my goal when I set off on Sunday.
We went for one last lunch together at The Roadhouse Café and enjoyed their fine pizza with one final Everest (hair of dog), followed by their delicious cheesecake and the best fresh coffee in Kathmandu. After lunch, as Don scribbled postcards, I took the time to scrawl a few notes to be passed on to friends at home – Don would act as courier and mule, taking Uncle Al’s masks, my kukris, the Prem Lama Ganesha and a whole bunch of unnecessary kit (including my tent and stove, which I’d finally admitted to myself that I just didn’t need). Fortunately, virtually all of this fitted into the spare bag I’d bought in Bangkok and the rest he managed to squeeze into his own rucksack and carry-on bag (still smelling faintly of whisky!).
We took a taxi out to the airport and, while I was sad to see him go – particularly, as so much of our trip had been cruelly stolen from us by his stomach bug – we parted more with conspiratorial grins than sad smiles. It would be less than five weeks before we saw each other again and in the meantime we were both going to have immense fun, scheming and plotting our surprises on people back home. If there’s one thing we both love, it’s pulling off a good joke and we were both looking forward to seeing the looks on certain people’s faces when I suddenly appeared at The Cross.
After I waved him off I took a long contemplative walk instead of jumping in a cab. Much as when Dave had returned home in January, I felt deflated and perhaps a little lonely. It was lessened by the knowledge that I’d be seeing virtually everyone so very soon anyway but I couldn’t help feeling a little melancholy to be without my brother once again. Eventually I came to my senses as I realised I was walking alongside the pollution and noise of one of Kathmandu’s busier roads and I hailed down the first empty cab and high-tailed it back to Thamel.
I had no plans that evening and ended up making an early night of it with a book Don had lent me by the Frenchman Maurice Herzog, who had led the first legendary success on an 8000m peak. ‘Annapurna’ was a truly gripping tale, which highlighted the hardships of mountaineering in the Himalaya back in the 50’s with limited equipment and an even more limited Nepali infrastructure than the few paltry roads available now. Over recent weeks I’d been reading a lot of inspirational stuff – much of it focused on the crazy world of high-altitude climbing. It was the perfect prelude to my trip to Everest because, time and again, I was reminded of the depths of strength found in the most ordinary human beings…and yet also forewarned of the dangers of pushing oneself too far. After my somewhat shaky performance on the Jomsom trek, I had my doubts about being able to complete the Everest trek. However, as I read about the heroic struggles of Herzog and his team I found myself developing a strong determination to succeed and I knew it would take something pretty disastrous to prevent me from reaching my goal when I set off on Sunday.
April 13, 2005
Nepali New Year
We got up early enough to see sunrise but with not much hope of actually seeing anything. Consequently, we weren’t at all disappointed when we saw nothing…or at least a depthless expanse of grey mist and cloud, in which a tiny, pale red disc slowly appeared. The only effect of this magnificent ‘sunrise’ was to turn the clouds a little pink and show up all the filthy dust and yellow smog that was floating around too. We duly went back to bed and didn’t bother getting up until well past 10 o’clock.
After breakfast we got the hotel to send for a taxi and made our way down to Bhaktapur. Rather than drive straight to the gate of the historic old town, I got the driver to drop us off on the main road about 1km out. I proudly took Don down the roughly-hewn drive to the site of the new Samata School, where the construction of the bamboo huts was almost completed. It had only been one month since I’d seen the bare skeleton frames around the edge of a square of wasteland. Now the classrooms just needed to be roofed and then they would be ready to be ‘plastered’ with cowshit and painted white on the outside. It obviously wouldn’t be long before the school was ready to open its doors to the children of Bhaktapur…and another goal would be reached on the long road to Uttam’s dream.
From the school we strolled into town and I showed Don around some of the ancient delights of the city – including the rather ribald and genuinely graphic religious art in the National Gallery. A lot of the thangka art depicting the Hindu pantheon often seems to have rather explicit representations of goddesses being ravished or demons being messily disposed of. We had a good little schoolboy giggle at the naughty bits but had to admit that we were impressed by the quality and age of these eye-popping cultural artefacts. I noted that Bhaktapur was a whole lot busier than it had been on my last visit…and yet very few of the extra visitors appeared to be the still-absent tourists the place had been lacking previously. Instead the streets were jammed with locals and traders and we saw at least one squabble over a prime spot in the market square. This strange crowding was a mystery to me at first and it wasn’t until we got back to Thamel in the evening that we realised it was the Nepali festival of Bisket Jatra, celebrated particularly in Bhaktapur with a giant tug-of-war over an enormous fertility pole erected in the main square. Bisket Jatra is the local equivalent of Hogmanay and the following day (Don’s last) would be the first day of the Nepali New Year. We left the crowds to their milling and headed back to Thamel to do some souvenir shopping and prepare ourselves for a big night out with Mahendra and Edd at the Dohori. At some point we popped into Lotus Gallery and, after weeks of silent coveting, I finally took the plunge and bought my Ganesha Thangka by Prem Lama. Don looked long and hard at some other contemporary/traditional Tibetan art for him and Vickie to put in the house but, in the end, he wasn’t sure about buying something without consulting her.
We had an extremely amusing few hours at the Dohori with Mahendra and Edd. Plenty to drink and eat as well as plenty of foolishly, dangerous dancing – all the more foolish when you consider the size of the average Nepali man next to Don, Edd and I. I’d lost a considerable amount of weight on the trek (maybe as much as 15kg!) and Don took great delight in calling me Stick Timmy all evening…but I was still a giant amongst the slight locals vying for my space on the dancefloor. When we could dance no more but felt the urge to drink more beer and try our hand at games of high skill in hand-eye co-ordination, we adjourned to Tom & Jerry’s and attempted, amusingly, to play pool. Anna was there to meet us and it didn’t take a great deal of inebriated flirting for us to establish that our attractions were mutual. Fortunately, she obviously didn’t see good pool-skills as a prerequisite in her amours and, lucky for her, neither did I. Despite the fact that he was leaving the following day, Don had somehow contrived to leave me with some excellent company for the remainder of my time in Kathmandu. He and I headed back to The Great Wall at a very late hour with only a morning of packing and shopping to wake up to on his final day.
After breakfast we got the hotel to send for a taxi and made our way down to Bhaktapur. Rather than drive straight to the gate of the historic old town, I got the driver to drop us off on the main road about 1km out. I proudly took Don down the roughly-hewn drive to the site of the new Samata School, where the construction of the bamboo huts was almost completed. It had only been one month since I’d seen the bare skeleton frames around the edge of a square of wasteland. Now the classrooms just needed to be roofed and then they would be ready to be ‘plastered’ with cowshit and painted white on the outside. It obviously wouldn’t be long before the school was ready to open its doors to the children of Bhaktapur…and another goal would be reached on the long road to Uttam’s dream.
From the school we strolled into town and I showed Don around some of the ancient delights of the city – including the rather ribald and genuinely graphic religious art in the National Gallery. A lot of the thangka art depicting the Hindu pantheon often seems to have rather explicit representations of goddesses being ravished or demons being messily disposed of. We had a good little schoolboy giggle at the naughty bits but had to admit that we were impressed by the quality and age of these eye-popping cultural artefacts. I noted that Bhaktapur was a whole lot busier than it had been on my last visit…and yet very few of the extra visitors appeared to be the still-absent tourists the place had been lacking previously. Instead the streets were jammed with locals and traders and we saw at least one squabble over a prime spot in the market square. This strange crowding was a mystery to me at first and it wasn’t until we got back to Thamel in the evening that we realised it was the Nepali festival of Bisket Jatra, celebrated particularly in Bhaktapur with a giant tug-of-war over an enormous fertility pole erected in the main square. Bisket Jatra is the local equivalent of Hogmanay and the following day (Don’s last) would be the first day of the Nepali New Year. We left the crowds to their milling and headed back to Thamel to do some souvenir shopping and prepare ourselves for a big night out with Mahendra and Edd at the Dohori. At some point we popped into Lotus Gallery and, after weeks of silent coveting, I finally took the plunge and bought my Ganesha Thangka by Prem Lama. Don looked long and hard at some other contemporary/traditional Tibetan art for him and Vickie to put in the house but, in the end, he wasn’t sure about buying something without consulting her.
We had an extremely amusing few hours at the Dohori with Mahendra and Edd. Plenty to drink and eat as well as plenty of foolishly, dangerous dancing – all the more foolish when you consider the size of the average Nepali man next to Don, Edd and I. I’d lost a considerable amount of weight on the trek (maybe as much as 15kg!) and Don took great delight in calling me Stick Timmy all evening…but I was still a giant amongst the slight locals vying for my space on the dancefloor. When we could dance no more but felt the urge to drink more beer and try our hand at games of high skill in hand-eye co-ordination, we adjourned to Tom & Jerry’s and attempted, amusingly, to play pool. Anna was there to meet us and it didn’t take a great deal of inebriated flirting for us to establish that our attractions were mutual. Fortunately, she obviously didn’t see good pool-skills as a prerequisite in her amours and, lucky for her, neither did I. Despite the fact that he was leaving the following day, Don had somehow contrived to leave me with some excellent company for the remainder of my time in Kathmandu. He and I headed back to The Great Wall at a very late hour with only a morning of packing and shopping to wake up to on his final day.
April 12, 2005
Treat yourselves!
Pokhara was hot and sticky on our last morning – too hot and I spent most of the morning feeling a little woozy even after consuming the world’s biggest breakfast. Don and I tried to wander around and made a half-hearted attempt to see some sights but,after my trek and his illness, we didn’t get very far and ended up just chilling out back at the hotel.
We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare…which was a mistake because there really is bugger all to do at domestic airports in Nepal. Fortunately, we both had books to read and cd players to listen to so we just zoned out from the general confusion and boarded our plane when the time finally came.
We didn’t get the same views of the mountains (due to clouds) nor were the air stewardesses quite up to the high standards set on the outward journey so we were faintly disgruntled by the time we arrived in Kathmandu. This wasn’t helped by the usual scrum of greedy taxi drivers waiting outside the terminal, refusing to take us into Thamel for a decent price and we were forced to walk down to the main road before we could find somebody more reasonable. We made a quick pitstop at The Great Wall to drop off most of our luggage and pick up a few essential items (i.e. wine) before heading out again.
An hour-and-a-half later, after a hot, sweaty taxi ride (including the hair-raising hairpins I’d been glad not to see on my first visit) we arrived in Nagarkot and I was able to show my brother his birthday present – a night at the Club Himalaya Resort. Sounds romantic, eh? ;-) As on the previous occasion we were treated to a 5-course dinner – this time accompanied by a bottle of champagne, which I’d mistakenly thought was (an excellent value!) $10 but in fact turned out to be (a still good value) $100. We didn’t stop in the dining room any longer than necessary – escaping, instead to our room to listen to some of the excellent new trance Don had brought over for me and drink our way through the wine we’d brought with us. As much fun as I’d had with Suriya and Michael on the trek, it had been these special moments with my brother that I’d been missing and it was good to be hanging out once more. When we were both well and truly hammered we decided it would be a great idea to call Sue back in England and we spent an hilarious few minutes garbling drunken banter at the poor, unsuspecting girl while she laughed at the state we were in. It was late by the time we finally passed out – lights on, fully clothed, cd spinning…
We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare…which was a mistake because there really is bugger all to do at domestic airports in Nepal. Fortunately, we both had books to read and cd players to listen to so we just zoned out from the general confusion and boarded our plane when the time finally came.
We didn’t get the same views of the mountains (due to clouds) nor were the air stewardesses quite up to the high standards set on the outward journey so we were faintly disgruntled by the time we arrived in Kathmandu. This wasn’t helped by the usual scrum of greedy taxi drivers waiting outside the terminal, refusing to take us into Thamel for a decent price and we were forced to walk down to the main road before we could find somebody more reasonable. We made a quick pitstop at The Great Wall to drop off most of our luggage and pick up a few essential items (i.e. wine) before heading out again.
An hour-and-a-half later, after a hot, sweaty taxi ride (including the hair-raising hairpins I’d been glad not to see on my first visit) we arrived in Nagarkot and I was able to show my brother his birthday present – a night at the Club Himalaya Resort. Sounds romantic, eh? ;-) As on the previous occasion we were treated to a 5-course dinner – this time accompanied by a bottle of champagne, which I’d mistakenly thought was (an excellent value!) $10 but in fact turned out to be (a still good value) $100. We didn’t stop in the dining room any longer than necessary – escaping, instead to our room to listen to some of the excellent new trance Don had brought over for me and drink our way through the wine we’d brought with us. As much fun as I’d had with Suriya and Michael on the trek, it had been these special moments with my brother that I’d been missing and it was good to be hanging out once more. When we were both well and truly hammered we decided it would be a great idea to call Sue back in England and we spent an hilarious few minutes garbling drunken banter at the poor, unsuspecting girl while she laughed at the state we were in. It was late by the time we finally passed out – lights on, fully clothed, cd spinning…
April 11, 2005
Reunited
Day dawned cool and bright and we were treated to the sight of Annapurna South and Himchiuli peering above twin wreaths of clouds. Maize porridge with fruit and a tomato omelette soon had me champing at the bit and we set off shortly before 8am. We trekked up through the village and after rounding a few valley we soon found ourselves in an almost jungle environment. The tallest trees of the trek so far with creepers adorning their branches presided over undergrowth of tall ferns in rich humus. As on the final stretch into Ghasa, there was a rich profusion of colours and tropical bird chatter and I found the cool shade provided by the leafy canopy a welcome relief from the growing heat of the day. I couldn’t help noticing that we seemed to be heading downhill but also going against the flow of the small stream at the bottom of the valley. This indicated that we’d soon have to make a steep climb out of a narrowing valley – a little at odds with the itinerary that Suriya had promised us. Sure enough, we were soon climbing almost vertically up the valley side and Michael and I both had a few questions for guide when we finally reached the top. What we had perceived as uphill at the start of the morning’s walk was, apparently (in Nepali terms, at least) ‘flat’. So this vertical wall we’d just toiled up was in fact ‘the short climb’ he’d promised us at the beginning. However, he did assure us that it was all definitely downhill from Deorali…and indeed it was.
When we happened upon a pair of antique 4-WD vehicles at the village of Dampush, I felt sufficiently starced of combustion engine-propelled vehicles to take a snap and after this undeniable sign of civilisation and potential thoroughfares, we knew we only had one final steep downhill section to arrive I Phedi. From there it would be a simple matter of getting a taxi or a bus back into Pokhara and, hopefully, back to a waiting Don.
We started to see a surprising number of other trekkers coming the other way – the first we’d really seen for a number of days – and from this we surmised that the strike must have been lifted. When we finally got to the bottom (after an impromptu burst of running when I heard that there was a bus waiting) we still found that we had to bargain hard with a wily old taxi driver to get a decent price for the ride into town…as far as he was concerned the strike was still on and he wanted to get his money’s worth if his taxi still stood a chance of being torched for strike-breaking.
Having completed our trek, I felt proud of my efforts. I’d managed to carry my 20kg pack all the way, we’d contributed to the local economy, left no sign of our passing and made several new friends along the way. More than this, I’d discovered new limits to my physical capabilities and was now confident of fulfilling my ambition to see Everest. By far the best thing about returning on time was finding Don, pretty-much recovered, waiting for us at the hotel. We’d still have plenty of time to have fun before his flight back to Blighty on the Thursday evening.
The three of us were able to take Suriya out for a slap-up meal and a few frames of pool – as well as the obligatory chilled Everest – to celebrate the completion of the trek. We gave him a healthy tip and I was also pleased to ask him if he’d guide me for my Everest Base Camp Trek. He’d been the ideal guide (apart from his use of the Nepali ‘hot’ and ‘flat’ ;-) ) for, as well as being familiar with localities, he’d had a knack for knowing when you felt like chatting or when you just had to soldier on. He was full of good humour with a ready smile and you’d be hard-pressed not to enjoy his company. I was looking forward to a couple of weeks in Solu Khumbu with him where we could really get a measure of our capabilities.
We went to bed extra late on account of celebrating and trying to catch up with Don and show him all the photos. It was past 10pm (woooooh!) when we shut the door and put the cable TV on…but the day still had one surprise left to us. We heard a faint knocking at the door and, to my surprise and delight, outside we found Smadar – my Israeli friend from Chiang Mai and (very briefly) Laos. We’d been trying to hook up over the last couple of weeks ever since she and Lior had arrived in Kathmandu, overland from Tibet and China. We kept missing each other and I’d assumed we’d missed again in Pokhara because her last e-mail had said she’d be going rafting as soon as the strike ended. She was, however, still in town and had come over at this late hour to make sure we could make some plans for when she returned to Kathmandu. We sat and chatted for 45 minutes after I introduced her to Don and we swapped travel tales and looked at some photos before it was time for her to head back across town. I told her to come and stay at The Great Wall when she got back from Pokhara and we agreed to hang out during the rest of our stays in the capital. It was great to meet up again with so many experiences and miles travelled since our last chance encounter and I looked forward to spending a bit more time with her in Kathmandu.
When we happened upon a pair of antique 4-WD vehicles at the village of Dampush, I felt sufficiently starced of combustion engine-propelled vehicles to take a snap and after this undeniable sign of civilisation and potential thoroughfares, we knew we only had one final steep downhill section to arrive I Phedi. From there it would be a simple matter of getting a taxi or a bus back into Pokhara and, hopefully, back to a waiting Don.
We started to see a surprising number of other trekkers coming the other way – the first we’d really seen for a number of days – and from this we surmised that the strike must have been lifted. When we finally got to the bottom (after an impromptu burst of running when I heard that there was a bus waiting) we still found that we had to bargain hard with a wily old taxi driver to get a decent price for the ride into town…as far as he was concerned the strike was still on and he wanted to get his money’s worth if his taxi still stood a chance of being torched for strike-breaking.
Having completed our trek, I felt proud of my efforts. I’d managed to carry my 20kg pack all the way, we’d contributed to the local economy, left no sign of our passing and made several new friends along the way. More than this, I’d discovered new limits to my physical capabilities and was now confident of fulfilling my ambition to see Everest. By far the best thing about returning on time was finding Don, pretty-much recovered, waiting for us at the hotel. We’d still have plenty of time to have fun before his flight back to Blighty on the Thursday evening.
The three of us were able to take Suriya out for a slap-up meal and a few frames of pool – as well as the obligatory chilled Everest – to celebrate the completion of the trek. We gave him a healthy tip and I was also pleased to ask him if he’d guide me for my Everest Base Camp Trek. He’d been the ideal guide (apart from his use of the Nepali ‘hot’ and ‘flat’ ;-) ) for, as well as being familiar with localities, he’d had a knack for knowing when you felt like chatting or when you just had to soldier on. He was full of good humour with a ready smile and you’d be hard-pressed not to enjoy his company. I was looking forward to a couple of weeks in Solu Khumbu with him where we could really get a measure of our capabilities.
We went to bed extra late on account of celebrating and trying to catch up with Don and show him all the photos. It was past 10pm (woooooh!) when we shut the door and put the cable TV on…but the day still had one surprise left to us. We heard a faint knocking at the door and, to my surprise and delight, outside we found Smadar – my Israeli friend from Chiang Mai and (very briefly) Laos. We’d been trying to hook up over the last couple of weeks ever since she and Lior had arrived in Kathmandu, overland from Tibet and China. We kept missing each other and I’d assumed we’d missed again in Pokhara because her last e-mail had said she’d be going rafting as soon as the strike ended. She was, however, still in town and had come over at this late hour to make sure we could make some plans for when she returned to Kathmandu. We sat and chatted for 45 minutes after I introduced her to Don and we swapped travel tales and looked at some photos before it was time for her to head back across town. I told her to come and stay at The Great Wall when she got back from Pokhara and we agreed to hang out during the rest of our stays in the capital. It was great to meet up again with so many experiences and miles travelled since our last chance encounter and I looked forward to spending a bit more time with her in Kathmandu.
April 10, 2005
Beer...
We were woken by the sound of some kind of small animal being tortured – or it might have been Sylvie’s early-morning singing ;-). Although it was well before 7am, after our early night, we were more than willing to turf ourselves out of bed and enjoy a leisurely breakfast with our new friends. The angle of the sun and a few annoying wisps of clouds prevented me (again) from getting a really decent shot of Machapucharre’s elegant fishtail, but acres of clear, blue sky and the sun’s burgeoning warmth on our sleep-chilled bones promised a fine, clear day ahead. Around the breakfast table this seemed much to all our liking and we were all in fine spirits as time came to wave the Dutch off. We took a few snaps, said our goodbyes and waved them off with promises to see them in Kathmandu and then finished our packing and left ten minutes later by a different trail.
Much of the first part of the journey passed through moss-draped cloud forest and the green carpet on every tree and untrodden turf seemed to insulate us from the outside world. Sound was deadened, light filtered and heat dissipated so that we were able to walk in comfort along the gently descending path. Soon, though, the path steepened and began to follow the downward path of several converging stream gullies. The footing was occasionally treacherous and the continual downward motion was beginning to take its toll on Michael’s knees. Fortunately, trees and blissful ignorance blinded us to the true length of the descent ahead and we continued to walk with a spring in our step, enjoying a fine, sunny day (which was by now, of course, causing me to leak with my usual abandon). Soon we arrived at Ghandruk, which at 1952m signified a drop in altitude of about 700m. From a vantage point on the side of the hill Suriya pointed out our destination of Tolka, which seemed to be about 100m below us…on the other side of a steep-sided, deep-bottomed valley. I asked Suriya where we were planning on taking lunch (unusual, I know) and his finger seemed to take on an almost vertical aspect as he said, ‘Down by the river.’ I looked down as far as I could (at least 300m) and when I still couldn’t see any signs of water below I realised that we were in for some serious descent…inevitably followed by some serious ascent…and suddenly noticed just how warm the day had become.
Wary of the sun’s increasing height, I set off down the side of the valley at a fair lick as I wanted to be under shade and out of its baleful glare before it reached its zenith. Being more susceptible to gravity than my nimbler companions, I soon left them far behind and within ½ hour found myself seated under an awning at an apparently deserted teahouse. Suriya soon arrived and managed to rouse a slightly sleepy looking chap who set about searching for his wife…unfortunately, to no avail. By this time Michael had arrived and we ordered our food warily, suspecting that this fellow might not be up to much in the kitchen. However, his wife didn’t return until a minute or two before our Dal Bhat came out and I have to say, it was the nicest I’d eaten since leaving Kathmandu. After eating, I kicked back for an hour both to let it digest and to allow the sun to lose a little more of its potency. Michael went off to check the swimming conditions in the beautiful, aquamarine river that snaked along the valley floor. The waters tumbled direct from the snowmelts of the Annapurna Sanctuary and certainly looked inviting but he returned not long after to report that the current was a little too strong for his liking and that he’d nearly been swept downriver, but for the timely help of the teahouse owner with a long stick.
Once he’d dried off and re-applied his sun cream we were able to set ourselves to the grim task of tackling the steep, unshaded hill that rose up from the other side of the valley. The path picked its way along the edge of rice paddies and then wheat fields but there wasn’t a tree in sight until we’d arrived at the first village, where we gratefully collapsed, dripping with exertion, in a roughly-built bamboo shelter. An hour-and-a-half of sweat and toil later, I arrived, out-of-breath at our final overnight stop, Tolka.
Here we found an awesome, powerful, solar-heated shower and we were then able to sit out on the deck surveying beautiful views over the valleys back to Annapurna South. We felt sufficiently celebratory to order our first beer of the trek and as the day cooled it seemed fitting to drink a couple more to refresh ourselves. An excellent meal (accompanied by yet more beer) was followed by a few rowdy hands of cards – but that was about as much of a party as we could manage after such a long hot day and, once again, we were in bed by 9pm. We wanted to finish early on our final day to make the most of our foreshortened stay in Pokhara and, of course, I was looking forward to seeing my brother again after 6 days.
Much of the first part of the journey passed through moss-draped cloud forest and the green carpet on every tree and untrodden turf seemed to insulate us from the outside world. Sound was deadened, light filtered and heat dissipated so that we were able to walk in comfort along the gently descending path. Soon, though, the path steepened and began to follow the downward path of several converging stream gullies. The footing was occasionally treacherous and the continual downward motion was beginning to take its toll on Michael’s knees. Fortunately, trees and blissful ignorance blinded us to the true length of the descent ahead and we continued to walk with a spring in our step, enjoying a fine, sunny day (which was by now, of course, causing me to leak with my usual abandon). Soon we arrived at Ghandruk, which at 1952m signified a drop in altitude of about 700m. From a vantage point on the side of the hill Suriya pointed out our destination of Tolka, which seemed to be about 100m below us…on the other side of a steep-sided, deep-bottomed valley. I asked Suriya where we were planning on taking lunch (unusual, I know) and his finger seemed to take on an almost vertical aspect as he said, ‘Down by the river.’ I looked down as far as I could (at least 300m) and when I still couldn’t see any signs of water below I realised that we were in for some serious descent…inevitably followed by some serious ascent…and suddenly noticed just how warm the day had become.
Wary of the sun’s increasing height, I set off down the side of the valley at a fair lick as I wanted to be under shade and out of its baleful glare before it reached its zenith. Being more susceptible to gravity than my nimbler companions, I soon left them far behind and within ½ hour found myself seated under an awning at an apparently deserted teahouse. Suriya soon arrived and managed to rouse a slightly sleepy looking chap who set about searching for his wife…unfortunately, to no avail. By this time Michael had arrived and we ordered our food warily, suspecting that this fellow might not be up to much in the kitchen. However, his wife didn’t return until a minute or two before our Dal Bhat came out and I have to say, it was the nicest I’d eaten since leaving Kathmandu. After eating, I kicked back for an hour both to let it digest and to allow the sun to lose a little more of its potency. Michael went off to check the swimming conditions in the beautiful, aquamarine river that snaked along the valley floor. The waters tumbled direct from the snowmelts of the Annapurna Sanctuary and certainly looked inviting but he returned not long after to report that the current was a little too strong for his liking and that he’d nearly been swept downriver, but for the timely help of the teahouse owner with a long stick.
Once he’d dried off and re-applied his sun cream we were able to set ourselves to the grim task of tackling the steep, unshaded hill that rose up from the other side of the valley. The path picked its way along the edge of rice paddies and then wheat fields but there wasn’t a tree in sight until we’d arrived at the first village, where we gratefully collapsed, dripping with exertion, in a roughly-built bamboo shelter. An hour-and-a-half of sweat and toil later, I arrived, out-of-breath at our final overnight stop, Tolka.
Here we found an awesome, powerful, solar-heated shower and we were then able to sit out on the deck surveying beautiful views over the valleys back to Annapurna South. We felt sufficiently celebratory to order our first beer of the trek and as the day cooled it seemed fitting to drink a couple more to refresh ourselves. An excellent meal (accompanied by yet more beer) was followed by a few rowdy hands of cards – but that was about as much of a party as we could manage after such a long hot day and, once again, we were in bed by 9pm. We wanted to finish early on our final day to make the most of our foreshortened stay in Pokhara and, of course, I was looking forward to seeing my brother again after 6 days.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)