OK, I was just waiting at Colombo airport with time to kill and thought how good it would be to have some Internet access to kill half an hour. I look to my left and and happen to notice an orange clad monk using a FREE internet terminal not 3 paces away. Come on Sri Lankaaaa! So here I am bloggging from my gate. I was zooming here in my tuk tuk earlier and had what I thought was a great idea. Having amassed a silly amount of rupee notes in a market trader's-size roll I decided to tie tie them up and "deliver" them as a love bomb to a deserving passerby. If you want to feel like a mafia don or king maybe leave them untied. Eye up likely candidates and launch the bomb at their unsuspecting feet for a surprise mini gift from your speeding tuk. This works best in open sided transport, but windows down is just fine too. I weigh up a few candidates and no-one looked right until I saw two female street sweepers. Perfect. Launch bomb. Look up. Notice we are 100 yards from airport security check involving men with big guns. Hmmmmm. If they saw that it looked strangely similar to an illicit drugs drop. Nice one Mel. Pull up. Smile like an idiot and blush. Perfect. Good cover. Feel glad the women got the tip. Seem to get away without question. Get into terminal and suddenly realise that what I lobbed was a beautiful amalgamation of Nepalese and Sri Lankan notes due to their similarity. Now the women may think its all a total joke. Oh well. The best laid plans eh?...Final check on my luggage to ensure no metal objects to woo Indian customs with. Check clear. Chick pea snacks I am carrying my endear me to them even more. Wriggle toes to check sand from the beach is still there. Scrinch nose to check slight sun toasted sensation. Nice. Now where's that flight to Heathrow.......
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Sunday, 29 May 2011
On the verge
I'm on the verge, I'm skimming the edge, I'm skirting the boundary, I am the cusp. This is my last full day in Kathmandu. It was sunny and then the heavens opened and the road disappeared. The monsoon is clearly on its way and I'm running ahead of it before I get struck by fork lightning.
I've grown to like this city despite the incessant tiger balm sellers, handicraft peddlers and Serengi players. I have eaten and walked my way around half of it, delighting in my new found locals cafe Ringmos which serves apple buckwheat pancakes to die for. Last night I even found hot spicy cyder just round the corner which in Nepal means, sour apple, brandy, sugar, lemon, hot water, cloves. Not a bad second in a land of mainly beer and cocktails. And now I'm off to eat yet again and while away my last afternoon. I may go to two temples for one last injection of culture with my Dutch friends and one last hurrah in Thamel tonight. Probably equally as random as last night sitting with some Siberians and a shisha pipe as everyone waited to watch Manu U and Barcelona kick off (at about midnight here - I bailed before it began). So off I splash and try to avoid being soaked by errant taxis and crazy rickshaws......
I've grown to like this city despite the incessant tiger balm sellers, handicraft peddlers and Serengi players. I have eaten and walked my way around half of it, delighting in my new found locals cafe Ringmos which serves apple buckwheat pancakes to die for. Last night I even found hot spicy cyder just round the corner which in Nepal means, sour apple, brandy, sugar, lemon, hot water, cloves. Not a bad second in a land of mainly beer and cocktails. And now I'm off to eat yet again and while away my last afternoon. I may go to two temples for one last injection of culture with my Dutch friends and one last hurrah in Thamel tonight. Probably equally as random as last night sitting with some Siberians and a shisha pipe as everyone waited to watch Manu U and Barcelona kick off (at about midnight here - I bailed before it began). So off I splash and try to avoid being soaked by errant taxis and crazy rickshaws......
Friday, 27 May 2011
Chuck eat Chuck Cafe
So after some discussion I decide its a good idea to exit Pokhara's laid back lake side delights earlier than planned. The alternative is to get stranded here as a few days of strikes are rumoured. Depending on the influence of those calling the strikes they can be vigorously or loosely enforced. Meaning no buses, no shops open, no-one passes Go! or collects 200 pounds. The upshot is I leap into a taxi at 6.30am with Doctor Canada (real name Tanner) and leave behind the hiking, yoga, good food and group dinners which have made up my last days in the hills.
In theory the 200km to Kathmandu is 6 hours away. On the road we listen to our tunes and watch the scenery unfold, baulking at the odd crumpled bus at the bottom of the valley which has lost the road. After not very long we are stuck in a traffic queue of buses backed right up. We wait, admiring the wild ganga field outside the bus. Eventually curiosity overcomes us and we get out to investigate. The river is in flood. The rain was heavy last night and again today, with copious lightning last night. The monsoon is coming early. As luck would have it there's an army barracks nearby so maybe they've sorted us a passage through. The queue edges forward. It appears we all just go for it, one vehicle from each direction. Vehicles cross one at a time. And then its our turn. Our bus heads out into the water and spectacularly breaks down exactly mid river blocking traffic crossing both ways. Upstream is a steady flow of water. Down stream is a huge twirl of razor wire spanning the whole river to prevent any unauthorised access to the military barracks. Ace.
The Nepalese, unlike the Sri Lankans, don't thrive on high drama. The bus guys roll up their jeans and get out and assess the situation. We lean out the windows and take photos and giggle. Some rock throwing under tyres and fruitless pushing later confirms we are wedged and going nowhere fast. Already there was a huge crowd all around the river. Guys on motorbikes dive headlong into the torrent staggering through with helpers as the water rises over their tanks. We scratch our heads. We all need to get out to reduce the weight or we sleep here. I'm told "ladies to the river bank!" but elect to join the guys and push instead. I wade around back wishing fervently that my legs were longer as the river pushes on my thighs. Get two hands on the coach and together we heave. Many more people watch than help, maybe they value their flip flops or maybe its just our bus, our business. However in a strange reversal of fortune for once its the Nepalese photgraphing the tourists as we push and holler. Its starting to rain again. We need to get out.
All around us people watch from the banks, some stand knee deep in the water. Motorbikes continue to hurl themselves across. Two local buses rev their engines hard and roar around us, lilting at a crazy angle. People shout and point and film the whole thing.
At full stretch in a bunch of guys at the back we holler and yell and shove the old banger. Eventually we start to win. The useless bus is shoved out of the river. I get stranded on the wrong side and have to ask a kind old Nepali guy to hold my hand to cross over the torrent. We pick our way across, England and Nepal joined like we are walking up the isle at a surreal wedding. The bus pushers walk up to a tea shack and we all celebrate our stranding with a beer. They get no tourists stopping here at all. As we sit in a line on the benches they take more photos of us. Chickens peck around us and, disconcertingly, eat bits of old chicken curry off plates left under the fire. By another reversal of fortune an appropriately named "Adventure Holidays" replacement bus turns up to retrieve us and we tumble onto it. A full twelve hours later we roll in to the big city with muddy feet and wait to see what the next few days will bring....
In theory the 200km to Kathmandu is 6 hours away. On the road we listen to our tunes and watch the scenery unfold, baulking at the odd crumpled bus at the bottom of the valley which has lost the road. After not very long we are stuck in a traffic queue of buses backed right up. We wait, admiring the wild ganga field outside the bus. Eventually curiosity overcomes us and we get out to investigate. The river is in flood. The rain was heavy last night and again today, with copious lightning last night. The monsoon is coming early. As luck would have it there's an army barracks nearby so maybe they've sorted us a passage through. The queue edges forward. It appears we all just go for it, one vehicle from each direction. Vehicles cross one at a time. And then its our turn. Our bus heads out into the water and spectacularly breaks down exactly mid river blocking traffic crossing both ways. Upstream is a steady flow of water. Down stream is a huge twirl of razor wire spanning the whole river to prevent any unauthorised access to the military barracks. Ace.
The Nepalese, unlike the Sri Lankans, don't thrive on high drama. The bus guys roll up their jeans and get out and assess the situation. We lean out the windows and take photos and giggle. Some rock throwing under tyres and fruitless pushing later confirms we are wedged and going nowhere fast. Already there was a huge crowd all around the river. Guys on motorbikes dive headlong into the torrent staggering through with helpers as the water rises over their tanks. We scratch our heads. We all need to get out to reduce the weight or we sleep here. I'm told "ladies to the river bank!" but elect to join the guys and push instead. I wade around back wishing fervently that my legs were longer as the river pushes on my thighs. Get two hands on the coach and together we heave. Many more people watch than help, maybe they value their flip flops or maybe its just our bus, our business. However in a strange reversal of fortune for once its the Nepalese photgraphing the tourists as we push and holler. Its starting to rain again. We need to get out.
All around us people watch from the banks, some stand knee deep in the water. Motorbikes continue to hurl themselves across. Two local buses rev their engines hard and roar around us, lilting at a crazy angle. People shout and point and film the whole thing.
At full stretch in a bunch of guys at the back we holler and yell and shove the old banger. Eventually we start to win. The useless bus is shoved out of the river. I get stranded on the wrong side and have to ask a kind old Nepali guy to hold my hand to cross over the torrent. We pick our way across, England and Nepal joined like we are walking up the isle at a surreal wedding. The bus pushers walk up to a tea shack and we all celebrate our stranding with a beer. They get no tourists stopping here at all. As we sit in a line on the benches they take more photos of us. Chickens peck around us and, disconcertingly, eat bits of old chicken curry off plates left under the fire. By another reversal of fortune an appropriately named "Adventure Holidays" replacement bus turns up to retrieve us and we tumble onto it. A full twelve hours later we roll in to the big city with muddy feet and wait to see what the next few days will bring....
Leaving Lakeside
After returning from the mountains and relishing a Pad Thai and other tasty treats I decided to be lazy for the final days of the trip. So some short hikes, shopping and drinking and eating good food have prevailed. I have spent time with the Dutchies and been out for group dinners with a bunch of us from Oz, Canada, US, Holland and Israel. A particular highlight was being talked into a party supported by an Isreaeli guy we met trekking. We arrived at 10.15pm totally out of sync, as most bars wind up at midnight as the absolute maximum. We experienced what could only be described as the village disco in a trance format. Someone's bed sheet was the back drop for the visuals (single I think) and light levels were sketchy. Some travellers were moving like they had been secretly diverted into some spiritualist church activities and others oscillated like they were trying to simulate the actions of an invertebrate that should be moving along the floor. Babs had not even had one beer and was wholly underwhelmed. Maurice and I had had one beer and it wasn't much better. We were "forced" t leave when it all finished at 11pm. On the way back we were enthusiastically asked to join Mr Israel and friends for a shake. I thought they meant an after party. No, they meant a milkshake. I suddenly felt very old......
Following some discussion two nights later at 10pm I am persuaded to leave Pokhara and its Lakeside delights at the crack of dawn due to two days of strike action, or bhandas. These have been frequent, at least 8 in the month I've been here. There has been a three year span where the lawmakers try to thrash out a constitution. The Maoists won a landslide victory three years ago. The Maoist leader spent 9 months trying to implement policies, apparently with resistance mainly from the US and India. He withdrew to consider his options for a bit and different political groups leapt in to try to hash it out together to include their political interests. So aside from different factions within the Maoists themselves, there are numerous other political groups involved with trying to write this common document in law. Its a task and a half. The army are supposedly very loyal to the deposed monarchy and are not keen to merge with Maoists or their supporters. So people strike and everything stops, shops close and transport grinds to a halt. Motorbike rallies happen and yesterday here in Kathmandu there was a huge fire lit rally......
Following some discussion two nights later at 10pm I am persuaded to leave Pokhara and its Lakeside delights at the crack of dawn due to two days of strike action, or bhandas. These have been frequent, at least 8 in the month I've been here. There has been a three year span where the lawmakers try to thrash out a constitution. The Maoists won a landslide victory three years ago. The Maoist leader spent 9 months trying to implement policies, apparently with resistance mainly from the US and India. He withdrew to consider his options for a bit and different political groups leapt in to try to hash it out together to include their political interests. So aside from different factions within the Maoists themselves, there are numerous other political groups involved with trying to write this common document in law. Its a task and a half. The army are supposedly very loyal to the deposed monarchy and are not keen to merge with Maoists or their supporters. So people strike and everything stops, shops close and transport grinds to a halt. Motorbike rallies happen and yesterday here in Kathmandu there was a huge fire lit rally......
Monday, 23 May 2011
Annapurna Sanctuary
I return to Pokhara feeling triumphant and start to prepare for the Big One; ten days trekking in the Annapurna Sanctuary. After getting some truly distressing pictures taken, I spend a king's ransom on an ACAP permit - YOU MAY TREK OUR MOUNTAINS - and a TIMS permit - WE WILL TRACK YOU ON THE WAY (thanks very much). I have already got iodine tablets, a waterfproof and North Face Knock Off breathable base layer and trekking trews. I have not invested in poles, crampons, 800 types of medicine, anti leech treatment, gaiters or any of the other one hundred items you could be lured in by. Shona in Thamel was straight up and honest, throwing trousers and tops at me "Yes good fit!" and kitting me out in under 5 minutes flat. I decide on the face of it to take a guide-cum-porter after much consideration. There are two camps - porters are cheating and porters are a huge help. I'm in camp two. Annapurna Base Camp trek has many steps and I don't want to roll down them in one. So I book the porter and it turns out Dil is coming with me. I have been warned in the guide books that guides crack on to single females but since this has already happened and "I know where he lives" I figure he's a safe bet. Plus I like him and his English is good. And I can recognise his tactics now before he gets started.
So, bag packed and body ready we set off in a taxi with a freind of his and a huge tray of eggs. The firend isn't doing the walk with us. However he will yake advantage of the free ride. He's nice. I don't mind.
And so this part of my story stumps me. I won't give you a thesis length essay on my nine days trekking to Annapurna Base Camp or you'll expire with boredom so I'll just try to tell you a little.
Surprising facts about the trail .....
- The guest houses are not all cold showers and hard beds as I'd been led to believe. I slept amazingly well and had some top hot bucket and hot tap washes.
-The leeches didn't go near me.
-The menus are fixed and all identical, due to an ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) committee decision. My favourite flavoursome dish they have created is veg, egg, tuna, cheese spring roll. Yummm-eee. The food was good quality.
- The trail was 50% Korean people, wearing face guards, floppy hats, sunglasses and gloves to protect from the sun. And always with poles and rain ponchos. Often in groups. Very often carrying packet noodles (to the annoyance of the restaurant owners).
- Two lads I met had walked to Macchapuchare Base Camp (1.5 hours walk from the Main Event at A nnapurna Base Camp) and then turned back as they were "short of time...?!!"
- You will see people carrying up to 100kg on their heads and backs. They will be 5ft tall. They will walk further than you in a day.
- Taking a guide is a great option if you get a good one, they find good places and good meals and rooms with double moutain views out of your front and back bedroom windows.
- Your first question to people is strangely like getting in the lift at work "Are you going up or down?"
Unsurprsing things about the trail.....
- It's super friendly and multinational
- The scenery is beautiful
- You may get altitude sickness
- If you are G free you'll eat the same meal of omlette for breakfast and dahl bhat otherwise for around 9 days....
- You get the odd weirdo
- But a lot more nice people
Other trail info.........
- I met a lovely Dutch couple who became my partners-in-trek
-You may well get blisters but a lovely Frenchman called Lauren may save your heels at the hot springs by giving you all his "Second Skin" packets. He was going down, and I was going up.
- A guy I nicknamed Doctor Canada gave me anti sickness meds, rehydration tablets and sympathy as I reeled with sickness at ABC. "You look terrible!" he exclaimed. "I'm here to make you lot look beautiful" I quipped as I fell out the door to the bathroom again
- If you are feeling sick perhaps avoid your guide's advice to take "Altitude Soup" which is solely made of garlic. Its meant to help. It doesn't help at all if you sprint to the squat toilet and projectile vomit within 5 minutes of finishing it due to aforementioned altitude sickness.
- Having your guide hold your head as this process is occuring is an ice breaker you can live without.
- The views from the top at ABC are incredible
- Mountains move. You can hear rock falls and avalanches. We are very small.
- I love mountain trekking and tucking myself up in a little lodge with a waterfall to soothe me to sleep and greenery wrapping me up all around.
For once I have no words to sum up the experience. I loved getting up every day and setting out after eggs and coffee, hopping down the trails, making jokes with Dil and gawping at the scenery. I loved the little lodges and the endless games of shithead. I even loved the constant dahl bhat. The altitude sickness at the top just reminded me how powerful these giants really are; and not everyone has the opportunity to walk down the snowy mountain at night by the light of a headtorch, while their guide holds two bags and their hand as they hallucinate periodically and sway like a drunk as the altitude decreases. Luckily the guest houses don't bat an eyelid as you reel in wildly from the darkness like its New Year's Eve.....
So, bag packed and body ready we set off in a taxi with a freind of his and a huge tray of eggs. The firend isn't doing the walk with us. However he will yake advantage of the free ride. He's nice. I don't mind.
And so this part of my story stumps me. I won't give you a thesis length essay on my nine days trekking to Annapurna Base Camp or you'll expire with boredom so I'll just try to tell you a little.
Surprising facts about the trail .....
- The guest houses are not all cold showers and hard beds as I'd been led to believe. I slept amazingly well and had some top hot bucket and hot tap washes.
-The leeches didn't go near me.
-The menus are fixed and all identical, due to an ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) committee decision. My favourite flavoursome dish they have created is veg, egg, tuna, cheese spring roll. Yummm-eee. The food was good quality.
- The trail was 50% Korean people, wearing face guards, floppy hats, sunglasses and gloves to protect from the sun. And always with poles and rain ponchos. Often in groups. Very often carrying packet noodles (to the annoyance of the restaurant owners).
- Two lads I met had walked to Macchapuchare Base Camp (1.5 hours walk from the Main Event at A nnapurna Base Camp) and then turned back as they were "short of time...?!!"
- You will see people carrying up to 100kg on their heads and backs. They will be 5ft tall. They will walk further than you in a day.
- Taking a guide is a great option if you get a good one, they find good places and good meals and rooms with double moutain views out of your front and back bedroom windows.
- Your first question to people is strangely like getting in the lift at work "Are you going up or down?"
Unsurprsing things about the trail.....
- It's super friendly and multinational
- The scenery is beautiful
- You may get altitude sickness
- If you are G free you'll eat the same meal of omlette for breakfast and dahl bhat otherwise for around 9 days....
- You get the odd weirdo
- But a lot more nice people
Other trail info.........
- I met a lovely Dutch couple who became my partners-in-trek
-You may well get blisters but a lovely Frenchman called Lauren may save your heels at the hot springs by giving you all his "Second Skin" packets. He was going down, and I was going up.
- A guy I nicknamed Doctor Canada gave me anti sickness meds, rehydration tablets and sympathy as I reeled with sickness at ABC. "You look terrible!" he exclaimed. "I'm here to make you lot look beautiful" I quipped as I fell out the door to the bathroom again
- If you are feeling sick perhaps avoid your guide's advice to take "Altitude Soup" which is solely made of garlic. Its meant to help. It doesn't help at all if you sprint to the squat toilet and projectile vomit within 5 minutes of finishing it due to aforementioned altitude sickness.
- Having your guide hold your head as this process is occuring is an ice breaker you can live without.
- The views from the top at ABC are incredible
- Mountains move. You can hear rock falls and avalanches. We are very small.
- I love mountain trekking and tucking myself up in a little lodge with a waterfall to soothe me to sleep and greenery wrapping me up all around.
For once I have no words to sum up the experience. I loved getting up every day and setting out after eggs and coffee, hopping down the trails, making jokes with Dil and gawping at the scenery. I loved the little lodges and the endless games of shithead. I even loved the constant dahl bhat. The altitude sickness at the top just reminded me how powerful these giants really are; and not everyone has the opportunity to walk down the snowy mountain at night by the light of a headtorch, while their guide holds two bags and their hand as they hallucinate periodically and sway like a drunk as the altitude decreases. Luckily the guest houses don't bat an eyelid as you reel in wildly from the darkness like its New Year's Eve.....
And further into the hills
You already know about load shedding of electricty so again, just to safely preserve these words of infinite wisdom, I have split my tale. I safely made it through the night at Ram's and after breakfast was presented with a Hindi-bhindi and a rose by the youngest daughter. I was very touched and also aware I would become a red zebra in the not too distant future as said bhindi migrated down my face in the heat of the walk. A few snaps later and we're off. Me and Dil are getting on well, which is great as I'm spending three days with him which is more than I've probably spent with most of you in the last year. He does however move on to asking if I like him as potential boyfriend material and the directness of the question throws me. I say something to avert the discussion, flap my hands around and smear the red bhindi undoubetdly more than it was making headway with on its own. I am truly useless with these kind of conversations as I am inexplicably overcome with a sudden enormous responsibility to not hurt someone's feelings. After a short silence we move the conversation on and sll seems OK. Our next stop is less cultural as we stay with Harke's family (other guesthouse manager) in their newly built pink palace. I do a double take. Its square and concrete and it is a point of some pride. I am the first guest to stay in it. The marshmallow is a surprising twist and I try to express my gratitude at being guest number one. Harke chose the colour himself which I manage to absorb without my facial expression changing. The family and food are lovely and equally friendly but it is odd to be sat on a mock leather sofa drinking tea in the blinding light of an LED torch (load shedding) whilst on my cultural tour. But this is development and this is real so I sup away and spritz myself thoughtfully with Deet, a regular passtime of mine.
Dil and I climb the hill out back at 4.30am. I have never walked so much at weird times of night since I used to go clubbing. We see a good sunrise and then begin the return trek to Pokhara. It's been eye opening, interesting, fun and I've loved the walking. And I'm not sick. Hallelujah......
Dil and I climb the hill out back at 4.30am. I have never walked so much at weird times of night since I used to go clubbing. We see a good sunrise and then begin the return trek to Pokhara. It's been eye opening, interesting, fun and I've loved the walking. And I'm not sick. Hallelujah......
Into the hills
Okay, so I've managed to steer myself away from the varied delights of the Lakeside restaurants in Pokhara and struck out into the wilderness. Well the surrounding coutryside at least. After spending all my Nepalese waking hours in a city shrouded in motorbikes and a town shrouded in pashmina shops I took decisive action. Which as any of you who know me at all will realise is big news under any circumstances. I booked myself onto a mini "cultural" trek of three daysrucksack and set off with my guide Dil who also helps out at my guesthouse. We trundled over the Seti (White) River and the water really is white. Or maybe sort of like the bath once you let it drain, but anyway...across some vegetable growing fields and then began climbing into the sort-of mountains. As a girl from the Mendip area these are mountains, to the locals they are mole hills. However the views are substantial and the green terraces started dropping away to the Tibetan refugee settlements in the valley below with some conviction. I breathe in. Finally. I've escaped.
Our first stop was with Ram's family (Dil's uncle who manages the guesthouse). We wound our way thorugh a bewildering pathway between the ox sheds, chicken runs, millet drying, haystacks and rice paddies which I later realised I was paying no attention to as I tried to take a short stroll and couldn't get more than 50 metres from my lodgings without ending up in a neighbour's goat shed. On arrival Dil set to work on a lunchtime dhal bhat in an oven on the floor fed with firewood and I smiled and facially gestured to grandma who didn't speak a word of English. Ram wasn't there till the evening and Ram's wife spoke no English either. The daughters spoke a little but generally the conversation was limited to smiles and they got on with the day-to-day around me. (Where are those "moments" bonding over a game of volleyball, laughing at eachother's hair styles or helping with some household chores that you see when celebs visit a developing nation?! Faked the lot of it!) Due to being the honoured, naturally, paying guest I cannot help with anything. It is also customary for Le Guest to eat first and alone. How embarassing. Then the family eat. So if the kids are hungry you are acutely aware that they have to wait with their eyes following you from behind the kitchen wall ("Hurry up English girl!") until you're done. But this is Nepalese hospitality and no arguing so I chow down and even take seconds, what the hell, I"m hungry and they are throwing extra food at me. All those famished days on boiled vegetables are catching up with me.
The view is spectacular and I spend alot of time on the porch drinking tea, exchanging the odd comment with grandmama about the dog or applauding her as she successfully swats a fly with her swisher. Occasionally she gets up to adjust or move something on the terrace then creakily lowers to her floor mat or lies to sleep on the rammed earth floor. A little different to the luxuries of home. My berth for the night is to be a loft above the animals where the two daughters Borsa (14) and Mala (13) normally sleep. I climb a corner ladder wedged right infront of the ox's head. I decide its best to greet him each time I pass like I'm welcoming a visiting dignitary. He's quite big and the room for manoeuvering past him up the ladder is quite small. I wallow through the hay and narrowly miss the chicken shit as I swing my gear into the loft. I have a tiny wooden balcony. And the Himalayas loom outside.
After a peaceful day and more dahl bhat Ram, my guesthouse owner and man of the house, escorts me up to my loft. "Bed is comfy here, Borsa sleep here...." He demonstrates with enthusiasm. (Borsa has helped with household chores, cooking, bufflao meat chopping and drying and is now attempting to finish her homework at gone 9.30pm by lamplight). "And Mel, if you need to go in the night.....You must go Borsa! Toilet!" (He demonstrates me shaking her shoulders vigourously). "No Ram I've lived with an outside bathroom, I'll be fine, " I try to reassure him. "NO MEL!" says Ram, his eyes wide and face very serious. "Leopard!!" From his position at the top of the loft ladder he stares at me intently. Tipping my chin and rolling my eyes slightly into my eyebrows I look into his eyes. "Raaaaaaam! You are joking with me," I laugh. "No Mel! Ate my neighbour's goats. Dangerous. Not outside on your own at night!" The idea of a grown woman of 34 waking a girl of 14 who's gone to school all day and worked all evening to provide an escort to the facilities is more than faintly ridiculous. I narrow my eyes and study his face. Ram is not prone to lies and from what I have experienced so far I don't think sarcasm or practical jokes feature high on the Nepalese radar. I think he's serious. "Okay Ram. No going outside alone", I concede. Clearly tonight I will not drink water, this girl has done enough without me Borsa-ing! her at 3 in the morning. Ram closes the loft hatch (I had wondered what the point of it was) and retreats. The chickens are put in their cages and the small goat herd of seven is herded up and locked in to a shed beneath our beds. One layer of floorboards separates us from the assortment of beasts. I tuck up feeling a bit guilty as Borsa works on. Throughout the night I hear the ox chomping rhythmically on his hay stack which is strangely comforting. (Insomniacs take note - installation of one calm ox below your bed could help you get up to seven hours extra sleep a night). I count myself lucky as apparently on the down side he's known to be a snorer of epic proportions. But not tonight. Periodically I hear the goat herd tottering and skittering in an unsettled way aound their wooden locked shed. I wonder if the leopard is specking out the rich tasty pickings below. As it would lay heavy on Rams' conscience not to mention being an insult to his skills as a host to find a mauled English woman lying on the front steps in the morning I stay where I am.
Our first stop was with Ram's family (Dil's uncle who manages the guesthouse). We wound our way thorugh a bewildering pathway between the ox sheds, chicken runs, millet drying, haystacks and rice paddies which I later realised I was paying no attention to as I tried to take a short stroll and couldn't get more than 50 metres from my lodgings without ending up in a neighbour's goat shed. On arrival Dil set to work on a lunchtime dhal bhat in an oven on the floor fed with firewood and I smiled and facially gestured to grandma who didn't speak a word of English. Ram wasn't there till the evening and Ram's wife spoke no English either. The daughters spoke a little but generally the conversation was limited to smiles and they got on with the day-to-day around me. (Where are those "moments" bonding over a game of volleyball, laughing at eachother's hair styles or helping with some household chores that you see when celebs visit a developing nation?! Faked the lot of it!) Due to being the honoured, naturally, paying guest I cannot help with anything. It is also customary for Le Guest to eat first and alone. How embarassing. Then the family eat. So if the kids are hungry you are acutely aware that they have to wait with their eyes following you from behind the kitchen wall ("Hurry up English girl!") until you're done. But this is Nepalese hospitality and no arguing so I chow down and even take seconds, what the hell, I"m hungry and they are throwing extra food at me. All those famished days on boiled vegetables are catching up with me.
The view is spectacular and I spend alot of time on the porch drinking tea, exchanging the odd comment with grandmama about the dog or applauding her as she successfully swats a fly with her swisher. Occasionally she gets up to adjust or move something on the terrace then creakily lowers to her floor mat or lies to sleep on the rammed earth floor. A little different to the luxuries of home. My berth for the night is to be a loft above the animals where the two daughters Borsa (14) and Mala (13) normally sleep. I climb a corner ladder wedged right infront of the ox's head. I decide its best to greet him each time I pass like I'm welcoming a visiting dignitary. He's quite big and the room for manoeuvering past him up the ladder is quite small. I wallow through the hay and narrowly miss the chicken shit as I swing my gear into the loft. I have a tiny wooden balcony. And the Himalayas loom outside.
After a peaceful day and more dahl bhat Ram, my guesthouse owner and man of the house, escorts me up to my loft. "Bed is comfy here, Borsa sleep here...." He demonstrates with enthusiasm. (Borsa has helped with household chores, cooking, bufflao meat chopping and drying and is now attempting to finish her homework at gone 9.30pm by lamplight). "And Mel, if you need to go in the night.....You must go Borsa! Toilet!" (He demonstrates me shaking her shoulders vigourously). "No Ram I've lived with an outside bathroom, I'll be fine, " I try to reassure him. "NO MEL!" says Ram, his eyes wide and face very serious. "Leopard!!" From his position at the top of the loft ladder he stares at me intently. Tipping my chin and rolling my eyes slightly into my eyebrows I look into his eyes. "Raaaaaaam! You are joking with me," I laugh. "No Mel! Ate my neighbour's goats. Dangerous. Not outside on your own at night!" The idea of a grown woman of 34 waking a girl of 14 who's gone to school all day and worked all evening to provide an escort to the facilities is more than faintly ridiculous. I narrow my eyes and study his face. Ram is not prone to lies and from what I have experienced so far I don't think sarcasm or practical jokes feature high on the Nepalese radar. I think he's serious. "Okay Ram. No going outside alone", I concede. Clearly tonight I will not drink water, this girl has done enough without me Borsa-ing! her at 3 in the morning. Ram closes the loft hatch (I had wondered what the point of it was) and retreats. The chickens are put in their cages and the small goat herd of seven is herded up and locked in to a shed beneath our beds. One layer of floorboards separates us from the assortment of beasts. I tuck up feeling a bit guilty as Borsa works on. Throughout the night I hear the ox chomping rhythmically on his hay stack which is strangely comforting. (Insomniacs take note - installation of one calm ox below your bed could help you get up to seven hours extra sleep a night). I count myself lucky as apparently on the down side he's known to be a snorer of epic proportions. But not tonight. Periodically I hear the goat herd tottering and skittering in an unsettled way aound their wooden locked shed. I wonder if the leopard is specking out the rich tasty pickings below. As it would lay heavy on Rams' conscience not to mention being an insult to his skills as a host to find a mauled English woman lying on the front steps in the morning I stay where I am.
Friday, 6 May 2011
Beaver Fever
And so the days roll by, as I stick to my rigourous diet and become slightly addicted to iced tea. This is on the permitted list. I scrambled up a hilldside yesterday, just to reach a small hotel where you can pay to swim and splashed about in their tiny pool for a while. Surrounded by dark pink flowers, small tattered prayer flags and the Himalayas in the background it was impossible to feel hard done by. I spotted a chameleon sunning himself atop a fence post with his quiff slightly red and a jaunty look in his eye. He looked like an animal gangster. I pointed him out like David Attenborough to some other tourists who took lots of photos. Eventually he got fed up and shot off. He quickly reappeared by my sun lounger with a bright orange head. Hmmm. Methinks I maybe angered the beast. He skulked off into the undergrowth.
Animals are certainly always at hand. Often its a water buffalo chewing the cud slap bang in the middle of the pavement. Sometimes its an ordinary cow blocking the whole road and forcing everyone to manoeuver around it. Last night I spotted "reggae bat" who kept repeatedly circling in and out of the reggae music shop with his mate. Something about the bass lines must have appealed to his batty-sensitive-sonar. The music in my restaurant certainly didn't. It comprised of a driving fast drumming accompanied by a frenzied staccatto flute that sounded like the flute was trying to escape and the musician was chasing it and blowing notes down it against its will. Cue some serious Tibetan style chanting, with men saying either "party on' "hurry on" or "pay my mum" but most likely something in their own language. Then cut the lot, lulling you into a false sense of security that the track has actually finished, for around 6 seconds, then bring in some high toned full on cymbal action, roll a vigourous scale on a casio keyboard, crash all instruments together and begin again. "Party on" "Pay my mum".......Fusion doesn't even come close. I should've asked for the band's name; they would go down a storm at WOMAD. And if my friend Neil were here he could've danced to them in a mysterious way, which he's known to be good at.
Oh and just because you need to know that little but more about my gorgeous friend giardia, it was named after a French bloke called Giard who discovered the evil monkeys, (merci monsieur), it hangs around for up to four weeks which, at least, is less than most squatters and it is also known as Beaver Fever.Apparently the furry ones were good at passing it about all over North America. (ref point. Mrs Hilary West).
Animals are certainly always at hand. Often its a water buffalo chewing the cud slap bang in the middle of the pavement. Sometimes its an ordinary cow blocking the whole road and forcing everyone to manoeuver around it. Last night I spotted "reggae bat" who kept repeatedly circling in and out of the reggae music shop with his mate. Something about the bass lines must have appealed to his batty-sensitive-sonar. The music in my restaurant certainly didn't. It comprised of a driving fast drumming accompanied by a frenzied staccatto flute that sounded like the flute was trying to escape and the musician was chasing it and blowing notes down it against its will. Cue some serious Tibetan style chanting, with men saying either "party on' "hurry on" or "pay my mum" but most likely something in their own language. Then cut the lot, lulling you into a false sense of security that the track has actually finished, for around 6 seconds, then bring in some high toned full on cymbal action, roll a vigourous scale on a casio keyboard, crash all instruments together and begin again. "Party on" "Pay my mum".......Fusion doesn't even come close. I should've asked for the band's name; they would go down a storm at WOMAD. And if my friend Neil were here he could've danced to them in a mysterious way, which he's known to be good at.
Oh and just because you need to know that little but more about my gorgeous friend giardia, it was named after a French bloke called Giard who discovered the evil monkeys, (merci monsieur), it hangs around for up to four weeks which, at least, is less than most squatters and it is also known as Beaver Fever.Apparently the furry ones were good at passing it about all over North America. (ref point. Mrs Hilary West).
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Matrix Reloaded
So I've made it to Pokhara on a warm bus with a load of exuberant Israelis, off to do some white water rafting. I had no idea adventure sports were such big business here. I'd like to say I have also thrown myself onto a white knuckle adventure ride in a violently bucking river raft. Instead I have thrown myself wildly again at the nearest bathroom and offered my prayers to the porcelain god. At least this time the bathroom is my own and due to a different sort of electricity load shedding I can generally take a shower without a candle and the water is mainly hot. I washed behind my ears the other day and clearly cold water is not sufficient to cope with the rigours of Kathmandu smog. And so my hope to arrive at a new guest house without discussing my pathetic health was shattered when yesterday I was escorted to the divine "Celestial Health Clinic" where Dr Gupta helpfully listened and informed me I have giardia and the previous course of medicine was as ineffectual as a chocolate fire guard. So I now take the orange pill (Neo) and the green pill (Neo) as well as the probiotic help-me-im-struggling-here-said-my-stomach white pill. Whilst leaning over a dish of rice in desperation last night I got chatting to a friendly chap from England who lives in a van and loves to work the festival circuit. A bit of reminiscing about the Lizard 1999 Eclipse festival and how much we want to see some Sottish or Welsh mountains (with the Himalayas sat right behind us) and I felt strong enough to bosh another tablet. "Giardia?!!" trilled a girl at the next table, like she'd won the bingo, "I had that!" and she kindly skipped off to get homeopathic pills to ease the stomach. I have accepted anonymous herbal tablets from 3 separate travellers so far but all have helped. There is no sense of stranger danger here. Any help is appreciated. It seems you haven't been to Asia if you haven't picked up a nasty. Only 12 % of people get giardia here so I should count myself as a chosen one. No bog standard diarrhoea for me. No sireee Bob; I want the one that often comes from animals shitting near water.......Its particularly nice when the lovely Nepali guys at my hostel ask how I am. "Even in the night madam, any problem please tell us!" They have really been concerned. It certainly removes inhibitions; "How many times toilet today madam?"........."aaaahh good...."
Pokhara is situated on a lake and is much more tranquil than the rigours of Kathmandu. It is quite bohemian, with lots of little shops and cafes and of course is a base for everyone to get up into them there hills. I'm looking forward to hiring a bike so I can pedal around a bit of the scenery as I haven't ridden one in weeks. There are also a couple of hotels where you can use their pool for a dip, so maybe tomorrow, if my stomach ceases to make loud proclamations of its predicament at random times I can go splashing around. The lake is unfortunately not clean enough to jump in. After the sitting and reading extended soujourn I could do about 70 lengths. Pokhara is a sociable joint which is just what I need and I've met two great south African girls, now somewhere high in the hills (I nearly joined them, lucky I didn't, Dr Gupta would not have approved) and a nice Aussie couple. All four encouraged me to white water raft so I'm going to do that when I get strong again. My guest house is super friendly and the Nepali guys all have a soft spot for the cat, one is teaching it to do tricks. So I'm going "up town" now to the north side of the lake to see waht goes on with my trusty umbrella. Its warm and sunny with crazy rain showers. Yesterday hailstones pelted down the size of Minstrels. Here's to plenty of white rice and apples. I know how to live like a king.......
Pokhara is situated on a lake and is much more tranquil than the rigours of Kathmandu. It is quite bohemian, with lots of little shops and cafes and of course is a base for everyone to get up into them there hills. I'm looking forward to hiring a bike so I can pedal around a bit of the scenery as I haven't ridden one in weeks. There are also a couple of hotels where you can use their pool for a dip, so maybe tomorrow, if my stomach ceases to make loud proclamations of its predicament at random times I can go splashing around. The lake is unfortunately not clean enough to jump in. After the sitting and reading extended soujourn I could do about 70 lengths. Pokhara is a sociable joint which is just what I need and I've met two great south African girls, now somewhere high in the hills (I nearly joined them, lucky I didn't, Dr Gupta would not have approved) and a nice Aussie couple. All four encouraged me to white water raft so I'm going to do that when I get strong again. My guest house is super friendly and the Nepali guys all have a soft spot for the cat, one is teaching it to do tricks. So I'm going "up town" now to the north side of the lake to see waht goes on with my trusty umbrella. Its warm and sunny with crazy rain showers. Yesterday hailstones pelted down the size of Minstrels. Here's to plenty of white rice and apples. I know how to live like a king.......
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