Lumbini

'"It's awful," people told me. 'Hopelessly 'kitsch', like a theme-park."
They obviously didn't know the 'real' me, hopelessly addicted to tack. I set off two days later. My destination? Buddha's birthplace.
I didn't realise until I came to Nepal that Buddha was actually born here, at Lumbini. Legend tells how his mother, hugely pregnant and on a long journey, stopped to bathe in an atractive pool surrounded by trees. She felt birth pangs, grasped the low branch of a nearby tree for support and Siddharta (the future Buddha) popped out. He walked 7 paces and spoke immediately afterwards.
Archaeologists have identified the place and Lumbini has become a World Heritage Site. It has remains of ancient monasteries and a pillar erected by Ashoka, a prominent Indian Buddhist, many centuries ago. Both have been restored.
The actual site of the birth is now surrounded by a peaceful garden. The pond is still there, but now with concrete walls and there is a huge and very ancient tree, surrounded by offerings and inhabited by fat squirrels which nibble at them. All very serene. A large area around it has been dedicated as a commemorative park, with modern monasteries built by most of the world's Buddhist countries.
The guidebook warned that the site was very spread-out, so I hired Melinda, a 'sit-up-and-beg' cycle, complete with basket, and pedalled around with a slow-moving grandeur (I hoped). I had a brilliant time and ended up feeling more like a film star (Audrey Hepburn?) than a humble tourist.
The reason? School-party invasions. Literally hundreds of students aged from 7 - 17 were being shepherded around by anxious teachers. Shepherded? The kids raced around the monasteries with spontaneous outpourings of joy at their release. Finer points about differing styles of Tibetan, Sri Lankan or Indian Buddhism were sadly lost on children who raced up staircases, leapt around pathways and chattered and pointed at everything.
And at me! I posed for countless photos, answered the inevitable question countless times: "How are you?" (Correct answer, spoken very carefully and with no expression at all, 'I am fine, how are you?" which reduced several children into giggles. I was followed around by children who for some reason wanted me to write my name on the back of their hand, or on a scrap of paper. At one monastery, the hapless teachers had managed to organise their restless children into 6 lines; one of them waved at me. I waved back and every single student then waved and shouted hello. Oh, the joys of teaching.
And of course, there were the monasteries. Each government obviously saw Lumbini as the ideal place to show off and impress everyone with their moral superiority. Bigger, brighter, better Buddhism rules. Not quite what Buddha had in mind, I'm sure, but such fun. One one side of a track is a Chinese contribution - it seems straight out of the Forbidden City, with golden, pointy roofs and a VERY impressive entrance. Not to be outdone, the Korean effort, directly opposite, is higher, longer and generally bigger in every way. It is not yet finished, still grey concrete, so it looks as if it is glowering at the frivolity of those Chinese over the road.
My personal favourites? i) the statue of Buddha as a child, taking his 7 steps. He stands just inside the entrance of the Chinese monastery, one finger of his right hand pointing skywards, the other one pointing to the ground. He looks about to break into a version of 'Saturday Night Fever'. And b) the flickering, glittering halo on the Indian Buddha, which exists in multi-coloured hakogen-lit glory. Truly impressive.
Every monastery was totally different and governments had spent a small fortune on them. The Thai one was a white icing-cake confection. Sri Lanka had a whirlwind of circles and golden roofs. The Lotus temple had a series of concrete, brightly painted figures in its garden which showed different stories about Buddha. All quite wonderful.
And on the next day thousands of Buddhist monks arrived. They stayed in tented camps and ate in brightly-painted tents, admiring open-air stalls with plastic souveniers, statues of Buddha and huge helium balloons.
"Why?" I asked the hotel proprietor.
"It's a special puja festival to bless lamas. It happens every year."
"Do they come from all over Nepal?"
"They come from all over the world. It lasts for 10 days."
I hope they all have as much fun as the schoolkids. I'm sure they will.

(Photos will follow...)

Upper Mustang

Muktinath, at the foot of the Thorung La pass - slightly 'Wild West' image and cold enough to turn water into icicles in the shrine.

Upper Mustang: Kagbeni - a strange name for paradise. It was an easy day after the horrors of the Thorung La Pass. We visited the famous srhine of Muktinath, where an eternal flame burns. It was icy cold and, although I knelt down in front of the flame, it was too small to help with my personal central heating.

We had almost strolled - downhill - for about 3 hours to reach the town, our 'jumping off' point for the delights of the Forbidden Kingdom, Upper Mustang. We munched small, delicious apples and admired walled villages, beautiful horses and the vibrant oranges, yellows and reds of autumn. And at twelve, on the dot, the wind started. We had been warned about the wind, a fierce, dust-whirling frenzy that turned eyes red and pushed against us. It would make walking hard in Upper Mustang and even here it turned our stroll into a fight.
But that was now outside. I was in the Asia Hotel. My room was clean, comfortable - AND IT HAD ITS OWN BATHROOM. For two weeks I had suffered pain and agony when my stomach had rebelled, always with the horrible fear that I would have to wait in buttock-clenching torment outside the loo because one of the 20 other people sharing it had a similar problem. But now, for one glorious day and night, I could use the loo as and when I wanted.
I lay in bed, resting in the afternoon sunlight, listening to the buffetting, gusting wind outside. Should I walk around Kagbeni? Maybe, maybe not. Not. I lay, sacrificing myself to indolence, not even reading - and feeling smug. I had done it, conquered the Pass. The trek into Upper Mustang would be a piece of cake - it didn't even go above 4,000 metres, for heaven's sake...
It was exciting the next morning to walk through Kagbeni, turning north when others went south. We had a short brush with officialdom, who scrutinised my papers and looked forbidding - then we were off.
"Hey, what's happening?" I asked Ram as we scrambled up a dusty, rocky slope. Beneath us, the river-bed stretcherd out, wide, inviting - and FLAT. A few streamlets meandered across it. they would turn into raging torrents in the wet season but it hadn't rained for months.
"We cannot use the riverbed," Ram said. "There are places where we would be swept away if we tried to cross. We have instead to go up."He gestured. I groaned. We spent the next 6 hours walking up - then down - up, then down. In places the pathway was wide enough to be used by a 4wd. At other times the path became stony and difficult. In one place, it narrowed so fast that I was sudeenly quite terrified; parts had dropped away and I was uncomfortably aware of stones falling around me. I tiptoed through, holding my breath and clutching tufts of grass. But the scenery was magnificent - the adjective keeps appearing in my diary. Wind-eroded, colossal mountains, stretching away into the distance,sometimes with small caves, always arid and - well, magnificent. Luckily, the precarious section didn't last long. We arrived in Chele after about 6 hours of strenuous walking and a final long plod up from the river. My first night in The Forbidden Kingdom.






Early views of Upper Mustang. Strange, the way that prayer flags fly sideways...

A small 'chorten' - a place to stop, picnic and pray. Note the heavy stones, used to weigh the roof down in fierce afternoon winds.

And so the days continued. It took 5 days to reach Lo Mantang, the ancient walled capital of the area. As on Annapurna, each day began early, with a quick breakfast, then off.

The days were longer here, though - and the climbing just as steep, largely because there were few bridges; we had to go down to stream level, then plod upwards again to get anywhere. One day we did this five times. Ironically, it was my favourite day becasue the scenery was so beautiful. We didn't have the mind-bogglingly beautiful snow-capped visions of Annaoruna - instead those beautiful, now far-away, mountains provided the scenic backdrop, a white icing-sugar confection to offset the austere beauty of the colossal, wind-eroded, arid mountains of Mustang.We met people, large family groups carrying cloth-wrapped bundles, the lucky ones on small ponies. They were leaving Upper Mustang for the winter, going to Pokhara or even Kathmandu to enjoy the relative 'warmth' further south. Most families were happy groups, their children running ahead with the enthusiasm of young people for an adventure, any adventure. One small boy, though, aged only about 4, ran down a slope on his own, crying bitterly. I grabbed hun and cuddled him; he was carrying all the woes of the world on his tiny shoulders. He was so upset that he didn't even realise that a 'farang' was holding him. He eventually pulled away, sobbing, and carried on with his lonely walk. Ram was also upset - he asked other members of the group - his father was a drunkard and his mother was dead. Poor child. I have often wished him well since then.

The hostels where we stayed were Tibetan. They were decorated with bright motifs with the ground floor reserved for animals. THERE WAS NO HEATING. The cold was becoming intense as we went north; each night was noticeably colder and we depended more and more on the sun for warmth as, without it, the air was biting and cold. Each evening we huddled around the dung-burning stove in the mud-floored kitchen; this was often the only source of warmth and we sat with down coats and scarves on, wrapping cold hands around mugs of hot chai (tea). It looked very romatic as we sat in Tibetan kitchens, firelight reflecting off metal pots and pans, listening to conversations we couldn't understand and watching the shadows highlight faces and gestures of people chatting and laughing. People were friendly and we learnt some basic expressions - but it was best to just sit and listen, aware that things had happened this way for generations and we were privileged to watch and be accepted.

The best and worst day of my life

'Thorung La' - not everyone speaks these words with hushed awe. Most would say: 'What's that - a new type of pantie?' It is the highest mountain pass in the entire world, 5,415 metres above sea level, and it has to be climbed as part of the Annapurna Circuit (unless you turn around and go back the way you came, which became a very tempting option, believe me.)

We were 10 days into the trek. The air was thin and I had become skilled at the 'pause and pant' routine. I was of course, just stopping to admire the grand, humblingly beautiful snowy peaks and take photos. Each photo reminds me, not just of the most awe-inspiring experience of my entire life, but the pain, effort and endurance that went into it all.

3 days before the dreaded Thorung La, I had ordered a local juice. It had been diluted with unfiltered water. I was up in the night. Again - and again, and again. Breakfast - no chance. Even water (now suitably pure) had the same dire effect. But I had to walk and felt better by mid-day.

Day 2: Better.

Day 3: Worse again. As well as altitude, freezing cold and the steepest slopes ever invented, I felt weak as I had eaten little. Day 3 also involved the final drag up to High Peak, the place where we stayed overnight before the Pass. It was VERY cold; we were above the snowline and needed down jackets, woolly hats and gloves even in the sun. The air was as thin as it would get; I just kept heaving air into my lungs, stopping every 5-6 paces and looking depairingly at the path which got narrower and steeper as it wound out of sight. I struggled past the helicopter landing space, for emergency evacuation of people with advanced altitude sickness, who had made the mistake of trying to struggle on.

My torture continued for nearly two hours. I looked longingly downwards and behind me. Should I simply turn around and go back? But I couldn't. If I returned I would forfeit the chance to visit Upper Mustang, the enticingly isolated Forbiden Kingdomm which lurked just one day's walk away - on the other side of the pass. Ram, my guide, encouraged me. 'Just half an hour, that's all."

90 minutes later we finally rounded that elusive bend and arrived at a ramshackle collection of huts and tents in a small, snow-covered dip. TENTS! People were CAMPING up here! A slow-moving column of ploddeers trickled in after us, so I was lucky to have a room to sleep in. But it was SO cold. And there was NO HEATING. None at all - not anywhere. We huddled in the restaurant, wearing hats, gloves, scarves, coats, ordering tea so that we could wrap fingers around the cups. A few brave souls walked further up the mountain, practising for tomorrow. Not me. Some optimists had even made a snowman, though it could have been built 50 years ago as it would never thaw or melt. It could even have been built inside the restaurant...

As the sun went down it got even colder. Feet felt frozen, even with the thickest socks and boots on. 5pm: 5.15: 5.30: 6.00 - we counted down the minutes until we could decently go to bed and huddle into our sleeping bags. Phew - 6.30: we spent huge amounts of money for hot water bottles and set off for the huts. Easier than it sounded; we had to negotiate a perilously narrow and unlit path. And the loo was a 'long drop' - just don't lose your balance...

Boots off, we got staight into sleeping bags, clutching our salvation, the hot water bottles. I was frozen, with icy feet and huge worries about the next day. We had to start by 5.30, an hour before sunrise, to avoid the strong, bitterly cold winds that knifed across the pass from mid-morning. I was weak after 3 days of eating very little. And what about altitude sickness? Several people had returned down the hill, either in defeat, or to rest for a day as they had severe headaches / breathlessness diarrhoea. but... wasn't that me? I had all of those symptoms. I thought of bloodcurdling descriptions of altitude sickess in travel guides: frothing lungs, brain-clots, etc. Death seemed like the easy way out.

Then I belched - a foul-smelling eggy-flavoured eruption. Stangely enough, I rejoiced, smiling in the darkness. My diarrhoea had nothing to do with altitude sickeness - it was gardia. OK, gardia isn't exactly fun - it's an gut infection and for several days life is full of flatulence and even your best friends find other things to do when you're around - but IT WASN'T ALTITUDE SICKNESS! I could coninue the torture (sorry - climb).

That night I perfected the art of using a long-drop toilet in freezing cold with a heatorch - several times. I also rumbled, belched and farted through the night but my room-mate, bless her, was using earplugs. She must also have had nostrils of steel.

4.40am: time to leave warm sleeping bag. Dressing in the spine-freezing cold was easy enough - we simply pulled on boots, gloves and jackets as we were fully dressed. It was totally dark outside, though we could see a long worm of head-torchlights stretching back down the mountain and hear soft voices of people as they trekked past. I was scared. I felt weak after eating very little for days; I had a headache and was very tired. My guts were rumbling steadily and I felt very very cold. Everyone was quiet, probably focussing on reaching the Pass and probably facing their own demons.

There was a lot of climbing still to do. Luckily I couldn't see the steepness of the narrow, snowy pathway, but I felt it soon enough and just simply had to keep going in the freezing darkness. On - and on - stopping time after time to simply gasp for air. It was bitterly cold. Stars and moon shone metallic and bright. shimmering and cold. Despite the effort of climbing, my feet and toes turned numb within minutes. Ram took my bag and rubbed my hands every time I stopped (which was often) but I just felt desperately cold and already exhausted. I shivered endlessly, although I was panting for breath. The scene was beautiful though; a trickle of headtorches shone briefly on rocks and snow and the peaks stood black against the sky - then grey - then the sky took on a pinksih tinge. The sun was rising. Ponies jingled past and boots crunched on the snow.

We reached the tea-hut. Nurbu had been there for about twenty minutes and gave me tea. I just cradled it in my hands, trying to warm some feeling into them.

"How much further?" I asked Ram.

"Not far now," he encouraged. You'll make it."I wanted specifics and suspected he was being deliberately vague.

"How far? How long?"

"We are now nearly half-way there."

Not even half-way! Horrors. I was exhausted, my hands and feet were numb, I was shivering. And, worse, because I was going so slowly, Ram and Nurbu didn't have a chance to warm up. "No problem," Ram persisted. "Just take it slowly, stop when you have to and we will soon be there."

Then I had a better idea. The jingling bells of the ponies weren't there to signal Christmas. A seductive notice read 'Ponie can be rented for Pass'.

"Ram, find me a horse!"

"But you can make it through walking..."

"I have 2,000 rupees - see what you can do!"

- Miracle-man found me a pony for just that amount of money -what an investment. What better way to spend my children's inheritance? And at the very moment I mounted the pony, the sun rose from beind the mountain and life becaem GOOD! My noble steed made mincemeat of those slopes that had terrified me; I waved at people who had passed me without feeling a moment's guilt. All I had to do was hold on.

We arrived about 20 minutes later - at Party Place! People cheered when they arrived, even danced a little, posing for photos, even with complete strangers. Tibetan prayer flags fluttered around a large plaque which congratulated everyone. Snowy peaks stood out against a deep blue sky = what a cliche - but it was incredibly beautiful and, I'd used a pony, I had made it! We drank tea (champagne might have been excessive) took photos, congratulated ourselves and everyone else, then set off down th other side.

This was tricky though not exhausting; five hours of steep downhill walking. And the first hour was through the snowfield, a treacherous mixture of packed ice and slippery gravel. I was so glad of my walking stick - even Nurbu, master of the downward slope, trod slowly and fell twice, although he picked his way with unusual care. I heard later of a German women who had slipped and broken her leg that day; she had to be stretchered down the slope which must have been a unique form of agony.

We reached Muktinath - a mere 3,760m above sea-level; we found rooms and I showered then crawled into my sleeping-bag and lay, not sleeping or moving, for about 2 hours. I had achieved the impossible - I had survived the Thorulng La - but it had genuinely been the most difficult physical challenge of my entire life.

Spirituality and smelly socks

Before I went on my 'long strange trip' to the Himalayas, I thought that deeply spiritual, life-changing thoughts would descend on me like snowflakes from the heavens. Surrounded by snow-capped peaks, serene and untroubled, I would have challenging thoughts and revelations even as I ate my morning cornflakes for breakfast. Was I a latent Buddhist, perhaps? Or a born-again vegetarian, about to discover my true self by meditating in an ice-bound cave.

There were no revelations - and the cornflakes were a bit sparse, too. Nothing. So, what DID I think about?

1. Survival ruled. Ie, getting up or down the next impossibly steep slope without disaster. My legs were getting strronger daily - breathing was the problem. And as the air thinned down I had to stop more and more often, just to get air in my lungs. It was dispiriting to see the next impossibly steep incline and know that I would have to plod, gasp, plod, gasp, plod, gasp, stop. Several times as we came to yet another steep incline I just looked upwards and said words to myself that would have deeply shocked Ram and Nurbu.

But going down wasn't much better. Although easier on the lungs, slippering and slithering on uneasy, desperately steep downhills was downright frightening at times, not helped by the nonchalance with which Ram - and Nurbu with my heavy backpack - sometimes almost danced down them. So I had to concentrate. I had no brainpower left for a good ponder about the meaning of life.

So what did I do with what was left of my brain? I stated to learn Nepali: I chanted numbers 'ek, doi, tin, char, panch', timing them with my footsteps as I went slower and slower up the hills. Two tunes jumped into my mind and I used them as some sort of mantra: 'Another one bites the Dust' (what a rhythm for determined plodding - and the words are pretty good, too) and 'Adiemus' when the views were glorious.

2. Life became very simple. I often looked at Norbu, moving like a top-heavy tortoise with my backpack. He carried his own in front - nothing more than a daypack, yet it held everything he'd need for 25 days. Ram carried the same. So - did I really need all the stuff in my medical kit - well, yes - something might go wrong. Did I need spare shampoo AND soap? (Well, maybe - perhaps I'd run out of one of them). Two cameras? (One might break). The list went on. I coud have managed with half the stuff. On the Annapurna Circuit, literally everything has to be carried to the villages - on ponies or people. What did I really need? I could have managed without most 'essentials' but I couldn't have managed without Ram's encouragement and Nurbu's quiet humour.

3. People matter. On our second day we had to cross a colossal, crumbly and chronically unstable landslide. Nurbu, (burdened with my rucsac) pushed me up the last part of a steep and crumbling slope. Not daring to look down, aware of stones and rocks falling around me, I swung across a gap, hanging onto tree roots, and Ram pulled me up. Teamwork! And when we'd reached the other side (3-4 shaky minutes later) Nurbu took off my rucsac and went back across, helping a mother with a young hild who, incidentally, was making the crossing in flipflops.

4. Sleep matters. Each night I was in bed by 7.30 and woke just before 6am. One day I 'rested' in the afternoon, waking up 2 hours later, went to bed at 7 and slept dreamlessly until the usual time. I tried to be awake then as toilets (squatty, of course) were shared with at least 10 other people and so I 'went' before the morning rush. It was also a lot cleaner; using a 'squat' toilet demands a range of skills that I would prefer to leave vague.

5. Boots. Walking started out hot and got hotter; I removed layers until decency prevailed. But I could not remove my boots. I wore my tried and trusted well-worn-in boots and they never gave a moment's trouble. Thank you, Berghaus. But I met several limping people who had bought NEW BOOTS just before setting off amd had been plagued with blisters. Moral - never buy new boots before doing anything major - use the tried and trusted even if theylook horribly worn and old. Is that a moral for life? And socks. I had bought quality walking socks and they did me proud. But as I walked my feet became hotter asnd hotter,and socks felt more and more damp until they seemed like solid masses of sweat. Which they were. And they ponged. But then, so did everyone's, so perhaps that's another lesson for life.

So, all my hopes of having magnificently spiritual thoughts and discovering the meaning of life were reduced to:

1) We don't need as much as we think we do.

2) People are far more important than possessions.

3) 'Another One Bites the Dust' can get you up mountains.

and, finally,

4) Sweaty feet and smelly socks are the great levellers.

Photo gallery: Annapurna

If a horse can manage it, then so can I!

Just one of many landslides we had to walk / slip / slide over.

No kidding - I think they were lambs...?

And I wasn't kidding about plywood city.

Monarch of the glen???

I don't have much time to write these days, so here are some photos of 'the Great Trek' & I'll add more later. Right now, packing my stuff in Lucknow (great place), preparing for another overnight train journey to some small place somewhere further west, to go tiger hunting. if I see one, I'll shoot it - and post the photos on my blog...

Annapurna Agonies: day 1

A few bridges & things...

and, of course, Nurbu, who danced along the footpaths and skipped down impossible shortcuts.

* * *

I was scared. No, I was terrified. It was all very well to prepare for the trek with a ‘killer programme’ at the gym – but that had finished weeks ago. Muscles were going flabby again and my peak of fitness was sadly going off-peak. Why had I ever decided to walk for 25 solid days? AND try to cross the world’s highest pass, 5,400 metres above sea-level?
We started from a place called Beshishasar, a 5 hour Hell’s Angel-type ride from Kathmandu. We had driven there the night before. Everyone, especially lorry drivers, played ‘chicken’ around hairpin bends and darkness added a new dimension as a) only the weak used headlights before it was pitch-black and b)everyone wanted to get home and away from these very dangerous roads so they drove very fast indeed.
But the first day was reassuringly easy to start with – we actually went downhill for a bit! AND, with Nurbu, my sherpa porter, to shoulder my heavy bag, I was light-hearted AND light-footed. No heavy lugging for me...

We trod steadily through alpine-type meadows (Julie Andrews, where were you?) alongside a sparkling mountain river, crossing a few shaky wooden bridges, most with interesting gaps to jump over. This meant that life was never too straightforward. Wayside cafes and small hotels lured trekkers with blandishments like: ‘Fresh Apple pee: solar showers and good tolets’. Ram (my guide) bought small oranges and we ate them as we walked. The sun shone from a blue, cloudless sky. All far away from the nightmare vision of what might have been.
Easy!
Then the uphill kicked in. A semi-vertical rocky trail leapt upwards from the riverside. Ahead of me, trekkers had adopted ‘plod’ mode; I followed, at my own particular pace which varied from very-very-slow to ‘stop’. Within 5 minutes I was also in ‘pant ‘n gasp’ mode. I had to stop. Again and again. My left leg cramped up. I kept going, then the right one followed suit. Stop. Admire view. Rub cramped leg. 10 more paces. Stop. Admire view. Take photo (excuse for a longer stop).
Near top of hill. Only 30 minutes to village with hotel. Perfect time for migraine. Flashing lights, weird patterns. And no room at the inn. Instead, had to take room in shanty-town – plywood walls, no lock on door, every word said by everyone clearly audible, the toilet a dark recess where the door kept opening as you squatted. But there was a bed! And I lay there, a secret listener as other people moved in next door and someone played the guitar, until I felt better. I decided that I had to drink more (water, of course) as I walked and vowed to stop every half hour for a top-up. OK, so I’d have to pee more often, but Nepal is full of bushes and I’d just have to find a few when I needed them. I’d also be more careful about wearing a sunhat & sunglasses, so that the bright sun didn’t give me another migraine.

So, that was my first day in this brave new world of the trekker. No point in giving a day-by-day account… I’ll summarise and show photos. Watch this space. Keep watching this space as
I'm off to India in about an hour so can't write any more for a while. sorry!

Bandipur - a piece of heaven

The Lonely Planet guide says the village is ‘draped like a silk scarf along the high ridge above Dumre’. Such an image! Had to be done, esp. as had nearly a week before Great Trek. Booked room with Newari family (?) in village, plus tourist bus ticket to Dumre. Agent explained in detail, wrote it down then explained again, so I think I got it though not really sure about the staying with Newari family bit.
Journey started bang on 7, comfy seats in ‘air-con’ bus… on wrong side of bus, though, & missed some stupendous views of mountains, winding roads & precipitous drops into ravines. By 12, arrived in Dumre. Typical roadside town, lots of noisy traffic, esp wildly decorated lorries (lurid painted flowers, tinsel) with horns which trilled or blared at anything which didn’t leap out of their way, including motorbikes, other vehicles, people and cows.
Jeep-ride up to Bandipur. 3 mins before jeep due to leave, about 12 people on board, plus luggage, bags of produce etc. Not bad for a 10-seater. When we left there were 20 – at least 3 on roof, 4 on tailgate. Stopped en route to pick up 4 more. 30 minute journey up steeply winding roads, views opening out.
Village filled with old Newari houses, quiet, paved streets and people noises. Reason? No motor traffic; bollards stopped all vehicles neatly outside village, meant that it immediately became a human place, with children playing, people chatting and even pavement cafes along the main strand. I had some lunch & met my host who ran a small shop just down the way. Yes, I WAS booked in to stay with a family.
I took over his daughter’s room. She was lovely, aged 28, very pretty and called Radica. She didn’t speak much English but we managed. Disconcertingly, when I looked at the bed I found some hair-grips (complete with strands of hair) under the pillow, so I suspected that the linen wasn’t exactly fresh. I asked for a towel & she returned with a tiny hand-towel – ah well, better than nothing. I asked for a cover sheet & she gave me a fleecy, rather smelly, blanket. Toilet was full-on traditional, with squat toilet (fine), basins & jugs (OK) and no loo-paper (help). Glad I bought my own. When we ate, they sat me at a table with a plate & spoon. But – hey – I was in a Newari house, so I sat down on the floor with them & ate with my hands. I was messy but generally accurate & the family seemed to enjoy the experience as much as me.
Sunset – what a bonus. The air cleared and I saw floating, snowy mountains in the distance. A long line of them. Beautiful, serene, always there but normally invisible (some sort of metaphor here???) IN LESS THAN A WEEK I WOULD BE TREKKING THERE.
Later on there was a power-cut & we sat on the outside step chatting – well, sort of. I videoed some of them & showed them the results, to great delight, then tried to learn some Nepali, which caused mild hysteria. Much more fun than sitting in a restaurant wondering what to do next. In bed by 9; bed rock-hard; I used one of the thick blankets under the mattress & took over the sheet from the neighbouring bed to use as a top sheet. Glad I did as the fleecy blanket ponged.
Next morning, awake at 5am, with first cockerel crowing. Sense that the village was slowly coming to life – people stirring, talking, spitting (yich). I remind myself that Nepali people find our habit of blowing our noses into a piece of paper strange and offensive – how on earth can we stick it back into our pockets, for heaven’s sake! – and try to ignore the concerto of harsh honking, hawking and guttural spitting coming from all areas.
Today Radica took me to the Siddhu cave, the biggest in Nepal. She & friend set off in jeans & flipflops; I wore serious walking boots and slipped & slithered down the mountainside. People had gone to immense trouble to create paved steps but they were slippery in the shade so I was cautious and slow. Radica just chattered and skipped merrily down. Ah well. The cave was impressive. We had to climb over boulders and scramble up a muddy slope to reach the main areas. High roofs – some with prayer shawls stuck near the top – and large chambers stretched out into the distance. The ‘girls’ scrambled on for a while, but I decided on caution & waited for them.
I decided not to ascend the semi-vertical slopes, so we carried on back to Dumre & caught the jeep back up. Much easier!
Afternoon – went to the parade ground – it’s very big; they used to have archery contests there. But latest parade was of 16-17 year old students having a big celebration which involved loud music, loads of shouting and chasing around and dropping litter with abandon. I took refuge in a nearby hotel with panoramic views of the valley and fleecy clouds. Behind the clouds, snow-capped mountains waited for sunset, but I couldn’t wait that long, so continued exploring. Met man called Robin Sparrow (what were his parents thinking?...), v earnest, with bottle-glasses, who talked for c 10 mins incessantly about himself… this continued later on when I saw him on the ‘main drag’. He told me in cheerful detail about his stomach problems when travelling in India.
Next morning as I left I was given a garland, a puja and small present by Radica & her mother; her father presented me with an apple. How lovely. And the mountains were out! The full range!! I took photos, the jeep left & I waited for about 90 mins in the village for the tourist bus. Lovely to sit on my rucsac and just watch early-morning Dumre. People stopped to chat (perhaps because I was wearing my garland & red spot) & time passed v easily.
Had window seat on the better side of the bus, so could see the precipices & wrecked vehicles. Journey passed uneventfully apart from a 2 hour traffic jam going uphill to enter the Khatmandu Valley. About 6 lorries had overheated or had punctured tyres & traffic had to edge round them with v little help from police. And of course, no-one would give way to anyone else. So it all took ages. But the driver was v patient and avoided too many semi-suicidal overtaking attempts.
Safe journey, what an experience. Glad I did it.
Next adventure – Annapurna…