CLUB . . . your high NRG life mentor for a fitter happier you ( est. 2003 )

After leaving Itahari I had planned to visit Ilam, a small tea growing town very close to the Indian border. However as I approached the turn where I needed to get off the bus I found myself making no attempt to move. I had just two days left on my Nepali visa, and didn't fancy the detour up the hills. The bus I was on carried on to the check point and I figured perhaps it was time for a change.

I felt a definite sadness when leaving Nepal. It is a glorious country. I will never forget those mountains, the weeks of trekking and watching 4 ton beasts perform rolypolys. However when entering India I had that buzz of excitement I get every time when entering a new country. I had made the correct decision. So after dealing with the world's most rude border guard I headed for Siliguri, the first city of note.

Siliguri is not pretty. Its a place one needs to visit only to make a connection elsewhere. A bustling town centre, rather smelly river and chaotic bus station are there to greet travelers. My onward destination was Darjeeling.

I have visited Darjeeling before, about 7 years ago, so I knew what to expect. They city has not changed much, still cool and cloudy this time of year with a nice pedestrianised area with cafes and restaurants aplenty. Unfortunately the north of West Bengal is experiencing ongoing political problems. The minority Gorkha speaking population of West Bengal, but majority in the north, want a separate state (Gorkhaland) to encompass the area surrounding Darjeeling. Their protest and claims are evident everywhere with numerous posters and graffiti calling for independence. As a consequence there is a de facto curfew at around 8 to 9pm. Bars, restaurants and shops shut. So as there is nothing to do people return home. Military presence is strong. Darjeeling is a military city anyway with large army base, but at the moment one will notice numerous armed guards nonchalantly patrolling the town, especially after dark.

From Darjeeling I headed to Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim. Sikkim, the second smallest state (after Goa) and only fully absorbed into India as a state in 1975, still requires a further permit to enter. The permit is easy to obtain, one hands over a passport photograph and fills in a form, but the border requires formalities similar to that of an international border. So with extra stamp in my passport I arrived in Gangtok.

Gangtok surprised me. I was expecting something small and traditional in appearance - less modern anyway. But Gangtok, perched upon the mountains at 1500m, is modern, clean and functional. There is a large European style pedestrianised shopping area called Mahatma Gandhi Marg with banners proudly boasting a litter and spit free area. The lack of cows and dung gave me a feeling that I was no longer in India!

After Gangtok I headed back through Siliguri via a hopelessly long bus ride to Shillong. Shillong is another hill station built by the British as an escape from the heat of the plains. Known as Scotland of the East I have family connections in Shillong. My Grandmother (Dad's side of the family) was born there, and on my first visit seven years ago I discovered that I still have family there. Although finding them proved to be difficult.

I arrived without an address, and to find that large parts of the city had changed. I recognised very little. After spending a day trying to get through to Dad for an address and phone number, then finding that the phone number was no longer in use and the address only stating the neighbourhood in Shillong that my relies lived, I then spent another day searching around the city with my incomplete address and asking at the post office for the missing section before I could find my relies.

When I finally manged to find them we were all pleased to meet. They were very surprised as they did not know I was in the country. The visit was tinged with sadness however as Esther (the eldest of my Indian family) has developed cancer and is now very sick. Never the less I had a most enjoyable day being driven around seeing various sites (or what sites I could see through the cloud and monsoon!) and catching up on various bits of news over meals.

As I have previously mentioned, they are related through my Grandmother, being her brothers children. Ethnically they are Khasi, a hill tribe belonging to the north east Indian state of Meghalaya (literally "The abode of clouds"). Linguistically Khasi is an Austro-Asiatic language, more in common to other south east Asian languages such as Vietnamese and Khmer than Hindi. Khasi society is structured along matrilineal and matrilocal lines with Christianity being the dominant religion. And I really do mean dominant - I have never seen so many churches! However Christianity and not Hinduism is the dominant religion of all the north east states, not just Meghalaya. And talking with my family India west of Bangladesh is almost seen as a different country, with just the narrow "chicken neck" of India between Bhutan and Bangladesh linking the north east states with the west of the country. It seems that they as well as I find India baffling, confusing and one has to stay alert for people who will rip you off!

It was while I was at Shillong I decided to fly home. With an airport near by at Guwahti (state capital), Assam I felt it was time to go. So I just had one more night in Guwahti (not much to say about this place, very muddy and run down, however the lake is pretty), one night in Delhi waiting for my London connection (I stayed near the airport so I would not have any dramas catching my flight, thought I'd get some food at a local street vendor only to find he wanted to charge me 500 Rupees for chapati and channa masala, a meal that should cost 50 Rupees at absolute maximum - I ate in the airport) a day time flight with spectacular views, utterly dry and barren from Delhi, over Pakistan, through Afghanistan and Turkmenistan - and boy, Turkmenistan looks amazing! Full of mountains, desert, canyons - huge and remote. Over the Caspian Sea and then into southern Russia and BANG!, from then on green, organised, large farms and the familiar sites of Europe. Warsaw looked much smaller than I imagined. Berlin looked huge. And crystal clear sites over London. Taxiing to the terminal took an age, compounded with a muzak version of Eternal Flame by The Bangles being played on repeat I was happy to get off, get through passport control and into London for a quick pint before catching my train to Cardiff where I am now!

Few - an amazing trip has ended...

Now, where next?

Post jumping it was time to regain my equilibrium, so a calming few days of beer and sleep in Kathmandu fitted the bill. I finally had to leave as my lungs could no longer take the air, and I could feel my throat begin to suffer. So I figured a trip to Hetauda would be just the ticket.

I knew nothing of Hetauda beyond it being a dot on a map with its name written underneath. About 100kms to the south of Kathmandu at the point where the southern plains begin and over a steep mountain range I figured I would be there in a few hours.

However the bus does not take the direct route, it goes via Mugling and Narayanghat, a total of over 300kms. I guess the short road needs a little TLC. After 6 or so hours and only traveling just 100kms from Kathmandu I gave up, and jumped out of the bus at Manakmana and rested for the night. Buses in Nepal can be frustratingly slow!

Manakmana is famous for having Nepal's only cable car which leads to a large temple devoted to the Goddess of the same name. Spectacular views are also promised at the top. However at the bottom a US$15 fee to ride the car and view the temple I found to be spectacularly expensive (especially when one compares the fee with that of the US$3 equivalent that locals and citizens of SAARC countries have to pay). So I gathered my things and continued to Hetauda.

This time the journey went a little quicker, and my decision to ride on the roof gave a white knuckle ride, excellent views and plenty of leg space. Hetauda however was not so exciting. Apart from a spectacular thunder storm there was really not much to see. Centered around a roundabout with a broken Buddha statue, after one evening I was eager to leave.

Janakpur proved to be all the more interesting. On arrival I wasn't even sure if I had arrived, and not until someone shouted at me to get off the roof of the bus did my arrival sink in. Janakpur is at the end of a long dirt road on the hot Nepali plains a few kilometres from the Indian border. The bus station is located in a mud patch a mile or so from the town. Broken buildings surround the mud patch, but standing and squinting on top of the bus I was hard pressed to locate what could be called a city. I set off in trepidation wondering where I had taken myself. Thankfully whilst following other pedestrians and cyclorickshaws things began to get more built up and I found the city centre.

I like Janakpur. It is very hot, dirty and dusty and very run down. Centered around a large palace and temple it also contains Nepal's only railway. The palace is typically gaudy and ostentatious as the pictures testify, however it is a great place for people watching. The railway, however, I have not seen the like. I was told that it gets a little crowded and is somewhat run down but I was not expecting what I saw. As I arrived at the station the train pulled in hardly noticeable under throngs of people clinging to any vantage point so they could ride it. Windows became bike racks, and the roof extra seating. But what a roof, on some carriages it was more hole than roof. I figured I'd linger at the platform and watch as people disembarked and new passengers embarked and watch the spectacle of the train leave.

This all happened in the late morning, which turned into lunch. People sat patiently on the train and it went nowhere. I got bored and decided to go somewhere. There are two cinemas in Janakpur so I figured I'd watch a Hindi film.

I arrived just for the start of the film. My goodness it was violent. After watching 4 men jump up and down on a woman for five minutes in front of two frightened children I wondered what I had let myself in for. I was also being assaulted in other ways. The volume was deafening and the heat unbearable. It must have been 40degs C in the shade outside and at least 50 degs C in the poorly ventilated cinema. After 20 minutes I gave up.

After pottering around town I returned to the railway station late afternoon to still see the train sat at the platform and people still patiently waiting. I figured I'd take some snaps and wait as well. Finally the hooter blew and about 5 hours after its arrival the train left for India, just as covered and crowded.

As Janakpur is a holy city it is a popular site for Hindi weddings and processions. The format being that a large tractor pulling a trailer with a deafening sound system will circle the town followed by dancing boys, drunk men and very colourful girls and women. All in separate groups. To the rear of the procession an ox cart carrying a generator follows providing necessary power.

I left Janakpur for Itahari. The first thing that struck me about Itahari is that the roads are tarmacked and it has pavements. And that is all I can really say about it. Again a rather dull place, centred on a roundabout with a broken statue. Just the legs remain, so who it is/was are a mystery to me. The most striking thing I noticed was the window cleaner at work on the front of a large glass fronted (I'd say about 6 floors) department store. He was lowered over the side, dangling on a little wooden swing, no helmet or harness, with a small rag and bucket of water to clean the entire frontage. Safety first. After Itahari I left for India and Darjeeling, more of which later.

Tansen, a conveniant stop off between Bardia and Kathmandu was pretty enough to warrant a two night visit. A small hill side town, again like Gorkha and Bandipur with great views, was nice to walk around and take in the sites.

My return to Kathmandu was only short lived, only long enough to book my Bungee trip.

Bungee jump

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m20xJMNamQ

And swing jump

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=einVpguIvAg

Quoted in the Lonely Planet as one of the most likely places on earth that you will see Tigers in the wild I thought I'd visit. And, boy did I come mightily, frustratingly close.

A long bus journey west of Butwal took me into the park. The first thing I noticed about the park are the increased road blocks and police checks to search vehicles for any poached parts of beasts. On arrival I decided to stay for two days, day one would be spent trying to spot Gangetic Dolphin in the Karnali River and then on to a Black Buck breading area.

The dolphin spotting provided no results unfortunately. The river was very murky after a previous storm, and there was no sign of leaping or blowing. Black Buck, once widespread through out South Asia, suffered many years of hunting and habitat loss and are now classed as Near Threatened by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature. The breading site is an excellent place to watch Black Bucks close at hand, and very enjoyable it was watching them fight, leap and run.

Day two was spent on a long jungle walk where hopefully I'd spot tigers. The day started promisingly when over the river my guide and I could hear many warning calls from Spotted Deer. A clear sign of a big cat. But the calls soon wained as whatever was scaring the deer departed for a deeper part of the jungle. As the heat of the day increased, animal activity decreased. However as the afternoon cooled, thirsty beasts started to emerge from the jungle to drink. From our vantage point we could see many deer, monkeys and Wild Boar come out to drink. After an hour or so two female rhinos came for a wallow, one doing a roly poly in the river. And I will never forget the site of a 4 ton rhino gracefully and playfully rolling about in the river! These were soon joined by a big male who also wallowed but did not roll.

As this was happening from the other side of the river the panicked warning calls of many monkeys started. This could only signal one thing - tiger! The calls went on and on, at a distance of perhaps 500 - 600m. The cat was definitely there. However unfortunately he/she decided not to come to the river and drink, and remained hidden in the jungle. Frustratingly close!

I enjoy jungle walks. Standing a few 10s of meters from a wild Rhino or some other beast with nothing but foliage and river in between is a very exciting experience. There is a very real threat that they could charge. So silence and slow deliberate movements are a must. For safety I was given a 3cm by 1.5m bamboo pole to beat any marauding animal with. Quite what a rhino, tiger, wild elephant or any other large jungle resident would make of my stick is hard to fathom. But I was never far from my piece of given security.

Tilicho Lake, Throng La Pass and Annapurna Base Camp.

Yes it was beautiful, the mountains high, villages remote and valleys deep and took 26 days. I won't bore on about how beautiful it was as it would become quite repetitive to read. Instead I have about 23,765 photos of mountains, villages and valleys that I can show you all on an individual basis, with of course a running commentary explaining each pic. I'm sure you'd all love that...

Anyway the trek started in the sun at Beshishar. I initially thought I would be trekking alone but whilst in Pokhara I met two Swiss sisters, Dominica and Sylvie and a German guy named Roland who became my trekking partners. As a four we were soon joined by more as we left the bus. Unfortunately as a large group we were unable to stay together as sickness broke the group up. I think during the walk we all fell ill at some point, whether via altitude or stomach problems. And I can now vouch that trekking with the Eartha Kitts is no fun. I just spent the day stomping about in a huff thinking "Don't like it, feel sick, need a shit. Don't like it, feel sick, need a shit..."

Anyho the first part of the trek took us to Tilicho Lake. Advertised in these parts as the world's highest lake at an altitude of 4919m (16138 Ft) - and no its not Titicata, that is the world's highest navigable lake. A small amount of research has revealed that Tilicho is not the highest lake, but the 20th highest lake. But still bloody high never the less. The walk there was fun. Many very steep gravel slopes with a very precarious path traversing them. Sometimes it got a little exciting as the gravel slipped away from under ones foot leaving a very steep and deep drop down to the river below.

From the lake we headed to the Throng La Pass (apparently the world's widest pass. But I can't be bothered to corroborate that. Its not the most exciting of statistics). I was rather nervous before trekking about the pass. It's at 5416m (17769 ft). At this altitude one encounters approximately 50% of the oxygen normally observed at sea level - in other words 2 breaths at the pass equal one breath at sea level. I have partaken in high altitude treks before in Ecuador - with out much success. The altitude got the better of me. 5416m was destined to be the highest I have ever been.

My worrying was in vain however. I found the ascent quite easy. Not wishing to blow my own trumpet, but the walk to Tilicho was much harder. Steeper slopes and snow made the trek quite tiring. Where as Throng La, although steep in parts, has a steadier ascent and firmer, wider path - and thankfully no snow! Not that we were not confronted with the danger of altitude sickness. Roland suffered a little the day before we reached Throng La. But thankfully he recovered over night. However whilst ascending we were confronted with a very sick lone Korean trekker who was being very hurriedly stretchered down the slope by a group of Nepalese guides and porters to a rendezvousing helicopter. He was unconscious at the time and we later learned that he had been 2 days at Throng Phedi (one of the last stops before Throng La, at 4100m (13451 ft)) getting steadily worse. A worried hotelier checked up on him in his room and found him unconscious. His blood oxygen level was checked and observed to be 40%. The guy was dieing. However with a speedy descent one can recover quickly from altitude sickness and thankfully that is what he received. A second brush with altitude sickness happened about 15 minutes before we all reached the pass. We caught up with a very tired looking porter who seemed unusually breathless. Dominica asked him how he was and it became rapidly clear that he was feeling sick, utterly breathless and later vomiting. We gave him water, took his bags and helped him to the pass, where other guides/porters noticed him and rushed him as quick as they could down the other side. We caught up with him later the same day and he was totally fine. A rapid descent had fixed his problems.

The descent in question tho is steep, and long. Approximately a mile down. This I found to be very tough on the knees, and also the head. As one walks down the steep path, the constant jarring on the feet, legs and rest of the body really shook my brain - giving me a bit of a head ache! I guess it's a small organ in a big church.

Perversely tho I found that much of the lower parts of the trek are the most taxing. The higher parts seem to follow river valleys and for many days one can either be ascending or descending at a slow steady rate. However at the lower levels the path seems to be forever going straight up or down the steepest of stone steps, with daily ascents and descents sometimes being greater than 1 mile.

The final part of the trek took me to Annapurna base camp (4130m or 13549 ft). This part of the trek I did solo. I was rather worried whilst ascending as the weather started to get quite bad. Lots of cloud obscuring the view and cutting visibility down to about 20m, rain and as I reached the Base Camp snow. But I was lucky. The following morning the sky was clear. Perfectly clear. The views were fantastic and a great way to finish the trek. A 2 day blast back down the hill took me back to Pokhara, pizzas and beer!

PS. If you really are desperate to know the highest lakes in the world here is a link

http://www.highestlake.com/highest-lake-world.html

As ever pics on dandispaintravels.blogspot.com and flickr.com user dandispain.

I departed Delhi for Gorakhpur, a medium sized city near the border with Nepal. After 15 or so hours on the train I felt that a nights rest was needed. The next day I planned to go straight to the Nepalese border, but a mix up with buses meant that I ended up confused and somewhat lost at the Ramabhar Stupa in Kushinagar, the cremation site for Buddha. After realising what had happened I had a wander, took some photos and contemplated that perhaps this is a sign that I should give up my atheism and convert to Buddhism. I then saw a pretty girl walk past and realised how desperately I wanted a beer which quickly brought me to my senses.

A return journey to Gorakhpur and another journey to the border finally brought me to where I wanted to be. After completing formalities I crossed into Nepal and wondered if I should stay at the border town or take the night bus to Kathmandu. I took the bus. This was a mistake. I had already spent a good 6 or so hours tootling randomly about North India before I got to the border. And as I sat utterly cramped facing another 10 hours of pain I began to regret my decision. Buses in this part of the world tend to move v...e...r...y slowly and stop often, and the stops are often long. I normally do not mind this but on this journey it made me feel quite claustrophobic and very grumpy. With no room to move, a metal bar from the seat in front pressed against both knees, hard seat and a low roof that banged my head as we went over bumps I settled down to the long night.

When dawn arrived and I noticed the suburbs of Kathmandu outside my window I was utterly delighted. Kathmandu is lovely. Dusty, dirty and very polluted but I like it all the same (although my chest, throat and nose disagree). From visiting various Stupas (I think I'm Stupad out), Royal Palaces (the wing where Crown Prince Dipendra shot members of his family has now been demolished), museums, historic squares, general walking about and visiting an old friend who was coincidentally on holiday in Nepal I have been busy and happy. One surprising thing that I have noticed about Kathmandu is how QUIET it is at night. I can stand on the roof garden of my hotel during the small hours and hear almost nothing. Perhaps the odd dog bark but that's about it. For the centre of a capital city I find this surprising and a pleasant moment of calm after the hustle and bustle of the day.

During my stay here former Prime Minister G. P. Koirala passed. He was 85, had just been released from hospital looking very sick with respiratory problems and was at his daughters house. The state funeral was scheduled for the day after his death (21 March) at Pashupati Arya Ghat on the banks of the Bagmati River. Being curious I thought I would visit. Crowds were immense. I arrived late morning to be told that G. P. Koirala would be cremated at 2pm with crowds of 1 million expected. I doubted this figure when told but as the day grew older I started to believe. At about 3 ish I grew hot, hungry and tired and decided to leave. G.P. Koirala was cremated at 7pm after resting at state in the National Stadium and then being taken through the streets of Kathmandu to Pashupati Arya Ghat so crowds could give their last respects.

pics on dandispaintravels.blogspot.com

After a very relaxing week in Anjuna I packed my bags and headed north to Arambol. I chose the north end as it looked the most lively. The beach itself is 4km long, with Mandrem to the south. Just a short walk along a rocky path is a very quiet section of sand where I have now set up base. It is perfect, quiet at night but restaurants are near. One criticism of Arambol is the rather large pool of ditch water/sewage that collects at the north end. The ditch runs onto the beach where it is then blocked by a sand bank. This pool is drained during low tides as the fishermen dig a trench to let the water escape (to the sea, nice). However during the recent full moon and high tides waves would roll over the bank and into the pool, thus considerably expanding the niceness a great distance along the beach, and to the edge of many beach side restaurants.

Party wise it is still quiet. Although strangely I have not been that bothered. I am happy drinking Lemonanas (an ice lemon and mint drink) and sitting in my hut listening to music. What parties there are are tame, with the same music as at Anjuna. I feel that Goa's days as a hedonists retreat are over. I think the beach parties in Europe are better. However it certainly is a romantic spot, and I see many happy couples enjoying the sun and restaurants whilst generally being annoying and in love!

Although I say that hedonism is on the wane here, drug tourism still is very popular. Arambol, as far as I have seen, does not have the same police presence as Anjuna. The bars waft of pot and LSD is very easy to come by. Not that that really bothers me. But I have found topics of conversation limited to how good various stuff is from various locations, which to a non user is of no interest.

I have also managed to scare myself silly on Goa's roads. The roads are generally good, a huge improvement on 7 years ago when I was last here. But the driving skills have not. I think I must have aged a decade or two as I stared numerous oncoming lorries in the radiator as I chugged along on my little Honda.

Flight was simple, thankfully the plane was half empty granting me three seats to myself. So plenty of room to sleep. The arrival at Bombay international airport was interesting. Since the last time I was there they now seem to have built a proper airport terminal. So no standing in long lines whilst watching crows fly around above my head this time. Just straight through and into a taxi for a quick blast across Mumbai to Vasai Road rail station.

Whilst sitting in the back of the cab lots of memories (mostly nasal) came flooding back. The train ride was fine, cool at night, hot during the morning and many a chai and biryani seller walking up and down the carriage.

First impressions of Anjuna are varied. Its a nice beach, lots of bars etc. But everything shuts rather early now. The famous Anjuna Flee Market is rather tacky. It seems to consist of just five stalls replicated a thousand times. One selling tacky hippy clothing. One selling awful Goa/Psy trance cds. One selling brass ornaments. one selling spices fake and real. And one selling wood carvings. I preferred wallowing in the water. Of the make up of tourists I now hear many more East European voices, especially Russian. Seven years ago I can not remember hearing so many. I guess the demographic has changed.

One thing that is very noticeable is the police presence. The first two nights here I was stopped and searched, and last night they were out again. But this time ignoring me. The bars are full of people smoking weed, and drugs are easy to find. So I guess the police know that they are on to a nice little earner hauling naieve tourists off for a night in the local gaol before recieving the "fine" that allows release.

Told a wee porkie pie about recent volunteering on a clinical trial, however ignored that bit and now registered!