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Four Nights In Bangkok

28/10/2010

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  We are all ready for Thailand. Drained from the long days driving and poor accommodation on the way down from Kathmandu, we need some time to relax and enjoy ourselves. Several others decide to take a flight straight to Koh Samui for a full week on the beach and not spend any time in Bangkok but I am looking forward to a few days there. Just staying in one spot for more than one night is a gift and the hotel is simple but comfortable, in a good location close to bars, restaurants and night markets of Khaosan Rd.

I had expected Bangkok to be hot and clammy, so close to the monsoon season and the reports of heavy rains and flooding only served to support this expectation. However, although overcast , the temperature and ambience is more of a warm summer's evening and there are few rain showers to spoil our time.

Apart from shopping opportunities, there are , of course, some obligatory sights in Bangkok to be undertaken. The Grand Palace, the Reclining Buddha of Wat Po and Wat Arun (Temple of the Dawn) with its steep steps , not forgetting the famous floating markets. I forego the opportunity to cram everything into organised excursions, which normally depart at stupid o clock in the morning and arrive at too past knackered in the evening. I am not a morning person, and no-one is going to deny me the right to a few days lie-in. Obligatory sights will have to work around that and my need to see civilised shops again.

First stop is the the electronics mecca of Prantip Plaza. I'm hoping to buy a good waterproof camera in time for Koh Samui after the monsoon in Chitwan drenched my little instamatic. However, Bangkok is no longer a cheap shopping destination and, even after much haggling at various shops, I fail to achieve a price lower than that in the UK.

Despite the tourists, the peace and calm of Wat Po offers some respite from the clamour of the shopping malls in the afternoon. Wandering around in the evening, we spot The Hard Rock Cafe of Bangkok and pop in for a drink a something to eat. As we sit chatting the place begins to fill up. It feels strange to be the only European woman in there.

The city is still suffering the aftermath of the floods and all along the Chao Praya river banks, shops and homes remain below the water level. Even catching the ferry to cross to the Temple of Dawn requires walking the gangplanks through the underwater market to the pontoon. Climbing the steep steps of the Temple to get the views across the city requires nerves of steel but is worth it. Once there, I realise I am not the only one wondering how I am going to make it back down and we make a strange little chain, nervously holding on to the handrail with 2 hands as we carefully sidestep back down again.




Once down, we are coaxed into hiring one of the many longtail boats, flying up and down the river. These look like a mini viking ship,with a high front, decorated front and back, and a huge outboard motor with the propeller at the end of the long tail. They whizz up and down the river and into the little side rivers which maintain their levels by a series of locks. As we exit the lock from the main river, it's a different world. This must be the Henley on Thames of Bangkok. Many of these homes are also flooded and the floating market is quiet when we get there.

It's time for a little nightlife and everyone is keen to go to Patpong, the red light district,,famous for pussy ping pong ( a work out like you've never seen before!) and various other feline circus skills.

Halloween seems to be a big event in Bangkok and, back, in Khaosan Rd, the celebrations are really kicking off. It's heaving with revellers dressed in all sorts of macabre costumes. Underneath the costumes and makeup it's still clear that these are locals and not the usual tourists. The beer is flowing 'Fucket. Have a Bucket' proclaims one street stall sign. Don't mind if I do. The street stalls offer everything from crispy crickets to sizzling scorpions. Tempting though they are, I stick to the liquid diet. I'm so glad I didn't go straight to Koh Samui

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Great Expectations in Kolkatta

27/10/2010

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  It's the last leg of our journey south through Eastern India and my expectations of Kolkatta are low. Another dirty, overpopulated Indian city full of vagrants and hawkers. I am girded to be dismayed at the sight of huge slums and child beggars. This nightmare, however, is not what greets us as we drive through the outskirts towards the city centre. New tower blocks with private gym memberships and large, modern, shopping malls attached. Modern commercial centres that appear to be thriving. Yes, there are some signs of decay and dilapidation, as there are in every city, but this one is buzzing with life and the expectation of a better future.

Even the hotel is bright and modern, with the muted colours and the muted decoration of a European boutique hotel. A superking size bed, with flatscreen tv on the wall, and a glass bowl sink in the bathroom. It all seems fantastic. Just don't look at the 1/2” gap round the bathroom window, or the strange damp patch in the corner of the bedroom. We wait for the promised extra single bed. Eventually, what looks like a duvet is brought into the room and placed on the floor. We try to explain we need a mattress and sheets, not a duvet. Amanda clearly demonstrates what is required by lying down on the floor and pretending she is pulling a sheet over her. In her bright red dungarees, she will definitely has a new career on CBeebies but fails to successfully communicate our requirement. We give up and decide to start the nightly forage for food instead. Rumour has it there is a MacDonalds not far away. As we sit down to eat, the rest of Ozbus 20 arrive. Everyone has had enough curry to last a lifetime. Tempting though it is to terminate with a MacDonalds ice cream brownie, I have spotted a coffee shop next door with real cakes! Time for a little more self indulgence.




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Bugged in Maldah

26/10/2010

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  I have spent a lot of the trip dreading this particular section from Kathmandu to Kolkatta , to the point where I seriously considered jumping on a plane from Kathmandu to Bangkok. However, I would have been very sorry to have missed the stunning mountain scenery from Kathmandu to Hatauda. Yes, the driving is tough, as the road condition is so poor and we bump and swerve from pothole to pothole but this side of India is very different to the Punjab and Rajastan. The tea plantations are arranged in neat trim rows, like privet in an English country garden. The towns and villages are much more compact and better organised. We even come across traffic lights from time to time, though I'm still not sure they aren't there more for decoration than traffic management. The roads are quieter with less traffic, people and more importantly, fewer horns.

Large crowds still gather around us whenever we stop, but the shy smiles are genuine and we are not pressed to make purchases or cash donations.

Still, we do not have time to make new friends and it is already dark when we pull in to our hotel.

The lobby is alive with mosquitoes and bugs. On the ground, in the air, crawling on the bench seating around and crawling up our legs and on our arms. It's not a good omen. We are exhausted and hungry, even if we did sleep on the bus, and it is difficult for us all to maintain good humour. I have a room to myself and am grateful for it. Dumping my bags, I dive into the hotel restaurant for some food. The menu is somewhat restricted, to say the least and each item requested appears to be 'off'. Or is it? Is the waiter shaking his head or is it the Indian head waggle to signify that I have been heard (but not necessarily understood)? As previously, there are more waiters than customers, and every one of them appears to have a specific job. However, it seems neither they nor we, are clear on the specific job description, except that it does not include taking a food order or delivering a meal or drink. Debbie tries to order 2 small bottles of soda water. Helen has already tried and failed, demonstrated by the large bottle of still water in front of her. We wait with baited breath. Magically, 2 small bottles of soda water appear. Weyhey. Now for the difficult bit. Can we replace Helen's large bottle of still water with another bottle of soda? We try a demonstration but it's all tooo confusing for the waiter. He tries to take away 1 of Debbie's bottles. No. No. No. We grab it back just in time. Phew. Then he takes the large bottle away. There is an exchange of conversation between 2 waiters and lots of pointing. We are momentarily hopeful. Then another waiter brings the same bottle back. Aaargh. But we are not going to give up and half an hour later, after lots of gesticulation, involving lots of waiters, Helen has her bottle of soda. Now we're going for gold and David wants the bottle of beer he had been told was not available earlier... Sometimes the big achievements are in the small challenges of life.

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The Road To Hell or Siliguri

26/10/2010

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  Today we have a long drive and no-one is looking forward to our return to India. It's Helen's birthday and we wish her happy birthday but no celebration is planned as we would normally for someone's birthday. Maybe we can make it up further on. The roads are dreadful and progress is slow. It is already dark when we get to the Indian border and say goodbye to our bouncy Nepali bus. Once again, crossing the border is long and tedious and by the time we arrive at our hotel we are all well passed our 'Use By' date and are more concerned that we will be too late for dinner. The hotel is dingy and depressing, but this is what we had expected. There are very few twin rooms and Jaime and I are not one of the lucky pairs. The additional single is one of those foam cube seats that changes to a single and for a moment we discuss who will have the double bed.

'You have the double bed. I don't mind the single' we say back and forth. In the end, we agree Jaime will have the single and I, the double. As I sit down on the concrete mattress and spy the inch rim of dirt between the plywood frame and the 'mattress' , I realise Jaime has the better end of the deal. After half an hour of trying to obtain top sheets, we finally give up and go down to the restaurant. Inside, it is dark and smoky. So dark, in fact, it's difficult to see the tables and chairs, and I walk right into one.

Dinner becomes a complicated affair as, even with 6 waiters, it seems only 1 is capable of taking an order and, he is only able to take 1 person at a time, before he is distracted and disappears.

It's getting very late as we come to the end of our meal, when David and Helen come in. They have been scavenging for food elsewhere and have not had much luck. It is such a shame for Helen's birthday. Suddenly Isabelle pulls something out of her bag. Birthday candles! We fashion a cake shape out of my rice and stick the candles in. Rice cake and candles and a round of Happy Birthday. What more could she ask for?

I decide to have a shower before bed. There is even hot water! Bliss.

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The Lunatics Are Taking Over the Asylum in Hetauda

24/10/2010

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  We only have a very short distance to travel to the border with India but a whole day has been allocated. As we leave Kathmandu on the road we arrived, the reason starts to become apparent. Desain has come to an end and everyone is travelling on the roads. As we make our way along the precipitous highway, we realise just how dangerous the road is. There is little left of any original tarmac, only large potholes and rough track to take you in and out of the capital city. Trucks, tankers, buses, cars and carts travelling in both directions vie for the best position to avoid a puncture or discharging the cargo of their overloaded vehicles. We are feeling a little nervous, staring out of the window over the edge of a 100m sheer drop from an uneven road with no protective barrier, but coming towards us are local buses stuffed full of people, with even more sat on the roof, hanging on for grim life, perched atop various articles of unsecured baggage. As we negotiate our way down the steep gradient, round the hairpin bends, I try to imagine what it must be like in winter.

Eventually, we level out a bit and are going through a small village when the driver picks up a small side road. It is barely wide enough for the bus, and we start to climb again. More hairpin bends as the ascent is so steep. Fortunately for us, there is no traffic on this road and so the surface remains good and our progress is only slowed by the gradients up and down and the severity of the bends which occasionally require a multipoint negotiation . Through the foothills we travel and, in the distance, we can see the snow capped peaks. As we come to through one of the tiny villages hidden within the mountains, we pull over for a picnic We have views to die for, but hopefully won't have to. I am glad I'm not the driver.

Pulling into Hetauda, after 12 hours of hairpin bends, steep gradients, and stunning scenery, it is already getting dark. From the outside, the hotel looks pleasant and inviting and we are welcomed with a glass of juice. Inside, it looks like it was half finished 100 years ago and was possibly, originally conceived as a lunatic asylum, high in the mountains. Our guide tells me it was built for a UN project. Oh well. I wasn't far wrong then. My roommate, Christina, decides to take a shower before bedtime. She joined us in Kathmandu and has not experienced our joys of hotel showers in India and Nepal. I know this by the screams that emanate from the bathroom as she stands under the cold water. I don't think my howls of laughter were particularly supportive. Welcome to the Ozbus loony bin.

Next morning, I decide to take my shower. A cold shower is much easier to bear when you're still half asleep, but maybe there'll be some hot water if the tank has refilled. I switch the shower on and leave it a couple of minutes to warm up. It doesn't, and I'm just resigned to my own cold shower, when the water peters to a trickle and gives up. I tell Christina that she will have to suffer me sitting next to her on the bus.

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Coffee, Cake and Celebrate in Kathmandu

22/10/2010

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  Did I say I was expecting to have 3 days of R&R in Kathamandu? I lied. This city is alive and kicking, but in a chilled out sort of way. It is busy with hippy travellers and serious trekkers. The shops are friendly and welcoming and there is not the pressure of constant negotiation we had in India, where sometimes just to walk past a row of shops was like running the gauntlet. Nonetheless, in Kathmandu there are bargains to be had if you are prepared to challenge the fixed price. And I do love a challenge. The bars and clubs are lively but the prices of drinks in a capital city mean we are all budget conscious. Most of them close at midnight, which helps.

A city tour has been organised and, even though I am 'excursioned out' I cannot resist the simplicity of it.. The Monkey Temple means a steep climb up a hill, The Boudhanath Stupa offers the perfect opportunity for a proper coffee and a piece of the fantastic carrot cake that is the speciality of Nepal (alongside the aforementioned momos), and a wander round the old Patan Durbar Square with its abundance of stupas and temples offers another opportunity for more coffee and cake in the afternoon. It's a lovely, hot day and, as we wander around the old buildings, we are drawn in by the sight of a small crowd, just visible in the central courtyard of one of the buildings. Inside, there is a small ritualistic performance and behind a screen they have already started the butchering of the bull they have just killed as part of the Desain celebrations. Tethered in the courtyard, a calf and a sheep await their fate. I don't wait around and exit stage right.

Tour over, we head back to the hotel, followed by a bit more shopping and more cake and coffee. In the evening we while a way a few more hours, with a few beers watching the sun set over the mountains from our hotel's rooftop bar before heading out to the restaurants and clubs.

For our last day in Kathmandu I have nothing planned at all. It's a delicious feeling. A lie in. A leisurely shower. A relaxed breakfast watching the world go by below from the rooftop. Unfortunately, the American group sharing our accommodation have other ideas. Up at the crack of dawn. Clattering up and down the stairs. Chattering up and down the stairs. Chairs scraping. Even prayers and a sermon over breakfast, which is just above my room. It's impossible and at 7.00 a.m. I am wide awake. Jaime sleeps peacefully through it all. Poor love. She's not been well and needs the rest. By the time I'm showered and at breakfast though, our American friends have left the building. I offer my own small small prayer of thanks and enjoy my breakfast in relative peace. A lie in has also eluded a few of the others and we decide to go for a wander to Kathmandu's Durbar Square. It's very similar to the Patan Durbar Square and before long it's time for a coffee and a cake in one of the rooftop cafes. It's an effort to climb the 6 flights of stairs to the rooftop but it will be worth it when we get there. From the top, the views over the old town are beautiful. We can see birds of prey flying at our level, and there are kites flying high above the rooftops. In the distance we can see the Monkey Temple and the mountains beyond. But there is no real coffee or, worse still, cake in this cafe. Disappointed, we head back down the 6 flights of stairs.

On the final evening, a party is planned. There are multiple events to celebrate. Our new Ozbussers have arrived (Christina, Maartje, Jennifer and Nat). It's Lana's birthday, and Barry's last night with us (not that Barry leaving is a reason to celebrate!). To top the evening off we head to the Reggae Bar for a few cocktails before we leave. I love Kathmandu.




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Reaching a Peak In Kathmandu

21/10/2010

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  We have 4 nights in Kathmandu, which means 3 days to chill out and take in the city atmosphere, but our first morning will be a chill that runs down your spine when you see Everest up close. It's another pre-dawn raid, and we gather bleary eyed. As we travel the short distance to the airport, I can't remember if I recharged my camera battery and emptied the memory card. The international terminal looks smart and impressive as we drive past. Unfortunately the domestic airport has not been upgraded to the same standard, or any standard, come to that.

Fortunately we don't have to wait long before our flight is called. It's a larger plane than I expected but everyone has a window seat. As we take off, we can just make out the mountains but they are firmly enclosed in clouds. Seems like Barry was right. We'll be lucky to see anything, let alone Everest. But as the sun climbs higher in the sky and we approach the mountain range, we can see some peaks poking through. The stewardess, goes to each person pointing out the names of the major peaks and, as we approach Everest, we are invited into the cockpit for a better view. Frankie and I are right at the back of plane which means we are invited at the point we are the closest to Everest before we turn around to head back. We can see the summit but there is a ring of cloud below. Just as we turn around, the clouds part and we get a perfect view of the mountain. The cameras have not stopped snapping from the moment we set off but there is an increased flurry until the clouds float back and seal the base of the mountain from view. There is something about snow capped mountains that touches the heart. I have always felt that way every time I took my connecting flight over the Dolomites from Frankfurt or Munich to Venice. It was part of the magical attraction of Venice. But seeing Everest close up takes it to another level. I may not have climbed it (yet!) but Everest has touched my heart. All too soon, we are back on the ground and heading home for breakfast.

Then, we have to sort out our transit visas for the onward trip south to Kolkatta (that's Calcutta to most of us). Everyone needs one, even those with multi-entry visas. Off we traipse to the Indian Embassy. This is an open air Embassy, but luckily the temperature is pleasantly warm and it's not raining. Naturally, there's another form to fill in. Then we have to queue for a waiting ticket, then we have to wait to be called. And there's a lot of waiting... Barry finds an abandoned ticket with an earlier number... and there's still a lot of waiting..And then we have to fill in more information... And then there's more waiting. It's excruciatingly slow but eventually, we are told we can go and the passports can be collected later in the day. So, what exactly have we been waiting for? We'll never know.




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Wet and Wild On The Way to Kathmandu

20/10/2010

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  Today we leave Pokhara for Kathmandu and some of us are very excited at the early start as we will go white water rafting en route. I am not so excited as after I had paid, I was told it is not a grade 3 but a grade 2. Rowing on the lake on a calm day would be more exciting. I am also not looking forward to Kathmandu as I have been told it is dirtier than Delhi and even more polluted. I drag myself out of bed and try to put some enthusiasm into packing my bag at 6.00am. At least we get some breakfast. I was not expecting that. It takes us about 3 hours to reach our destination and some of the beginners are getting a bit nervous. I check out the river as we drive along and guess it looks more like the grade 3 I had originally expected and get a bit more excited. As we pull up outside a wooden shack, life jackets, helmets and paddles are laid out for us. Kitted out, the guides lead us through a paddy field to the water's edge. It's already scorching hot and we are cooking in our kit. The guides are cooling the boats with water from the river. I decide to check the water out for myself and end up being soaked as they cool the boats. We climb in the boats and for the first time without my family I have the opportunity to take the lead position in front. The guide takes us through the instructions and off we go. The river is wide and fast flowing and there are frequent rapids to take us through our paces. Every so often we reach a spot where the guide encourages us to jump in and have fun. It's not the jumping in that's a problem. It's the getting back in the boat after!! It's not pretty and I end up with my jacket stuck over my helmet, straddled across the boat choking with laughter as Frankie & Becky, the 2 lightweights in our boat try to haul me in.

We mess around with the other boats splashing them with water. A group of East Europeans are not impressed with our antics. Maybe they didn't realise you're supposed to have fun and get wet.

I make one last attempt to splash other Ozbussers and oh, the shame. My paddle disappears beneath the boat. Never mind. We'll get when it resurfaces out the other side. But it doesn't. We all move from one side to the other, back to front, my embarrassment increasing with each manoeuvre until I begin to wonder if it has disappeared for ever. As we approach another rapid, Laura passes me her paddle and we churn our way through the froth and foam, screaming in delight, my paddle apparently lost forever.

But our guide is not convinced it has gone. In the next calm stretch, we repeat the manoeuvres till eventually he jumps out of the boat, and retrieves it directly from underneath. I am amazed and grateful and refuse to participate in any further splashing games for at least another five minutes.

We stop for an unexpected lunch and continue on our way. Each rapid more challenging and exciting than the last. The final set of three being the pinnacle of the trip as we narrowly avoid smashing our boat on an overhanging rock. Everyone is exhilarated with the experience and when I ask the guide what grade water we just completed he tells us that we have done 25 kms of grade 4. It's probably a good thing the beginners didn't know that before we set out as everyone has enjoyed it and we are already planning the next opportunity in Bali.

It's long drive to Kathmandu and darkness is already falling as we make the long climb up the narrow mountain road, full of hairpin bends, only partially surfaced, with the wheels touching the edge of a 100m drop as trucks, buses and cars all vie to to pass each other to get to the top, unheeding of the traffic coming down, trying to do the same. It is thrilling to peer out of the window and down from the top of the world and we fail to notice one or two on the bus, shaking and crying with fear at, what would seem to be, the inevitable. When we eventually arrive in Kathmandu, it is dark and muggy and the dust in the air exacerbates the racking cough left from the cold I have been suffering for a few days. I struggle to climb the last few hundred yards to the hotel with my backpack, only to find my room is on the 5th floor and there is no lift.

Dinner has been arranged for us at a local restaurant and it is only when we get there we find out that it is (unusually) included, by which time several of the group have decided to make their own arrangements. It is a lovely dinner and at the end we are presented with another treat. A beautiful chocolate cake, with 'Welcome to Kathmandu' on it. I start to feel a bit more positive about this city.

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Lady Of the Lake in Pokhara

18/10/2010

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  I am looking forward to a lazy day in Pokhara and go for a wander up and down the streets to get my bearings. Plenty of tourist shops selling tshirts with every possible slogan and trek wear – mainly North Face. Lots of coffee shops and restaurants. Real coffee and even cakes. I can spend a few days here. Easy. We decide to hire a row boat and cross the lake to the island temple. Barry is keen to row but there are no rowlocks. We decide to each take a paddle. As we zigzag across to the island, occasionally doing a twirl, Lady Muck at the front trails her fingers in the water and snaps photos and directions at her 2 slaves from time to time. In the other boat, Hiawatha is paddling furiously at the front while Pocahontas laughs at us going round in circles.
Arriving at the island, we are aghast to discover there is no coffee shop at the temple, which means we have to continue to row to the other side of the lake for tea and tiffin.

In the evening, Matt and Allen are the main act in the local Blues Bar, ably supported by Laura, Becky and Frankie and a random flautist, who insists on accompanying them with his own composition, making an interesting medley. As we arrive back at the hotel, slightly the worse for wear, the place is heaving with police and soldiers.

Next morning the story emerges, Two Scots guys had been rowing back across the lake after having a few too many to drink. One guy had stood up in the boat to take a photo, then just keeled over and disappeared without a sound or trace. His mate had thought he was messing around at first but dived in to get him when he realised, but he couldn't find him and eventually had to be rescued by locals himself. It's a tragedy and Amanda is more affected than the rest of us as she had been talkijg to the guy that died the night before. Nonetheless, we all feel for his poor friend who now has to tell his family and wait for his body to resurface..

Our challenge today is to walk around the lake and up the steep hill to the Buddhist Peace Temple, which Barry's Lonely Planet reliably informs is one of 7 around the world. We have been sat on the bus for 6 weeks and the furthest we have had to walk was round the Taj Mahal. We are all craving a little gentle exercise. It takes us half an hour to walk to the end of town to the small, shaky, suspended footbridge across the river feeding the lake. Below it we can see women and children washing clothes and bedding in the river and laying it to dry across the rocks. Janet decides it is already a bridge too far and turns back. As we start to make our way up the footpath, a group of men come towards us trailing a long violet sheet like a banner. Just as we are wondering, what is all about, we notice the pallbearers behind carrying the body aloft on a stretcher draped with a yellow cloth. Behind that a small boy with his head shaven and an old man. As he passes us, the small boy stops and tells us that it is his father and the old man tells us it is his son. Then they carry on across the footbridge.

Climbing up the footpath through the forest, with occasional glimpses of the lake below, I could be back in Wales. No. Don't be daft. It's 40C of sunshine and my feet are not squelching through mud. It takes us another 2 hours to reach the Peace Temple. At the top, the temple itself is inspirational and we pause for a while to chat with others before starting the very steep descent direct to the lakeside. By the time we reach the bottom our legs are shaking with the strain and our knees are complaining at the unforeseen workout. Fortunately there is a teashop by the lake where we take refreshments before being rowed across to the other side.

In the evening we go down to a lakeside cafe to watch the sunset and see a storm approaching from the other side. Lightening flashes and thunder rolls and a few spots of rain, but, by the time we reach our restaurant, it has veered off elsewhere, leaving us cool and calm for the night.

We all love Pokhara and no-one wants to leave for Kathmandu but our minds wander back to a young man, alone in his hotel room, wondering how to break the news of a holiday tragedy to his friend's family only a couple of days after they left home for a fantastic holiday.

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Blessed in Ghorka

17/10/2010

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  I am not unhappy to leave Chitwan. Despite having had an enjoyable time, I have the impression that most of it is staged for tourists and that robs me of the wonder of nature and the 'wild'life. I even begin to wonder if the 'traditional village life' is staged and they all go home at the end of the day to large villas with 24hr electric and LCD tvs. Except I do not think this exists in Nepal.

Of course, charging rhinos, alligators leaping out at your canoe, and even leeches sucking your life blood away add a little more excitement than your average safari park but trying to sleep in damp sheets, showering in cold water and dressing in damp clothes is more depressing than relaxing and I am in need of some serious R&R after India.
I have no expectations of Pokhara as we leave Chitwan and drive through the beautiful, Nepali countryside, with it's thatched villages, ponds, village water pump, lush fields, loose chickens, ducks, geese, cows, goats and occasional cats and dogs. I wonder if Britain was like this in the 17th century (paddy fields excepted).
This is the start of Desain in Nepal, probably the largest festival in the country and our local agent, Yadu, has invited us to his family home in Ghorka (home of the famous regiment) to celebrate the first day. The whole family is there to greet us and somehow, 24 visitors and 10-12 family members manage to arrange themselves round the small balcony of the villa perched on the side of a mountain. The views are stunning and yet you can feel the isolation that the winter snow must bring. We are plied with drinks and snacks, but when a tray of mutton 'nuggets' are brought out everyone politely declines. These had been experienced the night before in Chitwan and most had suffered as a result. As Yadu's beautiful niece offers them it gets embarrassing. They have obviously put a lot of work into preparing for our visit. Michele, the human dustbin, comes to the rescue. He has been starved of meat in India and is intent on making up for lost time. He takes a few to taste then grabs a handful as she goes on to his neighbour. Each time she offers another person he takes a handful more. Eventually, mum brings another plate and he has his own pile of mutton nuggets. This is quickly devoured until he has single-handedly consumed an entire sheep (or possibly goat, as the two are interchangeable in this region).
During Desain, it is traditional for the family elder to bless the younger family members. Yadu's grandfather graciously offers to bless us all by pasting a concoction of red and yellow paint with rice grains on our foreheads and a leaf behind our ear.
Back on the bus, we espy a small wooden, hand turned ferris wheel for small children at the village entrance. It seems this and all the swings we have seen are especially constructed for the Disain festival which lasts 9 days.
As we eventually reach Pokhara it is close to dusk and the rain is falling steadily. We have 3 days here and no scheduled activities. Close to the lake and the mountains, it appears to be a buzzing tourist centre, filled with lively bars and restaurants more akin to a European ski resort but still with a Nepali feel. Already it feels relaxing.
We set out on the daily scavenge for food. Barry has spotted a particular mo-mo restaurant on the way in and we trek up and down trying to find it. Finally we give up, and try one closer to the hotel.
The momos ( a sort of dim sum/ravioli parcel filled with veggies like a spring roll with a spicy dipping sauce)are yumyum and well worth the additional wait we are told to expect.
Back at the hotel we discover that mo-mos are not that easy to procure and we are the only ones to have successfully tracked them down despite them being on every menu.

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    What Vicki Did..

    After 25 years of corporate travel in international sales and marketing, Vicki decided to chuck in her job and swapped 5 star hotels for budget hostels, tents and  a sleeping bag as she travelled the world. She's never had so much fun. 

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