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.
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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