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.
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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