Nepal Notes Part 9: Old Fashioned Nepal
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
After spending weeks in Pokhara doing not much of anything, I suddenly had a very busy week of seeing Chitwan and Bhaktapur, then hopping a plane to Bangkok. There were definitely a lot of things I was able to do and see in Nepal and yet every time I talked to a fellow traveler, I found out about something else. I think a person could easily spend months here just hiking and site seeing.
Bhaktapur
I had a few days left before my trip to Thailand so I decided to see Bhaktapur, an older outskirt of Kathmandu, famous for its architecture, temples, and a living goddess. I took the Nepali version of Uber and caught a half hour ride on the back of a scooter, while wearing my big backpack. Things like this are why I pack light. We found the neighborhood easily enough but my driver spoke no English and couldn’t find my hostel. Eventually he made some calls and someone came and found us. I was walked down a street, through a yard, a construction site, and down an alleyway to my new home… Hostel Swastik. And yes, their logo was a huge swastika. Glad it means something else there. The hostel was rough around the edges, but the staff were friendly. The man at the desk said he was friends with the owner of Planet Nomad, where I had spent so much of my time in Thamel. My room was outside of the hotel and the flimsy wood door opened directly onto an alleyway. I tired to shower but the water was cold and little more than a trickle. With my entire body tensed, I washed my hair, then went for a walk. I think I found the Nepal I was looking for, the one I had imagined in my head for years when someone talked about the far off land of Kathmandu. The architecture was what the guide book claimed it was and then some. Beautiful orange bricked buildings with hand carved wood accents lined every street. Every corner had some sort of shrine or temple. It felt like a person could spend a lifetime finding, documenting, and researching them all. Old public baths were everywhere, but they were all full of murky green water. They weren’t built with this many people and this much pollution in mind. Every doorway and window had hand carved details. Even dead end alleyways had some kind of statue or shrine at the end. It felt like the city had been there for thousands of years. The narrow streets kept most cars out so at times it felt untouched by modern man… then a scooter would fly by. It was also a relief to walk the streets and not see tourists and trinket sellers… or drug dealers.
That night I did not sleep well as I had a rather strange incident. A man in the alleyway was yelling a lot and banging on a door across from mine. My belief, even at the time, was that he had gone out for a few drinks, locked himself out of his house, and was now trying to wake someone inside to let him in. That said, I wasn’t interested in taking chances. I quietly got out of bed, left the lights off, and silently moved the small table and chairs to block the door. It was a wood door with a dead bolt across, but I didn’t trust it, and I dont trust drunk strangers. My fear was he would get tired of fruitlessly banging on his door, and possibly try another. So, the simple solution was barricade the door without him seeing or hearing it happen so as to avoid drawing attention. Eventually the yelling stopped, I hope and assume someone let him in to bed. It was an odd incident and, in the grand scheme of things, shows just how safe Nepal is. This being the most worrying incident I had in regards to other people, and it was just a drunk man pounding on his own door.
My only full day in Bhaktapur I went to the main square (also called Durbar Square) to see the sights. I was fast talked into hiring a guide for an unknown amount. I would later learn the price was $20usd AND I had to hear his sale pitch on art. The guide was good, he showed me around and had lots to say. I also got to see the Kumari. She is a living goddess, and very young girl, who is somehow the ideal beauty in Nepal. She occasionally comes to the window and stares at the crowd, it is said, if she smiles, it’s a bad omen. Photos are strictly forbidden. It was strange but fascinating. The guide also showed me several other small squares I would have never found on my own, it ended up being a full day of touring instead of just a quick walk to a square. I do think I over paid, but not by much. After my tour, the guide took me to his art studio to sell me some paintings, as with all art in Nepal, it was all religion based and wouldn’t fit in my backpack anyway. I took his card and promised that if I were to buy any art, it would be from him. Silently, I promised myself I would buy the first painting that didn’t have a god on it, just to support and encourage diversity in the art world.
That night I asked about the movie room they had a poster for. It turned out to be a very old beat up projector that took some effort on their part to get connected to a barely running laptop. They had about half a dozen pirated movies on offer, the only one that stood out to me was Uncharted. I had played the video game series and had been thinking that Bhaktapur looked like something out of one the games… so it felt fitting. The theater room was large, the projection covered an entire wall, and I had the place to myself. For 50 rupees, I ordered a bowl of popcorn. On the floor cushions, I sat thinking… I have a bizarre knack for ending up in empty hostels and hotels. My ex and I once had most of the island Nananu-i-ra to ourselves, it was just us, alone at the hotel, and 5 Germans at a neighboring resort… It kind of felt like we were about to be hunted for sport.
Back to Kathmandu
The follow day, I took a taxi to a hotel near the Kathmandu airport. I walked to the nearby aviation museum and did my best not to laugh at the small plastic scale models, similar to what I built as a kid. Some were more of the fantasy styles but rounded out the collection nicely. The entire museum was contained within a hollowed out jetliner, which was quite interesting. The day before my flight I walked to the Pashupatinath Temple, it was quite an experience. I was swarmed by trinket sellers and guides right at the gate. The entire place smelled like death, literally and figuratively… there were homeless people who had parts of themselves rotted off, my guess is gangrene infected injuries. Nepalis, in my few weeks experience, didnt strike me as thieves, but all the same, I opted to keep my phone in my pocket to prevent a snatch and grab. Having gone this long without a theft, I opted to not temp fate. The temple is also a common place for cremation and the wind was blowing from the pyres to the walkway I was on. The smoke choked me and burned my eyes a little, but mostly, I was grossed out by the idea of what was creating the smoke I was now breathing. Like all of Nepal, the architecture was nice and you could feel the history around you. With the smell, the crowd and being hounded by desperate sellers, I just didn’t stay long. I was ready to leave Nepal, and in the morning, I would.
Technical
The shame, oh the shame. I was mistaken in my previous story when I had mentioned hiring a guide for a tour of old town… upon review of my notes, the guide was in Bhaktapur, that story has been edited and the information has been added to this story. My apologies.
I poked a little fun at the Kathmandu Aviation Museum. The truth is, the staff were friendly and doing their best, like many places, they are simply under funded.
With my illness and just how crowded the city was, I was hitting a mental wall and was glad to be leaving Nepal. I had a great time while there, and I think if I were to have stayed longer it would have been in my best interest to try to get into smaller surrounding towns or do another hike. For me, sitting around the city wears down on me quickly and the rough busses make exploration outside of the city a bit daunting. As I write this, I do miss Nepal, and have just texted my travel buddies to suggest we go back as I have just noticed I am missing a 500 rupee bank note that would complete my set… seems as good of an excuse as any to go back.
This is the final story of my Nepal series.. well of THIS Nepal series, maybe someday I’ll go back and have more to say. I did return after Thailand for a few days before flying home. It just worked out logistically to keep my original flights and fly round trip between Kathmandu and Thailand. All that is to say, Nepal was great, I highly recommend it… and next week I’ll have Part One of my Thailand adventure.
Posted in Photo Drop, Travel and tagged backpacking, bhaktapur, history, Kathmandu, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 2 comments.
Nepal Notes Part 8: A Wild Tiger And A Life Changing Coin Toss
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
My two day motorcycle trip, part 7 of this saga, gave me a sufficient kick in the rump to get me moving. Despite still feeling the effects of my pneumonia, I was determined to get out of Pokhara, I had abruptly hit the wall for how long I could stay in that town. I had read about Chitwan National Park before my trip, but dismissed it under the assumption there wouldn’t be time, turns out there was time.
Chitwan National Park
The bus ride back to Kathmandu was 12 hours so I decided to break it up a bit by taking a detour to Chitwan National Park, its located south of and somewhat equidistant from Kathmandu and Pokhara. I was told the bus to Chitwan would be about 4 hours, it took 7.5. At the but station I was met by a man in a very rough pickup and taken to my hotel. It was hard to tell who was there to work and who was just a friend of the employees hanging out, nobody wore a uniform of any kind and everyone was just kind of hanging out. Also all of the men had short hair except for a small patch on the back left long, it was strange. It reminded me of my cousin who, in the 90s, had what we called “a rat tail”. I was fed a large, late, lunch and then was shown to my room. It was dated, dusty, and overall tired, but there were a lot of geckos around so that was nice, they look nice and keep the bugs down. Luckily they weren’t too noisy, sometimes geckos can make a barking noise that reminds me of a turkey yelp/cluck. With its thatched roof and wicker furniture, it reminded me of the budget hotels in Fiji. One strange thing that stood out to me at this hotel, the bed sheets only covered the top ¾ of the bed, meaning my feet were on bare mattress. It grossed me out, but I was so used to rough accommodation at that point, I just tucked the blanket under my feet. At about 4pm I was walked to a river front to take in the 630 sunset. We arrived at 415 in the blazing heat, after half an hour of standing on a concrete flood wall roasting in the sun, I decided to walk farther down the bank. At the end of the flood wall was a river front restaurant and beyond that were two locals riding elephants along the river. They saw me and wandered over, I took some pictures and patted one on the trunk. I had never seen an elephant up close like that. I wandered back to the restaurant and ordered a cold soda… it was now about 515… Finally, the sun set in a rather lackluster way and I was able to go back to the hotel. There were 4 other guests there, two couples and they said little more than hi to me.
Morning of day two I was crammed into a dugout canoe. I was sat near the back on a square stool with 2 inch legs and someone was place ahead of me, and someone ahead of them and so on until we were just shy of a dozen. It felt like a back massage chain, but sweatier. 3 canoes took off around the same time and we all floated down the shallow river, occasionally bottoming out right under me… I was still not feeling great about my weight, before this trip I had never considered myself in shape, but I also never thought I was overweight. I definitely put some pounds on after the divorce, I just never realized it was this bad. My more pressing consideration was that we were spotting crocodiles from a boat where the gunwales sat 6 inches above the water. It felt low to me, and apparently I would make a well marbled snack. Along the way we also spotted a wide variety of exotic birds include some beautiful teal coloured King Fishers. The boats brought us to a steep bank where we all piled off. I was fortunate that I was the only person my guide was taking on the jungle trek. We were able to see monkeys, spotted deer, barking deer, and in the distance some Rhino. I was surprised at how quiet my guide could walk the jungle, he seemed impressed with me too, all those years of hunting whitetail deer seemed to pay off for me. I was glad it was just the two of us, in my experience, very few people actually know how to be quiet. Our jungle trek ended at an elephant breeding center. I didn’t love the elephant center. Initially it was just elephants chained to posts under simple shelters, like a farmer’s pole shed. As I learned more, I found out the elephants were trained to be used for patrols in the park and were walked twice daily. It wasn’t a life too far off from some horses, but it still didn’t sit well with me.
In the afternoon I went on a jeep safari (I had the option of an elephant ride, and declined). I was loaded into the back with an American man, and a large, loud, Nepali family. We spotted a lot of wildlife but the preteen son kept trying to call the animals by yelling at them… It was a bit frustrating but also a bit funny. Our guide did his best to keep everyone quiet, and himself, used only a rock tapped against the metal bars on the jeep to communicate with the driver. It was a good system, were it not for my chatty companions. I also saw a wild peacock, and up until that moment, I had never thought about where they are native to, turns out they’re from Nepal and India area. They were just an animal that was around, like a loon in Canada. It was beautiful dark blue, high in a tree, and its long tail flowed gracefully as it jumped down and glided away. The jeep drove us to a Gharial hatching facility. It was about a dozen pools surrounded by chain link fence all full of little crocodiles. Its a good program, though not particularly photogenic. On our way out we passed some forest fires, at first it looked like small fires, but before long we were going fast down a dirt trail with flames on both sides and I thought I was at risk of losing eyebrow hair. It’s a strange feeling to be in nearly 40 degree heat and drive by a roaring fire, its like sticking your arm in the oven when its already just too hot outside.
At a military checkpoint, near the exit of the park, we crested a hill and saw, about 50 meters ahead, casually walking away, a tiger. The first thing that happened was the American grabbed the kid’s shoulder and pre-emptively hushed him. A much appreciated gesture. For about 15 seconds it walked down the dirt track without a care in the world, then turned left into the tall grass and wandered off into the wilderness. It looked thinner than I expected, to be honest, and its walk had more of a casual sway than the stealth walk my mind had imagined. It walked more like a domestic dog than a wild apex predator. Everyone in the jeep was glowing with excitement. The guide claimed he only has about 3 tiger sightings a year. I was skeptical about those numbers, he worked for tips and definitely wanted me to open my wallet a little farther, I did. When I got back to the hotel everyone there was exciting about it, wanted to hear the story, and made sure to remind me to mention it on my google review of the hotel. It was mentioned, along with the sheets.
The end of my action-packed day was to take in some cultural dancing in town. I was driven there in the box of a truck with a young couple that were a little better dressed than me. I was clearly in Nepal for the hiking, and they were there for the sights. It was a small theater with a broad stage and I was witness to some of the most impressive athletic dancing I had ever seen. In my youth I had witnessed Ukrainian dancing, French dancing, Powwow dancing, and breakdancing… none were quite on this level of both athleticism and team work. The first dance was a group of young men with staffs dancing and hammering them together, sometimes blind behind their heads, and doing it to make a melody. All I could imagine was a pinched finger. The ladies came on and did impressive dances with drums and twirls, then a man came on solo and spun fire in the dark. The fire spinning in the darkness with the hammering of drums felt like a trance, I was locked in and couldn’t look away. Towards the end there was a comical dance with two men, one dressed in traditional women’s attire who basically dodged the others romantic advances with twirls and jumps while the other tried to impress with dance moves, while closing the distance. Despite it not being in my original itinerary, I was glad to have made the trip south. I got some sleep, the next day was my bus to Kathmandu, and I could only imagine how long that would really take.
Back to Kathmandu
The 4-hour bus ride to Kathmandu was, naturally, about 8 hours. The American from the jeep tour was on the bus with me, we decided to share a cab from the bus to our hotels. While waiting for luggage to be unloaded, a woman beggar tapped my arm and held her hand out. I was in no mood and had been desensitized to beggars by this point. She kept stepping in front of me and tugging on my luggage and then giving me a blank stare with her hand out. Somehow that stare just felt entitled to me, like she expected me to pay a tax. Finally, as she was blocked me from getting to the taxi, I faked left and rolled right, just like I used to in my basketball days. The American said he thought I was being attacked by bugs, I guess my technique has rusted over the years. The cab driver scolded her and explained to us that she is always there and it pays her better than a normal job. Checking into Planet Nomad hostel was much smoother this time, I had texted the owner directly, a few days prior, and she just told me what room would be mine and to let myself in whenever I arrived, easy, peasy.
The following morning I started asking around about hiking Everest Basecamp. KTM airport was under construction and I was told I would have to take a 4-hour night-bus ride to a nearby airport then fly to Lukla. All in all it would cost me just over $2k USD, I could get it down a small amount without a guide, but not much. I thought about it for the day, I was still recovering from my pneumonia and had actually pulled a muscle in my chest causing some painful breathing. I didn’t have the heart for more frozen squat toilets and Nepali busses. I called my airline and asked about changing my flights to get home early, motorcycle fever still had me so I thought maybe I would buy a bike and tour around Canada. The customer service rep, without a laugh, told me to fly home early would cost me seven thousand dollars, the only available flights were first class. Naturally, I wasn’t about to do that. Natalie suggested I come to Thailand… over breakfast with her and some fellow travelers, I flipped a coin. Thailand it is. Within about an hour, I booked a round trip flight from Kathmandu to Thailand, it was cheaper than cancelling my flight home from Nepal. Natalie was headed to Thailand in a few days. Before she left, a bunch of us made friends with a Dutch girl and gave her all the hiking gear that we didn’t want to take with us on our next stop. Natalie gave her clothes, I gave her mitts, water tablets, and hiking poles. I burned a few days in Kathmandu, a few were spent just going for a walk to get food, much like Pokhara. Those days did make me feel a little guilty, like a fake traveler, hiding out in his hotel and venturing out to get western food. That said, one of the days I did wander to the old town part of Kathmandu, I took in a museum and the town square. It was called Durbar square, and I was mobbed by sellers and would-be tour guides, I also did some book shopping and found a few worth buying. In my wandering aimlessly about Thamel I also found an amazing burger place that sold buffalo burgers (water buffalo, not bison). In preparation for Thailand, I bought a cheap rubberized duffle bag and filled it with trinkets for my family as well as any gear I felt I wouldn’t need for the next leg of the trip. The hostel let me store it in their spare room. I put my information on a card in the top and plunked it in a dark corner, hoping I would see it again when I got back. My only real fear was losing my beloved sleeping bag, but I have a lot of trust in the Hostel owners and travelers dont usually steal as that just gives them more stuff to carry around. I had a few days before my flight to Thailand left, so I opted to have one more Nepal adventure, but that’s a story for next week.
Technical
There’s not much in this story for gear other than me being thankful I brought some shorts and my crocs. They came in very handy in the 30 to 40 degree Celsius (86f to 104f) heat.
The elephant breeding center was certainly a mixed bag of emotions, it felt cruel, but it was mostly just under funded. The animals appeared fed and in good health and this center did increase the elephant population, but it wasn’t a wild population so does it even count? The elephants were trained and used in anti poaching patrols so they were doing good. I suppose, like most things, its shades of grey rather than black and white.
The coin toss. I was debating toughing out Everest base camp, trying to get home early, or going to Thailand. I’m rarely one to gamble and usually only do anything AFTER a lot of research. It was out of character for me but a coin toss felt right and it ended up working out. I had a lot of fun in Thailand (you’ll see) and spending more time with Natalie, built our friendship and as a result, led to me gaining a few travel friends and ended up inspiring 3 trips so far and two more are in the planning stages, so I am calling that coin toss life changing in more of a butterfly effect kind of way.
Lastly, a bit of gloating or maybe therapy? I sometimes on this trip, on days I didn’t do much, felt a bit of a fraud. Like I wasn’t really having an adventure because anyone can fly to any country and just hide out in a hotel only venturing out for western style food… Upon writing and proof reading this story I realized that driving a jeep through an active forest fire in the jungle is barely a note, so maybe, just maybe… I should go a little easy on myself when I take a day or two off during a long trip. Also shoutout to my sister for telling me to be nicer to myself in my stories.
And if you ever find yourself in Kathmandu, I know a place for a good burger.
Posted in Hiking, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Chitwan, nepal, Outdoors, Rhino, tiger, travelwith 2 comments.
Nepal Notes Part 7: Motorcycle Trip
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here. As always, questions and feedback are always appreciated, as is sharing my stories with your friends.
Before my trip, I looked online and had found a motorcycle club called “Hearts and Tears” in Pokhara that did tours. I had motorcycle fever since my divorce, and had the foresight to get my International Drivers Permit before leaving. This was what I needed to get out of my rut. I had looked for the physical location before, but wasn’t able to find it. Some locals pointed me to where they thought I should look and all I found was closed garage doors in an alleyway. Rita, of all people, told me she had found it. She had gotten stoned at breakfast and gotten lost getting back to her hostel and came across it. She walked me over, it was right where I was told, this time they were open. I went in and talked to the main guide, Prabin. I told him I was after just a day trip to get a feel for the bike, a Royal Enfield Himalayan, because that’s what I was thinking of buying back home. He suggested an overnight trip because he knew an interesting hotel that was a fun drive to get to. I exchanged numbers with him and agreed to go in two days time.
That afternoon, Natalie finished the Annapurna Circuit and met up with all of us at the Juicery, she also introduced me to her friend Renata (keen readers will note that Natalie and Renata have come to visit me here in Alberta and I have gone to Guatemala with them).
I asked Natalie if she wanted to come with me. At first, she said she wasn’t particularly interested, but later changed her mind. She also suggested that since we were leaving early the next morning, that she should just sleep in my room on the spare bed. I worried briefly if this was another case of someone using me for my generosity and what little money I had, but she paid her fair share of everything as a matter of her own principles.
The Bike Trip
As though the good lord has a sense of humour, Rita left town that morning, unfortunately she did so with a book I had lent her that I never got a chance to read. There was also an odd introspective moment for me the night before. I had known Rita was leaving but didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in person, Natalie asked me if I was sad about that… and I really wasn’t. I was ready for her to leave and for me to get out of my rut. Natalie and I started our motorcycle trip and that morning was a real pivot for me on my trip, this is when my plans went out the window and I went off script. This is when I started to reflect, learn, and heal instead of pine and brood.
We met our guide at the shop, he was 15 minutes late, but called to let us know he was late. We had loaded our gear into my little fifteen-liter day pack and strapped it to the back of my bike, I then put my water bottle in the tank bag. Prabin gave me a quick primer on Nepali driving: don’t trust signal lights, honk as you pass, and try not to stop. With that, we were off. The first challenge was following Prabin, who had Natalie as a passenger, down the narrow alleyway from the shop then through heavy morning traffic on roads that to my understanding, have no rules and no maintenance. It was absolute white-knuckle chaos at first, but then I fell into a groove. It was actually a bit intuitive, it felt like walking in a crowded area. Everyone was constantly watching and weaving around each other. The only hazard was stopping and interrupting traffic flow. My “no rules” theory was, somewhat, confirmed when we crossed a double solid line to blaze by two cops on a motorcycle who did little more than glance at us. Eventually we broke free of the city into the winding country roads along the edges of the steep foothills of the Himalayas. The roads were a variety of gravel, fine dirt, cobblestone, tarmac, and pavement. Most were in a state of disrepair. Tight switchback turns were the norm, which created blind corners that buses liked to take wide, I got in the habit of riding on the far edge of the road, and still had some close calls.
We stopped for lunch at a roadside hotel and restaurant. The guide checked on the kitchen and then informed us they just made fresh Dal Baht. This was by far the best meal I had my entire trip. The chicken was crispy and spicy, but in a flavorful way. As we ate we watched music videos on the TV and Prabin translated the songs for us. Their music carried a much more wholesome atmosphere than what we seem to get in the west. Our next stop was the main draw of our trip, The Kushma suspension bridge. To my understanding it is the highest and longest in Nepal. I have a normal, healthy, fear of heights. I let the guide know, to which he replied “I can drive the bike across for you, if you like”. In this situation, despite the almost comical length of the bridge, my ego had more pull than my fears. I wasn’t going to let another man drive my bike across for me, especially in front of a girl. Yes, its that fragile. Prabin and Natalie crossed first, I was told to wait until they were all the way across before departing. When it came my turn, I took a deep breath and slowly released the clutch. Every cell in my body screamed in terror, but I wasn’t about to stop, and this was no place to lock up. I looked out at the valley and suddenly felt very high above the hand rails while seated on the bike. I had to make frequent stops and crowd to one side when pedestrians and I crossed paths. Somehow a motorcycle/pedestrian bridge felt like it shouldn’t exist, but I was the only one who seemed worried about it. The view was amazing, but staying upright on the slick steel bridge took all of my concentration as a novice rider. The crossing probably took less than a minute but felt like ten.
On the far side of the bridge, we took a few minutes to rest and have some water, I did my best to hide my frayed nerves. While crossing I had passed an older woman carrying a large sack of potatoes loaded on her back and held on with a strap across her forehead. Me being a taller blond man, I stand out as a foreigner, this always leads to conversations, and this was no exception. Using Prabin as a translator she asked all about us and told us she was a proud mother of 8 and walks this bridge daily. A tuk-tuk taxi came to pick her up, and without a word or hesitation, Prabin grabbed the potatoes and loaded them for her. I already respected Prabin, but this little gesture told me a lot about him.
Immediately after the bridge, the road was beautiful smooth tarmac lined by spaced conifer trees. It felt like we had briefly left the country, I felt I was back in the Alberta foothills. Nepal is normally shrubs and rough roads. The last leg of our days ride was a return to the familiar rough roads, and a few water crossings that found my foot pegs well under water… on a public road, shared with buses. The only other time I had seen a bus cross water was in Iceland, and it looked a little more purpose built than the busses here. Towards the end of the day, the weather started to turn, we got rained on for a few minutes then hit with wind, which caused the dust and dirt to stick to us. Then with little notice, we took a right up a steep hill to a gate, honked, and were let into a large, well manicured, yard with a beautiful mansion on the far side, opposite the gate. The yard was amazing, and as soon as we entered, even the weather got better. It was like magic.
We were introduced to the owner, Mick. He had worked in New York for years and had English better than mine. He told us the story of his hotel. His great grandfather, a colonel in the army, had built the huge house. Then, the family retained the property but moved away from it, for two generations it sat abandoned. Slowly it crumbled under the hard monsoon rains year after year. When Mick was ready to come home and retire, he restored it to a hotel. He replaced the roof and said the support beams, eroded by rain, had been cut so cleanly it looked like a saw had done it. The brick walls and dark wood furniture created an amazing atmosphere of old-world cozy relaxation.
We were shown to our room, a large room with two single beds and a fireplace. We had showers, got changed and relaxed on the front steps before supper. An old, decrepit, Land Rover in the back of the yard caught my eye. Mick said he belonged to his dad and he was going to fix it up someday.
For supper we were treated to barbequed chicken and a sweet desert. It was some sort of small donut like pastry, think donut hole or Timbit submerged in sweet syrup. I tried to thank our server in Nepali by saying “Dhanyabad” which came out close to “dandi-bad”. She gave a confused look, said something to Mick. Mick looked at me and said “she just asked if you were asking for Dal Bhat.” The table erupted with laughter as I tried to explain I was extremely full and was just trying to say thank you. I decided I best just stick to English. A testament to Nepalese hospitality, I do believe that woman probably would have whipped me up a batch if I were serious.
After supper we had long and fascinating conversation. It turns out Mick and Prabin had been friends for over a decade. The hotel was a regular stop on the way home for longer motorcycle trips that Prabin guides into Mustang and even Tibet. After a few drinks came the stories of rowdy Australians burning patio furniture and Americans making midnight beer runs into towns, that shut down at 4pm. They also told us of the time Prabin and a client got food poisoning on their way to Micks hotel. They were so sick they needed to go to the hospital but there was an election so travel was banned that day to prevent people voting multiple times. Mick was able to reach out to the local police and get a permission slip to travel, but only because it was a tourist that was sick.
It was a nice cultural experience to spend time with two locals giving their perspectives on politics and telling us the history of Nepal. Prabin told us he was a porter first, then a cook, and he saw how well the guides got paid so he learned English. He was a mountain guide for years but got injured and decided to switch to motorcycles, somehow, they are safer. I think that tells me more the dangers of mountains than the safety of bikes. The only flaw with the evening was treating myself to too many cups of milk tea. The caffeine and excitement meant I didn’t fall asleep until nearly 3am, I should have had the rum instead, but I had recently sworn off drinking.
The following morning, I found myself a little green around the gills and not wanting to stray too far from a washroom. The reality was we had to get moving, so I swallowed a fist full of diarrhea meds and hoped for the best. The rumble of single cylinder engine was not ideal, but the distraction of the road and sights was a great help. As we passed through small towns, kids rushed out to wave and get high fives from us on our passing bikes. It struck me as odd because bikes are very common even in small towns in Nepal, maybe kids just don’t have much else to entertain themselves. I started to partake in the drive-by high fives… until… I stuck my left hand out for an enthusiastic young boy. As my hand made contact, he grabbed it. I pulled my left hand away from him and my right, on the handle bar, also pulled in. The bike swerved hard towards a parked car. I leaned hard left and saved it, but it definitely put a scare in me. In that moment, I had a quick thought about how far away a hospital is from here and how just how rough those hospitals had looked. The thought of getting loaded in the box of a stranger pickup and hauled across these roads for a few hours to an underfunded hospital send a chill down my spine. I gave my head a shake and carried on.
We made a stop in the town of Baglung to see the Kalika Bhagwati Hindu Temple. We parked our bikes and Natalie and I made the walk in. It was a wide cobblestone path cut into the forest. At the end were rows of bells and large brick buildings with beautiful sculptures of animals. A local woman grabbed us and forced us to dance in a large group with her friends. I don’t think that was religious, I think she did that for entertainment purposes. We looked around a bit, made a donation and Natalie received a Tika (red dot on the forehead, I’m told it’s a blessing/ well wishes/ safe travels). I declined as I was worried it would smudge around in my helmet, I guess my loosening up has its limits.
To my dismay and my companions’ entertainment, our next stop was for lunch at The Cliff. It is a resort that caters to adrenaline junkies with bungee jumping, sky walks, cliff-side swings, and all other sorts of fear inducing antics at heights. The catch was that we had to cross, on foot, another very high, and very long suspension bridge to get to the restaurant. This bridge had bungee jumping in the middle. Prabin joked he would pay for my jump if I wanted to go… Some small part of me considered it, just to say I did. My hand over hand grip on the side rails of the bridge explains why I didn’t take him up on the offer. After lunch we made the short trip back to the club house. I was sad it was over. I wish I had planned a three- or five-day trip instead but, my back was sore and my wallet was draining like there was a hole in the bottom.
Since this trip my fear of heights has seemed to subside, Natalie and Renata visited me here in Alberta and we hiked Crypt lake and I had zero trouble with it, unlike when I did it 10 years ago and was white knuckling the cables and crawling up the rocks. When I told my therapist I was going to Nepal and was going to have to face my fear of heights, she tried to explain to me that I don’t have to face all my fears. She told me its perfectly OK to just avoid things you are afraid of, and I just couldn’t help but disagree with her on that one point. I think I needed to face that fear, I think I need to face a lot of fears. One by one, I am working on them.
After getting back to Pokhara, I decided it was time, I had to get moving. I had planned on only spending a few days in Pokhara and then doing the Everest basecamp hike, I had, instead, spent nearly two weeks in a depressed confusing spiral of self discovery, all while on the mend for my pneumonia, which I still didn’t feel fully recovered from. I had to leave. I had to do something. It was time to get back to Kathmandu and get my trip back on track.
Technical
The motorcycle rental agency is called Hearts and Tears and if I ever win the lottery I will use that money to go on each and every trip they offer. Don’t tell my mom, but I am currently saving my pennies for their trip into Tibet, so if anyone wants to donate money to that cause… I am kidding, give money to charity, not people going on vacation.
The bike I rented was a Royal Enfield Himalayan 411cc. I did try to buy one when I got home, but the dealership in Vancouver that had them in stock was an absolute nightmare to deal with so I ended up buying a used Interceptor 650, lots of photos in my story here. It ended up being a smarter purchase, despite my soft spot for the Himalayan, it suffers from a lack of power that makes it less than ideal for the amount of highways we have here in Canada. That said, Royal Enfield Himalayans will always have a special place in my heart and someday when I spot a cheap one on the used market, it’ll be coming home with me.
In the first photos you can see some older style bikes, Prabin had told me they used to run the 500s before the Himalayan went onto the market, they just dont hold up as well as the purpose built adventure bikes. He did offer to rent me one of the bullet 500s to take a drive around town, in hindsight I regret declining the offer, but I am a far better rider now than I was then, so it was probably smart to decline.
I did bring my gopro on the trip, but I am inexperienced with it and its a less user friendly older model. As a result the footage is not great, I have it on Youtube here. If you jump to 4:42 you can see the bridge crossing, and at 2:00 you can see one of my close calls with a bus on a switchback.
If you want to get a better idea of what riding in Nepal looks like, there is an organization called Rally For Rangers. It is a charity where individuals buy motorcycles and then drive them to be donated to park rangers around the world. I actually saw them in Kathmandu towards the end of my trip but I didnt connect the dots on who or what they were until I watched a documentary about them on Amazon Prime. I found the trailer for it on Youtube, I highly recommend it, its an interesting watch.
Posted in Motorcycle, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, Adventure riding, motorbike, motorcycle, nepal, Royal enfield, travelwith no comments yet.
Nepal Notes Part 6: A Tibetan Themed Birthday
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
At a café, half a block from my hotel, I ran into Linda on her last night before leaving. We shared a vegetarian pizza and a Sprite, for old time’s sake. Over dinner, I told her about my growing pains, she was polite, and non-judgmental. Likely wanting to change the subject, she told me all about a Tibetan cultural tour she had done. She really sold me on it and I decided I needed to do the tour. The next day, I found the tour office and booked. It was expensive, but I didn’t care, I needed an activity to get me out of my rut. Anytime something is expensive, I just remind myself how much I have wasted on other silly things and how much I save by not smoking cigarettes.
Originally I had planned the tour for the day before my birthday, but it got delayed and it ended up being how I celebrated my birthday. A local man, the grandson of Tibetan refugees, took me, and 3 others on the tour. We took a taxi, I was comically big even in the front seat, the small Korean girl who sat behind me thought it was hilarious. She was also a bit thrown off by me opening and closing her door for her, is that not a thing in Korea? The guide took his motorcycle. He informed us that this was because he was not Nepali. Nepal gives citizenship based on paternal lines, ie: you can only be Nepali if you father is Nepali. This means that him, being a child of refugees, despite being born in Nepal, will never be a citizen. Non-citizens are not allowed to own businesses or “anything with 4 wheels” because having a vehicle lets you start a business as a taxi or delivery service. Its strange to think of so many people in a citizenship limbo for generations. Our first stop was a small Monastery where we were given a quick tour and a bit of Tibet history. Across the road was a rug factory. All the rugs were hand tied and had beautiful designs. I declined to purchase one as they were quite heavy and cost nearly $400. Our next stop was a Tibetan doctor. He checked my pulse and looked at my tongue then gave his diagnosis. Lower back pain, a stomach ache, and pneumonia. He told me my insides were cold and I needed more cooked foods. He also suggested exercise… point taken, Nepal. We had lunch at a Tibetan restaurant followed by a meet and greet with a monk. The monk was an interesting young man, I was surprised by how much freedom they actually had in their lives. He said simply “you are your own master and your own enemy” which was kind of reassuring. He also told us that he had joined the monastery when he was 7 years old and somewhat avoids going home to visit as he find he speaks a different language than his family. He didn’t say it, but I got the impression there are maybe some lifestyle differences, and how much could you have in common with people you only lived with until you were 7?
We then, went to yet another Monastery to take in the evening prayer. We were instructed to sit on the sides, do our best to be quiet, and take no pictures. At first it was a little slow, lots of chanting and singing from the young monks in the middle, kneeling at desks. An older monk carried up offerings from the locals and put them at the front near some pictures of recently deceased individuals. A white woman walked in, after prayer had started. She was wearing the typical yoga hippie trying to have a spiritual trip outfit. It was baggy yoga pants, a baggy linen shirt, fun blue framed glasses and hair that looks intentionally messy. That “its important to me that others know I don’t care” look. It’s the kind of person a lot of us loathe on sight. She wandered in, plopped down… sat for about a minute, then pulled out her phone and started taking pictures. A stout, bald, middle-aged monk, sat near the door, overseeing the prayer, waved at her and wagged his finger, we all speak that language. She looked confused, then kept taking pictures. He did it again. Then she went over to him and they spoke, I couldn’t hear but I can guess he told her not to take pictures. She sat back down for about one more minute, then got up and left. I rolled my eyes at her “I need to document my Eat, Pray, Love trip” attitude… I probably shouldn’t judge, I wrote all this about my trip. Once she left, the prayers got louder and faster, the gongs rang, and the horns blew. A strange auditory trick happened, the prayers sounded like small groups having conversations, then suddenly they would all fall into unison, then apart again. It was a fascinating and moving experience.
After the prayer, we were taken to our final stop, a local’s house for snacks. We tried Tibetan butter tea (think of a soup broth pretending to be tea) and a barley porridge, which tasted like a blander oatmeal somehow. The real star was Tibetan bread, it was like a fluffier naan bread and was amazing with some jam on it. As we tried the foods we were told all about the current struggles of Tibet and His Holiness the Dali Llama. I won’t get into that here as that is several books that already exist, but it was interesting to hear the story from someone so close to it. A funny thing also happened on the tour, one of the people on the tour with me was a very sweet Italian man. As a show of thanks for letting us enter her home, he gave the home owner some Italian pasta and some white powder to be mixed with water to create the sauce. He gave our guide detailed instructions of how to cook it properly and he translated for the homeowner. It struck me as such a hilarious stereotype that, of course, an Italian would travel to another country and try to teach them how to cook. He was very nice and very well meaning, to be clear.
I went back to my hotel for a shower, it was 30 degrees outside that day and I had sweat through my shirt. It was still my birthday and Rita had texted me asking what I was up to. I told her I was going to get some cake, because it was my birthday. I was really starting to see a pattern with my diet and people commenting on my weight… Was it really getting THAT out of hand? I did just hike Annapurna!… barely, though… I guess. At any rate, she met me at The German Bakery and I had an underwhelming slice of dry cake and felt a little self conscious. We then walked to the end of the lakeside boardwalk and back and stopped at a Café near my hotel. I had an iced tea and some nachos that were so bad I, uncharacteristically, sent them back, they were replaced with bruschetta which was a little better. From there we went to Rita’s hostel and chatted with other guests in the common area about my tour. I then went back to my hotel and went to bed, unsure of how I felt about the day.
I spent the next morning being a bit lazy, but in the afternoon I decided I wanted to rent a canoe. At the docks the prices were about $5 an hour and an extra dollar to hire someone to paddle for you. Having proud Canadian heritage I am a firm believer in “Paddle your own canoe”. It must have been a rare thing because people sure got excited to see me paddle that bulking boat. What they called a canoe was more of a narrow row boat. Heavy wood slabs just narrow enough to allow for a canoe style paddle to be used. The edge of the lake had dozens of them, sank to the bottom in less than 10 feet of water, I wondered if anyone ever tried to recover them and if it was heavy rain, tourists, or negligence that sank them. As I went along a lot of people waved and chatted with me. One man spotted my red hat with the Canadian flag on it, cheered and said “hey Canada! Looking good!…. smoke hash?” and gestured toward his mouth with his fingers. In his boat with him were two elderly Asian tourists laden with cameras… I chuckled at the thought of a boat-to-boat drug deal with witnesses snapping pictures. It was one of the few times in my life I wished I did do drugs. I declined and continued on, one thing about Nepali drug dealers, they’re very polite about rejection. After some miscommunication and confusion, I found Rita waiting for me at the shore. She was supposed to meet me at one of the docks but “got bored and went to use the bathroom and didn’t see her phone ringing” it struck me as a no accountability move. I paddled us around the lake for a few hours including a lap around a small but crowded temple on an island just off the main shoreline. It was a nice little outing in the sun.
That evening we went to The Movie Garden. An open-air theater that played all kinds of movies. That night we watched The Grand Budapest Hotel. We ended up at The Juicery, again, and split two beers. I then called it a night and we went our separate ways. I decided that night I needed to do something to get out of here. The ladies at the local shop were starting to give me the local discount for bottled water. My “relationship” with Rita, for lack of a better word, was starting to annoy me. To be honest, I think I am better company than she is. I still don’t know what she wanted from me, but I felt a little used, like she just had nothing better to do than waste some time with a dork like me. Digging through the chambers of my memory, she does not seem to be the first woman that found me just tolerable enough to spend time with when no one else was available. Its an odd place to be in this world, like the bad fast-food of men.
Technical
I did it on a whim, but I now believe a Tibetan cultural tour is a must-do activity if you ever find yourself in Nepal. The guide had also recommended a few books on the subject, the one I read was titled Buddha’s Warriors and it was quite good.
The brick of tea pictured earlier is actually how most tea used to come and still is sold in solid bricks in a lot of the world, we just dont see it much in the west so I thought it was interesting.
I found prayer wheels interesting and was happy to spin them, being told they bring good karma and/or good luck. The guide was kind enough to explain that in Buddhism you gain “merit” by saying and reading prayers (you also gain it by doing good things). The idea with prayer wheels is inside them are rolled up written prayers over and over, when you spin them you gain merit similar to reading or saying them. That said, it is important to spin them the right way, so as not to “read” them backwards. Below is a photo of what they look like inside. The guide opened it to show me. Despite my curious and tinkering nature, I would have never thought to pop the lid off one.
Posted in Travel and tagged backpacking, nepal, travelwith 3 comments.