Nepal Notes Part 3: Starting The Annapurna Circuit
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
The entire point of my trip to Nepal was The Annapurna Circuit. I had first heard about it from guys I met on the West Coast Trail, and really got to seriously thinking about it over the next few years. The dam finally burst around Christmas 2022 when I was fed up with my job. While at a friends house getting help with my resume, we put on a movie about mountaineering and Nepal came up and I decided that sounded better than working. It just felt like the right thing to do. I booked my flights within a few weeks and in March, I quit my job and fled the country. I am an adult, and I can run away from my problems if I want. The morning I started this hike I had just had two rough days in a row getting there and was not in the best spirits, but, I was there, and forward on my feet seemed better than backward on those busses.
This is what I came here for, The Annapurna
The first day of the hike was from Chame to Lower Pisang. It was a hard uphill slog with little to see as most of it was still along the road. I started the day early and on my own. The hike, at this point, was still on a gravel road, though traffic was rare. For the most part it was other hikers, porters, and the odd motorcycle or truck. Though cool and crisp the air and altitude did not help my lingering cough, it did feel refreshing, mentally, after the dust and exhaust of the city. It was also nice to put on miles under my own power rather than bouncing in a seat. This was my first up close look at the sheer size of the mountains around me. The old villages, prayer flags, and occasional patch of snow were a reminder of where I was. I was still feeling a little sick and down, but I couldn’t deny that it was a good view.
After a long day of walking, I ended up at a Bob Marley themed tea house. The owner was friendly and showed me to my room. An outbuilding with three beds, the walls were made of vertical 1″x4″ planks that I could see daylight through, and outside it was starting to snow. I came to this tea house because that’s where Linda and Bonnie had gone and I was clinging to anyone familiar to me. I texted the French couple about where I was staying, but they were in Upper Pisang for the night. Linda’s guide took us to a temple in Upper Pisang, it was a nice sight and the extra altitude was supposed to help our acclimatization. The short hike up from our tea house was brutal for me, I sucked wind up the stairs and more than once they had to stop and wait for me to catch my breath and catch up. I felt weak, I felt embarrassed by how weak I was.
When we got back, I talked the owner into moving me into a different building, one made of cinder blocks that had a little more wind resistance. The deal was, I had to buy dinner, breakfast, and lunch there and could stay for free, in the nicer building. I had dinner with the girls and the owners young son, he just kind of wandered over to our table and was too cute for us to kick him out. While we ate, he stood on a ledge at the head of our table and rambled on, he actually spoke a little English, which I found impressive. After supper, my marriage came up. I was already in a bad mood and that somewhat crashed me. I had a chill down to my bones and I spent the remainder of the evening doing my best to be pleasant and trying to heat up. I huddled close to the little stove in the center of the common area, it had a rather pathetic little fire in it and I was amazed at how little heat it produced. Some friendly locals showed up on motorcycles and were staying at the tea house too. Unfortunately, every time one of them came in or out of the only heated room, they left the door to the outside elements wide open. I went to bed fairly early and questioned my own sanity and my own resolve, worried that maybe I didn’t have it in me to travel like this anymore. The attached bathroom was a cement floored room with a squat toilet and a bucket of cold water, it had a strong chemical smell masked by cheap air fresheners. Sleep did not come easy, but at least I wasn’t cold in my bed. Maybe I should have just spent a week at a resort in Mexico like everyone else my age. I weighed the merits and considered the logistics of turning back.
Sick in The Himalayas
The second day of the hike I could barely eat breakfast. I felt like hell and my spirits were still low. As I gained altitude, I was finally able to get good views of the mountains as the trees started to thin. The Himalayas felt so much grander than the Rockies I was used to. In the spirit of my pity party attitude, I found the small villages rather sad. The weather was still poor in the morning, and everything was a muted grey, like wool that had been washed too many times. The villages were also filled with livestock in muddy pens, they smelled like they had been wet for decades. I tried to keep my mind on the mountains and not the cold or the smell of old soggy manure. At some point I started coughing so hard I had to stop and rest on my hiking poles, before I knew it, I was having a proper coughing fit. It only stopped when my body tried to vomit, but there was nothing to come out. So there I was, on the other side of the world, feeling too sick to even puke. I continued on the road, in a hurry to get to my destination, Manang.
I ambled into town, looking and feeling rough. Manang is the last town with road access, there were a few jeeps on the edge of town, I debated asking about a ride out, but thought better of it. There was an older couple sitting on a bench in the sun outside of the first tea house in town. I asked them if it had hot showers and was shocked to find that this place had solar showers in each room. I found the manager and checked in for two nights. I paid $10 a night, plus I had agreed to buy all my meals there. I had the hottest shower possible and changed into my warmest clothes in my cold room. Solar showers put out good heat, but only when there is sunlight. It was surprising how well it worked, the shower got hot enough I couldn’t stand under the stream. I checked the time and decided I had better go see the doctor in town. Once out on the street, I spotted and spun some prayer wheels for luck, another surreal moment to add to the list. It was just one of those little goals I had, when planning this trip I had imagined myself in my down jacket, breath visible in the cold, spinning a prayer wheel while looking at the mighty mountains. I hadn’t anticipated the cough, but you can’t win them all. It was still a big win for me and really started to make this trip feel more worth it. I followed the signs from cobbled streets, to an alley, to a livestock path, to a rough building with a medical center sign. I questioned the quality of the doctor I would find here.
A local man who spoke little English informed me there was a fee for seeing the doctor, I agreed and he showed me to an exam room. Moments later a handsome American man about my age walked in and introduced himself. I, of course, asked about how he ended up there. As he examined, he explained, he was a doctor for NASA and specialized in extreme environments and “Space Medicine”. So, if you ever get too high on yourself, remember, there’s someone out there who’s parents get to brag their son is a space doctor working for NASA… And I couldn’t even land an HVAC apprenticeship… I later texted Natalie about this handsome doctor and suggested she find an excuse to stop in. I recommended faking a glute injury.
In the end I was diagnosed with mild atypical pneumonia, given antibiotics, and cold meds. I was told I could continue but was advised to turn back if it got worse or if I exhibited signs of altitude sickness. I went back to my room, had a nap and a meal. The following day was a rest and acclimatization day. All I did was hike to a lookout above town, I was rewarded with the sight of two large Himalayan vultures circling high above. I would later learn that in some parts of northern Nepal, such as Mustang, the dead are cut into pieces and fed to vultures as part of a funeral ceremony. I also, on a whim, bought a pair of wool mitts to put over my thin gloves, it later proved to be a wise investment.
Where The Road Ends
I was tempted to stay additional days in Manang, it was comfortable, more comfortable than my other tea houses so far, and I was afraid of what was ahead. Knowing I wanted to stall because I was afraid was part of what convinced me to keep going, back didn’t feel like an option to me, and neither was staying forever… though living there for the rest of my life, looking at the mountains, breathing the cool air, and walking the cobbled streets did hold some romantic charm. On I went. There was no longer a road, just a narrow hiking path. It was just me, other hikers, and porters carrying impossibly heavy loads. I had some digestive biscuits in my pack that I would offer to any porters I passed, or, more commonly, passed me as I rested. In the end this was a benefit as they occasionally would show me shortcuts on the trail to avoid long switchbacks. The views were magnificent and the prayer flags flapping in the wind were a constant happy reminder that I was actually doing it, I was realizing my dream. The day dream turned into a plan and the plan was being executed. It was a proper adventure, farther than I ever dreamed I would go. I would occasionally reflect on my mother’s friend Jennifer, our families were close, her late husband was good friends with my step-dad and her two sons and daughter were friends with me. Many years ago, when I was nervous about applying for schools, she told me, rather sternly, that it was important for me to get out of my comfort zone. It was one sentence, in passing, nearly 20 years ago, but I still think about it a lot when I travel. I was a nervous kid, prone to home sickness… oh, how times had changed.
The day ended at of the town of Letdar. With white knuckles firmly on each cable, I crossed the tall suspension bridge into town. I went into the first tea house on the other side and sat in a sun room that afforded me a view of the bridge. I was watching for Linda and Bonnie, I hadn’t seen them in days and the French couple were taking an extra day in Manang to acclimatize. I felt very much alone and had spent much of the day inside my own head. While I waited, a group of Spanish and Italian hikers checked in and joined me in the sunroom. A man of slight build played guitar and sang in Spanish, it was slow and soothing, but truthfully, I had no idea what he was saying. Eventually Linda and her guide showed up and I flagged them down. It turns out Bonnie had opted to stay back an extra day. They had also made another friend, a young English man named David. He was hilarious. It turns out this was his first big vacation and he always ordered food randomly on the menu and hadn’t been burned yet. I split a bottle of Sprite with Linda as I was craving something carbonated but knew that much sugar would hurt. The Italian hikers ordered a pizza and then criticized it to each other, which I thought was funny, but maybe a little mean. We had some dinner and played cards. The guide, Raju, showed us a card game that involved setting down pairs and trying to get rid of your hand. It was simple and fast paced. There was no electricity in the rooms and certainly no Wi-Fi, which, honestly, was nice. The room was well insulated and I got a decent night’s sleep. I was exhausted from all the elevation gain that day and knew more was coming.
The Card Game
I quickly jotted down the rules of the card game in my journal. Once home, I searched a bit and found it be a version of Dumbal, a very popular game in Nepal. The rules of our version are as follows:
– Game is played with standard deck without jokers, and is played in rounds, no limit to number of people but 4 to 6 seems to be optimal.
– Each player is dealt 5 cards (they can hold and look at them).
– The remaining deck is set face down on the table in the middle.
– Players in turn (clockwise) place 1 or more cards face-up beside the face-down stack (or in front of themselves in a pile, if thats easier for the group). If placing more than one card at a time they must be pairs, triples, quadruples, or a 3+ card straight.
– Players draw a single card from the face down stack at the end of their turn. If they have played a pair or straight at any point in the game they are allowed to take the previous players card from the face-up stack on the table instead, if they choose.
– Once a player has less than 5 points in their hand (an ace=1, 2=2, 3=3 and so on, Jack=11, Queen=12, king=13) they can end the round at the start of their turn, if they wish. They dont play their turn, but everyone else gets one more turn before showing cards. If they stop the round and have the lowest points they win, if another player has the same or less points in their hand, that player wins.
– Losers of the round add the points in their hand and add it to their overall score, once they hit a pre-agreed score, they are out (typically 200 is used). The other players continue until all but one is out, last remaining player is the victor.
– The game ends with two people on a very fast head-to-head and bluffing and smack-talk is almost mandatory.
Technical
I always get travel insurance. For my consultation and some antibiotics I was out approximately $90 USD and given a receipt which I later submitted to my insurance company and was fully reimbursed without follow-up questions. I was also way way below budget on food and accommodation. All the cash I had brought from Canada had been exchanged for Nepalese Rupees in Kathmandu (a very easy and transparent process as exchange rates are publicly posted and even posted daily in newspapers) and I was barely making a dent in my wallet (I had brought around $2000 cash). I ended up not needing to withdraw cash for weeks which was easily done in any city.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged adventure, Annapurna, backcountry, backpacking, hiking, Himalayas, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 1 comment.
Nepal Notes Part 2: Getting To The Trail
Part 1 of the story can be found here
Up until now, I had spent about a week in Kathmandu, walking everywhere I needed, and just trying to get my bearings. This was my first solo trip, and that level of freedom and socialization took some getting used-to.
Nepali Busses
Nepal is a tricky place to navigate, and I mean that literally. Roads are, generally, in rough shape and the buses all seem to be on their last legs. There are two types, Local and Tourist buses. Tourist buses are similar to a charter bus in Canada, in that, it is assigned seating and it’s typically one passenger per seat. Local buses are more what you would expect of a developing country. They are small and they fill them with anyone willing to get in. They also tend to run different routes. I wanted to get from Kathmandu to Besi Sahar, the original starting point for the hike. My plan was to take a taxi from my hostel to the station and catch a local bus direct to Besi Sahar. I had skipped breakfast and even avoided drinking water. I have IBS and bus travel is difficult for me, and there are simply no buses in Nepal with a bathroom. After seeing the roads, I understand why. I was also told my trip should take about 5 hours, keep that in mind as the story progresses.
As I was walking out of the hostel early in the morning, I was met by a French couple (a woman from France and a man from Quebec). The man, Ioan, was one of the guests that helped me on the roof that first night in Kathmandu. They were headed to the trailhead as well. They convinced me to join them. Their plan was to take the tourist bus headed west to Pokhara but get off half way at Dumre and then catch a bus north to Besi Sahar. I should have declined, but I wanted travel companions. At this point in my trip I was a little afraid of navigating alone, and was desperate for familiar faces. We walked to the tourist bus station, found a bus, bartered for our seats, loaded our gear, and hit the road. Nearly 5 hours into our trip I noticed on my phone, we had passed Dumre. Ioan went and talked to the bus driver and got a vague “yes yes 2 minutes, 2 miles” which did not comfort me. A local sitting behind us, who spoke excellent English, asked about our situation and talked to the driver on our behalf. He came back with the news I expected, we missed our stop, and the bus was not turning around. Luckily, there was a bus rest area ahead, the driver said he would put us on a bus headed back and we would be golden. We reached it shortly and our driver found us a bus, I suspect the other driver offered our ride as a professional courtesy. When we went to board, an oddly dressed woman scolded us. The bus drivers and our, now, translator had a quick meeting. I looked around, took it in, and realized what I was looking at. It was four tour buses and a chase truck. The chase truck was full of pedal bikes and the buses were filled with people wearing full cycle gear, including helmets… while seated in the bus. I knew what was coming, some things are truly universal. Our interpreter came back and said the drivers were fine but the buses were rented privately and the passengers didn’t want anyone else on them. Ioan and I had to physically restrain Selena. She wanted to go on that bus and fight someone. This incident solidified my opinion of cyclists, and made me like the French a little more.
The driver loaded us back on to be dropped off at the next town, where we could take a local bus back. As we pulled out of the rest area, I spotted Rita standing among the crowd, she had mentioned earlier that she was headed to Pokhara, small world. We took two more hours in bumper to bumper traffic through road construction.
Just shy of being assisted with a boot, we were rushed off the bus and onto the side of the road, abandoned. Not a bus in sight. A local spotted us and stepped in to help, as Nepali’s seem prone to doing. He walked us a few blocks to a parking lot and loaded us on a very small bus headed past Dumre. This bus was a bit on the full side but more importantly, it was tiny inside. I wedged half of myself onto a seat next to a lovely old lady, a good foot shorter than me while seated, she spoke to me in Nepali. I smiled apologetically and she just kept chatting. We were now taking local buses, a real interesting creation on their own. I have previously written about them here.
After a few more hours, back through the same construction zone, our bus found its way to Dumre. I got up to get off and: bop “OH!”…. bang “Gah!”… pow “sonofa!”… crack “FFFFFFuuu!” I hit my head on 4 rungs in a row while walking out. My fellow passengers stifled their laughter as best they could. We were escorted a few blocks on foot to the next bus, by yet a different friendly local. Selena began to barter with the driver, I was ready to pay for her ticket and everyone else’s if it meant we could leave right now… I was about 10 hours into my 5-hour trip and doing my best to be polite. Silence was my best option at this stage, so I kept my hungry, grumpy, yap shut. I still hadn’t eaten that day, my stomach felt like it was full of fire and my head was throbbing. I was wedged in the back next to a very young girl who was fascinated by me and asked a million questions. At some point I mentioned to the crowd man that I needed to use the washroom, as did my companions. We stopped at a general store, got out and talked a bit then he waved over. I was led to the bathroom in the back, there was a hole in the tile floor, a dim light, and a bucket of water in the corner. It was rough, but I was thankful.
The bus, well after dark, rolled into Besi Sahar. I stumbled off the bus in what can only be described as a daze. I was tired, furious, light headed and just generally unwell. My joints felt rusty, even my eyes hurt. A man was leaning against the back of the bus, looked at us, and said “your luggage on top?” “yes, it is” “ok, 500 rupees Ill get it down for you”. I debated spitting on a bank note and throwing in on the ground versus just strangling him… before I could make up my mind, Ioan started laughing. Somehow, in my state, it was infectious, I honestly cannot remember the last time I laughed that loud with such honesty. We both stood there laughing manically at this man for a solid 20 seconds before the bus driver noticed and shooed him away. It turns out it was a local trying to scam a few dollars, not a shady business practice of the bus company itself. The driver climbed up and handed us our luggage with a smile, free of charge.
I navigated the dark streets in my near delirium to my hotel. The hotel I had booked was on the nicer side at a whopping $30 per night. I wanted to stay somewhere comfortable before starting the hike in hopes a hot shower and good sleep would help my Kathmandu cough. The staff were so friendly and helpful it made me uncomfortable. Clearly this place was too fancy for me. I was so tired, and fed up, actually, under fed. I was starving. For the first time in my life, room service was an option, and I took it. With one quick call, a pizza and French fries were delivered to my door. A fellow could get used to this. I tried to have a hot bath but settled for a lukewarm one. The hotel included complementary slip-on sandals that were comically small on my size 14 feet. Promptly, a photo was posted to social media for a laugh.
Nepali Trucks
The following morning, a good breakfast at the hotel had me feeling a little more human. Though, the bacon was dangerously under cooked… oh how quickly I had acclimatized to my high standard fancy living. My cold felt a little better but I still had the cough and my voice was a bit off. I spoke to my dad on the phone for a bit, it was a weird feeling to talk to my family on my cell phone on the opposite side of the world. It was a long way from my first trip to New Zealand in 2011 where I had to log onto the communal hostel computer to send emails… which was pretty amazing at the time.
Before leaving Kathmandu, the owners at Planet Nomad had informed me that Chame is a better and far more common starting point. Road construction along the trail meant that very few people actually started hiking at Besi Sahar. The French couple met me late in the morning, they had stayed at a local budget hotel and mentioned a run-in with some cockroaches. I was thankful for my splurge. We went to the Jeep booth and booked a ride in a “Jeep” which was actually a Mahindra pickup, a boxy 4 door diesel truck from India. We paid roughly $30 per person, nearly double what the guide book had suggested, but the book was old and the driver had a monopoly. Like buses, the jeep wasn’t leaving until the driver had all seats full. We waited an hour and a half before we found our last rider. The box was also loaded with goods for delivery, our driver, understandably, was making every dime he could.
The drive was rough to say the least. It was a narrow mountain road carved into the side of a cliff. The last time I had seen a road this questionable was in Colombia on a road dubbed “The Trampoline of Death”. The difference is that in Nepal, it was alternating between snow and rain… and more than once Selena scolded our driver for texting. On the five hour drive we made several stops at police checkpoints where they documented our hiking permits. As we passed through the rainy little villages, my spirits began to spiral down. My spine, and top of my head, were getting battered by the road. All the towns looked muddy and muted with their slate stacked buildings and faded painted doors. The livestock stood in muddy corrals, just dull and grey, even the overcast sky. I couldn’t help but worry what our unknown accommodation would look like. Unfortunately for my high anxiety, you don’t book accommodation on the hike, you just show up and they put you somewhere. It was a terrifying thought that I may end up sleeping on the kitchen floor of an overcrowded tea house.
I got lucky, a local with us in the truck had suggested a place called Eagle Eye. It was nice, inside was clean and warm. The room was free, if I agreed to buy both supper and breakfast. Dal Baht for supper and a pancake for breakfast, was my order. In the end, food and accommodation cost me $11 CAD. The room was private with an ensuite. Unfortunately, it was unheated, uninsulated, and it was snowing, raining, and just above freezing outside. The room did have a shower but it was also unheated. There was a hot shower in a room across the courtyard but I didn’t want to have a nice hot shower and then brave the snow and rain back to my cold room in a towel. I just accepted that I may stink during this expedition and that’s just life. We chatted with two other hikers, Linda and Bonnie, in the common area. Linda had a guide, Raju, and had befriended Bonnie on the trail. I went to bed that night in my base layers, sleeping bag, and a heavy quilt over me. All night I laid there in disbelief… me in the Himalayas, somehow it just didn’t feel real. It just didn’t feel like something I was capable of. Despite being there, I still had a hard time believing I had used my own free will to get there alone. In the next few days, it would feel very real, and I would get the chance to prove to myself just how capable I was.
Technical
I had packed with the intention of taking everything with me on the hike. Some people leave some of their travel gear at a hostel, do the hike, and retrieve it after. The plan was to go from Kathmandu to the Annapurna Trailhead, hike to the end, and take a bus to Pokhara. As such, I brought all of my gear. I packed lean with this in mind, that said, there are things I brought on the hike I didn’t need (like my swim shorts and crocs). I traveled to Nepal with my hiking pack, boots, and technical gear. Once in Nepal, I bought some cheap hiking poles, water purification tabs (I also brought a UV light water filter from home), and various snacks for the trip.
The police at the checkpoints were friendly at each stop and just jotted down my TIMS card info. It didn’t fit in this story but by this time I had noticed a lot of police and military all around Nepal and they all had various odd firearms in all kinds of condition. At the airport I spotted what I believe is a Sten Gun, and out on the trail, I had spotted a few Lee Enfields like the one I had recently restored. The difference being, most of the ones I saw were missing small pieces, like the rear sight. I was curious, but I dont think it would have been wise to approach military and police with questions about their firearms and asking for pictures.
As to accommodation, the typical way it is done, is you stay for free at tea houses in exchange for buying meals there, some also charged a room premium, but it was rare and never much. The general layout was a large common/dining area with a wood stove and attached kitchen. The fire is usually lit after dark, and the farther up the trail you get, where you need it the most, they are the most stingy with burning wood as its becomes rare at altitude. The rooms are usually in an out building, or at least accessed from outside and all I experienced were un heated, most uninsulated (and others varying levels of sealed/wind proof). They did provide some bedding, but it was always insufficient and I used my own hiking quilt which is essentially a sleeping bag without the bottom. I had concerns about warmth when bringing this but all tea houses had some form of mattress that provided enough insulation on the bottom. I would lay out my sleeping quilt on top of their bed sheets and put their quilts over top of everything and even on the coldest nights I was still warm. I went early in the season when its still chilly, I found blogs and vlogs of people who went when it was warmer and were just fine with what the tea houses provided for bedding. As mentioned above, there is no booking system, you just show up to a town and look at the different tea houses, pick one that looks good, and go ask about a room and prices. Usually they’re all pretty similar and I never ran into a shortage of space but had heard stories of people not being able to get rooms and having to sleep in the common area or kitchen, which sounds bad, but also, that’s where the heat is so maybe that wouldn’t be too terrible after all.
Lastly, it was advised to me, and is a common tidbit of advice, that when on the trail, do not eat meat. As most food is carried in via porter, meat is a minimum of a few days old and unrefrigerated. There is many a horror story about food poisoning on the trail. I followed this advice.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged adventure, Annapurna, backpacking, hiking, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 1 comment.
Nepal Notes Part 1: Hard Landing in Kathmandu
I apologize for the delay posting stories of my big trip from 2023. I had initially written them into a book that alternated with unsent letters to my ex-wife/former travel partner. At the time it was therapeutic, but it would feel weird to share, especially online after this much time. This will obviously be a massive multi-part series and I am hoping to post a story a week if my editing schedule allows it. If you follow my Facebook page or subscribe through this website (right hand side if you’re reading on a computer) you will be among the first notified when I post a story. Otherwise, just check in once in a while. Comments and questions are encouraged. I hope you like the stories, I sure enjoyed making the memories.
Getting organized
Packing for a trip is always exciting, you have to imagine all the things you’ll get up to and all the things you’ll need. In this case I was packing for the cold climate of the Himalayas in northern Nepal. I needed a down jacket and base layers, mitts and toques. I also knew that central and southern Nepal are tropical so I needed shorts and t-shirts too. It was like packing for two trips. Everything you bring on a trip you have to be willing to wreck or lose because there’s always a chance of both. Many people opt to fill a huge backpack and then carry a small backpack on their front as well. I hate doing this, my goal is to make it all fit in one 58-liter pack and make it light enough to carry on a hike up the mountains. By the end, my wardrobe was lean. My only real luxuries were two books and my crocs. I packed and unpacked my bag over and over for a month, I made countless lists, I needed to feel prepared. Usually with two or more people you can reduce gear by sharing but this was a solo trip, my first real solo trip, I had to be self-sufficient.
Hard Landing in Kathmandu
My flight left Edmonton at 8pm on a Sunday. I had been up all night with anxiety and excitement. I first flew to Vancouver, then to Hong Kong, then to Kathmandu. Between flights and layovers, it took 40 hours. Unfortunately, I was unable to sleep during any of the flights or waiting in-between, resulting in me being awake for close to 50 hours. On the last flight, the airline food placed in front of me started an emotional unraveling. I was sleep deprived, scared, and full of self doubt. My food was some form of curried chicken which was just greasy chicken cubes in green spicy sauce. I simply could not eat it due to the heat. I forced down some of the rice which was also, somehow, spicy and immediately I felt unwell. It was at this point that I started to feel very much in over my head. Make no mistake, I was running away, and now I was questioning my sanity and my resolve. I sat in the cramped seat, stomach gurgling, holding back tears, trying to calm myself down. This was quicksand and I knew it, I needed to relax, because if I panicked, if I squirmed , I would sink, and there was no one to save me. I kept together and the plane landed, I now had to navigate the customs website on my phone, I felt as though I had spent the evening drinking. I struggled to think straight and the fluorescent lights of the airport filled my eyes with sand. With squinted eyes, I did my best and was able to get my entry Visa and get through, being a Canadian tends to make travel smoother. It was midnight local time and raining. I hopped into a taxi and told him I wanted to go to Planet Nomad Hostel. He knew where the neighborhood, Thamel, was but was unfamiliar with the hostel and, in Nepal, addresses mean nothing. He couldn’t find it on his phone so I used my offline mapping app to find the hostel that I remember being next door. We swerved through the crowded streets and around the piles of rubble. It was becoming clear to me that Nepal was even more of a developing nation than anywhere in South America I had been. The driver was also doing his best to sell me on anything he could think of: drugs, alcohol, a hiking guide, “a party”, you name it. It was the first of many many times I would be offered the sale of drugs in Nepal. As a rule, about every 50m someone in Nepal would ask me if I smoked hash or would simply look at me and say “smoke?” while miming smoking a joint. I declined the driver’s offers and he dropped me off at the end of an alleyway assuring me that Nepal was very safe and I could walk the last few minutes from here. Nepal is safe, but as a rule, I don’t like walking down alleyways in the dark while it’s raining, especially when both sides of the alley are lined with tall brick walls with barbed wire at the top. This tells me locals take security seriously and so should I. I wasn’t in a place to argue and asking him to walk me seemed like it would increase the danger. As I paid, he really pushed for me to tip him in either Canadian or American currency, I wasn’t about to hand him a $20 in the mood I was in. I paid and tipped in Rupees and slowly got out of the cab, hoping for the best. As I walked down the alley, I remembered vividly, the nearly $2000 I had in my backpack. Before the trip I was told ATMs were rare and unreliable. Every try walking like you’re not carrying a lot of money?
Without interruption, I made the walk to my hostel which, online, boasted “24-hour reception” only to find that was a lie, or perhaps a translation error. The place was closed up, and locked up. There were some people at the hostel next door, who let me in by simply reaching through an open window beside the door of my hostel and opening the latch. Not a confidence inspiring move. I walked in to find a dusty desk, water damaged books, and a fish tank half empty. There was a sign saying “reception on 5th floor”. I lugged my way up the stairs and found nothing on each floor, just closed doors. Eventually I made it to the rooftop patio where two guests were sitting and smoking weed. They immediately offered me some in response to my problem. I had a bit of a chuckle that I had been in the country for an hour and had been offered drugs twice. None of us could figure out how to call the hostel phone number with our cell phones on Wi-Fi only. Eventually, one of the guys shot up and announced he just remembered that the owners live at the hostel and he knew which room. He ran off and shortly after, a lovely Nepali woman led me into my private room. It was a stuffy room with bunk beds and a little table by the door. The toilet and shower were shared. Each floor had a bank of toilets and 1 shower opposite the stairwell. Each floor had four rooms, I believe, two private and two dorms.
I laid down on the hard mattress and all I could smell was the dingy stuffy bedding, it just smelled old, like it had been in a suitcase in a garage for a few years before being laid out on the bed. Likely a result of Kathmandu’s dusty and polluted air. My watch was still set to the time at home, 1pm Tuesday afternoon (Remember, I started Sunday). The time in Kathmandu was 12:45 am, Wednesday. My body was upside down with jet lag. I sat up and texted my friends, Troy and Adrian, on a group chat. I filled them in and they encouraged me to get some sleep. They were right, but first I just sat on the edge of the bed and cried. I was done, I was burnt out, and my stomach felt like it was full of molten glass. Had someone knocked on my door and told me there was a plane leaving for Canada in the next few hours, I would have probably been on it.
Finding My Feet
The following morning, I had a single goal for myself, get a phone charger. Nepali electrical plugs seem to be any of three universal standards and all are loose, the charger I brought was intermittent at best. I looked at the map on my phone, checked how much local money I had, and took one small step out of the safety of the hostel. I was terrified to walk the narrow busy streets, people, carts, bikes, scooters, cars, and vans whipped by. It didn’t take me long to find a charger. It was a small victory, but I needed a win. That afternoon, I also took in a local site, The Garden of Dreams, a walled off garden, beautifully manicured, and nearly vacant. I now had to figure out food, nothing looked or smelled edible to me, so far I had a bowl of fruit for breakfast and supper was a “chicken sandwich” which was cold chicken in a bun. I met a girl, Rita, at the hostel and she was eating a noodle soup, she informed me it was called “Thukpa”. I noted it on my phone and it became a staple for me for the rest of my trip. That night, I stayed up late with guests at the hostel. I think everyone knew what it was like to be alone. I met a Russian man, who I suspected of being a draft dodger, not that I hold that against him. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to fight a politician’s wars. I also met Natalie, who would turn out to be someone who really changed the trajectory of my tip (and several future trips after this). We all sat on the rooftop smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. I gave Natalie a hard time as she had mentioned she was a nurse and I swear saw her smoking too, though she now denies it.
The next few days in Kathmandu were mostly just acclimatization to food, weather, and the city’s chaotic streets. Rita and I went to the monkey temple (Swayambhu Nath). It was a lot of stairs straight up in the blazing sun but it was definitely worth seeing. I had picked up a cough when I arrived and, after a few days, it wasn’t slowing, I picked up a pack of Indian made “De-Cold” and it seemed to help a little, but I still wasn’t 100%. I didn’t know Natalie well, but when I bumped into her in the stairwell, I asked her professional opinion on it. She said the doses were pretty conservative and it looked safe to her. It was a small gesture, but at the time it meant a lot to me.
Nepali Bureaucracy
I wasn’t in a position to spend much time in Kathmandu as the Nepali government had brought about new rules requiring a hiking guide for the Annapurna circuit. The new laws took effect on April 1st and I landed in Nepal on March 21st. My plan was to get my permits and get onto the trail before the rules came into effect. Getting them required me to make the hour-long journey through the narrow, crowded, streets to the tourism board. I walked from my hostel in touristy Thamel selling prayer flags, handbags, and knock-off technical gear, through to the local markets selling pots and pans and foods I didn’t recognize. I waited my turn in the office, filled out my paperwork, and paid my fees. Sadly, I was one passport photo short of what the paperwork required. The man behind the counter politely walked me out the door, across the parking lot, and onto the street and casually pointed saying there was a photo shop that way somewhere. I had half an hour before the tourism office closed at 3pm. I speed walked the five blocks and finally stumbled into a cluttered business with pictures of cameras out front. I gestured and showed my few passport photos to the family of 6 all looking at me. They spoke no English and I spoke less Nepali. It’s funny, my rather primitive mind kept trying to revert to my minimal Spanish. My time in South America must have conditioned me to “if not English, try Spanish”. Spanish did not help the situation. I wanted more passport photos, and they understood that, but instead of taking pictures they scanned my old one and printed me off six. They also had a bit of a laugh at my photo because in it I had a funny waxed moustache. I had grown it out for fun when working up north where moustaches were all we were allowed for facial hair. I ran back to the tourist office in the nick of time and received my TIMs card (Trekkers Information Management System). I was also fast talked into a ten-dollar map that I never looked at again, but still carried the rest of the trip. It now resides on my bookshelf, folded neatly under my national park maps. I was very thrilled with myself that I had survived dealing with a foreign government and its paperwork and red tape. Historically I have struggled with my own government’s systems.
Making Friends
I came back to the Hostel and got to chatting with folks and it came up that Natalie was also going to do the Annapurna Circuit, but she would be a few days behind me. She wasn’t originally planning to come to Nepal on her trip and was somewhat unprepared. I offered to show her my maps and guide book. She strolled right into my room and made herself comfortable sitting on my bed and we went through what info I had. The conversation then turned to hiking gear and equipment. I am definitely a gear junkie and can easily drone on for hours. This turned into a full show and tell of my gear and an explanation of my preparations for the trip. It was strange to me to have an almost complete stranger this comfortable around me. It may sound odd to some but, I am a big guy and not one known for his handsome looks or smooth talking. To that point, I once had a wrong number video call my cell phone, see my face, say “EW! What the fuck?!” and hang up… I was at work, that’s how I looked out in the world. I think about that a lot. I grew up being told how statistically dangerous men are to women and how scared they are of us. It has always made me keep my distance from them for fear of scaring them or even making them uncomfortable. I have more than once, on a late-night walk home, crossed the street and taken a different route to avoid people thinking I am following them. Suddenly, here was this unfamiliar person, treating me like an equal instead of a monster or wild animal to be wary of. She just made herself at home in my space and seemed very comfortable doing so. I made sure to exchange numbers with her so I could give her tips on where it was good to stay on the trail since I would be days ahead of her.
I decided I best get a sim card and get an actual phone plan. It was clear to me that my offline mapping application was not up to the task. The streets changed too fast in Kathmandu. I had missed my chance to get a sim card and phone plan in the airport and had been told that they take your fingerprints when you get a phone plan in Nepal. I found a travel agency that sold sim cards. I filled out some paperwork and saw there was a section to put my fingerprints. The salesman behind the desk said “you don’t need that. I can just take a picture” and promptly took a photo of the pad of my thumb. I think about that a lot since, I can’t imagine his phone camera had the quality for that idea to work. Surely it wouldn’t hold up in court, and what crime would I have to commit that my phone and my fingerprints were both involved?
The day before I left for Annapurna, I had my first date in a long time. I met with a local girl, Mamita, that I had met through Tinder. We went for tea. She was really nice, but it was clear within minutes that we came from very different worlds. My romantic intentions died quickly but I was so interested in talking to her about life in Nepal. She had moved from a small town and was pursuing a career as a news broadcaster, in Canada that’s a big deal, but she said there are so many news stations there, it’s more of a starting point. She shared her desire to go to school in either Europe or North America, I don’t think she was fishing but some small part of me worried she was only talking to me in hopes of getting into my country. We paid and went our separate ways. I was shocked how much cheaper tea was outside of the tourist side of town, about one third the price.
Posted in Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Kathmandu, nepal, Thamel, travelwith 1 comment.
West Coast Road Trip
Since Nepal I have wanted to do a road trip to Vancouver, for no other reason than driving throught he mountains looks like fun. While I was in Guatemala, Natalie, Vanessa, and myself hatched a plan for me to come out and all of us to go on a big hike. With my new job being two weeks on and two weeks off, I was out of excuses not to do it.
I left my house before daylight and headed west, I layered up, zipped my jacket, and taped the vents on my gloves to try and keep the 14C air at bay. I was thankful to have a windshield but the reality was, it was a cold slog in a straight line along highway 16. After what felt like day, I stopped in Edson for breakfast and to thaw out. I remember feeling cold, sick, sad, and a little silly. I wondered if maybe I didn’t have it in me to motorcycle tour. Auto Trader is full of motorcycles for sale by owners who found out the hard way they didn’t care for life on the road. I stalled as long as I could justify, then hopped on my bike and kept rolling. I also switched to a far more upbeat playlist, I had started with sad slow county music, its like I wasn’t even trying to have a good day. I stopped for a light lunch in Hinton and was starting to feel a little more confident as the weather warmed. As soon as I could see the mountains my attitude improved. I felt pretty cool pulling through the park gates on my motorcycle and flashing my park pass tucked into my tank bag. The park staff weren’t as enthusiastic, for some reason. I decided to stop at the hot springs and have a soak, it was well worth the detour and I saw herd of sheep on the road on the way in. I had dinner in town and set up my little tent and got some sleep.
The next day was a bit farther but felt shorter, due to the mountain views, twisty roads, and all the other bikes I crossed paths with. I continued west and south to Kamloops where I treated myself to a very cheap hotel. It was a great ride with amazing scenery, but nothing too exciting happened. In the morning, I oiled my chain (not a metaphor), and hit the road. This was the day I was looking forward to, the final push to Vancouver, but I took the long way through Squamish. I stopped for breakfast at a little café in Lillooet. I took the opportunity to walk around town a little and see their local museum. It was nice, but me being the collector I am, owned a lot of the items they had on display, including a polaroid camera that I had brought with me on the trip! Having let my breakfast digest sufficiently, I hit the road again. The section of road to Squamish is one of the best in Canada for motorcycles… depending on traffic. I got stuck behind a pickup that struggled to maintain consistent speeds through the tight switchbacks which was a frustrating endeavor. I could smell brakes cooking and wondered if it was me or the truck in front. My question was answered when I rounded a corner and saw an F150 with a holiday trailer pulled to the side of the road with smoke rolling up off the drivers side front hub. To my amazement, he pulled out behind me after I passed… I’d have let it cool a bit more, personally. I stopped for lunch in Whistler, but I found it far too crowded and didn’t stay long. As I pulled into Squamish I found I was running a bit later than I would have liked so my only stop was for gas. I then immediately hit a traffic jam. There I was, sitting on a four lane highway, in full, dark, protective gear, straddling a hot bike in the sun. I shut the engine off while I waited, but that did little for the lingering heat of the engine inches from my legs. I saw a few bikes zip up the shoulder to pass the traffic and was tempted to join them, but I try not to break laws when I travel, even if its just another province. Eventually, slowly, we all made it through and I was treated to the sea to sky highway (in my case, sky to sea) that cut its way along the steep, rocky, shore of the pacific. The views were great, but the traffic was heavy and demanded my attention. I arrived at my destination just in time for Natalie and her boyfriend, Cole, to treat me to some sushi… Sushi, aren’t I just worldly?
Natalie’s roommate was out of town and was kind enough to offer me her room. It was nice to sleep in a proper bed after all that riding. My first full day in Van, we picked up Vanessa at the ferry and headed to The Museum of Anthropology. There were no tours that day, but luckily I’m a history buff/nerd and my companions were willing to let me drone on about everything I saw. I dont think they believed me about Fijian Cannibal Forks at first, but I wouldn’t lie about something like that. A trip to a museum is my ideal vacation.
Next day was Natalie’s idea of an ideal vacation, an overnight hike. This one was to a cabin at Elfin Lakes There were seven of us total, all various friend’s of Natalie and Cole, its a weird feeling to hike into the woods with six other people, only one of whom you’ve known for any length of time. Luckily, I doubt my organs are worth much on the black market at this time. It was lightly raining at the trailhead and the first few kms were gentle uphill along a wide gravel path. We hit a day use cabin with a big wood burning stove in the middle, but it was locked out with a chain and padlock, which felt kind of rude to me. We had snacks and got our layers sorted in the shack and pressed on. Soon the gravel ended and we were treated to heavier rain and hard packed deep snow that required ice spikes on our boots. I laughed to myself about coming all the way to the West Coast to hike in the snow. The views were sadly, minimal, as there was a lot of fog in the air. We first did some up hill, then some side hill, then some debating about which trail was the right one. In the end we found the trail behind a large downed log. It was a steep downhill all the way to our cabin. As we got closer, we saw the lake we had been told we could swim in.. it was ice bound save a ring around the edge that didn’t look very deep. Luckily I saved the weight by leaving my swim suit at home.
We got into the cabin and found some empty bunks. My anxiety started to redline a little. There were bunk beds all around, the top being single beds with low rails that gave me visions of tumbling onto the hardwood and the lower bunks were double wide and expected to be shared. I asked Vanessa if she wanted to share a bottom bunk, she politely declined and took a top bunk. I set up on a lower bunk and hoped no strangers showed up last minute to share it with me, luckily, no one did, but it was a concern of mine well into the evening. There was already another large group there, all younger and energetic, at one point they were doing chin ups on the rafters. I appreciate seeing people in their early 20s being rambunctious, gives me hope. After we all got our beds made, we all just kind of laid around and fell into an afternoon nap. It was one of those naps like after a day at the beach, no one announces it, it just happens. Eventually, we all got back up and running and made ourselves a massive dinner of various salads, sausages, and pasta. There were also several expeditions outside to gather snow for water. I didnt help much cooking, but I tried to at least be helpful by washing some of the dishes. We also invented our own rules for Crazy 8s and had a few games well into the evening. I finally got a chance to use the deck of cards I overpaid for in Thailand and carried needlessly on multiple trips since. I don’t know who won, but it definitely wasn’t me. We all went to bed, I dont think my snoring was a problem, but someone’s was because across the cabin, well into the other group, I heard some snoring followed by a very well connected slap that seemed to put an end to it.
In the morning we all had our own breakfasts, I filled out the guest book and thumbed through the other entries, a lot of great doodles in there. We got the other group to get some pictures of us and I took a polaroid photo for them, hopefully it turned out and hopefully they liked it. The hike out was much better weather and the only issue we had was one of the party had a set of ice cleats that were a size too big and kept slipping, binding, hooking, and tripping her. There is nothing worse for a hiker. I once had a set of snowshoes that kept hooking my pant cuffs and spilling me. It breaks your spirit and embarrasses you, then you get frustrated and it gets worse. For the record, every hiker hits these kind of problems and we dont judge, but when its happening to you, it can feel like you’re slowing everyone down. Eventually, one of the links on her cleats broke. I took a look and with my Leatherman put it back together a bit smaller, I then opened the links on the other side and did the same. I THINK it helped by making them less loose and sloppy on her feet. We made it to the trailhead without incident and went to a Mexican restaurant to celebrate.
The morning after the hike, I decided I had best head back ahead of some nasty incoming weather. My original plan was to go back along southern BC but it seemed they were expecting heavy rain and it was moving north. I decided to retrace my route. I didn’t waste much time on the road, I stopped again in Lillooet at the same café and this time had a chat with two other bikers who spotted my Royal Enfield and were curious about it. Its not a very common bike in Canada yet, and it looks a lot like the ones they made in the 1970s so it tends to get a lot of interest from fellow bike riders. As I was leaving I saw their big adventure bikes parked perfectly with some mountains in the background, I snapped a polaroid and brought it back to them in the café. I left before I could see it, so I hope it turned out. I stayed at a slightly nicer hotel in Kamloops and had a dip in the spa tub provided.
The last day was a long one and I didn’t take any photos. I think my travel journal I filled out at the end of the day properly conveys my feelings about it:
- Kamloops to Edmonton, just over 800km ride
- Ride to Jasper was nice, had pizza at Lou Lou’s
- Jasper to Edmonton was long and drawn out
- Hard crosswind made my windshield act like a sail
- 8 hours on a bike is achievable but undesirable
Technical Details/ Footnotes
I used my 2019 Royal Enfield Interceptor 650 equipped with a spitfire windshield, magnetic tank bag, luggage racks, soft sided saddle bags, and my hiking backpack in an airport bag. I wore a small backpack while riding that had a water bladder in it so I could drink without taking my helmet off. I find the convenience of it helps me stay hydrated which makes everything run smoother on a long day. I also brought a 1L fuel can but never needed it, it strapped nicely on my rear rack and wasn’t too expensive, to my surprise, it never leaked. I brought some basic tools and chain lube for my bike, and glass cleaner for my visor. One thing I debated was a clear or tinted visor and I was glad I went with tinted, my helmet has a drop down tinted lenses as well as the traditional visor and even with both tinted I found things a bit bright at times. I did bring clear safety glasses in the event that I did have to drive the bike at night.
Much like my Guatemala motorcycle trip, I really tried to focus on the concept of “I am ending my day there”, not “I am driving there”. This shift in attitudes really helps me slow down and enjoy the trip more. I take more time to eat, I stop at roadside attractions, and even take in museums. I am also a little proud of myself for socializing with people. It sounds strange considering the trips I’ve taken, but there was a time in my life were I would not have even considered a hike with 6 other people when I really only know one or two of them. I guess I am growing up and facing my social anxieties.
Posted in Hiking, Motorcycle, Travel and tagged backpacking, hiking, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith 3 comments.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 3: Lost on a Motorcycle, and Sick on a Boat
Part One Is Available Here and Part Two is Available Here
It was time for me to leave El Paredon. For months I was looking forward to these three days, they had come and gone so quickly. I was sad to leave, but I knew my friends would be at the next stop. Natalie and Vanessa had left on a bus that morning, two hours before I did. I was hoping they would make it to the Airbnb before me to make my check in easier. They definitely beat me there. It also turned out that their shuttle took them on one of the big boats across the river as well.
I loaded up my gear and drove down to the boats on the North end of town. I didn’t see Caesar anywhere, he told me he would be there at 10 and wasn’t. There was another man loading a woman and her scooter onto his boat. I asked if he had room for one more and the price, he said yes and 50Q, same as anyone. I agreed and we rolled my bike backwards up a ramp and onto the narrow boat. I suddenly felt like a real adventurer. I had seen lots of pictures and videos online of bikes with luggage loaded into narrow boats on tropical waters and always thought “wow, that looks cool”. Its a little thing, but it felt like a big thing. The boat fired up and we were off. I tried to make conversation with the woman on the boat but my Spanish just isn’t quite there yet. After about 10 minutes of admiring the scenery, I spotted a boat coming the other way, as it passed I recognized its driver, Caesar. I felt a bit bad, but if you dont show up on time, sometimes you dont get business. We hit the far bank, unloaded my bike, and I paid the man. I geared up and resumed driving. I had made a special playlist for riding on this trip and it was absolutely perfect. I cruised for hours on this trip just enjoying the music, the scenery, and the wind. I enjoyed the farms, small towns, and the half buried tires with “Pinchazo” painted on the side, telling passersby they could get tires fixed there.
I made a slight detour to see the town of La Democracia. Its big draw was large stone statues carved by the ancient Olmec, to look like heads. They were all in the town square and all had people relaxing around them. I didn’t feel comfortable taking a picture that would have locals in it, so I was only able to get one. I also noticed I was the only tourist there. I felt like I was invading their homes, or maybe something else that just wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t stay long, I had other places to be anyway.
My next stop was in Santiago. I was told the road from Santiago to San Pedro, my destination, used to be dirt and, when wet, would bog down motorcycles so bandits would wait in the trees and rob travelers. In recent years the road has been paved and I am told it is safe. The rental shop, however, suggested I ask the police about an escort. Some previous travelers had been told they dont need it. Others have been offered it for 50Q, the going rate for most services, it seems. I found the police station easily, but communication was a problem. Via google translate I was able to learn that an escort was possible and that two police on a blue motorcycle would meet me at the gas station. I then made a very rookie mistake. I searched “gas station” on my phones map app and said “this one?” which he replied “yes”. NEVER ask a yes or no question if there is any language barrier, the answer will always be “yes” and you will be lost. I drove the directions my phone gave me and ended up at shop downtown that sold tanks of gas for stoves and BBQs. I realized my error and decided to get back to the police station. Unfortunately, the roads in town were narrow and lined high with buildings, most were one ways and I simply got lost. Before I knew it I had gone way uphill in town, dead ended at a market, back tracked, got lost again, and ended up in a very poor neighborhood where the houses were made of tin scraps. Luckily all the locals looked friendly and it was still daylight. I know my mother would worry about me being lost here, but it was women walking about their day and children playing in the street smiling and waving at me. I was definitely frustrated, but not quite hopeless or scared. In a pinch I could flag a tuk-tuk and ask him to guide me, for a fee… probably 50Q. It didn’t come to that as I eventually found a way downhill and back onto the main road that I recognized. It took some thinking, some patience, and possibly some illegal road maneuvers, but I got there.
The same officer was there and I explained again and then asked him to find the gas station on my phone. He then directed me to a park. I drove there and found a gas station a block away. I pulled in and asked the attendants if the police ever meet people there they replied “sometimes”. I waited a bit, asked if they could call the police, they said they could but they didn’t have the number. I then asked if the road to San Pedro was dangerous, the man said no and looked a little confused about why I would even ask.
My phone was at 40%, it was 4:30 pm, and I was getting impatient. I decided to just go, I didn’t want to risk losing daylight or having my phone die as I relied on it for navigation. I came out of town fast and kept my speed up. I figured if I just don’t stop and keep my speed up, I would blow past anyone before they got a chance to rob me. After a few minutes it slowly dawned on me, this is actually the nicest, freshest, road I had seen so far, and in Guatemala, that’s saying something. The roads were lined with hotels, farms, people cutting lumber, and what appeared to be some kind of adventure park. Clearly things had changed and this was no longer a dangerous route. I relaxed a slowed down a bit.
I found my way into town and suddenly my maps dead ended at a narrow T intersection, both turns looked too narrow for a bike… practically, but not technically. I texted the girls and Natalie was kind enough to meet me at the road. Google wasn’t lying, I was supposed to drive my bike down that narrow path. I wiggled the bike between the house and a treelined fence, around a tight corner, between some houses, and then through a gate, up a curb and onto a small gravel pad. I was downright grumpy, way overheated, dehydrated, and a little embarrassed. I got my gear off and unpacked a little in the bedroom. After I had grumbled enough about google maps and calmed down, we went for food. We found a little restaurant and I ordered a pizza and the girls debated what to order. The waiter looked at me and said “chicas dificile” and walked away with a grin to gave us another few minutes to decide. It immediately became yet another running joke. After, we went for a walk around town and down to the docks to see the famous Lake Atitlan.
The following morning, I felt like garbage. The previous days riding and the pizza for dinner were not sitting well. I did my best to dose myself with diarrhea meds. We went for breakfast at the nearby hotel. It was beautiful, large glass windows and concrete construction overlooking the lake. To me it looked like a French sunroom. It felt like a place one would take tea with the Count of Monte Cristo. After breakfast Renata decided it would be fun to take a boat across the lake to Panjachel, then take a tuk-tuk to Santa Catarina. It was a good idea, had I not been sick. We bought boat tickets and I asked the driver if there was a bathroom. He pointed at a few nearby restaurants. None of them admitted to having bathrooms. I came back and mentioned it to him. Without a word he waved to me and started running, he was a short man but bounded the steps 3 at a time. We burst into a yet to open café and he showed me to a washroom, what a legend. I loaded on the boat and we started bouncing across the waves of the lake, my stomach immediately started to churn. My stomach felt like a dryer with a boot in it. After a few stops along the way, I asked permission to run ashore to use the washroom again, the captain allowed it and I sprinted. The little café charged 5Q for the washroom, one dollar well spent, in my opinion. When I got back on the boat I sat near the front, just in front of the small roof that doubled as a luggage rack. As we cut across the lake, my lucky travel hat blew off, but was caught by the luggage instead of lost to the lake. Today was not my day, I felt terrible and now for about three more stops and another half hour, I had to anxiously watch to see if I was going to be in the market for a new hat that day.
We finally made landfall at our destination and my hat had survived the journey, by some miracle. The walking calmed my stomach a little. We found a little café where Renata grabbed a coffee and I used the washroom. From there we waved a tuk-tuk and it struggle up the hill to the lookout where we stopped for photos, then it rocketed down the hill into town. We jumped out and explored town a little, it was mostly small booths selling textiles. Vanessa and Natalie had some lunch in a restaurant that was so small, they ordered food and the cook ran out the front, to the market, and came back with the ingredients to make it. It was impressive, but slow. I was still too ill to eat. As they ate, the stray dogs worked their way closer, giving us all sad looks hoping for scraps, naturally we caved. The ladies running the shop across the street were waving and showing us their table runners hoping to make a sale.
After sufficient wandering, we decided to take a truck back. I remember calling them Camionetas in South America, they were just a pickup truck with seats in the box. We asked the first one how much and he said for four people 150Q, Renata laughed and walked away. He tried to explain that was the normal price, just as a second truck pulled up. Renata asked him how much, he said 20Q for all of us. We hopped aboard, laughing the entire way. The truck was much faster, and more comfortable than the tuk-tuk.
We explored Panjachel’s street market a little before finding our way back to the docks. Luckily the ride back was faster as it was direct to San Pedro, the catch was that cutting across the middle of the lake meant larger waves. A local man on the boat gave us a tip that we could pull the emergency life jackets from the rack on the roof and sit on them for extra padding. It worked well. This time my hat stayed on. I was happy to be done with boats for the day. We had a nice supper that night at an Israeli place and played cards at the house we rented. It was a nice last night before I had to head back to Antigua and the girls were off to Tikal.
The next morning I loaded up my bike, hugged everyone goodbye and hit the road. Getting the bike out of the alleyway was far easier than getting it in. Getting out of San Pedro was a bit of trick, again, narrow streets and one ways. I finally made it onto the highway but it looked oddly familiar. I stopped and checked the map… I had driven 20 minutes in the wrong direction. Not being able to see my map was a real hinderance. I got back on the right track and then got lost again in the next town, this time the main road had been shut down for a festival of some kind and navigating around it was just impossible. I then realized the problem. When google maps would say “turn left” that would sometimes mean turn left down this very narrow alley, sometimes it meant take the next left, and sometimes it just meant the road was curving. I found it much easier to stop every few blocks and visually check the route, that little shift made life easier but travel slower.
I wound up on steep switchbacks into the mountains as I climbed away from Lake Atitlan, all the while unsure of what gear the bike should be in “2? no too low, 3? no too high, try 2 again maybe?”. Eventually the road straightened and leveled. It was a this point I hit some road construction. I filtered to the front with some other motorcycles and was told it would be about a 15 minute wait while they painted the lines. I watched as more bikes and cars came into the line. There had to be two dozen bikes and hundreds of cars. Suddenly I heard honking and turned to see a chicken bus had jumped the curb into oncoming traffic and was driving full speed as oncoming cars swerved out of the way. The construction workers angrily waved as he blew passed and jumped the curb back onto the right side of the divided highway. That diesel bus spit black smoke the whole way and I didn’t see a hint of him touching his brakes. After a few more minutes, with little warning, the workers jumped up and cleared the pylons. All of us bikers were standing beside our bikes stretching. Suddenly it felt like a pistol start at a race. We all jumped on, fired up, and raced off. It was an amazing experience. So many bikes just cruising down the highway in a group, some waving, some racing, and some just minding their own business. Eventually we all spread out and found ourselves among the regular cars and trucks of the road. A normal day for them, and fascinating experience for me.
As I came into Antigua the road took me through a few deep canyons that looked like they were carved out for the road. I was reminded of my motorcycle trip to Drumheller last year. It also rained heavily for about 15 minutes, at which point I passed an accident, a tanker truck had hit a scooter. There wasn’t a body anywhere and there were no emergency vehicles there yet. I hope that means it was low speed and no serious injury. When I got within a few blocks of the rental shop, I hit rush hour traffic. I made another mistake, driving like a Canadian. I was moving inches in minutes by pretending to be a car. Eventually, after an hour in traffic, an ambulance came through and created a path. I saw motorcycles following close behind and remembered where I was and what I was straddling. I started lane splitting, weaving between the stationary cars and even waving a few to back up so I could make space and cheat in front of them to the other side. Within minutes I came rolling into my destination, smiling, and was received by the owner’s friend. I think he was American, either way, his English was perfect and he was friendly. The bike had sustained no damages, I parked it, returned the helmet, took of my gear, thanked him, and left. I rushed through the return process, putting my borrowed gear away and stripping my bags off the bike. I was flying high from the lane splitting and just riding in general and didn’t want him to have to wait any longer than needed. I walked the few blocks and checked into my hotel, got some food, a mojito, and some sleep. I was thoroughly tired after a full days riding being lost, being hot, being rained on… I’d experienced it all.
The next day was my last day, my flight left that night. In the morning I went to Café Sole, a restaurant that shares a name with one in Edmonton where I meet with some motorcycle guys twice a week, if time permits. The food was good, but I just wanted a picture of myself in front of their sign to show my friends. I then got a text from the girls saying they had a bus change in town around noon and would have about half an hour for a visit. I was excited, but we ended up only having about 20 minutes where they drank coffee and tea as fast as they could before running back. I then bought some souvenirs for myself and some family members. I tried to nap in the afternoon but couldn’t, at 10pm the car came to pick me up and I was driven to the airport. The flights home were rough, I had terrible middle seats because I didn’t want to shell out $50 to select my seat and my layovers were long. I was happy when I finally made it through my door. 36 hours later, I boarded a plane to get back to work for two weeks.
As a rule, my family doesn’t like motorcycles. Primarily because they are dangerous. I, however, enjoy them, but more importantly, one of my biggest issues with traveling is actually the travel part. I have always had a hard time with buses. I find them usually stuffy, smelly, and crowded and I hate being at the mercy of someone else’s schedule for when I can use a bathroom. I also learned in South America that just because a bus has AC, doesn’t mean it works, and if it works, that doesn’t mean they will turn it on… As such, after doing some riding and some thinking, I decided to try renting a motorcycle to get around on a vacation and see if that made things better. I dont know that its a solution for every trip, and its certainly more expensive than bus tickets, but it is something I enjoy. At the very least, this trip has proven that a motorcycle is at least an option for me to get around when I travel.
Posted in Motorcycle, Travel and tagged adventure, Guatemala, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith no comments yet.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 2: Motorcycles and Loud Hostels
Initially, I was only supposed to meet up with the girls for the hike, then we would go our own ways. I was renting a motorcycle and going to the beach and they were going to do another hike. Vanessa decided she didn’t want to do the hike and Natalie was still feeling ill so they opted to meet me at the beach and let Renata go solo. I was glad to have the company.
The morning after the hike, I was good and nervous as I packed my bags and made my way to the shop. The streets in Antigua were narrow and the traffic looked a bit chaotic. I also had language barrier concerns and worries about what I would do if the bike broke. I had also heard many a rumor about corrupt police supplementing their income by threatening gringos. It was too late to back out, I had already paid and I had already told people I was doing it, so, dammit I was going to do it. I walked to the shop and met a man who spoke good English, with a bit of a French accent. It turns out he was Guatemalan but had spent many years living near Montreal. He walked me through the bike, a Honda Tornado 250cc. It was black, and a little scratched, but it fit me perfect. He asked how much experience I had with things like flat tires. I told him the truth, that I had very little, and he casually put a tracker in the saddle bag of my bike. He also informed me that the word for flat tire was “Pinchazo” and that was also the name for someone who fixes the flats. He gave me some tips on my route and told me he had never heard of anyone having issues with police. He said “if you get pulled over, give them this insurance paperwork, your license, and a smile, you’ll be fine”. I guess the stories I had heard of police making up charges and demanding on the spot payment were, perhaps, unfounded or exaggerated.
I turned on my GoPro and started driving down the cobblestone streets, initially the busy streets were terrifying but I soon learned it was much like walking in a crowd or being on a ski hill, everyone watches for everything. I made my first stop, a café where the girls were having breakfast. Natalie informed me she couldn’t finish her breakfast and before she was done offering it to me, I had a fork in motion. I then walked them outside and excitedly showed off my new bike. I probably sounded like my nephew with new Hot Wheels, boys never grow out of that. I punched my coordinates into my phone and set the app so it would read the directions to me, that way I could keep it in my pocket. Just before I put my helmet on I asked if anyone wanted to give me a kiss for good luck, there were no takers… it was worth a shot. I fired up the bike and hit the road. Renata was catching a bus north for the hike while Natalie and Vanessa would meet me that afternoon at the hotel also via bus.
Traffic getting out of Antigua was a little heavy but not hard to navigate, it was only a few turns at stop lights. I then found myself on a highway. The drive itself was scenic, but uneventful. The roads were smooth tarmac that made me jealous, Canadian winters pulverize our roads to a near gravel like state. One funny thing happened on the way. I was going on a divided highway, California 9, I believe, when I thought my GPS told me to take an exit. I took the exit that curled me on the overpass above the highway, then I was instructed to merge onto the highway again, then immediately on to the exit, then back across and merged back onto the road I was initially on. I had basically detoured four loops quickly to end up where I had started. I chuckled in my helmet and kept driving. I passed a few small towns and stopped at a gas station, used my rudimentary Spanish to buy some fuel from the attendant. I then went in a bought some plantain chips and an ice cold soda, it was amazing. This was probably the most satisfying part of the trip for me. I knew I could drive the bike but I worried about communicating for food and fuel. Turns out charades and toddler level Spanish could get the job done.
When I first left Antigua, the views were primarily mountains and the weather was the perfect temperature for riding, warm but not hot. As I drove the highway, I hit a wide turn and went down a hill and almost like flipping a switch, the weather was hot. The wind on my body felt like a hair dryer and suddenly there were palm trees and open fields. Shortly before I arrived at the hotel in El Paredon, I drove a sandy road that paralleled the ocean. I found the ruts, bumps, and dips quite exciting, but my new camera has such good image stabilization that the footage doesn’t show it.
I arrived at The Driftwood Surf Hostel at 3pm long before the girls. I was checked into our room and allowed to park my bike in the yard behind the gate. The staff were friendly and I signed up for a surf lesson at 4. To kill time in-between I sat in the pool and had a beer from the swim up bar. It was at this point it dawned on me that this was, in fact, a party hostel. There were young people everywhere and music was blasting. I didn’t think much of it, but later it would be a problem. A group of young women chatted with me at the bar and suggested that when I get to Atitlan I take the party boat. They described it as drunken, sweaty, and sexy. To me it sounded horrible, and I told them that, they assured me my lady friends would love it. I later told Natalie and Vanessa about the sales pitch and it became a bit of a running joke.
The surf lesson was ugly. It was fun, but I was still sick from the hike and tired from the days riding. There were lots of falls and fails. By the time the lesson was over, the girls had arrived. We went for a dinner at a small shack just off the beach, then turned in for the night, tired from the days events. Unfortunately, the hostel was having a DJ night and it didn’t let up until the wee hours of the morning. We all put earplugs in and did our best. I was able to sleep a bit, but the girls did not. I had another surf lesson that morning, early. By the time I got back it was decided that there would be a change of hotels. I went and talked to reception, I had booked 3 nights, I could cancel the last night without penalty but was stuck for one more night minimum. They found a nicer, cheaper, quieter, nearby hotel for themselves and moved that day. I canceled my third night and would join them for the last night. It was a headache but it was for the best. I was also embarrassed because I had picked the first hotel that was so bad, and the girls found a better one in less than an hour.
Beyond the hotel logistics, it was a nice day and we didn’t do too much. My morning surf lessons went better and I managed to catch a few waves. The girls checked into their hotel, we had some lunch, and spent some time in the pool at the new hotel as it was a little nicer and had no one else in it. For some reason, for the last year, Natalie and I had a running joke about doing the lift from Dirty Dancing. In Thailand we never found a place with a pool and in Jasper the hot springs were closed when she came. At this hotel pool, we finally got a chance to try and actually did a pretty good job of it. It took more than a few tries but we got it to work. After supper, I headed back to my hotel and called it a night. Unfortunately, that night at my hotel was some form of strip-pool, where players would play pool and have to remove clothes if they missed, sounds like a young mans game to me. Luckily it was a bit quieter than DJ night so I was able to sleep without earplugs.
I had my last surfing lesson which ended on a high note with me catching waves and riding them to the very end. I then checked out, settled up the bill and headed over to the new hotel that the girls were already checked into. We had some breakfast and while Natalie did some school work, Vanessa and I went for a walk. I was told, on the far end of town, there were boats that could take my motorcycle across the river, I wanted to confirm because that sounded fun. As we hit the end of town, there it was, a big concrete ramp leading to dozens of boats waiting for customers.
I stood, surveying the situation, wondering who to talk to when a group of four pulled up in a boat, two young men and two young women. They appeared to be American and spoke English amongst themselves and then thanked a man on shore in Spanish. It seems they had rented his boat. As they offloaded they all walked passed and I grabbed their attention. I asked the local if he spoke English, he said a bit. I asked one of the Americans if they could translate, they agreed, and I asked “can you take my bike on your boat across the river tomorrow?” the man nodded, looked at the local and said, in perfect English “he wants you to take his bike across the river tomorrow” and we all had a good laugh. The local man introduced himself as Caesar, and said he would take me at 10ish for 50 Quetzals (about $10). I thanked him for his help, shook his hand and started walking. The four Americans jumped into a pickup with Florida plates and offered us a ride. I found them fascinating, but I declined their offer, I was enjoying the walk.
For our last night, we went to a fancy outdoor restaurant that is only open three days a week and only until the food runs out. It was called Chef in Flip Flops and this week they were serving Thai food. It was ok, but we each had a cocktail and they were actually better than the meal. After the meal, we walked to the corner store and each grabbed another drink and some snacks. We then went back to the hotel and tried to relax in the pool before getting bored and feeling the need to try and do the lift again. Between the surfing and the lifts, I was starting to feel like Patrick Swayze, if only I could dance like him… Maybe my next trip should involve dance lessons?
Technical
I rented the bike from a company called MAGtours. I am unsure the year of the bike but it was a 250cc Honda, single cylinder, dual sport. Its basically the CRF250l but with a carburetor and drum brake in the rear, its my understanding that the tornado was sold outside of Canada, USA, and Europe to countries that still want carburation and dont have emissions standards. I brought my own jacket and gloves from home. The jacket is made by Speed and Strength, I took the protective padding out of the jacket to make it fit in my bag. I emailed the manufacturer and they confirmed that the jacket did have abrasion resistance, but they highly recommended leaving the padding in. It wasn’t the safest way to do it, but it was safer than no jacket. Without the padding it looks more or less like a normal zip up, hooded jacket, and I wore it on my volcano hike. I had a seamstress add some Velcro panels to the side while doing some other repairs so I could put a Canadian flag patch on each arm. The gloves I bought second hand on Facebook marketplace, they are by Joe Rocket and somehow only cost me $20. They were a little warm but the venting on them did their work well. The helmet was provided by the rental shop and with their permission I mounted my GoPro hero 11 on the front of it. The camera was bought for this trip. For shoes I just used my hiking boots, better than sneakers but not as safe as a true motorcycle boot. Sadly, some safety preferences had to give way to the realities of my luggage limitations.
Posted in Motorcycle, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, el paredon, motorbike, pacific, surfing, travelwith no comments yet.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 1: Airport Annoyance and Volcano Hike
There I was, early April with my non-refundable accommodations and airfare to Guatemala and a pink slip from my work. I had, rather abruptly, been laid off. I thought my boss was kidding until he opened his laptop to reveal HR letting me know it was a “business decision” to let me go. I briefly thought “wow, he really committed to this prank”. I was in a bit of a panic as I was now job hunting, worried about finance, and filling in the blanks for this trip. Then suddenly, a job came through. It was a camp job, two weeks on, two weeks off, and as luck would have it, I could work the two weeks before my trip and the two weeks after. I suddenly had a job, but only a few days to get ready for it and my trip. I went to work for two weeks, flew home for a day, flew to Guatemala for two weeks, then home for a day, then back to work…. and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Getting There
I’m not entirely sure how we decided on Guatemala… Natalie and Renata initially wanted to do Patagonia while I wanted to go to a scuba resort in Mexico. They somehow came up with Guatemala and informed me I was coming. Natalie also invited her friend Vanessa along. Getting to Guatemala turned out to be a real trick. I flew from Edmonton to Denver, waited 6 hours, then flew to Houston where my layover was supposed to only be 2 hours. It turns out they had a rain storm that re-routed Vanessa’s flight to New Orleans that morning, then she got sent to Houston in the evening. She ended up on the same flight as me from Houston to Guatemala City. Unfortunately that flight was delayed from 8pm to 1am. I met her for the first time at the airport and we did our best to survive the over-heated and over-crowded airport while over-tired. I did my best to keep spirits up and keep her entertained, but I don’t think she was enjoying my brief history of The Cajun people of the American South as much as I enjoyed talking about it. We landed at about 3am in Guatemala City to find that the airline had lost Vanessa’s bag with all her hiking gear that she would soon need.
We took a 45 minute car ride to our Airbnb in Antigua. I had pre arranged a private ride and the driver was kind enough to wait for our delayed flight. Natalie and Renata had already checked in and gone to bed. They left us the second room which contained a single queen sized bed. We agreed we were both too tired to draw straws about sleeping on the couch. I huddled against the far edge of the bed, doing my best to keep my distance for fear of making this near stranger uncomfortable. I fell asleep almost immediately and was informed in the morning that I do, in fact, snore. I had my suspicions. Renata took us for a walk around town on its old cobbled streets and translated for us so we could get some street food and we took a quick tour of a cathedral that was ruined by an earthquake in the 18th century. I also withdrew some cash and poor Vanessa began her fight with the airline to find her luggage, she was in a rush as we had a hike scheduled for the following day. In the afternoon we went to a coffee plantation and went for a self guided walk that got us somewhat lost, but it ended with pizza so I can’t be too sad. In the evening we went for another walk and saw the famous Arch de Santa Catalina and got some street food from the night market. I had recently started watching Anthony Bourdain’s TV shows online so I was keen to try the local food, it did not disappoint.
Somehow, the stars aligned and the airline was able to find the lost bag, but it wouldn’t be available until 2am. We weren’t exactly excited to take a taxi all the way there and back but luckily, instead, our driver from the previous night was able to pick it up and drop it off for her. It arrived late, but unharmed. We did our best to sleep but the 5 am alarm came in fast and loud.
Acatenango Hike
I pulled myself together and packed my gear. We made it to the shuttle just in time. It was about an hour drive to our guide’s headquarters. We, along with about two dozen other tourists, were treated to a breakfast and given a quick once over of the hike we would be doing. We were also given our own packed lunches to carry up. We were then loaded back into the vans and taken the short drive to the trailhead. We got out and started hiking uphill in a narrow valley, about a lane and a half wide and 8 feet deep, the ground was fine dirt, hundreds of people were walking up and down the hill and the dust was brutal. I didn’t think to put my bandana over my face and thought to myself, surely this is just for the first few hundred feet. I was wrong. The dust lasted for hours, and for a portion we walked between farmers fields up narrow hallways of barbed wire fence, so narrow we had to stop and lean on it to let people pass on their descent.
Slowly the trail started to improve but the sleep deprivation, the dust, and the long fattening winter had already done its work on me. We were now on less dusty trail, finding our way up switchbacks through the forest. We stopped part way up at the park gate and I was given a paper bracelet to show my fee had been paid. As the hike progressed I continued to be slow, dead slow, dead last in our group slow. Renata and Natalie were somewhere near the front and I would occasionally catch Vanessa. Around noon we stopped for a rest and I made the mistake of having a small snack. My stomach immediately tightened. My stomach felt like it was full of rocks and made of knotted rope. As I lagged behind, the guides were asking me repeatedly if I was ok. I repeated “yes, fine, tired” but deep down I was worried, this wasn’t like me to be a slow hiker. Juan De Fuca I was always first to camp, I did Skyline in two days, by accident… I was never slow. Was I maybe getting sick? that happens to me a lot when I travel, I think its the airplanes that make me sick. The last two hours of the hike I continually fought the urge to vomit. It was one of those days where as I walked I was always eyeing the best spot to stop and spew but somehow it never came to that.
I finally stumbled into camp, last in the line, and was told to go to hut 3. The huts were all in a row, attached like townhouses. The labels were odd and I accidentally went into cabin 4 to sit down and decompress. I was tired, frustrated, sick, and embarrassed and shedding a tear or two, which was interrupted by someone coming in, and politely, and awkwardly, explaining that I was in the wrong cabin. I meekly shuffled to the correct cabin and laid down for a few minutes and let my stomach and lungs settle to their appropriate locations and rhythms. Eventually I dragged myself out and into a chair out front. I forced my lunch down, chicken and rice, while taking in the view of the famous Fuego Volcano. It was spewing smoke periodically and we had a front row view. I chatted with the neighbors and eventually started to feel better. The guides came around and said that at 4pm they were guiding people down the valley and up the other side to get a closer look at the volcano. Renata opted to go on this side quest. Natalie and Vanessa weren’t feeling well so they stayed back and napped for a bit. I milled around camp, had some hot chocolate, and chatted with some of the other hikers. We also built a fire. As evening came, the clouds rolled in and we couldn’t see anything. Everyone else was woken up for supper, fried chicken and spaghetti, both good, but an odd combination.
After dinner, someone said they saw lightning and we all turned to look. As we did, the clouds cleared and we got a perfect view of the volcano spitting lava high into the sky. The was also causing an electrical storm above the volcano. We were now seeing eruptions and lightning strikes. Everyone got their phones and cameras out. I tried to get a picture but it was just a small red dot on my black screen which I thought was pretty funny. There were some serious photographers there and they were kind enough to share their photos after the fact.
We took in the show and realized our companions weren’t back yet from the volcano. We could see headlamps in the distance, but it turned out to be other tour groups. We later found out that those poor individuals hiked all the way there to be stuck in the fog, then turned back before it cleared. They still got a good show on the way back, but not the up close and personal look they had hoped for.
Eventually Renata made it back and we agreed it was bed time. Our cabin was a thin foam mattress on the ground, four pillows and four sleeping bags and little room for much else. We piled in and got comfy and if I sat up I could still see the volcano through the big window on the front of our cabin. I did my best to not think about how often that bedding was or wasn’t washed. We stayed up a little late laughing and joking. At some point, due to the thin wall, we could hear a ruckus from our neighbors banging on the wall followed by a heavily accented “sorry, there was an animal in here…… oh no, not animal… uh bug, a bug!” glad they clarified that. Throughout the evening the volcano continued to erupt, occasionally with enough blast that the cabins would shake a little.
At 3am Renata and Vanessa started the sunrise hike. Natalie and I still weren’t feeling well so we stayed back and slept in. I was told, after the fact, that it was a nice hike but very cold. Breakfast was tea and a cereal similar to corn flakes with hot milk and granola. It was quite good. Around 10 am we started our descent, I still felt really rough, but this time I at least had the good sense to put a bandana over my face to try and keep the dust out. About half way down, at the official park gate, there were also a few vendors, I bought a slice of watermelon for 5Q (about $1) and it was amazing.
We made it down, loaded into the vans and headed back to HQ for lunch and to get cleaned up. We were then driven back to the city and walked to our AirBnB, unfortunately we were early and couldn’t get in until the cleaner heard us making noise out front and let us in. Shortly after, a regal woman in a long white dress welcomed us and gave us a quick tour… we must have been quite the sight covered in dust and dirty clothes. Luckily the rental had two showers and we were able to get cleaned up a bit, this unit had four beds which was also a nice luxury. After getting cleaned up, we went for walk around the city and to get some dinner, we also found a patio and each got a cocktail.
I went to bed dog tired, and in the morning, I picked up my motorcycle, but that a story for next week.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged Acatenango, Antigua, backpacking, camping, Fuego Volcano, Guatemala, hiking, travel, Volcanowith no comments yet.
Drumheller Road Trip
For reasons I am yet to understand, I purchased a motorcycle. My intention was to drive it west into the mountains, but, as expected, the forecast has been daily rain since I signed the bill of sale. I decided, instead, to ride south to Drumheller as a bit of an equipment test and an opportunity ride through the badlands.
I headed south of Edmonton on secondary roads and made a detour to the Len Thompson “worlds largest fishing lure” statue, just to say I did. From there it was a somewhat dull drive across the flat prairie, my headphones provided most of the entertainment until I was near my destination. Just before Drumheller, the road dropped sharp into a valley and within a kilometer I went from green, flat, prairie to small sandy hills and winding roads. I investigated a few campgrounds around town and found most ludicrously expensive, lacking in facilities, or both. After paying $30 in Nepal for a nice hotel, its hard to pay $45 to throw a tent in an open field. Far south of town, near the Hoodoos, I found a nice campground with more sensible rates. I pitched my tent and got organized just in time for it to start raining and hailing. I laid in my tent and read my book while I waited for the rain to pass. It eventually did and I was able to make a small snack before bed.
The following morning I tried to go to the museum but being mid summer I couldn’t even find parking so decided against it. Instead I went to see Horseshoe canyon, I hiked down and around it for the better part of an hour. The geology was interesting, but the heat was intense. I then took a motorcycle tour towards the town of Wayne, known for its eleven bridges. The road and scenery were amazing. After the last bridge the road turned to gravel and I could see many bikers had done that road and turned around right there, which is exactly what I did. I got back to my tent just in time for a short afternoon rain. Afterward I went to the camp office and charged some electronics for my ride home the following day. I had a fire and went to bed.
I left the campsite early in the morning so I could take my time on the long drive home. My first stop was Horse Thief Canyon. The lookout, at that time of morning, only had one other vehicle, a camper van with the windows covered. I walked out and took in the scenery and in the distance saw a coyote running, about as fast as I think he could go, right along the ridgetops. I got back on my bike and continued on. My next stop was the Bleriot Ferry. It was a small ferry that runs people across the Red Deer River. I pulled up and a man brought the ferry slowly towards my side of the river, he dropped the chain and waved me on. I pulled up and the boat started moving. I had time to take my helmet off and get a drink of water, the crossing, I believe, took about 7 minutes. The boat man did not say a word. As I left I said thank you and he nodded. It was a long drive home from the ferry. Between Trochu and Camrose I found the winds were severe and pushed me all over my lane. As I came into Edmonton, I was somewhat disoriented. I was tired from several hours of driving, there was smoke from northern forest fires, and my GPS had taken me through a section of city I had never driven through. I made it home around noon, unloaded my bike, and had a very satisfying shower, content with the results of my first Canadian motorcycle trip.
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Lessons of Nepali Busses
On my way from Kathmandu to the Annapurna circuit a bit of confusion and turned what should have been a 6 hour journey on fancy tourist busses into a 12 hour event involving the small local busses and the brave men who operate them. It gave me an opportunity to observe how they operate, and it was simply amazing.
Nepalese busses are interesting in themselves. They look like a city bus, but shrunk down to be a little larger than a full sized van. They seem to always be a red colour palette with chrome. They are also coated in decals, stickers, and murals. They remind me of the decor you see on rides and trailers at a carnival.
Upon entering one, my 6’2″ height combined with my… Lets say slightly husky build, is a comical sight. My best guess is a clearance of about 5’8″ (once, when exiting, I hit my head off of 4 rungs in a row, everyone smiled). I find my way to my seat, feeling like a grizzly that accidentally entered a children’s play house. Then I sit and wait. The bus leaves when it’s full. Not when the seats are taken, but when the bus is full to the brim.
Eventually, we are off, laden with passengers and their bags tied to the roof. This is where my amazement of the process and my respect for the crew originated. You see, operating a bus in most countries requires a driver… In Nepal, its a 3 man crew. First is the driver, this is a man with ice in his veins, unflinching, unblinking, unafraid, and maybe unhinged. He’s a man who must have found rodeos, redheads, or rally cars not exciting enough. I assume he is also a man who believes in reincarnation. Next are two men who will alternate roles but for the sake of easy explanation lets go one at a time. These men, as best I can guess, are part terrier. They’re fast, tenacious, and aggressive when they need to be.
One is the crowd man, he works the bus collecting fares, bartering their prices, managing drop off requests and bathroom breaks. He’ll tell you when the next bathroom break is, or tell the driver we need to stop at the next bathroom, depending on how much he likes you. So be cautious of your level of bartering. He is also the reserve for when the door gunner jumps off the bus.
I decided on calling this position “the door gunner” because I couldn’t think of a better description. The door gunner hangs out the side of the always folded open bus door. He’s always watching for an opportunity to slip ahead, waving his arm to signal the busses mergers. I assume, he would also, technically, wave faster traffic ahead, but I never saw it happen. In an environment where everything from pedal bikes to excavators are all operating inches apart, he acts as a spotter too. He communicates with the bus driver by slapping the metal side of the bust quickly, which sounds like a machine gun. If for some reason the bus does stop, he’s out and running ahead problem solving. He will direct traffic jams out of the way, wave heavy machinery over, and even argue with construction workers. Though I didn’t see it, I have no doubt he’d fight or bribe his way through if he felt the situation called for it.
They do this all while doing drive-by sales pitches. Offering services to pedestrians. If one agrees, the gunner slaps the side to signal stop and the new member is handed off to the crowd man. Sometimes the bus just slows down and the two pull them in like boarding a train in an old western.
All the while, the passengers are sitting back listening to the music and practicing their English with me. I had a lot of strangers very excited about me being from Canada. Also, the rumors about Nepali hospitality are somehow understated. On every bus we found a friendly person willing to go out of their way to help us. As one man put it “you are a guest here and I want to make sure you have a good time”.
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Aloha, Kauai
Years ago I was in Iceland, end of day two, and 55kms into the hike, the afternoon had shown little more than cold rain. I was cold, the cold you feel in your bones that makes you forget what warm feels like, the kind of cold that makes you worry you will never be warm again. The trail led to the edge of a shallow river that wove an argyle pattern across black, rounded, gravel. I probed the small islands of wet rock looking, in vain, for dry passage, but my companion and I knew the score. Boots and socks came off, and pants were rolled up. My feet dipped into the icy current while the cold mist rained from above. My bare feet were numb, but I could still feel the small rocks push out from under my feet with each heavy step. We reached the other side and I sat down to put my footwear back on when suddenly my entire body convulsed and I dry heaved several times. The stress, cold, hunger, and exhaustion had manifested. I took a moment, assessed the reality that there was no plug to pull, no easy way out. I was there, and the only way out was to keep walking. I put my gear on, stood up, and put one foot in front of the other, I had a dry sleeping bag and a soggy tent waiting for me at the end of the day… This trip, was nothing like that trip.
Truth be told, this wasn’t my trip. I was just invited along. My friends did most of the planning and I just gave a thumbs up to activities that sounded good to me. I didn’t pick the island (Kauai), I didn’t pick to accommodation (a lovely condo), and I didn’t pick the car (a Subaru SUV). As it turns out, that’s a great way to travel, everything was a fun surprise. Troy, Steph (Troy’s girlfriend), and Adrian flew in a few days before me. I flew home from a work camp Sunday night and flew to Hawaii Monday afternoon. The second I stepped off the plane I had flashbacks to Fiji. That humid south pacific smell, the heat at night, and the architecture that has big square holes instead of windows because it just doesn’t get cold out. I knew already I was going to like this place. I walked out of the gate and was met by Adrian with a big hug. He lives in Calgary and I dont see him often. Troy and Steph were waiting in the car, we got some fast food and they drove me through the darkness to our rental condo. They excitedly told me all about what they had found, seen, and done so far. It all sounded amazing, but I was exhausted and it was late, the bed felt a mile deep and I was out almost immediately.
The next morning I was up a little before my friends and sat quietly working on a puzzle while marveling at the green outside and listening to the roaming roosters crowing. I was later informed that the island of Kauai was littered with them, something about a hurricane releasing them from captivity. After breakfast I was promptly taken to a beach to wade in the ocean a bit and feel the “cold” freshwater stream nearby. If memory serves we visited three beaches that day and I got a driving tour of the island. Somewhere along the way I got to try my hand a body boarding, sadly, my lack of skill resulted in a broken board when it got between my tumbling body and the sand below. Another very notable highlight for the day was shaved ice. It was hot and we all wanted something cold. It appeared to just be a standard snowcone (ground/shaved ice with flavouring on it). I didnt read the menu too close and just kinda picked one. I was shocked at how much flavour there was and that there was ice-cream at the bottom 10/10 highly recommend.
Day two we had a pre-schedule activity. A boat tour and snorkeling. Again, not looking closely at the plan I expected a small boat and maybe a quick drive around with some snorkel at the end. I was dead wrong, this was a huge catamaran with a full crew, all of whom couldn’t pass by without asking if we needed anything. There were about 40 fellow passengers who all received this top rate service. Adrian and I sat ourselves at the front of the boat on the trampoline where we could take in the views as well as really feel the large waves bouncing the boat up and down and occasionally it threw some water onto passengers. Along with local sight seeing we also stopped to see both whales and spinner dolphins. The dolphins actually did some bow-riding with our boat, I didn’t realize dolphins swimming in front of the boat and jumping was a real thing, but apparently they actually do that. After the tour, we were dropped over a reef near the shoreline to do some snorkeling, it was ok, but to be honest the visibility wasn’t great. The boat ride was the real star of the show. After snorkeling was lunch and an open bar on the boat. I somehow got talked into a few beers and was feeling pretty good by the time we docked. We immediately went to yet another beach to work on our tans and wade around a little in the salt water, a pastime I could easily turn into a full-time hobby. As it was, coincidentally, Steph’s birthday that day, we decided to swing by Costco and get her a cake. It felt weird going to Costco in Hawaii, I get why its there but somehow it just felt… out of place.
The following morning, rains on the north end of the island caused flooding which cancelled our plans to go on a kayak trip. Instead, we drove to Hanalei, a small town with a lot of tourist shops. Though it rained on and off throughout the day we still had a great time. We tried another local delicacy “Pineapple Whip” which I think is just pineapple flavoured ice cream which is, not surprisingly, good. I was also able to pick up some post cards for my parents and my nephew. I was also treated to a nearby tourist attraction, a big cave near the beach. Maniniholo cave was hollowed out by the ocean even though it now, no longer reached that far. It was interesting to see just how big of a hole in the rocks water and time can make. That evening, we went to nearby hotel bar for what struck me as a rather expensive drink, then we went home and I made tacos for us. Afterwards, we decided we needed to get rid of all the liquor before we flew home the following day. It was nice. It was one of those nights where its just a few friends sitting around the table listening to music, telling stories, and we even snuck in a drinking game or two.
My last day on the island may have been my favorite. We cleaned up the apartment, packed our things, and checked out. From there we headed to an adventure tour company for our last activity. A tube float down an irrigation ditch in a decommissioned sugar cane plantation. I’m not sure what’s in the water in Hawaii, or maybe its in the sun, but everyone there is super friendly, especially customer service. Our guide loaded us in into bus seats on a covered flat deck truck and hauled us half an hour inland. He entertained us the entire way, telling jokes, local history, crowd work etc. We got to the top and a few more guides joined us, loaded us into the tubes, and sent us down river. It was a great feeling to just kick back, relax and float. There was some bumping, some spinning, and some speed, but it was all just the right amount. We passed through a few tunnels and sang along to music the guides were blaring from a waterproof speaker. The last mile or so was just a lazy float looking at trees. It was a great way to end our trip. Unfortunately, there was still business to attend to though. We had to get the rental car clean before returning it… and wouldn’t you know it, not a working vacuum on the island. I mean that literally, there was a lot of sand in that car and Troy drove us to every gas station and carwash on the island and all of them were out of order. Eventually we had to call it, he did his best to sweep and scoop the sand out by hand and apparently the owner was happy, but it was a hell of a job to get that thing clean with his bare hands.
All that was left now, was to wait at the airport for our plane. All week I had been looking for stamps for my postcards and finally found them in a convenience store in the airport, I bought and affixed them. I then asked security where the post box was, only to be told its on the other side of the security gate that I had just gone through… In classic Hawaiian fashion, the guard said he could deposit them for me after his shift. I was doubtful but, out of options, handed them to him. I am please to announce, he is a man of his word, my nephew received his card. We then found one of those old fashion coin press machines that squishes a penny into an oval with a design on it, I naturally got one with a chicken on it. We then got some food, a drink, and waited for the flight home that entailed an uneventful 8 hour layover in Vancouver. I was sad to see it end, but it was the perfect length of vacation, it hadn’t lasted long enough for me to have a bad or even boring day and left me wanting more. This was the closest I have ever come to a lay-on-the-beach-and-relax resort esque vacation and until now I didn’t see the appeal. Dirt-bag adventure travel will always have my heart, but I now have this nagging urge to go somewhere hot and and just take it easy. This was my first trip to Hawaii, but hopefully it wont be my last.
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