Thailand Notes Part 2: Chiang Mai to Mae Hong Son
Motorcycle fever had gripped me and made it easy for Natalie to talk me into the trip north to do a week long ride called The Mao Hong Son Loop. A very short version of this story found its way into Motocycle Mojo Magazine.
After much research, we rented our bikes from two different shops. Mine, from a larger shop that carried full size motorcycles with manual transmissions and the others rented scooters, Natalie and Willy rented “semi automatics” which were essentially clutch-less manuals. Courtney rented a true automatic. We agreed to pick up the bikes in the morning. That night we went to a very crowded street market, I felt very claustrophobic and was annoyed to see some of the items I bought at The Silk Factory in Bangkok were for sale for a fraction of what I paid. The food smelled delicious but I didn’t dare risk being sick the next morning. That night I also read up on common scams from rental agencies. The most predominant seemed to be trying to get you to pay for pre-existing damage.
When we got started the morning, I had brief moment of being everyone’s dad and somewhat forced everyone to get a full-face helmet. Thailand is littered with road-rashed tourists and I was hoping to not add to that demographic. All the rental shop helmets had some kind of damage on them ranging from scratches to full splits down the middle, which made for excellent visuals during my presentation. No one else seemed worried about that. We picked up the other’s bikes first, and Natalie was so uncomfortable, she asked me to drive the bike back to the hostel with her as a passenger. That was a nerve-wracking endeavor, she wore a helmet and I had a ballcap. It wasn’t rush hour, but there was definitely more traffic than I wanted to deal with. In my life, I have done some questionable things on motorized equipment, but that one made me the most nervous.
Once back at the hostel, I packed my bag, a 30L waterproof stuff sack, and picked up my bike. The only helmet they had that fit me, and had a visor in good enough shape to see through, had a big doobie on each side and “420” on the back. I found it funny but a little annoying. To avoid getting scammed, again, I took dozens of pictures of my rental bike and a video, when I left, the owner was well aware of every scratch. Once we all met up with our rides, we realized Courtney and I had the only bikes with phone mounts so I asked her to lead so I could bring up the rear. We were finally on the road at 3pm, which annoyed me greatly. Traffic out of the city was bad and Natalie was unfamiliar with bikes so her and I went slower than Will and Courtney. Somewhere deep in my memory, from an unknown source, was a belief that the most capable rider should bring up the rear. Sadly for our group, that was me, but I didn’t mind going slow and seeing the sights.
The only thing of note on the highway was a very large reclining buddha statue on the side of the road. A ways out of the city, we got separated enough that Natalie and I stopped at a run down shop for water and to contact the others ahead of us. Natalie ordered the fried chicken, looking at the state of the place, she will never have to prover her bravery to me. Though it did look crisp. We regrouped but the park we wanted to drive through was closed, we detoured to the town of Hot, the name felt appropriate given the absolute heat of northern Thailand. Courtney picked a hostel for us, and it was an absolute winner. It was little two bed cabins, with attached bathrooms and AC for 400 baht each. Will and I shared a room and I mused at the thought that I was paying $8 cad a night. We walked along the street and found a vendor selling noodles, this was my first Thai street food experience. It had, I believe, pork and fish balls in it (though I am not sure what part of the fish is the ball and I intentionally don’t think about what part of the pork that is), it was good and filling and cost 40 baht ($1.60). We went back to the hotel and sat chatting in the girls’ cabin, the power had gone out and we debated how to pass the time. Someone suggested cards. With nothing better to do, I walked to the corner store and purchased a deck, not realizing they were 375 baht ($15!). They are nice cards, heavy waterproof plastic and in a nice case, but that still pretty steep. By the time I got back, the power was back on and no one was interested in cards now that we had TV and internet. I went to bed thinking about how much nicer the roads in Thailand were than the roads in Nepal. I was also somewhat grumpy about the heat and our late start, I reminded myself that I am on vacation and shouldn’t worry so much about clocks.
We left Hot at the crack of noon. I was a bit frustrated to leave so late. From there we went on a very winding road and stopped at a temple but it wasn’t open to visitors. It was still interesting to drive up to it through the main gate and see the architecture. From there we went to Bo Kaio Pine Tree Garden. It was a nice forest walk, a smooth dirt track through well spaced conifers like we had driven through in Nepal. We also witnessed a bride and groom getting their photos taken. As we headed back to our bikes, it began to rain. We drove to a nearby restaurant and had dinner. It was chicken and rice on cheap plastic plates, and cups that didn’t look clean to me. I asked for the bathroom and got a lot of confusion and pointing and was eventually sent out back to an unlit outhouse with a squat toilet. The rain eased and we continued our trip.
Unfortunately, the rain came back even stronger, we were thoroughly soaked by the time we found a roadside shelter to stop at. After a long wait, it became clear the rain wasn’t stopping and it was now getting dark out. We packed our gear as best we could to avoid damage to electronics. I put my phone in a bag in my pocket and let the mapping app guide me via my headphones, Courtney did the same. Within a mile of leaving our shelter, we passed an overturned semi truck. We slowly snaked around it, it served as a reminder that this was real and dangerous, up to this point, in my mind, it was just uncomfortable. We continued on, driving as a team. Courtney was leading and would give hand signals showing when to pass slow traffic and when to turn. It felt so coordinated, high stakes, and the quiet concentration made it feel somewhat clandestine. It felt like we were a team sneaking into town. Looking back, it reminded me of being a boy and playing soldiers with the neighborhood kids. The rain slowed and stopped as we came into town. The residual heat in the pavement dried the water off in minutes. The steam filled the air like a fog. It was the closest I had been to cool since I had entered the country (both temperature and otherwise). We wove through back roads to find a hotel Courtney had picked before we left. Unfortunately, it was hard to find and when we did get there, it was full. She quickly picked another and headed toward it. We rounded a corner and suddenly I was driving on a main road lined with vertical lights, there were hundreds, all about 4 feet tall, like a vertical fluorescent bulb. They lit the road in an interesting effect and the steam from the rain made it look like a dream or maybe a rave. I could have driven back and forth for hours. We got to our new hotel, a white stone building, we parked along the street and went in to check availability. The place had no guests and the woman at the front had to call the owner to come in. He was excited and rented us dorm beds and told us to bring our bikes in off the street. As we backed our bikes from the curb and pulled into the court yard, Natalie dropped hers. I think it was just a result of the low speed and perhaps tired from the days riding. I lifted it back up for her. We parked in the courtyard out front and he closed gate to the street. We all had showers and gave our wet clothes for laundry. I spent the evening in a long sleeve shirt, underpants, and a towel around my waist. I guess only a single pair of jeans wasn’t a great strategy, but at least they got a wash. We sat outside and ordered food from the attached restaurant. We ate a variety, mostly fried, and drank sodas. We stayed up late eating, drinking, and telling stories and I went to sleep happy. This was the best slumber party I had ever been to and the days riding in the rain was a real team building exercise. Before this we were friendly, after this we were friends.
I woke up feeling terribly ill. Likely a result of supper the night before. After several trips to the washroom, I dosed myself with anti-diarrhea meds and hoped for the best. I bought toast with jam from the restaurant attached to the hostel, it was outright nasty. The bread was yellow and had a sour tang to it, it reminded me of bread I had in Colombia years before. To me, it tasted like it was made with rancid butter, but that cant possibly be accurate. Throwing the bread in the trash, I forced down a granola bar that had been rattling around in my bag and we headed to a café to get breakfast for the others. After a rather lengthy ordering and eating process we hit the winding road again.
The ride was really getting exciting, these curves are what the trip is known for and Thailand’s climate allows for road surfaces to stay nice. Natalie and I stopped for gas and found an odd self serve station. It was a small pump, inset on a wall on the side of the street. I put the nozzle into my tank, loaded my cash in like a vending machine and hit the green button. Immediately the gas started flowing and a little tune played. I was glad I had the nozzle in already, the handle did nothing to stop or start the flow, that could have been a disaster. I declined lunch that day as I still was not well. We rolled into the city of Mao Hong Son around 6pm and had no rain that day. We checked into a nice hotel with a pool in the courtyard. Courney and I went for a swim while Will and Natalie sat by the pool. Somehow a joke came up about Natalie and I doing the lift from Dirty Dancing. We never actually got to try it, until a year later in Guatemala. After the pool we went off in search of food. I was positively starving, and Thai food was getting the best of me. I requested that we go for western food, and somehow the few places that sold it were all closed. I was getting very down and outright frustrated, I was in that stage of hunger where I no longer felt hungry, and just felt grumpy. We eventually found a little restaurant and I had some kind of spicy rice-based dish. It was good but I could barely eat it. I went back to the hotel long before the others and relaxed. Truth be told, I was having fun overall, but in that moment I just wasn’t feeling it. Luckily we still had a few more days of riding to enjoy so I didn’t have to end on that note.
Posted in Motorcycle, Published Work, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Mae Hong Son Loop, motorcycle, Thailand, travelwith 1 comment.
Thailand Notes Part 1: Scammed in Bangkok and Cooked on a Train
I flew to Thailand with very little research and absolutely no guide book. Something I had never done before. This whole trip was a big whim and I had no idea what to expect, it was exciting and scary to think about.
Bangkok
I flew into Bangkok without a plan or clue. The hostel I had booked was dorm style, I wasn’t looking forward to shared accommodations, but private room prices were outright wild. In the airport an official scolded me for having an Ushuaia stamp in my passport she warned “this is for official stamps only” and waved me along. I had gotten the stamp at the tourist center in the town of Ushuaia in 2016 and no one said anything about it until now. As I walked out of the airport, I was shocked by the heat, and the cleanliness, of the city. It was a long cab ride to the hostel and the entire time I marveled at the smooth roads. Going from the infrastructure of Nepal to that of Thailand felt like being hurled into the future, it was a bit of a shock.
The next day I could barely leave the hostel, the heat was so extreme. I would walk building to building, refreshing in the air conditioning. In my travels, I spotted a gun shop. I went to walk in to see how they compared to Canadas. Before I could get a single foot in the door, an old lady shooed me out. It was then I spotted the sign on the door “no tourists, no pictures”. I kept walking and suddenly discovered dozens of gun shops all with the same stickers and equally welcoming. I even saw a street vendor selling accessories, I thought some wood grips for my 1911 would be a neat souvenir but he wouldn’t even look at me, never mind sell to me. I laughed at the fact that I had officially been kicked out of a gun store. That evening, I went to Kao San Road and was thoroughly disgusted. It was a short walk from my hostel and it was everything Thailand had to offer sleazy tourists… bars, “massage” parlors, laughing gas, grilled alligator, knockoff clothes, and drugs. There were also old men walking around asking people if they wanted to see a “ping pong show” and making a popping noise with their mouths… I didn’t spend much time there, it wasn’t my scene.
On my last day in Bangkok, I got scammed. I was walking around, bogged by the heat, and waiting for the streetlight to change so I could cross the road. A man said “in Thailand, we just cross, like this” and walked with me across the street. I thanked him and kept walking. He then kept pace and asked me about myself and what I was doing etc. He then claimed to be some sort of tourism board something or other and had suggested I see some temples and a silk factory. I said that sounded nice, and he wrote their names down. He also said the silk factory usually only exports but for a few days a year they do local sales.. I wasn’t interested in buying anything but I was curious how a silk factory worked. He told me most tuk tuks would take me for 100 baht to all 3. He then waved one down on the road and chatted with the driver, then turned to me and said “he will take you”. So I hopped in, thinking it was odd but some temples would be nice. The man drove like a maniac, I had no idea these little 3-wheelers could go so fast. We went to the first temple, The Happy Buddha Temple. It was small and somewhat unpopular, but I went in to see. There, a man was praying and started talking to me. He asked what I was up to, I told him and he said he really liked the silk factory, that it was where he bought his suits from for business trips. The driver took me to the next stop, the silk factory… instead of a factory tour, it was just a sales pitch, which wasn’t shocking, I figured they just had all the tuk tuk guys on some kind of consignment. I politely declined the salesman’s offer to have several custom suits made… Shockingly, I am not a suit guy, and I didn’t feel like stuffing 6 of them into my backpack. As I was leaving, he asked if I needed anything for gifts, I looked around and picked out a tie set for my brother and a silk kimono for my dad, he then said he could do a custom dress shirt for me since I was buying something. I said sure, I went with a dark green linen material in a long sleeve button up. The salesman asked for my hotel and said he would have them delivered that evening, all in I spent about $180 cad. Our next stop was a temple complex, beautifully built and maintained. I wandered the ground and took some pictures and was ready to leave.
The tuk tuk driver suggested a trip to the docks, he had a friend who could take me out on a boat, I declined because my stomach was upset and I had had enough heat. I went back to my hostel and relaxed. As 5pm approached, I went downstairs and asked the hostel staff if any parcels had come for me and then explained my day. The woman looked at me worried and said “how much did you give them?”… then proceeded to explain there are lots of scammers. I looked online and googled the shop, it turns out everything about that day was a setup, the man walking, the tuk tuk, the man at the temple, all of it. They also run another scam, which is they take you out on a boat and refuse to come back to land until you pay the driver off. It sounds like I almost got the boat scam too. Reading online, it looks like people were scammed into slightly over paying for suits, usually multiple suits. I guess its harder to get scammed when you are cheap. I had paid by credit card and was now hoping the salesman wouldn’t show up so I could just cancel the purchase… I also wondered if violence was the answer if or when the delivery guy got there, but they seemed to use a 3rd party delivery service. The items did arrive, and sure enough, the shirt fit, little short on the sleeves but the torso was long enough. I usually roll the sleeves anyway so it was a practical shirt and I paid about $90cad for it. I essentially got scammed into paying western prices for things. Later in my trip I found the tie set I had bought for $40 for about $5 at a night market… I got got, no doubt, but not for much, and its sure a funny story now. I still laugh at the idea of an elaborate four man setup just to rope me into paying $180. At this point I was more or less done with Bangkok.
The Heat Train
Natalie had reached out to me and suggested I meet her in Chiang Mai, in the north, to do the Mae Hong Son Loop with some travelers she had met there. When I first planned my trip to Nepal, I considered trying to get into India as well for some kind of train trip. The idea interested me but I just couldn’t make it work. So I was excited to get my chance at train travel. For this trip I had booked the train online, the website was in Thai and I used google translate, making sure to book a carriage “With Air”… Before departing I loaded up on various drinks and snacks from the local 7/11 and hoped for the best. I boarded in the early afternoon, I quickly learned that a car “with air” was not the same as one with air conditioning. In my seat, looking out the window I saw that it was bolted shut. The small ceiling fan did its best, but it was over 40 degrees outside. The landscape was beautiful, but it was sweltering in the car.
Initially the train was rather full and there was an American couple that staff had to walk back to their seats several times. They seemed to have trouble with the idea of assigned seating and eventually settled for leaving their bags unattended while wandering to seats they liked more. Over time, the train made stops and people got off. They were the lucky ones, to escape that sweltering heat. Around sunset, a well dressed man with white gloves came through and converted my seat, and the one facing it, into a bunk. Similar to a dining table in an RV being converted into a bed. He also put on a clean sheets, a pillow and a top sheet to be used as a blanket… in case I got cold. The bed was a little wider than me and a bit shorter, it had a fabric curtain I could close for privacy, but that blocked airflow. I tried to sleep but it was simply too hot.
Around midnight, I ran out of beverages. What little sleep I did get had bizarre fever dreams, I had dreams that my ex was texting me, when I came to, I checked my phone and couldn’t find them. When was the last time you saw a cellphone in a dream? Sweaty and confused and more than a little dehydrated.
The train arrived an hour and a half late, which was confusing to me, I can’t imagine it got lost or stuck in traffic. I stepped off the train into that, comparatively, cool 5am air and decided I wanted to walk. Prior to leaving Bangkok, I had asked Natalie to book me a bed at her hostel, she said she would, late in the night she had texted and told me she was not able to, “but it would be fine”. I was anxious about that, but it was morning now and there was nothing to do but head to her hostel and go from there. I talked to my dad on the phone while walking. When I passed an open McDonalds restaurant I hung up on him… I ordered a breakfast sandwich, a water, an orange juice, and an Iced tea. I took my time getting it all in, and felt thoroughly nauseous, I think I had mild heat stroke. My head felt foggy, I was weak, and my stomach was rather upset. Throwing some anti diarrhea meds down, I proceeded toward Natalie’s hostel. I arrived around 8am and sat in the waiting area reading my book until 10 am when she got up. I was rather annoyed by that, she knew when my train was coming in, I didn’t expect her to meet me at the station, but waking up at a more reasonable time just seems considerate. Mentioning it seemed like a bad idea, I correctly assumed my irritability was the dehydration and exhaustion. We walked together to a hostel our other would-be travel companions were staying at. It had proper AC and I got a private room with a small bed, but couldn’t check in until the evening. I put my bag in storage and went for a shower. The shower area had no AC and I struggled to peel off my sweat-soaked clothes. After the shower, I was still sweating so much I struggled to dry myself. I was then introduced to William and Courtney, our travel companions for the trip. Even now I am not sure how Natalie found them, but I am glad she did. William was a Swedish man who had been living and working in Australia, throughout the trip I would find he was immune to stress or worry. I found myself envious of that. Courtney was from Chicago and was very sweet, her and I were very different politically and yet I still enjoyed all of my time with her. Of our group, I had the most motorcycle experience, which was minimal. I had my International Drivers Permit and a motorcycle license, Natalie and Courtney both had regular driver’s licenses, and William had nothing. I was far and away the most experienced on two wheels with my total of about 4 days of riding. I was immediately worried, but no one else was.
Technical
There’s not much technical here beyond maybe read the guide book or google common scams in the country you are visiting otherwise you may end up with a funny story. Furthermore, always try to get clarity and never make assumptions about AC, beyond assuming it won’t be working. In south america I learned to ask “does the bus have AC? does it work? will it be turned on?” because sometimes the answer to those questions is no all the same.
Overheated, dehydrated, and delirious on that train, in my opinion, was probably the most dangerous part of this trip. I brought a lot to drink and I shudder to think what would have happened had I been less prepared. I’m also a little sad that my first and only real train ride experience was so terribly uncomfortable, I had been romanticizing the idea for years.
Posted in Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Thailand, travelwith 1 comment.
Nepal Notes Part 8: A Wild Tiger And A Life Changing Coin Toss
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
My two day motorcycle trip, part 7 of this saga, gave me a sufficient kick in the rump to get me moving. Despite still feeling the effects of my pneumonia, I was determined to get out of Pokhara, I had abruptly hit the wall for how long I could stay in that town. I had read about Chitwan National Park before my trip, but dismissed it under the assumption there wouldn’t be time, turns out there was time.
Chitwan National Park
The bus ride back to Kathmandu was 12 hours so I decided to break it up a bit by taking a detour to Chitwan National Park, its located south of and somewhat equidistant from Kathmandu and Pokhara. I was told the bus to Chitwan would be about 4 hours, it took 7.5. At the but station I was met by a man in a very rough pickup and taken to my hotel. It was hard to tell who was there to work and who was just a friend of the employees hanging out, nobody wore a uniform of any kind and everyone was just kind of hanging out. Also all of the men had short hair except for a small patch on the back left long, it was strange. It reminded me of my cousin who, in the 90s, had what we called “a rat tail”. I was fed a large, late, lunch and then was shown to my room. It was dated, dusty, and overall tired, but there were a lot of geckos around so that was nice, they look nice and keep the bugs down. Luckily they weren’t too noisy, sometimes geckos can make a barking noise that reminds me of a turkey yelp/cluck. With its thatched roof and wicker furniture, it reminded me of the budget hotels in Fiji. One strange thing that stood out to me at this hotel, the bed sheets only covered the top ¾ of the bed, meaning my feet were on bare mattress. It grossed me out, but I was so used to rough accommodation at that point, I just tucked the blanket under my feet. At about 4pm I was walked to a river front to take in the 630 sunset. We arrived at 415 in the blazing heat, after half an hour of standing on a concrete flood wall roasting in the sun, I decided to walk farther down the bank. At the end of the flood wall was a river front restaurant and beyond that were two locals riding elephants along the river. They saw me and wandered over, I took some pictures and patted one on the trunk. I had never seen an elephant up close like that. I wandered back to the restaurant and ordered a cold soda… it was now about 515… Finally, the sun set in a rather lackluster way and I was able to go back to the hotel. There were 4 other guests there, two couples and they said little more than hi to me.
Morning of day two I was crammed into a dugout canoe. I was sat near the back on a square stool with 2 inch legs and someone was place ahead of me, and someone ahead of them and so on until we were just shy of a dozen. It felt like a back massage chain, but sweatier. 3 canoes took off around the same time and we all floated down the shallow river, occasionally bottoming out right under me… I was still not feeling great about my weight, before this trip I had never considered myself in shape, but I also never thought I was overweight. I definitely put some pounds on after the divorce, I just never realized it was this bad. My more pressing consideration was that we were spotting crocodiles from a boat where the gunwales sat 6 inches above the water. It felt low to me, and apparently I would make a well marbled snack. Along the way we also spotted a wide variety of exotic birds include some beautiful teal coloured King Fishers. The boats brought us to a steep bank where we all piled off. I was fortunate that I was the only person my guide was taking on the jungle trek. We were able to see monkeys, spotted deer, barking deer, and in the distance some Rhino. I was surprised at how quiet my guide could walk the jungle, he seemed impressed with me too, all those years of hunting whitetail deer seemed to pay off for me. I was glad it was just the two of us, in my experience, very few people actually know how to be quiet. Our jungle trek ended at an elephant breeding center. I didn’t love the elephant center. Initially it was just elephants chained to posts under simple shelters, like a farmer’s pole shed. As I learned more, I found out the elephants were trained to be used for patrols in the park and were walked twice daily. It wasn’t a life too far off from some horses, but it still didn’t sit well with me.
In the afternoon I went on a jeep safari (I had the option of an elephant ride, and declined). I was loaded into the back with an American man, and a large, loud, Nepali family. We spotted a lot of wildlife but the preteen son kept trying to call the animals by yelling at them… It was a bit frustrating but also a bit funny. Our guide did his best to keep everyone quiet, and himself, used only a rock tapped against the metal bars on the jeep to communicate with the driver. It was a good system, were it not for my chatty companions. I also saw a wild peacock, and up until that moment, I had never thought about where they are native to, turns out they’re from Nepal and India area. They were just an animal that was around, like a loon in Canada. It was beautiful dark blue, high in a tree, and its long tail flowed gracefully as it jumped down and glided away. The jeep drove us to a Gharial hatching facility. It was about a dozen pools surrounded by chain link fence all full of little crocodiles. Its a good program, though not particularly photogenic. On our way out we passed some forest fires, at first it looked like small fires, but before long we were going fast down a dirt trail with flames on both sides and I thought I was at risk of losing eyebrow hair. It’s a strange feeling to be in nearly 40 degree heat and drive by a roaring fire, its like sticking your arm in the oven when its already just too hot outside.
At a military checkpoint, near the exit of the park, we crested a hill and saw, about 50 meters ahead, casually walking away, a tiger. The first thing that happened was the American grabbed the kid’s shoulder and pre-emptively hushed him. A much appreciated gesture. For about 15 seconds it walked down the dirt track without a care in the world, then turned left into the tall grass and wandered off into the wilderness. It looked thinner than I expected, to be honest, and its walk had more of a casual sway than the stealth walk my mind had imagined. It walked more like a domestic dog than a wild apex predator. Everyone in the jeep was glowing with excitement. The guide claimed he only has about 3 tiger sightings a year. I was skeptical about those numbers, he worked for tips and definitely wanted me to open my wallet a little farther, I did. When I got back to the hotel everyone there was exciting about it, wanted to hear the story, and made sure to remind me to mention it on my google review of the hotel. It was mentioned, along with the sheets.
The end of my action-packed day was to take in some cultural dancing in town. I was driven there in the box of a truck with a young couple that were a little better dressed than me. I was clearly in Nepal for the hiking, and they were there for the sights. It was a small theater with a broad stage and I was witness to some of the most impressive athletic dancing I had ever seen. In my youth I had witnessed Ukrainian dancing, French dancing, Powwow dancing, and breakdancing… none were quite on this level of both athleticism and team work. The first dance was a group of young men with staffs dancing and hammering them together, sometimes blind behind their heads, and doing it to make a melody. All I could imagine was a pinched finger. The ladies came on and did impressive dances with drums and twirls, then a man came on solo and spun fire in the dark. The fire spinning in the darkness with the hammering of drums felt like a trance, I was locked in and couldn’t look away. Towards the end there was a comical dance with two men, one dressed in traditional women’s attire who basically dodged the others romantic advances with twirls and jumps while the other tried to impress with dance moves, while closing the distance. Despite it not being in my original itinerary, I was glad to have made the trip south. I got some sleep, the next day was my bus to Kathmandu, and I could only imagine how long that would really take.
Back to Kathmandu
The 4-hour bus ride to Kathmandu was, naturally, about 8 hours. The American from the jeep tour was on the bus with me, we decided to share a cab from the bus to our hotels. While waiting for luggage to be unloaded, a woman beggar tapped my arm and held her hand out. I was in no mood and had been desensitized to beggars by this point. She kept stepping in front of me and tugging on my luggage and then giving me a blank stare with her hand out. Somehow that stare just felt entitled to me, like she expected me to pay a tax. Finally, as she was blocked me from getting to the taxi, I faked left and rolled right, just like I used to in my basketball days. The American said he thought I was being attacked by bugs, I guess my technique has rusted over the years. The cab driver scolded her and explained to us that she is always there and it pays her better than a normal job. Checking into Planet Nomad hostel was much smoother this time, I had texted the owner directly, a few days prior, and she just told me what room would be mine and to let myself in whenever I arrived, easy, peasy.
The following morning I started asking around about hiking Everest Basecamp. KTM airport was under construction and I was told I would have to take a 4-hour night-bus ride to a nearby airport then fly to Lukla. All in all it would cost me just over $2k USD, I could get it down a small amount without a guide, but not much. I thought about it for the day, I was still recovering from my pneumonia and had actually pulled a muscle in my chest causing some painful breathing. I didn’t have the heart for more frozen squat toilets and Nepali busses. I called my airline and asked about changing my flights to get home early, motorcycle fever still had me so I thought maybe I would buy a bike and tour around Canada. The customer service rep, without a laugh, told me to fly home early would cost me seven thousand dollars, the only available flights were first class. Naturally, I wasn’t about to do that. Natalie suggested I come to Thailand… over breakfast with her and some fellow travelers, I flipped a coin. Thailand it is. Within about an hour, I booked a round trip flight from Kathmandu to Thailand, it was cheaper than cancelling my flight home from Nepal. Natalie was headed to Thailand in a few days. Before she left, a bunch of us made friends with a Dutch girl and gave her all the hiking gear that we didn’t want to take with us on our next stop. Natalie gave her clothes, I gave her mitts, water tablets, and hiking poles. I burned a few days in Kathmandu, a few were spent just going for a walk to get food, much like Pokhara. Those days did make me feel a little guilty, like a fake traveler, hiding out in his hotel and venturing out to get western food. That said, one of the days I did wander to the old town part of Kathmandu, I took in a museum and the town square. It was called Durbar square, and I was mobbed by sellers and would-be tour guides, I also did some book shopping and found a few worth buying. In my wandering aimlessly about Thamel I also found an amazing burger place that sold buffalo burgers (water buffalo, not bison). In preparation for Thailand, I bought a cheap rubberized duffle bag and filled it with trinkets for my family as well as any gear I felt I wouldn’t need for the next leg of the trip. The hostel let me store it in their spare room. I put my information on a card in the top and plunked it in a dark corner, hoping I would see it again when I got back. My only real fear was losing my beloved sleeping bag, but I have a lot of trust in the Hostel owners and travelers dont usually steal as that just gives them more stuff to carry around. I had a few days before my flight to Thailand left, so I opted to have one more Nepal adventure, but that’s a story for next week.
Technical
There’s not much in this story for gear other than me being thankful I brought some shorts and my crocs. They came in very handy in the 30 to 40 degree Celsius (86f to 104f) heat.
The elephant breeding center was certainly a mixed bag of emotions, it felt cruel, but it was mostly just under funded. The animals appeared fed and in good health and this center did increase the elephant population, but it wasn’t a wild population so does it even count? The elephants were trained and used in anti poaching patrols so they were doing good. I suppose, like most things, its shades of grey rather than black and white.
The coin toss. I was debating toughing out Everest base camp, trying to get home early, or going to Thailand. I’m rarely one to gamble and usually only do anything AFTER a lot of research. It was out of character for me but a coin toss felt right and it ended up working out. I had a lot of fun in Thailand (you’ll see) and spending more time with Natalie, built our friendship and as a result, led to me gaining a few travel friends and ended up inspiring 3 trips so far and two more are in the planning stages, so I am calling that coin toss life changing in more of a butterfly effect kind of way.
Lastly, a bit of gloating or maybe therapy? I sometimes on this trip, on days I didn’t do much, felt a bit of a fraud. Like I wasn’t really having an adventure because anyone can fly to any country and just hide out in a hotel only venturing out for western style food… Upon writing and proof reading this story I realized that driving a jeep through an active forest fire in the jungle is barely a note, so maybe, just maybe… I should go a little easy on myself when I take a day or two off during a long trip. Also shoutout to my sister for telling me to be nicer to myself in my stories.
And if you ever find yourself in Kathmandu, I know a place for a good burger.
Posted in Hiking, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Chitwan, nepal, Outdoors, Rhino, tiger, travelwith 2 comments.
Nepal Notes Part 7: Motorcycle Trip
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here. As always, questions and feedback are always appreciated, as is sharing my stories with your friends.
Before my trip, I looked online and had found a motorcycle club called “Hearts and Tears” in Pokhara that did tours. I had motorcycle fever since my divorce, and had the foresight to get my International Drivers Permit before leaving. This was what I needed to get out of my rut. I had looked for the physical location before, but wasn’t able to find it. Some locals pointed me to where they thought I should look and all I found was closed garage doors in an alleyway. Rita, of all people, told me she had found it. She had gotten stoned at breakfast and gotten lost getting back to her hostel and came across it. She walked me over, it was right where I was told, this time they were open. I went in and talked to the main guide, Prabin. I told him I was after just a day trip to get a feel for the bike, a Royal Enfield Himalayan, because that’s what I was thinking of buying back home. He suggested an overnight trip because he knew an interesting hotel that was a fun drive to get to. I exchanged numbers with him and agreed to go in two days time.
That afternoon, Natalie finished the Annapurna Circuit and met up with all of us at the Juicery, she also introduced me to her friend Renata (keen readers will note that Natalie and Renata have come to visit me here in Alberta and I have gone to Guatemala with them).
I asked Natalie if she wanted to come with me. At first, she said she wasn’t particularly interested, but later changed her mind. She also suggested that since we were leaving early the next morning, that she should just sleep in my room on the spare bed. I worried briefly if this was another case of someone using me for my generosity and what little money I had, but she paid her fair share of everything as a matter of her own principles.
The Bike Trip
As though the good lord has a sense of humour, Rita left town that morning, unfortunately she did so with a book I had lent her that I never got a chance to read. There was also an odd introspective moment for me the night before. I had known Rita was leaving but didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in person, Natalie asked me if I was sad about that… and I really wasn’t. I was ready for her to leave and for me to get out of my rut. Natalie and I started our motorcycle trip and that morning was a real pivot for me on my trip, this is when my plans went out the window and I went off script. This is when I started to reflect, learn, and heal instead of pine and brood.
We met our guide at the shop, he was 15 minutes late, but called to let us know he was late. We had loaded our gear into my little fifteen-liter day pack and strapped it to the back of my bike, I then put my water bottle in the tank bag. Prabin gave me a quick primer on Nepali driving: don’t trust signal lights, honk as you pass, and try not to stop. With that, we were off. The first challenge was following Prabin, who had Natalie as a passenger, down the narrow alleyway from the shop then through heavy morning traffic on roads that to my understanding, have no rules and no maintenance. It was absolute white-knuckle chaos at first, but then I fell into a groove. It was actually a bit intuitive, it felt like walking in a crowded area. Everyone was constantly watching and weaving around each other. The only hazard was stopping and interrupting traffic flow. My “no rules” theory was, somewhat, confirmed when we crossed a double solid line to blaze by two cops on a motorcycle who did little more than glance at us. Eventually we broke free of the city into the winding country roads along the edges of the steep foothills of the Himalayas. The roads were a variety of gravel, fine dirt, cobblestone, tarmac, and pavement. Most were in a state of disrepair. Tight switchback turns were the norm, which created blind corners that buses liked to take wide, I got in the habit of riding on the far edge of the road, and still had some close calls.
We stopped for lunch at a roadside hotel and restaurant. The guide checked on the kitchen and then informed us they just made fresh Dal Baht. This was by far the best meal I had my entire trip. The chicken was crispy and spicy, but in a flavorful way. As we ate we watched music videos on the TV and Prabin translated the songs for us. Their music carried a much more wholesome atmosphere than what we seem to get in the west. Our next stop was the main draw of our trip, The Kushma suspension bridge. To my understanding it is the highest and longest in Nepal. I have a normal, healthy, fear of heights. I let the guide know, to which he replied “I can drive the bike across for you, if you like”. In this situation, despite the almost comical length of the bridge, my ego had more pull than my fears. I wasn’t going to let another man drive my bike across for me, especially in front of a girl. Yes, its that fragile. Prabin and Natalie crossed first, I was told to wait until they were all the way across before departing. When it came my turn, I took a deep breath and slowly released the clutch. Every cell in my body screamed in terror, but I wasn’t about to stop, and this was no place to lock up. I looked out at the valley and suddenly felt very high above the hand rails while seated on the bike. I had to make frequent stops and crowd to one side when pedestrians and I crossed paths. Somehow a motorcycle/pedestrian bridge felt like it shouldn’t exist, but I was the only one who seemed worried about it. The view was amazing, but staying upright on the slick steel bridge took all of my concentration as a novice rider. The crossing probably took less than a minute but felt like ten.
On the far side of the bridge, we took a few minutes to rest and have some water, I did my best to hide my frayed nerves. While crossing I had passed an older woman carrying a large sack of potatoes loaded on her back and held on with a strap across her forehead. Me being a taller blond man, I stand out as a foreigner, this always leads to conversations, and this was no exception. Using Prabin as a translator she asked all about us and told us she was a proud mother of 8 and walks this bridge daily. A tuk-tuk taxi came to pick her up, and without a word or hesitation, Prabin grabbed the potatoes and loaded them for her. I already respected Prabin, but this little gesture told me a lot about him.
Immediately after the bridge, the road was beautiful smooth tarmac lined by spaced conifer trees. It felt like we had briefly left the country, I felt I was back in the Alberta foothills. Nepal is normally shrubs and rough roads. The last leg of our days ride was a return to the familiar rough roads, and a few water crossings that found my foot pegs well under water… on a public road, shared with buses. The only other time I had seen a bus cross water was in Iceland, and it looked a little more purpose built than the busses here. Towards the end of the day, the weather started to turn, we got rained on for a few minutes then hit with wind, which caused the dust and dirt to stick to us. Then with little notice, we took a right up a steep hill to a gate, honked, and were let into a large, well manicured, yard with a beautiful mansion on the far side, opposite the gate. The yard was amazing, and as soon as we entered, even the weather got better. It was like magic.
We were introduced to the owner, Mick. He had worked in New York for years and had English better than mine. He told us the story of his hotel. His great grandfather, a colonel in the army, had built the huge house. Then, the family retained the property but moved away from it, for two generations it sat abandoned. Slowly it crumbled under the hard monsoon rains year after year. When Mick was ready to come home and retire, he restored it to a hotel. He replaced the roof and said the support beams, eroded by rain, had been cut so cleanly it looked like a saw had done it. The brick walls and dark wood furniture created an amazing atmosphere of old-world cozy relaxation.
We were shown to our room, a large room with two single beds and a fireplace. We had showers, got changed and relaxed on the front steps before supper. An old, decrepit, Land Rover in the back of the yard caught my eye. Mick said he belonged to his dad and he was going to fix it up someday.
For supper we were treated to barbequed chicken and a sweet desert. It was some sort of small donut like pastry, think donut hole or Timbit submerged in sweet syrup. I tried to thank our server in Nepali by saying “Dhanyabad” which came out close to “dandi-bad”. She gave a confused look, said something to Mick. Mick looked at me and said “she just asked if you were asking for Dal Bhat.” The table erupted with laughter as I tried to explain I was extremely full and was just trying to say thank you. I decided I best just stick to English. A testament to Nepalese hospitality, I do believe that woman probably would have whipped me up a batch if I were serious.
After supper we had long and fascinating conversation. It turns out Mick and Prabin had been friends for over a decade. The hotel was a regular stop on the way home for longer motorcycle trips that Prabin guides into Mustang and even Tibet. After a few drinks came the stories of rowdy Australians burning patio furniture and Americans making midnight beer runs into towns, that shut down at 4pm. They also told us of the time Prabin and a client got food poisoning on their way to Micks hotel. They were so sick they needed to go to the hospital but there was an election so travel was banned that day to prevent people voting multiple times. Mick was able to reach out to the local police and get a permission slip to travel, but only because it was a tourist that was sick.
It was a nice cultural experience to spend time with two locals giving their perspectives on politics and telling us the history of Nepal. Prabin told us he was a porter first, then a cook, and he saw how well the guides got paid so he learned English. He was a mountain guide for years but got injured and decided to switch to motorcycles, somehow, they are safer. I think that tells me more the dangers of mountains than the safety of bikes. The only flaw with the evening was treating myself to too many cups of milk tea. The caffeine and excitement meant I didn’t fall asleep until nearly 3am, I should have had the rum instead, but I had recently sworn off drinking.
The following morning, I found myself a little green around the gills and not wanting to stray too far from a washroom. The reality was we had to get moving, so I swallowed a fist full of diarrhea meds and hoped for the best. The rumble of single cylinder engine was not ideal, but the distraction of the road and sights was a great help. As we passed through small towns, kids rushed out to wave and get high fives from us on our passing bikes. It struck me as odd because bikes are very common even in small towns in Nepal, maybe kids just don’t have much else to entertain themselves. I started to partake in the drive-by high fives… until… I stuck my left hand out for an enthusiastic young boy. As my hand made contact, he grabbed it. I pulled my left hand away from him and my right, on the handle bar, also pulled in. The bike swerved hard towards a parked car. I leaned hard left and saved it, but it definitely put a scare in me. In that moment, I had a quick thought about how far away a hospital is from here and how just how rough those hospitals had looked. The thought of getting loaded in the box of a stranger pickup and hauled across these roads for a few hours to an underfunded hospital send a chill down my spine. I gave my head a shake and carried on.
We made a stop in the town of Baglung to see the Kalika Bhagwati Hindu Temple. We parked our bikes and Natalie and I made the walk in. It was a wide cobblestone path cut into the forest. At the end were rows of bells and large brick buildings with beautiful sculptures of animals. A local woman grabbed us and forced us to dance in a large group with her friends. I don’t think that was religious, I think she did that for entertainment purposes. We looked around a bit, made a donation and Natalie received a Tika (red dot on the forehead, I’m told it’s a blessing/ well wishes/ safe travels). I declined as I was worried it would smudge around in my helmet, I guess my loosening up has its limits.
To my dismay and my companions’ entertainment, our next stop was for lunch at The Cliff. It is a resort that caters to adrenaline junkies with bungee jumping, sky walks, cliff-side swings, and all other sorts of fear inducing antics at heights. The catch was that we had to cross, on foot, another very high, and very long suspension bridge to get to the restaurant. This bridge had bungee jumping in the middle. Prabin joked he would pay for my jump if I wanted to go… Some small part of me considered it, just to say I did. My hand over hand grip on the side rails of the bridge explains why I didn’t take him up on the offer. After lunch we made the short trip back to the club house. I was sad it was over. I wish I had planned a three- or five-day trip instead but, my back was sore and my wallet was draining like there was a hole in the bottom.
Since this trip my fear of heights has seemed to subside, Natalie and Renata visited me here in Alberta and we hiked Crypt lake and I had zero trouble with it, unlike when I did it 10 years ago and was white knuckling the cables and crawling up the rocks. When I told my therapist I was going to Nepal and was going to have to face my fear of heights, she tried to explain to me that I don’t have to face all my fears. She told me its perfectly OK to just avoid things you are afraid of, and I just couldn’t help but disagree with her on that one point. I think I needed to face that fear, I think I need to face a lot of fears. One by one, I am working on them.
After getting back to Pokhara, I decided it was time, I had to get moving. I had planned on only spending a few days in Pokhara and then doing the Everest basecamp hike, I had, instead, spent nearly two weeks in a depressed confusing spiral of self discovery, all while on the mend for my pneumonia, which I still didn’t feel fully recovered from. I had to leave. I had to do something. It was time to get back to Kathmandu and get my trip back on track.
Technical
The motorcycle rental agency is called Hearts and Tears and if I ever win the lottery I will use that money to go on each and every trip they offer. Don’t tell my mom, but I am currently saving my pennies for their trip into Tibet, so if anyone wants to donate money to that cause… I am kidding, give money to charity, not people going on vacation.
The bike I rented was a Royal Enfield Himalayan 411cc. I did try to buy one when I got home, but the dealership in Vancouver that had them in stock was an absolute nightmare to deal with so I ended up buying a used Interceptor 650, lots of photos in my story here. It ended up being a smarter purchase, despite my soft spot for the Himalayan, it suffers from a lack of power that makes it less than ideal for the amount of highways we have here in Canada. That said, Royal Enfield Himalayans will always have a special place in my heart and someday when I spot a cheap one on the used market, it’ll be coming home with me.
In the first photos you can see some older style bikes, Prabin had told me they used to run the 500s before the Himalayan went onto the market, they just dont hold up as well as the purpose built adventure bikes. He did offer to rent me one of the bullet 500s to take a drive around town, in hindsight I regret declining the offer, but I am a far better rider now than I was then, so it was probably smart to decline.
I did bring my gopro on the trip, but I am inexperienced with it and its a less user friendly older model. As a result the footage is not great, I have it on Youtube here. If you jump to 4:42 you can see the bridge crossing, and at 2:00 you can see one of my close calls with a bus on a switchback.
If you want to get a better idea of what riding in Nepal looks like, there is an organization called Rally For Rangers. It is a charity where individuals buy motorcycles and then drive them to be donated to park rangers around the world. I actually saw them in Kathmandu towards the end of my trip but I didnt connect the dots on who or what they were until I watched a documentary about them on Amazon Prime. I found the trailer for it on Youtube, I highly recommend it, its an interesting watch.
Posted in Motorcycle, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, Adventure riding, motorbike, motorcycle, nepal, Royal enfield, travelwith no comments yet.
Nepal Notes Part 5: Totopani and Pokhara
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
The hike was over, and I was still pretty rough around the edges. The trip had been taken for mental health reasons and my time in Pokhara was a little emotionally rocky, and a bit awkward to write about, but it happened and the next few stories were a time of real growth and recovery for me. Its a little weird, I am not super comfortable sharing it, but to gloss over it feels like a weird lie.
Totopani
The bus left Muktinath in the morning, David was on it, heading to Pokhara, I was headed to Totopani. Sick and tired, I wanted to rest at the hot springs, and Linda agreed to meet up with me at the hotel along her hike out. Also, I didn’t have the heart for a bus ride beyond 3 or 4 hours… In Nepali fashion, the 4-hour bus ride stretched out when we stopped at a military base and loaded it full of soldiers and gear which added a little over an hour. We then hit road construction that delayed us another two hours. The soldier beside me on the bus decided we were friends and added me on Facebook. He has since messaged me a lot with various business ideas, all of which seem to require my money. He doesn’t believe me that I have none, and I don’t believe he isn’t just trying to take my money. The hotel I finally arrived at was up a steep staircase, sans any kind of railing, on the face of a cliff above the hot springs. I was given a private hut with a queen-sized bed and a balcony that afforded me an amazing view of the mountains I had just hiked through. On the first night I had dinner with a German couple who politely looked down their noses when I told them my hike started at Chame instead of Besi Sahar. In the morning Linda met me and brought a Dutch friend. A very attractive blonde girl in her early 20s, she didn’t wear much in the hot springs and leaned in very close when she talked to me. Given our minimum 10-year age gap and me being aware of how I look, I attributed her flirtatious nature to a cultural difference and continued on with my life. The following morning, Linda and I caught the long bus ride into Pokhara and went our separate ways once we hit the city. I was sad my Annapurna adventure was over, but I was looking forward to a warm bed and warm showers. I checked myself into a budget hotel room, it was clean and I had two twin beds. My initial plan was to only stay for a few days.
Pokhara
Pokhara is a strange town to say the least. Its Nepal’s main tourist town, it sits on the edge of a huge lake and has endless bars and restaurants. I found out that Rita was staying at the hostel across the street from my hotel. We met up the first day I got back. My first impression of her in Kathmandu was quite positive and I was rather taken by her charm and beauty. Rather quickly I learned that her and Pokhara were not good for me, like a curse, I just couldn’t leave. The first night there, we went out drinking at a bar called “The Juicery” it was a bar/café/restaurant/nightclub depending on time of day and half of it was open air. I bought us dinner and a few drinks, and things were pleasant enough at first. We were chatting and the live band was playing some wild instrumental psychedelic rock and I was drunk enough to appreciate the music reverberating in my bones. Into the evening, she became a gremlin, taking drinks off of other people’s tables, trying to be friends with everyone, and trying to get on stage with the band. There was one brief, odd, moment, where she leaned in and kissed me, it may as well have been a siren’s song. Unfortunately, what should have been a fun night out turned into me babysitting. I suddenly felt responsible for this train wreck and tried to get her from the bar back to her hostel. On the way she dragged me into another bar, a local’s bar, where she harassed patrons and helped herself to their hookahs on the tables. The locals were not as enthusiastic as she was, it was their bar and they didn’t like us there, not in a threatening way, in an awkward uncomfortable way. Eventually she got bored and we left. I got her back to her hostel and myself back to my hotel. The next day I felt like hell and she was nowhere to be found. I have a hard time with depression and drinking makes it worse. Something about waking up alone with a hangover just pushes me down a hole. Days later, she got ahold of me and I explained how out of hand she got, and she somewhat apologized.
Over the next week we had a few meals together, did a day hike, and saw some of the local temples… all on my money, which admittedly wasn’t much, but I still felt a little used, but my rural western upbringing won’t let me make women pay for things. She was somewhat flirty with me the entire time, in hind sight it seems manipulative but at the time it felt promising.
Rita had mentioned she was making her way to Korea to teach English. The thought crossed my mind of going with her, it wouldn’t have taken much to pack my apartment into storage. She suggested it out loud saying it would be great to have a friend there. I wouldn’t be comfortable taking that jump with just a friend. The fact that I was considering this, even in passing, tells you just how much of a spin I was in. I think the altitude may have been effecting my brain still.
We also did a hike to Australia Camp, a base camp of some sort for alpine teams. We… I, hired a local guide to take us. With my bad lung and cough, I was surprised how well I kept up with the guide and how much Rita struggled (remember this detail for later in the story). The sun was hot and the trail was mostly going up stairs. We eventually came to a settlement at the top of a hill with a little restaurant and tents that could be rented. We sat for a while and had some lunch. We spotted Himalayan Vultures and the guide told me that in Mustang, where he is from, the dead are chopped into pieces and priests use a big horn to call them in. The big vultures swoop in and take the pieces.
One really fun activity I did was the Gurkha museum. Dedicated, of course, to the famous Gurkha soldiers. It was far enough away to justify a taxi but the entry fee was minimal. The displays were simple, primarily of uniforms and photos, but was still well worth seeing.
In the days that followed, we went out drinking again, and it was another disaster. This time it was a DJ set at an outdoor lakeside bar, The Krazy Gecko. That night was worse than pneumonia in the alpine, if I had to choose between this and that night at High Camp, I would take sick and cold at High Camp every time. I bought us a few beers and she vanished into the crowd, then came back, introduced me to Micky, a very flamboyant gay man. He was friendly but was also hitting on me a lot and kept commenting that he wanted to find drugs. A while later, Rita grabbed my stomach and said “you have a cute face, but you need to start working out twice a day”. And that was more or less the end of my night. I was plenty drunk, and now plenty grumpy. I am well aware that I am a little doughy, and have been for most of my life, I didn’t need the reminder. There I was, sitting minding my own business, when Micky came by, gabbed my hand, and poured a dark brown liquid on the back of it near the base of my thumb. “do it, do it, do it!” he yelled. I had no idea what IT was… I looked at it, and him, long enough that he just grabbed my hand and licked it all off… I got up, washed my hands, and left. I was done. The next morning, I met Rita for breakfast and, for the second time, explained what she had done and said during an evening of drinking. She gave another half-hearted apology, that neither of us believed. I ordered a strawberry smoothie with my breakfast and was brought a huge glass mug full of pink ice cream. We both looked at it and neither said a word about it. I don’t recall touching it. I decided I was done drinking for the foreseeable future.
Technical
There’s no real gear or equipment to discuss in this story (though my crocs did come in super useful in the heat). This little blip above, was actually a span of nearly two weeks, it was longer than I was on the trail. It didn’t fit into the story but there were some days where all I did was sleep in, get some food, read my book, scroll social medial, get supper, and then go to bed. I was still quite sick and I had even developed a pain in one of my ribs from coughing so much. Part of the reason I stayed so long was that I didn’t feel well enough to take the long bus ride back to Kathmandu and I definitely didn’t feel up to doing my next planned hike. So I hid out in a cheap motel and told myself I was recovering, which is true, but it isn’t the entire truth.
Posted in Travel and tagged adventure, nepal, travelwith no comments yet.
Nepal Notes Part 4: Over The Pass
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
The climb to High Camp was hell. Most of the day was walking along a well-worn foot path, and the occasional suspension bridge. At first the trail appeared to end at Low Camp, but it actually continued up a very steep hill to High Camp. I considered staying at Low but I wanted my hike over the pass to be as short as possible. I didn’t think I had it in me to hike up to high camp and over the pass in one day and I didn’t want to spend an entire day at high camp. So, I faced the hill and started marching. I could only walk a few feet before needing to stop and catch my breath. I started up the hill the same time as my friends and arrived nearly an hour after them. At the altitude of High Camp, it was cold and snowing, almost permanently. I inquired about a room and was told I would have to share. They put me with a complete stranger, a tall and friendly, older, German man. Walking from my room to the main building, I thought I could hear someone below yelling for help. I was in no shape to mount a rescue. I yelled back but got no reply. Standing silent and listening close, I could occasionally, faintly, hear yelling for help. Despite questioning my sanity, I told some guides and the tea house staff, but none seemed to understand or care. Eventually a rather frazzled looking American arrived and explained he had hiked ahead of his guide and took a wrong turn in the blizzard. He was an interesting character, an absolute bragger of a man, who was about to start a very lucrative career in computer engineering and had no trouble mentioning his quarter of a million-dollar salary. All those dollars and didn’t have the sense to stay with his guide in a snow storm. That said, he was good conversation in camp.
I sat in the main area, feeling very ill. I had nausea, a headache, and just general pain in my joints and muscles. David gave me some altitude medicine, in hopes it would help with acclimatizing. It felt a little late for that, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Raju suggested garlic soup, which I forced down, along with a pot of ginger tea and as much water as I could. All the guests sat around the pot-bellied stove trying to stay warm, into the night as the wind and snow howled outside. It very much reminded me of when Indiana Jones went to Nepal, a small shack high in the mountains warmed by a fire and howling snow outside. Only difference, is we weren’t drinking, apparently your not allowed to drink of get frisky at those altitudes… That must be why those Dutch girls weren’t coming over and talking to me. For evening entertainment we all huddled together and showed off our passports, the Portuguese and American passports stood out to me as the nicest, but my Canadian one definitely got some compliments. Before bed I bought a hot water bottle from the kitchen staff and headed to bed… I guess I rented the bottle and the water, and purchased the heat, either way, the few dollars seemed well worth it. My roommate came with me from the common area, he told me not to feel bad about coughing because he was a solid sleeper. He also informed me his stomach was upset so he would be running out to the washroom throughout the night. He was correct, the poor man had to use the frozen squat toilets a half a dozen times that night. One thing I was thankful for, was my stomach had decided on constipation instead of diarrhea.
I awoke very early for the final push, I put on every scrap of clothing I had including both pairs of gloves. I felt near death but decided pushing the last day and last 600m elevation over was preferable to the multi day hike back. The conditions at High Camp were cold and uncomfortable, I wasn’t interested in staying another night. After returning the, now warm, water bottle, I followed the tracks of Linda and Raju who had left before me. The clouds meant the only light was my headlamp. I kept my head down and followed the snow tracks precariously along the side-slopes. As pre-dawn emerged and the clouds broke, I shut off my headlamp and was able to witness both the stars in the sky and the amazing silhouette the Himalayas cast. With no light pollution, I got the full view of all the stars in the sky. It was by far the best view I had witnessed in my life. I tried to get a picture, but cameras can’t capture that kind of magic.
I crossed a small bridge and could see lights ahead of me. It was nice to know I was on the right track. Unfortunately, I was in such bad disrepair I could only walk a few meters before needing to catch my breath. Eventually the path widened so it was just up a gentle slope and no longer side hill goat paths on a mountain. As I made my stops, I would still cough a lot. I decided my line in the sand would be, if I coughed up blood. In my mind, that was the sure sign of HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema), the rest of my symptoms were just altitude and weakness. I was determined to get over. After hours of hiking, I kept thinking I could see the top of the pass only to get there and see the next hilltop. At some point I stopped to catch my breath and was strongly considering turning back, my fear now, was that I didn’t have the energy to get back. It was brief, but the thought of “this might really be it” crossed my mind, one trip too many, one risk too great… It was a very narrow window, maybe more of a look through a keyhole, at those Everest climbers that get so exhausted, they just give up and lay down. As I weighed my options and caught my breath, a friendly Italian man came marching by, he made small steps in a perfect steady rhythm. He took one glance at me and stopped to check in. He asked if I was ok and what was going on, I explained the situation. He looked at his GPS and informed me we were very close to the top of the pass, and that over was a better idea than back at this point. He put his hand on the back of my shoulder and asked if I needed anything and gave an encouraging word. It was a small thing, in the grand scheme, but at the time, it was very helpful in keeping me going.
He hiked on ahead, occasionally looking back at me. At some point, he started dancing and waving and I knew he saw the sign at the top. I slogged my way there where I was greeted by a crowd. Everyone there was cheering and hugging whoever showed up, including me. Summoning what energy I could I got a picture of myself beside the sign. Thorong La Pass 5400M. As I stood gathering myself, a young woman, in a bright red one piece snow suit, did a perfect cartwheel in front of the sign. I guess this hike was a bit harder for me than her. Someone asked if I wanted to stay and have tea as there was a tea house at the top. I do regret declining, but I decided my best bet was to keep going. The next town was 1600m lower and I knew the altitude was hurting me. As I hiked down the pass, I stopped to eat a chocolate bar, as I sat thinking about what I had just done a few tears rolled out. I was exhausted, sore, relieved, and proud of myself. This hike was something I had day dreamed about for years, and quitting my job and going was a fuck you to a job I hated. It was also my first solo trip so I had a lot to prove to myself, and dammit, even with pneumonia I still did it.
As I descended, I found myself feeling noticeably better by the step. The hike down was incredibly steep and the snow had been packed into ice. I did a lot of controlled sliding and a very sketchy side hill on a cliff top. In my mind, at the time, I thought it would be such a shame to fall off the mountain and die so near the end of this hike, as though the timing of my death on the hike would make it worse. After an initial steep descent, the landscape somewhat leveled off and I was left to walk across what felt like a barren landscape. It was a lot of grey slate, shrubs and grass, with small creeks and rivers that had flowed from the snow in the valley I had just come down. It reminded me of Iceland. There were a few long bridges that made me nervous to cross and I passed a few rather sad looking tea houses that did their best to bring me in.
I wanted to get to town, I wanted a comfortable hotel that only a town with vehicle access could offer. So I carried on. Eventually I got to the town of Muktinath, but couldn’t actually find my way into town. A large wall surrounded a temple at the edge of town and I couldn’t find a way in. First I tried walking clockwise around the temple, but the road dead-ended at a steep hill covered with prayer flags. Later I would learn those flags are spiritually structural, they prevent the hill from land sliding into the temple and town. A bit of searching and using google maps, I found a foot path and cut across the temple lawn to get onto a set of stairs from the temple to town, I didn’t feel great about that. As I walked down the long staircase, all the oncoming traffic were ill and infirm individuals making their way to the temple to pray for health. In that moment I became very germophobic and did my best to keep my distance, we were, after all, just coming out of a pandemic. As I wandered, looking for a hotel in decent shape, I saw Linda through a large window waving me in. I was relieved to see a friend after that day. We shared a pizza and a soda, to toast our survival. We also waved in my German roommate, we played cards that night and enjoyed hot showers. I can’t remember the German man’s name, but he was fascinating. He had to be in his 60s and had done Annapurna several times throughout his life. He was a navy veteran and had told us all about his trip to Bhutan. Apparently, when he went, he had a government assigned tour guide with him at all times and could only stay at pre approved hotels and eat at pre approved restaurants. I don’t know much about Bhutan, but everything I learn about it makes me want to see it more. Linda was planning on hiking to Totopani, I planned to bus there. For me, the hike was over, I had survived and wasn’t interest in hiking the rest of the way out. I had already seen the pass and I had heard the rest was just roads. I was a little embarrassed because my original plan was to hike all the way out and maybe even see Annapurna Base Camp. I had allotted myself nearly three weeks for this hike and after just one week, I was done. The pneumonia played a huge part, but really, I was just down and out.
Technical
This isn’t so much technical as, a diversion that didn’t fit in the story. When climbing the pass, I vividly remember thinking it was closing in on 10 or 11 am. I remember part of my decision to skip lunch at the restaurant at the top was that I wanted to make it down to Muktinath before I lost daylight. Yet, somehow, all of my photos at the top say they were taken just after 8am. I even remember taking a picture of my cheap Casio watch on my way down, and it clearly shows 8:29 so there’s no disputing the time. Is my memory that bad, or did altitude really play with my brain that much?
A few weeks later I ran into the Italian man who helped me at the top. He was walking down the street in Pokhara and I recognized him, I ran over and thanked him. He was glad, or at least polite, to see me, and didn’t seem to think he had helped me all that much.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged adventure, Annapurna, backpacking, hiking, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 1 comment.
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.
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.