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 9: Old Fashioned Nepal
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
After spending weeks in Pokhara doing not much of anything, I suddenly had a very busy week of seeing Chitwan and Bhaktapur, then hopping a plane to Bangkok. There were definitely a lot of things I was able to do and see in Nepal and yet every time I talked to a fellow traveler, I found out about something else. I think a person could easily spend months here just hiking and site seeing.
Bhaktapur
I had a few days left before my trip to Thailand so I decided to see Bhaktapur, an older outskirt of Kathmandu, famous for its architecture, temples, and a living goddess. I took the Nepali version of Uber and caught a half hour ride on the back of a scooter, while wearing my big backpack. Things like this are why I pack light. We found the neighborhood easily enough but my driver spoke no English and couldn’t find my hostel. Eventually he made some calls and someone came and found us. I was walked down a street, through a yard, a construction site, and down an alleyway to my new home… Hostel Swastik. And yes, their logo was a huge swastika. Glad it means something else there. The hostel was rough around the edges, but the staff were friendly. The man at the desk said he was friends with the owner of Planet Nomad, where I had spent so much of my time in Thamel. My room was outside of the hotel and the flimsy wood door opened directly onto an alleyway. I tired to shower but the water was cold and little more than a trickle. With my entire body tensed, I washed my hair, then went for a walk. I think I found the Nepal I was looking for, the one I had imagined in my head for years when someone talked about the far off land of Kathmandu. The architecture was what the guide book claimed it was and then some. Beautiful orange bricked buildings with hand carved wood accents lined every street. Every corner had some sort of shrine or temple. It felt like a person could spend a lifetime finding, documenting, and researching them all. Old public baths were everywhere, but they were all full of murky green water. They weren’t built with this many people and this much pollution in mind. Every doorway and window had hand carved details. Even dead end alleyways had some kind of statue or shrine at the end. It felt like the city had been there for thousands of years. The narrow streets kept most cars out so at times it felt untouched by modern man… then a scooter would fly by. It was also a relief to walk the streets and not see tourists and trinket sellers… or drug dealers.
That night I did not sleep well as I had a rather strange incident. A man in the alleyway was yelling a lot and banging on a door across from mine. My belief, even at the time, was that he had gone out for a few drinks, locked himself out of his house, and was now trying to wake someone inside to let him in. That said, I wasn’t interested in taking chances. I quietly got out of bed, left the lights off, and silently moved the small table and chairs to block the door. It was a wood door with a dead bolt across, but I didn’t trust it, and I dont trust drunk strangers. My fear was he would get tired of fruitlessly banging on his door, and possibly try another. So, the simple solution was barricade the door without him seeing or hearing it happen so as to avoid drawing attention. Eventually the yelling stopped, I hope and assume someone let him in to bed. It was an odd incident and, in the grand scheme of things, shows just how safe Nepal is. This being the most worrying incident I had in regards to other people, and it was just a drunk man pounding on his own door.
My only full day in Bhaktapur I went to the main square (also called Durbar Square) to see the sights. I was fast talked into hiring a guide for an unknown amount. I would later learn the price was $20usd AND I had to hear his sale pitch on art. The guide was good, he showed me around and had lots to say. I also got to see the Kumari. She is a living goddess, and very young girl, who is somehow the ideal beauty in Nepal. She occasionally comes to the window and stares at the crowd, it is said, if she smiles, it’s a bad omen. Photos are strictly forbidden. It was strange but fascinating. The guide also showed me several other small squares I would have never found on my own, it ended up being a full day of touring instead of just a quick walk to a square. I do think I over paid, but not by much. After my tour, the guide took me to his art studio to sell me some paintings, as with all art in Nepal, it was all religion based and wouldn’t fit in my backpack anyway. I took his card and promised that if I were to buy any art, it would be from him. Silently, I promised myself I would buy the first painting that didn’t have a god on it, just to support and encourage diversity in the art world.
That night I asked about the movie room they had a poster for. It turned out to be a very old beat up projector that took some effort on their part to get connected to a barely running laptop. They had about half a dozen pirated movies on offer, the only one that stood out to me was Uncharted. I had played the video game series and had been thinking that Bhaktapur looked like something out of one the games… so it felt fitting. The theater room was large, the projection covered an entire wall, and I had the place to myself. For 50 rupees, I ordered a bowl of popcorn. On the floor cushions, I sat thinking… I have a bizarre knack for ending up in empty hostels and hotels. My ex and I once had most of the island Nananu-i-ra to ourselves, it was just us, alone at the hotel, and 5 Germans at a neighboring resort… It kind of felt like we were about to be hunted for sport.
Back to Kathmandu
The follow day, I took a taxi to a hotel near the Kathmandu airport. I walked to the nearby aviation museum and did my best not to laugh at the small plastic scale models, similar to what I built as a kid. Some were more of the fantasy styles but rounded out the collection nicely. The entire museum was contained within a hollowed out jetliner, which was quite interesting. The day before my flight I walked to the Pashupatinath Temple, it was quite an experience. I was swarmed by trinket sellers and guides right at the gate. The entire place smelled like death, literally and figuratively… there were homeless people who had parts of themselves rotted off, my guess is gangrene infected injuries. Nepalis, in my few weeks experience, didnt strike me as thieves, but all the same, I opted to keep my phone in my pocket to prevent a snatch and grab. Having gone this long without a theft, I opted to not temp fate. The temple is also a common place for cremation and the wind was blowing from the pyres to the walkway I was on. The smoke choked me and burned my eyes a little, but mostly, I was grossed out by the idea of what was creating the smoke I was now breathing. Like all of Nepal, the architecture was nice and you could feel the history around you. With the smell, the crowd and being hounded by desperate sellers, I just didn’t stay long. I was ready to leave Nepal, and in the morning, I would.
Technical
The shame, oh the shame. I was mistaken in my previous story when I had mentioned hiring a guide for a tour of old town… upon review of my notes, the guide was in Bhaktapur, that story has been edited and the information has been added to this story. My apologies.
I poked a little fun at the Kathmandu Aviation Museum. The truth is, the staff were friendly and doing their best, like many places, they are simply under funded.
With my illness and just how crowded the city was, I was hitting a mental wall and was glad to be leaving Nepal. I had a great time while there, and I think if I were to have stayed longer it would have been in my best interest to try to get into smaller surrounding towns or do another hike. For me, sitting around the city wears down on me quickly and the rough busses make exploration outside of the city a bit daunting. As I write this, I do miss Nepal, and have just texted my travel buddies to suggest we go back as I have just noticed I am missing a 500 rupee bank note that would complete my set… seems as good of an excuse as any to go back.
This is the final story of my Nepal series.. well of THIS Nepal series, maybe someday I’ll go back and have more to say. I did return after Thailand for a few days before flying home. It just worked out logistically to keep my original flights and fly round trip between Kathmandu and Thailand. All that is to say, Nepal was great, I highly recommend it… and next week I’ll have Part One of my Thailand adventure.
Posted in Photo Drop, Travel and tagged backpacking, bhaktapur, history, Kathmandu, nepal, Outdoors, travelwith 2 comments.
Nepal Notes Part 8: A Wild Tiger And A Life Changing Coin Toss
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
My two day motorcycle trip, part 7 of this saga, gave me a sufficient kick in the rump to get me moving. Despite still feeling the effects of my pneumonia, I was determined to get out of Pokhara, I had abruptly hit the wall for how long I could stay in that town. I had read about Chitwan National Park before my trip, but dismissed it under the assumption there wouldn’t be time, turns out there was time.
Chitwan National Park
The bus ride back to Kathmandu was 12 hours so I decided to break it up a bit by taking a detour to Chitwan National Park, its located south of and somewhat equidistant from Kathmandu and Pokhara. I was told the bus to Chitwan would be about 4 hours, it took 7.5. At the but station I was met by a man in a very rough pickup and taken to my hotel. It was hard to tell who was there to work and who was just a friend of the employees hanging out, nobody wore a uniform of any kind and everyone was just kind of hanging out. Also all of the men had short hair except for a small patch on the back left long, it was strange. It reminded me of my cousin who, in the 90s, had what we called “a rat tail”. I was fed a large, late, lunch and then was shown to my room. It was dated, dusty, and overall tired, but there were a lot of geckos around so that was nice, they look nice and keep the bugs down. Luckily they weren’t too noisy, sometimes geckos can make a barking noise that reminds me of a turkey yelp/cluck. With its thatched roof and wicker furniture, it reminded me of the budget hotels in Fiji. One strange thing that stood out to me at this hotel, the bed sheets only covered the top ¾ of the bed, meaning my feet were on bare mattress. It grossed me out, but I was so used to rough accommodation at that point, I just tucked the blanket under my feet. At about 4pm I was walked to a river front to take in the 630 sunset. We arrived at 415 in the blazing heat, after half an hour of standing on a concrete flood wall roasting in the sun, I decided to walk farther down the bank. At the end of the flood wall was a river front restaurant and beyond that were two locals riding elephants along the river. They saw me and wandered over, I took some pictures and patted one on the trunk. I had never seen an elephant up close like that. I wandered back to the restaurant and ordered a cold soda… it was now about 515… Finally, the sun set in a rather lackluster way and I was able to go back to the hotel. There were 4 other guests there, two couples and they said little more than hi to me.
Morning of day two I was crammed into a dugout canoe. I was sat near the back on a square stool with 2 inch legs and someone was place ahead of me, and someone ahead of them and so on until we were just shy of a dozen. It felt like a back massage chain, but sweatier. 3 canoes took off around the same time and we all floated down the shallow river, occasionally bottoming out right under me… I was still not feeling great about my weight, before this trip I had never considered myself in shape, but I also never thought I was overweight. I definitely put some pounds on after the divorce, I just never realized it was this bad. My more pressing consideration was that we were spotting crocodiles from a boat where the gunwales sat 6 inches above the water. It felt low to me, and apparently I would make a well marbled snack. Along the way we also spotted a wide variety of exotic birds include some beautiful teal coloured King Fishers. The boats brought us to a steep bank where we all piled off. I was fortunate that I was the only person my guide was taking on the jungle trek. We were able to see monkeys, spotted deer, barking deer, and in the distance some Rhino. I was surprised at how quiet my guide could walk the jungle, he seemed impressed with me too, all those years of hunting whitetail deer seemed to pay off for me. I was glad it was just the two of us, in my experience, very few people actually know how to be quiet. Our jungle trek ended at an elephant breeding center. I didn’t love the elephant center. Initially it was just elephants chained to posts under simple shelters, like a farmer’s pole shed. As I learned more, I found out the elephants were trained to be used for patrols in the park and were walked twice daily. It wasn’t a life too far off from some horses, but it still didn’t sit well with me.
In the afternoon I went on a jeep safari (I had the option of an elephant ride, and declined). I was loaded into the back with an American man, and a large, loud, Nepali family. We spotted a lot of wildlife but the preteen son kept trying to call the animals by yelling at them… It was a bit frustrating but also a bit funny. Our guide did his best to keep everyone quiet, and himself, used only a rock tapped against the metal bars on the jeep to communicate with the driver. It was a good system, were it not for my chatty companions. I also saw a wild peacock, and up until that moment, I had never thought about where they are native to, turns out they’re from Nepal and India area. They were just an animal that was around, like a loon in Canada. It was beautiful dark blue, high in a tree, and its long tail flowed gracefully as it jumped down and glided away. The jeep drove us to a Gharial hatching facility. It was about a dozen pools surrounded by chain link fence all full of little crocodiles. Its a good program, though not particularly photogenic. On our way out we passed some forest fires, at first it looked like small fires, but before long we were going fast down a dirt trail with flames on both sides and I thought I was at risk of losing eyebrow hair. It’s a strange feeling to be in nearly 40 degree heat and drive by a roaring fire, its like sticking your arm in the oven when its already just too hot outside.
At a military checkpoint, near the exit of the park, we crested a hill and saw, about 50 meters ahead, casually walking away, a tiger. The first thing that happened was the American grabbed the kid’s shoulder and pre-emptively hushed him. A much appreciated gesture. For about 15 seconds it walked down the dirt track without a care in the world, then turned left into the tall grass and wandered off into the wilderness. It looked thinner than I expected, to be honest, and its walk had more of a casual sway than the stealth walk my mind had imagined. It walked more like a domestic dog than a wild apex predator. Everyone in the jeep was glowing with excitement. The guide claimed he only has about 3 tiger sightings a year. I was skeptical about those numbers, he worked for tips and definitely wanted me to open my wallet a little farther, I did. When I got back to the hotel everyone there was exciting about it, wanted to hear the story, and made sure to remind me to mention it on my google review of the hotel. It was mentioned, along with the sheets.
The end of my action-packed day was to take in some cultural dancing in town. I was driven there in the box of a truck with a young couple that were a little better dressed than me. I was clearly in Nepal for the hiking, and they were there for the sights. It was a small theater with a broad stage and I was witness to some of the most impressive athletic dancing I had ever seen. In my youth I had witnessed Ukrainian dancing, French dancing, Powwow dancing, and breakdancing… none were quite on this level of both athleticism and team work. The first dance was a group of young men with staffs dancing and hammering them together, sometimes blind behind their heads, and doing it to make a melody. All I could imagine was a pinched finger. The ladies came on and did impressive dances with drums and twirls, then a man came on solo and spun fire in the dark. The fire spinning in the darkness with the hammering of drums felt like a trance, I was locked in and couldn’t look away. Towards the end there was a comical dance with two men, one dressed in traditional women’s attire who basically dodged the others romantic advances with twirls and jumps while the other tried to impress with dance moves, while closing the distance. Despite it not being in my original itinerary, I was glad to have made the trip south. I got some sleep, the next day was my bus to Kathmandu, and I could only imagine how long that would really take.
Back to Kathmandu
The 4-hour bus ride to Kathmandu was, naturally, about 8 hours. The American from the jeep tour was on the bus with me, we decided to share a cab from the bus to our hotels. While waiting for luggage to be unloaded, a woman beggar tapped my arm and held her hand out. I was in no mood and had been desensitized to beggars by this point. She kept stepping in front of me and tugging on my luggage and then giving me a blank stare with her hand out. Somehow that stare just felt entitled to me, like she expected me to pay a tax. Finally, as she was blocked me from getting to the taxi, I faked left and rolled right, just like I used to in my basketball days. The American said he thought I was being attacked by bugs, I guess my technique has rusted over the years. The cab driver scolded her and explained to us that she is always there and it pays her better than a normal job. Checking into Planet Nomad hostel was much smoother this time, I had texted the owner directly, a few days prior, and she just told me what room would be mine and to let myself in whenever I arrived, easy, peasy.
The following morning I started asking around about hiking Everest Basecamp. KTM airport was under construction and I was told I would have to take a 4-hour night-bus ride to a nearby airport then fly to Lukla. All in all it would cost me just over $2k USD, I could get it down a small amount without a guide, but not much. I thought about it for the day, I was still recovering from my pneumonia and had actually pulled a muscle in my chest causing some painful breathing. I didn’t have the heart for more frozen squat toilets and Nepali busses. I called my airline and asked about changing my flights to get home early, motorcycle fever still had me so I thought maybe I would buy a bike and tour around Canada. The customer service rep, without a laugh, told me to fly home early would cost me seven thousand dollars, the only available flights were first class. Naturally, I wasn’t about to do that. Natalie suggested I come to Thailand… over breakfast with her and some fellow travelers, I flipped a coin. Thailand it is. Within about an hour, I booked a round trip flight from Kathmandu to Thailand, it was cheaper than cancelling my flight home from Nepal. Natalie was headed to Thailand in a few days. Before she left, a bunch of us made friends with a Dutch girl and gave her all the hiking gear that we didn’t want to take with us on our next stop. Natalie gave her clothes, I gave her mitts, water tablets, and hiking poles. I burned a few days in Kathmandu, a few were spent just going for a walk to get food, much like Pokhara. Those days did make me feel a little guilty, like a fake traveler, hiding out in his hotel and venturing out to get western food. That said, one of the days I did wander to the old town part of Kathmandu, I took in a museum and the town square. It was called Durbar square, and I was mobbed by sellers and would-be tour guides, I also did some book shopping and found a few worth buying. In my wandering aimlessly about Thamel I also found an amazing burger place that sold buffalo burgers (water buffalo, not bison). In preparation for Thailand, I bought a cheap rubberized duffle bag and filled it with trinkets for my family as well as any gear I felt I wouldn’t need for the next leg of the trip. The hostel let me store it in their spare room. I put my information on a card in the top and plunked it in a dark corner, hoping I would see it again when I got back. My only real fear was losing my beloved sleeping bag, but I have a lot of trust in the Hostel owners and travelers dont usually steal as that just gives them more stuff to carry around. I had a few days before my flight to Thailand left, so I opted to have one more Nepal adventure, but that’s a story for next week.
Technical
There’s not much in this story for gear other than me being thankful I brought some shorts and my crocs. They came in very handy in the 30 to 40 degree Celsius (86f to 104f) heat.
The elephant breeding center was certainly a mixed bag of emotions, it felt cruel, but it was mostly just under funded. The animals appeared fed and in good health and this center did increase the elephant population, but it wasn’t a wild population so does it even count? The elephants were trained and used in anti poaching patrols so they were doing good. I suppose, like most things, its shades of grey rather than black and white.
The coin toss. I was debating toughing out Everest base camp, trying to get home early, or going to Thailand. I’m rarely one to gamble and usually only do anything AFTER a lot of research. It was out of character for me but a coin toss felt right and it ended up working out. I had a lot of fun in Thailand (you’ll see) and spending more time with Natalie, built our friendship and as a result, led to me gaining a few travel friends and ended up inspiring 3 trips so far and two more are in the planning stages, so I am calling that coin toss life changing in more of a butterfly effect kind of way.
Lastly, a bit of gloating or maybe therapy? I sometimes on this trip, on days I didn’t do much, felt a bit of a fraud. Like I wasn’t really having an adventure because anyone can fly to any country and just hide out in a hotel only venturing out for western style food… Upon writing and proof reading this story I realized that driving a jeep through an active forest fire in the jungle is barely a note, so maybe, just maybe… I should go a little easy on myself when I take a day or two off during a long trip. Also shoutout to my sister for telling me to be nicer to myself in my stories.
And if you ever find yourself in Kathmandu, I know a place for a good burger.
Posted in Hiking, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Chitwan, nepal, Outdoors, Rhino, tiger, travelwith 2 comments.
Nepal Notes Part 6: A Tibetan Themed Birthday
If you are just coming into this, Part One is available here.
At a café, half a block from my hotel, I ran into Linda on her last night before leaving. We shared a vegetarian pizza and a Sprite, for old time’s sake. Over dinner, I told her about my growing pains, she was polite, and non-judgmental. Likely wanting to change the subject, she told me all about a Tibetan cultural tour she had done. She really sold me on it and I decided I needed to do the tour. The next day, I found the tour office and booked. It was expensive, but I didn’t care, I needed an activity to get me out of my rut. Anytime something is expensive, I just remind myself how much I have wasted on other silly things and how much I save by not smoking cigarettes.
Originally I had planned the tour for the day before my birthday, but it got delayed and it ended up being how I celebrated my birthday. A local man, the grandson of Tibetan refugees, took me, and 3 others on the tour. We took a taxi, I was comically big even in the front seat, the small Korean girl who sat behind me thought it was hilarious. She was also a bit thrown off by me opening and closing her door for her, is that not a thing in Korea? The guide took his motorcycle. He informed us that this was because he was not Nepali. Nepal gives citizenship based on paternal lines, ie: you can only be Nepali if you father is Nepali. This means that him, being a child of refugees, despite being born in Nepal, will never be a citizen. Non-citizens are not allowed to own businesses or “anything with 4 wheels” because having a vehicle lets you start a business as a taxi or delivery service. Its strange to think of so many people in a citizenship limbo for generations. Our first stop was a small Monastery where we were given a quick tour and a bit of Tibet history. Across the road was a rug factory. All the rugs were hand tied and had beautiful designs. I declined to purchase one as they were quite heavy and cost nearly $400. Our next stop was a Tibetan doctor. He checked my pulse and looked at my tongue then gave his diagnosis. Lower back pain, a stomach ache, and pneumonia. He told me my insides were cold and I needed more cooked foods. He also suggested exercise… point taken, Nepal. We had lunch at a Tibetan restaurant followed by a meet and greet with a monk. The monk was an interesting young man, I was surprised by how much freedom they actually had in their lives. He said simply “you are your own master and your own enemy” which was kind of reassuring. He also told us that he had joined the monastery when he was 7 years old and somewhat avoids going home to visit as he find he speaks a different language than his family. He didn’t say it, but I got the impression there are maybe some lifestyle differences, and how much could you have in common with people you only lived with until you were 7?
We then, went to yet another Monastery to take in the evening prayer. We were instructed to sit on the sides, do our best to be quiet, and take no pictures. At first it was a little slow, lots of chanting and singing from the young monks in the middle, kneeling at desks. An older monk carried up offerings from the locals and put them at the front near some pictures of recently deceased individuals. A white woman walked in, after prayer had started. She was wearing the typical yoga hippie trying to have a spiritual trip outfit. It was baggy yoga pants, a baggy linen shirt, fun blue framed glasses and hair that looks intentionally messy. That “its important to me that others know I don’t care” look. It’s the kind of person a lot of us loathe on sight. She wandered in, plopped down… sat for about a minute, then pulled out her phone and started taking pictures. A stout, bald, middle-aged monk, sat near the door, overseeing the prayer, waved at her and wagged his finger, we all speak that language. She looked confused, then kept taking pictures. He did it again. Then she went over to him and they spoke, I couldn’t hear but I can guess he told her not to take pictures. She sat back down for about one more minute, then got up and left. I rolled my eyes at her “I need to document my Eat, Pray, Love trip” attitude… I probably shouldn’t judge, I wrote all this about my trip. Once she left, the prayers got louder and faster, the gongs rang, and the horns blew. A strange auditory trick happened, the prayers sounded like small groups having conversations, then suddenly they would all fall into unison, then apart again. It was a fascinating and moving experience.
After the prayer, we were taken to our final stop, a local’s house for snacks. We tried Tibetan butter tea (think of a soup broth pretending to be tea) and a barley porridge, which tasted like a blander oatmeal somehow. The real star was Tibetan bread, it was like a fluffier naan bread and was amazing with some jam on it. As we tried the foods we were told all about the current struggles of Tibet and His Holiness the Dali Llama. I won’t get into that here as that is several books that already exist, but it was interesting to hear the story from someone so close to it. A funny thing also happened on the tour, one of the people on the tour with me was a very sweet Italian man. As a show of thanks for letting us enter her home, he gave the home owner some Italian pasta and some white powder to be mixed with water to create the sauce. He gave our guide detailed instructions of how to cook it properly and he translated for the homeowner. It struck me as such a hilarious stereotype that, of course, an Italian would travel to another country and try to teach them how to cook. He was very nice and very well meaning, to be clear.
I went back to my hotel for a shower, it was 30 degrees outside that day and I had sweat through my shirt. It was still my birthday and Rita had texted me asking what I was up to. I told her I was going to get some cake, because it was my birthday. I was really starting to see a pattern with my diet and people commenting on my weight… Was it really getting THAT out of hand? I did just hike Annapurna!… barely, though… I guess. At any rate, she met me at The German Bakery and I had an underwhelming slice of dry cake and felt a little self conscious. We then walked to the end of the lakeside boardwalk and back and stopped at a Café near my hotel. I had an iced tea and some nachos that were so bad I, uncharacteristically, sent them back, they were replaced with bruschetta which was a little better. From there we went to Rita’s hostel and chatted with other guests in the common area about my tour. I then went back to my hotel and went to bed, unsure of how I felt about the day.
I spent the next morning being a bit lazy, but in the afternoon I decided I wanted to rent a canoe. At the docks the prices were about $5 an hour and an extra dollar to hire someone to paddle for you. Having proud Canadian heritage I am a firm believer in “Paddle your own canoe”. It must have been a rare thing because people sure got excited to see me paddle that bulking boat. What they called a canoe was more of a narrow row boat. Heavy wood slabs just narrow enough to allow for a canoe style paddle to be used. The edge of the lake had dozens of them, sank to the bottom in less than 10 feet of water, I wondered if anyone ever tried to recover them and if it was heavy rain, tourists, or negligence that sank them. As I went along a lot of people waved and chatted with me. One man spotted my red hat with the Canadian flag on it, cheered and said “hey Canada! Looking good!…. smoke hash?” and gestured toward his mouth with his fingers. In his boat with him were two elderly Asian tourists laden with cameras… I chuckled at the thought of a boat-to-boat drug deal with witnesses snapping pictures. It was one of the few times in my life I wished I did do drugs. I declined and continued on, one thing about Nepali drug dealers, they’re very polite about rejection. After some miscommunication and confusion, I found Rita waiting for me at the shore. She was supposed to meet me at one of the docks but “got bored and went to use the bathroom and didn’t see her phone ringing” it struck me as a no accountability move. I paddled us around the lake for a few hours including a lap around a small but crowded temple on an island just off the main shoreline. It was a nice little outing in the sun.
That evening we went to The Movie Garden. An open-air theater that played all kinds of movies. That night we watched The Grand Budapest Hotel. We ended up at The Juicery, again, and split two beers. I then called it a night and we went our separate ways. I decided that night I needed to do something to get out of here. The ladies at the local shop were starting to give me the local discount for bottled water. My “relationship” with Rita, for lack of a better word, was starting to annoy me. To be honest, I think I am better company than she is. I still don’t know what she wanted from me, but I felt a little used, like she just had nothing better to do than waste some time with a dork like me. Digging through the chambers of my memory, she does not seem to be the first woman that found me just tolerable enough to spend time with when no one else was available. Its an odd place to be in this world, like the bad fast-food of men.
Technical
I did it on a whim, but I now believe a Tibetan cultural tour is a must-do activity if you ever find yourself in Nepal. The guide had also recommended a few books on the subject, the one I read was titled Buddha’s Warriors and it was quite good.
The brick of tea pictured earlier is actually how most tea used to come and still is sold in solid bricks in a lot of the world, we just dont see it much in the west so I thought it was interesting.
I found prayer wheels interesting and was happy to spin them, being told they bring good karma and/or good luck. The guide was kind enough to explain that in Buddhism you gain “merit” by saying and reading prayers (you also gain it by doing good things). The idea with prayer wheels is inside them are rolled up written prayers over and over, when you spin them you gain merit similar to reading or saying them. That said, it is important to spin them the right way, so as not to “read” them backwards. Below is a photo of what they look like inside. The guide opened it to show me. Despite my curious and tinkering nature, I would have never thought to pop the lid off one.
Posted in Travel and tagged backpacking, nepal, travelwith 3 comments.
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.
West Coast Road Trip
Since Nepal I have wanted to do a road trip to Vancouver, for no other reason than driving throught he mountains looks like fun. While I was in Guatemala, Natalie, Vanessa, and myself hatched a plan for me to come out and all of us to go on a big hike. With my new job being two weeks on and two weeks off, I was out of excuses not to do it.
I left my house before daylight and headed west, I layered up, zipped my jacket, and taped the vents on my gloves to try and keep the 14C air at bay. I was thankful to have a windshield but the reality was, it was a cold slog in a straight line along highway 16. After what felt like day, I stopped in Edson for breakfast and to thaw out. I remember feeling cold, sick, sad, and a little silly. I wondered if maybe I didn’t have it in me to motorcycle tour. Auto Trader is full of motorcycles for sale by owners who found out the hard way they didn’t care for life on the road. I stalled as long as I could justify, then hopped on my bike and kept rolling. I also switched to a far more upbeat playlist, I had started with sad slow county music, its like I wasn’t even trying to have a good day. I stopped for a light lunch in Hinton and was starting to feel a little more confident as the weather warmed. As soon as I could see the mountains my attitude improved. I felt pretty cool pulling through the park gates on my motorcycle and flashing my park pass tucked into my tank bag. The park staff weren’t as enthusiastic, for some reason. I decided to stop at the hot springs and have a soak, it was well worth the detour and I saw herd of sheep on the road on the way in. I had dinner in town and set up my little tent and got some sleep.
The next day was a bit farther but felt shorter, due to the mountain views, twisty roads, and all the other bikes I crossed paths with. I continued west and south to Kamloops where I treated myself to a very cheap hotel. It was a great ride with amazing scenery, but nothing too exciting happened. In the morning, I oiled my chain (not a metaphor), and hit the road. This was the day I was looking forward to, the final push to Vancouver, but I took the long way through Squamish. I stopped for breakfast at a little café in Lillooet. I took the opportunity to walk around town a little and see their local museum. It was nice, but me being the collector I am, owned a lot of the items they had on display, including a polaroid camera that I had brought with me on the trip! Having let my breakfast digest sufficiently, I hit the road again. The section of road to Squamish is one of the best in Canada for motorcycles… depending on traffic. I got stuck behind a pickup that struggled to maintain consistent speeds through the tight switchbacks which was a frustrating endeavor. I could smell brakes cooking and wondered if it was me or the truck in front. My question was answered when I rounded a corner and saw an F150 with a holiday trailer pulled to the side of the road with smoke rolling up off the drivers side front hub. To my amazement, he pulled out behind me after I passed… I’d have let it cool a bit more, personally. I stopped for lunch in Whistler, but I found it far too crowded and didn’t stay long. As I pulled into Squamish I found I was running a bit later than I would have liked so my only stop was for gas. I then immediately hit a traffic jam. There I was, sitting on a four lane highway, in full, dark, protective gear, straddling a hot bike in the sun. I shut the engine off while I waited, but that did little for the lingering heat of the engine inches from my legs. I saw a few bikes zip up the shoulder to pass the traffic and was tempted to join them, but I try not to break laws when I travel, even if its just another province. Eventually, slowly, we all made it through and I was treated to the sea to sky highway (in my case, sky to sea) that cut its way along the steep, rocky, shore of the pacific. The views were great, but the traffic was heavy and demanded my attention. I arrived at my destination just in time for Natalie and her boyfriend, Cole, to treat me to some sushi… Sushi, aren’t I just worldly?
Natalie’s roommate was out of town and was kind enough to offer me her room. It was nice to sleep in a proper bed after all that riding. My first full day in Van, we picked up Vanessa at the ferry and headed to The Museum of Anthropology. There were no tours that day, but luckily I’m a history buff/nerd and my companions were willing to let me drone on about everything I saw. I dont think they believed me about Fijian Cannibal Forks at first, but I wouldn’t lie about something like that. A trip to a museum is my ideal vacation.
Next day was Natalie’s idea of an ideal vacation, an overnight hike. This one was to a cabin at Elfin Lakes There were seven of us total, all various friend’s of Natalie and Cole, its a weird feeling to hike into the woods with six other people, only one of whom you’ve known for any length of time. Luckily, I doubt my organs are worth much on the black market at this time. It was lightly raining at the trailhead and the first few kms were gentle uphill along a wide gravel path. We hit a day use cabin with a big wood burning stove in the middle, but it was locked out with a chain and padlock, which felt kind of rude to me. We had snacks and got our layers sorted in the shack and pressed on. Soon the gravel ended and we were treated to heavier rain and hard packed deep snow that required ice spikes on our boots. I laughed to myself about coming all the way to the West Coast to hike in the snow. The views were sadly, minimal, as there was a lot of fog in the air. We first did some up hill, then some side hill, then some debating about which trail was the right one. In the end we found the trail behind a large downed log. It was a steep downhill all the way to our cabin. As we got closer, we saw the lake we had been told we could swim in.. it was ice bound save a ring around the edge that didn’t look very deep. Luckily I saved the weight by leaving my swim suit at home.
We got into the cabin and found some empty bunks. My anxiety started to redline a little. There were bunk beds all around, the top being single beds with low rails that gave me visions of tumbling onto the hardwood and the lower bunks were double wide and expected to be shared. I asked Vanessa if she wanted to share a bottom bunk, she politely declined and took a top bunk. I set up on a lower bunk and hoped no strangers showed up last minute to share it with me, luckily, no one did, but it was a concern of mine well into the evening. There was already another large group there, all younger and energetic, at one point they were doing chin ups on the rafters. I appreciate seeing people in their early 20s being rambunctious, gives me hope. After we all got our beds made, we all just kind of laid around and fell into an afternoon nap. It was one of those naps like after a day at the beach, no one announces it, it just happens. Eventually, we all got back up and running and made ourselves a massive dinner of various salads, sausages, and pasta. There were also several expeditions outside to gather snow for water. I didnt help much cooking, but I tried to at least be helpful by washing some of the dishes. We also invented our own rules for Crazy 8s and had a few games well into the evening. I finally got a chance to use the deck of cards I overpaid for in Thailand and carried needlessly on multiple trips since. I don’t know who won, but it definitely wasn’t me. We all went to bed, I dont think my snoring was a problem, but someone’s was because across the cabin, well into the other group, I heard some snoring followed by a very well connected slap that seemed to put an end to it.
In the morning we all had our own breakfasts, I filled out the guest book and thumbed through the other entries, a lot of great doodles in there. We got the other group to get some pictures of us and I took a polaroid photo for them, hopefully it turned out and hopefully they liked it. The hike out was much better weather and the only issue we had was one of the party had a set of ice cleats that were a size too big and kept slipping, binding, hooking, and tripping her. There is nothing worse for a hiker. I once had a set of snowshoes that kept hooking my pant cuffs and spilling me. It breaks your spirit and embarrasses you, then you get frustrated and it gets worse. For the record, every hiker hits these kind of problems and we dont judge, but when its happening to you, it can feel like you’re slowing everyone down. Eventually, one of the links on her cleats broke. I took a look and with my Leatherman put it back together a bit smaller, I then opened the links on the other side and did the same. I THINK it helped by making them less loose and sloppy on her feet. We made it to the trailhead without incident and went to a Mexican restaurant to celebrate.
The morning after the hike, I decided I had best head back ahead of some nasty incoming weather. My original plan was to go back along southern BC but it seemed they were expecting heavy rain and it was moving north. I decided to retrace my route. I didn’t waste much time on the road, I stopped again in Lillooet at the same café and this time had a chat with two other bikers who spotted my Royal Enfield and were curious about it. Its not a very common bike in Canada yet, and it looks a lot like the ones they made in the 1970s so it tends to get a lot of interest from fellow bike riders. As I was leaving I saw their big adventure bikes parked perfectly with some mountains in the background, I snapped a polaroid and brought it back to them in the café. I left before I could see it, so I hope it turned out. I stayed at a slightly nicer hotel in Kamloops and had a dip in the spa tub provided.
The last day was a long one and I didn’t take any photos. I think my travel journal I filled out at the end of the day properly conveys my feelings about it:
- Kamloops to Edmonton, just over 800km ride
- Ride to Jasper was nice, had pizza at Lou Lou’s
- Jasper to Edmonton was long and drawn out
- Hard crosswind made my windshield act like a sail
- 8 hours on a bike is achievable but undesirable
Technical Details/ Footnotes
I used my 2019 Royal Enfield Interceptor 650 equipped with a spitfire windshield, magnetic tank bag, luggage racks, soft sided saddle bags, and my hiking backpack in an airport bag. I wore a small backpack while riding that had a water bladder in it so I could drink without taking my helmet off. I find the convenience of it helps me stay hydrated which makes everything run smoother on a long day. I also brought a 1L fuel can but never needed it, it strapped nicely on my rear rack and wasn’t too expensive, to my surprise, it never leaked. I brought some basic tools and chain lube for my bike, and glass cleaner for my visor. One thing I debated was a clear or tinted visor and I was glad I went with tinted, my helmet has a drop down tinted lenses as well as the traditional visor and even with both tinted I found things a bit bright at times. I did bring clear safety glasses in the event that I did have to drive the bike at night.
Much like my Guatemala motorcycle trip, I really tried to focus on the concept of “I am ending my day there”, not “I am driving there”. This shift in attitudes really helps me slow down and enjoy the trip more. I take more time to eat, I stop at roadside attractions, and even take in museums. I am also a little proud of myself for socializing with people. It sounds strange considering the trips I’ve taken, but there was a time in my life were I would not have even considered a hike with 6 other people when I really only know one or two of them. I guess I am growing up and facing my social anxieties.
Posted in Hiking, Motorcycle, Travel and tagged backpacking, hiking, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith 3 comments.