Thailand Notes Part 4: A Resort And An Ending
For the remainder of my trip, I wanted sun, beaches, and relaxation. So I picked a small island and booked a scuba resort.
Koh Tao Island
The process of getting from Chiang Mai to my hotel on Koh Tao Island was quite a long-drawn-out event. Here’s the short version. I caught a plane to a city who’s name I dont recall, and had to deal with taxi drivers and tourists arguing over the cost of transportation… again. I will never understand why a tourist will argue with a taxi driver over $2cad. Spent the night at a hotel, then took a taxi to a bus to a boat to another boat and spent a lot of time baking in the sun between. At some point someone stuck a sticker on my shirt that showed my final destination. It made me wonder how many tourists they’d lost before they came up with that idea. Once again I was alone, heading out to somewhere I had never been surrounded people I don’t know. Luckily Thailand is visually more inviting than Nepal and I arrived at my destination during the day. They also had someone from the hotel pick me up at the dock. I had booked my stay at Ban’s Diving Resort, thinking, to hell with it, I’ll spend the last of my money at some beachside motel and relax. Well, I thought it was a little hotel claiming to be resort, a common exaggeration when you budget travel, but this was, by far, the nicest place I had ever stayed. They had multiple pools, a dozen buildings to house guests, a landscaped garden between, and even a golf cart that worked like public transit. I signed in and signed up for a scuba refresher in the morning, I had my license, but I was rusty. After food I went to bed, sunbaked, desperate for sleep, and thankful I had paid extra for AC.
The refresher was fairly uneventful. I was tossed into a pool with another diver and an instructor and retested on the basics. It didn’t take much for me to get back into the groove. However, I was a little suspicious of the other diver with me. He claimed to have done over 100 dives and to have his advanced open water. His skills in the pool and general lack of knowledge shed some doubt on that. It crossed my mind that no one actually asked to see my certification, and therefore, one could easily lie and just go diving. It strikes me as needlessly dangerous for yourself and those around you but, it could be done. I believe this was the case with that individual but it wasn’t for me to say. After class, I got talked into an afternoon excursion and the dive master was the instructor who gave me the refresher, so it all worked out well. The first dive I was plenty nervous but it was fairly uneventful. It was exciting enough I decided to ignore my budget and take my advanced open water course. The following days dives were a little more exciting. I dove with a French man who was rather rude and pushy underwater, swimming too close to me and to wildlife. He got within inches of a turtle and bluff charged by trigger fish, shame they didn’t nibble him a bit, pain may have taught him a lesson. In the evening I went for a long walk up and down the beach. It was beautiful, but it was lonely. It’s a strange feeling to be lonely in a place many consider to be paradise. I had once read that resort towns, like the big ski towns in The Rockies, have a really high suicide rate because people move there and find it doesn’t solve their problems.
Getting my advanced open water was a lot easier than I had expected. I assumed there would be some course work, maybe some theory, or a test. We just did specific dives. Basically there is a list of dives and you pick 5 of them, that’s the class. In this case, the instructors picked based on what was available to us and what they felt would be the most fun, which is a fair way to operate. We started with a deep-water dive, we went down to 28m and played a math game to check for nitrogen narcosis. A condition I am told will cause a sensation similar to being intoxicated and impact motor skills and brain function. The test was: the instructor holds up fingers and we hold up however many we needed to add to get to 11. For example, she holds up 6, so I hold up 5. It’s a smart test, though somewhat revealing of how bad some of us are at mental math. We were only that deep for about 4 minutes, then slowly worked our way up and took in the sights. Interesting side note, at that depth we hit the thermocline, that razor sharp edge where water gets very cold, if you’ve ever jumped into an Alberta lake you may know what I am talking about. Our next dive was supposed to be a “fish identification” dive where in we practiced hand signals for different species of fish. Once we got down to depth, we saw that the ocean was littered with plastic bottles, one of the instructors went up and got a large mesh duffel while the other got us all stacking the bottles into a pile. In the end we only made a small dent but cleaning garbage out of the ocean was very satisfying. I like the idea of having a task beyond looking around, much like hiking, I prefer to have a goal. After the dive we dumped water out of the bottles and stashed them away. I’m hoping they didn’t just go onto a barge and back into the ocean somewhere else.
Night Dive
We sat on the boat and waiting for dark, as the sun set, we slipped back into the water. Truth be told, I was terrified while waiting on the boat, but as soon as I got in the water I was just excited. It was like motorcycling in the rain, I was so focused on the task and it was such a rewarding challenge, my brain just didn’t have room for fear. We pointed our flashlights and saw the blue patches on a stingray glow. The instructor brought us in a circle and had us shut of our lights and wave our hands. As we did, bioluminescent plankton lit up. It was very faint and you had to really look for it, but the little blue flashes were there. It was not a light show that rivaled fireworks, it was just faint whispers of light not intended for the human eye. After the dive I went to the restaurant attached to the resort and found I couldn’t get anyone to come take my order, or even bring me a menu. This was a common theme at that establishment during my stay. Throughout the week I just went to the nearby 7-11 for suppers and ate them on my balcony. It was quite isolating, and very stereotypical of a tourist to eat all his meals from 7-11. Towards the end of my stay, one of the instructors informed me there was a really good fried chicken restaurant about a block away… I became a regular there during my stay.
The rest of the week was more diving and relaxing. One of the dives was a navigation dive where my partner and I were shown a map, given a slate to draw our own and make a plan, then off we went. I suggested she take the lead as I have a lot of experience with maps and she said she needed the practice. She got lost almost immediately. I recognized a large rock crack and took the lead. We did a lap around the pinnacle and did a swim-through at 26m. I was about to lead us south west to a rock pile, but she stopped me. It turns out I was running very low on oxygen. We made our safety stops and surfaced. The entire ascent, we locked arms ready to share her air via the spare regulator. It never came to that, I ended with just under 15 bars on the gauge. Typically, you try to end with somewhere between 40 and 50 bars of pressure. After that dive we did a shipwreck, unfortunately visibility was horrible. I could barely see my outstretched hand. So I followed the group only able to see their silver tanks in all the green algae. We did a swim through on part of the ship and got some pictures. It was a strange disorienting sensation to be swimming and see the current change direction, without a fixed object for reference, it felt like I was spinning and changing direction against my will. It felt like drunken spins. Diving in poor visibility is something I thought would be terrifying, but once down there I realized that no matter how bad it got… I could just go up. This made it an interesting learning experience, but I was sad I didn’t get a good view of the ship, the pictures I have seen of it look amazing… One more reason to go back.
I decided I wanted to get a tattoo on my second last day on the island. My diving was done and I wanted a full day to recover before taking boats, busses, and planes where aftercare would be difficult. I booked my appointment at a well reviewed shop. He quoted me a price of about $150 cad and told me to be there at 3pm. I came back at 3, after my last dive. He was tattooing someone else and without looking up, he told me to come back at 5. I went for pizza and never came back. To hell with him if he can’t keep a schedule. Didn’t need that tattoo anyway. Later, I had a few drinks at the bar with some of the dive instructors. It was nice to see they were super friendly even off the clock. After a dozen dives and about a week on the island some part of my mind was considering finding a way to stay, maybe get trained as a dive master and make my living that way. Its weird, I was still quite sad and alone feeling, but I wanted to stay. I liked the diving, I didn’t like the empty hotel room.
Back To Kathmandu
My full week in a private room on the resort and diving daily resulted in a bill of just over $800. I don’t know how it ended up that cheap, I was expecting a little over double that but they offered discounts for dives and accommodation. I didn’t ask too many questions or look too close. Happily and hurriedly, I paid my bill and left the office. The next few days were just an uneventful blur of busses, boats and a plane back to Bangkok. I stayed at the edge of town near the airport far from anything a tourist would want to see. The next day I went to the airport and waited for my flight back to Kathmandu. In the airport, I did a tourism survey and was given a small coin purse. It really felt like a scam of some kind but they never asked me for personal information so it must have been legitimate. I also took the opportunity to send a few post cards to my family. While waiting to board the plane I noticed a Nepali man wearing a Magpul shirt. Naturally I went over and complimented it. He informed me he was from Nepal but lived in the USA, hence the firearms shirt. On the plane, near Kathmandu, we hit some hard rain and turbulence. We circled the city for about an hour waiting for the weather to clear. We were told we may divert to Delhi, luckily it didn’t come to that. This time I stayed at the same hostel, they just texted me the room number and I helped myself. It went much smoother than the first time I stayed. I was also very relieved to see the duffel bag I had left behind in storage was still there, dusty, but untouched.
I spent the next few days wandering the streets of Kathmandu in a smug self-satisfied way, I was proud of myself for all I had done. I picked up a few more gifts for friends and family from the various little shops and decided to splash out and stay at a $35 a night hotel my last two nights. It was beautiful, big, and clean. The balcony overlooked a little shrine statue in the alleyway. In the evenings I smoked cigars on the balcony while writing in my journal. Mamita asked to meet me at a café at 9pm. I wandered the dark streets to get there, thinking about how 10 weeks ago they would have terrified me. Upon arrival I found my phone was off, I turned it on and found she had texted me to reschedule for the morning. Mamita met me for breakfast and I told her about my travels, it was nice to catch up. On the way back to the hotel I bought Natalie a Royal Enfield T-shirt to match mine, she had requested it. I wasn’t sure when I would see Natalie again, but we were already talking about her coming to visit me at home during the summer to do some hiking, that did end up happening, along with a few other trips. Repeatedly I repacked my gear for the flight home, and relaxed in my hotel room, for supper I had a water buffalo burger that was positively amazing.
The last day was dull, almost intentionally so. I tried to sleep in, I checked out at 2pm and stored my bags. I walked Thamel one last time and tried my best to soak it in and remember the feeling and the smells. After some lunch, I bought a 200npr copy of H.G Well’s The Time Machine. Finally, it got late enough, I got a ride from the hotel to the airport and started the long trip home. There were long flights and layovers and I had no idea what my life would hold when I got home. At the time, I had no job, and no plan, and was somehow, ok with that. My friend Troy picked me up at the airport, fed me a burger, and delivered me to my apartment. Everything was how I left it, and I didn’t feel too terribly different… Maybe a little thinner… I was sad it was over, and I was glad to be home, it was time to sleep in my own bed, and see what the future held.
There’s no great way to say this, but I took this trip because I hated my job and was depressed about my divorce. It’s hard to say if it helped with either of those much, but I think it turned out to be a net positive for me in other ways. I made friends that I am still in touch with and in less than a week of posting this, I will be meeting Natalie, her boyfriend, and two of her friends in Cabo to do some diving. And probably never would have gone to Guatemala if it weren’t for Natalie and Renata. Aside from the people I met, it let me do a bit of a hard reset and take stock of what I want to do with my life. Certainly I don’t have all the answers, but I know now that I want to keep travelling and I know I want to spend time with friends and family… After some time at home and at a semi-office job, I took another run at HVAC, it turns out that job wasn’t a good fit, but the industry is and I am now a first year apprentice and going to trade school in the new year. Turns out I like working with my hands and fixing things. Not everyone has the opportunity to travel like I do, but that was the life I had built for myself… and this trip has made me optimistic about what the rest of my life could look like now that I have a better understanding of what I do and dont want out of it. As for healing from my divorce, it didn’t help, only time was able to do that. But hey, it might help you, so book the trip, and tell me all about it when you get home.
Thank you to everyone who has been reading these stories… more to come in the future.
Posted in Scuba Diving, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Koh Tao, Outdoors, Scuba diving, Thailand, travelwith 4 comments.
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 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.
West Coast Road Trip
Since Nepal I have wanted to do a road trip to Vancouver, for no other reason than driving throught he mountains looks like fun. While I was in Guatemala, Natalie, Vanessa, and myself hatched a plan for me to come out and all of us to go on a big hike. With my new job being two weeks on and two weeks off, I was out of excuses not to do it.
I left my house before daylight and headed west, I layered up, zipped my jacket, and taped the vents on my gloves to try and keep the 14C air at bay. I was thankful to have a windshield but the reality was, it was a cold slog in a straight line along highway 16. After what felt like day, I stopped in Edson for breakfast and to thaw out. I remember feeling cold, sick, sad, and a little silly. I wondered if maybe I didn’t have it in me to motorcycle tour. Auto Trader is full of motorcycles for sale by owners who found out the hard way they didn’t care for life on the road. I stalled as long as I could justify, then hopped on my bike and kept rolling. I also switched to a far more upbeat playlist, I had started with sad slow county music, its like I wasn’t even trying to have a good day. I stopped for a light lunch in Hinton and was starting to feel a little more confident as the weather warmed. As soon as I could see the mountains my attitude improved. I felt pretty cool pulling through the park gates on my motorcycle and flashing my park pass tucked into my tank bag. The park staff weren’t as enthusiastic, for some reason. I decided to stop at the hot springs and have a soak, it was well worth the detour and I saw herd of sheep on the road on the way in. I had dinner in town and set up my little tent and got some sleep.
The next day was a bit farther but felt shorter, due to the mountain views, twisty roads, and all the other bikes I crossed paths with. I continued west and south to Kamloops where I treated myself to a very cheap hotel. It was a great ride with amazing scenery, but nothing too exciting happened. In the morning, I oiled my chain (not a metaphor), and hit the road. This was the day I was looking forward to, the final push to Vancouver, but I took the long way through Squamish. I stopped for breakfast at a little café in Lillooet. I took the opportunity to walk around town a little and see their local museum. It was nice, but me being the collector I am, owned a lot of the items they had on display, including a polaroid camera that I had brought with me on the trip! Having let my breakfast digest sufficiently, I hit the road again. The section of road to Squamish is one of the best in Canada for motorcycles… depending on traffic. I got stuck behind a pickup that struggled to maintain consistent speeds through the tight switchbacks which was a frustrating endeavor. I could smell brakes cooking and wondered if it was me or the truck in front. My question was answered when I rounded a corner and saw an F150 with a holiday trailer pulled to the side of the road with smoke rolling up off the drivers side front hub. To my amazement, he pulled out behind me after I passed… I’d have let it cool a bit more, personally. I stopped for lunch in Whistler, but I found it far too crowded and didn’t stay long. As I pulled into Squamish I found I was running a bit later than I would have liked so my only stop was for gas. I then immediately hit a traffic jam. There I was, sitting on a four lane highway, in full, dark, protective gear, straddling a hot bike in the sun. I shut the engine off while I waited, but that did little for the lingering heat of the engine inches from my legs. I saw a few bikes zip up the shoulder to pass the traffic and was tempted to join them, but I try not to break laws when I travel, even if its just another province. Eventually, slowly, we all made it through and I was treated to the sea to sky highway (in my case, sky to sea) that cut its way along the steep, rocky, shore of the pacific. The views were great, but the traffic was heavy and demanded my attention. I arrived at my destination just in time for Natalie and her boyfriend, Cole, to treat me to some sushi… Sushi, aren’t I just worldly?
Natalie’s roommate was out of town and was kind enough to offer me her room. It was nice to sleep in a proper bed after all that riding. My first full day in Van, we picked up Vanessa at the ferry and headed to The Museum of Anthropology. There were no tours that day, but luckily I’m a history buff/nerd and my companions were willing to let me drone on about everything I saw. I dont think they believed me about Fijian Cannibal Forks at first, but I wouldn’t lie about something like that. A trip to a museum is my ideal vacation.
Next day was Natalie’s idea of an ideal vacation, an overnight hike. This one was to a cabin at Elfin Lakes There were seven of us total, all various friend’s of Natalie and Cole, its a weird feeling to hike into the woods with six other people, only one of whom you’ve known for any length of time. Luckily, I doubt my organs are worth much on the black market at this time. It was lightly raining at the trailhead and the first few kms were gentle uphill along a wide gravel path. We hit a day use cabin with a big wood burning stove in the middle, but it was locked out with a chain and padlock, which felt kind of rude to me. We had snacks and got our layers sorted in the shack and pressed on. Soon the gravel ended and we were treated to heavier rain and hard packed deep snow that required ice spikes on our boots. I laughed to myself about coming all the way to the West Coast to hike in the snow. The views were sadly, minimal, as there was a lot of fog in the air. We first did some up hill, then some side hill, then some debating about which trail was the right one. In the end we found the trail behind a large downed log. It was a steep downhill all the way to our cabin. As we got closer, we saw the lake we had been told we could swim in.. it was ice bound save a ring around the edge that didn’t look very deep. Luckily I saved the weight by leaving my swim suit at home.
We got into the cabin and found some empty bunks. My anxiety started to redline a little. There were bunk beds all around, the top being single beds with low rails that gave me visions of tumbling onto the hardwood and the lower bunks were double wide and expected to be shared. I asked Vanessa if she wanted to share a bottom bunk, she politely declined and took a top bunk. I set up on a lower bunk and hoped no strangers showed up last minute to share it with me, luckily, no one did, but it was a concern of mine well into the evening. There was already another large group there, all younger and energetic, at one point they were doing chin ups on the rafters. I appreciate seeing people in their early 20s being rambunctious, gives me hope. After we all got our beds made, we all just kind of laid around and fell into an afternoon nap. It was one of those naps like after a day at the beach, no one announces it, it just happens. Eventually, we all got back up and running and made ourselves a massive dinner of various salads, sausages, and pasta. There were also several expeditions outside to gather snow for water. I didnt help much cooking, but I tried to at least be helpful by washing some of the dishes. We also invented our own rules for Crazy 8s and had a few games well into the evening. I finally got a chance to use the deck of cards I overpaid for in Thailand and carried needlessly on multiple trips since. I don’t know who won, but it definitely wasn’t me. We all went to bed, I dont think my snoring was a problem, but someone’s was because across the cabin, well into the other group, I heard some snoring followed by a very well connected slap that seemed to put an end to it.
In the morning we all had our own breakfasts, I filled out the guest book and thumbed through the other entries, a lot of great doodles in there. We got the other group to get some pictures of us and I took a polaroid photo for them, hopefully it turned out and hopefully they liked it. The hike out was much better weather and the only issue we had was one of the party had a set of ice cleats that were a size too big and kept slipping, binding, hooking, and tripping her. There is nothing worse for a hiker. I once had a set of snowshoes that kept hooking my pant cuffs and spilling me. It breaks your spirit and embarrasses you, then you get frustrated and it gets worse. For the record, every hiker hits these kind of problems and we dont judge, but when its happening to you, it can feel like you’re slowing everyone down. Eventually, one of the links on her cleats broke. I took a look and with my Leatherman put it back together a bit smaller, I then opened the links on the other side and did the same. I THINK it helped by making them less loose and sloppy on her feet. We made it to the trailhead without incident and went to a Mexican restaurant to celebrate.
The morning after the hike, I decided I had best head back ahead of some nasty incoming weather. My original plan was to go back along southern BC but it seemed they were expecting heavy rain and it was moving north. I decided to retrace my route. I didn’t waste much time on the road, I stopped again in Lillooet at the same café and this time had a chat with two other bikers who spotted my Royal Enfield and were curious about it. Its not a very common bike in Canada yet, and it looks a lot like the ones they made in the 1970s so it tends to get a lot of interest from fellow bike riders. As I was leaving I saw their big adventure bikes parked perfectly with some mountains in the background, I snapped a polaroid and brought it back to them in the café. I left before I could see it, so I hope it turned out. I stayed at a slightly nicer hotel in Kamloops and had a dip in the spa tub provided.
The last day was a long one and I didn’t take any photos. I think my travel journal I filled out at the end of the day properly conveys my feelings about it:
- Kamloops to Edmonton, just over 800km ride
- Ride to Jasper was nice, had pizza at Lou Lou’s
- Jasper to Edmonton was long and drawn out
- Hard crosswind made my windshield act like a sail
- 8 hours on a bike is achievable but undesirable
Technical Details/ Footnotes
I used my 2019 Royal Enfield Interceptor 650 equipped with a spitfire windshield, magnetic tank bag, luggage racks, soft sided saddle bags, and my hiking backpack in an airport bag. I wore a small backpack while riding that had a water bladder in it so I could drink without taking my helmet off. I find the convenience of it helps me stay hydrated which makes everything run smoother on a long day. I also brought a 1L fuel can but never needed it, it strapped nicely on my rear rack and wasn’t too expensive, to my surprise, it never leaked. I brought some basic tools and chain lube for my bike, and glass cleaner for my visor. One thing I debated was a clear or tinted visor and I was glad I went with tinted, my helmet has a drop down tinted lenses as well as the traditional visor and even with both tinted I found things a bit bright at times. I did bring clear safety glasses in the event that I did have to drive the bike at night.
Much like my Guatemala motorcycle trip, I really tried to focus on the concept of “I am ending my day there”, not “I am driving there”. This shift in attitudes really helps me slow down and enjoy the trip more. I take more time to eat, I stop at roadside attractions, and even take in museums. I am also a little proud of myself for socializing with people. It sounds strange considering the trips I’ve taken, but there was a time in my life were I would not have even considered a hike with 6 other people when I really only know one or two of them. I guess I am growing up and facing my social anxieties.
Posted in Hiking, Motorcycle, Travel and tagged backpacking, hiking, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith 3 comments.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 3: Lost on a Motorcycle, and Sick on a Boat
Part One Is Available Here and Part Two is Available Here
It was time for me to leave El Paredon. For months I was looking forward to these three days, they had come and gone so quickly. I was sad to leave, but I knew my friends would be at the next stop. Natalie and Vanessa had left on a bus that morning, two hours before I did. I was hoping they would make it to the Airbnb before me to make my check in easier. They definitely beat me there. It also turned out that their shuttle took them on one of the big boats across the river as well.
I loaded up my gear and drove down to the boats on the North end of town. I didn’t see Caesar anywhere, he told me he would be there at 10 and wasn’t. There was another man loading a woman and her scooter onto his boat. I asked if he had room for one more and the price, he said yes and 50Q, same as anyone. I agreed and we rolled my bike backwards up a ramp and onto the narrow boat. I suddenly felt like a real adventurer. I had seen lots of pictures and videos online of bikes with luggage loaded into narrow boats on tropical waters and always thought “wow, that looks cool”. Its a little thing, but it felt like a big thing. The boat fired up and we were off. I tried to make conversation with the woman on the boat but my Spanish just isn’t quite there yet. After about 10 minutes of admiring the scenery, I spotted a boat coming the other way, as it passed I recognized its driver, Caesar. I felt a bit bad, but if you dont show up on time, sometimes you dont get business. We hit the far bank, unloaded my bike, and I paid the man. I geared up and resumed driving. I had made a special playlist for riding on this trip and it was absolutely perfect. I cruised for hours on this trip just enjoying the music, the scenery, and the wind. I enjoyed the farms, small towns, and the half buried tires with “Pinchazo” painted on the side, telling passersby they could get tires fixed there.
I made a slight detour to see the town of La Democracia. Its big draw was large stone statues carved by the ancient Olmec, to look like heads. They were all in the town square and all had people relaxing around them. I didn’t feel comfortable taking a picture that would have locals in it, so I was only able to get one. I also noticed I was the only tourist there. I felt like I was invading their homes, or maybe something else that just wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t stay long, I had other places to be anyway.
My next stop was in Santiago. I was told the road from Santiago to San Pedro, my destination, used to be dirt and, when wet, would bog down motorcycles so bandits would wait in the trees and rob travelers. In recent years the road has been paved and I am told it is safe. The rental shop, however, suggested I ask the police about an escort. Some previous travelers had been told they dont need it. Others have been offered it for 50Q, the going rate for most services, it seems. I found the police station easily, but communication was a problem. Via google translate I was able to learn that an escort was possible and that two police on a blue motorcycle would meet me at the gas station. I then made a very rookie mistake. I searched “gas station” on my phones map app and said “this one?” which he replied “yes”. NEVER ask a yes or no question if there is any language barrier, the answer will always be “yes” and you will be lost. I drove the directions my phone gave me and ended up at shop downtown that sold tanks of gas for stoves and BBQs. I realized my error and decided to get back to the police station. Unfortunately, the roads in town were narrow and lined high with buildings, most were one ways and I simply got lost. Before I knew it I had gone way uphill in town, dead ended at a market, back tracked, got lost again, and ended up in a very poor neighborhood where the houses were made of tin scraps. Luckily all the locals looked friendly and it was still daylight. I know my mother would worry about me being lost here, but it was women walking about their day and children playing in the street smiling and waving at me. I was definitely frustrated, but not quite hopeless or scared. In a pinch I could flag a tuk-tuk and ask him to guide me, for a fee… probably 50Q. It didn’t come to that as I eventually found a way downhill and back onto the main road that I recognized. It took some thinking, some patience, and possibly some illegal road maneuvers, but I got there.
The same officer was there and I explained again and then asked him to find the gas station on my phone. He then directed me to a park. I drove there and found a gas station a block away. I pulled in and asked the attendants if the police ever meet people there they replied “sometimes”. I waited a bit, asked if they could call the police, they said they could but they didn’t have the number. I then asked if the road to San Pedro was dangerous, the man said no and looked a little confused about why I would even ask.
My phone was at 40%, it was 4:30 pm, and I was getting impatient. I decided to just go, I didn’t want to risk losing daylight or having my phone die as I relied on it for navigation. I came out of town fast and kept my speed up. I figured if I just don’t stop and keep my speed up, I would blow past anyone before they got a chance to rob me. After a few minutes it slowly dawned on me, this is actually the nicest, freshest, road I had seen so far, and in Guatemala, that’s saying something. The roads were lined with hotels, farms, people cutting lumber, and what appeared to be some kind of adventure park. Clearly things had changed and this was no longer a dangerous route. I relaxed a slowed down a bit.
I found my way into town and suddenly my maps dead ended at a narrow T intersection, both turns looked too narrow for a bike… practically, but not technically. I texted the girls and Natalie was kind enough to meet me at the road. Google wasn’t lying, I was supposed to drive my bike down that narrow path. I wiggled the bike between the house and a treelined fence, around a tight corner, between some houses, and then through a gate, up a curb and onto a small gravel pad. I was downright grumpy, way overheated, dehydrated, and a little embarrassed. I got my gear off and unpacked a little in the bedroom. After I had grumbled enough about google maps and calmed down, we went for food. We found a little restaurant and I ordered a pizza and the girls debated what to order. The waiter looked at me and said “chicas dificile” and walked away with a grin to gave us another few minutes to decide. It immediately became yet another running joke. After, we went for a walk around town and down to the docks to see the famous Lake Atitlan.
The following morning, I felt like garbage. The previous days riding and the pizza for dinner were not sitting well. I did my best to dose myself with diarrhea meds. We went for breakfast at the nearby hotel. It was beautiful, large glass windows and concrete construction overlooking the lake. To me it looked like a French sunroom. It felt like a place one would take tea with the Count of Monte Cristo. After breakfast Renata decided it would be fun to take a boat across the lake to Panjachel, then take a tuk-tuk to Santa Catarina. It was a good idea, had I not been sick. We bought boat tickets and I asked the driver if there was a bathroom. He pointed at a few nearby restaurants. None of them admitted to having bathrooms. I came back and mentioned it to him. Without a word he waved to me and started running, he was a short man but bounded the steps 3 at a time. We burst into a yet to open café and he showed me to a washroom, what a legend. I loaded on the boat and we started bouncing across the waves of the lake, my stomach immediately started to churn. My stomach felt like a dryer with a boot in it. After a few stops along the way, I asked permission to run ashore to use the washroom again, the captain allowed it and I sprinted. The little café charged 5Q for the washroom, one dollar well spent, in my opinion. When I got back on the boat I sat near the front, just in front of the small roof that doubled as a luggage rack. As we cut across the lake, my lucky travel hat blew off, but was caught by the luggage instead of lost to the lake. Today was not my day, I felt terrible and now for about three more stops and another half hour, I had to anxiously watch to see if I was going to be in the market for a new hat that day.
We finally made landfall at our destination and my hat had survived the journey, by some miracle. The walking calmed my stomach a little. We found a little café where Renata grabbed a coffee and I used the washroom. From there we waved a tuk-tuk and it struggle up the hill to the lookout where we stopped for photos, then it rocketed down the hill into town. We jumped out and explored town a little, it was mostly small booths selling textiles. Vanessa and Natalie had some lunch in a restaurant that was so small, they ordered food and the cook ran out the front, to the market, and came back with the ingredients to make it. It was impressive, but slow. I was still too ill to eat. As they ate, the stray dogs worked their way closer, giving us all sad looks hoping for scraps, naturally we caved. The ladies running the shop across the street were waving and showing us their table runners hoping to make a sale.
After sufficient wandering, we decided to take a truck back. I remember calling them Camionetas in South America, they were just a pickup truck with seats in the box. We asked the first one how much and he said for four people 150Q, Renata laughed and walked away. He tried to explain that was the normal price, just as a second truck pulled up. Renata asked him how much, he said 20Q for all of us. We hopped aboard, laughing the entire way. The truck was much faster, and more comfortable than the tuk-tuk.
We explored Panjachel’s street market a little before finding our way back to the docks. Luckily the ride back was faster as it was direct to San Pedro, the catch was that cutting across the middle of the lake meant larger waves. A local man on the boat gave us a tip that we could pull the emergency life jackets from the rack on the roof and sit on them for extra padding. It worked well. This time my hat stayed on. I was happy to be done with boats for the day. We had a nice supper that night at an Israeli place and played cards at the house we rented. It was a nice last night before I had to head back to Antigua and the girls were off to Tikal.
The next morning I loaded up my bike, hugged everyone goodbye and hit the road. Getting the bike out of the alleyway was far easier than getting it in. Getting out of San Pedro was a bit of trick, again, narrow streets and one ways. I finally made it onto the highway but it looked oddly familiar. I stopped and checked the map… I had driven 20 minutes in the wrong direction. Not being able to see my map was a real hinderance. I got back on the right track and then got lost again in the next town, this time the main road had been shut down for a festival of some kind and navigating around it was just impossible. I then realized the problem. When google maps would say “turn left” that would sometimes mean turn left down this very narrow alley, sometimes it meant take the next left, and sometimes it just meant the road was curving. I found it much easier to stop every few blocks and visually check the route, that little shift made life easier but travel slower.
I wound up on steep switchbacks into the mountains as I climbed away from Lake Atitlan, all the while unsure of what gear the bike should be in “2? no too low, 3? no too high, try 2 again maybe?”. Eventually the road straightened and leveled. It was a this point I hit some road construction. I filtered to the front with some other motorcycles and was told it would be about a 15 minute wait while they painted the lines. I watched as more bikes and cars came into the line. There had to be two dozen bikes and hundreds of cars. Suddenly I heard honking and turned to see a chicken bus had jumped the curb into oncoming traffic and was driving full speed as oncoming cars swerved out of the way. The construction workers angrily waved as he blew passed and jumped the curb back onto the right side of the divided highway. That diesel bus spit black smoke the whole way and I didn’t see a hint of him touching his brakes. After a few more minutes, with little warning, the workers jumped up and cleared the pylons. All of us bikers were standing beside our bikes stretching. Suddenly it felt like a pistol start at a race. We all jumped on, fired up, and raced off. It was an amazing experience. So many bikes just cruising down the highway in a group, some waving, some racing, and some just minding their own business. Eventually we all spread out and found ourselves among the regular cars and trucks of the road. A normal day for them, and fascinating experience for me.
As I came into Antigua the road took me through a few deep canyons that looked like they were carved out for the road. I was reminded of my motorcycle trip to Drumheller last year. It also rained heavily for about 15 minutes, at which point I passed an accident, a tanker truck had hit a scooter. There wasn’t a body anywhere and there were no emergency vehicles there yet. I hope that means it was low speed and no serious injury. When I got within a few blocks of the rental shop, I hit rush hour traffic. I made another mistake, driving like a Canadian. I was moving inches in minutes by pretending to be a car. Eventually, after an hour in traffic, an ambulance came through and created a path. I saw motorcycles following close behind and remembered where I was and what I was straddling. I started lane splitting, weaving between the stationary cars and even waving a few to back up so I could make space and cheat in front of them to the other side. Within minutes I came rolling into my destination, smiling, and was received by the owner’s friend. I think he was American, either way, his English was perfect and he was friendly. The bike had sustained no damages, I parked it, returned the helmet, took of my gear, thanked him, and left. I rushed through the return process, putting my borrowed gear away and stripping my bags off the bike. I was flying high from the lane splitting and just riding in general and didn’t want him to have to wait any longer than needed. I walked the few blocks and checked into my hotel, got some food, a mojito, and some sleep. I was thoroughly tired after a full days riding being lost, being hot, being rained on… I’d experienced it all.
The next day was my last day, my flight left that night. In the morning I went to Café Sole, a restaurant that shares a name with one in Edmonton where I meet with some motorcycle guys twice a week, if time permits. The food was good, but I just wanted a picture of myself in front of their sign to show my friends. I then got a text from the girls saying they had a bus change in town around noon and would have about half an hour for a visit. I was excited, but we ended up only having about 20 minutes where they drank coffee and tea as fast as they could before running back. I then bought some souvenirs for myself and some family members. I tried to nap in the afternoon but couldn’t, at 10pm the car came to pick me up and I was driven to the airport. The flights home were rough, I had terrible middle seats because I didn’t want to shell out $50 to select my seat and my layovers were long. I was happy when I finally made it through my door. 36 hours later, I boarded a plane to get back to work for two weeks.
As a rule, my family doesn’t like motorcycles. Primarily because they are dangerous. I, however, enjoy them, but more importantly, one of my biggest issues with traveling is actually the travel part. I have always had a hard time with buses. I find them usually stuffy, smelly, and crowded and I hate being at the mercy of someone else’s schedule for when I can use a bathroom. I also learned in South America that just because a bus has AC, doesn’t mean it works, and if it works, that doesn’t mean they will turn it on… As such, after doing some riding and some thinking, I decided to try renting a motorcycle to get around on a vacation and see if that made things better. I dont know that its a solution for every trip, and its certainly more expensive than bus tickets, but it is something I enjoy. At the very least, this trip has proven that a motorcycle is at least an option for me to get around when I travel.
Posted in Motorcycle, Travel and tagged adventure, Guatemala, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith no comments yet.
Jacques Lake Snowshoe Trip
I’m not sure how it happened, but my friend Natalie decided to make the trip from Vancouver to Edmonton for a weekend in March. I had met her about a year prior, when I did a solo trip to Nepal and met her at a hostel in Kathmandu. We ended up being good travel buddies and she even talked me into doing a motorcycle trip in Thailand. Once back in Canada she joined The Alpine Club of Canada, which is relevant to this tale. She used her membership to get us two spots in a cabin for one night when she was out.
Natalie flew into Edmonton late Wednesday and on Thursday morning we headed west to The Rockies. We stopped only for gas, groceries, and road snacks… the usual essentials. It was a long drive from highway 16 to the trail head near Moraine Lake. The steep banks were covered with melting snow and there was no shortage of large rocks on the highway. There were avalanche warnings, but the road was still, officially, open. We arrived at the trailhead early in the afternoon and started to gear up. The weather was a balmy 8 degrees Celsius. I put on wool socks and base layers under my thin hiking pants. On top I wore a t shirt, a long sleeve, a fleece hoodie, and a toque. I chuckled to myself that I have definitely worn warmer clothes in July for hiking, I guess I was just tuned into the colder weather. I put extra layers into my pack and strapped my snowshoes on the outside. Natalie, being from a warmer climate, wore ski pants and a proper jacket. She also strapped her snowshoes onto the outside of her pack. I had purchased my snowshoes nearly 10 years ago on my employee discount back when I worked retail during university, and this was the first time I had honesty used them and it felt great. Natalie’s set had been borrowed from my employer (with permission).
We started by crossing a small bridge and then onto the trail. The sun was out and the snow reflected the heat onto us. I had managed to get lucky and dress perfectly for the weather. Natalie didn’t complain but I assumed she was overheating. The trail was initially packed down enough that we just walked in our hiking boots. Almost immediately into the trail I found a large rubber band on the ground. The kind you would find on broccoli at the grocery store. It struck me as odd and I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Throughout the hike I ended up finding half a dozen of these and for the life of me I cannot imagine what people were using them for. Perhaps a gear tie of some sort?
We hit a nice view of the mountains and the trail and I took two photos with my old Polaroid camera to see how it worked. It did not work well. I think it was too cold and too bright for that camera to really shine. Only one of the photos turned out ok. It was a shame, that could have been a fun thing but instead it just kind of tagged along for the ride in my pack.
When the trail opened up at Summit Lakes, the snow was deep enough around the edges that the snowshoes were necessary. Before that, I was worried we wouldn’t need them, and I would have to wait another 10 years to use them. Towards the end of Summit lakes, I pulled some snacks out of my pack, my classic combination of Hawkins Cheezies and beef jerky. It was a hit, no surprise. Fair warning, this delicious combo requires extra water to wash it down, its very salty.
On the far side of Summit Lakes, it turned back into a trail through the trees. We were able to remove our snowshoes again. This time we both opted to just carry them instead of strap them back onto our packs. At one point Natalie was leading and stepped over a downed log on the trail. I went to follow suit, but stepped to close to the edge and as I put all my weight on my left foot to lift my right over the log, I fell through the snow. I came down hard with the inside of my right thigh, slamming into the downed tree and I fell backward onto my pack, twisting my knee. The sharp edges of my snowshoes bashed into my left hand as they bounced off the log. I laid there laughing and Natalie turned around to see what the commotion was. After a moment of reflection, I pulled myself up and out and then she realized I had gone through and not just slipped. I did a quick once over on my limbs and nothing was too badly hurt, aside from my pride. My hand was ringing with pain, but had little more than a scratch on it. We carried on, me having learned a lesson, stay centered on the trail when possible.
We arrived at the summer campsite which I had stayed at many years before and I noticed it had changed a bit. They installed bear boxes for food storage to replace the bear poles and they had gotten rid of two picnic tables. Just beyond the campsite the trail led us to a rather rough looking bridge. I opted to cross first, if it could support me, Natalie would be fine. On the far side of the bridge we ducked under a few tree limbs and made it to the edge of the clearing the cabin was in. There were a few people on the porch and they gave us a friendly wave.
It turns out the Cabin could hold 8. It had 2 big bunk beds and each bunk could accommodate two people. Of the 8 spots, 6 were taken by one group. It was a man and his friend, and his daughter and her friend… and then two people they had befriended through the club… I think. It was only really explained to me once. They were very friendly and because they got there before us, they had already had snow melted for water and the cabins propane furnace was already running.
We unpacked while we made everyone’s acquaintance and then Natalie made mac and cheese while I made a salad (I had carried in an easy to make bag salad). Washing dishes was an interesting endeavor. It required three basins: a wash, a rinse, and a disinfect. It was a smart system, though it did require a lot of counter space. The remainder of the evening was spent with Natalie and I talking to each other about upcoming trips, and hikes we had already done. She also took the opportunity to chat with our fellow guests, one of whom was big into sailing and she was even able to recommend a sailing school in Vancouver for Natalie. I was quite tired from the drive and the hike so I wasn’t as social as I should have been.
Eventually the night wound down and I had no trouble falling asleep and staying that way. In the morning, two of the guests were up early as they had to ski out and then drive home to somewhere far away in BC that day. The rest if us had a slower start, our end destination for the day was a hotel in Jasper and the other guests were spending another night. For breakfast we had cereal, one of my favorites. It’s just granola, freeze dried fruit, chocolate chips (optional, but I have a sweet tooth), and powdered milk. I make it at home in a zip-loc bag and on the trial, just add water. We slowly put our gear on, overnight my socks went from soaked to barely damp which was a big relief… until I stepped into the rubber mat under the sink. It was all the water that had been poured down the sink during food prep, and brushing teeth. It usually goes into a 5 gallon pail, but some found its way onto the rubber mat and that found its way onto my right sock. I suppressed my gag reflex and did what I could to squeeze the water out of my sock. I soon realized it didn’t matter, my boots, overnight, went from sopping dripping wet to just waterlogged so my socks were wet immediately. I guess the waterproofing on my boots needed a refresh.
We strapped our snowshoes on and said our goodbyes. We decided to head back along the lake, it felt fairly safe since there were fresh ski tracks on it. I did have brief, morbid and comical, thought of following the ski tracks right up to a hole in the ice. After a few hundred yards it felt a lot less safe when we saw that springs had been pumping water onto the ice near the shore and created open patches. I unbuckled my pack, in case I went through, and we went wide around them. At the south tip of Jaques Lake we followed some ski tracks through the trees along a river that connected to the other lakes. There were a few questionable maneuvers here crossing ice that clearly had a stream running below. Luckily none of it was overly fast or deep so going through would have meant cold legs rather than risk of life and limb. All the same, I wanted to stay out of the water this time of year. Overall, it was a much nicer trail than the one in the trees we had taken the day before and it made the snowshoes feel a little more necessary, which was, after all, part of the fun. Eventually we made it back to Summit Lakes and followed our old tracks out without incident. Once at the trailhead I changed into fresh, less sweaty and smelly shirts and celebrated with a root beer, because deep down, for me, hiking is all about good snacks… and I guess good company never hurts.
Technical/gear
I’ve had people on other posts ask about gear and technical information. So I’m tying to add it at the end. For this trip the only special gear we used was the snow shoes. Both of us used MSR brand which I like because the sharp bottoms work well on ice, but they did also cut the lower cuff of my pants. That said, this was my first use of snowshoes so I am far from an authority on them. I wore my regular summer hiking gear and some base layers. My regular old hiking boots strapped into the snow shoes. Natalie wore her ski gear to be extra warm. The Jacques lake hike is a great starter hike because its only about 12km each way with minimal elevation gain and great views. This also makes it great for snowshoeing and the use of the Alpine Club of Canada’s cabin meant that we didn’t have to bring cooking gear, a tent, or even a sleep mat so our packs were quite light. Sleeping in a heated cabin is also a nice touch. The people we met at the cabin had skied in and all agreed that snow shoes probably would have been better as some of the trails were a little tight and winding, that said, along the lakes when we hiked out skis would have been faster. You probably cant go wrong with either and current snow conditions were also likely a big factor.
Posted in Hiking and tagged Alberta, backcountry, backpacking, hiking, Outdoors, snowshoeingwith 1 comment.
The Death Of A Coyote
In recent years, the local coyote population around my parents’ farm has exploded. We see them everywhere, and hear them yelping all night. We also hear the farm dogs barking at them all night. The general agreement among farmers and hunters is that coyotes are a pest and are to be shot on sight. They will kill farm animals, pets, and game species all the same.
Up until this point in my life, I had never actively hunted coyotes and during hunting season I avoided shooting at them for fear of spooking the deer I was actually after. Over the years, I came to notice that deer dont seem particularly phased by gunfire. I have been to more than one shooting competition where we had to shut down a range while we waited for deer to clear off. So, with the coyote population up, and my excuses to leave them be, worn rather thin, I decided this year deer hunting season is also coyote season.
As a relevant aside, I have talked with a few people, a few times, about how much ammunition to bring hunting. Some hunters will joke “you should only need one”, some will say “Two, incase you need a follow-up shot”. I have a friend that ran out of ammo while hunting and had to finish off a cow moose with a knife, while she was trying to stand back up. I, usually take somewhere in the neighborhood of 5 bullets, and have never needed more than two, I have been lucky so far.
On the second day of opening weekend, I was slowly making my way through the woods and found myself standing in a patch of trees on the North edge of a valley. Below me, I spotted movement. It was two coyotes walking through the tall brown grass with ears back and tails down. I have found that coyotes either walk as though guilty or trot as though they haven’t a care in the world. These two looked suspicious. I brought my rifle to my shoulder and found one in the scope. I squeezed the trigger… and everything went wild. One coyote dropped, the other ran West in the valley, and 20 yards West of them, a large mule deer buck sprinted up the far hill. I trained my optic on him and watched for a chance. No way my 243 was going to push 95 grains of lead through that brush and do anything other than wound it. I noticed movement in the grass, the coyote that had fallen was slowly getting up, clearly mortally wounded. I immediately shot it again, he moved no more. I was down to three bullets in the gun. The second coyote, perhaps unsure of what the noise was, circled back and stood between me and his deceased companion. I took aim and made a clean miss at an embarrassing 87 yards (ranged after the fact). He ran east then south across the valley along an old beaver dam, stopping to look at up me again. I took another chance shot and missed again. I felt good about both shots but somehow neither touched hide or hair. In a flash of fur he was gone. I had one lonely bullet left and I wasn’t about to use it on a coyote knowing full well a big mule deer was somewhere nearby.
I jogged down the hill and checked that the coyote was dead and then walked home for more ammunition, all the while wondering how my marksmanship had been so poor. I have more than once heard old timers tell me that there’s something magic about coyotes, one of the few animals that you seem to miss more shots than you make. Perhaps its their size that makes guessing distance deceiving, maybe its their wily nature, maybe it supernatural… or, my guess, is that its something subconscious. Coyotes are described as a lot of mean nasty things by many people, but at the end of the day, they are a wild dog and to me, that makes it a bit of a hard trigger pull.
I went out that evening and circled back to get pictures of my first coyote. I find it interesting that I have been hunting for nearly 20 years and somehow never got around to shooting a coyote. I approached the downed animal and he laid in an unnatural pose, a pile of fur with a foreleg stuck awkwardly out the side. I lifted his surprisingly heavy body and laid his head on a log, a slightly more dignified pose. I got some hunting photos and inspected its teeth, its k9s worn almost flat. This animal lived a long happy life here. I considered taking its hide, almost out of a sense of obligation to not have it feel like a waste, but it wasn’t particularly nice, given the time of year.
I took the photos and went to my hunting blind for an evening sit and reflected on the days events. I learned that if I’m not going to be a better shooter, perhaps I’d better up my ammo count to 6. Next time I see coyote, I am going to take more time to observe them. I can’t imagine the two of them could have taken down a grown mule deer buck, but they sure looked like they were aiming to try. I wouldn’t say I feel bad about shooting a coyote, and I certainly plan on shooting more. However, some small part of me has to at least respect the plight of the coyote, they haven’t many friends in this lonely world and they’re just out there hunting, like I am. The only difference is, if they aren’t successful, they dont survive. Maybe its because I miss my old dog, or maybe its my recent time in Nepal surrounded by Buddhists that has softened me. I guess I’m of two minds, or just a hypocrite, but I feel bad for the coyotes while actively hunting them… and I doubt I’ll ever change.
Posted in Hunting and tagged Alberta, hunting, Outdoorswith 1 comment.