Holiday

Back to Biratnagar airport, where a furtive leap onto the baggage scales reveals either that they are grossly inaccurate or that we have lost more weight. From the traffic congested roads, department stores and supermarkets of Kathmandu, we ventured 10km south and arrived at the dusty, rusty bus stop of Bungamati, where we entered an almost mediaeval world. A walk up into the hills through terraced rice paddy and stands of bamboo gave a dramatic view of wooded hills leading up to the Himalaya. Small groups of women, bent double under huge loads of firewood and animal fodder trudged barefoot back to town. The many streets are lined with traditional three storey brick built Newari houses with intricately carved wooden balconies and windows, festooned with drying maize cobs. Ducks, chickens, dogs and cats with new families roamed everywhere. No motorised transport and few bicycles. Courtyards led into more courtyards lush with tropical plants, drying mats of chillies, small Hindu shrines, and children flying kites. The main square has a magnificent Sikhari temple, accessed through a huge gateway guarded by enormous stone lions, and leading down to narrow streets where women were sorting grain and making clay pots while many men were engaged in traditional wood carving. There were no outward signs of tourism – or indeed modern civilisation, inspite of the proximity to Kathmandu.
On Tuesday we arrived at the bus station at 7am for the “5 hour scenic journey by luxury coach” to Pokhara. The coach is comfortable, the weather is grim and the journey lasts for 11 hours. We spent the first hour stuck in Kathmandu traffic and the next 3 hours getting out of the valley around 3 horrendous accidents that had blocked the road and stopped the traffic. After more than 6 hours we reached the halfway (100km) lunch stop. The last kilometer was blocked by yet another accident, so the driver attempted a back route along a track that eventually petered out into a swamp and the bus got stuck under the branches of a huge tree. We walked the last 200 meters through steady rain and thick mud, while the driver extricated the bus from the swamp/tree. Spirits were revived by daal bhat, arrival of bus, clearance of road, lifting of cloud and stunning views of Annapurna and Machupuchhare as we eventually sped towards Pokhara. We arrived at our hotel as the sun was setting, with apricot tinged mountains reflected in Phewa Lake.
The next morning we set off for Naya Pul and the start of our trek, with a sprightly Dutti (the guide) and Baburam weighed down under our bag. We had to negotiate huge herds of woolly legged mountain sheep and goats with gaily painted horns being driven into Pokhara to be sold for Dashain (and slaughtered). We learn quickly that there is no flat in the Himalaya; a gentle ascent led to a steep descent to a valley with a bubbling milky white river over sparkling granite rocks, then up through forest dripping with epiphytes and singing with insects. Butterflies from tiny lilacs to velvet blues the size of bats fluttered in and out of the sunlight. After 5 hours we began the final punishing ascent up nearly 4000 stone ‘steps’ to Ulleri, where we were rewarded by stunning views of Annapurna South, a hot shower, large amounts of carbohydrate and a comfortable bed.
Day 2 was a steady uphill for nearly 5 hours, with the weather getting noticeably cooler and the forests becoming quiet and darker. We crossed many thundering rivers on stout iron bridges, different from the rather alarming bundles of twigs I remember from my last trek here. We overtake and are overtaken by many mule trains, transporting goods (mostly to feed tourists) up into the mountains. By the time we arrive at ‘The Sunny Hotel’ in Ghorepani, the sun has disappeared and it is cold. The rooms are named after international sports people. We are in ‘Tiger Woods’, with breathtaking views from Dhaulgiri to Annapurna. There is a warm dining room and extensive menu, with hot soup, lots of Tibetan bread and tasty yak cheese. The next day we climbed Poon Hill (3210m), avoiding those who rose at 4:30am to get to the summit for the sunrise. The view was just as good at 8am and it was silent and sunny. We were told that the next day would be downhill. It started with a rapid ascent of Gurung Hill before plunging into a deep valley and up the other side. This pattern continued for several exhausting hours until we arrived in Tadopani, shrouded in mist, with light rain falling. What seemed likely to be a very long afternoon and evening was enlivened by hot bowls of soup on a charcoal heated table surrounded by Tibetan carpets in which to wrap one’s legs and the lifting of the cloud to reveal the sunset over Machupuchhare. In the evening we were invited to a spontaneous singing and dancing Nepali Dashain party. The descent through the forest to the interesting Gurung village of Gharnruk was lovely, especially when we reached the butterfly and langur monkey belt. All the villages have erected huge bamboo swings for the children to play on over the holiday. Our last full day took us to Biretanthi; some very steep downhill was difficult for David’s collapsing knee, necessitating crossing the bamboo poles over a raging river and a landslide on his bottom.
Back in Pokhara, I had my first hot bath for 7 months, and we had a relaxing day by the lake, although disappointed by no mountain views, before flying back to Kathmandu. After a day in Kathmandu, spent mostly in the beautifully restored neo-classical ‘Garden of Dreams’ and eating dinner with friends in a traditional Newari house, we returned to Biratnagar. The security woman at the airport was bemused by the bottles of olives, pesto and balsamic vinegar that she discovered rolled in the dirty T-shirts at the bottom of my rucksack.