Asian Journal - Chapter 5 - In the kingdom of the Gods (April 2000)
“I salute the God within you” or “Namaste!” as they say in Nepal! Getting on that jet plane from Bangkok to Kathmandu has to have been one of the happiest flights of my life. Not only was I glad to finally be leaving Thailand but I was now almost within reach of one of my lifetime goals – Nepal. With its holy cows wandering the streets and Buddhist carvings in every nook & cranny, Kathmandu was everything I was expecting, and a whole lot more! No more aggressive taxi driver’s, just very friendly faces wishing you “Namaste” every which way you turn. Getting to grips with the city took a bit of time as none of the streets were named, so I spent my first day repeatedly getting lost then finding myself on the steps of another magnificent Stompa or Gumpa decked with colourful Buddist prayer flags. It seems plenty of lost people come to Nepal to ‘find’ themselves, and the place certainly has its fair share of travellers looking for spiritual enlightenment. A hang over from Nepal’s backpacker roots, as getting high (both in the chemical and physical sense of the word) was the original form of tourism. I arrived in Nepal just in time to celebrate Nepalese New Year, the main festival of which takes place in Bakthurpur about an hour out of Kathmandu. I’d met up with a German guy so together we took the bus over and joined in the party, and some party it was! 50,000 Nepalese, mostly men and mostly drunk crowded into the old city for the day and then a good percentage of these took part in the age old Nepalese tradition of street fighting to welcome in the New Year! Things got a little hairy to say the least and I was more than pleased I’d found a tall European guy to hide behind. When things got a little to scary we decided to head back to Kathmandu, only to find all the bus drivers had had their fair share of merriment leaving us stuck in town. Next morning saw the town in ruins and I was surprised to hear only 3 people were killed the night before, but apparently that’s a normal start to New Year in Nepal and otherwise the year 2057 started without a hitch! Having had more than enough of crowds I decided it was time to leave the city and head for the hills so packed the rucksack and took the bus West. Situated at the base of the awesome Annapurna Mountains alongside a beautiful lake, Pokhara is a wonderful place to chill out for a couple of days, which is exactly what I did. Whilst mooching around the town I met up with Giles from Bristol who planned to do roughly the same trek as me, so over a couple of litres of lemon tea a plan was hatched. Neither of us wanted to trek by ourselves due to the recent upsurge in Maoist activity in the area. A couple of the tourist hotels in town had been the victims of armed assaults in the previous week and there were reports of further attacks in the woods so everyone was more than a little nervous. The Maoists had already spoilt my plans once by attacking a rafting group out on the Karnali River and therefore making the area too dangerous to enter so I wasn’t about to let them interfere with my trekking! Having spoken to a local guide we planned a route that would take us from Pokhara at just over 800m, up the Kali Gandaki River route used by Maurice Herzog in1950 and into the Annapurna Mountains. From here we’d continue to climb until we reached Muktinath, our highest possible point at just below 4,000m. After spending a day or too acclimatising ourselves there we would then drop down a way and go up into the Annapurna Sanctuary which is a natural amphitheatre in the mountains with access to the Annapurna Base Camp at just over 4,000m. This route had been closed for the last 2 weeks as avalanches had blocked the pass, but we’d been given the all clear by the mountain guide so off we set. The first part of the journey entailed a gruelling 4-hour taxi ride into the mountains to Beni from where we’d commence trekking. Two hours into the trip I was close to vomiting and bleeding from where my head kept hitting the roof of the car! This was not how things were supposed to happen, but finally we arrived in Beni and the trip began for real. Over the next 5 days we climbed slowly and steadily through stunning forests and terraced farmland with snow-covered peaks towering over us. The weather was with us and most of the 12Kg I was carrying was water to avoid dehydration under the blazing sun. The remaining weight was 90% Snickers bars to supplement the mountain stable diet of Dal Bhat (a rice and curried vegetable dish that manages to be unbelievable bland!) On day 6 the scenery changed dramatically as we climbed above the tree line and out onto the mountain desert. The wind howled about us making standing up difficult even without my pack and when we were least expecting it we were pebbledashed with stones from the dry river bed we trekked along. Giles was now starting to suffer from the altitude and as we reached 2,500m he became lethargic and coughed up blood. After a good night’s rest he was convinced he’d be OK so we walked on. The last part of our route involved a climb of over 1,000m in just 3 hours and at this point Giles had had enough. We found ourselves a place to stay for the night and took some well-needed rest. Although I seemed to be escaping the effects of altitude, effort of any kind at this height was difficult. Next day we awoke at our normal hour of 5.30am to find crystal clear blue skies. The mountains shone as the first light hit them and we both happily spun off roll after roll of film in the hope of being able to capture some of the beauty. One thing photos will never be able to do is give the feeling of being stood at that height watching the world wake before you. Giles now needed to get down a couple of hundred metres to try and clear his head and as we walked it became obvious he would not be able to handle the Sanctuary trek with altitudes of over 4,000m. I was somewhat disappointed at not being able to get up to the Annapurna Base Camp but I’d been lucky so far and if we flew down from Jomsom rather than walking back I realised I’d have time to go white water rafting before I left Nepal. The flights were booked and at 6.30am we descended upon Jomson airport to catch one of the tiny planes back down to Pokhara. As the wind, which hit us on our way up, tends to build during the day there are only 4 flights out of the mountains each morning and these are very much dependant on the weather conditions, but this was another perfect morning so we had no worries as we watched the aircraft come in to land. First priority each morning goes to the rescue helicopters that come up to airlift those with AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) or other injuries. We boarded as these took off down the mountain and watched them climb over the nearest peak as we taxied down the unsealed runway. I didn’t know whether to be terrified or excited as we banked sharply and another snow covered crag loomed what seemed like metres from the window, but after a serious of stomach churning manoeuvres we were clear of the highest peaks and climbing fast. The flight to Pokhara takes only 15 minutes so both Giles and I began to wonder what was happening when 50 minutes into the flight we were still thousands of feet above the earth. Being only a 12-seater plane we could both see out of the cockpit window and started to grow more and more confused when we saw a large well lit runway spread out before us with huge aircraft at a terminal on the ground below. This wasn’t Pokhara! When the engines stopped and the noise fell away to just the ringing in our ears the pilot turned around and in Nepali embarked on a long explanation of which the only words the could understand were “diesel” and “China”. This was all very strange. Were we in China??? The 6 or so Nepalese people on the plane where obviously un-nerved so to pacify them the co-pilot them produced a piece of paper on which he drew some mountains, some clouds and a little aeroplane above the clouds. At this point I was on the floor in fits of laughter. Giles was doing Rolf Harris style “Do you know where we are yet?” impressions as the co-pilot continued to add detail to his sketch (birds and a smiley sun), and the Nepalese stared at me thinking I was a crazed woman! Surely we couldn't be in China...Eventually another man got on the cramped craft and explained in broken English that as the weather had suddenly closed in at Pokhara and the aircraft had no tracking or radar equipment other than the pilots eyes we’d had to fly on to Kathmandu as we were dangerously low on fuel. We were both somewhat relieved to learn “China” or a similar sounding word is Nepali for empty, so we could relax and forget about having to get ourselves out of an incredibly unwelcoming country. However, I was more than a little annoyed as I’d left a bag of kit in Pokhara, which I wanted to collect before I took the 7-hour bus journey back to Kathmandu. Now I was going to have to wait until we could fly back to Pokhara then turn round and get the bus straight back! Luckily wait didn’t take too long and by 11am we’d touched down safely at our intended destination. Hot showers and plenty of them were top of our priority list and after a good scrub and some clean clothes we were able to sit back and relax in comfort for the first time in 9 days. The 7-hour bus trip back to Kathmandu wasn’t as much fun as the flight but passed quick enough and I’m now preparing myself mentally for the next part of my Nepali adventure, rafting! As I didn’t get to climb to the Base Camp I’m treating myself to a couple of days on some of the best white water the world has to offer. Just 15Km from the Tibetan border the Bhote Kosi is the steepest river in Nepal and is normally graded between a III and a V (VI being dangerously impossible). However when I checked in with the rafting company a couple of hours ago the early monsoon rains had pushed the rating up to V in places so its going to be a very wet and wild time! Now I must push off and by one of those waterproof cameras. Something tells me there are going to be some definite photo opportunities over the next 48 hours!
Sunday, April 16, 2000
Asian Journal - Chapter 7 - Indian Summer (April 2000)
As I’d never really wanted to go to India I’d not planned to spend any longer in Delhi than it takes to transfer from one flight to another, but over the past couple of months I’d spoken to countless travellers who’d persuaded me to make the effort to see some more of the country.Having no information on travelling in India I found myself sweltering in the mid-summer heat, with daily temperatures easily reaching 40c. This heat, combined with the pollution, stench and general squalor of the city streets gives Delhi its own atmosphere. A feeling that can only be described awesome. An over-powering sensual attack that’s uniquely India.I spent Two days exploring both Old and New Delhi. Stunned by the architecture, choked by the rancid smell of stale urine and constantly surprised by scenes of daily street life. In some other cities I’ve felt like I’ve only scratched the surface but in Delhi I felt instantly immersed, and whilst being swept along I came closer to Indian life and culture, simply through osmosis.After 48-hrs I was ready for a break, and caught an early train SouthWest to the ancient city of Jaipur.As the capital of Rajasthan, Jaipur has a totally different feel from that of Delhi. Walking along its streets was like stepping back in time with camels pulling laden carts, women veiled from head to toe and holy cows aimlessly wandering to and fro. I was woken early by the wild peacocks high in the hotel garden trees and set out to find a driver to help me explore the city.After hours of argueing, first about the agenda, then the price, and finally the number of commission paying shops I could be dragged round I struck a deal with the rickshaw-wallah and we set of towards the ancient city of Amber. High in the desert hills 20 Kms from Jaipur stands the beautiful Amber Palace, overlooked and protected from historic troubles by Amber Fort. Although this was the off-season for tourists there were still a few Indian holiday makers exploring the grounds and buildings of the palace and seeking shade in the walled garden below, but as climbed past the Palace and on up to the Fort the crowds began to thin out. Shortly I found myself alone on the dusty path an unsure whether I should be watching the desert plains spill out before me or the bushes for ill intent Indians.On a couple of occasions whilst I’ve been travelling I’ve had some trouble being a single female and these times have always been preceded by an unnerving feeling of fear, not unlike the one I was experiencing now. My instincts didn’t betray me and around the corner came a group of 5 adolescent Indian boys. Loud, bulshy and focused on me. It’s a times like this that I wished I had one of the following: a very convincing replica gun, in-depth knowledge of at least 3 martial arts, one of those clouds Monkey has which whisks him away from various situation. The sky being crystal clear I reached for my only weapon, 1-litre of India’s finest bottled water. Held cap end and swung meaningfully it offered my first and only line of defence. As our paths crossed one of the boys suddenly darted straight for me in what I believe was more of an attempt to scare me than harm me, but I wasn’t taking any chances and the bottle let out a satisfying smack as it made contact with his arm. My next worry was if they reciprocated the attack, but they strode on, no doubt chuffed at having scared the pants of me. I climbed on and hastily explored the fort very conscious of being totally isolated and also somewhat at siege as both the boys and I knew there was only one route in and out of the site.I climbed to the highest part of the old wall and through the ramparts confirmed my worst fear. Up the path were coming the same 5 guys. Option 1 – Hide somewhere near the entrance gate and slip out once they’d come inOption 2 – Arm myself with a couple of decent rocks and head straight for themI knew that I was better off outside the ruins in the open so grabbed a couple of chunks of the local sandstone and set of towards them, as confidently as possible.I’m not sure why I did it but I started banging the stones together, just in a nonchalant manner but it had the effect of letting these shits know I wasn’t going to scared again. As our paths crossed for the second time and the distance between us grew I turned back and the anxiety and fear escaped me in a string of abusive insults, aimed directly at India’s over-attentive males.With all my senses set to sensitive my driver and I spent the rest of the day exploring Jaipur and its countless markets and museums. The temperature was at 48c for most of the day, I was tired, filthy and still somewhat nervous following the Fort fiasco but I’d fallen in love with the place and was sad to have to leave so soon for Agra.Home of the Taj Mahal and just 3 hours from Delhi by train Agra is possibly one of the most visited cities in India, and the rickshaw drivers know it! The Lonely Planet and guest house visitors books are peppered with tales of dodgy drivers who refuse to take you anyway useful and instead drag you round various craft shops, of which they’re all on commission from. Having already been through Bangkok I was more than prepared for this kind of behaviour and made damn sure I wasn’t going to fall victim to their foul play. One thing I wasn’t prepared for was the water scam. Indians are a resourceful race, but not totally ethical and me being naive to their ways thought I’d be safe if I stuck to bottled water. Having walked across a bridge earlier in the day and seen the bloated body of a child in the river below I certainly wasn’t going to be touching the local H2O, but gulped merrily on the WHO certified aqua in the bottle before me. The heat in Agra was appauling. Close to 50c, and with the air-con in the room it didn’t get much below 45c but I was oblivious to this as I rang to reception for extra blankets and more towels. I was sick. I was learning the hard way that most bottled water is filled from the tap in the street then sealed in a dodgy workshop just 100m away.Having spent almost 3 months travelling without more than a cold I couldn’t believe that just 3 days before I flew home I was now prisoner in my own hotel room, not able to move further than 2 feet from either the bathroom or the bed. Days and nights merged as I discovered why there was a bucket next to the toilet and none of the coloured pills in my first-aid kit worked. After 48hrs of hell, broken only by visits from the receptionist to ensure I was still breathing I felt strong enough to leave the room and venture up to the roof to catch the magnificent Taj Mahal as the sun set.Having not eaten for 3 days and with the temperature still rising I spent the next day sitting quietly in the grounds of the Taj watching as the sun changed the colour of the marble and Indian life play out before me. Old women in beautiful saris hobbled through the beautiful gardens, young Indian girls in western dress posed Diana style for photos and groups of overweight European package tourists waddled about sweating profusely and video-ing everything. I admit I spent more time people watching than I did admiring the vista before me but it sure made for interesting viewing.3-hours later I was back in the YWCA Delhi desperately trying to cram clothes into my rucksac and contemplating food for the first time in a while. 6 hours on and courtesy of Lufthansa I’m 30,000ft above the city on my way to Europe. My Asian explorations were over, for the time being.
As I’d never really wanted to go to India I’d not planned to spend any longer in Delhi than it takes to transfer from one flight to another, but over the past couple of months I’d spoken to countless travellers who’d persuaded me to make the effort to see some more of the country.Having no information on travelling in India I found myself sweltering in the mid-summer heat, with daily temperatures easily reaching 40c. This heat, combined with the pollution, stench and general squalor of the city streets gives Delhi its own atmosphere. A feeling that can only be described awesome. An over-powering sensual attack that’s uniquely India.I spent Two days exploring both Old and New Delhi. Stunned by the architecture, choked by the rancid smell of stale urine and constantly surprised by scenes of daily street life. In some other cities I’ve felt like I’ve only scratched the surface but in Delhi I felt instantly immersed, and whilst being swept along I came closer to Indian life and culture, simply through osmosis.After 48-hrs I was ready for a break, and caught an early train SouthWest to the ancient city of Jaipur.As the capital of Rajasthan, Jaipur has a totally different feel from that of Delhi. Walking along its streets was like stepping back in time with camels pulling laden carts, women veiled from head to toe and holy cows aimlessly wandering to and fro. I was woken early by the wild peacocks high in the hotel garden trees and set out to find a driver to help me explore the city.After hours of argueing, first about the agenda, then the price, and finally the number of commission paying shops I could be dragged round I struck a deal with the rickshaw-wallah and we set of towards the ancient city of Amber. High in the desert hills 20 Kms from Jaipur stands the beautiful Amber Palace, overlooked and protected from historic troubles by Amber Fort. Although this was the off-season for tourists there were still a few Indian holiday makers exploring the grounds and buildings of the palace and seeking shade in the walled garden below, but as climbed past the Palace and on up to the Fort the crowds began to thin out. Shortly I found myself alone on the dusty path an unsure whether I should be watching the desert plains spill out before me or the bushes for ill intent Indians.On a couple of occasions whilst I’ve been travelling I’ve had some trouble being a single female and these times have always been preceded by an unnerving feeling of fear, not unlike the one I was experiencing now. My instincts didn’t betray me and around the corner came a group of 5 adolescent Indian boys. Loud, bulshy and focused on me. It’s a times like this that I wished I had one of the following: a very convincing replica gun, in-depth knowledge of at least 3 martial arts, one of those clouds Monkey has which whisks him away from various situation. The sky being crystal clear I reached for my only weapon, 1-litre of India’s finest bottled water. Held cap end and swung meaningfully it offered my first and only line of defence. As our paths crossed one of the boys suddenly darted straight for me in what I believe was more of an attempt to scare me than harm me, but I wasn’t taking any chances and the bottle let out a satisfying smack as it made contact with his arm. My next worry was if they reciprocated the attack, but they strode on, no doubt chuffed at having scared the pants of me. I climbed on and hastily explored the fort very conscious of being totally isolated and also somewhat at siege as both the boys and I knew there was only one route in and out of the site.I climbed to the highest part of the old wall and through the ramparts confirmed my worst fear. Up the path were coming the same 5 guys. Option 1 – Hide somewhere near the entrance gate and slip out once they’d come inOption 2 – Arm myself with a couple of decent rocks and head straight for themI knew that I was better off outside the ruins in the open so grabbed a couple of chunks of the local sandstone and set of towards them, as confidently as possible.I’m not sure why I did it but I started banging the stones together, just in a nonchalant manner but it had the effect of letting these shits know I wasn’t going to scared again. As our paths crossed for the second time and the distance between us grew I turned back and the anxiety and fear escaped me in a string of abusive insults, aimed directly at India’s over-attentive males.With all my senses set to sensitive my driver and I spent the rest of the day exploring Jaipur and its countless markets and museums. The temperature was at 48c for most of the day, I was tired, filthy and still somewhat nervous following the Fort fiasco but I’d fallen in love with the place and was sad to have to leave so soon for Agra.Home of the Taj Mahal and just 3 hours from Delhi by train Agra is possibly one of the most visited cities in India, and the rickshaw drivers know it! The Lonely Planet and guest house visitors books are peppered with tales of dodgy drivers who refuse to take you anyway useful and instead drag you round various craft shops, of which they’re all on commission from. Having already been through Bangkok I was more than prepared for this kind of behaviour and made damn sure I wasn’t going to fall victim to their foul play. One thing I wasn’t prepared for was the water scam. Indians are a resourceful race, but not totally ethical and me being naive to their ways thought I’d be safe if I stuck to bottled water. Having walked across a bridge earlier in the day and seen the bloated body of a child in the river below I certainly wasn’t going to be touching the local H2O, but gulped merrily on the WHO certified aqua in the bottle before me. The heat in Agra was appauling. Close to 50c, and with the air-con in the room it didn’t get much below 45c but I was oblivious to this as I rang to reception for extra blankets and more towels. I was sick. I was learning the hard way that most bottled water is filled from the tap in the street then sealed in a dodgy workshop just 100m away.Having spent almost 3 months travelling without more than a cold I couldn’t believe that just 3 days before I flew home I was now prisoner in my own hotel room, not able to move further than 2 feet from either the bathroom or the bed. Days and nights merged as I discovered why there was a bucket next to the toilet and none of the coloured pills in my first-aid kit worked. After 48hrs of hell, broken only by visits from the receptionist to ensure I was still breathing I felt strong enough to leave the room and venture up to the roof to catch the magnificent Taj Mahal as the sun set.Having not eaten for 3 days and with the temperature still rising I spent the next day sitting quietly in the grounds of the Taj watching as the sun changed the colour of the marble and Indian life play out before me. Old women in beautiful saris hobbled through the beautiful gardens, young Indian girls in western dress posed Diana style for photos and groups of overweight European package tourists waddled about sweating profusely and video-ing everything. I admit I spent more time people watching than I did admiring the vista before me but it sure made for interesting viewing.3-hours later I was back in the YWCA Delhi desperately trying to cram clothes into my rucksac and contemplating food for the first time in a while. 6 hours on and courtesy of Lufthansa I’m 30,000ft above the city on my way to Europe. My Asian explorations were over, for the time being.
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