Return to Kathmandu, plus Pokhara

Kathmandu II: Monday 21/5 – Friday 25/5

Almost as soon I arrived in Kathmandu, checked back into a hotel and had a shower, I checked the Internet. To my surprise, there was a Facebook message from Tristan, who I worked with back in Perth, saying that he was in Kathmandu and wondering if I was too. So we arranged to go for drinks at an Irish pub, where I ordered a Guinness. It turned out to be the very last Guinness they had left, thanks to the strikes. The Irish pub was a bit noisy and smokey, so we ended up moving on to Sam’s Bar – definitely my favourite pub in Kathmandu. Shortly after we arrived, there was a voice calling out my name from behind. It was Soffia, who I’d met in Malaysia back in January. The world is indeed very small. Soffia was there with a number of friends she knew through volunteer work she was doing at an orphanage. This pretty much set the theme for my return to Kathmandu, which ended up being quite social and more than a little bit alcoholic.

Tuesday morning, crawled out of bed, went to get breakfast and discovered that all of Kathmandu appeared to be shut. Of course: strikes were still going on, and it wasn’t just transport that was affected. Fortunately, a few places were still open. It was easy enough to find somewhere to eat, even easier to find a dodgy chap wanting to sell you hash, but the travel agent where I’d booked my Tibet tour had its shutters down. I did manage to re-book my bungy jumping trip for Thursday – the one which would have been doing the day before I left for trekking if I hadn’t I’d slept through it.

Fortunately, by Wednesday the strikes had stopped. But when I went to check on the status of my Tibet tour, the news was not so great: the Chinese had made it yet more difficult again to get Tibet permits, and unless the rules changed again in my favour, it was incredibly unlikely that I’d get one. I decided to cancel the trip and get a refund rather than keep waiting.

HARVEY FRESH / WESTERN AUSTRALIAN MILK (seen at New Orleans cafe in Kathmandu)

Bungy jumping was a fantastic experience. I opted to do both the canyon swing and the bungy jump, and I’m glad I did. The canyon swing was first. It was pretty unnerving to just walk off a small platform and into thin air, 160 metres above a river. Sure, you’ve got a harness around you and you’re holding onto a rope, but there’s an instinctive part of the brain that is very, very certain that this is still a rather bad idea and the supposedly-rational side of my brain had a hard time taking back control of my legs.

And then I was falling. This lasted for what seemed like forever, though according to the people running it, you’re only in freefall for 6.5 seconds. Once my brain had adjusted to this, there were amazing views along the gorge. The actual bungy jumping was even more exhilarating, if less scenic, because the forces acting on you are even stronger. You jump off the platform, then you’re upside, then you’re the right way up again, and with each bounce you’re very briefly in a period of “anti-gravity” where all the forces acting on you cancel each other out. But it’s over very quickly, and then you’re grabbing onto the bamboo poles on the ground and returning to a more normal experience of gravity.

Bungy jumping at The Last Resort. Don’t look down, they said. I looked down.

On Friday night, I was once again at Sam’s Bar and got a bit of a surprise when Tristan and his partner Kim wandered in. Perthed in Kathmandu, twice! Never mind that I had an early morning bus to Pokhara booked, I didn’t get to bed until around 1am.

Pokhara: Saturday 26/5 – Thursday 31/5

After a few hours of uneasy sleep, I woke up at 5am to pack for Pokhara and at 6:15am I was out of the hotel and on my way to the bus stop. The bus was relatively nice by Nepali standards but there was no way I could sleep on way with the bumpy tarmac meaning that I occasionally discovered myself airborne. We arrived a little after 2pm and abandoning my usual refusal to go to places recommended by taxi drivers, I followed the dude’s recommended “your taxi is free if you go to my friend’s hotel” place. It turned out to be quite decent, just south of central Lakeside, free wi-fi and only $5 per night. I checked in and collapsed in exhaustion for a few hours.

Pokhara wasn’t the best time I’ve ever had. It was approaching monsoon season, so it was humid and most afternoons and early evening there would be heavy rain, often thunderstorms. This is wonderful when you’re inside a bar drinking cheap cocktails or at a restaurant chowing down tasty food, but not really conducive to doing very much outdoors. The usual touristy things to do in Pokhara are horse riding and paragliding, neither of which really appealed to me. There was a four-day trek to Poon Hill which, in retrospect, would have been a more enjoyable way to spend my time in the area, but I would have had to have started planning it back when my feet were still blistered and my knees and legs resistant to any form of movement.

Beetroot salad at Moondance Cafe in Pokhara. Not bad, but nowhere near as good as the “Rooted” salad at Wild Fig in Marmion!

Foreshore of Phewa Tal, Pokhara

Drinking two-for-the-price-of-one cocktails at Busy Bee Cafe

Windy afternoon, just before the rain started pounding down

On Thursday I caught the bus back to Kathmandu for one last day there before flying to Thailand, the final country in my adventure.

Kathmandu III: Friday 1/6

Back when I first arrived in Nepal and was trying to make plans to go trekking, I looked on trekkingpartners.com to see if there was anyone else interested in doing the Langtang/Gosainkund treks at the same time I was. I exchanged a few emails with an American named Joanna who wanted to the same trek, but our schedules didn’t quite work out. We get along quite well via email, though, and had each done quite a bit of travel in places the other wanted to go, so arranged to have dinner instead.

So I stayed an extra night in Kathmandu rather than flying straight to Bangkok so that I could have dinner with a woman I met on the Internet. As it turned out, we actually got along even better than either of us expected, and it was sad to have to say goodbye after spending just a few hours together. I feel that there should be some kind of moral to this story, but have no idea what it is. Oh well. Yay for new Internet friends, anyway.

Updated Map!

I’ve just updated my map of where I’ve been to show my travels through Nepal, including a rough approximation of the trekking route.

Langtang and Gosainkund Trekking, part two

This piece continues on from part one, the first week of the Langtang Trek.

While writing this, it also occurred to me that I left out an important detail from my post from Darjeeling: on the jeep ride back to Darjeeling from the Singalila Ridge Trek, I saw a red panda! The driver spotted it by the side of the road, stopped the car, and everyone quickly got out to have a look at it. Absolutely beautiful animals. I didn’t realise quite how rare it was to encounter one until someone else’s trekking guide mentioned over dinner one night that even the locals might only see one every few years.

Day Eight: Wednesday 16/5
Thulo Syabru (2250m) – Sing Gompa (3250m)

I set off with the intention of reaching Laurebina, 2-3 hours past Sing Gompa, but soon discovered that I was very tired and hurt, well, everywhere: knees, shoulders and feet at any rate. The trail was ridiculously steep heading out of Thulo Syabru and continued that way for most of the rest of the day. For most of the day, I was walking through pine forests. Wonderful forest smells!

On arrival at Sing Gompa, I decided to try a seabuckthorn juice, which I’d seen on menus of a number of places in the mountains, but had no idea what it was like or even what a seabuckthorn was. But hey, I’d tried and enjoyed yak curd the day before, so how bad could it? It was okay. Sweet but also slightly tart, like lemon or grapefruit.

I also met Jezza and Izzy, a couple from Queensland. That’s Jeremy and Isobel for those who don’t speak Australian. It felt almost like being home to be hanging out with Aussies again, and I ended up trekking with them the next day.

4 hours walking, 2 hours resting.

Thirst-Pi, mathematicians’ bottled water of choice

Wind-powered prayer wheels

Inside Sing Gompa monastery

Day Nine: Thursday 17/5
Sing Gompa (3250m) – Gosainkund (4380m)

Another steep, up-hill kind of day. Walked with Jezza and Izzy up to Gosainkund, through and out of the pine forests and above the tree line where the mountains are rugged and not much grows. As we looked around we could see far-off mountain peaks, Ganesh Himal and the Langtang. Up up up! Eventually we could see Gosainkund lake and the town just above it. About half an hour from Gosainkund, Jeremy started to feel a bit dizzy from the elevation. He was a tough Aussie bloke so didn’t say anything, just dropped to the back of the group and fell progressively further behind until either Isobel or I looked back, realised and waited for him. In the end, he made it there okay and was feeling better the next morning.

On the way up, I bought a slightly ridiculous-looking woolen Nepali hat. It cost less than my lunch and successfully kept my ears warm. Maybe it’ll be handy in Melbourne, too.

Gosainkund is a town set on the shore of a lake – “kund” meaning “lake” – and there are a number of other lakes adjacent to it. It’s a holy site in Hindu mythology, for reasons which I can’t recall exactly, and this trek is a fairly common pilgrimage route. It’s also beautiful. In the evening, around sunset, clouds started to roll in over the lake. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera on me when I noticed this, and was feeling too lazy to go and get it; I would have had to leave my warm seat by the fire and go back to my freezing cold room. In the morning, it was still and clear, and there were absolutely beautiful reflections of the mountains on the lake. Apparently the lake had only just thawed, and a month or so ago you could walk across it!

5 hours walking, 2 hours resting.

I LOVE YOU

Fungus Amongus

Isobel on the steep path to Gosainkund

Day Ten: Friday 18/5
Gosainkund (4380m) – Laurebina Pass (4610m) – Ghopte (3430m) – Tharepati (3690m)

Said goodbye to the Queenslanders in the morning. They turned back to return the way they came from, while I continued south to do the Helambu trek, which takes a day longer. Lots of ups and downs today. When I got to the top of Laurebina Pass, the highest point in my fortnight’s trekking, I found a group of Israelis stopped for breakfast. They offered me a cup of coffee (real freshly-brewed Israeli coffee, not instant!) and we stayed chatting for a while. From there, it was downhill to Phedi, and trees started reappearing again. After there, it got quite foggy and started drizzling, so I don’t have many photos for the rest of the afternoon. After Phedi, it looked mostly flat or downhill on my map, but once again the countours deceived me. The trail kept going up and down and up and down, usually at an unpleasantly steep gradient regardless of direction.

When I arrived at Tharepati, the sky was a little bit clearer, with wonderful forest and mountain scenery. But shortly afterwards, distant sounds of thunder and storm clouds obscuring the far-off peaks again. The next morning, the skies were clear and blue again, and the view was spectacular.

6.5 hours walking, 1.5 hours resting.

Jezza setting up a time-lapse recording

Gosainkund Lake – clear morning reflection

Frozen lake, just past Gosainkund

Bamboo by the side of the trail

Afternoon fog

Day Eleven: Saturday 19/5
Tharepati (3690m) to Patichaur (approx 1000m)

Early – well, 7am – start now, hoping to get to Chisapani by the end of the day, and Kathmandu by the day after. Once again, descending through mountainous terrain to sparse forests, and hit the town of Gul Bhanjyang where I saw a vehicle track for the first time in ten days or so. I found myself a little bit off the trail on my way there, and didn’t end up going into the town itself. Instead I found myself on a rough jeep track going in the direction I was hoping for, and which a local assured me was the path to the next town.

I still don’t know if that initial path was the correct one or not. What I do know is that, as I wound my way around and down the hill, I stopped passing the places that were in my map, and started seeing vehicles for the first time since Syabrubesi: two motorbikes, a jeep and a bus. It seemed increasingly likely that I wasn’t on the right road, but I figured that since I was going down, I would eventually hit civilisation and be able to get a bus back to Kathmandu. I started seeing people working on fields by the side of the road; it may still be hilly countryside, but things grow here unlike where I’d been previously. One small boy yelled out “Hello! Give me money!” from the front of his house as I walked past. The trappings of Tibetan Buddhism – bright colours, prayer flags, prayer wheels – had given way to those of Hinduism. People looked more like Indians and the women had red tikas painted on their forehead.

After a few hours, I hit a river, a major (but still unsealed) road, and a small village that didn’t look particularly set up for tourists. I found a small shop that also advertised rooms being available, and ended up staying in what looked suspiciously like a child’s bedroom. I took out my map and the shopkeeper, who spoke fairly good English, pointed to the town of Mahankal. “Mahankal, that’s where we are!” A while later, it was clarified that Mahankal was the “big smoke” and we were in Patichaur, a few kilometres south. I asked if it was possible to get a bus or a taxi to Kathmandu tomorrow, and it turned out it wasn’t. There was a Nepal-wide transport strike, and there was no way to quickly get from anywhere to anywhere else.

It felt strange to be back in a place connected to the outside world by roads and hooked up to the electricity grid. I was reminded of the section of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance where they reach the west coast, having come from the mountains of Montana, and the people are described as busy, distracted, absorbed in their own thing, miserable on the morning commute. Obviously it’s not exactly like that in Nepal, but it’s still a different world from the isolation and quiet of the Himalayas.

Instead, I made plans to rejoin the trekking route. From Gul Bhanjyang where I got lost, I’d come south-east when I’d been planning to head almost due south. If I went south to the next village, half an hours’ walk away, I could take another track heading west and eventually end up on the Helambu Trek again, at roughly where I’d been intending to get to today.

6.5 hours walking, 2 hours resting.

Looking back at Tharepati

Bus with locals taking advantage of ‘Nepali air conditioning’

Day Twelve: Sunday 20/5
Patichaur (1000m) to Pati Bhanjyang (1830m)

Today, my mind was focused purely on the destination, but the universe conspired to keep me occupied with the journey. I set off at 6:40am from Patichaur for the town of Talamarang where the trail that took me back to the Helambu Trek began. After what felt like an interminable 2.5 hours of steep uphill climbing, I arrived at the village of Batase (pronounced “Battersea”, like the suburb of London). Near the top of the hill, or so I thought. As I arrived, a local guy offered to take me to his friend’s tea shop, which appeared to also serve as the school canteen: it was adjacent to the local school and a number of kids were buying drinks and sweets there. I had some tea and biscuits, and was offered a Nepali bride if I wanted one. I politely declined.

The next town was Thakani, where I’d hoped to stop for lunch. When I arrived, I asked an old man sitting outside his house if there was a tea house in the village. He said yes and pointed down one of the several trails heading out of town. After walking along the path for a while, no tea shop was evident. But it seemed to be going west, roughly the direction I wanted to be going in, so I kept at it. I was told at Batase that the path would be flat from Thakani onwards, but this path was definitely steep, alternating between going up and going down. This should have started ringing alarm bells in my head. Eventually I reached some farms, asked for directions, and they pointed me back the other way and along a minor side track. This process repeated itself a few times, and four hours later – three times longer than I was expecting it to take – I arrived at Pati Bhangjyang, back on the Helambu Trek again.

So, having managed to un-lose myself, I had a cup of tea, found a place to sleep, and ate a giant dinner. Once again, I’m in a town that’s joined by road to the outside world. It was so much nicer when I could stop moving and not be able to hear any human-related noises at all. But apart from that, everything is okay again, and – I promised myself – I’ll be in Kathmandu tomorrow afternoon.

7 hours walking, 2 hours resting.

Day Thirteen: Monday 21/5
Pati Bhanjyang (1830m) – Sundarijal (1460m) – Kathmandu (1400m)

Last day! Should be an easy one. There are three towns marked on the map between Pati Bhanjyang and Sundarijal, although one of them turned out to be just a bunch of prayer flags on top of a hill. At Sundarijal, there’s a big sealed road again, and it’s supposedly possible to get a taxi or a bus the rest of the way Kathmandu. Powered by tea and Snickers bars, I made it to Sundarijal in time a for a nice lunch of vegie chowmein. It cost about a quarter of what it would have up in the mountains.

4.5 hours walking, 1.5 hours resting.

Accommodation at Pati Bhangjyang

Leaving Chisapani – signs of civilisation: power lines and a road suitable for cars

Heading back along the empty road from Sundarijal to Kathmandu – not the most pleasant hike

As I was eating my lunch, I heard some disastrous news: the transport strike was still happening. It wasn’t possible to get to Kathmandu by any kind of motorised transport, no matter how much I was willing to pay, because a “strike” in Nepal means big mobs with a “we will tell your passengers to get out and then set fire to your vehicle” kind of attitude. Fortunately, it was only 18km to Kathmandu, and I was told it was an easy three-hour walk. I was tired, my legs didn’t want to move, and my feet were covered in blisters from walking for too many hours along steep paths for the last few days. But there was nothing else I could do, so I rested for a while in Sundarijal, and then pointed my legs south-west to Kathmandu.

After two hours of walking, I’d reached Bouddha. The blisters were getting worse. I was limping and every step was painful. I sat down for a rest, and then spotted some cycle rickshaws. The one mode of transport available to me that wasn’t powered by my own legs! I asked a driver if he could take me to Thamel, the tourist district of Kathmandu. He could. I was saved. Along the way, we gave free lifts to a couple of Nepalis. One hour later, just as we were approaching Thamel, there was a snapping sound, and the rickshaw slowed to a halt. The chain had broken. I got out, paid the driver 50% more than the agreed price out of pity, and hobbled into town. The adventure was over, and having arrived in Thamel, I could get what I wanted more than anything else in the world: some hash. No, wait, wrong ending. I mean: a hot shower and a comfotable bed.

Langtang and Gosainkund Trekking, part one

I recently spent two weeks hiking in the Langtang and Gosainkund regions. The route I took was a fairly common one: from Syabrubesi east to Gyanjin Gompa, a couple of days there doing day trips to try to see nearby glaciers, then back the way I came until the road forked and I headed south to Gosainkund and then along the Helambu trek to Sundarijal, just outside Kathmandu.

Day One: Wednesday 9/5
Kathmandu (1400 m) – Syabrubesi (1960 m) by bus

Woke up at 5am after not very much sleep, feeling a bit sorry for myself. Made it to the bus station in time for the bus ride of doom, which took ten hours to cover 120 km. Apparently the road now is in much better shape than it used to be, too. I’d hate to think what it was like previously. We were stationary for a couple of hours due to a broken down truck or bus in front of us, and later on had to stop to change a flat tyre. Despite these minor problems, we got there alive.

The highlight of the trip was definitely the half hour I spent riding on the bus roof with a dozen Nepalis, two chickens, and everybody else’s luggage. Fantastic views, no motion sickness, just a faint fear that – since I hadn’t managed to get myself comfortably wedged between the luggage on the roof racks before the bus started moving – I might fall off if I didn’t cling on to the bars for dear life.

Between the passengers on the seats, the passengers occupying the aisle of the bus, and the passengers on the roof, the bus seemed to be carrying 60-80 people at one point. By the end of the steep, windy route to Syabrubesi, the aisle of the bus was sticky was vomit. Some people were evidently not as lucky as I was at keeping their motion sickness under control.

From my very basic hotel room in Syabrubesi, I could see and hear the river that the Langtang Trek follows for most of its route, and just about make out where the road ended and the hiking trail began.

Day Two: Thursday 10/5
Syabrubesi (1960 m) – Lama Hotel (2340 m)

I slept in and was eventually on the move by 9:20. After getting slightly lost leaving Syabrubesi and then walked briskly uphill for what seemed like forever. The trail followed the river, first on one side and then the other, usually through forested areas. This trek has the most frequent and civilised teahouses of anywhere I’ve gone hiking – perhaps even more regularly spaced than you’ll find villages with pubs in England. Food is very expensive, as you might expect when very little grows here and everything has to be carried up by porters. Highlights of the day: seeing a group of mountain goats, getting stung by a nettle and rained on in the afternoon. As on most nights trekking, my dinner ended up being dahl bhat, the usual Nepali meal of all-you-can-eat rice, dahl and curry. The lodge I stayed at also advertised “German-style apple pie” which turned out to be very tasty indeed.

I realised later that after my first day’s walk, I was now higher than the highest mountain in Australia.

4.5 hours walking, 1.5 hours eating and resting.

Lunch stop: Bamboo Lodge

Day Three: Friday 11/5
Lama Hotel (2340 m) – Langtang Village (3430 m)

Another day spent initially walking alongside the river, getting higher and higher above it. More forests, lots of steep ups and downs, and by the afternoon I was starting to regularly encounter yaks. Some of the teahouse owners were suggesting I tried what sounded like “yuk good” – after a few seconds I realised they were saying “yak curd”. I stuck to more familiar-sounding items on the menu.

For most of the morning I had Green Day’s Boulevard of Broken Dreams stuck in my head, particularly the lines “My shadow’s the other one that walks besides me, / I walk alone”. But having said that, the Langtang Trek seems fairly popular, and I was regularly encountering other hikers, both going in the same direction as me (but usually more slowly) and coming towards me. Likewise there are always other people to talk to at the lodges when you stop at night. Considering that this is the off-season and, apparently, a lot less busy than the other Nepali “teahouse” treks, I’m quite glad I didn’t go for a more popular route like the Annapurna Circuit or Everest Base Camp.

On the way to Langtang were the usual teahouses and regular sight of Tibetan prayer flags. I also saw water-powered prayer wheels for the first time, which seemed to be a wonderful invention.

After arriving at Langtang, I went to the local bakery, which I referred to in my mind as “cheesebread” because that’s what was written on the roof in giant letters. Toast with melted yak cheese: yum. At dinner time, I discovered that “momos” here in the mountains were different from what I’d had everywhere else previously. Rather than steamed dumplings, they were more like Cornish pasties. Most lodges here offer snickers momos, which are similar in spirit to deep-fried Mars bars.

5 hours walking, 2 hours resting.

Cricket stumps set up at an army checkpoint

Porter carrying a giant quantity of straw

Cheese-bread at the Langtang bakeryd

Day Four: Saturday 12/5
Langtang Village (3430 m) – Gyanjin Gompa (3830 m)

Only a short hike today. After breakfast at “cheesebread”, and then an hour and a half talking to someone who arrived as I was eating, I set off up the hill to Gyanjin Gompa, which would become my base for the next few days of exploring the area. On the way there were more water-powered prayer wheels, and also long stretches of mane walls – big stone walls with Om Mane Padme Hum inscribed on them in Tibetan. For correct karma, these should always be walked past on the left, so that you’re conceptually passing them in a clockwise direction, just like other Tibetan Buddhist monuments.

On the way I met two American brothers from Oregon, named Brit and Scot (short for, bizarrely, Britain and Scotland), who I would spend the next couple of days trekking with. I also met a German guy and an English guy who were on a project to photograph glaciers around the world before global warming melted them.

After arriving at Gyanjin Gompa and resting for a while, I went to visit the local monastery – which was more like a tiny temple, with no permanent monk populated – made a donation and lit a yak butter candle.

In the evening it started raining, and then snowing. We were all grateful for a nice warm stove to huddle around at the lodge in the evening.

2 hours walking, much time relaxing – the elevation was beginning to catch up with me.

Mane wall

Water-powered prayer wheel

Hotel room view

Day Five: Sunday 13/5
Gyanjin Gompa (3830 m) – Chhalepochh (4260 m) and back

On Sunday, I’d decided to hike to Langtang Base Camp with Scot from Oregon and Kala from Kentucky. (Brit, the other Oregonian brother, was suffering from food poisoning and wasn’t able to join us.) We made a wrong turn trying to find the trail that led there, but Scot – who had a lot of hiking experience, including having done the Appalachian Trail and other other major long-distance routes in the USA – was confident that we’d be able to join up with right track “just over the ridge there”. After bush-bashing and occasionally rock-climbing along the ridge, looking down on the glacial valley from the opposite side we were originally expecting to be, we ended up at a small collection of stone huts marked as Chhalepochh on our map.

We’d hoped that we’d then be able to take the trail we’d originally intended to follow, but getting down the ridge, across the valley, and half-way up the ridge on the other side looked to be a little bit beyond us. (This is probably the point to mention that Scot’s nickname when hiking was “Not Dead So Far” due to his lack of preparation and gung-ho attitude.) Fortunately, there was at least a trail that led back towards Gyanjin Gompa which was much nicer than. It took four hours to get up, one hour to get back. We decided afterwards that our route probably had at least as good views as the trail we were trying to find, at was a much better adventure.

Got back to the lodge for a hearty meal and started re-reading A Fringe of Leaves, having finished the book on Tibetan history I’d been reading when I started the trek. The Kindle is probably the best thing ever invented for trekking – an almost unlimited supply of books for about the weight of a smaller-than-average paperback, with a battery that easily lasted the two weeks of the trek without needing to be recharged, even though most nights I was reading for hours.

HOT SHOWER & COLD

Steep path

Did you ever pat a yak?

Day Six: Monday 14/5
Gyanjin Gompa (3830 m) – Langsisa Kharka (4285 m) and back.

Said goodbye to Kala in the morning – she wasn’t planning on staying at Gyanjin Gompa for very long and was going back down the hill – and when went hiking up to Langsisa Kharka with Brit and Scot. We passed what looked like a lunar landscape – actually a dry river bed – and onwards through grassy hillside, a few abandoned stone huts (population: 7 yaks), and up the hill to the Khorka. Along the way there were incredible views of the whitest mountains I’ve ever seen, which turned out to be part of the Nepal-Tibet border. We underestimated the distance a bit: the owner of the guest house told us it was a six hour return trip, but it ended up being 5 hours up, 3.5 hours down, even moving fairly quickly.

On the way back we saw a herd of what we thought might have been ibex but probably wasn’t because there aren’t any in Nepal. Some kind of big four-legged creature that moved much faster and more gracefully than a yak, and wasn’t a mountain goat, anyway.

Scot and I somehow ended up being conned into carrying bags full of rocks back to Gyanjin Gompa for a Nepali woman. Initially I was trying to carry the back on my shoulder like the locals do, before deciding that putting it in my backpack was a slightly better option. My shoulders hurt for a few days afterwards.

Looking down to the valley

The big white mountain in the distance is the Tibet border

Day Seven: Tuesday 15/5
Gyanjin Gompa (3830 m) – Pahare Hotel (1680 m) – Thulo Syabru (2250 m)

Got up early and was moving by 7am. Long distance to walk – longer than in my original itinerary – from a combination of having spent a day longer at Gyanjin Gompa than originally expected, and one of the trekking lodges telling me over dinner the previous night that the distance I wanted to travel to not possible to do in a day. But I made it!

Between Gyanjin Gompa and Langtang I stopped for a cappuccino at Tip Top Guest House and Restaurant. It was a place that had obviously had Westerners help them with their marketing: quirky signage and menus, and even a web site. The signs boasted Italian coffee, so I had to try it. It was easily the best coffee I’d had up in the mountains, although pretty average by absolute standards. Freshly caffeinated, I did the downhill stretch ridiculously quickly. In fact, one teahouse owner yelled at me as I went past: “Namaste! Why are you running? Try some fresh yak curd!” I did, in fact, end up trying some yak curd. It was actually pretty tasty, although a bit warmer than I normally expect yoghurt to be, and with a fairly lumpy texture. I guess this is what all yoghurt used to be like.

Thulo Syabru turned out to a town built on an incredibly steep hill. Exactly what I wanted after my legs were knackered from spending the entire day walking there. On arrival, I had my first shower in a week, ate dinner, and collapsed in exhaustion. From here on, I’ll be travelling south along the Gosainkund and Helambu trek routes.

8.5 hours walking, 1.5 hours resting.

Forest again on the way to Thulo Syabru

Crossing a giant suspension bridge

Thulo Syabru, little village on the hill side

To be continued…

Kathmandu

Crossing the Border: Friday 4/5

My plan was to get up early in the morning, quick pack and grab breakfast and then set off for the Nepal border. Those who know me will already be laughing at the “get up early in the morning” bit. Every aspect of this plan took a bit longer than expected but by 10:30am I was in a 4×4 headed down the hill and out of Darjeeling. From there I tried to find a shared taxi to Kakharbitta, the border town. Unfortunately, all the taxi drivers insisted that it wouldn’t be possible to find anyone to share a taxi with at this time of day, and so paid the full fare to the border myself. The taxi driver was a dodgy bastard, though, and managed to pick up an additional five passangers as we were heading out of town. They paid about $1 each, and I paid $14. When I suggested that their fares be paid to me, or at least that my fare be the same as theirs, the taxi driver said no, I said I was okay with sharing the taxi. Sigh. At this point my idealistic adherence to principles of fairness collapsed, and it didn’t seem worth arguing over a few dollars.

When I arrived at the Nepali immigration office, it turns out that the taxi driver had been even dodgier than I thought, driving straight past the Indian side of passport control to the Nepal side of the border. It didn’t seem to matter for the other passengers – I guess crossing between India and Nepal is a bit like going between Australia and New Zealand for natives of these respective countries – but the Nepali immigration officer pointed me at the road I’d come from and said the Indian passport control was 1km back where I’d come from.

All confusion aside, it was the easiest land border crossing I’ve been through after England-France on the Eurostar. A form here, a few US dollars there, and I soon had a shiny new Nepali visa stuck to my passport. The immigration outpost even changed my Indian money for me, at a rate which turned out to be much better than the money changers in Kathmandu were offering. After crossing the border, I followed the friendliest-seeming tout to his travel agency where I bought tickets for the poshest bus to Kathmandu. The guy went to great pains explaining to me that the tourist buses in Nepal were nowhere near as good as the ones in India, despite being expensive, but at least they had reclining seats and were about 8 hours faster than the local buses. Initially my mind complained, “it’s a whole $10 more expensive!”, but after a bit more contemplation, this seemed like a worthwhile sum to pay to make the bus experience only slightly miserable, rather than very miserable.

On the bus to Kathmandu with mountains visible far, far away

Kathmandu: Saturday 5/5 – Tuesday 8/5

Shared a taxi from where the bus dropped us off into Thamel, the central tourist area of Kathmandu, with the two other white people on the bus – a Spanish couple whose names escape me. I have no idea for how much of the bus trip I slept. I don’t remember falling asleep, but neither do I remember anything at all between 11pm and 5am. On arrival, I was – as usual – a bit dazed and disoriented, so my first priority was to have breakfast and a strong coffee. One omelette and an “Americano” – as the rest of the world calls a long black – later, I had skimmed my guidebook and decided on which hotel to try first. Not the absolute cheapest, but very central and included free breakfast and wifi. I’d paid more in India for worse rooms.

Tridevi Marg, Kathmandu. Not winning any awards for beauty.

Kathmandu is a long way from being my favourite city. On the plus side, it’s very well set up for tourists. On the downside, well, it’s very well set up for tourists. There are touts everywhere, although nowhere near as aggressive as the ones in Northern India. The ones selling hashish really creeped me out, sidling up to me and asking quietly, “Do you want something, sir? Want some hash?” There’s lots of restaurants serving pretty much every cuisine other than Nepali, usually not very good quality and sometimes outrageously expensive. The ones recommended by Lonely Planet have turned out to be nowhere near as good as their description. But the tourism focus also means that it’s easy to get anything you could possibly want for going trekking.

Perhaps the culinary highlight was having a horrendously overpriced but tasty Nepali meal, consisting of several courses and traditional dancing on the stage behind me.

Nepali banquet: traditional dancers

Not all of the touristy places were terrible. As I right this, I’m sitting in Sam’s Bar, which is a pleasant and quiet rooftop bar, playing the kind of music I’d expect to hear on Triple J – even a couple of Australian bands which I didn’t realise had made it out of the country, such as Bag Raiders and The Temper Trap, making me wonder if there’s an Aussie behind the playlist. (Bag Raiders and The Temper Trap are permanently associated in my mind with the Mongol Rally, when we listened to them a lot, all got heartily sick of them, but somehow kept listening to them again anyway.) Definitely better than the music played at Himalayan Java, a cafe modeled after Starbucks, which played old and generally mediocre pop music, including AC/DC, Green Day, and that “under my umbrella-ella-ella” song that I had thought had slipped from the world’s radar. I also spent quite a bit of time in Green’s Organic Cafe, which served – amongst other things – some delicious salads, and nice tea by the pot. Salads are a thing I’d been missing in India; even when they were on offer, I wasn’t generally game to order one, especially after suspecting that to be the cause of my food poisoning in Gokarna. Green’s Cafe had a very different choice of background music: constant Tibetan chanting, usually a variant “om mane padme hum”. It was actually surprisingly pleasant. Perhaps I’ve turned into a bearded hippy.

Another positive about Kathmandu is the frequent sight of jacarandas. They’re one of my favourite trees, and remind me of areas of Perth where I used to live. I hope Melbourne will also have jacarandas.

Jacaranda leaves

STUDY AND WORK IN AUSTRALIA

Spending four days here ended up being one day too many. On Tuesday, my final day in KTM, I’d arranged to go bungee jumping. Somehow managed to sleep through my alarm and miss my 5:45am bus, so no bungee for me. Oh well. I’d already done all of the sight-seeing I was interested in around the city, so spent my time in cares and restaurants with books and the Internet. I only hope that the same doesn’t happen tomorrow, when I have to get up at a similar time to catch the bus to the Syabrubesi where I set off for two weeks of trekking. Trekking is, after all, the main reason I came to Nepal in the first place!

Durbar Square

Bamboo scaffolding on the outskirts of Thamel

Himalayan Java Cafe, Thamel

My plan is to spend the next two weeks hiking by myself, without a guide, along the Langtang, Gosainkund and Helambu treks. I have a map and a compass, there are lots of tea houses along the way, so in the words of Jeremy Clarkson – what could possibly go wrong?

Darjeeling and Singalila Ridge Trek

On a Train: Tuesday 24/4 – Wednesday 25/4

Varanasi to Darjeeling is roughly 800km by road or rail, or about the same distance as Melbourne to Adelaide. Back home, I’d think of that as a fairly easy day’s drive. In India, though, everything takes a bit longer and is a bit more involved. Getting my train ticket was enough of a mission in itself, with all of the trains from the stations near Varanasi being completely booked out for weeks in advance. Fortunately, Indian trains have a “foreign tourist quota” where a few berths on each train are reserved for non-Indian residents, so I managed to get my ticket on just a couple of days’ notice. My backup plan if I hadn’t been able to do that was to buy tickets in 2nd class unreserved, a.k.a. cattle class, which would almost certainly have meant standing up for the 14-hour overnight train journey. That would certainly have been a memorable experience, but I was secretly quite glad to have a bunk of my own in an air-conditioned carriage.

My train was scheduled to leave at 6:30pm from Mughal Sarai, just over the river from Varanasi. The electronic signs at the station listed a platform number and noted that it was running half an hour late. At around 6:30, as I was waiting at the platform, there was an announcement in Hindi which I didn’t understand, followed by an announcement in English which I couldn’t hear because suddenly everyone around me had got up and was moving to the opposite side of the station. The train was on time, and had arrived at a completely different platform. Indian Railways really did learn all of their tricks from British Rail.

I got off the train at around 9am the next morning, feeling a bit bleary-eyed from having slept poorly. This may or may not have been related to staying up late reading. The station closest to Darjeeling is New Jalpaiguri, about 90km from Darjeeling. There’s a “toy train” – a narrow-gauge service more like a tram than a normal train – which goes up the hill. Sources on the Internet informed me that if I went half-way up the hill to Kurseong by road, I’d be able to catch the afternoon service from Kurseong to Darjeeling which would be pulled by a steam locomotive. The Internet lied to me, and it was actually a diesel train. Such is life.

On the train to Darjeeling

The Darjeeling toy train was … okay, I guess. The train ride down from Ooty that I took back in February – which feels like a lifetime ago now – was a lot more enjoyable. Still, definitely more comfortable and picturesque than the alternative, i.e. travelling the whole way in a car occupied by nine other people.

I arrived at Darjeeling early in the evening, walked into town, had dinner, and found somewhere to stay.

Darjeeling: Thursday 26/4 – Saturday 28/4

Three days in Darjeeling. Drinking tea and eating scones and cucumber sandwiches and pad thai and masala dosa with fruit and nuts and visiting a tea factory and reading books and the constant sight of the not-so-distant Himalayas and being rained on and sometimes meditating. It’s not really a place for being active – although you could certainly have done more “stuff” than I did – but right now, that’s perfectly okay with me.

High tea by the fireplace at Windamere Hotel

Darjeeling must be one of the few places in India where you definitely drink tea, not chai. Tea is brewed from loose leaves, served in a teapot, and if you ask for milk or sugar, those are provided separately rather than all pre-mixed into the sweet, milky tea-resembling beverage that I’ve been accustomed to drinking for the last few months. Provided separately, that is, if at all: at one cafe I went to, the waitress gave me a horrified look and told me, “Sir, milk is not advisable with Darjeeling tea”. I guess she was right, because the tea tasted just fine without milk.

The tea here is definitely a step up from the “throw a Twinings teabag into a mug” beverage I was usually drinking before India, too. The best tea that I had in Darjeeling was at Sunset Lounge Cafe, run by Nathmulls Tea Company, where you could select from any of the many varieties of tea they had available. That’s not “varieties” in the sense of “different flavourings added”: they had teas of different quality, plucked at different times of the year and different years’ harvests as well as the usual choice of black, white or green tea. I didn’t dare ask for milk there, in case they threw me out of the shop. You could look at and smell the different teas before ordering, and after it was brewed they brought out two teapots: one containing the leaves so you could see and smell them after brewing, and the actual tea itself poured in a separate pot so it didn’t gradually turn into a bitter, revolting fluid if you took your time drinking it. The second time I went there I tried one of their ‘premium’ teas; it was very tasty, and the first time in years that I’d had actually, really good quality tea. It was also outrageously priced (by Indian standards) at about $2.50 for a pot – although it doesn’t sound so bad when you consider that’s roughly what you’d pay in London for a styrofoam cup with a teabag in it, served with a scowl.

Having a nice cup of tea at Sunset Lounge

I think I’ve been drinking between six and ten cups of tea a day here. This feels eminently civilised.

Singalila Ridge Trek: Sunday 29/4 – Thursday 3/5
Day One: Maneybhanjang (2130m) – Tumling (3070m)

Got up early Sunday morning to grab a quick aloo paratha for breakfast before meeting the trekking guide at quarter past eight. As we left, the sky was a cloudless bright blue, showing no sign at all of yesterday’s downpour, which I hoped was a good omen for it not raining during the trek. After an hour and a half in a ‘jeep’ – a battered old Mahindra 4×4 – we arrived at Maneybhanjang, the starting point for the trek.

Trekking through the fog

The first hour was a steep incline along a road also used by cars, dodging the occasional jeep hurtling towards us, past Meghma Gompa temple, and then to our morning tea stop where our trail diverged from the road. Unfortunately, the blue skies had turned grey, and then it started to get really foggy. We were, in fact, walking through clouds. Quite impressive to experience, but didn’t provide the Himalayan views I’d been hoping for. We continued hiking through the fog, stopping again for afternoon tea, and eventually reached Tumling at 3:30.

Indian Army checkpoint

The ridge that we were hiking along is the India-Nepal border. Our lunch stop and overnight stay were both in Nepal – there’s even a nice big “Welcome to Nepal” sign as you reach Tumling. In some ways, it’s still India: the cars have Indian number plates and we pay for dinner with Indian rupees. But the people here are ethnically Nepali.

Day Two: Tumling – Sandakphu (3636m)

The guide wanted an early start today, but I woke up feeling a bit crap and we didn’t get moving until 8am. Moved fairly slowly uphill in the morning, through blue skies, green scrub, mountain scenery, magnolias and lots of rhododendrons. Lunch was at Kalapokhri where really-free-range chickens were wandering in and out of the restaurant. By mid-afternoon the sky was foggy and grey again, sometimes with only 10 metres of visibility. We stopped at pretty much every village on the way for cups of tea. Arrived at Sandakphu at 3:15 feeling exhausted and just collapsed into bed. My guide insisted that drink lots of tea and not sleep, so I sat around reading and eventually finished Blood Meridian.

Chickens at the lunch stop in Kalapokhri

Going up and up and up

Afternoon fog

Day Three: Sandakphu – Phalut (3600m)

Once again, lots of greenery and blue skies – this time, fortunately, lasting the whole day’s walk. On the way, we had splendid views of snow-capped mountains. Closer by were rolling green hills with horses, goats and yaks. While we finished the day at about the same altitude at which we started, there were plenty of ups and downs along the way.

Lunch was at a tiny hut in the middle of nowhere. Packet soup with bread, boiled potatoes and a cup of tea. Never before had these tasted so good, making yesterday’s momos and chowmein feel like absolute luxury. The accommodation at Phalut was also very basic: a trekker’s hut with no running water, no electricity, but plenty of tea and biscuits. As the afternoon progressed the blue skies turned grey and it started to rain heavily. The falling rain turned to snow, and the windows were covered in ice. Dinner was filling and tasty: popcorn, pappadums, rice with dahl and vegetable curry and an omelette.

Day Four: Phalut – Sirikhola (1900m)

I didn’t sleep well that night because it was so cold, and got up early to climb to the top of a nearby hill which was the point were Nepal, Sikkim and West Bengal meet. From there we could see Mount Everest and other Himalayan peaks, far off in the hazy distance. There were still patches of ice on the ground from the previous evening, although it was quite warm in the sun.

Mount Everest, far off in the distance

Patches of ice left after a cold night

On our final trekking day, we went a bit further than the usual Singalila Ridge itinerary – apparently 28km, though most of it downhill. We had a quick breakfast and set off early, descending steeply for two and a half hours, down through forest of trees and bamboo, then came out into a clearing, crossed over a river, and entered the village Ghorkey. The river was the boundary between the Indian states of West Bengal and Sikkim, and we’d cross it several times during the remainder of the trek. At Ghorkey we stopped for an hour to drink tea and relax. Then we walked a bit further to the next village, Rammam, where we stopped for lunch.

Approaching Ghorkey

At this point we’d mostly left the forest behind and the remainder of the trek to Sirikhola was along the side of a steep hill. We felt like we were beginning to re-enter civilisation, passing houses and farms and a school. The lodge at Sirikhola was also very basic, though – no electricity and the toilet was flushed by tipping a bucket of water into it.

Day Five: Return to Darjeeling

The usual Singalila Ridge trek continues a further 6km to the town of Rimbick, but we went all the way from Sirikhola to Darjeeling by jeep. I don’t think I missed out on too much – the scenery was much the same as the final section heading into Sirikhola, and a fair chunk of the road to Rimbick was paved tarmac so not so great for hiking. We got back to Darjeeling at 11:30, giving me the remainder of the day to shower, rest, drink tea, and get ready to cross border into Nepal.

Prayer flags at Sirikhola

Darjeeling town

End of a Chapter

If all goes according to plan, this will be the last post I write from India. It’s been a pretty intense three-months-and-a-bit here and feels strange to be leaving so soon. The Nepalese border is just a few hours’ drive away from Darjeeling, and from there it’s a nice, long bus ride to Kathmandu.

As always, if you want to see more photos, there’s a full set uploaded on Piacasa.

Varanasi

The full set of photos is in the usual place.

Delhi: Tuesday 17/4 – Wednesday 18/4

My time in Delhi was just a brief stop-over between when my flight from Leh arrived to when my train to Varanasi left the next morning. My main aim was to post a parcel back home to regain some luggage space – no point carrying around the massive Ladakhi wool coat I bought when I wasn’t expecting any more sub-zero temperatures, nor books that I’d already finished. After that, I spent time eating and catching up on the Internet.

HELLO VEGETARIAN

Wednesday morning I went to New Delhi train station, boarded my train, and discovered that nothing had been stolen from me. This made me happy. My ticket to Varanasi was in first-class AC, and I passed the time in a relatively civilised manner with Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, watching the Indian countryside roll by as I read about Mexicans and Native Americans being scalped.

Varanasi: Thursday 19/4 – Monday 23/4

The train arrived in Varanasi at the ungodly hour of 6am – which was, to be fair, a slight improvement on the originally scheduled 4:45am. After getting a rickshaw to my guesthouse – and convincing the driver that yes, I really did want to go to the place I asked for and another completely different place that was offering him commission – I had breakfast at the rooftop restaurant and then collapsed for a while in bed.

It was stiflingly hot in Varanasi and almost nowhere was air conditioned, so I took things fairly slowly over the 5 days I spent here. No attempt to see everything or do everything, just soak up what was going on around me. Wandering along the ghats by the river Ganges; watching people doing everything from swimming to playing cricket to offering prayers to trying to convince me to give them money in uncountable ways; watching cremations at the burning ghats; a boat tour along the river; exploring the narrow, colourful, claustrophobic and smelly alleyways of the Old City where I was staying. But also eating food and drinking lassis and reading books and plenty of time for introspection.

By complete chance I had dinner with a lovely English couple one night who’d just flown here from Goa where they’d been doing a two-week ashtanga course at … yep, Purple Valley, exactly where I’d been just over a month ago.

On Tuesday afternoon I shall say farewell to Varanasi. I have tickets for another overnight train, the first leg of my journey to Darjeeling. If all goes according to plan I’ll be pulling into Darjeeling by steam train on Wednesday evening.

I’ve been starting to feel like the end of this journey is in sight, even though it’ll be another two months before I get to Melbourne. But the plan is for two more weeks in India at the most, with Darjeeling being the last place I want to visit before moving on to Nepal, so in some ways I am near an ending, if not the ending. I’ve also been feeling occasionally homesick over the last couple of weeks, sometimes for Australia, sometimes for England. On my first day in Varanasi I found myself reading Banjo Patterson poems and listening to Midnight Oil songs, and realising that it wasn’t really that kind of idealised notion of Australia that I was missing, but all of the people I’ve left behind as I keep moving from place to place.

Ganges at night, from just outside my hotel room

Water buffalo

Cow having a nap in the Old City

Kids swimming in the Ganges

Casting candles into the river

Ladakh

This post contains a handful of the pictures I took. The rest are up on Picasa.

Sunday 8/4 – Monday 16/4

Ladakh has been a place of extremes for me, both physically and emotionally. It’s somewhere I’ve wanted to visit since I saw the documentary Economics of Happiness about a year ago; at the time, I wasn’t expecting it would happen anywhere near this soon. Ladakh’s capital, Leh, is a town of 30,000 people set in a valley 3500 metres above sea level. It’s a frozen desert: nothing is green because nothing grows here, and the surrounding mountains that aren’t covered in snow are just bare rock and gravel. It’s a spectacular and imposing place to be. The altitude has meant that I’m a lot less physically fit than I’m used to being. Even after acclimatising, climbing a flight of stairs – and there are a lot of stairs and slopes in Leh – leaves me feeling out of breath. Internally, I’ve alternated between feeling stuck in a kind of malaise, excitement from being in the mountains, awe from the harshness and isolation and that kind of relaxed contentment that you get from being in a place where there’s nothing that you really need to do each day. Leh is a good place to slow down, at least in the tourist off-season.

I arrived in Delhi airport at 2am on Sunday morning. Erin was already there, sprawled out on a couch in the terminal, watching a movie on one of her electronic gizmos. I hadn’t slept on the bus and was starting to feel a little tired, but there wasn’t really enough time to sleep before our flight. The usual airport procedures of queueing and waiting occupied a fair chunk of the three hours before our flight started boarding. As usual in airports, I succumbed to the allure of overpriced, unhealthy and not particularly tasty food – in this case, a McDonalds breakfast. My stomach made me aware for a few hours afterwards that it would have preferred something different.

The dawn flight from Delhi to Leh was only an hour long, but spectacularly beautiful. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see a lot of it, because I had my eyes shut and was trying to will my body to keep the McDonalds inside, at least until we arrived in Leh. Flying from near sea level to an altitude of 3500m affects almost everybody, and in my case it was immediate. I walked unsteadily down the steps from the aeroplane to the tarmac and staggered through the terminal to collect my luggage, feeling the whole time in danger of fainting, and in danger of covering the airport in half-digested McDonalds.

Flying into Ladakh

While I was still feeling light-headed, Erin directed the taxi driver to the hotel that she’d picked out – the only one which the Lonely Planet mentioned was open all year round rather than just in the peak season of summer. I had another one in mind which supposedly had hot water on tap and wireless Internet, but I couldn’t remember the name and was dazed enough that it was easier to just go with the flow. By the time we’d checked into the guest house I was feeling much better, but Erin was feeling the effects of the altitude badly. She went to bed and didn’t emerge until dinner time. Meanwhile, I went for a walk into town, learning my way around Leh by getting horribly lost, and found that almost everything was still closed at this time of year.

Water is a precious resource in Ladakh in much the same way that it is in the most remote regions of outback Australia. Every winter in Leh, the water pipes freeze and, supposedly, thaw out again around April. It turns out that we’d arrived just a little bit before running water was available in our guest house. Initially, water was available by filling up buckets only. If we wanted to take a shower, we could ask the staff for some hot water. A couple of days after we arrived, there was running water in the common bathroom (for rooms which didn’t have en suite). Other pipes had been damaged during the winter and there was no running water in the rooms.

Over the following few days, we took a fairly leisurely approach to sight-seeing around Leh. On Monday, Erin was still feeling the effects of altitude quite strongly – and to be honest, I wasn’t quite back to normal either – but we walked up to the abandoned Leh Palace and even climbed to the top level. There’s a nearby fort as well, but I was feeling tired enough by then that more climbing was the last thing I wanted to do. Leh Palace also triggered my fear of heights for the first time in years, something which stayed with me for the following few days.

Leh town with the palace in the distance

Inside Leh Palace

The next day, we had planned to catch the bus to Thiksay monastery – about 20km from Leh – then walk for a few kilometres to nearby Shey Palace. I woke up feeling absolutely miserable, and upon reaching the monastery and seeing that it was built on the side of a steep hill, decided I wasn’t up to climbing it. Erin and I split up: I spent a while trying to meditate outside the monastery while she went inside. After a while, I set off for Shey Palace on my own and had a bit of a look around. It was similar but less impressive than Leh Palace. I only got about half-way up before completely freaking out about the height when I looked down, so decided to wander back down and flagged down a cab heading back to Leh.

On Wednesday morning I awoke to sound of a new arrival in the guest house: an Irish chap named Garrett. He turned out to be a pretty cool guy, although in the morning he was pretty knackered, having just flown here straight from Ireland. We had breakfast together and then he went to his room to collapse for a while. Surprisingly, by dinner time he was full of life, and the three of us had dinner together at the dubiously-apostrophied Friend’s Corner, which was – according to some people we met on the street – the best restaurant in town for Tibetan momos. It was a really good meal. In fact, we ordered enough that I think it could probably be described as a feast. The spinach and cheese momos were made with yak cheese and fresh-looking spinach, fried to the point of deliciously unhealthy crispiness and served with hot sauce and soy sauce. We also had temok, a kind of Tibetan soup served with steamed bread: also very tasty. None of us finished our meal, though Garrett came remarkably close. The waiter was also an absolutely hilarious guy, making the experience even better than it already would have been. I’d never before seen a waiter enjoying his job so much.

Having a cup of coffee and cake at Desert Rain Cafe

Trying on traditional Ladakhi coats

Thursday was Erin’s last day in Ladakh, and our last day of an travelling together. We went up to Khardung-La Pass, notable for being the highest motorable road in the world at 5600 metres. Our aim was to wander around in fresh snow. It did not disappoint. Unfortunately, I was, once again, feeling a bit depressed when I first got up, and stayed that way for most of the morning. The road began as a fairly normal mountain road like you might find through hills back in Australia, but quickly moved to being a narrow ribbon of tarmac winding through the snow-covered mountains. Everywhere was white. It was snowing on and off on the way up, providing me with my first ever experiences walking through soft, deep snow. There was even a tiny snack shop on the top – according to the sign, the highest cafeteria in the world – serving a very welcome meal of Maggi 2-minute noodles with sweet, spiced instant coffee.

Khardung-La: do you like white?

After the meal, I snuck back into the car to stay warm. Erin popped her head in to say she’d decided to climb to the top of the nearby hill, and I grumpily ignored her. After a few minutes I decided that climbing the hill might actually be fun, so I went after her and – surprisingly – caught up to her. Wandering up through the snow completely reversed my foul mood. We got a bit over half way up when a couple of the Indian Army officers back down the slope whistled and signalled for us to come down. We did, but not before taking a few photos of each other.

Half-way up the hill that the Indian Army told us not to climb

On the drive back down, I took a few photos which completely fail to capture the beauty of being in the mountains.

Road to Khardung-La

On the way down from Khardung-La

In the evening, we ate traditional Ladakhi food at our guest house. It was pretty tasty and predominantly consisted of carbohydrates: a kind of stew with noodles and potatoes in a mildly spiced, bright yellow sauce made from milk and butter. Afterwards we sat around, talking and playing cards, and eventually said goodbye to Erin.

Friday was a day for relaxing, reading and planning my next adventure: trekking. April is really a bit early to go trekking in Ladakh – most routes are still impassable – but that didn’t deter me. Salim, one of the guest house employees, got in touch with a trekking guide friend of his to see if anything was possible in the three days I had left in Ladakh. There were a couple of options, with the most interesting (and cheaper) being from Spituk to Stok. This trek would involve crossing Stok-La pass – climbing to just over 4900 metres – and staying in homestays at the tiny villages of Zingchen and Rombuk. I was promised snow.

Ladakhi children spinning a prayer wheel

Saturday morning, I met with the guide, Manzoor, and we set off early in the morning – although, fortunately, not too early. The first day of the trek was a fairly short hike from Spituk to the village of Zingchen, mostly following the course of the Indus River. It was a little bit disappointing because the entire road was along a road; fortunately, there was almost no traffic. Three hours into the trek, we started seeing patches of snow along the side of the road and near the river.

Walking along the Spituk-Zingchen road

Patches of snow at last

Zingchen turned out to be a tiny village of two – maybe three – households. We stayed in a homestay, wherein I learned some important Ladakhi customs: it is not permissible to have just one cup of tea. Two is grudgingly okay if it’s breakfast time and you’re about to leave to go trekking, but in the evening, it is important to drink cup after cup. Those who know me will understand what a hardship this was. Likewise, there was no getting away with just a single helping of dinner. I was also offered a glass or three of tsang, the locally-brewed wine. Despite its unusual colour, it was actually very tasty. I slept well that night.

Arriving at Zingchen

On Sunday, we left the road behind and started along a trail designed for humans and the preferred four-leg-drive transport of the area, donkeys. The terrain was increasingly barren, with forlorn-looking trees giving way to patches of dry, spiky grass which reminded me of the spinifex you see the desert regions of Australia. After less than three hours on the road, we arrived at a village named Rombuk. Rombuk was a bit larger than Zingchen – maybe half a dozen houses – and looked relatively well set up for tourism, with four of the houses having big signs up announcing that homestays were possible. There was even a small shop.

Donkeys, the preferred vehicle in these parts

Icy “bridge” (plank of wood)

We arrived quite early at Rombuk, and after finishing Shantaram, the only reading material I’d brought with me, I oollapsed in bed for a while. After dinner, Manzoor wanted to turn on the telly to see the IPL cricket results – it turned out that the team he supported had just lost a match. Afterwards we sat and watched a game of 20-20 between Bangalore and Rajasthan Royals. Despite not really being into cricket, and knowing nothing about Indian cricket at all, I found it quite entertaining – much faster paced than interminable test matches. I was also surprised to find that the Indian teams had quite a few Australian players, and even one of the commentators was an Aussie.

Room in the Rombuk homestay

Monday morning we set off early. We were the first trekkers to attempt Stok-La this year, and it would be easier to pass early in the morning. Manzoor told me that we had eight hours of hiking ahead of us – five hours up, three hours down. Soon after we set off, it started snowing gently. As we got closer to Stok-La, the path was getting increasingly treacherous. Manzoor had brought a trekking pole for each of us, and this was the first time I’d ever used one. I was pretty nervous going up through the steep snow, despite reassurances that this was easy. After a while – perhaps half-way up – it got to a point where I wasn’t really comfortable going further. The snow was getting heavier and visibility was getting worse. Manzoor thought we’d be able to get a little bit further, at least, but we weren’t anywhere near prepared enough to make it over the pass. We decided to turn back.

Not much grows here

Me, at the highest point we reached

As we went back down – which was initially even more terrifying for me than the way up – we looked behind us and saw the mountains covered in cloud and falling snow. Very glad to not be up there any more! Walking down, we saw mountain goats and yaks by the side of the trail … no photos, unfortunately. At Rombuk, we called and arranged for a taxi to meet us at Zingchen. And so the trek ended.

Looking back at where we came from – mountains covered in cloud and falling snow

Back in Leh, I found out that the road to Srinagar was not yet open as the rumours before I left suggested it might have been. There had been an avalanche two days previously, and it would take another couple of weeks before the road was clear. This meant that I’d missed out on my opportunity to see Kashmir on this trip. But, tomorrow morning: flight to Delhi, and the day after, a first-class train ride to Varanasi.

For my final dinner in Leh, I went back yet again to our favourite cafe, Friend’s Corner, and was served once again by my favourite waiter. I was so incredibly hungry after the trekking that I ordered three dishes and finished maybe 2.5 of them. Gluttony is a fantastic thing. At the end I told the waiter – whose name I forgot to ask – that today was my last day in Ladakh. He made me promise to come back to Ladakh next year. And I’d really love to return, although next year seems unlikely given my university plans.

Come Tuesday morning, I was on an aeroplane once again, looking down at the same amazing view as I’d seen on the way into Leh and wishing I could stay there for longer.

Farewell, Ladakh!

Agra (Taj Mahal) and Jaipur

Wednesday 4/4

I woke up at around 7am after an uneasy sleep, the bus cruising along a six-lane freeway through the suburbs of Delhi. About half an hour later the bus dropped us off at what the conductor said would be the bus station but was actually just a quiet road nearby. But it didn’t matter, we were near a metro station where we could catch a train to New Delhi and then a long distance train to Agra to see the Taj Mahal.

“Doors will open on the right hand side. Mind the gap.” The Delhi metro felt like someone transplanted the London underground to India, made it cleaner and nicer looking, less crowded and air conditioned. Even the English-language announcements were in a British voice, complete with information on changing for other lines or overground stations.

We get our tickets and a quick breakfast at New Delhi station and go off to catch the 11:30 train to Agra. Somewhere in the rush to find the right platform and carriage, my iPhone disappeared. When I set off, it was in my pocket – foolishly, in retrospect, in one of the non-velcro pockets where anyone could reach their hand in to grab it without me noticing. When I sat down on the train, it was nowhere to be found. I think, after having recently seen the Dalai Lama, that this may be the world sending me a personal message about non-attachment to physical possessions. On the other hand, losing my phone means losing my music, losing convenient access to my electronic Lonely Planet, losing the convenience of internet access wherever I go and losing my best – in some cases only – way of contacting people I’ve met on my travels through India.

Our train arrived at Agra in the early evening, and both of us were feeling pretty knackered. The rickshaw driver that our hotel provided to pick us up was friendly and opportunistic, offering us a whole day of his services for Rs.650, starting from sunrise to look out over the Taj Mahal, ending after we’d seen the Taj Mahal at sunset, and with a heap of other things during the day. We took him up on this offer, and arranged to meet him at 5:45am outside the hotel the next day.

After checking into the hotel, we discovered that they had a truly wonderful side benefit: free wireless Internet. Fairly standard in a lot of countries, this is perhaps the third time in India where I’ve had it. This was great for taking care of mundane things like letting people know my phone had been stolen, attempting to wipe it remotely (although the phone was uncontactable by the time I got to Agra so had probably already been wiped by its, er, new owner), and booking train tickets.

Thursday 5/4

We got up super-early for our sunrise date with the Taj Mahal. It was, to be honest, a bit underwhelming. We looked out at the Taj from the other side of the river, with a barbed wire fence and a lot of rubbish between us and the river. At least it was a fairly secluded location.

First sight of the Taj Mahal

After the Taj at sunrise, we stopped for a quick breakfast of poori and then onto the “Baby Taj”, the tomb of a nobleman which predates the Taj Mahal, but done in a similar style. I really enjoyed it – we had the place to ourselves and the architecture was absolutely beautiful.

The “Baby Taj”

Inside the Baby Taj

Next stop on our tourist itinerary was Agra Fort. Highlights included the audio guide, which explained the history of the Mughal empire, voiced by an Indian gentleman doing a surprisingly good approximation of Received Pronunciation English.

Monkeys at Agra Fort

Hello again, Taj Mahal!

After this, our rickshaw driver took us to a couple of stops we didn’t ask for but likely earned him a nice fat commission: a carpet factory and a shop selling marble handicrafts. Both Erin and I fell sucker for their sales tactics and bought presents for people from both places.

Washing carpets at the carpet factory

At this point it was mid-afternoon and we were starving. Our driver helpfully took us to what must have been the most expensive restaurant in town. At least it was air conditioned. We ordered a ridiculous amount of food and gorged ourselves, eating as much of it as we could until we were both stuffed.

Gigantic quantities of lunch!

After a quick stop-over at the hotel, we were on the road again, this time to see the inside of the Taj Mahal in time for sunset. It was insanely crowded, although at least our ridiculous overpriced tickets (Rs.750 for foreigners vs Rs.20 for Indians) entitled us to jump all of queues. It was, to be honest, a little bit underwhelming. We barely got to look at the inside because there were so many people, at we were shepherded through fairly quickly.

FOR INDIAN TOURISTS / FOR FOREIGN TOURISTS

Getting ready to meditate before the enemy-of-fun security guard yelled NO YOGA

When we got back to the hotel, I looked into train tickets from Agra to Jaipur for the next morning. The only tickets available were either at 5:10am or later in the afternoon. I was keen for the super-early start despite having had hardly any sleep for the previous two nights, but Erin still wasn’t feeling well and eventually decided to pass on Jaipur altogether, staying in Agra an extra night.

Friday 6/4

Woke up at 4am, feeling with death warmed up. Discovered that contrary to my best intentions the night before, I’d fallen asleep with the lights on. My bag was unpacked, I hadn’t had a shower and I still needed to be ready in about half an hour to check out of the hotel and find a rickshaw to take me to the railway station. Against all expectations, I was out of there by 4:35 and in a rickshaw by 4:40, making to the train station just as the announcement over the PA informed me that my train had started boarding. I dozed a little on the train and finally arrived in Jaipur at 9:30am, feeling tired, hungry and a little disoriented.

Fighting off hordes of rickshaw drivers desperate for business, I walked in the general direction that appeared in the Lonely Planet to have a number of cheapish hotels. The one that sounded most appealing to me appeared to not exist any more, but over the road was a cheap restaurant where I had breakfast while watching the cricket on Channel Ten. Yes, that Channel Ten, complete with Australian-accented commentary – although the Indian version seemed to be a channel dedicated to sports only (possibly cricket only) and had local Indian adverts.

I picked a hotel at random; by complete chance, the first place I went to had an air conditioned room for Rs.600 per night. That was good enough for me. On a roll now, I dumped my luggage and went to the bus station to investigate bus tickets to Delhi for the following evening. I was first told “buses every 10 minutes, no need to book” but after enquiring more specifically about air conditioned buses, it turned out there were only a few per day, and I did need to get tickets in advance. So I did. Mission accomplished, I went back to the hotel and collapsed in the air conditioning for a couple of hours to avoid the hottest part of the day.

You may be noticing a certain theme recently, specifically my love of air conditioning. It’s been about 40C outside now we’re no longer in the mountains, and while I’m familiar with such temperatures in Perth, that doesn’t mean I enjoy being outside in it.

When I was rested and ready to venture outside again, I went for a rather indulgently priced but mediocre lunch at an Italian restaurant. The garlic bread was okay, the pasta was decent but overcooked, and the Indian red wine that I had was absolutely dreadful – especially considering it cost close to what you’d pay for an acceptable glass of wine in a restaurant in London.

Later in the afternoon, I went for a walk around the Pink City, the original walled portion of Jaipur. It was okay but after I while I found the bazaars quite claustrophobic, especially when I had no intention of actually buying anything. After getting a little bit lost, and then un-lost again (despite no longer having GPS or Google Maps to aid me), I had dinner and collapsed in bed.

Walls of the Pink City

Overall, my impression of Jaipur so for has not been positive: smelly, busy, expensive and full of people wanting to take my money for one thing or another. Arguably most of these things are true of India as a whole, but other places I’ve been to in India have had plenty of positive things to more than make up for these downsides.

Saturday 7/4

First sleep-in in a while! Very welcome. I even did a little bit of yoga in the morning, for the first time since leaving Purple Valley almost a month ago. Then I went for breakfast at a rooftop restaurant overlooking Jaipur city, including a decent pot of coffee. I felt alive!

Today’s sightseeing mission: Amber Fort, a little way out of Jaipur town. It was okay … I think I’m already feeling a bit jaded about impressive old forts and palaces after Agra. Kind of glad I hadn’t locked in a longer trip through Rajasthan.

Malnourished-looking goat outside Amber Fort

Looking out at the desert from Amber Fort

Real world makes an appearance on the way out of Amber Fort

After the fort, I went to a shopping mall with an iStore – an Indian chain which resembles the Apple stores in other countries, but not actually run by Apple. My goal: to see if I could get a replacement iPhone, or maybe an iPod Touch, for cheap while I was in India. Unfortunately, the prices were about 30% higher than back home in Australia – no wonder Apple products don’t seem particularly prominent in India. I did, however, have a hot chocolate at a Costa Coffee. Not because I particularly wanted a hot chocolate, but because I was enjoying the air conditioning in the shopping mall, and because it seemed to bizarre to see an English cafe chain with a presence in India.

By this time it was mid-afternoon, time for me to have one last meal before my bus to Delhi. Late lunch or early dinner, I’m not sure what it was. I sat in the restaurant for almost two hours, going through photos and catching up on writing this blog. The highlight, I think, was when my cup of tea was brought out. As I raised my cup of tea to my lips and the waiter interjected, “Sir! Sugar is separate!” as if to save me from the indignity of drinking unsugared tea – the way I’d normally have tea back home. Indians do love their sugary hot drinks.

And now this post finishes as it began, with our intrepid hero on a night bus to Delhi. My flight to Leh leaves at 5:40am tomorrow. Stay tuned for the next episode, a visit to the isolated region of Ladakh, so far up in the Himalayas that the roads there are still covered in snow.

More Photos

As usual, the full set of photos are up on Picasa, with just a few highlights included above.

Rewalsar and the Dalai Lama

Friday 30/3 – Tuesday 3/4

We got up early on Friday morning and prepared to say goodbye to McLeod Ganj. I’d really enjoyed being in the area, and especially the several wonderful restaurants we’d found – including the one attached to the hotel we stayed at, where I’d got my first ever taste of Tibetan food. But the Dalai Lama was going to be giving a teaching a few hundred kilometres away, in the town of Rewalsar. It took three buses and a rickshaw to get there, and when we arrived it was already dark. As we climbed up the hill to Rewalsar, I started noticing a lot of Australian trees and plants – gum trees of course, but also bottlebrushes, banksias and wattles. How completely surreal to be seeing the Dalai Lama surrounded by Australian vegetation!

Our first stop was a hotel recommended in our guidebook. We got there and they had one room left for the night, but nothing available at all for the following two nights when His Holiness would be visiting. We were pretty exhausted, so took the room, had dinner in a nearby cafe, and collapsed into bed.

The following morning we started asking around at the nearby hotels and guest houses to see if any had rooms available for the next few nights. We were pretty much laughed at – other people coming here had arranged it weeks or months in advance, not as a spur of the moment decision. One of the guest house owners said he knew someone willing to rent out her spare room. He checked up on that for us and it turned out to still be available. For Rs.1000 per night we stayed in an Indian family’s children’s bedroom.

We’d heard a variety of different accounts about what would be happening and when. The Dalai Lama’s security office in McLeod Ganj had said that he’d be inaugurating a temple on Sunday and giving a teaching on Monday. The teaching, at least, would be a free for all – just turn up in the morning and you could go. Everything else was uncertain. We walked up to the biggest Buddhist temple in town, the one on top of a hill with a massive statue of Buddha on top, looking down over the lake. They told us that as of half an hour before we arrived, the temple inauguration ceremony wouldn’t be taking place there, but at a different temple on the other side of the lake.

The first temple we went to

We went to the other temple, and one of the monks there ushered us towards the eating area. It was lunch time, and we were hungry, but it still seemed wrong to eat the food that we were offered. But there was no easy way to turn it down, even though the signs up everywhere said “for invited guests only”. It was a very tasty lunch, even though completely undeserved.

After lunch, we asked at the office about attending the following day’s inauguration ceremony. They seemed a bit surprised that the ceremony was happening there – I guess they’d learned only recently too – and a little bit unsure of what was going on. They told us that the ceremony was for invited guests only. Guest passes were difficult – if not impossible – to get. After talking for a while and asking a few different monks, one eventually said he’d see what he could do, and disappeared. A few minutes later, he returned with a guest pass. Our hero! And also, I think, a testament to Erin’s ability to sweet-talk people. It probably also helped that she’s very pretty and “it’s my birthday tomorrow and it would make me the happiest person in the world to see the Dalai Lama on my birthday” is a rather good story to be able to tell.

The monk’s name was Sangay. He was from Bhutan, though now lived in the Himalayan part of India, and had just completed his masters degree in Buddhist studies. He was also very friendly – not at all dinstant in the way I’d imagine a monk to be – and we ended up seeing him quite a bit while we were in Rewalsar.

Afterwards, I went back to the room, completely over the moon about what had just happened. Erin was off at an Internet cafe, soaking up the internet. Sangay called, saying that the programme for tomorrow had been cancelled. The inauguration might be the next day, might be the day after. Everything was uncertain.

That evening, at dinner, Erin somehow ended up talking to another monk, named Sandup (?). He was from Ladakh, which was very exciting because I had been planning to going to Ladakh in a few weeks, after visiting Jammu and Srinagar (Kashmir). After dinner, Erin announced that this had been a sign, and she wanted to go to Ladakh now too. We booked flights that night, leaving from Delhi and a little bit earlier than originally planned because the flights from Srinagar were all booked out and Erin didn’t have enough time left in her itinerary to go there (nor, I think, was she particularly enthused about visiting there rather than other nearby places).

Not quite sure what happened on Sunday. Erin was in a pretty bad mood, despite – or perhaps because – of it being her birthday. I wasn’t amazingly chipper either, having just a day previously been expecting to meet the Dalai Lama then.

On Monday, we got up early, and arrived at the teaching a bit before 6am. It didn’t start until 8am, but there were already a lot of people there. Erin and I managed to get separated, and Erin had the FM radio that we were planning to share to listen to the English translation, so once the pre-teaching chanting of Om Mani Padme Hum was over and His Holiness began talking, I couldn’t understand a word of what was being said. It was still amazingly exciting just being there and seeing the Dalai Lama. After a little while – maybe half an hour or so – I decided to leave, because it was crowded and not particularly comfortable and I couldn’t actually understand what was being said.

I was feeling in a very contemplating mood, and had originally thought I’d go and find a quiet spot to sit by the lake and meditate, but there were no quiet spots – people were everywhere. Instead I went back to our usual cafe and had a spot of brekkie. I ended up writing a long stream of consciousness about myself and my thoughts about Buddhism and the way I interact with the world and how recent experiences had affected me. I’d written about 1500 words when an Australian woman sat down opposite me and we got talking as we ate breakfast. Similar to me, she’d been at the teaching but didn’t have any way of hearing the translation so had left early.

After breakfast, I went back to the room briefly. No sign of Erin but I figured I’d bump into her at the inauguration. I went back down to the lake just as the teaching was ending, and followed the crowd up to the temple. I waited for a little while outside the entrance, expecting Erin to appear, then went inside where I was once again treated to an absolutely delicious lunch that I didn’t feel completely comfortable taking. At least this time I had a badge confirming me as an invited guest, although when I got there and realised how small the event was, and noticing that there were only three other Westerners present, I realised just how big a favour Sangay had done us in giving us the badges. After the ceremony – where I was just on the outside of the fairly small temple which the Dalai Lama was in the middle of – I left the temple in a small procession, ending with His Holiness piling into his car. In case you ever wondered what car the Dalai Lama was driven around in, it’s a Toyota station wagon.

When I got back to the room, Erin was waiting there. She’d thought that the inauguration ceremony was on the following day, so had come straight back from the teaching. But she had, however, caught the English translation of it, which I was more than a little jealous of. Just after I got there, Sangay called Erin, asking where she’d been, and told her that there’d be more stuff going on at the temple soon. So we finished packing up our stuff, moved it to a room in the guest house whose owner had found us the last-minute accomodation, and went up to the temple again.

At the temple we were treated to a performance of traditional Bhutanese singing and dancing. Then, by complete chance, Erin got talking to Sangay’s cousin, Jamil. Afterwards, we went out for dinner with Sangay … a pleasant end to a long, surreal day.

Tuesday was our final day in Rewalsar. We took care of some mundane things, booked our overnight bus tickets to Delhi, said goodbye to Sangay and had a lunch/dinner at Lotus Lake Hotel, where we’d spent our very first night in town. For the first time in a few days, they had their full menu available rather than the reduced “too many people are coming here so they can all eat the same thing” menu they’d provided. Cheese momos! I was happy. Tibetan food had been a pleasant relief from the constant fried greasiness of Indian food. Even the weather seemed to be saying goodbye to the Dalai Lama, with thunder and lightning off in the distance.

Prayer wheels

Yet another delicious coffee from Kora Cafe

Bottlebrushes and Tibetan prayer flags

Then we took a cab to Mandi, and on the way it started to rain. It was the same fantastic feeling – and smell – that you get anywhere when it hasn’t rained for months and suddenly the heavens opened. We sat undercover just outside a travel agency and waited for the bus to come. It was delayed for an hour but eventually we made it. Somehow I managed to sleep better than expected on the bus, because at some point I lost track of time and consciousness of anything, and suddenly it was Wednesday morning.

Trekking to Triund

The pictures in this entry are a few selected highlights; the full set is up on Picasa.

Tuesday 27/3 – Thursday 29/3

Erin and I set off on our hike to Triund late Tuesday morning after taking care of a bunch of mundane things. We’d been told it was only a 5 hour hike, and people who are really keen leave early and do it as a day trip. Our pace was pretty leisurely, including a very long stop for lunch and conversation over several cups of tea.

Ely decides to head off the path and scale a rock

As we hiked further up the hill, the forest thinned out and we started to catch sight of occasional patches of snow or ice. Then came the snow-covered stretches of the path For me, having never climbed mountains with this kind of altitude or in this climate before, it was an incredibly exciting experience. I think I was periodically stopping and staring at the scenery in the distance and exclaiming how amazed I was to be up in the Himalayas like this. Fortunately, Erin was almost as dizzily excited as I was. As we got near Triund – altitude around 2900m, or 900m higher than our starting point in McLeod Ganj – I started to feel distinctly short of breath. I’m putting this down to the altitude rather than my lack of fitness…

First sight of snow

Snow in the distance

Me, trekking through snow

Erin, arrived in Triund at last

We finally arrived at our destination about an hour before sunset. Triund isn’t really much of a town. In fact, it’s barely a settlement at all. There are a couple of guest houses and a few huts selling chai, food and other necessities. We’d been told that it was possible to camp overnight in a nearby cave, and that we could rent sleeping bags and blankets from Sunil’s hut. This sounded like a great idea to me, and Erin was easily talked into it as well – or perhaps even really wanted to do it herself.

As it turned out, two of the three huts were run by (different) Sunils, but the first one we tried was the right one for hiring camping supplies. Erin carried the sleeping bags and mattresses up to the cave – which was further away than I’d initially guessed, probably about 20 minutes walk uphill – while I waited for some food to carry up there along with the blankets. When I got up to the cave, I was in a foul mood and our aloo paratha had some bonus dirt from when I dropped it. Because it was almost dark by the time I set off, I didn’t notice the more obvious trail up to the cave, and ended up taking a route that involved some scrambling up the the side of the hill using all four limbs.

Meanwhile, Erin had been being absolutely amazing, collecting firewood and kindling so that we could keep warm. Unfortunately, efforts to get the fire going were unsuccessful – the kindling burnt out before it lit properly. But we almost had a camp fire.

Neither of us slept very well that night. We woke up in the morning to a fantastic view. Unfortunately, Erin also woke up with a cold. She suggested staying another night in Triund – it was beautiful and, compared to everywhere else I’d been to in India, peaceful, quiet and isolated. But not in the cave. We headed down the hill from the cave to the huts, returned all of the gear to Sunil and got ourselves a room in a guest house.

Just as we were having our post-breakfast cuppa, it started snowing. There’s something really wonderful about drinking tea, looking out on the snow falling outside and the view to mountains and villages surrounding us.

View from the cave

View from Triund

Having a chai in Sunil’s hut

View from near the guest house

Further up from Triund, it was supposedly possible to trek to further up the hill, past the cave, and over a ridge to the snow line. Feeling surprisingly good after the 9km trek the previous day, and being excited about all things snow, I was pretty keen to try this. Erin, feeling unwell, was not so much. So I decided to go up there on my own. I only got about 15 minutes beyond the cave, though. Eventually I reached a narrow snow-covered path with a steep drop on one side and steep slope upwards on the other. I was a bit nervous about crossing it but there were footprints through the snow so I followed it further. After a short while, the footprints in the snow turned left and started going directly up the slope. This seemed a little bit too precarious for my liking, so I turned back. The way down was a bit hair-raising and I felt a bit like I’d escaped a horrible death.

We spent the rest of the day chilling out, talking to other travellers who were on the mountain and eating food at Sunil’s. Sunil was a really impressive cook – the food he prepared was all very simple, but very tasty. Considering he was a one-man operation with a very limited kitchen in an isolated area with no vehicle access, no electricity, not even running water, he did a really good job of turning out a lot of meals quite quickly.

The next morning, we had one final breakfast and a cup of tea, and then took the alternative route back down to McLeod Ganj, via Bhagsu waterfall. We checked back in to the same hotel we’d been staying at previously, grabbed our stuff from their storage room and had a very, very welcome hot shower for the first time in there days.

Path down the hill

Bhagsu waterfall

Shiva Cafe in Upper Bagsu – TRIP ON

Back in civilisation: return of the momo stalls