Nepal Diary (part 1)
These are some diary entries for my trip to Nepal. Thought I write them up, more for myself than anyone else, but I hope you enjoy reading them.
Kathmandu (March 2009):
“Hey man, where you from?” Greets a young Nepali guy in a black sports jacket and grabs my hand to shake it.
“Australia,” I reply.
“Ah. My brother lives in Sydney. Come, I’ll show you the temples.”
Flying into Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, I knew that I’d once again stepped out of my cosy comfort zone. Into the cultural deep end of India’s little sibling to the North - from its low plains of Terrai to its awe-inspiring Himalayan peaks.
Our Boeing 777 touched down on a runway barely wide enough for its wheels and I got my visa on arrival. Out in the chaotic, claustrophobic streets of Kathmandu, I had flashbacks of Hanoi. This city is infused with a real Lived In quality, awkwardly retrofitted to accommodate the luxuries of electricity and motorised transport. Every inch of dusty, broken bitumen is shared by a weaving mesh of pedestrians, rickshaws, suicidal motorcyclists and cows grazing on phantom grass. A beeping, grinding mosaic that somehow manages to remain functional.
I quickly become utterly lost in the maze of streets while checking out Durbar Square today. A holy man insists on daubing a third eye on my forehead, stooping men trail in step and whisper, “want hashish?” in my ear, and everyone offers to be your tour guide. People will make a living from anything they have available. I saw an old homeless guy sitting on the sidewalk of a busy street with a battered set of bathroom scales in front of him. For a small fee you could weigh yourself. Most peculiar though are the tiger balm salesmen, who draws right up in front of you with his arms folded. Startlingly, like a quick-draw gunman, he flourishes half a dozen vials of the pungent ointment in his clutched hands that he’s been concealing in his jacket. Barely do I register what the man is selling before he’s melted into the crowd again.
After an hour or two of ambling passed markets and temples I finally stumble across Chhetrapati chowk, a landmark that I recognise, and make it back to the place where I’m staying. Getting lost in a foreign city is the best way to experience it. Or at least that’s how I always seem to experience it. Stumbling down back alleys of daily life; attempting to get some lunch at a local market with my typical first-day vocabulary of “hello”, “thank you” and “water, please”.
The entire country of Nepal has been facing power shortages, as most of their electricity is bought from India. So for sixteen-plus hours per day there’s no power. And you never know which sixteen hours they are going to be. As I sit here in my hotel room and can hear the diesel generator purring away outside - just enough to power the lights, which sporadically flicker. Not enough for the TV in the corner, covered by a tea cosy, or the supposed hot-water showers. Oh yes, and they have a severe fuel shortage as well. It must be nearly time to light a candle. Welcome to the capital city.
I have met an American guy, Henry, in Kathmandu who’s keen to go trekking in the Annapurna region. Good news since that’s where I’m heading too. So we are teaming up to walk the Annapurna Sanctuary trek. This trail goes right up into the heart of the Annapurna mountain range – a mighty circular massif to the north-west of Nepal.
We’ve decided to forgo taking a guide or porter, which every second person on the street seems to consider vital accessories and enthusiastically pushes. Getting the mandatory park permit proves elusive though, as none of the tourist places we ask in nor taxi drivers seem to know where the permit office is! Strange, considering that trekking in the Himalayas is one of the big draws to Nepal. But we finally sort everything out; it’s 2000 rupees and 4 passport photos for our permits.
Time for a quick repacking then it’s a full day’s bus ride to Pokhara and an early morning start up the foothills.
Our bus trundles out of the Kathmandu suburbs with a newspaper salesmen sitting next to us, trying to sell a the daily paper for 100 rupees (AU$2) when the price on the top clearly says it is 3 rupees. A few goats sit idly on the roof of a bus as we pass, lumbering up the valley. To the west of the Kathmandu valley, the main highway winds its way precariously down and around the terraced hillsides, following the river.
It’s not long into the trip before we see the first road accident. A minibus had gone off the road and rolled at least 100m down the steep cliff onto the near bank of a river. A crowd of people were forming at the top as we passed so it must have been pretty recent. You get used to seeing road accidents in Asia, since they seem to occur far more frequently than in Australia. One scene that I remember most vividly is of a motorbike collision in Vietnam where a bloodstained sheet covered a body on the side of the road. The mangled remains of the bike were a stark contrast to a spotless pair of red high-heels that jutted out from one end of the sheet.
But enough of that! Our bus didn’t crash and the rest of the ride through the Himalayan foothills was quite enjoyable. When the first mountaineers came to Nepal in the 1950s, this journey from Kathmandu to Pokhara was a 10-day pony trek. We have it so much easier.
Pokhara:
In Pokhara, as all the postcards and wall hangings are keen to show, if you look out over Phewa Lake you’ll see the majestic peaks of Annapurna mountain range and their perfect reflections in the water below. To our disappointment, this wasn’t the view that greeted us. The height of the dry season meant a dusty, hazy atmosphere obscures everything. Not to worry, we would see the mountains soon enough. Unsurprisingly, our hotel had no hot water so I tenuously ventured under a cold tap for my last shower for a quite a while.
Day 1:
The next morning we organised a taxi to take us for a 30-minute drive up to the start of the Annapurna Sanctuary trek at Phedi. Here the track greeted us with a steep ascent up stone steps to the village of Dhampus - just a small taste of the terrain yet to come.
The route always well marked and is heavily used by the local people living up here in the villages. On the first day, we met many locals and the path often meandered through terraced fields or across somebody’s back porch. When we came to the checkpoint to enter the park, silly me had forgotten to pack my park permit. It was an inconvenient bookmark in my guidebook that I’d left back at the hotel. So, without any passport photos, I had to plead for a new one. It cost twice as much but it was either that or back to Pokhara alone. I justified it by being thankful that we didn’t book a guide. The locals along the track are always friendly and helpful, even if they try to sell you something in the process of asking directions.
So I sit here writing this in a little guesthouse in the village of Tolka, watching a storm roll in from the south. The altitude is 1700m, with a good view of the misty valley and the silhouettes of hillsides that slice across it, looking like a child’s paper cutouts. At one point the terraced stacks of fields across the valley are severed by the massive Vee-shape of a rockslide. We ascended to 2200m today, which sounds trivial on paper but the constantly changing gradient and endless stone steps are tough on the legs. I feel like I should have prepared more for this. And with typical male bravado, we’ve pushed ourselves hard the first day.
A playful black dog keeps coming into my room and nudging my hand for affection. The roof in this place sprung a leak during the heavy thunderstorm this afternoon and the linoleum floor now consists of pools of icy water and muddy dog footprints. I’m hoping the rain eases off during the night.
My mind seems naturally clearer up here in the Himalayas, where life is simple and the glimpse of snowy peaks as the clouds disperse makes you feel so small and humble. Perhaps that is why people climb mountains. An arduous journey that forces you to focus entirely on the next footfall and the next breath to the exclusion of all else. So close to our primal man where trivialities cease and all that matters is survival. Don’t need a shrine or mantra for that.
Continued in Part 2…
was reading this article over at Smashing Magazine on 
