Grand Voyages, Great Lies

So Christmas was but days away and things would be very different this year, alone and away from home I was looking forward it being low key and their being little fuss and nostalgic music….but i hadn’t counted on how much I would miss the fuss and music in company of friends and family. I also hadn’t counted on western Christmas pop being played in certain cafes. It would have been easier to pass had Kathmandu not been full of westerners, fairy lights, decorations and the make shift Christmas trees (a native potted tree with shiny red bells and lots cotton wool- I honestly don’t know why we don’t use cotton wool more at home). nevertheless I imagined I’d clebrate something bigger then Christmas when came home to my family and friends in the summer….So for my own amusement I splashed out- literally.

Christmas eve was to be spent rafting….the day itself sleep shopping and eating expensive but homely foods….then boxing day would be the flip of one spent at home, instead of a relaxing day probably with a leisurely walk I was going to do a bungee jump. Christmas was sorted.

 

Despite my never ending cough I booked the rafting. Thanks to my forever changing and problematic sleeping habits i barely slept that night…nodding off completely at 5am….my alarm was set for 5.30. I was awoken at 6 by the cursed phone in my room then 30 seconds later a knock on my door. My driver had arrived. I bundled warm clothes into a bag (something I had planned to wake up early and do ) and hurried down stairs.

Now I was in for an excellent yet slightly frustrating day. I was told I would be picked up my my driver and we would continue to collect around 8 or 9 others….instead I was walked a good 15mins in the cold morning haven barely woken up then asked to wait on a stone step while my ‘driver’ went to collect two more people- who it turned out were actually catching a bus to Delhi….No intention of rafting…..I was then handed over to the care of a Nepali guy in a duffel and bundled on a bus bound for Pokhara,…I’m meant to be rafting I informed …Yes indeed, I was told I would be chucked out on the side of the road after 3hrs and met there by a guide. Brilliant. where are the other people who I was meant to be joining? they will be there….hmmm  ‘kidnap….again’ I thought, Id already been misled about being picked and traveling WITH my rafting group. I knew the guys at the booking centre had been too enthusiastic….

At a rest stop I did however come across two other people, a couple who were wondering where their rafting ‘group’ was….except they were doing two days not three…they had also been told around eight people would be in our group….but us three were the only ones chucked out across the road from our rafting centre. Fantastic…third wheel time once more Laura, and this time I hadn’t even agreed. Thankfully they turned out to be nice enough, an English woman and her Dutch partner, her with the just right amount of fear and him with a big teethy grin that would add to the views fro the enthralling rapids.

A brief form was filled out and we were awarded our life jackets, helmets,not-so-waterproof shirt and paddle. Then it was raft time and a safety briefing with some simple instructions of how to actually raft. This was all fine enough except the Nepali’s English was difficult to follow and while listening to him, I thought faintly of home where I wouldn’t be instructed to put my bags in the ‘backside’ and no one would insist on always using ‘for’ with the word ‘the’ or ‘to’ or a combination of the three. e.g. take to the right hand with for the paddle…

Thats not dig at language skills just a change I longed for so I wouldnt pick up the habits and return home sounding like a non European non Asian no American, lazy traveler who had let their language and grammar go…for goods sakes if i wasnt signing hotel guest books I’d forget how to hold a pen. So many things slip when your away from the norms. We had already met a new yorker who had fully adopted the Indian head wobble and grunting- so much so I had thought he was from the Middle East and to some one else he was Eastern European or even half Indian. But no, born and bred in the states with not a hint of an accent. Oh David.

Any who, Back to the rafting. It was easy enough to get the hang of, and we simply followed our guides instructions….in the large dingy it was just the 3 of us the guide and a Nepali boy who obviously worked for him. This boy had a sour face the whole way, barely spoke and did not even appear the slightest bit pumped up after the biggest rapids. To be fair…he looked like he did it everyday. Lucky kid. And he might of even got paid for it. He atleast got fed for it.

The water was light chalky blue an the tree on the mountains either side deep velvet green. I had counted on the rafting being quite energetic but our guide knew just when we could let the river do the work and we could lay back, literally, as the sun warmed up the air and cleared the mist. The views were amazing, I wished I could have had a camera, but the rapids later on would have seen an end to any photos taken and the camera itself. They were harsh big waves that ripped over our raft and soaked us to the skin, despite our ‘waterproofs’ and layers the icy water found its way in. I regretted not putting up a fight when i was told to remove my Gortex jacket and don their flimsy anorak. We let ourselves be beat with the water as we battled through the angry river colliding with wave after wave of bubbling foam. Peaks and troughs of at least 2metres. At times I went to dig the paddle in the water for my next attempt at a viscous stroke only to find the dingy on top of a wave and no water to the side of me, we were paddling the air above a large hole which we would drop into only to be pounded by the next wave.

In the calms between the storms the guide would tell us about the next rapid coming up and give us bits of advice- mainly paddle harder into the wave so we wont get flipped over…..easier said then done when your concentrating on staying inside the raft. “This rapid called lady’s delight….” make of that what you will. I found it highly amusing and typical of Nepali men’s sense of humour.

Needless to say we were very wet when we finally step out of the raft, we must have been on the water for over four hours….but it had felt like two. We hadn’t known what the river would churn up next, thankfully our guide did, but you still doubt him when the raft looms towards a massive boulder the size of a small house, picking up speed. It the was the iceberg to our titanic…except at the last minute the current of the water guided us side ways, the edge of our raft following the curve of the rock, just inches away from a collision.

At a slower point we passed local men and boys quarrying rocks with mumptys and crowbars. Sandstone we concluded. looking up above us we could see them winching their collected quarry in steel buckets across the river, using a concoction of rusting pullys and fraying ropes. We held our breather as a bucket with a heavy load passed slowly over our raft. A cry went up and at first it was hard to spot its purpose, but then I saw the white chunk of rock tumbling dustily down towards the water…thankfully we were well clear of its watery grave. It felt like we were in a old video game or adventure movie with mining carts and quarry buckets.

Things turned eerier and the mist returned as the sun quickly hid between the high rocky hills on either side of our narrowing river. We came through a set of rapids to see a group of people gathered around a pile of wood built on truck tyres at the edge of the river bank. I saw them throwing dust on to the pire and could vaguely make out a white shroud amongst the wood. A funeral pire. I recalled that our guide had said our river- the Trisuli flows into the Ganga, the holiest of rivers. They lit the pire as we passed, the ashes had a long way to float to Varanasi where other bones and ashes were being flung into the waters.

The rafting was an awesome experience, that I must do again. I wish I could say the same for the journey home. Oh it was an experience, but a hellish one. We changed into warm clothes after beaching the raft, then after exchanging mail addresses with the couple my guide flagged down a bus bound for Kathmandu, and my 4 and half hour of pain and suffering began. It should have been Easter and I could of included an ill made comparison to the stations of the cross. I was in pain of the stabbing kind and coughing up my lungs while fighting to keep warm in my many layers. The buses windows of course didn’t shut properly, the Nepali boys would laugh then look at me, then laugh again….I glared at them through the cold….though it was difficult to keep this up the whole way as the bus took longer then usual due to the slow crawling traffic…apparently caused by a simple break down 14hrs ago….

Finally reaching Kathmandu I had to get a taxi back to Thamel ( I had told all travel was included) it cost me nearly 300 ruppees. the driver walked me 5minutes from the bus in the dark and shouted at any other drivers when I tried to jump into the nearest taxi to escape the cold. ‘ Kidnap’ I thought again. It didnt get that bad thankfully but after a considerable amount of time waiting- while the driver gabbled deciding which of his far away taxis I should get into, I shouted and threatened to get in another taxi if he didn’t get me home soon. He stopped messing around and this also shut up the taxi drivers shouting half English degrading comments at the western girl. The taxi driver didn’t know where he was going after all the fuss and I ended up giving directions having only been in Thamel 6 days. Then he led me down a route to a one way street 10min walk from my hotel…. arguing that he could go any further,,,,I’d seen this trick before in Mysore but, frustrated and cold, I didn’t want to stay in his car a moment longer, so I set out on foot throwing him 200ruppes explaining he wasnt getting the agreed 250 as i wasnt at my agreed destination……He placed his hand out for fifty more rupees pretending he didn’t understand….so I just up and went in my distressed ill state, slamming the car door and ignoring him calling after me. You need times like this to set you up for a decent nights sleep.

I woke late Christmas day feeling better and ready for some hearty vegetable thukpa…sometimes things also have to get worse before they get better. I went and booked myself on a bungee jump for boxing day, phoned home and left various Christmas messages for friends…then tucked myself up and slept some more.

The rafting had been awesome- apart from the trip home….I didn’t know how much I was going to be rewarded with the bungee jump. But my god! It was one of the best things ive ever done. I was feeling better by the early morning on boxing day when I set out to meet my bungee group. I was wearing a mammouth hand knitted yak wool jumper I had indulged in, along with another fleecy jacket while shopping on Christmas night.

B-day

I wasn’t the first to arrive at the meeting point, 10mintues from my hotel and with a cafe open next door despite it being 5.30am. I was very grateful for the good but expensive ‘Illy’ coffee no less. Hmmmm. Soon a group of 15 or so people had gathered. Mainly tall males. (One joked he hadnt seen so many tall people in one place at the same time…though he had been in japan for 6months) Australian, German and American, Nepali and a British Couple too. This is what i had expected the rafting to be like. With rafting you need a team a damn good sight more then you do for a bungee jump.

Soon we were all talking, asking questions and making fun of each other nationalities as is customary. We filled a bus then chatted, joked and slept the beautiful 3hr journey to the bungee site…just 10km from the Tibetan border on the Bote Kosi river. It was especially cold that morning, I was very glad id worn a vest, two ice breakers and a cotton top underneath my yak. The mountain views were again beautiful, stepped rice terraces and deep valleys. The views alone were worth paying for. I was feeling a hell of a lot better and really excited. 160m and the highest bungee in Asia didn’t sound frighting to me…especially not after a sky dive from 14000ft that I’d done for my 18^th birthday. I cant believe that was over a year ago.

We finally arrived at The Last Resort and walked across the valley on the swaying steel bridge. I couldn’t believe this would be where I was going to do my first bungee jump. It was beautiful. Mountains facing each other were divided by the river below, It looked small and weak from our viewing point on the bridge. It was rockier then I had expected too, if you fell an managed to miss the rocks I’m pretty sure that would be your luck used up and the river would r drag you away…freeze you also. From the bridge the mountains over lapped and fought for space in the sky, like faces in a crowd struggling to see. Getting fainter the further back they were,. Just like we were told to colour them in art class. Paler greens the further away they where.

The canyon below was two sides of trees and greenery with the river a chalky turquoise strip running in between sprinkled with rocks and boulders looking no bigger then pebbles from the height we were at. Walking across the bridge was the first test, for me it was amazing but I can imagine if your scared of height you might of bottled out of your jump there and then. we passed the point in the middle where we would leap from…it looked like nothing more then a small platform, almost part of the bridge.

I was told the last resort built the bridge and their company here by the local village, as penance for intruding they let the locals us the bridge for free and provided jobs for them in the hotel….the hotel would have been a beautiful haven and had I the option of going an activity the next day staying over would have been an expense easily justified. All dark wood buildings and small tents instead of rooms, cold yes but the views would make you forget your numb limbs in the morning.

After a brief lesson in how to jump off a bridge…..a chair was used in the demonstration…. we were weighed and given a number…well our weight in kgs and told we would be called when our number was up. the group laughing and making jokes about the elasticity of an old rubber band the group was a mixture of excitement apprehension and nerves as we stood waiting. We were told the first jumps to go would be the canyon swings, which I quickly handed money over for, not wanting to miss out on 7 secs of free fall before winging at 150 mile per hour across the canyon until the pendulum ceased. A good warm up to jumping off head first for the bungee too we all agreed..

We all agreed there was part of the swing you instantly forgot, the first 3 seconds of free fall pass instantly and taking in the view is not an option until you feel the rope take the tension and the air rushing past you at 150mph takes your breathe, then you see the river stretching out far in to the distance, it now looks a lot bigger and more fearsome then it did from the bridge, no longer a ribbon held down by stones but a force that has cut through the cliffs either side of you and the single rope from which you are suspended. Now you can fully appreciated the colour as the adrenaline courses through your veins. You appreciate the beauty of the location and the freedom at which you move. Letting go with your hands you are flying, but it takes no effort, relaxing as you pendulum to and fro in the valley. Your swings slow and a man on one side of the valley catches you with a rope. You grab hold and pull your self towards the trees.

After you have been unhooked and you gush how amazing it was to the man detaching you from the small harness that was the only thing that kept you from plunging/crashing into the river/rocks- you start your 20minute hike back up to the bridge from which you just threw yourself. I wish I had had my camera for the hike back up, the river from below was raging and mesmerizing and I almost jumped in to continue the adrenaline rush. The path zig-zag-ed back and forth across the tiny waterfall that trickled down in to the river 50 times its size. The sun which warmed that side of the valley and the effort of the hike kept you warm as you stumbled us the stone steps and dusty paths, blinded and enchanted by the light coming off the small path the water made back down the mountain. At times you were in the waterfall, part of it. A camera would of doubled the time of the trek and I was still filled with excitement for my bungee jump which would be next.

The hike threw up another surprise, I came breathlessly to the top of the hill (I was thankful that I hadn’t been so slow the next swinger hadn’t caught up with me.) To get back to the bridge and the last resort the path took me through a small local village on the hilltop. children playing cards in the hay, an old couple sat silently watching from a woven mat, mother and daughter pounding straw, a got a hey….you hair is very..nice…very red….from a husband with the chickens and two more children playing a game involving a basket and a piece of elastic they were tangled in. The serenness was magical, whether the endorphines or the spectacular settings i returned to the bridge with the biggest smile.

Bungee time. This time there was no long wait on the cold bride to contemplate my fate, I was one of the first up to have my legs shackled. We had been told to jump from the platform like a kangaroo for the swing, the guy filming the process didn’t get much out of me- I jump off tall things but I don’t preform for cameras, I more just gave him a ‘Well this is it’ look and admired the view hoping he would stop filming. I joked with the guy attaching me to the over sized elastic band..’ I feel like a prisoner,… haha’ as I waddled to the edge of the platform… ‘Ah now you are imprisoned…but when you jump, soar free like eagle’…I liked this guy.

Then that was it. I jumped…watching the video back I saw embarrassingly I hadn’t lost the habit of standing on the edge of a diving platform, arms up. I dived as i would of done form a 5m metre platform 3years ago…my diving instructor would have been proud, and whats more. impressed at my form. It was a magnificent feeling, jumping out from the platform and feeling your body tilting toward the river, the blue came in to sight and from then on it was straight down eyes open all the way, the river coming to meet you. From above it looked as though the jumpers were almost touching the rocks, but in reality you were only half way down the canyon. Suddenly the rope caught my tension and after falling fro one more second or so, I was brought back upwards. If it hadn’t of been for the wind gushing in my ears I would of thought it was the river that was moving further away from me; as it grew smaller again then regaining its fierceness as I shot back down with th only feeling of suspension on my ankles. I could see a mixed canvas of the gorgeous river and dense forrest as I began to stop bungying and started spinning….my left hip was leaning to one side and the more I tried to correct it the more I spun,so I thought, I’ll fly with it, and just spun and spun- all the while drinking in the surroundings and feeding on my feelings of amazement and exstacey. Today was by far one of the best things I had done. Absolute brilliance, and it forces me to smile with giddiness as I sit in a small cafe relieving the moment, with Jack Johnson playing while I sip cold coffee from a beer tankard.

Final Efforts

So Katmandu had me jumping off bridges and ripping through rapids, now I had recovered and seen Christmas through- it was time to move on, 10days was the longest I’d stayed in one place since Sadhana Forest, in October. but Katmandu would not be left without a good drinking session. I met up with some South African guys on the last evening and although my bus to Phokara was at 6am the next morning I decided to make the most of the night, Wandering through the late night lifeless streets of Katmandu with my new acquaintances and sipping rum and coke at the few remaining open bars. In the end we resorted to buying some vodka and lemonade and sitting on the rooftop of my hotel until 2am. These guys would also be going to Pokhara a day later then I, so we could meet up to enjoy the local street festival for New Years or whatever. Eventually it was time for bed..but not before the guy working at the hotel who had wanted a ‘paper marriage’ came to my room and declared his undying love at 3am.

If you meet Budda on the road, Kill him.

 

With only a few hours sleep I made my bus easily the next morning, and the ride turned into quite a social affair for me as I talked with various people at each rest stop. The middle aged guy next to me was from Bangladesh and told me various interesting facts about his country…including that he had reached the middle of years so he decided to travel and get away..sounded like what we call a mid life crisis. Don’t get me wrong I was sympathetic and grateful for his knowledge but like most Indian men he would tell me what to do….Don’t take that medicine, eat this orange….eat this biscuit… zip up your bag…..despite the fact the zip was barely loose 2cm…. Not liking being told what to do at the best of times I didn’t appreicate this…but its a typical example of how the men over here think they are in charge of women, even when your a stranger.

I also met an Australian girl who was taking part in the famous tuk tuk (rickshaw) race through India, apparently there would be lots of teams in Pohkara gearing up to start the long journey down to Cochin in Kerala, southern India.

I hadn’t met any one else my age traveling so far…but within one day in Phokara I had met two. You come across some people doing some really interesting things. This one girl was working on a program with street kids and had been in Pohkara for 4months! A long time in this small town.

The Beauty is Insane

Small is far to often beautiful however. I wake up in the mornings here step out of my door to a balcony with a view of flowers and old decrepit wicker chairs on a coragated iron roof, damp with the rain that fell lat night. I can easily appreicate the beauty  in this as  he morning  is sunny and the air feels so fresh with the ground still wet. A large lake in one direction and mountains in the other. In the middle of the lake is an island temple and on the further shore a hill of forest with the stupa of the Peace Pagoda on top. Words can not try and describe the perfection of colour, atmosphere and surrounding….and photos come only a small way to doing the place justice.

One of the best bits about traveling is the people you meet and the insight you get into their lives. Other travelers from anywhere from Russia to South Africa. Some people are like minded travelers, others have different agendas, but the people you click with along the way add to the awesome experience. Through meeting other people I’ve been given a little window into their home towns, Tel Aviv, Johannesburg, Singapore, Amsterdam Sydney, San Francisco and Queensland. Through the people I talk too I’m not just traveling Asia.

Pokhara has been the ideal place to spend new years, the streets were alive with locals for the festival, cooking food, selling crafts and playing games…including one in which the player is blind folded and has to make his way down a path without stepping out of the lines…he does this with a big stick in hand for when he makes it to the end of the path his next task is to blindly aim for a large clay pot. Presumably if he succeeds in smashing it he wins…we didnt see anyone win on our trips through the streets, plus it looked to me like the player could easily smash the prize (a botle of beer) which sat dangerously near the clay pot he thrashes at with a big stick. The people in the streets loved it and there was a fair amount of shouting and cheering going, defiantly enough to let me know they took this game seriously.

I’d met up with the South Africans I’d met in Katmandu, and we went out boating on Pewa lake .Appparently the 2^nd largest in Nepal…I couldn’t imagine the largest could be more beautiful though. The morning mist on the lake would disappear and the sun would shine and bounce off the rippling water. In the boat we could see the lake was fairly clean and after some fooling about with piracy, a telescope and my harmonica we rowed beyond the colourful island temple in the middle and made our way to the opposite shore to attempt the 40min hike to the World Peace Pagoda. A beautiful climb that took my breath away with the views but equally with the effort. I’m obviously the exception to the rule, that you become fitter when traveling. The views and the tranquility round the peace pagoda were well worth the struggle however and the forest we’d hiked up through seemed like a magical place, a perfect setting for a midsummer nights dream.

It was New Years Eve and after a beautiful insanely serene day we hit the town for a night that would juxtapose it. Plenty of vodka, boats, paint tubs and cowboy hats made an awesome way to see in the New Year,(apparently there were 3 count downs) the first day of which we spent nursing small hangovers and the injuries wed achieved. A few hours on a rowing boat again and I felt like I hadn’t been at such peace in a long long time. Great company, plenty of alcohol and an insanely beautiful place. I couldn’t of asked for more. It was going to be difficult to leave. Luckily I didn’t have to think about it until, sadly, the Jo’burg guys returned to Katmandu the following day.

The morning they were leaving, we woke up to find the sky the clearest it had been since we arrived in Pohkara. For the first time we could see what we had been surrounded by the whole time. It was enough to make us swear and curse in disbelief. Majestic snow capped mountains of the Annapurna range. It was a view that kept us quiet while we stood atop a their hotel and took in the view. After hugs goodbye I had to think about my journey on back through Nepal in order to make it to the tiger reserve the following week for my research project. So much to look forward to this new year, but also so much to take in and appreciate in the moment.

Tags: 1, india

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