Llew Wanders the World

At the “tourist” bus station there were a dozen or more buses waiting to pick up passengers. I identified the correct one and climbed aboard.

The phrase “tourist bus” probably conjuors up images of new upholstry,reclining seats, air conditioning, passengers with cameras and Hawaiian shirts, a toilet at the back and so on. Not so in Nepal. It seemed that I was probably the only foreigner on the bus, which looked to be twenty or thirty years old. While the seats were fairly comfortable and did recline they were quite close together and a bit ratty. Thankfully the bus was almost empty and I got a seat near the front with loads of leg room.

Before leaving Kathmandu, the bus pulled up at a gas station and sat there for a few minutes. While we were waiting, a man boarded the bus and explained that since this one was so empty (perhaps eight out of the forty or so seats were full) we were being transferred on to a different bus.

I grumbled to myself, but after making sure my pack had been transferred, I walked over to the one he’d indicated and took my (less comfortable and roomy, but still not terrible) seat.

The bus pulled out of the gas station and onto the road. Soon we were out of the heart of Kathmandu and into the suburban areas, but our forward progress took a turn for the worse at this point. A long line of stopped vehicles appeared ahead of us, and we joined it, inching along until we came to a police barracade. An officer climbed aboard, took a look at the passengers and a few of their ID cards, and we were off again. For a very short time, unfortunately. A few minutes later we joined an even longer row of buses and trucks stretching up and around a hill in the distance) that were waiting for no apparent reason. It must simply have been a traffic volume problem, caused by the fact that this was only the roads had only been re-opened the day before after two weeks of closure proclaimed and enforced by Maoist guerillas.

Occaisionally our bus or another would pull out into the lane for oncoming traffic and make a bit of quick progress, but the climb up the hill was very slow going for quite a while. Finally the traffic seemed to thin out and we got moving at something better than a walking pace.

Up and up we climbed, leaving the Kathmandu valley behind us. Suddenly we turned a corner and there, spread out in front of us was another beautiful, huge river valley. How far down was it? 500m? 600? 1000? I had no way of knowing, and didn’t even have a chance to photograph the view from the top, as the bus sped down the road to the side of the river at the valley’s bottom.

I’d been warned that the entire bus trip from Kathmandu to Pokhara would be one long near-death experience, with hairpin bends taken at high speeds, blind passing and wheels riding mere centimetres from sickening dropoffs. I suppose the driver was a touch reckless, but I never really felt unsafe during the journey. Perhaps my experiences riding buses in southeast Asia had primed me for this?

We followed the river for almost all of the trip, passing by beautiful terraced fields similar to those I’d seen in Bungamati, as well as other local industries. Gravel manufacturing was very common. At many spots along the way, I looked down towards the river and saw Nepalis hefting large rocks into the backs of trucks which climbed up away from the river and to the rock crushers that dotted the roadside. At these the largest rocks were broken up by hand with sledges before being thrown into the hopper and crunched into gravel for use in the construction industry in Kathmandu.

After some five hours on the bus, we stopped for lunch at the pretty Blue Heaven restaurant, which had a lovely view of the river stretching out ahead of us. I lined up with the Nepalis from my bus and piled a plate high with Dal Bhat (Dal Bhat being the plate of rice, lentil curry and vegetables that is the staple food of Nepal) from steam trays that seemed to have been laid out in anticipation of our arrival. After my meal (which I could just barely finish) I reboarded the bus and we were off again.

The journey continued up the valley, with only occaisional reminders that the trip wasn’t entirely safe (in the mornign I’d seen one bus rolled onto its side near the road, and just after lunch I spotted one laying upside down on the bank of the river, some 30m below the road.) Throughout the day there were also regular long periods of stopped traffic due to police checkpoints, simple volume of traffic or minor accidents.

The river valley was quite pretty, especially as the river itself grew in size. The water was a beautiful green colour. At any given moment large birds of prey could be seen circling above the river and up the hillsides. All around terraced fields rose up onto the hillsides, and while no snow-capped peaks were visible above the walls of the valley, Nepal’s mountainous character was always evident.

Later on, we passed by the most graphic sign yet of Nepal’s internal turmoil: the burnt out shells of several trucks still sitting on the road. These were vehicles that had tried (or perhaps been forced by the government) to make the journey despite the Maoist declared transport strike. We had to weave in and out of the hulks, and through my open window I could still smell the odour of their burning, which had clearly happened very recently. One of the buses still contained its cargo of blackened bananas. I’d heard that drivers and passengers on these vehicles had been asked to stand aside while the Maoists burned them, but I’d also heard rumours that the drivers had had their hands cut off or been killed as punishment for disobeying the strike orders. While all evidence suggested that tourists were at most inconvenienced by Nepal’s turmoil, it was clearly not a happy time for Nepalis outside the safety of the Kathmandu valley.

In the early afternoon we passed the sizeable town of Mugling, the turn-off for buses headed to India. At this point much of the traffic disappeared and our speed of travel increased correspondingly.

We made a second stop about 50km away from our destination at a small restaurant with a splendid flower garden. I didn’t need to eat or use the toilet, and would rather have kept on the road and arrived that much sooner, but it was a very nice place for a rest.

As we approached Pokhara, the towns became larger and more frequent, as did the police checkpoints. Finally after passing one particularly large one, we pulled into town, driving through its streets for a few minutes before arriving at the station.

As I disembarked, a swarm of touts surrounded me. Their voices were a cacaphony, reccommending this guesthouse or that one. Offering free taxi rides to such and such a hotel, or saying that I ought to pay for my own taxi (theirs of course) and choose a place to stay for myself. Perhaps a dozen times I said firmly that I was walking into town, but they continued to follow me as I walked out of the bus park. At times I had to (gently) shove my way through the crowd to make any forward progress.

I walked down the streets and was approached by a pleasantly soft-spoken Nepali man. We chatted for a bit, and he asked if I’d like to have a look at his guesthouse, and that he had rooms for as little as 100 rupees per night. The contrast between him and the agressive touts at the bus station was such that I happily went with him for a look.

I’d planned on looking at his place and then checking out a few others, but given its quiet, but still semi-central location, the pleasant rooms and the price (he later confided that he’d made a mistake in quoting 100 rupees and that usually tourists had to bargain pretty hard to get a room for that) I decided to stay.

Bijay (that was his name) and I sat out in the guestshouse garden, drank tea and talked for a little while. This was not really a problem for him, as he
He was a very pleasant fellow, and as we talked I learned that he was 24, and had come from Chitwan, some 200km distant (in Nepali terms, 200km is a vast distance) with his wife to work in Pokhara. At first it had been hard, but now he had his job managing the guetshouse, and his wife, Mira, worked in a small restaurant/bar they owned not far away.

As the sun set, we walked over to the restaurant, (named The True Love Tea Shop) where Bijay offered me a bit of Rakshi (Nepali rice whisky.) I accepted and we sat drinking one glass after another (a total of three, or was it four?) accompanied by pata, a mixture of crunchy corn, onions, chillis and garlic. It didn’t do much my breath the next morning, but tasted good. As nice as Bijay was, I couldn’t help but be disturbed by the fact that he discussed sleeping with other women, including prostitutes, after his marriage in direct earshot of his wife. He wasn’t the first Nepali I’d met who’d made such comments, so I wasn’t sure if it’s a cultural thing, or just a peculiarity of a few of the men I’d met.

As we talked, customers kept appearing and purchasing bottles of Rakshi for themselves (at 35 or 40 rupees, it’s not too expensive, even for the locals who patronized the restaurant.) The bottles were re-used 650ml beer bottles, and were filled from plastic jugs whose original contents were now a mystery. We talked for a while longer, eating little bits of the delicious sour and salty curry Mira had prepared. Finally I headed back to the guesthouse accompanied by the remains of a bottle of Rakshi, which I finished off while reading before falling asleep.

The next morning I woke up surprisingly early and headed onto the roof. I’d been disappointed with ow hazy it was upon my arrival, and this morning provided only a marginal improvement. The view of the towering, snow capped Himalaya not far from Pokhara was non-existant the previous afternoon. The mountains were visible this morning, but even the giant Fishtail Mountain(actually “only” 6997m tall, but the nearest of the big ones to Pokhara) was only a ghost in the haze.

I climbed back down off the roof, and headed back to the True Love Tea Shop (that was the name of Bijay and Mira’s restaurant) where I returned my rakshi bottle and had a couple of cups of tea. I sat and talked with Bijay some more, explaining some specifics of the work I did back home, and then wandered across the road with him where he played Carom-board, a popular game in Nepal. The square board, perhaps 1.2m on a side, has four round holes in the corner, and is covered in powder which allows two colours of plastic disc (nine of each) to be flicked on its surface by competitors. It’s really a lot like pool, as the first one to “sink” all of his discs wins the game.

I sat and watched, chewing the betel nut Bijay had given me earlier and felt almost like a real Nepali! (Betel is a very mildly narcotic nut, whose taste and immediate effects [I didn’t feel anything beyond a vague numbing of the lips] reminded me a bit of Fijian kava.)

In the early afternoon I sent some e-mails (likely the last in a while, if I was to leave on my trek the following day. The search for Bijay’s reccomended internet cafe took me through several of Pokhara’s beautiful, quiet residental/guesthouse neighbourhoods. Communications complete, I guesthouse for a shower before heading back onto the street for some exploration and provisioning for my trek.

My first task was to get one of my sandals fixed. One half of its velcro fastener had become unstitched. As I’d expected, the streetside shoe-shine/repair men made a sturdy inexpensive job of it. The whole process took about ten minutes (during which I sat on his toolbox, one foot shod, one bare) and cost 20 rupees.

I walked along the lakeside (Phewa Tal is the second largest lake in Nepal and is the geographical feature that dominates Pokhara) and towards the centre of town.

I stopped in at a few trekking gear stores as there were a few items I hadn’t picked up in Kathmandu. The fact that I didn’t have a shopping list and kept remembering items as I walked along meant that I spread my business around, probably a good thing given how the tourist industry is suffering (and doubly so, both from the general lack of tourists in Nepal AND from the lack of buses from Kathmandu.)

I ended up with a tuque, a pair of fleece gloves, a pair of nice gaiters, a good map of the Annapurna region, a sun hat and a pair of sun glasses. All of this came to 1300 rupees, or about US$18.50.

I also picked up a new swiss army knife (I’d lost my old one in a river earlier 🙁 ) and while it was expensive at 2300 rupees, that was still 30% less than it would have been in Canada.

Shopping completed, I wandered up and down the main street of Pokhara for a bit, and stopped in at the KEEP (Kathmandu Environmental Education Program) office. There I refilled my water bottles and had a nice chat with the (I think) German gentleman who was on duty at the time. He gave me a bit more information about the trek I’d soon undertake, and also allowed me to fill out a form to register my trek with the Canadian embassy (the KEEP people even deliver them free of charge!)

After this I walked down the road in search of a bite to eat. I was having no luck deciding where to go or what I wanted when I spotted a restaurant playing the England-Ireland rugby match. Decision made. I sat down and enjoyed the (taped) match and did my best to enjoy a very mediocre pizza (it seems that the Asians just can’t do pizza right.)

The match completed (including a re-wind for an Irish lady who wanted to watch Brian O’Driscoll’s game winning try again) I sauntered back towards my guesthouse. On the way I stopped and chatted with a very friendly barber from India (he hasn’t been home for 11 months, and has thus not even seen his 3 month old son yet!) As we chatted he offered me a soft drink from the shop next door and also gave a few biscuits to two young hungry (and as far as I could tell mute but not deaf) beggar boys.

After I went on my way, they followed me (they’d seemed to like my haircut) and were quite pleased when I took them into a shop and bought a couple of packages of instant noodles that they’d selected (though they still wanted a cola to go with them… demanding little fellows.)

My final stop on the way back was this internet cafe. Shortly I’ll

Quick thanks to Bijay at the Mount Kaliash Hotel and all of the super-friendly people of Pokhara. Pretty much everyone was willing to offer advice about my trek, or just have a pleasant talk whether they stood to gain business out of it or not.

It will likely be a while until my next entry, as tomorrow morning I’ll be heading off on the famed Annapurna Circuit trekking route, and then climbing up to the Annapurna base camp. (Annapurna is one of the Earth’s fourteen 8000m peaks, and the region is reputed to be one of, if not THE best trekking area in the world.)

Tags: Nepal

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 1st, 2005 at 2:46 am and is filed under Nepal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.