Kathmandu again.

Beer, momo, watched the rugby, took a walk, saw some temples, got some nice photos, compared beards with this guy........

Back In Pokhara.

I spend the next 6 days doing very little, basically waiting for my knees to get better (oh yeah, I also sprained my ankle in the last 10min of the 10 day trek!  It’d be funny if only it was happening to someone else.)  Myself and the frenchman meet up with some of the Intrepid group and I am perhaps a tad overly amused when requests come forth for him to say “Wafer thin mint sir?”  There is an attempt to explain that we’re not being racist as it’s Monty Python.  Unfortunately he then says “Pithan?” which ruins any justification as everyone erupts in laughter.

Most folk head back to Kathmandu.  I enjoy a flaming steak with two of the trekkers from Sydney.  Hint: Keep eyebrows at a safe distance - cow is surprisingly flammable!  After this it’s 4 days of sitting in the hostel’s garden playing guitar, reading and sampling the odd mojito - there are worse ways to spend you time.

A few days later Kelly and Judy (the Americans I met on the way up) return from the mountains.  We celebrate Kelly’s birthday which becomes quite a messy affair for the girls and a noisy one at that as the sounds of consequence can be heard coming form the bathroom throughout the early hours.

I now make possibly the worst choice so far of the trip (many more to come).  I d

ecide to join the girls on a week long yoga retreat (you’ll recall the success I had with yoga in India).  Unsurprisingly my first impressions are; “This is bollocks”.  Now, most of it I can handle; getting up early is not a problem, the veggie food is quite tasty, the little treks are fine, okay the pouring a watering can full of warm salty water into your nose whilst pretending to chop wood or dance like a chicken whilst snorting like a horse is a bit odd but I’m sure it’s good for you!?  I even enjoy the yoga!!  What I can’t get into is the meditation.  Maybe it’s the chanting mantras that mean precisely nothing to me or it could be the screaming children running around outside or p

erhaps it’s the builders they have working at the retreat or possibly it’s next door’s dance music.  Whichever, it’s not exactly peaceful.  We are then introduced to laughing meditation.  This is basically rolling around on the floor laughing at nothing like the nurse forgot to give you your meds on her morning rounds.  At this point I reassess my first impression; “This is UTTER bollocks!”  The following morning (day 3) my bags are packed. Adios Yogi!  Thanks for the experience but you can kiss your own overcharging arse! (he actually can.  I’ve seen the photo and it’s quite disturbing!)

By the afternoon I’m

 paragliding.  Now this is more like it!  I’m given no time to think or have doubts.  I arrive on the hill, am strapped in and; RUN! Shiiiiit!!  I’m flying!  I spend an hour and a half soaring around the ridges of the foothills and dipping into valleys.  we are followed by some curious and feckin huge birds, possibly eagles, definitely not budgies.

It’s all pretty relaxing until the death spins over the lake.  We get some proper G-force and apparently my pilot as only landed in the lake twice - which is nice.

By mid afternoon I bump into Kelly and Judy who apparently just had to get one more watering can up the nose session in before also quitting under the bullshit clause.  We proceed to undue any cleansing undertaken in the local late night spot.

This is where I meet Oliver.  Prepare to be impressed; Oliver has ridden his motorbike from the UK to Nepal, working his way around the world and passing through such Lastminute.com favorites as Pakistan.  If that doesn’t sound challenging enough, bear in mind that he’s ginger and Welsh.

I’m inspired; I book motorbike lessons and soon find myself practicing figure of eights around moving buffalo (I did ask them to stay still but...).  A novelty elsewhere, this is a necessity in Nepal.  Practice over and I’m out on the open road climbing into the hills that eventually lead back to India.  My instructor, Rick, issues a couple of warnings; 

Honk the horn at everything except chickens - they become suicidal upon the sound and will dive under your front wheel.  They’re also expensive.  You are required to pay for the potential yield of offspring and eggs - how the hell do you figure that out!?

If you’re hit by anything, get of the road quicker than Michael Flattley’s heel can kick his own arse.  Driver’s can not afford your medical costs so will reverse to finish the job off.  Great!

So, all this time in Pokhara I was staying at Sweet Dreams Hostel.  If you happen to find yourself in the neighborhood, I recommend it.  I spend a lot of time playing guitar in the garden which leads to playing an acoustic night for them (the hostel has a music room and proper PA set up).  This was great fun.  whilst I’m playing Pearl Jam and Neil Young covers, I’m accompanied by a classical violinist and provided nepalese backing vocals from one of the finalists of Nepali Pop Idol - Yes, they even have it in Nepal!  A truly random and top draw night.

Lalit and his wife are great hosts.  I’m invited to family meals, kept well fed on momo and taken to the local football final.  This turns out to be the police vs the army and bloo

dy awful football.  The stampedes and small scale rioting are good fun though.   I spend the last few days painting a picture for the hostel for which I’m rewarded with a steady flow of free mojitos.  Mmmm....minty drunk.

ABC is most definitely not as easy as 123.

Will I never learn?  A fair number of friends who have known me for some years will now be thinking back and voicing an emphatic “NO”.  Anyone in this category should feel free to keep specific examples to themselves.

A couple of months ago I was whinging over a 3 day trek in India that left me feeling like a beached whale with a chest full of razor wire.  An obvious progression then that I should sign myself up to a 10 day trek to Annapurna Base Camp in the Himalayas.  With a stockpile of medication and a complete lack of common sense I head into the hills and quickly learn that 3 weeks of hardened alcoholic abuse in Goa cannot be classed as adequate preparation.  For each person I meet that shares tales of arduous warm up treks I find myself matching their tally of accumulated kilometers with mine of Calsbergs consumed.  Shit!

Happily the first day turns out to be rather easy as we amble through villages and begin our ascent into the foothills.  I am not the least bit apprehensive when Our guide; Santosh informs us the the next day will be a little longer.

Santosh is a slight and nimble fellow weighing in at about 45kg.  A fact I find myself mulling over the next morning as I consider hurling him into the valley falling steeply off to my left.  Providing he doesn’t put up much of a struggle, he shouldn’t even touch the side.  We are at this point at around the 1/4 way point of the 3,800 vastly irregular and mostly gigantic steps that he neglected to mention the previous evening.  I also find myself contemplating the occasional drop kick as waves upon waves of annoyingly agile children energetically bound past on their way to school.  Looking happy!  Little Bastards!!

Day 3 and my knees go.  I knew it was going to happen sooner or later but this is not the best timing as I’m staggering up Poon Hill in the dark at 5:30am.  They are well and truly buggered and I have to admit that I may have overestimated the magical properties of Rum and Denial.  I do however have a back up strategy...

Sponsors Note: Th

e remainder of this trek was brought to you by Codine, Diclofenic Sodium and Tiger Balm - lots of Tiger Balm.

Over the next 4 days it takes to reach the top we latch on to a group from Intrepid Travel and a couple of girls from the States.  This is good as I’m getting closer and closer to using my trekking pole to make a shish kebab out of the frenchman I’m hiking with.  This is the man who ‘accidently’ nabbed the sleeping bag I’d ordered from the trek office.  This is the man who, after I’d pointed out that it was mine but said that he could have it and I’d use blankets, continually complained of being cold and asked why I hadn’t brought a sleeping bag?  Language barrier?  I think not.  The garlic chomper even tried to take one of my blankets one night because “zere are two of zem and two of us”  NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!

Anyway, despite my failing knees and increasingly homicidal tendencies, we reach the last teahouse at Macchu Puchee (not in Peru) well ahead of the Intrepid group only to find that they’ve sent one of their supernaturally fast porters ahead and booked out the entire lodge.  This is simply not cricket!  I’m considering who to kill first when they offer us their store room.  I’m imagining freezing to death on a stone floor amongst a stash of Yak’s cheese whilst the frenchman compares it to camembert with disgust and outrage (I’ve already heard how disappointing English cheese is - what’s french for Twat?).

The door opens and I’m greeted by the sight of two double beds and thirty odd spare blankets that I have absolutely no intention of telling anyone about.  I have the warmest nights sleep and decide not to hurl anyone into the valley below.

The next morning we hit the top - 4130m.  Santosh tells me that he’d thought I’d never make it.  The frenchman agrees.  They underestimate the power of bloody mindedness.

The views are awesome.  Every aspect runs over glaciers to a snowy peak and the teahouse is fringed with stalactites.  If only there was a giant flume tube so I didn’t have to walk back down again, it’d be perfect.

Coming back down is inevitably quicker though it’s murder on the knees - I add redbull to the cocktail of painkillers which is probably not advisable.  I see two grown men wearing Scout uniforms with unnecessarily short shorts and can’t decide if I’m hallucinating or not.

It takes us 3 days to get back down with my knees getting consistently worse.  A few hours spent in a hot spring provides some relief.  Of course, the springs are at the bottom of a couple of hundred more feckin’ steps!  Santosh refuses to come to the spring as he doesn’t want the girls from the intrepid group to see his scrawny body - fair enough when he’s going to be next to such a fine specimen of a man as myself!

I am told another embarrassing body story by one of the Intrepid girls (name reserved for legal reasons).  The short of it being that if you’re female; there are two things you should hold firmly on to when bungee jumping, especially when being filmed.

So after relaxing in the spring and sampling some of Nepal’s medicinal finest I get a pretty good nights sleep.   And awake in absolute agony!  This is getting annoying.  We decide to take a shortcut down - so only 6 hrs of trekking today then!  

I’d love to be able to write about the breathtaking scenery following the valley down but the only thing keeping me going with each alternate step was “BEER - STEAK - BEER - STEAK”.  That and having the Ipod on - Best music for trekking: Propellerheads.

So back to Pokhara and Everest Steak House.  Probably the best steak I know of - at least half a cow!  Wash it down with a Gorka and I’m a happy man again.

Kathmandu.

Well, that was a long journey.  After leaving Goa at 4:30pm Friday I fly to Delhi where I spend 12hrs at the airport waiting for my delayed flight to Nepal.  I pretty much overdose on mocha lattes and the such and find myself having the rather surreal experience of playing a little instrumental performance on the check in hall floor at 4am.  This of course only came about following a request from an Austrian girl.  The music and the caffeine fueled waffling help to wind away the hours but unfortunately she leaves 3 hours before me.  I am left listening to a rather large man snore away the night as if he’s being dry humped by a walrus and staring mystified at a woman with curious plastic surgery compulsions.

Anyway, the flight comes and goes and I land in Kathmandu.  On first impressions and in my beleaguered state, Nepal actually seems crazier than India (surely not possible)!  They won’t except their own currency for the visa and I leave the airport and return the required currency after strolling through immigration without showing my passport once - now that’s a secure border.  I am paying for my trekking in Nepalese Rupees, my room with Indian Rupees with all receipts coming in dollars - confusing!

More confusing, later that evening, is a bar’s advertising of the Arsenal game ay 9:45pm despite the fact that the bar closes it’s doors at 10pm and the area is on a scheduled power cut until 11pm.  I discuss this with the bartender but he fails to see the problem.  Crazy fool!

Kathmandu is hectic to say the least but after my first night and 40hrs of being awake, I decide I like it.  There’s not as much hassle as in India - perhaps because everyone’s busy playing half-baked traffic frogger.  I spend a couple of days catching up on sleep, negotiating the power outages effect on hot water, watching some surprisingly good Nepalese rock cover bands, kitting myself out for trekking and getting my camera fixed (although it never works properly again - if you’re on an elephant; hold your camera tightly!)

On the first night I also found myself drinking the evening away with two Nepalese guys.  When closing time comes they insist they know a bar that stays open later - this of course sounds like a good idea.   Sometime into the 3 men and a moped journey it becomes apparent that we’re actually headed for a brothel and I'm probably about to get stung for a substantial amount of cash with pricey drinks and dicey doormen.  At this point the alcohol and 40hrs without sleep give way to a sudden sobriety.  I politely request that my two elf sized companions turn around and return me to the touristy area - they are most accommodating gentlemen.