Fens Travels

Do not stand by my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.

Yesterday we made our way, slow and steady to Labouche from the small town of Thukla. It was only a 2-hour trek and I had never anticipated it being such a significant day. We rose early, enjoyed our usual breakfast of Tibetan bread, honey with black tea and set off for the 200m climb to Labouche. Now 200m you would think should be no problem for two fit young things like Matt and I, however 200m at 5000m of altitude is quite another story. Nevertheless, slowly but surely bit-by-bit we chugged our way to the top of Thukla hill and were greeted by a series of memorials and prayer flags for those who have lost their lives in the Himalayas. Monument after monument surrounded us, some as humble as a few pebbles in the sand, others more substantial with engraved stones and plaques bearing messages to loved ones. Just walking around amid the flutter of pray flags and the terrific mountains I was quite simply moved to tears. I hadn’t anticipated or expected it and was in a super fine fenny type mood just minutes before hand but suddenly I couldn’t stand for the tears. The emotion was so overwhelming that I just sat down on the ground and wept until the tears wouldn’t fall anymore. At first I pretended to be doing up my boots but I think the river of tears and sound of sobbing gave the game away. Thankfully Matt came to see me and we had a cuddle, it was after all almost one year to the day that we lost the big man to cancer. I cried and cried for all the wives, sisters, brothers, husbands and children who had ever experienced the misfortune and simple sadness of death and its finality.
I sit hear now on the evening of the 27th of January with a full belly, by a warm fire gently recovering from what was the most exhausting day. A smug wholehearted tiredness oozes through my body and my mind drifts towards dreaming and the comfort of a warm sleeping bag. At 6am we rose and prepared our bags for the final challenge of our trek – Kalar Pattar 5600m. With the thermometer measuring –10, frozen water bottles and ice on the inside of the windows the last thing I wanted to do was to get out of my cozy sleeping bag. It took me a good 15 minutes to muster up the courage to get dressed and ready for what surely this time was to be our ‘last hard day’.
Eventually we left Labouche at about 7.30am, as always feet, hands and nose were cold so I did my best to get the blood flowing. Due to the altitude however anything faster then, well stationary had me in a fit of periodic breathing. My progress to Gorak Shep was painfully slow. As Matt moved on at a reasonable pace I was constantly straining to keep up. The terrain was challenging enough as we had to cross huge sections of glacial moraine, but the breathing was the biggest struggle. I tried my best to focus on the views which were needless to say spectacular.
Eventually after two hours of trudging uphill over boulders and scree, constantly breathless I arrived at Gorak Shep. My head felt thick and my body heavy. Matt was also suffering but we reluctantly managed to get some noodle soup down us, drink some water and mentally prepare ourselves for the 600m climb to the top of Kalar Pattar. Thankfully whilst eating my body seemed to acclimatize somewhat and I was no longer fighting to breath. I found a good rhythm and stuck to a regular (albeit fast) breathing pattern as we began our ascent. With Nuptse and Everest to our right and the Khumbu glacier behind us, one small step at a time we made gentle progress. It was as though someone had pressed the slow motion button on the video recorder because the hill seemed to go on forever, not once did I take my eye of the prize. Matt’s health continued to worry me as he seemed to be getting worse, his body was screaming for a lower altitude and he was faced with the mental battle of mind over matter in order to reach the top. We stuck together.
At 1pm at last we reached the summit and were able to smile again. Without a cloud in the sky we had full views of Everest, the south col, base camp, Pumori, the Tibetan border quite a panorama. 17 days of trekking and more then 10,000m of total ascent, we did it. For me there was never any option, I was always going to make it because this one was in honour of the big man. So often my inspiration I love and miss him and dedicate this day to him and the spirit of adventure.

Today is our rest / aclimitisation day. Yesterday we walked from Tengboche to Dengboche and for the majority of the walk I struggled. Yes it was finally my turn to be proper rough! After breakfast and until lunchtime I was weak and feeble, stumbling as opposed to walking the trail. According to Matt my pitifully slow forward progress resembled a daddy long legs crawling out of a puddle. A few things perked me up along the way – the scenery for one, we also saw a golden eagle swoop past. At the time however I think I was slightly more concerned about the next time I would see a toilet. By lunchtime I had diagnosed myself with bacterial diarrhea and began a course of antibiotics that I had purchased for just such an occasion in KTM.
So far our rest day has been glorious; the sun is up and the mountains are gleaming, plus I am feeling much better. Matt and I went for a walk up the valley this morning towards Chuklung and got great views of Ama Dablam and Island Peak.
Dengboche is a nice town but I couldn’t help thinking on arrival that it is a wonder that there is any town here at all. Despite the sunny days it is a bleak and desolate way of life up here. The harsh environment and distance from civilization makes it all the more unique. There are approximately 30-40 buildings in the village, the majority of them are lodges. There is no wood here (it is far too high for that) and so the stoves run of Kerosene and Yak shit which burns surprisingly well. What is truly amazing is that everything here, -and this never ceases to amaze me- has been laboriously carried. Most of it from Lukla which is a good 3 days walk away and some of it from Jiri! Everything, I must explain really means everything: the furniture we sit and eat from the cups and saucers for our tea, plates for our Dahl Baaht, cooking pots and pans of all sizes, rugs for the floor, posters and framed pictures of deities that hang off the walls, huge sheets of corrugated iron which make up the roof, mars bars for the hungry trekkers, curtains to keep in the warmth, steel stoves, blankets, wooden beds, plastic windows, every single knife and fork – you name it and it has been carried here. Even the foundations of the lodge have been dug by hand…
Makes our little jaunt look like a walk in the park!

Yesterday we arrived at Tengboche (3860m) on entering the town after a 1.5 hour climb from Tashinga we were in an odd mood. Firstly we had been walking since 9am from Namche, it was 1.30 and we were hungry for food. Secondly the town itself was covered in thick cloud which gave us an eerie, desolate and cold first impression of the place. Finally and most importantly it became evident that Matt was again suffering from symptoms of AMS. Initially it began with a headache; he quickly got very cold and although perking up a little after we filled our bellies, remained in a decidedly low mood for most of the evening.
Our room did nothing to cheer us up as it was cold, dark very small and around 50m from the outside toilet. With outside temperatures of -10 we were both apprehensive. The dinning room thankfully had a roaring stove which we were able to defrost by and after a few hours of reading we enjoyed tucking into our Dahl Baahts before bed. Both our moods improved and at about 8pm we hurried through the cold to our room and got cozy in our sleeping bags… thank you Mr.Rab! It took me all of about 10minutes to fall into a deep sleep and despite being told that it is hard work sleeping at altitude I had a relatively uninterrupted night. I didn’t even wake to investigate the noisy visitor under my bed, a little mouse Matt told me in the morning, had been trying his best to get into my chocolate supply. Matt spoke to him very calmly and asked him to keep the noise down but he apparently didn’t take a blind bit of notice. I don’t think he spoke English.
I am as yet surprisingly unaffected by the altitude. In fact I have only two complaints. The first is that due to the lack of oxygen (50% of what you would find at sea level) I find it quite hard to laugh. If I do break into a fit of giggles I quickly have to focus on something really serious before I pass out! I am also peeing a hell of a lot. I have perfected the peeing in a bottle technique so as not to get it all over the place but it is still not the most enjoyable of events, I do after all have Matt beside me and the eternal worry of missing the hole! Last night I peed 1 litre and all on target!
This morning we woke to another world, the clouds have passed and we are surrounded by terrific mountains. Ama Dablam is right there just hanging out behind the toilet, Nuptse and Everest glisten on the horizon.
We have now changed guesthouses, have a view of Everest from our room and we are sitting in the sunshine drinking tea. Tengbohe is a sight of cultural and religious importance for the people of the Khumbu region. The monastery and Gompa dominate the little town and the monks can be heard at prayer several times a day. From time to time Matt and I are awakened from our heavenly tea drinking only by the clanging of yak bells or the clash of symbols from the monastery… heaven.

We have arrived in Namche! What a joy after 9 days walking. Namche hill was a bugger, it tool me 2 hours a little longer then expected mainly due to the in the fact that I could not stop hiccupping! – The whole way up. Apparently in Nepal if you hiccup it is a blessing as it means that someone is thinking of you, which is real nice and all but I can’t help wondering why all the people I have ever met all choose to think about me whilst I was making my way up Namche hill?
I wasn’t the only one to suffer… Matt got knocked off the trail by a heard of galloping yaks on their way down. As amusing as that was, um wasn’t, he was fine and we put it down to experience the main learning point being always have your camera handy when you here the din of clanging yak bells and notice the billows of dust on the horizon. That and try to get to the right hand side of the trail or at least away from the edge!
By reaching Namche we have in total climbed almost exactly the height of Mount Everest (8848m or 29,028 ft) with corresponding descents equaling the height of Ama Dablam (6828m or 22,402ft). From here on in the distances are shorter, the assents are lower and we have a rest day every other to acclimatise.

We are past Lukla. It is now another world. The trekkers are numerous and the budget stretches. Lukla hosts it own airport which means that those with more money and less time may choose to fly straight in from KTM. It has taken us nine days of trekking to get here. Last night we stayed at the Yak and Yeti loge in Surke (1.5hrs before Lukla) which was opened especially for us as we were the only trekkers in the village seeking shelter. Yesterday on the trail we met with a Dutch couple who were heading in the other direction. They had come from Namche that day and warned us of the extreme conditions there. Most of the loges they explained were closed and the ones that were open had no water supply due to the extreme night time temperatures (-15 degrees) which had frozen all the pipes! Although I could appreciate that this was very serious news I had a hard time keeping a straight face as the feller who was deep in conversation with us seemed to be wearing his underpants on his head. Very nice!
Since passing Lukla gone are the evenings around the stove with the Nepalese, learning how to make the delicious Dhall Baaht, entertaining everyone with our poor attempts at communicating. The trail, its households, children and animals seem altogether less interested in the attention of Matt and I. Before Lukla it was hard to pass through a village without gangs of little ones rushing out to clasp their hands in front of their hearts falling over themselves to greet us with as many “Namaste’s” as possible before we were out of sight, laughing at us crying at us sometimes handing us flowers for the journey, always mesmerized. Now it seems we are just like any other tourist or trekker, here to see the big one and brag about it to our mates.
We are sharing our lodge in Phaking (known as the Prince of Everest with the best Dhal Baaht yet!) with a group of Koreans on an organized trek. They have porters galore who carry their luggage up before them to the lodge and cooks to get their Korean food on the go ready for their arrival. These ‘trekkers’ barely carry anything at all but their expensive designer what nots. I am bitter obviously, but also for the first time quite ashamed to be a part of it all.
Matt and I have a guide his name is K.B, we understood that it is the way to do things up here and hired him on arrival in Jiri. He speaks very little English and his guiding skills and knowledge amount to pointing out the various animals en route, a typical conversation between us usually goes along the lines of –
“Chikon”
“Yep that’s a chicken alright”
“You have in your country?”
“oh yes we have plenty of them”
As you can imagine the benefits of having K.B along for the ride are not based on his ability to enlighten us with knowledge of the surrounding environment. Firstly we are contributing to the economy, (our money is going directly to his children’s schooling) and due to his presence we have been most warmly accepted by the families we have stayed with. All the lodge owners know K.B and it is thanks to him that the lodge in Surke was opened especially for us. I am warmly referred to as “Deedee” which means sister and K.B does a great job of explaining to our hosts that despite my loud and rather worrying laugh I am not reacting badly to the Dahl Baaht, nor do I have any kind of worrying medical condition but I am in fact having a wonderful time. At first we struggled, he wanted to carry my bag and referred to Matt as Sir. We have worked through these difficulties and are much happier in each others company now, happy to be traveling together.
The reason that the Korean group make me feel so uneasy is I think that they have managed to extinguish every ounce of cultural and physical adventure from the experience. My fundamental reason for being here is there main inconvenience. I am certainly beginning to empathise with Sir Edmund Hillary’s eventual dismay and regret at ever having built the airport at Lukla in the first place. Needless to say I spent the rest of the evening gawping at the group across the room.
Enough of the self conceit, tomorrow we are to Namche. The skies have cleared allowing for some good views, and the sun is able to warm and melt through any snow and ice which we had anticipated causing us trouble. Hopefully we will leave this group and their servants behind us although I have a feeling we will witness more of the same from now on.
On a lighter note I am off to bed with my hot water bottle soon and will try my best not to pee all over the place tonight as happened last night when as opposed to braving minus whatever I attempted to wee in a bottle, needless to say I need more pee practice and am looking forward to washing my sleeping bag liner in Namche!

I haven’t written for some time. We have now been on the trail for 6 days and have at last broken the back of it. The first few days were fairly tough. Starting from Jiri we had four passes to overcome: Mali, Deoraili, Lamjura La and Taksindu. The route to the Khumbu valley goes against the grain of the land; all the rivers and ridges flow North to South and the trail runs West to East. For this reason the walking is challenging to say the least and the passes require a stern determination as no sooner do you arrive at the top of a ridge (usually after a 3-4 hour slog) then the trail plummets back down to the river again and you are forced to loose all the height that you just spent so much effort gaining.
The most demanding of all the passes achieved so far was that of Lamjura La on our fourth day. After spending the night in Sete we had 3.5 hours and 1000metres to climb in order to reach the top of the pass. We had climbed 1000m the previous day and so knew full well the challenge ahead. Easing on our 15kg packs at 8.30am we were immediately in up hill mode. Lamjura La stood at a height of 3530m which is slightly higher then Namche Bizar and higher then either Matt or I have ever been in our lifetimes. We planned on having lunch at the top of the pass as it was a vital part of our acclimatization process. The guide book suggested that we may indeed suffer from symptoms of AMS. People had after all it warned us died from untreated altitude sickness at similar heights. The more we climbed the colder it got.
10am still going up,
11am… Up
12 to 1pm – UP!
More clothes were added and we continued to ascend
- what was that we’ve taken the wrong path… “Bolocks!”
Back down, yep that’s right I said down! My legs rejoiced for approximately three minutes and thirty seconds as we found our way back onto the correct trail and then heads down and that’s right continued to trudge uphill for we had just 40 minutes to go! The higher we climbed the harder it got and I began hallucinating big bowls of veggie fried rice, noodle soup and a seat to rest my tired legs on. The air began to take more breathes to enter the lungs and the ice under foot made each pace fairly tricky – especially for someone as well coordinated as myself!
After one to many ‘oops nearlys’ on the icy patches we eventually arrived at the top of the pass. At last my legs were able to stop going up and we rested for a light headed lunch… Bliss. Apparently one symptom of AMS is that you loose your appetite, this was certainly not the case for me and I was thankful to tuck into a big plate of fried rice and did my best to shield it from the expectant lodge occupants, we had quite an audience surrounding us including 2 cats, the odd dog a few chickens.
Matt seemed to be suffering with the altitude and the longer we waited at the top of the pass the more discomfort he was subjected to. He complained of lightheadedness and a “squeezed” headache. Thankfully my body was fine if not a bit stiff and cold, but I was quite happy to march on fairly quickly after lunch to get the blood running again. As we crossed the pass and began our descent Matt’s headache eased and we were at long last able to enter Junbesi with a smile.
As the days go by and we get more and more passes under our belts my body gets one step closer to exhaustion. It is clear from the map that this is physically the most hard work and once we get above Lukla the pace and the climbing ease off considerably. We will also have more rest days to allow for acclimatization and physical recuperation. Tomorrow is in fact we hope our last hard day!
Interestingly on the trail thus far we have come across only 3 other trekkers. Two French guys who went on ahead of us from Jiri, and one Japanese lady who was returning from a trip to Tengboche. Each night we are always the only westerners in the lodge, January is off season and we are taking the longer route then most trekkers who miss this bit out and fly directly into Lukla – poofters!
Despite it being January the weather is not entirely impossible. The days are hot and cloudless and we are often sweating after only a few minutes from the lodge. We Trek in t-shirts for the daytime but as soon as the sun goes down the down jackets come out as the nights are freezing and increasingly below.
We have followed the same routine for the past six days. We wake at around 6 am (it is still bitterly cold) and lie in our sleeping bags. I usually spend this time arguing with myself as to whether or not to go for a pee. At 7 we start the bag packing process which is taking less and less time the better we get. At 8 we go downstairs for breakfast, always Tibetan bread with honey and a small pot of black tea. Neither of us is doing dairy up here which rules out porridge, pancakes or milk tea. After food we pay our lodge bill, don our packs and get back on the trail. Before lunch we walk for approximately 3 hours either up or down hill, never flat. Then we stop for a lunch of noodle soup, chapatti and veg fried rice. After lunch the regime is much the same for a further 3-4 hours until we arrive at our destination at around 4pm and stagger off to the room to lay out our stuff, sleeping bags toiletries etc. Climbing the flight of stairs to the room is quite often the most difficult part of the day! It is however closely followed by what is usually my favourite part – the wash… Matt and I take it in turns to have a wash with a pot or bowl of hot water (“tatto panni” in Nepalese). I once made the mistake of taking up the offer of a hot shower, this was not such an enjoyable option and wouldn’t advise it. The lodges are all quite humble places and hot showers as we know them have certainly not been invented yet. After washing we have a cup of tea and read about what tomorrow has in store whilst waiting for the ever so incredible Dahl Bhaat. Dahl Bhaat is the staple food of the Nepalese and consists of a plate full of rice (the bhaat), bowl of lentil/soya bean dahl, and fried curried vegetables. It is always different and reflects whatever is grown in the garden. Matt and I can’t get enough of it; amazingly it is served to you until you say no more! At about 9 pm (if we can make it that long) full of dahl bhaat we crawl into our sleeping bags and dream of Kalar Pattar.

One days trekking behind us, we have arrived in the town of Shivalaya. Matt is with me and it is great to have someone to share the madness with. Up at 5am it was still dark when we made our way to the bus old bus station in Kathmandu. On arrival due to the language difficulties, lack of light and general early morning blues we struggled to find order amongst the chaos. There were busses aplenty and more then one helpful local directed us further and further into the throng of diesel fumes, impatient travelers and street sellers.
Fairly soon a happy gentle soul ushered us onto his bus which was, he insisted, bound for Jiri. We couldn’t believe our luck, we were the first on the bus, got the front seats (which was such a joy as Matt gets travel sick) and had a really friendly driver. Not long after however it became increasingly obvious that we were in fact on the wrong bus. Others began to point and laugh from outside the bus thoroughly amused and our sweet drivers simple mistake. Soon we were led by the crowd of happy onlookers from the wrong bus to the ticket booth at the far end of the open air bus station. At this point I attempted to take control of the situation and well aware of the Nepalese queuing system began the laborious process of jostling through the crowd of fellow passengers in order to purchase our tickets:
“The local Express”
Were the words we were greeted with as the friendly gentleman from behind his Perspex screen handed me our tickets, but the twinkle in his eye said it all – the express was perhaps not so express after all. It was however definitely very local!
The bus journey took over 12 hours. There were always more people then seats on board we broke down 3 times and I lost count of how often we had to bump start the thing. To top it all off the swanky driver (who is best described as a Nepalese version of the Fonze) serenaded the whole bus with banging versions of the latest Indian style “pop” tunes for the entire journey.
Although long and tiresome the journey itself was fantastic. I got a super duper ride on the roof which provided for fantastic Himalayan views – perched at the rear end and hanging on for dear life we swung through the small towns and bumbled up the dusty roads for hours. It was certainly a welcome break from the sweaty and cramped conditions inside, in fact I would go so far as to say that is was the first class way to travel – loads of leg room air conditioned with magical views. I shared the roof with luggage bundles, smoking passengers and the makings of what appeared to be an irrigation system. Matt remained in the carriage and watched our bags as he was determined to arrive with all his gear.
As the hours clocked by we met and said farewell to many different characters. An old gentleman with a booming voice who reminded me of my Uncle Trevor took it upon himself to shield us from the young Satsuma selling hawkers who would attempt to board the at every opportunity, including the times when the driver and his conductor palls had their engineering hats on and were making do with what little tools they had in order to sort out the incessant engine problem. A young couple sat next to us and smiled and nodded whenever we glanced in their direction. Late in the day an old woman and her family boarded the bus and brought with them beaming smiles, a strong smell of alcohol and many bags. With no where to sit the old woman with all her bags tumbled to the floor as the Fonze pulled away from her stop. With unashamed hilarity she remained in her bundle for a time before being helped to her feet by her daughter. I offered that she sit on the end of our seat. Matt and I squished up towards the window as she stumbled towards us. Perhaps something had gotten lost in translation for instead of sharing my seat, she instead sat on my person – much to the amusement of the other passengers. A young girl then offered her seat to the old woman and sat with me instead. She was surely no older then 10 years of age and was making the journey entirely independently. I was pleased that she felt comfortable enough to sit with us, her English was about as good as my Nepalese so I didn’t get her name but decided that she should be known as the ‘little hero’.
Despite the cramped conditions, continuous mechanical failure, heat and general long day not once did I experience a hint of anger or frustration by any of the fellow passengers. Each time we broke down or were delayed (sometimes for a period of hours) the passengers greeted the news with knowing, wise and patient nods and always with utter faith and compassion for the driver and conductors. It is becoming increasingly obvious that I am light years away from home.

I spent the entire day yesterday wandering around Kathmandu and its suburbs. Once out of Thamel (the travelers and backpackers hotspot) I felt decidedly vulnerable. The white faces grew thinner and the chaos developed. Admittedly my concern was clearly due to paranoia on my own part and so, determined as ever to achieve peace of mind I marched on deeper into the city refusing even to peak at the map in my pocket least someone should spot (and try and take advantage of) my ignorance.
My Disguise it seems proved immediately useless, as futile perhaps as the game- if I can’t see you then you definitely can’t see me- that I used to think was so effective as a toddler. This became increasingly evident as I began to tune into the various comments which my presence seem to evoke. Although never engaging me in conversation fully, (a vast difference from the streets of Thamel where everyone wants to know where you are from and whether or not you would like to buy one of their finest pashmina’s) a number of times I was aware of the odd English word which passers by would utter in my direction:
“Hallo”
or
“cool”
I could understand but more than once I heard the sneaky little chant of
“MacDonalds”
Can you imagine, unfortunately due to my abysmal Nepalese I was unable to explain that I was in fact a vegetarian and did my best at all times never to step foot in the afore mentioned establishment unless of course I was in desperate need of evacuating my bowels. Of all the contributions (I would like to have said) that Western society has made towards the progression of human beings on this planet the one that crosses cultural boundaries with the greatest ease is that which represents profit seeking, nutrition free consumer culture to the maximum is what survives - Nice one Darwin.
Let me attempt to convey the experience of a typical street in Kathmandu. Each road (especially in the tourist district) is lined with shops, now when I say shops I suppose what I really mean are holes in the wall. Some are larger then others but most are a little smaller then Fen size. Produce is neatly layed out and amoungst all the coulorful cotton, hanging bananas or stacks of silverware you will usually find two smiling eyes. Outside the shops you will often get vendors with more goods- Gentlemen pushing trolleys full of popping corn, young boys offering you one of the many stockings and or handbags which hang delicately of their person. The streets themselves are usually narrow, wide enough for perhaps a single car. Nevertheless hundreds of pedestrians contribute to the daily thoroughfare. In addition you may find the odd dog, goat or cow gently making their own way and as if that wasn’t enough Rik-Shaws, motorbikes and bicycles all advance at various speeds through the madness. On the larger streets the commuters challenge is equally as demanding. Crossing the road for instance is quite an escapade! As described when in Delhi, there are no rules when it comes to traffic. For this reason any number of vehicles may come at you from any number of directions at any time. You must simply weave your way through them all. In order to get to the other side you must adopt the Super Mario Bros technique and imitate the fat Italian character as he negotiates a pass in which spikes intermittently attempt to crush him from above and bellow at every step…Brilliant!
So what of being a westerner then, wandering through the streets of adversity, complacent in the knowledge that at the end of they day you won’t have to face a night under the stars with only a woolen blanket to protect you from the cold Himalayan night air. Safe in the knowledge that tomorrow doesn’t truly herald another day of financial uncertainty where the main worry is how you might attempt to provide for your 6 children when the household salary stands at less then $1 per day. After all the only real challenge for me is crossing the road... hilarious in comparison.

Its not actually that frightening you know… traveling that is. So many people told me to “be careful” and to “take care” that I was beginning to think that I had something to worry about. Images of the green monster accompanying the boogy man picking me up from the airport have been a firm fixture in my thoughts over the past few days. Thankfully so far we have not met.
The flight from London was the worst, 9.5 hours no sleep but no need to bore you with the details. Arriving in Delhi however was superb and positively mad. I changed my money at thedesk before going through the gates and well aware of the tourist frenzy that was to greet me booked a Taxi with the tourist police. Nevertheless as I dawdled bleary eyed through the barrier separating me from the maddening crowd I felt remarkably unprepared. Countless people ushered me here and there all promising to be the very Taxi that I had prebooked:
“This way Madam”
“First time in India Madam?”
Was it really that obvious? Did I truly look that shell-shocked?
“Who me oh no, uh fourth time in India actually…” I lied.
Did they notice?
“May I take your receipt Madam, where are you going?”
Right that’s it, I am not having any funny business,
“No you can’t take my receipt. I must find my driver, he already knows where I am going.”
Eventually, after revisiting the police booth, deciphering that the scrap of paper referred to a number plate and unsuccessfully attempting to come to the aid of an equally confused westerner I discovered my driver, my real driver!
With not even a western persons idiot guide to Delhi I had to rely on the information I had been offered by a feller on the plane, there was he informed me, a good cheap International Youth hostel about 30mins from the airport which would suit my budget just fine. So off I went with my driver who was at that moment my most favourite person in India – and the only one not to have lied to me so far!
Driving in Delhi… Briliant! They have roads like in other countries, they have lines marked on the roads like in other countries, and even the odd traffic light. The similarities end there. The traffic scene is quite simply complete and hilarious chaos. Nobody stops for anybody else, unless it’s a cow in which case the whole road comes to a standstill. Everyone just beeps a lot to let others know that they are coming through. The traffic lights serve for purposes of decoration only and nobody takes the direction of traffic rule too seriously either. If a vehicle has a problem (a flat tyre for instance) it is fixed as and when regardless of whether or not you are on the wrong side of the road or slap bang in the middle of the highway.
My accommodation was just right, clean not too far from the airport and most importantly cheap. I was in a dorm and seen as it was single sex, had the room all to myself with plenty of time to catch up on some sleep before my flight to Kathmandu the next day.
After a night of intermittent sleep I taxied back to the airport feeling much better, older and wiser. Managed to get myself a window seat (left hand side of the plane) on my Jet airways flight to Kathmandu and waited in anticipation for the Himalayan views I was after. Not long after take off I was greeted with a mighty show – Dhaulagiri, the Annapurna, Cho Oyo and even a glimpse of everest! Magic.
Kathmandu first impressions: (based on a Taxi journey and a short wander through the streets of the infamous Thamel) definitely a lot more peaceful then the crazy Delhi and the people it seems are always smiling. At the moment I am staying in Kathmandu guesthouse – lovely, the whole place is lovely, busy, coulorful, loud, happy, full. So much ahead of me, I feel like little fen on Christmas eve.