Go west

Monday, 10/12/2012 – 179 A.D.

We were going to have a better day today than yesterday. `Tis rare for a Grayboy to do anything before breakfast, but on this Monday morning we made sure of it. We were up at 07.30 and down that Foreign Tourists Ticket Booking Office just after the doors opened…and straight into a big, long queue that stretched all around the room. Seems plenty of people had got up even before 07:30. Still, at least we had couches to sit on as we waited for the three (count `em) attendants to process people’s ticket requests on what may well have been a Windows 3.0 operating platform. 90 minutes later, our moment arrived. We came, we saw, we booked three train tickets and walked away with a relief that we would never have to do it again. Well, at least until we go on our three month trek around South America next year, but that’s another story.

We made it back in time for breakfast with a couple of minutes to spare, then got down to business and booked our last couple of hotels ever. Or at least until we go travelling round the Middle East for several weeks in a couple of years’ time. Then it was off out across the havoc-strewn metropolis that is the city of Delhi. Getting the Metro down to Connaught Place again, we investigated the street market at Janpath from a distance, not stepping too close to the stalls in case we got called in to check out the items. Are the old hearts not in it anymore? Possibly. In truth, we were simply looking for a cash machine, as we were a bit low after paying for our train tickets in hard currency. One of Tim’s ploys when bargaining for items is to stash the bulk of his dosh somewhere about his person and to only keep a few notes in his wallet so that when he’s haggling at ludicrously low prices he can take out his wallet and show the trader that the price he quoted is genuinely all he has. It sounds like a cheap trick, but it’s actually worked more times than it's failed. But like I said, our hearts weren’t in it this morning.

After finding an ATM for the Standard & Chartered Bank (who do the best rates – it’s not just because they sponsor The Mighty Reds) we headed deeper into New Delhi and gradually came upon India Gate. This is a national monument for the country which has been standing since 1931 and is based on the Arc De Triomphe. There were plenty of people here and we suspected they’d come from far and wide across India. A few of the younger ones wanted their picture with us, but we’re really tiring of that now, maaaan! That’s probably why we didn’t stick around for long, simply bought an ice cream each and pushed off. Yeah, you read that right, ice cream in December – get in!

[Downtown traffic, Delhi-style.]

We walked quite a way to Humayun’s Tomb. This was commissioned in the year 1562 by the wife of the eponymous Mughal Emperor and was the first garden-tomb on the Indian subcontinent. It’s been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1993, but then if you’ve read this blog for a while you’ve seen more UNESCO World Heritage Sites than you’ve had hot dinners. The tomb is also the forerunner for the Taj Mahal in terms of a structure this size built from sandstone. And for all Taj Mahal-related-stuff, stay tuned to this blog for a couple of days.

I liked being at Humayun’s Tomb. There was a real calm in the grounds, particularly away from the main building. Coupled with the absolutely perfect weather, I could have lazed there all afternoon. And to be fair, we didn’t really have any pressing engagements to rush off to, nor did we have anything of particular note to see. But it’s not our way to just sit there and do nothing, especially when our days travelling the world are numbered. And so we left this calm realm and tried to walk to the nearest metro station and promptly failed by following an underpass that didn’t go anywhere except into the kind of horrific slum area that they are too afraid to even show on a BBC World News report. Therefore we jumped in a tuk-tuk and headed back across town. The journey took half an hour and cost less than a pound.  

And that was it for the day, which for all intents and purposes was a much more successful day than that which preceded it. I even managed a chicken tikka masala in the rooftop restaurant. Things are looking up, oh yes indeedy they are, and I’ve just tempted fate in a big, big way… 

Tuesday, 11/12/2012 – 180 A.D.

Raining in Delhi today! Who’d have thunk it? No matter, as pretty much all we’d be doing was catching a train to Agra. We’d had some difficulties with the Hotel Aura, and were amused to see that their feedback form allowed the customer to give ratings only of Very Good, Good and Average. What about P*ss Poor?

It was a short walk to New Delhi station, which we’d done every day we’d been in the city, so that was no great hardship, even with our backpacks on. Our train went at 14:00, but we were a little dismayed to see it was already delayed by an hour. Still, we’d read online to be wary of the electronic screens giving duff information and instead to ask an official. Any officials about? Nope. We knew we had at least two hours to wait, so we just found a quiet spot out of the way and played – you guessed it – cards. 

After several defeats at the hands of my brother, I decreed we should head to Platform 1 and await our locomotive. The rain was still coming down hard as a big, long train pulled in, seemingly too early to be ours, but on closer inspection it was actually meant for us, just it had a different name on the station scoreboard compared to what was on the ticket. The clincher was when we saw the printouts from a dodgy dot matrix attached to the side of the carriage with pritt-stick. The names of all of the passengers sitting in the glamourous ‘3 AC’ were listed, included Yours Truly and His Brotherly. And the reason for us both having ‘FT’ listed beside our names? We assume it stands for ‘Foreign Tourist’, but have no idea why it should be present on the manifest. 

We stood on the platform staring at that list for an hour before we were let onto the train. We figured we’d be in some cheap and cheerful three-seats-in-a-row set-up, but oddly enough we were booked into sleeper class, just not actually sleeping in it. True to form, we were sharing our little berth with a family comprising of a mummy, a daddy and two loud kids. The boy, the youngest, was particularly vocal and the little so-and-so barely shut up or stopped moving for the entire time we were on the train. His older sister kept niggling to wind him up, which brought back many happy memories as I remembered doing the exact same thing to Our Kid when we were growing up. And here he was now, 32 years old, and sitting next to me in the corner of the berth and pretending to be asleep so the kids wouldn’t bother him.

Picture taken just after boarding...

And four hours later...

The train pulled out at 15:00 and stopped dead in its tracks at about 15:10. We would have to get used to these prolonged stationery moments (no pun intended!) Already the young lad had been given a mug of tea which he’d spilt all over the floor and nearly soaked my big bag that I’d thought was safely stashed under the seats. We hadn’t left Delhi before the train stopped at one of the stations in the suburbs and more people got on, including another family who knew that which already occupied our berth. They joined us in the berth and, hunched up between my brother and the patriarch of one of these clans, I wondered why there were three seats clearly marked on this sofa-type thing, yet four adults and one child were sitting on it. I’ve done Chinese trains and been woken in the night by old men slurping noodles; I’ve done Vietnamese trains and shared my bed with baby cockroaches; I knew Indian trains would be bad, but I really shouldn’t be bothered by this. Good job the journey to Agra is only three hours!   

The train ends up being two and a half hours late and that sodding kid does not stop shouting the whole time! Correction, he quietens down for a bit, which is mother’s cue to pick him up, tip him back to rub his face and set him off again! The other annoying thing is that pretty much every station we pass through is using emergency batteries. Looks like there’s a powercut across the whole of Rajasthan and I really don’t fancy alighting this train into a busy Indian station bathed in darkness. But cometh the moment, I have bigger problems. Fortunately there is power in Agra station, but as the train trundles to a stop I don’t get my big bag out from under the seat in time and as I try to manoeuvre my way down the corridor I meet people coming the other way with food trays, having just jumped on board to flog their wares. I step to one side into another berth, figuring they’ll have soon passed, but then more people come on board, this time with suitcases. There is not enough room for two people to get down the aisle and I am twisting and turning in the berth, realising that I could be in serious trouble if I cannot get off in time before the train starts up again. Suddenly I hear the angry shout of, “Excuse me! Excuse me! Excuse me!” from behind and when I look round there is Tim steaming down the aisle with his big bag held on his head like a man possessed. “I need to get off!” he demands and miraculously the recent arrivals get out of his way. Me? I heave my big bag onto my head and jump into his slipstream all the way until we’re safely onto that platform. What a good lad! He said to me afterwards that as he’d been in the berth dilly-dallying like I was, one of the matriarchs who’d up until that point slept most of the journey told him that he really should get off quickly or he might not manage it all. Thanks for that one, Missus!

The hotel we’re staying at does railway pick-ups, and the tuk-tuk driver who’d been sent clearly expressed that he’d been waiting three hours (yeah right, two at the most!) We’re staying at the hotel Tim stayed at last time he came to India and saw the Taj Mahal. It’s a functional little place that does the job, with no frills, but with an authentic Indian accommodation feel. Once again we were offered a double room instead of the twin we’d booked, but at least on this occasion they were able to switch us to a room with separate beds, and some pretty funky decor. 

That just left time to go up to the rooftop restaurant for some tandoori chicken by the smouldering fire…

Pictures at an exhibition - final part

Ont `rain...

["Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the biggest wally of them all?"]

[Just before the car drove off...]

[Prolonged exposure to high humidity can lead to severe finger expansion.]

[Well that's a relief, isn't it?]

[Rapid River Response, Cambodian-style.]

[Tim: If I look afraid maybe it will leave me alone!

Big Scary Monster: If I look afraid maybe it will leave me alone!]

[You make your own entertainment after six months on the road.]

[When you've just bought a new watering hole, but can't for the life of you think of something to call it.]

[A hard-nosed left-wing revolutionary meets...Vladimir Lenin.]

[How could anyone put these words together?]

[Might as well continue the theme...]

[Don't you just love it when these shots actually work out?]

Indian summer

Saturday, 08/12/2012 – 177 A.D.

So, after surviving a nightmare six hour journey over dangerous roads next to lethal ravines while crammed into the back of a small minibus with 19 other blokes, what do we decide? Why, to do it all again!

We had to really, it was the only way to be sure. Our flight out of Kathmandu was at 18:40 and we had to be there two hours before for check-in. Okay, so maybe we had a bit of leeway, but the document we had said the gate would definitely be closed one hour prior to take off. The Tourist Bus leaves at 07:00, but it takes 9 hours…if everything goes okay and there are no delays! No, it was microbus or bust for us. “But, James!” I hear you cry, “What if there is some kind of problem with the microbus?” I hear you, but some things are best just not thinking about.

So, we were up at 7 for breakfast, which for me consisted of a slice of toast. I was feeling lots better this morning, but still a little lacking and taking it easy. Just before 9 we were squashed into one of the Suzuki taxis, which gave me a mysterious brown stain on the knee of my freshly-washed jeans. A little after that we were back in Microbus Town and being herded towards the nearest available vehicle. Actually the Pokhara stand was a lot less crowded and crazy than that in Kathmandu, so our stress levels remained at manageable levels.

Notice the presence of the lady on the right. We had four of them in the contingent for this trip, and it makes a big difference, not that I said anything to any of them. Nope, I was going to take my turn on the window seat and keep cool, calm and collected all of the way, sick bag in my jacket’s inside pocket if needed.

The journey got under way and was smooth enough. The continuous bhangra music was a bit loud, but I had my iPod to hand and The Sex Pistols can drown out anything. The first rest stop came about any hour into the journey and I noticed the guy who’d been sitting in front of me strolling around and knocking back an extra large can of beer, which was a bit fresh for 10 o`clock in the morning. However, come the proper rest stop for lunch an hour later Tim was unfortunate enough to witness the guy making himself sick in a watering hole. Boy, was I looking forward to the next leg sitting behind him! Another curious sight that we saw was a Western woman braving the microbuses like us. I suddenly didn’t feel so brave, until I saw she was with a Nepalese bloke, so that doesn’t count

The rest of the journey went fine, sorry to disappoint all you fans of exciting blog posts (I could make something up if you like?) Kathmandu was not a place I really wanted to see again so soon, but at least we’d arrived in plenty of time before our flight and it was still daylight. In the taxi to the airport my appetite returned with a vengeance. All I wanted was some greased-up stodge a la Macdonalds. In any other city I would have got it, but not here. This is Kathmandu, where fast food restaurants don’t show their neon signs, even at the airport. A cheese sandwich constructed of wooden bread from the snack bar had to suffice. 

[Tim opts for the type of snack that food poisoned people tend to avoid.]

  

Despite having the least high tech facilities in any airport I have ever been to, the security staff at Kathmandu certainly knew how to pile on the security checks. We must have been patted down on about six separate occasions by the time we set foot on our plane. The airline we’d be flying with was Spicejet. An Indian carrier, they name every one of their planes after a spice. Ours was named “Dill”. Anyone who remembers early 90s playground slang from North West England will now have a wry smile on their face. In fact, speaking of flying out of places, for all its lack of size and antiquated facilities, Kathmandu is the only airport on this trip that we fly both into and out of. Err, unless you count Heathrow and Manchester, which we don’t.

The flight lasted barely an hour, yet the Aussie in the seat next to me knocked back two cans of beer. A fine way to use up the last of one’s Nepalese notes! I intended to give mine to the guy from the hotel who was picking us up at the airport, hoping to do it subtly enough so that all his fellow staff didn’t see and falsely suppose I’m this great big tipper. The new terminal at Delhi airport is a dream to experience – modern, efficient, spacious, with no chaos. The guy drove us back through streets which again seemed remarkably devoid of bedlam – were we really in the Indian capital or had we been on the wrong flight? He also had some pretty funky music playing on his stereo, and I came close to asking him where I could pick up the CD.

We’re staying three nights at the Hotel Aura. It’s down a dusty, crowded street with lots of similar-looking hotels, but at least it does look nice from the outside. Should you trust a hotel based on how good its lobby looks? In my experience, it’s sometimes yes, sometimes no. Check-in was fine and everything seemed to go smoothly, though out of the corner of my eye I could see our driver talking to one of the other staff about the tatty Nepalese notes I’d just given him, presumably wondering if anyone in the whole city would bother to exchange them.

We were shown to our room on the third floor. I always like to be high up in hotels, but they’d allocated us a double room, and we specifically said in our booking that we required two beds. Okay, so it’s probably the widest double bed that I’ve seen on this trip so far, but I’d still have to share it with my brother. The porter tells us there are no twin rooms free tonight, but there will be one available tomorrow which we can move to. Given that we’ve spent the whole day travelling, we’re not going to stamp our feet and argue the toss. We’ll just call them tossers when they’re not listening.

There was just time for us to head up to the rooftop restaurant for a belated dinner. Reasonably hungry, but not willing to chance anything, I was going to adopt the line from the classic Goodness Gracious Me sketch and ask for “the blandest thing on the menu”. As soon as we were seated, however, the waiter told us that there was only Indian food available. Oh well, I still had an apple back down in the double room, even though I’d already had one today. Still, if one keeps the doctor away, two must make you super-healthy, right? Who cares, just so long as there’s a distinct lack of 'lacto fun'!  

Sunday, 09/12/2012 – 178 A.D.

Sunday on the Indian sub-continent – hurrah! We’d slept okay on our wide double bed, but the room is next to some strange pipes and there are constant trickling, gushing and dripping sounds behind the walls. It sounds a little like people are washing themselves like we saw them doing out in the Nepalese countryside, i.e. with water, a bucket and the open air.

Breakfast was okay, but for me there was only cornflakes, and who takes them with warm milk? Ugh! Speaking of warm, the temperature was heading for about 20 degrees today – second hurrah of the morning! Could consider getting the shorts out again! I’d already packed them away for next year and those three days of heat we get in an English summer.

The porter turned up at our room, hoping to collect some laundry (and make a tidy commission out of it), but we had none for him. Instead we asked about moving to a twin room and he started to make out that the twin rooms were very cramped and less space than the doubles and blah-blah-blah. Eventually he agreed to show us one when it became available at 12 o`clock. We would not see him again for the rest of the day.

The hotel has a small desk close to reception where you can organise tours, transport, etc. We wanted to get our three Indian train journeys booked, and the manager had assured us the previous evening that their man would be able to assist. Currently he was busy helping a young couple sort something, so we went to Plan B which was to find an ATM somewhere close by. That went smoothly, but by the time we got back Travel Guy was still dealing with the couple. Then began a strange time for me in which I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. On the one hand I wanted to wait for our turn with Travel Guy, but the couple were taking ages. It wasn’t quite 12:00 so we couldn’t move to our twin room, yet my stuff was all packed up so there wasn’t any point going to the room. And so I sat waiting around in the lobby, aware that my sightseeing time in the great city of Delhi was dwindling.

A game of chess later, we were still in the lobby. Gawd knows what that couple were doing – planning their wedding maybe – but they were bloody ages! To make matters worse, a dodgy guy who lingered about the lobby and referred to himself as a travel agent kept coming up to us and asking if we wanted to come down the street to his place because he could sort our journeys out for us. Not wanting to walk into high commission rates (but not wanting to tell him this either) we kept having to make excuses as to why we wanted to sit and wait for Travel Guy, even though he was taking ages. Eventually I broke the cycle by getting up and asking if our twin room was ready, seeing as it had gone midday. The man in the suit manning the desk had no idea what I was talking about. Explanation occurs and he barks things at various members of staff, who bark things back. In amongst all this another guest comes down to check out, which in my experience takes two minutes maximum, yet the guy ends up being there for nearly half an hour! For my part, I stand around like a spare part at a wedding, wondering if the man in the suit has forgotten about me. Eventually I give him a verbal nudge and he says that there are no twin rooms available, but there is a guest checking out at 17:00 and if I can wait until then I can have that room. Biting my lip to conceal my seething rage, I agree to this crappy offer.

Fortunately Travel Guy has just become free, so Tim and I sit down with him, even though both of us are ready for our lunch. We will be at that desk for an hour and achieve absolutely zilch. You see, all we wanted this guy to do for us was to log in to the Indian Railways website and book seats for us on three trains, but oh no, that would not make him any commission. Should have seen it coming, but we were keen to avoid having to book them at the bedlam of a Delhi station. So for all that time he farted about trying to make us take minibuses over trains (no more minibuses!) and saying that so-and-so train was full and blah-blah-blah. That was annoying enough, but his phone kept going off and he kept answering what sounded like extremely trivial calls. Then his fellow travel agent kept coming up and asking him things which disturbed proceedings. By the time he asked us  how much we were paying for our room at the hotel here I very nearly blurted out, “What the bloody hell has that got to do with anything?” All I could see were the hands on my watch ticking away.

At least Travel Guy was also conscious of the time and, having realised we weren’t going to pay inflated minibus charges, he came up with a cock and bull story that he couldn’t book our final train journey down to Mumbai because rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb and we should hotfoot it down to New Delhi station and do it ourselves in person. Why now? Because it’s Sunday and it closes at 14:00 – half an hour’s time. Thanks, mate, you could have told us that an hour ago and saved us all the trouble! What a wally!

The day hadn’t been going well, and it didn’t get any better as we rushed up to the door of the New Delhi Foreigners Ticket Desk to find it closed slightly before time. Instead we decided to start sightseeing…right after lunch! But we weren’t in the right sort of area so we jumped on the metro and went a couple of stops to Connaught Place. This is the heart of New Delhi, the area where the British built their capital. There are malls and lots of trendy clothes shops, and where you get these you tend to get fast food chains. Sure enough, a Macdonalds came our way and we ducked inside, though I was dismayed to see no beef was on offer, given that we’re in a Hindu country and the cow is sacred. The McChicken burger I ate was not the spicy kind which Tim got, but it wasn’t really what I was after. Plus it was difficult to eat, given we had to sit outside due to lack of seating, then had to keep moving on every time a group of beggars approached us.

We would only get to see one attraction in Delhi today, but it is arguably the main one to see, The Red Fort Complex (Lal Qila). This was built in the 17th century by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. It’s an old residential and governmental complex, which reminded me very much of The Forbidden City in Beijing. In fact, it got me thinking that both these places were being built on opposite sides of Asia round about the same time. And I’ve been to both of them!

I’m afraid there’s not a great deal I can tell you about the place that Wikipedia can’t, but we arrived in late afternoon just as the weather hit that absolutely perfect point when it’s warm, but not too hot and you can see long shadows from the slowly sinking sun. We’d read up that foreigners had to pay considerably more than locals to enter (though not an extortionate sum), so no surprise there, but we were pleasantly shocked to see that we were entitled to jump the extensive queue on account of us shelling out more.

By the time we left the Red Fort we were ready to head back on the metro and check into our twin room. Upon arriving at the hotel, the manager had not received our message that we would be changing to a twin room. Again, we explained the situation. Again, there was more barking at staff and conversations that we were not privy to. Eventually the manager sent us off with a member of staff who took us to a room down the corridor. He opened the door to show us what was still a room full of other people’s belongings, rubbish, and which stank of ale. He said that they were a family who would have come back at 17:00, but were still away, but they would definitely be back by 20:00, at which point the staff would move them to a different room and we could have this one. We asked if the room would be cleaned before we got it – sounds like a stupid question, but the way things have been going, you never know!

In the end we didn’t take the room. Sure it had two beds, but we didn’t want the guilt of having some other people hassled into a different living space because the hotel had ballsed-up our booking. Besides, it was on the ground floor and we’d probably hear every single word that got barked from reception. Instead I told Tim to try and imagine the pipes in our double room were like those relaxing water sounds from those electric powered fountains you can get for your lounge.

It had been a crap day. Although I’m not quite 100% yet (pretty much though), I hope my readers won’t begrudge me a drink at the end of it. We hadn’t found anywhere near the hotel that sold ale apart from a highly dodgy “Beer and Wine Shop” that was for the most part a hole in the wall where customers and the shopkeeper exchanged bottles and notes. Upon fighting our way inside through the crush of raving alcoholics shouting for their cravings, we saw that virtually everything sold here was super strength, including the beer. Now, I have been in some off-licences in my time, but I’d never experienced anything like this. Upon barging my way out again I was treated to the sights and sounds of an Indian wedding band striking up a tune before some kind of march took place. That was kinda cool, but also a little ker-azy. 

Welcome to Delhi? Welcome to hell-i!

(Sorry!)

Get up, stand up

Friday, 07/12/2012 – 176 A.D.

Woke up after a good, long sleep, but still not with much of an appetite. Did a bit of research online as to what foods you should not eat when recovering from food poisoning – protein foods, no; meat, no; spicy stuff, no. Therefore the Nepali chicken was a mistake! I shall try and be more careful in future. Jeez, talk about a slow process! I’ve even had to stop boozing!

It was a new day and I was b*ggered if I was going to spend it a prisoner in the hotel room, just like the day before. I’m British, after all, with the roar of an English lion inside me (or maybe a Merseyside squeak) and I felt that getting myself outside and being shaken about in the fresh air would do me some good. And so we went to the lake.

Here it was possible to hire boats for various rates, 700 NPR giving you full use of one for the whole day. Other less robust and lazy tourists could pay a fare that included a local to do the paddling, but we were up for sticking our oars in. The early cloudy weather from first thing had cleared and the lake was now as enchanting as ever, despite the occasional bits of crap floating past.

Tim made the right choice and went at the back of the boat, which is the bit where it’s easiest to paddle with least effort. Smart fellow. I was sitting in the middle and putting my lack of skill down to the fact that I’d had three pringles to eat all day (and those were simply to help the anti-malarial go down).   

We met various other boats of people coming past, saying hello, though secretly we called them wimps for wearing lifejackets (not that we’d been offered any when we picked up our vessel!) We were also offered all kinds of illegal narcotics by local boaters, though nothing as useful as a life belt. Out in the middle of the lake was the temple pictured below, but being out of action I hadn’t been able to do my research on it and given how busy it was, we decided not to stop.

Our disembarking on the other side of the lake went pretty well, not a ten out of ten, but we got the job done and got the boat tied up. Then we left the oars with the local restaurant so that no one would steal our pride of the seas, and started up the long path to the grandly-titled World Peace Pagoda.

It was a pretty steep hike, but we did it slowly and stopped for plenty of rests and water glugs. Then we saw a sign saying that people should only go up there in a group or with a guide because there had been robberies. Hmmm. Only that morning I had been thinking that we’d encountered pretty much everything so far on this trip, except for violence (despite Tim giving me a dead arm when I get too surreal). Nor had we been mugged. However, we had both brought our multi-tools, so we were reassured sufficiently. Besides, the state of me in recovery from food poisoning is enough to scare off any would-be brigand!

We didn’t meet anyone, bar the odd fellow tourist on the way down and considerably less out of breath than us. And while we didn’t see anyone lurking in the bushes, what we did see beyond those bushes were some excellent views of the lakes and the Annapurna mountains.

The World Peace Pagoda was built in 1996. There are several routes up to it, our water-based route seemingly one of the least popular. Coming up from the other side of the mountain taxis can get 15 minutes walk from the stupa and after that it’s walking all the way. It’s great being up there in the mountains and I would have loved to have kept on along the trail and done some more exploring, but Body said no. So instead I sat down and ate an apple. I was wondering yesterday…throughout America and Australasia I was religiously on an apple a day, but when I hit Indochina they became a lot more scarce and, with so many hotels providing breakfast, I got out of the habit of eating them. Could that be the reason for me being more susceptible to the poisoning? After all, they do keep the doctor away. It is also ironic that Nepal is the only Asian country in which I did not brush my teeth using water out of the tap…and look what happened!

The hike back down the way we’d come wasn’t too much trouble, a bit heavy on the knees, but we’ve done worse in recent memory. Apart from stopping to photograph grasshoppers and a gigantic spider’s web, we didn’t need to take five and were soon back at HMS Grayboy and ready to launch her onto the ocean waves again. This time I ended up sitting at the rear of the boat (stern? Bow?) and boy was it a lot easier than before!

We took it slower on the way back across the lake and moored up without a hitch. There was time left to stroll down the main street and buy any of the 1001 trinkets that we had not yet purchased on our trip. I even bought some beads to hang around my neck, re-opening the ongoing debate as to whether they can ever look macho on a bloke. But hey, I’m a traveller (for the next two weeks at least) and it’s what we wear! I’ve stopped short at the baggy cotton pants, straw fedora and out of tune guitar. Oh, and aren’t you impressed that I got through this whole post without mentioning how much fun there is in messing about on boats?     

It may be time for some closing observations on my time in Nepal, or even to say a few things about Pokhara. Unfortunately for obvious reasons I did not get to truly experience this “small” town (the second largest city in the country!) If you come here, you tend to do two things – stay by the lake, and go trekking. We’re here in the off-season and to be honest I prefer this time as there aren’t too many tourists around and the weather is just right. It would have been nice to sit out on the balcony and watch the summer sun set with a few beers, but that’s for another visit. I’d definitely come to Pokhara again.  

As for Nepal, well, the guidebook states that if the endless powercuts and awful infrastructure are the type of thing that wind you up then you will not enjoy your time here. But if you are prepared to look on these shortcomings with a smile and a shrug, and you keep in mind that you are in a third world country, Nepal provides a vibrant and exciting cultural experience. I agree with this. The second leg may have been marred by food poisoning, and the powercuts are an absolute pain in the backside when you want to charge your netbook, but overall it’s a pretty good place to visit. Maybe fresh from home though, and not after nearly six months on the road!