Overlanding - Nairobi to Cape Town

The continent of Africa and in a tour group; it was all new to us. No matter how much you travel there is a little bit of nervousness as to what you will find and how it will treat you. Although we would be sheltered in hotels and on a tour, when we did venture out, it was clean and polite and not at all confronting. This was my first real surprise because I had expected the “in you face” attitude of Asia with perhaps a little more intimidation. Perhaps I had watched too many American movies and assumed that that gangland scene would be the same in Africa. These weren't people who carried the chip of repression or slavery on their shoulders.

We hadn’t been on a tour before, let alone for so long with so many people. Would it be a tour of drunken teens or loud Europeans? Being on a truck (call it a bus and it was 10 push-ups), there would be no place to escape. Sixty days sounded like an awfully long time, but with the distances we covered and the places we saw it went by very quickly. If you were travelling independently then it probably wouldn’t have been long enough. As for our fellow travellers, a full house of 30, well they turned out to be mostly Aussies and Kiwis. In fact the lone South African was renamed Anzac because of his birth date. You felt a little sorry for the few Germans, Canadians and Britishers that rounded out the mix. It was the time of year when all the antipodean ex-pats make there way home for Christmas.

Overlanding in trucks across Africa has a long history and they have certainly have it down to a fine art. Our tour was with ATC as it was recommended by our ‘trusted’ travel agent. And although at our first group briefing we were reevaluating that relationship, it turned out to pretty much a perfect fit for us. We had a guide, a cook and a driver, but we all helped with cleaning and cooking. It was camping nearly every night although there were some options for upgrading at most campsites. Some companies provide more some less (some you don’t even get a cook). Rarely do you stop somewhere for more than a day and on some days there are some 4 am rises and long drives.

You come to Africa for the safaris; to see the Big Five (Buffalo, Lion, Leopard, Elephant and Rhino), but also the Ugly Five (Hippo, Hyena, Maribu Stork, Warthog, and Wildebeest) and perhaps even the Small Five (Ant Lion, Leopard Tortoise, Buffalo Weaver, Elephant Shrew and Rhino Beetle). Every park is different and animals are unpredictable. For us, we hit the sweet spot at the Masai Mara in Kenya (“the greatest country in the world”). We had a bolt on tour in the Mara and our tour also started in the Mara so we ended up staying there for 5 days. Most people travel to the Mara for the famous migration in the hope of seeing Wildebeest being eaten by crocodiles while crossing the Mara River. We were at the very tail end of the migration and although others in the park ‘almost’ saw a crossing, it is something very rare indeed. Still, on our first drive we saw 4 of the Big 5 missing the elusive rhino. But there were many other parks, all offering something a little different and special. At the Serrengeti with its vast plains, we saw a leopard with cubs and a pride of 13 lions stalking a herd of wilderbeast. At Chobe there were Hippopotamus in the river and Kudu and too many Elephants. There are so many Elephants that they now have the problem of what to do with them. There is talk of contraception and relocation. Of course culling is  prohibited by SITES. In Etosha we saw the Black Rhino very close to the truck, something I certainly thought would be next to impossible.

Eastern Africa

East Africa is a loose amalgamation of 5 countries: Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi. We visited the former four (in varying degrees) travelling from the dry plains of grass and sparse acacia to the red hills of the interior with forests, lakes, and tea plantations. All along the roads the children wave and scream madly. Some puzzled, some curious, most seeming overflowing with joy to have illicited a reciprocal wave from the crazy muzungos racing past on a truck. Houses alternate between mud huts with thatched roofs to locally fired bricks with iron roofs. They nestle between mango and banana trees and the sand between is swept meticulously clean. From the truck window it is difficult to grasp the nuances of the real Africa, it is a one dimensional view with many assumptions.

From the Mara we travelled inland to walk with the Mountain Gorillas of Uganda. To walk amoungst some of the last 700 great apes and be so close was very special. A family can take a year to become accustomed to humans through patient interaction from our guides. And although they seemed unperturbed by our presence other tourists have told stories of being knocked over by young males. We tracked our family across a mountain slope after walking a couple of hours to find them and got as close as a couple of metres.

Masai

The Masai warriors have clung onto their way of life fiercely. Their red and indigo robes bright points of light on the brown gray plains. It is apparently to scare away lions (but lions are colour blind). Their villages of circular mud thatch huts surrounded stock pens of acacia branches. So picturesque but any photo invokes calls for money and if not forthcoming they will pelt you with rocks. Their villages are strewn with plastic rubbish blown on the wind, which is such a contrast compared to the other places in Kenya. They carry spears and knives over a foot long, clubs and the scars of initiation. Males are circumcised at 14 while female circumcision is now meant to be outlawed. They are herdsmen who have traditionally dieted on milk and blood from cattle. In Africa polygamy, so foreign to us in the west, gives rise to such turns of phrase as “brother to another mother”.

We had a day trip to Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, to visit the excellent yet disturbing Genocide Museum. The day didn't get off to a very good start as we arrived at the border that was still manned by the night shift who had a very difficult time dealing with us but managed to delay long enough for those that knew what was going on to arrive. Dual passport holders can really mess with some people’s minds. The biggest issue though was getting the vehicles though as the guy who signs the paper work had gone for an hour long tea break!

Back through Kenya and on to Tanzania where we stopped at the Serengeti and Nogorongoro Crater. Premiere stops in their own right but for us perhaps the timing was wrong as most of the animals were still to return to the park. In the Serengeti we camped in the park and told the various merits of NOT venturing to the toilets at night, at least without a ‘buddy’.

Around a campfire there was this conversation after hearing hyena calls in the dark.

Sara : “I wonder if a hyena would ever come through the camp site.”
Anzac : “Never. Not with the fire and people about.”
       Hyena enters from stage right and crosses campsite.
Hyena : “hehehehe.”

Then back to Nairobi to pick up the remainder of our group and a long drive down to Dar es Salam. Dar has little to offer the jaded tourist except a ferry to white sands and beaches of Zanzibar. There we sampled the famous spices and seafood and relaxed on the beaches. We watched a giant african sun set over clear blue waters and thought “nothing gets better than this”.

We crossed to Malawi and spent a few nights camping along Lake Malawi. There is the scare of bilharzia, a worm that burrows through your skin and sets up camp in you bowel. Sounds good right, but the lake was so big it had waves so there was no stagnant water and besides, we had our worming pills on standby. From there it was into Zambia and to Victoria Falls. A beautiful campsite where you could watch Elephants swimming across the Zambezi River. Roselin even volunteered herself to go up in a microlight (really a hang-glider with an engine) for my birthday. I went to the airstrip with her to make sure she actually followed through and went up. It was a close call but due to slow reflexes she could only shout a few expletives before being airborne.

Southern Africa

Over the bridge and into Zimbabwe where many of us became instant billionaires or even trillionaires for a few American dollars. I rafted down the Zambezi and although it was really only haf a day, after 18 rapids you have had enough. This was where we would change our ATC crew and truck. But there was one last activity for us - the Lion Walk. Roselin’s sister and cousin had both walked with the tigers in Thailand so there could be no chickening out. This is a unique programme (ALERT) still in its infancy, aimed at stopping the massive decline of lions (80% in the last 30 years). They take lion cubs and rear them for a few years before a staged release back into the wild. Their slogan is “no leash, no cage”. It all started so calmly, you given a quick briefing, a little stick (to distract them?) and in minutes you are scratching a 17 month old monster on the belly. Sure, just grab it by the back leg and roll it over, if you have any problem just tap you stick and they will be ‘distracted’. Then you go for a walk and just as you are thinking that there really just big fluffy puddy cats after all their ears prick and they race off into the trees. Maniacally, you see the guides tear off after them and you find yourself chasing as well. This is where we saw these killers work as a team to bring down a male baboon from a tree. Unstaged and untrained it was only the second time this pair had done this and every one was a little excited. The baboon took an eternity to die (obviously not so experienced as to be that efficient - 17 months remember). Then the guides chased them off the kill so that we could walk with them again. So here we are patting them and they are just wanting to go back to their kill. This had only happened once before, was it really such a great idea.

 From there it was into Botswana and the edge of the Kalahari desert. Lightly wooded, white sand plains. The sky the only sign of colour in an otherwise black and white landscape. This is also the entrance for the Okavango delta, the largest inland delta in the world. The waters were just starting to recede for a 20 year peak and the displaced our dotted along the road in tents not unlike our own. We took a mokoro (dug out canoe) into the delta but barely scratched its surface. Although it was a great experience, which reminded us of Dal Lake in Shrinigar as we drifted through the papyrus reeds, it was not until we took the flight that we saw the magnitude of the delta and the abundance of life (hippos, elephants and buffalo).

In Chobe National Park we saw some new wildlife in Kudu and Black Sable, but it was the proximity we got to the Hippos on the river that was a highlight. Then on to Etosha Pan for our best views of the Rhino, and Black to boot. That was our last national park but not our last big game experience. We spent a night a Cheetah Park. A privately run conservation effort on a cattle farm where three tame cats come up and lick the sweat of you legs if you let them. Then we drove out to watch another 13 being fed. They are kept in a specially fenced paddock, all rescued from farms around the area, unable to be transferred to parks or released into the wild. Another amazing experience to rival the Lion Walk.

It was then only the natural beauty of the landscape of Namibia. First with the rocky outcrops of Spitzkoppe where we watched an amazing sunset. We had a few days rest in Swakopmund so we could quad bike and sand board on the dunes. Then on to Sesrium and the big red dunes of the Soussevlei. Another sunset a Fish River canyon and we were over the Orange river and into South Africa. One last night at a vineyard and some rooibos infused port and our tour was over in Cape Town.

Sixty days had gone by quickly with a blur of highlights and too many photos to count. There is no way we could have seen so much in such a short time if we had done it ourselves. It it may have even cost us more if we had tried.

Donkey Rescue and Striped Donkeys

 

Leh

Photos Leh

Leh, the capital of Ladakh, is bigger than I remember it and bigger than I pictured it. The streets are lined with restaurants, bric-a-brac stalls, and travel agents. There are organic food sellers and even Paint Ball on offer in the middle of town. The whole place seemed to be alive with those tourists escaping the southern heat.

We spent our time trying to recoup some of the body weight we had shed on the trek and stopping in on a few of the local attractions. We fed carrots to rescued donkeys at a nearby sanctuary and visited a couple of monasteries out of town.

Our plan was to bus back down the worlds highest highway to Manali and try another trek in the Spitti valley. That was the plan, but the prospect of spending a whole day on the bus waiting to get over Rhotang pass must have scared Roselin off because a Kashmiri was soon to convince her to take us the more circuitous route via Shrinigar.

Shrinigar

Photos Shrinigar

After an all night jeep ride the dawn broke and we dropped down into the Kashmir valley. Houses were large with sloping iron roofs, such a difference to the mud brick and flat roofs of Ladakh. The first thing we noticed though was the lush green, forests and grass replaced the desert we had come from.

The plan was to spend a night in a hotel, get the lay of the land, and then a night or two in a house boat on Dal lake. The plan was defunct when we saw the luxury on offer at our house boat named Apollo 8. Fine carved walnut furniture and walls, woven carpets and our own suite. Roselin pulled the honeymoon card and we stayed for 6 days. We did a couple of days walk, a boat tour of the lakes and sampled the wares of Mr Delicious (the sweet vendor at the floating markets). The locals call Shrinigar paradise and out on the lake it is easy to see why. We relaxed as we escaped India. This was not India, it was clean and tanquil. There is more than a hint of wealth here despite their troubles.

Jammu

We jeeped out of Shrinigar to Jammu passing perhaps 100 thousand blocks of willow ready to worked into cricket bats. The Indian tourists who pass through buy them by the half dozen. We were soon back in the real India, with litter and chaos everywhere.

We had a day tour of the temples with a rickshaw driver and sought some refuge in an air conditioned shopping centre and Dominos pizza. I read in the paper that a Tibetan had been arrested trying to smuggle beef into Dharamasala, which is illegal under the Provisions 5 and 8 of the Himachal Pradesh Cow Slaughter Act, perhaps they should stick to yak.

Manali

Back to Manali with just one hiccup - at the state border we were turned around because our bus had the wrong papers. We had to take some dodgey back roads but eventually made it back to Manali to pick up our left luggage.

Shimla

  

A couple of days to remember old times in Manali and it was back on the road. Another night bus to Shimla the old winter capital of the British Raj. Carved into the hills it is a picturesque town, popular amoungst the Indian tourists who overflow the pedestrian only streets for most of the day and night.  Again this was not India, as spitting and smoking were banned and even attract fines! We visited the Hanuman temple and the Viceregal Lodge and did a day walk to the local falls.

Chandighar

Inspired by Michael Palin's Himalaya we took the toy train down out of the mountains to Chandighar. A modern town with wide streets and again showing few signs of the poverty that would greet us back in Real India. 

Another newspaper article described that the Delhi police had cracked down on the "illegal milk trade" and deported several cows from the city. I hope they have gone to good homes.

Amritsar

Photos Amritsar

Continuing on to Amritsar we had to run the gauntlet of ricksaw drivers and footpath vendors to reach the Golden Temple. But once inside we discovered another sanctuary away from India; there were honest men and a coke only cost 5 rupees. The temple is peacefully set surrounded by a large pool, such a contrast the violent history of the Sikhs. I presume all young religions have a tempestuous time just to survive. Their museum is full of homages to martyrs who have lost their lives for the cause.

We joined the melee at the Pakistan border and watched as the crowd was whipped into a nationalistic fever. I could only guess that a similar spectacle was being staged on the other side of the fence.

Delhi

Photos Kajuraho

Our stay in Delhi was punctuated with a day trip to Kajuraho. Situated half way back to Varanasi this was no small undertaking and involved a night train there and a night train back. But the temples are spectacular. Their erotic carving have earned them the name of the Karma Sutra temples but the complex reminds me more of a pristine Ankhor Wat of Cambodia, perhaps not as large. The morning sun glowing golden on the temples was picturesque to say the least.

Back in Delhi Roselin was on a mission to buy everything we needed for Africa and all the souvenirs we had to send back. We had the trial again of the Indian postal system, which doesn't seem to get any easier the more you do it. It was the final straw because our idea of squeezing in a few more attractions dissolved and we caught up on some sleep instead before our flight out of India. Six months in the Himalayas from Tibet to Ladakh had taken its toll.

Dubai

Photos Dubai

The ostentatious of Dubai can sweep you up in its excesses. Whether you think that it is completely over the top or an inspiration for what humans can achieve, you can easily believe that you too can belong. There are shopping malls with indoor ski slopes, giant aquariums, dancing fountains and every luxury store you can name. The space inside is even opulent, nothing like the overflowing stores of India or even home.

We toured the Burj Al Kalif, the highest building in the world towering over the sand and cranes of Dubai. Up on the viewing platform you have the option to take a souvenir gold ingot from a gold dispensing slot machine. Roselin dragged me around the gold souk of the old city where an estimated $4.5 billion of gold is displayed in the windows. And this does not include the diamonds or other gems. Roselin got caught up in the bright lights of it all and swept along on magic carpet ride. French chocolates, fine dining, and jewellery. In the final washup we were luck to escape at all.

Kenya

Finally Africa. I am not sure what I expected but I was a little nervous about a new continent. I did not expect that the hotels would be more like self sufficient compounds hidden away from everything. We were lucky to clear immigration and customs at Nairobi airport with little fuss, from what I hear it often takes several hours. Barely two minutes out of the airport and we saw giraffe from the window of our taxi. We had one night at the Hotel Boulevard before we were off on our first safari.

Amboseli NP

Photos Amboseli

Our first tour and our first national park was Amboseli with Kilimanjaro as its backdrop. We were luck to have only one other on our 'tour' and our camping was in pre-erected tents with a full size double bed inside; this was not the camping we expected.

After lunch we saw giraffe, elephant, hippo, lion, the ubiquitous zebra and gnu, ostrich, gazelle .... the list goes on. We saw 3 of the big 5 (buffalo, elephant and lion). This safari gig was so easy, but the next two are the most elusive. The next day we had a tour of a Masai village. They danced, sang, and made fire then gave us a sales pitch to sell us their local handicrafts. They wanted more for a couple of bracelets than we paid for the tour. We had to consider it a donation just to escape. 

Kilimanjaro

Photos Kili

Back to Nairobi for a night and then a bus south again to Tanzania and Moshi for our Kili trek. Roselin was keen to be walking again and it had only been a month and a half. As we were getting our room at the Springlands hotel (another self contained compound) we were met by our friend John who had lived up to his promise to meet us from Australia for the trek.

We had chosen the Lemosho route, 8 day on the mountain, to try and acclimatise the best we could. At almost 5900m this would be the highest we had been, even through the Himalayas, and we would be climbing to this height in some ridiculous amount of time. Acclimatisation was going to be a problem, we had seen and heard of too many deaths.

It started easy enough; through Big Tree Camp, Shira 1 and Shira 2. On the way 'up' to Baranco we passed Moir hut (a higher camp than Shira 2 favoured by American companies) up to Lava tower. But Roselin pushed for us to climb up to Arrow glacier to get as much altitude as possible, everything little bit would count.

From Baranco we climbed Breakfast Wall and lunched at Karanga. This would normally be our camp spot for the day but Roselin again pushed us to cover the next day's walking in the same day. This meant we would have an extra day at Barafu and enabled us to have another short acclimatisation walk the next day.

Day 6. We had a small acclimatisation walk to possibly 4900m. Tonight at 11:30 we would have to get up for a cup of tea and be walking by midnight. It was already cold, bitterly cold. It wasn't long before I had everything that I had on to keep warm. Roselin was in the same boat and I think even John had started to feel the cold. About 4 hours in we were all struggling. Roselin had wanted to summit so much but by now was feeling like lying down to sleep. Enter the magic drug called diamox, half a tab later and Roselin was soldiering on again one step at a time. We rejoined the slow death march conga line of head lamps. John had started to slip behind with battery problems.

Roselin and I reached Stella point, the and old crater rim at about 5:00 (5 hours of walking in the dark). Our guide William didn't want to stay long as he had seen several tourists die here from the altitude. We had a small break and continued the gradual ascent around to Uhuru Peak reaching the summit after 6 hours. The sun was starting to rise and we could see that we were on a island in a sea of cloud. It was exhilarating to be here on the roof of Africa watching the morning begin.

We still had to go back down. We passed people literally being hauled up by guides - I am not sure the sense of continuing when you can not even stand. Stopping briefly at Barafu for a nap and some lunch we had to continue down for a few more hours to reach Mweka camp. It had been a long day but were treated to more food than we could eat, coke and brandy. 

The next day everyone was is good spirits. The porters sang and danced and we made it back to Springlands before lunch. It had been a great walk.

Zanskar Amigo Trek (Jul - Aug)

We Should Have Known Better

Photos

The are things you remember about treks you have done before, there are things you compare when you do. We should have known something was up when our travel agent handed the whole trek over to us as we handed over our deposit. What does “well its your trek now” mean exactly? At least the travel agent threw in a helper at the last minute - who also turned out to be his brother. He was the guy that mended the tent every day and was also the cook. I guess if he didn’t find trekking so boring then Amigo No. 3 aka Mr. McGyver may have been better company. I think it all went wrong for us when they found out they would not be back in time for the Independence Day celebrations in Keylong. A big shin dig from what our guide, cum Keylong’s defending ping pong champion, told us. Let me introduce the team. First Amigo, our guide, had things start to go wrong for him gradually. We should have known when we suspected he wasn’t really a guide at all. He knew more of the party life than the life of looking after tourists and so he appears in our photos as a spot way off in the distance, more of hero type leader than guide. Roselin and he had a bit of a personality clash not long after we started. He didn’t like Roselin’s personality and Roselin certainly didn’t care for his - personality clash. Our Horseman, Amigo No. 2  had things go wrong for him all in one go. We should have known when he was late the first day while our guide told horseman horror stories. He got rolling drunk in Pepula, and was the worse the next day. Waiting at a school for our horseman to visit his son. Amigo No. 3 turned up almost two hours late with the horses but without the horseman - he arrived later, drunk again. We should have known. But then this is the adventure of travelling and it certainly makes for the best stories.

The first half the trek from Darcha to Padum had one pass for us “pass baggers” but at over 5000m still significant. I didn’t feel to well on the way up to  Chumnik Nakpo just below the pass. Roselin didn’t feel to well after it so we had a rest day at the foot of the holy mountain Gumburanjan. The tent had to be fixed for the first time, it wouldn’t be the last time. The poles were so old that they would simply snap if there was any wind. The Frenchies we camped with a for the last couple of days were replaced by a large group from what we guessed was Germany. They followed us out the next day after our begrudgingly granted rest day, one of them on a horse feeling the worse of the pass. She died that night in Shey, just beyond Kargiak after we drank local beer and whiskey in our horseman’s home and Roselin tickled his children. A sobering thought - yet it stresses the importance of not rushing and being experienced. Two points of conflict between us and our 3 Amigos. It is quite surprising to realize how many people die on these walks - it can only be put down to ignorance or arrogance.

The landscape to Padum is of narrow gorges, rocky and dry. Nomads and farmers live along the valley in traditional flat roofed houses frozen in half the year. Life would be hard, which explains the “party hard” attitude when it is cold. But now students are back from school in the south, houses are being built, peas and wheat are being harvested and horsemen are in short supply ferrying tourists. Antarctic Roselin has decided that she needs to come back when it is cold and the rivers are frozen solid so she can walk on them. The Chadar is the trek on the frozen rivers. We even met a donkey man who regularly takes people for the Chadar and cave camping. With this and the Sikkim walk we missed from Darjeeling only means Roselin has vowed to come back to India. I think she really must love it on some level, even if she won’t admit it.

Day 11 : In Padum we met the road out to Kargil, had our first shower for the walk! The road actually is not far from Purne so there is a fair bit of road walking. From here Roselin warmed to the trek both figuratively and literally. It was hot, 35 degrees in the shade.

Day 15 : Into Lingshet is the pick of the walk and crossing Hanuma La into the Lingshet valley was a highlight. This is the day our ‘guide’ got us lost, his shortcut turned out to add a couple of hours to an already long day. We should have know when he lost his nerve and Roselin had to lead him across a ledge that he was not a guide. It was a good place for a rest day but it was here the 3 Amigos realised they would not be back for the Keylong festival. At exactly the same time the scenery was spectacular where rolling hills met jagged cliffs and the colours were gold and silver. Probably ranks up there with the Annapurna Sanctuary for me.

Day 18 : Singge La was the final 5000m pass to bag. The monsoon caught up with us into Photoskar. And this is when we had McGyver out in the rain, digging a water break around the tent, I was just hoping it wouldn’t collapse. The next day our guide lost us, or we lost our leader - depends how you look at it. We benched Amigo No. 1 and promoted Amigo No 3. to guide picked apricots and we thought our troubles were over.

Day 21 : Having made our get away hitch hiking in truck, I thought we had left the bad mojo behind. There was a bumper sticker that read “I love Rozy” that should have been an omen. It turned out that our truck broke down twice spent the night sleeping by the road, gave up took the other truck, broke down again. The fleet owner, who washed down persimmon with whiskey, invited to his home in Jammu and fed us at the Sikh temple by the road. By the time he put us in a cab for the final few kilometres into Leh I am not sure if he would ever want to see us again.

In between treks

Darjeeling

Photos

Darjeeling was a change to the hot wet stickiness of Kolkata and it's downpours; it was cold and wet, actually wetter. We had the usual overnight train to the foot of the Himalayas at Siliguri. We were probably shielded from the transvestites plying passengers for baksheesh by an Indian couple in our compartment. In Nepal an Indian couple told us stories of how they would leave the girls alone but grope the men if not given money. I for one was certainly happy for the lack of attention. Then for something different we decided to haggle for the Jeep ride up to the hill station of Darjeeling. Theoretically this should have been straight forward. We had the bargaining power - loads of jeeps only a few passengers. They played their hand early by saying that their jeep was "leaving now", of course they never are. We were patient, but no one would budge on price. In the end we settled on a few rupees off but I guess you could call it a technical victory.

The jeep steadily climbed up to Darjeeling passing a military base and numerous tea plantations finally entering a cloud and Darjeeling.The thing is that that cloud never really lifted. The sky was hidden all but for one night, it rained every day and sometimes all day. We tried to do some washing but that only dried after almost a week. I guess it didn't help that our guest house, Tower View, had a bit of a damp problem and anything touching the external wall became wet and grew mildew. Particularly strange was that they had posted signs saying that water was scarce in Darjeeling so don't wash your clothes. This climate was certainly not the warm dry air to help Roselin's flu. In fact she really only made it out for one day when we visited the zoo and the Hot Stimulating Cafe. The zoo had all the promised animals we had missed in Nepal: Snow Leopard, Bengal Tiger, Brown Bear, and Wolf. The Hot Stimulating Cafe had lemon ginger tea for Roselin and tasty momos but not the Bob Marley tunes described in their visitors book. I think the power was out (again), which is becoming a regular experience in this part of the world. For the admission to the zoo we also got to see the Mountaineering Institute, where we hid from yet another shower/heavy mist. The Institute has a few dioramas and an eclectic collection of genuine mountaineering kit used on expeditions but the surprise exhibit for me was a large telescope gifted to some official by none other than Adolf Hitler.

Roselin did relent into seeing a doctor at the local Planters Hospital. We seemingly jumped the queue while others waited (gora power) and got ushered into the doctors office. It was a small office made even smaller by the fact that, while Roselin dictated her symptoms to the doctor, a local guy was on the examination table having a nasty graze on his thigh cleaned and sterilised by a nurse, a woman who I am guessing was his wife stood by, and I and another random loitered in the corner. India must be ahead of the facebook curve with their lack of interest in privacy.

The only other excursion I did was by myself to the Happy Valley Tea Estate. While the factory itself seemed virtually inactive except for some sorting in one room, there were plenty of picking in the fields around. Women, all Nepali, picked the youngest 3 leaf shoots while male overseers looked on from under umbrellas.

New Delhi

We splashed out for our trip back across the country to Delhi by upgrading ourselves to the AC carriages. Besides air-conditioning we also got pillows, sheets and blankets, bottled water, newspapers, and meals. The carriage was even swept. But just as well, because without the windows to toss your rubbish out of it just piles up on the floor. The floors of these carriages see a lot of action. People sleep there, its the dumping ground for all your trash, one child even urinated and vomited in the corridor (to be left as is by the nonchalant parents). So the people are still very much the same no matter which class you travel. I was asked what was the same between Australia and India and was lost for words, I still can't think of anything.

The main tourist street of Paraganj in Delhi, Main Bazaar, seems to have had a face 'lift' since we were there last, it might have even been for the Commonwealth games. But it looks like a couple of metres from every shop front has been ripped off leaving a scar and none of that claustrophobic market street atmosphere of Varanasi. They have ripped out its seedy soul too and it felt empty and dead. We avoided it and stayed at Amax in Arakashan St over the road from the train station, which is lined with hotels of all calibres. It is not far from  Main Bazaar, but almost a world away.

We did venture out to the old city around the Red Fort for food. After I had to queue for 20 minutes to get through the metal detectors at the metro station I found Roselin (segregated queues like the airport) and we travel the 2 stops to the old city. I think I waited in line more than it took to travel on the metro and the train was pleasantly air-conditioned compared to the queue. We had hot jelebi and kurd from the street stands and soan papadi from Haldiram's. We had lots of plans but they would have to wait until we got back from Ladakh, Roselin had itchy feet again and was still not over her flu.

Manali

It was my belief that nothing in India came for free but I will have to recant that thought. During our efforts to organise our trek we have discovered what really has been there all the time. And that is exactly what is free here - time. It is obvious to me now, everywhere you see people frittering it away, and I understand why it takes so long to do anything.

We have been in Manali for 9 days and counting and are likely to achieve only 2 things in our time here: 1. Organise our trek to Leh and 2. Get our Kindle replaced. The first is why we are here anyway (besides avoiding the monsoon). We went into Himalayan Adventures looking to book the trek and ended up being redirected to a small operator out of Keylong on the other side of Rhotang pass. This was all after hours of advice and phone calls by Giresh, all for free. Our second 'accomplishment' was not planned for and due to a small accident over lunch. Roselin in a trip down memory lane managed to drop test the Kindle, and being as adept as ever managed to find its weakness that I could not. Luckily it was still in warranty but we had the added challenges to post the old one back to Amazon and get a new one delivered to Manali. This is not as trivial as it would have been in Australia. First of all we discovered that electronics are technically 'banned' from being posted in India. So this means that no courier company would provide insurance, a requirement from Amazon. So we had to use the Indian postal system. Now while India Post is meant to be the largest in the world it doesn't mean that it is the most efficient. First of all we had to back track the previous town of Kullu as this has a Postal Head Office, the only post office to give us insurance. Then we had to find someone to pack it for us. A woman in a courier company came to our rescue with some bubble wrap, and I found an old cardboard box from a nearby store. She spent a good 15 minutes wrapping as best we could get it for free. Then we had to buy half a metre of white calico and some sealing wax and found a bookshop owner? who happily stitched up the package and melted wax over the stitches for free (well we did buy a marker off him for less than a dollar). At last we could post it with insurance and tracking. After 3 days tracking was showing that our parcel (that must be there in 30 days) had not moved since we handed it over. We were still waiting for the new kindle to arrive. Although it took only a few days to make it to India, it had not made it into our state, and was sitting, waiting "delayed due to extra handling".

It all got too hard so we gave up and went to yoga! Besides the up and down the hill we hoped it would get us in shape for the walk. Roselin had heard from some Frenchies that she would have a strong back - maybe she feels like carrying more in her pack! After 2 days we both licking our wounds and not feeling up to going back. Not a good sign 20 days walking in the Zanskar. But we weren't waiting any more; the kindle arrive just before we took a jeep to Keylong, we were trekking again.

Varanasi & Kolkata

Varanasi

Photos Varanasi

Varanasi is a Hindu holy city, on the Ganga and filled with asharams. Our hostel, Shanti, overlooked the burning ghats and was across the alley from an ashram. These are where hindu boys go to study sanskrit and holy books like the Ramayana. But they reminded me of boarding schools condensed into one building. Hip young brahmins are dropped off by their parents with all the best intentions but are attracted to flame that are the touts that speak english with the tourists and deal in the seedier side of life. We looked over at these brahmin boys plugged into iPods, strutting, taking photos of each other with their latest mobile phones. Those on the top floor chase the monkeys from their roofs with huge sticks. Those on the floor below fret that the monkeys banging around above will drop down to them. The irony is that when they are all in prayers the monkeys march through in troops of 20 or more and make themselves quite at home as if they own the place.

The rooftops remind me of an Escher picture; staircases run into walls, houses so close together that you could step from one roof to the next, trees and temples poking through all about. It is a forest of crumbling concrete but up here there is space, the breeze blows away the humidity, kites play, and it is the domain of monkeys. At street (gali) level of the old city it is stifling, rarely more than 2 persons wide the cobra alleyways snake around palaces built by marahrajas, decrepit houses disorientating you at every turn. But to make it more treacherous the alleys are filled with cows, dogs, rubbish and shit. Flanking it, stores the size of cupboards sell everything from silk to yogurt (check out the Blue Lassie Shop). Through it all, from the river and the ghats, 24 hours a day, rain or shine, wafts the smoke of burning bodies.

They come to Varanasi to cleanse their karma, enter nirvana, or a quick buck; sadhus, the dead, and the touts. The touts come to you as a "friend" and offer to be your guide, no money required. They then take you on a tour of the silk and perfume shops, who all want your money. The 'free' boat rides from the Shanti guest house even comes with a twist - another hour for 75 rupees each (when finding a boat yourself is 50 rupees). There is almost nowhere to be alone in India and this is never more true than at the ghats in Varanasi. But away from the ghats we visited temples and cruised the Ganges by row boat and had time to ourselves. We sat and watched the prayer to the ganga and did not miss the "hello sir" or "boat ride" called out in half gurgle from a a mouth full of paan.

Kolkata

Photos Kolkata

We arrived in Kolkata covered in a film of grease, the effect of more than 12 hours on a train in the muggy heat of monsoon India. The queues of yellow ambassador taxis funneled out of the station at crawl past what should have been a public street but would better be described as a mass public urinal. We crossed the brown river Hoogly (not unlike the Brisbane river), along tree lined avenues to Sudder St. Kolkata was the British Raj's capital of India and lacks that chaotic feel and oppressive tout presence of Delhi or Mumbai. It has a metro, ferries and trams, and a giant park called the Maiden, The Maiden was once an entire village that was cleared to give the canons a clear line of sight. Eden Gardens cricket stadium is inside the Maiden, which Roselin insisted we visit.

We visited Kalighat, one of the holiest temples in Kolkata. Legend says that part of the immolated wife of Shiva landed here as he prepared to destroy the world in retribution. We were caught by a tout (Temple Official) before we even made to the right block. We were 'ushered' around at a frantic pace and before we even knew the score we were standing at the front of the queue looking down at a seething mass of worshipers and the priest was asking for a 'donation' of 500 Rs each! We pleaded poverty and were let off lightly. It is a chaotic place, not the peacefulness of the Kali temple in Varanasi. There was a queue to get into the inner temple, the front of which we had seen from our privileged vantage point in the bell pavilion. They were pushing and shoving not unlike in a "mosh pit", arms outstretched towards their rock-idol goddess Kali. Behind all of this black kid goats were being regularly sacrificed. They were ritually washed, raised in offering 3 times to Kali and placed in the forks of a chopping block. A man with a large knife bigger than a machete would remove its head in a single below and the worshippers anointed with the blood. It's carcass would be butchered in a matter of minutes for the meat to be taken home. This practice has gone on unchanged since before the British, as we would later see from the sketches in the Victoria Monument. Victoria Monument is a grand marble building that now acts as a museum chronicling the history of Kolkata. There, a very patriotic, Roselin declared herself to be Australian three times to avoid paying the local entrance fee of 10 rupees, so we paid 150 instead.

It wasn't planned, but we decided to volunteer for 2 days at Mother Teresa's mission while we were in Kolkata. I think Roselin was inspired by her story when we went to Mother House. We walked from Sudder St. past the locals bathing at the communal wells. It was already humid at 7:00 AM and it seemed like we had joined a procession of foreigners all heading to the same destination. There were 40 to 50 volunteers in the common room taking advantage of the sweet milk tea, bananas and white bread for breakfast; French, Americans, Spanish and mainly women. We decided to work at Daya Dan with the disabled children. The children were certainly better off for being there, they are fed, clean and have a place to sleep; the alternative would not be a life at all. Most are found 'living' on the streets, some are blind, others unable to walk, some are severely mentally disabled. The foreign 'Aunties' and 'Uncles' help in anyway they can; cleaning, laundry, and feeding the children. We also joined in play time and the familiar calls of "carry me" reminded me of my own nieces. It was a rewarding couple of days and I am sure Roselin would have stayed longer given the chance.

Nepal - final thoughts

Patan and Bhaktapur

Patan Photos

Bhaktapur Photos

Kathmandu has a Durba Square but so too does nearby Patan and Bhaktapur. To enter all you are meant to pay a fee with Bhaktapur far and away the most expensive at $15 USD. We visited Bhaktapur last and having avoided paying for the first two we had high hopes of skipping through unnoticed, but we failed. I am not sure if it was the disappointment of having to pay or because we had already seen the other two, but we felt that it was a little under whelming. It was certainly bigger, the potters market was different and the yogurt was delicious but the entry price was not worth it. The museum in Patan probably made it my favourite. 

Lumbini

Lumbini Photos

Our final destination in Nepal was Lumbini; birth place of the buddha. There is an attempt to construct a large temple complex here with temples being built from nations all over the world. It has been designed by someone from Japan and it is a grand vision. However, it feels hollow. There are many temple, few are compete and all are are virtually empty. Perhaps we were spoilt by the Jokhang in Lhasa.

Double Speak in Tibet

Lhasa and surrounds

Gyantse

Shigatse, Sakya, camping

Manasarova's Bottom

Kailash

Guge

Everest and Lake

We both had misgivings about visiting Tibet because we would be supporting China's presence there. And there is no doubt about the fact that our stay is finances the government with every monastery and even our tour permits (and there are a lot). There is some solace in your Lonely Planet guide  (be sure not to have it confiscated) when you read the quote from the Dalai Lama : "Go to Tibet and see many places, as much as you can; then tell the world".

So if you strip back the politics, what do you find in Tibet? Underneath, at the first layer, you will find a proud and ancient culture, steeped in centuries of history. Underneath that is a rich religion, colourful, vibrant and alive. Below that is a peoples that, against all odds, are friendly, curious, happy and industrious. And at the core there is the land of Tibet! A land hidden in the Himalaya. It is a harsh land; arid, bitterly cold with a biting wind. However, there is something about these landscapes that attracts the heart. It is a land of raw beauty. You have the ability to see the far horizon, small gods of all we survey, our prehistoric brains at ease. The villages and herds of grazing animals are so far away and so small, our worries too, become insignificant.

But politics here always bubbles to the surface. There is not much you can do to avoid it.  Trying to separate the two would be like trying to separate from Buddhism. We were warned not to bring anything 'political' into Tibet, such as 'Free Tibet T-Shirts', flags or even a Lonely Planet. But immigration asked a couple of cursory questions about CDs and magazines and without checking we were free to enter with a smile and a wave. Tibet is a land of monasteries and a history of accepting the teachings of the Buddha (the historical Buddha, not to be confused with the future, past, medicine, or horse Buddhas. When you get into it, there is a whole panthenon that would put the Catholics to shame).  Twice Buddhism was established from outside. One of the kings married 3 times to wives from 3 different nations just to have Buddhist treasures housed in Tibet. An empire that poached talent from Kashmir to Nepal to Mongolia.

Lhasa

The first thing you notice about Lhasa is that everything is shiny and new and clean; roads are broad and sealed, there is neon and giant television billboards. There are signs in Mandarin everywhere, but all have Tibetan subtitles, and the construction (as, I assume is, everywhere in China) is rampant. There are parking lots of shiny new mobile cranes and tractors. On the road to Gyantse we passed four trucks loaded with tiny tractors all heading west to fuel the modernisation juggernaut. There are hydro-electric dams, road construction everywhere, and trains that ferry 500 people a day onto the Tibetan plateau. The continuation of the train to Shigatse (Tibet's second largest city) is under construction. All this investment is a sure sign that China is digging in.

We woke early on our first day to catch a quick kora around Tibet's holiest of temples, the Jokhang and a look around Barkhor square. Allegory has it that the Jokhang was built on the heart of a demoness, pinning her down and thus symbolising the triumph of Buddhism over Bon. We were fortunate that is was a Wednesday, being the day that the Dalai Lama was born, it was a popular day at the Jokhang. It was the Tibet we had hoped for. There were maroon robes, prayer wheels, lots of juniper smoke from giant incense burners, and prostrations. The Jokhang houses a statue of the Buddha brought to Tibet from China, one of only three created in the Buddha's lifetime, it shows him as a 13yo and is one of those treasures. The queues of pilgrims, each one pressed against the one in front, became a single entity started from outside the temple and snaking in and out of all of the little chapels on the inside. It moved so slowly that only the devout could have the patience to persist. The smell of butter lamps was all pervasive, with the locals dispensing more butter from thermoses as they pass. When our guide gave his introduction to the Jokhang in Barkhor square, we were first 'moved on' by a police officer in a menacing black uniform and then, after we complied, another black uniformed man along with a man in civilian clothes both loitered with in earshot. This and the conspicuous police and military presence and the unsleeping eyes of cameras high on roof tops gave the Barkhor a decidedly other world feeling - we weren't in Kansas anymore Toto.

We visited Drepung and Sera monasteries and watched the monks show off their full contact debating. What surprised me was that the monasteries are being rebuilt; work dancers sing love songs as that stamp the agar of the walls and floor till it is as hard as concrete. We visited the museum that was once the Potala and followed the stream of Chinese tourists with their own guides and their own version of history. Across the road you could see the memorial to the 'Peaceful Liberation of Tibet' but no mention of the 1.3 million who died in its aftermath. A quick visit to the nearby Nachung monastery with its murals of flayed bodies, creepy one eyed guys and wild burials indicate that the visions of a state oracle must be quite disturbing.  

If you get out of the tourist areas and scratch the surface a little you will notice that there is a facade, a wall constructed in front of anything unsightly. You will notice that most of the shops are run by Han Chinese, it as if the Tibetans are foreigners in their own land. While strolling the Barkhor looking for souvenirs we where approached by a traditionally dressed Tibetan woman selling jewellery. We were interested, but the whole exchange seemed more like a drug deal when a police officer appeared at the end of the street. We felt a little nervous but exhilarated about bending the rules.

Friendship Highway

Our tour is in a land cruiser following the Friendship highway west. We follow flat glacial valleys, devoid of trees and most vegetation, until the hills close in on us and we climb over another pass. Villages dot the road, clusters of white washed mud brick buildings and all about the villagers plough and sow fields of barley creating oases of green. The hills are copper, gold, coffee and purple. Some are dotted with juniper others show the rocky strata contorted into knots revealing the forces at work. Tents line the road; black squat pyramids for nomads and khaki or camo for road gangs.

Away from Lhasa, the next thing you notice are the toilets. They must rank as the worst in the world. You have realise that Tibetans have been using human poo to compliment crop fertiliser for centuries. Then you will understand, but still not appreciate them. They are mostly what we would call in Australia 'thunder boxes'. The better ones have a 'long drop' and are slots in the floor. Others have shoots. None of them have water. The public ones give public a new meaning. When there is stalls, they have no doors and are only a metre high. In Nepal men go to the bathroom on the side of every highway. In Tibet the women avoid the toilets in preference of the open air, aided by their long skirts. Still, curiously, they follow that universal female habit of going in groups.

At Gyantse we were overwhelmed by chapels of Buddhas of all descriptions, protector kings, bodhisatvas, and various other luminaries that even our guide could not name. We stopped into Shalu on the way and saw some murals painted way before the white guy cam to Oz. In Shigatse we got a look at the Panchen Lama's residence. But as there are 2 Panchen Lamas, one in China, and the Chinese instated one, this is a monastery with a twist and its best not to talk to anyone here.

Our first night of camping was 20km before Saga. We had visited yet another monastery, the Sakya monastery, a slightly different sect but important because this was the ONLY monastery not destroyed by the Cultural Revolution. The general with the key was called back to Beijing and no one else dared to go in. In a curious  twist of fate it has since been sacked of all artifacts to start a museum in Beijing. We pitched tents on the flat grass valley amongst a loose collection of houses and tents, sheep, goats and yaks. This is nomad country, cultivation has ceded to a transient life where we are the entertainment. Nomads have traded their horses for motorcycles festooned with carpets, tassels, ribbons, sheepskin mittens on the handlebars, plastic flowers, mudflaps from trucks, and blaring stereo systems.

Beyond Saga the steppe is golden backed by snowcaps and has sand dunes marching in wind swept journeys trying to consume everything in their path including the dusty town of Paryang.  We crossed the Mayun La (5216m) and at last saw the turquoise ribbon that is the waters of Manasarova. There the valley opens out to a wide plain that rolls to the horizon, halted only by the himalayas themselves. The land has a tinge of green, a hue that hints of the rains from the approaching monsoon. We dipped our feet and watched the blackness of storms over where Kailash should have been.

The furtherest west was to the historical Guge. The Guge kingdom existed in the valleys and hills of an ancient sea. The clay hills are lined with the wrinkles of erosion and the pink and coffee strata that both give away the age of the area. The dzong of Tsaparang lies in ruins, first by the kings kinsmen from Laddakh, in which 90 thousand perished, and then by the Cultural Revolution. Tsaparang, like Potala, is now run as a museum. It may not hold much significance to some Tibetans but it marks then end of the rein of kings, a lost enclave of Jesuits, and a link to Laddakh in India. Tholing monastery is significant in that it was the Sri Lankan Atisha's first steps into Tibet and the reintroduction of buddhism. Although it has been basically gutted, the murals that remain, like Tsaparang, are quite interesting in their style and depiction (No Photos please).

Kailash

But we returned to the sacred mountain of Kailash, a mountain like no other I have seen. Four granite sides face each of the four compass points. It is over 6000m yet you can walk around it in a 2-3 days or one very long day if you are a local. We could not have had better weather for our 3 day circumambulation of mountain. We woke in Darchen to see the characteristic south face against a cloudless blue sky. The first day was the most picturesque, with views of south, west and north faces.The next day we crossed Drolma La (5630m), which was our highest climb yet but gradual and dare I say pleasant. The final day is an easy 2 hour walk to the car park. There is a road being pushed around Kailash so soon you will be able to complete a kora in a land cruiser. While this may prevent the deaths of many pilgrims and certainly end the racketeering of the local nomads and guides, it will certainly detract from the significance of this walk,

Indian Pilgrims
Is a mantra meaningless if the words are mumbled without thinking? What becomes of symbolism when it becomes fashion? If a kora of Kailash washes away the sins of one lifetime, what is achieved by prostrating around it in 18 days?  Saga, with its shops postered with Bollywood stars, is one staging post for the hindu pilgrims and the streets were clogged with fleets of land cruisers to ferry 150 to Kailash. These Indians are bused here, gaining 4000m in 5 days. They are pretty easy to spot - all of them wear identical down jackets, 3 sizes too big, and balaclavas. They then perform a 'horse kora' if they are able to circumambulate the mountain, and a 'car kora' of lake Manasarova; it's quicker that way. One Indian woman died from AMS the day before we completed our kora. If they were trekkers and not pilgrims we would think them far more than foolish. Thing is though, they don't have the choice that we have. They must go through the government agency, no option, no competition, no service! This is one of the biggest injustices to be seen in action in Tibet. Piligrims pay to visit Kailash and they are rushed through with such callousness that they die at a rate of 20-30 each year. If there were some mass protest, and they didn't come, the loss of revenue would surely shock the authorities into some action. But this is a holy mountain, a pilgrimage, and what happens is god's will.

From Kailash we returned to Manasarova lake and Chui monastry. It is perched above the plain on a red rocky crag. With the lake and views of Kailash, it is no wonder that Guru Rinpoche, the first to bring buddhism from India, spent so much time here. We camped by the lake again, the head of the lake, but the other side at the foot was more sandy and a better campsite if it.

Everest

Finally to Everest (a few days back tracking) and a bit of a thrill to be on the other side of the peaks we had walked to see just over a month ago. We walked from the tent city to the base camp, it should have been simple enough - follow the road. But along the way we saw some cairns marking out short cuts that took out the loops in the road. We followed these and were soon on top of the moraine. We had made it to the forbidden zone without even trying (oops). A month ago some American tourists had climbed here and taken some 'political' photos and now all but a small area around the military checkpost at the base camp was out of bounds. You can not go to see the memorial to Mallory, and even photos with stuffed toy mascots get more attention that is warranted.

When I was 21 a friend of my fathers asked if I was socialist. I vaguely remember answering in the affirmative, but it was his canned response that I could not forget: "If you are not a socialist before you are 21, you have no heart. If you are a socialist after 21, you have no brain." Socialism, while a grand idea, fails trying to combat human nature. We crave the maximum reward for the least effort. If we all get the same reward reguardless of effort then we become lazy and corrupt. All that remains is a single fallible entity dictating all.

Economic improvement is certainly evident. Would it have occurred without the Cultural Revolution, who could tell?  But at what price? The deprivation of liberties, the lack of freedom to practice as a buddhist are heavy tolls. The buddhist treasures carted away, smashed or defaced can not be replaced. Festivals can not be celebrated. Citizens can not get a passport until they are over the age of 55. Checkpoints a permits also restrict tourists to certain areas, especially since the troubles of 2008. Signs disallowing photography generally indicate some legacy of the Cultural Revolution that casts a bad light. It is the victors that write history, certainly not tourists (if it can be stopped).

Do You Want To Taste Me?

 Pictures

People go to Chitwan for all sorts of reasons. The top of those would be for Tiger, of course, the most elusive. They come for rhino, elusive too yet some how more tangible. They come for all of the beach resort atmosphere that can be soaked up from the deck chairs laid out along the Rapti river.

The village of Sauraha if a collection of tour operators and hotels (the hotels also offering their own tours and guide) all eager to take your money. This is where we made our fatal mistake. We decided to stay at the Annapurna View hotel as they actually had rooms in our price range. But we decided NOT to take use their in-house guide. So, and I don't think I am paranoid in thinking this, they felt a little miffed. We had an interrogation over dinner: "Was the other tour cheaper?", "Were any other guests going with us on the tour?", and as we excused ourselves from our meals, "Is the food ok? We need feedback if we are going to improve it?". Then as we lay in our bed in the heat of the jungle with no breeze and no fan (load shedding), we listened to the guide we 'snubbed' creak in the hammock a metre from our door and pump water from the mechanical well outside our window through the night. It was then they turned. They became uber friendly, which strangely is more disconcerting than if they were nasty.

We had chosen Bobs (Best of the best) as our guide. We started with a canoe safari, which was pleasant enough in the coolness of the morning. We saw quite a few water birds but no Gharials or other crocodiles. Then we had the walk back. We stepped out of the canoe and Bobs immediately took us aside to give us the talk. He explained what we should do when confronted by any of the native fauna. It involved a mix of running, climbing trees and praying to god. If we see a rhino then climb a tree; a tiger - pray, keep eye contact and back away slowly, and the dangerous sloth bear just pray. Well at least Bobs carried a long stick for our protection. He then stepped into the grass that was taller than us and we were off. The drama that we left back in our guidebook came along too and it was growing in confidence with every step. First there were fresh rhino tracks in the river bank, then the strong scent of urine and then we stepped into the jungle. We saw scratches on a tree marking the territory of some tiger, we found rhino droppings then a false sighting of rhino. The drama was becoming the star of this show. We saw monkeys and birds and rustling from wild boars, but no big game so we stopped at a observation tower. 

Then it was act 2. We were met by another couple of guides and a Czech staying at our lodge coming from the other direction, they were walking in and walking out. I noticed a scratch on his calf that he dismissed as an occupational hazard of having to climb a tree to avoid a rhino. This is when he described his near death experience of a Belgian who insisted on getting to close o a rhino. He saved the Belgian but was thrown through the air 7 or more times by the aggrieved rhino. He managed to escape but was carried in a jeep to a hospital never to see the Belgian client again. This guy was rhino bait, the guide to have if you want to see rhino. They had already see rhino that morning :( But we were headed back in that direction so we had hope.

That hope had been dashed when we made our way out of the last stand of trees and climbed to the top of the second observation tower. But as we sat and stared across the grasslands towards India our guide spotted a white spot back the way we had come from. And if you watched, it moved - rhino. They are white because of the dried mud they cover themselves with. So we made the obvious decision to head back there. It was still a little way off in the tall grass so I climbed a tree (for a better view). This is when I saw Roselin and Bobs trying to get a closer look too. But they were heading toward the rhino, away from the trees and into the long grass. I thought back to Bobs little sermon on the bank of the river then took a second confused look at Roselin and Bobs. Going away from climbable trees and into grass twice as high as Roselin didn't seem like the intuitive action of sane people. I stayed in my tree. Finally they came back to the growing group of people in the trees and I came down from mine.   

The next day morning was our Elephant Walk. We had been told there are elephant rides in the park itself, not the surrounding buffer zones. But we later learned these are reserved for royalty and high ranking politicians only. Elephants set out in a continuous stream as they a filled with eager tourists from loading platforms. They amble at a lolling gait on separate but interconnected trails all headed to the same destinations. We heard monkeys and saw deer and birds and then in a mud hole a rhino and its calf. They and everything else seemed unfazed by the elephants and the chattering tourists snapping away on their backs. Still most of the time we were both mesmerised by the elephants as they explored their surrounds with their trunks, and snacked on tasty tidbits they came across. We even witnessed an elephant retrieve a lost thong from the ground for one girl with the simple twist of its trunk. Some, not ours, would even hold aside branches as they passed through the trees. We had time then to change into our swimmers for the elephant bathing. And disappointingly for Roselin we couldn't find a 'small' elephant but still we went in. I think Roselin had one of 'those' experiences because the only word she could say for several hours later was 'elephants' with a beaming grin on her face!

After nearly 3 months of travelling we are starting to regain our traveller mindset. This mainly involves eating the cheapest food we can find and walking everywhere. So in this mode we bought some Chitwan honey and fruit. Honey here comes in five flavours, and after an amusing "Do you want to taste me?" from the sales girl we settled on the Butter Tree. It was then off to the Elephant Breeding Centre and we were on the clock. On refusing their generous offer of bicycles, our hostel had cautioned us that the walk would be more than 4 hours. This came down to 2 or 3 when we mentioned that others had done it. I would like to think it was our superior mountain fitness, more likely our miffed lodge owners trying to drum up business, but we made it in 50 minutes and stopped for icecream. In fact we arrived so early that there was noone in the ticket booth and much to my disappointment only 3 elephants in the stables! We had the time to ourselves to watch to 10 year old calf and its proud mother before the twins and all the other mothers and calves came back from the jungle and the tourists flocked in from their jeeps and bicycles.      

The area of the park has been hunting reserve over a century before the Hattisar was turned into a breeding centre to retain the skills of elephant training. The sights of the chained elephants and the treatment from the elephant handlers and the implements of their trade is off-putting. Still the elephants have 5 hours of jungle time, are crucial in patrolling the park for poachers and they genuinely seem to enjoy themselves. As an aside the riders are not mahouts in Nepal as a mahout is the lowest rank only assigned to cleaning out the stables but Phanits or Pachhuwas; the top rank is a Subba, attained after perhaps 40 years. 

To me, the Elephants are the main attraction of Chitwan. They are are all pervasive in village life, regularly walking the streets or the private ones seen in peoples backyards. Even now back in Kathmandu the sounds of dogs and even truck brakes remind me of the belows heard in Chitwan. Roselin even bought a small box made of elephant poo paper.   

It's the people that you meet, walking down the ... track

Pictures

Some, even some I am related to, say that a holiday is where you sit back and read a book. Maybe, if you are energetic, you could socialise with some friends. Just so long as they do all the organising and preparation. Others, such as my Father, can not sit still. They need to busy themselves and it is not what they do as long as they are doing something. Roselin is most certainly one of the latter, but I guess I would fall into the middle ground somewhere (if I had a choice). When you see tourists trekking up these valleys, straining, gasping like a grounded guppy, you ask yourself the question "are they having a good holiday, are they enjoying themselves?"

Roselin was first to read about this trek; 'The ultimate Everest circuit ... Only for the truly adventurous.' [Lonely Planet : Trekking in the Nepal Himalaya 2009]. But then regretted it when she handed the book to me and saw the excited smile on my face. Why would anyone "choose" the Three Passes? Is it a macho thing, for the bragging rights, as Roselin I-am-just-doing-this-walk-for-you, would so often decry? Or is it because the one walk encompasses all of the highlights of the Everest region? Perhaps it is a little bit of both. It was also Roselin's idea to start the walk from Shivalaya and walk to Namche Bazaar rather than fly. This would add another week of walking and, because the trail runs west to east crossing a deep valley every day, the folklore says that by Namche you have accumulated as much ascent as the height of Everest and descended the height of Ama Dablam. Not for the feint hearted, which I must assume Roselin is most surely not. A trip to Nepal is considered incomplete, at least to friends and family, if Everest (Chomolungma in Tibetan, and Sagarmatha in Nepali) is not viewed, photographed, bagged and tagged. But Nepal is the kingdom of the Himalayan range, there are so many snow capped peaks, walls of peaks. They form a labyrinthine of snow, rock and ice. There are sacred lakes and forests and rivers. And dotted between are tiny villages that eke out a living from potatoes and tourists. And literally sitting on the top of all of this is the spectre of altitude. Not a trivial factor, as we are reminded by those that have succumbed and are carried down on the backs of porters and horses and sadly those that have died, days from where we walked, days from when we walked there.

The trek started like most epic voyages, with a bus trip. For some reason seating numbers are merely indicative. Indicative that you may get a seat or alternatively there is always the aisle to sit or stand in as you prefer. We managed to get a seat above the rear axle (no correlation to allocated seat numbers) by evicting some locals, but then that is the privilege of not paying local prices I guess. Our driver was not worried by the near vertical drop on one side of our narrow road nor the apparent solidity of the rock wall on the other as he sped along mountain roads entertaining ludicrous speed only when sighting another vehicle in front of him. The road soon deteriorated to a dirt track, and I think I have had smoother rides bouncing over grass downs in pursuit of recalcitrant ewes. Roselin had bruises, I had mild whiplash, but to top it all off we had a drunk join us for the last 15 minutes who insisted on serenading us all the way to Shivalaya with about 3 words of his ballad that would be repeated until he insisted on trying to stand and rummage through his pockets and then fall back to his seat to sing again.

And so the walk began, with such an auspicious start how could we fail in our quest. We walked through Rhododendron forests, potato fields and occasional tea plantation. Generally by 3 in the afternoon the clouds moved in and the rain began as is typical for this time of year. They were long days of 7 to 9 hours including an hour for lunch. You could generally see where you were headed that day, but the way to get there either meant dropping far below to a river, crossing a suspension bridge, and then regaining all that altitude again OR climbing to a pass and then dropping to the river. It was a few days after that we confirmed the curious herding trait of guides. A village may have as many a 8 lodges, but invariably as evening approaches, they would gather their wide eyed and staggering clients into a single lodge. My pick of this section of the walk would have to be the village of Junbesi. After walking through cloud we crossed a small pass and descended through Rhododendron forest. We were then pounded by hail and had to take refuge and Tibetan tea (easier drunk if you consider it soup). Finally we rounded a turn a looked down on the picturesque valley, the village of Junbesi nestled in its fold, the first real snow caps as a backdrop. The valley had a little of everything: pine forests, grassed hillsides, bright green barley crops in terraced fields, smartly painted buildings, stupas and gompas, and of course, with those white peaks, the promise of giant mountains around the corner. We passed doughnut parity with Australia at around Phakding; a little bit bigger, not quite as tasty, and a little more expensive at AUD $2. We were now on the main tourist highway between the airport at Lukla and launch site for all the treks of Namche Bazaar (3420m).

There is a Sherpa saying: "Yaks do not function below Namche. Above Namche, tourists do not function". On the 'highway' yaks have replaced mules. The mules have been the semi-trailers of trail, hauling important supplies but ripping up the trails and reducing them to slippery rocks in pools of mud. From now on it is the dominion of yaks, At 4000m you have 60% your normal oxygen, villages at this altitude are seasonal, artificial, they exist only to service tourists and climbers. There are no trees, no grasses and only a few shrubs. At 5000m you are down to 53% of the oxygen at sea level; you have to take two breaths for every one you would normally take. The landscape is mostly brown earth and grey rocks; glaciers and ice dominate the spaces between the peaks. There is no running water because it does not 'run' at the subzero temperatures of the night.

In ten days we crossed Renjo La (5345m) from the Bhote Kosi to the Dudh (Dude) Kosi, climbed Gokyo Ri (5360m); crossed Cho La (5420m) to the Khumhu Khola and climbed Kala Patthar (5550m); finally crossing Kongma La (5535m) to Imja Khola and ascending Chhukung Ri (5546m). We never once dropped below 4500m. It is the first time our guide has done all this in one trip and it is not surprising that he didn't expect us to be so insistent to do every pass. But we did complete it, and whatever I did Roselin did as well with short legs and a persistent cold (she broke). Perhaps all the second takes she got from porters and guides are warranted, not only does Roselin look like a Sherpa but she has the heart of one as well. A special thanks to Samir Tamang who guided us and helped along the way, we would recommend him and did.

Trekking is 25% slog and 75% sitting around reading, writing, playing cards, or just chatting to fellow walkers about the usual subjects (where you have been and where you are going). Still, even then, the slog part is for me almost a walking meditation because you spend it alone (even if you are in a group), silent and generally reflecting. Even after 2 months of travelling I was still thinking about work. It wasn't that nagging feeling like I had left a light on somewhere, but more of that urge that walls had to be knocked out and the bathroom renovated. But as those thoughts crystalise and even though that email to the CEO fails to be written, mostly because you are kilometres from a computer rather than your own discretion, then you can let go. I know that some have already forgotten about the frustrations of the day by the time they have walked out of the office front door and bid adeiu to the receptionist, but this is my curse.

It is in this 75% time that you meet doctors training for the Everest marathon. We met a Canadian working in Nepal for 15 years for various UN agencies. He claims to have originally got that gig because he was a writer for Sesame Street. In Gorak Shep we met a member of a Pakistani expedition to summit Everest; to him Everest is 'easy' compared to the technicalities of K2. We started off with a Kiwi father and his two young daughters in Sete staying at the Shobha Lodge; we lost them near Junbesi, one daughter suffering from altitude. In Junbesi we met a young Australian trio on their gap year and celebrated Nepali New Year with raksi (home made whiskey). In Lukla a British couple on a 6 month holiday hoping to go back and work on Oz. There are so many that you meet - they help wile away those in-between hours and fill you with ideas and possibilities for further travels.