Calcutta Calling!

Kathmandu – Calcutta

I left my hostel in Kathmandu on Boxing Day.

I did’t actually hit the road until 3pm, which only gave me a couple of daylight hours of cycling, but I was determined to reach Darjeeling, India for New Years Eve. Packing my panniers in the early morning would have proven to be difficult with the rest of the hostel out cold in bed still high as a kite. Kathmandu is full of young hippy wannabees desperately trying to re-create the Kathmandu of the 1970’s. Most spent all day monged out in the hostel and never actually got to see the Himalayan Mountains. I didn’t see any whore out their girlfriends to buy drugs though like the original hardcore used to, they obviously weren’t the real deal.  One Californian guy was particularly notable though, who was still in the hostel on my return from Everest Base Camp (and is probably still there now). His teeth were completely black and as he slumbered around in a cabbage like state chain smoking................ I recall him asking a girl, “Where are you from?”, to which she replied “Austria”. His reply, in the biggest stoner voice you could possibly imagine was, “I hear there some beautiful vibes out that way”.  What a valid point I thought. Surely a possible candidate for mastermind?

My Map, which has a scale of 1:1 300 000, showed a straight-ish road heading south east from Kathmandu towards a place called Dhalkebar on the East-West Highway. A low lying (just 300 metres above sea level)flat main road which runs right across Nepal, just south of the Himalayan mountain range.  However, instead of being a slow straight decent to the south of Nepal as I presumed, this was a brutal twisty steep road which consisted of big descents followed immediately by agonising 4/5 hour climbs. Nearing the East-west highway I spent the night in the town of Sindhuli, where a large music festival was taking place and apparently one of Nepal’s most famous singers was performing and staying in my hotel. Hot showers are something of a novelty in Nepal, though I thought I’d ask the receptionist anyway. The receptionist replied by saying, “maybe hot water tomorrow morning”.  Thinking that was highly unlikely at best I braced myself for an ice cold Himalayan mountain water shower that evening........and to be astonishment hot water came out!  Miracle!

Feeling both chuffed and clean I then checked out the concert and small fairground attached. I shouldn’t be so mean, but I’m pretty sure this is where Banksy came to get inspiration for his Dissmalland amusement park.  My favourite attraction being  a 45 degree merry-go-round powered by a huge thumping engine bellowing out black smoke and a wobbly 20 metre black rubber belt to drive it. The next morning I hit the road early and stopped just outside of town for breakfast. As I sat down outside the metal shack and old man joined me at the table. He asked where I was from, and he told me he didn’t believe me when I said England. It turned out he was a former Gurkha, 82 years of age. He laughed when I told him his age was my year of birth. He explained how he served in Richmond and how his 50,000 Rupees pension went a lot further in Nepal than England.

It took a further 2 days to work my way along the east-west highway to the town of Birtamod. It was also a lot more apparent I was getting close to the Indian border as the invasion on personal space began to intensify! On one stop to buy some fruit, buttons were pressed on my Speedo, pannier bag opened and looked inside and rear saddle bad unclipped and inspected. I understand the curiosity, but won’t say the response which I wanted to give! From Birtamod there appeared to be 2 ways of arriving in Darjeeling in time for New Years Eve. Both would involve some serious climbing. One way was to head immediately north back into the Himalayas on the Nepal side and cross the border at Sukhiapokhri – a few miles west of Darjeeling. The other to continue east a few miles and cross into India and climb the Himalayas from the India side.  With my visa due to expire that day (30/12/2016) I thought I’d make the most of it and have one last ride in Nepal.

Very flat East - West Highway - Early morning

I set of early on the road which headed due north. Initially flat, the road began to increase in gradient like a squared function on a graph. I guess in poorer countries building roads is expensive so they only make them meander when absolutely necessary. The road finally began to snake up the mountain. I will take back what I said about The Himalayan roads being much easier than the South American Andes, as this thing was brutal. Without blowing my own trumpet too much I would say I’m pretty good riding a bike up hills, but this was something else. With my gear in the lowest cog and me standing out of the seat I could only just turn the pedals over – this continued uphill for 40 miles!  I eventually reached a plateau in the mountain surrounded by tea fields. It was incredible scenery. Surprisingly there were several Nepalese tourists, some played loud music and danced or posed for selfies among the tea leaves. Bizarre but interesting! After the plateau the road descended momentarily before a final severe climb towards the border town of Sukhiapokhri (2000m). Along my way many people shouted, “where are you going”?! “India” I replied – which I thought was quite obvious given the road was heading straight for the border.  One person said, “Not possible!”, “I have an Indian visa!” I shouted back.

Heading back towards the Himalayas and the Nepal-India borer - a road which very quickly became very steep

Sukhiapokri was an incredibly steep border town which is literally on top of a mountain. By the time I arrived I was pretty much exhausted after my 40 mile climb to 2000 metres. As I made my way to the Police at the border crossing there was lots of commotion and I once again heard the words, “not possible!” It was very quickly made apparent that this border crossing was only for Nepalese and Indian citizens and there was no immigration!!! I can’t deny I was properly gutted and pissed off!!  So close to Darjeeling yet so far. Even my repeated attempts at bribing the police were followed by a quiet conversation between 2 officers and a definite “No”. It was definitely a no go! I explained how my visa expired today and how I needed to cross. He told me I could turn around now and cross the other border – to which I replied, “Mate!! I’ve been on the road cycling uphill for 40 miles since the early hours of this morning – it’s nearly dark already!” In truth I had no reason to get angry, it was all my fault. If I’d been bothered to buy a guide book and didn’t adopt the approach of trying to wing it my whole life it would have been obvious I couldn’t cross this border! I’m probably the only westerner to have ever been to Sukhiapokria, though with no good reason why.

Nepalese/Indian border town (Sukhiapokria) - illegally taken photo against advice of "no photos" from the border police

"Simple Room!"

I turned around and cycled as far as I could until nightfall. Many people laughed and heckled me as I came back down. I obviously stood out like a saw thumb – In fact it felt like everyone was laughing at me and shouting, “I told you so!” – I felt like a bit of a Muppet. Night time is very cold at 2000 metres and I didn’t fancy a night time decent of the mountains, especially since I’d lost one of my gloves. I eventually came across a small town which had two small hotels, both of which were full. The guy in one hotel told me the place next door had simple rooms. It was a little family owned restaurant (the terms restaurant gives images of grandness – which

it definitely wasn’t!) with a wooden staircase down to a couple of basement rooms. The stairwell continued down further to a room with chickens, an open fire on the floor (which filled the whole building with smoke) and a toilet onto an  open sewer. The toilet had a hole in the wall for a window,  with the best view from a crapper I’ve ever seen in my life -  an incredible sunset onto beautiful Himalayan mountains. Although very simple (see pic) the place was actually quite clean and the family incredibly friendly. The daughter was my personal translator for dinner. I gave her the book I’d just finished reading, which was probably like giving Shakespeare to a 4 year old, but she seemed delighted with it.

Great toilet view

Book Giving

The next morning I descended back downhill to the East – West Highway with mixed emotions and crossed the Indian Border around lunchtime. Despite being a day over my visa limit the immigration officer did not issue me a fine. A stark contrast to the American dressed as Buddha I bumped into at the border when I first entered Nepal, who looked a broken man after being given a proper hard time for overstaying his visa. I guess being British is a good thing in Nepal – either that or they prefer Lycra clad cyclists than yanks dressed like Buddha. From there I headed eastwards and reached the town of Shiliguri, the start of the Himalayan railway, and the left turn for the steep ascent to Darjeeling.  As I took that left turn I saw a sign which said “Darjeeling 74km” ( uphill!) and simultaneously a guy with a jeep full of passengers shouted “Darjeeling?!” to me.  I only have one rule when I cycle, which is to never ever take a ride - unless someone is shooting a gun at you. I jumped in without hesitation and he threw my bicycle onto the roof. The road was very steep, and almost a mirror image of what I cycled the previous day. We eventually arrived just before nightfall. At 3mph on bicycle I was never going to make it in time.

I’d beasted myself to get to Darjeeling for NYE and had practically cycled  there and back already. I also had no intention of spending new years alone in my tent – especially after so many new years spent at fire stations. And a previous Christmas Eve stranded camping in the Amazon jungle in Guiana shitting ourselves we were going to get eaten alive (me and my friend Tim Miller had the fantastic idea we could cycle a 30 year old Purple tandem across the Amazon and It wouldn’t break down).

Christmas Eve - Amazon Rain-forest, Guiana, South America

The road to Darjeeling was also directly off my route to Calcutta (due north when I was heading south) which meant I would have to return again to Shiliguri – I further justified to myself. Yet I still felt like a loser for taking that jeep!
Darjeeling was no let down though. I think its my favourite place In India so  far. Built by the British Raj to escape the intense summertime  heat in Calcutta, it is a hillside town  at 2042 metres with spectacular  views. It is also famously responsible for producing the best tea in the world. The British influence is still massively obvious and many of the buildings, although quite ram-shackled, would not look out of place in the British countryside. There is a train track (known as the toy train)which works its way up the mountainside. Some of the gradient is so steep that the train does a 360 degrees loop in a roundabout fashion to decrease the angle. With it being India, the 100+ year old British built trains have not been restored but just “kept going” which for me makes it all the more amazing. Many foreigners would  wrongly disagree, but what is also great about Darjeeling is the cuisine left from the British Raj. After eating spices for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a month I went mental.  Despite having yet another case of the runs, I’ve lost count of how many times its been,  I force fed myself with everything from beans on toast to sausage rolls to something vaguely resembling roast dinner with questionable roast potatoes. Even the cake’s were British – see pic. There was also a zoo and a mountaineering museum containing the original clothes used by Sherpa Tenzing Norgay to climb Everest in 1953.

Glenary's

Cakes!

Darjeeling

The decent back down towards Shilguri was awesome and you could see for miles onto the flat plains of India heading southwards. 

Calcutta was signposted as 613 Km. The road south was very flat and although advised by local Indians as being nothing special had some quirky surprises. For the first couple of days skies were overcast  which, with it being winter time, meant the temperatures stayed nice and fresh  making  it much easier to cover ground.  Closer to Delhi I think I was close to heat stroke on a couple of occasions and would have to put my head under a water pump or in the big roadside water pits. Along with the cool temperatures the road had been/was being freshly laid (see pic). There were often signs/men to tell you to cross the carriageway where road workers were laying fresh tarmac and tapping little stones into it by hand.  I would often ignore this advice, which proved detrimental when my front wheel stopped turning around. I had to pick the tar from my wheel and the inside of my mudguard on top of a highway flyover.

As I approached the city of Malda I passed several bridges that had fallen into rivers and severely crumbled cars and lorries left by the roadside (the driver would clearly have died in most) I was then pleasantly surprised to see a sign for a water pack right off the highway.  I had no idea such thing existed in India, and since the sun had broken through the clouds that afternoon decided to check it out. Arriving at the “Aquatic Bengal” water park caused quite a scene among the locals and I immediately had an entourage.  I left my bike at the reception and after the routine “selfie” session I found myself led over to the changing area where I was told I must wear the mandatory “aquatic Bengal” swimming costume at a cost of 40 Rupees. A security officer with a big wooden stick then led me to the changing room. He remained there until I was changed and followed me everywhere I went throughout the park – He’s the guy behind me in the photo. Unfortunately the slides, which terminated into green water, were only open in summertime. The wave pool was open though, it had an extremely slippery tiled floor and water  which made the River Thames look clean. Even the young Indian  lad pictured in the photo advised me I should have a shower afterwards to avoid infection! In despite of all of this, swimming – for the 1^st time in a month -  in refreshing cold water after a long day on the dusty highway sweating in the saddle was immense. My trip culminated with a coffee on the house and a photo session with the owner and staff.

"Aquatic Bengal!"

 Feeling refreshed I cycled the remaining 15k to Malda where I stayed at the “Swastika Hotel”. The hotel was directly outside the livestock/meat market part of town. I felt most sorry for the 8 trembling goats chained to one another standing in a circle only a mete away from there friends head on a chopping board and body hanging being drained of its blood. The hotel was very basic but did the job. Other than that and a security guard going mental at me for taking a photo of some jewelry it was otherwise uneventful.  I left the next morning and did a small detour to visit the, “Ruins of Gour”, the remains of the old capital of West Bengal. I had the place to myself and it was worth the detour from the main road. After crossing a huge river I left the main highway 34 and took the road heading towards ”Shantiniketan”, which a local told me was a must see. As I left highway 34 to turn right the road had been tapped off. I past under it and came to a bridge where 2 brick walls had been built across it to prevent traffic from crossing.

Possibly a protest or that the bridge was due to collapse intimately  I’m not sure, either way it meant I had the road to myself for a short while.  99 miles later I arrived at Rampur Hut where I spent the night, leaving a short half day to Shantiniketan. A pleasant enough place with some nice mud built huts, craft stalls and some local tourists. A final 106 mile push the next day enabled me to arrive in Calcutta before nightfall. On route I   rejoined the “The Great Trunk Road” – The main highway I initially used to leave Delhi and diverted from at Varanasi to head north into Nepal, which made me realise what a huge  but worthy diversion Nepal had been.

I was now an expert in the various road users in India:

·         Confident people on bicycles – the ones that chase after you and relentlessly try to chat to you and stop you for a “selfie”. The question pattern being; “What is your name?”,”To which country do you belong?”, “Are you travelling solo?”,” Which hotel are you staying at?”..And most worrying of all, “Which is your room number”? My new tactic is to ask every single one of those questions before they get chance to open there mouths!

·         Shy people on bicycles "followers" – The ones that cycle behind you for an hour and pretend there by coincidence going at exactly the same speed as you and don’t notice your there.

·         Shy people on bicycles "over takers" – Similar to the "followers" but they go for the overtake. Its very comparable to the Tour de France. They pretend to effortlessly pass you and not notice you... but quickly run out of steam/slow down so you have to pass them again.

·         Mopeds and Motorbikes – Beep constantly and often ride along side you either just starring at you or asking question after question.  The biggest problem is that nearly knock you off weaving around next to you whilst trying to chat and do one handed selfies. Unlike the cyclists the problem being is you can’t outrun them! The more serious “selfie takers” race past you, pull onto the side of the road, pull a brush out to comb their hair in anticipation of the selfie (whilst keeping one eye in the mirror for your approach) then frantically try to get you to stop.

·         Cars, Buses and Trucks – Similar behavior to above although stop less for chats and selfies. The biggest problem with this group is that if they overtake you from the opposite direction they will literally force you off the road and head straight for you hooting their horns (which are often high pitched theme 10 second theme tunes). Every vehicle honks their horns all day every day, regardless of whether any traffic is on the road or not!!  I’m still looking for one of those horns used at football games to reach through the car window and sound next to the drivers ear drums!!!

I’m making this all sound very negative.....which it’s not! The Indian people are exceptionally warm, friendly and curious and all of the above makes cycling India quite incredible. I can’t deny that after enduring the same conversation 100 times per day and being exhausted on the bike, I often have to remind myself to be nice and friendly! But, with the exception of the horns, cycling India has been amazing.

I’m currently in Calcutta which I like a lot. It has a dilapidated grandness to it with some incredible buildings from the colonial era. There often in desperate need of repair and have trees growing from them, but that makes them quite charming and authentic. I’m actually going to be stuck here for a week as I’m currently awaiting my visa for Bangladesh. Applying for the visa was a bit of a traumatic experience. There was a cue outside the high commission of Bangladesh for as far as the eye could see. Apparently people had being cuing since 4 am. 

Enormous cue at High Commission of Bangladesh

I rocked up at ten past 9 and the bloke outside tells me I should go straight to the front of counter one! A hundred angry Muslim men looked up at me shouting and pointing to the back of the cue. Counter one was apparently for non-Indians and I was allowed to do that...apparently. The shutter for the counter opened a few minutes later and I paid a whopping 100 quid and was told to collect the visa in 10 days. Although the collection slip stated the 16/01/2017 -6 days!? Which I’m hoping will be the case!  I have therefore found myself a very cheap hotel (200 Rupees – about 2 pounds 50 per night) which has some extremely interesting characters residing there. One of my favourties is an eccentric 70 year old man I keep bumping into. Born in Calcutta but lived most of his life on the Isle of Mann, he is an avid engineer and historian who converted a hotel into luxury flats to sell and no longer work. He first traveled to India on his motorbike from the UK in the 1960’s..and in his 60’s, left his wife as she no longer wanted to travel on the back of his motorbike through India! Prize for the best hippy so far goes to the plonker in the picture below. Top effort.

Neighboring hippy fruitcake in my hotel - Calcutta

Pictures from the road to Calcutta and the city itself:

Waiting for the train to pass on the way to Calcutta - a man dressed as a sheep?!

(I decided to use the bridge on the right hand side)

Tea Seller - Calcutta - prices vary hugely depending the grade. Apparently some of the tea sold here is the from the same tea estates where leaves are sent to Harrods.

My favourite Indian Taxis - Always yellow in Calcutta

The daily commotion caused by one of my food stops!!

Cuing traffic on the road

Note the black hand to the left - his job is to grease the tracks..by hand. 

Monkeys - Shantiniketan

Riding into the sunset on way to Rampur Hat

Park Street - The oxford street of Calcutta - a place where Christmas is celebrated throughout January!

Old Colonial building - Calcutta

Tram with what is left of "China Town"beind

An attempt at a skyscraper

Ruins of Gour

Varanasi to Kathmandu - Heading for the Himalayas

Varanasi to Kathmandu - Heading for the Himalayas

After watching a dog come out of the river with a human limb in it’s his mouth it was time to hit the road and head north towards the Himalayas and Nepal.

Heading north from Varanasi  I took the small road for as long as possible before joining the main carriageway towards Gorakhpur.  I decided to look for a camping spot as it got dark though couldn’t seem to find anything close to flat grass. I luckily/unluckily came across a hotel as I crossed the river in the small town of Chillupar. Despite its shiny exterior, to describe this hotel as being a shithole would be very generous. On arrival the reception guy chased me up the stairs, snatched my bag off me and then asked me for a tip for “carrying bag”. I gave him the smallest note I could find..he laughed at me and ridiculed  the amount.Considering the room looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since being built and I didn’t want my bag being carried anyway I decided not to give him anymore!

I grabbed some food in the restaurant attached to the hotel (opting for the meat dish in an empty shack/restaurant later proved to be a great mistake) and spent the night in probably the dirtiest room I’ve ever stayed in - and that’s saying something! I woke up the next morning and hit the road. As I headed north the roads became a lot quieter and the air seemed to become a lot cleaner, although mornings became extremely foggy. Occasionally I passed through tree lined areas full of monkeys. The only problem on smaller single carriage way roads in India is that when oncoming lorries try to overtake you they occupy the whole of your carriage way and force you into the ditch – no matter how much you shout and swear at them! Big vehicles take priority in India.This can sometimes be an issue when your feet are clipped into your pedals. My tactics of trying to head straight for them complimented with hand gestures didn’t seem to work either, although I persisted with the approach anyway.

Haircut and Head Massage

I spend the following night In the town of Pharenda, around 60km south of the Nepalese border. However, on arrival It became apparent that India was determined to say farewell in style. I awoke in big trouble with  the worst runs of my life. Whilst waiting for the Pharmacy to open - and realising I must be some sort of  idiot to cycle through India without any medicine -  I decided to get my haircut in the shack next door. It cost me less than 50 pence and was one of the most ingenious haircuts of my life. The barber used a beard trimmer to trim the sides, a dust pan and brush to remove excess hair and cutt with what looked like a pair of kitchen scissors...giving a pretty impressive overall result bearing in mind the equipment on offer. I did however decide to opt against the blunt cut throat razor which was offered to me several times! After the haircut he covered my face in about 4 different potions and then proceeded with the head massage/pounding . As I sat there with a pumping headache and a severe case of the runs he put his hands into a prayer type posture and began smacking me on the head followed by reigning downs punches onto the top of my skull with his fist! Pretty good haircut but the massage was questionable!

Feeling pretty poorly and after eating bananas as recommended to settle the stomach (definitely didn’t work!) I hit the road and headed for Nepal. I was surprised to find that the roads were still completely flat and there was no sight of the Himalayas whatsoever. After crossing the border into Nepal (which was relatively simple)  I chucked a left and headed for the nearby town of Lumbini (apparently the birthplace of Buddha) . Immediately after crossing the border it was apparent that Nepal was a lot slower paced than India and how nice and genuine the people were. Lumbini is somewhat of a pilgrimage and hippy town and has several western backpackers, most of which look like complete wankers. They may make similar remarks about an idiot such as myself  clad head to toe in lycra. However, imo any westerner wearing a skirt and/or going about the place barefoot wearing an orange Buddhist style robe with matching headpiece has to fall into this category!  They obviously found the place very uplifting, however, as I sat on the guesthouse toilet stranded for 4 days straight I found nothing spiritual about the place whatsoever!!

Nepal Border

After finally feeling a little less ropey and hoping that my guts were now conditioned for the rest of the trip I headed north extremely looking forward to seeing the Himalayas for the first time ever.  Amazingly due to the fog/cloud I did not see the mountains until they were literally in front of my face about 20 miles north of Lumbini.

After riding on such flat roads in India it was great to be out of the saddle and start climbing into the Himalayan mountains. The road twisted and turned as I climbed above the cloud layer towards my destination Pokhara, a beautiful city set on a lake with the an incredible mountain backdrop, which I arrived at in complete darkness 2 days later. I had learnt my lessons from previous trips and actually bought a decent front light bright enough to illuminate the road ahead of me. I apologies for returning to speak about pooing again but could not fail to mention that whilst stopping for a roadside poo close to Pokhara, a group of 3 Nepalese women walked past mid way through the job, stopped a matter of meters away from me and stood watching a laughing at me throughout the whole process. It was hard to know whether to try to stop midway or finish the job properly, I chose the latter.

Pokhara

The road from Pokhara to Kathmandu was beautiful. I rode over lush green mountains, crossed streams and rivers and passed 7/8000 metre giant snow capped peaks. Although challenging the roads never climbed over 2000 metres so altitude sickness was not an issue – Unlike when I cycled across South America climbing 4500 metre passes with banging headaches, chewing cocaine leaves to help with altitude sickness. As the sun began to set I spotted a camping spot next to the river and pitched up for the night. Apart from getting sand everywhere it was a pretty comfy and not overly cold night’s sleep.

The following morning I set off early for Kathmandu (1400 metres). Initially undulating the last 20 miles was a gruelling uphill road which snaked up the mountainside. Kathmandu was at no point visible until I was virtually there and peered down onto the smog encompassed huge city from the top of the ridge I’d climbed. Before arriving I had been warned that Kathmandu was a dirty s***hole and a place to get in and out of asap. Despite its visible pollution (which was Vauxhall conference compared to Delhi) I found it to be a hugely energetic, charming and crazy place full of super friendly people – as all Nepalese are. The old part of town has some incredible temples and buildings despite the earthquake damage. Watching the locals getting hammered going mental banging their heads to live Rock music at the “purple haze” rock band is also must – as the Lonely Planet guide book would say!

Bridge on road to Kathmandu

Kathmandu

Kathmandu - crazy Nepalese bloke I met in a Rock bar  who I  bumped into  the following day - he allowed me to use his bog and see the view from his family flat - their house was destroyed in the earthquake.

Camping by river in between Pokhara and Kathmandu 

Dal Bhat - traditional dish of Nepal which many eat twice per day

I met a very cool Spanish and Aussie girl at the hostel I was staying who were also keen on doing some trekking. Organised treks seemed  a bit of a rip off so I bought a 2^nd hand fake North Face Sleeping bag (still much warmer than my one season  bag)and some stinky 2^nd hand boots with the sole half hanging off from an Aussie guy both for 500 rupees, about 4 quid. I managed to fix the boots by wrapping some band aid around the sole, and, looking like a crock of *hit, I dumped my bike into storage and was ready to go. Maybe it’s because I’m a cheap skate but even doing triathlon I’ve always preferred to be the guy with the rusty old bike flying past the “all the gear no idea” bloke on his 10k carbon bike complete with Toss pot Bradley Wiggins Aero helmet!...or the bloke I saw in the mountain with single ice axe strapped to his bag that clearly hadn’t/never would be used.

We woke up early for our 7am flight to Lukla (the mountainside town which is famous for being the start for exhibitions to summit mount Everest) and grabbed a taxi to Kathmandu airport. It was the first time in my life I have witnessed a monkey running around an airport departure lounge. On-board the flight there were 4 other passengers, 2 pilots and 1 pretty attractive air hostess whose sole job was to hand out hard boiled sweets on take-off. The curtain between the cockpit and the passengers was left open. I was positioned next to the hostess on one of the 2 seats at the back of the plane, the other 8 or so remaining seats were occupied by bags of frozen chickens and boxes of spirits/supplies. The flight itself was without doubt the best I’ve ever taken – no insult to my mad inventor father Poo Bear Panther and his home build/modified 2 seat aircraft! The short 30 minute flight skimmed over the top of imposing Himalayan Mountains before landing on an incredibly steep (12 percent) and short (500 metre) mountainside runway in the small town of Lukla (2860 metres). The runway also ends in a blank mountain wall and has unpredictable harsh weather. It has,not surprisingly, been confirmed as the deadliest airport in the world for the last 20 years.

 

Domestic Terminal - Kathmandu

Taking off from Kathmandy

Frozen Chickens on-board the flight

We set off immediately after touching down and shortly afterwards came across a shrine to the 2012 Lukla Plane tragedy in which all 19 people died. I later discovered it was the same airline, Sita, that we’d just flown with. And the 6^th fatal Nepalese air crash in 2 years. This somewhat explained the fact that our plane looked like an old dog and was the cheapest flight available to Lukla. Great value though I’d say.

My vocabulary or photography isn’t anywhere near good enough to describe how amazing the scenery is on the hike towards Everest base camp, and even though it’s a very well trodden path, if you get the chance you definitely should go. Perhaps multiplying the pics I’m about to painfully slowly add with Nepalese WiFi by 10 would be close.

As the trail climbs higher from Lukla it passes tiny stone build villages, single track bridges spanning whole valleys and tiny mountains Sherpa’s  carrying a minimum of 80kgs on their backs (via a strap wrapped around there heads) and 100s of good carrying Yaks. Everything from gas cylinders to wooden doors and crates of beer is lugged up the mountain by hand or yak. The further you climb the thinner the air becomes and greater the symptoms of altitude sickness such as shortness of breath and sickness and headaches. Over 8000 metres is apparently known as the death zone where the body can no longer support itself and begins to die.

The first and only sizable town you reach is called Nachme Bazaar, where we stayed in a lodge with a bunch of kiwis. I’ve never really been particularly fussed by famous people but one of them was apparently the daughter of Sir Edmund Hillary. Hillary was the first person to successfully climb Mount Everest with Sherpa Tenzing Norgay in May of 1953. Another member of the group was an 80 something year old bloke who was apparently the first man to set up a hospital in the area.  All extremely impressive.  To those who have no interest in climbing I should not fail to mention though that the first man to possibly summit Mt Everest was not a Kiwi but of course a Brit. George Mallory attempted to summit in 1924. His body was recently found on Everest although it is debatable as to whether he was still on his way up or descending from the summit. I’d say the latter ;-)

I shouldn’t be so mean...............but another person staying at the lodge was a young extremely geeky know it all Australian, who was both more white and more annoying than myself. He continuously ranted on giving fact after fact about everything from previous mountain expeditions to warning me against ascending the mountain to quickly and how he was the fastest 800 meter runner in his University ( I couldn’t resist in being a competitive smart arse and letting him know my 800 metre time was a full 17 seconds faster and that my nephew is the Australian 800 metre national champion for his age). After him reciting more geeky facts, such as the exact time to the second in which Bear Grylls summited Mt Everest, I decided to call him Band Camp...after the geeky female Michelle in the film American Pie who famously said, “oh! This one time..at band camp...|I stuck a flute in my ......” ....and it wasn’t pocket.

Band camp rushed over to have photos with Sarah Hillary and the other Kiwis (IMO Edmund Hillary is an extraordinary human being – though I personally didn’t see the appeal in having a photo with his 70 something year old daughter in a strange skirt) Foaming at the mouth and I’m pretty sure having creamed himself Bandcamp rushed back and kept repeating the phrase, “We are in the presence of Himalayan Royalty!!” for the rest of the night.

Ignoring Band camp and his guides warning that we should do a day hike with them to  acclimatize (and getting sick of the word “Himalayan Royalty”) I persuaded my fellow Spaniard, Borja and Aussie mate, Camille to push on up the trail towards Everest Base Camp (EBC – 5380 metres) which we reached in about 4 days. As we climbed higher and the air thinned we experienced several intense headaches, occasional nose bleeds and freezing night time temperatures. Prices also rose dramatically the higher we climbed. By the time you near the top a single roll of toilet paper is 4 US dollars and piece of toast 2 dollars 50. Which bearing in mind it has to be flown into Lukla then carted by a Sherpa for a week up a mountain is understandable.

This friendly Sherpa would actually touch his feet on the stove and make a sizzling sound for his own amusement!

5600 metre pass with the best views of Mt Everest and a sheer drop behind me

Sherpa carrying a small load

Lukla Runway - 500 metres long into a sheer drop

One of the many memorials on the way to Base Camp

Gokyo Lake

Despite not being able to see Everest peak itself from base camp (we did a neighboring slightly higher pass a day earlier which gave great views) it is an incredible place. You are encompassed by 8000 meter high giant mountains all around you and the Khumba glacier – the deadly start of the Everest ascent. In the short time we spent there we witnessed several rock falls and one quite sizable avalanche – see photo. There was no one camping at base camp as it can only be summit-ed in the spring, but impressive non the less. One day I’d like to try to summit the mountain myself. It apparently takes 2 months and costs 60,000 USD. Though after reading the book, “Left for Dead: My journey home from Everest”, by Beck Weathers, a true story about a man who along with most of his team froze to death on the mountain In a storm, but managed to regain consciousness and get himself off the mountain alone, to later lose his nose and 2 hands to frostbite, I might leave that to a bit later in life!

Everest - the Big Black mountain behind my head - 8850m

Avalanche at the foot of Mount Everest

Returning home from Base Camp we bumped into young band camp on 2 more occasions. Each time looking increasingly smug and pleased with himself that we had experienced headaches due to the altitude. I’ll make sure I thrown him in the freezing river next time I see him ;-) Other highlights on the way down the mountain included trying to cross the Cho La pass glacier without crampons (Band camp was earlier quick to inform me he had crampons but Bear Grylls puts socks on the outside of his boots for such occasions) and suggesting we should keep pushing on one day and getting the group caught out on a mountain pass in pitch black. Luckily we bumped into an old lady collecting “Yak Shit” on the side of the mountain who guided us down to her lodge to stay the night. “Yak Shit” – as I taught a young  lady  who worked in one of the lodges to say, is used as the main source of heating/fire in higher mountain lodges above the tree line.  I was always a keen volunteer to help load the stoves with this incredible free fuel – mainly because It gave me a reason to say the word’s “Yak Shit”. 

Crossing the Cho La pass Glacier

On returning to Lukla we were met with heavy fog, cloud, rain and cancelled flights. It had been completely clear for weeks prior to that date. Temperatures had also decreased greatly and the town was without heating and Wifi. After receiving much conflicting information and hear-say we decided to wait around the airport on Christmas Eve in the hope of getting a flight. Apparently when the cloud comes in people can be stuck in Lukla for up to 2 weeks and with huge backlogs. The only source of entertainment was a restaurant directly outside the airport where TV Programs ranged from cage fighting to an old wildlife documentary about a male elephant which had been rejected by all the females and so was therefore trying to mount a Rhino.

One of the two planes to take off Christmas Eve in heavy Cloud - flying by sight

Taking advantage of the poor weather several helicopters swooped in and took passengers back to Kathmandu for 360 US dollars per person. Later that  morning only 2 planes landed, as they did everyone ran to the check in counter which seemed to work on a Nepalese first then first come first serve basis. The planes took off again probably within a minute of them landing and disappeared into the clouds. The time or date on your flight ticket didn’t seem to count for much! What was strange thinking back was the fact people were running and fighting over boarding a plane at the world’s most deadly airport with the thick cloud just a few metres above us! As the cue for those willing to pay for helicopters decreased so did there price, we were offered a chopper for 200 dollars each and the unlikely promise of a refund on a flight ticket – I’m not a big fan of helicopters but being Christmas Eve and the prospect of being stuck in the mountains for weeks hanging over us we quickly snapped up the opportunity.

From here my aim is to head east out of Nepal as my visa expires on the 30^th December. Hopefully I’ll be in the hillside tea town of Darjeeling for New Years. From there I’ll head south for Calcutta where I’m hoping I’ll be able to get a visa to for Bangladesh and a special permit and visa to get through the newly open Burma. Advice on doing so on bicycle is limited and says both it is and isn’t possible so lets see!