thaied up

Three days ago, I staggered into the Bangkok International Airport, sleep-deprived but victorious. I had managed to escape the clutches of India without a visa, and my checked luggage had actually followed me to Thailand. Though I should have slept on the flight, and did enjoy a half-hour nap, stretched out in aisle row front seat of the coach section, (charming the airline employees is well worth the effort) I spent the majority of my time availing myself of the in-flight movies.

We landed at 6:30 in the morning, and after recovering my luggage and clearing customs, I boarded a shuttle bus into the city. I've found that time never passes as slowly as it does when you're half-asleep, startling yourself into semi-contentiousness every few seconds only to slip back into a comfortable oblivion before repeating the process. And in the warm clutches of the gently-rocking shuttle bus, time lost all meaning as we sped into town over the course of what seemed an eternity.

Blinking in the bright morning light as I stumbled off the bus, had I been in Egypt I would have been easily overtaken and succumb to the aggressive touts and taxi drivers, but this was Thailand, Land of Smiles. So instead I was approached by a friendly local, who pointed me in the right direction, and wished me well. My hostel is one of the most charming places I've stayed in yet. The historically-protected teak wood building is anchored by an antique coffee house in the lobby, and the rooms are clean and well decorated.

I had arrived early, so I plunked my things down, in the common room, and killed time by walking around town. I made a few purchases, acquiring a pair of t-shirts to replace the ones I lost in Jordan, a rather trendy Thai Red Bull shirt (more on Thailand's history with Red Bull later), and a knock-off watch to replace the one that broke in the Dubai airport. The watch, "New" Swiss Army (take that "Old" Swiss Army!), is actually quite decent, and I'm hoping that it will continue to keep time through my next month of travel before I stop back in the US.

Buddhas of various shapes and sizes available for sale.

Bargaining in Thailand is very different from Turkey, Egypt, or even Nepal. Where aggressive barking and refusals seemed necessary before, smiles and coy suggestion rules the day in the Thai markets. I find this an easier and more natural way of bargaining, and I am getting correspondingly better deals on pretty much everything.

My cultural samplings were limited on this first outing, but when I returned to the hostel to properly check-in, the receptionist suggested I check out the Golden Mount. On the other side of a street and a canal from the hostel, the Golden Mount offers one of the best views of Bangkok the Old City has to offer. I climbed up to the top of this temple, perched on the only bit of elevation around, and got my bearings on the city as I took in the view.

A Buddha atop the Golden Mount.

Returning to my hostel I discovered that my roommates had arrived. Three girls, friends from Singapore, in a muted way they each fit the stereotype of the giggly Asian girl. The four of us decided to head into town to check out the dinner options available to us, and before long we were all sitting down to bowls of noodles and chicken. Street vendors are the real powerhouses of Thai cuisine, and the general rule here is the cheaper your meal, the better it will taste. The normal strategy is to pick a few things from each vendor, noodles from one, chicken from another, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera (sorry, part of being in Siam for me involves "The King and I" references). Then you combine these ingredients and sit down at an outdoor table to enjoy your meal. Having accomplished just this, the three girls and I finished our meals and made our way through the streets of Bangkok in search of another local food offering.

A typical dinner: pad thai, chicken strips, friend wontons, and Thai ice tea, all purchased from different vendors (7-Eleven's Thai ice tea is quite good).

Not quite as appealing to Western visitors, but enjoyed by the locals, the fried insects we were in search of were a perfect addition to my bizarre food samplings of the world. We found a vendor, and bought a heap of maggots, beetles, crickets, and most importantly, grasshoppers. Bringing them back to the hostel, we took turns sampling the various insects with varying degrees of reluctance. Popping a grasshopper into my mouth without reservation, a feet captured on video, I found it to be mostly crunch, and less than enjoyable. Nevertheless, it was the least offensive of the bizarre food offerings, even if bits of the leg do tend to get stuck in your teeth.

You eat 'em like Pringles with legs.

I have to cut myself off here, as I need to catch a bus down south. I'll finish updating about my adventures from Bangkok down there, as I relax by the beach and hope not to get swept away by a tsunami or typhoon.

kathman-done

19:28 27 September, Hotel Florid

I've just walked Devin to a cab and waved him off to the airport for the start of his long journey back to America. While it will take 62 hours before he finally arrives at a familiar bed, he's heading home. Having spent the last month and a half exploring the world with this guy that I met in a run down hostel in Aswan, I'm sad to see him go, happy as I was to share his unexpected company through Nepal. We spent the last two days exploring the sites outside Kathmandu

The bus ride from Chitwan was long, but more comfortable than any we had experienced thus far. We arrived back in Kathmandu around 16:00, and after checking into our hotel and retrieving our left luggage, we basically crashed. The week's activities had made us accustomed to early nights, and a combination of victory scotch and dal bhat (the local all-you-can-eat rice dish) helped us to bed at a more than reasonable hour.

The local pastries in Kathmandu are both delicious and ridiculously inexpensive.

The next day was spent exploring the two most important religious sites around Kathmandu, one Hindu and the other Buddhist. The first site we visited is the most sacred Hindu temple in Nepal, and its significance extends beyond the nation's borders. Here we witnessed the ceremonial cremation of both the rich and - down the river a short ways - the poor. While cremation is obviously practiced in Western cultures, it is interesting to think of the ramifications of a religious doctrine that leaves behind no trace of its followers. No grave stones, no makers, not even urns. Once the fire smolders to coals, they are doused with water and the ashes are swept into the river to mingle with the dirt and refuse. Family members are left with no tangible memorial of their loved one, and must instead keep their memory alive in their hearts and minds. While I can admire this practice, I just want to go on record as registering my extreme disinterest in having my remains dumped into a garbage saturated river. Thanks.

The main temple, non-Hindus are not allowed inside, but apparently there's a rather large and rather important Golden Bull inside.

The cremation platforms of the common people.

From the Hindu temple we walked through town to the Bouddhanath Stupa. Bouddhanath is the site of the largest stupa in the world, and one of the holiest Buddhist sites in Nepal. The area around the stupa is currently an enclave for displaced Tibetan refugees, and visitors can see Tibetan monks continue the centuries-old practices of their faith. We ate lunch on a terrace overlooking the stupa before walking around the massive structure, which is purported to contain bone fragments of Siddhartha, the Buddha himself. As we were unable to visit Tibet, the experience of being in this small enclave was one of the best ways to experience the Tibetan culture that has been preserved here by the refugees.

The homes and apartments of the Tibetan refugee families.

The Bouddhanath Stupa, strung with prayer flags.

We caught a cab from Bouddhanath back to our hotel, where Devin and I began to organize and pack things up in anticipation of his departure back to America. That night we visited a Tibetan restaurant and after some engaging in some wily shenanigans to procure a large bottle of Gorkha beer, the Devin and I sat down to our final dinner together. To go along with the Tibetan theme, Devin ordered what was quite possibly the worst beverage I've ever come across. It's called Tibetan tea, and it's made from hot water, tea leaves, butter, and salt. The butter and salt are the only flavors that really come across, and it feels like drinking a glass of melted margarine. The rest of the meal was quite good though, and despite avowed claims that we were hitting up the bars that night, we instead succumb to the comforts of laziness and sleep.

My Tibetan stew, with dumpling-like soft bread.

The next day was the tenth day of the Disain Festival, which is marked by the sacrifice of thousands of goats and water buffaloes. Having grown up with goats, I'm rather attached to them, and seeing hundreds of their brethren beheaded in the main square did not sound like my cup of tea. I'm also not the biggest fan of mysticism, especially when it involves the sacrifice of people or animals to the gods. Of course, you would have to leave Nepal to avoid coming across the blood offerings in one way or another, so in an exercise of cultural and religious tolerance, I made my way toward the main square.

A censured picture of a recently-sacrificed water buffalo.

I did my best to avoid coming across a sacrifice in process, though the sudden silence of desperately beetling goats was a bit sickening. At important places throughout the city, especially temples and shrines, the heads of goats and buffalo were stacked in such a way as to garnish favor with the vengeful incarnation of the local god. Generally, it was crowded, bloody, and uncomfortable, and because we were there on the day after the main sacrifices had taken place, I could only imagine what it was like the day before.

Running through a flock of pigeons in the main square.

Devin and I left the main square of Kathmandu for the main square in one of the neighboring towns, where we found it much quieter and less bloody. This particular square was famous for its collection of temples, and the combination of fewer people and more impressive architecture was very appealing. After a fruitless attempt to find pastries drove us to the only open restaurant in town (the Disain Festival is basically Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled into one, so most shops, restaurants, and transportation services are shut down) Devin and I both ordered a dish which roughly translates to: "the king of curds". The dessert item is basically just slightly sour yogurt, but with the addition of some sugar is was really quite tasty.

Much quieter in this square, the pagoda on the left is one of the only octagonal pagodas in Nepal.

We were back at out hotel with enough time to grab a late lunch / early dinner before Devin had to leave for the airport, and after wandering around on a seemingly fruitless attempt to find dal baht, we managed to find it on the menu of a local fast food joint. Now is as good a time as any to mention one of the stranger features of Nepal: it has no Western chain restaurants. During the two weeks I spent in Nepal, I didn't come across a single KFC, Pizza Hut, or even McDonalds. This is the first country I have ever visited that displays this phenomenon, and I have to say, I kind of like it. Anyway, we waited for the better part of an hour for the dal baht to arrive, but it was a culturally appropriate last meal, and Devin seemed to enjoy it.

It's common practice in much of the developing world to leave support beams on the tops of buildings in case you want to add additional stories at a later date, and Nepal was no exception.

With that, we returned to the hostel, gathered up Devin's things (as well as the books and camping equipment that he generously offered to relieve me of) and ran around town in a light rain looking for a cab. Finally finding one, I waved him off and returned to the hotel. I have about eighteen hours before I'll be following him to the airport in my day-long trip to Thailand, and I suppose I'm just about ready to use the next eight of those for sleep. Goodnight Nepal, it's been fun.

20:27 28 September, Indira Gandhi Airport

I spent most of my last day in Nepal writing postcards and updating blog entries. I tried to limit myself to a budgeted diet, as I had only a few hundred Nepali rupee left, and I needed most of them for the cab ride to the airport. So I purchased some rather large and delicious jam cookies at a local bakery for the reasonable price of Rs 20 per cookie, and enjoyed them with my last cup of masala tea. Masala tea has been a constant companion through Nepal, and I've grown quite fond of it. It's a milk tea that's seasoned with a carefully apportioned selection of spices, and it's one of the few uniquely Nepali culinary offerings.

My last hours in Kathmandu felt very much like the lazy Sunday afternoon that it was. The eleventh day of the Disain Festival is celebrated in a private family way, so the streets were less teeming, and most of the shops were closed. As I looked out across the familiar view of Kathmandu from my fourth floor balcony, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the soft song of a wooden flute drifted up over the sounds of the city. It was as relaxed and reflective an ending as I could have hoped for, and it put me in spirits good enough to withstand the tumultuous airline experience to come.

Leaving behind my comfortable bed in my sunny room.

It started off alright, I managed to split a taxi to the airport with a Japanese guy who was heading home, and this kept me well within my budget. I was a bit delayed with checking in, but after everything was worked out, I found myself waiting in a rather long line to clear passport control. I had expected to pay a Rs 1700 (roughly $25 US) exit fee, but this was never requested, and I certainly wasn't about to offer it. I cleared a second security check point after a lengthy wait, but things were generally looking good until I came to the bag check. At this point, I had placed my bags through two x-ray machines and a screened check, so I saw this baggage check as little more than a minor delay. However, when they found a glass Coke bottle I had been saving from Egypt, the Kath hit the Mandu. I'm rather attached to this bottle, I've been hauling it across the world since Luxor on account of it's Arabic script, and when I informed that it was to be confiscated (on the grounds that it could be used to make very threatening whooshing noises if air was blow across its mouth), I sprung into action.

I immediately suggested that I could have it placed in my checked luggage, most likely already in the belly of a 737. Not sure of the accuracy of this claim, I hurried back the wrong way through security, and passport control, and more security, before making it to the check-in desk. Explaining to the airline representative the nostalgic value of this article of common garbage was not as tricky as I would have expected, and before long they had retrieved my checked luggage. I stuffed the bottle, as well as an otherwise-to-be-confiscated roll of duct tape into my duffel bag, and sent it back to the 737. Retracing my way through security, I returned to the baggage check point only to be waved through by the guard. All that running around, and they didn't even check to see if I had removed the bottle. I'm reasonably confidant that if you had a surface-to-air missile launcher in your carry-on luggage, it would only take two or three attempts at getting through security before they'd just let you by.

With this disconcerting thought in mind, I joined three quarters of the population of Nepal in the large, austier passenger waiting room. We would go through yet another security checkpoint on the tarmac before finally being allowed on the plane. As there was no way of interacting with the outside world between this checkpoint and the one immediately preceding it, I can only imagine that this security measure is in place to intercept the passengers who, driven mad by the combination of hassle and the strange smell emanating from the waiting room, have fashioned impromptu katanas out of an accumulation of vending machine Kit-Kat wrappers and the legs of airport furniture.

Once on board, things got much better. The personal touch screen displays offered me a wealth of entertainment options (I chose to watch "That Thing You Do") and the views from the window as we cruised over the Himalayas was fantastic. Beverage service also gets full marks. Instead of a large cart with a variety of sodas and juices, beverage service consisted of a tray of Tiger Beer with glasses. There were no other options. All in all, it was a rather enjoyable flight, and when we touched down in Delhi, I was back to my good spirits.

Flying over the foothills of the Himalayas

The only beverage option available.

Registering myself for International Transfer was a bit of a hassle, though this had nothing to do with the airline representatives, and everything to do with the boorish, stubborn, and strikingly rude behavior of some of my fellow passengers. This same behavior was on display at the airport in Kathmandu when an Indian gentleman (I use the term loosely... "gentleman" that is, I'm quite certain he was Indian) began shouting at an airline representative that he had paid for the waiting room seat he was in, and he was not to be moved. The airline representative was trying to explain that the man's flight was leaving, but in the man's own words: "I know everything, I know better than you!" My limited exposure to Indian treatment of their customer service representatives has left me with a poor opinion of the subcontinent's manners.

Right now I'm sitting in the International Transfers terminal. I just spent the better part of an hour entertaining a group of refugees from Bhutan with the photographs of my travels. These refugees were on our flight from Kathmandu, and they are in the process of making a very long journey from Bhutan to their resetlement in Denver, Colorado. It was a really neat expiriance to chat with some of these individuals, especially the children, and I can only imagine what the changes from Bhutan to Colorado will be like.

I'm doing my best to secure some WiFi, an the date of this update this evening will be proof of my success. Otherwise, I'll be hanging around the airport until my flight leaves at 1:05 for Bangkok. For the time being I'm going to see about russellin' up some grub. Next stop: Thailand.

diary of a brave jungle explorer

As with the last post, I've roughly transcribed the journal I kept while in Chitwan National Park. Continuing the trend, pictures will follow at the end. The last three days in Kathmandu have been interesting, but I'm heading to the airport in a few hours and I won't have time to write about them yet. However, I'll be spending upwards of eight hours in the Irina Gandhi Airport in New Delhi, so I expect to find the time then. For now, enjoy part two of my adventures in Nepal:

The Jungle, DAY ONE: Pokhara

Woke up too early this morning after another restless night's sleep. Splashed some water on my face, dressed, packed, and Devin and I checked out of our hotel. Our destination was the sappily-named World Peace Pagoda high above Pokhara, and if we were to make i there and back in time to catch our 7:30 bus, we would need a taxi.

A taxi materialized out of this early morning mist, and we were soon on our way out of town. Our climb up the hills took a turn for the adventurous when we veered off the main road and on to a pathway that seemed to require a well-equipped Land Rover to navigate. Somehow our driver coached his little fake Suzuki (they're all Indian brands here, but the drivers plaster them with Suzuki logos) up this off-road grade,and before long we were as high as the "road" would allow.

Climbed out, grabbed our bags, and hoofed it the remaining distance up the hill to the pagoda. I have to say, watching the sun rise with the slow drumming of Buddhist monks reverberating in the background, the World Peace Pagoda was... well, peaceful. Couldn't linger too long though, so we climbed back down to the cab, drove back down into town, picked up our poorly-washed laundry (the Nepali technique seems to involve simply dipping clothes in water, then hanging them out to dry) and sped off to the bus park.

Currently on our way to Chitwan National Park, which promises elephants, rhinos, and jungle adventure. The bus driver has done his best to distract passengers attentions from their cramped quarters with some truly ridiculous decoration, and I hope this will provide some source of amusement on the bumpy ride to Chitwan.

The Jungle, STILL DAY ONE: Outside Chitwan National Park

The ride to Chitwan was bumpy but not so bad, I mostly slept. We managed to locate a representative of the resort we planned to stay at at the bus park, and they drove us into town in their off road jeep. Once we had selected a room, and unpacked our things, Devin and I reviewed our options for exploring Chitwan over tea with the staff. Having thus planned an itinerary, we discovered that we didn't have enough cash on hand to pay for it all. Thus began the great ATM adventure.

Getting to an ATM required hiring a motorcycle, driven by one of the staff, into town. I wolfed down a light lunch, hopped on board, and we sped off through the country side. It took a little while to adjust to riding as a passenger, not nearly as much fun as driving, but I got the hang of it and was soon enjoying the ride.

The first place we stopped for an ATM didn't actually have an ATM, and the second stop produced one that was out of order. These were the only two banks in town, so we had to ride into the next town - about 10 to 20 kilometers away - if I hoped to find a way of withdrawing money.

Rode through part of the public forest on one of Nepal's "highways" on the way to the neighboring town. Not a bad ride this part; lots of greenery and it didn't smell as bad. The first ATM we found in the neighboring town didn't cooperate, so it wasn't until the second ATM in the second town that I managed withdraw the Rs 6000 that would cover Devin and I during our time in Chitwan.

Gave driving the bike a go during the trip back to the resort, though my inexperience with standard transmissions made this a short-lived venture. Also stopped on our way back to pick up some duct tape and super glue with an eye toward repairing my boots.

Returned to the resort, found Devin, and headed down to where I had earlier passed an ongoing soccer game on the bike. Seemed like the whole town had turned up for the game. I scurried up a fantastically climbable tree to catch the last few minutes of play before the sky lost the last of its light. It was a fun local experience that Devin and I shared with some of the local children, who responded in admirable form to my tree-climbing challenges.

The Jungle, DAY TWO: Outside Chitwan National Park

Scarfed down breakfast this morning before boarding a jeep that took us to the edge of the jungle. There we were met by what would be our ride through the National Park. Lumbering down the street and weighing several tons, the elephant gracefully backed up against the boarding platform and Devin and I climbed onto it's back.

For the next hour and a half, we crunched along through the underbrush, spotting barking deer, wild boar, peacocks, spotted deer, falcons, and the famous one-horned rhinos. It was a shaky, though uniquely spectacular experience to see these animals in the wild from the back of an elephant.

Having ridden around our elephant, it was time to give it a bath. Riding through town like a maharajah, we made our way down to the river where we were joined by dozens of other elephants and riders. The bathing experience (I swear I didn't mean to make this pun when I originally wrote this) was tons of fun. We scampered all over the elephant, scrubbing it down while it sprayed us with water. It was an altogether more authentic and personal experience with the elephants, climbing up their trunks and scratching behind their giant ears.

Returned to the resort to dry off and grab lunch. Both things accomplished, Devin and I packed up our bags for the night, and filed into waiting jeeps. We were heading back into the jungle, and this time we would be staying a bit longer. The jeep took us through a Jurassic Park-esque jungle, arriving at our destination deep in the woods: a three story observation tower that looked sturdy enough to withstand a mild T-Rex attack.

Settled into the third story, overlooking a clearing in the jungle and watched as the elephants carried tourists out of the National Park for the night. Once everyone that was leaving had left, it was time to go for a walk through the overgrowth. A guide led us down a path that ran parallel to a marshy stream. After half an hour, he waved his hand in such a way as to indicate that we were to quietly follow him through the thicket. We came out to the marsh about 100 feet away from a large male one-horned rhino, relaxing in the cool water. Though I had seen rhinos earlier, there was something much more impressive about coming across one in this way, without the metaphorical distance of the elephant between myself and this animal of my childhood imaginations.

Continued through the jungle for another half hour until we returned to the observation tower, where Devin and I grabbed a few things (compass, flashlight, GPS) and slipped away to walk through the forest by ourselves. Strictly speaking, such solo adventures are prohibited by the park, but we were in the mood for adventure, not strict speech. I made sure to mark our path well as we advanced through the bush. We came across some barking deer, who fled with thunderous crashes through the forest at our approach. Also spotted a massive water bird overcoming its malshapened anatomy to take flight across the orange sky.

Arrived at a clearing which, due to our distance from the observation tower and the failing light, drew the boundary line of our walk. This jungle is just such an incredible place. It begs you to grab a machete and cut your way through the overgrowth toward certain adventure. It was with reluctance that I returned to the tower. The rest of the night has been uneventful, Devin and I quietly ate our meals then polished off my flask of scotch while listening to the sounds of the forest.

The Jungle, DAY THREE: Inside Chitwan National Park

This morning I woke up to find blood on my shirt, and a wound on my stomach, the tell tale sign of yet another leech attack. I woke up in the night to hear the muted sound of rain hitting the thatch roof of the observation tower and the crashes of thunder rumbling in the distance. Lightening would periodically streak across the sky, outlining the trees that formed our horizon. Not much going on now, as we ample around the observation tower waiting to catch a ride back into town.

I like the jungle. It's the kind of place where you get dirty, sweaty, leech-covered, and scuffed up and love it. No one seems to mind that you haven't shaven in a week and a half, and nature is more comfortable with you if you didn't bother showering that morning. There are some big animals out there, and astounding diversity. Creatures take forms, behaviors, and sizes that make them wholly different from those in my native woods. There is danger in the jungle, both glamorous and mundane. Tiger attacks weigh on the mind along with the threat of infection and disease. You have to keep your wits about you, but if you can cut it, then there's more beauty and adventure to be found in a day in the jungle than can be found in a year elsewhere. I really hope to be able to spend more time in this fascinating environment, but for now, it's time to climb into the jeep and catch the bus back to Kathmandu.

It really was a heck of an adventure, and I'm so glad that I managed to make it to Nepal. It's one of those places to enjoy while you're young enough to enjoy the budget accommodations, the monsoons, and the air of reckless adventure that makes this place so much fun. As promised, I've uploaded a few of the pictures from the second half of the adventure, and with that I must be off. There are bags to be packed and planes to be caught. More adventure awaits in Thailand, and I've had a hankering for some really authentic Pad Thai ever since I set off from Boston.

The World Peace Pagoda at sunrise.

Our ridiculously decorated bus.

The countryside.

The end of the soccer match: the crowd rushes the field to congratulate the players.

Riding the elephant.

A barking deer, the smell of the elephants is non threatening to them, so we were able to get quite close.

A female one-horned rhino relaxing in a wallow.

Making a Beatles windmill while our elephant drenches us.

This guy carried out the boarding process with more grace than I.

Following our guide through the jungle.

Devin checking out some monkeys.

The large male one-horned rhino, not the kind of thing you come across in the New England forest.

Making my way through the marshland as dusk begins to fall.

Thinkin' that it's time for a shave.

diary of a brave mountain explorer

I have returned to Kathmandu having spent the last eight days climbing over mountains and through jungles. I kept a small written journal of the adventure, the first part of which I've roughly transcribed below. A selection of relevant photos follows the written text, and I'm going to try to finish the transcription before I leave Kathmandu tomorrow. Enjoy.

The Trek, DAY ONE: Birethanti

Departed Kathmandu at 6:30 this morning. Around a hour into our eight-hour bus ride, we ground to a halt. An accident had stopped traffic in both directions when one van attempted to overtake another on a blind curve. You are 30 times more likely to die in a car crash in Nepal than in a civilized country, so this traffic mishap should not come as a shock. Our stop facilitated the purchase of some rather delicious sugar and egg dumplings for a trifling cost.

Made it to Pokhara by 3:40, just in time to miss the last bus to our trekking site. Instead of spending the night in town, we paid a cab driver Rs 1000 to bring us to the site.

After a slow start, wrong trail, botched fording, and bramble adventure, we were on our way... until we hit a checkpoint. There we learned that we would have pay Rs 4000 each for permits. Sucked up the cost, and left the checkpoint in the poring rain. Two minutes in, we were both soaked.

Arrived in a small town, where we found a cozy little inn with dry beds and hot meals. Currently writing this from the aforementioned bed, having already enjoyed the aforementioned meal. Power is out, so I'm enjoying the necessity of writing by candlelight. No idea what time it is, as I have forsworn a watch. I do know that after the combined Rs 8000 fee, our expedition is running low on cash. We shall see.

The Trek, DAY TWO: Banthani

Covered a good deal of ground today on our way to Banthani. The day got off to a late start while we waited for the early morning rains to subside. When the sun broke through, we geared up and headed out, only to run into another delay while registering for a TIMS card. Cost us an additional Rs 200 a piece, it's meant to help track trekkers. We filled out the paperwork and were on our way.

Climbed out of the jungle valley and into the mountains along the path of a fast-moving river. The river was fed by everything from the cascading waterfalls in the distance to the streams that trickled down out path. Everywhere you looked there was water... and goats. We passed by numerous herds, but it wasn't until the second bridge that we got ourselves into a genuine goat traffic jam. Three to four hundred stubbornly reluctant goats were being herded across a bridge that they very much did not want to cross. Somehow the herders managed to beat their flock across, as otherwise I expect we'd still be up in that mess.

Today's climb was one of the most challenging of my life. This has as much to do with the weight of my bag (heavy), the slope of the climb (steep), and the 110% relative humidity (wet) as it did with my inexperience with such climbing. You keep telling yourself that the first day is the hardest though, and I wasn't about to complain.

The views from the trail made all the pain, sweat, and exhaustion worthwhile. The sense of satisfaction of a day's accomplishment is in some places contrived, but rarely are those places the tops of mountains.

Tomorrow we climb to Ghorapani at the base of Pun Hill. If the weather holds, it should be a fairly easy hike. Our combined finances total Rs 3195. Budgeting Rs 850 for lodging and Rs 900 for water, we are left with Rs 1546 for food, transportation, and miscellaneous expenditures. If Rs 1560 sounds like a lot of money, it might help to appreciate that we're trying to get two people by for five days on around $20. But this is Nepal, so we're hoping for the best.

The Trek, DAY THREE: Ghorapani

Woke up to a rather spectacular view this morning. Looking out over the valley from 2200 meters, the morning air was clear of fog and we could see the Himalayas stretched out all around us. Didn't linger with the view long before filling our canteens, grabbing our clothes off the line, and setting off. The trail was especially muddy, with many goats tramping on the saturated ground. But the trail wasn't as steep, and it was well shaded by jungle overgrowth.

The most memorable event of the day came when Devin and I came upon a waterfall. Waiting for another trekker to relinquish a photo spot, Devin hurried down to claim it while I assumed the role of photographer. Switching roles, I made my way to the top of the waterfall to the rock from where Devin had just posed. Moving out of the way of a branch blocking the shot, I suddenly felt my boot's grip let go.

The next few seconds went by in slow motion. I checked to see if there were any rocks or branches that I could catch myself on. Seeing none, I did my best to control my fall. Kicking off a little from the rock, I stuck my legs straight down, that they might absorb the impact of hitting the pool of water of uncertain depth at the base of the falls. I heard Devin cry out as I gulped in a deep breath of air, and then I hit the water.

I was fully submerged under the pool, suggesting that it must have been at least six feet deep, and I fought my way to the surface as the current pushed me downstream. I broke the surface with my hat and sunglasses still remarkably on my head and face, and kicked my way to the riverbank. I was able to grab on to a large rock and haul myself out of the frigid water, calling out to a very worried Devin that I was alright.

I had to make my way downstream a bit more before I could find a safe way to climb out of the gorge and back on to the trail. Sopping wet, but unscathed, I reconquered the rock before continuing up the trail to a sunny clearing. There I rung out the water from my socks and boots, then suited up and carried on.

Meandered through the rest of the trail to Ghorapani without coming across anything nearly as eventful as a 40 foot drop down a waterfall. We've decided to spend the night here, allowing clothes to dry and relaxing at 2800 meters. The plan is to wake up wicked early tomorrow and climb Pun Hill to enjoy the early morning views from the peek. Now we're just enjoying our Rs 100 accommodations, and trying our best to keep warm at this higher elevation.

The Trek, STILL DAY THREE: Ghorapani

Just discovered that the fireplace I was so happy to discover is capable of horrible atrocities. In this case, it has melted one side of each of my boots, rendering my faithful footwear warped and cracking, and compromising their waterproofing. These boots have embedded themselves in the soil of 22 of the 25 countries I have ever visited, and without getting sentimental, they mean something more to me than the utilitarian relationship I share with most of my footwear.

I will have to make them last through the trek, as I have no other boots, but I have hopes that I might be able to patch them up with duct tape and superglue once I get back to Kathmandu, then slog along in them through my return to the United States. There, I can give them a proper burial in my closet. It's only fitting.

The Trek, DAY FOUR: Ghorapani

Made it down from Pun Hill after waking up at 4:30 as planned. We strapped on our packs and lumbered off in the direction of the trail, meeting up with some slower-moving trekkers as we joined the trudging caravan of climbers making their way to the top. When I made it to the summit, I was greeted by the sight of many trekkers, stretching, yawning, and sipping hot beverages, waiting for the sun to break the horizon. Devin and I camped out halfway up an observation platform and watched as the snow-capped peaks that surrounded Pun Hill caught the rays of the still-invisible sun.

"Hill" is a misleading term to use when referring to the peak we just summited. At 3210 meters, Pun Hill is the tallest mountain I have ever climbed. At nearly 10,000 feet, it is taller than any American mountain east of the Mississippi, and while it is dwarfed by the company of the seven and eight-thousand meter mountains in its view, it is still high enough to feel the effects of altitude.

The view from the top was spectacular. I watched the sun rise over the tallest mountains in the world, and felt a fierce longing to return to Nepal with the intent of reaching their snow-capped syzygies. We packed up and descended as the mid morning clouds rolled in, obscuring the view from all sides as they enveloped Pun Hill. We made it safely back to Ghorapani, and not it's time to pack up and head our on the long road back to Naya Pul.

The Trek, STILL DAY FOUR: Ghandruk

Today we covered, in one day of heavy trekking, what our guide book suggested should take three days. Leaving Ghorapani and Pun Hill behind, we climbed over a mountain pass where, above 3000 meters, we met up with a rather large group of trekkers who were making their way down the same trail we were following. We fell into step with them, slowly making our way through the clouds.

The hour we spent with this group made me deeply grateful for my choice in trekking companion. Devin has never once slowly plodded along, asked me to stop or slow down in order to follow my footsteps, requested assistance on simple descents, or even legitimately whined. The girl in front of me did all of these things, and then some. So I was not too unhappy to bid them farewell at one of the small villages along the way.

Devin and I did have our egos inflated before breaking off with them when one girl registered her astonishment that we had neither porters nor a guide. We are, after all, brave and manly mountain explorers.

Set off at a much quicker pace as we began rapidly descending into the cloud forest. Moss-covered vines, brightly colored orchids, and waterfalls abounded. Were making good time when we stopped for lunch, and decided to press on to Ghandruk.

Felt the first drops of rain as we left our lunch stop. Before long it was legitmatley raining. The rain did not stop for three hours, but neither did we. Watching as our trail quickly turned into a river, we slogged our way through the jungle, employing our waterproofing materials to keep our provisions dry. This was the Nepali monsoon. First it rained hard, then it rained harder. Fat drops of water plummeted from the sky resounding a wet percussion my my thoroughly saturated Tilley Hat.

The trail was often washed out, forcing us to attempt several dangerous "river" crossings, but eventually we began to see signs for Ghandruk. After a slippery diversion to a picturesque Hindu temple, Devin and I looked forward to hot showers and dry cloths. We found neither.

What we did find were leeches. Dozens of them. After I salted off a small one from my thumb, Devin and I check ourselves only to find our lower legs and feet a bloody mass of open wounds and slug-like vampires. In order to better feast on your blood, leeches release an anticoagulent which keeps you bleeding long after they've finished their dark meal.

Bandaged ourselves up as best we could, then retired to the chilly dining room. We've done a good job of cleaning up the room which, with its blood-covered floor and blood-soaked rags, resembled a Civil War-era surgeon's tent. While Devin's chief worry is the possibility that leeches may crawl into his bed and attach themselves to the more sensitive regions of his anatomy, mine is still my boots, which are looking more destroyed by the hour. Still, I feel confidant that they can carry me out of the Himalayas when we depart tomorrow. Assuming the leeches don't kill us in our sleep.

The Trek, DAY FIVE: Pokhara

Woke up a few times last night before finally staying awake to watch the sun rise. Delayed our departure to allow the sun to dry off our clothes, then geared up and headed down. The trail down to Naya Pul is fairly long, but it almost entirely downhill.

Spent the early morning pounding down stone steps, now low enough to leave the cloud bank and appreciate the view. The sun is shining, the air is clean, and everywhere around us stretched the verdant green of the Nepali highlands. Cutting through tiny hamlets and open farmland on pleasant cobblestone pathways, bordered by stone walls, it's enough to make you believe you're traipsing through the English countryside.

The trail gave way to a gentle slope following a dirt path down the valley. We made excellent time on this nearly level terrain, and it was a good way of easing our way out of the trek.

Arrived at Naya Pul, saw a big black monster of a snake disappearing into a rocky outcropping, and boarded the local bus back to Pokhara and pseudo civilization. I suppose that's the end of of the tale of the trek, though as I'll be heading out Chitwan National Park tomorrow, there are more adventures to come.

Spent the rest of today purchasing ridiculous Nepali outfits, which we dawned for a victory diner. I'm pretty exhausted, it's late, and I'm waking up at 4:00 tomorrow. "Why?" you ask, well, read on...

The rest will have to wait until the next update. It really was an incredible adventure, and I'll never forget the experience of slogging through the monsoon, or watching the sun rise over the tallest mountains in the world, or plummeting down that waterfall. Pictures of the adventure can be found below, so for now I'm going to see about enjoying my last full day in Nepal.

Heading up and out of the valley, passed fields of newly-planted rice.

Hundreds of goats pouring down the mountain side.

Climbing higher out of the valley.

Reconquering the waterfall that nearly ended my trek.

From the summit of Pun (Poon) Hill.

The view from the top.

Making our way into the cloud forest.

Peering through the mist and the fog.

Trekking along through the jungle.

Washed out paths on the trail to Ghandruk.

Ghandruk, by far the largest village we came across during the trek.

Nepal? Or the English countryside?

English countryside, gotta go with English countryside.

k-k-k-kathmandu

18:02 15 September, Hotel Florid in Kathmandu

Before I get into this post, I would first like to draw your attention to the time stamp I have placed on this entry. While it is currently 18:02 (that's 6:02 PM) in Kathmandu, back home in New Hampshire, the sun is rising in the sky at 8:17 in the morning. At first glance, you might miss the oddity of the discrepancy, as we most often simply look at the numbers preceding the colon when evaluating discrepancies in global time. But here in Kathmandu, as with the rest of the country of Nepal, I am a puzzling 9 hours and 45 minutes ahead of Eastern Standard Time. There are a small smattering of countries in the world whose times are plus or minus Greenwich Mean Time by half hour factors (India and Newfoundland provide two stable examples, while Iran and Venezuela follow this system just to insulate themselves from the corrupting Western influence of a well-functioning system) but Nepal is the only place in the world that is off the standard by quarter hour factors. I have no explanation for this phenomenon, so I suppose I should instead carry on with the story of how I got here.

After boarding a fully-booked 747 in Dubai for the hour-long flight to Doha, Qatar, I mulled around the crowded terminal in what could generously be called a zombie-like state. I am not accustomed to long periods without sleep, and at the 26-hour point, I was only beginning to feel the affects. I knew that I was in trouble when I found myself starring with genuine interest at the flavor options available at a closed coffee shop. "Cinnamon-Vanilla," I thoughtfully mused, "what a fascinating combination of traditional flavors." Fortunately for my mental state, I happened upon an open coffee shop, where I purchased a large coffee for an unknown sum in whatever ridiculous denomination is employed by the country of Qatar (going by the regional standard, I'm guessing: "Qatari Shutaki'aki'aki'its".) Whatever the cost, it provided enough stimulation to move me through the boarding process and onto yet another fully-booked 747, which promised to take me out of the Middle East and into Kathmandu.

I was surprisingly alert, most likely caused by the massive reintroduction of caffeine into my primarily decaffeinated system, and spent the first half of my flight watching "Angles and Demons" (a fast-passed Dan Brown thriller with few redeeming qualities other than it role in further proving the saying: "the book was better"). Having reached the slightly predictable conclusion (Tom Hank's character turns out to be the reincarnation of Christ, sorry to ruin it for you) I hastily reprogrammed my console to show "State of Play". "State of Play" has the distinction of having the least descriptive title of any movie in history. The phrase "state of play" is not especially well-used in the English vernacular, but as far as I can surmise its connotation, the phrase has no real link to the plot of the film. This is unfortunate, as the film itself is quite brilliant. Russel Crowe, Ben Affleck, Rachel McAdams and Helen Mirren (credit due to imdb.com for those names) do an excellent job of portraying fascinating characters entangled in an engrossing plot. Therefore, it was with great disappointment that the film was cut short in the dramatic final minutes by the descent of our plane into Kathmandu International Airport.

Descending upon the verdant green of Nepal.

Leaving behind the plane as I make my way to passport control.

Not that I'm complaining. I was, after all, landing in Kathmandu, a city whose very name conjures up exotic images of the Orient. Speeding down winding streets in the back of a rickshaw, passed spice shops and cashmere merchants. Planning adventures up winding mountain passes that reach snow-capped peaks. Plowing through jungle growth on the back of an elephant, passed ancient temples and one-horned rhinos, the lurking presences of Bengal tigers never far off until you break out onto the rolling highland plains that peer down on India. This is why I have come to Nepal, and it has not disappointed.

A traditional Nepali meal, loaded down with more curry than my spice-averse pallet could handle.

Dessert: anise seeds and sugar crystals. Try using toothpicks as chopsticks to pick up something as small as rice grains sometime... it isn't easy.

I am spending my first four days in Kathmandu, planning out an adventure that will hopefully be very similar to the one described above. My hotel is a charmingly ramshackle four story abode that is exposed to the city's frequent brown-outs. There is, however, a Western-style toilet adjacent to the squat toilet that will become a norm (if not a luxury) once I leave Kathmandu; and with enough determination one can compel hot water to come out from the shower head. Shopping around for provisions, talking to trekkers and guides, and popping the first of my weekly anti-malarial pills (which will become a feature of my diet through December) has only added to my sense of excitement about the adventure to come. I will be spending most of this time away from the internet and unable to post blog entries, and for this you have my apologies but not my regrets.

The streets of modern Kathmandu.

This promises to be a wholly new chapter in my travels, and one that I have been looking forward to ever since I first considered the possibility of a trip abroad after my college graduation. It was, in fact, around this time last year - right before the collapse of Lehman Brothers and the ensuing economic crisis thrust my internship in Washington into overdrive - that I idly checked flight costs from BOS to KTM. I could not have guessed then that in one years time I would be writing this journal entry from the terrace of a budget hotel in Kathmandu, having come halfway around the world to get here, and with the other half still ahead. Now, however, is not the time for sentimentalism. It is time for sleep, where I can enjoy one of my few remaining nights with a mattress and four walls around me before setting off for adventure in the wilds of Nepal. I could not be more excited at that prospect.