Day 1: Syabru Bensi to Lama Hotel (2650m)
Set off with Govinda, across the cable bridge and up the valley, following the icy blue-grey Langtang river the whole way. Today we gained about 1000m in altitude, but I'm sure we ascended at least twice that as the path rose and fell, rose and fell, all morning, climbing over each fold of the valley only to return to the river. The trail was through woodland, with almost constant river views and conveniently punctuated by teahouses. Sat in one built out over the river and watched the slow process of getting cows across the river.
After a hearty dhal bhat lunch we climbed steeply, almost constantly. Often this meant huge stone steps and resulted in the rapid shedding of layers of clothing and occasional stops at the little lodges perched over the river.
The lodge at Lama Hotel was basic but cosy and welcoming. More dhal bhat. More tea.
Day 2: Lama Hotel to Langtang (3451m)
The trees thinned out, then disappeared, leaving shrubs, mountain views and the odd yak. The river bagan to fall away further below us, its water clearer and bluer. A steady day's climb up to Langtang. Almost no other trekkers on the route, but a constant trickle of porters stoically carrying improbable loads on their backs, straps straining against their foreheads - timber, traditional baskets of who knows what, massive bundles, and even one man with a stack of 8ft by 4ft plywood. Just watching these men and women could make you tired and certainly made me more than willing to pay the prices which rose with altitude for the few things I bought during the trek (ie coke and loo paper).
An excellent garlicky dhal bhat. A cold night - woke at 3am to see temperature in bedroom was 1 degree.
Day 3: Langtang to Kanjin Gompa (3960m)
Thought about a quick wash before breakfast (ie splash on face) but the tap was frozen, the only sink being outside. Porridge by the kitchen fire seemed a better option.
A couple of steep climbs, but much of the day's walk was flattish, undulating. The scenery was awe-inspiring, snowy peaks, glaciers, craggy rock and barren moorland - quite magnificent. Although the sun blazed down and I was soon defrosted and hiking in a t-shirt, streams remained semi-frozen. We reached Kanjin Gompa in time for lunch (more dhal bhat), then I pottered off along the valley towards another glacier and iced-up stream that cut through the scree. Truly monumental views, momentous scenery that touches the soul.
Returning to the lodge, I met a couple of other trekkers - almost the first we've come across. It was good to chat before they headed off back down.
Another cold night - one of the people I met said his water had frozen in his room last night. So I filled my bottle with hot from the kitchen and kept it in my sleeping bag. A win-win situation, I'd say.
Day 4: Kanjin Gompa to Kanjin Ri (4590m) and down to Langtang
A stiff climb up to the ridge at Kanjin Ri, but worth every step - standing on the ridge looking out across the Langtang range, the peaks and glaciers, the icy wind ripping, the sun beating down - magnificent.
Back to Kanjin Gompa for lunch, tea and a rest before heading back down to Langtang. Still exhilarated and gasping with wonder at the scenery, but already feeling sorry that I was now on the way back. Stayed in a busy lodge in Langtang, for the first time, packed with other merry trekkers.
Day 5: Langtang to Lama Hotel
Clean socks never felt so good! An easy walk down to Lama, arriving early afternoon. Sat in the sun playing rummy with Govinda. Removed my hat for a couple of hours, for the first time in at least 48 hours - seemed to have developed matted dog hair. Fortunately I haven't seen a mirror for days. In the evening, sat by the fire playing rummy and drinking Nepali whisky. A very mellow day.
Day 6: Lama Hotel to Syabru Bensi
We covered the ground quickly, despite stopping for refreshment a few times. Hard on the knees, down down down. Nice to see places I remembered from on the way up, but after the barren days at altitude it still all looked interesting and maybe different seen from the other direction.
Arrived in the early afternoon and enjoyed a warm shower. Removed underwear and t-shirt for first time in a week. Dressed in clean clothes, I ran my hands through my hair over and over, wondering at the clean soft sensation. Ordered fried noodles for dinner, but Govinda insisted that this was only a snack - turned out to be enough for two people, but by then we had added 'snicker roll' to the order... Knocked socks off the famed Scottish fried Mars bar - this was a snickers wrapped in a generous blanket of doughnut and deep fried. And there were two of it! I spent the rest of the evening sharing beers with the wonderful Govinda who has been not only a great guide, but a good friend and companion all the way.
What a fabulous trek!
Now just the return bus journey to deal with...
Saturday 24 December 2011
Sunday 18 December 2011
Kathmandu to Syabru Bensi
I'd been warned that the bus trip would be a bit of a switchback, but I didn't expect to be zig-zagging on broken roads within 500 yards of departure. Tightly squeezed between my backpack and my trekking guide, I balanced on a seat only marginally attached to the body of the bus.
It took 8 hours to cover the 135km to get here. The views down into the valleys were awesome, but tended to begin about an inch from our wheels. I began to relish the untarmacked sections that slowed us down, but even these became quite a white-knuckle experience when we lurched across the rubble of last summer's landslides, clinging somehow to our narrow track. Meeting oncoming vehicles demanded even greater precision. Where the most precarious corners coincided with washed away road was generally where the bus driver chose to re-tune the radio and light a cigarette. I opted for an eyes-closed policy.
When bravely opening my eyes I was treated to occasional snow-capped mountains, steeply terraced hillsides, rivers churning far below, neatly uniformed children walking to mud-floored schoolrooms, naked toddlers playing in the dirt, villages full of people living simple lives, cooking over open fires, carrying enormous baskets of vegetables, drinking tea.
Eight hours is a lot of blaring Indian music and a lot of men throwing up out of windows and old ladies throwing up neatly into their skirts. I was quite glad to get off and into the tiny village of Syabru Bensi.
It took 8 hours to cover the 135km to get here. The views down into the valleys were awesome, but tended to begin about an inch from our wheels. I began to relish the untarmacked sections that slowed us down, but even these became quite a white-knuckle experience when we lurched across the rubble of last summer's landslides, clinging somehow to our narrow track. Meeting oncoming vehicles demanded even greater precision. Where the most precarious corners coincided with washed away road was generally where the bus driver chose to re-tune the radio and light a cigarette. I opted for an eyes-closed policy.
When bravely opening my eyes I was treated to occasional snow-capped mountains, steeply terraced hillsides, rivers churning far below, neatly uniformed children walking to mud-floored schoolrooms, naked toddlers playing in the dirt, villages full of people living simple lives, cooking over open fires, carrying enormous baskets of vegetables, drinking tea.
Eight hours is a lot of blaring Indian music and a lot of men throwing up out of windows and old ladies throwing up neatly into their skirts. I was quite glad to get off and into the tiny village of Syabru Bensi.
Saturday 17 December 2011
Kathmandu
Arriving in Kathmandu is like stepping back in time. A searchlight swoops the sky above the runway as you cross the tarmac to the terminal. Then you walk down bleak glass and brick corridors straight from a 1970's school. In the baggage hall the conveyor soon fills up with thousands of intricately rope-bound boxes and bundles, interspersed only occasionally with a suitcase. The novelty of watching these rotate and fall off wears thin after an hour or so. Another half hour later, my bag finally stumbles in.
Prakash, the delightful manager of my hotel, has come to meet me. We drive through a maze of crowded, semi-surfaced streets, where groups of people huddle round pavement fires and here and there a cow grazes on a pile of rubbish. Houses look half-built and everywhere are patches of wasteland and piles of bricks or rubble.
The hotel is simple and welcoming. I down a curry and an Everest beer and sleep and sleep.
In the morning I meet the wonderful Bharat, who has been organising my trip through a series of emails these last few weeks. He assures me that all is sorted, he will arrange rental of a warm sleeping bag and help in any way he can. Then I hop onto the back of his motorbike so he can show me the way to Thamel. Which turns out to be only a matter of yards.
ATM, coffee, then shopper's paradise: hundreds of shops crammed to the rafters with fake outdoor brands. That is, "Genuine fake". 75 quid later I am kitted out with a North Fake down jacket, windstopper trousers and windstopper shell and sitting drinking tea in the back of the shop with the owner. Snugly wrapped (and in love with down jacket) I potter some more, picking up trekking snacks, medical supplies and lunch before giving in to the urge to go back to the hotel for a snooze.
In the afternoon I meet up with Bharat again, pay him and make arrangements for tomorrow, before wandering out again. Beer and food at the Funky Buddha round the day off nicely.
Prakash, the delightful manager of my hotel, has come to meet me. We drive through a maze of crowded, semi-surfaced streets, where groups of people huddle round pavement fires and here and there a cow grazes on a pile of rubbish. Houses look half-built and everywhere are patches of wasteland and piles of bricks or rubble.
The hotel is simple and welcoming. I down a curry and an Everest beer and sleep and sleep.
In the morning I meet the wonderful Bharat, who has been organising my trip through a series of emails these last few weeks. He assures me that all is sorted, he will arrange rental of a warm sleeping bag and help in any way he can. Then I hop onto the back of his motorbike so he can show me the way to Thamel. Which turns out to be only a matter of yards.
ATM, coffee, then shopper's paradise: hundreds of shops crammed to the rafters with fake outdoor brands. That is, "Genuine fake". 75 quid later I am kitted out with a North Fake down jacket, windstopper trousers and windstopper shell and sitting drinking tea in the back of the shop with the owner. Snugly wrapped (and in love with down jacket) I potter some more, picking up trekking snacks, medical supplies and lunch before giving in to the urge to go back to the hotel for a snooze.
In the afternoon I meet up with Bharat again, pay him and make arrangements for tomorrow, before wandering out again. Beer and food at the Funky Buddha round the day off nicely.
Saturday 14 August 2010
Friday 13 August 2010
Thursday 12 August 2010
Wednesday 11 August 2010
Tuesday 10 August 2010
Monday 9 August 2010
Haapsalu to Kärdla - the bike trip begins
35km
Our cycle tour began with a 6am pick-up for the drive to Haapsalu where we were dropped off with our bikes and maps and a cheery wave. We had breakfast by the sea followed by a pootle about the rather fine castle ruins before cycling the 9km to the ferry port. It always feels rather good to ride onto a car ferry and especially through the open-jaw bow which for some reason I like. It was a pleasant 90 minute crossing to the island of Hiiumaa, apart from watching a 25 kroon note fly out of my bag and over the sea. Though as this is less than two pounds I should really feel more guilty about littering the oceans.
To be continued....
Our cycle tour began with a 6am pick-up for the drive to Haapsalu where we were dropped off with our bikes and maps and a cheery wave. We had breakfast by the sea followed by a pootle about the rather fine castle ruins before cycling the 9km to the ferry port. It always feels rather good to ride onto a car ferry and especially through the open-jaw bow which for some reason I like. It was a pleasant 90 minute crossing to the island of Hiiumaa, apart from watching a 25 kroon note fly out of my bag and over the sea. Though as this is less than two pounds I should really feel more guilty about littering the oceans.
To be continued....
Saturday 7 August 2010
Tallinn
The walled old town of Tallinn has been beautifully kept, or lovingly restored, somehow escaping modern development. A compact maze of cobbled streets weaves up and down, opening out here and there onto a small square by a church. The brightly painted buildings are tall and narrow, all different but built into continuous terraces, with occasional arches between them leading into ever narrower alleyways. Every street is lined with pavement cafes and bars. You can't go ten yards without a medievally dressed serving wench offering you sweet ginger-roasted almonds or beckoning you into a hostelry.
We ate in a 'medieval' restaurant (you can't fight it), served by the ubiquitous wenches and young men in tunics, tights and pointy shoes. The dishes served were supposedly medieval and definitely quite good. As was the cinnamon beer.
Another good stop-off for a quick snack was a little olde pie shop, serving nothing but three varieties of pasty-like pie (elk and mushroom was very tasty), beer in clay pots and soup. When Gursh (who I'm here with for the bike tour) asked the serving wench for a coke she told him he'd have to come back in five hundred years, which I thought was a pretty neat response. Wandering the streets of the old walled city made for a very pleasant afternoon and evening, despite the overpowering medieval theme and endless souvenir shoppes. It would be easy to drift from cafe to cafe all day.
We ate in a 'medieval' restaurant (you can't fight it), served by the ubiquitous wenches and young men in tunics, tights and pointy shoes. The dishes served were supposedly medieval and definitely quite good. As was the cinnamon beer.
Another good stop-off for a quick snack was a little olde pie shop, serving nothing but three varieties of pasty-like pie (elk and mushroom was very tasty), beer in clay pots and soup. When Gursh (who I'm here with for the bike tour) asked the serving wench for a coke she told him he'd have to come back in five hundred years, which I thought was a pretty neat response. Wandering the streets of the old walled city made for a very pleasant afternoon and evening, despite the overpowering medieval theme and endless souvenir shoppes. It would be easy to drift from cafe to cafe all day.
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