16th May 1992 Day 301

The Diary
my dashes to the toilet are less frequent but the end result is always the same dark brown liquid and a pain in the ring. The force with which the eruption occurs could probably power one of the battered Nepalese Tata buses over the Himalayas.

Eruption

As I didn't need to immediately retreat to the wc after breakfast, Oz and I walked to the dam at the end of Phewa Tal (Lake Phewa) and he had a couple of passport photos taken for his trekking permit. We sat around for a while and then slowly walked back and in the process, I burnt my nose and Oz his forehead. 

The rest of the day was spent lazing by the toilet.

15th May 1992 Day 300

The Diary

I'm sticking to my diet and hopefully if the diarrhoea clears up in time we'll still be able to do a 7-day trek to Ghorepani and Poon Hill. This was another day of doing very little due to the need to stay in close proximity to the toilet. The little old man in his hut-cum-shop just along from Lake View Guest House is profiting from my illness as I'm buying litres of water, biscuits and a daily toilet roll from him. At the moment I'm probably his only source of income and he invariably tries to sell me more. If I buy water, he offers biscuits and chocolate as well, if I buy toilet roll he tries to sell me water and biscuits. You've got to admire him for his effort but as my purchases are pure necessities I get a bit few up of it.

14th May 1992 Day 299

The Diary
Now I know what Oz felt like, up during the night on the toilet, and minutes after food or liquid goes in at one end it comes out at the other. My diet now consists of toast and jam with black tea, naan bread with black tea, plain chips with black tea and an orange flavoured solution designed to restore minerals and salts to the dehydrated body. Glucose biscuits are an additional source of energy. I'm feeling listless and drained and having a cold doesn't help.

Wasting away with food walking past

The evening "meal" was followed by a quick dash to the toilet. Well, as fast as I can manage without the contents of my stomach escaping.

Home from home

13th May 1992 Day 298

The Diary
By today it was obvious that my mild stomach complaints of the last few days had turned into the full-blown disease - the trots. The 1 hour bird walk at 6:30am was crap anyway but it was even worse as I was holding my stomach in.


We were taken back to Tadi Bazaar in a jeep with 15 people in and on it and we were given a ticket for the bus to Pokhara. Thus began 7 hours of hell and the worst bus journey of my life. I sat there holding my stomach in for the whole time, aching all over, unable to move because the bus was so full, not wanting to move because my bottom would erupt. As this was not a tourist bus it stopped for long periods at every town on the route so a few people could weedle their way off and a few more could squeeze themselves on. My seat was broken and when anyone standing in the aisle put their hand on it, it moved into the reclined position and as this must have happened about 100 times I felt like crying. "Infinite patience" I kept saying to myself and dreamt of being home or in Sydney. I think they managed to make a journey that should have been about 2 1/2 hours take 7 hours.


Just before we reached Pokhara more people squeezed on to the bus but they were trying to get us to stay at their guest houses. I didn't have the energy to talk or say no, so I said to Oz that we'd have a look at the first one. The Lake View turned out to be pretty good and I was immediately testing the ablutions.


This area of Pokhara is like a country version of Thamel with lots of restaurants, travel agents, bookshops etc. For dinner I had tomato soup and a roti but had to leave immediately to relieve my botty.

2012
The worst journey of my life. Ever.


Google maps can't seem to work out the distance but it's probably about 110km !





View Larger Map


The Lake View seems to have been upgraded !!!

12th May 1992 Day 297

The Diary
Up at 6am, we had breakfast and then did a short cruise along the river in a dug-out canoe. The canoe seemed overloaded and as the river was very low we ended up stuck several times. I was glad the river was so low as I would have been able to save my camera equipment if we capsized. I still remember Katherine. I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice and in any case I didn't have a paddle or a battle this time.

Once we were back on dry land we went on a jungle walk with our two Indian friends and our non-too-informative guide. I asked "what's making that noise?" and he replied "bird". I didn't think it was a rhino, which by the way, the Nepalese pronounce as rhino-saurus, which conjures up images of one-horned dinosaurs, roaming around the Terai. We did come across a rhino cooling itself in a waterhole but we moved on quickly when it started to move towards the bank. I don't think the guide's stick would have beaten it back and he was probably more scared than us as one of the locals had been killed by a rhino the previous day. All the other animals were scared away by our herd of tourists doing a good impression of a herd of elephants.

Going back we had to wade through the river. The Indian couple weren't too happy at this as no-one had thought to mention it and she was wearing a sari and he was wearing long trousers. In the afternoon we went on a 5 hour jeep ride through the park rather than an hour on an elephant. The jeep ride turned out to be excellent value and we saw lots of everything except tigers and sloth bears, pushed the jeep out of a mud bath, had a good laugh and talked about Sydney with an English lad and an Ozzie girl. We also saw the gharial crocodile farm.

We spent the evening talking to Frank, a 24-year-old, civil engineering student from Stuttgart who supported Nurnberg, didn't like Thatcher, was quite left-wing, liked pubs, watched the BBC and whose English was better than he thought. We discussed politics, TV, music, culture, Americans and fascism. He'd been in Nepal for quite a while and was soon to make the trek to Everest base camp. Sooner him than me.

11th May 1992 Day 296

The Diary
Up at about 5:30am for a pick-up at 6:30am which turned out to be a young lad who showed us to the bus station. We had to carry our own rucksacks. What a hard life. Even at 6:30am Kathmandu was already wide awake, unlike us. The tourist bus was a standard Nepalese style bus and it's tourist label just signified it stopped less often. It still stopped too much. 

I was amazed at the locals in the back seats behind us, smoking, continually moving around and making as much noise as possible. The road out from Kathmandu seemed to be being laid as the bus lurched and bounced from one hole to another, narrowly avoiding steep drops and other buses and lorries on the road. Reading Time magazine and Animal Farm got me through the 7 hour trip. At Tadi Bazaar the usual bus stop chaos was occurring but we were soon on a jeep to the "Jungle Tourist Camp (Before it was Dipak Lodge)" (Whether this means it is due to become Dipak Lodge I don't know).


We were shown to our dung and mud hut by a shaven headed cook. My pillow was covered in mould and the mosquitoes were breeding in the mozzie nets. We then had a very dodgy vegetarian lunch but the Indian couple from Calcutta seemed to enjoy it. I complained about the pillow and then the manager, who was the spitting image of A J Hiscox my sixth form tutor, and who had just finished a 2-week tourism course in Kathmandu, very politely explained that they were very quiet and we could move into one of the concrete rooms with attached bathroom  at no extra cost.

Dung hut

We were taken to see the park reception centre and then the sunset over the river. As usual when we try to see a sunrise/sunset it was too cloudy. We had our evening meal and retreated to our mozzie nets and candles as an electrical storm came over.


2012
The dung hut was made of elephant dung.


I remember getting through the whole of Animal Farm during the journey.


It was the owner not my sixth form teacher that had just done the 2-week tourism course, in case you were wondering.


I seem to remember that the concrete rooms weren't much better than the dung huts. It looks a lot better these days on the website.

10th May 1992 Day 295

The Diary
The trolley bus to Bhaktapur is rarely uncomfortably crowded said Tony Wheeler. This must have been one of those rare occasions. Fortunately it was only a 45 minute ride. Bhaktapur was pleasant to walk in as motor vehicles seemed to stay out of the old area. Another good Durbar Square but I made the mistake of taking a photo of a young girl on one of the temples. She then followed us around for several hours holding out her hand and repeating "photo rupee". Her only other word of English was "yes" which was always preceded by my "no".

The photo-rupee girl

At this point I must admit to making a mistake in my diary as yesterday's lunchtime encounter with the Cumbrian had, in fact, happened, today. Yesterday we ate in an Austrian Vegetarian Cafe overlooking the stupa and today it was in a guest house cafe overlooking Durbar Square. When we came out of the cafe the photo-rupee girl was waiting for us but now she had a small baby girl on her back. Probably to make us feel guilty. But armed with our "infinite patience" and guiding words from LP which says giving money will only encourage them we weren't going to crack. We had quite a bit of fun with her following us and after we'd lulled her into a false sense of security we disappeared at breakneck speed up a side alley.


The trolley bus back was less crowded and for some reason only cost half the 2rp price it cost to get there. We  paid another visit to Rum Doodle and went to bed early.


2012
Infinite Patience was our catch-phrase through much of our travels throughout SE Asia.When things got difficult or crowded or took too long we would take a deep breath and say "infinite patience".

9th May 1992 Day 294

The Diary
We hired two 12 speed mountain bikes from 'Honest Joe's' and Oz thought he'd signed his life away after reading the regulations. The rules were like the back of a BR ticket; you're entitled to nothing but responsible for everything.


We cycled to Pashupatinath, Nepal's major Hindu temple and then headed on to Bodhnath to see the largest stupa in Nepal, which graces the front cover of LP. In a restaurant overlooking the stupa we chatted to a middle-aged Cumbrian who seemed to be spending his life in Nepal and the Philippines. He seemed a bit dim to me as after he started a conversation  about the political unrest in Nepal, we asked what the riots he had witnessed were about. He thought for a while and then said "eee.....I don't know".

We headed further out into the valley towards Sundarijal and the problems with the bikes became very evident. in low gears the chain would slip causing your feet to jump violently off the pedals and making it very awkward to get up hills. We eventually made it despite the hills and the bumpy roads and then immediately turned around and went back to Kathmandu.

In the evening we went back to the Third Eye Restaurant and towards the end of the meal our peace was shattered by an extremely loud and inconsiderate Irishman who sat down to share our table. He ordered two beers, asked us about our meals, said Oz's smelt like shit and that he was going to be ill, issued a few more profanities and did a runner with his mate before the beer turned up.


We then set off to try and watch the FA Cup Final. The paper seemed to indicate that it wasn't being screened at the Hotel Sherpa with it's Star TV, our worst fears were confirmed. To round off a bad evening we were caught in a downpour going back to the guest house.

2012
I think this was the first Cup Final I'd missed watching since 1973 - the last time Sunderland had been in the cup final.

8th May 1992 Day 293

The Diary
We wandered around Thamel and Chhetrapati and Durbar Marg inquiring about trekking, visiting Chitwan and the FA Cup Final. We found a hotel with a Star satellite TV and decided to leave booking a trek until Pokhara. We walked backwards and forwards between agents offering, usually, the same Chitwan package but at different prices. We eventually booked one for $55 each, paid for it with a $100 travellers cheque each and received the change in rupees at a rate slightly better than the bank.

In the afternoon we went to the National Swimming Pool and as usual checked Poste Restante. The pool was probably very nice when it was built but now the water was filthy and opaque and the walls very slimy. It was also impossible to swim up and down as the locals, slapping and flapping their way across the pool would crash into you every 10m or so. It will be a very long time before the Nepalese win an Olympic gold for swimming.

Laurel and Hardy ?

In the evening we bumped into Sian and Adam again, who had just arrived after being delayed in Bangkok. We also saw two English lads that had been in the pool when we were. Bumping into people is becoming common. It's a good job it's the low season and there aren't so many travellers around.


2012
Why oh why did I go in that pool? Top tip - if the pool water is cloudy and the walls are slimy, avoid at all costs.


Nepal still haven't won an Olympic swimming medal.

7th May 1992 Day 292

The Diary
We took the long walk to Patan and marvelled at the temple-filled Durbar Square there. We chatted to little urchins, trying to discourage their begging and improve their English. We also marvelled at more erotic carvings while some of the lads giggled.

urchins

ooh err missus

 We wandered through more medieval streets in search of recommended temples and cowered at the guardian turtles at the Golden Temple. They can be quite vicious if you enter wearing any leather. We walked back along the river banks of the very low Bagmati River. This was because, as usual, TW had drawn his map when he was high on some hippy drug and it was a less than accurate representation of the real world. A main road had ceased to exist so we had to improvise.

By the time we got back to the guest house I felt like I'd done a days trekking and crashed out for an hour or so. I picked up my photos from Bangkok and Kathmandu and we ate accompanied by traditional Nepali music. Interesting but not Right Said Fred.


2012
Right Said Fred(s)

6th May 1992 Day 291

The Diary
We had breakfast in a different place after the previous days poor showing. Chips, omelette and toast for breakfast. A vast improvement. Oz went in search of info about the Chitwan National Park and I went on a long hike to the Chinese Embassy. Whilst in the queue for the visas I got chatting to an American girl about India and the Trans-Siberian Express. She was refused a visa because she didn't have her ticket to China, which she was going to purchase in Hong Kong. The visa man was trying to be clever and was very supercilious in his manner when she said she'd been told over the phone by this office that she could get the visa. 

Our Sadhu mate

I'd fully recommend The Hobbit young man

Nepalese carvings......pre-internet porn....

  

Then it was my turn and I had my travel vouchers with me. His excuse this time was that he couldn't issue the visa unless I had a Mongolian visa. I can't get a Mongolian visa until I'm in China and in possession of a Russian visa. He said I could buy a train ticket from HK to Canton (Guangzhou) and back. Why would I want to do that when I've already got a ticket and I've as much chance of getting one in Kathmandu as I have of buying a Billingham-Seaton Carew ticket. I gave up and made the long trek back to Durbar Square to meet Oz. On the way I checked the mail and found a postcard from CJ. Oz had already checked the post and he had two letters for me from Christy and a joint one from Bop.

We ate and then did a couple more of TW's walks around Kathmandu . All very templey but we got to see lots of nooks and crannies we probably wouldn't have noticed. We chatted to a few shansh marnie men but the rate  has been barely better than the official rate. We also had our foreheads dabbed with a red hindu spot by a sadhu in Durbar Square. A bargain (?) at 5rp. In the evening we had an excellent Indian and Oz swopped 1984 and a Leslie Thomas book for The Hobbit. Will it be a bit too Quargs from Planet Tharg for him? it is rather Tolkienistically goblinesque in it's troll-like hobbitness. Eat your heart out Clive James. 


We also went to Swayambhunath.

Swayambhunath

2012
Wonder if Oz has managed to read The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings yet?


I'd been reading some books of Clive James criticism - far too literary for me. I barely understood any of his references.

5th May 1992 Day 290

The Diary
Breakfast in the guesthouse was a bit of a disappointment; hot milk with non-Kelloggs cornflakes, poor porridge and poached eggs that didn't make it as far as the table. And it only took 1 hour.
  

I did some official money changing, we checked the mail again with as much luck as the day before and we did one of Tony Wheeler's walks. We sat for a while in Durbar Square watching the world go by and talking to the locals and then we had dinner in a very un-freaky Freak Street. Kathmandu is like a big medieval farmyard cum 60s town. It's hectic, old, friendly, smelly and like nowhere I've ever been before.

\
We went and did another of TW's walks, this time by the river and then I went and phoned Christy. She'd already received the drawing from Chiang Mai but nothing else and she said she'd sent 3 letters to me. She also said she was arriving at Gatwick at 6:30am on the 27th July. A bit sooner than I'd thought. Sarah and Dave find out if they can stay in Oz this week else they have to leave by June.

I went and checked out a trekking place and in the evening we ate at the restaurant named after the world's highest mountain, the 40,000 1/2 ft Rum Doodle. I changed A Secret Country for The Big Red Train Ride in one of Kathmandu's many great book shops.

2012
I still referred to lunch as dinner in those days - and still occasionally do today. It's a Northern thing.


Sarah and Dave haven't been an item for a loooong time. Dave is still in Aus and lives round the corner from us. Sarah is back in UK and we see her far more than we see Dave!

4th May 1992 Day 289

The Diary
Last day in Thailand. We got up early, said our goodbyes to the Thai girl at the River Guest House that never smile and lugged our bags to the Khao San Road. We were there, a minibus was there, but who knows where the driver was. When the travel agent - through which we'd booked our journey to the airport - opened, Oz went in and asked them what was happening. They seemed to have forgotten about us totally. They phoned up and ordered us a taxi. Our taxi driver got us to Don Muang in 40 minutes when it should take at least an hour on a good day and often 2 hours.His philosophy was simple; keep weaving from one lane to another and when everyone else's brake lights come on, accelerate. Yet another cardiac-inducing journey to hell in an Asian country. Asian drivers probably help to keep the population growth down a bit so it can't be all bad.


Don Muang was a big, new, busy airport and we had some baht left that we were going to turn into film and batteries. By the time we got to the departure lounge we felt very poor as the sky-high prices were 3 or 4 times the prices in  the outside world. We changed our baht into US dollars so that we could change it into Nepalese Rupees when we landed. The flight was as unremarkable as all other flights that don't end in a hostage taking or a major crash landing but Thai are an airline to be recommended.


Once in Kathmandu we quickly cleared immigration as we already had our visas but I had to go through customs twice as they forgot to chalk my bag the first time. At the hotel desk we were being asked/offered rooms for $10 per night. I said "too much" and then we were offered $6 and a free lift. Bingo. The lift turned out to be in a minivan that conked out every few yards but we made it through the farmyard like streets to the Dhaulagiri guest house in Chhetrapati.



View Larger Map 


We then raced through the labyrinthine streets to the GPO, which looked as if it should have been closed down 50 years earlier. No mail for either of us. We strolled around a bit more, checking what was available in the shops, avoiding the bikes, cars, pigs, cows, dogs and people and eventually made it back to the guest house.


In the evening we wandered to the Thamel area and went for a pizza at the San Francisco Pizza House (!). Pretty good and pretty cheap. Cow is replaced on the menu by buffalo, known to us locals as buff.

2012
Don Muang is not the main Bangkok airport any more - this is


Just over 2 months after we took this flight, this happened. Same flight number as us.