Bali's Back in Town

We flew from Bangkok to Bali's Denpensar airport at an absurdly early time in the morning. Felt much worse due to an impromptu late night drinking session at a street bar, just outside our hotel on Rambutri Soi, with Tim, an expat money futures trader and the handsome Phillipe, a swiss ICOC worker (sort of like the Red Cross but more impartial). As Philippe was about to be shipped out to Iraq for a one year posting, it seemed in order that we should enjoy a good send off. As a telecommunications engineer, he has been in Darfur and Sudan for the last 2 years, with occasional forays into Somalia, Senegal and Gambia. His stories were incredible and I simply have to relay at least one of them.
He was in an ICOC marked landcruiser crossing the no man zone between North and South Sudan. There had been violent clashes and many people were killed. Part of their job was simply to bag up the bodies and make sure they are returned to the right villages. They needed to cross the zone with medical supplies to a nearby village where there were many injured people. With a local driver, Phillippe had his laptop and several large boxes of supplies. They were held up by armed bandits/mercenaries who wanted the vehicle. Phillippe jumped out with his driver, hands in the air, saying take the car, take the car, please we are just aid workers. He said it wasn't the first time it had happened so he knew the protocol was to simply hand over the vehicle with no resistance. He then explained they had medical supplies in the back and they needed to get them to this local village. The bandit leader then gave Phillippe and the driver a lift to this village with all their supplies, including his laptop. He even helped unload. He then gave Phillippe a metal bracelet and told him it was to protect him on his way. Then obviously, he took the car. But that touch of humanity amidst the chaos and killing, his stories were full of them and filled us with a warm hope despite the tragedy he's seen.
So with huge hangovers (in fact I think I was still drunk!) we flew south across the Gulf of Thailand and Java sea and landed on a much revived Bali. The last time we were here, it was so quiet and the desperation of locals was clear as they hounded us through Kuta, and when we travelled north past Ubud and on to Ganung Batur, there were simply no other tourists. It was like a ghost tourist town in places with empty guesthouses and there were certainly no fast boats to the Gili islands.
Exhausted after a 5 hour flight, carrying heavy bags in the sweaty heat, we wander around Poppies I and II looking for somewhere to stay. Everywhere that's a reasonable price and clean is full. We jump in a taxi and get him to take us up to Legian, the beach area further west from Kuta. Same story. In fact the one place we do find with rooms, where we have stayed once before, has clearly done no maintenance since then and looks more than tired. Plus it's 2 ½ times more in cost. In fact we start to find this is the case all over. The Aussies are back in town. The Bali bombers have been executed and it's clearly water under the bridge now as the streets are teeming with surfers and to our pleasant surprise, families. We find ourselves slumped over banana milkshakes in a cafe while we work out our next move. I think about the high end place of Nusa Dua about 15km from here and my friend Rita who likes to stay in places like this when she travels. All booked. Transfers pick you up and drop you. Right now, I wish myself in one of Nusa Dua's 5 star resorts.
Lee goes in search of a hotel and comes back slightly more hot and grumpy having tried 4 or 5 places without success. I remember it's bank holiday weekend at home and wondered if they have the same one's in Australia. I spot a motorbike taxi outside the cafe and ask him if he can help me find some accommodation. I take you nice place he says and worrying about his commission I tell him to just drive about and we can randomly stop. This is a terrible plan. We try 2 or 3 places and they're all scabby or full. Eventually he pleads with me to let him take me to nice place. Lots of families. His name is Ketut (all 4th born children in Bali are called Ketut by the way) and he tells me about his 6 children and growing up in Kuta. I know everywhere he says. I let him take me to the Kuta Puri Bungalows. Oh my, what an oasis of tranquillity and loveliness! So we whizz back to the cafe and Ketut sorts us a bemo to take us to our lovely new rooms.
Kuta Puri is at the beach end of Poppies I comprising of pretty Balinese bungalows and a bigger block of rooms with huge balconies set around beautifully cared for gardens and two gorgeous pools, a great restaurant and bar (cheapest happy hour in Kuta). There is even a traditional spa, and we all enjoy a well earned massage. The rooms are $60 per night including a free drink, massage and breakfast. Our one night stay turned into 3 nights but we told ourselves we'd be in beach huts and homestays from here on in, so a little luxury was most welcome.
Plus Tevo and Roisin decide it's time to catch some waves body boarding on Kuta. They have great fun, while I sunbathe and counted that a street hawker approaches me every 10-14 seconds. I employ my indian subcontinent head wobble to great effect. No need for eye contact. No talking. The unsaid message is read and understood. Btw I was reading a great book whilst soaking up the rays, Rohindra Mistry's A Fine Balance – just breathtaking!

Leaving

Exhausted but exhilarated we stayed in Pokhara for a couple more nights in a great room at the Panorama Hotel, with two huge windows facing north to Macchepuchhre (occasionally revealing a side view of it's magnificent fishtail) and east to Annapurna II. If you sit on the hotel's front balcony, you can see Dhualagiri on a clear morning. After a sweltering day with no electricity to enjoy the relief of a fan, the night brought a thunderous storm lighting up the sky, and in the morning revealed such magnificent peaks. I can see why people love it here.

We return to Kathmandu on a brighter cooler day and go straight to Blue Horizon guest house. The friends I bumped into at Bouddhanath recommended it and I guessed they were probably recommended to go there by other friends from the Manchester Buddhist Centre. It is a gorgeous spot, with huge windowed rooms, potted roof terraces and pretty gardens. Right next to the Himalayan Meditation Centre. Definitely a good vibe. With the added bonus of Himalaya Java at the corner of the lane, a cracking breakfast cafe frequented by NGOs and expats. But Bijay does want to know why we haven't come 'home'.

We sent home a load of trekking gear and some presents, so we are now super light travellers. Pricey postage but then it was 17kg in total! We spent the next couple of evenings hanging out at Parina's & Bijay's apartment. Parina cooked us a stunning dhaal baat with a special fish stew. The next day I went in search of english cheese and found a nice lancashire cheddar and some ciabbatta. I made macaroni cheese and bruschetta with coriander and chilli. Lee made some mash potato on the side as Bijay says our mash is the best he's ever tasted. We explain how we overcook the spuds, then leave to sit for 5 minutes before mashing – and that we never put sugar in it! His favourite was a vegetable pie topped with mash, I made when we had the apartment. Parina's says she's going to buy an oven so she can make shepherd's pie. I warned them that eating too many pies, as we so often do, makes you fat!

After a farewell brunch at Java, and a sad good bye to Parina, Biz escorts us to the airport for our flight to Bangkok. We're going to miss our friends very much but we have a permanent reminder of our time in Nepal, as I have a new tattoo and Lee has his first. I have a Tibetan Om on my wrist and Lee has our names in Nepali across his chest. Excellent job Biz, and healing nicely thanks.

Pokhara & Rafting the Kali Gandaki

Having had such a fantastic time rafting and camping the Bhote Koshi, we decided to take our friends Parina and Bijay to raft the Kali Gandaki. My friend Parina is a workaholic, incredibly committed to her work, but a workaholic all the same. They never get opportunities to do the things we do when we're here, such as experiencing the joy of rafting Nepal's rivers. A couple of days away from the harsher realities of life in this country, I knew it would be amazing for them. Parina took a little convincing, but we assured her the rafting team had amazing safety standards and they would look after her as a non-swimmer. Bijay didn't need any convincing and travelled with us across to Pokhara. We spent a day chillin in Pokhara, rowing around the lake and fishing.

Got there on a very comfortable tourist bus (500 roops) although there was an old guy sat behind me, with his wife and daughter and son in law. He just kept exclaiming very loudly, LOOK MARGERY, LOOK, mangoes, or look look a red sari, LOOK Margery, rice fields, oh yes. I enjoyed his child-like running commentary, remembering what my mum said to me about her trip to North America last year. Alaska was beautiful but I had no-one to say, look how beautiful it is, and share that moment. After 4 hours I put on my Ipod. By the way, he sounded just like that actor in Fawlty Towers episode The Anniversary, where Basil pretends Sybil is ill. The husband of Una Stubbs' character, with the very amusing voice, it was him I swear. Sib ill, eh Basil , Sib ill. Except it wasn't him of course.

Parina was planning to come the following day, but a very sad thing happened. A 17 year old girl, married with a baby and unfortunately a drug problem, but also one of Dristi's service users, set herself on fire about ten days earlier. She died at 5am on 15th May. Parina stayed behind to sort her affairs and raise funds for her hospital bill. There are several of us who will ensure the baby is supported for the rest of her childhood. The young women has a sister who may come to Kathmandu and look after the child. But she will need a job and support. Education is relatively expensive here. Parina's dream is to open a home where women and children can live together, learn new skills, grow crops, produce handicrafts, perhaps in the Terai where land is more fertile. Definitely away from Kathmandu.

Parina finally arrived and we set off early the next day. We drove to the drop in point on a smaller bus, and missed the breezy jolliness of our previous transport. Also, the bigger the vehicle, the less you are thrown around on bumpy roads. Although these roads are tarmac' ed. Rather novel if slightly scary on twisty mountain roads.

We rafted for three days, camping two nights on river side beaches. There is no road support on this trip. We leave the highway, with two rafts – one for us and a bit of gear and then the main gear raft. We are joined by an American, Taylor, a rafting guide passing through who's joined the support team to get a free ride. At first Parina is still nervous at first but a few rapids in and she and Biz are having the time of their lives, as are we. We had a full on bounce and flip over at one point which scared a few people but we were all fine and we were lucky to have such a pro team. It took Parina a while to recover from the shock, but later we cajouled her into having a swim to build her confidence in the life jacket. I think it worked. We have a lovely camp on the first night but late evening rain continues through the night getting us all a bit soaked – but who cares – we're rafting!

We hit the water late, just before noon and the sun greets us by mid afternoon, as we have an awesome time over some great rapids. so the team dry off the tents while we eat lunch. Madoh catches fish with Bijay's help (19 year old rescue Kayaker not our Biz). Big bony beggars they are. But everyone enjoys them for supper. Tevo builds a roaring fire, after Biz rafts over the river (in the dark!) and collects wood and some Rocksi from the local village. Fabulous evening camp with bellies full of tasty dahl bhaat.

The last day of rafting and due to a dam which has killed the current, we hitch a ride on a passenger boat that chugs us upriver to our pick up point. One more tasty buffet lunch, and we head back to Pokhara. Four hours in blistering heat. Hmmm, can we get back in the river now please! May is a time to climb high or raft rivers in Nepal, it's just very very hot.

Back in PK, Biz and Parina hitch a lift back to Kathmandu with the team in the morning. We stay another night to rest.

Shakka Lakka BOOM!

Birat (pronounced Biraj) calls us in the evening and says we need to leave early as there is an impending strike tomorrow. We arrange to meet at 6.30am on Lazimpat (as the bus can't get down these tiny lanes). I'm feeling nervous as the Bhote Koshi has a challenging reputation, graded between 4 and 5 (5 being the maximum). There have been accidents here and I asked Birat about what happened to the tourists who were killed. Birat says it is unfair on the industry that the truth of the story is not being told. He says they were Israeli, and had been told NOT to jump in the whitewater. There are places to swim and the guide will tell you when it safe. The Israeli's did not listen. They jumped in regardless and all were drowned. A rescue and recovery was launched by the embassy. Not sure they ever found the bodies.
The bus is a pink stripey affair, loaded up with all the rafting gear and the team who will be taking care of us for the next day or two. We are all half asleep and find ourselves a double seat each. The kids snooze while Lee and I watch the changing landscape as we leave the crowded city heading east past Baktapur, and through beautiful countryside towards the Tibetan border.
We stop for daalbhaat and after a 3 ½ journey reach our first put in point. We are starting on the lower part of the Bhote Koshi, to help us find our feet and so our amazing guide, Dil, can work on our paddle skills and assess whether we can take on the upper part of the river tomorrow. Alot of less professional companies are known for starting straight at the top, which hits whitewater from the second after the put in. My fears are allayed very quickly. This outfit are incredibly professional. The gear is exceptional, with a french made raft and good quality helmets and life jackets. We are introduced to our team. Dil is the guide and raft leader. With 18 years professional experience and having trained around the world, he is Nepal's 'river guru'. He takes us through an extensive briefing, with regard to safety, the equipment and the river itself. We then have two rescue kayaks. Bijay and Matan (?) are both very experienced and Matan explains to us the procedures for rescue situations.
We get into the raft and run through some of the techniques. Tevo and Roisin have rafted twice before. Once in the French Alps on a grade 3 river, and once in Sri Lanka on a grade 2 river (it was a bit boring actually). We raft for about 2 ½ hours along fairly easy territory but very good for practice and confidence building. After being picked up by our jolly bus, with the raft and Matan sitting atop, we head to our next put it site further up the river.
After a fantastic lunch buffet, at what will be our camp site for the night, we set off from this point for another couple of hours rafting. The bus picks us up again and returns us to camp. By now, Vishnu and the others have made a great camp. We have a big tent. I just wish we had bought our own sleeping bags and mats (which foolishly we left in the apartment).
Dinner is a huge meal of dhaalbhat except the daal is much thicker and tastier, so everyone goes to bed with full bellies. They have ingenious uses for paddles which include a draining table and a toilet tent. These guys just keep impressing us with their care and attention. For a start, we are not in some squalid camp site (as described by the Rough Guide). The team put together a rather well constructed and very environmentally sound temporary drop toilet. All paper will be burned in the morning. Every care and attention is paid to not having an impact on the environment here. All waste is divided into food (given to the goats) and plastic and paper. There are separate buckets of iodine treated water for everyone to use, for handwashing, for washing plates and then for rinsing.

The next morning, after a huge breakfast (which our team share with some local hungry children) we pack up the bus and head to the upper part of the Bhote Koshi. This part of the river is a 4+ straight from the put in point. Whitewater all the way and we have the most exciting rafting trip of our lives. Dil pays every care and attention to scouting the route, avoiding two notorious points in the river. Dil and Matan take the raft down 'the wall' - a place that only the most experienced rafters can descend. We walk around. At another spot, they take the raft out of the river and carry it to a place further down to avoid an area that no-one should be rafting (a nepali guide died here last year after being trapped in an undercut). It is clear this team take safety very seriously and Dil tells us later that he wanted to assess how we got on on the first day, before taking us further up river. He thinks we are a good team and the children are strong. We learn they are the first 10 year olds they have known to raft the Bhote Koshi! We raft until mid afternoon and once again are met by the bus, and another fab buffet lunch is laid out for us all. After that, a sleepy journey back to smoggy Kathmandu.
I will post the details of this company later as I would highly recommend them for anyone wanting to go on an exciting professionally run expedition. We paid $100 each for a fully inclusive two day trip.

PS Shakka lakka boom is actually on an billboard advert for noodles, but it was our celebratory team mantra when we did our paddle high fives - all paddles in the middle then lift and BOOM onto the water.

The Real Kathmandu?

I often work on my travel blog when I am excited, amazed and downright gobsmacked by something. It's hard to write when you are feeling confused and overwhelmed by your surroundings. When those feelings are filled with frustration, pain and even anger, it's hard to understand why those feelings are there and how to handle them, let alone write about them. So I shall just try to describe my day to you and hopefully it might help me understand a few things myself.

I woke with a terrible headache this morning and while showering I started to wonder whether we have carbon monoxide leaking, given that the boiler is not on an outside wall and there is no vent. There's a fan that work's intermittently, much like most things in Kathmandu. Today the fan is not working and the more I start thinking about it, the more sick I feel. Perhaps it serves us right for living it up (comparatively) in Lazimpat with our hot water showers, electric oven and big screen TV. We get far more electricity around here than appears to be the case in other areas. But then we have the Danish and Canadian embassies for neighbours. Don't get me wrong, it still has dusty decaying roads with crazy traffic, dotted with mangy limping dogs and festering piles of rubbish. But the apartments are bigger and better kept. There are also well kept gardens and allotments.

I spent the morning reading some of my new book, hoping to absorb some further teachings of the dharma.

This afternoon, we had arranged to meet Pasang Sherpa to go to his home in Swayambhu to meet his family. Like Lazimpat (the area where we are staying), we're now far enough from tourist central that is Thamel, that we can observe the more everyday life of people who live here going about their business. No more 'scuse me 'scuse me, you buy, you come inside or destitute cripples or scrawny children begging while you're trying to dodge swerving motorbikes and incessantly honking cars in narrow dusty lanes.

Pasang lives with his wife and two children in a one room apartment smaller than any room in our terraced house at home. There are two beds, one double and one single pushed against each wall. There is a small window in one corner past the foot of the bed, where the adjoining wall houses a small kitchenette with a propane stove and a few shelves. The room is so dark that the light streaming through the window has a rather blinding reflective effect, until our eyes begin to adjust.

The wall running between the heads of the two beds is crowded with bedding and shelves filled with all their worldly goods. A picture of the Dalai Lama (the same one as the photograph on our own fireplace at home) hangs in the centre. Above the double bed is a thankha depicting a tibetan god (but not a buddha incarnation, but I forgot the name). Hanging in the doorway there is an embroidered sheet depicting the endless knot. This can seen in many doorways across Kathmandu and Pasang tells me all sherpas will hang this in their doorway (as will Tibetans). Who knew I was tattooed with the mark of a sherpa – shame I'm not as fit and strong.

His children are bright and confident. His son, Tshering impresses us greatly with his reading from the books we have given him, which are a gift from my colleague Betty. His daughter's eyes light up when she sees the bead making set.

It costs 3000 rupees (£30ish) a month for his children to go to school. It will be higher when they start high school. University is not really an option. Tshering tells us he wants to be a sherpa like his papa. His daughter, Sharom, wants to be a teacher.

I ask Pasang about the 120^th Labour Day demonstration yesterday. It was a march through the centre of KTM involving variety of unions, many carrying the maoist flags. He says he doesn't like to have anything to do with politics here. He just wants to make good work and have a healthy happy family life, doing the best for his children.

They have no running water here. No fresh drinking water either. They have no electricity from 12pm until 8pm on most days. We drink chang, a kind of fermented potato rice brew while chatting about trekking and school and family life.

As we leave the building, several drug addled young men say namaste. I turn and greet them with a smile and tell them we are visiting Pasang. They laugh and stumble back into their dark dank room on the ground floor.

Pasang walks us back to Thamel, and Sharom gets upset when she is told she must stay at home. We suggest she too accompanies us, and she grasps Roisin's hand and sets off up the hill.

The kids put on their masks as we start to enter the maze of smoggy dusty Thamel streets. Pasang bids us goodbye when he is sure we know where we are and can find our way.

After a quick stop for sizzling brownies at The Roadhouse (where the kids now constantly nag us to go for lunch) we bump into our Californian friends we met in Langtang. A rather amazing 75 yr old psychotherapist and his buddhist wife Ali who have been on an adventure to Tibet. Turns out it was a somewhat conflicting experience, while admiring the beautifully restored Potala Palace and a cleaned up Lhasa, all the time wondering where the monks have gone (oh yeah and you're not allowed to talk to Tibetans). Ali comments that while it is incredibly sad that Tibetan culture is being wiped out in Tibet, a result of this conflict has brought Tibetan Buddhism to the rest of the world. It has made us mindful of their culture and the insights that can be learned. Gram said it felt stifled and tension there is running very high. They say they are enjoying the freedom of Nepal, as we avoid being run over and start to get hassled by some street kids.

The children range between 6 and 15 years old. The older ones aggressively push the younger ones around. It's like lord of the flies meets street children, except this is not a film. This is real. Skin covered skeletons with drawn faces and sunken dark eyes. Translucent skin despite it's dark weathered texture. I meet the eldest boys eyes and I can see how glazed and lost he looks. Any money I give him will only be spent on more glue. He pulls the plastic bag from his pocket and breathes deeply. He looks disappointed as it's clear this hit is finished. When I come out the shop, he makes another pleading attempt to get money from us. I watch the policeman carry on walking by. The shopkeepers look the other way. The tourists look but then turn away. Some of them have learned to say 'begging is bad' in Nepali.

I asked Bijay and Parina about the street kids. They say that it's difficult for the projects to engage them. Most have run away from families (usually where the mother has left and/or the father is an alcoholic) or orphanages (who's care you wouldn't subject an animal to). They don't want to study which they would be forced to do and they certainly don't want to live by any institutions rules any more. They are lost, I observed today. There is no way back for him now. The younger ones only to follow down that same path since no-one intervenes, or there is no way for them to intervene. But then I experience that turmoil of trying to understand how compassion and non attachment work, when the compassion I feel, feels blocked and fruitless. And if my feelings and thoughts, that provoke my compassion, are attachments, how can I be unattached? What is compassion in action here? What can it be? When I tell Parina about how I feel, she gives me a knowing smile. She copes with this everyday in her job. She says the world needs people like us to stand up and speak out about injustice.

Sometimes observing the poverty here starts to suffocate and drown you in emotion. It likes a crushing pain of guilt and sensory overload. You can hardly believe what you are seeing.

I often give money to people I see who are crippled or infirm, begging because I know they is no system that takes care of them here. It is up to everyone to share the burden and I have seen locals and lamas alike giving a few coins to those who are clearly in need and helpless. But how are the street children not helpless?

I need to meditate. My mind is crashing about like the river over the rocks. It's time to just sit. I'm really glad we're getting out of Kathmandu for a few days.

Back in Kathmandu & Rafting Plans

The day after our return we took our friend Bijay for pizza at the Roadhouse which we had been salivating over mid trek with a girl from Boston (who lives here). Mozzarella, pesto and black olive sounds dreamy after 10 meals of daalbhaat I can tell you.

Parina is back from the International Harm Reduction Conference in Bangkok and had a great time with our mutual friend Gill. Last night, Bijay and Parina came over for dinner and I made paneer tikka, channa masala, tarka daal, rice and salad, with a special serving of mashed potato for Bijay who thinks it's great. He thinks I should open a restaurant as my food is better than what they serve.

Sadly, Dristi Nepal, the women's drug treatment centre that she runs is under huge financial pressure. UNODC funded network Recovering Nepal has failed to provide promised funding and the landlord is going to sue them for unpaid rent. Parina is trying to keep a service afloat amidst the worst corruption and faces eternal frustration which is taking it's toll on her.

To this end, we are going to Pokhara on a holiday together, around 12th May. Everyone is very excited! Prior to this, we're off on a 2 day rafting trip to the Bhote Koshi river, near the Tibetan border, east of Kathmandu. We have the met the friendly and well spoken Biraj, an old friend of Carlos' (who is now in Barcelona). He works with a good rafting company called Adventure Aves, who are organising our trip. If we like it, we may well go on another trip down the Kali Gandaki near Pokhara.

Politics & Poverty

As those of you that know me will have guessed, I have been having lots of heated political discussions with our new friends. I am keen to understand the why of what is happening here. It is a complex situation. Development has it's down sides as it has a damaging impact on rural markets, together with climate change, making life in these mountains harder than ever. Most people don't involve themselves in politics as they feel it is a losing battle, as government and public service is infested with corruption. People choose a career in politics or the army or police to make money! There is no sense of a higher purpose or greater good in the pursuit of these jobs. The good people try to make an honest living elsewhere while crooks and cheats bleed their country dry. While no-one would want to see the demise of hill tribe life, there are such great public health and social needs (problematic drug use being one of them – never mind the basic needs of clean water, sanitation or dare I say electricity) that change can only come with investment and development of public services.
Kathmandu is a very dirty place. The rivers are dried up and filled with human waste of every variety. Every Westerner gets sick at some point. It is inevitable when you are surrounded by such filth (even Tamang women wear a silver spoon tied to their bronze linked belt – to protect them from bad food). Yet they say it is where the Gods live alongside mortals. Like Varanasi I guess. Another city drowning in it's own waste. Tourists on the one hand bring much needed income but at the same time probably produce 10 times the waste as locals.
The most socially excluded in Nepali society are the hill tribes. We mostly met Tamang people when we were trekking in Langtang (and some who spoke Tibetan – Tashi Dulay!). Kathmandu itself is a mix of Hindu castes (generally more wealthy), indigenous hill tribes (so we have friends who are Sherpas from the Everest region; and Gurungs, together with Magars, who were historically recruited for the Gurkhas, and Newari) and Tibetans, alongside the many many volunteers, charity workers and the tourists.
It is no wonder that the maoist insurgency has gained so much support in rural areas (80% of nepali live rurally), due to growing poverty, unemployment and bad governance. Do not be misled by the name as they have no desire to be part of China's oppressive regime but they have adopted a strategy based on Mao's blueprint. Their fight is for a new people's republic to replace the constitutional monarchy and the reactionary ruling classes. Quite understandably they gain sympathy because people want an end to the corruption and exploitation of people here and can't see a way to bring about change other than through violence (but I can't help think that such an argument was made in Cambodia not so many decades ago). The Maoists rob banks and people to fund their arms and much government development money is now used to fund this civil war. The US government has promised $20m anti-terrorist aid to the Nepalese government (because that will clearly help bring everyone to the negotiating table). The crisis worsened after the Royal family were massacred in 2002. The king's son opened fire and killed the entire family before turning the gun on himself. So they say.
First issue here is how does someone who is right handed shoot themselves behind the left ear with an exit wound to the front of the head? Also, there are reports from palace witnesses that all was not as reported. Following Hindu tradition, bodies were cremated within 24hrs so all evidence was destroyed. The event was followed by a news blackout. All TV and communication was cut. Curfew was imposed. The king's brother succeeded the throne despite his unpopularity. This was followed by a terrible period of insurgent activity including bombings in Kathmandu and Pokhara.
I need to get Bijay to explain more to me about the current negotiations as maoists are in negotiation with the government now, but I don't really understand what is going on (in more ways than one).

Lantang Kipperbang Oi!

Day 1
We left Kathmandu at 7.30am in a landcruiser, with our multilingual and softly spoken guide Carlos and our sherpa Pasang (I do not think the word porter literates the true nature and ability of people like Pasang). Both are sherpas from the Sula-Khumbu region (that's Everest to us). Heading to Syabrubresi (pronounced Syubresi), a Tibetan settlement at 1460m, temptingly close to the Tibetan border and at the trailhead for the Langtang valley. By local bus along shockingly poor roads (I use this word with the broadest of definition) the journey can take up to 12 hours. It's only about 80km or so. In a landcruiser, it takes about 6 to 7 hours. The children were brilliant and took the journey completely in their stride. Happily scoffing their first proper daalbhaat on the lunch stop in Trisuli. Daalbhaat is a bit like indian thali, served on a stainless steel platter with a pile of white rice, a portion of tasty potato curry, a bowl of watery dal soup and sometimes spinach, cucumber and a tasty spicy pickle. Enroute, we purchased our trekking permits at the park office costing 1000 rupees each.
Our first night is spent at the Buddha Guesthouse, where the guides and porters appear to well looked after. The deal at guesthouses up here is that they make a minimal charge for the room (200-300 rupees which is about £2-3). But you are expected to eat there. As all guesthouses have the same menu, there would be little point in looking elsewhere. Better to choose the places that have good food and take care of the guides and porters. Since Carlos is also a vegetarian, we're quite happy to follow his advice.
Food gets more expensive the higher you go. On average we paid about 1500 - 2000 rupees (£15-£20) for all of us including dinner, breakfast and lodging. Our taste for snickers and fizzy pop (which comes in returnable glass bottles that are then hiked back down the mountain) cost us a fair few bob along the way too. The guides are paid 1000 per day and the sherpas get 500 per day. A tip is usual, averaging about an one extra day's pay per week. As Carlos had organised the whole trip, and saved us enormous agency fees, we paid them a lot more than the average. Plus Carlos is travelling to Barcelona on Sunday, having been bought a ticket and sponsored on a visa by his Spanish friends. He has never seen the sea. Carlos has studied Spanish at the university, which he speaks fluently along with Japanese and English, and even some French and German. We also arranged to take Pasang shopping for a pair of walking boots as he didn't have any. Despite having supported many big expeditions to Everest, Dolpo (he's been to Matthiesson's Shey Gompa on the Crystal mountain) and even Kanchenjunga, no-one has ever bought him some decent boots.

Day 2
An early start and after brekkie, we head out at 7.30am. This trek is described as moderate however there are sections that are incredibly strenuous (confirmed by several european trekkers who were amazed to see Tevo and Roisin handling it so well). The path goes up and down and up and down, each time gaining a few more metres in height (as opposed to the relentlessly climbing up). Within the first hour it becomes obvious that we haven't got ourselves fit enough (least of all me) and I may well have anaemia. I was meant to get my regular blood test prior to departure but I thought I was ok so foolishly didn't check. We are not even at 2000m yet and I am massively lightheaded, vomiting and my hands have gone white and numb. That can't be good!
Fortunately, we are lucky to have an incredible guide and sherpa. Carlos takes my small but heavy rucksack. He was carrying a small pack for himself and Pasang, who was carrying our biggest rucksack packed with down jackets, sleeping bags and a few clothes (so nowhere near the maximum of 70kg!!!!). He advises me on technique. I was taking tiptoed large steps instead of small slow flat steps, breathing through the mouth instead of my nose (the surest way to get a sore throat I am warned). And most importantly of all, bistaarai bistaarai (slowly slowly).
Our first tea house stop is at the bottom of a huge stepped climb of maybe more than 100m. I have some ginger tea and start to feel a little better. I think I have lost all my breakfast by now. The next stage has some steep climbs but also some beautiful woodland, carpeted with sativa, as the river rises and falls beside us as we go higher.
It becomes clear that Carlos is a well respected guide who has great friendships with the local people en route. He and Pasang went to school together and are great friends. Both embody so many Buddhist qualities with their respect for nature, inner calm and compassion. I know at the deepest level that these people will take the greatest of care with us during this trek.
After crossing a rocky beach, we stop again for lunch at a tea house high on the hill side. I give lunch a miss and drink more ginger tea and a coke for the sugar hit. The next section rolls up and down, and it is obvious we are moving much more slowly than planned. Our 6 hour trek today will soon become 9 hours, and we are trekking in incredible heat at times (intermittently relieved by the woodland shade). We arrive exhausted at Bamboo Guesthouse (1970m) and we take a much needed extended rest. I doze lying on a rocky wall next to the raucous river, kept cool by the breeze and occasional spray. The children play on the boulders.
Lee shows Carlos and Pasang our water filter, which impresses Pasang immensely, who then takes on the role of chief water filter man for the rest of the trip. We are proud to say we have not purchased any plastic bottles so far. Our filter is a swiss made expedition filter by Katadyn. It has probably paid for itself already and we've only had it 3 years (on a 10 year guarantee). Once it stopped working and we emailed Katadyn who then offered to ship us a whole new set of parts to anywhere in the world (they sent them to our good friends Caz and Johnny who then delivered the parts to us when we met up in Sri Lanka).
Anyway back to the trek. We have to decide whether we are going to make a last push for Rimche (pronounced Rimsey) or we stay the night here. After some food and rest, I wonder whether it would be better to push on as it would be better to stay at a higher altitude for acclimatization. The children are fervently against this idea but we manage to talk them into it.
We cross the river crashing over the giant boulders below, and an old moraine following a steep and exposed, narrow and rocky path. Then we had a relentless and almost body breaking climb up to Rimche (almost 2 hours) to our guesthouse for the night, Ganesh View (oddly named since this mountain, Ganesh, is behind us to the East). Instead we have a magnificent view of the valley below, with another valley cutting away towards Surya peak. This peak is adjacent to the sacred frozen lakes of Gosainkund and having just experienced the moderate trek of yesterday (so called), we're now thinking that the strenuous trek to the frozen lakes is not on the itinerary any longer. No matter. The stone built lodge at approx 2300m, looks out across the valley and I can see Surya peak from my bed! After lots of tasty food we all collapse into bed.

Day 3
We listened to the other trekkers rising early and they were long gone before we finally set off. We are all still tired from yesterday and the first hour or so is quite painful. Today we are aiming for Ghoda Tabela at 3020m. We walk across gently rising and falling grassy meadows with grazing yaks and zhoppa, ancient woodland and blooming rhododendron forest. We spot families of languor with their white faces and long tails. We were also lucky enough to see the small and timid musk deer.
Then we hit another unforgiving steep climb. Each corner we round, another climb opens up, then again, and again. I was so exhausted I could barely lift my limbs which felt as though they were filled with lead. I realised I may not be able to continue which I found very upsetting. I just about make it to the next tea house. Carlos jokingly suggests we hire a pony. I immediately feel relieved and tell Carlos about my riding experience and that actually it's a good suggestion. It is settled. At the next tea house, I will get a pony and ride the last section to Ghoda Tabela, maybe even to Langtang tomorrow.
It's interesting the reaction it provoked in other trekkers, who clearly see the hiring of a pony as a weakness and that you have actually failed. I don't feel like this at all. Horse riding is one of the great loves in my life and in fact, I feel like the luckiest person in the world to be pony trekking in the Himalaya. I am also hugely relieved that the rest of the family don't have to turn back because of me. My pony is called Karpo and I assure his owner I will take great care of him. Karpo is somewhat bad tempered but a good weight, strong and as sure footed as a goat. While we wait for his owner to fetch a saddle, Lee paints a watercolour of the start of the Langtang valley view which has now opened out, revealing the peak of Langtang I.
We stay the next night at a busier lodge, with great views and good food but now the altitude is starting to affect me and I got virtually no sleep. On the up side, I saw shooting stars and got to watch the sun rise through the valley.

Day 4
By this point, Roisin and Tevo are bounding up the mountain valley to Langtang base camp, like a pair of snow leopards. Carpo leads the way, as his owner is from the Langtang village, he knows the route and thinks he is on his way home. We see a type of blue sheep (that has another name but I've forgotten) and a huge eagle. The path is up and down and lots of flat littered with short iris' (nepali flat of course, which you will find is different to european flat). Then a last climb up to Langtang basecamp at 3400m. Great views of Langtang II, and the unseen glacier above the ridge creates a waterfall. This is a dangerous place to climb apparently. A few years ago there was a small airstrip, occasionally used by rich tourists. Then one year a group of Japanese climbers flew in, and began climbing the same day. They all died. Apparently Japanese climbers are prone to dying in groups (so we are informed by American ice climber, Chris). The air strip is now a strangely flat grassy field.
That night Roisin is violently sick. As I still have altitude induced insomnia (as well as this weird cramping and numbness in my legs at night), I am already awake, so clean her up and comfort her. Being rather prone to vomiting, she takes it all in her stride.

Day 5
We decide to take a rest day and visit a local gompa in the village (not Kanchen gompa, the larger one further up the valley). There is a celebration today, a quarterly seasonal affair. Roisin and I struggle to climb the hill up to the village. But it's worth it, as we are made very welcome in this beautiful ancient temple (no-one knows how old exactly but maybe 800 years old or more) with detailed paintings depicting early incarnations of the Buddha and various demons. Traditionally dressed women serve us yak tea (which provides another queasy accompaniment to the ripe smell of yak cheese and butter lamps). It became quite surreal, with women singing below on the ground floor, while the men chanted responding mantras around the shrine, on the upper floor. It is here we sat at the back by the intricately carved windows, while children played and the sounds of the drums and horns were carried away in the breeze. Outside the villagers share bowls of radish soup as prayers wheels ring out.
I am fascinated by the modernity of the teenagers in their Abercrombie sweaters and Converse trainers, chatting to their traditionally attired family and community. Children mostly go to school in Kathmandu, boarding for months at a time. They are due to return in the next few days as the schools have been on strike. Tevo comments that the young children here wear whatever is available to them, 'he's wearing pink trousers and a frilly blouse' he says. But he is respectful in his voice and he is clearly taking in the stark contrast to his own life.
It feels so remote and life is so old here, like going back in time. At least 95% of the people here are locals with 4% guides, sherpas and people such as the gas engineer staying at our guesthouse, Village View. Perhaps only 1-2% tourists and trekkers. The old stone houses with their manure mortar are clustered about the valley, which is dotted with ancient stupas and pilgrim walls. Keep left! With their mantras engraved so long ago but still enduring.
We observe the beauty and simplicity of life here but also, there should be no romanticising the hardship of life here. Men and sometimes women, carry huge loads up these mountains in little more than slippers. Sometimes they are exploited and made to exceed the maximum load of 70kg. We sometimes saw them carrying two rice sacks, each weighing 40kg and more. Carlos, clearly saddened, told us how they sometimes fall because they have neither the right footwear or too much weight. Here, he says, the poor will most probably die as they have no insurance and are unable to afford any healthcare. And that's if someone can get them down.
We met a farmer one afternoon, who had struck his hand with a tool and it was badly cut, clearly infected and possibly broken. His skin was so hard and cracked, but Lee tried his best to clean the wound. We cleaned and dressed it and gave him some antiseptic and clean dressings, which we got Carlos to explain that he must clean it again tomorrow. The man started to cry.
How close life is to death here. That a simple infection can lead to blood poisoning and death. That pregnancy complications could likely result in the mother and/or baby's death (who we saw just outside Shyubresibresi, she would have to endure an arduous day's journey to the hospital). That a broken bone may mean the end of your life. An injured eye, the loss of sight. Further hardship is currently being endured due to the lack of rain. There was no rain at the start of the year, and they are desperate for it now. The cattle are looking a little on he skinny side and the crops are struggling. Living off the land is harder than ever (currently Nepal and India are experiencing temperatures up to 8 or 9 degrees higher than previous years – the consequences of this climate change for the rural poor are proving catastrophic). Plus when the rain does come, it will flood huge areas and cause landslides the size of which are almost impossible to conceive until you see the remnants. These mountains are the steepest I have ever seen in my life. I think you have to be slightly deranged to try to ski here (two norwegians ? died trying to ski down Everest can you believe!)

Day 6
We need to down, not up to Kanchen Gompa at 3850ish. I have been without sleep for a third night and the nightly pains in my legs are making me nervous. Roisin feels very weak too, so today we head down to Rimche. Trekking poles are really a must for going down these hills (if you have any respect for your knees that is). I am amazed at how much stronger I feel as we head down. It's a wonderful feeling and I think I may actually be high in oxygen. I also wondered if going to altitude is good for anaemia as it forces your body to start to adapt so when you come down, you are improved with regard to oxygen take up.
Unfortunately Roisin is very very sick and unable to keep down any food or water even. She feels weak and shaky, so we are much relieved to reach Rimche after a 7 hour trek. Pasang makes us the most amazing food, a thick nettle soup and flower salad (nasturtiums) served with the tastiest daalbhaat in days. The woman here dries the yummiest chillies we've tasted and the chapatis they make from the local buckwheat and fired on their clay ovens are a dream. Roisin vomits again but then feels better and manages to eat some of Pasang's magical soup. I get the best night's sleep in days, as I suspect everyone else does too.

Day 7
Roisin is visibly weakened by her lack of food and water, and I suspect she might now be dehydrated. She continues to vomit on the walk down and rehydration salts turn out to be the worst idea of all, prompting her to throw up the entire contents of her stomach. The little hydration she had is lost and she takes a brief nap in the breeze on the rocky wall at Bamboo GH. Carlos suggests that he will carry Pasang's load and Pasang can carry Roisin. After crossing the stony beach and reaching the top of the steep stepped hillside on the other side, Roisin jumps on Pasang's back and we are soon moving along at quite a pace. To be honest, I can't remember much from the last bit of the trek as I was so broken and exhausted, it took a great deal of determination and distancing of the mind from the pain to make around the last section and down to the village. 8 hour trek in total. Roisin did brilliantly and really pushed through at the end, although those final steps up to the road just after the stupa nearly had us both floored. After hot showers and food (which Roisin threw up but then once again felt much better), we all collapsed into bed.

Day 8
We leave for Kathmandu at 7.30am. The drive back was endurable as no matter how rocky the road, firstly, we were in a landcruiser not an overcrowded dangerously driven local bus, and secondly, we didn't have to lift our legs up great rocky paths. I encouraged Roisin to miss breakfast and she had a few biscuits at Trisuli lunch stop, which she threw up just before we got back in the vehicle. Amazingly, when we got back to the apartment, Lee made her beans, mash and sosmix sausage which she scoffed and then was fine. Good old bangers and mash! I must admit, I might give the daalbhaat a miss for a few days.