At a friendly hotel, the next shock. "Sir, there will be no getting to the airport tomorrow. Strike."
And it was going smoothly to that point. "No taxis or jeeps at all?"
"We are not sure Sir. Decision make at 7 tomorrow morning." Exactly when we needed to be leaving to get to the airport.
A difficult conversation followed where we managed to persuade the owner to look into still getting us a taxi. After much telephoning and frenetic toing-and-fro-ing, it transpired that there was no guarantee of a vehicle, and the only certain way that we would make our flight would be as passengers on the back of two motorbikes. It seemed that the strike restrictions didn't extend to two wheels. Confident, although less than happy, that there was a solution, the next lesson we learnt as we settled into a delicious dinner, was that the Nepalis make their curries a lot hotter than what we have been used to. Wow.
Unwilling to wait to see if the strike would start at 7am, Sarah and I headed out to the taxi stand at 6.30 in search of a ride. It was very clear that no one was expecting to do anything other than normal business, and so we soon found ourselves en route from Kakarabitta to Badraphur. Apart from the ubiquitous cattle, the only obstacle on the roads were a few early morning rickshaws, their frames gloriously warped and chains drooping from decades of hard labour as the main form of transport in these parts. Fate is a wonderful thing, and as a result of our being much earlier than expected we enjoyed the charmingly quaint farms and fields either side of us as we headed South through the easternmost part of Nepal. Giant haystacks, carts with traditional wooden wheels and oxen pulling wooden ploughs were lit by the early morning sun as it penetrated the last of the mist. The farms themselves were primitive huts with mud walls and woven bamboo roofs. Magical; it was, apart from the MP3 player blaring tunes into the back of our wagon, and the omnipresent adverts for mobile networks, like stepping back into an episode of Victorian Farm. Vodafone meets the Victorians! We ended up being so early for our flight that we woke the security guard at the airstrip's gate. The airport was definitely closed until a couple of hours later and so we headed into town for breakfast.
The only cafe in a town that looked like somewhere between Amish and frontier post served up delicious puris, aloo dom (once again hot enough to wake even the worst risers!), and tea. All for the princely sum of 60p for both of us. We happily whiled away an hour enjoying watching the locals do breakfast, and preparing for the adventure ahead.
Returning to the airport gate, we dipped into the 'departure lounge' cafe for a final masala tea before the off. Less Starbucks, and more corner shack, outside a couple of yak, freshly harvested fields of potato and rice, and little sign of the usual airport bustle. When the gates did finally open we were ushered through the process surprisingly efficiently to depart exactly on time.
The flight from Badraphur to Pokhara, via Katmandu, must be one of the world's finest as you fly parallel to the entire Himalayan range from one end to the other; Kanchenjunga to Annapurna and everything in between as well as glimpses of the huge second and third rows of ranges further north in Tibet. A stunning backdrop and at last a sense of the size of the Himalayas. We arrived in Pokhara excited and keen to explore; the start of our holidays after 10 weeks of hard graft in India.
Pokhara came as a shock. I think that we had immersed ourselves so purely into rural Indian life in Pedong that the rows and rows of tourist agencies, shops and restaurants seemed alien, garish and extravagant. We both struggled to come to terms with where we now found ourselves, a long long way from the life of the past 2 months, despite the breathtaking backdrop of the 'Fish Tail' and Annapurna. Hundreds of white travellers outnumbered the locals, almost hedonistic in their consumption of western food, fake trekking gear and 'local' goods for sale, and we were pretty overwhelmed. The urge to return to the simple unmaterialistic life of only two days previous caught us both by surprise, especially given how much we had been looking forward to our Nepal adventure.
Leaving the town the next day on foot to go and see a raptor rehabilitation centre, we found ourselves blessedly free of the tourist traps, and once again in local villages on the edge of the stunning Phewa Tal. At the bird sanctuary we found Danny and his team, a bunch of dedicated ornithologists who are trying desperately to reverse the 99% decline in the vulture population in the Himalayas in the past 7 years. It's a heart wrenching tale of man's naive interference with nature, but more about that in a later blog, and if you are lucky enough to be taught by Sarah expect it to be her favourite example when teaching food chains!
That evening we met our guide who would take us to the Annapurna Sanctuary, Gyanendra. What a lovely, smiley, happy man. All frustrations of Pokhara's tourist side was lost as he enthused about our forthcoming trek, rearranged the schedule to give us a better experience, and explained his support of our particular porter, who would in only a few years time be too old to work any more. We have been very lucky with all our guides throughout our adventure, and Gyanendra is no different. Thoughtful, funny and sincere, we find ourselves now at the end of day one, high in what he calls hills - definitely mountains to the layman - having enjoyed a spectacular climb in across rickety suspension bridges and through endless terraces every bit as beautiful as Singilila or Sikkim.
Pictures:
Welcome to Badraphur Airport!
Everest from the Air.
The stunning Phewa Tal lake on the edge of Pokhara.
Endangered and beautiful. Egyptian Vulture 'Kevin'. Watch this space for some more exciting stories about him.
Danny and his bird...
Trek day 1 : bridges, terracing and horses. Lovely and such a refreshing relief after the madness of Pokhara.
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