The peace of the mountains

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On a cold, cold morning I pack up again, load up the bike and start to make my way out of the city. I’ve checked my maps and it should be easy enough, but I’m soon lost in the maze of streets and alleyways. Just when I think I’ve found a more major road going in roughly the right direction, it soon narrows and snakes away from where I want to go and before I know it I’m in an alley barely wide enough for the bike. So I start asking directions.
Eventually, an hour later, I’m on the main ring road around Kathmandu and making better time. Dang. I know it’s likely to be a long day on the bike, but mostly I’m worried about ending in the dark in the hills nearer the mountains. These aren’t hills as we think of them in New Zealand, they can easily send you climbing to 2500m, and at night the temperatures are now getting down close to 0c. No to mention the roads may be rough and rocky, a nightmare in the dark.
Despite my fears, the road is pretty good most of the way to Jiri, even when switch backing up the sides of the hill and reducing me to a crawl (you could take the corners fast, but you could also become a grizzly shadow left behind by an oncoming bus), and there’s just one bad section of about 3km that’s pretty knarly in the rocks and the sand.
Everyone I’ve talked to has said that there are good views of the mountains on this road, but I don’t see them all day, even from the highest points, and I’m a little disappointed by the time I reach Jiri, however the village itself more than makes up for this.
It’s a tiny place, mostly wooden slat or schist houses, some built precariously over hanging a couple of the streams that run down the valley. It’s very quiet and peaceful, quaint (I’m not sure if I like this word, but it seems to conjure up the right kind of images). Even the hotel with its narrow wooden stairs and tiny little rooms is such a pleasure to stay at and the view out my window up the valley fills me with a warm peace. It is beautiful to sit and write as it slowly gets colder and darker, and lights start to come on up and down the valley. I feel almost like I’m in my own little cabin with its rickety door and low roof. And as per usual, the buffalo momos are delicious.
I woke again, 6:30am, to a crisp clear morning and essentially my last proper day on the bike. I feel a small sense of relief; I was now pretty tired from the trials and constant focus of riding, but a little sad as well. It had been an amazing two and a half weeks touring this country, seeing it in a way that most tourists can’t from inside a bus.



A more complete experience

Since I started riding a number of years ago, I’ve always found it to be a much purer way to travel and a far more complete experience. When it’s hot, you’re nice and warm. When it’s cold, you get cold and when it rains you get wet. You’re more vulnerable as well, and I think people sense this. You are a different kind of tourist, one far more at the mercy of the elements and the country you are in. Even other tourists seem to hold you in a kind of awe.
Its easy to miss so much when you’re in a car, with radios, comfy seats and air conditioning. You can snack as you go, change the station if you don’t like what’s playing and turn on the heater when it gets cold outside. On a bike you have to stop to eat, even with my IPod I mostly just have to endure if I don’t like a song that comes on and if it rains, try and find a place to pull over to shelter and get warm when it gets too much.
But through this you tend to meet more people, see more of your surroundings and generally get more out of your trip. On a bus I would have missed a delightful little restaurant on the way back to Kathmandu and the family that ran it. Chicken fried noodles, a hot cup of chai and a bottle of water, all for 70rs (about $1 NZ). I even laughed along with them when I got terrible hiccups from the chilly in the food; they all thought this was terribly funny.
“AhhUCK, mineral waUCK-ater please?”
Chuckle. “Of course sir. You enjoy the food?” with a wink.
“Yes, very UCK much, thank yUCK-ou”, and I wink back.
These are the experiences I will truly miss when I get back home, experiences that are so much harder to find in New Zealand these days.
Restaurant and café owners and staff who are genuinely pleased to meet you even if they’ve never met you, serve you and sit down to find out who you are and chat about their own life.

It’s totally clear today, none of the usual morning mist and too early for the haze and smog, and finally as I ride out of the valley there they are: the Everest Himalaya. And as I turn my head, more white peaks back north of Kathmandu. I snap a couple of photos but mostly just sit and stare. I know it’s not long now before I have to leave these mountains behind and I want to soak up as much of them in my mind as I can. It is also bitterly cold so its nice to pause for a moment in the sun.
This time as I return to Kathmandu for the last time I see the ranges constantly, almost every corner I turn throws up a new vista, and it seems a fitting way to round off the major part of the trip. I try not to think too much, just look, listen and enjoy. ‘Just Looking’ by the Stereophonics comes on and I’m lost in a perfect moment.
“These things I want, these things I think I want. These things I have, these things I wanna have… I’m just lookin, I’m not buyin. I’m just lookin, it keeps me smiling.”
And the top of my head almost falls off, split in half by the smile that runs from ear to ear. If my eyes weren’t completely dried out from the wind and dust, I know there would be a few silent tears trickling down my cheeks.
I don’t want it to end, and yet I’m really looking forward to seeing my family and friends, especially my dog. I want to stay forever, and yet I’m hungry to explore more of my own Aotearoa. As strange as it sounds I even miss wind and rain.
Finally I roll back into Kathmandu and instantly get lost again, but this time I don’t mind. Rolling through the busy, manic streets, trying to absorb as much as I can.
Another cheap hotel. The heavy duty winter riding gloves get packed away. The hiking boots I’ve worn on the bike get set aside to air and out come the sneakers.
And as night falls once more, I try to gather some of my thoughts.

God bless,
Traveller, coming towards the end of this adventure.
But plenty more to come...



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