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Published: October 14th 2011
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Since I was a little boy, certain things have always fascinated me, magic, ghosts and the solar system are three that spring to mind, and for many years, Mount Everest was another. It is very likely that this was thanks to my 'Strange But True with Michael Aspel' book, that was just about the only thing I read for about four years of my childhood, which talked about the stories and myths surrounding things like The Loch Ness Monster, UFOs, and Yetis, and I think I secretly assumed that seeing the Himalayas would somehow be the culmination of all of that, and would almost certainly result in Meh-Teh (oh yes!) popping up from the snow to say hi. Of course, no one ever gets 100% of what they thought they would so this last bit didn't quite happen.
Having said that, it's probably pretty unsurprising that on arriving for a 12 day holiday in Nepal, the only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to see the mountains, as long as that happened, then everything else would be fine.
Of our 12 days, 4 of these were spent in Kathmandu. The first 2 were spent wide-eyed, desperately
trying to adjust to the culture shock of coming from China, and the last two (after the mountains) were spent desperately trying to adjust to being somewhere that wasn't making my legs want to kick me in the face for putting them through constant agony, so my thoughts on the capital are worth nothing, not even the cursory glance that the rest of this stuff gets, so I wont share them.
So, my first sight of the Himalayas came on an hour long flight over Mount Everest from Kathmandu. It was in a propeller propelled plane, and I'll be honest, at times had the distinct feeling that it was being powered by a couple of hamsters in a wheel - although that is more a reflection on my lack of experience of small planes and my general lack of trust in air travel of any description - not so much a fear, just a wariness or lack of trust in it I guess, similar to my feelings about the dark and people who like Marmite.
The flight itself, with the brilliantly named Buddha Air, was really pretty spectacular. You fly along the Everest Himalaya range until you reach
Everest itself, then you spin round and come back. You can go into the cockpit for an even better view and at times it really was breathtaking to see. Something that did amuse me a lot, however, was how jaded the two pilots and the hostess on the plane were to it all. Totally understandable given that its their job, they probably see it numerous times every morning and they also have to listen to all the exclamations of amazement and the same 'so which one is it then?' questions umpteen times a day. I guess it doesn't matter if it's Niagara Falls, The Great Wall of China or whatever, if you see something enough you will stop seeing the magic of it, irrespective of how breathtaking it might be. I used to be the same when I worked in the St John's Centre in Leeds so I'm as well equipped as anyone to sympathise, I just enjoyed watching the contrasts.
The following day, we took a six and a half hour bus ride to a wonderful little town called Pokhara, some 200km north of Kathmandu, in the foothills of the Annapurna Himalaya Range, where we were going to
trek for six days. Pokhara was very touristy and totally set up for hikers starting and finishing their stay in the mountains there, but everything about it was friendly and welcoming and I'd go back in a second.
Our hike took us through what could've posed for Costa Rican rainforest with stunning waterfalls, rivers, rope-bridges and impossibly green scenery. It took us up mountains in the 3,000 metre bracket one before sunrise to see the day break over the Himalayas, and past bewildered cows and bulls, and on one occasion, through a massive field that appeared to be entirely populated by bees and wasps - like any normal, rational human being who values his life, I spent my time there going between being frozen to the spot with sheer panic and running away from them as fast as I could.
After climbing one particular mountain, about 2,800 metres tall, I asked our guide, Chubbi (or 'The Chubbster', as he didn't like being called) what this particular one was called. At first he looked a bit confused, then simply said, "No name, just a hill" which didn't make me feel too good about the 'old lady' steps I had
been reduced to taking when the burning in my thighs became too much on the steep bits.
One thing that I was not prepared for, as I only took shorts to wear, were the leeches. The start of September is the back end of the monsoon season you see, and while that is great for some things - cooling you down when walking in the afternoon, the most spectacular raging river next to an amazing natural hot spring me and Chubbi ventured down to one day and a good amount of camaraderie in the tea houses where we spent our nights - it did mean that I spent a lot of time removing hungry (or thirsty?) leeches from my shoes and lower legs. I was told afterwards that the technique for removing ones that you catch in the process of feeding on you is to either pour salt on them or burn them off. Sadly, not having access to condiments and having legs hairy enough to present a fire hazard if they get too near a naked flame, I just had to pull the little bastards off - which is not as easy as you might expect. Despite how
you probably imagine it to be, I have to confess to actually quite liking it at first because there was a sense of feeling quite exotic when I found my first few leeches but inevitably after six days of having to stop every 20 yards to de-leech myself, this wore off and descended into irritation and boredom, which helped me to sympathise with the Buddha Air flight crew that little bit more.
Pura Vida
Dave
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