Nepal (Part 2)

September 2001

On Day 671 of the trip, we found ourselves at the closed northern Nepalese border town of Kodari. Without a visa, we had to hole up in this one horse town (the horse must have died) for a night and wait for the Immigration Office to open the following day so that we could get 30-day visas. It poured with rain all night and all the next morning.

Due to the heavy rainfall, Kodari had been isolated by a series of recent landslides. A local bus crammed with 70 passengers got 15km down the road to the nearest mudslide. Then we had to negotiate 5km of landslides, and rivers flowing through the mud, by foot, lugging our packs over the planks or wood or just wading through the water. It was slippery, muddy and very wet.

We passed a number of buildings that had been crushed by huge boulders (I bet that ruined their evening) and were being cleared by Nepalese construction crews. Since the road was completely blocked, Sherpas were hauling up boxes on their backs from the mile-long line of trucks that were backed up on the other side of the landslides. Here, we jumped on a local bus to Barahbise, where another local bus took us four hours south over the hills into the Kathmandu valley to the Nepalese capital.

I had rated (due to the excellent trekking), Nepal as my favourite country of the trip. We had spent two months here last Spring and never expected to be back. When we had previously arrived from India’s polluted and loud cities, we had found Kathmandu a much nicer place than expected. This time, coming from the completely un-urbanised Tibet, we found it a loud, crowded, grimy, polluted city - just like a real Indian city. Taxis, smoky rickshaws and bicycle rickshaws swamping the streets. It took us a little by surprise.

Since our last visit, Nepal had been going through a few problems. Most of the Royal Family had been killed by the heir apparent who took it upon himself to dismiss the Royal family’s dislike to his girlfriend by turning a submachine on them. The entire country went into weeks of mourning. I think that there is more to the story than that, but I have not kept up with the sorry tale. His brother survived the attack and was the new king, but pretty unpopular by all accounts. Something was being covered up and the people smelt something rotten in the state of Nepal.

In addition, a Communist political opposition party called the Maoists, had been stirring up trouble and forcing the government to heed to various demands (the worst of which, for me, was the banning of local Kathmandu beer. Now the only available beer was imported stuff at double the price).

There were continual protests, schools had been shut down, the army was on the streets and the smell of revolution was in the air. This had caused Nepalese tourism to take a nose-dive this year because of the threat of political instability. The 'Kathmandu Times' said that tourism was down 26% on last year. The locals all said it was more like 60%, which was squeezing them hard.

Indeed, the tourist stronghold of Thamel, where every other tourist and we hole up, seemed relatively empty against last year. We had, however, arrived a month before the major tourist trekking season starts in October. This was evident by the constant verbal assault by every hawker in town that approached us as we walked around the area - tiger balm, flutes, fiddles, daggers, chess sets, T-shirts, carpets, hashish, rickshaws, trekking, rafting etc. Everyone is quite polite about it "Tiger balm mister?" but it gets a bit grinding after 200 requests within a morning. There were far more grubby children begging for money or food on the streets.

That said, the tourists seemed to enjoy the cheap accommodation, western food and culture. Young Israelis were still the pre-dominant visitors, and due to their well known 'lowest possible' haggling tactics, were still hated by the Nepalese. Here’s one example. An Israeli made a phone call from our Internet café and then tried to get the amount reduced because "The guy on the line wouldn't stop talking". Get a life or get a wallet.

I had forgotten that Nepal was really just a tame extension of India. The colourful Indian culture was pleasing to see again - bustling crowded streets and local markets, people selling crap from the pavements, the women all dressed in saris, holy men trying to bless tourists etc. Against that, you have the incessant noise which starts at 5am - yelling, dogs barking, construction crews building new hotels, and the narrow lanes of Thamel filled with suicidal motorcyclists, smoking rickshaws and just a barrage of noise and fumes.

Thamel looked much the same, except that Internet cafes had taken over the place - like self-producing amoebae. They had replaced traditional souvenir shops, cafes, travel agents, and even our old photography shop where we had got our films developed cheaply. With all the competition, the hourly rates had dropped from 46p to 28p since last year, but they had also removed much of the character of the place.

It was nice to be back in familiar surroundings. Our hotel and internet cafe remembered us, as did a Nepalese man who ran a bakery in the local quarter of town and where we had become regulars of samosas, onion barjis, Nepalese cake and sweet milky tea.

We had 30 days of the trip left. Plenty of time to get sorted, do some trekking and generally prepare for a return to normality. So days passed with us catching up on email updates (60 hours worth), film development (50 films), new walking boots, shopping for souvenirs, buying cut price pirated CDs at £2.60 (60 bought), getting some decent reading material from the second hand bookshops, having embroidered T-shirts made and a couple of silk suits for my mother. Everything was negotiable and we were used to haggling.

Many of our previous Nepalese souvenirs that we had shipped home upon returning to India had been stolen en-route to England, so we had to re-buy the same stuff again. This time, we would be flying home and everything would be coming with us.

Often, we just wandered around taking in the loud street life. Since we had already visited all the sights, sightseeing was unnecessary, but I noted that admission charges had doubled and they were even charging to visit Durbar Square in Kathmandu, which was free last year.

One afternoon, we sneaked into Durbar Square via backstreets past security to see the 'initiation' ritual of the Virgin Princess. Kathmandu has a tradition of keeping a young girl holed up in a wooden palace until she reaches pubity. She gazes out of the window at the crowds, but is strictly off-limits to visits other than by her courtiers. A new girl was being installed at the same time as the end of the Indian 'car' festival - just an excuse to push large wooden chariots around the streets. Hundreds of soldiers and police hung around the area, keeping an eye on the enthusiastic locals. But just as it was starting, a massive rainstorm came down. Cats and dogs stuff. The streets filled with a foot of water within 30 minutes and without rainwear, we abandoned it and did Gene Kelly impressions all the way home.

The weather was very temperamental during our stay. The Indian monsoons were late leaving and beautiful sunny mornings developed into hot and sticky humid afternoons and crashing rainstorms that flooded the streets.

Foodwise, we returned regularly to our previous favourite places. The Nepalese bakery downtown, the Everest Steak House for the best and cheapest steak dinners I've even eaten (£2.30) and the western bakeries in Thamel that sold off everything half-price at 9pm which provided lots of pizza and donut gorging. With no TV in our room, we often took in a pirated DVD movie over a meal.

During our first week, we hunted around for a flight home on Oct 30th. We got price quotes and possible discounts from various Indian travel agents. When we went to book it up later, we discovered that they had, in typical Indian fashion, quoted the cheaper current price, and not the post Sept 10th price which rise dramatically for the peak season. In the end, we got an agent to ring every available airline and he came up with an Aeroflot flight to Moscow with a connection to London. It was the cheapest going and haggling for a 5% discount, undercut every other flight by at least $120.

After our first few days, our Tibetan road crew split up. Pierre and Lorna flew to Hong Kong, Mark and Annie went to Chitwan National Park, Shawn and Kate went white-water rafting and we went trekking.

Last year we had hiked the epic Everest Base Camp trail, then did the Jomson trail with my US buddy Patrick, who still hasn't forgiven me for the experience and I had pushed on to complete the Annapurna Circuit after Jomson. There are two more famous treks to do. For the first, we returned to Pokara to do the Annapurna Sanctuary Trek.

The road to Pokara had also been blocked by landslides, but had been cleared by the time we set off along the twisty narrow roads, over the lush green hills and valleys. I counted four bus crashes during the seven-hour journey.

Pokara is Nepal's second largest town and looked worse than ever. The Lakeside tourist area still had its main street dug up - a muddy mess of potholes and puddles, which wasn’t improved by the incessant, rain. For such a beautiful location by a lake and surrounded by snow-topped mountains, it was a really unattractive place. Internet cafes had swarmed into town but at 4p a minute, they were empty of tourists. In fact, most of the town was tourist free. We saw one hotel sign that offered "Prices for all kinds of suit pockets". Our hotel owner recognised us from last year.

In Pokara, we purchased the ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) entrance permit which had doubled in price to nearly £19. We discovered later that the new king's son, who has yet to be knighted a prince, is now in charge of ACAP and has raised the price, while creaming off 75% of the takings to finance his western lifestyle of women, drugs and cars. He is not the most popular person in Nepal. We found the trail the worst maintained that we had seen in Nepal. It was obvious that none of the permit money was being used to improve it. There were only two police checkpoints en route to check our permit and one could easily have been avoided.

The Lonely Planet Guidebook introduces the Annapurna Sanctuary trek as "a spectacular short trek (10 days return) to the Annapurna Base Camp. Though it has some steep climbs, it is not difficult. The trek transverses a variety of terrains, from lowland villages and rice terraces to glaciers and offers outstanding high mountain views. You are surrounded by Himalayan peaks without climbing to high altitudes". Essentially it is a lot of climbing up and down valleys followed by a gradual ascent into the mountains.

We were used to trekking and knew the tricks: carry as little as possible and take lots of chocolate bars, peanuts and biscuits. I didn't even bother with a sleeping bag, just a fleece liner. As always I drank the local water at the villages. Jo used iodine tablets. For the next few days, we would be completely cut off from the rest of the world, holing up in basic lodges for the night and eating the plain but nourishing trail meals. Prices for rooms and food would increase dramatically every day that you were further from civilisation. There are no roads on the trek, so everything is carried in on horseback or human backs. Since our trekking last year, the cost of rooms and food had more than doubled.

On a clear sky-blue morning, the surrounding snow-capped peaks around Pokara looked outstanding. We caught a local bus to Phedi, (1080m), 20km away, where the trail began with thousands of steep stone stairs up through a forest. I helped carry some luggage for an over-burdened local Nepalese girl heading for her village. It was a hot sunny day and I sweated like a pig. By the time we reached the attractive village of Dhampas (1580m) on a ridge, the valley below was already misted over. We continued to ascend a muddy forested trail to Pothana (1870m). We saw cows covered in leeches, but we were spared. There were only ten other trekkers on the trail and we passed them all.

At 2010m, we reached the top of a hill to have no views of the mountains around us, but a wide vista of rice terraces stretching down the valley sides to the river. We descended down the other steep side and crossed a side river on a suspension bridge and entered the main Modi Khola Valley at Tolka (1710m). At the local school, we could hear the schoolchildren singing their hearts out. Armies of others would chase us around asking for "sweets" and "pens, mister".

Tolka was another tidy but strung out village, with some unusual oval shaped stone buildings with thatched roofs. The trail continued to drop again to the flagstone streets of Landrung, a Gurung village at 1550m and our first night. We found a lodge with a splendid view of the valley from our basic double room. After six hours of pretty much continuous walking, a kettle of hot ginger tea revived us. Every other trekker checked into the same lodge. Safety in numbers? The washing facility was a cold tap.

Everyone was up early with the sun. We had spectacular views of Hiunchuli and Annapurna South - gigantic snow capped mountains whose summits gradually cleared of wispy white clouds. We were off by 7am and didn't see the other trekkers until we were on our way back. The trail descended from Landrung onto a wet muddy trail by the river. The leeches were abundant and the tiny specimens attached themselves to our boots. Jo had used sticking plasters to seal up the tops of her boots, but still threw 'panic attacks' when she saw them. The secret is to just keep walking quickly, but they were tenacious bastards. I burnt one off my leg and at a clearing had to remove twenty of them from my boots. You can rub tobacco or salt on your skin to keep them at bay, but where is the fun in that?

Trekking along the bottom of the valley, we passed more rice terraces, forests and crossed over recent landslides and waterfalls. We had lost a lot of height reaching New Bridge at 1340m, and then, leaving the leeches, had to climb back up a steep muddy trail to Jhinu Danda at 1600m and then an even steeper climb to Chhomrong at 2040m. It gets pretty tiresome gaining and losing and re-gaining height on a regular basis.

So far, the weather today had been humid but overcast. At Chhomrong, it bucketed down with rain and we holed up, after 4 hours walking, for an extended lunchbreak. Omelettes, Tibetan bread and milky tea were always our cheap favourite. By the time the rain stopped, we had lost over 2 hours and visibility was zero in the rain and mist. Many horse-trains passed through the village (the last and highest permanent settlement in this area of mountains), with heavy packs of supplies on their backs (kerosene, gas bottles etc), bells around their necks and the lead horses had traditional headwear of plumes of red/pink feathers sticking up. The altitude is too low for yak culture. The villages were full of Gorkas rather than Sherpas. Many told us that their grandfathers and fathers had fought for the British army.

Once the rain stopped, we pushed on in drizzle, down into another valley to cross the river on a swaying suspension bridge and then climbed steeply back up the other side into forests of bamboo, rhododendron and oak. The badly maintained trail was just mud. Many locals wearing flip-flops, were carrying bamboo baskets on their backs full of supplies or heavy collections of long bamboo that they had just cut.

We climbed up and down steep narrow muddy trails to Sinuwa (2250m), up higher to Kuldi (2350m) and then back down to Bamboo Lodge at 2190m. The entire day had been climbing and descending. En route, we heard a barking deer, which sounded like a cow trying to clear its throat. Bamboo Lodge was just a collection of four basic lodges surrounded by a steep, oak covered forest on both sides of the narrow valley, waterfalls cascading above it and the noisy rush of the river below it. It was cold and damp, but a cold tap shower was still refreshing. A candle was our only light.

It was another miserable day. Jo's legs were tired and she climbed the steep trails like one of the 'Thunderbirds' puppets. We ascended through more forests, over muddy landslides and a pretty awful, unmaintained trail. Then traversed high above the roaring glacial Modi Khola River with long waterfalls tumbling down the steep valley sides. The mountaintops were still shrouded in mist. Rickety old wooden bridges or just narrow logs got us over more landslides, which were cut through by rivers.

By Hinko (2960m), mist was chasing us up the valley and then it just poured with rain. It took a lot of convincing to keep Jo going. Above Deorali, the valley widened into the actual Sanctuary and became less steep. It looked like the Scottish highlands apart from the massive landslides.

Around late lunchtime after six hours walking, we reached the Machhapuchhare Base Camp at 3480m. We holed up in a lodge run by a friendly Gourka woman. We were the only lodgers. We had covered the first 4 days in only 2 and a half. But with the rain lashing down, there was nothing to do except hole up for the rest of the day. Our landlady told us that the lodge owners had to clear the trails themselves because ACAP's money was going to the Prince. She had also had so much trouble with Israeli trekkers that she had banned them from her lodge. It was nice to have the place to ourselves and I ate large portions of tunafish/cheese/fried potatoes and garlic soup. Trail food is pretty basic but filling. But everything is far more expensive because it is hauled up on porters' backs. It was cold and wet outside, but we were sheltered from the elements in our sleeping bags and extra eiderdowns. There was a sign outside which said "Do not throw your litter - hither and thither!".

It continued to pour with rain all night, but when I arose at dawn, the skies had cleared. Jo couldn't be bothered to get out of her sleeping bag, so I set off with just my camera to the Annapurna Base Camp which lay an hour (for me) further up the valley at 3900m. From here, I had (for a scant 15 minutes before the mist descended), stupendous views of the panorama of Himalayan peaks. Annapurna 1 (8091m), Annapurna III (7555m), Gangapurna (7454m) and Machhapuchhare (6997m). The snow-capped mountains looked majestic and had been worth the toil. I felt lucky to have actually seen them in the dreadful weather.

Returning to the lodge, Jo had pigged out on porridge and Tibetan bread, ready for the descent. As we left, our buxom lodge owner was off to the squat toilet (and water bucket) with a large white toilet roll. "Water too cold", she laughed.

We walked back down the familiar route, which was even muddier from all the rain and churned up by more trekkers heading upwards. As we descended, we passed the trekkers we had met on the first day on their way up. The rain started again. The weather was the worst possible for trekking. The mist filled the valley. No more views. Just the roar of the river beneath us. There was no point in hanging around and we pushed on to Chhomrong, after killer stone staircases down into a side valley and up to the town, which lay on a ridge. The lodge had electricity, free hot showers (luxury!) and much cheaper food than further up in the valley. There were even spectacular views of the ice capped peaks which were lit up by the orange sunset.

Dawn revealed another clear day and we had wonderful views of Annapurna South and Machhapuchhare ('FishTailed' Mountain). Now we could see how it had got its name. Our aim today was to finish the trek and get back to the road where a bus could take us to Pokara. There was a lot of up and down. Descending valley slopes, crossing a river and climbing back up the other side. The local villages had slate roofed houses and fields of potatoes and wheat as well as the usual rice terraces. It was a beautiful sunny day like the first day of our trek and the Nepalese scenery looked wonderful.

Endless lines of horses carrying supplies on their backs passed us and forced us into the bushes off the narrow trail. We didn't argue with their size or determination to climb the hills. The local people, dressed in traditional clothing were out in their smallholds tending the crops, and loved having their photos taken. Sweaty groups of Israelis passed us heading up the valley with their Nepalese guides. For young people, they didn't look very fit. They had all hired porters to carry their backpacks and still had to rest continually. One porter asked us for money telling us that the Israelis were not paying him enough. The increase in food prices on the trails was apparently also affecting the porters who depend on the tourists.

After four hours of walking, we completed a final sweaty climb up to Ghandruk (1940m). Ghandruk was a large Guring village, a confusing cluster of closely spaced, slate roofed houses, with hundreds of sweetcorn hanging from the rafters, or broken up and left to dry on wicker mats in the courtyards. From here, it was all downhill. But not for the porters carrying up cages of live chickens and hens. These were 4 tier wire cages, hanging off their backs with headbands to take the weight pressure around the forehead. Each tier had at least 8 hens in them. It looked bloody hard work. You try carrying 32 hens on your back up 2000m with just a headband!

Our legs had lost their spring, but we ploughed on over flagstone paving, back down past the rice terraces and finally arrived at Nuya Pool (1340m) around 3.30pm. We had completed the 10-day trek in less than five days, but boy, did our bodies know about it. On the road, there was a local bus waiting and as we boarded, it thundered down with rain. We climbed up and down the twisting road which soon flooded, but reached Pokara just in time for a powercut.

That night we watched 'Pearl Harbour' at a video café while enjoying garlic steak and beer. The price of beer on the treks is extortionate so it is always a 'drying out' period. So much the better, when you finish a trek and can reward yourself afterwards. I looked tanned and trimmer from my ordeal. Jo just looked slaughtered and said "Never again".

The following day, we caught a bus back to Kathmandu. There were lots of army checks, trying to suss out Maoists sympathisers, but noone bothered the ignorant tourists. Landslides were still being cleared off the roads and at one point there was a 3-mile traffic jam, but our bus driver just overtook every truck on the road, oblivious to the corners and got us past it.

So, we're back in Kathmandu and I'm walking down the street that night and I see special editions of 'Time' and 'Newsweek' with photos of the New York Twin Towers in flames. I do a double take. What's going on? We discover that in our absence, 6 days before, while on our first day's trekking, the USA has been hit big time. And we never knew. It's that isolated when you're trekking. Checking my email, I find a host of messages saying World War Three is about to break out and to "get your ass back to the UK - NOW!". Friends were insisting, don't fly Aeroflot, you are doomed.

We holed up in Kathmandu for a few days, recovering and generally vegging out. At our hotel, we moved into a room with a TV, which had 3 movie channels, CNN and BBC World News to catch up with the events. But I have still to see any footage of the event, which was apparently "unreal". The biggest event of the year and I missed it. Doh!

I was restless and in the last week fancied one more trek. "You're on your own" Jo concluded, "I'm not moving". So early one morning, I boarded a local bus to Dhunche to tackle my final trek - the 'Langtang'.

The 10-hour journey up towards the Tibetan border, was the most spectacular I had done in Nepal. An endless twisting run up through the valleys with sheer drop-offs and towering rice valleys which were better than the Chinese ones I had seen. It was the most twisting, nerve-wracking road I could remember negotiating. The bus was packed and I was sitting in the bus driver's cab (which holds about 8 people). An Indian girl was stretched out over the engine covering next to the driver. She suddenly rose and threw up all over the driver and the dashboard. Which was nice.

Surprisingly, the driver laughed it off. He stopped the bus, let her get some air, poured a bucket of water over the dashboard and stuck fragrant leaves up his nostrils to avoid the vomit smell from around his feet. We had sealed roads up to Trisuli, an awful smell of vomit and then it was the road to hell. An endless, unsealed climb up 42km of fierce switchbacks that had the bus struggling to cope. The bus filled up with so many locals en route, that I ended up climbing onto the roof with about 30 others where cages of shitting, clucking hens were my companions. It’s the 'Chicken Express'! Then it poured with rain. So I'm stuck up on the roof in my raincoat/hat and chicken shit running out of the cages next to me. The journey just seemed to go on forever.

About 10km from Dhunche, a landslide had destroyed the road. We had to leave the bus, grab our luggage and climb a few hundred feet up through the mud with dozens of porters all carrying supplies (including the cages of hens from my bus roof) from the stranded trucks. Another bus took us to the army checkpoint at the entrance of the Langtang National Park to check our bags, got us to fill in 3 books of personal details and issued us with a trekking permit. From here, I walked into Dhunche (1950m) about 10 minutes away.

I couldn't believe the journey had taken 10 hours. It was exhausting. The good news was that accommodation in the Langtang was free. The lodges made their money from the food you ate. I was actually surprised that other tourists were here. Langtang is usually seen as the poorer cousin of the other more famous treks, which we had previously completed. There was another powercut during my dinner of garlic soup, mixed chowmein and milk tea which became my staple diet.

Langtang is a narrow valley that lies just south of the Tibetan border. It is sandwiched between the main Himalayan range to the north and a slightly lower range of snowy peaks to the south. Langtang Lirung (7246m) dominates the valley to the north, Gang Chhenpo (6388m) and Naya Kangri (5846m) lie to the south and Dorje Lakpa (6966m) protects the east end of the valley.

Tamang people whose religious practices, language and dress are more similar to the Tibetans than Nepalese inhabit this high and isolated region. According to legend, a lama (holy man) following a runaway yak, discovered the valley. 'Lang' is Tibetan for Yak and 'Teng' means to follow. Not that I saw any yaks on this trek. The Langtang trek takes eight days according to the guidebook. I had less than a week before my flight home. Travelling with the bare essentials, I decided to go for it!

Consequently, I was off and walking by 6am the next morning. It started with a descent from Dhunche to the Trisuli River and then a climb along a dirt road to a ridge at 1800m. Pine and rhododendron forests kept me company up to a ridge at 2300m and into the Langtang Valley. There were no views of the mountains. The peaks were all covered in mist.

It took 4 hours to reach the pleasant village of Syabru at 2100m, and I was sweating heavily in the sunshine. Dropping below the village, through terraced fields, there were more forests of oak, maple and bamboo. A steep muddy descent took me back down to 1550m. The real killer of trekking is all the ups and downs. Just when you think you are gaining in altitude, you drop down, lose a few hundred metres and then have to climb back up to reach the level you were originally at. And I hate walking downhill. I walk uphill much faster with no pressure on the knees.

The trail continued up to Bamboo Lodge at 1850m, as I followed the roaring glacial Langtang Khola, which plunged through the narrow valley. Crossing a suspension bridge at 2000m and climbing up the steep trail on the other side, the forests were of scrub oak and much drier. One of Jo's reasons for not doing this trek, was the threat of leeches, but I didn't see any.

It was an endless climb uphill past enormous landslides that showered the steep valley sides, to Changtang (Lama Hotel), a set of picturesque, if touristy lodges offering a German bakery. It was 2pm and I'd been going non-stop for eight hours. The sun was still shining, but there were still no views of the mountaintops. It was too early to stop. So I pushed on. An hour out of Changtang, my body was on autopilot. The soles of my feet hurt (my new boots needed insoles) and the threat of blisters loomed.

At the village of Ghora Tabela (3000m), it began to pour with rain. At the army checkpoint to inspect my permit, the soldier told me that it was two hours to Langtang. It was 4pm and I had two hours until darkness. I just kept pushing on. Isolated lodge owners would invite me to stay, but as the valley opened up and the ascents became more gradual, I spotted the village of Langtang (3500m) in the distance. It seemed to take an age to reach, but I pulled in at 6pm. I had walked for 12 hours with maybe 20 minutes of food/waterstops and had covered nearly half the trail in one day. I don't know how many thousands of metres I had ascended and descended today, but it was more than you want to know.

Suffice to say, I was shattered but pleased to have got so far. My lodge had no electricity, but a warm stove and gaslight. Four German tourists who had taken three days to do the same journey and were suffering slightly from altitude, looked at me as if I was mad. Washing facilities were, er, basic. I grabbed the waterhose outside and washed off my sweaty body in the dark. After endless mugs of hot tea, garlic soup and chowmein, I was asleep by 8pm in my candle-lit room.

Dawn revealed a spectacularly clear view of the valley and mountains. I was off by 6.30am and had an easy walk to Kyanjin Gompa, 90 minutes away up the valley. My legs were ok, but the soles of my feet were on fire. Large square Chortens and Mani walls (Buddhist artefacts similar to the ones we had seen on the Everest Base Camp trek) dominated the valley. The local women who wore bright red skirts and striped aprons, were out picking baskets full of root vegetables. Other porters, in bare feet or flip-flops, hauled up 10ft planks of wood (eight of them) on their backs for new lodges being built. Other posses of porters carried hug piles of firewood in bundles. I still maintain that the Nepalese mountain people (and the Tibetans) are the toughest race of people I have every come across. Even with their heavy loads, and heads bent down with the weight, they would still take time to reply to my greeting of "Namaste" with hands held in prayer.

Kyanjin Gompa (3800m) was a pleasant small village of white and blue painted wooden lodges. The Langtang Valley looked a cross between the Scottish Highlands and Switzerland, except that it was 4 times as high as Scotland and the surrounding peaks were six times as high as Scotland's finest. From here, I had a spectacular 180-degree panoramic view of the Himalayas and Langtang Lirang (7246m) with a vast white glacier at the foot of its slopes.

At this point I had a dilemma. I had thought about ascending up the Ganja La, a 5106m pass over into the Helambu region. But the locals had told me that without a guide, warm weather gear and camping stuff, the distances to the nearest villages were well beyond what even I could tackle. I still fancied climbing up to the pass and back down again but after an hour of fruitlessly trying to find the unmarked trail and a returning burning sensation to the soles of my feet, I admitted defeat. I cut my losses and started the long descent back down the valley.

Even with two pairs of socks, my feet were really sore. I wasn't sure how far I'd get but decided to enjoy the beautiful sunny day with marvellous views of the valley and stop when I'd had enough. Once I got into my stride and ignored my feet, I covered the kilometres in good time. I reached Chantang (Lama Hotel) around 1.30pm, but still felt fit enough to push on. I came across an Aussie couple who, almost disbelieving the amount of kilometres I had covered in one and a half days suggested that I could probably make it back to a village called Syrbrubesi at the end of the valley.

By mid afternoon, the mist began to fill the valley. By 4pm, I was only two hours from Syrbrubesi, which saved me climbing up back up to Syabru and staying the night there. A series of winding stone staircases took me up and around the end of the valley and I rolled into town just as darkness appeared. I had walked for nearly another 12 hours and completed the entire trek in two days.

The Hotel Lhasa provided electricity, cold shower and mugs of hot milky tea. To say I was exhausted was rather an understatement but I was pleased to have completed all the major treks in Nepal.

Syrbrubesi (1420m) lay 30km further down the dirt track road from Dhunche. A 7am local bus set off for Kathmandu daily and I managed to get a seat at the back. It was another terrible journey of 11 hours. We set off up around the valleys where the skies were clear and I could see the entire range of snow capped mountains at the end of the Langtang Valley. Next to the dirt track the steep valley sides plunged below the bus. It took two grinding hours in first gear to reach Dhunche. I felt that it would have been quicker to walk.

It was very cramped in the bus. I had an Indian youth next to me with an oversized bag, which lay, over my lap, along with mine. Behind me, four Israeli girls gabbled loudly in Hebrew non-stop for the entire journey. (What's Hebrew for "Will you please give it a rest?"). Their packs lay in the aisle next to me, so I couldn't stretch my legs. The seats were rock hard and my knees were bruised from all the crashing into the seat in front. A truly awful journey and the last major bus ride I was to make on this two year journey.

After Dhunche, we all clambered out to negotiate the muddy landslide again and board another bus at the other end. More cramped condition, gabbling Israelis and painful knees, local men continually clearing their throats and spitting out of the windows, which soon closed when people on the roof of the bus threw up and it ran down the windows next to our faces. It took another age to crawl down the 42km of dirt track switchbacks. Once back on sealed road at Trisuli, our bus driver decided to tackle the single lane of twisting curves as fast as possible. Horn blaring, we would just pile around blind corners. I had to hold onto a support bar just to stay stable. There were at least four army security checks en route and locals’ bags were searched and their reading material examined. It was such a relief to see smoggy Kathmandu in the valley below us. Arriving at 5.30pm, it had been one of the worse bus rides of the trip. The only bus ride I'd be getting from now on was to the airport!

The final few days in Kathmandu were spent vegging out, watching movies, reading and buying final souvenirs. I think I was ready to come home. The month in Nepal had forced us to stop moving and get used to mundane life again in readiness for the UK.

I still like Nepal. I find the people some of the friendliest and politest you'll ever met. The mountains are absolutely spectacular and trekking is superb. But it has definitely changed since my last visit. The army/security present is much heavier and the economy is suffering. Still, for all its problems, I've never met a tourist who disliked like the country. I'd still rate it as one of my favourite places.

On the evening of Day 699, we caught a 9pm Aeroflot flight to London on a very dubious flight plan. We flew over Pakistan and arrived in Sharjah in the United Arab Emirates four hours later. The runway must have been 40’C at 1am. It was sweltering. A 3am (local time) flight took us north over Iraq and you guessed it, Afghanistan, to Moscow. I was surprised that we managed to cover the dodgy Muslim airspace all in one night! Aeroflot didn’t even offer vodka to the economy passengers ( a new low), but the planes were on time and we didn’t crash or get shot at. We arrived in Moscow at 8am (local time) and sat around until 11.30am for the final flight home to London, arriving at 1pm. My parents were there to meet me. Which was nice. It had been 24 hours since we left the hotel in Kathmandu. 700 days and 25 countries and territories later, it was all over.

Travel - £317.12 (included Flight to London)
Accommodation - £30.12
Food - £123.57
Other - £408.45
Total - £879.26

Grand Total - £14028.56