Kathmandu (Thats Pronounced Katmandoo)
As a child of the 60's, Kathmadu (pronounced katmandoo) was a mystical place where hippies dared to dream. It was the end of the "Hippie Trail" where dope was cheap, legal and no hassles' man. Today it is the poster child for the third world. Our entrance into the city from the airport was an eye opener. Far from mystical, it was teeming with people and cars, with bikes, motorcycles and scooters outnumbering the cars 50 to one. Driving through potholed and twisting lanes that veered in all directions with open ditches for storm drains and if my nose was working, sometimes sewage.
This all could have been over whelming for someone coming from the west but as we had just arrived from China, it was a slow day in Beijing for us. Our hotel was located in the old Thamel (pronounced Tamel) district of Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo). Once a mecca to hippies, now home to trekking outfitters, souvenir shops, sketchy hotels and hostels. It is populated with tourists, hikers, trekkers and really old ex-pat hippies. These old hippies could be spotted miles away, with their long, grey and thinning hair worn in scraggly pony tails, wearing tie dyed tee shirts and enough musk oil to keep mosquitoes at bay. Living up to its past, we were often approached by locals whispering "Do you want to buy some ?". The purchase was always left unsaid and if they weren't selling ? then they were selling Tiger Balm, the cure-all for everything including flatulence, if you can believe everything the label says. Rub it on and watch it work. We did however manage to find several healthy crops of ? along the way which would have allowed us to cut out the middle man.
Only one evening to enjoy the ambiance as we left the next day for a two night, three day trek into the wilder, yet tamer parts of Nepal. It was the rainy season and a ten day trek to Everest sleeping in tents along the way, was not gonna happen so a two day hike with a warm hotel rooms at the end of the day seemed like a good compromise.
So with our guide Raj, we drove about three hours outside Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo) to a temple who's name eludes me. Way too many temples on this trip. This was to be the start of our hike. The road to the temple was little more than a mud track and we spent more time walking than riding so the under carriage of the car could clear the muddy tracks that made up the road.
For the next three days we were treated to some wonderful as well as exciting moments On our second day, we had been traveling on a trail for about 2 hours when we found the trail had disappeared in a landslide of about 150 metres. We had two choices, back track 2 hours and find another route or make our way across the washout to the trail on the other side. This involved a traverse along a steep side hill with only small foot print steps made by the idiots who came before us to cross over on. In some cases we had to dig out our own steps to make it across as the gap between their steps was too far apart for a safe move. The ground was wet and slick and there was a small river rushing about 300 metres below us. Needless to say we were scared $hi+le$$ for the entire crossing and arrived to the other side breathless and our knees knocking. Death by laziness is a stupid way to go.
Luck was with us for most of the hike as we were spared having to deal with any torrential downpours. They only came at night when we were safely stowed in our hotels sipping the local beer. Our days were mostly dry or at most. marred by a light drizzle.
Lots of mud though along with some very nice and not so nice bridges. Nonie was a trooper and attacked each bridge with gusto and false bravado, singing her happy song as she wended her way slowly across to the other side.
Three days later we arrived at a small village where we were picked up and transported back to Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo). Along with the beautiful memories, I will also carry the scar from a slug who made a pig of himself sucking the little blood I have left. He some how found his way up onto my ankle under my pants and used me as a buffet till bloated, he dropped off somewhere along the way. Ahh, good times.
As a child of the 60's, Kathmadu (pronounced katmandoo) was a mystical place where hippies dared to dream. It was the end of the "Hippie Trail" where dope was cheap, legal and no hassles' man. Today it is the poster child for the third world. Our entrance into the city from the airport was an eye opener. Far from mystical, it was teeming with people and cars, with bikes, motorcycles and scooters outnumbering the cars 50 to one. Driving through potholed and twisting lanes that veered in all directions with open ditches for storm drains and if my nose was working, sometimes sewage. 
This all could have been over whelming for someone coming from the west but as we had just arrived from China, it was a slow day in Beijing for us. Our hotel was located in the old Thamel (pronounced Tamel) district of Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo). Once a mecca to hippies, now home to trekking outfitters, souvenir shops, sketchy hotels and hostels. It is populated with tourists, hikers, trekkers and really old ex-pat hippies. These old hippies could be spotted miles away, with their long, grey and thinning hair worn in scraggly pony tails, wearing tie dyed tee shirts and enough musk oil to keep mosquitoes at bay. Living up to its past, we were often approached by locals whispering "Do you want to buy some ?". The purchase was always left unsaid and if they weren't selling ? then they were selling Tiger Balm, the cure-all for everything including flatulence, if you can believe everything the label says. Rub it on and watch it work. We did however manage to find several healthy crops of ? along the way which would have allowed us to cut out the middle man. 
Only one evening to enjoy the ambiance as we left the next day for a two night, three day trek into the wilder, yet tamer parts of Nepal. It was the rainy season and a ten day trek to Everest sleeping in tents along the way, was not gonna happen so a two day hike with a warm hotel rooms at the end of the day seemed like a good compromise. 
So with our guide Raj, we drove about three hours outside Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo) to a temple who's name eludes me. Way too many temples on this trip. This was to be the start of our hike. The road to the temple was little more than a mud track and we spent more time walking than riding so the under carriage of the car could clear the muddy tracks that made up the road. 
For the next three days we were treated to some wonderful as well as exciting moments On our second day, we had been traveling on a trail for about 2 hours when we found the trail had disappeared in a landslide of about 150 metres. We had two choices, back track 2 hours and find another route or make our way across the washout to the trail on the other side. This involved a traverse along a steep side hill with only small foot print steps made by the idiots who came before us to cross over on. In some cases we had to dig out our own steps to make it across as the gap between their steps was too far apart for a safe move. The ground was wet and slick and there was a small river rushing about 300 metres below us. Needless to say we were scared $hi+le$$ for the entire crossing and arrived to the other side breathless and our knees knocking. Death by laziness is a stupid way to go.
Luck was with us for most of the hike as we were spared having to deal with any torrential downpours. They only came at night when we were safely stowed in our hotels sipping the local beer. Our days were mostly dry or at most. marred by a light drizzle.
Lots of mud though along with some very nice and not so nice bridges. Nonie was a trooper and attacked each bridge with gusto and false bravado, singing her happy song as she wended her way slowly across to the other side. 
Three days later we arrived at a small village where we were picked up and transported back to Kathmandu (pronounced Katmandoo). Along with the beautiful memories, I will also carry the scar from a slug who made a pig of himself sucking the little blood I have left. He some how found his way up onto my ankle under my pants and used me as a buffet till bloated, he dropped off somewhere along the way. Ahh, good times. 
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