Kathmandu (slight reprise)

Sorry for the theatric pause after the paragliding, it was slightly unintentional.

Paragliding was great, none of the initial buzz of Bungee or Skydiving as there is no moment where you take a giant leap for mankind. Instead you start running like hell down a hill (with poor attached Nepali guy running behind you) and gradually take off. Then the thermals on Sarangkot push you higher until you suddenly realise that the ground is a very long way below and all you have for protection is a small canopy above your head and a Nepali instructor who seemed to be quite stoned at the time.
Half of the reason for doing it in Pokhara is the fact that you can see the Annapurna range when you are in the air, but of course it was cloudy so all I could see was the vague outline of the lake below me. But then again at one stage an eagle came out of nowhere and started soaring beside us, which was quite amazing. Especially when he cocked his head to one side and threw a beady eye at us as if to say "what you doing in my airspace white boy".

Left Pokhara without having seen a single snow capped peak, except for the ones which are plastered on ever postcard around town, which I felt like destroying. Next stop Bandipur, a tiny hill top town on the way to Kathmandu. It promised great views of the Himalayas and the ride up from Dumre involved a small pickup truck and 18 people. 7 of which (including myself), stood on the back and hung on for dear life. The town itself is gorgeous, old Newari houses and a definite non-touristy vibe (something which unfortunately Pokhara cannot claim). So I spent the night in an ancient crumbling down house for the princely sum of 200 Rupees (2.50 Euros), complete with mini-wood balcony looking out over the valley. But the clouds once again got the better of me and no Himalayas were sticking their white summits out at me.

So back to Kathmandu the next day and in reverse "If Mohammed will not go to the mountain" style I decide to book myself on a mountain flight, which takes off in Kathmandu and flys up to Mt. Everest taking in 50% of the world's 8000m peaks on the way.
Had to be up at 5.30 am which proved to be quite difficult as I had partaken in one too many beverages the night before and had a head that felt like it had been kicked around by a Yeti and my mouth felt like a Yak had slept in in. Some how made it to Kathmandu domestic terminal which without doubt is the funniest airport in the world. It more resembled market day in a Nepali village than an airport. People were sprawled out all over the place, massive Sony TVs in boxes waited to be transported to some mountain village, a tea vendor lay cross legged in front of the checkin counter.
I checked in with my Buddha Air, which was reassuring as surely nothing could go wrong with an airline named after a Deity? Imagine flying with Allah Airlines, Krishna Carriers or even Jesus Jetways? The plane was tiny and was filled with a small group of Spaniards and 3 Obese Americans. I was quite sure one of the women would not fit in, but somehow she managed to squeeze in the door.
The safety drill was non existent, which I suppose was fairly logical as:
A) It's called "Buddha airlines", what could possibly go wrong?
B) Well if we do crash, you have 6 more lives
C) Let's face it, if we do go down, this is not the country to do it in, as flat level landing spaces are few and far between.
We took off in a jiffy and rose above the cloud cover, which just like a magician removing his hanky from a table to produce a dove, produced the most amazing row of jagged peaks as far as the eye could see. We flew eastward, catching some impressive peaks on the way, but the moment you see Everest is one of those goosepimple moments. It is just MASSIVE, it makes the other mountains (even Cho Oyo & Lhotse which are still 8000ers) look like molehills. It really does look like that if you put a ladder on Everest that you could climb into outer space.
It was all over too soon and it just left me with enough time to get another Chai and head back to bed to sleep off my hangover.

What could possibly go wrong #6 ?

Don't get me wrong, I'm having a great time, but the ironies of my travels are coming thick and heavy.
Left lovely Sauraha after 2 days, could have stayed there for weeks it was so laid back and friendly. With every person saying "Namaste" on the street, even with full on hand clasping.

It was onwards to Pokhara, which is only at 900m, but has stunning views of the western Himalayas, especially of the very scared Fish tail mountain - Machapuchare

Or should have. I've been here 30 hours and there has been non stop cloud covering it... But Pokhara is beautiful, situated on a lovely lake with forest all around it's western edge.

Today I decided to hike up the World Peace Pagoda which is situated on a peak 1100m on a peak on the western side of the lake. Took a lovely walk through Pokhara, crossed a damn and then proceeded head long into a jungle. I kinda lost sight of the very erratic signs and soon I was completely lost in this jungle, but hey it was bright, I had water and my knee was nearly useable. I played boyscout and searched for paths (always heading up, which was a good start) and after an hour or so I managed to find a fairly worn looking trail. Marched along that for a while and suddenly out of nowhere a little kid appeared asking if I has seen his buffalo. I had to disappoint him, but did mention that there were at least 10 walking around downtown Pokhara. I walked on and realised that I had lost the trail, 20 minutes later the boy popped out of nowhere (again) and said "you lost". I didn't want to admit to a little 8 year old that I had no clue where I was but I kind of motioned that he could show me the way if he wanted. He scampered back the way, hopped up some rocks (leaving me panting in his wake) and lead me up a small trail. Upon which some yellow wasps the size of private jets decided I was an invader in their territory and stung (stang?) me on the arm, thumb and leg. The pain was something else. He told me to run, which was a little overdemanding for my knee, but I did a good impression of the Hunchback of Notre Damn and jogged crab like behind him. Seconds later we were out in a clearing, where some enterprising Nepalis has set up a refreshment stand.
I flopped onto the ground ordered a coke a took my runners off. Only to find at least 10 leeches munching on my ankles and tootsies. So between waves of wasp pain and plucking leeches off myself I sipped my coke and wondered what else could possibly happen...

Going Paragliding tomorrow...

:-)

What could possibly go wrong #5 ?

After my rafting & Kathmandu shennanigans it was time to drop some altitude and hunt some animals in the Royal Chitwan National Park. Woke up in Kathmandu at 6am, hobbled to the bus park and had a nice game of hide and seek with my bus, which was one of about 80 and had no english signs on it. A hop skip and a bump (lots of bumps, in fact Nepali roads make my previous favourites - the Cambodian, look downright Autobahnlike) down the road and we arrived 7 hours later (170km as the bus bumps) in the nearest village - Sauraha.
It's a lovely sleepy village on a river and it was time for sundowners at the riverside, which was replete with deck chairs and smiling waiters bringing ice cold Everest & Gorkha beers. Wonderful.

Living in these Asian countries one soon gets used to sleeping soon after the sun goes down and getting up more or less as the sun rises (and the 4000 cocks crow). So I was in bed by 8.30pm.

Woke up at 6am and made my way down to the elephant stand to get acquainted with my dumbo who was going to take me and 3 other Elephant jockeys and the mahoot into the jungle. My co-riders turned out to be a nice Dutch dude and a pair of chain smoking Slovakians. One doesn't just throw one's leg over an Elephant as their backs tend to be about 3 meters off the ground, so there was a nice flight of stairs and a platform to board the Elephant. We all had to sit in a 1m square and wrap our legs around the posts. Most uncomfortable.

We plooded off into the sunrise and soon found ourself in a very eerie & quiet jungle. Mist was rising off the river and moisture was dripping off the trees. I could smell a tiger. We bashed through trees, forded rivers, climbed through ravines, slurped through a marsh in which Nelly must have committed Frogicide as each massive footstep of hers caught a few sleeping Kermits by surprise.

The minutes ticked by and after half an hour the mahoot pointed something out. I tensed and turned my head.

A deer.

A small deer.

OK. Quiet start. Fast forward 30 minutes and we have seen a couple of butterflies, a veritable frog soup, another deer and some wild peacocks but otherwise zip, zilch, nada. No rhinos, no tigers, no leopards, no otters, not even a shagging monkey which are otherwise all over Nepal (including downtown Kathmandu). Probably the fact that the chain smoking Slovakians continued to do so on the Elephant didn't help. Not to mention the fact that the idiots threw their butts onto the ground.

The rocking & rolling in the elephant seat continued and towards the end we managed to see a crocodile lying with his mouth open, head out of the water, but about half a mile away. We trundled back to deboard the elephant and walked down with them to the river where we were allowed wash them, which to be honest made up for the lack of animal magic. Applying a nice pumice stone to behind an elephant's ear while he is lying blissfully in the water is something special.

What could possibly go wrong #4 ?

Well other than arriving in Kathmandu a day late and bashing my knee to bits, everything was going swimmingly.
One morning I took a cab to Bhaktapur had a look at some funky temples and then carried on up into the sky towards Nagarkot, which boasts the most amazing views of the Himalayas, including everest. After a tortuous journey, we made it to the Nagarkot ridge, I got out of the car, walked excitedely to the viewing deck only to be greeted by clouds, more clouds and even more shagging clouds.

A Week in Nepal

Just returned from an 8 day rafting expedition down the Sun Koshi river. 7 bravehardy souls and myself made up the motely crew, a raft of fools if you will. A trilingual doctor couple from the States, an Israeli Tankdriver who had just finished his army service (shocker), 2 cool French dudes (one whose English was non-existant, the other one was worse), a Japanese/Chinese/Hong Kongese girl, a young American raft guide chick and a dreadlocked Kayaker from Quebec.
The first day was lovely, just floating down this beautiful river, looking at the stunning mountains in the distance. At night we camped on the beaches by the river and the 3 lads from the gear raft would cook up a storm with minimal utensils. Day 2 saw the river get slightly unrulely to say the least. We had to scout one rapid, which involved throwing ourselves into a furious tributary and swimming across to the otherside. Only 5 meters across, but the water was so fast flowing that it was bloody difficult. I managed to smash my knee into a rock in the process and I have been hobbling ever since. We survived that rapid only to flip the boat on the next smaller one. American number one nearly drowned and dislocated his shoulder at the same time. Japanese girl managed to drink at least 0.01% of the Sun Koshi and was spluttering for hours afterwards.
Day 3 saw us encounter the Hakapur, which is the biggest rapid on the river. We scouted it from the sides and to be honest it was more like a clip out of "The perfect storm". I have never seen so much water move down a river so quickly. There was also a hole in the middle of the river in which you could have buried a small town. Our guide sent us down the left side and it was all looking great for about 1.2 seconds and then in a millisecond we lost half our crew as a tsumami hit the left side of the boat. They all left superman stylee as the were catapulted from the springy raft into the ice whirlpools. I managed to stay on along with the Guide, the American girl and one of the dynamic French duo. We were pummelled like Rocky smacking up a shoulder of cold pork for at least a minute (picking up the missing Frenchman on the way) and we flew out the other side unscathed to catch up with the survivors who were now hanging on to the safety Kayakers for dear life. They all look liked they had been put on a 100 degree white cotton wash with full spin cycle. Needless to say each one of them thought they were a goner. One puked, one cried... Ah, holidays... Beats Lanzarote any day :)
We managed through the next couple of days with no loss of life, well unless you count the chickens which we bought some nights from local villagers. They were dispatched with a nice Gurkha cleaver to the neck and now I truely know what "to run around like a headless chicken" means... The second last night saw us camp on a slightly low lying beach and after the usual beers (yes, even in the darkest depths of Nepal we had our beer) and some of the local Moonshine (Raksi) we all proceeded in an orderly manner to bed (8.30pm like clockwork). During the night it rained quite heavily and I awoke with the sun only to find half the kitchen missing. Yes indeed, the inflated floodwaters had made away with some buckets, a bunch of bananas, the kettle, 1 barrel of food, 2 tables and a full cylinder of gas... The Nepali guides were already up, boiling water in a big pot and dispatching local hill kids up to their villages to buy instant ramen noodles for lunch.
The last day saw us flip just for the hell of it and paddle out of the last canyon into the great nothern Indian floodplains. Not a hill in sight. A lovely cold shower, some of the usual Dahl Bhat, a couple of ice cold beers and we hopped merrily into the bus for the 16 hour bus ride back to Kathmandu. No suspension + bad roads + noisy bus + bad drivers = no sleep. Later.

What could possibly go wrong #3 ?

[It just gets better]
After a fitful sleep I awake unrefreshed and make my way down to le petit dejeuner. Shovel some salmon and cheese down my gob and hop on the Goddamn Hotel Bus From Hell (GHBFH) and get another free tour of CDG, before alighting at CDG Terminal 2E. No complaints, security are kind, even get frisked my a very cute Persian girl. Bonus. Air France lounge, opt for a beer this time to calm any ensuing stress. Board the plane on time, captain very suave tells us about the route he has prepared and how well his cabin staff are going to look after us. I'm sitting beside a twentysomething Indian, so I strike up a conversation. Turns out he lives in Melbourne and was just touring around Europe for the summer. Aha. We run through the gamut of conversation from Indian federalism to George Bush to the Euro passing briefly by Britney Spears, alighting on modern parenting and finally settling on Hinduism and Karma for in depth discussion. The trolley comes around, I order a beer, he a bloody Mary. Which he sends back with disgust, saying there is no tabasco or worstershire sauce in it. Karma indeed. I play chess and lose, nothing worse than getting beaten by a cocky Airbus I tell you.
Arrive into Delhi at 11pm, which as usual is a blast. Get a cab into town and start getting that "India feeling". Traffic is so chaotic that chaos seems pretty orderly in comparison, cows roam the streets, dogs shag on every street corner, people sleeping under bridges, on top of cars, in flowerbeds, otherwordly smells pervade the city. I love it.
My hotel is in Connaught place and they kindly held my reservation oevr. My room is a delight. There is a flat screen LCD TV out of the latest JVC catalog, but the bathroom looks like it was knocked together by 4 blind beggars (and probably was). Holes in the ceiling, lights half hanging out of the wall. Cockroach deterent in the drain. Sleep fitfully and wake up at 8am to make my way out to the airport to see if Air Sahara (why the hell are they called Air Sahara if they are in India) can rebook me on today's flight.
Indian airports have unamused military men at all entrances with big grave signs saying "No exit once checked in", but hey no problem, I'll make it. Air Sahara not in the airport yet, as the plane departs at 13:00. Settle down on the floor of the amazingly provincial Delhi airport, stick on my iPod and listen to some calming Zero 7 ("In the waiting line"), an hour later some lovely Air Sahara ladies arrive. I rush over and tell them my story. They look very concerned and tell me that I should come back in 90 miuntes when check in is nearly over, so they can tell me if there are any spare seats left. Resume causal sprawl on New Delhi's marble floor. 89 minutes later I go up to them with cheesiest of smiles this side of Cheddar, County Cheddar. She gives me an Indian shake of the head, which basically resembles one of those nodding dogs in the back of a car. She shakes it around the place like it is about to fall off her neck. She tells me to try Air India, which I do, only to be told the same story. Wait round till 40 minutes before departure and they can tell me.
I decide to give up and get the train instead (only 22 hours long). So I head to the exit, only to be told by the military man that I cannot exit. I tell him I missed my flight. He tells me to get Air Sahara to stamp my ticket. Air Sahara had 2 ladies at check in, who have both since pissed off and New Delhi International Airport is now completely void of Air Sahara employees. I explain this to him for at least 10 minutes after which he tells me to go to his boss at exit 1. Repeat story to unimpressed colonel of the Indian Army. She tells me to get the Airport Manager. You canot honestly believe how officious Indians are until you have met it first hand. There is no reasoning. No logic. So I leave her and go looking for Airport Manager. Ask first official looking person I see and he goes "Airport Manager, eh. Hmm. Well. I don't know". Looks like Delhi doesn't actually have an airport manager. At this stage i am contemplating eiher:
a) Just running out of the terminal at full speed when the doors open. Risking getting shot.
b) Waiting 24 hours till Air Sahara turn up for their daily flight to Kathmandu.
c) Throwing myself on the floor and having a hissy fit.
With that Indian airlines check in dude runs over to me and tells me they have a couple of seats left. All I need to do is go across the road to the ticket office................ I explain to him that they aren't letting me out of the building alive, so he escorts me to colonel nojoy and explains to her my predicament. After 5 miuntes of Hindi debating she flicks her head and I am free.
Squirt across the road, ticket office. Buy ticket. Run across road. Get new ticket analysed by same Colonel Needsaride. Checkin with about 12 seconds to go, and about 5 sweaty minutes later I am sitting in a delipidated 737 making my way up to Kathmandu.

So around about 52 hours after leaving Dublin I am sitting on top of the world, looking at the Himalayas, having a beer and wondering what all the fuss was about.

What could possibly go wrong #2 ?

[Glad you stuck around]
So. There I am. Sweating like a racehorse at Gate 84. Curse all Gods know to Hinduism and make my way to Customer services. Last in line, preceeded by lots of irate Spaniards and 2 bemused Americans, who need to make it back to Knoxville. Tempers flare but the girls behind the counter remain mega-cucumber. Strikes me as as one of the worst jobs on the planet (right behind sewerage worker in New Delhi) as you can never please anybody. At best you can defuse them, at worst you get 6 screaming Spaniards, telling you that they have to be in Miami in 12 hours time. Ha Ha.
Anyway, i'm cool, what the hell. I only have a flight booked to Kathmandu tomorrow morning. The girl shares her condolences, makes some light conversation about current meteorological conditions in Paris and tells me the best she can do is put me up in Paris for the night and stick me on the same flight tomorrow. She'll even throw in breakfast for free. Bargain. I thank her, put on puppy dog face and ask if she can upgrade me to business the next day, which she replies with a curt "Non".
I say my goodbyes and try to make my way out of the terminal, which involves multiple lifts, escalators, busses, travelators and other forms of transport. About an hour later I make it out of the gates of CDG and hop on the hotel bus.
Hotel Millenium was billed as a 350 dollar a night palace, but as expected turned out to be a dingy, communist-era-east-Berlin-bunker... Mail Oli (Master of the wonderful Pariser Buero(which translated from German means "Condom Office", oops.)), head to my room, turn on CNN, get depressed. Change to Fox get more depressed. Check rugby fixtures - none on tonight. Decide that Mona Lisa can save her enigmatic smile for another day and decide to have a nap after my hectic day. Wake up around 7pm and head down to the inhouse Irish bar for some liquid refreshment. Its happy hour so I have to drink two beers to get my money's worth. Oli has replied saying to give him a call when I am in Paris, so I make my way on to the complimentary hotel bus and get driven around shagging CDG again. Somehow the bloody thing manages to work its way around Terminal 2, A,B,D,C,F,E then to Terminal 1 and before I know it we are back in the hotel zone and we are sitting outside the frigging Millenium, 1 hour later. Realise I missed the stop for the train station and not willing to admit defeat I hop on the next bus. This time I find the stop for the train station, manage to purchase ticket after 3 attempts with my credit card and head bravely towards Chatelet.
I have Oli's telephone number gripped in my sweaty paws, but no mobile phone with me, but hey, no problem - that's what public telephones are for. Find one quite quickly only to discover that it doesn't accept anything so profane as "money". Only cards. Whip out Mr. Mastercard only to be told "There is a problem, please contact your credit card company". Well of course i'd fucking contact them, but I can't use this fuckety fuck telephone to do so. Try another 3 telephones. Same story. So I go to the nearest store to buy a telephone card, he tells me he doesn't sell them and I'll have to find the nearest Tabac, which he tells me is quite a bit away.
It's 10pm and I have been defeated by a combination of French Fog, French busses and French bloody telephones. So I go to the nearest Chinese restaurant, grab a plate of Chow Mein and a massive Heineken and head back to my hotel. Sorry Oli :(

Feck.

What could possibly go wrong #1 ?

The day couldn't have started better. Taxi driver calls on my mobile at 4.44am.
Beautiful run out to beautiful Dublin airport. Security queue shorter than usual. Air France lounge for the first time. "Neat dress essential", what the hell? I might have flown 42,000km with you over the last 10 months but you still want me to scrub up before I can enter your damn lounge?? They let me in despite my Jeans & T-Shirt, and the coffee was absolutely shite, should have gone for the cognac...
Board plane on the dot of 6.15. Everything looking tickedy boo. My 50 minute transfer time in Paris Charles de Gaulle (CDG, for those in the know of airport codes) looks like a piece of piss. Everyone boarded soon after. We're laughing. Sit around for a couple of minutes, start to squirm. Captain informs us that we will be delayed by 10-15 minutes due to "Air traffic control restrictions" (Those damn four words will kill me some day). 14.5 minutes later there is a knock on the airplane door (I kid you not, an actual knuckle rap on the doors of a 737), the door is opened and in walks a girl (slightly flustered, but not half flustered enough for the fact that she has opened the door of a "Boarding complete" aircraft).
Fast forward 15 minutes and the pilot comes on the radio (telling me more and more about some useless information) and informs us that there is fog in Paris and that our flight will now be delayed by 45 minutes. Positivity kicks in and I persuade myself that the pilot will fly faster, that because of the fog the Delhi flight will leave late etc. etc.
We fly off in to the great blue yonder round about three quarters of an hour later. In the meantime I am making some alternative plans:
* Rugby world cup match in Paris
* Always wanted to see the Mona Lisa in the Louvre
* Meet up with my mate Oli for some drinky poos

Paris one & a half hours later we land smoothly despite fog, pull up to the gate in Terminal 2E and I make like Carl Lewis and sprint through the terminal. My Delhi flight is leaving from 2F and the monitor is saying "Last call". Hope remains. Exit passport control. Thru customs. Enter passport control. Baggage check. 4 flights of stairs, 1 escalator. God smiles upon the brave, doesn't he?
I arrive at Gate 84 a mere 10 minutes after deplaning (anyone else hate that word?) to find a nice big "BOARDING CLOSED" sign.

Arse.

Better to be a cheater than an atheist

Pew Research has found out that of all characteristics, atheism is the one characteristic that is most frowned upon by the American voting public. Better to have cheated on your wife, taken drugs or not have a college education.

Quote of the Day

"Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow."
- Oscar Wilde

Boycott BP

I don't know who is worse, BP for asking to dump poison into a lake, or Indiana authorities for allowing it. Either way, fill up your car (if you must) somewhere other than BP -
BP gets OK to dump mercury into Lake Michigan

What the world is waiting for

The jump rope. Honestly humanity is doomed.

Portable Cycle Lane

Love this...