'A Teardrop on the face of Eternity' and other adventures.

It's been a while! I'm currently in Rishikesh. The temperature is much more bearable at a balmy 35 degrees and the mother ganga is only ever a few meters away to take an icy dip. Rishikesh is lovely...I am currently staying in a beautiful Ashram by the ganga in the hippy district of Laxmanjhula. Rishikesh splits into 5 main districts and Laxmanjhula is a buzzing colourful array of ashrams, shops, cafes, cows, wanering holy men and indian pilgrims…it is set in a stunning valley where the Ganga emerges from the Himalayas and meyanders down onto the Indian plains...It feels so good to be back in the Himalayas again, there's something about the feel of these hills that fills you with spirit and being on the hot, flat plains of Uttar Pradesh just didn’t feel the same. They feel timeless, they feel magical….and something about this holy river stirs an ancient feeling from up inside me. I feel like a pilgrim myself.

We spent about a week in Varanasi altogether. I could have happily spent a month there had the weather been more bearable, but it really was too hot to get anything much done. I feel as though I will be back. There were so many mazes of alleyways I never got to explore and the feeling of sitting down by the ghats at sunset with thousands of pilgrims worshipping all around is one I will find hard to match anywhere else. I was sad to leave, but time was ticking on and we had to get up and out of Uttar Pradesh before we wasted too much energy on the heat.

We took an overnight train to Agra in second class sleeper, and I learnt another valuble lesson in train journeys: never sleep on the bottom bunk. The view from the train was amazing and in the night time, Yvan and I sat smoking in the doorway, our legs hanging over the edge as we thundered across deserts and moors, the wind whipping past us at 70 miles an hour an and the moonlight bathing the huge horizon in front of us However, by the time we folded our bunks down to go to sleep I was tired of the relentless staring from the Indian men. I woke up in the night more than once to find a carriage full of men taking photographs of me and I've never spent a night so tense. Every bang and bump of the train woke me up and it was so hot, all I could do was lie there sweating, terrified i was going to get groped by the men who were piling in to sleep on the floor all around me.

We arrived in Agra battered and exhausted the next morning after 12 hours on the train and found a hotel very close to the Taj Mahal. From the rooftop restaurant you could see it's white teardopped dome and even from afar I could feel my hair standing up on end seeing it. After sitting down to some much needed food we set off out into Agra to organize our train tickets to Rishikesh and to go to see Agra Fort. Agra is a bit of a spin out, everyone, everywhere, is trying to sell you something, but unlike anywhere else I've been they are absolutely relentless. The town itself was huge and sprawling and hot and dusty and not particularly nice. It had a sense of an old capital that had fallen from grace, and the huge red fort stood between it and the sky. We had a few unpleasant run-ins with rickshaw drivers and I lost my rag with a few pushy touts...Eventually however we managed to buy our tickets to Delhi for the next day and Freya and I bought our tickets for the Taj Mahal. At 600 rupees the boys didn’t think it was worth it but I definitely did, it was quite annoying to learn that Indians only had to pay 12 rupees.

I was feeling really really sick by this point, having had the worst stomach cramps imaginable since arriving in Varanassi. I thought that they were heat cramps (apparently if you sweat too much you get heat cramps in your muscles) so was trying to just drink as many rehydration sachets as possible. A week of relentless stomach pain had really exhausted me though and after a few excursions out into Agra I ended up crumpling onto my bed in the hotel and staying there until the late afternoon. When I woke up Freya and I decided to head to the Taj Mahal. The heat of the day was passing and we thought the best time to view it would be from daylight to sunset. Believe me when I say it couldn't have been better.

The Ta Mahal was one of the most incredible things I've ever seen. I was completely expecting it to be an anticlimax considering the amount of hype surrounding it. I already have the image of it so imprinted on my mind from countless paintings, photographs, magazines and movies, I somehow didn’t realize what an impact it would make one me. But it really is the most perfect building ever made, it’s just unbelievable. We spent hours there, wandering around the stunning, peaceful gardens (peaceful apart from the hundreds of Indian tourists there clamoring to take our photographs, we seemed to attract more attention than the Taj!) As the sun set, we watched the marble of the Taj change colour from white to orange to pink as the sun moved lower in the sky. It’s an architectural masterpiece with so many optical illusions and incredible little touches that make it the ultimate 'monument to love'. For example, the whole thing is build in front of the Ganga, slightly raised above everything else, so the only thing you can see behind it is sky. It’s just amazing. Walking around on the marble was so hot though, and we had to take our shoes off so ended up hopping around like cats on a hot tin roof. If we had come in the daytime we would have died! Even the gardens and the water features and the minarets surrounding it were perfect. Th beautiful gate you walk through at the beginning present the Taj perfectly framed in the doorway and it just didn’t look real.It was stunning. It did feel as though we were the main attraction however, being low season we were the only non-indians there and although it was quite funny posing with family after family after family for “one snap?” (more like ten), by the end of the day we were pretty tired of it, and especially saying no to photos with Indian men. Apparently they like to take them to their friends and say that they slept with you, but are very persistent if you try to refuse. The Taj, however, was really the most magical experience and I am so glad I can now say I’ve seen one of the wonders of the world. It was totally worth the 600rs.

The next day we left Agra on another second class train to (gulp) Delhi. This one wasn’t a sleeper, but had incredibly uncomfortable wooden seats to sit on. At the start of the journey me and Freya were loving it, sitting opposite an Indian woman with the most beautiful smiley baby who we were pulling faces at. After hour 4 or 5 however, the carriage had filled to bursting with people. Myke and Yvan had seats on the other side to us and we were separated from our fake husbands by crowds and crowds of Indian men (sometimes it feels as if there just aren’t any women in India) All we could do was look out the window and try not to make eye contact with the carriage FULL of stares. Every pair of eyes was fixed on us for the whole journey and it was not a good feeling at all. As the carriage got even more crowded we ended up having men standing all around us and all you could do was try to sleep and not pay attention to it. However, after shutting our eyes for a few minutes the next thing we knew everyone was shouting and Yvan was stood up getting in the face of a man next to us, shouting at him. It turned out while we were snoozing these Indian guys had been making gestures towards us and everyone in the carriage had been laughing, luckily for us our Swiss protector had been there and making a scene like that seemed to get the message across that they ought to respect us the way we have tried to respect them.

The journey into Delhi was crazy though. For maybe 1 - 2 hours before arriving, we were going through suburb after suburb after suburb. It really is HUGE. And the scale of the shanty towns surrounding it is horrific. I wanted to film some of the sights I saw because it really was unbelievable but the thought of getting a camera out was just unimaginable. There were people living in landfill sites, living under motorways, in slums the size of towns, and just...argh. it was mad. When we arrived in Delhi I was quite relieved at the ease with which we made our connection. All I had heard about Delhi was horror stories, but the new metro system had just been completed ad that meant we didn’t have brave the crazed rickshaw wallahs. Finding our way to the underground station, it was as if we were in London or something. It was so clean and quick and even, dare I say, efficient! It cost us 6rs to get all the way across the city we didn’t have any hassel at all. When we arrived at the coach station the boys flopped down in a big lazy heap and Freya and I spent hours organizing our transport to Rishikesh. Being a woman does pay off in moments like this, because we got put straight to the front of every heaving queue and had managers from the coach station carrying our bags and trying to help us every way they could. We managed to find a tourist bus for just a little more than a local one, and it had air conditioning! What a lucury. In the afternoon we hopped on this bus to Hridwar and then it took 8 hours to there. When we arrived it was the middle of the night and in the darkness we managed to find a Vikshram (a sort of glorified auto rickshaw with a little cage on the back to sit in) for 50km to Rishikesh. Rumbling through the darkness we passed candle lit towns and jungle where signs announced that 'elephants had right of way'. It was so exciting getting away from the big cities and out into the hills again and we couldn’t stop smiling with anticipation. When we arrived in Rishikesh town, we had to leave our Vikshram and walk across a huge rope brige over the roaring Ganga and into the sleeping settlement of Laxmanhjula. Luckily we found a guesthouse that was open at night, and we were finally here, back in the magical Himalayas.

Our time in Rishikesh so far has been amazing. We spent the first 4 nights in a threadbare btu relaxed and hippyish hotel, with a huge stone courtyard covered in paintings and political slogans right by a huge temple. There were loads of interesting travellers staying there too, and they introduced us to Freedom Café, the local haunt for Laxmanjhulas traveller community, ironically named as it seems everyone gets totally stuck there (us included). In the morning we go there for a lemon nana (like a lemon juice slush puppy full of mint,) and to meet all the lovely friends we have made. Then the whole café full of people goes out for the day and spends it relaxing on the wite sandy beaches of the Ganga, swimming, exploring the town and surrounding hills, making music and returning to Freedom to while away the evening chatting and laughing, jamming out till the sun comes up.

On one of our first nights we got invited to a full moon party on the beach and made lots of new friends. One called Miles is from Hudderfield but is moving to Bristol when he goes home, and another lovely girl called Rose, is from New Zealand but is moving to Bristol after India too! Its crazy meeting people here who have connections like this with your life back home. Miles has even been to an Avalaf night! Another night we all went to our Mexican friends’ flat to watch the football and ended up having a party with about 20 of us squashed in this tiny room going world cup crazy, it was so much fun. We made some really special friends that night and now we are all living together in a huge Ashram called Shri Sant Sewa by the river. Me and Freya have got a room next door to our friends Theo and Barney, and we are also down the hall from Miles, Rose has a room nearby and Miles and Yvan are just down the road at Bombay Guest House. We have yoga classes held next to our room at 7.30 in the morning and then after breakfast it’s off to Freedom cafe to meet everyone else for the day. Rishikesh is amazing, there are so many interesting Babas (holy men) everywhere and so many incredibly cool travellers. We've met so many people and had such a giggle. It’s so nice to be somewhere where alcohol is illegal too, because everyone has such a good connection when we sit around jamming in the evening. It’s a nice break from the booze related craziness of Kathmandu and I feel so healthy getting up so early every day.

Today we are heading out on a trek up to the Beatles Ashram. It’s high on a nearby hill and is where the Beatles came to stay with the Maharishi in the 60s and where they wrote a lot of the white album. Nowadays it’s a crumbling ruin of crazy old buildings overgrown with jungle and I can’t wait to explore it.

Soon I will get some photos up. I will try and call home too. But yesterday I spent 500rs on a sim card that can’t even call international number. I’m planning on doing maybe three days of yoga then heading to Chandigarh to see this amazing garden everyone keeps talking about. Then it’s up and away to the high north to visit Manali, Dharamasala and wherever else the mood takes me. Theo and Barny have recommended to me the 'fairy forest,' a tiny hidden place in the Pavarti Valley. I'm so happy here, but I can’t wait to keep moving on. I’m halfway through already and it’s unbelievable, its going so so quickly.

I think I will be leaving a huge part of myself behind in Rishikesh, and I will be very surprised if something doesn’t pull me back this way in the future. Anyway, I'll write more in a few days before I leave, I’m sure we will have many more adventures before then.

The Feeling of Fifty Degrees

Namaste. I'm currently in Varanassi. The temperature today is 48 degrees. It feels a bit like when you stick your head in an oven, except its relentless, and even in the shade it’s so humid it isn't any help whatsoever. Last me and Yvan took the temperature of our guest house. It was the middle of the night and we were sat under the fan- it was 39 degrees. When we crossed the border at Nepal I was actually contemplating not coming to Varanassi at all. It was so hot it was unbearable and we knew it was going to get so much hotter. I had heard people in Utter Pradesh were actually dying because it was so hot and I was really considering striking it from my itinery, but I must say I’m very impressed with my bodies ability to adapt, because I thought it would be much more traumatic than this. At the moment every time I have a sip of water, I down a whole 2 litre bottle, and by taking a cold shower every couple of hours and lying under the fan, the midday heat is just about bearable. The main problem is night, when the temperature doesnt drop in the slightest, but the electricity cuts out, and so does the fan. Then, all you can do is lieon the bed panting and trying to somehow forget that its so hot it actually hurts. I woke up the other morning because my nostrils were burning, the air was so hot it was hurting to breathe through my nose, and if we leave bottles of water in contact with the guesthouse floor, by the time you pick it up to take a sip, it is literally the temperature of Chai.

The advantages of being in Varanassi at this time of year are pretty clear though. I got the impression it was going to be chaos, with beggars, pilgrims, touts and people everywhere, but because of the heat the crowds are much smaller, and the touts can’t be bothered to hassle you, everybody is just slumped in the shade fanning themselves. I never thought a city could make as much of an impact on me as Varanasi has, but believe me when I say it is breathtaking. I feel like, as long as I live, this will be one of the places I remember longer than any other. Really, it’s just…..I can’t find the words.

What has happened since I last wrote? Myke and Freya left Kathmandu, whilst me and Yvan stayed. So on our last day there, Yvan and I took a trip to the ancient city of Panauti. It was incredible, and I don't think they got many tourists because we were followed by giggling children and curious stares everywhere we went. The whole place seemed as though it hadn't aged in hundreds of years: tiny temples stood around a holy river confluence and villagers sat around in the shade playing chess. We played with some local children, helped a little boy to fly a kite, and talked with a local man about football and politics in a tiny walled garden full of flowers...On our last day in Kathmandu we did some last minute shopping around the city and said goodbye to the place. It was so hot I had a bit of a funny turn in the daytime and had to be rickshawed back to the hotel, and in the early evening we took our last taxi to the Indian embassy to get on an incredibly rusty old bus that would take us to the border.

I won't go into too much detail about the journey from Kathmandu to here, because I would rather erase it from my memory. It basically consisted of, in succession, a host of some of the worst journeys I have ever experienced. Firstly we took a 12 hour night bus to the border, where the crazed driver nt only sped down unlit mountain roads at breakneck speed, he also didn’t sleep for the whole journey, and drove right on until morning. The headlights kept cutting out, the lorrys were overtaking us on unlit corners and tiny winding roads and all I could see from the window was absolute darkness. I was quite glad I couldn’t see the drops that I knew were plummeting from the road into the valleys.

The border crossing itself also horrific. We hadn’t eaten for 20 hours and hadn’t slept either on the bus jouney. I was sick as a dog and when we arrived in the dsty town of Sonauli we were instantly ripped off by a horrible rickshaw driver who harassed us until we took his rickshaw, and then tried to charge us in indian rupees instead of Nepali rupees. I ended upo completely losing my rag with him, and told him he could either take the money we agreed on or not take anything at all. When he protested I slugged my heavy bag on and screamed at him that I would bloody walk then, and nearly punched the guy as he followed us all the way to india demanding money. In the end I threw 50 rupees at his feet and told him that he should be greatful for receiving that, and when we finally flopped down in the shade of the indian visa office we were interrogated by police for over an hour. It was hotter than I have ever been up to that point, and as I got groped and interrogated by the officers and they casually flicked through all of my photographs and belongings, I could feel myself about to crack. Finally, we gout our passports stamped and were bundled onto a bus full of staring indian men, where we travelled a grueling 6 hour journey to the flyblown hell hole that is Gorakphur. On the bus journey I was the only woman, and the only white woman, and spent the whole time avoiding penetrating stares and trying to stop the boy to my right from groping me. Halfway there the bus lost an axe; and it took an hou for it to get moving again. When we arrived in the chaos of Gorakphur the ground was so hot it was burning my feet through the soles of my shoes, and I have never felt staring so intense. Everywhere we walked men stared, and there was no women in sight. It was not the nicest introduction to India.

We spent 6 hours waiting with no food for a train, and when it turned up, the only seats free were in second class unreserved. That basically consisted of a cage full of indian men, and by this point there was not a hhope in hell I was getting in there with them. So, Yvan and I then had to drag our bags back through Gorakphur again to try and find a room for the night. It took us nearly 3 hours of climbing steps upto guesthouses only to be told there was no room. It was agonizing. Very time we climbed back down the steps to the street hoardes of men would be stood around laughting at us. By this point I was too tired to care.

Finally, we found a room for 600rs, and it looked like something out of a horror movie – but what could we do. We got a few hours sleep then had to get up at 4am to book a new train ticket. The train arrived at 5:30am and then rumbled through the indian countryside for 6 hours in the hot wind and dust, where we were crammed with our bags in between carriage full of sleeping people. When we arrived in Varanassi we were exhausted to the point of tears. The rickshaw mafia instantly tried to rip us off and we nearly had a fight with one guy who refused to take us to our hotel, telling us it had burnt down. Then when he dropped us off it was mils from our hotel and we got completely lost in the labirynth of alleyways that makes up the Gaudalia area of Varanassi. It was SO hot, and we staggered around the streets in the midday sun, until finally a little boy lead us to our guesthouse, our savior. After heaving ourselves up 4 dlights of steps we finally collapsed in the apartment Myke and Freya had sorted out for the four of us, and we had made it.

It says a lot about India that even despite this hellish journey I have been absolutely captivated by the people here. I was expecting India to be traumatic and oppressive in the extreme, but it is a place of paradox upon paradox. It’s very strange. Half the people just stare stare stare, and when you say namaste they just give you a solemn frown and stare some more. In some places I have felt extremely uncomfortable; men have been pushing up against me, looking me up and down, staring, staring some more, talking quite happily to Yvan about me as if I wasn’t there, and putting their hand up to me when I try and talk. However, the other half of the time, we are taken by the hand and shown the most incredible hospitality. People have been going so far out of their way to help us, showing us the city, helping us book train tickets, or just simply wanting to talk about our country and theirs. I keep expecting people to ask for a rupee after showing us the sights for an hour, and then I feel so guilty when I realize they were just being genuine. They are such a proud people and their willingness to welcome us into their country is something I really wasn't expecting, it’s amazing.

An aspect I've found harder to deal with is how different the women are, though. I have not once been returned a namaste from any Indian women, and their solemn stares follow me everywhere. They don’t seem to have any sort of right to talk to strangers and it's the men who have been showing us around. Last night, me and Myke got interviewed by a news channel down by the Ganges, and the men who wanted to ask me some questions first when and asked Mykes permission to talk to me, unbelievable!

But less about all of this, what about Varanassi? Well at the moment we are staying in the most beautiful little guest house right by the burning Ghats, it is a tiny family run place with just me, Myke, Freya, Yvan and our Finnish friend Emmi staying in a little top floor flat together. The family below are so sweet and friendly and sleep on the roof every night to stay cool, always making us space for if we want to sleep with them under the stars. We are staying in the 'old city' which reminds me a little of Venice. It’s a magical labyrinth of tiny alleyways, pilgrims, little shops selling incense and offerings, tiny underground cafes, rooftop terraces, and a LOT of cows. It’s such a wonderland to get lost in. Then nearby it opens out onto the Ghats, the holy steps where pilgrims come to bathe and worship along the Ganga. I've never been anywhere so atmospheric, pilgrims perfrom Puja, cremate loved ones, pray, make offerings...Touts follow you around trying to sell you boat rides, children try to sell you candles to float in the water and masseurs try to ply their trade. There are holy men everywhere and elderly people living out their final days by the waterside. Last night we went and sat down by one of the main ghats and watched an incredible festival take place. There were thousands of pilgrims everywhere, and being low season we were the only tourists. Flags fluttered along the waterside and mantras sung by the most heavenly Indian voice rang out from speakers mounted on all the towers, across the river, through clouds of incense and cremation smoke, with bells ringing and pilgrims lining every step. Candles floated on the water and the river was full of boats when the sun set, and I was moved to tears more than once by the whole spectacle, I’ve never seen anything like it. I felt so lucky to be there, and to see the good side of religion for once. I’m so used to hearing about all the corruption and segregation it brings, and to see these thousands upon thousands of people brought together filled me with hope. And like I said, me and Myke were on T.V. Some news channel that was filming the festival came and trained cameras on us, asking us what we thought of the festival, Varanassi, and everything. I said that I felt very lucky to be able to see it and that it was incredible people had been coming here for so long, united by faith, but Ii didn't really know what to say! I'm not sure if we will be able to see it but it was on a channel called India news, maybe it will be on an internet archive somewhere.

Today I am sat in a cafe on a roof near the burning ghats...a bit later we are going to take a boat along the river to watch the sun set over the city, but at the moment its too hot to go outside. In the day all you can do is try to sit it out, but in the evening is when the place really comes to life. We have spent them relaxing in tiny underground cafes of whirring fans, where bare footed old men play classical Indian music late into the night. It’s just magical. That said, we are only going to stay a little while longer in Varanassi because it’s just too hot to do anything. If it was cooler I could happily get lost in these alleyways for weeks, but my itinery just doesn’t have the space right now. I know I will be back though, this place has totally enchanted me, and is probably the one I will take away the most memory from. It’s totally humbling being here, really.

Tomorrow we are going to try and book another train that will take ius to Agra. Time to do the tourist thing and see the Taj Mahal. Then it will be on to Rishikesh, where hopefully the weather should be more bearable. I will write more then.

Namaste xxxx

Bus-top to Bandipur and exploring the Kathmandu Valley

You'll have to excuse my spelling on this entry. I'm currently sat in a internet cafe in Kathmandu with a classica Nepali keyboard balanced on my lap. The keys are falling off and not only have the letters been written on in tippex they have been written on wrong. Luckily for me I can remember where the letters normally go, but the whole set up isn’t idea J

So last time I wrote we were leaving Pokhrara. Yet again I left it a little too long without writing a blog so i have a lot to catch up on.

The journey to Bandipur was my favourite journey so far. We were all so sad to be leaving our new home from home, and on the morning of the 13^th, we finally checked out of the Butterfly Lodge and Myke, Freya, Yvan and I made our way to the local bus park (basically a strip of dusty road with a load of buses crammed onto it). After some seriously hardcore arguing with a lot of nepali taxi drivers and bus conductors (one of which i actually had to fight my luggage off of when he dragged it onto his bus and tried to drive off) we finally bargained a local bus to take us to Dumre. It was so ridiculously hot and looking inside the crowded bus it didn't look so pleasant. So, breaking a hell of a lot of innate rules about how no to die travelling across asia we slung our bas onto the roof and climbed ontop of the bus. It was the most epic journey I've made in a long time....We clung on to the railings as the bus thundered up mountain, across valleys of paddi fields and through bustling bazaar towns. With the wind in our hair we had the most incredible view of Nepal I have ever seen. When we first started off I was clinging on for dear life and as we rattled up the narrow passes it was hard not to think we might be moments from plummeting to our deaths. However, after a couple of hours flew b, we were all sunbathing on the roof, shouting namaste to local kids, hypnotised by the views of mountains and fields of flowers as the bus carried us through lush green countryside. The time flew by before we knew it we had reached Dumre. Dumre gave us our first glimpse into Indian-style hustling and we struggled to strike a deal with any of the local jeep-drivers to take us to Bandipur. They refused point blank and laughed at us as we sat sweating in the road, the sun beating down on our heavy bags, and they gestured for us to take a rickety local bus. I point blank refused, seeing the tiny crumbling path that wound its way up to Bandipur, no bus could possibly maneuver up that. Finally, after a lot of bartering we managed to secure a ride with a banged up old jeep, and after throwing us and our bags in a cage on the back, the driver began to take us up the mountain, around terrifying hairpins and up and up to where the tiny hamlet of Bandipur was nestled on a hilltop.

Bandipur wins hands down the award for the most beautiful place I’ve seen in my lifetime. The complete opposite to pokhara, it was completely unchanged by time or tourism. The tiny brown buildings tinkled with bells and the little cobbled streets wound around the hillside, free from litter, cars, noise and full of children playing, elderly locals playing chess, flowers, chickens and goats. It was a real Newari hamlet, and the people greeted us with friendly Namastes and curious stares. The views from our guesthouse (a tiny tumbledown newari house with bucket wash facilities and rickety wooden stairs) was of the whole valley, tipped with mountains and with literally thousands of swallows swooping about before the sunset. I have never in all my life been anywhere so peaceful.

Our time in Bandipur was spent walking around the village, playing with the children, exploring the hills around. My fondest memories are of waking up in the early mornin to the sound of children playing, women sweeping the perfect village square clean, sitting out on the street watching the locals doing their sewing...We would have breakfast on tiny wooden balconies that overhung the paddy fields full of flowers, looking down over the misty valley, listening to the morning bells ringing. One night we walked out from the hamlet and up to a nearby hill to look at the stars. The four of us sat there for hours looking up a entire galaxies, ive never seen the sky so bright. Another day we trekked out of the village and up and over the hills, throught tiny settlements of Newari houses, over the other side and down through the thick forest to a huge cave a few hours away. After exploring the cave we trekked down into the valley through orchards of lime trees and into a little village. We sat in the shade with the locals sipping cold bottles of coke after our exhausting walk. Afterwards we walked to the river to take a dip surrounded by hemp bushes and happy little goats, before htch hiking back to Dumre. Unfortunately on this day, the jeep drivers in Dumre were even more unhelpful than the last time, and we got drawn into quite a heated argument with one of them who refuse point blank to take us anywhere for the price we had been given the time before. Finally we found a bus and decided it was the only way we would get home, so we climbed aboard and held on with white knuckles as a bus the size of, well, any normal bus, wound its way up hairpin turns that were too narrow for a rickshaw. Inside the bus, however, the crackling Nepali music turned the journey into just another magical one, and I sat on the backseats with Yvan playing with the local children and trying to ignore the sheer cliffs that plummered outside the window.

In Bandipur we formed a close group of friends with some other travellers; Freddie, a lovely Swiss punk and his girlfriend Benedict from France. We also met Lena, a German girl and the seven of us spent the days and the evenings enjyin each other’s company in the peaceful village square. When the time came to leave we decided to journey back to Kathmandu together, and it was quite a journey indeed..

We had wanted to ride again on the roof of a local bus, because the area we were in was so ridiculously humid being crammed in with all our bags would be unbearable. However, on the morning of leaving, we had got up too late to catch it, so we piled into a minibus full of Nepali people and were on our way. After traveling for an hour or so we started driving along some seriously crazy roads (minibus drivers are even faster and more death defying than the bus drivers), and on one corner we passed the local bus we would have got in the morning, smashed nearly in half with a head on collision with a lorry. I felt like I was going to be sick as we slowed down to drive past the wreckage. We would have been on the roof. I coulsn’t actually believe it.

As we neared the Kathmandu valley, we hit a traffic jam. And it was a traffic jam like i've never seen before. It baking hot, we had no water, no air conditioning: Freya, Benedict, Lena and I sat on the back seats of the bus cooking, whilst Yvan tried to keep spirits up in the front playing his guitar. The road in front of us as gridlocked as far as we could say in a long, long winding road all the way around a mountain. Nothing was moving, and it was 35 degrees. Every half an hour or so the traffic wold lurch forward a few hundred yards, but as we finally crawled around the road to the end of the hillside, the hairpin turn would reveal another road stretching out just a far, exactly the same. For 5 hours, we barely moved. It was absolutely the most intense traffic jam I have ever seen, and it was lucky that we met some people we could buy water off in the traffic. Finally the air began to taste more and more foul and the noise and beeping grew and grew…as the traffic widened to a beeping, honking mass of noise and pollution, I realized we were back. Back in the noise and the chaos of the Kathmandu we had left so long ago.

Coming back to Kathmandu much more of a shock than I thought it would be. Arriving here from Delhi, the heat, the sounds and the smell never occured to me, but comin back from Pokhar, Mt Panchasse and the timeless beauty of Bandipur, it felt like a kich in the teeth and was really hard to take. After rumbling down the road for just a few minutes my contact lenses were already , itchy with the dust and when we slugged our bags out of the minibus along a death defying highway into the city centre, the noise was unbearable. A child was kissing my feet and asking for money, his mother tuggin at my arm and begging in Nepali, taxi drivers and minubus drivers tried to take our bags and shouted at us that the bus we wanted for Freak Street didn’t exist. We had to practically fight our way across the main road to find the right bus. However, after a couple more bus journeys we were back in Thamel, the tourist capital (it seems) of the world, and it looked so different after seeing the real Nepal.

We headed back to Freak street. Thamel was just too noisy, and Freya, Myke, Yvan and I checked in at a threadbare but clean hotel for 100rs a night (about a pound). For the past few days we have been staying there, leaving our big bags and taking trips out for the day, returning at night. We had a few day in Kathmandu being tourists and regaining our strength, and a few days exploring the older Nepali parts of Kathmandu, which were insane. It was much more how I imagined India to be: people people people, in every direction, pushing past, trying to sell you stuff, beggars on the floor, street kids sniffing glue. One day we were followed by a young Nepali guy who was part of some sort of Kathmandu mafia, asking for protection money. He followed us back to our hotel armed with a massive bamboo pole and luckily for us, the crowded place meant when Yvan squared up to him and told him to leave us alone he moved on. It was pretty scary though. Kathmandu also has world cup fever, which is pretty funny, and on the opening night of the world cup we all piled into a sheesha bar and cheered on the match with the locals. They love it! Now we are back in Kathmanu again after a trip to a place called Dhulikhel which was fantastic. (Kathmandu has a weird magnetic power a lot of people have commented on) .

A couple of days ago we left our bags in Freak Street and with a little bag of clothes each and some money we fought our way across town to catch a local bus to Bhaktapur. Bhaktapur is a sort of ancient redbrick medieval town in the Kathmandu valley, but we soon learnt that we had to pay 700rs to enter, which we couldn't afford. We were originally planning to go to Nagarkot, where you could view a panoramic view of the Himalayas with Everest as it’s wind torn crown. However, as we sat in a cafe in Bhaktapur, we decided Dhulikhel, a 'perfectly preserved newari town with views to rival nagarkot'. Sounded less touristy. So, we changed our plans and found a local bus that would take us there.

Our bus journey took us into the far east of the Kathmandu valley where the views were amazing and the air was clear. On the way we passed a huge golden statue of Shiva atop a hill that must have stood over a hundred meters high. Then our bus climbed higher into the hills to Dhulikhel, where we spent a while exploring the town and trying to find a cheap guesthouse. The town however, seemed to have become something of a boomtown, and we were struggling to find a guesthouse cheap enough and far enough away from the bustle. Every place we found seemed to look down onto the busy main road, and the sunrise walk that we had come here for was miles away.

After a while exploing Dhulikhel however, we were accosted by a friendly tibetan man on a motorbike trying to sell us the usual guesthouse story. We had had enough of the guesthouse spiel, so began to walk away, when he shouted, “100 rupeees!" We stopped in our tracks. "How far away is this guest house?" we asked. “40 minutes walk,” he replied. So there was a catch. "So no sunrise walk?" we asked. “No, no…it is the start of the sunrise walk, and you can even see the sunrise from the rooftop,” he explained. It all seemed too good to be true. “How much commission do you get for us taking us to the door, then?" but he said, “It's my guesthouse.” We looked at each other. It seemed too good to be true, and as much as the guy seemed very genuine, I was aware that in Nepal, when something seems too good to be true, it normally is. But what other options did we have? For a hundred rupees, we would have an adventure at least. So, we broke all the backpackers rules and got on the back of 2 complete strangers' motorbikes to be driven out into the wilderness. I am so glad we did.

Prem, who introduced himself as we drove along, was something of an entrepreneur He had helped build a local school for the children and this hotel was his new venture. It had not been open long but he seeemed desperate to prove how good it was. I was feeling skeptical, but as we drove further and further away from Dhulikhel and into the hills, the views started to change my mind. It was stunning. We rumbled up a long dirt path and eventually came to a huge house that looked as if it had only just been built. Covered with tibetan prayer flags, it stood atop a hill surrounded by a quaint village. This was Prem's hotel. It seemed too good to be true, but in actual fact we were just really lucky. Prem was the nicest guy, and his hotel and family were amazing. Our stay with him was an absolute joy, and he made us feel like guests in his home.

His wife cooked for us, he bought us cold beers ans we sat on the roof watching the monsoon in the far away hills. The children in the village came and sang to us, and his little boy even took us on a walk through the local village, down to a stupa in the woods and on a walk around the surrounding area. In the evening we all sat together drinking home made Raxi (millet wine) by candlelight. The view from the roof was amazing, there were stars lighting up the sky all the way out to the mountains and the lights of a thousand lantens flickered on the hills opposite and through the village below.

Yesterday morning we woke u at 5am to catch the sun rise over the peaks. The view was too misty to see Everest, butit was still an amazing view. We were up before the rooster started crowing, and when it did, the village below began to ring out with the chanting of the villagers, the prayer flags fluttering around our feet.

Then yesterday we went on one last trek. We left Prem's house early to walk to a place called Nammaboudah. There was a monastry and a stupa there commemorating the buddah who fed himself to s starving lion in the surrounding hills. We walked for an hour to a small village where we sat with the locals sharpening knives and smoking some of their local hashish, and then continued up some incredibly steep and dusty paths. It dawned on me how just a few hours travelled can make such a difference to the weather. In contrast to the stormy Pokhara, here there was no rain, in contrast to Bandipur, where the humidity was something like 80%, in Dhulikhel it was dry, so the dappled sunlight was very effective in providing relief from the midday sun. However, after walking for a little while more, we realized that we had left all our water back at the first village. This could spell disaster. It was so incredibly hot, and we had no idea how much longer we had to walk to get to Nammaboudah. We walked, parched up dustier and dustier hillsides, that seemed to be held together by nothing by marijuana plants and tree roots. A couple of friendly Nepali boys began walking with us too, and when we told them we had been walking for two hours, they told us they had just walked 5 hours from school.

Soon the lacking in water was beginning to feel like quite a real worry. My mouth was like sandpaper and I was feeling so dizzy, how long would it be before we found water in this dusty landscape? However, soon a huge lorry came rumbling up the path behind us. Yvan ran alongside it, flagging it down, and the irnmediately the driver gestured for us all to hop on. He was going to Nammaboudah! We all piled in the back and clung on for dear life as the huge metal truck rattled through potholes and flung us around as it climbed along the mountain sides. I have never felt such an adrenaline rush from a journey. The noise was incredible and we were all covered in cement dust by the time we arrived in Nammaboudah over an hour later. It was clear if we had walked it would have taken us the whole day, if not longer, and without water it might have been disastarous. I was so greatful we had jumped aboard when we did, it seemed we were incredibly lucky once again, and when we arrived in Nammaboudah it was in style.

We spent the day exploring the temple and the monastary which was amazing, but my camera running out of battery meant I didn’t get a single photograph. The ancient building was stood atop a sheer hill and there were so many prayer flags wrapped around it it seemed to be fluttering in the wind. As we climbed the steps up to the temple,elderly tibeten women sat about the courtyards, smoking, covered in gold, and thousands of prayer flags fluttered in the trees. The sound of chanting echoed all around and we sat in the shade, listening to the wind and the chanting, the tinkle of prayer flags and insence on the wind. At the stupa below, hundreds of photographs and portraits of deceased loved ones had been hung along the Cliffside, and I sat and watched from a tiny café as a Tibetan woman crawled on her hands and knees in pilgrimage around the stupa. Apparently some of them do it all the way to Lhasa in Tibet taking ten, twenty years sometimes. Incredible,

Later in the day we made our way back down through a forest and began to walk to the next town, a timeless hamlet that looked just like Hobbiton. The walk took hours and it felt as though there wssn’t a soul around, it wss so isolated and when we got lost I felt sure this time there wouldn’t be a lorry to come and pick us up. Eventually we managed to find our way through a steep valley and followed a river to a tiny town where a bus stood waiting. We hopped aboard and asked the driver when it was leaving. He said “3 o clock.” And the time was 3:20. Nepali timekeeping always tickles me pink, and we ended up sitting aboard smoking for over an hour until it finally began to rumble the rest of the journey down into the plains of the Kathmandu Valley again.

The adventure to Dhulikhel had been an epic one; in twenty four hours we has travelled by bus, on the back of a stranger’s motorbike, had hiked through mountains, hitchhiked on the back of a lorry and taken a crazy local bus. When we arrived back in Freak Street we were exhausted and very much in need of a shower. We spent the evening relaxing in the rooftop restaurant near our guesthouse, as the dogs barked and rickshaws beeped quietly below. It was good to be back.

Around this point our plans began to change, because our researching into different rafting operators was making it apparent how expensive ten days rafting the Sun Koshi would be. It was going to cost about 260 pounds, and as much as that sort of experience would be worth the money, that amount of cash would also suffice for most of the trip if I kept it for other uses. We would also have to pay for a visa extension, so decided that we would try to stick with our original visa dates and get out of the country by the 19^th. , giving us just a few days left in Nepal. Freya and Myke are planning on leaving tomorrow but Yvan has to stay another day to organize his Indian visa and I would really like to visit a place we passed on our journey back from Dhulikhel called Pinauti. So, Yvan and I are going to leave on Friday. We are planning on taking a night bus from Kathmandu to Sounali (a dusty border town), in order to cross the border by Saturday morning. Then we will take a coach to Gorakhpur, and make a connection there with a train to Varanassi. At Varanassi we will be meeting Freya and Myke, and then it's India all the way.

I'm feeling apprehensive about entering India after all the hustle and hassle we have been experiencing in the past week. As much as I think it has given me a good introduction to what India will be like I’m also guessing nothing will be able to prepare me for what a lot have people have described to me as being 'the single hardest place for a woman to travel.’ Moreover, I just checked the weather report for Varanassi and when we arrive on Sunday the weather is going to be 46'c, with 'sunny spells'. I can’t even begin to imagine heat like that.

Well, it's taken me 2 hours to write this blog on a broken keyboard and I want to visit the 'garden of dreams' outside of town so I had better make tracks. Next time I write I will be in India, and I'm sure there will be lots to tell. Namaste from Nepal for the last time, it will be heartbreaking leaving this place.

Sadhana Yoga

So I have come to the end of my time in Pokhara. So much has happened since my last post it will be hard to be concise...

After my last post I said goodbye to Myke and off I went to Sadhana Yoga Retreat, Nepali flute in hand, rucksack on my back, taking my first solo taxi to an ambiguous looking lane. I sweated and panted my way up the rocky roads, scrambled up and up past silent villages and staring children to where a building was nestled in the hillside. Huge hemp bushed covered the hillside and I climbed through the overgrown jungle where ants covered my feet. I seriously hoped I was going in the right direction, but as I reached the front yard a Nepali woman motioned at me to enter through a little doorway, and I found myself in a homely kitchen, Chiya bubbling on the stove. Without a word, the woman took my bags and gestured for me to follow her through the building. I was led out into a bright, sunny courtyard, where a long dinner table lay laiden with empty thali plates and glasses. In the wicker chairs surrounding it was other evidence of a whole host of inhabitants, and from the floors high above I could hear what sounded like a dozen people chanting. Swallowing hard, I took a seat at the table, and wondered what would be in store for me when whoever was chanting had finished. But before I could find out, another equally sweaty and confused looking girl came marching in. She must have been just behind me on the path, and we exchanged an anxious smile. The two of use sat around the long table in the courtyard drinking herbal tea, taking the whole thing in. The retreat was stunning. set atop a huge hill overlooking the lake. It was painted bright orange and lime green and in the courtyard outside was a long table, lots of wicker chairs. The Didi told us that the huge thermos on the table would be "always be full of herbal tea. No matter what." And before long we were joined by everyone else as the afternoon yoga class finished. I was introduced to Durga, the beautiful smiling wife of the yoga teacher Asanga. Katy, the girl who me and Myke befriended on our bus journey to Pokhara was there, and so were about 15 other beautiful, smiling people. After exchanging some friendly formalities with the group, Durga led Nikki and I by the hand, through the courtyard and down some steps into a little secluded garden. A little row of huts stood between the flowers overlooking the edge of the cliff. This would be hour home for the week, and through our little Nepali home, and a host of run-ins with enormous spiders, Nikki and I became close as could be in no time.

Every day, the ashram would be woken at 5am for morning pre-meditation exercised and meditation, then for a brisk walk across the surrounding hills, and herbal tea back at the ashram. Then we would go through a session of ‘yogic cleansing’. The involved pouring salt water into one nostril and out of the other and snowrting out the excess water with a host of different breathing exercises. After only a couple of sessions it had already succeeded in clearing up my Kathmandu-induced cold. Then It didn’t take many sessions of this to completely clear up my Kathmandu-induced cold. Then after breathing exercises (pranayama) we would have an hour of morning yoga, by this point, absolutely exhausted and starving for breakfast. We finally sat down to breakfast at 10am, and the food never ceased to amaze me. I had been craving healthy food ever since arriving in Pokhara where I had been mostly living off obscure tourist menus, and it was such a treat to be treated, three times a day, to Durga’s incredible home cooking. For breakfast we would have ice cold mango lassi, mueslie topped with curd and fruit and herbal tea, and it was always the highlight of my day. After breakfast the group would be treated to either a steam bath or mud bath on the roof, where we would dry off in the sun before hosing each other down. Then after a couple of hours relaxing in the gardens and performing ‘karmic yoga’ (basically, chores), we could have a delicious dahl bhaat for lunch. The afternoon consisted of surprisingly addictive chanting and then more yoga, and be the time dinner came around we would be ready to wolf down a nepali feast, with the Didi forcing every second, third and fourth helping on us that we could manage. We spent the evenings relaxing around the table in our wicker chairs, discussing our travels, joking around, platying cards talking about home…The group bonded so much over the week we soon began to feel like a family, and the variety of people staying at the retreat made for very enjoyable company. Nikki and I were practically joined at the hip, and along with our other close friends Katie and Kate made quite a name for ourselves around the place. The week flew by and I couldn’t believe how good I began to feel after just a few days. I really didn’t want to ever leave. We all grew so ridiculously close and had so many inspiring and funny experiences together.

Some of my fondest memories were having mud baths on the roof, and distraxting the paragliders that flew over head as we ran about naked in the sun, being saved from spiders the size of my hand time and time again by my hero, Nikki. We would sit up all night talking about our lives back home and when I hugged her goodbye on the last day I couldn’t stop crying. Another day I went out for the day into Mahandrapul, the nearest town, wth Durga and another guest, Carolyn. We went shopping for clothes, had kurta’s made at the tailor, bought street food and bought some nepali drums. On the final evening in the ashram, during a power cut, Durga, myself and our friend Barbara sat in candlelight drumming and chanting late into the night. It was so magical.

When the time came to finally leave, it was like saying goodbye to a family. I gave an especially big huge to Nikkie and to Durga, who had made my time there especially special, and as I did Asanga grabbed the two of us and turned it into a big group hug, and then I left my new yoga family to return to the real world. Walking into town with my drum on my back I felt like I was seeing everything in a new light. I felt fit and healthy and revitalized by the extreme yoga and meditating. It was so strange to see that nothing in Pokhara had changed, and the feeling of being alone on my own new adventure felt equally strange.

But suddenly, as I walked down the road towards Butterfly Lodge, a huge dreaded figure came bounding across the road, arms wide, and lo and behold it was Myke! I was so happy to see him and as he ushered me into a nearby restaurant he explained he hadn’t been able to go to Chitwan because the maoist strikes had closed down the roads, and he introduced me to some new friends he had made.

I was introduced to Freya, a girl from the UK, Marcia, a girl from Montreal, and they were all now staying at Butterfly Lodge together. As we caught up and headed back to the lodge I was also introduced to Andy from England and Yvan, a Swiss para-glider. It was Andy’s last day in Nepal so we decided to go on a hike to the world peace pagoda. A hike that ended up becoming a huge adventure. I got leeched! And it was quite traumatic. Then while we were stood at the top a huge storm blew in and we had to scale down the sheer rock faces in the pissing rain and crazy wind, to try and get Andy back in time for his bus! All in all it was a crazy and bonding experience and by the time we got off the local bus dripping wet in the afternoon rain I was so happy to have met them all. That night Andy left us and we were sad to see him go. He had been traveling for 11 months and was making his final trek to India after visiting something ridiculous like 42 countries. And for the past week it has been me, Marcia, Yvan, Freya and Myke getting living in one room in Butterfly Lodge and having adventures aplenty. After myexhausting trekking and yoga experiences it has been really nice finally relaxing and socializing for a while, and the gang of us have taken up a residency in a local bar called Laila’s. We’ve become really close with the guys who work there, and some of the other regulars, including a crazy English guy called Babaji, who has dreads down to his knees and a motorbike. We have been having parties in our dorm every night, spending the days relaxing in hammocks, reading, playing pool on leila’s bar’s wonky pool table, taking boats out on the lake and exploring pokhara. One afternoon, Shakim and his friend drove us out to a fish 'restaurant' on the other side of lake Phewa Tal, and we had an amazing fish curry fresh from the lake. However, what he described as a ‘restaurant’ was, to us, a little metal shack, and as we were eating a storm blew in so violent I thought we must be in a hurricane. The lake and mountains seemed to be swallowed as gale force winds whipped up the water, pelting down hailstones on the roof with deafening force and lightening flickering across the sky, cracking out right above us. It was terrifying, and we had to just cing on to the tables as the rain came in through the htu sideways, the lightening was so loud I was sure we wee going to get hit any moment, and it was probably one of the most epic weather-based experiences I’ve ever had. That storm signified the beginning of the monsoon in Pokhara, and since then, every afternoon the skies have darkened and emptied themselves over the town with quite a shocking amount of force. The streets turn to rivers and it’s nearly impossible to get across a lot of them. After the heat of the afternoon though it’s actually quite a relief, and we have been spending the storms relaxing inside together looking out at the rain. The only down side is that the views of the mountains have disappeared. I really feel like Pokhara is a sort of home now, and I’m so glad I am here with the people I am here with. They are all amazing, and we work so well as a group. Marcia had to go back to Kathmandu to fly home to Canada yesterday and it was so sad saying goodbye. But then, my spanish friend Elena from the retreat came and moved in with us instead. And Yvan, Myke, Freya and myself are still sticking together and tomorrow, I think, we are going to finally leave Pokhara and make our way towards the Kathmandu valley. There's a little hamlet on the way called Bandipur where we are going to stop to break up the journey, and then I’m sure there will be a lot more terrifying-coach-journeys-from-hell to take us back to the Kathmandu valley. The buses here are really terrifying. There are no seat belts, there's loads of landslides and they rumble along these sheer rock faces with cliffs either side of you plunging into the deepest valleys. On the last one my knuckles where literally white for about 6 hours of the journey, and now the monsoon has arrived I'm even more anxious. I’m looking forward to getting on the road again, but it has been so nice spending enough time in Pokhara to become a regular face, and to get to know all of the locals.

I have now began to draw up a rough itinery for the rest of the trip, and it’s strange but it feels as though the end is coming around already. It feels as though I’ve been ehre forever, and I really don’t know how I am going to feel about coming home. I feel as though I could happily stay here for another year, there is so much to see and taking it at the pace we have been has been so nice. I’ve met so many amazing, funny and lovely people, and I feel so lucky we are now continuing the journey on together.

So tomorrow, Yvan, Freya Myke and I should be heading off and finally leaving Pokhara, all our friends and the Butterfly lodge behind. Then it's on to Bandipur, the Kathmandu valley, more trekking, more temples, rafting the Sun Koshi for ten days, going to the tea plantations in Ilam, then making our way to the holy city of Janakpur before crossing the border into India. I cannot bloody wait.