Nepal – Acclimatising To A New Culture
Posted Sunday 24th November 2024
Contents
- A Flight To Adventure
- Hello Kathmandu
- Gompas, Stupas And Chortens
- Return From The Trek – Pokhara
- Socialising In Kathmandu
- Going Home Takes Forever
In March 2000 I had the opportunity to take part in a three week visit to Nepal, the major part of which was a trek around the western and southern side of the Annapurna region. Getting to Nepal and the days before and after the actual expedition were an experience in their own right. Without the trek the tour would have been hugely entertaining. With the trek it was something beyond. This is the story of our ‘cultural acclimatisation’ around Kathmandu and Pokhara before and after the trek, providing context to our time there.
A Flight To Adventure
Sydney had been wet and fairly dreary most of the week and Saturday was no exception. A colourless gray day with a sprinkle of rain. A good day to take plenty of time to pack up, double check the vitals such as tickets and passport, and order film from the duty free at Sydney airport.
We arrived at the Airport a bit before 20·30, just before Jenny (my sister) turned up. Martin and Robin along with Bill had already checked in and Diana was well on the way to doing so. We went through the process in perhaps 45 minutes and in so doing got quite good seats on the right hand or Everest side on the second sector. We then killed time having a coffee and saying our good byes before Jenny and I entered the ‘other side’.
We collected film and bought a large Baileys at the duty free as our contribution to evening jollity along the way on our forthcoming trek. A wait in a typically rather uninspiring waiting area preceded our boarding about 30 minutes before departure time; a 747 rather than the scheduled 777.
In a sense the whole process was a bit of an anti-climax since the first stage was only to Melbourne, a sector covered innumerable times before but in mainly less interesting aircraft. Departure was on time (22·35) and despite the short and entirely predictable route to Melbourne we arrived there 15 minutes early according to Thai. After this quasi domestic flight, we were all turned out into the international transit lounge to await re-boarding early tomorrow. Vicki was waiting for us so at least the whole advance group of seven were safely in the care of Thai International and on their way to the great adventure.
Midnight rolled by while we were on terra firma in Melbourne. There is little to recommend sitting around at such a late hour, even when buoyed with anticipation. Malaysian and Singapore each collected their lot and left, and in the fullness of time we too were called to re-board. Jenny and I shared three seats between us, while Diana scored a whole three to herself in the row behind. Departure at 01·30 was according to the timetable, followed after a discrete interval by the drinks trolley and then a proper meal. We must have been over the border and somewhere toward middle South Australia before the lights were doused and everyone settled down to what passes for a comfortable night at 35,000 ft. Drinks were quietly offered every hour or so, with random hands reaching out of the dark indicating where people were awake.
Bit by bit the plane came alive from about 03·00 local (07·00 ESST) to be advised we would be in Bangkok about one hour early. Thai must have an interesting timetabling system. This extended the wait in Bangkok to 5 hours, something that was not really in our interest.
Breakfast was served prior to arrival at 05·40 (local time), just as the first blush of dawn lit the horizon. We disembarked onto the tarmac and were then bused to the arrivals area. Something of an indoor trek took us to the transit area and eventually to a cluster of seats on the departure level where we set up camp, in a manner of speaking, for the next four hours. Someone remained on duty at any one time while the others wandered around, read, wrote, dozed, or chatted quietly to help fill in the time.
A bit of a game was watching the departure board, first for our flight to appear then watch it slowly climb to the point where boarding was imminent. Exercise consisted of walking an end-to-end round trip of the terminal, a journey of well over a kilometre.
As with all things the time eventually arrived and we trooped off to join our flight, this time the expected B777. It was well loaded with few spare seats (as apparently is normal for the Kathmandu flight), but we were happy to be on the right hand side as intended. Departure was a little behind the advertised and we fairly quickly climbed above the all pervasive smog and broken cloud. Thai continued to keep the temperature in their aircraft high, at least too high for my comfort, and it was noticeable that the individual air vents that are common on our aircraft were absent. Once again the drinks and food came in measured succession; the meal being curry, ‘koori’ as it was announced, which was a welcome diversion.
Excitement as the first view of really high mountains comes into view.
About 45 minutes before Kathmandu the distant peaks of Kangchenjunga and Everest, trailing distinctive flags of cloud, appeared on the northern horizon. It was a moment that in a way had quite an impact – my first sighting of truly great mountains and symbolically our entry to Nepal and the real adventure. Landing at Kathmandu was 15 minutes ahead of time, maintaining the Thai tradition.
Disembarking was again onto the tarmac, but this time we had to walk to the terminal and the immigration area in a fairly rudimentary building.
Kathmandu airport is at a slightly lower altitude than the aircraft that took us there!
Hello Kathmandu
Shree Ram (a local well connected fix it man) met us in the immigration hall and be-decked us all with flower garlands as a welcome to Nepal. He then conducted some Nepalese business, the result of which was that we were expedited through immigration, and somehow bypassed customs altogether. Outside we were escorted through teeming throngs of people to a mini bus, which conveyed us to our hotel. Min Gurung, our sirdar for the trek, joined us and accompanied us into town.
First impressions are always worth recording. Dust, smog, horn pleasing, unfinished and unkempt buildings, the same dreadful trucks and buses that inhabit India, narrowing streets and alleyways that did not appear to be suitable for buses of any size; mini or otherwise. Lunatic traffic, reminiscent of Delhi but somehow less intense and importantly less aggressive, filled the streets.
It took several days to get used to this stuff – every form of mobility trying to get through Chhetrapati.
Left hand was the normal side to drive on but obviously this is rather loosely interpreted. We finally arrived at our hotel, the Harati, located off one of the alleyways south of the tourist area of Thamel, but where we stopped around the back was a pleasant garden setting well suited to relaxing. Quite a contrast.
We were welcomed with masala tea, while check in was organised and rooms allocated. Money changing became an important exercise, so much so that the hotel had to go out and get more local currency. A consequence of this was that the later exchanges were at a better rate.
Later in the afternoon we went for an organised stroll, firstly down to Durbar Square, then back via Indrachowk to Durbar Marg. This route was mainly narrow streets and alleyways, liberally sprinkled with temples and shrines, all teeming with life.
Durbar Square was a mass of traders, temples, shrines and people.
Pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, tuk tuks, motor bikes, taxis and other miscellaneous traffic competed vigorously for the available road space, with lots of noise and some very close clearances, but all with seeming good humour. Speed was not an issue and pedestrians were sometimes faster than wheeled traffic.
Small cave like shops were everywhere with every conceivable ware on sale. Hawkers and touts added to the sensory overload. Various areas seemed to specialise in particular products, so a mere slot in a wall led to an gaggle of bead shops, while other places specialised in brass work, brilliant materials and woollen products, with occasional more obscure things such as sledge hammer heads or brightly painted tin trunks. I acquired a couple of maps in one shop where the roof was less than six ft high – a bit reminiscent of Gulliver on his travels.
Typical of Nepalese shops – open fronts with wares out front on display.
Once over Kanti Path it all seemed rather ordinary after these wonderful trading alleys, but in reality was definitely not ordinary by the standards of a mere 24 hours earlier. Normal buses ran here, some with rear doors in deference to narrow streets elsewhere, electric tempos in some numbers were a token toward smog reduction, cars were more frequent and pedal rickshaws, wisely, were absent.
We were taken to a rooftop restaurant in Durbar Marg where beer and nibbles turned into a sort of evening meal. Nepalese chicken soup, which proved to be somewhat fiery, had most people bug eyed by the time they finished. We later wandered along to the de l’Annapurna Hotel for ‘coffee and cake’ before taking an alternate route back to our hotel. By this time it was dark, and as we got into the alleyways of Thamel the cave like shops, lit from within by as little as a single light bulb, took on a somewhat eerie aspect.
Somewhere along the way there was a blackout (which turned out to be quite normal), so shop lighting was reduced to candles and gas lamps, while pedestrians, rickshaws, bicycles and most tuk tuks in the street were quite without lights in any case. Quite how everything kept moving without colliding remains something of a mystery, but there appeared to be no more chaos and mayhem than during the day. Nepal has many mysteries!
We duly arrived ‘home’, and partook of a candle lit drink in the bar before retreating for the night. Bill was my room and tent companion for the duration, and an splendid companion he turned out to be. Luke warm showers were the order of the evening, which was an improvement over the cold showers that greeted us over the next two mornings.
Gompas, Stupas And Chortens
Next morning I woke at 03·00 (07·45 Adelaide time) for our planned 08·00 breakfast – wrong place, right time. Gently clonking bells in the distance heralded the dawn some hours later. Everyone gathered for breakfast in the downstairs dining room, after which Diana, Vicki, Jenny and I headed off for a morning walk to the Swayambhunath Stupa or Monkey Temple, visible through the all pervasive smog perched on a pinnacle some two or three kilometres away.
The Monkey Temple sits atop a rise a few kilometres off to the west.
We headed up through the amazing six-way Chhetrapati junction, a place I came to associate with the best of Kathmandu, then through Dobiechaur, a slightly devious route to take in a bit more of the local life.
Dobiechaur was another of the fascinating alleyways, although with more food stalls than we had seen yesterday, liberally sprinkled with schools with pretentious name such as the Small Heaven Boarding School, and various Secondary Schools populated with tiny children of kindergarten age. All school children were dressed in crisply clean western style uniforms – pleated skirts, trousers, white shirts, blazers and even ties.
Sign flying across the entry, extolling the local schools – now enrolling for 2057!
Further along, the Dobie Wallahs were washing by hand in small bowls then hanging the washing out on a multitude of lines, or when they were full by spreading their washing. on the ground. It was not apparent how the washing remained clean through this process, but presumably it works.
Dobie Wallahs at work – washing everywhere drying and presumably cleaner than when it arrived!
Jenny was trying out some of her embryonic vocabulary on passing locals by this stage, but got little in the way of response. We eventually found our way down to the Bishnumati River and the market gardens that crowded the river flats on this side. Women were laying out unwoven wool to dry in the riverbed on the other side.
The Bishnumati River flats at our point of crossing – a bit untidy but wherever there is water there is activity.
Once across the river the ‘road’ became barely passable for wheeled vehicles as it turned and twisted its way up to higher ground. Motorised taxis struggled, while a pedal rickshaw stalled totally so the passengers had to get out and push themselves up to the top. It was noticeable that urchins were darting out to assist on similar occasions, presumably for some small reward.
There were still numerous stalls along the road, despite the relative remoteness from the city proper, but guest houses, ‘factories’ and schools also were evident. ‘Free Tibet’ signs were probably a measure of the Tibetan community that live near the Stupa. At one point a Tata water truck lumbered past with its rear end proclaiming ‘Treted Boring Water’ – but then most water is boring.
“Little Tibet” – an abundance of Buddhist prayer flags, something that was endemic in northern parts of the country.
At the foot of the reputed 1000 steps up to the Stupa the craft business began and continued to about half way up. Fortunately, it was easy to concentrate on the steps and ignore the rest.
The somewhat daunting steps up to the Monkey Temple.
The steps progressively steepened and close to the top there was a ‘toll’ of 50 Rs ($AUD1.25) to help maintenance and conservation of the area. The ‘ticket’ brightly proclaims “May peace prevail on earth”, a sentiment well worth the small fee. Jenny, who was still getting little reaction to her phrase book Nepalese, got some pronunciation guidance from the young ‘guardians of the toll’ and from then on at least got smiles.
The toll point up near the top – and that is a monkey up there.
The temple site is a complex arrangement, with its central domed Stupa surrounded by chortens and gompas and other buildings in a bewildering tangle. It would take some time to even start to fully understand the place. We spent perhaps an hour there, during which time Jenny and I were introduced to singing bowls and in fact each bought one. We also bought strings of Buddhist prayer flags.
Among the mass of buildings at the top – unseen is the strong incense which rather discouraged overstaying there.
The place was wreathed in a strong aromatic incense, which started to get to everyone after a while. Views over the Kathmandu Valley, and northward to the Himalayas were non existent as the smog simply blotted out anything more than a kilometre or two away. Even the city below struggled to appear, somewhat ethereally, through the gunk.
A view back to central Kathmandu before the daily smog conceals it all.
On the way down I bought a singing bell; a ‘I don’t really want it’ type transaction at the time which I now regard as one of my prized Nepalese possessions.
We took a more direct route down a flight of steps to the river then direct to Chhetrapati to arrive back at the Harati about 13·00, not long before Ian (all 6’ 7” of him) arrived from Canberra and his flight to Nepal.
We did a bit of mail to missing relatives and friends back home, before we (still the same four) headed out to find sustenance in the form of dal bhat at a garden restaurant in Thamel. We then strolled slowly through Thamel up to Pilgrims Bookshop, where after some deliberation I was able to get a couple of guide books to fill the void left by the forgotten Lonely Planet guide.
Afternoon tea seemed like a good idea at this stage so we adjourned to a rooftop opposite for ‘coffee and cake’. A big mistake. I just hope the pot plants appreciated the coffee. While we were there it rained which rather settled the dust but enhanced the ambient aromas.
We then headed back to the hotel, by now feeling quite acclimatised to the traffic, traders, and quirkiness of the place, to check out our trekking sleeping bags and down jackets.
This night was our first as a full group of eight, and we finished up, care of Martin, at a Tibetan establishment for a pleasant evening meal. The trip back in the dark (without blackout this time) took us through Chhetrapati for the sixth time for the day. By now we recognised that the safest and quickest way through was simply to barge into the traffic and become part of the turmoil. Arguably it was still a lot safer than crossing the road at home. Drinks again before we retired about 21·00.
Another cold shower morning greeted us, but I washed my hair anyway and thus avoided a bad hair day as well! Breakfast was a re-run of the day before, following which we hired three taxis to take us to the Everest Hotel on the Bhaktapur Road so we could walk through to Patan Durbar Square. The route was down a side street which quickly became little more than a pedestrian way with a few motor bikes to liven things up.
On our way to Patan Durbar Square – single file along the lane with every other form of transport.
In every direction flat roofed houses sprouted reinforcing rods, suggesting that extensions were to come, but nothing looked finished. It was suggested that the tax system encourages never finishing as a means of tax minimisation. Across the Bagmati River and its seemingly dis-used ghats we entered Patan.
Crossing the river again – this time at a rather more salubrious (in relative terms) location. The burn marks suggest the ghats are still used.
A short way along we wandered around the north Ashok Stupa, only finding out sometime later that it is claimed to date back to 250 BC. On arrival at Durbar Square morning tea was well overdue, so we retired to a rooftop overlooking the old palace.
East meets West – a rooftop refreshment stop with a view.
After a pleasant refreshing stop, everyone more or less went their separate ways around the area with the objective of meeting for lunch at the museum.
This Durbar Square was wonderful – full of fascinating temples and buildings that were beyond my comprehension, along with statues of Ganesh, bird and cobras, elephants and other symbols of deep significance in the scheme of things. Jenny eavesdropped an Italian group, but was still not able to get to the core of the cobra statuary. The 200 Rs ‘entry’ to the square did not seem an unreasonable impost for such an interesting place.
Statuary, shrines, temples and traders in abundance – Patan Durbar Square.
Bit by bit we wore out and retired to the museum restaurant for lunch; a very pleasant setting with good food. We then spent an interesting hour looking through part of the museum (time ran out) which is very well set up and informative.
There was an excellent display on lost wax casting and beaten brass work, plus explanations of some of the religious icons we had observed. In particular explanation of the statuary of copulating couples that seem to support many of the temple roofs is that they symbolise the mystical union of gods of differing character (strength, power, anger, love etc.) to represent an infinite range of characters and personalities – a much more appealing belief structure than the simple ‘good’ and ‘evil’ that pervades western religions.
At about 14·30 we set off by taxi for Bodinath, north of the airport, and its monumental Stupa. Martin met us there with Min, and we circulated as a group for a while. The women (Diana put me right on ladies and women early in the piece !) tried on chupas (Tibetan outfits) but for a number of reasons most went no further.
Once acclimatized to the area five of us did circuits of the Stupa at several levels, traveling clockwise as all good people should. We said our prayers (which is simpler with prayer wheels than doggerel), while Diana and I got something of a surprise when we did really big prayers (big prayer wheels) near the entry and got a response in return by the dinging of attached bells.
The all seeing stupa at Bodinath – part of a massive multi-level complex.
There was something of a mix up on the way home, the result of which was that Ian and I waited some time for a non existent taxi, but then got home for 150 Rs rather than the 250 Rs expected. Late afternoon was spent in the Harati garden sipping tea or beer.
Dinner was at a high priced place up near Durbar Marg. The meal was great fun, although I doubt it was worth the premium. Radshi was part of the deal – a spirituous local concoction that smells like metho and is just as flammable. We are promised ‘worse’ on the trek. Maybe our Baileys will turn out to be a wise buy after all. We arrived back home at about 21·45, late by our standards and exceptionally late by the standards to come.
By now I felt that I had had enough Kathmandu for the time being. Fortuitous, since next morning the trek began with an all-day bus trip to Pokhara.
Return From The Trek – Pokhara
Two weeks later, after the adventure of a lifetime, the trek ended when we arrived back in Pokhara by bus from an impromptu overnight camp due to a transport strike. By 08·30 we had arrived back at the Hungry Eye Hotel for a second stay.
Pokhara nestled beside Phewi Tal and in sight of 8000 metre mountains – albeit the smog doesn’t help.
A somewhat emotional farewell to our staff, who were all headed back to Kathmandu that day, was followed by some serious showering and washing. The practice of trampling clothes under foot in the bathtub is recommended as an alternative to washing machines, especially when there are no washing machines.
The remainder of the morning was spent changing the last of our several foreign fortunes, posting the now somewhat crumpled postcards from Ghorepani, some shopping, a long and relaxing morning tea at a lakeside restaurant, e-mail, a bit more shopping. This was followed by a long and relaxing lunch at a lakeside restaurant, watching the chameleons in the garden and mongooses near the shore, backdropped by scows and occasional yachts on the lake. It was a tough lunch indeed.
A little more retail therapy left us exhausted so the afternoon largely became siesta time. Dinner, without Martin and Robin who stayed back until the doctor came to tend to Ian who had a bit of a bad time over the two days at Pokhara, was at the Llasa Tibetan Restaurant back toward Damside.
Next morning we woke to finally find Machhapuchhre peering in the hotel window – the pervading smog having had a bit of a morning off. Five of us went up to our yesterday lunch spot for breakfast and took something like one and a half hours to consume an 80 Rs (AUD2.00) meal. We then returned to the hotel, before six of us hired two scows to take us across the lake. It was typically Australian – women in one and men in the other. The boatmen sat in the back and used a single paddle for propulsion. The 15-minute journey was enchanting, with the temple island on one side and distant snow peaks on the other.
Boating across the lake – inevitably my photo had to be of the women’s boat!
From our landing point on the far shore it was about 300 metres vertically up to the relatively new Peace Pagoda. An ancient local along the way offered his own peace solution – 100 Rs worth of marijuana – but had struck the wrong group.
Landing below the Peace Temple, – just 300 metres vertically to go.
The pagoda was constructed with Japanese money and features four images of Buddha; from Japan, Nepal, Thailand and Sri Lanka. The view across to the now somewhat distant Dhalaugiri and Annapurna massifs was rapidly diminishing in the daily bloom of smog.
The Peace Temple from afar – in this case on our way down to Damside.
We duly returned down the track to Damside, stopping before we did so for a drink. The track descended down the ridge through what appeared to be chestnut forest, eventually coming out next to the flood plain below the Phewa Tal.
Wherever there is water there will be domestic activities – in this case at Damside.
Walking back the two km or so through city streets in the middle of the day was not the highlight of the outing! As a result lunch, at the nearer of the usual Lakeside places, was not until about 14·30 and again lasted for well over an hour. I resolved my money shortage by cashing up from the Visa card. A bit of retail therapy, more siesta and dinner at the Llasa filled out the day.
We were up early and all packed up by 06·30 in anticipation of the journey back to Kathmandu. Breakfast on the Hungry Eye roof top was similar to yesterday but twice the price. We set off about 08·10, same bus, same driver, but seemingly less other traffic out and about. In fact there seemed to be more obtuse animals than wayward road vehicles, including a suicidal dog chasing a truck which exited left at the last possible moment in a state of sheer terror when it realised we were bearing rapidly down in the opposite direction. We had a short stop at Damauli, morning tea at the Riverside Springs at Kurintar, where the otters are apparently no longer offended by spitting, and lunch at Malekhu.
Socialising In Kathmandu
We were safely back in the Harati hotel by 14·30, just ahead of Shree Ram’s arrival to welcome us back. We were invited to the bar (at our own expense) at the Australian Embassy in the evening for what is apparently a regular ex-pat get together. Making the acquaintance of a Nottage Hill red was pleasant enough, as were the people and monkeys that were scattered around the pool. I found I was able to practice my listening skills for much of the evening.
We made a policy decision to go out for breakfast next morning, in the interests of dwindling currency and for the local culture and lit upon the O La La in Thamel. Breakfast was a whole 68 Rs, quite the sort of price we were able to pay. Then followed some serious spending, starting at Durbar Square and meandering around various alleys and squares to eventually re-emerge at Chhetrapati, from where Thamel demanded similar attention. Acquired treasures ranged from Vicki’s turquoises to Diana’s cane stools and a fair bit in between. We practiced siestering in the afternoon, something that we felt we should be able to master in time!
Traders en masse – all waiting for you to pay just the slightest degree of attention!
The mobile banana sellers were part of all this …
… as were the metalwares …
… and the Spice Traders.
Shree Ram had arranged a garden party for the late afternoon, I think for the Nepal – Australia Friendship Association, and we set off for his place about 16·00. Shree Ram had been invested by the King with an award for his services to scouting and community work that very day, adding to the occasion. There were a number of significant persons there, including the Acting Oz Ambassador, the Minister of Water, Transport, Power and all, and someone who had a business card showing ‘former Government Minister’. The combination of these people and Shree Ram on his auspicious day was a good reason for photo line ups in the garden.
We left about 18·00 to return to the Harati so we could head out to Min’s place for dinner. He provided a mini bus to take us there, but in the dark I was rather at a loss as to where we went, other than it was somewhere north. Min and Puja live on the second floor of a three story apartment with their two boys Ajaya (8) and Sanjay (4) – the former quite studious, the latter an exuberant extrovert. The eight of us, Min’s family of four, the ‘share’ family, Ran (a trek sherpa) and one other from the trekking party all managed to fit in the relatively small room. We were fed in magnificent style – indeed a Nepalese feast – and had a wonderful time. By my reckoning this was by far the most enjoyable of our social encounters of the last few days. As we were leaving Min presented each of us with a ‘Kali Gandaki 2000’ T-shirt as a memento of our visit, a typically thoughtful and generous touch to end the evening.
Our last full day in Nepal had arrived – something that involved rather mixed emotions. We were planning to head to Bhaktapur by trolley bus, but realisation that we had to pay 300 Rs to enter the town rather put this off the agenda in view of our intentionally impecunious state.
Breakfast, and for that matter lunch, was at O La La again, intermingled with yet more shopping, washing of boots and wood wares and packing in preparation for the morrow. With care I was able to fit everything in to the rucksack provided I wore my hiking boots.
After lunch three taxis took us via some of the most excruciatingly rough city streets imaginable to South Patan and the Tibetan Carpet Factory, which was open for sales although, being Saturday, the workroom was shut. Just before we left, we were shown through the silent workroom, at least getting some appreciation of the rug maker’s craft.
The carpet trade – in this case a re-seller rather than the factory outlet.
On our return I changed a few residual Australian $5 notes contributed by three of us into local currency to tide us over until midday tomorrow.
Martin and Robin hosted us for our last night together at the Ghar E Kabab Indian restaurant attached to the Hotel de l’Annapurna. A very classy affair, with excellent food, good service and pleasant live music as an accompaniment. A nice touch to round out our time together.
Going Home Takes Forever
Departure day had finally come. We were up early and had various domestic chores all attended to before 07·00. We wore our Kali Gandaki T shirts for a group photo before heading off to the O La La for our last breakfast. We had to eat inside this time since the outdoor tables were all taken by another group.
Following this I had a whole 70 Rs left which I disposed of in exchange for two more turquoises to go with the few I had previously acquired. From this point on I had absolutely no local money at all – not even a single rupee. It was with a great sense of freedom I sailed past the shops, hawkers, taxis et al on the way back to the Harati secure in the knowledge that I was free from all entreaties and sales pitches. It is amazing what happiness can come to the poverty stricken, especially those with airline tickets and homes to go to !
We lounged in the hotel garden until Min arrived with a couple of Tarago’s to take us to the airport. He and Puja bedecked the six of us who were departing with white silk scarves; a traditional farewell perhaps but quite touching. We set off just after 11·00 and took a series of back streets that brought us out north of the airport.
With a bit of a struggle we loaded our baggage onto two trolleys, bade our farewells to Martin, Robin, Min and Puja before crossing the threshold into the security of the terminal. We successively bought departure tax stamps, slowly worked our way through check in, equally slowly went through emigration, then security checking, body search and knife search, then waited in the view free waiting room for maybe half an hour before heading through the departure gate, another security check and another body search before joining the aircraft – an A300 this time. Jenny, Diana and I were in the second last row, but apart from a bit of tail wagging as we gained height it was a straightforward flight.
Bangkok arrival was at 18·00 and once again we were off loaded into buses to take us to the arrival terminal. Those of us who had been in ‘deep steerage’ were out first and were able to quote the biblical ‘and the last shall be first’ when the others arrived, much to their total disinterest.
Three hours passed reasonably quickly, with a fair quantity of duty free goods joining the already abundant hand luggage. Boarding was called 40 minutes before departure time and we bade Vicki farewell at this point since she was transiting through to Melbourne and realised she would probably miss us in Sydney. Somewhat disturbingly Bangkok security picked up souvenir knives in both Jenny and Ian’s hand luggage that was missed by Kathmandu despite the elaborate measures there. The early call was to little avail since we still managed to leave about 15 minutes late. The 747 was near full and Jenny and I had no spare space this time, made more uncomfortable by the sulky ‘Hippo’ family in the row ahead. Same routine as previously; drinks, food, movie and darkness.
The worst thing about heading home is the time taken to get there. After our great adventure with all its stimulation, energy, sensory overload and novelty the inside of a 747 – or any aircraft – is an extremely ordinary place. More so as passage of time seems to slow to a crawl however well the airline runs the show. Dawn arrived after an eternity although our metabolic clock time was supposed to be already around 06·30. By then most people were noticeably fidgety and queues were forming at the toilets.
Breakfast was served some time later and by the time that had been cleared away we were not far from Sydney, at least physically if not in time. In fact, we were tracked over Dubbo and Orange to Wingello, then a holding pattern to Goulburn a mere 80 km from the ultimate destination of half our group, followed by a long approach to Sydney from the south that included a big S curve in the direction of New Zealand. We hit the deck at 08·37, near enough to on time but somewhat later than we had anticipated.
An informative video briefing on customs and quarantine greatly facilitated getting through those hurdles, although I did myself no favours by forgetting where I had stowed my bits of woodware. The five disembarking members of our group gathered in the arrival hall and bade each other a fond, even a tad emotional, farewell and headed in their separate directions to their various homes.
Highlights are many and predominantly to do with the trek but every day had high points and memories. The people were tremendous; our group, our trekking staff and the inhabitants of the various places we frequented were all the stuff of legend. Perhaps too in subtle ways, the people and their culture may well have left me with something enduring in my outlook on certain aspects of my, nay our, culture, life style and attitudes.
Nepal is infectious, which is no doubt why I returned in 2003 for a far more ambitious five week trek (Walking with Giants).
