Kathmandu Day 1 (Part II)

16th April, 2003. Tuesday ~

Invenio

Francis supervises the hvac – “What’s that?” I asked in my characteristic ignorance – or heating ventilation air conditioning unit at the hospital and has his residence-cum-office in the ground floor of the “small yellow building to the right” of the hospital gate.

“It belongs to the same fellow who owned the hospital land earlier,” he explains. The one that doesn’t look after his dog and lives upstairs.

Tokha Road is on the hill, gently sloping upwards from Samakushi Chowk and curving along a ridge, surrounded as much by newly constructed high rises as vegetable patches. There is still light when I step out, but he insists on me taking his headlamp which is just as well because soon, the place is plunged in a power cut. There aren’t any street lights.

“Do me a favour, go to the store for me.” He directs me to the one with a “Calsberg sign.” No name.

Every shop carries an alcohol display board outside and I’ve to look carefully.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks, then decides on a Chilean vino rosa. The smiling shop owner’s daughter knows Francis well and wraps the bottle of Invenio. The shelves are stacked with shiny packaged food, mostly Indian and Japanese imports, and a wide choice in foreign liquor. This isn’t an expat district, who buys these here?

Over red wine, puffs (not sips) of Darjeeling, black olives married to tomato and local buffalo-milk mozzarella – “of all mozzarellas, mozzarella de bufflone is the best,” he says knowingly – we watch videos late into the night.

Rain has stopped. A dampness stings the air.

It is almost surreal.

Couch

Francis stops Woody Allen’s Scoop midway because he is excited for me to meet Isabelle Vayron.

“I call her among my dear friends,” he grins proudly, the heavy French accent clouding his English. I don’t understand French fluently “so I have to sit with you and translate”; but the video is one of those that transliterates itself, talking of human spirits in an universal rover’s tongue.

Photojournalist and documentary maker Isabelle Vayron’s 5 Continents -10 ans de Voyage sur Terre (5 Continents – 10 Years of Travelling the World) tells, in 58 minutes, the unusual story of an astonishing seeker. It journals her attempt to run herds with cow boys in the Pacific, search for traditional music around the world (Libya, Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India, Mongolia) riding a bicycle – Tour du Monde des Musiques – and document life in Afghanistan travelling on a motorbike.

The mélange of images leaves my tongue paralysed. Her spontaneous combustion of enthusiasm on screen ignites me.

I’ve found Francis Pauwels through couchsurfing. “Sure, come along,” he had replied to my request to shack up with him the three nights before my trek.

“Who does such a thing?!” Brinda, a trek mate, had exclaimed when the topic of hospitality exchange came up. I couldn’t own up, “I just have!” Most of us sane social creatures, finding safety in familiarity, would be alienated by the idea of bringing rank strangers into our homes. Or stepping across the threshold of rank strangers. But to traverse boundaries, by any and every means, is a traveller’s true journey.

As I hit my first couch, the spare mattress in Francis’s office, managing to bundle the garrulous man with his tobacco pouches and pipes to his bedroom at long last, the cynic in me is wondering if all those amazing people were really his friends, did he really know as much as he claims, about South Asian politics and movies, aerodynamics and music, mathematics and climbing.

Was he a self-delusional fraud? Or was he my window to the unexplored, yanked wide ajar?

In the morning, rubbing sleepy eyes, I read the label of last night’s empty bottle. Invenio, it says:

(Latin) v. to come upon, find, discover.

(Here's more to my Kathmandu discoveries on Day 2.)

Kathmandu Day 1 (Part I)

16th April, 2013. Tuesday ~

Go. Explore. 

Darjeeling tea…for smoking?

“Wait till I make you one!” Francis smiles in his inimitable style, eyes disappearing behind creases. It fits him perfectly into the mongoloid ethnography of his adopted country, I think. Post dinner – a delectable imitation lasagna, pastry sheets replaced by sliced zucchini – he lights me a pipe.

“Half Darjeeling tea topped with chocolate tobacco. Now that is the secret!” He hands me the bowl almost like a sacred ritual.

I have brought the rain into the city.

“Very hot, madam,” the taxi driver said earlier in the evening as I roll down the window.

“Main jahan se ayi hoon…” I stop short, not because he doesn’t know Hindi (most Nepali-s understand Hindi well) but he wouldn’ve no idea of the kind of heat I’m talking about. I cannot explain how soothing Kathmandu spring is for me, having just escaped Calcutta’s high thirty degree-and-rising temperature. I see face masks everywhere but can’t feel the infamous dust or traffic cluster. Talk of perspective, any Indian city can give pollution here a run for its money. I am inured.

Tribhuvan International Airport, at first glance, impresses me, with its fly ash brick and glass exteriors. I’m terribly partial to fly ash bricks and large windows. As an Indian I don’t need a visa and was forewarned to stand in the emigration lines designated for ‘Nepali’ (our trek leader had thoughtfully mentioned this) which move faster.

[Indians don’t need a visa to enter or stay in Nepal. In order to avoid the long emigration bottleneck, stand in either of the first three emigration queues marked as ‘Nepali’. You will be whisked out with a smile and ‘Have a happy stay’ in no time.]

My euphoria vanishes at the serpentine luggage carousel. There isn’t a cart to be found; the conveyer belts around a length of the hall, stops intermittently, throws bags off its curves, jams itself under piles of them…and my duffel is nowhere to be seen! I stand, heart in my stomach, trying not to remember the stories of lost and pilfered baggage I’ve read about this airport. 

Monstrous crammed backpacks get lifted off all around me. Spring tourist season is full on.

For a moment I panic…will I recognize my duffel? It isn’t mine, but borrowed from Sanjay, and I wonder, in that one point of waiting when everything appears potentially catastrophic, if it could have swept past me unidentified (not that the conveyer was capable of sweeping anything at its stop-and-start speed.)

Just then, my prim brown duffel peeps through the curtain. There was no mistaking it. On the front, in precise, solemn fonts is stitched:

Go. Explore.

De la Grande

No one has heard of Grande International Hospital at the airport pre-paid taxi counter, but Tokha Road seemed to ring vague bells. I calculate against haggling outside, willing to pay that extra buck my first cab ride in an unknown city.

Francis hears how much I paid, stares at me above his glass and a moment’s silence later, says bluntly, “You’ve been ripped off, my dear.”

Chabahil. Maharajganj. Basundhara. Greenland. The number of landmarks Francis had mentioned coupled with the drawled Nepali inflexions of the taxi drivers trying to figure my destination makes me realize I am in for a long ride. I sit back, determined to enjoy the scene.

The Ncell sim from the airport shop works the moment I slip it into my phone. Now that is truely remarkable.

“Pashupati” my cabbie points at the crowd. I see nothing but a clogged stream and lots of people. It’s a clever idea to put the airport right next to the chief attraction, I nod, bundle them straight from one to the other.

“What’s that?” Large Buddha eyes look down beside Chabahil's steaming traffic.

“Charumati vihar. It was built by the princess Charumati, who was married to the Prince Devapala.”

Charumati was in fact, Indian! A daughter of King Ashoka who the history books never name.

The taxi twists and turns through the narrow lanes, between screaming children, buxom ladies, ‘cold storages’ (butcher shops) and khaja ghar-s, a Nepali version of Darjeeling hills. Grey peaks come up in the horizon as we pushed north. Of course, Kathmandu is a valley…what wouldn’t I give to be able to live in a town where I could see hills from my window every morning!

“There!” I shout, not expecting to come upon it yet.

Standing tall above the surrounding hutments and dirt road, pristine in its ochre newness: Grande International Hospital.

The Signs 

It begins to splatter as I come in from my walk.

The sound is unmistakeable so I go out to check. Putu is smashing the door mat, begging to come in. But this isn’t my house – “This isn’t my dog,” echoes Francis, “this is the landlord’s dog” – so I reluctantly pull the screen on him.

“Told you, you have come to trek in the wrong month,” Francis nods gravely. “I am an ex-alpinist, take it from me. You should have come end March. Monsoon hits by mid-April.”

As if there is a point worrying, now that the money is paid. I am here, for whatever’s coming. It isn’t monsoon, but a local disturbance, we are told later. Whatever it be, didn’t let up for the first and last two days into our trek, costing me dearly.

“It is off season in season this year,” someone was to say later on the trail.

Dr Francis Pauwels at 6 feet 2 inches is un grand homme who doesn’t lock his doors till bed time. “Don’t worry, my dear,” is his favourite response to most queries. Is the city that safe? For the next three weeks I will ask this to every Kathmandu resident I meet.

The cloud bank looked amazing the last five minutes' passage of my arrival flight, like a candy floss machine gone beserk. Or a sea generously churned with bathing salts. And Kathmandu appeared splendid two minutes from the ground, as the wings pierced below the cumulonimbus, miles of uniformly low houses broken by fields.

I see the signs but being an inexperienced city slicker, do not see.

(The night is far from over. To know what more lies in store, continue here.)

Giving the Boot!

In a modern day twist to the fairy tale, my Prince Charming was giving me the boot! 

My trek boots
(Pic courtesy, Sanjay Paul)

I chose my trekking boots with utmost carelessness. My sneaker size was UK 4. I went searching the website of the outdoor store nearest him. My only criterion was the boots be high ankle ones, to prevent twisting my feet on uneven ground. 

“Are you sure about the size?” Sanjay asked for the umpteenth time, unconvinced. 

 Perhaps not without reason. Indian shoe manufactures, every last one of them, use their own numbering system. Only a number, no length, no width, no unit of measure. So my Bata sandals don’t display the same number as my Kolhapuri Centre sandals, yet both fitting comfortably! 

I checked my size when I bought my Reebok sneakers. International brands like Nike, Adidas,

Salomon Women's Viaggio GTX Walking Boots

(Pic courtesy, Sanjay Paul)

Reebok or Puma maintain standardized sizes which wouldn’t – or shouldn’t – be inaccurate. If you need a new pair of fitness trainers, now would be a good time to purchase one (you would need to exercise before the trek in any case.) 

Supposing you don’t need a fresh pair, with some ‘acting skills’ you can still walk into a sports footwear store and trial for one. Note the size which fits you comfortably and with a smile or solemn look at your watch, promise to come back. (It works. I’ve tried it.) 

If you are stuck without any other option, this two phase process would get you there: 

1. Measure your foot size. 

    Step by step guide how to at - http://shoes.about.com/od/fitcomfort/ss/measurefeet.htm

2. Compare your foot measurement on a shoe size chart. 

    A handy converter is available at - http://www.convertworld.com/en/shoe-size

    You can also google ‘shoe size chart’ and download your own reckoner. 

Shoe size chart
(Courtesy, ebay)

Information label stitched on shoe
(Courtesy, quora.com)

Depending on which country you are purchasing your footwear from - this applies for all styles of footwear including sports wear and all international brands - you will find your foot measure matches a corresponding size number.

Where to find the shoe's size?

It is written in an information label and stitched on the shoe, usually in the underside of the tongue. (Ref, photo on the left.) The label would give the size in more than one country denominations along with its measurement in centimeter. In case purchasing from a store, take the help of a store assistant.

Other information such as product bar code, the country where it is manufactured and date of manufacture, sometimes washing instructions are often included.

Essential details like the comparative sizes and bar code are also labelled on the outside of the shoe box. (Ref, photo below.)

Label on shoe box
(Courtesy, barefootrunningshoes.org)

If ordered online check for the right specification first thing upon unpacking.

So, armed with dimension, rudimentary style requirements and the names of some reputed international trek shoe manufacturers, I began my chase.
 

Luck struck in one shot. A sturdy North Face Verbera was on sale. Thank you, Santa!

 

“Honey, it’s no longer available,” comes the call two weekends later. The model wasn’t in the shop and looked like, had disappeared from the website, too. 

Ultimately, I came in to possession of a Salomon Viaggio. 

Pictures arrive attached on email. I will have about a fortnight to break them in before the trek, I count. No fittings, no trials, no opportunity for exchange should the size not fit. This venture was a gamble from the start.

Of Bits and Bobs

Remember my pre-trip planning pleasure?

This time round, the excitement was stolen by my partner, Sanjay. He was positively bubbling when he heard I had enrolled for this trek. One of his ex-bosses had done this trail three years ago and filled his head with wondrous photographs. 

A word about Sanjay here – he is a meticulous executioner, loves gift shopping and a bit of a worrier (though he’d do his best to deny this!)

My sleeping bag, from Blacks, UK
(Pic courtesy, Sanjay Paul)

Given the lack of good (read that ‘convenient’ and ‘comprehensive’) gear shops in  Calcutta, I had asked for his help to buy my trekking shoes and sleeping bag. Calcutta and its hinterlands, despite its increasing turn out of mountain sports enthusiasts, didn’t have one decent all-purpose outdoor store. One still relies on word of mouth sourcing through friends and rapport with existing shop owners to supply pre-ordered equipment. Friends staying in different cities (Delhi, Bombay and Bangalore  are far advanced in this respect) or outside the country are ones only hope.

Measuring to decide whether it'll fit in my luggage
(Pic courtesy, Sanjay Paul)

Wanting to take advantage of the post-Christmas sales, I checked online on Blacks and Millets, chose my preferred boots. For four months we exchanged notes on Google Drive and Skype.

What began with two all-important articles, when he visited for Easter, had grown to seven bags of varied shapes and sizes! The man would tick off my shared checklist, colour code items and in the end, had carried home all of them, plus sundry loose bits his own.

(Pic courtesy, Sanjay Paul)

(He had even picked a backpack, but Sujoy-da vetoed it in favour of a duffel.)

Sanjay wasn't leaving to chance or my eleventh hour inspiration to get things organized.

Even my safety pins came from the UK! 

[Though sceptical about their range and price advantage, I'm includinga comprehensive list of adventure sports outfitters' in Calcutta, courtesy trek leader Sujoy Das for whoever finds this useful : http://www.sujoyrdas.blogspot.in/2013/02/trekking-gear-in-kolkata.html]

Pre - Trek Essentials

I’ve come some way from the first self-planned trip and characteristic ennui has taken over. I no longer pour over travel literature and websites for hours (the internet has been such a blessing for both armchair travelers and those with wings-for-feet as I!)

But pitching oneself into the unknown, and somewhat unfamiliar, terrains needs its due diligence. Some factors need that prior care in a high altitude trek.

Equipment:

Shoes – The most important item on your check list. You cannot hope to pack in a 4-9 hour walk, depending on the day’s schedule, without the right pair of hiking shoes…(more) 

Sleeping bag – The higher one goes, the colder it’ll get, harping back on high school geography. At the same time, bedding provisions in the lodges tend to get scantier as one goes higher on the trail. While the Everest Base Camp trail is a teahouse trek, meaning one can hope to find lodges at every night halt, a zipped up sleeping bag, with or without lining, will make all the difference between a peaceful night’s rest and a sleepless night spent shivering.

Hiking pole – The road isn’t tarmac, to state the obvious (China has made one to the North Col Base Camp which allows visitors to be transported to it on vehicles, but I’m recounting my experiences along the South face through Nepal here.) The Nepal trail is as gritty, rubbly and in spots, non-existent (!) as a purist thrill seeker could hope for. The pole will guide your step through the briar, and take your weight, that supportive third leg, on many a slippery length.

Tent – Though not required in the Sagarmatha trail, which is crowded with cheap lodges and tea houses all the way, a tent is a must have for visiting places where ready accommodation isn't available.

While there are several other must-have gear on the hike, these four will need some prior handling to get a hang of. Hence, they need careful thought at the purchase stage and some hours/days of toying around with before being packed into the bag – more so if you’ve never used them before.

Health precautions:

Physician consult: (1.) If you have some on-going health issues and/or need to have daily medicines, it is advisable to consult your doctor before the trek. (2.) An orthopedic consult is a good idea if you have old leg injuries or joint problems (knee ankle ). (3.) if you are planning to use Diamox to prevent acute mountain sickness (AMS) but are sulphur allergic, or aren't sure whether this’ll clash with your daily medication, seek doctor’s advice.

Local knowledge:

Currency - http://www.xe.com/currencyconverter/ is a reliable currency converter but sometimes your local contact is better informed. Especially, with the exchange rates fluctuating often on a daily basis these days. Instead of randomly walking into the first money exchanger you’ve laid eyes on, it is better to ask a reliable source for a recommendation.

Weather – What with global warming, the entire climate of the subcontinent is undergoing bewildering changes. We faced untimely rains which affected our itinerary and topsy-turveyed our budget. Being informed of the likely weather conditions can help you pack better, save on the need for buying gear on the go at exorbitant costs and make adjustments to the itinerary minus the panic.

[ Some sites giving accurate weather reports, with 5 to 10 days' forecast are:
                                      http://www.bbc.co.uk/weather
                                      http://www.weather-forecast.com
                                      http://www.weather.com/weather

http://www.worldweatheronline.com and http://www.accuweather.com give up to 15 days' reports. In today's date of satellite imaging, most of these sites give fairly accurate and comparable data.]

Topography – Except viewpoints and the grandiose panorama one can click from there, no one bothers to tell you what the road is really like. No photographer seems to point the lens at his feet; no website posts those inglorious photo-shoots of the trail. ‘Kumbu* road description’ yields this interesting observation from wikitravel: There are no roads in the Khumbu region(!)

One has to walk it to know. Preferably, talk to fellow trekkers who’ve been there before, or are descending.

Language – Admitted, I didn’t use more than chiso (cold) and tato pani (hot water) but it saved me precious bucks on the trail! Hot water is chargeable whereas cold water comes for free. Most lodge owners and shopkeepers along the trail understand a mix of English and Hindi, thanks to the prodigious tourist footfall. Most often your porter and/or guide will act as the go-between, with their help and some wild gesticulation you will manage fine.

However, a smile, a Namaste (that universal code of greeting same as Hindi) and a few courteous questions in the local tongue will win you hearts, as some carefully chosen phrases can show a tradesman you’re savvy and clinch you bargains!

[A useful site to pick up basic Nepali vocabulary: http://the-voyagers.tripod.com/language.htm]

Contacts – I’m a member of http://www.couchsurfing.org/ and http://www.indiamike.com/ [this is mostly a India based travel forum  but has a 'Crossing the Border' section] I prefer establishing some local contacts before going to a new place, asking questions and taking advice from locals – after all, no one knows the land better. Reading up on the trip itineraries of those who’d been there before helps. From current weather reports to political news, where to eat and shop or what to pack for the road, handy knowledgeable tips can be gathered this way.

Our local contact, who arranged our permits and Kathmandu accommodation Lok Silwal, proved an invaluable support.

------------------------------

^{* Khumbu is the official Nepali name of the Everest region or Sagarmatha National Park.} 

Pre - Trek Reality Bytes

“Go carefully my friend, and rush in only where angels dare to tread,” warned a well-meaning adviser.

The warning came a bit late as I have already returned from my first high-altitude trek. For someone who had never trekked before, I am happy to have reached Gokyo (4750 m.) It wasn’t easy and I paid dearly for some of my ignorance. Lessons were plenty along the way each day…and I intend to share some pointers with other newbies.

40 may not be some people’s preferred age for initiation into such hyper-energetic activity. A lot of conventional wisdom went against my choosing Sagarmatha National Park for ‘ice breaking’. I am fifteen-years too old, fifteen-kilos overweight and a smoker (resolutions of abstinence are easier made than abstaining.) I must say I was grossly unprepared and uninformed.

There is no reason anyone else need be.

Reality Check 1: Age has nothing to do with trekking. It is all in the mindset; if you enjoy walking you can hike up there.

I met many senior citizens from across the world on the trail, There were more 50+ year olds than >18. One of my own team mates, Ajmal Sobhan, an able-bodied retiree, has done this trail three times (but then, Ajmal can put any teen to shame with his level of fitness.)

Reality Check 2: Weight does matter. You have only yourself to pull yourself up there.

While I kept off cold drinks, alcohol, fried food a good six months before the trek, some slip ups happened. A rigorous weight loss program is highly recommended. While weight isn’t a pointer to fitness, the lighter one is on ones feet, the easier it is to clear ground. Yes, there are horses, and helicopters for those who can afford them, but to bank on these to complete the journey is a bit of a cheat!

(Courtesy, Cartoonstock.com)

Reality Check 3: Do yourself a favour - quit smoking on a trek.






I’ve seen a few foreigners smoking without a care in the world outside tea lodges. Some of the Nepali guides and porters, like our sirdar Shyam, took smoke breaks regularly along the trail (he was careful to not do so before clients.) Plain geographical fact remains, the air gets more rarefied as one goes up and our urban lungs are not designed to cope with this. So try to abstain – it’ll be easier for you to climb. Your lungs will cry for all the oxygen it can get.






Reality Check 4: Fitness counts for everything.






The road is a killer most of the way. Stone steps barely a foot wide in places – the same goes for most of the dirt tracks and uneven pebble-laden ground will have you gasping most of the way up (and down.) Yes, I’ve seen several out-of-breath hikers and unashamedly been one of them on most of the ascents but will make sure I pack in a better fitness regime next time.






The fitness aspects to keep in mind deserve a separate chapter.

The Why-s of Pre-trip Planning

As my friend Arnab Nandy, journalist, travel writer and blogger with a repertoire of travel experiences under his belt enviable for his age, writes –

I consider the planning ahead of a tour, as part of the trip because I become very involved in the process. I eat, sleep and drink the trip for a few months before it actually happens.

Courtesy, Arnab Nandy, stray travels

I couldn’t second this more. For me, the thrills of a trip begin at my computer console, way before I hit the road. Some say you ensure saving monetarily by investing in the time and plan. My recent Nepal trip contradicts this, emergencies can beat the best of plans and budgets go haywire past then.

I had planned a lot for my first solo trip. Going away alone was an adventure on its own, the excitement of actually being able to do it kept me awake late into the nights. Planning a route, finding shelters along the way, negotiating per night charges, pouring over maps, websites and landscape snapshots…uff…I can still feel that skin-tingling pleasure. Preparing for the trip is only second to the journey itself.

In my impending trail through Nepal, I was to meet and hear of many adventurers who had hit the road without itineraries. They didn’t care where they slept the night, when they reached a destination, which route they followed, barely armed with a map, money and long term visas, they were taking it as it comes.

Planning works for me – (1.) money is limited and a budget appraisal is essential  (travelling within the country doesn’t give me currency conversion advantages)  (2.) on the same note, one can hunt for better bargains given ample time (3.) safety is a concern for me, I need to know where exactly I’ll be stranded at night, especially  while travelling alone  (4.) contacts made beforehand can be reached out to for suggestions and in emergencies (5.) my enthusiasm and free time for non-work related activities is notorious, I just need an excuse to daydream of escapes!

But for some, escaping with no clue seems to work fine.