A travel blog and update from a fellow traveller and friend. Hope you find interesting.
Will be back on the road myself this summer. Somewhere in Europe. Tony The Traveller.
Enjoy.

photos (Nepal, India, Thailand) are now up on my website:
http://picasaweb.google.com/bf.intransit
I have added some maps showing the routes covered by bike (in black) and on foot in Nepal (black & yellow).

I left Ilam early morning in the middle of November, cruising down to the Mai Khola river, then beginning the long, steep climb on the other side. One of the great things about the mountain roads in eastern Nepal is the relative lack of traffic. It means that however steep the road becomes, you can reduce the steepness of the slope by zig-zagging from side to side, keeping up your momentum and not getting overly-tired. The small wheels on my folding bike were particularly suited to this, even with panniers. It took me 2 days to reach the Indian border, where I made a fast return trip to Siliguri to book rail (sleeper) tickets to Varanasi and Delhi. It was a good move as there were few berths remaining. Once you have experience of travelling overnight without
a reservation in a packed (and I mean PACKED) unreserved carriage, it takes a true masochist to want to do it again!

The last 15 kms. into and out of Siliguri were the most unpleasant I can recall on a bike – dusty, noisy, bumpy on the awful road, and probably a bit dangerous, given the quality of Indian driving. There are many pleasant places to cycle in India, but they are all well away from population centres. Once back in Nepal I had a long ride to Dharan along the flat (easy) but interesting road through the Terai (plains area). Dharan is a fairly large town, due mainly to the fact that it was one of the two (Pokhara is the remaining one) recruiting centres for Nepali soldiers to join the Gurkha regiments of the British army. After India became independent, the majority of the Gurkhas were transferred to the Indian Army, but recruitment to the British army continued. The old army camp is now a huge hospital. Another legacy of British involvement is the road to Dhankuta and Hile. By a long way it is the finest mountain road in the country – superbly engineered, well maintained (thanks to ongoing funding from the UK), wide, and safe. It probably has more sturdy concrete crash barriers than the whole of the rest of the country. All it lacks is views of snow-capped mountains, though the foothill scenery is superb.

For the next few days I had some serious climbing, with night-time temperatures at Basantapur close to freezing. Here I left the bike, as the road beyond is still being constructed, and is either very dusty, very muddy, or too bumpy to ride with a load without suspension. I walked to Chainpur, in my opinion the most beautiful village in Nepal. Due to it’s location it has changed little since Toni Hagen – a Swiss geologist who spent much of his life working in the country, and who wrote the first ‘coffee-table’ large-format book with many colour photos – visited. It produces reputedly the highest quality metal (brass and bronze) vessels in the country – all hand made, though sadly this skill is not being taken up by a younger generation that is more interested in the bright lights of Kathmandu.

Now that the road has arrived, jeeps have already begun to break up the stone slabs that have served the populace well for hundreds of years. A few motorbikes race along narrow trails, and trucks will soon bring cement, as beautiful old buildings will be torn down to be replaced by ugly concrete ones. Nepal’s current UNESCO World Heritage Sites are:
Kathmandu Valley (1979),
Lumbini, the Birthplace of the Lord Buddha (1997),
Royal Chitwan National Park (1984), and
Sagarmatha National Park (1979).
Chainpur would make a unique addition.

Having made the long and steep walk there in a single day, arriving well after dark, I took a jeep part of the way back to avoid some serious climbing. I spent a few days in Dhankuta, the capital of Nepal’s Eastern Zone (there are 5 zones), which has been fortunately by-passed by the highway and is a delightful
town, sprawling along a steep ridge.

It took 3 days to ride from Dharan back to Ilam, the second (and toughest) one particularly pleasant as there was a nationwide strike, and the road was virtually deserted. Unfortunately most of the tea-shops were closed, but I managed to find a couple where I could get a much-needed brew. I spent a few days in Ilam, including an overnight walk, then rode the bike north to Phidim & back. This offered fine views of Kangchenchunga, the world’s 3rd highest mountain, some memorable climbs, and descents that had the rims of my wheels getting so hot from braking that I had to make frequent ‘cooling’ stops.

I spent a few days at my old school in Ilam, visited old friends to say goodbye, then packed the bike into its case and travelled to Kalimpong, in the Himalayan foothills in India. After a couple of relaxing days I was able to take a bus direct to the railway station outside Siliguri for my direct overnight train
to Varanasi.

Varanasi is the centre of Hinduism in India, and is claimed to be one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities on the planet (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varanasi).
I left almost everything at the station’s ‘left-luggage’ office to be collected on my departure. Indian traffic has become so horrendously unpleasant that for me many activities are spoiled; you can’t even enjoy a roadside ‘cuppa’ with the incessant blaring of horns at near pain-threshold level. What makes Varanasi especially pleasant is that most of the ‘sights’ are along the Ganges river, i.e. no traffic noise! It is at its most atmospheric at dawn when pilgrims come to bathe in the holy (if rather dirty) water. Just after sunset the are a number of elaborate prayer ceremonies at the more important ghats, which are a visual feast. I have a number of movie clips to put together when I get the time, but I’m sure you can find others with a search on Youtube. Thanks to a decent breeze and some vehicle emission controls, Delhi was slightly less polluted than I remember – that’s if you ignore noise pollution! I didn’t do much except eat well (I was there on Xmas Day) and buy a few souvenirs.

After India, Thailand seemed so civilised. Hardly anybody uses their vehicle horn, and motorists generally gave me a wide berth when they passed. Leaving most of my things in a guesthouse in Ayutthaya (the old Thai capital a little north of Bangkok) I took a train up to Nong Khai on the Mekong River from where I began my cycling. After Nepal, it was a piece of cake, except for some occasional headwinds. Instead of slogging up huge hills and hurtling down into steep valleys, you get into a nice rhythm and just cruise along for a couple of hours at a time. It’s hard to get decent tea in Thailand, so my breaks usually consisted of ice-cream & water, with a couple of beers at the end of the day. Quite frankly, much of the scenery is uninspiring, but the riding, on the wonderfully smooth roads, is great. I always found somewhere decent to stay, even in places where I thought there might not be a guesthouse or hotel, due of lack of anything to attract tourists. The local food, as always, was superb, but it was still hard to put all those calories back on! A pleasant surprise was the unexpectedly cool weather, especially close to the Mekong where winter winds blew constantly generally from the north-east. Locals sometimes wore woollen hats & gloves in the mornings, and the riverside restaurants were deserted during the evenings.

Payback time came when I arrived back in Sydney to one of the hottest spells of summer weather for a long time. It felt like I had expected Bangkok to be. The day before I flew back, the Thai capital had a maximum of 26 degrees. On my first weekend in Sydney almost every suburb passed 40 degrees! A week later Adelaide and Melbourne were up to the mid-forties.

Having bought a van, I’ll now be heading west to Bathurst where I lived for many years, then down to southern NSW in a couple of months. Back to the UK in June.
Cheers
Jeff

Hi all, its Tonythetraveller letting you know I have just finished travelling for now . I am back in the UK awaiting news of whether I can receive a kidney from my Step Dad. Just a few more tests before I know one way or the other. Either way it means I’m off the road until I get a new kidney. It could be the end of this year or the beginning of next year. Or I may have to wait on the donor list for a dead donor, which could take over two years. Time will tell. So after my last trip of just over five weeks, which took in Denmark, Norway briefly, Sweden, Finland including Lapland and Estonia, I have visited 46 countries – 42 of which are foreign.

I will eventually get round to writing about my last few journeys of 2007-08. However, check out the next few blogs as they are about my earlier trips and adventures. There will be exciting stories for all to enjoy!!!

Everyone on the road, have a good one.

Tonythetraveller

This is from a friend named Jeff, a seasoned traveller. Enjoy

Greetings All !!

I have finally found the opportunity to spend a couple of hours in front of a computer and report on the trip so far.

First problem came at Heathrow when I found that my flight with Thai Airways to Bangkok had been cancelled. They transferred me to a Qantas flight, but they wouldn’t honour the extra 10 kgs. baggage allowance that my Thai ‘silver card’ status gives me an I had to pay the extra baggage charges. Everything had to go with me as the bike plus essential parts & tools made up the bulk of my luggage. Other items like clothes were at a bare minimum.

I arrived at Delhi still tense after a spate of terror bombings just days before, though security was on such a high alert level that it was almost certainly far safer than normal. I was able to get a night train the same day to Gorakhpur near the Nepal border, which I crossed the following afternoon, and decided to take a night bus to Kathmandu, arriving early the following morning. My old friend Rajesh picked me up at the bus station and I was soon relaxing at his home – once I had cleaned up my bags, which were filthy from the bus’s storage compartment.

I had a few days in Kathmandu making sure that the bike was ready to go, then headed east on the back-roads out of the city – very muddy with the monsoon tailing off, but mercifully free of Kathmandu’s smoke-belching, horn-honking, crazily-driven vehicles. First stop was Dhulikhel, a fascinating old Newari town which still retains much of the charm and character it had on my first visit aeons ago, due mainly to the fact that much of the older part is too steep and/or narrow for traffic. I also caught up with the family who run one of my favourite lodges in Nepal – going since 1973 – though they had some sad news since my last visit over 5 years ago. One daughter had committed suicide and a son had been taken by the army some years back, presumably assumed to be a Maoist sympathiser, and not seen again. It’s a story I’ve read on many occasions in the local press over recent years, thanks to the internet. Now the Maoists are the major party in an elected government in the process of formulating a new constitution, the king now having lost all power.

Next day the serious cycling started. I knew what was in store as the road I was following into the hills now covers what was once the first 4 days of the trek to Everest. Basically that means climbing 2200 metres traversing 25 kms of road, descending almost as far, then climbing again. I can only describe the first day as ‘brutal’, particularly as I’d hardly done any cycling in the previous 4-5 months. I suspect that my advancing years may have had a bit to do with it as well! It was the toughest day I can ever remember doing any activity. I arrived at the village of Thulopakha in near-darkness having been assured that there was accommodation available only to be told there was none. Of course in Nepal there is never ‘nowhere to stay’ and a friendly shopkeeper gave me a bed in an out-house, which proved to be very comfortable.

From then on I gradually regained some of my fitness, not only reaching Jiri, but riding all the way back, something I would have considered impossible on the second day, when I had decided on the bus. Of course, tiredness is soon forgotten when you are travelling in a country when even second-rated scenery would be described as ‘stunning’. I stayed in one lodge where the kids (aged between 4 and 13) were quite delightful, calling in on the way back for a long afternoon tea-break. Descending has its own problems, as the roads can have big potholes hidden around the next bend. The big 25 km. descent was so steep that I had to stop frequently to cool my wheel rims, which very quickly became almost too hot to touch!

At Jiri there were some trekkers beginning the Everest trek, all exhibiting the same sense of excitement and impatience to get there that I recall back in 1980. I took a day off riding to do a circular walk taking in the first section, and part of the trail now rarely followed by westerners. Amazingly, a ‘Way to Everest’ sign that is in an old photo of mine is still there, hanging from a building in a now near-deserted village. All over the country roads are now being bulldozed into the hills to open up new areas. Initially drainage is poor or non-existent and the first monsoon causes havoc. Many of these are abandoned, but others are consolidated and improved over the years. Old market towns shrivel and die while new centres spring up near the transport
infrastructure. It means that goods can be moved to or from rural areas and farm surpluses can be transported and sold in the major centres. Electricity arrives, and then everyone is watching TV during the evening just like home. I had the novelty of watching the BBC news channel on the way back, before a movie on Star, at one of the lodges.

The day I returned to Dhulikhel the road was particularly busy as Dassain, the most important festival in the Nepali calendar was close to beginning. Every bus in the country seemed to be taking people from Kathmandu back to their towns and villages, and these had almost as many on the roof as inside. Normally this isn’t allowed on the main highways, but is relaxed for major festivals. The buses don’t return empty; many had sheep inside (brought from Tibet in large numbers before the festival, a feature of which is the huge amount of meat eaten, even by those who rarely consume it) with goats on the roof! On a few occasions I had to get off the road quickly with an overtaking bus bearing down on me.

I decided to take a back-road to Kathmandu to avoid the worst of the traffic – a route I had done on a rented bike in 2001. My memory must have been a bit hazy as it turned out to be rather tougher than I remembered. That was partly due to the fact that I had to take shelter, as the heaviest rain I can remember since 1998 fell for almost 2 hours, as I took shelter in a welcoming tea-shop, watching (and filming) numerous shoes floating past, almost certainly never to be seen again by their owners. When I finally reached the top of the pass I was heading for, the easy run down the other side was impossible – a sea of sticky & slippery mud, where neither wheel had any grip, and even pushing the bike was difficult. I passed a couple of taxis that had been abandoned on the ascent, the occupants having to walk. I finally reached the long Kathmandu ring-road in the dark with rain falling again, but managed to make it back to Rajesh’s. The whole family was about to head off to a neighbour’s for a meal, so I had to take a quick shower and clean up the bike & panniers (both covered in mud) the following day.

One of the features of Dassain is the slaughter of many animals to be eaten, and the following morning (the first of the most important three days) I was at another neighbour’s place to see 2 goats beheaded (quick and painless, unlike the middle-eastern throat-slitting), shaved, gutted, and cut up. By lunchtime we were enjoying the first ‘snacks’, before a big feast at another neighbour’s in the evening, washed down with ‘rakshi’ (fiery local spirit) and beer.

The final day of Dassain happened to coincide with my birthday, so we had a cake for breakfast – just one candle as it wasn’t big enough for 57! Rajesh gave everyone at the house including me and George, an American guest, ‘tikka’ – a special blessing that includes marking the forehead with a large red mark. Following a delicious lunch, then more food at a relative’s place later we were all too full to eat a full meal on our return. Cheese and biscuits washed down with a bottle of excellent Australian red wine proved to be just a perfect way to end the day.

Crashing sharemarkets and an Australian Dollar sliding like soap on a glacier seemed a world away as I took a comfortable new minibus (that’s how better-off locals now travel – faster, safer, more comfortable, and with less stops) to Pokhara. I had new brake-pads to replace the others badly worn on the big descents. In 1976, Pokhara was a quiet bazaar town with a serene lake on which the only development was the king’s summer (or was it winter?) palace, fantastic Himalayan views, a wonderful rural ambience in the small villages around. There were a few lodges and rustic restaurants not far from the lake, and the whole area seemed like paradise (as I described it in a postcard home at the time). Three of us rented a tiny house on a trail and a man next door opened up a tea-shop next day. I can still vividly remember sipping tea in the mornings watching the sun on the mountain snows change from white to pink, then orange. Small children barely old enough to walk would be leading water buffalo many times their size to water. The closest thing to a vehicle would be the occasional bicycle. Pokhara is now a sprawling town of over 100,000 people and a major tourist centre. ‘Lakeside’ consists of masses of hotels, restaurants, trekking and souvenir shops, an area where white faces dominate. Fortunately the nearby ‘Damside’, once a rival, is now the area for Nepali & Indian tourists, has a much more authentic feel, and better mountain views, despite the many overhead wires. After a thorough search I think I managed to find the house I stayed in 32 years ago – now on a lightly trafficked road.

After one night I was on the road, heading generally north-west along a new highway (relatively quiet) that will one day reach the Tibetan border. The once pristine Annapurna trek will then have been replaced by a road; already almost nobody walks the first few days of the original route. It was a memorable trek partly due to the scenery, and much of this can still be appreciated from the saddle, with fine views of first the Annapurna, then the Dhaulagiri range. Apart from the awful section before the town of Beni, the road is pretty smooth and great for riding, with relatively light traffic, accommodation basic but comfortable and friendly. On the return to Pokhara I followed the old walking trail from Naudanda to Sarangkot. It’s now a bumpy, dusty jeep trail but the mountain views from both places are superb, especially during early mornings. Sarangkot is now a major paragliding centre, though I prefer to keep me feet on either ground or pedals.

From Pokhara I rode the original but now little-used (except for local traffic) highway south to Butwal, stopping for what turned out to be 5 nights at the old and generally unspoiled town of Tansen, a few kms. off the main road. The accommodation situation looked rather uninspiring, with most of the
uninviting-looking lodges near the noisy bus-park at the lower and newer part of the town. By chance I came across a small office set up by a few locals trying to promote tourism in the area. The friendly ‘main man’, who also teaches tourism management at the local college was there, and when I pointed
out that it was a shame that there was nowhere to stay in the most interesting part of town, asked if I’d be interested in a homestay with a local family. Within an hour I was settling into a little ‘penthouse’ on the roof of his fairly large house, with nice views over the town and surrounding area. His two delightful daughters, both home from college, treated me like a long-lost uncle, bringing me cups of tea early in the morning and whenever I came in. I had a great few days, doing some interesting and scenic walks, and a couple of bike rides. The town itself had some very interesting parts, being both a traditional weaving and metalworking centre. There are numerous temples and mountain views are near and very impressive. As General McArthur said when he left the Phillippines in 1942, “I shall return.”

After an afternoon ride down to Butwal, I took a night bus to Naubise, near Kathmandu, then set off on the big climb to Daman (about 2300 mts. above sea-level) on the original road to Kathmandu, built in the early 1950’s but little used now. Daman has without doubt the best and most extensive view of the Himalayas without actually being in an aircraft. Dhaulagiri, Annapurna I, Manaslu, Shisha Pangma, Everest, and Lhotse (6 of the highest 14 mountains on earth) can all be seen. I’m not sure about Cho Oyu, Makalu and Kangchenchunga, but they would bring the total up to 9. Either way, you can see about 500 kms of mountains, which is pretty awesome as the sun rises – or at any time before the clouds build up. The return to Naubise was for the most part an exhilirating downhill freewheel, where I only had to use the brakes sparingly as the slope wasn’t so steep.

I reached Kathmandu on the roof of a bus during the second day of Tihar (Diwali in India), Nepal’s second most important festival. Two days later, the bike packed away, I tried to take a bus back to Dhulikhel for a few days of hiking. Because of the festival there were few buses running so I had to settle for a crowded one taking a bumpy and sometimes steep back-road. Virtually everyone had to get off to make the final pass as the driver couldn’t get bottom gear, and we struggled over, engine screaming and with a strong smell of overheating clutch plates. A couple of hundred metres down the other side, the driver swerved to avoid a motorbike and we went into a bank, fortunately at low speed. Everyone was OK but the bus was going nowhere, so I has to walk the remaining distance – a further 2 hours.

Following a relaxing few days I returned to the capital without incident in time to see the US election results on the BBC and CNN. Even on local TV it was a major news event; Obama is already a big celebrity here.

I knew that the trip to Ilam in the far east of the country would be a long, long bus journey. It used to take 19-20 hours, but severe flood damage from the last monsoon had destroyed sections of road on the plains near the Indian border. An overnight bus dropped me off in the middle of nowhere as dawn was breaking. I had to take a rickshaw about 12 kms on a very bumpy track, a boat carrying bags of cement across a river, a tractor 2 kms. to the highway, then two more buses, the second one the last of the day to Ilam from the plains. I made it as the sun was disappearing behind the hills, but was fortunate that I was dropped off close to my destination – the school where I worked as a volunteer teacher in 1998 and 2001. They were expecting me and I was given a very warm welcome.

Since I’ve been here I’ve been catching up on old friends and getting news of many of my old students. A couple have managed to get into the British army as Gurkhas and are now in the UK, many are studying at college, some are working as teachers, quite a few are now married. I’ve met a couple of them, one now teaching computing at the school. I’m going to use Ilam as a base for some bike trips into the eastern hills, and will also pop over the border to India to book some trains back to Delhi.

I’ve met a few European cyclists while I’ve been here, some who have flown from Turkey to avoid Iran, Pakistan & Afghanistan. A couple have come through central Asia, taken public transport to Lhasa (not allowed to ride into Tibet) then ridden to Nepal. I also met a Dutch lady walking from Holland to Tibet!

Since my last visit here there have been many changes, mostly for the better. Though there is still a big military & police presence, they are not cowering behind sandbags awaiting a possible Maoist attack. Everything on the surface appears very much back to normal. Mobile phones have taken the country by storm, and almost everyone seems to have them – great for a country that could never afford the infrastructure of land lines. An increasing number of Nepalis are working overseas, especially in the Middle East. I know people who have wives/sisters working in Israel as nurses or husbands in Iraq as security guards. I met one man recently returned from the ‘Green Zone’ in Baghdad after 4 and 1/2 years, another back on holiday from his job with KFC in the United
Arab Emirates.

Though I’ve taken plenty of photos, lack of access to something approaching broadband speed means that I probably won’t be able to add anything to my photo website for some time.

Cheers

Jeff

A fellow traveller Scot from the US sent me this.

Gather ’round, children, for it is time to play a game. Grab a map and let’s count how many countries do not exist. One of them occupies a chunk of the Republic of Moldova. When Moldova broke away from the Soviets, the narrow strip of land to the east of the Nistra River wasn’t happy with that move. That region, called Transdniestra, tried to break away from Moldova. There was a brief civil war, and Russian peacekeepers still man the unofficial border. In the Romanian language, Transdniestra roughly translates as ‘behind the river.’ The local Communist government felt that was a bit of an insult, so their ‘official’ name of the breakaway region is Pridniestra, meaning before the river – it all depends on which way you’re facing. The region has its own currency and stamps, which are no good in any other country.

Getting through the checkpoint was no problem. I had a local with me who was my CouchSurfing host. On the bus from Chisinau (Moldova’s capital) to Tiraspol (breakaway capital), we passed by Russian soldiers who had an armored personnel carrier hidden in a pit by the side of the road under camouflage netting.

Visiting Tiraspol is like stepping back into time. Russian is one of three official languages, and is the default that most people use. Not much has changed since the Communist era. Visitors are not welcomed, and therefore are rare. I had to register my passport with the local police. There are new apartment buildings, but not many hotels. My host is basically as homeless as I am, so we couldn’t stay with his friends. The hotel we stayed at didn’t have hot water, at any time of the year. When I asked about that, he said civilization has not yet arrived in Tiraspol.

What the government doesn’t control, a company called Sheriff does. Sheriff runs most ‘private’ businesses in the region. They’ve got supermarkets, gas stations, security guard companies, the local football (soccer) team, banks, etc. Anyone who wantsto open their own business has to go through Sheriff to do it. The gas stations post prices in Transdnietrian currency, as well as in U.S. dollars. My host said people can use almost any currency (dollars, euros, rubles, etc) to buy stuff because the local currency isn’t valid in any other country in the world. He warned me to change my local money into Ukrainian cash while in Tiraspol, because no exchange house in Ukraine would accept it.

My host used to be a professional football player, and so we got to go play a match with some of his friends at the Sheriff stadium practice field one night. I had to keep my mouth shut as we went near the gate because the security was very strict. Some people who work at the stadium get patted down when they leave in the evening to make sure they’re not stealing anything.

The main square in Tiraspol features an eternal flame for soldiers who died in the civil war, as well as the graves of some of them. There’s a tank mounted on a monument, which is one of the three tanks the country had. I saw another tank in the town of Bendery, near Tiraspol. Down the street from the square is a large billboard of the local ‘president.’ He’s part of a group of three men. Guess who the other two are? The ‘presidents’ of South Ossetia and Abkazhia, the breakaway republics in Georgia. It’s also common to see pictures of Putin or Medveydev next to an image of Che.

On Wednesday afternoon I got to the Ukranian border with my host around 1pm. He headed back to TIraspol, and I walked through the control zone. I made it through customs without any problems, and the immigration officials let me pass by as well. But I got stopped by the final guard. He checked my passport and radioed back to the immigration office some question about me. I didn’t understand all of what he said, but he took me back to the office and I got to answer a lot of questions from a huge guard while he looked through my passport. I knew the game he was playing, but acted like I didn’t. He was a nice enough guy, the kind you’d have a beer with, but he was simply the product of a system with endemic corruption. We chatted for a while in a friendly way, and he finally let me know that if I kicked in five dollars for beer money, I could leave. The $5 bill I had in my wallet was ripped, and the $10 was as well. But, I had 170 rubles from Russia (roughly $7) and that served just fine. So now I can say I’ve bribed my way out of two places (Mexico back in 1998 to get into Belize). A $7 bribe isn’t that much, and I’ve had to pay as much as $15 in official fees while crossing the borders of Central and South American countries.

I’m in Odessa, Ukraine, now. Just a tip: anyone coming here should get reservations ahead of time. Find a cheap hostel was very hard and took six hours of hiking around with my pack, plus three stops at cafes to use the Wi-Fi. I came across a place listed in my very outdated guidebook that is now a two-star hotel. The cheapest two types of rooms do not include access to hot water. Now, it was cold enough to se my breath at 3pm yesterday. Not providing hot water to guests precludes a hotel from having any stars, in my mind.