Hello Heathrow!

Well we’ve made it! The flight on Royal Jordanian was five hours and thirty minutes: the plane was fantastic, and the drinks’ service was great: they came around twice with a very gluggable white wine which was poured copiously from the bottle rather than in those measly little individual bottles! With the plush red seats and perfectly attired stewardesses, it actually eclipses our experience on Virgin Atlantic on the way out. But anyway, onto the final section of our interview:  

Jon: Hello Simon

Simon: Hmm. Hello Jon.

Jon: What were your expectations of India before you went?

Simon: Oh very high actually. I had heard that Francis Grier had a spiritual experience when he visited India, and ended up staying and trying to explore Indian music and various alternative therapies. This is what I was searching for, but sadly there was nothing there, it was entirely hollow on a mystical level.

Jon: How did real India compare with your imagination?

Simon: The heady aromas of rose petals in Hindu garlands often filled the air just when we walked down the street: this was even better than the dream! But there again, there were other scents which would always compete with this: often the smoke of simple cooking fires, either burning coals or simple wood fires, and of course the smells of bodily functions which punctuate your progress down the street with every step. We were under-prepared for much of this, but we managed to take this all in our stride.

Jon: Were you particularly shocked by the poverty in Bangladesh?

Simon: At first, it was NOT self-evident. Our first experiences of Bangladesh involved the amazing scenery of West Bengal and then over the border. The flatness is VERY green, and punctuated by small settlements and massive palm trees, together with much water, either in rivers or streams. This scenery immediately evokes the world of Rabindranath Tagore, and was both serene and magical. And then our arrival in Cox’s Bazar made us wonder at the great natural scenery and the warmth of the people. It was only gradually, as we scratched away at the surface that we began to perceive the full horror of life here; yes of course it’s a third-world country, this we knew before setting out, but the reality stops you in your tracks. Even in Cox’s Bazar, just below the surface of the beach life, lies a grim and hideous reality: once beautiful streams now still and overflowing only with rotting garbage and effluent. People continuously discarding all household waste into these addits, and alongside every street, flows open sewers. All this comes as a matter of course in daily life. And then our visit to the shanty settlements, where normal life attempts to take place under great hardships. The beaming smiles of the local people tend to disguise, or at least distract from, the reality of a tiny country, barely forty years into its independence with a population of over 140 million, many of whom suffer overcrowding, poverty, starvation and arsenic poisoning.

Jon: What did you find special about Bangladesh that you can’t find in any of the other countries that we visited?

Simon: Optimism.

Jon: What was the most extreme part of the trip for you?

Simon: By extreme, perhaps you are thinking of the white-water-rafting? Well that was awesome, and we must, must, must try it again over the world. But there was something else extreme: remember the Hindu watermelon festival on Maheskhali Island?

Jon: Ummm…. Yeah?

Simon: The demonic trance of those women, that look was something I’ve never seen before; it was like possession. And I never want to see it again.

Jon: Did the Himalayas in Nepal live up to your expectations?

Simon: Up near the Tibetan border, it exceeded them. It was JUST what I was looking for (minus the monastery).

Jon: What monastery?

Simon: The one in the dream I’ve had since I was a boy, walking in the mountains of the Himalayas in breathtaking scenery and stumbling upon a little Buddhist monastery with candles, prayer wheels and chanting.

Jon: How did you feel when we were wandering lost around the Holy City of Jerusalem?

Simon: For the first time ever, found!

Jon: The Lost City of Petra was spectacular! It is one of the seven new wonders after all. But did that beat the Taj Mahal? And was there anything that particularly grabbed you in Jordan?

Simon: Yes, I think that it DID beat the Taj, by a narrow margin of course. And Jordan grabs you not by its other must-see features, but by its overall atmosphere and great people.

Jon: How does it feel to be on your way home?

Simon: Oh it’s a very special feeling, because travel doesn’t just teach you about what’s out there: it also shows you what’s inside, and what you’ve got already. We’re lucky, aren’t we?

Jon: Oh yes! Well, thanks Simon for a great trip and I really hope that the next one will be just as great!!!

Simon: I’m already off to buy another guidebook…

So thanks for following our exploits. We are glad that you all enjoyed reading up on our antics. All that remains is for a few photos to help jog our memories of some really great times. But keep watching, because who knows, before too long the intrepid duo may be off to another continent. And this time, it’s going to be REALLY extreme!

The Final Countdown!

We’re on our way home at last! It’s been fantastic, but now we’re really looking forward to getting back to family life! Now that we’re back at the airport in Amman, it’s time for a little interview:

Simon: So, Jon, what are your most powerful impressions of India?
Jon: I was particularly impressed with the architecture in Mumbai as it was like stepping back a few years in London, but the more basic slums were amazing because millions of people had built their own houses from whatever materials they could find and did great jobs, actually. Jaisalmer was probably the best part of India with the sandstone fort in which we stayed and the havelis of course. Makhania lassi was plentiful and I wouldn’t mind going back for a couple, but it was the winding streets that really did it for me.
The Taj Mahal was greater than every expectation that I had. It was a huge learning curve as I never knew that the Q’ran was inscribed into the smooth marble of the monument, but I also learned that the four minarets on each corner of the Taj are designed to fall away from the centrepiece in the event of natural disasters i.e. earthquakes.
Varanasi was a unique experience; being able to see burning bodies on the ghats and floating our prayer candles in the Ganges, whilst on a small wooden boat was not to be missed.
The Indian people were not how I’d expected them to be. I had created this stereotypical vision in my head that they were all very warm and friendly. A few are. But I found that a lot of them tried to do us out of money and are very aggressive in queues and when driving. There were some very nice Indians too though, of course.
Simon: Yes, of course. And do you remember our first trip on the Indian Railways? Wasn’t that amazing?
Jon: Yep! Really cool to meet that Indian family who gave us free food, which was delicious by the way. I am really amazed at how easy the long journeys were. I found it really easy to sleep generally and it was quite comfortable. And the breeze coming in through the windows was a real treat in that scorching Indian heat!!!
Simon: How about Bangladesh, did that live up to the way you had imagined it?
Jon: I hadn’t really thought a lot about Bangladesh before. It was a place that I never thought I’d see. In certain ways, it was better than I had imagined. For a start the language is beautiful and the spoken basics are easy to pick up. The people are extremely friendly and the countryside is beautiful, but I was shocked at the state of Dhaka and the abundance of people who are in distress, fighting constantly for survival below the poverty line. Cox’s Bazar beach was amazing and I thought it seemed strange that the palm trees we’ve seen in places like Goa have been replaced by evergreens. Up in Srimangal, the cycling around the Lowacharra Forest and the tea plantations was really awesome, and I must admit that I have never tried a cup of six-layer tea before. The friends we made, Russel and Michael, were really great and I hope that we all remain in touch and that Michael in particular fulfils his dream of making it to England one day. The big downside of Bangladesh is that we ate the same food for two weeks solid due to the little variation in dishes. Daal Fry? Never again!!! (Barfs).
Simon: The way we went to Nepal quite spontaneously, that was a superb way of doing it. What struck you most about the place?
Jon: Our experience on Nagarkot was very striking and memorable. Ascending from a baking hot environment down in the large and dusty city of Kathmandu and getting caught in a wind/rain/hail storm up in the higher reaches. It was a moment that I will never forget. And the mountain bikes we hired that day were awesome and we certainly picked up speed, weaving in and out of busy Kathmandu traffic!
Lets not forget the Last Resort though, where I did my first bungee jump! Will it be my last? The surrounding Himalayan landscape there was spectacular too and I am itching to return for more trekking!
Simon: Did Delhi manage to live up to the expectations of a world-class capital city?
Jon: Where we were, not really. It was nice enough but, where our hotel was, the ground was bumpy just like we saw in poorer parts of India like Bihar. In our locality there was not much going on either, except for the amazing gym we went to and a couple of great restaurants. Maybe they put all the real cool things in old Delhi? The folklore dance show we went to was absolutely amazing though, and it was exactly what I wanted to see whilst in India!
Simon: Our chance trip into Israel, even though it was only a few days long, what did you feel about our visit to Jerusalem?
Jon: That was the best decision we ever made! On the King Hussein Bridge border crossing, it was nice to see other like-minded travellers too. I confess that I developed severe Delhi belly-ness during our time in Jerusalem, but I battled it out and I am glad because I have now been to the holiest place on the planet. I would have been really gutted if the pains had kept me in bed. It was great walking the Via Dolorosa and imagining what it was like at the time Jesus walked it, before Old Jerusalem was even built. But on the Jewish spectrum, it was great to see the Wailing Wall as I had only ever heard about it in a religious education lesson when I was at school… I never thought that I’d actually be going! And finally, the narrow and cobbled streets of Jerusalem were great just to aimlessly walk around on and get lost in.
Simon: And finally Jordan: In a single word, what’s it like spending time in an Arab country?
Jon: Sorry Simon, but one word just doesn’t do any justice! It was different to any experience I have ever had and perhaps it was the best idea coming to the Middle East on the way home! Good call!
Simon: So if you had to choose two things, one natural and the other manmade as the best aspects of our trip, what would they be?
Jon: It’s a close call between the Taj Mahal and the Lost City of Petra, though Petra wins!!! It is the most marvellous wonder I have seen on our trip! In terms of the natural phenomenons, that thunderstorm in Bangladesh was really great to walk around in! Otherwise, probably coming tops are the natural dunes of the Thar Desert in Rajasthan!
Simon: Eek, our plane is about to go! Cheers Jon, thanks very much!

What's Amman to do in Jordan?

Perhaps we should have renamed this blog ‘IndiaBangladeshNepalJordanIsrael’ but would that have been a bit of a mouthful? Well it’s certainly had plenty of unexpected moments! Often it’s been the unplanned bits which have been the most thrilling and fascinating. Today is our last full day, and we spent it in Amman Downtown. It’s great looking forward to coming home, but things aren’t quite over yet. So look out tomorrow for our final blog entries, and you never know, we might even do a summary of all the best bits, with some photos you’ve not even seen yet!

Today reached even greater gastronomic heights: we went to Habibah, which is THE best cake shop in the whole of Jordan. I like a bit of cake. We indulged in chocolate cake, cheesecake, chocolate éclairs, washed down with lemon tea and Arabic coffee. It just so happened that Habibah also sells fantastic ice cream, so it would have been foolish not to have sampled lots, purely for the sake of research of course. We tried chocolate, cream, mango and lemon ice cream. After some serious shopping, it was time for fresh orange juice. We found a great juice bar on a busy street corner close to the largest mosque in Downtown, where a huge glass of tasty and refreshing juice which he squeezed right there and then cost only 1 JD. Next week we’re going to invest in juicers, that’s for sure!

The Desert Highway

What a stroke of luck! Last night, the owner of the hostel said that a car was going back to Amman at 9.00 a.m. and that it would cost us only 20 JD. At 9 sharp, we met Ali, who was a very cheerful and light-hearted soul who bundled us into his Toyota and thus we began the three-hour slog northwards along the Desert Highway towards Amman.
The roads were all so straight and each stretch seemed to reach the horizon and beyond, excluding where small desert mountains popped up here and there. On our right, admittedly rather along way past the horizon, was Saudi Arabia and Iraq.
Ali, our driver, handed us a card, which gave details on one of the many hotels in Downtown Amman. It was much better value than what we had an idea of, based on what we were recommended in Wadi Musa. The room we are staying in costs 10JDs per night; it is a twin room and breakfast is included. We were expecting to pay 18JDs per night without breakfast, so we feel very lucky.
Besides our travel from Wadi Musa to Amman, not much else was going on today, so we trekked up the steep ascent from Downtown Amman to Mango Street, where there is a fantastic café. It looks like a popular hangout for like-minded travellers and, although the drinks are way, way, way overpriced, it comes with free wireless internet access, which kind of works. Sometimes.
We're sitting on the terrace watching the lights twinkle on one of the seven hills of the city, eating great food: Caesar Salad, fettucine with a creamy mushroon sauce and huge pizza. Why not Arabic today? It's cosmopolitan here, with awesome music on the sound system, and after all, we played two games of chess earlier in a locals coffee-den. Happy days!

Little Petra

Actually, we will not be making it to the Dead Sea because the King of Saudi Arabia has decided to pay Jordan a visit. I don’t know why they have to close off all access to the Dead Sea just because he is here, but what can we do? And what, exactly, makes him MORE important than us?
Today though, things were looking up for Jon and he was feeling a lot better since taking his medicine, so we teamed up with another man called Baz who was staying at the hotel and we took a taxi to a place known as ‘Little Petra’.
As we left the hotel and walked downwards towards town, we flagged down a taxi and prepared ourselves for some hard bargaining.
We asked the driver “How much to Little Petra and back?”
“Oh… It is seven JDs there and seven back, plus I wait there for one hour, so twenty-five JDs.”
The JD (Jordanian dinar) is roughly the same strength as the British pound. Through winding roads of steep ups and plummeting downs we sped in the taxi, gazing out at the marvellous rock formations that surrounded the Lost City of Petra and extended all the way to the horizon.
To cut a long story short, we ended up going to Little Petra for fifteen JDs (not twenty five) and we spent about an hour-and-a-half there, wondering through deep, sandy gorges where rivers probably once gushed water in between the natural, sand-coloured, rock formations.

Lizards scurried across the sand as we explored by walking through the ravine and climbing up rocks, with spectacular views each time, without fail. Baz and Jon revelled in the ascent up to the fantastic view-point, and Simon made it there eventually, if a little miffed…

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

Today we didn’t exactly make it to Wadi Rum. This place we’ve chosen to hole up in is just SO laid back we can’t seem to break out! Sometimes, local politeness can be astonishing: the shopkeeper just a few moments walk away is always helpful and refreshingly welcoming. After giving us a knockdown price on some bread, he repeated “Yes, you are most welcome; very welcome; you are welcome, enjoy your day; you are very welcome!” The furthest out that we went today was down to the local convenience store to get some breakfast and then to the pharmacy, where Jon got a hefty wad of pills against travellers’ diarrhoea and amoebic dysentery. Jon is not one for going to the doctors easily, but it finally clicked after going to the toilet every half an hour or so for the last six days, that he needed some treatment.
Moving on, the terrace is a great place to meet other travellers and exchange tales of mysterious locations the world over, for Petra is one of those magnetic draws which attracts fascinating people from all over the globe.
Our first character this afternoon was meant to be on a plane back home to California, but instead had decided to begin the next chapter of his life right here. And what a fascinating life, taking in the setting up of a school in rural Burma, as well as travels in South East Asia, Nepal and Spain. Good conversation always tends to draw in worthy participants, and soon another transatlantic guy was relating to us his odyssey from Egypt, via Jordan all the way to Taiwan.
An Australian also joined the group, but was strangely cagey when we asked him where he lived now. “Somewhere else” came the blunt reply. As we all started on the all-you-can-eat buffet (yes, you’ve now guessed the REAL reason we’re still here…) the conversation turned incomprehensibly peculiar. “Do you speak Swedish?” said American 2 to Australian 1. “No, but I live there and my mother is Lutheran”. How weird. American 2 then announced that he was going to live in Sweden because he could get citizenship because his father was Lutheran, although he had never been there. This would have baffled us all night if we had not quickly cottoned on to the fact that they were talking in code. For these guys were really talking about Israel and their Jewish parentage. How careful people need to be, even in Jordan!
There’s one other little fella we met here at the hostel. He’s so curious for everything he even once ended up marooned inside the rubbish bin!

Then it was time to go to the movies. What was showing? Well, ‘Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade’ of course, for the real star of the film is the Lost City of Petra. After the movie, we saw the girl at reception. “Can we stay tomorrow night as well please?” Ah well, we’ll make it to the Dead Sea eventually…

Wadi Musa

Why are the guidebooks so tough on poor Wadi Musa? It’s a great hillside town, with the echo of an amphitheatre, which magnifies the glorious calls to prayer, which punctuate the day. Here, the muezzins seem to intertwine their beautiful songs, both with the other mosques, and with their own chanting. Sitting on the balcony under a Bedouin tent, feeling the gentle breezes wafting across the valley, watching the sun move downwards towards the mountains of Petra and listening to the funky Arabic music as we await another tasty all-you-can-eat-buffet: well, this is as close as we have made it to paradise so far on this adventure! So, after our day of exploration around Petra yesterday, what, exactly, have we done today? Absolutely nothing!
Well, that’s not entirely true, but even intrepid travellers sometimes need days in their busy schedules when they are not haring around from A to B, or looking at the must-sees of B, or jumping off B… So today we decided just to sit back and chill! But before the big chill, we desperately needed to get our hands on some cash. Jordan is surprisingly expensive, and everybody seems to round prices up, which means that we have, admittedly, been caught out on money.
Simon had trouble getting cash in exchange for his travellers’ cheques today. The banker was very reluctant and, infact, refused to exchange them for him because Simon didn’t have the receipt slip with the cheque denominations and numbers written down. The banker later noticed the unmarked receipt, upon which Simon should have written the cash values down and stowed away somewhere, but he still refused to carry out the exchange. Must be a security thing. Without cash, Simon foresaw a tricky scenario, so much miffage then ensued!
We left the bank and Jon grabbed Simon’s bag and took out the travellers’ cheques, the unmarked receipt and a pen, and he copied the serial numbers from the cheques to the receipt, not forgetting to write the cash denominations as well. We returned to the bank and presented the newly marked receipt and Simon got his cash. So, the banker’s routine wasn’t very secure at all really, because anybody could have done it! Well, this team strikes again!
Although Jordan seems to be very expensive, can it be that this is the price that we have to pay to be in such a beautiful location? We may very well treat ourselves to yet another day of chillage tomorrow, for soon our programme is to encompass the Wadi Rum in all its glory (site of much Lawrence of Arabia shenanigans) and the Dead Sea. So keep your eyes peeled for more antics and special pictures!

Petra by Day

We’ve changed hostels and are now ensconced at the place Jon originally found on the internet back in January and also recommended by Willem and Renne. It’s more central and with a great vibe, with lots of interesting guests. And the food is awesome, but all in good time: more about all that later!
Seeing Petra by night FIRST was probably a good strategy, like only gradually revealing something: first in the dark where details, colours, the size of the siq (gorge) are all impossible to make out properly. But now in the morning light, WHAT a revelation!

The journey down the siq was punctuated by donkeys and horse carriages going about their early morning business.

When Burckhardt first clapped eyes on this majestic city, he must have had just the same feeling that we had. And when the words ‘rose-red city half as old as time’ were penned by Burgon, what a feeling of expectation the poet must have undergone, for he had to wait another fifteen years to see the great Treasury, the magnificent ruins and the beautiful, multicoloured marbling in the golden sandstone. Well, ‘rose-red’ it actually isn’t, but does that matter one jot?

Our experiences so far on this epic adventure have taken in some of the most spectacular scenery in the world in Nepal, the great Taj Mahal, the world’s longest beach, countless palaces and forts and the holiest place on Earth. Where does Petra rank alongside all this? Well, it’s certainly an experience of a lifetime, that’s for sure! Infact, it was so breathtaking that we actually visited the site three times in all. The nearby marbled sandstone was particularly impressive!

We were very careful in avoiding swarms of tourists. It paid to wake up at six o’clock because we were able to view all that we could in a more natural environment and we could hear the odd birdsong as we strolled down into the Lost City of Petra. The Treasury itself stood magnificently as the sun rose to bathe the top section, shining down obliquely, leaving the lower sections shaded by the surrounding rocks.

Jordanian food is fantastic! We sat down to the all-you-can-eat buffet and were amazed at the variety and the choices. There are twenty-five different types of salad alone! We filled our plates high and returned a number of times to sample many unique and enjoyable tastes. What Arabic cuisine can do with an aubergine would take an entire blog entry in itself! The humble lentil and the simple chickpea are also transformed in this style of cooking, and a basic chopped tomato salad was lifted with the inclusion of some chopped red chillies. A variety of dips with cucumber provided a cooling effect, and cous-cous had chopped mint for some extra ‘zing’. A couple of different pasta dishes completed the buffet, one of which was plain macaroni and the other was jazzy-tasting spaghetti that had flavoursome tomato every now and again.

Petra by Night

The gruelling bus journey with the rancid toilet stop may have been enough to put anybody off. Not us though! And what the evening had in store for us made it all completely worthwhile.
But first of all, we learned a valuable lesson. No matter how brilliant the guidebook says the hotel is, never check into one that is situated right out of town. The chap at the reception was very friendly. “Salaam alykom”, he greeted heartily with a wide smile. We felt very welcome! “Walykom asalaam”, we chorused in response. The journey from this hostel into Wadi Musa was a fair old hike: downhill all the way, but a crippling climb to get back! The taxi service in the area is hilarious: they quote us three JDs just for a short ride, then get offended when we offer just one JD, then look quizzical when we say “Ok, we’ll walk then instead” as our stock response when they refuse to do it for the one dinar. Half of them immediately relent and we get in; the other half drive away empty…
That evening, before our famous duo went out to visit the Lost City of Petra by candlelight, they decided to ‘go native’.

Jon elected to disguise himself as a Jordanian Bedouin, whilst Simon decided to go Palestinian. Do you think that they were able to blend into the scenery? Or did countless Jordanian men stop them and rearrange the headgear into the correct manner?

On the way down into the depths of the Wadi Musa valley towards the legendary Petra, the sun sank behind the phenomenal rock formations of the desert landscape.

Few people are privileged enough to visit the Siq and Treasury of Petra after nightfall, and to do this by the light of 1,700 candles is a truly magical experience. We were accompanied by a crowd of roughly two hundred people, but we fell back away from the crowd so we could hear the night time noises of the gigantic gorge on the way to the Treasury. Following the warm, yellow glow of the candles was equally as great, turning each old bend in the ravine.

And then, unexpectedly, there through the next tall fissure in the rocks of the siq, without warning and looming majestically upwards yet still concealed by the rock so that we can only see a fraction of the main façade, there is the Treasury. It’s massive. Much, much bigger than we had at first imagined. How stunning this sight must have been to those weary travellers two-thousand years ago, and how stunning right now to these two weary travellers as it begins to materialise through the candlelight. As we approach, everybody else is still and silent, sitting on the ground listening to Bedouin musicians. Suddenly, from far within the Treasury, there floats down the distant sound of a simple flute. This flute incantation gradually becomes more rhythmic, more hypnotic and mesmerising as the player gradually moves towards us and the impressionistic sounds slowly become more distinct.

As luck would have it, some Brazilians were filming there and Jon got into conversation with one of them. It turned out that they were from São Paulo and they were filming some kind of professional documentary for the television. The young lady, with whom Jon was talking, suddenly pulled her cameraman towards him and shoved a microphone to his face. At this stage, Jon didn’t know what to say in English, let alone Portuguese. Anyway, we think that he will be on Brazilian TV soon. It could only happen to Jon!

Downtown Amman

As we set out from the Old City of Jerusalem on a chilly but sunny Sunday morning, all the bell towers of the churches tolled joyfully as a summons to prayer, just as the muezzins had done the night before, each one competing for supremacy! But we did not have time to linger, for our goal was, in the words of The Seekers, to move on and cross that Jordan River.
We managed to take a rapid ‘Sherut’ (or in the Jordanian equivalent, ‘Serveece’, which is a shared taxi with a fixed fare for each person) back to the King Hussein Bridge, or Allenby Bridge, as the Israelis call it. In order to get out of Israel (or to be more accurate, the Occupied Territories, for Israel has only claimed this land since the conflict of 1967) we had to pay the sum of one-hundred-and-sixty-one Shekels. Already.
The Jordanian Immigration didn’t really even take place at all, for of course we hadn’t really left Jordan at all, and after all, the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem still appears of the twenty Jordanian Dinar bank note. By coincidence (or fluke) we met up again with a young Dutch couple who had been with us on the outward journey to Israel, and as they too were travelling back to Amman, we decided to share a serveece together back into the city.
“Where are you staying?”, they asked us.
“We haven’t booked into a hostel yet, so we still don’t know”, shrugged a confused Simon.
In an instant, Willem was on the phone to his sister, who is currently living in the centre of Amman. We couldn’t understand what the conversation was about… It was all double Dutch to us, although didn’t Jon say “Ik spreek vloient Nederlands” to them earlier? Well, Willem hung up the phone and he gladly said that we could stay the night in his sister’s student apartment. Great! It just so happened that one of the students sharing the apartment is away until the end of May, so we crashed in her room.
And so the afternoon was given over to a full exploration of Downtown Amman. We started by walking from Rainbow Street to Mango Street, where we found the most amazing bookshop with a funky upstairs café to while away an hour or so. Here we drank some more of the Middle East’s fantastic signature beverage: it’s called ‘fresh orange juice’. We also had the world’s best strawberry milkshake, which contained a strawberry syrup-juice right at the bottom of the glass, giving a different flavour and texture as you sucked whilst moving the straw up and down through the drink.
Another tradition throughout the Middle East is to smoke flavoured tobacco through what is commonly called a “shisha”. There are no drugs inside the tobacco; the only thing different is that this particular tobacco tasted like cherry. It is to be smoked by breathing through the mouthpiece on the long hose, which is attached to a large glass compartment that has water inside. Lying above the water in a small metal case is the tobacco itself, which is then covered by tin foil on which burning hot coals rest. As one takes a puff, the sound of whirling bubbles going through the water creates the final authentic touch to being inside a Middle Eastern bar/café. All I can say is that it just had to be done!

Feeling curious, the four of us trundled into the busy shopping district with a local electrical engineer/media enthusiast, called ‘Blue’. He is a friend of Rian (Willem’s sister) and he showed us to a few souvenir shops, where the Dutch couple bought themselves a shisha!
Feeling peckish, we headed for a falafel sandwich and some chips. It was all very good, but the sandwiches were so big that Jon couldn’t eat a whole one, so Simon gobbled it instead. Rian was to receive a surprise present for putting her brother up for a few weeks: a table for the flat, so off we headed to a fascinating part of town specialising in second-hand furniture. With the table safely stowed on a delivery van with Willem navigating back to Rainbow St., the rest of us set off on a white-knuckle taxi ride back to the flat. Jon took the front seat with the driver, safely belted up, with Simon, shisha and Renné, Willem’s better half, in the back. Pulsating Arabic rock and radio announcements blared out of the car’s stereo as we sped across Amman at that twilight time of evening where the stones of the city reflect the orange of the setting sun and the mosques seem to spring into life once more.

We all watched the taxi metre as it slowly made its way upwards towards one whole JD! Taxi rides across town are great value here. But then as we hurtled along a dual carriageway, a large, ominous black Mercedes pulled out from a small side street and began to make its way in our direction. What happened next probably took place in under one second, but as we later discussed it, we all remember the whole incident unfolding before us in slow motion, like a frozen ballet. The elderly Mercedes driver had completely misjudged his angle of turning and which lane he wanted, and probably hadn’t even seen our taxi bearing down upon him from his left. CRUNCH*!*! as our taxi driver swerved to HIS left to avoid the collision, but this took us into a concrete central reservation wall. The Merc continued to veer left as well, sandwiching us between the wall and the Stuttgart armoury. The air filled with the sound of grinding metal as we decelerated to a standstill in a remarkably short period of time. Silence. The taxi driver was in such shock that he was speechless and motionless. What a lucky escape: we walked away unhurt!
Tomorrow we start early, for we have a long journey southwards: the lost city of Petra awaits us!

A quick message to Janet!

You were wondering if we would find lassi in the Middle East... Well, so far we have not discovered any, but we have found something that we appreciate much more at the moment! On the side of just one of the many winding streets within the Old City walls, we stumbled across freshly squeezed orange juice. We realised that this was not to be missed as we saw the tower of large, tempting oranges alongside his juicer. This fresh orange juice was no doubt the best we have ever tasted! X

Via Dolorosa

The way of suffering. It was along this route that Jesus last walked before his crucifixion. Through winding streets of sandy limestone cobbles, typical of Old Jerusalem, it was fascinating to involve ourselves fully by following in Jesus Christ’s final footsteps. The Via Dolorosa has fourteen stations, each of which bear significance to the day of the Crucifixion, around the year AD 30.

From nearby the starting point of the Via Dolorosa, we stood in awe as we gazed towards the Mount of Olives. The first station is tricky to locate, in the middle of an Islamic school, whilst the second is somewhere at the ‘Ecce Homo’ convent. But at the Chapel of the Flagellation we arrived at a significant time: the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. For just a few moments we joined the small group meditating in the Real Presence and we realised that this was THE perfect start to our walking of the Way of the Cross, for Christ wasn’t just here two thousand years ago, he was here right now! The third station is marked by a small Polish chapel where we had earlier witnessed a violent fight, right infront of five armed police, whilst we were then able to continue underground to the fourth station, where we once again found a small chapel with the Blessed Sacrament, this time displayed in a stunningly vivid and modern way. 

At the fifth station, we saw where Simon of Cyrene carried the cross for Jesus, whilst at the sixth station, Veronica received his image. The seventh station is marked by a tiny chapel built into the wall of a souq: during the 1^st century this was at the edge of the city and from here a gate led out into the countryside. Therefore the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was certainly situated ‘without a city wall’, and our visit to the true site of Calvary seemed all the more probable. At the eighth station Jesus met with the Daughters of Zion, whilst at the ninth station, a Coptic church conceals a massive underground water cistern where we discovered a fantastic echo.

For the remaining five stations, we entered the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Much of this building is in the control of the Greek Orthodox community, and it is certainly a wonderful experience to explore, complete with the smells of incense, the flicker of candlelight, the magnificent oil lamps and the lavish decorations in silver and gold. We ascended to the site of the Crucifixion and lingered at the chapel on the spot where Christ died, marvelling at the many candles and looking directly down onto the bedrock of Calvary to the place where the crosses were anchored into the ground. 

Downstairs again, we witnessed the close of an Orthodox liturgy in the main part of the building, complete with numberless monks, nuns and priests. Joining the queue to enter the site of the tomb, we heard the singing of various traditions of Christianity, from the Franciscans, to some simple chanting of Eastern Orthodox priests, whilst echoing round the building was the sonorous Byzantine melismas of the Greeks. 

And then we had reached the head of the queue and suddenly there we were, crouching slightly to enter the tiny chamber illuminated by multicoloured oil lamps on the ceiling on the way in, and solely by devotional candles as we knelt. Were we really here? It seemed so unreal. But there before us was a stone slab, perhaps on the exact place of the Resurrection. But this building has undergone sacking, earthquake and fire. And of course, we are still assuming that St. Helen herself had identified the correct location back in the fourth century. But if not the exact location, we were certainly closer to the tomb of Christ than we had ever been on any other day of our lives, and so this place for us was the holiest spot on the planet. 

Ye Old Trip to Jerusalem

Have you ever been to Nottingham, where there is an ancient inn with the name ‘Ye Old Trip to Jerusalem’? Here is their website: www.triptojerusalem.com

Well, you will doubtless be as surprised as we were to find out what has happened to us next on our epic journey of discovery!

But first, a little summary of our final few hours in Delhi and onwards to the Middle East.

We arrived with many hours to spare at the airport, so that we could relax and enjoy all the facilities of the departure lounge. At this point, we were perplexed to see the long queues simply to gain access to the check-in zones. We were eventually herded to the front of the line and told to go away by a security officer with a machine gun. Apparently people are only permitted into the building no more than three hours prior to the departure time of their flights. We had arrived eight hours ahead of time, and were waved over the road to a pokey little area with uncomfortable seats and a food hall serving reheated slices of pizza. After some games of chess (in which, incidentally Jon adopted some startlingly new, aggressive tactics which resulted in a 2-0 victory for him) we were asked to leave even this area because we were occupying a table. Simon commented to the restaurant manager in a rather brusque way his opinion of this policy. On our way to the second attempt at penetrating the check-in zone, a very pretty but unbelievably rude young lady again tried to stop us. Once past her, another security guard attempted to fob us off once more, but Simon was having none of it. “Go away”, said the guard, by now worn down by the persistence of the weary travellers, pointing them in the direction of the other security guard. Perhaps the next one would be more of a soft touch?

Staff training SHOULD become a priority at this airport in the very near future. More specifically, training the armed guards to read and understand an airline ticket. It’s not rocket, is it? This final guard was completely flummoxed by the concept of an e-ticket and by the idea of a stopover. He was unable to ascertain even the dates on which we were to fly. Simon adopted the tactic of repeating over and over again the same, simple information, in a very forthright manner. Eventually the guard realised the only way to get rid of us was to let us pass. And pass we did, into what can only be described as the paradise of the Indira Gandhi International Airport. Check-in was smooth and perfect, as was our passage through security and into the comfort of the departure lounge. Perhaps this must count as one of our best ever experiences the world’s airports?

The Royal Jordanian flight was on a brand-new Airbus A-319, painted in ‘One World’ alliance colours. There were very few passengers, and a very helpful and attentive crew on the six hour flight to Amman, during which there was a great breakfast service, followed by cakes with tea and coffee. On reading the in-flight magazine, we quickly realised that we were not to be the only important visitors to Amman that morning: Pope Benedict XVI was also arriving in town! But would we get to see him?

Our onward plans within Jordan took an unexpected turn: yes, we WILL get to explore Jordan, as you will soon find out, but first, something else was beckoning. Something with deep spiritual significance.

Many people visit India for its spiritual and mystic qualities. Perhaps the holy Hindu city of Varanasi offers a certain depth to travellers seeking a profound experience. Or perhaps the meeting with Buddhist monks and the visiting of Buddhist monasteries gives the weary traveller a glimpse of some spiritual peace. But for us, these expected experiences didn’t quite happen. There was something quite alien and false about the mumbo-jumbo of Hindu practices we had witnessed, both in India and Nepal, whilst this emptiness also seemed to be at the heart of Buddhism. Strangely, we longed for a fix of some Christianity.

And so as we smoothly negotiated our passage through the Queen Alia Airport in Jordan, buying our Jordanian visas and getting our hands on some Jordanian Dinars, we decided on exactly where to head next!

“Taxi!”

“Where you go?”

“The King Hussein Bridge!”

This border crossing would then be just a short shared taxi ride from our goal. Exiting Jordan was perfectly simple. Gaining entry to the most security-conscious country on Earth was to prove far trickier and far more time consuming. Would it be worth it?

After much queuing, multiple passport inspection, disinfection, photography, finger-print taking, answering of personal and intrusive questions (for which, incidentally, Jon took the lead with his diplomatic expertise…) we were in. “Welcome to Israel”, beamed the pretty young lady.

We passed right by Jericho, then saw signs for Ramallah and Bethlehem: we were in the heart of the West Bank, and the beautiful scenery of the side of the rift-valley was often punctuated by heartbreakingly simple Palestinian shanty settlements. Then on the hillsides, the Israeli developments came into view: apartments with balconies juxtaposed with massive concrete walls, redolent of East Berlin. And then on the top of a hill, the campanile of a church. Once through a long road tunnel, the scenery all changed: here was a massive city. And suddenly there was the Dome of the Rock as we looked down upon the Holy City. Our first view of Jerusalem was spectacular!

Dropped off by the Damascus gate, we marvelled at the scope and size of the city walls as we headed into the Old City with its different quarters: Arabic quarter, Jewish quarter, Christian quarter, Armenian quarter and so on. And later we marvelled at the moonlight casting its beams over the white limestone of the magnificent fortifications.

We stumbled across the Golden Gate Hostel, a converted mediaeval brewery, and couldn’t believe our luck in finding a small room complete with exposed ancient brickwork and a gothic-vaulted ceiling. And then out to explore in the streets of the Old City, with its myriad, teeming bazaars selling all manner of goods from tempting sweets, to pungent and aromatic spices, to souvenirs, ancient icons and carvings, oil lamps and textiles. How magnificent!

The muezzins began their call to prayer, each mosque interweaving and intermingling with the sounds of the others to create an otherwordly, slow harmony. And as the sun began to cast its final, golden rays of Friday afternoon sun onto the stonework, we found our way to a small balcony overlooking the Wailing Wall. Making our way down onto the Plaza we mingled with vast numbers of Orthodox Jews as Shabbat commenced, and covering our heads as a mark of respect we made our way over to touch the sacred wall. Later, as darkness descended we passed hundreds (possibly thousands) of Orthodox Jews as they walked in procession out through the Damascus Gate. What a memory of a lifetime!  

  

Fitness First

Starting the day with a huge, delicious breakfast was the best thing that we could have done. This was to be a day of strenuous activity. We began by walking a great distance, browsing through the bazaars and stopping in at various cafés. Once again we spent a good time in the Saravana Bhavan where we tried a selection of tasty drinks (and onion bhajis!). The bhajis were accompanied with the best curry sauce that we have had throughout the whole of our journey, the only problem with it was that there wasn’t enough! Back to the fluids though: we had carrot juice (that’s as orange as drinks go!) and fresh lime soda, which came with some sweet syrup in case we didn’t want it too bitter.
As we were mooching through the small handicraft bazaars, the multi-tonal sound of frantic bongo beats crept up behind us. This reminded us of yesterday, when we were followed by a young lad playing one of his many bongos skilfully as he tried to make sales. When we looked around we found that it was the same persistent chap and that he was having a second go at selling us a drum for one-thousand-two-hundred rupees or so. We continued exploring the stalls, wandering in and out of shops, but, without fail, he would always be outside waiting patiently. And then the funky rhythms would begin all over again.
Come the evening, we found just what we had been looking for all day, to cure an immense feeling of exercise deprivation. Infact, we hadn’t been to any gyms for the whole of the trip, so we seized the moment and had a blast. When enquiring about the entrance fees, we found that it was pretty expensive. It was almost six-hundred rupees per person, but to our surprise the manager admitted two of us for the price of one. The gym was amazing: full of fantastic machines, complete with a sauna, steam room and loads of people. The atmosphere was buzzing and, in some corners, it was as if people were treating the gym as a social event rather than just a work out. All in the medium of English… Was this the Delhi high-society?
A cycling class was taking place just as we entered, so in we went for one hour of intense pain. The young Indian woman instructing the class was a barrel of laughs and she was really enjoying her job. Her smiles never stopped coming and she was forever singing with the music. We were pleasantly surprised that the classes and general announcements at the gym are spoken in English, which meant that we knew what to do and when we had to leave the gym. In previous parts of the journey, we have been slightly left in the dark on things like bus journeys where they only made announcements in Hindi, or Bengali during our time in Bangladesh.
We enjoyed the other machines in the gym too, whilst we were training independently. Time went by unbelievably fast, and before we knew it, we had completed two-and-a-half solid hours of intensive, gruelling exercise. I have been missing that!
The drinks’ corner provided complimentary soft drinks, so we took a Mirinda out onto the roof of the gym to watch the pulsating night-time cityscape of Delhi unfolding beneath us, with its glitzy lights and frenetic traffic. What a cosmopolitan area Connaught Place is!
As we tried to leave, the doormen erupted into a mighty argument involving pushing, punching and raised voices. “Call security”, said Simon, helpfully. “They ARE Security”, sniggered the manager, adding: “These poor Indians, they have no education, so this is how they behave!” He himself, of course, was Indian to the core.
After a stroll around the immense circle of Connaught Place, we discovered ‘Shanghai Express’. Curried-out once more, it came as a welcome relief to tuck into some amazing oriental food: a flavoursome roasted-garlic soup, and a Thai style soup with coconut milk and red curry paste really hit the spot, whilst a chop suey gave a great post-exercise hit. Just to spoil your perception of the Chinese cuisine, chop suey is actually an American concoction and was not actually invented by the Chinese. It originated in a San Francisco diner in the nineteenth century, when the owner received some hungry last minute guests. With only a few leftover vegetables and some noodles, his creativity sparked as he threw the lot into a huge wok, creating a wonderful tasting dish.
And then back at the hotel, it began to dawn on Simon what was happening: Tim and Tom, take note! Wouldn’t it be ironic to have journeyed through the entirety of South Asia and NOT have contracted ‘Delhi-Belly’, only to have arrived in Delhi at the end, and fall victim to this nasty little affliction? For the full story, we need to rewind just a little:
At breakfast on our first morning in the capital, after paying the bill, Simon had a peculiar verbal exchange with the waiter. He tendered the EXACT money to pay the bill, yet the waiter seemed perplexed by this strategy. “No tips?” mumbled the irate steward. “No tips!” confirmed our traveller. “Where you from?” continued our café assistant, before the duo chirped in unison: “England!”
“England: rich country”, observed the waiter as he stumbled away, and Simon tried to add: “India: poor country spending too much on its space and nuclear programmes to help the poor.” But it was all in vain; he had disappeared before the first words were out. We didn’t think much more of it, but slightly in guilt, we tipped reasonably for the subsequent two breakfasts.
But yesterday, Simon ordered a very enjoyable Mango Lassi. As he sucked enthusiastically at the straw to hoover up the last remaining mouthfuls from the bottom of the glass, there it was, forlornly staring up at him. An ice cube. The others had melted, leaving the final, incontrovertible evidence for all to see. Now we can only surmise how the ice made it into Simon’s lassi, and whether or not this ice was made from sterilised water would be very hard to prove. And the biggest suspicion: that the waiter had put it there deliberately to cause the convulsions of agony as a means of punishing the tight-fisted bourgeois westerner: well this must remain pure speculation. BUT, intrepid travellers beware, and learn from the mistakes of the ‘India, Bangladesh (plus Nepal) and Jordan’ explorers. Exploring on YOUR behalf: NEVER, never, never get complacent, and NEVER let your guard down as the finishing line approaches.
And so here we sit at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, awaiting our flight to Amman on Royal Jordanian Airlines. For the trip is far, far from over: the next exciting instalment awaits us!

Delhi Delights

Our walk along Janpath and around the Rajpath area revealed the immense scale of Sir Edwin Lutyens’ plans for New Delhi: this must equal or surpass Paris, London and Washington in its pretense of grandeur. But the most powerful image was that of two Indias: the one with its massive boulevards and vast, imperial buildings including the triumphal arch; the other, right beside it, of grinding poverty, squalor and social deprivation. Right now, at the time of national, presidential elections, we wonder what, if anything, could be done? On our way to this elegant part of town, we passed the headquarters of the Marxist Party of India…
We gave ourselves a well-deserved pit-stop at a branch of Saravana Bhavan, a South Indian café where the Dil Kushi Lassi was just like the Rajasthani Makhania Lassi we used to rave about, with its candied fruit and rosewater. The flavour of this drink was satisfyingly sharp so as to pummel the tastebuds into submission!
We then formed the core of a tiny, but highly appreciative audience at a magnificent show: folk dances of India! To get there we hopped into a CNG and headed for a complex, which forms the centre of the Parsi community of Delhi. We thought about the Towers of Silence that Roma mentioned to us when we were in Mumbai: maybe they are here too? The Parsis do not normally cremate or bury their deceased loved ones. Instead they leave them on the rooftop where vultures may devour the corpses.
The folklore was truly excellent and we felt that our mission to connect with Indian music was accomplished! There were traditional dances from many of India’s states. The beautiful women, dressed in their colourful saris, completed the image of real India but also the men who, depending on which type of dance, wore turbans or were rapidly and rhythmically beating bongos. Accompanying these wonderful dancers was the tabla player, who was probably the best drummer we have ever heard! He is likely to be over seventy, but he certainly hasn’t lost any of his ability to control the dancers with intricate and brilliant cross-rhythms. Let’s not forget the gentleman singing who seemed to pitch his notes perfectly. The women looked very happy and their smiles shone out towards each other and also to the audience as they frantically spun themselves around in circles, interweaving between one another.

An unexpected talent was the solo ‘Devil Stick’ juggler, who used two thin drumsticks to control a larger baton as he whirled around the stage. It was amazing to see him angle his body precisely as he twirled the baton behind his back, under his legs and high into the air. This talented individual also was the star of another dancing act, more specifically a drumming duet. The two drummers were busting out complex rhythms whilst jumping majestically into the air and around in circles, with their heads closer to the floor than their feet at times. It was an all round superb performance!

As we left the building we were thrilled to shake the tabla player’s hand and congratulate him on providing such stunning music. “Danyavaad”, said Jon, which means thank you. He responded to us both, “Namaskar”.

Back into India: Delhi!

After a great week in Nepal, which certainly wasn’t enough, the time came to go to Delhi where we will be spending the next four days. We were originally going to take the bus from Kathmandu to the Indian border and proceed to Delhi by train, but the current high risk of violent strikes increased the likelihood of roads being closed. We sought advice from various travel companies in Kathmandu and most of them suggested another bus route to the same border crossing, which sounded absolutely fine until we discovered that the journey would last for fifteen hours. We learned from our last grueling bus journey that fifteen hours probably means about twenty-two or so. Alas we decided to play safe and take a flight, which lasted for just an hour.
But before the afternoon flight on Jet Lite, there was time to hit the Kathmandu streets once more, for some last-minute souvenir shopping: this town really is an Aladdin’s Cave of Himalayan treasures! In the street some days ago we had met a flute-seller, with his beautiful wooden transverse flutes inlaid with Nepali decoration. He wouldn’t really take no for an answer, and would appear magically infront of us at five minute intervals. I suppose our first mistake when he originally crossed our path was to take up two of his carved instruments and to have a mini jam-session right there in the street: he knew he’d hook us eventually. Gradually his price came down from Rs 1,000 to Rs 200. But did we really need a delicate flute to carry in our backpacks? So that day, we declined, declined and declined, and walked on with money intact. But now here he was again, sporting his massive grin and beckoning us to buy his wares.
Doing business with Hindus can sometimes be advantageous. We have managed to work out that they have a handy little superstition that the first sale of the day is a gift from the gods, and promises more sales to them as the day goes on. This first sale is always accompanied by the kissing of money and the rubbing of a grubby bank note on the forehead, along with other ritual gestures and the shaking of hands. So desperate is a merchant for this first sale, that it may be possible to beat his price down to genuine bargain levels, especially if this transaction occurs after a day of zero business: Simon managed to bag a wonderful gift from a textile salesman only a few days ago as it was his only sale that day!
Back to Flute-Man: here he is again, keen for us to become the proud owners of a wooden flute. But the one Simon has his eye on is larger than the rest and is made from a rich, black wood. Flute-Man won’t let this one go for less than six-hundred rupees, but today he hasn’t sold any flutes yet. “Ok, ok ok” he says, just like everyone else in South Asia, always in groups of three. Maybe they say “achar” in exactly the same way? “No problem, no problem!” (They always say this too…) So the flute is sold for three-hundred rupees. Result!
As we disembarked the aircraft and collected our luggage, we spotted the green bus that runs from the airport into the centre of Delhi. This bus looked a whole lot better than all of the buses we have been on in this trip. We kept a look out for a stop called ‘New Delhi Station’ and from here we could easily walk to our hotel.
When the bus conductor loudly shouted the name of our stop, we were very surprised not to see a large train station but rather a solitary, brightly lit bus shelter, which was on one side of a dark avenue. A storm had brewed up in Delhi and was there to greet us as we got off the bus, so we listened to the rustling of the leaves in the trees and the howling wind as we walked whilst being accompanied by irregular, but frequent, strikes of lightning. Thousands of leaves were forced through the air by the wind and millions had already fallen onto the ground. Have we suddenly jumped to autumn?
Since the bus kindly left us in the middle of nowhere, we walked a couple of hundred metres where the gloomy area was becoming more built up with restaurants and travel agents. We stopped into a Japanese tourist company for directions to ‘Main Bazar’ where our hotel is situated, and the man who helped us was very friendly and had a good command of English.
On we walked and as we continued to Main Bazar, we left a lonely, smooth tarmac road and were soon following a bumpy, muddy street with small rocks making it difficult for the rickshaw wallahs to get around, not to mention the huge crowds of people browsing around the bazaars.
Eventually we found the Hotel Vivek where we will be based for three nights. Although our room is slightly shabby, the hotel has a fantastic rooftop restaurant with great sweet lassi, which boasts the vista of Delhi’s cityscape as well as marvelous food. The time to go up to eat is in the late evening when the atmosphere is at its best. The most amazing part of the day was as we were eating in the green garden high above the city whilst looking at the mixture of the city lights; some glowing modestly alongside others that shone competitively. So we tucked into delights such as “Chips-Chilly”. Now these were seriously sensational! Our Indian fare consisted of Butter Chicken, Vegetable Curry, Garlic Naan and other wonderful tasty dishes. We’d ordered far, far too much food. Again. I am dreaming of what breakfast will be like!

Mountain Biking in the Mountains!

Once more we woke up in the darker hours of the early morning, but it was truly worth it. We had arranged to go mountain biking and we fixed up transport to take us, and our bikes of course, right into the countryside of Nepal. We learned more about Nepal as we were driving through the dark streets, which were only lit up by a few dim street lamps here and there. We have seen street children sleeping outside in small groups, sometimes in which stray dogs are included. During the daytime we haven’t seen many signs of poverty, but under the surface it’s there in exactly the same way as the rest of South Asia, if not worse!
We kept our eyes peeled for the rising sun as it began to appear triumphantly from behind the surrounding hills. Would this be the day on which we see the snow covered High Himalayas? We noticed that this cycling party was being shadowed by a grim, dark cloud all the way from Kathmandu, but we thought nothing of it.
When we reached the start of our mountain bike ride, high in the area of Nagarkot, no sooner had we removed our bikes from the van and were ready to go, the cloud had swarmed over the high peak on which we were standing. That was goodbye to taking in a panorama including Everest.
But on we went regardless, with the man who dropped us off following us at a discreet distance. We didn’t really fancy having a minder following us for hours, so we craftily gave him the slip. We bombed it down the steep and winding stretch of road until we found a clearing on the edge of the mountain, just off the side of the road. Whilst taking in a spectacular view of the valley below, full of terraces and villages appearing small enough to be like a toy town, we also listened to the buzz of the van disappear around the corner and down the other side of the mountain. Did we really need him?
Well, as we stopped for about five more minutes admiring the beautiful view, we noticed the black clouds moving extremely quickly, creating a moody atmosphere. Then came the crash of thunder immediately followed by light drops of rain. Looking up at the inky black sky, we both concluded that we had better seek shelter. FAST! So we took to the hill and the weather became worse. Luckily we found cover underneath a corrugated iron shelter at the side of the road nearby a military training centre, where we intended to wait for the storm to pass.
Well, we waited for at least an hour, unequipped to cope with the harsh, cold squall. We were wearing only our shorts and t-shirts, rather than Himalayan trekking gear. It didn’t help when some training soldiers wearing all their warm clothes also took cover under the same shelter. Time was ticking away and conditions were only getting worse. Large hailstones began to pelt down heavily and the wind speed increased enough to take whole branches clean off the trees in the nearby pine forest. What should we do?
As if by magic, a small local bus rolled up just in the nick of time. It was heading back down into the valley so we placed the bikes on top of the bus and clambered aboard. Our idea was to take the bus just to escape the high clouds and we got lucky in a large town called Bhaktapur.
We got off the bus and unloaded the bikes before setting off once more. We started cycling towards the centre of Kathmandu, but we got distracted by the idea of cycling through small villages in the flatter countryside. There we saw women carrying huge sacks of freshly harvested wheat. The wheat would be balanced on their backs, like a tortoise and its shell, but a thick band joining both sides of the sack went around their foreheads for added support. Although it looks painful, they believe that if they take the weight on their heads then their gods will remove the burden from their shoulders.
As we looked back to the mountain range from which we had come, we saw the snow for the first time. We couldn’t believe our luck, and it was stunning! The frosted Himalayan peaks, poking out from behind the green foothills framing the Kathmandu Valley, was just how we imagined it. We spotted the beauty just in time, before the afternoon haze erased any view entirely.
The town of Thimi gives a first impression of being a miserable ribbon-development along the dusty and polluted main highway out of Kathmandu, but this is just the modern road. The REAL town of Thimi lies on an incline, perpendicular to this , and is an amazing array of vernacular architecture, with its riot of temples and merchants’ houses. Here lies the ‘Backdoor to Kathmandu’ and was the way we decided to enter the city on the bikes.
Weaving in and out of the dense traffic demanded considerable skill, and we were possibly the fastest vehicles on the roads! Once inside the city we navigated the narrow lanes and passageways of the Old Town: a true rabbit-warren of ancient streets, thoroughly exhilarating to traverse by mountain bike. We passed a low-running river, heavily laden with garbage and effluent, beside which was what can only be described as a bovine graveyard, where brooding, black birds feasted upon the decaying carcasses. The smell alone of this might possibly be the worst of our many, many experiences this far! Then onwards to the famous Durbar Square, with its temples. Kathmandu certainly is a fascinating place!