Tag Archives: Nepal

How to be a Guardian reader

Saturday in Wandering Man’s household is Guardian day. Not moral guardian or other examples of the word’s use. No, in Wandering Man’s abode it’s reading the Guardian day, as in the print version of the well known socialist, liberal intelligentsia, rule of law undermining, revolutionary, communist supporting……

OK. Most Saturdays, in the local artfully dishevelled trendy cafe over a bowl of organic, hand knitted yoghurt, Wandering Man opens the Guardian newspaper and get’s his fill of liberal journalism, confirming his bubbled view of the world.

And what a bubble. According to the newspaper’s own market research:

  • 88% of Guardian readers believe it is important that their clothes smell fresh
  • 77% are more likely to say the point of drinking is to get drunk
  • 54% of readers understand enough of another language to read newspapers or listen to radio news

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Well I suppose one of of three ain’t bad.

However, very occasionally amongst the articles on where the best Sunday lunch/skinny latte/ethically traded poncho can be found in the Outer Hebrides, there are little nuggets of tantalisation that stop you in your tracks. Whilst there are plentiful adverts aimed at finding  ‘bathing difficulty solutions’, there are also ethically informed instructions on how, where and when to go to places that might be suitable for the average quinoa eating reader.

For example, many years ago, Wandering man and a jolly Liverpudlian fellow from his workplace spent a couple of weeks in a South African township where the locals kept carelessly losing some of their patients. Taking a short weekend break from wandering around the township trying to find them, they set off to do some fishing in a small village along the coast, and stayed in a hotel that had been advertised in a feature in the Guardian Travel pages.

They arrived to find an extremely shabby ‘hostel’ with broken chairs and a collapsing veranda run by a couple of recent arrivals to South Africa from Europe who had clearly duped the Guardian into featuring their whole scheme. From time to time, other sundry Guardian readers who had followed the same advice arrived with the intention of a nice relaxing weekend by the estuary, expecting just enough of a rough edge to satisfy their sense of social justice.

The place was a Liberal elite sucking vortex. No one admitted it and all pretended this was just what they had wanted as they lay down on the mattress strewn floor under flimsy sheets during the freezing nights.

It took a mere 13 years for the memory of following the Guardian’s travel advice to fade before Wandering Man responded once again to the paper’s liberal call to travel arms. As he digested his yoghurt and took a sip of the skinny affogato macchiato in front of him, he turned the page to see a description of the Nepalese ‘Indigenous People’s Trail’. Affectionately known as the ‘Forgotten Trail’ this seemed perfect. If the locals had forgotten where it was then it surely boded well as the next adventure for Wandering Man and Rose. After all, Rose lived in the same sub-continent. It was literally round the corner for him.

A brief email and Rose responded. “Splendid old chap. Let’s go there before everyone else does.” On closer inspection it simply breathed perfection. Few signs, no map, less than 1000 or so visitors since the trail opened, a six hour dawn bus ride from Kathmandu to the trailhead. This was a trip almost certainly specifically designed for the two of us.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

 

Rose is on the move

 

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This time Rose has decided to travel via the UK to Nepal. His curious sense of direction and flawless logic is leading him to arrive in the north of England. Never mind that he lives in India and, as far as most people are concerned, that is usually located next door to Nepal, Rose’s finely honed navigational skills have determined his route. Another portent of success for our forthcoming trek around the Nepalese countryside. A likely confused wander by the terminally baffled awaits us.

I packed my bag and in my bag I packed…..

 

It’s here! Leaping two by two down the institutional staircase of Wandering Man’s workplace in a blur of excited anticipation I headed off to the Porter’s office where the prospect of a new technical dawn awaited. Here it was at last. Part birthday present, bigger part boy’s toy indulgence, just a few minutes away lay the promise of perfect navigation. The Garmin. It had arrived.

The modern informed traveller is well served by the outdoor pursuits industry in the provision of ‘technical’ kit suited to whatever form of activity he or she could wish to undertake. Most of us would image that ‘technical’ refers to things with moving parts, but these days the word refers to anything that does not resemble a hair shirt. From underpants to overpants, anoraks to ankle socks, basic clothing has been reimagined using the kind of hi-tech metaphors previously reserved for sports cars and computers.

Passing beyond the world of wicking and waterproofing, there are then the truly technical experiences of portable navigation, power and light. A person’s basic hydration needs can be met through gadgets for water filtration and purification, not forgetting eco-soap assisted ablutions. You can choose any number of ingenious ways to boil your carefully filtered and cleaned water in a vast array of utensils, pots and pans. Once all that is over, sleeping presents no impediment to comfort via pages and pages of pads, mats and bags catalogued in a confusing litany of appeals to divest us of our wallet contents.

For Rose and Wandering Man, the key objective in packing was to reduce the weight of our bags, so that they came in as near as possible to the 10kg we had carried two years ago. However, during that previous wander, each evening Rose and I were able to arrive at well appointed hostelries that we had booked some months before. The ability to shower and wash our ‘technical’ clothing meant we could carry a minimal number of outfits. This year the guidebooks we had managed to consult let us know quite clearly that such facilities would be few and far between; as in absent. With a choice between increasing our weight of clothes or becoming riper by the day, we chose the polecat option.

Two sets of lightweight walking outfits later, we surveyed our additional requirements. Clearly, we would need clothes to travel in to Nepal and to wear whilst mooching about in Kathmandu, where we were scheduled to spend a day each side of our walk. Consequently, some non-technical underpants, trousers and shirts made their way into our bags, plus of course a pair of smart brogues for evening wear.

Evenings. Will it be cold? Will it be windy? Where will we be sleeping? Such questions exercised us mightily, particularly the issue of sleep. A sleeping bag liner or a sleeping bag itself? Self-inflating pad or traditional Karrimat? Some online accounts of the wander suggest that bed bugs are likely to be a less than pleasing constant companion in certain environments. So a sleeping bag it was then. Tied tightly at the neck.
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The weight began to mount up. And this was before we considered the vexed question of direction. How will we know where to go? I had read a throw away line in that very first Guardian article we read, about a ‘GPS unit’. What precisely did the writer mean by a GPS unit? Being old school, I am never happier than when stooped over a traditional paper map attempting to shield it from the driving Yorkshire rain. A GPS? Why was such a thing necessary?

Of course all boys need their toys. Hence the excitement and anticipation of the special delivery. As is always the case, of course, the reality never attains the expectation of the build up. Unpacking the unfamiliar device, I soon discovered that it needed charging up – a process that took up around the next 18 hours, leaving me ample time to chew my nails and consult a myriad YouTube videos of varying worth. Just what was the difference between a route (pronounced ‘rowt’ apparently), a track, and a trip? Uploads and downloads of TOPO and ‘Birdseye’ maps? It was a totally different language and world – literally. And it weighed a ton.

Much perseverance later, including a few practice walks and the device was starting to open up its secrets. However, a prodigious user of electricity, the device would be of little use without battery back up. Short of carrying a solar panel with us, the only solution seemed to be to purchase yet more tech, this time a pre-chargeable battery pack. One more trip to the online tech store later and this next piece of ‘vital’ equipment arrived. This weighed another ton. Between them, this real tech seemed to weigh more than all the other pretend tech of clothing and anti bed bug sleeping equipment put together; and it had cost only marginally less than the airfare.

With our 10kg limit well and truly consigned to the aspirational dustbin, more stuff went into the rapidly bulging packs. A water purification system, never previously used, dragged from the back of a cupboard. A ‘lightweight’ multi-fuel stove and fuel bottle. A pan for boiling water. Cup and bowl. First (and second) aid kit. Torch. Torch batteries. Protein bars. Bog roll. Wipes. Camera………….

Remember that lot next time you play Dr Foster went to Gloucester.

 

“We’ve overshot…mistakes do happen”

At least in this instance the overshoot was not in reference to something as catastrophic as an airport runway, but nonetheless these words are not ones you might expect to hear on the train to Heathrow.  The train driver, no doubt distracted by the pleasant scenery en route, forgot to stop at one of the four stations on the journey. Curiously, rather than simply plough on, the driver then screeched to a halt and after some deliberation with the guard, and only after walking alongside the train from one end to the other, proceeded to reverse the train back down the line and into the station.

Of course, this led to a further delay as the train driver kindly stepped aside to allow a slow stopping train to pass by, thereby causing our train to shed its ‘express’ designation and amble along behind the stopper. Now some considerable time later, the train arrived in Reading just as the bus to Heathrow was leaving.

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And then the trek began. Gate 21 finally flashed up on the screen prompting the mad scramble down endless airport corridors to sit down and wait in another lounge apparently some five kilometres from the previous one. A handy tea house at the lounge dispensed conciliatory drinks and snacks. The first of many?

Rose’s Ramblings 1: Get your wriggle on

The trouble with not being able to walk in a straight line for more than ten paces is that it seriously impacts on all aspects of ones behavior. Straight lines are for rulers. Planning properly is for proper planners. Short sentences will be sentenced shortly. Deviation is the norm. You see the problem? Unable to also think straight for more than ten paces has led to, what has seemed to some, many an odd decision.

I pondered this whilst completing my training for the upcoming sojourn with Wandering Man in Nepal. I live but a hop, skip and several hundred bag checks away from Kathmandu where I had once again been cajoled into meeting the Wman of somebody else’s dreams. This time he promised the joys of watching him Cheyne Stoke at elevations over 10 metres. The trailhead is some 3990 metres higher…

 

It was intense this pondering. Interrupted as it was every few paces with deliberations about the prevailing wind, what did it prevail over and how? Is it not just humanistic defeatism? One must face the PV (pondering shorthand) with understanding, compassion and peace before seeking shelter.

 

Anyway, all this musing came from the banks of the River Wharf. In Yorkshire. England. Not the straightest route to Nepal at all I’ll grant you but it was a lovely walk. It was in the wriggly order of things. It was the natural place to be. See you in Kathmandu Wandering Man, probably.

 

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One day whilst sweeping leaves and slapping red ants (who seemed to know much more about the lungi than I did) straight lined coming at me, straight lined going away. The goers touched the comers, the comers came and bit me, red itchy blotches, time for a quick impression of Stan Laurel as my broom, which had being an instrument of sweeping, transformed itself into an organic non chemical, non toxic ant dissuader. I now wriggled like a baby with an itch but began to feel more in control as the red ant army retreated under the might of the combined wriggle and aforementioned ant dissuader, with which I once had a negligent dissuade harming a beautiful butterfly in the process. The ants came in order, left in chaos and in the middle was a wriggle. I felt at One. And checked again at 2.30.

 

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The Great Indigenous People’s Tale 0500 – 1100hrs ‘In the Mudhe’

We’re here” our taxi driver cried to our surprise. Looking around, we feared for our demise as only shutters and a barricade were visible to our eyes. In darkened street we would meet our maker before our feet had us forsaken. “Save our souls” I cried “let’s be chaps and wrestle them for our rucksacks” Just then, without much ado the shutters rose, there in the blue-black night a hotel concierge, a shining light.

You could have taken them,” I whispered to The Wandering Man for yes, avid bleader (someone who follows a blog), ‘tis time for the Great Indigenous Peoples Tale (artistic license applied for) featuring a host of your soon to be favourite characters. Meet and greet:

  • A Buffalo, the aptly name Buff XXX111 (“recurring”)
  • Goats
  • Architectural Llamas
  • Bhutan Carpenters
  • Another Buffalo, the aptly named Buffalo XXX111 (“to infinity”),
  • More Goats
  • The Women who Cross the Bridge for Money
  • The Stick-Gifter
  • Buff the Very First (“so there”)

Spend time with the ‘People who Wish You Well’ and other fully rounded out characters. Oh, and Big Bang Buff (“nuff said”) also makes a cameo appearance as ‘Buffalo Ploughing,’ in the style of the great 13th C. Tamangian artist, Ted.

All this and made up things too.

We got our bags out of the boot and readied ourselves for our late night hotel check in. I dismissed thoughts about future events and narrowed in on the moment.

In the gloom of the evening by the light of the silvery moon I could see the tension on the Wandering Man’s famed fizzog accompanied, as ever, by the fiercely protective full set that, when set against the natural environs, more than held its own and usually somebody else’s as well (see figure 1). I relieved the tension by serenading him with a Beatles’ medley. Visibly relaxed, I flaunted my Barry Manilow. The lights went out.

Figure 1 Famous fizzog & full set in natural environs

  • The following paragraph is for lovers of poor double entendre or those of a military persuasion. Whether you remain with the paragraph or leave please do so in light of the fullest disclosure of facts and not just because of your opinion of the author. It will not impact on remaining paragraphs or will it? Leavers go straight to Paragraph 3.

It’s 0530 hrs. The first reminder had been issued via personal voicemail, in person. “Are you up Rose”’ a saying that when used in earlier times had a variety of connotations. Resisting the urge to shout “Roger that!” in affirmation I managed a strangled “I’m coming” which, on later review, was not much better.

However, such a carry on aside, we’re in the lobby of the Eco Hotel with pack up breakfast provided of boiled egg, cheese sandwich, one apple and a carton of juice. We needed to be at the Ratna Park bus stop by 06.00hrs. The man who was about to drive us seven minutes down the road and charge us 500 Nepalese Rupees for the privilege was already waiting for us. The fee however included: knowing where he was going, getting there, arranging for the right person to get us on the right bus and not driving off with our bags. He earned his money.

The first stirrings of human existence seemed to be occurring around the dilapidated bus station. Bleary-eyed commuters boarded buses and then got off again in order to board the right bus. Sellers of assorted goods got on and off without making a sale, lips pursed in mild frustration as they looked for the next opportunity. The air was quickly turning industrial as engines fired up.

We had taken seats towards the rear of the bus. A gentleman and his companion arrived waiving tickets whilst saying the word “ticket” repeatedly. We confirmed we did not have one and enquired as to whether it was necessary. The answer was more waiving of tickets with an increasing frequency of the word ‘ticket’. A helpful chap explained that we were sitting in their seats. The seats they’d brought a ticket for. So we moved behind onto the seats above the wheels.

Now I like a fairground ride as much as the next person and very excitable I can be in a bumper car. However 4.5 hours in a vehicle that once had suspension, on roads whose very existence challenged the definition of the word ‘road’, had only succeeded in turning smiles into grimaces. Still it was fun watching Wandering Man change colour, the fetching shade of puce that arrived as the rear wheel left the road dangling over the edge of a severe drop, was particularly fetching. That’ll teach him to sit by the window.

No words needed to be exchanged between us when the vehicle stopped to confirm it had one wheel dangling. Nor when it pulled in and a man with a spanner disappeared under the vehicle right where we were sitting. Nor at the constant need to blow air into the tyres and certainly not as all the passengers bounced up, down and side to side, some sleeping whilst their hats did the movements. It was the public transport equivalent of the Hadron Collider. We rubbed our heads in awe. I discovered what I thought was a black hole. WMan spat on his hanky and rubbed hard.

On occasion, when not too dazed, we caught sight of the Sun Koshi River. We saw white-capped mountains, terraced valleys, plenty of temples. It was exciting. We needed to walk. Alighting in Mudhe, we were now on our own.

Except, there were two of us.

It was time for tea.

General Information on walking the IP Trail in Nepal Part 1

In contrast to the light hearted tenor of most Wandering Man posts, this one is designed to help you learn from our mistakes and successes walking the ‘IP’ Trail. We want more people to go there, to visit this incredible landscape and meet the wonderful and warm people who live there. We want you to SPEND YOUR MONEY by giving it direct to those that will benefit most from it, rather than route it via commercial tour companies in western countries, or Nepal itself for that matter. Get your tourist dollar to do the most good it can by spending it directly on food, accommodation and tea from the people who live on the route. It will be a very small amount to you but a massive boost to individual and family incomes for some very economically disadvantaged people indeed.

The Route

The IP Trail was set up by the Nepalese government with help from the UN some ten or so years ago. There is a map and a guidebook. The guidebook’s author, whom we affectionately referred to as Alonzo (it’s his name after all – full name Alonzo Lucious Lyons), is a wonderful advocate for off the beaten tracks in Nepal. His various websites and books are assertive in demanding readers avoid the crowded usual suspect treks around the high mountains and instead head for Nepal’s middle hills between the big peaks and the southern plains. In this we agree.

However, like many similar guidebooks, daily sections are written as ‘hours of walking’. Now Wandering Man is a scientist and is automatically averse to averages being presented as definitive numbers. As we say in science, “what is the variance around the mean?” In plain language, this refers to the obvious fact that the time taken by a fit, well prepared and highly experienced walker of Alonzo’s stature cannot be compared to the likely time required by two late 50’s, slightly overweight and overburdened chaps that were Wandering Man and Rose. Why do guidebooks talk in time? What’s wrong with distance? Most walkers will have been for a stroll around their local hills before and will have a pretty good idea of how fast they can walk. GIVE US THE DISTANCES ALONZO! We can work it out for ourselves.

Having said this, we two did keep reasonably close most days to Alonzo’s timings. We say reasonably close, because as he accurately states in his book, his timings do not include stops. Given you will be walking through some of the most spectacular scenery on earth, will be meeting many, many lovely people, will want to take a zillion photographs, will want to drink tea at the many tea houses and tiny shops on the route, WHAT IS THE POINT OF NOT STOPPING ALONZO? You’d be mad to charge on, head down and ignore the environmental and human experiences around you. Plus of course you might need time for the odd collapse on the ground to rest those wobbly pins.

There is one section of the route where we did severely part company with Alonzo’s estimates. On the final day there is a 5,000 feet descent from Sunapati Peak to the Sun Kosi river. Alonzo breezily suggests you can do that in under 3 hours. Be warned, we took six hours. The only other trekkers we met on the trail also took six hours. And they were in their late 20s and early 30s. How anyone could possibly descend such a height in the time suggested by Alonzo is impossible to conceive. I imagine he took a para glider.
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The guidebook, whilst giving a reasonable overview of day walk plans is frustratingly idiosyncratic. Sometimes Alonzo tells you about available accommodation, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he gives you very specific instructions about turn offs and local paths, at other times he is maddeningly vague about the route. Mostly, he wants you to know about really interesting things like the fact that a UN helicopter crashed nearby one part of the trail and everyone was killed in it. Not good for the occupants nor particularly trekkers on the trail.

The specific IP Trail map is frankly not much better. It is very small scale. Navigation skills are actually, therefore, very important. You need to know in which direction you are heading so a compass is vital. There is no doubt local people will help you out. In fact they will point you onto paths unknown to Alonzo which will both challenge you and cut off corners. As a consequence, we trod some paths we were pretty sure had never seen the white person’s walking boot before. However, our most useful piece of kit was a Garmin hand held GPS navigation aid (other makes are available). It is extra weight (more on this later) but indispensably told us where we were and we used it on several occasions to correct our route mistakes before they had become too serious. The downloadable maps available for this region of Nepal are reasonable, even if they do not list all the village names referred to by Alonzo. At high resolution, they certainly show a lot of available paths and forest roads.

So hear is our distilled advice. You cannot rely on one navigation aid alone. Buy the book, the paper map, the GPS unit and the downloadable Nepal map. Sit at home and use the book and the paper map to plot a daily route on the downloadable map and upload it to your hand held device. Go to Nepal, walk the trail, consult book, map and GPS regularly. Ask local people.

And finally, hand held navigation units use electricity. On the trail you will have infrequent recourse to plugs and power to recharge it. It is extra weight, but buy a powerpack/powerbank that is big enough for recharging your unit several times. If you are worried about pack weight, throw something else out. A GPS unit and power pack are THE indispensable items for your trek.

water, water (and tea and Raksi) everywhere

Those of you awake enough to pay attention will have read about our packing travails pre-wander in the previous ‘I packed my bag…’ blog posting. A desire to cover all bases and ensure that all situations however unlikely could be prepared for led us to vastly overpack. Compared to previous 10kg assisted wanders, this time we both carried around 17kg. This is ridiculous! Here’s an area to cut down.

The Indigenous People’s Trail is located in what are known as the ‘mid-hills’ or Lesser Himalaya area of Nepal. The terrain varies from terraced agricultural land through pine and deciduous woodland to alpine meadows. There are only three peaks – Sailung, Augleswori and Sunapati – only one of them, Sailung, is higher than 10,000 feet (3,000 metres), and all of them topped by ceremonial religious structures. From this you might surmise that actually you are going to meet quite a few Nepalese people on your trek. Correct. By no means will you be alone in the wilderness. Despite the depopulation of the countryside, people will pop up out of apparently nowhere all the time. That rustle in the trees? Someone gathering firewood or fodder for their goats. That small tin hut by the side of the path? A place selling snacks and tea. You will not be alone.

That is, of course, part of the purpose of this trail. The idea is to meet local people and spend your money on food and accommodation directly with them.

Now people need various elements of a life support system, principal among these food and water. As well as agricultural settlements, the mid-hills area is festooned with small bore black plastic pipes carrying water to village taps and in some cases to people’s houses. So that water purification outfit? Leave it behind. Water (paani) is fully available, of pretty good quality and usually boiled (taato paani), particularly if you ask for it to be so. All Nepalese houses seem to have a permanent supply of boiling water available to fuel the Nepalese people’s tea drinking habit. Basically, at no point in the trek will you be reduced to laboriously pumping water from a muddy puddle or stream through a filtration system.

Buy a water bottle that can stand being filled with boiling water and all will be well. Of course, water may not have been properly boiled or treated so the very most you need, if ever unsure about the extent to which water has been boiled, are some chlorine based sterilisation drops. Iodine used to be recommended but this has now been banned as poisonous in Europe and has been replaced by a combined chlorine preparation that you mix up before adding to water. If you still prefer iodine then it can be bought in Kathmandu.

Always speak to your doctor before taking any sort of medication so you can distinguish the problem and find the best solution for you. viagra buy germany With the help of occupational therapy, therapist assists unica-web.com buying cheap cialis you to keep your physical and mental health in order. Besides enhancing sexual libido, these nutty-flavored seeds contain essential fatty acids, including omega-3 and omega-6, which are the major concern among parents of India. cialis samples https://unica-web.com/members/south-korea.html You will cheap viagra get so many advantages from a single course under a single roof. Additional fluid can be bought from the ubiquitous tea shops along the route. In most villages and alongside larger tracks will be small shacks selling tea. It can be a little hard for the uninitiated to spot them, but after a while, if there were no sitting areas outside, we got used to peering inconspicuously inside likely-looking buildings trying to spot tables and chairs. And the tea they make is wonderful. Rose and I preferred the hot, sweet black tea (kaalo chiyaa), sometimes flavoured with lemon, occasionally with honey. It provides just the energy boost needed. Those who have travelled in India will be aware of the milky tea version (dudhko chiyaa). Your choice, although a cry of “black tea” will always be understood if you prefer the piping hot sweet black version.

Finally, alcohol, but not as we know it! Of course, you can buy bottles of beer (usually large 650ml ones) from some of the little village shops along the way, but we never found the need to do so and didn’t fancy lugging them around. Once drunk, bottles have to be disposed of and since there is no rubbish collection infrastructure in the mid-hills you will need to carry them for the rest of the trek until you leave the area. Better is to sample both versions of Nepalese homemade alcohol: Chhaang (cloudy beer made in a bucket from corn, millet and rice) and Raksi – a clear spirit distilled from Chhaang, not unlike rice wine. Many people make Raksi. Rose and I were offered it in most places we stayed. You tend to have to ask for Chhaang as unlike Raksi, it does not keep and is drunk as soon as it is made. The Nepalese regard Raksi as an important source of antifreeze for the cold nights and drink it by the mug-full.

One of our most memorable and slightly surreal experiences on the trek was being given little bowls of Chhaang by the Bhutanese head Lama at the Rajvir monastery below Sailung Peak and then having a lesson on how to make it from the lady who worked in the monastery kitchen. It tasted not unlike a sour Berliner Weisse beer, just with more bits floating in it!

Here’s a recipe if you are interested:

 

The kit list and other weighty matters

In two previous postings Rose and I already touched on some ideas about what to pack for the IP trail. From the blatantly hypothetical pre-trip pile it all in technique of ‘I packed my bag and in my bag I packed….’, to the realisation that we were both carrying around double the kind of weight remotely sensible for a pair of self-delusional aging overweight athletes in ‘General information… we have hinted that weight could, perhaps, just maybe, possibly be an issue. When half your pack contents spend seven days making no contribution to the trek, there is clearly a potential problem with non-contributory passengers. Something’s got to go. Many things actually.

Next time, oh next time, we would do it so differently.

We actually carried (please do not snort too loudly at this) a multi-fuel pressure stove with empty fuel bottle around the whole trek with us. Yes, that’s right. An EMPTY fuel bottle, which of course rendered the stove merely decorative. No one in Kathmandu sells the required fuel. So, no fuel, no purpose for the stove; no stove, no purpose for the mess tins and fancy eating set; no mess tins and fancy eating set, no purpose for the ground coffee and speciality herbal teas. And as you already know from ‘water, water (and tea and Raksi), everywhere’, tea is not exactly a rare commodity in Nepal. The whole thing just unravels from either end. It’s embarrassing.

Likewise the four packs of dense high protein bars that reappeared from the bottom of my pack in Kathmandu at the end of the trek. I’ve still got them, safely repatriated back home. Useless pack passengers, all twelve of them. Most days we walked from 08.00 to 14.00ish, fuelled up on some combination of rice, lentils, vegetables, rotis, boiled eggs and sweet black tea. Hungry? Have another cup of tea.

Clothing? Think about it. Just how many pairs of legs have you got? You can only wear one pair of trousers at a time. If you have been sensible and bought the modern wickable ones, any sweat generated one day will have dried out by the time you come to put them on the next. You’ll be sitting on hard packed earth floors and ancient benches in the evenings so its not as if you will need to dress for dinner. Two pairs will be plenty and even one would suffice if you are a real hard case and wash them out at night clad in your long johns. As for shorts, well Rose and I have different points of view. He is a shorts man, I’m not – mainly because I’m a pockets person and trousers score more highly in this regard. My shorts made the journey around the trek without making a single contribution to it. Smug bastards.

The perceptive among you will have noticed the fleeting reference to thermal underwear. Definitely a must. Warm clothing at night is essential, but try to use lightweight underclothes rather than a thick pair of additional trousers. I’d add a thick coat – the Nepalese all wear the ubiquitous ‘branded’ lightweight down-filled puffer jackets. There is a reason, follow their lead. It gets very cold at night and they pack up really small, being sort of swallowed by their inside pocket until they disappear in effect up their own bottoms. You get them in Kathmandu for less than £20 if you shop away from the tourist areas and bargain hard.

Like my shorts and protein bars, my thermal gloves applauded the free ride they were given throughout the trek, although Rose and I both found a woolly hat a real benefit for those cold nights. Rose generally sported a fetching orange outfit as well as his hat, even in his sleeping bag, but then he did find the transition from his home temperature of 30 degrees Celsius to single figure Nepalese nights a challenge. Still, no reason to look like a Hare Krishna devotee running the London marathon.

So here is the minimum kit list. Add more to increase both your weight and to slow down the decay of your sexual desirability quotient as the week progresses. We’ll start from the bottom up.

Clothes: the essentials

  1. Boots: one pair with spare laces.
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  3. Lightweight lace-free shoes for the evening and to wear when going to the toilet (you really do not want your boot laces to dangle down the squatting toilet long drops)
  4. Socks: two pairs of lightweight undersocks and one pair of thick walking socks
  5. Trousers; one pair (oh go on, maybe two), lightweight cargo pants style with multiple pockets otherwise all you will be doing is stopping and faffing about with your rucksack to find stuff (although there is often great merit in a good faff, it can be tiresome if repeated too often).
  6. Shorts x 2
  7. Underpants: two pairs of ‘technical’ super wickable ones
  8. Bras: some. Number and type unknown, as beyond our expertise
  9. Shirts: two lightweight tees of the same material as the pants
  10. Thermal underwear
  11. One lightweight long sleeved top
  12. Puffer down jacket or equivalent
  13. Woolly hat
  14. Sun hat with peak
  15. Windproof and rainproof jacket, it may never be needed but if the wind does get up on one of the three peaks, or it rains, you might be grateful

First aid kit

The actual contents really depends on your medical confidence or training. The obvious things like plasters, foot plasters and bandages are usual. We took an upgraded version with IV needles and cannulas in them in case one of us came a cropper and the local sterilisation procedures were not adequate. Also vital is an emergency blanket, the silver reflective variety, in case of an accident.

As for medication, as well as any regular prescription drugs we bought pain killers, anti-diarrhoea and anti vomiting pills. Anti diarrhoea pills are quite good to use on long bus journeys if you feel the slightest hint of things stirring unhelpfully. A bus in Nepal is the last place you want to have problems of this nature. However, whilst we prepared for the well-known Nepal runs, what we were not expecting was the opposite issue. Moving from a western diet to one consisting of vast amounts of rice, a few lentils and vegetables had the effect of both bunging us up and producing enough gas to have a significant effect on global warming. Not that I’m suggesting laxatives as a regular part of the medical kit, but be prepared for bowel changes in one of the two obvious directions.

The only other essentials we recommend are sleeping bag, maps, cell phones, guidebooks and GPS with the biggest powerbank you can get. Spare batteries may or may not be useful. Some water purifier drops (see water water…), a water bottle, a penknife, some travel soap and a travel towel, head torch and walking stick. Beyond that, you should consider if you really need anything else. Probably not, but anxiety is a powerful driver and as well as reassurance you are also going to increase your weight.

Finally, take as many plastic bags as you can and wrap everything in separate ones. After about three days, Rose and I overcame our endless faffing trying to find stuff in our packs and ended up knowing exactly which bag to look in. It actually became quite helpful.

Of Gods and Garbage

Packs on back, hats on head, boots on feet. WanderingMan armed with sprung pole to aid balance whilst I (Rose) contented myself with a partially fashioned walking stick found on our walk from Mudhe to Dhunge. We were posing for photographs at the trailhead. Two village girls along with a family from the village were going to offer Puja atop the revered Sailung Peak. They were going our way. The girls had offered to carry our packs, an offer we declined.

We’d walked through the village offering hearty Namastes to the many folk young and old who had come to see us off or just to stare. Ahead of us a 600 metre climb. We were marching off to soar.

The ascent offers beautiful views of terraced pastoral land against the backdrop of the Himalayas, 47 million years spent reaching for the light has left them white capped and a little curmudgeonly when responding to the scratching of humans.

The path up to Sailung Peak was littered with goat pooh and other animal droppings; an indication that ‘as the goat trots’ rather than ‘as the crow flies’ is the preferred measure of distance and shortcut validation. Our guides would stop and wait for us, ask us to pose for pictures, giggle, offer us sweet biscuits and ask to carry our bags.

It was all very lovely, until they discarded the biscuit wrapper straight onto nature’s floor. In fact all the way up to the Peak there were discarded plastic bottles, crisp packets, the ubiquitous blue and pink plastic carrier bags and other assorted debris. It jarred.

We would visit two more revered peaks during this trek and observe the same thing. Where there was worship there was garbage.

Although constitutionally secular Nepal has a significant majority of Hindus (81.3% at the 2011 census), followed by Buddhists (9%). Both view nature as sacred. In 1986 The WWF instigated a meeting in Assisi between leaders of five of the worlds major religions. It resulted in the Assisi Declarations on Nature (https://goo.gl/6qCWau) that allowed each faith to highlight its approach to the environment. Hindus and Buddhists alike affirmed the need to protect the earth and all sentient and non-sentient things.

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Faith groups, secular NGO’s, Governments, the World Bank and others all engaged in dialogue, all agreeing that the planet needs protecting and yet here we are with garbage strewn about for animals to eat, to contaminate land and invading a consciousness that should be engaged with the natural world in wonder.

Leaving aside the issues of infrastructure, education and worry which we in the West have become so accustomed to in respect of garbage. Leaving aside the behaviour change stratedgies and taxes levied on the consumer to manage waste disposal so de rigueur in the West. There is not a one size fits all enviromental programme but I do believe there is something we all can do. Pick it up and send it back. The people who need to see this mess are the manufacturers and shareholders and they need to see it outside their front doors. It is their behaviour, their pursuit of profit which needs to be confronted.

So here is my suggestion for protest within the principles of ahimsa (non-violence). When you go trekking take a postcard or an envelope. Pick up a piece of this debris – attach to postcard or envelope and send it back to the manufacturer’s parent company or to an identified shareholder either individual or institutional. “This is yours – you deal with it. With love from…”.

If you are so minded, talk to villagers and get them to collect the stuff as I’m sure the wealth of some of the tour parties who visit could be combined to send maybe a Kilo of garbage back. Let those who know but do nothing deal with the problems caused by selling sugary sweets, fast food and other shit entirely unnecessarily to villagers, in the process slowly trashing old ways of life. It’s entirely inappropriate and harmful if we set it against the principle that the planet needs protecting. It is the multi nationals whose behaviour has to change. Let them have their environment rendered toxic.

Rose…..Rose!” WMan shouted. “please shut up and look”. In the distance our guides had now gone onto perform their Puja carrying with them one hundred eggs as an offering. Behind them, scattered about, the unseemly mess of humans. All around us the unsurpassable majesty of the planet – “it must be worth a stamp’“I mused.

NB: rather gruesomely I would apply the same principle to shareholders in Munitions companies, although postage might be problematic.