Work & fun, bycicling through Bhutan & trekking in Nepal

26 sept - 15 nov

Namaste, Kuzumsangpo

back in Pakistan. My last Mail came from the same country, but in the meantime lot of things have happened. So step by step. I caught a bus to Lahore from Drosh, where I stayed with Imtiaz family and shared my last days with Javed’s family in the Old City again.

My birthday I spent there. The days goes by with packing and repacking, because this have changed and I had booked a flight to Karachi to avoid travelling in an train for 20 or more hours and risk to miss the plane.
Salma keeps visiting the toilet every morning for several times – she is pregnant and her body makes doesn’t allow her to forget it a single moment. But it won’t be a 4th child for Javed’s family – no. Salma’s intention is another one. Rehana, Javed’s youngest sister is still without any child after some years of marriage. It will be hers after birth.
I am quite impressed. I don’t have my own children yet and am maybe not the right person to judge, but I imagine it’s very hard to give away your baby after birth – as Rehana lives in Karachi – 20hrs journey in a train. “I have told you, my wife is a lioness. She will manage it. I am very proud of her!” Javed tells me. Hopefully his mother won’t hear that, because loving and proud feelings for a wife are not really welcome here.

In the evening we meet Salma’s sisters as usual. The door opens, my eyes catch the colourful decoration which was made secretly by the children in the afternoon. They sing “Happy Birthday”, bring a birthday cake, presents and what is even much better: many warm, heartily wishes and hugs. I am really surprised. No one ever gave a surprise party for me. Especially not under conditions where parties are financially unthinkable. They all contributed a bit of money to make this event possible. Again I nearly cry.

We share the cake, then the kids picked the balloons with sharp needles and coloured sticky glitter is raining down on us, stubbornly sticking on skin, clothes and hair for the next few days. I love the party.

I bit later we go out for dinner. I invite them to “Gunsmoke” where I had delicious steaks before. The kids love the cowboy hats; we enjoy the meat and salad buffet, sipping coke from straws and swing to the music.
Late at night we return back home, next day I leave for the airport – with local transport because I want to save money – and almost miss the plane.
Rehana, Javed’s sister – who just got to know that soon she will be mother – is supposed to pick me from the arrival hall and drop me there the next morning. Javed doesn’t exactly know, where she lives, but Inchallah everything will be fine.

In the plane I meet Pashmina. Young, beautiful, self confident, without scarf. She scares me with introducing me to the geography of Karachi. Rehana’s quarter is far off – 2hrs. It will be impossible to get from there to the ticket office where I still have to pick my ticket for Nepal (because my cheap travel agent has no partner in Lahore or anywhere else than Karachi) and rush to the airport because there is simply no transport at that time in the morning. So what to do? She proposes to talk to Rehana who will be waiting at the airport exit and invites me to stay with her instead, in her house at the main road near the airport plus a personal driver to drop me. I didn’t know it at that time, but it was the ONLY possibility to reach the plane in time.

We are picked from the airport with BMW and dropped at one of her personal outlets – the one for exquisite clothes and carpets. “I have only 5 own shops. Usually I work for my father – till he kicks me out!”
Him I also come to know - as finally her own Z3 was brought and we were on the way “home”. On the main Boulevard of the buzzing city near the sea with kind of international flair you sometimes pass long high walls, interrupted only by some highly secured gates which make you know it’s not really the poorest area around. In front of one of these gates we halt, the door opens and after a long approach the most exclusive and expensive house I have seen in Pakistan emerges.
“Don’t tell my father that we met only today. He is a bit suspicious but warm hearted. For him we will be old friends from college, ok?”
The moment I enter I am welcome as “old friend” like a member of her family. After a short time the table bends below all the specialities prepared for the “old friend” from abroad. The furniture and decoration makes me feel like in a palace after my mattresses on the floor in Biriu. I have to take care not to stare with open mouth.
I am still amazed that Pashmina is still warm hearted, friendly and open against complete strangers. “If you do so much for my country it’s the least for me to make your last day here comfortable” is her simple answer to my question. Having so much money most people get suspicious, greedy and are in Pakistan at least corrupt or have changed their characters – if you allow that sentence.
I get a room with spacious bath; my clothes are being ironed in few minutes. In the meantime we go on a midnight ride to the shores of Karachi, have some ice cream served to the car and enjoy chatting.
In the morning I hear a decent knock on the door. “Good morning, hope you had a good sleep! If you like we have arranged a small breakfast!” The car is waiting outside; we pick the flight ticket and rush to the airport. I don’t find words to express my feelings about her generousness and the possibility to reach my flight in time. We will meet again Inchallah!

The first hours in Kathmandu are hard to describe. I feel very strange strolling in the streets with out scarf, boys and girls mingling around in western jeans, skin tight shirts, smiling, joking – talking. I still think it’s intention if somebody is jostling closely – here really coincidentally – get suspicious and watch out if he tries to touch me. But it doesn’t happen – for the whole day.
At my dear friend Vidya’s I am heartily welcomed and fed properly to gain back the weight I lost due to my bad stomach at the Kalash Valleys. 3 Dal Bhats a day help soon. During the 2 days before the arrival of my group there’s a lot to buy and arrange for the trek I want to do afterwards with Martin. All my trekking equipment is safely packed in Austria – I just wanted to stay a few weeks in Pakistan….
Ma dear mother put a few urgently needed things (good shoes…) and handed them over to one of my clients to bring it along. Let’s see if everything arrives…

On the second evening Kajun and Vidya take me to town – going out. Sit in a nice garden; listen to music, talk – with men and women – Utopia? No, Kathmandu & almost anywhere else – except e.g. Pakistan…
Kajun later tells me I just smiled at my glass of red wine, sipping from time to time, deep in thoughts. That’s very much possible. What a feeling: laughing, talking, drinking. Wow. I feel a little strange though I have wrapped my scarf around my neck.

On the fourth day the bicyclists arrive. 8 men from Upper Austria, my home province. Jokes are on from the first minute, we laugh a lot. Especially me as I have missed joking in my mother tongue for the last few months.

Gerhard really brings my shoes and other important things from Austria. I am happy.
The evening we spend in Thamel, 2 cyclists come along and we chat with reggae music in the background. On the way home we pick some Momos from a street food seller – delicious.
After that I allow myself a warm bath in Shangri La Hotel. The last time I did that was also in Nepal – in March. A real sensation!

The programme is include some sightseeing, so we visit Pashupatinath – the cremation place and temple of Hindus in Kathmandu; Swajambunath – a sacred area with temples of Hindus & Buddhists and the old centre of Patan, the third former kingdom’s capitol in the Kathmandu Valley.

The battle on the best seats on the flight to Bhutan gets almost dangerous. A Portuguese tourist guide does her best to alienate my group members. Unfortunately there are no seat numbers given to passengers from Kathmandu but free choice – first come first serve.

Therefore one must know, that you pass the Himalayas and see Everest, Lhotse, Kanchenjunga to name only the most popular of the highest peaks above 8000m – but you see them only from a left side window if the weather is good. And it is good! My dear, really good this time. Our fear to get no seats there was in vein, there where no passengers from Delhi as usual because it was an additional flight direct from Kathmandu to Paro/Bhutan. Some more evil glances are exchanged, then everyone is busy focusing their cameras as the first mountains emerge on the horizon.

At the airport’s exit Martin is already awaiting us with the Bhutanese team and some kaddhas (lucky scarves). A successful welcome.

The cyclists know each other and most of them have already covered some Asian Miles, so they don’t get on the wrong side of the street – or at least: not too often (in Austria we drive on the right side, in Nepal is left hand drive). Only some – for Austrians – unusual “passer-by’s” on the road seem to confuse them a little. On has just the very first a “rendezvous with a cow” but luckily he didn’t hurt himself.

I really enjoy talking and joking in my very own dialect and to tell them about Bhutan. I am eager to introduce Bhutan to the people and the people to Bhutan. Sometimes I feel like a mediator between to different cultures, expectations, body languages…

The first evening we have a Hot Stone Bath, the guys really sweat. For me it is too much for the first time to be naked in a wooden tube, hot stones being brought by somebody… I have been to Pakistan too long.
The second time I force myself as kind of therapy. I can’t imagine not having a Hot Stone Bath or Sauna anymore. I have to overcome these strange feelings. It is even quite funny as every time when you don’t expect it. Our truck driver – an ex monk - brings the stones. No one had told him, that there is a woman inside now after 8 men. His face turns even redder than his former robes. He doesn’t dare to look at me and tries to turn his face. I even have to call him, otherwise he would throw the stones inside my tube without watching where – my poor toes…

The weather is really great. The best mountains views I have ever had in Bhutan. Even from Dochu La (pass) where I have already been several times I never saw even a little piece of rock on the horizon. This time all the (un) known ranges till Gangkar Puensum, the highest mountain in Bhutan seem to have lined up for us in the distance.

The later we will see again and again from the higher passes that we cross.
Gentian on the roadside, many Stupas to be circled clockwise, long suspension bridges, romantic places near rivers to take packed lunch, comfortable local restaurants, archery competitions and hundreds of kilometres up and down on bumpy roads. I am impressed by their stamina.
Till Mongar we reach, almost as far as I came when I was here 3 years ago the first time myself.

In Bumthang there is high season right now, 2 of the most popular Tsechus are on. We a

We visit the numerous „Dzongs“ – old fortresses which have been and are used for administration and monasteries. Many tourists are “dzonged out” after visiting Bhutan but I guess we could avoid that. We also saw some other monasteries for which Bhutanese know many many fantastic stories. Stories about flying statues, white ladies, daemons, magical gurus, naked divers, chain shirts, flying tigers and other mythical creatures.

For sure we also visit the Tsechu in Bumthang. A Tsechu is an annual festival in Dzongs and monasteries. The Bumthang Tsechu is one of the most popular ones amongst tourists. I have never seen one of this size, but some smaller ones and have translated some stories about the spiritual message of the choreographies, so I sometimes know what it means when they twist around in their colourful costumes, masks, hats, holding their drums, wooden swords, wooden penises and other auspicious items.

Sexuality is seen much more liberal than, well than in Pakistan. It’s almost topic of daily routine – not only behind closed curtains – though not all Bhutanese think same about it. Sometimes they act quite shy. On these festivals there are “artsans”. Joker-like they are chasing old and young with oversized wooden penises or miming sexual acts.
And there is this special dance which attracts most tourists to book the trip – especially the Americans who are shown more eliminations than creations of human lives on TV. “Naked monks dance” they call it in their tour programs. But most of these people don’t see it cause it takes place at midnight, far after their usual end of day. But they don’t really miss a spectacular dance. The historical story of the dance is more interesting than the shown “choreography”. Once upon a time... some villagers tried to build a Stupa but some daemons destroyed their work every night. So the people came up with a strange idea: They performed a sacred dance with naked monks at night to attract the daemons and keep them away from the construction area. It worked; the villagers could finish their work. Since that time this dance has been shown during the Tsechus as remembrance – until too many tourists came to watch it. The monks feared the loss of sacred meanings and stopped performing it.
Nowadays young male villagers continue the “tradition” for the sake of tourists. To increase their courage they usually get drunk before and jump uncoordinated around the fireplace in open air.
In the beginning I have to take care not to burst of laughter, but then I feel rather sorry for them as the weather is cold and they have to dance barefoot on the cold stones, shivering. After a while it is getting boring. I don’t really know what was so attractive for the daemons to stay away from destroying the Stupa.

In the surroundings of the monastery there are many food stalls and places to gamble. Gambling is strictly forbidden in Bhutan, only at the occasion of Tsechus no one minds.

The Bhutanese team tries hard to catch up with our expectations. Bicyclists are rare and nobody in Bhutan is used to drive in front of or behind them in a proper way. We practice how to do it without being to far ahead, too far behind or to close by. Sometimes it’s exhausting, but they really try.

One day before the group leaves I have to fly out. It was a great time. I won’t be able to laugh that much in Pakistan.

But before finally going back I stay a while in Nepal to do a trek with Martin.
The planned route gets drowned in snow but the alternate path is maybe even better.

We have to skip Tilicho Lake and Kang LA but though we explore the Naar/Phu region in a side valley from the original Annapurna circuit route. Until very recently this region was has not been very present in international media, but now things changed. You might have heard about the disaster at Kang Guru where 7 French expert mountaineers and their Sherpas have been deadly caught in an avalanche.
Few days ago most trekkers had to turn back from most of their routes as there was an unexpected snowstorm with lots of snowfall, very uncommon in this time of the year. Also the French people didn’t believe in the strength of this snowstorm and stayed in the base camp.

Now the valley is beautiful, pristine. Almost no tourists have been here as it was only opened recently and they still charge 90USD per week per head to hand out a permit. It’s now part of the ACAP (Annapurna conservation area project). These people changed a lot in trekking tourism in the last 15 years. Prices are 3 times as high as before or in non managed areas but the local people could gain a proper lifestyle and many amenities which guarantee them a better quality in original locations.
Naar/Phu is not yet that touristic. The wanted permit is only issued for travel agencies who sell a whole package to tourists which means a lot many porters have to carry unnecessary things in the mountains to provide as much luxury as possible. We don’t want this. So we try our luck without this permit after finding out the exact locations of all check posts. There is only one at the entrance which can easily be skipped. Anyway we have to get the ACAP permit which is also 30USD per head. That should be enough.

After 4 days of trek we reach the junction and pass it easily after an enjoyable night at a cosy lodge in Koto. Even before it was wonderful. We had great views of Mount Manaslu from many places, but the best from a small village called Timang on top of a hill which has only been part of the (changed) route for 1 or 2 years.
The old hotels on the former route are now deserted. Here in Timang you feel that tourism hasn’t been topic for a long time. We ask for finger chips to calm our hungry stomachs and get… nothing. We ask for a spoonful of what ever is in the big pot on the fire and get … nothing. I ask for blankets as it’s getting cold at night up here and get … nothing.
That’s it, we change the lodge – there’s not much of a choice but one more is there so we try our luck. Didi (general title for all women elder than the speaker) does her best to satisfy us. Some have the special talent of hospitality… I miss Pakistan…

A hidden hot spring allows us to relax the day before. Not a single soul dares to climb down the steep hill in the twilight. Stars above, sulphurous hot water below – a great time.

But now to Naar and Phu, the 2 villages in the side valley. We have to buy some kerosene cooker, rice, potatoes, eggs, soups, lemon squash, a tent for Dan our friend and porter who accompanies us, and some other useful things for tent nights. On the way we learn that tents are not needed if we don’t cross the pass (which was impossible due to the snow) as there are 1-2 basic lodges in the villages. Well, let’s see.

On the way to the first temporary settlement Meta the way leads up and down near the snow water carrying river through colourful forests – it’s late autumn in here. I love the smell of half rotten leaves, wet earth and fresh spring water.
After on of the endless curves I have to look twice and start screaming. Wow! I have never seen something wonderful like this. A waterfall, left and right side are already frozen, the plants nearby covered by a shiny layer of clear ice. All around icicles, ice cubes, ice balls, it’s sparkling in the last rays of the afternoon sun like diamonds. But where is the path..?
Oh, it’s behind the waterfall, blasted in the rock. Inside I have to stop, watch again and again. Icicles are hanging from the low rocky ceiling, some inches next to me the water “falls” down the gorge.

The first night we have to spend in the tent… The only lodge is occupied by the Himalayan Rescue Association Team. They are searching for the bodies of the poor French who died in the avalanche on Kang Guru, the mountain behind the settlement. Only 4 Sherpas luckily survived because they where out of the tent. Even they where blown away by the pressure of the avalanche but landed soft. All the others were covered under tons of snow. Now the members of HRA try to find their signs 6 hrs a day.
I fully understand the desire of relatives to bring back the bodies and give them at least a grave at home as soon as possible but I also feel sorry for these Nepali people who have to risk their lives day by day in the still dangerous terrain to find “only” bodies. After more than 2 weeks it’s impossible to survive.

Only 2 bodies have been found by now, some pieces of luggage, but nothing else. It’s a big discussion here around why these highly trained experts from Chamonix/France stayed in the Base Camp for 36hrs of bad weather. The save settlement Meta is only 1,5hrs walk down hill. No one could expect that much snow these days, maybe the bad view during the snow storm made it impossible to turn back; maybe they thought it would stop the very next hour.
From Meta the Rescue team points out the place of the Base Camp – now only a huge snow field.

The next day we proceed to Naar, an idyllic village on 13800ft. We rest at a picturesque deserted monastery, have Austrian Speck, Bhutanese Gouda cheese and boiled eggs from the last village. Delicious!
We cross some pastures full of large yaks and pass some large quite dangerous snowfields on the way up. The air is getting thinner and I have to breathe faster. Now I feel the 6 months in Pakistan, where exercise was hardly possible. My body has to work hard to cope with the steep path. After the last bend I again have to look twice to identify the village which is set on the hillside in natural colours. The houses seem like small boxes on top of each other, squeezed on a small place. It looks like in a fairy tale. Behind Naar one can see the whole terrfying size of Kang Guru, which was not really visible from Meta.

Former Khampas, Tibetan “guerrillas” build it years ago when the Chinese occupied Tibet. The inhabitants are still Tibetans with dark, leather like skin.
They attend their daily work. Many Yaks which where killed in the snowstorm have to be found, carried down and prepared. The others trash the grains which where harvested and have been dried for the last month before winter makes everything impossible. Every morning at 4:30 they start.

The sunny hours are counted, at 4pm shadows cover the village and make it almost impossible for us to move around. Wrapped in 3 blankets and 2 sleeping bags we try not to freeze.

After 2 wonderful but little cold days we retrace our steps down to Koto as we can’t finish the round across Kang La Pass due to the snow. But therefore I see the waterfall again, even more beautiful as before.

During the next days we walk under sunny sky near snow covered mountains in an area with a beauty I hardly saw before. Higher and higher we climb near the 17000ft mark without really feeling it. We were well acclimatised at Naar. I have to confess I thought about the „pass day“ with great respect. I have never been so high before. How would I feel? Thin air? Hurting knees while descending? Will the weather stay fine? All these fears were in vein, the day appears to be one of the best. We start at the last lodge on 15700ft as the last trekkers. All the guidebooks suggest to start as early as possible – 5 o’clock at least. We take breakfast at 7am, then start to climb the last 2000ft to the top of Thorong La Pass, which is mentioned in many maps as the highest pass – which is not true. Even on the same maps there are some less popular ones much higher. Maybe the highest with kind of “mass tourism”. Anyway. We reach the pass at 17860ft after only 3 hrs, blue sky, warm sunshine. One hour we spend there, then we start our descend down to Muktinath which lies “only” on 12200ft. A hard time for my knees. I hardly find halt on the slippery, snow and ice covered path. But fortunately some funny guys prepared nice traces down and I could slide down on my bottom to spare my knees. I put my scarf inside my trousers to get a soft ride and off I slide.
Almost fresh as in the morning we reach Muktinath, a village with a sacred place visited by many pilgrims. An allegedly natural gas flame parts the water from the spring above without putting it out. A miracle – or only well managed tourist attraction? Let’s believe the miracle!
Behind another monastery 108 holy springs come out of the rocks.

In a cosy lodge we have huge piles of Dal Bhat (national dish of rice, lentil soup, curries and pickles).
In the morning Mount Dhaulaghiri smiles at us through the window in the first sunrays. Fantastic!!

Now the last trekking day starts. We go down to Jomsom, from where we will Inchallah catch a flight out to Pokhara. Vidya’s mum who owns a lodge here spoils us from morning to evening.

The plane is there. Fortunately? Unfortunately? I don’t really know. I need to catch my flight to Pakistan but I could stay much longer in this wonderland.

We part from our friend Dan who was a steady company, carrying the better part of our luggage consisting of sleeping bags, tents and kitchen. Then we get on a bus back to buzzing Kathmandu that we reach in the early evening.

2 more nights in Shangri La Hotel follow, where I feel almost home. Some more warm clothes to survive the cold winter in Kalash Valleys must be bought. I got a little VORGESCHMACK in Naar. And I can finally pick my camera at the repair shop. I couldn’t take it on the trek, but somehow I feel fine. Otherwise it would have taken me much longer I think. Some people I met on the trek will send a few pics and there are many great images in my mind.

On November, 14 my plane takes off for Karachi/Pakistan. Martin flies back to Bhutan. I still don’t know yet what will happen in Karachi because I couldn’t reach Javed. Will his sister pick me up? Shall I call Pashmina, who was so lovely last time and ask her for asylum? Shall I try to get a plane to Lahore? Let’s see. Inchallah there will be a satisfying solution.

In Karachi I again call Javed who answers the phone. His sister is not informed – he didn’t check his mails in the last 2 days. If I should come right to Lahore? “Yes, if possible!”
So I ask all the airline offices at the airport (at 6pm), if there is a flight to Lahore. All the answers are same: No flight or flight full. Aero Asia sells me a “chance ticket” after asking the 3rd time. In case somebody doesn’t appear on short notice, I get the flight. “But the chance is not good!” That’s a very straight statement from a Pakistani. I guess I need a second option.

One very friendly staff manages to get me on the plane – without staring or asking strange questions. After only 1 hour I am in the plane again, next stop Lahore.
On my left side there is a young lady again. Without scarf. Imran. She is model and tells me about her dream to act in one of Madonna’s video clips. “But Madonna will not like it if the people watch me instead of her!” she explains with great self-confidence. She can’t really understand how it comes that I don’t know the last songs and movies and am not so much impressed by her stories of secret parties in Lahore city. “Your life must be very boring I guess. What the hell are you doing the whole day? Teaching English to some dull Kalash kids, freeze in cold water, being dirty. I can’t imagine! And wandering around in the mountains without TV for more than 2 weeks?...”
And on she goes about trends, hairstyle and movies. “What do you think about my new hair colour? My hairdresser just dyed it. I don’t touch my hair, she’s doing everything!”
I stopped myself from telling her that I also didn’t touch my hair the last 2 weeks – but there was also no one to do in instead. It’s hard to wash it with very little, very cold water. There’s not much time to remember the odour, she’s already continuing her conversation. “I will get Jennifer Aniston’s act as Rachel in the Pakistani version of “friends” …”
In the end she asks me for my phone number. I have to admit that I don’t have a mobile. “But how can I reach you? I am impressed. I want to drop some money and donations stuff for this school in the Kalash Valleys!”
Wow, I am stunned. I have not at all expected this. I rather thought it was a polite question when she asked me “what are you doing there and how is it?” because my answer was interrupted by SMS on her mobile.
“I will wait for you outside; we can share a taxi, ok? You will be happy about the nice weather we have nowadays when you leave the airport.” These are the last words I hear. My luggage takes a little longer to be delivered on the luggage belt and when I arrive at the taxi stand nobody is there. One of the drivers remembers her – or at least a part: “Tight blue jeans with 2 round pockets behind? Yes, she already left.” Welcome to Pakistan.
Almost at midnight I reach Javed’s house, loaded like a donkey. Back home…
A heartily welcome makes me feel really home. The luggage can wait, first I want to sleep. After going to bed quite soon for 3 weeks on the trek I am really tired now. And a place where I will stay longer than 2 nights makes me happy and I fall asleep soon. My mind is still in the Nepali mountains…

Namaste, Tashi Delek und Khuda Hafiz


there are pics on yahoo - they are too much for this blog... if you are asked for a password: acchigom

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Work in Bhutan bycicle group pics