Plan B

With tummies full of millet flour pancakes (they look a bit like chocolate if your blurr your eyes!) doused in bittersweet Himalayan honey, we said our very fond farewells to Chandrika and left Gola behind. Officially no more 'work' until home beckons, just a lot of walking to get back to Kathmandu!

We'd met some friendly Nepalese Army sergeants a week before who also patrolled the Makalu National Park. They warned us that the three passes we had to cross to reach Makalu Base camp were buried under 12ft of snow and two climbing expeditions, who planned to attempt a summit push in May with climbing Sherpas a plenty, were held up waiting for the snows to melt. Although we were equipped with two snow adapters for our walking poles, we weren't very hopeful of our passage, as we retraced our steps back down the valley! We had two long days to reach Seduwa where we'd arranged to meet our guide. 

With very garbled Nepali instructions, the sort where you nod and continually say yes but leave, looking at one another asking 'did you get any of that?!', we struck out on the first of many infamous 'short cuts' to Seduwa. A little lost at times, we found ourselves on tiny paths weaving through dense jungle. After the recent rains, everything was bursting with life. The humidity, noises, smells and vibrant colours pressed in from all sides. Everything seemed to be on an unbelievable scale, boulders the size of houses were enveloped by trees with leaves the size of dinner plates, gigantic roots wrapping around them and seed pods as big as your arm scattering the ground. Waterfalls straight out of shampoo adverts cascaded down polished rock for hundreds of metres, as vibrantly coloured flowers and butterflies bigger than your hand framed perfect jungle scenes. It was all pretty intoxicating but the thought of getting lost in a place like this definately added another bead of sweat to an already dripping brow! Maybe a guide wouldn't be a bad idea!

After six months of independent travel, we were a little apprehensive about meeting our guide Karna. We hoped we'd get along well, he'd understand our slightly peculiar ways and find the little forgotten places we wanted to visit. 

We finally reached a river crossing and bade farewell to the jungle for now, spanning the glacial river was a lovely new metal bridge, always a welcome site next to an ancient wooden rotting crossing! We reached Seduwa and found Karna as the sun set on a perfectly clear day, unbeknown to us, the last for a while! 

By now, the valley rumour mill was in full swing. Every passing person gave a different description of the amount of snow on the pass to Makalu. It went from knee deep, to 12ft to the height of a Yeti! After a chat with Karna, we decided to go as far as we could along the base camp trail but have a plan B ready for deployment in case things got a bit hairy. That night a thunderstorm battered the corrugated iron roof in the early hours. Nonetheless, in the morning we three set off to Tashigoan, the last real village before the long walk in to Makalu, and then the next day to a tea house just below the snowy pass at Kongma Danda. 

The days were rainy and cold and snow was still falling high up. After much debate, sat around a smokey fire in a stone shack perched above 3000m in a cloud, we decided to implement Plan B and leave base camp for the professionals. 

The decision was sealed when Julien, a French photographer burst into the hut, soaked to the skin, declaring that he'd spend two 'f#☆king terrible sleepless nights on the mountain, imagining every possible way to die in an avalanche' as the snow piled high around the lodge... it wasn't very tempting. 

The next morning we woke to a perfect sunrise over the Kanchenjunga Range and thought we'd made a huge mistake. Ten minutes later the thick wet cloud had returned and we gratefully headed back down the path listening to two local shepherds communicating the whereabouts of their yaks using haunting whistles in the mist. 

Our 'Plan B' involved following a section of the Great Himalayan Trail along the Arun Valley and beyond to join the original Everest approach from Jiri. Not a high mountain route but well off the beaten track and a good challenge with 3 passes over 3000m and many hideously steep ups and downs. 

The first of these took us on a 'natural route' as Karna called it, not so much a path, as a yak trail through bamboo forests, which even they seemed to struggle to follow! Luckily we had Lakpha and his dog with us, a local Sherpa who had agreed to act as an additional guide, to get us to his wife's village so we could join the main trail. As he guided us like an elf in trainers, we felt like clumsy bumbling oafs, tumbling and sliding all over the place on the slippery wet stones and muddy clay. 

That night we stayed in Narbagaon, a village lost in time. Ox ploughed the terraces, while women drilled holes in the mud for planting with bamboo, thatched houses huddled in the hills as the rain fell and after dahl bhat, in front of a smokey fire, we spent the first of many nights sleeping on a wobbly wooden veranda under hundreds of drying maize and creepy crawlies. Karna had obviously judged us perfectly bringing us here!

Early the next day we took another 'short cut', a hideously steep, slippery path down to the Ishuwa Khola (khola means river/stream). We all took a tumble or two but remarkably remained unhurt as the path twisted down, impossibly clinging to the mountain side, traversing landslides and descending cliff faces. Our overladen bags acted like pendulums, but somehow we reached the river and looking back couldn't believe that the vertical gorge infront of us somehow had a path down it... we're still not sure it was actually a path!

Someone who had had absolutely no problem with the descent was Lakpha's dog. Despite being restrained as we said our goodbyes that morning, she had sniffed us out, not particularly challenging given the state of Ed's shirt, and followed us with noobvious sign of turning back. We decided to call her Roksie after the local millet spirit, it seemed to match her slightly cheeky nature and she was to become the fourth member of our group for the next 15 days and a little celebrity along the route in every village we stayed. Roksi, the spirit, is a local delicacy and drunk by all, everyone is a connisseur, and people found it hilarious we'd called our dog after it!

As we wondered through the tiny remote villages, one of our daily challenges was to find food and shelter. Karna never failed to locate a friendly Ama (mother) to cook us food, lend us her three stone fire or, at the end of the day, a dusty veranda to sleep on. 

It became a regular event for Karna to roll up his sleves and prepare the most delicious food after scrounging local organic veggies, rice, spices and pickles. Fortunately for us, he was an incredible cook and we had some of the tastiest food in Nepal under his watch. People, busy going about their daily life, thought nothing of giving us completely free reign in their kitchens, something very hard to imagine happening back in St. Agnes! 

One afternoon we arrived ravenous, eagerly looking for food, and came across an idyllic farmstead on a sunny spot above the Arun River. Lush green maize surrounded the farm as people pottered about milking buffalos, weaving bamboo mats and spreading fresh cow dung on the living room floor (makes a lovely soft terracotta finish!). With all this going on, there was no one to cook us our lunch but they happily showed us to their outside kitchen nestled between the toilet and pig sty and we set to work. We were a bit of a novelty and everyone kept looking up from their chores to watch our progress. 

The food was award winning, the setting outstanding but unfortunately eyes were bigger than tummies and hours of intense nausea followed as we trudged on in almost 100% humidy through gruelling terrain. Heavy bags with constricting waist straps should not be worn after a feast like that!

We would often make our beds on people's verandas, laying out our thermarests and sleeping bags on top of the woven mats that seem to be all locals need. We would drift off to the sounds of the village going to sleep, people chatting, the rain on tin roofs, hens settling in their roosts and then wake to the dawn breaking and the village coming to life with the crowing of cockrels, clatter of plates and the smell of morning fires. One morning we happily watched the looks on people's faces as they walked down the main path in the village to see us sipping black pepper tea in our sleeping bags perched on one such veranda. Needless to say, we slept awfully most nights but the experience was worth it! We came to cherish the magical hour between 5 and 6, a peaceful time, when the light slowly returns and life in the village begins. 

As we dropped into the valley, the temperatures rose and we finally got the sunny days we'd been hoping for. The sun warmed the wet earth and you could feel the humidity rising as we walked by. Nepali people know a thing or two about water and irrigation and they do it beautifully. Walking through dense jungle you would find a stream diverted into a huge piece of split bamboo, cascading onto the path, a perfect shower to douse a pink sweaty face.

Some villages and collections of houses we passed seemed to be utterly lost in time. They appeared completely untouched by the modern world and the desolate, stone age landscape to added to the atmosphere.

As Karna put it, 'karma' dictated that we were able to visit one of his old college friends in a village called Chaukidanda that happened to be just off our chosen route. Karna had not seen his college pal, Birendra, headteacher of the village secondary school, for over 6 years and we all celebrated the reunion with cold Tuborg beers as the clouds exploded into the most monstrous electrical storm either of us have ever experienced. We were glad we had a slightly more substantial roof over our head that night although at times it felt like it was going to take off! The lightening flashes and thunder were something else. The sky was illuminated every few seconds as sheet and fork lightening sliced through the sky, torrential rain hammering the ground. All became eerily calm as the eye passed over us before moments later what felt like hurricane force winds pulled on every nail and joint holding the roof in place! Not ideal trekking weather!

Although few and far between, the people we met plodding along The Great Himalyan Trail that followed our route were certainly peculiar types! No doubt that's what Dave from Oregan and Dario from Switzerland thought of us too! Dave was obsessed with the destruction of ancient Himalayan trails with poorly planned and badly executed road construction. He was planning a one man crusade to raise awareness of the impact this is having on local communities and tourism throughout the country. Unfortunately, his group of four other friends, who started out with him had all slowly dropped away leaving him to fight his mission solo! We did see the impact of these new roads which are obviously vital to the remote communities they hope to reach. The big worry is that by destroying so many ancient trails, tourism, a huge life blood to Nepal, could also be destroyed. Who knows the answer?

As it was, we continued our trek along beautiful rivers, fields of buckwheat, barley, maize, rice, potatoes and saag. Children played in the crystal clear rivers and for the first time this whole trip we joined them for a swim. The crap infested rivers of India were just never that tempting!

We left the river and climbed up to the first of the three high passes we would be crossing. Along the way we were caught in another ridiculous storm, made more wild and violent by the setting. After winds whipped around our lodge, huge hailstones batter the corrugated tin roof and lightenening lit up the mountain skyline like something out of Lord of the Rings. Higher up, the houses took on a feel of something out of the wild west, huge eagles circling over head as the clouds rose up obscuring the lush, warm valley below.

Attempts to find our friend Roksi a new home continued to fail, and she happily bounded on at our heel, scrounging food as she went and charming all passers by. (As well as getting into a few fights with frisky mongrels along the way!) 

Karna, ever tolerant of our strange whims, agreed to get up at 4am the next morning so we could trudge up to the pass for sunrise. We chased the weather and were rewarded with a beautiful sunrise, cloud inversion and Silicho Peak presiding over our view. We cooked up a familiar breakfast of instant noodles next to Salpa Pokhari, a sacred lake to both Buddhists and Hindus, who regularly trek there on a pilgrimage to ask the spirit of the lake to grant them their wishes. 

The descent from the pass followed a clear mountain stream surrounded by tall ancient pines. We walked through arches of sweet smelling blossom from paper plants, carpets of primulas and little strawberry flowers. The world felt like it was just waking up, like Narnia after the snow had gone. We arrived in a small Sherpa village called Sonam as the clouds dropped and shrouded the Stupas in mist. A kind soul cooked us lunch in a dark cosy wood lined kitchen with a roaring fire in a clay oven. Our luck held again and another vast thunderstorm broke as we rushed into Gudel at the end of the day to the safety of a warm lodge.

We were now getting into the rhythmn of life on the trail. Every up was followed by a steep descent as each river crossing and valley bottom was followed by a pass of over 3000m... oh for a flat path! We went to bed that night gazing across the valley at Kiraule, it seemed so close but we knew another 1000m decent and climb stood in the way... a nice little zip wire across would be much easier! It's hard to complain though when the days goal is simply to keep on plodding. 

Each passing village and valley differed so much. It doesn't seem to just be the altitude. The houses, communities, crops, flowers, people's dress, jewellery and religion has such a huge impact on the environment and the feel of the place. 

As we left the tropical valley bottom we climbed towards Kiraule. Before long we found ourselves in what could only be described as a Buddhist Yorkshire Moor with yak replacing sheep and Gompas replacing stone churches (and the Great Stone of Fourstones!) with a few more prayer flags scattered about than the last time I was in Benny Bentham! It was windswept, barren and remote but equally beautiful.

We settled in for the evening next to an ancient 500 year old crumbly colourful Gompa. It sat on the brow of the hill looking down across the barren 'moor'. Around its perimeter was a huge circular mane wall (a wall made up of hundreds of stones inscribed with Tibetan Mantra), each stone was hand carved and covered in moss and greying lichen as old as the monastery. Huge ancient trees encircled the tiny clearing, protecting the Gompa and creating a stillness around it in the vast expanse of the valley. 

We happened to be there on the day that Monastery's seven Lamas met for their monthly Puja. After being invited to share a salt yak butter tea, we then settled into a corner of the cosy candle lit prayer room to watch the puja. The rhythmical clashes of symbols, banging of drums and low guttural chanting of ageless Tibetan prayers was mesmerising.We felt incredibly lucky to have stumbled across this magical place on exactly the right day and to be the only other souls there. At the evening interval, the head Lama offered us more tea and we talked about our time in Nepal with our best Nepalese. He said we must have had good karma in our previous lives to end up in this place, together and at this time. Although we're not coming back as devout Buddhists, his sincerity, kind face and belief certainly made you want to belive what he was saying. It was a very special moment. 

The next day, after another stunning sunrise and far too many photos, we set off on our way again.

 The path felt as old as the hills and we walked alongside ancient Stupas being slowly reclaimed by nature and passed great long mane walls surrounded by the most amazing display of rhodedendrons we've seen in Nepal. We sat in a sunlit clearing on warm grass gazing at snowy mountains framed by flowers of every colour. It was hard to imagine anywhere more beautiful. 

Sherpa people are well known for their relationship with the mountains and mountaineering. In a country where caste is still so incredibly important, the success of the Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, who with Edmund Hillary, was in the first team to summit Everest, has left a lasting impact on this ethnic group. Uniquely, we've read that his success seems to have elevated their position in society. Their continued successes in the tourist industry and in summitting peaks (or getting tourists much less skilled than themselves to the top of peaks) has continued his legacy. We saw a pretty inspiring example of this when we stayed in a very well cared for lodge on our penultimate night of the trek. Photos of a very handsome man dressed in full climbing regalia hung all over the walls. His wife and small son proudly told us that he, Dawa Lama Sherpa, was currently at Everest Base camp about to summit for the 7th time!

The next day our bubble burst and we descended to the main Everest Base Camp trail from Jiri. In five minutes we saw more trekkers than we'd seen in the last 5 weeks! Hundreds of mules passed by carrying pasta and Kit-Kats to meet the needs of the thousands of tourists that arrive in Lukla everyday. Only now did our faithful friend Roksi decide to leave us, it was as if she new it was time for us to part ways and sadly for us that meant getting in another jeep and heading back to Dustmandu. As a little treat on the way home, we got possibly the best panorama of the Everest Range money can buy as the sun rose on another beautiful day.

Everest... big smokey one in the middle!

After more admin than you can dream of, arranging Chinese and Russian visas in Kathmandu for the next part of our trip, we are now relaxing in Pokhara, trying to imagine the Annapurna Range (currently behind thick cloud!) wondering where the last four months went! We did manage to squeeze in one last trek to see one last sunrise over Dhaulagiri and Annapurna from Poon Hill which didn't disappoint!

Now Hong Kong awaits before a long train ride home via Beijing, Mongolia, Siberia, Moscow, Poland, Slovenia and Croatia... well that's the plan anyway! 

We're not quite sure if leaving Nepal means the end of the blog but if we have some stories to share and feel inspired to write we'll let you know!

Loads of love

Ed and Kat xxxx

New Friends in Gola...

Kathmandu is a funny old place. It's not called 'Dustmandu' for nothing. Huge dust clouds bellow from never ending road works in and around the city and cling to every piece of clothing and nose hair available! Face masks are now a fashion item! But when just the right easterly wind blows, the dust clouds disperse and the Kathmandu valley reveals itself. Huge black kites circle over the gleaming white Stupas tipped with gold that are dotted around the the wooded foothills circling the valley. Kathmandu's traffic policy leaves a lot to be desired. The 40,000 white Suzuki taxis, each with body coloured bumper, spoiler and emblazoned with hand painted Nike ticks roam the streets in hungry packs hunting for passengers. We still come out in a cold sweat every time we venture back onto the infamous Kathmandu ring road, an experience never to be repeated on bicycles! Continuing in the spirit of our adventure, we've found the best way to negotiate Kathmandu's twisting side streets and bustling lanes is on foot, provided your spidey sense is expertly honed! These senses were especially useful as we spent a "busy" two weeks crossing Kathmandu back and forth to eye appointments (all is well, worry not!) and visiting numerous embassies as we plan our onward journey from Nepal.

To tell the truth, with all its little luxuries (mostly within budget!), we were getting very comfortable in Kathmandu. We even had a little reunion with Kate and Steve from good old Aggie and went to a posh restaurant to celebrate Kate's Birthday. We caught up on village gossip sipping cold Everest beer and Bloody Marys. It's strange to think that the next time we see them will be under the Christmas lights in St Agnes!

We then set about arranging our next placement with CAN. This time we were heading much further afield to the Eastern Development Region of Nepal to a little village on the Arun river near the boarder with Tibet and two days walk from the nearest road head, zero point as they call it. We had heard this area (Sankhuwasabha) had some wealth from cardamom plantations but this came with its own vices. Cardamom is a surprisingly expensive commodity (1kg costing nearly £30) but although there is apparent wealth the levels of education are low and sadly much of this money is spent on roksi (home brewed millet spirit) and rum. It's remote location also makes access to health care and good schools tricky. We were told numerous times that this would be a very different experience to Melamchi Ghyang. By chance, the Makalu Base Camp trek starts a days walk from the village so we decided to mix business with pleasure and arrange a trek to finish our stay in Nepal. Times are hard!

Like all great expeditions, we began with a bit of false start. Outwardly and to most tourists, Nepal is an incredibly friendly place, but lots of the political turmoil is hidden from view. An uprising in the Terai, through which we had to travel, meant that our 4am start to catch our bus was in vain. Demonstrators had placed a road block on the main East West Highway after a bloody skirmish with the police. We returned to our flat, blearery eyed facing potentially another 4 days in Kathmandu.

After tea back in bed, our phone rang to say the road was clear and the night bus would be leaving at midday. Night time travel was something we'd desperately tried to avoid. A trip on the Kathmandu ring road seemed like a pleasant day out compared to 24 hours on a Nepalese night bus! Taking long bus journeys was not something we'd wanted to do but getting to these backwaters is almost impossible without them. It would take gruelling weeks on a bike, months on foot and with our new friendly Consultant Opthalmologist and Expedition Manager forbidding us from flying on the tiny twin otter Buddha Air planes, we were left with no option. It took seven hours to leave the Kathmandu Valley, micro buses with goats tied to the roof being one of the many things that passed us by as we sat stationary at the side of the road, inhaling dust and fumes all the while (a journey that took us 45 minutes by bike!). The only thing that kept us going was listening to Martin Freeman read the Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy. It was easy to imagine deep space travel as we hurtled along at break neck speed on a bus with no suspension in the dead of night!

A full 24 hours later we arrived at Hile, a little jaded and sleep deprived but luckily the next 5 hour jeep ridewas waiting! After securing our bags on the roof rack, we wedged ourselves into the back of a surprisingly shiney Land Rover, 14 of us all together! The driver was brilliant and we soon became incredibly closely acquainted with our neighbours, using each other to brace against the mountainous bumps and ruts that was our road. Mildly concussed, we finally shoe horned out of the back door and stumbled with legs asleep into Tumlingtar, just as a plane landed after a mere 35 minute flight from Kathmandu!

Numb bums told us that was quite enough motor travel thank you and the next day we shouldered our packs and headed off. Back in the day, when Doug Scott (founder of CAN and famous British climber of the Bonnington era) set out to climb Mount Makalu and Kanchenjunga (5th and 3rd tallest mountains on earth) they would have had a very long walk in from Hile before even getting a sniff of snow capped mountains. Despite getting washed back with each monsoon the road is slowly creeping up the valley towards the Chinese/Tibetan border.

Couldn't resist broccoli and stilton soup!

Without a guide and with English being a rarity in these remote parts, we had to rely on our broken Nepali for food, shelter and direction. Like in so many places, it's amazing how many friends you can make with a few stock phrases. After a long slog we stopped for a chia in a little timber framed house, nestled in a lush valley, surrounded by rice paddies. Within moments of us uttering our regular Nepali spiel, our hosts were laughing and embracing us like old friends. Leaving with hugs and handshakes all round, we even got our tea for free! The down side to this being that we often get involved in conversations where we have absolutely no idea what's going on, which makes asking directions a little tricky! Nodding and smiling a lot seem to help with the odd "Tik cha" (I understand every beautiful detail of what you've just been talking about for the last ten minutes!) thrown in now and again. 

As we pootled on up the Arun valley, it was amazing to see every building still standing. From what we could see there was very little damage to this area following the earthquakes. The clusters of stone, timber and mud houses with golden thatched roofs sat looking rediculously picturesque, surrounded by terraced fields and rising mountains.

There's lots of work in the valley, with agriculture, the slowly lengthening road and several new hydroelectric projects along the Arun River. Strange little settlements have popped up alongside these developments. As we descended a steep wooded hillside on our path to Gola, we came across one of these new communities next to a swinging foot bridge over the river. A new shining steel roadbridge was being built alongside and the collection of smokey, grubby dwellings that huddled on the riverbank felt like something out of the Wild West.

The Wild West, I can still smell welded goat head!

A headless goat was being butchered in the muddy street as the drizzle fell and the smell of burning hair lingered in the air. Crossing the bridge we found the source. A labourer, precariously balanced on the steel girders spanning the raging white water, was using the projects welding equipment to slowly cook the goats head! Happy to be living as vegetarians, we trundled past with a 'Namaste' looking forward to saag aloo (spinach and potato) later!

When the evening is drawing in and we're looking for a place to stay, it's impossible to know if we're staying in a friendly person's spare room or we've luckily stumbled across the village lodge. Both are equally welcoming and there's always a seat by a fire and food to be had. That's how we ended up staying with Dilly, a more welcoming yet sad soul you can not imagine. On a stormy afternoon, we huddled under his wonkey wooden veranda watching the wind and rain pass by. He gave us a very personal insight into the harder side of life out here. A father of two daughters, he explained with tears in his eyes, how his wife had recently had an abortion after finding out she was having another girl. It was a difficult thing to hear and easy to judge but the hurt in his eyes and anguished explanations showed the torment that the decision was causing. He told us that he felt he simply could not afford another daughter. The cost of education, medicines, food, a dowry and marriage was just too high and he desperately asked if there was anyway he could guarentee a son in future pregnancies. It was hard to know what to say.

It's so sad that a daughter is still considered to be more of a burden than a son and that she can't be seen for the potential she offers. We've seen this potential so often in many clever, ambitious and brave Indian and Nepali women and hopefully these daughters are changing societies perception of what women can do. Everyday I'm reminded how lucky I am, I am free to choose my job, my home, my partner and if I want to cycle the length of India I can just do it! (Even if it does cause my mum a few sleepless nights... sorry mum!)

Dilly sent us off up the valley with a list of friends to call on for food and chai along the way. He'd even phoned ahead to order our daal bhat and it was ready and waiting when we trundled into Simma. Later that afternoon on a bend of the Arun River, we finally arrived in Gola just as heavy rain clouds gathered. These have been a regular feature since being in the valley, often accompanied by some pretty spectacular rolling thunder and fork lightening displays. We've been told this isn't the monsoon but the damp days are certainly pretty frequent. We keep telling ourselves that apparently the best day to summit Everest is the 10th of May, before the winds change and bring the real monsoon rains off the Tibetan Plateau! Fingers crossed for our Base Camp trek!

Gola is a tiny collection of stone and tin houses nestled at the head of a hanging valley on a rocky outcrop above the Arun River. Home to many a mule train as it passes through the valley, the village is a bustling through fare. Aside from the Health Post there is a sadly neglected looking school and some little shops selling mostly booze and rice. 

We were greeted at the Health Post by Chandrika, the CAN nurse stationed there. A smaller more smiley person you cannot imagine. At 23, a newly qualified nurse, she has practically single handedly run the clinic for the last two years. Judging by the number of gifts she receives every day in the form of aloo (potatoes), saag (random green veg), locally grown soya beans and maize and all sorts of other truely organic tasty treats, she is incredibly popular and respected here. We immediately found out why as she insisted we stay with her in the clinic and she be our host for our time here. That first night, over tasty food and listening  to Nepali folk music on her mobile, we got on really well and have become great friends. She even lets us cook, something no Nepali person has let us do before!

The clinic is incredibly busy and serves the village and many remote communities in the valley, some up to three hours walk away. As we were told, alcohol is a huge issue. The day rarely starts for many people without a Chang (millet beer come three course meal) which often replaces all other nourishment and we've seen plenty of the health complications that arise as a result. Clinic bustles with pregnant women and snotty kids every day. Babies arrive after being carried for miles in wicker baskets slung over their mother's back, the straps hanging back from the mother's foreheads, while men and boys stagger in with minor injuries, coughs, colds and poorly tummies! We're certainly not short of work to do. It's nice to feel useful and we have plenty of opportunities to teach and help out. 

On our weekend off, we decided to continue up the valley to visit a village called Hatiya which nearly straddles the Nepal Tibetan border. The weather was kind to us and we followed the river up the valley in warm spring sunshine.

The Arun River itself is a raging muddy green/brown torrent even in dry season. It's waters are swelled even more by the glacial azure blue water of the Barun River that joins it a few kilometers below Hatiya. We'd previously met some friendly German Hydrologists who were working on two Hydroelectric projects due to start soon and it was clear to see why. We've been told Nepal is only second to Brazil in its potential to generate hydroelectric power from its innumerable rivers. Sadly, the current political climate means it is a long way off ever being self sufficient in terms of energy production, made more complicated by the ever increasing pressures from its neighbours on its borders.

Visiting Hatiya was like going back in time. Stone houses crowded the small plateau on which it sat with ancient stone Stupas and walkways winding through the village. Cows, ducks, chickens, mules, goats and filthy ragged children roamed the muddy alleyways. Being on the border with Tibet, it was an entirely Buddhist community and felt like another world compared to the rest of the valley! The world may catch up with it yet as a Chinese funded road advances from Tibet and a Nepali funded one advances slightly less efficiently from lower down the valley. We went to bed in a thunderstorm and woke to crystal clear skies and snow dusted mountains all around. It wetted our appetites for the 20 day trek to come!

More soon... loads of love 

Ed and Kat

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