It was only a short stint in Cambodia, just 2 weeks. I do feel you can slightly compensate for a lack of time in a country by engaging with it fully. Every tuktuk ride my eyes would be pouring over the streets, my attention given fully to seeing this country. I spent every bus journey listening to podcasts on its history. When I met someone who had travelled around more of it or for longer I asked them about their experiences and opinions. So despite the short time spent in Cambodia, I’ve left with a relatively strong feel for it. The people are smiley and friendly and welcoming, but outside of the cities many seem bored, with not much to fill their time. The scenery is not as green as I expected, but that makes sense seeing as it was the hottest time of the year and pre-monsoon. In the countryside, life is farming and this is basic. Modern machinery like tractors are few and far between with iron buffalo (a motorised ploughing device that still needs to be guided by a person walking behind it) being commonly used. The cities are very modern in comparison, and everything in them seems quite new, probably because it is. The echo of french colonialism is present but it’s quiet. Cambodia is strongly Cambodian. But what it means to be Cambodian seems hushed. The nationalism or culture is not loud or in your face. This is almost seen tangibly in the food, which is so soft and subtle in flavour, lacking any spice usually. I enjoyed Cambodia and I wouldn’t be against going back for longer to properly get a feel for it, but it’s not a priority. It doesn’t rank too highly on my list.

Our journey

I was overwhelmed by the modernity of Bangkok and felt shaken by it. It wasn’t what I’d become used to and, evidently, what I’d become comfortable with. As I watched out of the window of the bus which took us over the border into Cambodia I was almost thankful to see the familiar sights of little huts selling food, individual cows and buffalo wandering around, and people in the fields using ancient looking machinery. It feels strange to say that those sights made me feel at home, but in a way they did. The border crossing was unbelievably easy, mostly because we’d paid an extra $7 to get the VIP package with our bus ticket (not something I would ever normally do but as it was Rosaline’s first crossing we thought why not) and were waved through with the bus company dealing with our visas for us.

Siem Reap

First stop was Siem Reap, a city in the Northwest of the country. It was fine, a very touristy pedestrianised centre with a big street named ‘Pub Street’ and a river with pretty bridges arching over it. Unlike the scenery we’d seen on the drive across the country, it was relatively modern. The hostel was lovely, more like a fun hotel with clean and modern rooms and a big pool. I could get used to this standard of hostel for only £5! We stayed three nights here and had quite a busy time. The first morning we went for sunrise at the infamous Angkor Wat temple complex. The sunrise wasn’t very beautiful because of the clouds/smog and the remaining beauty was tarred by the talk of a particularly arrogant guy on the tour with us from the hostel. Angkor Wat is the name of the largest and most famous temple in the complex, but the complex is ginormous with 72 temples. It was the old capital of the Khmer empire in the 9th - 15th Century. Our tour guide was rubbish so I didn’t learn any more than that from the experience. The temples were impressive but without the history and context I wasn’t so interested. They reminded me of the ones I’d seen in Mexico, but that experience was more enjoyable. The second temple had been half absorbed by the jungle and it was the one used for filming in Tomb Raider. On the final of the three temples we visited Rosaline was bitten by a monkey which tried to steal her sunglasses. After the tour guide continued to be useless, we decided to leave the tour early to go to a hospital and get her the antibiotics and rabies jabs she needed, which we managed to sort fairly stress free. Now she’s fully recovered and safely out of the rabies window, I’d like to point out that this was the first hospital visit of my entire trip and it wasn’t even for me!

On our second day we visited the APOPO charity site which uses trained Pouched African rats to detect landmines, getting to watch the giant rats in action in a demonstration and hold the big guys. Cambodia has a huge number of leftover landmines from the crazy decades of history I’ve covered in a separate post, and these are continuing to injury people and prevent the use of valuable farmland. It was a strange but cool organisation to visit. In the afternoon we did a cooking class where we whipped up 4 Khmer dishes in record time. I’m not sure why exactly we were rushed through it at the speed we were, but it did add an element of adrenaline that was quite exciting. It did hinder being able to remember what we actually did however, so I’m not sure how faithful my recreations at home will be. An added bonus of the cooking class was going to the local wet market to pick up the produce. Watching the british girls’ reactions of fish being bludgeoned to death suddenly was quite entertaining. My personal highlight of Siem Reap was a trip to a floating village we arranged ourselves, convincing two others to join us. At this point I’d like to introduce Nathan (British) and Sarah (Canadian) who would feature across our time in Cambodia. We got a tuktuk for over an hour to the rural village along a river which fed into the Tonle Sap lake. It was dry season so the floating village was only floating on air, but this meant the stilts and height of the houses was available for inspection. Looking at the flimsy pieces of wood holding them up I’m not sure my Dad would have approved of the structural integrity of them, but they seemed to do the job. The homestay was more of a rustic boutique dorm room, with beds suspended from the ceiling on ropes and an uninterested family running it. Exploring the village was more fun, with every child wanting to talk to us and to high five us. They were full of excitement and it was hard to not catch some of it. We spent the evening trying to avoid being bitten to death by mosquitoes and playing cards. On our journey back to Siem Reap we asked the tuktuk to pull over at one of the hundreds of little stalls selling bamboo tubes being smoked over a fire, wanting to try one of them. The bamboo was filled with sticky coconut milk rice and soy beans, and it was delicious in the same way that coconut porridge with muesli is. So Siem Reap was packed to the rafters with activities, more than I’d usually do in 3 or 4 places combined! The change of pace in travelling style was a bit of a shock and definitely not one that could be sustained for too long. Luckily our next destination was all about relaxing…

Koh Rong Sanloem

It had been almost 6 months since I’d seen the sea so I was seeping with excitement as I was crammed alongside Rosaline in the shared bed on the sleeper bus to the port town of Sihanoukville. From here a short ferry ride took us to the small island of Koh Rong Sanloem, and from the concrete jetty a little boat took us round to the next bay. There are no roads on the island so boat is the main way to get around. We hopped off the boat into water that was knee deep and held our bags clear, wading up to the white sand beach and towards the wooden huts scattered just past the tree line. This was the little hostel resort we’d be staying at for a few days, completely isolated from anything else. Definitely a unique hostel experience! We bed down in one of the small huts, shared with two aussie guys which I was extremely thankful for when two huge bugs appeared on my bed one day! Arriving extremely hot and sweaty we changed into our bikinis and immediately headed to the water for a refreshing dip. As we ran in we both slowed and let out a disappointed “oh”. The water was like a bath, insanely warm and in no way the cold dip we were hoping for. We spent two days relaxing, although in typical us fashion we somehow still remained busy. In our little gang with Nathan and Sarah, and some others we picked up, we did yoga led by me and a salsa class led by Rosaline. We swam a lot and read a lot and dozed a lot. In the evenings we also drank a lot, with Rosaline nailing the Karaoke night. There were lots of very nice people at the hostel, which was lucky since you were basically stuck with them! We took the free shuttle boat back round to the main bay one afternoon and trekked across the narrow island to the other side. With a view out west we were able to watch the sunset, or watch the sun go behind the low cloud. We walked with a group of us and played frisbee in the sea before each taking our own space to watch the sunset alone. I like it when that happens when travelling. When a group activity ends with everyone organically going to experience something alone, but together. I sat in a hammock listening to some music. Less tranquil was our journey back. The walk was fine, sweaty and mosquito heavy but balanced out by the several hornbills we saw. Back at the main bay it proved much harder than imagined to get a boat back to the hostel. Rosaline and I asked a man waiting and he offered to take two of us on the taxi boat he had called. Looking at the 6 others behind us I felt very guilty on taking him up on the offer, leaving them stranded on the pier, but they insisted we go! Everyone else did make it home safely, 3 of them were able to find a different taxi boat and the remaining 3 trekked through the jungle back, at night, with no headtorches, so I was understandably relieved when they arrived sweat covered back at the hostel! It was just the perfect island get away. The huts were basic and exactly what I was looking for. Couldn’t recommend more (it was Mad Monkey hostel)!

Kampot

It was a short journey from the island to Kampot. The place itself was of a similar vibe to Siem Reap but a lot less touristy. Our hostel was once again lovely and with a nice pool. Kampot is famous for the Kampot pepper (of the salt and pepper variety) grown there, so of course we had to head to a pepper plantation to learn more about it. I had strangely high expectations for the plantation and, incredibly, they were exceeded. Set up by a French and Belgian couple the plantation serves as the best example of eco-social-tourism I’ve come across. They seem to have considered everything with its impact on the environment and the community and the overall experience as a visitor was just amazing. The tour and tasting were completely free too. One interesting titbit from the tour of the site is that, like with tea, all types of pepper (red, black, green, white) come from the exact same plant, what differs is the age and processing. The plantation was called ‘Le Plantation’ if you want to check it out! One afternoon I went for a stroll around the town alone, whilst Rosaline was busy with some work. As I was munching on the pork steamed bun I’d bought for lunch I came across two men playing a strange board game. They pulled up a chair for me to sit, providing some unexpected mealtime entertainment. I tried to grasp the rules of the game but to me it just seemed like chess with some different pieces that moved in slightly different ways. When the older man won comfortably in a frenzied end game I thanked them and said goodbye. A random highlight of Kampot for me was the insanely good breakfast we had one morning (I had a stacked breakfast bagel which was just to die for) which included a free round of mini golf!

After noticing how quiet and nice the roads were on our trip to the pepper plantation, I decided that this would be the perfect spot to try out a moped for the first time. I had tried to drive one once before whilst on holiday in Italy and it hadn’t gone well at all, but I felt a lot stronger and more capable than I was then. Powered by this confidence I paid the $4 hire fee for the afternoon, but was secretly relieved when he gave me the smallest of the mopeds parked up. With a helmet that was the same awful shade of green as my sunglasses I practiced going up and down the road a couple of times before deciding I felt great and could totally do this. Sarah had joined me and together we set off with no real aim. We reached a mangrove forest which we explored briefly, then we went our separate ways and I drove through small villages to a cave. I stopped at a train track that seemed so out of place, cutting through a dusty village with greenery lining either side, to watch a man and his son herd their cows. Overall, the first try of scooter riding went swimmingly and I was sad to hand the keys back. I’m looking forward to doing lots more in Vietnam…

Phnom Penh

A short 4 hour bus journey brought us to our final stop in Cambodia, the capital Phnom Penh. When I woke up from my nap on the bus to see the city for the first time I couldn’t believe my eyes. The rural, developing countryside that had been outside of the window the whole time was suddenly flashy glass buildings, huge lit up signs, showrooms of every brand of fancy car in existence. It wasn’t tacky nor shabby. It was all squeaky clean and brand new looking. I felt viscerally shocked in way I had never experienced when entering a new place. Looking at the view from the hostel rooftop it was a skyline of skyscrapers and lights. It could’ve been London if London was clean and all of the buildings were new. Exploring the next day it was confrontational; the way the people lived and the city they lived in. The developing lifestyle remained, huge markets where people squatted down, cutting up fruit or bamboo, rubbish everywhere. But beyond the street, the glass skyscrapers were visible. Never have I seen a city where the architecture and the life within are so contrasting. These new skyscrapers were clearly not built by or for Cambodian people. Walking around the streets by our hostel in search of dinner we had a new shock when it dawned on us we were in the red light district. Plastic chairs were set up in rows outside of bars, arranged like in a school assembly, with girls sat on them. It was so strange and picturing someone going into the rows to pick a girl seemed even stranger. If you can’t tell from my description, Phnom Penh was not my favourite place. I found it an incredibly strange city and not a particularly pleasant one. We visited the Genocide museum and the Killing Fields here, but I’ve discussed these in the post about Cambodian History. From here we caught a very comfortable bus to Ho Chi Minh in Vietnam, going through another easy border.

The food

Main dishes:

1. Fish Amok - a coconut milk based curry that’s very soft in flavour. Very yummy but nothing much to it.
2. Beef Loklak - a black pepper sauce covering thin strips of beef, served with rice and a fried egg. Simple but delicious.
3. Green mango salad - shredded mango with some shredded cucumber and tomatoes, an acidic dressing and peanuts. Very fresh and tasty, although we did have one bad one so not as dependable as it sounds.
4. Khmer red curry - a coconut milk based curry filled with potatoes and vegetables. A bit more tasty than the Amok but still very soft flavours.
5. Sandwich - Cambodian version of the Vietnamese sandwiches (Banh Mi). Filled with pate, pork, pickled veg and chilli. The one I tried was disappointing. The baguette was meh and as was the filling.

And then lots of fried rice, fried noodles, fried veg. Overall, a little bland and nothing too special. Surprisingly, not spicy at all. I can see why Thai and Vietnamese food overshadow it.

As a lover of Russian history because of its insanely ruthless leaders, strange ideological plans, and pure chaos, I held it as the most prominent example of all of these things in history. Then I started to research Cambodian history. How wrong I was. I have never come across a history as messy and unbelievable as theirs, including a period of absolute terror to the likes I couldn’t even imagine before. Yes I’d been vaguely familiar with the Khmer Rouge and had watched the film ‘First they killed my Father’, but I did not comprehend the full atrocities which took place. Nor did I have any idea of what came before or after. Learning, and hopefully understanding, history like this is one of the most valuable aspects of travel for me. After visiting the Killing Fields and Genocide museum I felt like I needed to write the history down so I didn’t forget it. I also want to share it here as it’s a slice of history I think we should be more than just vaguely aware of.

My summary of the insanity from 1953 - 1991

From 1863 to 1953 Cambodia is ruled by France, like neighbours Laos and Vietnam. In 1941 Sihanouk (a Khmer (the main ethnicity in Cambodia)) becomes King but is still under France’s control. In 1953 Cambodia gains independence and King Sihanouk becomes King in more than just name. Under pressure to introduce democracy, Sihanouk abdicates the throne so he can run in the election, which he then wins becoming Prime Minister (with a healthy amount of election fraud and voter intimidation). In 1960, Sihanouk cements his position and becomes the permanent head of state. His rule is brutal; communist revolutionaries are sought out and executed, the farming peasants are neglected and suffer. In 1969, the US begins a secret bombing campaign within its war against Vietnam where it carpet bombs Cambodia in Operation Breakfast (followed by Operation Lunch, Snack, Dinner, Supper and Dessert) under Nixon’s ‘Madman theory’, aiming to show Vietnam he’s irrational and volatile and therefore should not be messed with. Sihanouk doesn’t do anything in response to this, choosing to remain quiet rather than anger the US. The country simply isn’t doing well, creating the perfect landscape for the Prime Minister Lon Nol to overthrow Sihanouk in a coup in 1970.

From 1970 to 1975 civil war ensues across Cambodia. Lon Nol sends the Cambodian army to fight the North Vietnamese who are hiding out in Cambodia. A communist guerrilla movement, which will become known as the Khmer Rouge (officially the Communist Party of Kampuchea), fights against Lon Nol and as does the North Vietnamese. So called Liberated Zones are under the Khmer Rouge’s control, and these expand until finally Phnom Penh (the capital city) falls in 1975 on April 16th. This day begins with relief. The population in the city are thankful that the years of civil war and the terror that came before that are over. This feeling is incredibly short-lived.

On April 16th 1975, referred to as Year 0, Phnom Penh and the other cities in Cambodia are forcefully evacuated. People are told they have to leave for their own safety as more US bombs will be dropped on the city. This is a lie. The reason for the evacuation is completely absurd. The Khmer Rouge is a communist group led by Saloth Sar, better known as Pol Pot, which holds an ideology rooted in Maoist communism. Under Marxist-Leninist communism, the one I’m familiar with from my Soviet Union studies, the focus is on the proletariats which are the industrial working class. Under Maoism, the focus is on the agricultural peasants as the countries it applies to have not yet had an industrial revolution. Pol Pot took this to the extreme, considering peasants to be the epitome of the world and viewing agriculture as the pathway to Cambodia’s success. The Khmer Rouge’s plan was to make Cambodia self-sufficient in food production to remove any reliance on neighbouring countries, eventually allowing it to export food for money and elevate it to international success. I can see the logic in this plan. Where any logic stops is on how this would be achieved. Pol Pot’s grand scheme was to force everyone to become farmers and collectivise the farms. There are some obvious flaws here, not going into details but people from the city had no experience as farmers and collectivised farms failed miserably in the Soviet Union (see my post on Gori for more on that). In addition to these issues, the overall conditions under the regime destroyed any chance of success. People were stripped of everything - physical items, communities (families were separated), decisions over their lives (the state chose who you would marry, often pairing old men with young girls), sense of self (it became illegal to say “I”, being replaced with “we”), human decency (the mass graves at so called Killing Fields speak for themselves). People were forced to work 19 hour days, digging irrigation channels or planting rice, on one or two bowls of rice water. People starved to death. People, including children, were tortured and killed for foraging for extra food. Unsurprisingly, these conditions did not deliver the tripling of rice yields Pol Pot wanted. Just as in the Soviet Union, the guards on the ground didn’t want to admit failure so inflated the figures, meaning more rice was taken from each community for export leaving even less for the people. This cycled into famines and even lower yields. If this everyday life isn’t nightmarish enough, Pol Pot was paranoid and was purging the country ferociously. The main targets were a group known as the “New people”, referring to city-dwellers and educated people. This included anyone who wore glasses, could read or had soft hands. Monks, nuns and minority ethnicities were also targeted. These people were gathered up in places called prisons but I think torture death chambers is a better descriptor. We visited the most famous of these in Phnom Penh, S-21, now a museum. Here the level of atrocities a human can commit to another human exceeded my understanding of the world. I can not comprehend the acts committed under the Khmer Rouge, both in their horror and their reasoning. Men, women and children were taken to these prisons and confessions were tortured out of them. They were then taken to Killing Fields where they were executed and thrown into mass graves. In the one prison we visited, 12,000 - 20,000 people were tortured there. There are 12 known survivors. It is unbelievable. I won’t go into the forms of torture used, but I will say that bullets were not used for the executions as they were too expensive and guns too loud. Instead, the people would be beaten to death using any tools available. This is not simply a genocide of lives, it is a genocide of entire human nature extending to those killed and those killing. The reason for the deaths and the torture? I can’t tell you because there really seems to be no explanation. I suppose these people killed because they could possibly threaten the regime. But could so many children, women and just normal people really pose a threat? The confessions forced out of them were often to do with the CIA, or spies from the Soviet Union or China, completely random things. Some of the slogans of the Khmer Rouge may help to explain the lack of reasoning:

“To keep you is no gain; to kill you is no loss”
”It is better to kill an innocent by mistake than spare an enemy by mistake”
”To dig up the grass, one must remove even the roots” (referring to killing an entire family if one member is seen as bad).

Perhaps the uneducated, brainwashed nature of the guards offers an explanation. They were often young peasant boys taken from their villages. On one wall in the prison a guard had been asked to write numbers for the keys to different cells. Clearly unable to write numbers, he scratched lines into the wall until someone who was able to write took over. This was the level of education of the majority of people wielding power.

Whilst this was all under Pol Pot’s control, he was not the face of the Khmer Rouge. Most people did not even know his name. The head of state at this point is, surprisingly, Sihanouk. Yes you’re remembering correctly, he was the King turn Prime Minister turn head of state who fought against the communist groups. Once he was overthrown he declared his allegiance with the Khmer Rouge in a one-sided manner, but the Khmer Rouge saw the benefit of his fame and relative popularity and went along with it. When the Khmer Rouge took power he was made to be the face but basically placed under house arrest in the Royal Palace with no control. In 1976, even Sihanouk is appalled by what’s happening under the regime and he resigns, escaping the country. Begrudgingly, Pol Pot becomes Prime Minister. By 1977 the country was deteriorating and it was evident that Pol Pot’s plan was an absolute failure. To distract from this, or to provide a scapegoat for the failure, Pol Pot orders an attack on the Vietnamese border. In 1978 Vietnamese forces invade Cambodia and by 1979 they have taken over the capital and the country. Slowly the insanity of the Khmer Rouge regime is unpicked and elements of normal life are re-established.

As I mentioned at the start of this post, the overall history of the 20th century in Cambodia is just crazy, and it doesn’t end with the Khmer Rouge being chased out of Cambodia by the Vietnamese. In 1981 there is an election and the pro-Vietnamese party wins. However, the international community (including the UK, the US, France and Germany) refuses to recognise this new government as they are viewed as invaders, preferring to recognise the Khmer Rouge as the rightful leaders of Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge retains its seat at the United Nations. During the regime Cambodia was isolated as much as possible; there were no telephones or TV or open borders. Perhaps it’s plausible that the international community didn’t know what was happening, although the isolation itself would be an indicator of something sour. After the regime fell I do not think it’s possible that the international community was not then aware of what happened, especially with Sihanouk escaping and letting people know. So why on earth the world backed the Khmer Rouge as the legitimate leaders I have no clue. Like I said, just crazy. In 1989 Vietnamese troops withdraw and Hun Sen is Prime Minister. One guy who just won’t go away returns for a final time, and in 1991 Sihanouk is once again made head of state, and then King when the monarchy is restored in 1993. We’ll leave the history there.

The Khmer Rouge is the worst regime I have ever come across. In the 3 years, 8 months and 20 days of their control, 1/4 of the Cambodian population died. It was ideologically senseless. Pol Pot lived a happy and comfortable life, living the last two years under house arrest before dying in his home (a heart attack, but perhaps not naturally occurring with some believing he may have taken his own life or was poisoned). In 2007, a UN-backed tribunal finally begins against the remaining Khmer Rouge high ranking officials, seeking justice for the genocide. Most of them are already dead or too unwell to face trial at this point. Only three of them are ever convicted. To me, it does not seem like justice was served. The fact this regime is bookended by an authoritarian regime, secret US bombing, a civil war, and an invasion makes the whole period unbelievably depressing but also interesting. The Khmer Rouge seem to overshadow the atrocities under Sihanouk’s first regime, allowing him to return over and over again. There is still a town called Sihanoukville and his popularity never seemed to dip too low. If you want to learn more about this history I would really recommend the four podcast episodes on Pol Pot by Real Dictators, and also the film ‘First they killed my Father’.

Entering Cambodia I was still learning about this history. But if I wasn’t listening to podcasts and reading about it, it would not have been on my mind at all. There is nothing to bring this very recent, very traumatic history to your attention. I saw no memorials. There was no talk of it with my interactions with local people, nor with other travellers. The country seemed to have chosen a sweep it under the carpet and forget about it approach. I can’t blame them. But knowing that every person you see has a connection to the history is shattering. The collective trauma of the nation seems unspoken about. Like daring to admit its existence would be a huge sin. I asked our tuktuk driver on the way to the Killing Fields if he had ever visited himself. He said maybe with school, but he couldn’t remember the history. I haven’t met anyone who wanted to talk about it openly, and never felt comfortable pushing the topic. I don’t understand the attitudes towards the past in Cambodia, we haven’t spent long enough here nor in the right places to even attempt to. I think only speaking english would also be a barrier. I wish I could find out more about how the Khmer Rouge affected people and continues to affect them, and about their attitudes on the wild character of Sihanouk. On a base level, visiting the Killing Fields and the S-21 Prison suffices. They both have excellent audio guides and are very respectfully and carefully curated. I am sad that other travellers did not always seem aware of the history, but perhaps it’s because Phnom Penh is often the last stop on people’s Cambodia trip and they will only learn about it here. Or because the demographic is more gap yearers in search of beers and beaches than history, unlike the Balkans which is the last comparable place I have been to in terms of history. Cambodia holds the most painful and horrific history I have come across, never before have I seen a country-wide experiment with civilisation like under the Khmer Rouge. I hope its closed rather than open attitude towards the past does not cause issue in the future, but I worry it might.

1. Last: Volunteering on a tea farm in Nepal.
2. Current: Trying out squid fishing on a boat in Ha Long Bay, staring at the reflection of the full moon on the still water. With Rosaline.
3. Future: In northern Thailand, maybe in Chiang Mai. Back by myself.

After keeping a casual eye on the situation in Myanmar and my deadline to reach Bangkok I caved and took a flight from Kathmandu to Bangkok. I know I know, this one I’m a little ashamed of because since looking into it more carefully, I think it would be possible to visit Myanmar right now, with the UK government website just being overly cautious. I really wanted to visit Myanmar, to understand the transition from India to Thailand in terms of culture and especially food. Is this a travel regret? Yes, absolutely. I feel like I took the easy option and should have tried harder to cross overland from India to Thailand. But I had already arranged to meet a friend in Bangkok and was running out of time in general on my trip, so here we are. Perhaps I’ll go back, maybe some other time, maybe on this trip… Anyway, moving on to the here and now, I landed in Bangkok and underwent the biggest culture shock of my life. I hadn’t realised how used to the developing country situation I had become until I was driving along a huge elevated road, surrounded by skyscrapers and shopping malls, my eyes almost falling out of my skull and a continuous drivel of “I can’t believe how modern this is” out of my mouth. My distant family relative who had picked me up from the airport kept glancing at me like I was mad. This judgment deepened when he dropped me off to his spare apartment where I’d be staying and I exclaimed repeatedly at how amazing it was. To my now adjusted eyes, it was just a normal, nice apartment. But to the eyes that had spent the last few months using squat toilets in sheds, it was pure luxury. That first night in Thailand, Isada (my distant relative) took me out for dinner with his girlfriend. Over a wonderful feast in the traditional Thai way (lots of dishes ordered for the table and shared) we worked out how exactly we were related: my grandpa’s cousin is his grandma’s brother. I did some life admin the following day - washing my underwear in the sink, getting a sim card, using the apartment’s gym - before going out with Isada to celebrate the Thai New Year or Songkran. This saw the streets explode into a city-wide water fight. Water was thrown on you or shot at you from water pistols from every angle, especially when walking down the main party street in the centre. Riding in a tuktuk you were a sitting duck, especially at traffic lights. It was absolutely insane. I did make the mistake of wearing a pink top I’d bought for about £1 in India with my cream shorts, and the dye from the top bled all over them creating the strangest look. Sadly I have no photos from Songkran for the obvious reason that water was everywhere and I’ve already lost one phone to water damage!

The following day I returned to the airport to pick up a very special guest. A returning character to the travels of Meg the Rolling Egg if you will. Rosaline! Clearly not put off by the 2 weeks we spent in the Balkans together right back at month 2 of the trip, she had decided to come and join me for 6 weeks in Southeast Asia. So for now it’s goodbye solo travelling, hello travelling as a pair. After my post-hike slump shaking up the vibe by no longer travelling alone is definitely something that has its benefits! I was extremely excited to see Rosaline after not seeing anyone from home for so long, but I was also a little apprehensive. I was so used to this slightly new version of myself I’d developed into whilst travelling, I didn’t know how it would feel to be back around someone who knew the me from before. This isn’t to say I think I’ve changed whilst travelling, but I have settled into a slightly newer form. How would our relationship be after not seeing each other for so long? And what would that mean for all of my other relationships with people at home? Luckily, as always, there was no need to worry and it was the perfect balance of reuniting with an old friend and celebrating how we’ve both grown since we last saw one another. We spent several days in Bangkok celebrating Songkran, eating amazing food (including pad thai of course), having a thai massage, and falling for what was most probably a tourist scam boat cruise but one we enjoyed nonetheless.

Bangkok was a metropolis. The outskirts were filled with glass skyscrapers and the biggest malls I’d ever seen. The centre had wide streets filled with tuktuks and cars and mopeds, impressive temples and palaces dotted around and a river snaking through. There were pavements, something I’d missed in India and Nepal. You could walk around and explore quite happily, a part from the humidity and heat which left you soaked in sweat after 15 minutes. The street vendors were plentiful but the vibe was different to India and Nepal. Nepal vendors were my favourite still. But the food here, I think it wins it. Maybe I’m just tired of Indian food, but I was in love with the Thai cuisine. It tasted so fresh, with so many salads on offer, and with so many flavours in one dish. Indian food seemed heavy and simple in comparison. The people in Bangkok were amazing. You’d think huge crowds drinking and throwing water at each other would invite some unsavoury behaviour. We were body to body with people frequently in the crowd, all soaking wet. Neither Rosaline nor I experienced any inappropriate behaviour, nor did we see or hear of any. It’s a low bar, but one that I highly doubt would have been reached in London! People were very respectful, often asking before they splashed water on you if you weren’t on the crazy main street. I didn’t love Bangkok but that’s because it’s a huge, slightly impersonal feeling city and I’m not a fan of those. I wouldn’t rush back, but I didn’t hate it!

Rosaline and I had done very little planning for our 6 weeks, having just a rough idea that we’d go up to north Thailand and into Laos, crossing to North Vietnam and down to Cambodia (maybe a bit ambitious for the 6 weeks Rosaline has but hey ho). On her arrival we rethought all of this because of a festival Rosaline wanted to visit in Hoi An, so we instead made way for Siem Reap in Cambodia. It had been a very short introduction to Thailand but I’d be back for more!

Nepal was one of the countries on my route plan that I was really excited for and had plans for. I knew I wanted to hike there, and I wanted to do a workaway there. I don’t know why, but I felt drawn to it and had a feeling I would really like it.

I crossed the land border at Sonali from India into Nepal. It was an archaic and slightly frustrating experience which involved hunting around for the border offices (the one to exit India was in the corner of a hotel car park, the visa office for Nepal was hidden behind a shop and restaurant), and walking long distances between them. For the Nepali visa you needed to have two passport photos with you, and the correct amount of money in US dollars. I had the fun of trying to secure both of these items in Varanasi, which took the best part of a day. The border officials were useless and annoying. Luckily I wasn’t alone being with Mary, Leonie and Sam who I’d met in Varanasi. Eventually we all gripped our approved visas and had managed to find a bus that would take us to Chitwan National Park. This was my introduction to Nepali buses and it struck fear into my heart. The roads were by far the worst I’d ever encountered. We were sat in the driver’s cabin, on a bench squeezed between 6 Nepali people where personal space was a distant concept. The old lady used my back as an armrest when, on hour 5 of the journey, I bent over my own legs to try and nap a bit. This meant I was trapped in that position until I gathered the courage to shrug her off. The journey took 7 hours in total but felt a lot longer.

Chitwan National Park

I spent 3 nights here with Mary, Leonie and Sam. On our first day we hired bikes and cycled without direction around the area, taking in the bridges over the wide river, the people working in rice paddies, the beautifully tiled houses, the random of animals everywhere. It was very pleasant, although the bikes were all terrible. In the evening we walked into the town centre for dinner and stumbled across a rhino in the street! It marched down the road with such sass and confidence. We hid behind a fence when it passed us. It was a one-horned rhino which is native to Nepal, something everyone at home seemed shocked by. The following day we actually entered the national park, although after the close rhino encounter we’d already had it seemed like we’d peaked early. This was correct. The first 30 minutes was spent floating in a wooden canoe down the river, where we saw a huge number of incredible birds and several crocodiles. The next 10.5 hours (they weren’t joking when they said it would be a full day!) were spent trapsing around the park on foot. It was very hot and humid and dusty. We didn’t see anything mind-blowing, lots of deer, some distant rhinos, elephants in captivity. The highlight for me was seeing a tiger pawprint and tiger poo. After 9 hours you could feel the fatigue amongst us, with us joking about how unbothered we were by yet another rhino. It was cool to walk through the different habitats, often not on any sort of path, fighting our way through jungle one minute, then crossing open flatlands the next.

Pokhara

A typically awful bus journey took 6 hours to transport us to Pokhara. I spent a few days here before heading off to trek in the Annapurna region of the Himalayas (there’s a separate blog post on this). Time was mostly spent preparing for this, but on the 6th March it was Holi! The hostel organised a Holi party to start the day off and ensure we were sufficiently covered in coloured powder before we set off into the main town where we paraded down the main street up to where there was a stage with a DJ. Whilst there were locals taking part in the celebrations, lots of them just watched on with bemusement as all of the tourists were marched down the street. It was like a mini festival at the stage, with the DJ being followed by a live band who were actually quite good. The mixture of western and nepalese music kept it fresh. We danced, drank beers, and continued to get covered in coloured powder, glitter and water. The atmosphere was great, everyone was in a brilliant mood. Feeling suitably day drunk I returned to the hostel before the crowds descended so I could shower clean, no small task when you’re completely covered in powder! The next morning I left the hostel at 5:30am for the bus to begin my trek.

On my return to Pokhara, I realised that a friend from university (Uma) was currently also in Pokhara! Neither of us could really believe it, and it was as strange as it was wonderful to meet up with her for a crepe and a beer. A really lovely surprise, the first time I’d seen someone from home since my brother left me in Istanbul in September. Other wonderful experiences included taking a very long, hot shower after trekking and washing all of my clothes; enjoying huge salads at the infamous Veganway restaurant; going to an outdoor cinema to watch Inglorious Basterds in the pouring rain; getting up to watch the sunrise over the lake from a viewpoint and take in the mountains that surrounded the town. I did a momo cooking class with two other guys, being humbled by just how difficult it was to fold the precious little dumplings. Momos are Tibetan dumplings and are found everywhere in Nepal. We made 110 momos and I’d like to think my folding technique did improve by the end. I enjoyed eating them even more than making them. A much less wonderful experience was contracting a second round of gastro that saw me almost faint on the bathroom floor. Why I thought I was invincible to the sickness when everyone at the hostel was falling victim to it I don’t know. I could have easily just moved hostels and avoided it! Luckily this aggressive vomiting and diarrhoea only lasted 8 hours, and I made a miraculously quick recovery as I took the gamble and still caught an overnight bus the next day. This bus delivered me to the east of the country where I did a workaway on a tea farm for 10 days (there’s a separate blog post on this).

Kathmandu

Unusually, my last stop in Nepal was to the capital. It felt like I was doing it backwards, but it was nice to have already experienced ‘real’ Nepal before hitting the big city. The journey here was the most excruciating yet. I had to leave the tea farm at 4:30am to walk the one hour along country lanes to reach the nearest town where I caught the bus at 6am - who’d have thought my headtorch would come in handy again! The bus took 15 hours and I was crammed against a man sat on a stool in the aisle the entire time. One saving grace on Nepali bus journeys are the food stops. They’re always at dodgy looking roadside restaurants in the middle of nowhere, but you’re guaranteed a delicious meal. On this mammoth journey I enjoyed a chana (chickpea) salad for breakfast, a very tasty dal bhat for lunch (the only thing being served), and a plate of fruit covered in spices as we waited for the brakes or the tyre on the bus to be fixed (I’m unsure what exactly was the problem). At 9pm I made it to the capital, and a helpful man on the bus had sorted me a taxi to my hostel before I’d even pulled my rucksack from where it was secured to the roof.

People had reported that Kathmandu was crazy busy and dirty, but I think once you’ve been to Delhi you’re tolerance for this is extremely high because I found it to be fine! I visited the Swoyambhu temple complex, the most famous attraction in the city, in the morning and found it pretty impressive in its size and atmosphere. It was interesting to see both Buddhist and Hindu buildings besides one another, with it being a significant site for both religions. It’s colloquially known as the Monkey Temple, and I can confirm there were a lot of monkeys there. I visited the Durbar square in Kathmandu at dusk and took in the huge temples and massive old buildings. It was the first time I’d seen Nepali city architecture and I really liked it. I zipped down Freak Street, the old main hippie street from the hippie trail back in the 60s. This was less nice! I finally got to try some Newari food. Newari is one ethnicity in Nepal and they are famed to have the best cuisine. They’re located in the Kathmandu valley hence why I hadn’t tried any of their food so far. It was very different to the dal bhat I’d gotten used to eating. Much more meat heavy, with buff featuring heavily, and the spice blends creating a whole different palate. The star of the show was definitely the yomari filled with a dark and bitter chocolate and coconut paste, just delicious! I only had one day in Kathmandu which was definitely not enough time. I also had several adminy tasks to do before I headed off to my next country. I sold my remaining warm clothes after selling most of them already in Pokhara to other trekkers (won’t be needing those anymore!) and had an especially traumatic haircut. If I ever come back to Nepal (I absolutely plan on it!) my first stop will have to be Kathmandu so I wasn’t too worried about seeing everything.

Goodbye Nepal

Three random things I loved about Nepal:

1. The true love Nepalese people have for dal bhat, happily eating it twice a day everyday.
2. The funny one-handed nameste hands people do to greet you if they’re carrying something.
3. The colourful houses, and the pride people take in the appearance of their homes.

Three random things I did not love about Nepal:

1. The roads. They are truly dire.
2. Hazy pre-monsoon weather ruining the views.
3. How confusing the web of different cultures, ethnicities and religions was! Just joking, but I wish I had more time to devote to trying to understand it all.

I felt a strange draw to Nepal before this trip so knew I wanted to experience the real country beyond the trekking. As someone who loves tea, and who loves biology, volunteering at a tea farm seemed like the perfect opportunity to do this. After a few days in Pokhara to rest, get violently sick and recover, I caught a 16 hour overnight bus to a city called Birtamode in the very east of the country. I was feverish on the bus but luckily kept control of my bowels. This left me completely exhausted when I reached Birtamode, and I took my time before catching a jeep a further hour to a town called Fikkal. From here I walked 45 minutes across hills covered in terraces of tea bushes and well-kept houses to the Kulang’s family farm. I spent the next 10 days here, along with a slightly changing gang of 5 - 7 other volunteers, who happened to all be female.

The farm was simple but practical. It served as a good reminder of how much we take for granted in modern life. I didn’t actually notice the lack of modern amenities at first, so I guess it also showed me how flexible I’ve become to different living situations. There was no hot water, no proper mattresses, no sinks. There was no oven or fridge in the kitchen. Food was cooked on a wood burning stove, or on two gas hobs. There was no wifi, and phone signal was very patchy. I enjoyed living on the farm a lot, it was beautiful to get back to basics and you really didn’t miss much (maybe hot water…).

Routine on the farm

7am - Slowly emerge from our little rooms and fill mugs with freshly brewed, freshly farmed, tea. Sipping on these we would quietly read or write, enjoying the appearance of the sun.
8:30am - Head to the tea terraces just below the house and pick tea.
10am - Meal 1 of the day. Always dal bhat. Always delicious. Always paired with more tea. Followed up with more lying in the sun and reading or writing.
11:30am - Rolling the previously picked tea. Once all the tea was rolled, it was back to the terraces to pick more.
2:30pm - End of work. A snack would be served. Examples are beaten rice with sugar and cinnamon; potato salad; soybean salad with popped rice; roasted chickpeas. The rest of the afternoon was completely our own. I’d do some yoga, sometimes joined by the other volunteers or the two little boys who seemed to always be around. I’d play chess with one of the boys, he was quite a forceful teacher! I’d write and I’d read. We’d chat.
7pm - Meal 2 of the day. Almost always dal bhat. Always different to the earlier dal bhat. Also always delicious. Dinner was usually followed with a game of uno or another card game. More reading or watching some netflix before bed.

It was a very simple life. Usually I’d love the slowness of it all as a break from the usual business of travelling, but after having a similar routine whilst trekking I got a little bored at times!

On Thursdays there was a market in Fikkal, and I visited this with two of the other volunteers to get some supplies. We commented on how we felt like farm girls from history, making the journey to the nearest town on market day. On one day off we travelled to Ilam, the main city in the area. The busy town had beautiful old houses, ancient tea terraces and even a cafe that served proper coffee (you might be able to tell how excited that made me from the photo). I celebrated Easter here, and we did a little Easter egg hunt in the garden, much to the bemusement of the Nepalese family!

Food
Along with terraces of tea bushes, all sorts of vegetables are grown on the farm and we eat these, substituted with ones bought from the market, at every meal. Kaushila was a marvel in the kitchen, always cooking up delicious meals of dal bhat. In Nepal, it is custom to begin the day with just a cup of tea and have one meal at around 10am, with a second meal at around 7pm. A snack may be eaten in between, but nothing major. It is equally custom that both of these meals are dal bhat, meaning that most Nepalese will eat dal bhat twice a day for most of their lives. Crazy! But it’s not as monotonous as it sounds, dal bhat is very varied. Dal bhat entails a copper plate with high sides filled with piles of rice, dal, vegetables, a potato and vegetable curry, and pickle. Each of these elements will then vary meal to meal; different dal each time, different vegetables prepared in different ways, a different type of curry. So boredom of the meal doesn’t come as quickly as you’d imagine, and I can see how if it was normal for you, you would be perfectly happy eating it twice a day, everyday!

Let me teach you about tea

Something that’s surprising, but I did actually already know from a podcast on tea I’d listened to during lockdown, is that all types of tea come from the exact same tea bush. Black tea, green tea and white tea all come from identical leaves, what differs is the later processing. At the Kulang tea farm the tea is organic and hand-picked. The tea bushes were planted 25 years ago and provide leaves for picking each year from April through to November. The bushes are trimmed but that’s it for their upkeep.

The most common stages in tea production

1. Picking
   Using the thumbnail and first finger, the top section of new shoots are picked. The exact number of leaves picked depends on the type of tea.
2. Weathering
   After being picked the tea leaves are placed on bamboo mats and left to partially dry. If the sun isn’t too strong the mats will be placed on the roof of the little house, if it’s strong they’re slid into a space between the metal roof and the wooden beams beneath it. This is done for a few hours.
3. Rolling
   The leaves are hand-rolled on the bamboo mats to release the aroma and colour. We roll the leaves until they are sticky to touch and of damp appearance.
4. Oxidation or fermentation
   For black tea only, the leaves are left in the open to oxidise for 20 - 30 minutes.
   For golden tea only, the leaves are placed in a cloth and then sealed in a pressure pot to prevent oxidation and allow fermentation. This is done overnight.
5. Drying
   Using the same procedure as weathering, the leaves are left to dry.

It was really rewarding to learn about the tea process, and I proudly took some of the tea I helped pick, roll and dry away with me!

The experience

I enjoyed experiencing real Nepalese life here. Long talks with the family after dinner gave me so many insights into the complicated web of Nepalese culture, where castes and ethnicities and religion crisscross repeatedly. It’s very rich and very alien. Some of it feels very backwards still, for example how women are treated whilst on their periods by some groups, not being permitted to enter the kitchen or prepare food and traditionally being made to sleep with the animals outside. I only spent 10 days at the farm, enough to get a rough feeling for the culture and life but not enough to gain a deep knowledge of it. That rough feeling has left me even more fond of Nepal, with even more of a draw to it. I think it’s safe to say I’ll be visiting again at some point.

Slowing right down at the tea farm, after already having slowed down from the usual pace of travelling whilst hiking, made me realise it wasn’t quite what I was longing for at that time. I was feeling tired and low on energy, but in the way where resting made me feel even more tired. Being active and busy was what I needed to energise myself. With the other volunteers, we spoke about home a lot and what we missed about it. This, unsurprisingly, meant I seriously thought about home for the first time in a while and realised the things I had started to really miss. Especially as I thought about the beginnings of spring and Easter, one of my favourite times of the year. I thought about the BBQs with friends and family I was missing, the delicious food (not just easter eggs, but mostly…), sunny evening swims in the cold sea, home comforts. I wouldn’t say I felt homesick, and I definitely wasn’t ready to go back home, but I missed parts of home relatively badly. I’m glad I felt that way. I’m lucky to have a life back at home that I miss.

We all know I didn’t stop going on about this gap year before I left England, and one specific thing I mentioned a lot was my plan to hike in the Himalayas. I thought I’d make it for the November trekking season, which I clearly did not, so I instead timed it for the beginning of the spring season. From the dining room table at home in England I landed on the Annapurna Circuit as my trek of choice. Unlike Everest Base Camp, it didn’t require me to fly to the start of it, it offered the most varied scenery and was a long length at 2-3 weeks. Perfect! It’s a very famous trek, and one that people flock to Nepal to do. From my basic research I thought I’d need to get join a group or get a guide once in Nepal, I decided to leave the specifics until later on. I met several people who had hiked the Annapurna Circuit on my travels, and through speaking to them I got a much better grasp on how to tackle it. I didn’t need a group or a guide, it was perfectly possible to hike it solo. Excellent news. This has now actually changed, with the Nepalese Government making it mandatory to hike with a guide from April 1st. So perhaps this account is one of the last of solo trekking in Nepal.

Teahouse trekking

The way trekking works in Nepal is with teahouses. Scattered along the trails are little villages, sometimes just 2 or 3 buildings, which always include a few teahouses. These are places where you can stay and eat. We found that you didn’t have to pay for accommodation if you paid for dinner and breakfast (and sometimes negotiated a bit!). The lodgings were very simple but did the job, and the food was surprisingly good in general. The menu is basically the same everywhere. For breakfast: porridge, eggs, tibetan bread (like a not sweet doughnut). For dinner: fried rice, noodles, spring rolls, momos (tibetan dumplings), dal bhat, and sometimes pasta and pizza and very occasionally burgers! Dal bhat is the famous trekking dish as it comes with unlimited refills, making it ideal when absolutely starving at the end of a long day. It’s made up of rice, dal (lentil or bean soup), a vegetable and potato curry, vegetables, pickle and a poppadom. It’s never exactly the same, with lots of variation in all of the elements. As elevation and remoteness increase, as do prices for food and hot drinks. To keep my costs to an absolute minimum (I am nothing if not consistently cheap) I took my own instant coffee and tea bags with me, meaning I could pay for a cup of hot water for around 40 - 80 NRP (depending on altitude) rather than 150 - 250 NRP for tea and coffee. A real treat was the ‘Snickers Roll’ (or ‘Sneckers Roll’) that appeared on the small dessert section of the menu. It was basically a deep fried snickers bar and it was delicious, if also heart attack inducing.

Preparation for the hike

I arrived in Pokhara, a hippy oasis of a city situated on the edge of Fewa lake, at the base of the Annapurna massif. I spent a couple of days decompressing after the craziness of India and getting myself ready to leave for the trek. Oh, I also celebrated Holi but more about that in a later post. Preparation began with getting the two permits needed for the trek, and finished with frequenting the hundreds of trekking gear shops in the town in search of the best price for the items I needed. I purchased a camel back, a headtorch, suncream, sun hat, trail mix and 6 chocolate bars (no I don’t have a problem…). I didn’t need to buy water purification tablets as I had my trusty filter water bottle. I hired a backpack, but made a last minute decision to stick with my own backpack. It’s not a hiking bag but I know it’s really comfortable and decided that was the most important thing. I raided the hostel library for guidebooks and made a rough plan of my route. Speaking to people at the communal hostel breakfast I was given the idea of extending my Annapurna Circuit trek to include two more treks, Poon Hill and Annapurna Base Camp. I made a note of how this would work in my journal, knowing it would ultimately depend on how I felt after finishing the circuit. I packed my bag, prioritising lightweight over everything else. Here’s what I packed:

The Annapurna Circuit

To being the trek I needed to catch a bus from Pokhara to Besisahar. At the bus station, as I munched on a subpar apple danish opportunistically sold by a man walking down the street, I saw a guy I recognised from the Holi celebrations waiting for the same bus. I remembered his name (Oli), it became obvious he did not remember mine. After putting my life on the line to prevent the bus from leaving without him whilst he used the toilet at a rest stop, we worked out we were planning to start hiking from the same point and decided to set off together. Like all bus journeys in Nepal, it was horrific and I think every tourist on the bus felt ill by the end. Arriving at midday in Besisahar, Oli and I farted around a bit getting some last minute bits and bobs. His absolute horror at my lack of poles made me decide to get some so I bought these at a trekking shop. We met back up and had a cold drink before setting off. Our first day was very short, just 9km and we’d reached Bhulbhule. We found a tea house and peered at our accommodation with some trepidation. I’d seen garden sheds with better infrastructure. The room was separated from the outside world by just a few wooden panels with huge gaps in between them. The windows were glassless, but there were wooden shutters that half shut over the space. The view was brilliant, a straight line of sight to the pale blue river below. We ate vegetable curry and thupka (Nepalese noodle soup) for dinner and chatted away happily. I realised at this point that the two of would get on just fine, we had a similar sense of humour and general disposition. We repeatedly said we would walk alone for some parts of the circuit, not being tied to one another. This did not happen! We walked together every day and slept in the same room every night for the next 11 days. And when we bumped into each other again after we’d parted ways we smiled and hugged happily rather than ran in the opposite direction, so I guess that means we enjoyed our time together!

Most people skip the first section of the Annapurna Circuit these days, opting to get a jeep along the new dirt track to one of the villages further along. After the bus journey, and looking at the dirt track, I can think of nothing worse. But it was good for us. It meant the first few days were very quiet. We had to walk a few short stretches along the track but in general there was an alternative path which avoided it. We were treated to green views of small fields growing rice and vegetables, lots of trees, suspension bridges crossing over the river and then crossing back over shortly after. Buffalos were used to plough fields with medieval looking equipment. Monkeys swung in the trees. A chorus of “Nameste!” followed us on our journey, with every person shouting it. It rained a lot on our second afternoon, saturating us to the bone as we marched heads down up a never ending staircase to our destination for the day, Jagat. We arrived dripping and were extremely thankful for our first hot shower of the trip. I washed my underwear using shampoo. Our belongings were left hanging on the line to dry as we ate dinner and drank a beer. Oli has a masters in Brewing and I forced him to give me a lesson in beer tasting, to compliment the chocolate tasting lesson I’d received in Turkey. The Australian couple next to us watched on with amusement. Their faces were familiar, they’d been at the last teahouse we’d stayed at. Over breakfast the next day we all gave in and spoke to one another properly. It took us another few days to learn their names (Patrick and Ceceilia) and to fully give in to our fate of walking together but we did in the end. From the second half of day 3 to day 13 all four of us trekked together, ate our meals together, and generally kept each other company. It was a harmonious partnership filled with wonderful conversation spanning from a reoccurring debate on free-will versus fate, discussions on the state of science, and tales of us shitting ourselves. Keeping it balanced as always. When we reached the teahouse on our 3rd night I realised I’d left a pair of my underwear hanging on the line in Jagat. My bare minimum four pairs of underwear had become three, oh dear.

On day 4 the scenery shifted from farmland to woodland, with so many flowers in bloom the air was heavy with their scent. The rhodendron were especially striking. This distracted me from the first bit of serious incline! I collected samples of each of the different flower species to sketch in my notebook later. When we emerged from the trees we were gifted our first real sight of mountains. A huge white wall towered on the horizon, and we marvelled at it over our stop for lunch. The villages were much more of the traditional Tibetan vibe now, with Buddhist prayer wheels lining the centre of the street and prayer flags catching the wind all around. The following day we would cross over the 3000m altitude mark so it was time to start taking our altitude sickness pills, with the hope of preventing any issues.

The evening of day 5 was the beginning of the serious coldness. I mentioned the interesting quality of the teahouse structures before, and their draughtiness was beginning to become an issue. Luckily, they usually had a fire in the dining area which meant you could avoid being bitterly cold until it was time for bed. But the bedrooms were undeniably, uncomfortably cold. When we arrived at a teahouse I would immediately change into my thermals and warm layers. I’d ask for extra blankets if they were available. We’d sleep in our wooly hats pulled over our eyes. After the first few equally freezing cold mornings, and the pain that putting on my ice cold bra and hiking clothes brought, I learnt to sleep with these clothes tucked up in bed with me, to keep them as warm as possible. My phone would also be in the bed with me, to reduce the negative effects of the cold on its battery. The discomfort was high. Whilst I didn’t enjoy this aspect, it was part of the overall experience and I wouldn’t change it one bit! Besides the cold, I loved the post-hike routine we’d fallen into. After changing into my thermals I would do some yoga in whatever space I could find. As it got colder this more often became the dingy bedroom with Oli being exiled onto his bed to make space, but the first few days were on rooftops with mountain views. I’d wash that day’s underwear and socks and hang them to dry. In the dining room Oli and I would sit and write our journals for the day, whilst Patrick played with a rubiks cube and Ceceilia read. Then we’d chat or read until it was time for dinner. After eating we’d chat some more, or play cards. At around 8/9pm we’d retire to bed (real party animals I know). I would do some russian practice and then sleep. In the mornings we’d be up at around 6/7am, changing into our hiking gear and packing up our bags. We’d eat breakfast, almost always porridge washed down with instant coffee, and I’d purify water for my camel back. I enjoyed having a routine again, and the whole thing was quietly wonderful.

Over 3000m the scenery changed. It wasn’t quite barren yet, but pine forests interspersed with stretches of bare earth. Not so much to my taste but on the more exposed high sections we were eye level with the soaring eagles so that made up for it. I had my first piece of kit failure on day 6. I went to take a sip from my camel back and was met with a mouthful of air. On inspection, the completely full 2 litre camel back was now completely empty. As I was questioning how there was no water dripping from my bag the answer revealed itself, my clothes had soaked up every last drop. Luckily the sun was so strong that after attaching them to the outside of my backpack they dried quickly. Now we were over 3000m we had to take altitude into account when walking each day, with it being recommended to sleep only 300 - 600m higher each night. We spent two nights in Manang, the biggest village in the valley, to acclimatise. On our ‘rest’ day we still hiked up to a temple, but at 5km it was nothing! Manang offered a real sense of luxury after the previous few days, there was much larger teahouse which had a lovely ski chalet-esque dining room that was properly warm. We indulged in the plethora of food options and whilst staying here I enjoyed a veggie burger, bean enchiladas, a chocolate pastry, a sausage sandwich, and proper french press coffee. Heaven! Knowing the facilities would only be getting more basic and the conditions more harsh made us savour it all that bit more. With thoughts of the future cold I caved and bought a very cheap North Face fleece (definitely not fake). After asking a very unhelpful lady at the information office we decided to attempt the side trek to Tilicho Lake which would add on 3 or 4 days. It was the highest, biggest lake in the world. We set off on this slight diversion and arrived to a village called Shri Kharka. The teahouse had a big dining area, with 360 degree views of the valley and mountains from huge windows. There were other groups here and we huddled around the fire watching as the weather changed sharply outside. The blue skies became grey and snow started to fall heavily. Soon, nothing but a wall of grey was visible from the windows, occasionally illuminated by flashes of lightning, and snow piled around the buildings. Talk turned to our chances of making it to Tilicho Lake. In the morning we could see the extent of the snow. It was enough for the guides to turn their groups back, and who were we to argue with their assessment! So we cut back to the main trail, and Tilicho Lake became known as TilichNO Lake. It was a real shame but what can you do. We saw our first yak herd and that cheered me up, as did the yak snow-drawing competition we had.

The next few days saw us push on to Thorong Pedi, the last stop before Thorong La Pass which was the highest point of the trek and what we’d been building up to. The scenery became more snowy and more barren, although we were lucky enough to see a herd of Blue Sheep (not as cool as they sound as they’re not actually blue). The evenings became colder and the water pipes would freeze. This made washing my face before bed and in the morning an interesting task that saw me melting snow in my hands and rubbing this on my face. So refreshing! We finally learnt what the stones on top of stoves in the teahouses were for: for holding in your lap for warmth, or taking to bed with you like a hot water bottle! All four of us had to share a room in Thorong Pedi and it was the climax of discomfort. The whole situation was dire - it was so so cold, and the room was so so grim. Putting on literally of my clothes I was strangely relieved to set my alarm for 3am, at least it meant the night would be short! I should mention that at this point I hadn’t pooed since Jagat, some 8 days ago. This really added to my personal discomfort.

After 11 days of hiking it was time to do Thorong La Pass, the highest mountain pass in the world. Up at 3am we packed up our bags and ate our breakfasts, watching the other groups set off. We had tactically decided to let them leave first, to tread down the snow for us. At 4:15am we set off. Patrick spotted a pair of forgotten crampons and I claimed them, hoping they’d increase my downhill speed from a pitiful 1mph to at least 3mph. Switching our headtorches on we located the narrow trodden path of the others, taking it and beginning to climb. To reach the pass we needed to climb 1000m, from 4400m to 5416m. You could feel the altitude at this point, the air was so thin. With each step I could feel the 12 plates of dal bhat sitting somewhere in my digestive tract trying to escape. I thought I might vomit. Loosening the waistbelt on my backpack helped and my last bowl of porridge finally settled. The overwhelming intrusion into my thoughts, however, was how cold I felt. The temperature was -16 degrees. The water in our camel back tubes had frozen. Snot flowed from our noses in a constant stream and then froze onto our faces (or in our beards if you’re Oli). My fingers cocooned together in my mitten for warmth but my thumb was left alone, extended on top of my pole. I searched my mind for any information I had on frostbite but came up short. Despite all of this, if you could see my face under my pulled up snood and pulled down hat you would see a childish grin. When the sun finally started to rise after 2 hours of walking, and the landscape was thrown into the morning light, I was so happy. I knew the sun would bring a bit of warmth, but the main reason was just how beautiful it made everything look. The snow glistened and so softly covered the rolling terrain. The sky was clear and the stars were just about visible still. The crescent moon too. After another 2 hours of walking we saw a little shack offering hot drinks. Ceceilia was really feeling the cold so we decided to stop for one. After seeing the exuberant prices, Oli and I decided to split one cup of hot water, adding a tea bag of our own to it. We crushed our fingers against the mug to capture as much warmth as possible. We were in good spirits, and looking around at the crowd in the hut we saw we were the only ones. This made us even more chipper as we secretly laughed at everyone else’s depressed and downtrodden looking faces. It was a funny sight. All of these people crammed in a tiny wooden hut, looking so damn unhappy. After our hot drinks we continued for 1 last hour. We stopped for a short break to remove some layers as the sun was finally warming us up, and after a few more minutes of walking Ceceilia cried out. I was behind her and saw it next. The bundle of flags signifying the pass!

It had taken almost 6 hours but we’d made it to the Thorong La Pass. We were cradled in the nape of two mountains. Where we’d come from the scenery was snow covered. Where we were going was completely snowless. The valley was in the rain shadow of the mountains so it was incredibly barren, similar to the Tibetan Plateau. It was a bit anti-climatic, it just hadn’t been as difficult as I was expecting. I guess I’d been very lucky in not having any altitude related issues (beyond constipation). The cold and dark had been challenging, but once the sun had risen the time had passed so quickly. I still felt like my celebratory snickers was well earnt and ate it joyously. We took the obligatory summit photos and then hurried off the pass before the ominous looking clouds came any closer. What followed was an arduous 2000 metres of descent which we absolutely zoomed down (thank you crampons!), destroying my knees and rubbing the side of my left heel horrifically. I reached the bottom mentally and physically drained and I was fighting to keep my eyes open on the last section. It had been a long old day. We hiked 19.5km, 1000m up and then 2000m down, all starting at 3am. I napped immediately once we’d arrived to the teahouse. On waking up I finally had a bowel movement! I showered for the first time in 6 days, and honestly felt like a new woman. We enjoyed one last meal as a four, and one last game of Irish Snap that evening. Oli was short on time so was catching the bus directly from Muktinath, our current location, in the morning. We said our goodbyes in the morning, and it felt like the great Annapurna Circuit trek was winding down.

Ceceilia, Patrick and I continued walking for 2 more days, exploring the Mustang region in the barren valley. The village of Kagbeni was very cool, a maze of narrow stone streets. We stayed at a wonderful guesthouse called ‘YacDonalds’ and enjoyed a ‘Happy Meal’ for dinner which was comprised of a yak burger, chips, salad and seabuckthorn juice. Wonder what inspired that… On day 13 we reached Jomsom, the end point of the Annapurna Circuit. 171km and 8,500m of ascent completed! It felt pretty amazing to finish it. But I wasn’t quite done with trekking yet…

Annapurna Base Camp (ABC) and Poon Hill

After finishing the Annapurna Circuit I was fully in love with trekking and absolutely not ready for it to end, so I decided it wouldn’t! My legs somehow felt as fresh as on day one; my backpack had settled into the grooves of my body; I had mastered the pole-walking technique. The only casualty was my left heel which had a huge blood blister on it. Confident that this wouldn’t cause me too many issues, I bought a bus ticket to Tatopani to begin the trek to Annapurna Base Camp. I could have walked this too but decided that would take a bit too long (I did have some other things I wanted to do in Nepal) and it was mostly on the road. I arrived in Tatopani at midday and did a little bit of shopping to stock up on essentials (instant coffee and apples). I set off on my own for the first time, having said goodbye to Ceceilia and Patrick on the bus. No more company whilst walking, or help in making decisions. It was a bit nerve-wracking as I’d gotten quite used to being in a little gang, but I was excited for the new experience.

I didn’t know how far I would walk that afternoon, with there being two villages that I could overnight in. I started off in my sandals to give my huge blister some air, but had to quickly change to my boots when it started to rain. The scenery was shockingly different to the barren valley after the pass, with greenery everywhere and lots of small farms. I walked a lot faster than I had been, perhaps out of nervousness of being alone (I did receive some interesting comments from men and school boys). I eventually stopped at the further village, feeling absolutely exhausted. The following day I continued alone, but much happier. I didn’t feel rushed in my walk like the previous day, and could really take in the scenery whilst being alone. Especially the smell of the flowers. I made friends with a crow which followed me for a while (it really didn’t take long for me to go a bit mad). I reached the rather busy village of Ghorepani and had lots of time to relax in the quite luxurious teahouse, filling it with sketching in my journal and listening to podcasts. The next morning I was up at 4am, ready to hike up to nearby Poon Hill for the sunrise. It was only 400m higher than the village so didn’t take too long. I enjoyed a hot chocolate at the top, warming up my hands and insides as I watched light enter the snowy landscape. Sadly, it was quite a cloudy morning so I couldn’t see the vista of huge mountains that were apparently behind us. The low clouds in the valley looked pretty cool though, it was the first time I’d been properly above clouds whilst on land. The way they caught the sun as I made my way back down, and floated up and down, was mesmerising and I stopped often to watch. After breakfast I set off, having another relatively short day which finished at 12:45pm. Whilst I didn’t hate having lots of downtime in the afternoons, it did start to feel like I was just killing time. I decided I would start walking more each day, wanting to push myself further, even though it would likely mean walking in the rain. The weather system in this valley was like clockwork, every day around 1pm it would rain heavily. Sometimes just for an hour, sometimes for the rest of the day. For my last relaxing afternoon I enjoyed chatting with a lovely family from Leicester and played cards with them. The next 2 days saw me walk 30km to Machhapuchhre Base Camp (MBC). The scenery was always the same, rich forests filled with huge bamboo plants and twisted looking trees along one side of a valley. Mountains peeped through the gaps in the tree canopy, ever present and getting ever closer. It was very beautiful. The final stretch was more barren. I had to cross the river over a very dodgy bamboo bridge to walk along a secondary path to avoid the recent (the previous day…) avalanche on the main path. I came across MBC suddenly as the falling snow was thick and visibility poor. For the last time on this trek, I set my alarm for before sunrise. Setting off at 5:30am, with my headtorch shining forward, I tried to find the path through the snow, finishing off the last hour of walking to Annapurna Base Camp (ABC) as dawn broke. I reached the flag covered sign post telling me I’d made it at 6:30am, it looked very similar to the one at Thorong La Pass but it felt very different to reach this one alone. It felt more personal. I found the highest point at ABC, which stood at 4100m, and sat down to watch the sunrise over Machhapuchhre and illuminate Annapurna I. I ate my celebratory snickers bar, and it tasted delicious even if it was a bit early! Annapurna I is the most dangerous mountain to climb in the world. It’s 8019m tall, and 38% of people who attempt to summit it die. You’re reminded of this by the memorial to several climbers located in ABC. I spent a long time sat on that rock, my eyes pouring over the mountain basin I found myself in. It was one of, if not the, most spectacular locations I’d ever sat in. This moment of awe was slightly tarred by the Nepalese couple doing a photoshoot over me loudly, and the man filming a tiktok dance 20 metres to my right. But still, it was a very special morning. I reflected on the last leg up to Thorong La Pass and realised that it was actually very challenging! I returned back to MBC where I had breakfast and collected the rest of my belongings. I begun the journey back on myself, along the same path to the fork in the valley. It took me a day and a half and I saw lots of familiar faces walking in the opposite direction. It was nice to let them know how beautiful the view waiting for them at the end of the valley was. After taking the lefthand path at the fork, rather than the righthand one I’d come along, I reached Jhinu and decided to visit the hot springs down by the river. The hot water felt amazing after days without it, my muscles welcomed it. I pushed on for one final time, up a really demanding and seemingly never ending set of steps to Ghandruk. I was dripping with sweat when I arrived into the strange Gurung town, which seemed so big after weeks of only seeing small villages. It took me a while to find a room which I could have free of charge, but eventually found one at a little homestay. The family were very friendly despite not speaking much english, and insisted that I dance the Nepali way with them and be in a tikitok video. It was fun but if I’m honest I was completely exhausted at this point and ravenous for some dinner. I had been told my dinner would be served at 6:30pm, but when I saw the woman arrive back to the house with a raw chicken at 7pm I resigned myself to the fact it would be a long wait. I absolutely inhaled my last dal bhat, pleased that my hand eating technique had improved enough to keep up with my grumbling stomach. The next morning I took my final walk to the bus stop, only around 30 minutes away, and caught the bus back to Pokhara. The last 8 days alone had been a lot. On numerous occasions I’d been soaked to the bone from the torrential rain, struggling to see as water poured off my hood in front of my face. I’d struggled to dry my clothes, wet from the rain or camel back leaks, in the cold and damp teahouses. I’d endured the late afternoon hours waiting for dinner, thankful that my kindle touchscreen responded to being tapped by mittens but ultimately being too exhausted and hungry to read for long. Sounds pretty gruelling right? It absolutely was at times, but I’d enjoyed walking alone a great deal, and if I’m being honest, I relished the difficult bits just as much as the highlights. I loved it all.

On the bus, I watched the mountains from the window become more distant. I could feel just how special the last 3 weeks had been in that moment. It’s strange to be aware of the significance of something as it draws to a close, a real luxury to be so close to it and to appreciate it so fully.

Last word

Whilst I knew I wanted to trek in the Himalayas for years, I hadn’t actually spent much time thinking about it or building expectations around it. Maybe this is partly why I was utterly floored by the experience. It meant, and means, so much to me. From the act of walking everyday for 20 days, to the amazing company I kept on the Circuit, to building a routine in freezing cold teahouses, to being alone on the ABC part, it was all so delectably precious. The opportunity to walk the entire Circuit with the same 3 people was wonderful, it elevated the trek. Equally, walking ABC alone was wonderful, the space it provided to think and reflect and experience more intensely. But what’s so special was being able to have both and compare them. To see what difference having company brings, and what you can only gain from being alone. I mean, what an insight! Something else I gained is a very strange tan - extremely tanned hands and nothing else. My hands were always exposed to the very strong sun whilst walking due to them wielding walking poles, whereas the rest of me was usually covered up. It’s an interesting look, and one several people have commented on. Hopefully this impact doesn’t last too long… To end this rather long post, trekking made me incredibly happy and I will definitely be doing some more long distance hikes. I want to thank Oli, Ceceilia and Patrick for being the very best hiking companions. Memories of you guys are inextricably linked to my memories of the Circuit and I could not be happier about that.

If you’re interested in seeing some photos of my trek, I’ve put together a google photos album which you can find here:
https://photos.app.goo.gl/5XNiSfQ29J2HcpCAA

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Full Moon Check-in

1. Last: My last night in Pokhara before setting off to trek for 3 weeks.
2. Current: Volunteering on a tea farm in eastern Nepal, sat outside reading my book with the other 6 girls after dinner.
3. Future: Somewhere in northern Vietnam with a very special person!

Full Moon Check-in

1. Last: In Dushanbe, Tajikistan, on my way to meet Niamh and Karl for dinner.
2. Current: Walking back to the hostel with Mary, Leonie and Sam after our last meal before starting trekking in the Himalayas.
3. Future: On a tea farm in eastern Nepal.

People had warned me about India, about its intensity and volume and scams. I was cocky, thinking that after all of my travelling it wouldn’t phase me. But it did. India was bloody hard work. And it was delicious in its reward.

I saw my time in India as an introduction to the country, as a brief exploration on my way over to Nepal. I wasn’t trying to see it all, or understand it all. In fact, I had no real aim whilst there. I was simply present in India for 2.5 weeks, letting all it had to offer wash over me. So don’t expect any interesting history insights from this post! Perhaps a different mindset would have been better. I feel like if you travel to India you need to really travel to India. You need to have a proper plan, you need to have done your research beforehand, you need to have read up on the history. Because once you’re there? You’ll have no time for anything other than simply being there.

An overview of places I visited

1. Delhi

Crazy, filled to the brim with people, dirty, filled to the brim with life.
I walked out of the metro station and was introduced to India - the warmth of the air and the smells, the loudness of cars honking, the bustle, the colours. I had the biggest grin on my face as I walked the short distance to the hostel, peering at the street food. I arrived to the hostel at 8am and couldn’t check-in until 1pm, but a truly wonderful man let me sleep in his (empty) bed in the meantime. I really love travellers. The best part of Delhi was being surrounded by other travellers again, and I was really lucky in having the best group of people to explore with. Together we tackled the craziness of Old Delhi, where our noses were assaulted by spices from the market and our tastebuds were wooed by the first of many delicious meals; the Akshardam temple, where we were impressed by its scale but strangely disappointed to learn that it was built in 2005; and Humayun’s Tomb which was made my favourite by its jungle interior and multitudes of hawks and kites flying overhead. The narrow, pedestrian streets of Delhi are what make it in my opinion. Every inch of street real estate is taken up with restaurants, grocery shops, street food carts, repair shops and tea (or chai) stands. People crawl over the potholed road like ants. Mopeds (or scootys) weave through, upsetting the natural flow. The air quality was atrocious most of the time. There was an appalling amount of poverty in Delhi. The streets of Old Delhi were lined with homeless people, often with disabilities. People put themselves in positions that you would only do if you were completely desperate, for example a young man who only had the use of one arm pulling himself along the ground through an insanely busy market street, people having to step over him. The dirt and poverty were everywhere. I can understand why people don’t love Delhi, and I wouldn’t say I loved it either. But I liked it. It was a crazy city, but I was allowed to move amongst the craziness and just witness it. No one cared about me, they were too busy cycling ricksaws, carrying huge sacks on their head, shepherding children, conducting business deals. I liked Delhi.

2. Rishikesh

The yoga capital, at the foot of the Himalayas, felt softly disingenuous.
I heard about this place once I’d reached Delhi, and was sold after the phrase “yoga capital”. I loved practicing yoga here. I’ve gotten into the habit of practicing daily whilst travelling, and being able to do it on the terrace of my hostel, looking out at the mountains and the river Ganga was beautiful. The classes I took were challenging and exhilarating. There was something so special about practicing yoga in India that I wasn’t fully expecting. The town was also nice, a lot quieter than Delhi of course, but still with a bit of chaos made up of cows and mopeds and shop keepers. It was nice to be in nature, but it wasn’t quite as calm and natural as I’d hoped. There was a lot of rubbish and the town was quite built up. The Ashrams (centres for meditation and yoga) seemed quite commercial, and the aarti and satsang we attended (a worship of the river and spiritual Q and A respectively) were led by an extremely american woman who gave off strong cult leader vibes. The main bridge of the river Ganga, connecting the two sides of the town, was closed meaning the only way across was a long walk to the next bridge or a boat ride. The men running the boat service were dishonest and just nasty people which really took away from the spiritual atmosphere. We went white water rafting which was fun. I spent Valentine’s Day here which is my favourite day of the year, and very much enjoyed treating myself to a delicious breakfast and some new jewellery!

3. Jaipur

The pink city, dirty, hot.
Jaipur should be more pleasant to visit than it is. The buildings are commonly pink, made of the local pink stone. There are so many palaces (Wind palace, Water palace, City palace) and temples (Monkey temple, Sun temple…) and forts (Amber fort, Jaigarh fort, Nahargarh fort). The only one that was especially beautiful was the Amber fort, which has a hall of mirrors that is undeniably impressive. Both the City palace and Amber fort were mazes of courtyards with open-sided halls in the middle, where the King would have public assemblies. These were beautiful. As a foreigner in Jaipur you often had the feeling you had a target on your back. The shouting from tuktuk drivers, beggars and shop keepers was relentless. The two tuktuk drivers I did have in Jaipur both seemed to be spiritual teachers, and they spent the journeys spouting all sorts of life advice.

4. Agra

Come for the Taj Mahal, leave quickly after!
The Taj Mahal is pretty cool, but how much of that is because it’s The Taj Mahal and how much because of the actually building is debatable. Either way, I felt something flutter in my belly when I first set eyes on it. I enjoyed visiting it at sunrise, even if it was so hazy we couldn’t actually see the sunrise. Along with another girl, I explored the small residential streets around the Taj and we saw the daily life of India. Young children playing with stray puppies on the street. Old children walking back from school, shouting interesting english phrases at us (for example, “you’re hot and sexy” and slightly ruder ones…). Women carrying items on their heads. Laundry hanging down buildings.

5. Varanasi

The Holiest city, burning bodies, strange calmness.
Varanasi is an intense place in its purpose. It is the Holiest city in India and Hindus come here to openly cremate their loved ones as its believed if the body is washed in the river Ganga and cremated here, the soul will reach Nirvana and not be reincarnated. Some bodies are not cremated for a few different reasons, their bodies are tied to a weight and dropped directly into the river instead. High priests because they are too holy; pregnant women because they carry a not fully-formed life inside; young children because they have not yet committed any sins; lepers as the water is believed to purify them; and people bitten by a cobra (not sure on the reason for this one!). The narrow streets back from the river are filled with cafes and street food and textile shops. As you stroll along you need to be ready to jump into a doorway on hearing the sound of bells as this signifies a body is on its way down the street, being carried on a bamboo stretcher and covered in orange fabric. There are two Ghats (steps down to the river) where the cremations take place, one big and one small. Nothing can really prepare you for going to visit these. I sat on the steps of the larger one, looking down at the 10 or so small fires where bodies burnt. The heat was intense, and I could feel it on the side of my face. The smoke filled my nose and mouth. My eyes were locked on the torso of a man burning. A mouthful of spit flew over my shoulder, from the man sat above me, splattering on the ground and breaking my gaze. Bodies waiting to be burnt lay on the ground, covered in the orange sheets, with cows and goats roaming amongst them, stopping to sniff and being shooed away by the family members. The ground was covered with ash from the wood and the bodies. Members of the Aghor religion strip to just a sheet covering their waist and rub the ash over their bodies and faces. Back from the Ghat the streets are filled with wood and scales. It takes around 7kg of wood to burn a body. The floor of the street is filled with hair, with the eldest male of the family of the deceased needing to shave their heads and beards before washing the body in the river. I’ve never been so close to death, and the casualness of it all was astounding. I attended the sunset aarti here and it was a much more authentic experience than in Rishikesh. I took a sunrise boat journey on the river and this was enjoyable too. This should’ve been the most intense place of my visit to India, and in some ways it was, especially culturally, but it’s where I at last felt calm. I ended up staying for 5 days and I fell into the rhythms of the riverside town of burning bodies.

6. Gorakhpur

Indian hospitality, a wedding.
I met lots of wonderful people in Varanasi, including two Germans and a Swiss who were also heading to Nepal to trek next, and an Indian guy called Ayush. Ayush invited me to travel with him by train to his town, just outside of Gorakhpur, to stay for a night before driving me and the others to the Nepal border. I of course accepted the invitation! At his home I was treated to a delicious and seemingly never-ending breakfast prepared by his mother and sister. He took me on a tour of the area, to a forest and temple and through agricultural fields. We went to a Bollywood film in the cinema. And then I was informed that we would be going to a wedding that evening! Everyone knows how amazing Indian weddings are so I was very excited. Ayush’s sister provided me with a kurti to wear. The wedding was as colourful and loud and big as I’d imagined it would be. There were fireworks, pyrotechnics, drones, the works! There was so much food and Ayush made sure I tried it all. The weirdest item was the freeze-dried oreo that was shoved directly into my mouth by one man, with the icy smoke billowing out of my nose and mouth. I was the novelty white person it seemed, and had pictures taken with the bride and many others! It was a very special experience.

Why I found travelling India so difficult

Transport

You can only book trains in India if you have an Indian bank account. So for foreigners this is a big problem! You have to rely on hostel staff booking them for you, and sometimes charging you a commission, or finding a kind Indian person to help you out. It’s the same for many bus booking platforms. Once you’ve managed to book a train or bus you should expect it to be delayed or cancelled. Both of the trains I took actually left on time, but both arrived an hour late. One bus was an hour and a half late. One bus was cancelled, a fact I only found out after I called them to confirm I was waiting in the right location. There are no bus stations, but individual pick-up points which are different for practically every single bus. Getting to these is hard work. Getting anywhere in cities is hard work. The public transport is seriously lacking, and the craziness of the roads and lack of pavements means walking is impossible too, so you are forced to go by tuktuk. Let me introduce you to my new least favourite thing in the world. Getting a tuktuk was the most unpleasant experience ever. This is a sweeping statement, but the drivers were all both extremely desperate for money and extremely lazy. This meant that they would quote an absurd price for the journey, and then refuse to haggle and happily return to sitting in their tuktuk. Then the next tuktuk driver would take his turn and we’d repeat the stupid interaction over and over again until eventually someone would agree to take us for a reasonable price. Often only to pull over after 100 metres and then demand a higher price again. It was so unpleasant and I tried to mainly use uber to order tuktuks, or just avoid them all together. The actual rides were entertaining once you’d accepted your high risk of death on the insane roads where lanes exist only as markings, not in reality. India drives on the left hand side of the road, but I think I was only on that side of the road about 60% of the time.

Walking around

My chosen method of exploring a country is definitely on foot. I like to stroll around a city all day, looking around and taking it all in. This just wasn’t possible in India. There were some areas where you could walk around, and I did enjoy this. But even in these you couldn’t fully immerse yourself in gazing around as you had to constantly deal with tuktuk drivers intercepting your path and trying to pick you up, not taking no for an answer, with beggars following you down the street, with children grabbing hold of your arms and not letting go, with people wanting a selfie with you just because you’re white. It was a lot, and left me completely exhausted after just a short time exploring. I learnt to adopt my most aggressive bitch face when walking around, to try and dissuade any of these negative interactions. You also had to watch where you were stepping constantly, something I learnt the hard way in Jaipur when I let myself gaze at the pink buildings for a second when walking, and ended up sliding my entire foot through a huge pile of cow poo! This did make me laugh however, breaking me out of my hardened exterior. A man running a fruit stall nearby gestured for me to come over and he laughed with me as he helped me clean up my foot with old newspapers and water. At the end of the day I wanted to escape into a calm oasis to rest and recoup, sadly that wasn’t normally available which brings me to the next issue - the hostels.

Hostels

I have stayed in some bad hostels, and plenty of good ones. The ones in India were mostly bad. They were really dirty and cramped, with the air quality especially bad in most (I’m talking mould on the floor of the bedrooms not just the bathrooms). There were other travellers in them, but also lots of Indian people using them as cheap hotels for business trips which created a strange vibe sometimes. Indian people have certain habits that aren’t the most pleasant for westerners, for example the hacking they often do in the morning to clear their throats. It’s insanely loud and echoes around all of the hostel, and the remnants of it are often seen in the sinks. I also stayed in one of my favourite hostels ever here, it was the Horn Ok Please in Jaipur and I could not recommend it more, I wish I’d stayed longer!

Personal reasons

Whilst rafting in Rishikesh I got my phone wet and it completely died. This sucked and annoyed me quite a lot! Very luckily I packed my old phone with me as a back-up, so was able to use this and it saved me having to splash out on a replacement phone. But the camera isn’t as good and that made me pretty sad for a bit. But I’m over it now! Honest…

An even more personal reason is that my Grandpa really wanted to visit India, and we had talked about travelling here together. Before we had the chance he became ill and then passed away a few years ago. He would’ve loved so much of the craziness in India. Seeing weird things like people offering to clean my ears on the street made me think of him and how much he would’ve enjoyed it, definitely being the one person to take them up on their offer! Whilst thinking about him always makes me smile, knowing he wasn’t able to experience India made me feel pretty sad.

It really wasn’t all bad

Despite all of these challenges, I did enjoy India. It’s so full of life and colour and energy. Whilst lots of my interactions with locals were not particularly pleasant, I had some that really were. Mostly in Varanasi. When I attended the aarti here the women around me suddenly became overjoyed by my existence. Spontaneously they all started cooing at me, touching my hair and cheeks, tucking my hair behind my ear so they could kiss my forehead, squeezing my arms. I couldn’t keep up with how many hands were touching me! And all the while they were peering over me as I sat down, all wiggling their heads in the characteristic Indian way, beaming from ear to ear. When I wiggled mine in return this set them off even more, making their wiggling even more intense and their squeals of delight even louder! It all happened so quickly, and it was really wonderful.

One of my favourite things about India was the painted signs everywhere. Advertisements on walls, shop signs and markings on trucks and tuktuks are not printed signs stuck on, but hand painted pieces of artwork. It’s a small thing but I noticed it everywhere, and enjoyed it every time.

India was a lot, and it was really hard work and left me exhausted. I don’t think I could travel around the North (the South is apparently more relaxed) for more than 3 weeks at a time, I bailed out after 2.5 this time! But it was worth the effort. It’s definitely a place like no other!