I watched from my hotel window a detail of Nepali soldiers jog up Nepalganj's main road early in the morning. My day started somewhat less energetically, with me setting off around noon for the Mahendra Highway, which runs west to east along the southern part of Nepal. Within 30 minutes of leaving town I was inspired: the road condition was great and there was jungle everywhere and few people. Perhaps that heavy tent I'd dragged uselessly all around India would be of service once again.
Okay, there were hills but nothing big. Climbs of 10 to 15 minutes, followed by equivalent descents. Lots of flat. Courteous drivers. The villages blended well with their jungle surroundings, all mud walls and thatched roofs. Local people waved. Schoolchildren descending from the army truck that was their bus went wild, and I fled.
Nepal's increasing water issues were apparent from the several dozen dry riverbeds the highway bridged.
I bought lentils and vegetables in anticipation of cooking on my rocket stove once again, and stopping for water in a village, I lowered the bucket timidly into the well before being shown how to do it by a local teenage boy, who stood on a precarious plank and heaved to.
Evening time, seeing a large flattish area with some clearings on top of a hill, I pulled off the road and hastily sought cover from the eyes of passing motorists. I cooked Indian-style lentils and rice, and with the collection of spices I'd amassed in India it was actually rather tasty. No tigers visited me in the night.
The next night's accommodation, some 100 km along the highway, was with a Nepali family. With daylight fading, two guys riding a motorcycle proposed I stay with the locals where I had stopped to find water before camping. For some reason they were concerned about the long stretch of jungle between me and Butwal, the next largeish town. Jungle camping sounded perfect to me, but I was equally interested in staying with a Nepali family. Nawraj, the young principal of a local school, welcomed me inside his house and introduced his family. I was given a bedroom and served a hearty portion of dhal-bhat, Nepal's favourite dish. Dhal-bhat consists of lentils and rice, along with curried vegetables, and has a slightly sour flavour as compared with its Indian counterpart. I enjoyed the food and hospitality very much, and the next morning I hung around and made a small tour of the farm with Nawraj. I was impressed when told that the 3 hectares or so, planted with rice, pulses, broccoli and other assorted vegetables, was enough that the family needed never buy food. Before my departure we ate dhal-bhat again (Nepalis tend to have only a cup of tea on waking, breakfasting around 10-11 am).
I passed a turning to Lumbini towards the end of the next day's more difficult riding. As the birthplace of Siddhartha Gautama Buddha, one might expect this place to have some special significance for me, as a quasi-Buddhist. However, I reasoned that most likely the Buddha would not have wanted people to make a fuss about the details of his life, being, by his own admission, an ordinary man. A finger points at the moon, yada yada. And besides, I didn't fancy the detour.
After the stretch of jungle, the area around the highway cleared and there followed almost constant human habitation as I came nearer to Butwal. I was caught without lodgings as the sun set, so took a potholed dirt road towards some jungle-covered hills. Riding in the dark, I picked up a young follower, another cyclist, whom I sternly reprimanded for pursuing me, before backtracking and taking the alternative way at a fork.
This road became a track leading right where I wanted it, but passed some small farms and a resident came and indicated to me with gestures that I could not stay there, for what reason I was unclear. I reluctantly yielded and he walked me back to the road, where I met some other younger locals (including my earlier pursuer!) and was invited to stay with the English teacher of the local school. Then there was some confusion over where I would stay, as I was 'passed around' several residents before being invited to stay with Nava, a maths teacher.
Again this Nepali family welcomed me warmly. We ate dhal-bhat with delicious mushrooms which they were growing on some logs in a small, darkened room.
In the morning, Nava went to school for the 5:30 am morning lesson(!). I joined him there much later and spoke briefly of my voyage to the students in several classes. I was given a traditional Nepali hat by Nava's father before leaving. Another English teacher invited me to stay with her family but I had to decline, having the urge to ride.
I passed through Butwal, taking the road which climbed up the Palpa valley towards Pokhara. The road was narrow, windy and very steep in places; the going slow, but steady, into the Himalayan foothills. There was little respite from the near-constant climbing, but eventually the town of Tansen appeared ahead and far above on the hillside. With a few hours of daylight left, I stopped to cook and use up some ingredients I'd been lugging around since India. A goatherd stopped to watch with some amusement, and later collected some good wood for me when the stuff I'd found burned poorly.
It was starting to become dark as I set off again, and a motorcyclist spotted me and in the dark led me the long, grinding, steep 10 km way up to Tansen, where a room in a friend's hotel awaited me.
I stayed several days on account of having yet another bout of gastro after overindulging and eating two doughnuts which literally dripped with oil. I rested an extra day when it rained, having been spoilt by my time in India's dry season.
I was one of only a handul of tourists, but the attention was not invasive. I roamed the streets, quickly finding my usual bubble of comfort with cheap food and hermitting in a local net cafe or my hotel room. Some streets were so steep I would zig-zag my way up them. I wondered how residents coped, but this country bred the Sherpas of course!
It was here I began to become accustomed to the 'load-shedding' (electricity outages) which are a fact of life for all Nepalis, owing to the gap between their hydro generation capacity and their increasing demand for electricity. Typically, over each 24 hour period, each region would have two blocks of 4-5 hours of power, interspersed with two 7-8 hour blocks without, during which time another area had electricity. Each day, the times shifted by an hour or two, so as not to favour any particular area. In the hotel I was supplied with a candle and soon learnt to make the most of the power when it was on!
I was excited about my next destination, Pokhara, but wondered what might lie ahead in the way of hills.
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