Day 12 & 13... Pokhara to Lumbini to Tansen to Pokhara... Siddhartha Highway

Pokhara to Tansen to Pokhara

I set out with the plan to head to Lumbini, birthplace of Siddhartha Guatama, or more famously known as Buddha.  The ride would take me down the aptly named Siddhartha Highway to the Terai, or flat jungle land of Nepal and then it continues into India.

The terai doesn’t hold a lot of interest for me.  I’m a lot less of a jungle person than a mountain person.  To me Nepal is about mountains.  Being home of the largest mountains in the world, it seems silly to spend my short time in this country in the terai, when I can be in the Himalaya instead.

The common motorcycle tour would be to go from Pokhara to Lumbini and then to Chitwan National Park, where one can ride on the back of an elephant searching the terai grasses and jungle for tigers, and rhinos.  And while this sounds exotic and exciting, I feel like these opportunities will exist as well in Thailand, where I intend on spending the next couple months of my journey.  I’m not certain that I will sit on an elephant in Thailand either, but for some reason, I’m not really feeling called to Chitwan on this trip to Nepal.

However the Siddhartha Highway is acclaimed as one of the premier motorcycling roads in Nepal in the Lonely Planet guidebook.  My National Geographic map of Nepal is in agreement as the highway is highlighted in green, which identifies it as being a highly scenic route.

I packed up my things… the daily ritual that accompanies motorcycle travel and one that has become much more rote each go round.  I lashed my three bags to the bike, bid farewell to Placid Guest housekeeper and her lovely daughters, Aanshu and Divya, and rode the “mighty goat” through the now familiar steel gates and down the narrow concrete path to the dirt and rock road leading into Central Lakeside.  I stopped at my now regular coffee stop, The Third Eye Cafe & Restaurant, for a cup of real java, then peeled out of town for the “highway”.

“Highway” deserves to be in quotes.  It was a simple paved road wide enough for two lanes but not a single stripe to identify lanes.  The pavement was some of the best I’ve seen in Nepal so far and it immediately started switchbacking up into the hills that surround Fewa Lake.

Only a few minutes into the ride I was already high up above the city of Pokhara and the sun was trying to break through the haze that has moved into the area.  As I neared the turnoff for the World Peace Stupa, a monkey scampered across the road, jumped up on the concrete guardrail and proceeded to scratch it nuts proudly.  I laughed inside my helmet.  Moments later a giant raptor, likely an Egyptian Vulture, soared over me, feeling only feet above my head.  I could see individual feathers fluttering on its breast as it soared over.  The bird was massive.  I’d seen several of these incredible birds soaring in the distance but this proximity really brought home the incredible size.

I switchbacked over and over in the fresh cool morning air.  Fresh is a bit of a stretch. There was the omnipresent diesel and now the smokey haze, likely a combination of air pollution from burning firewood and probably loads of burning off of farming terraces and probably an uncertain amount of burning trash as well.

Riding with a handkerchief tied over my face bandito style is my new norm.  While this likely doesn’t keep me from inhaling pollutants, it at least keeps some of the dust out of my lungs.  And it makes me feel better about the amount of crap that I’m inhaling as I get stuck behind busses and trucks belching out thick black exhaust.

Luckily the amount of traffic on the Siddhartha was a fraction of that on the Pritvi between Kathmandu and Pokhara.  This road was definitely scenic.  The first couple hours were constant curves through somewhat of a cloud forest.  Thick green vegetation grew everywhere and in every inside corner a stone staircase seemed to climb up out of sight to some abode tucked away in the trees.  After a while I broke out of the green and rounded a corner giving amazing views of an incredible canyon.  The road clung to the cliffside and the canyon plunged down deep to my right.  I stopped to take it all in and get a view down to the river below.

I crossed numerous bridges, each with a white sign bordered in yellow with black letters giving the name in Roman alphabet as well as Nepali.  And the common denominator each time was the word Khola, which I’m assuming means bridge.

There were usually stalls set up selling everything that we’d get at a gas station or convenience store… Coke, potato chips, cigarettes, etc.  I passed through a half dozen little towns as well.

Soon I found the road to be descending rapidly into the dusty, flat, hot and busy city of Butwal.  It was early afternoon and hot.  The smokey haze was thick.  I knew I had better than an hour to get to Lumbini.  I pulled over to the side of the road and consulted my Googlemaps app on my phone and even pulled up some pictures of Lumbini on Google Images.

 CLICK HERE TO SEE IMAGES OF LUMBINI ON GOOGLE IMAGES

I decided that was good enough for me.  World Heritage Site or not, the photo ops in this haze would be marginal at best and I simply was not feeling like being down here in the oppressive haze, heat and bugs that invariably come with heat and humidity of lowland jungle.  I decided that I’d let Lumbini be one of those places that I got within a stones throw of and not visit.

I turned tail, heading back for Tansen.  This Newari town is situated on a steep ridge, manages to barely hit the Lonely Planet, getting just a paragraph or two.  Amar, my bike rental guy at Bikemandu.com suggested that this is a better place to stay than down in Lumbini.  And Lonely Planet suggested that rather than pay high prices for a mediocre hotel, that visiting a gentleman at City View homestays would be a better budget option.

Riding around on the super steep narrow roads of Tansen was a trip.  I eventually found City View and the old man who answered my buzzing of his doorbell, told me he could arrange a homestay next door and that I could park the bike in the entryway to the home.

The room was spartan, but clean enough.  The bathroom was downstairs in an open courtyard’ish area below my room.  The shower was clean enough, though I knew I wouldn’t use it since I had a shower before leaving Pokhara in my nice private bathroom with hot water.  And the toilet, well, it was the squat down kind.  In all of my travels in Egypt, Morocco, and now Nepal, I’ve yet to pop a squat in the “other” kind of toilet.  I’ve somehow managed to “hold it” until a western sit down toilet appears.  My plan was no different for Tansen.

I wandered about on the street looking for dinner and saw a “white” woman walking down the way.  I stopped and asked her about food.  Turns out she is doing her dissertation studies for university here.  She sounded Dutch, but I didn’t ask.  She told me to go try Royal Inn, which also happened to be in the Lonely Planet.

I did.  I had some tasty momos and tried Thukpa, noodle soup, for the first time along with my go to, lemon and soda water.

They had wifi in the restaurant so I also hacked out another blog post.

The restaurant, as well as the rest of town, closed up at 8 pm.  So I went and crashed out in my little rented room.  I slept well in my sleeping bag and liner only to be woken up by everyone using the toilet below, starting at about 5 am.  Turns out this big Newari style house housed more than one family and all shared the same toilet.  And clearing ones nose and throat and then loudly spitting out the produce was the morning routine.  Could be worse… Like the lady who spent an hour vomiting as I was falling asleep.  Win some… lose some.  At least it wasn’t me.

I got up around 7 and went for a hike up in the hills above town, where there was a little park with odd statues to different hindu god and a modern Buddha that on a clear day would overlook the great Kali Gandaki valley with massive snowcapped peaks in the distance.  Unfortunately the haze was omnipresent today as well and the peaks were left only to my imagination.

After a couple hours of wandering around in the forest, I went back and loaded up, had a breakfast of creme filled doughnuts at the bakery and rode the same epic highway back.

Pokhara is a dirty little gem.  It has everything the tourist could need and tons and tons of restaurants.  I got an email from a French-Canadian girl I met in Tatopani, Audrey, who was trekking the Annapurna Circuit, saying she’d arrived in Pokhara and invited me to join her for dinner at a Japanese restaurant she’d heard of.  Nice.  So other than the epic curves of the Siddhartha Highway, I had that to look forward to.  Gotta love technology for making friends and plans while on the road in foreign places so easy.  Having someone to talk to after so many hours spent alone is a real treat.

Divia’s sister was surprised to see me pull back into to Placid Guest House for my third visit now.  But I think she was pretty happy, as the place was empty.  The guidebook said high season comes to an end when November comes to an end, and today being the 1st of December, it is actually noticeable how many less tourists are in Pokhara.

Day 11 Exploring the Pokhara Hills...

Pokhara Rest & Plan Day

I woke up around 7 am.  Pokhara was enshrouded in mist.  I thought that maybe the weather was still going to be rainy.  I pulled the covers over my head and rolled over to try to sleep some more.  No luck.

Got up and spent a few hours writing about the ride back to Pokhara from Tatopani.  I decided that I wasn’t ready to move on, so I told Divya I’d be spending another night.  I’m telling you this girl has a smile that could end wars, or start one.  Simply incredible.

I packed up my computer and remaining cameras and headed out to the breakfast place I’d hit a few days earlier with the real coffee.  Sitting on the iron deck looking over the lake was a nice place to do some work.  This time of year inventory acquisition is a daily process.  Making sure we can get the right amount of bikes for the season with constantly changing allocations and BMW’s secret production schedules can be quite the challenge for a small seasonal dealership like Trail’s End.

Fried eggs and fried potatoes with fresh roasted tomatoes and onions hit the spot.  I worked on yet another blog post, another daily routine, until the wifi quit working.

I decided that it would be a waste to let the mighty goat sit around idle.  Since the interwebs were being stubborn, I figured I’d head into the Pokhara backcountry to find out what lies beyond the overwhelming tourism of Lakeside.

I grabbed my backpack and camera gear, now a bit lighter without my trusty G15.  I was going to have to make do with the low res Canon 300HS and my iPhone.  I mounted a GoPro on the handlebars and set out of the guesthouse and turned up valley when I hit the road from the alleyway.

The road wound along Fewa Lake past some restaurants and quickly turned the corner into agricultural land.  Dozens of paragliders soared around Sarangkot peak making for a surreal contrast to the farmers separating chaff from grain, plowing fields and planting crops.  Just a short distance further I came to a little tourist offshoot, where paragliders were landing and cyclists were lunching.

I kept pushing along up the valley thinking that maybe I could make a loop around the lake.  I stopped for some photo ops and a young girl walking down the road looked at me quizzically.  She seemed very interested in me but hesitant to say anything.  Finally her curiosity outweighed her timidity.  “Where from?” she asked.

“Alaska.” I said, and added, “America,” when she didn’t recognize the place.

“America,” she repeated. “California?” 

“No California, Alaska.”

“Oh. Whas your name?” she asked, excited to practice speaking English it seemed.

“Justin.”  She repeated it struggling…  “Jus-tin,” I said slower this time.

“Justin Bieber?” she said smiling big.

“No, Justin Timberlake.” I answered back.  She giggled and climbed up on the rock seating area with a spindly tree growing out of it.  These rock resting places seem to be everywhere, some newer and some seemingly ancient.  They seem to be as much a part of the landscape as the terraces, stepped walkways and now, the road itself.  I’ve gathered that they are simply resting places, places to wait for passing busses, etc.  I’m not sure if they have a greater purpose; places of worship, meeting, etc. but they are everywhere, usually under the shade of a big tree.  This one seemed more recently built and its tree yet to grow into a bearer of shade and protection.

I made some photos of the area terraces, paddies and lagoons.  I watched fisherman in wooden boats casting nets into the water.  And old ladies with cane poles waiting for the wayward fish to grab hold of their line.

The young girl was sitting there watching me as if I was the most interesting thing to happen in her day.  I felt compelled to continue our conversation that had only fallen idle a mere moments.  “What is your name?” I asked her, speaking slowly and annunciating clearly.

“Rosie.”  I repeated it back to her surprised, since it didn’t seem very Nepali.  She nodded, smiling.  I stepped a few feet over to the rock platform and extended my hand.  She reached out, shaking it gently. “Nice to meet you Rosie.”

“Nice to meet you to,” she replied back.

“How old are you Rosie?” I asked, making small talk, figuring this would be in her capacity.

“Fifty,” she said.  I laughed a little.

“Fifteen,” I corrected gently.  She giggled.

“Yes, fifteen,” nodding still smiling, “How old you?”

“Forty,” I responded.  She laughed and said, “Fourteen?” giggling smartly.  I repeated, “No Forty.  I’m old.”

“Yes,” she said nodding.  So much for any comforting on her part.

“Rosie can I take your picture?” I asked.

“Yes.”  She tilted her head slightly and smiled big.  I pointed the iPhone in her direction wondering if it had the ability to catch the soft light on her face.  I pushed the button hoping for a stunning shot on the first try.  I looked at the screen as the app “processed” the image.

“I look photo,” she asked.  It had just popped up on the screen.  I double clicked the image making it larger, and showed it to her.  She smiled, pleased with the image.  So comforting.  Any westerner would have found some fault to dislike their recorded visage.

“Very pretty.” I said looking at the picture with her.  She beamed. “Where does this road go Rosie?” I asked pointing up the valley.  Quite aware that wherever she told me would be foreign to me and wouldn’t really tell me what I’d like to know, which was whether I could circumnavigate Fewa Lake and end up back in Pokhara.

“Up.” She answered.  Well now… there’s an answer I can understand.

“Ok Rosie, I’m going up then.”  I smiled and turned for the mighty goat.  I waved back to her as I rode along up the road.

I bumped along further and further in first and second gear and quickly the road started switchbacking steadily.  Rosie was right, it went up… and up and up.  Soon I was a thousand meters above the valley floor, it seemed, and I was looking out over hundreds of terraces spread out wrapping the contours of the valley below me.  I passed small sign sticking out of the vegetation that was written in Nepali and in English that read simply, “Broom Grass Plantation.”  As I came around the corner there was a train of haystacks moving steadily toward me on a winding footpath and under each haystack was a Nepali with the customary cloth and rope forehead sling bearing these massive loads of hay, or I guess, broom grass.  And it wasn’t just men either… women and men were moving these loads up the terraces in a steady unslowing pace, accompanied by a few dogs trotting alongside.  I stopped, making a few short videos.  The hay train came up stone stairs only a few paces ahead of me and continued on up a steep stone staircase to some brick buildings perched above the road.

An elderly man with a sickle tucked in his cloth belt, that I’d passed on the road a few minutes before, stopped and looked me up and down with his beady golden eyes glowing from his deeply wrinkled face.  There was a smile there in those wrinkles that got brighter when I said, “Namaskar” from inside my helmet.  I was there, camera in hand and frozen, unable to point it at him.  I struggle with these moments.  This is the quintessential photo that tells the story beyond so many words, but I was paralyzed in the moment.  I didn’t want to shatter our brief time of connection by jamming a camera lens in his face.  But as I thought about it… he couldn’t even see my eyes.  Here I was literally an alien in his world…  I may as well have been in an astronaut’s suit, hidden away in my Arai helmet with a neckerchief up over my nose, covering my face and mirrored sunglasses covering the rest of any insight into my soul.  He nodded, mumbling “namaste” and continued on, leaning on his walking stick with every other step, and followed the hay train to the unseen hay station above.

I closed my eyes, wishing I’d just asked in charades if I could photograph him.  But since I hadn’t, I kept my eyes closed a few seconds longer hoping to burn this beautiful wise image into my mind.

I fired up the Enfield and continued to motor further up into the hills.  The temperature dropped a few degrees with every switchback and soon I summited a ridge and the road dumped off down into the the next bowl in the valley.  Sun rays sublimely cut through the clouds sticking to the high ridge top and shone down upon the terraced valley below like an incredible godly painting of a time standing still unchanged for hundreds of years.  

I could see the road winding around the next valley and climbing for the ridge way off in the distance.  I realized that I could ride and ride and ride and likely never end up anywhere but beyond.  I stayed here on the ridge for awhile soaking in the sun rays until the clouds closed back up hiding the godly light for another time.

I turned the mighty dirty goat around and headed back down into the valley retracing my route, occasionally standing on the foot pegs to absorb the bouncing and bumping.  Unfortunately for my back, the setup of the Enfield doesn’t take well to stand up riding and I could only manage this for short periods of time.

The view heading down was big and expansive, very different than my ride up.  About an hour later passing through a little village, Rosie was standing on the side of the road with her mother.  She waved shyly.  I waved back.

Shortly after, I was flagged down by a Nepali man standing on the side of the road waiting for a bus or communal taxi.  I stopped, knowing exactly what he was after.  I obliged.  I put my backpack on and flipped down the passenger pegs.

Himlal was his name and he chatted to the back of my helmet the whole way into Pokhara.  I nodded occasionally, and answered his questions.  When I told him I really liked Nepal, he said, “I can find you a Nepali wife…” and continued, “a nice young one.”  I pondered that... wondering if she would come with some terraces and a shack as well.  Maybe a couple goats.  Probably could come up with some dogs on my own.  And I’d need a water buffalo, or two, to plow my terraces...

Day 10 - Tatopani to Pokhara: Returning to Civilization...

Tatopani - Pokhara

Woke up and had a cup of coffee while calling my family on Skype.  It was good to hear their voices at Thanksgiving Dinner in Minnesota, which was 12 hours behind.  I was enjoying my Friday morning coffee and they were all sitting down to turkey dinner.

I planned on a 4.5 hour ride back to Pokhara, so I went down to the hot springs and got a couple hour soak.  Two trekkers from Denmark were soaking as well, so I spent some time chatting with them.

When I returned to my room, I realized that I’d forgotten to lock my room, but thank god everything was still there.  That would have been a real blow.  I packed up my belongings and loaded up the bike.

I had a simple lunch of mushroom soup and garlic bread with Mette and Camilla, my new friends from Denmark.  Camilla has been working in Nepal with an INGO for the last year and a half and speaks Nepali, which throws off all the locals, with her white skin and red hair.

I was feeling really relaxed after the long soak in the hot springs.  Tatopani is low enough in elevation that there were citrus trees growing in the garden and the raging rapids of the Kali Gandaki river were the backdrop soundtrack to the gentle breeze blowing through the leaves.  The sun was burning through the clouds and the temps were great.

I had a really hard time deciding to leave Tatopani.  This is the really challenging part about having a rental bike.  At roughly $50/day, it is hard to just take a day off from riding.  My cost of living, other than fuel, so food and lodging runs between $10 - 15 per day.  So the bike is by far my biggest expense.  I thought about how nice it would be to chill out in the garden and catch up on my blog posts and almost stayed.

If the bike hadn’t been loaded up already, I probably would have.

The road between Tatopani and Beni was horrible.  My back was over it.  I almost turned back for Tatopani and decided to leave it up to a coin toss.  Heads I turn back, Tails I ride on to Pokhara… tails it was.  I suffered the first gear bumping and bouncing for another hour and a half until I reached Beni.

Pulling up to the petrol pump, with trucks and tractors and busses and jeeps everywhere, I realized that I’d just arrived back in civilization.  For the last 4 days, I’d been in the backcountry Shangri-La of the Annapurna Conservation Area and now I was thinking I should just turn around and head right back in.

Instead I rolled across the bridge over the Kali Gandaki and started my way to Pokhara.  The asphalt was broken and bad but I never thought I could be so happy to get back to pavement.  My speeds jumped from 15 kph tops on the rough road from Tatopani to 40-60 kph watching for the many missing sections of pavement and of course the oncoming trucks and busses.

I soaked up the wonderful scenery, even though the clouds were building in intensity the closer I got to Pokhara.  I climbed over the pass again.  It was cold, but I knew this time that it would be short lived and pushed on.

I rolled into the same little Placid Guest House on the north end of Pokhara and was greeted by the little old lady, who quickly called for Divia to come speak English with me.  Divia told me that there was a room with a bathroom this time for $6/night.

Divia’s smile is infectious and I suddenly felt very happy to be back in Pokhara and a familiar place.

I unpacked, showered and headed out to meet up with Adrien and Tara from Australia for dinner.  I’d met them at the BikeMandu when we were both picking up our rental bikes.  I told them about the conditions to Tatopani and beyond and we had a great meal at a little second floor restaurant overlooking the lake.

Day 9 - Kagbeni to Tatopani Heading down again...

Kagbeni - Tatopani

Enjoyed another Tsampa porridge breakfast at Paradise Trekkers Home.  The wifi was good, so I took my time and posted another blog post.

Loaded up the bike around 10am and set out for Jomsom.  The fuel light had been flashing on and off on the bike but I think it was just due to the bumpiness of the road and fuel splashing around in the tank, but I wasn’t really sure.  I certainly didn’t want to run out of fuel out here, as it would turn into an entire day process to get more fuel and carry on.

The road out of Kagbeni was just as rough going back towards Jomsom as it was coming up.  I wondered if I’d get used to the harshness of the road and it would seem less so, but this was not the case.

The wind had picked up already and now I was riding into it.  I made it to Jomsom without a problem.  I found the ATM and replenished my Nepali rupee stash.  I’d been running thin, leaving me with very little buffer for things like an extra night or any incidentals that could pop up.

I then walked next door to a little storefront and asked where I could get some petrol.  The boy working there pointed to the shop next door.  I went in and bought three liters of fuel, which were handed to me in reused liter water bottles.  190 rupees per liter. (Just under $7/gallon!)  

Next it was off to the motorcycle repair shop to get a new nut for the engine mount bolt and to get the chain lubed.  This was a quick and painless process.  The kid working at the shop came out with the right nut in moments and a little old-school oil can like my grandpa had.  The chain lube of choice in these parts… used motor oil.

The wind was picking up intensity and as I looked down valley I could see clouds socking in.  I decided that if the weather got bad I would stop and spend the night in Tukuche or Marpha.

I didn’t want to be in a hurry on these roads.  The scenery wasn’t as good as when I was staring at ice-capped peaks around every corner but it was still very impressive.  It felt good to get out of the high alpine environment and get back down into the pine trees and vegetation.

The weather held out, just cloudy and windy.  The road was really wearing on my body and all I could think about was getting to the hot springs in Tatopani.   I remembered that I had one big water crossing between Ghasa and Tatopani and prepared myself again for wet feet.

But soon I was pulling up to Dhaulagiri Lodge, and even sooner I was getting into the hot springs to soak away all the lack of suspension on the Royal Enfield.  To have a BMW GS here would be incredible.  The roads would actually be fun, instead of first gear survival.

Good folks to chat with at the hot springs and over dinner.  It’s Thanksgiving in the USA.  My Nepali Dal Baht was far from turkey and trimmings, but tasty and substantial nonetheless.  I was happy that I’d made it back to Tatopani.