It
is a 15 minute journey from Pokhara to Jomsom by twin otter plane flying past
Niligiri mountain. We were all set and
ready to head to restricted and mysterious upper Mustang. Sophie wanted to investigate
the horse culture in the region surrounding the Yarthung festivals in Lo
Manthang and then Muktinath – (a separate project to the film we are making in
Jumla).
Our
small team waited hopefully at Pokhara airport on the balcony overlooking the
runway. The previous three days no flights had gone and the airport was teeming
with disgruntled travellers and piles of luggage that were yet to be checked
in. So we weren’t sure of our chances, but the alternative was a long journey
overland.
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| airport skies not looking hopeful photo: RK |
The
flights are all scheduled early because by the afternoon it is too windy for
the little planes to manage the landing in Jomsom. We were reserved on the third flight and by
10am, with the first flight still not going, we resigned ourselves to the
reality that we would not be boarding a plane that day. We could either wait until tomorrow and hope
to get on a flight – after the people scheduled for that day got their flights,
or go by land.
In
my initial research and planning I had been told the journey by jeep was
between Rs 40-60,000 ($400-$600) – considerably more than the cost of four
flights (two foreigners and two Nepali – it is cheaper for locals). But
apparently there was an issue on the road so we could not get one jeep straight
through and would have to make multiple changes, which didn’t sound too
appealing, but how bad could it be?
We
had driven from Kathmandu in a private jeep the previous day and had told the
company that if we could not get on the flight, we would use them to transport
us on the first leg of our journey. The jeep was conveniently waiting for us
outside the airport as they clearly suspected our fate before we were prepared
to give up hope.
We
negotiated the price from Pokhara to Tiplyang (Rs 15,000) where we were told we
would have to walk for a stretch before picking up another jeep. We were
reassured that there would be transportation there.
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| our first jeep and excited to be on our way |
So
we set off, in relative comfort, excited that at least, we were on our way. And
it was a gorgeous winding drive west of Pokhara through the post-monsoon, lush,
green hillsides alongside the Kali Gandaki river roaring through the valley at
an impressive force. Thin waterfalls cascaded down from the cliffs as we wove
our way round hairpin bends, snaking up the river valley.
Not
far outside of Beni, a little more than halfway to Tip-lyang (where we had paid
up to), the road stopped. Or the road was no longer passable due to a
landslide, which had apparently only happened that morning. It was a short walk
around the gaping hole in the road, but with our ridiculous number of bags
(nine bags between the four of us, ranging from precious camera bags, to an
enormous heavy duffle bag with two tripods in it, to a small, but heavy, hard
case full of electronic equipment), it was a small mission lugging it all to
the vehicles waiting on the other side.
There were two taxis who it appeared
were stranded in the 4 km stretch of road between this landslide and some other
as yet unknown blockage. Luckily, one of them was bigger than the standard
Nepali taxi as we would not have all fit with our plethora of luggage
otherwise. I’m not quite sure how we did all fit in one taxi but we managed to
squeeze in and off we went for all of ten minutes before the driver stopped and
told us it was a minute walk to the next point.
It
certainly felt like more than a minute carrying multiple bags as we negotiated
the landslide, water-ridden road. There was no jeep or bus waiting, at the next
spot, so there we were with a pile of luggage wondering what to do next.
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| Sophie still looking chipper and fresh at beginning of journey photo: RK |
We had
too much stuff to keep walking. Nisha and I left Sophie and Rajan with the bags
and walked on to the next village to find out about transport. About ten
minutes walk up the road was a village with restaurants. We couldn’t seem to
get a straight answer out anyone other than a nod that some form of transport
would come. I thought it would be better if we moved all our stuff to the
village so we could at least sit and have a drink or snack in the shade, so we
enlisted the help of a couple of villagers to bring the bags. But as we
approached the spot we had left, a jeep came whizzing past us. We paid off the
people for their trouble and hurried back to the others who were now in the
company of a Belgian family and their guide. It was not long before all ten of
us were piled into the jeep with all the bags bound to the roof.
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| third vehicle of day after short hike across waterfall photo: RK |
This
jeep (our third vehicle of the day) dropped us off about 45 minutes further, where
conveniently, there were groups of men waiting around to help people transport
themselves and their belongings. We piled various bags onto ourselves and
porters and started hiking up the road. As we approached the river, a group of
Chinese tourists stopped us to warn us of the hazard ahead, showing photos of a
gushing river that we were supposedly about to cross. Not sure what to make of
it, we carried on and as we first approached the river, both Sophie and I were
aghast at the sheer force of the flowing water ahead thinking there was no way
we could be so foolhardy as to even try this crossing. On closer inspection, it
was up the river that we had to wade, not across. A dam, that usually holds the
waters back leaving a pathway, had burst, so we had to wade, knee deep along a
stretch of river with the main river gushing alongside at full force – with all
our gear! Those porters certainly knew their use as we could not have managed
without them, steadying us along the way as well as liberating us from
unnecessary luggage. I think somewhere at that point, both Sophie and I
wondered to ourselves what we had gotten ourselves into, but when you are knee
deep halfway through a current, you can only keep putting one unsteady foot in
front of the other.
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| wading through Kali Gandaki River with the help of porters photo: RK |
Once
back on dry, if a bit soggy land, we had a short hike up a hill to the next
spot where a hut and some vehicles were situated. We were trying to work out
how far the next jeep or bus would take us as we weren’t even sure exactly
where we were. The Belgian family (who I think were pretty shaken by the river escapade)
piled into the only jeep and set off without so much as an au revoir. This left
the bus. Bags on board and squeezed into our seats, we waited for the bus to
fill to take us as far as we could go. It was getting late in the day and it
wasn’t clear how much further we could make it that day but we figured, just go
as far as we can and see from there. It was at this point that Sophie said she
had never ridden on a Nepali bus. She certainly made up for it in the days to
come!
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| squeezed onto the bus - vehicle 4 photo: RK |
We
set off down the rugged road, hugging the cliff, jerking and bouncing along. I
was by the window, and decided it best not to point out to Sophie, how
precariously close to the precipice above the river the bus seemed to lurch.
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| flat tyre as dusk falls photo: RK |
Following
a short delay while the driver changed the tyre, ‘as far as we could go’ turned
out to be the side of the road somewhere past Tatopani with nothing of note
seemingly within sight. Now it really was dark and the four of us and our
multitude of luggage were left behind as the bus did a precarious three point
turn and chugged off.
There
was nothing for it but to somehow move on. I don’t know quite how we managed
but between the four of us, we picked up all of our bags and headed up the road
in the dark.
At
the first village we came to, we dumped all our stuff into a pile to catch our
breath and figure out what to do. Nisha went off into the darkness to find out
if another bus was coming. Rajan, Sophie and I sat on a bench outside a house
and waited. We were soon joined by the mother of the house, who seemed to be
merrily drunk and very excited to tell us about her time in Korea visiting one
of her children. Nearly an hour passed and we were starting to worry about
Nisha, so Rajan set off with the drunk woman’s son to see where she had gone
and find out where the nearest lodge was. Within a few minutes they were back.
It turned out the next guest house was only a further five minute walk up the
road but Nisha had been trying to organise a bus and hadn’t thought to come
back to tell us that we were so close to a place we could rest our weary heads for
the night. It was too late to travel further anyway and by then, all we could
think about was food and sleep. With the help of some of the family, we again
picked up all our stuff and trudged into the darkness to the lodge in a place
called Guithe. The rooms were pretty basic, but at least had mosquito nets. We
quickly settled in, glad to know we were at least done for the night. According
to Nisha (who is sitting next to me as I type) the dal bhat dinner “wasn’t very
delicious but it was quite good”, however, to me, it was much appreciated,
tasty home-cooked food at the end of an unexpectedly long day. And we were
still a long way to Jomsom.
In
the morning, we decided to walk the hour to Dana, as the bus wasn’t leaving yet
and the road was broken somewhere along the way, so we would still have to walk
part of it anyway. We arranged porters from the guest house and I thought the
older man and another young man were going to be accompanying us until I saw
the two young boys excitedly strapping bags. With a large green rucksack on one
back and the cumbersome hard purple case lodged in a basket (dhoka) with a strap to the head of another,
these two tiny boys set off. I watched their figures disappear up the road with
a mixture of awe, amusement and guilt. Surely this was not right. But I
rationalised that aside from the income for the family, these youngsters were
accustomed to carrying such loads and they certainly seemed quite keen to
accompany us.
An
impromptu stall had been set up selling snacks (and impressively, hosting a
basket for recycling) at the place in Dana where the jeeps came. After paying
the family and buying the boys a juice and packet of biscuits each, we settled
down with our pile of luggage to await the next leg of the journey.
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| waiting for the next jeep... photo: RK |
A jeep came along and we
negotiated the price to Ghasa (Rs 6000) which was as far as he could take us as
from there it was Mustang and another district so jeeps and buses were in a
different jurisdiction. Again, we piled into the jeep with all our stuff in the
back section with the sideways seats. We soon picked up a mother and son who
were trying to get to Ghasa and after moving some of our stuff, they squeezed
into the back with the bags. That
particular road wound upwards with stunning sights of waterfalls and landscape
but it was also incredibly bumpy and muddy and the sheer drop into the still
ferociously black frothy Kali Gandaki river below made our previous night’s
lurches on the road’s edge seem tame. We couldn’t imagine how the buses
managed.
When
we arrived at Ghasa we found that the bus apparently wasn’t leaving until noon.
So we ordered breakfast at the restaurant there and watched as the area filled with
tourists and locals who had clearly also just made the same journey by various
means. The mother and son we had given the lift to ended up helping us with our
stuff and said they would save us seats on the bus as soon as one seemed to be
preparing to leave.
Somehow
the plan didn’t quite work and just as we were eating (after waiting for over
an hour for the food to come) there was a mad scramble as the bus that was
leaving seemed to be full. Bags piled here and there, we boarded the bus to
find the only seats left were the back row. Travelling on what can only loosely
be called a road, at the very back of a bus that has never heard of suspension,
it was not the most comfortable of journeys – aside from the fact that as both
Sophie and myself are taller than your average Nepali man, we were unable to
sit straight as we don’t actually fit in the gap between the seat in front.
Like
all things, this journey eventually came to an end. The bus stopped and rapidly
emptied as the passengers at the front and in the know, rushed to the next bus
to secure the best seats. This journey was broken up, this time due to a broken
bridge which made a change.
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| broken bridge/bus park |
As
we settled in to the 7th vehicle of our journey from Pokhara to
Jomsom, I wasn’t sure I believed it when we were told that this bus actually
went all the way to Jomsom. But it did,
and we finally arrived in Jomsom around 2pm the following day, nearly 30 hours
after we had left Pokhara.
Who
wants a 15 minute flight when you can take a jeep, a taxi, another jeep, a bus,
another jeep and then two more buses, not to mentioned wading through torrents
and up mountains with over 100 kilos of stuff? That said, it was very pretty
and it was something to write home about…
Mustang
Journey: Part II – onward to Lo Manthang
If that sounds like a lot, that tale only takes us to where the flight was
supposed to bring us, Jomsom and the gateway of Mustang. We still had to get to
Lo Manthang in Upper Mustang, the forbidden kingdom and mystical high desert.
We continued on that very afternoon. And
any hopes we had that the journey might get easier were quickly dashed.
We
continued north by jeep, wading across another river, then another jeep,
crossing another river (by bridge), then bus, tractor, and jeep to Samar where
we spent the night.
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| photo: SDP |
The
next day, another hike down and up the valley, fording yet another river (this
journey saw our luggage travel on horseback). And then a few hours in the
beating high altitude sun on the side of a road with no shade waiting for
another jeep coming at some undisclosed time, that eventually arrived and took
us to another broken bridge and our final jeep – our 14th vehicle in three days just from Pokhara.
We arrived in Lo Manthang on the Sunday evening, four days of constant travel
from Kathmandu, and for Sophie, a week since she had left her home in
Los Angeles.
Epic.
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| bumpy tractor rides make the buses seems pretty smooth - photo: RK |
photos by Rajan Khatet where indicated
