Bangkok-Kathmandu- Besisahar-Guanshahar

Bangkok-Kathmandu- Besisahar-Guanshahar

So the kids have taken this sprint into their stride....

Perhaps they had itchy feet from chilling at Pun Pun, perhaps they were just ready for the next move. Perhaps the novelty of a super kiddy friendly swimming pool at the Bangkok Airport hotel was a really smart move by daddy. 

The discovery of  pomegranate at the local market and its super kid fantastic tiny juicy packets of goodness that take small children's fingers hours to pick apart was exactly the right distraction when we had forgotten to take our photos out of the big pack and it took 2 hours to get through Immigration at Kathmandu airport.

They certainly enjoyed the airplane trip from Bangkok to Kathmandu  with meal provided :Tara disassembled her dinner tray with surgical precision and Lukey honed his fine motor skills by tearing open the paper sachets of pepper ad salt and scattered them liberally, poured what collected in my teacup into Boyd's glass  and then played toss and catch the imaginary ball with Daddy for the rest of the 3 hour flight.

By the time we were driving through the dusty streets of Kathmandu dodging the trucks and honking loudly to pass the stalled traffic they were both blissfully asleep. In fact they remained asleep while we arrived at our hotel and dodged interrogation by the hotel owner who assured us that we were certainly not going to  be able to get a a bus ticket to Besisahar because of a very important Hindu festival called Deshan that was going to happen in 2 days time and every one from Kathmandu was leaving to go home for the festival.
"We must not worry though because we could certainly stay at his hotel throughout the festival for a very reasonable price. And he would be delighted to assist us to find and ATM and book a bus and get a trekking pass for a small fee whilst we were staying with him."

With the children sweetly sleeping and the clock ticking and with just 24 hours to gather all that we needed to get to Guanshahar ( the small village we were destined for just outside of Besisahar) Boyd disappeared onto to the streets of Thamel with a long list. I gazed dismally at the crusty carpet and stinky adjoining toilet and longed for the ingrained cleanliness of Thai hotels.

The kids woke up when Boyd got back with  crusty bread and croissants and we ventured out onto the streets of Tamel, kids in the backpacks and dodged hooking motor bikes and  parked Taxis and found a roof top restaurant with really great Italian Pizza.

*Honk* Imagine what Glastonbury festival ( or Womad) would look like if all the stalls  in the Greenfields became established permanently *brrrrrrrrrrmmmm* Imagine that roads had been layed down  in places and some were under construction but that the mud still crept in and became dust that permeated everything: the stalls, the clothes and got under your eyes and into your mouth and under your skin *beep-beeeeep*.   *brrrrrrrm* Imagine as if in a fairyland the shops provided what every purchaser wanted to see. THIS is Thamel and in this quasi paradise the customer wants quality trekking gear at slashed prices. So interspersed between the "organic pashminas" and the "funky hippy clothing" was " genuine Marmot/ North Face" gear for $10 a pop. *Honk Honk Hooooooonk* all copies with variable stitching and questionable quality.  *brrrrrmmmmm*

Now in Changmai, Lukey got pretty adept at leaping off the road at the sniff of a *brmmmmmm*  cheerfully yelling " Motorbike!! " and would peak out from behind a bumper looking hopefully for more. So he was in brmm brmm heaven with easily 3or4 bikes sharing the road with  8 pedestrians or more and the odd taxi all honking to aid the pedestrian/ taxi/ other motorbike/small childs decision to get to out of the way. It made for slow progress:-) Not that Tara minded: every stall was a mesmerizing ,tantalizing collection of beautiful things.

Somehow,( actually aided by a  low caste street vendor called Maia who spotted our plight and found  us the Trekking shop called Shonas owned by an ex Everest climber and his Sherpa wife Shona who designs and manufactures her own gear under the brand Alpine  Designs and found us some excellent Chai when we were super parched.) We completed our shopping list and  while Boyd and the kids hunted down banana lassisI hopped in a taxi to  suss out tickets for Besisahar, which we had been advised were unavailable/1000 rupees but must be purchased in advance/ no busses depending on our sources. Even the taxi driver assured me that there were no busses and that he could happily assist me by driving the family safely to Besisahar for a price to be negotiated. :-)

Now, Deshan is a like Christmas for Hindu folk and it also involves the sacrificial slaughter of animals for the festivities. After getting to the  (250 rps  taxi ride from Thamel) New Bus Park at 5.50 and purchasing 3 bus tickets for 410 rupees each with no difficulty. Boyd and Tara watched the butchery of a cow in the bus car park whilst the mechanic  greesed up the bus before her journey. And while the kids happily munched on digestive biscuits and pomegranate s the bus lurched out of the bus park and trawled about town with two young guys hanging out the bus shouting for folk to get on. Finally with the bus filled we started out of Kathmandu  starting our 6 hour journey along  mountain roads( think Awakino gorge)

Tara fell asleep on my shoulder and Lukey slept peacefully on the booby. I stared steadily out of the side window surrounding the bus with a white bubble of imaginary protection  hopeing that this added to to the  protective tikkas that I could see on the Hindu passengers foreheads would somehow balance the red bull charged bus driver honking wildly and overtaking on blind corners with the two touts still hanging out of the open bus door. Several passengers vomited in the front seat and a little girl screamed for an eternity in the seat in front of us. I assumed that she was shocked by the lurching of the bus and the stoney looks on her mums face.. But when I offered up an apple to distract her her father explained that she was livid because she wanted to drive the bus :-)

The first goat sacrifice on the side of the road was a surprise... But soon I looked forward to slowing down at each village and spotting the goats and cows in various states of disassembly on roofing iron on the side of the road. :-)

We arrived safely if a little early in Besisahar and were convinced to share a jeep by a man who assured us that the pink bus was not going to the village today, too tired  to argue we spent 3000 rps  to get to Guanshahar 8 kms and 800m elevation up the hill.  We were welcomed by Shamser and the kids immediately set to playing with the kittens/ the hammock/ the football whilst their parents soothed their shattered nerves with Nepali chai. The pink bus turned up moments later. :-)