Himālaya & The Silk Road

It's at this point in the blog that I must confess that the footprints dried up at the time of our travels.

I LOVE writing these recounts, my scattered scrawlings on this app are frankly sacred to me, but the reality is sadly that preparing a simple FindPenguins footprint can be so exhausting on a long trip, especially when battling erratic illnesses and the scorching heat of the Nepalese dry season. I also didn't want the quality of our posts to wane, and so I simply left you all hanging in Pokhara, probably scratching your heads as to whether your humble heroes, tarty Thomas and juicy JJ, ever made it out alive. But fret not. In this EXCLUSIVE update, Jensen returns with his post-match interview, updating the blog with oldfound clichés and a newfound sparkle. As a result, everything written from hereon in comes approximately a year on from the time of the eccentric events. While some details will inevitably have been lost to the sands of time, others will have marinated in the salty brine of nostalgia, and all details have been verified with historical records (i.e. unfortunately I get angry messages from Thomas when I try to just make stuff up.)

Day 35: Pokhara
After Thomas had been fighting for his life on the porcelain throne the previous day, he overcame the wrath of his own gut and returned to action with a vengeance. And how better to celebrate than taking a head-spinning taxi ride up the spaghetti-ing roads to the World Peace Pagoda, a gleaming stupa sitting like a giant scoop of vanilla ice cream overlooking 360° views of mountains, lakes, and your own existential insignificance.

As was to become a bit of a sticking point though, we were now at the height of the Nepalese dry season. Ok - so, sticky, but not just that. It gets so unbelievably hot that wildfires ravage the land and bellow out thick smogs which obscure otherwise awe-striking views out in every direction, including in this case to the chunky Annapurna range, headed by the farcical Fishtail mountain. Dubbed the Matterhorn of Nepal, the dramatic rise of its unclimbed double headed summit would've been a sight to behold; all 6,993 m of its glaciated rock revels in religious significance, sanctified as the home of Lord Shiva.

Shiva, by the way, wasn't too far away in another sense; the zealous blue statue of the giant god keeps watch from his seat on Pumdikot hill, butting proverbial heads in the skyline with his religious counterpart - the glowing golden Buddha statue of the peace pagoda.

After savouring the silence and seclusion, we then descended upon the waters of Fewa lake, tumbling through thick vegetation as exotic birdsong punctuated our knee-knackering decline. At the water's edge, we decided to stop for some breakfast; this is where I ordered something that still cracks me up to this day: a dish called 'simple breakfast' from a place which calls itself 'typical restaurant'. Hmm... something about these names seems a liiittle suspicious to me, but naturally I had no choice but to introduce myself as mister 'classic customer'.

Fast forward through some boating bits, more taxis and ice cream, and we rocked up at Mahendra cave in north Pokhara. This was where we felt another unfortunate consequence of our Caucasian-ness; we'd become used to shaking off swathes of Nepalese 'guides' over the past few weeks, but in our weary state and with the undeterred pleadings of one persistent and peculiar man, we caved in (pun intended), agreeing that he could show us around for a modest fee. Admittedly, it became immediately apparent that this would be a terrible idea, as he and a bunch of his instantly appearing chums led us down a precarious, narrowing side tunnel of the cave system. We straddled through the dark passageways, our lives blindly trusted to these money-hungry men as we followed on, planting our hands on the guano-caked rock and navigating cavernous drops.Читать далее