It was a good night in the room but the monsoon had been strong. I’d hung my wet clothes from days ago up on the balcony and the wind had whipped the rain under the eaves and soaked my clobber even more. This was followed by breakfast consisting of milk tea, without tea, and noodle soup laced with salt until it was inedible. Unperturbed we set off and I got my rucksack on my back without too much difficulty. The valley up ahead was dark and cloudy. Who gives a fig, we’re going to the top.

After half an hour we came across another teahouse which made boiled eggs and proper milk tea. Get in! Looking back the sky was brighter below.

Gradually up ahead it cleared too. Double edged sword as the sun really does pull out the sweat when you’re a fat lad from Sheffield. Although considerably thinner due to the virus.

The path struggles to find a way up the valley with the ravines that stretch up towards the sky. The path switches from traversing along the bottom of cliffs and then climbing to traverse along the top. It mostly rises quite steeply on this trek and however much you have on your back it becomes a struggle. Even more so ahead when we get to higher altitude and the air gets thinner. When it’s steep then we slow down, with short steps. I keep looking at the floor up the steepest and longest sections so I’m not downhearted by the distance to go until it evens out. I count my steps as well as this takes your mind off the pain and the sweat dripping off your nose and chin and into your eyes. Stopping for a rest is good but keeping going is better.

And then all of a sudden you can come across a flatter section of valley, like this.

The Buddhist walls and carvings were becoming more frequent.

And the temperature was beginning to dip a bit, with the trees and vegetation starting to look a little alpine rather than sub-tropical jungle. We stopped for lunch and I ate without stomach pain. I didn’t feel weak and knew that I could keep going. Across the river from the teahouse was a huge wall of stone.

The season for this trek starts at the end of August and peaks in October, well after the monsoon ends. We were only the third party to trek it this season, with a party of 5 and a party of 3 a few days in front of us. Nutters in the monsoon rain.

We crisscrossed the river and came up to a choice of bridges. Hmmm. The high one or the low one. Come on Bhim let’s do the low one for a laugh.

Not with this rising up to meet me I’m not!

We pushed up towards Namrung, where we had to check in at the police post, before deciding whether to go further. The view down through the jungle was a wow!

And the entrance to Namrung was spectacular.

We decided to stay in Namrung and booked into a teahouse by the police checkpoint. The owner was great and him and Bhim got on like a house on fire. We had our last beer for a while and ordered dinner. Could he provide me with chicken in spicy gravy with mashed potato pleeease?

He nipped down to the butcher and came back to say that the butcher hadn’t got a chicken but he would go out to find one. Twenty minutes later he appeared in the teahouse and brought the chicken over for me to approve. I stroked it and said ‘see you later Old cock’.

An hour later I got the best mash and chicken in gravy this world has ever tasted. After dinner me and Bhim joined the owner and some of his mates round a camp fire in his garden and chewed the fat for a couple of hours. Very pleasant company and remarkable hospitality. Nepal, I love you.

Night night.

I slept until the alarm woke me at 7am and I still had a bad dose of the runs. It just takes your strength away. It’s too long now to be food poisoning, it’s a virus or summat. Diarrhoea, Diarrhoea, Figaro, Magnificococoa.

I was determined that we wouldn’t fall behind again today and asked Bhim over breakfast if he could get a porter for the day to carry my rucksack. Needs must. Whilst he was away I wandered round the garden. My clothes were hanging on the line soaked. The monsoon had struck in the night. Oh well.

The view was just amazing.

Bhim came back to say that the teahouse owner could fix us up with a local lad, so we committed to reaching an ambitious target that would still allow the lad to return home in the day. Otherwise you have to pay for the return day as well. House rules. The owner and Bhim reached agreement.

Dannii joined us and we set off at 8.30. He seemed a decent lad and was enjoying the attention of the locals, particularly the young girls, as we made our way through the village, him with my pack on his back.

Above the village was a big gash in the hillside where a landslide had taken out a few houses two years ago. The survivors moved up above it and rebuilt houses. Hardy breed.

My missus came up with Bohemian Rhapsody as a song with Landslide in it. Bien fait Maggie.

It was a slog but it was so much easier with 16 hours sleep, some food and no rucksack on board. There are dozens of mule trains up and down this valley delivering to and from dozens of mostly tiny villages. We followed one up the trail for a while.

Bhim confirmed that we weren’t going across this bridge. Safe but scary. Thank goodness.

Dannii was doing alright for a skinny lad and we made decent progress. Relentlessly tracing the route of this river to its source high in the Himalayas. With waterfalls cascading and mule trains dotted along the path.

As we approached the waterfall in the last photo we realised how stunning it was.

For the last few days we’d been well and truly into wild marijuana country, and on this section of the trek there was enough to supply Europe for a year.

The bridges were occasionally more pragmatic than the long suspension swingers, particularly where the path could get lower down the river banks.

However high we got the river was still crazy, being fed by the melting glaciers above us.

The path wound up the other bank but the effects of the monsoon were still here in the forest with difficult land-slipped soil to negotiate. The drops below were scary so we were more than careful.

After a decent lunch we were feeling brighter, although the heat was still sapping. I was feeling ok and was grateful that Dannii had been available. He had eaten his Dal Bhat curry and rice with his fingers. Bhim had used a fork and got twice as much down.

We were beginning to move into Buddhist areas. We’re less than 20 miles from Tibet, which was devoutly Buddhist before being invaded by China, and a lot of refugees had trekked over the Himalayas to seek sanctuary in Nepal. But going further back in time, Buddha was born in Nepal, although the majority of the population is Hindu. There are ancient monasteries hidden in the mountains, one a few miles higher housing 200 Buddhist nuns and 300 priests. The path passed a thick, short wall which was lined by worn but still decipherable Buddhist rock carvings. Phenomenal.

And finally we arrived at our destination. And it was shut. We let Dannii go back home and he scampered down the valley like a puppy. Back to school for him tomorrow. We waited but nobody came so we donned our rucksacks, me for the first time today, and walked across the village to the next teahouse, which was open and gave us a hot shower and food and a room. Long sentence wasn’t it!

Night night me ducks.

The app is packing in. I’m having to publish this then delete the app and reinstall it. There will only be a couple of photos on this and none on the next. I’ll try to add them later.

My diarrhoea had maintained its mastery over my guts overnight. After breakfast I asked Bhim for 90 minutes more sleep to try to get some strength back in my legs.

Last night I’d bumped into the owner of the tea house as I came out of the toilet, for toilet it was, full European, sit on stuff. He was shutting all the windows and generally doing the rounds. He dint speak that much English but I managed to get over to him that the view downstream from the corridor window was beautiful. He said best to get a shot of it from the top of the roof in the morning, and took me up in the dark with a torch to show me the way.

So before I went back to bed this morning I got the shot. He was right.

I slept and then we set off late. I got my rucksack on and managed about 200 metres before I slumped down onto my butt on a rock. I asked Bhim to swap rucksacks, as his was lighter than mine, something he’d been asking me to do.

I struggled on for 90 minutes, resting every 200 metres in a ball of sweat and wobbly legs. Even the views uphill and down dale didn’t lighten my spirit.

We stopped for lunch and I managed some mashed potato. More than I’d managed the previous day. The village was baking in the sun and I dried the clothes I’d worn the previous day on the rocks whilst we ate.

Carrying on with the same weakness we went through an ancient gateway.

You have to cross bridges here because the path is the only way up and it switches banks to avoid solid rock walls and overhangs. The problem is when you’ve crossed then sometimes you have to climb on the path. Another bridge beat me, another climb wiped me out. Bhim tried to take both rucksacks but I wouldn’t let him. We finally made it up to a village just before 1.30pm, pulled in to the first tea house and I fell into bed.

It was a lovely tea house but I couldn’t enjoy anything but sleep.

Bhim woke me up for dinner at 6.30, I managed more mash and an egg, and then went straight back to bed, after hanging up my wet clothes.

We lost a lot of time today. We covered a fraction of our schedule and we’re only at 6,000 feet, with another 11,000 to go. It’s still tropical in heat and we’re still walking in jungle. I need to get better or we’re not going to do this and the only way out is five days downhill on foot from here. No roads, no cars, no feckall.

If you didn’t know what it was then you would know by it’s spelling that it wasn’t going to be anyone’s cup of tea. It shouts repugnance. Diarrhoea. Would you call your daughter that?

Night night.

I had the squits and it seriously weakened me. I had my omelette but not my chapatis. The rain had been heavy during the night and the river which was ok for fishing yesterday was a torrent of mud. The landslides were no longer objects of interest, they were happening in the here and now and had messed up the track badly. Three people running towards us and said that we had to run as the rocks were falling. We legged it as fast as we could and looked back with relief.

Shortly afterwards two coppers came towards us. They’d been sent up to check out an imminent landslide. They told us to be really careful if we were taking the trail. We did and we were. The fastest we could go but the trail was one mass of fallen rocks and earth. Bhim followed me, he usually leads, looking for rocks falling on to me. Looking after me. Good lad.

And we made it to Tatopani, a haven away from landslides for a while with springs of hot water pouring out of the rocks.

We stopped for a well earned cup of tea and then set off again on the track to hanging rock (for fans of westerns).

The rain was continuing but lighter. I was soaked as well as tired out but a long way to go uphill yet.

We cracked on for miles, crossing the river on one of those great swingers, and climbed on a rough track for a couple of hours with the river coming towards us on our left

and a real raging torrent up on high above us.

What a country. Full of pain for the elderly like me and full of fun for the young. Why do you do this then Dave? Because it’s there. How long do you think you would last in this river? 10 seconds?

Passing over the top of the notch, where the water plunged below, the landscape above was flatter for a while.

We trekked up the right bank, looking up on the photo above, and finally crossed back over the river higher up, with a magnificent view back down.

And eventually made it to our destination – Jagat. I was exhausted, soaked and ready for a shower. And the tea house, in pink on the right, had a hot one.

And a beautiful view from my corridor window was stunning.

Night night.

Avalanche – Leonard Cohen. Can’t think of a landslide song.

The monsoon was back in the night. We met for breakfast at 7am, omelette in chapatis, and it looked bleak outside.

However there was a slight improvement as we packed and I held off the waterproofs. With a rain cover on the rucksack the rain was welcome on my head. It was a bit cooler too, but still no breeze. Almost immediately we hit landslides on the track. Big buggers.

There was a track across this river up there somewhere, but the mountainside gave up to gravity in the rain. Still, the mules were making a good fist of it across the fallen boulders.

A skinhead took off his rucksack and went down to the new river bed to have a look at a way across.

Then gave a gesture of defiance which was hollow due to him pooing himself at the thought of having to jump across a few water-covered rocks.

In the end the old git went barefoot and was helped across by Bhim and the mule train driver. And, having lost his dignity, he failed to regain it by wading across the next two deeper rivers in his boots. Which continued to squelch. Soft northern foot-wetter. There’s some big boulders come down here.

It was still raining further up the mountains, feeding the waterfalls.

The footbridges are really good. They’ve done a good job for their people.

They do tend to wobble a bit and it gets to you in the middle when you can see the rocks a considerable distance below.

But there are also some great views from these swingers.

We made it to Maccha Khola in 5 hours.

In time for lunch, potatoes, and to hang out my clothes to dry at the guest house. My room was ok. Private facilities, this is my toilet and shower combined. Looks a bit grimy but trekkers can’t be choosers.

Then the highlight of the day. The landlord was going fishing and let me tag along. What a treat.

He sneaks up to pools in the raging torrent and chucks in his home made net. Brilliant, back to basics and effective.

Above us wasn’t only Sky. Thanks John. There was a mixture of people and animals crossing the bridge.

What a good day.

Night night.

Do you know what 4WD means? It means a vehicle that can be driven by all four wheels and you have to be a big nob to ride in one. Well hello world because that is me and I rode in one all the way from Pokhara to Arughat with my mate Bhim who is guiding me for a fortnight up to one of the highest passes in the world. Larkya La at 17,000 feet. And down the other side. And when we are up we are up, and when we are down we are down. And guess where we are if we’re only halfway up. Yeees you’re right. We are neither up nor down. Bhim looks a bit like Freddy Mercury with weight. They had a new baby six months ago and he’s just accepting guide assignments now.

We had a driver too, ex military called Krishna. He picked me up at 7.30 and took off like the clappers. The bumpy road suddenly became bumpier. We headed back in the direction of Kathmandu and after a couple of hours turned north towards Ghorka, the centre of the district where the Gurkhas were recruited from. The legendary fighters, only little blokes mostly, but if they drew their swords then they had to draw blood. Served and still serving us well.

The weather had been cloudy but it brightened up, which was a blessing as the road from Ghorka to Arughat was featured on a French programme on the world’s most dangerous roads, and monsoon rain would have been terrible. As it happened it wasn’t that dangerous and, although conditions were grim in places, we didn’t have to abandon the car and walk. That happened to Bhim last time and he arrived in Arughat in the dark at 9.30 at night.

We arrived at a very respectable 12 noon and Krishna dumped us off and headed back for Pokhara. We had planned to stay in Arughat but I suggested to Bhim that we have lunch and start walking to Soti Khola, our next stop. We had lunch and started walking to Soti Khola. I should listen to my wife more. At one stage she suggested an umbrella and I poo pooed it. She was right. I might not have needed to buy feckin (word of the day) waterproofs.

Feckin hot, the sun was vicious, it was intensely humid and there was no breeze. One of those that within five minutes you’ve got a buzzing in your head and your ears. There are taps along route feeding off mountain springs and we kept filling up our bottles. I was sweating more than my own body weight with the rucksack. Bhim keeps offering to switch rucksacks as his is lighter but I need to get mountain fit. I’ll swap when I need to. This first section wasn’t too steep, following the valley up past rice fields fed by more water than you can shake a stick at.

Looking back down the valley at the distance we covered,and from higher land, as we tracked up the into the highlands, the view was stunning.

There was still a road of sorts and buses were passing us, but halfway to Soti Khola we hit the first real landslide which had wiped out the road, and they offloaded their passengers for a hundred metre clamber to a few buses on the other side. These were marooned on the short stretch of road to Soti Khola. This was becoming waterfall territory, fed by the monsoon, from which we were having a brief respite.

It was also becoming mule territory, as the means of supplying the small villages along the Gandaki river valley. Which was shortly to become a ravine.

I waded through knee high rivers which cut across our track, as it took so long to take my boots off and put them on again. The deeper ones had pedestrian bridges which looked quite safe, apart from this one which was caught up in a landslide and which Bhim believed was damaged. Health and safety gone mad. He quoted another bridge where the same thing happened and folk ignored it and got fecked. Feck!

Just a few more miles, past a small but lovely waterfall, and there we were. Soti Khola. Soti was the nearest village to the epicentre of the Nepalese earthquake which killed 9,000 people and made 3.5m homeless only four years ago. They’ve done a good job on restoration.

Dinner, in bed by 8 reading my book, asleep by 9.

Night night.