The fool afoot thought he’d lost his wallet with his cards in so he cancelled them and then found the wallet. In the meanwhile he’d rung his mate to ask him to get him some money and forgot that it was his mate’s birthday. Prick of the Week!!!

Good breakfast in the hotel and set off at 9.30 on the (wet) road again. I cut south to the sea down one of the many chines in this part of the world. A chine is a steep sided gorge leading seaward. So there! Didn’t you know that? Jesus! Are you daft or what? At least you didn’t cancel your credit cards. 

 

I walked along the beach for 4 miles, aiming for Mudeford ferry at Hengistbury Head. The tides throw sand on roads and benches every week apparently.

Darker skies and occasional showers but it was a lovely walk, with the Isle of Wight getting closer every minute.

Until the sky cleared a bit and Hengistbury was there in front of me, with the IOW and the Needles in the background.

The sand was turning into pebbles but I kept higher up on firm ground to avoid the crunching exhaustion of a pebble dash. Hengistbury isn’t high but it has a great 360 view. Looking northwards into the almost landlocked Christchurch bay. 

Then looking southwestwards towards Swanage and Poole.

Here’s where I were at. There there. With a short walk from the top of the Head down towards the ferry point.

Along the full length of the sandbank were dozens of wooden beach huts.

Some with great views like this.

The ferry was a small boat berthed at the far side so the trick was to walk out on the wooden pier and wave. Within ten seconds the boat was on its way.

It was a bit bouncy with the wind and waves and we covered a few hundred metres but the channel itself wasn’t very wide.

Climbing up to the quay there was a sight for sore eyes – a fish shop!

I bought three big oysters for my lunch and the bloke opened and prepared them for me. Delicious.

Now, head down Smithy, don’t muck about, a mile along the shore and then inland for a week. One last look at the Swanny Sea and then off.

The track cut up the cliff side past Highcliffe Castle and up to a main road into the New Forest.

Cutting across the heathland I made the YHA in good time. Fish and chips, tent up in the garden in the sleet and a damp and chilly night ahead.
Night night.

I’ve been looking forward to this walk. It’s a historic part of rural England that, more likely than not, I’ll not see again. If you don’t consider your own mortality as you get older then you’re avoiding the most significant part of life. Death. I won’t walk the South Downs Way or through the New Forest again as David Smith. 

Maggie dropped me off at Leeds station this morning and the trains were mostly on time. Down to Birmingham, change on to the Bournemouth train, bus to Sandbanks and a 5 mile walk back along the beach to the hotel where I’m spending tonight. What is it about stations that make me sing ‘Homeward Bound’? S&G you nailed it!! Compare Leeds station…..

…. to Birmingham New Street.

Six hours on trains and then an open topped bus to Sandbanks ferry terminal, where I finished my South West Coast Path walk nearly 5 years ago. What a spot.

And the final link up. I’ve done John O’Groats to Lands End and on to Sandbanks ferry….

….and now I’m off to Hastings. What a lovely part of the world this is.  Looking west to Old Harry Rocks in the distance. Old Harry always rocked for me. So did our Mick.

The weather was perfect. Cop this beautiful view of the Costa del Sandbanks.

And the property on this little bank of sand is the most expensive in the UK.

The beach runs up against the chalk cliffs as you walk eastwards towards Bournemouth.

My rucksack is heavy and I’m going to need a couple of days before it feels normal again. Lots of Russians and Romanians on the beach. Probably investing in the local property. The pier at Bournemouth appears and if you see just above the sea line to the right of this poor quality photo there is a barely perceptible pale smudge. That’s the Isle of Wight that is. 

Up the cliffs with my rucksack holding me back like a reverse tug of war, and the view westwards back into Dorset was stunning in the waning sun.

And the final shot on top of the cliff showing a great statue of the RAF display team. Looks real at cursory glance!

Great great afternoon. Loved it. Into the New Forest tomorrow and the forecast is for cold and wet weather. It’ll be a bit chilly in that tent! Nae bother. 

Night night. X

Thanks Jim. 

A full day in Pokhara and our hotel room was unusual for us. It had a warm shower, electricity that carried on working, some WiFi, a bog that you sat on and didn’t have to put used toilet roll in a waste paper bin, comfortable beds and a telly. And the view from our bedroom window was breathtaking.


Breakfast was great.

We went up on the hotel roof for a couple of hours of sunbathing, before setting off for a walk by the lakeside up into tourist town. Lads were fishing, not catching owt, and the lake was lovely.

Heading up the bank side the views got better.

Jet uses trip advisor a fair bit and found a great restaurant. My fish cooked in sweet and sour with ginger was outstanding. Jet’s house special was good unall.

Back down to the lake and we hired a rowing boat. I posed in front of the island with an ancient temple.

Jet posed too. Lovely photo.

Earlyish night and a 5am pickup by jeep for Kathmandu. It’s a long slog but we were there before noon and had one and a half days left. The food is good if you find the right places and we ate well. On our last day we visited the Garden of Dreams and rested from the hurly burly of Kathmandu.

Returning to the hubbub Jet rested at the hotel that afternoon with a bit of a stomach bug. I went souvenir hunting. It can look like a war zone but it’s a safe city.

So that’s it my dears. Adventure over. Back to Blighty tomorrow and a jolly good time was had by all. I’ll catch you on the next trek. Namaste.

Night night. 

The morning was reasonably clear and we had slept well from 8.30pm up to 6.30am, with a few comfort breaks. 

The guides had been noisy again below us during the night and there were a group of Koreans in the guest house. A few had stayed up, and one had engaged on a marathon solo piss-up. He lasted through to 1am, with guides and friends peeling off for bed at various stages, but he was determined to get completely arseholed. He drank 12 pint and a quarter bottles of Nepali beer. I make that 15 pints. With four quarter bottles of local rum. I make that a full bottle. With some of the locally distilled spirit. I make that the final straw. 

He insisted on staying up, was directed to the toilet but couldn’t operate a simple opening mechanism and pissed his trousers. Sorry I didn’t get a photo. But to his eternal credit he continued drinking with a wet patch across his lap. A credit to Korea. Is it Seoul because they get are-seouled?

He turned up for a 7am breakfast as bright as a button, smelling of piss. His gormless inbred son sat across the table from Jet leering like something from Deliverance whilst she ate her breakfast. Never Ending Peace And Love. We ignored him. 

The last day of the trek. The breaking of the fellowship. But first there was a lovely early morning walk down the track by the river.

Jet has become a trekker. In tough climbs and difficult conditions she has done a great jaaab!

Some of these footbridges are quite remarkable!

And religion plays a part throughout Nepal. Not least with these little shrines. And with great tolerance and co-existence between the Hindus and Buddhists. We’re all Nepalis aren’t We!

At Nayapul the trek ended and reflection, rest, recreation and summat else beginning with R, to continue the alliteration, took over. 

A taxi picked us up and we drove over the mountains to Pokhara. Checked in to our hotel and said goodbye to the boys.



Cheers me dears for an unforgettable experience.

Me and Jetty went for lunch near the lake and I had a shave and haircut.

The evening was a great meal at The Harbor Restaurant after Jet had scrutinised the menu.

We were in Pokhara that afternoon as the bodies of those lads were flown in to the local airport by helicopter. Bad luck is an executioner in these mountains. God bless boys.

Night night. 

Thanks John. 

There is a vantage point at 10,500 feet, up above Ghorepani, where there is a panoramic view of the Dhaulagiri range and the Annapurna range of mountain peaks. It is called Poon Hill. Like pilgrims, people get up well before dawn, don warm clothes and head torches and climb, largely in silence, up the footpath for an hour, shedding layers of clothing on the way. Most of the way is ancient steps so the footsteps and nodding of the beam of the torch on the steps in front, surrounded by jungle, gives the climb a meaning and the participants a sense of purpose beyond sightseeing. It feels ritualistic. Let’s sacrifice somebody at the top!

Gathered at the summit there was a hut dispensing warm tea, and the dark was beginning to break up. Around two hundred people waited in anticipation of the dawn. As the light grew it was apparent that the clouds would obscure a lot of what we were here to see. But the clouds parted to reveal the summit of Fishtail Mountain, the holy mountain of Nepal which climbers are not allowed upon.

And, to the left of that, Annapurna South was revealed, behind a fat bald bloke with a hat and a beard. Weirdo!

The sun was beginning to make an appearance and created some gaps in the clouds. Showing Annapurna South to the right and Gangapurna behind to the left. It was more than a week ago since we were climbing up the other side of Gangapurna to the bottom of its glacier from Manang. 

We loved the views but we had to go back down, pack our gear, get breakfast and hit the track, Jack. Even on the way down the patchy views were awe inspiring.

Down at the guest house we could see down the valley towards the Dhaulagiri range and Dhaulagiri itself was peeping through the clouds of the storm that had previously killed the poor little buggers from Korea with their local guides.

Then breakfast and then the long trek downhill to Hille, dropping 4,300 feet today.

Goodbye altitude. I doubt that I shall ever climb as high again, but tomorrow never knows. Thanks again John.

We went over the top of the pass that Ghorepani straddles and immediately started dropping down on the footpath through jungle. Hindus at work to persuade their god to grant salvation.

People were climbing up the path carrying goods and essentials. There are two men here carrying bamboo foliage for animal feed.

One guy was carrying a full-sized fridge on his back. A group of young lads was carrying huge burdens. And the path isn’t half a mile on the level. It’s 5 miles climbing 4,500 feet. A tough breed. Or many breeds. There are numerous ethnic groupings in Nepal, all living in peace. 

The jungle is stunning here. This is a view down into the gorge carrying the river.

And this one is less spectacular but equally impressive with the light on the vegetation, the movement of the water and the shapes and textures of the leaves. Cop this little stream view, bubbling down to the main river.

Dropping further, rivers began to converge and valleys cut the mountains in segments. And we were back in major avalanche territory.

Then, in the middle of all this serious stuff, we stopped for lunch!

After a good tuck in we set off again, down, down, deeper and down. Thanks Francis.

This stretch went on for ever and was again mostly ancient steps that really tested our calf muscles. And they failed. C minus. Did I tell you I was deprived of a first class honours degree at the London School of Economics by a scheming group of professors?

We crossed two rivers at the bottom on swinging bridges and hit upon the path on the far side of the valley, nestled in the sun, eventually leading down to our guest house in Hille. 

Great day, great walk, great company, great country. We’re down to lower altitudes now, and it’s very warm. Luurvely.

Night night. 


The night was good apart from the guides in the dormitory room below us, striking up a noisy conversation at 3am. Shut the front door boys!

The morning light brought loveliness.

Another great breakfast and we’re off to Ghorepani. Looking up the path through the tiny village, the ancient stone rooves outweighed the currugated iron ones.

It was a decent uphill hike, sometimes steep and stickily warm, rising up 2,500 feet to 9,500 feet – back in the altitude zone. Tomorrow we would be climbing up Poon Hill, a local viewpoint at 10,500 feet, before dawn to watch the light grow on the Annapurna range to the north and the Dhualagiri range to the west. Poon Hill is a very popular vantage point for this pre-dawn international assembly!

Today however we were following the sun up to the top of this valley to stay in Ghorepani. Cut off from roads and tracks, serviced by horse and porters carrying food, drink and goods up the footpaths leading to the village, Ghorepani is a popular trekking overnight stop. 

Looking back the valley was cultivated and civilised, and the big peak of Dhualagiri nestled in the clouds. For years it was considered to be the highest mountain in the world but is really the 7th highest. Notorious for avalanches, and we were unaware of what happened on a lower peak below it during the night, with 9 poor souls being wiped out in their sleep by an avalanche. We had heard of two people copping it in an avalanche a couple of weeks ago and at the same time five people going over the edge of a ravine in a jeep, including two Aussies, all dead. It’s a phenomenal place but bad luck is a killer here. 

After a good stretch of trekking up quite a steep valley side there is nothing more civilised, when you’re soaked in sweat, than having a cup of tea! 

The local folk are pleasant and live entirely off trekkers and farming. These two ladies were out in the sun washing dishes and tending their flock of goats.

Two thirds of the way up we stopped for lunch and looking down the valley the view was great. 

The last push was up a steep array of steps through a rhododendron forest. The national flower of Nepal. Arriving at the guest house we were delighted to have a small cabin as a bedroom. With a shower and western toilet. Result!

And the view was epic.

Night night.

It’s a living thing. Thanks Jeff.

Up early and I couldn’t resist another English breakfast, which included potato curry, masquerading as hash browns. Great start to the day.

The valley looking back was beautiful in the morning light.

Off up the mountains again today, but not too far, up to Shikhe. Four and a half hours walking up to 7,000 feet again. But we can take our time and enjoy the views. The temperature is still warm and the sun is not too hot in a bit of haze and the breeze is very light. Perfect. 

We had to walk downstream from Tatopani to reach the bottom of another valley coming down from the left hand side. 

Walking down the road Jet looked like a chic trekker from Chelsea.

Then we crossed the river on the signature swinging bridges, which have all been fantastic apart from the first one weeks ago! The climb began, up the right hand side of this valley and quite steep. Luckily the altitude was low for Nepal and we felt fit after the hard work of the last two weeks. Looking back a baldy old bloke got in the way of my photo. Ignorant get. 

The warmth plus rucksack equalled sweaty Betty, and some strain in the tough climb. After half an hour we headed up towards a Hindu temple. Iconic buildings.

This was jungle country, and walking up the path with my head down I came across a black snake with a yellow dot on the back of its head. It scooted a bit quick, fortunately, pursued by a manic Prem wielding his walking pole like a magical snake disabling device. If he’d hit it likely as not that it would have turned on him. Down in the valley there were terraces of rice paddy fields and lush vegetation.

Prem and Suraj (just discovered we’re spelling and pronouncing his name wrong) wandering down the road like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Raindrops didn’t keep falling on their heads.

And even at 7,000 feet it’s a warm climate until the depths of winter, so locally grown sweet corn needs drying out to make into popcorn and corn bread, among other things.

Nepal is rarely quiet. The cicadas make a massive noise in the jungle and forests. The rivers continuously roar down the gorges, giving a background rumble, even in the higher villages. The traffic, even in rural areas, hoots and hollers. But on top of the mountains peace reigns. Nepal – Never Ending Peace And Love.

The one sound that is good not to hear is a helicopter coming up the valley. It might be supplies for the villages without a track, like Ghorepani, or someone is ill, injured or worse. We had heard a few over the last couple of days.

We arrived at Shikhe for a late lunch and we loafed all afternoon.

It’s that fat bloke again.

All that was left was to eat dinner early and get an early night, 8pm. That’s an early neet!
Neet neet.

After the trauma of the buses we are having a rest day in a decent guest house in the centre of beautiful downtown Tatopani. With a ‘not bad’ view up the valley. 

There’s something magical about an English breakfast that includes grilled spam, potato curry and cheesy baked beans. Outside on Main Street, just over 10 feet wide, were parked some classic motor bikes.

Our first mission was to go down to the local hot springs, with a solid stream of very hot water pushing out of the earth into lounging baths. Fantastic. Me and Jetty soaked for an hour, in and out as it was too hot for ‘in’ for an hour. We’d taken down our dirty washing too and a lady there scrubbed it clean and dried it on the fence. 

For an hour in the springs for the two of us and all our washing done, including a tip for the lady, it was £6.50.

Warning friends, the next paragraph and photograph contain details of the slaughter of a sheep.

When we went through the entrance to the baths there was a sheep guarding the way. When we got out of the baths, showered, dried and dressed, the sheep was being wrestled by three men. They pinned it down on its back and one bloke squatted astride it with a small kukri, seen on the ground in the picture below. He cut a small hole in the sheep’s skin, by it’s stomach, inserted his arm in the animal and located its heart with his hand. He then squeezed it until it stopped beating. The men then immediately set about butchering the sheep. Fascinating.

OK it’s over. 

Just a short blog today. But to make up for it here’s a picture of a good looking bloke. 

And some wild goats.

And a good looking bloke.

Night night.

Today we had decided to set off walking early down the valley towards Jomsom and if a bus passed us then we’d jump on it, then take another bus to Tatopani. We don’t have enough time to walk the whole circuit so now we are going to jump to an interesting and final section. 

The view from the guest house was lovely in the early sunlight.

Setting off, the morning was cool but not crisp, and the view down the valley was great as the sun had risen a bit higher.

At this lower altitude, around 9,500 feet, walking was easy, the air wasn’t thin. Looking back upriver the Mustang valley was broad and stony, with Kagbeni just above it in the middle

There is a Hindu festival for a few days on the 18th October and cities have been stocking up with produce from the regions. These goats will find themselves in Pokhara or Kathmandu, being killed by the families that buy them. Unless they fall down the mountain first.

We had covered a couple of miles when a bus came along. A ropey effort with a maniacal driver. I thought we were going to die. The bus bounced over the boulders at great speed.

​Shaken and stirred, we arrived in Jomsom, the biggest town this side of the mountains. It was a  windy dust bowl that was teeming with people. Pilgrims coming, pilgrims going, trekkers passing through and locals trying to make their annual salary this month whilst folk were here. It has very little appeal.

We couldn’t get bus tickets to Tatopani, despite there being several buses an hour, until a 2pm deadline, the journey being 5 hours and no buses leave when they might have to finish in the dark. The price of jeep hire escalated by the minute. There were many bus operators and we trawled the ticket booths until we found standing room only on one that left at 12.15. We pushed a reluctant Prem into buying the tickets and went for an early lunch. Then we turned up early at the ticket booth next to the Mustang Pub and Snooker Hall, with a Himalayan backdrop.

The bus arrived and it was crap, not far from scrap. It took nearly an hour to load luggage on to the roof. A bloke tying the tarpaulin then slipped and spectacularly fell to the ground, hopping around holding his ankle and wrist. He was the second driver on this 12 hour journey to Kathmandu, which luckily we only shared for 5 hours. 

The bus had 39 seats, all full. There were 15 people standing up, a few hanging out of the door and 11 of us inside the driver’s cab, including the driver. I think that’s around 60 to 70% over capacity. The luggage was spectacularly overloaded up on the roof, causing us to lean dramatically when driving on a slope or turning a corner, and there were sacks of rice, boxes and luggage piled on the floor for people to clamber over. 

Forgive the lack of photographs on this journey. I was scared, so was Jet who begged that we got off and walked, but we had to do it. I couldn’t get my iPad out to take photos as I was hanging on for dear life, white as a ghost. Jet said I was the same colour as when we went on one of the most manic rides at Lightwater Valley. 

The road was just bulldozed out of the mountains and was a mass of boulders, mud and dust, with no surface at all. There were multiple landslides which had crashed through it and streams that splashed across it. The road clung in places to the side of one of the highest ravines in the world (there are many of these superlatives in Nepal). Jet used one – worst experience of her life. 

We were both convinced that this road led to death. Except for one saving grace, being our young and unflappable driver, even when we were slipping in mud towards the side of the abyss. We were reassured by his control of this top heavy freak show. The bus made regular stops and, halfway through, the driver got out and the man with the broken ankle and twisted wrist got into the driving seat. He told me and Jet that he was now the driver and asked if we had painkiller spray! 

Luckily we hadn’t and he realised that he was too injured to drive this sarcophagus over the river Styx. Our original driver took over. Hooray!

We hit a problem with a breakdown blocking the road, at a relatively low level on the mountainside.

After hours of Fred Karno’s Army of traffic control and manouvering close to the edge we were released into the darkening pass. With only one headlight working. Another hour and a half later we arrived in Tatopani. Sighs of relief were never heavier. Eventually we found a guest house of decent quality that wasn’t full, ate and slept. Relieved to have escaped from the Devil’s grip.

Night night. 

Well, maybe not so wild side, but not tame either. We’ve settled into a routine of fried eggs on toast for breakfast. One portion of toast is 2 slices so we share one me and Jet. Who, after yesterday’s performance on the pass crossing, should be called Jumping Jet Flash. She done good.

We set off at 9am and started the downhill route to Kagbeni, with the views from the guest house outstanding.

Above the village a Buddhist shrine stood out majestically against the blue sky. Odd that this village is a very holy place for Hindus but the locals are all Buddhists.

The village itself is starting to develop in recognition of its religious status and popularity, but is still a two star town and we haven’t given up on breaking out of it (thanks Brandon).

The road up to the village was recently rebuilt and ended just outside in an impressive car park, full of buses and jeeps. As we worked our way down dozens more vehicles, full of pilgrims, comen from the valley, all hot. So we are on the downhill path, with women carrying bags of rice back home, coming the other way. 

Partway down to the next village the valley opened up to the right with a vision of Shangri -La.

The weather was fantastic for walking. Warm and sunny with a pleasant breeze. It lightened the heart. And I couldn’t resist a pose with my mate Sulis.

Ever wondered what marigolds look like with apple trees in the Himalayas. Beautiful.

Looking forward down the mountain was the next mountain range, the Dhaulagiri massif (or something like that).

And dropping down further we caught a good view of Jet, with Kagbeni being a side show behind.

Most villages have a big slice of self-sufficiency, necessary before connection by track to the outside world. And Kagbeni has this market garden next to it.

As we came down to the village the northwestern most peaks of the Annapurna range appeared to our left.

We checked in to our guest house, had a great lunch and then roamed around the village. Fancy a Yaccy D?

This is the start of the Upper Mustang valley which works its way towards Mongolia. 

The village was plagued by ghosts many years ago and the locals put up statues to scare them away. Apparently it worked. Must have put the willies up them.

The river that runs past the village becomes the Ganges and is the holy river. Pilgrims to Muktinath stay here en route and undergo death ceremonies where they pay tribute, with holy men, to their deceased relatives. This photo was taken after the guide (a Hindu himself) confirmed that it would not be irreverential. This is a death ceremony.

Back to the guest house. Dinner. Sleep. 

Night night.