An early morning for me and Jet again, breakfast on the top floor of the teahouse. The sun was coming up behind the mountains and looking up and down the valley, over the rice paddy fields, the views were beautiful, although not as spectacular as in the next few days we’re told.

Omelette and chapatti, oat porridge with honey for Jet. Then packed and off by 8am. A long walk up the valley today, but still following the country road so it should be straightforward. But it rarely is! The guide gave us two options; firstly to stick to the right hand side of the river going upstream or cross over a footbridge to the left. The right was up hill and down dale and not recommended by our guide. The left stuck closer to the river and followed the track. The guide said that both had similar views. Left every time! 

The track slipped down to the river and across a decent bridge, before cutting up steeply along the mountainside. It felt like we were climbing higher and higher above the river but the valley is so narrow and steep in this section that we were actually just keeping pace with the rise in the valley floor. It was getting hotter and hotter. My pack felt heavy and I was sweating like an old bloke sweating a lot. But it was heavy and it was tough following the track. Almost immediately we came across major landslides. Some of these had been cleared but some were so substantial that they had dragged the road down the mountain and we had to climb gingerly round what was left, with near vertical drops down to our raging river. And one was so massive that there wasn’t much left of the mountain side or the road for a hundred metres. 

There were diggers desperately, and dangerously, trying to cut a new road and clear the debris. We had to climb up past these through the waterfall and on round the near steep face of the land slip. 

Jet has done so well so far. We have to ford rivers where landslides come down and she gets on with it. She keeps going and never moans. She’s loving it. Good old kid. 

Looking back down the valley we could see where the landslide had cut down the hill. 

And looking forward where others had ripped the earth apart.

We stopped for a great lunch at a village. These restaurants are not all proper buildings, and these villages have to carry in supplies on their backs through the landslides. Dozens of them. There is only one track and it’s buggered. There was a fantastic waterfall next to the restaurant.

After we’d eaten the track cut higher up the mountain. It was exhausting in the midday heat but eventually the village we were aiming for came in sight. Jagat.

We had made good time, in time to hand wash some clothes, have a hot shower – joy of joys – and sit on a western style toilet. No toilet roll. We then went walking for thirty seconds through the village. 

Now we’re going to eat and get an early night. Brilliant.

Night night.

We got up for a 6am taxi ride to Besishahar, the start of our trek, accompanied by Prem, our guide, and Sulis, our porter who we picked up en route. Kathmandu was heaving with people and traffic grew by the minute, until we couldn’t escape it’s grip, however much we wanted to be jammy dodgers. What was really insane was the dust, which sometimes completely obscured vision, and the hooting, even at 6am, was incessant. After three hours we made it out of Kathmandu and although the major roads were the equivalent of badly kept farm tracks in the UK, we made progress and eventually covered the 108 miles in 7 hours. 

Besishahar for lunch, and it was dal bhat again for me, the rice dish with various accompaniments. I caused concern by chewing on a chilli pepper, a feat I repeated twice more today, including the hottest chilli in Nepal. Nobody was amused as I turned purple, and then I pretended the heat was making me lose my teeth, and pulled my falsies out. Sad old attention seeking baston. I know I should say ‘bastard’ but some people find it offensive so I’ll refer to bastard as baston from here on in. Get it? Not using bastard any more. Using baston instead. 

There was a demonstration by local women down the Main Street over inaction by the authorities, and the uselessness of the government, in a rape and murder case involving a 13 year old girl. Bastons whoever did it and deserving of the death penalty.

We ate and then said goodbye to Besishahar.

On foot with our rucksacks we followed a footpath down to the river and up to a very, very rough country road. This is Jetty with our guide.

The route took us upriver and across to Nadi Bazar, three hours distant. It was hot and I was sweating like a dog under the weight of my rucksack.

We stuck to schedule, cooling off under water taps and waterfalls, and crossed the river on one of the oldest bridges on this trek.

There were some lads fishing in the torrent underneath for tilapia, and according to Prem the cold water of these rivers produces very tasty fish. One slip and they is gone.

Meanwhile Sulis helped Jet over the bridge. It was rotting wood in places and wobbly but reasonably sound.

We sweated on and passed a brilliant waterfall. I love em. All the while heading further and further upstream. 

Jet was joined by a bunch of donkeys. Like minded!

And sunset found us in a teahouse with a cold outside shower with two footsteps in the snow for an outside toilet, without toilet roll, but a twin room and decent scran. It’s been an eventful day. Got to sign off. The WiFi is hopeless and it’s taking ten minutes to upload each photo. I need sleep and so does Jettifer. 

Night night.

If you want your senses overloaded then this is the town. The roads are narrow, the traffic is rampant with motor bikes, no pavements so as a pedestrian you weave in and out of motor bikes, cycle driven rickshaws and taxis as they struggle to avoid each other. The road surfaces are mostly very difficult, the noise is intense and the heat and humidity are high. Everybody hoots their horns, even the rickshaws, and wild dogs sleep during the day and roam around after night. One hospital here treats 150 dog bites a day. And the dogs are protected by the Hindu religion, which covers 80% of the population. Bite me or Jet and I’ll kick you to death you rabid bastards. 

But it’s manic and marvellous. The dust drifts and tourists like us are constantly harassed by taxi drivers, shopkeepers and buskers playing Jews’ harps and single string violins. It’s just exhausting that’s all. 

We slept well, breakfasted and a ‘fixer’ turned up at 11am, pre-arranged by our trekking company, and we were accompanied to a money change shop, which doubled as a trekking equipment emporium. We brought dollars, paid the trekking company in cash and exchanged most of the rest into rupees. We then bought some water bottles from the emporium and took a photo of the shop assistant, money changer and fixer, in that sequence from left to right.

The money changer has a smug little smile as we discovered that he ripped us off for 6 quid. More fool us.

Lunch was outstanding. Vegetable stir fry for Jetty and Dal Bhat for me, with Local beer. For £12. Brilliant.

Then back through the mental, historical and spiritual streets to the hotel where we got our gear ready and packed it for tomorrow.

The shops here are full of wonderful stuff, but largely mass produced. 

We met again with the trekking company manager this evening and talked through the next three weeks. We’ll trek in very warm and very cold weather, stay a couple of days in Pokhara to relax in a nice, and very cheap, hotel and then come back for some time in mental and manic Kathmandu. Excellent. Don’t beam me up Scotty, I’m loving it. I’ll reflect on this photo for a while.

I know. You want a photo of Jet. Not on her life without make up. Well, maybe.

Night night.

The flight with Oman Air was about 80% empty so we could spread out and try to sleep. I got a couple of hours and we landed in Muscat at 7.30am with a 7 hour wait for our connecting flight. The airport has really changed from a small terminal 8 years ago, when I went with SIG, to an international player.

The country’s been ruled by the Sultan, Qaboos bin Said al Said, since 1970. What a nice old chap. He overthrew his dad in an armed coup 

Me and a Jet got visas and left the airport terminal for a while for a short stroll, but it was too hot. At 9am it was not far off 40c in the shade and the sun was a killer. The breeze was like a fan oven, blasting in your face and the mountains a few miles inland were screened by dust and heat.

Eventually came the time to get the plane to Nepal but there was a technical problem. By this time me and Jet were knackered. The plane was full and the gate was jammed with Nepali blokes going back home from working in Saudi and Oman. After an hour an official stood up and said that the problem was electrical but it was only a section of the plane and it only affected the entertainment system and the screens. He said we could all vote to depart without waiting any longer for it to be fixed but all two hundred of us had to be unanimous! 

In the event nobody objected and we took off just over an hour late, landing in the dark in Kathmandu airport, which was a bit run down and aged. We got picked up by our trip organiser’s brother and we’re getting to sleep now at midnight. Tired and heat drained but here.

Night night. 

Well, finally after months of anticipation, me and my youngest, Juliet, are off to Kathmandu to start an adventure. It’s a good one too. The real deal as we’re trekking a couple of hundred miles in the Himalayas around the Annapurna range, and climbing up to the highest pass in the world, Thorong La, at nearly 18,000 feet. 

We’re at Manc airport at the moment, setting off soon to Oman, getting 6 hours there in the sun and then setting off for Kathmandu. 

We’re leaving the suitcases in Kathmandu and putting on our cold weather gear and rucksacks for the trek, no roads on much of it, just mountains and tiny villages. Can’t wait. We are on our own with a guide and a porter. It doesn’t get much better. 

And it looks like this. Oh my giddy aunt!

And here’s our old lass who makes it all possible and worthwhile. What a babe. 

I hope to blog in Oman tomorrow. 

Night night.




I’m happy. I made it to the start of the southwest coastal path in Minehead yesterday, along the beach and the esplanade.

The place where I started out my trekking four years ago when I retired from SIG. 

1,450 miles. From …….

To ………

Through……..

And ………

Loved it, loved it, loved it. 

What I love as much is that in four years walking in the UK and Spain, over 2,700 miles, you have donated £7,000 for charity, including my trek with Gary earlier this year. A big thank you. 

And in true Incredible String Band style you can ‘Be glad, for the song has no ending’. I’ll blog in September from Kathmandu. 

Night night.

.

Still got these tedious wordplays going – laugh so much I wet myself. Up, packed and off by 9am on the cliff path to Blue Anchor, and then the beach to Minehead. The tide was out so the beach was a good option. Another spookily perfect day.

The path climbed up the side of a hill, with a cliff face to the right dropping down to the sea. I like trees me. This one is reaching out in great curves, to catch something.

The hill peaked and gave a great view towards Minehead in the distance.

The cliff path had a diversion with a sign saying it was due to cliff collapse. That is always health and safety bulldroppings and it turned out to be the same today. I ignored it and there was nowt wrong. Breakfast on the front in Blue Anchor, to the left of this photo, then back on the path. 

The route passed Dunster, with the castle up on the side of the hill.

Then it was down to the beach for the last leg, with hundreds of beach huts, fully kitted out as accommodation. I liked this one best. Bijou 28.

Then the beach opened up.

What happened next Dave? I’ll tell you tomorrow my dear darlings.

Night night. 

I might stop these tedious wordplays. But not yet my dears, not yet. I packed my tent and was originally aiming to walk the 20 miles to Minehead. As a reminder – I’ve walked from John O’Groats to Fiddington, and four years ago from Minehead to Land’s End as part of the Southwest Coastal Path. Therefore …..Tadaaaaaa!!!!!!! I just need to walk 20 miles from Fiddington to Minehead to have completed a continuous walk from John O’Groats to Land’s End. Got it? No? How simply do you want me to explain it? Oh. You were kidding me. Ha ha!

The route today wound westwards near the coast on the north side of the Quantock Hills and on the south side of the Bristol Channel. The first few miles were country lanes and I caught a view of the Quantocks across a sweet corn field. Well, a sweetcorn field anyway.

A small village had a shop open and I got a scotch egg and cheese sandwich breakfast. Does it get any better than this? Eventually, I hit the main A39 road to Minehead, which continued as a death trap with no pavement, narrow lanes and steep sides which I couldn’t climb up to escape. I had previously taken a wrong turn on the little country lanes and continued in an erroneous direction for a mile, which needed to be rewound thus incurring a further mile. Oh erroneous me! My desire to make it to Minehead was rapidly diminishing. I made it to West Quantoxhead (nice little place with lovely church) and cut down towards the coast. 

The lane hit the sea at Watchet. Watch what? And went west into the town. Great views. Great day. 

A pint and a pizza in late afternoon and I got info on a local campsite. Early night? Fantastic. I hoiked it up to Warren Farm and got a pitch for a fiver, to the left of this caravan.

The view from behind the hedge was lovely, looking up the Severn estuary. 

I hunkered down in my little tent, put the Maccabees on the iPad and nodded off before the end of Given to the Wild. The price of an early night is a couple of hours awake in the middle of the night but it’s a fair swap. 

14 miles today, including the erroneous misdirection, which would have made a televisual feast. Eight miles to finish this brilliant, four year trek. 

Night night.

Hello chums, wife, family, random internet trawlers and anyone else who doesn’t know me. Emotional day – waaaah! I’m leaving the Bavs’ house – waaaah! They dropped me off in Street and went away. Left me on my own. Waaaah! Thanks matey boy and girl. It’s been great. This is them, Linda cooking and Martin opening lager cans. Perfect hosts.

I had a Maccydee breakfast, double sausage and egg McMuffin in Street, and then set off west along the A39. This is Somerset levels country and was underwater 1500 years ago, so it’s flat. But I was aiming for a ridge that ran 8 miles towards Bridgwater. Glad I was too, as the A39 was deadly with no pedestrian walkway and steep banks, funnelling me into a rural death trap. I split off, heading south towards Taunton, and then cut up towards the ridge. 

This is the Spleen of rural England. Well… it’s not the heart, liver or owt like that. Kidney? Anyway it’s great country. And there’s a feeling that something is laying under this ridge, waiting to be reborn. For England and St George.

I came up to the Sedgemoor drain, and impressive it is too.

And further down the road the village of Chedzoy, with a thousand year old church and a great bus stop celebrating Her Majesty’s Coronation.

I’m not sure when Her Majesty occurred to me as someone who’s existence we should celebrate but, I’ll be a nice man and say no more.

The lane up and over to Bridgwater was a bit of a slog. So hot. Anyway, it wasn’t worth it. It is an awful town, filled with gangs from elsewhere, speaking in tongues and dumping tyres, wheels and Supermarket trolleys in the river Parrett. The Council, with no respect for the place whatsoever, doesn’t seem to salvage the river junk.

It’s centre is grim…

And its people are scum, dumping stuff like this.

 Another three hours and I reached a campsite at Fiddington. Tired and hot but cool enough to have a coupla beers, fish and chips and set up my tent. Exhausted!

19 miles today, 20 miles to go.

Night night. 

I’ve been sleeping well this trip but the heat still drains one. See what I said there? One. I’m posh meee!! Sorry, One!!! So it’s a nice day with the Baverstock’s today. Martin and Linda have been so good, picking me up, dropping me off, feeding and watering me. So good that they should do it again. Hooray!!!

Anyway we’re going to Glasto today. If you don’t know that Glasto is Glastonbury then you’re not cool. Glasto, Glasto, Glasto. We had a light breakfast, drove over the Mendips and parked in Glasto town. It was another scorchio day. 

We walked around the land to the north of the Tor – Glasto Tor – and then headed up.

Can we climb this mountain, I don’t know,

Higher now than ever before.

It was busy and full of posers, rings of women meditating and poncy individuals pretending to be mystical. Nice view though.

We made our way down to Glasto town, and even low down the views were great.

Sunday lunch, Sunday roast. A good one too in the Rifleman’s Arms. Then we went to a local Rural Life museum and had some great ice cream with a brilliant view of the Tor and an Iron Horse.

Martin and Linda dropped me off at Street, the next town, and I walked the 8 miles back to Wells to give me a head start tomorrow. They picked me up and Linda cooked a great dinner of Salmon, cherry tomatoes, chorizo and broad beans. Simple and super. 

I was tired then. We had a good natter and then bed time. Another great day.

Night night.