Had to include this as David had just been talking about how the Himalayas have a spiritual value and Nir did this in reply!

The view from our room was impressive. We’re in a twin room for most of this trip it seems but we’re ok with it. Needs must in this region.

Today was a rest day, although we questioned our guide‘s understanding of rest. He had us up early, dressed, booted and breakfasted and on a 5 hour route march up the nearest mountain.

Firstly to a viewpoint above the village with our first view of Lhotse and part of Everest mostly covered by cloud and in the distance just to the left of the statue of Sherpa Tenzing.

With other fabulous views down the valley.

Then we had another grueller, climbing another thousand feet above the village.

And Nir entertained us by risking death during the climb. An earlier fall with a head injury kept him out of action for 12 months!

At the top of the hill we walked for half an hour along the ridge away from the village to a vantage point and – there was Everest in the distance to the left of Lhotse. An awe inspiring moment.

We were happy to stay here a while and enjoy the place, each others’ company and the views.

Yakkety Yak, don’t look back!

The journey back down was easier, arriving back at our accommodation in time for lunch, loafing in the afternoon and watching the Manchester derby. The last opportunity to see TV, never mind football on TV, for ten days.

We are going up country tomorrow and communication, electricity and basic hygiene may not be available. I’ll be in touch when I can.

Night night.

We were making good time up the valley of the Milk River, so called because it looks like milk, so it stands to reason. The path crossed backwards and forwards over the swingers, which got longer and higher.

Then incredibly I saw a bald headed old bastard who looked just like me! Astonishing. It was me really. Nir took the photo. 😁

And then a squeaky bum moment. The valley got steeper, to the extent that the path cut up high above the river, with two swinging bridges straddling the gorge. And it was our luck that we had to use the high one. Hooray! Congratulate me whilst I poo my pants.

Senor Kilby was now getting used to these ridiculously fragile looking swinging bouncers.

Then the track took a serious upturn, with a long, steep route for the next three hours. It hurt and seemed to be never ending, with the river and its beautiful views disappearing into forest.

Eventually Namche came in to view and the relief was palpable. We were at a fair altitude now – over 11,000 feet – and the reduced oxygen level was apparent during the climb.

On the way to our accommodation we passed a local volleyball match. No room for football pitches in this terrain.

Namche is reasonably developed, although the only ground route in is over that ridiculously high swing bridge. Anyway, we’ll enjoy it for the next two nights whilst we get acclimatised to the altitude. We’ll then be on our way into a much more remote region.

Night night.

Well it’s going to be a long slog today, climbing three thousand feet over 7 hours up to the biggest village on our route, Namche Bazar. We had an early breakfast and early start, setting off at 8am. Senor Kilby was well prepared for all elements, sun, rain and calf-biting mosquitos.

The path crossed the river over a swinging bridge and started to climb. And as it did the most amazing views began to emerge.

Before we arrived it had rained for 12 days with below zero conditions at night on some of our route. A woman coming down from Everest Base Camp described the nights as brutal.

I’m trying not to feel smug but we’re here in Mediterranean temperatures and it’s good, sweaty walking weather.

To be continued……

David has suggested doing short blogs as sometimes we get Wi-Fi for a minute or two so I’ll post this now.

We set off from our hotel this morning at 5am, quickly reaching the airport and hanging around hoping that our flight to Lukla was working. We later heard that the service had been out for a week due to adverse weather conditions so we were lucky when we heard that it was all clear and we were on our way.

The plane was small, noisy, old and full – all 15 seats were taken by folk like us. Trekkers!

It was reassuring that Senor Kilby was on the plane too.

But it was claustrophobic.

It’s a dangerous airport to fly into, with 7 fatal crashes in the last 20 years and over 50 people losing their lives. The landing is swift and can be harsh, as the runway is tiny and runs quickly into the side of the mountain. Luckily it is quite steep, which helps to slow planes down.

At the airport we met Nir, our guide, Amar and Bala, the two porters, and we had breakfast together. Lukla has no road into it and you arrive in at over 8,000 feet. The Everest region is remote, ridiculously mountainous and is only accessible by planes through Lukla, helicopters through a small number of helipads and footpaths which usually follow the river valleys. Lukla itself is a 4 day trek from the nearest road.

Nir has an immediate rapport with his trekkers, as well as a quirky sense of humour and strong personality. Good lad.

We shouldered our packs and made off through the warm forest cum jungle up the valley. It is around 30c when the sun is out, but falls sharply at night. We got a sweat on.

And the path meandered upwards, downwards and across the river and it’s tributaries on wobbly and outrageously high footbridges. This one hides a 100 foot drop onto the stream and rocks below.

We were affected by the lower oxygen level, even at this altitude, huffing and puffing and slightly light headed. And we were heading onwards and upwards into a Buddhist territory, evidenced by carved boulders and 600 year old stone mantra carvings.

Within three hours we reached our accommodation in Phakding, had lunch, got our rooms and set off down to the waterside. Men become boys by water, throwing stones into the raging torrent of a river and monkeying around.

After an hour or so David and myself found an Irish pub in Phakding. This is a tiny village, accessible only by footpath, and the pub, apart from not being Irish, had no customers, local beer and a pool table. This could only have been carried up by men. There are regular donkey caravans but donkeys couldn’t have carried this.

We had a couple of beers, played pool under very dodgy lights which were out longer than they were on. Then returned to our tea house for Dinner and bed at 8pm. A long day and we need our strength for tomorrow.

Night night.

Just to reassure everyone that Davids Kilby and Smith are alive, well and having an amazing trek, in a part of Nepal where Wi-Fi is barely existent.

As a result I can’t publish a blog with any photos. To describe this part of the Himalayas Senor Kilby says it’s like waking up on a different planet.

We will find a way to publish photos on this blog. XX

What do you think about Van Morrison singing Snow in San Anselmo and the Waterboys singing Sweet Thing? Both written by Van the Man. Can’t you say? Speak up boy!

I’ve never heard them sir.

Hold out your hand! What do you think now boy?

Best music one can buy sir.

Nepal is visible, through my aeroplane window, down by the pylons. By the pylons. Thanks iVan.

Here I am. The only living boy in Kathmandu.

And my sister gave me a present!

And David is here!

And the shops are small and diverse.

But today was just orientation and tomorrow is a flight on a smallish plane to Lukla, or a helicopter if the weather is bad. We’re doing a reasonably hard walking route up to Everest Base Camp and then out into the wild a bit over three high passes. We’re in good spirits and ok for it. We will be out there for 3 weeks.

Anyway if this bloke is a Buddhist monk how come he doesn’t know that he doesn’t need an umbrella? Where has omniscience gone?

Let’s pray that we are ok?

This town is great despite the pressures, traffic and goods sellers, illusion dwellers. Oh Lord, why have you forsaken me?

I haven’t my boy. I’m here. I left in love, in laughter, and in truth, and wherever truth, love and laughter abide, I am there in spirit.

Thank you Lord. Be with David and I tomorrow.

I shall. Night night.

Kathmandu do do, push pineapple grind coffee. Not exact but it will do do do…………oh dear. It’s not a good start but I’m In Abu Dhabi airport and I’m a bit tired. It’s 11pm and my connecting flight to Kathmandu do do – doesn’t go till half past three. Half past 8 tomorrow morning actually but that doesn’t rhyme or scan with the song song song. Nine hours to wait.

This is where we are going. Brilliant innit? And the low land coming across from the left is an ancient glacier.

This is a tough trek, right tough. It will take us three weeks, and if we survive the internal flight from Kathmandu, do do, to Lukla then we will be walking at a high altitude for most days. Problem is gasping for breath during the day when you’re trekking, and when you wake up in the middle of the night you think you’re drowning due to the lack of oxygen. Gasping like a fat, old, gasping Gasper. Anyway let’s think positive. Global warming. Nuclear holocaust. Psychopath breaking into your house at night and stabbing you 37 times.

It’s not as if we haven’t trained. Senor Kilby has trained well and I’ve done ok. We did the Yorkshire Three Peaks a while ago together and David did very well. In fact I held him back a lot.

It was a long day but we did it and David was kind, waiting for me when my chest was gasping for air in the long ascents.

The picture below was us on the third peak, Ingleborough, with the Irish Sea behind us in the distance.

The flight today over to Abu Dhabi was great. I’m meeting David in Kathmandu so I was on my tod but I love flying – although it’s frowned on by some folk due to the environmental impact, and I’m sure that we will witness first hand the effect on Nepal. Particularly the glaciers that we will be climbing over. They is shrinking fast, sadly. This shot below is from the plane from eastern Turkey over to a mountain in northern Iran. The small crest of snow, which is barely visible, would have covered much more of the peak a few years ago.

Anyway I’m just touching base with you, my friends, my family and those who might stumble across this post on the internet. Any contact is good contact, and I took what I could get – thanks BT Overdrive.

I will blog when I’m in Kathmandu, do, do – it’s such a brilliant and ancient place. But shambolic and riotous at the same time. My kind of wonderful, that’s what you are – thanks Barry.

Night night.

I really struggled to decide what to do today. This is the last day of my walk and I originally hoped to reach Le Havre or Honfleur, but I’ve so much enjoyed the last three days walking along the shore and cliff tops. It’s been great, and so I decided to carry on down the coast, because the highway is for gamblers, better use your sense. Take what you have gathered from coincidence. Thank you Bob.

The sun is up, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful and so are you. Thanks John.

And looking forward it was inciting and inviting me. Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns, it calls me on and on across the universe. Thanks John, and David. The tide was going out. Perfect.

The crunch of Salomon shoes on a beach of pebbles takes me back to Chesil beach nearly 8 years ago. Remembrance of things past manipulates my sentimentality, hopes, deepest regrets and sadness. Thanks Marcel. Never read your Magnus Opus but I’m familiar with the simple principle. The cliffs are getting really high and the springs are shifting from the shore to part-way up the chalk face.

I’m sure the stream that runs straight out of this rock resulted in this collapse.

Someone had erected a Christ/scarecrow out of marine flotsam. On an empty shore it was a bit spooky. It’s head turned as I walked past, then it started to chase me. Then I came to the realisation that I must stop eating LSD for breakfast.

At the next bay someone had written the bleeding obvious again.

But there’s always one fool who will end up getting hurt. Little old wine drinker me. Thanks Deano. I’d already come a long way and the tide was still going out. Although an old gimmer on the beach reckoned that I couldn’t get all the way to Etretat. I’d give it a bloody good go though Joe. Ho ho ho!

This was a delightful little resort called summat French.

Summat French? Struggling for stuff to write you daft Dee Dah?

I’ll Dee Dah dee in a minute.

Please boys. Declare peace in my brain and enjoy the ride. Mencalists.

It was called Yport. He said, with the same relief, certitude and confidence that Polly had expressed …….”and it’s name was….Dragonfly”.

On round the corner to the next bay.

Where I cut inland as the tide turned and there was little sign of chances of getting up the cliffs for the next ten kilometres. Let’s follow the GR21 again. Mr Brown goes off to town on GR21, but he comes home each evening and he’s ready with his gun. Thanks Walmington on Sea platoon.

The cliffs were very high here, and there seemed to be a really spectacular cliff top path on top of the cliffs……….

Get a grip lad.

I had to part company with the GR21 and head for the shade.

Emerging at the top the view was reyt good.

Go west young man. The cliff top meadows were alive.

Although the path came alarmingly near the edge.

And the old man was right. I couldn’t have made it beyond the final cliff to Etretat, even at low tide it thrust out into the sea.

What a fantastic walk. Just great.

I got a bit vertiginous.

Ooh get him. Vertiginous is it?

Please get this cretin out of my head. Let me live in peace. Ten thousand dollars at the drop of a hat, I’d give it all gladly, if our lives could be like that. Thanks Bob.

And Etretat was so much more than I thought it would be. Still intact, the arch that Monet painted over 130 years ago.

And down in town the view the other way was busy but beautiful.

I met a Dutch couple in town who I’d met in Fecamp when I was starting out today. Turned out they were staying in the room next to me in my hotel! We had a great chat and a beer together!

This is my Dutch mate Bert.

And that is the end of this stage.

Thank you for reading. I’ll be back in September from Nepal, or earlier if I do another little trek. Around 180 miles completed this time. A good, testing and beautiful route.

Night night.

I mean really great. This is the best stretch of French coast I have ever experienced since the west coast of Belle Isle en Mer. I don’t like superlatives but this is justified and true.

This morning it had rained heavily overnight and my tent was sodden again. I didn’t want to get out from underneath my sleeping bag, but inevitably had to. I climbed through the window and down to the street, I’m shining like a new dime. Thanks Tom.

I packed up my tent Packed it up, soaking frickin wet, and headed for the coast.

And it was still chucking it down, but I got waterproofs on me and the rucksack.

I set off across the shoreline. Stupid signs again saying it was against the law. I know the risks matey boys. I’ve got previous.

I like this. I love this. Sorry but I love it where there is a slight risk. The tide is coming in. I can’t tell from the map where I can get up the cliffs and I’m not 100% sure if I’ll make it. Ridiculous old fart I know but that’s where I am. But I do have an exit plan. Run like hell back the way I came.

After a couple of miles this became my new emergency evacuation plan. I really hope I won’t have to use it.

Keep going lad.

I love it here. I do and I can’t help it. There’s nobody else. The place is purely natural. I‘m sorry but I can’t explain it better. No human interference. That’s better.

The tide came in higher so time to play it safe. I came inland at the next opportunity and followed the GR21 route across the cliff tops again.

To find that the Virgin Mary was holding up the little baby Jesus who was, again, singing the greasy chip butty song. He must have been brassed off that, for his first 1,889 years, he didn’t have a decent team to support but now we’re happy to accept him, the Father and the Holy Ghost as fans. I hope they don’t get too violent at away matches.

I walked over the top of the hills in the rain and eventually dropped down to Fecamp in the late afternoon. A long slog past a nuclear power facility, that forced me inland, and a nosy old get who disputed my right of way. I won, purely by being insistent. I looked lairy so he backed off. Why are there people like him who hate folk? That’s my job.

Fecamp is wonderful. It’s a working port city, and the cargo activities made me tingle with memories of my 7 years working on Bristol docks.

But it’s also a fishing fleet centre and a leisure craft centre as well

Great town. And in order to welcome me the skies cleared again.

I found the hotel, bought some supermarket scran and turned in early. Hotel Angleterre. Come on England! Time to dry out my tent in the bedroom and get some sleep.

Night night.