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.

I woke up without my loved one’s arms around me – despite what Orlando says. Early start, quick pack and off to the bus terminus not far away. I left a bag of stuff that I don’t need for later collection. 7.30am departure and the streets were already hot and quite sticky. Mercifully the bus was air conditioned and almost empty.

Kathmandu is a bit messy, but nice. The traffic was light and we stopped for lunch, included in the bus price, by the river after four hours on the road. The journey to Pokhara is bumpy but safe. Unless the bridge collapses into the monsoon waters.

The food isn’t bad at all, mostly curry but pretty good. Three more hours after lunch and we crossed another river and then on into Pokhara, with its famous Fewa lake.

My hotel was five minutes walk from the bus terminus at Lakeside. Not pestered by roaming stalkers, only those in shops who sit outside soliciting custom. A shower, a kip and out for dinner. Christ it was hot. Hotter than Kathmandu and stickier. I walked along the lake front, which has shops and restaurants most of the way so it wasn’t too dark – street lighting isn’t great – and ate fish from the lake in spices.

My bed awaited and then it was 8am! Just like that. Thanks Tommy.

Fried eggs and guava for breakfast and I met my new guide, Bhim and the trekking company’s guy. Bhim is nice, he’ll help me by carrying water and some heavier items and he’s a great guide.

Let’s put in a photo from today. Fancy a boat ride?

They wanted to send me and Bhim on buses to the start of the trek but there was some debate over whether the road was blocked by landslides. After checking we found out that it was navigable by small buses and four wheel drives but it was rendered ‘off road’ for an hour of the drive after monsoon slippage.

There was some toing and froing and if I wanted a four wheel drive then it would be expensive. I got a quote from my hotel owner for a cheaper price in his 4wd so the trekking company came down to match it. It’s going to be a difficult enough trek without horrendous bus rides so I’m happier.

Another photo please Dave! OK you little monkeys! Here’s one on Zen and the Art of Rowing Boat Maintenance. Never did finish that book.

We finished business and then I was free to walk, eat sleep and eat.

A bit too early for the bananas in the hotel garden.

And the lake was great. Apparently Prince Charles stayed in this hotel just across from where a load of guys were fishing. Oh lardy dah!

This looks like a Hindu shrine to a bloke who knows next to nothing about Hinduism.

And as a part of it is this much smaller object of worship, with a carving of Ganesha, the god of beginnings. I hope that he will look kindly on the beginning of our trek tomorrow.

The local guys were riveted by a game of chess, which was invented just down the road in India 1,400 years ago. How many centuries have lads from this village taken a queen across this table?

Below them on the bankside the anglers were out taking advantage of any pick up in feeding activity in the early evening. I’ve not seen owt caught yet.

I was melting in the heat. The sticky heat of late afternoon that pulls the sweat from ma wee baldy heed! But I wasn’t anywhere near as hot as these lads must be, playing football with speed and maximum commitment but no nastiness. It’s well up into the thirties centigrade.

The trees at lakeside must have seen centuries of toings and froings – phrase of the day. They are huge, solid and timeless. Amazing.

And, before I ate another great meal of lake fish and ginger sauce, the day ended over the far mountains at the head of the lake.

Night night.

Woke up, fell out of bed – but didn’t need Paul McCartney’s comb across my head. Breakfast in the hotel and then spent two hours deciding what I would leave in Kathmandu and what I would take on’t trek. Changed money, at the best price in town, picked up my bus ticket to Pokhara and went for a long walk. Lovely day. No monsoon.

This place is very eastern, but it’s difficult here in Thamel to work out what is traditional and what is for the tourists. Fifty fifty would be my assessment. This is a hotel reception. I didn’t realise that I’d capture myself on film, and yes they are swastikas above the door. Ancient symbols round here.

The roads are blooming awful. Blooming – I’m refraining from vile and abusive language. But not as bad as the electrics.

There aren’t many tourists at the moment, which is one of the reasons I chose now. The other one being that I’ll get back in time for the Liverpool home match. COYRAWW, meaning come on you red and white wizaaards! However the lack of targets means that I’m seen as one of the few cash cows for the local entrepreneurs and literally can’t walk ten seconds without being accosted. And they’re persistent. Two followed me for at least 15 minutes, trying to engage me in conversation. I was polite but in the end got so frustrated that I shouted at them ‘get lost if you don’t want to see me get nasty’. They went, no doubt with some amusement.

These shops are great but they have to be for tourists. Would a local buy a funny wooden mask?

Lunch was a burger with fries and then I worked my way back through bedlam to my hotel for a late afternoon snooze. The little box on the floor to the left in the photo below is a Hindu shrine. Lightly battered.

I know it’s indelibly tainted but the swastika does look good in some, more pleasant, contexts.

The fruit van’s here mum.

I thought we had a knife problem but there’s strange blokes with knives here too.

I had a great hour’s kip and up for dindins.

The roads were quieter for a while and I had hot and sour veg soup, tandoori chicken, flatbread stuffed with mashed potatoes and chilli, and a pint of Everest. Nine quid.

Then the walk back to the hotel. Dark and deserted but not creepy. Kathmandu feels safe. Love it.

Night night.

Back into rapping already.

So…..which is a rubbish thing that people say today to start the answer to a question or make a statement. So……good album by Peter Gabriel, used to have it on cassette. So….where am I going?

I’m in the capital of Nepal, Kathmandu. A legendary bolt hole for hippies in the past and still a very cool place to be if you like awful roads, massive traffic, incredible noise, being hassled by sellers, stalked by chancers and targeted by drug dealers. I was sorely tempted by the opium seller but I think it might be a bit more debilitating than the opioids I thought were rather good in hospital when I broke my head. Anyway he’d comatose me and nick my dosh. But it is wonderful here really, I love it so much for two days.

Tomorrow I’m up early for a bus at 7.30 to Pokhara, a lovely, peaceful place. The journey is 8 hours, not 5 hours 32 minutes as google suggests, and the road is poor but not too dodgy.

There I’m meeting the guide company, getting my trekking permits and meeting my new guide. On Friday we set off hopefully in a jeep for the start of the Manaslu Circuit trek. The drive should take 7 hours and the trek will take 14 days. More likely they’ll provide an old car or put us on local buses that take a long time to navigate the dirt tracks. With it being monsoon season the roads are difficult to pass in some areas. If you look at the map below in the bottom right you’ll see Arughat, where we’ll start walking. The trek follows the track north along the valley and round on the yellow footpath, up to the top left where we cross over Larkya La pass at 17,000 feet. Then down to join the Annapurna Circuit.

If you look at the map down below there is a thin green line that comes in to the Annapurna Circuit halfway down the map, on the right hand side between Tal and Chame. I’m coming down there at the end of the Manaslu Circuit, dropping off my guide and carrying on solo anti-clockwise, taking three days to reach Manang. There I’m going on that track to the left, almost due west for two days up to Tilicho Lake. I would love to continue westwards to Jomsom, which would take another two days, but sadly, on my own it’s too dangerous. However, I’m going to turn around and go back the way I came for 5 or 6 days to Besisahar in the south of the map. I’ll be able to vary the route, taking in some relatively remote Buddhist temples and villages.

That’s the plan kids. Let’s see how I get on. One footstep at a time. People here keep telling me that the Manaslu Circuit is tough. Let’s see if I wet my sleeping bag, bottle it and spend a month eating curry.

Night night.

Well, I’ve been thinking about this trip for months, with some trepidation and anticipation, across the nation from station to station. See – rapping is easy. Or was that hip hop? I know it wasn’t jungle or garage. Garbage, Basil says.

It started with a kiss, never thought it would come to this. Thanks Errol. God bless you if he, she or it exists. The kiss Errol referred to was a ‘goodbye, will miss you but see you later’ kiss from my missus, before Adam, my Leeds scum son in law, drove me away to the station. He’s a good lad, and really he’s a step up from scum; but Leeds nevertheless. I’d taken from my wallet an old schedule of trains. The chosen one was cancelled but I’d built in sufficient time to my busy schedule not to be concerned.

The flight from Manchester to Qatar was good. The best music selection of any airline I’ve ever been on. Qatar Airways rocks, or is it rock? Full albums of John Mayall, the Killers, Neil Young, Amy Winehouse, Led Zep and Tom Waits.

The connecting flight to Kathmandu was on time and flew across southern Iran and Pakistan. Two hours over bone dry desert, baking in the morning sun. Good job I wasn’t trekking it.

Within the space of a few minutes the landscape transformed from harsh desert to reasonably lush arable farming. This is the transformed land by the way so act suitably surprised at the photo. Say ‘oh my gosh’ or summat. It’s the valley of the Indus River.

Neil Young was on his second album and was asking Southern Man to free his head by the time I got my first glimpse of the Himalayas, surrounded by the monsoon cloud. Absolutely stunning. You need to look hard and look twice because the cloud is a brilliant disguise.

In the sunlight even the monsoon clouds looked fab.

It was raining when we landed in Kathmandu, only 20 hours after I left home. But the visa queue was horrendous and took another hour and a half to get through. Anything more than 30 days was difficult visa-wise and a bit pricey. By chance the day I landed to the day I left was 30 days. Still $50 but that’s ok and necessary. I thought the visa was a month rather than 30 days. That made it tight!

The taxi struggled through the rush hour, a mad cacophony of bikes, scooters, mobikes, taxis and trucks, randomly appearing from every angle. The noise of hooting was deafening. Eventually we arrived at the hotel, a basic but decent place in the middle of the tourist area of Thamel. I dived into my shower and emerged cleansed. Well, physically anyway.

I remembered these streets and walked to a courtyard covered against the rain, not too far away from the hotel.

Tandoori chicken and mashed potato Nepal style, with Gorkha beer. Heavenly.

…the innocent sleep.

Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,

The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath.

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,

Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

Night night.

We had a lazy morning, with breakfast on a bench outside the campsite communal kitchen, which was only used by me and Georgie. Leaving the tent and rucksacks behind I wanted to explore more of the Ile de Brehat with G, so we walked down to the ferry terminal, had a coffee and took a crossing. The weather was great and the flowers on the island were at their peak.

Stopping at the little supermarket on the island we bought a picnic and ate well for next to nowt really. And then a grand tour on foot and a bit of ‘one on one’ cairn building, which was fun.

It was a decent 10k walk in a fantastic, clean and fresh environment. No litter, no plastic on the beaches and no pollution. 

​Before we knew it, it was time to go back and pick up a roast chicken from the van that visited the campsite. Fantabuloso.

And a half-decent night’s sleep to look forward to. Night, night. 

When we woke the early morning was already getting warm. We’d decided to stay again at the site but to push on the GR34 to Loguivy, a town along the coast, and then come back for a quick journey tomorrow morning to Paimpol and, by train, to Brest. 

It was a great decision as we could walk and enjoy the scenery. And of course do skimmers on the sea. 

Whilst walking on the path Georgie played a brilliant playlist on her phone and we lightheartedly danced in the warm sun. Hendrix, Talking Heads, Queen, Beach Boys (Pet Sounds), Stone Roses, Cream….. etc etc. 

Loguivy was great in the St Ives – type light and we ate there at a little cafe, serving beautiful and simple pasta. 

On the way back the views were as fantastic as on the way out!

Well, that’s it folks. We had a rough time under canvas last night as a strong wind battered the tent and we both took refuge under Wilson, securing him down with rocks on the key points. Today was about traveling to Brest quickly on the train and getting some sleep in a nice hotel. Tomorrow we’re flying back to London Sarfend and up by train to Leeds. I’ll blog for you on the next trek my friends. 

I know I’m usually a loner but I’m also a very lucky man. In the last nine months I’ve had some great holidays with my missus and trekked with all three of my kids. It’s been a Gas. Goodnight Irene.

A la prochaine.

Love Dave. X

Up early. Me and Georgie are up the coast today round the GR34 to a campsite on a hill above Arcouest, the ferry terminal where I went three days ago, and tomorrow we’ll go over to the island and back in a day. I don’t mind covering old ground. It’s a great coast and there’s always something new. I’ve got to walk continuously from John O’Groats to Tunis but it doesn’t mean that I can’t show my kids places that I’ve been. It’s a privilege that they take time off work to be with me.

I like eating wild plants and stuff and there was a nasturtium just outside the campsite. The seeds were too spicy but the flowers were pretty good.  

We made good time up to Paimpol and had coffee and apple juice at my mate’s place. Then we cut up the main road and turned off on a track to the east coast and to pick up the GR34 again. On the backwhacks there were some beautiful old houses. Very old.

Georgie had brought good weather with her. At last. 

We came to a tiny fishing port with a warehouse holding oysters, mussels, lobsters and loads of other seafood. There was a restaurant across the road that cooked this stuff and we had the best mussels I have ever had. Georgie too. Reasonable price, best sauces ever and perfect, sweet  little mussels. With the best chips. It’s spoilt us for mussels in the future. But brilliant. We looked over the back of the restaurant down to the waterside and there was a seawater pool with crates of oysters cleaning off. And a cage system for growing them just beyond it in the sea.

This coast is a factory farm!

After lunch we carried on down the GR but it was hard work after a bellyful and we were both loaded up.



The coast was getting lovelier and we were surprised how quick it is to lose your full appreciation of amazing views. Stop and think. Wow! 

We eventually made it to our campsite and it was the best on this trip. Difficult to find a better one I think. This is the view from our pitch.

We had brought food with us but hoped to get bread on site. We were wrong. Oh dear. The nearest boulangerie was a 5km round trip. Another walk. But the bread was worth it and after a decent dinner in the sun we got an early night.

Night night.