A Year In Motion

Back in Johannesburg, well almost. Thanks to Francois, who we met on the plane from Dubai to Jo’burg, we are staying in a guesthouse in Pretoria which is about 50km north of Johannesburg. Our next game is against Spain in Ellis Park in Johannesburg on 21 June, mid-winter’s day (or mid-summer depending on where you’re reading). And as it’s the solstice, we’re sensing a little magic in the air, and hoping that Honduras can produce a stunning victory and send the Spanish home early.

Tonight’s game is in Johannesburg, and not the nicest part of town either. When we left the Mbombela stadium in Nelspruit, we were waiting about two hours before we could get on a bus to the park and ride station. Tonight’s game is at 8:30pm, and the temperature will be around 5 degrees, so we don’t want to be hanging around in a bad part of town for two hours at midnight. So Francois (our personal travel tipster) has recommended a Portuguese restaurant near the stadium which serves good food, and provides secure parking just 10 minutes walk from the stadium.

We had heard about Johannesburg traffic being crazy, and it is. Kick-off is at 8:30pm, and leaving Sandton City at 5:30pm to drive the 10km to the stadium seems like we may not make it in time. Finally, we get on the main highway (M1) that cuts through Jozi, and we can relax a little. We are happy that we changed our rental car today to one that has a GPS. Travelling round the countryside with a map is fine, but don’t attempt Jo’burg without a GPS unless you wish to donate your car to charity, or your head to frustration.

A lot of the roads around the stadium are closed for the match, but luckily the detour leads us right to the restaurant, the Boa Pinga. We ring the bell so that the staff press the button to unlock the metal door so that we can enter. Once inside, the cook tells us she has forgotten the key for the secure carpark. We’re in a bit of a dilemma, but after consulting almost everyone in the bar restaurant, they advise us to park the car on the pavement at the restaurant door and pay the watchman 5 Rand to look after it. Because the restaurant is staying open until after the match, it will be ok. If not, consider the wheels on your car gone – a Johannesburg parking fee. I pay the watchman 10 Rand, and promise him 10 more after the game. Ninfa’s not so confident, and is impatient to get to the game, but I try to convince her that it’ll work out.

So we order some grilled chicken and some Mozambiquan beer to get in the mood. Meanwhile, we take it in turns to go to the toilet and add at least three layers of clothing. In India, I foolishly posted my fleece jumper home thinking that an African winter is bound to be like a European summer. By day, yes; by night – where’s my fleece?! There’s a cheap clothing chain-store in South Africa called PEP, and we each bought gloves and hats and for me long-johns! In high spirits, and warm clothes, we walk to the stadium through the hilly, bungalow streets lined with street vendors in the entirely black neighbourhoods surrounding Ellis Park. We share a bottle of South African sparkling wine on the way (South African wine is good quality and available at bargain prices), already celebrating what we are confident will be a resounding Honduran victory.

By the time we enter the stadium, it’s almost 7:30pm, and the atmosphere is bubbling, as are we. There are TV crews filming Spanish fans in matador costumes, and we wave our huge Honduras flag in front of them like a red rag to a raging bull (a quite jovial bull to be fair). It’s not long until we meet some old faces from the first game in Nelspruit, and we start partying and singing various songs like “Adios Espana!” (Bye-bye Spain), and “Matador d’Espana, Honduras!” (Spain-killers, Honduras!). Loads of the fans from both sides are gathering round and taking photos and joining in, and the atmosphere is electric.

About 15 minutes before kick-off, we take our seats. We’re on the centre-circle around 8 rows from the front – the view is amazing. As is the noise! At pitch-level, the vuvuzelas echo around the stadium and crash in a crescendo of noise on the pitch. It’s true, it’s impossible for players and managers to communicate. Just before the teams come out, and half-way through typing a text message, someone bumps against me on the steps and my phone falls out of my hand. I see it in a crowd of feet, and making my way towards it, someone accidentally kicks it, and now the teams come out, and nobody cares and I don’t even know if I do anymore. But it’s a frustrating side-show to the main act taking place on the pitch.

And this is it, Honduras’ moment at the World Cup. With nothing to lose, the players and fans bellow out the national anthem and the game kicks off at a frantic tempo. Twenty minutes in, and just in front of us, David Villa beats two players, turns inside another and nestles the ball in the top corner of Noel’s net. It’s a goal worthy of a World Cup final. Spain are in the ascendancy, but Honduras, courtesy of a few changes in personnel and notably the return of talismanic striker David Suazo, are giving as good as they get. In the second half, David Villa hits a shot from the edge of the area which takes a deflection and loops over Noel for goal number two. A few minutes later, and Spain have a penalty. David Villa, who is perhaps lucky to still be on the pitch after raising his arm to a Honduran defender in the first half, steps up to take the kick. It looks like he’s used all his luck, as the penalty flies wide, and it’s as if Honduras scored a goal.

Spain continue to play best, but Honduras are full of fight and are no pushover, but give Spain a good contest for the rest of the game. It’s a brilliant night, and it’s all clear that it’s not winning, but taking part that is most important. It’s a terrific achievement for Honduras to be at the World Cup, and such a wonderful moment to see them play a part in such an historic occasion. And for us to be there to watch it, is a feeling money can’t buy. The final whistle blows, and our only criticism of the Honduras team is that for the second game running, the team doesn’t come to applaud the fans. But they’ll come in the third game.

After the game, we search in vain for my phone, and walk back to Boa Pinga, where we have a few coffees before hitting the road back to Pretoria along the wide, deserted highways.

World Cup Lingo – Lesson 4

Shopshop – fine, good. Eg Question: “How is everything with you?” Answer: “Shopshop.”

Yaw – This word, commonly used by the Dublin rugby classes and the English royal family, is the Afrikaans word for “yes”

Robot – a traffic light. Eg, Person 1: “How do I get to Jozi?” Person 2: “When you see the second robot, turn right.” Person 1: “Have you been drinking?”

Ayoba – a greeting used for exciting or great occasions, such as World Cup 2010

One of the great things about the World Cup in South Africa is the fact that we have added a wonderful country to our round-the-world itinerary, and the fixture list will bring us to parts of the country that we would not have independently selected to visit. Nelspruit is based in the north-east of South Africa, only 50km from the entrance to the Kruger Park, home to the Big 5 of the animal kingdom. When we left Nelspruit, we headed straight for Kruger. Kruger is the same size as Israel or Wales, and is an unrestricted animal reserve which hugs the Mozambiquan border, joining another massive park on the other side of the frontier.

We bought a basic permit to drive through the park along the network of tarred and gravel roads, as far as the Pretoriuskoop camp in the reserve, where we would be spending the night. Rules are strict in Kruger – never leave the marked roads, never get out of your car, and get into camp or out of the park by 5:30pm. Winter in this part of South Africa is sunny during the day, dry, and cold at night. As there is little vegetation on the trees, it’s an ideal time to see wildlife. The first river crossing we came to greeted us with a wonderful sight of a mother elephant with two of her young, eating grass on the riverbank and spraying water out of their trunks. Beautiful! I had my eyes on the road, and Ninfa was tasked with spotting the animals in the surroundings. Not long after, we were less than 20 metres from a white rhinoceros. This animal weighs around 2.5 tonnes, and luckily, doesn’t eat meat. In fact, it has more to fear from us, as a lot of them are hunted by poachers for their horns which are a prized ingredient in Chinese medicine as well as barbaric trophy cabinets. Further on, in a rush to get to camp before closing time, we frightened a couple of giraffes on the side of the road. Only three hours into our first experience, we were both agreed that safari is unlike anything we’ve ever done before, and thoroughly addictive.

That night, we took a park-organised tour, and asides from almost freezing to death, saw a host of other animals. This time, it was my turn to play spotter with a spotlight on the side of the open-air truck. We came upon a huge here of buffalo, saw rhinos in the distance, elephants, rhinos and numerous other small predators. Alas, no sign of lions, and by the time our driver got an alert, it was almost hometime. It turns out that the lions had been just outside our camp, but by the time we got back they were gone.

The next day, we set out again, and this time saw zebras, waterbuck (like large deer), impalas everywhere (like springboks), an amazing sight of a herd of elephants where a male elephant with huge tusks pushed a dead tree out of the ground with his trunk, as well as a lake with eagles flying overheads, rhinos surging through the water and stretching their huge jaws, and a lone crocodile floating ominously through the water. Again, no lions and where seconds earlier a group had seen a leopard on the side of the road, we saw a warthog come running across the road in front of us. Safari is a question of luck. On the same stretch of road, you could see everything, and half an hour later see nothing. The roads cut through a tiny portion of the wilderness, yet you can never be sure of what is around the corner.

We left Kruger and stayed a night in a town to the west of the park called Sabie. Sabie is a pretty, lazy, little town at the fringe of the South African escarpment. The majority of South Africa is situated on a high plateau approximately 1,500 metres in altitude. Just north of Sabie, the plateau ends and plunges down to the “lowveld” and the Kruger National Park. The scenery is stunning as the mountains end and high cliffs look over the savannah plains in the distance. One of the famous views is called God’s Window, and it’s really breathtaking.

Nearby is a town called Pilgrim’s Rest, which appears frozen in time. The town was important until the 1970s as a mining centre for gold, and you can still pan for gold in the river near there. The town looks straight out of the Wild West with corrugated tin cottages, and old-style saloons strung out along the sleepy streets. We stocked up on some delicious macadamia nuts, before driving further north to the Blyde River Canyon. The canyon cuts along the edge of the escarpment and provides more beautiful scenery of Africa. We stopped off at one location called Bourke’s Luck Potholes, named after a man who struck gold here near the natural whirlpools which have shaped the rock where the Blyde River joins the Treur River. What is most amazing, is that while you visit the site, just nearby the baboons play in the grass, and multi-coloured birds fly around jumping from one rock to the next.

Our final stop in the Blyde River Canyon was the viewing site over the Three Rondavels. The 3 Rondavels are three peaks which resemble traditional African dwellings which the Voortrekker (Dutch explorers) name rondavels. We watched the sun set over the lowveld and drove on to a nearby village to stay the night. There was no room at the inn, so we ended up driving another 30 minutes before staying the night in a remote chalet in a nondescript village called Ohrigstad. They don’t get a lot of tourists here, but the people were hospitable, as everywhere in South Africa so far. Tomorrow, it is back to Johannesburg, and preparation for game number two – Spain versus Honduras.

World Cup Lingo – Lesson 3

Bafana bafana – literally “boys boys”, also the nickname of the South African football team

Banyana banyana – literally “girls girls”, also the nickname of the South African ladies football team

Sabuwona – pronounced “Sabona”, which is Zulu for hello

Laaaaakduuuummmmmaaaa! – goaaaallllll!

As Anoop the car rental guy at Capital Car Hire said before we left Jozi (Jo’burg, Johannesburg), the only place to fear the crime is in the big city. And despite passing one sign for a Hijacking Hotspot en route, we became a lot more at ease. It’s funny that in conversation with a few South Africans, they generally blamed the English media for creating too much hype about the risk. I have a feeling that there is sometimes a little lighthearted animosity towards the British given the history of the Boer War, so they’re generally singled out first. On the other hand, we felt very much at ease in laid back Nelspruit, a small city in north-eastern South Africa.

On the night before the match, we ended up in a bar/ restaurant venue called Jock & Java. It was packed with Chilean supporters in boisterous form, and it was a great atmosphere in the bar. After a while waving our Honduras flags, we went for some food in the restaurant. There was a large group of young South Africans sitting at a table, and when they saw us enter with all our colour, they called us over and asked us to join them for dinner. After meeting Francois on the plane, and now Alec, Roz, Brett, Gavin, Warren and all the others, we were liking South Africa more and more. What we had planned to be a quiet meal turned into a long singing session with our new mates, the Honduran minority and the crazy Chileans and a TV crew clearly enjoying the occasion. I was only 13 when I was at Ireland’s first World Cup in Italy, but I clearly remember the days and nights of singing and celebrating, and the party atmosphere where fans from all sides can share the same space, and share a great time in the right spirit. And that is what is best about the World Cup. So far we were enjoying it, and the hosts were doing an outstanding job too.

On the morning of 16 June 2010, we set off to the Mbombela stadium in Nelspruit, where Honduras would play in their first World Cup match in 28 years, against Chile. We thought Chile represented Honduras’ best chance of obtaining a victory in the group, and so we were optimistic about our chances of a winning start. Neither Chile nor Honduras had a large travelling support, and of the 32 group games, admittedly the fixture was probably not the one that would catch the general public’s imagination, so we didn’t know how much of the 48,000 capacity stadium would be empty. As it happened, it was full of local South Africans, outnumbering Hondurans and Chileans by at least two to one. That meant, you guessed it, lots of vuvuzelas! The noise before kick-off was deafening. As the Chile team were based in the Nelspruit area, the local neutrals had converted to Chile en masse, or as one placard put it: “Nelspruit is hot with Chillies!”. After a freezing night before, we were now sitting in 30 degree sunshine – South African winter is summer by day, and winter by night!

But back to the action. There was a fair degree of tension and pre-match nerves on both sides of supporters which prevented us from being able to enjoy the occasion 100%. And it looked like the nerves were spilling out onto the pitch also, but unfortunately only on the Honduran side, as Chile proceeded to dominate proceedings, with Honduras’ keeper Noel proving to be the outstanding performer. But even he was unable to stop Chile taking a deserved lead on 38 minutes with a deflected goal from a well-worked move by Chile just in front of where we were seated. While the referee denied Honduras a blatant penalty straight after half-time, sadly the second half only brought more Chilean domination, and Noel worked miracles to keep Honduras just a goal behind. Despite being given a lifeline, Honduras never sparked and Chile won comfortably much to the delight of the majority of the crowd.

That night, hosts South Africa were playing Uruguay in their second group game of the tournament. We went to the 30,000 capacity Fan Fest in Nelspruit to watch the game with the South African locals. The pre-match atmosphere was great with a DJ on stage keeping the crowd warm despite the now freezing temperature. I really like the new South African anthem, so it was a special moment when the vuvuzelas finally quietened and the crowd sang out Nkosi Sikelele Africa. In fact, the national anthem almost got as enthusiastic rendition as the Coca Cola song for this World Cup (oh oh oh oh oh!) which is fast becoming the World Cup anthem, and the feelgood song synonymous with the tournament. Sadly, results weren’t going our way that day, and after Uruguay went a goal up, we decided to go back to the campsite and watch the rest of the game there from the relative comfort of our cold room, but heavily blanketed beds. Uruguay beat 10-man South Africa 3-0, leaving both South Africa and Honduras with an uphill battle to qualify for the next round.

A bad day results-wise, but that’s football. As the oft-quoted TV slogan goes; “Feel it, it is here!”

World Cup Lingo – Lesson 2

Heita – hi, hello

Ehsh – oh damn!

Feel it, it is here – pronounced “feel eet, eet ees he-ah!” To be said at any opportunity, and preferably at least once in every conversation

Qualification for the World Cup is rarely straightforward and carries its fair share of defeats, but fortunately a greater number of victories. And so it was for us on our road from Delhi in India to Johannesburg, and World Cup 2010 in South Africa. Our flight with Ethiopian Airlines was scheduled to leave Delhi at 2am in the morning with 2 hours in Addis Ababa to connect to Johannesburg. The last kilometre in the taxi to Delhi airport took around 30 minutes but we arrived at the airport around 11:30pm. Security only let you into the airport 3 hours before your flight, so we were surprised when we were refused entry. The soldier told us our flight was delayed until 6am. Not only did this mean an uncomfortable night in the airport, but missing our connection (the one daily flight to South Africa from Ethiopia) and possibly Honduras’ first game against Chile. Having booked with Ethiopian, we knew there was an element of risk, so we had researched alternatives before we left our hotel earlier that day. So we went to the Ethiopian Airlines office and asked them if they would rebook us. They were very helpful to us, as they had received an instruction from their HQ to take the unusual step of rerouting World Cup travellers on other airlines. It took a few hours to organise as all other airlines were overbooked due to World Cup demand, but in the end we got booked on an Emirates flight through Dubai leaving at 4:15am and arriving only a few hours later than originally planned in Johannesburg.

We were delighted with our new itinerary, as Emirates are renowned for comfort in all classes. Before I board a long-haul flight crossing several time-zones, I always plan to sleep, but these days the in-flight entertainment is too good to waste the journey sleeping. On our second flight to Johannesburg, we were seated beside a gentleman wearing a South Africa football shirt. We soon struck up a conversation with Francois and he proceeded to fill us in on everything to see and do in South Africa, as well as insisting that we call him anytime during our stay for advice. We took note to accept his offer as it seemed genuine.

So finally we arrived in Johannesburg, where we had arranged an airport pick-up with the same company who were renting us the campervan which we had booked for the duration of our 4 weeks in South Africa. 90 minutes later, our pick-up still hadn’t arrived. Finally, I got in touch with the company, Wicked Campers, who told us that due to a lorry-drivers strike, our campervan wasn’t ready and that the van was currently somewhere in Botswana. As we had planned to sleep in the van that night, this was obviously a slight problem. The company was so stretched for vans, that they had had to rent the airport pick-up van. After a long evening at the rental office in freezing cold temperatures (remember, we had left a 45 degree plus Delhi), we were placed in alternative accommodation and told to come back the next morning for the van. When I got back the next morning, there was still no van, so I asked for a full refund (and got it) and went to the airport to rent a new car.

All the car rental offices at the airport are in a line one after the other, and it was in this order that I learned from each of the crowded offices, that there were no more cars for rent. Honduras were kicking off their World Cup 2010 in 28 hours time, in a city 350km away, so the tension was mounting. Finally, in the second last office, there was a car, one car left, the last in Johannesburg airport. I took it, and at a price less than 50% of what our camper van was originally going to cost. After a little phone work, we also had accommodation in Nelspruit, our first World Cup game city. In total, the car rental and self-catering accommodation were going to cost less than the daily rate of our campervan. We quickly came to realise that our van being in Botswana was a blessing in disguise, especially as camping in freezing conditions is something the most die-hard camper is bound to frown upon.

And so we set off eating a KFC takeaway in our stereoless VW TenaCiti (like a 1980′s VW Golf) on the road to Nelspruit trying to get there before dark in case we’d be carjacked (we had been listening to too much negative press).

The road to qualification takes many unexpected twists, and what seems like an omen of misfortune, can soon turn out to be exactly what you wished for. The important thing is getting there, and get there we did.

PS We didn’t have any blog posts from our two weeks in India, a result both of the tiring heat and the amount of time needed to organise our trip around Rajasthan. We have written some posts but will publish them after the World Cup.

PPS In our World Cup posts, we will share a little bit of South African slang and World Cup lingo to help you feel a part of the events at home. So here’s lesson 1!

World Cup Lingo – Lesson 1

Makarapa – a construction-workers hat, cut up into crazy shapes and painted with your teams colours. Huge lens-less spectacles are often taped to them – essential South African football fan headgear.

Vuvuzela – if you haven’t goa a makaraka, you have to have a vuvuzela. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, it’s part of South African football, and therefore part of World Cup 2010.

Jozi – Johannesburg

Jo’burg – Johannesburg

When we were putting our itinerary together before we left, we intended to review cultural highlights in each of our planned destinations, and try to coincide our visits with them as much as possible. That idea was a good one, but it never happened. In the end, our two determining factors were hitting the World Cup in South Africa and missing the Monsoon in Asia. Despite this, we totally aced our trip to Tibet and Nepal, coinciding as it did in Lhasa with one of the most important days of the Buddhist Saga Dawa festival, and then in Nepal with the 15th and final day of that festival, the Buddha’s Birthday.

Having recovered from the apocalyptic scene that welcomed us our first night in Kathmandu, we set out to discover the centre of the city on foot. I have a friend from Nepal (Ravin) who told me that in Nepal, the same person celebrates both Buddhist and Hindu festivals. But neither of us expected the richness of religious culture that we saw in Kathmandu.

Walking from Thamel, down to Durbar Square was a wonderful experience. There were people selling fresh mangoes from huge baskets on their bicycles, shops selling all possible colours of sarees, and women weaving orange flower garlands, while sacred cows lay chewing the leftover leaves behind the vegetable-sellers. Every few steps along the street was a temple to the Hindu god Ganesh, covered in red paint as signs of worship, or Buddhist stupas painted with the ever-watching Buddha’s eyes.

And then Durbar Square. Durbar Square is breathtaking. Durbar (meaning royal in Hindi) is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and it is home to the (former) Royal Palace and numerous Hindu temples, as well as to the only living goddess in the Hindu religion, the Kumari. A man approached us and offered us some information, and then proposed to guide us around the square. The classic Nepalese guide’s line is “you pay as much as you like”. But I negotiated a flat sum of 400NRps, and told him that was the price if I liked it, and I’d prefer to like it. It turned out to be money really well spent. For two hours, Prakash explained the history of the square, the 1960s hippie movement in Kathmandu, and a thoroughly interesting account of Hindu religion and its principal deities. Finally, he also brought us to the temple of the Kumari.

The Kumari is unique in Hinduism, and unique to Kathmandu. She is an incarnation of Kali, who is the war face of the Hindu Goddess of Destruction, Parvati. Every few years, a new incarnation of the goddess is chosen. The goddess must meet certain criteria – such as the colour of her hair, her eyes, and she must be between 3 and 5 at the time of selection. In addition, the child must never have shed blood. The successful candidates are then brought to the temple of Kali, and listen to scriptures and interviewed, and then made witness the sacrifice of live animals. The goddess Kali would never cry or shy away from such scenes, as she is the goddess of destruction, and so the tests continue until only the true incarnation remains standing. The new goddess will remain until she reaches her first adolescence or otherwise sheds blood, at which point, a new incarnation will be identified.

The current Kumari is around 5 years old and only appears for a few moments every day, and it is forbidden to take her photo. She only leaves her temple 13 times a year on specific festivals. I went along to see her. After a few minutes, she appeared at her window on the first floor overlooking the enclosed courtyard of her beautifully ornate wooden temple to, as our guide Prakash said, “admire her devotees, and let them admire her”. Everyone must pay her respect by bowing and saying “Namaste”, the traditional Hindu greeting. For a few moments, she looked at me, and Prakash exclaimed “she is looking at you very beautifully, she is blessing you!”.

So with a feeling of blessing, we parted company with Prakash. He wasn’t an official guide, but he was a great guide. Durbar Square costs 300NRps for an unlimited pass for foreigners for the duration of your stay. It’s a living piece of history, not a museum, but still packed with the markets, sacred cows and bustling activity of its heyday. It is infinitely interesting. One of its more quirky charms is the temple to Shiva (or Vishnu, I forget) which is decorated with erotic carvings. Unfortunately, it stands within eyesight of the God of Bachelors (as in celibates). This god will lose all his powers should he ever witness an illicit act. And for that reason, his statue in Durbar Square is covered from head to toe with red gowns, and over his face, a mass of red and orange wax covers him, so that although sheltered and blind, he remains, like the Kumari, pure and divine.

The next day, we set out to discover more of Kathmandu’s religious riches. Our first stop was Boudhanath Stupa, the largest stupa in Kathmandu, and a towering edifice it is. Today (27 May) was Buddha’s 2554th Birthday, which is in fact the anniversary of the date on which Buddha achieved Enlightenment. The stupa was crowded with people, performing their kora around the stupa. In little temples nearby, monks were singing and playing music. It was a real celebration. A procession also did circuits around the stupa, providing us with a glimpse of the full regalia (fringed hat’s, horns and parasols) of the Buddhist clergy. At different points, a helicopter would hover low overhead and shower the faithful with small prayer flags and palms. It was a sea of colour and a fantastic atmosphere.

From there, we converted, and went to the nearby Hindu shrine of Pashupatinath, the holiest Hindu shrine in Nepal. This shrine is home to a silver temple dedicated to Shiva, and fronted by a massive golden bull, Shiva’s steed. Entrance is permitted only to Hindus, but a local approached us and gave us some advice on the areas we were allowed to visit. Not long after, we saw him preparing to cross our path, no doubt to offer to be our guide. In the end, he sounded convincing and we agreed to pay him 200Nrps for a half-hour tour. Bikash turned out to be worth every penny (all of €2.50 – he was worth far more). Pashupatinath is home to many sadhu priests, as well as a number of sacred animals – in Hindu religion, the dogs, cows, oxen and monkeys are all sacred thanks to deeds they have done to help the gods, and there are monkeys everywhere here. Another thing we didn’t know is that Pashupatinath is built along the banks of a sacred river, and as such is home to cremation ghats. Bikash described the traditions to us; the fact that certain family members have certain roles, the amount of wood used, the stages in the preparation, and the requirement for the cremation to take place within 24 hours of the death and in public, underlying the Hindu belief that a human life is but a breath of air in the journey of reincarnation and far-off eternal rest. We watched the ceremony and the family’s grief. It’s a pitiful and fascinating sight, and attracts many local onlookers. There are several ghats which are organised according to caste and status. Bikash also pointed out the Royal Ghat, where so many of the royal family were cremated after their massacre in 2001, without post mortem, leaving a wound that still festers for Bikash and countless other Nepalese.

Later that night we went to another Buddhist landmark at Swayambhunath, commonly known as the Monkey Temple. It is home to a splendid golden stupa, and tonight to thousands of Buddhist pilgrims. There were candles, pilgrims and sightseers everywhere. But it was a little too crowded, and on a much more limited space than the Boudhhanath Stupa, so we left after a short while. Still, it was an amazing day, and we were really lucky to have witnessed some of the most fundamental rituals in both the Buddhist and Hindu faith. For some reason we hadn’t expected so much from Nepal, and it really surpassed our expectations.

The next day, we left Kathmandu for one of its sister cities, Patan. During a medieval feud, the area around Kathmandu actually held three separate kingdoms. Each had a Durbar Square, and each competed on its ability to be more beautiful than the other. Patan’s Durbar Square employs a different architecture, and its purely subjective to say which square is most beautiful. A real bonus in Patan is the restaurant we were recommended by our hotel. Patandoka did not have a lot of Nepalese food on the menu, so we weren’t sure, but when we went in, the waiter offered to have a traditional Nepalese menu made for us. We accepted. In the peaceful courtyard, we felt miles away from the frenetic activity. We kicked back and ordered some cocktails, made with local Nepalese ingredients such as mango and sweet lime. The momo, vegetarian and buffalo, were melt in the mouth, served with a delicious spicy achar. It was our best meal in weeks, and I’d go back there in a flash.

In fact, I’d go back to Kathmandu in a flash. It’s a crazy city and very disorganised. There is constant noise of horns beeping, and you have to watch your step not to get knocked down by a taxi or a rickshaw in Thamel. And then there’s the touts and hawkers. And the country’s in a bad state, let down by its politicians. When we were there, strikes had taken place just a few weeks before, and a two-year political negotiation deadline between the Maoists and the rest seemed destined to pass without success. The military presence on the street was building, and people sat on bus-tops flying Maoist flags. Yet it just didn’t tally with the Nepalese man on the street, who was smiling and relaxed, nodding his head from shoulder to shoulder, just getting on with the power blackouts and the near-misses with taxi-bumpers on the narrow streets.

I was told by my Nepalese friend Ravin that I cannot say I’ve been to Nepal if I didn’t visit Pokhara. I didn’t visit Pokhara, so I guess I haven’t been to Nepal. But I’ve been to Kathmandu, where so much is condensed into a small space, it’s amazing. If Pokhara and the rest of Nepal makes it better, well it’s an amazing place. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but mine, it sure is. Highly recommended!

PS Photos are uploaded in Photos > Asia > Nepal
PPS Radisson Kathmandu has the fastest upload speeds I’ve ever seen (like lightning) – very blogger friendly.

When we left Everest Base Camp, we started retracing our steps back the way we had come, but only for a few kilometres. Then DuTsi, our driver, hung a left onto what only he recognised as a road. What followed was three hours of off-road through an immense wilderness in the Himalayas. We must have travelled for a full hour without seeing a village, or hamlet as they are signposted around here. Occasionally, we passed a few disinterested yaks, or a shepherd and his flock, but for the most, it was just us, our jeep, and hopefully a driver who knew where he was going. We finally got to the road, and drove on until we again climbed to over 5,000 metres at our final pass in Tibet, and a glorious panorama of the Himalayas. Everest again eluded us, refusing to reveal itself but at base camp.

The final stretch to Friendship Bridge, aka the Tibet (China) – Nepal border, led us down from 5,000 to 2,000 metres and through a lush, verdant (and oxygenated!) valley with sheer drops of at least 500 metres to the river below. The final stretches as we reached the border town of Zhangmu were still under construction, and lorries squeezed past us, leaving us with only inches to spare from an even speedier descent.

The border town of Zhangmu was equally chaotic. Road works everywhere, single-lane traffic at a busy border crossing, and neither border official or roadworker bothering to attempt to direct traffic. We eventually got to the bottom and bid farewell to DuTsi and BaTse. BaTse gave us a gift of a white scarf to wish us well. We passed through border control, and managed to keep our copy of the Lonely Planet China book hidden from the border guard. He was looking for it hard, and must have a good idea of where he will spend his holidays in India and Southern Africa. Through the checks, we were on the edge of the Friendship Bridge where a large plaque informs you of its history. But impatient Chinese military ensure that no-one has time to read it. Halfway across the bridge, there’s a red line, and that marks the point where you cross, not only into another country, but another world. Welcome to Nepal!

First impressions of Kodari, the Nepalese border town, are lasting. We snaked through the lines of lorries parked on all sides of the road. A few border soldiers sat on the side of the street and did their best to ignore us. A few hundred metres down the street, a sign above a door reads “Immigration”, but there’s no obligation other than your own good sense to actually enter through it. In Kodari, you could walk straight into Nepal and no-one would bat an eyelid, not even the goats on the shed-rooves. We thought we’d buy one anyway. You have several choices of currency in which to pay your visa in Nepal although US dollars ($25) or Nepalese Rupee are the cheapest.

After Immigration, we checked out transport. There were no shortage of people to advise us, and we soon figured out that we had missed the bus to Kathmandu. We knew that a taxi could bring us for 3,000NRps (€35), so we jumped into one as soon as we had haggled the driver down from hs starting price of 8,000. We jumped in a 5-seater pick-up truck with Laure and Adam and a load of toilet roll in the back. The driver put on some loud music, Tibetan apparently, and proceeded to beep his horn to the rhythm as we drove along the winding, climbing, dropping, bumpy, rocky road down the spectacular Nyalam valley. We overtook on bends, hills, anywhere there was a gap the width of a piece of paper. But the lack of seatbelts couldn’t stop our enjoyment of the valley, watching groups of boys fishing with nets, a lone fisherman on a huge rock in the middle of the river, rope bridges across plunging drops, schoolchildren returning home seated on the roof of the school bus, all under a warm sunshine and tropical surroundings. We would stop occasionally – our driver got a can of Red Bull, drank it in one long go, and then threw the can out the window into this Eden as naturally as he’d wipe sweat off his brow. There were as many checkpoints in Nepal, as in China, but for the majority, our driver just overtook the cars in the queue, and called “Tourists” as he left the soldiers in his wake. The only other stops were when Ninfa had to heed the call of nature as she wasn’t feeling well. After one near escape when overtaking on a bend, our driver jovially quipped “Toilet?!”. He was deservedly pleased with himself at this bit of wit, and we were pleased there was a load of toilet roll in the back. I was loving every minute, although seemed to be alone in this category as Ninfa and the others were coming to an alternative assessment.

It’s 180km from the border to Kathmandu, or around 5 hours. While the first three hours were enjoyable (for me), the last two were tough. We had spent about 8 hours a day in jeeps for the previous two days, and were now into the same phase of day 3. We had now left the valley, and were in the continuous street that forms the last two hours to central Kathmandu.

What we had not realised, until we arrived in Kathmandu, is that Nepal’s electricity company has a policy of “loadshedding”. Do not ask me to define the term, but the net result is that electricity comes and goes, and it is rare to see a streetlight working. So the last two hours of the journey, were through darkness and thick clouds of dust along roadworks passing for streets. All of a sudden, out of the dust, you’d see a pedestrian in the middle of the road. Or by lack of luck, pull alongside a bus just in time to inhale its thick black diesel fumes. And the noise … incessant. The Indian trucks on the road are covered in colourful decoration and slogans such as “Handsome Highwayman”, but all of them are backed by “Horn Please”, clarifying once and for all that indicators are not deemed fit for use in Nepal, but ultimately a flawed invention when compared to their audible relative.

And so it was that we parted company with our driver in Thamel, the backpacker’s district of Nepal, into a dark maze of streets with candlelit shopfronts, narrow streets bustling with bicycle rickshaws, streetsellers and minicabs. In hindsight, if we had known what to expect, we would have reserved something in advance, as an absence of street signs, no map, and a constant attention from hawkers is not exactly what you look forward to after an 8 hour journey. I had been gasping for a beer since the border, and quenched my thirst with a bottle of Everest. In Nepal, bottles of beer are 660ml, and the country has many breweries. We decided to check out our options on the internet. Ninfa researched, I walked and checked out the properties. The standard of accommodation in Thamel is not great. Add in the fact that the power is out in most places, and therefore no elevators, and a heat of +20C after our sub-zero night at Everest, and we were wrecked. Having exhausted all our options without success, Ninfa finally found a hotel in the centre of Thamel. We haggled a decent price, checked in, lit the candles, and fell into a deep sleep.

We witnessed something majestic: the peak of Mt. Everest, the highest mountain in the world at 8848.32 meters, shared by Nepal and Tibet. It was one of those very special unique moments in life, a literal natural high. Since I have memory my father has been teaching me the capitals of the world and about the majestic Mt Everest, a factor which has added extra value to my experience.

Originally we were going to drive from Lhasa and cross overland the border to Nepal as fast as possible because Tony can’t wait to get to India and spend as much time there before we fly to the World Cup. Fortunately in the end, he accepted adding an extra day to go to the Everest Base Camp (EBC), or Mt. Qomolangma, as the Tibetans call it. We left Lhasa on an organized Land Cruiser tour, with another young couple, driver and guide. Getting the permit to EBC is even more complicated than the permit to get to Lhasa, so we had to do it with a guide. We left Lhasa on a Sunday at 9 am and we arrived in Kathmandu on Tuesday at 8 pm. Between Lhasa and EBC we had to go through at least 10 passport and permit checks, reminding us of our time in Israel and Palestine.

We had thought that the road, the Friendship Highway, from Lhasa to Zhangme in the Nepal border would be crazy, but it was not, it was quite a nice paved highway with little traffic, except for the other Land Cruiser tours like ours. The scenery between Lhasa and Shigatse (second biggest city in Tibet and highest in the world) was spectacular. Breathtaking vistas of rugged mountains on both sides of the road as we climbed altitudes of up to 4800 meters, many Buddhist flags, small villages, yaks, goats and sheep adorned our way. We passed through Yamdrok Lake, a holy lake which has amazingly turquoise clear waters. The day was perfect, a sky as sunny and blue as you can get. Most of the territory was dry desert-like, but suddenly green oasis would appear out of the blue.

Altitude is a serious thing, not to be taken lightly. We were prepared with medicines and with oxygen bottles, luckily we did not need them and we were able to handle the altitude quite well, but many people are not able to as they are not well prepared and ascend to high altitude too suddenly. Resting a lot, drinking at least 3 liters of water per day, especially hot water are musts. To our itinerary we had to add innumerable toilet breaks.

On route we stopped at the Baiju Temple and Palkhor Monastery in Gyantze. It is a monastery and temple of the three divisions of Buddhism: Sakya, Gelupa, and Gedang. It was erected in 1418 and has over 77 small chapels. We do not understand much about Buddhism, but it was extremely nice to see again the devotion of the pilgrims especially in the countryside. We spent the night in Shigatse which has another famous monastery, the Tashilhumpo Monastery. We did not go inside just watched the pilgrims do the cora around it, and shopped for some prayer flags, incense and Tibet memorabilia. Shigatse is the obligatory overnight stop for those on their way to EBC, but no more than that.

We woke up in Shigatse to a cloudy and dark day, contrary to the glorious day before. The four of us were worried that we would not get to see the peak of EBC, but at the same time we maintained our positive attitudes. We drove and drove on an even more remote area of Tibet, seemed to us rougher than Siberia even. We reached passes of altitudes of up to 5100 meters, we were caught in a snowstorm. By the time we stopped for a lunch break in a remote desolate town, our chances of seeing Everest were slimming down. Our driver and guide suggested we stayed in that town instead, no way the 4 of us gave in. We had driven so far and spent so much money and effort that we were not willing to miss our chance, even if it was remote. Apparently you need to have TASHI (good luck in Tibet) to see Everest as it is so high that most of the time its peak is in the clouds.

After passing through a thick security check we were in Everest National Park. That was when the road started getting crazy, all dirt and bumpy. We took 3 hours to drive 90 km until reaching EBC. We arrived at the most famous viewpoint to see the Himalayan range. We did see other peaks, but Everest was hidden in the clouds. Not losing our hopes we continued on the crazy road. As if the road wasn’t bad enough, our driver decided to take off roads.

Since day 1, he had me a bit nervous. I really wanted to give him a driving lesson. He was a cool and nice guy but he must have a lot of tashi to still be alive with the way he drives. Not only does he drive in the middle of the road, honks like crazy at everything that moves, displays machismo while driving, but also when overtaking on blind curves does it on the wrong blind side of the road. Not even during the snowstorm would he turn the lights on, or use the defog function. On the first day he almost fell asleep on the wheel, and the guide had to keep him awake, despite of his drinking Red Bull and Coke. Tony even offered to drive, but he refused to let someone else drive his car. I didn’t want to continue on the car with him, but Tony kept telling me to relax that I’m too uptight..In the monastery stop he did the pilgrimage circuit (cora) and that appeared to have helped him as he was ok after that. The last night we were with him he drank a whole bottle of strong Chinese alcohol on his own, oh yes we have tashi as well.

Indeed lots of tashi all together. As we started getting closer to EBC, the dark day started becoming a clear day! We were in the Himalayas and Tony was the first to spot Mt Everest, oh yes there it was! It seemed that after all we were going to see it, maybe not the peak but at least some of it.

We arrived in EBC, and suddenly it seemed like we were back in the Arab World with the Bedouins trying to get the most of the Western money. There are many tents in EBC that offer you bed and food, so as soon as our Land Cruiser appeared about 20 of the locals grabbed our car from all sides and persuaded us to choose their tent. We didn’t even get a choice as apparently the driver favors some he knows. If staying in a ger in Mongolia had been bad, this was even worse. If you need comfort definitely do not spend the night there, just arrange to go for the day or bring your own tent and supplies. The toilets are by far the worse in history especially for a woman, to the point that I preferred to go in public than to go inside them. There was supposed to be a guest house but we did not see it, it was late and we had no choice. The bedding is uncomfortable and cold, it is not cheap for what it is, and conditions are very unhygienic. Maybe not all the tents are like that, maybe that was just ours…

Anyway, we had a mission. I spotted the last minibus that was leaving to the highest point where the non climbers can go, where the real adventurers actually start their trek trying to reach the summit, the real EBC, not the tourist EBC we were at now. They told us that the EBC for tourists was moved 4 km down a few years ago as now there is more Chinese security at the starting point for trekking,and obviously many more tourists as we were certainty not alone. We jumped in the minibus with our guide, paying yet another fee, and we still had to go through yet the strictest security check by the Chinese army up there.

We got there and it was magical. This point was all covered in snow and we were freezing as we do not have extreme temperature gear with us. We climbed to a hill and along with other patient travelers we waited and waited, and yes, finally and slowly the peak of Mt Everest revealed itself to us before sunset. We were all quite excited in that glorious moment, cameras clicking everywhere. Everything was forgotten at that moment, a sublime moment to cherish in our memories forever.