#So I want to cross the road then walk uphill to the village which should only be a mile on foot at most

[the-busy-ghost]

I know I’m preaching to the choir on tumblr but I am so FED UP of not being able to walk to places that are really close to me because it is assumed that everyone has a car and would only use their feet for recreational purposes so there are long stretches of road with no path alongside them, and no public paths that don’t take you six miles out of your way for what should have been a quick trip to the next village over. 

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 10 September 1839

4

9 20/..

F62 ¼° and fine at 4 20/.. had been up at 3 20/. for a few minutes – off from Keala [Kealanoja] at 5 28/.. very nice clean good Inn – good beds and eating in about ¾ hour steep pitch on the wood bridge and Gross would put the drag on – forbade his doing so again without my orders – at 6 ½ picturesque little low unpainted village and river – 1st stage road rather sandy or small red gravelly and more hilly than before – fine lake (fjord) ahead (right) – and we had a peep of it before – drizzling rain begins now at 6 35/.. picturesque rounded wooded hilly country the vale we wind along widish and well cultivated – dotted all over with barns – rye harrowed in in several directions on the same plot of ground wavy and crosswise and several ways in some of the fields -

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0027

September Tuesday 10 the little corn left out is I think oats – Guidepost

at Salå [Salo] indicates

Abo [Åbo] 55 w.

St. p- 565.

Helsingforss [Helsingfors] 155

Kiala 12 ½ here but 12 2/3 at Keala [[Kealanoja]

Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylä] 18 ¾  our next stage

at Salå [Salo] at 6 42/.. – small singular house – could not sleep – from here road hilly (pitchy) much young forest with mossy rocks Norway-like – and rud-red moss on the stones – cranberry (Lingboer) juniper and observed a little sweetgale John observed that here the juniper was quite fresh, and Sweden much withed! no truth in this – A- and I see little difference between here and about Stockholm – no corn to cut [seen] today and very little to house and we left much to cut between Falun and Stockholm everything quite as forward here as there – no maples (saw one solitary one afterwards) nothing but fir except birch and alder and a few Salleys about 7 55/.. pretty little shallow lake – the 2nd stage very pretty picturesque valley-winding drive – not much cattle out – but both horses and cows look chiefly chesnut – the [fine] wooded rocky hills very picturesque – our servants breakfasted before starting but not we – more sheep out this stage than before – little windmills everywhere scattered up and down in Sweden they are larger and near to towns –

vide Handbook p. 131 column 1 Road to Keala [Kealanoja] described as one that one should shudder at anywhere but in the north!!!

at 8 25/.. 1st gate and another a few minutes afterwards – In Sweden the roads blocked by them perpetually – on average 1 every ½ English mile or more and Norway almost but not quite so bad – no need of forbud – How much better than in Sweden! I see it is potato tops (they hang on the rails to dry for the cattle) that look so green and heavy on the rails I could not make them out yesterday – at 9 at Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylän]  a little low wood station house of no great promise but kitchen a part – some very tolerable rooms for us travellers and we stop to breakfast – no begrudging the time for 2

September

Tuesday 10

calêches at the door going off with each a pair of horses, and we must wait a couple of hours – Really one is much better off here in Finland than anyone ought to expect considerably the small means of the country – we like Finland – we have learnt our lesson as to roads and stations in Norway and latterly north of Upsala [Uppsala] and we are quite at home now – the roads so far very good – rather more heavy and hilly this last stage than before – the road from Åbo to Keala [Kealanoja] or Kiala very good and hardly a hill or pitch at all to our mind – I hear someone trying to tell Gross that 3 miles = 30 wersts from here there is an Inn kept by an Englishman – the drizzling rain that began about 6 35/.. last more or less till about 8 – breakfast coffee and boiled milk and bread and butter charged to John at first 3 ½ rubels – then in a bill to me 1 rigs. dollar and a half I would have it in rubels – he charged 2 rubels -  2 rubels = more than 1.24.0 rigsgold but paid it – and on my saying I would write my complaint the man turned pale and snatched away the book – he understood my saying in French he had no right to make out his account in Swedish money – I asked John what to write signifying that I was dissatisfied but he got off telling me, and both I and he got a little impatient about names of places and exactness of distances paid for 18 ¾ w. + 1/6 = 4/53 and the place called Lombala instead of Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylän] – Does that make 1/8w. difference? a civil fat traveller here came and gave us a currant wheat flour saffron sort of roll – would have been very good but for the saffron – off at 10 50/.. (Dont trouble this house again – the landlord would not give charge for a five Rubel bill when I wanted to pay for the horses but had plenty when I had to pay for breakfast) – good deal of forest this stage (sandy road) from Lombala to Olsbola [Olsböle] (17 ½ w.) on moss-covered rock as in Norway but still all young wood

at 11 50/.. village and wood bridge over river – we seldom pass thro’ villages but see them occasionally scattered at some distance from us tho’ the country not so populous as the north of Sweden –

vide Road book p. 161.  4 Runstyeken = 1 kopek

.:. 12 Runstycken or 1sk. B.  12 öre = 18kop.

= 3 kop. and 1 Dollar B. = 144 kop.    50 Daler = 24 Rubel

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0028

September Tuesday 10 if 4 Runstycken = 1kop. and .:. 3 kop. = 1 sk. Swedish banco then 1 Dollar B. = 48x3 = 144kop. but I received 181 kop. per D.B. at Åbo yesterday –

and the price offered at Stockholm was 41sk. rigs. per Rouble (32 Sk. banco) –

Bill at Lombala 1.24.0 rigs = 48+24 = 72sk. rigs

72/41 = 1 31/41 rouble or about 1 ¾ rouble instead of two Rubels that I paid – but reckon

2kop. = 1sk. rigs.

3 kop. = 1sk. banco

vide foot of last page

at 12 35/.. potato tops frost bit – the people are right to cut them while green – at 12 ¾ Olsböle very neat nice clean looking station – the post says went in – wrote in the Biörsby 16w.

till Helsingforss [Helsingfros] 117w.  

St. P- 528w.

book – very nice rooms Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylän] 17w.

and some small cold fried fish in larder cupboard near the stairs – one should be well here  - civil enough to give us change for a 5 Rub. number in ¼ hour (at 1 1/2) pretty lake (right) and scattered village – pretty country – road hilly and sandy and foresty and green young rye among the burnt fir stumps – very heavy sandy gravelly road thro’ the forest now at 2 5/.. after a terrible heavy full uphill thro’ the forest – little low unpainted picturesque village and houses scattered all about – very pretty bit of open wide vale here shut in all round by wooded rocky hill – at 2 ¼ another pretty lake and basin valley and hill into young forest again – at 3 our 3rd gate all the way from Åbo and a gentleman’s house hid in wood birch and alder very pretty drive – hilly, woody, villagy, sandy – at 3 5/.. uphill get out and walk ¼ hour – a great relief – gathered a little morsel of rud-red moss stone looks just like round – not easily rubbed-off – observed 1st time curious

September Tuesday 10 little pink fungus like a little round pink button pink bare round granite masses of rock and a few bare round granite hills – very pretty drive this last stage – and now in ascending nice little lake en face (right) and station (now at 3 25/..) of Olsbole [Olsböle]  - oldish looking house but good fire blazing in the kitchen – might sleep? yes! just

went in to write in day book – nice room – might sleep – off at 3 48/.. oats out here the sheaves made into like small hay cocks –

corn everywhere (here and Sweden and Norway) taken up rather promiscuously – that is the heads not all together but some at one end and come at the other of the sheaf – potato tops hanging on the fences (like those in Sweden) to dry – very pretty – wooded wooded island hills and lake – and scattered picturesque little cottages – and rock and windings of the valley – and in a minute or 2 pretty little boulder stone built church with separate belfrey as common here in Finland – more small unpainted houses the natural drab-colour of weathered boards with white chimneys – road very sandy now after passing the church – at the end of this lake a few red cottages white window frames and chimneys – and a large yellow house with dark drab roof looking like a gentleman’s house with its appurtenances – wood – water wooded islands – cottages – very pretty – here some lands of rye about a yard broad – all along occasionally a little Swedish [?] in the pastures – beautiful drive this stage – now at 4 20/.. sunny and peep of the gentleman’s house – and wind down hill over bridge – river – [beeches] along it other side and fir forest along our road – very pretty – hilly more  pitchy – this our most beautiful stage – but nothing yet at all equal (as to steep road) to the descent upon Swinesund ferry or Xtiania – at 4 ½ saw mill (little one) and little cascade of the river – very pretty and the beauty goes on – at 4 50/.. pretty picturesque village (on our pretty river) of Milnasbrook as pronounced – 2 or 3 mills and pretty cascade of the river

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0029

September Tuesday (and right) on entering village is guide post pointing (right) to Ekenas [Ekenäs] and now at 4 55/.. road sandy à la Hazelunen – at 5 10/.. cross the broad shallow stream (wood bridge) into another scattered little unpainted village – have seen much of the narrow land-rye since 1st observing it this morning – the church and lake (left) of our last passed thro’ village very picturesque – the belfrey tower of the church carved up in 4 steps of roof finishing in a little dome – our drive this stage very beautiful – the most beautiful since Åbo – Sunshine now at 5 25/.. and for this hour past. and now in young forest again – alternate forest, and break, and villages and water and wooded hill and rock – but the road very sandy – at Nyby at 5 40/.. – nice little new unpainted single house standing in a circular spot cleared out in the midst of the forest which since 5 25/.. we have come thro’ – the post indicates Nyby

till St. P- 495 ½ v. [w.]

Biörsby [Björsby] 16v. [w.]

Kyrckstad [Kyrkstad] 16 ½ v. [w.]

the horizonally laid logs (laid in moss one upon another) are not covered inside or outside but look very neat – here as at Lombala this morning (1st time) the double glass window is already put in inside, and paper pasted over the crevices here where everything is clean and tidy we have a beautiful white moss and dried yellow marigolds put at the bottom between the glasses – at Lombala it was coarse cotton wool – just sketched the little box as above and wrote thus far and then prepared for dinner now at 6 40/.. drizzling rain from about 6 35/.. to 8 but afterwards fine, and very fine sunny afternoon and fine evening – it now begins to be dresky and ½ hour hence soon after 7 it will begin to be darkish – with our heavy carriage and the steep pitches in the roads we want daylight, and then there is no danger, and [news] not the strongest may bear our

September Tuesday 10 galloping downhill – dinner at 7 10/.. to 8 20/.. a coq de bois and a gelinotte – excellent little pancakes and good bread and excellent butter and good cheese, and good water and afterwards each of us had a cup of good coffee – enjoyed our dinner and took our time – before we had done 2 Russian gentlemen from Helsingforss [Helsingfors] to Åbo came in – had Grotza at 8 20/.. to 8 ¾ - F61° now at 8 50/.. pm

[transylvaniatrails-blog]

FIRST SEASON

Our first season, the Dracula Trails Route and the ADV Bike Rider Magazine article...

April 2018 was the start of our first season and by December 2017 we already had a few trips booked for the early spring and autumn...Nick has contacted us in early October 2017and requested do ride with us together with his group from Manchester UK. After a few emails the trip was booked and on April 17th we were travelling to Cluj Napoca to pick up seven riders.

The plan was to ride the Dracula Trails Route https://www.transylvaniatrails.com/products. We had everything planned and ready to ride...Nick mentioned in one of his emails that he was in contact with someone from the ADV Bike Rider Magazine https://www.adventurebikerider.com and he advised that we should take lots of pictures during the trip...

The trip was a big success!

A few weeks after the trip we received an email from Alan ( one of the gents from the group ) with a link to ADV Bike Rider Magazine website...And there it was, an article written by Alan published in the Magazine No.47... WOW!

We made a few new friends and we have been lucky to ride together several times since 2018.....

Full article from the Magazine bellow: What's the first thing you think of when it comes of Transylvania? Castles? Sure. The birthplace of Dracula? Certainly. Trail riding? Probably not, but maybe it's about time you should. Seven of us booked a two-day tour with Transylvania Trails in the middle of April this year. The all-inclusive price covered accommodation and food for three nights, bike hire, personal protective equipment/clothing and guide for two day's riding. All that was left for us to do was turn up eager to explore the best that Transylvania had to offer.

Our guide Gabriel ( Gabi ) collected us from the airport at Cluj and took us to what was our base at Nucet, near Sibiu. Bio Haus Cioran Guest House is a larged timber framed chalet baking onto an orchard with forestry beyond. Gabi introduced us to our hosts Mioara and Emil who showed us our rooms. Back downstairs, beer in hand, Gabi showed us the bikes and explained the differences between the Sherco 300 and the "Factory" edition. The nine bikes were lined up at the back of the house, all clean and shiny, lying in wait for our adventure. "Shall we help you lock them away"? we asked? "No need", was the reply. "They'll be fine here". Not like in the UK.

The food at Bio Haus is home made and homegrown traditional romanian fare. Romanians love their soup and each meal started with a bowl so big you could have skipped the main meal and not been hungry. Homemade wine and schnapps completed the delicious three-course meal.

The next morning, after a substantial breakfast, Gabi gave us our riding equipment, including helmet, boots, shirt, trousers, body armour, gloves and goggles. Most of the kit was brand new and we had to take it out of the bags and take the labels off before using it. We then had a pre-ride briefing, where Gabi told us about the bikes, about following his wheel tracks as far as possible and about the dangers in the forests: wild boar, deer, dogs and brown bears! We were led along a track running right next to the guest house, following it uphill and into the countryside beyond. Gabi then left us in a clear- ing on top of a hill to get used to the bikes. Ten minutes later he was back, and we were off.

I had only been riding off-road for about 10 weeks, although I have had road bikes for the past 40 years, and have just bought a Honda CRF2S0L. The braking and changing gears standing up still felt new to me and, coupled with new moto- cross boots and the snatchy throttle of a much more powerful bike, I wondered how I would cope.

We set off over the hillside quite gingerly at first, but then the pace picked up a bit as our confidence grew. The Romanian countryside is quite ditferent to that in the UK. There are no fences or walls and what livestock we did encounter was herd- ed together by dogs with a shepherd present. Gabi had warned us of the dogs prior to setting off. They are the size of Pyrenean mountain dogs and chased us away if we got too close to the sheep. Andy, our most experienced rider, was frightened of dogs so he employed the tactic of putting other bikes between him and them as they chased us. This meant he wasn't picking the best line or concentrating fully and, of course, he subse- quently fell off. At that point, the dogs had fortunately lost interest in him and returned to the flock.

Once Gabi judged we were more comfortable with the bikes we entered the forest. For most of us, this was our favourite section. It was quite open and well lit, with very few bushes. The ground was soft and loose, covered with leaf litter while a few hills, streams and a little mud kept things interesting. In short, it was perfect.

Gabi explained that most of the countryside is state owned and the farmers rent the land for 99 years. There are some private properties, but it seems by and large that you can ride where you want. Having said that, Gabi then showed us a valuable lesson. After a fast-open section, he stopped and gathered us around. We rode slowly a little further and stopped at what appeared to be a small drop. In fact, what lay before us was a sheer drop of at least 30m!

A short road section through a traditional Romanian village led us to a fortified church on a hill. This was to be our lunch stop. A lot of the roads in this area are dirt and the drainage is by a ditch on either side. Don’t even think of lampposts and footpaths, as they don't exist. Nobody in these villages has cars, but there are one or two horse-drawn carts.

Everyone in the villages seemed pleased to see us. The old men sitting under the shade of the trees waved while the barefoot kids at the side of the road put their hands up for us to high five as we rode past.

We took off our riding gear, hung it up to dry and lay on the grass for 10 minutes to get our breath back while Gabi re-fuelled the bikes from containers he had previously dropped at the church. We were led into a traditionally decorated stone room within the restored fortified walls where a table was laid for our midday meal. All meals here are sit down three course aftairs. Soup, of course, traditional chicken stew, and cake, which seemed to be made from cheese and currants.

We set off again, this time at a more leisurely pace, and after about an hour one of the bikes seemed to be starting with a clutch problem. The bike had only done 150 miles from new, but Gabi decided rather than have a problem in a remote area we would wait in a village for a replacement bike. A quick phone call and 45 minutes later, his father-in-law arrived with a replacement bike in the back of a pickup. Gabi has designed each tour to incorporate as much varied terrain as possible. By this time, I was feeling more comfortable on the bike, getting used to the immediate power delivery, even in ‘soft' mode, which I was learning could get me out of trouble where my CRF would bog down and stall. Standing up on the pegs all day was taking its toll, however, and the shoulders and back were beginning to ache.

A lot of the soil in the Transylvanian Highlands is red clay. Even where it was dry, the farm tracks we encountered were slippery. In fact, when we came across deep, wet ruts (my nemesis) on an uphill section, it was almost a relief to gently fall otf, coming to rest in the bushes, which stopped me from rolling down a steep slope. I looked at my back wheel, which had turned into a clay coloured slick. No wonder. More mead- owland, wilderness, and farm tracks followed and at 9pm we emerged from the forest to arrive at our lodgings for the night in Sighisoara. This small town is dominated by an imposing castle on a hill that was once owned by Vlad Dracul or, as we know him, Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Drocu to. In these parts, he is known as a hero as he was al-leged to have persecuted only those ‘nobles' who were taking advantage of their position to thedetriment of the ‘peasants'.

We pushed the bikes into the courtyard of the little bed and breakfast we were to stay at. Once showered, we walked across the road to a traditional Romanian restaurant where we were shown to our table in the basement. Gabi interpret- ed the menu for us and, of course, there was soup. Andy was intrigued by a starter that Gabi described only as lard. Once it arrived, it turned out that it was indeed a small bowl of lord sprinkled with paprika! It came with a side salad, which he left. All the food was locally sourced and homemade. We left the restaurant just before midnight and it seemed fitting that Gabi gave us a guided tour of the castle.

The next morning, one of our group wasn't feeling well and decided to give it a miss. The rest of us set off back to the first night’s base via a different route, all off-road of course.

The previous evening, Gabi had asked us what kind of riding we wanted to do that day and one of the group had mentioned hills. “Ride across that field as fast as you can. By the time you hit the jump you need to be flat out in third gear, then enter the forest and keep going straight uphill”. Easier said than done... The best I managed was two thirds of the way up before stalling, falling oft and tumbling about torn before I could even stand up. Exhausted after my third attempt, I took the chicken run around the side of the hill. I was learning all the time. Choose your line, head up, weight forward and use your clutch. If I'd had the energy to go a fourth time, I might have made it.

The afternoon of the second day was what life's memories are all about and it was an afternoon I will remember for many years. Riding standing up, flat out across miles of undulating open meadow land with the forest on one side and the stunning snow-capped Carpathian Mountains on the other was bliss. It's hard to keep your eye on where you should be going with views like that.

We all loved riding in the forests and so that's where Gabi took us to finish off the second day, weaving in and out of the trees, up and down the hills and through the streams.

Every now and again we'd catch a glimpse of a deer as we startled it and it ran away. Fortunately, no brown bears though. The second day ended at the place where it all began; where we had been practising on the bikes when we first got them. We were back to Bio Haus for 6pm, where Emil was preparing that evening’s barbecue. We parked the bikes and collapsed on the sprawling porch overlooking the orchard, tired and aching, beer in hand. We had ridden 180 miles, all off-road. Had we enjoyed it? Well, as soon as we got home we booked to go back again in September. This time for three days instead of two. I’d better hit the gym.

The Transylvanian Highlands is a stunningly beautiful area, completely unspoiled. The riding can't be compared to anything we have in the UK. My green-laning experience, for example, is limited to rocky tracks in the Peak District and is completely unlike the open rolling countryside or the technical hilly forests we traveled through.

The whole area is steeped in history as, time after time, the country has been invaded and the various occupants have add- ed their traditions and culture. Tourism in this area seems to be in its infancy and the general thrust seems to be for skilled craftsmen to restore buildings using traditional materials and methods. There also seems to be conscious effort for the tour- ism to benefit the local towns and villages, and we'd implore you to see what its about. You won't regret it.

[traveladventuresinnepal]

8 Best Adventurous Destinations in Nepal

Known as the kingdom of the Himalayas, Nepal has an astonishing diversity of sightseeing attractions that fascinates thousands of tourists worldwide. Beauty and mesmeric natural wonders ballets in the lap of Nepal embellished with numerous traditional cultures and festivals. Besides the natural beauty, the nation also highlights its enduring customs and beliefs practiced for thousands of years that uniquely bears the tale of its origin. Wedged between the two big countries India and China, Nepal has its northern territory engulfs the great Mount Everest along with eight of the fourteen highest mountains in the world. It is also known as the land of diversity as it holds the incredible variety of ecosystems, mountain ranges, tropical forests, and wildlife. You can see this holy land of Vedas, where arts and culture preserve, which is seen carved in the walls and the pillars of temples along with millennium-old statues. 

Nepal is considered as one of the best destinations for tourists, and whether you are an adventure lover, seeking of spirituality amid nature or want to heal in the pilgrimage tour in this ancient land, then we will list the best destination that will sparkle your soul till eternity of joy and peace. You can contact Nepal Tour Operators for more information. In this post, I will be listing top adventurous destinations in Nepal and the future post I will be mentioning about top natural and pilgrims that one should not miss when they are in Nepal tour and holidays. 

Best Adventurous Destinations in Nepal 

Sun Koshi for White Water River Rafting

White river rafting in Sun Koshi is the best destination for adventure seekers and those who love to raft in high rapid. It is rated as one of the top 10 white-water rafting journeys in the world by National Geographic as the river is regarded to have Class V rapid. Besides the adventurous and challenging river rafting tour, you can also experience the panoramic scenario through white river banks, centuries-old villages, and forested areas. The rafting tour can be a perfect match for rafters who wants to quench their heart as the entire whopping river tour is around 270km. The rapids in Sun Koshi are encountered at the beginning of the river trip that is fair and relaxed (Class III), which provides you an excellent opportunity for great teamwork to really progress. It is the best course to influence any rafting or kayaking fan with relaxing canyons, refreshing waterfalls, bat caves, new temples, beautiful white sandy beaches for setting up camp, and of course, a great variety of whitewater. 

You can, at the same time, enjoy the vegetation, scenario, and climate will help to ensure you will have a great time on this trip is exciting and different. At the ending days of this trip, you will end up in open plains. To assure you that you are in safe hands, you will be provided with Nepal Government licensed river guides, who have completed Red Cross first aid training.

Bhote Koshi River for Bungee 

World’s third highest bungee jumping spot is located on a suspension bridge built across the Bhote Kosi River and offers 160-meters chilling drop down that is definitely overwhelming to anyone. The falling can be enjoyed with a fantastic view of fast-flowing river rushes of the Bhote Koshi river. 

This rejoicing adventure trip starts from Kathmandu that will take around 3 hours drive to the Bungee site. Besides Bungee, you can also add little to your adventure as the resort offers canyon swing, canyoning, and other activities to make your experience fantastic. The suspension bridge, from where the jump takes place, has integrated swiss safety measures.

Pokhara for Paragliding

The next adventurous spot in Nepal is Pokhara for paragliding. It is regarded as the top 5 tandem paragliding spots in the world. Sarangkot in Pokhara is the paragliding destination where the flight takes off that will be around 30-40minutues long. Sarangkot is 1592m above from the sea level and gives you a fantastic view of mountains, namely Mt. Machhapuchhre (Fishtail), Lamjung Himal, Annapurna, and Himchuli. Finally, you safely land in Lakeside. 

The thrill of being up in the sky like a bird is terrific, especially in the city of Pokhara because it has enough room for safe events that comes with a mind-blowing view of mesmerizing mountains while the beautiful Fewa lake just below your feet adds much more to your adventure. Snowcapped mountains, pristine lakes, and verdant valleys of Pokhara will thrill your heart like nowhere else on earth.

You will have experienced pilots to guide you and option to choose from tandem flights to certified paragliding courses, solo trips, or hawks accompanied paragliding experience. There are around 20 companies in Pokhara that offer paragliding services; however, the price is fixed with transport and insurance. 

Hattiban for Rock Climbing

Hattiban is located in the south-west of Kathmandu valley, where you can enjoy the thrill of top-level grade climbing. Before reaching to the rock-climbing spot one needs to hike for around 20minutues that will give you the magnificent view of the Kathmandu valley, gaining an elevation of 2000ft, you will also pass by the Samye Monastery. Hattiban rock climbing has ten intermediates to advanced single-pitch climbing routes, all bolted for sport climbing with bolted anchors at the top of each course. 

The cliff is vertical, with slight overhangs. Hattiban Rock climbing is suitable for all sorts of climbers from beginners to experts. There are other famous rock-climbing spots inside Kathmandu valley, like Nagarjun and Shivapuri.

Chitwan National Park for Jungle Safari 

It is one of the most popular adventure tours in Nepal that engulfs wild animals, green forest, and flat landscape—situated in southern central Nepal, covering 932 sq.km covered with deciduous forests overlooking the floodplains of Narayani, Rapti, and Reu rivers. It was in 1979 that this national park was declared UNESCO Natural Heritage Site. 

Chitwan Jungle safari is a famous adventure tour in Nepal that has a wilderness of a rich ecosystem that includes mammals, birds, reptiles, and water animals. You can enjoy all thrill with exciting activities like jungle safari on elephant back, jungle walk, canoe ride, jeep drive, bathing and swimming with elephants, and much more. One-horned rhinoceros is the main attraction in this national park along with hundred nocturnal Royal Bengal Tigers that live in the dense forests. Besides, you will also witness the intriguing Tharu culture and their tradition summarized in Tharu dance. A 40-minute canoe ride can be worth to add in your excitement. It is a slow 40min boat ride that brings you close to the sleepy and apparently immobile crocodiles in the river. 

Siddha Gufa for Cave Exploration 

Another exciting adventure lies in the heart of Siddha Gufa, which is also the largest and most popular caving destination in Nepal. It is the largest cave in Nepal and known as the second largest in Asia that has 437m depth and 50m height. Siddha Gufa being the largest cave in Nepal it delivers the best experiences of encounter with dark environment, bats chattering, mice moving, and many more. Its interior is full of spikes and natural columns. The name Siddha Gufa is due to the reason that a Yogi named Siddha Baba got his enlightenment in this very cave, so spiritually, this cave also holds enormous importance to people living in Nepal, whether they are Hindus or Buddhists.

Trekking to this cave from Bandipur is fascinating and takes about the one-and-a-half-hour hike. Instead, you can also hike uphill to the cave from Bimalnagar. It will take just 45 minutes to reach the cave, but the dirt and stone path is the only way to reach there, which is slippery, so it’s essential to take every step with care. The road is being managed and maintained to make it easy for travelers to explore around. It is also essential and somehow compulsory to hire a local guide as well to know more about the cave.

Sarangkot for Zipline

Known as Zip-Flyer Nepal is the extreme zipline in the world because it is the world's tallest, fastest, and longest zip line in the world located in Sarangkot, Pokhara. The Zipline is inclined at 56-degree, 1.8 km in length, 2000ft vertical drop, and speeds of over 160kmph making it the most extreme ride. The journey begins from Lakeside of Pokhara, and you board your vehicle for the trip to the Sarangkot Station. Here you can see the breath-taking views of the Himalayan of mountains range that is around 5400 feet on top of water level; you'll sit into a special harness seat and wait for your launch. 2 guests launch right away, and it's a race to the bottom! 5,4,3, 2, 1, and you’re off, fast to one hundred mph as you pass on top of the dense forest below. 

The main attraction you'll view of majestic Fishtail, the Annapurna Mountain, and also the raging Seti stream. Your ride concludes with a break landing on within the village of Hyangja. Your safety is essential and our credo; therefore, the system by Zip-Flyer LLC, USA, is designed with the most advanced technologies and had delivered a state-of-the-art zipline ride. Every part of this ride is designed to provide an unparalleled ride, comfort, and Safety, and the entire system is manufactured, and precision-engineered to equal or surpass standards set by agencies such as ANLS B77 Tramway, ASTM, and TV SUD codes. The duration is about 2.5 hours with a weight Limit of 35 KGs to 140 KGs, and a closed-toed shoe is compulsory.

Upper Mustang for Mountain Biking

One of the fastest-growing adventure tours is Upper Mustang mountain biking because the Himalayan region of Nepal has an impressive landscape for a mountain such trips. You can enjoy your ride and, at the same time, observe the incredible mountain ranges, and the brilliant Himalayan view can be more enthralling. It can be said that the biking in the Upper Mustang region of Nepal is one such unreal mountain bike experiences in the world because it promises spectacular scenery, mountain ethos, an impressive yet straightforward lifestyle of people living here for centuries, and other delightful lures that make mountain biking mesmerizing. It’s not just about the challenging ascents and endless single-track descents, and it’s about the journey of discovery of the nomadic horse culture, breathtaking scenery, and friendly heart-warming people that inhabit the region. If you love both culture and mountain biking, a particularly good time to go is in May to coincide with the Tiji Festival.

These are the top adventurous places to ignite the thrill in your soul and are highly suggested by tourists in Nepal. I hope this post was good enough to shed light on your holiday plans to Nepal. We will be expecting your comments and suggestions if you have one for us. For more information on travel and tours in Nepal, Buddha Holidays can be one helpful site to provide you more insight. 

[piracytheorist]

Reunion

Summary:  Killian takes his wife and daughter to the place where he grew up, and has them meet someone special.

~

Note: This is a sequel to an earlier fic of mine, A Resting Place, but it can be read on its own.

I wanted to write this sequel for some time, and some recent comments on my fics inspired a bit of brainstorming, so it finally happened :D

If a face helps (and you don’t already know), I've fancasted Eleanor Tomlinson, as she appears in the show Poldark, as Mama Jones ;)

~ AO3 Word count: ~3.3k ~

Killian hadn't stopped feeling his heart at his throat from the moment he'd left Storybrooke with his wife and daughter. They both understood his silence; one more reason it was a good decision to wait until Hope was older to do this trip. Some even had said she was still too young; maybe wait a little longer so she'd remember more clearly.

Tell that to her, though. The promise of meeting her paternal grandmother hadn't left her mind, it seemed, from the moment her Fairy Godmother had given her a small bottle of Ale of Seonaidh for her sixth birthday.

“Remember, it can only be used once,” the fairy had told them, trusting them with the rare item.

Killian and Emma had shared one look and immediately known where they could use it. Still, they'd asked their still too young daughter at the time, who, after brushing her hand through her wild locks, she'd replied, simply, “Grandma.”

Killian had happily cried to sleep that night.

And now, four years later, Hope was about to claim the birthday gift she hadn't stopped asking since then.

“Are you ready?” Emma asked, wrapping her hand around his left arm.

He nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from the calming view of the sea to face the familiar uphill with the equally familiar oak tree at the top. He turned a little to look at his daughter and smiled at her, feeling his heart a bit lighter once she took his hand in hers.

He wanted to say something, anything, even a simple 'Let's go'. But the lump in his throat was too thick for him to risk bursting in sobs on the spot.

So he simply started walking forward, his family by his side.

The state of the oak tree alone nearly made him run away. It seemed to be at the end of its life span, if the decay on its bark and upturned roots was any indication. He sighed deeply.

“What is it?” Hope asked.

“That tree has been here since I was a child,” he said softly. “Me and Liam and other kids from the village used to play on it and around it.” He looked at the village, slowly starting to grow life again. “It watched as the village flourished, then died, then grew back again.” He softly slipped his hand from his daughter's to reach and touch the bark. Flakes fell from it as he did. “We hadn't named it anything. We always called it 'the tree' because it was the biggest one around. And the only one that was one of its kind, too.” He turned to look at Hope, sensing her overactive feet. “Would you like to climb it, love?”

Her jaw fell slightly, and she turned to her mother, who said, “I don't think it'll hold her.”

“That low branch seems strong enough,” Hope said with the smirk she'd no doubt inherited from him.

Killian looked at Emma, and there must have been something in his look that made her shrug. He felt the smile tug at his lips as he turned to help an equally smiling Hope climb up on a sturdy-looking branch. She grunted as she struggled to find footing on it, and he said, “Come on, love, I used to climb that when I was even younger than you.”

“Yeah, but could you dance a perfect floss?” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

He laughed softly, thinking of her trying to fit that dance in the rhythm of every song she heard.

“Hey, look over here,” Emma said, her phone raised for a picture.

“Take a selfie!” Hope said, finally sitting steadily on the branch.

“No. That's a 'Like father, like daughter' moment,” she said. “We can take plenty with Grandma later.”

The thought finally hit Killian as he smiled for the picture. It had crossed his mind before, but they'd never actually discussed it.

Hoping, of course, that the magic would not somehow make her invisible to the digital lens... he would finally have pictures of his mother. One time, a night after Hope had nearly screamed asking to meet her, Killian had confessed to Emma that he could barely remember his mother's face. He had no sketch of her, and by the time he'd felt confident enough he could make a good enough portrait of someone, most details of her face had been eluding him. He was sure she had bright eyes, probably blue like him and Liam, and red hair... but that was it.

And now he'd finally have a complete picture of her.

“Hey, you okay?” he heard Emma say.

His head snapped up. “What?”

“You seemed a bit lost in thought. Are you okay?”

Emma's look of worry was even more explained by how Hope seemed to have climbed down from the tree on her own, without him even noticing.

“Aye,” he said softly, then turned back to the tree to touch it one last time. “Thank you,” he whispered to it. He allowed one fleeting moment of wondering what earth magic could do for the tree that was the only reminder of his childhood innocence, then focused back on the present, took his hand away and stepped back, feeling this moment as a true farewell. “Let's go,” he said, taking his wife and daughter by arm and hand respectively, then turning towards the village.

That place was certainly nothing like he remembered. It appeared that, a century or so after his previous visit people had started to rebuild the village, settling down there once again, giving life to a place that had lost it too abruptly.

The buildings were different; the people were different; hell, even the smell was different, and he felt the lump form again at the thought that he'd probably never relive that again. But it was a small loss considering what this journey would provide.

Unfazed by their Storybrooke clothing, the villagers simply went about their business as the family walked down the main – and probably only – street. It appeared that the new buildings were built just where the old ones used to be, so knowing the structure hadn't changed much, he stopped automatically in front of a lot that held a humble, sturdy house.

“My home used to be here,” he said. “Last time I came it had been completely destroyed, there was nothing left.” He looked at the new house, trying to smile through the complete lack of recognition at anything. The building, the garden, the earth itself looked completely unfamiliar. “I'm happy it's housing another family now, at least.”

His girls said nothing, and he appreciated that as he turned forward. He swallowed hard and focused on the sight of the graveyard far ahead. He looked first at Emma, then at Hope, then walked on.

The new villagers had cleared the path, fixing a whole new dirt road going directly to the graveyard.

“Isn't it a bit creepy?” Hope asked. “That the cemetery is right there for everyone in the village to see?”

“There used to be an orchard here, between the village and the graveyard. We had to take a small detour around the trees to reach it,” Killian said and sighed. “Maybe the new villagers are more comfortable thinking of their loved ones resting in a place closer to them.” He looked at Hope, and seeing the uneasy look on her face, he added, “Different people have different customs, even when dealing with their dead. You won't believe some stories I have from far off places.”

“Maybe later,” Emma said. “We have a very special way of dealing with the dead right now.”

He nodded, once again feeling a pang of guilt wondering who would gain more from Hope's gift, she or him.

There were two graveyards, after all, distinct by the look on the stones. One of them seemed to have older stones, with some of them cracked and moss growing around them, the other one had newer, cleaner stones.

He stopped to look at the entrance of the older graveyard, focusing on the touch from his family. He wasn't alone anymore. And he hadn't come here to mourn this time.

He was here to see his mother again.

“Do you know where she lies?” Emma asked. “Should we split up?”

He tightened his hand around Hope's, feeling her anticipation through her nervous hand. “No,” he said softly. He needed them both now.

He let his faint but stubborn memory lead him to the stone. The engraved letters were nearly gone, a 'Jone' being the only indication of a name, but the word 'mother' still stood complete, as if the force of her love for her sons had seeped into the very stone.

“Killian,” he heard Emma say and felt her hand leading his head to rest on her shoulder, which was when he realized he was crying.

Taking in a gasping breath, he leaned into her touch as Hope moved to wrap her arms around both of them. They stayed hugged together until his breathing slowed down and his tears stopped. He cleared his throat and moved to break the embrace.

“Do you need a moment?”

He shook his head. They'd wasted enough time already, and he couldn't care less about having red eyes in the pictures. He wanted to see his mama again, and he wanted her to meet the granddaughter who had inherited her wit and hair.

“Let's do this.”

Mother and father turned to look at their daughter, who, without letting go of her father's hand, took out the small, precious bottle from her satchel and undid the cap. She looked at them, her smile widening, then faced the stone and poured the ale on the ground in front of it.

He felt as if all three were holding their breaths together. They knew it usually took a moment, before anything happened, so he tried to-

Hope gasped when a thick cloud of magic started spreading from the ground nearly up to his height. It only took a moment for it to take the form of a person, then finally morphing into a woman.

She wore a brown dress with flowers embroidered on the corset. Her red hair was done half up, the rest blowing with the wind. Her blue eyes focused on him.

And she was smiling.

She turned to look at Hope. “Happy birthday, my sweet girl,” she said.

Hope's hand slipped from his as she ran to her grandmother, who leaned down so that Hope could wrap her arms around her neck, and held her tight. “Hi, Grandma,” she said, her voice betraying a wide smile. She squeezed her a bit then pulled away, allowing them a good look at each other.

She didn't say anything else; she simply ran her hands thought Hope's hair, so unexpectedly similar to hers, and Hope giggled, touching her grandmother's locks as well.

Then Hope turned back, flashing their huge smile at her parents, and stepped back, giving Killian a clean path towards his mother.

She stood tall, tears in her eyes. Her beautiful, caring eyes. “M'boy,” she whispered.

He didn't feel his legs bring him to her. He only saw her come close, felt her arms around him, her hair surrounded his view and he finally remembered to breathe.

Tears and sobs came together as the sweetest scent entered his nostrils; hers. He heard her softly shush at him, he felt her hand brush through his hair and her feet rock them a bit left and right and she felt too small, too lean, why couldn't her hands wrap him whole like the last time he remembered smelling her scent?

“Killian,” she said, pulling away to look at him.

His tears were flowing freely, he could barely see her through the haze now. “Mama,” he said shakily. “I'm- I'm sorry.”

“No, no, love. There's nothing to feel sorry about.”

“I- I- You don't know.”

“I know everything,” she said and used her fingers to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

He froze. “Everything?”

“I was watching over you. All this time. I know.”

“And you...”

“I'm proud, Killian. I'm so proud of the man you've become. I'm proud of your family, of the life you've built...”

His vision finally cleared. She was smiling wide at him, tears of her own staining her cheeks.

“But...” he started.

She shook her head. “No. I've told you. I am so proud of you.”

She raised on her toes to leave a kiss on his forehead, and that nearly brought him to his knees.

She then pulled back a little, and looked into his eyes. “Are you alright? Can I hug my daughter-in-law now?”

A mix of a laugh and a sob escaped him, and he nodded, but couldn't step away. Closing her eyes, his mama unwillingly stepped back, and Hope was quick to wrap her arms around his waist, quickly covering for the emptiness he felt at the lack of touch.

His mama turned to his wife. “Emma,” she said and hugged her as well.

Emma laughed softly, crying as well. “I'm so glad to see you,” she said in a shaky voice.

“No, love,” his mama said, moving back. “I'm proud to meet you. You made my son believe in himself again. You pulled him out of the darkness in which I suffered with him. You've given this old soul a solace she was worried she'd never get, even after moving on.” She then raised on her toes again to leave a kiss on Emma's forehead. “Thank you.”

Emma sobbed softly, and pulled her hand back to wipe at her face, as his mama turned to look at him and Hope, still hugged together. “Now,” his mother said, “I believe pictures were promised?”

“You know about that too?” Hope asked, running to her side.

“Of course. Did you think I wouldn't be excited for a portrait with my family?”

“But, when you... go...” Killian started.

She winked at him. “Have the pictures taken and I have my way of getting a copy.”

Hearing her use modern terms surprised him as much as seeing her the way he remembered her. He faintly watched as she posed with Hope, memories coming by as if he was reliving them all over. Playing in the garden; sitting by the fire, drying up after an evening swim while food was being prepared; her leaning over him on the bed, singing him to sleep...

And then she was right next to him, and without a word they both turned to face Emma, her phone's camera pointed at them, and none even bothered to hide their tears.

Then it was Emma's turn, then the whole group's, and Killian couldn't stop thinking of his last thought.

“Thank you, Hope,” his mama said and kissed Hope's cheek. “Thank you, Emma.” She hugged her tight, wiping away Emma's tears. “And thank you, m'boy.” She hugged him too. “I'm so proud of you.” Then she whispered in his ear, “And as your daughter would say, fyi, I've met my other self and she wants to meet her namesake. Don't let the poor woman wait until that stubborn survivor son of hers decides to die, aye?”

Killian laughed, knowing she was speaking for herself too. Emma and Hope joined them in a group hug, and Killian was certain he had never felt happier. Only one thing was missing.

“Can you sing, mama?” he said softly.

The silence lasted for only a few seconds. Then the sweetest sound from his childhood filled his ears.

My young love said to me My mother won't mind And my father won't slight you For your lack of kind Then she turned away from me And this she did say Oh, it won't be long, love Till our wedding day

Right after her last note, as if on cue, he felt the arms around him and the body pressed against his turn into nothing. His arms fell, but Emma and Hope quickly hugged him tighter, following him when he knelt on the ground.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

But it was something, more than he could ever have hoped for.

They didn't speak, and he didn't cry aside from the tears that fell as he replayed the last moments in his mind over and over again.

“Killian,” Emma said, “do you want to see?”

He sniffled and finally opened his eyes. Emma smiled at him, tears also staining her cheeks, and she offered her phone. Hope let go of his good arm so he could take the phone and look at the pictures.

He laughed at their messy faces; red eyes and tear stains were visible in every photo... as were their smiles. Emma had even taken pictures when Killian had no idea, like the first hug between grandmother and granddaughter, hug between mother and son, mother kissing son's forehead...

On one picture Emma brought her fingers to the screen and zoomed in on his mama's corset. “Check out those flowers, Hope. I guess we know now where your papa got his love for floral, huh?”

They all laughed together, then Hope swiped down so that her face was in center. “She was so beautiful... I mean, is...”

Emma snorted. “Well that's definitely not something your papa got from her,” she said, making the other two laugh again.

“I loved meeting her,” Hope said after a pause.

“Me too,” Emma said. “And she was so proud and happy to see you, Killian. Finally meeting the family she could only watch from afar.”

“Aye. I'm glad to know she will be there with us, in a way.”

They stayed there, for a few silent moments, when the breeze was getting too cold and Hope shivered against him.

He rubbed his hand against her back and kissed her hair. “Thank you for doing this, love.”

Hope shrugged. “I wanted to see her too.”

He looked at her and smiled, then kissed her hair again. “Come on, let's go.”

“Can we stop at the old tree again?” Hope said enthusiastically, hopping to her feet.

Killian and Emma nodded, and let their daughter walk to the gate, taking their time to get up and look at the stone one last time.

“You know,” Emma said, “I acted on a whim, and when you asked your mother to sing, I... I recorded it.”

He felt his eyebrows raise up. “You did?”

She nodded. “I don't know how it'll sound, but-”

He quickly leaned forward and caught her lips in a deep kiss. “Thank you,” he said when they pulled apart.

“I thought that's what the kiss was for,” she said and breathed a laugh against his lips. She leaned back and looked at him, her eyes still red. He didn't dare imagine how his eyes must be like now. “You want a moment?” she said.

He simply nodded, and she left a quick kiss on his lips, then turned to join their daughter, who was happily picking up flowers that grew outside the gate.

He looked at the stone, for the first time not feeling the immediate need to put flowers on it. He touched it, and through the remains of the letters, he imagined the complete epigraph:

Alice Jones Beloved wife and mother

He knew he didn't need a stone, and that his mama didn't need flowers.

He knew this moment would be all they needed in their hearts.

“Until we meet again, mama.”

His heart feeling lighter than any other time he'd visited that place, he turned to his wife and daughter, his very own future.

~

~

Note: I want to say that I have a few reservations with writing those three, because I just can't believe that two people like Emma and Killian, with their past, wouldn't adopt once their life became stable. Like I literally find it ooc for them to not adopt. But I'm not sure I'm interested in writing and handling a big family fic, since my focus on my stories is, admittedly, Killian's feelings (and angst!). Of course there can be a lot of feelings and angst in a big family fic, but here I'd have had to choose between writing a) a big family meeting Grandma Alice and the adopted kids being background characters, which wouldn't be fair to them, or b) making the big family the theme of the story, something that would veer away from the actual theme I aimed for.

But now that I think about it, I may just well write a whole new fic about the kids Emma and Killian adopt after (and maybe even before? Who cares about canon) Hope's birth, and develop them as original characters. We'll see.

[multisfabulis]

The Road to Forgiveness Be Damned

Return to a Paradisal Hell (Chapter 1/7)

Word Count: 4283

TW: Referenced child abuse, emotional abuse

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, outside of the RWBY fic I wrote back in January, this is what I’ve been writing for the past several months. I began writing this right after ASRLSD was done and this has been a fucking trip.

This story will be delving into some dark territory that I won’t spoil but it will be tagged appropriately with each chapter that comes out. I’ve tried my best to portray these themes realistically and respectfully but there’s still a chance I might’ve messed up somewhere along the way. Lastly, this story’s also a bit of an emotional rollercoaster but you can count on there being a happy ending.

As always, I hope you enjoy reading this and I look forward to any and all criticism you have!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA

     Thal Esari seemed to be almost how Ven had remembered it. The same patchy dirt ground, the same old, rickety buildings, the same sunny sky… It was the perfect idyllic paradise from the outside. She, however, considered Thal Esari to be a miserable and hateful hell.

     The dread she felt during the beginning of this trip grew tremendously after passing through the entrance. She never imagined being here again and her mind was screaming at her to run away. A part of her wanted to, though she knew she couldn’t. She had a reason for coming back here. This was too important for her to throw away, no matter how scared she was.

     After looking around a bit, Ferreth said, “Reminds me of Thesriden, ‘cept it’s nowhere near this… cultured, if that makes sense.”

     “Hasn’t changed much since my stay here,” she replied, taking in all the familiar sights, sounds, and smells. Everything was slowly coming back to her.

     “You spent some of your childhood here, right?” he asked.

     “Mm-hmm, eight years before my… banishment.”

     She cupped her hands over her mouth to calm her breathing. A tightly knitted knot of nerves began to unravel with each passing second. Despite how warm it was, the fact that she was here again made her shiver. Just standing here gave her more anxiety than she knew what to do with. If she was already feeling this bad, how will she fare upon meeting the person responsible for it?

     Noticing her distress, he asked concernedly, “Ven, you all right?”

     His voice broke through her thoughts, something she greatly appreciated. Bringing her hair over her shoulder to brush her hand through it, she said, “It’s just… I’m an adult now but I feel like a little kid again. I feel like looking over my shoulder to see if I have enough time to hide. It’s probably stupid to feel this way but…”

     He put his hands on her shoulders. “Ven, we don’t have to do this if you’re not up for it. Your well-being is important so if you’re feeling scared, just say the word and we’ll go home right now.”

     “Thank you for your concern but--” she took his hands off her shoulders-- “I need to do this. It’s hard for me to explain why but please understand that I feel I need to do this, okay?”

     Despite the worry across his face, he let out a defeated sigh. “All right, but the second you say something, we’re going home. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

     Her lips turned up into a small smile as she nodded her head in agreement. She felt lucky for having him around. He gave her some well-needed distraction at times and was reliable enough for stuff like this. He may not be able to completely understand what she went through but that was okay. So long as he listened and helped her whenever her memories overwhelmed her, she’d be okay.

     “So we need to find this Filaurel, right?” he asked, hands clasped behind his head. Glancing up to the sky, she replied, “Lady Filaurel should be at the town hall right around now.”

     “Then we should get going, right?”

     “Yes.” She brought the front of her cloak closer so as to bring herself some comfort.

     So they were off to the town hall. They had some travelling to do, with them being in the outskirts while the building itself laid in the village square. Thank god it wasn’t busy today; otherwise, her anxiety would be going through the roof.

     As they crossed the marketplace, she felt as if she was being watched. No matter how many times she looked, people were minding their business. Then again, her being here must be really out of place. She wondered if anyone had recognized her from long ago. If so, they had to be horrified at seeing the Vlixeox they once terrorized walking around the village again. After the crime she committed, she was sentenced to never return.

     Ferreth’s pep talk did little to calm her nerves. Each step closer to the town hall brought her more anxiety. She was scared to see Lady Filaurel again, who had only dealt her vicious blows and scornful words. Anything she might say or do to her when they met again terrified her to no end. The only thing that made this even the slightest bit bearable was having Ferreth with her.

     They finally arrived at the town hall and it still intimidated her. Unlike its kind, this had the finest of stonework lovingly crafted into it. Cement pillars painted to look like marble adorned the front and silver-framed doors led to the great hall. It represented everything Filaurel wanted Thal Esari to be. An ordinary village that transformed into what everyone believed paradise to look like.

     “Pfft, seems a bit much for a place people gather at to talk about legal crap,” Ferreth said disapprovingly, rolling his eyes.

     A guard stationed at the base of the stairs looked at them suspiciously. She found it weird for only one guard to be posted at the town hall. While the village was decently small by her standards, this made no sense. Either Filaurel was absolutely sure she was safe or her age was starting to get to her.

     Exhaling a nervous breath, she approached the guard and asked, “Excuse me, is Lady Filaurel in right now?”

     His demeanor changed suddenly and, hand reaching towards his weapon, stammered out, “A-and what business do you have with her?”

     “Tell her Venlithea Virthana wants to see her.” Her eyes kept darting to his hand, bracing herself for its unsheathing. “It’s important.”

     With stilted movements, he walked up the stone stairs and went inside. She sighed in relief, proud of herself for getting through the first hurdle. Not having a sword drawn on her was even better. Compared to the many other times it’s happened, this was a welcome change of pace.

     The guard came back minutes later and said she’d see her. Her anxiety swelled as she gave him her thanks. Before she could go up the stairs, though, he whispered something into her ear.

     “Try anything and you’ll be dead before you reach the gate. You and your friend.”

     She gulped and quickly walked up with Ferreth in tow. Yep, that was more of what she was used to. Glad to know some things didn’t change over time, she thought sarcastically. Once at the top, she took hold of the door knob, turned it, and went inside the building.

     There was an immediate shift in ambiance. Where it was warm and humid outside, it was cold and dry inside. The sense of unease she felt was so familiar, she may as well have been a child again. Her desire to run away burned so intensely, she imagined flames licking up the edges of her body.

     Just beyond the next set of doors was Filaurel. Despite how chilly it was, she felt as if she were sweating buckets. Would she really be able to do this? To see the woman responsible for all her issues?

     Placing a hand on her shoulder, Ferreth said, “Remember, Ven, whatever happens in there, I’ll be right there next to you.”

     She laid her hand on his, thankful for the support. Even if the whole world turned against her, he’d be right by her side. Bracing herself for the uphill battle ahead, she went through the set of doors in front of her.

     They entered a large room. The wall in front of them was nothing but a window that almost spanned corner to corner. To their left was a dais that held three seats, though the middle one stood taller than the two beside it. On the right were two small groups of benches divided in the middle and an overhanging balcony above them. In the center of the room was a lone elf.

     Her long gray hair was pulled into a tight bun atop her head. She wore floor-length robes the color of ivory and held an oaken walking cane in front of her. The cane was only for show, which she often used to step on her hands as punishment. All the “discipline” she endured was ordered from this woman. Without a doubt, this was Filaurel, the leader of Thal Esari.

     “Venlithea Virthana.” Her deep voice shook her to her core. “Kneel.”

     She did as she was told and knelt. Her heart raced as she heard Filaurel take slow, careful steps towards her. The knot of nerves from earlier had fully unraveled, its imaginary strings beginning to fray from tension. Whatever she might do to her scared her to no end.

     Raising her chin up with the curved end of her cane, Filaurel said, “You are very foolish to have come back here with a sentence of banishment.”

     Eyes the color of roasted walnuts bore through the depths of her soul. Her throat felt incredibly dry as she tried to speak. She opened her mouth to say something but the words just wouldn’t come to her.

     “Speak!” she commanded, her voice echoing in the empty room.

     “Y-yes, it was very foolish of me to come back a-and I apologize for that.” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a gulp of air. “But I have something I want to discuss with you.”

     She removed the cane from her chin. “You may stand.”

     Filaurel walked away from her and she internally let out a big sigh of relief. She stood up to see her stepping onto the dais to sit in the middle seat. That was the first stage, now it was time for the second.

     “So…” began Filaurel, clasping her hands together, “What is it you wish to discuss?”

     Mustering up all the courage she had, she simply said, “I came to ask for forgiveness.”

     She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Surely you jest.”

     “I know you may have some… misgivings about me, which are completely valid, and I know that what I did is something I can never take back. But I---”

     “You are right in that you’ve done something so horrendous, it can never be taken back. Why do you seek forgiveness from me?”

     “B-because I’ve spent the time since my sentencing to think about what I’ve done and---”

     “And you thought you could just waltz in here and ask for forgiveness, hoping I’d give it to you, just like that?”

     “N-no, I---!”

     “It appears to me you haven’t grown much, if at all, in the twelve years I banished you. Oh, Venlithea, you’re still so selfish. Only thinking of yourself while the poor souls you left in the wake of your destruction continue to writhe in agony…”

     A hard lump formed in her throat as her eyes began to fill with tears. She knew this would happen, she should’ve expected this to happen. Why did she even bother trying to ask when she knew her voice didn’t matter? Maybe it was best for her to turn back now and forget about being forgiven…

     “Hey!” Ferreth barked. “How ‘bout you stop interrupting her and let her finish speaking?”

     Turning her eyes to him, Filaurel asked, “And who are you?”

     “The name’s Ferreth and I’d appreciate it if you’d let Ven finish talking before chiming in with your thoughts on the matter.”

     “Ven, hmm? A childish nickname for an immature Vlixeox.”

     “At least she’s acting more mature than you, Lady Filaurel.”

     She noticed one of her eyes twitching in annoyance. Ferreth, meanwhile, appeared to be trying to hide a smirk. He held nothing but contempt for the woman who made her life hell and she knew he’d make no attempt to conceal it. A small part of her secretly enjoyed seeing him rile her up.

     “It’s not as if she’s barred from speaking,” Filaurel said, her chin resting on her hands, “If she’d just get to her point quicker, I’d listen.”

     “Then let her say what she wants to say.”

     Giving him a look she hoped conveyed gratitude, she stepped forward. “I wish to atone for my crime. I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness, my Lady.”

     “Anything?”

     “Yes, my Lady.”

     Filaurel fell silent as if to contemplate on her words. She bit her lip, wondering what to do if this failed. It was hard enough to push her fears down and come back to the place she regarded as hell. If she came all the way here only to be turned away on the first day, then there was no way she’d ever come back.

     Minutes passed and she had apparently reached a decision. “If I were to give you a task that is to be carried out in few days’ time, would you do it?”

     “Yes.” She answered quickly, eager to know what it was. “What would you have me do?”

     “There’s been rumors of a… formidable beast that’s been seen roaming around the marshlands near here as of late. I’m afraid it may possibly come here and hurt, or even kill, innocent lives, something I’m sure you’re well-versed in. If you manage to stop it, I’ll consider forgiving you.”

     Relief swept over her like a wave. It wasn’t a guaranteed outcome but a consideration was better than nothing. However, she didn’t dare let her guard down just yet.

     “You can trust in that I’ll take care of it as soon as possible,” she said, letting her know that she could be relied on.

     “Good.” She stood up and began walking off the dais. “You have four days.”

     “Four days?!” Ferreth exclaimed. “You don’t even know if this thing exists and yet you’re sending us to go kill it?! What sense does that make?!”

     “Be grateful I’m giving you that much time. If I wasn’t in a generous mood today, I’d send you out there tomorrow.”

     He muttered something under his breath she couldn’t catch. Knowing him, though, it was probably nothing pleasant. While she did appreciate him defending her on her behalf, he could be a little too outspoken sometimes.

     They made their way towards the exit. Four days was their time limit, which meant they couldn’t go a day past that. There were so many variables to account for, like how far the marshlands were and what they were going up against. A plan needed to be formulated before they took any sort of action.

     “Remember, Venlithea,” Filaurel said from behind them, “I’ll be watching over you to make sure you fulfill your duty. Otherwise, you can expect there to be… consequences.”

     A slam with the end of her cane caused her heart to seize up. Her skin broke out into goosebumps as she struggled to catch her breath. The implications of what she meant were endless. She could only hope that, if she were to fail, her punishment was anything other than a whipping.

     The sky was being overtaken with orange when they left town hall. People were closing up shop as parents ushered their kids home for the evening. She remembered wandering around the village till nighttime as a child. Yearning for a family she’d go home to every day, only to be filled with disappointment upon arriving there. It was easy to see why she was so jealous of the other children.

     “How you feeling, Ven?” Ferreth asked.

     “A little worse for wear but--” she tucked her hair inside her cloak to put her hood up-- “nothing I can’t handle.”

     “God, the nerve of that bitch. Did you hear what she said to you?”

     “She’s always done that, bringing up my wrongdoings to blackmail me with them. I’m used to it.”

     “That’s exactly why you should get mad at her! Tell her off! Say that she’s a complete bitch and that she can’t control you anymore!”

     “I don’t think I’d ever be able to do that. She still scares me, Ferret, and I’ve moved on from that.”

     How could she stand up to the person that terrified her? Filaurel was the leader of Thal Esari, the woman with the most authority in the village. She could easily order one of her guards to kill her if she did anything to rebel and no one would bat an eye. After all, she was a Vlixeox, a waste of space. As far as she was concerned, she would forever be a plaything of hers to control.

     Besides, she was right in that she moved on. She found people that cared about her, loved her, supported her. She even met three of the most important people in her life and wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. There was no need for confrontation because she was fine without it. With this one exception, she was ready to turn her back on this place once and for all.

     “Well, it’s a good thing that your good friend Ferreth--” he smiled mischievously and put an arm around her shoulders-- “can take a little bit of revenge for you.”

     “Ferret, what did you do?” she asked, dreading his answer.

     “Nothing much.” He turned her around to face the town hall and pointed at one of the pillars. “Look at where I’m pointing and you’ll see just what I did.”

     She had to squint her eyes in order to see it. On the pillar he pointed out was a large superficial crack in the marble paint. Several smaller cracks were spread out from the big one and appeared to wrap around the pillar. Paint had already flaked off alongside some of the cracks, revealing the hidden cement underneath.

     Her gasp quickly turned to laughter and she put her hands up to her mouth to try and hide it. “Ferret!”

     “Since Filaurel seems to love showing off how elite she thinks she is, I figured why not knock her down a peg?” His eyes seemed to glimmer with wickedness.

     “How? When?!”

     “I did it after we left and all I had to do was tap a claw against it and there went the marble. I did it to all the other pillars, too.”

     The other pillars were in the same state as she saw the first one in. She was trying her hardest to keep her laughter in. Whatever tension she had left from inside the town hall completely dissipated.

     “She’s going to be so mad,” she said, in-between laughs.

     “Eh, let her be pissed off.” He stood up straight. “Serves her right for being mean to you.”

     This was exactly what she needed after everything that happened earlier. Something that could get her mind off the fear and chaos running rampant inside. For the first time since their arrival today, she was happy.

     Stepping away, he said, “Okay, with that out of the way, we need to figure out where we’re staying. I doubt anyone’s gonna let a Vlixeox inside their establishment.”

     “I know a place a little ways from here.”

     So the pair started off towards the place she had in mind. At certain places within the village, she’d talk about the memories she had there. She wanted him to know more of her childhood, trusting him enough to know he’d listen.

     The marketplace she stole from to survive. The playground she’d always be excluded from if there were kids playing. The village square the masses would convene at to see her public punishments. The buildings full of people that gave her either fearful looks or cruel words. As much as she wished they didn’t exist, she remembered every single vile act they carried out against her. If she had any good memories of Thal Esari, she couldn’t recall them.

     They arrived at their destination and it was a mess. The stony exterior had become weathered with time, as shown by the moss growing on the walls. Overgrown vines on the windows made it impossible to see through to the other side. Nature took this place back from her, that much was clear. Even so, she felt the slightest tinge of comfort in knowing she was home.

     Time had taken an even greater toll inside. Some spots on the walls had paint flaked off while pictures hung crooked. Glass from broken window panes littered the floor below and white cloth covered most of the furniture. Specks of dust could be seen floating around in the air through what little sunlight was allowed in. Although everything was different, it also seemed to be the same as over a decade ago.

     Looking around, he said, “I don’t know, is this really the best place for us to stay? Seems a little… risky.”

     “It may not be… ideal but this was home for me.” She walked into what used to be the living room. “It’s probably the only place I feel safe in.”

     A piece of glass crackled under her feet. She crouched down to carefully pick it up, avoiding slices to her gloved fingers. It reflected her face back at her, making her realize it was part of a mirror. Smaller shards of glass laid below a broken mirror that sat in front of her, some pieces still inside the frame.

     Coming over to where she was, he said, “That a mirror? I wonder who broke it.”

     “I did.” She rubbed her thumb over the surface, cleaning off the dust. “I think it was because I was mad that I wasn’t normal. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t change the fact that I was a Vlixeox. Looking into it reminded me of everything I wasn’t so I broke it. I hated myself back then.”

     “Do you still hate yourself now?”

     What answer could she give, she wondered. Not once in her life had she ever liked herself and it remained true to this day. Would there come a time she’d actually like herself, or even love? Meeting Eric made her want to believe it was possible because he befriended her, regardless of her race. She still hated herself but her self-loathing had lightened since that day.

     “A little less than before.”

     With a warm smile, he put his hand on her head and said, “That’s good. It’s better than nothing.”

     Seeing his smile broke hers out as well. It was only a small change in how she felt about herself but it was enough to shift her perspective some. Maybe this epiphany finally set her on the path to acceptance, she imagined him to say.

     Later that night, they came up with a plan for tomorrow. With the distance between Thal Esari and the marshlands unknown, they decided to run reconnaissance. Once that was determined, they’d set off to kill their prey the next day. Hopefully, the marshlands were half a day’s travel. There’d only be so much stuff they could carry on their person, necessities and all.

     When the time came for sleep, he insisted on letting her have the bed. It was probably for the best, seeing how small it was. She remembered all the nights she spent crying herself to sleep or hiding from tormentors. Taking off her cloak and shaking her hair loose from her ponytail, she got under the covers.

     She was able to see the starry sky from outside her window. It was quiet as well, something she was all too familiar with. Curling her body up under the thin blanket, she braced herself for another restless night.

[iancny]

Quilotoa Lagoon

After the Amazon we went back to Quito for a few days to reacclimate to the higher altitude before we went still higher into the Andes to Quilotoa. We stayed in another part of the city, La Carolina, the most modern and commercial part of the city we’d seen. Every building looked to have been built in the last 10-15 years. There was obviously a larger concentration of foreigners there. For perspective, our Airbnb condo was located between Bayer pharmaceutical and Huawei offices. Cat and I agreed that if the neighborhood reminded us of any city we’d been to before, Toronto was the closest.

Views in La Carolina, Quito

Before the trek to Quilotoa we spent one night in Latacunga and stored our bigger bags to cut down on weight before the hike. The next morning we took a bus to Sigchos, ate a $2.75 almuerzos (set lunch), and started walking.

Day 1

The first day wasn’t so bad. An easy, largely level start, the uphills didn’t come till the afternoon, which unfortunately came the same time as the rain, but it never got too heavy. We got into Isinlivi in the early evening and had dinner with a trio of hikers from Paris, Belarus, and Brazil, one of whom were celebrating their birthday.

Day 2

The second day’s climbs might have been a little tougher, but it was more dry, so maybe a little easier on the whole. We left early, moved at our own comfortable pace and made it in about 7 hours I think.

The views all along were out of this world. Clouds and peaks, and rivers, and cliffs, and valleys, and wildlife, and farmland, and dirt roads. Pictures do a better job-

On our longest uphill that day an Andean woman passed us while we were taking a break. She had ordinary flat women’s shoes on and walked very slowly, taking 4 or 5 small steps at a time, pausing for about 5 seconds every 20 to 30 seconds. All the while with her hands were busy working on some string project, knot after knot, maybe it was a bracelet. She kept moving and never appeared to be struggling. Afterward we adopted her “Andean woman” style for ourselves on the long uphills.

That evening we stayed at Cloud Forest Hostal in Chugchilán. Same price as the night before: $15 each for the bed, dinner, and breakfast in the morning. And we’re talking hot hearty meals. The owners were so kind and helpful too. Without fail all the Ecuadorians we encountered along the trek were so kind.

Again we had dinner with the same trekkers we’d had the night before. We started talking some politics. I talked about Bernie, Biden, Yang, etc. The Belorussian girl, Dasha, talked about how poor the situation in her home country had become, and how to be safe she planned to fly back to Moscow and cross the land border into Belarus. She’d been traveling for a few months already, which she thought could make her vulnerable to some arbitrary accusation of being a spy. Being jailed without cause was a real fear of hers that she hoped she could avoid by returning to Belarus via the friendly land border from Russia rather than an international flight.

The Brazilian guy, Daniel, had been working as an investment banker in Paris the last few years. So I asked both him and Lucille, a native Parisian, what they thought of Marine Le Pen? They said they were more fearful of her son. I asked what they thought of Macron? Lucille said she did not have a strong opinion one way or another, but that maybe he was a hypocrite sometimes. At this point I said something along the lines of, “Do you say that because he‘s a banker, and a banker couldn’t possibly be a real advocate of the people?” She knowingly nodded and we both laughed as we looked over at Daniel. (I shortly after apologized to him for the comment.) Daniel quickly picked up the torch though, and as it turned out he knew him personally — he had worked with Macron before! Daniel sang his praises as to how smart Macron was, how hard working and kind, and he attested that through and through Macron was the genuine article of a true liberal. I listened and nodded with Daniel, and very much enjoyed to hear his perspective, but I don’t think his appeal changed the mind of Lucille or myself.

Day 3

This is the day that did us in. We got off to a later start because of how sore and exhausted we both were. We kept it moving on dirt roads, up narrow and broad paths past grazing animals, switchback on overgrown hillsides, through tiny nothing villages with a church, an empty tienda, stray dogs and kids mulling about.

About midday, coming down into a valley before crossing a river, a few sections of our path were washed out due to recent landslides. All that was left was a precipitous edge and some vegetation to cling too. Knowing Cat’s fear of heights, I wanted to push ahead without much delay, before we had the chance to worry much. And ultimately we made it over without any issue. Three portions total were as such. Afterwards I told Cat if there were any more parts as bad or worse than that we should just turn back. Wasn’t worth the risk.

A path that washed away

We kept on, on, on, up, up, up, and about a half hour before reaching the ridge around the lake the rain started coming. We covered up as best we could and made it on to the top. Anticlimactically, the big prize viewpoint was mostly obscured by the clouds, and the rain that had started coming shortly before kept on coming and coming.

Reaching the top

We paused for 10 minutes or so to see if the rain would slow, but no luck. With concern for daylight running out, we shortly left from the viewpoint canopy to finish the last leg of our hike. Again, because of the clouds and fog, and because of the multiple paths, our way forward was a little unclear. We both agreed to stay left, which soon descended us into the bowl around the lake. It was another treacherous path with a lot of slippery rock face and compacted dirt and precipitous drops. With the heights, the rain, and the severe exertion Cat was finding the day thoroughly disagreeable at this point! To think of all the research we’d done online for the hike, and some people had attested *anyone* could do the hike — we could both call that as a gross misrepresentation at this point. I know memory is not infallible, but I didn’t remember the hike to Everest Base Camp being so hard.

Not what we’d expected

We kept moving forward-forward though. To turn back for a different path would have set us back too much time. Daylight was limited. Eventually we came upon a small waterfall that totally perplexed us. The cherry on top of our challenges. We couldn’t even visualize it well because of all the overgrowth.

We again had to consider turning back. We climbed up the banks to see if we could more easily cross higher up — didn’t look promising. Ultimately we decided the only way over it was into it! We climbed down into the water so we could scale the rocks the water was washing over. Mind you it continued raining the whole time too.

9 hours later after starting that morning we stumbled into the first guesthouse that would take us, two bone-soaked, entirely spent gringos. The family was so gracious. Real Andean people—all the women wore the fine bright knits and always kept their felt hats on. We explained our plight to the family’s son Manuel, who had the best English, but still not much. We told him the route we’d taken and he laughed and shook his head. We told him how long it took and he looked at us in awe. “That’s two trips!” he said.

We went back to Latacunga in the morning and rested. The following day we tried some different street foods, walked around the city more, and planned the remainder of our time. I was able to get the Andean delicacy Cuy (roasted guinea pig) for our last meal before leaving the Andes.

Cuy

[noble-pro]

Incredible Sights and 5500+m of elevation in Greece at the Olympus Ultra

Leaving at 0230 to drive to Gatwick for a 0555 flight was perfect preparation for race day. The race started at 0200BST (0400 local). I landed around midday to be greeted by Dimitrios. I love Dimitrios- he said I looked 32years old! The journey from Thessaloniki to Litochoro took just over an hour. I could watch Mount Olympus rising before me. The village was red tiles and white washed walls. The temperature was 35 °C. I could see the Aegean ocean in the distance. It was all glorious. Just the matter of a small run to do! The distance of which has grown since I registered. It was 65 km but I have since learnt it’s 71 km with 5500+m of elevation.  I spent the afternoon walking up to see the valley of the Mountain of the Gods. Blackout blinds turned out to be a winning formula as my room mate (Katie Kaars Sijpesteijn) and I slept in until 0800. I had a small jog before a greek breakfast awaited. Lots of yoghurt, cakes and delicacies. Not wanting to underestimate the race I had an easy day. Up at 0230, flapjack and coffee, bus at 0315 and start 0400. Not many starters- 65. The main event was definitely the marathon as it was part of the Skyrunning series. I did not enter the marathon knowing my skill set was not best placed to tackle such Skyrunning courses which is defined as ‘running in the mountains above 2,000m altitude where the climbing difficulty does not exceed II° grade and the incline is over 30%’. Oh how I laugh now! I should have done the marathon. It was far more runnable by all accounts. I spent 14hrs 9mins working on my weaknesses. The first 5km or so was up a road from Dion, past the archeological site and so I made sure I started conservatively. These pictures were taken the day after the race when Katie and I headed out for some sight seeing. They are from the ancient city of Dion dating from 5th century BC. In the Hellenistic period (which covers the period of Mediterranean history between the death of Alexander the Great in 323 BC and the emergence of the Roman Empire as signified by the Battle of Actium in 31 BC and the conquest of Ptolemaic Egypt the following year). Dion became the religious center of Macedonia, gaining importance and entirely developing into a city. Zeus, the King of Gods, was worshipped here, and the Olympic games were held in honour of Zeus and the Muses, goddesses. Alexander the Great sacrificed to Zeus in Dion before he began his campaign against the Persians.  Then the Romans arrived, in 169BC and added to it. Just amazing! In 1806, Dion was rediscovered by the English explorer William Leake and the site is still under excavation. Anyway back to the boring bit….. The course then hit the trail from Koromilia to Petrostrough which was steep single track and rocky but runnable on and off. There was a small water fountain “Itamos” next to the path which provided lovely cold spring water. We climbed from about 300m to just 1900-something-m in 10km. After an hour the poles came out and pretty much stayed out for all day. The trail ran uphill in varying angles of slopes, through all sorts of vegetation, with the sound of the river coming from the deep ravine of the Orlias gorge below. The route guide remarked…’the dense vegetation creates the feeling that a little further it is lost but that does not happen‘. This was true I often felt I was cutting my own trail but never felt lost as such.  At Koromilia there was a refuge which held an aid station. It was about this time I was waiting for the sunrise but typically it was slightly cloudy so I missed out but the views were immense down to the ocean. The track at its beginning was hardly visible it did exist and too us up to a wooded ridge before passing through a large plateau lying in a dense beech forest. I seem to remember an infinite about of pine cones on the floor throughout the whole course. They conveniently acted like roller skates under my feet which was useful until I was fed up of slipping over on them!

Eventually the pine trees with the white trunk emerged and these grow at high altitudes so I knew I was nearing the top, 1940m at Petrostrouga . The path then descended – well I got have slid down on my arse the whole way if it wasn’t for the dense pine trees. Again we headed back up which took us up to a ridge line with sheer drops on both sides. I couldn’t look down so missed on the views. I had to just keep moving forward. Heights are my most favourite thing! The descent was steep shale and I actually enjoyed skidding down. I knew now it was just one more up and down. The journey up to 2917m Mount Olympus was so long but so beautiful. We crossed snow fields, colourful wildflower meadows and wild horses. The mountain itself has many peaks and felt like a horse-shoe shape as I climbed up through the centre of it. The descent was again comprised of loose shale before reaching more boulders and rocky type terrain and finally technical forest paths with roots and rocks. We wound our way down from 2900 to 300m over about 16hrs and it took me hours- about 4 I think! I was so lame at the descent! We past the most glorious springs of the river Enipeas which looked to tempting but on reaching the water my legs were not terribly co-operative at flexing to let me get to it. The was still 400m of climbing to do in the last 10km and this was in the form of steps- 840 to be precise. It was a tough finish on sore legs. To my memory there was about 10km in total of runnable trails. The course truly tested me in all aspects of my trail running weaknesses- hiking, descending and ridge-line crossing with confidence. I have to say it was a great days training, I nailed my nutrition and I got no blisters or felt any injuries returning, but a slightly empty finish as it was not a very competitive field. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Greece and exploring these new trails but the event to do was probably the marathon distance for that real race experience.  I finished in 14hrs 9mins. I was first women and 8th overall. Thank you to the Olympus Marathon race organisers for having me and for hosting such a well organised weekend. Result Here Read the full article

[roadblockbrainblock]

So I feel like I did a half marathon with really shitty training but I actually did the damn thing. I finished it. I crossed the finish line! In exactly 2h 45 mins. So it's like, slow as hell but mega painful and just a massive slog. I'm gonna run it down for you in the stages as I felt them. 1) Why is this start line so slow. I've placed myself in between 2h 35 and 2h 45 pacers. The 2h 45 pacer said she is gonna walk. I'm bracing myself. I literally just want to finish before 3h. Okay they're all running. Everyone is running. I'm off apparently! Wahhhhhhh 2) okay I'm turning my running playlist on - RUN BY GHOSTFACE KILLAH? Is this for real? It's like my Spotify knows. This is weird. 3) alright I'm jogging slow. Winchester is so pretty. Why do these roads wind up hills though? Oh wait the big hill starts now? Okay the first three miles are uphill? Okay yeah. Yeah. I'm almost at a mile and I'm still jogging - I might be able to do this. Breathing breathing breathing. 4) And I'm walking. Why is this course like flat flat flat and BIG STEEP HILL NOW. This is crap. Okay that's 2 miles. 5) I've made it to three and a half miles and I've got shooting pains up the back of my legs. Ankle to butt, fully. This is punishment for my run on Thursday. Should have just run on Wednesday. Why didn't I rest enough? Fuck it I gotta try. 6) currently on a run/walk cycle, equal parts. The 2h 35 pacer is way ahead of me but the 2h 45 is way behind me. I'm actually alone for a lot of miles 6-9, it's weird. My playlist is banging though. Honestly, I ran for the whole of Ja Rule's Put It On Me and it felt okay. I'm about to go further than I ever have though now so it's a bit weird. 7) fuck this shitty little village Oliver's Battery WHY IS YOUR WHOLE VILLAGE A HILL. NONE OF THIS IS GOOD. It's hot and sunny and there's no fucking water but there is this gorgeous kid omg she has jelly babies I LOVE YOU LITTLE GIRL YOU HAVE SAVED ME. THERES WATER AT THE TOP YESSSSS 8) fuck me 10 miles THIS IS HORRIBLE. I'm quitting. I'm a) surprised my knee hasn't kicked in with its bitching and whining yet, b) my ankles haven't buckled and c) I'm not gonna throw up any time soon cos I drank that water too fast UGH but these consistent shooting pains which are now there whichever way I run with my feet are taking over my whole life. 9) okay, 11.5 miles. The 2h 45 pacer is running with me. I'm still gonna make my goal. There were two of them - I won't ask where her friends are. She tells me my pains are because I haven't run this far before. She doesn't know I had them in Mile 1 but OH WELL. And off she goes. thinking about the end and I feel like crying for real at this point but I suck it up and start deep breathing because I'm gonna stop if I cry now. 10) okay I'm disheartened that I can see the 2h 45 in front of me and I'm about 30 seconds behind. This is not fun and OH SHIT THERES MILE 13 right I can't have shit music for this. I need to run as much as I can. Dr Dre's What's The Difference. Yes. 11) OH MY GOD 400 m to go WHAT IS HAPPENING WHERE IS THE FUCKING END. Right there's the churchyard - they're gonna make me go all the way back round. Fuck. I can't listen to Mya's My Love Is Like Woah. I need a good one, come on Spotify... YESSSS ITS ANDERSON PAK. Some excellent disco funky kaytranada positive vibes IM SO CLOSE FUCKKKKK. 12) THERE'S JAMIE okay hold back the tears til you get to the end it's literally right there. And Anderson Pak is blaring in my ears and so is everyone's cheering me over the line and I can see it and I can't even stop my grin - my face hurts from smiling. At least these photos will be good OH MY GOSH. OH MY ACTUAL GOD IVE FINISHED. FUCKKKKK MY TOES HURT SO BAD. Okay I can't believe this. Okay there's the ugly crying. And then some guy tried to interview me for the radio and I was blubbering "I'm sorry I can't talk right now!" And then I didn't even know what size tshirt to get and then Jamie was there and then I cried for about 10 mins. I didn't even think about what my time was. He told me - 2h 45. Exactly on the money. The 2h 45 pacer came literally right in front of me - she was a minute fast. And then I cried more and then suddenly that was it. It was over. I've showered and decompressed. My toes are mangled but I definitely think I could do another one. In about 6-8 months with some more speed training haha. Really. I really should train more next time.

[wheresmyvisa]

The Road to Loibor Siret, 7 August 2017

Our last day in Kenya we packed up the safari vehicle with our carryon bags at 7 am and took off to head toward the border town of Namanga on the way to Loibor Siret, Tanzania. We took an immediate detour to see a 1-month old cub that had been lost in the Selenkay Conservancy for a week and just found by its mother. It was emaciated since it had no milk for a week. Mom and Dad (Marty, the King) had meanwhile lost hope and mated. Mom likely won’t have any milk for cub, so it likely won’t survive.

We continued to Namanga with our amazing Maasai guide “Wilson” and met our Tanzanian driver at Kenya immigration. It was very crowded with tourists and locals aiming to avoid probable chaos that would follow the next day’s presidential election. Word is that whoever loses contests the results, and his supporters get ornery.

We had come to Kenya 3 days prior via Nairobi. Our hotel was just outside of the city center, a good launch point for safari. We asked the hotel personnel about going into the city center for a short stroll in the city before dinner. They strongly advised against it due to the final rallies that were going on.

While Kenya immigration took about an hour, there was no one in line at the Tanzanian immigration office. We’re not sure where everyone went. We got on the road in Tanzania around noon, and the flat, dry savannah of Kenya instantly made way for green rolling hills. It seemed quite odd that a political border would cause geography to change, but the perceived observation was later confirmed by a resident Tanzanian.

Unfortunately I cannot recall the name of the driver with whom we ended up spending almost 7 hours. Let’s call him Luke. So while Luke waited about an hour and a half for us to cross both immigration offices, he stopped on the side of the road for lunch a half hour after we finally got on the road. “It’s time to stop for a bite.” So Luke had his homemade meat stew and chapati pancake from the driver seat while we waited and looked out the windows.

It wasn’t too long after we started up again that Luke was pulled over by a speed trap. He exchanged some dialogue in Swahili with the officer before getting out of the car to go across the street and shake hands with the other officers who were sitting on a log watching it all. Smiles, laughter, and conversation with dynamic hand gestures abounded. Then finally Luke pulled out the cash and tried to force it into the hands of the designated bribe collector while both laughed and dodged for dominance.

The officer finally accepted the bribe and approached the car to check us out while Luke re-occupied the driver’s seat.

“Where did you come from?” “Amboseli” “Where are you going?” “Arusha” “Where are you from?” “America” “Ah Mr. Trump! You are the Trumpettes”

All we could do was shrug with waiter tray hands and smirk/smile before he sauntered back to the log to wait for the next speeder.

After about 2 hours we arrived in the more metropolitan area of Arusha. Luke showed us his house as he took the local roads around the city center. We were starving since we weren’t fond of the boxed lunch we brought form the camp. So we stopped at a store that looked like a small grocery but was actually a liquor store with a few snacks. We purchased the most incredible chili dusted potato chips and popcorn with an speckling of neon rice puffs.

Once we were began to exit the city center of Arusha, Nick realized that we should buy a new camera chip. This required a u-turn into city traffic and search for an electronics store. We found one after navigating the traffic “queue”, parked, and turned off the car for the first time since we left Namanga. Chip purchase successful, but restart of car not.

Luke opened the hood to investigate. Jiggled a few things and tried to start again. Nothing. Luke called in reinforcements. A cable jump start had no impact. Silence upon a turn of the starter key.

It was time for eager bystanders to pounce on the hood to help with an uphill push jump start. About 4 men gave it all their might to move the car a few inches before Nick jumped out to join them. They mobilized the car into the midday Arusha traffic with a reception of car horns. Luke did whatever he had to do and got it running again. Nick hopped back in to a car that would not be turned off again for another 4 hours for fear of getting stuck again.

Before we left the US, our host in Loibor Siret had asked me to e-introduce him to the car service so he could give them directions to his remote village. He assured me that the driver had detailed directions before our journey. Upon encountering the first decision point after leaving Arusha, at an outer village with its own road, our driver pulled over and beckoned the closest adult to come to his window. They had a long conversation, in Swahili of course, and then we set on our way again. We asked him what the conversation was about, and he told us that he wanted to make sure he was going in the right direction. He was pretty certain that he knew which way to go, but it was a custom to stop and ask directions when entering a new village.

We continued on and pulled over at the next village that was along the road, ie nowhere to turn off. Another long Swahili conversation. We asked again what they said. “Go straight.”

This event happened at each and every village that we encountered along the way, and each time the interpretation of the conversation was “straight.” There was only one road, so there were no other possible results. Luke always made the villager come all the way to his window rather than shout his request for directions (or whatever it is that they talked about). Seemed like a power move to me.

At about 4 pm, Luke finally couldn’t ignore his wife’s calls anymore and he pulled over to check in with her. She sent us her prayers that we would not lose our direction on this one road and that we would arrive at Loibor Siret before dark.

Although the journey was long, it was full of stimulation with Luke’s conversations and antics, continuous sightings of giraffe and zebra grazing by the road, and children walking home from school in their solid colored sweaters, long full skirts for girls and knee-length shorts for boys. We saw them walking home until late afternoon as some of them could walk up to 10 kilometers each way with lots of playfulness along the route.

After Luke’s conversation with his wife, we stopped for another check in and conversation with whomever was at the village entrance. This was the point where we thought we had to be there, as it was almost 5:00 and we had been on the road since 7 am. When we asked Luke what the result of the conversation was, he said 50 to 60 kilometers left. I figured he must have said 15 to 16, so I echoed “one five, right?” He said “five zero to six zero”. So we settled in to look for more school children and giraffe.

At 6 pm, out of nowhere we came across a pickup truck that said “Tanzanian People & Wildlife” on the door, the name of our hosts’ NGO. (Note: a previous post about our visit with TPW references it as African People & Wildlife, which is the name of the American 501(c)(3) fundraising and awareness arm.) Luke gripped the steering wheel hard and sighed “God is great!”

Neo of TPW greeted us warmly and took us to the ward constable to sign in. All visitors must check in with him and exchange pleasantries.

A huge colorful market still open shortly before dusk greeted us with fanfare. We were ready to meet our hosts and wash up from the long dusty drive when Neo said to follow him another 12 kilometers up the hill, which took another half hour to navigate the deep divots and curvy path.

At the top, our hosts Laly and Charles, founders of TPW, greeted us warmly. The Maasai sentries led us to our tottages (a cross between a tent and a cottage) and then to Laly and Charles’ beautiful home at the top of the hill. A fire and Serengeti beer eased the length of our journey, and a leg of lamb grilled over an open fire filled our empty bellies.

[newflanagansonthebloch]

Day 6 April 12, Hue to Hoi An via Bike and the Hai Van Pass

Today is both a sad and happy day. Sad because we bid farewell to our majestic suite at La Residence, but happy because we have bike shoes on.

After our final breakfast at La Residence we drive a short distance to meet our bikes and the two men from the bike company who will follow us.

Our first ride is a brief one—maybe six miles, toward the Than Boan Bridge, a gift from a former Nguyen Dynasty queen to the townspeople of this village (Than Boan). We see the beautiful bridge of course, but we also amble through the traditional market full mostly of women selling vegetables and fruits from their gardens. This is unlike the touristy markets hawking souvenirs. There are fish heads and meat and much more. Hoai, our guide buys some dragon fruit, mangosteens and oranges for us to munch on later in the day. The majority of our first two rides are around rice paddies. They are mostly flat, but beautiful. We pass duck farms with hundreds of white ducks and adorable ducklings.

We then bike around the bay of Lang Co where the local people use a seemingly endless supply of motorcycle tires to grow and farm barnacles. To our left is a beautiful bay and to our right are the mountains of the area. This is a slightly longer ride and our guide Hoai has taken up the rear and the bike mechanic has led the way. When we reach the highway we stop at a roadside cafe and cut our fruit. Holy smokes is mangosteen delicious! We also try sugar cane juice which is as delicious as you’d think. We’re also pretty drenched in sweat as it’s above 90 degrees with about 90% humidity.

After our sweet and sugary snack were fueled up for the highlight of the day. Hoai jumps back in the car—the uphill ride will be a bit too much for him. We’re headed for the 10km ascent up the famous Hai Van pass that most people yearn to do via motorbike. We’re doing it without engines. This is a 500m climb with multiple sections of 8% inclines. The bike mechanic starts the ascent with us, but quickly hangs back and jumps in the sag van. Lots and lots of cars pass us—including truck loads of dairy cows that have been imported from New Zealand heading the the northern highlands. Motorbikes on both sides of the road beep at us with what one man seems “mad respect.” Were the only bikers on the road, and okay, we feel a bit like mini celebrities. We stop only two or three times to make sure we’re getting enough water—the heat is climbing and the sunscreen I’ve put on has definitely sweat right off. The average temperature for our one hour ride is about 95 degrees.There are points in the ride where we are in our very easiest gear.

Getting to the top is amazing. There are tourists everywhere, but we’re staying clear of the world because we are drenched head to toe in sweat. Hoai brings us actual coconuts and we replenish our electrolytes. The views are gorgeous. The switchbacks are over, the best part is ahead!

To go up, you must go down. Our mechanic jumps back on his bike for this part. It takes us about a third of the time to enjoy the breezy beautiful descent. We pass pristine beaches and ocean views. We can see Danang from the mountain side. We pass an 18 wheeler full of pigs. At the bottom we wave goodbye to our bikes (which are a cross between mountain and road bikes) and to the duo accompanying us, and blast the air conditioning. My arms are burnt as are the tops of my knees. I’ll have a pretty awkward sunburn for the rest of this trip despite applying sunscreen. It’s worth it. I feel on top of the world.

Back in the car we drive through Dalat. We make a small stop at China Beach, a nickname given by the Americans in the Vietnam (or what they call “the American”) war. We then drive through Dalat where beach front resorts are literally springing up at every block. I worry that the supply will soon exceed demand. Hoai explains that this port city is growing at a rapid pace, and is quickly becoming a top beach destination for other Asian tourists. Almost everything here is new—and everywhere in Vietnam they seem to be building a road.

The growth and construction continues as we approach Hoi An. Our hotel (not as nice as the others by the way) is just outside the old town. We bid farewell to our smiling driver Huy who heads back to Hue. Our room looks out to the pool. Most importantly, we have time to refresh and change out of our sweaty bike clothes. We’re determined to get some clothing custom tailored as that’s what Hoi An is known for, and our time is somewhat limited!

After a well earned (and needed!) shower we meander into the old town where traffic is prohibited come nightfall. We wander past tailor after tailor touting custom shirts and dresses. Our first stop is Be Be tailor, where my cousin Michael has dress shirts made a few years back. Kerran is measured and they assure us they will be ready in 24 hours. Unfortunately, they don’t have any fabric for what I’m looking for so I wonder a few doors down to A Dong Silk. Huong, an assertive well spoken sales lady greets us. At these tailors you are supposed to know exactly what you want. I obviously don’t. I need a semi formal dress. It should be strapless. In a matter of moments we’re picking out maroon fabrics and we’ve got a simple design I like. Kerran decided he wants a linen suit made for his cousins wedding next December. We take our measurements and promise Huong we will be back as early as possible tomorrow.

We walk through the old quarter which seems almost like Epcot in Disneyworld. You get one ticket to visit up to six places. The houses are old and historic and brightly colored. Restaurants and coffee shops and gift stores are everywhere. We cross the Japanese bridge (more about that tomorrow) and walk across the river. This small island is home to a night market which is surely crafted for tourists. Woman continuously ask us if we want to buy a river lantern or take a boat ride. Tourists are everywhere. On the river is the restaurant Hoai recommends for dinner: Mango Mango. It looks like the kind of place I loathe on vacation—touristy. But, holy smokes is it good. It’s a fusion restaurant and what we have is delicious. Kerran insists I order the passion fruit beer which is more fruit than beer. He orders the four seasons app and I get a fresh papaya salad. The flavors for both are complex and perfect. For dinner he gets the red snapper and i get a plate of jumbo prawns dressed in countless spices. For dessert we order the eponymous Mango Mango which is flambéed with coconut cream.

Unsurprisingly after dinner we are both hot and tired and falling asleep is quite easy.

[thirtysomethingadventures]

Reason #347 I’m marrying him:  when I suggested we hike the Dipsea trail yesterday, he said, "No, let's RUN it!"

Some fun facts: The Dipsea covers about seven miles overland from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach. It is the site of the longest-running trail race in the country. According to my Garmin, it includes 2,081 feet of elevation gain and 2,169 feet of elevation loss. If you start in Mill Valley, you are immediately faced with three flights of stairs, totaling 680 steps (according to the internet) equaling the height of a 50-story building. On the heels of my half-marathon on Saturday, this seemed ambitious, but “no time like the present!”

You can take the 61 bus back from Stinson to Mill Valley, which was our plan. The 61 doesn’t go all the way to downtown, so we decided to park at the Safeway next to the 61 stop and walk about a mile to Old Mill Park and the foot of the staircase. I hit the start button on my Garmin, and we started jogging up the stairs. And then walking. And then gripping the handrails to fight gravity with a little upper-body strength. My quads burned. Didn’t we just do this yesterday? they asked. “Shut up and do my bidding,” I told them. A gray-haired guy breezed past us.

We didn’t see the gray-haired guy again on the trail. We did see towering redwoods, verdant hillsides, tiny orange wildflowers, and, eventually, the sea. We ran as fast as we could down the hills, using all of gravity’s pull, and often ground to a walk on the steep uphills. Once I glanced back as I jogged slowly and painfully uphill, and saw Carlo was right on my tail, walking. “CHEATER!” I accused. “I’ll take every advantage I can get,” he replied. The hills in Marin really do look like some of the gentler slopes of the alps right now. As we huffed and puffed through the section of the trail called The Moors, I said to Carlo, “Look, isn’t that Julie Andrews twirling on that hillside over there?” “Gawd, she’s such a diva!” he replied.

Carlo’s sense of humor is so dry that I often have a hard time telling when he’s teasing. When we got to the beach, I declared my intention of dipping my toes in the ocean as is Dipsea tradition, and invited Carlo to join me. “No, I don’t want my feet to get all salty and sandy. We’re running back,” he said. I decided he must be teasing, ignored him, and soaked my tired calves in the invigorating waters of the Pacific. Everything was sore after a hard race the day before, and an unexpected Dipsea run. I was glad we’d done it, and glad to be done with it. I thought about how the next time we ran the trail, on rested legs and with an idea of what what was in front of us, we’d be stronger. Maybe gray-hairs wouldn’t pass us.

The other part of Dipsea tradition is getting an ice cream--really, a soft serve--from the tourist trap grill next to the beach. Carlo loathes tourist traps and doesn’t think soft serve is deserving of the name “ice cream” (to which I retort that’s why we called it a “creemee” in Vermont), and suggested there might be another ice cream place in the village. If ever there was a place for one, Stinson is it. “I can’t run on ice cream anyway,” he said. “Well, if we’re running another seven miles, I definitely need ice cream,” I said, thinking he’d cop to it being a joke. We walked back toward the highway, and my feet seemed sufficiently dry to put shoes on. I sat on a park bench and started putting on my socks. “You’re going to get blisters running with sandy feet,” Carlo said. He meticulously helped me dry my feet with napkins pilfered from the tourist trap, wiping off every grain of sand. I thought he was carrying the joke a bit far, but put on my socks and shoes again, sand-free. We walked up to the general store, which advertised ice cream, but a guy manning an espresso stand outside confirmed they only sold containers. For cones, we’d have to go to the tourist trap. So we crossed the highway again, noting that the 61 bus just pulled up.

As we approached the counter, I said, “We’re not really running back, right?” Carlo looked at me, surprised. “Of course we are! Then I’ll never have to do it again!”

I stared at him in shock. “No! I want to do this again! This is just the baseline! And I’m worn out!” It seemed like a mean trick to pull. Carlo quickly assessed my degree of seriousness (VERY HIGH) and said, “Well, we’d better catch that bus then.” We ran for the bus and just caught it. Every seat was full. We stood in the back, avoiding eye contact. Eventually I leaned into Carlo, and he put his arm around me. I know he hates small buses; he gets carsick. The adventure seemed ruined. When some people got off at Muir Woods, we took seats near the front and looked at the route map. It was a long, winding way back to the stop near our car.

The bus stopped at Bayview Road on the Panoramic Highway, and the driver called out, “Bayview. Dipsea Trail.” Most of the passengers filed off, and Carlo looked at the road with recognition. “Are the stairs just down that road?” he asked the driver. The driver answered in the affirmative. “Should we get off here?” I asked. As the driver started closing the doors, we leaped up from our seats and made for the exit. I’m sure the driver was never so glad to see two indecisive tourists go.

As the bus pulled away, Carlo said, “I think my blood sugar’s low. I was feeling lightheaded on the bus. I wasn’t really going to throw up, but I felt like I might.” Suddenly his silence and avoidance made sense. “Want a gel packet?” I asked. He declined. “Want to share a gel packet with me?” I asked. He accepted, and chose an orange mango Honey Stinger. “Hold the gel under your tongue as long as you can,” I instructed. Contact with mucous membranes is the fastest way to get sugar into your bloodstream. Within a minute we’d both perked up and started jogging back towards Mill Valley.

We started down the stairs side-by-side, then Carlo pulled ahead. “How do you go that fast?” I asked in disbelief. By the time I reached the bottom, he was out of sight. I ran towards the park, and he was standing on a bridge, grinning. As I approached, he took off on the street winding next to the park, taking us back to downtown. “This is not a race!” I yelled, though it was. My legs were done. I couldn’t keep up, so I jogged on. As Carlo neared a corner, he stuck out an index finger emphatically. I couldn’t tell if he was pointing or saying “I’M NUMBER ONE!!!”

He stopped at the corner and I finally caught him, panting. Carlo pointed again. “There’s the gray-haired guy!” he laughed. Sure enough, we finally found the man who passed us on the stairs on our way out. I said I didn’t see what he was pointing at until he told me, and thought Carlo was lording his victory over me. “No, of course I wasn’t saying I’M NUMBER ONE. I wouldn’t do that. Let’s find you some ice cream,” Carlo said. We came across a place that made ice cream in-house. Carlo insisted he didn’t want any, but I got us both kids cone anyway--strawberry tarragon for me and brown butter plum for him--which we slowly licked while walking back to my truck. I figured we’d certainly earned them. We stopped at Whole Foods for a few staples, and just when we got back to the Safeway parking lot, the 61 bus we’d been on pulled up. “Oh my god, we would have been on that the entire time,” Carlo said. “Instead everything worked out perfectly,” I said. “It was a perfect day.” And it did. And it was.

[tripodsandturbulence]

January 29, 2017 We came to Nepal for trekking, and it's one of the easiest and best places in the world to do multiday treks into the hills and mountains. We wanted to do independent treks, carrying our own gear and without hiring a guide. For our first trek we chose Annapurna Panorama, a relatively easy teahouse trek. Teahouse treks mean you walk from small village to small village, where there are usually a handful of teahouses where you can get food, water, showers, and lodging. That way you don't need to carry your own food and camping gear. Nepal has tons of teahouses all over the trail networks, and it's incredibly easy to trek this way, as you are never more than an hour and a half from the next teahouse. On our first day we caught the local bus from Pohkara to the small village of Birethanti, the trail head for our trek. It was a colourful experience, with Bollywood music videos pumping from the TV at the front, and locals cramming on and off the bus every hundred meters or so until we got out of the city. It took about 2 hours to go the 20 kilometres, which is about on par with our bus experiences here so far. We were eager to get started, and we quickly located the stone steps down to the river, which we crossed via a suspension bridge to a dusty dirt road on the other side. It turned out we were walking on this road for most of the day, and the occasional jeep, or caravan of jeeps, would drive by, kicking up clouds of dust that blew into our eyes and lungs. This wasn't really the trekking I had envisioned. About an hour before we ended our day the road stopped and we were finally on a proper trail. Around 3:00 we found a teahouse for the night, overlooking two rivers, with several beautiful waterfalls cascading down them. In the evening we saw an endless stream of monkeys running out of the trees and bounding across the river, and a pair of large otters which darted across the river, returning the other way 20 minutes later. It got cold out quickly after the sun went down, and we went to bed very early, chilled and exhausted from our trek. The next day was the hardest day of trekking we had planned, all uphill with a 1300 meter elevation gain. The beginning was a brutal hour and half climb, 500 meters elevation gain, up 3300 stone stairs. After that the trail was less steep and began to pass through beautiful forests of moss covered rhododendron trees and crystal clear streams. We ended the day high up in the hills, at a teahouse with a stunning view of the Himalayas to the North. On day 3 we were meant to trek 6 hours to the east, but first we rose at 5:00 am to climb the 2000 steps up to Poon Hill, at 3210 m elevation, the highest point of our trek. At the top we watched the sun rise, slowly lighting the peaks of the mountains in front of us. When we got back down to our teahouse for breakfast we were already exhausted. We overheard some people saying that the sunset at Poon Hill was even better than the sunrise, and with very little discussion needed we decided to stay for another night, to rest for the day and climb the hill again for sunset. Day 4 we had an early ascent back up to 3200 meters, where we were rewarded with more stunning views, before beginning a long, steep descent, lasting almost 3 hours. The descent took us through a gorgeous canyon, where a river flowed alongside us, and frozen waterfalls occasionally decorated the way. The trail was knee jarring, and also treacherous at times, covered in ice with a thin layer of dirt on top. Jeremy had a hard fall on his knee, but was thankfully ok. There was one last 20 minute uphill slog at the end of the day, which we barely managed, but we were rewarded with more views at the top. Day 5 and 6 were both supposed to be short, 2 to 3 hour treks. So instead we decided to take a side trip off the route we were on, adding a night at another village to the north of us. The morning started with an amazing sunrise over the Himalayas right from our bedroom window; we didn't even have to get out of bed. After breakfast we began our trek, down through a rhododendron forest of trees coated in thick moss; the air sweetly perfumed by abundant bushes of small white flowers. It was one of the prettiest forests we've ever been in. After about 45 minutes we emerged from the forest and began a steep descent through cultivated fields to the valley floor far below. We crossed the river at the bottom on a suspension bridge and immediately had to start a steep climb back up the other side of the valley. After climbing for an hour we stopped for an early lunch break, and as we sat in the sun, a giant Himalayan vulture flew over us and circled the hills. It must have had a 2 meter wingspan and it was amazing to see a bird that big flying so closely overhead. The trail was much flatter in the afternoon and we arrived in our next village for the night early, in time to enjoy a pot of Nepali tea in the afternoon sun while looking out over yet more stunning mountain views. The second day of our side trip took us back to our originally intended route. The trail first climbed deep into a valley across a river, and then back up the other side along endless switchbacks, where mule trains regularly overtook us. It was tough, and the least enjoyable day we had so far, with nothing of much interest to see. It was down through cultivated fields and up through a rather plain forest, with no real mountain views along the way. We finally crested a ridge at lunch time and had mountain views again, and then it was only a short walk to Ghandruk, where we spent the night. Day 7 was miserable. We were supposed to trek to Tolka, 3 hours away, but we wanted to get at least a couple hours further. When we woke up it was cloudy out, and by the time we had breakfast we couldn't see the mountains at all. It began to drizzle as we were leaving. We had another very steep downhill climb to the valley floor, and by that time I was so over steep downhill climbs. My knees were aching so much it was hard to sleep at night. To make it even worse the rain was making the stone steps slippery, and it was really slow going on the way down. Eventually we made it and as we started up the other side it seemed the rain had quit and the sky was getting lighter. We took off our raincoats and the rain covers on our backpacks, which were only semi effectual anyways. We should have known better though, and less than 10 minutes later it started raining again and we had to put it all back on. Three and a half hours after we started in the morning, we finally reached Tolka, and we sat for lunch at the first teahouse we came to. Lunch took over an hour and as that hour wore on the rain got harder and harder and the temperature got colder and colder. We really wanted to get further but we were not really equipped to handle rain like this, as we didn't have proper rain gear for us or our backpacks. We decided to stay the night in Tolka, even if it meant a longer day the next day. It was a good choice, and the rain got even worse, until we couldn't even see across the valley anymore and low clouds drifted down the hillside into town. It continued to get worse all afternoon and into the evening, when the rain was coming down in torrents. We were really starting to worry we would be stuck here the next day too. Thankfully when we woke up the next morning the sky was clear and the sun was shining. We had a long day ahead and we got started right after breakfast. The trekking was really nice for our last day. First we walked gently down, and then steeply way up, through a valley filled with ferns and moss covered ground, with deer and birds flitting about. When we arrived at the peak of the valley, our high elevation point for the day, we looked down onto an ocean of white clouds below, with mountain tops poking out above. Then we started our long descent for the day, down through rhododendron forest, with stunning mountain views to our left. After a stop for lunch, which was not very good, and passing through the checkpoints for trekking permits, we began the very steep final descent that made up the last hour of our day. We passed through pretty terraced fields with hawks circling overhead and views of the wide river far below. When we finally arrived at the bottom, a bus drove up literally as I was taking my last step down, and called out "Pokhara?". We raced over and hopped aboard. We got back to Pohkara by 4:00, in time for almost hot solar showers and to rest for a couple hours before dinner.

[traveljaunts]

Not exaggerating. Each word in this photo story about my Spiti travel is true and have lived every moment along with the other women in our group.

Let me start with Hikkim, the highest post office in the world. I have the post cards in my hand to send to my loved ones.

Hikkim post office , claims to be the highest in the world

8th day of our Spiti valley tour; date being 17th August and am with my best closeup smile even though a night before I did have weird feelings while writing these postcards from Langza. Firstly because in the world of emails and whatsapp, I was planning to send postcards that too from the top of the world called Hikkim.

And secondly I was thinking a lot as if the messages on the postcards were my last messages; the most important ones & the only things that I needed to say to Sudiip ( my husband ) & Aashvik (my son). At a height of 14500 ft, Langza does make you feel like that, I guess.

Langza village – For sure one of the most exotic places to spend time for introspection

This is Langza at a height almost equal to that of the heaven. Max 8 to 10 houses surrounded by mountains on all sides and a Buddha statue staring across the Spiti valley from a shoulder of the ridge above the village.

Luxurious homestay after a 50min uphill winding ride to this remote village, super tasty food and a phone (BSNL land line) to talk to…Wow! And ofcourse, making a call from the roof terrace of this Langza homestay under the cold starry night, to talk to our loved ones was truly offbeat:-)

This is Sapna and myself having one of the most heavenly soups to beat the cold at Langza homestay after our phonecalls from the roof

Langza was our highest stay but not the coldest. Coldest in the region is Komic village and you can see the highest restaurant board below.  Spiti valley claims all the interesting destination selling titles…highest post office, highest restaurant, the last village, the only house, the only dhaba , the only souls and so on.

This is me @ world’s highest restaurant in Komic (Shivering inside, posing outside)

Anyway..from Langza, Hikkim & Komic, we were to go to Chandratal via Kaza. This was almost the end part of our journey which had started at Shimla on 10th Aug and was to end on 19th Aug at Manali. However, by afternoon of 17th Aug the story, the scenes, the sporadic showstoppers , everything changed.

Before taking you to the climax of the story, let me show you some glimpses of our journey so far and introduce you to the characters of our story.

All of us @Shimla, the first day of our women tour to Spiti valley in Himachal

Here we are. This was taken at Shimla Mall road in the evening. Sapna, Bharati, Asha & myself ( right to left). Sapna’s history is interesting she was in Kerala when the floods happened, she was in Khardungla Leh when the snowslide happened and now she was in Himachal when an orange alert was indicated.

Bharti’s last travel was a decade back to Kashmir. She had left work, two daughters, two dogs and a worrisome husband behind to be on this women tour that too to Spiti in Himalayas.

Asha, the third lady in the pic was on her third women trip within a year. Quite particular about the food and stay (disliked tents), she didn’t know the adventure that awaited her.

All women tour to Spiti valley in Himachal- Some flashback 

Shimla to Sangla

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   Sangla to Kalpa

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 Kalpa to Tabo

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 Tabo to Dhankar and Mudh

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Oh ! I have to talk about Dhankar experience here.

The monastery that you can see above is Dhankar, built on an elevation overlooking the confluence of the Spiti and Pin Rivers – one of the world’s most spectacular settings. And the village of Dhankar is surrounded by lotus petals like structures which makes it look like the spiritual centre or the place of awakening literally.

I guess we were just short of one more minute of meditation at Dhankar for our awakening to know what was coming.

To compensate, Sapna and I also decided to trek to the holy Dhankar lake for remaining enlightenment. Perched above the Dhankar village and Gompa, Dhankar Lake lies after a steep trek of 45 minute to 1.5 hr (depending on what goes on in your head and body).

From a distance, it did seem simple but that was an eye wash. To add, I also decided to trek in sandals given that I had only seen 20% of the path from a distance and wanted to avoid bothering our driver with luggage shifting to take my shoes out.

Result?  Every time I looked behind to assess the descend part while I was climbing up the mountain, the only thought in my head was…

‘Khudi ko kar bulad itna he koi bhi pahaad chad jaaye aur phir khuda tujhse pooche, gadhe chad to gaya hai ab utrega kaise’  

Anyway, we did finish the trek somehow and anyhow despite all body odds. And to treat ourselves for the big win we even ate 2 extra nutella chocolate pan cakes at lunch just to keep our weight, fat and sugar levels intact.

By evening we were at Mudh and this is me having tea. I thought this pic should be the cover page of my book someday.

Sipping green tea in the evening at Mudh

Mudh lies at the end of motorable road in the Pin valley. As you can see, you get totally isolated with tea in hand and views in front here. No phone no connection, only introspection.

Pin Valley views, then Mudh to Kaza

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Beautiful right? Pin Valley was quite scenic.  I wanted to stop for pictures at every turn but our driver didn’t really like to be left behind other vehicles on these roads.

The meditation and introspection may not have worked for me but the law of attraction did work at this point, and we got a tyre puncture. Courtesy that, I clicked these and we even reached Kaza on time.

Kaza was the biggest town and the biggest market. We ate (from Thenthuk to Teemo), we shopped (from all kinds of souvenirs to household stuff) and we made calls (from our family members to maids to dogs). Yes, atleast BSNL worked !

Second day, from Kaza we drove to see Key and Kibber intentionally and Tashi gang unintentionally. Let me explain how? Now is the time to introduce you to the antagonist of the story, the showstopper, our driver Mr. Chaman.

He looks daring here but the pic is misleading 🙂

Chaman reminded me of the monsterjob commercial , ‘Caught in the wrong job. Thin, tall, and paranoid. Scared for a driver’s profession and usually expected things to go wrong from puncture, to bad weather to pushing the vehicle to getting stuck in Spiti.’ Would tell us ,‘ Jo driver ka sune to sukhi aur jo na sune to dukhi’

This day, contrary to Chaman’s wish, I asked him to drive to Ghette  after Kibber & Key monastery for the views. Chaman was already reluctant and then the weather also decided to play spoilsport.

It started drizzling.. After 30 min of driving, we found a vehicle on the road waiting for its trekkers to return. Instead of asking,’ How far is Ghette?’ Chaman asked, ‘How far’? The fellow said,’ 6-7 kms more’.

Ironically we had already crossed Ghette and the fellow meant Tashi Gang village from there.  After many twists and turns we finally reached Tashi Gang on top of the mountains. One small camp around and two souls..

Chaman decided to return immediately to head to Langza but the road had become wet. As we tried to move ahead in speed for inclined roads, the tyres began to lose grip and the ground got messy & slippery. This was too much for Chaman’s tolerance. He began,’ ab kar lo apna intezaam yahin par’  and stopped the car.

Before the chauvinist in him could reach it’s heights, I gave him back. But ya, to make him drive we waited until his enlightenment when he saw other cars coming from either sides being safely driven without fear.

Reached Langza by evening and we missed Ghette even on return.

 Langza to Chandratal via Kaza

Chandratal lake on a cloudy rainy day

Camping at Chandratal – Fancy no? This was supposedly our last night stay in our choicest list of govt forsaken places.

Govt forsaken because we are talking about the merciless Himalayas in Spiti Valley, Himachal. These places are highly landslide prone . It’s not a border area so no development, no roads & no Army around to help.

Telephone connection is a luxury. BRO ( border road organization) wakes up only at 11 am to start the work and that too after days of reminder provided one is able to send the information in first place. Afterall, not everyone carries a satellite phone.

We were glad, after Chandratal we would reach Manali soon and then fly back to Bangalore.

When we reached Chandratal, it started raining.  Instead of going to the camp first, we thought of visiting the Chandratal lake. It was at less than 2 kms by car and then a few hundred meters by walk. To add to the spice in life, Sapna’s stomach started to hurt. She went to mark her territory for obvious reasons near the lake and realized it was a stomach infection.

With difficulty, we returned to the tent. It was damn cold, very difficult to even get out of the bed. The drizzle turned into a downpour in sometime.

Before dinner, Chaman came with his driver friend called Amar to give another bad news.  ‘Manali road is closed due to cloud burst. No one can go ahead, we may have to go back to Shimla from where we started.’

Was it a joke? We had taken 6 days to reach Chandratal from Shimla. I said, ‘we will see tomorrow’.

I knew that the route from Chandratal to Manali was already at its worst and Chaman had been fearing to drive on those treacherous roads since beginning so I wanted to decide based on what other normal drivers would do in the morning.

Now was the time for some genuine god remembrance. Before sleeping, I recited Hanuman Chalisa and prayed for some divine intervention. That night I couldn’t sleep well due to cold and weather anxiety.

Halfway through the night, I woke up to someone’s singing outside of our tents ,’ Snowfall snowfall.‘ Hum sab phas chuke hain, jaldi utho bhai log.’  And this was the scene outside.

https://www.traveljaunts.in/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Chandratal-day-part-1.mp4

Some were excited to see the snow, some were worried and drivers like Chaman were shit scared. We didn’t know what was the right thing to do. Go towards Manali or go back to Shimla via Kaza or stay where we were.

Within minutes, some of the vehicles started to leave Chandratal. After some group discussion with other drivers, Chaman too instructed us to get into the car . The idea was to atleast try and reach the village on the highway called Batal.  Chandratal is connected via link road from the highway so if it takes 2-3 days to clear highway, the link road takes forever. We also got to know that last year in Sept,  within 3 days, the place had received feets of snowfall and people were rescued with great difficulty. Even the tents at the camps had fallen down.

With tension in mind and around, we sat in the car. Chaman made sure that our vehicle was amidst other vehicles. We started but hardly a few meters were crossed and Chaman realized that the vehicle wouldn’t restart once the engine is shut down. The vehicle was stuck.

The snowfall was increasing. The tension started to build up not only within our vehicle but also among others behind us. Overtaking was out of question on such roads. People wanted to get to the highway as soon as possible before the falling snow would completely make it impossible and too risky to drive.

The camp owners of Chandratal had the best idea of driving on such roads. They abused our vehicle and the driver first and then tried to help but in vain. Our vehicle had to be pushed aside so that the remaining vehicles could pass.

We were asked to shift to other vehicles. This time, I was in slippers not even in my sandals since my shoes had got totally wet the previous day at lake. With 2 heavy bags in hand, slipper on feet and confusion in mind, I fell flat on the snow. All fine, just checked … the bag was open and the wallet was missing. For sometime, I tried to look around then calculated my survival chances and left the idea of money. That was my true awakening 😉

After all these back and forth actions, getting on a vehicle then getting down, walking on snow and in water, pushing the vehicle and then pulling it aside, we were told that it was too late now. Snow was too much and it was risky for vehicles to go ahead.  Even the vehicles that had gone ahead were stuck.

So, we had to walk back to the tent.

https://www.traveljaunts.in/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Chandratal-day-part-2.mp4

  It was state of delirium for me. Bharti was down, she decided not to enter the camp but wait outside. Asha too wasn’t in great shape due to her half hearted sleep in the tent last night. The only person who could take a nap in such chaos was Sapna.

Being the poor organizer of this tour, I decided to walk again on the snow in my slippers to talk to the one man police near our camp area who had the satellite phone. Asking for phone was futile. I was told,’wait till evening for information from Kaza, anyway the camps have enough supplies for next 30 days.’

Chandratal after the snowfall – within hrs goats had nothing left to eat

  Luckily, sun god came to give some respite. By noon, the snow started melting, the road cleared a bit and Chaman’s vehicle too started with some push and pull by other vehicles. Despite being not sure about the vehicle or Chaman, we still took chance. Lost wallet was the last thing on my mind, I was only saying ,’ God I surrender to your will.’

Chaman stopped the vehicle only at Batal, no breaks . And hurray we were alive!

In  this close to a 30 minute journey from Chandratal to Batal, we had easily crossed 5-6 water streams, ditched hundreds of falling stones on the road due to the snow meltdown, skipped a few breaths and missed God like never before.

At Batal, we got to know that Manali road was closed due to couple of landslides ahead. No one had the exact idea as there was no communication. Since it was already evening, none of the vehicles could take chance of driving ahead so the locals suggested to stay put at Batal for the night.

This news made life worse for many sensitive travelers. They all had just realized their own life’s importance for their families. This is another awakening that happens in such trips. You not only start loving your own life but also start fantasizing about how important you are for others and what they would do without you.

Though there were many who cried in Batal but the main character of this melancholy scene was a bong women from Kolkata, a solo traveler. She even anticipated that her father would get hospitalized and her husband would reach asylum without any news of her. Commendable!  Infact, she even made sure that everyone on this route from fellow travelers to locals who face such things every year knew about her painful story.

I couldn’t afford to express anything other than arrange for the food and tents as the dependency was on one camp, one shabby guesthouse and two small dhabas for so many of us stuck at Batal. It was already 18th Aug and in no way we could catch our flight from Chandigarh on 19th, when Manali itself was a distant dream.

Good thing, in Batal I found my wallet inside the suitcase. With money in hand now, I bought warm socks and gloves to survive another tent night. Thankfully the highway dhaba there, did keep all this stuff too.

Morning view from our tents at Batal the next day

Next day, JCB was supposed to come from Kaza to clear the highway. Till 11 am, there was no scene but vehicles started to move ahead to wait near the landslide. This route from Batal to Chantru was the worst and has always been.

We asked Chaman if the vehicle would go. Chaman showed confidence for the first time,’ I won’t stop the vehicle till Manali’. Mountain Dew or Old Monk effect, don’t know.

Spana was worried that our vehicle shouldn’t be the last vehicle on road since if we were to get stuck for some reason, there would be no one behind to help. We did start before others but just a few meters into our mission and Sapna realized that she had forgotten her bag.

We had to go back. Fears too come true. Now we became the last vehicle on the adventure. As we continued, some 1.5-2 kms ahead, our vehicle took its last breath and stopped for the final time.

Sapna and I immediately got down from the vehicle and started waving and screaming at the vehicles in front of us. There were two ahead of us but only one stopped and agreed to help. They were some boys from Delhi who were on this road trip in a zoom car.

We left the luggage & our vehicle and Chaman there itself and somehow fitted ourselves in the other vehicle to get to the landslide point where we could find help from others.

As soon as we reached, to my luck I found one vehicle which was going empty till Manali. It belonged to Mr. Shiv Raj Bodh, the owner of Moon lake Camps, Chandratal. He was coming from Kaza. The biggest helper and the God send person for us.

He was the hero of this scene. He even agreed to come back with me to the place where our vehicle was stuck to get the luggage while others waited at the landslide point.

By noon, the road opened for the adventure ahead. Bharti and I got into the backseat of  Mr Shiv Raj Bodh’s 4 by 4 vehicle along with our luggage .  Sapna and Asha stayed in the same zoom car with Delhi boys.

The route from Batal to Chatru was nothing less than a dream sequence, it definitely crossed all limits of an unforgiving adventurous terrain. On top of that Mr. Shiv Raj bodh was the Michael Schumacher of Spiti region.

Throughout, I kept reiterating the movie dialogue from Jab we met movie

‘ Babaji ab please is trip ko boring bana do ji.’

This is what am talking about- The complete route from Batal to Chatru was similar or worse.

After the ride of our lives,’ we reached Chatru by late afternoon. At Chatru, another news – Two more landslides, the road itself got washed off so it would take days.

Chatru is where the Police made an entry into the scene by evening.  They said,’ Go back to Kaza and stay there till things improve’.

We were almost 150 people stuck in Chatru. Bikers, trekkers, our women group, some solo travelers, a malyalam movie crew including the leading actress Manju Warrier and a few foreigners.  Our bong girl said,’ we would die and not go back’.

Hrs of discussion with the police resulted in all of us getting a chance to speak on their satellite phone to atleast inform our families that we were alive. In the meantime I had already arranged for the tents from India hikes base camp so that in worst case we would have some place to spend the night.

And it was the worst case, we had to spend another night in the camps you can see below.

Another night being stuck in Chatru due to landslide – Our camps

Next morning was beautiful but none of us was really able to enjoy and acknowledge the beauty around. And how could we? Our Sapna was still struggling  with her stomach infection and the biggest wish of her life was a comfortable loo at this point.

By 9 am, there was an ambulance in Chatru which had come from Kaza and some additional officials for rescue operations. We were told, the only way out was to walk, trek and cross the landslide.

In desperation, we decided to do that but we had luggage and a lot of it. Finally we got a govt vehicle to drop us along with our luggage till the landslide point. This was the scene there.

  Thanks to all the saviors especially Mr. Shiv Raj bodh, his friend (who had reached the scene already) and our govt vehicle driver among many others who helped us cross the landslide area along with our luggage.

A Govt bus was waiting on the other side of the landslide area to help the trapped tourist reach Manali. We took a sigh and boarded the bus. Atleast now we would reach Manali…

Just a little further ahead of Rohtang pass another scene awaited us.

Landslide near Madhi on Manali Rohtang highway

Landslide before Madhi  and we were stranded again. Thankfully, at least the phone network was there. Most of us got down from the bus to make calls. The next day that is 21st Aug was my husband’s birthday. Since there was no way I could reach Bangalore I decided to make arrangements from there itself.

The hero of this scene was a regular truck driver who overheard me telling my neighbor friend,’ I might not be able to reach Bangalore so please arrange for the cake and food.’   When I finished my call, the truck driver came up to me and said ,’ Gudiya app zaroor ghar pahunchogi’.

I was touched. It felt like the most positive message straight from heaven. This fellow was empathetic towards me, who himself has a hard life on roads. I just happened to be in that situation by chance whereas he would have faced this many times. God, your creations never cease to surprise me.

Stuck before Marhi on the way to Manali near Rohtang pass

Now getting back to getting stuck part. So we had just crossed Rohtang pass and the nearest village Madhi was 5 plus kms ahead on the highway to Manali. Being stuck in Himalayas near one of the high passes with rains and chances of snowfall is not a good feeling.

In sometime it got dark and started to drizzle too. Babaji had decided not to make this trip boring at all. By 8 pm all the hopes to reach Manali died down as even the JCB stopped working.

We were to spend the cold night in the bus. The only respite was that we could talk to our families in our last moments. No water, no food and no blankets.

The hero of this night scene was Neeratram, our bus driver, who decided to trek downhill till Madhi Dhabas to get food and water for all the passengers in the bus. Some brave bikers too joined him as the rain subsided. That night we ate post midnight.

Morning came with another challenge ,’ the loo challenge’.  Instead of waiting for the landslide to get cleared, we decided to leave the luggage in the bus and trek downhill till Madhi and take a vehicle from there for Manali.

I went ahead assuming everyone to follow but only Sapna came down. Bharti and Asha went back to the bus and decided to wait for the road to open rather than trek downhill. On the highway down, we got lift from a small cattle carrying truck.

I would never forget those 5kms, the surface literally created dents on my bum.

Once in Madhi, I started looking for another vehicle to go to Manali  and got a shared vehicle after some additional circus.

Now the story should end right? but no..at Gulaba just before Manali there was 4-5 kms of traffic jam. Sapna and I got down from the vehicle along with other locals and started to walk downhill taking short cuts. The locals had called the vehicle to the point where the jam ended so we tagged along.

Finally, by 2 pm this ordeal ended when we reached Manali. Gosh!

About the other two? So once the landslide area got cleared a bit, they also took lifts in smaller vehicles as the bus wasn’t allowed to cross till evening and reached Manali by 4 pm comfortably.

That day, we ate like there was no tomorrow and laughed at every incident like it was so much fun.

Not sure about others but I were to ask myself

Will this deter me from traveling or taking such trips? I would say no

Secondly, will this discourage me from organizing tours in Spiti valley?

I would still say no because no other tour can offer such ROI… Within 10 days you learn from camping to trekking to crossing streams to walking on snow to taking the roller coaster rides to ditching bolders and to surviving on kadhi chawal, rajma chawal, bread anda and maggi . Last but not the least, free weight loss is complimentary 🙂

Ready for the next adventure with me girls?

Spiti valley tour- One hell of a trip to Govt forsaken places ! Not exaggerating. Each word in this photo story about my Spiti travel is true and have lived every moment along with the other women in our group.

[grgop]

Day 2: Exploring Dugi otok. First stop Soline

The fish ponds near the bay of Luka

Morning at the monastery

The first morning on the island started without the alarm clock waking up at 6am. It was friday, fresh air, the sound of the birds in the yard, early rays of sun through the window shutters. Somewhat different change from the everyday in Zagreb. I haven't slept so good in a while and felt as if I had been plugged into a charger during the night. The fact that I didn't have to go to my workplace in two hours and had now a luxury of the prolonged weekend might have also helped.

The best part comes when you open the window and instead looking at the neighbour in his underwear at the balcony of the 8-flat building on the other side you first have a look at the monastery's yard. Gardens, walls and the workshop. Looking to the right (southwest) you see the hills and forests along with the main road that goes to Sali or Žman in other direction. If you look just straight behind the walls of the monastery you see the houses of the Old Village Zaglav. What it looks like you can see in the video below.

The morning in the monastery

Friar Izak preparing his breakfast

Usually one of the monks would walk around the yard and do his stuff. I had a desire to start exercising in the yard which is ideal for yoga, work out and similar. However, this desire quickly disappeared when I went downstairs for the breakfast. We had an earlier agreement to have a breakfast at  7am. And so it was. We took half of the fridge on the table and I grabbed me some stuff into my travel lunch bag as having the lunch at the monastery was no longer an option. And really, the first and the last time I had lunch with the monk-fellas was on my arrival day.

So, the plan was to spend the whole day exploring the other side of the island, the northwestern one. To visit some of the following places: Veli Rat, Verunić, Soline, Božava, Brbinj and Dragove. In case you haven't, you can read the first blog post to find out more about the reason I came here and was excited to go around.

Anyway, in almost all of these places I had a few names on my "Middle Earth Map" which were potentially good candidates for the interview and recordings of the insight into the local life and customs. Since I spoke to one guy from Soline the day earlier so the plan was to go first to Soline.

However, things didn't go as quiet as planned and I postponed the trip for somewhat later since Mirel, my bodulovac companion, was busy. We fixed it though the next day which you will read in the new post. I also took the time waiting for him to go around the monastery and here’s one video:

Took most of my camera equipment and food survival pack out while greeting the monk-bros and our cleaning & cook lady. Goran's car waited for me in the shades close to the bell tower. The weather forecast was actually great - a sunny day up to 20 degrees Celsius. Or for my US friends - up to 68 degrees Fahrenheit. Which meant only one thing - t-shirt!

And now starts what I have always wanted - to go around exploring the unknown area in search of the new challenges on my own with the camera in my backpack. Turned the Indiana Jones adventure mode on, kept calm and put the sunglasses on.

Gremo na zmorac ... or... Off we go to the north

Okay, maybe they don't say it that way but hey - I'm the new one so don't judge me, judger. As far as I know "zmorac" is kind of the northwestern wind that blows from the sea to the coast. Similar to "maestral" I believe. Also, the wind directions serve as the world directions (north, south, west...) in many places on the coast but also in other Mediterranean countries.

Here come short experiences and descriptions of the long ride along the main road from the southern part of the island to the last inhabited places in the northwestern part of Dugi otok. Now, it all takes less than an hour of a decent ride by car. Of course, I couldn't miss the opportunities to stop here and there on the road to go out, take some photos and look around.

Leaving Old Village Zaglav went smooth without problems. Remember the narrow streets surrounded with little stone walls? And the cars that can face you at any moment? I tried to be careful the whole time as I was driving someone else's car and because of these specific dangers. But let me tell you something about driving the car on the island in general. And it also affected me in the end as I became more "relaxed" and absorbed the local driving logic. I heard many people don't have a drivers licence and since the roads are mostly empty (apart from the summer tourist season) you automatically become more relaxed and confident on the road. However, some were way too confident and careless and there were accidents, especially on the curves.  Then you also have the wild animals that can jump on the road such as the mufflons. Not to mention individuals or groups who ride a bike or run just behind some corner.

I was driving having all this on my mind and as you can see (and Goran) nothing happened. I have to say I really enjoyed the rides around the island and exploring the local streets or some less visible paths around the main road. There was this sense of freedom of movement and exploring I love and mostly have when moving around on my own on the bike in Zagreb or some other place.

So what can you see on the road between Zaglav and Soline?

What can one see on the around 36 km route? There are lots of ups and downs into the hills and then to valleys and bays. At some points the road is almost on top of the hills with nothing on each side...and then the landscapes changes to having the high hills to your left and to the right a slope ending with some bays and the spectacular look towards the islands and the land to the east. Another great thing is that at some places the island is so narrow that you can see the landscape and the sea to your left and right. This was also the thing that I loved most.

In the first 10-15 minutes you pass by the town of Žman and Luka. I had no one on the list there so I skipped them. Soon the road started going uphill and I stopped at the top to take some photos. There you have a nice look towards neighbouring islands of Iž, Rava, Ugljan, Pašman and far behind towards NW the island of Sestrunj and mountains of Velebit.

What I remember next was a road to the west that climbing up the mountain. There was another military base of the Croatian army and the path was forbidden for the rest of us. This also sounds like a good SF plot on Dugi otok. And there are more places, as you will discover. Who knows, maybe soon we come up with "The mystery of the Long Island". ;-)

Few minutes later you come to the part which is guarded by the high hill to your left and some narrow slopes to your right. It's also part of the road that looks like an ideal place to test your racing car. But don't try it. After the corner I stopped by some large "park your car here" place. There were some tourists climbing the mountain road as the sign informs you that it leads you to the cave "Vela Straža". I leave it for my next visit.

Now, in the following 6-7 kilometers, until we pass by Savar, the road goes zig-zag between the hills, a bit up and down. I believe it was here at one point that I found this place where you stop and look towards the right (or the east). You see the bay below, numerous smaller and bigger neighbouring islands and Velebit mountain far on the horizon. Now you just rotate by 180 degrees to your right (or the west) and you see the vast open Adriatic sea and maybe if you are lucky you can see the glimpse of the Apenini mountains of Italy. After a short existential moment I drove off.

Unfortunately, there are still careless people who throw the trash at the random or specific places around the island. So I came across one such and found trash. It's a shame you cannot bring it simply to your home, place and put it in the cans where it should be. I guess one should be more careful here since we are talking about the island. Have a look at Japan - they also had it in nature somewhere but largely the towns and areas were clean - and I can't remember seeing any trash can outside. They would take everything home and sort it out there. Talking of discipline.

Alright, passed by Savar and soon Brbinj. That's the new place one can take ferry for Zadar or taking your car to the island. Speaking of Brbinj, I had a name there, someone from the family has a family there. But not just that - I heard that Petrov family from Vodice might have actually come from Dugi otok. And where do Petrov members live on Dugi otok? In Brbinj. However, didn't have time and set the priority on other things but I'll try to find out more about it during my next visit.

After Brbinj on our way to Dragove (around 9 kilometers) we are again surrounded with forests. Just before Dragove there is a road that leads downhills towards the beach Veli Žal. Its the place where I took my iconic "Dugi otok" photo on the last day. Oh yes, wait for the "Last day" post.

Passing Dragove, the place I also heard a lot from my US Croatian friend Danny Blasic from NY (if you know him please contact me). He told me to visit Dragove some three-four years ago when we met in person in Zagreb. As he said - one of the places that now have mostly old population and not many of them are in the good condition to speak. I almost missed Dragove but couldn't leave the island without them. And some of you might guess who my local help and interview person was. :)

Soon you reach the Y-crossing where the right road leads to Božava, our second destination, and the left ones goes forth towards Veli Rat, Verunić and Soline. Another crossroads appeared with an extra sign directing you to Sakarun beach. But I turned right following the directions for Soline.

Soline, the beach bar and the grapes

The road goes down the hill to the bay of Soline. Finally, after an hour of the road trip I found myself right one-two meters away from the sea.

Before we continue let's say a few words about Soline. A small town of the population around 40 people situated in the bay of Solišćica. The name Soline comes after the name "salt-panes" (or in Croatian "solana" or "sol" for "salt") and the place was first mentioned as early as the 12th century. Soline also had one of the first public schools on Dugi otok. 

Speaking of the population which today (2011) has around 40 inhabitants it is one of the indicators of the reality of demographics on Croatian islands. Just during the years before and after the WW2 there were more than 300 inhabitants, up to 360 as the records say. And just like most of the people on the coast and the islands the Solinjani also have a long tradition of agriculture, fishing and just recently tourism. Joining the other locals in religion the Solinjani also have one church - the Church of St Jacob that dates back to 15th century. Unfortunately, I haven't explored much of Soline to see it but there you go...Let's get back to our timeline.

There was only one car moving, some old couple, as I was heading for the other side of Soline where I noticed the beach bar and the little traffic I was told to go.

As I did a circle around the bay I paid attention to what the place looks like. First thing that meets the eye are the houses with gardens next to each other. The second - there were palm trees alongside the promenade but generally I had a feeling like it's impossible to survive the summer heat if staying outside.

I saw some senior fellas sitting near the traffic-bar and drinking. I parked nearby and went to approach them. Tomislav, the friend of the friend, told me his guys would be aware of my arrival. Things somehow again changed as this had no clue on what I was talking about. Also, they disappeared to their homes after few minutes.

Here it was where I first learned the mistake in my approach when looking for the local native speakers. All of them speak the local idioms that I wish to record but when I mention it to them - they automatically assume they are not good enough, they switch subconsciously to the standard Croatian and also complain that no one in the village speaks any more the "old way". They all thought they need to recite me the Croatian of the King Zvonimir or what was written on the panel of Baška (Bašćanska ploča). They didn't understand nor perceive themselves as already speaking super interesting local dialect as it was normal to them.

What now? There were some young girls and guys around the bar. We got to know each other and I told them my "mission". They understood what I wanted but we couldn't find the appropriate candidate. Another problem was I arrived late after everyone's already been gone home after morning church. However, there was one grandpa whom we visited.

I believe his name was Svetko. He was also a tough one and didn't want to speak in Čakavski saying in a phlegmatic tone that nobody speaks it anymore. In his mind he was referring to the archaic version of his grandparents but again couldn't see that his own everyday dialect was a treasure to be explored. I was accompanied by two locals (actually if they are reading this - a girl from Slavonia and the guy from Soline whom you watched on YouTube).

The classic island story about the customs, life on the island and the dialects

So Svetko simply explained many terms of the vocabulary are simply lost as the technology and the new vocabulary replaced the original ones. Another thing is that many of the traditional customs slowly disappeared and/or are marginalized. The population is also decreasing. There might come the Croats who live abroad  paying a visit in summer. Furthermore, many go to live on the land like Zadar or some other place and they gradually replace their mother tongue with the standard one or the other "prestige" dialect. Same applies to youth who are more under the influence of the standard language being surrounded with media 0-24h. Lastly, what I had found out - there is still present this stereotype that if you speak the local idiom you are not educated but stupid etc. I believe this is much stronger belief among the seniors who grew up in Yugoslavia where the standard language was a language of prestige and the local languages where seen as something of lower value.

This is of course something I have been fighting against with others for the last couple of years and my goal with the videos and creative work is to stop the destructive policy of pushing the local dialects into the oblivion. Many fail to recognize that something authentic and true of our identity, history, customs and beliefs are preserved primarily in our mother tongue and language of the local people. With their disappearance we lose our history and authenticity. Thus those little documentary trips I am doing and stuff with the camera are a small step in preserving the authentic local.

After learning some new things from Svetko we were awarded with his home grown grapes. He gave me a whole bag of them which I am deeply thankful for. I never imagined I'd be taking the grapes from Dugi otok back to Zagreb!

Marin agreed to help me record the video with the knowledge we had and heard some stuff from Svetko. Thus we stepped by and made our first video of the Youtube series! Thanks again guys for the help. I left them at noon as they were going to get some lunch and I didn't have a whole day. I tried to come back later but that was all of Soline this trip. I hope to visit them again in summer with more time to enjoy there as they deserve.  In the end Soline are another peaceful place on Dugi otok where you can get the natural medicine for your body and brain. Looking forward to our next meeting.

Now off to our next destination - Lucija is waiting.

[kyreniacommentator]

By Chris Elliott

Having been to Lefke on one occasion to do research for an article, I decided to return to find out more about this fascinating town.

Driving along the coast road from Guzelyurt, you pass  by some of the remains of the CMC diggings on the left hand side and you cross a bridge as you enter the village of Gemikonagi and opposite  the Alpet garage you will see the turning on the left to Lefke.

Turning here the road has bungalows on both sides as you drive towards Lefke up the rising road which twists and winds with many fascinating views of the mountains and housing complexes. Soon you will see a yellow train on the left hand side which is a relic of the old CMC mining operation and as you approach a roundabout you will see a children’s playground and also the memorial gardens which you can explore, where there is a statue of Ataturk on a horse.

Go straight ahead over the roundabout and the road continues to twist and wind and rise in front of you as you reach the town and then the road straightens and continues to rise as you go past many fascinating buildings including the old battle-scarred Hotel Vasif Palas on the right hand side and further along on the left hand side you will see a number of buildings which are being restored and renovated with funding from the European Union   

We are now passing the Police Station and Post Office on the right hand side and you will then come to a crossroad clearly sign-posted. Turn right here and park your car in a safe area near the bus stop and the school opposite. It was here that I came with Tamer Dayioglu to see the village of Karadag when I was researching for an article by Ismet Üstüner but more of that later.  From here you will now follow me on a walk round the town.

Go back to the junction and almost opposite is the entrance to a small circular road and you should turn left into this and walk down until you reach the Pir Pasa Mosque, which is the resting place of Piri Osman Pasa who died in 1839.  His Ottoman styled marble tomb is blackened in places and said to be by the smoke of candles lit by local women as they ask a favour from this local saint.

I returned to the junction and turned right, I was fascinated to hear the sound of rushing water and on investigating on the left hand side of the road I found a culvert down which water was rushing into the town. Walking on I soon came to the Post Office next to the Police Station where I had first been introduced to Tamer Dayioglu. Wanting to see the local historical features, I looked at the the old colonial letterbox, now painted yellow, mounted in the garden retaining wall by the Post Office car park.

Walking on further, on the left, I was able to take fresh photos  of the monument which celebrated the Coronation of King George VI.  See slide show for pictures. 

I also passed again on the right hand side of the road a number of buildings which are being restored and preserved with funding from the European Union and it was fascinating to see how the original features were being blended with more modern developments.

Just past here and opposite the Hotel Vasif Palas, I turned right into an area I had walked through on another visit and walked on past another garage into the old Turkish Quarter where I came to the Lefke Orta Mosque which is on the right and turning left here, I walked down past the  Lefke Cultural Centre on the right before coming to the Lefke Gardens Hotel which is on the right.  Turning right now into the side road there is a mixture of old and very stylish buildings before you turn right again and then you arrive at the restored stone Ottoman Aqueduct which was restored with support from Turkey in 2007.  

Turning left and walking past the aqueduct you walk down the road which twists and turns and at a junction you turn left again and  walk along past many more interesting houses and lush orange and lemon groves before you come to another junction where you turn left with a water tank on the opposite side of the road and after a short walk turn, left again before you turn right by the retaining garden wall of a house which is covered with glazed tiles.

Walking ahead I could see people gathering at the end of the road and I approached the home of the  Naqshbandi-Haqqani Order spiritual leader, Muhammad Nazim Adil al- Qubrusi al-Haqqani who was born in Larnaca in 1922 and has lived here, I understand, for over 50 years.  As I arrived I was greeted by so many of his followers and was ushered by them into the shop and mosque and garden area to take many pictures that you can see in the slideshow below. There was a large gathering of people outside his house and they asked me to stay to hopefully see and take pictures of their leader when he came out for his daily car outing.

After waiting for some while the congregation began to sing and then the doors opened and out came the great man helped by his attendants into a car for one of his visits to look at the sea. Walking away from here so many people greeted me and asked me where I was from and sending me on my way with blessings for peace and a good life. Very soon I arrived at the end of the road where  I turned right by the Mosque with 3 large Cypress trees in the grounds,

Walking on I arrived at a main road and turned right and continued down to and passed over a  bridge that spanned a dried up riverbed and ahead I could see some ruined churches before the road led me up an incline with a large fascinating house of the left. Continuing on this road there were spectacular views of the surroundings and the village and it was with a great sense of appreciation that I reached the Cafe Natural on the left where I was greeted by the owner, Sevcan and a customer Salih, who showed me some of the tremendous views and also showed me the location of the previous Palm View Cafe which I understand now has reverted back to a private house.

Having had refreshments at Café Natural and bought some locally grown produce to take away, we continue with our walk and turn right at the next junction next to a school, and walk on down the road to cross a bridge over the river bed and after an uphill walk arrive back at the school and bus stop where we parked our car.

Do follow our pages for news of another walk that will be published soon. For those readers that like to walk, there is a walkers guide book available in some of our local shops called “Walks in North Cyprus”.

Editors Note: We regret that due to circumstances beyond our control, we could not bring you the article we had planned but feel sure our readers will enjoy reading about our experiences with pictures of our walk around Lefke town.

Our readers may also like to read Ismet Üstüner’s historical article with many current day pictures of Lefke “July 1974, War and imprisonment at Lefke” click here

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Do you like walking the Walk with me around Lefke town and see many pictures http://wp.me/p2D1U6-9V0 By Chris Elliott Having been to Lefke on one occasion to do research for an article, I decided to return to find out more about this fascinating town.