Toilet Troubles in Trat

From Bangkok we got a very fast minibus to Trat. I'm sure the driver was trying to break the land speed record: it took us five hours to get to Trat, it should have taken seven! 

Trat is a small town in south-east Thailand, a necessary stop for anyone heading into Cambodia, or like us, going to the Koh Chang Archipelago. There isn't much there other than a few guest houses and a really good market.

By day the market sells every type of household gadget and children's toy imaginable. By night it's a busy food market selling everything from yummy chocolate cakes to fried noodles to roast duck heads. We ate: octopus dough balls (Ric), sweet and sour pork and rice (Ric also had seafood), hoi sin soaked boiled eggs and a pancake topped with raisins, sugar, condensed milk and chocolate sauce.

Octopus dough balls at Trat's market.

Night market, Trat.

Accommodation was super cheap in Trat; £3 for a huge room and the food at the guest house was really good. However, contrary to the welcome message in the front of the menus, the owner was anything but warm and welcoming.

After visiting the evening market Ric and I sat in the restaurant playing cards when one of us had to go to the bathroom and blocked the toilet. As we were the only guests staying at the guest house, one of us decided to do the honest thing and confess to the owner the nature of our toilet troubles, so that we might clean it up. The "warm welcoming" owner scolded the guilty toilet blocker, saying that we must inform her when we are wanting to use the toilet (as you do!). She then turned to her friends, family and staff who were sat around her and translated the embarrassing incident to them in Thai. The owner and her entourage spent the remainder of the evening giving us filthy looks and expressing their disgust at our indecency. 

Luckily we didn't have to spend too long at the blocked loo guest house and the next day we caught a "fast and smooth high speed catarmaran" to Koh Mak, the smallest island in the archipelago. We were expecting to pay 550baht each for a taxi to the pier and the boat ticket, so imagine our delight when we discovered a special offer selling both for 300baht! Bargain!

Amazing Bangkok, Amazing House!

We finally made it to Thailand, home of the bum gun, gender ambiguity and my favourite kind of food. It may have taken us six months longer to get here than originally planned, but we're here, I'm excited to get back into some writing. 

Our Egypt Air flight was comparable to Ryanair. It sat on the tarmac for an hour and a half at Manchester Airport, leaving us with only 30 minutes to dash for our connection in Cairo. We flew to Bangkok where we stayed three nights in the ironically named 'Amazing House Guest House'. The only thing amazing about it was the price, at £5 per night.

I love Bangkok, in spite of its stifling humidity, for its distinct neighbourhoods that are so different to one another that you can feel like you're in a different city just by hopping across town in a taxi.

Bangkok, from the Chao Phraya River.

To get around we mainly used the river taxis that run up and down the Chao Phraya, at only 15Baht (30p) a time they're far cheaper than any tuk-tuk or meter taxi and it's a great way to see some of the sights along the river, such as Wat Arun, the Grand Palace and numerous other temples. There are four different lines that operate on the river, each with a different colour flag, we used only the orange boats as they seem to be the most frequent. 

River taxi.

We took a river taxi to China Town (Yaowarat), one of the city's oldest districts. Be warned that the boats don't hang around; you have to fight your way off during busy periods, else be stuck at the back and miss your stop - like we did! From the boat pier narrow winding streets lead past mechanic's work shops and heaps of engines to Wat Traimit. On the top level of the four tiered temple is a 5.5 tonne solid gold Buddha, the largest seated, solid gold Buddah in the world! (Entrance fee: 40baht, no short sleeves/short pants)

Solid gold Buddah at Wat Traimit

6% beer and duck noodles, mmmmm!

From the gold Buddah we crossed the road through China Gate to one of the cities most vibrant night markets. Both sides of the street were lined with food stalls, the pavements packed with groups of friends and families packed around plastic tables and chairs. It was so bustling that passers-by had to walk on the road. The market was a dizzying mix of bright lights, delicious smells and mystery foods. We settled on a bowl of hoi sin duck noodle soup from a stall conveniently set up outside a 7-Eleven shop, where we could get cold beers from inside and enjoy a blast of aircon every time the door opened! After that we had pork noodle soup - some of the nicest pork I've tasted, and finally finished with a scoop of home made tamarind ice cream. Most of the dished are priced between 30-50baht (60p-£1).

China Town food market.

Another famous Buddah of Bangkok is the 32m high gold-leafed statue at Wat Indraviharn, about 20 minutes walk north of backpacker central Khao San Road. We managed to get in for free as it's low season and the ticket office was closed! Outside the temple there are women selling tiny cages stuffed with birds, "Give freedom to the birds for good luck", and nearby there are similar women with plastic bags containing terrapins "Give freedom to the turtles for good luck". It's hard to know which is worse, paying the £2 to set the animals free and financing the cruel trade, or not buying them and allowing them suffer on.

Signs indicated that we should leave offerings of "eggs, flowers and fish of the mackerel kind" at the feet of the giant Buddah.

Big Budddah at Wat Indraviharn.

The clouds cleared on the day we visited Wat Arun, and the temperature reached a scorching 40 degrees. We used the river taxi again to get to the temple and paid the 50baht entrance fee. I'd come prepared with my sarong to cover my exposed legs but that wasn't enough for the prudey guard who insisted I cover my shoulders too. Unprepared to hire a scarf, I not-so-discretely whipped off my skirt from under my sarong and used it as a shawl. I don't know if the guard was amused, impressed or offended at my resourceful technique but he let me in with a sly smirk. The temple is really beautiful, decorated with a porcelain mosaic and depictions of the Buddah. We climbed the very steep stairs up to the top and enjoyed the beautiful view.

Wat Arun.

Looking north from Wat Arun.

Once the sun had started to sink behind the sky scrapers we venture out again to the Siam district where my parents will be staying in the New Year. Siam is the modern, expensive area of town where we cooled off in air conditioned shopping malls and felt drastically under dressed compared to the city's upper classes. On the streets surrounding Central World shopping centre we found a Korean market!  We felt strangely at home surrounded by Korean food stalls, clothing and make up.

Siam district from outside Central World.

Eight Months Later

It's been a long eight months since Ric and I crashed a scooter and mangled his leg up in India, but I'm pleased to announce that after two operations on two different continents, three months of bed rest and five months of physiotherapy Ric Stopher is officially mended!

We tested his newly repaired tendons out last week with a 12 mile hike in the lake district in torrential rain and Ric proved that his fitness levels are far superior to mine even after his injury by dragging me up and down various hills for almost six hours!

We're incredibly lucky to be able to finish off our trip more or less where we left off and are looking forward to flying out to Thailand in just under two weeks. I've been planning our return trip to Thailand since we went there two Christmases ago as I absolutely loved it. Inspired by our trip to the lakes, we've bought a tent to take with us in the hope of doing some camping on a remote Thai island.

In the meantime I'm enjoying the British summer in Huddersfield and spending time with my lovely little nephew.

Lake Windermere

Camping at Low Wray campsite, Ambleside

View over Windermere from our rainy hike.

Nice spot for a picnic in the sun, Marsden, Huddersfield

"Hello I'm Jake and I love mud!"

Life On The Other Side (Of The Pennines)

In spite of all my foreign travel, I've never actually lived anywhere in England other than Manchester, I've never even left the great grey metropolis of Swinton, so it is noteworthy that since returning to England in October, I've been living  with Ric in Huddersfield, ont 'uther side o t'ills!

Taken from our bedroom, beat that Swinton?!

He didn't romantically ask me to move in with him, we're past that. It was just a given that he'd need someone to do his washing until he could walk again!

The train station before Christmas

Ric's just about walking around again now but I'm sticking around. It's nice to see green hills and yellow stone cottages when I leave the house instead of row after row of red brick semis, and sometimes there's even a glimpse of that magical, clear, blue sky that Mancunians learn about in school, but very rarely get to see.

A showery walk along the canal 

It's not all blue skies and rainbows though, I have encountered some problems: 

Finding a job in a small town is much harder than when you live in a big city, especially if you don't have a car. This is the reason I'm still unemployed (or retired, as I like to think of it).

The local graveyard looking wintery.

There are communication problems too, no one understands me when I've had a drink and my high pitched Manc accent shines through. And they call barms teacakes and teacakes are current teacakes... lunatics!

New Year Ramblings

After three months back in England I'm suffering a severe bout of wanderlust, accompanied by acute itchy feet syndrome. 

Ric had further surgery on his leg at the beginning of December and has been in a cast for the past month. In a week's time we should know how successful it was and how much physiotherapy he's going to need. Which in my mind translates as 'how soon can we pack up and get on the first flight out of here.'

We were supposed to be in Vietnam now, exploring ancient ruins and being horrified by the history. Instead we're in Huddersfield playing endless card games and watching far too much TV.

I worked briefly for a local "business man", who stopped answering his phone when it was time to pay me, and although I've been offered teaching work I've have had to wait six weeks for my criminal record check to be processed. Our savings that were designated to be spent in Brasil in a months time are steadily being eaten away by the high cost of living in England.

I am grateful, however, for the unpredictability of my life. This time last year we were in Korea, having just returned from Thailand. I don't know where I'll be in six months or a year's time, and even though that's unsettling, I still prefer that to the alternative; knowing that I'll be in the same place, with the same job, repeating every day for the sake of being normal. 

In order to protect my brain from the too much TV (from turning completely to mush), I have made the [New Year's] resolution to learn things. While my friends are all doing masters degrees, on the job training and career development stuff, I'm studying Portuguese, re-learning the periodic table of elements, listening to an audio book about Hiroshima and reading A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. It may not get me a top job, but it will improve my chances of winning the pub quiz. 

To conclude... 2014 has gotten off to a sluggish start, if indeed it's even started at all. BUT I'm sure there will be lots of chaos to come, where ever that may be, and I can't wait to see where the world takes us. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

India Vs. England: The Cost of Living

Sitting at Ric's house, unemployed in England, trying to entertain ourselves with card games and endless TV series, it occurred to me how much it would cost us to live as we did in India, in England.

An Average Day India (for 2 people): 
- Breakfast would be something cheap, like fruit, bread or some mystery snack from a street vendor = >£1
- We'd hop in a rickshaw across town to a palace or temple we wanted to visit = >£1
- Entrance to tourist attraction/temple/palace = £4
- For lunch we'd share a meal and have a drink each = £3
- Afternoon activity could be walking around a park, playing scrabble by a river or sitting in Cafe Coffee Day drinking ice lattes = free or >£2
- Evening meal we might splash out on something nice = £6
- Hotels averaged £3 - £6 per night
- Extra spends for drinks/snacks etc = £3
Daily cost for two people = £26

Indian Thali, enough for two people and cost less than £1

Now imagine that in England (for two people):
- A cheap breakfast (fruit or bread) = £2
- A taxi to somewhere within 3 miles = £3
- Entrance to a tourist attraction = £10+
- Cost of one dish in a standard restaurant plus two drinks = £10
- Two iced lattes in a cafe = £4
- Nice evening meal in a restaurant = £25
- Hotels start at about £40
- Extra spends for drinks/snacks = £5
Daily cost for two people = £100

So for the cost of one day in England, we could have four in India!

Happy 2014 everybody!

Disaster Strikes

I'm not sure we could have had much worse luck than we've had in India. Conned, scammed, poisoned and robbed, with broken laptops, mouldy clothes and an insurance policy that won't pay out. 

Here's the story of how we came to be home in England, with Ric in a wheelchair, when we should be sunning ourselves on a beach in Kerala.

The 2,256km journey from Rishikesh to Cochin took 25 and a half hours, two flights, three rickshaws, three buses, one ferry, three subways and one train. One of our bags was stolen on the train, leaving us minus one ipod and costing us three hours sat in the damp office of the Old Delhi railway police. 

Despite the horrendous journey, we arrived in Fort Cochin in high spirits; this was India's second chance to impress us. First time round we'd encountered some problems; mainly being scammed into a car tour costing us £450 that we didn't want to spend. We hoped the south would be different; more relaxed and more diverse, and upon arrival we were excited to begin the second part of our Indian tour.

Faulty Towers

However...India had other plans. On our second day in Cochin we decided to hire bicycles and do some exploring, but the bike hire shop had no bicycles left, only scooters and motorbikes. Given that neither of us knows how to ride a scooter or a motorbike, we walked away, but half way down the street, something made us change our minds, turn around and hire a scooter. 

Biggest mistake of our lives! 

Before we'd even driven out of the petrol station, Ric lost control and crashed into a wall, trapping his leg between the bike and the wall and taking out a huge chunk of leg in the process.

I won't share the photos of the injury, it's too gory for this blog, but the would went down to the bone, denting the bone, and cutting in half the tendon that allows the foot to move up and down.

We then spent the next six days in Sangeeth Nursing Home, the Faulty Towers of hospitals. 

Where Ric had to hop up two flights of stairs to his own operating theatre, where he was kept for six days on a maternity ward, where only three people in entire hospital spoke English, prescriptions were written on scraps of paper, syringe vials were kept in recycled plastic bottles, where rats and cockroaches ran free, where tyres fell off a wheelchair with Ric in it, where I slept on a metal table, the room was cleaned with a besom, and dusty ceiling fans spun dirt around the room all day, where the windows had bars but no glass, the nurses washed their hands with a rusty water valve and a bar of soap, where plastic gloves were kept in metal jars and reused... the horror stories are endless.

Hand wash?

Well done for recycling!

Hospital corridors; apparently they're building a lift!

The nurses came twice a day to give Ric his IV antibiotics, other than that he received no care from them whatsoever; I had to go out and buy food for him, help him wash and use the bathroom, give him his tablets, get his medicine from the pharmacy. After the second night there, I checked out of our guest house and moved into the hospital to look after Ric.

Being a white man on a ward of pregnant Indian ladies, Ric attracted his fair share of attention. Every visitor to the ward popped their head to oggle Ric in his bed. Every person I encountered - rickshaw drivers, guest house owners, transvestite waiters - wanted to visit Ric, and bring along their friends and family too!

For me it was extremely frustrating, it was near impossible to communicate with anybody and only one lady there was remotely interested in helping me. After two nights in hospital Ric wanted to speak to his parents; even though there was a cordless phone in the hospital, and all of the staff had mobile phones, not one person would give me a phone to take an incoming call from England. In the end Ric had to hop into the nurses station to take a call, to which the staff accused me of making him walk, claiming that I had a phone of my own and wouldn't let him use it. It was horrible.

After six days we were allowed to leave, but because Ric's a big lad, they wouldn't get him a stretcher, he had to hop down the stairs, despite the doctor ordering him complete bed rest.

Ric's prison cell for a week!

Ric spent the following week in bed, unable to move out of the hotel room apart from to return to hospital to have his dressings changed. I spent my time running around trying to arrange flights (with Ric travelling as a medical passenger), ordering us take out food from local restaurants, and generally trying to keep Ric entertained. 

Qatar airways were fantastic at getting Ric home comfortably; he had a wheelchair for every step of the journey, and was given four seats to stretch out on. The great service stopped at Manchester though, where I was left carrying three heavy bags and pushing a wheelchair through customs unaided!

More great news came from the insurance company, who won't pay out a penny for Ric's medical treatment or the flight home. It seems the UK law regarding motorbikes changed this year, meaning we aren't covered. 

Now we're back in Huddersfield, to the safe cleanliness of the NHS. According to the doctors here, Ric's foot was set in the wrong position by the Indian doctors, so his tendon hasn't healed and he still can't move his foot. His wound is infected, surprise surprise, so they can't do anything for the tendon until it's completely healed. 

It feels like it's been a while since we had some good news or some good fortune. We're hoping Ric will be on his feet by Christmas, but until the infected wound clears up we can't know anything for sure. In the meantime, at least we have bacon and good old British weather to keep our spirits up!

Tales of Rishikesh

We spent 10 days in Rishikesh, longer than we've spent anywhere else on this trip so far. It's a beautiful, inexpensive place and we were privy to great company, namely Anna, who we'd already met up with in Varanasi and Lucknow, and her motley crew of pensioners, playboy holy men and yoga snobs. 

Laxman Jhulla, Rishikesh, at the start of the foothills of the Himalayas.

The Silent Playboy Baba Goes Rafting
Through Anna, we were privileged to meet Moni Baba. Baba is the name for the numerous "holy men" dotted around India, who've dedicated their lives to some religious quest. This Baba had taken a vow of silence, earning him the name Silent Bob(a). Unlike the majority of Babas, who have no possessions and live a life akin to a beggar, Silent Boba lives the high life, hanging out in cool bars with foreign tourists and texting on his two mobile phones. 

Mad man in a loin cloth

One day, at the beginning of our time in Rishikesh, along with an Irish girl and an Israeli man, Ric and I decided to take Silent Boba on a rafting trip down the Ganga. Wearing only a red loin cloth and a black cloth skirt rolled up far too high, Baba joined us on the raft and provided most of our entertainment for the day. After trapping Ric's finger in one of the raft's ropes, Silent Boba proceeded to enthusiastically suck the injured finger for far longer than necessary. Unable to verbally apologise, Baba fussed over Ric for the remainder of the trip, and at one point pulled Ric out of the river, face first onto the red loin cloth, leaving Ric's swim shorts in the river, and providing the rest of us with an awkward yet hilarious sight. 

Ric jumping into the river off a rock.

The rapids were far from exhilarating, it was more of a leisurely boat ride than white water rafting, but it was really enjoyable, with great company, beautiful scenery and my long avoided first dip into the holy river of waste! 

Brijing the Gap
Another one of Anna's friends we were introduced to was a 78 year old man named Brij. Having traveled around the world and earned a fine living working for Air India, Brij is now retired and dedicates his time to helping others in his community. He's got kids off the streets and into schools, he's helped finance business ventures for his friends and neighbours, he welcomes tourists into his house as if they were old friends and he is constantly looking for the next project where he can spread his kindness and help others.

Over dinner we heard how he and Anna had organised a hike up a mountain to a nearby village that few tourists have ever visited. A few days later, Ric, myself, and Connie, a Canadian friend we first met in Nepal and bumped into again in Rishikesh, made the same journey up the mountain and I committed myself to helping Brij set up a website promoting tourism in the mountain villages surrounding Rishikesh. The website will be called "Brijing the Gap".

Sweaty and disgusting after our hike up to the village.

Another facade to Brij's benevolence was helping out a local family that live in the neighbouring ashram. The parents and their three children live in this tiny room which doubles as the mother's studio where she makes clothes. Anna, Connie and I all had kameez made, an Indian dress that's seen as a modern alternative to the saree. And it's beautiful! 

Dress maker Kamni and my new kameez.

Brij was somewhat of an inspiration and it was wonderful meeting him.

Yoga
Rishikesh is pretty much the Mecca of yoga. The Beetles were there in the 60's studying transcendental meditation and today it attracts tourists from all over the world in search of yoga teaching certifications, enlightenment and bendy limbs. 

Some of these yoga pilgrims were really sound, lovely people. Others were total snobs that laughed in our faces when we told them we were doing beginners yoga. There was also a lot of talk about chakras, spirituality and other worldly stuff that went rather over our heads, but each to their own, eh?

For years I've been trying to get Ric to do a yoga class with me, and finally, in Rishikesh, he agreed! I think Ric liked yoga, although I couldn't look at him during the class because his silly faces had me in stitches. 

We tired 'laughter yoga' which was like being insane for an hour - roaring like a lion, laughing constantly for no reason, jumping and shouting "ha ha ha", all the while surrounded by 20 others doing the same thing... it was all a bit bizarre, but really fun! It was also a good work out for the abs.

105 years old!!

One yoga class was taught by a 105 year old man. He was like a living corpse; skeletally thin (yet freakishly strong), long white beard, slow zombie-like movements. Ric was mortified that this relic of a man could do more knee crunches than him! According to this ancient guru, yoga, meditation and breathing exercises are the key to a long healthy life. Apparently he gets up at 2am every day and does 5 hours of yoga to start the day!



Chilling
We otherwise spent a lot of time relaxing in Rishikesh. Sitting in cafes drinking lemon and mint slushies, getting massages, reading, writing and sketching. Ric went off to break into the ashram where the Beetles studied; it's now abandoned and overgrown with jungle. 

Rishiskesh was really a nice place to spend a while, and I could have stayed there longer.

This cow, with its dyed orange fringe, was always found standing on a bench!

Back to India and Heading North

We flew from Kathmandu back to Delhi, and had nine hours to kill before our 10pm north-bound train. We'd planned to visit the Red Fort, as it was closed the entire month of August and was the only Delhi landmark we hadn't been able to visit. After maneuvering our way through the streets of Old Delhi, we arrived at the fort's gate. "Closed Mondays" typical Steph and Ric luck. Quickly, we established a plan B; go and hang out in the gardens at Connaught Place. A nippy rickshaw ride later we arrived at the gardens. "Closed Mondays". Giving up, we spent the remainder of the day sipping iced tea in Costa Coffee.

The next morning we arrived in Haridwar, 350km north of Delhi. The city is a place of holy pilgrimage for Indians and once every 12 years the Kumbh Mela festival is held there, attracting in excess of 40 million pilgrims! 

Haridwar is located on the River Ganges, where the flat plains meet the foothills of the Himalayas. Interestingly, the rivers has been dammed off to create a man-made canal that can be kept at a certain level, saving the city from the flooding that occurs every year in monsoon season. Along a wide, paved river-front path are bathing ghats where pilgrims take their holy dip in the Mother Ganga. It occurred to me that elsewhere in the world, the path would be lined with expensive restaurants and high-end cafes. In Haridwar, however, it is home to hundreds of homeless people who live tents, bath in the Ganga and generally try to survive. I thought it nice that the people living at the bottom of India's vast shit heap could have such a pleasant space to live, although I would have liked a coffee in a nice cafe at the time!

We where walking around Haridwar with no idea about what sights were there for us to see, when we spotted a cablecar, and decided to go for a ride. At the ticket office there were numerous different tickets with different names and different prices and Ric, impulsively, bought the most expensive one, much to my dismay. I later regretted my criticism as the ticket we'd bought included two round trip cablecar rides, a return bus trip, and entrance to two temples, making it £5 well spent. 

Me at the top of cablecar one, post blessing.

The temples we visited were not very attractive, but the views over Haridwar were nice and I was fascinated by the Indians there making "offerings" to the Gods. Money, flowers and food are offered at every shrine, statue, picture and holy man in sight. The first holy man I came across blessed me, marking my forehead with the iconic red ash, and then refused to release my shoulder from his grip until I coughed up some money! After that I hurried through the temple telling everyone I was "just here for the view". This wasn't a tourist scam though, the Indian people there were throwing around notes like there was no tomorrow, and it occurred to me that for all it's thousands of Gods, Hinduism is no different from Christianity or any other religion on this Earth; it's all about money.

View looking back at Haridwar from the second temple. 

In the evening we attended the pooja (prayer) ceremony on the banks of the holy river. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people there; sitting on the steps, singing, splashing out on more offerings. We'd also seen a pooja in Varanasi, but due to major flooding it had been a cramped, mini-pooja, Haridwar on the other hand, was the real deal. Suckers we are, we let a priest carry out a prayer ceremony for us, during which we offered flowers and candles to the river while the man in a white dress mumbled quickly in Hindi. Of course, once he was done he asked us for a donation to the Mother Ganga, only 500 rupees he said (£5!). I gave him 50 rupees, which he pocketed grumpily. 

People gather ready for pooja, which starts at sunset.

Pooja in full swing, orange man (center) is a holy priest fellow.

After just one night in Haridwar we caught the local bus 25km up the road to Rishikesh, land of yoga snobs, silent Babas and Anna Skinner!

Pokhara, My Piece of Paradise

After a hectic, sweaty month in India, followed by two weeks trekking in rudimentary conditions in Nepal, I was really in need of some relaxation by the time we arrived in Pokhara, and luckily for me, Pokhara was the perfect spot. 

View over Lakeside Pokhara, from the World Peace Pagoda

At the foot of the Annapurna mountain range, with possibly the best panoramic view on Earth, it's hard not to feel at ease in Pokhara. We found ourselves a really nice hotel with a balcony in the touristy, "Lakeside" neighborhood, just 5 minutes walk from Lake Fewa. Although a undeniable tourist trap (no culture here), Lakeside had top restaurants, chilled out bars and 5 hour-long happy hours, plus all the shops a girl could ever need. After two weeks of eating basic mountain food (carbs, carbs, carbs), we went all out and ate like kings; steaks, Thai food, pizzas, lush salads and kebabs all round!

STEAK!!!

One night, after a huge meal and a couple of 2-for-1 cocktails, we were heading home for an early night when we noticed some commotion going on at the back of our hotel.  It turned out to be a staff party for one of the lad's 22nd birthday. They welcomed us to join them and plied us with alcohol for the rest of the night. 

When we weren't too busy reading in a deck chair, or playing cards over a frozen lemon mint juice, we did manage to get out of the area and explore a bit. We hired bikes and cycled around the lake through numerous little villages until the lake became a river. Finding a secluded spot, we locked up the bikes and went in for a dip. The water was cool and refreshing but our secluded swim didn't stay secluded for long; no less than ten local villagers came to have a look at the strange tourists swimming in their river, sitting on the bank intently, and making me all too aware that I was swimming in my knickers!!

Bike ride.

We also hired a rowing boat early one morning and went out on the lake to admire the snowy peaks that frame the skyline. As we were there at the end of the monsoon, the mountains were covered in cloud most of the day, but first thing in the morning before the clouds settled, we got some good glimpses of the peaks.

Captain Ric.

Further indulging our relaxation, we treated ourselves to a Thai massage. With our muscles still aching from the hike, the masseuse was brutally rough with us, pummeling our tender flesh so hard I had tears in my eyes - far from relaxing!

At the end of our week in Pokhara we left the busy tourist area and went to stay at the end of the town at Freedom Cafe, where we had our own little hut right on the Lake. Spending most of our mornings slung in our hammocks in front of the hut, reading, was bliss. Even when the weather took a turn for the worse, and our hut proved not to be waterproof, it didn't bother us. We sat under our veranda and watched the storm roll in across the lake. 

Chilling outside our hut at Freedom Cafe.

Stormy sunset over Lake Fewa.

We spent six days idling away the time and enjoying the pleasant weather. I even got a filling done at a very questionable dentist-cum-pharmacy. The cut-price dental work didn't last long though, and two weeks on I'm once again in need of a dentist! 
Our time in Pokhara felt like a holiday away from the "stresses" of travelling. It was a very relaxing, indulgent week and it's definitely up there among my top favourite places in the world. None the less, six days of doing nothing was enough, and we were happy to get on our way to Kathmandu, and then on to India for round two of cows, traffic and mayhem. 

Local fishermen on the lake.