KATHMANDU TO THE BORDER

Note to self...never have a Lonely Planet three inch map as your only guide...that is the lesson of the first few days of cycling....

I ride out of Kathmandu with sunrise, cyling through the narrow cobbled old streets...Children heading to school giggle as I pass...surely I'm not the first foreign cyclist they've seen? But then I catch sight of my reflection in a shop window...and have a little giggle myself. My cycling attire is not quite the cutting edge of modern road gear- long blue dress for Muslim countries (that unfortunately looks like one of my grannie's less glamorous nighties), baggy blue silk trousers, white socks and trainers, sunhat and big sunglasses....I look like a female Mr. Motivator....and so the giggles follow me for the whole 120 KM of the day.

Nine sweaty hours later after alot of exhilirating downhills and a fair share of unforseen uphills, I finally glide into the small town of Mugling...thirty minutes before a sudden heavy hail storm-small miracles.


The next day is 40KM of disappearing tarmac followed by another Lonely Planet error of an apparent 88KM that turns out to be 120KM. Riding alongside the Chitral National Park I find myself alone on the road for long stretches in between tiny villages. I haven't seen anywhere for almost two hours and the sun is threatening to set. I make a quick decision that if I don't see anything over the next hill then I'll have to flag a bus down. But lo and behold, at the next hill I see a lone cyclist coming towards me...which means he must have come from somwhere! And within minutes I see a sign for some random village only 2 sweet KM away-small miracles again. The village is full of open friendly faces surprised to see a lone tourist and lots of people come to talk. I manage to barter my room in the lodge from 200 straight down to 100....and then we all laugh as the owners wife storms out of the kitchen to berate him good naturedly for forgetting about '150'!...I leave them a good tip.

Afterwards it's a smooth and flat road all the way to India. I pass endless streams of trucks waiting to cross the border, shading groups of overweight drivers in tops too tight, playing cards and drinking tea. Cycle rickshaws clatter up the sides of the streets...I meet a foreigner who's paid to ride the rickshaw himself with the driver sitting gleefully inside, waving excitedly to all his friends!

And so it's goodbye Nepal, Namaste India again....