Up at 07:00 hrs. and with a bit of fuss we settled our hostel account (a double room for 12 Nepalese Rupees per night was a bargain). We got short shrift in the Blue Fox as the cooks were not up yet so we wandered down to the bus stop. An elderly Canadian “schoolmarm” put us on the right track and we transferred to the Chinese trolley bus at Bagmati Bridge. We arrived at Baktapur for an outlay of 1.5 Nepalese Rupees each and made our way up to the Nyatapola Temple.
We were very impressed with this grand building with it’s stone guardians. There were wrestlers, elephants, lions, griffins and goddesses in increasing order of strength. The Nyatapola Temple is a 5-storeyed (Nyata "ङाता" = 5 Storeys "तल्ला & Pola "पोलँ" = Roof "छाना") Hindu Pagoda-Style temple located in Bhaktapur, Nepal.
The temple was erected by Nepali King Bhupatindra Malla during a 7-month period from late 1702 to 1703. It is the temple of Siddhi Lakshmi, the Tantric Lakshmi who bestows auspiciousness. It stands on five terraces on each of which squat a pair figures, two famous wrestlers (Malla), two elephants, two lions, two griffins and two Baghini and Singhini, the tiger and lion goddesses.
We found a pleasant restaurant where we retreated for breakfast leaving the locals to the frantic activity of the grain harvest. We went on to a whirlwind tour of Durbar Square and were very impressed. It was clean and well maintained despite a reputation for filth and primitive squalor.
We cut north and east out of town on the Nagarkot road and left the heaps of drying rice and grain behind. After several kilometres we came to the “short cut” predicted by our guidebook, where the track cut steeply uphill. After changing out of our long trousers and into shorts we plunged up with zeal.
We left a group of soapy travellers in our wake and followed a rutted rocky footpath as it weaved its way up a steep valley. We apparently missed our turn off and meandered onwards as the trail became vaguer and tributary tracks branched off. The power lines were still occasionally visible high on our left, so we were on the right track, but thirst and fatigue began to nag at our confidence.
We decided that we had definitely taken a wrong ‘un when the path culminated in a precipitous drop to a waterfall down below. This signalled the start of a long uphill slog to where the road was visible to our left. We reached the road panting for breath and dying for liquid sustenance.
A milestone informed us that we were four kilometres from our goal so off we set. Around the next bend was a hotel which relieved us of 9 Nepalese Rupees for a coke and two teas in the company of two cosmopolitan Frenchies. A couple of hotel touts provided company for the next stretch, both nippers intent on leading us astray to an expensive hotel.
We found the Nagarkot Guest House below a gaggle of coach trip tourists, on a ridge with a commanding view of the Himalayas on a clear day. Unfortunately, it was cloudy today, but the snowy peaks made an awesome sight through the mist.
We tanked up on Coca Cola and rum tea while a rowdy mob of walking haystacks sang mocking songs from a track to the north. We booked into a pleasant double room with a bamboo façade and no lighting for 25 Nepalese Rupees. We hit the road when a busload of wombats came into the guest house bickering about the prices and grizzling about the lack of power and sanitation.
George fucked up my bog roll (roll of toilet paper) by smearing shit all over it in an attempt to “plug his bum”! We wandered higher up the road to find the town of Nagarkot, but this didn’t appear to exist. We watched the sun go down from a prominent spot with a 270 ° degree radius of view before returning the Nagarkot Guest House.
We ordered dinner which was due to be served at 19:30 hrs. Until then we had to wait in the darkened inn-like dining room trying to read by candlelight as bell-ends and soaps took turns to provide a background babble of boastful travelling tales. A pathetic English couple held sway with their “you name it, we’ve been there” approach. The male of these turtles continued to hold forth on the buying and selling of gems until his audience got bored and drifted away.
An Aussie wazzock gave up in disgust when the avid listeners began to question and dispute his elaborate yarns of alcoholic drinking prowess. STOP PRESS the c*nt has just returned and launched into a tale of trekking bravado. A dozy Kiwi bint spelled out her dreams of a three-storey house, how unusual!
The English bird, not to be outdone, fought off all comers and became the “Kiddie of the Hour”. To her everywhere in the world was primitive and basic, but she soldiered on regardless, gracing the citizens of the world with her much welcomed but fleeting visits.
At last our Nepalese meal arrived and we polished off the soup, rice, dhal, vegetables and omelette in a jiffy. We rounded off the meal with a rum tea, but I was feeling none-to-well and let George finish mine. We went to bed in peace leaving the yarn-spinners to talk away the night.
I felt rough and was only comfortable when I lay on my back. If I rolled onto my side I felt like vomiting and by lying on my front the threat of shitting myself became a factor. I dozed off while George launched into fits of coughing, but later on, I was forced to get up and flee to the external bogs (toilets) to regurgitate my supper.
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