Returned to the hotel for breakfast, packing, checking out; it had been a splendid stay.
But today we had to face the drive in a taxi to Pokhara. It should not be too bad, predicted at about four hours, and the taxi was a comfortable modern car, the driver pleasant and friendly. But I was in no real state for it; my cold had got much, much worse, with a constant stream from my nose (last night’s t-shirt now serving as a vital hankie; I would have filled the car with tissues otherwise.)
Val took the front seat, thus engaged in conversation, while I was able to get some sleep in the back. I missed, therefore, our driver pointing out the spot where a landslide had taken out two buses, travelling in opposite directions, sending both to the bottom of the valley. Only fifteen bodies recovered; the remainder, plus the buses, still there in the jungle.
I was awake to bear witness to probably the worst traffic jam I have ever experienced. Initial cause was the collapse of a temporary bridge, with a lorry on it, reducing the highway to a single lane. Which is where Nepali drivers’ intransigence kicked in. There is never anything resembling driver courtesy on the roads here, with every driver out for himself (no women drivers, so far as I could see.) So that wherever there was any space at all (or, just as often, when there wasn’t) it would be filled. Nd this included trucks, buses, cars, motorbikes – these last weaving through the tiniest of spaces, but at times even they were stuck, adding to the mayhem.
The result, of course, was total gridlock (except that that suggests something of a grid; here it was just the one road.) Which just goes to show what happens when anarchy is allowed to reign, when what was needed was some sort of authority, holding traffic in one direction for a time, then switching. And, eventually, there was some sort of police presence, but by then it was far too late to make a meaningful difference; one or two vehicles were forced to reverse, to allow some sort of movement; in one case there was a minor accident, a car which had foolishly attempted to push in past a lorry had its front wing crushed.
Every so often, there was a few yards progress; our driver got out a few times, to see what was happening ahead; but it was utterly painful. I suppose the one saving grace was that, most of the time, people just accepted the situation stoically; in the UK, there would have been mass road-rage, fist fights. But then, that is what happens when such chaos is the norm; this was merely an extreme version of it.
We were there, we reckon, for about two and a half hours, but eventually, something seemed to make a difference, an opportunity opened up, and we were in a stream heading out and away.
Not that that was the end of the torment. They are building a massive highway, to motorway standard, all the way between Kathmandu and Pokhara (though our driver reckoned there were several years worth of work yet.) And it is no easy matter: huge amounts of mountain have to be cleared, plus regular landslides to make matters all the more impossible. But it is clear that there is a vast investment of manpower, equipment, money. For just a short while, we were able to take advantage of it, zip[ping along, we pulled off for a break at a most pleasant coffee-shop, up above the dust and dirt.
But it was not to last. Not that the project itself came to a halt; virtually all the way to Pokhara there was evidence of huge road-widening and paving projects. But these were interspersed with sections of rough road, over which we would bump along, then another short stretch, then more rough road (of a sort that would not be considered driveable in the west.) Frustratingly, there were even numerous rough strips just a few yards wide, which acted as sort of rough and ready sleeping policemen (if those policemen were particularly fat and unkempt.) And especially since I was already feeling increasingly dreadful, it was a pretty hellish trip.
But at last it seemed it was coming to an end, as we approached Pokhara. There was still a frighteningly steep climb up out of the city to the place we had booked to stay. Worse was the final three hundred yards. We had been warned this was unpaved’ but actually it was pretty much off-road, and I had serious doubts about being able to get up there in what was, as I say, an ordinary saloon. But our driver was game, didn’t seem to complain too much, and there were, outside the hotel. There were still fifty or so stone steps to be negotiated, but Val called ahead to reception, and a guy made his way down to take our bags. We thanked our driver most profusely, gave him a handsome tip (by Nepali standards) and he set off back to Chitwan.
We were greeted in reception by some sort of blessing, a tika applied to our foreheads, a glass of lemon and a cold flannel offered, (Val unwittingly immediately wiping off her tika), and we were shown to our room.
The advertisement has made it clear that this is more a retreat than a five-star hotel, but it looks likely to suit us very well, with absolutely astonishing views over the lake, the mountains. Not that I was in any sort of state to appreciate this at first; I went straight to bed (only emerging to take a bowl of soup, delivered to our room), while Val had a nice meal and a bottle of wine.
Hell had come to an end; now I had to get better to appreciate heaven, up in the clouds.
