I am clean(er), showered and partially dressed in clean clothes. ‘Partially’ as I only have a clean t-shirt and panties remaining to me, and I don’t want to put on the other, slightly grubby, clothing till I have to. I am resting in my room in Syarubesi. It has two beds with adequately clean sheets and a private bathroom with copious hot water in the shower. I never thought I’d be so pleased to see a Western style toilet, yet here I am.
The morning began in Sherpagaon. My opinion of the teahouse diminished somewhat overnight (so are we spoilt by luxury) as I squashed a large insect on my bed, found hairs, not mine, on the pillow, was kept awake by the scratching of termites or similar in the plywood walls, and could hear every word of conversation in the entire place as though the speakers were sharing my bed.
Anyhow, we left Sherpagaon around 8, later than usual, and followed a similar path as before, winding along the sides of hills up and down but never too much of either. At one point the path split three ways and sensibly we took the highest way – always better to come down if there is a mistake (or so I thought). It turned out that all three met up later, but this was probably the best way running through pine forests that opened onto a viewpoint over the valley and the mountains beyond.
From here the path began to descend and we could see Syabrubesi in the distance, never really coming very close.
We walked through a series of villages and after the last the path really plummetted. It felt almost vertical and was all sand and rock, so of course I fell once and nearly fell many times more. It was hot and very dusty, there were flies, and I am never certain on my feet going down at the best of times, and my toe was hurting considerably, so I moved slowly. It was, simply, hideous and of course it took me far longer than it would anyone else.
Towards the end of the way down we met, for the second time, a man carrying a load of mattresses (new) inexplicably downhill. He stopped for a chat and turned out to be the second person I have met this year who knew Pakistan well as he had spent some time on the other side of the border pointing a gun at us. (Although, as he hastened to explain, he was a cook). There is apparently a Gurkha regiment in the Indian army staffed by Nepalis, and he was posted with it to the Leh sector.
But now I am in my hotel room and have booked a modest but reputable looking place in Kathmandu for two nights. Especially needed, I think, as it turns out our retun will not be by luxury jeep but by bus, albeit the deluxe bus so we should at least have our own seats. And no one has died in my absence, nor has work exploded in any way, and as far as a cursory look at the frontpage of the Guardian shows, no major war has broken out. Though there seem to have been goings on in the US, but who knows what sort of news comes out of that country these days.
My toenail, sadly, is looking a goner.
And I have showered! There is hot water and I scrubbed and I scrubbed and gnawed at a sachet of Sunsilk shampoo to open it, eventually making use of the pocket knife I had carried all this way to use only twice: once for this, and once for a packet of ORS whilst in the throes of food poisoning. A startling amount of hair came out in the shower but at least what remains is clean.