I was collected bang on time and then, of course, it took a while for matters to settle. I was taken to the place where the jeep departs, as is often the way it was basically a ditch on the side of the ring road from which a jeep erupted every 15 minutes or so. We had ‘scored’ the luxury option, the public jeep. The economy version is the public bus which is the sort that has people hanging off the rooftop and packed inside with all their animals and belongings, squashed into each other, and takes 9-10 hours to reach Syarubesi. The luxury option is a jeep intended for seven people including the driver but seating 10 plus driver, so it was snug to say the least.
The roads were the worst I have ever encountered. The previous frontrunner, a patch near Jaco in East Timor, had a few hundred metres of absolute misery pointed straight downhill. This road hit that sublime peak five or six times but even on the rest of the journey, even a moderately smooth road was a rarity.
So yes, a seven hour journey squeezed tightly between my porter-guide and a young man in full synthetic, from a synthetic leather jacket to a shiny nylon shirt. He must have had a terrible journey, for he kept nodding off, apologising when he dreamt he had knocked against me, and meanwhile his head kept falling against the window with awful bangs that made everyone else in the jeep jump but didn’t wake him at all. I am sure he must have had bruises on that side of his head afterwards.
Kathmandu Valley itself has surprisingly poor roads, dusty and bumpy, and with terrible traffic, so it was a relief to climb out over the hills to find terraced fields on the other side. As we climbed the fields got narrower, some only a metre or so wide. The people also changed, from the lowlander-highlander, Indian-Tibetan mixture of the valley to something more purely highlander, with Tibetan features, pink cheeks and wearing warm woven skirts.
Finally we arried at the Langtang entrance where it took ages to get through. I had to queue for my park ticket while the jeep waited, making me very restless and apologetic. But it turned out that the jeep itself was inching forward in a slow queue, for all the bags had to be cursorily checked by uniformed officers except for mine. As a foreigner I got to take my bag into a special room where a woman officer poked at it a few times and waved me through. Then another checkpost where my passport and permits were inspected. Another checkpost, this time where I couldn’t make out what was going on but there seemed a fuss about a pink bag tied to the roof of the jeep. Nothing really seemed to happen about the pink bag, it wasn’t removed for further inspection or anytihng, and we moved on.
Now I’m in Syarubesi, contemplating a week without bathing. Dinner, sleep, and an early start.