I want to run. Run harder, faster, further.
Run away from the pain.
Run away from that which threatens to tear me apart.

***

Thursday morning (I think) I strolled out onto the terrace, stretching and wiping sleep from my eyes. Suddenly I was rubbing my eyes in disbelief. Right there in front of me was the best view I’ve had of “Fishtail” in the two weeks I’ve been in Pokhara.

I ran back into the room, grabbed my camera, popped on the zoom lens and for the next 30mins happily snapped away and just basked in the magnificence that is Machhapuchhre.

This was going to be a good day.

A short while later I was enjoying breakfast on the main street watching the sun beating down on the Nepalis going about their business. Only 10am and the sweat was pouring down my face.
The owner of Once Upon a Time is a friendly chap and always good company and I enquired as to what might be a good day trip to make the most of the break in the weather.

He mentioned Begnas Lake or Devi Falls and possibly the bat cave. I thanked him and decided to contemplate my next move over coffee.

A few metres down the road the Zip Flyer sign caught my eye. My heart raced and I made a beeline for the office.

Kyle greeted me at the door. He was somewhat taken aback when I announced I wanted to do it. I imagine many who stick their heads in are just curious and only want to know more. I couldn’t sign on the dotted line and hand over my cash fast enough.
After filling in the necessary forms I was told the jeep was about to leave. Gulp!

First attempt at climbing into the back of the jeep saw me land flat on my arse legs in the air. I should mention I was wearing a skirt. Very ladylike.
Not sure which was more bruised my rear end or my ego.
A successful second attempt and we were on our way.

It would just be myself and Tanya, a student from Aberdeen and animated conversation ensued. That is until we got to the top of Sarangot and the jeep turned onto a dirt track. Bundu-bashing in the truest sense of the word.

After squeezing past a broken down vehicle with only millimetres to spare, Tanya and I fell silent, both anticipating that these might be our final moments alive, before plunging down the side of the mountain to our deaths.
The roof of the jeep was made of fibreglass and I don’t recall seeing a roll bar. If it were to end this way it wouldn’t be pretty.

40 nerve-wrecking minutes later we arrived at the Zip Flyer.

A short but steep hike up and we were greeted by the most panoramic views of the valley. Even the World Peace Pagoda looked insignificant from that height.  While the safety checks were taking place we had the opportunity to take pictures.

Suddenly I felt a strange sensation in between my fingers. To my horror attached to my ring finger was my biggest nightmare. A blood sucking leech!!
I screamed like a girl, held out my hand to the zip line dude and demanded he “make it stop”. My eyes were firmly shut and I fought hard not to burst into tears and throw up.

Safety checks complete and two employees strapped in for a test run. This was a good opportunity to get some shots of “takeoff” and see what we were in for.  Tanya and I squinted down the mountain trying to make out where the termination point was. It was a long way down!

A short countdown and the gates were released, 2 orange dots sailed down the cable and out of sight.

Our turn next.

Safety mechanisms and optimal body positioning were explained to us while we waited for the harnesses to return to the top.

A few minutes later we were the ones strapped in, feet propped against the metal gates, hearts beating wildly in our throats in anticipation of the countdown.

3 … 2 … 1 …

The gates flew open and the next 90 seconds were an adrenaline infused blur. Being heavier than Tanya I flew down the side of the mountain, twisting and turning in the wind (and probably squealing like a girl).

And just like that is was over.

Climbing out of the harness I discovered my legs had turned to jelly and I was shaking all over. What a rush.
This is definitely something I will do again when I return in October.

It’s said that when faced with death your life flashes before you.
It doesn’t.
You grab your camera and start shooting like crazy. Oh alright I didn’t think I was actually going to die, but reading the local newspapers a few days ago, the incidence of sailing over the edge and disappearing into the chasm below is higher than I thought.

Shortly after 7am the bus started it’s engine and we began our journey to Pokhara. When purchasing the ticket I was told 6 or 7 hours depending on landslides. It is monsoon after all. However it could take 5 hours if the roads are good and there’s no traffic.
Heading out of Kathmandu I realised it was looking more like 7 hours as 10mins into our journey we came to a grinding halt in rush hour traffic.

It’s called Kathmandu Valley for a reason and to escape you have to climb the high mountains that surround it. Chuck in monsoon and a very misty morning I soon realised this was going to be a white knuckle ride.
Navigating these hairpin bends is one thing, but with the lack of visibility due to the mist these drivers must possess some sort of sentience or are just utter lunatics.

It was at this point I regretted not shelling out the extra for a luxury tourist bus, as I began doubting the vehicle I was travelling in’s ability to successfully deposit us in Pokhara.
I was relegated to the back seat with the rest of the Westerners, like naughty children on a school bus, so every bump and pothole was felt with maximum force. And just for added fun the bus came equipped with individual roof mounted fans. Now I’m quite tall and every jolt meant being attacked from above by aforementioned fan.
But hey, it’s all an adventure, right?

I happened to be on the right side of the bus and was rewarded with some of the most breath-taking scenery I’ve seen.
Lush green mountains, the raging Seti river, settlements precariously perched on steep slopes, terraced rice paddies, locals using water buffalo to pull ploughs.
We passed through a number of roadside villages with colourful markets and it was fascinating to witness the more rural day to day life of Nepal.

Two stops were made. One shortly after the escape from Kathmandu for breakfast, which was more of a “have a cup of tea to calm the nerves” stop.
The second slightly longer for lunch at a roadside restaurant.
Feeling peckish and less frazzled I joined the queue for food. 35p later I had a plate of warm spicy comforting food in front of me and thought to myself “if the journey doesn’t kill me, this food might”. (I suffered no ill effects from the food, surprisingly)

The final leg of the journey was a little more relaxed. It appeared we were no longer on the major transport route and the mental truck drivers had all but disappeared. The potholes had grown larger and there were times I feared the entire bus would be swallowed up.

Into hour 8 it started to feel like an endurance test and you could tell fellow passengers were praying for the journey to be over.
Disembarking at Pokhara Tourist Bus Station you are instantly mobbed by animated taxi drivers all promising cheap fares, trying to grab your bags to carry them off to their vehicles.
Similar situation when arriving at KTM airport so not a total surprise. My guest house was kind enough to collect me and after a couple of minutes I located the sign and was on my way to my new home in Pokhara, in one piece but shaken bashed and utterly exhausted.

You know what the best part of all of this is … I get to do it all again on the way back.
Oh yay.

Travelling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it. – Cesare Pavese

As much as I find travelling alone easier and more enjoyable, I can already tell missing friends is going to be the most difficult aspect to deal with.
The banter and familiarity, not having to explain yourself and people “just getting you”.
The inside jokes, a knowing look or even just a single word at the right moment, reducing me to a giggling pile on the floor.

It’s been a while since I laughed, and I mean truly laughed. The 2hr call to a friend on Sunday is testament to how much my friends mean to me. I don’t talk on the phone! You’ve tried ringing me in the past, right?
Hearing a familiar voice and being able to just be me and speak total bollocks was just what I needed.
Yeah, there’s email but there’s no substitute for good old fashioned human interaction.

The other thing we take for granted is work and as much as we complain about having to turn up every day, there’s the social aspect too. I was fortunate to get along well with my colleagues and there was much banter and frivolity in the office. While we didn’t socialise often, I spent more time with them than with friends. At least 35hrs a week in fact!

Being off season there aren’t many people around. Mostly couples and the odd loner. The others staying at the guest house are friendly and we’ve had some good chats, but they’re not the sort of people I want to hang out or do stuff with. There’s also a superficialness about it all. Everyone’s too polite, no one’s being themselves … including me. I’m sure as time passes this will change, for me anyway, and there will come a point where I actually don’t give a shit anymore.

Usually I’m not one to hold back and I’m known for speaking my mind (no cheeky comments from the peanut gallery, thank you) but I’m most certainly out of my comfort zone and still finding my feet.

I guess what I’m trying to say is currently there’s a great big gaping hole in my life. Travelling to exotic and interesting places is some distraction but there are times (like last night) I wish I was back in London surrounded by friends.

Oh and have I mentioned how dire the booze situation is over here?? I’m contemplating giving up drinking altogether.

I am rather fortunate in that I have a month in this wonderful country and I know I’ll be back later this year, so the urge to do and see all can be supressed. There is no rush.

This was the mistake I made when I first arrived. I was eager to rush out the door and see it all, to experience everything. It only left me exhausted and stressed. The constant hassling, the feeling that you’re being scammed at every turn because of the lack of familiarity wears you down. By Saturday(Day 4) I made the conscious decision to do absolutely nothing.

Meeting an old friend for dinner the previous evening helped put things into perspective. He reminded me I’d made many significant changes to my life and I needed to take time to let them settle. And that I should just relax.

Guest house rooftop

Relax?
Even in London relaxing meant trying to fit things in and see people at weekends which I didn’t have time for during the week due to work.
Yes there were days vegging on the couch in front of the telly but this was mostly due to a paralysing hangover and physically nothing more could actually be achieved.
Not relaxing in the true sense of the word.

For the last 5 days I’ve let this city wash over me. I’ve ambled down little streets discovering cafes and restaurants. Sometimes spending most of the day sitting on rooftops or in courtyards relaxing.
Truly relaxing.

No surprise, it hasn’t come easy. After 12 years in London there is a lot of reprogramming to be done and circuits to be rewired, but every day I get better at it.

Garden of Dreams

Yesterday I wandered over to the Garden of Dreams, snagged myself a shady spot on a bench and made use of the Kindle my ex-colleagues gave me as a parting gift.
Reading was usually saved as a distraction from the horrendous commute twice a day.

Today I’ve spent the afternoon in a cool and peaceful courtyard,, listening to chilled out classical guitar, nibbling on great food all washed down with local beer. Oh and the fresh mint lemonade!!

Courtyard @ New Orleans

The key, I’ve discovered, is to not feel guilty and not to think of all the things I should be doing.

THIS is exactly what I should be doing!

(More Kathmandu pics here)

I’m in Kathmandu!
I still can’t quite believe I’m here.  It’s nothing like I expected, but everything I’d hoped for.

The culture shock has been a little overwhelming and the roads are just mental. No such thing as a leisurely stroll down to Durbar Square. Between avoiding cars, motorbikes, bicycles, potholes, rubbish and the occasional cow there’s hardly any time to even window shop.
Horns beeping incessantly, you’re never sure if they were meant for you.

But let’s go back to the beginning …

Tues 3rd July arrived and with it my 38th birthday. I was much too busy with last minute preparations to give it much thought, which is probably a good thing. Only one birthday left in my 30′s!

Ash and Adele were kind enough to make sure that I got on the plane and didn’t back out. There were some last minute doubts.
Out of character for me I left heading for security with not much time to spare. My friends watched as my panic grew when I realised the queue was going nowhere and the gate was about to close.
Finally through without any hassle, no porno scanner or fondling by the security staff I legged it to my gate. Thankfully I wasn’t the last to board.

On arriving at my seat I discovered I was surrounded by children. I almost ran screaming from the plane.
It turned out alright in the end and they were very well behaved. The little girl next to me had never flown before so we had great fun peeking out the window at all the sights. At one point I woke up and she was curled up fast asleep against my arm.
It appears travelling does indeed change you.

Arriving in Delhi around 9:30am local time I was finally reunited with my hand luggage which was stowed nowhere near me due to my late boarding.
It was then that I had the opportunity to read the cards Adele had thrust into my hand as I hugged her goodbye.

Gosh! I had no idea what she’d been up to at my leaving party. Turns out that sneaky woman had gotten everyone to sign a card for me.
I am really touched by all your kind words. I miss you all!

After patting my face dry I opened the second card she gave me, which was from her and included this little fella.

Hydrating at Delhi Airport

Yes it’s cheesy, but expect pics of him in random places over the coming months. Suggestions for a name, anyone?

Flight from Delhi was brief but loads of fun in a rather small aircraft. My face was pressed up against the window for most of the flight in the hopes of glimpsing the Himalayas.
No such luck as below us was a blanket of thick cloud.

Both legs of my journey I flew with Jet Airways. An unknown quantity for me and it wasn’t until 4 days before leaving that I managed to talk to someone who had flown with them. I was told they were outstanding which put my mind at ease.
While more basic than Singapore Airlines, I couldn’t fault Jet Airways. They certainly win at legroom, and the food was delicious.

Just before landing in Kathmandu, the valley came into view. Breathtaking!
Green lush mountains on either side of the river valley. I’m very much looking forward to exploring the countryside once I get out of Kathmandu.

Sat in the back of the taxi, $40 lighter after getting my 1 month tourist visa, I looked out the window and all I could think was “What have I done??”
It was evident I had glamourised the thought of Kathmandu, and what I now saw in front of my eyes was nothing like I expected.

Everything seems better after a shower, a nap and a hot meal in your tummy. Once I’d settled into my rather large room (!) I wandered downstairs to acquaint myself with the very friendly hotel staff. It would seem nothing is too much trouble and they are willing to organise pretty much anything I need while staying here.
They pointed me in the direction of a restaurant not too far from the hotel serving local food, and as any good tourist should I ordered the non veg Thali set.

Traditional Thali Set

Delicious and tastes I’d never experienced before, especially the vegetables. I knew then that I would soon fall in love with Nepali food.

Goodbyes are not forever. Goodbyes are not the end. They simply mean
We’ll miss you
Until we meet again!

It feels like all I’ve done for the last 2 weeks is say goodbye. To possessions, places and people.

Much of it has been liberating. Slowly wittling my belongings down to what will fit in my 40 litre backpack, and a box of treasures I’ll leave with a friend.
Finding homes for items I’d painstakingly acquired over the years and dumping loads of crap I’d been carrying around with me for far too long. Very cathartic.

Visiting places for the last time has brought mixed emotions. Good times and memories but also the realisation that I’m leaving a great city behind.
The question I ask myself most nights: “Why the hell am I leaving London?”
It’s not because I’m bored with her but the desire to explore has become too strong. I’m sure I’ll be back, one day.

Leaving people is the hardest part. My chosen family.
We may not see each other as often as we’d like but knowing they’re only a tube/bus ride away is reassuring. I know friendship transcends distance and time. I’ve lived in a “foreign” country for the last 12 years and have people close to my heart scattered all over the world.
Goodbyes are still difficult, some more so than others, even if there’s a promise to “see you soon”.

So I guess this is all that’s left to say:

There are two things a Highlander likes naked, and one of them is malt whisky. (Scottish proverb)

Beer does not taste like itself unless it is chasing a dram of neat whisky down the gullet – preferably two drams.  (Sir Compton MacKenzie writing in 1907)

Whisky, the golden nectar, the water of life.  In Gaelic known as Uisge Beatha = “lively water”.
Many a night I can be found enthusing about whisky (some would say boring) and never did I imagine something could capture my imagination as whisky has.
I’ll never be a collector as simply staring at those beautiful bottles isn’t enough, I want what’s in them!

My journey into discovering whisky has only just begun but I’ve been very fortunate to have sampled some extraordinary drams so far.
Joining Whisky Squad was pivotal and through these informal gatherings I’ve met Brand Ambassadors, industry peeps, bloggers and heard about events taking place around the country.
Whisky Live, The Whisky Exchange Whisky Show and more recently Whisky Lounge Fest are fantastic places to try a huge variety of styles from distilleries around the world.

Here in London finding pubs/bars that stock an interesting and varied range of whiskies is sometimes challenging. Most whisky shelves resemble a well stocked Waitrose, which I guess isn’t a bad thing.  However, we are fortunate to have 2 designated whisky clubs –  SMWS (Scotch Malt Whisky Society) in Farringdon and The Soho Whisky Club. The Scottish restaurant and bar on Trafalgar Sq – The Albannach has an astounding range and as does Boisdale (Canary Wharf), I’m told.

Restaurants are realising there’s a market for better quality and more interesting whisky. Hawksmoor Guildhall and Barbecoa have some cracking drams on the menu.  Any coincidence they also specialise in meat?
Generally speaking it is getting better and I’m sometimes surprised at what treasures some bars have nestled up on their shelves.
I remember Powder Keg Diplomacy in Clapham stocking Compass Box (which you don’t see often enough) and more surprising was Bain’s Single Grain whisky, from South Africa.

It would seem I am becoming a bit of a “Whisky Evangelist” and I’ll happily gush about the wonders that are Whisky Squad and SMWS. Yes, I’m unashamedly a little biased.

A question I’m often asked is what is my favourite whisky. Well that depends on the day of the week, the weather, what colour underwear I’m wearing. You get the picture.

Deciding on a bottle to take with me to the Himalayas was a challenge and it’s by no means my favourite but it encapsulates many aspects of what I enjoy about whisky.
It is predictably a SMWS bottling, a heavily sherried Islay and sipping on it reminds me of all the good friends I’ve made through whisky, the laughs we’ve shared and how much I’m going to miss them all.

I’ve been to London to see The Queen

Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Charles & Dutchess of Cornwall

Much has been said and written about this past weekend.  Many argued that it was a time for austerity, not lavish celebrations. Some saw it as a time for communities to come together and a much needed distraction from current hardships.
I’m not one for political debate and will leave it there. This is my account of a fabulous day spent outside Buckingham Palace celebrating the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee.

~~~~~~

Some time ago I vaguely recall entering my name into a ballot for something to do with the Jubilee.  A couple of weeks ago an email turned up informing me I had been successful and that Adele and I were lucky enough to secure seats in the stands outside Buckingham Palace on Tues 5th June.
Last week the tickets arrived in the post and I was most impressed. How could I not go?

Up until then I felt rather ambivalent towards the whole Jubilee weekend.  I’m not a Royalist, but grew up in a very Royalist family.  Grandad served in the RAF during the WWII, and Granny did her part in the WAAF.
Our house is littered with Royal memorabilia from the Queen’s Coronation to Charles & Di’s wedding.
The royal wedding last year held no interest for me, but Elizabeth has been the Queen since I was born and to me that’s a little special.
Ten years ago I attended the Golden Jubilee celebrations in Green Park and had a great time.

Bit of an early start for a Bank Holiday weekend but arriving at Green Park station shortly after 8am I was confronted by hordes of people all decked out in their Union Jack finest.  Flag, hats, scarves and pretty much anything else you could get a Union Jack on. My attempt at dressing for the day in blue jeans and bright red leather jacket seemed rather half-hearted.
After navigating our way around what seemed to be half of London we finally joined the queue for the stands.
Security was beefed up as expected and we had to produce 2 forms of ID (photographic and something proving our currently address). Metal detectors and bag scanners later I felt like I was off on holiday and making my way through an airport. No one attempted to fondle my goods though.  Disappointing.

Finally at our seats and the true scale of the event became apparent. One word — WOW.

The thought of sitting in the stands for a full 7hrs wasn’t an appealing one. I mean just how much parading can one person handle?
Much to our surprise the day flew by.  The weather was kind to us, so much so in fact, we both managed mild sunburn through the cloudy skies. 
The big screens afforded us views of what was happening up and down Pall Mall, the service at St Paul’s and the lunch at Westminster Hall.
And as expected there was much parading.  Guards, brass bands, horses and canons were all on show. 

The open top carriages came past just as the skies started spitting but the royals were safely inside before it poured down.

We hadn’t realised the crowds that had been lining the Mall would be led down to fill up the space in front of Buckingham Palace. And what a spectacle that was!
The police did a marvellous job in controlling hundreds of thousands of enthusiastic supporters.

All these people here to show support and celebrate 60 years of Queen Elizabeth II on the throne. 

After a short wait, there she was.  The Queen appeared on the balcony surrounded by her immediate family. 
The crowd cheered, there were hoorays and then “God Save the Queen” rang out. I all but burst into tears, very emotional and can only imagine how she must have felt seeing all those people there, in the rain, cheering excitedly …  for her.