Konkan kayak trip plans

Over the past week Nils and I have been running around Bombay preparing things for our kayak trip to Goa. Finally nearly everything is organised with only packing left to do and finally transporting the boats to the launch site.

When we decided we would come to India a few months ago we had no idea we would be bringing two sea kayaks and 60kg of fishing equipment with us. One evening, maybe after too many beers ,I had the idea of trying to paddle the Indian coast from Bombay to Goa. At first Nils didn't seem convinced but after some gentle persuasion along with stories of the giant fish we would catch he agreed to go for it.

It got a bit hectic with only a month to sort everything out but as planned we landed in Mumbai on schedule with the kayaks on board with us. As we waited for our baggage we began to wonder where the boats would appear, when all of a sudden the conveyor belt ground to a halt as an India began to heave a big yellow kayak through the plastic covered door. We left the airport and narrowly avoided paying "dodgy duty " of £400 per boat.

Angler Ali from IndianAngler.com very kindly let us store the boats at Powai Lake, which is located in central Mumbai (see google earth). We also met another fisherman, Allan, while attending India's first ever sea fishing competition. Allan has very kindly let us store our mound of equipment in his flat near the lake.

Tomorrow we plan to truck the boats down to south Mumbai and then get them on a ferry across Back Bay before we start paddling and fishing. This ferry trip will hopefully save us a lot of hassle with harbour authorities and lower the potential of getting run down by an oil tanker!

We are planning to reach Goa for Christmas, at which time I will do a full write up of the trip giving all the details and photos of any fish we have been lucky enough to catch.

until then Adios, Scott

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The Konkan coast

In Mumbai our bikes smelt decidedly fishy after we had taken them out the luggage compartment of the train. I don’t know why the compartment was full of sardines; I could only guess that the train had originated from Kolkata and the fish was destined for Delhi. Before leaving the station I repaired my rear tyre that had mysteriously gone flat while the bikes had been on the train. We were then soon in the tourist area of Colaba where we found a room in Hotel Prosser. Having been in Mumbai six times before I was glad to be back but not too keen to go sight seeing. We did however take a ride around to India gate to view the expensive Taj hotel and check where we could catch a ferry from. After we took a trip to the famous Chowpatty beach that seemed relatively subdued compared to when I was there a few years before. The police even tried to throw us out for pushing our bikes about the beach. Considering this beach was Mumbai’s main public toilet a few years ago the changes have been huge. These days every evening rich Indians descend, to eat kulfi and watch the sun settting over the Arabian sea.

After a day or two spent in the city we loaded our bikes onto a little wooden ferry down by the gateway of India and headed over to Madwe, a small village fifteen minutes south, across the harbour. After a scrum getting off we cycled away from the ferry ramp and were immediately passing through small villages and countryside. This definitely beat taking the road route out of Mumbai which would have taken us a day or two to escape out of the city limits. After ten minutes we stopped outside a small shop to drink a cold coke and enjoy the sudden peace and quiet. There were still intricate Diwali designs made from coloured powder spread across the floor. The Diwali festival had been a couple of days previous so we were happy to be out of the city as the last few days had been like a war zone with all the fireworks popping around our heads. A few times the locals had nearly blown me up with atom bombs when I walked innocently down the street at night. They seemed to be enjoying all the festivity but after nearly jumping out my skin a few times I lost all interest. But now we were out of the city we all relaxed and looked forward to the coming weeks of cycling.

At the end of the first day we sniffed (literally) out Kihim beach and took a ride along the hard sand looking for somewhere to pitch camp. The beach wasn’t as beautiful as we had hoped but being so close to Mumbai we had suspected it may be a little grubby around the edges. Dotted along the top of the beach are big holiday houses belonging to rich Bombalites who must often come down for weekends. In one of the gardens we spotted a nice looking tree house that looked perfect for sleeping in. Next thing Hayato marched off and obtained permission for us to spend the night here. It was a perfect spot with a great view of the sun setting through the coconut palms. We fished for a while but caught nothing so went back to our cabin and cooked a vegetable curry all hoping the fresh fish would come sometime in the next week. Hayato and Brain each bought a rod and reel in mumbai but had little prior experience with fishing so i was hoping i could put them on some fish in the coming weeks.

We met Asaf Fakih who lived a just along the beach from where we were staying. Asaf invited us to join him in the morning to show us about. The next morning after a good sleep we stopped in at Asafs and had a fascinating tour of the local area and found out all about the history of his family and the surrounding houses. Asaf lives in a beautiful old half mansion, filled with the original old teak furniture. Unfortunately due to his business in Bumbay (as he likes to call it) he gets precious little time in Kihim.

It took us around three weeks to cover the 700km or so from Mumbai to Goa. We covered around 50km each as we were taking it fairly easy and wanted to enjoy the beaches. as planned we managed to follow the coast road all the way down to Goa and stayed off the highway. Our map was pretty much useless apart from giving us the names of the villages that we wanted to go to next. After we had worked out the next destination we wanted, we would constantly ask for directions from the locals. This proved tricky and usually a few people would have to be asked before we found the right way. We gave up asking distances because, as from previous experience they would vary wildly from one guy to the next. One man might say it was 30km whereas his mate down the road would claim it was 70km. This is most frustrating to the cycle tourist so it’s much better to see what comes along.

Cycling along the Konkan coast is by no means easy. The Western Ghat mountains to the east give rise to many rivers that drain down west into the sea resulting in many valleys spread out down along the coast. So from one valley a climb takes one back onto the relatively flat parched plateaus that separate the valleys. These plateaus are pretty bare as far as vegetation goes thanks to a lack of soil due to the basalt that makes up the parent material. During the day the rock radiates heat onto the passing cyclist and makes him heat up until he is lucky enough to drop down into the valley below and find relief under the shady palm trees.

We were in no rush and enjoyed the cycling. It was hard work at times, with some very steep hills to climb. The beautiful sea views from the top and downhill into the next valley made up for all the sweating. Many of the rivers had no bridge near to the sea where we usually needed to cross, the bridges being far up the river where the highway ran and this would mean a hefty detour for us. Luckily somewhere down nearer the mouth of the rivers small ferries plyed people across the water for a small fee. Between Mumbai and Goa we had to catch around ten of these small boats, ranging in price from 20 to 300 rupees. The cheaper boats were regular services, while it got more expensive if we needed to hire a private boat to carry us across a river. There was never a problem crossing the rivers although a couple of times we wondered whether the little rickety boats would manage with the three of us and our loaded bikes aboard.

We aimed to sleep on the beach as much as possible on the way down and we managed this for many nights. After a few days and a good distance from Mumbai the beaches become clean and beautiful and made for good camping. One of the first places we camped was near a place called Revandanda which is on the Kundalika River. We slept below the walls of a beautiful old fort that had long since been abandoned. The waves must have lapped at the base on spring tides but we had soft sand to relax on, shaded by a big fig growing from the wall. We fished in the river while the young Indians played their evening cricket game on the beach. Again no fish were coming to grace the beach! After a nice meal I stretched out on the sand and watched the waves gently lapping at the beach under the bright moonlight. Soon I slept but was woken with a start as a rat ran over my face. I was now awake and the moon had set an hour previously. Mosquitoes now bothered me, intent on sucking out all my blood but eventually I started to drift off only to have a crab scuttle over my stomach! Soon my tent was up and only then did I sleep well.

The next day we left after a leisurely start and after a few km Hayato realised he had left his trusty stick behind. We waited and after twenty mintues he returned minus his stick which had acted as his bike stand. I had carried this bread rolling stick all the way from Kashgar in North West China and had given it to Hayato when I cut a new one, so it was a shame to lose it after so long . From the start the day went downhill. After a couple of hours the cable attaching my bar bag decided to suddenly snap and as we left the road to make repairs Brian got a huge thorn through one of his tyres. Luckily I had a spare brake cable that could replace the snapped cable and soon we were on our way again. But not long after my front inner tube decided to pop for no particular reason. My luck had changed after 11500km with no flat tyres. Since then when I arrived in Tajikistan I had had over 30 blow outs and now I was starting to get a little bored by them. They only came every so often and usually the tube split. It was the same story when I had had 21 flats in two days in the mountains of Tajikistan. I can only assume the tubes were too narrow for my tyres and the heat caused the splits to occur.

We stopped this evening on an extremely long beach, completely deserted apart from a guy on a sand cart pulled by two huge white Zebus. He called us over and insisted we jump up and take control and ride for a bit down the beach. At first these huge cows weren’t too sure of their new boss and decided to bolt off into the sea, but after a few seconds I got control and we trundled off down the beach. After a few minutes I jumped down and Hayato climbed up and had a ride about. We expressed our thanks and the driver moved off down the beach to load some sand. It was a beautiful moment and really made our day. The kindness of the people along the trip has been overwhelming. This guy had wanted nothing in return for his gesture, he just wanted us to be welcome in a foreign place and his big warm smile said it all.

The next day after some seriously hot stretches of cycling up on the sunburnt plateau we crossed a river in a small wooden boat. We just managed to squeeze the bikes in but it was tight. The ferryman hoisted his sail while his sidekick pushed us off with his long bamboo pole and we sailed to the far side drenched in golden light from the setting sun. After hauling our bikes across the beach we found there was no road or path to the village of kelshi. A group of guys playing cricket pointed us across a little stream to a sandy track on the far side. After a massive group effort of pulling and pushing the bikes through the very deep sand we made it into the lovely little village. Here the people were extremely friendly and after stopping with one kind family to taste a local dish, we bought some supplies and headed back to the beach. We took a different track and discovered that there was no need to nearly break our backs earlier pushing through the sand. The track took us down towards the river where we found a beautiful shady camping place under the feathery Casurina trees.

Before I had done much I was running down to the river fishing rod in hand, convinced we would be cooking fish this evening. Brian and Hayato soon joined me and we stood watching the red sun dip below the horizon on the Arabian Sea. We cast our lures into the river and waited for the inevitable bite which didn’t come. Shortly after dark the others left but I stayed as the spot which looked better and better for a fish as the last of the light vanished. The tide was on the way up and conditions looked perfect. I lay a cast far into the flow and slowly started reeling the little vibrating yo zuri lure. After a few turns of the handle the rod lurched forward with incredibly power. My heart nearly stopped as I began to play my first Indian fish of 2007. After a minute or so I realised from the fight I must have a nice mangrove jack. He shook his head and battled for all he was worth but after a few minutes I pulled the beautiful fish onto the shore and gave him a kiss. What an amazing feeling, my heart was pumping and hands were shaking. Five minutes later my rod arched again as I hooked into something else. It fought differently to the MJ and turned out to be a lovely Flathead of around 1.5kg. In my excitement I had to stop fishing and head back to the camp site to show the others.

As I arrived I hid the fish behind my back and waited for Hayato and Brian to ask about what I had caught. As I whipped the fish out both their mouths dropped unable to believe what I had caught. Hayato quickly had a big smile on his face as he was particularly looking forward to eating some fresh fish. They had just been discussing whether I would bring a tuna or some other species! Unfortunately not a tuna, but it was definately as good. I quickly cleaned the fish while the others cooked some rice and made a fire. Twenty minutes later we sat around our fire and enjoyed fresh jack followed by the flathead. It really was a great meal and we hoped the fishing gods would be kind to us in the coming months!

The next day we took a rest and stayed in our camp spot as it was such a beautiful spot. In the afternoon I noticed all the small sail boats returning up the river from their fishing trip. I was dying to get some bait for fishing so ran down and signalled a small boat over to the beach. The guys aboard kindly sold me ten small fish for twenty rupees before going on their way. That evening after catching one small flathead that I let go, I tried some bait to see what I might get. Of course by now the bait fish weren’t so fresh and I doubted whether something might eat them. After 20 minutes I felt a small tap on the rod followed an angry fish pulling hard. Soon I had a five foot long slimy slithering eel on the beach that was determined not to give me back my hook. After a struggle I was covered in slime from head to toe but safely had my hook back. I ran up the beach and woke Hayato and Brian so they could see my magnificent specimen. Brian’s head popped out his tent quite quickly but Hayato took a little longer to wake. As he unzipped his tent door the eel broke free and decided to have a look in Hayato’s tent. The problem was Hayato has an acute fear of snakes so his first thought was that a huge snake was coming for him. He quickly retreated but had no where to go as his tent is not so spacious! The eel was on the move and so was Hayato. I seem to remember him screaming something, possible in Japanese. Quickly I grabbed the eel and wished the two of them sound sleeps before returning to the river to release the traumatised fish.

After a week or so of lovely cycling we reached the village of Ganpatipule where I had stayed on a previous trip in India. In this village there’s a beautiful beach and a Ganesh temple that draws in many Indian pilgrims from the surrounding areas. We could stay at the far end of the beach in a quiet tented camp. It was pleasant to have a shower and eat some half decent curries for a change as the food had been a little hit and miss since leavingMumbai. We swam and relaxed and had a nice time joking around with the guys that worked in the restaurant.

I had noticed the last time I had visited that there were many guitar fish in the waves as well as many other species of fish swimming about. So the first day we took a ride up to the fish market and bought a big bag of mackerel to use as bait later in the day. Late afternoon I wandered down onto the beach to try and catch some live mullet to use as livebait, while Brian stuck a piece of mackerel on his hook and cast into the waves. A few minutes later brain’s rod suddenly bent over as something big took off with his bait. However it was short lived as the fish quickly bit through the line. We raced back to the tent and were soon back on the beach armed with wire traces and the whole bag of mackerel. Very quickly I had a bite and a fish around three or four feet long jumped three times at the back of the breakers. Unfortunately the wire wasn’t long enough and the line parted above the trace.

In the next couple of hours we all caught fish. Brian had a couple of guitar fish, while Hayato had one guitar fish and a black tipped shark and I had three black tipped sharks. All were released back into the waves after a quick photo. Hayato was over the moon as he had never caught a fish bigger than a few ounces so to catch an Indian shark was pretty special. When he got his shark on the beach he jumped about overjoyed at his catch and ran around shouting “shark shark”. For the next few days we caught many more sharks and Brian became the king of guitar fish. He was unable to catch any other fish, just one guitar fish after another. I however couldn’t catch one however hard I tried!

After all the sharks we fancied catching something to eat so moved to fish in the river. Hayato was the first to catch, which turned out to be a nice mangrove jack. He then had one more great bite before the tide dropped so we decided to go cook our fish as it was too late in the night to put it in the restaurant fridge. We walked back down the beach and made a little fire by some rocks where we cooked the jack. It tasted very good and all the time the camp dogs tried to muscle in on our meal.

The three of us stayed in Ganpatipule for the next few days and really enjoyed the fishing. We caught many more sharks and I landed a fairly large sting ray that took me for a long walk down the beach and with no help to land him I struggled as every time I gave slack line he would take off from the shallow water and shoot back into the waves. Eventually with a good grip I hauled him ashore all the time staying out the way of his poisonous tail. The other guys couldn’t believe what I had caught when I came running out of the darkness, two arms supporting the big ray and rod held in my mouth!

Every evening as the tide became right we would head up to the little river and have a go with bait for the mangrove jacks. As we worked out the movements of the fish we had some great catches of up to fifteen nice sized jacks. One evening it was early in the evening and the tide hadn’t yet pushed high enough to bring the in jacks so I decided to try a very small rubber shad suspended under a bubble float in the mouth of the river on the incoming tide.

Second cast and I had a bite and then quickly three or four more taps. I was a little surprised I hadn’t hooked any of these but then very next cast I hooked a small fish that turned out to be an undersized Jack. In the next ten casts I hooked a very big mangrove jack and two barramundi around 3kg a piece which I decided to keep for meal the next day. Forced to retreat because of the incoming tide that would wash my fish away I headed back to join Hayato and Brain.

When I arrived with my arms full of fish and a big smile on my face they were a little surprised as still they hadn’t had a single bite since I had left thirty minutes before with my trusty lure. Soon Brian’s rod arched over and we started catching fish for the next three hours until the falling tide saw the end of the bites as the fish moved quickly out of the shallow river to the sea.

We ended up with a good haul of a mixture of 15 jacks, bream and barramundi which we kept and ate the next day kindly cooked by the guys in the restaurant. We gave some of the fish to the cooks for their trouble and traded the rest for an evening curry.

All too soon we left and were back on the road heading south towards the larger town of Ratnagiri that lies around 250km north of Goa. Some anticipation was now building about reaching Goa. With only four or five days to go we were all dreaming of relaxing in Arambol in north Goa , eating good food and seeing beautiful girls strutting around in bikinis! The beaches seemed to be more beautiful everyday and screamed for us to set up camp but of course if it wasn’t late in the day we would push on. Some fishing spots that we saw looked so perfect I almost gave into the curiosity and stayed behind but the prospect of arriving in Goa with Hayato and Brian made me keep going.

The Further south we went the more familiar the local people became with Goa and the tourist scene. Fisherman started reeling off names of the famous beaches and declaring which one they thought was best, sometimes disagreeing and arguing about this important subject with their friends. They all gave a nod when we told them where we were going to stay.

We had all bought a pair of sandals while we had been in Kathmandu as we figured they would be perfect for cycling and walking about on the beach. We all bought these from different shops and agreed they looked pretty good for the money we spent. In the four weeks following how wrong were we proved? Mine broke two days after I bought them and then Hayatos went but with a few packets of five rupee feviquick super glue they were up and going again. By the time we reached Goa I think I had spent more money on glue and cobblers than I had actually paid for the sandals and so threw them away at the first chance I got.

Not a day would go by when one strap or another wouldn’t break and leave me pedalling cock footed and ending up in the evening with big blisters. One day I let an Indian cobbler fix them who was conveniently sitting under a big tree by the side of the road. Happy to be comfortable again we carried on only to realise a few kms later that we had missed our turning. I was already fuming because my newly fixed sandals had broken where the cobbler had sewn them. Unlucky for him our road was right by his tree and as I pulled up he had a look of shock on his face but still pretended to be surprised when I launched my sandal to land on to the ground at his feet. After another repair that only lasted a day I was quite ready to invest in a pair of Indian flip flops that would give me months of faultless service!

We passed through Malvan and along the beautiful Tarkali beach and down the 5km long spit where Devbag village lies. On one side of the spit is the Arabian sea and the other is Tarkali River, with the village running along the 200m wide piece of sand shaded below coconut palms. I made a mental note to come back to this beautiful spot in the future as we were hiring a boat to take us across the mouth of the river to the lovely Bhogva beach where we set up camp for the night. After eating a great meal cooked by a local lady we helped the fishermen bring their boats up the beach and watched while they emptied the nets. While the kids played the evening cricket game the adults discussed these funny ‘Saikal wallas’ who had set up camp on their beach!

The next day we Raced towards Goa, stopping in Vengurla for a good lunch in a restaurant overlooking the beautiful sandy bay. The last few days had been getting warmer and warmer and after our big lunch the heat put a stop to us moving any further than the beach. After a nice siesta and swim we got back on the road and furiously pedalled towards goa intent on crossing the border before evening.

We then saw our first “western tourist” who lent out of his jeep window and congratulated us on our efforts. Later we saw another European who ignored us as we passed and waved. Later still some more westerners on scooters who also ignored our waves. I now realised I was a little disappointed to be arriving in a tourist area again and I guess we would miss all the attention we had been getting. I also new it would take a while in the coming weeks to get used to all the tourists we would be sharing sharing the area with.

With twenty kilometres to go I started recognising things and saw paradise beach where I had fished on a previous trip. We passed the big Iron ore mine and factory that you can see from Goa and then dropped down into the little village of Terekhol before climbing the last hill. From the top we stopped and had a beautiful view across the Terekhol River to Querim beach and on south along the Goan Coastline. I could see the sand spit sticking out into the river where I had caught so many big fish two years before. Set along the beach was Babu and Sujits little beach restaurant where we planned to spend the night and I wandered if they would remember me!

We raced down the hill and sped onto the waiting ferry. I was was over the moon to at long last, after ten months and 15000km reach my destination but also sad that possibly my cycling was over for the next few months as I had no plan of where to go next.

As I cycled to the restaurant and started pushing my bike up the beach I saw my good friend Sujit peep out from around the corner of his shack and exclaim “Scott?” . I shouted my greetings and shook hands while greeting Babu and Kalpesh. It was good to be back and we all spent a pleasant evening relaxing with a much earned cold beer or two.

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Kathmandu to Mumbai nov 07

Wanting to spend Christmas in North Goa, I had decided to get to Varanasi as quickly as possible and then take a train to Mumbai. This meant longer could be spent cycling down the Konkan coast from Mumbai to Arambol in Goa and so would maximise my fishing time. Hayato and Brian would be joining me and I was very pleased to have their company.

The three of us booked a bus down to Varanasi where we planned to spend a few days before taking a train west. Leaving early in the morning we tied our bikes to the roof and as the bus was pretty full we decided to stay on the roof and make the most of the fantastic views while we travelled down to the plains. Usually I’m not too fond of bus rides but sitting on the roof through Nepal can definitely be recommended. Often buses passed travelling in the opposite direction, the roofs crowded with Nepalese who shouted and waved as they sped by. As we descended the guys on the roof of the bus behind us provided the soundtrack as they sang away merrily. For hours we watched sparkling valleys unfold beneath us as we dropped further down out of the highest mountain range on earth. Just a week or so before we had been in the sparsely populated land of Tibet but soon we would be thrown into India along with its’ billion or more inhabitants. I was excited but knew it would take some time to get used to the squeeze.

Speeding along on the bus we were soon on the plains nearing the border town of Birganj. The landscape was now flat and divided into many small fields holding a variety of different crops. Bananas sprouted everywhere and growing in uncultivated patches the ubiquitous Lantana and Castor oil plants could be seen. People were busy harvesting the first of the rice crop, as they had been back up in the mountains.
Before the border we left the bus and cycled the few km to the immigration office before passing on into India to catch the night bus down to Varanasi. The actual border seemed pretty non existent and we had to search hard to find the little Indian immigration hut amongst all the buzzing shops and restaurants. After being congratulated by the Indians for cycling so far, we continued down the road to find our bus. All the time we were determined not to get ripped off, as everyone knows that upon entering India ‘thou shalt get ripped off’. Having spent seven months in India before, I felt pretty confident no one would have any of my money away without my full consent. Of course some sly Indians had other ideas.

As we reached the bus, the guy who appeared to be the conductor reckoned we should each give him several hundred rupees to have the pleasure of putting our bicycles on the huge empty roof! We weren’t so keen to part with our money as we had our tickets and had been assured the bikes could be taken for no extra charge. I knew from previous experience that what the guy selling the tickets said meant nothing. We had expected to pay a small luggage charge of maybe 100 rupees but this con artist wanted over 400 each. I stalled in giving the money and got the bikes on the roof and then we all jumped on the bus, ready for an argument. After ten minutes of heated discussion we finally paid up as we decided there was nothing to be done. The bus wouldn’t leave without us paying and if we didn’t want to pay we had to get off. Simple. We were stuck. No more buses left that night so if we got off we would have to take a hotel and pay for another bus in the morning and probably still have to pay for the bikes! I nearly came to blows with the guy but eventually we paid up and left on one of the worst bus rides of my life.

The guy jumped off the bus 500m down the road and happily went off with our money. I brooded, not so much about the money but the principal of the whole thing. I regretted getting the bus and wished to be back on my bike completely free from buses and touts. We all soon forgot about the border as the bus bumped down a road so bumpy that it could have been in Tibet. Actually it was even worse. I seemed to spend most of the night flying around somewhere above my seat hanging on for dear life. Somehow Hayato managed to get some sleep. Every time I tried the same I ended up being smashed onto the floor, after getting chinned on the handrail. And all the time I was wondering whether there was the smallest chance that our bikes were still on the roof. Maybe if we were lucky a couple of bungees would still be there on arrival in Varanasi.

The bus pulled into Varanasi around six in the morning and upon inspection we were all absolutely amazed to find all our bikes and luggage still on the roof. As we cycled down to the Ganga and the Ghats, the city slowly woke all around us. It was a great feeling to be back at one of the most sacred and famous rivers in the world. Yet still I didn’t have the impulse to run and jump straight in - maybe next time though! After hauling the bikes around the ghats for a while we checked into the Puja guesthouse and had a pleasant breakfast on the roof while watching boats ply tourists up and down the mighty Ganga. After having a shower and getting robbed by a monkey I promptly got ill and spend the next two days flat out on my bed.

Once I recovered, we roamed around the city getting lost in the alleyways and enjoying the special thali at one of the local restaurants. For 50 rupees, a dish would appear made up of five curries, two rices, chapatis, dahi, papads, pickle, raita and some other delicious treats that was nearly impossible to finish! We ate well and often. We took a trip to the cinema to watch a bollywood blockbuster which was fairly amusing. Unfortunately our Hindi skills weren’t quite developed enough to really understand everything that happened. On the way home I came very close to being killed by an irate bull but luckily my surefootedness saved me, but only by a whisker.

The next day we loaded our bikes on the train and departed for Mumbai. After making sure the bikes were put on the same train we climbed into our carriage, settled down and started to drink chai while enjoying the north Indian landscape. After cycling, travelling on trains, particularly Indian trains, is for me the most enjoyable way of moving about. To sit on the doorstep, legs dangling in the breeze and watch the rich landscape pass can take up many hours of every journey. Entranced by the rhythm of the train, I will often be stuck on that step late into the evening watching the country folk turn in for the night. Women in bright saris carry home fuel for the evening meal along with big silver urns of water that appear to be stuck to their heads. Cattle and goats are brought in for the night while young boys fight with the light to hit just a few more cricket balls. The crickets begin to chirp and India sleeps once again but the train races on into the night.

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Return to England

After 14 months away from England i have finally returned, but as you may have guessed only for a limited period. Because i enjoyed this trip so much, already my little brain is whirring away and coming up with some plans for the coming years. In the next week or so i will have some updates of the past four months along with some unpublished photos from earlier in the journey and also some forthcoming plans.......for the minute a few piccies of the last month or twos fishing...



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Barramundi

Over the last week or two the fishing has picked up a little. of course in true fisherman style some big fish were lost, but here are some pictures of the ones that didn't get away! hopefully some more will follow their friends onto the beach soon!

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From southern Tibet to Northern India

From where I last left off we were just approaching Kathmandu after spending over two months crossing the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region of North West China, Aksai Chin and of course Tibet.

As I mentioned before, the descent from Tibet down across the China/Nepal border was one of the most awe-inspiring day’s cycling I have been lucky enough to experience. Never had I imagined that in one days cycling, so many changes in regards to natural scenery, climate and people could be seen. From the high altitude dry and parched brown grasslands of Zhigatse province in Tibet to the lush cloud forest of northern Nepal. After many months of wide open spaces it was quite a feeling to be among the trees and diversity of the forest, but somewhat overwhelming. Clear streams tumbled down from high cloud covered peaks dissecting the lush carpet of greenery. Wherever we looked we saw these beautiful waterfalls emptying into the River Indravati which later becomes the famous Sun Kosi. To think we woke to ice covered tents and struggled to get the stove going to brew some hot morning coffee. Now we cycled in T-shirts and shorts amidst smiling and waving Nepalis, with the possibility of stopping at any number of small tea houses to drink tea or coffee and eat some proper food that wasn’t Tsampa or instant noodles of some description.

Johannes and Nils’ visas are running out today so we had no choice but to get through the Nepal/Chinese border. We had been a little worried in the previous days as time was running a little low to cover the remaining km’s. Jo and Nils had pushed ahead while Hayato and I carried on at a slightly slower pace. The day before the border we caught the others and cycled down to the border together reaching there around lunch time. I can safely say this border was the busiest I have had the pleasure to cross. Situated on a series of mountain side switchbacks, the road is narrow and steep and extremely congested. For kilometres the road is lined with shops, small hotels and long queues of trucks that ferry goods away from the border.

People were swarming everywhere, many Chinese, Tibetans and Nepalese. The Nepalese seemed to be in China to load up with cheap goods to sell back in Kathmandu. Just before the border we saw a huge Chinese ‘supermarket’ stuck on the side of the mountainside, complete with huge gold lettering on the front. People flocked to the doors to buy anything they needed from fans to fridges. To and through the border porters carried all goods as it seemed very few vehicles ever passed through from one side of the border to the other. Everything is off loaded on one side and then lugged the 3 km or so through no mans land to the other side. We saw some amazing feats of strength and as you can guess usually from Nepali Sherpas. We passed through the Chinese border fast although they didn’t seem too happy with us dropping mud on their shiny marble floor!

We were literally covered in crap by the time we reached the border. The road for the last 30km was being repaired and made ready for asphalt. It was difficult to make more than 10kph due to deep mud, rocks, ruts and river crossings. Luckily there was no need to cover the distance too quickly so we enjoyed the hard terrain and the stunning views. Our bikes took a beating and later I found my front axle had snapped. With just the skewer holding my wheel I managed to limp to Kathmandu. For the length of the repairs, Chinese and Tibetans live in linear campsites between the road and the cliff. We passed workers spraying cliffs with concrete, guys hanging from cliffs with huge jackhammers and gangs bodging scaffolding together to make a mould for a new tunnel. It will certainly be lovely road when its finished but who knows how many lives it will cost.

We were welcomed at the Nepalese border post and each given a two month visa. We went in a small tea shop opposite and tried to order some food but were just giggled at by three Nepalese girls. After 20 minutes I managed to extract some milk tea and two fried eggs from them! What a dismal result after our visions of a huge meal. The tea was bloody good though, the first milk tea of the trip (excluding yak butter tea!). we all decided on a move so went down the road and found a new eating house where we stuffed ourselves with momos and fried rice.


Outside the restaurant we met a Nepalese guy (whos name I forget) who suggested we cycle another 7 km from the border to the village of Tatopani (meaning hot water in nepalese), where there was hot springs and comfortable guesthouses. We were there as quickly as possible and were soon scrubbing nearly a months worth of dirt and sweat from our bodies. After a lovely dinner of curry washed down with some cold beers we slept long and soundly before rising and making our way through the lush green landscape to Kathmandu.


We flew down the winding mountain roads stopping every five minutes to gawk at another amazing view. Rice paddies clinging to the mountain sides, and people could be spotted working far above villages in small fields, getting ready to bring in the seasons crops as harvest time was fast approaching. The hills were alive with Nepalis, collecting fodder for cattle and donkeys, threshing rice and tending the rich variety of crops found in this fertile region. Hard work compared to their lowland countrymen who have flatland and even more fertile soil down on the Terai.

For the days to Katmandu, neither Nils, Jo, Hayato or I could stop smiling and babbling away about the joys of being in Nepal. What a change it made to the Tibet…. Tibet was a challenge and we thoroughly enjoyed it but we couldn’t argue that it was nice to be warm for a change and cycle on a road without corrugations. There was also the added bonus of having a little more oxygen to suck up! The nights before reaching Kathmandu we slept on white sand beaches under huge trees next to the beautiful Sun Kosi river.

I fished a little hoping to maybe hook my first Nepalese mahseer but it wasn’t to be. We did however see the locals having more success with an ingenious method. Along the length of a thick piece of line measuring maybe three metres, hundreds of small loops of line are fixed on either side. These loops of thinner line with diameters of perhaps 2 inches, touch the next loop leaving no gaps in the length of the trap. Before dusk the fisherman creeps down to his favourite spots, ties a large rock to the end of each line and slings them into the slacks for collection early in the morning. I assumed the lines would be tied to the bank in some way but there are no attachments, just the rock to act as an anchor. I had my doubts whether the guy would catch anything so I was up at first light waiting to see how he would get his lines back and whether he would have fish. As the mists gently rolled downstream the fisherman appeared carrying a long bamboo pole which he expertly dipped at each spot quickly hooking his lines. And sure enough he had some fish, little gleaming catfish, wriggling intently to escape their nooses, but to no avail. Not many but enough for a meal of fish curry and rice for lunch!
The cycling down to Kathmandu from the border was perfect. High on the thick air we enjoyed standing up into the hills and speeding to the top, hardly breaking into a sweat. Butterflies flitted through the trees visiting lantana bushes while golden cockerels fled the road squawking loudly and angrily. All the way there were smiling children shouting their repertoire of English questions “what is your name” “how are you” and “which country” one kid shouted for us to watch his “monkey dance” as he jumped about in the road. Bicycles were scarce but rounding one corner a young cyclist saw us coming and broke into a race, his friends cheered him on and I must admit he was leading the way before we heard a hiss of air. The race was over as suddenly as it started but after helping him pump his tyre, we carried on, but very quickly the young racer’s tyre went flat again and this time there was nothing we could do.

As we neared Kathmandu the excitement grew and we began to cycle faster and faster! Looking back now I’m not quite sure what we were so excited about but at the time big city lights and pizza seemed quite inviting! During the last day before reaching Kathmandu we had a long climb of around 30km before we could descend into the city. It was novel to be sweating heavily after being layered up against the cold for so long. Climbing higher and higher, the patch-work quilt of fields and valleys gradually spread out beneath us. Coloured by dozens of different greens, hundreds of small irregularly shaped fields holding many different crops spread into the distance, occasionally cut by a rapidly flowing river carrying its cold water in the direction of the Bay of Bengal. Every ten kilometres or so a small roadside shop presented itself and a break would be made to down a cold coke. While sitting and resting most of the local kids would come over to investigate the strange foreigners and question us about our marital status. Shy at first they would whoop with joy when they discovered we could speak a few words of Nepali!

When we finally reached the top of the hill we stopped for lunch at what was apparently the best restaurant in town. The vegetable fried rice turned out to be ok but when Nils chicken curry arrived we all wondered what the thimble sized dish could hold. Nils argued with the owner who declared that chickens are extremely expensive in Nepal. We left our money and went back outside for a chai and cigarette but it wasn’t long before the restaurant owner was hanging out of his window shouting that Nils hadn’t paid. After a heated argument we climbed back on our bikes and left the irate owner to ponder the size of his chicken curries!

With just thirty or so kilometres to Kathmandu we cycled full speed dodging vehicles, people and animals on the increasingly busy roads. It was a shock to suddenly be in such a frenetic place but at the same time we enjoyed the cycling as full concentration was needed to avoid becoming road kill! Belching buses, rickshaws, motorbikes, cyclists, people, dogs and donkeys filled the road and kept us busy. The closer we came to the city the worse the traffic became until we swerved traffic jams and jumped red lights. With no map to help us find the tourist scrum known as Thamel we shouted through taxi windows as we passed looking for a nod to see if we were still heading in the right direction. Nils and I arrived first having lost Jo and Hayato sometime back. Hayato was still struggling with one gear so was having to push up some of the hills but still kept good speed and soon arrived, just after Jo.

And soon after arriving in Thamel the shock set in. Hundreds of thousands of useless shops selling crap, line the streets. There are hundreds more people trying to sell even more useless crap to tourists. The streets are so narrow and busy that acute claustrophobia quickly sets in and the innocent visitor who came here merely to get an Indian visa just wants to escape to the tranquillity of Varanasi. Sir!, eucalyptus oil, postcards, charas, massage, hotel, taxi, money change, trek, giant pencil, dead rat? Hmm I’ll pass I think! Hayato and I decided to hightail it to India as quickly as possible and leave the rest of Nepal for a future trip. The plan was to visit Varanasi for a few days before taking a train to Mumbai and then cycling down the coast to Goa for Christmas.

After three trips to the Indian embassy we were issued six month visas, so said farewell to Jo and Nils and took a bus to Varanasi. Jo and Nils planned to spend the next month in Nepal before coming down to meet us for Christmas in Goa. In Kathmandu we met Brian for the second time, the first being back up on a pass in Tibet. Brian was on a bicycle tour from Lhasa to Kathmandu and now planned to go backpacking for a while. He quickly decided to join us so bought a second-hand bike and jumped on the bus with us. Hayato also bought a new bike as his $200 Giant from kashgar wasn’t really looking too good after his sortie in Tibet! Definitely ready for the scrap heap!

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