The next morning we left for a week-long trek to Annapurna Base Camp. The Annapurna Massif is a collection of peaks, the highest of which is almost 8,000 meters. The trek took us through beautiful towns that were built amost entirely out of stone (it being plentiful in the foothills of the Himalayas). Here are some indicative examples:

We went up and down for a few days, through sleeply little towns surrounded by terraced slopes. Eventulally we left civilization and were walking through pristine valleys (we followed a cold, raging river almost the entire way). Here’s a taste:

 On the third night we camped at Macchupichaare Base Camp (MBC), at 3.600 meters.  From there it was a short hike up to Annapurna Base Camp (ABC) at 4,100 meters. We stayed the night at MBC and got up early to make it to ABC by dawn. We awoke to fog, but it burned off as we hiked and we were awarded with massive views of the mountians. See, the amazing thing about this hike is that it takes you right into the heart of all these mountains. You’re surrounded on all sides by 6 to 8,00 meter peaks in what could be described as a “natural amphitheatre.” The result is stunning, and we were lucky enough to have a remarkably clear morning with just a few clouds hanging around the peaks. Here is Annapurna South (7,200 meters):

Our hike back was fast because it was downhill almost all the way. We took a break at the hot springs about halfway back, but mostly we just high-tailed it. In case you’d like to see the pictures in a larger size which we recommend) just click on the ones on the right, and you’ll be taken to our flickr site.

Kathmandu Scene, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

So we splurged and ate “pizza” and drank beer atop the highest rooftop restaurant in Kathmandu. We were rewarded with this view. I swear, the moment I noticed how the sun was setting over the prayer flags the bird landed and started posing like mad. Sometimes you’re lucky.

Roadblock in Eastern Nepal, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

You all may have heard about the turmoil in Nepal — Maoists, strikes, and the like. Well, so had we. That’s why we quizzed everyone we could before heading into the mountainous little country. Everyone told us that it would be fine and, ultimately, it was.

One little problem: A series of strikes turned a sixteen-hour bus ride into a fifty-five-hour ordeal.

We entered at the Eastern border, near Darjeeling, and got on a bus at five in the morning. Everything was going swimmingly until we were stopped by the above-pictured tires. They are smoldering here, but when we arrived they were aflame (quite dramatic, really).

So there we were, the only westerners among hundreds of Nepalis in the baking sun. At first we were apprehensive, but we soon realized that it was more of a large-scale picnic than anything resembling unrest. The roadblock was not directly related to the “Maoist Insurgency” (which the US State Department foolishly calls a terrorist group) but stemmed from a conflict between the town and Nepal’s long-haul truckers. Apparently, a truck had killed a motorcyclist, and the town wanted compensation. And, of course, what do you do when you have a grievance in Nepal? You block the road — check that, the ONLY road — thereby leaving hundreds, including geriatrics and infants, to bake in the sun of Nepal’s plains.

But that day we were only stranded for about 8 hours — a mighty cheer arose as everyone raced back to the buses as the roadblock was lifted (read: the tires burned out). The next day was not to be so brief.

After weathering a brief roadblock around midnight, our caravan was on its way to Kathmandu when we encountered another roadblock around 4 AM. The reason for this roadblock, as far as we could tell, was from a similar (maybe even the same) incident. A truck killed a motorcyclist. Only in this version of the story, the townspeople dragged the truck driver from his truck, jailed him, and then murdered him. Due process, Nepali style.

This time, it was the truck drivers who wanted “compensation.” Large “goods carriers” blocked the road, creating what turned out to be an astonishingly large backlog of transport vehicles. In an informal count (we had plenty of time) there were 85 passenger buses, and we didn’t even get to the end of the line. Conservatively, one may assume 20 people per bus. So, one may safely say that there were 2,000 people stranded in the sun all day. Yes, we were there from 4 AM until midnight. Smelly, sweaty drudgery.

The rest of the journey went fine. There was another short roadblock for a few hours in the early morning, but this was like a punch in the face after a bullet to the gut. Easy.

We arrived in Kathmandu at noon, fifty-five hours after we left. Welcome to Nepal.

Little Buddha II, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

We leave Bangkok at 9:30 AM tomorrow, bound for Calcutta. That means no more Buddha statues, orange-robed monks, or fishy noodle soups. Thankfully, however, it means cheaper food, better public transportation, and more English-speaking people.

With any luck our luggage won’t be lost by the airline, like it was on the way here from Bangalore (they brought it to our hotel the next day, but not until we had resigned ourselves to the loss of our ipods).

Our first stop in Calcutta: the fabled red light district. We’ll tell you all about it.

Plain of Jars, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

Mystery Number One: Plain of Jars

This picture shows a part of the Plain of Jars, a large area in Northern Laos which is scattered with massive jars of unknown origin. Some think they are the glassware of the Gods. Others claim they are for fermenting fowl (some still use them for this purpose, I believe). Regardless, they are eerie and beautiful. Adding to the allure of the site, for us, is the fact that our guide caught a rodent while giving us the tour. Apparently they are expensive at market and go great with a papaya salad.

Mystery Number Two: Silly Yellow Shirts

Asian nations have developed a reputation for conformity, and while we don’t intend to further the stereotype, it rings true in the case of these blasted yellow polo shirts. Numbers vary region to region, but you can generally count on one in three people wearing one of these shirts. They have the royal seal on the front; many have been personalized on the back, sporting, for example, the tender inscription “I Love The King.” Indeed, everybody does. Everybody, that is, except You Tube, which is facing a lawsuit from Thailand because it hosted a video that was critical of the beloved monarch. Bad news for us: the site is blocked over here, and we were hoping to upload videos for you, dear reader.

Mystery Number Three: Foolish Farang

“Farang” is the catch-all phrase that, everywhere we’ve gone in SE Asia, means “white foreigner.” It also must mean, to some extent, “believes in his or her own immortality.” The proportion of hobbled young tourists swaddled in gauze and ace bandages is appalling. We met an Irishman (sorry John) who crashed his motorbike three of the four times he rented one. He’s not a bad driver, he insists. It’s just that he was drunk every time he crashed. The above picture was taken in Vang Vieng, in Laos. It’s a backpacker haven where you can tube down a lazy river on any number of drug cocktails. At various points along the river are bars that offer zip-lines and other toys for grownups. The gentleman in the picture decided he would impress us all by climbing the absurdly tall pole and jumping into water of unknown depth. He came up hiding his grimace after striking the bottom hard with his foot.

Picture 255, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

This picture is about three weeks old by now, but we didn’t want to skip blogging about the north of Vietnam. This here’s old Nicky boy sitting on a mountain ledge in Sapa. The entire valley was layered with rice paddies that stretched up along the sides of the surrounding mountains. The green-ness was awesome. We spent this day hiking around Sapa, and the next day we rented a motorbike and took a perilous– I mean– educational journey through the countryside.

Anyways, that was old news. Today we are in Thailand, drinking tea, eating mangoes, munching curry by the pound, nay, the ton; we sweat coconut milk, we snort fish sauce, we shit straight rice, still white, I’m telling you. We love this stuff. We only have a few more days before we fly back to India, and we will likely spend them doing the same things we have been doing for the past two months: eating and loitering.

Emily and Felix in Village, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

First, we’d like to wish Mrs. Rose and Mrs. Viglietta a happy Mother’s Day. And, let it be known, our doing so was in no way influenced or prompted by a message from Mr. Rose. No, not in the least.

We’ve been incommunicado for the better part of a week, but for good reason. We were in the middle of nowhere. We left Luang Prabang on a slow boat up the Nam Ou. Eight hours later we arrived in a small village. We stayed the night and the next day caught another boat, going one more hour north, to the village of Muong Ngoi.

The next day we began our self-guided trek with our companion from Vienna, Felix. The trek was broken up into two days, with an overnight in the village you see before you. This photo was taken in the morning, as we were leaving.

We arrived at the village at about 6PM, and were welcomed warmly. They even killed a chicken for us (we saw it being hauled into the hut next to ours). We dined by candlelight with what seemed like half the village peering in from the darkness. Kind of eerie, very humbling.

One thing about villages — they’re quiet. Because it’s so quiet, however, you can hear just about everything. Wildlife is a given, but what we didn’t expect was all the wretching and haucking of lugies (sp?). On top of that, they get up really really early in Laos — like 5AM!

The early rise helped us get on our way at a decent hour. We hiked over hill and. . . well, i guess there aren’t any dales in Laos, but you get the picture. The scenery was absolutely spectacular. And we realized that slash-and-burn farming has one benefit — better vantage points.

We arrived at the last village on our route and considered various hair-brained ideas for traversing the river back to our starting point. After deciding that neither rock climbing nor the “fireman drill” were for us, we opted to charter a boat back. All in all, it was a rewarding journey.

We’re leaving tonight for Thailand. We’ll have a week there before we fly to Calcutta.

Nah Trang, Late April, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

We flirted with the idea of skipping Vietnam altogether, but our better sense prevailed and we got on a bus from Phnom Penh to Saigon. Now we’re on an “open tour” ticket that is taking us the bagillion kilometers from Saigon to Hanoi for fifteen dollars. Read it and weep.

Saigon was beautiful and sprawling. For a day trip we took a tour of a section of the Mekong Delta — the most pasty-tourist-with-white-gym-socks-under-sandals thing we’ve done over here. Children sang “traditional” songs for us as we snacked on jackfruit and banana whisky. To our delight we realized that the songs were set to familiar tunes such as “If You’re Happy and You Know It” and other such standards. Cursing us under their breath, they were.

We clapped politely.

On the way back from the Delta we were treated to a few impromptu scenes of road carnage. Motorbikes smashed, men sprawled on the pavement, and other such scenes rushed past us with a frequency that was truly shocking.

This photo was taken in Nah Trang, which is on the coast about ten hours north of Saigon.

Going for a Ride on the Day of Hatred, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

This picture was taken yesterday, April 17. Originally known as “Liberation Day,” April 17 marked the fall of Phnom Penh to the forces of the Khmer Rouge in 1975. Clearly, the majority of the population now has no reason to celebrate such an occasion. However, as observed earlier on this very blog, Cambodians never turn down a chance to party. So rather than lose a holiday, they have changed April 17 from “Liberation Day” to “Day of Hatred.”

Here Emily is trying her hand at herding cattle on bicycle. She put the Cambodians to shame.

Khmer New Year Party, originally uploaded by Subcontinental Drift.

Turns out the Khmers throw down when the new year rolls around. The gentleman on the right is a tuk-tuk driver (three-wheeled contraptions fashioned out of a motorbike, scrap metal, and naugahide). The bottle in front of him was some sort of homemade hooch that he was passing around in a “two for me, one for you” fashion. Hence the beatific look on his face. He followed up this act of generosity with even more. Not only did he give us in-the-shell shellfish and mystery soup, but also did he give us three days of cramps, diarrhoea, vomiting, and fever. Thanks!

But the depravity didn’t stop there. This picture was taken not far from our “hotel” room, which was part of a string of rooms jutting out over Phnom Penh’s “lake.” The toilet drained directly into the lake, and if that wasn’t enough, a rat constantly nibbled at our bar of soap. That is, of course, until he stole it altogether. Just disappeared, maybe squirreled away on the shores of shit lake. Who knows.

Oh yeah, remember those shellfish? Well, on our last day there, early in the morning, Emily spotted someone wading in the lake, apparently clamming. Mystery solved.

One more thing: we met with our second case of official corruption. We rented a motorbike and drove all around the city, visiting musems of torture and genocide, among other attaractions. As we wheeled through an intersection we were flagged down by men in blue uniforms lolling about in hammocks.

“Is there a problem, officer?”

We had gone the wrong way down a one-way street. Never mind that hundreds of people were streaming down the same road in the same direction that we just had. But these men were impervious to logic.

So we stalled. We gesticulated. We cajoled. We pleaded. Then they, too, started to bargain with us. It went from ten dollars to five, then to two, and finally to “how much you pay?” By this point we were ignoring them, and they seemed content not to push the issue. Finally they pulled over an SUV and one of the cops waved us away.

For being so corrupt, they sure are lazy about it.