Kathmandu to Gaunshahar

Local Bus

Just after 6am we left our guesthouse and set off on foot towards Gongabu Bus Park. We were on a journey to Gaunshahar where we would volunteer our services for two weeks or so. We took a shortcut and entered through a gap in the fence before finding the ticket office with minimal hassle. A mob of people formed around us and, having just arrived from India, we figured they wanted to get us in their taxi or on their bus or take our money some other way. Turns out they just wanted to point us in the direction of the correct window from where we could buy a ticket to Besishar. Love Nepal!

Loading up the bus

Once we got our ticket we had a short amount of time to buy a few snacks for the journey. Pringles, butter biscuits and a miscellaneous dried fruit snack which was simultaneously sweet, salty and spicy.

Much to our dismay, we watched as our luggage was strapped to the roof of the bus (well at least we hoped it was strapped) and we climbed aboard. Because we wanted to go directly to Besishar, rather than change buses half way or go via Pokhara, we had found ourselves on a "local bus." We had seats which was a bonus. In fact, apart from the driver and his three helpers, we were the only ones in the bus when it rolled out of the bus park. Unsurprisingly, this did not last long.

Over the next few kilometres, on our way towards the outskirts of Kathmandu city, the bus stopped frequently and picked up both passengers and ridiculous amounts of luggage as well as giant bags and boxes containing everything from clothes to chickens. Some of these heavy goods were miraculously lifted onto the roof of the bus while other bits and pieces filled the seats and aisle of the bus' interior. It was a long process and frankly, it was looking like it would be quicker to walk the 180km to Besishar. When we were actually moving, guys yelled our destination from the open door of the moving bus and, if anybody showed interest, they stopped and spent a few minutes trying to convince them to join us on our journey to Besishar. Sometimes it worked and they, and what seemed to be everything but their kitchen sink, would need to be piled into and onto the bus.

Yelling our destination to anyone who will listen

Once we got out of Kathmandu the number of stops decreased ever so slightly and we gained some speed. Until we got a flat tyre that is. We pulled over and watched while six or so men stood around and supervised the changing of the tyre. And that wasn't the worst to happen.

After a few more hours on the road we approached a bridge that was not wide enough for two large vehicles to pass each other. So, when a truck was crossing the bridge and our driver tried to cross simultaneously, we were in our first bus crash. I knew I was nervous about putting my life in somebody's hands other than Chris'. Darn crazy bus drivers!

Bus vs Bridge

It was minor and nobody was injured but the concrete bridge railing that we hit had definitely seen better days. Thankfully we missed the oncoming truck and hit a stationary object instead. We stopped, blocking the road, while everybody piled off the bus to inspect the damage. The police came, there was yelling, there was a lot of standing around and then we all got back aboard, reversed off the bridge railing and continued on our way...damaged bus and all.

After some time we stopped for lunch an old lady, who looked like she belonged high in the mountains, motioned for us to follow her into the roadside restaurant. We had our first dal baht (the Nepali version of a thali)...rice, dal, spiced vegetables and some kind of chutney. It was tasty and a great introduction to roadside Nepali food.

The road from Kathmandu to Besishar follows a grand river for most of the journey. It's bright aqua colour, rushing water and white rapids made for stunning views for most of the way. And the terraced hills on either side added even more beauty to our journey. Regardless...eight hours on a bus, a local bus in particular, is too long. So, as we climbed our way up to Besishar, stopping every few minutes for passengers to get on and off, we were pretty over it, vowing never to take a local bus again. To make matters worse, the heat had increased making the bus ride even less enjoyable. It was crowded, cramped and Chris was sick of having people in the aisle lean on him.

The bridge from Besishar to Gaunshahar

Once we realised we had arrived in Besishar we jumped off the bus and watched as the workers tossed the heavy bags of goods from the roof to the road below. Thankfully our bags were passed down and we got directions and walked back to Hotel Tekoche where Shamser (our volunteering host) had told us we could contact him from. Unfortunately they couldn't find his phone number so we took the directions they gave us and set off on our own towards Gaunshahar. The directions given by Ram at Hotel Tekoche had consisted of him pointed to a building on the top of a nearby mountain, telling us to cross a concrete bridge over the river and walk up the mountain. On the top we would apparently find Gaunshahar. Simple enough.

The walk was consistently steep the entire way and, loaded up with all of our luggage, it was a hard climb. The trail was mostly stone steps that led us through tiny, farming villages, scattered along the hill side. We dodged goats and buffalo, took photos of posing kids and struggled on up the mountain. When in doubt of which path to take, we simply took the one that had the steepest incline.

On the way up to Gaunshahar

Making it to the very top of the hill told us that we had arrived in Gaunshahar. After asking around we found Shamser's house and were greeted by Timmy, who we would later find out was an American who gave up his life in The States to live in the mountains just a month ago. Timmy showed us to our room and introduced us to the man in charge of the whole thing...Shamser...as well as his family.

After sitting around outside and chatting into the evening we were served a delicious meal of dal baht for dinner and finished it off with warm local wine served with honey. We were informed of the plans Shamser had to open Gaunshahar's first restaurant, build a traditional looking round-house homestay as well as including guest rooms in his new home that could be rented by travellers.

By 8:30pm it was bed time. It had been a huge day. So, when we touched our beds and found they were the hardest of any beds we had slept in to date, it wasn't exactly pleasing. A little investigation proved why. The ply wood bed base was covered only with a woven mat and a thin blanket that was acting as a mattress. In an attempt to save our already bruised hips we rolled out two thin yoga mats that we found in the corner of the room. We pushed our beds together, despite them being different heights, and I crawled into my new down sleeping bag while Chris got under the one blanket we had been given. We were living the local way, that was obvious. We couldn't complain too much though, Shamser and his wife were sleeping on the floor of their tiny shop until their new house was liveable. They'd been there for two months and each week, a little more of the shop/old house was demolished. Thankfully, completion of their new home was not far away.

The view from our home for the next two weeks