Author: Bill Candler

When Adventure Turns Into Misadventure (2/2)


The early trekking part of our trip was not the pure Himalayan adventure we had anticipated but became largely an urban/rural cultural excursion, which in its own right was quite fascinating and certainly wildly different and unfamiliar to us First World types.

Were we disappointed because our trip had changed character? A little, yes – some more disappointed than others – but for the most part, our group knew that any adventure trip can change character because of weather, labor strikes, illness, and a million other things. I once heard the line that “expectations are limitations.” In this sense, anyone heading for an unknown and unfamiliar land should really come with few expectations because the more you have, the more limited and disappointed you will feel if things do change – or, if you prefer the more pessimistic term, go wrong.

Instead of trekking and enjoying spectacular Himalayan views as planned, we were walking narrow, dirty streets, dodging a hodge-podge of beat-up vehicles – small cars, tuk tuks (three-wheeled cabs), rickshaws, bikes, and motorbikes, all crowding at once at stop signs and stoplights to see who would be the first across when the light changed.

We traded clean mountain air for three days of breathing unfiltered, unmuffled exhaust from every form of Nepali vehicle. In the towns, we found an endless, diverse stream of sights, sounds, smells, shops, products, foods, and people to excite the senses, some disgusting to our Western eyes but all fascinating.

We traded mountain trails seldom trod by Westerners for a city and countryside of dirt and refuse. We visited a Hindu temple crowded with worshippers and beggars and inundated with filth. We were horrified to see children bathing in the brown river amidst lumps of unidentified stuff floating about. We saw below us on the edge of the temple by the river a body wrapped in a green shroud awaiting cremation. We were astounded at what we were seeing.

Leaving the Kathmandu Valley, I yelled for our vehicle to stop so we could take pictures of our first stunning view of the Himalayas. The first out, I ran to the edge of what on the Skyline Drive would qualify as an overlook. Happy, I took many photos of this unforgettable sight. Then, warned by a friend, I looked down to find myself unhappily standing inch-deep in a sea of human feces. Seems the Nepali stop here too but not always for the view.

All was not lost adventure-wise. We finally got out of the Kathmandu Valley by bus and headed for some alternative rivers to run. The bus rides were frightening, as we careened along narrow roads precariously close to the edge of thousand-foot mountain slopes. We got to hike some in the shadow of Manaslu, a spectacular 8000-meter-plus Himalayan peak, and we rafted two incredible rivers. So we were quite satisfied in the end, even though these rivers were not the one we came to run.

We were a little wistful at times for the four-day Himalayan trek we didn’t have, and we spoke a little of missing the romance of rafting and kayaking a river that had seldom been visited by Westerners. In the end, did anyone complain that the trip didn’t go as planned? Not enough to matter, because we all knew we were experiencing things and places and people that we would never forget.

I’ve always said this – when things don’t go as planned, it makes for the best stories. If I had gone trekking instead of touring the Kathmandu Valley, I would have missed seeing Joel, my long-time traveling buddy, in a Hindu temple with a python around his neck and a cobra in a basket on top of his head. I wouldn’t trade that sight for anything. I have a funny picture of it on my desk at home, the only photo from the trip not in an album.

Do I treasure these memories of an adventure trip gone awry?

Like no other in my life.

Would I go back?

I am.