Everyday

You can buy the album on Bandcamp or listen to it on Soundcloud. Check out the album booklet!

I can't remember the moment exactly. I was in Oslo and we went with some friends for a screening of some alternative movie, I think it might have been a documentary. Either way, the theme was around the usual nature of the days in the week. Some of them would be for work (Monday), some for partying (Friday), some for chill and relax (Sunday). And then they said something along these lines: "But what if there was a day in the week that we always live to our fullest? When we do everything we really want to do, without fear or procrastination? What if we called such day... Everyday?"

I honestly can't remember more, even the quoted part above is just me paraphrasing. But the idea of "Everyday" stuck with me and it was around this time, in 2013 in Oslo, that I decided to start doing music a bit more seriously. Or perhaps, to put it in a different way, to do it more publicly. I did my first open mics, started jamming with others, embarked on my to-this-day-lasting busking "shadow" career. And I started writing songs, with "Everyday" being one of the first ones. Ok, there were songs before,  e.g. songs from our skiing trips or other trips with friends, or even my attempts at songwriting that never saw the light of the world (looking back at some of them, that's a good thing). But "Everyday" was the first song that I thought represents who I really am, a song in which I kind of injected part of myself, just like Sauron put part of himself into the Ring. Does it make sense? 

One of the first busking session, just after the
song Everyday was written

Ever since then, the idea of (perhaps, one day..) making an album was there. I started writing more, including some of the new songs in my busking or open-mic repertoire, doing my first "studio" recordings, albeit with admittedly shitty quality. I was both fascinated and intimidated by the idea of song-writing. Fascinated because sometimes the song would "hit me" out of nowhere in the middle of the street (like "Fargo and Pelgrim", or "When this is done" did) and I'd scramble to pull out a pen and paper or open my laptop to write it down. And intimidated because other times I would try hard to write or compose, ending up with nothing else than some cheesy lyrics and uninspiring music that I knew I'd never play again. For every song that I've recorded and published, at least 2-3 others didn't make it and ended up in the music graveyard (located by Swindon, just off M4). 

These "dead songs" were of different themes: songs about interesting articles I've read on the airplane, girls that occupied my mind long enough or places I visited and had a great time in. But in all cases, it somehow wasn't enough. The sentiments may have been strong, but the "songs just didn't care" and it'd feel like a struggle, pulling it out the thin air. And then I'd take a normal walk through London (ok, not completely normal as I left my phone at home!) and boom: "Walking on" was basically ready before I came home! 

Place where I started "Walking on" in London, still unaware there'll be a song at the end of it

I learned quickly that you "can't really push it" with song-writing, or at least not too much. But as Elizabeth Gilbert said in her TED talk, you've also got to "show up, to do your part". In other words, those hours of fruitless song-writing, scrapped song drafts and endless fiddling on the guitar may, perhaps, seem pointless to an outsider. But it's all part of it, a sign to that "elusive creative genius" that we're ready for them to come over. 

With a couple songs, I managed to "push it" a bit. "Hey Dad" was one where the time was ticking, as I wanted it to be ready (and recorded!) for my dad's birthday. "How I'll remember Cardiff" was another one, which was conceived after Alex told me that "before you leave Cardiff, you should write a song about it". However, I believe that this can only happen with certain songs - in both of the mentioned cases, there was enough substance basically ready (e.g. memories from Cardiff), so that when I came along and decided to write it down, it came out quite smoothly.

One of the most vivid memories from Cardiff
looks like this - view at The Hayes while
busking on a weekend morning

As difficult as I think songwriting can be, at first I didn't realize there's a whole new world just beyond it: the world of recording. While the writing is largely dependent on the sudden and elusive presence of creativity, the latter is much more about discipline, practice, patience and method. But the mountain to scale here is much bigger than one may initially think: "I just hit the recording button and play the song, right?" 

Not quite. Although what you can now listen to is just over an hour's worth of content, there are small sections (e.g. 2-3 sec) of individual parts (e.g. lead guitar) of a single song (e.g. "How I'll remember Cardiff") that would take twice, or even three times as long to record! Over and over I'd hit the delete button and try recording the same bit again, never quite happy with the result. And even once I'd finally say "ok, that would do", quite often I would later decide to re-record it again, perhaps because the effect wasn't like I wanted it to be in the first place, or I decided to use another guitar. 

Over time I realized that recording is not about taking a fully grown-up and finished song and "engraving it into an audio format". Quite the opposite - the song keeps evolving hugely and every new bit that's recorded sparks new ideas. Just like song-writing, I understood that one cannot simply force recording of a brand new song and instead I now adopt a slightly different process, which looks something like this: I record a quick demo version that gives a good enough idea, but is far from perfect. I then practice the song, even perform it at open-mics (e.g. my new song "Check, mate!", yet to be recorded!) and only then I'd sit down to properly record it. This way, I get a better feel for what I want the song to look like, I practice it and settle into it, and so recording feels less of a struggle. 

I realized this when recording "When this is done", a song that's probably my quickest one that got from conceiving to a fully recorded version that I did not touch anymore. But what a struggle it has been! Despite it being the most minimalistic song on the album (acoustic guitar and vocals only), I spent hours, if not days recording it over and over again, each time thinking "this is bound to be the final version" and each time being proven wrong. Compare that to "African bird" or "Let's go fail", which are some of my earliest songs recorded back in 2015. After playing the songs for years and listening to the original demo versions, re-recording them was a smooth process which took an afternoon or two.

"African bird" was conceived on this beach in Biriwa

Finally, as I started to think about finalizing and releasing the album, I realized there's some extra bit of work to do. Up until this time, I'd publish the songs on Soundcloud or YouTube, but I could (and would) always take them down and replace with a new version. I knew I won't be able to do this with an album, it being a sort of wax that seals the envelope which can no longer be opened and modified. Then again, I also wouldn't want to be changing those songs anymore!

My first " recording studio"
in my room in Oslo

The last stage of fine-tuning and producing thus began, balancing the volumes of individual tracks, tweaking the post-processing effects, normalizing the tracks etc. And yet again, I underestimated how much effort and time all of this takes, noting down new things to fix or improve every time I would listen to the songs again.

Despite all the "wisdom" I'm sharing above, I'm very much aware that the album is far from perfect. There are lyrics I'd like to have changed, bits of songs that I'd like to re-record, post-processing that I know can be done better... But I've reached the point when I'm simply at peace, even happy with how the album is and I feel it's the right time to publish it. And who says that one day I won't get this remastered, with session musicians doing all the parts, recording in a proper studio and a professional doing the music production? 

I've been working on "Everyday" for over 7 years, although the work was very much off-and-on. Sometimes, there'd be stretches of months when I wouldn't write a single word or record a single second of any song. Other times I'd get back to it again, each time slowly pushing the album towards completion. It was sort of like working on a long PhD thesis, just the result is slightly different here.

The best ever music corner, in my studio in
Cardiff

Now I know that my music is perhaps not the most popular style these days. I know that it won't be played at parties and I won't hit any Spotify records (perhaps because I may not actually put it on Spotify in the first place). But that's ok - I'm not publishing the album with hopes of "making it", or even with hopes of making any money of it. But if there is some audience that would sincerely think "hey, that's a good music" and enjoy listening to it, I'd be more than happy.

For me personally, however, "Everyday" is not just an album with 14 tracks. It's a cut through my post-university life, engraving my memories from all those years - memories of places I visited, people that were there and and experiences that affected or stayed with me. And on some level I really do feel like Sauron who cast part of himself into the ring. For as long as Everyday exists and is played, those 7 years of my life do too. 

So - is this it? 

For "Everyday", it is. But as for me - I'm gonna keep writing and recording new songs. Maybe another album, maybe a "more professional" one and maybe even with different styles. There are songs sitting on my drive ready to be produced, songs that I've written but haven't recorded yet and then there are songs that are yet to be written. And I feel like there's plenty more that can come, and it'd be a shame not to "show up for my part". After all, I've enjoyed the journey so far, so let's keep going. 

Stay tuned ;-)

You can buy the album "Everyday" on Bandcamp or listen to it on Soundcloud. 

I went on a walk, leaving my phone home

Howdy. In this blogpost, there will be no pictures. Why? Cause I left my phone at home. But no worries, I'll do my best to paint the scenery as we go, much like authors do in books. Did you notice that those don't tend to have pictures either? Perhaps they authors left their phone at home too...

Edit - I actually ended up writing a song about this walk. Enjoy! The videos and pics from the clip are, of course, not from the original walk :-)



Vinny had an idea for a podcast. The idea was that although each of us are at a different place, especially now in the pandemic, we will all make a walk to some sort of a "peak" in the city/town where we are, leaving our phone at home. Instead, we'd take an old fashioned notepad and a pen and write down our thoughts - from the journey, from the peak, or any other. In this post, I want to share my experience.

I chose a day during a weekend with not the nicest weather really - I guess had it been nice, I would have gone busking, made a full day bike trip or something like that. But the Sat of 6th of June, I was sitting at home in the afternoon and pondering what to do, when I remembered I am to do this "funny walk", as it featured in my mind. I vaguely recalled there was some rain in the forecast, but "what the heck", I thought, worst case I get a bit soaked and at least it will be a change from the norm.

As I was preparing to set off, my first feeling was that even if I am going to do this by myself (in solitude, defined as "absence of inputs from other minds", as was one of the criteria of the podcast walk), I did not feel that way. It may have been the feeling that maybe others are/will also be doing similar walks, or the knowledge that I will be writing down, and eventually sharing my experience. Either way, this was a pleasant thought.

A bit more weird was the feeling of leaving the phone home. It's funny how I got used to making sure that the thing is in my pocket every time I leave my house, heck perhaps even every time I leave my room and go to the kitchen (heck maybe even every time I go to the loo, which is kind of in my room, as a tiny ensuite)! I subconsciously tapped my left pocket but hah - it was empty! "Right, it's supposed to be empty". Several times I almost slid the phone back into the pocket as part of my "leaving home routine" but eventually I made it outside without the phone. "Haha, addict", some of you may be thinking. But it's not really that I wanted, or needed my phone, it was simply me being so used to having it on me that made it so unfamiliar when it wasn't there. Already the first minutes of the "experiment" were revealing some of this interesting realizations, and I noted them down in the notepad, just a few steps away from my front door.

The next thoughts were a mix of various questions popping into my mind, those that  I would normally type into Google. My plan was to go to the Greenwich observatory, and although I knew the way, I wasn't sure if the Greenwich foot tunnel under Thames would be open (as few weeks ago, it was closed due to it being too narrow and thus not adhering to social distancing rules). "How do I check that now without a phone? Hm, there should be DLR as a backup... But does it run? Where is the station?" All these thoughts were suddenly left there on my mind, without a satisfactory answer I would have otherwise got in the matter of seconds. Not only that, I would likely have checked what's the best route according to Google maps, if the weather is supposed to hold, if the park with the Observatory is open, etc etc...

Gosh... Another realization just a few minutes into the walk. By planning with Google maps, checking the weather and all those other searches, the relaxing walk would have probably turned into some sort of "mission to get to the destination". And while that can be useful, if say one is going for a job interview, that was definitely not my case. Nevertheless, if I had my phone on me, I would have  likely used it, mainly due to the habit...

It got me thinking about another thing. I consider myself very good at "navigating the world" these days. Since I'm in the data/engineering sector, I know technology very well and because the world is increasingly driven with technology, I consider myself to have slight edge here. It's simple things like knowing easily when arriving message is a spam, or roughly understanding how Google search works and thus knowing what to type in the box. It's probably not much of an edge that any shrewd person would easily get too without a degree in computer science. But it did make me wonder - how would I do in the world if Google suddenly stopped existing. If password managers were hacked. If whole smartphones were banned and one would, from one day to another, be forced to adopt different ways of "navigating the world"...

Another thought the sprung into my mind was a more funny one: "what if someone finds out that I don't have a phone". I imagined myself asking for directions, explaining to people "I don't have a phone.. I mean.. I don't have it on me", them looking at me as some sort of weirdo that just time-traveled from previous century, unable to grasp the reality that "I just can't google it". Now this is a bit of an exaggerated thought, I know, but after a few months here I noticed that Londoners are just pushing the phone usage to the extremes - to the point that if you don't check your phone waiting at the bus stop, you may start to feel weird, for everyone else is doing it... So not having it at all felt kind of like dragging heavy sledges wearing a fur coat and a Santa hat on a beach full of people in the middle of a summer. Simply a bit weird.

Approaching the Thames Clippers station in Canary Wharf, I was woken up from all these thoughts by a sudden sound of a thunder. Looking behind me, the sky was turning nasty grey, leaving no doubts as to what will soon unleash. At the north-west, I could already barely discern the silhouettes of the skyscrapers in London city, such strong seemed to be the rain there.

"No problem", I thought, pulling out my rain jacket. However, soon the wind picked up and a proper madness started: torrential rain combined with storm-like winds and I run for shelter, joining a cyclist waiting under a roof on four pillars, a pretty useless shelter in the crazy winds and rains that blew near horizontally, but better than nothing. After five minutes, the worst had moved on and I looked at my trousers, soaked throughout.

In the decisive moment, I briefly pondered turning back - after all, I was mere 10-15 minutes away from my house - but eventually chose to carry on, feeling that somehow I am supposed to continue this journey and knowing that it will work out ok.

The brutal storm was over, but the rain persisted, although at least now it was pouring mostly from above, and so I resumed walking. What was worse, however, were the lightning bolts which kept lighting up the sky, never leaving more than 2-3 seconds before a loud bang followed, making me feel it's all a bit too close for comfort.

Soon, however, I went back on the Thames path and started to enjoy the walk, now very calm with almost no one around walking in the rain on the river side. Few minutes down the line, I passed a familiar pub - Ferry house - where we recorded most of our very first podcast with Vinny and Alex back in January. Memories came round and made me smile.

The Greenwich foot tunnel was just a minute away and I eyed its entrance to see if it will be open or not, but luckily, the restrictions were now gone and the tunnel was accessible. Over hundred years old, one can feel the tunnel has been around for a while. Every of my step was accompanied by echo and a sudden loud clunking sound came from somewhere in front of me, making me jump a bit and wondering what it was. A few minutes later, almost on the other side, I step on a metal sheet and the same loud bang echoes across the tunnel. An old, mysterious, echo-y underwater tunnel in London. Love it.

As I emerge on the other side, I look back at the skyline of Canary Wharf, with the beautiful post-storm scenery above it, thick grey clouds giving way to clear skies. I half wish I had the phone here for the pictures, but then I realize that I could have simply taken a camera. "Yeah Fero, the one that's been sitting on your shelf, unused for a good couple years now", but which suddenly seemed like such a no-brainer to take for trips like this...!

The rain picks up once more as I climb up the hill to the Greenwich observatory at the "peak". I half expected, half hoped that I'd get to enjoy the views alone at the top, but a few other people had  similar ideas. Three Asian girls seem like typical pre-pandemic tourists, a British family comes round with two lively kids, a couple sits under umbrella on a near bench and a father with two sons are making pictures, the father making various poses by the railings like some sort of Hollywood model, taking up a good chunk of my view.

Vinny said we should capture our thoughts at the peak. I noticed airplanes flying above through the storm and I wondered where are they going, what would happen if they get hit by a lightning bolt and just how many more airplanes I would have seen if it weren't for the lockdown. I thought about our heavily optimized world and how many jobs are about optimizing it even more, usually so that we can do even more, run more flights, get to our destinations faster... And I thought about the impressive views I saw with the beautiful post-storm skies. It was definitely the best view that I saw for the past few months, and a thought came to me, wondering for how many people is this the best view they will see in their whole lives.

But in general, I have to say I had a bit of a trouble reflecting there, on the "peak", for too long. And I don't think it was because of the other people. I thought of my experience in Nepal, and how I felt when I reached a "peak" or some sort of destination of a long haul there. And I realized something. For me, it was much more about the journey itself. That is the part where I can do my reflecting, and that is also the import part of the trip for me, the one that actually creates the whole experience. The part that, if you think about it, gets you to the peak.

The peak, for me, it's like a cherry on the top of the cake. I just want to enjoy it for a while, ideally with some company. I mean, I don't really tend to do that with cherries on a cake, but a beer would do. Essentially, it's about being with someone to do a high five, snack on a chunk of chocolate or share experiences from the journey.

Still as the "peak", I want to write up my thoughts but it keeps raining and somehow I don't feel like joining a few people sheltering under the roof of the observatory, so I start to head down. Soon enough, the rain ceases and I pull out my notepad and write down a few notes. "This is the end to it", I write with respect to the rain, somehow knowing that with me coming down from the peak, the rain is now gone too, as if it was here only to challenge me in my mission, but now it left knowing it won't beat me anymore. Not really sure how I was so certain that there won't be more of it that day, but I wrote the thought down and I was right.

As I near the entrance of the tunnel at Cutty Sark, I decide to change my itinerary and head north-west, along the south bank of the river. The next foot crossing is Tower bridge, which is over 5 miles away, quite far really, but in the worst case, I can do my first Underground journey in past months, from Canada water to Canary Wharf.

As I walk, I get into my zone and thoughts. Over the next hour or so, I only write a couple notes. One of them is about how I noticed that I am much more receptive to the surroundings today. Normally I would probably stick in headphones into my ears to "use the time I walk more", but now I realized that even if it's "just walking", there can be still a lot to it if one looks around properly.

Another note I write is about the infamous phone notifications - or rather the pleasant absence of them and the urge to check for them. There were moments during the walk when I felt like that, the urge to "check my phone". If I had the phone on me, subconsciously, I think I would have pulled it out, but the sudden absence of the phone in this case was actually quite liberating, and I instead resumed my focus on the surroundings.

For focus I needed to - as I got into Canada Water area, I suddenly realized I'm not really sure where I am. But the river was on my right and so I kept walking, now aiming for the tube station, as I realized Tower Bridge may be pushing it for today, getting quite thirsty and hungry. I stopped at a bus stop to check that I'm going the right way, and the arrows on the map indicated the buses indeed head towards the Canada Water station. About 20 minutes later, however, I realized that I am still in UK and that buses still drive on the left side, so I was actually walking away from the station. The moral: no Google maps --> more fun!

I realized there is actually one more way to get to the other side of the river on foot: the "dreaded" Rotherhithe tunnel. Another 100+ year old under-Thames tunnel, this one I thought of before as Google maps tends to plan my cycling routes through it. But having read some Reddit posts a while ago about it, I wasn't quite sure it's a good idea, with comments such as:

"I've walked through the tunnel once on a drunken escapade - never again"

" I'd rather cycle on the M25."

or

"I have nice lungs and want to keep them that way."

I popped to a grocery store to get a drink and asked the cashier if it's actually possible to walk through the tunnel. His answer was a somewhat curt "yes" which felt a bit ominous, but I decided to give it a go. After a quick Chinese takeaway I entered the tunnel, the sounds of cars passing by being instantly intensified as if I was on a Formula 1 track, even if the speed limits permitted mere 20 miles an hour. 

For all I've read about the tunnel, it was not really so bad. True, there was quite a bit of broken glass and torn off wing mirrors (the tunnel's car lanes are super narrow) and it felt a bit stuffy and hot in the middle section, but overall I found it surprisingly ok. As the only pedestrian around, I again felt like a bit of a weirdo (especially with no phone!) but I did not really care. 

Back on the north side of London, it was now just 15-odd minutes home along a familiar route, so the roam was drawing to an end. And "what a roam!" was my main thought - for the walk would have surely been much more different and much less fun with my phone on me, perhaps even if I did not actually use it. The enhanced "ingestion" of the surroundings, the unplanned changes of plans, the relaxing nature of noting down thoughts on a piece of paper. I felt some inspiring vibes and a song was already building in my mind, those last couple kilometres.

You may be thinking how ordinary and uninteresting the whole experience actually was and how much I glorify it. "Yeah you got soaked, didn't have a phone and walked through some old tunnel. Is that it?". Perhaps. But it did wonders to my mood that day and I made my mind to do more walks without a phone. Though next time, I'll take my camera. And so there may be pictures ;-)

Nepal pt. 4: You never walk alone

Monday 4.11 - A bit of Wales

Morning comes and we all feel better. I get some nice chocolate pancakes and I reconfirm my decision to get on the road again soon after breakfast, splitting away from the group. I feel like it may be for a bit longer this time, as there's no real plan of going forward - the pass indeed marked a symbolic end of the main trek. We enjoy some nice coffee on the terrace with Maik and Emma, I say "see you laters in Pokhara" and then I head off.

"See you later" selfie at the morning sunlit terrace of Bob Marley hotel

Muktinath is indeed a bit smelly, dirty and "overcivilized" for my taste. The track leads by the busy bus and jeep depot and with the view of the new road, twisting downwards to the valley, I can see why many people choose to end the trek here. After the lovely Manang valley and side trips to places like Tilicho lake, one could question the reasons for hiking these parts of the circuit. But it needs to be said that there are trails that avoid the road, and that there's great lot to see on this side too! And one such trail is the one to Jomsom, via Lupra.

The busy "bus station" area. The road is paved here near Muktinath, but a few miles away it comes back to the dirt road hell

This was a suggestion from the Dutch people, who set off about 30 minutes before me, followed by the Welsh group. My guidebook classified this as a whole day hike, taking something around 7 hours. As I left around 10:30, I was a bit weary of the time, so I tried to keep up the tempo, but kept thinking that everything will be easy now, after the pass was behind us.

It turned out that the trek was quite a challenge though - first a proper ascend into a pass at 3800m where cold winds made me put on extra layers, followed with a looong descent into the riverbed by Lupra that more than stood up to its description of "knee breaking". Here I paused for a quick lunch, but then hurried towards Jomsom, as it felt like it will rain any second. And soon enough, after crossing the river, the rain started in its earnest, accompanied by winds so common to this valley.

Descending to the Lupra valley

Riverbed below Lupra

Lupra

I was on the main road now and slowly catching up with Jo and Grace in front of me. Just before Jomsom, it stops raining and we enter into the town together and start looking for accommodation.

I guess we could say "high street" of Jomsom

Jomsom does not feel very pleasant and there don't seem to be many tourists, neither many lodges. We enter a few and struggle to find something under 1000rs a night. At the "Hotel Spa" we immediately learn they don't have and never had a spa, but can give us a room for 500rs. We ask about hot gas shower and the staff confidently nods their head. Unconvinced until we see the proof, we ask them to show us, and a they lead us to a room downstairs where the guy turns on the shower, puts a hand under the water and quickly pulls it out saying "auch, it's hot!". Jo tries himself and laughs: "it's freezing!", after which the whole bunch bursts laughing too. So maybe no hot shower, but at least we have fun? :-)

Nah, we settle for rooms at a different guest house, 1200 a room, but in return we get super nice en-suite rooms, perfect showers and even a towel or toilet paper! Incredible luxury!

I wash my clothes, shave and generally make myself a human again, then head off to town to find pharmacy. There I mention that I have a chesty cough and "what could I get to treat it please"? To my surprise, the pharmacist pulls out antibiotics, antihistamines and a cough syrup and hands it all over to me without any prescription and free of charge!

In the industrial vibe of Jomsom, one almost forgets they're still deep in Himalayas!

As I make my way back to the hotel, I admire a beautiful snowy peak towering above Jomsom, the height of which is put to something around 7000m by a friendly local. I also stop by the ticket counter to book a bus to Tatopani for the next morning. It seems like the only bus leaves 6:30 and I curse under my breath - why so early - having had a plan to spend a lazy morning in bed.

At the hotel, I aim straight for the dining room and get some garlic-y soup and noodles. A French Canadian named Pierre joins and is very much in a mood for conversation. I play along and he tells me about the highway to hell I can expect the next day, as he's done the same thing in the opposite direction a day before. Good.

The Welsh folks come down too. Being a bit short on time, they finish the trek here and booked a flight for the next morning to Pokhara. We have a few beers and a good chat. At some point Pierre is clarifying where we're from and I am labeled as Welsh too. Hah, perhaps there's some truth to it, and thoughts come to my mind about how I'll miss Wales and its friendly people...

Welsh contingent - Jo, Shelton, Gladys and Grace and Pierre from Canada

Tuesday 5.11 - The highway to hell

Wake up 5:15. Ouch.

Quick, light, but delicious breakfast at the Paradise guest house. And off I go to the "bus station". It's just round the corner, I am the first one there, and so I feel like an idiot for leaving so early. Few more tourists come soon tho and so do some suspiciously looking dogs - poor dirty creatures that don't seem to fare very well in this town and remind me of the Kathmandu dogs…

A bombed-out "deluxe" bus waits there already. The standard set of stickers of WiFi, A/C, seat recline, charging points, MP3, DVD, Facebook (and who knows what else) span the back window, but I am not fooled this time and mentally prepare myself for the next few hours..

The buses remind me partly of some sort of safari buses (tho I've never really been on one) and partly of the high-suspension buses of Iceland that had to cross rivers. Whatever the bus used to be though, its best days were long gone and as we set off at 6:30ish, I kind of think it's kinda for the better that they're old wrecks already, as a new bus would be quickly finished on the surface of "the road".

Despite feeling like an ice-cube in a shaker, I actually enjoy the journey. It's definitely a unique experience. And I'm not saying the word unique just for fun - it's unique because you're unlikely to repeat it again, unless you - for example - are a masochistic maniac, or are feeling suicidal.

The bus actually does cross some rivers. It seems to climb the impossible. It roars and jumps, never really reaching beyond the second gear.

My attempt at capturing the jolly vibe of the inside of the bus.

Now some maths (geometry?): I sit on the right side of the bus, the bus is going on the right side of the valley and in Nepal cars drive on the left side. If you add it all up, I was spared of some unnerving views of cliff drops just a few centimeters from the edge of the bus. An older French lady did not have such privilege and was literally clasping the seat in front of her for 5 straight hours.

At least the road is well build and there's no risk of landslides.

Right?

About 10 minutes from our destination, a landslide made the road ahead of us impassable and we waited some 30 minutes for an excavator to clear the debris.

So 5 hours, some 50 kilometres. Again, bit of maths here and even an idiot understands that the bus is not exactly at the risk or breaching speed limits (not that there are any in Nepal). It's simply a way to save a bit of time and effort, though you could easily do at least a half of the bus's journey in a good day of hiking.

The bus eventually stops in Tatopani and I hop off, feeling like I need to learn to walk again. I stroll around confusingly for a moment, trying to get my bearings and see where the trekkers' lodges are. I fail to notice the main part of Tatopani and take a room in one of the first lodges I see, a more expensive and less pleasant one. Never mind.

After some food I head to the town to find the famous hot springs. I eventually find it just by the road and few minutes later, I pay the 150rs entrance fee.

The hot spring pools of Tatopani

Although far from the pure-nature hot spring experience that I've had e.g in Iceland's Landmanalaugar, the water is really nice and hot and for a moment I truly feel like on a lazy holiday. The moment is even more accentuated when Oli (A) and his friend Shema enter, and after the initial catching up on the last days we grab a cold beer and enjoy it in the hot springs. Now that's a deserved one! Oli furthermore finishes the trek here, having done the proper full circuit from Besisahar to Tatopani, something I originally planned myself but ended up cutting short of the ~3-4 day bit from Jomsom. But thinking about the choice between the amazing Tilicho & Ice lakes and this last dusty segment on the road - no regrets.

I eventually head back to the lodge and have a bit of a lazy evening, mainly on my phone doing absolutely nothing productive…Huh. But then again, this was my day off, right?

Yet I kind of look forward to trekking again, and trying it on my own for a bit. There's something nice about being in the nature alone, and having that time for yourself. True - having a good friend along is even better, but it's good if you can make that friend be yourself for a while.

Wednesday 6.11 - YouTube tourists

An expected 1700 meters of elevation gain is what eventually gets me out of bed - if I am to do this, I better hurry up! Reluctantly, I get on my feet and pack my bag, then head for breakfast, where I opt for Tibetian breakfast set, including a salty tea which tastes a bit like a soup, but otherwise seems to do its job of giving some warmth and energy.

The Old Kamala Lodge, where I stayed in Tatopani, definitely cooks tasty food, but something I ate made me feel not too well, and I end up swallowing my first Imodium tablet. Luckily, only couple more follow that day and by the evening I feel back in shape.

I set off at 8 but am soon stopped at ACAP checkpost at the end of Tatopani, only to be stopped again 5 minutes later on the junction to Ghorepani. I mock the lady writing down my details as I re-fill the water bottles. And then - off I go, up, up and up.

The first bit of the journey is sweltering and sweating. The sun is already getting stronger, altitude is back to the lows and one literally climbs a staircase, or, if not, following a dusty jeep road, the construction of which is very much still in progress. I quickly finish my 2 liters of water and look for some more in a local village.

There's considerably fewer tourists on the track, although that may also be because I started quite late. I really enjoy the trek though, gradually weaving its way through the small settlements and little forests. The peak of Annapurna South keeps me company from time to time and plays hide and seek behind the clouds. Behind me, the massive of Dhaulagiri, with the world's 7th highest peak of the same name, offers gradually better and better views.

Annapurna South peaking through the clouds

I get into my "zone" and after shaking off the initial tiredness, I make good progress, reaching Shikha (1935m) around 10:30am. I contemplate breaking for food there, but decide to push it to Chitre. Doing 1200 meters of elevation gain without a break gets me to run on on sugar, but I finally reach Chitre (2390) just around noon. A lovely guest house appears round the corner and I enter the sun-lit front yard and drop everything on the ground.

I dry my t-shirt, open up the solar panel to soak in some energy (for my phone, but maybe they soon make a USB cable which we could use to recharge ourselves?), take off the shoes and enjoy the superb views of Dhaulagiri while waiting for food.

Dhaulagiri views from the front garden of the restaurant

A few groups of tourists lunch here too, and a couple friendly dogs come round, spying the food on the tables for a moment before sprawling on the grass and sunbathing, kind of like my solar panel does.

Dog charging his solar panels

The latter prompts a conversation with one of the groups, who just did a truly off-the-beaten-track hike, through Tribung Danda and Pode. I guess a solar panel can come really handy there, further out of the civilization. Here at the circuit, it found its use occasionally, e.g. when using electricity was charged in the high altitudes but perhaps did not really justify carrying the extra weight for 200km…

After lunch, refueled, I set off at quite a pace and realize that Ghorepani is really just round the corner now. It's 2pm-ish when I climb the last stairs of the track. I look above and spot a hotel room with a superb view, which I decide to go for. And I am perhaps lucky - the lodges seem to be quite full already and are bustling with tourists, but I get essentially the room I want. On the other hand, clouds soon descend on the town and my super views are finished, at least for the day. : (

The views from my room, before they disappeared behind
the clouds...

I get down to the dining room around 4:30, which by now is quite busy as tourists stream in to enjoy the heat of the large, centrally based stove. That's my intention too, and after ordering dinner I spend a nice while reading a book on a bench next to the stove.

A Nepali guy next to me is trying to impress Chinese girls by showing them that "he has Facebook", and then proceeds to run (at full volume of course) several annoying YouTube videos. I half consider telling him to shut up, but then stick my earphones in the ears and keep reading.

Poon hill is an accessible trek, and a popular one, so it can be expected to find more of these type of tourists - you know, the kind that wears jeans, trainers, small Adidas backpacks and shouts at their friends hundreds of meters away. Or shows YouTube videos at full volume to impress Chinese girls.

After dinner, I go up to my room, which is directly above the loud dining room. After 8ish, the chatter and laughter downstairs slowly dies out though. For people start turning in earlier and getting ready for the next morning ritual - sunrise at Poon Hill. Some say it's the "nicest sunrise in Himalayas". We'll see.

Thursday 7.11 - Goodbye Himalayas

My alarm rings 4:45 and I consider another sweet 15 minute nap. The whole lodge seems to be waking up though and eventually I jump on my feet, get dressed and start the 350m climb to Poon hill. By torchlight, I join the masses of tourists that relentlessly climb the stairs to the hilltop step after step. It's a bit quirky experience, to hike in complete darkness, but "bumper to bumper" with loads of other people, kind of like in London underground.

It's also surprisingly warm and so I slow down the tempo, but at some point I notice the feeble light already emerging on the east horizon - even though it's almost an hour till the "scheduled" sun rise time! I thus speed up and come up to the top as one of the first ones.

I assume a position at the top of the observation tower and set up the mini-tripod for a time-lapse. Unfortunately, as the light increases, it becomes more obvious that it won't be the clearest of skies - the clouds are everywhere and are hiding the peaks of Annapurna South, Machapuchre as well as the distant giants of Dhaulagiri massive.

No, it's not Trafalgar square. Poon hill sunrise attracts people...

The morning theatre is still worth it though - the few visible peaks glitter under the first rays of the sun and the clouds often actually add to the spectacle. After a few minutes though, the sun goes behind a thicker cloud and I decide it's time to go.

After the breakfast back in the lodge, I embark on the final bit of the Annapurna Circuit trek. At first, I was contemplating doing a couple extra days in the direction of Annapurna Base Camp, but the forecast turned a bit pessimistic. And also I just felt like it's a good time to finish trekking. When I later looked at my boots and the now considerably widened cracks and tears, it seemed like they were thinking the same.

At an ACAP checkpost of Ghorepani, I run into Peter and Manuela - two Austrians whom I've overtaken the day before. Peter has the same backpack as me, just a smaller version. We chat a bit and we end up hiking together for the rest of the day, which I'm happy about, as the path is otherwise not very exciting and the constant downhill feels badgering.

Peter and Manuela also have a guide, who shares some interesting insights. E.g I was curious as to how he got to "guiding". He responds that as almost any other guide, he started as a porter, doing it for 4 years, before passing the guide exams. Since then (12 years now), he has done Annapurna Circuit over 80 times, as well as many other treks in Nepal.

As a porter, he says, it was (obviously) physically more challenging (although apparently Nepali guys are quite used to the way of carrying the bulk of the weight on their head), but guiding represents much more responsibility. E.g securing the accommodation, ensuring nothing happens to the clients etc. On the last note though - this time it was himself who got sick from the altitude, even though it has never happened to him before!

We stop for lunch about 2 hours before our destination and Peter and I opt for Dal Bhat with Chicken - which turns out to be the best Dal Bhat of the trip so far! I also try a "mustang coffee", some sort of alcoholic drink that I imagine would taste like premium cognac, but which in reality tastes like shit gone bad.

With Peter, Manuela and their guide

Back to the sub-tropical climate.

Mustang coffee - not recommended

The final couple hours of the Annapurna circuit really feel like final hours - we're tired, sweaty, dirty and there's not too much to see. Peter (perhaps not on purpose) lightens the mood by overenthusiastic greetings to the trekkers going in opposite direction, which prompts me asking if he's all right.

But other than being tired, it really feels like there's no more good views waiting in front of us - all the beautiful snow-covered peaks, the adrenaline raising views, the picturesque mountain settlements and the expensive lemon-ginger-honey tea pots are now behind us. It dawns on me - it's over. I have yet to fully realize the immense achievement of the moment, or the full beauty of the circuit trek, which brings such incredible variety of landscapes, climates and experiences in such a short time span…

But it is over, and perhaps that's why I opt to stay one more night "on the trek", here in Birethanti, just a few meters away from the bus stop to Pokhara: to soak in the unique atmosphere of the area, to listen to the sounds of waterfalls for one more night.. And - of course - to wash all the shit and dirt off me here, so that I don't come to Pokhara like a hobo.

These will take the wear and tear...

My last refuge on the Annapurna
circuit

I start writing the blog and an old British dude sitting at the neighbouring table attempts conversation. It does last long though, as his style is to ask a closed question, get my answer and then proceed to an unsolicited 10 minute monologue of his own experiences. I feel a bit sorry for him, as he obviously just wants to talk, but I am not in the mood for this...

A group of young Nepalese guys come over too, spying my cool bluetooth keyboard. They look a bit dodgy at first, but after a while I realize they also just want to chat, possibly practicing their English which they are studying on the side while working. I ask them where they are from and if they can show me on Google maps. After 2 minutes of hopeless scrolling through whole of Kathmandu, we enter their neighbourhood name in the search bar. Eventually, they ask for my Facebook.

I count the days - this is day 16 since the start of the trek in Besisahar. I sit on a terrace, sip hot chocolate and nib on some biscuits that taste like they're way past their expiration date. The air is pleasant and it's not too cold even after sunset. The sound of the waterfall rings in my ears as I type up these words.

Yep, good choice to stay here tonight. But tomorrow - Pokhara.