- trekking
- (51)
-
"Crash, clang, ding-ding, BANG!"
The incessant din, hurtling up from the road below our mountainside homestay, bounced off the eaves into the bedroom, waking me from a deep sleep. Jamie and I dragged our sluggish bodies downstairs for breakfast.
Darjeeling, like most places in the Himalaya, is a Buddhist community. And like the rest of India there is a parade, festival or celebration nearly every week. Today a colourful banner declared, “2600 years of the enlightenment of Lord Buddha".
We gobbled up our toast and drained cups of sweet masala tea before heading out to join the procession.
Orchestral manoeuvres in the alleys
Maroon and orange-clad monks banged drums and cymbals with devoted concentration, or blew as hard as possible on a variety of horns, without varying the note. One instrument was around ten feet long: the business end held by the 'blower' (to call him a musician would be a stretch too far), while at the other end a second man supported two of these gigantic musical pipes under his arms.
As one band receded with its crowd of followers, the next little group arrived. The percussion sections beat out an impressive rhythm, but I tried in vain to identify a melody among the single-layered notes blasting out from the wind sections. To add to the cacophony a few high-spirited young men set off deafening fire crackers down dark, side alleys.
Not all blessings are disguised
Some of the monks carried ornate and colourful statues of Buddha in palanquins. Arranged across two parallel bars they held Him on their shoulders. Devotees, with serious expressions or a surreptitious smile, lowered their heads and threaded their way underneath the icons between the monks.
Towards the end we broke through the throng and joined the worshippers. It was a happy occasion, and away from the bands people walked in silence or chatted quietly as they slowly followed behind the monks. We walked side by side with tiny, ancient crones in tribal dress; young mothers in tight western clothes, holding babies; groups of schoolgirls; bent grandfathers; brightly coloured, swaddled toddlers; and wiry mountain men.
Some devotees carried rectangular prayer boxes brought from the temples. with which they blessed the crowd by touching the boxes to bowed heads. I was blessed, but to the amusement of my neighbours the sharp wooden corners crashing onto my crown made me yelp. Someone was listening because my prayers to not end up bleeding and bruised were answered.
Sweet smelling smoke
The procession lasted until lunchtime and took us on a thorough tour of the eastern 'Queen of Hills'. At small stations along the route we were offered water and orange juice to keep up our strength.
We passed quietly along steep, narrow passages in the town centre where women in open windows, or standing on balconies, gently fanned plumes of incense through clothes lines strung with washing. Snatches of music drifted towards us.
The fragrant smoke filtered downwards in the chilly mountain air, mingling with the damp, earthy smell of this magical autumnal day.
For more tales have a look at www.lizcleere.com
Darjeeling. Take a jeep from New Jalpaiguri station in West Bengal. Expect to pay around 150 to 200 INR per seat, but the space allocated for a 'seat' is tiny. Buy two seats per person, better still rent the whole bench seat behind the driver (the equivalent of four seats).
You could take Unesco World Heritage 'Toy' Train all the way, but it's a long, slow boot. Better to take an excursion on the train from Darjeeling to Ghoom for a morning.
"Would you like to have lunch in Nepal?" said Pramod, the headmaster of RIBS primary school in Manebhanjang, Darjeeling district.
We had just spent the morning talking to his bouncing pupils, aged three to ten, and were ready for a break. So we strolled up the road, nodding to the disinterested border patrol guards, and jumped over a storm drain into Nepal. It hardly felt like moving into another country, but the frisson that goes with flouting the rules turned lunch into a small adventure.
Over a few ill-gotten Nepali beers and nefarious noodles with our new friends, we asked where we should go for the best view of Kanchenjunga, India's highest peak. They told us to avoid Tiger Hill where droves of "those noisy Indian tourists go by Jeep every morning". Instead, they insisted we should try 10,170ft Tonglu, because it offers a closer (just) and clearer view.
"It’s also a very pleasant morning's walk," said our friend Jiwan over the top of his beer glass.
It didn't take them long to persuade us that despite our creaky knees and general lack of fitness we'd easily manage a two day trek in the Singalila National Park. By the time we arrived back in India they had arranged for Pemba, a recently qualified guide, to accompany us.
So the following day off we set, just after sunrise.
Easy trekking
Our guide turned out to be a 21 year old local student eager to practice his new job and excellent English on us, we were delighted to be his guinea pigs. We soon learned, however, that the Nepali idea of an easy walk is quite different from our own (either that or Jiwan had a mischievous sense of humour). The first day included the steepest part of the journey and took eight hours. It drizzled. It thundered. The lightning crashed around us. Not for nothing was Darjeeling named by Tibetans the ‘Land of Thunderbolts’. In fact it rained during the entire trek.
We met some of Pemba’s friends and family along the way, and drank an odd (to our western palettes) salty, buttery tea. In fact we gulped down anything they threw at us, including rakshi, a kind of Himalayan poitín – this one flavoured with rhododendrons – and several bamboo mugs of tongba, millet beer.
At Tumling, after a toasty night under thick blankets in an unheated mountain hut, Jamie dutifully got up before dawn for a hike up to Tonglu, hoping to catch the sun hitting Kanchenjunga through his lens. Unfortunately this vision lasted only a few seconds before the clouds came lumbering across the horizon, gobbling up the mountain and valley.
Mountain folk
On our way back Chitray (‘Bamboo House’) was a welcoming pit stop comprising a collection of timber and bamboo buildings which make up a farm, complete with goats, dogs and chickens mooching around the yard. The largest building doubles as a family home and workers' kitchen. We fell into the warm, dimly-lit dining room, steam pouring off us, and knocked back masala chai while chomping on biscuits. After a while a young Lama and his entourage of monks arrived and were ushered – with great respect and much bowing – into the back room. We noticed an old man sitting in the shadows between the kitchen and dining room. He smiled and raised his glass to us, so we nodded and waved hello back.
Eager to learn his story, we chatted to Chitray Pala (‘Bamboo House Papa’) and through Pemba learned he was 80 years old. Fifty-eight years previously he was imprisoned in Tibet by the Chinese. He knew he would never get out alive, so after twelve days escaped taking his mother and father with him. He didn’t know how many miles they walked over the mountains, but he reckoned it took two months to get to here, where they built their first farm out of the local bamboo. He finished his coffee and went off to be blessed by the Lama.
As we finished our second cup of tea Chitray Pala shouted goodbye to us and set off up the hill in the rain. We watched him disappear into the mist, carrying a heavy piece of corrugated iron on his back.
“He’s going to mend one of the shacks on his farm,” Pemba told us.
We didn’t see much of Kanchenjunga Massif during the trek, the clouds never parted at the right time. But we found other delights: we saw garlands of orchids hanging from forest trees; we filled our tummies with wild strawberries; we spotted eagles flying beside us; and watched maroon-clad Tibetan monks and a young Lama playing football with a can.
For more tales have a look at www.lizcleere.com
Trips can be arranged by hotels in Darjeeling or local tour companies
"I promise this walk is not long and nor is it steep," said Jiwan.
If our recent experience of what a Gorkha regards as an 'easy walk' was anything to go by – a one in three incline through forest and driving rain for eight hours – we were not entirely convinced by Jiwan Rai's assurances. Still, today he was wearing a suit and shirt, black shiny leather shoes and an umbrella hooked over his arm: it couldn't be that difficult, could it?
When we accepted an invitation to stay in Jiwan's family home in the mountains we hadn't realised it would be quite so far off the beaten track. Remote Barranumber village, like many settlements in this region, clings to the side of a mountain miles from the road. The only way to get there is to trek beside the quinine plantations and jungle surrounding Kalimpong. It was too precious an opportunity to miss, so we equipped ourselves with walking boots, sensible trousers and waterproofs. I carried bottled water, cans of beer, a few bananas, biscuits, hats, a good book, torch, loo paper, matches, incense sticks, mosquito coils, spare sheets and the kitchen sink. Jamie carried his camera bag.
A WALK IN THE PARK
We were prepared for vertical climbs, knee wrenching drops, and driving rain, but the weather was sunny and dry, and the walk turned out to be a gentle afternoon amble. We walked in single file: Jiwan at the front, me in the middle on his heels (eyes peeled for snakes), and Jamie lagging behind with his camera. The only noises came from the insects, birds and other small creatures hidden in the trees and undergrowth beside the trail. Stopping on a narrow path with views down into the Rangpo Valley, we could just make out the river sparkling below in the afternoon sun. On the opposite side of the valley Sikkim stretched into the distance.
"Next time you come we will make a camp, catch fish and have a picnic on the riverbank together."
Surrounded by all this pastoral glory I half expected a unicorn or a satyr to come strolling round the corner. Instead a stream of clear, mountain-cooled water running across our path reminded Jiwan that we had beer with us.
"Let's stop and rest," he said, placing our cans mid stream.
BEERS AND BALLOONS
While we waited for the beer to chill Jiwan pulled out some leaves by the roots, explaining that as a boy he used to eat them when he had no water (he used a local word to describe the plant which I can't remember, I don't suppose it would help identify them, but they were fern-like).
“You bite the balloon on the root, here.” He pulled the 'balloon' off and popped it in his mouth.
I bit into the first one and a refreshing liquid burst onto my tongue. It tasted of the mountain. Jamie, not one to shirk a new gourmet experience, spat his out declaring it disgustingly bitter. Jiwan laughed, explaining a little late that, "yes, sometimes they are a bit sour".
When the other two had downed their mountain-cooled tinnies, and I'd had my fill of balloon roots, we continued our idyll. As we entered the village we passed a gardenia bush with a scent so heady it obliterated all its competitors. The top noses at Dior couldn't come up with a more intoxicating fragrance. Jiwan picked us each a bloom and we arrived at his family home smelling of perfumed Parisian courtesans.
DID THE TUDORS LIVE HERE?
Houses of the Lepcha, Nepali and Bhutia tribes are constructed from wooden frames, using local trees. Latticed bamboo is then fixed between the frames and filled with cow dung. At first glance they are indistinguishable from our wattle and daub Medieval buildings at home, and it can be disorientating to see what appear to be Elizabethan houses lining the roads in the Himalaya. The roses, geraniums and other English herbaceous border flowers arranged outside in pots only adds to the familiarity. Sometimes the exteriors are painted in pastel shades, but inside there's no wallpaper or chintz. Instead a kind of slip is painstakingly smoothed over the walls to create an even finish. The corrugated iron roofs, often painted a terracotta colour, are the most obvious difference between our Tudor houses and these Himalayan counterparts.
At the Rai mountain home we drank tea and talked about the village of Barranumber. Containing 90 households, most of its inhabitants work in the quinine plantations for about 2500INR per month (around £35), supplementing their incomes by growing crops on the terraced hillside. But, like everywhere else, changes in the world's climate have reached this small mountain enclave.
"One year recently we had hail stones for two hours," said Premika, Jiwan's sister, "and the villagers lost all their crops."
They have had some good luck, though, with a donation from the Mondo Challenge Foundation. This meant they were able to build their own school a few years ago. All the children from the surrounding villages now have an education, at least up until the age of 11.
In the evening we watched Jiwan's sister-in-law, Kabita, stoke the hearth in preparation for dinner, while her fifteen month old daughter, Sumnima, played in the ashes.
DUNG AND DINNER
Without a whiff of the farmyard, and just like their neighbours' houses, Jiwan's family kitchen is coated in a yellow-ochre smooth cow dung, the low double range appearing to grow out of the floor. Its two open fires gave off plenty of smoke as Kabita's husband, Santa, cooked the food directly on the flames. In the semi darkness we sat on ankle-high stools to eat fresh momos, noodles and pork. Santa plied us with 'Tiger's Milk', a gently fermented maize left to work its magic in a bucket. The baby greedily sucked the opaque liquid from her cup as we moved on to 'Tongba' (millet beer) then 'Rakshi (pronounced 'roxy') a hot version of schnapps.
Later that night we floated back to our room and slid under soft blankets and freshly laundered sheets. As I inhaled the scent from our gardenia blossoms placed on a saucer by the bed, I just had time to notice that the facing window looked directly up the mountain. Then I slipped off into Arcadian dreams.
Apart from managing the Mondo Challenge Foundation in West Bengal, Jiwan's family also runs 'Village Discovery Tours'. This not-for-profit business offers visitors to India the chance to experience how local people live in the eastern Himalaya: stay in a village home, eat home-cooked food, walk in the fields and forests and fish in the river. Any profits are ploughed directly back into the participating villages. The business has been on hold for a year and they are in the process of re-launching the website. If you would like more details please 'contact me here' and I will forward your enquiry. As soon as the website is up and running I will add the details to this page.
For more tales have a look at www.lizcleere.com
Contact me, inerantwritersclub@gmail.com, until the Village Discovery Tours website is up and running properly. I will add further details when they are confirmed.
On a banner stretched across the main road we read "2600 years of the enlightenment of Lord Buddha". By chance we had arrived just in time to join in the celebratory procession planned for the next day. At a mere 2100m Darjeeling is unlikely to strike you down with altitude sickness, but be prepared for an ear-popping drive from the Indian plains as you ascend two kilometres in four hours.
We arrived at NJP in the morning, after an Arctic overnight experience on the Padatik Express from Kolkata. Why do they insist on having the a/c turned up to 'eleven' on Indian trains? Like our neighbours, we had come prepared: we all went to bed wearing an assortment of woolly socks, bobble hats and fleeces.
New Jalpaiguri shake down
Within minutes of disembarking from our igloos, we were back in the shrieking, dusty heat of an Indian railway station. Outside the station rows of 4WDs lined the car park, six deep and all touting for business. Blinking in the morning light, we tried to decide which ride to choose. A quick poll of the first few vehicles revealed that the going rate for Darjeeling was 200Rs each (about £3). Great. There was a catch. 200Rs would get us a seat, but each 'Jeep' took 10 people: two next to the driver, four in the back seat and a further four in the boot, on fold-down chairs.
Jamie and I are not small, so we agreed to pay 800Rs for the four middle seats. We got in and waited for the vehicle to fill up. And we waited. Other cars, laden down with passengers, headed off. A little crumpled, and slightly irritable from our journey, we sat and simmered. Nothing happened. A family of four approached.
“Shall we share this Jeep?”
Delighted with the suggestion we agreed, and a happy deal was struck. Just as we were about to leave the driver asked us for an extra 400Rs.
“We will pay 800Rs and you will pay 1200,” explained the father of the family.
Er, no? Twenty minutes of lively negotiation between the family, us and the driver took us nowhere. You probably think haggling over 400Rs is churlish. There have been plenty of times around the world when we haven't minded paying over the odds because we are seen as 'rich' foreign tourists in a poor area; in this case it was the (clearly loaded) father of the family who was chiseling us, not the driver. By now, most of the other cars had left, so in a moment of theatricality – while Jamie continued his discussions – I got out and removed my case from the roof. I found a driver who agreed to take us door to door for 1500Rs, the going rate for a private taxi. This was enough of a spur for the original driver to instantly find a couple more passengers. The problem was solved. As we drove out of the station the taxi driver glowered at me; I felt a pang of guilt for using him to score points in our negotiation.
One mile higher
We left the plains and wound our way upwards into the Himalaya, the driver gunning our Jeep round every blind hairpin bend. Although it was crowded, we were glad to be travelling along the pot-holed roads in a nicely sprung 4WD, rather than a knackered old taxi. Jewel and pastel coloured houses grew out of the mountains on either side of us, colourful bells, blooms and racemes shattering the ubiquitous green of the forest. Roses of every colour and shape, hydrangeas, geraniums and other herbaceous border flowers crowded the pots in the windows and frontages. This area of the mountains is famous for its rhododendrons, with the flowers at their most dazzling in April. As we climbed higher the temperature dropped, reminiscent of an English spring.
The narrow gauge track of the Unesco World Heritage Darjeeling Railway criss-crossed the road, snaking its way towards the same destination as us. We stopped to watch the clanking steam train huff and puff its way past us.
Town in the clouds
Darjeeling is a jumble of British Raj architecture, modern concrete boxes, shacks and tiny lanes. It was teeming with people when we were unceremoniously dumped in the centre. We made some space on the heaving road for our bags and weary bodies and asked around for directions to our hotel. We didn't fancy traipsing through the dank lanes trying to find the entrance, so went for broke and took a taxi to the front door.
The Dekeling Homestay Hotel is situated in the midst of the hubbub. We climbed the steep steps, past a landing, through the wooden reception, up again to the sitting room and finally up another flight of narrow stairs to the top floor. The din by now had receded. The view from our corner room gave us our first high view of the Himalaya: one window faced two kilometres down into the valley, and the other faced north west, across town to the Kanchenjunga massif. India's highest mountain (the third highest peak in the world) wasn't playing ball, and hid itself behind the clouds.
Is this still India?
That afternoon we took a walk in what felt like a new country: the language had changed from Hindi to Nepali, with interesting tribal dialects and languages too; the influence of Tibet and China manifested itself in the almond eyes and straight black hair of the people. Some women wore an apron-like national dress, but many were in western clothes. We saw no sarees, and the only salwar kameezes in evidence were worn by Indian tourists. The local people were quiet and contained; it seemed the incessant chatter we had become used to in the rest of India was coming from the domestic tourists.
Cold and travel weary by 5pm, we stumbled across Joey's pub. It turned out to be a bit of a tourist landmark, but with its cosy bar, ramshackle tables and faded posters it felt immediately like home. Pretty soon our table was filled with beer, cheap whiskey and playing cards. Lovely. The barman ordered a take away for us, and tasty noodles (which we came to learn are the staple of mountain cuisine) soon turned up. Beating Jamie at cards in the bar, and again back at the hotel, was a sure sign that he was 'tired'. So we went to bed early, and slept for twelve and a half hours under the eaves of the world.
For more tales have a look at www.lizcleere.com
Dekeling Hotel
51 Gandhi Road
Darjeeling - 734101
West Bengal
INDIA
Phone : 91-354-2254159/2253298
Mobile : 91-09434462408 / 09679734048
Fax : 91-354-2253298
Email : dekeling@sify.com
norbu@dekeling.com
A beautiful little glacial lake at 7,000ft that sits below Monte Civetta. Its surrounded by dramatic rock edges and there's a welcome cool breeze when it is accessible in the summer months. The gradient from Palafavera, just north of Pecol is fairly steep, although you can take a ski lift almost half way to the top.
Coldai is along the path of the Alta Via 1 trek through the heart of the Dolomites. You pass Refugio Sonino along the way, where you can get food and a bed for the night if needed.
Refugio Tissi further along is also a great place to stay. But the walk up to the lake and back down could be a day trip from either Palafavera or from Alleghe on the other side of the valley.
The views of and from Lago Coldai are spectacular and the lake is a welcome rest spot, or bathing spot seemingly, if you are one of several eccentric Spanish ladies.
Here are some useful sites: www.infodolomiti.it/dolomiti.990002264-1.run
This site tells you how to get there: www.gpsies.com/map.do?fileId=jbiurkrubhpkdpbn&name=Palafavera-Lago+Coldai
You can buy Tabacco maps with distances and times from a travel shop in Italy
One of the best self-guided trekking areas in Spain. A place of extinguished volcanoes amongst thick forests, unusually green all year round despite the Mediterranean sun. After exploring Vall d'en Bas valley, eat one of the best meals of your life in Restaurant Arnau, Granollers de Rocacorba, and swim in the pool afterwards.
Half an hour north-west from Girona. Read about Girona town and province:
www.rusticaltravel.com/index.php/Catalunya-Guide.html
Summit Zero is the perfect hostel to begin your own Mt. Olympus adventure. I arrived via bus in the middle of Litochoro and because I reserved my room at the hostel, Periklis, the hostel owner, was waiting to meet me.
I stayed the night and prepared for my climb up Mt. Olympus the next day. I met many other climbers and was able to receive wonderful advice and tips on trails from both local climbers and travelling climbers.
I was travelling solo, but I met other young adults who joined with me to climb Mt. Olympus.
Summit Zero was the best starting place for my adventure. I was able to leave my bags at the hostel in storage until I returned after my two-day climb. I was able to unwind after the trek by swimming in the Aegean because the beach is just behind the hostel. Summit Zero is the perfect refuge. The is no other place where you can enjoy the setting sun as you float in the waters of the Aegean while admiring the lofty peaks of Mt. Olympus knowing that you had walked the path of the gods.
It is located in Gritsa, port of Litochoro, GR. Litochoro is the small town at the base of Mt. Olympus (easily identified by its red tile roofs). Gritsa is just outside of Litochoro on the coast of the Aegean.
Summit Zero
0030- 6972 338348 mob. (Periklis)
0030- 23520 61406 hostel
Gritsa, port of Litochoro, GR.
This is a great alternative to the Inca trail - high snowy peaks, quieter trekking and stunning.
I went with UK company Andean Trails. www.andeantrails.co.uk
Many minibuses wait at the train station for Sapa. They offer the service for 25-30,000D but the local price is 20,000D so bargain hard.
Arriving in Sapa
The minibus stops at the area where many hotels are clustered. This is not the center. Ask the driver to take you to the market or Royal Hotel, both are good starting points to look for a room. The entrance of the market is Cau May Street, where most budget accommodation can be found. All rooms tend to be equipped with hot water. Only expensive hotels have a/c. The view to the valley is the key to choosing a room.
Weekends are always busy due to the Sunday market at Bac Ha and most hotels put their prices up during the weekend.
The tourist peak and dry season runs from March to May and October to November but it is also a good season for trekking.
The rainy season runs from June to August and is cold at night (Sapa is 1500m above sea level)
There is no tourist office but you can get info at travel agents and there are many in town. They all deal with trekking tours.
Summits Africa is a Kilimanjaro operator that provides essential safety devices - oxygen, pulse oximetry, mountain sickness scorecard monitoring and so on, all as standard on all trips (they also do Mt Kenya). Their safaris are also a little more off the beaten track as they prefer to practise 'leave no trace' camping trips to places like the Serengeti and Lake Natron.
www.summits-africa.com info@summits-africa.com
+255 784 522090
We have trekked twice with Three Sisters. In 2006 they took us to Lo Monthang in Upper Mustang. Earlier this year we trekked the Annapurna Circuit and also Annapurna Base Camp with them. We can highly recommend them and when you use them you are also providing employment and training for female guides. The Three Sisters are helping many very poor Nepali citizens through their training and self-help schemes.
3 Sisters Adventure Trekking
Pokhara
Nepal
Get close enough to molten lava to toast marshmallows! Only an hour and a half from Antigua, it's an experience not to be missed.
Buy a ticket to the volcano in Antigua for about 50 quetzals. At the base of the volcano you pay 40 quetzals for entering the parquet. Tours leave Antigua at either 06.00 in the morning or 14.00 in the afternoon.
Great alternative trek to Machu Picchu and it takes in it all. Just book when you get there, you can usually go next day. Oh, and please don't take any notice of the Guardian's advertised £3.95 price (do they earn commision from this agent?). It costs around £120 pounds, all meals included with camping.
Any agent in Plaza de Armas
Casa Tío Juan is a self-catering rental house that sleeps up to 12. It's a traditional village house in the centre of Hoyos del Espino in the heart of the Sierra de Gredos. We had a great time there and will definitely be returning! Great mountains, stunning scenery and so much to do. The village has bars and restaurants, shops, a bank - everything that you could want within a few minutes walk. By car you can vistit Ávila, Toledo, Salamanca. The Sierra de Gredos is an undiscovered gem. Go before everyone else does!
A sky resort mainly, but there are some mountains you can climb and other trails you can follow.
A local told us you can follow a trail from Puerto de Navacerrada back down to the town of Cercedilla which takes about three hours.
Absoutely amazing views on top of the mountains of Madrid and Castilla y Leon. Makes for an amazing day out.
Take the train from Nuevos Ministerios, Atocha or Charmartin to Cercedilla where you change to take the train up the hill to Puerto de Navacerrada. Takes about two hours in total from Charmartin.
From there, follow other hikers up the hill and the various trail signs.
Take a walking trip led by a local Sami reindeer herder, through a stunning national park landscape with reindeers as your travelling companions. Learn about the importance of reindeer to the local people and see some of the most beautiful landscape Sweden has to offer.
Take the wonderful night train from Stockholm to remind you how train travel ought to be.
Alternatively arrange your own outdoor activities in this beautiful area.
www.pathfinderlapland.se/
www.gellivare.se/
Gällivare railway station (direct from Stockholm)
The classic four-day trek, the Inca Trail, to Machu Picchu now has an adventurous alternative. From Cuzco, I went across the scary Abra Malaga pass by local transport to the attractive warm jungle village of Santa Teresa and visited hot warm springs (very few foreign visitors at the present moment) and stayed with a local family in a rustic adobe lodge where fresh coffee beans were roasted in front of my eyes and papaya picked off the trees for morning breakfast!
The journey from Cusco to the jungle on to Machu Picchu with the local Quechua speaking guide involves one night staying by the hot springs in tents, one night with his family (a great experience!), a horse trek, some trekking and the final descent to Aguas Calientes at the foot of Machu Picchu. In the morning, rise early before the other travellers and take in this famous lost Inca citadel.
A more varied experience overall, following a different route to the majority of people and great to get to stay with a local family, even for one night!
Santa Teresa is about a fivehour ride from Cuzco. I travelled with the volunteering and alternative adventure travel organisation, Inka Magik, which works with local schools as well as the Cuzco guide and rustic lodge.
Hotel comprising separate chalets huddled on a hill with spectacular mountain views. Run by Sita and her husband with real affection and friendliness. They can organise treks (the hotel has been used by Everest teams) and will ply you with good local food and ensure you get up in time to catch the mind-blowing sunrises.
The Fort Resort - Nagarkot (City Office)
P O Box 3004, Lazimpat, KTM
Tel: 977 1 4432 960 / 4432 964 fax: 977 1 4432 958
e-mail: fort@mos.com.np
Seoraksan is the most popular national park in South Korea. Sadly, this means that the peace and solitude most people seek when heading for parks and mountains is hard to find.
The initial hour or two on most trails consists of tarmac/brick roads, but eventually you will come to steep paths and the inevitable steel staircase.
I have been in autumn and found it very pleasant with wonderful weather and beautiful scenery. But, as I mentioned, there are so many people you may have to find yourself queuing to reach the peak!
If you go to Seoraksan, stay in one of the many hotels/motels in nearby Sokcho. There is also a pretty good beach here as well as a street with many fish restaurants. Try the sushi!
You can get to Sokcho from Seoul by bus - take a bus from either Dong Seoul or the Express bus terminals. There is no train route.
You can then get the bus to Seoraksan - it takes about 30-40 minutes depending on traffic.
Tamatert guesthouse is about a 15 minute walk from the centre of Imlil. From the roof and the balcony of the guesthouse you have great views of the valley and Atlas mountains (www.petraroest.nl/images/index0.jpg - made me drool.
The guesthouse has double rooms, rooms with multiple beds, big living room, toilets, showers and medical facilities. Dinner and breakfast are included for the guests.
The guesthouse is run by three brothers (Mohamed, Jamal and Rachid Imerhane). They also helped people plan their treks in the mountains.
If you would like further information you can contact Jamal Imerhane by phone: 00212-7115-7636 or by email: jamaltrek@yahoo.fr.
Is this your business?