As we deboarded the plane from Bhutan at the Kathmandu airport, Matt and I were still discussing whether we should get the one-month or three-month visa for Nepal. Not knowing our plans once Kohncation would come to an end in a couple of weeks, we figured we would need around two more months to figure out what we wanted to do and then go do it, whether settling in to a volunteer opportunity or cycling to the far east and/or west of the country. Since a one-month visa plus a month extension would cost more than the three-month visa, we reluctantly handed over two crisp Benjamin Franklins and hoped our future decisions would make it worthwhile.

After a typically inefficient visa processing experience, we found Mike and Esther waiting with all of our luggage and piled in to a taxi to nearby Bhaktapur, the City of Devotees. Bhaktapur, Patan, and Kathmandu were three rival kingdoms competing for dominance in the Kathmandu Valley during the reign of the Malla dynasty. Bhaktapur today has the densest collection of temples of the three. It is preserved as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and so is often described as a living museum, having been extensively renovated and restored after a major earthquake in 1934.

Checking in to the adorable Peacock Guesthouse with authentic Newari architecture and woodcarving ornamentation was like staying in our own private museum. Mike and Esther's room came with a carved wooden round window that opened up to watch daily life pass by on Dattatraya Square, as well as door jams low enough for Mike and Matt to bump their heads on.

The remainder of the day and the next were spent wandering between the historically and religiously significant town squares filled with Hindu and Buddhist temples of all different shapes and size. Since Matt and I had also visited Bhaktapur a few months prior when we first rode our bikes into Nepal, I opted to stay back at the hotel and rest from a fatiguing cold I had come down with early on in Bhutan, figuring I had seen it all before.

When they returned a few hours later, Matt showed me photos of processions of locals wearing their best colorful Newari clothes and playing instruments through the cobblestone streets. Apparently this was an auspicious day in the Newari calendar for boys' coming of age ceremonies and celebrations. From the safe distance of a rooftop cafe, they had seen blood squirting above a crowd gathered at a shrine as a water buffalo was sacrificed, then hauled away in pick-up for the family's celebratory feast. Even Potter's Square was filled with rows of pots laid out to dry in the sun; it had been nearly deserted when we had gone there before. And to top it all off, they had successfully located the "Erotic Elephant Temple" where elephants and other animals are depicted in human-style copulation poses. We had searched for it in vain on our previous visit. With the city seeming to be much more alive and vibrant that morning than usual, I regretted my decision to take it easy using an excuse of faulty rationale. It was a biting reminder that there is really no such thing as "seeing it all before." A place is never the same from one day to the next, and it will always hold new discoveries if you approach it with fresh eyes and an open mind.

Having learned my lesson, I rallied for a post-lunch excursion to the Changu Narayan temple, another UNESCO World Heritage Site a few kilometers outside of Bhaktapur. While this was certainly an enjoyable new place to see, there were no parades, sacrifices, or other particularly exciting events to witness, of course!

The next morning we loaded up the Tata Sumo Grande we had rented and met our driver, Ramas, since none of us were equipped with the talent, bravery, or innate understanding of Nepalese driving behavior to dare to do it ourselves. Our driver was immediately put to the test before he even stepped on the gas when a sadhu, or more likely, someone posing as a sadhu, firmly stood in front of the car, holding us hostage until a donation was made. He had been pestering us in a most peculiar way as we were loading up. The gracious owners of the guesthouse had already given him some money and politely requested that he leave us alone, but this only escalated his intensity. Now the owner was not happy about this at all, and basically yanked him out of the way, at which point Ramas peeled out of there in just enough time before the "sadhu" then tried to plaster himself to the side of the car.

With that exciting beginning, the rest of the drive to the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Chitwan National Park seemed uneventful and the roads only mildly curvy after Bhutan. We settled in to Hotel Parkside where we were thrilled to learn that we had their top guide Gopal (rhymes with Nepal) of TripAdvisor fame. It wasn't long after a late lunch and settling in that we were off on our first activity of the three-night package. We took a leisurely walk to a sunset viewpoint on the banks of a peaceful river, well, peaceful except for the fifty other tourists there. Noticing that a nearby riverside bar was strangely devoid of the masses, we wandered over and did our sunset wildlife watching over a cold beer. Within the course of happy hour, we spotted an Asian One-horned Rhino, a wild Asian Elephant, Wild Boar, a gharial and a marsh mugger, both species of crocodiles. Gopal's bird expertise became apparent as he rattled off all sorts of avian White-throated, Black-backed, Long-beaked this and thats within seconds of their fleeting flyby.

While that was certainly a nice introduction to Chitwan, we got the full experience the next day from the back of a sweet mellow elephant. We climbed up a set of stairs to load onto a wooden platform on her back, which was quite cozy with the four of us in it. Her elephant trainer and caretaker, called a mahout, essentially rode on her shoulders and we set off through a forested area adjacent to the park. This may not come as a surprise to you, but for some reason it was for me: riding an elephant is a very rockin' experience, literally. We swayed up and down, back and forth, with each lumbering step. With so many other tourist-ridden elephants going out with us, I figured exciting wildlife would be a no-show. Luckily, rhinos seem to tolerate the presence of people much better when they arrive on an elephant, so we got to watch one up close and personal from the safety of our elephant box.

In the late afternoon, we crossed the river by wading across barefoot with pant legs rolled and actually entered the boundary of the park for the first time. Once across the river, we got a thorough briefing about all the animals that might possibly want to attack us, and what we should or should not do, with most scenarios ending with Gopal beating them off with a stick (except in the case of the angered wild elephant in which case we would all be squashed no matter what we did).

On that encouraging note, he then took us to his secret spot where no other guides take their clients for a nature walk, so the only other people we encountered were local women illegally, but blatantly, gathering wood and plant material to carry out of the park and local men passing by on grazing elephants. The most exciting thing we actually saw was a glimpse of Great Hornbills feeding on a fruiting tree before we scared them off, but according to Gopal we also heard a spooked sloth bear crashing through the forest not far from us, and the low grunt of a tiger. When Gopal heard the persistent yelps of Sambar deer, he took off in their direction through the underbrush and not wanting to be left near any grunting tigers, we had no choice but to follow him. As we got closer, his persistence paid off when we caught a backlit fleeting glimpse of a black mass dropping from the crook of a tree and simply vanishing. He swears we snuck up on a leopard that was causing the agitation of the deer. The reflection of the sunset on the river was beautiful as we crossed back into the "safety" of civilization.

Our third day in Chitwan began with a visit to the government-run elephant breeding center where we got the joy of seeing a little Dumbo playfully roaming around and felt the frustration on a slightly older youngster as he repeatedly pulled against the chain on his leg trying to join the little one in its freedom. The reality is that all of the working elephants, whether for tourists to ride or rangers to use in anti-poaching patrols, are chained on their feet when not working, being bathed, or taken in to the forest to feed. Gopal mentioned that some places are working towards an electric fencing system to replace the chains at least. Perhaps because we are not accustomed to thinking of elephants as domesticated animals, it certainly elicited an emotional response to see them restrained in that way. Yet on a daily basis we would see goats, mules, and water buffalo on equally restrictive short tethers without giving it much thought at all. I wonder if it is our cultural bias at work or simply the charisma of a highly intelligent species that we feel a deeper connection to than livestock.

I contemplated the human-elephant relationship here in Chitwan as we transitioned to a dugout canoe river float. Appropriately, we came upon an elephant drinking from the river's edge. Since the opportunity for tourists to bathe elephants in the river is officially closed during the "cold" winter months, Gopal did the next best thing and asked the elephant's mahout if he could give the elephant a bath as we floated by. With a series of simple commands, the elephant submersed itself while the mahout kept his balance standing on just its spine above the water level. Out came the tip of the trunk like a periscope, or more accurately, a snorkel. The mahout then stepped on one side of the elephant, signaling it to roll like a log while he kept pace on top, then they rotated together to the other side. It was such a graceful demonstration we witnessed that it more than made up for not getting to splash around with one for the sake of our own touristic amusement.

In the afternoon, we went on a "jeep safari" that was a bit disappointing since the vehicle was actually a loud diesel pickup truck with bench seating and a tarp pulled down over a metal roof frame. Not exactly the easiest to see out of, so we were either hunching over to peer out of the little gap between the tarp and the seat, or we had to climb out of the back and stand on the dirt road to see any bird that had caught Gopal's eye, such as a crested serpent eagle perched up in a tree. Nonetheless, we added many more species to our growing list of over one hundred birds, a handful of mammals, and a few reptiles.

For our last evening in Chitwan, we attended a performance highlighting the traditional dances of the Tharu, the first people of Nepal's lowland Terai and the dominant culture until malaria was largely eradicated from the region by using DDT in the 1950s. This opened up the Terai for settlement by highland groups without the Tharu's genetic malarial resistance who quickly gobbled up the essential habitat of so many species as jungle was converted to rice paddies. National parks were established to preserve what remained. Of course, this influx of new people and forcible relocation out of the parks shook the foundations of the Tharu way of life, which they have been struggling to preserve ever since. Based on the enthusiasm and talent of the young dancers as they rhythmically clashed sticks together in mock choreographed fights, it seems that at least this aspect of the culture won't be disappearing any time soon.

During one last pre-breakfast bird-focused walk where we got a smidge closer to seeing a respectable number of Chitwan's 569+ bird species, I labeled myself an "opportunistic birder." If I have someone knowledgeable and excited about birds pointing them out to me, then I get pretty in to it too. Otherwise, I don't really pursue figuring out the nuances of name. The petite electric blue White-throated Kingfisher would still be my favorite whether I knew its common, genus, and species names or not.

We were back on the road after breakfast and headed to...you guessed it, another UNESCO World Heritage Site! This time it was Lumbini, very close to the border with India, and the source of Nepal's decorative truck slogans declaring "Buddha was born in Nepal!" We rented decrepit single-gear bikes to cruise around the extensive site, aptly described as an "Epcot Center of Buddhist Temples." We started with an understated one representing Sri Lanka, but fortunately they got more exciting from there. The dramatic architecture of Thailand's white marble temple was striking despite being under renovation, Myanmar was a mini version of its golden Hershey kiss-shaped temples depicted in so many promotional photos of the country, and China was a trip down memory lane.

We cycled beyond the rows of national temples paying homage to Buddha to a World Peace Pagoda surrounded by a Sarus Crane Preserve. We didn't spy any cranes from there, but as we walked around the bizarre grounds of the Cambodia temple, we were lucky enough to observe one at close range, at least until a Chinese tourist got too close and scared it off. Having seen the many features of Lumbini honoring Buddha, we finished our day with a visit to the remains of the Maya Devi Temple, where the exact spot of his birth is believed to be. While pedaling around the large complex known as the Lumbini Development Zone all day was enjoyable enough, it was not as developed as the name had led us to expect. Many plots of land stand empty, presumably awaiting countries to build their representative temple there. While the temples themselves were well cared for, the overall area felt unmaintained. Perhaps being quite different than we expected also made it more exciting as we were never sure what we would come across next.

Our time in the Terai was short and our exploration was not thorough, but it was insightful and important to see a new region of Nepal, one that is geographically, climatically, and culturally closer to India than the Himalaya. It gave us a firsthand appreciation of all the forms of diversity that make up this compact country.

Trekking Days 1-9 
Highest elevation: 15,120 ft (4,610 m) 
Lowest elevation: 4,790 ft (1,460 m)

The taxi dropped us off in the late morning at the trailhead in Sundarjial, a community on the outskirts of Kathmandu. In keeping with typical Casey and Matt tradition, our lightweight packs were stuffed to the brim and it was barely manageable to pick them up and put them on our backs. We had been up late the night before, configuring and reconfiguring all the pieces in order to force everything to fit. Among the weight and space culprits was a 16-foot long Hilleberg tent, perfect for cycle-touring but perhaps not so logical for this endeavor. We also got a little over-ambitious at the supermarket, and stubbornly refused to leave any of our goodies behind, thus cramming Snickers and granola bars into any unfilled niche of carrying capacity. 

Our first day was spent crossing Shivapuri National Park, and by crossing I really mean ascending continual stairs through small villages and lushly foliated forest. We gained 700 meters (2,300 feet) and were rewarded with our first clear panorama of peaks at sunset just as we reached our stopping point of Chisapani. We randomly chose one of several lodges in the town, a multistory concrete building painted bubble gum pink with electricity, wifi, private bathrooms, and hot showers. (The hot shower was a bit ironic since chisopani means "cold water" in Nepali.) This "teahouse" was no different than a cheap hotel in Kathmandu and certainly not what we were expecting. Then again, we were not yet that far from the city either.

Despite committing to a thorough stretching routine the night before, the next morning my lower back was so tight that I headed down the trail hunched over like a very old woman. It took a good hour or so before I could hike all the way upright. Additionally, I self-diagnosed a tight IT band causing some significant pain in my left knee, likely irritated by the oversized steps we climbed for hours the day before. The only relief was to avoid bending my left leg by taking the steep downs with my left foot always leading and my right matching it one step at a time and leaning on the trekking pole I promptly borrowed from Matt's pair. This obviously made for slow going, but our cardiovascular system would not have allowed much of a faster pace anyway.

By the end of our second day, we were exhausted and every muscle from head to toe was sore. We had also both developed raw patches of skin on our lower backs from a bad combination of sweaty clothes and rough fabric on our as-of-yet-un-field-tested packs. It was clear that our bodies were in shock from the sudden onset of physical demands upon it. This was not terribly surprising since, with the exception of a few days of cycling in Nepal, we had not been significantly active for over a month! We had spent eight days off the bicycle in China, prior to a ten-day tour in Tibet, followed by almost two weeks of hanging out in Kathmandu. A solo American man, also with a large pack, passed us as we were resting on the side of the trail and astutely commented, "It hurts the worst for the first five days or so, then it isn't so bad...The Germans will give you a hard time about your big pack. I guess it's an American characteristic that we can't part with our things."

Well, at least it didn't take a full five days to physically settle in to our two-month trek. Our second day was a long push through forest and fog to a nice establishment called the Thodong Lama Hotel, complete with a wind-powered prayer wheel and Buddhist motifs of the eight auspicious signs on the walls. The third day was a short one; after just a couple of hours hiking in questionable weather and feeling quite low-energy, we stopped at a lodge that offered us a room with an amazing mountain view. 

That half of a rest day proved to be our turning point. Starting out on sunny day four, our packs somehow felt miraculously lighter, even as we were hiking uphill for a total of 4,000 feet. Once we were physically recovered, we had the mental energy to transition from a perspective of simply surviving the trek to loving the challenge of it. The worst of our ailments were behind us, except each of our pinky toes had transformed into one continuous blister covering all sides. It would take a full two weeks before they were replaced with thimble-like protective callouses instead. 

When we finally made it above tree line, we were rewarded with an amazing sunset from a crowded teahouse perched on a ridge line, while the temperature also plummeted. On day five we were not so lucky. After a tough day of "Nepali flat," meaning continually hiking straight up or straight down yet staying at the same average elevation, we stopped at the uniquely named Dawababy Redpanda Hotel. The clouds never lifted to reveal the mountain view, so the friendly owners with no less than nine children watching our every move became the entertainment of the evening.

First they piled in to one end of the wood stove warmed dining room to observe all the guests eating their dinners, then the tourists sat around while the family ate Nepal's national dish of dal bhat, which at a minimum includes a mound of rice, lentil soup, and seasonal vegetable curry that seems to always includes potatoes. It may also come with a papad, a crispy peppery very thin bread, and the whole dish is traditionally eaten with the right hand. The best part about dal bhat is that second and third helpings are freely offered, unlike other menu items, so it is a super healthy way to get filled up at the end of a calorie intensive day. The few nights we ordered other things like pasta or soup, we spent more money and went to bed still hungry. Each lodge prepares the veggie curry and lentil soup a bit differently, so having it every night is not unbearably repetitive. If we were Nepali, we would eat it for lunch and dinner daily.

From the Dawababy in Phedi, we made an exception to our no alarm clock rule and got an earlier start for our first major pass. We were still the last trekkers to leave to the lodge at 7:45am, but almost two hours earlier than we had been. Heading up, we were being chased by clouds rolling up the valley. We feared they would beat us to the top, but we could not go any faster. We made it in time to enjoy clear views and relaxed with our lunch of veggie momos near a cairn draped in prayer flags marking the summit. Nearing the top of the 15,000 foot Larabina pass, we began hiking on a packed snow trail, which continued down the much snowier other side. We were early enough in the day that we did not punch through the snow, but late enough that the treacherous slick crust had softened enough to allow some grip. We passed by several of the 108 holy lakes in the Gosainkunda area, 108 being an auspicious number in Buddhism and Hinduism. The snow-covered landscape made the blues of the lakes even more dramatic.

We reached the lakeshore of the main lake, where thousands of pilgrims converge each summer to bathe and complete a kora around it. Shiva, one of three main Hindu deities, once stirred the ocean in search of Amrit, the water of eternal life, but instead churned up a threatening poison. He then drank it in an act of protection, thus spurring him to strike his trident into the earth at Gosainkinda where pure cold water spilled forth and cleansed him of the ill effects of the poison. 

We were quite taken with the beauty of the place and charmed by the friendly young couple managing the Lakeview Lodge. Being the coldest place on our trek thus far at around 14,000 feet, everyone cozied up in the dining room for the evening, only venturing out for photos of pink peaks over the lake at sunset. We decided to stay an extra day, heading up the hill behind the lodge for a viewpoint of the mountain ranges on the other side. We made the ridge line just before clouds rose up the valley, entirely obscuring the vista. Back down at the lake, we completed the kora just as the wind picked up and tiny spits of hail stung our faces. By the time lunch had warmed us up inside the lodge, the weather had done a 180 from the sunny morning, including some startling claps of thunder. We kept tabs on the status of the snowstorm from our window perch by the fireplace while reading the afternoon away.

The next morning had clear skies again, but with a small accumulation of snow and frozen water lines from the spring across the hillside. We bundled up, but with our standard leisurely departure, it was pretty warm by the time we left and we promptly peeled layers off. We descended from a winter wonderland into a stunted high-altitude forest being pelted by hail, and continued down to a dense moss-covered forest where the canopy sheltered us from rain. The village of Sing Gompa at 10,000 feet felt a world away from where we started that morning, not only because of the comparatively warm and lush environment, but also due to the presence of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, a nak (female yak) cheese production center, and a private bathroom with a western toilet and a solar shower (sadly quite cold due to the cloudy weather) at the Yak and Nak Hotel!

Leaving Sing Gompa, we took the wrong trail out of town, albeit with some suspicion at the rapid descent. Just as we were about turn around and face the big climb back, Matt pointed out a large bird sitting in a pine tree. I looked over and said, "Yeah, it looks like a monkey...Wait! It is a monkey!" Our wrong turn resulted in our first langur monkey sighting of the trek. They had beautiful light grey coats with round black faces and some of the longest tails I have ever seen, even for monkeys. These are the things that inevitably happen when you don't have a guide. 

In contrast, once we finally got going on the right trail, we met a tremendous group of French trekkers that, combined with all of their porters and guides, seemed to take up the length of the trail they were covering that day. We were grateful that we were going in opposite directions. 

By early afternoon, we had reached Thulo Syabru, a popular stop among trekkers for its internet access. Here I found out that my ninety-year old Grandpa Ivan had passed away just a few hours earlier. Had we not taken the wrong trail that morning, I would have checked email before my dad sent the news of my grandfather's passing, and we would have kept going down the trail. Instead, we stopped for the day and I was able to talk with my parents and my grandma, took some time to reflect and honor the life of my grandpa, and found comfort in a pot of real organic coffee at one of more than twenty-five hotels sprawled along a steep ridge line. While I will of course miss my grandpa dearly, he died in peace surrounded by all of his children after a return of cancer and entering hospice, so the event was not unexpected. After connecting with the larger world for a little while, we were ready to transition to our next section of the trek: Langtang Valley.