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HASH Turn off the Ring Road at Balkhu and take the road south that leads to Dakchhinkali. The on-in lies 12 km from here with the turn off Pass the entrance to Tribhuvan University and carry on the main road past Chobhar and on past Taudaha Lake on the left. After 4. Look out for paper here. Fork off down to the left on to a dirt road. The turnoff is off to the left as the road rises gently with open views to the left. The on-in lies 1. Hash Latest. More Videos. More Photos. Hash History.

Marijuana Holiday Trekking in Nepal

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Yep, I was a tad intimidated. How would altitude and decreased stamina affect my adventure? So, I consulted the Lonely Planet and haunted local tour outfits for a warm-up excursion. A test run for me. A test run for them. I was prepared to drop sizable coin on longer campaigns and wanted to find someone reputable. The Sundarijal-Chisapani-Nagarkot-Dhulikel route fit the bill. Mildly infirm, time-strapped wayfarers on a budget. In hindsight, I underestimated my enthusiasm and its potential to overcome diminished physical capacity, but it was better safe than sorry. Time was a valuable asset I used to my benefit. It took notable self-discipline. I was smitten, infected with Himalayan fever. I met Gopal my guide in the morning. At a reasonable pace, you can reach it in a few hours or less. We took over half a day. He was unpleasantly surprised to discover I was more interested in the journey than a slo-mo marijuana-infused jaunt. Previous hikers set a precedent. He assumed a young-ish American would be on board. His disappointment was palpable. Lunch was a two-hour affair cooked from scratch. Slow season? Dunno, but the holdup was borderline excruciating. I was ready to forge ahead solo. Ten minutes in, Gopal regaled me with tales of his priapic exploits. I had one once. She was excellent. He did. Keep in mind, ten minutes in. Logistics were an issue, so they had to be creative. This required furious bursts of naughty time near the bathroom. Both spouses remained clueless. The heart wants what the heart wants, ya know? Thrice daily e-mails kept the spark alive. He mentioned an upcoming rendezvous sin husband. His third mistress was the aforementioned Mary Jane, a constant fixture during our time together. She was never far away. It grew wild along the trail, in the villages, and everywhere in betwixt and between. He pointed to a huge branch with large buds before harvesting and hiding it for a later pick-up. I continued to thwart his advances. And even if I had been, one should always be circumspect about drug use abroad. All the usual suspects are illegal in Nepal, including marijuana. Mary Jane has a special significance in Hinduism. Sadhus appear to enjoy a de facto exemption on its use. Hard to imagine hardcore enforcement. Tourists make excellent fodder for bribes. I thought it best to abstain until I had the That being said, the streets of Thamel Kathmandu are awash in roving peddlers offering a cornucopia of banned substances and services. It begins with an offer for a rickshaw ride, tiger balm, temple visit, etc. Monkey Temple? Nepal girl? White woman? The surreptitious method of communication never failed to make me giggle. Think ghostly ventriloquism. Miscreants would flash-whisper just as I passed, words floating on a breeze somehow landing in my ear canal. It required serious effort. I laughed harder. What the fuck did that even mean? That one threw me for a loop. You have heroin? I want a lot of heroin. A lot. Can you get me this much? No problem. You can get this much heroin? Right now? Although shooting heroin and fornicating with a Nepalese hooker while avoiding a Kathmandu prison piqued my curiosity, I somehow declined every offer. Eventually, we arrived in Chisapani. The view was exquisite. The village was not. Chance encounters are the spice of the itinerant life. The following morning, a Nepalese army major from a nearby outpost introduced himself. We hit it off at once. Upon learning of my American heritage, he informed me of a past visit to Orlando, Florida. He gave me a quick tour of a modest cheese-making operation fed from local buffalo and yak milk before inviting me for coffee at his outpost overlooking the village. How could I refuse? Gopal encouraged me to mingle while he did whatever the hell he did. I was curious about the need for an army outpost. He explained it was a holdover from the Maoist insurgency. Kathmandu is less than 20 kilometers away. That, my friends, is why travel is like cocaine. All the drug I needed. I bid the major a fond farewell we exchanged e-mail addresses and set out for Nagarkot. It was hard not to smile, a wonderful anecdote to vexation. Gopal was a kind soul. Still, this was a warm-up, so I quelled frustration and dialed down ambitions. Nepal was my oyster. I had time. Simmer down now, ya silly bastard. In Nagarkot , we stayed at the Hotel Viewpoint , a slightly upscale abode perched on a ridge above town. The rooftop platform had an excellent vista, my first real taste of Himalaya. At dusk and dawn, warm light and atmospheric anomalies conspire to make distant snow-capped peaks appear as if floating over a void. As the hotel is popular with Chinese tour groups, good luck with that. Incessant chatter and rapid-fire shutter clicks are a surefire way to break the quasi-spiritual spell. Over dinner, Gopal recalled troubled times a la civil war. Banners and signs along the hike served as reminders. He shared his harrowing experience during the height of the unrest. While guiding an American bloke, he walked into crossfire between them and the Nepalese Army. They pressed on through a small gorge packs overhead for protection before hunkering down at a village school with teachers and children. After the rebels skedaddled a guerrilla hit-and-run operation , the army surrounded the town and began questioning villagers. There were exceptions, but these usually involved gung-ho foreign males with an overabundance of ego. Nothing like a cohort of privileged assholes to spice up an insurrection. The final day was the least enjoyable. The morning was a pleasant decline through hillside villages followed by an afternoon slog along a major highway. Initially, we were to take a bus to Dhulikel , but Gopal believed the Dhulikel Mountain Resort was within reasonable walking distance. We capped off our three-day trek with a three-hour pavement stroll in the lowland sun. Dust, fumes, and cacophonous traffic flavored our mid-day constitutional. Everybody honks. Nobody listens. The resort was a bit upscale for my tastes, at least so early in my Nepal sojourn. I like to reserve the three and four-star concerns for rest and recuperation after an arduous stint lacking creature comforts. Case in point: My fellow lodgers were a group of mature German tourists. Normally, I shun canned entertainment, but the sequence of traditional dances following dinner was worthwhile. Although performed by young amateurs, the majority were authentic-ish with the medicine-man dramatization by far the most compelling. In remote areas, advanced medical care is non-existent, so folks rely on custom, i. The hotel version had much less gravitas, but frontier reality is life or death. Gopal vouched for the representation as his father was such a healer. Comically dubious performances rounded out the lineup. The next morning, I was treated to more stunning scenery painted in hues of a rising sun. The trip concluded with a hot, noisy, nauseating, adrenaline-laced car ride back to Kathmandu. I stared straight ahead from the back seat to avoid vomiting while channeling subtle pangs of terror at impending collisions. View fullsize. Chisapani After Earthquake. Batch 15 , Nepal by Mr. Nos T. Batch 15, Nepal by Mr. O'maniac February 26, Kathmandu, Thamel. O'maniac February 24, Nepal, Sun Kosi, rafting.

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