Saturday, we made our way up to Nagarkot with Chris and Bernie as travelling companions. First, an “express bus” to Bharatpur and then another up to Nagarkot. The first is a minibus-type affair which is crammed full with about 30-40 assorted tourists and locals. I stand, virtually on one leg, with my head at an obtuse angle to allow for the low roof. Thankfully, the journey is only a short one.
The bus to Nagarkot is larger, but this just seems to present more of a challenge. By the time the bus leaves Bharatpur it is full to bursting point and it then proceeds to stop at various points along the way to let on more people. Eventually, the driver has to leave irate customers behind for there is literally no more room left.
Nagarkot itself is unimpressive. Not so much a village, more a collection of lodges and farmhouses and the, apparently ubiquitous, Nepalese Cheese Factory. However, the view is what everybody comes to Nagarkot for and the view is indeed tremendous. The entire Himalayan range from Annapurna in the west to the eastern edge are visible with the tiny Everest sticking its stubby peak up between two ridges. Behind, is the Kathmandu Valley and all around are the energetic terraced hills and small farms that betray a hard-working and productive community. The sunset and sunrise here are particularly impressive with the foothills glowing brown-red in the setting sun while the lofty peaks slowly turn rosy pink before subsiding into the darkness.
We have booked into the grandly-named Blue Heaven Lodge which must be the hovel with the best view in the world. Our room (40p each) looks out over the Himalayas towards Everest with nothing between. The lodge is a typically basic Nepalese home with wooden shutters against the wind and cold on one side and glazed windows on the side looking towards the valley. At night, we sit around kerosene lamps wrapped up in hats and gloves, playing cards and eating our meal as it arrives in fits and starts. The locals are doing exactly the same in the back room. They too play rummy, though with 13 cards and three packs. Chickens are roosting in the eaves of the house and scrabble around the bedrooms in the morning. The dogs make themselves at home under the dining table – the scene somehow reminiscent of a medieval painting.
In the morning, Mark, Steve and I shun the express bus and decide to walk down the mountain. The journey only takes three hours and it is good to stretch the legs, breathe the fresh air and get lost in the peace and quiet of the countryside. The bus back from Bharatpur is similarly crowded as before, though this time we have seats. The minibus soon fills up though with locals taking their produce to market in Kathmandu. At one stage, a goat is ejected from the bus by the “conductor,” despite the protests of its owner, and unceremoniously bundled onto the roof rack wherefrom its bleating and battering hooves can be heard throughout the journey.
This extract from my diary at the time dates from December 1981. Nagarkot has now developed into an established resort with many modern hotels and lodges. An internet search fails to locate the Blue Heaven Lodge. It is not likely that any guests will be expected to share their quarters with the local poultry.
