The next morning knows nothing of a storm and early we cross the big suspension bridge to enter the Bardia National Park. As soon as we are back on solid ground, the dense forest closes around the road and only a few curves later a soldier at a checkpoint informs us that for the next 15 kilometers we are only allowed to continue with escort. Apparently there are tiger attacks here every year, some of which are fatal. Eaten foreigners make themselves there particularly badly. We are allowed to load our bikes onto a stopped pick-up and enjoy the ride that way as well. We don’t see any tigers or elephants, but some deer-like creatures and a lot of thicket. Soon we are out of the tiger zone and are released again into our freedom. Small jungle villages and forest alternate also today and against evening we arrive in a larger place. As a place to spend the night, only something with “family connection” comes into question today. We let ourselves be driven by our gut feeling and drive leisurely along a side road, our campground antennas switched on. Finally we stop in front of a school and start talking to the first locals. Everyone is curious and it doesn’t take long until we are surrounded by a larger group of people. “You can spend the night in the school”, one of them says. Various Natels are pulled out and the avoidable numbers of teachers and the principal are typed in. “A key is on the way,” they say. But we are not quite sure. In the meantime, a well-drunk guy with numerous red tikkas on his forehead has arrived and introduces himself in broken English as the new head of the village. Today there were elections, he says. “The people vote for the right man!” he exclaims joyfully and raises his arms in the air. The bystanders laugh and cheer him on. “Today we celebrate! We dance!” he adds, and then goes into a long lecture, which Louie in particular has to endure.
It’s getting dark and time is slowly running out to find a suitable spot. The Tika man smells of booze and his lecture doesn’t really help us regarding campsites. I share my concerns with some reasonable looking young men. A cheerful woman finally waves us to her nearby house and she and the neighbors give us to understand that we may camp somewhere here, “Samassia tschaina- no problem”. Good, so far so good. The chattering politician is still babbling to Louie and in the meantime I am allowed to try my hand as an involuntary Tik Tok supporting actress. The girls from the neighborhood all want a clip with the white sweaty bike woman and so I smile into various cell phone cameras, bob my teacup to the beat and play along.
At some point, we manage to tear ourselves away from the gathered neighborhood and enjoy a lukewarm cooling in the nearby irrigation canal in a somewhat smaller formation. Of course we jump immediately in our sweaty bicycle set into the wet.
Meanwhile it is dusk and the mood is peaceful and relaxed. The place seems to be a popular bathing and washing place of the neighborhood. While most of the women and girls sit on the shore and talk, the boys jump from a small bridge, scrub the clods of earth off their legs after working in the fields or quickly shampoo their hair.
We set up our tent on the flat roof of the simple concrete building, fire up our stove and enjoy our VIP seats to watch the approaching parade. Big boxes are mounted on tractors, music is blaring and people are dancing in honor of the Maoist party. Almost a Nepalese street parade.
We hope in vain for a cooling breeze and lie down tiredly in the stuffy inner tent. Falling asleep at such temperatures is not so easy, but eventually we doze off. We are woken up by pleasant gusts of wind and a twitching sky. We are able to understand these omens and we don’t hesitate for long, peel ourselves out of the tent and hastily start to bring our luggage to safety on the narrow, covered roof stairs. Every minute the gusts of wind increase in ferocity and soon plastic chairs and tent poles are flying around our ears. Just in time we make it under the protective staircase roof. Lightning crashes, masses of water rush down to earth and we climb over the rescued objects into the basement. What now? Of course, we are not the only ones awakened by the storm and gratefully we let ourselves be waved into an empty room. It is raining heavily through the window opening, but thanks to our straps we manage to fix the dripping wet curtain to the window grille and keep the bed somewhat dry. The main thing is that it cools down!
After a touching farewell to this warm, seemingly manless household, we continue cycling in the early morning through the vast forests and occasional fields and villages.
After each of the first twenty to thirty kilometers, we treat ourselves to a sweet Duth Chia (Duut Tschia = milk tea) at a small roadside stand, along with a first snack. A samosa with potato curry, fresh channa (chickpeas), a dunot or a shell (deep-fried rice flour dumpling). Yummy! Here in Nepal we dare again to eat from the various street stalls and kitchens. So far without negative consequences for our digestive systems.
In the late afternoon we arrive at a small settlement and treat ourselves to a Dahlbath. The friendly landlord couple lets us take a cold shower behind the house – a blessing. The search for a suitable place to spend the night takes some time today. We try to secure a place on a schoolyard, but the cricket-playing teenagers don’t seem to understand our request. Finally someone drives up one of the teachers, but just as our overnight place seems secured, a guy with a mountain bike shows up, introduces himself as the local military commander and invites us to his “office” for the night. The “office” turns out to be a troop site in the forest and we are allowed to use an empty hut with bed frame. Perfectly. Against the mosquitoes a mosquito net helps, against the snakes a flashlight and for the evening hunger there is a delicious Dahl Bath.
Another day of driving brings us more rain breaks, delicious momos and finally to a covered shelter at the edge of a village. Here we spend a wonderfully quiet evening, marveling at the numerous fireflies hovering among the trees and conjuring up a starry sky at eye level, enjoying the insect concert and a peaceful night.
It takes us another day and a half to arrive in Butwal. In order to be in Kathmandu in time, we load our bikes here and cover the approximately 120 kilometers to Bharatpur in a grueling bus ride. The road is under reconstruction and all traffic races over a bumpy sandy track. The whirled up dust burns our eyes and despite the dubious driving skills of the much too young driver we are glad not to have to cover this distance on our bikes.
We have now been on the road for more than ten days without a real break day and therefore treat ourselves to a quiet morning in Bharatpur. The river Narayani flows here from the mountains right through the city and towards India. Early in the morning there is walking, jogging and tea drinking on the banks and we enjoy the beautiful atmosphere as well.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)