Kathmandu to Syabru Bensi

I'd been warned that the bus trip would be a bit of a switchback, but I didn't expect to be zig-zagging on broken roads within 500 yards of departure. Tightly squeezed between my backpack and my trekking guide, I balanced on a seat only marginally attached to the body of the bus.

It took 8 hours to cover the 135km to get here. The views down into the valleys were awesome, but tended to begin about an inch from our wheels. I began to relish the untarmacked sections that slowed us down, but even these became quite a white-knuckle experience when we lurched across the rubble of last summer's landslides, clinging somehow to our narrow track. Meeting oncoming vehicles demanded even greater precision. Where the most precarious corners coincided with washed away road was generally where the bus driver chose to re-tune the radio and light a cigarette. I opted for an eyes-closed policy.

When bravely opening my eyes I was treated to occasional snow-capped mountains, steeply terraced hillsides, rivers churning far below, neatly uniformed children walking to mud-floored schoolrooms, naked toddlers playing in the dirt, villages full of people living simple lives, cooking over open fires, carrying enormous baskets of vegetables, drinking tea.

Eight hours is a lot of blaring Indian music and a lot of men throwing up out of windows and old ladies throwing up neatly into their skirts. I was quite glad to get off and into the tiny village of Syabru Bensi.