Page 17 of Somewhere Only We Know

– T-shirts, shorts, bikinis, knickers and a bra

DAY ONE

Check into the Ganesh Guest House. Explore Kathmandu! Ride in a rickshaw! Learn to say thank you and hello in Nepali. Buy a SIM card. Go shopping, but do not go wild, Brontë Jones – remember your budget. Get a good night’s sleep, you’re gonna need it.

Chapter 4

Nepal

The arrivals hall in Kathmandu was chaotic, noisy and four-and-a-half thousand miles from home. My eyes were gritty, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone this long without a shower. I had begun to fantasise about a decent cup of coffee and fresh underwear.

Edgy and overwhelmed, I nudged my way through the swarm of travellers. Stay positive, I thought. I’d done the hard thing; I’d arrived in Nepal and my mini gap year was underway. What had started off as a crazy notion had quickly turned into a challenge I was determined to complete.

After finding out that Brontë’s intended first stop was Nepal, Kat had said goodnight and headed home. I’d taken Brontë’s gap year book to bed with me and read through the first couple of pages. Brontë had been right: I was freaked out by the mention of the Himalayas. I’d have been worried to death if I’d known she was planning to go mountain climbing. Funny how your perspective changes; given the choice between an adventurous child and one I’d never get to hug again, well, that wasn’t a choice at all.

The following morning, I’d booked a one-way ticket to Kathmandu before I’d had chance to talk myself out of it. Then I’d reserved a room for two nights at the guest house Brontë had mentioned. Preparing for the trip had given me a goal and a deadline, something to focus on other than the fact I had been banned from work for the next three months.

Since then, I hadn’t even opened Brontë’s book. She was going to be my guide, I was going to go where she wanted to go, I’d allow the adventure to unfurl as I went, letting her surprise me with her words and delight me with her drawings every time I turned a new page. I already knew I’d be heartbroken when I reached the end, but right now, the connection I had to my girl was giving me something positive to cling to.

Once through customs, and reunited with my suitcase, I found myself in a large area opening on to the street. A crowd of taxi drivers, tour guides and hawkers waved at the new arrivals, shouting to attract business. My driver would be waiting somewhere, but a sign for the ladies’ toilets drew me like a magnet. I had no idea how long the drive would be to my hotel and no woman my age would pass up the chance for a wee, so I joined the queue.

‘First time?’ The woman in front looked me up and down. She was wearing serious trekking gear, her mouth partially obscured by a fringed scarf around her neck.

I was in the white kaftan Brontë had bought me, perhaps not the most practical choice, but it had felt symbolic to wear something chosen by her as I embarked on her journey.

‘In Nepal, yes. A spontaneous trip on my own.’

‘Wow, that’s brave.’ The woman looked sceptical. ‘I’ve been many times. But never alone.’

‘It must be good then,’ I said, ignoring the comment about not travelling solo.

She gave a dry laugh. ‘Either that or I’m a sucker for punishment.’

I hoped it was the former. ‘Any tips for a newbie?’

She listed them on her fingers. ‘Don’t drink the water. Don’t get money out of ATMs without checking the fees – it’s practically extortion. Avoid the local brew; only drink branded spirits. I’m serious about that – I heard of someone who lost their eyesight drinking unlicensed booze.’

‘Right, thanks,’ I said, beginning to wish I hadn’t asked.

The woman hadn’t finished. ‘Never accept the first price you’re given on anything – you must always barter. Always keep an eye on your bags. Let your hotel organise your transport. Never, ever get into a car which stops on the street for you, or heaven knows where you might end up. And don’t, under any circumstances, stroke stray dogs, no matter how cute they look. Rabies is not pretty. Oh, and don’t touch the cows either,’ she pulled up her sleeve and showed me a red mark on her arm. ‘Ringworm.’

‘That’s quite a list of don’ts,’ I said nervously. ‘Are there any dos?’

‘I didn’t mean to put you off.’ She laughed airily. ‘Go slowly, take time to acclimatise yourself to the altitude, and listen to the advice from the experts.’

‘I’m not trekking to Base Camp,’ I told her. A pair of Nike trainers and a bobble hat was the extent of my outdoor kit. Right now the temperature was in the low twenties and inside the building it felt muggy. Hopefully, I wouldn’t even need the hat.

‘What are you doing here then?’ she asked. A cubicle became free, and she darted towards it. ‘Oops, sorry, I’m desperate.’

Which saved me from replying that I had absolutely no idea.

‘Your room is not ready, mam.’ The man behind the reception desk of the Ganesh Guest House returned my passport to me after photocopying it.

‘Oh dear.’ My heart sank. So much for that shower I’d been dreaming of.

‘Do not worry. You may leave your suitcase here and come back in a few hours.’ He waved an arm to the space behind his desk where a heap of rucksacks were piled on top of one another.

It didn’t seem very secure. Everything I needed was in that case, and probably a number of things I didn’t, since I’d had to pack for every climate. I’d even brought a small tin containing some of Brontë’s ashes, so that I’d always have her with me. I’d be devastated if I lost that tin.