Police encounters and Rainbow Festival

October 6, 2023 to October 11, 2023

From Dehradun to Attariya

Our last-minute bus from Dehradun arrived at Banbasa at 4am, a very awkward time. I barely slept at all after the huge ride the day before and was exhausted. The small town was still fairly busy even at this hour. We thought about hiding in the jungle for a rest until sunrise but soon learned about the presence of elephants and tigers in this region, which sobered us up quickly and made us more cautious about camping. Instead, we pitched our tents by the main road on a patch of grass behind some crates and managed a few hours of sleep before being woken by the intense sweaty heat and the roar of traffic.

We packed up quickly and found a dabbah for some chapatis and spicy channa for breakfast. While resting there I suddenly realized my bag was missing — the one with my tablet and backups of my photos. I rushed back to our camping spot but found nothing. I asked the office next door since I’d noticed they had a CCTV camera. They were really helpful and even called the local police. It turned out one of their workers had been walking around the area where we camped. After lots of back and forth between us and the police, with Seb translating, one of the workers asked us to come and have another look. And there it was — my bag had magically reappeared! The day was saved (with some police pressure), and everyone was happy. In return, we agreed to film a video praising the local police for rescuing us.

With that ordeal behind us, it was finally time to cross the border. Like other travelers before us, we felt that huge sigh of relief when the noisy tuk-tuks were replaced with tranquil bicycles, and a sense of calm returned. Unfortunately, our dollar notes weren’t crisp enough, so we had to accept the crazy exchange rate in rupees — but we were in! Country 20!

By then it was late, so we found a guesthouse, got some rest, and attempted to wash our white (now brown) shirts, which we very much regretted buying.

After days without washing, we felt especially filthy now that we were out of the mountains and into the humid plains. Sweat clung to our grimy shirts while riding, and I broke out in a horrible rash on my back because of it. The ever-present bed bugs only added to the discomfort. I found some relief with a bucket wash and liberal helpings of Sudocrem after stumbling across a tub in India. Nabil’s shin was horribly infected — swollen, painful, and oozing pus — and Seb was covered in nasty bed bug bites. In short, we were a mess. But after the hectic past couple of days, we still managed to sleep well and hit the road again, excited to explore a new country.

The first thing wenoticed was how different the people were. More reserved and respectful than inIndia, and we weren’t constantly surrounded by crowds. We still stood out, ofcourse — three stinky tourists on bikes — but people observed us from a respectfuldistance (maybe because of the smell?). Everyone was friendly, smiling andwaving, and the kids on the school run shouted cheerful hellos. There was astrong sense of joy and peace everywhere.

Felt a little guilty asking for help to sew my ripped dirty shirt by this lovely tailor and his crisp silk

Rainbow Gathering

We had a mission toget to the Rainbow Gathering, a big hippy festival held in a different locationevery year. This year it was in the foothills of the mountains in westernNepal, a few hundred kilometers north of where we had stopped, in a town calledAttariya. Seb had been to the gathering in Turkey the year before and said itwas a lot of fun. I had just missed it by a couple of weeks back then because Ihadn’t heard about it.

Cycling there wasn’tpossible, so we decided to try out Nepalese public transport. We booked a busfor the next morning, found some antibiotics for Nabil that he wasn’t allergicto this time, and checked into a hotel with a big fan and no bed bugs. The relativeluxury of that room was tempting, but we dreaded the long journey ahead. Earlythe next morning, we left our bikes at the hotel and managed to arrive early to secure seats onthe bus after loading up on parathas for the ride.

Once the bus was full, people just kept getting on until the aisle was packed too, with unfortunate souls stuck in the middle fighting for space. Cramped in my corner, I started the journey in high spirits, enjoying the music on the radio. Life felt good, like an adventure had begun. But when the same song was still playing 20 minutes later, followed by similar full-volume Hindu devotional music for the next 12 hours, I was less enthusiastic.

How many people can be squeezed into a bus? The daily question for bus drivers here

By the time the busstopped, it was dark. We got off, shocked and incredibly relieved. From there,we squeezed into a shared taxi to the next town and finally arrived late atnight. The locals knew all about the festival and led us to a villager who had sparerooms with some boards to sleep on. I’d have preferred pitching my tent, butinstead we joined our host and his son for drinks around their table. They werebuzzing with excitement at the thought of hundreds of foreigners descending ontheir small village.

The small caveat to the free room is that is was shared with the spider in the second photo

The next day weendured a six-hour shared ride in the back of a pickup truck, dust swirling ascool mountain air rushed past. Kids chased the truck, laughing, and tried tojump in.

We stopped mid way for a small pitstop where the kids sat and watched us giggling the whole time whilst we were trying pani puri.

Eventually, we were dropped off and told it was still a hike uphill. A jeep appeared, carrying other travelers, so I sprinted alongside and managed to hop in the back, meeting a couple of travelers heading to the festival. Seb and Nabil took longer and arrived at the village later — though not at the festival yet. From there it was still a two-hour hike. They certainly didn’t make it easy to get there.

But finally, we arrived — and it was paradise. Huge mountains revealed themselves through the mist, and the forest opened up into a vast plateau where the festival stretched out for the whole month. People had traveled from all over the world: wanderers living on the road for years, surviving on their skills and creativity. Hundreds of people were spread across the plateau, joining workshops, ceremonies, communal cooking, and much more.

We stayed only three days, which felt far too short, especially since it had taken us two just to reach it. But in that time, we met amazing people — including other bike tourers who had stashed their bikes in the south for this detour. Marcus, from the UK, had ridden all the way from home, raising money for charity, and planned to push on through Tibet and into mainland China.

Twice a day, hundreds gathered for incredible communal meals prepared by volunteers, all donation-based. It was impressive to see a group of strangers so organized, pulling together to make this remote gathering work. No money was allowed inside; instead, people traded handmade creations and possessions. Cameras were banned too, so sadly I have no photos.

But it was beautiful. After months of immersion in Indian life, it was a joy to be surrounded by so many like-minded people again. Two bumpy days later we were back at the bikes, ready for the next leg of the journey.

This chirpy chap came up to me asking to take a photo of him

Today's ride: 60 km (37 miles)
Total: 60 km (37 miles)

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