Orange life jackets, black helmets, yellow raft, white water.
Not much else was necessary on our little trip down the Trisuli River. Amos, myself, and 4 other friends ventured a few hours out of Kathmandu over the 4th of July weekend to the Royal Beach Camp along the river.
After a lovely thatched-roof-bungalow-banana-tree sort of welcome, we were off into the wilds of the Trisuli, accompanied by our very comical Nepali guide, Himal. The river was at times calm, allowing us to take in the gorgeous, green, rolling hills and wildlife (mostly wild children and goats), but began to pick up speed after a while. After stopping for a picnic lunch on the sun-baked river rocks, we forged ahead, into the great unknown. We bounced along happily, taking on the not-so-big rapids fairly well, gaining confidence...maybe a bit too much confidence. Before we knew it, we had flipped end over end, totally rocked by a rapid called "The Butterfly". (Embarrassing, I know.) After a bit of fear and trembling and bleary-eyed searching for survivors, we congregated (all surviving) and heaved ourselves back upon the raft. (If not for my tight-as-a-corset life jacket, I'm sure my heart would have lept from my chest into the river.) The last hour of the trip was pretty uneventful, for which I was grateful. Rafting is fun. Falling out of a raft involuntarily is, in my opinion, not fun.
The trip down the river lasted only a few hours. After returning to our Bungalow Heaven, we did nothing but sit, eat, drink, wade in the river and relive our life-threatening/adrenaline-producing experience for the rest of the quiet evening, exaggerating in all the right places, just to makes ourselves feel more brave. We spent just one night there, falling asleep to the sound of the rushing river and a gentle overnight rain. After a morning of food and ample relaxation, we hopped onto a bus and wound our way back to Kathmandu, leaving the Trisuli behind...until next time.
here we are! L to R clockwise: Eka, Jez, Paul, Amos, Ben
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