Annapurna Circuit
Preparation:
We arrive in
Kathmandu with nothing more than the idea that we would like to trek, probably the Annapurna Circuit. What we have read about it excites us…walking the high
Himalayan Mountains for 21 days through 120 miles of numerous eco-zones and through ever-higher elevations. For an overview,
http://www.yetizone.com/annapurna_index.htm. Here's a great view of some the "hills":
http://www.yetizone.com/poonhill.htm
With eight of the ten highest mountains in the world, Nepal is a trekking paradise. Unlike hiking in the wilderness of North America, all of these treks go through the mountains from village to village, constantly encountering the locals, more like the Appalachian Trail than the Pacific Crest Trail. Trails lead through neat terraced fields, up river gorges, through subtropical forest, and over bitterly cold mountain passes. Nepal is a country of many different peoples, each with their own culture. Longer treks will encounter many different peoples and cultures, particularly Tibetan people in the higher ranges.
There are three major treks in Nepal, the Annapurna circuit, Everest Base Camp, and Langtang. Each has its own unique elements. We had zero interest in mountain climbing. That seems too risky (and cold!). The trek to Everest Base Camp is very popular, but is often described as a long hard slog. The upper half is very dry and desolate, while the lower half is continually up and down as the trail cuts across one valley, up over the hills, and then across another valley. To avoid the long slog, you can fly into Lukla, but that cuts out the pretty lower ecosystems and the quick transition to high altitude is just asking from trouble with mountain sickness. Hiking to Everest Base Camp is largely about bragging rights for reaching the starting point for the climbs up the world’s highest mountain. Whoppie. On the other hand, the Annapurna circuit traverses many different ecosystems, many more villages and different cultures, and seems more suited to us.
Rod is excited about the physical challenge it will offer, and may add some side hikes. Fran, with her injured shoulder, is a little more apprehensive but has decided to throw caution to the wind and do the trek. The shoulder would hurt whether she was sitting comfortably on the beach in India or hiking the mountains of Nepal. She decided though that it would be prudent to hire a porter to carry her bag and take most of the weight off her shoulder.
There are stories of abuse of porters, so we search out the Kathmandu Environmental Education Project (KEEP), a volunteer group that promotes fair treatment. They have a great office full of information, list of resources, even logbooks from other trekkers recommending specific companies and guides. Off of the street, it is possible to get a porter for $5 a day, but he will often have no experience or training, poor clothing and shoes, and no insurance. Because of the desperate economic situation in Nepal, men from lowland areas come to work as porters, not fully understanding what conditions they will face in the mountains. Westerners hire them without realizing how poorly informed and equipped these porters are. The result can be disastrous when the porters try to carry heavy loads over the pass, dressed in sandals and thin clothing, without even a water bottle. Then, when trouble strikes, there is no insurance for evacuation or medical treatment. More porters die on the treks than clients.
We know that the Maoist rebels have called for a nationwide strike (bhandt) for November 11-13. During this time virtually all commerce and travel grinds to a halt (kind of like France with the farmers and truckers always going on strike, expect that the Maoists will torch cars and trucks that violate the strike, and occasionally shoot at the police checkpoints). We check with KEEP, the Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) and several travel agencies to see what effect that will have on the trek. Most say no effect at all; one says it is best to be at least a few days up the trail during the strike, as rebels have more influence in the lower area but none in the highland districts of Manang and Mustang. We plan to leave on November 5, so will be long gone before any trouble arises.
We research and settle on a quality tour operator – Himalayan Ecological Trekking,
http://www.himalayanecological.com/. A trained, equipped porter costs $10/day, but a person with more knowledge can serve as both a guide and porter, and costs just $12. In particular, the porter/guide will speak good English, while the porter may not. We hook up with Rajendra Dhungana, a porter/guide. He has full training (Nepali culture, geography, English language, first aid, etc.) and insurance (medical and evacuation). We then spend a hurried day getting permits, renting down jackets and gloves (it’s cold in the mountains!), registering with the US Embassy (it facilitates emergency response such as helicopters and medical treatment if they have all of the insurance information ahead of time) and listening to other people’s stories about the trek.
Day 1 (November 5, 2002): Kathmandu to Bhulbhule (840 M, 2756 Ft)
The day starts early. Rajendra will meet us at the Tibetan Guest House, where we are staying. Unfortunately, there are three different hotels named Tibetan Guest House, but we just wait outside and meet him on the street. We are allowed 11 kg (25 pounds) each, so that Rajendra could get stuck with 50 pounds plus his own gear. We know the importance of backpacking lightly, and leave most of our stuff at the hotel in one pack. We put all the bulky stuff (sleeping bags, down coats, warm clothes) in the other pack for Rajendra and the dense stuff (books, first aid kits, camera, cards, etc.) in Rod’s day sack. Both weigh just about 30 pounds. Since Fran’s shoulder is a pain, she gets off by carrying just her water bottle and spare coat.
We depart on a 7 AM six hour tourist bus which takes us to Dumre. From there, we ride a two hour local bus to Besisahar. There is a big difference between the two buses …in the tourist bus, every one has a seat and the luggage is stored in a locked compartment in the back. In the local bus, people are vying for room to breathe. Tomorrow is the New Year’s Day for the Newari people and the bus is full of women and children traveling to the homes of their fathers and brothers. (We’ll describe the Deepawali celebration in a bit.) The bus attendant directs us to a seat, forcing a woman with her two children to move aside for us. We are a bit embarrassed, so when he leaves, we ask her to move back into the seat. We join those that are squeezed into the aisle, standing or sitting with children on their laps. Rajendra takes a seat on the roof with the luggage and other adventurous guides and westerners. The ride takes only 2 hours, but the road is bumpy and winding with many low overhead wires…we often think of Rajendra and hope that there is enough to hang onto. With the crowding inside the bus, many people prefer to ride on the roof. But the hazards are great to people up there. They must stay alert to duck under overhanging wires or branches, and must grab on fiercely as the bus sways around corners, or screeches to a halt as animals or other vehicles cut off the path. Rod secretly wants to ride on on the roof...
We pass the area where the famed Gurkhas live. For a hundred years they have formed regiments in the British army, and since independence, also in the Indian army. Stories abound of the fear they instill in their enemies, such that enemies flee without even a battle. The economic impact of the Gurkhas is huge, representing 20% of the national GDP! While in the service, they send home significant sums of money. Upon retirement, they often invest in hotels or restaurants in Pokhara or other tourist places, smartly leveraging their wealth and western experience. This represents a major, and very effective, form of foreign assistance!
The bus also passes by tall bamboo swings, used during the Deepawali (also called Tihar) festivals. Four long poles are lashed together at the top, and a rope swing suspended making a swing perhaps 10 meters (33 feet) high! We also saw these bamboo swings in use by the hill tribes of northern Thailand and southern China. Many of the cultures, languages, foods, and dress follow ethnic groups freely across artificial national borders, and most nations are composed of a great variety of minority groups.
We arrive at the town of Besisahar at 2 PM…we are jubilant to be finally on the trail! We follow the road through the town where villagers are celebrating Deepawali by dancing to traditional music in the streets. One young man in particular has a big crowd of onlookers as he expressively moves to the music of a love song. Just past the paved streets is a creek that marks the end of the world of wheeled vehicles. We wade down the trail through the creek with shoes off and start down a narrow dirt trail, not knowing at the time we will not see another vehicle for at least two weeks. We walk on the fairly level trail for two hours to reach the town of Bhulbhule. This trail has served as the local highway for hundreds of years, the only lifeline to the people up the valley.
As we leave Besisahar, we are still clearly in a tourist area. The kids come running up: "Hello!" "Pen?" They learned long ago to beg for school pens. We wonder what they must do with them all. At a river crossing, another industrious youngster generously points out the correct rocks to step on as you skip across, and standing in the freezing water and holding your hand as you go. Then he asks for a nice tip.
The area is clearly Nepali, but the western influence is present. As with Tanzania and other places, much of the clothing people wear has western words on it. Caps advertise the Chicago Bulls or UCLA. One even promotes the American Fisheries Association. Much of the clothing scrapped in the US due to poor quality or which is just obsolete after promotional events finds its way to obscure corners of the world. I’m sure that is a good thing, but it still seems odd to find people wearing John Deere hats while plowing a field behind a water buffalo.
The village of Bhulbhule sits high on the bank of the Marsyangdi River and takes its name from the sound of a nearby waterfall…bhulbhule as it bubbles over the rocks. We stay at the Thorung La Guest house, pleasantly surrounded by a garden of bright marigolds and greens and with a very welcome hot shower. The area is still semi-tropical. At dinner we reflect that the amount of walking we did on the first day was just enough to stretch the legs and to introduce us to the upcoming three weeks of walking.
Day 2: Bhulbhule (840 meters, 2756 feet) to Bahundanda (1310 meters, 4124 feet) 4 hours
We start what will be the usual routine of waking at 6:30 AM, breakfasting at 7 and getting on the trail around 8 AM. Over breakfast in the garden Fran looks to the beginning of today’s walk…the 200 meter (650 feet) suspension bridge that crosses over the river. In fact, she has been thinking of it all of the previous night. Her friends and family know well that she is not exactly comfortable with heights and has been known to freeze on the spot at high places. Rod has had to physically remove her from such places before, after her body simply froze solid. The anticipation of crossing a bridge that sways up and down with footsteps and with a surface through which you can see the water far below has her stomach tied in knots. But she knows that there will be many such bridges on the trek and it would be foolish to turn back now. So taking a deep breath, she places her foot carefully on to the bridge. She tells herself to just watch the fear, to use what we learned in meditation practice. Trembling inside, she vows to not look down, and hurries safely to the other side. She made it! Whew! A big personal victory!
From the green, tree covered foothills of Bhulbhule, we spy our first view of the snow-capped Himalayan peaks. We watch in open-mouthed wonder as the early morning sun casts a pink glow on the mountains, the pink turning to radiant white as the sun rises higher. We take the first of what will be hundreds of snow covered mountain photos.
The trail winds through the hills, with a gentle uphill tread. We pass through picturesque terraced fields of rice, millet and buckwheat. The comparatively warm climate supports semi-tropical vegetation of bananas, bamboo, oranges and lemons. As in China, the steep slopes have been terraced for many decades or centuries, with the terraces protecting the soil from erosion and providing a gorgeous view. Since all farm work is done without machinery, the terraces are odd shapes and widths, just following the natural contours of the hillside. Diverse crops include potato, millet, greens, onions, tomato, pumpkins and beans.
The trail is really a highway, with areas dynamited out of sheer cliffs, or built up with large stone works (similar to the scenic highway in the Columbia Gorge, but only the width of a trail). Everything must go up and down this highway. Remember that no proper roads led into any of the hill country until the 1950’s, and even Pokhara, the #2 tourist destination in Nepal, didn’t have a road until the 1970’s. This is a country that has always relied on non-motorized paths for all transportation, and the few motorways are exceptions. There is even the amusing story of the first automobile in Nepal: the King purchased a car to drive within Kathmandu, but there were no roads to Kathmandu. The entire car was disassembled and carried by donkeys and porters from India, and then reassembled in Kathmandu.
Donkey trains are one of the major transportation systems in the area (with porters being the other). The donkeys travel in groups of between ten and thirty, each carrying two sacks or bundles. The donkeys seem to be just traveling on their own, since the herder follows behind. First we hear the donkey bells, and then the lead donkey appears. Often gaily decorated with colorful blankets, cloth around the neck, and even plumes above the head, the lead donkeys are clearly the pride and joy of the owners. They set the pace and pick their way up the trail, navigating through villages, trekkers, sheep herds, and other donkey trains. The herder follows behind, encouraging the donkeys with frequent whistles, cackling, and shrieks. Donkeys are not particularly adept at yielding right-of-way, so we quickly learn to get out of their way when we hear the bells coming.
At frequent intervals along the trail are Chautraaras, stone benches built for porters to stop and rest. These benches often surround two types of ficus trees, one Pipal and one Banyan, two sacred trees representing male and female. Some of these are quite ancient, others are recently planted. As we cross many little streams we see how important water is to the villagers. Not only for drinking, irrigation and washing, but also for water powered flourmills and even water powered Tibetan prayer wheels!
Our guesthouse is aptly named…the Superb View Guesthouse. Sitting atop a large hill, the 360 degree panoramic view of the terraced field, village and river far below is beautiful. As I stand photographing the view, a flock of green parrots fly squawking by, and perch in a nearby tree.
Amid the tranquility, we overhear a noisy group of trekkers arrive. On the Annapurna circuit, all prices are fixed by local committees, to ensure a fair price for the locals. No negotiating of lodging or meal prices is permitted. Regardless, the group of Israelis begins arguing for a reduced price. The hotel keeper gently declines and they become increasingly irate and obnoxious. It is quite embarrassing to the other westerners. The hotel keeper remains calm, and just restates the fixed price. Eventually, the Israelis become spiteful, and threaten to tell every other Israeli so that no one will ever come again and the hotel will have to close. It is sad to see people filled with such hate, and lack of awareness of themselves and others. Several westerners later quietly reassure the hotel keeper that he made the right choice. Discussing it with porters, it is clear that this occurs frequently, and locals maintain a very clear distinction between Israelis and other foreigners. In this country with no knowledge or history of anti-Semitism, the Israelis themselves are rapidly creating negative feelings.
The Nepali people are themselves very gracious people. For example, they call each other eai or didi, meaning brother or sister, as a means of respect. They treat each other like family. But we find it difficult to get our guide to eat with us. The custom is for the host to eat after the guests, even among Nepalese. In a Nepali home, the visiting occurs before the meal, and then the guests leave directly after the meal so the host family can eat. So guides and porters eat after all of the trekkers. They take their meals separately, in the kitchen. As we will discover as we climb higher, that isn't all bad for them –that is the room that has the woodstove!
The Nepali diet is incredibly monotonous. Both lunch and dinner are Daal Bhaat, a combination of rice, dal (lentil) soup, and a curry vegetable (tarkari) served on a metal tray (thaali). The Nepalese eat this same meal twice a day, with a different meal only once per week or so! We eat Daal Bhaat frequently too, particularly since it includes free refills and we are consuming easily 2-3 times our normal caloric intake.
At dinner we meet Graeme and Jo, a couple who hail from New Zealand and are now living in London. They are wonderful people. Friendly Bear is happy to meet their traveling companion/good luck charm: Moo, a Poo Bear clothed in a cow suit! The six of us will have many great adventures in the days to come on the trail, exchanging stories, passing time, and occasionally offering needed support.
Today is Bahai Tika, the 5th day of Deepawali, the Festival of Lights. On day three, everyone lit their houses with candles to attract the goddess of prosperity, Lakshmi. Today, the men running the guesthouse are wearing garlands of marigolds that were given to them by their sisters. The sisters give sweets and flowers to their brothers, and the brothers return the Puja with gifts or money. We feel sorry for Rajendra who is far away from home and unable to celebrate this day with his sister. After our showers we see, though, that he is also wearing a garland….he found a new sister in the village who gave him a garland. As the evening nears, the celebrations of the festival get into full swing. Rajendra joins his newly adopted family for festivities. Adults gather to drink, sing and dance. Groups of children come by the guesthouse to sing folk songs and dance for us. The best groups include drummers, singers, and dancers in costume. They expect a little money in return…it’s a little like Halloween in the US, with the kids going from house to house for a treat. At one point the competition between the groups becomes quite strong and "heated" words are exchanged when one group of boys tries to interrupt a group of girls that are currently singing for us. After many different groups, all singing the same song, we are both enjoying the fun and going a bit crazy with the same simple tune. We enjoy the performances, but hand out the small bills to the last group before the song has progressed very far to hurry them along. They don’t seem to mind a bit.
We head off to bed. It seems late. It is approaching 9 PM, and we get up at 6:30 AM. Only 9.5 hours of sleep tonight.
Day 3: Bahundanda (1310 M, 4124 Ft) to Chamje (1430 M, 4626 Ft) 5 hours
We travel the trail "bistarai, bistarai" (slowly, slowly), enjoying the exercise and the scenery. Just before Chamje is a forceful waterfall that seems to shoot directly out from the face of the cliff. We stop to add to our collection of stunning waterfall pictures.
We see the chicken man along the trail. He carries a load of live 20-30 chickens (and their feed) from village to village, offering them for sale. The cage is approximately 4 feet high by 3 feet wide by 1 foot deep and is separated into layers. A rope surrounds the cage and attaches to a head strap. The man slips his forehead into the strap and carries the heavy load, balancing it with his back. We first see him when he stops for lunch, letting the chickens out of the cage to eat the grain that he scatters on the ground. With a few less chickens, we later see him in Chamje where we all stop to rest for the night.
The porters have very difficult lives. We see ancient men, and young boys. Many porters have just flip-flop sandals, shorts and T-shirts. They carry enormous loads, typically 30-35 kg (70-80 lbs.), sometimes over 45 kg (100 lbs.). These loads are just bundled together with string, balanced on the back, and suspended by a cloth that goes around the forehead. Sometimes the loads are carried in gigantic wicker baskets, sometimes in wire frame baskets, and often they are just a pile of stuff lashed together. They are very bent over as they walk, balancing the load and transferring weight from the head to the back. Even porters for westerners often have duffel bags, or perhaps two backpacks, tied together and suspended around the forehead. The porters for western trekkers seem to have the lighter loads, which is refreshing. Also, they often have nice jackets, boots, or other equipment, which clients gift to them at the end of their treks rather than haul home. On the other hand, the locals haul incredible tonnage of supplies up to higher villages for meager wages. They are the transportation system for much of Nepal’s population, but it is difficult to watch without compassion for their plight...
Westerners travel in two different types of treks. We are doing a "tea-house" trek, so named because we are sleeping in guesthouses and eating at tea houses. That means we carry very little gear. We meet several groups who are returning from trekking in more remote areas, where they must be self sufficient for 10-20 days. They are very expensive, large-scale expeditions. For a group of 4-6 trekkers, there might be several guides, one lead sirdar, several cooks, and 10-12 porters. The cooks get up early, prepare breakfast, and then the porters whisk away the kitchen down to the lunch place to set it up so that the cooks can have lunch ready by the time the trekkers arrive. The equipment is not the latest REI backpacking gear, but instead large, heavy stoves, tables, chairs, canvas dining tents, and other heavy trappings. The trekkers actually often are pampered more with these camping treks than on the tea house treks, partially, I suppose, because the treks are expensive. We passed several of these groups, as the porters nearly run down the trail with loads of 35 kg (80 lbs). We would not be comfortable in such a situation –it seems more like exploitation than employment. We are happy that Rajendra carries less than half the weight these porters shoulder (and the same as Rod), and is properly equipped.
Rajendra is working his way up from porter to guide. He has completed much of the coursework and is gaining experience. He hopes to become a guide with his company next spring. That will give him a raise (700 rupees or about $10 a day instead of 600 rupees) and free him from carrying the loads. To get his certification, he has already paid 6000 rupees for the government classes, and will attend the English Language Institute during the winter. During trekking season he is away from his wife and three children, who live in a village well outside Kathmandu, and for these courses he encounters further separation and expense. It is a difficult path to become a guide, although eventually the payoff is good. At least it is good if tourists begin to return to Nepal. As we are the only guests in most hotels, we have to wonder...
At Chamje we feel the effects of higher elevation; the evenings have gotten quite cold. It is too cold to even think about disrobing to take a shower after the hike. We are the only guests staying at the Buddha Guesthouse. The place is very large and all wooden construction. The floorboards, ceilings, walls, posts and beams, and doors are all solid wood. Rod looks off the third story balcony at all of the adjoining wood buildings in the village and thinks how quickly a fire would spread here. All heating is from wood combustion.
We feel like part of the family as we huddle around the warming stove, exchanging stories and drinking the local brew (Roxie, a potent whiskey-like drink). The woman talks of a pain she has in a surgical scar. Rod is handing her some Ibuprofen (western medicine) while Fran is swallowing Tibetan herbs (eastern medicine). We all laugh at the situation….
We find that Grandfather is 57 years old, but looks much older with his weathered skin and missing teeth. He still has black hair, either it is natural or he has some help from henna. Grandfather smiles widely, chews the tough, dried Yak meat and swallows the fiery drink. He doesn't speak much English, but his son (37 years old) and Rajendra translate for us. The merriment ends quickly as grandfather stumbles off to bed, having drunk a little too much before dinner.
As for us, we eat enormous quantities of food. Appetites always grow when outdoors and especially when hiking, and a full belly is a warm belly. We eat omelets, toast, porridge, and tea for breakfast, snack on apples, raisins and candy bars on the trail, and eat then rice, bean soup and curry potatoes for lunch. We finally get to have our big meal at dinner. Ah, life is good on 5000 calories a day!
Rod is reading "Touching My Father’s Soul", the book by Tenzin Norgay’s son, Jamling, about his own climb of Everest. Being the son of the famous father who, along with Edmund Hillary, was the first person to climb Everest, he was able to attend schools in the US and grew up with both western and eastern cultures. The book is an excellent read, and talks about his eventual coming to grips with his Tibetan spiritual roots.
Jamling also writes about the Sherpas. In fact, his is the only book about Everest written by a Sherpa, except for the one written by his father decades earlier. The perspective is illuminating. He was on the mountain during the fateful tragedies in 1996 (documented in the book and film "Into Thin Air"). He has quite a different perspective, and one I find intriguing. He describes the Sherpas as a very gentle and strong people, with deep Tibetan Buddhist roots. He also allows that they can be greedy –he tells of negotiating lighter load limits to save them from exploitation, only to have them then double up and carry two loads to double their pay! Tenzin is pleased to note that the word Sherpa has entered the western lexicon, and means much more than just porter. Unlike the denigrating term coolie, Sherpa implies a knowledgeable guide.
He concedes the irony that young Sherpas want western motorcycles and the latest technical gear, at the same time that they are helping Western clients who are seeking a simpler life and the solace of mountains. But despite the superstitions and rituals of the Tibetans, their respect for nature and for each other and their spirituality provides a firm basis for life. Tenzin remarks that he finds Sherpas to be much happier people than westerners, at least more fulfilled rather than just seeking pleasure and I have to agree based on our travels. The contentment of the poorest people in China still sticks in my head, compared to the stressed out people back home. Somewhere I think the west has lost its way by letting capitalism be the driving social and organizing force instead of family, ethics or spirituality. Interestingly, even people in remote Zanzibar and Nepal recognize that about the US. One Tibetan monk told us that Americans are rich in material ways but poor in the heart, and than Tibetans are poor materially and rich in the heart. Since he views life on a much longer time scale (reincarnation and all), he remarked without great concern, just observing that America is still very young and it may take many more centuries before it develops spiritually to the level of the eastern world.
Day 4: Chamje (1430 M, 4626 Ft) to Bagerchap (2160 M, 7086 Ft) 7.5 hours
During the morning we watch the tops of the mountains. Wispy clouds trail off from the tops. We wonder if they are ice clouds, literally snow and ice blowing off the ridgelines, or true vapor clouds, like the vapor trails of jets. These mountains stick into the jet stream nearly as high as the jumbo jets, and the clouds could be just like the vapor trails that form behind their wings as the air is disrupted.
The trail goes steeply uphill and downhill, up rocky steps and along riverbeds. As we travel further into the mountains the Tibetan Buddhist influence dominates. Each village now has a stone gateway which keeps the evil spirits (hungry ghosts) out. The women wear Tibetan dresses, with the plaid apron in front of the thick, heavy skirt, and a colorful vest over a long blouse, topped with a head scarf. The number of Chorten or Stupas, Mani walls, prayer flags and prayer wheels in many villages increases. Chorten, white onion-dome shaped structures, are built to honor deities and sometimes house remains of important spiritual leaders. Tibetan Mani walls at first just look like piles of large, flat stones. But carved into the stone tablets are mantras and scriptural quotes important to the local people and deities. A rock wall stands about waist high, and these inscribed tablets lay on top. The Tibetan lettering, similar to Sanskrit, is beautiful and adds to the effect.
Prayer flags; always in the sequence blue, yellow, red, green, white; fly from every house and tall building, tree, or tharshing (flag pole). Each flag has a prayer printed on it, along with a picture of Lungta, the wind horses that gallop off into the wind, circling the globe with prayers for the benefit of all people and animals. Prayer wheels provide a means for villagers to accumulate merit quickly, helping insure a favorable rebirth. Each wheel is crammed full of written mantras, and spinning the wheel once gives one the merit of saying all of the mantras. The wheels are aligned in scores in walls in the center of villages, so that people passing by can spin them as they go by. Mostly they are used by older people. We carefully walk past the prayer wheels in the prescribed counterclockwise direction, Fran saying a mantra as she turns wheels. Although we are not Tibetan Buddhists and Rajendra is Hindu, we feel that the ceremony is necessary to soothe the spirits of the mountains.
We still walk along the Marsyangdi River, sometimes high on the cliffs above the river, sometimes over it by suspension bridge and sometimes along the riverbed. Above soar Griffons vultures, which look like an eagle with the front of the wings white and the back black. The village of Tal sits on a wide spot of the river where it once formed a glacial lake. We are enchanted by the village and wish that we could have pushed further the previous night and stayed here. But the last hour was quite a climb and we are also glad to have stopped and rested.
As we walk, the mountain peaks becomes closer, surrounding us with their height and majesty. Annapurna II (7939 M, 26045 feet), Manaslu (8154 M, 26760 feet, the eighth tallest mountain in the world), and Lamjung Himal (6932 M, 22741 feet) dominate the skyline.
Day 5: Bagerchap (2160 M, 7086 Ft) to Chame (2670 M, 8596 Ft) 6 hours
Ah, such a glorious sunrise….we awake and look out the window at the first light. The orange glow of the rising sun just illuminates the tip of Annapurna II, towering at 7939 meters (26,045 feet). We watch as the line of light slowly creeps down the snow-covered mountain, quite an amazing sight. It was magical and even more special as we viewed it through the window from the warmth and comfort of our sleeping bags. We are definitely not in Kansas anymore (an obscure reference to a dumb movie called the Wizard of Oz, meaning that we are a long way from home). We added many photos to our collection of stunning mountain shots, and slowly rose for the new day.
The trail continues to climb. Some stretches seem to be just pasted onto sheer cliffs, with a tread either blasted into the cliff or the pathway delicately perched on large stone understructures. In many places the trail is made of stones piled into stairs. Fortunately the area is full of rock which fractures cleanly into flat and square chucks, so the locals have exploited this resource. Most of the length of this 300 km (180 miles) circuit is paved with stone. The stairs are innumerable. Often the trail ascends from the river up a few hundred meters (1000 feet) to a remote village, and then drops back down to the river again. In places, the trail has washed out with a landslide, requiring some delicate stepping. Actually delicate stepping is required throughout, since the donkey droppings are abundant. But generally the trail is wide and good. And relentlessly upward.
Fran is walking with Jo and Graeme, giving Rod the opportunity to walk a little faster. Too bad. The slower group spots grey Hanuman langur monkeys playing in the trees, while Rod walks right past them.
We have lost count of the number of suspension bridges we have crossed so far. In fact, Fran is feeling quite comfortable crossing them. No longer does she tremble and quake inside, but walks confidently across. Anything CAN become easier with practice. But a bridge in Chame was to test her in a new way.
The bridge is not high nor long by comparison to others. It is gaily decked with prayer flags and is empty of oncoming traffic. On the far side is our guesthouse and all are tiredly looking forward to resting on the other side. Rajendra, then Rod, then Fran start across. When Rajendra is in the middle a donkey train begins to cross towards us. Remember that donkeys carry big sacks on each side of their backs…we soon see that there is no room between the bags and the side of the bridge. In other words, we are about to be squeezed off the bridge! Fran begins to run forward, hoping to get close to the other side before meeting the on-coming donkeys. She doesn't make it and is roughly bumped on her sore shoulder mid-bridge by three donkeys as they pass. She tries ducking below the height of the side fence to be shielded from falling, only to be banged in the head. Not knowing how to avoid them, she continues running until she meets up with Rod. He demonstrates how to survive…face over the edge and lean forward over the side cable. Yes, put your back to the donkeys, lean way out over a cable and look down at the water below. That maneuver would have been impossible for Fran only a few days earlier. Actually, she was surprised and pleased that she survived with all body parts intact and with her confidence unshaken. It did reinforce a simple lesson: do not cross a bridge with oncoming donkeys. But more importantly, your fears reside in your mind. If you can control your mind, then those fears evaporate. Eastern spirituality says that the tiger of your untamed mind causes more harm and misery than any tiger in the wild. In this instance, donkeys on a bridge reinforced an important lesson.
From here on Fran visually scoured the opposing side before crossing, and never again encountered a donkey mid-bridge. Just because she is overcoming her phobias doesn't mean she has to keep getting beat up by donkeys!
Day 6: Chame (2670 M, 8596 Ft) to Pisang (3200 M, 10498 Ft) 6 hours
The mountains continue to change. As we circle around, we see different sides. The sun revolves, giving different light. Hills obscure first one side, then another. We watch the same views mile after mile, but they are never the same. Our collection of mountain photos now numbers in the hundreds, and we are not even a third of the way.
As we approach 3000 meters we become vigilantly observant for the signs of AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness). We drink lots of fluid while watching for headaches, nausea, dizziness, weakness or other mild symptoms of acclimatizing to high altitude. We find none, but do not feel 100% well. The sore throat that Fran developed from breathing in the donkey dust of the trail has bloomed into a full-fledged cold. It is sapping her energy, making it even more difficult to adjust psychologically to the altitude. When we arrive in Pisang, Fran goes immediately to bed, sleeping a full 12 hours. We don’t remember the name of the hotel, but it really doesn't matter. Every hotel is named either for the view or for Tibet: Mountain View, Superb View, Excellent View, Tibet Hotel, New Tibet Hotel, Tibet Resthouse, etc. We just know it is the hotel by the bridge.
Part of acclimatization is "hike high, sleep low". The strategy is to hike a few hundred meters (1000 feet) higher each day than you will sleep. Since we crossed 3000 meters it is now prudent to start the daily extra hikes to elevation. With Fran asleep, Rod takes a short day hike to a monastery above Upper Pisang. The hike crosses the river and climbs through a horse pasture to the older city of Upper Pisang. In the village center, Rod encounters an old man (who probably thinks Rod is old too) near the prayer wheels. He speaks no English, but they talk with gestures and such. The old man makes the sign for sleeping (leaning the head to one side over folded hands), and Rod points down the hill to his guesthouse. Then the man points up to top of Annapurna II and makes the sign for sleeping again. Rod quickly replies no way, he has no interest in going up to the top. The old man again points up, carefully starting at one point along the ridge and tracing a path across the top. He then makes the sign for sleeping and for eating (fingers gathered together toward mouth). Rod understands that the old man has climbed the mountain and spent the night. Acknowledging, he shows that he is quite startled. The old man then makes signs for cold (arms crossed, shivering), and gathers his finger tips to his closed eyes (indicating icy cold eyelashes) and draws his fingers in crackling motion from his lips (showing how his lips were cracked dry and cold). Then he smiles broadly, clearly proud of his climb. After a few more pleasantries, Rod joins him spinning prayer wheels, and then continues on.
The village has little signs of tourism. The trekkers stay in Lower Pisang, and Upper Pisang is left alone. Rod wanders through the town, watching people in the daily chores of cleaning clothes, preparing meals, tending to children. The houses are simple stone buildings directly on the pathways, and everyone’s doors are wide open, so by walking down the pathway you are just a few feet (a meter) from them. It feels a bit awkward to a westerner, but here it is just natural. A few Namestes (greetings) help to produce smiles.
The monastery is still under construction. The exterior is complete. The interior has elaborate wood work and paintings, with the bright red, green, yellow and white coloration of Tibetan gompas (monasteries). The pillars are quite ornate with wood buttressing and decoration. Much of the ceiling and the upper regions of the walls and pillars were complete. The altar and side areas were still bare. Another westerner sat on the front steps, staring vacantly out into the distant mountains. This will be an ideal place for meditation when complete.
Rod returns and we take dinner. There is no electric light as usual. Previous towns simply lacked electricity, or it was unreliable and would fail frequently. Pisang shares a tiny hydroelectric plant with the next major village, Manang. On alternate evenings, each town gets electricity from 6 PM until 11 PM. We will be in each village on its dark night. The camera batteries are holding up okay, but maybe we better slow down on the mountain photos.
Day 7: Pisang (3200 M, 10498 Ft) to Manang (3540 M, 11614 Ft) 5 hours
The trail out of Pisang leads steeply upward through pine forests and past a big water-powered prayer wheel. It passes through many a landslide, where the trail narrows to a mere foot wide (35 cm) through the loose rock and frost covered ground. The reward for the climb comes at the Narodhara tea house with its stunning views of the trail. Ahead in the distance you can see the glacial valley and gorge that the river cuts through the hills. On a plateau above the river are the village of Humde and the airport, link to the outside world.
As you descend towards Humde, you find that you are entering another eco-zone. The hills become barer and the plants become drier. Agriculture is not widespread; in fact it is virtually absent. The trail goes through a bowl of pure barrenness. Glacial forces scooped out this valley eons ago, and the sides are still just rock. Everything is gray. There are no sounds of the wind, no sounds of people, and no sounds of birds. No sounds at all. The air is dry. Completely dry. So dry, there are no smells. None. This is the epitome of emptiness. In mediation, one tries to detach from the senses to experience emptiness. We begin to understand why many of the great meditators of history come from the high mountains.
Just past Humde we see a sign pointing the direction to Milarepa’s cave. Milarepa was an 11th century Tibetan poet who overcame his dark past through meditation. The hardships of meditation in a cave for years on end are acutely understood by looking at the mountainside where the cave stands. The cold, barren rock, snow and altitude are certainly not favorable living conditions. The silence and remoteness of the area was very spiritual, though.
We arrive in Manang in time to attend the talk on Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS, also known as altitude sickness) given by the Himalayan Rescue Association. We just need to make a quick stop to the guesthouse to drop off our stuff first. But the entrance to the hotel is blocked by a large Yak (actually, half yak, half cow). Since he outweighs all of us put together, we decide to just reason with him. To our surprise, he understands English and swings his rear end around, clearing a small pathway for us.
While Rod has studied AMS many times before, it is always good to get a refresher. In fact, he learns a few new things. Only several decades ago, Mountain Sickness used to kill about 10% of all trekkers and climbers in Nepal (!). Now it is well understood and there is no reason for anyone to die. The warning signs are well established, as are the remedies (go down the hill!). The seminar outlines the stuff very clearly: if you have a headache, loss of appetite, nausea, dizziness, tiredness, or difficulty sleeping then do not climb any higher. Rest for 1-3 days, drink lots of water, and rest. If the symptoms clear, then continue upward at 300 meters (1000 feet) per day. If the symptoms get worse, then descend immediately (even at night). The symptoms that require immediate descent are: very severe headache, vomiting, dizziness to the extent that one cannot walk a straight line with the feet planted directly along a straight line, double vision, or significant changes in behavior. These all indicate that the brain is swelling and death can follow within hours unless the patient descends immediately. Likewise coughing blood, or remaining out of breath even after resting, indicates accumulation of water in the lungs, and again, death can result unless the patient descends immediately.
There is also a medication for AMS, called Diamox. Use of it is controversial. It basically speeds up the respiratory system, which may help to acclimatize faster. Some people take it as a prophylactic; others feel it might mask early warning signs. Either way, it is definitely helpful for the serious cases, providing a bit more margin during the descent. We are carrying some, and Fran uses it sparingly as a prophylactic.
A disturbing message during the seminar was that most frequently the porters die, and that the most recent case was of a porter who showed signs of AMS, but his western clients did not want to be slowed down so they paid him his wages and left him behind to find his own way back down the trail. He didn't make it.
The clinic which gave the AMS seminar primarily serves the local population. Western doctors and nurses come and volunteer their time. They provide services to foreigners at a premium, and locals at a discount. They also provide a facility for other medical teams. For example, a few eye doctors are making the Annapurna circuit trek ahead of us, stopping along the way for a few days to give free eye care, even cataract surgery.
Manang is a thoroughly Tibetan town, and has kept its identity while catering to the western trekkers. On the main street (pretty much the only street, actually) there are small shops selling trekking gear, maps, guide books, souvenirs, German bakeries, and candy bars. (Fran loves those Snickers about halfway between breakfast and lunch!). Manang is actually a unique place culturally. The area was once along a major trading route to India in the south and China and Tibet in the north. In time long past, the Manang people were granted special privileges by the King of Nepal, allowing them to trade directly with outside countries without a tariff, and getting free visas for travel. This special privilege remains today, and many Manang are merchants who travel to Hong Kong or Singapore, and then sell goods in their stores in Kathmandu. Wealthy Manang residents own guesthouses in both Kathmandu and in Manang, and live several months in each place. Within Nepal, Manang people are respected as shrewd business people and bargainers. Regardless, Manang remains much the same as it has been for centuries, and the people have done a remarkable job of benefiting from the changing times without letting the changes detract from their village life.
Manang could be called stone village. The walls are rock. The fences in the fields are rock. The streets and paths are paved with stones. The buildings walls are rock and the roofs are slate. The little aqueduct bringing water down the hill is made from stone. The scenery around the town is dry, desolate rock. Everything seems to be cold and gray, except the ubiquitous prayer flags.
The village is really unlike anything that we have seen in rural areas of the world up to now. The Lonely Planet guide book calls it medieval, whatever that means. The village is essentially one large building with labyrinthine alleyways. The doorways are low so that the hungry spirits can not enter. At the front is a gate leading into a stable for horses and yaks, then surrounding that are rooms where the family lives. There are many levels with courtyards at all levels and log ladders connecting them.
We have arrived unknowingly in the height of the Yartung Festival. We were just walking through town (that is along the 2-3 blocks of the one street) and started seeing horses racing by! These are not horse races in the western sense of the word, with competition for speed, but instead were just a chance for the men to dress up themselves and their horses and show off racing down the street. Some leaned heavily forward, seeming to have their heads ahead of the horse. Others sat straight up and rode. Some leaned way back, flinging their arms in the air in great fun. Most held the bridal back tightly, so the horses pranced in fast walking steps rather than a gallop. It felt a bit like we were on the set for some exotic movie rather than in a real place. But the enthusiasm was contagious, and the entire town turned out to line the street, some even climbing up onto rooftops. One man with a very weathered but joyous face beat a drum. Women clapped and laughed at the antics. After a little racing, they all headed to the gompa (temple) to sing and celebrate. The women brought flasks of drink for the men, who stayed seated on their horses and passed the flasks to each other, amid the singing and merriment.
We finish the night early, since there is no electricity. But really what we miss is a hot shower –it has been too many days.
Day 8 Manang (3540 M, 11614 Ft)
We plan a rest day in Manang, mostly for acclimatization. For 95% of people, AMS can be prevented by ascending just 300 meters (1000 feet) per day beyond 3000 meters (10,000 feet), and then taking a rest day every 4-5 days. We continue our "bistari, bistari" (slowly, slowly) motto and stay put.
An interesting effect of statistics… If 95% of people show no signs of AMS, then how many groups will have problems? 10 % of couples will have a member with symptoms, 19% of foursomes, and 34% of eight person groups. We saw some large groups, and for sixteen people the odds of at least one member having AMS symptoms is 56%. All that just means that when traveling in groups, expect more problems. The seminar yesterday highlighted that serious AMS is more common in groups, where one member keeps going unadvisedly rather than slowing down the group (guilt is such a strong motivator), and then gets in trouble at higher elevation.
We take the day easy. Rod has had stomach problems, and finally decides it is probably Giardia. A quick dose of Tinidizole and he is healthy again. He might have been carrying Giardia around for quick a while, because as we think back after many strenuous activities he has had a "digestive day" (the two hour ocean swim in Zanzibar, the Indrahara Pass in India, and now). He may have picked it up swimming in the freshwater lake in Sweden. Anyway, it is gone now.
For acclimatization we take a hike up to the Gangapurna Glacier viewpoint. Fran traverses the knife edge ridge with the glacial lake on one side and the river valley on the other, and seems to have no fears left anymore. At the top, we sit in a tea house to warm up, and catch a picture of Friendly Bear looking out at the scenery.
Along the main street, preparations are underway for another day of horse racing. A small patch at the end of the street is a carrot field, and a family works all day to dig up the carrots before the horses stomp them to bits. Behind them, in areas they have cleared, yaks search for and find the occasional missed prize.
As we stroll through the tiny alleys we run into a little girl. She quickly greets us and then asks "pen?” When we say no, she tries "chocolate?” Lastly, she asks "hotdog?” We all crack up laughing.
Back at the guesthouse in Manang, we again overhear an argument between an Israelis group and the hotelier. The Israelis want to stay another night, but it is late in the day and the hotelier has already promised all of the rooms. The hotelier explains the situation first to one person, then to a second and finally to a third member of the group. Each protestor gets agitated and verbally abusive. Again, we hear the familiar shouting and vindictive threats that no Israelis will ever come again and his hotel will be run out of business. Such ranting and raving is hard to believe and is really sad to see. The world is so small and threatening to people who only think of themselves, these trekkers will go home thinking the world is a hostile place. The Nepalese are very polite and do not discuss these confrontations unless you ask, but they have quite strong feelings. Our guide even skipped one guesthouse a few days ago just because it seemed to have a large number of Israelis present. Of course not all Israelis are like this (read about Shlomo and the Sabbath dinner in McLeod Ganj), and these were young people.
The argument makes me reflect on the concept of fairness. The travelers complain that the hotelier is being unfair. We all complain about unfairness at various times, when we feel like other people are gaining advantage. Upon reflection, I think fairness is a concept that is only useful for young children. When learning ethics and appropriate behavior, the concept of fairness is very useful. It helps foster a notion of good and bad behavior. Unfortunately, it also leads to the belief, evident in small children, that if someone is acting unfairly then they must suffer bad consequences. Otherwise, the concept of fairness is violated. As adults we learn that we have no control over others' behaviors, only our reactions to them. Otherwise our childish notion of fairness turns into the dangerous need for vengeance.
The reality is that life is not fair. How can it be fair that your loved ones will get sick and die? How can the sacrifices that parents make for their children be considered fair? How can a marriage persist if it is based on some mythical scorecard of fairness between the two partners? Fairness is focused on self-interest, making sure that everyone makes the same contribution and gets the same result. But life is not that simple, nothing is that equal, and life is not fair. While the concept helps teach ethics to young children, it is fundamentally based on the incorrect notion that everyone will have equivalent circumstances. It is simply not an appropriate concept for adults, and needs to be supplanted by a more selfless generosity of spirit and concern for others. We should each instead endeavor to help each other, and not worry about fairness, which is fallacious anyway. Or so it seems to me...
Day 9 Manang (3540 M, 11614 Ft)
Surprise! When we threw open the curtains at first light we found a thick blanket of snow! The sun is bright and clear, and the white stuff just seems to have appeared out of nowhere. It fell silently in the night. It is a brisk 24 F (-5 C) but doesn't feel too cold.
The difference is amazing. The mountains have all taken on a new beauty.
We talk through the implications of the snow. That means that no one is going through the pass today (three days ahead), so the guesthouses ahead will start overfilling as people continue up the hill but cannot cross. We also know that being the first to kick through snow is exhausting, and it is easier to lose the trail. We decide to stay put, play cards and keep enjoying the great food. By now, Jo and Graeme are very good friends.
We saw the large bushel baskets of carrots rescued from the horses yesterday. They were hidden under the stairs at the guesthouse. Unfortunately, a yak also discovered them during the night. The pile is considerably smaller, and trampled into the mud, snow and yak droppings.
On the street, someone has built a snowman. It is just like the western version, built of three round balls of snow. He has very detailed features and face. One difference though –he is a porter snowman, complete with a large wicker basket on his back and the carrying strap over his forehead!
Fran has digestive problems, and decides to skip the usual course (ignore it for two days, then treat with antibiotics for two, and then suspect Giardia) and immediately goes for the Tinidizole. It works.
For our acclimatization hike, we head up the north face of the mountain. We are just going up a few hundred meters (1000 feet) to a lookout point, but up about a further hour is a Buddhist lama who will give blessings for a safe crossing through the Thorung La pass. For 100 Rupees ($1.33), he says a blessing, and ties a sungdis, a blessed nylon string, around your neck. Later at dinner we hear one trekker describe his trip to see the lama. Unfortunately, he describes it in mocking terms. While I don’t have any belief that the lama's magic will help ensure safe passage, it seems inappropriate to get the blessing and then mock it. Actually, it seems inappropriate to mock anyone’s religious beliefs.
Day 10 Manang (3540 M, 11614 Ft) to Chuli Ledtar (4100 M, 13540 Ft) 4 hours
The valley between the high mountain peaks narrows as we pass through Yak Kharka and onto Chuli Ledtar. We sit on the patio of the guesthouse, and despite the cold and snow, enjoy the view. To the south are the steep glaciers of Gangapurna (7454 M). To the east are Chuli East, West and Central (6558 M, 6419 M, and 6250 M) and to the west is an unnamed peak of 5277 M. The afternoon sun backlights the crest of snow along the ridgeline, making it appear translucent against the deep blue sky. Vapor clouds of ice and snow spiral from the peaks. We have an exhilarating feeling that we are so close to the mountain tops that we can touch them. The vibrating silence of the area is broken with our chatter as we share lunch with our good friends.
Rod took a short acclimatization hike up a little further. He expected to just go up a little ways and perhaps meditate for a little while. But the virgin snow was perfect for tracking animals, and he couldn't resist.
In the trail were tracks of people, yaks, goats and sheep. Those yak prints are big! There were also far more dog prints that I had realized. I followed some of them to see if they were just domestic dog or perhaps a wild dog, but they always came circling back to the main trail, as if they were following along a person, so I concluded they were domesticated.
In one place, the tracks were of a larger foot than a dog, with a stride of about 30 inches (80 cm). The front and rear feet stepped in precisely the same hole, and there were little signs of fur and no claws. That means cat, not dog. From the stride, and size and depth of the footprint, it probably stood about 20 inches (45 cm) at the shoulder, was 30 inches (80 cm) long, and weighed about 35 pounds (15 kg). I have heard of snow leopards but don’t know what one looks like.
A second track was also intriguing. It was very small feet, front and rear the same, with a stride of just eight inches (20 cm). The feet didn't match a rabbit, so I tentatively guessed fox. Back at the guesthouse I asked around, and it does appear that the first tracks were a Snow Leopard, and the second were an arctic fox of some kind. The Snow Leopard is very rare, and many parties have gone searching for them only to be disappointed. A film on Snow Leopards was filmed in this very area by a Japanese crew just a few years ago. Life does deal you some unexpected pleasures if you stop and notice them.
As the sun sets, the mountain chill sets in. We don our down jackets and are glad that we heeded the advice of previous trekkers to bring warm clothes. Then we join the other trekkers for a candlelight dinner in the lodge. As there is no electricity, the candlelight is a necessity rather than a provision for a romantic interlude. Everyone huddles around one large table. The table is hung with heavy curtains along the sides. We all stick our feet under the curtain and are pleasantly surprised with the warmth. The proprietor has placed a kerosene heater under the table! We join a threesome from UK on a spiritual trek, a woman from Holland, and another couple. The closeness and the heat forge a quick camaraderie between strangers. The conversation deepens as several share their fears and doubts, something that the mountain helps you to bring out. By the end of the night we have new friends…Miriam from Holland, Karen from San Francisco, Graeme and Jo (not new, but closer).
Day 11 Chuli Ledtar (4100 M, 13540 Ft) to Thorung Phedi (4450 M, 14599 Ft) 4 hours
We are definitely getting higher. This morning was 9 F (-7 C). We are warm and toasty with our down sleeping bags. Was it worth carrying them all over the globe? Well, it sure was last night!
As we head out to the snow covered trail, we are glad that there have been many people before us to help clear the snow. It hugs the hillside and is quite narrow and slick in the spots where the snow has been melted and refrozen. The sun at these high altitudes is quite intense and is more so as it reflects off the snow. Fran’s red nose indicates that sunscreen is an absolute necessity. Alternating between being too cold and too hot from walking, we trudge toward Thorung Phedi, our last camp before encountering the pass.
We reach a high spot on the trail from which we can see our destination for the night. The only problem is that a deep river valley separates us, one that we must climb steeply down, then steeply up the other side. From this point the trail cuts down the hillside at a 45-degree angle. It is slick with ice and one false step can send you over the edge down hundreds of feet into the canyon. We start our slippery descent, at times facing into the rock retaining wall to get a handhold (like mountain climbing) before taking the next step. Fran, with her history of twisting ankles, is very cautious and often depends on the help of the guides to steady her.
During the descent, we encounter some people trying to come up. They are very discouraged and exhausted. They attempted to climb through the pass, but were turned back. They look totally spent. They describe ferocious winds and cold (-15 F, -26 C) at the pass, and now just want to go back along the side they came from. But the icy slope is just too slippery. The only way to get them past is for us to line up along the rock side, reach out for us to grab their hand and pull them up, and then pass them off to the next person. We work them back up the slope, and then continue on down ourselves. Their stories are not encouraging but none of us even mentions it.
For acclimatization we climb a bit higher in the afternoon. We just head up the trail a little above camp to sit on a rock to meditate or watch the world go by. It is so peaceful and beautiful. The weather has settled down very nicely, compared to the stories of people this morning, and seems downright serene.
It is getting late, but we notice a lone porter coming up the trail. Surprisingly he trudges past our guesthouse and keeps heading upward. He is trying to reach the upper camp, another hour up the trail. But he is clearly struggling. He walks about ten feet (3 meters) and stops to catch his breath. It takes forever for him to reach us, and then we stop him to see if he is okay. He has no water. His group has gone ahead and he is traveling alone. He has no flashlight and dark is approaching. This is his first trek as a porter, and he has no knowledge and no equipment. He does not come from the mountain area. We try to convince him to stop, but he knows he will lose his job if he does –he has the client’s sleeping bags in his load, and they are up ahead. We see no alternative but to get him up to his next camp, so Graeme and Rod take his load, and get him wrapped in a warm coat and start him drinking water. We slowly head on up the hill. By the time we make the upper camp, he has come back to life quite a bit more, talking coherently, walking stronger, looking okay. I stop and explain AMS to him. I put the Fear of God into him, and insist that he promise if he has any of the signs of serious AMS during the night then he will find someone and come down the mountain to my camp immediately. He promises and I believe him. We give him his load for the last 30 meters (100 feet) so that he looks good as he arrives. I insist that we need to talk with someone in his group to explain the situation (we can’t believe that any group would have left someone alone in this condition). His Israeli clients meet us at the door (they are eating dinner) and are quite startled to hear of the porter’s condition. I explain that they must watch out for every member of their group, whether a porter or westerner. Fortunately they are not defensive at all and it is a great learning lesson. They had skipped the AMS seminar at Manang, so I give them a synopsis. They are genuinely grateful.
Later, at the table, we overhear the group leader of the spiritual trek complaining that he met the same porter and bemoaning that his group would leave him alone in that condition. I quietly reassure him that the porter made it safely to the top, while inwardly wonder why this spiritual person just let the porter pass, and then complains about no one helping him?
The dining hall clears out early. By 7 PM, you can feel the anticipation and anxiety for tomorrow’s summit hike mounting in the trekkers. By 7:30 the hall is empty…all have gone to bed.
Day 12 Thorung Phedi (4450 M, 14599 Ft) to Thorung La Pass (5416 M, 17768 Ft) to Muktinath (3800 M, 12336 Ft) 10.5 hours
We rise at 3:30 AM for a 4:30 departure. The electricity is off and it is a bit difficult to pack in the cold and dark. Today is warmer, in fact at 13 F (-11 C) it is warmer than it was yesterday morning down at Chuli Ledtar. As we step outside our room we note that the wind is calm. The bright stars (and our meager torches) light our path to the dining hall.
We enjoyed our breakfast of garlic noodle soup. We never figured out its magical properties for the mountains, but the Nepalese swear by garlic. And due to the rather early hour, that is all that the kitchen would prepare!
The anticipation had been building in Fran, too. As she finished her breakfast, a strong feeling like stage fright (the jitters you get before a performance) swept over her. When she began the trek she was unsure about her ability to cross the pass. Her fears had been building as she anticipated coping with the dizzying effects of altitude and walking up a steep slope with very little oxygen. But, as we had already passed the airport escape route in Humde, there was nothing to do but take a deep breath and walk out the door towards the mountain.
A line of flashlights zigzag up the hill as we set out. The first 1.5 hours to High Camp guesthouse will be steep. Pausing often to take a breath, it feels like you are climbing to the stars…they are so bright and seem close enough to touch. In fact, they are an anchor to hold on to when the fear becomes too great.
We have just started out but the realities of walking at high elevation are apparent. Our feet feel heavy, each step is slow. With the vision of the mountaintop in mind, you focus only on the next step. The heavy down hat blocks your view of anything but the ground in front of you. You can feel the chill in your lungs with each deep breath while the sweat pours down your back from the heavy layers of cloths. Ten steps, pause for ten breaths, ten more steps…with this rhythm we make it to High Camp.
As we reach High Camp a glimmer of light appears around the edges of the surrounding mountain tops. The sun will soon greet us with its warmth. We watch in wonder as the morning star rises over the mountain bigger and more brilliant than we have ever seen. The wind picks up a bit and we pull the hoods tighter to protect our faces from the sharp stinging snow.
As the wind picks up more, we see many people turning back. We find that Karen (who we met in Chuli Ledtar) turned back while her western guide went on. This fact, that he left her behind, will haunt our thoughts and conversations for days. We help a woman at a teahouse stop, suffering from blue fingertips. Many young people turn back, the discouragement and frustration written clearly on their faces. We trudge onwards though. We know that if the conditions for crossing are impossible then the guides and teahouse operators will close the pass.
The trail leads gently, but persistently to the top, passing many a false summit. After 4 hours we see many lines of prayer flags flapping in the distance. Fran, thinking that it is the summit, has an immediate and spontaneous reaction. She breaks into tears of relief and joy, letting the tension of the climb float away. Alas, it is another false summit, but the real one is only 15 minutes away.
Our happiness is complete when we reach the top. We take the requisite pictures of us at the top, including Friendly Bear (who insisted on making the climb). The pass is between Yakawa Kang to the north (6482 M, 21266 Ft) and Khatung Kang to the south (6488 M, 21286 Ft), neither of which seem very high from here. Looking west is down the Kali Gandaki River to the fields of Kagbeni, but it is hard to see because it drops deeply into the valley. We are higher than any spot in North America except Alaska’s McKinley (6194 M), higher than Europe’s highest Mt Blanc (4807 M) and only a shade below Africa’s Kilimanjaro (5895 M).
Anticipating strong winds on the downhill climb, we spend only 20 minutes at the summit before we head down.
As it is, the wind never does pick up. The day being clear and calm, the temperature being a balmy 16 F, we decide to sit near the path and soak in the view. We send Rajendra on and settle down in a patch of clear ground to meditate. The silence is absolute.
After sitting for one hour we restart our descent. By now the crowd of trekkers has passed and we are essentially on our own. The going is steep and quite slippery. We find that it is easier to walk on the snow than on the loose, ice covered shale. The distance is also farther than anticipated, leading down the mountain, across plateaus and down river valleys. 10.5 hours after we started we arrive in the village of Muktinath.
Quite tired, we find our guesthouse, have dinner and are in bed by 6:30 PM.
Day 13 Muktinath (3800 M, 12336 Ft) to Kagbeni (2800 M, 9186 Ft) 2.5 hours
We get moving slowly today. We aren't sore, or even feeling particularly tired, but we catch up on laundry and do not feel like hurrying. It is a short hike today.
We head up to the Jwala Mai temple in Muktinath, a very holy place for Hindus and Buddhists alike. There is even a helipad for the Nepali king and for rich Indians to fly in. The sacred site dates back to the discovery of a magical demonstration of fire and water. From under a pile of stones emerges a fountain of water that is on fire. A small blue flame flickers above the spring. Long ago explained by westerners as simply a spring that rises through a natural gas field, ancient myths ascribe the fire and water to deities, and this is believed to be a residence of Vishnu, one of the three holiest Hindu gods.
A Hindu temple has been built with 108 fountains. The faithful bath in each of these 108 ice-cold fountains for long life and salvation. Nearby, mourners pile stones into memorials for departed loved ones, and the wealthy can pay to plant a memorial tree in the orchard (and get a picture sent to them every year as it grows). As is common in Nepal and India, Buddhism and Hinduism co-exist peacefully. At the entrance to the temple are three large terracotta Buddhist deities and a mammoth prayer wheel. Buddhist prayer flags fly over the temple and memorial grounds.
Rajendra has a relative with failing health who wanted to make a pilgrimage to this temple, but is not able. He has sent Rajendra to make an offering for him. Rajendra places the offering, and receives a blessing and tika powder from the Hindu priest. He will take the tika (the holy red paint placed on the forehead of Hindus) back to his relative. He also assembles a small rock memorial.
We head back through Muktinath, and as we leave the hotel, the manager gives us a kata scarf in keeping with Tibetan tradition. We start the descent to Kagbeni.
I think of Ray Harvey and Melvin Ashwill (Bjo’s father) as I look across at the geology lesson on the other side of the gorge. I wish I knew more. But here’s what I see. An ancient cone shape of dark rock, which is filled with fossils of sea life, is nearly covered by a flat layer of lighter sandy rock, and that whole thing is then gouged out by the river. The dark rock was once under the Indian Ocean, before the Indian subcontinent migrated north and ran into Asia. Over time, it lifted up with the Himalayas (it is amazing to find fossils of sea life on the world’s tallest mountains), forming the darker peak. Then during the glacial period, the gray glacial silt was deposited over it as the glaciers ground all of the surrounding rock. Eventually, the river dug the gorge that exposed the prior geology. Okay professors, how did I do with my guess?
Above Kagbeni, we drop down the gorge wall toward the valley floor. The bottom has been terraced into orchards and fields. It is barren now, but men are plowing their fields to ready them for buckwheat next spring. Water buffalo pull the plow, which the men work. Since the fields are terraced, each field is small and irregularly shaped. The buffalo can only go a small distance before the men must stop them and turn, which means lifting the plow and pushing it into the new orientation. The buffalo swing around as they feel the plow move.
The men are working the plow, and women are hauling rocks out of the fields. The men are singing to pass the time. While it is hard work, the songs are very light and joyous. They are clearly enjoying the day.
In Kagbeni, we visit Thupten Samphel Ling Monastery. 570 years old, it was opened to tourists in 1997. The monastery has traditionally trained young monks in Tibetan culture and religion, and provided religious service to the community. However, there are no youth in residence anymore and the monks fear that the culture will be lost. They opened the monastery to tourists to get funding to redevelop a residential youth program.
North of Kagbeni is the region called the Upper Mustang. Tibetan Buddhist people inhabit this high valley, which has been off limits to foreigners. Now a small number of tourists are allowed in, but only with guides who help preserve the area and culture. The entrance fee is $700, which goes to the government of this area. The monastery serves these villages, and wants to help preserve the cultures.
A very friendly and talkative monk told us the history of the monastery, and showed us through. He realized that we knew a little bit about Buddhism and asked who our teacher was. We stammered a bit, since we hadn't thought about actually selecting a teacher. Inside the monastery were wall paintings of Buddha figures, deities including the white Tara and others, and the various guardian deities. Old tapestries hung from the ceiling, and Buddha statues were placed in the front altar. After a while, the monk needed to perform his service to call deities to the monastery, chanting, singing and drumming alone in the room. We headed up to the roof for the most spectacular views in Kagbeni. The sun was dropping and the full moon rising. We snapped off pictures before heading back down.
As we leave the monastery, the day is coming to a close. A herd of hundreds of goats is just coming into the village. We stop to watch (we had no choice, they completely fill the road!). As they come in, at first the herd takes the turn over a small bridge. Then some start instead heading on down the hill on our side. I wonder how the herdsman will handle this. Then we notice that on the other side of the bridge, the herd is again splitting into two groups, one heading each way. It turns out that goats are quite smart, and this is a herd of all of the animals from the village. Each villager has just a small number, and a small yard for his own animals. As the animals come back into the village, they separate from the herd and go back to their own place. It is rather amazing to watch, just like machinery, as the herd continues to just flow and split, everyone going to the right place.
As we eat our dinner, I again regret that we don’t know the Nepalese language. As hosts, the Nepalese are reluctant to just join in with the westerners. They eat in the kitchen, and the westerners eat in the dining room. Also, just due to the natural ease of language, when we stop hiking for a break the Nepalese tend to congregate together and swap stories, as do the westerners. Miriam, a woman from Holland, was in Nepal two years ago and took a month-long course in Nepalese. With that, she goes back and forth between circles and also just marches into the kitchen to join in. She still might not be able to understand everything that is said, but at least she has broken down the barrier and has a more rewarding cultural experience.
Day 14 Kagbeni (2800 M, 9186 Ft) to Marpha (2670 M, 8759 Ft) 6 hours
This region claims to be the deepest gorge or valley in the world. Hmm, we already hiked in the deepest gorge in the world, Tiger Leaping Gorge in Yunan province of China. Well, maybe there are two deepest gorges. This one stakes its claim based on the height of the two mountains it passes between, Dhauligiri to the west (8167 M, 22703 Ft) and Nilgiri to the east (7061 M, 23166 Ft). Since Dhauligiri does happen to be the seventh tallest mountain in the world, I guess that does make this a pretty deep valley. An interesting fluke of geography: this valley predates the Himalayan Mountains. The Kali Gandaki River existed before the Himalayas formed, and the two mountains simply arose on each side of it. Bring that up at a dinner conversation and impress your friends!
Another sign of beneficial western influence is the orchards of Marpha. Many decades ago, an Englishman introduced apples into the area. Now they are an important part of the local farming and commerce. The apple pies are delicious! The local distillery also produces some rather caustic stuff of which the Marpha people are quite proud.
The hike proceeds down the riverbed. It is a huge glacial silt bed, several hundred meters (1000 feet) wide. The flat bed is full of sand and round river rocks. The stream meanders from side to side, often split into several courses. Everything is the gray color of river silt. Nothing grows in the silt except for a little green algae in the few stagnant pools. In several places, locals have recently planted willow trees. They will provide renewable firewood. Rather than cut them down, the locals will just cut off branches after they reach a couple of inches in a few years, and then the branches re-sprout. At this time of year, the willows are just barren sticks.
Earlier, at breakfast, Fran looked down the riverbed and reported that she saw a truck! We haven’t seen any motor vehicles since we left Besisihar, and certainly don’t expect any up here. While Rajendra and Rod didn't think she was crazy, they were also a bit puzzled trying to figure out what she actually did see.
Mostly we just walk along the silt bed, stepping among the round river rock. Occasionally the river pinches off the trail, which then scampers up the canyon wall a little way and then descends back down to the riverbed.
We meet a family from Upper Mustang, the restricted Tibetan area above Kagbeni. They are walking down to Pokhara to trade. The family has 5-6 children and several adults. We never quite figure out the full relations. But Fran has the kids dazzled with the digital camera. They all want to see themselves in the camera’s LCD. One overeager boy insists he be in each picture. Fran steadily takes each child’s picture and lets it look. They are ecstatic. We ask Rajendra how to send copies of the photos to them later. They lack any postal service or address. The only real way is to send the photos to Rajendra and if he gets a trek into the Upper Mustang he will deliver them.
Hiking along the riverbed, we finally get an answer to Fran’s vision of a truck this morning. A tractor is trudging up the silt bed, pulling a flat bed trailer. This flat stretch of river goes for many miles, and someone brought in a tractor for local transportation. It cannot leave the valley, but helps ply goods up and down as it slowly chugs along the riverbed.
We cross through Jomsom, a large town with banks, large hotels, and even an airport. We need to get some money (the cost of meals is higher than we expected, and we are spending about $15-20 a day for room and food for two), and take over an hour to find a money changer who can help. We pass the military check post in the center of town several times. Dressed in combat fatigues and armed with automatic rifles, they are friendly and watch our pack as we look through the town. Later we encounter some men with similar rifles but dressed in civilian clothes and ask Rajendra if they are private guards. He says no, with the Maoist rebels in Nepal, the police have the authority to shoot anyone on sight that carries a rifle. These men were police on their way to their check post.
Today was cloudy and a bit cool. Looking towards the pass, I’ll bet it was not a good day up there. We are very thankful for the weather we had when we crossed over. At the guesthouse we find a welcome treat –our first hot shower in over a week!
Something has been bothering me. Behind every guesthouse is a huge pile of beer bottles. Usually they are not broken, and seem to be piled waiting to be returned. But the piles are huge. I ask Rajendra what happens to them. He explains that in Pokhara, they are worth 3 rupees (4 cents) each, but that it costs more to hike them out than they are worth. In the Everest Base Camp trek the problem has grown so that the mess is quite unsightly, so the hotel owners all banded together for a solution. Every other year they hire a helicopter to come with a huge cargo net and each hotel owner tosses in his bottles. The helicopter goes from village to village and packs up an enormous load. It costs more to hire the helicopter than they get from the bottles, but since there are so many, it defers most of the cost and the mess is gone.
Day 15 Marpha (2670 M, 8759 Ft) to Kalopani (2530 M, 8300 Ft) 4 hours
During the night one of the porters at the guesthouse became seriously ill. No one really knows what is wrong, but he has intense abdominal pain. There is no fever and no other problems except a little diarrhea. His clients are very concerned about him and stay up with him. Miriam, a nurse, checks in frequently during the night. The Nepali guides and porters fear he will die. They have little knowledge of medicine, but they know that the life expectancy in Nepal is twenty years less than the west, and people die suddenly for reasons never determined. In the morning, the clients escort the sick porter as he is carried on a stretcher back up the trail to the airport at Jomsom. They do not know if the porter’s company has evacuation insurance, but agree to pay the cost themselves if necessary.
Again, the weather was cloudy. Again, we are thankful for the crossing we encountered. The season is generally lasts through November, with the pass closing in December. Since it is late November now, it is getting pretty dodgy. People passing through now better have enough flexibility in their plans to wait until a good day comes along. We keep listening for the airplane. The 7 AM flight doesn’t go, probably due to weather. Finally around 9 AM we hear the plane overhead. Several days later we hear confirmation that someone gave up their seat on the full plane to let the porter fly out. His company flew in another porter, and the clients continued their trip. The porter was taken to a hospital in Pokhara, but no one knows how he is doing.
During the day, we alternatively pass the Upper Mustang family. Each time the kids come and run to Fran, or wave as we pass. They hike long days, but stop and set up camp for each meal. Overall, we are traveling at about the same pace.
Towards mid-afternoon, we encountered a tiny village full of singing and dancing. We stopped in the street and watched. Shortly, a man came over and explained that a festival was being held to celebrate a boy’s 7th birthday. He invited us to meet the patriarch of the family, an 82-year-old man.
We crept into a small dark room, and were ushered through the crowd to an old man sitting in the corner. He had red tika paint and rice on his forehead, and was dressed in his finest clothes. His eyes radiated warmth. We shook his extended hand, and were invited to join for tea. Not sure what is proper, but feeling that sometimes we are too hesitant, we joined in. We sat on a narrow bench and another man came over to explain. People eat special treats served on Sal leaves.
In this village, when a boy reaches 7 years of age or a girl reaches 9 years, then the family has a big festival. The grandfather had come up from a village 2 km down the hill (the grandmother was too sick to join him). The patriarch's five sons and three daughters were all present, including the one who invited us in. Numerous grandchildren littered the area as well. The eldest son sat to his father’s left, and the seven year old boy to his right. Past the seven-year-old was another person with a ledger book. Invitations had been sent to all of the family and friends, and the custom was for each to make a small donation, which was recorded in the book. We made a small donation.
Outside, several gray, withered old men were singing and dancing. They moved slowly but very expressively in Nepali fashion. Another hiker thought they were women at first, since they moved so gracefully. First was a rather somber song, and then a far more lively joyous song. Their faces telegraphed the essence of the songs. A large crowd of relatives and friends filled the street around the old men, singing, clapping, and enjoying the festivities. For the men, the festivities had started the night before with drinking. Women joined today. Inside and out, everyone seemed to be radiating and having a great time. Except for one seven-year-old boy, highly painted and decorated, sitting very bored between his grandfather and the treasurer.
Day 16 Kalopani (2530 M, 8300 Ft) to Dana (1400 M, 4724 Ft) 8 hours
Just as in the Marsyangdi valley on the way up, the trail down this side also serves as a highway. We encountered one rather comical scene. While goats, horses and donkeys are all smart enough to head up and down the trail virtually by themselves, sheep are not so well endowed. We watched as a large flock (maybe 300 animals) tried to go across a bridge and up a narrow spot in the trail. The sheep in the front became confused and stopped. The sheep at the rear kept going. Much like a liquid, the mass of sheep bulged at the center, and began dripping off the sides. Some sheep jumped off the trail to scamper up the cliff, others secured tenuous footing on the lower side. Regardless, the mass continued forward. Eventually, the downhill bulge reached the stream under the bridge and began to hop across. Sheep being great followers, soon the others joined this new wave and the main bulk of sheep crossed under the bridge while those on top sat still. Since the process took some time, the sheep that squirted out to the upper side were quite forlorn. They were too afraid to jump back down, but didn’t want to be left behind. They did the one thing left –cry for help. The shepherd then gave them the help they asked for (a quick smack with a stick, or a tossed pebble at the rear end), and they bounced through the bramble until they got back on the trail. We wondered how many simply get lost walking down the trail, but I guess they do have a strong instinct to stay together so if one was left it would bleat loudly and the shepherd would find it.
Later, we see a much more tragic event unfold on a bridge. The family from Upper Mustang is crossing, and one of their horses slips and tangles its leg in the wire cyclone fencing on the side. It cannot free itself and lays motionless on the bridge. After a brief moment of horror, locals spring into action with everyone helping to brace the horse and figure out how to rescue it. Fortunately, the horse does not struggle at all, remaining motionless. Eventually, a pry bar rips apart the fencing to free the leg, and many men gently lift the horse back onto its feet. It limps off the bridge. We look as it goes by, and other than a rough abrasion on the inner thigh, all looks well.
Such an accident can be devastating. We begin to notice many holes in the fencing of the bridges where animals have slipped and become entangled. Not to mention the suffering of the animals, the impact to the families is horrendous. A good horse is worth 60,000 rupees ($800), equivalent to two years income. It simply cannot be replaced, making trips up and down the trail that much more arduous.
We see children on their way to school. They each have a bag of local oranges to sell along the way. First one gets your attention, and then another crowds in front. The process seems to favor the taller boys, and the more aggressive behavior. Fran decides to buy from a girl who has been pushed out. She heads over to her and again, boys push in between. Undaunted, she buys the oranges from the girl. The girl gets 5 rupees for four oranges, about 7 cents. Later on the trail one of the boys catches up to us on his way to school. He does not recognize us. Without the intense competition, the price is now twenty rupees for four oranges. He continues on to school without making a sale.
We arrive in Dana. What a paradise! Well, the village isn't much but the climate is wonderful! There are flowers in bloom, orange trees, lemon trees, and birds. It is warm! We are now out of the high mountains and returning to the subtropical lowlands of Nepal. The mountains were wonderful, but the warm sun sure feels good!
Later that night we hear that the family with the injured horse were stopping trekkers and asking for iodine. Sadly, we had some but didn't realize the injury was so bad. One man who had stopped and looked at the horse said it had opened into a laceration eight inches long (20 cm).
Day 17 Dana (1400 M, 4724 Ft) to Tatopani (1190 M, 3904 Ft) 1.5 hour
After a short hour long hike, we are in Tatopani. It is a subtropical paradise. We wished we could have just kept hiking yesterday and spent the whole day here! But with concern about the sick guide the previous night, most of the other porters and guides were quite tired, so we stopped in Dana.
As we walk around the village, we seem to know all of the trekkers. We meet the Danish couple at one place, Miriam at another, the Oregon people at another. After this much time on the trail, we have pretty much hiked or eaten with everyone along the trail. We are of a temporary band of merry travelers.
Fran can’t help but look at all of the bakeries. She quickly spies the best brownies at one place, but there seem to be two places with excellent chocolate cake. Decisions, decisions. We down the brownies while we ponder the cake. Rod spots a café that masquerades as a library –there are many shelves of books free for the reading for customers. After a large pot of coffee and a few hours of sunlight at a table in a garden, and he has read through Nepali history, flora and fauna, Tibetan Buddhism, and arcane things like the 2002 Nepali census statistic book!
Despite the subtropical gardens, flowers, fruits, bakeries, and general luxury, the real drawing card for Tatopani is the hot springs. In Nepali, "tato" means hot, and "pani" means water. We had had plenty of tisopani along the way ("tiso" means cold) and hot water sounded great. There are hot springs in many other places along the circuit, but most are tiny and used by locals for washing clothes or bathing, so are quite dirty. Tatopani is very different.
Two huge pools, each capable of holding 20-25 people, are built from stone. Locals clean the pools daily, and no one can enter the pool without first washing. That is easily accomplished since the water in the pools overflows, cascading into an area reserved for washing. As we step in, one pool is too hot and the other is just right. A local pulls a large pipe out from the bushes, and begins adding cold water to the former. We relax, chat with people (including some from SE Portland, Oregon!), and all of the strains of the trail melt away…
Day 18 Tatopani (1190 M, 3904 Ft) to Ghorepani (2750 M, 9383 Ft) 8 hours
The theme today is up. Up. And Up. 1570 meters (5479 feet) in all. We knew that would be a climb. We got ready mentally. But it was still a long way up. Many hikers took the climb in two days. Some planned it that way. Some changed their plans halfway up, to finish the next day. While it was long, we were glad to get it over with in one day.
The eco-zones change again. Most impressive are the Rhododendron forests. Okay, you Oregonians know all about Rhododendrons. Virtually everyone has one in their yard, and there is even a city on Mt. Hood named after them. Crystal Springs garden in SE Portland is amazing in the spring. But …have you ever seen a Rhododendron tree? No, not just a tall bush, but a real tree!
The Nepali national flower is the Rhododendron, which grows to fifty feet (16 meters) tall. The trucks look like thick oak trees, measuring more than two feet in diameter! These are real trees! While trekking in fall is the best time, it might be worth a spring trek just to see the Rhododendrons. Let’s see, what are we doing next April?
At the top, we discovered something we hadn't gotten mentally ready for. It was cold again! Our thoughts drifted back to the hot springs, the tropical flowers, and the orange trees. Now we were in the cold zone again. The unheated room seemed colder than before. We huddled around the woodstove in the dining room and then clambered off to our down sleeping bags.
Day 19 Ghorepani (2750 M, 9383 Ft) to Poon Hill (3193 M, 10475 Ft) to Turkhedhunga (1540 M, 4998 Ft) 7 hours
The whole reason for the climb to Ghorepani is the view from Poon Hill. Famous postcards and posters are photographed here. From the top, you can see a whole range of mountains unfurl, from Gurja and Dhauligiri to the west to Lamjung and Manaslu to the east. An astonishing 18 peaks reach over 6000 meters high, including two of the world’s highest ten mountains!
The preferred time to view the splendor is at sunrise. We had spent many mornings watching the orange-pink glow of the sun slowly light the tops of mountains well before it reached us. So we rose for departure at 4:45 and headed up the dark trail. About an hour later, we stood (along with about 150 other people) on the top and watched the slow progression of light.
Surprisingly, we were a tad disappointed. After so many days in the mountains, they now seemed far away and aloof. Perhaps we expected too much. While there seemed to be zillions of mountains, we didn't feel like we were really experiencing them.
Perhaps we were also just cold. While 40 F (5 C) was much warmer than our previous days in the mountains, it seemed cold now, especially after the subtropical Dana and Tatopani. We shuffled warm clothing between ourselves and our Australia friends (Ken and Shirley) as we watched the light. After the compulsory photos, most people headed down rather quickly. Rod waited a little longer for different light and a few more photographs.
The descent from Poon Hill was a bit tricky. The rock trail and steps were crisply frozen on the way up, cold enough to not be slippery. But now an early morning mist had settled on the ground, immediately freezing into an icy layer. We had to pick our way down carefully.
The hike down from Ghorepani is long. We drop nearly 5,500 feet (1650 meters) in just over 3 hours. We had earlier passed our knee supports on to other people with sore knees, but fortunately we had no real problems. This part of the Annapurna Circuit is considered the "old path". A new road allows for an easy one day hike down the river from Tatopani. We initially figured we wanted the "full meal deal", and included this stretch. Were we to do it again, we would take an extra day in the hot springs at Tatopani and then hike out to Beni, shortening the trip a few days. Or, if we climbed this far up, then we would circle on into the Annapurna Sanctuary, another trek deep into the mountains.
Despite the steepness, much of this area of the trek is cultivated in beautiful terraced gardens. This was an active time for the farming families, with some plowing, some planting, but mostly harvesting. Millet was just finishing drying in the field and many families were threshing it. Sometimes this was done in the fields, but more often at the homes. A flat space of ground was first smoothed with mud and dung and allowed to dry. Then the family sat in a circle and beat the millet. Eventually, the shafts were discarded, and the remainder was separated with straw sieves. Large golden conical piles of millet were the season’s reward. We felt a bit like voyeurs, since the houses are directly on the path and we watched from only a few feet away. The families were unconcerned. The path is a busy highway for locals, and they had lived out their life in full view for many years.
Today we pass a Christian Church holding a service. Joyous Tibetan singing comes through the doors. A sign reads "Established in 1996". I recall a statement made by a prominent Buddhist monk. He had read the Bible many times, as well as other great religious works. He considers Jesus to be a great guru or teacher. But when pressed by the local missionary to convert to Christianity, and denounce all other beliefs and teachers, he couldn't understand why. It seemed to him that Christianity had many great things to teach, but so did the other teachers and religions of the world. And Buddhism was more closely suited to his culture and background. It never occurred to him to suggest that a westerner should adopt a Tibetan Buddhist teacher, since it is rather foreign to them, and he couldn't understand why the Christians were so adamant to convert him. We have to agree with the monk –attempting to substitute one religion for another is often a divisive exercise. Instead, the goal should be simply to increase the spirituality of all people, with whatever religious practice best suits their background, culture and temperament. The highest calling of a missionary should be simply to live a spiritual life and in doing so bring out the best in others as well.
Day 20 Turkhedhunga (1540 M, 4998 Ft) to Naya Pul (1070 M, 3510 Ft) 4 hours, then 1 hour taxi to Pokhara (820 M, 2690 Ft)
Last night was a bit exciting. Rod heard it first. A rustling at the side of his head. Then silence and a rustling on the other side. He flipped on a flashlight, double checked there was no food in any packs, pulled stuff away from the walls where the mice travel, and headed back to sleep. Until the scream.
Fran awoke with the feel of whiskers on her cheek. After a shrill acoustic disturbance, and considerable thrashing of her sleeping bag, she explained that she had a mouse on her face. Rod, having already dealt with the mouse, was not too impressed and promptly went back to sleep. Fran, after this many nights on the trail, dropped off back to sleep too.
