Llew Wanders the World

It seems like an eternity since I woke up in Pokhara, headed towards Besisahar the startinbg point for my Trek in the Annapurna region of Nepal. In fact it’s only been 19 days, but that’s long enough that I’m happy I took lots of photos and notes to jog my memory while writing about it.

I planned on walking the famous Annapurna Circuit and then up to the base camp used by mountaineering expiditions intent on reaching the summit of Annapurna I. I’d figured that this would take me about 25 days. The route I’d be following was quite heavily travelled by both Nepalis and foreign trekkers, so accomodation and food in the form of simple guesthouses and restaurants would be readily available.

For anyone who’d like to follow along spatially as you read the next four entries, here’s a map that might help. Some of the names are different due to different transliterations from Nepali, and some of the smaller town’s aren’t shown, but you ought to be able to get some idea from it.

The first day of my trek began in a relaxed fashion, with breakfast at the True Love Tea Shop (owned by Bijay [the manager of my hotel, the Mount Kalisah] and his wife.) After this, I walked to the offices of the Annapurna Conservation Area Project and with a payment of 2000 rupees (C$36) and little other hassle, obtained my entry permit to the conservation area.

On the way back to my hotel for final packing I also picked up 25 chocolate bars (one per day), the only food I’d be taking with me, and one of the few luxuries I’d allowed for the trek. Half an hour later, I was finished packing (with 2l of water my pack weighed in at about 15kg) and ready to go. Before departing, the wonderful folks at the hotel stopped me and gave me a wonderful straight, strong, light walking stick that I christened Berserker on the Bridge, in keeping with my practice of naming my walking sticks after significant figures from the Battle of Stamford Bridge.

I walked out to the main road and hailed a city bus, which took me to the intercity bus park. I’d had no difficulty getting on and findign a seat, but by the time we arrived the bus had become so crowded that getting my self, large pack, stick and boots off was something of a challenge. Somehow I managed it before the bus pulled away and walked down to the bus park.

In keeping with the typically friendly nature of Nepalis, I was quickly directed to the (not at all obvious) ticket counter where I arranged my seat on a bus leaving for Besisahar in just a few minutes. I hauled myself and my belongings aboard, and very soon we were on the road!

For an hour or so the bus headed along the highway towards Kathmandu before turning off towards Besisahar at the town of Dumre. This secondary road was very winding and hilly, but surprisingly well paved. As we drove, we passed a long line of soldiers walking in the opposite direction, as well as several villages that, as we headed away from Dumre, were constructed of more and more stone and less and less concrete.

Before reaching Besi, we also stopped at a fairly serious looking police checkpoint, where all of the Nepalis on the bus (i.e. everyone except me) had to disembark and walk through. I also climbed off for a minute to use the er… rustic… toilet, which consisted of a screen made of bamboo and leaves that one urinated against. Its smell left a lot to be desired.

After about five hours of total travel time, the bus arrived in Besisahar, and I climbed off with my bag and stepped into the nearest decent looking guesthouse. After setting down my pack, I walked out into town for a look. Besisahar was a large town, but even so it didn’t take much walking off of the main street to get one onto dirt paths that were shared with Nepalis washing in the river and ponies waiting for their next day’s work.

Before returning to my guesthouse I picked up a couple of packages of coloured felt pens and a box of chalk to give out as gifts to children along the trail (I wanted to bring SOMETHING to give them, but candy is bad for them, and balloons quickly turn into garbage, and my choices had at least some redeeming social value.) I also grabbed a packet of ground chillies, as the food along the trail had a reputation for being somewhat bland.

Upon return to my guesthouse, I sat and chatted with the proprietor while I ate. He informed me, among other things, that I would be able to minimize donations to the Maoist guerillas (who often appear on the trail and ask for “donations” from trekkers) by claiming that I would only be trekking for a few days (untrue) that I was very poor (true in some senses) and that I was not American (entirely true.) He also talked for a bit about the way guesthouses on the trail worked: they use very low room rates as an incentive to bring in guests who will eat at their restaurants where their real (if meagre) profits are made. He also spent a good 45 minutes railing against young Israeli tourists who, he claimed, entirely failed to understand and respect this system. I could see both points of view and did my best to be diplomatic.

Everyone went to bed early (in no small part due to a 19:30 curfew in the town and the fact that the electricity went off at 21:30) and I was happy to join them in preparation for my first day’s walking.

The first REAL day of my trek, the first day of walking, was bright and sunny. I set out from Besisahar with almost no other trekkers visible (I’d been told that normally at this time of year 50 or 60 people per day would depart from Besi, but I learned that only six others had departed along with me.)

The first leg of my walk too me through Besisahar, then down a set of steep stairs and across a small river before rejoining the roadway. I could actually have stayed on the bus until the small town of Kundi, perhaps 5km further along, but I’d had enough of buses. From Besi to Kundi I walked with a local teacher, and enjoyed talking with him along the way. At Kundi he headed to the school while I carried on across a bridge and through the pretty little town, leaving the road behind and setting out on a real walking path.

Shortly after passing Kundi, I rounded a corner and got my first real look at a Himalaya (in Nepali, Himalaya translates to “home of snows.”) The image of Himalchuli was a bit hazy, but I was still delighted to see it. Not too far after Kundi came the town of Bulbhule. I entered it by crossing a bridge and walked through its main (indeed, only) street that was paved with flagstones and lined with guesthouses.

Ever since I’d left Pokhara the previous day my stomach had been feeling just a bit off. Not anything terrible, but enough to convince me to have only a small lunch in the town of Taranche. I had a large pot of ginger tea and a chocolate bar as I talked with the Dutch family of four who were some of the few others that had set out from Besisahar that morning. I wasn’t sure if it was the ginger tea or the rest, but I felt much better after lunch and hopped back out onto the trail.

I was a bit disappointed to see two large backhoes along the trail, digging earth in preparation for the construction of a bridge across the Ngadi Khola (a tributary of the Marsyandgi) that would allow the road to extend further along. Though the town didn’t bring all disappointment. I followed a group of schoolkids down and took a shortcut by wading across the river and also made my first writing implement gifts.

Throughout the day I’d been sharing the trail with many Nepali people, including several porters carrying absolutely huge loads from straps running across their foreheads and around their backs. One man in particular caught my attention as I came up behind and passed him. Though he was probably 20 or 30 years older than I he carried probably three times as much weight and had the most toned calf muscles I’d ever seen.

I didn’t have much in the way of trail guides (just a 1:125 000 scale map and four or so pages describing the trek in my Nepal guidebook, but what I had did manage to accurately characterize the climb that finished my day’s walk. It went past several hills covered in terraced farm fields, and was hot and dusty all the way up. I was quite pleased when I arrived at the town of Bahundanda which sat atop the ridge I’d just climbed. Though I didn’t want to walk any further, I was so charmed by the Superb View Hotel’s sign that I managed to drag myself up sixty more steps so I could stay there.

At this point I was tired, and thoroughly enjoyed the solar heated hot shower at my guesthouse. I wasn’t SO tired, however, that I couldn’t explore the town a bit. There wasn’t all that much to explore, but I did enjoy what I saw. Everyone I met was very friendly, especially the kids at the local school, who smiled, laughed and pulled each other around the dirt schoolyard on a sheet of thick plastic that they’d turned into a sort of sled.

My explorations complete, I sat and enjoyed some ginger tea (which re-settled my re-unsettled stomach) and chatted with the few fellow residents of the hotel. There were a pair of Germans (the sixth and seventh of seven who had left Besisahar that morning) and three French folks, who had hoped to walk the circuit, but had had their plans ruined when one of them pulled a hamstring on the first day of their walk. They hadn’t even managed to get any paragliding in (one of them had brought his paragliding rig with him!) because although the location was perfect, the high winds made it too dangerous (and if a paraglider says something is dangerous, you know it really must be truly DANGEROUS.)

That night at dinner I enjoyed some yummy Dal Bhat and some music, provided by the paragliding Frenchman who pulled a small accordion out of his porter’s bag (was there anything he HADN’T brought?!) I went to bed early (as I would do for almost every night of the trek) and snuggled up in my comfortable, if spare, room.

The next morning I was a bit late heading out on the trail, starting at 08:40, even though I took my breakfast of two plain chapattis with me to eat on the way. As with the previous day, my walk began with a long downhill from the ridge that Bahundanda sat atop, which was trying, if not actually painful on my knees.

My attempts to make up for the late start by walking fast amounted to little when I got stuck behind a man carrying large sheets of corrugated steel and a pony train on the narrow trail. This was probably all for the best, however, as it moderated my pace a bit and kept me from getting too tired too early. All around me in the Marsyandgi Khola valley (Khola means river in Nepali) were villages perched high up on the hillsides. I couldn’t help but wonder who on Earth had decided to build them in those seemingly nonsensical locations.

I spent the morning walking up the east side of the valley before crossing over the roaring river at the town of Syange where I took a quick rest and enjoyed an (already expensive, even this close to the road-end) soft drink before starting up the long, hard climb to Jagat.

On the way up I passed several patches of oddly familiar looking “weeds” by the side of the trail. I also ran into (not literally, they were up in the trees, and I down on the trail) a troupe of large monkeys playing about.

I’d been feeling a very light nausea all morning, and was relieved at the opportunity to stop for a rest and enjoy some ginger tea for lunch. As before it settled my stomach, but I still felt as though I’d been plodding along all day. I was only mildly reassured by the Dutch and German folks who I ate lunch with and who assured me that I was making quite reasonable time.

Towards the end of lunch, I realized that I’d received several nasty bites from some sort of fly on my ankles and lower legs. Given the fact that these bites were actually bleeding, it was hard to believe that I hadn’t felt a thing while it was happening! Still alive, if bloodied, I went to pay, and was invited into the kitchen to have a look by the lady who had made my tea. The interior of the guesthouse kitchens was invariably fascinating (and often very welcoming, since at higher altitudes they were the only warm places to be found.) The array of metal dishes, pots and pans on the shelves, it was explained to me are either part of a dowry or a semi-mandatory wedding gift (I couldn’t quite tell which.)

After lunch I made my way through the town of Jagat (notable for having been built in amongst a field of gigantic boulders) and back out into the Marsyandgi valley. It was here, just after Jagat that I got my first really spectacular views up the valley. While there weren’t any snow capped peaks just yet (I hadn’t seen any since glimpsing Himalchuli the previous day) the narrow, towering sides of the valley and the occasional towering peak intruding into it were spectacular enough. The distant, but surely huge, waterfalls I kept walking past only added to the wonder of the place.

In the mid afternoon paused to consider my options. I could stop at Chamje, or push on to the larger Tal, considerably further along. The rest and the cup of ginger tea I had while pondering convinced me. I felt good and strong, and ready to walk some more, and while the Tibetan woman who had served me the tea at her guesthouse was charming, she said that her daughter ran a guesthouse in Tal as well.

I headed on up the valley, and crossed the river to where yet another long hard climb began. While I was waiting for two older Nepali men to pass, I leaned to the side to give them room, putting my hand out to support myself against a large rock while doing so. Unfortunately I got a handful not of rock but of the stinging nettles that I’d seen along the trailside all day. I yelped in pain, and the Nepalis yelped in (not unkind) laughter.

I’m not sure if it was the adrenaline rush from being zapped by the nettles, or if I really was in good strong shape, but the first part of the climb flew past with almost no difficulty. I even passed a group of Nepalis who were carrying smaller loads than me (admittedly, some of them were old women and children, but it still felt like a small victory.) Up, up, up I went. The sky was starting to grow dark and the wonderful feelings of strength and determination I’d had earlier were fading.

Ahead of me I spotted a wall that seemed to cut off the lower part of the valley. As I approached closer, I realized that it was the remains of a huge landslide, and that I’d have to climb up it. It was a very draining climb, but the view when I reached the top was worth it. For two days I’d been walking through a deep, relatively narrow valley, and the wide plain with the river meandering through it that greeted me was a delightful change. Better still was the fact that Tal, my destination wasn’t at all far away.

I trudged into Tal, feeling emotionally, if not physically re-energized. Tal was a beautiful place, and felt almost like a town from the American Wild West. This had something to do with the architecture of the low wood buildings and the one long, narrow main street, and perhaps even more to do with the many young men riding ponies back and forth along the main drag.

Happy to be there, I found the guesthouse I’d been searching for (while Tal was busier than Bahundanda, I was still the only one there) and set about having a nice hot shower. As it turned out it was merely tepid, but it sufficed.

Before dinner, I walked down to the ACAP safe water station. At several points along the circuit, ACAP has set up water purification stations where ozonated water (the treatment units are run by solar power) can be purchased at cost. This was wonderful for people (like me) who had already grown tired of drinking yucky tasting chemically treated H20.

At dinner I sat and talked with the guesthouse proprietor (the Tibetan lady from Chamje’s son) by candlelight (while there was, to my surprise, electricity in Tal, it had gone off early in the evening.) To my surprise he, like the fellow in Besisahar went off on a rant against young Israeli travellers. While there are a lot of unpleasant stereotypes about them (noisy, impolite, tight fisted, etc. etc.) and some of these are even borne out pretty regularly, I had no idea what sort of experiences would lead to this kind of attitude from usually friendly Nepalis. I asked, but a few vague stories were all that could be provided.

As with the past couple of nights, I was lulled to sleep by the sound of rushing water from the Marsyandgi River nearby.

I woke the next morning with my hand still stinging a bit from the nettles (I could now see that I’d got nine stingers in a small patch of my palm) but feeling otherwise good. I headed out of Tal and on up the valley. Before too long the valley had narrowed again, and I was back in familiar terrain.

About thirty minutes out of Tal, rain started falling. While it wouldn’t have been entirely unwelcome on either of the previous days, I was already 2 600m up, and it was quite cool. And to tell the truth, it probably wouldn’t have been welcome even if it were warmer, because I just generally hate walking in the rain. Grrr.

The weather had a decidedly negative impact on my mood, and before long I was (in my mind at least) cursing almost everything I saw along the trail: mud, ponies, pony dung, the flies on the pony dung. Grrr. My mood wasn’t helped by the fact that I seemed to be doing nothing but climbing that morning (though in truth, it was still better than the constant up and down of previous days which meant that I had to keep working to gain the same altitude over and over again.)

The trip up the river actually was very pretty, but I only started to appreciate it after noon when the rain had stopped and the cloud began to clear. Shortly after this point, I passed through the town of Danaque, where, much to my surprise, I saw a familiar face. At a guesthouse near the end of town sat Emily, an Australian I’d met in Kathmandu. With her was Ilana, her Israeli walking partner. I sat down with the two of them and (since my stomach had started feeling better) enjoyed some actual food for lunch for a change.

When we were all done eating, we headed out of town together, with me feeling much more cheerful than before I’d stopped. This cheer was increased still further by the three little girls who followed us out of town. They talked and laughed, taking great pleasure in saying our (I’m sure to them) odd sounding names, especially “Ilana.” The girls walked abreast of and between us, grabbing on to our hands as they did so. Every now and then we’d pick them up and swing them along the path between a pair of us, which was clearly a source of great fun and laughter for them.

After a while the girls parted ways with us and climbed up on a large smooth rock, sliding down it several times, sometimes individually, sometimes as a group.

With the entertainment of our young companions behind us, the walk took on a harder face. The walk up seemed never to end, though, as noted earlier, it wasn’t exactly walking uphill that I minded, but rather walking up, then down, then up AGAIN.

On the positive side, however, the valley began to change. Trees started to envelope the trail around us, and before long we were walking in a full fledged coniferous forest. The effect on the valley was beautiful, and between the forest and the snow dusted peaks that had begun to appear around us, it reminded me a lot of the Rocky Mountains in western Canada.

In the late afternoon we arrived at the tiny village of Lata Marang. I’d already decided that this would be my stopping point for the evening (only reasonable, given the long walk of the day before) and to my pleasure the ladies decided to stop there as well. We set our packs down at the guesthouse, changed clothes, then wandered down the valley slopes to the riverbank and Lata Marang’s main attraction, the small hot spring by the river. We were led by the daughter of our guesthouse proprietor, a charming little girl who first pointed us to the rickety bridge across the river (I might not have believed we were actually supposed to cross the roaring torrent on it, had she not pointed it out very clearly) and then directed us to the springs, a couple of hundred metres further on.

While the pool wasn’t deep, it was wonderfully warm. The three of us barely fit in, and we had to lay down side by side to ensure only our heads were left out in the cold, but after the day’s walk (indeed, I’m sure at any time) sitting in the warm water while admiring the jagged mountains visible down the valley was an almost irreproducible experience. Even the idea of it was so wonderful that I smiled broadly and felt like giggling the whole way down from the village.

After soaking in the spring for about half an hour (Emily had suggested jumping in the undoubtedly frigid river nearby, and I would happily have done so were it a placid stream rather than a raging torrent) we climbed out, soaked a few sets of sweat-impregnated clothes, re-dressed and returned to our guesthouse for dinner.

Upon our return I dug out some chalk and pens for the girl who had led us down, and she was very pleased. As we ate, the sky cleared entirely and gave us a beautiful view of the mountains at sunset. Following dinner, I sat alone eating one of my chocolate bars when the guesthouse owner’s daughter appeared. She smiled and pointed at my last remaining square. “Oh… you’re asking a lot now,” I said to her, gravely, followed by a few similar things. Finally she grabbed it off the table and gobbled it up. I couldn’t help but smile.

The stars in the clear sky were very nice. Not quite up to the standard of the Cook Islands, or Northern Laos, but beautiful nonetheless. Before my early bedtime, I still managed to see a meteor and a couple of satellites overhead.

The next morning I was woken by the Emily and Ilana rising in the next room (Emily was one of those detestable early-riser types, though I’ll admit if it hadn’t been her, the children and radio downstairs would have had me up soon after.) I packed and stepped outside into the beautifully clear (if a bit chilly, at 2400m) morning. It appeared that the clouds and rain had pulled some of the dust out of the air, and for this I thanked them. The early morning light made the tall, stony peaks around Lata Marang even prettier than they’d been when we arrived.

As Ilana, Emily and I started walking, the forest continued around us, and soon was very thick on all sides. The soil had changed along with the vegetation. Now it was a greyish clay, often covered by pine needles. At this higher altitude the mule and pony dung and their attendant flies were, mercifully long gone. Instead, the smell of the pine trees was wonderful as we carried on up the trail.

Still in the early morning, we rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of a towering snow-capped peak between two nearer hills. Half an hour later, more of its group had come into view, and by the time we reached Koto, site of an ACAP checkpoint, at 09:30 a long line of mountains was visible in front of us. The girls went and sat on a hilltop at Koto, while I sat nearer the ACAP office, watching the world go by, including a Tibetan lady who said/sang a Buddhist mantra to herself as she drove her cattle past. After a nice long rest, we went into the ACAP offices and presented them with our permits and carried on still further up the trail. At this point we still weren’t seeing vast panoramas of snow capped peaks, but individual mountains and small groups of them seemed to appear with every corner we rounded.

Our next stop was the town of Chamre, a major centre in Manag region (where we’d been walking ever since Tal.) At this point, several days walk from the road end, “major centre” meant rather less than it might have, but it was still clearly a busy place, with many shops and even secondary paths leading off from the main trail through town. At Chamre we signed in at a police checkpoint (doubtless meant primarily to keep the Maoists under control) and carried on, ever upwards. Just before leaving Chamre we passed a beautiful collection of stones that had been carved, then painted with Tibetan characters, which obviously had some religious significance.

The walk to the next village, Bhratang, was a tiring one. Over its course we climbed a net 170m, but this was accomplished by going about 600m up and 430m down. Throughout all of this, I was plagued by a parched, scratchy throat, the first obvious sign that the thin dry air at this altitude was affecting me a bit. Despite, that, the sights just kept getting better and better as we walked. A new view of a snow covered peak seemed to be around every corner, and even at the much, much smaller level down on the ground there were still wonders to behold.

We’d each only had a small breakfast, and despite the distraction of the sights, the hard walking had given us powerful appetites, which were only fuelled by the long conversation about foods from home that engaged us as we approached Bhratang (mmm… Feta cheese with tomatoes and a nice vinaigrette…) When we finally arrived we each ordered a Dal Bhat (as I’ve explained before, Dal Bhat is the staple of the Nepali diet, and consists of rice, lentil soup, and vegetables. It’s usually served on a big metal plate, or Thali, and is all-you-can-eat.) Sitting in the brilliant afternoon sunshine with gorgeous mountains and traditional style Tibetan stone buildings all around made this a wonderful lunch break.

I’d actually planned to stop at Bhratang, but I was enjoying the company of Ilana and Emily, and carried on walking with them. As it turned out, the big lunch had been a big mistake. Walking was difficult as we headed back out onto the trail, which perhaps explained how I pulled well ahead of the girls. As I rounded a corner, I came across a small pile of something cold and white, if a bit dirty. It was in shade, but still sparkled somewhat. Was it? Could it be? Snow! It was the first snow I’d seen in what seemed like ages. I tossed a snowball at the girls’ feet as they rounded the corner. If I’d been happy to see the snow, Ilana was delighted. It was the first snow she’d EVER seen up close. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t pretty, but it was still her first, and for that a commemorative photo was deserved.

In amongst the giant peaks, we came to a bridge that wasn’t on my map. There was clearly no other way to go, so I carried on across it with the girls following along. Emily had zipped on ahead of Ilana and I, and by the time we got to the top of the steep hill after the bridge I had begun to worry a bit. Were we on the right track? There hadn’t been some other path that I’d missed, had there? Had I led everyone astray? The lack of traffic on the trail suggested I might have… But then the one recently constructed building we saw and the small, but noticeable amount of garbage on the trail suggested that I hadn’t. Thankfully we caught up with Emily and her “fairy of the wood” impression was amusing enough that I began to forget about it. And anything that hadn’t been cured by that was surely forgotten in light of the stunning mountain panoramas that we saw whenever the trees broke blew any other thoughts out of my mind. Most of the big snow covered summits had gone, but the lower, rocky peaks were still astonishing. Especially wonderful was the long, gently curved slope of solid rock with snow at its top. The low-angled sunlight shone off it, reflecting on the water that ran down the rock from the melting snow above.

By this point we were walking on snow most of the time (I was pleased I’d decided to wear my boots for the first time on the trek today — previously I’d been wearing sandals) and it was starting to get dark. Despite the wonder of the scenery, I was quite relieved when a couple of Nepalis leading mules passed us and said that yes, we were on the right track and no, it wasn’t far to Dukare Pokhari.

As they’d said, it wasn’t much longer before we arrived. After stopping we sat out on the deck of the guesthouse while the sun went down behind the mountains. Emily played her tin flute as the stars began to appear above us. I’ve no idea how she managed to play for so long, as it grew cold very quickly once the sun had disappeared. Finally, however, we all gave in and went into the kitchen where our dinner was being prepared over a wood fire. We all sat around the fire, warming ourselves (hands especially, and Ilana’s hands most especially) and talking with the owner of the guesthouse. It seemed that he had arrived not long ago from his winter home in Kathmandu. Apparently many of the guesthouse owners, especially the distant, high altitude ones, close up shop for the winter (when few trekkers brave the cold and snow) and move to warmer climes. Another interesting part of our talk with him was when he informed us that they had to import cheese from Kathmandu. “We used to have cheese here, but last year many yaks were killed in an avalanche.” This struck me as a spectacularly Himalayan quote, and I doubt I’ll ever forget it.

That night it was very cold in our unheated (as all of them along the trail were) rooms. We were at 3100m, and still, aside from a scratchy throat I wasn’t feeling any ill effects from the altitude. I suppose that I must have been feeling some fatigue, indeed, I’m sure some of the walking I’d been doing, which was rather hard work, would have been simple at sea level. This was hard to notice in action though, since the effect had been coming on so slowly as I walked a bit higher each day.

Despite my well being, I’d vowed to be careful from that point on. The effects of Acute Mountain Sickness, which can be unpleasant on its own and can turn into deadly pulmonary or cerebral edemas can start to manifest themselves in most people at 2500 or 3000m. At these altitudes, it becomes very important to drink lots of water, sleep no more than 500m higher each night and pay careful attention to symptoms such as headaches or dizziness.

From this point on the trail there were two possible routes to follow to the town of Manang: the easier, low altitude route, or a harder, less travelled but more spectacular high altitude route. Right from the start I’d planned on taking the high route, and I was happy that Emily and Ilana decided to join me. We set out from Dukure Pokhari, bound for the town of Ghyaru. Early in the morning we walked up the valley and then through the village of Upper Pisang. Pisang is a fairly sizeable centre, though relatively few trekkers get to the upper portion, some 200m above the lower town. From there it was another half hour or so to the base of the climb up to Ghyaru. During this walk, the REALLY spectacular mountains began to unfold themselves above Lower Pisang, on our left hand side.

We crossed over a bridge and then came to the daunting trail that we’d been waiting for all morning. It was almost 600m up to Ghyaru, along a trail of steep switchbacks with no breaks the whole way up. We started grimly out, marching up the slope. At this point I was grateful for the experience I’d already gained that had taught me that A. I needed to walk slow, but steady, and B. The size of my steps should be inversely proportional to the slope of the hill I was climbing. By following these lessons, I plodded up the hill, just behind Emily the whole way. We arrived at the top forty five minutes after we’d started, very tired and sore-throated but happy to be there.

We’d seen some of the mountain views as we climbed, but it was only at the top that we really had a chance to stop and appreciate them. And if anything, anywhere, has ever been worth appreciating the view of the Annapurna Massif from Ghyaru was. Annapurna isn’t just a single mountain (though the highest peak in the area, Annapurna I, is often referred to as simply “Annapurna.”) In fact it’s a huge upthrust block of rock that features many towering peaks. Indeed, in the Annapurna range there are no less than TWELVE peaks over 7000m (but only one, Annapurna I is over 8000.) The peaks in the photo above (if I managed to sort them out properly on my map) are, from left to right, Annapurna II (7939m), Annapurna IV (7525m), Annapurna III (7555m) and Gangapurna (7454m). These may sound large to some of you without further embellishment, but to add to it, I’ll just note that there isn’t a single mountain outside of the Himalaya (and its nearby sister ranges such as the Karakoram) that is over 7000m.

At the top of the hill Emily and I gratefully sat down at the first (and very pleasant) guesthouse we came to. As it turned out, there was a large group already there, featuring four Englishmen, a Kiwi couple and their respective guides and porters. Emily and Ilana had actually started the walk with them, and were very pleased to be re-united.

We sat and admired the sights (the crowd had left shortly after we arrived) and Emily, thoughtful trekking partner that she was, ordered a cup of tea and some biscuits so that they’d be ready and hot when Ilana arrived at the top of the hill. They were, and Ilana was a very happy lady upon completing the climb.

Lazing about Ghyaru for a bit, we enjoyed a leisurely lunch. A huge flock of crows drifted above the town, having more and more difficulty controlling their flight as the afternoon winds started to pick up (almost every day to this point, the transition from AM to PM was marked by an increase in the strength of the breeze. At lower altitudes, where the walking was hot, it was lovely, but at 3700m, it put a bit of a chill into one.)

The town of Ghyaru itself was quite a sight as well. The entire place seemed to be constructed of light brown stone, and bits of wood. All of it was well above the tree-line, but a lone tough old deciduous tree of some kind stood fast near the top of the hill we’d climbed to get there. All over the town were small very cute long haired goats that scampered to and fro. Not as numerous, but also scampering and equally cute were the children who resided in the village. I passed out a couple of pens, which meant that the recipients were quite pleased to pose for a photo (normally I feel uncomfortable taking pictures of people, but when I’ve already bought them off with writing implements, somehow that makes it okay.)

Before the narrative leaves Ghyaru, I’ll say one more time how awesome the views of the Annapurnas were from there. As incredible as the photos are, they still don’t come close to doing it justice.

I’d actually planned to stay in Ghyaru, but somehow or other with no one really pressing to do so, we departed from Ghyaru, headed for Manang, a ways down the trail. After lunch the trail headed further and further up. I wondered how high we were. Might we have been approaching 4000m? Every so often along the trailside, we’d come across a Tibetan Buddhist monument of one sort or another. It almost seemed odd seeing them on this (clearly) sparsely travelled trail.

I struck off quickly, and before long was well ahead of the two ladies. I stopped to wait for a bit, but then picked up and carried on, anxious to find a spot out of the wind. I finally did so when I arrived at the town of Ngawal. This was an odd place. Save for a few yak and goats, the sizeable town seemed almost uninhabited. There were people there, but it was only after Emily and Ilana had caught me up and we’d walked well into the town that we met any of them. Also intriguing were the regularly spaced piles of manure in the stony fields around the town. Presumably they’d later be spread around, but at this point in the agricultural cycle they looked decidedly odd.

Carrying on from Ghyaru we (mercifully) started down towards the floor of the valley again. By the time Emily and I arrived, Ilana was well behind, and for a few minutes we began to worry we’d lost here in a muddy area of poorly marked trail. Eventually we were re-united and carried on towards Manang.

By this time, Ilana was decidedly unhappy. We’d started off in the morning planning on a nice, short day, but it had turned into a marathon. She was very tired and sore from her ill-fitting pack, but gamely agreed to soldier on to Manang, in an attempt to catch up with some of their earlier walking partners, rather than stop at one of the small villages along the way. A snack of some dried fruit and chocolate rejuvinated all of us and we pushed ahead.

At the bottom of the valley the wind wasn’t nearly so strong, but the sky, which had been threatening all afternoon began to look very menacing indeed. Around the time we re-joined the main trail it began to snow, thankfully very lightly. The walk remained very pretty, but I think everyone was happy (and I KNOW Ilana was) when we finally arrived at Manang, elevation 3500m.

Emily had arrived before Ilana and I, and had already found their friend Chris at the Yeti Hotel. Displaying her stereotypically Israeli bargaining skill (though this was about the only way in which she fit the stereotypes) Ilana procured us a triple room with attached bath for a mere 100 rupees (on previous nights we’d actually often had free rooms in return for agreeing to eat our meals at the guesthouses, but Manang was a tougher place to bargain.)

That night we all headed upstairs and gathered around the woodstove with the other guests (who included the large group of Englishmen and their Nepali crew) and enjoyed a lively, warm evening. Especially given that it had started snowing rather hard since our arrival, this was MORE than welcome.

The next morning, I managed to sleep in for a bit. I hadn’t slept terribly well (a common occurrence at high altitudes) but fortunately we had (as recommended by most guide books and itineraries) planned to spend a day resting and acclimatizing to the altitude in Manang (of course the phrase “acclimatizing to the altitude” doesn’t really make sense. You acclimatize to climate, so really you ought to aaltitize or some such thing to altitude.)

After finally dragging ourselves out of bed, we went out into the freshly fallen snow to a nearby bakery and enjoyed an absolutely splendid breakfast of cinnamon rolls, fresh bread and yak cheese. (Lest you get the wrong idea, there hadn’t been such culinary delights anywhere else along the trail. Since Manang is so often used for a rest day, it has become very heavily developed for trekkers, sporting souvenir shops, dry goods stores, and even a small English language movie theatre.)

After breakfast I went back to bed for a few more hours, making up for lost sleep, before finally dragging myself out for a walk around town. I wandered up the main street and visited the ACAP office. There I was happy to learn that they were quite certain that Throng La (the high point on the trek) would be passable, even given the snow that had recently fallen in Manang (by this time it had abated, and much of it had begun to melt in the sunlight.)

It was recommended that during your acclimatization day you take a day-walk up to a higher altitude in order to prepare you for what was to come. I’d left it rather late, but still managed to haul myself up to the glacier viewpoint well above the town at 3900m elevation. The walk up wasn’t too hard, and on the way there I met Alex and Jo, the Kiwi couple from the day before, and their Nepali guide.

I’d hoped to spend a while at the top, breathing in some of the thinner air, but shortly after I arrived, the sky started to cloud again, and I saw a few snowflakes falling. The glacier was pretty despite the dark sky, perhaps it was this that made its ice appear more grey and less of that icy blue colour that most glaciers seem to have. I stayed around for a few more minutes to enjoy the sight of Old Manang from above (the newer part of town with all the guesthouses is to the right of the frame) and views on up the valley, but wanted to get down soon in case it started to snow hard.

Down at the bottom I met Emily and an (apparently drunk on Rakshi [Nepali rice whisky]) Chris headed up. By now the sky had cleared a bit more, and I wasn’t too worried for them, but I was still happy to be back down near Manang. Before heading back to town I made one last quick trip to the shore of a beautiful, small glacier fed lake. Sadly, it was mostly covered by ice and/or snow, but the few patches of its water that were visible were the same gorgeous aquamarine colour as Lake Louise and others like it in the Canadian Rockies.

On the way back into town I procured yet more bread and Yak cheese (it was very tasty, a bit like a milder parmesan, and unlike Yak’s milk [which is pink] it was an appetizing light yellow colour.)

I returned to our guesthouse for a light dinner and a bit more socializing. The English group’s guide said that, despite the day’s snow, he was quite certain that we’d be able to walk on the next day. This was given some credence by the fact that the sky began to clear as the sun dropped, giving us an absolutely beautiful mountain sunset.

Despite the fact that I’d slept a huge amount during the day, I had no trouble drifting off at night, and slept wonderfully, without any interruptions.

The Nepali guides proved right, as the next morning was incredibly bright and clear. I was very happy that I’d got to see some of the gorgeous mountain views that Manang had to offer before setting out. Upon waking, I chatted with Emily and Ilana for a bit. They were planning on spending at least on spending at least one further day in Manang, while I was keen on pressing on. I’d originally been planning on taking a nice slow walk, but the speedy pace of the past few days, in combination with my ever-evolving travel plans for the coming months had started to convince me otherwise.

I joined the two of them for a pleasant sunny breakfast in the upstairs dining room of our guesthouse before finally saying farewell. They’d been wonderful walking partners, and I was sad to leave them behind, though I’d also started to become fond of some of the others who were leaving that day, so I knew I wouldn’t be TOO lonely as I carried on.

That day’s walk proved to be a quick, though beautiful one. I headed away from Manang, looking back up the valley towards it. Manang was the last settlement of any size I’d see for several days. I passed Gunsang, the very last village on that side of Throng La an hour or so later. As I did, another large flock of crows floated over the town, with a beautiful mountain backdrop behind them. I was now well above the treeline, and from this point on life of any kind would be scarce.

I left Gunsang behind. I headed on up the beautiful valley knowing that ahead of me there were no more permanent settlements, just a few collections of guesthouses that would be my home for at least two nights to come.

Halfway through my short walk, I paused for a rest and to enjoy the cinnamon roll I’d brought with me from Manang. This had to have been one of the prettiest settings where baked goods have ever been consumed.

A mere three hours after starting, I arrived at my destination, Yak Kharka. I would happily have walked further, but Yak Kharka was 518m above Manang, and so further gains in altitude that day would have been unwise. I spent the afternoon chatting with (medical) Dr. Alex and Jo, Chris, and the party of Englishmen, who I will now, finally, introduce as Michael, Gary, Angus and Steven. I had the slightest of slight headaches during the afternoon, unsurprising, as I was now above 4000m. As we sat talking, snow started to fall outside, and by nightfall was coming down very heavily. It was bitterly cold outside as well, but thankfully my -7C sleeping bag was more than up to the challenge, as it had been all the way up.

We’ll break our entry here, as A. It’s becoming unmanagbly large and B. It will allow me to include all of the suspense, action and drama of the crossing of Thorong La in its own, singular entry.

Thanks this time are due to Emily and Ilana, who made the middle part of my walk up to Thorong La much more fun, interesting and sociable, as well as to all of the other wonderful trekkers and Nepalis I met along the way who made the experience such a wonderful one.

Tags: Nepal

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