Llew Wanders the World

The day after Tatopani was a long, long day of hiking. I’d dropped down to 1100m elevation, and had a lot to gain back before reaching Annapurna Base Camp. My departure from Tatopani marked the end of my time on the standard Annapurna Circuit route (normally circuiters head down to Beni, one or two days walk south of Tatopani) and the start of my transit over to the trail up to Annapurna Base Camp. The day’s walk started at 06:15, with a stroll through the beautiful outskirts of Tatopani, but soon got tougher. Almost immediately the trail started up again, climbing steeply up the wall of a side valley that led off from the Kali Ghandaki.

The area I was walking through struck me as being a truly “rural” area, rather than a “wilderness with villages” that the rest of the walk had led me through. Terraced fields were common, and villages were fairly frequent. This fact, in combination with the climbing had me feeling less than entirely happy. At every village I passed, children would pop their heads up and say one of two things: “Hello. Sweet?” or “Hello. Schoolpen?” often not even bothering with a hello or namaste before the request. This had earlier struck me as rather rude, and that morning it began to get thoroughly annoying. Perhaps my irritation had been building up for a while, but there was one moment (my heart thawed almost immeadiately after this nasty thought) that the next child who said “Hellosweet?” was going to get rapped on the top of the head with my walking stick. Instead, I reverted to my old response, which was to simply say “no sweet. And anyway, sweets are bad for you.”

The climbing continued, my mood somehow improving despite it. At the top of the first big climb of the day (there would be several) I received at once an inspiring view and a warning. After a stop for breakfast I arrived in Ghara, and was about to breeze through the town when I was stopped by a scruffily attired Nepali man who warned me that the Maoists were “just past here outside the village.” He suggested that I go back to the town and wait for 45 minutes or so until they disappeared. The fact that he owned a guesthouse and restaurant and suggested I wait there raised my suspicions, but he didn’t press me to buy anything, so I figured it was likely true. I talked with the man for a while and learned that the Maoists in the area had a set schedule of fees. Nepalis walking the trail were required to pay 100Rs per person. For foreigners trekking it was a one time payment of 1200Rs. Guesthouse owners were supposed to fork over 1000Rs per month, while teachers (who the Maoists apparently have an ideological beef with) are expected to hand over half of their 7000Rs monthly salary.

I talked with the man for a while, as he rolled up a joint (which I declined, before realizing he wasn’t even offering it to me) and then disappeared. I talked with his ten year old son for a while. The boy was a pretty decent artist for his age, so I donated most of my remaining pens to him. He was preparing for his Nepali language exam later that morning, having completed English the previous day and astounded me with the fact that he new the word “pitchblende” (a slightly enriched form of Uranium) a term of which most English speakers are probably unaware.

The guesthouse owner reappeared with the boys teacher, and began sobbing about his dead wife, the difficulty of his life and his troubles with the Maoists. My tone may suggest I was unsympathetic, which is untrue, though I had to agree with the teacher who suggested after a while that the man had a mental problem of some sort. The fellow disappeared again, abd reappeared, much more composed, and explained that he’d gone and checked and that the Maoists were gone now.

He followed me out of town and just before we left, spoke to a couple of nepali girls. With this, he dragged me into his sister-in-law’s house, and suggested I might like to purchase another cup of tea (I’d had one at his restaurant) since apparently not ALL of the Maoists were gone yet. I demurred, though I was beginning to become suspicious. Before much longer, I explained that I had really to depart. He insisted that he check up ahead once more. Thankfully this time he came back with news that, yes, all of them were gone now. The man followed me along the trail to a small Shiva shrine outside town (he said that his grandfather had built it) where he prayed briefly and wished me well as I headed on my way. All in all it was an odd and interesting (if perhaps unnecessary) 1.5 hour break.

After my break I continued through the lush, terraced fields and villages at an even quicker pace. Until, that is, I arrived at the next big hill. I marched my way slowly up (though, I liked to think, not quite as slowly as I would have without ten days of walking behind me) passing several Nepali porters on their ways up and several trekking groups on their ways down. Earlier in the day I’d assumed that not many trekkers would use this trail, since it was part of neither the Annapurna Circuit, nor Base Camp treks, and since it seemed to me Maoist-infested. That had obviously been due to the earliness of the hour. I learned that most of the groups I met were part of organized treks doing shorter loop routes that didn’t take them so far from Pokhara.

While the climb was tough, it rewarded me with some beautiful views of flora and fauna. On one flatter portion I saw several fabulous birds, with bright orange beaks, blue-grey plumage and long, long tail feathers that stretched out behind them as they flew. Near the top of the hill I caught sight of my first rhododendron tree.

The rhododendron is Nepal’s national flower, and I’d timed my trek almost perfectly, as the trees were in bloom during it. There were none to be seen on the Annapurna Circuit, but both on this transitional walk, and on the trek up to ABC, they abounded. The blooms could be found in pink, cherry red and a brilliant blood red colour that was my favourite of all.

The very peak of the climb was the town of Chitre. I stopped there for lunch, which I enjoyed with a British-Swiss couple and an older man who said he was Canadian, and from “the Southern Province.” At first I didn’t get it, but then he explained that he was in fact from San Francisco, but the maple leaf on his hat and his claims of Canuckitude were meant for the Maoists, who have a particular dislike of Americans.

At lunch I learned that the shorter, secondary route towards Tadapani (my intended destination) that branched off at Chitre was definitely viable. I’d been given varying adivce about it, but the American man said he’d walked it himself, and the restaurant owner said yes, it was definitely the better choice. I headed off towards the intersection, planning on bypassing Ghorapani and Poon Hill (known for their spectacular mountain views [I’d already had lots of them though]) on my way to Deurali and Tadapani.

The first portion of the back route was a delight: a long, moderately graded descent into a river valley. It went downhill, or, rather, uphill from there, however. The trail (which was faint at times, but never hard to find) led slowly up through a sparsely wooded valley. Many of the trees were Rhododendrons, though for some reason most of them were pink rather than the red ones I really loved. The trees of the forest, rhododendron and otherwise were gnarled, mossy things, which gave the forest something of a spooky air as the sky clouded and the sun sunk. There was very little growing on the forest floor, but what was there was delightful. The majority of undergrowth was beautiful flowering shrubs that perfumed the air with their sweet smell. Their scent was something like Lily of the Valley. Or was it Lilac? With no comparison at hand I couldn’t be sure, but the flowers looked quite a bit like lilacs, so perhaps that was it.

Save for the forest, the trail that led through the woods was virtually empty. In the three hours it took me to traverse it I met just two Nepalis and one sheep dog, who took his job quite seriously. When I came across it and the flock, the dog sat in the middle of the trail, barking, barking and growling. I stared at it, not knowing what to do. I stood as tall as I could and fixed my eyes on the dog. After about five minutes more of barking, it stopped and I carried on up the trail. As I approached, it slunk away, leaving me to walk through the flock alone.

Shortly after my canine encounter, I met a much more difficult foe: a monstrous hill leading up through the forest. The trail was steep the whole way up, and the walking surface was often loose dirt. The sky had grown quite darkm and I’d even felt a few raindrops. This, in combination with the spooky forest and earlier stories I’d heard of (several years in the past) robberies on this trail made me feel nervous indeed.

I climbed and climbed, the hill seeming never to end. Later, looking at my map, I learned why. The climb was almost 900m vertical! Understandably I was very, very happy when I reached the town of Deurali at the top. In Deurali a woman encouraged me to stop for the night, but I was certain I’d have no trouble making it to the next village, if not all the way to Tadapani.

Departing Deurali, once again down a steep hill, I found myself in similar forest, walking on an almost equally deserted trail. It ran through a tall, narrow gorge, seemingly devoid of life. On this leg, I met a flock of sheep, this time with an actual shepherd, instead of just a dog, and a young Nepali man smoking marijuana who almost scared the wits out of me when he whistled a few times and then appeared, seemingly from nowhere when I was taking a photo of the small hydro installation that provided power for nearby towns.

Along its length, the gorge hosted one small town, Banthanti. The American fellow at lunch had said it was terribly boring, but I actually thought it was a nice little place. The residents were very friendly as well. Even those who owned guesthouses seemed primarily concerned that I not get caught out in the dark. Instead of insisting that I shoudl stop there, they gave me (what seemed to be) very reasonable estimates of walking times, and noted that there were a couple of solitary guesthouses between Banthanti and Tadapani that I could stop at if I needed to.

Soon after the narrow gorge ended, with the river at its centre dropping sharply into a wide valley below. The trail followed the top of the valley, then joined the rim of a still larger valley that was a beautiful sight. Both sides of the valley were covered from top to bottom with pink rhododendron trees. It was quite dark by this point, but the thousands of pink spots of the rhododendron flowers were still quite visible.

Before long the trail threw down its last challenge of the day, which I met ably. It dropped down into the main valley, climbing steeply down the wall, before rising equally steeply up the other side. I’d been climbing for perhaps 25 minutes when I met a Nepali man on his way down (the first fellow walker I’d seen in perhaps five hours) who told me that Tadapani was a mere five mintues further.

I was overjoyed to emerge from the dark of the forest into the ridge-top town, where I had a pick of several guesthouses. I searched around until I found one that appeared to have other English speaking guests (I’d done this a few times on the trip. Due to the fact that it was very early in the season, and the general lack of tourists, I often ended up as the sole guest in a hotel) and found a delightful one at the top of the hill.

That night I had a very pleasant chat with the English and Scots who were staying there, and amazed them with the fact that I put away three huge plates of Dal Bhat. I was quite physically tired from the day’s walk, but still managed to stay up until 23:30 so that I could finish the book I was reading (I’d actually brought four with me, but had been giving them away when finished to lighten my pack) and trade it in at the exchange. They had a book exchange! Admittedly, there were only two English books there, but one of them was one I’d wanted to read.

As with the day before I left Tadapani early in the morning, before 07:00. In the clearer (though still hazy) morning sky, I got my first look at the Annapurna range from a southern vantage point.

The day began with a long, steep climb down through a beautiful sweet smelling (more of those lilac-like things) rhododendron forest. The trail flattended out into a clearing where I had breakfast and admired the flowering trees that covered the hills above.

The flattening out was short-lived, as almost immediately afterwards the trail started down an even longer, steep slope covered in houses and terraced fields. I wasn’t looking forward to the climb back up from all this descent. Thankfully it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, as the climb back up was a long, slow one that took me through first more terraced fields, then through a sort of hillside brush that included bamboo, other grasses and rhododendron trees. I was so enjoying the walk, that I even took a high route (which involved at least 100m of extra climbing) for no particular reason.

The path returned to the terraced fields shortly before the town of Chommrong. I got ever so slightly lost and found myself walking along the maintenance paths through people’s farms, but as usual the friendly Nepalis pointed me in the right direction with a minimum of fuss.

My arrival in Chommrong marked the end of my “transit” walk. There I joined the usual Annapurna Base Camp route, which I’d follow in one direction or another for the remainder of my trek. My arrival at Chommorng also marked the end of the blue skies I’d been enjoying all morning. Clouds had appeared above and wouldn’t disappear for any length of time until well after my arrival at ABC the next day. After picking up a few supplies and relaxing with a soft drink (a great luxury, given the price) I started to descend through the sprawling town. As I passed the school I stopped to drop the remainder of my pens in the donation box, and was immediately surrounded by a group of children. Despite stern words from their teacher which I suspected were something along the lines of “stop bothering tourists who are trying to make donations to the school,” a large number of them followed me down the flagstone steps. A few of them grabbed onto and held my hands (fine) or my walking stick (irritating, but I was feeling cheerful so I didn’t really mind) as we descended.

One by one my companions disappeared until there was only one left, a young boy of… five maybe? carrying a black and white shoulder bag and wearing a pink tuque. He grabbed my hand, and as we carried on down the steps I’d occaisionally lift him up by one arm and swing him down the stairs alongside me. He so clearly enjoyed this that I couldn’t resist picking him up and carrying him over my shoulder for a while as well. His laughter and smiles suggested he liked this equally well 🙂

We eventually reached the bottom of the steps and started on up the far side of the valley, still hand in hand, which got us big smiles from everyone walking in the opposite direction, Nepalis and foreiginers alike. I began to worry a little about where exactly I was taking the young man, but he seemed to respond affirmatively when I asked if he was going home, and this was confirmed by a brief chat with a couple of Nepali men we met on the way.

As we climbed we carried on a conversation. It might be truer to say that we carried on two monologues, as we both spoke little of each others’ language. I had enough Nepali, however, to know that he was looking for a drink when he said “pani.” We made several pani stops, during which he not only enjoyed a drink from my bottle (which was far to big for him) but also an exploration of my pockets. He was fascinated by all they contained, especially the camera and sunglasses, but he was always very careful with them and made sure to return them to the proper pocket when he was done.

Finally, after a long, long, walk we arrived at Sinuwa, his village. The boy was a stout little trooper, obviously, as he had to make this hour long walk up and down steep hills every single school day!

When I left the boy and his village behind, I was also leaving the last permanent settlements on the route as well. From there on in, there were no villages, only a few little collections of villages whose locations had been selected by the Annapurna Conservation Area Project, who managed the ABC trekking route very carefully. Aside from the restrictions on guesthouse locations, the ACAP people also insist that all cooking in the area be done with kerosene (no firewood can be cut along the route) and that no water or beer bottles are sold anywhere along the way.

After Sinuwa, the path climbed into a rhododendron forest that looked much more lush and green than those I’d seen previously. I walked through this for a long, long time (this was one of the few instances where time estimates proved to be un-conservative) before arriving at the bamboo forest that marked the gateway to the Bamboo guesthouse group. The walk to Bamboo had been annoying not lonly because of the length, but because it was mostly DOWN hill. I would have seen this if I’d looked at the map, but I hadn’t been expecting it on a walk UP to a Himalayan base camp, and it was very hard on my knees.

Fate seemed determined to ruin the good mood that I’d started the day with. I really wanted to make it to at least Himalaya that day, so my walk to ABC wouldn’t be too too long, and given how long food preparation took, I figured I would have to forgo lunch and just have some chocolate and water on the trail.

Thankfully things improved after Bamboo. I met a group of large Langur monkeys about twenty minutes after the guesthouses, and while they kept their distance, seeing them cheered me. Better still, I reached the next guesthouses at Dovan far quicker than anticipated, and also ran into a Scots couple who I’d met on the bus to Pokhara. They let me know that the walking went very quickly from this point on, and I could almost certainly make it not only to Himalaya, but all the way up to Deruali that day! Good news, especially given that they would have been a bit slower due to the presence of their 9 or 10 year old son.

It started raining shortly after my departure from Dovan. Although it was clold, the rain was light, and didn’t detract much from the walk, since visibility had been poor even before it began. As the rain started, I passed a porter sitting down near the small shrine to Goddess Annapurna that was located at the trailside. Shortly afterwards he started walking again, making odd noises behind me as he did so. This made me oddly nervous, and I tried to keep ahead of him, but to no avail. As it turned out, he was a friendly enough fellow, and there had been no cause for concern.

I headed off into the forest with a new sense of purpose. As promised, I made it to Himalaya early, at 16:30, leaving, it seemed, loads of time to make it up to Deurali.

As I carried on up from Himalaya (and now it was almost entirely uphill. The last downward slopes were left behind at Bamboo) the trees started to disappear from the valley. Before long the most prominent colours had changed from rich green to yellow and brown. The only green vegetation came in the form of a few small wildflowers and large downy light green plants that bore a vague resemblance to cabbages.

The rain was harder now, and my ascent had taken me up into the clouds, and my spirits had clouded in turn. In the rain I came across a 30m wide snow field (thankfully well compacted enough that my sandal-clad feet didn’t sink in) and then an unbridged stream that was a bit tricky to cross. The cloud had darkened the sky significantly, even though it was still well before the usual sunset. I was getting anxious to reach my destination, which, happily appeared not long after the stream crossing.

I lumbered into the first of Deurali‘s four guesthouses and plunked myself down, only moving from the warm dining room, which I shared with a pair of Germans and their guide, once bedtime came.

It was the first time in several days that I hadn’t set my alarm. The day’s walk planned to be nice and short, and there was no real need to (it amused me to think that by this point in my trek, an 800m ascent, starting at 3300m and continuing up for four hours seemed like an EASY day’s walk.) Under normal circumstances this section of the ABC trek was under threat from avalanche and needed to be crossed early (the only common trekking route in Nepal that faced such threats) but I’d asked several people and they assured me that there wasn’t nearly enough snow about to make avalanches a concern.

Even without my alarm, I was on the trail by 08:00 in the cloudy morning, following in the footsteps of the German pair I’d shared the hotel with. This was fortunate, as a landslide had closed the usual trail, and the new path, which veered onto the east side of the valley after crossing an improvised wooden bridge, was not easy to follow. I lost track of the pair and their guide briefly, during which I managed to lose the trail for a few minutes, but before long I’d found it and them once more.

Just after the trail re-joined the usual path on the west side of the valley. I came across the first obvious avalanche chute, with a pile of snow at its bottom, and with water running down the slope above.

The clouds made the valley look dark and foreboding as I headed up towards Machhupuchhre Base Camp, the last stop before ABC (many people stop at MBC for a day to acclimatize to the altitude, but since I’d recently been 1300m higher than ABC, I had no such need.) As I approached MBC, the skies (briefly) showed their favour, and I actually got to see a few of the mountains around me as I ate breakfast with a few other trekkers outside one of the MBC lodges.

The clearing didn’t last long. Just before I set out for the last leg of my walk, the clouds came back thicker than before. Snow had started to cover the trail just before MBC, and it continued without break all the way up to ABC. While the clouds made for very poor visibility, and the walk was uphill all the way, it was still NOTHING compared to the climb over Thorong La. The trail had already been walked that day by people headed down from ABC, and there hadn’t been any recent snow, so there was no danger of losing the path. While the snow was deep, the trail was compacted enough that I only sunk into it a few times on the walk up.

I was very surprised on the way up when I saw a few insects flitting about the cloud, and even heard some bird songs from off in the distance. I couldn’t imagin them possibly finding anything to eat up there… had they been blown up accidentally or something? Also surprising was how HOT I was while climbing up. The sun was deadened by the clouds, I wasn’t wearing heavy clothes, and snow was all around, but I still had to pause regularly to wipe the sweat from my brow, lest it drip into my eyes. Indeed, I later learned that a pair of Englishmen managed to get quite badly sunburned on the way up, despite the overcast conditions.

I’d been walking in the heat up from MBC for about 1.5 hours when all of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, the ABC collection of lodges materialized out of the cloud in front of me. I was delighted to step into the dining hall of my guesthouse and find it very cosy, despite the fact that the heater wasn’t yet turned on.

I spent most of the day sitting in the dining room reading, as with the cloud about there was absolutely nothing to see or do outside. Apparently the weather had been like this at ABC for the past two days, and the camp was particularly crowded, as many people were waiting around for a view of the mountains before heading back down. Also adding to the busyness of the place was a group of about a dozen German mountaineers who were camping nearby, hoping to ascent one of the lower peaks in the area, a plan which had so far been stalled by bad weather.

There was one brief moment of excitement during the afternoon when the clouds lifted for a period of about twenty minutes. It began with a patch of blue sky near Machhupuchhre, and at various times almost every section of the skyline became visible, at least partially and briefly. Before long, however, the clouds returned, and left me to spend the afternoon pondering whether I’d spend another night at ABC if they didn’t clear by morning.

Thankfully it didn’t come to that. The next morning, when I woke at 05:30 there wasn’t a cloud to be seen anywhere. I seemed to be the first one up and about, and walked up the moraine that formed the high point at the base camp all by myself.

On this morning, it was finally easy to see why the area around ABC has been called The Annapurna Sanctuary. For 360 degrees around, the skyline was covered with towering snow capped peaks, ridges and glaciers. The entrance we’d walked up was hidden from view, and aside from it the lowest entrance to the sanctuary would be well over 5000m.

Up on the moraine I saw Annapurna I for the first time in the very first light of the day. As the sun rose higher and higher it lit each of the mountains in the sanctuary more and more brightly before finally its first direct rays hit Annapurna I, then Annapurna South, Tent Peak and then Hiunchuli. As I saw watching this beautiful panorama slowly coming to life, and listening to the snow crunch underfoot, the opening lines of the Rheostatics Midwinternight’s Dream ran through my head… Sweet sweet silence… In the winter’s time…

The peace of the early morning and the giant peaks surrounding me made this the most memorable mountain vista of the entire trek. And on a walk like this, that’s saying something.

By 07:30, the whole of the sanctuary was lit, and most everyone was satisfied to start heading down, having experienced what they had come for. We marched down towards MBC, small groups forming and disolving as we walked. I kept looking back at the incredible sight of the Sanctuary behind me, and was actually reather pleased that it had been revealed to me all at once than bit by bit as it would have been if my climb up were clear.

At first the snow was frozen on top, and it was easy to walk on the smooth ground away from the trail, but before long the suns rays had started to go to work and I began punching through regularly.

As I turned the corner at MBC and left the sanctuary behind, I was greeted by a view down the Modi Khola valley that, at almost any other time would have been the prettiest thing I could dream of seeing in the day. As I walked down the valley, clouds started to roll up it, and before long I was walking in them once again (though before I was completely surrounded, I had managed to walk down a bit and see what I’d missed on the climb up.) I’d passed the pair of friendly Germans and their guide as we entered the valley and was unsurprised when as I neared Deurali I realized I’d lost my way. I’d passed the bridge leading from the new trail back to the main one and walked on the wrong side of the river for five or ten minutes before a friendly Nepali who was chopping wood (I didn’t think they were supposed to do that there…) pointed out my error.

Once I’d got back on the correct trail, I sped down towards Chommrong, pausing briefly after Deurali for breakfast under some towering rocky slopes that were revealed by a break in the clouds. At this point, having left the last of the snow behind, I also took off my boots, pants and gaiters and was happy to be walking in shorts and sandals again. Shortly thereafter, I met a big family group of fellow Canadians walking up the trail. There were nine of them in total, ranging in age from eight to forty seven.

I won’t bother explaining the further details of the walk down through the forest, as they were similar to those on the way up, especially since the clouds thickened on the way down. As I entered Sinuwa, I spotted my young friend from a couple of days before. He hardly seemed to recognize me. It also started to rain at Sinuwa, and by the time I’d climbed down and then up the valley into Chommrong, the precipatation had become heavy. Thankfully I came across a guesthouse whose apple rolls (basically a fried apple pie) had been highly reccomended, so I ducked in for a very late lunch and to get out of the wet.

While eating, an air ambulance landed just uphill from me, perhaps to help a group of Australians I’d heard about, one of whom had severe Acute Mountain Sickness symptoms at MBC, but headed on up to ABC anyway…

Also as I sat around at lunch, I spoke with an Englishman who was quite experienced in Himalayan trekking (he’d gone over Thorong La in JANUARY!) and his guide. They suggested a route back to Pokhara that was even more direct than the one I’d already planned, a piece of information I was quite happy to have.

I’d been givng thought to stopping in Chommrong, but the rain seemed to have stopped, so I hoisted my pack and continued on. From Chommrong the trail headed down an incredibly long and steep staircase to the town of Jhinu. I’d planned on stopping there and enjoying its hot springs, but when I discovered that they were a 15 minute walk away down and then back up a steep hill, my already sore knees thought better of it.

Illogically, I decided to carry on walking still further down from Jhinu, across a couple of small rivers, then back up. As I did so, thunder boomed in the distance. The first time I heard it I wasn’t altogether certain that it wasn’t a huge landslide, or perhaps even artillery fire off in the distance, but its regularity and frequency convinced me of its atmospheric origins.

I ended my day’s walk at the town of New Bridge, elevation 1340m, having descended almost 3000m over the course of my day’s walk. I discovered that I was the only guest in any of the three guesthouses in town, and later learned that the economy of the place had been suffering since both the new AND the old bridges there had been washed away in a flood.

I sat around in the outdoor dining area watching the rain (which started positively pelting down after my arrival) and trying to fend off the attentions of a very drunk middle aged Nepali woman. She’d originally caught me looking at the large map and table of walking distances on the outside wall (most guesthouses in the region had these) and had grabbed on to my hand. At one point she even wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my chest, making kissing sounds (and presumably actions) while doing so. I later learned that she was visiting from a neighbouring village and had started drinking at noon that day and was, of course, unable to walk home. The residents of New Bridge were understandably embarassed by her presence.

Later that night I went inside and chatted with the owner of the guesthouse and his neighbour. I have to admit that by this point I was quite enjoying the looks of astonishment I got, both from trekkers and Nepalis when I explained where I’d walked from each day. I had yet another meal of Dal Bhat (not so big this time, since with only one customer they couldn’t make too huge an amount, in case I DIDN’T request lots of refills) and had my first night’s warm sleep in quite some time.

The next day–my last on the trail–proved to be something of an anticlimax unsurprising, really, given that it was essentially the walk OUT of the mountain wilderness. I departed New Bridge, saying goodbye to my last close view of the mountains, and started towards Naya Pul. (Interestingly, Naya Pul means “New Bridge” in Nepali, so I would spend the day walking from New Bridge to New Bridge.)

The trail was fairly flat at to begin, but soon started uphill. This left me wondering if it could really be the supposedly smooth path by the riverside that I was meant to be following. I decided it couldn’t be and walked down towards the river, and the barely visible walking trail along its bank. Soon the trail faded even further, and it became necessary to climb up and over some large riverside boulders to carry on near the banks. The first set of rocks wasn’t so bad, but the second was a bit slippery, and the presence of the powerfully rushing river just below had me a bit nervous. Stubborn fellow that I was, it wasn’t until after I’d clambered up the third set of boulders (painfully crunching two of my toes between head-sized stones in the process) that I finally admitted that this WASN’T the real trail. I retraced my steps and headed on up the hill that had sent me on the wild goose chase to begin with.

There was quite a bit of up and down on this portion of the trail, but it was soon evident that it WAS following the west bank of the river, and was obviously the correct path. It was very obvious that I was on my way out of the wilderness, and the distant rural areas as well. Farms started to appear regularly, and soon the entire slopes of the valley were under cultivation.

After one final big downhill, across the river from the town of Landruk, the path turned into what I’d been expecting: a wide, flat, smooth trail with fairly heavyu traffic. The nature of the foot traffic provided further signs that I was on my way out. I passed several organized trekking groups, doubtless on their way up to Poon Hill, as well as porters carrying “urban” type products such as reinforcing steel for concrete and molded plastic chairs.

Once I hit the town of Surali Bazaar, with its well organized fields, the urbanization really began to speed. The trail became still wider (it could have passed for a road at this point) and more garbage started to appear around its edges.

Five hours of walking put me in the town of Birethanti, last stop before Naya Pul. From there it was ja very short walk up to the road end, and it showed in the buildings, which were made mostly of corrugated steel or concrete, rather than the wood and stone that had dominated the more distant villages.

Naya Pul itself was almost depressingly normal. Shops selling watches, radios, cosmetics and the like, filled the streets. There were cars, trucks and motorcycles throughout the small town. Indeed, the only things that really identified it as the start (or end) of a great walkway were the mules standing about, ready to be loaded up for the climb into the hills.

I walked through the hard dirt streets of Naya Pul, then up a steep slope which led to the main highway to Pokhara. My first glimpse of the road was as I came over the top, leaving my eyes level with the blacktop. I sat down at one of the several roadside restaurants and munched on a couple of Samusas while waiting for a Pokhara bound bus to come along. It didn’t take long, and I climbed aboard, plunking myself down in the front seat of the bus, with my pack on the seat beside me, as suggested by the conductor (one interesting thing I’d noticed about travelling on local buses in Nepal is that the ever-hospitible Nepalis always insist on foreigners [or me at least] taking the largest, most comfortable seat near the front of the bus, and that they insist on giving your bag a seat as well, even if it means that they themselves have to stand in the aisle. Eventually I convinced them that I didn’t mind carrying my pack on my lap.)

The bus ride to Pokhara was fine, passing through small villages and terraced fields, with occaisional views of pretty hills or mountains, but I’d been spoiled for these sorts of sights by the trek I’d just finished. For most of the trip I read or talked with the school teacher who sat next to me, and I was very happy to arrive back in “civilized” Pokhara. The conductor pointed out the best spot for me to disembark and I climbed off the bus, and just a moment later climbed on a local city bus that took me to the tourist centre of Lakeside. I was at the opposite end of the district from my guesthouse, but twenty minutes of walking along a city street, even with my pack, seemed positively breezy.

I returned to the Mount Kaliash Hotel (and once again, I’ll reccomend the place to anyone heading for Pokhara) and was met with smiles and warm greetings by the ladies at work there.

That evening I revelled in a warm shower, put on the nicest, cleanest clothes I could manage and headed out for the big dinner that I’d been promising myself as a reward for completing the trek.

I decided to give Asia one more chance to do western food, and this time it wasn’t bad… I had a tasty bruschetta, quattro stagionni pizza and home made chocolate mint gelato for dessert (the fresh mint was sooooo good.)

The delicious meal, along with the blissful sleep in a warm, soft bed that night seemed to draw my Annapura Odyssey to a close, and so it shall do with this narrative.

In the end my trek took me 17 days, instead of the 25 I planned (I was quite pleased with this… 17 days is pretty quick for the circuit alone, not even considering ABC as well.) I didn’t feel that I missed out on much because of my quick pace. Along the trail, I experienced most of the same things that any walker would, and perhaps some they would not, as a result of to the ridiculously early starts I had some mornings. Due to late arrivals and early starts I may have missed out a bit on life in the villages, but I still had a nice sampling of it on short walk/rest days.

Pretty much nothing went wrong on the whole trip. My knees were sore for a couple of days, but physically that was it. No AMS, no sprains or twists, not even so much as a blister. I wasn’t robbed, even though I took some infrequently used back trails through the forests. I didn’t even run into any of the Maoists who often demanded money from trekkers.

I’d highly reccomend this walk to anyone. Combining the Circuit and ABC lets you see many aspects of the Nepal Himalaya that you’d miss out on if you did only one of the two. Given that I did the entire thing at a quick pace with a 15 or 16kg pack, I’m quite confident that anyone in even moderate shape would be able to manage just fine with the aid of a porter.

Thanks once again to everyone I walked with, stayed with or even exchanged a “namaste” with on the trail. All of you made what was already a walk of a lifetime even more memorable.

Tags: Nepal

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