A scene from one of the thousands of erotic carvings that cover the ancient temples of Khajuraho.
インド・カジュラホは、10世紀後半から12世紀前半までチャンデラ朝の都として栄え、最盛期には80以上の寺院が立ち並んでいたという。現存する22の寺院の壁は多数のミトナ像（男女交合増）で覆われ、あっけらかんとエロティックな姿を晒している。
![Everyone says that ‘nothing really prepares you for India’, that sprawling explosion of humanity that is sole survivor to the world’s classic civilizations. We approached […]](http://meltingplots.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/DSC6521.jpg "Encountering India")
Everyone says that ‘nothing really prepares you for India’, that sprawling explosion of humanity that is sole survivor to the world’s classic civilizations. We approached India full of tales of its extremes of poverty, destitution and turbulence; blended with the endless fascination of its mysticism, history, sights and religious fervours. Ideas all spiced perhaps by minor insights gleaned through intersecting interests in music, cricket, bollywood, Indian food and IT. Many people have told me that I would start loving India the moment I left and that this love would grow every day thereafter – an insight perhaps into both the trials ahead and the constitution of the purveyors of such advice 😉
With such advice ever present in our minds though, we entered India keenly excited to forge our own paths and tales, tempered I guess with a sense of expectation or even trepidation at the experience ahead. Surprisingly though this shock never really came and instead it has been superseded by an endless series of fascinating encounters and adventures, each uniquely amazing and engaging in its own right, but all strangely disappointing in their inability to match the dreaded hype. Perhaps though, we had simply just found the answer to that cryptic metaphor – nothing prepares you for India… except perhaps Nepal?
Jeep ride to the Border
From the moment we crossed the Indian / Nepali border at Saunali & cautiously hastened to meet the India we had read, seen and heard so much about; we embarked on a series of escalations in crowd, colour and scale, somewhat equally balanced by an unexpected, but significant improvement in both safety and infrastructure from the Nepal that we had left behind. Having just survived the busride from hell from Pokhara, care of a drunk demonically possessed, mobile wielding driver; a journey that bonded its foreign passengers for life through the shared miracle of survival. Thus connected, we teamed up with a Canadian couple in Lumbini (birthplace of Buddha) for the walk across the Indian border and having been forewarned by a Japanese woman about her friends being robbed by bandits on the bus to Varanasi, we instead decided to grab a share jeep to Gorahkpur (2-3 hours away) to catch a train.
We had literally been in the country 10 minutes, when our jeep was pulled over by the local Mafia. A large, well-built Indian wrenched open the door & proceeded to try and physically intimidate us into separating us from our train tickets (in order to buy new fake ones) or else be escorted from the country. Surprised, flustered and pissed at the confusing intrusion, we somehow managed to dodge the scam and pull away in a heightened state of tense, nervy euphoria. The rest of the passengers in the jeep (mostly Indians & Nepali’s) simply sat there placidly throughout, pretending as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened & perhaps that was the case. Welcome to India!
After an otherwise uneventful and almost enjoyable drive through hazy, rural plains (Indian roads were a vast improvement on Nepali roads & buses) we reached Gorahkpur where we caught an overnight train to Varanasi, a trip of some 10 hours. At Varanasi station, as we waited to book ongoing tickets at the tourist office before embarking – tales from other travellers began to float to the surface, (this seems to happen almost religiously among travellers in India). After numerous warnings about the scams awaiting us outside the door, one Spanish guy then told us how had been taken aside by an Indian guy in uniform at Delhi station and escorted to an official looking room on the station platform where they forced him into booking an expensive hotel, train and taxi to the value of US$300. (None of which existed) – the taxi then dropped him off in the middle of nowhere. Another British girl then told us how she had been on a bus when the driver had hit and killed a person on the road. The angered villagers had then stormed the bus, pulled the driver off and beaten him to death. Her advice if we ever witness an accident – don’t hang around to watch, get out of there as soon as you can (something we ignored a short time later when our rickshaw driver hit someone in a crowded market and got pulled out of his seat and into a fist fight)!
Coupled with our own paranoia though, these stories seemed to resonate seamlessly with the ominous threat posed by the vulture like heads of the rickshaw touts, as they repeatedly peered into the windows of the station booking office at us – sensing fresh prey. With nowhere further to hide and working as a four team unit with our Canadian friends Jo & Ian, we took some deep breaths, shouldered our packs and plunged into the ether of Varanasi station and our first real taste of India.
Varanasi
Varanasi is India’s holiest, oldest and most confronting city. From the moment you leave the station, rickshaw touts & taxis maul you for attention. Later hotel and boat touts, begging Sadhu’s, kids selling flowers / candles, street food vendors or the ‘hand massage’ scam guys – all take turns to hound you as you walk anywhere around the old city or along the river itself. A thriving, dirty congested ancient metropolis built in a labyrinth along the river Ganges – the city confounds in its many sights. All day (and night) bodies burn on wooden funeral pyres or are simply dumped from the back of a boat into the same river that people bathe, worship, wash & dry bright fabrics and clothes, scrub their cows or any other of a seemingly endless litany of purifications and activities that mark its steps (ghats). By sunset the main ghats resound with lights, smoke, bells and music of the nightly Puja’s where costumed young androgynous men, perform a series of dances and ritualized ceremonies in front of thousands of guests both onshore and in row boats, against the dark backdrop of floating candles and distant embers of funeral pyres. Back from the ghats and river itself, a confusion of thin, cow clogged alleys and passageways link a fascinating treasure trove of temples, guesthouses, cafe’s, shops, music / yoga studio’s and innumerable other mysterious old buildings. Locals and tourists alike whisper rumours of this guru or that spiritual baba being in town, in much the same way western actors stir gossip in the daily tabloids.
Yet, with all this, Varanasi resonates with an over-riding peaceful and relaxing energy- it offers a sense of purity and spiritual magnetism that intoxicates you. Drunk with its sights and experiences, it is not nearly as shocking as we had imagined and once you slow down and relax into its pace – you become enchanted by the cycles of death and everyday life endlessly paraded on its shores. The ability to sit with a chai or some street food; chat to a Sadhu; enjoy lunch from the many wonderful cafe’s; watch a tabla or sitar performance or more often simply mediate and contemplate Varanasi’s many sights and wonders is balancing all in itself. Street side harassments give way to fun and creative interplay and as you tune into this more and more, the chaos starts to fade away and everything settles into its own rhythm – even the touts, kids and sadhu’s start to recognize you and keep their distance.
Now, almost 8 weeks later and with many more cities, trains, hotels and religious sites under our belt – India has only become more enjoyable this way. All that heightened tension and expectation has slowly unravelled into pleasant interactions. The India we have encountered is alive with colour, diversity, endless contradictions, fun and a strong spiritual presence that is completely hypnotic and more than enough compensation for the clamouring crowds, deceits and dodgy water – its primary detractions…
Scenes from the nightly Puja (holy ceremony), held at Hindu’s holiest sight, Varanasi on the banks of the Ganges river…
ヒンドゥー教の聖地バラナシでは、毎夜のようにガンジス川のほとりで祈りの儀式、プージャが行われる
早朝5時半起床。今日はトレッキングの前後合わせて計４週間過ごしたポカラを離れ、お釈迦様生誕の地、ルンビニへ向かうのだ。
タクシーをひろってポカラダムサイドのツーリストバスステーションへ。途中フェワ湖の前を通ると、湖面から蒸気が立ち上がっていてなんとも幻想的。そういえば、「ポカラに行ったら自分の代わりにフェワ湖で一泳ぎしてきて」と友人に言われてたんだっけ。結局実行できなかったなぁ…。
一生の思い出
バイラワ行きのバスに乗ってからも、窓の外に見え隠れするマチャプチャレを名残惜しく見た。この小さな湖沿いの田舎町に4週間とちょっと長居をしたけれど、おかげで仕事も終えることができたしのんびりもできた。なによりここから出かけたアンナプルナ・サーキットのトレッキングと、そのハイライト、トロン・パスでのプロポーズは一生忘れることがないだろう。また来るよ、ポカラ！
ちょっと感傷にひたりながらポカラを出発し、毎度のことながらシステムのよくわからない極めて非効率、しかし事故あり喧嘩あり笑いありの見所満点、飽きのこないローカルバスの旅が始まった。
ネパールのローカルバスの様子を説明すると、まず、バスの運転は運転手と助手1,2名で行う。なぜ助手が必要かというと、それはネパールの道路事情による。ネパールの道路は舗装されていない場合が圧倒的に多く、ほとんどが1車線だ。山道でもガードレールなどなく、対向車が来たら交互に通るしかない。トラクターやリキシャ、馬車も通るため、どんどん追い越ししていかないといつまでたっても目的地につけないことになる。
バスの中はキッチュでカラフル
大型バスがスムーズに事故なく運行するためには、運転手の目だけでは不十分なのだ。ましてやバスの上には乗客の荷物や配達する荷物が山積みになっていて安定も悪い。だから、助手が昇降口のドアから常に身を乗り出すようにして辺りの様子に気を配り、穴があったと言っては口笛で運転手に知らせ、他の車を追い越す時にぶつからないよう確認しながら連携して運転するシステムになっている。
とまあそこまではチームワークが良くていいね、と感心していれば良いのだが、問題は運行が予定通りでないことが多い点だ。出発が少々遅れるのはいいとして、とにかく途中停車が多い。決まったバス停や町でお客を拾う、というより、場合によってはお客を探して歩いているような感がある。
長時間にわたるバスの旅の間、暇にまかせていろいろとバスのシステムについて推測を立ててみた（どこかで英語のできる人に聞けばいいんだけど、いつも聞くのを忘れる。わからないことがあった方が世の中楽しい?!）。
バスの運転手とその助手たちは正規チケットを購入して乗ってくる乗客のほかに途中の道筋で乗る客を探し、その乗車料金を自分たちで分けている。いわば途中で人を乗せれば乗せるほど自分たちの取り分が増える仕組みになっている。
こう考えると、事前に確認したルートや時間とはまちまちの運行状況なのも納得がいく。たとえば今回などは途中から高速道路にのるはずがなぜか普通の道路をひた走り、途中で地元の人を拾ったり降ろしたりしている。高速に乗ってしまうと、時間通りに目的地には着けるかもしれないけれど、乗車料金の分け前が減る。だからルートを変えて普通道路を走り、当然出る遅れはものすごいスピードで飛ばしまくって取り戻す（努力はする）。無理な追い越しをかけるものだから、途中でトラックやほかのバスの運転手と怒鳴りあいも発生するし、前の座席に乗っていた韓国人の女の子たちは生きた心地がしなかったようだ。あとで聞いたところによると、運転手の息は酒臭かったそうだ。おいおい…。
乗せられるだけ乗せる、のがルール
ローカルバスだから、当然乗客も地元の人がほとんどなわけで、よっこいしょ、と乗ってきたおばあさんの腕には子ヤギが抱えられていたり、厳重に荷造りしてある大型の箱の中に詰め込まれた鶏がいきなり時の声を上げて眠っていた乗客を起こしたり、なんてこともあった。バスが宅急便の役割をする部分もあるようで、途中の農家の軒先に立って待っていたおばさんと交渉が成立、穀物の大きなサックが運び込まれたり、コーラ１箱を次の村の店先に届けたり。見ていて飽きないのは確かだが、その分着実に到着が遅れていく。
今回のバスは7時間で目的地到着と聞かされていたけれど、バイラワに着いたときには既に午後5時、延々10時間のバスの旅となっていた。
バイラワからは、同じようにルンビニに向かうというIanとJosieのカナダ人カップルと共に乗合Jeepでルンビニのバザールに着くと、なにやら高名なチベット僧が訪問中ということでいたるところあずき色の袈裟姿のお坊さんたちでごったがえしている。なんとかゲストハウスに空室を見つけ、明日に備えて早々に休むことにした。明日は午前中にルンビニ散策、そしてついにインド入りだ！
We got up at about 4.30 am – the cold, altitude, nightly toilet calls and early risers all around us, conspiring against any serious attempt at sleep. Armed with headlamps, innumerable layers, tea & bread we set off around 5.30 and started the slow, arduous climb up to high camp. The cold was immense and quickly permeated the dual layers of socks and my feeble apology for gloves, leaving everything numb. About halfway up the hill as the sky started to lighten, we saw other lights below us and closing quickly – a team of Israeli’s we had seen at breakfast. We struggled slowly forward, resting every 20 or so metres and expecting to be passed any second, but they never seemed to arrive. Later we found out from other trekkers, that 2 of the Israeli girls had suffered altitude sickness suddenly and one had collapsed, unconscious and had to be taken back down by horse.
Trail views
Fortunately, we didn’t know this and our AMS fears were happily subsumed by the simple focus on breathing and the next step in front. Reaching the High Camp after an hour, we pushed on optimistically to a Teahouse, a few hours or so further along the path. Everything was buried in snow now, our path included, at times almost impossible to discern, despite the many early risers that had already gone through. The sun failed to materialize and the cloudy, overcast sky neglected to provide any relief to our freezing extremities. Above, lonely, snow covered peaks towered overhead, crested with thick layers of blue ice, perfect time capsules from many ages past. As we continued to slowly ascend over a series of hills, breathing became more and more difficult and we were now forced to stop every 10 or 20m. Almost entirely without conversation, we soldiered on mechanically, empathetically bonding with other trekkers as we passed them – a Korean guy, 2 older American women, an eccentric French woman and several others, many of whom we had met before.
Reaching the Teahouse, we dived in, glad of the respite. A small, dirty hut the teahouse interior was black from fires past and covered in rubbish and blackened blankets. An Israeli guy was inside, happily sheltering with his girlfriend – “Hey, did you see my toes?” was his welcome. Happy just to be out of the wind, we joined them and several porters shivering inside, ordered a hot tea and set about reviving hands and feet. The tea was a warming and necessary re-hydrant – our 3 water bottles had all frozen within 20 minutes of our start that morning, so we had been running dry as we would have to for most of the day.
After a 10 minute stop, we charged on, keen to keep moving and get this out of the way. Returning to the cold and the climb was daunting, but we slowly warmed up and fell into rhythm. I jumped to the front and was leading – trying to drive things steadily forward; thoughts firmly fixed and motivated by the summit.
I had determined back in Pokhara that I would propose to Megumi at the top. I had always intended to do it at some special point during our trip and when I was researching the trek it had seemed full of romantic promise – the highest point in our lives etc. I had though envisioned a bright, sunny day & us riding the high of the pass conquest, perhaps surprising her while posing for a photo at the top. I had even recruited the help of a Tibetan lady back in Pokhara to help find an interesting ring to mark the occasion. A cheap, green malachite stone, framed in silver it was a long way short of a diamond most definitely, by still quite symbolic (and practical given our travels), I could feel it burning a hole in my pocket where I had hidden it safely weeks ago awaiting this moment.
It was all so different now though – bitterly cold, windy and grim with determination, it felt a long way from any mood of celebration. Still I was determined to go through with it and this kept me going; brimming with love, thoughts and possible scenarios as I wondered where / how I would get the opportunity and how she would react given the circumstances. Around every new corner in the path a wind had was lurking – horrendously cold and loaded with fine ice like sandpaper – it rushed off the slopes and at times almost blasted us backwards as we walked. We had hoped to beat this wind (usually it peaked around 11am hence the early start), but over the last hour or so of the climb it seemed to grow in intensity adding a ferocious wind chill to the already substantial sub-zero temperatures.
Newly engaged @ Thorung La
Suddenly as we rounded a final bend, we could see a stack of Prayer Flags and a large rock cairn and knew we had reached the Thorung La pass and summit. Leading by a little way now, I stopped in front of the cairn, which was acting as a windbreak to wait for Megumi and saw Karna scurry off in the background for a toilet stop. I looked closely at Megumi – she was exhausted and barely able to breathe, she had been fantastically upbeat and in her element all trip, but she really looked close to the end of her tether here. I waited for her to arrive and gave her a huge hug of support and congratulations. And as she turned around to look for Karna, I took the chance to drop to a knee, prize a frozen glove off and somehow dig the ring out of its wrapping with my numb fingers. When she turned back to look at me, I managed to squeeze out the all important words – she was truly surprised and speechless. As it slowly sank in, she kind of nodded and then started crying, the tears visibly freezing into icy trails as they ran down her face. Panicked at this, I tried to settle her down and as Karna reappeared and the wind surged again, we quickly ran across to shelter in the teahouse.
Quickly arming ourselves with more of the world’s most expensive, but vital tea we collapsed into the tea-house – a tiny, dirty wooden shed with room for about 8 or so trekkers. We were mostly quiet, but all completely satisfied in our own way – me happy to have actually managed the proposal and made the top; Megumi glowing and seemingly subsumed by and processing her newfound status with loving smiles and much fondling of the ring; even Karna was simply glad to have made the pass without any trouble and issues with the hole in his shoe. The eccentric Frenchwomen, another older couple and several porters also made an appearance with warm though tempered greetings. After 5 minutes, some readjusting of our gear and a couple of deep breaths we decided to push on to warmer, lower climes as soon as we could and after a few quick photo’s to mark the moment (the camera was frozen & barely working), we forged back into the icy wind and began the journey down.
Gazing into Mustang
Still beset by the wind, the path continued gently downward for another 3km, slowly revealing the stunning vista’s of Mustang – a spectacular fusion of snow peaks and brown valleys. Although still numb from the cold, we made good time now that we were breathing normally and were soon descending back below the snowline. The path then became very steep and often precariously covered in gravel and ice. With gravity on our side, we slipped and slid down cliff-faces and danced dangerously along ridge tops, contentedly rejoicing in our ability to breathe normally again.
For more than 3 hours, we plunged downhill into the dusty valleys, attracted like moths to the distant sight of the villages, until finally we reached a teahouse and feasted on some soup – our first real meal of the day apart from chocolate and energy bars. Another hour and we arrived in Muktinath, Nepal’s second most famous Hindu site and Buddhist temple where the hills were covered in cobwebs of prayer flags. With barely a sideways glance at the temples, we quickly stormed past the pilgrims and trinkets stalls to our destination, the Bob Marley Guesthouse.
Muktinath
Completely exhausted, the guesthouse was like an oasis. Basking in our first hot shower in 6 days along with carpeted rooms, mirrors and an open fireplace; we ordered a series of beers to celebrate simply arriving and the successful conquest of the pass with Karna. Many other trekkers soon arrived and we greeted each warmly, familiar faces now and comrades in arms – language and cultural barriers all momentarily a thing of the past. Later, we pulled ourselves away from the fire to have dinner and reluctantly reporting upstairs we were thrust in front of another couple by the Nepali staff. Somewhat uncomfortable and kind of craving a private table given the occasion, we happily discovered the reason for the forced intimacy- the table was heated by coals beneath, a kind of dining table ‘kotatsu’; even better though the other couple were 2 Aussies from Perth, Lindz and Catie and of particularly good humour – which had been about the only thing really missing from the trek so far. Cheered by familiar Aussie banter, good food, a few beverages and the warmth, Megumi decided to order a celebratory “Hot Bob Special”, only to discover that the hot chocolate, rum concoction she had just drained also contained marijuana – a fact which promptly forced her early retirement. I decided to stay on chatting with the couple and some other trekkers and in the process of the conversation casually remarked (in line with my own realization), that I had proposed earlier that day. The news met was met with heartfelt congratulations and sharing of other engagement tales which gave me some time to finally reflect. Funny how that happens though, it was such an immense day – physically, psychologically and mentally – that the engagement itself had really represented a very, small part in it all and it was only really then, actually talking about it for the first time with strangers that it seemed to become real somehow. It has loomed larger ever since of course and the crossing itself has faded more and more into the background in comparison, but it certainly did not feel that way then.
The next day, after a well deserved sleep in of sorts, we assaulted our much maligned muscles with the climb back up the path to the Muktinath and explored the complex with Karna. He took us on a tour of the Hindi & Buddhist temples and sacred site (fire actually gas naturally comes out of a stream here, all cased inside a Buddhist temple). Amazing though that these 2 religions can so perfectly share the same sacred sites like this; if only Jews and Muslims could do the same?
Upper Mustang, Kagbeni
Afterwards, we gathered our things and began our casual walk down the valley to Kagbeni. This was possibly the most splendid day of sightseeing of the entire trek, the great brown, valleys of Mustang; with their hilltop monasteries and medieval towns all provided a spectacular backdrop to our relaxed and roaming minds. As we plodded downhill, behind us the peak of Thorung La became clearly visible and every step seemed to yield a new and greater view of the descent we had made the day before. Ahead in the distance the massive peaks of Dailgiri and Nilgiri beckoned and the valley opened up into a steep ravine – the eroded walls of the Jhong Khola river, home to innumerable caves and fascinating rock formations
Stopping briefly at the small town of Jharkhot to explore the 500 year old Tibetan monastery and ruins of a fort, we arrived in Kagbeni early afternoon. Kagbeni is where the Khola river meets the mighty Kali Gandaki river and acts as a gateway to Upper Mustang. Our arrival was greeted by a shrill, dusty wind that echoed along the river floor with gusts that almost took us off our feet on the descent into the village. After checking into the Asian Trekkers Inn and magically procuring a room with our own bathroom, we explored the town – revelling in the tiny, winding medieval back alleys, ancient gompa and houses with first floor stables. One side of town provides fantastic views of the forbidden zone – Upper Mustang and several restaurants tempt with their quaintness, most particularly “YakDonalds”. At dinner back at the Inn, we were happy to reacquaint ourselves with Catie & Lindz, the Aussie couple from Bob Marley and together with an eccentric Spanish woman managed to happily trade tales, til late in the evening fired perhaps by warmth of another dinner table kotatsu.
The following day we walked along the 1km wide Kali Gandaki river bed to Jomson, setting out early in order to arrive ahead of the noon wind that we had experienced the previous evening. After more stupendous views and rock formations along the ravine floor we reach Jomson, our most civilized stop on route and home to an “airstrip”. We hungrily fall upon the ATM (the only one in the entire trek) to replenish our wallets for the first time since the start of our journey; somehow we had managed to budget everything to perfection to get there, but there was precious little room for the unplanned. Here we also ran into several other fellow trekkers from the crossing and before – several seemed to be fatigued and getting sick – bodies in a state of collapse after the stresses of the crossing. Whereas for the last dozen days, we had all been forced to more or less mirror each others pace and progress, now with advent of jeep roads, planes and pleasant environs – our paths would all dramatically diverge. We said some goodbyes and then take lunch overlooking the Nigiri mountain range, chatting to an old, retired Japanese couple who had just seen their flight cancelled by the same winds we had walked hard to avoid.
Monastery view, Marpha
The 2 hour walk to Marpha was much harder than planned. Buffeted by the winds along the valley floor, our dusk masks firmly in place as though in a Western, at times we made little headway at all – almost walking to s standstill. Marpha was worth it though – a beautiful, quaint little town famous for its monastery and Apple orchards. With a little shopping around, we secured a large sunny room with bathroom & courtyard, overlooking an Apple orchard and were able to do some washing for the first time in more than a week. Exploring the town later was a real treat – the streets perfectly clean and lined with Tibetan giftshops, the houses and guesthouses all neat whitewashed and beautifully presented. A beautiful Gompa and meditation centre dominated the township and a walk up the stairs to the temple yielded stunning views. In the meditation centre, young monks were busy practicing chanting mantra’s and an old lama invited us to his meditation chamber – peaceful and incredibly tranquil he sat in a trance, eyes closed lost in his chanting – unable to match the peace for long, we prize ourselves away with great reluctance.
For the following day, we had decided to skip a couple of days walking and catch a bus to Tatopani Hot Springs, as Megumi’s knee had not fully recovered from the descent down the pass (Actually I think she just wanted to fast track the hot springs). With the prospect of Karna not having to carry a pack the next day as a result, we were able to celebrate with a few beers and some Apple brandy late in to the evening, along with another young Sherpa who was staying at the same guesthouse having just returned from a failed attempt with a large French party at climbing nearby Mt Tuchre.
The bus to Tatopani required an early start and unfortunately, a very tight fitting seat. Apart from an Israeli couple and 2 English girls, the rest of the passengers were largely local and young. All seemed in possession of large bags, boxes and bottles of Apple brandy for sale at some larger township down the valley somewhere. At one point, we had to stop for half an hour while everyone on the bus investigated their respective stash in an attempt to locate the leak that was working its way down the centre of the bus. The culprit it turned out was a 4 litre plastic oil can filled with Brandy – as a result of the bumpy bus ride it had swollen to the shape of a soccer ball and on removal from its plastic hiding place proceeded to arc an alcoholic stream several metres distant.
Tatopani Hotspring
After 4 hours of anaerobic jerking, down a cliff-side track most backs will usually protest, mine actually went on complete strike – so our arrival at the Hotspring in Tatopani was intensely welcome. The Hot spring as it turns out was a small concrete pool down by the river, that while pleasantly warm was certainly a long way from the Japanese onsen that I had envisioned. Megumi though, was not in the least put off and happily wiled away the afternoon, under the fascinated eyes of the other porters, all reporting in to the hot spring for a big scrub ahead of their respective returns to civilization.
Later in the afternoon, we sat in a small local house drinking glasses of Chyang and interacting with a local family and their baby child, while another studied economics. Megumi was playing professional photographer and had everyone posing for portraits that we promised to send later on. Happily content as the day slipped away, one of the Belgians from a group we had got to know at the start of the trek stuck his head in to enquire after our crossing. After telling him of our engagement, he extended his congratulations and told us that the high altitude had also triggered a similar resolve in him. Having taken the trip originally to escape with his mates, he had had a moment of clarity and intended to rush home to propose to his long term girlfriend.
Originally, we had planned to hike across to Gorepani and complete our circuit with the stunning, central view of the mountains we had just circumnavigated. Unfortunately though, this now represented a steep 8 hour ascent and an equally intense descent and Megumi felt her knee really wasn’t up to it. Truth be told post pass, conquest, the onsen and everything else I was exaactly jumping out of my skin either.
Braving the bus
Instead, (and in my case accompanied by stomach cramps), we braved the local road and back protests to take a Jeep down the mountainside. This actually required flagging a lift, after a 2 hour stakeout for a bus that wouldn’t leave without a full complement of passengers failed to materialize (we had 6, they needed 15 to move). The entire 2 hour trip down the cliff face was then spent mesmerized by the charms of 2 funky 20 something Nepali jeepsters, as they proceeded to almost surf the vehicle down the rough mountain passes. This was enacted through a series of smooth, well-practiced manoeuvres such as trading places without stopping the vehicle (1 would open the door, step out onto the bonnet and walk across to the passenger door, while the other simply slid into the drivers seat); pausing along the road to jump from jeep onto a wall to collect fresh mandarins from a tree; down to the sharing of a scammed cigarette from passing villagers and the procuring of fares and cargo from locals as they passed through villages; everything had the seamless flow that comes from a genuine, relaxed & fun loving demeanour – something Nepali’s seem to ooze.
At Beni, Karna took us to meet his sister’s for lunch. A tiny, 2 room concrete apartment set high into the hill and well below the poverty line, we humbly sat on straw matting on the floor and ate Dahl Baht – specially cooked for us. Then acting the photographers we again took a series of photographs of the family, which we promised to print and send, before jumping on a bus for the epic trip back to Pokhara. A little should be said on this as possible, but after 5 hours of constant vibrations, stomach cramps and seemingly endless single lane, cliff-top overtaking, reversing or passing manoeuvres in the dark, we were relieved to arrive back at our hotel around 8pm.
_____________________________________________________
This is all rather epic documentation I know, but it had been almost 15 days and it felt like so much more. So much time seemed to pass and so many things change…. Whether from the altitude or trekking experience itself and its encounters with people harking back to another age or the stunning scenery; to a new engagement and life of commitment and new friends; or the sense of satisfaction that comes from simply achieving a new physical feat and the heightened awareness / humility that perhaps comes from living without creature comforts and a fresh changes of clothes. You learn so much about yourself without trying too hard sometimes and upon returning, all these thoughts and experiences seem to swim around me like parts of a new suit, waiting to be properly fitted. I can’t wait for it to settle and to take it all for its next walk!
Top of the Thorung La pass in a blizzard – the site of our engagement!
婚約しました！吹雪のトロンパス、涙も凍る-15Cのプロポーズ
After an early start, the morning was spent steadily climbing to higher altitudes, through pine forests and expansive valleys while the Marsyandi river rapids continued to snake far below. The Annapurna snow peaks now dominate the horizon and each new bend in the path or crest in the valley, yields increasingly more resplendent views and angles. We pass through a ruined village, remnants of a former Tibetan Khampa (warrior) camp from the days of armed Tibetan resistance to the Chinese, now little more than shelter to passing porters. The villages now featured large Mani’s, rows of Tibetan prayer wheels, at both their entrance and exits and we could increasingly frequently spy Gompa’s (Tibetan Monasteries) and prayer flags ensconced in the clutches of remote clifftops.
After a few hours, a huge granite wall appears and dominates a large portion of the mornings trekking, the sheer face seems to ascend perfectly upwards and Karna reveals this is a holy site to many of the local Gurungs. Named ‘Paungi Dandi’ or ‘gateway to heaven’, it is believed to be where the dead ascend to heaven. Shamans hold rituals at the base for the deceased and the trail is littered by rocks arranged in neat pyramids and silks scarves tied around bushes and pines – prayers and offerings to the departed.
Medieval Upper Pisang
Continuing uphill, from mid morning the road divides into ‘Upper and Lower Pisang’ routes and we break from the main path to take the higher road. While considerably more challenging, we have read that this is the more spectacular view and experience, the villages more interesting and untouched – it will also be our first taste of higher altitudes and give us a good chance at some acclimatization. Immediately the change is obvious and we have the road to ourselves, blessedly free from other trekkers for seemingly the first time – our imaginations are suddenly sparked and free to roam unchecked. The river drops away to the floor of the valley and we rise up the valley wall. After a tough few hours climbing the thin, winding goat-track path, we reach the village of Upper Pisang, a rocky almost medieval town built into the mountainside and watched over by a large Gompa above. The surrounding land here is above the tree-line and brown and barren. Horses, goats and cows roam fields littered with round stones and bordered in turn by metre high stone walls, on entering the village we sight our first yak seated calmly in a straw covered courtyard. It looks a more desperate existence here, the Tibetan people are browner, tougher, more hardened – you can tell that the wind howls through here. The village itself is fascinating; the stoned paved alleys that link the town, reveal a complex warren of stone houses that fuse stables, living quarters and wood storage into a 3d labyrnth up the hill. Many places seem abandoned.
We pause for lunch to take in this new environment, our original objective and perhaps inspired decide to forge onto the next town. The trail continues softly along the valley wall for a while, ducking in and out of scattered pines and a beautiful, clear aqua lake. Then suddenly we are faced with a huge swollen incline crested by a Gompa. Depressingly we see a path snaking its way directly up the slope and realize we may have been too ambitious here. For 2 hours we slowly zig zag up the mountains, a 500m rise and by far our hardest climb so far. For company, we are egged on by a team of porters, good naturedly chasing their patrons up the slope into the setting sun. Every 50m or so, we are forced to stop and catch our breath, our first taste of altitude and far from a pleasant one.
Central Heating, Gyaru
Eventually though and truly exhausted we reach Gyaru, another medieval stone town and at 3,700m, far higher than I have ever been in my life. At the top we are greeted by stunning vista’s of the mountains, a definite fatigue reliever. The nearest guesthouse, the Yakru Mount View (their are only 2) is a 2 storey construction, built around a hollow central lounge room with fireplace – you can tell that this is essentially efficient and we secure a nice room overlooking the mountains. The young manager is playing some impressively funky music which helps to keep us warm in the fading light. It quickly becomes freezing and we settle in with an older english trekker around the fire, happily immersed in intimate conversation, until the embers start to fade.
After a sleepless night, a common symptom of altitude, we wake up to find the weather has closed in and the brilliant surrounding vista of yesterday afternoon has been with-held ominously from view. After a breakfast of Tibetan bread, (kind of like dampa, fried like a pancake and my new staple) we head outside and feel the first faint tickles of snowfall. For the first couple of hours we trek in the light snow along a thin, winding trail through pines and bushes regaled in the full spectrum of Autumns shades. Despite the weather and clouds covering the peaks, the views remain breath-taking and we are happily entertained. Walking comfortably along flat tracks, after the previous days climb, we reach Ngawal, another medieval stone town, set into the barren hill side and beset with the usual prayer flags and mani’s.
Looking back from Ngawal
After tea in Ngawal, the snow gets heavier and more serious, the path on the stoney, thinly forrested higher altitude is very exposed and the constant snow means we are soon wet and freezing. We accelerate and button down for the long 3 hour trek to Manang; the walking turns into a slow endless and relentless drive to get there, Megumi is noticeably fading just as we reach town. We arrive to find that with the weather, the town is backed up with other trekkers, Manang is a reasonably sized village and normally somewhere that trekkers stay a couple of days in order to help acclimitization. On this occasion, the poor weather has mean’t that no-one has moved on and we are forced to take the only room we can. A wooden hut, down a muddy path at the back of a hotel. We take dinner early and retire exhausted and freezing, as the snow continues to fall steadily outside.
It is another sleepless night and I hope that I can acclimatise soon, you seem to dream more at altitude as well I think, which takes some getting used to. Outside everything is white and covered with snow, but there is blue sky about and the weather is clearing. We have decided to take a rest day as well and use the time to acclimatize by exploring some of the surrounding area.
After a solid breakfast and blessedly free of packs, we embark on a climb up to Prakeen Gompa, situated high on the cliff-face above Manang. As we climb, the weather clears and we are gifted with a constantly shifting series of glimpses at the stunning peaks that surround us in all directions. It takes about an hour and a half to scramble up to the vertical path to the Gompa- as we get closer to the top, we are again forced to stop every few metres to get our breath and stay thumping hearts as the higher altitude takes its toll. One guidebook says this is 4,500 metres, another 3,900 – Karna thinks its the former – even he is blowing hard .
Blessings from a Tibetan Lama
At the top, we stop to catch our breath and then enter the Gompa. A 93 year old Tibetan Lama and his wife live here, the Lama is famed for providing blessings to trekkers who are crossing the Thorung La pass for a small donation which is why we are here. He greets us in a grimy temple cut into the cliff wall and then individually performs the blessing. First by giving us some medicine for the pass – small black seeds that we wash down with a special oil. He then places a braided necklace around our necks, to act as a charm for the crossing; and finally uses a Tibetan prayer within its protective wooden case to anoint our heads. Afterwards we are served tea and chat with him amicably. He, like everyone we seem to meet here, is fascinated by Megumi – with her nose ring and slightly mongolian cheekbones /nose, she looks convincingly Nepali or Tibetan; but her clothes just don’t fit. Megumi buys some prayer beads from him and he tells us he has lived in this cave for more than 40 years.
Mountain Gompa
Feeling considerably energised and empowered by this experience, we depart the Gompa and charge back down the mountainside, shimmying down cliff faces and goat tracks across to a couple of other hilltop Gompa’s on our way to the neighbouring town of Braga. The views were breathtaking, the peaks continuing their games of hide and seek with the clouds, so that full paroramic was never quite in view. There is something about the mountains here that makes the spirits soar, I can see why the Tibetans dedicate themselves so wholly and successfully to pursuits of the spirit, the air tingles with a heightened consciousness and self clarity here, amplified a hundredfold by the vastness, solitude and immensity of nature.
After exploring the clifftown of Braga, we returned to Manang blending back into the menagerie of trekkers acclimitizing. There are more and more familiar faces now – a strange, eclectic mix and not quite the band of soulsearchers I had envisioned; at times, the place has more the feel of a European ski resort. Tomorrow, we make for Letdar, some 4100 metres and the the first real test for altitude sickness and although we climbed higher than that today, above 3,500metres you can only rise by 300m per day in order to allow your body to acclimitize. Should be interesting.
We rise at 6am to have breakfast and set off by 7am. We are determined to beat the crowd and ensure a decent place to sleep at the next locale. The trail rises slowly and the altitude ensures we are constantly out of breath, it is very slow going. Megumi in particularly is really suffering and unable to breath – its her birthday today, a little unplanned and hard to make much of a fuss given where we are. The morning starts out cold and drizzling but slowly clears and the mountain views steadily improve. After a few hours, we reach Yak Kharaka and cross the snowline. The hills are covered with Yaks grazing here, it is where all the locals in the area put their yaks out to pasture.
Yak mustering
An hour further down the track we reach Letdar, there are 3 hotels and little else. These aclimitizations villages seem to becoming a littlew more desperate and isolated the higher we get. The first is already full care of a tour group and and at the second we are shown a twin room in a mud cave that has more akin with a stables, not quite what Megumi is up for on her birthday. Despite her fatigue and willingness for whatever, I stubbornly head back down the hill fortunately finding a Sunny room at our 3rd and last option.
Later in the afternoon, we walk back down past the yak mustering to Yak Karkha to give Megumi a reprieve from her fatigue (a major sign of AMS). There is a lodge here that is also famous for having some of the best chocolate cake on the circuit, so she is able to dine out a little and considerably raise her spirits. Not much of a birthday this and I didn’t even bring a present along, but I do have other plans further along!
We have some Diamox with dinner and bond over the cold, with a couple from Slovakia and a Korean trekker. Sleeping is a nightmare and the Diamox ensures we have to get up and brave the -5 / 10 degree weather every hour to get to the toilet.
Megumi wakes up feeling much better in the morning and we stomp the couple of hours along the rocky path in the mountainside to Thorung Pedi in very good time. The path is a slow climb, but not challenging with fantastic views back to Annapurna 2 and Gangapurna. We spend some time behind a trek group of some 15 Germans which makes us feel a lot better about ourselves and also pass see a huge group of Musk deer grazing.
Path to Thorung Pedi
On reaching Thorung Pedi, we fiork out an extra 200 RP for a room with an attached bathroom – quaking at the idea of venturing outdoors all night to the alternative. After a fortifying lunch of soup and baked potato’s we trek the hour and a half up to the high camp (4,850m) for some more acclimitization practice. It is an arduous climb and we can barely make 20 metres at a time without stopping short of breath. The steep snow and ice covered path is also quite hazardous and a daunting prospect for tomorrow. We stop at the teahouse and engage with our former english acquaintence and another older Irish chap before heading back down the hill.
Tomorrow is intimidating and there is little prospect of sleep. We need to trek for 9-10 hours tomorrow, the first 5 hours will be a tough, freezing high altitude climb to the pass of Thorung La, followed by a nightmare, 4 hour descent. All the conversations at the dinner table are quite restrained and sober as a result – everyone is feeling the effects of the altitide and focused on the big day ahead. It is freezing cold and we decide to retreat to our sleeping bags relatively early. Kana also manages to steal a few blankets for us. Our -20 degree rating on the sleeping bags has been sorely tested and come up short the last 2 nights.
As possibly one the bigger undertakings in our lives to date, this part of our adventure is impossible to throw up in a single blog. Apart from the amazing sights, people, cultures, mountains and the auspicious peak crossing (and engagement proposal) itself – there is also the simple fact that there was not a lot to do when the sun goes down… other than stay warm and make a few notes. While one could easily write a book on it (as many people seem to do here), I will try to simply capture the more salient experiences for posterity, but bear with me as I serialize this a little bit.
Annapurna Circuit Basics
From Kathmandu, we braved a 7 hr bus ride through the scenic valleys, rice paddies & villages of the Prithi highway to Pokhara, a peaceful lakeside city in central Nepal. Whereas Kathmandu has a big city, chaos complex, Pokhara retains much of it’s hippie vibe and the tourist part of town (Lakeside) is happily insulated from the world and home to both long term travelers relaxing and soaking up a low cost, alternate lifestyle and a myriad of trekkers (largely Euro’s) preparing to savour the surrounding mountains that completely dominate the horizon.
As one of the longest (and most popular) treks in the world, the Annapurna Circuit is a 15-21 day hike that follows a course along two rivers – up, over and around the stunning mountain range known as the Annapurna’s – a region containing 3 of the 8 tallest mountains in the world; the highest pass; highest lake and the deepest ravine – all following trails that used to represent salt trading routes linking the villages and tribes between Nepal and Tibet for thousands of years. What makes the circuit most amazing though, is its accessibility and the ease with which it allows you to navigate and engage with this part of the world, as you stay & eat at local tea-houses in ancient villages scattered, every few hours along the valleys and mountains along the way.
Our porter - Karna
This was our goal anyway and while Megumi haunted our hotels’ wi-fi trying to finish her project, I stalked internet cafe’s, updated our site and spent time researching and talking to trekking companies under the taunting shadows of the Annapurna range. As many of my friends will atest I am a long way off any form of peak fitness, so you can imagine this undertaking came not without equal doses of both excitement and trepidation. After chatting to a few companies, I found some guys I connected well with and proceeded to hire an english speaking, porter to carry our main backpack (Megumi had injured her shoulder doing back somersaults from a high wire in Laos and I was not exactly fit, so it seemed liked the smart thing to do given our reservations). Not keen to be stuck with someone we didn’t like for 15 days though, we took this hiring process pretty cautiously, interviewing a few and actually ended up waiting an extra day to ensure we got a porter (Karna) who we felt especially comfortable with. With that sorted out, officially registered, some last minute hiring of down sleeping bags and jackets (when told it was likely to hit -15 degrees up top at night) and a quick stockpiling of drugs, energy bars & chocolates, we were ready to go.
Our porter Karna (running late), picked us up from our hotel at 6.30am in order to catch a local bus to our trek start point, some 100km (5 hours) distant. Catching a local bus in Nepal is a fascinating experience. The TATA buses tend to be brightly, almost psychedelically decked out and operated by a tight team of 2-3 individuals. Firstly, a driver who is completely focused on the somewhat extensive demands of driving along unsealed, one-lane cliff-faces at high speed; dodging oncoming traffic and sounding his ‘ring tone-esque’ horn ahead of every curve. He is closely partnered by a chief facilitator who hangs out the bus side door banging the side of the bus & ringing another horn in a code that seems to provide the driver direction on possible stops, fares, unsighted bends, road edges and reversing dangers; while at the same time managing to tout for additional fares to anyone they pass. All this is accompanied of course by blaring high pitched, bollywood female vocalists and a 4/4 drum beat, pumped through a nervously, thin speaker that amazingly seems to synch perfectly with every challenge the road throws up and the rolling rhythmic gate of passenger heads. The end experience – a constantly interrupted journey of jolts, yells, bangs, beats and melodies that works seamlessly together, as the bus team relentlessly compliment the full seated trekker passengers, with any passing fare from villagers, sacks or chickens that they can conjur.
Rice Terraces
After that extended education safely in the bag, we arrived at BesiSahar and decided to forego the jeep journey up the newly laid road and begin walking, at the very least to break in a few muscles with an easy day. We followed the rough, relatively flat, jeep road for a few hours along the winding course of the Marsyandi river, through hills brimming with rice terraces on the verge of harvest and local swarms of Gurung kids attempting to apprise us of our pens. Upon coming to the small village of BhuleBhule, the road noticeably stopped and a bridge leapt over the raging river below marking the start of the new travel frontier ahead. A transition easily accentuated by the donkey trains backing up – all being loaded up with food, alcohol and other essential supplies for the higher markets, many days walk above.
For the first time the dawning realization hit us that from here on in, there were no short-cuts or easy ways out. Commitment is a funny thing, for the next 12 days we would be on our own, the only way out from here was with our own 2 feet, or on the back of a donkey (excepting the expensive helicopter / plane evac.) Any which way it would take several days now to return to safety. Its amazing how few times in life you are really required to commit to that much time and effort without some sort of net.
Beyond the road we plunged, onward to the small settlement of Ngadi, a series of guesthouses clustered together into a tiny community, where we proceeded to grab a room in one overlooking the river. Arriving mid afternoon, we then watched trains of porters scurry desperately past, trying to catch their respective trekker groups, so that they can start setting up camp for the night. A group of 10 or so older trekkers in a group (most likely French) charge past. In the fading light of dusk they appear as though some forms of human arachnid – shiny, aluminium ski poles protrude unnervingly from hunched bodies, as though bionic grafted frontal limbs & accompanied by the scurrying, metallic CLIK CLAK sound of the poles searching randomly for grip in the rocks in the nature, an entirely alien and unsettling sight. We did actually bring a set of trekking poles ourselves, kindly donated by our porter and I swore to avoid them if at all possible.
Our Guesthouse, despite initial appearances is freezing cold and spartan, perhaps a too real introduction to the days ahead. Huddled into our dining room, for trekker company we have 2 aloof Frenchmen; a Mexican & an American girl, immersed in their knitting and a Canadian banker, Peter – plus an array of locals, guides and porters all waiting for us to finish dinner, so that they can themselves eat. Peter turns out to be our only real conversation, currently working his way from Mongolia, through Tibet & Nepal. We stay up late swapping world views, while everyone else retreats to the warmth of sleeping bags.
After an early start around 7am and a relatively even trail, we start hitting some more serious hills mid morning, as the river drops to the bottom of a deep ravine and we start to chart the path higher up the slope. Likely, this is just a small taste of things to come, but the going is tough, as I re-aquaint myself with many muscles, long forgotten and reluctantly employed. Megumi seems to bound up the steep inclines, but I am beginning to have considerable self-doubts about my own fitness and preparation. As we follow the river, the hills give way to a huge gorge and the rice paddies either side appear to impossibly cascade down the sides of the cliff-face & small isolated, villages dot the highest corners, seemingly completely inaccessible.
After a few hours we hear explosions echoing down the valley – blastings for a new road that seems destined to bring ‘civilization’ to this corner of the world. Thoughts flood my mind of the change taking place and the endless arguments for and against. Further up we pass a group of boys as young as 10, chipping impossibly away at the rockface, boring holes into cliffs for dynamiting and throwing loose rocks down the mountain side. I do wonder the death toll that this road racks up for these ‘workers’. With the task in front of them it will take years to complete, but they will get there – its is likely the only guaranteed employment around. For much of the afternoon, we follow the makings of the ‘new road’ relentlessly uphill, picking a trail through landsides and ‘blast sites’ till we reach the small village of Chamche. Blowing hard, I am sore all over and completely exhausted!
We stay in a Tibetan Guesthouse in the centre of town, a pleasant lodge with nice (warmer) rooms and get our first chance to partake of the local liquer “chyang”, a sake like liquor made from rice. Over dinner we watch 4 generations of Tibetan women manage the lodge. The great grandmother parades around the living area chanting mantra’s, twirling beads and cleansing rooms with sage. One of the grand-daughters takes a shine to Megumi, who manufactures a paper crane from scrap to become an instant hit and essential playmate til bedtime.
Another hard days trekking, the body endlessly protesting, but I do seem to find it a lot easier today than Megumi. Yesterday was lots 0f steep climbs, today is steady and I find that I can do ‘endurance’, its the shifting my weight vertically uphill that seems to be the problem! In the morning there is a steep climb and then more picking our way through road construction. Marijuana grows wild on the sides of the road here and the curious smell of dust and sensimilla adds a lingering strangeness to proceedings..
Pipe Carriers
As the rice paddies, grasses slowly, give way to pine forests, we pass more and more donkey caravans, colourfully decorated and winding their way ever upwards with their precious cargoes; impressive in their ability to pick their way through the rocky crevasses. More amazingly we pass several locals barefoot and carrying a dozen, several metre length pipes on their backs up the desperately steep paths. A reminder of how isolated and remote the areas we are heading into really are, despite the seeming endless presence of other trekkers.
At the top of a hill, we pass a couple – the women is visibly upset, crying and seemingly lost in doubts. I know how they feel, though we seem to have very little room for hesitation. Karna is a godsend this way – quiet, friendly and assured, he maintains a steady, unerring pace and when we find it tough and start to falter he moves easily to the front, so that we can just match his assured and practiced footsteps. Already, I am not sure how we would do this without him. While we are carrying a day pack each, he is carrying a full backpack / sleeping bags and his own day pack on a frame half my size, yet never seems tired. Friendly with the locals, he is also able to easily pass on lots of insights and quickly get us settled into tea-house’s, often procuring local delicacies for us from the hidden kitchens – we have bonded pretty quickly.
At Danaqyu, we arrive quite late as the sun disappears behind the mountains and the temperature drops dramatically. We find a guesthouse (The Potala), run by another Tibetan lady that is otherwise empty, so as to guarantee us a hot shower. (There is usually only limited solar heating for a couple of these we have learned) While rooms are generally cheap (200 RP / night or US$3), food is where the tea-houses make their money (you have to eat where you stay) and meals are progressively getting more expensive every few hours now. A coke is up to 150R now, from 35 R 3 days ago. When everything comes up via donkey you have to expect that I guess.
Supposedly a very tough climb to start the day, but it was surprisingly ok. The body still protests and seems to continually discover new untested muscles, but we seem to be getting fitter or at least used to it now. The dramatic, snow capped mountains of the Annapurna range start to pepper the horizons, as we ease up the valley and onto a plateau covered with crops and horses. Villages are slowly changing from the wood dwellings and farms of the Gurung people, into the stone and spartan lifestyles of the Tibetans.
It is a small hike today and we arrive in the thriving township of Chame about lunchtime with ample time to check into a nice, sunny, guest-house by the river and do some much needed washing, while the sun still shines. Chame comes across like one of the last real outposts and the village is an key administration centre. The town is a significant size and its paved streets expound with dozens of enterprising shops showcasing innumerable treasures invaluable to the trekker unprepared or desperate for comforts. We happily take in the sights and pride ourselves in our lack of temptation; Megumi manages to track down the towns, tiny little Hot spring.
Later, we meet Peter again and spend the evening around our guesthouse fire exchanging stories and news, along with a young German couple on their honeymoon and a troupe of 50+ yr old Belgians who we have been leapfrogging for the last 2 days. An easy day and fresh comforts has everyone in a good mood and positive about the paths (and pass) looming ahead.
View from our hotel rooftop of the Himalaya’s. We spent 2 weeks trekking the Annapurna circuit around them…. ネパール、ポカラのゲストハウスの屋上からヒマラヤ連峰のひとつアンナプルナ山脈を臨む。ここからアンナプルナ・サーキットを廻る2週間のトレッキングに出発
There is something mythical about the Himalaya’s, Nepal and Tibet. The mountains (Everest) at the roof of the world, that man has striven for so long to try and conquer, coupled with its amazing myths (Lama’s and Yetis) and its unparalleled trading, cultural and religious meeting points and legacies. Nepal is where the Buddha was born and is now home to many of the Tibetan Buddhists forced to flee and live in exile, it also a huge Hindu country and home to more than 70 different ethnic groups. All this and more, attracted us here and it feels like this is where our real adventures begin. SE Asia was really just a soft landing, a safe exploration of the known – Nepal really kicks off the rest – new, colourful, rich and uncharted.
The change was palpable before we even boarded the plane in Bangkok. Over the last 2 months we had gotten used to being surrounded by young, independent travelers and in some senses had subconsciously started to assume that this was our ongoing travel environment. The crowd waiting to board our flight to Nepal however was different – gone were the cheap cotton t-shirts advertising exotic versions of SE Asian beer, replaced here with designer outdoor fabrics and brands. Backpacks were now tighter fighting and smaller, boots had replaced thongs and the average age had jumped up by some 20 years. Strange definitely, but it felt comforting for some reason. The draw of something different and potentially more exciting!
Thamel
On arriving in Kathmandu, we caught a taxi into downtown Thamel and started lapping the streets to find a cheap guesthouse. Thamel is I guess the trekking equivalent of Khao-san Rd in Bangkok. A teeming hive of activity just north of central Kathmandu, based completely around travelers and the foreign market. The place literally buzzes, as motorbikes and cars endlessly honk they way through crowds of international trekkers, travelers and the odd hippy, all working their way through the labyrinth of hawkers, clothing, Tibetan souvenir, trekking supply shops and agencies as they prepare to embark on a trek or adventure into the Nepalese outdoors and other adventure thrills. Bangkok (and Tokyo) have prepared us well for this; the crowds, noise and touts seem to fade comfortably into the background as we focused on the cities treats.
The days when Kathmandu was the essential destination on the hippie trail are long gone it seems, replaced as with our fellow plane passengers, by largely amateur 30 -50 something trekkers (much like the mountains of Japan actually). But the hippy trail legacies still remain everywhere. The clothing stores along Thamel, all hawk an amazing profusion of cheap, alternative, colourful fashions with fairytale like qualities, though I suspect their business is much more of the wholesale variety thee days given the pedestrian profiles. Equally and most especially at night, the streets fill with whispers, where every step brings another dark face, followed by discreetly projected offers of ‘hash’ or ‘marijuana’. Though nothing quite prepares you for the same discreet whisper, that mystically projects ‘Tiger Balm’ covertly into the chill night air. After 4 days here, this never fails to bring a smile to my face as I contemplate the changing of the guard that this really represents – from the escapes of the hippy high, to the soothing of aged, sore muscles – how things have changed indeed!
Durbar Square
We are camped in Kathmandu for 5 days or thereabouts. Once again, Megumi has picked up a translation project and I am free to catch up on the blog / website side of things and plan out our trekking adventures. But we are also taking time to explore the city and greater Kathmandu Valley. As one of the original trade routes connecting China, India and the west it abounds with ancients sites and cultural legacies.
On our second day, we ambled south to the old city, following the ancient alleys and cobbled streets as they transition into an eclectic mix of markets, squares, spice shops and teahouses, dotted throughout with ancient temples, effigies and side streets – unchanged in hundreds of years, holding on resolutely amongst the bustling, colourful cacophony of everyday life. Further south we come to Durbar Square, the site of many of the cities grand temples and the former Royal Palace, immersed in an eclectic mix of Sadhu’s, beggars, touts, gurkha’s, overloaded porters and tourist groups, the square hums with activity and it is simply enough to be there. We sit atop one of the temples and soak up the view and fascinating patchwork of passing lives and cultures.
Swayambhunath
On Day 3 we made the half hour trek across Kathmandu through the slums and suburbs to Swayambhunath, a Tibetan / Hindu temple perched on a hill providing a fantastic vista of the city and valley. Over run with monkeys, flags and ancient carvings, Buddha himself is said to have sermoned here once and it provides a great perspective of the city, mountains and valley at sunset, as we join the locals in parading clockwise around the Stupa spinning prayer wheels as we go.
The next day we head in the other direction to Pashupatinath, the most sacred Hindu temple in Nepal, set by the river its ghats are a major cremation site and the surrounding streets teem with the devout; women and families in bright sari’s and Sadhu’s in their strange outfits posing for photo’s and seeking donations. We keep walking to Bodhnath, a magnificent stupa at the centre of the most accessible Tibetan community in the world. Joining the hundreds of tibetan women, monks, tourists and others as they circle the stupa and prayerwheels clockwise, we stop off in our circuits to admire and explore the many surrounding monasteries (Gompa) and backstreets stocked with hundreds of Tibetan vendors (Thangka, Singing Bowls, jewellery etc) and other sellers. The place resonates with a deep and special energy, by its very nature unavoidable as you are immersed and whisked along in the participatory clockwise loops with all the other pilgrims.
As we prepare to leave Kathmandu and head across to Pokhara for an ambitious attempt at some Himalayan trekking, we realize once again we haven’t even scratched the surface here. The city with its crowded, loud, dusty and poverty ridden backstreets we won’t miss that much, but still the pervading atmosphere tingles with potential and of stories untold. Further out in the valley, there are more ancient sites and temples, villages and ancient tales to explore and further still there is Everest itself. Not for the last time I wonder whether I will ever get the chance to return, but our destiny lies elsewhere this time in Nepal – wistfully once again it is time to move on.
Recommended Reading:
“, by Peter Matthiessen