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Published: August 6th 2007
One hundred yards out of the garage the bus shuddered to a halt. “Besi Saha! Besi Saha!”, cried the two lads hanging out from the doorway at the side of the bus, alerting potential passengers to the destination of the bus. Noone got on and the bus accelerated at just above snail pace, creaking and groaning over the pot holes in the road.
“Now we’re on our way!”, I thought, prematurely. Five minutes later we stopped again and the lads repeated their call. Once their luggage was strapped to the roof a few locals boarded the bus. This happened several times until the bus was pretty much full and, an hour or so after departure, we were still within Kathmandu’s city limits. I settled in for a long journey and wondered if the tourist bus would have been a better option. An English girl, Khusi and her Nepali friend, Hari, alighted at one of the stops, and a couple of stops later I noticed they'd disappeared.
The bus honked and rumbled it’s way down the steep switch-back road out of Kathmandu at an alarming speed, rushing past the carcasses of crashed, burnt and broken-down vehicles into beautiful green valleys
of crop-laden terraces. After a couple of hours we stopped for some dahl bhat in grubby, ramshackle, shed-like restaurant. I was hungry and there was nowhere else to eat so I got stuck in to the delicious meal, checking that I had packed some Immodium in case of intestinal turmoil.
We arrived in Besi Sahar about five hours later with a couple of refreshment stops. It turned out that Khusi and Hari had spent the entire journey on the roof of the bus. How cool was that? It was probably the safest place to be in the event of the bus going off the edge at one of switch-backs of the, at times, dizzyingly high roads. I made a mental note to give a roof-top ride a go at some point.
As luck would have it, after I got my ACAP entry permit checked, who should be walking down Besi Sahar’s main road, but Terri and Sayed, the English couple I’d met in Kathmandu a few days earlier. We decided to get the bus to Bhulbule, an even more bone-shaking ride than the previous one, on a bus crammed with people, and at least one goat.
On
the road to Bhulbule, so bumpy and full of rocks that it must have been a river bed, after crossing a bridge that didn’t look as though it would support a bicycle, let alone a fully-laden bus, the driver stopped at a school to pick up even more people. The bus filled with singing school children. I’ve never been on a vehicle so full. If I’d had Norris McWhirter’s phone number to hand I would have given him a call. Happily, the bus driver’s dedication paid off and we all arrived safely at our destination.
After unfolding ourselves from the bus, we walked over a bridge, pausing to let a train of pack mules cross, and checked ourselves in to the first lodge of the trek. I was feeling very sweaty and so, used to the lack of facilities on the Everest trek and having spied a local having a wash in the river, I decided to do the same. Keeping my boxers on as there were quite a few people walking over the nearby bridge, I submerged myself into the glacial sediment-rich and, thankfully, warm water.
After making my way back to the lodge up the slippery
and steep rocks, standing in something nasty and dropping my towel in the mud, I sat down with Terri and Sayed for a cup of tea before dinner. “The shower here’s pretty warm”, said a refreshed looking Sayed. I just laughed.
The next day we set off fairly early and headed to Bahundanda. Terri and Sayed were a little nervous about the trek as they’d not done much walking before. It was a very hot and humid walk and I was glad to arrive at around midday. I didn’t want to wait for Terri and Sayed as I was drenched in sweat and the breeze generated from walking along was the only respite from the cloying heat. At any rate, they arrived shortly after me and we relaxed in the garden of the Superb View Lodge, deciding to make an early start the next day to avoid the heat. As the afternoon drew on, the air cooled down and after an early dinner we hit the hay.
It seemed even hotter the next day and it wasn’t long before I was soaked again. I arrived in Chamje after quite a tough walk, a couple of hours ahead of
my companions who arrived at the Chamje Guest House just in time to get soaked in a pre-monsoon downpour. Shortly before them Khusi arrived and stopped for a cup of tea. She was an very interesting character, looking for some Mongolian people who have made their home in the mountains, who would build her a traditional yurt to take back to the UK to live in.
The next day consisted of a long walk to Bagarchap. The conditions weren’t as oppresively humid , but still very hot. I rested at a few places for delicious veg noodle soup and apple pie.
I arrived at Bagarchap in good time and after wolfing down a pot of tea and a packet of Bon Bon biscuits, which are a similar-looking to Bourbons, but with a hint of plastic in their taste, I headed back down the trail with Bikas, the manager of the Pasang Guest House, to see if I could see Terri and Sayed.
A few minutes down the trail, we found them. Bikas carried Terri’s bag to the lodge. They were looking in good shape, but Terri had some monster blisters on her feet. While Terri and Sayed
took showers and sorted themselved out after the long walk, I went with Bikas to the local gompa in time to see a service and listen to the monks’ chanting. It was a beautiful, small place and very atmospheric. I had a taste of some Tibetan tea, which is made with, among other ingredients, yak ghee. It was one of the most disgusting drinks I’ve ever had, the sort of beverage I imagine drunken rugby players would drink for a bet. I could be wrong; Bikas loved it.
The incredible scenery and our first view of the snow-capped peaks of the high Himalaya combined with the best pumpkin soup I’ve ever tasted made for a pleasant afternoon and evening. I drifted off to sleep that night to the sound of water rushing along the wooden viaduct used to siphon water from the nearby river for use in the lodge.
I was woken up at four in the morning by the sound of ringing bells coming from the monastary. The monks were starting early for a day of no talking and not much food. I made a mental note not to become a monk.
The following morning Terri
and Sayed decided to have a rest day. I thought it best to leave them to their own devices so they could take things at their own pace. I said I’d wait for them in Manang, where we were scheduled to take a rest day for acclimatization purposes. Making an early start under an overcast sky, I pressed on to Chame, stopping for an apple pancake after the first big climb to Timang and then for lunch in Koto. Fortunately, I timed it right to avoid a rain storm that blew in shortly after my arrival at the New Tibetan Guest House.
Because of a lack of solar power, I had a freezing cold shower at the lodge. In an attempt to stop shivering, I went for a walk round the village and found an extortionately priced internet café. I had a quick check of my emails and received some joyous news. My boss from my previous job had been given the push. I bought a small bottle of Bagpiper Nepali whiskey from one of the stores in the town and headed back to the guest house. It had got even colder by now, so after I offered the
manager of the lodge a glass of whiskey, he invited me to sit by the fire in the kitchen, something that would never have happened in the Khumbu valley where the people are more shy and conservative.
I don’t know if it was the, to be honest, pretty ropey tasting whiskey, as it didn’t have much of an effect on me or the lack of electricity that evening, but as I warmed myself against the kitchen fire, a scene of chaos unfolded as the manager staggered around the kitchen in slow motion like a drunk Bionic Man, from time to time wearing a head torch or carrying a candle as he juggled pans of hot water, burnt chapatis and scoffed boiled potatoes, explaining that he was very hungry. Not only that, but the young woman helping the manager navigated the kitchen as if she was sleep-walking and moved pans to random locations round the room just as the manager was about to use them. I’d ordered my food about an hour and a half before the first course arrived. The vegetables in my vegetable noodle soup consisted of the smallest piece of spinach I’ve ever seen, so small that
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I saw it. The chef was chuckling too. By the time my desert, a shallow-fried apple pie, worryingly cold on the inside and slightly warm on the outside, was delivered to me before my vegetable curry had even been prepared, I was almost crying with laughter and beginning to wonder if the guy wobbling over the hot stove was just someone who happened to be passing on his way back from a chhyang session and fancied having a crack at some cooking. My curry arrived half an hour later after I reminded the manager I’d ordered one. When I asked if there was any chance of getting some rice to go with it, he staggered away once more to boil some more water. When the rice was ready I gave half of it back to him to have with his boiled potatoes in an attempt to soak up some of the whiskey in his system. Eventually I could take no more and in fits of laughter I went to bed, fingers crossed that the half-cooked apple pie wouldn’t cause me any problems during the night.
Early the next morning, after a
sluggishly delivered breakfast, I headed to Pisang. The path took me through a beautiful blue pine forest and past an incredible piece of rock called, I think, Swargadwari Dande, which sweeps down from a 6000M or so peak to create an enormous, natural bmx half-pipe. I wound my way through the villages of Talekhu and Dikhur Pokhari where I stopped for an enormous lunch of tuna and rice, onion and garlic soup, black tea and a black coffee. Apart from a couple of retired Bombay-ites and two Israeli lads I met at lunchtime, I had the path to myself, which was quite fortunate as shortly before I arrived in Lower Pisang, the strong black coffee worked its magic and I had to make like the proverbial bears and head into woods for a crouch.
In the afternoon having checked in to the Peaceful Lodge, I trekked to Upper Pisang and found the higher trail I’d need to follow the next day to Manang. After heading back down to the lodge for a cup of tea I played football in the street outiside with some very cute toddlers.
I was kept awake till the early hours by a group
of Sherpa’s having a boozy do in the kitchen of the lodge and then woken early by the dread-locked and cowboy hat wearing owner of the lodge banging nails into the wall of the room next door to mine. So much for it being a peaceful lodge! I made the most of being woken early and after breakfast started out along the high route to Manang.
Although a much longer route than the lower path, the views of the Annapurna Range from the high path were incredible and worth the seven hours it took to get to Manang. On the way I stopped at a real old-style lodge, made entirely of wood rather than the usual stone, in the medieval-looking village Ghyaru for an apple pancake and at Nawal for lunch. From Nawal, the landscape started to look more arid and although it was hot, it wasn’t humid, making for almost perfect walking conditions.
Towards the end of the walk, I stumbled across what seemed to be a deserted school. As I got closer I could see childrens’ school uniforms strewn in the bushes in the buildings grounds. It was very spooky and I had all sorts of
images going through my mind of what I would find if I looked inside a window. There were several paths to take and so to get my bearings I decided to go and find out if there was a name on the school. As I approached a central courtyard, I saw a running tap and some soap. An old woman was walking towards me. I realised that it must be half-term or something similar and that the woman was washing the clothes before the pupils returned. Phew!
I was shattered when I arrived at Manang and checked in to the Tilicho Hotel. I had a couple of days relaxing, managing to see the excellent film Himalaya, eating as much apple crumble as possible and drinking delicous seabuckthron juice. During my time there I bumped into Hari, and met the funniest men on earth, the crazy Italian duo Davide and Frederico. Terri and Sayed arrived too, with Greg, an Australian lad they’d met along the way.
The next stop was Ledar, which, from Manang, is a lovely, easy-going walk to 4250m. Along the way I caught up with Greg and the two Italians and we walked in to Ledar
together. Terri and Sayed turned up a bit later and during the afternoon I got chatting to a Californian lass called Chanel. We were to become a tight nit group as the trek continued.
An early start was required the next day to climb the Thorong La pass. It was a seemingly never-ending climb of about five hours to get to the top of the pass and as usual the incredible 360 degree panoramas made it all worthwhile. We were over the moon when Terri, who wasn't sure she’d make it to the top, arrived a few minutes behind the rest of us, after a stern talking to from her husband Sayed, who seemed to have taken a few lessons from a foul-mouthed Mr Motivator.
The walk down from the pass was very tough on the knees as we descended something over 1000m in one go, down to the village of Muktinath. It felt as if the trek was over having completed the toughest section so that evening, Greg, the Italians, Terri, Sayed, Chanel and I had a few beers and shared one or two jazz cigarettes.
The next day we walked to the hilariously named, at
least for the Italians, Kagbeni. We walked along the river bed surrounded by arid hills. At one point the wind was so strong that it almost blew us off the path. It was like being under a very large hair drier as the air was warm and blasting at what must have been around 70 miles and hour. Seen from above, Kagbeni is a splash of green in the otherwise sandy Kaligandarki Valley. It’s a place of religious importance with one of the oldest Tibetan monestaries in Nepal.
At breakfast the next day I made the important discovery that chapatis and omelettes are cooked in the same pan and so if you order two chapatis it’s a very simple job to create an omelette sandwich, delicious with a liberal helping of tomato ketchup.
We had a longer walk on Sunday to Tukuche, which is beyond the rather uninteresting, apart from it having an ATM, Jomosom and the immaculate and “delightful” apple capital of Nepal, Marpha, the cleanest place I’ve seen during my entire trip.
Before breakfast the following morning Sayed and I found ourselves in the Tukuche distillery sampling some of the overpowering brandies that are made
there by a woman trained in Japan in the art of making outrageously strong boozes. We sampled the cherry, apple and orange brandies and to be honest, they all tasted the same. We wobbled our way back to the Tukuche Lodge for breakfast and then struck out for Ghasa.
As we descended to Ghasa the scenery became green once more and we walked through pine forests, surrounded by lush, green hills. The road to Tatopani, which translates as “hot water” is fairly flat and was actually quite boring to walk along, but the lack of undulations meant that we covered a great distance in one day. There was enough scenery to keep us interested as the path meandered through pine forested valleys.
It was great to relax in the hot springs at Tatopani where we made the aquaintance of a Saddhu, a man devoted to a life of religious wandering and to smoking chillums packed with marijuana. The water, naturally a scorching 72 degrees, was so relaxing that the Italians, Greg and I headed back the next morning to watch the sun rise with the Saddhu, who has a bad leg from being kicked off a mountain pass
Mules on their way back from Pisang
...path blasted from the mountain side.by a mule.
“Good night, I sleep now”, said the addled-looking Saddhu as we headed back to the lodge to start our final leg of the trek. Today we would walk a couple of hours to Tiplyang, have a sweaty ride in a shockingly poorly maintained jeep to Galeshor followed by a mad dash to Beni to catch the bus to Pokhora.
By the time we reached Beni, the bus was full and so all seven of us tired but happy trekkers clambered on to the roof to enjoy an incredible five hour ride, watching the sun go down behind the distant, towering white peaks that only a few days ago we’d been toiling directly underneath. It was a clear night and the full moon and sparkling stars lit our way as we descended through the valleys of the softly silhouetted foothills of these amazing Himalayan giants into the bustle of Nepal’s second biggest city.
Exhilerated by the ride, we bounced into taxis and headed to our respective guest houses, looking forward to a few relaxing days in Pokhora’s calming lakeside setting.
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chris d
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Now that's what I'm talkin about...Chamon..
Great memories mate...I remember Pisang and Kagbeni very well....also the walk through pass with the vegetation and trees....didn't see any photos of the base camp though? maybe you wen through a different area? I remember staying there and have all the mountains surrounding area, especially Macha Pichu or Pichar...can't remember which one it was... Anyway fella, thanks for sending this to me :) Take care and keep it locked! Chris