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May 2nd: Tatopani to Ghasa (…on this, the most important day of my life … deepest gorge in the world)
I couldn’t do this without P. I start each day with her melodic voice. “Noree .. Goo morning. We eat breakfas?” Endlessly cheerful, she laughs at each question she asks & each answer I give. My thighs are sore, but everything else - body and spirit - feels great.
Slept well last night. There’s a young Canadian-Israeli couple here with two small children (perhaps 5 and 2 years old) and I marvel at them & their easy going approach to travel with such small children.
Yesterday was long & grueling (and I was going down!); Wish I had light weight Gortex for afternoon rain
showers;
Breakfast of oatmeal, apples & black coffee (to stave off the caffeine withdrawal headache) but it bears repeating: I feel really really good (and hear Sister Maurice’s voice completing the thought) on this the most important day of my life. It’s not that it’s my birthday or any other significant day, but it’s the only day we have.) This is only day four. So, for someone who exercised sporadically while attempting to get in shape over the last 5 months, it takes 3-4 days to push pass the constant pain and move into the “Feeling great” zone. The guy from New Zealand was right.
Since I implied Y bear responsibility for the imagined heart attack, perhaps it’s only fair to give him credit. I whisper a quiet thank you to Y for his encouragement, for G for his understanding, for D for surprising me so much that I was motivated to take this trip , to M for saying “I don’t understand why you can’t stay here in Vermont & climb these perfectly fine mountains. But if you need to go, please be safe, we’ll miss you.”
Each time I point to a peak and ask P the name of a mountain she says “not mountain, hill.“ The hills here in the Himalayas are well over 10,000 feet high. Three times the size of our Vermont mountains. There are so many of them they don’t bother giving them names.
Today is M’s birthday, and I’m missing him terribly the last few days - wishing that contact is easier, that I could celebrate his birthday with him, that he feels as good as I do right now.
After breakfast we leave the hotel and start the gradual ascent, keeping the Kali Ghandaki on our right. Since yesterday was all decent all day & any down step is thigh-excruciating, the gentle uphill is exhilarating.
Going through Dana a small girl, perhaps 20 months, runs to great us with hands in prayer position. “Namaste” she shouts. We return the prayer-greeting. She repeats, we repeat, she repeats, we repeat. She thrilled until she realizes we’re continuing on our trek. She starts a long loud scream, angry, bordering rage. No words, just frustration.
Small children call out “take picture” as I pass. “Picture money?” they ask. I say “no”; Every “how to be a good tourist” book or brochure requests that children are *not* given pens, balloons, pencils or money. “we want to discourage begging” I’m told. “If you want to make a donation to a children’s organization please do. But don’t give directly to children, please.”
We walk through the 18th century. An old man, by the side of the road, is making a basket of reeds {Insert photo here}
We cross the Kali Ghandaki again, over a suspension bridge that stirs up my acrophobia.
{Insert photo here}
Around 11:00 we get to the Rupse Chhahara (Beautiful Waterfall) {insert waterfall photo here} where we are met by the enterprising proprietor ( a young Nepali man of perhaps 30 years) of the Annapurna View Tea house across the path from the waterfall. He invites us in for lunch. I tell him we’ve only been walking 3 hours & I’m not hungry. He points to P and says “she needs food - she needs her strength“; He’s right. I know that while I had oatmeal, she’s only had toast for breakfast.
I find out later the typical Nepali day includes early rising with a cup of tea & bread or chapati, then a main meal (usually dal bhat) at 11:00, sometimes followed by afternoon tea at 3 or 4 (perhaps a small bowl of noodle soup), and a second main meal (dal bhat again) at 7:00. Given that P is accustomed to this schedule, I make a note to remember to get her fed close to 11. The deal at restaurants is a two-tiered structure. The porter/ guide brings in the tourist and we pay tourist prices. I pick anything I want off a long menu, average price for Dal bhat is 250 - 300 Rupees, higher prices as we trek further away from Pokhara, and P pays a fraction of that (50 rupees) - but her only option is for dal bhat.
The proprietor of Annapurna view has managed to talk us into eating at his establishment. We order lunch (Dal Bhat) & while the rice is cooking, take a walk down the path to over look what’s described as the deepest gorge in the world. Literally breathtaking in it’s beauty, I’m unable to capture it’s magnitude or majesty with my otherwise reliable Nikon, I stand still in quiet admiration. Really: If you come here don’t miss the trail that runs parallel to the Kali Ghandaki behind the Annapurna View Tea house. The Annapurna Himal are on the east, the Dhaulagiri Himal on the west, and the gorge between the two, the distance from top to bottom being more than 26,000 feet, is indescribable.
The sun ducks behind the clouds, the air is comfortable, we continue our hike up towards Ghasa. We hike past a Sheppard couple with their flock of sheep. I motion to my camera & ask her if I can photograph her: she obliges (insert photo);
Around 3:00 we get to the southern edge of Ghasa, entering the lower mustang area. The lower mustang area is culturally different, more Tibetan than Nepali. I’m told one of the differences is ;they not as friendly as Nepali.. They’re polite but not happy friendly.“
Two boys and a little girl is playing with their only toy a small blue ball, which deflates with every three or four passes. She bravely throws it in my direction. I pass it back. We start a game, quickly passing the ball back & forth.
It was an easy trek today (a little over 7 hours on the road, including a 90 minute lunch), most of it gentle uphill.
Around 3:15 we arrive at the Old Mustang Guest House. The Lonely Planet describes this place as glum. They’re right. Animals are bleating, dogs barking, children crying, whining, a TV in the food area blaring, the dog now has a half dead mouse dangling from it’s mouth. Nature is cruel. There are loud porters gambling on the porch. I ask P how far the nearest town is - she says 2 hours. I ask if she wants to keep going. She shrugs & says “stay here.”
I’m not thinking clearly, other wise I would have carefully read the Planet & suggested we continue to travel north for 15 minutes and stay in the Florida Guest house.
But the skies have opened up again so we agree to take a room - they give us a small dirty room off the main porch where the men are playing some kind of dice / gambling games; Currency is either Nepali coins or sea shells. The dice is put in a bowl, the bowl tipped upside down and SLAM! onto the playing surface porch. A shout from the men surrounding the game, money or shells exchanged, the whole process repeats (including SLAM! And shout); I don’t like the male / neglectful air of this place, and ask P is she’d be more comfortable sleeping in the other single bed in my room. This place is harsh & I fear she’ll be uncomfortable. She’ says yes.
At dinner she moves to gets my tea. “I’ll get it” I tell her, but she’s already up & moving saying simply “It’s my duty.”
Which leads me to wonder “What’s my duty?” Really.
The dal bhat is the least interesting to date (watery lentil soup without evidence of a single lentil);
The one plus is that the rooms have electricity and I’m able to charge my camera battery.
I sit outside & join a Japanese couple. This is his first time in Nepal in 26 years, her first time ever. He’s a journalist, has been to 46 countries. “Best place you ever visited?” “Hard question … Antarctica .. Three tough days crossing the Bearing Sea .. Then very still and the whales came & prayed and sung around our ship.” When I tell him I’m going to Mustang he tells me of a Japanese saying that roughly translates to “when the Buddhist monk leaves town he never leaves a virgin behind.”
Rain at night is good. It wets the trail and dampens the dust. I’m still coughing from whatever filled my lungs in Kathmandu, and I carry ginger tea in my thermos. Tomorrow it will be ginger lemon tea.
I’m getting to that point in the trek where I’m asking myself “what am I doing here?” Rishi says “if you aren’t paying attention to now, right now, don’t even bother. It’s not yoga.”
I try to stay here, where my feet are & think about all that leads me in the right direction:
Right attention to one’s understanding
Right attention to one’s intentions
Right attention to one’s speech
Right attention to one’s actions
Right livelihood
Right effort
Right mindfulness
Right concentration & unification of self through sitting yoga: meditation
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Phillip
non-member comment
Of gorges and hills
Perhaps you ARE a travel writer with a management affliction? Even without pictures, you took me there, held my attention and made me think. Namaste