Tadapani - Ghandrung

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May 5th 2007
Published: May 5th 2007
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Kieron writes… Vivid Larium enhanced dreams prompted a restless night. Gave up at 5am and watched the sunrise.

This was preceded by a visit to the Nepalese “hole in t’ floor with bucket o’ water flush” toilet (fear not, I’ll spare the gory details). The dunny being the only lit room in the guest house, a murder of mosquitoes has assembled causing some concern for one’s safety given the posture necessitated by the primitive facilities - one does not want to be bitten THERE! As you may appreciate, this special incentive tends to accelerate ablutions.

On a more pleasant topic, sunrise amid the prayer flags atop the Tibetan temple was magical.

Menus on the mountain are arranged alphabetically according to the carb being delivered; I ordered E for eggs for breakfast and marched double quick time to Ghandruk.

Mantosh is 25, recently married to Zanu, 22, whose first mentioned quality was being the same height as my guide. The match was arranged by his mother, who is poorly and needed tending to whilst Mantosh was away for weeks on end on more serious treks than our mini escapade. Mantosh thinks Zanu may have a bun in the oven, hence we examine one another’s paunch after every daal bhat and declare “3 months!” (+/- one month according to the extend of enlarged belly). It’s not a great gag, but we have little in common and the gulf between my Western office anxieties and his life on the trail is so large that it stalls many conversations.

Mantosh calls me Toll-dye which means big brother. Actually, it translates literally as tall brother, which is the first time that particular 4 letter word has been used to describe your diminutive author. This reminds me of a bizarre experience experience at the Frist People’s Hospital in Lhasa wherein I found myself to be the tallest person in a packed lift by a clear foot - I’m gonna see some weird stuff on this trip, but that’s gonna take some beating!

Belatedly joined in Ghandruk by the German ankle surgeon, who had inevitably done in his ankle. Even worse, he knew exactly which tendon was torn, and how much more damage he was doing by continuing walking. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.


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