Top of the World... Sort of

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A week ago I was getting ready to leave to go on my "trek" and, as ever, updated my facebook status before I left, something along the lines of "Lisa is off trekking, which is the same as walking..."

This may have been slightly naive, and with hindsight I realise I should maybe have written something like "Lisa is off trekking, which is the same as walking... on a stairmaster - level 12, with hiking boots, 2 pairs of trousers, 4 tops, a fleece, scarf, hat, mittens, carrying a rucksack and in hail and snow". That might have been slightly more accurate.

It is really hard not to go overboard with language sitting at a computer screen, but having returned from 5 days trekking, I honestly think it was one of the most memorable weeks of my life. It was just absolutely fantastic. I loved it. Parshu, my guide, had suggested the Gorepani (Poonhill) trek. 5 days duration, pretty "easy" trek - ie didnt really matter that I hadnt done any trekking before. After getting all my gear, the plan was to pick me up in a taxi on Monday morning and then off we were to go. That really was about the sum total of my information.

When we were dropped off, an hour later, in Nayapol, start of the trek - we literally just started walking. Stony path, lovely mountain scenery, and I was thinking - well, this is it - for a week - not that bad at all. But by lunchtime, as the stony path had become gradually more vertical and then turned into wobbly stone steps heading steeply up the mountain, I was not doing very well. At all. I had stripped off many layers and was down to 2 t-shirts, my hands had totally swollen up and were throbbing. They looked like two pink marigolds that someone had used as balloons, my breathing was fine (amazingly), but I was knackered and I was thinking - oh my god, Im not going to manage this.. We stopped for lunch and there sitting at one of the cafes in the village was Phil, a friend I had met in Pokhara the day before. If I was feeling knackered, then Phil looked as if he was at death's door. He sat, grim faced, and as I bounded up to him asking how he was, he could only really manage "not very well - that.was.intense". Phil is 22, and pretty fit. In that perverse way, that made me feel loads better, it wasnt just me in my advancing years that was finding it a bit tougher than just "walking". And from that point on, I just absolutely loved it.

The first day was the hardest, definitely. Mostly uphill, uneven steps, the weather was not great and went from pea-soup fog (so not great views then), to rain and then hailstones. That night we stopped at a guesthouse which was run by an ex Indian Army Ghurka and his wife. I was elated to have finished day 1, and we were the only people staying there. They couldnt have been better hosts, and plied us with dal baht (the stanard lentils and rice diet of the mountains) and glasses of raksi (pronounced rocksy) which is a homebrewed liquor that they all drink. Distilled through millet I think. It tastes just like pure alcohol really, but served warm, and not really really strong. Parshu had some grass too - so we just chilled out round the fire in the kitchen, and had a laugh. What was lovely was that the wife was drinking and smoking too - so different to actually hang out with a woman.

Day 2 was difficult again, but I was full of beans and we trudged up the mountain - helped along by my ipod which helped me tune out and focus on the steps, rather than my aches and tiredness. The weather and therefore the view was not brilliant, but then as we climbed further it started to snow - proper big snowflakes and we kept on marching through it. It was really pretty and lifted my mood totally. What also keeps you going, is twofold - the other trekkers en route, who all smile and nod - a kind of shared experience sort of thing. But mainly, it is the fact that as I was trudging up thinking how hard it was, and focussing on the next 30 mins to get my through, the other people around are the locals - the people who actually live there and use those paths in their daily lives - to do, well, everything. Depending on where they live, some children walk up and down those steps for over an hour a day to get to school and back, herds of donkeys push past you on the path delivery all sorts of food packages and building materials, locals a good 30 years older than me whip past you, wearing flip flops, going about their business. It is really quite amazing how they live like that. They must be such strong and fit people, and never look like they are complaining at all. It is really quite humbling. I saw a man carrying 3 window frames, complete with glass up the same steps as a man with a mattress tied to his back, many many porters with conical baskets on their backs, filled with anything from cooking pots, to food supplies. You could only really stare in awe at them all. There really is no other way to get the stuff up and down.

What happens as you climb higher, however, is that we started to leave normal mountain village life and Parshu explained that the places we would be staying at are villages that have only actually existed for 20 or so years, and are only actually their because we - the trekkers - are there - and need the business. This is not even the dead of winter, but the evenings further up the trek were very very cold. There is no heating in the buildings, sometimes a fire is lit in an oil drum sort of thing, so you sit with the guest house owners and get some heat, before braving it to head to your room and hide under blankets to try to generate some warmth. The second night guest house was equally friendly, but so cold that taking your clothes off to have a shower was not a possibility - even though there was a promise of hot water.

On day 3 the weather totally changed and the skies cleared. This was also our midway point where we would reach the highest peak of our trek, and then start descdending again. It was very beautitful, and so worth any ache and pain that I had had (which were very little truth be told, just sort of wonky knees - but no lasting muscle pain). A crowd of us made it to the "summit" (that is a bit grand - it was a clearing really, with some prayer flags) at the same time and sat around looking at the view. It is so amazing you could really sit their all day. Phil made it, and was looking much much cheerier thankfully - although he was actually on a 10 day trek, so the thrill of making the halfway point was mind alone - he had 7 more days and more peaks to climb. But we all got into the party spirit. Some Japanese tourists, all in matching north face raincoats, took out a mouth organ and started to play, it was great.

The descent was not easy at all. We started coming down the other side of the mountain we were on, but because of the weather and the different angle, all the snow their had compacted and was really icey on the path, and it was really steep. Parshu and I both fell 2 or 3 times, as did many many other trekkers. It was tough. Add to that the fact that sometimes these paths are no more than ridges in the side of the mountain, with maybe a 100/200 feet drop down into a gorge right beside you. I cant even imagine how anyone would be able to get down to you if you did fell. And then of course there is the occasional ding-a-ling of the bells around donkeys necks, so you can hear them approaching, looking pissed off, and you just have to find a safe spot off the path where it looks like they will not be able to shove you off to your sure death. Exciting though, really exciting, and although less tiring, was hard to concentrate all day to make sure that I made it down the path.

Two more days of descending and I had made it back to my starting point in once piece, tired, extremely happy, and with more than a sense of achievement. It was fantastic, and on the last day, which was relatively easy, I was kind of wishing that I had taken on a 10 day trek. A lot of it is mind control I think, and I did well at the 5 day trek (overtaking 4 loudmouth british army guys was a definite high point), and am pretty sure that could have done a 10 day. But it was much much harder physically than I could have imagined, and definitely shattered that myth that "trekking is just walking". I would definitely do it again, definitely.

The whole thing was made even more special by Parshu - my guide - who was just lovely, really lovely. I thought it would be like having the driver in India, where you could have a laugh, but there was always that employee thing in the back of your head. But Parshu was a true gem, and a laugh, and caring, and didnt push me, and really felt like a friend by the end. I really really got on well with him. So much so that he invited me to attend his daughter's 7th birthday party the following day (Saturday) which of course I said yes to.

He came to pick me up on his motorbike, with Amsita - the birthday girl, perched on the front. Finally I got to achieve one of my ambitions, which was to ride, in true local style, with way too many passengers on a bike. I sat on the back, Parshu was driving obviously (and was the only one wearing a helmet), and Amsita sat in front of him. He has tied a piece of yellow string between the two handlebars which forms a straight rope which she holds on to, her wee feet in her flip flops are perched on each side of the radiator at the front, and off we went - about 6km to his house, which is at other side of Pokhara. Add to the load, a carboard box carrying the birthday cake for the party, and we were quite a sight I would have thought. But as we bounced over potholes, past the queues of trucks waiting for petrol, who had probably been waiting for days now, bus loads of locals hanging off the side of the bus and sitting on the roof, and various other goings on in the street, it was quite clear we werent a sight at all - just normal folks.

Parshu, his wife Durga, Amsita and her older brother Ashok (14), and other neighbours, relatives, shopowners from nearby all sat and cooked together, ate together, and then there was a cake ceremony where all the local kids came and sang happy birthday - in English - to Amsita, and then in true Asian, bollocks to health and safety, style - Amsita was handed a carving knife, cut the cake into sections, and then used the carving knife to shovel the pieces into her wee friend's mouths. It was so sweet. Then Durga mixed up some tikka and Parshu, Durga and then I was invited too, rubbed Amsitas head with the tikka leving a deep red stain, they blessed her, I kind of ruffled her hair because I wasnt really sure what to do at that point. And then that was the party really. I felt really at home, everyone was really friendly, but not in that polite british way. I was peeling potatoes, and chopping cauliflower and tomatoes like the rest of them - and it was lovely.

Am feeling really relaxed now back here in Pokhara - the weather has taken a definitely turn for the better, and I think I am going to stay at least another week before I make my way back to Kathmandu.

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Photos

My guide
The adorable Parshu - babypink hat always at the ready

Eighth highest mountain in the world
Me, looking stunning, with the slightly more attractive 8th highest mountain in the world behind me. The name escapes me for now..

View from Poonhill
Day 3 - Morning View

Beautiful
So beautiful, we all sat in the silence in the morning just watching

Top of the world
I reach 3210m - not exactly Everest, but my very own personal best

Me out for a stroll
Day 4 - the views were pretty much similar to this all the way down

Doing the messages
Met this chap on the path down, each basket weighs about 20kg

Porters take the strain
These are porters - hired to carry clients bags and rucksacks up the same route. They often carry two full rucksacks, balancing the load with a band around thier head. They are paid about 8 dollars a day for this backbreaking work