Round the World Journal
by Matt Donath
Sept 20. General wake-up call at 3:45am. Sybil and I have no desire to start hiking in the dark, but everyone else seems noisily keen to go. I guess it doesn't matter, as it's hard to sleep in this pit anyway. One positive aspect about this place is that the staff is efficient at providing porridge at this ungodly hour.
Since Sybil has side cramps that hurt her lung and I have my morning battle with my bowels, we don't get on the trail until after 6:30, long after everyone else is gone. The initial climb is heart-crushingly tough. The altitude reduces us to twenty paces and pant. It's raining and not very cheery.
We're surprised to see one of the guides hiking back down to the guesthouse. Turns out he's returned to retrieve his client's water bottle! We're amazed by his attention to duty and later get several chances to talk with him. If you ever need a trekking guide, I can recommend him. We've heard several stories of people being deserted by their guides on the trail, so it's extremely important to get a good one. His name is Himal Pandey and he can be contacted care of Tibet Cottage in Kathmandu (traders@subisu.mos.com.np; http://www.yomari.com/tibetcottage).
Although our progress seems agonizingly slow, we do make progress. After stopping for a cookie break in a deserted hut, a stray dog decides to dutifully tag along with us. We can't decide if he's friendly or just waiting for us to pass out so he can eat us. Eventually, he grows weary of our slow pace and prances nimbly up the mountain. "Nice for him!" as Sybil might say.
Eventually, we pass a cairn marking the spot where a hiker died after falling ill to altitude sickness. Not only does this give us an indication of our location, it provides further incentive to keep moving.
In less than four hours we're at the top of the pass. A tiny teashop sits up here! They probably serve the most expensive tea in Nepal but we feel obligated to order some after they waited for us. "Are you last?" asks one of the two guys hopefully. The other guy wears a knock-off North Face jacket while chanting Tibetan prayers. He doesn't miss a beat in his recitations while telling us the price or making change.
Sybil's cramps get worse on the way down. She has a strange muscular pain all down her right side. We later determine she must have an intercostal muscle pull. Any little jostle hurts her and the path is quite steep and treacherous. Actually, the way down is much more arduous than the climb up.
Since Sybil can't move very quickly, we run out of water. Our map shows several stream crossings but they are all dry. I decide to hike ahead to get some water treated with iodine (takes about 25 minutes to purify water). Soon after splitting up, a thick fog rolls in, and the rain, which had left us for awhile, picks up again.
This side of the pass looks like a desert. I walk far ahead without finding any water. Suddenly I hear the strident sound of Sybil's noise alarm. Before parting, we'd decided that she would pull her alarm if she got into trouble. Seeing horrid visions of Sybil laying at the bottom of a gully, I drop my pack and race back up the trail.
At least I "race" for awhile. I quickly run out of breath and am reduced to hoarse yells and trudging. Finally, I get up to a point where we can hear each other. Sybil isn't hurt. She's just concerned she'll lose her way in the dense fog.
OK, better we stick together. Turns out we have quite a long hike before we find a stream. The fog lifts, the rain relents, and we are treated to views of desert mountains that overlook a verdant valley below us. High above all tower snow-capped mountains, standing watch over this Sahara bizarrely mixed with South-East Asia.
Down, down we climb, knees groaning with every step. We stop at a goth, a smelly herder's shelter for a rest. Nine hours after starting, we come down to the temple complex of Muktinath. Many colorfully dressed pilgrims are entering these famous temples. The town of Ranipauwa and a bed at the Mona Lisa Guesthouse lie twenty minutes further.
There is a celebratory air among the porters, guides, and trekkers that night! Himal puts on some Nepalese music and everyone starts dancing. Many villagers, including several children, come in to join in the festivities.
Sept 21. In the morning we read a great comic book promoting good hygiene among Tibetan refugees in India. The story follows the life of an "illuminated" child, specially chosen from birth to be sensitive to proper sanitation. Even before he can speak, this boy cries when people shit and piss in the river near his village. One highlight is when the child's father cuts his foot and asks his son to urinate on it. As usual, the illuminated child runs away crying and looking for soap. The father, disgusted at his son's disobedience, gets his older brother to urinate on his wound. (Wish I could show you this frame of the comic.) Seeing this atrocity, the illuminated child rushes back and tackles his older brother. Great stuff!
We visit the renowned Muktinath temples. They even have a helicopter landing spot here so the king can visit without trekking in! Although these are Buddhist temples, this is also a holy spot for Hindus and pilgrims from both religions regularly visit. In the Jwala Mai Temple, a flame burns (most likely from a natural gas emission) out of the same hole as a spring. This spot is believed by Hindus to be a sacred offering by Brahma.
After the temples, we set out for Kagbeni. We pass through an interesting town, up on a ridge, called Jharkot. All along the way from Jharkot to Khingar we are treated to marvelous views as we hike past lovely trees, irrigation ditches, and crops surrounded by many stone walls. Across the river are many caves in the barren cliff face, and some ruined villages.
Just past Khingar, the wind picks up considerably. All of the villages in the north Kali Gandaki Valley, including Kagbeni, are plagued by strong winds. An attempt was made at installing a wind-power project, but we find it abandoned. Later, we learn that this generator was established in 1990 with Danish help. The king visited Kagbeni for the switch-on of the power. Kagbeni had electricity for one month and then the main wind fan broke. It's been left neglected ever since.
Bunk at the Shangri-La Guesthouse -- not bad but their toilet is broken and the crowd there is noisy.
Sept 22. On this bright morning, brief images of life along the trail for the past few days stick in my mind: a kitten on a rooftop scratching at a yellow prayer flag; a ragamuffin barefoot girl of about six, wandering the streets of Kagbeni with a basket and shovel, collecting dung for fuel; two teenagers coaxing their massive ox to plow their buckwheat field, high on a ridge; an old man sleeping in a field next to a buffalo, desert mountains behind him; and the eagle's eye view from a high mountain meadow far down to magical valley below.
Sybil is feeling better and that makes everything easier for me. However, she's a bit weary of some aspects of Nepal. "There's so many nice places in the world to visit that are clean." "Wouldn't you like to go some place that isn't covered with shit and you don't get diarrhea every morning?" Hmm, she has a point but I'm still too amazed by what I'm seeing to be worn down by filth and disease.
Time for a rest and cleaning day though! After moving to the Annapurna Guesthouse (slightly better rooms and food, and check out their homemade map of Kagbeni in the dining room) we wash all of our clothes and hang them outside. The tremendous wind dries them very quickly. "This must be the best place in Nepal to dry laundry," says Sybil.
Next we clean ourselves. Actually, we have little choice about the timing. While almost every guesthouse on this side of the pass advertises "24-hour hot solar shower," you usually have a window of about 45 minutes on a sunny afternoon when you can get a trickle of hot water. Outside of that, it's lukewarm at best. This is because when they say "solar" they usually mean that they have a big black tub of water sitting on the roof.
Usually we don't mind about hot water, having gotten used to cold showers in SE Asia. However, it's rather cold here in Kagbeni so we've insisted on some of the advertised hot water. Consequently, the Annapurna proprietress knocks on our door and says: "hot water now -- you come down to shower." Sybil tries to explain that we were just thinking of going out: "will the water still be hot in an hour or two?" "No, the wind cools," explains our hostess. OK, so we shower now. The mandi buckets are leftover synthetic enamel cans. The previous contents were bright orange so I hope that stuff doesn't run off.
Despite its small size, Kagbeni is fun to wander around -- full of streams, covered streets and old stone buildings. We walk over to the river, as far as the sign warning us not to go further north into Mustang without checking in with the police. Since the trekking permit for Mustang costs an outrageous $700 a week, we're content to stop here and peer up the scenic but intensely windy and dusty river valley.
At one point, while waling around, some street urchins run at us, trying to snatch a bag of granola we're eating. I pull it up out of their reach, much to their consternation. Actually, an older boy goaded one of the smallest boys to do the thieving. This nasty little tike later comes after us, swinging his fists, deaf to Sybil's scolding. He's too small to do any damage though.
Sept 23. We depart Kagbeni to the sound of Tibetan prayer horns (vaguely reminiscent of Scottish bagpipes) cymbals, bells, and much chanting. We're told that a ceremony is in progress to commemorate the birthday of the Dali Lama. I'm a bit confused though as I've read that his birthday is on another day.
A ferocious wind smacks us in the face as we follow the wide Kali Gandaki riverbed. Sybil takes my green Balinese sarong and fashions a headdress over my homemade "Japanese Army" hat, transforming me into a bizarre "Mapu of Arabia." This stark but beautiful area is full of Shaligrams (black ammonite fossils). We find some but only take one.
A better discovery is my first kan-kan of the journey. First, I forgot to mention that Sybil found a kan-kan earlier when we were lost after taking the high route to Manang. She finds a topi, a small Nepalese hat, just before we regain the main trail. Here in Jomsom, I pick up a neat little pin that turns out to be for a low-level government worker.
The hike from Jomsom to Marpha is one of the least interesting of our trek. The relentlessly annoying wind makes it difficult to appreciate what little scenery there is. Marpha itself is known as sort of the Singapore of the Annapurna Circuit. The village imposes stiff fines on places that fail to keep their section of the street clean. Doesn't mean there isn't dung on the streets though.
We check into the Neeru Guesthouse -- one of the prettiest garden courtyards I've seen, but the water runs out on our shower and our room reeks from the marijuana smoke next door. The food is quite good though and the menu offers many novel treats.
Sept 24. Another rest day. We have a look around the lovely gardens of the nearby Horticultural Research Station. Next, the children who work at the family-run distillery across the street give us a tour of their brandy-making operation. Finally, we walk up though the hilly maze of Marpha streets, coming to the Gompa.
A previous Dalai Lama made a present of a prayer wheel to this Gompa. This wheel is quite large but not very attractive. Sybil chides me for commenting: "Is that all the Dalai Lama gave them?" From the Gompa we have a great view of the village. Fruits and vegetables lay drying on many roofs. White-painted stone buildings near the main drag give way to tumbling rocky stone dwellings above. All have prayer flags waving.
Sept 25. Himal told us that that the wind dies down about two hours south of Marpha. We make an attempt at an early start but are not too successful. The scenery improves greatly as the vegetation increases. The town of Tuche is at least as clean and as interesting as Marpha.
After some river crossings we find ourselves on a trail that is too heavily populated with man and beast. We elect to take a longer route to Kalipani. Good move! (Sybil's idea) We have the trail to ourselves and can stop to admire our surroundings at leisure. Sybil almost steps on a long brown snake as she tries to read a memorial to some American and Nepali climbers who perished in an avalanche. After some more river crossings, we see the lush hills near Kalipani.
After a tough climb above a landslide, we pass through flowers, woods and waterfalls into Ghasa. Here we make a slight mistake in choosing our lodgings. Some Dutch friends we've been following tell us they are heading for the Eagle's Nest. They joke with me a bit because they have a Lonely Planet guide and I've already made known my dislike of their recommendations. "They can't be wrong all the time," teases Jason.
Well, maybe not, but tack up another data point for my theory that the LP corrupts just about every place it praises. The people who run the Eagle's Nest are fairly nice, but they are badly overextended with the crowd we find staying there. Both their food and their service suffer. This was by far the most unpleasant place we've stayed on this side of the pass.
Sept 26. "All are gone, only you two are left," says our proprietress in the morning. Yes, as usual, and thank goodness! Sybil is decidedly negative about the sudden appearance of the tourist horde (although I'm sure it must get many times worse) and is ready to run out of here for Eastern Nepal. I feel her pain but don't want to hurry past this wonderful scenery. Unfortunately, we blow this up into a fight, get out late and have to spend time making up.
We may have much more time than we bargained for. We've just learned about a massive landslide just south of Tatopani that has destroyed the trail! We've heard rumors of people leaving Tatopani, heading upstream to avoid an impending flood.
We soon learn the rumors are true. The river is completely blocked ahead and the water is quickly rising. People expect the army to come in to dynamite a hole through the blocked riverbed. We hole up in Dana, living like refugees in the cramped, chaotic Kabin Guesthouse. Almost a hundred tourists were evacuated up here from Tatopani.
Sept 27. A bright, sunny morning and no one knows where they are going. We head for Tatopani to see if there is a way out. Once there, we find that the rising water did indeed flood Tatopani. The Army has just dynamited a hole in the rubble, unblocking the river, and the water subsided. About five houses in the south of town are destroyed. The famous hot springs are buried.
However, the police (perhaps fearing further instability after the Army explosion) won't let trekkers hike over the landslide. We seem to be stuck.
Right now (1:30pm), we're waiting with a group of Israeli trekkers for an Army helicopter to evacuate us. Dust and debris are still falling from the landslide, but the river remains unblocked. One of the Israelis takes a photo of a young girl of about five. She has a basket strapped to her head. Inside the basket is a tiny baby. The young girl greedily accepts a stick of gum for posing.
At 3pm the Army helicopter lands and the entire town rushes out to meet it. An Army bigwig pops out with some assistants who unload bags of rice and plastic tarp (to make tents?). Names are read off from a previously compiled list to load people on board. Sybil's name is read off. Then they stop! They won't let me get on! Sybil jumps off and we are promised that the helicopter will return.
At 4:15pm the Bigwig cryptically says to me: "you're a lucky man." I'm able to divine the meaning of his remark. Foreign trekkers have heard about the helicopter landing and are pouring into Tatopani for a free ride out. The Bigwig has been patiently putting their names on a "waiting list." However, I know there is no way they can bring all of these people out by helicopter. They didn't come in for an evacuation. The Army just wanted to drop off the Bigwig and some token aid. There will be few, if any, more helicopter flights.
Sybil is frantic to get onto this next flight. Theoretically, we should be at the top of the "list," but we see signs of trouble ahead. Many people crowd around the Bigwig, chatting him up and trying to maneuver a ride. Some shameless foreigners wrap bandages around their legs, trying to appear injured or sick. Buddhist nuns, older Nepalese, Indian pilgrims, and other genuinely deserving people gather round.
The helicopter finally returns and there is a long, tense wait while the bags of rice and plastic sheets are unloaded. Then the soldiers let the nuns and some of the older Nepalese on. The crowd pushes forward and the "list" is forgotten. Some of the newcomer foreigners push towards the front. The soldiers try to hold people back but they don't remove those who manage to weave their way on board.
Fortunately, Sybil and I manage to get on. The Indian pilgrims also get on. Unfortunately, some of the nastiest, pushiest newcomer tourists (most particularly one European woman) get on as well.
This is my first helicopter flight and I'm certain I'll never have a more scenic ride. I get a close-up view of the huge, still dusty landslide. Then we fly above the Kali Gandaki River, close to the intricately terraced hills. We thought we were headed for Beni, but the Army Puma soars high above the magnificent valley and heads east, past the famous rhododendron hills of Ghorepani.
The Buddhist nuns pray the entire ride. One of them clenches Sybil's hand in fear. Sybil looks up reassuring words in her phrasebook to calm her down.
We land in Pokhara. The Israeli group waits at the airport for their guide and porter. Originally, the guide and porter were next on the "list" to go out with us, but they don't get on. As expected, we soon learn that there will be no more helicopter flights.
The Israelis are a fun group, so we share a ride Lakeside and go out to dinner with them. We bunk down for the night at the Hotel Nasa: cheap (100 rupees), clean, and hot water. What more could you want? (+977-61-27121)