Day 1 – 6:30 am. Packing only the essentials, a couple
outfits to hike in, one to hang around in at the days finish, gore-tex gear,
basic toiletries, a couple books, a little food (muesli for the mornings,
granola bars and trail mix as snacks on the move), and of course my juggling
balls I picked up in India. It was on to a tightly packed local bus, bags
strapped to the top heading towards the starting point of the Annapurna
Circuit, Besi Sahar. A two to three week trek into the Himalayas through
multiple climates, over the Thorong-La Pass and back around the Annapurna
mountain range, some of the tallest mountains in the world.
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| 50 shades of green |
Hitting
the path, or at this point dirt road from the far end of town, the anticipation
was boiling in me. I almost started running to get as far into the mountains as
I could. I didn’t want to kill my legs right off the get go with an extra
twenty pounds on my back, give or take, and I wanted to appreciate every ounce
of my time here. I’m surprised I didn’t walk off into the river not paying any
attention to the road ahead. My eyes stuck off into the distance watching the
speed of the river or into the lush carpet of trees, corn, rice and banana
trees covering the foothills. Fifty shades of green.
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| Peeling vegetables for dal baht |
As I
continued further down the road that over recent years has been slowly creeping
its way around the circuit, the new age clashed with the old. Dams were being
built for hydro-electric plants, construction prominent which was taking away
from the peaceful serenity one expected from the ‘isolated’ Himalayas. Raped of
its virginity by the modern era. As I asked around, some were happy with the
change, providing better electricity, easier transportation of goods, to
hospitals and relatives in neighboring villages and of course a demand for
work. On the other side of things, many were content and would prefer life the
way it was before. The noise pollution tremendous, the scenery compromised and
it takes away from the trekking which many villages rely on. Many people these
days wonder if it’s worth trekking anymore. In my opinion, it acts like a
festering wound on a perfect body.
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| Small village |
Making my
way towards Ngadi, my first stop for the night, I was intercepted by a local
heading in the same direction. Inviting me to his little guesthouse, I
graciously accepted. In the off season, generally rooms are free since business
is low, as long as you eat both dinner and breakfast there. No problem, no
motivation to go elsewhere after a day’s hike. The couple so accommodating,
going out of their way to get me some local rice wine for dinner and allowed me
to help prep for our dal baht dinner ( a traditional Nepalese meal, similar to the
Indian thali) by cleaning the vegetables. The best one I had in Nepal. They are
all same, same but different.
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| Fresh garlic drying |
Day 2: Off
the road and onto a trail leading through subtropical forests. Its then that I
truly realized I was really trekking into the foothills of the Himalayan
mountain range. Taken aback by everything, the sounds of the river and
wildlife, the smells of damp earth and vegetation. Even though it was
physically exhausting, it was mentally relaxing, meditative. As I entered small
villages, what seem unchanged for centuries, a new set of smells filled my
nostrils. A smell of my childhood as I roamed our country property. The scent
of surrounding fields, livestock being housed and the fresh garden. The
occasional waft of fresh garlic.
The humidity
hung thick in the air, and the dark clouds of the ever threatening monsoon
rains loomed over head as I entered Ghermu. It was time to settle in for the
night. With no one else in town, I had free pick of all beds in town. It was a
tough day ascending close to five hundred meters, but good preparation for the
days ahead. I stuffed my face with another dal baht and lied down to rest my
feet.
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| Yarchagumba |
Day 3: Today
I was heading out alone. One of the two I began with fell ill through the night
and was staying put for the day. It was nice to have company, but hitting the
road into the unknown by myself was another thrill in itself. A place where
solo trekkers have gone missing in the past.
I entered
a quaint village named Syange and thought to stop for a morning cup of ginger
tea. The man at the teashop sold more than tea, tempting me with some of the
famous Nepalese charas I’ve heard so much about. Coming straight from the
mountains, how could I resist. Another one of his interesting wares was an
expensive form of Chinese medicine that he would forage for in his spare time.
Yarchagumba, a ghost moth larvae mummified by a parasitic fungus. Used for many ailments and as always an aphrodisiac. The bright yellow one the most prized
followed by the more common red-orange.
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| Waterfall |
Since Syange
the scenery had been getting even more spectacular. Walking past stunning
waterfalls surging from the mountain walls plunging hundreds of meters to the
Marshyangdi River below. A couple hours before Tal, the recommended checkpoint
for the night, the rains caught me for the first time. Only a light rain almost
waiting for me to get into town before it unleashed its true fury (not that it
would have mattered since I was soaked through with sweat). Within five minutes
of sitting down to another cup of tea the clouds let loose.
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| Himalayan blueberry |
I thought
I was stuck for the night, but so badly wanted to get ahead of schedule. After
an hour of waiting, the rain reduced to a slight drizzle, I took it as my
opening. I didn’t realize it was to be an uphill battle on a slick path
sometimes less than a meter wide with a direct drop into the rapids that would
wash you away in seconds. I reached Dharapani, my personal goal for the day
sitting at two thousand meters, when only three days ago I was at eight
hundred. When I arrived I was offered some Himalayan blueberries that the kids
were snacking on. A little more bitter than what I’m used to but a great way to
cap off a long and strenuous day. Nine hours trekking the mountains is similar
to a sixteen hour day in a busy kitchen. You don’t realize what your body went
through until it’s done.
To Be Continued…
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