A Pair of Trekkies

Trekking over several days in a country like Nepal isn’t for everyone.

For starters, it’s not easy. After all, it is the Himalaya, the tallest mountain range in the world. Comfort and good food also sometimes take a back seat, as does any other “city delights”.

Personally though, Nepal (and more specifically the Himalaya) is heaven for me. What I saw and experienced with my eyes on this trek was second to none. I’d always thought Norway was the most beautiful country I’d seen, and the fact I’d been there three times was testament to that. I’ve now been subjected to the unmatched splendour that is the Himalaya though, and it’s hard to see it getting any better than this.

It’s almost impossible to get a perspective with your own eyes of how immense the Himalaya actually are. Quite often you’ll find yourself staring at a supposedly +7000m peak and thinking, “It really doesn’t look that big.” The only method that even comes close to working is to look on the map, there by discovering that the peak in question is actually 15km away, contradicting your belief that it was 1-2km away. Even then, you peel your head up from the map and stare back at them, only a tiny bit closer to realising their hugeness. Sometimes though, when you gaze long enough, you grasp things, and that’s when you get a tingle down your spine.

Getting a perspective of size becomes even more difficult when trying to photograph the region. I’m quite disappointed with a lot of the photos I took (see the Flikr page), as they do absolutely no justice to the colossal, jaw-dropping spectacle you see before you when actually there. It’s a bit of a cliché, but you get a sense of your own insignificance.

To people similar to myself, who are inspired by such extraordinary landscape scenes, I only say this – get to Nepal!

But as I said, it’s not for everyone.

By the fourth day of the trek, Lise’s legs were no longer legs. They were useless pieces of muscle and bone attached to her torso. Amputation was an option, but we had no way of disposing of the legs, and we didn’t want to pollute such a pristine environment.

The first few days of the trek were by far the most difficult. The final hours of day one involved a climb up an almost vertical stone staircase to our first nights stop in Ulleri. The second day was more gentle, but nevertheless still ascending. After a day’s rest in Ghorephani, we descended almost 2000m in a matter of hours down an equally abrupt staircase to the first day.

I thought I was going mad when voices started to scream out at me in vial abusive language. Then I realised that the voices were in fact directing their rage at Lise. The source: several muscles in her body which had never ever been drawn on to actually work in her life. I too had some small voices reverberating from my lower limbs, but more muffled and much less than what seemed to be about 80% of the muscles in Lise’s legs.

These “jours de douleur” were of course not all about the struggle to get our legs to work. Our time in Ghorepani was probably the highlight of the trek.

The village is situated at 2750m above sea-level, and more importantly sits precariously at the top of a mountain on the edge of the Annapurna Conservation Area (ACA). The result as you look northwards is probably the most encompassing view in the region as far as numbers of high peaks are concerned.

The pre-dawn walk up to Poon Hill, at 3210m and 1 hour West of Ghorepani, provided an even better spectacle, all be it accompanied by about 200 other people taking in the same view. I walked up with an American guy who was staying in the same guest house as us, and what he said as the rising sun illuminated the tallest peaks before us summed it all up: “Not many people get to see an 8000 metre-plus peak in their lifetime, and here we are looking at two of them at the same time.” To the left of the horizon was Dhaulagiri at 8167m, and to the right-centre was Annapurna I at 8091m. There are only fourteen mountains above 8000m in the world, so it felt pretty special.

The guest house in Ghorepani was also a highlight. The view from the restaurant / common room, combined with the semi-open fire (it was an old oil barrel which worked oh so well) inclined us to spend pretty much the whole day sitting by the window, reading, eating, playing Uno, drinking tea, and occasionally taking in the spell-binding panorama outside.

It was also quite a sociable atmosphere, allowing us to chat to the many porters and fellow trekkers passing through. One particular German middle aged man travelling on his own sticks out in my mind. It seems he had a bit of a fetish (nothing sexual... I don’t think) for tribal people in far off places. He’d been to the middle of the Amazon in Brazil, and was planning a trip to Papua New Guinea next year. He was an odd man, but nevertheless a pleasure to speak to.

We could have spent days more in Ghorepani, but we pushed on knowing we’d have more pleasures ahead.

Tataopani, in the middle of an imposing valley, was the lowest point (altitude speaking) of the trek at 1190m. It’s famous for the hot springs that lie next to the village. We observed these hot-springs on a casual walk passed, and seeing the throngs of trekkers sitting in the tiled bath-like waters after a long sweaty day gave me flashbacks of my time working in gyms in London. I remember observing the cleaning of the Jacuzzi, and almost throwing up when I saw the muck which was extracted from the filter. Needless to say, we passed on the hot-springs, which in any case paled in comparison to Iceland’s version.

The landscape changed considerably thereafter, as we headed further North. We left behind the Himalayan watershed and entered a drier and more desert-like country, staying in Ghasa, Tukuche and finally Jomson.

It was post-monsoon season, so the river bed was mostly dry and desolate (apart from relatively small flowing rivers fed by the melting snow), allowing us to take short cuts across it. The eerie feeling as we trekked across the wide expanse of the river bed, with towering peaks (including Dhaulagiri) standing what felt like almost on top of us, brought home that feeling of insignificance. It was an awesome sensation.

However, for me the most moving landscapes of the trek were on the final two days, on the walk from Marpha to Jomson, and on our day trip from Jomson to Kagbeni and back.

At some points, if I had put on some red-tinged glasses, and looked out at the scene before me, I would have thought I was on Mars. I’m a person who gets terribly excited with the idea that there are other planets out there like our own, and striding through the other-worldly surroundings like I did stirred up thoughts of science fiction novels and places far, far away.

Kagbeni was a 3-4 hour hike up the dry valley from Jomson, and it represented the last outpost before entering the restricted Upper Mustang region, inhabited by those of Tibetan descent. (The Tibetan/Chinese border lay only a few days away.) Looking through the check-post, it gave us a sneak preview of what lay further North, and the magnificence that was the mystical Tibet. Another trip perhaps.

We also came across “Yak-Donalds” in Kagbeni, proving that entrepreneurialism is alive and well in the remote villages of Northern Nepal. I wasn’t brave enough to try their “Big Yak” burger however.

Our final night spent in Jomson was incredibly cold, and even with a thick sleeping bag and an extra winter blanket, getting warm was a challenge. Hearing a man down the hall throwing up in the bathroom didn’t help matters either. Thoughts turned to “Did he eat in the hotel restaurant? What did he eat? What did I eat? Jesus I feel sick all of a sudden!” Fortunately, in the morning it came to light that the man was a Nepali, and he just had a bit too much to drink. A good old fashioned booze-chuck... I’d never been happier to hear such a thing.

We were flying back to Pokhara from Jomson the next morning, a process which involved checking in to possibly the world’s smallest airport. Our porter was coming back with us, and he had strangely purchased about 15kg of apples that morning, and we were helping him with carrying the bulging plastic bags. I wondered if the mark-up for “Jomson Apples” sold in Pokhara was the reason, and gave my Porter a smirk and a nod in appreciation. He frowned awkwardly and walked to the opposite end of the airport, which was about 7 metres away.

We were asked to pay an Airport Tax of 510 Rupees upon checking in, something I was fine with until I looked across at Lise.

“Apple Tax?” she said, confused. After holding up and staring for a second at the plastic bag full of apples she was holding, she then shot a glare over to our porter, who was busy with security. I do believe she was about to strangle our porter, until I intervened.

“Airport tax Lise. The apples are fine.” Ah the frustrations of the English language in different accents.

Once aboard the tiny plane, which contained two seats per row (one window per one seat = brilliant), I experienced three emotions.

Firstly, we were in the front row, and in clear view of the cockpit, and everything the pilots were doing. It was fascinating, and it confirmed for me that piloting planes was what I wanted to do when this epic trip was over.

Secondly, although only 18 minutes long, the flight was hands down the most amazing flight I’ve ever taken, and am ever likely to take. It retraced the steps of our 10 day trek, though this time at 17,000 feet. Searching for the words now, I can’t seem to find one which justifies the experience. Thus, I won’t try.

And lastly, in the final minute of descent in to Pokhara, I realised how disappointed I was at how short the trekking experience was. Of course, we have much more ahead of us in the coming months, and 10 days was probably a perfect introduction to the Himalayan trekking scene. But I’m already thirsty for more. I want to see Everest. I want to see the Upper Mustang. I want to complete the full Annapurna circuit and see Annapurna base camp. I want to spend weeks out here.

I’ll be back to Nepal for sure. It’s already decided. Maybe without Lise next time, who’ll get to indulge in her paradises in the Far-East in the coming months.

Me though - I’ve already been to my paradise.