Alright, here is the prelude to one of the most exciting blog posts I would ever write in my life.
On 31st October 2017 morning, just a few minutes after sunrise I looked like this –
What happened in between?
Since the beginning of time, beings have always put themselves into strenuous and dangerous physical activities in order to test their body endurance, to challenge their opponent, to fight for a prize, or just for the conquest of utter glory. The ancient Mayans played serious games like throwing a leather ball through a loop to determine a loser opponent who would be sacrificed each day, the Egyptians indulged themselves in furious chariot races to rise victorious before initiating grand Pyramid projects, the Gladiators of Rome fought with hungry lions and struggled to emerge as true heroes in the witness of several live audience. All these dangerous tasks were conducted with the sole purpose to prove one’s own fortitude.
Maybe that is what was equivalent to the three weeks of adventure I endured in the glorious mountains of the Himalayas.
On 31st October 2017 morning, just a few minutes after sunrise I looked like this –
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| The fair, fat and inexperienced me |
But after a couple of weeks, I shapeshifted into something beyond recognition, like this –
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| The dark, healthy and divinely me |
Since the beginning of time, beings have always put themselves into strenuous and dangerous physical activities in order to test their body endurance, to challenge their opponent, to fight for a prize, or just for the conquest of utter glory. The ancient Mayans played serious games like throwing a leather ball through a loop to determine a loser opponent who would be sacrificed each day, the Egyptians indulged themselves in furious chariot races to rise victorious before initiating grand Pyramid projects, the Gladiators of Rome fought with hungry lions and struggled to emerge as true heroes in the witness of several live audience. All these dangerous tasks were conducted with the sole purpose to prove one’s own fortitude.
Maybe that is what was equivalent to the three weeks of adventure I endured in the glorious mountains of the Himalayas.
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| Hands out... isolated in the glorious Himalayas |
On 28th of October, many thousands of feet above in air, flying over the jagged terrain of the Nepali section of the Himalayas, I heard the Captain of my flight crackle his voice through the plane’s announcement speakers – “Kindly remain fasten to your seats, the landing will have to be delayed due to bad weather in Kathmandu.”
I instantly realized where I was. I was about to land in one of the most unpredictable climatic zones on the planet.
Here is the deal; I will promise that this blog post will not be written like any one of those usual travel-blogs, about trekking in the trails of the Himalayas, inserting and salt-peppering the usual jargons and words, village names and the usual “travel tips” or “what gear to carry” tedious routine. Instead, I will narrate this dangerous adventure in the silky tone of a romantic flirty story of the many beautiful women I met, and all the other wonderful friends I made.
So, still warmly packed in a flight filled with the highest strength of young ladies I have ever seen in any flight I have ever taken in my life, I wondered – “How did I get so lucky?” It seemed as though all the beautiful ladies, either Nepali or Foreigners, were bound to Kathmandu that evening.
After that extra twenty minutes of circling in the air, we finally landed at the airport.
With the struggle to claim our bags in one of the most confusing airports ever, I had a secret mission of my own that evening as to make it to the hostel I had booked before 10 pm local time, or I would not be accommodated. That’s of course only after I had found the currency-exchange counter at the airport and converted all my travel money from US Dollars to Nepali Rupees. (Some freaking genius in Bangalore told me how my cards may not work in Nepal and how I must carry currency)
With an awe-inspired look on my face, I gazed at the rain-drenched but deserted streets of the city as the driver drove the car to the hostel. Standing at the main gate of the premises, nearly one hour late, I tried all the permutations and combinations with my fingers to unlock the gate which seemed unusually secured. Somehow it wouldn’t budge. Two more people, a late-night wandering couple, who also happened to be staying in the same hostel, joined me in this struggle too. Then with a ray of hope, literally, I read a sign for dumbos – “Slide to open”. Finally, I had found the secret password to this enchanted gate.
I was late, no denying. I tried to forward my reason to the two guesthouse managers who were snoring so loudly in the lobby, it made me wonder how one can remain asleep in their own Dolby-effected snoring symphony. And as stated before, I was denied accommodation. Nearly 11.30 pm I had no choice but to request for an alternative when finally I was allowed to rest for the night in the hostel’s library. It looks like it somehow seemed fitting for a writer like me to spend that night in the library. But of course, I didn’t introduce myself as a writer to them, no one knew it. I came with a zest to backpack in Nepal, and that is what I wanted to remain as – a backpacker.
Setting a new world record at undoing the shoes and pulling out the sleeping-bag from my sack, the guy who escorted me to the library switched off the light even before I finished. Laughing at it in the dark, I slowly slipped into my sleeping bag. Lying motionless, recalling the recent few hours, I had realized one thing – My adventure in Nepal had already begun.
I spend the next day, a Sunday, mostly shopping for my gear, getting my trekking permits, booking tickets and doing everything pre-listed on my handbook. It was a hard and tiring day, but it was also a day when I saw the biggest crowd of most beautiful women from all over the world doing the same. But that was because I had set my grim determination that I would kick start my journey towards the mountains the next morning, no matter what.
Waking up early at 4 am the next morning, within a few hours I was backpacking my way to the bus stand. Accompanied by me was an American friend “from California”, as he liked to introduce himself. He was a guest in the same hostel and apparently was taking the same bus, a straight seven hours journey towards the starting point of the trek. I spent the entire journey almost hearing this American explain how the mountains of California were different from those we saw in Nepal. Although I had bought the ticket all the way to Pokhara, Nepal’s second most popular city, my plan was to get down at a small town on the highway and change into a typical local bus for another 2 hours of ‘bumpy’ ride. Torturing my buttocks on the most solid plank of a seat on the bus ever, I finally reached the first village. Soon this American friend realized that he was no longer in California and neither was I. Bidding a farewell to him and the other friends from the bus, I almost immediately buckled up my backpack and started trekking alone.
Soaking myself into the vibe of where I was, and being fair on my tired body after nearly nine hours of bus journey, I decided that I would only trek a little distance this first day. Passing friendly smiles to the locals on my way, I walked for at least half-hour till I reached the trekkers' check-post. Through my entire trek, like any other trekker, I had to check my permits in various posts. Doing the necessary routine while realizing that a freaking crumpled water bottle in my handbag had soaked all my documents, I presented the half soaked permit to the officer. Cursing that little water bottle with all creative words cropping in my mind that evening, I finally finished the check and walked out of the post when it hit me. I saw her! The most beautiful face I had seen that day, a German traveler, who was also solo trekking in Nepal.
Waiting for another bus, I stood talking to a local bus agent. A debacle-like thought swirling in my mind – “How do I tell this guy without sounding cheap that I can not pay more than 300rs for the bus ride.” Then that German girl walked right into our conversation as she with her bold voice said to the bus agent – “So this is where the bus arrives? 200rs for the ride you said, right?”
Wow, she is the one! – I thought in my mind, almost falling in love as she saved my day. Instantly we were a team, shooting the agent with a series of questions one after the other. Then within a few minutes, the bus arrived. Throwing my backpack the highest ever I could, the bus helper caught it like a goal-keeper on the top and fastened it. Inside the bus I got to sit in the last row along with that German girl, two other French guys and a French girl who was so excited about the bus ride, she kept insisting how she wanted to sit on the top of the bus. A retro-looking old bus this was. But the ride was the most adventurous as we slowly rolled in the dark, so bumpy that the French guy narrated how it is exactly like those 4D rides in theme parks.
Our faces lit with the disco-lights from this retro bus, we laughed at how we could all die every time the bus slowly, very slowly rolled along the edge of the cliff. It was scary, I tell you. At times the bus was so slow, trying to weave through the edgy terrain, the French girl was at it again, suggesting how we could all just jump out of the bus and walk instead. But I think I was in love. I wanted to talk to the German girl; I wanted to know her more. We had short brief conversations, which were not ample. As time flew, the bus finally stopped at the next village. This was my stop. Apparently, the recent friends I had made, along with that German girl were headed to the next stop. I could not take this separation. All the while I got off the bus and caught my backpack, asking countless questions to the bus agent about the best tea house in the village, I was still thinking about her as she stared at me from the window. A silent, painful farewell it seemed. As if it was clear somehow that we would never meet again. The bus raced away and I walked away.
“How could cruel cupid do this to me?” I thought.
“Oh, well,” I said and started thinking about the tasty dinner I might get to eat at the tea house. Haha!
Spending the night in a beautiful village, smothered by the continuous roar of the Marsyangdi River all night long, I slept in a shack no bigger than my bathroom back home. A little two-door window in this shack had me ignorant in the dark until I literally woke up staring at a view in the morning that made me speechless.
I never thought that I would get to see snow-capped mountains on the first morning itself. But maybe this was just nature’s way of saying “hello” to me for arriving in its adobe; because quickly, after few hours into the trek, it disappeared from my view and vowed to not show itself for the next three days.
After savoring some tasty apple pie, made from local apples, I started my first day of actual trekking. Here is a sentence that I spoke aloud walking through the wild, to no one, in particular, that morning – “How can you justify this view, this place I am in, with just pictures and videos? My camera may not be sufficient to capture the moment I am in now.” Because believe it or not, it was something beyond express. For example, as I walked along the river, the sounds of the roaring flow of the waters changed the way they sounded or the way they reached my ears every time I passed a boulder or a ravine. These are things that one can not show in pictures or videos.
I continued my trek in the considerably cool morning for a few hours until the sun came pompously shining overhead. This is the time when I changed my fashion. All through my trek in Nepal, I dressed in such a manner that I could easily slide from a winter Eskimo to a desert nomad, well at least till I was up in the cold regions.
Crossing around eleven small villages mentioned on the map, the trek escalated from easy to strenuous to ‘are you kidding me’ on the first day itself. Walking along the famous Himalayan rice fields, I conquered tracks that were teemed with giant earthworms and leeches everywhere. At times it seemed like they were just pebbles; they were in abundance.
With my body already sore and my legs screaming with pain from the previous day’s trek, I started the next day with the self-belief that the pain would ease and my body would adjust to the trails in a few days. But those ‘few days’ are what I needed to surmount now.
Quickly walking along the stretch of the village, I met a large group of European trekkers, teeming with only elderly women beyond the 50s. Wow, this group soared my spirits high as they forced my bushed mind with a determination that if they can do it, so can I. But of course, none of them were carrying 15kg backpacks. They trekked without loads while hiring porters to lift their bags. The weight you carry determines the way your legs settle onto the ground each time you climb and descend. The weight also determines the way your body swings and balances on tricky terrains. Then, of course, the weight also determines how fast you can walk.
Treading along the trail, munching on some snickers bar, I was only a few yards away from a pit-stop village when I saw her - A fair-haired cutie and her friend along with a guy clicking some creative pics with his camera on the trail. I was like – “Been there, done that.”
Soon we were exchanging smiles and “hellos” as I quickly learned that the cutie was from Sweden and her friend from Denmark. Huffing softly out of breath, I said – “I am from India.” We had this conversation as we stepped into the threshold of the village which was already in sight. This is the place where I halted for two hours, resting and recharging my body with a nice meal. But the cutie, with the persistent push of her company, had to walk ahead as they only halted for a few minutes.
“No, not again, cupid.” I thought.
“Naa, we didn’t even talk much,” I said, convincing myself that we would never see each other again. But was cruel cupid plotting something here?
Trekking ahead silently, I snaked through such a path that my isolation in the mountains quickly changed into some kind of spiritual revelation. I passed through a narrow canyon, so narrow that direct sunlight seems to cut through only at noon. I slowly stepped on stones, being sprayed wet by a waterfall that washed the very trail I walked. I also crossed an old wooden bridge so close to the river, I jumped out of the trail and ran towards the stream to feel the ice-melted waters with my bare hands. It was cold as frost, a nippy reminder as to where I was destined to be in a few days.
But as I thought the location of the village was the best thing that night, I entered the compound of the guesthouse when I saw her again.
“Cupid, you devil!”
Sitting in the warm dining hall was the same cutie from Sweden with her friends. She gave me that look and I was sure my evening would be precious. I couldn’t wait to settle in my room, shower and then congregate in the dining area.
By the time I was there, it was a whole world-party. The hall was packed with all kinds of people. I was occupied as I flipped the dinner menu a zillion times before ordering the healthiest meal people eat in the Himalayan Mountains – the Dal Bhat. But as I sat at a table with a mug of hot chocolate, I saw her!
“Woah, now who is she?”
Towards my right, talking to two Nepali men was a lovely lady from Britain. She was so bold, everyone in the hall looked at her when she spoke.
“Is this my luckiest night in the mountains?” I asked myself, with the Swedish cutie smiling at me towards the left that made my heart melt even in low temperature and the beautiful British towards my right pulling the strings of my heart.
The men she was in banter with sounded like experts in the mountains as I quickly asked one of them a query. He answered affably with a smile. Soon I realized that the two Nepali men were the personal guide and porter of this beautiful British girl. She was also, sort of, solo trekking. I also learned through our conversation that her guide was four times Mount Everest summiter, wow!
“Come, join me for dinner.” She exclaimed after a few minutes.
“Sure,” I replied, striding towards her table realizing that I got a date for the night at 1700 meters above sea level. I also realized that the Swedish cutie was not really happy.
“Hey, not my fault; you didn’t ask me to join for dinner, she did.” I mentally told her.
I could sense an invisible cloud of anger raining sudden silence behind me as I sat with the British girl who spoke like the sweetest thing ever. We chatted like we knew each other for ages. Lost in the conversation like lovers, we enjoyed our Dal Bhat meal as her guide and porter left us two at the table. I think even they realized what a wonderful time we were having. She was one of the sweetest girls I met through all my days in Nepal. She pressed on how she had flown all the way from London to accomplish her first trip to Asia. I was impressed. She also pulled out her map from her bag just to plan ‘my’ trek for the next day when I told her how painful my day’s trek had been. She also gave me useful tips on where I could refill my water at the safe-drinking water stations on the trail.
“Wow, is she the one?” I was almost in love.
We talked and talked, not really bothered about the waning time. A joyful group of Germans celebrated their trek with beers and snacks on the adjacent table, hooting so loudly it almost tempted me to join their little beer festival. But no, I had made a promise that I would not drink beer or celebrate until I crossed the highest pass in the world. I also had cultivated a habit of sleeping early and waking up early in the mountains. My dinner was usually at 6.30 pm each night and I mostly slept before 7.30. Bidding goodbye to the British sweetheart, I walked towards my room to rest.
Waking up unusually early the next morning, I was making use of the excellent bathroom I got in the guesthouse by shaving my beard. This was the only time I ever could shave my cheeks in the mountains. By the time I was in the dining hall again to eat my breakfast, I had realized that I had screwed up.
I saw that the Swedish cutie and her friends were already leaving. Forking through my chocolate pancake, I observed as she walked towards her day’s trek without sharing that smile. Something told me that last night was the last time she smiled at me.
“Oh, well.” I said, “Nice trick, cupid.” I was sure that I would not see her again. But what I didn’t know was that cupid was still plotting.
With a serious day’s trek ahead, I focused on the trail and sauntered into the icy morning. Gazing at the beautiful river as I did, I soon met my first Mani-Wall in the mountains, a Buddhist composition that one often sees in Nepal. I stuck to the locals’ way of walking only to the left of the wall while running my palm over the many wheels which kind of made me content. Under the amazing sight of a striking waterfall, I stood taking pictures of a group of yaks and cows. They foraged on some fresh grass with the tantalizing melody the cow-bells around their necks made. I felt as I was reminded of a picturesque scene no different than those in Switzerland.
“What?” I was fooled. I realized that it was just a scar left behind by some snow, which had now melted. No doubt, the mountains of Himalayas were teeming with mirages.
Then came some dramatic stairs cut into the side of the mountain. This part of the trek was sometimes so steep and intricate that I took a small break in a semi-cave that was chipped into the cliff. It seemed like some sort of lovers’ hangout as I saw many ‘heart’ symbols with names of lovers scrawled all over it. I think it was a kissing den; the only problem was, I was alone.
Wow, I was in awe. Admiring at the snowy mountain as if it was paradise, I was greeted by two fellow travelers from India. Feeling a tiny little homesick by now, I was pleased to meet this guy and girl from Mumbai. They were taking a short break as they were planning to reach the next village. We chatted at the elevation of 2160 meters above sea level, as I also pulled out my visiting card to do an unofficial business gesture when the girl said she was seeking logo-designing for her new business. This was the first time I had shared my visiting card while looking like a hitchhiker.
After a few hours, the night had crept and I was done for the day. I settled for what it was to be the coldest night in the mountains so far.
I woke up in the morning feeling like a cold figurine. I didn’t want to leave my excellently warm sleeping-bag. This sleeping-bag was my most precious possession in the mountains; literally saving my life against the cruel Himalayan temperature. Finishing my breakfast at the tea house, I also realized that there were not many guests here. Zipping my down jacket all the way to the nip of my neck, I threw on my backpack and walked into the shivering cold. I sensed a sudden vigor this morning as I also came to realize that my body was coming to ease with the trails. The ‘few days’ of pain was now finally subsiding. I walked joyfully, enjoying the cold breezy air.
While I changed my socks and dried my shoes, I savored views that were outlandish. I saw that the highest tip of the snowy mountains was being washed by a haze of wind that looked amazing. I met many people here as they also were resting for a few precious minutes before abiding the journey. I met two foster siblings, a European sister, and her South American brother. This brother also happened to be an expert on backpacks as he offered help with my straps. Quickly he was pulling and loosening the many straps on my pack until I actually felt a little less stressful on my back.
“Wow, that really helped. Thank you!” I smiled at them and continued my journey, but silently unstrapped the chest buckle that nearly choked me. Haha, I think the backpack expert was a little too motivated.
Further trekking a couple of hours along the cold mountain path, I finally reached a check post and in turn the village where I was destined to rest for the night.
This particular tea house was one of the most homely I felt in the mountains. They let me stay in their house for free with the promise that I would eat food with them. The youngest of the daughters of the tea house owner-lady was so sweet, she fed me dinner with extra servings each time I said – “No, I am full.” She also sat in the dining hall with her books spread on the table, multitasking as she did as she was also studying her school subjects. One thing I understood through my trip in Nepal is that Nepali women and girls are the hardest working. They would be dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, appearing like a typical college student, still would be serving the many guest tea and dinner, while also running back and forth washing clothes in the freezing river water. Although I noticed that most men are laid back, warmly tucked in their winter jerkins, doing little to no work at all except scoring travelers to buy souvenirs or try to persuade them to stay in their tea house. Maybe this is life in the Himalayan villages. But we also know that the world’s workforce is greatly outnumbered by Nepali men who work all over the world.
There were times when I halted and spun on my feet to gulp in the 360-degree view of the amazing setting I had brought myself to. Soon I entered a corridor with wooden planks structured itself like two walls. I stopped, clicking pictures of the dangerously fluttering flags and a beautiful watchtower.
I also filled my water bottle with an open Himalayan river that flowed non-stop and was funneled by a small dam. These are some of the purest waters in the world.
Treading along edgy cliffs with unrealistic scenery I later walked through deeper woods where signs of civilization were meekly forgotten. I decided to take a small break when I slumped onto a tree bark that lay fallen on the side. Questions like – “What am I doing here?” crept into my thoughts when I was slowly analyzing the stress I was dealing with. I wanted to be in the best shape to face the higher regions but it seemed like my body was already breaking down. The pain, although I had now become accustomed to, was still pulsating my body with aches. I hung my head low, contemplating my trek ahead when suddenly I heard a rustling noise behind me that made me jump. I knew I was alone in these wild woods, but what was that noise? I spun my head instantly. There it was, staring at me square in the eyes a wild fox. Wow!
All this happened in a jiffy. That little fox wandering the woods alone, finding it's animal purpose halted two seconds just to look at me. It quickly scampered away into the forest with its bright fiery orange fur becoming a target to my eyes for a few seconds before it vanished.
I have heard somewhere that glimpsing at a fox’s face brings good luck. Although I don’t believe such a hypothesis, I certainly didn’t mind a little luck for the coming days.
“That was a surprise.” I thought, walking ahead.
Already crossing three small villages, I reached the fourth one to relish myself with a cup of hot milk tea. Here I saw them – A big group of multi-ethnicity trekkers savoring their snacks and meals. But to the exact minute I threw my backpack on my back to continue, this group, who were singing songs loudly in the chorus also came along. I didn’t converse with them as I was too tired at this point and was only focused on the trail. But then I saw her! It was a red-haired girl, a little comical but seemed to be especially fond of me.
“I will poke you in the eye with my trekking pole, cupid, you little son of a gun.” I thought as I cursed in my mind.
But no use, this red-haired girl, although I never spoke to her, was smiling at me and was being a funny goof whenever I looked at her. She reminded me of those little school crushes, who went bonkers when around their crush. She also donned a knitted band around her forehead to appear to be like a hippie, but also came and stood in my sight every time I wanted to take a picture. Haha, she was kinda cute. It seemed as it appeared that she wanted to be in the pictures I clicked. Here is one; I dedicate it to her for being so enthusiastic –
Accompanied by this friendly group for the next hour, I reached the marvelous village clinging to the mountainside that took the living breath out of me. At 3300 meters above sea level, this was the place I wanted to settle for the night.
But wait, I needed to explore this beautiful village first and also visit that monastery that sat 'majestic' on the highest part of the rock face. Something told me, this would change my perspective about my journey in the Himalayas.
Eating the weirdest pizza coated with yak cheese, I toddle-talked a baby who was so happy every time I looked at her through the gaps of the chair, giggling was all the dining hall was filled with. With a burning heater in the center of the dining hall, this place was warm as I met a Polish couple and two French guys who were playing chess on the table. I warmed my body as much as possible before heading to my cottage and sliding into my sleeping bag.
The next morning was cold; also literally when I had realized that I had caught common-cold. At the incredible height of 3300 meters, I had stepped into the boundaries of the higher region. My nose blocked, throat sore and body weak, I had realized that a new difficulty had been added to my already challenging trek. But stuffing myself inside my warm jacket, pulling my hand-knitted beanie on my head, I started my day’s trek after a quick breakfast.
Walking like a rigid robot with fewer body movements, I was fighting as well as enjoying the cold weather. I personally like cold; I remember those days in college when I rode my bike back home, past midnight, without a jacket. I used to zip the roads very fast just to feel the cold and shiver at deserted traffic signal stops. I felt that shivering is good for my body. So, with that motivation, I walked past a village that was only still waking up; I figured out why.
Focusing my eyes onto minute details, a comprehension dawned onto me that it had snowed the previous night while I was sleeping. It was that fresh early winter snow that formed a thin film of frosty membrane all over. The roof of houses, bike seats, wooden fences, rocks and anything that was exposed to the open weather at night was blessed with it. It was so thin that it was soon to be evaporated as the sun rose quickly over the mountains.
Reaching the end of the village, I rather noticed a serious debate among some locals. I spoke to them in Hindi, which they understood and spoke back. I met an elderly Nepali couple, probably in their late 50s waiting for a jeep to take them to their intended village. I soon understood that with terrible weather the previous night, the jeeps and other transport were dubious of their journey as their motor engines would not even start in the cold. This scenario suddenly gave me an idea. I wanted to try this infamous jeep ride which everyone said was terrible when I researched before coming to Nepal. I thought – Well, terrible could also mean adventurous. But I wanted to save that for days after I had crossed the pass. So saying a warm “Namaste” to them, I walked ahead.
The scenery only kept getting better and better from here. I don’t even have enough as I am draining out of words in my mental dictionary to describe the amazing topography I walked through. There were times when I got four-dimensional views with snow-capped mountains beyond, choppy grey colored ton running like a jaw, white dusty alien-like lower terrain, and green foresty pine woods from where I stood. I enjoyed the trek so much; I was ignorant of the three hours that passed swiftly.
Soon, I was alerted by the rumbling noise of a jeep approaching. I stepped aside from the flat dusty way when I realized that the jeep was slowing. I turned and was warmly greeted by a familiar face that I had seen only a few hours ago. The elderly Nepali couple had finally found their jeep ride and the old man was so delighted to see me, he wanted me to join them.
“You want chaai?” He asked me with a warm smile, opening the jeep door. I understood that this couple was seeing a son in me, maybe because their own son was away from home. I hopped into the jeep, throwing my backpack behind in the load. I joined them to the next village where apparently they owned a dwelling. They were so happy to have my company, they insisted that I should eat and drink at their house. A notion that initially swept upon me was that they had a tea house, but reaching upon the site I realized that it was a humble village house and they were only offering me refreshment as a guest.
Within a few minutes we were inside the shack and I was offered a cup of warm tea. The old man was keen as he also showed me the amazing back yard of their house. It was a striking view. I sat there at an open table, chatting with the jeep driver and finished the tea.
Bidding them goodbye, I continued my journey as more and more amazing views seemed to spill before my sight. So much so that at times I wanted to kick myself for not bringing my tent. But I also soon realized that no one was daring to tent in these lands. Why? I wondered. I was about to get my answer to that question in a few hours as I reached the destination village at 3540 meters above sea level. This village, or maybe a town is the most popular one in the mountains. This is a capital of the district and a major hub where trekkers halted and rested for days to acclimatize to the altitude before proceeding to higher mountains.
Finding a pastry-smelling German bakery in the town, I was surprised at the kind of dishes on the menu when I finally chose to order ‘Yak Burger’. Finishing the burger and finding myself accommodation in one of the many tea houses, I let myself unwind as I had planned to stay two days here. I had all the time to acclimatize, explore, sleep and also just live in the moment.
This is the end of the ‘Part One’ of my adventure in the Himalayas. To know if I didn’t die in the mountains (which of course I didn’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this blog), to know if and how I crossed the world’s highest pass and through the more dangerous section of the cold Himalayan ranges, and to know how my romantic story with all the beautiful women settled in Nepal, kindly remain patient as I finish writing ‘Part Two’ of this adventure.
I instantly realized where I was. I was about to land in one of the most unpredictable climatic zones on the planet.
Here is the deal; I will promise that this blog post will not be written like any one of those usual travel-blogs, about trekking in the trails of the Himalayas, inserting and salt-peppering the usual jargons and words, village names and the usual “travel tips” or “what gear to carry” tedious routine. Instead, I will narrate this dangerous adventure in the silky tone of a romantic flirty story of the many beautiful women I met, and all the other wonderful friends I made.
So, still warmly packed in a flight filled with the highest strength of young ladies I have ever seen in any flight I have ever taken in my life, I wondered – “How did I get so lucky?” It seemed as though all the beautiful ladies, either Nepali or Foreigners, were bound to Kathmandu that evening.
After that extra twenty minutes of circling in the air, we finally landed at the airport.
With the struggle to claim our bags in one of the most confusing airports ever, I had a secret mission of my own that evening as to make it to the hostel I had booked before 10 pm local time, or I would not be accommodated. That’s of course only after I had found the currency-exchange counter at the airport and converted all my travel money from US Dollars to Nepali Rupees. (Some freaking genius in Bangalore told me how my cards may not work in Nepal and how I must carry currency)
With an awe-inspired look on my face, I gazed at the rain-drenched but deserted streets of the city as the driver drove the car to the hostel. Standing at the main gate of the premises, nearly one hour late, I tried all the permutations and combinations with my fingers to unlock the gate which seemed unusually secured. Somehow it wouldn’t budge. Two more people, a late-night wandering couple, who also happened to be staying in the same hostel, joined me in this struggle too. Then with a ray of hope, literally, I read a sign for dumbos – “Slide to open”. Finally, I had found the secret password to this enchanted gate.
I was late, no denying. I tried to forward my reason to the two guesthouse managers who were snoring so loudly in the lobby, it made me wonder how one can remain asleep in their own Dolby-effected snoring symphony. And as stated before, I was denied accommodation. Nearly 11.30 pm I had no choice but to request for an alternative when finally I was allowed to rest for the night in the hostel’s library. It looks like it somehow seemed fitting for a writer like me to spend that night in the library. But of course, I didn’t introduce myself as a writer to them, no one knew it. I came with a zest to backpack in Nepal, and that is what I wanted to remain as – a backpacker.
Setting a new world record at undoing the shoes and pulling out the sleeping-bag from my sack, the guy who escorted me to the library switched off the light even before I finished. Laughing at it in the dark, I slowly slipped into my sleeping bag. Lying motionless, recalling the recent few hours, I had realized one thing – My adventure in Nepal had already begun.
I spend the next day, a Sunday, mostly shopping for my gear, getting my trekking permits, booking tickets and doing everything pre-listed on my handbook. It was a hard and tiring day, but it was also a day when I saw the biggest crowd of most beautiful women from all over the world doing the same. But that was because I had set my grim determination that I would kick start my journey towards the mountains the next morning, no matter what.
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| A typical, crowded intersection in Kathmandu |
Soaking myself into the vibe of where I was, and being fair on my tired body after nearly nine hours of bus journey, I decided that I would only trek a little distance this first day. Passing friendly smiles to the locals on my way, I walked for at least half-hour till I reached the trekkers' check-post. Through my entire trek, like any other trekker, I had to check my permits in various posts. Doing the necessary routine while realizing that a freaking crumpled water bottle in my handbag had soaked all my documents, I presented the half soaked permit to the officer. Cursing that little water bottle with all creative words cropping in my mind that evening, I finally finished the check and walked out of the post when it hit me. I saw her! The most beautiful face I had seen that day, a German traveler, who was also solo trekking in Nepal.
Waiting for another bus, I stood talking to a local bus agent. A debacle-like thought swirling in my mind – “How do I tell this guy without sounding cheap that I can not pay more than 300rs for the bus ride.” Then that German girl walked right into our conversation as she with her bold voice said to the bus agent – “So this is where the bus arrives? 200rs for the ride you said, right?”
Wow, she is the one! – I thought in my mind, almost falling in love as she saved my day. Instantly we were a team, shooting the agent with a series of questions one after the other. Then within a few minutes, the bus arrived. Throwing my backpack the highest ever I could, the bus helper caught it like a goal-keeper on the top and fastened it. Inside the bus I got to sit in the last row along with that German girl, two other French guys and a French girl who was so excited about the bus ride, she kept insisting how she wanted to sit on the top of the bus. A retro-looking old bus this was. But the ride was the most adventurous as we slowly rolled in the dark, so bumpy that the French guy narrated how it is exactly like those 4D rides in theme parks.
Our faces lit with the disco-lights from this retro bus, we laughed at how we could all die every time the bus slowly, very slowly rolled along the edge of the cliff. It was scary, I tell you. At times the bus was so slow, trying to weave through the edgy terrain, the French girl was at it again, suggesting how we could all just jump out of the bus and walk instead. But I think I was in love. I wanted to talk to the German girl; I wanted to know her more. We had short brief conversations, which were not ample. As time flew, the bus finally stopped at the next village. This was my stop. Apparently, the recent friends I had made, along with that German girl were headed to the next stop. I could not take this separation. All the while I got off the bus and caught my backpack, asking countless questions to the bus agent about the best tea house in the village, I was still thinking about her as she stared at me from the window. A silent, painful farewell it seemed. As if it was clear somehow that we would never meet again. The bus raced away and I walked away.
“How could cruel cupid do this to me?” I thought.
“Oh, well,” I said and started thinking about the tasty dinner I might get to eat at the tea house. Haha!
Spending the night in a beautiful village, smothered by the continuous roar of the Marsyangdi River all night long, I slept in a shack no bigger than my bathroom back home. A little two-door window in this shack had me ignorant in the dark until I literally woke up staring at a view in the morning that made me speechless.
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| The snowy mountains and the river evidently visible through the window in my shack |
After savoring some tasty apple pie, made from local apples, I started my first day of actual trekking. Here is a sentence that I spoke aloud walking through the wild, to no one, in particular, that morning – “How can you justify this view, this place I am in, with just pictures and videos? My camera may not be sufficient to capture the moment I am in now.” Because believe it or not, it was something beyond express. For example, as I walked along the river, the sounds of the roaring flow of the waters changed the way they sounded or the way they reached my ears every time I passed a boulder or a ravine. These are things that one can not show in pictures or videos.
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| The Marsyangdi River... singing a roaring song of its own |
Crossing around eleven small villages mentioned on the map, the trek escalated from easy to strenuous to ‘are you kidding me’ on the first day itself. Walking along the famous Himalayan rice fields, I conquered tracks that were teemed with giant earthworms and leeches everywhere. At times it seemed like they were just pebbles; they were in abundance.
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| The Himalayan rice fields |
Towards the end of my day’s trek, I climbed, descended and carefully inched along such dramatic mountainsides that it questioned my sanity for even coming here and risking my life each minute. Seeing at least three rescue helicopters soaring in the air, I realized that other travelers were having tougher times. Finally, I reached the village before nightfall and settled myself in a tea house where a local Nepali chef promised me to cook the best tasting momos and Arabic coffee for the night.
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| One of the last stair sections before reaching the village |
Quickly walking along the stretch of the village, I met a large group of European trekkers, teeming with only elderly women beyond the 50s. Wow, this group soared my spirits high as they forced my bushed mind with a determination that if they can do it, so can I. But of course, none of them were carrying 15kg backpacks. They trekked without loads while hiring porters to lift their bags. The weight you carry determines the way your legs settle onto the ground each time you climb and descend. The weight also determines the way your body swings and balances on tricky terrains. Then, of course, the weight also determines how fast you can walk.
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| Found this sticker on a signboard... I was hoping to see a real Yeti, the Abominable Snowman |
Crossing my first suspended bridge in the Himalayas, trekking under baking sunshine, sweat poured out of my body when I felt almost as if the map I was carrying was crudely misguiding me. Some times so as to when I saw a straight trail on the map, I was surprised to find that the ‘actual’ trail was twisty, curvy and integrated a lot of privation. I dropped my backpack from my shoulders every half an hour and sipped on the water like a dehydrated wanderer in a desert. Wanting to be the smarts, I was carrying two water options – One a mineral water bottle, two a personal bottle with boiled water which really didn’t look clean. But trust me, I enjoyed drinking from this bottle too as I was carrying a ‘LifeStraw’, a water purifier that is popularly known around the world for its reputation to filter 99.9% of waterborne bacteria and elements. Some even say you can drink your own pee with it. I didn’t dare to do it though.
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| My favorite 'The Beatles' t-shirt soaked with sweat |
Soon we were exchanging smiles and “hellos” as I quickly learned that the cutie was from Sweden and her friend from Denmark. Huffing softly out of breath, I said – “I am from India.” We had this conversation as we stepped into the threshold of the village which was already in sight. This is the place where I halted for two hours, resting and recharging my body with a nice meal. But the cutie, with the persistent push of her company, had to walk ahead as they only halted for a few minutes.
“No, not again, cupid.” I thought.
“Naa, we didn’t even talk much,” I said, convincing myself that we would never see each other again. But was cruel cupid plotting something here?
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| The pit stop village |
Throwing my backpack back on my aching shoulders, I continued my trek as I browsed through some of the best mountain ranges and untellable rocky outcrops. These are areas where the Himalayas looked majestic even without snow. Calculating my steps through some of the most dangerous mountain edges I have ever seen in my life, I tried not to look down. I was so isolated at times that even if I did slip and fell into a gorge, nobody would even know. I didn’t even dare to pull out my camera to document it, because I was genuinely conscious of the risk and I wanted to stay focused.
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| Lower Himalayas... looking majestic even without snow |
Being super dehydrated by now, I reached another village where apparently there was a competition on ‘who can get this bushed trekker to stay in your tea house’. Being welcomed to spend the night in their respective tea houses, almost everyone was on me. Then it happened again. A bubbly Nepali lady was an instant friend with me as she spoke in Hindi and told me how she only watched Bollywood movies. If only she knew, I didn’t care about Bollywood. All I wanted was a cold boxed-juice to quench my thirst. I politely told her and the others that I was bound to the next village, even if it was already late.
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| Don't know if this picture can justify, but there was a dangerous vertical drop to my right |
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| The wooden bridge and the ice-melted waters |
Losing visibility in the almost darkness, I finally reached the village a few minutes before nightfall and was in awe. It was one of my favorite villages in the Himalayas. Cradled between two tall mountains, sitting beside the pristine flow of the river was this settlement at around 1700 meters above sea level.
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| The village between two mountains at 1700 meters |
“Cupid, you devil!”
Sitting in the warm dining hall was the same cutie from Sweden with her friends. She gave me that look and I was sure my evening would be precious. I couldn’t wait to settle in my room, shower and then congregate in the dining area.
By the time I was there, it was a whole world-party. The hall was packed with all kinds of people. I was occupied as I flipped the dinner menu a zillion times before ordering the healthiest meal people eat in the Himalayan Mountains – the Dal Bhat. But as I sat at a table with a mug of hot chocolate, I saw her!
“Woah, now who is she?”
Towards my right, talking to two Nepali men was a lovely lady from Britain. She was so bold, everyone in the hall looked at her when she spoke.
“Is this my luckiest night in the mountains?” I asked myself, with the Swedish cutie smiling at me towards the left that made my heart melt even in low temperature and the beautiful British towards my right pulling the strings of my heart.
The men she was in banter with sounded like experts in the mountains as I quickly asked one of them a query. He answered affably with a smile. Soon I realized that the two Nepali men were the personal guide and porter of this beautiful British girl. She was also, sort of, solo trekking. I also learned through our conversation that her guide was four times Mount Everest summiter, wow!
“Come, join me for dinner.” She exclaimed after a few minutes.
“Sure,” I replied, striding towards her table realizing that I got a date for the night at 1700 meters above sea level. I also realized that the Swedish cutie was not really happy.
“Hey, not my fault; you didn’t ask me to join for dinner, she did.” I mentally told her.
I could sense an invisible cloud of anger raining sudden silence behind me as I sat with the British girl who spoke like the sweetest thing ever. We chatted like we knew each other for ages. Lost in the conversation like lovers, we enjoyed our Dal Bhat meal as her guide and porter left us two at the table. I think even they realized what a wonderful time we were having. She was one of the sweetest girls I met through all my days in Nepal. She pressed on how she had flown all the way from London to accomplish her first trip to Asia. I was impressed. She also pulled out her map from her bag just to plan ‘my’ trek for the next day when I told her how painful my day’s trek had been. She also gave me useful tips on where I could refill my water at the safe-drinking water stations on the trail.
“Wow, is she the one?” I was almost in love.
We talked and talked, not really bothered about the waning time. A joyful group of Germans celebrated their trek with beers and snacks on the adjacent table, hooting so loudly it almost tempted me to join their little beer festival. But no, I had made a promise that I would not drink beer or celebrate until I crossed the highest pass in the world. I also had cultivated a habit of sleeping early and waking up early in the mountains. My dinner was usually at 6.30 pm each night and I mostly slept before 7.30. Bidding goodbye to the British sweetheart, I walked towards my room to rest.
Waking up unusually early the next morning, I was making use of the excellent bathroom I got in the guesthouse by shaving my beard. This was the only time I ever could shave my cheeks in the mountains. By the time I was in the dining hall again to eat my breakfast, I had realized that I had screwed up.
I saw that the Swedish cutie and her friends were already leaving. Forking through my chocolate pancake, I observed as she walked towards her day’s trek without sharing that smile. Something told me that last night was the last time she smiled at me.
“Oh, well.” I said, “Nice trick, cupid.” I was sure that I would not see her again. But what I didn’t know was that cupid was still plotting.
With a serious day’s trek ahead, I focused on the trail and sauntered into the icy morning. Gazing at the beautiful river as I did, I soon met my first Mani-Wall in the mountains, a Buddhist composition that one often sees in Nepal. I stuck to the locals’ way of walking only to the left of the wall while running my palm over the many wheels which kind of made me content. Under the amazing sight of a striking waterfall, I stood taking pictures of a group of yaks and cows. They foraged on some fresh grass with the tantalizing melody the cow-bells around their necks made. I felt as I was reminded of a picturesque scene no different than those in Switzerland.
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| The cow-bells around their necks made melody |
Being aware that I was getting closer to the higher region, I was expecting to get my first glimpse of the snow today. As I was at it, I fell victim to a mirage when I saw a snow-like contour seemingly melting along the mountainside. I took a picture, but it took me at least five minutes to climb and descend along the trail to reach it. Ditching the trekking route, I ran skeptically towards it, wanting to inspect. I placed both my palms on it only to realize there was no snow.
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| The mirage snow |
Then came some dramatic stairs cut into the side of the mountain. This part of the trek was sometimes so steep and intricate that I took a small break in a semi-cave that was chipped into the cliff. It seemed like some sort of lovers’ hangout as I saw many ‘heart’ symbols with names of lovers scrawled all over it. I think it was a kissing den; the only problem was, I was alone.
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| The dramatic stairs... the semi cave hiding behind the curve |
I inched along such slippery edges that I started questioning
the very sense of safety. With just a foot
wide to spare, I saw a sheer drop into the river to one side and a monstrously
shaped cliff on the other. A weird sense of claustrophobia crept on my skin
even in the outdoors. But gathering my strength and mental vigor, I made it.
Soon, as I had planned, I reached a small village early that
afternoon. I had cut my trek short due to the screaming body pain and decided
that I would reach the intended village the next day. But I also had a very
valid reason to halt here. Bargaining with the tea house guy for the
accommodation, it took only a moment for me to notice the beautiful snow-capped
mountain sticking from behind the guesthouse.
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| The first snow-capped mountain |
After a few hours, the night had crept and I was done for the day. I settled for what it was to be the coldest night in the mountains so far.
I woke up in the morning feeling like a cold figurine. I didn’t want to leave my excellently warm sleeping-bag. This sleeping-bag was my most precious possession in the mountains; literally saving my life against the cruel Himalayan temperature. Finishing my breakfast at the tea house, I also realized that there were not many guests here. Zipping my down jacket all the way to the nip of my neck, I threw on my backpack and walked into the shivering cold. I sensed a sudden vigor this morning as I also came to realize that my body was coming to ease with the trails. The ‘few days’ of pain was now finally subsiding. I walked joyfully, enjoying the cold breezy air.
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| The start of Tibetan culture |
Soon, I noticed that the Tibetan culture was overpowering the Nepali mores as I further walked high. The construction of the houses, the food, the people and also the language was different. Some of the locals in particular villages evidently looked Chinese-like more than Nepali. I came across a fast-flowing river that nearly washed me away as I tried to carefully step along the stones. Even with all my efforts and balancing with my two trekking poles, I failed stability when I had to helplessly dunk into the waters wetting my shoes, socks and my trousers up to my knee. I was pissed after this. Priding cold wet socks is not an ideal setting when trekking in the chilling Himalayan trails. I wanted to take a break and change my socks, but not until I first conquered the steep, leg-burning trail I was up against. I was so pissed; I discharged my aggression by trekking intensely and vigorously. Pretty soon I was at a point where I got an amazing vista of the snow-capped mountains. I dropped my backpack and started clicking pictures.
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| The kind of views I came for |
“Wow, that really helped. Thank you!” I smiled at them and continued my journey, but silently unstrapped the chest buckle that nearly choked me. Haha, I think the backpack expert was a little too motivated.
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| Walking over ankle-snapping cobblestones |
I spent the next many hours of trekking through beautiful mountain forests, following ankle-snapping cobblestones. I saw trees that were different from all those I had seen so far. I saw wild horses and deer in its untamed form, giving some amazing photo opportunity that sank me deep into the beauty of the wild.
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| Wild horses and donkeys |
Watching all the ‘survival tips’ videos on my tablet pc the previous night, I wanted to try one of the tricks as I reached an isolated cottage in the forest surrounded by tall pine trees. I pulled a fresh pine twig, shaved it with my Swiss army knife, and chewed on it to clean my teeth. Although I had brushed my teeth in the tea house, I wanted to try this trick just to feel the wild I was in. This left me with amazingly squeaky clean teeth with a minty pine flavor.
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| My improvised pine tooth-brush |
This particular tea house was one of the most homely I felt in the mountains. They let me stay in their house for free with the promise that I would eat food with them. The youngest of the daughters of the tea house owner-lady was so sweet, she fed me dinner with extra servings each time I said – “No, I am full.” She also sat in the dining hall with her books spread on the table, multitasking as she did as she was also studying her school subjects. One thing I understood through my trip in Nepal is that Nepali women and girls are the hardest working. They would be dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, appearing like a typical college student, still would be serving the many guest tea and dinner, while also running back and forth washing clothes in the freezing river water. Although I noticed that most men are laid back, warmly tucked in their winter jerkins, doing little to no work at all except scoring travelers to buy souvenirs or try to persuade them to stay in their tea house. Maybe this is life in the Himalayan villages. But we also know that the world’s workforce is greatly outnumbered by Nepali men who work all over the world.
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| A bowl of hot soup in the homely tea house |
Settling for the night in my cottage-like room build with raw
wood, I was prepared as I was shivering when the temperature dropped
dramatically to minus 2 at night. Even the water in my bottle was starting to freeze.
It was the coldest I ever felt in my life, and I also knew that it would only
get colder from here onward.
The morning was grueling. I woke up with puffs of smog
spewing out of my lips every time I opened my mouth. And no I was not smoking; it
was just that cold. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, torrents of smoggy
breath covered before my face to show how hard the warm inside of my body was
fighting against the cold outside. The mountains smothering the village from
every side was also worth the sight as I now stood viewing not just one but a
cluster of snow-capped mountains. Out of the three jackets I was carrying,
today I wore the most weather-proofed one.
This day was one of my favorite hiking days in the Himalayas , and I will tell you why.
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| A Tibetan Stupa |
Crossing the river on a wide bridge and browsing through some Tibetan relics on the way, I walked through deserted woods with tall trees towering on both sides of the trail. But whatever path I chose to walk, the incessant backdrop of the snowy mountains never left my sight that day as it kept sticking its snowy nose all along the trek.
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| Tall trees on both sides of the trail |
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| The corridor leading to a Farmhouse |
“What’s on the other side of these walls?” My mind raced. I noticed another group of trekkers running nuts, shrieking and taking pictures through the rifts in the wooden wall. Pulling my own camera I shuffled closer to the wall when I saw it – apple farm. Being a fan of apples, I have tasted some of the best, imported apples in the world when I lived in Dubai, but I had never seen an apple farm before.
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| Apples... |
Soon a rowdy group of dogs chased us off the fence, barking and
growling at us. These mutts were trained to ward off unwanted trespassers. I
walked a little further and was welcomed by a beautifully built apple resort. Almost
every trekker was there, buying apples, drinking apple juice, eating apple pie,
or just basking in the patchy grassy yard. I quickly joined the queue and got
my own delicious apples, munching on them instantly.
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| The beautiful Apple Resort |
Treading along edgy cliffs with unrealistic scenery I later walked through deeper woods where signs of civilization were meekly forgotten. I decided to take a small break when I slumped onto a tree bark that lay fallen on the side. Questions like – “What am I doing here?” crept into my thoughts when I was slowly analyzing the stress I was dealing with. I wanted to be in the best shape to face the higher regions but it seemed like my body was already breaking down. The pain, although I had now become accustomed to, was still pulsating my body with aches. I hung my head low, contemplating my trek ahead when suddenly I heard a rustling noise behind me that made me jump. I knew I was alone in these wild woods, but what was that noise? I spun my head instantly. There it was, staring at me square in the eyes a wild fox. Wow!
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| The isolated woods where I saw the fox |
I have heard somewhere that glimpsing at a fox’s face brings good luck. Although I don’t believe such a hypothesis, I certainly didn’t mind a little luck for the coming days.
“That was a surprise.” I thought, walking ahead.
Already crossing three small villages, I reached the fourth one to relish myself with a cup of hot milk tea. Here I saw them – A big group of multi-ethnicity trekkers savoring their snacks and meals. But to the exact minute I threw my backpack on my back to continue, this group, who were singing songs loudly in the chorus also came along. I didn’t converse with them as I was too tired at this point and was only focused on the trail. But then I saw her! It was a red-haired girl, a little comical but seemed to be especially fond of me.
“I will poke you in the eye with my trekking pole, cupid, you little son of a gun.” I thought as I cursed in my mind.
But no use, this red-haired girl, although I never spoke to her, was smiling at me and was being a funny goof whenever I looked at her. She reminded me of those little school crushes, who went bonkers when around their crush. She also donned a knitted band around her forehead to appear to be like a hippie, but also came and stood in my sight every time I wanted to take a picture. Haha, she was kinda cute. It seemed as it appeared that she wanted to be in the pictures I clicked. Here is one; I dedicate it to her for being so enthusiastic –
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| Beautiful Himalayan plateau... cute red-haired girl and her group |
This group also had hired a friendly Nepali guide who gave
me a useful tip to visit a Tibetan monastery in the village I was destined to. Passing
through some of the most beautiful valleys of the Himalayan plateau, this route
was so eye-candy that at times I stood speechless with my camera pinned to my
eyes. The color shades of the bushes and trees were shifting hues of amber to
pink to green as the transition of weather gave us some amazing views.
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| Amber... pink... yellow... green |
But wait, I needed to explore this beautiful village first and also visit that monastery that sat 'majestic' on the highest part of the rock face. Something told me, this would change my perspective about my journey in the Himalayas.
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| The village clinging to the rock face |
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| Finding my path through the maze |
Pampered by the beauty of the village at one side and the amazing view of the icy mountains at the other I lost my tracks as I quickly found myself in a maze. Careworn for a few minutes with thorns nearly ripping my clothes as I walked in places not many people go, I found the right path and was delighted to see the crown of the monastery shining against the evening sunlight. Calculating the distance, direction and also altitude I finally made it as I reached the top of the village.
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| The monastery at the top of the village |
Wow, was the reaction of not just me but many who had made it here. I stepped into the monastery quickly which was unusually warm and comfy. I saw a monk who offered me a chair to sit but I smiled at him and chose to sit on a flatbed on the floor. It was a very silent place, with a trance-like Buddhist mantra reciting softly. I closed my eyes and slipped into a quick meditation as if it’s what I had come here for.
I hardly meditated for ten minutes maybe, but what is important is a vision I experienced. Suddenly a flood of answers seemed to come to me. In those ten minutes, I got my reply to the questions I had been asking all through my trek all these days.
Imagine this whole trek as nothing but a meditation phase, and imagine crossing the highest pass in the world as that breaking point when you wake up to illumination.
This came into my mind, forcing a realization that this whole adventure in the Himalayas was that meditation, unlike any other I have done in my life before. I was only waiting to open my eyes when I reached the highest pass in the world.
I got up, clicked a few more pics, and headed straight down to my cottage. I received my answers as to how I could gather my strength to conquer what I was about to accomplish in the next few days.
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| Mani Wall and the Karma Wheels |
The next morning was cold; also literally when I had realized that I had caught common-cold. At the incredible height of 3300 meters, I had stepped into the boundaries of the higher region. My nose blocked, throat sore and body weak, I had realized that a new difficulty had been added to my already challenging trek. But stuffing myself inside my warm jacket, pulling my hand-knitted beanie on my head, I started my day’s trek after a quick breakfast.
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| View in the chilly morning |
Focusing my eyes onto minute details, a comprehension dawned onto me that it had snowed the previous night while I was sleeping. It was that fresh early winter snow that formed a thin film of frosty membrane all over. The roof of houses, bike seats, wooden fences, rocks and anything that was exposed to the open weather at night was blessed with it. It was so thin that it was soon to be evaporated as the sun rose quickly over the mountains.
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| Early winter snow |
The scenery only kept getting better and better from here. I don’t even have enough as I am draining out of words in my mental dictionary to describe the amazing topography I walked through. There were times when I got four-dimensional views with snow-capped mountains beyond, choppy grey colored ton running like a jaw, white dusty alien-like lower terrain, and green foresty pine woods from where I stood. I enjoyed the trek so much; I was ignorant of the three hours that passed swiftly.
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| The four-dimensional view |
“You want chaai?” He asked me with a warm smile, opening the jeep door. I understood that this couple was seeing a son in me, maybe because their own son was away from home. I hopped into the jeep, throwing my backpack behind in the load. I joined them to the next village where apparently they owned a dwelling. They were so happy to have my company, they insisted that I should eat and drink at their house. A notion that initially swept upon me was that they had a tea house, but reaching upon the site I realized that it was a humble village house and they were only offering me refreshment as a guest.
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| The humble village house... warm tea... warmer hearts |
Bidding them goodbye, I continued my journey as more and more amazing views seemed to spill before my sight. So much so that at times I wanted to kick myself for not bringing my tent. But I also soon realized that no one was daring to tent in these lands. Why? I wondered. I was about to get my answer to that question in a few hours as I reached the destination village at 3540 meters above sea level. This village, or maybe a town is the most popular one in the mountains. This is a capital of the district and a major hub where trekkers halted and rested for days to acclimatize to the altitude before proceeding to higher mountains.
Finding a pastry-smelling German bakery in the town, I was surprised at the kind of dishes on the menu when I finally chose to order ‘Yak Burger’. Finishing the burger and finding myself accommodation in one of the many tea houses, I let myself unwind as I had planned to stay two days here. I had all the time to acclimatize, explore, sleep and also just live in the moment.
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| The Yak Burger in German Bakery |
I promise it will be worth it; Merry Christmas and a Happy
New Year.
Here is the link to the 'Part Two' - Part Two of my Himalayan adventure
Here is the link to the 'Part Two' - Part Two of my Himalayan adventure
