...Continuation, this is the 'Part Two' of my adventure in the Himalayas. Here is the link to the 'Part One' - Part One of my Himalayan adventure

Alright, now it was only a few hours since sunrise. Little did it even matter here in this extreme cold. Slowly, very slowly I treaded as I also dreaded the path I walked. Almost every inch of my body was covered. I slowly pulled my scarf onto my face to wrap as much of it, which was taking all the beating from the arctic opposition. I was in a crucial dilemma – To mask or not to mask my face? If I did, I couldn’t be able to breathe thoroughly in the already thin air; if I didn’t, I am letting the cold gradually freeze the saliva in my mouth.

Masked...

“What the hell is happening to my face?” my mind demanded.

I slouched myself onto an icy rock, which was so uneven I thought I would slip. I didn’t care. The feeling was as though the chemicals in my brain was also freezing, restricting me from thinking. Tears of stress formed at the end of my eyes. I pushed my sunglasses closer to my brows, pulled my beanie lower to my face and corrected the scarf rightly onto the brim of my nose.

“Oh, God!” I exclaimed, fearing as I realized that even the tears of stress in my eyes were frozen, leaving icy crusts. This was the coldest ever; I was only a few yards away from the highest pass in the world.

But only four days ago, I was relishing my ‘Yak Burger’ in a warm German Bakery.

How did I get here?

*Four days ago; 1876 metres below*

The town at 3540 metres, where I spent two days

Play song Himalayan Traverse - By Rish Rathna

Walking out of the bakery, I strolled through the amazing walkway that ran like a root along the stretch of the town. With speed winds threatening to blow everything in its way I saw flags fluttering out of control, sometimes changing direction rapidly and furiously. Exploring the town on this lazy afternoon I clicked pictures as I saw locals chatting by the shops, little children playing in the fields as if the cold didn’t exist.

“How can people live in this remote place?” I asked myself as I stood surmised, but was soon flabbergasted to find that this small town had everything. From shops, restaurants, check-post, water station, laundry services, bars, a projector hall and also a Cultural Museum, it felt like a whole new place. But the most prominent establishment here was the ‘Himalayan Rescue’ medical centre. All the medical emergencies that the rescue helicopters attended in the mountains were usually destined to land here in the medical centre. I saw at least a fair number of landings and liftoffs in a day. It was almost a poignant air-show at 3540 metres above sea level.

The Himalayan Rescue centre and the helicopter

Finding my path back to the tea house, I entered the dining hall and witnessed as I observed a packed room, almost magnetizing towards the heater in the centre. Everyone looked anxious here, sort of feeling and panicking about the acclimatizing as the cold reached a severe minus 10. The temperature here is acclaimed as almost equal to the temperature on the highest pass, which is one of the reasons why people choose this location to acclimatize.

As I stood before the heater, warming my hands and my body, I was so occupied as I was slow to notice that only inches before me sat a beautiful girl staring at me. A kind of restless expression on her face made me discern that she was scared of the cold.

“Cupid, not tonight.” I thought indignantly.

We exchanged a brief moment of eye contact, smiled, but sort of mutually agreed not to talk as the cold stood rigid, slowly affecting us. I ordered two cups of hot water and quickly walked into my room. Pulling out the cup-noodles from my sack I poured one cup of hot water into it, letting it cook. The other cup was for drinking. The cold, even inside my room was crazy. Everything and anything I touched that night felt like ice. Even as I swiped my fingers over my tablet pc, it felt like running my skin over a slab of hoarfrost. I quickly finished my supper and switched off the light to unwind into my sleeping bag. I was very, very, very cold.

The view from my cold room

I hardly remember falling asleep, but I was woken up hastily at midnight. It was a weird sensation. Cocooning myself properly inside my sleeping-bag I was also wearing a sweater and a jacket over my t-shirt, thermal tracks, warm socks, overnight gloves and two skull caps. Still, the four inches of the slit that was left open around my face to breathe was enough for the cold to lash out on my face. Suddenly my head starting ringing and it felt like my head was frozen solid inside. Panicking, I hastily bestirred from the bed and desperately searched for the light switch in the dark. It seemed as it terribly felt that my mind was hallucinating. Confusion, disorientation and fear gripped me for a brief few seconds until the little yellow light-bulb in my room flickered to life and chased away the darkness.

“These are the initial symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness,” I told myself as I had realized what I was going through. At that instance, I made a promise that if these signs remain unaltered by morning, I may have to descend altitude and go back to the previous village.

At that moment I also grasped the answer as to why no one dared to tent in these lands.

“Diamox.” Suddenly that word gushed into my struggling thoughts. I realized that I had with me a strip of Altitude Sickness tablets, also commonly known as ‘water pills’ which was prescribed by my doctor. Scuffling with my backpack for a few seconds, I finally pulled out the ‘Diamox’ and quickly gulped one in.

“I have to fight this out.” I thought bravely.

With that, I picked my battery torch and walked out of my room into the open cold. It was the darkest night ever. As I stood in the open yard, challenging the cold, I saw that everyone was asleep. It was silent like a desert and there was not even a solitary light that glimmered luminosity.

“Well, let me take a walk to the toilet,” I told myself, a desperate attempt to divert my mind off the Altitude Sickness. But before I did, I lifted my chin pointing my face towards the sky and I was boosted to an implausible admiration. The night sky was filled with stars like as if it was some light show. At this incredible height, trust me, the stars were truly something else to watch.
After a few minutes, I uncomfortably wriggled into my sleeping bag and hoped for the sleep to come.

I woke up the next morning late, pampered by the fact that the day was a rest day. Amazingly I was feeling better. Although I had no trekking plans on my day’s checklist, I wanted to visit a Glacier Lake that was only a kilometre from the town. Soon, I was crossing the river, en route the lake which looked like a glimmering rapture in the middle of the dusty landscape. Apparently, a long time ago, a large-sized glacier had melted along the mountain to come and rest in a huge cradle that seemed to have formed this beautiful Glacier Lake. With turquoise waters reflecting the sky on its surface, flow trails created by melted ice, this place looked like some Seventh Heaven.

Viewing the Glacier Lake from the top; the turquoise waters complimenting the sky

Climbing the narrow trail on the edge, the path was too thin. At times I felt that even a slight confusion in the wind direction could throw me off the rim and into this lake that sat placid steep down below. But the most challenging thing that day was not the geography I walked on but the weather my body was fighting. Even at midday, with the sun shining full bright and nice, I felt terribly cold. My face, the only part of my body that was not covered was acting weird. It felt as though my face was bubbling and the sensation of boiling all over. It felt like the muscles and flesh on my face was reacting on its own.

Still, I was enjoying the place I was in. Almost always walking along the trails all these days, trying to keep up with the map and the time, for the first time I felt like I was in the ‘now’. With no pressure of reaching the destined village by the day’s end, I had time to do all things differently.

One of the many amazing views my eyes were treated with, day and night

I chucked the well-trodden path and climbed a dangerous mount of rocks and pebbles, which seemed to give way creating landslide as I bounced over it uphill. I sat on the highest point and just watched the mountains, the lake and the clouds shifting through the sky.

For a reasonable time, I didn’t look at the time.

I walked along and towards the river bank, sat on a boulder beside the water flow and threw pebbles into the river. It was a day well spent as I lounged beside the river all afternoon, just being and savouring the setting. Forced myself back did I only to the tea house when I got really hungry from all the leisure activity.

The vantage showing the river, the town and the mountains

Back in the tea house now, I sat in the dining hall to relish my afternoon chow. I was actually hungry. The altitude played tricks on your appetite too – you are hungry one moment and you feel like food is your enemy the other. So I carefully readied myself to order steamed momos, the perfect lunch when it hit me. I saw her! I saw her the way I had failed to see the day I arrived. Fumbling her way into the hall, I perceived the pretty tea house girl who I had bargained the room price with only yesterday. But being too tired the previous day, I had not noticed how beautiful she really was.

The big hippie-glasses she looked through, with stylish hair and an attractive smile, and one of the best English I heard in the mountains, she looked like she belonged in a model-agency more than a tea house.

“Why don’t you come here and suffer the Altitude Sickness, cupid, you jerk.” I thought as I was falling in love every time she blushed and fumbled when I spoke to her.

I knew at the end of the day I was paying money for the food, but something about her made me feel that she meant it when she elated herself with excitement when I was in the dining hall. Her fumbling made me fumble too.

“Fondness is definitely in the air,” I told myself.

By the afternoon’s end, we both turned out to be ‘fumblingly-fumbly-fumbling-two’.

I made use of the remainder of the day by washing a couple of my clothes in the open field. With a tap spewing ice-cold water and a large steel tub, I never estimated that washing clothes could be adventurous too. Pulling my tracks to my knees, folding my sleeves to my elbows, I sort of played in the spacious backyard pretending to wash clothes.

Approaching darkness in the backyard

All these fun died out as the darkness crept in once again over the town. The flags fluttered with the winds again, the cold made people shiver again, and I was prepared for the night yet again. This time a little early as I was to initiate my trekking towards the higher mountains the next morning.

I started at dawn with a choice of my favourite song playing on my music app. I set a timer for myself that by the last moment of the song’s beat, I should have rolled the sleeping-bag, stuffed the clothes inside my backpack and should have been ready to brush my teeth. It’s a great exercise, trust me. But as I stood before the washbasin, staring at my face in the mirror, I realized as I was startled to notice that just a few days of altitude had already changed my face. Trekking the past 8 days, it was an obvious notion that I would have undergone suntan, but what I saw here was transformation.

Chapped lips, shredding skin, my face transforming

Quickly finishing my breakfast, I swung my backpack on my shoulders, all set to leave. But moments before I did, I heard as I couldn’t ignore a song that the tea house girl was singing. It was a Bollywood song and the lyrics made me laugh.

“Hai mera dil, churaake leygaya.” Meaning – “My heart, he stole it away.” At that moment I was sure that this girl was up to something. Singing an ‘intelligent’ Bollywood song to tell how she felt is so subtle, right? Not!

It’s funny how some people assume that Indian actors and the film industry are the only things that represent India.

I smiled at the tea house family and quickly scuttled out, almost escaping. I had no time to steal the heart and burden myself with that extra weight; I was already lugging 15kg backpack you see? Haha!

With only short respiration my lungs could afford, I walked into the older part of the town. I followed the trail directing towards the higher mountains. This section of the town looked rustic and primordial, unlike the sophisticated area where I rested for two days. Browsing along some of the most amazing views the Himalayan Mountains promise to offer, I started experiencing whole new vicinity. The trail visibly got steeper, the air strictly got thinner and the weather viciously got colder.

The higher ranges of the mountains

I crossed a couple of villages that sat so high and remote in the mountains that the people had adapted to the icy temperament. I walked along as I noticed water ducts and taps frozen, leaving a crystal-like ice formation hanging from the tip. Hoofing the dusty but cold trail alone, I soon noticed that the exotic birds of the Himalayan territory were circling the air at the same level I walked. That’s how high I was now. I saw a rescue helicopter soaring so close; I showed them a friendly ‘V’ sign with my hands raised and waved at them.

Where exotic birds and man-made birds flew at the same altitude I stood 

Fighting the thin air I took short breaks more frequently now, just standing still and gulping in the phenomenal views. I overtook the Polish couple I had met in the tea house a few days ago realizing that the Polish lady was having difficulty walking. The altitude had taken the bait on her legs as she struggled to hike. I shared as I offered a few considerate words to them before proceeding higher until I reached a small village. I decided that I deserved a hot cup of tea.

Sitting in the open porch, drinking tea while chatting with the tea house owner and her adult son, I couldn’t believe the kind of views I perceived. I saw mountain peaks that stood to level up to my peripheral vision, almost challenging me for every foot I walked high. I saw a cliff shaped like the horn of a rhinoceros. I liked as I named it – “The Horn of the Yak”, an inspiration I took from the ‘Tin Tin’ episode.

Yak skull at the tea house porch

Finding a small candy stall at the incredible height of 4000 metres above sea level, I bought some lollipops that I was keen to share with the local kids I found chiming “Namaste” to all the trekkers who passed by. Gifting candies to the kids is a routine that most trekkers do in the mountains. But as I was at it, I couldn’t but let myself unwrap one of them and sink it into my own dry mouth. At that crazy height, that little sweet taste did wonders to my parched and cold tongue.

Lollipop at 4000 metres above sea level, The Horn of the Yak behind

Later, as I checked the time, I was surprised to find that it was past lunchtime. I didn’t feel hungry at all. Either it was the altitude or just the amazing distraction the mountains created, nevertheless, I tramped ahead. Soon I halted at a ravine that seemed to spread wide to reveal a total contrast scenery beyond. It looked as though a theatrical performance of a snowy mountain was being displayed on the canvas of the blue sky.

But as I crossed a steel suspended bridge, which was ice cold at a touch, I met as I was greeted warmly by a local horseman. This horseman was shocked as he appeared dazed when he learnt that I was trekking this part of the mountains alone.

“Alone?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Not really,” I smiled, “God is with me,” I replied sarcastically.

But it seemed as it appeared that he took my notion quite seriously. He instantly started quoting words like – “Yes, in these mountains when you walk alone, the Lord is always with you.” I continued smiling, without making an effort to explain him my sarcasm. But regardless he became my friend. He invited me into a small hut where he assured me that we can get the tastiest ‘Puri Bhaji’. And he was right. I finished my lunch in this remote lunch-house before abiding my trekking journey.

The Horseman friend

Shivering for the next couple of hours, I soon reached the small village which was nothing but a huddle of four to five tea houses.

I chose the first tea house; I was very tired to even pace that few yards. But soon I registered that many other trekkers had also stumbled over the same judgement as I was revealed that the place was full. Staying calm, I dropped my backpack and quickly grabbed a mug of hot chocolate. Every time I halted in these higher regions, the cold would attack my body as if it would freeze me solid. So a cup of tea or a mug of hot chocolate was the only excuse. But by the time I finished the drink in my mug, the generous tea house host had agreed as he had arranged a room for me to settle.

I don’t know how other travellers managed through their trip in the Himalayas, but I personally showered every evening after my trek. A hot shower was almost like that merciful massage that my body needed after a crucial day’s hike. But that regular habit of mine was to be challenged today in this high region as people faced a common dilemma here – Water turning into ice.

Anything liquid and exposed was turned into ice

So, quickly settling into my tiny room, I dashed out to pick my bucket of hot water which I had requested for. But while I was at it, tucking my hands into my pockets to fight the freezing temperature, I heard a piece of distinctive music. It was a melodious accord of a mouth-organ and a vocal synchronizing into a beautiful song. I spun my head twice in the direction until I saw them – Two beautiful and lively girls merrily enjoying themselves in the porch before their own room.

“Who is playing the music?” I asked them instantly, or rather inquisitively. They both burst out laughing.

We introduced ourselves promptly as I learned that the mouth-organ musician was a talented girl from Switzerland and her vocal buddy from Belgium. Our friendship speeded at an express rate as we three stood in the open cold talking like old friends reunited. To anyone watching us, it would have seemed as though we knew each other. But in reality, we were just three musicians collaborated.

“Try it!” squealed the Swiss musician, offering the mouth-organ to me.

“Errr!” I said awkwardly as I put the mouth-organ to my lips, blowing an inane amateur tune. Confessing that I didn’t know how to play a mouth-organ, I left with a promise that we would jam in the dining hall later. I headed for a shower.

The amazing view from the tea house, the Thorung Khola river

Picking the bucket of hot water, I scurried towards the supposed bathroom when I was clouted with a surprising sight.

“You godda be kidding me,” I exclaimed when I had discovered that there was no bathroom at all. Just a few feet of a toilet was what the tea house guy insisted was to be my bathroom. I realized that I needed to get creative. At that moment I noted one fact – At this incredible height in the Himalayas, showering is not a high priority in the guest houses.

The snowy terra firma visible from this altitude

Gaping at an amazing snow-capped mountain through a wooden window in this small enclosure, I locked the door and readied myself for the shower. But before I even started, I had realized that the bucket of hot water I had picked only minutes ago was already frosty.

“You godda be double kidding me.”

It was the most uncomfortable shower ever. But nevertheless, within a few minutes, I felt clean and relaxed.

Layering myself with my usual warm clothing ensemble, I dashed through the open cold and into the warm dining hall. Like a stealth Ninja, I moved to avoid contact with the subzero temperature the night was oozing. But as I entered the hall, finding myself a seat closest to the room heater, I saw as I observed that everyone was there. With a chatter ambience of a group, I noticed that they were playing cards on the table. But pretty soon they had a winner in the game and the group dispersed into different seats. The Swiss mouth-organist and her Belgian friend smiled at me and we instantly started talking. In this stretching wooden hall, with a fire-hot heater warming the room, friendly ambience of chattering friends, and dining tables waiting for the meals to be served, this place almost seemed as it felt like a mini version of ‘The Great Hall’ in the Hogwarts Castle.

In a few moments of conversational flow, I also introduced myself with the other travellers.

There was a Polish man sitting upright, two French boys drinking beer and falling asleep on the table, an Asian chap from Vietnam talking rapidly, the Swiss musician playing her mouth-organ, her Belgian friend dancing all over the hall and then, I saw her! Sitting and facing the other side on the table, fidgeting with something on her bench, she turned. It was an elegant girl from Spain.

“This cupid really has no better things to do?” I questioned as I felt goaded.

Soon as we had planned, it was time for us to jam. On popular demand I was forced to sing a song as I chose to sing one of my favourites – ‘Here without you’ by ‘3 Doors Down’. As I sunk into the song, everyone in the hall sat rooted to their seats. The Spanish babe even turned 180 degrees facing me. By the time I ended the song, the hall erupted with applause, reminding me of those days when I was in a Rock Band.

“You have an amazing voice,” said the Spanish babe.

“Yes, you sing really well,” added the Swiss musician.

I just gave a shrug with a smile.

Soon, the Spanish babe recounted her travels through India and told me how much she enjoyed her visit to the Taj Mahal. We both started sharing our own experiences about whats, whys and wheres about the wonder of the world. But the both of us getting lost in our own chat also kind of cropped an awkward moment for the others to see. That’s when it hit me – The Swiss musician was visibly resentful.

I quickly gave her the attention and she had an astounding story to tell. I learnt that she was on a travel break and was touring all over Asia. She spilt some remarkable details about her house in the countryside, about how she had trekked the Alps only around 3000 metres above sea level.

“India is an amazing country.” She exclaimed at least three times that evening.

She couldn’t but reveal about her next travel destination being Colombo upon her realization that my home-town Bangalore was in close proximity to. We became great friends that evening, so much so that I was also comfortable making fun of her.

“I fall asleep everywhere.” She said in a conversation, “my mom falls asleep even in a church.” I started laughing at this.

“Not funny.” She looked stern.

“A little funny.” I teased her.

By the end of the evening, after finishing our warm meals, we all sort of agreed that we were having more fun in the hall to even scurry back to our rooms. But keeping the fact in mind that the next day awaited one of the most strenuous hikes, I bid them goodnight and settled in my room.

So shrouded with the bitter cold was the next morning that I didn’t even dare to step outside my room until the sun was reasonably shining. The friends I had made the previous night offered as they asked if I would join their group trekking. I politely told them that I was on a zest to conquer the mountains alone. They left the tea house and I did the same after half an hour.

The white-washed scenery

Lurching out of the house with my backpack mounted on my shoulders, I was pulled into some white-washed panorama. Standing at one of the highest altitudes in the world I set riveted gazing at the white terra-firma. Since I deflected my trekking path towards the higher mountains a day ago, I now followed along a different but smaller river that thinned and disappeared amid dusty ice lands. A popular notion – “Rivers are the highways of the wild” was quite applicable here. Almost all the villages I browsed through sat along the route the rivers chose to flow in the Himalayas.

I trekked with short breaths, cough and runny nose as I traversed some of the most pretty looking landscapes. Anything and everything that was liquid in the open was frozen. Those which were solid felt like dry ice at the instance of my touch. I soon reached as I crossed one of the lengthiest suspended bridges in the mountains. Protracted like a long saggy guitar reed, at some point in the middle I felt dizzy as I struggled to reach the other end.

One of the many protracted bridges

I met a lone cyclist from Austria who halted for a few minutes to catch his breath while I did the same dropping my backpack. This cyclist’s girlfriend was apparently suffering Altitude Sickness in the town I had left two days ago. It seemed as he explained that he had hired a cycle to pedal all the way to the high pass and back to prepare while his girlfriend recovered. From this point on, I remember hearing more stories of Altitude Sickness than anything else from fellow travellers. Hard to deny, I now walked through one of the most dangerous climatic territories in the world.

I pressed on, treading as I savoured some amazing vertical landscapes that made me feel like I was on a different planet. From where I had started my trip in the raucous city lanes of Kathmandu, now I felt like I was sailing in some remote wonderland where silence was your best friend.

The impeccable silence around me

As predicted by the Austrian cyclist, I soon was alarmed by a group of professional cyclists racing along the trail. Apparently, there was a mountain bicycle race happening that day which ended at the village I was destined to. The frequent “Excuse me!” calling from behind as I had to step aside to let every cyclist pass through, at times it really annoyed me much.

“Let alone my battle through the icy arctic weather and the death-defying trails, had I now have to make room for some cyclists who were in a race?”

I soon skidded before a fork in the path. “Left or right?” my mind contemplated. I pulled out my map and stood to study it, appearing like some 17th-century explorer. I met another solo trekker here as she also stood pondering the same question. She had a porter along with her who said that right is better.

“But the map doesn’t even point out the right one?” I demanded him and confused him so much that he ended up taking the left one himself. Haha!

Vertical sweep

“Come on, let’s try it.” The lady insisted, but I told her that I would take the right instead. I declared that we would see which one is better when we met again. We never got to figure that out because we didn’t meet later. In this left-right dilemma, I soon descended and ascended such dramatic slopes that at one point I even saw that someone had vomited along the trail; looked like the Altitude was being a badass on everyone.

The peaks...

Reaching one of the oldest tea houses in the Himalayas, I rested as I refuelled myself with a chocolate bar and some water. Then came some unrealistic looking landslide area which was so windy that at times I thought this would be the very place where people died in the mountains. For every step I footed on this crumbling landslide, at least four feet of earth moved dangerously. It scared the soul out of me at times when I had to bow down and curve myself just to avoid the harsh winds. This terrifying landslide was one of the scariest terrains I have conquered in the Himalayas.

The landslide I footed on

This dramatic trek lasted a few more hours until I finally reached the destination. At 4450 metres above sea level, I had tripped into the ‘final haven’ before facing the highest pass.

With the scarcity of resources, supplies and the inaccessibility to civilization, this remote camp is usually in high demand. I soon understood that the few rooms here were already full and I had no option but to walk higher. With my body ludicrously denying hiking any further, with an unyielding expression on my face, I forced myself as I advanced to another encampment that sat a few metres higher. This was the priciest accommodation in the mountains. The locals had tailored themselves to taking advantage of the remoteness. I also noticed that they were the least friendly of all the people I had met in the mountains.

This was the most lacklustre of an evening yet in the journey. With no wifi access to contact the outside world, frozen water hampering my plans for shower, terrible temperature threatening to freeze you to the bones, it was a stringently serious evening. At night, the temperature dropped somewhere close to minus 20. During the coldest winter nights, the temperature is said to touch somewhere around minus 40.

This was my view right behind my camp

Fighting the severe cold, I finished my dinner in a very silent dining hall. Everyone present there were deep-dropped into their own thoughts, almost fearing their unknown fate the next day. After all, tomorrow was that milestone which every trekker had come to achieve. I met a group from the Czech Republic and two French oldies. We all kept our chat to a minimum as we all needed to focus on the trek that was about to commence in a few hours.

Settled in my room, shivering throughout the evening; I pulled the zipper of my sleeping-bag along its contour while filling my mind with thoughts of panic. I spoke dramatic sentences like – “Whether I would succeed crossing the pass tomorrow or fail either way this would be my last night here.”

At that instance, I made a revolutionary decision. I decided as I promised myself that the best way to conquer the most dangerous hiking day in the mountains is to ‘not’ treat it like the most dangerous hiking day. I shut my eyes wafting into sleep, keeping my mind calm that tomorrow would be just another day in the Himalayas.

The morning of bitter cold and a story yet to be told

I rouse in the icy morning early. The one thing I remember that dawn was the impeccable silence. It was as though the mountains were watching me in full deliberation. After all, at least forty-three mountain peaks sat in that region. I did everything wrong that day. As if to have found out a ground-breaking technique to conquer the high pass. Like a secret formula to make wrong to bring out the right.

I started my trek late at 6 am, while most did the same at 4 am; I wore the thinnest jacket that day, because although it was the coldest day I didn’t want to risk sweat; my gloves only covered my palms and not my fingertips, a risk I took because I personally can't function with wrapped fingers; a meagre tomato soup was the only breakfast in the morning, because I didn’t want to risk stomach upset; I did everything wrong.

To achieve the extraordinary, you have to part ways from the ordinary.

Registering in my mind that it was to be the lengthiest trekking day, I asked the Nepali owner in the camp – “What about toilets?”

“No toilets; open toilet.” He replied without a pause. No doubt, I was about to venture into the most isolated section of the trail today.

My lungs fraught against the thin air, I started to clamber the steep terrain not daring to look down. The weight of my backpack was weighing me more than usual today as if it had magically multiplied. Or maybe it was just the near-vertical climb. With tears of stress filling my eyes behind my sunglasses, I didn’t dare to lift my hands off the trekking poles to wipe it. Because a single slip could send me tumbling down. After a few stressful minutes, I reached the ‘High Camp’, a delightful refuge up in the mountains. This camp is also known as one of the highest accommodations in the world. This is the last place one could sleep in the mountains, as the next such refuge could only be found beyond eight hours of trekking.

The picturesque reality just outside the camp

Quickly guzzling a cup of hot tea, I left the place in exchange for the gorgeous scenery outside. I continued my trek.

The weather got so relentless that even the word ‘cold’ seemed an understatement. Imagine the coldest night of your life, now multiply the intensity ten times, that was the feeling I was mortally living being outdoors in one of the highest places in the Himalayas. Stepping along the edgy snow-masked cliffs I understood that these forceful elements of nature don’t care who you are. Up high here in these mountains, you are equal. The majestic mountains of the Himalayas don’t care if you are a VIP or a Nobody. It treats all just the same. The only way to safely pass through such a harsh landscape is to show the highest gratitude, respect nature and stay focused by keeping all your senses attuned.

I have read somewhere that during extreme conditions, your eye vision is the strongest towards the side of your peripheral vision and not the centre. So I used this little tip and moved my head side to side in order to get the most of the vision. This was also the same time I noticed that it had started to snow. Not the usually thick snow that one often saw in lower altitudes, but a thin shimmer of flakes like falling from the heaven being swayed by the winds as it decided its fate. With the thick spongy clouds getting moody and blocking out the sun the whole time that day, it got cold, colder to coldest.

Frigid and senseless fingertips

My fingertips, openly exposed to the cold and ice were a whole different story to tell that day. With blood dangerously clotting the ends of my fingers, they turned slightly purple with the ends swelling and cutting the flesh. It was senseless. At times when I had pulled my camera to click some amazing pictures, I couldn’t tell if I did click the button or not due to the zero sense in my fingertips. Double-checking the image cache to confirm was my only resort. The feeling on my fingers was equated to that when someone would punch the tips with a hammer and leave pulsating pain for hours. Even now, after nearly two months, still noticeable are the clot marks on my nails, divided by a faint line like a mark of affirmation.

Snow shaping vivid patterns

I walked along snow that seemingly appeared to be shaping into vivid patterns as if some magical land. My lungs squeezed, not able to inflate thoroughly in the thin air. For every deep breath I took, only 30 percent of oxygen seemed to be pouring in. Breathing through my mouth, swallowing huge amounts of air, I thought this would suffice the lack of oxygen when I acknowledged another horrifying crisis – The arctic air was slightly freezing my saliva, leaving my already dry mouth with ice formation around my tongue. This scared the living cell out of me, forcing me to mask my face back on.

Halting at a pastoral shed, a basic room with a bench and a man selling tea, I gulped in a hot cup of beverage that dropped into my stomach like nothing. Already trekking for three hours in this arid icy desert, that little cup of drink felt like it disappeared in thin air.

Fighting altitude; fighting cold

Toddling myself like a helpless child, I further ventured into the amazing yet spine-tingling topography that seemed no different than those which the astronauts might have perceived on their lunar mission to the moon. It seemed like a whole different planet up there. After all, to understand the geography as to how the Himalayas were formed, one would come to realize that the soil you see is probably the ancient loam that was once on the ground level. Being pushed higher since its inception, this part of the Himalayas as we see it today might have once been the very soil upon which those who came before us walked. Thus, one must not deny, this is indeed a place of spiritual eye-opening.

With a bowl of soup, two cups of tea and periodic sips of water already spilt down my throat into my stomach, it was inevitable as it was applicable for me to halt for a moment and relieve in the wild.

Where I had to tinkle on ice

Tinkling onto a thick patch of ice beside the trail, the warm urine melted the snow as I also gawked into an astounding background. I chuckled as I stood surmised that this was probably the only warm thing in that whole landscape of bitter cold. Continuing my trek along some more unrealistic looking topography, I noticed that the clouds were smoothly brushing over the sharp mountain edges.

It seemed like another planet

I pushed my sunglasses closer to my brows, pulled my beanie lower to my face and corrected the scarf rightly onto the brim of my nose.

“Oh, God!” I exclaimed, fearing as I realized that even the tears of stress in my eyes were frozen, leaving icy crusts. This was the coldest ever; I was only a few yards away from the highest pass in the world.

Fooling myself with many mirages, with no means of tracking my altitude, a many times I was deceived into believing that the high pass was right in sight. This illusionary game continued to haunt me for the next hour until finally when I was least expecting it, I saw it.

“The highest pass in the world!” Speechless, astounded and euphoric, I elated myself with joy.

So much so that I said aloud “YES” to myself as I loped towards it with a big smile on my face. I had made it. All the wonders I had been browsing through in the Himalayas since two weeks suddenly seemed to take the back seat as I had before me the ultimate prize – The Thorang La Pass.

YES!

The vision was right; I did wake up to illumination here at 5416 metres above sea level. I sunk in a revelation that I and I alone needed to consider. What I woke up to, what my eyes were revealed with, and what divine knowledge I might have attained there is mine alone. To me like others, that experience is something that which is exquisite as it is exclusive to each their own.

Drinking what is known as the most expensive cup of tea in all of Nepal, I sat in a warm shack that served beverages right beside the highest pass. What most people ignore is that while crossing the highest pass in the world, they also would have an opportunity to drink in the highest tea shop in the world too. I met a few other travellers here including a trekker from Peru, who instantly became a good friend.

“My English is not good.” He expressed slyly, putting great care on the words he chose.

“No, you speak well, my friend.” I reminded him, also adding that Peru is one of my favourite travel destinations. Standing on the highest pass in the world, shivering non-stop, we both discussed the ‘Machu Picchu’ in Peru, one of the Seven Wonders.

Clicking a continuous chain of photographs with my camera, I soon swung my backpack over my flip-side and started walking; but not towards descend but actually ascend.

“What? Why?” Most of the fellow trekkers contemplated as I rerouted my path towards the higher mountain. Ignoring the usual trail that now fell into a fast descend of 1700 metres all the way to the next village, I struggled to a peak alone. Reaching the top I swung back to notice that all the others were already scrambling away from the pass. I was alone here, but I also knew that putting that little extra effort I had risen to the highest altitude possible on the trail. I now stood at an invincible height at 5500 metres above sea level, a near 100 metres higher than the Thorang La Pass.

Now ‘this’ was my accomplishment.

A few years ago I ascended the ‘Petronas Twin Towers’ in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia which was a meagre 452 metres, I ascended the ‘International Commerce Center’ in Kowloon, Hong Kong which is a little higher at 484 metres, but the record-breaking one was when I ascended the ‘Burj Khalifa’ in Dubai earlier, which prides itself to be the tallest building in the world at 828 metres. I thought I was at the top of the world. But here, I stood at an astounding altitude of 5500 metres (18,000 feet) above sea level. That’s almost seven times the height of Burj Khalifa. This, to me, is something else.

A hidden lake visible at 5500 metres, also frozen

The view at 5500, not 5416

Looking 'down' at the highest pass in the world

Quickly scuttling down the slope, I gave one intense look back at the pass, smiled, and started my long descend along the trail all the way to the next village. Almost four hours had been eaten up trekking my way to the Thorang La Pass, but that was only half work done. The real triumph would be when I had finished descending for the next six hours in the isolated wasteland, fighting an arctic cold, threatening winds, snow, fog and also hunger. All I had that morning was a bowl of soup. On this side of the pass, in these desolated icy mountains, there was not even a tea shack. Keeping my vigour stimulated, I focused as I carefully sauntered among some implausible mountain peaks.

I still don’t understand as I can’t believe how I passed the next six hours, walking through endless descend, alone. But I do recall a break I took in between when I had dropped my backpack, slumped myself onto a snowy rock, and finished two chocolate bars. That was my only lunch. Sitting alone in this isolated wilderness, mulling over my forthcoming trek, I saw many abandoned water bottles that were frozen to ice. A small reminder for me that this is not a place I should be spending the night. With that, I got up and continued my journey.

A video documenting my struggle at the top of the world

With the descent getting steeper I also slipped once and twice, nearly falling hard and almost losing my trekking poles. My black jeans were so dusty and soiled that by the end of the day it appeared stone-grey. Later in the afternoon, with moody clouds kissing the very altitude I trod on, I literally walked into a cloud. It would have seemed like a theatrical scene in a science fiction movie. But to me, in that remote zone was a living reality.

The cloud I walked into

Nearing the village, almost reaching the end of my day’s trek, I was not prepared for what happened next.

It was getting dark, and I knew nightfall was imminent. But that least worried me because I had my destination in sight. Now, I only needed to focus and calculate my distance and direction as I was sure of my way. But suddenly, like as if some invisible demon was playing tricks on me, I was shrouded by a shifting cloud. Although I was left with a few more hours of sunlight to finish my trek safely, this cloud suddenly transformed everything. I panicked as I now stood lost in a billow, not able to see anything beyond a radius of a few feet. Even that calculated sunlight I had on my watch was gone.

I was lost…

The evil cloud

I slipped again, for the third time. This time I fell, leaving one of my trekking poles slightly dented.

The next hour of trekking was the scariest experience of my life. This was the only time through my whole trek in the Himalayas did I ever dismay being in the mountains. This one hour was the slowest moment of my life as if time itself had slowed down to its sluggish pace. Walking into deeper clouds, I hopelessly paced alone. Without knowledge of what lay beyond a few metres, with sunlight almost vanished, I thought I would never make it to the village I was only ogling at a few minutes ago. Then again, I couldn’t even see it anymore.

This ordeal continued for the next crucial hour until the sunlight totally disappeared. The calculated time I had on my watch was confused and disrupted by this evil cloud. I was not prepared for this. Everything blew out of my mind; the trek, the mountains, the time, the enthusiasm to click photographs. All it mattered now was to get myself safe to a shelter. I never foresaw that I would be trekking in the dark. But I was sort of prepared as I pulled out my flashlight. Using a safety pin that I had reserved in my pack, I pinned the flashlight to my front and trekked alone through bitter cold and threatening darkness. It was adventurous, one would agree, but the uncertainty about my destination made me nervous.

Even if you had an Iron Man suit, seeing through this is impossible

I thought I was done. My mind was already making quick plans about how I could drop my backpack and walk without the weight to a visibly close cottage.

“I could always come back in the morning and pick my bag.” I thought.

But the zig-zag slopes were threatening to introduce me to my fourth slip, this time sure to send me down into a gully. I slowly ambled my way through the icy cold with the cognizance that now I had a nasty cramp on my thighs; a perfect full stop to my hopes of gathering myself to safety. I thought this was my end. Although I had crossed the highest pass in the world, to me it felt like I would never reach civilization to tell my story.

“Hello!” I started calling out for help in the darkness, hoping if someone could hear me from the cottage that seemed too far away. But as I stood hopeless, I heard a reply. I peered down below and saw another flashlight, like a sign of hope glimmering back at me.

“Yes, yes, I am here.” He said.

“Who the hell is that?” I thought, but boy was I glad to see another living soul in this treacherous wild. With no visibility, I couldn’t identify the person until I slowly neared him to notice a familiar face.

“My friend.” I exploded, staring at the Peruvian who I had met on the pass.

Instantly we were on this task together. He also offered to carry my backpack when he learnt about my thigh cramps. I politely and fairly refused as I knew he had his own bag to carry too. But a conclusion settled in my mind that instance – “I have found a perfect friend to buy a beer tonight.”

Using our flashlights like experts, we quickly signalled as we shouted “hello” towards the cottage that seemed so close yet so far. Soon, like a ray of hope, two Nepali men scrambled towards us and led us to a beautiful season lodge that was only a few yards away. Settling into my comfortable room, being thankful for making it safe all the way here, I joined the Peruvian friend for that beer I had promised him. I knew he was a good human being the moment he offered to carry my bag. Besides, it was time to celebrate.

Eating a nice meal while we celebrated, we said “cheers” with our mugs. We sat chatting, being thankful for the amazing journey we made that day. Soon, I recoiled into my room for what I would say a deserving sleep.

The next morning I woke up relaxed. I noticed that the taps in the lodge were frozen. Although I had descended altitude I was still in the mountains. Brushing my teeth in the open while studying the stack of hills, I glimpsed the very zig zag slopes that kept me stranded the previous night. I quickly left the lodge. With the muscle cramp on my thighs being a major pain henceforth, I walked so slow that everyone behind me passed ahead. I soon crossed a bridge that was inscribed with some contradicting ideologies.

“Long live CPN (Maoist).” Someone had scrawled.

“Long rot CPN (idiots).” Someone else had corrected.

I barely managed to stand with the leg pain

This one made me laugh as it did to many others who stood here to take a picture. But it also hinted me as to how dangerous these mountains were apart from the usual natural threats.

Soon, I was greeted with some amazing views of the Tibet-like region, sitting beyond and alienated from the Nepali ranges. I struggled as I suffered some serious pain in my legs until I slowly, very slowly reached a temple. Perched high up in the mountains, this Hindu temple dedicated to Lord Shiva is a holy sanctuary. Pilgrims from all over the mountains come here, some even from other countries.

The temple and the Tibet-like horizon

I visited this primal but tantalizing temple as I also touched the holy waters pouring timidly from the 100 taps.

“Not hundred; hundred and eight.” An attractive Nepali girl corrected me as I was asking a local saint. Fidgeting her feet over her Nike shoes, she also explained to me the difference between the ‘temple donation’ and the ‘prayer donation’ which I was confused about.

I touched all the 108 taps of Holy Water

I also met two bikers, a British and a German, who had journeyed the mountain roads all the way from Pokhara. Clicking pictures while standing amazed at the wondrous scenery that seemed to be rolling beyond the horizon, we became photo buddies as if we took a crash-course in photography.

As per my plan, I wanted to visit the famous ‘Hotel Bob Marley’ which was a popular trekkers’ merriment. Doing my necessary research before I came to Nepal I had decided to celebrate my trek here. Now with two recent friends, these bikers wanted to visit the place too. We soon scurried down the stairs as we stood on a helipad which served as a bike parking zone. Riding with them, I reached this beautiful pub which was only a kilometre away.

This one was the German biker's photography skills

I stood clicking pictures below as the German biker called out – “Girish, come up. We have saved a seat for you.”  I quickly walked into and toward the balcony while noticing that the inside of this pub was pretty vibrant. Themed on the famous Reggae legend Bob Marley, this place was pumped up with an ambience to match his musical tribute. One would easily mistake it for some hip hangout in the middle of a metropolis.

Hotel Bob Marley, the two bikes, the bikers to the right (also someone in the centre)

As I settled at the table with the two recent biker friends, I almost didn’t notice it when suddenly it dawned onto me like a bright bombshell. I saw her; again!

“Are you f**king kidding me, cupid?” I was seriously but also pleasantly surprised.

Already squared into their own celebration, it was the same Swedish cutie and her Danish friend. Only this time, they were with two other guys. I looked at her and tried to smile, but hiding her eyes behind dark glasses, she gave me that – “I am still not very pleased” look.

“Who the heck is she, and why is she acting like a jealous girlfriend?” I questioned myself, really not able to understand the drama. But regardless, I had a celebration before me. So, ordering some beers and some tasty chicken sizzlers, I sunk in.

With many trekkers gathering and reuniting, this town was a hub where travellers usually regrouped after the strenuous journey through the pass. Spending my afternoon listening to some Bob Marley hits, I finished my celebration as I also stood adamant that I needed to move on to the next village. I didn’t spend the night here as I had already spent the previous night in the lodge. But the sudden reunion with this Swedish cutie, her senseless but also unexplained anger towards me, the fact that this was our third meeting in the mountains, all these things left me with a strange question mark in my heart. But above all, it was her silence that stung me the most.

“Silence is an answer too.” I think she took this sentence too seriously.

All I wished that afternoon, glimpsing at her now and then, was for her to break her deadlock and talk to me, or at least a smile? Sitting just a few feet away from me, it felt like the longest distance between two people. I couldn’t but also wonder that the two guys they sat with were her way of getting at me, to make me jealous? As I said, I didn’t know. It was just a question mark.

Walking out of the pub, still cloaked by the veil of unexplained love, I was rather stunned when I saw two more familiar faces in the market, doing their own shopping. It was that Swiss mouth-organist and her Belgian friend. As mentioned before, this town was a reuniting hub for most trekkers. We talked as we bombarded each other with questions about whats and hows about crossing the highest pass. I stood chatting with them on the street, which was a vivid scene for anyone to watch, even the Swedish cutie in the balcony.

“Damnit,” I thought. Now for whatever reason she may be angry, this would multiply ten folds. At that moment I surmised as I simply accepted that her smile, to me, was history.

“Oh, well,” I said, as I also stopped immediately. There is no point saying it, cupid must be up to something again.

Exchanging our phone numbers, I said goodbye to the Swiss and the Belgian and walked towards the two bikers to bid them goodbye as well. We said words like “see you sometime later” when the German uttered a sentence that caught my attention that evening.

“There is a saying in Germany,” he said as he sat on his bike, “– You meet every person twice.”

That sentence almost seemed a notion as to remind me that this was not the last time I would be seeing the friends I made in the mountains, especially the Swedish cutie.

With the darkness fast approaching, feeling slightly tipsy, I checked my permits in a check-post. I found a Jeep ride to my next village which sat in the north part of the region, close to the Tibet border. This was the farthest north one could voyage in the trail with the permits. Anything beyond that needed special authorization.

I soon reached the village at nightfall and settled.

The next morning was rather tranquil. With an accomplished feeling that I had crossed the highest pass in the world, that I had survived the high ranges of the Himalayas, the morning was languid. Spending my sunup in this spectacular village that looked like it was still in touch with its medieval roots, I appreciated the basic comforts. Even a simple hot shower without the sight of frozen taps was so welcoming. Eating a typical Nepali breakfast called ‘Tsampa’ I picked my camera and snaked through the maze-like assortment of the village.

I loved this particular classic section of the village

This place left me with sights worth remembering. Arranged by stones and shingle, some section of this village looked so ethereal that it seemed as it appeared as I had teleported into some classic Greek town. This village was so primordial that some of the locals still use wood as a commodity. Some parts of this village don’t even have the concept of money; the serrated mount of stacked wood on their rooftops is their sign of wealth.

Having the whole afternoon to squander, I walked further and farther browsing through some more medieval lifestyle. I saw a man seated in his frontier, chopping some Yak meat, I saw village girls playing and spending their afternoon in the river. Clicking some amazing pictures, it soon dawned onto me that even with that terrible muscle cramp in my thighs; I had now walked all the way to the north most of the map that my permits were allowed. Maybe I even walked a few yards further, who knows?

The north most part of the trail; beyond that grey mount is restricted

Later I left the village as I travelled more along the imposing Kali Gandaki River. I met a Nepali driver who offered me a ride in his dusty hatchback, promising to take me on some adventurous drive. With fierce winds gushing at you, at times I thought it would simply tip the car off the edge.

“You are a bahadhur!” The driver repeated at least three times as he learnt that I had crossed the highest pass in the world, alone. (‘Bahadhur’ literally translates to ‘brave one’)

The savage like winds beating on the hatchback I was driving in

I reached another busy town on the western side of the mountains which also prided its own operational airstrip. This is a place where many trekkers end their journey and catch a flight to fly out of the mountains. But considering the options, knowing that I still had six days until my flight back home from Kathmandu, I made a decision. I would rather take a lengthy but adventurous bus ride in compare to a one hour flight to Pokhara; my next destination. A bus ride would mean that I would also get to see all the villages that sat dotted on the west side of the mountains. This would be a perfect closure to my trip-full journey through the Himalayas.

Spending the night in the town, regrouping with many trekkers I had met before, I also saw that life-saver friend from Peru again. This Peruvian had apparently visited Pokhara, Nepal’s second most popular city a few years ago and I thought he would be a great consultant. I settled in the town preparing for an early morning bus departure.

At daybreak, I was prepared. Waking up early, clearing my way to the bus stand, I stood with my backpack clicking pictures of the amazing picturesque panorama that the town sat sandwiched between. The Peruvian friend and I had booked the fast-selling bus seats the previous evening. Now, we both stood as we anticipated the arrival of the bus. After all, this would be my last day in the mountains.

I saw as another retro looking bus rolled along the main street of the town and creaked to a halt before us. Then, with all the fanatical coincidences that could ever conjure in the entire universe, there she was, sitting in the bus. I saw her again and this time I was speechless.

“The Swedish cutie?” My mind questioned as I stood bamboozled.

I was so not ready to believe this happenstance that I almost burst out laughing. But trying to avoid my laughter, all I did was a grin.

“This is our bus.” The Peruvian friend said.

“No, it can’t be.” I countered.

But soon I was proved wrong as the bus handler directed us inside the bus. To add to this crazy coincidence, the handler also forced the Swedish cutie and her Danish friend off the front seats, which were apparently the ones we had reserved.

“Oh my god, she is gonna kill me with her rage.” I thought, almost hating the fact that she was forced off the very seat I would be sitting. I would gladly have her in my arms though.

“Cupid, what cruel plot is this supposed to be?” I had lost it now. This was the fourth time we were meeting in the mountains. This time I would also be spending the next eleven hours of dangerous Himalayan bus adventure with her. How romantic!

Passing through all the villages lined along the west side of the mountains, this bus ride is reputed to be the most dangerous transport option in the Himalayas. Sometimes, rolling along edgy terrain, the bus handler and the amazingly talented driver coordinate as they work together to clear the bus through dangerous turns. One wrong move could prove fatal, sending the bus go tumbling down into one of the deepest gorges in the world. This surely must be one of the most hair-raising bus rides on the planet.

At one of the tea breaks

The bus raced on such dusty roads that at times unsettled soil came through the windows like a downpour onto us. The wheels of the bus rolled on such edgy cliffs that at times we wouldn’t even be able to perceive the plummet. We gripped onto anything and everything our hands could reach as the bus raced on rutted roads, forgetting that it had passengers inside. This bus stopped in various villages too, giving an opportunity to click pictures of all the amazing rustic communities that lay along the road. It was a typical village commute. I spent the entire day in that bus. But overall, seated in the front most seats, my heart seemed bouncing back to where the Swedish cutie sat many seats away.

“There must be some connection to this.” I thought, not able to digest the fact that I had met her four times.

With the music player in the bus playing some of the latest international hits, it was almost an unexpected mobile jukebox. But passing the whole day watching as the scenes through the window changed from snowy mountain ranges to thick greenery, to wet river beds, to dusty rural towns, to the asphalted highway, the bus eventually stopped for tea again. We were just an hour away from Pokhara. This was my last chance to make the Swedish cutie smile.

Sipping my tea in a small tea-hut, my eyes lovingly searched for her. She and her friend sat at a table as now she was even trying to flirt with the bus handler.

“Seriously, is she that desperate to make me jealous?”

Well, there slipped away my plans to make her smile. It seemed as it felt like she was angry at me for no reason. With the question mark swelling bigger inside my heart, I sat in the bus the next hour still puzzled about why she was acting like an angry girlfriend.

“We don’t know each other; we didn’t even talk.” I reminded myself, but also concluded that some people you meet in life connect with you far greater, defying all logics of reason, understanding and the obvious. I must agree, of all the beautiful women I met in the mountains, although I didn’t talk or sit on a date with the Swedish cutie, she still seemed to have spent more time with me than others. This fact blows my mind.

Travelling another hour in the bus, passing along flickering headlights of oncoming automobiles, the sundown finally brought us to the populated city of Pokhara. This time it was over, it really was time to part ways as I swung my backpack on my back. Since this was the last stop, everyone seemed occupied in collecting and receiving their packs; but not her. The last time I saw her, the Swedish cutie, I was sure that her silence was saying more than just silence. Walking away from the bus, I did look back once but didn’t see much in the darkness. I challenged cupid – “This is the end, I hope?” I walked ahead, finding my way into this beautiful lake city.

The gigantic Phewa Lake in Pokhara

As it was a Sunday, I was delighted as I felt euphoric when I found myself walking through a street festival. With loud music pumping from random bars, pubs and restaurants shimmering with colourful lights, this city was a traveller’s paradise. It was far better than I assumed it to be. After all, Pokhara is said to be a popular destination for foreigners. Sometimes, although no beaches but a large lake, this place reminded me of a concoction between Goa and Kashmir in India.

After weeks of scanty eating in the mountains, I finally rushed into a KFC and treated myself with a meal worthy of a satisfied tummy. I also ate a lot of ice cream scoops at the many ice cream shops. It was almost a mockery after my journey through one of the iciest terrains on the planet. I hired as I explored the lake city with a skimpy bicycle and let myself relaxed for three days, enjoying the various things this tourist nucleus had to offer. Those three days seemed like a different vacation altogether.

The skimpy bicycle

Being a popular destination for paragliding, I woke up every day with sights of gliding tourists shuffled like flies in the sky. With boats stacked along the lakeside, this place is also popular for its boating scene over the emerald waters of the gigantic lagoon. On the third morning, I reached as I boarded a big tourist bus to catch my way back to Kathmandu.

The paragliders, scattered in the sky

Spending another whole day travelling in a bus packed with the most eccentric group of travellers, I saw a macho foreigner arguing against the Nepali locals about who should get what seats. There was also another ‘drama-queen’ who spent the whole journey cribbing about her lost wallet, making everyone in the bus uncomfortable, until finally finding it in her own bag. Beside me also sat a Nepali lady who slept so much in the bus that half of the time it was on my shoulder. But all I did was mount my earphones and listen to my playlist back to back.

Weaving through some impossible traffic jam, regardless, I reached Kathmandu at nightfall. Here I had three days to rest until my flight.

I had programmed my thoughts that I would only sleep, eat, rest and recharge for the three remaining days in the city. After all, I had accomplished my adventure in the Himalayas, what else could be more appealing now? This question was almost challenged when I was tackled by a strange Nepali in the vibrant streets. Quickly we became great friends as he also promised me to buy a ticket to high’way. You know what I mean?

A ‘ticket’ which I needed to scour that would make me really, really high’lighted.

Quickly he was taking me through twists and turns, walking me into some undetectable alleyways and lanes until I was sure I didn’t know my location. Maybe that was his aim. But eventually, I was given with this ‘ticket’ which I would be gladly using to visit the high’way that everyone in Kathmandu was raving about. I promised myself that I would visit this high’way for the next three days. But before I left, this Nepali friend pulled a locket from his neck and threw it around my own. It had a small encrusted statuette of Lord Shiva. He said it was a friendly gift from him.

Finding my pathway through these confusing alleyways, with that locket priding on my chest, I was so already high’lighted that I saw the city in a new light. Smiling, being happy about all the wonderful memories I had stacked up in Nepal, I reached my hostel as I quickly rushed to the terrace to glimpse an amazing panoramic view of the city. But as I was at it, walking carefully down a spiral staircase, I was greeted by a sweet voice as I saw her! It was an unexpected beauty on the rooftop.

“Whatever is your plan now, cupid?” I felt shackled as I was enchanted to have found a cute company while gazing at the glimmering skyline.

As we sailed in our mutual attraction, I learnt that she was from Melbourne.
This hip Australian cutie, with bubblegum pink hair, was chatting with a Nepali friend. But I could tell, from the moment we started talking, it was us.

I also learnt that she was on the terrace because she had bought the ticket to high’way too. She rolled one the best joints I had ever seen and soon we were quoting sentences like – “Sharing is caring.” We became great friends within the dribble of a few minutes.

Laughing and yakking like we were already a pair, in the steadily flowing banter I was revealed that she was a double graduate and also worked part-time for the ‘Red Cross’. Wow, I was bowled over this information, in contrast to the fact that she only looked like a hip school girl. But then again, she thought the same about me too. I made fun and fondly tried to irritate her that I would love to eat meat before her when she stated she is a vegetarian. Her stories about how she ate meat only during Christmas made things worse for her as I couldn’t stop laughing. She also, with the full attention of mine, explained how the Christmas celebrations with her family in the Australian outback were different from those in the western countries.

“I had never seen snow in my life before Nepal. We celebrate Christmas with sand.” She joked.

“And, with kangaroos?” I added.

Browsing through the pics she had clicked in the mountains on her phone, this Australian Red Cross humanitarian narrated her distressing yet profound story of how she was airlifted from the mountains by a rescue helicopter. Apparently, she had ventured on just five days trekking to a place called Poon Hill, an ethereal hilltop on the western side of the trail which offers some astounding sunrise views. She recited that after suffering some serious leg pain in the mountains, she was airlifted back to Pokhara some days ago.

“I hate hiking.” She cribbed, as I thought that remark was a little too late now.

“I think she did it on purpose, to get a ride on the chopper.” Her Nepali friend spoke my mind out.

At the end of the day, or night, we lived such a memorable moment in the terrace that we both kind of felt that this was a great way to end our journeys.

Just catnapping for the next couple of days, with a happy reflection that I had accomplished my Himalayan adventure, I spent most of the time packing. Eating many hot dogs at a stall near to my hostel, visiting the high’way often, I didn’t do much but watch endless videos on YouTube. I also, with the recommendation made by the Australian humanitarian, visited the famous Swayambhunath, popularly known as the ‘Monkey Temple’. This was like the closure to my trip to Nepal.

The Stupa at the temple

Leaving the mountains behind, I think I also left a part of me there. Quite literally as I suppose that losing 10kg body weight during my trek through the Himalayas, a part of me still resides there. Deep-rooted somewhere in the beautiful valleys. I still miss the majestic Himalayas like I would miss a really uplifting friend.

A painting which is worth a million words

Oh, and yes of course. I almost forgot one main (also imperative) element that defined my time spent in the mountains. Every time, almost every day when I was asked a frequent but somewhat same question – “Trekking alone? No girlfriend?” I have always repeatedly stood on the top of the world (literally) and told them the same reply – “My girlfriend is in Copenhagen. I have been missing her very much indeed. Maybe next time, I will bring her with me.”

Now one might ponder – Now who is this ‘girlfriend’ from Copenhagen? Well, that’s the mystery I will have to leave unsolved as I will let it stay untold. I can’t reveal everything. Keep guessing.

With the end of the ‘Part Two’ of my adventure in the Himalayas, I would like to conclude this story by leaving a quote by a famous 14th-century explorer Marco Polo –

“I did not write half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed.”