Namasti! Namasti! Namasti!
I slept too early last night. So I woke up second time about 5 a.m. and was unable to get back to sleep. Not knowing what else to do I sat in a gazebo by the roaring river in the chilly morning air to read the last chapter of American System of Government by Earnest Griffith using a torch-light until the morning light descended from the crests of the mountains into the valley.
In the mountains, light always appears first behind summits casting gloomy shadows in the valley and marking out bold silhouette of the upper ridges. At the break of dawn slopes facing the sun become instantly brightened while the hidden slopes remain in gloomy shadows for quite a while.
[Griffith’s book was read by Tzuo Hann when he was on his round the globe cycling tour. I have brought it along all because it is thin and light. I just want to know the political stuff that my son read when he was on his grueling journey, curious to find out what drew him to read Griffith’s essays which have no connection to his 283 days cycling trip.]
Morning Ngadi in the shadows of the mountains
After breakfast we pulled out a bit early so that we could make up for the distance we were short of yesterday for stopping a bit early to rest.
Soon we walked across rice fields with well-maintained cottages decorated by pretty flowers.
Beyond those lodgings our path led us from one slope to another all the way up to a hilltop location, Bahundanda. Along the way rustic village dwellings were everywhere. Mothers led their children to somewhere and men led their mules and ponies strapped with goods, up and down. Some traveling vendors peddling small ornaments, trinkets and gemstones and household items were moving on to their next stopovers. On the narrow mountain trail we all met and politely uttered “namaste” (meaning helo/goodbye/hi) to one another. We were all fond of saying that newly-learned word “namaste” aloud to show we were polite tourists from a civilized society. So today we heard lots of “namaste” here and “namaste” there, front and back among the 11 of us.
It was about 10.30 a.m. when we reached Bahundanda which was a hilltop settlement consisting of dwellings and lodgings catering to travelers and tourists. From this hilltop we could see the trail that we had scrambled on through the Marsyangdi valley.
Along the way to Bahundada
Like many other tourists we too stopped for our morning rest and tea-break. After that we trekked down the other side of Bahundanda.
Just minutes down some loose slopes on the other side, an idyllic scene of terraced rice fields and rural settlements hang like a colossal poster before us. The scenery against the up-river snow-clad mountains was simply awesome and fascinating. The silvery white Marsyangdi meandered its way out of the mountains ahead and then through the interlocking spurs deep down in the valley from where hundreds of flights of overlapping terraces of yellow rice spread out and upwards on both sides. Tranquil villages sat on upper slopes, surrounded by croplands dotted with clusters of trees and huge dark boulders. Some cattle and goats were grazing in the late morning sun. Strangely there were few villagers or farmers. It was a perfect country scene to take our breath away.
A poster hung from heaven
Out of that pastoral landscape we found ourselves walking on a path blasted into vertical or overhanging cliffs at hundreds of feet above the Marsyangdi. We could feel the dizzy heights whenever we looked to find the river running deep down in the ravine. Otherwise we felt quite safe especially where there were railings on the edge, though some of which were rusty and broken.
We had been reminded to be watchful of donkeys and mules for while passing by with bulky loads on their backs they may graze us and send us tumbling into the gorges below, especially when were on the outer edge. Despite the warning we continued to find ourselves walking or standing on the outer edge, admiring or taking photos of beautiful sceneries, even when a line of mules were coming up behind us.
Mules, porters and trekkers all in a row
After about 2 hrs we finally reached Ghermu on an elevated and fairly broad plateau planted with paddy and millet. Horses and cattle were grazing on hay stacked up for the coming winter months, close to men’s dwellings. This place had the charm of a ranch.. The tea-houses were built overlooking the deep ravine flanked by terraces on both sides. Deep down the ravine the Marsyangdi, in glimmering white segments, squeezed its way through interlocking spurs and dim gorges. Many trekkers had stopped for the night here to soak up its surroundings
After lunch, we later descended into the river valley again and then crossed the mighty Marsyangdi over a hanging metal bridge [ the first of many to come.] We soon came to the full view of a magnificent waterfall plunging vertically from a hanging valley 150 m high, with all its might. I had no doubts that this section of the valley was a glacial trough in ice ages gone by.
Being a geography student, I am excited by the prospect of seeing more and more glacial features in these mountains.
By and by we came to a section of the track where road construction was ongoing. A whole lot of rocks formed a 30-40 degree slope, 200m in width, across our path gliding into the river. Despite a worker’s insistence that we crossed the river and took a longer path on the opposite bank to circumvent that stretch, our guide urged us to pass the slope of loose rocks in haste.
Blasted rocks were about to roll down just as most of us had made it to the other end of the slope and were ready to climb on an extreme trail up on the slope. Ahead I was scrambling up the slope. At about 2/3 way up I heard the bells of a line of mules coming up behind me.
Mules on the move, ding, dong, ding dong……
I gave way to the first four of them to pass. The fifth animal lost its loads and stopped just 10 m. or so below me - all mules are trained not to move on without their loads. I found myself in a most perilous position of being hit by some falling rocks or being pushed off and down the loose slope by those stupid mules, I decided to haul myself up that slope and get the hell out of the way of both rocks and mules. So I scrambled on until I found myself safe at a tea-house perched precariously on an escarpment overhanging the river. I was done in. For the first time in my life I spent on a can of Red Bulls in the hope that it would restore some energy for me to move on.
I waited there until after the mules had gone past and all the rest of our team had come clear of the slope. We were all thankful for our escape from a life-threatening situation.
45 minutes later we came into Jagat for the night. This settlement is on a shoulder which drops vertically into a dark gorge. On the other side of the gorge a colossal wall of rock face rises into the sky and blocks out all light. I dread to figure out what an earthquake would leave behind for folks in these valleys which in fact are in a tectonic zone. [Indeed over the entire journey pictures of large-scale earthquake destructions loomed in my mind whenever I saw villages and croplands sliding into the ravine, houses perched on shoulders next to fathomless gorges and small settlements at the foot of treacherous slopes.]
In the street of Jagat
A better-than-nothing primary school in Jagat, crying out for your donations
Mountaineers camping at Jagat
At dinner time we heard again complaints of blisters and no hot water and no internet coverage, just like the last night. Here we have to pay for charging batteries and for drinking water which is going at 150 rupees per bottle. That price appears fair and reasonable considering it takes time and effort to have those bottles carried up to here on the backs of porters or mules.
Despite being informed that there are Safe Drinking Water Station where one could get water paying only a fraction of the price we have been paying for bottled water and despite being advised to keep use of plastic bottles and bags to the minimum, we urban dwellers would always go for drinking water in plastic bottles, whatever their prices. Are we paying attention to messages of minimum littering and threat of tourism as printed in handouts given free to trekkers? No, we are not! What a shame!
No comments:
Post a Comment