19.10.09(Kathmanduday)

Mountains and valleys, here we come, blessed by your spirits

Well in fact I arrived at the check-in counter few minutes past 5 am. I immediately asked for Mr. Sharul who on Saturday morning assured me he would re-schedule me on today’s flight.

10 minutes later I was on the way to the boarding gate. It was a great relief to receive a message from Mee Poon saying that on their way to Besishahar, where we were supposed to start our Annapurna Circuit trek, they would pick me up at the Kathmandu Airport. In that case, despite being two days late, I wouldn’t miss anything after all on the trekking part.

In the plane I talked to two Nepalese migrant workers returning home for Deepawali. Nepal’s countryside that continues to drive their young males out to Malaysia to seek low-paying jobs. I guess it was for the same reasons that our forefathers from the south coast of China left home to work as miners and tapers in the South Sea i.e. today’s SEA countries.

By They have been away from home working in Malaysia for almost 3 years. One has a son whom he has not seen. They gave me some ideas about joblessness and poverty in and by we flew into dawn over what looked a sprawling estuary settlement marked with meandering tributaries and ponds and lakes. It could be the Ganga Delta.

Over the right wing of the plane I could see a long narrow band of wooly clouds floating steadily on the horizon. On these clouds was a chain of silvery white objects with angular edges. It occurred to me that those could be the mighty Himalayans awakened from their slumber.

Mountains awaken from their slumbrous sleep

Approaching Kathmandu, images of hills and mountains rose out of gloominess to greet us. They looked like ripples from far but soon turned into shadowy colossal tsunamis rising from the Kathmandu Valley. All around them villages and houses were scattered on slopes. Wayward roads crawled on narrow ridges up to summits and hilltops. Some roads appeared to stretch upwards into heaven above before they suddenly disappeared below our plane. I prayed that our bus would not take such roads!

There were few lights on the ground, compared to those I had seen in other cities. However from high up in the air Kathmandu was an awesome picture of a sprawling city over hills and valleys.

Upon arrival at Tribhuvan International Airport I rushed to get my visa done in less than 10 minutes and then I scurried out of the building to look for my teammates. I didn’t see Mee Poon or any group of persons looking like my team. And so I got one of my new Nepalese friends to contact Mee Poon who had just arrived at the airport.

I was soon greeted by waving hands stretching out of a small bus packed with my fellow trekkers. I offered them my thousands of apologies. They all clapped hands to welcome me on board. No giggles. Nor any laughing out loud.

Out of the Airport our rickety bus run on Kathmandu’s dusty roads lined with disorderly shop-houses. Rubbish and garbage everywhere. On every pavement were hawkers and vendors selling vegetable, household items and whatever else. Trucks, buses, motorcars, trishaws and bicycles were being recklessly driven about. It surprised me that this heavily polluted capital city could look so scenic from the sky.

Our bus found its way up and up out of Kathmandu Valley and then down and down to Besisahar on roads crawling along spurs and slopes that plunge steeply into the narrow valley below. Farms and houses amidst lushly green trees and grass were everywhere up and down and around those slopes. Mostly earth roads spread like tentacles across hills and ridges and terraces grown with yellow paddy. [The same idyllic scene is to appear again and again everywhere along our trail in the remote mountainous regions.]

On the way our bus had to stop 5-6 times whenever some youngsters were singing and dancing in the middle of the road. They were still in the 3rd day of their Deepawali celebrations. Each time, our guide was obliged by their custom to bless the joyous party with some money before we could move on. It seems it is not the amount but the blessing that is meaningful and significant.

We came across oncoming trucks and buses all fully packed and overcrowded, with tens of mostly youngsters sitting on top. They were apparently unmindful of any potential mishaps that may occur to them.

It seems that during the 3 days of Deepawali rural folks are allowed to travel in this manner. The same goes the day immediately after the Deepawali period. All these are special arrangements allowed so that rural folks from the hilly interiors could congregate in the Kathmandu Valley temples for religious celebrations and after that disperse from there to go back to the hills. It makes good sense. In a country so lacking in public transport how else can you make your faithful and festival-loving devotees happy and contented?

At about 4 p.m. we arrived at Besishahar, a small rural single-street town from which we would start our expedition tomorrow. We checked into a singular modern building known as the Mongolian Guesthouse.

After dinner, our guide Chandra introduced two Sherpas Citra and Roshan and 5 porters all from the Gurung clan. Although small in build they looked tough and hardy.

Not much other information was given to us.[ In reality the journey turned out to be one that needs a lot more information for trekkers to be well prepared.]

The starting group

I have also found out that not all in the group are fully prepared for the arduous journey. Some actually are looking forward to a leisurely walk in the park. Old Lee is over 70; Mee Poon, Dr. Gan Che, Chang and me are over 60 retirees; Chee Thiam at 40+ is the youngest man, lean and tall. The five ladies are younger, Mooi Keok from the States and Mee Weng from Singapore are just over 40 and Jamie, Soo chan and Kelly are in their early 30s. Our aspiring cast of over-privileged and untrained trekkers is however ready for this vast ego trip to go round the Annapurnas.

20.10.09 ( Marsyangdiday)

Besishahar-Ngadi, Bahundada (alt. 1300 m)

The Marsyangdi roars and roars loud

The route of Annapurna Circuit trek leads us along the Marsyangdi River into the Himalayan mountains until Thurong-La at 5416 m and then over that pass and out of the mountains along another river known as Kali Gandaki ending in Nayapul near Birethanti from where we will be driven to Pokhara, a well-known resort, for 2-day rest and recreation. The entire journey on foot from Besishahar to Nayapul is about 250 km. And so we must on average cover 14 km daily. At no-haste speed we have to walk no less than 7 hrs. per day to complete it in 18 trekking days.

Annapurna circuit trek, a world heritage (click to enlarge)

Now that we are in the mountains, away from the rest of the world and being in a lost world of our own we need not know what the day is. Let us thus call today Marsyangdiday consisting of only morning, afternoon and day and night, then breakfast-time, lunchtime and dinnertime. No need to track the hours or minutes for life can go on without any reference to hours and minutes.

We started our long walk early in the morning

Just out of town we saw dilapidated patch-roofed stone houses with domestic animals grazing in their compounds. We began to smell the obnoxious odor of animal droppings. [Indeed throughout our journey we were to come across poops of all shapes and sizes from cows, goats, donkeys, horses and mules until eventually I wondered whether we too carried the same odor. To be honest, at the end I found the smell rather pleasant, pastoral and sweet. You may decide not to agree on this. Just say yak!]

We walked past bunches of youngsters and kids idling by the trail or in the balconies of their dwellings. The older ones just stared at trekkers passing by. Some younger kids approached trekkers to ask for money or chocolate. One or two of them even dared to come close enough to tuck at trekkers’ pockets. I don’t suppose poverty can teach kids good manners.

In these mountains there are youngsters and kids everywhere, school facilities and playing fields are however rare sights. The hill folks still have 5-6 or more children per family and quite some men have more than just one wife. These Himalis male folks just don’t prefer the common practice of monogamy. You see, in the hills it takes many hours if not days to reach one’s only wife if she is too far away. For that very reason, having an additional woman is a matter of convenience. Having more than one wife and thus more children do help in other ways in an agrarian economy as here, and also elsewhere, since more hands are needed during planting and harvesting seasons. In these circumstances you cannot expect all Himalis to willingly forego opportunities to have more wives and children. Nepal is a neighbor of but not China where most monogamous couples have only one or at most two kids. In China tourists normally don’t see kids on the streets. Here in Nepal the opposite is the case.

Kids in the hills

Pretty soon we found ourselves walking along the roaring Marsyandi River. Its torrential flow ran on, dashing and rushing over cascades, gushing and tumbling over massive rocks.

The Marshyangdi River

Mounting on both banks were terraces of hill paddy cultivated for subsistence. Towards the mountains, away from the village homes next to terraced farms and paddy fields, slopes rose steeply into the clear blue sky. Here and there streams hang on bare rock faces and cliffs to form vertical falls.

A fall

We stopped at Ngadi, an hour walking distance short of our scheduled destination Bahundada, for the night.

No casualties today. Old Lee lost the outer soles of his old shoes which had not been worn for nearly 2 years. Some others complained of harmless blisters.
It becomes obvious to all that this is not a leisurely walk in the park.

We retired sunset seniors are more than happy to be in the company of 5 young and pretty ladies. Kelly, the most jovial and talkative among them, cheerfully declared that it was their pleasure to be in the company of old boys! You’re welcomed, girls!

While all were gathered in the garden waiting for dinner, Gan Che and Old Lee, both long-timed Kung Fu exponents, performed one round of Tai Chi each. I was amazed by the youthfulness and agility of these grandfathers. Gan Che was once a Kung Fu master and Old Lee still practices Tai Chi and meditation every morning for fitness and health. With white goatee, Old Lee is almost the perfect image of a Kung Fu master. No wonder he had been much sought after to stand in for that role in some movies.

At nightfall a troupe of some 15 or so girls walked through darkness to our lodge. They were in their very colorful native outfits. Losing no time they started to sing and dance like folks here do. Verily our porters joined them. It turned out they were raising fund in aid of education for the village kids. So I chipped in my bit.

Dancing for education

I recall seeing from time to time on our way to our lodge a white-tipped summit in the far blue sky ahead. We have definitely gotten closer to the snow-covered Himalayas.

It has been a wonderful day. All are a bit tired.

21.10.09 ( Namasteday )

Ngadi- Jagat (1500m)

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!

22.10.09 (Noreturnday)

Jagat-Dharapani (2000 m.)

Too deep in the mountains; back-trekking home, any one? Only way out is forward……so we walk until we drop

We are deep in the mountains now. It is absurdity of the first degree to now think of giving up and back-trekking home! Keok and Weng were the first to say yah, so true lah!

Again we trekked along the trail winding in and out of steep slopes but generally along the Marsyangdi River. And again we came across parts that collapsed into the river and had to made detours. Otherwise this part of the journey was relatively easy.

Mule A to mule B, “You fool, don’t you kiss my behind!”

Groves of lushly green pine trees begin to appear along the higher slopes above 2000m. The river valley here had become narrower and down in the river basin there laid giant boulders of all shapes, fallen from surrounding cliffs and slopes. The obstructed Marsyangdi continued to roar, surging and tumbling over massive rocks one after another.

The Marsyangdi tumbles over rocks

“I will bring you down” the river says

Trekkers’ bags in a row

At around noon, we suddenly discovered that the river had stopped roaring. From far we saw it again then flowing quietly over a flat and broad basin in braided channels between what looked from far like fluffy snow, but were actually shoals of shingles and islands of white pebbles.

Snow or ice or shoals of shingles and white pebbles?

On both sides there remained those sky-scrapping dark rock-faces rising vertically to block out sunlight.

Flanked by towering cliffs

Boulders stacked by the river

As we approached Tal, we descended into the river basin and reached some tea-houses sitting on the right bank for lunch. Tal is built on a sandy bank. There are farms and isolated homes at the foot of slender waterfalls hanging like ribbons that touched down to form creeks flowing out to the river.

Ribbon-like falls at Tal

This settlement has the ambience of an old village which has been in existence for millenniums, unaffected by monsoon floods.

Weird structures on the other side of Tal

River stones are well washed with many eroded into oval round shapes; a lot of which have been taken out and stacked into stone walls stretching along our path.

Horses behind a wall of rocks

This river basin is probably on a glacial trough ending at a narrow gorge of extremely resistant bedrocks. In this trough there sat a lost giant glacier. The melting away of that glacier and probably, other subsequent glaciers, had left behind huge amounts of moraines filling up this glacial trough. Then over billions of years rivers and seasonal floods probably had deposited large amounts sediment and debris to build a plain surface as it is today. Now over this broad plain the Marsyangdi splits into multiple channels. Today even during the height of the annual monsoon floods when the water could rise to reach its banks, the settlement and the farm land around remain dry and safe.

After lunch we resumed our walk on rocks piled along the river and the sheer cliffs flanking it until we came to a hanging bridge.

Closer to the Abode of Snow

Misty heaven and solid earth

After crossing that bridge we were again on the familiar pavement of earth and stone slabs until we came into Dharaphani with Mt. Manusla and Mt Ngadi Chuli watching us from behind amidst some peaks and crests on top of early autumn foliage.

In Dharaphani with internet facilities many of us took the opportunity to email home. It didn’t bother me for I just didn’t want to hear anything from home or my office; I just want to be isolated and left alone in these mountains. After all I have always felt I belong to hills and forests ever since I was a kid. I was born in a rubber plantation and I worked as a rubber taper until my college days.

Just you and me feeling sleepy in the cold

Despite being told that hot water would be readily available we are again unable to find any for a much-needed bath after long hours of strenuous walk. We are smelly. Thus some of us are a little bit annoyed that our guides Sundra and Sherpa Roshan have not told us truthfully about the lack of hot water.

So far we have not run short of any supplies. Apparently the girls have many goodies hidden in their bags. At meal times they even offered hot and spicy anchovies and shredded dry meat to go with our bland food. Now and then they still pull out nuts and chocolate bars for energy. I am beginning to wonder what else they don’t have in their bags. I have brought with me no food but quite some USD instead.

It looks like we are all so well-prepared to cross the Thorung La at 5416 m. days later.

I have been told that Annapurna Circuit Trek in Nepal is recognized as a world heritage for the surrounding snow-covered mountains and the presence of village dwellings and tea-houses along the way. They are unique features that cannot be found in other countries. No wonder we have to pay so much just to keep walking!

So far none of us has dropped out. We are all on!

23.10.09 (Pinesday)

Dharapani-Chame (2650m)

Forest of giant pine trees; coming round the mountains; face to face with majestic Mts Ngadi Chuli and Manaslu (8163m) unveiled

Dharapani also happens to be the transition point where caravans load and unload their cargos and horsemen and their mules, donkeys and horses break for rest and recreation. So it was here we run into mini traffic jams involving mules, donkeys and horses early in the morning.

Pretty soon we found ourselves walking into and around towering mountains looming up out of the mist.

Rare appearance of a cloud

Further up river the Marsyangdi again turned on its torrent in narrow gorges. It swerved in and out cutting through the bottoms of mono-rocks and rock faces in its way.

Mountains looming up

By and by we came to some slopes hidden in a thick forest.

After an hour or so of puffing and huffing on muddy and slippery inclines we found ourselves entering a highland grown with giant pine trees, some with straight trunks about 20 m tall, good enough to be used as electricity transmission poles as in the US. Beneath them were temperate trees and shrubs. Otherwise the forest was clear with footpaths and footprints everywhere. It was into autumn and some trees and shrubs have worn leaves of vibrant hues.

Walking out of these forests we came to Temang perched peacefully on a plateau extending gradually from the distant mountains towards the ravine. There were pine trees on upper slopes. Along the lower slopes were farms separated by dark and disjointed wooden fences. The slopes passed by us at Prasanna Hotel and Lodge and disappeared into the hidden ravine of the Marsyangdi.

Attracted by the colorful autumn leaves and myriads of crimson and yellow flowers, cravens were flying around in flocks nearby. Next to several dilapidated stone dwellings further ahead of us some yaks, cows and horses were feeding on stacks of hay.

From the level roof-top of the dining hall of the Prasanna we had full views of the majestic Mt. Manusla and Mt. Ngadi Chuli dazzling in the bright midday sun. These were the first heavily snow-clad mountains we had seen in full view so far. So we took turns to take many photos with these mountains as our backdrop.

Mt. Manusla nad Mt. Ngadi Chuli in the Abode of Snow

While waiting for lunch to be served, I lay sun-bathing on the stone floor of the front courtyard, surrounded by rows of colorful flowers. For the first time I saw poppy flowers in full bloom. The fact that vile opiate drugs and opium are from this delicate and exquisite flower is quite imponderable.

The extremely pleasurable sun-bathing must have dehydrated me quite a bit. In the afternoon I found walking exceptionally strenuous even on flat paths. My legs felt sluggish and heavy on the slightest of climbs.

What drove me on was a place to lie down for the night.

The snow-clad mountains followed us to Chame. I was last again today, partly because I turned back to talk to the mountains. I heard them beckon, “Come, come, baby!”

I answered, “Coming down to carry me home?” No reply. Smiling, they then slowly and quietly disappeared behind myriads of leaves.

The mountains in the evening

24.10.09 ( Coldcoldday)

Chame –Dhukurepokhari, Lower Pisang (3300m )

Laundry first; too tired to climb flights of steps to Upper Pisang, be it closer to the Abode of Deities

We finished our regular breakfast of 2 eggs, 1 or 2 pieces of capati, a bowl of oat broth, bits of honey and cheese, followed by coffee or tea. Despite the fact that these had been the items regularly served, our chief guide still made it his duty to take orders from each of us for every breakfast and for every meal. He paid no attention at all to the reminder that appeared in many handouts: “To save fuel, order the same meal for all members of a group”. He had probably presumed that none of us would be happy with same food and drinks. He could be right. It is a case of slight difference makes a lot of difference to lots of people most of the time, I suppose.

Out of Chame we continued through some forested area and came to some tea-houses in a rather broad valley. We were probably separated from the Marsyangdi. After the morning tea we went on a path cut into some vertical and overhanging cliffs. I walked through resisting the temptation to peek into the forested ravine way down, a place with crouching tigers and hidden dragons, I suspected.

The 'tiger’s mouth' on vertical cliffs

Later, after some tortuous and slippery slopes we came to some high grounds full of pines in an apparently protected forest. Here in the midst pines there were some makeshift stalls selling trinkets, gemstones and drinking water in bottles. The owner of the first stall welcomed us with “Selamat Datang!” in Malay. Later he explained that he had been to Malaya some 30 years back and could therefore speak street Malay.

“Selamat datang” from a lost brother

I looked around and saw pine forests in zones, especially on higher slopes across the valley next to us. They remained dark green while other deciduous trees and shrubs were turning on their autumn splendor. There were patches of crimson and yellow shrubs on our way, many of them bearing berries

Pine forests on mountains

Autumn casts its magic-leaves turn into flowers

From here the path we were on was broad and motorable-though there were no vehicles- all the way to Lower Pisang.

Then we had our lunch at Dhukurepokhari on a spur. We could see a few snow-clad peaks.

After Dhukurephokari it was quite easy as there were no exhausting climbs. Nevertheless it continued to gain in altitude. They use the term “Nepalese flats” to describe such tracks. It was still a steady climb of about 600 m. to Pisang at 3000 plus metres.

At about 3 p.m. our guide gladly announced that we were at Pisang already. The sun was still high in the sky. So we all rushed to get laundry done and hanged socks and clothes out to dry. Mee Poon, Kelly and Soo Chan went on up some flights of stone steps winding up to the Upper Pisang monastery for a better view of the Pisang valley. The rest of us decided to take a good rest in our blue chalets.

Upper Pisang is a settlement of about 200-300 houses scattered on a slope. From Pisang where we were we could see shops and tea-houses up there. There the farmers are mostly Tibetan Buddhists. The guide told me that somewhere in these mountains there is a community of Tibetan refugees. I was reminded of seeing the picture of 14th Dalai Lama Tenzin Gyatso being placed in the most prominent position in some stalls we passed by.

I don’t think the villagers up there are getting much out of their croplands. But they survive well on their livestock including the weird-looking hairy yaks. To me all yaks were all black until I saw grey-haired, orange-haired and also tricolor yaks roaming and grazing.

Yaks of many colors

Along our way several poor farmers laid their apples in trays, each going for 10-15 rupees. We bought some delicious ones. Once, our guide stuffed some extras into the side pocket of my backpack. And the farmer never did mind.

The wind is swift and chilly at over 3000m. We have to put on extra clothes.

25.10.09 (What day is after Coldcoldday? Paradiseday!)

Pisang-Manang (3500 m)

Paradise on earth; gasps in astonishment

Didn’t quite sleep well last night as the temperature dropped below zero. My roommate Prof. Gan Che coughed a bit and woke up several times.

In the morning we climbed up some gentle slopes and then we walked into what I believed is the most fabulous part of our entire trek. We found ourselves in a valley with snowy mountains all around.

God’s brush strokes across the bare rock face

White loaf is peeping again

A shot in the shade

Trekkers A, B, C, D and E

We were in a broad basin of the upstream Marsyangdi, originating from the Tilicho Lake. This valley was several km across ending on both sides at the foothills of mountain slopes rising into two ranges of snow-covered mountains, some with glaciers. On the left were Annapurna II, III and IV, the Tilicho Peak arranged in a range and on the right were Mt. Manusla, Ngadi Chuli, Himlung Himal, Ratna Chuli and Chulu Peak in a continuous series. In fact these mountains are quite far apart and isolated too, not in a range; a quick map check will show.

Here the Marsyangdi upstream, only about 6-7 m in width, cut its wavy course from the snow fields on the horizon through interlocking v-shaped valleys ahead of us. The crystal clear river was a series of rapids and cascades over bed of only rocks. In the cold autumn air, idyllic wooden bridges stood in silence across the river, waiting for farmers and trekkers to pass.

An idyllic wooden bridge

Goats A, B, C, D, E, F,G

A daily ordeal

Marsyangdi river valley I

Marsyangdi river valley II

Marsyangdi river valley III

Hidden among the short trees and thorny red and yellow shrubs were shallow ponds of turquoise water. Fertile farms on the banks were flat and broad, with yaks, mules and horses grazing leisurely in the noon sun.

Yak, yak, yak, yak...

Far away from the banks there was a belt of dark green pine trees just below the rock-faces of the high slopes that curved and then rose into the snowy mountains against the deep blue autumn sky.

Farmers’ cottages were made of boulders and stone slabs with thatched roofs of straw or reeds held down by rocks. Out of gloomy and wonky windows hanged bunches of yellow corns, sun-dried or smoked for consumption in the coming winter months when this whole valley would again be buried and hidden in snow.
Along the way there were timeless glacial moraine deposits now eroded, weathered and gullied into weird features. Huge boulders remained precariously lodged on slopes and pillars. This basin was in ancient times a glacial trough. Those mysterious glaciers had disappeared in the corridor of time leaving behind this valley deposited with glacial sediment and debris.

Remnants of glacier deposits

Standing in the cold wind, my thoughts zoomed in and out of space and time and finally they merged with millions of dreams locked in the high mountains cloaked in snow, in the deep soils covered by grass, in the fleeting seasons gone with the wind!

Now and then well-to-do farmers rode by on horses sending their children to school, leaving behind dusty trails.

Whichever you looked, the scenery here was simply awesome and amazing. It drew gasps of astonishment. So those of us who were usually last, Jamie, Chang, Mee Poon and me took pictures in all directions as we walked in that poster for 2 hours or so before we finally reached its end at Manang at about 4 p.m. It did seem that we had just walked out of a dreamland but still in a poster of nature.

We are pleasantly surprised by the fact many senior Manang folks could actually speak Malay. Some could even speak some Hokkien and Cantonese. Under a government-sponsored program some 30 years ago they traveled to sell trinkets including necklaces, rings, gems and stones given free by the then government, and their famous kukri knives in Singapore and Malaya. Some even went to Hong Kong then. They spent their nights thousands of kilometers away from home on five-foot ways in local towns. Now, they are like my lost brothers. It suddenly dawns on me that all men are brothers lost. One world one dream!
Manang is the biggest of all towns from Besishahar, with two rows of shop-houses running along both sides of a un-surfaced walkway several hundred meters end-to-end.

Manang walkway lined with shop houses

Here there are two doctors. There is a rescue operation centre. Some of the many guest-houses even provide pastries and cakes and internet facilities. Other modern services like post office, pharmacy are also found.

In the cold evening I took our five porters out for a hot drink or some liquor if they wished. We ended up in a dim stall selling food and drinks to locals.

Gurung porters: Gagan, Hom, Ram, Reshan and Chet,  1 unmarried and 15 kids altogether to the other 4. 

15 minutes later, looking out of the wooden door we saw a hoard of some 30-40 horsemen riding by. That was a prelude to some horse racing events, our porters said.

Before the entourage could disappear at the higher end of the walkway trekkers, tourists and locals, many with cameras, began to jostle for best front positions along the walkway so that they could take photos of the anticipated races.

Shortly, from a curve in the upper end some 20 horses began to charge down the walkway in thick dusts with their riders swaying their Tibetan long sleeves as if not holding on to the reins. Some riders shooed and whipped their horses furiously to urge them on. Two or three agile riders performed the ultimate bending their bodies backwards and turning sideways to touch the ground.

Here they come , the Tibetan horsemen!]

After a few races a flock a hundred or more well-groomed hairy goats were shooed onto the walkway from behind a shop-house, guarded by 2-3 dogs. They weren’t racing but we all clapped hands to urge the animals on.

Hairy goats, all well groomed

Somewhere behind the Yaks Hotel where we are staying there are permanently snow-clad mountains and glaciers. In the evening while a half moon was still high in the pale grey sky, some peaks glowed in reddish orange as the sun set. I was alone on the spot to capture the scene in photos.

Himalaya mountains glowing in the setting sun

The substance is in the void

Most of us have disappeared into guesthouses with internet facilities and serving delicious cakes. All are in high spirits seeking solace in the prospect of no need to walk tomorrow, our first rest day.