Donkey missed flight to
You believe or not this morning I missed a longed-for scheduled flight to
Donkey missed flight to
You believe or not this morning I missed a longed-for scheduled flight to
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.
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.]
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!
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.
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.
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.
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
“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.