We’d been talking about going to Nepal for about a year, off the back of some fantastic European hikes that we’d done previously. Nepal felt like the next adventurous and ambitious journey so we did tons of research, found a recommended trekking company and agreed a route that seemed to fit our needs. We described ourselves as experienced hikers, which we are, but it would seem that’s different to being an experienced Himalayan hiker, as we were to find out. But we did prepare, (as much as walking in Norfolk can prepare you for ridiculous elevation increases), and counted down the days excitedly.
And so we left home on a cloudy September afternoon and found ourselves about 18 hours later stepping out blinking into the sunshine of the Kathmandu airport exit, and witnessing for the first time the absolute chaos of a Nepalese city. We managed to find a taxi driver in the throng of people near the exit, threw our bags in the boot and ourselves in the back, and went on the first of many bum clenching rides that we were to have in the next couple of weeks. Heading into Kathmandu meant more and bigger potholes that we’d ever seen, it meant near misses with other cars and scooters that seemed to be heading at us like a weird video game. It meant car and bike horns constantly sounding as vehicles overtook on both sides, and it meant that every right turn was preceded by a small prayer and a brush of the lucky Buddha tassels hanging from the rear view mirror. We had quite a few of these journeys to remember, many with our Italian friend Alberto in the front seat, regularly crossing himself. On a later bus journey from Pokhara to Kathmandu he told me that his watch had recorded 10,000 steps in four hours simply from sitting in the seat and going over the bumps. I’ll not describe every journey in detail, as it might trigger some latent PTSD, but you’re just going to have to take my word that, in the most peaceful and serene country that we’ve ever been to, travelling as a passenger in any motor vehicle is like watching Grand Theft Auto at double speed while someone holds a gun to the side of your head. And no accidents, or at least none that we saw – just as you think that you’re bound to be sandwiched by two other cars, or the pillion rider in the motorbike will fly off at the next pothole, time slows down slightly and order is briefly restored, just in time for you to open your eyes to see the next near-miss.
But trekking was what we were here to do, so let’s return to that. We met up with the trekking company the day after we got to Kathmandu, borrowing poles, sleeping bags and duffel bags for the journey, and, one curry, two beers and a sleep later, met up again at 0630 to take the bus to Pokhara. We weren’t entirely sure even then who was going to be o the trip, but we were soon joined by our guide (Sandeep), porters (Anish and Nara) and another trekker, Alberto. We were incredibly lucky to spend the next couple of weeks in their company. Sandeep is funny, considerate and knowledgeable. Both porters astonished us by carrying about 25kg from a strap resting across their foreheads and marching across climbs and descents that we could barely manage with poles. And Alberto appeared to be immediately in tune with both of us – about halfway through the trek one of us mentioned David Foster Wallace and we had about 20 minutes on Infinite Jest while going uphill, completely forgetting that Mrs E had been left behind at the start of the conversation. He had quite a lot to share with Mrs E as well – they both had concerns about blisters, stomach issues and altitude sickness, with Mrs E falling to two out of three of these – Alberto was a trained pharmacist and appeared to have a bottomless rucksack containing a chemist’s solution to every ailment.
So that was the crew that set off – first on the bumpy bus ride to Pokhara, then in a car to Nayapul, then our first trek to Hile. This was a relatively straightforward 10k hike, mainly uphill, but all done in a few hours and readying us for the experience of tea houses and longer days to come.
We made eight tea-house stops on our trek, and they were all pretty similar – very basic rooms separated by plywood walls, occasional warm water, and communal eating areas where there was a standard menu set by the Nepalese authorities. A bit of variation in this as you get further away from the road, as everything has to be carried by mule or porter (and only by porter once you cross past the sanctuary border), so by the time you get to the base camps, everything that you’re eating, living in and using for power (eg huge LPG bottles) has been carried there by hand for at least two days. While tea houses aren’t necessarily the most sophisticated holdings by western standards, they still use plenty of aluminium doors, steel beams, corrugated iron, cement and timber – all lugged there on the backs of porters negotiating ludicrously steep steps and paths. The standard tea-house menu is fairly limited, but it doesn’t really matter as long as you like Dal Bhat – the Nepalese national dish that always has a bowl of dhal, a mound of rice and a vegetable curry, together with whatever relishes are available where you are. Most Nepalese that we met ate Dal Bhat twice a day if they can – usually with their hands, mixing curry and rice together on the plate and making little mouth sized balls. The portions are really generous, and there’s always an offering of more just when you think you might still be hungry. And they’re totally what you need to power your hiking.
We were at almost 3,000m by the second day, and on the third morning hiked by head torch at 0430 to the top of Poon Hill, to watch the sunrise onto Annapurna, Dhaulagiri, Fishtail and Himchuli mountains. Mrs E gave up the 800m ascent at about half way, and lay down on a bench with Nara looking after her, but after we’d been at the top for about 20 minutes waiting for the sunrise, she emerged from the final steps with Nara grinning beside her. Apparently her main motivation for her Lazarus-like performance was a concern that I might be left on my own to describe the experience in the future. Proper FOMO! And she was right, as it happens. There wasn’t much cloud about, and it seemed to be clearing just before the sun emerged. I don’t really believe in God but if I did I’d be thinking that he had the biggest ever SAD light – the mountains changed colour completely, lit up in a deep yellow light.
Three long days of hiking (and dragging up and down huge climbs and stony descents around 3,000m), and we were ready for the climb to Annapurna Base Camp at 4,130m. This would be the first time we’d gone over 3,200m, and we were both nervous about altitude sickness, which every other trekker we’d previously met before appeared to have had. In the event, it wasn’t too bad, although we both had a bit of difficulty catching our breath as we climbed, and Mrs E struggled over the final hour – we got to the Namaste sign below base camp and she burst into tears – she described it in the same way that she’d used when finishing a marathon in 2006.
Sunrise the next morning and a shorter amble to see God’s alarm clock light up. This time, however, there were mountains on all sides – we’d trekked north since we left, then at Machhapuchhre Base Camp, headed west into the base of a crown of mountains. It was simply (& literally) wonder-full.
Heading back along the trail was always going to be a bit anti-climactic, but we made the best if it, walking through forests with langur monkeys, past stunning waterfalls and over perilous rope bridges, and covering more ground than we’d planned originally, so we could spend an extra night in Pokhara. The final day of hiking was all downhill and largely on road, which was just as well, as the weather reminded us that we weren’t yet out of the monsoon season, and it tipped down all day. After finally getting down to Nayapol, we ate celebratory snicker bars (that had definitely seen better days), shook hands, hugged, put the bags on the roof rack of the taxi, then squeezed our six sodden bodies inside for the bumpy ride (this time with the added challenge of faulty windscreen wipers and opaque screen), to get back to Pokhara.
A few goodbye beers for Sandeep, Nara and Anish, a great meal at the Little Windows restaurant (recommended, should you ever find yourself in Pokhara), a sleep, an attempt at a run in the rain, a visit to the international mountain museum (recommended as above…), a good curry and a couple of beers, another sleep, then time to head back to Kathmandu. We flew back and Alberto took the bus, which in the end took him 12 hours (it’s only 200km, but the roads are horrendous). We had the best part of the day in Kathmandu, had a couple of drinks with a very tired Alberto in the New Orleans bar (recommended if you find yourself thirsty in Kathmandu…), a quick nightcap overlooking the city, with the top of the Swayambhunath temple lit up (we’d visited a couple of weeks before and it was great, so if you ever find yourself in Kathmandu…), and then another sleep.
We’d arranged to visit the Pashupatinath Temple in the morning. This is one of the oldest and the largest Hindu temples in the world, and sits on the banks of the Holy Bagmati river, so it’s used for funerals, on one side of the river and annual celebrations of the passing of loved ones on the other. As we wandered into the temple complex, we were met by an ambulance which stopped and despatched a body covered in an orange sheet and decorated with flowers, onto a metal stretcher, to be carried round to the riverside. Keeping our distance, we saw the procession heading to the river side, the washing of the feet in the river, the anointing of the body and finally the procession to the pyre, which we were told would burn for 2-3 hours. A real privilege to be able to witness this – we were on the other side of the river for most of the time, so slightly bizarre amongst the celebratory nature of the other river bank. Finally said goodbye to Alberto, whose plan to have a ‘This Is Water’ tattoo in reference to David Foster Wallace was beginning to make a lot of sense (if you don’t know the quote, have a listen here – if only every graduation speech was like this!), then a taxi ride through the bumpy and teeming streets to sort out our flight back home.
In reading this back, I’m concerned that I might have underplayed the astonishingly poor state of the country. Like most tourists, we saw the bits that tourists see a lot of the time, but it’s impossible to ignore the desperate poverty in both the rural and urban areas. Nepal exports about $1.25 billion in goods every year (there are over 30 companies in the USA that make that each year in revenue), and it’s reliant on India and China for buying most of that, but also for providing almost everything that the country needs. The one exception is electricity, which Nepal has lots of, thanks to its network of hydro-electric dams. But it’s still a nation of subsistence farmers and hugely growing urban areas that seem to serve only to concentrate the poverty.
Fifty years ago, my parents drove me to Heathrow airport and put me on a plane to Karachi, where I was to meet my cousins, aunt, and uncle, who were living and working near Rawalpindi. I was there for only six weeks, and a good deal of that was inside a US/Italian ex-pat compound, but we did manage to travel outside sometimes, and witnessing the poverty juxtaposed with the most astonishing sights of the Hindu Kush and the Kyber Pass was very similar to how the last couple of weeks have felt in Nepal. Pakistan has moved on a little since then, but it’s far from a success story in development terms, and if it takes another 50 years for Nepal to get to where Pakistan is today, then it won’t really say much for civilisation, will it?
Of course it’s wrong to think about this through a western lens and make judgements about how happy people are and what you’d throw away in order to bring whole populations into what we’d consider a better place, but it’s still worth thinking about. And if you think about it and consider it a worthwhile use of money that you don’t really need, here’s a link …
The Emu 