Annapurna Agonies: day 1

A few bridges & things...

and, of course, Nurbu, who danced along the footpaths and skipped down impossible shortcuts.

* * *

I was scared. No, I was terrified. It was all very well to prepare for the trek with a ‘killer programme’ at the gym – but that had finished weeks ago. Muscles were going flabby again and my peak of fitness was sadly going off-peak. Why had I ever decided to walk for 25 solid days? AND try to cross the world’s highest pass, 5,400 metres above sea-level?
We started from a place called Beshishasar, a 5 hour Hell’s Angel-type ride from Kathmandu. We had driven there the night before. Everyone, especially lorry drivers, played ‘chicken’ around hairpin bends and darkness added a new dimension as a) only the weak used headlights before it was pitch-black and b)everyone wanted to get home and away from these very dangerous roads so they drove very fast indeed.
But the first day was reassuringly easy to start with – we actually went downhill for a bit! AND, with Nurbu, my sherpa porter, to shoulder my heavy bag, I was light-hearted AND light-footed. No heavy lugging for me...

We trod steadily through alpine-type meadows (Julie Andrews, where were you?) alongside a sparkling mountain river, crossing a few shaky wooden bridges, most with interesting gaps to jump over. This meant that life was never too straightforward. Wayside cafes and small hotels lured trekkers with blandishments like: ‘Fresh Apple pee: solar showers and good tolets’. Ram (my guide) bought small oranges and we ate them as we walked. The sun shone from a blue, cloudless sky. All far away from the nightmare vision of what might have been.
Easy!
Then the uphill kicked in. A semi-vertical rocky trail leapt upwards from the riverside. Ahead of me, trekkers had adopted ‘plod’ mode; I followed, at my own particular pace which varied from very-very-slow to ‘stop’. Within 5 minutes I was also in ‘pant ‘n gasp’ mode. I had to stop. Again and again. My left leg cramped up. I kept going, then the right one followed suit. Stop. Admire view. Rub cramped leg. 10 more paces. Stop. Admire view. Take photo (excuse for a longer stop).
Near top of hill. Only 30 minutes to village with hotel. Perfect time for migraine. Flashing lights, weird patterns. And no room at the inn. Instead, had to take room in shanty-town – plywood walls, no lock on door, every word said by everyone clearly audible, the toilet a dark recess where the door kept opening as you squatted. But there was a bed! And I lay there, a secret listener as other people moved in next door and someone played the guitar, until I felt better. I decided that I had to drink more (water, of course) as I walked and vowed to stop every half hour for a top-up. OK, so I’d have to pee more often, but Nepal is full of bushes and I’d just have to find a few when I needed them. I’d also be more careful about wearing a sunhat & sunglasses, so that the bright sun didn’t give me another migraine.

So, that was my first day in this brave new world of the trekker. No point in giving a day-by-day account… I’ll summarise and show photos. Watch this space. Keep watching this space as
I'm off to India in about an hour so can't write any more for a while. sorry!

Bandipur - a piece of heaven

The Lonely Planet guide says the village is ‘draped like a silk scarf along the high ridge above Dumre’. Such an image! Had to be done, esp. as had nearly a week before Great Trek. Booked room with Newari family (?) in village, plus tourist bus ticket to Dumre. Agent explained in detail, wrote it down then explained again, so I think I got it though not really sure about the staying with Newari family bit.
Journey started bang on 7, comfy seats in ‘air-con’ bus… on wrong side of bus, though, & missed some stupendous views of mountains, winding roads & precipitous drops into ravines. By 12, arrived in Dumre. Typical roadside town, lots of noisy traffic, esp wildly decorated lorries (lurid painted flowers, tinsel) with horns which trilled or blared at anything which didn’t leap out of their way, including motorbikes, other vehicles, people and cows.
Jeep-ride up to Bandipur. 3 mins before jeep due to leave, about 12 people on board, plus luggage, bags of produce etc. Not bad for a 10-seater. When we left there were 20 – at least 3 on roof, 4 on tailgate. Stopped en route to pick up 4 more. 30 minute journey up steeply winding roads, views opening out.
Village filled with old Newari houses, quiet, paved streets and people noises. Reason? No motor traffic; bollards stopped all vehicles neatly outside village, meant that it immediately became a human place, with children playing, people chatting and even pavement cafes along the main strand. I had some lunch & met my host who ran a small shop just down the way. Yes, I WAS booked in to stay with a family.
I took over his daughter’s room. She was lovely, aged 28, very pretty and called Radica. She didn’t speak much English but we managed. Disconcertingly, when I looked at the bed I found some hair-grips (complete with strands of hair) under the pillow, so I suspected that the linen wasn’t exactly fresh. I asked for a towel & she returned with a tiny hand-towel – ah well, better than nothing. I asked for a cover sheet & she gave me a fleecy, rather smelly, blanket. Toilet was full-on traditional, with squat toilet (fine), basins & jugs (OK) and no loo-paper (help). Glad I bought my own. When we ate, they sat me at a table with a plate & spoon. But – hey – I was in a Newari house, so I sat down on the floor with them & ate with my hands. I was messy but generally accurate & the family seemed to enjoy the experience as much as me.
Sunset – what a bonus. The air cleared and I saw floating, snowy mountains in the distance. A long line of them. Beautiful, serene, always there but normally invisible (some sort of metaphor here???) IN LESS THAN A WEEK I WOULD BE TREKKING THERE.
Later on there was a power-cut & we sat on the outside step chatting – well, sort of. I videoed some of them & showed them the results, to great delight, then tried to learn some Nepali, which caused mild hysteria. Much more fun than sitting in a restaurant wondering what to do next. In bed by 9; bed rock-hard; I used one of the thick blankets under the mattress & took over the sheet from the neighbouring bed to use as a top sheet. Glad I did as the fleecy blanket ponged.
Next morning, awake at 5am, with first cockerel crowing. Sense that the village was slowly coming to life – people stirring, talking, spitting (yich). I remind myself that Nepali people find our habit of blowing our noses into a piece of paper strange and offensive – how on earth can we stick it back into our pockets, for heaven’s sake! – and try to ignore the concerto of harsh honking, hawking and guttural spitting coming from all areas.
Today Radica took me to the Siddhu cave, the biggest in Nepal. She & friend set off in jeans & flipflops; I wore serious walking boots and slipped & slithered down the mountainside. People had gone to immense trouble to create paved steps but they were slippery in the shade so I was cautious and slow. Radica just chattered and skipped merrily down. Ah well. The cave was impressive. We had to climb over boulders and scramble up a muddy slope to reach the main areas. High roofs – some with prayer shawls stuck near the top – and large chambers stretched out into the distance. The ‘girls’ scrambled on for a while, but I decided on caution & waited for them.
I decided not to ascend the semi-vertical slopes, so we carried on back to Dumre & caught the jeep back up. Much easier!
Afternoon – went to the parade ground – it’s very big; they used to have archery contests there. But latest parade was of 16-17 year old students having a big celebration which involved loud music, loads of shouting and chasing around and dropping litter with abandon. I took refuge in a nearby hotel with panoramic views of the valley and fleecy clouds. Behind the clouds, snow-capped mountains waited for sunset, but I couldn’t wait that long, so continued exploring. Met man called Robin Sparrow (what were his parents thinking?...), v earnest, with bottle-glasses, who talked for c 10 mins incessantly about himself… this continued later on when I saw him on the ‘main drag’. He told me in cheerful detail about his stomach problems when travelling in India.
Next morning as I left I was given a garland, a puja and small present by Radica & her mother; her father presented me with an apple. How lovely. And the mountains were out! The full range!! I took photos, the jeep left & I waited for about 90 mins in the village for the tourist bus. Lovely to sit on my rucsac and just watch early-morning Dumre. People stopped to chat (perhaps because I was wearing my garland & red spot) & time passed v easily.
Had window seat on the better side of the bus, so could see the precipices & wrecked vehicles. Journey passed uneventfully apart from a 2 hour traffic jam going uphill to enter the Khatmandu Valley. About 6 lorries had overheated or had punctured tyres & traffic had to edge round them with v little help from police. And of course, no-one would give way to anyone else. So it all took ages. But the driver was v patient and avoided too many semi-suicidal overtaking attempts.
Safe journey, what an experience. Glad I did it.
Next adventure – Annapurna…

beautiful Bhutan (2)

Boys posing!

DAY 3: Sunday
We were glad to sit in the car and do very little today. The journey to Thingpu was delightful; the road ran alongside a turbulent river and we stopped a few times to take photos.
Everything seemed prosperous; houses were whitewashed and cared for; rice was waiting for harvest.
Bhutan has no traffic lights! Not one set in the entire country. In Thingpu, occasional junctions were controlled by policeman who stood in ornate white pagodas. Traffic moved easily, with little if any horn-blowing. I had the impression that drivers were saying: “After you!” “No, after YOU!”

It was (literally) awe-some to watch weavers at work, painstakingly threading different shades of delicate colours into the fine fabric.

Surely their eyes couldn’t last for long; as it was, several women were peering far too closely at the slowly growing patterns. “How much do you weave in a day?” I asked. “Two, maybe three inches, depending on the pattern.” Prices were very high – but these weavers were paying a far higher price.

The Memorial Chorten was a huge Buddhist stupa, built recently, but to the age-old style. People were celebrating the night of the full moon and the place was crowded with pilgrims walking clockwise, some rotating small prayer-wheels s they walked, or softly chanting. A hut to one side contained larger prayer wheels and several of the faithful were pushing them around. I asked Kunle the reason for prayer wheels. “They are to counteract your sins.”
“What sort of sins?”
“All through the day we sin, hopefully only in small matters. We might think a bad thought about someone, or we might kill an insect. The prayers help us to be more mindful of what we are doing that is wrong.”
Oh dear.
The wheels were big and red, covered with Buddhist mantras. Each time they revolved a small bell would ring – the sign of a prayer given to heaven.
Another beautiful place was the butter-lamp house; hundreds of tiny flames glittered and flickered in the semi-darkness – more prayers against mindlessness. Nearby monks chanted quietly as people walked or whispered. A toothless man with lined, grimy face came and grinned, asking for a photo. He had been limping painfully around the stupa; his left leg had a huge, weeping ulcer. I took two photos of him and he looked delighted to see his image on my camera.
We spent a long time there, watching and admiring the devotion of so many people. Then came a high point of the day - archery! William Tell, eat your heart out. Robin Hood – where were you? We went to the huge open-air stadium, just in time to see a victory dance in full swing. Arms around each other, the archers circled, shouting and chanting enthusiastically. One of their archers had scored a hit.
The next man took his position, held the bow (a fine steel one which looked very modern), aimed carefully and fired. Far, far away, a tiny pillar marked the target; it was almost too far to see, especially as it was getting dark. He missed. Men at the other end did a similar, if less enthusiastic, dance. The contest continued; when it was almost over, in semi-darkness, there was a slight commotion, Kunle told us that the winning team had asked to have another round, so that the losing team could catch up! How Bhutanese.
In contrast, the Ambient Coffee Bar showed modern Bhutan. It was stylish and friendly, with a weekly haiku competition. One of the customer was a Welsh Lama, from Swansea, who was involved in a drug rehabilitation programme.

Day 4: Monday
BHUTANESE BOOTS ARE BEAUTIFUL! We wandered around an open-air craft-market and one stall had these glorious white-leather, embroidered boots. Your social class is shown by the background colour of the embroidery. Personally I’d have been happy with any social class at all as the colours were rich and vibrant; deep green was the colour of ordinary people. The King’s mother was due to open the exhibition and a traditional red carpet had been laid for her. I smoothed out a fold in it – it would have been very bad luck if the lady had tripped!
My favourite place was the Arts & Crafts Centre – training young people in the skills of woodcarving, statue making, embroidery, painting & mask-making, Every room was filled with teenagers painstakingly creating works of art. Each year-group had various set pieces to create; there was no room for improvisation as they were training to make temple art and furnishings, all created in unshakeable and unchangeable styles. Each room had its own atmosphere, particularly the mask-making which was dark and shadowy, reeking of animal glues.
We posted our cards in the Post Office. All the public buildings look like temples or works of art; built in traditional style, they have the ornamental windows, doors & porches. So the young people from the Arts & Crafts Centre know that their talents will be appreciated and used, whether they are restoring a monastery or building offices.
Our afternoon journey was along increasingly winding, precipitous roads to Punakhar. Clouds swirled in as we stopped at a mountain pass, embellished with 108 chortens and thousands of prayer flags. The chorten were built to commemorate the people who had been killed when the Butanese army kicked out insurgents from Assam – one for each of the insurgents. How Bhutanese.

And the rest…
The week continued as a series of delights. Bhutan was beautiful, calm and peaceful. We visited many monasteries, each with their own character although many were quiet as the monks were either preparing to migrate southwards for the winter, or had already gone. A definite highlight was when Kunle said we should go and listen to the morning dedication ceremony in one of the monasteries. We sat silent against wall-hangings, in the dimly lit room. In front of us, monks sat cross-legged on cushions, the senior lama on a large cushioned chair. He led the chanting, which was accompanied by rhythmic banging on a large vertical drum and blowing on long Tibetan-style trumpets. Time disappeared as we listened. Then the holy water was blessed, the chanting ended and the monks became human again, rushing off to get breakfast.
Kunle quite casually asked us, “You would like to visit my uncle?”
“Yes, why not?”
“My uncle is one of the senior lamas here. You can visit his cell if you wish.”
His cell was bright and cheerful, decorated with religious pictures from various calendars. It had a fridge, a kettle and cooking equipment, as well as bundles of quilts to sleep on. Kunle’s uncle appeared briefly. I asked him how far he was on the road to enlightenment. He laughed and said, “It isn’t like that. I have no idea,” then left.

We couldn’t follow the whole programme as rain set in, causing landslides and blocking roads. Although this was inconvenient, it was only a minor problem to us – but the people of Bhutan needed to harvest their rice. Damp rice would go mouldy and they needed sun to dry it all out. The blocked roads also caused them severe problems. We were stopped once in a long queue while people waited patiently for a bulldozer to force its way through a landslide; when the way was opened, Tsehering drove through a gap with possibly a foot to spare overall. Not quite sure how the buses managed! But delays like this are commonplace - even in a country like Bhutan, weather is an enemy that has to be placated.

People criticise Bhutan for its rigid tourism policy and its laws which insist that its people wear Bhutanese costume for all formal occasions. BUT – I think they’ve got it right. Compare Bhutan with frenzied Kathmandu, its noise, pollution and crazy driving, the changes brought about by tourism… I know which I prefer.