As we went further north, houses became high and mud-walled with small, brightly decorated windows and doors. We were nearing Tibet.
We stopped for the night at Gami, a walled city with several monasteries. 'Streets' were narrow, stony alleyways, decorated with animal shit. Occasional snotty-nosed children raced past us; older, wispy-haired women sitting in the sun stopped their gossip and looked up, unsmiling, as we passed. I went out later to explore and take photos.Electricity had arrived in places and black wires drooped; an occasional satellite dish stood cupped, a gateway to the world. But they were add-ons; most was as it had been for ever. Cows and goats wandered the streets, browsing for stray grass or hay; high stone and mud walls concealed animal pens and dark stone-surrounded doorways led into homes. I passed the sausage-makers, amiably squatting and feeding some gooey mixture into what looked like animal intestines. I didn't stay to find out more...
In places, the alleys opened out to reveal startlingly beautiful views of distant peaks or small, orange-walled monasteries with prayer wheels. People chatted and children sat or played quietly in a small square surrounded by mud-walled buildings.It was the perfect place for - bubbles! For the last month I had carried 4 tubes of bubbles for just this purpose - to enchant some children just for sheer joy - and cause some chaos.And it worked. Ram, bless him, came with me and blew bubbles. At first the kids didn't know what to do - they just watched as the bubbles drifted like mobile rainbows into the sky. I burst one - and they got the idea. The square was transformed as a herd of galloping, shrieking children rushed after them, jumping, laughing and racing each other. Next! Next! More children arrived, some old men, wondering at the commotion, stayed to smile and even the old, toothless ladies looked up from their gossip and enjoyed the action.
***
Lo Mantang: capital city of the 'Forbidden Kingdom', only a few kilometres short of Nepal's frontier with Tibet. The day we trekked there started melodically as it was time for the annual 'puja', where the hotel's sacred manuscripts were read and blessed by four saffron-robed monks. It involved deep, rhythmic and monotonous chanting, punctuated with occasional cymbal-clashes and the beating of a drum. Hypnotic stuff! I thought the household would be paralysed with religious fervour but - no - everything went on quite as normal around it. The ritual was held in the hotel's own small temple, so breakfast was on time, with its own musical accompaniment.
***
Lo Mantang: capital city of the 'Forbidden Kingdom', only a few kilometres short of Nepal's frontier with Tibet. The day we trekked there started melodically as it was time for the annual 'puja', where the hotel's sacred manuscripts were read and blessed by four saffron-robed monks. It involved deep, rhythmic and monotonous chanting, punctuated with occasional cymbal-clashes and the beating of a drum. Hypnotic stuff! I thought the household would be paralysed with religious fervour but - no - everything went on quite as normal around it. The ritual was held in the hotel's own small temple, so breakfast was on time, with its own musical accompaniment.
There is snow in the air. Last night Ram was v worried and kept looking at the heavy clouds. This morning there is a definite snow-line on the nearby mountain; the small streams had frozen completely and we could crunch the ice as we walked. Three cheers for down jackets! And warm trousers! We stopped at a monastery/museum/castle, climbing a wooden step=ladder to get in. The museum was a small jumble of rather horrible exhibits in a small dark room. They included a couple of fearsome masks, a few head-dresses - and a pair of mummified hands, simply hanging from a clothes hook. 
They had belonged to either: i) the architect of the original building, who had been told to build the most magnificent building ever; his hands were removed so that he wouldn't ever surpass his achievement or b)a rival ruler who tried to conquer the building or c) a tourist who asked too many questions. Take your pick!
Thre walk was long and quite hard; although there were few uphill struggles, there were a lot of climbs. At one point Ram and Nurbu were ahead and stopped to wait. Ram sat down and I saw him leap into the air, clutching his backside. When I caught up, Nurbu was squatting behind him, picking out thorns from his rear. Thinnki
ng nothing of it, Ram had sat on a rock which was literally 
covered with sharp, hooked thorns. His trousers weren't a problem; a few more minutes and Nurbu and I had picked them all oout. But he wasn;t wearing gloves and some of the thorns had gone very deep. He and I spent the next few evenings picking at them at odd moments - it became our new hobby...
We passed a sheer, sqandy cliff which from a distance looked covered with pockmarks. They were caves. CLose-up viedoes showed that they were part-walled, with bricks providing some shelter from the weather. They were also abandoned. Apparently they had been occupied by Tibetan refugees in the dark years when the Chinese had first invaded. Life must have been grim; there was no water nearby and it must have been bitter in the winter. But the sanctuary must have been sweet.
At last - we reached the top of a hill and there, in front of us, was the Walled City of Lo Mantang, journey's end. It was time to celebrate; we huddled out of the wind and I produced the last of the choc bars which had sustained us for the last 20 days. We had one each - a rare treat - and the last mile was a doddle!
Outside the gates to Lo Mantang's Walled city are long lines of bright-red-and-gold prayer wheels, stony roads and lots of patient, brightly harnessed horses. As we walked into the city, we could hear horns, chanting and the clashing of cymbals: something was happening. The Royal Palace dominated the small, central square; each of the 5 stories had its own heavily-carved wooden balcony, highlighted with white pleated fabric that flapped in the strong, cold wind.But the King had gone south for the winter, so the balconies were empty and the shutters closed. The square itself was roughly paved with stone; a stream ran through the middle, near a concreted washing area. People could do their washing and listen to the King at the same time (though I'm sure they never did!). It was definitely the main 'drag' - cows wandered and browsed, children toddled or chawsed each other around and old people sat in the last of the sun. The mud buildings were quite tall - 2 - 3 stories high, each with white walls, blue wooden shutters and carved, painted doorways. Everyone was dressed for cold weather, with woollen caps, fleeces and thick shirts; those in traditional dress were wrapped in thick woollen shawls. AND IT WAS COLD! Even in the sun, I was glad of my gloves and hat; the cracking wind set prayer-flags flapping like wash-day Monday.
On the next day in the square, we saw a real treat; the Crown Prince, obviously staying in Lo Mantang for winter, was handing out grey fleeces. They had been donated by a French charity and one person from each household was given one. About 40 people queued up for the gift, old and young, fat (not many) and thin; they were dressed against the weather and stood rubbing hands and stamping feet to keep warm. The CP was a jovial man who obviously knew each person and joked with them, occasionally pausing to tease a small child running through the legs of the waiting people. One man tried to get around twice but was 'sussed' amongst much ribaldry. I wonder whether the Prince took one?
We visited temples - I was told off once because I'd walked over Buddha's head. 'I never meant it, yer honner,' - I had been on the floor above and didn't realise I had committed a crime. The statues varied, but all were well-looked-after, with offerings and incense in front, often with the Dalai Lama's smiling face. It was lovely to climb to the flat roofs and look out over the city. Piles of wood acted as a wall around most houses - a sign of prosperity. They were only used on special occasions (dung was the fuel-of-choice); they were status symbols. Some roofs were covered with patches of bright yellow (maize) or red (chilis) drying in the sun but all were festooned with prayer-flags, which flapped like dirty washing and stood our bright against the deep blue sky.
My favourite temple was out of town and we visited it on - our rest day. Rest day? Others actually rested, or hired horses; we were made of tougher stuff and walked up a steep hill to an outlying temple. We tried the gate; it was locked. Another gate gave way when we pushed and we walked slowly up the slope. A low growling made us stop; at the top of the path, over to one side, stood a great, black dog, its hackles bristling as it snarled."Perhaps we should go?" I suggested, ever brave, but Ram was not to be deterred."I think monks have gone, these are guarding against robbers," he said and walked confidently on. Luckily the dog was chained, but there were several and as we walked past each one, which pulled and bared its teeth at us, another saw us and started the same fearsome procedures. A small child eventually appeared abd showed us around but everything was locked up. A notice pasted to what must have been the schoolroom door, said it all: 'School closed for winter, Classes will be resumed on Nov 17th in Pokhara'. Pokhara - lakeside town at the end of my trek - symbol of warmth, shops, good hotels. Pokhara - a lifetime away.
The view from the top was magnificent - we could see the road into Tibet, now closed because of Chinese worries about insurgency - and Tibet itself, its high, arid mountains stretching into the distance. Local fields in Lo Mantang's valley were well-tended, with irrigation channels built of clay or stone. But winter was coming and nothing would be planted until the warmer month of March. The snow-line was coming closer to Lo Manthang; many houses were padlocked and deserted, their families already there. It was time for us to take the route back south and head for Pokhara.
They had belonged to either: i) the architect of the original building, who had been told to build the most magnificent building ever; his hands were removed so that he wouldn't ever surpass his achievement or b)a rival ruler who tried to conquer the building or c) a tourist who asked too many questions. Take your pick!Thre walk was long and quite hard; although there were few uphill struggles, there were a lot of climbs. At one point Ram and Nurbu were ahead and stopped to wait. Ram sat down and I saw him leap into the air, clutching his backside. When I caught up, Nurbu was squatting behind him, picking out thorns from his rear. Thinnki
ng nothing of it, Ram had sat on a rock which was literally 
covered with sharp, hooked thorns. His trousers weren't a problem; a few more minutes and Nurbu and I had picked them all oout. But he wasn;t wearing gloves and some of the thorns had gone very deep. He and I spent the next few evenings picking at them at odd moments - it became our new hobby...We passed a sheer, sqandy cliff which from a distance looked covered with pockmarks. They were caves. CLose-up viedoes showed that they were part-walled, with bricks providing some shelter from the weather. They were also abandoned. Apparently they had been occupied by Tibetan refugees in the dark years when the Chinese had first invaded. Life must have been grim; there was no water nearby and it must have been bitter in the winter. But the sanctuary must have been sweet.
At last - we reached the top of a hill and there, in front of us, was the Walled City of Lo Mantang, journey's end. It was time to celebrate; we huddled out of the wind and I produced the last of the choc bars which had sustained us for the last 20 days. We had one each - a rare treat - and the last mile was a doddle!
Outside the gates to Lo Mantang's Walled city are long lines of bright-red-and-gold prayer wheels, stony roads and lots of patient, brightly harnessed horses. As we walked into the city, we could hear horns, chanting and the clashing of cymbals: something was happening. The Royal Palace dominated the small, central square; each of the 5 stories had its own heavily-carved wooden balcony, highlighted with white pleated fabric that flapped in the strong, cold wind.But the King had gone south for the winter, so the balconies were empty and the shutters closed. The square itself was roughly paved with stone; a stream ran through the middle, near a concreted washing area. People could do their washing and listen to the King at the same time (though I'm sure they never did!). It was definitely the main 'drag' - cows wandered and browsed, children toddled or chawsed each other around and old people sat in the last of the sun. The mud buildings were quite tall - 2 - 3 stories high, each with white walls, blue wooden shutters and carved, painted doorways. Everyone was dressed for cold weather, with woollen caps, fleeces and thick shirts; those in traditional dress were wrapped in thick woollen shawls. AND IT WAS COLD! Even in the sun, I was glad of my gloves and hat; the cracking wind set prayer-flags flapping like wash-day Monday.
On the next day in the square, we saw a real treat; the Crown Prince, obviously staying in Lo Mantang for winter, was handing out grey fleeces. They had been donated by a French charity and one person from each household was given one. About 40 people queued up for the gift, old and young, fat (not many) and thin; they were dressed against the weather and stood rubbing hands and stamping feet to keep warm. The CP was a jovial man who obviously knew each person and joked with them, occasionally pausing to tease a small child running through the legs of the waiting people. One man tried to get around twice but was 'sussed' amongst much ribaldry. I wonder whether the Prince took one?
We visited temples - I was told off once because I'd walked over Buddha's head. 'I never meant it, yer honner,' - I had been on the floor above and didn't realise I had committed a crime. The statues varied, but all were well-looked-after, with offerings and incense in front, often with the Dalai Lama's smiling face. It was lovely to climb to the flat roofs and look out over the city. Piles of wood acted as a wall around most houses - a sign of prosperity. They were only used on special occasions (dung was the fuel-of-choice); they were status symbols. Some roofs were covered with patches of bright yellow (maize) or red (chilis) drying in the sun but all were festooned with prayer-flags, which flapped like dirty washing and stood our bright against the deep blue sky.
My favourite temple was out of town and we visited it on - our rest day. Rest day? Others actually rested, or hired horses; we were made of tougher stuff and walked up a steep hill to an outlying temple. We tried the gate; it was locked. Another gate gave way when we pushed and we walked slowly up the slope. A low growling made us stop; at the top of the path, over to one side, stood a great, black dog, its hackles bristling as it snarled."Perhaps we should go?" I suggested, ever brave, but Ram was not to be deterred."I think monks have gone, these are guarding against robbers," he said and walked confidently on. Luckily the dog was chained, but there were several and as we walked past each one, which pulled and bared its teeth at us, another saw us and started the same fearsome procedures. A small child eventually appeared abd showed us around but everything was locked up. A notice pasted to what must have been the schoolroom door, said it all: 'School closed for winter, Classes will be resumed on Nov 17th in Pokhara'. Pokhara - lakeside town at the end of my trek - symbol of warmth, shops, good hotels. Pokhara - a lifetime away.
The view from the top was magnificent - we could see the road into Tibet, now closed because of Chinese worries about insurgency - and Tibet itself, its high, arid mountains stretching into the distance. Local fields in Lo Mantang's valley were well-tended, with irrigation channels built of clay or stone. But winter was coming and nothing would be planted until the warmer month of March. The snow-line was coming closer to Lo Manthang; many houses were padlocked and deserted, their families already there. It was time for us to take the route back south and head for Pokhara.
The long and winding road...
A little, half-frozen girl who I met at the top of a pass.
The path wasn't always wide... this was the stuff of nightmares.
