The Odyssey

Thursday, 4 February 2010

Wednesday, 3 February 2010

Time to leave Upper Mustang

Good beds for the night...

The way back? Not as simple as it sounds. There were two complications:

1. Horses. I had met two lovely British women as I travelled north. They had decided to return from Lo Mantang quite fast, so had hired three horses, one for luggage, two for them. On the second day, they offered me the chance to travel with them and ride on a horse when I wanted, as neither wanted to ride full-time. What bliss: on horseback I could look around, nonchalantly admiring the countryside, the horse's efforts to climb the steep paths, and the whistling and singing of the horseman as he gently encouraged his horse. The three of us shared the two horses with no problems.

BUT - there were troubles ahead.

Right at the start, they had refused to carry my rucsac on horseback: problem solved - Nurbu and a friend took turns. however, this highlighted the reluctance of the horsemen to carry a third woman. According to Ram, they were saying in Nepali, "If she wants to come then she must pay.

Alternative transport?

She is mean."

They clearly hadn't realised that I would give them a handsome tip at the end of the day.

After lunch, the situation worsened. Susan & friend had gone on ahead and I thought I'd quite like to ride. I asked Ram to stop one of the horses. The men carried on, brushing him out of the way. Ram shouted at them - they shouted back, It seemed that a major incident was starting. We caught up with Susan and her friend and the horseman shouted at her in Nepali; neither of us knew what he said but it clearly wasn't pleasant. In the end, furious, he started to unload all of their bags, threatening to return to Lo Mantang. Susan had to back down; I said that we would simply walk on to avoid anything worse happening. Things then simmered down but when I saw Susan much later, she said that she was worried that one of them might have been a political activist, looking for trouble with foreigners. I walked the rest of the way, with no problems at all; in fact, we made it back to Kagbeni in record time - 3 days. I must have been super-fit!

2. Weather. Behind us, clouds were getting thicker and snowlines becoming lower; we felt we were moving south just ahead of the snow. It was good to return to Kagbeni, back to my warm, comfortable room and the delights of an en-suite. We were lower here and it was more likely to rain than snow. We had a rest-day; Ram foolishly washed almost his entire wardrobe, hanging it on the line to dry and wandering around in shorts and flip-flops. Then the clouds came in and his washing stayed wet. He spent the rest of the day anxiously watching the weather. Luckily, he managed to dry his clothes, finishing them off in the kitchen.

We were due to take a plane from the nearby town, Jomson, at about 7am two days hence.A little about this plane journey. It takes 20 minutes, replacing a difficult journey over a mountain track (sorry, road) linking Jomson with Pokhara, which takes about 9 hours. BUT - weather has to be good as the landing/take-off is visual and the approach difficult.

So, we made our way to Jomson the next day. Clouds were thickening fast and, of course, down came the rain. It was cold, depressing rain, the sort that seeps into your clothes and makes you miserable - and the sort that means planes can't fly. Through the day we watched the clouds as they lowered themselves comfortably around Jomson. And we tried to keep warm; our lovely hotel proprietor lit a small stove under the table. I also remember a boy aged about ten, who worked there and jumped around with the liveliness of a firecracker. Towards the end of the evening we held arm-wrestling competitions and he and I were evenly matched. Not sure whether that was good or not...?

The next morning we were up at 5.30, packed and ready to go by 6 for the 7am flight. The airport, its entrance just across the way, was shut. 6.30- shut. 7.00 - shut. Finally, at 7,30, the gates opened and we were allowed in. The clouds had lightened slightly - we could actually see the mountains. Hopes were high. 8.30 - engine sounds - a plane was arriving from Pokhara! We rushed to the windows - it was a plane from the other airline, Buddha. People flying on that plane tried not to look smug as they boarded. We waited. And waited. Another plane! We rushed to the window. Another Buddha plane - in fact, the same one, which had flown to Pokhara, picked up more passengers and returned. Word came in that our plane was leaving Pokhara. We waited. And waited. Then there was an announcement in Nepali; people looked fed-up, stood up and left the room. All planes from Pokhara had been cancelled for the day because of bad weather.

Our options? We could wait for another day, with our names at the bottom of the list, and take a chance. This would involve a long wait in this cold, boring place, with nothing other to do than watch the clouds either lift or descend further. And the rain was very, very cold. And I'd finished my book.OR: we could take a 4wd to Pokhara, along a narrow, winding, rocky road. It would take 9 hours and be very expensive. And Ram had run out of money.

But I lent him the money, he pushed through crowds to organise a 4wd and an hour later we set off.

It was quite a journey; in places streams cascaded over the road, giving the vehicle a much-needed wash and us an interesting dampening experience. Progress was slow, but very beautiful. The route is the southern part of the Annapurna Circuit and was once favoured by trekkers, with enticing trails leading from the main route and small, intriguing villages. Nowadays people prefer to fly so that they reach the more remote areas more speedily.

We bumped and lurched along, slowly completing the circuit - and eventually returned to 'civilisation'.

Ah, Pokhara - forever dear to me. We drove down the high street. It was about 8.00pm. There were lights, shops were open, people were eating outside. It was warm. It was lively. It had an ATM. My hotel was clean, with a large room and a balcony. It had a restaurant with a menu. It had tea with milk. I didn't have to wear a down jacket any longer.

Aaaah, Pokhara.

The one great sadness was saying goodbye to Ram and Nurbu, my companions through pain, torment and delight for the last 25 days. They had been magical days, so intense and strangely wonderful despite the suffering. I had pushed myself harder than I ever thought I'd have to and the two men had always been cheerful and encouraging. Tomorrow would be strangely empty, with no walking, no feeling that I had to keep going - and no Nurbu and Ram.

We had a last meal together. Both were really looking forward to returning to Kathmandu. Nurbu's son was there and Ram's girlfriend was waiting for him. they were leaving on the first bus tomorrow.

"What will you do tomorrow, then?" Ram asked me.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," I answered.

And it WAS good.

Tuesday, 26 January 2010

Upper Mustang (2)

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.

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.