Tiptoe on the Misty Mountaintops

Phew. Trekking in the mighty Himalayas is somewhat exhausting. A bit of a no brainer really, but I have to admit that my body is a little battered and bashed after a relatively short trek through the Anapurna region of the mountain range. Having trekked in several countries and climbed some flippin’ high mountains before, I did think of myself as a reasonable trekker, but the Nepal level of treks is a whole new category. Classified as “moderate” on the difficulty scale, I naively thought that this walk would be a pleasant stroll for a few days with several tough bits popped in to keep you on your toes. Oh no. Nepal is the trekking capital of the world after all and these walks are serious. Myself and fellow volunteer, Sarah, realised early on in day one that this was going to be a painful two and a half day vertical slog up, and a one and a half day slog down. Ouch!

Yet when you fall asleep each night on top of the world and wake up each morning to views like this, it’s suddenly all worth it.

We met our guide early Sunday morning in Pokhara. He insisted we call him NB as apparently his name was far too long and complicated to remember. (I bet it was Norman or Noris or something and he just didn’t want to admit it.) Rather worryingly, he was unable to find our guest house, despite me giving him incredibly detailed directions over the phone and it only being a five minute walk from where he was staying. A little concerning as he was our mountain guide for the next four days! We drove an hour to a tiny village called Nayapul, standing at 1070 metres above sea level to begin the trek. *picture taken at the end of the trek, which is why we look exhausted.

The Department of Immigration made it compulsory several years ago to obtain trekking permits pre-departure, which are then checked at the start and end of any trek (a good idea really as it ensures that someone is consciously checking that all trekkers actually return.) We were therefore granted our TIMS card (Trekker Information Management System) and National Park permits which enabled us to get through the police checkpoint.

The first few hours of the walk were beautiful. Abundant in flora and fauna, we were graced with a bright blue sky and warming sun as we skirted through villages and up hills.

Some of the small hamlets reminded me of Italian villages, with their cobbled streets and whitewashed walls. Miles apart in terms of culture and civilisation, they did at least share a beauty of (albeit opposing) scenery and edible treats.

Much of the walk on day one took us through agricultural regions, and it was fascinating to step back in time and witness some of the farming methods at work in the villages. Terrace farming is the name of the game in these mountains, with farmers working huge swathes of undulating landscapes.

We saw farmers ploughing (riding the plough like a sledge),

ingenious mountain fencing

and interesting methods to separate the wheat from the chaff – using tin plates to waft over the piles of crops. My younger brother, with his mighty range of harvesting machinery for his farm, will be amused by this one.

Being so cut off from the outside world, villagers rely on food and products being brought up the mountain by mules. Many men own large herds of mules that they use to transport huge loads of materials up and down the winding tracks.

With little (or in some cases excessively large) bells tied around their necks, we soon got used to stepping aside rapidly when hearing the gentle tingle of bells ringing in the surrounding hills. These little donkeys are beasts. Obviously, but also in the “admiration of strength” definition of the word. Carrying up to fifty kilograms carefully balanced on their backs, they tiptoe up and down step rock steps and slippery surfaces with the grace of ballerinas.

Babbling brooks, streams, raging rivers and waterfalls – we dabbled, we paddled, we stepping-stoned and bridged our way over and under, through and behind a variety of watery landscapes.

Some of the bridges looked like they’d just formed after a landslide, rather than being made to actually seriously transport bodies over raging waterfalls, but hey, they worked. Miraculously.

And then came the steps. Oh, those wonderfully helpful and rather nifty little ledges that appear so often in the every day world. Steps that seem so innocent and helpful for your swift elevation when you first see them. But when you’ve spent two and a half days hauling your weary body up steep, I mean steep, stone steps all the way up the mountains, you learn to loathe them. And Day one was “step day”: nigh on five thousand steps before we got to our rest stop.

No words can describe how much I now hate all steps (as my body seems to go into some sort of loathsome spasm whenever I now have to climb any. And they seem to be ruddy well all over the place back in Pokhara!)

Mid-afternoon, we finally arrived at our first resting place, Anapurna Guest House.

I have to admit that the charm of “Tea-house accommodation” had invoked idyllic pictures of quaint little houses beautifully decorated, cosily furnished and obviously flourishing in endless cups of hot tea. My dream-scape was quickly brought back to earth when we took off our rucksacks and settled into the guest house. More a barn with partitions than a guest house. The tiny wooden rooms were made of wobbly planks of wood and a few windows; nothing quite meeting, so holes in the floor and walls and non-closing doors and windows.

Not that much of a problem normally, but with temperatures plummeting in the night to about just above zero, it was a little on the chilly side. Void of central heating, double glazing and roaring fireplaces, the citizens of Nepal are hardy folk when the winter months strike. It’s funny what you take for granted back home, but living for just four days through a harsh winter landscape in huts with no warmth (basically you may as well be sleeping outside) I realised just how pampered my shivery little body has been back home, and how I will forever now love and appreciate the genius of radiators and duvets.

The teahouse was, however, blissfully quiet. With other trekkers choosing to stop in a slightly higher “bustling” village of Ulleri, we finally understood why our guide chose to stop thirty minutes earlier and slumber here. We had the place to ourselves and got to enjoy the rapidly fading sun in their pretty little goat-garden.

Whilst we sat hugging hot cups of Nepali tea, two rather huge buffalo came charging down the steps, tumbling towards us at a rapid speed, and, just as I’d raised my arms to protect myself from huge horns pointed right at my temple, they swerved off and seemed to run straight into the house. Shocked (and rather relieved that I hadn’t been skewered by a buffalo horn) I followed them to discover that there was in fact another doorway that served as a passageway to the garden and these chaps were in fact the family’s buffs coming home after a long day munching in a higher field. Well trained moo-cows, I’ll give them that.

The place was run by a rather forthright old lady and her two skippy little adolescent grandsons. Basic in every way (the toilet does not deserve a mention other than hole in the ground spider heaven.) But the shock of the day was the shower. Albeit a tap in a room made of cold stone and plaster, it was unbelievably capable of gushing out piping hot water. Having suffered tepid luke-warm showers since arriving in Nepal, I almost whooped with joy when my aching body squatted under the tap and was forced to add water from the cold tap to temper the heat. Bliss.

After a rather disappointing meal of curry (or basically hot water with a bit of spinach and potatoes floating in it poured onto mounds of rice - no choice of where to eat, and little of what to eat) we retired for the night. Both Sarah and I had bought sleeping bags with us and, although cursing the extra weight in my already quite heavy rucksack, I did thank myself when I went to bed. The wooden bed had a blanket on it that I’d say hadn’t been washed in about forty years. However, it did come in handy as I snuggled into my cocoon as, pulled over the sleeping bag (careful to let it touch any skin) and wearing a hat and several jumpers, I managed a fairly cosy night’s sleep.

We woke early (all Nepalis seem to get up with, or before, the sun) and were graced with a beautiful early morning mountain-scape.

Day two was a steep route from Ulleri, standing at 2010 metres up to Ghorepani at 2750. Looking at the stats, the incline didn’t seem too onerous, but the landscape to reach Ghorepani was undulating. Basically meaning that we climbed endless steps up up up, then had to go down the other side of the mountain, to then climb up up up the next one. Thus the walk took us a good five hours.

The morning started fair again, albeit slightly cold. We trekked up a few hundred steps to Ulleri, a pretty little mountain village.

The walk then took us past beautiful mountain views. Never one for remembering the actual names of places, I renamed the Himalayan peaks according to the landscape. Thus we passed Banana Mountain

Rose Mountain

and Frosty Mountain.

N.B, our guide, insisted on taking a picture of Sarah and myself straddling a rose so that he could get a picture of “three roses”, a comment that he seemed to find hilarious. Sweet thought but the stabbing thorns in the eye made it a little painful at times.

The walk was hard going during the morning, steep and constant climbing, thus some rather giant cups of tea at a little teahouse mid morning refreshed the spirits.

We finally had a well-earned lunch rest at a beautifully quaint little teahouse high up in the mountains. Although cold, the sun was shining and warmed the cockles (along with a good plate of chowmein).

The owners’ baby was merrily cooing in the garden, rocking in her Nepalese cradle and snuggled under umpteen layers of blanket. Happy as Larry.

The afternoon’s trek took us through rhododendron forests (sadly lacking in bloom as we were in late autumn, early winter) but beautiful in their bareness. The latter forests were a little more eerie, with twisted trees looming low over the narrow path, blocking out the fading light and reminding me vividly of Ents, the tree-men in Lord of the Rings. A little unnerving at times.

We finally reached Ghorepani, our stop for the night, mid afternoon. Blue-topped houses glinted on the hillside horizon, and a large welcome gate beckoned us in.

Both Sarah and I moaned in despair therefore when N.B marched us past several cosy looking teahouses, climbing more and more steps. After what seemed like a never ending staircase of steps half the size of my body, we stopped. And thanked him profusely for making us continue. The teahouse (Hotel Hill Top) sat majestically at the top of the village, capturing supreme views across the Himalayan range.

A warm funneled fire burned steadily in the lounge area, beckoning us straight over to warm the nippy fingers and toes.

And the view from my room was simply awe-inspiring.

Yes, the room was made out of MDF or chipboard and was about an inch thick but hey, the views, the views.

After a vaguely warm shower (heated by the fire, but this time several other trekkers staying so we had to share) and a great, great feast of “roasty potato” (a kind of potato rosti concoction) and apple pie (yum), it was once again time to sleep. It was admittedly much colder up here, but this time the blanket looked a little fresher and I dug out a few more pairs of socks and soon had a cosy den erected in my little wooden shack

Up at four the next morning. No chance of a lie in anyway, as the eight other trekkers were also up at four and, having no soundproofing whatsoever, a cacophony of alarm clocks buzzed, jingled and rang their way down the wooden corridor. We were all up with the lark for the same reason – to hike up Poon Hill for sunrise. Hill is a lie. It is a mountain, falsely named, but mighty all the same in its misnomer. The forty five minute vertical hike was tough, lit by head-torches and in temperatures of minus five, but we got to the top with plenty of time to spare.

Although we were standing around shivering in the dark for a good twenty minutes, when the sun broke the horizon, all thoughts of coldness evaporated.

As the sun slowly emerged from its slumber, we began to see the outline of the mountains materialise from the sky. Admittedly at the start, they looked really rather eerie; reminding me vividly of the slow, silent emergence of the iceburg in ‘Titanic’

The sky was bright with stars, Venus shining exultantly from above, giving a serene feeling of being on top of the world.

Then the sun rose.

The first rays fell sharply onto Fishtail, the mountain we see daily from Pokhara.

Then they started to capture the other mountains: Anapurna South, Anapurna Two and Anapurna Four being the biggest (and in the top ten highest mountains in the world).

The views were simply extraordinary. No words are needed I feel, as the pictures speak for themselves.

It was cold though. A sharp frost had taken hold and, after being up there for an hour, circulation in the extremities had slowed.

However, wonder of wonders, there also emerged from the darkness a café! Or hut covered in straw serving hot drinks from flasks, but hey, a cup of hot chocolate on top of a mountain, watching the sunrise over the Himalayas makes for a very, very happy Musson.

Walking back down, it was interesting to see the view that had been shrouded by the darkness on our ascent. Almost alpine in its appearance, the mountains took on a fresh beauty when balanced against forest and frosty vegetation.

Breakfast back at the teahouse, next to the fire, was beautiful. Tibetan bread and fried eggs set me up for what was to be a long day’s walk. We left just after 8am, after one final cup of tea overlooking the mountains.

And guess what? There were more darn steps. Another half a day of them. We were high at this point, higher than planes even.

Poon Hill stands at 3200m, but after descending for breakfast, we trekked up and down) another two mountains. By 10 o’clock the clouds had descended and a strange, rather eerie mist enshrouded us and blocked out all of the views.

Miserably, the clouds remained with us for the entire day, and made a tough day’s trekking even harder by taking away anything lovely to look at. Hours and hours toiling through the creepy Ent-filled forests took my mind back to images of Willo the Wisp and scary talking television sets (Edna?) chasing people through winding forest tracks.

We eventually stopped for lunch at the Hungry Eye teahouse. 

Although the lunch was glorious (pasta with vegetables) we made the mistake of looking at the map and felt utterly demoralised when we saw how far we still had to go to reach our teahouse at Ghandruk). Admittedly it was a long, hard and a little miserable afternoon,

not helped by Sarah slipping and spraining her ankle at one point. This slowed our progress right down and meant that we didn’t arrive into the village until after dark.

It was a little reminiscent of a certain young lad’s arrival in Bethlehem when we found that there was “no room at the inn” at several of the teahouses we passed. Fortunately, after a desperate climb down to an isolated looking one, we were graced with a bed for the night. Not really caring at this point about the rather dubious toilet and shower and the utterly gross food, we had a well earned rest, forced down a meal and went to sleep.

How does a cockerel know when to crow? Serious question. My little neighbour Cockerel (I nicknamed him Arse) seemed to think that the sun rose at 3.30am. Brilliant.

As I lay there unable to sleep for another few hours, wondering how to train a cockerel whose body clock was obviously running on Australian time, I finally got out of bed when the sun did rise; helpfully stirred from my slumber by the sound of some good “ommming” from the monastery down in the valley.

But who cares when you open your door and wake up to this:

I couldn’t believe the beauty of the view. Graced with another sunrise over the mountains, I embraced the day with a new vigour that I didn’t think I’d got (no thanks to Arse and his early morning warbling). It was utterly serene – the pink hue spreading over the mountain range as the sun steadily grew. 

There’s a beautiful line in Romeo and Juliet that I always love – ‘jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.’ This so beautifully captures the nature of what a sunrise actually is, and came to mind once again as I watched the mountains grow in the morning light.

The village we were staying in felt like we’d stepped back in time. Again, images of TV came to mind, this time The Waltons, or Little House on the Prairie. Watching the villagers begin their morning routine using equipment and methodology straight from the 18^th or 19^th century. Antiquated living in its purity. But what a view from my bed!

It was a lovely way to start the day, wonderfully refreshing and I kept hold of the positive feeling in order to ignore the utter grossness of the uncooked eggs and sweet uncooked toast that I tried to shovel down at breakfast. Ugh.

So I started the final day tired, sore but definitely smelling the roses (or marigolds as it were in this teahouse garden.)

The final day was down, down, down. Hard on the knees, hard on the calves, hard on the thighs, hard full stop! Luckily we were walking in a no poo zone (hoorah) which meant you didn’t have to watch your step too closely!

We were given a polite send off from Ghandruk by the leaving gate

and set off in the sunny morning back down the mountain; the buffaloes quietly seeing us off.

During the trek, I was staggered time and again by the weight that some of the locals could haul upon their backs and carry up or down rocky mountain tracks. Whether giant loads of straw

lengthy weighty bamboo

or bundles of luggage

these guys have grit, brute strength and mountain goat statures. I guess growing up in the mountains gives you the innate ability to hop skip and jump your way along the paths, but the strength is something else. Men, women and children alike are able to carry staggering amounts of bulk on their backs (or normally using their heads, with the traditional dokos strapped on across their foreheads).

I was so very saddened on one of the days, however, to learn just how little a porter makes carrying tourists’ luggage on these treks. Sarah and I carried our own bags; heavy but manageable. Yet many tourists hire porters to carry their worldly possessions up and down the mountain. Talking one day to a couple of porters walking up one of the mountains, I found out that they had 40kg strapped onto their backs, and were being paid 700 rupees per day to work as a porter. That equates to around a fiver, and is deemed very good money. 40kg up these mountains. Insane. And how can it be justified that this service is done for a measly five pounds? And how can that be seen to be an excellent payment for such brutal work?

Just looking at the heavy loads as these men laboured up the mountains made me wince.

The final morning’s walk was serene. Monkeys scampered up and down the trees, frolicking in the spray of the waterfalls. The early morning sun’s rays shone down as we left the valley of Ghandruk and wound our way down through waterfalls, valleys, rivers and pastures.

In one small village, chicks and puppies scampered along as we walked, bringing a Narnia-esque feel to the trek.

We finally reached our stop, back in Nairapul, at midday and took the death-car back to Pokhara (reason being that the driver decided to hit the hair-pin bends at 60mph, with the car feeling as though it would lift off the road at one point). Luckily we made it home alive. The walk was long, tough but utterly worth it and has left me feeling refreshed and invigorated by the beauty of Nepal.

To end the week with a bang, we had Christmas last night. As it was the last night for two of the other volunteers, and as I leave Pokhara on Wednesday, we had planned an early Christmas dinner and invited a few locals that we’d befriended over time. In true Nepal versus England style, we had all of the British trimmings but were dressed for the occasion in saris.

Tinsel, candles, Christmas cards and even a wreath decorated the table, with the kitchen full of almost traditional Christmas fodder – roast potatoes, gravy, stuffing, even bread sauce! Although we settled for chicken rather than turkey, it still felt (and tasted) very Christmasey.

The centre-piece Christmas cake that volunteer Karen had made last week went down a storm.

Although several of the Nepali guests looked utterly bemused at times, it was a delightful evening and a lovely way to celebrate the end of the week.

Tomorrow I leave once again for the mountains. I am spending three days in a small mountain village called Astam, nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas. I am staying in a family run guest house in what is branded as an Eco village – a small community working in a self-sufficient style. Cooking is done on a bio-gas pit, houses built from mountain materials, water and electricity solar-powered, food all from the garden. Being a bit of an Eco Warrior, I am very much looking forward to the visit; not only to see how the village is run but also to get a chance to see that sunrise tiptoe once more over the misty mountain tops.