My backpack is on. It’s already uncomfortable. The air is warmed by the sun by now (we missed the morning cool) and the 3 of us, Jo, Sarah and myself, head towards Poonhill.
The word ‘trek’ lingers, somewhat heavily in my mind. Just a few days prior I learnt that it is derived from the Boer language and means a ‘long, hard journey.’ It’s making our adventure sound daunting and as I’m looking up at the hills rising around me I’m almost convinced that it’s all too much. But at the same time it’s enticing. I give in. The notion of days filled with walks through the beauty of Nepal is too romantic to refuse. This was my first – albeit too brief – experience of trekking, and with its completion neither ‘long’ nor ‘hard’ are the words I’d choose to describe it.
We started in Nayapul; excited, inexperienced and complete strangers to one another. The four of us had met just a few days prior in a hostel. We shared the same thirst for adventure, angst even. Collectively we had so much energy and excitement to get out there. Naive, some might say. This was evident as we stumbled along with our big backpacks and trekking poles. By the end of the trek we would hardly consider ourselves strangers, as the many many hours that passed between Nayapul and Tikkehunga left us ample time to unearth each of our personal life stories.
The walk itself was mainly along dirt roads, occasionally ambling through tiny villages with smiling inhabitants. The culture of Nepal was there, right in front of us day to day. In the smiles of the locals – not a single sign of hostility – in the local fare we passed in villages, beautiful hand crafted with thought and intention, and in the other visitors we came across. Each of us was there for a journey of sorts. Some escaping their lives back home, others in search of the calmness and simplicity of nature.
The plan was to reach Uleri but a slow lunch followed by heavy rain lead to an earlier stop in Tikkehunga. It was here that the sometimes broken rhythm of trekking revealed itself as surprisingly pleasant. Mornings spent moving through beautiful landscapes, rainy afternoons spent playing cards, drinking tea, doing yoga and meditating. All before a modest bedtime of 7pm. I fell so easily into this pace, completely foreign to my normal tempo of daily life.
The alarm goes off at 5:30am; wake up, stretch and breath in the incredibly fresh air. My eyes open with ease and anticipation. How wonderful it is to face the possibilities of the day ahead with such joy – even though we knew that a 7 hours uphill journey was ahead of us. The surroundings were so wide and varied in beauty, and the conversations so inspired that each step passed as individual moments of gratitude. We marvelled at the waterfalls that tumbled down the green hillsides, and stopped for tea and biscuits whenever we chose to, all the while keeping an enjoyable pace. At certain points the landscape fluxed dramatically; from uneven stone stairs up hills, to winding roads through villages looking over the valleys. On many mornings we were greeted serendipitously by the rising sun as it guided us to stairs leading through the jungle; greenery and tree roots climbing in all directions and a sharing our path upward.
With the excitement and anticipation of the morning we had forgotten to eat a proper breakfast, the effects of which became apparent at lunchtime. A sprinkle of rain came on and it began to feel as though with every step forward, we slid 3 steps back. “We have to stop for lunch,” Jo confessed. Eventually we agreed to continue until the rain really made a downpour, and then…”Ghorepani!” I yelled freely seeing the entrance sign. Minutes later we were inside, dal baht ordered, our fingers are wrapped around tea cups, our wet clothes hanging up around the inside fire. Relief.
Day 3 was our earliest rise of the trek – 4am, equipped with a chocolate bar and sense determination to see the Annapurna range for sunrise. We began our hike up to Poon Hill as the light slowly filtered through; the morphing of nighttime to morning happening before our eyes. Fleck after fleck the Himalayas were revealed. Shining beacons in the sky. We must have spent a good hour taking pictures, attempting to capture the beauty of the scene that potentially only the naked eye could experience. We drank what felt like the most expensive tea (in all of Nepal I’m sure) and every inch of my body felt alive up there in the cold air. Many of the people we had met along the way congregated here – each of us simultaneously, yet silently, revelling in the earth’s magnificence. At that point in time, standing at the top of the hill surrounded by the first sunlight of the day I felt at one. At one with the other people I was sharing the experience with, at one with the earth, at one with the universe. We were all forming intricate parts of a greater collective whole. It was magnificent.
After descending we continued on our trek to Tadapani, a walk so full of magic it was without question my favourite day. Behind every stone, tree and shrub I’m sure elves and fairies hid. And had I seen one, it would not have looked out of place. The ground was carpeted with petals, studded with lady beetles and laced with crystal clear streams and waterfalls – if the idea of an ‘enchanted forest’ truly existed, this was it.
A tea house along the stream provided fried Tibetan bread and cosy corners to sip masala tea. We hurried along but not quickly enough to escape the rain entirely. Arriving at the bottom of one mountain the rain set in and by the time we had climbed halfway up the next ascent, it really came down. The path was filled with uneven rocks, mud and moss. Lush greens ventured their way into the dips and bends of the mountain. The rain only added to this places eerie ambiance, as the leaves glistened upon a backdrop of fog. And then there were the bells. This deep, echo of mysterious ringing drifting up and around, through the cool mist: donkeys. A group of them lead by a man down the mountain. I found myself on the side of a cliff as they passed. To begin with they passed well wide of me, then closer, closer until I screamed as I felt the force of one pushing me backwards before the Shepard grabbed me, pulling me to the other side of the path. The brief chaos was of the encounter didn’t deter us. Funnily enough it was a nice amount of adrenaline after an altogether too peaceful morning. We made it safely to the town and tea house before the hail fell. And luckily so, as later we heard tales and saw the scars inflicted by said hail.
The break at the bottom of was a welcomed resting point as we shared a plate of momos (veggie dumplings) while gathering warmth and making friends. People from all walks of life huddled in this little source of warmth and shelter. A father and daughter from Lebanon, a couple from Belgium, an American guy from Burma, a girl from Sweden. And from all ages. I saw a child as young as 6, and many who showed their age in grey hair and wrinkles – but who showed evermore youth in their energy. This diversity created interesting and educational conversations. All evening we chatted and played card games with a perfectly clear view of the Annapurna Range. A priceless view we witnessed from a room we paid 50 cents and many days of walking for.
The mountains, hidden by smog from Pokhara, are a cliched metaphor; their grandiosity and magnificence totally hidden until you make the effort of viewing them. The night before this trek I slept anxiously questioning if I could do it, and more so if I could enjoy it; because if you don’t learn to enjoy it despite the pain, to find comfort in the tension, you miss the whole point. But there I found myself, hiking up stair after stair beaming at the beauty I was surrounded by, banishing all thoughts concerning the impossible. And there it was – the view of the mountains – crystal clear. It was only after putting in that immense effort, and consciously taking each step toward Pokhara that I became aware of the mountains presence, lying just behind the haze. That secret little rendezvous we shared above the clouds offered a little more understanding, and a lot more appreciation.
The next day we got lost. We confidently followed a path for one hour in the wrong direction (“you don’t need a guide- it would be impossible to get lost.” we informed fellow Trekkers over breakfast that morning.) So we added two hours to our day. But at the end of the trek we all decided it was the best hour we had spent because it showed the most interesting landscapes of all. Between the three of us we turned it into a positive – must be all the meditating putting our minds in good places.
That afternoon the group headed to Annapurna Base Camp while I made my way down to Jhinu hot springs. Not the first goodbyes of my year, nor the last I’m sure. Regardless, tears rolled down my cheeks without hesitation. On top of that, being alone made me fearful, perhaps to an unreasonable degree – everyone that passed now appeared menacing. My view of everyone as kind and charming villagers somehow disappeared along with my partners. I didn’t want to be alone. And in such a wide and empty space I felt vulnerable. My energy had depleted, my stomach was empty, and no longer stimulated by conversation, my thoughts dulled. This in itself was a tremendous lesson. To be comfortable in one’s own company is no easy task, but to reach a point of contentedness in solitude, particularly in a place as magical as Nepal, is an experience that is immeasurable in value.
The hot springs gave me everything back: warmth, peace, new friends, beauty. I sat for four hours soaking in their waters, talking away to other trekkers, disregarding my usual role of the listener as I held onto their company like a lifeline. Once I returned to the hostel after talking so long I was finally ready to eat some momos, drink lemon tea and go to bed. I welcomed the private room to myself as it was the first time in days that I had the space to clear my mind.
Annapurna aka Morshiadi (8091 meters high; 26545 feet) is located on the Annapurna massif in North-central Nepal. Annapurna, the tenth highest mountain in the world, was first climbed in 1950 by the French expedition Maurice Herzog and Louis Lachenal on June 3rd, 1950.
The next morning I awoke equally pleased to be alone. The first hour was wonderfully meditative. As I headed to Siwai to catch a bus to Pokhara, my thoughts were inspired and plentiful. I walked with a dog for long sections of the way and across bridges that seemed ridiculously high, narrow and unstable. There was an unspoken bond between us, as if each of us was being guided by the other, content to meander without thought of where and why. Blissful as this was, eventually it caught up with me as I realised I had again gone the wrong way. Alone, sweaty, tired and frustrated I took stopped to gather myself together and take a few deep calming breaths. As I turned around
I saw Annapurna south in all its glory; a King gazing over his territory. I laughed, reminded myself that the journey was as important as the destination, and leapt up and down the mountain I’d added to my hike that day.
The return on the local bus cost about $3.50 for two hours, so I couldn’t complain but I held my breath at some points thinking we’d go over a cliff, and sleep wasn’t an option despite my fatigue – the bumps little lightning bolts, jolting me awake. But headed back to Pokhara I was replenished. I took so many lessons away from my trek. Cliche as it ay sound, it taught me about myself, about life, about having patience and putting in hard work. About being present in each and every moment, and about enjoying periods of solitude. Because before opening up to other people, places, and experiences, you must first be content in yourself. Some might describe the journey I took as ‘long and challenging’. I prefer ‘inspiring and peaceful’. Maybe even ‘beautiful and surprising’, or ‘revealing and meditative’. Whichever way you choose to describe it, Nepal was always verging on real life magic.
