My guide, my porter and I catch a bus from Kathmandu at 7.30 am. We quickly leave the city and progress through forested regions. The road twists and turns. I am sick several times. I will spare you the details. I am not the only one.
After we break for lunch, which I decline, I start to feel better. "Better out than in" as my father used to say. I try to rest. The seat in front of me isn't attached very well so the weight of the man in front of me squashes my knees.
The road goes on and on.
And then we stop. We arrive at the small mountain town of Syapurbesi. My room is comfortable. I have a nice soup to settle my stomach. I am tired from the days journey. It worries me that I am so worn out from a day of basically doing nothing. It doesn't bode well for the next 15 days of trekking.
The first day trekking is hot through a forested area. We climb a thousand metres today and so does the raging river we follow. Two pairs of trekkers that do not have guides walk on the wrong side of the river. They follow the path clearly marked on the map. After a couple of kilometres they come to the bridge on the map only to discover that it it hasn't been built yet. They have to backtrack to the start and cross the river.
In the afternoon we spot a couple of large monkeys in the trees. Their bushy white fur mostly covers up their black skin except for their jet black hairless faces.
In the evening, at my accommodation, I meet two of the back-trackers, a young British couple.* They have been travelling extensively for many months. They have come from the south of Nepal - the hotter regions of the Terai and Chitwan. They weren't expecting the mountain area to be so much cooler. They have some cold weather gear but they didn't think to bring sleeping bags. Although the day has been hot there is a chill in the air overnight. They have a cold, restless night huddled together. In the morning they pass a spare room with an open door where they notice a large pile of blankets.
* "Young" is a relative term, isn't it? In their late twenties they might not see themselves as young. As for me, in my late forties, I don't see myself as old.
Within an hour of walking through the forest I am suddenly greeted with a lovely mountain vista through a break in the trees.
We climb up following the river and leave the forest behind. There are now fewer trees, more grasslands, farmlands and some yaks. Looking back on the valley I remember why I am here.
An old man is sitting on a rise above the path. As I pass I greet him with a "namaste" which he acknowledges. I lose my footing, stumble and almost fall. I look back at the man and now he has a huge grin. I point at my camera and he nods and I get a nice picture of him with a big smile.
Another man is lying on the grass on his back resting under the sun. There is a large burden on the ground near him. A huge wooden beam plus some fire wood. Later on after I have stopped for a rest the man overtakes me. He is carrying the beam across his back with much of the weight supported by a strap that crosses his forehead. I can't help but think of Jesus carrying his cross. "Airplane" my guide says.
Later on I pass the man as he is resting. I compliment him on how strong he is to carry such a load and he is pleased. After I have checked in to our teahouse, he happens to stop for another rest just by the stairs to my room. I ask if I can take his photo and he agrees giving me a nice smile with gnarled teeth.
He them beckons to me. I start to show him the photo I have taken but he waves it away and holds out his hand. I realise he wants some money. This is a bit cheeky of him but I give him 15 rupees anyway which is only about 20 cents.
That night I am told that there will be dancing in a nearby building and that I should go and have a look. The British couple are staying at the same lodge. They are good company so I dine with them and we compare our travel adventures. After dinner I wander over to where the dancing is. There are a few people outside and I ask if it is okay for me to enter. Yes, yes, come inside. Inside the door is a modest entrance hall. A woman is dishing out some soup to people. Everyone is wearing traditional local attire. There is a large number of shoes on the floor outside the door to the main room. I leave my sandals there and enter. The room is about 15 by 15 metres. Around three walls there are about 50 people sitting with their backs to the walls on low continuous bench seats. in front of them is a low continuous bench table.
I am invited to sit down and I choose the nearest seat by the door. Towards the front of the room is a large table covered with about 100 candles. About 30 of them are lit. behind the table against the wall is a long table covered with piles of scripture books. Each book is a collection of loose leaf pages about 8cm high and 25 cm wide. I am offered some Sherpa noodle soup but I decline as I am too full from my dinner. Perhaps some Nepali tea? Yes thank you. But there is no Nepali tea left. Have some yak milk tea instead. Better for you I think.
The man next to me strikes up a conversation asking where I am from. I ask if they are all Sherpa people and he says, no they are Tibetan. This is the third day of a nine day ceremony which started on the full moon, which they regard as the birth day and death day of Gotama Buddha. Tibetan people have gathered from neighbouring villages. There is a holy text that they must read to completion over the nine days. They have been reading all day and now they are relaxing and socialising. They are singing and chatting and a few people get up and dance and everyone is having a good time.
The Tibetan border is only about 10 kilometres away. But borders are largely political constructs based around geographical practicalities. These are Nepalese people in the political sense - to whatever degree the government impacts their lives in this remote area. But they are Tibetan in their cultural identification. At least, this is the sense I make of the situation later. We don't really discuss politics. The man has relatives living in Tibet and he gets a permit once or twice a year to visit them.
People in this area are farmers and yak herders so I imagine the day to day challenges of living off the land are far more important to them than distant bureaucracies.
The man tells me that the villages along the trekking route are relatively well-off but there are villages only a few kilometres away where poverty is a problem. Trekkers contribute significantly to the local economy but consequently are insulated from the true poverty experienced in remote villages.
As we walk higher up the valley I become more impressed by the grandeur of the approaching mountains. The river is on our right. On the left of the river is grassland with fewer and fewer farms. On the right of the river, forest climbs the steep slope. I am not sure if the slopes on this side of the valley has been deforested or if the other side has more sun and better soil and weather.
The air is fresh. The sun is warm and offsets the coldness of the light wind. I hear the wind pick up suddenly and I look across to the trees on the other side of the valley expecting to see movement of an approaching gale. All is still. Suddenly I see the river and realise I mistook the sound of rushing water for a mighty wind. It is half the size of yesterday but flows quickly, coldly clattering over rocks. It's about a 3 hour walk to Kyanjing Gompa . Mostly flat but surely rising to 4180m. I am feeling nauseous from the altitude. Kyanjing Gompa is a large village, mostly lodges, surrounded by mountains and glaciers and featuring a prominent monastery. The lodges are mostly deserted at this time of year. My room at the lodge has beautiful views with windows facing two directions.
My stomach feels very uneasy. I force myself to breath quicker and deeper to get more oxygen into my body. This works and the queasiness subsides.
We progress up the mountain. The views are stunning and continue to improve. The glacier is further away than it looks. There are very few trees here and as we ascend we mostly have grassland with low heath, wildflowers and some low scrubby bushes.
We start to follow a ridge which divides the landscape. On the right is grass and heath dropping away to a valley which then climbs to a forbidding saddle. On the left, dry dirt collapses to a spread of rocks, boulders and gravel which approaches the glacier.
The British couple are way ahead up the ridge but when we approach a huge boulder, my guide leads me down to cross the rocks and boulders. This seems like a dubious approach to me. The rocks aren't altogether stable and there is a risk of landslide. Occasionally some of the rocks shift beneath my feet. My walking pole helps me keep my balance provided it can make purchase on the rocks.
I make slow progress. I am tired and the altitude causes me to get exhausted easily despite my deep breathing exercises. I start to get used to the instability of the rocks I am clambering over. It's approaching 4 pm and I am worried about the lateness of the day. I think we should turn back but my guide assures me we have almost reached our destination. I climb the next level of rocks and then the glacier is directly in front of us. An enormous wall of ice perhaps about 80m away.
"Is this good enough?" my guide asks. Yes. It is wonderful and I am tired.
We take photos in front of the ice. My guide asks me to take his photo. The next thing I know he heads towards the glacier, scrambling quickly over rocks. In under a minute he is running up the ice of the glacier.
After we break for lunch, which I decline, I start to feel better. "Better out than in" as my father used to say. I try to rest. The seat in front of me isn't attached very well so the weight of the man in front of me squashes my knees.
The road goes on and on.
And then we stop. We arrive at the small mountain town of Syapurbesi. My room is comfortable. I have a nice soup to settle my stomach. I am tired from the days journey. It worries me that I am so worn out from a day of basically doing nothing. It doesn't bode well for the next 15 days of trekking.
Day One
Early morning light in Syapurbesi. I am feeling jaunty as I begin my trek.
The first day trekking is hot through a forested area. We climb a thousand metres today and so does the raging river we follow. Two pairs of trekkers that do not have guides walk on the wrong side of the river. They follow the path clearly marked on the map. After a couple of kilometres they come to the bridge on the map only to discover that it it hasn't been built yet. They have to backtrack to the start and cross the river.
In the afternoon we spot a couple of large monkeys in the trees. Their bushy white fur mostly covers up their black skin except for their jet black hairless faces.
In the evening, at my accommodation, I meet two of the back-trackers, a young British couple.* They have been travelling extensively for many months. They have come from the south of Nepal - the hotter regions of the Terai and Chitwan. They weren't expecting the mountain area to be so much cooler. They have some cold weather gear but they didn't think to bring sleeping bags. Although the day has been hot there is a chill in the air overnight. They have a cold, restless night huddled together. In the morning they pass a spare room with an open door where they notice a large pile of blankets.
* "Young" is a relative term, isn't it? In their late twenties they might not see themselves as young. As for me, in my late forties, I don't see myself as old.
Day two
Within an hour of walking through the forest I am suddenly greeted with a lovely mountain vista through a break in the trees.
We climb up following the river and leave the forest behind. There are now fewer trees, more grasslands, farmlands and some yaks. Looking back on the valley I remember why I am here.
An old man is sitting on a rise above the path. As I pass I greet him with a "namaste" which he acknowledges. I lose my footing, stumble and almost fall. I look back at the man and now he has a huge grin. I point at my camera and he nods and I get a nice picture of him with a big smile.
Another man is lying on the grass on his back resting under the sun. There is a large burden on the ground near him. A huge wooden beam plus some fire wood. Later on after I have stopped for a rest the man overtakes me. He is carrying the beam across his back with much of the weight supported by a strap that crosses his forehead. I can't help but think of Jesus carrying his cross. "Airplane" my guide says.
Later on I pass the man as he is resting. I compliment him on how strong he is to carry such a load and he is pleased. After I have checked in to our teahouse, he happens to stop for another rest just by the stairs to my room. I ask if I can take his photo and he agrees giving me a nice smile with gnarled teeth.
He them beckons to me. I start to show him the photo I have taken but he waves it away and holds out his hand. I realise he wants some money. This is a bit cheeky of him but I give him 15 rupees anyway which is only about 20 cents.
That night I am told that there will be dancing in a nearby building and that I should go and have a look. The British couple are staying at the same lodge. They are good company so I dine with them and we compare our travel adventures. After dinner I wander over to where the dancing is. There are a few people outside and I ask if it is okay for me to enter. Yes, yes, come inside. Inside the door is a modest entrance hall. A woman is dishing out some soup to people. Everyone is wearing traditional local attire. There is a large number of shoes on the floor outside the door to the main room. I leave my sandals there and enter. The room is about 15 by 15 metres. Around three walls there are about 50 people sitting with their backs to the walls on low continuous bench seats. in front of them is a low continuous bench table.
I am invited to sit down and I choose the nearest seat by the door. Towards the front of the room is a large table covered with about 100 candles. About 30 of them are lit. behind the table against the wall is a long table covered with piles of scripture books. Each book is a collection of loose leaf pages about 8cm high and 25 cm wide. I am offered some Sherpa noodle soup but I decline as I am too full from my dinner. Perhaps some Nepali tea? Yes thank you. But there is no Nepali tea left. Have some yak milk tea instead. Better for you I think.
The man next to me strikes up a conversation asking where I am from. I ask if they are all Sherpa people and he says, no they are Tibetan. This is the third day of a nine day ceremony which started on the full moon, which they regard as the birth day and death day of Gotama Buddha. Tibetan people have gathered from neighbouring villages. There is a holy text that they must read to completion over the nine days. They have been reading all day and now they are relaxing and socialising. They are singing and chatting and a few people get up and dance and everyone is having a good time.
The Tibetan border is only about 10 kilometres away. But borders are largely political constructs based around geographical practicalities. These are Nepalese people in the political sense - to whatever degree the government impacts their lives in this remote area. But they are Tibetan in their cultural identification. At least, this is the sense I make of the situation later. We don't really discuss politics. The man has relatives living in Tibet and he gets a permit once or twice a year to visit them.
People in this area are farmers and yak herders so I imagine the day to day challenges of living off the land are far more important to them than distant bureaucracies.
The man tells me that the villages along the trekking route are relatively well-off but there are villages only a few kilometres away where poverty is a problem. Trekkers contribute significantly to the local economy but consequently are insulated from the true poverty experienced in remote villages.
Day 3
As we walk higher up the valley I become more impressed by the grandeur of the approaching mountains. The river is on our right. On the left of the river is grassland with fewer and fewer farms. On the right of the river, forest climbs the steep slope. I am not sure if the slopes on this side of the valley has been deforested or if the other side has more sun and better soil and weather.
The air is fresh. The sun is warm and offsets the coldness of the light wind. I hear the wind pick up suddenly and I look across to the trees on the other side of the valley expecting to see movement of an approaching gale. All is still. Suddenly I see the river and realise I mistook the sound of rushing water for a mighty wind. It is half the size of yesterday but flows quickly, coldly clattering over rocks. It's about a 3 hour walk to Kyanjing Gompa . Mostly flat but surely rising to 4180m. I am feeling nauseous from the altitude. Kyanjing Gompa is a large village, mostly lodges, surrounded by mountains and glaciers and featuring a prominent monastery. The lodges are mostly deserted at this time of year. My room at the lodge has beautiful views with windows facing two directions.
Photo taken from the courtyard of my lodge.
After lunch my guide suggests we walk to the closest glacier which
dominates the scenery. I don't think I can make it. We can stay here for
a couple of days according to our loose itinerary so there is no need
to attempt the glacier today. Still I know it is important to walk
higher for acclimatisation. I didn't sleep well last night so I am
hoping for a better sleep tonight. I suggest we go in the direction of
the glacier and see how far I can make it. The British couple have
already headed off. We start up past a monastery alongside a stream.
Melt water from the glacier which is a tributary to the Langtang river.
There are a few monks in their dark red robes going about their
business. The glacier is a rumpled curtain of shining white ice draped
over the mountain ahead.
My stomach feels very uneasy. I force myself to breath quicker and deeper to get more oxygen into my body. This works and the queasiness subsides.
We progress up the mountain. The views are stunning and continue to improve. The glacier is further away than it looks. There are very few trees here and as we ascend we mostly have grassland with low heath, wildflowers and some low scrubby bushes.
We start to follow a ridge which divides the landscape. On the right is grass and heath dropping away to a valley which then climbs to a forbidding saddle. On the left, dry dirt collapses to a spread of rocks, boulders and gravel which approaches the glacier.
The British couple are way ahead up the ridge but when we approach a huge boulder, my guide leads me down to cross the rocks and boulders. This seems like a dubious approach to me. The rocks aren't altogether stable and there is a risk of landslide. Occasionally some of the rocks shift beneath my feet. My walking pole helps me keep my balance provided it can make purchase on the rocks.
I make slow progress. I am tired and the altitude causes me to get exhausted easily despite my deep breathing exercises. I start to get used to the instability of the rocks I am clambering over. It's approaching 4 pm and I am worried about the lateness of the day. I think we should turn back but my guide assures me we have almost reached our destination. I climb the next level of rocks and then the glacier is directly in front of us. An enormous wall of ice perhaps about 80m away.
"Is this good enough?" my guide asks. Yes. It is wonderful and I am tired.
We take photos in front of the ice. My guide asks me to take his photo. The next thing I know he heads towards the glacier, scrambling quickly over rocks. In under a minute he is running up the ice of the glacier.
I take some photos and think to myself, what the hell? I scramble after him and it takes me about three minutes but then I too am walking up the ice of the glacier.
We start to return the way we came. Now I notice the ice beneath the rocks. The glacier is also hidden beneath the layer of rocks we have been scrambling over.
As we return we spot the British couple away on the ridge above us. We wave to them and they start to approach us. My guide goes to assist them, taking them my spare walking pole and offering them his own. I wait until they reach my position. It is now 5 pm and we have a long way to return. They had traveled a long way up the ridge, not reaching the glacier and the young man is suffering from altitude sickness. They also look cold so I offer them a spare hat and a spare balaclava. "Thank you," says the young woman. "We didn't think to bring hats."
We head down the mountain together in good spirits. We get most of the way down before the twilight fades. we complete the last 10 minutes in darkness and torchlight. Soup for dinner and then straight to bed. I sleep well.
Addendum
Years later I am still in contact with the British couple and the way the young woman tells the story, I saved their lives that day. Who knows what the outcome might really have been if I had not been there - but it does indicate their frame of mind; they were quite worried.As for my part - I can't claim any great heroics. It was my porter that fetched them and he volunteered to do so. Having spare hats and such - that I can take credit for.
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