As the equivalent of the Nepali Christmas break came upon us
Kristen and I set out on our first trek. We did not have a lot of time, as
other commitments restricted us, typical of any holiday season. My complaints
of too much bus time were put to the side and the extra rides proved to be far
above average. While an actual bus ride would have been a terrifying nightmare,
due to the road and excessive crowding, we stumbled into a jeep ride on the way
up and an empty micro van on the way back. Both were at a reasonable price I
may add. The only bad part about the ride to our trekking departure town was
the crushing pain in my hand as we went over a massive landslide. Wondering
what was going on, I looked down to realize that it Kristen clutching it like a
freshman girl whose boyfriend snuck her into a midnight showing of Saw. Despite the momentary feeling of
impending doom, we arrived safely in Syabrubesi (don’t worry we can never say
it right either).
Kristen and I kept a joint journal each day on the trail, and
from here I will simply share those. First here are some things to keep in mind
while reading.
-It is long don’t hurt yourself trying to finish in one
sitting!
-Kristen and I both wrote in this, so the perspective
changes a lot, sometimes in the middle of an entry. It shouldn’t be too hard to
figure but be forewarned.
-I typed most of it straight out of our journal and did very
little proofreading so don’t be appalled at the spelling and punctuation
mistakes.
Anyway here you go:
Monday, Oct 7
Pre-trek- After the news that all busses were full that go
to Syabrubesi, wer were solicited to share a jeep with some Chezks and Germans.
The 117km ride took 8 hours, including a tense 20 minutes across an active
landslide. We arrived in Syabrubesi and got a room at one of the smaller hotels
in town. The owner/operator was a sweet elderly Tibetan woman. Talking to her
she asked if we had ever been to Tibet, or were going. Kristen did no more than say “It’s difficult
to get a Chinese visa.”, to make the otherwise smiling cheerful face to turn to
a sour glare. She said she evacuated Tibet when she was 6 years old during the
Chinese invasion in 1959.
Tuesday, Oct 8
Day one- We set out on the trail at about 8AM and quickly
passed any groups that had started ahead of us. Our first rest gave the
shocking realization that dal baht was going to be 400rs and that we were going
to have to re-budget. At the advice of a guide we went an hour and a half past
where the travel book recommends, and where the rest of the parade of trekkers
behind us would stay. Woodland Lodge was nice and saved us a little money as we
managed to get a free room with the agreement we would by our overpriced food
for the duration from their kitchen. The only other guest at the lodge was a
smiley traveler from Seattle named J.P. with whom we discussed the subtleties
of what success and happiness means in life.
Wednesday, Oct 9
We left Woodland at
about 7:30 with no specific destination in mind. Langtang village was about 2
hours and 400 meters vertical above Woodland. Leaving early and ahead of the
mass behind us made us the only white people heading in our direction. 30 min
into the hike, after a question about our last 3 vice Presidents in a cage
match to the death, we broke out of timber into alpine country at about 9,500
feet. Peaks without snow towered on both sides of us. The highest forest bore a
striking resemblance to the Pacific Northwest and in the alpine country
immediately after, I could have convinced myself that I was hiking in East Rosebud
or Glacier National Park. Before reaching Langtang we passed an army check post
and various shops, where we received our education on the business model of the
Langtang Valley. The name of the game is to funnel tourists from your tea shop
to the family shop further on the trail. This was used to our advantage as a
recommendation came with a free room and food discounts.
Rather than pushing up to Kyangin Gumba like we felt capable
of, we stayed in Langtang. We had received a recommendation and a bundle of
vegetables from a man at a teashop down the hill to take to Happy Home Guest
House in Langtang and receive 250rs dal bhat in exchange. The promise of cheap
khanna was not realized in full; we settled for 300rs dal bhat and a free room.
After filling our bellies under a blue sky of sunshine our motivation to
continue the journey to the Gumba quickly dissolved. We napped and stayed the
night in Langtang. Being the only guests that night at Happy Home and arriving
earlier than all the rest of the trekkers, we enjoyed some privacy and
conversation. Because we are not often in proximity to others, when confronted
with the possibility of conversation with Westerners, both Thor and I find
difficulty passing up a chat session. But on this day, we relaxed in the courtyard
alone together.
After a very satisfying nap we made for the local cheese
factory. To our surprise and delight we found not only fresh yak cheese but
also freshly baked bread (and it wasn’t white bread), and French press organic
coffee. By the end of the trek we would stop there 3 times.
We also enjoyed watching the hordes of tourists struggling
into the village hours after our arrival and congratulation ourselves on our
foresight to pack lightly.
Thursday Oct,10
We rose early Thursday morning in time to enjoy a French
press at the cheese factory and still hit the trail before the masses. We met 2
rather effeminate Dutch guys at the factory sipped coffee and chatted. We
started our short walk to Kyangin at about 7AM under bluebell skies. As we strolled
gradually upwards and around the bend, towering snowcaps loomed spectacularly
above us, their grandeur increasing with our every step. Mani stone walls
divided the path, cutting a dashed line between the upward bound and the
returners. We stayed on the left hand side, as per religious tradition and
paused from time to time to admire the prayerful mantras etched into the
ancient stones, many of which had been blanketed by white and orange lichen or
had been there long enough that the prayer writing had worn away till the stone
was nearly smooth.
A white stupa, sides painted with red, orange, yellow and
blue mantras, welcomed us into the holy site and offered us picturesque views
of Langtang II and Langtang Lirung draped in colorful prayer flags. We rounded
a hill into the valley, which cupped a small village dotted with lodges and
free range yaks. The valley is named after Kyangin Gumba a 400 year old
Buddhist monastery that still operates in the imposing shadow of Lirung and
Yubra Himal. A lodge hosts many visitors just adjacent to the Gumba, and due to
its prime location unparalleled views and a discount I managed with the
landlady. We settled there for the duration of our stay. Although we got the
room free of charge the food was once again overpriced and subpar. It seems as
though, every cook in the Langtang Valley works from the same recipe. Despite
the bland dal baht, we eagerly devoured our lunch, dropped our gear in the room
and hurriedly set off to a lookout point 500m above us, racing the foreboding
cirrus to the top. After a grueling hour long climb over a well-worn trail with
loose footing, we reached our destination just as a cloud bank poured over the
Ganja La Pass on the far side of the valley. The exposure unnerved me, as my
inner ears struggled to compensate for the lack of reassuring visual cues. The
viewpoint, composed of a rocky precipice, magnified the ubiquitous 20,000ft+
peaks. Carefully stepping over fallen strands of prayer flags, we settled in a
secure spot to snack snap photos gaze out at the majesty surrounding us. Four
glaciers, three lakes and tumultuous plummeting streams 1,000 feet below
multiplied one others beauty.
The way down took nearly as long as the ascent due to Kristen’s’
near vertigo. I had to ask very politely for her to stop skidding down the
trail on her rump. Upon return to the gumba/hotel we were informed that I had
forgotten to shut and lock the door to our room. Fortunately, the trustworthy
Tibetan landlady had closed it for us and all our stuff was as it should be.
 |
| Crazy eyes somewhere along the trail. Notice there is only one Chum strap, broken glasses. |
After our brief adventure, I washed our smelly clothes while
Thor practiced some yoga inside the monastery. We then departed once again for
a stroll around the village. We paused for coffee and a game of chess at a
bakery where we were tipped off on the next days activity by eavesdropping on a
pair of very tall, middle –aged, persnickety German fellows. We hoped that our
hike had prepared us for the following days climb up Chergo Ri. We returned to
the gumba for supper, settling into the woodstove heated dining hall, filled
with gin rummy playing scots, and excitable French women chattering about their
future trekking plans. After another round of hum-drum dal bhat, we retired to
our frigid room, blankets in hand.
Friday, Oct 11
Although the bed was very comfortable and we were plenty
warm under the blanket and sleeping bag neither the cold air, or something in
the room plugged our noses and turned us into mouth breathers. I had very
strange dreams about challenging an autocratic principal when I was in high
school. Despite our lethargy we dutifully rose to eat breakfast at 6:30. We
lazily procrastinated, questioning the weather for a while but realized that if
we were going to go it had to be now. Mustering our strength and will power we
departed on our attempt at Chergo Ri 4,984m (roughly 16,300ft)
We struck
out at 8Am and as we progressed we became increasingly satisfied that we had
made the decision to climb it, as the weather cleared and the low clouds were
swept away by blue skies. We also quickly realized that we were making
considerably faster progress than the poorly conditioned parties who left ahead
of us. On the trail we passed a group of older Japanese men, to young French
girls, and elderly lady lying in the grass with a guide, and a large group of
middle aged French people decked out in all the best trekking gear. Only one
group summited ahead of us, a worthy feat considering that we left 2 hours
after some of the groups.
The view
from the top was breathtaking (no pun intended). We rested at the top for 30-45
minutes and began the descent. This was tougher for us than the way up. We both
swore that we would bring trekking poles back after Christmas in an effort to
save our knees. Despite our grueling pace to the top we went the same speed
downhill as the rest of the trekkers, who had poles for extra support.
Upon returning to Kyangin Gumba we again took respite in the
local coffee shop and enjoyed percolated coffee, a cinnamon roll, and a slice
of cold apple pie. We then returned to the lodge and at long last rested. The
afternoon and evening were pleasant and we chatted with a Swiss Buddhist, and
some teacher trainers from Poland and Scotland. In preparation for the long day
out the next day we retired early for another night of plugged noses.
Saturday, Oct 12
Our plan was to be in Kathmandu by the evening of the 13th.
In order to make that happen we needed to make it a considerable distance, one
that took us all of 2 ½ days on the way up, today. We did everything within our
power and rested not but 45 minutes all day. Our speed was very quick until we
were about an hour’s walk from the intended, Bamboo where there are 3 lodges.
Just as the steepest part of the descent began Kristen’s knees began to ache. I
could not believe mine did not but I was spared achy knees until the next day.
Our pace slowed but we were determined and we made Bamboo at around 5:30.
This is
where our plan deviated slightly. We intended to go to bed early again so that
we could rise around 5:00 and make the 2 ½ hours to Syabrubesi by the time the
last bus left at 8AM. A fine plan until we met Thomas. Thomas we found out grew
up in Pennsyltucky, went to college in San Diego and now has a wife and 2
acupuncture practices in Kathmandu. Very intriguing fella. We chatted over
dinner and decided that a pitcher of raksi was called for on the occasion of
meeting such fine company. After 2 pitchers of raksi, 2 pitchers of chyang
(another kind of rice brew), several Chinese medicine checkups of the locals
and myself, and a local cultural dance by a drunken mountain guide we finally
made our way to bed. The guide had been talking of the Ganja La Pass that we
had seen from below at Kyanjin Gompa. He seemed to think that it was doable
without ropes, at this time of year and the idea caught both Thomas’ and my
attention. From Ganja La it is a 3 day walk to Kathmandu and we had already
shared our dissatisfaction with the Nepali transportation system. Thomas had
most of the necessary gear including a tent. I on the other hand would need to
acquire some provisions. A plan was made that I would go down to Syabrubesi
with Kristen and if I could acquire the appropriate supplies would hoof it back
up the trail to catch up and we would make an attempt at the mysterious Ganja
La. I went to sleep with dreams of an epic crossing of the storied pass dancing
in my head.
Sunday Oct, 13
As is natural after a night of plans made on the sauce, some
doubt had crept into my head by the time I awoke. Some soreness and a stomach
ache had also turned up by morning. Before setting out Thomas and I, to
Kristen’s satisfaction acknowledged that the plan would likely not work out,
but if I could find the provisions and felt fresh enough I would call him to
inform him that I was on his tail. Needless to say this did not happen.
Syabrubesi is not exactly an outfitting town and the moment we arrived on the
main drag rain began to fall.
All I wanted to do was sleep, but Kristen was insistent on
trying to find a jeep and people to share it with back to Kathmandu, today.
After about an hour of searching and explaining our situation to the locals, we
gave up and retired to a room at the Cheerful Tibetan woman’s hotel. I fell
asleep instantly and the next thing I knew it was 3 hours later and the woman
was knocking at our door and saying something about a car she had arranged for
us. It wasn’t a dream but close to it. We came outside to find a micro van
completely empty waiting for us. The drivers wanted to get back to Kathmandu
and their family for the holiday and agreed to take us the whole way for 2000
rupees, a steal. After pushing the van up a couple of muddy hills on the
landslide we safely found ourselves in Kathmandu and checked into our hotel at
8PM.
Post trek
A lazy day of rest in the tourist district indulging in the
few western amenities available there took up our Sunday. On Monday we went to
Sapana’s house to stay the night and celebrate the holiday of Deshain with her
family. We received our customary big red dots on our forehead (called tika)
and I ate a lot of goat meat. Kristen later rued this fact as the aroma
mysteriously kept returning the next day, nearly the same as when it had been
cooked. We both held the month old baby for a while that day and the next. He
pooped on Kristen twice and fell asleep in my arms.
 |
| Please comment and add a caption. Someone besides my mother. (I love you mom, you can comment too) |
The next morning we found our way back to Besisahar on four
different bus legs. On the longest leg we got to ride on top of the bus, because
the laws against it loosen during the holidays, the bus was full, and no Nepali
will refuse a chance to take a few bucks off of a foreigner. It was not too
scary and in fact did not feel any more dangerous than riding on the inside. We
did get a rush when the conductor told us to lay flat while going through one
of the regular police checkpoints. One more bus transfer and we arrived safely
in Besisahar at around 7 with a feeling of finally being home. At least it is
enough of a home for now.
Sorry that this has
been a novel. Somewhere at altitude something went wrong with my I-pad that I
am in the process of fixing, but I may not be able to post again for a while.
The next couple weeks promise to be fairly boring however so it is ok. If
anything truly exciting happens I will be sure to let you know
