Nepal - the Annapurna trail

november 2022

28.794671°N 83.937368°E

on trekking the frigid bottoms of heaven

prologue

i froze before the large mirror on the wall of my hotel room - i was standing before a person i could hardly recognise. were two weeks all it took for a body to change to such an extent? my hiking attire hung loosely to me. i did not feel all that different, but the softness across my torso convinced me i had deflated, not unlike an orange left to sit in the refrigerator for too long. the beard and the overgrowth on top of my head further amplified the shock - the scruffy, yet charming hiker i’d hoped to turn into had failed to materialise. instead, i looked as if i had been sleeping rough.

peeling off my clothes - with no regard for the temperatures in the room, for once -, i gazed at the clean, fluffy beddings that awaited me that evening. i had no idea what to do for the rest of the day. perhaps go out and visit Pokhara? or did i wish for an early night, facilitated by an ungodly dose of alcohol? i had not truly spoken to anyone for two weeks and all my waking time had been spent in the company of my silent porter and guide.

i wasn’t craving human interaction either. eventually, i concluded a shower would help find my way: hot water had been scarce for the better part of the previous two weeks; perhaps a sensation of some familiarity would help me find my way.

key takeaways

before we begin: click here for a shortcut to the gallery.

i’ll spare you the effort of digging through 10,000 words for that tiny bit of info you need: here are some key takeaways for the Annapurna trail. you can also follow a day by day breakdown of the hike. use the links to navigate to a longer version of each day’s account, with added detail and flavour.

the Annapurna trail is all in all a standardised affair. sure, there can be some variation to the blueprint, but the checkpoints are not likely to change dramatically. without further ado -

the challenge lies in distance, not so much in technical difficulty. you’re in it for the long run: two weeks of constant trekking lie ahead of you, compounded with frighteningly low temperatures, both during the day and at night. “why would i care about the temperatures at night?” well, that’s because…

… there is no heating in most guest houses. you read that right. you’ll be freezing at night, unless you’re sharing a room or a bed with someone else. alternatively, piling blankets on top of your sleeping bag will keep you alive. beware, however, the…
… unfresh beddings. with the general lack of appropriate washing facilities, the sheets you will find in guest houses may have already been used. using your own sleeping bag or a liner may be advisable.
the shower situation can be challenging. many guest houses offer (often paid) hot showers, but at times, that just isn’t the case. this means you may have to use cold water or skip washing altogether.
don’t worry too much about supplies, unless you truly are on a shoestring budget. there are shops virtually everywhere along the trail. nonetheless, the further you get from civilization, the more expensive wares become.
the food’s great (subjectively speaking), and in no short supply. i personally had no trouble putting away dhal bhat sets almost every day, but you may see your range of options shrink if you’re looking to have Western-style dishes.
pack warm, heavily insulated clothing, but as i had previously touched upon in the Kilimanjaro article, you do not need to spend a fortune on hiking gear. a pair of comfortable, sturdy boots, however, is essential, but $300 La Sportivas aren’t likely to do you much good: the entire trail is well kept.
facemasks are essential for keeping the dust out of your airways. you’ll be walking long, long distances on the side of unpaved roads, all incredibly dusty.
the time spent walking over a given day is unlikely to be too long. if you are reasonably fit, are traveling by vehicle, or have hired a porter, you won’t be walking for more than perhaps six hours at a time. depending on the time of the year you’re traveling, you may find it gets dark quite early. as such, bringing along a book or some other sort of distraction may be useful.
sunglasses are not a must, but they certainly help, especially if you want to get a good look at the icy peaks on a sunny day.

with that out of the way, what follows is an abridged breakdown of the trek, split between (loosely defined) “stages.”

stage 1: Besisahar to Chame

altitude at Chame: ±2650m

Besisahar is a significant settlement and travelling node. it’s fast, loud, and it offers plenty of opportunities to stock up for the days ahead, no matter the corner of the Himalayas you’re going to. even the coffee stood out to me as excellent.

the off-road vehicles used by locals and tourists alike may not inspire much confidence - the raspy roar of the engines, the shaky backs, the dark exhaust fumes. if you’re as lucky as i am and get to witness a hotfix, your heart may sink even deeper. rest assured that the drivers know exactly what they are doing, while their tank-like vehicles are perfectly fit for the job.

expect a cold night at your next checkpoint, wherever that may be.

(related chapters: kicking off the hike; rattling along to Chame)

stage 2: Chame to Pisang

altitude at Pisang: ±3250m

if you are in reasonable shape, have hired a porter or are travelling by vehicle, Pisang is only a few hours away from Chame. this leaves a bit of time to explore the surroundings.

judging by the density of guest houses, Pisang (whether it is Lower or Upper Pisang) appears to be a popular checkpoint on the Annapurna trail. the local stupa is definitely worth your time, though it may require a bit of extra walking. you can also access a few tiny shops, should you need to resupply.

(related chapter: onwards to Pisang)

stage 3: Pisang to Manang

altitude at Manang: ±3510m

though not the most physically challenging day of the trek, you will still be battling the roadside dust, the cold, and increasing distances. if you end up walking alongside the road, don’t forget to put a mask on.

on the way to Manang, you will find markers for Tilicho Lake, as well as other natural attractions. small settlements and yaks can also be encountered on the way.

not only is Manang a key acclimatisation hotspot for tourists, but it is also a historical site in and of itself. “old” Manang has kept its ancient buildings intact, along with its stupas, and a walk through the maze-like, multi-layered passageways provides the opportunity to catch a glimpse into the genuine Tibetan lifestyle. Manang’s amenities include heaps of hiking and general stores, cafes, bakeries, as well as an office for local authorities.

just outside of Manang, one has the opportunity to visit several religious sites and quite a few natural attractions. i have only hiked to Praken Gompa, which boasted not only jaw-dropping vistas, but also an encounter with the gompa’s hermit inhabitant.

you may find it difficult to get any four-wheeler beyond Manang. while i could spot a road running alongside the Marsyangdi river, following the trail usually involves horses, donkeys, or your own two legs.

in spite of my own experience, there is no shortage of accommodation in Manang. hotels, traditional guest houses, reggae-themed bungalows - you name it, Manang has it.

stage 4: to the Base camp, through Yak Kharka

altitude at Yak Kharka: ±4000m

as you prepare for the trek to Yak Kharka and beyond, make sure to layer appropriately: the rays of the sun are deceptively strong, but you may find your whiskers turning frosty in the shade. should you be blessed with reasonable weather, this won’t be much of a problem, but i believe it’s one of those “better safe than sorry” situations.

the trail’s fairly flat all the way up to Yak Kharka, where you’ll easily be able to get your hands on drinking water, lunch, or whatever else your heart desires, especially if it’s during the busier season. not much else lies beyond that for a good while - it’s just trekking the vast Himalayan flats, though you may find tiny tea stations along the way. Yaks and goats can sometimes be seen grazing along the way, though pretty far off at times.

to get on the other side of the valley, there are several possible routes - the “scenic” version is likely to take you over a hill and down the gorge, while the other will simply use one of those frighteningly high up steel cable bridges.

a few hundred metres (or perhaps a little more than that) ahead of the Base Camp, you will notice a sudden shift in altitude. the abrupt increase in elevation brings about the risk of landfall (appropriately documented on a few warning poles), which should be approached delicately. if unsure of the best course of action, it may be worth waiting around for a local or mountain guide to pass by, should time allow.

once at the Base Camp, you can probably stop for the day and further acclimatise. alternatively, walk for another 45 minutes - 1 hour to the High Camp. don’t be surprised if neither one has vacancies: even off-peak, in late November, both were almost at capacity.

(related chapter: the High Camp)

stage 5: "summiting" Thorung La

altitude at Thorung La: ±5400m

whether you stop at the Base Camp or a little higher up, at the High Camp, you will definitely have to make an early start, perhaps as early as 4 AM. this is to ensure not only that you get plenty of time to reach the Pass before sunrise, but also to give you a chance at reaching your day’s objective, beyond Thorung La.

based on personal experience, your digestive system (and most of your system, really) won’t function optimally at such altitudes. this may be especially true if you have not taken sufficient time to get acclimated. to avoid cramps or general discomfort, it may be best to have light breakfast, avoiding foodstuffs which are slow to digest. it may also be advisable to drink a little bit more than you normally would, though without downing a bucket of coffee.

you may find that hiking in the dark is quite challenging even at lower altitudes, let alone on the frozen trails of the Himalayas. a headlamp or alternatively, the presence of other hikers may make it easier to spot patches of ice or slippery, rock-solid snow. nonetheless, keeling over a few times is a given and that’s okay, as long as you avoid pulling other hikers down with you.

once you’ve witnessed a spectacular sunrise up at the Pass, you will have to walk down. this may translate to sliding down icy pathways, using alternative routes, or progressing very slowly for an exhaustingly long while. nonetheless, once you’ve made it across the icescape, congratulations! you are now in Mustang, on the Tibetan Plateau. if you’re heading to Muktinath, you are about to deal with several hours of walking through what technically is the desert.

(related chapter: Thorung La to Muktinath)

stage 6: Muktinath and the Jomson Valley

altitude at Marpha: ±2650m

whether your itinerary involves sleeping in Muktinath or in its proximity, you will still have to face the challenges of the desert: the dust, the wind, the blinding light, possibly the cold. while there are straightforward solutions to all of these, none should be taken lightly. the relatively rough conditions are easily offset by the rugged beauty of the landscape - not only will you spot ancient Tibetan villages, with earthen homes and stupas perched atop hills, but also the remains of agricultural settlements from centuries past. basked in the earliest rays of the sun, all of these look breathtaking.

there are ample opportunities for refreshments within towns, yet you won’t be passing through too many of those ahead of Jomsom (note: that’s the name of a town), unless, of course, you would prefer to further prolong your hike.

once you have made it to the orchard-filled section of the valley, you will find a wealth of opportunities for lunch, a cup of tea, or even accommodation. virtually all of the villages of Jomson are beautiful and cosy, each with plenty of personality. in the (famous?) town of Marpha alone, where i had the honour of spending the night, there was plenty to experience. not only that, guest houses were virtually everywhere, each one charming in its own particular way.

stage 7: deeper into Jomson

to walk along the Kali-Gandaki river is a pleasure, and that is exactly what you will be doing for the rest of the day. given that the weather is reasonable, you will eventually get to cross the river, back into nature. to my understanding there are quite a few trails you can choose from, depending on where you want to go next. it’s all reasonably well marked and you’d be hard pressed to lose the path. if you do, someone from the area’s many tiny settlements is bound to be able to guide you in the right direction.

further down Jomson, right as forests take hold of the landscape, you may find that the opportunities for accommodation are starting to dry up. it may be worth consulting your guide about this, otherwise you may end up walking along the tarmac for kilometres on end, especially if hiking off-season. still, much less worrying this may prove to be, as this slice of Jomson is warmer than all of the areas you’ve experienced over the past 72 hours and you may also catch a bus if need be.

(related chapter: Kalopani and beyond)

stage 8: the trail to Tatopani

altitude at Tatopani: ±1190m

at this point, the contrast between what lies just on the other side of Thorung La and what you are about to see now could prove shocking. subjectively, the trail to Tatopani is one of the most beautiful ones i have ever walked, with its balance of natural and anthropic wealth. livestock will be seen grazing freely on the lush vegetation, later to return to tiny, hidden villages on the sides of steep hills. as you walk the worn in stone stairs of the trail, you may find the soundscape has changed too - the winds of the Tibetan Plateau have been replaced by the calls of songbirds and the hum of bugs.

the lower you go, the lusher it gets, and if you’re lucky, you may even be able to buy some freshly picked oranges in one of the villages.

once you’ve left the trail and have gone back onto the unpaved road, rejoice! - Tatopani is right around the corner. enjoy the rest of the day at the local hot spring (Tatopani translates, apparently, to “hot water”).

(related chapter: one step closer to Shangri-La - Tatopani)

stage 9: Ghode Pani and Poon Hill

altitude at Poon Hill: ±3210m

known for its vantage point over the entirety of the Annapurna range, Poon Hill is just a stone’s throw away (relative to the distances you’ve walked so far) from Tatopani. it’s not an easy hike, that’s for sure - though clearly marked and properly paved, the trail runs through many villages on the sides of steep hills.

at this point, there is no shortage of shops or eateries. with that out of the way, what’s left is to follow the trail all the way to Poon Hill.

once there, make sure you check out the rooms of any hotel you may be interested in - based on what i could gather, some of these just aren’t in great condition. not only that, you may find that Poon Hill is a remarkably popular attraction even for the Nepali, which means it may be fairly crowded all year round.

if you’ve the stomach for that, it truly is worth it to get up for the sunrise. a quick (very) early morning hike to the vantage point is a small sacrifice for what you are about to witness - the Annapurna range, basking in the first pink rays of the sun.

(related chapter: a journey’s end: epilogue)

kicking off the hike

arriving in Kathmandu at night was an intimidating experience. not that i did not have a ride waiting for me right outside the arrivals terminal, but even through the frosty window of the aeroplane i could see that the darkness of Kathmandu was only broken by long, string-like rows of tail lights. on street level, things weren’t quite as dark as i had thought. throngs of electric cables, LEDs, illuminated adverts, and headlights helped distinguish the many shacks, temples, and larger buildings. yet it still wasn’t enough to give me a clear idea of what Nepal’s capital city actually looked like.

after a night of shallow sleep, i became acquainted with a driver and with Tenzi, my hiking guide, who were waiting for me outside the hotel. i had thought a 6AM departure would be excessive, but it started making sense as soon as the vehicle started eating the tarmac and, eventually, the gravel roads to Besisahar. even at such an early time of the day, colourful freight trucks and minibuses crowded the single-lane road right outside the “metropolitan” area of Kathmandu. progress was slow, but that did not prevent many of the drivers to attempt (and succeed at) wild overtakes, where incoming traffic would be forced to slow down and avoid collision. up to three vehicles ran in parallel, often off the tarmac on and onto the gravel. ours was no exception and in my innocence, i failed to brace and repeatedly slammed my head against the car door.

*launchpad: Besisahar covers all the bases if you’re preparing for an expedition.*

a long drive eventually took us to Besisahar, the launchpad for many of the area’s trails. a bustling municipality, Besisahar had all the traits of a notable infrastructural node: all the shops a traveller could ever want or imagine, a generous selection of guest houses, and naturally, heavy traffic. among the many buses, reinforced off-road vehicles, motorbikes, and energetic pedestrians, camouflage-clad men and women, all wielding sizable bamboo staves, walked the streets. shortly after my arrival, trucks loaded with speakers poured into what looked like the busiest area of the town’s main street. music took over the soundscape shortly, followed by a fervent speaker, who amplified her rhythmic preaching to a point where my eardrums themselves whirred with every hiss and pop of her voice. with the few words of English he spoke, my guide explained i had arrived during the last stretch of an electoral campaign, one which had the potential to decide the fate of the country for the foreseeable future.

with the few words of English he spoke, my guide explained i had arrived during the last stretch of an electoral campaign, one which could potentially decide the fate of the country for the foreseeable future.

for once, i did not care too much about politics, yet i felt the situation would probably open up unique opportunities. so it did, but more on that later.

as the bustle of the main street died down towards the evening, i waited for sleep to come in my modest, though reasonably comfortable room. i was surrounded by travellers of all nationalities - some alone, others in large groups; some from the West, others from the other end of the map. in short, i could discern no pattern among those i crossed paths with, except for maybe one thing - the desire to hit the trail as early as possible.

*a modest, but perfectly serviceable room in Besisahar.*

disappointingly, the traffic never died out completely and nor did the other guests wind down for the rest of the night. normally, that would have really not been an issue, yet my bathroom connected directly with the shared restrooms. a leaky tap added to the disturbance. i stared at the paint peeling off the ceiling as people came and went, until my senses drowned in a few short hours of light sleep.

rattling along to Chame

having slept a grand total of maybe three hours, i awoke feeling rough. i did not understand what was going on as the guide and porter loaded and subsequently unloaded my duffel bag from several different off-road vehicles. honestly, i did not quite have the energy to investigate and i felt grateful for my guide handling the situation… and not even filling me in with what was happening.

eventually, we boarded a sturdy Tata truck, with a Mahindra back, bolted together in a tank-like fashion. to my surprise, six people (of whom i only knew one - the guide) took over the back seat, while the porter squeezed between myself and the driver. operating a colourfully-decorated dashboard, with dangling prayer flags, miniature carpets, plastic flowers, and possibly a statue of the Buddha, the driver kicked the vehicle alive. ahead of our departure from Besisahar, we took a detour to what i thought was the police headquarters for the municipality, a large facility housing training grounds and several heavily guarded buildings. as i attempted in vain to decipher a conversation between my guide, driver, and several policemen, i noticed the passengers in the back making their way out, one by one. an ill omen that was and it truly came as no surprise when we switched drivers and vehicles yet again. this, however, would be the last time.

as i attempted in vain to decipher a conversation between my guide, driver, and several policemen, i noticed the passengers in the back of the car making their way out, one by one.

the first leg of the bumpy journey north ended just as we were leaving the more populous areas of Besisahar. we stopped to have the car “hot fixed,” with the entirety of the load still at the back. a more knowledgeable motorist would have been able to identify what was being welded underneath the belly of our Tata, yet i certainly could not.

*no start, no problem: whatever it is, it will be fixed in a matter of minutes.*

having swapped no parts, our own driver finalised the hot fix by pouring water over a small welding fire underneath the vehicle, which was followed by the muffled thud of the bonnet closing.

hours later, we were unceremoniously offloaded many kilometres away from Besisahar, into the village of Koto. “the damn thing’s held up,” i thought to myself in reference to the vehicle, which had effortlessly overcome any frightening crevice and impossible turn in the mostly unpaved road. not only that, the car had mostly run in second gear, engine throttling into a raspy roar for hours on end. the driver himself had been quite the character - he was a rocker, with his golden earrings, Surya cigarettes, and unfathomably stylish haircut. an air of coolness hung about him as he stepped on the gas, a tiny sideways smile lighting up his face as he spat outside the window with marked gusto. i never got a chance to bid him farewell, as the guide quickly ushered me into the guest house as soon as we stopped.

*i bet this had been put back in a car a few hours later.*

sitting at an altitude of about 2600m, Koto had all the amenities of a charming mountain village - tiny independent shops, old wooden cabins, several guest houses, two stupas, its very own set of hot springs, but also empty touristic facilities - the season had all but ended when I reached Nepal. not too far off from a group of children practising karate in the school courtyard, we discovered the same sort of commotion brought about by the election, with hammers, sickles, and sun discs. we turned back as soon as the settlement started thinning out, partly on account of nightfall. it could not have been later than half-past five.

i was surprised by the condition of the guest house. it was a new development, with clean looking rooms and a spacious mess hall, the latter serving as an impromptu meeting place for the owners and several locals. given the difficulty of getting things that far inland, the entirety of the structure showed impressively efficient use of materials and functional design.

as soon as i’d had a cup of tea, i attempted to consult my guide regarding dinner - he immediately told me dinner would only be served at our place of accommodation. perusing the menu (which must have been government-mandated or something along those lines, as it was identical to menus across most of the guest houses we’d later use), i read about incurring some sort of penalty if i chose to dine somewhere else. but that hardly mattered - the food, no matter where we went, was reasonably priced and of outstanding quality. that time was no exception.

perusing the menu, i read about incurring some sort of penalty if i chose to dine somewhere else. But that hardly mattered - the food, no matter where we went, was reasonably priced and of outstanding quality.

in the mess hall, we spent some time with people who came and went, but also in the company of a dog with the appearance of a mop. eventually, i made my way back to my room and took off the padlock, walking into what i thought was the coldest room in recorded history - the guest house had everything, but heating was not on the list. wrapped in my sleeping bag, which in turn was covered by a heavy blanket, i slept with all my batteries tucked into my pockets - a trick i had been taught during previous hikes.

i awoke around five in the morning, popped my head out of the sleeping bag, and watched my warm breath disperse into the room. eventually, i followed through with one of the hardest decisions of my life and faced the frost outside my sleeping bag.

the importance of cultivating an efficient morning routine became apparent as early as my first night out on the trail. Koto did not have the most unforgivingly cold nights, but it did serve to prepare me for the daily 5:30AM ritual of pulling myself out of the sleeping bag and out into the cold, washing up, getting dressed, packing all of my stuff, and heading out for breakfast.
by the time the circumstances had gotten tougher, with frosty nights, very cold running water (if at all), and tired legs, this well rehearsed routing helped kickstart the day.

onwards to Pisang

walking past the hot springs of Koto, we slowly made our way to our next checkpoint: Pisang, a higher altitude settlement, where we would spend the night. as we were walking past the last few buildings of the village, my Sherpa guide stopped me, hand gently on my shoulder: i wasn’t going around the prayer wheels in the right direction - this could only happen clockwise. i appreciated him chiding me; he radiated kindness and understanding, though we hardly had a way of understanding each other in speech. i felt reassured i would not do anything insensitive under his watchful gaze.

*always go around the prayer wheels clockwise.*

for the rest of the morning, i watched the scenery change from a densely forested ecosystem, to a coniferous-dominated environment. chaste ridges hovered above the treetops, as if pressing down with all their might onto the winding gorges below. serrate cracks warned of the colossal movements of the earth from aeons past, with very little growing within the rocky openings. looking up, i would almost inevitably feel anxious, becoming momentarily conscious of the scale of it all. to further crush my ego, the seven-thousanders towered above everything else, frozen, jagged peaks blinding all of those who dared look their way.

down on our altitude, trekkers merely followed the folds of a dusty road, sometimes in view of the peaks, other times, hiding underneath the canopies. all sorts of off-road vehicles passed us by - soon i would understand the locals’ incessant coughing had nothing to do with the world’s favourite virus. for those travelling the (mostly unpaved) roads of the region, masks would keep some of the fine dust out of their airways. yet, a dust storm would follow each passing motorbike, jeep, or truck, making the tiny particles almost impossible to escape.

along the way, many tourism facilities had all but closed shop for the remainder of the slow season. i told myself I would not indulge in imaginary rants about their specifics - it was clear that the colourful wooden structures from one such larger settlement had been erected primarily to cater to the fantasy of outsiders. what truly drove this observation home was a Bob Marley themed guest house: i doubt most locals truly cared about the rock-reggae artist’s legacy… and why would they? outsiders, on the other hand, may have, especially off the back of Nepal’s reputation for producing great quality hasheesh.

we reached Pisang unexpectedly. in fact, we had slowly seen the density of buildings increase, yet i had not connected the dots. in his typical fashion, professional and charged with positive energy, Tenzi stopped abruptly by a building painted pink and announced: “we are spending the night here.”

all things safely deposited and all bellies full, we walked to aptly named Upper Pisang, a village up on the hill, on the opposite side of the valley.

pisang’s monastery struck me as very well kept, with walls painted white, beautifully complex decorative elements, and an extraordinary view of the ridge. i saw that many villagers had gathered for a ceremony, which i was told happened once a year. to my surprise, i was invited in. having taken my shoes off, i walked in and sat next to my guide, but was eventually told to move to the centre, where people not of the Buddhist faith were allowed to sit. most of the participants to the ceremony were of old age; some were being fed a hot meal and virtually everyone received some sort of donation, myself included.

rhythmical, focused, hypnotic - this is how i would describe the flavour of the ceremony. transfixed, the monks would chant after the leading voice of the ceremony, possibly a higher ranking practitioner who followed the letter of an open book. rice would often be thrown around the room, making for a momentary magical storm of white.

it is also there that i had the first opportunity to taste the all-popular Tibetan tea, a hardy drink traditionally made with yak butter. i did not quite appreciate its saltiness, but immediately understood its importance in the context local’s typical diet. other visitors appeared to share my opinion of Po Cha and I even overheard a child asking their parent whether it was absolutely necessary to finish an entire (metal) cup.

it is also there that i had the first opportunity to taste the all-popular Tibetan tea, a hardy drink traditionally made with yak butter. i did not quite appreciate its saltiness, but immediately understood its importance in the context of a typical local diet.

having made our way back to our pink guest house, i thought i would take advantage of the hot shower facility it offered. the system featured a tiny gas boiler for instant heating, which had been connected to a gas cylinder, right outside the wooden door. it did deliver on the promise of supplying me with hot water. but where the experience fell short were the environmental temperatures: placed in a makeshift wooden storage room in the corner of the inner yard, the shower was effectively outside. the cold only bit the second i was wet; as i’d been advised against leaving the water running, i was exposed for more than two thirds of the time i spent in the shack. against the fluorescent light bulb, i watched my skin emit steam, raising the urgency of getting it over with as swiftly as possible.

*the pink guest house. notice the “hot gas shower.”*

still, feeling grateful for whatever hot water I had accessed, i eventually made my way to my room. piling blankets over my sleeping bag yet again, i tucked myself in in anticipation of the night’s freezing temperatures.

where the road stops: Manang

kickstarting the engines a little later than normal, we started the day’s trek around half past six. what followed was a long trek alongside a very dusty road, dotted with fir trees on each side. this eventually broadened out into a large valley between the two mountain ridges, which accommodated a fair number of tiny villages. looking at the map, i had failed to ascertain the scale of the area - crossing the valley widthwise would mean at least two hours of walking, provided no features of the terrain would get in the way. in the middle of these gigantic dust flats, we reached the settlement of Humde, where the guide suggested we stop for tea and pancakes.

to subvert my expectations, the so-called “pancakes” turned out to be wildly different from i cloud have ever imagined. having been invited in by Tenzi’s friends, we walked into a living room of sorts, which also function as a bedroom and storefront. it wasn’t the only room of the house, as one would probably assume. it had been designed as a multifunctional space of sorts deliberately. nevertheless, i was sat down on a wooden bench; soon, i was looking over a dark coloured patty, possibly a tsampa pancake, with a dry, abrasive consistency. i was told to try it out with chilli paste and butter, which certainly added taste. what followed was the dreaded butter tea. i struggled through the first cup, even more so through the second, though i eventually saw my mistake - if i kept drinking, my cup would be refilled.

*storefront, reclining area, living room, drying rack: a multi-purpose establishment in the town of Humde.*

we left the lovely, hospitable family of two behind. looking around on the outskirts of Humde, i became aware of the very same airport i had seen from a vantage point beyond Pisang. Tenzi told me the airport would soon be decommissioned (note - it may be that the airport had already been closed; remember the language barrier) in favour of the growing net of roads. on a practical level, it all made sense, in spite of the roads having become even dustier than before. in fact, beyond Humde, one could make out quite a few attempts at putting in place better infrastructure: short stretches of road paved with concrete, some of which had crumbled and collapsed in nearby ravines; sturdy-looking bridges, some being still worked on; a series of buildings, probably envisioned as checkpoints for the police. it looked very different from what we had seen, but, in hindsight, it may have been our crossing to a different province which had changed the landscape to this extent.

but it wasn’t just that - the ecosystem had shifted yet again. what unfolded before us was a massive arid surface, with hardy coniferous trees growing to impressive sizes. some shrubs could still be seen among the white, dusty rocks, but not too many. towering over the landscape was probably Annapurna III, with its luminous sheet of ice. indeed, i could hardly keep my eyes open as we walked, but i was stubborn enough to continue avoiding putting on my cheap pair of sunglasses. yaks even passed us by at times, with the hems of their furry skirts sweeping up the dust.

manang turned out to be the most populous settlement since Besisahar. an agglomeration of wooden guest houses awaited us, along with larger hotels. European-style bakeries were also available in conjunction with coffee shops, and hiking gear stores certainly were not in short supply. manang truly was a node for travellers, no matter the intent of the journey. for tourists especially, the colourful settlement offered not only this breadth of amenities, but also a variety of locations of interest to stave off the boredom of acclimatisation - Manang’s old village, several inhabited gompas to hike to, as well as stupas. it did seem like the area had been overrun by Westerners, but i was told that most of the local accommodation had in fact been booked by electoral campaigners.

it did seem like the area had been overrun by Westerners, but i was told that most of the local accommodation had in fact been booked by electoral campaigners.

when he broke the news, i found the worried look on Tenzi’s face quite amusing. Manang is by no means small and he must have walked its length at least several times as he checked each and every hotel for vacancies. with every passage, his expression appeared more worried. each time, he gestured to me to wait, as if i looked ready to eat a few more miles on a moment’s notice. ironically, we did eventually end up walking to a nearby village, the name of which i am yet to identify.

what i have chosen to refer to as “old Manang” i suppose had been the original Himalayan settlement, preceding today’s extension of the town. the coarse stone buildings were still very much inhabited and little social gatherings went on under the weather-beaten arches of the village’s cramped passageways. following my guide, i often wondered what the difficulty was in finding our way out of the maze-like village - Tenzi could be seen asking for directions from almost any local we would cross paths with. looking over the village from a vantage point later on, i noticed what i had thought were ways out, were in fact dead ends… on several different levels of altitude. nonetheless, to my guide’s apparent relief, we found our way out of the maze and into a characteristically open landscape.

navigating the next village down the road led to a similar experience. it so happened that the guest house we were heading towards was run by a person we met as we were walking into the village, who enthusiastically pointed us in the right direction. indeed, our lodge for the night had the same structure as basically any other one on the trail. yet, this one was newly built and had not quite been broken into, still inhabited by a young couple and a lithe older woman, “grandma.” the guest house was also blessed with an absence of internet connectivity, a feature i both loathed and adored: finally, i’d lose contact with the rest of the world and be (practically) forced to consider the passage of time.

having sated my hunger with the tastiest and most wholesome yak curry and dhal, i was offered a cauldron of hot washing water. i thought i’d take advantage of whatever sunlight the day still had to offer and swiftly stripped, acceding to a rare exposure of my bare skin to the cold air of an altitude of over 3,500 metres. yet the day had not yet exhausted its stock of surprises - the moment i peeled off my clothes, 20 men or thereabouts walked into the small courtyard. they were all members of Emale, one of the more successful parties participating in the electoral campaign, and had come asking for the owners’ votes. unbothered, i continued my washing and verily, the men did not even make eye contact as they simply walked into the guest house’s mess hall. they eventually left as unceremoniously as they had arrived, and the man of the house escorted them out. i could not quite make out which emotion his facial expression conveyed. he would later explain - the man spoke clear, fluent English - that most electoral promises revolved around infrastructure, yet the entire political class was treated with suspicion nationwide.

the moment i peeled off my clothes, 20 men or thereabouts walked into the small courtyard.

*electoral flags in Manang. yup, it’s the hammer’n’sickle.*

along with the customary cold, the evening brought about complete darkness, unlike anything i had witnessed before. perhaps my latest accommodation was situated at the epicentre of a strange phenomenon - the peripheral village was situated at the very top of a hill overlooking Manang -, and my heart skipped a beat when the silhouette of a cow simply appeared from the black. nonetheless, our hosts made sure to get the fireplace started in the mess hall, which had a surprising effect. not unlike apparitions, a few heavily-clothed locals walked into the room. some sat down by the fireplace, cheeks flushed by the rush of heat. a young woman revealed that the “hunch” on her back had been a child, whose head appeared from under his mother’s lined hood. his dark, glassy eyes stopped on my face for a few brief moments, then continued their journey around the room. eventually, the little boy made his way out entirely and i could see his tiny figure had been insulated with so much wool that he almost looked round. meanwhile, others started a lively conversation with the hosts, as milk tea was being dished out.

the couple who ran the establishment were two of the most beautiful people i have ever seen. about the same height as i, the man had a healthy looking tan and a fittingly sturdy-looking body. his gaze would follow my actions carefully, yet not distrustfully, while answering my questions in a straightforward, efficient manner. i’d asked what people used for flint and tinder around those parts, to which he answered bluntly: “yak shit.” his partner was a young woman with perpetually flushed cheeks and a gracious spring in her gait. her indomitable energy found an outlet through her booming voice, which she would often use to coordinate those who engaged in the processes of her household. as she rushed off to deal with a new task, a thick braid of jet black would rock behind her back, endowing her in my imagination with the aura of a legendary warrior.

as the evening progressed and a core group of guests solidified - could not have been more than five in total -, “grandma” dragged a colourful chair by the fireplace and started twisting her Mala beads. uttering inaudible verses, she stared into the fire, at times interrupting her meditative procedure to address short sentences to those in the room. eventually, she began chanting aloud, following the letters of a worn book.

the hosts had meanwhile made popcorn, while the child had climbed back into his mother’s pouch. our porter, visibly in an excellent mood, would teased him with the bowl of popcorn, as the boy’s teddy bear-like arm reached out from the hood.

having had my fill of the circumstances, i announced my going to bed for the evening. this was met with a collective “good night!” and i made my way to the bed i had already prepared. i fell asleep with the promise of particularly cold temperatures overnight - buried under many layers, i had an inkling the -13°C outside would not affect me all that much.

the (well documented) treasures of Manang

there is no denying that an evening spent in the company of what truly felt like a community had had a very positive effect on my disposition. i felt regenerated in the morning and my positive mood mirrored that, which in turn brought about a frightening appetite. the previous day’s dhal bhat set and yak curry had set a very high standard; breakfast did not disappoint either.

we set off with a negligible load on our backs and stopped for coffee in Manang. in earnest, i had no desire to get caffeinated and instead wished to connect to the internet for unfinished business - the sort of work-related matter i simply could no longer postpone. with “serious matters” out of the way - boy, do i love experiencing professional and personal catastrophes whenever I’m visiting the ends of the Earth - we made our way through the maze which are the back streets of Manang.

*Manang: wares for virtually any customer.*

we made good progress on the slopes adjacent to the town - Tenzi obviously had an excellent understanding of the area. having been greeted with enthusiastic bleats from a herd of goats, we reached an impressive vantage point. what could have been abandoned structures abounded, though there was no denying the trail is heavily used during peak season. to my surprise, Tenzi gestured for me to carry on shortly after, an instruction i resisted: i had not had enough of the view.

a short hike later, we reached the Praken Gompa, a tiny, mostly self-sufficient inhabited hermitage. having had a good look around, i followed my guide into the structure itself, behind a wall that could have easily belonged to a fortress. down a narrow stone passageway, with floors covered in wooden planks, yet another entrance awaited. Tenzi invited me in - with my heart pounding and not knowing what to expect, i was met with the all-knowing gaze of a nun. donning the traditional crimson vest, she had me kneel before her and uttered what i would later learn had been a blessing. i prostrated and she pulled my neck down with surprising strength - i had been hopelessly trying to catch my breath, but she tied a colourful string around my neck and promptly booted me out.

donning the traditional crimson vest, she had me kneel before her and uttered what i would later learn had been a blessing. i prostrated and she pulled my neck down with surprising strength - i had been hopelessly trying to catch my breath, but she tied a colourful string around my neck and promptly booted me out.

what followed was the journey back to Manang, subsequently, the village our guest house was in. yet the day had more in store for me, and i felt truly blessed when i was invited to inspect the village’s gompa. to my surprise, its custodian was no one other than “grandma” herself, which could only mean i would have almost unfettered access to its interior.

the course of the evening was not too dissimilar from the first one’s. with it being too cold to run out for “yak shit,” our hosts got the fire going using hand sanitiser, an act the irony of which i could not help but chuckle at. to my delight, at one point, through Tenzi’s linguistic assistance, i gathered that “grandma” had complimented me for listening in rather than speaking of myself.

the High Camp

with the breadth of new experiences i had taken in at our temporary adoptive family, it felt nigh unusual to be hitting the trail.

we left the magnitude of Manang’s landscapes behind rather quickly. i saw the inhospitable, desert-like stretches of rock change to something akin to a subpolar environment. various herbs and shrubs still erupted in flurries of earthy colours, while the ice, both above and below our level of walking, still blinded me in the presence of the sun. moss-covered cairns awaited at every turn, possibly to guide travellers during poor weather conditions, while small settlements reassured me of perpetual human presence on the way. goats and yaks could be seen grazing or crossing the vast expanses, some of which dared to walk close to the pathway. the earthen trail would eventually turn into rocky slopes, with stones ranging in size from pebbles to gigantic boulders threatening to spring to life and level us along with the rest of the terrain.

it felt as if we were truly knocking on the gates of Heaven, but i knew the plan featured trekking to a little above 4000 metres for the day. the altitudes presented little challenge - i had grown thoroughly acclimatised and with the strength of two nights’ deep sleep, i wanted to press ahead to our next checkpoint.

*Chullu West, on the way to Yak Kharka. pictured here, a gentleman who overtook us on the trail, then proceeded to blast* *throat singing trance music* *on his portable speaker. sweet!*

in the very middle of the valley, at Yak Karkha (“yak camp”), after a mere two hours’ walk, we stopped for “lunch.” indeed, our timetable had been creeping upwards, with breakfast typically starting at 6:30 or perhaps 7, and lunch, as early as 11. i did not mind this state of affairs at all, but Tenzi eventually told me the establishment providing our meal would host us for the night too. my immediate reaction of revolt aside - we had gotten up very early just for the sake of walking for two hours -, i saw an opportunity to claw back some extra time in Kathmandu. i asked Tenzi whether we’d be able to reach our next checkpoint instead, a question which i eventually turned into a stern demand. unhappy with the sudden change of plans, he pushed back against my decision, which i completely understood. however, we would carry on: i would not get another chance at visiting Nepal any time soon. he advised our porter accordingly, who elected to skip lunch and instead maintained a steady walking pace until later on.

therein lies a fundamental mistake: i was aware our next checkpoint would be the so-called “Base camp,” at an altitude of a little over 4,000 metres. what i did not ascertain appropriately was the distance we would actually end up walking, as well as the time required to do so. in other words, i could not have imagined we would end up walking as the sun set, and i had only gotten dressed for a long walk in the (unbridled) sun. having already spent a few days and especially nights in the cold, i felt confident enough to only wear a lightly insulated windbreaker.

we had long “lost” our porter by the time we reached the Base Camp. a quick look around the (impermanent) settlement revealed many a lethargic hiker, some enjoying the sun from behind the glass of mess hall windows, others putting away bottles of beer outside. lightly equipped groups of trekkers could also be seen walking the slopes above the Camp, often in perfect tandem, suggesting people had been training for the ascent to Thorung La. scoffing at the many signs warning of the symptoms of altitude sickness, i chugged down a bottle of water and awaited my guide’s signal to depart. we did so not much later, though the sun had already begun to set.

*a group of trekkers leaving the Base Camp.*

we were still making our way to the High Camp (4,800m), battling an uncustomarily steep and icy climb, when the sun disappeared behind the opposing ridge. still dressed in my windbreaker - the porter had not caught up -, i felt distressingly cold all of a sudden. the climb had made me sweat profusely and every gust of wind somehow made its way underneath my top layer. i had no choice but to keep on walking, short of breath or not. it had gotten quite difficult, as we had already climbed over a thousand metres in altitude over the course of a single day. while the nausea typically associated with unacclimated climbing did not feature on the day’s menu, it truly was difficult to maintain my system well oxygenated. yet, with the sudden drop in temperature, the many cairns i had walked past in Kilimanjaro kept coming to mind.

the mess hall of the High Camp was as cold as it was crowded. a multitude of nationalities shared stories, had their tea, and engaged in general revelry, but my focus was survival. i danced around, to the vague amusement of some, and the discomfort of others, yet i knew there was no other way to stave off the cold. i eventually ordered a hot mug of spiced tea, which did little to alleviate the panic which had taken hold of my body. with no choice but to hang on, i awaited the coming of the porter, who would take another 90 minutes to arrive.

the mess hall of the High Camp was as cold as it was crowded. a multitude of nationalities shared stories, had their tea, and engaged in general revelry, but my focus was survival.

once dressed appropriately, i sunk into the same sort of lethargy i’d witnessed at the Base Camp: head down and face covered with the collar of my low temperature anorak, i quaked for almost two hours before i could walk out of the mess hall.

nonetheless, once fed and reasonably warm, i made my way out of my stony room to take a few photos of the surrounding environment, along with a starry sky i am never likely to forget. a night of shallow sleep would follow, as is usually the case at higher altitudes.

*don’t be fooled: it was much, much darker than it appears.*

Thorung La to Muktinath

as is expected of sleeping at high altitudes, my short night over at the High Camp could hardly be referred to as restful. Kilimanjaro’s base camp had had the very same effect over the functioning of my body: in tandem with a strange sort of pressure behind my eyeballs (or maybe inside?), i slept lightly and experienced vivid, nonsensical dreams which, as my notes would suggest, i still remembered later in the day.

i lugged myself out of my sleeping bag around 03:45. the guide had already knocked on my door and met me with the same urgency i had grown slightly annoyed by - i had never been late. i solemnly packed my bag and walked to the mess hall. the breakfast i had ordered the night before (as had been the case with all meals - order in advance, mention the precise timing of your meal) consisted of a mug of (instant, as one would reasonably expect) black coffee, two chapati, so as to facilitate digestion, honey, to fuel my system which i had deliberately deprived of sugar for days, and a mug of masala chai. many of the faces around the room looked downright stricken. some did come across as fairly neutral, especially a group of Germans i had been eavesdropping on the night before, but the air was thick with discomfort.

we set off in a large group of trekkers and porters, lighting the way with our headlamps. it looked a lot like a procession: walking through the darkness, groups of shadowy figures spoke quietly amongst themselves, as if not to disturb the mountains’ sleep.

Tenzi and i would eventually gain considerable advantage over the rest of the group: their pacing was much more… prudent. i felt the strain on my body this time around. missing a single step, slipping, or even slightly hastening my pace would inevitably translate into a bout of panting. looking downwards, on account of all the layers covering my neck, would impair my breathing, leading to a similar effect. i felt lightheaded throughout the entirety of the ascent, but was fully conscious of the necessity for breathing deeply, consistently, and maintaining awareness.

*grab a plastic chair and enjoy a cup of tea over at Thorung La Pass.*

waves of exaltation washed over me once i saw the little metal plate at the very top. it would be at least 30 minutes before the other teams would catch up with us at Thorong La. my layering was appropriate - the cold hardly got through it and i had one less thing to worry about. i did feel slightly woozy, though i knew i’d have no lapses in memory this time around. shortly after our arrival, a group of well equipped porters passed us by, preceded by a gentleman who ran a tiny tea house right in the saddle of the pass.

coming down the pass was a relief, albeit short lived. it was still cold; ice and snow covered everything, both frozen stiff. we could have been walking on ice tens, if not hundreds of years old. to our dismay, portions of the pathway leaning sideways were covered in battered snow, the sort of slippery substance which makes crampons an absolute necessity. our porter did not own a pair and instead chose to improvise: cunningly, he took one of the two pairs of socks he was wearing and covered his boots for extra grip. to my surprise, it did work, yet the angle of the path soon became completely unmanageable. in a last ditch attempt to save the situation, i dug my boots into the side of the pathway and attempted to get the porter to hold onto me and move, one step at a time. it worked, yet progress was very slow. the group which had passed us by earlier eventually came to our rescue.

i later found out that our porter had been offered a spare pair of crampons, yet he had not uttered a word in response. Tenzi later pointed out the man who carried our stuff was hearing impaired.

***

*i should have probably done more research on Muktinath.*

documented as a site of some significance by Maurice Herzog, Muktinath failed to impress with its Hindu and Buddhist sites. we had likely arrived at a suboptimal time of the year, as my parents would later propose: they had visited mere days before my arrival and had met crowds upon crowds of jolly worshippers. for us, the entirety of the settlement appeared deserted, the dust of its earthen roads only stirred by vehicles far and apart. without the spectacle of the crowds, there was little left to contemplate in the dusty town on the Tibetan Plateau. our hotel i did feel appreciative for: a warm shower had certainly made me feel more comfortable, especially after the ascent to Thorung La.

crossing the desert - a long march to Marpha

a very early start meant freezing temperatures yet again, though it all turned out to be worthwhile: the most spectacular desert landscape slowly unfolded before us as the sun rose. to me, all this was a surprise: i had never imagined Mustang would be so dry.

this would hardly change for the rest of the day, as we trekked the vast rocky fields towards Jomson valley. once our descent had taken us to Kali Gandaki river, the outlandishness of the scenery increased even further: a dust bowl-like valley sprawled between tall and rugged mountain ranges, dotted by stone structures, unfinished building sites, and the odd patch of fertile soil. nonetheless, humour, at times, crosses linguistic and cultural barriers, and the ironically-named “Hillton Hotel” reminded me of humanity’s shared cultural existence.

we followed the road through the valley, covering our faces against the dust and blinding sunlight. the rhythmical, methodical walking, along with the constant whirring of the dust-filled wind, had invited meditation. by lunchtime, we had covered a rather long distance, yet it certainly did not feel that way. it would hardly be an overstatement to say we had been pardoned by the elements and had been left to our thoughts. we eventually made our way to the town of Jomsom, where among frightening groups of soldiers and oversized buses, we stopped for possibly the best lunch i’d had on the trail.

we eventually made our way to the town of Jomsom, where among frightening groups of soldiers and oversized buses, we stopped for possibly the best lunch i’d had on the trail.

given how little i could communicate with the guide, i often found it difficult to understand his intentions or why, at times, we had made minor changes to the plan. this is not to say that i minded; i merely wish i could have documented what was happening. nevertheless, as our little adventure in Manang had suggested, no accommodation had been booked in advance. if the options available in a set location would not meet his criteria, i suppose the guide would simply elect to walk to the next settlement. in reality, i believe i would have never gotten an answer to any question that may have shone a negative light on the situation. instead, queries were usually met with a reassuring smile and a very brief instruction of what would happen next, though i could still read a surprisingly broad range of emotions on Tenzi’s face.

as altitudes decreased, temperatures did the opposite, and the landscape changed with every mile we walked. Jomsom Valley is well known for its orchards, which follow the Kali Gandaki river in a narrow, colourful strip. as such, the entire area appeared to have apples and various adjacent products on sale.

around dusk, one of these villages revealed a scene i may permanently consign to memory. golden sunlight flooded the narrow alleyways we crossed. there, a little girl dragged a cat around by one of its front legs. she looked as if she wished to hold the cat’s “hand,” yet the poor animal merely tolerated the interaction, not so much enjoyed it. as she ran around in the company of other similarly sized children, i lost track of her. but just as we were leaving the village, she re-emerged into a doorway, holding two cats, each under one of her arms. it had all happened too fast for me to react accordingly, my camera still sheathed in its makeshift holster.

on the cusp of nightfall, we arrived in the town of Marpha. very Buddhist in nature and with a consecrated monastery blaring its ceremonial speakers at times, Marpha struck me as a wonderfully complex location. i would not get too much time to take in all the colourful roofs, stocked with drying racks for meats and other produce, the tiny shrines only reachable by climbing the nearby rock wall, or the delightfully layered guest house we spent the night in. the rooftop of the latter proved to be a particularly interesting place to climb, with its earthen surfaces and a number of hidden shacks, inhabited by locals, whom we had found warming up by the kitchen fireplace.

supplies on the rooftops of Marpha.

to my surprise, the guest house in Marpha even presented the opportunity for a hot shower, one which i would gladly take advantage of and subsequently regret. nonetheless, sleep came easily that night. i disappeared into the void effortlessly, with thoughts of climbing Island Peak.

Kalopani and beyond

i knew something had gone wrong when i woke up with a sore throat. the all too familiar pressure behind my eyes, along with general weakness were both telltale signs of a cold in the making. with a bit of paracetamol onboard, i packed up and made sure to get some breakfast down before hitting the road again.

before continuing on what would be a long stretch of asphalt trekking, i insisted we attempt to reach one of the shrines perched onto the rock wall neighbouring Marpha. after a short hike, we uncovered that a landslide had wiped out the path entirely. continuing up that way would likely mean endangering our lives, so we left it, carrying on through the orchard-filled valleys.

a guest house in Tukche. on the right: a device used to channel sunlight into heat.

the condition of my health did not truly appear to be improving as we went - i had hoped i would be able to get away with nothing but a day’s worth of weakness, but was sorely mistaken. the cold had taken a firm hold of my system: breathing proved difficult and breaking a sweat would typically mean bouts of shivering in the cold wind. it only got progressively worse.

as the valley widened, we eventually made our way across the riverbed. it should be noted that crossing the Kali Gandaki river meant a solid 30 minutes of walking across the gravel. on the other side of the river awaited a markedly different ecosystem, with lush meadows, coniferous forests, and tiny settlements scattered about the shrubs. all of a sudden, i was presented with a vision of pastoral Nepal, without the biting cold and landslide warnings, where the icy peaks only watched paternally over the insect-like creatures moving about in the plains below. chickens, cows, and other livestock roamed the land, and the tall grasses swayed lazily in the wind.

after more than ten days on the trail, i finally felt at peace within my own body. it could be argued that a seasoned hiker should feel comfortable even as the external circumstances prove to be unfriendly. i am in no position to disprove that, yet for once, walking the pristine landscape which unfolded before me felt good, without the added pressure of the cold air or scorching sun.

as we left the forest, we stopped for lunch in one of these small settlements, one which appeared to have as many abandoned houses as it did inhabitants. a tall, burly man took my order, subsequently conveying it in a deep, frightening voice to “mami,” the mistress of the house. Nepali cuisine had so far been relatively constant in its composition and my latest meal would be as amazing as the rest, but much, much spicier. this would not change for the remainder of my time in Mustang, with increasingly spicier dishes.

we reached Kalopani, our destination for the day, customarily early. in a deviation from his usual “stick to the plan” approach to each day’s schedule, Tenzi suggested we carry on. it certainly had not helped that the accommodation offerings along the way had proven substandard.

so we did walk on, following the twists and turns of one of the most beautiful roads i have ever been graced to walk on. this one had also been covered in tarmac, making access just a tad easier. i still felt relatively weak, but kept moving at a steady pace.

we must have walked at least another ten kilometres before we found bed for the night. passing through a string of abandoned settlements, i realised that Jomson’s title as the deepest gorge in the world brought not only otherworldly beauty, but also difficulties in access. as we went, Tenzi would point out the remains of previously-used routes, often taking the shape of collapsed bridges (over frighteningly deep ravines), overgrown pathways, or abandoned inns.

we eventually stopped over at the Eagle’s Nest, a cosy lodge somewhere along the way, with tidy rooms and a courtyard where grains had been left to dry. an elderly woman ran the establishment and i understood that along with the many electoral campaigners, the regular keepers of the Nest had also left. she could not quite walk, often getting down on her knees just to ascend a single step, yet she did so with stoicism. as the sole caretaker of the establishment, she was the one responsible for the cooking too - an activity in which our guide and porter gladly partook. this resulted in a luscious meal, the precise contents of which i no longer recall.

my state, however, had worsened throughout the day and i knew I’d have to deal with a fever. no amount of ginger tea would get me back on my feet now, and i braced for a night of shivering. i realised that something had indeed gone awfully wrong - had i still been up at higher altitudes, in the freezing Himalayan winds, perhaps in a tent, my mistake would have likely cost me the entire expedition. i am still unsure as to when it all happened, but this outcome had unquestionably been a result of my own lack of preparation or simply insufficient layering. i found it difficult to move and eventually drifted away into the sort of confused sleep fever affords you.

i realised that something had indeed gone awfully wrong - had i still been up at higher altitudes, in the freezing Himalayan winds, perhaps in a tent, my mistake would have likely cost me the entire expedition.

one step closer to Shangri-La - Tatopani

the following day would have in store one of the most valuable lessons of the entire trek. a night of erratic dreams had tested my patience and i had gone to sleep bemoaning the possibility of another day of hiking with a fever (or at least, general physical discomfort). but i woke up feeling functional and by the end of breakfast, it felt like i may just be able to walk it off.

*hidden villages within the world’s deepest gorge.*

the Eagle’s Nest turned out to be very well positioned for the next leg of our trek, on a flat patch of land right before the beginning of a spectacular portion of the trail. having crossed a customarily frightening suspended steel bridge, we were greeted with the stone steps of a pathway. the latter could have easily been used for tens, if not hundreds of years by locals and hikers alike. worn in and neatly laid, the steps coexisted with the dense, luscious vegetation of Jomson, creating an impression of permanence. we would walk downstream of the Kali-Gandaki river, on the left side of the gorge.

the trails’ winding pathway led us through more partially abandoned settlements, with locals at times greeting us heartily, and at others, gesturing us along. while livestock seemed to be the lifeblood of the area, some of the milder hills had been dug into to accommodate a tiny bit of agriculture. dry herbs and flowers adorned some of the houses, which would simply pop up from within the foliage whenever our trail took a turn and revealed a new area.

not once did i find myself standing in place to listen to choirs of song birds, to the aid of which came the lively motion of the environment as a whole.

as altitude decreased, more and more of Jomson’s natural wealth revealed itself to us. from the modest, often earthen abodes of the area just beyond the Eagle’s Nest, performing subsistence agriculture, to the larger quarters of the lowlands, with their courtyards filled with fruit-laden orange trees and bee hives. the salubrity of the area had even put our porter in a good mood, an otherwise quiet and focused fellow. we found him chatting to a local by a fountain, his load left out in the sun, to dry off the sweat. Tenzi had already haggled a sackful of oranges and the porter appeared delighted upon receiving one.

in essence, the lesson i was being taught only had to do with the link between one’s spirits and their physical condition. over the moon with the beauties i was witnessing, i had steadily beaten down my cold. the greenish-coloured, yet remarkably sweet oranges i had gobbled down like a starving man had likely propped up my immunity further, resulting in the sort of conjuncture which could reverse the course of illness. the sun and warmth would have played a part too.

the greenish-coloured, yet remarkably sweet oranges i had gobbled down like a starving man had likely propped up my immunity further, resulting in the sort of conjuncture which could reverse the course of illness. the sun and warmth would have played a part too.

Tatopani awaited our arrival beyond a short stretch of earthen road, one which we had run on the right side of the valley, in parallel with our own trail. on the hill overlooking a place where the road meets the river, the tiny tourist town hosted several guest houses and hotels. but as its name suggested (Tatopani translates to something along the lines of “hot water”), the town had its own eternally running hot spring, a further opportunity for me to bolster the condition of my health. that’s exactly what we did: leaving our modest hotel behind, we walked down to the river and took a long dip in the hot spring.

a journey's end: epilogue

our last day on the trail did involve a bit of hiking, but it was simply more of the same. with the distance between us and the Annapurna range widening, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. i did feel the draw of civilization though, having had just about enough of the freezing cold showers, frosty rooms, or the perennial ritual of packing and unpacking my gear.

our last stop at Ghode Pani meant another one of these nights, but i acknowledged not having had enough of the Himalayas. i wished to savour it. in a way, my spiritual engagement had dropped after our crossing of Thorong La: in my mind, the summit is not necessarily the focal point of a hike, but it’s what makes the struggle worth it. we had summited barely halfway into the circuit, after which my mind had mostly been set on the return trip. i would of course be jolted back to reality each day, but i would inevitably drift back to the very same mindset.

Ghode Pani (“horse water”) is well known for Poon Hill, a vantage point over the Annapurna range, in the jungle nearby. visitors make a 4AM start and make their way to a tiny plateau over at Poon Hill, thus catching a most spectacular sunrise.

we did the exact same. faced with a long queue and subsequently, the crowds elbowing for a spot on the tower of Poon Hill, it finally sunk in that the trek had all but ended.

later that day, i would be shipped to Pokhara by means of jeep, closing yet another chapter of my book of journeys.

so what does the prologue mean, then? - i was surprised to see just how much of a toll the whole affair had taken on my body. i lost around ten pounds over the course of two weeks. in conjunction with my spotty facial hair and bald crown, i look as if I’d fled war on foot.

i was glad, however, that it had all happened. tucked into the thick (and fresh!) beddings of my hotel room in Pokhara, i wondered aloud: “so… what do i do next?”