Trek Nepal 2000: Up North
Contents
- Flying Through Mountains
- Walking Up the Kali Gandaki
- A Base at Jharkot
- Touching Thorong La
- Down Hill From Here
Flying Through Mountains
Another day but what a day. After our flight from Pokara to Jomosom we seemed to be in another world.
We woke at 05:30 for a very early breakfast then off to the airport by taxi. The terminal building was full of people, many of Tibetan appearance, but they were dwarfed by their mountains of baggage. We checked in on Yeti tickets but were flying Cosmic Air, going through a security check that included a body search. The aircraft, a Dornier 228, was first of three departures (ahead of Ghorka and RNAC) at about 07:50, climbing rapidly away to the north.
Cloud obscured the mountains, although the view down onto endless terraces was fascinating enough. We must have climbed to an altitude of around 2,700 metres (9,000 ft) or so when suddenly through a break in the cloud, way above us we saw our first grand peak at close hand – the elegant and quite distinctive Machhapuchhre (Fish Tail). There was tangible excitement among our group as more and more great mountain peaks and slopes appeared beside and above us – we were well below the surrounding mountain tops so were flying in the rather extraordinary situation of through rather than over. We were in fact flying up the Kali Gandaki valley which is described as the world’s deepest gorge, being located between Dhaulagiri and Annapurna which are both 8,000 metre peaks. It is equally certain that our aircraft had nowhere to go but up the valley, being unable to reach elevations that would enable it to escape even if it wanted to.
A beautiful symmetrical ice spire appeared momentarily through a hole in the rapidly diminishing cloud. Peak after peak soared above the plane, while snow dusted ridges swept by outside seemingly close enough to touch as we jinked and turned up the gorge while flat roofed villages flashed by below. I found the whole experience quite overwhelming; nothing that I had read or seen had prepared me for this experience. Barely ten minutes from a fairly normal third world town and here we were effectively on another planet. The impact of actually being there among these magnificent mountains, let alone the novel experience of flying between them rather than over them was simply breathtaking. It just seemed go on and get better as the cloud fell away while we flew north. A spectacular introduction to both the mountains and trek.
At a broadening in the valley a cliff rose up to meet us from the valley floor, and without noticeably descending at all we skated straight onto the short unmade runway with a fair bit of reverse thrust, brakes and dust, to come to a stop before we fell off the far end. The flight to Jomosom lasted just 17 minutes, but without a doubt would be the most sensational flight I have ever taken. It was surely one of those experiences that gives definition to the word unforgettable.
Our Dornier is dwarfed by the amazing ice spires that backdropped Jomosom on our arrival.
We stepped out into a place considerably above the height of Kosciuszko, to be greeted by Nilgiri standing another two Kosciuszko’s above us, glittering white in the morning sun, while behind us other partially cloud enshrouded mountains soared to infinity.
The Nilgiris – the hanging glaciers of monumental proportions looked tame from a couple of kilometres lower.
What a place, and what a way to arrive. In a matter of minutes we had been transported from a very ordinary small airport in a fairly ordinary Nepalese town, to some sort of wonderland. If experiences were what I came to Nepal to get, then things were already beginning to look decidedly overloaded.
The expedition porters came and met us at the plane and carried our bags back along the main street, an unmade rough stone strip between rows of flat roofed lodges, ‘resteraunts’ and travel agents, to the Laligurans (Rhododendron) Hotel – toward the north end of the ‘new’ town.
Jomosom is a typical Nepalese village tucked into the river valley of the Kali Gandaki in what is really a high elevation desert.
An inspired move was to set up the trek table and chairs on the flat hotel roof and have morning tea in the fresh morning air looking straight up to Nilgiri with its attendant snow, ice and huge hanging glaciers. The ladder was a halved log with toe holds cut into it, which was something of an acquired art to negotiate. These ladders were common throughout the Mustang region, despite the lack of source material in the arid landscape.
Once morning tea had finished, and no one was hurrying, an excursion was called for to Thinigaon (Thini), about 3 km away across the valley, to check out possible camping sites and to start the acclimatisation process with a bit of an outing.
Thini, across the valley, looked an enticing destination for a morning acclimatization visit.
The route was initially north past the army barracks, populated fairly thinly with rather bored looking soldiers, across a newish suspension bridge then south east toward our objective. Our route across the wide valley progressively ascended minor cliffs and through cultivated terraces to a walled track that led straight into the village. A trio of small gompas were dotted up the hillside above the village, while livestock barriers were in evidence to stop the village animals, mainly zopkes (yak crosses), from getting in among the crops.
Gompa perched on the ridge above Thini village.
The village was more substantial than it appeared from afar, with narrow alleyways running between a tangle of split level and multi-level houses made from the local stone. All had the now familiar flat roofs, made from logs topped with planks covered with ‘slates’ capped with a mud render, and almost universally topped with a fringe of stored firewood.
Animal pens were built into the houses, making it difficult to tell where one property ended and the next began. Some of the alleyways looked straight onto the adjacent snow capped peaks adding a somewhat surreal touch to the whole scene.
A typical Thini scene of narrow alleys and vast mountains.
Min located a friend of his, Bill, and we were invited en masse into his house. The entry, an open area, was carpeted with juniper which gave a delightful olfactory ambiance to the place. The kitchen was next, a pair of clay ovens in a small room with unglazed windows looking on to the mountains to the west. A tiny door (by my standards) led to a dining / lounge area off which ran a store room and a bedroom. Stone steps led from the courtyard to the next level where garlic was drying outside another bedroom, while log ladder ran up to another level where grain was spread out in the sun to dry. Another log ladder then ran to the ultimate roof with grand views in all directions over the inevitable stack of firewood. An amazingly complex but compact place.
A tangle of roof lines with a rustic ladder joining two of them.
Bill and his wife turned on tea; not just tea but Tibetan salt and butter tea, black tea and milk tea, all paired off with local apples. By the time we (certainly the novices among us) had tried all alternatives we were fairly well awash on the inside. I wonder how well I would cope with ten unexpected non english speaking guests arriving back home without warning. Not as well as these people did. A wonderful introduction to trek hospitality.
While we were in Thini the wind had risen and was blowing strongly up the valley from the south, while scuds of cloud were beginning to tag around the peaks. Flights into Jomosom are restricted to the morning before the wind gets up since landing into the wind then becomes impossible to achieve in the narrow valley. We only took a day or two to get used to the weather pattern; still sunny mornings, valley winds from mid morning and increasing cloud (and lower temperatures) in the afternoon.
The view back across the river had the only colour of any consequence – green of the new crops.
We made our way back through the village, but detoured to the lowest of the gompas that we had seen on the way in. From there Jenny and I, in our heroic way, decided we needed a bit of exertion, and more altitude, so set off for the highest gompa, perhaps 100 metres higher and probably about 3,000 metres (9,800 ft) elevation. The uphill walk was quite breathtaking in the thin air but not difficult, which gave us great heart about going to greater heights when the opportunity allowed. Several others joined us up there to soak up the view while being buffeted by the now unrestrained wind.
The group straggled back to Jomosom for a somewhat later than intended lunch, followed by a rest or, as became almost a ritual, writing in diaries. Tents were set up in the hotel courtyard, since Thini had no flat land that hadn’t been planted with summer crops.
Overview of Jomosom with the end of the airfield near bottom right.
Mid afternoon Jenny and I, still full of physical zeal and exploratory bravado, set off to explore a small yellow roofed gompa on the hillside just south of Jomosom town, noting such oddities as the Bakery And Birthday Cake Shop on the way.
At the gompa there was a reasonably well used track to somewhere above, which was rather an invitation to explore where it went. It went indeed – to the Jomosom Mountain Resort. This improbable building, a partially finished 5 star hotel. seemed at first sight to be deserted, but when we turned up at the front door we were duly met and escorted in. The lobby is a grand affair with a peaked rock the central feature, mimicking the real peaks opposite.
We decided that coffee would be welcome, and so it came to be that no less than three charming waiters, all a bit green at their task but very friendly and willing, came to serve us in the otherwise deserted great dining room. A quite extraordinary vignette in a rather extraordinary place. We returned down a donkey trail to the main track, just in time to meet a mule train, presaged by the gentle clonking of the belled animals. If there is a single sound evocative of rural Nepal it would have to be the multi-toned, curiously non-directional bells of a mule train on the move.
A mule train bells its way into town, a sound that we became very fond of in time.
On the track back to town we came across the local Eco Museum. It was very well set up and covered the local villages, geology, geography and artifacts in well presented detail. Less impressive were the biology and botany sections, which really looked in need of a qualified curator and some funding. A functioning monastery was also included in the building. We were more or less turned out at closing time (except Nepalese don’t actually do that, they just wait until you go) and arrived back ‘home’ at about 17:15 just in time for drinks and dinner.
Dinner was typical, soup then a four-part main course, in this case rice, dahl, chicken curry and vegetable, followed by a desert which was a stove top cake with ‘Welcome to Kali Gandaki Trek’ icing. It was not long after dinner that we all retired for the night. The dogs of Jomosom had other plans, and virtually all night they barked, fought, chased each other and generally caused mayhem. No wonder they looked so torpid during the day!
Walking Up the Kali Gandaki
Arose at about 06:00 in the dark, only to see Nilgiri and Dhaulagiri sparkling in the moonlight in a brilliantly clear sky. I was so entranced that I almost neglected why I got up in the first place. Sometime later the daily routine began with a cup of tea ‘in bed’, followed by warm washing water, followed by packing up the tent then breakfast, which saw the launch of real coffee, courtesy my coffee plunger. There was some discussion early about how to ‘manage’ squat toilets – I suspect in part to enlighten those of us who were naïve travellers. Not the most salubrious subject, although fairly useful!
An exercise in futility – sweeping the track through Jomosom.
We set off at 08:00, this time up the west bank to the old timber cantilever bridge at the top end of town, before heading up the Kali Gandaki valley. The track sometimes wandered along the expansive pebble flood plain and sometimes on tracks sidling the river bank. In places the riverbed was hundreds of metres wide, emphasised by the tiny figures periodically visible walking on the far side.
The vast pebble flood plain of the Kali Gandaki has Dhaulagiri as a back drop.
All the way other walkers, both locals and trekkers, were visible heading in both directions. Several mule trains passed while a couple of flamboyant horsemen galloped past with style. A flock of black headed sheep added to the animal experience.
Yaks with burdens of fodder – highlighting the arid nature of the area.
Sheep grazing on … what? Part of the subsistence economy.
Behind us Dhalaugiri, seventh highest place on the planet, came into view above the valley, only to be replaced by smaller (a relative word) Nilgiri as the river twined its way north. A fresh clear morning meant that these two ‘guardians’ were real stand out features of the walk. About half way to Kagbeni a fan delta of quite some magnitude announced a river from the east, while shortly afterwards the Kali Gandaki narrowed to a point where a suspension bridge was provided for summer access to the far side.
Around the next bend a small settlement, Ekliabhatti (Lonely Tea House), provided an excellent excuse to stop for morning tea at the peculiarly named Hilton. There was wailing and gnashing of teeth going on, apparently to do with a family bereavement, despite which they still managed to produce tea for us. A relatively short walk along the river valley, leaving the high level route for the return journey, got us to Kagbeni in time for lunch.
A steep pinch took us over a knoll where the river had cut into the bank.
By now the late morning valley winds were in full flight and we were appreciative of the glassed-in restaurant that had been chosen. Two Australian girls appeared here, having arrived from over the Thorong La pass, and were the first compatriots we had come across. Europeans and Americans were thick on the ground, but not Australians.
The village of Kagbeni with flat roofed houses loaded with firewood.
After lunch we headed to the 530 year old gompa (monastery), where for a reasonable fee we were shown around, but not allowed to take photos. Their prized possession is undoubtedly a ‘700’ year old book of Buddhist texts that is supposed to have been smuggled out of Tibet and is used as a source for the novices in their transcriptions.
From the roof we could look into the ‘forbidden kingdom’ of Mustang, which nowadays is not so much forbidden as just very expensive. At Kagbeni we had come as far north as we were allowed and from here we would be heading east to the shrines of Muktinath. Before doing that we explored the old fortified town adjacent to the gompa, a complex of underground and multi-layered passages and buildings all tumbled together. It was not a particularly pleasant place and was probably the least charming location we met on the whole trek. At one point we came to a really grotty courtyard, where adults were down in the dirt stuffing animal intestines, while the grubby urchins with runny noses were begging for anything they could get. We did not make their day, nor they ours. Even the dogs were cranky dirty animals, and later a woman tourist was freaking out after being bitten by one. Rabies is common in dogs and monkeys, we had been told.
After a bit of backtracking we took the path up toward Muktinath, heading for our overnight spot at Khinga some 400 metres (1,300 ft) above where we then were.
Climbing away from Kagbeni toward Thorong La.
The track climbed in a series of swooping ascents, and it was not long before the Jhong Kola was far below us. Various pilgrims were heading our way, the more affluent on horses while the rest were hoofing it, just as we were. Bill, Jenny and I seemed to be the A team and more or less plodded on non stop.
The track up the Jhong Kola valley climbed sharply, in contrast to our morning river level walk.
The afternoon chill brought little flurries of sleet, not enough to be of concern but certainly a reminder we were now getting seriously high. The track at one point, where the worst climbing ended and remnant drifts of snow first appeared, looked way down on the skeleton of a ruined village, abandoned terraces and a plethora of burial caves. Maybe the village in its low level location was too hard to defend in times past?
Burial caves cut into the cliffs near a long abandoned village.
As we gained elevation the view expanded in all directions, but the most dramatic aspect was the almost total absence of trees; just rock and scree in every direction up to the point where the snows began. Colours were few, being all shades of earthy from dun of the mud cliffs to ochre and tan, to a variety of subtle tones of gray through to dark black. Erosion gullies scored the steeper valley sides and cliffs while the more tractable slopes had a scattering of scrubby bushes somewhat reminiscent of Nullarbor saltbush. The air was noticeably dry but of course it was anything but hot.
Our camp site was in a barn yard at the south end of Khinga, the yaks having graciously retreated to the adjacent smaller yard for the rest of the day then indoors for the night. This resulted in at least one hairy faced encounter when the wrong door was opened in the middle of the night. Dinner was served in a rammed earth floor ‘drinning’ room at the nearby Blue Sheep Hotel (or Blue Ship as their business card would have it). Everyone was tired after our first day of real exertion, and we all retreated to bed straight after dinner – maybe 19:30 at latest.
A Base at Jharkot
We woke up to find the tents covered in frost, presaging another pleasant morning. The first sign of life was a local striding down the track with a live goat roped to his back, reminding us that here all transport was on legs and not wheels. The wake up, wash and breakfast routine was similar to the day before. Departure for the two kilometre walk to Jharkot was momentarily delayed while several of the group bought from the hotel woollen wares and trinkets display.
Walkers approaching Jharkot village after the very short walk from our overnight stop.
The village of Jharkot – where we stopped for two nights.
The short walk was in brilliant sunshine, although ice persisted on trackside ponds and as a spiky necklet across a small cascade. Most of the way we were beside irrigation channels that fed glacial mountain water to lower terraces. Numerous trekkers, horses, mounted horsemen and lone locals passed along the track.
A mani wall, made up with hundreds of stone slabs inscribed with Buddhist prayers, marked the entry to Jharkot.
The mani wall visible beside the track as it enters Jharkot.
Our base for the next two nights was the barnyard of the Himal Hotel, which had a very pleasant attached courtyard in which we relaxed, diaried and chatted quite a bit of the morning away. We were now another 200 metres (700 ft) or so higher and snow capped peaks were visible on three sides.
Late morning Martin, Jenny and I headed out for an exploratory walk. We got about 50 metres to another hotel serving rooftop tea, from where we were able to watch the somewhat intrusive arrival of two helicopters with a load of ‘soft’ tourists on a day trip. We were then distracted by ‘Tibetan’ wares on sale in the hotel and by the time that we had finished it was lunch time. So much for exploration!
After lunch, exploration was much more effective. Five of us headed to the gompa, being distracted by a young scarf hawker in the town centre and partially waylaid by an ancient Tibetan salesman closer to our objective. At the gompa we were greeted much more openly than at Kagbeni and not only shown around but allowed to take photos. The wrinkled old Tibetan frieze painter and several novices were our guides and put on an impromptu performance on drum, cymbals and conch shell for our benefit, followed by a blast or two on the amazing extending horn.
Our guides and performers at the Gompa.
This gompa also had an ancient book of texts and half a wall of new ones produced as part of the novice’s training. Once again, we visited the roof top, on which one of us nearly tried the ‘one more step backward’ trick at the edge of the roof. This gompa is located on the tip of a jutting promontory of rock with a commanding presence over the surrounding area, so the extra step would be quite painful. When we came out of the gompa Ian had started a portrait of the Abbott, who with his impassive persona was an excellent model. The rest of us were quite entertained watching the proceedings, while the monks were fascinated.
The Abbott in his portrait pose for Ian, nicely framed by the Gompa entry.
In time we left to look around the ruined fortifications in the village, waving aside the old Tibetan hawker as we went. Somewhere along the way Jenny decided that we should go after all and see what he had to offer so we navigated our way through a maze of narrow alleys and paths until we found his house, where we had some trouble attracting his attention. He called us in from the upper level then led us through smoke filled rooms joined by very low doorways, past the dung store, to a third room with at least a bit of daylight.
He then seated us on the floor and drew out a number of grubby sacks, from which he drew equally dirty cloths, out of which he produced his wares for sale. He started quoting US dollar prices, perhaps mistaking us for ‘soft’ tourists from the helicopters, but when we indicated we were dealing in Nepalese money a language barrier arose. He didn’t know English numbers and we didn’t know Nepalese numbers, so in the end we resorted to raised fingers. In the middle of all this the helicopters started up in response to which he made frantic signs that we should hurry off until we convinced him they had nothing to do with us. His prices seemed high which along with the general ambiance of his storage arrangements rather inhibited our interest in his wares. Jenny eventually got a three coloured metal bracelet which, like my reluctant bell purchase in Kathmandu, subsequently became one of the prized acquisitions.
Later in the day Jenny and I, filled with still more exploratory zeal, went for a walk among the winnowing platforms (or at least we assume that’s what they were) that were sculpted into the slopes below the town. We followed a series of tracks weaving between terraces and platforms until we seemed to be getting somewhat lost as well as cold in the increasingly bleak afternoon weather, which had yet again reduced to gusty winds and flurries of sleet. The remainder of the day was spent indoors with dairies, tea, whisky and dinner.
Touching Thorong La
During the early morning scrub up I washed my thermals and underwear and hung them out between the tents, only to find them frozen solid some a few minutes later. There was no frost to give away the fact that the air temperature was quite a bit below zero. There was no need to pack as we were staying for a second night, allowing the porters a day off which they used to make the pilgrimage to Muktinath with us. We set off about 08:00 up what turned out to be quite a sharply ascending trail.
Trekking up through 3,650 metres (12,000 ft) elevation toward Muktinath.
The day was bright and clear but residual ice in the few damp places were there to remind us that we were in an alpine area despite the arid appearance. Along the way trackside stalls were already set up and it was not long before Bill started off something of a buying spree by making his poodles the beneficiaries of two yak wool blankets.
Start of the track side stalls and a buying spree.
The rest of us more or less restrained ourselves, at least until we reached the wily women opposite the police station check post at Ranipauwa. I bought a yak wool blanket there from an ancient woman as well as an ammonite for Ben which I bartered down to 190 Rs. The seller couldn’t find 10 Rs change so I got a small ammonite instead, the only time I have ever been paid in stone.
Around this point the group became somewhat distended, so that by the time that Vicki, Jenny and I arrived at Muktinath the rest were out of sight somewhere behind us. Jenny and I duly anointed ourselves from the 108 animal head spouts, finding some difficulty in staying upright on the icy ground.
Prayer flags and waterspouts are an unmissable feature of the shrine at Muktinath.
Our porters, who are a truly hardy lot, found it much easier to partially strip and just plunge headlong through the icy water; a much quicker way but surely a way that only a Spartan or a Nepalese could love. To emphasise a point to us softies, a woman who had been walking part of the way to the shrines with us, washed her hair then the rest in the same icy water.
Jenny getting watery blessings, as well as getting cold.
We meandered around the site, eventually finding the flame that adds the third essential to make the earth, fire, water combination that gives this place its spiritual relevance. Prayer wheels here were a fine example of extemporization, being milk and oil tins in earlier lives. The prayers themselves were bulging out in a few cases where the tins were not up to the task.
When Martin arrived at Muktinath, Jenny and I arranged to absent ourselves to walk an hour or so up toward Thorong La to see how we could handle the extra elevation. We set off up the steep track that clambered over the terminal moraine beside the shrine, then continued somewhat laboriously on up the huge valley. A side gulch harboring a bed of ice in its depths demanded that we forgo some of our hard-earned elevation to get across.
The gully and its frozen contents had to be crossed.
From there it was a reasonably consistent but slow climb, past the village herd of grazing (a minimalist activity in these arid parts) yaks and horses, past a ruined herder’s shelter and somewhat improbably to a tea house nestled around the 4,300 metre (14,000 ft) level. A yak herder following up the valley with a wooden dining table as a burden was actually catching up to us when we reached the tea house, and he later provided Jenny with some language lessons while we were partaking of our 25 cent cups of tea.
Jenny and the Yak herder sharpening up language skills at the improbably located tea house at 4,300 metres (14,000 ft).
The view was magnificent every way we looked; a huge view down the arid valley toward Kagbeni and beyond to snow capped peaks, to the left ice encrusted cliffs and gullies to 6,000 metres (20,000 ft) or more, to the right soaring summits and a frozen waterfall, and behind the steep snow dusted track up to the pass itself.
View from the tea house. Thorong La Is the gap at the top.
The sun was out and there was no wind to disturb our idyll. All good things must end and a sense of responsibility to Martin suggested that we should head back, a task that took less than half the time taken to ascend. We got back to the shrine almost exactly on the two hour time, but it took a further 10 minutes to reach lunch on a roof top in Ranipauwa.
About the time that lunch finished the weather packed in, bringing on a chilly afternoon wind. The rest of the group headed back to Jharkot, but we hung around for a while trying to satisfy an unsatisfied buying need. The walk back to our home base was rather uncomfortable in the increasing chill, but while passing a water channel still surmounted by an ice arch mid afternoon, I had to agree that it had never been anything but cold.
Back inside at the Himal, while being amused by our amorous porters and the doe eyed hotel girls engaging with each other, I indulged in some flights of whimsy. The tracks we walk are major trading routes and have been since time immemorial. Even if they look like some of the walking tracks in remote areas back home, they have a quite different purpose. Mule trains serve as a reminder that we are not just in a different place but also in a different era – a time warp. There is a medieval character to the place and its people, but at the same time it successfully continues into the 21st century. These people may not have the material riches that we devote so much of our lives to acquiring, but they seem to achieve a sustainable lifestyle in a fairly hostile environment. The villages would seem of necessity to have developed a culture of cooperative communal living that long pre-dates the modern concept of a commune. The result looks to be a finely balanced, sustainable and reasonably equitable system that relies on an almost feudal system of agriculture in medieval villages.
The forced intrusion of western economic wisdom (an oxymoron of grand proportions) into such places has the potential to completely disrupt the existing fabric of society without offering any alternative to the majority of people; a somewhat frightening prospect given western society’s historical insensitivity. In fact, in the Nepalese culture there is quite a lesson in efficient survival compared to our monumental profligacy.
Down Hill From Here
There were a couple of rumbles of thunder during the night, which alternatively may have been avalanches on nearby high peaks. Whatever they were, in the morning a fine skirt of snow surrounded the bottom of each tent, while the Thorong La valley was completely white. We were a day too early.
We advanced our get up time by half an hour today to try and limit the time we would have to battle valley winds down lower. Jenny and I made a side trip to the gompa to photograph three of the Dali Llama’s sayings that hung there, being gratified to be warmly acknowledged by both our old Tibetan trader and the Gompa frieze painter along the way. On the way out I skidded over in a frozen laneway, sustaining my only injury for the whole trip.
The morning trip down the ‘high road’ to Ekliabhatti was delightful in the soft morning sun. Much to our amazement a couple of mountain bikers passed us, barely under control, as we descended to the tea house; a Japanese man and his daughter. We met them several times further down and got the impression that while he was having a great time, she would rather be anywhere but in Nepal on a bike.
Descending direct to Ekliabhatti gave views back to Kagbeni and the Mustang area.
By the time we had a break at Ekliabhatti the wind had started, making the trip down the Kali Gandaki somewhat uncomfortable as well as hard work.
Trekkers and porters heading down toward Jomosom.
The flood plain looks placid enough, but the headwind made going slow and tedious.
Arrival at Jomosom for lunch, in a sheltered upstairs room at Hotel Tilicho, was more than welcomed by the rapidly tiring group. Three pack horses that we had used up valley were returned and extra porters hired in their place, while another horse was hired to carry Vicki who was suffering from the effects of a throat infection and the arduous morning trek. By the time we left to continue south the afternoon had turned quite cold, and in fact we had hardly started out when it started to sleet quite savagely. Some of the group visited the Eco Museum while the rest continued on.
After some indecision, compounded by the elaborate ‘no way’ message on a nearby rock, we took the low road to Marpha. In places the track was sheltered, but moments later we would be assailed by gale force winds. A couple of sizeable side streams were crossed, one on semi-submerged stepping stones and the other on a rather tenuous pair of logs. A number of plantations of trees were just beginning to come into leaf and flower, adding a mere blush of colour to the landscape. We caught up with a tangle of other trekkers that included a Canadian, two Americans, an indeterminate along with some of our porters, providing a bit of varied company.
Arrival into Marpha at the end of a long day.
Marpha was nestled just beyond a very prominent fan delta and practically the first building was the Trans Himalayan Hotel, which we made our home for the night. The tents were set up on grassy terraces in a walled compound at the back, while the dining room was quite western in its styling and ambiance, even down to the pop music playing in the background. Nobody seemed interested in exploring, although Min needed to go out to get some supplies. Local cider and variously fruited brandies were tested before dinner, a bit of variety from the whisky diet to date.
