Trekking

Here I sit, back in Kathmandu after 8 fantastic days of mountains and fresh air, roaring rivers and howling winds, chilly lodges and crackling fires, yaks and monkeys, tea and daal bhat, rocky cliffs and steep valleys. I could go on and on with this list of delights, now all fresh in my mind, but I’m sure you get the point: trekking in the Himalayas is wonderful.

However, be warned! It comes at great cost. And if you think I’m referring to the absence of phones, running water, roads, news, electricity (well, coming from Kathmandu these days that’s not much of a shock), or mirrors, you are very much mistaken. No, the 9-hour long drive in a local bus from Kathmandu to the trek’s starting point in Syabru Besi, along the steepest ridges, biggest rockslides and worst dirt roads you can imagine, I now count among the worst experiences of my life. Note the term ‘local bus’: these buses are for the most part wider than the road (that’s how it felt, anyway) and in equally bad shape, loaded with people both inside and on top of the roof; which of course adds to the already dangerous swaying… Every few minutes I knew without a doubt that I was going to die, and made desperate attempts to claw my way past the unfortunate Anna, who was seated between me and the window. I hope you get the general idea, because I’m going to stop writing about it right now before I have a heart attack. I’ll just say that we rented a jeep on the way back down, which (apart from being the smartest thing we’ve ever done, in hopes of surviving the trek), saved me a lot of stress and the others several scratches.

I guess I should mention the members and the destination of our little trekking party: our friend Ben, our guide Kushal, Anna and I headed to the Langtang Valley, which is situated north of Kathmandu, towards the Chinese border and in the middle of the Himalayan peaks. Andrea stayed home with her new boyfriend Jakob (for those of you who know him: yes, Anna’s-older-brother-Jakob, the very same. And we thought we were avoiding all potential intrigue by moving to far off Nepal!). Our trek got off to a late start due to the festival of Holi, which (if only I were a more organized and efficient person!) really deserves its own chapter, being a huge nuisance as well as a lot of fun, and the source of many vivid childhood memories. Holi involves intense public water and/or dye-fights, with the participation of everyone from little kids and families to great mobs on motorbikes that roam the city. Foreigners are popular targets, especially girls; for a few days we only left the house very reluctantly and only returned very wet, the time outside mostly spent sprinting or darting in and out of shops (to the delight of many a teenage boy). One of this year’s highlights was the massive rooftop water fight where Ben, Anna and I got thoroughly clobbered by our neighbors; the most feared of whom was mama with her sturdy water pitcher… But I’m getting quite sidetracked, and must return to the tale of our trek.

I believe I was about to start bragging. So, Holi gave us a late start, which meant we needed to catch up, which meant that on the first real day of walking (with backpacks containing everything we needed for the week) we climbed from about 1700m to Langtang village at 3500m, in about 10 hours. This, if you’ve never tried doing it before, meant that we were nearly dead by the time we arrived at the lodge, and had to crawl up the remaining 3 steps. Whimpering. On top of it all it was absolutely freezing cold; the rustic Tibetan cottages with cracks in the walls the size of your arm may seem charming in theory, but I assure you there comes a time when you do not appreciate it. I believe we only survived that evening because we could, already then, see the humor in our pathetic state, and because our guide kept bragging to everyone we met how far and fast we had walked. There is something very satisfying about pushing yourself; I don’t think I have ever been so close to my limit.

The next day we hiked up to Kyanjin Gompa, the highest point of our trek, at 3900m. From there Ben and Kushal went exploring a glacier, and Anna and I enjoyed the spectacular view while fighting headaches and nausea. When it was time for the hike downwards, Kushal performed a small miracle on us which consisted in garlic soup, aspirin and a magic foot-lotion, and we trotted happily down to Ghora Tabela.

Did I say spectacular view? Let me elaborate. Actually, there are no words. To quote my friend the lonely planet: “the Langtang trek (…) gives you the opportunity to get right in among the Himalayan peaks and to walk through remote, sparsely populated areas. (…) the trail passes through an ever-changing climate and offers trekkers an exceptional diversity of scenery and culture.” But this does not even begin to cover the feeling you have when you are standing at the edge of steep, narrow valleys overlooking wild rivers, and at the same time the highest peaks in the world are so close above you that you want to reach right up and touch them; or where the vivid colors of fluttering prayer flags stand out against the rocky, windswept, desolate plains, dotted with stone villages, and the ever-present white peaks are all around you… sigh. No, I will have to show you some pictures:

After our uphill marathon, we took it easy on the way down; stopping to explore caves, climb boulders and soak our feet in the icy river. Evenings in the lodges were devoted to many cups of hot, sweet, milk tea and large portions of rice and daal; intense card games, stories, songs and other cozy activities around the warm wood stove. From Ghora Tabela we went on to Rimche, and the day after that we trudged into Thulo Syabru Besi in an approaching thunderstorm and spent the evening listening to the drumming of rain on a tin roof. The following day the world smelled fresh and earthy, and for the millionth time I seriously considered staying up there forever. From Thulo Syabru Besi the path took us to Dhunche, where (there is a road!) our trek sadly ended in the jeep.

So many sights I never could have imagined, fascinating people we met along the way; and a sort of peaceful slowness of life in which to process it all. A week such as this leaves so many impressions. I feel more than ever the limitations of words when trying to record the memories, and even sort through the thoughts that turn up along the way. But at the end of the day, when my head is swimming with images of unbelievable beauty, I think the strongest impression that is left with me is that of being so small. And that there really must be something infinitely bigger than myself out there.