The Last Resort

Ok, travelling for a month has got to us. This is The Last Resort.

We’re off for a couple of days for some adrenaline-filled outdoor activities up near the border with Tibet. This was Simon’s leaving present from GS – we’ll soon be able to say they drove us over the edge! (attached to a bungy cord)

Back on Tuesday, then on to Delhi soon after…

Simon & Laura

Mountain moments

There are just a few little things I’d like to share that aren’t really sufficient for individual posts but also don’t flow as a single concept, so I’ve grouped them together here:

Tibetan toilets
I’m sure most of you are familiar with the concept of the squat toilet, however I doubt many of you have experienced the group bonding variety that appears the higher (and thus more remote) you get in Tibet. I’ll just make it clear at the outset that these toilets were at least thankfully single-sex. At first the toilets lost their ceramic surrounding and became the literal ‘hole in the floor’ – fine, it makes little difference. They then become holes in the floor separated by low partitions with no door – oh well, since you have to squat anyway you can’t see your neighbour and you just choose the one furthest from the main door. Finally you lose the partitions along with any sense of privacy, ah group bonding at its finest! At least these are sometimes accompanied by fine mountain views.

Diamox the wonder drug
So people say that you will naturally acclimatise to altitude, give it a few days and drink plenty of water. These people clearly have not experienced the hammering headaches and sleepless nights of altitude sickness. Although it probably is true, when you’ve only got a few days and you want to enjoy yourself rather than feel like a zombie, diamox is the key! I thank the scientists who formulated this wonderful drug, I have never appreciated the blissful feeling of sinking into a peaceful sleep quite so much. My advice: don’t stick it out, bow to western medicine, those scientists have worked hard to make your life easy! (You may experience sporadic pins and needles in your hands and feet but the pros definitely outweigh the cons).

Yak dung
I realise I have already mentioned this in passing but as I lay here with the sweet smell of burning yak dung wafting past my nose I am reminded just how useful it is. Yak dung is an essential antidote to the cold mountain evening. The six of us in our guesthouse huddled around the iron stove last night, cheering as the lovely Nepalese lady who runs the place lit the yak dung (a feat that eluded the three western guys in the group) providing us with warmth for the night.

Earthquake
Shortly after writing the previous paragraph we were once again lounging around the iron stove when everything around us began to tremble. As the fixtures on the wall began to shake we hastily shoved our feet into our boots and escaped outside. Thankfully there was no damage done in our vicinity (Kyanjin Gompa in the North of Nepal) and a slight rumble is as scary as it got for us.

The runaway ghost train

Our final day’s trekking brought us back down to our starting point, Shyaphru Besi, via a winding mountain path that would have given us superb views if it wasn’t for the clouds. The narrow wet trail overhanging the cliff edge wasn’t for the faint-hearted, particularly as we crossed (small) waterfalls, leaping from rock-to-rock. But this was a walk in the park (well, jungle) compared to our journey to and from Kathmandu…

Before I say any more, let me point out that I’m writing this from the comfort of a hotel bed safely back in Kathmandu. Our limbs are all still attached, and other than a cold, we’re both in good spirits.

A number of people have told us they recently saw a TV show about the worst roads in the world, and Nepal was featured. Deservedly so. The people at the shop we hired our sleeping bags from told us the roads have actually got worse rather than better in recent years – a huge rise in the number of trucks carrying goods across the country have torn the often untarmaced surface apart, with post-monsoon maintenance unable to keep up with the rate of destruction.

If the bumpy dirt road to Everest Base Camp was a rollercoaster, then this was (at times) a runaway ghost train.

Most of the ten hour journey was fine – surfaced roads, not that much overtaking on blind corners, even a break for a quick lunch. For something little more than a school bus, it was crowded (40 seated, 20 standing, 20 on the roof), but we had seats. And the cargo (a stack of TVs, sacks of rice, gas bottles, and a couple of live chickens perched in the head-height luggage rack for good measure) didn’t shift around too much.

The hair-raising bits were where there had been landslides, and road gave way to an undesirable combination of mud, boulders, waterfalls and sheer drops, and the bus company was diligently trying to ensure the full distance from start to finish was covered, in spite of the obstacles. Seeing the skeleton of a former bus lying on the hillside beneath us as we were leaving Kathmandu did not inspire confidence!

Anyway, the road was a challenge, and the driver was nothing short of amazing in his abilities to navigate the, well, seemingly unnavigable. A combination of momentum, lurching up to 30 degrees before hurtling back to the centre line, massive tires, and the sheer willpower of the (occasionally screaming) people on board seemed to get us through. We’re hoping the photos will do it justice.

We had to walk a bit where the road was actually entirely impassable, and for our return journey this had got worse, with us needing to hot-foot it over saturated mud that felt very much like another landslide waiting to happen. But we were triumphant!

For the way back, we decided for the first time to play our “I’m a wealthyish westerner, get me out here” trump card and take a jeep, which meant we got out and walked all the risky bits, and had the luxury of only 10 people in the vehicle for most of it. We met a lovely couple of honeymooning Australians, Mitch and Kirsty who offered us a ride – and we’ve been spending some time in Kathmandu chilling out (and celebrating the end of the journey) with them before they head off to the beaches of Thailand.

Our advice to anyone else going to Langtang – think seriously about taking a jeep, or going elsewhere! We won’t be repeating the experience – instead we will just cling to our memories (of clinging on for dear life) via the now oft-recited phrase “the bus would have done it!”

Simon

I feel the earth move under my feet

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Today we started our descent, journeying from the rolling mountain pastures cut by glaciers into the jungle-like forest further down the river’s course. As I write this, I can hear the roar of the nearby torrent making its way over huge house-sized boulders as it cuts its way through then valley.

The top of the valley is very close to Tibet – only a couple of miles over the mountains to the border, and it has a very Tibetan feel about it, even more so because of the large number of refugees who fled here after the Chinese invasion in the fifties. A guide we were talking to the other day said there was a mass exodus at that time, with people taking the mountain pass to set up a new life this side of the peaks. At that point there was extreme poverty here – the higher slopes are not fertile enough for crop growth, and so it’s pretty much just yak farming (and cheese). He explained what a huge impact tourism had made for those living here, with an income for six months a year for lodge owners, who also sell wool products and jewellery to passing trekkers.

The Tibetan feel manifests itself in a number of ways. It goes without saying that there are prayer flags astride every hilltop on the way -as well as those most definitely out of the way, sometimes defying explanation of how someone could climb up so high and stretch a 100m run of flag-laden cord across such a precarious gulley. There are also prayer wheels, releasing the prayer within to the world as they spin – but fantastically, these are water prayer wheels – turning continually as the meltwater flow passes beneath, with some stone constructions holding six spinning wheels alongside each other. The fields are enclosed with Tibetan stone walls, not dissimilar to the dry stone walls of home. And the paths we’ve been taking have a periodic dual carriageway design, with a central reservation formed by mounds of rock surrounded by mani slabs inscribed with what we think are prayers in sanskrit. As with temples, the Buddhist way is to walk clockwise around them – or taking the left hand carriageway as will be familiar to any driver back home. The carriageway effect is all the more heightened by apparent gaps for those making right turns – occasional holes in the central reservation to let you through. No speed cameras or street lights here though!

As we were about to have dinner the night before last, the small lodge bungalow we were in began to shake. After initially putting it down to a strong wind, we soon realised we were experiencing our first earthquake and fled to the grass outside. Fortunately it was pretty gentle where we were – no more than a light wobble for 20 seconds or so. We gather from some people we met yesterday that the epicentre was on the border with India and that it has caused some houses to collapse closer to there – we hope nothing too terrible. We’re entirely cut off here in the mountains so it’ll be a couple of days before we can find out any more – or let people back home know we’re ok. It really makes you reflect on the destructive power of such a thing when you realise it was centred on the other side of the country and we could still clearly feel it where we were. That’s a lot of earth that moved.

We were woken early yesterday morning by the sound of pre-dawn singing from near our lodge. Accompanied by the occasional beating of a drum, the mournful undulating chant was the start of a funeral procession for a woman who had lived in a nearby house. We were told she’d travelled all the way to Kathmandu in the hope of a cure (we’re unsure of what), but had passed away recently back in the valley. We assume locals wouldn’t be able to afford a helicopter to take the sick to hospital, so the three day trek out must have been a huge struggle – we’ve found it challenging enough and we’re both fairly fit and well. As we rose for breakfast at first light, we could see the slow procession snaking its way up the hillside shrouded in the all-too-appropriate gloomy morning mist.

As we followed the river downhill, wide open mountainside made way for close damp jungle, its creepers and soaring trees consuming the bright mountain light and enveloping us in a dank, dripping world of green hues.

The humidity at this level provides for all manner of interesting vegetation – spindly tree branches that have literally tied themselves in a knot (half hitch, I think) because of the rate of growth – and presumably a lucky gust wind; creepers hanging down from the canopy waving in the breeze; and moss and ferns everywhere – not just a carpet of green, but walls of it too. The damp is pervasive enough that ferns have taken root in the bark of all the trees, so each trunk and branch is also decorated with a lighter, softer pattern of green alongside the soaring strength of the tree.

Then there’s the wildlife that moves. We came across a rustling in the undergrowth ahead of us and a couple of small, light brown monkeys quickly made their way up some nearby trees, exchanging glances with us until we moved on down the trail. The backing soundtrack of running water is accompanied by the high
pitched whine of crickets and a melody of bird calls, often little more than occasional chirps, but sometimes a beautifully textured song of call and response – and once or twice in full view, with tiny yellow canary-like birds whistling away above us.

A picture of the jungle would of course not be complete without the bugs. We were warned about leeches, and have been slathering protective oil over our arms and legs each day. Fortunately we’ve made it without finding any unwanted stowaways; a number of others have been less fortunate – and the wiggling worm-like tentacle that I found on my rucksack shoulder strap after lunch the other day certainly made me squirm. Ah, and the spiders! A few of the simple wooden tea-lodges we’ve been staying in have also had room for non-paying guests: spiders the size of a hand, with a good meaty body that appears particularly threatening when silhouetted against the bedside curtains in the morning. Arachnoid avoidance has certainly made for some speedy toilet trips and packing! Just don’t forget to shake out your shoes…

Simon

The cherry on top

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Until a few minutes ago, I’d always thought those red shiny plastic faux-cherry balls of sugar were called glacier cherries. I was just saying how little there was in common between them and the white-grey mass of ice and rock we could see on the mountain above us when Laura broke the news. GlacĂ© apparently. Whatever next? We’re not in the Alps?!

Well, greetings from Kyanjin Gumba, 3870m, halfway through our trek in the Langtang National Park in the Nepalese Alps. Ok, the Himalayas.

We’ve had an eventful, energetic and mostly very enjoyable few days, working our way up the valley following the river to the glaciers that feed it.

Firstly, there’s something I’m not going to write about until we’re safely back in Kathmandu. It concerns the bus journey here, which at two points was probably the most terrifying moment of our lives so far. Suffice to say, we now have a new phrase for the most impenetrable of paths – “The bus would do it!” ‘lest I condemn us to fate, more on that another time.

Nepal is right at the end of monsoon season, but it’s not quite over yet. That means there’s a predictable rhythm to the day’s weather – and hence trekking. From mid afternoon and through the night, it pours with rain. This means that you really want to be tucked up in your next tea house (lodge) by then, so you set off early. Breakfast at six or six-thirty, just as the sun is rising, illuminating clear views of the amazing snow capped peaks around us. Within a few minutes of the sun hitting the rain-soaked mountainside, the evaporating water swirls into clouds and suddenly all disappears into an undulating mist of white and grey. After breakfast, we head off, trekking for 6 or 7 hours with a quick break for lunch, aiming to get to our tea house for the night by 3 just as the clouds have picked up enough moisture to pour it down again.

As we’ve made our way up the valley, the scenery has changed from rocky canyon to lush damp jungle, and now to wide open mountain pasture, surrounded by peaks in snow white and rocky grey. The mountainsides are a mixture of forest in places and gorse and moss in others, punctuated with tiny bright flowers in yellow and blue – and occasionally berries, with low bushes teeming with fruit in cherry red and bright sea blue. From a distance, the gorse hillside looks like old dark green velvet, worn away in parts by the yak trails forming contour lines through the smooth surface.

The trail weaves its way alongside and over the river, crossing the torrent on steel pedestrian suspension bridges, some up to 50m long that bounce unnervingly as you walk. I try to avoid looking at the water rushing past a long way beneath. At times the track has given way to a landslide, and scrambling up and over the rock – and occasionally streams – is required, a fun challenge with our backpacks on!

When not trekking we’ve been enjoying the delights of eating masses of food, chilling out and playing cards. We nearly came a cropper the other night though. We were playing cards in our room late into the night (ok it was 8:30) electric light on, when we looked around and to our horror found a scene reminiscent of Hichcock’s The Birds. Even though the windows had been closed, sitting watching us from the curtains, ceiling, walls and bedspreads were bugs in their thousands. It seemed that while we were distracted by gin rummy an army had silently swept in and occupied. I swear that you could hear them sharpening their fangs in preparation! Even after a military counterattack involving bright light outside the door and lots of deodorant, we did not sleep soundly – and late night cards is now firmly off the menu. Well, at least until we pick up our mosquito nets from storage in Kathmandu*.

Before we set off on the trek, we dropped into the lovely KEEP, the Kathmandu Environmental Education Project which is aimed at ensuring that trekking has a positive (and not, as it sometimes is, negative) impact on the local area, both environmentally and for the people. One of the things they provide is support for porters, who eek out a meagre living carrying goods and trekkers’ bags through the mountains, often poorly equipped physically (flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt) – and educationally, with many not aware of the dangers of altitude sickness.

One of the other services KEEP provide are log books from other travellers’ recent expeditions, and so we took their advice in where to stay – which is how we ended up at the petite and lovely Moonlight Guest House here. A previous visitor described it as ‘small, cosy and hostile’. We think they meant hospitable! It was lovely last night warming up around the yak dung stove playing cards and eating delicious home-cooked food, including ‘Snickers Momo’, Nepal’s answer to the deep fried mars bar!

After arriving yesterday, we set off for an adventure to the Lirung Glacier. It soon became apparent that we were following a yak trail instead of one designed for humans, and we wound our way around rocks and over piles of dung, on an ever thinning path. Fortunately, a local old man appeared from a hilltop to guide us (for a fee, of course), taking us through the encroaching mist and rain and finally scrambling over gorse and rocks to the point when we could see the Glacier from (almost) up close. At one point we stopped for a break, and true to British rambler form were able to offer round shortbread, complete with tartan design. We just needed Kendal mint cake to complete the set!

Today we hiked up the 1000m or so to the summit of Kyanjin Ri, at 4773m. We now know why it takes two months for people to climb Everest – it’s exhausting! The altitude really hit us – by the end, for every 30m we walked, we had to stop and catch our breath. The view from the top was mainly familiar – dense white cloud surrounding us – and occasionally fabulous, as the mists parted to reveal yesterday’s glacier in full splendour, the set of peaks around, and the now playset-sized town 1km below.

Oh, one last thing. So far this blog has enumerated Laura’s addictions to chocolate, fountains, and bells. We have one more for the list: cheese! I’m pretty certain this particular trek was chosen because it culminated in the town we’re currently in, home to a cheese factory. Each day as we’ve surveyed the map of the day’s contours to climb, there’s been a yelp of delight from Laura as she points out the label. Today we visited it first hand, getting a tour around the factory (one room, two minutes), a visit to the cold store (lots of cheese, maturing in rounds on shelves), and our very own purchase of 200g of Langtang’s finest yak cheese. We’ve concluded that the Cheddar region has nothing to fear – it’s a bit like a slightly tougher Edam, and could definitely do with a bit more flavour. They make 6,000 kg of the stuff each year, half of which is consumed locally in the valley, and half of which is exported to Kathmandu – carried out by porter, down the same winding route we’ve just come up.

Cheese aside, the lovely thing today is the weather – the past few hours have brought glorious sunshine, so much so that we’re now both sunburnt. Now that I think about it, the red shiny glow we’re both displaying has more than a passing resemblance to the GlacĂ© cherry on the top of this mountain.

Simon

*You’ll be pleased to hear that a slavering of insect repellent saved us from being bitten.