Hello everyone!
We began our trek yesterday, after a bumpy bus ride from Pokhara. I'm writing this from our colorful guest house which is much nicer than anything we imagined, especially considering the metal shack-like dwelling complete with mosquito netting we slept in last night (which suited us just fine). Attached is a photo of our cosy hotel; hopefully it is as warm as it appears comfortable.
Life has slowed down for us. We've grown accustomed to waiting around for hours for meals; everything is made from scratch and picked from the field it grew in. This feeds us for around $3.00 each no matter which meal. The food is actually very good; we are grateful. We've even decided to call ourselves, "team momo" for the dumplings we are growing accustomed to eating once or twice per day.
While hiking through field after field of Nepalese farmers harvesting their rice crop, it is somewhat guilt-inducing to feel tired just from walking. When I justify this by thinking of the 30lb weight on my back, we are passed by someone who is carrying almost an entire harvest on his or her own back. It makes one feel small.
To say Nepal is beautiful would be an understatement. Yesterday, we hiked through beautiful jungle complete with monkeys, and today, we passed 4 or 5 stunning waterfalls and crossed a few crazy suspension bridges (my courage is holding).
We are safe and well, and are slowly making up for the time lost from our unplanned extended stay in Pokhara. We have a few more extended walking days before we summit the world's highest mountain pass. We will check in before that.
Love,
H, E, & S
After the dusty early morning bus ride from Pokhara, we arrived in Lamjung district around 12 in the afternoon. We stopped for momos and veg fried rice in one of the tiny restaurants on the main drag of Besisahar, surprised that our guides were the ones to take our lunch order. We learned that the reason for this was that most of the restaurant purveyors didn't speak English--so to avoid the confusion and potential mistranslation, our guides would take our order and write it down in neat, printed English. They would then total out the bill at the end of the meal. The ritual would become familiar in the days and weeks to come, but it seemed odd at the time.
Our guide Bhagwati pulled out a map and we plotted the possibilities for making up our missed time over the next few days. We decided to make it to the less crowded town of Ngadi rather than Bhulbhuli to give us a slight advantage for the days to come. As we waited for them to prepare the food from scratch, Santosh paced back and forth in front of the restaurant. Finally, around 1:30 or 2, after the guides had eaten as well, we were ready to begin.
After lunch, we hiked from Besisahar down through a lush forest path that kept us off of the new road. The theme of the beginning of the hike seemed to be 'going down'. Step after step, we plodded gradually down towards the Marshyangdi river and crossed our first suspension bridge.
At the top of the hill, we all stopped to take a breather underneath a tree, while our guides waited in line at the TIMS permit checkpoint. While waiting, we enjoyed a quick cup of tea and found an adorable puppy to play with, much to our delight. While the puppy took turns soaking up all of the attention from the tourists and local kids, we recognized several of the people from the night before.
From left to right, The man in the green was Melem, our Frenchman, sitting next to him are Nicolas and Phyllis, and Marie, Melem's girlfriend is standing on the right side of the group. Team Portland/Washington was standing to the right of the frame. Nicolas managed to snap a hilarious photo of an "western-eastern" toilet which consisted of a plastic lawn chair with a hole cut out of the seat poised over the pit toilet. We would laugh about that continually, throughout the course of our journey together.
After our brief rest was over, we hit the trail, which dropped steadily to our relief. We walked through more fields, and exchanged "Namastes" a few times with the local farmers. We passed a big farm and stopped as Bhagwati talked to one of the local women. We found an adorable baby, who Bhagwati gladly gave a piece of "chocolate" (which was actually a menthol cough drop to my delight) and spent time playing with a few new baby farm animals.
Following another modest climb, we stopped for lunch at the incredibly beautiful town of Bahundanda which overlooked the lush, green fields below, the Marshyangdi snaking back appearing as a mere creek from the height of our perspective.
We ordered momos and fried rice and quickly popped off our shoes and laid our socks out to dry in the sun. After the climb in the heat, I felt as if no part of me escaped dry. In fact, my white shirt was already beginning to yellow from the combination of road dust and sweat. I stooped down by a spigot with Bhagwati and washed my face, glad to rinse away the salt and relax for a few minutes.
As we sipped our ginger-lemon-honey tea, we were joined at the lunch restaurant awhile later by Phyllis, Bikas, and Nicolas. We exchanged pleasantries and kept to ourselves, looking at maps and plotting our next stop, which would be our resting place for the night.
The Marshyangdi next to the trail.
Looking down at Jagat, where we would spend the night.
The suspension bridge leading into Jagat.
As dusk crept in, we found ourselves at the Mountain Hotel in Jagat. It was one of the nicest places we stayed during the entire trek. To our surprise, there was a hot (meaning not cold) shower and the beds were soft and comfortable. We had actual plaster (or, more likely, concrete) WALLS! After bathing, we headed downstairs and discovered Phyllis, Nicolas, Melem, and Marie sitting on the terrace below. We pulled up a few chairs and ordered our Dal Bhat while Melem and Nicolas drank a few Tuborg beers and I composed an email to our friends and family to let them know we were alive.
For dinner, Nicolas ordered nettle soup. After watching a woman go out and harvest the nettle (how they do this without getting stung is remarkable to me), we all were interested in seeing the final result. Needless to say, the final result was something I would imagine would happen if you were to puree okra. The flavor was fine, and Nicolas was very polite about it; he even finished it, but the texture of it was akin to pond slime. We all were made to try the soup for ourselves, and with a variety of scrunched noses, agreed that it was one of the stranger things we had eaten.
We went to bed early again, and achieved a wonderful rest.
We began our trek yesterday, after a bumpy bus ride from Pokhara. I'm writing this from our colorful guest house which is much nicer than anything we imagined, especially considering the metal shack-like dwelling complete with mosquito netting we slept in last night (which suited us just fine). Attached is a photo of our cosy hotel; hopefully it is as warm as it appears comfortable.
Life has slowed down for us. We've grown accustomed to waiting around for hours for meals; everything is made from scratch and picked from the field it grew in. This feeds us for around $3.00 each no matter which meal. The food is actually very good; we are grateful. We've even decided to call ourselves, "team momo" for the dumplings we are growing accustomed to eating once or twice per day.
While hiking through field after field of Nepalese farmers harvesting their rice crop, it is somewhat guilt-inducing to feel tired just from walking. When I justify this by thinking of the 30lb weight on my back, we are passed by someone who is carrying almost an entire harvest on his or her own back. It makes one feel small.
To say Nepal is beautiful would be an understatement. Yesterday, we hiked through beautiful jungle complete with monkeys, and today, we passed 4 or 5 stunning waterfalls and crossed a few crazy suspension bridges (my courage is holding).
We are safe and well, and are slowly making up for the time lost from our unplanned extended stay in Pokhara. We have a few more extended walking days before we summit the world's highest mountain pass. We will check in before that.
Love,
H, E, & S
After the dusty early morning bus ride from Pokhara, we arrived in Lamjung district around 12 in the afternoon. We stopped for momos and veg fried rice in one of the tiny restaurants on the main drag of Besisahar, surprised that our guides were the ones to take our lunch order. We learned that the reason for this was that most of the restaurant purveyors didn't speak English--so to avoid the confusion and potential mistranslation, our guides would take our order and write it down in neat, printed English. They would then total out the bill at the end of the meal. The ritual would become familiar in the days and weeks to come, but it seemed odd at the time.
Our guide Bhagwati pulled out a map and we plotted the possibilities for making up our missed time over the next few days. We decided to make it to the less crowded town of Ngadi rather than Bhulbhuli to give us a slight advantage for the days to come. As we waited for them to prepare the food from scratch, Santosh paced back and forth in front of the restaurant. Finally, around 1:30 or 2, after the guides had eaten as well, we were ready to begin.
After lunch, we hiked from Besisahar down through a lush forest path that kept us off of the new road. The theme of the beginning of the hike seemed to be 'going down'. Step after step, we plodded gradually down towards the Marshyangdi river and crossed our first suspension bridge.
After crossing, we paused for a quick break in one of the countless rice fields in the valley, surrounded by rolling hills and terraces. We inhaled the sweet scent of damp earth and watched as local farmers led water buffalo strapped to stock choppers around in countless circles, gathering the grain for harvest. While the younger people toiled out in the fields, the elderly and children worked shaking winnowing baskets, separating the grain from husk, or helped to carry small loads from field to field.
The trail began to steadily rise, and we got farther and farther away from the Marshyangdi. We stopped periodically for a few photos, and I struggled to adjust my backpacking boots as my feet were on FIRE (already?!). We eventually climbed back down to the river and were stuck walking in the road.
Walking in the road on the circuit meant two sure things...an abundance of awful, choking white dust, "mountain dust" as Bhagwati called it, and a constant stream of exhaust fumes. We quickly realized why so many of the locals wore cotton surgical masks and we mimicked them by quickly pushing our buffs over our noses and mouths at the first sight of any jeep or motorcycle.
After passing our first Nepali village, Khudi, we wound our way through a messy construction area adjoining the hydro-dam and found ourselves in the small 'town' of Ngadi. Ngadi was a colorful collection of guest houses, gardens, and rice fields. We found ourselves at the Trekker's Holiday, a tiny tea house adorned with bright flowers and no more than 8 rooms. We settled into our triple room, complete with pink mosquito netting, relieved to take off our shoes and wash the dust off of our faces. After cleaning up, we opted for a cup of tea. There was a slight chill in the air as we sat down under a palapa by the river. Shirley pulled out her travel journal, and wrote while we enjoyed our first pot of "ginger lemon honey tea" on the trail.
As we soaked up the last of the remaining sunshine in the dining room, we found ourselves surrounded by a couple from Washington, a couple from France, a couple from Belgium, and our guides. We awkwardly kept to ourselves, eating our first Dal Bhat in relative quietude while the Belgians and the French chatted periodically. It felt late quite early, and we turned into our individual-sized tiny beds around 7.
We awoke around 6, feeling rested and ready. Eric volunteered to trade me backpacking boots (we are fortunate enough to wear the same size), which I gratefully accepted. We grabbed our water bottles and Steripen, and stirred water while we waited for our "simple breakfast." At this point, we were used to the off-putting taste of the "milk coffee," which we eagerly slurped down in accompaniment with our eggs and porridge. After breakfast, we went back and gathered our things, re-stuffing sleeping bags into compression sacks and tightly rolling clothes until everything fit snugly back into our backpacks. We were packed up and ready to go by 8.
I remember seeing a giant black backpack hanging around near the Belgians' room. I saw the Belgians' guide, Bikas, slipping his arms through the straps and remarked to him that I had never seen a bigger backpack. He chuckled and informed me that it really wasn't as heavy as it appeared. It would be the first and last time I saw Bikas carrying that backpack (though it wouldn't be the last time I heard him plead with Nicolas to let him carry it).
We started out on the road, and after awhile, turned off onto a steep trail that hugged the green terraced fields. We climbed up switchback after switchback, panting, huffing, and puffing. Suddenly, I heard a small voice behind me, "are you USED TO THIS?" she inquired. I turned around to find Phyllis, one of the Belgians from the night before behind me. "No!" I exclaimed. "Where are you from?" She asked. "The US...Colorado; we climbed a few mountains to get ready for this, but we're not used to it yet! Where are you from?" I asked. "Belgium. Belgium is FLAT." We chuckled and expressed mutual relief when just a little while later, we could see the top of the hill in view.
From left to right, The man in the green was Melem, our Frenchman, sitting next to him are Nicolas and Phyllis, and Marie, Melem's girlfriend is standing on the right side of the group. Team Portland/Washington was standing to the right of the frame. Nicolas managed to snap a hilarious photo of an "western-eastern" toilet which consisted of a plastic lawn chair with a hole cut out of the seat poised over the pit toilet. We would laugh about that continually, throughout the course of our journey together.
We ordered momos and fried rice and quickly popped off our shoes and laid our socks out to dry in the sun. After the climb in the heat, I felt as if no part of me escaped dry. In fact, my white shirt was already beginning to yellow from the combination of road dust and sweat. I stooped down by a spigot with Bhagwati and washed my face, glad to rinse away the salt and relax for a few minutes.
As we sipped our ginger-lemon-honey tea, we were joined at the lunch restaurant awhile later by Phyllis, Bikas, and Nicolas. We exchanged pleasantries and kept to ourselves, looking at maps and plotting our next stop, which would be our resting place for the night.
For dinner, Nicolas ordered nettle soup. After watching a woman go out and harvest the nettle (how they do this without getting stung is remarkable to me), we all were interested in seeing the final result. Needless to say, the final result was something I would imagine would happen if you were to puree okra. The flavor was fine, and Nicolas was very polite about it; he even finished it, but the texture of it was akin to pond slime. We all were made to try the soup for ourselves, and with a variety of scrunched noses, agreed that it was one of the stranger things we had eaten.
We went to bed early again, and achieved a wonderful rest.
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