Top 10 Highlights of Annapurna

The Annapurna Circuit trek was phenomenal. I have no idea how to concisely describe such outstanding beauty. If I tried, I’m afraid I’d gush for hours. Therefore, I limited myself to a top ten list… which is not to say I’ll be concise. Ironically, “Hotel California” is playing at this Kathmandu internet cafe. On the trail I actually sang this song twice, both times with locals who had asked if I was from California when I told them I was American. I’ve always loved this song but who’d have guessed Nepalis do too! The man next to me is playing solitaire… shouldn’t he be addressing his needs for solitude with trekking or something?! But hey, here I am at a computer for the second day in a row! Okay, my list…

1. The sheer variety! A friend clued me in to this element, but I never imaged how true this could be. Landscapes changed from moist jungles to dry, harsh, rugged cliffs to lush green and red autumn forests to ancient stone and mud scattered villages to the anticipated breathtaking snow capped mountains. There was absolute solitude, random conversation on the busy trekker highway and local interaction in lively mountain villages all within a typical day.
2. Rabin, my 22 yr old cheerful and professional porter/guide. He made the route much more pleasurable by carrying the load (obviously) but also by opening up communication in small villages, taking the anxiety out of timing and route decisions and watching out for me like I truly was his “didi” (Nepali for older sister and the cute term he used for me throughout the trip). I debated whether to hire a porter. The cost was an issue as it basically doubled my daily expenses and part of me felt like it was “cheating” a little. I am sure now that it was the right decision and happily I found the right porter too. His youthful energy and huge smile, the possibly devious and charismatic kind with wild happy-go-lucky eyes, was a nice addition to the trip.
3. Our break from the trail at Timang Besi on day 3 after a long tough climb through shady pine forests. It was my first time to sit and appreciate the brilliant white soaring peaks that had revealed themselves a few hours earlier. A small tea shop was perfectly located to offer huffing and puffing trekkers a break with a view. As I sat in awe, Rabin enthusiastically brought me some fresh mushroom curry to sample. Simply delicious, home grown, mountain food. (P.S. That is not me in the funny orange hat, I had a different funny hat.)
4. Crossing a ridge and seeing in the valley below, in the most improbable flat patch of earth amidst this scenic mountain range, a girls soccer match and having the time that day to stop and watch. The 16 yr old-ish Red team beat the Blue team about 5 to 2. Locals, including the “trendiest” of the young village crowd in their sunglasses, zipper hoodies and messy long hair, were scattered around the sidelines watching and socializing.
5. Spending a cold evening in the kitchen by the fire with two lovely sisters and “Tenzing Norgay Sherpa”, the cute 2 yr old toddler in Humde, an otherwise indescript boring one horse town. The ladies were beautiful and I’m sure Rabin had a crush on the youngest. He was teasing her about her boyfriend and through shy giggles, she kept specifically assuring me that it was her husband (as if I might think she were an irresponsible loose woman if she knew or had interest in a man whom she had not yet married?!). The older sister’s husband was away for a month working as a sherpa on an Everest are expedition. Daddy’s little boy bounced around the kitchen, in and out of my lap, under and around my legs and freely into my arms and heart. We warmed our hands by the fire, sat on a yak skin covered bench and ate our meal on the clay stove. It was cozy, intimate and very homey.
6. The surprises and comforts of Manang: (a) The best apple danish ever! Strong on nutmeg and cinnamon, light on sugar, fresh local apples and fantastically fluffy warm bread. I could’ve been starved for comfort food but no kidding, this thing was heaven! (b) Climbing 2 hours up hill to a cave and receiving a “good luck” blessing from a 90 yr old lama and his 91 yr old wife. They climbed up for their last time 2 years ago. Their friendly 15 yr old granddaughter Oma takes care of them and serves tea to visitors. She will stay here in seclusion until she’s the last one breathing. (c) Watching “Seven Years in Tibet” for the first time in a landscape that brought the film to life, bundled up in almost all of the clothes in my pack and eating my makeshift dinner (bakery cheese bread with canned tomato and sardines) because there wasn’t enough time for dinner AND a movie.
7. The landslides and precarious terrain leading to Tilicho Lake, a 3 day side-trip off the main circuit. The narrow trail cut straight across a steep 45 degree incline made of small rocks, often moving and soaring hundreds of feet in both directions, up to blue skies and down down down to the distant riverbed. At the base camp, there was a seriousness and sportiness about the trekkers not found on the main circuit. Most of them were going direct to Jomsom (my final destination, 5 or 6 days away) by taking a “shortcut” cutting across several high passes and camping. This crowd included a 55 yr old Austrian mountaineer who against experienced advice and discouragement planned to make the 2-3 day journey in one long 15 hour day! (Gratefully, I’ve confirmed the man in still alive but don’t have any details on his wild adventure or his unwilling porter.)
8. Thorong La pass, our highest point on the trek at 5416 meters! We left base camp at 4:30 a.m. and started walking straight uphill in the dark. This is the “busy time” to go because most trekkers want to beat the rumored wind on the pass and arrive at the next stop in the valley at a decent hour. A unique moment was when Rabin and I stopped midway up for a short rest. With our flashlights off sitting still, all one could see was the stars up above and the seemingly twinkling moving stars below as 100 or more trekkers with headlamps were working their way up the dark slope. It was silent except for the distant scratching of their trekking poles. At the top, the air was filled with excitement and relief. There was a solidarity in the experience and celebration - and of course, out-of-this-world views.
9. The beauty, serenity and rest found at an unsuspected village, Jarkot, in the valley on the other side of the pass. As we arrived, a large yak was tied to a tree in an open field lined with tall trees and covered with golden fallen leaves. It felt like time stopped there. Architecture remained unchanged for centuries. Livestock roamed the small streets. Homes and animal pens intertwined in a maze of alleys. Our teahouse somehow felt like home. We heard distant trumpets in the evening and ran to the village monastery to find monks on the roof playing their intricately carved silver and gold horns during puja (the devotional worship ceremony especially common during festivals, such as the current Tihaar). As I left the village, the yak was laying upside down in the field surrounded by men. Freshly slaughtered, it’s heart being pulled out with their bare hands. I only stayed there one night but it felt oddly timeless and complete.
10. My solo adventure through the highly restricted, bordering Mustang region. After so many days in Rabin’s kind care and company, I was ready for some solitude. I sent him directly to our next village stop to the west with my pack and I took a route north across the river to explore some more remote Mustang villages within the Annapurna region accessible with my same permit. I walked through beautiful terraced farmland to Jhong and learned that a red painted “X” actually means “going the right way”. I visited the 16th century Buddhist village monastery where they offered me lunch and an invitation to watch them perform puja in a private chamber with only one other local devotee guest. It was marvellous. Light pierced through the window of a small dark room with 2 rows of 5 monks, me and the other guest seated on the floor. Drums, trumpets, chanting, silence, bells, fire, time ran away from me. I left late and still needed to get to Kagbeni, a village somewhere to the southwest. In Putak, a village in between, I finally found a local to ask for directions. He led me for quite some time then pointed to a bridge in the distance leading to a trail over a rough dry high pass. Hmm, really?! But how do I question the only person above the age of 10 that I found in the last hour? Seems I should trust him. And so I walked. For one hour. Alone. Not even an animal. Except one big bird. Gratefully not a vulture. Very little vegetation. Rolling hills. A powdery high plateau. Dry rugged cliffs. One high crest after the next. Stress mixed with exhilaration. A few brief sprints. Sunset. My mind playing games. Could I sleep here? Maybe put my head inside my daypack. The wind picks up. The last endless crest. A distant village. A very wide river. No bridge. Stress only. A herd of animal. The shepard. My desperate attack. “Where is Kagbeni?! Kagbeni?” And this is funny… he points behind me. One hour. Then over the river and to the west, one or two more hours. “What?!? Are you kidding me? It’s 5:30! I’ve been using my somewhat untrained mountaineering skills and they’re telling me I’m at least close!!! True, I had some doubt along the way. But, come on… you’re joking.” We have this general conversation. I point to the top edge of the map (that I’ve run off of). We gesture. An hour is a long time to entertain even the smallest doubt but I was also somewhat confident in the worst local directions. This is after all, the one and only way people travel, by foot. He insists. I insist. Then he tells me a secret. “This road behind me, it’s no good. Expensive to enter. Can’t go. Not allowed.” What? I knew it! Can’t go where? “To Kagbeni!” How far? And this my friends, is my favorite joke of the year… “Twelve minutes.” I peek over the short cliff to the west and sprawled out below is the large village of Kagbeni. Seven minutes later I’m walking through the town gates, asking directions and being pointed towards my hotel where my glorious porter and guide, the best investment in my adventure, was anxiously waiting for me. The deal is I had snuck in through the restricted Upper Mustang region, an area that strictly requires a special 7000 Rs (about $115) permit, regulated at the north gate of Kagbeni. But no one said a word. My planned temper tantrum and dramatic episode of tears went unperformed. Marvellously, I was able to see yet another variation in landscape, unique and raw, and I certainly had my adventure!

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