Sunday 5 June 2011

A Year in Small Pictures






 19th July


Rainbow over Dorking -

 







 

18th July

Another wet day 
 











17th July

Walk - Itchinor to West Wittering - windy day 










16th July

Rosie's wedding 









  
 15th July


Wet wet wet









 

 14th July


My hat











11th July

Thrush in the garden - still too many parakeets though 









 
  
 10th July


Dorking








 


 9th July

Alison's birthday










 

6th July

Too many parakeets in our garden!














4th July

Fantastic courgettes!

 










3rd July

Church Lane, Birdham













2nd July

The cottage Saturday night













1st July

Martin Rowson in the Guardian - great cartoons






 




30th June

Shirley on River Wey
 












29th June

Sky at night


 








28th June

Bonfire - burning the dead tree















27th June

This is what it was like










 26th June


The next day. Fog in Portsmouth - but calm seas and light winds - lovely.


 
 









25th June 

Round the Island Race - blue sky, looks warm and calm. Pictures can be deceiving.













24th June

Hooray - Jamie

 










20th June


Honey gathering - a bumble bee. Thanks to David for this information


 








19th June


Our garden - this is about as good as it's going to get


 









18th June
 
Jackie's birthday

 
 










17th June

Friday night with friends










 16th June

 Dresses for sale
















  15th June
  Livia - still in Australia and missing her a lot. (Apologies for using your pic Liv)


















 14th June

Croquet with Paddy. A short spell of dry weather!







13th June
 One dead tree - we now have a nice view of our garage










12th June

Polesden Lacey - that combination of the free and the formal













11th June


Me - see post below

 










10th June

Roses -  past their best though

 








9th June

Reflected trees from Jamie's window












8th June

Evening - sun after rain











7th June

Old-fashioned dinner
 
 








 6th June

As much as we managed 










5th June

Produce from our garden











4th June

Gale: force 8 imminent - it never came though.











3rd June 

Royal Academy Summer Show. Liked my new painting by Chris Forsey a lot more though.

























Monday 16 February 2009

Welcome to Nepal

This is day one of the blog, although I'm going to cheat big time and paste in my Nepal trek account which has been rather neglected of late. Need to know how intelligent these blogs need to be. Can I just type a stream of consciousness or do you recommend a more edited account. Oh well - here goes with Nepal.

Day 1 - November 2009

No real expectations – but after five nights in Kathmandu and another night in Pokhara, I knew it wasn’t going to be cold. We’d packed thermals and fleeces and numberless socks – but the sun had been incredibly warm so far and there was no reason to suppose that things were likely to change. Even so, Livia warned that it would get cold at night, so jettisoned only about half the thermal stuff and kept the season 4 sleeping bag. You can never be too hot at night.

A bus took us to Nayapul. We were in the valley and in the shade of the hills. Started later than we had hoped, despite excitement/trepidation and polite requests by our guide. Our fault of course – getting packed and sorted out at the hotel. We're slow people, this is our problem. I would say I'm mostly to blame, but actually Graham's not much better unless he's on a mission (which heobviously wasn't on this occasion) Livia's terrible of course. And it was her birthday today - a double excuse. Journey by taxi unremarkable – a winding road through hills. Machhapurchhare sprang out every so often, maybe getting nearer - but anyway now taking centre stage. It's dazzling and white and friendly really – a mountain we readily recognised and felt at home with.


Had we arrived at Nayapul earlier, perhaps there would have been time for tea

By now it was now after 11 am and Gyaltsen got us moving straight away. Shubash and Laxman took our three blue bags between them. We carried our few things – extra top, camera and water and a large collection of Geobars – would we ever get through them?


We cross the river and are suddenly in sunshine and begin to feel the warmth of the sun. The bridge is a narrow cable and wood affair, but fairly substantial. T-shirts now and shorts and again a gradual uphill hike. Shubash eagerly helps me remove the bottom half of my trousers – after a week I realise this is a simple and friendly gesture although I am taken aback and try not to show it. It's also typical of Shubash - to jump in and lend assistance!! He is always eager to help and keen to be involved. I’m thinking, this is a bit weird, being undressed (even if it’s only my cutoffs) by this stranger. But that’s Shubash for you. So, I’m now clad in shorts and we resume our upward trek.


The local houses are blue and white. Prayer flags and washing merge. Houses in villages are wooden and dilapidated but in a picturesque way – built on terraces – it’s slightly reminiscent of old Alpine villages in France - the old villages, not the Avoriaz and Tignes, but those ancient tumbledown places you find in the valleys before you head up for the skiing. Here in the valley there is agriculture – so people are threshing and cutting straw - rice straw mainly, but also millet and other stuff that I don't recognise. Later on as we go higher, we realise (and are told) that the only reason people live there is to support the trekkers, (so more the purpose-built lodges, although I would say standards decline rather the higher up you go). However, down here there is community life. No roads, and only one path – you couldn’t get lost. Mules and donkeys push their way past us (actually you let them pass – they’re bigger than you.) Occasionally the Germans go past (ditto) I wonder whether we will get into a race with them.

Basant has already explained that one of the porters – Shubash or Laxman will take the lead and Gyaltsen will bring up the rear. As it happens, it is always Shubash in the front. Gyaltsen and Laxman chatter incessantly. At the moment, we can all talk together and admire the view. Machhapurchhare is somewhere on our right but out of sight. No snowy mountains in view at the moment.



The path rarely dips downhill, but occasionally there is a wide sweep as it takes you along a valley. Since we are in the inhabited lowlands, there are plenty of paths left and right but I imagine we would have intuited the way even without Gyaltsen (follow the Germans basically). The paths are wide enough to walk side by side and we can chat at this point (later, no chatting for me!). Not much communication with other groups but with local people carrying loads, or with the many children who scamper up and down almost constantly, there are plenty of Namastes. Livia is great and addresses them in more detail – Namaste bibi (?); we discuss at length the different ways to address people – old people, children, people just a little bit older, ditto younger.


As I’m beginning to think it would be nice to stop - we stop. The protocol (which of course we were unaware of up until this point) is to choose something from the menu and write it down on a piece of paper they give you. After we’d had a leisurely cup of tea (masala of course – hot and sweet) we got the message and wrote down our choices.. We were the only people that morning and I imagine, although we didn’t see, that the kitchen was a basic cement floor with a wood burning stove and a few pans. Some of the tea houses did have electricity, but I wasn’t aware of any that cooked by anything but over an open wood fire. This particular tea house, just somewhere on the way to Tikhedhunga had nothing much, but a verandahed porch with tables and benches and a view down the hill over their orchard. Graham had read or been told that it’s worth choosing the same thing as it made the process quicker. We chose soup which seemed a simple enough option and anyway no one was very hungry. The chapati - or was it Tibetan bread – was a big improvement on the fake white sliced that we’d experienced in Kathmandu. Never looked back as far as bread was concerned!


Having a guide we seemed to slip fairly quickly into passive mode (well I did). There was no checking maps, looking at the route, or even examining how far it was till we reached our destination. Gyaltsen's English is good but accented. We kind of went with the flow, but I’m sure if we were in England or had an English guide, we would ask things like – where are we going? Are we booked in anywhere or do we just turn up? We never discovered answers to these questions. We let Gyaltsen take the lead, although aware that he would take his lead from us as far as pace and time to stop was concerned. We set off – not long after 1 pm I should think. By then it was really hot. For some way we followed the valley, ignoring left hand turns across the river, exciting as the wood and cable bridges looked. The trail got steeper and I found it much harder. I was to realise – very quickly really – the answer is to go slowly slowly – bistali bistali. At some point I noticed a German girl (they were still around!) looking

very red in the face and a guide taking her bag – little did I realise! We stopped frequently (for me!); nobody seemed to mind a bit. The process was, me stop and gasp, and drink more water, Gyaltsen stop, unworried, Graham and Olivia stop – Graham with the water. The guides stop and put down their bags and just lean back (on the bags) and enjoy the view. Shubash would get out his mobile and ring or text – I presume his wife – but who knows? I didn’t see anybody smoke which is kind of surprising. Nobody minded slowing up or stopping, although I was beginning to wonder if I would make it – hot, steep and seemingly never ending!


Gyaltsen must have taken pity on me at some point as he took my bag (me and the Germans!) and we trudged up countless steps to Tikhedhunga. It was still hot, the sun high so I imagine it was around 4 o’clock. The tea houses were not as I’d imagined. Olivia had told us about her trip and in my mind a trek in the Himalayas was wild, barren and bleak, cold and snowy and with only few lodges lying in remote locations. In reality though, and on our Poon Hill trek, it was far from wild and not in the least barren or bleak. Here were proper villages with many places to stay and the path took us past numerous tea houses and lodges, all similar in style – built into the cliff, made of stone and clad in polythene mostly with blue fascias and slate or stone roofs - and called variously 'Beautiful View', 'Top View', 'Lonely Planet Mountain View'.

Our first tea house gave us a taste of what was to come. I was just glad to arrive and anyway had no expectations – so it was neither better or worse than I had imagined. The lodge, which was on the far side of the village of Tikindunga, was on several floors which you climbed to via a number of different staircases. We were near the top, with a corridor running along the rooms which were basic and pretty standard for the trip – ie small square with two beds. There was a toilet somewhere - and a shower – although no hot water by 4 pm. Graham and Livia went down to try and the river (photos to prove it). I tried the cold shower – you had to do something – the walk was seriously sweaty - but cold showers are OK on a hot day, by 4 pm with the sun going down, they're less of an attractive prospect.

Like lunch you ordered your evening meal early – writing down your choices of dhal bhat or chicken curry. The lodge was busy – mostly Europeans and a few Ozies. People mostly on their way to Annapurna Base Camp (ABC - how cool if feels to say that!) or on their way back from the Annapurna circuit. All age groups too. A handful of students/gap yearers/ but loads of people like us - ie middle aged (!!) and enthusiastic.


For Olivia’s birthday, Shubash had somehow managed to make a cake – or maybe he carried it up from Pokhara. Candles and icing – it was fantastic. They turned off the lights and everyone sang Happy Birthday! Then we shared the cake round everyone in the restaurant. We were all really touched. Another example of how fantastic the Nepali people are.


Day 2 - 3,000 steps - all up


Definitely worried about this day. Olivia had warned me that there was a walk of 3000 steps and she thought this might be the day for it! For once we looked at the map and it was marked – 3,200 steps. After yesterday I wasn’t sure I would actually make it. But bistali bistali seemed to be the way to go; also criss-crossing the path helped.

The start was downhill (for about 30 metres) – cross the bridge and then the steady walk up the hill. Different memories – we stopped at some point for lunch or maybe tea and talked to some English girls and admired Machhapurchhare which once again loomed into sight. Here was another tea house along the way – the trail was dotted with tea houses, all offering drinks, bottled water and coke and a few bits and pieces like chocolate or tissues (which I started buying up big time owing to the cold which I had failed to prevent in Kathmandu). This stop also was on the right side of the valley floor, but with Machhapurchhare now on our right – a slab of white towering above green and brown hills. The limestone path had been carved into steps – uneven, some shallow, some steep, but nevertheless always steps – flinty, sparkling in the sun. To left and right it was grass, and low lying shrubs. Rhododendrons everywhere, although not in bloom in autumn – small birches, shrubby oak trees. It could have been Box Hill until you lifted your head to find yourself looking at layers of hills, brown foothills and then finally the snowy white tops of the Himals. There were no steep drops although at times the path itself rose steeply. We stopped and took photos and some guy tried to nick my stick! Thank god I noticed. The stick was invaluable.


Further up the hill – yes – this was before lunch, we met another English speaking girl who asked whether we had seen any girls further down the hill – English and Israeli. I’d mistaken the Israeli girls for Americans, but yes we had seen them. We plodded on. Still steadily climbing but I realised that I was going to make it today - hooray! Maybe taking it slower, stopping more often was the answer. Anyway, it seemed easier and it was still morning and the heat manageable. The path led up to a village – check the map – a fairly large village by mountain standards with the path that wound through it, still rising steeply. This was their main thoroughfare. We stopped more or less on the brow of the hill for tea – SuperView Guest House. We’d probably only been walking for 2-3 hours and Gyaltsen explained that we had made it – the 3,000 steps. Of course, this we were to learn was what you would call being economical with the truth. We had sort of made it – we’d made it to the tea stop. But, there was a wonderful view down the valley. No-one there but ourselves; the sun really hot on our faces. Guest houses – up further flights of steep steps – in every nook and cranny. There was a steady stream of trekkers – most of us seeming to be going in the same direction – but not overly busy. Local people too, but you were more likely to see local people working the land – strips of land now being ploughed with the help of buffalo. A lot of rice growing, but also kitchen gardens with vegetables.


After more masala tea, back on our feet. No, not quite at the top – “a little bit up, a little bit down” as we walked – all up – through the village and out, thinking, well sometime you’re going to get to the top, but then looking at the mountains and realising that this isn’t ever going to happen. Here in Nepal is a place you are never going to make the top! Mountaineers may feel a stab of yearning at this point – to see a summit and then to strike out for it - but it definitely didn’t strike me that way. Stay in the foothills, be grateful you can enjoy the views, hope for a break in the interminable steps and just a flat walk.



Now we were away from the river and were following the contour of the hill – gradually rising to the ridge – a path that was more or less to take us to Gorepani.

Stopped next for lunch at a sweet remote little place (well relatively speaking) surrounded by marigolds. We sat half way up the valley with Machhapurchhare peaking out behind the hills. Both seemed nearer now. Lunch was soup again – not so good this time, but the Tibetan bread excellent and we felt OK and ready for more walking. Gyaltsen doesn’t tell us how much further although we know we’re headed for Gorepani, so we could have asked. Child-like we just did as we were told. Gyaltsen and Laxman bring up the rear as usual, chattering and singing. Laxman is a serious sort of boy – learning perhaps about guiding. Shubash apparently is happy just to be a porter. Always smiling and cheerful, he led the way throughout – but Laxman was always bringing up the rear with Gyaltsen, who was like a father figure to him. We wondered whether he could indeed be his son, but Gyaltsen is Sherpa – small, wiry, and grizzled, weather beaten. Laxman younger of course so not grizzled, but still, he had the Nepali thick black hair and broader face with a wide smile typical of the Kathmandu valley.

After that, we followed the long trail to Gorepani. The hills rose either side of us, so the path was often in shade thankfully. The path was stony, steps sometimes giving way to gradual incline, but it was uphill all the way. Mule trains pass us en route and Gyaltsen tells me the hair-raising story of the German trekker who had been taking a photograph on a narrow cable bridge and had been tipped over the top by a yak pushing past him. Yaks make way for no man. Make a mental note not to stop on a bridge. Gyaltsen was full of these stories. This obviously is what makes guiding interesting for guides – tales of disasters happening to foreigners – as long of course that they were not your trekkers - preferably Israeli we were to find out, but perhaps he didn’t mind too much about Germans either. Anyway, it made the long walk more interesting.

Once again we were walking along a valley floor – the trail was dotted with tea houses and lodges – some impressively large. The English teachers who were doing ABC were having lunch at one such place, they too en route to Gorepani.


After some miles we came to a small junction, with the invariable wooden structure selling drinks and tissues (for me). Drank mango juice – a refreshing change from spicy tea – and then took a right turn to cross the river continuing up of course with the river on our left.


After this it began to feel a bit of a struggle – the path went on forever. Livia finally recognised Gorepani. A large blue roofed building lying to our left in the valley. Gyaltsen explained that we were going to be the other end of the village – no big deal I thought, but Gorepani was a big place and it took ages, endless steps till we made it to our destination - the top of the village and the most amazing view over the Annapurna’s.

The Lodge was big and popular. There must have been 40 or more people staying there. All nationalities – certainly Germans, Koreans and Japanese. A huge dining room with truly spectacular views over the mountains to the south(?). It was fitted out with about 20 trestle tables with a massive stove in the centre. Drying racks and then benches surrounded the stove. Clothes were draped over the racks and the guides and porters in a chattering mass sat along the benches around the stove. Even though it had been sunny outside, now the sun was sinking, it felt cold. The stove was fantastic.

The three of us were asked to share a room for our first night. Every room had a name of some sports star – Tennis for us on this occasion. Coming out of the dining room, the room was cold and like the night before stark. Nothing in it but the three beds. But hey, it was fine. There was also a shower which rumour had was warm.

I think we all had a shower that night. It was warm-ish. Definitely good enough.


The school in Goripani with the Annapurna's behind.


Day 3 - Poon Hill


The plan for the next day was to rise before dawn and climb Poon Hill for sunrise. We had divined – god knows how – that we were to be at Gorepani for two nights – so the plan was a quick climb to the top – our highest point on the trek – and then back for breakfast and a lazy day after that. In the event - thanks to misreading alarm clocks and it being very cold at 5 am – I went back to bed. If we were in Gorepani for the day, I figured I could do Poon Hill for sunset.

Graham and Liv went up though – needless to say with our ‘team’. Laxman took me back to the teahouse when I decided – after about 5 minutes – that I wouldn’t make it – and apparently caught them up and went up as well.

So – I sat alone in the amazing dining room at our tea house and took in the most amazing view. Occasionally an airoplane - small propellered plane obviously, flew over our lodge and off into the mountains. It was headed for Jomson, which apparently is only accessible by plane in the early morning because of high winds. The plane seemed to fly straight into the mountain side. It looked odd and out of place - we hadn't seen or heard a motor for what seemed like ages and the sight made me think of old-fashioned journeys into the wilderness. Actually it made me think of Out of Africa rather bizarrely. By 10 o'clock G and L had returned - Poon Hill had been fantastic – but very busy. And they were up for going again in the evening.


Wandered round Gorepani – or at least the upper reaches of it for the rest of the morning. Sat and had tea with a chap from Leeds (who lived in the States) who was involved in installing/developing/building a hydro electric dam in the region. He told us, that this was the perfect time of year for treking and - as we looked at an incredible bright blue sky, that this weather would now last for weeks. This was encouraging - having clear skies was important - this meant fantastic views - something Livia had not had so much of when she went three years ago.


Up Poon Hill at 4 o’clockish. Gyaltsen and the others insisted they come with us, although it was straightforward enough – just follow the path and all the other people. Another Nepali chap came too – they are like puppies going for a walk. Walking seems to be what they prefer to do. I was told that the walk would take between 45 mins and 1 ½ hours. Took us just over 1 hour – so not too bad. Apparently much quieter at the top than in the morning and even when the sun sank lower, there were relatively few people up for sunset.


We wandered around the top, strung up prayer flags and shared our chocolate and Geo bars with Shubash and the others. It was unbelievably beautiful. In the setting sun, you could see the layers on layers of mountains. You could imagine what it would be like to cross the hills in the foreground, until you reached the foothills of Annapurna or Dhaulagiri. Gyaltsen explained that in Nepal, anything less than 6,000 metres is called a hill. He hadn't actually climbed any of the high Himals - eight out of ten of the highest mountains are in Nepal. But he knew them well, and patiently again told us their names - Dhaulagiri to the left, then Annapurna South and Annapurna II and Machhapurchhare towards the right. Between Dhaulagiri and Annapurna II runs the river and the route to Jomson and from there to Mustang. Dhopa and Tibet are also out there - beyond the high Himals on an utterly bleak plateau. We had been talking, and reading, about these places for weeks - the names sounding mysterious and strange. Now here was the chance to get a glimpse of these places and the distances involved.


There were about 40 people on Poon Hill that evening - a lot less than sunrise, and sunset was spectacular. Gyaltsen warned that the weather was about to change and sure enough clouds were beginning to bubble up (so much for the hydro expert!). These added further layers of blue and purple to the scene. The mountains floated on top - so that you could almost believe that the sky started lower down until you looked to see the white peaks massive even from so many miles away. Everyone was armed with cameras – the three of us took about 100 each.


Down again in the gloom. I’d forgotten to mention, we had changed rooms and now had a delux cabin – Cabin Sherpa Tensing next door to Edmund Hilary for Olivia. These were the top notch, with ensuite bathrooms with running hot water. We’d spent some time in the afternoon sitting outside in the sunshine, and now we had time for a hot showers before dinner. Bliss.

Day 4 “Namaste”

Breakfast almost always comprises of porridge or fried eggs and chapatis. The porridge is surprisingly good, although also surprisingly unlike porridge (or maybe not surprising – probably more surprising if it had been the same!) Made probably – and I’m guessing – of a mixture of oats, millet and barley, sweetened and then served with extra honey and/or banana. Either way it was good, though still only managing to eat about half a bowl. Is it altitude, exercise or just nerves that had affected my appetite?


We set off soon after 8. We had seen the path we were to take to Tadapani, and it looked glorious – a gradual grassy ascent up the ridge, with the mountains still to our left. As correctly predicted by Gyaltsen, the cloud that had appeared for the first time last night, now lingered below our feet in the valley. Gradually it rose around us and for the first time we lost sight of the sun in thin, swirling mist. This made the walk if anything even more magical – walking through woods of rhododendrons and small oaks, with the mist around us, but suddenly parting for amazing views of the mountains that loomed even closer.



Lots of people doing similar walks – I think at some point many would branch off to ABC – but it was cheerful, and the ascent not too steep.

By now, I seem to manage most climbs, basically by following the bistali bistali mantra. Laxman trundles behind, singing to himself or with Gyaltsen. After about 40 minutes, we climb out of the woods to a glorious clearing, topped inevitably with a stupa and a teahouse. It was an inevitable photo opportunity and we joined many other groups who thought likewise.

On our left were various Annapurna. I’d like to say the whole Annapurna range, but it’s too big to take in with one view. Prayer flags everywhere. They are hung to cleanse the air and we strung our last remaining prayer flags between the stupa and the tea house –

looking brand new against the ragged and raggledly older versions. The others looked on non-committedly. Probably every single person who treks in Nepal strings prayer flags at various high points. Gyaltsen is Buddhist - so us putting up prayer flags could either strike him as an endearing attempt at solidarity, or just rather pathetic. Somehow though, I think he doesn't judge. Buddhism is unjudgemental - Buddhists therefore don't judge. Or perhaps he is just inscrutable. Most people to Westerners - especially Brits and Americans - are inscrutable. We on the other hand are the most scrutable people on earth..


Anyway, we put up our flags - it's what you do, and though it’s like leaving your washing out, it looks fantastic and adds to the atmosphere. Deep blue skies, white mountains – you could be in the Alps or the Rockies – but prayer flags mean you could only be in Nepal. It’s special.

We now had a sideways view of Machhapurchhare – it’s not the highest mountains in the Annupurna’s – not even a contender at 6,900 metres – but it’s so distinctive and beautiful, and is rightly sacred. This means to climb Machhapurchhare is forbidden – the only expedition to have climbed the mountain did so on the understanding that nobody would touch the summit. They kept to their promise and turned back 150 feet from the top. If you do Annapurna Base Camp (ABC is the hip terminology) you will stay just below Machhapurchhare which would be special

Still before 10, so we moved on without stopping for tea or mango juice. The clouds began to rise from below, so that looking left you saw only the mountains looming out of the mist. The path for once was an easy climb among trees – some scrambling over roots, but no steps for once and it was possible to walk and talk and keep up a good pace, stopping only to take in the scenery.


As we climbed and the cloud rose, we realise now that at some point we are going to be walking in mist and there is the sense we must make the most of it – this could be the last time we will see the mountains for the rest of the trek.

Stopped for hot lemon along the way. Many of the tea houses are run by Tibetans and there are big retail opportunities at all the many lodges along the way. Lots of other trekkers of all nationalities chatting, drinking, and buying bits and pieces. Off again along the river – a little up a little down – until we cross a bridge to another tea house for lunch. A sweet boy (bought by the family?!) served us our food and cheerfully did all the clearing and washing up. He looked about 12 and was constantly cheerful. Livia tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to talk to him in a mixture of Nepali and English – he just kept smiling.

The walk from lunch to Tadopani doesn't seem far. En route Gyelstin spots a monkey in a tree – god knows how – it was miles away but I guess he knows what to look for. The path at this point is even – a few steps and not much incline. Although misty the air is warm and it feels like walking through a rain forest. Occasionally people pass us – either other trekkers or local people. The odd mule train, but no yaks. It doesn't seem likely that we are going to see any.

We reach Tadopani no later than 3.30. The village is high and purpose built although this isn’t to imply it is modern or has anything by way of modern conveniences. On the contrary, places that have grown from nowhere just for trekkers seem to be very basic indeed. There aren't any local homes as far as we could see and life here is entirely to serve trekkers. When the season ends apparently, families return to Pokhara or even Kathmandu. Trekking is a valuable income for these families and since nearly everyone has a Nepali guide and since there are no Club Meds here, most of the income goes to the families. In Tadopani however, they'd obviously decided to pocket their profits rather than invest and improve. A landslide in the monsoon a year ago had taken out electricity, so no lights in our (very very) simple lodge. In fact there were no concessions to comfort at all – no bathroom (just a toilet and an outside sink). The rest of the village was similar - far more basic than Goripani and since the cloud hadn’t lifted, it felt chilly and closed in. There were seven or eight lodges in the village, perched on the side of the cliffs, so that you climbed between them to get anywhere. They looked pretty similar and probably all charged exactly the same. Two Israeli girls trudged through the courtyard of our teahouse and then rather ungraciously move on when told it was going to cost them $3 a night.


We explore the little village climbing up to the stupa and then back down, as there was nothing much to see. Too cold to sit around reading and though there was a shower down a flight of stairs and near to the kitchen, it served also as a toilet so that was a non-starter. Times like this remind me that I’m pretty much a fair weather traveller. Don’t mind simple rooms and can even cope with cold showers and squat toilets. But there’s a point in the afternoon when you wonder what you can do with a room that it both dark and cold, and no obvious place to sit either inside or out. Couldn’t face having a nap, knowing especially that we were likely to go to bed by about 9 pm. In the end we all wrap up in fleeces and gloves and sit in the rather draughty dining room to play cards. Shortly afterwards the two Israeli girls return – presumably they hadn’t found anything cheaper, so became our fellow guests, along with their guide and porter and a couple of middle-aged Japanese men. Gyelstin and co had disappeared – maybe they had friends elsewhere, or maybe they were catching up on sleep – who knows.


With no electricity at all, cooking here was over a wood fire, and we were offered dhal bhat, or chicken curry if we all go for it and it's worth killing the chicken. We did, although not much chicken in my curry. Unlike Goripani, there was no wood burning stove or indeed any obvious heating at all in the restaurant . However, at some point the landlady filled a bucket with burning charcoal and shoved it under the rug covered table. Very good for keeping your legs warm. Possibly it was a dining room, but it was also a bedroom, and at one point during our meal, a younger woman put her baby to bed, thoroughly wrapped up in blankets and then covered with a rug – fairly smelly probably if ours were anything to go by. Our meal was served by a rather surly woman (the man I had taken for the owner was in fact the guide for the Israeli girls). After dinner we play cards again and taught Shubash and the Nepali porter for the Israelis, how to play Shithead. We progressed to Whist which both Nepalis picked up at once and the younger Israeli joined in and told us her story – namely that they were meant to be doing ABC but she had injured her knee and her guide had insisted she returned. It looked like her friend was rather pissed off with this – in any case she didn’t join us for cards, although Rachel was friendly and actually seemed desperate for company. By about 9.30 pm her guide started telling her that it was time for bed. It seemed a bit early and both the Nepalis were getting into the game of cards. We kept going until 11.00 anyway – turned out a better evening than expected.


Day 5 “Djanny Ho”


Not a bad night considering. Small and dark the room may have been but my sleeping bag is fab. I love it. For the hard pillows I swap either a fleece or a blanket if they’re not too smelly. Shubash wakes us up in the morning with a cup of tea, then it’s a wash in the courtyard and breakfast of fried eggs. We set off quite early as it’s another long day – mostly downhill we’ve been told, but with a long up hill bit at the end. Again Livia remembers this – down into the valley and then up countless steps.


After the misty evening, today is fantastic! The sky blue and Macchupurchre nearer than ever.

Everyone’s up photographing the sunrise – the place has taken on a whole new aspect – sparkling in the morning sun – the sky deep blue, the mountains, white and sharp.

Breakfast of eggs – to make up for the rather meagre dinner the night before and then we set off by about 8.30 am. We’ve opted for the slightly longer trip, taking us to Lampus, which has the advantage of staying high and having views, but has a long uphill hike (many steps we're warned -Gyaltsen has clearly now got the measure of me) at the end of the day. We’re all feeling fit now, and agree that we would like to go to Lampus (like we’ve ever heard of it) and keep the views.


We start the morning along a wooded path, dappled sunlight and fairly easy walking. As usual we catch up with and pass other walkers, or they likewise catch up and pass us. Half-way through the morning we are on a gentle descent and come up to a stupa where Gyaltsen is having an animated conversation with a gnomic like Nepali, who as I remember him, is hopping round rather like an angry troll. We stand around and try and make sense of what he is saying – needless to say getting the wrong end of the stick. I got the impression that he had been injured somehow – he kept pointing at his feet and toes and it seemed likely that he could have hurt himself as he was wearing only flip flops. We were so convinced that this was his conversation – that he’d had an injury and wanted help – that we gave him some paracetomol which he gobbled down straight away. He was very interested in Livia and pointed at her several times. We just looked on – none the wiser.

When we stop for tea, Gylsten explains. Apparently the man had been a porter on a trek in the Dhaulagiri region. At some point he became separated from his own trek due to bad weather and he then spent several days wandering alone on the mountain and staying in yak huts at night. He then came across a lone European woman – a blond, who apparently looked like Olivia – probably blond, European. The weather then was apparently very bad - snow and high winds and they had tried to stay together (not sure for how long). Anyway, they had become separated and that was the last he saw of her. Since they were high on the mountain, he obviously believed that she wouldn’t have survived - hence his distress.


Our tea-stop was enlivened with this conversation, plus there were lots of other trekkers, many it seems completing the Annapurna circuit. We then set off on a mainly downhill trek to Gandruk which was a proper village - a town really by Nepali standards - with substantial houses, and proper hotels with running water and electricity - the nearest to civilisation we had come across for sometime. A long leisurely lunch sitting in warm sunshine – everyone feeling good and relaxed.


Now we were considerably lower, the landscape was neatly cultivated and well worked. We walk out of the village down small back lanes and passages - everyone has a garden of cabbages, carrots, potatoes etc. and beyond these were rice fields, of varying sizes, now mostly with the rice harvested. The path gradually becomes steeper and is then stepped with the familiar limestone flagstones. After days of going up, suddenly we are walking down steps - weirdly - but as predicted by everyone, our knees begin to hurt - mine and Graham's anyway. Livia bounces along - no problem. As we come out of the trees we then get a view of the valley below - the thousands of steps down, and - yes, right - a similar steep path going up the other side.


Stopped at the bottom to watch honey harvesting – an annual (or possibly monthly) event with people dangling on scary looking rope ladders over the side of a cliff, fighting off the bees. Across the river and then up to Landruk, which took about an hour but with frequent stops including one to watch a baby kid being born.


Like Gandruk, Landruk is a good sized village built on terraces on the hillside. Our lodge was to be found on one of the top terraces and is another simple place. There is a shower but cold and once again the sun is setting and the air is cool. So no shower, just lots of warm clothes for dinner and then down the hill to the Honey Harvest Festival. Gyaltsen was the main mover here. We knew already he was a bit of a party animal. He is an man of contrasts - partly reserved and inscrutable, but always ready for a drink or a dance. I don't know whether this is part of his buddhist nature - maybe we analysise too much. Anyway we go along the road to the honey harvest festival. A make-shift stage and a really really make shift sound system is put up in a nearby field. We sit on chairs and watch a bizarre show of long, incomprehensible speeches, made clearly by the village elders. This was followed by some singing and dancing to the terrible sound system. Gyaltsen didn't join in this time - but you got the feeling he would have liked to. We didn't either although we did have a share of the honey, which was actually very nice and didn't make us sick, which it did in Laos! In fact the whole evening was sweet in an old fashioned sort of way, - men showing off, teenagers flirting, old matriaches tutting - it reminded me of French films set before the war of life in Brittany or Province.


Day 6


This was our last proper day and I thought would be an easy one, although there was still quite a bit of up before the down! Machupurche was now the other side of the valley and we walked along the side of the valley, which was open and farmed. Market gardens and small paddies which were being cultivated using buffalo as even here there didn’t seem to be any mechanical aids.


A watermill here and there for millet and rice (?) and we came across small schools and even a little hospital/health centre. Since we were now out in the open, no longer trekking through woods of rhododendrons and oaks, you felt once again, as I had on the first day, that this was a foreign country. The neat terraced paddy fields could only ever be South Asia, and even the foothills are huge - much bigger than anything we're used to in Europe.


A stop for tea - and time for Livia to make friends with a cat, and then back into woods and rhododendrons and a long hike up (!) for what seemed like ages, until we make it to the top for our lunch stop, where Japanese hikers were having great fun with dope plants that seemed to be popular, especially with Shubash. Gyelstin clearly disapproved but Liv stuck two in her rucksack – oh god she’s going to get herself into trouble.


Lunch was prolonged and here at the top of the hill, overlooking Annapurna South, the wind was cool. Shubash seemed to have taken over the cooking and prepared momos and rice for us, which was jolly good and worth the wait.


Then a fairly simple descent to Dhampus which was nearly in the valley and seemed entirely like a return to civilisation. As we crossed the wide valley we crossed our first road – admittedly just a gravel one, but nevertheless a road. It felt like we should be going into a spacious, heated, all mod-con hotel, but Ghelstin preserved the feel of the trek by taking us to this utterly sweet lodge with six rooms, no other guests but a delightful mum and three children who entertained us for the evening.


This was our last night and Shubash cooked again, while we allowed ourselves a proper drink. I don’t think they had beer at the lodge, so we opened the whisky and everyone joined in the dancing.


Day 7 - down, down, down


Apart from loosing Shubash and Olivia for a time - they strode on ahead and then went the wrong way - nothing much to report. Small villages and homesteads all the way down and no-one took much notice of us. We were now on a day-trip circuit, although I was glad to be going down for a change. In the valley it was a party day - another party day - and everyone was out for picnics - gangs of people arrived in laden cars, vans and lorries. All along the river, picnics were laid, barbecues lit and sound systems rigged up. Nepalis are party people.


Mini bus back to Pokhara and a farewell to the Himalayas. We were heading south after this. Lookig forward to it, but felt that it wouldn't be as magical as our trek. Well, we're see......