Have you been trekking in Nepal?
I always reply that although I have visited Nepal previously, that no, I haven’t been trekking. Apparently this is a terrible thing to say, or admit to, so this trip I set about to rectify the situation.
I signed up for a 4 day trek with a female guide who turned out to be an angel. Unfortunately, the first morning and stage involved a perpendicular climb up high stone steps. As I staggered higher, I could see the taxi at the drop-off point far below and it took all my willpower not to scream out loud for him to wait while I scrambled back down to the safety of that car.
What the hell was I doing? Panting, sweating and hating each step. If it wasn’t for the patience of Tika, my guide, I would have given up after two hours.
Eventually we came to a sort of semi even ground and a whole new vista opened up. “This is better” I said to myself. “Lovely villages, beautiful hills and mountains, I can do this trip.” In Nepal, when trekking, it doesn’t pay to look too far ahead because stone steps, thousands of stone steps, loom ahead. On I trudged. Somehow I made it to the night stop-over. Bleak would nearly compliment this place. Swathed in clouds, drizzle and damp it wasn’t inspiring.
The next morning we set off in pouring rain- it didn’t matter that it was raining as we were already damp from the day before. Add rain water to already slippery steps and disaster is sure to happen. Happen it did, about 2 hours into the day. I had been quietly confident that things were going well until suddenly, whoosh, I was on the ground. The surprise of ending up like that was short lived, because I could see an army of leeches marching purposefully towards me. These leeches were like trios on the move, they hung off ferns and grass and were ready, and willing, to latch onto my skin. I was far more worried about being sucked dry by them than by any sprains or bruises from the fall.
On we went and finally a few minutes of flat ground. “Oh isn’t this lovely.” I thought. Walking in the rain, soaked to the skin, but still it was lovely. That feeling lasted until I stepped into a fresh cow-pat. The shit oozed to the edges of my jeans and I nearly cried. With the tension of walking on high slippery steps, rain, leeches and fatigue, I really can’t remember much of the next couple of hours. I do remember hearing some birds singing in the rain high up (and probably laughing at the strange lady down below) but I didn’t have the courage to look up and try to identify them.
Toilet stops were a nightmare, too much exposed skin for the leeches! Tika and I stopped every 10 minutes and checked for leech attack. Still, I had my first encounter, and my scream echoed across the valley. I had become paranoid, and with good reason, as they could even wriggle their way into my socks through the lace-holes of my boots.
When we made it to our stop-over for the second night, I counted six leech bites- all of which were bleeding. This guest house was set high up on the hill over-looking a green, waterfall crossed valley. The buildings were all made of stone, the narrow paths were stone, the rice fields were enclosed by small stone walls and the buildings were roofed in slate. To carry any other building materials to these villages is a feat of endurance, so the local stone is used for everything.
From the terrace, I could look across to the next hill and make out the next day’s walk. The word despair sprang quickly to my mind. The next village stop was much higher, so much so, that it was engulfed by clouds, Bloody hell.
We set off at 7.30am the next morning and the first half an hour was down hill, through rice paddies, but still on stone steps, until we reached a large waterfall and raging river; across the suspended bridge and then the start of the ascent. To say that the next 3 hours were physically challenging would be an under-statement. For me, it was unbearable. I can’t remember one piece of flat ground; the steps were vertical and high. By the time I reached the top, I could barely go on.
What a relief when we checked into the most gorgeous guest house, with hot water, beer and lovely garden. Who cared if the clouds had enveloped us again and it was still raining? I even found some energy to look around this settlement and I was pleased that I had made the effort to reach here.
Next day was all down-hill, in the rain. This brought on another set of problems as the stone steps were extremely slippery and I was very tentative. Imagine having to be carried down to the valley floor by men whilst nursing a broken ankle? Oh, the humiliation.
On the way I met a lady weaving a cotton lungi on her verandah, a fresh bread bakery in the middle of nowhere, countless people trudging up to where I had left. Everyone had a bundle strapped to their back; it would be sacrilege to trudge uphill without carrying some supplies.
After a few hours we came to the valley floor and some flat walking. One more unpleasant surprise awaited me. Because of the incessant rain, the river had flooded and the track had been washed away. The local villages had erected a makeshift wooden bridge with wooden slats as extra grip. My look of horror at crossing on this thing registered with Tika, and she came back across to hold my hand! Pride had no place at this time; I think I was beyond any feeling really.
