The Annapurna Circuit Part I

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Saturday May 14, 2011

Alright, it has been a long and wild day. It started early this morning when Kevin and I awoke to bid our goodbye to the Kathmandu Guest House and find our bus to Bhulbule, our new trail head for the Annapurna Circuit. The bus stop for us was located somewhere between a giant curbside garbage dump and another random sidewalk. There were only a few of us boarding at this initial stop and so it looked as though we might have a somewhat enjoyable ride. I could not have been more wrong. It took us two over hours just to leave the city of Kathmandu.

Let me attempt to explain the workings of the bus system. We had originally booked our tickets through a travel agent, thereby granting us seats for this bus trip. As we would come to find out there was a never ceasing influx of people boarding and exiting. It is important to note that the bus is operated by two men. The first being the either absolutely most highly trained or most outrageously crazy driver and the second being the doorman. The doorman’s responsibilities are not limited to baggage handling and ticketing; he stood in the doorway the entire trip which was scheduled for 6 but lasted 10 hours. As we would slow down anywhere along the road he would make some whistle or call out to any passersby cooing at them to board. That might not be a problem if the bus was not already full with people standing in the aisle, with the usual hapless victim clearly not having showered in the recent year. The bus was like a rotating zoo of pedestrians while the original (and only tourist) passengers held tight to their seats lest they be grabbed by 3 children and a goat. Yes, we say goats on top of buses and inside of buses.

Now for the driving itself; I may have made mention of the shock I was in after being picked up at the airport, but that was nothing compared to what I witnessed today. As before, the roads are unmarked and rather narrow yet they are still packed with an endless stream of buses, lorries and motorbikes. The way it works is that if you come up behind someone and you want to go faster, you pass. You pass going up a hill, around a corner, into a blind spot, etc. And the horns, yes the horns. Horns are used as an indicator that you are passing or want to pass or need to pass or god knows what because it was pure anarchic chaos. We passed no less than every bus we approached and slammed on our brakes nearly as many times as we wound our way up or down a mountain.

So we finally make it to the ultimate destination, Bhulbule. We unpack our gear from the top of the bus and say goodbye to our fellow goat passenger. We had planned on staying there the night but some Israeli trekkers we met on the bus have informed us that they intend on going to the next village, just an hour away. We consider this a splendid idea as we would like to get a taste for what is to come and give our legs a bit of a stretch. This is likely the easiest part of our upcoming trek and yet it doesn’t take long for me to question whether my backpack has a secret lead lining. Upon reaching Ngadi (3050 ft) we stop to check out the first Tea House but decide we should keep our options open and press on. It is difficult though, as they the owners don’t even bargain but nearly plead with you to stay. This is the end of the second season and there are not many trekkers. There is a look of desperation in the face of a woman as she comes down the hill to persuade us to stay. As we leave there is a small lump in our throat but we know we should keep looking although we quickly realize this town is all the same. These tea houses sit in the lowest part of the trek and it is still warm here so the huts are mainly made of tin and plywood and bare studs. Most places in Ngadi have boasted a toilet and a shower although both are quite simple; a hole in the ground for one and a nozzle connect to some hosing for the other. It is perfect. We settle in, take a cold shower and order our dinner. The great thing about tea houses is that they all have their own dining halls, or in this case, covered picnic table. We sample some Dal Baht which is the cheeseburger of Nepal. Literally meaning “rice and lentils” there is little surprise when both ingredients appear in ample quantities. It is known that as you trek you eat far beyond your normal intake and will likely still lose weight. We sat on a bus and then trekked for only an hour but indeed devour an entire meal. It has been long and happy first day of the trek.

Sunday May 15, 2011

Today was the first day of actually trekking through the wilderness of the Annapurna Circuit. The morning started fairly early as we awoke with the sun. An alarm clock seems to be unnecessary as the natural visual sensation of light beckons us to begin our day. Breakfast is a simple affair that we have arranged the night before. Tea houses will always provide your food but curiously the price will far outweigh the room itself. Porridge and fresh eggs are today’s choice, although it is quickly becoming apparent that the menus are controlled and we will see little variety as we continue. Luckily our hunger is never far behind so whatever is served is of little consequence.

Shortly into our trek we meet up with a lady from San Francisco who has hired a guide and porter. She is in her thirties, affable and a mutual friendship is created amongst us. Her guide is quickly realized to be extremely good and it seems there is little problem for us to tag along, especially since it is her footing the bill.

This early stage of the trek has us in a sort of tropical atmosphere, even once granting us a tree full of monkeys. I am curious if one would like to join our trip but I feel he is ill suited for the colder temperatures and may prove to be a nuisance if I ever order the banana porridge. The weather is clear and we are pleasantly surprised as we get our first very distant and fleeting glimpse of some mountain peaks. We are unaware of their names precisely but the image they strike is daunting and fearsome. I am glad we are merely going around such giants.

The topography of Nepal is such that it presents a forever frustrating route as you pick yourself up steep stone steps leaving the winding river below only to descend back to the water and repeat the process. If there is a method to the madness it is hidden in the timeless trail and has died with the tradesman of the time past.

Breaking for lunch my head hangs low from fatigue but we are all happy. The day is going well and a fair distance has been covered. We descend to cross the river again and we are greeted with a likely enemy for any acrophobic like me. The footbridge is a Swiss design and has been well built, but I am leery of the crossing as it sways in the wind. My nerves bear little resemblance to the steel upon which I cross and I am calmed only once I finish. Knowing not how many will be encountered I merely count how many I cross and hope each day does not appear in multiples of five.

Staying hydrated is a major concern and water is purchased at nearly every stop. The Steripen I purchased just before leaving has suddenly quit working so I am left with little recourse. Although the plastic bottles are a known hindrance for the surrounding environment as their disposal is haphazard at best I purchase and guzzle thinking only of my thirst as sweat continues to pour off my face.

We select our final destination at a guest house in Chamje (4692 ft) and await our dinner which is sure to be an affair filled of rice, noodles and salt. As we wait the guide recounts stories that would normally have me scoffing but his conviction and glowing eyes lead me to believe there may be some truth. He tells us of the young boy who was lost for 7 days without food or water but survives and becomes one such Shaman. This modern day witch doctor has been seen sticking his feet in flames only to remove them unscathed and mesmerizing chickens so that when the man shakes or dances the chickens respond in parallel. He goes on to support his claim of the Shamans’ power by pointing to his brother saying he was one such recipient. His brother only sits silently and smiles; his English is not very good but he understands and points to where his arm had been broken and then healed. This images swirl about my head but my interest is fading. It has been an interesting day but my head is slowly drooping and although it was not always the case, eight o’clock suddenly feel so late.

Monday May 16, 2011

Today started much like the others, rising early and feasting on the local varieties. The menus change little and it is understood that we will soon be repeating our favorite meals. My vegetable omelet contains some native root vegetable and while it makes a noticeable crunch the flavor escapes me. Tea is becoming a consistent drink of choice and I relish the flavor as much as one can enjoy darkly colored heated water. I think Starbucks would make a killing up here.

Up and down, up and down. The river is a magnificent burden, forcing us to cross it and climb beyond its reach; only to return to its gurgling shores and find ourselves on the opposite side. If it wasn’t for the numbers on our map I would not know we were making any vertical progress. It is a progression of tiresome climbing but by midday we can no longer see our starting point.

At lunch we dine on a typical meal including some pasta or rice with a change in flavor only occurring when the chef adds one instead of two cups of salt to our meal. The food is delicious but the there is a strong possibility that our hunger is the only determining factor in selection. During our break the guide recounts yet another story, this time illustrating his hidden humor. He speaks of eating baby hornets and informs us that even in his religion this is allowed since the hornet provides no common welfare and harms other animals. The trick to capturing them however is a primitive science. The Nepalis will pick and then dry wild marijuana plants. They then will burn the plants and blow the smoke at the hornets and once they are “silly and drunk” they will capture all they can and fry them up. Cuisine in other countries resembles an odd art at times but I would not turned down doped hornets if given the opportunity.

The waterfalls that greet us around unassuming turns are a welcome sight. There is less runoff than usual but as they mist upon the rocks I can only wish to jump through and fall down inside one with a bar of soap in one hand. The heat and climbing drenches us all and the smell is inescapable. I begin to resemble those that I avoided on our bus trip over but this time we are all equals and no one has escaped the malicious pungency.

Sunburn is a concern during this trip and it has taken only two days to reveal the places I have missed. This time it is the tops of the forearm; they have been atypically exposed to the sun as I grasp my trekking poles, leaving usually and permanently white skin burned under the ravenous sun.

We stop in the town of Bagarchhap at an elevation of 7087 ft and we are beginning to enter elevations I have scarcely entertained. However the air is still easy to breath and little has changed. The surrounding area resembles forests I have seen before but knowing that peaks are looming nearby gives me a different feeling as though I am somewhere I truly have never been. As the sun begins to set some rain clouds dissipate and we begin to see the base of Annapurna II. It is impressive and immediately our first three days have been worthwhile. The guide,Wanccho, laughs and says that it is only the base of the mountain we see, as if we “are seeing its underwear”.