THE DISCOVERY OF WHY

THE DISCOVERY OF WHY Exhausted and needing to catch my breath, I stepped aside to allow a group of young Asians to pass. A woman, all of 25, looked up under my peak cap and exclaimed: "Wow! Old!" I suppose a lot of people my age, 63, would not dream of attempting to trek in Nepal, let alone attempt a haul to 4,130m. Comments such as this had the opposite effect on me. I stood with a straighter back, proud that this ‘old' woman was undertaking the trek of a lifetime. When my travelling buddy, Wazza, had announced, in early April 2016, “I’m going back to Nepal and this time to trek to Annapurna Base Camp in September”, then and there I knew I was going. “I’m in!” I said. I had watched his previous trip to Nepal on Facebook and wanted a piece of the action. Now on the trail, I sipped my water, gazed at the valley below and breathed. My guide Dhan, a gentle Buddhist believer, was the one to coax me to the top, that he would almost kill me was not in my wildest dreams a possibility. I trusted this man with my life. The trek has begun way back in Kathmandu. Wazza took me to Thamel, the westerner’s paradise to meet all the young men who would travel with us. We had met our guide at the airport on arrival. I could see the group already had an easy rapport as the year before they had all attempted to trek to Everest Base Camp, Wazza was injured and so they failed to complete the trek. Thamel was full of narrow streets, with an ancient history dating back to 1000 BC. Originally it was a Buddhist learning centre. It was sated with colourful clothing, mats, cashmere shops and trekking stores filled to overflowing with similar products to the one next door. It can be a bargainer’s paradise. Eateries, money changers shops and an abundance of tourists from all corners of the globe congested into less than 1 square kilometer. The noise was caterwauling and pedestrians needed to be watchful of motorbikes and tuk-tuks, elderly Nepali men selling hand-made instruments and a few taxis thrown in the mix. We were to trek to the Annapurna Sanctuary, at the base of the Annapurna Himalayan Range; the base camp was situated at 4130m, whereas the mountains towered at over 7000m. This sanctuary lies approximately 40kms north of Pokhara, as the crow flies, yet to arrive there is required a trek of some 115kms. Most of the trek followed the ascent of the Modi Khola River, which was fed by melting ice and snow from the mountains above. The final section of the trek entered through a narrow valley between the Hinchuli and Machhapuchre mountains. We would follow the southern slopes and experience splendid flora, travel through thick forests filled with rhododendrons and bamboo, see a few monkeys, barely any birdlife and an abundance of waterfalls and streams. Machhupuchre is a sacred mountain to the Nepali and westerners are not allowed to climb it. In the valley, only until recently, eggs and meat were not permitted and neither were women and untouchables. I felt honoured. The next morning, early, we would all have to make our way to the common bus terminal to leave for Pokhara, an idyllic lake-side holiday destination and the launching venue for many of the treks available in the Himalayas in Nepal. The day dawned with a chorus of barking dogs. Quickly I dressed and paced as Wazza had yet to complete his toilet. Our guide Dhan arrived and waited quietly. The boys were to meet us at the bus station however I was to discover what Nepali time looked like. Two failed to arrive. Quickly, alternative arrangements were made. Fortunately, we had commandeered a bus all to ourselves. The bus terminal was crammed with buses, vans, salubrious coaches and the very cheap skeletons of buses. Along the perimeter were food stalls and a few potent toilets. Toilets here were squat toilets, western women rarely emerged without wet feet. The next 6 hours rattled our bones but not our humour. Due to a heavy monsoon season, the roads resembled a river bed, replete with mud and craters. They contained the watery remains of the season and endured the traffic of buses, cars, motorbikes, pedestrians, and trucks; myriads of trucks with horns singing loud Indian tunes painted decoratively and fringed gaily. At long last, we arrived in Pokhara. After the arduous journey, this was nirvana. However, the view of the city beyond the shores of the lake was authentic Nepal. Rubbish collected along the roads and outside the shops as modern living had invaded via television and sold its packaged goods without provision for disposal. “You should see Machhupuchre when the clouds lift,” Dhan informed us. The next morning we woke to glory, the light played out on the snowy mountain top. We would trek around Machhupuchre and it would become more intimate, it was beckoning us to come. I also sensed a haunting warning. Trekking often begins in planes or four-wheeled drive vehicles. Nepali must view the westerners with mirth. We trek when we have to, otherwise, we fly or drive, and for us, we had a driver who took us as far as Birithani, the end of the road, or trail, as it was merely another muddy route through rugged terrain. We suffered eight hours of steps, up one mountain and down the nether side, again and again, and again. The steps were mostly huge blocks of stone, uneven and too large for my small legs. The exercise was laborious and I found myself stopping often to catch my breath and take a drink of water with Hydralite added. We encountered porters, buffalo, goats and other trekkers returning from the direction we were headed, their compassionate look spoke volumes. I found myself respecting the Nepali who was laden with mountains of luggage, wood, and provisions for various outposts. Some of the porters were frail old men and there were a few women, their skins dried to a crisp. They did not sport the fancy trekking boots we had, come to think of it neither did our guide. Many porters simply wore sandals. Another oddity was seeing porters carrying umbrellas. We had packed ponchos as we expected rain, yet the plastic suffocated and warmed the air. We were walking saunas. We experienced the dichotomy of trekking towards snow-capped mountains and wading through steamy tropics en route. The first night on the trail was Jhinu Danda. This outpost boasted hot springs, how enticing! The brochure failed to mention that these pools were surrounded by hungry leeches that inhabited the dark, waiting for unsuspecting westerners. As there were no lights, frolicking in heated pools in the dark was not as inviting as the brochure promised. A mobile's light source is reliable in an emergency, however, the ability to penetrate the surroundings was limited, and they are also not reliable in the water. Darkness tends to lend itself to imaginations and unfortunate incidents. I had the duty to apply first aid to one of the lads who slipped escaping leeches. Day 3 saw everyone waiting, waiting for the man. You guessed it, Wazza was missing. He always had a reason for the delay and was most affronted when we accused him of tardiness. If he wasn't cleaning his teeth, shaving or cleaning his boots, he was packing his bags. Dhan smiled. Today we faced a climb to 2170 to Chomrong where we dined on Dahl Baht and cooled our heels, literally. I soaked my feet in a basin of cold water, much to the delight of the locals, whilst gazing at snow-covered mountains. After lunch, we trekked to 2,310 m to a village called Bamboo. This may not sound like a massive gain, however, to arrive there we had first trekked to 2540m to a place called Kuldhigar and then down the mountain to Bamboo. The whole trek covers 115kms with the daily effort at around 10-20kms, depending on the height of the ascent and corresponding descent. Bamboo village proudly boasts 4 guest houses. They are all much the same; we know they all eat the same Dahl Baht, for instance. Good management and cleanliness are always a bonus. Did I say hot showers? There is nothing like a hot shower after a gruelling 8-hour trek, oh and a soft bed, when such a luxury was to be found. Day 4 and excitement was ramping. Today we would trek to Deurali at 3,200m. We were hopeful of a cooler climate as the heat was overrated. We climbed up watery sloped on paths that resembled creek beds, the huge steps were absent and the forest, or more so, the jungle, encompassed us. We saw monkeys from a distance, hibiscus, rhododendrons and all the canopy was bedecked with green vines. The way was vibrantly pleasant even though the climb was continual. Streams and waterfalls and the noise of the river not far below were constantly providing orchestral strains. It was here we traversed makeshift bamboo bridges. You might say 'focus' was the pivotal word. Day 5 and breathing becomes difficult. We headed to Machhapuchre Base Camp at 3,700m for lunch. We had departed the forest and headed for highlands. We were beginning to identify with Heidi and her Swiss Alps, we only needed to find grandfather and the goats. The countryside reminded us of the Scottish Highlands and the cover was similar to peat. Grazing the hills were shaggy highland sheep, minded by young men playing volleyball and their large black dogs. We had hoped for views of Mount Machhapuchre, however, the mist had come in low and the views were limited. After lunch, we set our faces towards Annapurna Base Camp, our destination. Still climbing I needed to stop every few steps as I struggled for air. I thought I was just tired, but later I learned I was beginning to experience altitude sickness. Dhan gently coaxed me on. Finally, we made camp and Wazza and I congratulated ourselves with a beer, at $8.50 a can, it was expensive but well worth it. As the mist was set in we played games as best we could with limited air supply. After an early dinner, I went to bed only to spend the night propped up on cushions gasping for air. I was unaware that Dhan had a sleepless night as he knew how dangerous my condition had become. Further deterioration meant a helicopter ride down to Pokhara. I prayed: Lord, if you want someone to help me, have them meet me at the bathroom, otherwise I will know You have it all in hand. Noone came. At 4 am, an early light played out upon the white snowscape with golden kisses. You have heard it said: "It was just magical!" Well, it was! To the right was a huge glacier, glued to the valley below it, like a huge squirt of icing from an enormous piping nozzle. Before us were the Annapurna Mountain and Machhapuchre Mountain along with many lesser-known mountains. After breakfast, Dhan pushed us down the mountain towards Doban at 3,414m. Trekking eight hours and being unwell was no easy task. Dhan and I were the last to camp and it was dark before we arrived. Wazza was worried and very grateful to see me still alive, even if I was a mere shell of my former self. I managed a small bowl of noodles and crawled to bed. Morning and breakfast made way for us to endure another eight hours of steps to finally arrive at Chomrong. Throughout the day we had surrendered another 1000m and the air was, just fine. However, by this time a few of us had become increasingly weak and a variety of ailments took hold. I found my brakes and would not budge. We rescheduled our further movements and all opted for a few days rest and recuperation gazing at our beloved mountains. That first night as I opened my door to go to the bathroom I discovered a huge black dog had laid across the doorway, I was comforted. I had a friend come to ensure I made it through the night and I was grateful. We stayed for three days, in quiet, gazing at the snow-covered mountains, playing basketball and cards and endeavouring to communicate with the locals, helping prepare meals and conversing with the children. This was Nepal, after all. It was not the conquest of mountains that was important but the people and the land.