Plan B

With tummies full of millet flour pancakes (they look a bit like chocolate if your blurr your eyes!) doused in bittersweet Himalayan honey, we said our very fond farewells to Chandrika and left Gola behind. Officially no more 'work' until home beckons, just a lot of walking to get back to Kathmandu!

We'd met some friendly Nepalese Army sergeants a week before who also patrolled the Makalu National Park. They warned us that the three passes we had to cross to reach Makalu Base camp were buried under 12ft of snow and two climbing expeditions, who planned to attempt a summit push in May with climbing Sherpas a plenty, were held up waiting for the snows to melt. Although we were equipped with two snow adapters for our walking poles, we weren't very hopeful of our passage, as we retraced our steps back down the valley! We had two long days to reach Seduwa where we'd arranged to meet our guide. 

With very garbled Nepali instructions, the sort where you nod and continually say yes but leave, looking at one another asking 'did you get any of that?!', we struck out on the first of many infamous 'short cuts' to Seduwa. A little lost at times, we found ourselves on tiny paths weaving through dense jungle. After the recent rains, everything was bursting with life. The humidity, noises, smells and vibrant colours pressed in from all sides. Everything seemed to be on an unbelievable scale, boulders the size of houses were enveloped by trees with leaves the size of dinner plates, gigantic roots wrapping around them and seed pods as big as your arm scattering the ground. Waterfalls straight out of shampoo adverts cascaded down polished rock for hundreds of metres, as vibrantly coloured flowers and butterflies bigger than your hand framed perfect jungle scenes. It was all pretty intoxicating but the thought of getting lost in a place like this definately added another bead of sweat to an already dripping brow! Maybe a guide wouldn't be a bad idea!

After six months of independent travel, we were a little apprehensive about meeting our guide Karna. We hoped we'd get along well, he'd understand our slightly peculiar ways and find the little forgotten places we wanted to visit. 

We finally reached a river crossing and bade farewell to the jungle for now, spanning the glacial river was a lovely new metal bridge, always a welcome site next to an ancient wooden rotting crossing! We reached Seduwa and found Karna as the sun set on a perfectly clear day, unbeknown to us, the last for a while! 

By now, the valley rumour mill was in full swing. Every passing person gave a different description of the amount of snow on the pass to Makalu. It went from knee deep, to 12ft to the height of a Yeti! After a chat with Karna, we decided to go as far as we could along the base camp trail but have a plan B ready for deployment in case things got a bit hairy. That night a thunderstorm battered the corrugated iron roof in the early hours. Nonetheless, in the morning we three set off to Tashigoan, the last real village before the long walk in to Makalu, and then the next day to a tea house just below the snowy pass at Kongma Danda. 

The days were rainy and cold and snow was still falling high up. After much debate, sat around a smokey fire in a stone shack perched above 3000m in a cloud, we decided to implement Plan B and leave base camp for the professionals. 

The decision was sealed when Julien, a French photographer burst into the hut, soaked to the skin, declaring that he'd spend two 'f#☆king terrible sleepless nights on the mountain, imagining every possible way to die in an avalanche' as the snow piled high around the lodge... it wasn't very tempting. 

The next morning we woke to a perfect sunrise over the Kanchenjunga Range and thought we'd made a huge mistake. Ten minutes later the thick wet cloud had returned and we gratefully headed back down the path listening to two local shepherds communicating the whereabouts of their yaks using haunting whistles in the mist. 

Our 'Plan B' involved following a section of the Great Himalayan Trail along the Arun Valley and beyond to join the original Everest approach from Jiri. Not a high mountain route but well off the beaten track and a good challenge with 3 passes over 3000m and many hideously steep ups and downs. 

The first of these took us on a 'natural route' as Karna called it, not so much a path, as a yak trail through bamboo forests, which even they seemed to struggle to follow! Luckily we had Lakpha and his dog with us, a local Sherpa who had agreed to act as an additional guide, to get us to his wife's village so we could join the main trail. As he guided us like an elf in trainers, we felt like clumsy bumbling oafs, tumbling and sliding all over the place on the slippery wet stones and muddy clay. 

That night we stayed in Narbagaon, a village lost in time. Ox ploughed the terraces, while women drilled holes in the mud for planting with bamboo, thatched houses huddled in the hills as the rain fell and after dahl bhat, in front of a smokey fire, we spent the first of many nights sleeping on a wobbly wooden veranda under hundreds of drying maize and creepy crawlies. Karna had obviously judged us perfectly bringing us here!

Early the next day we took another 'short cut', a hideously steep, slippery path down to the Ishuwa Khola (khola means river/stream). We all took a tumble or two but remarkably remained unhurt as the path twisted down, impossibly clinging to the mountain side, traversing landslides and descending cliff faces. Our overladen bags acted like pendulums, but somehow we reached the river and looking back couldn't believe that the vertical gorge infront of us somehow had a path down it... we're still not sure it was actually a path!

Someone who had had absolutely no problem with the descent was Lakpha's dog. Despite being restrained as we said our goodbyes that morning, she had sniffed us out, not particularly challenging given the state of Ed's shirt, and followed us with noobvious sign of turning back. We decided to call her Roksie after the local millet spirit, it seemed to match her slightly cheeky nature and she was to become the fourth member of our group for the next 15 days and a little celebrity along the route in every village we stayed. Roksi, the spirit, is a local delicacy and drunk by all, everyone is a connisseur, and people found it hilarious we'd called our dog after it!

As we wondered through the tiny remote villages, one of our daily challenges was to find food and shelter. Karna never failed to locate a friendly Ama (mother) to cook us food, lend us her three stone fire or, at the end of the day, a dusty veranda to sleep on. 

It became a regular event for Karna to roll up his sleves and prepare the most delicious food after scrounging local organic veggies, rice, spices and pickles. Fortunately for us, he was an incredible cook and we had some of the tastiest food in Nepal under his watch. People, busy going about their daily life, thought nothing of giving us completely free reign in their kitchens, something very hard to imagine happening back in St. Agnes! 

One afternoon we arrived ravenous, eagerly looking for food, and came across an idyllic farmstead on a sunny spot above the Arun River. Lush green maize surrounded the farm as people pottered about milking buffalos, weaving bamboo mats and spreading fresh cow dung on the living room floor (makes a lovely soft terracotta finish!). With all this going on, there was no one to cook us our lunch but they happily showed us to their outside kitchen nestled between the toilet and pig sty and we set to work. We were a bit of a novelty and everyone kept looking up from their chores to watch our progress. 

The food was award winning, the setting outstanding but unfortunately eyes were bigger than tummies and hours of intense nausea followed as we trudged on in almost 100% humidy through gruelling terrain. Heavy bags with constricting waist straps should not be worn after a feast like that!

We would often make our beds on people's verandas, laying out our thermarests and sleeping bags on top of the woven mats that seem to be all locals need. We would drift off to the sounds of the village going to sleep, people chatting, the rain on tin roofs, hens settling in their roosts and then wake to the dawn breaking and the village coming to life with the crowing of cockrels, clatter of plates and the smell of morning fires. One morning we happily watched the looks on people's faces as they walked down the main path in the village to see us sipping black pepper tea in our sleeping bags perched on one such veranda. Needless to say, we slept awfully most nights but the experience was worth it! We came to cherish the magical hour between 5 and 6, a peaceful time, when the light slowly returns and life in the village begins. 

As we dropped into the valley, the temperatures rose and we finally got the sunny days we'd been hoping for. The sun warmed the wet earth and you could feel the humidity rising as we walked by. Nepali people know a thing or two about water and irrigation and they do it beautifully. Walking through dense jungle you would find a stream diverted into a huge piece of split bamboo, cascading onto the path, a perfect shower to douse a pink sweaty face.

Some villages and collections of houses we passed seemed to be utterly lost in time. They appeared completely untouched by the modern world and the desolate, stone age landscape to added to the atmosphere.

As Karna put it, 'karma' dictated that we were able to visit one of his old college friends in a village called Chaukidanda that happened to be just off our chosen route. Karna had not seen his college pal, Birendra, headteacher of the village secondary school, for over 6 years and we all celebrated the reunion with cold Tuborg beers as the clouds exploded into the most monstrous electrical storm either of us have ever experienced. We were glad we had a slightly more substantial roof over our head that night although at times it felt like it was going to take off! The lightening flashes and thunder were something else. The sky was illuminated every few seconds as sheet and fork lightening sliced through the sky, torrential rain hammering the ground. All became eerily calm as the eye passed over us before moments later what felt like hurricane force winds pulled on every nail and joint holding the roof in place! Not ideal trekking weather!

Although few and far between, the people we met plodding along The Great Himalyan Trail that followed our route were certainly peculiar types! No doubt that's what Dave from Oregan and Dario from Switzerland thought of us too! Dave was obsessed with the destruction of ancient Himalayan trails with poorly planned and badly executed road construction. He was planning a one man crusade to raise awareness of the impact this is having on local communities and tourism throughout the country. Unfortunately, his group of four other friends, who started out with him had all slowly dropped away leaving him to fight his mission solo! We did see the impact of these new roads which are obviously vital to the remote communities they hope to reach. The big worry is that by destroying so many ancient trails, tourism, a huge life blood to Nepal, could also be destroyed. Who knows the answer?

As it was, we continued our trek along beautiful rivers, fields of buckwheat, barley, maize, rice, potatoes and saag. Children played in the crystal clear rivers and for the first time this whole trip we joined them for a swim. The crap infested rivers of India were just never that tempting!

We left the river and climbed up to the first of the three high passes we would be crossing. Along the way we were caught in another ridiculous storm, made more wild and violent by the setting. After winds whipped around our lodge, huge hailstones batter the corrugated tin roof and lightenening lit up the mountain skyline like something out of Lord of the Rings. Higher up, the houses took on a feel of something out of the wild west, huge eagles circling over head as the clouds rose up obscuring the lush, warm valley below.

Attempts to find our friend Roksi a new home continued to fail, and she happily bounded on at our heel, scrounging food as she went and charming all passers by. (As well as getting into a few fights with frisky mongrels along the way!) 

Karna, ever tolerant of our strange whims, agreed to get up at 4am the next morning so we could trudge up to the pass for sunrise. We chased the weather and were rewarded with a beautiful sunrise, cloud inversion and Silicho Peak presiding over our view. We cooked up a familiar breakfast of instant noodles next to Salpa Pokhari, a sacred lake to both Buddhists and Hindus, who regularly trek there on a pilgrimage to ask the spirit of the lake to grant them their wishes. 

The descent from the pass followed a clear mountain stream surrounded by tall ancient pines. We walked through arches of sweet smelling blossom from paper plants, carpets of primulas and little strawberry flowers. The world felt like it was just waking up, like Narnia after the snow had gone. We arrived in a small Sherpa village called Sonam as the clouds dropped and shrouded the Stupas in mist. A kind soul cooked us lunch in a dark cosy wood lined kitchen with a roaring fire in a clay oven. Our luck held again and another vast thunderstorm broke as we rushed into Gudel at the end of the day to the safety of a warm lodge.

We were now getting into the rhythmn of life on the trail. Every up was followed by a steep descent as each river crossing and valley bottom was followed by a pass of over 3000m... oh for a flat path! We went to bed that night gazing across the valley at Kiraule, it seemed so close but we knew another 1000m decent and climb stood in the way... a nice little zip wire across would be much easier! It's hard to complain though when the days goal is simply to keep on plodding. 

Each passing village and valley differed so much. It doesn't seem to just be the altitude. The houses, communities, crops, flowers, people's dress, jewellery and religion has such a huge impact on the environment and the feel of the place. 

As we left the tropical valley bottom we climbed towards Kiraule. Before long we found ourselves in what could only be described as a Buddhist Yorkshire Moor with yak replacing sheep and Gompas replacing stone churches (and the Great Stone of Fourstones!) with a few more prayer flags scattered about than the last time I was in Benny Bentham! It was windswept, barren and remote but equally beautiful.

We settled in for the evening next to an ancient 500 year old crumbly colourful Gompa. It sat on the brow of the hill looking down across the barren 'moor'. Around its perimeter was a huge circular mane wall (a wall made up of hundreds of stones inscribed with Tibetan Mantra), each stone was hand carved and covered in moss and greying lichen as old as the monastery. Huge ancient trees encircled the tiny clearing, protecting the Gompa and creating a stillness around it in the vast expanse of the valley. 

We happened to be there on the day that Monastery's seven Lamas met for their monthly Puja. After being invited to share a salt yak butter tea, we then settled into a corner of the cosy candle lit prayer room to watch the puja. The rhythmical clashes of symbols, banging of drums and low guttural chanting of ageless Tibetan prayers was mesmerising.We felt incredibly lucky to have stumbled across this magical place on exactly the right day and to be the only other souls there. At the evening interval, the head Lama offered us more tea and we talked about our time in Nepal with our best Nepalese. He said we must have had good karma in our previous lives to end up in this place, together and at this time. Although we're not coming back as devout Buddhists, his sincerity, kind face and belief certainly made you want to belive what he was saying. It was a very special moment. 

The next day, after another stunning sunrise and far too many photos, we set off on our way again.

 The path felt as old as the hills and we walked alongside ancient Stupas being slowly reclaimed by nature and passed great long mane walls surrounded by the most amazing display of rhodedendrons we've seen in Nepal. We sat in a sunlit clearing on warm grass gazing at snowy mountains framed by flowers of every colour. It was hard to imagine anywhere more beautiful. 

Sherpa people are well known for their relationship with the mountains and mountaineering. In a country where caste is still so incredibly important, the success of the Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, who with Edmund Hillary, was in the first team to summit Everest, has left a lasting impact on this ethnic group. Uniquely, we've read that his success seems to have elevated their position in society. Their continued successes in the tourist industry and in summitting peaks (or getting tourists much less skilled than themselves to the top of peaks) has continued his legacy. We saw a pretty inspiring example of this when we stayed in a very well cared for lodge on our penultimate night of the trek. Photos of a very handsome man dressed in full climbing regalia hung all over the walls. His wife and small son proudly told us that he, Dawa Lama Sherpa, was currently at Everest Base camp about to summit for the 7th time!

The next day our bubble burst and we descended to the main Everest Base Camp trail from Jiri. In five minutes we saw more trekkers than we'd seen in the last 5 weeks! Hundreds of mules passed by carrying pasta and Kit-Kats to meet the needs of the thousands of tourists that arrive in Lukla everyday. Only now did our faithful friend Roksi decide to leave us, it was as if she new it was time for us to part ways and sadly for us that meant getting in another jeep and heading back to Dustmandu. As a little treat on the way home, we got possibly the best panorama of the Everest Range money can buy as the sun rose on another beautiful day.

Everest... big smokey one in the middle!

After more admin than you can dream of, arranging Chinese and Russian visas in Kathmandu for the next part of our trip, we are now relaxing in Pokhara, trying to imagine the Annapurna Range (currently behind thick cloud!) wondering where the last four months went! We did manage to squeeze in one last trek to see one last sunrise over Dhaulagiri and Annapurna from Poon Hill which didn't disappoint!

Now Hong Kong awaits before a long train ride home via Beijing, Mongolia, Siberia, Moscow, Poland, Slovenia and Croatia... well that's the plan anyway! 

We're not quite sure if leaving Nepal means the end of the blog but if we have some stories to share and feel inspired to write we'll let you know!

Loads of love

Ed and Kat xxxx