Temang to Dukhur Pokhari to Ngawal

October 26, 2010

There are two routes to Manang. One is called the High Road, and the other is called the Low. As you might imagine, the High Road ambles along seductively, providing monumental views, and then it takes a sharp turn up mountain. We chose the High Road.

This morning, we woke up to Ankit muttering outside. It sounded like he was narrating for his camera, 'yeah, it might be beautiful, but this is how cold hell is.' When we started laughing, our breaths came out in great puffs of white. It really was cold.

Prying ourselves from warm sleeping bags, we braved the outhouse and then immediately retreated the kitchen where the guest house keeper and his wife were frying up our pancakes over an open fire. We huddled near the stove, tucking our freezing hands between our knees and gaping at our cook's bare feet. These people are hard core.

Joshua had his usual - muesli and milk with a pancake - while I had a buckwheat pancake. The buckwheat is hearty and warm, and I feel like it's the kind of meal my pioneer ancestors would be proud of: something that sticks to your insides. While we ate, we enjoyed the smell of woodsmoke, the window-framed mountains, and the smiling company of our guest house keeper. Although we may be far away from home, it almost feels like we're fast-forwarding through Minnesota seasons. First, we had fall, as the elevation rose and the trees turned colors, leaves fell, and eventually, we were surrounded by evergreens. Now, the mountains are snowy, and there's a thick coating of frost outside. It feels like were back home, in a way.

Back in our rooms, we packed up the last of our things and headed out of Dukhur Pokhari. For the first 45 minutes, we walked on a wide, level path between evergreens and over streams. The mountains peaked out from behind greener hills, and their snowy caps reminded me of landscapes in Northern New Mexico, Montana, or the Cascades of Washington. Someplace dry and mountainous; someplace peaceful and breathtaking where the buildings are built from untreated timber, the chimneys spill fragrant woodsmoke, and the smiling locales grin and say, 'Namaste.'

In Pisang, we wandered through another town that reminded us of the wild west, and past a long row of prayer wheels, we turned to cross the river. Our guest house keeper had recommended the High Road between Pisang and Manang, and as we all know, locals know best (and so does Lonely Planet). We bounded across the swinging foot bridge, admiring the prayer flags flap in the river-wind, and on the other side, we headed into the evergreens.

10 more minutes down the road, Annapurna erupted in a great white mass, and we stopped to stare. With blue-grey shadows, icy ridges, and an electic blue sky above, Annapurna makes a startling impression. Once we started staring, we couldn't stop. For the rest of the day, we kept one eye on the trail and the other pinned on Her Majesty.

Around another turn, Ankit spied a turquoise lake nestled among evergreens. We detoured to the shoreline, and on the other side, a couple of Korean trekkers called us over. Dropping our packs, we circumnavigated the lake, and on the other side, we were greeted by the most magnificent view yet: Mring Tso Tal is a looking glass for Annapurna II, and the glassy green surface provides a perfect place to stop and admire the mountain.

After we took a few photos, we just sat and looked and enjoyed the sun warming our faces. We stayed that way for a while, occasionally sputtering something about how ridiculously beautiful everything was, and then we headed back on the trail. Walking through the evergreens, more snowy mountains played hide and seek between the boughs. The scenery made us walk more slowly, and we had enormous smiles on our faces the entire time. We're so lucky to be here.

In a clearing, there was another wall of prayer wheels, and around the corner, another suspension bridge crossed a small stream below. Up above, we could see our trail cut mean switchbacks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... Way up there, so high it seemed like a toy, stood a white and gold chorten with streaming prayer flags. I looked back at Joshua and Ankit, wished them luck, and plodded up.

I have this thing about walking or running or biking up mountains: I don't stop until it's over. I'm certainly not fast, but I'm commited, and in the end, the tortoise usually does beat the hare. It took about an hour to make it to the top, and once I did, I ducked into the chorten courtyard so I could watch Joshua and Ankit walk the last few switchbacks up. Sitting before the chorten, overlooking the deep gorge below, Annapurna II above, and Annapurna IV to the right, I was a very happy woman. The wind whipped the flags, and their fluttering did sound like prayers. I put on my long sleeve shirt and hat. I sat.

After a bit, Joshua and Ankit came into view, and just before they made it to the top, I ran over to greet them. They demanded lunch.

Luckily, the chorten sits directly in front of Yak Ru Mount View Lodge which also doubles as a restaurant. Dumping our packs, we stood gaping at the view for a moment, and then the blustery wind drove us inside their sunlit dining room. We ordered food and sat looking at the mountains through little potted marigolds sitting on the window sill.

Not quite hungry enough for a huge plate of fried rice, I ordered noodle soup and so did Joshua (albeit with a hearty side of steamed potato momos). The food was delicious, and after a good rest, we payed and headed back on the road.

The road between Ghyaru (where the lodge is) and Ngawal takes about an hour to traverse if you're not stopping every other minute to stutter and gasp and gawk over how beautiful it is. If you're like us, and you have the gift of sight, it takes about an hour and a half. On our way, we smoothed our fingers over walls with Tibetan-carved mani slates. We passed a yak train with yaks who had horns wider than my wing-span. We posed beside cairns, gompas, and stupahs for photos, and we counted our blessings.

Around a few more bends, we spotted Ngawal. Sitting cupped on every side by snowy mountains, this dry, windswept village is tonight's port of call. Call us lazy, but when we saw the very first lodge, we stopped there. With just three rooms and a beautiful, secluded courtyard a hundred meters from the rest of Ngawal, the Himalayan Restaurant and Lodge is perfect, and if it isn't, we don't care. It has a little dining room with lots of windows that capture the best views. Inside, the untreated timber makes us feel like we're in a Swedish Sauna. It's cold, but it's also cozy, and the guest house keeper is charging us 50 rupees per person, per night. Can't beat that.

October 25, 2010

We woke up to our noisy neighbors singing in Spanish. It was 5 AM. We drifted in and out of sleep for another hour and a half, listening to them knock about loudly in the room next door, and when our alarm went off, we rolled out of bed, ready to go.

Once we had packed all of our stuff, we headed outside to admire the view from the rooftop. The sun was peaking into the valley below, and rather than it's full force, we could only see its rays lighting up the mountains. Whenever I see rays like that, they remind me of those votive images of the Blessed Virgin Mary, standing on a ring of stars, cloaked in blue, and illuminated by visible rays of light. Anyway, that's what the rays were like: visible, with all the power of something holy.

Down below, we sat in the dining room and wolfed down breakfast. My apple pancake had whole, beautiful disks of apples baked inside, and Joshua had hot muesli. Once we had drained our cups of tea and payed, we strapped our packs onto our backs and headed back on the road.

From Temang to Chame, the villages look like they've been taken straight from a Western film set. As we walked, we passed more donkey trains and men with enormous packs and bundles of wood. After a while, the sun warmed us enough to take off our jackets, and in Chame, we checked in at the ACAP station.

Over another suspension bridge, we walked through old Chame, and on the other side, we stopped for bit so I could bandage my toe. Fortunately, my hiking boots have been kind to my feet, but the hours on foot have caused the pad of my big toe to blister. Once I had finished doctoring my foot, we continued on. The scenery had changed yet again, and lining the sides of the turbulent river below were forests of evergreens. The mountains up above grew barer and barer.

In Bhratang, there are only two buildings, and one of them is a restaurant. We stopped to order some Veg Fried Rice, and while we waited, we enjoyed the incredible views and the sun on our faces. On the porch across the road, thousands of apple slices were drying in the sun, and a couple of big-horned cows strolled by.

Lunch came, and we ate heartily, dousing each bite with hot green chile sauce. When our plates were clean, we payed and continued on the trail. After a while, the evergreens thinned and the path took us along a cliff side. Below, the river rushed around enormous boulders, and up over the next ridge, we were greeted by the most incredible view. A mountain stretched up to the sky, and the side facing us was perfectly smooth. A suspension bridge crossed the river, and behind us, the mountains were frosty and pointed. We stopped for some photos.

On the other side of the bridge, we began our climb up. Once again, evergreens gave the air a smell that reminded me of fall and winter and home. It was beautiful. After a few minutes of hiking, we reached a little shelter where a couple of men were selling carved yak bone necklaces and beads. We stopped to admire their wares, and when a group of frenchies threatened to catch up with us, we moved on.

The rest of the walk to Dukhur Pokhari didn't take long, and as we walked, we talked about relationships, dream homes and jobs, and compromise. In between our musings, we'd pause and look up. The smooth mountain stood like a curtain behind us, and up ahead, more saw-toothed, frosty peaks crowned the evergreens.

Dukhur Pokhari is a small village comprised mostly of brightly painted wooden guest houses and restaurants. We walked through, looking for the best accomodations, and when I spied a little guest house with just two little free-standing cottages, I made an executive decision.

After 6 hours of hiking, we arrived in Dukhur Pokhari earlier than we had at our other guest houses. We changed into some warmer clothes, ordered an enormous (expensive) pot of ginger tea, and sat out under the blue sky and mountains, reading. After a while, we moved inside the dining room where the little children were making their bed on the floor and wrestling, and then we ordered some Dal Bhaat.

One of the young helpers spearheaded the cooking operation, and when they served us, he stood by proudly and nervously, waiting for the verdict. We proclaimed it the best Dal Bhaat thus far, and he beamed. We weren't lying, either. The food was delicious, and we ate until I thought I might burst.

Once dinner was in our bellies, we sat back, and even though it was only 7, we decided it was time to turn in. Thankfully, the bed for tonight is a bit wider than the beds we've had so far, and Joshua and I were able to squeeze onto the same bed. Snuggled in our sleeping bags and under an extra blanket, we read for a bit, and then we fell asleep.