Ghorepani to Tadapani to Sinuwa

November 7, 2010

Ok. I admit it. You have every right to be jealous.

We've just arrived in the small village of Sinuwa. Our room is lined with windows on two walls, and sitting on our bed, we can see the rice paddies of Chimmrong, the clouds rolling into the valley, and the faded hills far in the distance. On the second floor of a building perched on a steep slope, it feels as though our room is floating in the mountains. It's like a cable car over the valley, a glass box with a view on either side.

Outside, terraced gardens make use of the earth as best they can: sweet, blooming cabbages nestle in one patch, while lettuce, marigolds, and barely spring out from others. It's green here, and with the clouds covering the tops of the lush mountains, it looks like photos you've seen of the cloud forests in the jungle.

This is the sort of place - sitting on a bed lit up by the late afternoon sun, looking at our own private, grand view - that I will take out when this is done. Perhaps I will be driving to work or washing the dishes, and all of a sudden I'll have this image of the perfect afternoon. This perfect place. I'll have forgotten that this is the same place where I took the world's coldest shower and that the walls were made of clapboard. Or maybe not. I don't need to delete the rough edges to make this place more idyllic. I'll probably just think of the shower as refreshing and the clapboard as quaint :)

We woke up early this morning to beat the rush of the Danish running club. Outside, the sun was coming up over the soft hills below and lighting the faces of snowy mountains. It was pink and orange, and all around us, things were lighting up in their truest, prettiest colors. We went back inside to put another layer on. We wanted to sit on the patio and watch the sunrise as we ate breakfast.

Cups of tea warmed our hands. I peeled my boiled eggs and dipped them in salt. Joshua ate his pancakes with honey. Slowly, the Danes woke up and stumbled from their rooms, mussed from sleep, gaping at the sunrise. Uli and Anja came out and sat down next to us for breakfast, too. It seemed no one prefered warmth over the panorama.

When we'd finished eating, we packed and paid. Exchanging e-mail addresses with Uli and Anja, we waved goodbye and headed down the trail.

The path from Tadapani to Chimmrong takes about four hours to traverse. The first hour out of Tadapani is mostly downhill, and as you descend, you gain glimpses of the river rushing through far below and the path you'll ascend winding up the other side of the valley. I like places like this; you can see where you're going, and when you're taking a break for water or just resting in the shade, you can look how far you've come.

Passing a couple of guest houses on our way down, we were envious of those who had gone just a little farther than Tadapani. Whereas we had stayed in a cluster of almost a dozen rather unattractive guest houses, just an hour down the hill there are lovely, lone lodges that look out over the valley in peace. At least we had had a wonderful view.

We continued to descend. Porters carrying enormous loads nimbly ran down the hillside, passing us by the dozens. Not only could we not keep up with them, but we had also decided that it's no fun to rush. If Chimmrong is full, we'll move on, and if that's full, well, I guess we'll figure it out when we get there. Trying to beat everyone prevents us from stopping and taking our time. We talk less and are less amazed.

Eventually, we crossed a wooden suspension bridge at the bottom of the valley. We paused for a moment to shed layers and layer up on sunscreen, admiring the white water rushing by below. More porters passed us.

We started walking up. It got hotter.

Actually, it got really, really hot. Hotter than it's been in weeks. We were dripping with sweat by the time we crested the first ridge and entered Ghurung. We kept walking.

It's so surreal to move from areas that feel like fall and winter into areas that feel like summer. Just ten hours ago, we were huddled around a table, shivering from the chill, blowing great white puffs of air into the middle and laughing over our chattering teeth. Now we look like we've just taken a swim.

While we climbed, we talked about potential jobs for me. I was going to take some time off to try and write we got back, but now, Joshua's doing the officer training program, and we need the salary to get the mortgage and start some renovations. I game to be the breadwinner, and there's no pressure for this to be either a long term or a dream job, but I'm still anxious. It occurs to me that I've never had a job that I've liked. I've been working since I was 14, and each job has left me either bored, abused, or miserable. On top of that, the last time I applied to jobs, I was sent packing. At a job fair in the RSD, people actually sneered when I told them that I had just spent a year working for S. Alternative School. So much for believing that hard work reaps rewards.

Anyway, I'm anxious. Like I've said, the prospect of stuffing myself into a cubicle makes my skin bristle, but maybe I just have the wrong idea. Maybe if the people were nice and there were interesting parts of the job, it wouldn't be so bad. I'm open. I just hope that I can find something I don't hate, somewhere people don't hate me.

We arrived in Chimmrong in a little less than four hours. We were dripping with sweat and panting from the many stairs it took to get there, but nonetheless pleased to find a number of acceptable lodges for lunch. We stopped at one lodge with a large stone patio and marigolds blooming from the cracks.

We ordered veg noodle soup for me and a veggie burger for Joshua. Playing cards while we waited, we chatted with the young Canadian couple sitting at the table next to us. They're also adding the Annapurna Base Camp trek onto the Circuit, and they've been going for a little over 20 days now. As they talked, the guy took out his camera equipment. He's been carting a tripod and multiple lenses the whole way, and when I asked him if he's a professional photographer, he just laughed and said he wished.

The food came, and we ate every last thing. We'd finally stopped sweating, and now, the sun pleasantly warmed our backs. We paid.

It took a little over an hour to reach Sinuwa from Chimmrong. The first 40 minutes were entirely down stairs. Unfortunately for Joshua, he had gotten a fistful of the world's most powerful sting nettles earlier in the day. Fortunately for me, that meant I got to use the trekking poles to take it easy on my knees.

Chimmrong trickles down the hillside for a good twenty minutes, and as we descended, we passed trekkers going in the opposite direction, positively swimming in their own sweat. It was hot, and this section of the trek feels a bit like a stairmaster.

At the bottom of the valley, we crossed another stream and then headed up another series of stone stairs. Thankfully, the clouds had just begun to roll in, and the sun wasn't beating down our backs quite as viciously as it had earlier in the day. We climbed steadily for a while, and then we saw the bright buildings of Sinuwa.

The Sherpa's Lodge is one of three lodges in Sinuwa. It sits highest on the hill, and there are sweetly sleeping dogs on the patio. While we waited for a room, I scratched one's ear. The dog squeezed its eyes shut and pressed in close.

I've already described the room. It's amazing. The shower? Not so amazing. If they think I'm going to pay them for a 'hot' shower, they've got another thing coming :)

Once I had finished writing, we wandered downstairs to place an order for dinner. A large group of Americans were talking loudly, and we eavesdropped as we played cards. When the Dal Bhaat came, it was absolutely delicious, and Joshua looked envious.

Once we had finished eating, we went back upstairs to enjoy our view and read. Downstairs, people were singing, but not even the noise could detract from our perfect little room. That night, as we slept, it was warm enough to take off our hats and jackets.

November 6, 2010

Have I mentioned that our only time piece automatically resets itself on the alarm? Yes. Our brilliant little bit of technology - rather than admitting the expected beeps - simply redials itself to zero when it reaches the programmed alarm time. Which not only means that we have no idea what time it is when we wake up, but also that we are having a decidedly more difficult time doing things like waking up for the sunset and arriving to our pre-scheduled breakfasts on time.

Have no fear. I usually wake up about 30 minutes before I'm supposed to. I lean over, ask Joshua what time it is, and then much reassured, cherish my last 30 minutes of sleep. Not now. Now, I ask what time it is and then pester Joshua in 7 minute cycles, with a note of panic in my voice each time. I'm taking over for the alarm clock.

So, we got up just a little before 5 to hike up Poon Hill and watch the sunrise. Joshua ran off to the bathroom to take care of an emergency, and when he got back, we put on our headlamps to light our path.

It was completely dark outside, and there were hundreds of stars above. We hiked through Ghorepani a ways, and then we turned uphill. After a few minutes, Joshua ran off to the bushes to take care of an emergency.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to inform you of what Joshua informed me. The explosive farts of yesterday had morphed into the explosive... Shall we call them sharts? Of today. Joshua says it's a little bit like spray-paint.

Anyway, rather than being the understanding sort of wifey-poo, I told Joshua to stuff it. We had woken up at a quarter to five (more like four, for me) to watch the sunrise, and goddammit, we were going to see the sunrise. Clutching his stomach, Joshua powered up the hill with me in tow. He did an impressive job of just clamping down and getting it over with. By the time we reached the top, almost half an hour later, we were sweating profusely and panting like crazy. It was like turning the stairmaster on high and just having at it. Also, there were HUNDREDS of people.

At the top, I shed a couple of layers, and we sat on the grass to watch the sun light up the piedmont of the Himalaya. All along the horizon, the sky and earth glowed bright pink, and behind us, the mountains waited for a little bit of light to make them glow too. It was breathtaking, but there were two factors that detracted from this otherwise romantic moment: for one, it was freezing cold and - after having practically run to the top - I was soaking wet. For two, I had just demanded that my husband with a GI disability run up a mountain. It was not one of my prouder moments, and Joshua knew it. For three, there were a bazillion people roaming around, posing in front of the sunrise, and taking photos. So actually, no. It wasn't romantic at all. Joshua ran off to the squatter to take care of an emergency, and when he got back, I apologized, and we renamed it Poop Hill.

I forgot to mention our other technological difficulty. Joshua forgot the camera's battery charger and extra battery in Pokhara. Up on Poon Hill, we quickly switched the camera on, snapped a few photos, and then switched it back off. The battery light is blinking like crazy, and we probably won't have any more photos of the trek after this.

The sun lit up the mountains. Looking at the crowds around us, we decided to head down before there was a traffic jam or stampede to the bottom. As we walked down, I resolved to be extra super nice to my husband. He's had a bad run of luck, and my demands to make him run up hills are not helping.

Back at the lodge, I apologized again and again, and then gave Joshua a big hug. He told me not to squeeze to hard. He felt another emergency coming on.

In the kitchen downstairs, we ate our breakfast of pancakes and eggs, and when we'd finished, we paid, finished packing, and left.

Walking out of Ghorepani, we headed towards Tadapani. After a half-hour of hiking, we came across huge crowds of trekkers. Apparently, we weren't the only ones headed for Tadapani. We began passing them one by one, and when we came out of the forest onto a hillside, everyone paused to stop and look behind. It's funny. Poop Hill is such a tourist trap, but this humble stretch of trail offers the exact same thing. We could have started the trail early, seen the same beautiful sunrise, and avoided the crowds. Maybe I wouldn't have been mean to my husband.

We kept hiking, and after a couple of more minutes, I saw Joshua quickly unclip his backpack, throw it down, and then run off into the trees. Trekkers were passing us every second, and down below, we could all hear the distinct sounds of my husband taking care of an emergency.

When he came back, he looked much relieved but also perplexed. Usually, an immodium locks everything up. He took one after Poop Hill, but now, he was thinking that another might be neccessary. He popped another into his mouth, shot some water down, and gulped.

We kept hiking. Less than ten minutes later, Joshua informed me that he had another emergency to take care of. This time he had enough warning to stow his pack and poles, and I said I'd wait for him a little ways up the trail where there's a bluff and a view.

Squatting, barely concealed by a thin thicket of bamboo, and mere yards from the trail, Joshua spent a good 20 minutes taking care of an emergency. Trekkers passed. I waited, looking at the mist roll off the subcontinent of India far below.

When Joshua caught up to me a long while later, he again looked much relieved. He asked me for some hand sanitizer. Sharts can be messy.

Feeling much better, Joshua set off at a speedy cruising pace. I reassured him, saying that it didn't matter if people passed or if we went slowly, but he told me that he could feel the immodium kicking in, and he felt good. We walked.

The trail to Tadapani runs through a couple of villages. The first hour brings you higher in elevation for beautiful views of the mountain range behind and the subcontinent below, but after a while, you begin to descend, and the trail runs into the trees alongside a stream.

The path was congested, and we continued to pass trekkers. At the villages, we walked through without pausing, and eventually, we began climbing again. After a couple of hours, it got warmer and warmer, and we shed our long-sleeved layers. With people passing us, taking breaks, and then passing us again, it felt a lot like a race. We had passed most of the bigger groups, but there was a stubborn string of independent trekkers - French, Korean, and Swiss - determined to keep us at bay.

Cresting a hill, we saw the trail pitch steeply downwards and then ascend up over the next hillside. Gritting our teeth, we put our nose down to the stepping stones and went.

By the time we reached Tadapani, we were sweaty and tired. It had taken us a little less than three and a half hours to cover the distance from Ghorepani, and as far as we could see, we were the first to arrive. We could pick any guest house we want.

In the Lonely Planet, they recommend Panorama Point. That's where we went.

True enough, there wasn't a soul arrived, and we were led to a tiny, dim room at the very edge of the lodge. Desperately needing the rest of the day off, we agreed.

It's been a long time since we had a rest day, but so far, we haven't come to a place where we'd really want to spend another day, doing nothing. As we get closer to the end of our trek, its tempting to just tack on another day in Pokhara. For now, a lovely patio overlooking the mountains will do just fine :)

Once we had dumped our packs, we sat out in the sunshine and ordered lunch. Veg fried noodles and tea came out within minutes, and once we were no longer ravenously hungry, we tipped our chairs back and read, looking up at the end of every page to admire the view. At one point, I realized that the plant growing next to us was weed. Marigolds popped out at angles, and I nudged Joshua saying, 'hey! It's a marigold among the weeds!' I know. Very witty.

For the rest of the afternoon, we enjoyed the view, played some cards, and read. Slowly, Tadapani began to fill up, and a couple of Germans and a huge group of Danes came to our lodge. After a bit, the German couple sat down next to us, and we chatted a bit, sharing stories and itineraries. Uli and Anja are on their honeymoon, and they've just spent two weeks in India. They have two weeks in Nepal, and for five days, they're doing the Annapurna Skyline Trek. Uli is a Microbiologist, and he lived in San Diego for three years, finishing his post-doc. Anja's a graphic designer, and the two of them now live in Frankfurt. They were friendly and cheerful, and it was easy to talk with them, even though Anja seemed a little bit nervous with English. We told them a little bit about New Orleans, and it was one of the first conversations we've had about that place that I felt was a fair and accurate representation. In the end, I don't want the story to be: I went to New Orleans and it made me miserable and now I have no idea what to make of it all. That's too insular. It's all about me, and I'd rather people knew about the whole story. I want people to know why my students are failing and how things could be so much better. My part of the story is short and confused, with no real ending. Their part goes on and on, and really, there's a lot of hope.

For dinner, we all crammed into the dining room to share a little body heat. The big group of Danes turned out to be a running club, and they all seemed like they were having the time of their lives. It was the last night of Deuwali, and little informal dance troops came in from the village, dancing to the stereo and asking for offerings on a plate of marigolds and candles.

We had a smaller dinner, after our huge lunch, and once we'd finished, we went off to bed. The temperature had dropped quite a bit, so we pushed the little twin beds together, hopped in our sleeping bags and then cuddled in close, watching our breath puff in the air above us.