Cloud Cuckoo Land, at Nepal
This magical description of a magical place, written by Anthony Doerr in his book “Cloud Cuckoo Land” fascinated me always. I imagined this place in my head so many times, and while walking on the Annapurna Base Camp trail, the beauty, the magic matched my imagination… isn’t this the Cloud Cuckoo Land I have been waiting for?
Welcome to our journey to the land of the Himalayas. During the last week of October, 2025 we stayed in Nepal for nine nights. We did our first multi-day trek in the Himalayas, along the Annapurna Base Camp trail. This travelogue is an attempt to keep that magical memory intact!
Afternoon Nap
Our plane is descending to Kathmandu valley. We have been flying through loads of clouds and near the landing we can see the map of this new place—an unknown river, slowly habitations in mountains and hills, fields of vegetation, and then mass habitations in the valley.
We arrived at an almost quiet airport. After our plane’s landing, the airport seemed to have woken up to business. The counters at immigration were lined up with plastic diya lamps, illuminated by electric lights. A number of immigration officers were wearing Nepalese traditional hats, called Dhaka topi. And many were wearing a red tika on their foreheads. In an efficient manner, they were taking passports, positioning a camera for taking photos and handing down the passports, occasionally saying Namaste, no question asked. We would see this trust more often in Nepal, people are good natured and friendly in this wilder geographical area.
From the airport we took a taxi to Thamel. The road was quiet, some bikes trotting, a few cars jogging. Most cars are small—two sitters with tiny boots, like the one we were riding in. The capital of Nepal seemed to be having an afternoon nap. Roads started to become narrower, and we entered Thamel. Our taxi driver briefly stopped the car and chatted with a few locals to find out our hotel’s precise location. Finally he stopped the car and unloaded our backpacks from the boot of the car. We walked into a small alley and found our hotel, a six-seven story building. Two small circles of rangoli are painted at the front of the entrance. We carefully stepped past the rangoli and the hotel manager greeted us with “Happy Tihar, sorry we usually give welcome drinks, but most of our staff are on vacation after Tihar, so sorry…” Oh, that was about the afternoon nap then. Tihar is one of the major festivals in Nepal, it’s another name for Diwali. That’s the reason everything seemed quieter. Like the way Dhaka feels emptier post Eid.
We got our room keys. It was a small room that topped everything I look forward to in a hotel—a closet with clothes hangers and enough space to hang our outdoor clothes, a clean washroom and no smell inside the room. The room had a small balcony which gave me the sight of a mountain amidst other buildings and structures. The washroom had a large window, some vines were clinging to one side of the window, I supposed they went all the way to the rooftop. And there were no grills on the windows, another metric to understand the safety of a place, no grill no worry.
After changing into pajamas, I made myself a cup of green tea and sat on a chair in the balcony, focusing on the mountain and the tree that covered some part of the view. Inhaling the clean air, I opened my Kindle, though nothing was read, as it would happen most of the time on this trip. Samudro was keeping an eye on the time, and told me when it was late afternoon, time to catch the sunset in a new city.
Up at the rooftop we were so surprised to see the view. On the street, we can see mountains and hills at the gaps of the structures. But from the rooftop, we saw the city spread across the horizon, on all sides, and peaks surrounding them like the guardians of the city… We started taking photos, zoomed on the peaks. The side where the sun sets, the mountain range borders the orange glow of the sky, a very sharp border. I told Samudro, “we haven’t seen mountains like this before right? Like here, they look like someone painted them in the sky!” We are used to seeing mountains, peaks blending with the sky, paled down. Like you would expect the background to be light colored and the near objects to have deeper colored. But here in Nepal’s October sky, with the post-sunset glow, the mountains seemed so imminent to us, with their deep hues. It looked like—a child painted them, not knowing about the rules, just painted them deep hues of blue…
After romanticizing the Himalayas, we got out into the streets of Thamel. Here too, the crowd is almost half than usual, mostly tourists. We entered a square where we noticed a grand rangoli in the middle of the street. It was well kept and bright, even after three-four days of Tihar. Shops sold either hiking gears or souvenirs. Singing bowls, small statues, tea, dried rhododendron flowers, Himalayan soaps were among the souvenirs.
We dined at a restaurant with a cultural center. We sat in the garden, and could hear music playing inside, where locals were performing. I caught a few moves as I sat opposite the stage where they were dancing. It seemed more like a stage drama, like a musical—the boy and the girl were doing a drama where the boy was trying to woo the girl. The music was very lively. We had daal-bhaat khana set as our first dish in Nepal. We liked the food. They give you a second serving, it’s common throughout the country. A few minutes after we started eating, someone came to us with a big bucket of rice and asked if we needed more. We thanked them and kept eating. Then another guy came with a big bucket with daal rolling inside it, we thanked this time too. Then came the chicken guy, this time we accepted a second serving… we meat lovers, he he.
Time to go back to the hotel. On the way back I was going in the wrong direction and Samudro was asking where I was going. “To the hotel”, I said. “But the hotel is on the road to your left” Oh, right right… I wasn’t paying attention to the road, happens when you travel with a partner who acts as a live map. I took the left road, and recognized an aquarium in front of a shop, oh yes, here's that fish selling shop I saw near the hotel. Suddenly the street of a recent unfamiliar place started to look familiar. We kept walking, on the right track!
Chasing the peaks
We woke up by about 6 in the morning and got ourselves ready. We have to catch our bus for Pokhara—“Tourist bus” which will leave at 6:50 from Sorhakhutte, walking distance from our hotel. With our backpacks and one trolley bag, we started walking towards our bus stop. The road is quite empty. A lady was sweeping the street, she left the well-preserved rangolis intact, but swept over the faded, dismissed ones. Time is ticking, so we sped up. The road diverged, and we took the slopey road. I tried to ski down, to save time, but it made a ghrr ghrr sound as the trolley wheels contacted the street. Ten minutes left before the bus leaves. And we have arrived, feeling so proud to make Samudro wrong, that we will be late.
Now in front of us, all the buses which are leaving Kathmandu are queuing in a straight line. Some roadside stalls opened up so early, to sell a packet of crisps to the tourists. Some tourists having their morning cup of tea. What shall I have, I was thinking. And Samudro, aka reality hit me, where is our bus? Somewhere here, I was going to say, then I noticed all the buses are named “Tourist Bus”. And we are in the middle of a sea of tourist buses whose beginning and ending we can’t see from here. Six minutes left. We started our bisect search. Samudro started towards the tail and I towards the head. I cannot find the bus, how could I let this happen… didn’t we miss a bus before Eid to our utmost shame… two minutes left. I reached the top of the queue, panting, “Hello, Tourist Bus by Swift Holidays, this?” I started asking people around in “tourist” English, peeling out any grammar. To my relief, the man said, yes. Then a late-teen boy came to me and wanted to see my ticket. I showed him the ticket on my phone. “‘Naser Anjum’, yes yes this is your bus, let’s go”. He took the trolley bag from me. Samudro and I were calling each other at the same time, so the cellphone lady was saying in Nepalese that our numbers are not reachable or something. At exactly 6:50, I saw Samudro hurrying towards the bus. I was saved from being wrong, for one more time.
We settled in. A sleepy Kathmandu city was passing by the bus window. Few people on the street, one or two runners after a few kilometers, mountains and buildings taking up the city space equally. The bus entered the highway. Here highways can’t stretch for too long, as roads take lots of turns. As we entered such twisty roads, we fell asleep happily.
When my sleep broke, the window view changed and we were riding beside a majestic river on our side. On the left side of the road mountains rise up, on the right—the river flows followed by mountains. I was delighted by the view, and… what is it in the sky? Behind the slightly tanned window glass of the bus, the view is of white peaks floating, melting in the sky. I was smiling sheepishly—you get to see the majestic peaks just like this? Sitting in a bus, amidst road traffic and the hassle of daily lives… and there they are, dazzling with sunlight. I turned myself towards Samudro, to ask him if he saw them too. But my boy is sleeping. Disappointed that I cannot express my sudden excitement of viewing the first peak in Nepal, I did what any sane person would do. I nudged Samudro, to get him up, and when he was up, I acted like it was the bus… and with an excited voice, “do you see it?”. “Yes, I do!”. He gave a satisfying smile. The faraway mountain ranges continued to follow us up on the way.
For breakfast we stopped at a beautiful open restaurant. A common menu for breakfast was “chola” or chickpea. I wasn’t sure what they call it in Nepalese, so pointed the dish to the cashier and asked, “chola 2, tea 1”. He understood me. I was indulging myself in that special feeling when you land in a new country that you are yet to explore and you do the same thing as the crowd does, like ordering food for breakfast. We sat on two stools under a tree with our food. The bus only stops for 15 minutes, and of course I had to take a pee break (I made sure to pee at every stop). So, I was gobbling my food, and rode the bus with my tea in a paper cup.
Until our next break, I continued to munch on the views—the river, big stones bordering the river on both sides, suspension bridges and gondolas paving the mountains… The next break was for lunch, at a riverside place. Here we had daal-bhaat too. The food suits us. We resumed our ride. But the traffic came to a halt. We moved barely for two hours, the jam was due to the post-Tihar travelling. We saw buses full of locals going back to Kathmandu after their Tihar vacation. Many wore the red tika on their foreheads, and looked tired, partly because of the traffic and partly because of the post-party effect.
One more time we stopped—there was a group of ladies who were performing with some local songs being played in a sound box at the bus park. It sounded like a folk song with strong beats. The ladies were wearing traditional dresses, in red color and laughing as much as they were dancing. We bought coffee from a shop nearby and got back on the bus. The journey resumed. The song was still playing in my ears. “Wasn’t the music nice?” I looked at Samudro. He nodded. I wish we knew the song, but we couldn’t find it by Shazam. We had to leave the song on the road, like so many other moments in the journey which fermented in our heads as sweet memories, the music stayed with us as an unnamed tune, as that-Nepalese-song-we-loved.
The sun started to tilt, and we started to get closer to Pokhara. The mountain ranges that we lost out of our views some hours ago, have appeared again, this time bigger and closer. We are now chasing the peaks of Mardi Himal, Machhapuchhare, Annapurna and more. Other tourists in the bus were also eyeing the window glasses, the peaks of Nepal are a great distraction indeed!
It was late afternoon when we reached Pokhara. And just dark when we reached our lakeside hotel. On our way we saw the streets of Pokhara with pretty shops, and Fewa lake appearing now and then at the gaps of the shops. After a ten hour journey, we were glad to reach the hotel and called it an early night. Tomorrow, we will start our trek to Annapurna Base Camp. Our first multi-day trek. We have been preparing ourselves for this trek, as if we are sitting for board exams, only we are not afraid of it! We have been planning, researching… a whole AI chat for choosing trekking boots for us. The way we used to prepare the pencil box before exam night with new pens, sharpened pencils, new eraser; with the same enthusiasm, we were backpacking for the trek—tee shirts, pants, lots of socks, sunscreen, cap, trekking boots. Checked, checked and checked. Let’s check the sleep!
Ruthless Stairs
Good morning from Pokhara! We woke up at sunrise. I took a picture of the Fewa lake from our room—the white beach chair on the balcony, books and cups placed on a table beside, and Fewa lake on the backdrop… that's how I took the photo, to remember how cozy and quiet this place was. We went out for a little walk around the lake. Then we ate a delicious breakfast. We were having tea when a small car arrived at our hotel, which receives very few crowds in the morning. A man of about thirty with medium height got out of the car, he looked like he comes from the mountains. He walked towards us and introduced himself, he is Terence and wants to know if we are Naser and Hasnat. “Yes”, we both replied. “Okay, I am your guide… Cordial trek, they sent me, are you ready?” “Yes yes”, we replied in unison again. Then he introduced us to Naren, who will be our porter. Naren is tall and handsome in his jeans and looks like he can be from the mountains, or from the lowlands. Naren just nodded and said a short hello. “We will be just fetching our bags”, we quickly sipped the tea and ran towards our room to pick up our backpacks. We jumped into the small car. Terence, Samudro and I sat squeezed in the backseats. Naren in the front. The driver played a Bollywood song from the 80’s. And off we go.
After reaching a main street inside the touristy area of Pokhara, we exchanged our tiny car for a jeep. Again, we three sat together, this time much comfortable. All our backpacks were in the backseat, where Naren sat. In the front seat, sat another tourist who was joining our group to do the trek. We entered a wider street soon, and the show started—milky white peaks resembling vanilla ice-cream appeared in the sky. It felt surreal in a regular street where cars honk, motorbikes overtake, a regular everyday, to witness the gigantic peaks just there. The roads took turns frequently and we adjusted our necks to turn around to the side where the peaks stood.
Within an hour the cityscape was gone and we were riding among low mountains. Terence introduced us to the mountain ranges visible—to our left Annapurna range, to our right Dhaulagiri range, and just in front of us (even though miles distant) Machhapuchhare, which we will see a lot during the trek. We reached Nayapul following the scenic route. At Nayapul, Terence asked us to wait ten minutes until he pays a visit to the permit office. Then we hopped on the jeep again. Soon we were riding on gravel roads. We were bumping and routinely inclining to our left and right as the jeep found its way through the uneven, sinuous road. Terence was telling us that we would need a maximum one more hour to reach our destination. At places where the road turned, a waterfall or two meets the road, or the gravel stones where the road should have been. We held tight, as the jeep wheels bumped on the stones where the springwater stream flowed. And praying silently, that our jeep doesn’t fall down along with the downstream. At the next waterfall stream crossing, we got easier, and trusting the vehicle and driver more. Terence, too, became more open with us, laughing at us for our inexperience with the bump. He was telling us, “this is adventure, come on, take a video with your phone, keep the jeep in the video, okay?” We followed him as he said, the video came out shaky. Our fear got replaced by a kind of laugh like “this is the end”.
In the end, we were glad to reach our destination. The jeeps go until Samrung. From there, there is no road. Only stairs and stony paths which humans and mules use. Samudro and I got a chance to say hi to our fellow hiker, who is a tall, white, middle aged man from Poland. I looked up and asked him what his name was. I repeated after him “Pavel?” no, not Pavel. “Pavlo?” no, not Pavlo. It was Pawel, I came to know later from Samudro. It took me some time to understand Pawel’s European accented English. Samudro, on the other hand, is very good with names, from all the years of watching the English Premier League.
We ate lunch, again daal-bhaat, at a teahouse in Samrung. Terence told us that there will be less meat options upwards, so Samudro and I both ordered chicken. I loved the “thalis” in Nepal, how they serve daal and chicken in cute mini-bowls, and placed everything neatly in a large round metal plate. As children we used to eat in a kasha plate, which we switched for melamine later, and much later for ceramic. The period of my life when I ate from a kasha plate is distinguished in my memory, it was when I used to call my big brother “dadabhai”, not “bhaiya”... We were served our food. Pawel ordered noodles. He took his phone out to take a picture of his plate, “I have to show this to my girlfriend”, he explained. We nodded and started eating.
After taking a photo of all of us before the first suspension bridge of the trek, we officially started our journey to ABC. This one was the longest bridge on our trail, about 280 meters long. A river was flowing with strong current far below the bridge. So walking on the bridge feels intimidating, at least once it will come to your head, what if the ropes all give up and we land/crash on the river below. Walking on the bridge tested my balance, and so when I wanted to film Samudro from behind, crossing the bridge, his answer was NO.
The terrain on the first day was almost the same—stairs. Steep, uneven stairs made from the mountain rocks. All the way, it was climbing up and climbing down. Climbing up was very difficult for me, never did a hike where we had to climb stairs for straight hours. Climbing down felt like a joke, why descend when I have to ascend again. My engineering eyes were looking for places where suspension bridges can be installed. Soon I had a map of the trail in my head where one has to hop from bridge to bridge. In just one hour, I embodied all the memes where your enthusiasm runs out soon after you start what you wanted to do forever.
We are climbing, and panting, and at places halting to just breathe. From time to time, ponies were crossing us carrying heavy goods, mostly gas cylinders. We were asked to pause our hike whenever a pony was walking past us. We could hear them ahead as they wore bells around their necks. We reached a village and decided to rest a little. Sat on a bench which was dangerously placed along the mini wall of a wooden cottage adjacent to the edge of a mountain. So exhausted, I had no energy to care about danger, and taking pictures was out of my mind. Terence told us that in spring this whole region wears a carpet of red rhododendron flowers. We chatted a while, asked him how many times he did ABC, “ten or so”, he answered. “Where do you come from?”, I asked. “Ganesh Himal”, he replied. “Where is it?” He explained that it’s in the other mountain ranges, close to Kathmandu. And not many tourists visit. Nowadays some tourists are coming, mostly with their own tents, as there is no hotel in the upper region of Ganesh Himal. “Did you do any technical climbing?” I asked intently. “I did one”. “Did you like it?” Terence has a face that easily breaks into a smile. He thought for a bit and his face creased into a smile when he replied “I liked it”. I nodded, it can be difficult to put extraordinary experiences to simple words.
A typical trek in the ABC route consists of—climbing stairs, following stony paths, occasionally giving side to the ponies, exchanging Namaste with the locals and other hikers, passing by villages every once in a while. The next stop was a beautiful village with an unobstructed view on three sides. As soon as we reached, we bought two packs of juices. Druk fruit juice cost us 200 rupees each. Commodities that need to be carried here cost a few times more than their original prices. I galloped the sugary juice to boost myself, we have more than half of our route left for the day. Our other hikemate Pawel expressed how “exhausted” he was feeling, and kept going at an even speed to me. I thought of myself as “regular”, and here I am on a trail dominated by European and Chinese hikers, Nepalese locals—everyone was overtaking me. And Samudro was doing much better than me, to my utter envy…
More beautiful villages are coming into view. We crossed another village called Bamboo. Locals have built guesthouses and put signboards for wifi, lodging and hot showers. The lodging houses are adorned with colorful, blossomed flowers. Terence remarked that these flower plants were imported here recently, after the trail became popular to hikers. They surely attract the tourists who pass by them!
We passed by a few stupas. Samudro gently turned the prayer wheels in one. Colorful flags are hung on a long line of strings at the villages and around the stupas. Tibetan scripts are written on the flags. To me, the flags represent the Himalayas and its culture. And they hold a kind of festiveness somewhere, reminding me of the village fairs and weddings in Bangladesh where triangular flags of similar color pallets are used to create festive mood.
From the far, I could spot a tiny Terence and a tiny Pawel, standing beside a wall of rocks. After climbing down for a few minutes, we reached them. “Look, what we found!” In his hands, Terence was holding two tiny dots, quarter size of a pea, “they are ruby!” The crude maroon-red stone was grimy, but the edges were shining. Terence rubbed them clean and handed to me, “these are for you, I will give you some crystals during the descent”. I happily pocketed down the stones carefully.
By the late afternoon, it became evident to us that we won’t reach our destination, Upper Sinuwa, before sunset. I was still in the same routine of climbing and panting. Terence and Pawel crossed us and soon disappeared from our view. Naren was following us, who was carrying our stuff on a big duffel bag, which he hoists on his back and then to his forehead with the help of a strap. We split our stuff and carried about half in our backpacks and gave the rest to Naren. The staircases gave a break, and we were walking on stones, in an open valley. A large waterfall joined a river, we were wobbling on the stones to cross a shallow stream. Terence dropped Pawel at our destination and now has come to encourage us, “see that blue house there, we have to go just there”. At Sinuwa, the last village before our destination I saw a lone man sitting with his supply of apples. The apples were uneven, colored bright red and yellow, “these apples are from Upper Mustang, very tasty”. I looked at Samudro with eyes that said “Please?”. That look bought us two apples, each two hundred rupees.
The sun had set when we reached Upper Sinuwa. We were given a room with three beds, two of them joined. We sweated a lot, hiking under the bright sun. But up here, the temperature is cold. After a long day of hiking, I changed into my crocs. And came out of the room to tell Samudro that I am going to take a hot shower. Samudro took my hands and pointed to the sky—in the half dark, the Machhapuchhare peak was shining with a bluish white glaze. It looks unearthly, and precious, we have never seen anything like this before. Mountain peaks in Nepal are the features of the sky, just like the sun or the moon. A very beaming me went to take a shower. All the hard work and toiling, all worth it.
Dinner is early in the mountains. In the dining room, everyone gathered and waited for their dinners to be cooked and served. It was surprisingly warm inside. Groups of hikers were chatting and playing cards at different tables. There were two multiplugs where people were charging their phones and batteries rotationally. On one bench sat an Asian couple, the man was giving his woman a leg massage. Our food arrived, daal-bhaat again. People had a variety of dishes—pizza, noodles, and rice. After eating, Terence came with a plastic bottle of hot water. Samudro was feeling pain on his left groin, especially during taking a long step on steep stairs. Terence told us not to worry and use the bottle “it’s medicine, I tell you”. We said good night and came to our room. The plastic bottle was surprisingly very hot! “Careful, careful” Samudro screamed the whole time I gave him a massage. Finally we went to bed, and tugged the blankets close to our faces, and fell asleep.
Caramels are waiting
We woke up at about six, brushed our teeth with ice cold water and started to get ready. Samudro was assessing which jacket to wear. Not windbreaker, as we would get warm soon once the sun is up. We packed our bags and went to the dining room to have breakfast. Terence took our breakfast order the previous night. The kitchen is very busy in the morning. We had fried eggs and tea. Terence came over to us, “Good morning! How was your sleep?”. “Good, good”, we thanked him for the hot water. “Works like a medicine, no?” We nodded towards him. Pawel said he had a so-so sleep, his roommate was snoring all night. “You should have probably brought your girlfriend,” Samudro joked. After dining, we came outside and stretched a bit while Naren fastened the duffel bag to his back and forehead.
Our teahouse at Upper Sinuwa gave a first perfect view of the Machhapuchhare peak, which we will see closer as we ascend. Machhapuchhare is the first mountain peak I learned to recognize. With the fishtail I learned to distinguish the shape of a mountain. In Nepal, the nameless mountains start to appear with distinct aura and you end up having distinct feelings for them. No doubt, the inhabitants of the Himalayas have been worshipping these mountains for thousands of years. The spell is simply strong.
The second day’s trail was largely amidst forests, to our delight. We were walking under shade. And often crossing streams or small wooden bridges, sometimes just a log of tree planted horizontally to connect the gaps on the trail. We had to climb stairs too, sometimes stairs made of neatly arranged stones, sometimes does-its-job kind of stairs. Terence saw my struggle, so he encouraged me, “just this part, not much stairs after”. Of course that was a lie.
The ABC trail has many pretty dogs, did I say? In villages we met fluffy, big dogs. Seriously, dogs in this part of the world are huge in size, but also very cute. And many hikers brought their own dogs along with them on the trail. So, it was a global trail not just for humans, but for dogs too.
I noticed some touch-me-not leaves growing at the intersection of two stairs. I paused for a second and brushed my boot against the leaves. “Is everything okay?” Terence was puzzled. “Oh yes, I was just testing if this is that plant… (trying to describe the ‘lajjabati’ plant) that closes its leaves when touched?” “Oh these are strawberry leaves! Wild strawberry, very small” I recalled from Guns, Germs and Steel that strawberries or any fruits that matter have been small in the wild, until the biggest and strongest seeds have been planted by humans for farming. I spotted the leaves again and again as I was climbing.
From the forested shade, we found ourselves under open sky, here a dozen or so tall waterfalls streaming down a mountain. A temple is built beside the trail, overlooking the waterfall streams. We stopped here. Naren unloaded himself and circled around the temple, ringing all the bells along the circle. Waterfalls and bells made an amazing sound.
We arrived at a picturesque village—Himalaya. This village has signs boasting “Himalayan coffee” in front of half a dozen teahouses. Thanks to the coffee lovers who spent money for fancy coffee amidst this remote place, the village is shining with newly built modern houses, the toilets looking neat, rows of basins in front, some have even mirrors, sweet! We had a reunion with Pawel’s group at this village. Pawel, Samudro and I sat on a wall bordering the edge of the village. Samudro asked Pawel if he had been around this part of the world before, South Asia. “Yes, been to Thailand, Malaysia, Jaipur in India…” “Which place you liked most?” Samudro asked. “Mm, Malaysia… and Nepal is nice!” We nodded. He asked Samudro where we travelled before. “We have been to Sri Lanka this year, Sri Lanka was nice. And we visited Manali and Kashmir in India”. “Ow, how was Kashmir? I have heard it’s very good”. “Yes, very good actually,” we both nodded. “Yeah, I have to visit Kashmir!” We asked him if he had seen most of Europe. “No”, he said “I will travel Europe when I get old”. Makes sense.
Samudro and I were sharing one of the Mustang apples we bought the day before, it tasted very good! We had never tasted apples better than this. I opened up a can of wasabi coated green peas and asked Pawel to try one. “Is it spicy?” he asked. “Not spicy as hot, what is the word… mm.. It won’t hurt the stomach like spicy food, it just opens up your nose and breathing… what’s the word… mm just try one?” Pawel tasted one and the tangy flavor (that’s the word!) kicked in his mouth and he asked for more.
After walking more, we ate lunch at Dovan village and continued upwards. The more we go, we are leaving behind greeneries. And patches of caramel are appearing on the mountains in front. We stopped again, to drink some juices. Here on the ABC trails, Bangladesh’s Pran products are popular—we bought two cans of Pran juice, they were pretty good. Our little proud moment to spot deshi products in Nepal. Another common product I found in almost all the shop's glass shelves—brown bottles of ‘Khukri’, a kind of drink, it was rum, later came to know. The name sounded so cute in my ears, I would’ve definitely tried it if it was a juice.
Day two also ended after sunset. I was feeling bad dragging my team slowly. I paused too often. Samudro, with his left leg in pain, had a wiser pace—he walked fast in easier terrains to make up for his slow pacing in steep stairs which hurt his left groin. As soon as we reached our stop for the night at Upper Deurali, cold air knocked on our sweaty body. We quickly changed. Tonight we have to share the room, as there are less facilities in the higher part of the trail. Pawel was our roommate. Three beds here in this room as well. Two of them joined together for us. We took shelter in the dining area, as it’s warmer there.
Samudro and I deviated from our usual daal-bhaat menu and ordered pizza and pasta, for a change. We were waiting for the food and also to get a chance at charging our phones. The guesthouse was housefull. We shared our table with another group. At one bench Pawel, Samudro, Terence and I sat squeezed together. On the opposite, an Asian group of two led by their guide, a young Nepalese. We interacted with the old man from the group, he was talkative and jolly, he said he came with his son, they were from Hong Kong. He was 70 years old and a lawyer. They have been following a flexible plan, their guide let us know. So, no definite number of days. They start their hike in the morning, continue for a few hours and stop at a village when the father feels tired. Sounded like a perfect plan to me. They arrived here in the early afternoon today and took a nap too. The Hongkonger dad complimented us, “your English is good!” Samudro thanked him, “we communicate with coworkers from different parts of the world in English, so our English got better”.
We were exchanging our travel stories and I heard the Hongkonger dad saying “Kilimanjaro”. I asked my burning question, “Was it more difficult than ABC?”. “No, it was more like walking, flat, ABC is climbing, I do not like climbing!” I felt relieved knowing that this trail is actually difficult, it’s not just me. Pawel shared about his experience in the Amazon rain forest, how he had to sleep on hammocks, to be safe from animals, and the jungle is so loud with all kinds of creatures. Terence joined our conversation, and somehow the discussion turned to Sherpas. I asked him if Sherpa is a family title or profession name. He said, family title originally. “My father is a Sherpa and my mother is not, my title is Tamang”. He added, “Sherpas are from the high mountains”. Then he pointed to the young guide who was leading the Hongkonger family. “Aren’t you a Sherpa?” “Oh yes”, he told us he used to be a monk before he became a guide. “Where?” I jumped out. “In Kathmandu”. We talked more and he told me that he has friends in Dhaka. I asked what Gurkha is. I saw this written in many places. Terence took the question, and shared about the Gurkha regiment, where Nepalese soldiers are hired by the British Army. He mentioned the Falkland Islands war between the UK and Argentina. Nepal was for the UK in that war because of their regiment. And now they have a dilemma when the England football team plays against Argentina, as they cannot but love Messi.
Terence caught a cold. He was laughing and saying how he and Naren took the evening bus from Kathmandu the day before we started the hike. The bus dropped them in Pokhara at four in the morning. The duo was passing time here and there, ate two bananas when the eateries opened up and came to our hotel to pick us up. “I was with my family for Tihar, so much dancing,” with his ever laughing face he was giving an account of how he caught the cold. “My voice got broken with all the partying, now no sleep at night, so just a little cold”, he shrugged. I felt for him and Naren. The night bus’s timing is so bad. And their professions can be physically demanding. Yet they are so welcoming and fun loving. We had rupin with us, so we shared it with him. I offered him some wasabi coated green peas, “it will help your blocked nose”. He liked it and had some more. I shared the green peas with the whole table, and it was a hit.
After the dinner, Samudro and I tried to stargaze a little. At first the sky looked all dark with a few dots here and there. After adjusting our eyes to the darkness, we could see that the stars were generously spread across the sky. And there was a bluish path carved into the sky, which we noobs had no name for. And to our delightment, some peaks can be seen! We enjoyed the night sky as long as we could withstand the cold wind outside. Then came back to our room to sleep. We kept on warm clothes and said good night. Our three good nights rhymed. Guess who was snoring—Pawel, and then Samudro too! Poor boy, he never snores, unless he has a blocked nose. I smiled, and hoped that they are having a good night’s sleep.
Cloud Cuckoo Land
The ultimate day of the trek. We woke up early, ate breakfast quickly and headed off. We left behind the lush forest behind us. And now the trail is amidst dry vegetation. The day is short—we have to reach the Machhapuchhare Base Camp aka MBC from Deurali, enjoy the view there and start for ABC. According to our guide Terence, we should reach ABC by “1 in the afternoon usually, but 2 with your speed”, as he explained (senti emoji).
The terrain is for walking, as there is almost no stair at this part, just gradual gentle ascension. We are walking sometimes on paved paths, sometimes on rocks, and steadily gaining elevation. Morning is the busiest time on the trail, when everyone just started their hiking day. Many hikers passed us by. A small dog, wearing a cute costume, crossed me, almost running to catch up with its owner. The mountains are more bare now. Terence showed us the twin mountains, “Can you see those mountains in front? Ganga and Purna, they are twins. In Nepal, when someone has twin babies, they name them Ganga and Purna”.
Here and there transparent frosts of ice are laid on the ground. Some dry orange flowers on leafless dry branches of a tree caught my attention. There were a bunch of those trees yielding flowers in this harsh condition. I was taking a picture when I heard someone say “Ei dekh, ful gulo ki shundor na re?” My face broke into a smile hearing Bengali, and I adore the Kolkata accent… A Bengali group of two hikers passed us by. Samudro called me, “can you find a Buddha figure on that mountain?” “On which one?” I asked. “That one…” “Mm…” I could not spot it, so Samudro took a picture and pointed it to me. A little part of the mountain had a different color and that patch of the mountain body indeed looked like a Buddha.
I was getting exhausted easily. I didn’t yet know that it was AMS or Acute Mountain Sickness. I kept going, panting often. Samudro went ahead of me, at his own pace. Naren is accompanying me. I am resting often now. Naren has to wait for me as well. I feel bad for stopping Naren too often, it may not be good for his pace. It’s almost three hours since we started the day’s hike. Now I can see Samudro waiting for me sitting on a big rock, just down the MBC sign board. I caught up with him. He reached quite early, but didn’t want to cross the MBC mark without me, so we crossed the mark together. Naren took our picture with the board. Us slaying with sunglasses. Naren takes very good pictures!
At the teahouse at MBC, we shared the last Mustang apple. We were sitting in an open space. The sun shone above us and we welcomed its heat. My thighs felt like being massaged with the warmth of the sun. Terence said before that we would get to rest for an hour at MBC and enjoy the view. Now he is telling us if a ten minute break would be enough, as we reached MBC an hour later than our expected arrival time. I took a bite of the apple and nagged to Samudro “aaro dosh minute boshi na, please” let’s sit another 10 minutes please… we were gazing at the mountains all around us—high snow capped mountains, more parts dipped in snow. We are now seeing the opposite side of the Machhapuchhare. Samudro and I spotted a patch of ice that seemed a bit hanging from a mountain and it looked like a laughing Buddha face to us, seriously.
The ten minutes were gone. We started the last leg of our journey. My hesitancy to not start and rest too often was a sign that I need to acclimatise more and I have the AMS fr fr… Now the terrain is just dry yellow straw-like long grasses and rocks of various sizes ranging from a fist to a boulder. I fell into a routine of going a few steps, and then pausing abruptly and panting. I was trying to control my mind, coming up with plans—okay I will carry myself a hundred steps before resting, needless to say, I could not stick to the plan. Then I was setting up milestones, literally. I would target a stone that stands apart, and set a goal to reach there without stopping. I failed again and again. What seemed easy for others, I was struggling to do that. I thought I would trek “chalchalya” with no fuss… but I was humbled… Later we discussed and found out that I was drinking less, my body demands a slower acclimatization, and my period timing certainly did not help. But at that moment I was feeling low, like the time I was humbled when I struggled to crack CSE in my first year of undergrad, among so many talented classmates who seemed to know everything better than me. I owe this to ABC, for making me humble.
Naren and Pawel went ahead of us, it was me, Samudro and Terence. Samudro is still following his pace, but waiting for me whenever he finds a suitable rock to sit on, so that I can be within his vision. Terence asked me to drink water. That I should do, but I was feeling that it’s too late. AMS already hit me, my first symptom was—heartbeat rising too much, lack of oxygen in my limbs caused my heart to pump in panicky fashion, whatever little oxygen I had in my blood, to spread them as best as it could. The second symptom—nausea, activated by a series of events in the body due to lack of oxygen, hit me. I needed water, but I was repulsed because of nausea. Terence fetched my water bottle out of my bag, and held it towards me, “water solves everything” I drank three gulps, to please Terence. And with great effort, I pretended that it revived me, I wanted to believe so.
Shortly after, I paused again. Panting. Terence gave me another dose of water. A Nepalese hiker met us on his way and doubled Terence’s advice that I should drink water. I drank a little, to please both of them.
Terence summoned both of us to brief the situation. “If she doesn’t feel well, we can go back to MBC, MBC is also good, tomorrow we can come. And if she vomits, we have to make a decision” I was shaking my head. “No, I can go, or I can go back myself, Jo, you please go to ABC,” I turned towards Samudro. He was positive “We will go together, or we’ll stay at MBC, don’t worry, I don’t have to go to ABC”. To disprove their plan, I started to walk showing great strength. But what was false was false.
I was quickly losing pace. I told Samudro to follow his pace and be my milestone, he was waiting for me sitting on rocks and left a seat beside him. I was crashing on the seat each time after reaching the milestone, and leaned on him with my backpack. He supported me, both physically and emotionally, saying encouraging words, we are almost there, you are doing great. All lies, but I needed lies more than ever.
At about four thousand meters altitude, my body responded to the low oxygen situation with great procession, heart beating as fast as it could, whole body alarmed for anything to happen. Suddenly the idea of dying came to my mind. I was feeling that the body was resisting all the emotions in me, my ‘romantic’ idea of dying in an adventure was crushed by my survival hormones. Besides, when I thought about the practicality of dying—two images—an image of a wooden box, to be transported to another country, and another image of Jo, without me, kept the negative thoughts out of my head. I just could not die yet, can’t do this to Jo, I have to try more.
I turned to Samudro, and said “I am going to vomit” Before Samudro uttered an encouraging word of “Don’t worry it will pass”, I found myself throwing up watery vomit on the dried grass. My mouth smelled like the fried eggs I had for breakfast. I heard someone passing by, saying that I will be okay. Samudro hurried towards me with the water bottle. I asked for a tissue, and hugged him.
Samudro talked with Terence, “She is actually feeling better after vomiting, she says she can go”. I nodded greatly. I always feel better after I throw up, it’s until throwing up that I feel tense, I explained to him. Terence gave his verdict—I can continue. I was going up extremely slowly. But determined and confident that I would reach whatever time it takes. The shepherd from ‘Cloud Cuckoo Land’ came to my mind. Didn’t he too, feel tired before reaching the cuckoo land, high above the clouds where birds of every colors were circling around… didn’t he struggle just like me, we cannot give up. The Annapurna range is standing in solitary, rugged strength. Clouds floating below its peaks. Samudro came to me and asked me to look ahead. A yellow board and a few blue tinned settlements can be spotted. “Can you see the base camp, Jo? You have done it!” My eyes became teary, “We have done it!”
There was a queue of hikers posing in front of the yellow board which was heavily draped with prayer flags, reading “Namaste, Annapurna Base Camp”. In Nepalese, Terence spoke something to the people. And they let us get past the queue to take a quick snap. It was about four in the afternoon, much later than our ETA. Samudro and I are holding trekking poles in each of our hands. Our faces and lips dried by the wind, whitened by the sunscreen. Our best effort to smile and stay still, despite heartbeat drumming, thumping at an altitude of four thousand one hundred and thirty meters from the sea level. We made a printable memory out of our once-in-a-lifetime adventure.
Even though the place is very remote, the guesthouses of the base camp were well built with pristine glass windows, tiled roofs and proper toilets. We were in room number 8 of one of the guesthouses. Pawel was there already, under his blanket. There were a total of five beds in the room. Three of them were occupied by us. A lady was lying on another one and the fifth bed was unoccupied. The lady peeped from her blankets and we hi-helloed. She is from Hong Kong, and she is feeling very cold. The room was very silent by the thin air, every movement could be heard. My heartbeat stood 119 bpm and my blood oxygen 70%. I laid down on the bed. Samudro went to get a late lunch. He fetched a bowl of garlic soup in the room for me. “It’s good for altitude, everyone suggested this, Pawel had one too”. I sat up and drank some soup. I loved the warmth of the soup. I bit some garlic pieces, the taste felt vital. Samudro went to the dining room to finish his lunch. I curled up under the blanket and tried to get some sleep. Now that the most difficult part was gone, my body and mind finally got relaxed and let go of anything I was holding on to focus on survival. A wave of gratitude rushed inside me, how come I have Samudro in my life, beside my hardest adventure, my eyes poured down.
After the little half-awake nap, Samudro woke me up for dinner. It was 6 pm. He had ordered some garlic noodle soup for me. Pawel, Terence and the whole crew asked how I am doing. Pawel gave us his blister pack of AMS medicine. We thanked him. The dining hall was warm here as well. Samudro and I were sitting on one bench. On our opposite bench sat Terence and his friend. Terence introduced him to us, “We run into each other all the time! He works with a different trekking agency. But as we take our clients here and see each other, we have become friends.” The man was very jolly and told us more about him, “I worked ten years in Saudi Arabia. I had many Bangladeshi friends!” He spoke a little in Bengali. He is guiding our Hongkonger roommate. When he learned about my AMS, he told me all positive things, “our body can do everything, you just get some sleep, you’ll be better tomorrow. You don’t need an AMS pill, your body will acclimatize itself.” His words healed me half. The discussion moved to travelling. The jolly guide asked us if it’s our first time in Nepal. We said yes. “You have to visit Upper Mustang!” he said. Tell us more, we gave him an encouraging nod. “Foreigners have to pay USD 500 for permit fee, but for Bangladeshis it’s only about 1000 rupees”. We promised him that we will visit Upper Mustang.
After we drank our garlic soup, Terence asked us what we wanted for breakfast, “what are you comfortable with? I mean what do you usually eat in the morning, before going to your university classes?” He was being mindful of my nausea. I felt pretty good thinking he thinks of me as a student. I look young? We settled for pancakes for breakfast. People here don’t ask us if we are married, what we do etc. A couple can be married or not, and what will other people do knowing our jobs—this is not immigration desk, right? The civic sense felt right to me.
We said good night to everyone including the jolly guide. The sky was cloudy and spitting out a little. Samudro connected his phone to the wifi to check the weather. The forecast says it will rain all day tomorrow and the temperature will be -1ºC. “Wouldn’t it be snowfall, at -1º?” Samudro asked. I shrugged. I was preoccupied with the reality that I am alive and unhurt. Tomorrow is faraway.
Terence and the jolly guide hadn’t eaten yet. “The place is full this time of year, so busy, our food will be ready a bit later”. He was feeling better after taking the cold medicine yesterday. Both the guides emphasized on sleeping, “sleep doesn’t come easily, try to stay warm and get at least four-five hours of sleep.” They repeatedly told us not to cover our nose under the blanket, “you need the oxygen, okay?”. We nodded obediently. Terence gave us his last piece of advice, looking meaningfully to us, “When in bed, keep touching, okay? You need to be warm, so keep in touch, okay?” Samudro and I blushed but promised him we will try to stay warm.
Dunk and Dip
At about four-thirty in the morning, alarm clocks started ringing from everyone’s phones. We got up in the dark, to witness the magnificent sunrise from the base camp. I sat in the bed for ten minutes, gathering courage to use the toilet and brush teeth in the cold outside. Is it really necessary to brush teeth? I sighed looking at the toiletries bag, should have only brought wet wipes for dry showers. Last night I was surprisingly warm, three blankets protected me like guardian angels. I woke up only twice, each time feeling headache thrumming in the forehead. Others also complained about the headache. Altitude got all of us. I wore my windbreaker and slipped my feet in my crocs. Outside there was a halo, like moonlight had washed the place. Then I noticed it—the ground is all white with snow and it is piling up more with the white dots continuing to fall… is it snowfall I am watching? I rubbed my eyes.
Our plan to watch the sunrise was doomed. Both Pawel and the Hongkonger were up and ready, wearing their headlights, but then withdrew themselves in their respective blankets. Terence came to brief us, “We have to start very early. It’s easy to step on soft snow. When everyone walks on it, it will turn icy and slippery. We have to be the pioneers.” Outside the darkness is gone. I was enjoying the unexpected snowfall, Samudro’s uncanny prediction was true. “We have never seen snowfall before,” we said as we beamed. Pawel, who had seen enough, told us that he gets two-three feet deep snow in Poland. The ripply tinned rooftops of the base camp settlements were heavy with snow. Every few seconds, big dollops were falling from the rooftops. That was the only sound that could be heard, as snowfall itself has no sound. From our room’s window I saw the mountains wearing a white blanket with black spots here and there where snow did not fall evenly. I took a picture.
Outside I spotted Naren. The soft-spoken, shy Naren was jumping like a kid on the snow and posed for photographs which he would send to his family. We headed for the dining room to have breakfast. While we were waiting, I was feeling impatient to take some pictures in the snow. Should we take the chance, but what if our boots get dipped in the snow? So we remained cautious and did not land on the deep soft snow for pictures. Some memories we can not keep in pixels and papers, but we keep them in our organic brain, and those are the memories we come back to most often, we treasure that restless feeling of seeing something beautiful, unimaginable. The smell of hot fried eggs in the air, people speaking in dozens of languages in a busy dining room, background sound of ice falling from the rooftop, peeking outside the glass window to see mountains getting whitewashed by snowfall, the feeling of being there with another one thousand hikers, the feeling that I am now one of them, who were trekking down yesterday after reaching this place—all these images are in the most sacred part of my memory titled “I want us to remember this”.
We said goodbye to our Honkonger roommate. Earlier in the morning she gave me two adhesive heat patches. We never saw or used this thing before. She explained we need to peel the cover and then stick the patch inside the layers of clothes, and not directly on the skin. This will keep our body warm. I gave one to Samudro.
Hikers had started to form a queue in front of the base camp where the trail is hidden beneath snow. Like shepherds drive the sheep, guides all around ABC were gathering their clients to join the queue, to get a head start amidst snow, as early as better. Our group lined up. Terence gave us a briefing on how to step on the snow, “do not step on someone else’s print, it is slippery, step on fresh snow”. I am still nervous about how much of my boot will get dipped inside snow, will I wiggle too much while stepping, will I be able to keep my feet dry etc. Then the queue started to move. So happened my first cinematic fall—I slipped straight forward, and landed on Pawel who caught me at the right time. I felt so embarrassed, such inexperience, I could not even laugh at myself at the seriousness of the moment, LOL. Then I got the hang of it—assessing the snow before stepping on it, one step at a time. I didn’t wiggle as I thought I would. I was walking slower than an average hiker on that trail, but I was steady and comfortable. At places where snow was deep, my boot was dunking well inside soft snow. The moment I would step out of the snow, I got a cool feeling around my boot edges, nothing else. The Merrell Moab 3 boots were a miracle, they never got wet, however much I dunked and dipped it inside snow and later inside streams and puddles. Technologia, eh?
Descending is easy. We say, rising up is tough but falling down is easy, it’s true, LOL. The exhaustion is nothing compared to the climbing up part. After about two hours, we reached MBC. The bench where we sat on yesterday to share a Mustang apple, is coated with half a foot deep snow. The guesthouse corridor and mess room got crowded with people. Everyone shaking snow and ice off their poncho or rain jacket. There were clear green plastic poncho being sold at the counter, which many hikers purchased as they were not prepared for this situation. Some even wrapped their feet in plain polythene bags before wearing the boots. Here, polythene is fashion. I queued up for the washroom line. A man approached me and asked me something in English, not “where do you come from?” as is the most common question in the trail… “How are you feeling now”. I took some time to answer, who asks about current well being, does he know I was not well? Then I recalled the man, he passed by me and said kind words yesterday when I was busy throwing up in the bushes. I smiled at him and thanked him for asking about my well-being, “doing much better today”.
On the way people were falling down constantly. Sometimes someone would overtake me, and then slip right in front of me, LOL. Samudro fell once and got up instantly. He was unhurt. Our first snowfall was not the most romantic one we would have imagined, we had to make our way amidst it, fall down and get up, but it became a fun experience anyway, kinda like the Surf Excel ad “daag theke jodi bhalo kichu hoy, tahole toh daag i bhao!” Towards Deurali, the snow turned to rain. I can now hear rain, unlike snow which doesn’t make sound. I saw so many pebble-sized stones amidst big rocks under my steps. They were glazing after showering in the rain. Stone’s color gets vibrant when they are placed under water. The rivers get their colors by running over colorful rocks. I paused to pick up a green stone. On the way I spotted brighter, more colorful stones—salmon pink, emerald green and liver colored… I started to think that the color of the stone I picked up earlier which I am currently holding between my fist, along with the trekking pole, is not the brightest. My focus wandered to find a greener stone. Slap… it was my turn to fall down, full fall with butt down. I got up, unhurt and did not get wet because of the poncho. But the green stone I was holding was lost. I dared not to find it, as I did not want to disappoint my hikemates. I accepted it as my punishment for being distracted on the route. Rest of the route I tried to feel content knowing I have few other stones kept somewhere in my backpack.
Just the day before, I was thinking about death. And the next day I was risking my life for a mere colorful stone, this is life, we move on.
We were left with Naren for the rest of our journey. Terence took Pawel and continued ahead of us. We do not know when or if we would meet them again. Naren was taking good care of us, asking us if we were hungry. We told him to eat, but we didn’t want to take a break ourselves, as it gets more difficult to resume after a break, especially after lunch. We did our best, but first the snowy and later the slippery track limited our speed. We reached Himalaya village by three in the afternoon. Our target was to reach Sinuwa. The chance was thin, as we had two more villages before reaching Sinuwa—first Dovan and then Bamboo. And reaching each of them would take abruptly 2 hours each, given the slippery track. It was pouring heavily. So we could not sit outdoors under the fancy tent-style shade facing waterfalls. The dining room was also full, so we took a table set in the corridor of the restaurant. We ordered noodles, thinking it would be the quickest to prepare. Cold wind cut through our wrists as soon as we took off our hand gloves. The gloves had been a disaster. We bought them in Manali, it was a ‘tourist’ glove, serves alright for playing with ice in tourist spots. Not built to withstand actual snowfall or rainfall. My fingers looked wrinkled like fish scales, supporting the evolution theories.
We are waiting for the food and looking at our watches. The family who were eating beside us, were talking in Bangla too, sounded like they were from West Bengal. One man heard us speaking in Bangla and asked us, “Uthchen na namchen”, going up or down? We responded that we are going down. They wanted to know what weather we got up there. We shared that it was most sunny until last afternoon. The family was big, they were coming from Kolkata. They stayed the first night at Ghandruk village, and started from there the next morning, which sounded like a smart plan. Our food arrived, lastly. Though we could not eat much, partly because I could not chew the noodles and partly because of losing appetite. And the clock turned to four. The rain showed no mercy. Under this cloudy sky we have to reach the next village before dark. It became evident that we could not reach further than Dovan, which means we would have to cover most distances in the last day of the trek. Not sure we can finish the trek within five days.
After eating, we headed off. Naren’s lunch came even later than us. So he would finish his lunch and follow us soon. We have to reach Dovan before it gets dark. Once again, we set off on the route. We were walking, almost subconscious about how our brain makes decisions walking on a trail. The age-old algorithm to decide where to step, what’s the next move, when to bend the knee, when to take a long stride—all running in our organic brain. Sometimes I was taking a more difficult route, not knowing the route would take a sharp drop a few steps ahead. Sometimes I was miscalculating and stepping on the wrong stone. Trekking is mostly an exercise where we make runtime decisions on which stone to step on, which route to choose, how to conserve energy and be efficient, and mostly live inside our body. To get this experience, we fly thousands of miles. It seemed like a kind of pilgrimage too, a modern one. Here adventure lovers together cross the same trail, share the same dining room, sleep under the same room, everyone enjoying the same basic amenities—the whole gesture is no less than a pilgrimage. My adult life lately has been a routine of coding with AI, ordering groceries online, reading books and watching sitcoms with my husband. Getting out of that and practicing a more primal routine of just walking, one step at a time, just focusing on now, has been healing to me.
After a long day of pocketing many first-time-in-the-life experiences, we reached the village of Dovan. We checked into a guesthouse and got ourselves a private room. We got rid of the useless hand gloves, for good. Our boots, on the other hand, have been loyal to the end. The outside is soaked in grime and dirt, but protected our feet inside from water, puddles and countless slips. The heat patch from our former roommate was still warm!
One more day of trek in front of us. And almost two-third distance to cover, which we ascended in two days. Climbing down is faster than climbing up. But the weather is uncertain, and we may have to risk our current plan. We still remained hopeful that we would be able to complete the trek tomorrow. “Tomorrow morning, it will be all ready”, that popular meme template kept us motivated. “It’s just windows and doors…” But, is it?
Tomorrow Morning
This is tomorrow morning. We woke up very early, so that we could be up and running by the first light of the day. We can’t risk shifting our target for another day. We have to reach them all by today. THERE ARE NO MORE TOMORROW MORNINGS. Samudro planned ahead with ChatGPT and divided our trek route into several targets. He calculated the estimated descension speed based on my four days' performance. He also took account of the trail, how many distances we would descend, where we may have to ascend a bit. And generated a fault tolerant plan. We would target each major village on the route, push ourselves to reach by a deadline and take breaks efficiently. Off we go for our first destination, Bamboo. Samudro, powered by ChatGPT, is our fifth and final day’s team leader.
After trekking for an hour, we reached Bamboo, meeting our first target. Samudro appreciated me hugely for keeping a good pace, maybe that was also in his AI generated plan, to motivate the slow hikemate. On the route, people often spoke to us in Nepalese, we then had to clarify “sorry we don’t understand…” They would then clarify, “Oh, you look Nepalese!” We became used to that. It was fun actually.
We were so grateful to the weather, no sun yet, but no rain too. The forest we crossed two days ago is looking different today, soaked up with the rain, the leaves are greener. This particular patch of the forest gave us an Amazonian vibe—the tree trunks were covered in green moss, we could hear the screeching sounds of the insects who had multiplied after the rain. The shadow was darker in the absence of a clear sky. We were covering great distances, with good speed, probably causing jealousy to those who were ascending the same path. Even the strong Naren was tired and took a break while we continued. He did a Tarzan like gesture, thumping his hand on his chest, to convey us that he is out of breath. We encouraged him to follow his own pace and we did the same ourselves.
We passed two more villages. We are almost halfway. One difficult patch of ascension left. We took a little break at a shop where a local lady was selling fruits. Naren picked up a few oranges and offered them to us, “This is my gift, please try some Nepal oranges”. He also gave us a banana each. We thanked him, ate the bananas and pocketed the oranges. There’s a long suspension bridge connecting this village with the next part of the trail. So, we had a great view of the mountains to our opposite. The trail rose zigzagged over the mountains. We could see some villages too, and lots of terrace fields.
Samudro is tracking our progress. “This is the toughest part of today’s trail, you can do it Jo,” my team leader for the day gave me some morale boost before we started ascending stairs, hopefully the last time in this trek. Surprisingly, I did good. For a good stretch of the way, I was in front of Samudro. We were following the same trail that we took to reach ABC. So, the trails, bridges and monuments are familiar now. Almost at the end of climbing up, next way down we go… I was taking a picture of the stupa, adorned with colorful prayer flags. I heard a jingle sound coming from the mules, so I took a breather and waited for them to pass by. A long procession of mules carrying empty gas cylinders were climbing up. The first in line stopped right in front of Samudro, and following it the rest of the mules halted as well. This we did not expect. I tried to take some photos of these regular hikers on the ABC trail. So adorable and calm. At last what made them move was, Samudro’s “go, go” and waving towards the front direction, guess he is the shepherd of the day, for both me and the mules.
The sun rays are now trying to peep behind the cloud. Mountains are looking an exotic blue. Flowers are showing up their colors. Samudro is walking in front of me now. And dutifully passing me the camera when he spots a flower bush, because he knows what stops me in a trail. Our way of husband and wife completing each other’s sentence, he he.
We decided to take lunch after reaching Samrung, the starting point and ending point of the trek. Villages are now showing signs for Jhinu dada hot spring. Dada means mountain. People take a detour to the hot spring to relax in the natural hot water. It wasn’t in our plan though. We kept going and the biggest suspension bridge of the trail came to my eyes. I showed it to Samudro, “there’s our finishing line”. We can now hear the sound of the fiercing river over which the bridge is suspended. Cannot still believe, we are almost there! It felt to me that tomorrow morning really arrived and the man in the meme template really, really had the building ready.
We are in our t-shirts, and changed the windbreakers two-three villages ago. At this hour, the trail is almost empty, as whoever started their hike, crossed this route earlier in the day. The last bridge in front of us. Everyone was waiting on both sides of the bridge while a batch of mules crossed it. The finish line is almost here. We completed what we began. A big triumphant smile on our face. WE DID IT. We took the final selfie on the trail—us two backpackers, our sunglasses hanging from the chest strap of our backpacks, sweat streaming from our hair, a few white marks on the face from the sunscreen. What was not in the picture—our heartbeat thrumming, salty taste around my lips from the sweat, a feeling of disbelief.
Four days ago, we ate lunch at this same restaurant. Again we ordered some chicken meals, God we missed meat. For one more time, unstrapping the backpacks, balancing the trekking poles against a wall, sat down for a meal. We looked outside the window. For five days we have been moving, gathering a lifetime experience, but didn’t have the time to look back. The completion of the journey gave us the memories to always look back. Samudro was speaking between steadying breaths, “Where’s next, Jo?”
It was late afternoon, we were waiting for the jeep that would return us to Pokhara. Streams of jeeps were coming, backpacks were being loaded to the roof, and with great dust and sound the jeeps left for Pokhara. Finally it was our time—me, Samudro and Naren sat squeezed in the last row of the jeep. And once again rode the bumpy road of Jhinu Dada, this time in the dark. From the jeep window, the night mountains looked like fireflies. The bumps on the road felt like companies.
Once reaching Pokhara, we were again transferred to a small car, which would drop us to our hotel. Terence hopped into our car, he reached Pokhara well in the afternoon with Pawel. Pawel’s medicine was still with us! “Congratulations,” Terence gave his hearty laugh. “I wasn’t sure you would make it today, especially her, you did a great job” Samudro added, “she did very well today”. I felt like a hero.
It was time for parting our ways. We took a selfie, all four of us laughing. Terence gave us a big hug with his arms wide. We said goodbye and promised to keep in touch. We would remember their friendliness, their positivity in all kinds of weather, and their big, hearty smiles! Our Nepali big brothers…
God Did It
Good morning from Pokhara! We woke up early, our bodies trained with early rising. Somehow, my skin is feeling very smooth, so is Samudro’s. We decided it’s probably the weather of Nepal. Last night we cleaned the grimes from our boots and dried the ponchos. I fell asleep as soon as I landed on the bed. The morning felt very relaxing, a resting, cuddling morning. Our body is sore after a good night’s sleep. We enjoyed the view of Fewa lake, lying on the bed.
Today we plan to reach Nagarkot. We have a mid day flight from Pokhara to Kathmandu, then we would take a taxi from Kathmandu to Nagarkot. The Kathmandu to Pokhara bus journey wasn’t super smooth, so we wanted to take the flight.
The new airport in Pokhara has a clean and tasteful architecture. High-ceilinged and white interior. It was raining outside, a slow non-stop rain. We were sitting with other passengers before the check-in area. The morning flights have been delayed. The flight status has been changing like Kashmir weather. “Airport closed”, “airport opened”, “operation closed”, “operation restarted”. Waiting and waiting, we visited the souvenir cum cafe in the airport thrice. Each time we bought food conservatively, thinking our check-in would happen soon.
The check-in never happened. By late afternoon, our flight was cancelled, due to bad weather. Pokhara being heavily surrounded by mountains, have to close their airport operations on rainy days like this. The evening bus will start after two hours, and they drop passengers at three in the morning. What would we do at that time, outside in the rain? “Should we take a jeep,” Samudro asked. Terence was also messaging us at that time. Relaxed, as always, Terence said, he has a plan. He had plans to return to Kathmandu the next day by his friend’s jeep. He told us to wait some time at the airport.
We got out of the airport, the weather was gloomy and still raining. A jolly Terence came towards us, “Welcome, welcome, I knew we would meet again!” We felt relieved to have Terence back. Terence convinced his friend to start a day early, to drop us at Nagarkot and get back to Kathmandu. “Flight cancel, no problem, it’s an adventure, you see, God did it!” The day was gone. But we are to make an epic journey in the night.
Amidst rain and a grey-blue sky we were leaving Pokhara. It shifted between a gentle drizzle and a heavy downpour making us shut the jeep window fully. The road between Pokhara and Kathmandu was in no good condition, the rain only made it worse. And we would be riding amidst the dark in the mountain hairpin roads of Nagarkot. This did not tense us at all, as we knew that Terence’s friend drives in the Jhinu Dada road from Pokhara. The jeep’s back glass had a sticker “Pokhara to Jhinu Dada” which says that the jeep has seen a lot. And the driver friend was solid.
The windshield wiper was working continuously, sometimes Terence wiped the inner glass with a rag. The friend drove with determination, with a steady speed. Terence kept him entertained the whole journey. As it was getting late at night, he was probably keeping his friend awake by telling various stories in Nepalese and laughing a great deal. More than halfway to Kathmandu, we stopped at a roadside restaurant. It was ten o'clock. The force of rain is still strong. Terence asked us to eat something off the shelf, as he didn’t want to risk us with roadside food. I sighed, looking at the fish fries, and chose some local bread for dinner. I actually love the simple meals in a roadside kitchen. Fried fish, daal and rice are as good for me as anything from a big restaurant. But Terence was treating us like royalties. So we munched on the dried bread, which tasted good as well. I was reading the text in Nepalese written on the restaurant wall opposite of me. Nepalese and Bengali share many words, it wasn’t difficult to read the menu in Nepalese “coffee”, “tea” these words are almost same universally, and we have some common letters too.
Trucks illuminated by LED light tapes and powerful headlights, clearly showing they are the regulars in this foggy condition, are passing by us frequently. Each time giving me a shiver, how is the driver noticing them! Being a newbie driver, I have a long way to go. I observe the drivers taking turns, crossing vehicles, riding parallel to gorges, with admiration.
We went past Kathmandu and were riding towards Nagarkot, when my little nap broke. It’s almost midnight. We were driving amidst clouds, that too in the dark. I cannot see anything in front of the car’s windshield. How the Jhinu Dada driver is going forward with this constant speed is a mystery. His seat is shifted forward, he is sitting straight, eyes glued in front of him and his nose is almost touching the windshield. Terence hasn’t stopped chatting, the enthusiasm in his voice is sleepy though. He is helping with navigation by watching the map apps on his phone.
We have been riding up, the roads have been carved beside forestry hills, as it seemed in the dark. It seemed like a zigzagged road as we were taking turns frequently. And by two in the morning, we reached our hotel in Nagarkot. Straight nine hours of driving with only one break, amidst the downpour and the dark, we traversed a huge distance from Pokhara to Nagarkot. Indeed, God sent Terence to us. We thanked our Nepalese brother and his friend for saving the day. Time for us to do a late check-in and take a break from the adventures.
Peep Show of Diamonds
Where is the cloud? Samudro opened the sliding door to the balcony, and the clouds from the balcony slowly seeped inside our room. We are living in the cotton candies of clouds. The ocean near the Bay of Bengal is brewing a cyclone, and here in the Himalayas we can see the effect in the form of clouds and drizzles. We came to Nagarkot for a two day staycation. The hotel balcony is a gateway for watching the mesmerizing Nagarkot sunrise, but all we could see was clouds, right in front of our nose. We slept, ate, drank tea and dearly waited for the sky to be clear for one sunrise or sunset. The Nagarkot sky did not listen to our prayers this time.
Soon it was time for our goodbye to Nepal. At ten in the morning we would leave Nagarkot for Kathmandu, from where we would fly to Dhaka, home. For two days, we have been trying to be optimistic about the sky in different ways—maybe the clouds will suddenly disappear due to some effect, maybe this, maybe that. I once thought, maybe up in the airplane the clouds will descend below the peaks, because they are now so low, shouldn’t it be clear above? Daydreaming, we boarded the jeep for Kathmandu Tribhuban airport. Two staff from the hotel asked for a lift.
The roads that we only imagined when reaching Nagarkot are visible now. The view was stunning—alpine forest rising beside the zigzagged road, tea plants growing under the shade. It reminded me of Darjeeling, which I saw only in the movies—but the big trunked trees, curved roads and tea bushes in the slopes resembled Darjeeling to me. One of the staff was chitchatting with us, where did we come from, how did we enjoy Nepal. We told him we loved Nepal and its people, and we did a trek on the ABC. “She too?” the man exclaimed to Samudro. I gave a proud smile.
After completing check-in and immigration, we lounged for an hour at Horizon lounge by Soaltee. It was a pleasant surprise, so far the best lounge we experienced. So many varieties of food—both veg and non-veg. We drank fresh watermelon juice and cold cranberry juice. There were too many options for desserts, we tasted sago, cheesecake, chocolate mousse. After eating all these, I could not resist the temptation of a cup of latte, for free. So, I went for that too. It was a goodbye meal, Nepal is bidding a good goodbye to her guests.
Up in the aircraft we took our final selfie of the trip. Taking off from Nepal. We took a little tour of Kathmandu valley from the airplane window. We spotted some architecture—stupas, temples. Then it became a regular flight, above thrity five thousand feet or so. But… Did I see something there? I shaked Samudro, “Look!” Unbelievable! Peaks after peaks are getting visible as the aircraft presses onward. Above a thick sea of clouds, the mighty Himalayan range was sparkling under the sunlight. The fantasy became true, the clouds lowered and the peaks stood above them glistening with sunlight. “Don’t they look like thousands of diamonds in a display?” I was beaming… I felt like a child watching a peep show through the oval windows of an airplane. Our eyes kept glued to the window, the vast range continuing on. Is that Mount Everest, no, maybe that? We pondered. Twenty minutes of bliss, moments like “my eyes!”... We could not thank Nepal enough for giving us such a magnificent parting gift. The weather, the roads, all can become uncertain, maybe that’s why Nepal attracts the adventurers.
Mountain calls, and it tests you, takes a lot from you, but in return gives you the most unexpected teachings, the most precious moments of your life. Taking in the grandeur of the Himalayas, we said goodbye to Nepal, the Cloud Cuckoo Land, until next time.
Comments
Post a Comment