Backpack stories – part II

The road downhill reminded me of the one leading through Bled – well, somewhat worse and the ride seemed like plowing a field. Despite that, and above all surprisingly, you can easily fall asleep. Every hour for half an hour. The temperature is nice and the landscape interesting. Driving along the river, green areas, lone houses, small towns and passing many colorful trucks, broken down buses, dust and people sitting by the side of the road. The sky was blue and in the distance we saw snow covered peaks. The reminded me of the Alps from the distance. Closer we get to our destination, fuller the bus is. Instead of allowed 8, there were now 14 people in it. The child in the mother’s lap never cried in the seven hours of the trip. We stepped out at the last stop.

At the check point we show our trekking permits, to continue our way and from here on your own feet are the only mode of transportation. We take off the sandals and put on the trekking shoes, cotton t-shirt for the sweat, hiking sticks in the hand and off we went.

Most people took a jeep, but we used the few more hours before the sunset to walk to the village. In darkness we arrive to the village Ngadi (at 890m altitude) and are almost forced to overnight at the guest house. My initial grumping about sleeping at the first guesthouse turned into an unforgettable and heartfelt experience and an evening with a nice family and an even nicer location. Being the only guests, there’s »a la cart« food service. No shower, just a bucket and icy cold water. The sky is filled with stars and behind the peak came the almost full moon. After deserts the oldest son, who’s also the cook, a green sweet to blow in the wind. For the mother this was the first time, she was there for the smoking ritual, but respectfully she declined. The effect was like taking a sleeping pill, so I was smiling, while laying down on an uncomfortable, too short and too hard bed that leans to the left. The morning was perfect! Behind the house, the Manaslu is bathing in the sun.

I’m sitting in fathers place and the water is boiling, for our tea. The first tourists are already passing by us, but we’re enjoying the fresh air, morning dew on the grass and enjoying the sun’s beams. We later came to regret our slow start, since we did most of the way in terrible heat. Tomorrow we start earlier.

The road winds pass the rice fields, waterfalls, small villages and children heading off to school. Smiling faces greet us with “namaste” (meaning: I greet the deity in you) and you feel how much energy there is in people. Such a simple life they live, usually in a poor cottage, no things the westerners need, yet so very rich. I often wonder, what they think of hordes of people passing them by daily with colorful backpacks, hiking stick and professional shoes, shirts and pants from special materials. For over 30 years more or less intensively? Yet they still live their same old peaceful lives. I feel ashamed, when a carrier in sandals, jeans and a T-shirt passes me by, with god knows how heavy a load on his back. He doesn’t think of vitamin pills and special drinks… he doesn’t even have a bottle of water with him. I feel like I carry a cloud on my back, not a backpack.

On the way we meet two carriers who are in a poor condition. We offer water and help with placing the backpacks on their backs. They say it’s their first trekking and they wish to earn some money during the summer break for the continuation of their studies. The load is too heavy and they can’t go on. Yet they come to the point where they meet up with their customers from Russia. The arrogant tourists handle tem like cattle, so I start a constructive debate with them about how we’re all human. The boys give up on the idea of spending 18 more days with the Russians and return the money and go forth on their own. One of them follows us, but we convince him we don’t need any help and he should try and find other people. We can stay together until then. Luck was just around the corner and the next day we were happy for our friend and how it worked out.

Days are passing with early risings, whole day walks, afternoon sups, snickers and adoring the landscape and people, “hot showers” that never do the justice to the name (praise the person who invented moist handkerchiefs), dinner, a beer (only up to 3000m of altitude), washing the clothes and going to bed when the cows come home. Around 8pm everybody is in their shelters. The temperature changes and we are gaining altitude. The sun warms the earth in the morning, but the evening is warm winter coat cold. The lodges are not heated. Every village has its own face and here we really notice it. What a different culture!

On our way my mother and I are a true attraction, for we are made according to the copy-paste method, that’s why they call Madka “mama, mami, mamo…”

With every passing day the backpack is lighter and the legs a bit heavier. The sausage and persuto we took with us have their weight! We’re getting ever higher and closer to the mighty ones. Now we see they’re no Alps. They’re much taller! Just a few days ahead we’ll get tot he highest point of the trail – the Thorong la pass.

We descend to Manang at 3540m. A short but sweet part of the way. Rice fields were replaced by wheat fields that got to be potatoes fields. The path now winds almost through a desert. No vegetation, except for an occasional bush and yak. Vast plane with fresh air is full of these beasts, grassing peacefully not being disturbed. The guest houses offer their specialties – yak milk, meat, cheese…

At 3pm there’s a lecture in the village center, about the altitude illness I have to attend. Unlike my mother and her calmness, I’m already paranoid. There’s still time to visit the neighboring visit. We sit in the only house that offers drinks. The lady serves us in broken English and tells us her life story. Difficult, but we understood each other. The body language is universal. I left home knowing not all people are as nice as I think they might be, but I discarded the thought here. Here people really, but really ARE friendly and nice.

The afternoon wind announced the change of weather. The morning was grey and cold. We’re about to climb to 4200m. This is a first depressing day. First time here. I wish it would pass as soon as possible. In a lodge in Letdar there are many French people and luckily their guide is very nice. After lunch a siesta would feel good (not that we want one, but still). In all our clothes (including a cap and gloves) we tuck into sleeping bags and do crossword puzzles, to pass the time before nightfall and supper. There’s snow outside and no promise of getting better. The evening got interesting when Mingma Sherpe, a 28 year old fellow, who as a guide reached the top of Mt. Everest four times, started telling us tales. He doesn’t even bother to count the 6 and 7 thousand meter peaks. He attended a mountaineering school that was also led by Slovenians. The last thing we do that day is to take sleeping pills and doze off for the night.

We’re one day away from our goal. Let tomorrow bring a better weather, please!