Climbing Mount Panchasse

So it's the 28th of May (I think) although I have lost all sense of time and date. I am currently limping around Butterfly lodge after our epic trek up into the mountains. Muscles are aching that I didn't even know I had. I still can’t believe it, I have been in Nepal for a week ad have already climbed a mountain. This country is a place of dreams.

We started our trek 4 days (?) ago by taking a taxi with our guide, Kamal, through the hills to our starting point. We were recommended Kamal as a guide as he has had 40 years guiding experience and the route we were planning on taking took us through some pretty dense jungle. He was a 60 something, chain smoking, Nepali hill-man who had spent his entire life trekking around the mountains: Everywhere we went he seemed to know everyone and was full of pearls of wisdom-he knew every detail of the area and the people who lived there. With his big beaming smile and good English I felt as if I could relax and enjoy the ride.

The morning we were due to leave I had, by sod's law, become incredibly sick. Sitting with our bags before leaving I felt like I might pass out and my stomach was gurgling with the most painful cramps. I couldn’t stop sweating and shivering and felt as though I might faint every time I tried to take a step from the bathroom, and the thought of climbing a mountain was filling me with panic. However, once we got in the car, after feeling like i might throw up for a few minutes it suddenly disappeared, as I stuck my head out of the window as watched the villages roll past. The journey to the starting point was one of the happiest I have had so far. The happiest Nepali music was blaring on the radio and I had my head stuck out of the window watching the tropical fields, the tiny villages and the paddy fields swept past. As we climbed higher and higher the Annapurna range loomed into view and this time it was closer than ever, it was breathtaking. By the time we reached our starting point I already felt like I was too high for comfort. The Pokhara valley stretched out below us and I felt dizzy as hell looking over the edge of where our taxi stood on crumbling cliff edge. We heaved on our bags, took a big swig of water and set off in the baking sun.

For some reason, It hadn't occurred to me just how many people would be living in the hills. After only ever trekking in the lake district (and barely trekking at that) I was expecting dry stone walls and the odd sheep, but the sheer amount of villages up in the hills astounded me. As we marched along the steep paths tiny settlements gathered on either side of us, with solemn looking tribes-people tending to goats, crops, children. However, when I timidly put my hands together and attempted a 'Namaste', their faces broke into the friendliest smiles and everywhere we went from then on we were greeted with the warmest welcomes.

Our first day of the trek took us through lush farmed valleys and countless villages. It was a cultural experience like no other, as well as the most incredibly tiring. The sun was unbelievably hot (obviously, closer than normal) but thankfully the occasional monsoon clouds helped us through the midday hours. We climbed higher and higher until I actually felt like we couldn't possibly go any further, but then Kamal pointed out to us where the summit was, and far away on another side of a different valley, a dark peak loomed. Towards the end of the day we trekked through forest, and were constantly joined by different villagers who simply wanted to share the walk. I walked for a long time with a woman called Sita who was carrying a huge pile of wood on her back. We could barely understand each other but she held my hand as we walked and we managed to talk for a long time just through the use of smiles. When we sat for a break near a huge gorge (and terrifying rope bridge) we were joined by another elderly woman, and the group of us sat in silence smiling at one another. The Nepali are such a sociable people, they really seem to just love company. Throughout the whole trek we were joined again and again by well wishers, curious villagers, working men, children, mothers, holy men and pilgrims. They would join us for part of the walk, or exchange franticly happy greetings as we marched down hillsides together. We were greeted from high on the cliffs by squealing children and we were welcomed to Nepal by farmers hidden in their crops. Everywhere we went we were greeted as welcome strangers, and it was incredible.

On the first night we stayed in a tiny Nepali hut in a high up tribal village. A school sat right next to our hut and we caused a bit of a stir when we arrived, disrupting pretty much every lesson in the school as the children ran to greet us. We spent the evening playing with them, drinking home brewed millet wine, and eating incredible food that the Didi had prepared for us. I finally felt like I had found the real Nepal and I honestly never wanted to leave. However, the real-ness of the village got a bit much when a tarantula dropped onto my bed during the night, thank goodness the Nepali people are so hardy, they barely batted an eyelid as they squashed it with a chair. I, on the other hand, had to be coaxed back into the hut over a good half an hour, and finally fell asleep with the elderly Kamal comforting me, and patting my hair saying, “don’t afraid…”

The next morning we set off through the mist just as the first dawn chorus was beginning to echo over the hills. This day was somewhat harder. The monsoon rains came sweeping in earlyand the leeches were relentless. They covered us from head to toe and there was nowhere to hide from the huge, hard raindrops. The plus side was that the rain was so hard it temporarily made us forget about the strenuous walking. Eventually we reached a hut here we were ushered inside out of the rain by some locals, who gave us chiya (a nepalese milky, spicy chai ) and built a fire for us to sit by. We set off when the rain calmed down and made our final push up the steep mountainside. Now we were walking in Jungle and the leeches covered every surface. I pulled my anorak tight around my throat, constantly worrying one might drop inside as they fell from the trees above…but as we began to break through the top of the rainclouds and walk above them, the appreciation we had for the clear sky and sunshine was so uch greater for the hard start we had had to the day. As we watched the clouds roll away beneath us in awe, (we were literally walking on them at some points), they began to reveal the view that had until then been hidden from us. It’s one I will never forget.

As we made our final push to the village at the summit, I had my first spell of real weirdness from the altitude. We were at about 3000m, and I began to gegt a pounding headache and felt so dizzy I had to sit with my head between my legs. Staring out aross the jagged landscape, it looked as though all of the mountains had turned purple and were moving away from me, and as I turned to Kamal to tell him I didn’t feel at all well, I felt like I had lost the ability to speak. It was strange to feel the air was thinner, and although 3000m wouldn’t have been high enough to suffer dangerously from altitude sickness, I was glad we didn’t have to go any higher-the feeling of panting and it not doing you any good is a funny one to experience. We slowly made our way the final stretch to the village, me on slightly unsteady legs, and as we collapsed at the top, I started to realize we had made it. We lay panting in the shade as the local Didi brought us out a strong dose of chiya, and after a while regaining our breath Myke a d I wandered to the edge to see the view we had come all this way for. I never thought a view could take my breath away like those mountains did.

We spent the whole evening sitting staring at that view, and the echo of birds from thousands of meters below drifted up through the clouds and echoed around the valley walls. We were fed and fed and fed by the Didi until we couldn’t eat another bite of Dal, and we drank more millet wine and chiya as we watched the sun set over a panorama of the Annapurna range. That night I couldn’t sleep. Apparently when you’re up higher it’s difficult to sleep because it’s harder to flood your body with oxygen, so I spent most of the night staring from the window of our hut, out at the view. Something about the mountains looked even more spectacular with the snow-capped peaks bathed in moonlight. I can’t think of words to describe it, every cliché in the world springs to mind. But when we woke to watch the sunrise the next morning and begin our descent, the echo of chanting around the village as the made their morning prayers made me feel as if we were in the presence of gods.

I never realized going down would be so much harder than going up, but we had an unbelievable 5 hours of steps to take us back to the foothills of the mountain, and the repetitive movement turned our les to jelly as we descended back into the stifling humidity of the jungle. The last hour was an unbearable test of stamina, and my legs were actually buckling involuntarily every other step by the end of it. On our descent, we passed scores and scores of pilgrims making their way up the steps, which didn’t even bear thinking about. Families stopped us to shake our hands and gangs of children scampered ahead of parents and elders climbing in their best sari’s beneath parasols. We were blessed by countless holy men and interviewed by solemn faced elders who nodded their approval and clasped their hands in a gruff ‘Namaste’. By the time we had reached the bottom we collapsed in the shade of a tiny café and enjoyed the greatest ice cold bottle of coke that had ever existed.

Taking a public bus back to Pokhara was the best way to end the journey. As we leapt aboard, the heavens opened and as we rumbled through the paddy fields and jerked through the potholes, Nepali music was squealing on the radio, and I was ushered into the women’s section and instantly handed a baby to look after. As we juddered across the mirrored planes of flower-filled fields I stared back at the looing peak of the mountains we had just scaled, and said goodbye to Panchasse. Coming back to Pokhara was a very odd reality check. The tourist shops were still being tourist shops, the bars and cafes still serving pizza, and I felt so sad to say goodbye to the beautiful, undeveloped side of Nepal.

Waking up today my legs are so stiff I can barely walk, but tonight I am starting a 4 day yoga course. Myke is considering moving on to Chitwan national park, but I feel as if I still have unfinished business here in the mountains. I have fallen in love with this side of Nepal, and I want to see more of it before I move on. Plus, the 80% humidity and 40 degree heat of the terai plains doesn’t feel so appealing right now. So, I think perhaps we might go our separate ways for a while. For a week I will be on my yoga course in the hills, and Myke will be heading south. Then, perhaps, we could meet in the Kathmandu valley. The notion of travelling alone is daunting at the moment, but I think it will be good to do our own thing.

Anyway, this has been a rather long entry so I'll leave it for now. Next time I need to be more concise. I've got some amazing photographs from our trek but this computer won't let me upload them without taking about a million hours, so you will have to see later. Anyway, goodbye for now, and I will write again when I am a yoga master.