Ghandruk trek part 3 - Down and out

What a breakfast! We dined on the flower-bedecked guesthouse patio in the mild morning sun. Arrayed before us in for mountain splendour were Annapurna South flanked by Himchuli, and the incomparable Machapuchare (Fishtail Peak) piercing the sky on the other side of the Modi Khola.

Our first stop of the day was that the small museum next door that showcased traditional Gurung life. It was housed in a typical stone building with ears of corn drying under the eaves and a very low doorway - even Tenaya had to mind her head! Inside, a single room housed displays of everyday items such as bamboo baskets for every need, wooden containers and musical instruments, an array of brass pots and dishes, tools, weapons, an altar, and more. 

Old Gurung museum, Ghandruk

Entrance to Old Gurung Museum.

With stiff legs, we started our descent of the Modi Khola valley towards the end of the trek at Nayapul, initially down the inevitable knee-wrecking stone steps.  

Ang Gelu and the porters, closely followed by the young joints of Tara tear off down the steps.

Rural life carried on as we passed: people ploughing the fields with water buffalo, a man carrying such a great load of scythed vegetation (presumably for animal feed) that only his ankles were visible from behind, women weaving vivid cloth using backstrap looms or doing laundry under the village spigot or sweeping the porch with bunches of fine sticks amid scratching chickens and their broods, uniformed children walking  to school (often a considerable distance up or down), older kids herding goats. It was like a Nepali version of one of my favorite childhood books, Richard Scarry's "Busy, Busy World"; I expected Lowly Worm to rear his head. 

The girls are wishing they could also wallow in a mud puddle to cool down

During our homestay in Kathmandu, I had found the Nepali rhythm of life, the very bones on which you hang the events and chores of the day, to be jarringly foreign. The main meal of the day is around 10 in the morning (dal bhat) after which people head off to work and school. They come home around 5 or 6, and dinner (more dal bhat - 24 hour power!) follows later around 8 or 9pm. Although our western preferences of breakfast, lunch, and dinner had been catered to, albeit later than we were used to, we had had to work in with the local schedule which had left me with a constant surreal feeling of fundamental disquiet. I suppose that's the definition of culture shock.

Rice paddies

The steps ended at a recently developed dirt road along which trucks, jeeps and farm carts came bumping by periodically, adding insult to toes squashed in boots and sweat-stuck pant legs. In the distance, one jeep was mired in the mud on a newly bulldozed road. The solution seemed to be digging out with bare hands. The driver seemed resigned to his fate. Something about the country did that to you. 

Spot the car stuck in the mud on the newly bulldozed road to the left.

A local bus heads up the road. We had to walk.

I plodded along with Lhakpa as the morning ripened into a sun-drenched and sticky afternoon. Like many of the young people we met, he had studied Hotel Management, a logical career given Nepal's heavy reliance on tourism income (the other popular career was Civil Engineering, presumably in high demand after the earthquake). But was that what he really wanted to do?  He had managed an internship in Bahrain which had whetted his appetite for more experiences abroad. The Holy Grail of young people seemed to be a visa to the USA. It was a measure of the limited range of in-country prospects that this was to be strived for, despite the current political difficulties and reports filtering back of much hard work with little financial gain. At 24, this warm, engaging, capable young man was recently married (or perhaps engaged - either way, he had made a commitment) and was grappling with how best to forge ahead in life.

Lhakpa on the bridge over the Modi Khola at Nayapul

Our rough route, nowhere near to scale. Day 1: Phedi to Pothana, Day 2: Pothana to Ghandruk, Day 3: Ghandruk to Nayapul

After about 5 hours on the trail (and of course many more miles than the brochure had indicated), we crossed the Modi Khola once more and reached the town of Nayapul, a bustling center spread out along one side of the river. 

Tenaya looking very hot - nearly there!

The sting in the tail was the final uphill stretch to the waiting van that seemed far steeper than it actually was. We celebrated by liberating our hot and battered feet from boots and downing an incredibly refreshing bottle of cold Sprite.

Boots off and enjoying the best ever bottle of cold Sprite on a sweltering day.

So....we ended up finding the Annapurna range. But was it worth it? Tenaya, in a foul mood, declared "No, absolutely not. I will never do that again". Then promptly threw up. Back here in the US, people ask "Did you have fun?". It's tempting to give a blunt response to this banality: "No", but that would offend ever chipper American sensibilities. I usually instead offer a more nuanced: "Well....it was an experience", and then tell them about the leeches, the time we had to run away from fighting rhinos in the jungle, or the cremation we passed on the side of the river, rafting ("Then we saw two feet').

Had the bribe worked? When I asked the kids, at their last dinner in the country, "What did you enjoy the most?", they sat there, scrunching their brows and squirming in their seats. Tara offered, in a somewhat dubious tone, "Well, I guess the rafting was sort of fun". However, when I instead tried "What was your most memorable experience?", the floodgates of conversation burst and there was a tsunami of camaraderie. "Do you remember...?". "Can you believe....?". "The leeches!!".  And there it was. From the trash heap of fun, we had found unity. Priceless.

Namaste.

International Peace Pagoda, Pokhara