The rain was but a memory on the wet ground that morning. I threw on my damp clothing which dried quickly after walking. I was glad to walk the great section between Bamboo and Sinewa in better conditions. The morning jungle was eerily quiet. It was as if the rain had washed more than just the dirt from the leaves, it seemed to wash the life too. There was a special beauty in this, which was odd, since the jungle's beauty comes from it being so alive. The moss, trees, everything glistened in the sun.
Sinewa was not a place I wanted to reach, not only because it marked the transition from jungle to exposed hillside, it was the start of the stairs. First, they went down to the river, then back up nearly as high to Chhomrong.I stopped at the same hotel as a few nights earlier for some masala tea and biscuits to rest before the endless stone stairs to Jhinujanda. They stretched even beyond Jhinu down to the river. Thankfully the climb to New Bridge had few stairs.
After New Bridge was another river crossing. The bridge resembled its namesake in no way; it was an old rickety wooden thing that was the first bridge in the whole trip that I was nervous to cross. It held up. The trail began its final climb to Landruk, where I spent the night.
I only gave the Maya Guest House a quick glance; my sights were set for a nice looking place higher up the hill. However, I was beckoned by a large didi with an even larger smile. At that point, I was the only tenant. By my estimates, I had only two more nights before Pokhara. My cash supply was at a safe point, barring an emergency extra night, so I decided to treat myself. I ordered a late lunch of an onion and tomato pizza, which was tasty, but not really a pizza. Basically, it was a chapati bread with a ketchup sauce, baked with tomato and onion slices and yak cheese. I found it a bit sweet, but the bottle of habenero sauce fixed this. The dal bhat was good, with some excellent pickles. Even after eating it for days, my love affair with dal bhat was still as strong as when I started. Every time I shovel it into my mouth hurriedly, with almost the ferocity of the Nepalis, who just scoop it in with their hands, I felt a speiccal kind of happiness. Maybe I should start eating with my hands.
The innkeepers were so fantastic. After three big glasses of warm homemade raksi, I really noticed how much these family run guest houses enhance the experiences of these hikes. They work so hard, waking up early to prepare breakfast for the trekkers itching to leave. After checkout, they have to clean the rooms and bathrooms, harvest vegetables or maintain the garden, just in time for the trekkers stopping in for lunch or a quick tea. From evening on, they slave in the kitchen to prepare countless meals for the hungry walkers and their guides and porters. Their dinner comes late, after the dishes are done and the guests head to bed. After a short sleep, the process begins again. The whole day of every day during the season is working. And considering how much they work, they don't charge too much, despite how much people seem to complain about the prices.
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