A Different Kind of Trek

We started in Shivalaya, a bit down the road from Jiri. Though not popular, a few hearty travelers trek in this area to avoid taking a plane to Lukla, gateway to Sagarmatha National Park. We however, had a different plan. For three days, we'd follow the Jiri-Lukla trek, then head west through a small corner of Makalu National Park, hiking until we reached Tumlingtar, where we could catch a bus down to Biratnagar to pick up my bags.

On the bus, we met Adrian from Spain, who joined us for the first few days. It became obvious why most flew to Lukla: even though we only walked half of this trek, we climbed three passes that were not high in elevation, but involved lots of climbing. It was constant up and down and though beautiful, it lacked the "money shots" of the mountains. Trekking in the hills proved more difficult than trekking in the mountains.

Even at low elevations, it was very cold. Clouds had settled in for days, blocking sun an views. We decided quite quickly to change our plan and not go through the higher elevations of Makalu National Park. Our rationale was simple: why go to higher elevations, suffer through cold temperatures, when we wouldn't even get a glimpse of the great peaks? So we headed South towards Salderi and improvised a route using Himalay's undetailed giant map of Nepal, which seemed to only have main roads. I guess it worked well enough.

One advantage of trekking with a Nepali is that we were able to get away from the tourists. In Bhandar, though swarming with fancy teahouses, Himalay found a small place, looking like nothing more than a family's home, containing a shop, and found us some beds for the night. We sat with the family, watching them cook the best dal bhat I'd ever had. Most of the beds on our trek made tables seem comfortable. Most of our bed were in fact just tables. When we did stay in a hotel, they were often frigid in the Nepal winter. One night, we camped on a plowed rice field, overlooking the mountains, our only view of the whole trip. I wondered why Himalay chose such a place, as everything we owned became caked in soil; it was only the halfway point of the trip. Another night, we stayed in a one room hotel in a charming river village, chowing on delicious fried fish, only caught that day. We spent a night in a family's back yard and had dinner with all twelve members of the family. This was definitely not like my lodging in Annapurna.

Most of the places we visited saw but a few tourists every year. We were greeted by stares everywhere we went. Even Himalay, a native, inspired curiosity, hiking with his sticks and big backpack. Everywhere we stopped, the children would swarm, investigating our tent, our bags, our mere presence. We stopped near a school to fill up with water and an entire class came out to watch us until the teacher, who was in another room, herded them back to their desks, where they continued to watch us through the door.

Nobody spoke English and for the first time, I found myself forced to learn some Nepali. It was a sad moment when after nearly two months in the country, I had to whisper to Himalay, "How do I order tea?"

We went from village to village, passing Okhalhunga and veering down to the famous Shiva temple of Hallesi. It was a small cave, containing a holy lingum that draws pilgrims from afar. There were three trials, all involving squeezing the body through narrow cracks, that would cleanse the soul of its sins. Thankfully, the trekking made me skinny enough to pass all three.

From Hallesi, we spontaneously chose to walk along the Sun Kosi river. Himalay warned me that we were going far afield and to expect no people or supplies. He was proven wrong as we passed thousands of pilgrims from the Terai, heading to Hallesi for another great festival. Some would stop on the beaches of the river, cooking complex meals, sometimes using three pots, all over the fire. We drooled as we watched, crunching on our dry ramen and coconut biscuits.

Annapurna was a trek that's star was the scenery. Few places in the world have sights as magical as Machhupurchhe, but on this trek, there were different, yet equal sights, a family working hard to finish the harvest for winter, terraced hills endlessly representing the roots engineering of the people who have dwelled in these hills for thousands of years, and importantly, the smiles of the children as they saw their first white man come through their village and try to communicate. Annapurna was a showcase of nature; this trek was showcase of unbastardized culture.

We stopped walking just outside of Gaighat, twelve days after we started. The next morning a bus brought us out of the hills to the Terai. On the way, we found ourselves head on with another bus in the middle of the one lane road. After two hours, they finally chipped away part of terrace so the other bus could drive onto the field and let us through.

We spent our last night together in Biratnagar, second largest city in Nepal. Himalay and I shared beers and delicious fish, best in Nepal according to him. The night ended with whiskey cokes, while packing in the darkness of one Nepal's constant powercuts. By candlelight, I saw Himalay pull from his bag his Khukuri, the Ghurka fighting knife, symbol of Nepal. He unsheathed it and I watched it glow orange as he waved it around. Finally, he placed it back in the leather sheath and presented it to me.

"I am a poor man, I really don't have much, but I want you to have this Khukuri."

"Really? You don't need it?"

"I have more at home. I hope you don't mind that it's used."

"No, not at all, that's better even; it seems more real, not some cheap souvenir."
that you find at all the shops.

"Do you like it?"

"Of course, wow. This is very generous. Wow."

I was so touched. For all those moments that I thought Himalay saw me as just some other tourist, a walking bag of money to pay his business, I felt horrible. I saw him as a friend from the beginning, despite the fact that I was paying him for his company, but it was amazing to see he felt the same. When you hire a friend, some lines become shakey.

"I don't give gifts to everyone you know."

"I know this, man."

We talked a while longer, discussing our mutal plans to head to India and even deciding to meet in Rishikesh. This seemed like the perfect end to such a trek, being buried in the local culture, seeing tiny nowhere villages, walking on paths not trodden by westerners, and most importantly, making a friend.