The raw energy of this place is quite something, but as we have found at every juncture of our adventure, it is the people who complete and compliment the full picture. We're at the other end of the Himalayas to Pedong, in another country in fact, but there's a striking similarity beyond a shared mountain range and ethnicity. The sense of humour, no doubt borne of the harsh environment which they regularly do battle with is evident. They're a bunch of doers, making the most of what they can. You have to remember that this is not an easy place to live. 6000ft or more of towering unstable cliff above your home is a pretty mean leveller (in all senses of the term) - the huge scars on the surrounding hillsides are only too clear; the risk of straying off the tiny track in the snow of winter makes leaving one's house during many months not a viable option. And of course, this track is the only route up there: cement, roof beams, rice, lavatories, water systems; all of these are brought up on foot. It's a Goliath effort, but survive and prosper they do, and our awe of these hardy souls is as justified as that of the geography they inhabit.
As rare as it is to find oneself walking in company with other trampers, this is a well worn trek. We owe a week's worth of happy evening's company to those who have crossed our path on the route: there's le Francais, Cyril, the perpetual traveller, charming, and full of wonderful but humble recourse of times in Vanuatuan homes, and blueberry picking in Tasmania (if I ever struggle to find employment that's exactly where I am off to!); then Hannah and Marcus, two Deutsch volunteers who found romance in a shared house in Kathmandu; Robin has just returned from a month of providing anaesthetic expertise in a far remote Western Nepali village - his pictures are crude to say the least; young doctor Phil, who despite a sedentary life back in Australia, was being literally dragged by his guide across huge distances each day to make the most of his time in Annapurna.
The two stars of the show, however, have been Gyanendra, our guide, and Man (yup, that's his name, imagine the prefix fun we've been having!), our porter. Gyanendra's attention to detail has been immaculate, and his endless smile and laughter have been firm friends throughout; definitely a kindred spirit in search of a fulfilling but humble life and happiness for his children. Man has 9 children, 8 of which are daughters. In Nepali terms this is a disaster; especially as 4 of them are yet to marry. He's typical of the adorable people from the hills of the Himalyas, shy, modest and helpful. When he hasn't had two bags on his back and a strap across his head, he's been smiling as he helps to cook,or shakes our hands at the top of particularly challenging sections. [editor's note: and with a couple of Raksys (local millet wine) inside him speaks more Engish than we gave him credit for!]. The two of them are obviously firm friends, and that, beyond their support of us, has been enchanting to watch.
Yesterday we were treated to a morning in hot springs set virtually in the raging Modi Khola before wending our way back to the relative civilisation south of Chhomrong. A day of suspension bridges, easy riverside walking and warm sunshine seemed a long way from the icy remoteness of the top of our route, but as ever the milky blue glacial water and backdrop of some of the world's biggest mountains kept us from complacency.
We left that valley this morning, on our penultimate day in this magical place. Hearty breakfast before our last big climb, and we're now sitting at Dhampus enjoying the fact that having come into the next valley to the East we now have a view of the next range in the giant Himalyan ridge. Dal Baht is on its way and we're gonna put our feet up. Enjoy the photos and do the same...
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