Langtang - solo trekking

6th October 14

It's an early start. I drink chai at the bus station while my guide Min fights the crowd to procure our tickets. As soon as we escape the city, the surface of the road disintegrates into a pothole covered terrain. I manage to fall asleep in spite of the bumpiness and lack of leg space on the bus. It's a very long journey for such a short distance. A German guy on the bus sits next to me at lunch, but Min calls me away to another table.

On the journey, the bus fills up with people now squashed inside. The shadows of upper bodies and knees from on top of the bus travel alongside me on the road. The bus struggles with its load uphill, pumping out black fumes of smoke. People we pass on motorbikes, cover their noses in its wake. After passing a few army posts the bus becomes less packed and the moving shadow on the road is now only of luggage on the roof.

We arrive in Syabru Besi in the late afternoon. The guesthouse we stay in is pleasant, with a balcony outside my room almost overlooking the

river, the thunderous roar of water audible below. A pattern of trees line the straight slope of the mountain directly opposite. My guide's English is limited, so we play cards to pass the evening time. He teaches me a Nepali game, which is similar to rummy. We eat daal bhat, but disappointingly, they have purposefully left out the spice for the Westerner so it tastes very bland. A cute little girl, with Tibetan features, is playing in the restaurant. Later, she walks into the dining room naked from the bottom down. It is obvious she knows this is naughty from the defiant, yet determined look on her face. She runs away from her mother when she tries to catch her to clothe her.

7th October 14

The town of Syrabu Besi is at 1,460 metres. We pass the check point at the end of the village to present our permits for trekking in the Langtang region. A stable, metal suspension bridge crosses the

churning river. The path follows the river up the valley. It's a slightly chilly morning but the sun is shining. Min points out the marijuana plant growing thickly alongside the path. The faint aroma of their leaves, warmed by the sunshine, invades our surroundings. We leave the flat valley behind. A sheer wall of flat rock is overhanging the river on the other side. Large beehives, slightly pink in colour, hang in the cracks of the rock like giant lumps of bubble gum. Grey monkeys with white furry heads and black faces play and swing in the canopy above. Fern leaves, turned orange and primrose yellow, decorate the mossy tree trunks.

Ahead of us, a small crowd of hikers blocks our path. A man is lying on the ground. There is blood covering his face. His neck and head are swollen and bloated and his pupils are just visible out of the open cracks between his eyelids. One lady is crouching next to his head, blood covering her hands. Another is feeling for his pulse. The path here is extremely narrow and there is a steep drop down to the water's edge. The vegetation growing down the muddy slope has been completely flattened where his body must have rolled. We stand watching helplessly for a while, as a traffic jam of people builds up on the path either side. There are 2 American ladies trying to take control of the situation. They have covered him in a gold sheet to keep him warm and they are trying to move him to a wider part of the path so one of them has room to perform CPI. As they move him, his

arms flop straight down - a dead weight. The lady is frantically pumping his chest now, but it appears he is already dead. This act is pure desperation.

According to my guide, a rock, perhaps knocked by an animal, had come bouncing down the mountain above, meeting the path at his head height just as he was passing, knocking him out and causing him to fall all the way to the water's edge. He had been carried back up, but blood had been pouring out of both his ears and mouth. If he is still alive now, it seems he has little chance of survival. A crowd of people has built up here and as there is little we can do to assist, we callously continue on our way. As we climb the last stretch up to Bamboo, where we will be stopping for lunch, we hear the whirring sound of the spinning arms of a helicopter entering the valley. Word has spread that the French man has died. Two of his companions have accompanied him back to Kathmandu. Apparently they are his niece and wife who were there at the accident. There was no hysteria when we passed through, but I assume his wife was the lady crouching next to him, her hands covered in blood, her face a mixture of shock and despair.

An Israeli guy, who started at the same time as us, catches up as I am about to eat lunch and passes on by. He is obese so I can't help but be impressed by his stamina and fitness despite his weight. He has already finished the Annapurna circuit.

We stop at Rimche, which is at a height of 2,420 metres. The guesthouse here is quiet with only the faint sounds of the waterfall far below. A mother and daughter from Russia who travelled on the same bus as us are staying here. They have just toured Tibet and they entered Nepal overland. They eat and sleep early.

As the sun disappears, the air becomes chilled. A fire is burning inside the dining area, in the log stove stood in the centre of the room. The son of the owners serves us food. He lives in Kathmandu, but it is school holidays due to Dashain festival, so he has come to help his uncle at the guesthouse. He is smiley and energetic and his English is excellent. His face has not yet recovered from a teenage acne attack.

There are a few people staying here this evening, but they are all on their way back down. I chat to 2 girls from Norway, who work in the embassy in Kathmandu, but I am unable to get a clear synopsis of their current roles. A French girl hiking with her boyfriend also converses with me. She has just finished studying to be a midwife and is inspiringly passionate about her job. I have daal bhat again for dinner.

The moon is bright tonight. It lights up the entire sky, shining soft rays of silver across the mountain. I sleep well, toasty warm in a sleeping bag and duvet.

8th October 14
Rimche 2420 to Langtang 3400 6hr
Across from the guesthouse, the sun is rising to our right hidden behind the sheer side of the tree covered mountain. Slanting sunbeams light the ridges of the mountain ahead, as we start our

climb. Roaring rushing white water accompanies our every step along the shaded path. The sun seeps through the yellow ferns, which grow upon the stark silhouettes of tree trunks, in angelic light. Through the trees, a sheet of mirror in the distance reflects the sun in golden gleam below the blue sky, morphing into pure white cloud hiding snow capped peaks as we draw nearer. The outstretched forest of dark green pine across the river attempts to hide splashes of yellow and red autumnal colours which are peeping through.

We lunch in the garden of a guesthouse, beneath a sail of white tarpaulin slapping in the wind, with a view of grey rocky mountains. The cushions on the simple black plastic fold up chairs have been covered in green satin to match the green painted tables. A tree in the garden, covered in red berries, is draped in faded rags of prayer flags. The daal bhat here is delicious. It consists of a potato and bean curry,

with a slightly pickled carrot and cabbage mix and a fresh tomato and apple chutney.

The afternoon walk leaves behind the forest shade, entering grassy pastures. We pass the stone circle of a helipad. The way is now flat before the slight ascent to Langtang village, which is at 3,400 metres. To the left of the valley, the mountains are bare and rocky, where white water spouts from fissures in the rock. To the right, they are covered in pine. Ahead is the desert peak of our destination, where the silver sliver of water winds from.

A fifteen year old boy has been following our steps, hoping desperately that we will stay in his uncle's guesthouse. It's difficult for us to refuse when we arrive at Langtang and he reappears to usher us into their home. It's a small guesthouse with only two rooms. It's very clean though, with crisp sheets and an amazing view, through the large windows, of the mountains in the direction we have come. Min requests a snack, so we tuck into small, boiled potatoes which we peel and dip into a sauce made of sour yak milk mixed with chilli. The masala chai is also made using yak's milk. It's lighter and less creamy than cow's milk.

There's an outhouse with a hot shower powered by solar, but it is scorching hot, so I continually flick the switch between the boiling and freezing water to wash myself. My guide and I while away the

time reading and playing cards. A full moon lights the sky tonight.

9th October 14

Langtang 3400 to Kyanjin 3860 3hr

The last stretch to Kyanjin is only a 3 hour walk. We leave Langtang behind. The mountains on the right are caked in pine trees and clumps of colour as the trees turn with autumn: sage green, yellow ochre, burnt orange and maroons. The path rises above the village, the snow capped peaks visible ahead. We pass a Buddhist chorten fashioned from the grey stone. Cattle grazes amongst the buckwheat which shines blood-orange in the sunshine like the gory aftermath of a battlefield. A pleasant stretch of grass follows the path, running alongside a stone wall, flat stones engraved with writing. A miniature,

stone hut sits in the stream that crosses our path, housing a Buddhist prayer wheel that constantly spins like a watermill. We reach a white stupa decorated with prayer flags, sitting on a slab of grey rock covered in large writing – each symbol painted the same alternate colours of the flags.

We're nearing Kyanjin, the path mainly uphill from here. Although the gradient is slight, I'm struggling with my breath due to the lack of oxygen at this altitude. Kyanjin is at 3,860 metres up. It's with relief when we enter the village and drop our bags into our rooms. I choose cheese momos for lunch, which actually looks more like a pasty - fried bread folded and filled with melted cheese, that I dip into green chilly sauce. We rest our legs a while, before changing into trousers and warmer clothes ready for our afternoon walk up to the rocky peak that towers above the village to appreciate the panorama. The

peak lies halfway up the mountain Kyanjin Ri at 4,200 metres. The path is steep, and slippery with dusty earth. Pretty little blue flowers scattered amongst the scrub perfectly compliment the sky above. Prayer flags flutter in the wind at the top. The exhausting climb is rewarded with a stunning view of surrounding grey mountains covered in snow. Two glaciers crawl down the mountains on the further side, hidden from the village. My guide bounds like a goat on our way back down while I struggle to keep up, wary of slipping down the scree.

We visit a 300 year old monastery at the bottom of the hill. I feel coerced into lighting a candle by the old woman inside and pay the requested donation for this privilege. Beautiful frescoes that tell stories of colourful gods and goddesses brighten the walls in the gloomy room. One depicts a deity in blue with a lady's legs wrapped

around his waist and her naked body pressed against him - this is yab-yum: a symbol of the primordial union of wisdom and compassion represented by this sexual fusion of the male and female bodies.

We buy a lump of yak cheese from a little old man in a tiny stone shed which reeks of rotting feet. It houses a shelf, a wooden drawer in which a few lumps of cheese are kept and old metal scales for weighing. We sit on the grass in the sunshine outside eating lumps of cheese and throwing the rind to the circling black crows. This windy valley creates their perfect playground. They glide on the cusp of the wind swooping their wings into balls to change direction, catching new waves of air.

10th October 14

Climb Tsergo Ri 4900 3.5 hrs up/2.5 hours down.
Walk past Langtang to Thangshyap 3130
We set out early, at about 6.30 to climb Tsergo Ri, the menacing mountain ahead. It towers above the village, brown with grey stripes running from its soft point down its sides, like a bi-coloured circus tent. The mountains surrounding are cast in rusted copper, the sky above shining copper sulphate, the snow capped peaks glinting crystals. Below, glimmers the white stoned flood plain like salt flats, the delta of streams and rivers cutting through in a dull grey turquoise. A landslide slips down the mountain opposite, causing a shower of snow to burst in the air in its wake, like steam from a kettle. Soon the hike becomes an effort of will and my surroundings pass by unnoticed. As the oxygen levels lessen, it sucks all the strength from my legs. The last 30 minutes stretch to the top involves clambering over large boulders, before finally reaching the

mountain's pinnacle, where I collapse before appreciating the views.

The sky is a perfect blue. An incredible panorama of soaring snow covered mountains sweeps around us. Prayer flags fly to escape their ties in the blustering wind, decorating the forefront of the view back down the valley.

In front of us a path runs down the soft slope on the other side of the mountain. I ask Min hopefully if this is an alternative path, as my muscles view the steep path we came up with foreboding. Min says it's possible to go this way, but it will take an hour longer. This sounds preferable to me despite the further distance. Min shares his chocolate before we head down the mountain.

He gallops down the path and I run after him, attempting to keep up.

Bounding down this gradual slope is really enjoyable after such a tough climb. The same blue flowers grow wild across the slope. The path takes us in the opposite direction from Kyanjin, but eventually we reach a stream flowing down the mountain which we follow turning back towards the village. We pass an expedition - 2 men with many porters carrying their tents and food, preparing to scale a glacier. The view from here is incredible, with the tall, snowy mountains now so close. The path takes us in zig-zags around the mountain, the streams criss-crossing each other in the valley now directly below. The way is either flat or with a slight incline, the path constantly rounding new corners, opening onto a new vista. A helicopter sounds nearby, a tiny speck in the gaping valley. An eagle balances on a cusp of wind in midair straight ahead - momentarily still like a flag on a pole.

We reach the bottom quicker than expected. I feel exhausted. My feet are suffering from blisters, but we have to start our walk back down this afternoon. After lunch, I nap on the cushioned bench in the heat of the sun shining through the windows of the dining area.

At about 2, we pack and start the walk back down the way we came. A guy from the Czech Republic is also heading downwards. As he passes he slows down to chat. He says that he recognises me from this morning. Apparently, I was the only person he passed this

morning who smiled at him while climbing up the mountain. I remember him now as the guy racing down past me in a cloud of dust as I was struggling uphill. It's nice to have company after 2 days of conversing in broken English only with my guide. His name is Alex. He seems kind-hearted, intelligent and funny. He's philosophical about life, and has a relaxed attitude. He also quit his job a couple of years back and ended up becoming a diving instructor. He and his girlfriend have just been working in the Maldives in a dive centre for the last six months and now they are heading to Thailand.

We reach the guesthouse as dusk is settling. It is the same guesthouse we previously stopped for lunch, at Thangshyap. This place is well looked after, so it holds a special charm. Cabbages and other vegetables grow in rows in the kitchen garden. The outside shower is warm. There is even a wooden rail to hang my clothes and towel

while showering. As I walk to my room feeling refreshed, up the wooden stairs of the white painted guesthouse I look back in the direction we have come. A line of wispy clouds glow soft pink behind the mountains. We eat dinner and chat before bed. Now the moon lights the same clouds and the outline of the valley.

11th October 14

Thangshyap to Syabru Besi 8hrs

Today we must reach Syabru Besi. It's the same route back down, but the distance we accomplished in 2 days on the way up. It takes a total of 8 hours. Alex accompanies us most of the way, joining us for lunch before eventually parting as he's continuing his trek back to Kathmandu. He's been great company, and I wish I had more time

and could join him for a few more days trekking. I feel that five days wasn't long enough, despite the blisters.

The last stretch passes by the cactus plants and fields of marijuana, through the cobbled streets of a settlement of stone houses with beautiful, ancient wooden verandas. As we pass back through the checkpoint, the guard scans through the trekkers 5 days ago to locate my name and sign me out of the region as it were. We spend the night in the same hotel as when we arrived, ready for the bus tomorrow.

12th October 14

Min doesn't want to take the bus back, so he chooses to book a jeep as it will be quicker. I am thankful, especially after hearing Alex's experience on the way here. It took his bus 12 hours to cover 120 km,

which, as he points out, is an approximate speed of 10 km per hour. Slow to say the least!

On the journey here I had been sitting on the side of the bus away from the valley. Today, I have a direct view of the sheer slope falling away from the road on my right. As our driver contends with the bumps and potholes, the wheels of the jeep are so often too close to the edge for comfort. Rocks and boulders lie fallen down the valley far below, from a recent landslide. As the jeep rocks to the right hand side making its way over a bump, I can't help but picture myself inside the vehicle tumbling down the sheer side.

The jeep is stopped at an army checkpoint. Here the road is blocked creatively with one tyre propped up by another tyre lying flat, with rocks used to keep this construction in place. Soldiers are dressed in a blue camouflage uniform including a cap and black military boots. One soldier rebels - shoeless and hatless, with his trousers rolled up, he is hitting the grass on the side of the road with a wooden stick in obvious boredom. They search one man's bag and climb onto the roof of the jeep to check the luggage. They find a package full of boxes of brand new trainers and an argument ensues between the guards and a woman on the bus. Apparently they are asking her for a receipt. Min tells me that the security check is here to prevent goods travelling over the border from China tax free.

We arrive in Kathmandu in the afternoon. I enjoy a coffee and try to decide whether to catch a night bus that night to Lumbini. My guide persuades me against this as he thinks it could be dangerous, so I check back into the hostel around the corner and head back to revolution cafe for dinner. I spend the next hour on Skype to my sister. The power continuously cuts out in Kathmandu, so I have to repeatedly call her back.

A lady is staying on the bunk opposite me in the dormitory. She is a healer and is in the city for a sound healing course, which is costing her 1,000 dollars. I feign interest as she talks to me about what she does. She closes her eyes, telling me: 'Our body is like a dusty house. We must open the chimney and the windows and let everything out in a gush of air'. As she says these words she stretches her hands dramatically upwards and then outwards. 'Then' she tells me 'we will hear everything. I can hear things far away. I hear the wind, the waves, the fire. I hear a dog.' she adds as a dog barks in the courtyard below our room. She opens her eyes, smiles and laughs. I sit there awkwardly not knowing how to react. She believes she has dramatically improved people's lives who have suffered from mental trauma. She says she has helped women who have been through abortion and rape to release their negative energy and to be freed from the traumatic, repetitive images that imprison their mind. Although I am not so spiritually inclined, I believe it is in fact positive if she has indeed been able to assist patients in this way, even this is simply due to the placebo effect because they believe in her.

When I tell her I have just come from Sri Lanka, she tells me 'I have heard of the wonderful meditation. I have not been called there yet. I must wait for my calling before I can visit'. After listening politely to her extensive monologue she says I look interested and perhaps I have negative energy I need releasing. She offers me a free session on my bed. I hurriedly decline, telling her I am tired and ready to sleep.