Rest Day in Manang

We were entering what I consider with hindsight to be the most photogenic crescent of the Annapurna Circuit.  What struck me was not only the sheer diversity of the subject matter but the density of it too - strange and fantastical geological formations, wooded valleys of blue pine and juniper, serene meadows, artisanal wooden bridges spanning rushing rivers.  All this scenic generosity juxtaposed against cobalt blue skies and boiling phalanxes of cloud made the memory of our third day one I will treasure for a long time to come.  

Trekking near the Swargadwari Danda - the photos hardly do this place justice

At the epicenter of this marvelous region was the village of Dhikur Phokhari, immediately recognizable for the gigantic sweep of the Swargadwari Danda – a severe rock face which towers over the town.  It resembled a gargantuan tidal wave which aeons ago was on the verge of pulverizing the valley before the creator uttered the words “this far and no further”.  The 1500 high metre wall was visible for the majority of the walk from Koto to lower Pisang though some of the best views could be seen from the road that meandered through the forest beyond the town.

The day would have been perfect except for the fact that I had a pounding headache by the time we reached Pisang, 3200 metres above sea level.  I made a mental note to escalate my water intake and to commence my course of Diamox that very night.  After checking into the guesthouse, I followed the trail out of town to get a better view of the sunset.  I stood for a while and examined a primitive yet fully functioning aqueduct fashioned from hollowed out pine logs.  It was brimming with fresh water diverted from the river higher up the trail and though ancient was undeniably elegant in its simplicity.  I crossed the river and scrambled up the hill.  On the crest stood a memorial to an ill-fated Japanese expedition that had perished some years ago on the slopes of Annapurna IV.  High above the forest, the peak in question luxuriated in a glorious burst of alpenglow – almost too beautiful to be dangerous.

Dusk outside Pisang

That evening in the dining hall, it was obvious that I wasn’t the only one concerned about the effects of altitude.  Indeed, the higher we got the more fixated about it we became.  We were unanimous that the trail had been harder than anticipated and keenly aware that our progress had been painfully slow.  Stretches which should have taken 6 hours or less to complete were taking 8 hours or more.  But it wasn’t until Raj said that we would need more days to successfully negotiate the Thorung La that things really got really heated.  Some lamented the obvious implications: the trip to Annapurna Base Camp would either be an unpleasant rush or even impossible.  After much debate on how to reset our itinerary, we agreed not to re-visit the issue until our rest day in Manang.  Of one thing we were all agreed however: no one wanted to retrace the trail to Sangye.  There would be only one way and that was up.

The following day, the walk through to Manang was one of the most relaxing we had had to date though conditions were very dusty and the glare off the road’s clay surface intense.  Much as I enjoyed the day, I was irritated to discover when it was too late that there were two routes to Manang and that our guide, assuming we weren’t fit enough for the higher more scenic one, had remained silent on the issue and defaulted us to the tamer route.  It was a Swedish Doctor we met near Humde who let the cat out of the bag, expressing amazement at our choice.  Though she didn’t elaborate, we knew we’d drawn the short straw.  Still, had it not been for this, we would not have been in a position to sample the baked delights of the Humde and Manang valleys where the locals have developed quite an expertise in the fine art of patisserie.  At Humde airstrip we purchased cinnamon buns from an old lady by the roadside and at Braga sampled freshly baked carrot cake.  These items were surprisingly good and a welcome break from the artificially sweetened biscuits that up to now had accompanied our tea breaks.

The Humde Valley - the airstrip is temporarily out of action as they are tarring it - (probably bad news because it will mean more flights and thus more tourists)

Making friends in the Humde Valley

 We arrived in Manang shortly after lunch.  At 3500 metres, the town is a good place to spend a rest day and most trekkers spend two nights there.  Because of this, Manang is a good deal more cosmopolitan than other places we’d stayed.  The cobbled streets are lined with souvenir shops, outdoor stores, book exchanges and a few very good coffee shops and bakeries selling such brands as illy and Lavazza.  The town even has its own movie house that constantly loops the same 6 films.  They are:

• “Into the Wild” and “Into Thin Air” (inspired by the John Krakauer books)  

• The Nepalese art nouveau classic “Himalaya”, 

• The gripping mountaineering docudrama “Touching the Void”, 

• “Slum Dog Millinear” (sic) and 

• “The Hangover” (of all films!).  

The movie house has its own fireplace, seats covered in Yak hide and guests are served fresh popcorn and hot tea.  It’s all a very nice touch indeed.  Manang is also the headquarters of the Himalayan Rescue Institute, housed in a ramshackle cottage at the entrance to the village.  Here, trekkers can attend free daily talks on mountain sickness and have their oxygen levels tested for $10 a pop.  We attended one such talk and found it both highly informative and entertaining – if not a little unnerving.  

After a good night’s sleep and the prospect of a full day’s rest, everyone was feeling a lot better.  I went shopping and bought trekking poles having neglected to get some in Khatmandu.  Eager to try them out, I convinced Raj and the others to join me on an acclimatizing walk up to Chongkor Point (3800 metres) on the other side of the river.  The point is at the summit of a massive hill that overlooks the Gangapurna Glacier and lake.  

Led by two of our porters, we set off just after breakfast.  The downhill section to the river led through Manang’s primitive stone town where the sanitation was gossamer to say the least.  I quickly named this septic area “poo alley”.  Fortunately the uphill section to Chongkor point was a lot easier than it looked from the other side of the valley and though the views of the glacier and the lake were spectacular, they were alloyed somewhat by the prospect of the descent.  No one was looking forward to a knee pounding – or to the miasmic sludge of “poo alley”.   But in the event we coped just fine.  

Technology comes to the Annapurna Region

Gangapurna Glacier

Amongst Manang’s many acclimatization walks is an excursion to a monastery situated on a barren hillside 800 metres above the village.  The place dates back to mediaeval times and is inhabited by a Buddhist Lama who for the sum of 200 rupees will impart a blessing to his visitors.  A fellow trekker who went there told me that the Lama is 94 years old and that he last came down to Manang more than 30 years ago.  He is attended by his 64 year old daughter who descends to the town once a week to purchase food and other supplies.

The rest day did me good and and though Manang was a bit on the busy side and our hotel a little too grubby for my liking, I found the valley enchanting.  In the rarefied air, the mountains seemed so close you could reach out and run your hand along their icy slopes.  I was also taken by the industriousness of its people and the “all hands on deck” urgency they brought to harvesting the ripened wheat crop.  From before sun up to well after dusk, people of all ages pressed into the challenge associated with cutting, bundling, carrying and threshing.  I suppose the spectacle should have inspired a sermon on Matthew chapter 9!  

The only concern was Sandra’s condition.  Her flu had actually gotten worse in spite of her day’s rest.  Surprisingly, a British doctor form the Himalayan Rescue Institute had given her the all clear to ascend, providing she did so slowly.  Our decision regarding itinerary had practically been made for us.  Our next overnight stop would be Yak Kharka, 400 metres higher than Manang.

The beautiful Manang Valley

Manang District

I was standing on the bank of a rushing river that flowed perpendicular to a rocky scree.  Somehow the path had petered out and I was wondering where I should cross.  On the far side, a fellow trekker shouted words of caution above the roar… “Don’t try to cross!  Use the bridge further down!  If you cross here you will definitely drown!”  I weighed up his words and decided to ignore the warning.  There was no way I would drown, after all, just how deep could the water be?  No sooner had I thought this however, I remembered a friend who had drowned whilst on a trek in Alaska a few months before.  I remembered my shock at the news and the outpouring of grief from his friends and family.  Even in light of this I decided that the bridge 200 metres below represented too big a detour and that the risk was worth it.  

I waded in.  

In an instant the glacial melt enveloped me and sucked me under.  Swirls of bubbles and eddies of gravel rose up to fold me deeper into the river’s clutches.  The water was suddenly not clear at all.  Instead it was a milky suspension in which there was neither up nor down.  I bounced and rolled downstream, my breath failing.  How long could I hold on?  But then a last sliver of hope – a tree trunk lodged between the rocks.  If only I could grasp it…

I awoke in a chilly veneer of sweat, my head buried deep inside the hood of my sleeping bag.  I was gasping for breath as though I’d been holding it for at least a minute.

Cheyne Stokes breathing.  According to Wikipedia – “an abnormal pattern of breathing characterized by progressively deeper and sometimes faster breathing, followed by a gradual decrease that results in a temporary stop in breathing called an apnea”.  Cheyne Stokes breathing, coupled with hallucinatory nightmares, is a common condition amongst trekkers and climbers who have gained altitude too quickly.   Since setting out from Sangye, we had gained over 1600 metres in two days though technically we weren’t really high enough to be feeling the full effects of altitude.

Such a rapid gain in altitude is generally not a problem below 3000 metres, though cases of altitude sickness have been detected as low down as 2200 metres above sea level.  Higher than 3000 metres however, trekkers are advised to observe something called the “rule of threes” which, simply put, prescribes the following:  over 3000 metres never let your net gain in altitude (between sleeps) exceed 300 metres per day – and every 3 days take at least 1 rest day.  In addition, never drink less than 3 litres of water per day – in fact, try to drink a good deal more if you can.

Complying with the latter injunction is a good deal harder than it sounds in Nepal where, in spite of its surfeit, very little water is fit for human consumption.  In cases of glacial melt, the liquid is too saturated with minerals and extensive filtering is required.  In the case of the deceptively limpid mountain streams one can never rule out the existence of a village somewhere above where one is drawing water.  In fact, it is safe to assume that no matter how high up you may be, there is always someone higher up than you are who is polluting the system.  One may go to bed feeling on top of the world but when morning comes and the clouds have parted, one invariably catches sight of some isolated hamlet clutching tenuously to the hillside higher up.  

In light of my discomfort over the use of bottled water, I found it a constant challenge to keep my Camelbak hydration system suitably replenished.  Also, the higher up you go, the cost of a litre of water begins to spiral radically out of control.  Take bottled water as a yardstick:  in Kathmandu, a traveller can purchase a sealed 1L bottle of ozonated water for as little as 15 Rupees (R1.50).  Now as we entered the Manang district, the same bottle had skyrocketed to 200 Rupees a unit (R20).   A litre of boiled water procured from a tea-house kitchen (by no means a failsafe solution) could cost anything between 100 and 150 Rupees.  Invariably, the answer was to draw water from a nearby spring and treat it with chlorine and a portable UV device called a Steripen.  Another option – by the far the best but not always available – was to buy ozonated water from community run filter stations which a New Zealand non-profit installed recently to combat the bottled water problem.  At 40-50 rupees a litre, this was competitive but a number of these were temporarily closed due to breakdown and lack of spares.  In short, proper hydration was not only a gamble but also a constant preoccupation.

Another challenge associated with water was consuming it in the requisite quantities – and then dealing the obvious implications. Because many teahouses had fewer than 3 toilets, the queues that formed outside these were often sizeable.  This, added to the woeful prospect of a nighttime visit to these noxious pits, meant that many trekkers simply resorted to alternative arrangements.  The result was that the surroundings of many pristine and beautifully appointed lodges smelled overwhelmingly of stale urine.

*

As we walked deeper into Manang district and passed through towns like Koto, Chame, Pisang and eventually Manang itself, we encountered more and more of the Buddhist influence in the lives of the local people.  As we sat down for breakfast in Koto for example, an acrid smoke wafted into the dining room and before long had us choking.  “Sort that bloody smoke out before it ruins my breakfast!” someone shouted rudely at our host.  It turned out the smoke was emanating from a tiny ceremonial burner on the stone wall outside where juniper branches were being burned to ward off evil spirits.  It was a practice we saw frequently over the next week and I became quite comfortable with the fragrance.

Ornate prayer wheels in Lower Pisang - the ancient bronze wheels have been beautifully crafted.  As they break they are often substituted with Nescafe coffee tins

Nepalese Children are very cute indeed!

In addition, a large and ornate Buddhist Chorten heralded the entrance to every town.  A brightly decorated archway containing copper prayer wheels followed soon afterwards.  The expectation was that travellers, pilgrims and residents would spin the wheels as they passed through, thus activating the prayer inscribed on scroll contained within. 

Buddhist Chortens - these should be passed on the left

*

Before leaving SA, I’d read about the region’s much-maligned road building projects and had pushed for a change in itinerary to avoid the worst sections.  Now that we encountered them however, it seemed we’d over-reacted.  A muffled “boom” the previous afternoon had advertised the presence of teams blasting their way along a particularly steep hillside that flanked the river.  But in spite of the use of dynamite, the scale and pace of the effort was so small and slow as to be almost non-existent.  Mostly, we encountered terribly undermanned and ill-equipped construction teams, seldom numbering more than 7 or 8 people, many of whom were feeble children and undernourished teenagers.  We found them in the most unlikely places where almost no geographical feature was too big an obstacle.  Stubborn rocks and boulders that remained after blasting were systematically broken down - first by the application of fire and then the old fashioned way – by hammer.  We encountered dazed, exhausted road builders, shrouded in chalky dust and with gazes so vacant they looked more like phantoms.  Every now and then, we would pass young men, no more than 16 or 17 years old, carrying head loads of fine gravel and sand weighing at least 50kgs.  It’s impossible to say when the road will be complete to say nothing of what its full effects on the area will be.  For now, it is man in his most primal state contending with the greatest mountains in the world.  Will the Chinese soon step in to dramatically escalate the scale of the undertaking?  If so what will remain of the circuit?

This section of road was once a vertical cliff-face.  There's very little that a stick of dynamite can't sort out...