Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

After hiking religiously in Southern California, mostly on short trails, for several years, it was time to try something different. Just in the stories we often read, I wanted to be alone in nature, free from alarms and reminders, from books and magazines, from news and social media, to sit idly, watch some bugs crawl by, take a nap under the rustling leaves, or lie down in the dirt after a long day of the walk and watch the night sky, or wake up in the morning with the sounds of birds singing. Along the way, if I am lucky, I would meet new people from the new world, listen to their stories, laugh with them, peek at the world through their eyes, and come home with some everlasting memories.

Having come from Nepal, I always look for opportunities to explore its remote regions. With two-thirds of its land covered in mountains and hills, it offers many breathtaking trails. After reading about popular trekking routes, I decided on the Annapurna Circuit. The trail connects landscapes ranging from the tropical (760 meters) to the arctic (5416 meters), gaining almost 5000-meter elevation, while crossing tribal communities with unique cultures and traditions. The whole circuit takes about 18 days, but those pressed for time take the popular 10-day route from Besisahar to Jomsom and then fly back to Pokhara. I could take a month break in October, fly out to Kathmandu, celebrate the two most popular festivals Dashain and Tihar with my folks, and squeeze in a hiking trip in between. I informed about the plan to my close friends and relatives, expecting none to join me. Then came Covid-19 and with it the travel restrictions. The trip had to wait.

The vaccines came out in late 2020 and vacation pictures appeared on social media. I booked the flight to Nepal for October 1, 2021. A few weeks before my trip, Dipesh, a good friend of mine from SoCal, and a regular hiker showed interest to join me. After sharing each other’s plans, we agreed to meet in Kathmandu for further planning. He was going to spend some time with his folks in Biratnagar, then join me in Kathmandu before the trip. Once in Nepal, Saroj, my nephew, and a long-time college friend Sailendra also joined our team. We set October 20 as our start date for the trip. Dipesh booked his flight to Kathmandu for October 19. I arranged a guide and a porter and Saroj booked transport to travel from Kathmandu to Besisahar, the trailhead of our trip. As part of the preparation, we did three short hikes in and around Kathmandu valley. I also played soccer a few times. During the last game, I bumped my knee with another player and the pain stayed for 4–5 days.

A few days before our trip, the weather changed. The blue sky first became grey, then dark, and wet. The murky clouds enveloped not only the valley but also the various regions of Nepal. There were reports of downpours, followed by the news of landslides in the eastern and western parts of Nepal. I avoided the news the same way kids avoid the incoming object by closing their eyes. When I opened my eyes, the rain was still there, only with greater destruction. When my phone buzzed with calls and messages to reconsider my trip, I worried and sought more information. I called our guide thinking he might know someone who had been to the trail recently. He calmly suggested taking the dirt road, which went all the way from Besisahar to Mustang. The idea brought relief. On Oct 19, none of the flights were taking off from the Biratnagar Airport. Dipesh sat at home all afternoon with his cell phone in his hand, his backpack on the side, ready, waiting for a phone call from the airport staff. He even devised a plan to take a night bus to Kathmandu in case his flight got canceled. In Kathmandu, we were thinking to delay our trip by a few days. Finally, his flight took off late in the afternoon and came straight to my house from the airport. We raised our glasses filled with beer in celebration.

The morning of October 20 was clear and bright. Saroj came on Mahindra Scorpio, our transport to Besisahar, picking everyone on the way. After eating breakfast, six of us left Kathmandu. I prayed silently for the clear weather. On our way, we stopped for tea and lunch and arrived at Besisahar around 5 pm. The town was small with bustling streets and was at the base of hills with patches of hamlets on both sides. In the evening, we went out to see the market and bought flashlights, an extra battery, and some plastic sheets to cover our boots and backpacks in case of rain. We also looked for a ride to Chame, a village about 40 miles north of Besisahar, and got some numbers. We came to the hotel, had our dinner, and went to bed early.

On the way to Bahundada

I woke up at night a few times and heard the rain outside. Was the rain signaling me something? I got up around 5 am and I left the room with my camera. Once outside, I sat on a chair, soaked in the lush vistas. I greedily took pictures of my surroundings. Soon everyone came out. Saroj called a driver and fixed the price for a ride to Chame. We ate breakfast and loaded our backpacks in our new transport. When we were about to leave, a phone rang and the driver picked up the call. The driver told us about the last night’s landslide in a nearby village which destroyed the section of the road but offered to drive us about 2–3 miles north. We asked him to drive us as far as possible. After 15 minutes of driving, the driver dropped us on the side of the road. Ahead was the collapsed dirt road, sunken from the ground, broken into multiple pieces with a pile of debris on one side. One by one, we crossed it on foot. Once on the other side, we rode a bus to Bhulbhule.

Our trekking started from Bhulbhule. Each of us with 20–30 lbs of backpacks on our backs walked on the dirt road along the Marshyangdi river. The road sometimes disappeared, and we walked on the banks of the river. Early in the walk, we hit the wet pathway filled with knee-deep mud. Some of us walked around it, but Dipesh took his boots off and trudged thru’ it, and came out with minor scratches on his legs. The waterfall on the right greeted us with its loud high-pitched sound. We took some pictures and moved on. On the way, there was a restaurant with a well-maintained flower garden. We went in and had tea and biscuits. On the way out, we washed our mud-stained boots. With clean boots and fresh vigor, we headed north sharing each other’s past. After a steep hike, we reached Bahundada in the early afternoon and stopped for a lunch. The village was on a pass and offered a gorgeous view of surrounding hills and villages. We ate locally grown guavas while waiting for lunch. The food was fresh. After taking a short rest, we descended the narrow and slippery trail. I felt discomfort in my left knee. As we kept walking, the discomfort grew into pain. I borrowed a knee cap from Saroj, but the pain did not wane. In the late afternoon, we were tired and looking for clean and comfortable rooms to stay in for the night. I cursed myself silently for playing soccer before the trip. I poured out my frustration at Saroj when he decided to walk further ahead to Shirchaur. After crossing several villages on the way, we arrived at Shirchaur. I was exhausted, more from the negative thoughts racing through my mind than anything else. I was not ready to return home yet. I stretched my leg and put a cold pack on my knee while sipping Advil. Saroj and Sailendra were spraying Move on their backs. I wondered if I could reach the summit.

In the morning, I took a few Advil before we left the hotel. Soon we arrived at Jagat. The sky was clear and the air crisp. The sun had showered the village with its warm rays. The jovial and friendly behaviors of locals sitting outside of their houses painted in bright colors produced a much-needed reinvigorating effect. We stayed at Dharapani that night. I took my Advil and Saroj applied the spray on his back. Sailendra was feeling better.

As we walked towards Chame along the banks of the river the next morning, we saw the abandoned houses, once homes to locals, without roofs or walls, naked for everyone to see their bare and basic possessions. We walked in sadness. We arrived at Chame around 2 pm. The air was cold. The hotel was clean and the staff friendly. Saroj and Dipesh lay down on the benches to give rest to their backs. We sat next to the heater for several hours drinking tea. When I went to our bedroom upstairs, my knee felt light to my disbelief. The heat did it! Unable to contain my excitement, I ran up and down the stairs to confirm what I was experiencing. In the evening, I sat next to the heater again while others negotiated with a driver to take us to the Lower Pisang.

The next morning, the driver didn’t show up. We instead made a deal with a tractor driver — he would take our backpacks to Dhukkurpokhari and we would have lunch at his restaurant. Without the backpacks, our backs and legs got a much-needed break. We stopped by the famous apple farm in Bhratang and tried local delicacies. We arrived at Dhukkurpokhari in the early afternoon. The village had about 7–8 houses painted in bright colors. The sun was high, and we sat on the terrace to eat our lunch. The hotel owner arranged a ride for us to Manang. As we drove off through the open steppe, I recalled all the hurdles we faced and, for the first time, saw the possibility of crossing Thorong La pass. The driver took us to the local lake before dropping us at Manang. A Bollywood movie was being shot in Manang and the village was busy hosting the movie crew. We stayed at Hotel Yak. We spent our evening in the dining room talking to the cyclists, who were also planning to cross the Thorong La on their bicycles.

The next morning, I got up before sunrise and went to the terrace to take pictures of the mountains. The whole Annapurna range stood before me as if posing for a picture. Later, we went out looking for a coffee and bumped into Anupam Kher and Boman Irani, two popular Bollywood actors. Someone in the crowd mentioned that Parineeti Chopra, a movie actress was leaving the village, and we sprinted to the bus station to have a glance at her. She was already inside the vehicle and all we saw was her driver and the bodyguard sitting in the front row. In the afternoon, we hiked the local trail and stayed in Manang to acclimatize.

Manang

During these long walks, we touched on many topics — philosophy, religion, science, literature, and music. We talked about our weaknesses and strengths, our likes and dislikes, and things that make us happy, sad, angry, ashamed, envious, and content. We shared our ideas on how to make Nepal a better country. Some of us wrote and recited poetry. We dwelled on century-old questions about God and ourselves. To explain the purposes of our existence, some people turned to faith and others to science. We shared our deepest thoughts and confided our fancies and sorrows. Saroj and I had heated arguments a few times on topics no one cared about. We would not apologize to each other, but our eyes would. He is someone I could get mad at without the fear of ever losing him. He kept recording our activities, interviewing us now and then; he was going to produce a vlog.

The next morning, we left Manang and stopped at Leather for lunch. While waiting for lunch, we played carrom board. After lunch, we took a brief rest before heading to Yak Khadka. We reached our destination around 4 pm. The village had only 4–5 houses. The terrain was quiet and remote. After a short hike, we sat next to the heater and sang old songs of Narayan Gopal. Our audience for the evening was a couple from Colorado. At night, snowflakes drifted in the air.

The next day we left for Phedi. The landscape was barren and rocky. We walked listening to the music. The blue sheep were grazing on the slope full of scree. We walked carefully, watching out for falling stones. We arrived at Phedi in the afternoon. The trail from Phedi to High Camp was steep and treacherous. We arrived at High Camp in the afternoon. The air was thin and cold. Everything was white. Some mountains were below us. Later we went for a hike but returned almost immediately as it was too cold. We were tired. Saroj and Dipesh still had back pain. The rooms were dark and small. We ate Tibetan bread with garlic soup at 6 pm. I got hot water in the pouch and took it inside my sleeping bag. I used it to heat my knee and every part that was shivering from cold.

Upper Camp

Where is this yearning, this restless itching to hike in the remote and unfamiliar terrain for days, putting oneself through psychological and physical pain, sometimes even risking one’s own life, come from? I used to think only a fool would leave the comfort of his soft and warm bed for a cold plank. Once, when we were still young, Sailendra told me about his 4-hour one-way solo hike to Manakamana and I felt pity for him. Is it an act roused by peer pressure from social media? Is it for the rush of adrenaline, the pure bliss that gets released while walking on a narrow steep ridge filled with slippery scree, or reaching the summit after a treacherous trek? Is it to recreate the youth, one without routines and responsibilities, whose loss I have yet to recover from? Or is it to create a legacy for others to see long after I am gone? The night seemed to drag on forever. An unknown fear was tormenting me.

At 4 am, the alarm woke us up. I was tired and light-headed. I put multiple layers from top to the bottom. After packing our bags, we went to eat breakfast in the tea-house, which was already crowded with morning hikers preparing to leave for the summit. We ate what we could. It was still dark when we left for the summit. The snow covered the trail. We turned our headlamps on and followed our guide in silence. We needed to climb about 1500 feet to the summit before noon. I surveyed every footprint left on the trail by the earlier hikers before putting my foot on it. We walked listening to the crunching sound of the snow. Only my feet and head were warm, everything in between was cold. Now and then, I would cover my lower face with the headscarf. For a while, I would feel the warmth from my exhaled breath, but soon I would feel suffocated and remove the scarf to let the air flow in. I thought about all my warm and thermal hiking clothes and wondered whether to laugh or feel pity for myself for leaving them at home. I remembered my mom, who despite my objection thrust a warm fleece beanie into my backpack, and the same beanie was keeping my head warm. In the darkness, the mountains, visible only as faint silhouettes, gave the impression of ominous monsters, creeping up on us from every direction, and the howling sound of the wind their whispers picking their next prey. In every step, I saw only traps. I was on the enemy lines with no ammunition at my disposal and there was no way to turn back. It was only a matter of time before I would crumble to the ground. Why didn’t I believe in you, God?

As dawn broke, the surroundings became visible. I turned back to look where the other folks were. The sun was rising above the mountain peak, revealing the grandeurs of the Annapurna mountain range. The mountains were so close, that I could touch them if only I stretched my hands. All around us, there were mountains, defiant yet tranquil, older than any sages or scriptures, offering the wisdom of the land to those who are ready to receive. I took out my phone and started recording, imagining the reactions from Reena, Shrija, and Cloe when they would watch the recording. Sailendra, who only did three short hikes with me in Kathmandu, was walking steadily with no complaints. Dipesh and Saroj, who suffered from back pain since the start of the trip, were carrying their load and walking quietly along with our guide. On the way, there were resting huts, and we would go inside to rest and recharge. We also met the cyclists on the trail. In LA, I would ascend quickly bringing my BPM level to 170–180 just to show the cyclists that I am not their weaker sibling, but here their act of bravery only humbled me.

“There it is!” cried Saroj.

I raised my head. A shack was standing on the left. I almost dismissed it thinking it was just another resting hut on the trail, but something on the right pulled my attention. There it was! The shrine, the sanctuary, the Thorong La Pass spreading its invisible limbs wrapped in the colorful Tibetan praying flags, ready to embrace me. The sight immediately restored me and I became a new man. I took out my phone, pressed the record button, and approached it. The site was beaming in the bright sunlight against the backdrop of the snow. As I came close, I felt a lump in my throat and my eyes became moist. Was it a tear of joy for achieving what once looked unthinkable? Or was it a tear of sorrow, knowing that our adventure was ending and that soon we would disappear into thin air?

Saroj appeared holding his phone and asked, “How do you feel?”

“Mission accomplished! I fulfilled the dream I had for 2 years!” To hide my tears, I went to the hut, where the locals were selling tea.

Despite the long and difficult walk, everyone’s faces were lit up with a smile. Those who came to the summit earlier congratulated the newcomers. There were cheers, hugs, and high-fives. We were the spectators and the players, the givers and the takers of the attentions, the praises, and the encouragements we all sought. The comradery we felt during those moments was communal. After tea, we took individual and group photos in front of the Thorong La sign. As the adrenaline wore off, we prepared to head south, to Muktinath. The Sun was high and warm. On our descent, we found the trail mostly dry. On the horizon, tiny man-made structures appeared as dots. The mountains, now farther and taller, were serenely waving at us. Slowly, the tiny dots took shape. We were heading back to civilization, to those shapes, to hide in our cocoons.