Annapurna

Another early rise and we taxied to the bus stop on our way to Pokhara, a quieter city south west of Kathmandu in the ever popular Annapurna Mountain Ranges. The bus took the same route as if heading to Chitwan, and even stopped at the now seemingly familiar samosa bakery. At some point in the sluggish, winding journey we deviated from the Chitwan highway and spun into Pokhara and were ditched at the Tourist Bus Park. Making a deal with the head honcho bus-park tout for a hotel we scored a free cab ride and checked in to the very pleasant and clean Hotel View Point, and picked up Wi-fi from the balcony. Set for some serious chilling out, we hit up a restaurant overlooking the lake which runs the length of the tourist strip of the town, and sipped a cold beer in the late afternoon sun. Our aim was to catch up on our journal...which only partially materialised. We hired a motorbike for half a day and cruised through the dusty rough side streets over to the Institute of Mountaineering museum. The museum was housed in a relatively new building architected to appear like a stylised mountain range. The hazey sky clouded out Machupuchare (fishtail mountain) for most of the time we were in Pokhara, but from the museum that afternoon we caught the southern face in the distance. There was a really good collection in the museum and loads of geological survey mapping and examples of the different rock types and formations and how they were created. Details of mountain ranges all over the world were also on display as were a comprehensive exhibit of the 14 highest peaks in the world, describing how each one got its name and including an extract from text or interviews from the first successful summit expedition attempts and their routes. There was also a section on the people and cultural differences between the different caste groups in specific areas of the country across Nepal, and an interesting collection of original expedition clothing and mountaineering equipment...how these climbers survived the freezing temperatures and abominable conditions/snowmen they were climbing in/with during the '50s, in wool and leather gloves, made us shudder in awe. They were made of tough stuff, when boats were made of wool and men were made of steel!!!

We cruised back through town to organise our trekking permits, then rode out up towards the hill where the paragliders landed over the lake. Nearly getting wiped out and having an up close and personal taste of the lake at a sharp corner, we avoided with screeching and flying dirt a head-on with a bus. Further up the road we passed a section with battered vans, a large crowd of local kids in their best 'disco' attire, and sketchy hand painted signs informing us of a Bollywood Filming Area. A man and women were seated on the ledge below the road being fanned with a photographers umbrella, making good use of the hills and World Peace Pagoda perched amongst the treetops of the opposite bank, resembling a hazy backdrop, miming to shrill indian pop music. We laughed and rode on, imagining that this would soon be featured on TV's all over Nepal, with the traditional cheesy and random lovey-dovey scenes of a music video. The outer rural limits of Pokhara, beyond the high density of hotels, guest houses and restaurant-lined streets, were very pretty, and some large properties set in the hillside proudly broadcast the clear divide between the rich and the poor.

After a delicous dal bhat breakfast and copious amounts of terrible black coffee made palatable only by adding too much sugar, we made for a late start and hovered by the road-side waiting to catch the local city bus which rode through regularly in order to get to the station where the bus departed for Naya Pul, a start point on the Annapurna Circuit trekking trail. Whilst waiting we marvelled at our small packs, and quietly congratualted ourselves on the vastly reduced load of our belongings we now had to carry. Harrassed for a while by a taxi driver trying to convince us that strikes were on and no buses would come and we should strongly consider a taxi for 1500 rupees, we persevered, as sure enough along trundled the battered little white mini bus for 12 rupees each, and we hopped on and squeezed into any available space with the locals. The bus crawled painfully along lakeside as if the driver was looking for something he may have dropped accidentally into the gutter with Nepali pop blaring loudly. Loving the pimping public transport it was hard not to smile. The cramp had just set in when it was time to disembark in the middle of a busy, unfamiliar part of pokhara's thriving centre. We jumped off and followed a kind man who led us in the right direction for Baglung Bus Station. Strutting along in the midday sun over the uneven pavements and dodging traffic in the dusty roads, we realised that despite our smaller pack sizes, it was going to be tough walking with the weight.

Guaging quickly at the bus terminal that there was a bus ready and about to depart, we resisted invitations to throw our bags on the roof, and instead stashed them in the grubby compartment in the back undercarriage. We found some vacant seats and the bus took off, picking up people every so often. Outside of Pokhara the bus clung to the road rolling around hairpin after hairpin through the hillside villages. A group of young guys got off near a river, and unloaded several amps and other stereo system equipment from the roof of the bus. Families were gathered on tarpaulin and blankets below preparing gargantuan cooking pots for what looked as if it would be a great party on the river bank. The bus rattled onwards people still getting on and shifting and shuffling seats. We rocked up at Naya Pul, hauling our dusty packs out of the back and walking the line of shack-type food stalls along to where the track fell down some littered, dirty steps and past a school into Naya Pul town. Passing a surprising number of colourful guest houses, placed amongst the jungle and crisp flowing rivers, we checked ourselves in at the permit office and crossing the river over a suspension bridge, finding ourselves suddendly in Bagarthanti. We decided that rather than rush on to reach the next village before dusk, we would stay here, the only clientele in a simple guest house, and possibly the whole town, with dirt cheap rooms and average food.

With little to rush for and no schedule or anyone else to keep up with, we made our own time on the climb the next day, following what the Lousy Planet have decided to name Annapurna Panorama trek, over an estimated 6 days. A stunning waterfall captured ours and several other tourists' attention as we walked out of Bagarthanti, and down sandy trails kicking up dust and passing herds of sheep, goats and pony caravans periodically. The path was evidently very well trodden but built with uneven steps and seemed to go on and on as we took turns with a group of Japanese men with their token walking poles, at overtaking each other. We knew there would be many more steep steps to come the following day. By the time we got about halfway, nice and sweaty, we paused to take in our first view of Annapurna's South Summit. The scenery was lush and green, and had a slight tropical feel about it, the characteristic dry cold of the himalayas was dulled by the lower altitude but also the lower latitude of south central Nepal.

We reached Tikithunga in the early afternoon and picked a guesthouse with a nice outlook over the valley. Again we were surprised at the cheap price of the rooms and excited to learn that hot showers were available and free! The menus we had noticed were almost identical from place to place and this is because the Government has standardised this across all lodges in each locality. The number and quality of guesthouses in places we passed was quite astonishing, and we were reminded how glad we were to not be there in high season - the trail must be rammed, and possibly worse than Everest Base Camp. It was clear to see that the villagers and business proprietors were more affluent than those in the Khumbu region, and much more committed to their aesthetic gardening and interior decor. We met a couple travelling from England who had been in india for a wedding. They didn't really appear to be the trekking type, but wanted to see the mountains. We felt glad for them for having chosen Annapurna as opposed to Everest Base Camp as they probably wouldn't have stuck it out much past Namche Bazaar on day 2.

The next day was up, up, up, what they say is the 3000 steps stretch, and felt like a bit of a slog. It's amazing what effect the extra weight had, as our muscles were accustomed to walking uphill, and we had no problems with acclimatisation, and the bags were the only other factor. The countryside gave the impression of a very relaxed and almost surreal idyllic atmosphere, of agriculture and neat, basic little homes. We made a lunch stop just short of our day's destination where we filled up once again on the reloadable and ever reliable dal bhat dish.

We continued through the shabby looking town of Gorepani to the upper area, which meant a few extra steps, and found it was chock-a-block with large guesthouses, new and old. Finding one perched at the top end called The Hungary Eye with a great view over a concrete volley ball court where a young mens team were practising, with Machupuchare soaring up in the background, we had arrived in good time to enjoy the remainder of the fading sunlight. We joined the owners by the metal wood burner nestled in a wing of the dining room downstairs, as it was much colder than we had anticipated. We retired failrly early after several games of s***Head (a gloating Adam) and a round of Yuka (a smug Lana), in preparation for our early morning ascent of Poon Hill to catch the sunrise over the Annapurna Ranges from this prestigious little viewing point. Up and out, if not quite awake by 5:30am we followed another group of midnight ramblers past the guesthouses and up some stone steps through a gate. The path led us through thick bush and forest, like walking through a tunnel, up the hillside, and then spanned out over an area of course yellow grasses. From here a sea of clouds, looking like a big layer of cotton wool which consistently appears in the mountains here, filled the gap in the valley below us and the indigo sky bled red and purple onto the distant horizon. The sun was coming up fast and as we climbed we heard some people behind us complaining "we're too late, we're never going to make it!...I'm going down!". And down they went. Jim Morrison was right, people are strange.

Lana feeling sick and dizzy with so much exertion before breakfast, or even a cup of tea, met Adam at the top. The viewing area was occupied by a big watchtower and a no-opportunity-overlooked enterprise tea stall, selling tea and hot chocolate at extortionate prices to the cold gathering crowd. There were a lot of people, snapping and chatting away happily as the dawn lightened and cast pink, orange and yellows over the fantastic panorama of mountains. We felt we would hate to be here in high season though, as you'd be fighting for space, let alone a picture without some random head or down jacket sleeve in the way. We jumped on the holiday snap bandwagon and got into taking some serious pictures. Annapurna South took the centre foreground, but we could now see clearly Annapurna I (8,091m), just to the left, and Dhaulaguri standing wide and proud to the far left western side of the hill, catching the full front of the dawn's sun rays, only imagining what this beautifull but seriously daunting obstacle must haved looked like the first time for Merzog and his boys way back in the fifties? We walked down in a fraction of the time it took us to get to the top and before we knew it we were back in the guesthouse waiting for breakfast.

Embarking after our morning ritual of muesli, hot milk and honey we initially had a 500M steep uphill climb to an amazing vantage point along the slightly exposed ridge through shrubby grassland, with the comforting knowledge that an easier downhill hike onto Tadopani was all that awaited us in the afternoon. With fantastic views of Machupuchre's two forking peaks for most of the day (from which angle we could now clearly see the fishtail association) we enjoyed a peacefull trail and a gradual decline. Arriving early afternoon we checked into a guesthouse taking seats in the dining room which had a long table with blankets hanging down to protect your legs from the copper wire running around the underside, and covering up the heating mechanism underneath; a stealthy bucket of roasting hot coals. Oh yeeah! We spent the evening drinking copious amounts of tea, and teaching a couple of fellow Aussie's 's*** Head'. Over dinner we gained some local knowledge that there were Maoist influenced transport strikes scheduled for two days the day after the next - when we were due to get down to Puri. We had only budgeted enough money for 7 days so this would have left us short by one day, with no cash for the bus and no ATM in sight...dilemma ensued and we agreed to bail the next morning and make a clean break downhill all the way back to Naya Pul and to catch the late afternoon bus back to Pokhara.

Somewhat inconvenienced we started in high spirits as a fantastic final day on our somewhat disappointingly rapid exit from the Himalayas ensued. We had a reasonable task ahead of us as we knew this would be a race against time! The first section of the descent was through thick old jungle. Slipping our way through the muddy trail of the damp forest, we felt like we were in true jungle territory, and Adam began a short spiel about a black leopard, resembling a cougar, who had attacked 3 people in the last few weeks. Lana scanned the foliage for quite some time before questioning Adam about the leopard...who was rather amused and also shocked to find she had wholeheartedly believed his mythical tale, and had been walking nervously for the previous 30 minutes. The rocky forest trail wound around, crossing small streams leaching down the hillside towards an inevitable river below. We saw monkeys at one point, hurling themselves amongst the tree tops, and stood to watch as another group with a guide approached. We sped through towns we passed to quickly to catch the name of, and our legs felt good to be doing a harder workout than the usual trekker-crawl. We made Ghandruk in record time, and were pleasantly surprised by the pretty tidy trekkers town which had emerged here on the edge of the valley. It had well manicured gardens, with neat fences and flowers overhanging the path, well kept vegetable patches were squeezed in wherever possible and even the vacant land areas were well endowed with banana trees and broadleaf tropical shrubs. It was of substantial size for a hillside village and immediately took us by surprise. A professionally paved pathway run directly through the centre and was a reflection of the money that has passed through here over the years as all the lodge owners have invested heavily in their properties and their constant upkeep unlike the Khumbu. We overtook a couple who had been staying at the Hungry Eye two days previous. They must have had a long day after the Poon Hill start. Our knees holding out well we stopped at a single tea house/restaurant on a corner several minutes past Ghandruk and rested over a tea and some fresh oranges Adam had bargained for with a man passing by with a full basket load.

The trail here on down turned dusty, sometimes uneven rocky slabs of stone made a rough staircase, then it was just gravelly, suitable for a 4WD. We past a couple of areas which had been sorely affected by recent landslides, so much so an alternative route had been created for the current trekking season and tourist masses to bypass this.

The good old LP predicted that our efforts should have entailed an 8 hour trek. We smashed it in just over 4.