A Ladies' Trek

I have returned to Almora, the small and attractive hillside town where I came from Nainital about ten days ago. In the interim I have been to Bageshwar, from where Mauro and I did a six day trek to the Pindari Glacier. I will attempt to tell you all about it, although you will have to bear with me, as this computer is frustratingly slow, I am tired after a 5.30 am start and longish bus journey, and having just parted company this morning with my fantastic travelling companion of over a month, am feeling just a little lack-lustre (if that's how you say it!).

Apologies folks, that was a very downbeat way to start an entry about such an exciting and wonderful experience as my first encounter with the Himalayas! Yep, them mountains are pretty phenomenal, and the way and manner in which we saw them was pretty phenomenal too. The Lonely Planet (AKA the travellers bible) had reliably informed us that we could arrange a trek very easily from Bageshwar; either via the government KMVN agency, who run organised all-inclusive type ventures, or by hiring our own private guide. Our knowledge and expertise of trekking was perhaps a little lacking; admittedly I have trekked in Snowdon, the Highlands and the Alps, but all with, or under, the supervision of more experienced people (i.e. Cheryl and Jamie, the Duke of Edinburgh!) and Mauro, who by all acounts has lived next to the moutains for most of his youth, has never actually climbed one! Hmm. 

Anyway, I figured that if it was in the LP and all that, it couldn't be that tough going, besides there were KMVN guest houses along the way...I pictured Youth Hostel-like accommodation, you know, places to buy water, make emergency calls etc. I was further reassured when an Indian family we got talking to in a restaurant explained that they were setting off on the same trek the next day. From appearances they didn't seem like hardy outdoor types, and they emphatically informed us that this trek was a veritable walk in the park; in fact it was so easy it was known as a 'ladies' trek' (more on gender issues in another blog!).

The next day, after establishing that we would not be able to do a KMVN organised trek as there were not enough people wanting to go, we decided we would get our own guide. It didn't seem hard; we were already being virtually stalked by an older man offering his services as a guide. His determination was formidable, and also a little poignant; he would pop up outside our hotel at regular intevals, appear at the table where we were having lunch, or emerge spirit-like from side streets as we walked along the main bazaar. So the next day we hunted in the local shops and found some warm clothes and stocked up on supplies of the cashew nuts, raisins and biscuits which had become our staple snacks.

The next day we got up early to catch a bus to a place, rather beautifully named 'Song', from where the trek would start and we could find a guide. We managed to land ourselves seats up in the driver's cabin - which has great views and slightly more space. Then ensued one of those wonderful on-the-road in India experiences I have come to cherish. We drive a few minutes to the edge of the town and the bus comes to a halt, as it often does. Suddenly the cabin door next to me opens and a small boy of about six is bundled into the cabin and, once deposited, the door slammed firmly behind him. He stands in the cabin, his back against the dashboard, staring wide-eyed at us. "School" the driver says to us by way of explanation. 

For some reason I am very touched by this little kid,and a little taken aback at the abrupt nature of his arrival on the bus. I try to make friendly looking faces at him (bearing in mind that my freakish fair skin and hair, have actually reduced two young children to tears over the last few weeks), and he allows me to help him up on to the seat beside us. However, I needn't have worried; a few moments later the door opens again and a woman gets in, pulls the child into her lap, and proceeds to cuddle and cluck over him for the remainder of the journey.

My bemusement continues when, as we pass through one village she quickly rolls down the window - I presume because the child feels sick- but instead a rolled up newspaper flies in through the window! At the next village a few minutes away, the window is rolled down again and she expertly chucks the paper out onto the verandah of a passing house...brilliant!

I neglected to say that whilst the bus was waiting to leave we managed to acquire ourselves a guide; a man in his early thirties, who speaks little English, but has a warm smile and persuasive manner, cajoles us into appointing himself as our guide. Moments later we spot the older man walking by the bus and feel a sizeable twinge of guilt. He diligently pursued us for two days, and this other guy bags the job in a matter of seconds. We start questioning our decision, but have to accept that to some extent that is the way things go here, and that we are two foreigners, feeling a little out of our depth, and basically just figuring it out as we go along.

Anyway, this vaguely inauspicious start continues as Mauro loses his mobile phone on the bus (mine has already mysteriously stopped sending/receiving texts or incoming calls) so we are effectively incommunicado. I then realise that we are about to see some of the most picturesque and dramatic landscapes of a lifetime and I haven't charged my camera for a good few days, and have completely forgotten to bring the spare battery! We have to undergo a very laborious haggling process to get the share jeep down from the 800 rupees the driver is demanding, to the 200 rupees we know it should cost. And when we are deposited at the hostel from where the trek commences, a 'government official' wants a further 150 rupees for the 'trekking permit' that we have heard nothing about and on talking to other trekkers we later meet, discover that no one else has paid. Hey ho.

Eventually we are off and my misgivings diminish as we climb a substantially built, if rocky and uneven, path through beautiful forested countryside. It is quite a steep ascent and a little tough-going, even though I have been relieved of my rucksack by our guide (something that kind of happened before I knew what was going on, but that I refused to let him do for the remainder of the trek). I was thoroughly enjoying myself until the dark clouds, that had been looming in the distant, all of a sudden became not-so-distant and start depositing great mountain-sized raindrops on us. We took refuge in a little hut where I began to doubt the efficacy of my cheapy rain mac, Mauro started to seriously regret not having a waterproof at all, and our guide rolled what was the first of many cigarettes and sanguinely waited for the storm to pass. Pass it eventually did and we were on our way again, soon reaching the top of our climb, from where we had our first glimpse of the mighty mountains that were to dominate thelandscape for the next 6 days.

A kilometre later we arrived at the first 'hostel' where we would spend the night. My first thought; phew the room is nice and clean. My second; it is going to be blummin' freezing here! It was only four o'clock and already I needed to wear virtually ALL my clothes to keep warm. The niggles of anxiety increased as we chatted to an extremely well-equipped group of Australian women, clad in the kind of gear I would have been wearing to trek in the Peak District - gloves, waterproof trousers, brand-name windproof jackets. It occurred to me that I have been better prepared for walks in my local park than I had for this trek in the Himalayas, during which I was planning to climb to a greater altitude than I have ever been before (3,600m). Salutory, 'Rescue 999' type scenarios involving foolish, ill-prepared walkers who get their come-uppance and fall prey to the merciless powers of 'the wild' flashed into my mind, adding fuel to the pyre of worry accumulating there.

Later that evening, on entering the little kitchen where dinner was being prepared, I don't know whether it was the transition from freezing cold to warmth, the ascent to almost 2000m, or smoke from the chimneyless fire, but I started to shiver and feel very dizzy, light-headed and sick. Now, many of you (my poor sister in particular) will be well acquainted with my slight hypochondriacal tendencies...well, these went into overdrive at this point. Within seconds the following went through my head: there is no phone here, there is no mobile reception; the only way out that I know of is an 8km trek; I have stupidly left most of my medical supplies in Bageshwar; they don't even have plasters and paracetemol here, nevermind the defibrilator and oxygen supply that my overactive imagination was by now insisting that I would shortly require.

Fortunately, the feeling passed and I managed to get sensible, rational brain working again; helped in part by reminding myself of the fact that our guide had only a thick jumper, a jacket, a torch and toothbrush with him and that was quite literally, all. If he could cope with just those basics, we could muddle through with the several kilos of stuff that we were carrying on our backs - although why I had packed my ipod, but forgotten anti-biotics and blister treatment remains a matter for some serious self-examination.

Anyway, I am glad to say that after, what were for me quite anxiety-provoking first 24 hours, we settled into the pace of things. I felt reassured that we were not going to die some gruesome death in the Himalayas, and was able to enjoy our truly extraordinary surroundings. The trek followed a river though its valley, up to Pindari glacier. All along the way waterfalls rushed down from the mountainsides with the urgency of a passenger in danger of missing the last bus; barging its way past boulders, elbowing stray branches out of the way in its relentless determination to reach its river destination. The roar and gush of water, and the sounds of birds and wildlife provided the soundtrack to our trek - along with the humming of whatever tune had got stuck in Mauro's head!

However, the scenic natural beauty was only half the experience. I am fortunate in having spent time in a lot of stunning countryside over the years, much of which could give this place a run for its money in terms of natural beauty. What made this unique were the people and places we encountered along the way. I have already commented on the 'working' aspect of India's countyside and here was no exception. We passed government workers mending the track, and groups of men hauling colassal metal pipes on ropes up the hills; people herding goats or buffalos; women (and it was ALWAYS women) carrying great bundles of grass so gianormous that from behind them, you could see nothing except a pair of feet. And of course there were the numerous 'hotels' where we gratefully sipped cups of steaming chai and slurped down bowls of super noodles (I will never again be snobbish about this fast food item, it was an absolute life saver - hot, quickly prepared, energy-giving and germ-free!).

The hotels were sometimes located in the most unlikely places. Perched on inhospitable mountainsides, where in the UK it would be just you and your thermos flask, you would find a stone 'bothy'-like shelter and some weather wizenend chap, more than likely wearing nothing more than a pair of sandals on his feet, grinning at you from behind his big pan of chai - and often still trying to cadge that extra rupee or two out of you if he can! Wonderful.

The places where we stayed the nights were pretty basic; rooms often containing several beds, and with sites for the more hardy types to camp. I became a dab hand - so to speak - at using squat toilets and the Indian toilet technique (i.e. not using toilet paper) which is after all much more enviromentally friendly! Despite taking several sachets of shampoo, I didn't wash my hair for the duration...it was simply too cold. Man, it was cold. So ironic after being oven roasted in the Uttar Pradesh, I was now being subjected to the deep-freeze. I slept under several blankets, in innumerable layers of clothes, including a hat. It was okay whilst you were on the move, and between the hours of about 10 - 2 (t-shirt weather then) but outside this window, the temperature plummeted. One afternoon when we arrived earlier than usual at a site, it got so cold and stormy that we had no option but to go to bed under heaps of blanket to stay warm until dinner time, when we made the dash from bed to fireside as quickly as humanly possible! Still having pledged never to complain about being cold again, I was determined not to whinge...and actually it was quite good fun.

Evening meals were a treat; we would huddle into the kitchen, its stone walls blackened from years of wood smoke. Sometimes, joined by other trekkers, other times just us, our guide (who by this time was usually happily stoned, thanks to the hemp that grows in abundance throughout the region) and the guys cooking. We got to watch as they chopped onions, scraped off potato peel and mashed them with their hands, prepared rice in an alarmingly noisy and energetic pressure cooker and mixed and kneaded dough for chapatis, which were cooked in a pan and then briefly thrown into the fire to finish them off. Dinner tasted all the better for having it prepared before our eyes (and for a day's hard walking). Afterwards, for as long as I could bear the cold, I feasted my eyes on the night sky; so heavily laden with stars I feared it would fall right down on top of me.

The third day it was a 6am start and hard uphill slog towards 'zero point', the Pindari glacier. We were kept motivated by tantalising views of the mountain whose base we were approaching; its snow-capped peak piercing the brilliant blue sky with a crystal-edged sharpness, almost painful to the eye. We were fortunate with the weather, the dark clouds that generally gathered by later morning, sentries of the impending rain and sleet held off and we enjoyed dramatic sun-lit views of the mountains around us. We had been conserving what precious battery the camera had left, but let loose now, taking as many pictures as we could, including the obligatory 'we were here' shots.

However, yet again, it was perhaps the people we met that made reaching our destination so memorable. At zero point, there lives a Swammi or Sadhu (holy man), whose name I forget, but I do have his business card somehwere! This dude left his family home 19 years ago to take up residency for nine months out of the year, in a simple stone hut, at 3,600m at the foot of the Nanda Kot mountain. He is doing a degree by distance learning in astro-physics. He passes his day meditating and practising yoga in the little temple he has built (which is how he says he tolerates the cold!) as well as making chai, or breakfast, or dinner for the trekkers that pass by or camp overnight in his garden. So, we sat and answered his questions, returing them with our own, as he prepared and served the most delicious ginger chai. So completely surreal, and yet surprisingly everyday.

The return journey was more relaxed - mission accomplished, major disasters averted, I was able to really enjoy the descent, and the characters we met along the way. This included another holy man, who was on his way to spend time studying with the Swammi. This guy was walking BARE-FOOT, but I was relieved to note that he wore the largest and warmest-looking parker jacket I have ever seen - it completely swamped him. And I believe his pain/cold threshold may have been somewhat artifically elevated thanks to his virtually continuous cannabis consumption!

Three more days walking and we were back in civilisation. Six days ago washing my hair in a bucket of cold water had been somewhat of a trial...now it was an absolute joy! To have my feet exposed to the air again, to be wearing clean clothes and to sit on the terrace of our hotel eating samosa and pakora, whilst drinking beer purchased from the 'English Wine Shop' (what they call offies here!) was sheer heaven.

So, the verdict; was this the 'Ladie's Trek' we had been promised? Well, it all depends how you look at it. Given that it seemed to be the 'ladies' we encountered who did all the tough jobs- lugging mammoth loads of animal fodder, beating clothes to within an inch of their lives in the river, and working the land, whilst the men sat round drinking chai and rustling up the occasional bowl of noodles (and okay, admittedly hauling a few metal pipes around from time to time)...well, in those terms then yes, it qualified as a 'Ladies trek'. Anyway, it transpired that the family who termed it such had neglected to mention that they had a team of porters, went some of the way by mule and took a leisurely nine days to complete the journey!