A hurdled trek (part I)

Daylight is fading. We’re at Kathmandu Airport, waiting for the delayed flight GF 404 and two of our dear ones. Today Nepal celebrates Faga Poornima, also called Holi-festival. The festival marks the victory of the god Vishnu over the demon Holika and is celebrated by painting each other’s faces, hair and clothes and throwing small water filled balloons. We have just barely escaped the many boys, girls and men who were ready to throw water and paint at any passer-by on our way to the airport. During our extended stay there, we witness a number of paint fights and a very angry man whose clothes and hair are doused in red powder without his consent. Two taxi drivers have a row over a fare and an endless stream of Nepali labourers from the Middle East come in waves from the Arrivals Hall, loaded with television sets and electronic equipment, the reward of having been barked at and commandeered for an entire year. After having patiently waited for four hours we are finally rewarded as well with emotional hugs from Peter’s sister Sylvia and her husband Gert. They haven’t just come to visit us, but also to do two treks. Unfortunately one of their bags hasn’t arrived on the flight.

Two days later we’re at Tribhuvan International Airport again, this time to pick up friend Mirjam. Her flight is also delayed and her luggage hasn’t arrived at all, therefore we spend the next two days making phone calls, filling in forms and going to the airport in order to retrieve their rightful possessions. When everything has finally arrived, it looks like Christmas Eve: apart from the ordered spare parts and the gifts from our new sponsors ESGE (bicycle stands) and Cycle Star (side mirrors for the bicycles) we are showered with sweets, candies, cheese, books and Belgian beer. We share our bicycle experience in the Kathmandu Valley with our visitors, by taking them on a daytrip to Kakani on rented mountain bikes. The beautiful trip to the pass is not too difficult for most of them, but the haziness unfortunately hides the Himalayan range.

After the more or less compulsory tourist visits to the famous and beautiful attractions in Kathmandu and Patan, March 12th is the day our trek to the Annapurna Base Camp (ABC) starts. The taxi that is supposed to drive us to the bus stand in Kathmandu after five minutes has a puncture, which doesn’t surprise us taking a closer look at the rubber. The quality of the buses in Nepal isn’t quite comparable with those in Europe: at the first stop en route to Pokhara the clutch gives in. It takes three mechanics two hours to replace the broken part by another somewhat less worn second hand one.

A couple of hours later we arrive in Pokhara, in a virtual downpour. Here the five of us, all of our luggage and the driver are stuffed into one of the world’s smallest cars that after a short drive delivers us at our hotel. Once all of our limbs have been disentangled we prepare ourselves for a ten-day trek in the mountains by doing some shopping in the bright sunlight and buying the last wholegrain bread for some time to come.
When we get into our beds at night the thunder sounds in our ears and flashes of lightning set the mountains and Pokhara’s lake afire. The mountain gods are welcoming us.

The next morning it is still raining and we decide to take it easy. First we have breakfast at the German Bakery where the staff hasn’t completely awakened yet. The coffee, tea and bread take some time to arrive, despite the fact that we are the only customers. When our order finally appears, after over half an hour, the waiter fails to put the tray on the table quite right: with a loud bang and a lot of clinking pots of coffee and tea, cups and saucers disappear from the table to land on the floor. Gert looks at us, frowning, and says: “ If these were all omen, I would return to Kathmandu now.”
“Let’s do that,” Peter says, “all that walking isn’t very good for cycling legs anyhow.”
“We don’t think so,” the rest protests, “later on it will brighten up and will we enjoy walking in the sunshine.”
Sylvia, the most fanatical hiker of the five of us, looks outside and vividly calls out: “I think it’s getting brighter already!”

One hour later we bump along in an even smaller taxi than yesterday and arrive at the starting point of the trek, in Phedi. From the grey-black coloured sky the rain steadily comes down and sighing we put on our raincoats and trousers. If it is raining like this down here, how must it be three thousand metres up in the mountains, at our final destination? We await the shower, take a cup of tea in the hut with its homemade clay oven and discuss weather and route. A real discussion is hardly possible: the route is more or less predetermined and we don’t think we have a lot of influence regarding the weather. Then we decide to change the topic and discuss the amount of clothes we will put on to defeat cold and wetness, methods to keep our shoes dry as long as possible and we ask ourselves the reason we are actually doing this. The taxi driver tells there is a lot of snow higher up; he feels sombre about whether we will be able to reach our goal. We wait a little bit longer, have another cup of tea, and try to encourage each other.

Then the rain seems to lessen a bit, the drops are getting smaller; we are going to give it a try. We cross the road and start the long climb towards 4.200 metres. The mountain gods have seen us though: a black clouds swiftly moves in our direction and a minute after we started the ascent it rains cats and dogs.
This is going to be fun.