A hurdled trek (part II)

Just like it is supposed to be in the mountains, the weather suddenly changes and we’re sweating like pigs in the bright sunlight. Via stone steps and narrow paths lining deep ravines we metre for metre haul ourselves up the steep slopes. Dhampus is a long stretched village on top of the first ridge. The ginger tea and hot lemon taste delicious, looking at the mystical double peak of Machhapuchhre (6.993 metres) in the distance amidst slow rising shreds of mist from the valley. The nickname of this mountain is ‘the Fishtail’, fitting the history of the creation of the Himalayas. Millions of years ago the place where we are sitting now was an ocean, when the Indo-Australian tectonic plate moved under the Eurasian continent, thus lifting the ocean floor for thousands of metres and creating the world’s highest mountains. The fish died, the largest one got stuck with its head between the enormous rock masses and petrified. Almost seven kilometres above the present sea level its petrified tail still sticks out in the thin and icy air. We admire this largest monument of earth’s geology and resume our hike to the first overnight’s stay.

A flight of green parrots passes above us, while we see Pokhara and the Phewa Lake at a viewpoint. We climb up to Pothana at 2.150 metres and have ascended almost a thousand metres today.
In the descent to Tolka everybody feels the pressure applied to the tormented knees for the first time. In an ancient rhododendron forest we cross some tributaries over shaky suspension bridges. After having walked for six hours we reach the ramshackle Tolkan houses where the beds are spartanly hard, the wind mercilessly cold and the spaghetti spicy.

Eight a.m. it is still cold, windy and wet. Grey clouds swirl around Tolka and we deliberately dillydally eating our breakfast. The gods haven’t decided what to do about us yet; rain and sun alternate in a fierce pace, faster than we are able to change our clothes. The local children, who are obviously spoilt by former tourists, beg for sweets and pens. A group of water buffalos poses against the backdrop of the Machhapuchhre and a rainbow spans the valley to our left like an upturned suspension bridge. The village of Himalpani welcomes us with noodle soup, omelette sandwiches and hot lemon. On the terrace an old, toothless woman is sitting on the ground, crocheting a small needlework. When it is finished, she hangs it over a small stick in front of her and starts another one. A small calf thinks the needlework to be very interesting. Casually walking past he quickly puts it in his mouth. The old woman sees her labour disappearing in the direction of one of its seven stomachs and fights to retrieve the treasure from the calf’s throat. Laughing embarrassed, we see how the two of them wrestle on the ground, while the elderly husband watches amused. The calf wins and moments later walks off, happily ruminating.

The first messages concerning our final destination arrive: the highest point (Annapurna Base Camp or ABC) is unreachable due to heavy snowfall and reaching Machhapuchhre Base Camp (MBC), the stop before last, is doubtful. The snow is fresh and deep, the path untraceable, a French tourist went missing.
A hefty shower and a long, steep climb to the village of Jhinu follow lunch. In the nearby hot water springs we relax our leg muscles, while the raindrops are getting larger again. Long bearded moss drips from the trees at this altitude. Epiphytes enjoy their rich hosts and white orchids stick their heads out of cracks in the bark and moist moss. The local women cut the epiphytes from the trees to feed their cows and water buffalos.
The Tibetans in our guesthouse in Jhinu are fond of the Dutch liquorice we pass around. We warm ourselves at the table, under which a cosy coal fire is burning and retire to bed early.

The sun is shining; in the blue sky some sheep clouds are floating over the snow covered Annapurna massif. Around Chhomrong all paths are paved with natural stone. Long stairs up are followed by even longer ones down, where an icy river awaits us. Sylvia and Gert easily walk the route; this is their favourite pastime and they really trained well before travelling to Nepal. Mirjam’s condition is less strong; she wasn’t able to exercise the last couple of months because of an injury and mainly gets over the high mountains and through the deep valleys on willpower and sheer determination.

In Sinuwa I we shelter for two hours for a deluge and hail storm. Our hope to actually reach MBC and ABC diminishes fast.
Before we reach Sinuwa II (2.350 metres) we are able to see that the valley in which the path to our final destination is snaking is completely shrouded in veils of rain and snow clouds. A returning English couple tells us that ABC is unreachable; MBC can be reached via a detour, through deep snow and with avalanche danger at both sides of the valley. A dangerous prospect…

We order two small bottles of rum and hot lemon, to give ourselves some courage for the coming days. Or are we already comforting ourselves at the outlook that we will not be able to reach our goal?