Giardia Duodenalis is a nasty little parasite found, apparently, in some 25% of Nepal's waterways. Having suffered from various unpleasantness over the first month of trekking, it was only arrival in Pokhara with it's reliable internet that gave me the chance to diagnose the cause. Cooperative pharmacists were happy to accept a prescription from ChatGPT, and thus a fistful of oversized, alien-yellow "amoebicidal" tablets came to stare at me from the crumbs of my breakfast. Downed in one hopeful gulp, I was relieved in more ways than one that the treatment worked to rid me of a few (million) unwanted travelling companions in time for our second big trek.
Happily, all of our other travelling companions have been very welcome indeed. We began of course with dear friends: Chiara, the joyful, curious Sicilian is probably the sharpest intelligence I have ever known; and Sam, stoic and not far behind for brains, is quietly reflective and pairs a thirst for fact with an encyclopedic memory. We share endless easy conversation and they are two of the people with whom we feel most comfortable, making them the perfect comrades to face the daunt and unfamiliarity of our introduction to Nepal.
We four met almost nobody in the remote West, and this remained the case after parting ways until Pokhara, the gateway to Annapurna. My expectations for Nepal's second city had been framed by the extreme isolation of the trekking we had done up to that point. I had in mind a frontier town, equipping and dispatching grizzled expeditionists into the high ranges.
Whilst the reality is somewhat different, the tourist friendly 'Lakeside' area provided a perfect resting place between treks (not to mention the opportunity to purge parasites). Lakeside exists in response to a fairly typical ex-pat/tourist soup, flavoured by the mountains and spirituality for which the Himalayas are famous. There are the trekkers of course, at every level of fitness and experience; the twenty-something backpackers trying on new personas each stop (occasionally that persona is "trekker", but more often it is "1970's fancy dress party"); the dedicated parents negotiating with their teenagers for a non-western meal; the true believers with their yoga blogs and billowing organic hemp; and, as everywhere, the leathery lifers who never quite caught the bus out of town.
From these blithe stereotypes we have met the most fantastic people out on the trekking trails, proving time and again our long-held theory that hiking attracts the nicest and most interesting folk.
Philippe and his compagnie des Suisses enjoués shared several tea houses with us, their arrival in Phu bringing warmth and laughter to an otherwise pretty frozen hotel. Full of stories from 35 years of intrepidity, he led his wife and two friends on an ingenious route devised to capture Annapurna's highlights whilst avoiding almost all of its crowds.
At a monastery at Naar Phedi we joined Alessandra and Lucca to write our journals one evening. Theirs were punctuated by water-coloured drawings of the ornate building and snow capped peaks around us, and we learned about the burgeoning global community of slack-liners in which they had found their Nepalese trekking mates. Ale's high-line record (ie, walking a tight-rope strung between high cliffs) is over 900 metres!
Richard, still in his early twenties and travelling solo, is from North Carolina. His itinerary overlapped with ours on the way up the world's highest lake at 5,000 m. Whilst somewhat undiscovered by foreigners, Tilicho Lake is one of the favourite destinations for Nepali first-time trekkers, making accommodation hard to find. Depending on availability Richard bunked either with Norbu and Lhundup or with us most nights to and over Thorong Pass - 5,400 m and the highest point on our itinerary. At mealtimes we marvelled at this appetite for risk on advanced whitewater kayaking runs. After this trek he is off to one of the high altitude Nepalese canyons, where we tremble even to look down at the torrent from the precarious, prayer-flag adorned, suspension bridges that are so common here.
In the hot springs at Tatopani (literally "hot water") we chatted with Alex, a wiry, ginger-bearded and adventure-loving doctor from the UK. He is also travelling solo, using up his annual leave before discharge from the army and a planned move to New Zealand in January. We bonded over shared interest and experiences of Scottish van life, mountains, hiking and travel. Between Alex and Alessandra (also a fellow van-lifer, and also moving to NZ in January) our vague ideas of someday exploring the land of the long white cloud are beginning to take much stronger root.
I am struck by the way chance encounters like these are so influential in the big trips and decisions we have taken. Norbu, our ever-grinning and tirelessly conscientious Nepali guide, was another such chance encounter whilst hiking. We met at an Austrian mountain hut, and then reconnected years later as I began to plan this trip. He has become a great friend and I have no doubt he will remain a co-conspirator for many future trips (both for me and for anyone who cares to accept my whole hearted recommendation: https://www.dolpocaravantreks.com - but more on that another time).
I'm finishing off this post at Gorepani, looking out the window at two 8,000 m Goliaths that seem almost within touching distance. We are firmly on the tourist trail now, WiFi and pizza and cappuccino likely to be available for most of the next few days. From the comfort of the trail towns we are filled with the urge to summit some of the less technical peaks, but these are very real mountains. Just last month five climbers were claimed by Dhaulagiri I on my left. Tomorrow we begin the walk towards Mardi Himal base camp, an enormous temptation at only 5,500 m, and offering close-up views of the mighty "Fish Tail" Machapuchare.
