The Mystery of Totality

An explicable but daunting alignment of massive bodies. Massive to me a mere human. Insignificant in scale in our universe, but still relevant. Relevant because the moon can be small enough and close enough to Earth and our Sun massive enough and far enough to every now and then collude to blot out the Earth from the Sun's light. We do not see this anywhere else in our observable universe. This trickery of orbital kinetics, whose mechanism we understand pretty well, gives meaning at least to those who have been conscious of the universe.

It was touted the Great American Eclipse because of the span of the moon shadow in total eclipse landing in the north Pacific, hitting land in Oregon, with Samurai sword precision diagonally slicing the USA until departing into the Atlantic in North Carolina before disappearing. The last one to be described as such occurred in 1918, when technology and means to access and capture the eclipse was limited. The next time it does a similar sweep in 2024, who knows what new understandings we can gain. This is not to belittle solar eclipses in other parts of world but to illustrate that the infrequency of such an event helps mark changes in humanity. In any case, as far as we know, the Sun, Moon and Earth only feel electromagnetic and gravitational forces between each other and certainly have no feelings for some abstract human constructs such as nation states.

My first experience of the total solar eclipse took place in Toccoa, Georgia, USA on August 21st 2017. This was a first experience for literally millions of people. Never before has such a big cosmic event captured the imagination of people from all walks of life, and made accessible to those who might otherwise never have dared to look up or travel to see a solar eclipse. Just by learning the reason for wearing certified eclipse glasses opens a child or someone new to knowledge of the cosmos towards a path of deep intellectual, emotional and spiritual understanding of how the universe works.

11:30 am. The enterprising town of Toccoa put together a little street party and probably gathered more people than it had ever hosted in a while. When Marilyn and I arrived in the late morning, many of the organised spectators had their outdoor chairs set-up and camera tripods arranged at various vantage points in squares, lawns and even parking lots. The restaurants and boutiques were busy along the main street in the run up to midday. It was quite interesting to see so many small businesses in this ''smallville USA'', geared up to sell food and merchandise.  The commemorative t-shirt was too tempting to not purchase! 

Random happy nerd (Courtesy of KMN)

12:00 pm. As we searched for a place to eat, we bumped into a lady and her son. All buzzed for the eclipse, enhanced by their coffee in hand, they were looking for some ice cream to sweeten that buzz. The ice cream shop was inexplicably closed. We got chatting and the lady told us that they were heading just out of town to view it all in a field inside the complex of the Georgia Baptist Conference Center. The modest but growing crowds in between the two-storey buildings, that essentially blocked much of the horizon, started feeling to us a restriction to what was going to happen above. We ate at a regular eatery and when the eclipse sequence began at 1:08 pm sauntered out for a first glance via the precious solar filtered glasses. 

1:10 pm. First contact. As if out of nowhere the ink black moon shadow smudged the top right corner of sun like a circular lid covering a hot pot at snail's pace. In reality the moon travels at almost 3,700 kilometres per hour. It was too early to observe any effect on us here on Earth but one thing was for sure - the final countdown had begun. I was one of only a handful with solar glasses on looking up. Filters of these glasses prevent UV rays from penetrating the eyes and damaging the retina. All you can see is the sun's disk in bright orange and nothing else. 

1:25 pm. Speaking of snail's pace our lunch still hadn't arrived. The restaurant was struggling to cope with the overload of customers. I mulled over how it was possible for the sneaky moon to reveal itself in shadow then disappear. Because the sun was only illuminating the far side of the moon, we were never going to see the near side of loopy loony moon until her grand appearance as a shadow puppet on the solar stage.

1:30 pm. Our lunch finally arrived. We ate with urgency and decided that this once in a lifetime experience needed to be panoramic with full relief. We drove back out into the winding roads of the northern Georgia countryside past brick, wood and iron homes surrounded by woods and fields. People were on their porches having drinks and fiddling with their eclipse glasses when not stealing a glance at the progress of the closure of the large cauldron lid. We weren't feeling it yet but the temperature was falling. 

2:00 pm. On arrival, with sunglasses off, and glancing well outside of the solar periphery l could feel that the ferocious solar luminosity was just as deadly. It was 3 degrees cooler than an equally sunny day the day before at this time. The 300 metre wide field was an opening in some woods that are part of the conference centre property. The sun was high enough in the western sky to be clear of the tree tops. We found a gentle slope in the field as a nice vantage point.

2:10 pm. The dark orb had by now covered over half the sun. The drop in solar radiation could be felt and perhaps most of the heat we were currently feeling was coming from the ground and atmosphere.  The field had lots of people scattered around with excited anticipatory chatter and slight anxiety about when to see what phenomenon and how and, most importantly, making sure that junior doesn't look directly at the sun. 

2:15 pm. We were fully settled on the slope. It was getting darker and darker. I had my ear to the heart of mother nature, alert to the disruption to her natural rhythm. I could only imagine the subdual of little creatures in the trees. Their foraging cut short, belly half full and probably worried about opportune predators. It would have become a deathly silence if wasn't for the very excitable cicadas in the trees that were now chirping even louder for the faux nightfall. 

2:25 pm. Now the sun was the crescent. The cauldron was almost shut. The sky was no longer blue and the twilight was here. Entranced by the sun-moon shadow play, l neglected the swift advance of the biggest shadow on earth from the West. The crescent shrunk to just a baton and, pierced by the lunar craters and valleys, then beads in a split second and then....

2.32 pm. A burst of light around the moon shadow. The corona. We were now witnessing second contact. The surface of sun was now showing its steamy aura and symmetrical glory. It is the hottest part of the Sun (we still don't fully know why that is the case) but does not emit UV rays. The moon blocked the busy part of the central sun and rose the corona out of obscurity. We could remove our glasses and stare up for just under 2 minutes. The surrounding stars were visible. Observation of these stars almost 100 years ago proved Einstein's Theory of General Relativity, and launched him to global acclaim. The corona, the outermost visible atmosphere of the sun is a theatre of visible sunspots and solar prominences, and invisible ejections of plasma and cosmic rays. The bottom right hand corner of the coronal orb had a solar prominence reaching hundreds of thousands of kilometres into space. Compare that with the Earth's mere diameter of 12,742 kilometres! 

Moment of totality seen through a quilt of colour filters (Courtesy of KMN)

2.33 pm. Those precious 2 or so minutes were spent admiring the ever flowing effervescent corona shaped by the deepest blackness of moon shadow you could ever see in the night sky. I stole a few glances at the horizon to the east that was in a sharp orange sunset glow then looked around at the entranced human silhouettes. I looked back at the sun and spent the last minute laid down on my back joining in the orchestra of reactions (wow, ooh, aah, sooo cool...) and the occasional contemplative silence.

2.34 pm. Pfff. If one could only imagine a sound that could describe the disappearance of the corona, it would be that. Of course all this is happening in the vacuum of space, and in reality the amount of solar energy that the moon blocked is next to nothing compared to how much the sun was pumping out across the solar system within those 2 minutes. The first halo of the sun then appeared. We were officially in third contact. Many people burst into applause. There were lots of squeals and occasional tears of joy all around. 

Many thoughts and emotions rushed through me, some unprocessed. One thing that was clear and still remains today was the visual imprint in my mind of an unusual moment. The rarity of the opportunity to view a solar eclipse is certainly a meditation on the impermanence of experiences. Depending on means and luck of location, most people have just a couple of chances to see any solar eclipse but probably just one chance to see a total solar eclipse. By extension it is clear that life is short. It is also clear that when a particular eclipse path repeats itself, humans will have moved on to other forms of civilisation.

Whilst our existence has a mysterious meaning, the solar system cares not for our well-being but somehow keeps the earth stable, faithfully orbiting around the sun and the Moon around the Earth. In the early days of the solar system, the moon used to be closer the Earth and thus completely blotted out the sun during eclipse. The moon orbit is tending away from Earth and by the time we as humans are long gone or evolved into another type of species or entity, our planet will no longer be graced with such near perfection. The universe doesn't just align bodies for our amusement. 

Not long after the moon moved to second contact, Marilyn quipped that it reminded her of the simple model of the atom. A beautiful analogy, using our basic concept of the reality of the nano-scale that we still do not fully understand. The sun's corona as the buzz of electrons, seemingly in any place at once, and the moon shadow imitating the nearly invisible but influential nucleic cluster of protons and neutrons. Therefore we can still unravel the forces of the universe that we perceive by keeping a timeless imagination in our head.

Phases of the Total Solar Eclipse (Courtesy of Sun Oven)

Understanding the Camino

If anyone ever asked me why I chose to do the Camino, otherwise known as The Way of St. James, I wouldn’t be able to give a straight answer. I had an inkling of its do-ability but never thought of pursuing it until a basic idle thought, followed by intense spontaneous curiosity led me to a firm decision a week later. A bit of a discussion with a friend who had done part of it, some internet research and an odd recollection of a podcast featuring Paolo Coelho and inspiration to start writing his bestselling surrealist novels after his Camino experience may have brought me here. The French national rail operator, SNCF, seems fine tuned to ‘’pilgrim’’ needs as all that one needed to do to kick it off was to buy a one-way ticket from the Paris mega-polis to the diminutive but not insignificant St. Jean-Pied-de-Port.

This is the part where I need to explain the meaning of ‘’Camino’’. The Camino de Santiago, or the Way of St James, is a medieval pilgrimage route over a thousand years old, which brought pilgrims from all corners of Europe, across Spain to the city of Santiago de Compostela, believed by many of the Catholic faith to be the final resting place of Saint James (the Greater) the Apostle. Thousands of people set out from their homes to travel to Santiago on foot or on horseback. The Camino Frances has been one of many pilgrimage routes in Europe but for many centuries it was the most popular. It is now traversed by thousands of people every year, for a wide variety of reasons. It takes about 30 days to walk. I was only planning to do 8 days of it. The idea of the Camino runs deeper than a walking challenge that one must complete. Driving all the way is not considered cheating in any way. Anyone, able footed or not, is welcome to get onto ‘’The Way’’. Other routes such as the Via de la Plata, from Seville, and the Camino del Norte, along the north coast of Spain, have also become more popular, but not to the same degree as the Camino Frances.

The cold anonymity of ones existence in a large city like Paris began to warm up at Bayonne, in the French Basque country, where I left my TGV train and had a 2 hour layover until my regional TER train departed. I identified friendly looking faces of pilgrims. The writer of a guide book that I downloaded online highlighted the reason for him coming on the Camino time and time again was because of this opening up. Camaraderie, interest in others and good vibes. It looks like I missed a really massive vibe –the Fêtes de Bayonne, the city’s annual festival, had just concluded yesterday and as I walked through the town I saw the aftermath – hangovered youth dressed all white with red sashes and scarves wandering around town, a pile of garbage by the riverside and a busy tapas food court no doubt full of punters with the post-fiesta munchies.

We had to take a rail replacement bus service from Cambo-les-Bains (no time to enjoy this spa village!) to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port. The name literally means ‘’foot of the pass’’ in Pyrenean French. The 30-minute affair took us up a heavily forested valley with rapids, therefore it was not surprising to see lots of rafting tourists gathering at one spot on the way up. We filed and fanned out of the bus from the train station towards the still walled town of St. Jean-Pied-de-Port. It surrounds a Citadel – a reminder of the warring nature of the past. How the pilgrimage kept on is a wonder!

The Auberge du Pelerin had a discreet vibe to it. I almost thought that it was closed before I gently pushed the door open. I went down a dark corridor and then saw another shut door! Is this a hostel or a monastery? That door led to the reception area. The friendly lady who welcomed me seemed to be running a tight ship. She rapped the dinner, breakfast and hostel closing times in one breath and then got her summer jobbing young colleague to take me to the dormitory. She glanced at me and said that I should get walking poles. I bought an elaborately finished wooden stick and she later on, showing true French indignation, smirked that the stick is just a fashion statement of no practical value compared to the light, composite material, dampened pairs of walking poles. I then asked her how on earth did she think pilgrims hundreds of years ago made it across to Santiago without all this technology. I really hope that she one day does the Camino in order to understand it better. I was also only just starting to!


As published on SustainableVisit

The Final Leg II : All's well that ends well

The trek is over but the journey, not quite. Ironically today's wake up was the earliest of the whole trip. 5 am! Our bus from Kathmandu departed from 7am and we needed to ensure that we were prepared to descend briskly and have a bit of breakfast at Arkhet Bazaar well ahead of departure. Amir's niece descended with us as she was also heading to Kathmandu. The morning dew made the random stones on the path very slippery. I had the honour of one last fall on my arse.

It turned out that Yam slept in Arkhet. Just as well, lest he felt the wrath of his wife up in the village. He was sober this morning and looking very sheepish. It was almost like all the evil of yesterday had evaporated. So, the first teahouse ended up being the final teahouse. We had egg and chapati as the bus company accountant / ticket salesman organised right on the same table as us. It appeared that the teahouse owner had a bus operation too since he had a seat at the table and was counting up large wads of Nepali rupees. The hilarity of these very 'transparent' dealings was accentuated by the dozens of men milling around, staring at the proceedings.

We were off on the rocky, bumpy bus. I was lucky to actually have a bit of legroom this time. We had barely left Arkhet when a bus coming from the opposite direction broke down. There was no way of bypassing it as it was getting repaired. So naturally most of the men on our bus left and went to 'investigate', that is, mill around and stare. The conductor of our bus rushed back about 15 minutes later and returned to the repair site with some big cog wheel. It seemed to do the trick and the rough road beast came back to life. We were on our way again. The Manaslu trial was still heating up with more trekking groups walking from Arughat. It was Saturday so many kids were smartly dressed, walking towards the towns or hopping on our bus.

After Arughat it was clear that we were taking different route to the one we came on. It was a very hilly and hazardous route, ridden with steep drops, muddy gullies, fording points and tight, narrow bridges. We picked up lots of passengers and cargo going on short journeys. The Buddhi Gandaki river was still inescapable, glimmering and snaking slowly down below. It was a rhythmic trip: turn boy signalling, apprentice driver (with his mentor right next to him, to my relief!) swinging the large steering wheel back and forth whilst hitting his music DJ switches, my constant balance readjustment, and the never ending continuum of forest, rice paddies and villages.

'Mission accomplished' toasts back in Kathmandu

The Final Leg I: Fall from grace

The final leg. Soon no more dal bhat power, 24 hour, outside toilet, no shower! Nauli Khola seems to live up to its reputation for cloudy mornings. A sea of cloud had settled in the valley below before the sun rose. Once again none of the washed clothes from last night had dried so yet again more damp clothes for the bag and a few hanging off my backpack as I walked.

Dal Bhat Power, 24 Hour, I presume? 

There was to be no rain but it remained pretty muggy throughout the day. Another late start, with a banana pancake boost courtesy of the guy who looked like Aladdin's genie. The scenery was more photogenic compared to the stormy early days of the trek. We swung through 'hot shower' Lapubesi encountering more trekker traffic still, mostly of the francophone type. We had to hold on in a jam to allow heavy mule traffic up a narrow cliff-face path etched into the rock, literally between a rock and a very low hard place in the valley. The minders were in full concentration keeping those mules in order so that they don't fall off! At the same spot a big entourage of porters carrying trekking and camping gear passed by. All Nepali except for one old, dated, wiry man of European complexion in khaki gear. Jason described him as 'a rather shit Colonel Sanders'.

The hazards that lay ahead...

...for these poor beasts 

We reached that narrow place that was the windiest spot in this part of the valley about 3 weeks ago, Soti Khola. The porters had 'sprinted' ahead and were already there when the rest of us arrived. We ordered a milky tea but I commented that it had an interesting spice in it when I took the first couple of sips. Jason then announced to me, the country bumpkin, that we were drinking Nescafe! Before long it was 'jam time'. The porters were unusually late in mobilising to leave but it did not matter considering that we had no teahouse to rush to in order to secure some rooms. Amir had offered for us to pitch the tent, that he carried with him just in case, at his house in his village in the hill overlooking Arkhet Bazaar tonight.

Lush scenes in the morning at Nauli Khola

I then heard some loud arguments going on behind me. I thought that Krishna and Yam were having a row but on turning back again, Yam had moved ahead of him stumbling an moving in a zig-zag manner. Within the past 30 minutes he had managed to reach this state. Drunk as a skunk, going from a man of a few words to a walking, mumbling stream of stupor consciousness. All from a rice wine called Raksi. It caught Jason and I by surprise and lead to plenty of complications for the rest of the day. By the time we arrived at our lunch stop, Yam had ceased hurling insults at Krishna but continued stirring the village gossip with his leery behaviour.

As we settled for yet another delicious dal bhat (the dal bhat junkies that we have become!) set with chicken, Yam started mumbling to me about 1000 rupees, 5 minutes and some Nepali words that I did not understand. Amir later explained that Yam was suggesting I lend him money to go for a quickie with the teahouse owner's daughter, who was within earshot of this indecent proposal! We pressed on and kids were already streaming out of school in the early afternoon for the weekend, now witnessing our porter's embarrassing spectacle.

Crossing one fording point, Yam already dusty from falling numerous times, pummelling poor Jason's bag in the process, was pushing Krishna to melting point. Krishna threatened to lamp him if he kept up with his shenanigans. We were within a couple of kilometres from Arket Bazaar and stopped at a corner shop to wait for the porters. We saw Krishna running to where we were, dropping off my rucksack and then running back and round a bend. We had to wait 10 minutes before Amir had to go off to see what was going on. Lo and behold, Yam still on his two feet staggered down past many bemused school kids. There was no way to bury this. Word must have already spread like wildfire. We stopped for tea at Arket Bazaar whilst Amir whilst went to sort out logistics for tomorrow's return to Kathmandu and sent Yam on some errands to help sober him up.

Jase looking forward to a blessing from San Miguel

Arkhet Bazar in its glory: an untidy sprawl

Dusk was fast approaching and we had an hour slog up to Amir's village. It was a constant uphill past many rice paddies. We crossed one dirt road used by vehicles and stopped for a break halfway up near a water well surrounding by some old trees. Women were gathering fodder to take up to the animal enclosures. A young lady was still extracting rice from their stalks as the sun went crimson in the groggy skies across the valley to the west. It disappeared behind a cloud before reemerging behind a hill and then retiring for the day.

The playful retreating sun

We reached Amir's village but had to hang around Amir's small talk banter with the village folk before arriving at his parent's home. Most of the village is adobe style with thatched huts though some of the roofing is corrugated steel. I was surprised to see two houses with crosses marked on the front, one with a green cross and one with a red cross. Amir confirmed that they were places where the local Christians gathered to worship. Hinduism woven into Buddhism and then Christianity. Quite a spiritual tapestry!

Greeting Amir's dad

One would not be crazy to compare this place to the humble hobbit shires of the Lord of the Rings story. It looked so organised, peaceful and functional. Amir's family goats were shifted from their pen to another location after being fed (perhaps so that they don't nibble on our tent during the night). Our rucksacks finally arrived but no Yam. One of Amir's many cousins helped bring them up. We enjoyed tea, dal bhat and Commando beer (that's right, original and Nepali) amongst Amir's relatives. A night of star gazing, listening to crickets and getting funny questions from Amir's nephew like: what caste are you?

Half moon tonight!

Nightmare Revisited

In our campaign to prevent a prematurely early end of this trek ( and get our money's worth!), we also had a late start today. The plan was to get to Nauli Khola in time for lunch, not a very daunting task considering that the other way around we got as far as Dobhan. It was warm and slightly breezy as we walked through Khorlabesi village, wading through local and international traffic.The high season was not letting up despite all the disasters in the news. Those hydro-mules were almost non-stop today, across the wavy high passes leading to Machakhola.

Salted buffalo meat left to dry at Machakhola

After the river bank beach path we took a break at a temporary looking village where boys were scrapping around a little rubber ball in a game of improvised football. We crossed paths with the Aussie / Canada crew that we dined with last night several times . Two of them moved faster than the other two but the faster ones had the patience to wait at intervals since they got along well (they met at a trekkers forum!). They were the group just behind the ill fated French group that 2 weeks ago lost one member to the flooding river. The dude from Vancouver Island pointed out the exact spot where it happened.

Doughnuts to go with ginger tea (mmmm...)

At Machakhola we stopped for ginger tea. Amir bought a roasted beans and peas hot mix and shared it out. Machakhola might as well be called a town. It seems to be the go-to place for school, work, home, clothing etc. supplies. They even have a '4 Seasons Hotel' for crying out loud! At the top floor of one building racks of dried meat were stacked up to face the sun. The trekker highway was still buzzing.

Nauli  Bridge

An elderly group wearing cliché khakis, wide brimmed hats complete with neck protection strolled through. For the first time we saw the Nauli waterfall unobscurred (it was covered in fog when we last crossed the day after that horrid storm) from the large bridge though the mule trains created a bottleneck here. Out old friend welcomed us back at the Nauli Khola guesthouse. Finally a spot to wash our cakey, filthy clothes and then enjoy more chicken and beer!

Essential for the first aid kit

Return to the Meat Eating Zone

We decided to pace ourselves very slowly today to mitigate the gruelling previous day. The day started relatively overcast. The prediction of a typhoon system coming through, according to an Austrian trekker that we met yesterday may have been correct. The local chickens were experiencing a typhoon of their own as the playful hotel staff started chasing them around. After our unusually late breakfast, at 8 am, we set off.

Taking a short break next to an old hydropower water pipe the day before 

Already at the great bridge river crossing down below we were against a large flow of trekkers and crew - mostly French folks, all well over 40 years old. This flow intensified at the ''little Holland'' Sirdibus. Even the local ducks, sipping dish wash effluent were an obstacle. Large groups of women gathered to share the days news and gossip, and commentary on my afro-hair as we coasted through the centre of Sirdibus. Not much more can be said about the views today, except that it was getting more overcast with the higher points obscured.

At higher Jagat we had some tea whilst being entertained by some boys playing soldiers. Are they not supposed to be at school? Right after we got caught up by a pack, convoy rather, of mules going up the valley. It must have taken up to 10 minutes for us to wait for the convoy to end. A lot of the load were sacks of grain, probably rice. We later found out that there is a massive hydroelectric power project going on in the area that is receiving these supplies. We also learnt that some of the many porters we saw that day were also going to work on this project. On numerous occasions helicopters zoomed up and down the valley. Some carried large pipes and others hovered, probably to survey the site. It started drizzling as we arrived at the rocky Yaruphant. 

Imagine an army of porters and choppers going up and down this intimidating rocky valley

Amir and co. were fully engaged in preparing lunch as Jason and I sat watching village life pass by. A 4 year old terrorising a 2 year old, a chicken and its chicks foraging from the streets into the tea house until the owner chased the lot out, a furry goat loitering under the table for no apparent reason, and a random porter sitting next to me staring at my diary as I write this entry.

Our final goodbye to the snowy peaks

By the time lunch was over, the threat of rain had subsided. A few villages later, Amir stopped to talk to a man going in the opposite direction with a 3 storey cage full of white broiler chickens on his back. We didn't see Amir for a while until he caught up with us holding a white ball of feathery fluff. Our first meat experience in 2 weeks was going to happen tonight! After Dobhan we hurriedly walked to ensure getting a room at the spa village of Tatopani (the hot water place). It turned out to be full up so we made haste for Khordabesi. Krishna whipped up a fantastic chicken masala to go with beer and great company. A friendly group of trekkers had arrived at the same time.

Prok and the Magic Monk

Today was an opportunity for a side trip to Prok, a village right above Ghap then take an alternative route down towards Bihi Phedi. The stupa marking the entrance to the village was already visible from Ghap. We took a path that went up zig-zag to a terrace of fields that we crossed, then did the same up to another terrace. We then did a diagonal advance through a forest. Within 45 minutes we were at Prok, a fertile plateau already bathed in the rising sun. We stopped by a guesthouse whose owner Amir knows. He had an impressive vegetable patch and row of flowers in his compound.

The envy of the neighbours

We showed interest in visiting a gumpa overlooking the village. This one is still being developed and the more famous one is the Kai Chlok Gumpa but it was further up at a daunting 3574m altitude next to the Kal Tal glacial lake. The main peak overlooking Prok is Shringi Himal. As we made our way past the communal tap, and an 'electrified' fence (to prevent livestock from straying up hill) it became clear looking back down that most fields had maize stalks gathered after harvesting. 

Bumper harvest

...all over Prok 

....the way to the gorge edge

Near the gumpa, which is also a Tibetan monastery, we bumped into the caretaker monk that eventually showed us the way up. He produced some apples right under his sleeve and generously offered them to us. He still had more under his magic sleeve and I politely forced myself to decline his second apple. From the gumpa we got better views from snowy Shringi Himal to the Kutang peaks, with their rugged form and high waterfalls. After visiting the austere interior of the monastery we went went back down to Amir's friend's place. Before departing, our host served us a long missed refreshment. For the first time in days we had fresh milk tea!

 The magic monk's monastery

We waded across cattle traffic and villages now then before the gradual descent. At one point we had to loop over a rocky waterfall that had a large water pipe running parallel to it. Hydroelectric power was being produced further up. After a journey through heavy forest we rejoined the river, crossed it and got to Bihi Phedi. The target today being Philim, we had a gruelling second leg today to transect the gorge up to Nyak Phedi then go past the Tsum / Manaslu fork only to have another 2 hours of walking at 3pm! We arrived at Philim just before 5pm, my left foot throbbing. It was very quiet that night at the 'Wifi' hotel. Even the enterprising owner was away.

The next move can only be world domination (mwahahaha...!!!)