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...!!!)

Avoiding the darkness of Larkle Pass

It was a foregone conclusion that we were not going to cross Larkle Pass. The enjoyment factor of dropping down a steep, icy escarpment on the West end on a sunless morning would be non-existent. Also major risks lay on the pass itself, mostly from unpredictable weather. So unfortunately we had to start backtracking all the way to Arket Bazaar, where we started.

Facing south from Sama, the return to our regular reality begins 

It was probably the 12th consecutive sunny morning in a row for us. We left Samaguan and strolled through that massive field dotted with yak out to pasture and surrounded as usual by the those gleaming Manaslu minor peaks. The descent traffic picked up, mostly porters. Within 2 hours we had swung past Shyala and started the woody drop down to Lho. The cow/ yak watering point was as usual interesting. There were a couple of nervous moments: a jittery nyak guarding her calf and 2 big horned yaks blocking the way. I am still amazed at how docile these big beasts are. I couldn't possibly imagine how the domestication of these species went about.The shepherd, who was an old man had a lot of work to do keeping this enormous herd in good order. 

The serene shadow of the Buddha stupa in the morning

The oat and apple porridge as well as the honey smothered Tibetan bread that I had that morning was starting to boost me forward but there was this constant uphill up to Lho that was slowing all of us down. Despite the repetition of the scenery from 2 days ago, the early morning shadows cast by the sun gave the grassy and pine tree dotted foothills a special relief. We didn't stop at all at Lho, just barely noticing the jobsite that was our guesthouse a couple of days ago. They were installing a green painted roof over the wooden frames that they had hammered in all night when we stayed there.  The poor sods that night will have their high altitude psychotic nightmare episode accompanied by a different construction beat to ours. 

Under construction yet open for business. No problem!

Mount Manaslu looked even more beautiful behind a gompa, all lit up and cloudless. From now on it was a rather tortuous downhill trend swinging back and forth across the Buddhi Gandaki river. A large traffic stream of French trekkers started coming through in the opposite direction. The All Saints or Autumn midterm break has just begun, their daydreaming at work a month after 'la rentrée' (return from summer holidays in France) now over.

Last gaze at Mr. Frosty in Shyala (Courtesy of J. Chow)

It was pretty constant from Lho onwards. We had lunch at Namrung, at the prestigious guesthouse of 3 days ago. As usual there very generous portions of D.B. Power! We were making very good headway. Amir had predicted sleeping here tonight and it was only midday! Krishna and Yam powered ahead of the rest of us in order to secure the famous Gandaki Hotel, known on the trail for their exceptional cuisine. Hanja finally stopped at the 'Smokey Joes' to be sure whilst Krishna ran ahead. We got room no.1 in the end...and top notch pizza and momos tonight!

The Road to Samdo and Other Calamities

The horrid precipitation of the night before was soon forgotten as the sun rose into a clear sky! Today we were to do a day trip to Samdo, closer to the Larkle Pass and a major Tibetan yak centre. It is said that there are more yaks there than people! We left during what seemed to be rush hour as most trekkers were heading up to stay there and of course there was lots of cargo traffic. The overcast and cold night resulted in a clear, frosty twilight. The autumnal bushes gleamed in the frost to complement the jagged snowy peaks: an autumn wonderland.  To our right were the peaks of Larkle Danda and Pangbuche Himal, all above 6300m in altitude! Behind us was the 8163m Manaslu Himal otherwise known as Mount Manaslu.

 Mt. Manaslu up close turns out to be a very frosty character

We hopped over the rubble from the receded (and still receding) Manaslu glacier before briefly crossing a grassy plateau, layered with the night's frost and dotted with grazing yaks and horses. As usual, plenty of Tibetan religious features dotted the path. The Budhi Gandaki river, still beside us from the beginning, faithfully rumbled through its combination of snow and glacial melt. The Pangbuche Himals finally released the sun over us, and the frosty earth was fast turning into mud. We kept swinging clockwise up the valley, making Samaguan disappear from behind us. The clouds were starting to cover the twin peaks of Mt. Manaslu. However the Larkle Danda ranges emerged into view before us. Kyongma Karka was to our left, famous for stone huts high up and also blue sheep, a tasty staple of the endangered and elusive snow leopard. A stream crossing and a tough climb to a higher plateau led us to Samdo. It seemed sleepier than Samaguan but going through the entrance and first lot of guesthouses revealed buzzing stony houses and behind them vast yak enclosures, and beyond further up the valley to Larkle Bazaar. Larkle Bazaar marks the fork between Larkle  Pass, that takes you towards the Annapurna Range, and the Lajyung Pass, that takes you into China.
 

 

At Samdo we turned back :-(

After tea we wondered up to one of the highest points in the town to get better views. The infamous Larkle Pass trail head was visible but Dharamasala, the last town before the Larkle Pass assault was hidden. The buildup of clouds around the peaks was concerning so we decided to return to Samagaun for lunch, before going to the nearby Birendra Tal glacial lake. We learnt from Ratna, a Nepali guide who during the past week or so accompanied us with his client Thomas - a young Austrian, that Thomas was so ill that they called for a helicopter to come and evacuate him to Kathmandu. We did see a chopper lift off earlier that morning not knowing that it was a dramatic airlift of a trekker. All this did not come as a surprise because Thomas, who claimed experience of self-reliance on the Austrian Alps, had too much bravado for his own good. He refused to purify any water that he collected on the trail. The last time we saw him, at Lho, he drank unpurified water straight out of an old oil jerrycan. He had planned to proceed to India. I hope he learnt his lesson.

 

Autumn wonderland

 As far as we were going to go on the Manaslu trail

 Yak corrals

We headed in the same direction as to Samdo but down a different route. Unfortunately our initial attempt to get to the lake turned into a debacle. Amir chose the wrong route, leading us up a bushy and thorny slope. I knew that the other side of this slope overlooked the lake but I was getting concerned that Amir predicted a 2 hour max. journey time to the lake but the signage suggested 45 minutes! It became clear that he had no idea where exactly this path led (if there was indeed a path!) and I was certain that he had never been to Birendra Tal before!

It got so unusual that he and Krishna went ahead of us up rocks leaving Jason and I unable to figure out where they went. In the end we were precariously scrambling along the narrow hilltop looking for a way down to the lake and then looking like suckers when we identified the correct path down below, seeing other trekkers ambling along the lakeside like it was a Sunday afternoon (ironic: it so happened that it was a Sunday afternoon!). I witnessed the negative side of a 'save face' mindset. Amir contrived a lousy excuse about a landslide blocking a certain path. It is like trying to access a building by hitting the wall with a sledgehammer instead of using the door, and then complaining that these darn walls are so impenetrable these days. Here we are at the heights of incredulity in the Himalayas! Admitting fault, which in my view is noble, to him seemed the ultimate fall from grace. Not a proud moment for the crew.

Smiling under the haloed Manaslu Himal and in front of the glimmering Birendra Tal 

Jason and I put our feet down and back-tracked with Amir and Krishna in tow, doing their best to maintain face of course. We finally got on the right trail. Briefly forgetting that folly we enjoyed the stillness of this turquoise glacial lake. It was actually in flow, receiving glacial melt-water on one end and emptying on the other. There were lots of memorial stones littered the shores of the lake where we were. A heard of yak that was previously on this side had shifted to the opposite end for greener, more abundant pastures. As we admired the sheerness of the cliff burdened by the heavy glacier, clouds fell on the glacier slowly extinguishing its view. Eerily the sun still shone past the clouds leaving a halo between the Manaslu twin peaks.

We visited the local Buddhist temple before returning back to the teahouse. The attending monk allowed us in and we soaked up his meditation as we admired the interior of this austere but colourfully decorated place of worship.

 

I call this piece: ''Mt. Where Are My Yak Balls''

Samagaun

Lho is the most ideal place on the trail to witness the sunrise. The valley below is due East so the sun appears early and low. In fact you can see Mount Manaslu illuminated by the rising sun before you see the sun itself rising. Another clear and sunny early morning. It has been a trend that any evening peak cloud cover from the previous day clears up the following morning. The equally trend setting mule traffic and the movements of locals going about their business began very soon after the sun rose. The construction works at our hotel were already in full swing.

Mt. Manaslu stalking Lho Gumba on a crisp, clear morning

Mt. Manaslu stalking me now

The journey to Samagaun was going to be a morning affair. The trail is regained at the junction to the path leading up to the Lho Gumba, with a sudden dip down into the ever present Budhi Gandaki river valley. There was a gain in altitude by several hundred metres but was not apparent in the beginning. A rudimentary and slippery wooden river crossing led us to a new valley that began the ascent. More dense foliage and a large amount of trekker traffic. The mule traffic didn't let up and from time to time a fast horse rider sped through. A lot more of the beautiful autumn colours burst through to distract me from the constant uphill chore. We took a break at a yak gate that seemed to be a temporary corral for yaks, mules and horses. They looked fed and stood there vigil, sleeping, chewing card, grooming or just dozing off. There were probably about a hundred of these beasts checked into the bovine bed and breakfast.

Premature conclusion of our ascent to Mt. Manaslu at Samdo via Sama(Ryo/Gaun). Larkya (Larkle) Glacier Pass was closed.

 The Bovine B&B

The emergence at the intermediate village of the route, Shyala, was a treat. All the major peaks and massifs of this conservation area became very visible and near! The wide path cutting through Shyala made the experience quite cinematic. I bumped into the Czech guy that we meet in Chumling almost a week ago. As we exchanged waves he was relaxing at a teahouse with his portable solar panels laid out on his bag and charging up his iPad. A place of R & R for humans, mules and their gadgets.

Stunning background scenes at Shyala

Samagaun was now only 45 minutes away. It lays at the end of a wide open plain. As we passed by a school in the middle of the plain a flock of birds flew around the vast expansive, impeccably synchronised. Samagaun is quite a dense town, with plenty of Tibetan tablets piled  up near a Stupa. The houses had yak paddocks in the front yard, quite a unique architectural feature. Another bustling town with mostly girls carrying baskets of firewood on their backs and men guiding cargo mules. Since we were one of the earlier groups to arrive in town we took advantage of finding a teahouse with the best views.  The Peace Heaven Guesthouse had the best poppadoms of the trail (#howdoyoulikethesepoppadoms).

 Samagaun unveils itself behind the bleaching trees

We were all settled at the Peace Heaven Guesthouse when the clouds that were advancing over the peaks suddenly engulfed us with sleet and snow. That pretty much wrote off the planned excursion to Birendra Tal, a glacial lake right at the end of the great Manaslu glacier. Just as well because my left ankle that had been nagging me all day was not in a good state. It was well strapped and massaged with anti-inflammation gel but needed some rest and elevation to accelerate recovery. So, an afternoon in my sleeping bag, observing the sleet and overcast, windy weather was most welcome. Jason got itchy feet and went for a run. The crazy running man in the snow became the talk to the town and who knows, the title of a children's song 100 years from now.

Samagaun village limits

Mt. Manaslu

There is quite often something about dripping water in the wee hours. The sleep at this hotel was accompanied by the unusual continuation of a constantly flowing tap in the courtyard and the hum of the river below giving an uncanny rain effect. As usual I woke up at some stupid time, probably with the urge to go for a leak in the usual twilight groggy daze. For a change the latrine was within easy reach but the gas build-up in me didn't make the trumpeting chorus journey easy. After a scrumptious Tibetan bread and egg sandwich breakfast in the very smoky courtyard we set off towards Lho.

Mt. Manaslu slowly emerges into view on this route.

The landscape was similar to yesterdays, towering rocky lower peaks, lush green forests with wispy creepers and the occasional rural community. The presence of flora like these creepers signalled that we were getting into high altitudes. Loads more  trekkers were descending in the opposite direction. We bumped into the Danish quartet that we met in Philim. They had gone as far as Samdo. The Larkle Pass news was still grim. Avalanche risk and slippery descent on the other side. We also bumped into the family from Chicago, as they struggled upwards in the same direction as us. They had made a head start.

 Buddhist prayer wheels along the way

We stopped for tea at Namrung, a fast growing village with large tea houses under construction, in the classic regional wood cabin style. The teahouse that we visited was littered with sticker business cards of local and international trekking companies. The sun had by now escaped the shielding of the peaks so it was possible to de-layer and enjoy it. One of the Ganesh Himal peaks gleamed behind us.

 

 

Trekking companies of all flavours and humours

We were by now, once again, deep in Tibetan country with signs to a Gumba (Monastery) all over the place along with hilarious small village names (Banjam, Lingling) and the succession of major villages that we will pass through (Lihi - Sho - Lho...sounding like Nepali Teletubbies ). The journey today was mostly up and down, keeping to the south bank of the river. However we were to climb  a hamstring wringing 1000m. We had lunch in Lihi. This teahouse was a carpentry job site, children's playground and camping combo. 5 kids played in the grass on top of an animal skin. Their pet dog joined in on the frolics until grandpa launched a piece of wood at it, hitting the canine target, sending the poor pooch yelping out of the compound never to be seen again for the rest of the day. The dal bhat was pretty mediocre here (#dalbhatrankings). Amir's sulk confirmed my verdict.

 Mt. Manaslu emerges to the left

We pressed on, encountering heavy mule traffic. Also plenty of porters were lugging goods downhill, one sturdy man carrying a whole generator. Some groups of porters had uniform jump suits, looking like firefighters! We crossed plenty of stupas and prayer scrolls as we passed Sho. The mid-afternoon sun brought the autumnal vista into contrast with the blue sky, along with the gathered husks of harvested maize. The sprawl of Lho came into view, dominated by the most beautiful stupa that I've seen in this valley. At this stupa was our first glimpse of Mt. Manaslu  - the 8th highest mountain in the world.

Shear massifs flank the great Mt. Manaslu in intimidating form

 

Approaching Lho, with its Gumba in the centre

Our place of accommodation was still under construction (would you believe!), with the courtyard acting as a maize sorting yard. It seemed that this was all that was available in Lho. The rickety stairs and the missing banister on the first floor veranda was going to make the nocturnal movements very hazardous. We were by now in the full swing of Nepali life, with greater hazards on the trail, so it wasn't a bother. However, the construction (and agricultural!) works did continue until midnight! Jason and I wandered up to the Lho Gumba that overlooked the village whilst there was still visibility.

Drying maize husks contribute to the autumnal sunset

 Lho Gumba monastery students clearing the fields