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!
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