5 November: Chyanje (1400m) to Bagarchhap (2160m)
We enjoyed the hour or so walk to Tal far more in the freshness of the early morning than we would have done at the end of yesterday. It was cool and shady to start so Eugene was happy and I less so, but I soon warmed up on the steep climbs. By the time we reached Tal we were starving although it was only 9.30am so we adjourned to the first available tea house for tea and some delicious noodle soup. This reminds me of another culinary adventure yesterday. At one tea stop, Narayan was gnawing away on a large, white, phallic-shaped vegetable.
You want to try?’ he asked us.
The long radish looked vaguely familiar from my Japanese days so I said no but, since I wanted a good laugh, I did nothing to dissuade Eugene. He took a big bite and masticated gallantly. I waited in anticipation. This radish is a real wolf in sheep’s clothing and he was soon fanning his mouth and reaching for the water bottle. Wasn’t that rotten of me!
Lots of children were still dressed in their festival gear. Tiny girls, garlanded with marigolds, carrying even younger siblings in flower festooned bonnets on their backs, make wonderful photographic material. At last we hit the sun and the many waterfalls took on an extra sparkle. Some created rainbows in their spray. Just before Dharapani we encountered a minor drama. John and Alison were standing on the trail over the recumbent body of a local man. He had obviously fallen and twisted his ankle and was unable to walk.
‘What shall we do?’ cried Alison in a fervour of sympathetic charity. ‘We can’t just leave him here on the trail!’
After asking several passers-by if they were doctors, I decided the best we could do was to make him as comfortable as possible while we went on to the next village and scouted around for a porter or mule to carry him to the nearest outpost of civilisation. I fished out my pot of trusty tiger balm and massaged some into his ankle and Eugene cut off a length of bandage and Narayan put it on for him. (First aid too! There seems to be no end to our porter’s abilities.) I felt anxious to give my hands a good wash after touching the poor man’s manky leg. A trekker we had not seen before told us that there were two Nepali medical students a little way behind and they might be able to help.
Shortly after, we arrived at the ‘Dorchester Hotel’, a good spot for some lunch. I even managed to wash most of the dust out of my hair by sticking it under a mountain stream and letting it dry in the warm mid-day sun. One loses all desire for cleanliness once the sun turns in for the night and the temperature plummets. Our lunch of fried potatoes cost about 100 rupees, or just over a pound, for the three of us. It took ages to get served and Fiona started getting ratty as usual. Thirty minutes along the track towards Bagarchhap we met Rob running in the opposite direction. He and Claire had realised that they had forgotten to pay for their lunch at the Dorchester. While Claire perused her Lonely Planet in a patch of sunshine, Rob gallantly ran the thirty steep minutes back with the 50p or so he must have owed. I hope such exemplary honesty is appreciated!
Half way between the Dorchester and Bagarchhap Alison came panting up, a little perturbed. Apparently, Serge and John had gone the wrong way at a fork in the track. They had been steaming along so far ahead that her warning shouts were in vain. We all expressed our concern that they would either be flattened by a landslide or end up in Tibet. However, they reappeared again at the entrance to Bagarchaap, sweaty but intact, and we all posed with Narayan in front of the chorten for a team shot.
We all stayed in another guest house with a pretty garden and took the coldest shower of our joint lives. I think I’ll just have to smell until we reach warmer climes again. Our room had three beds so we offered to share it with Beth to give Fiona and Paul a bit of privacy. We had arrived fairly early so it seemed a good time to get some laundry done. It was Fiona’s turn to wash the socks tonight. We all stood around the garden tables, arms in tin tubs of freezing water from the stream mixed with jugs of hot begged from our landlady. It made us laugh to see all the armfuls of scuzzy socks and iodine stained trousers flapping forlornly on the fence.
‘I do love to see freshly washed laundry fluttering on the line!’ quipped Eugene sarcastically.
We ate indoors tonight. Most of our accumulated gang was around the single long table. I was next to Serge who talked on in French about how the ski industry was ruining the Alps and how he always tried to make minimum impact on the countries he visited. Since I should think he sticks out a mile anywhere but the Avenue de Clichy or the King’s Road, I imagine this is more difficult than he thinks. Eugene and I, being starving, made total pigs of ourselves. We had fried rice with egg and veg, and apple pie plus several dollops of other people’s dinners to taste. Eugene actually had two desserts as he was given some poor sod’s pudding by mistake.
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