India, Day 12
We start trekking at 9am, a short Jeep ride to a nearby village and we enter the trail. Our guide's name is Rajesh. He's been trekking for the past 20 years. He speaks fluent English. That's important - half-cooked conversations are tyring. We pass villages after villages, stunning views don't quit us. Part of the trail is under a road construction. All Nepalese workers, all illeterate, using hand tools to carve our perfect square rock blocks for the retaining walls. The road is built for tourism - to get to Hampta Pass. This is whre we are heading. We will take 4 days to get there, future driving will take 3 hours. We are blessed with a wonderful sunny weather. Rajesh complains it's too hot. I'm loving it. Ramon finds the walk strenuous, his heart is racing. 80% of the trail is very steep. I carry a 12 kg backpack, he's got a tiny day-rucksack. 4 ponies join us half-way up. So now we are a complete team - a guide, a horseman and a cook. The ponies carry our tents, food, kitchen utensiles, sleeping bags, carry-mats, whatever other gear. We pass some spectacular valleys.
People dream of having a beach bar. I dream of having a mountain bar. The horseman kicks and whistles at the ponies too much. I ask why. They are naughty and lazy. There is no emotional connection between him and his horses. He does not pad them, they don't ask for affection. The ponies are under-weighted and got skin scars from the carrying ropes. It's a transactional relationship. The horseman only worries of not losing a pony as his source of income. Our guide tells us how in '91 a horse fell off a bridge, plunging into the river with all passports and food. Two of our ponies are weak, so they get swaped at the next stop. While we are re-packing, I wander around with my camera, come across a shepard skinning a goat. The head is still lying at his feet. He cuts pieces of the animal and wraps them in newspapers, sells them to the Nepalese road workers. I ask him to pose with the head. He gives me a proud pose. Only a man who hunted down an animal would stand like this. A butcher would not.
I'm told we wont's shower for the next 5 days. I'm thinking of Monika again. We track for 5 hours in total (they told us to expect 6-7), we get to the ridge at 3pm where a flat spot offers good camping opportunity. Our cook gets to work right away. It's continental tonite, he says. I wish it wasn't. The cook makes us califlower in white cheese sauce, apple cream salad, roast potatoes and some curry mutton (did he get it from the goat hunter??). We are blown away at his effort. I have not eaten what much cream in the whole year. 'Tea or coffee' is next, accompanied with bananas in cream. Oh dear. We then chat over the fireplace. Rajesh sings us Hindi love songs. He sent his voice records to a studio in Delhi, but never heard from them. He asks me if I know any Hindi songs. I tell him I recognise the hit songs from 'Bobi' and 'Koch Koch Hota Hai'. He sings both of them from his heart. He says it's my turn now. I'm deeply troubled - this is the one thing I cannot do. I can't be even saved by a karaoke mic now. Ramone comes to my rescue.
Suddenly we hear the horse gallopping towards our tents, terrified. We hear them from far first, as the mist limits the vision to 10m now. They are running straight at my tent, the horseman yells, they change direction. I ask if this could be a wolf, a fox, a bear. They assure us otherwise. I recall and tell them of a scary experience of camping in Poland in 1989. I was on a 2-week kayak holiday, we camped every night at a diffeernt place, following the river downstream. One night at 2am the ground under us started to tremble. We all ran out of our tents to realise we were in the middle of a military zone. The tanks were practising night maneuvers, 200 meters away from us. We got us extra early the next morning, escaping the zone. As we reached the nearest lake, there was this most perfect silence I had ever experienced. It was almost disturbing. Suddenly, 2 fighter jets flew over our heads, the noise they created so piercing to our ear drums that we held our heads covered to survive this maneuver. Down the memory lane.
People dream of having a beach bar. I dream of having a mountain bar. The horseman kicks and whistles at the ponies too much. I ask why. They are naughty and lazy. There is no emotional connection between him and his horses. He does not pad them, they don't ask for affection. The ponies are under-weighted and got skin scars from the carrying ropes. It's a transactional relationship. The horseman only worries of not losing a pony as his source of income. Our guide tells us how in '91 a horse fell off a bridge, plunging into the river with all passports and food. Two of our ponies are weak, so they get swaped at the next stop. While we are re-packing, I wander around with my camera, come across a shepard skinning a goat. The head is still lying at his feet. He cuts pieces of the animal and wraps them in newspapers, sells them to the Nepalese road workers. I ask him to pose with the head. He gives me a proud pose. Only a man who hunted down an animal would stand like this. A butcher would not.
I'm told we wont's shower for the next 5 days. I'm thinking of Monika again. We track for 5 hours in total (they told us to expect 6-7), we get to the ridge at 3pm where a flat spot offers good camping opportunity. Our cook gets to work right away. It's continental tonite, he says. I wish it wasn't. The cook makes us califlower in white cheese sauce, apple cream salad, roast potatoes and some curry mutton (did he get it from the goat hunter??). We are blown away at his effort. I have not eaten what much cream in the whole year. 'Tea or coffee' is next, accompanied with bananas in cream. Oh dear. We then chat over the fireplace. Rajesh sings us Hindi love songs. He sent his voice records to a studio in Delhi, but never heard from them. He asks me if I know any Hindi songs. I tell him I recognise the hit songs from 'Bobi' and 'Koch Koch Hota Hai'. He sings both of them from his heart. He says it's my turn now. I'm deeply troubled - this is the one thing I cannot do. I can't be even saved by a karaoke mic now. Ramone comes to my rescue.
Suddenly we hear the horse gallopping towards our tents, terrified. We hear them from far first, as the mist limits the vision to 10m now. They are running straight at my tent, the horseman yells, they change direction. I ask if this could be a wolf, a fox, a bear. They assure us otherwise. I recall and tell them of a scary experience of camping in Poland in 1989. I was on a 2-week kayak holiday, we camped every night at a diffeernt place, following the river downstream. One night at 2am the ground under us started to tremble. We all ran out of our tents to realise we were in the middle of a military zone. The tanks were practising night maneuvers, 200 meters away from us. We got us extra early the next morning, escaping the zone. As we reached the nearest lake, there was this most perfect silence I had ever experienced. It was almost disturbing. Suddenly, 2 fighter jets flew over our heads, the noise they created so piercing to our ear drums that we held our heads covered to survive this maneuver. Down the memory lane.
posted by Magdalena Wszelaki @ 11:24 PM
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