MBC to Bamboo J and I woke up before sunrise on June 16th. I actually didn’t really sleep, as I was too hot wearing my fleeces (as Justyna demanded I do) and when I tore them off in a fit or rage…. I became cold….. The altitude was also getting to me a bit and I kept having the same dream that we were in a cave. Justyna, with the patience of Job, kept reassuring me over and over with her practical-sounding British accent: “No darling….you we are not in a cave.” I though that the hike from the Manchupuchre Base Camp to the Annapurna Base Camp would be easy, as we left our bags at MBC in our room which we hadn’t checked out of yet. The idea was to hike out to see the sanctuary, hike back, have breakfast at MBC, and then descend. In fact, the hike up to see the sanctuary—even without a bag—may have been the hardest. At 4300 meters, I was really struggling to get air in my lungs and I had to keep asking J to stop so I could catch my breath every twenty steps or so. I felt like I was having an aneurism too, my head was pounding and I felt lightheaded. I told Justyna what I was experiencing, and she was concerned, but she ruled out diabetes and heart attack (my first two hunches). Her final diagnosis was simply altitude sickness…. As we slowly climbed, we gradually saw the white-capped Himalayas rising around us like a crown of ice circumscribing a lush green interior full of flowers and mountain ferns glistening in the pre-dawn haze. We knew we had reached the finale when we were completely surrounded by the daunting 8000 meter peaks which were 4000 meters above us on all sides. Both J and I got emotional and our lives flashed before our eyes as the sun rose over Fishtail peak the east. With tears in our eyes we stood in silence and took in the full meaning of the insane panorama we were witnessing. After a religious 30 minutes or so, J and I congratulated each other and then headed back to MBC for a breakfast or veggie omelets and chapatti (Nepali flat bread). JJ’s Not-So-Decent Descent After loading up on our food, we reluctantly packed our backpacks and loaded them onto our backs…mmmm…that old familiar feeling, like piggybacking a sweaty hobbit. The reason I say this is because I sweat so much every day that the entire contents of my massive backpack were completely soaked and had to be air-dried every night! I was extremely happy at this point, as the altitude issues were sure to dissipate the further down we got and the thought of hiking downhill for three days sounded so much better than hiking uphill for four as we had just done. We quickly ran in to some issues though. While traversing the small glacier below MBC, Justyna fell and scratched her “bum and leg.” I must say I was scared when I saw her go down because if she had kept sliding, she’d have ended up in the most rapid-strewn part of the rushing river below. After that, there was a slight freak-out session when we came to the wobbly bridge featured in the video below. Justyna’s legs were so tired from going downhill that she was afraid she’d fall off the thing. We tried looking for a place to cross on the many boulders in the river, but the space between them was just to much to safely cross. After about 30 minutes of coaxing, Justyna valiantly faced her fears and crossed the rickety old bastard of a bridge. After she was safe, she unleashed the fury of hell on me for trying to video tape her in her darkest hour on the mountain. Hence, there is no footage documenting this event. After a days hiking we reached Bamboo, a set of lodges tucked into the side of the mountains at a place where the river was unusually calm. I was fine, but Justyna’s legs were shot. Her knees get jarred when going downhill and her shoes did not have enough grip to handle the gravelly stretches of the steep path. At Bamboo, we met a nice Australian couple and we also happened to run into Shin, a Japanese guy who owns a restaurant in Cambodia—we had crossed paths with Shin numerous times and he took a liking to us because we could talk to him in Japanese. In the room next to us, there were two other Japanese guys who were acting kind of squirrelly and giggling in the mess hall (more on that later). We chatted with the Aussies, who were about 55 years old and had a Nepali guide with them. They were taking it really slow on the way up and J and I kind of freaked them out with our stories about crossing the “glacier” and the “shaky bridge.” The Aussie guy and I commiserated about not being able to get an ice-cold beer and we tried to figure out a contraption that could lower the beer cans into the ice-cold river and then retrieve them upon request. We were getting tired so we left the mess-hall and headed to bed. Just as we had turned off the light, the familiar smell of marijuana smoke trickled into the room. The walls were pieces of plywood, loosely hung, that did not fully span the room so there were massive cracks through which anything (including ganja smoke) could pass. After smelling the herbaceous cloud, we soon heard impish laughter and uncontrolled coughing from the next door. I guess that explains why those two Japanese guys were acting so weird. Bamboo to Jinhu I woke up on my birthday in Bamboo to find that Justyna was already in the mess-hall. When I put my glasses on and made it out to join her, I was greeted by a “birthday apple pancake”. I had almost forgotten it was my birthday! J also had a present wrapped and everything: a Nepali cookbook. That day is hazy in my mind because I feel like it may actually have been the most exhausting. Expecting only downhill hiking, I was stunned to realize that I had forgotten Chomrong, the Gurung village on the hill where we had spent the night earlier. After 2500 upward steps (counting them was the only way to stay sane) and a call to Dad telling the world that we had made it back down, we were at the top. We had a delicious lunch of chapatti sandwiched with yak cheese and Tibetan momo dumplings and felt rejuvenated. After this, we headed down the steepest part of the journey, basically straight down a ridge to the village of Jinhu. On this stretch we ran into Shin again. He was sitting with a Gurung lady looking at pictures of Japanese travelers she had met during the 80’s. She was in the middle of threshing corn and had her threshing basket and the dried cornels laid out on her yard which was somehow carved into the impossibly steep ridge. This lady was a character. I asked her if she spoke Japanese and she listed every dirty word, private part, and sexual position in the Japanese dictionary. Shin’s glasses started to fog up as he was getting embarrassed by this very “un-Japanese” use of his mother tongue. After drinking a luke-warm sprite that she rustled out of her hut for us, we continued down to Jinhu where, tired and exhausted again, we decided to spend the night. Two girls from England were staying there two, so we chatted to them and went to bed early after a few birthday beers, luke-warm of course. Shin made it down later and ended up staying further down the ridge at the other end of the village.
(below) J Crosses the "worst Bridge Ever"
(below) J walking by the mighty Modi Khola River
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