The India Roller Coaster Ride - South India Favorites

Yoga Magic

Just outside Vagator Beach lies a hidden little resort called Yoga Magic. It is an eco-retreat where the lodges are made of bamboo with palm fringed rooms and verandas made out of sun-baked mud and cow dung. My yoga teacher, Anna, ran a one-week retreat here. She invited me to join a morning class one day. The yoga shala itself was made out of cow dung. This sounds strange, I know, but the cow dung doesn't smell and keeps the interior of the lodges and the yoga space cool. The cow dung also gets put to good use and nothing is wasted. In fact, as its name suggests, this retreat location is magic. Yoga, in a cow dung hut with a roof of palm leaves. This is so India!



Goa Sunsets

Goa is unlike any other place in India. Christianity is the main religion in this area. Indian Christians worship Christ and the saints almost the same way that Hindus worship their deities. Churches here can easily be mistaken for Hindu temples and shrines to Jesus and Mary are often as ornate as those to Shiva or Ganesh. Indian devotion is always so loud and colorful, and incredibly beautiful.

Other than religion, Goa is also a tourist bubble. It is the vacation from the vacation in India. When train and bus travel through the rest of India gets exhausting, most tourists come to Goa for a break, as did we.

We stayed at Anjuna Beach. At sunset, we would ride our scooter to the end of the beach and climb up the hill from where paragliders would fly. There was a small Christian shrine at the top where locals would often sit to watch the paragliders. This picture was taken by Tony, and it's one of my favorites.



Hampi - Ancient Ruins and Boulder

If you like ancient ruins and the Flinstones, you'll like Hampi. Hampi is a cross between India, Ancient Rome, the Angkor Temples in Cambodia and Bedrock (from the Flinstones). It is located in the state of Karnataka and was the center of the Vijayanagara Empire, which ruled between 1336 and 1565. The ruins here are part of the United Nations World Heritage Site. 

We took a day trip to visit the ruins, running around the giant stone buildings. I took the opportunity to strike a few yoga poses in between the beautiful windows and doorways. There were some rare moments where we found solitude. During these moments we could feel the energy of centuries of history. Some say that Hampi is associated with Kishkinda, a monkey kingdom mentioned in the Indian epic, the Ramayana. 

On the other side of the river from the ruins lie impressive boulders which have made Hampi a Mecca for rock climbers. Even though I'm not much of a climber, it was fun to scamper over the rocky landscape. We often walked around the boulders at sunset. During the day, the scorching sun made the rocks too hot to walk or sit on.

Hampi is also the perfect place to lie in a hammock and read a book, look out at the beautiful green rice paddies or do absolutely nothing at all.

Blissful Moments with a One-Legged Sadhu

While on the way to some of the Hampi ruins one day, Tony stumbled upon an ashram on the banks of the river. You wouldn't really know it was an ashram just by looking at it. It was tucked away behind an old ruin that appeared to be in the midst of reconstruction.  A Sadhu (renunciant) approached him, limping as he walked with crutches under his armpits. He had a missing leg. 

The Sadhu learned English while attending a well-known school in the north of India. At the age of eighteen, he left home, renounced all his worldly possessions and has been living at the ashram ever since. He said that he has never left the ashram as he has everything he needs there. 

One afternoon, Tony took me to meet this interesting man. This photograph was taken that afternoon while we chatted about life, the universe, the world and Obama, who he is apparently a fan of.  

Indian Hospitality

Ah yes, good, old-fashioned Indian hospitality! While on one of our excursions in Hampi, we stumbled across an Indian family having a picnic lunch. No sooner did they see us, they motioned frantically at us to come over and join them. We were hungry, and on a budget, so we accepted their offer. It turned out, there were 25 of them. They had driven down from their village to visit the temples. They offered us some chutney on fried crackers. It was really spicy, but incredibly delicious and filling. While we were eating, a couple from our guesthouse passed by and were just as eagerly invited to join the party. 

Conversing with the family was a little difficult as most of them did not speak English. Two of the younger girls played the role of translator with the limited English that they had learnt in school. They noticed that we had a camera and asked us to take photographs with them. We took a lot of photographs that day. One thing I've noticed about these large Indian families that you meet while sightseeing is that they enjoy having their photographs taken, but never give you a way to send the photos to them. I made sure this time to get an address. It took the family about 45 minutes to figure out their address and write it down. It took me another two hours when I got back to Delhi to decipher it. Hopefully, they received the photographs. 

Kerala Backwaters

The beautiful backwaters of Kerala. We took trip to Kovalam on a day off from the ashram that we were staying at. We floated down the water on a Kettuvalum, or house boat. Fishermen still fish the way they have for hundreds of years. They row small wooden boats, throw a fishing net into the water and pull it out, hopefully with a lot of fish. I loved simplicity of the fishermen against a backdrop of large modern boats. This is one of my favorite pictures from that day trip. I'm proud to say, I took this one :-)

Chai Anyone?

Want to know where all that good Indian tea comes from? Well, some of it comes from Munnar, a hill station in Kerala. The weather in Munnar is quite cool as the town lies at an altitude of between 5,000 and 8,000 feet. If you've never seen a tea plantation before, here's what it looks like. The two women in the picture harvest the tea by trimming the tips of the tea leaves.

The plantations are amazing to hike around and it sort of feels like you're walking through a giant Alice in Wonderland type maze. We did get chased off the plantation one day. We were told that we had trespassed through private property owned by Tata. Tata is India's largest multinational conglomerate by market capitalization and revenue. They have their hands in everything: energy, steel, chemicals, communications, they make cars. As it turns out, they also make tea! Why not? India consume the more tea than any country in the world, except for China off course. I have to say, I've been pretty addicted to the chai since I've been here. 

The Indian Rollercoaster Ride – A Rajasthani Experience

A Scam at the New Delhi Railway Station

We arrived at the New Delhi train station early in the morning to give ourselves plenty of time to locate our train and coach. Our eyes scanned the electronic signboard for information. All around us people were either sprawled out on the floor like corpses or running like chickens with their heads cut off. Still, in the midst of all the chaos, there was a sense of organization. “Organized chaos,” if any country does it best, it’s India. This is the paradox of India.


A moment later, a young gentleman approached us and offered help. We still hadn’t found our train on the signboard so we asked him which platform we should proceed to. “Your train has been cancelled,” he said, and directed us to a rickshaw driver who could take us to a tourist office in the city to refund our tickets and book another train. Our instincts told us to walk away. We joined the end of the line at the information booth, but were told that we should go to the tourist counter instead. Of course, the counter would be closed for another two hours, but lo and behold appeared another helpful fellow who confirmed that our train had indeed been canceled. We found a rickshaw, but no sooner had it pulled away from the station, the first gentleman that we had encountered hopped in and started giving the rickshaw driver directions. Now this really began to feel like a scam. What exactly the scam was however, we still didn’t know.


At the tourist office, a friendly agent greeted us with an apologetic face as if to say, “I’m so sorry for the train cancellation.” He informed us that the next available train was scheduled to depart in two days, but that wasn’t an option for us. He then suggested that we take a car. He could arrange everything, all for the bargain price of Rp. 15,000. That’s about $300!!! He then stood up from his desk and asked us to take our time. I took this opportunity to jump on his computer and type in our train number on the Indian Railway website. Well, wouldn’t you know, our train had departed on time.

When I confronted the agent, his facial muscles began to tighten and I could see him clenching his jaws. “Who told you the train was cancelled,” he asked. I smiled at him and walked out of the office. This is India at its worst.


Raju and Pabu

We met Raju and Pabu while taking a rest on the shore of a holy lake in the pilgrimage city of Pushkar. Young Rajasthani girls tried to sell us silver anklets with bells while young boys tried to make money by peddling useless knick-knacks, the kind that you buy on vacation and then wonder years later why. Then approached a lovely young lady and an older man with an unusual musical instrument. They asked us if we wanted to hear a song. Now that’s something we’re always willing to pay for. The instrument, we learnt, is called a rawanitha and is native to Rajasthan. The girl, Raju, sang a beautiful Rajasthani folk song while her uncle, Pabu, accompanied her with his homemade rawanitha. We paid them generously and they asked if we wanted to have some chai with them. We agreed.

We carried out a typical “Indian” conversation that usually involves exchanges of how many brothers and sisters one has and how old they are, how many years has one been married, if one has children and how many children one wants in the future. We found out that Raju is one out of eleven children and that her father passed away from a heart attack at a young age a few years ago. It made sense, I thought. Even through her gorgeous smile I detected a hint of sadness in her eyes. Sensing our eagerness to learn more about them, they invited us to their village. “Let’s meet here tomorrow morning,” Pabu said with his half smile and half frown. “And don’t forget your camera.”


The next morning, we met Pabu and Raju at the chai shop and headed to the outskirts of town where they lived amongst other musicians in tents. The village was actually more like a slum. The musicians lived on government land. They were not allowed to build or grow food. They could stay there as long as they moved whenever the government mandated. All their belongings were piled on carts. They were nomads with no real home to call their own.

When we arrived in the village, curious children surrounded us, while the women glanced at us from the corners of their eyes, faces covered by their veils. Raju’s mother, face weathered from years of worry, greeted us and instructed her daughter-in-law to make chapatti and cauliflower curry. It was the best meal that we’d had in Pushkar thus far. During lunch, the family asked us if we could help them buy a new tent. Winter had come and Raju and her mother were in desperate need for a roof over their heads. I didn’t mind that they asked. Sometimes, when there’s no other way, you just have to ask. We told them that we couldn’t buy them a tent, but that we would go with them to the market and buy them food. We purchased flour, rice and ghee for them and they invited us again for dinner.

As the sun began to set, we strolled over to their village. The smell of firewood hung in the air and the sky turned red and orange above the desert landscape. We shared a meal, next to a fire, under a starry sky. Our lives are worlds apart, but beneath the obvious differences, we are all human, with basic human needs, to be loved, to love, to laugh and most of all to survive. In India, this drama plays out intensely and often, there is no happy ending. Only a hope for a better life - the next life.



Fake Sadhus and a Holy Lake

“Sir, Madame, take this flower now and come to the lake! Today is a special day. Only today sir,” insists a young man as he tries to put flowers into our hands. I keep mine closed and in my pockets, not wanting anything to do with him. Tony gave in to his curiosity and followed the man to the lake. At the lake the man, who claimed to be a priest, recited a few devotional mantras to God Brahma and made a blessing in Tony’s name. He then requested that Tony make a pledge. “I pledge with all my heart,” said Tony. “Very nice, very nice,” the man responded. The two men shared a moment of silence, looking out at the blue lake surrounded by whitewashed buildings. At the far end of the lake, pilgrims bathed to rid themselves of their sins. When Tony got up to leave the man yelled, “Sir where are you going? You must leave your pledge here,” as he pointed to a makeshift shrine on the ground. “I told you, I pledge with all my heart,” Tony repeated. “But you must leave your money offering here. Give me fifty dollars,” the man insisted. Tony gave him a Rp. 50 note, turned around and walked away.

While this routine appeared harmless to us at the time, we soon learnt that other tourists had been coaxed into giving several hundred rupees. The worst victims however, were Indian pilgrims themselves who believed that an exchange of money was needed to appease Lord Brahma and secure their family members’ health, wealth and prosperity. These are the people that pay in the thousands, and often the money disappears into the pockets of impersonators. India can be cruel at times.



Lunch at the Local Post Office

I went to the post office to send a package. The post office did not sell envelopes so the employee at the desk sent me to the back room where a man sewed me an envelope out of cloth. After sewing the envelope, he sealed the seams with wax. I went back to the front desk where I was asked to fill out a customs declaration form. While I was filling out the form, the post office employee told me to hurry up because they were about to have their lunch break. He then asked me to go to the back room with them and insisted that I have some chapatti and dhal that his wife had cooked. After lunch, they rolled the customs declaration form into a little ball and sewed it to the back of my cloth envelope. That's the thing about India. Sometimes, something that you expect is going to be so ordinary, like going to the post office, turns into something extraordinary. This is India at its best.

Camels and Camel Drivers

In the deserts of Rajasthan, life is hard. We left Jaisalmer in the afternoon by jeep and joined our camels and guides halfway between the fort and the border of Pakistan. It was Christmas Eve and the next two nights would be moonless. Perfect for camping in the desert, we thought. Jackie, a young man in his late twenties, and a boy of about ten years old accompanied us on our journey. They took us to their village and introduced us to their families. A young woman, hidden under a veil, motioned for me to join her. She was grinding wheat into chapatti flour, using an old machine that she operated by hand. In the mud hut next door, the family gathered by a fire and offered us chapatti and homemade lassi. Indian hospitality never ceases to warm my heart.

As promised, Jackie took us to an area in the desert where there was no one else in sight. We helped him set up our tent and walked towards the dunes for sunset. It’s often quite hard to find peace and quiet in India, but the inhospitable Thar Desert offered us solitude. We sat on a hill, absentmindedly drawing figures in the sand, breathing in the cool air. As the sun descended behind the horizon, the entire Milky Way revealed itself to us and planets sparkled like diamonds in the sky.

In the evenings, Jackie would make a fire to cook and to keep us warm. We discovered that he had been working as a camel guide since the age of ten. He said that sometimes, if the camel owner is unsatisfied with his level of service, he gets beaten. I looked at the back of the camels’ legs, which were scarred from regular whippings. My initial thought was, “poor camel,” but in a country where people are often treated like animals it’s hard for us as foreigners to speak on behalf of animal rights. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there and only the strong and persistent survive. In the low tourist season, in the monsoons and the sweltering heat, Jackie cuts stone for a living. His dream is to own a camel one day. He said that he had been close to saving enough money to buy a camel once, but that his sister had fallen ill and he paid her hospital bill with everything that he had. India can be ruthless at times.

Suresh, the Multitalented Musician

We were drawn to Suresh’s music shop by the display of instruments in the window and a sign that read “Music Lessons.” Suresh could play and teach the tabla, flute and sitar. He performed in the evenings at the Sheraton on the other side of the lake and invited us to pay him a visit at the hotel.

We walked into the Sheraton, awed by the majestic ceilings, pillars and statues. It was grand, especially when compared to the budget hotels that we had been staying at. Suresh, playing the sitar, was seated in the main lobby, accompanied by a tabla player. He was honored that we had come to see him and continued to play for us in the hotel courtyard when his performance was over. I curled up under a blanket and listened to Suresh talk about the sitar, Indian music and yoga. Tony recorded a number that Suresh and the tabla player performed for us. It was a memorable night in the cool Rajasthan air. Interacting with locals in this way is what I cherish most about traveling in India. Most Indians speak English and meaningful conversations often develop if you open yourself up to it.

When the evening came to an end, we realized that there were no rickshaws in the area to take us home. “No problem,” Suresh said and asked us to follow him. We walked through a quiet, middle class neighborhood. I noticed immediately that the houses in the neighborhood were well maintained and some even had a car or two in the driveway. I made a mental comparison to the villages that we had seen in the desert. By Indian standards, Suresh was doing quite well for himself. He owned land and a house. He rented out some of the rooms for extra income. When we reached his house, he introduced us to his wife. Then the three of us piled onto the back of a scooter. It was late in the evening and traffic in the city of Udaipur had come to a stop. The air was fresh and cool. Stray dogs curiously followed us with their eyes. Rope lighting from the high-end hotels around the lake cast a romantic glow on the city. A warm feeling grew in my heart. India can be incredibly peaceful at times.

Himalayan Adventures - Photo Gallery

                        

Impressive rock formation on the way to Pisang

Tibetan prayer flags - one of my favorite things in the Himalayas

Tony takes a rest on a trail leading to the Pisang base camp

Entrance to a Tibetan Gompa (temple/monastery) in Upper Pisang

Beautiful tablets at a Tibetan memorial, another one of my favorite sights in the Himalayas

Breathtaking view

The clouds part on a cloudy morning to reveal Heaven

It doesn't get better than this

The landscape becomes desertlike as we get closer to the Pass

More Tibetan tablets. I wonder how long it takes to make one of these and carry it up

Isn't mother nature so amazing?

The moon rises behind the mountain

The Himalayas

Tilicho Lake - one of the world's highest lakes

Prayer flags hang near Tilicho Lake

High altitude trail

Trail to the pass

Prayer flags mark the highest point on Thorung La Pass at 5416m (17,600ft)

Me, on a ridge after reaching the pass

Clouds move in quickly

View of the Annapurna mountain range from Pokhara

Relaxing hike by the river

Morning view of one of the Annapurna mountains

Bluebird sky over snowcapped peaks

Sunset over the Annapurnas

Himalayan Adventures - Thorung Pedi and Pass Day

In the town of Yak Kharka, 4050m (13,287ft) above sea level, we exchanged itineraries and travel stories with the other guests while huddled around our only source of heat for the evening, a small stove in the dining room. We traded some of our Diamox for Ibuprofin. Most of the trekkers, like Tony and Jimmy, had arrived from Tilicho Lake, many of them suffering from severe headaches due to the altitude. From here on, our decisions would be critical. Tony and I had to catch a flight to New Delhi in a few days and any setbacks due to altitude sickness would jeopardize this this deadline.

We had two options. One would be to take the four hour hike to Thorung Pedi early in the morning and spend the day and night there before embarking for the Pass. The other would be to continue on to High Camp and spend the night at 4850m (almost 16,000ft). Option one would put us at lower risk for altitude sickness as Thorung Pedi sits at 4450m (14,599ft), but would add an extra hour to our Pass hike. Option two would decrease the distance of our hike to the Pass, but would put us at greater risk of altitude sickness. The general rule when dealing with altitude is hike high, sleep low. We had received word of some hikers having to return to Manang after spending the night at High Camp to re-acclimatize and then make another Pass attempt. If this situation were to arise, Tony and I would surely miss our flight to India. The group unanimously agreed to stay in Thorung Pedi and decided that this time, Tony would push on ahead of us to secure accommodation for the night.

As temperatures fell below freezing, streams of water turned into ice, making the morning walk to Thorung Pedi quite slippery. Thankfully, as we continued across the barren landscape and landslide areas, the sun offered its protection, turning ice back into water. Knowing that Tony would be in Thorung Pedi before us, Jimmy, Helen and I took our time, taking care to aggravate Jimmy's ankle as little as possible, for we would all need to be in good shape to make the Pass. We arrived in Thorung Pedi by lunch time. From this moment until the next morning, our main goal was to relax and re-energize.

At lunch, we were fortunate to meet two great couples from Colorado, Connie and Mike, and Diane and Harry. They had an amazing guide, Krishna, who they met ten years ago when he had accompanied them as a porter. As a side note, for anyone who is interested, Krishna is a very well-informed guide and we will be able to get his contact information for you if you decide you need one. We listened in while Krishna briefed our American friends. It looked like they would start at 4am as the winds at the Pass pick up early. Tony and I tried to sell this idea to Jimmy and Helen, but they weren't on board. We would start at 6am instead. The other bit of advice that Krishna gave was to walk slowly to conserve energy as the hike would take anywhere between 6 to 12 hours. I knew we wouldn't make it in 6, but I certainly hoped it wouldn't take 12. My biggest concern however, was the descent, which would be much harder than the ascent.

We went to bed early that night, preparing to wake up before sunrise, but high altitude makes sleeping difficult. I had some anxiety about the next day. After several late night trips to the an outhouse covered in frozen pee, it was time to conquer Pass Day!

Pass Day:

After a hearty breakfast our group set out just before the sun emerged from the horizon. Most of the larger groups with guides had departed hours before, leaving behind smaller groups of independent hikers. Being a seasoned high altitude hiker, I let Tony set my pace. One foot in front of the other, we walked towards the Pass, lungs working hard, attempting painstakingly to keep our breaths even and controlled. Right behind us was our Bavarian friend, Charlie. We exchanged hellos and goodbyes. This would be the last time we would run into him. We arrived at High Camp an hour later, reconnecting with some of the folks that had stayed in our Yak Kharka guest house. Imad, a young Swedish guy was still suffering from mild mountain sickness and the Russians had picked up a porter for this part of the journey. Our break had to be cut short however, as we still had a long way ahead of us. I estimated that in total, it would take us 10 hours to reach Mukhtinath on the other side of the Pass.

I don't recall the trail to the Pass to be particularly steep, but the thin air made walking through the desert moonscape incredibly difficult. Up until now, I had also acquired the habit of taking small sips of water every 10 minutes from my camel pack. On this day however, the water remained frozen in the tube, cutting me off from my water supply. I would have to share Tony's bottle. We were able to enjoy the view that morning, with clear blue skies, brown, desert-like sand and off course, the snow on the surrounding mountains. By 9am, the winds started to pick up. I can say with certainty that I've never been this cold before. Even with layers, the wind cut through my jacket and I felt my face and hands freeze. The only shelter along the Pass was at the very top, but that was still an hour and a half away. I resorted to hiking directly behind Tony as he held my hand, protecting me from being blown away by the violent wind. As our guidebook pointed out, we would pass one false summit after another, raising our hopes and then destroying them. We passed by a memorial of a young hiker that had died on the very same trail as he gave in to acute mountain sickness.

As I struggled up the mountain, I thought of all the people that have climbed the peaks of Everest, Manasalu, the Annapurnas and many more, some making the summits, some having to turn around and others moving on to the afterlife. What is it about these mountains that make humans so hungry to conquer them despite the hardships and dangers involved? The Hindus believe that the Lord Shiva lives in these mountains. Maybe some people feel closer to God. Maybe some feel like God. For me, I've never had so much respect for nature as I did that day, praying silently that the elements wouldn't change all of a sudden and leave us stranded.

Around 10am, we started to see Tibetan prayer flags, indicting our approach to the top of the Pass, and then, the sight we had been waiting for, a pile of prayer flags hiding a sign that congratulates trekkers for making the journey to the top. We now stood at 5416m (17,769ft), the highest any of us had ever been before. The Thorung La Pass is higher than Everest Base Camp, higher than Mt. Whitney in California (the tallest mountain in the 48 states of the continental U.S. excluding Alaska) at 14,500ft, and higher than Mont Blanc, Europe's tallest mountain at 15,700ft. Unless you are a mountaineer, most people will not venture higher than this. We were high, physically and mentally.

Unfortunately, there was no time to celebrate. After a quick stop for chai at the little shack on the Pass and a few forced victory smiles, we quickly found the trail that would take us back to civilization. Admittedly, the descent is where our group fell apart. We hunkered down in a spot protected from the wind to refuel on chocolate, potatoes and eggs before continuing our journey. Beaten down by the wind and altitude, I began to weaken. The descent was steep, with loose rocks that made every step precarious. Even with my hiking sticks, I found myself sliding down the mountain. Along with the physical challenge, the mental concentration required was exhausting. Downhills have never been my forte.

Around 2pm we were still struggling to get down. By this time, the clouds had started to move in and we were still up high. I remember a moment where I stared into the horizon, watching the clouds approaching, feeling the warmth of the sun disappear and then quickly being swallowed by thick, dense, dark coldness. We had to get off the trail soon. After several meltdowns and curse words in English and Spanish, we arrived at the town of Charabu. Despite there being a few guest houses, Tony decided that this town would soon be enveloped in the clouds, making it a cold place to stay for the night. We braced for another hour and a half walk. Thankfully, the trail from here would be a gradual descent. We passed a few shrines and some blue deer before catching a glimpse of Mukhtinath, a holy pilgrimage site. In Mukhtinath, we were back in civilization. The sight of jeeps and motorcycles left me with a slightly depressed feeling despite being relieved that the hike was over. We would soon be leaving the mountains and that knowledge left me slightly empty.

We walked towards the guest house that Krishna recommended and met up with our Colorado friends again. It was to be an early night however, as Helen had come down with a fever and me with a cold. Overall, our bodies were completely wasted. Still, there was a great sense of accomplishment and memories that will last a lifetime.

To the great Himalayan Mountains, I thank you for humbling me in your presence, for showing me beauty and for allowing us to complete this journey!

The Route:
Yak Kharka (4050m/13,287ft)
Letdar (4200m/13,780ft)
Thorung Pedi (4450m/14,599ft)
High Camp (4850m/15,912ft)
Thorung La Pass (4230m/13,878ft)
Charabu (4230m/13,878ft)
Mukhtinath (3800m/12,467ft)

Himalayan Adventures - Tilicho Lake

After a cold night in Braga, our group would split up temporarily. Tony and Jimmy decided to do a side trip to Tilicho Lake, while Helen and I spent a couple of extra acclimatization days in the town of Manang. On the morning that we left Braga, our group took the short walk to Manang. Although only an hour long, the thin air still made the walk mildly challenging. Tony and Jimmy refilled their water bottles and headed off. We would reconnect again two days later in the town of Yak Kharka.

Over the next two days, Helen and I spent hours chatting away in our sleeping bags or at the bakery down the street where we paid Western prices for delicious Italian coffee and freshly baked pastries. In these parts of the mountains, such things are considered a luxury. We took an acclimatization hike to a small lake close to Manang and handed out pens and stickers that Helen had been carrying with her at a small school just outside the main village. The children, with their snotty noses, were as cute as ever, showing off their ABCs and numbers in English. On day three, we left Manang early for a four hour hike to the town of Yak Kharka, where we would secure rooms at a guesthouse and reconnect with Tony and Jimmy.



The following is Tony's account of his three-day excursion to one of the world's highest lakes:

Visiting Tilicho Lake (or Tilicho Tal in Nepalese) is a highlight of trekking in the Annapurnas. This high altitude lake sits at the base of a melting glacier off Tilicho Peak and is literally a breath-taking climb. Most trekkers start the accent early in the morning from Manang and do a 2-3 day ambitious excursion to visit the lake and return to lower altitudes back in Manag or on to Yak Kharka. It is also possible to continue on from the lake via a sketchy lake trail and dump into Jonsom bypassing the Thorung La pass.

Our motley crew only made it to Braga the night before, approximately one hour before the bustling town of Manang. My Spaniard companion Jimmy and I had been tossing up the idea of climbing up to see the lake. Originally I hadn't planned to go there for timing reasons but the trek thus far was making good progress and so we thought why not.

I had already gone through one acclimatization in Upper Pisang the day before and suffered a migraine headache, but with adequate hydration, a good night's sleep and a diamox or two I'd be fine, it was really Jimmy's sprained ankle that was concerning. He was probably fitter than me, about 6ft tall, medium build and strong lungs but with a bad ankle and a heavy pack it was a gamble. Jimmy didn't want to discuss his ankle's condition much and was so passionate and stubborn about visiting the lake he convinced me to make preparations. The plan was to split off from the ladies in Manang and rendezvous in a few days further up the circuit at Yak Kharka.



I gleaned a bit of info off a German guide book in Braga that night, loosely translating that "Food is expensive and conditions are cold and cramped at the Tilicho basecamp." Armed with that knowledge, a good map and high spirits the group set off for Manang.

We arrived in Manang at 10 a.m. refilled water bottles at the safe drinking water station and stocked up on dried fruit, nuts and chocolate. I stopped in at the ACAP office to see if they had had any reports from the Tilicho base camp, but the simple reply was: "Ya, there many people here now." No chance of reserving a bed eh? Jealously leaving the ladies at a western style coffee shop Jimmy and I quickly set off through town and found the fork up to Tilicho valley.



Comfortably behind the packs of trekkers we got to an outpost with two competing guesthouses in the early afternoon for lunch, ordered a double of boiled potatoes and hard boiled eggs, some to eat immediately and the rest saved for next day's lunch.

Keeping a fast pace ever upwards, the barren flat tundra valley started to give way to steeper canyon like river valley which we were to follow all the way up to the lake. I imagined the ice cold lake water finding its way here to this now hot valley. Gradually we winded up to a small group of guesthouses near a hamlet called Kangshar and took a break. It was getting to be late in the afternoon and we still had a long way to go. I checked in with Jimmy, his ankle seemed to be holding up. An inquisitive Brit came upon us and was surprised to hear that we were going all the way to the Tilicho base camp. He urged us to press on, as the sun was low and warned that the terrain was about to change dramatically. Curious and anxious about the next leg we pushed off at quick pace.



The massive Annapurna I peak started to loom above as cold shadows chased up the valley floor. We rounded a sharp bend, crossed over a precarious foot bridge and paused to see the monster that awaited. Well above tree line we looked head on to a grey mountain face wrought with landslides and eerie rock formations caused by violent erosion. A narrow trail cut through what looked like impossible canyon terrain enveloped by shade. It was foreboding but beautiful. Jimmy and I paused silent to catch our breath and take in the route.

The impossible trail revealed itself as we weaved through the alien landscape. Huge pillars of rock jutted out of the landslides where the trail skirted through with rudimentary trail supports. It occurred to me that Julie probably wouldn't have liked this part of the hike, for any miss-step here would send you tumbling down a 500m landslide into a churning ice river below. Surprisingly the trail was not that physically challenging, but the loose footing around precarious drop-off's made for mentally exhausting trekking. Jimmy was still faring well in front of me using his hiking poles as a crutch at critical turns. I too was glad to have borrowed one of Julie's poles for significant added stability on the slope.



At dusk clouds set upon us and the landslide fields seemed endless as exhaustion set in. One foot in front of the other we reached a final bend and could see the lights of Tilicho basecamp in the distance. At this point even with hat, scarf and gloves I was getting cold and was thankful to see smoke coming out of the chimney.

Clearly being the last trekkers to arrive that day we had no choice of sleeping arrangements. Jimmy was assigned to an empty bed in a Spanish group's room and I was placed in the last bed at basecamp with an older Austrian group. I was thankful for the bed, but one stingy Austrian was making a fuss that he had to share his group's room with me. I was quite taken aback by this gesture, as back home in North America you would never contest accommodating a fellow trekker at these altitudes. This was no club-med resort in the Alps man, this was base camp at 4000m (13,000 ft)!



Eventually the Austrian settled down and I went to have a hot noodle soup for dinner. There were a few familiar faces in the dining area and we chatted excitedly about the next day's ascent before heading to bed.

I found sleeping at high altitudes was difficult. Early that morning I got up before the sun and strolled out under the clear cold night sky. My eyes still adjusting I gazed upon the magnificent Annapurna I jutting into the starry sky, illuminated by a setting moon. The icy cold breeze was cutting, but the scene before was majestic. Only pausing briefly before heading back to the camp I meditated on the upcoming day.

We set off as soon as the sun's warming rays entered the camp. Jimmy was very sore from the previous day but insisted that we attempt the lake today. It was a blue-bird sky morning hike that started by following a melting ice river out of the camp's valley and ascending steadily. Jimmy's grimace worsened as we neared the top of the steep high lake basin. I took his day pack and we hobbled over the last stretch of trail to the lake's edge. The air was very cold and thin, however a complete lack of wind and strong sun overhead made for a perfect climbing climate. The lack of oxygen at this point was very apparent, we ran across a young Swede who was returning from the lake with an acute headache and dizziness. I invited him to sit with us for a moment to gather senses. At 5000m (16,400 ft.) this was by far the highest I'd ever been, and it was definitely a new surreal sensation for me.



We crumbled at the edge of the Tilicho Lake and gathered our breaths. My thoughts were moving slow, but soon the beautiful turquoise lake filled our gaze. A huge melting glacier snaked down the side of Tilicho peak and into the barren lake basin. There is a small plaque near the shoreline shrouded in Tibetan prayer flags declaring Tilicho Tal to be the highest lake in the world but I have since heard with global warming on the rise, new lakes now exist at even higher altitudes.



For the first time the peak of Annapurna I seemed within reach. Up till now it seemed larger-than-life, but from here I could actually pick out some kind of navigatable route to the peak. Ahh, this must be summit fever at work. The stillness was suddenly interrupted by a deep rumble above; an ice fall started on the north face of Annapurna I, and a thick white avalanche cloud came plummeting down the mountain. We were in no immediate danger but as the Annapurna peak beckoned I started to really appreciate the risks of high altitude climbing.



I checked in with Jimmy over a simple lunch of hard boiled eggs and potatoes. He was in bad shape, I knew he could get back down to base camp, but I was concerned we wouldn't meet up with the girls on time. Clouds started appearing overhead signaling us to get a move on back down to base camp. Jimmy downed an IB profuen and we set off at a slow pace. A few groups of people passed us, but generally there weren't many people at the lake that day. Some folks were headed over the lake basin and down the other side, but they had proper camping equipment, and some even with porters.



We got back to basecamp in decent time, and Jimmy actually fared better than I thought with the downhill. I proposed we stay at basecamp and not head down the valley further to where we had planned to spend the night, but after inquiring at the camp, there were no more available beds. They offered us a tent accommodation, but upon inspection the smell of sherpa funk and broken zippers urged us to press on and hope to make it to Kangshar by dark. Going back through the landslides and canyon formations again was daunting but we fared well, admiring the new views on the way back down.

We arrived Kangshar by dusk, and checked into a nice clean room for the night. Sleeping at the lower altitude was comfortable and both of us managed to sleep in the following morning. We emerged from the room to another glorious day, and as we had our morning porridge the last remaining group set off leaving Jimmy and I in solitude with the Guesthouse manager.



Jimmy's ankle still hurt, but was manageable. I knew he needed to rest on it, but we were pressed to rendezvous with the girls (no cell phones here). We eventually set off at slow pace that morning walking through lazy pastures that reminded me of the Scottish highlands. Finding a spur in the trail that took us over to the neighboring valley we passed through an eerie deserted outpost ranch with wild Yaks roaming around. We took a break around midday on a gentle ridge affording expansive views of the two valleys. After snacking some dried fruit and nuts we catnapped in the warm sun whilst giant Himalayan eagles soared past us riding the thermal updrafts. I stared up as they gained height and felt the serene eyes of Buddha looking down upon us as we rested in the peaceful moment.



Coming down into the new valley we crossed into greener and livelier terrain. We noted some scattered rare blue tailed deer, birds and a roaring blue river through. Skirting down quickly we lost the trail for a bit and eventually rested up with a Tibetan refugee who lead us over the final bridge to Yak Kharka. Strolling into town comfortably as the oxygen rich air pumped through us again, we felt revival and triumph as we re-united with the girls.