NEPAL--The Dhaulagiri Trek Continues

The Dhaulagiri Ordeal -- Day Four
Laura awoke, and all of the recommendations she had been writing in letter to the treking company in her head from the previous day were soon turned into warnings and threats! Come to Nepal, but avoid sleeping in human excrement at all costs! We left Darbang, hoping never to return! Wongdee had slept through the dogs soundly! We thought it was a matter of habit, as we slept through the trains, aircraft, and traffic that plagued us back in America.

We crossed the Mekti river over a bridge, swinging and swaying, and then crossed it again and started up a mountain. I got the distinct impression that the valley we walked through was very much like the valley that I-70 runs through in Colorado, except instead of I-70, we were on a dirt path, and instead of cities like Idaho Springs and Georgetown, we walked through villages like Darapani and Khibang. I had always wondered what it would be like to cross the Rockies without a modern freeway, and now I know. There were no tunnels, and so each ridge and mountain we came to, we had to cross with our feet, going up and up, and then coming down and down. As we marched up the steep trail (the Austrians, Swiss Italians, and French rocketed up the path past us), I noticed that the switchbacks seemed almost cosmetic. At times it was like we were walking straight up the mountain, it was that steep!

Poor Mr. Double! The chang of the night before had wrung him dry, and his head throbbed far more than his feet or back, as he wrestled with his double wide basket at each turn. What might have been worse than the climb, the hangover, or the weight, was Wongdee, his employer, lecturing him on the evils of drink. With face pale with sickness, checks dark with beard, with Wongdee's wisdom in his ears, Mr. Double was a fright! Wongdee told him that at 27 (he looked twice that!) he had little time left to save his money, and he had to avoid the expensive chang that made his work count for nothing, as any wages he made he drank up straight away! At each corner, we thought that climb could not be worse, and yet it became so, until it finally leveled, and we stopped for lunch on the terrace of a farmer, in the shade of a tree, overlooking the valley. The meal, as always, was a delight, Wongdee was ever faithful, but then I noticed a dark worm, thrashing on the tarp. Wongdee grabbed the leech, for that was what it was, and checked me. Sure enough, there was blood on my shirt. First I feed parasites, then leeches! It cannot be said that I was not of service to the creatures of Nepal.

After lunch, we continued on, and stopped in a town, the name I know not. It was nearly four, and Wongdee showed us our campsite. The porters were tired, we were tired, but it was another schoolyard, and another schoolyard we could not bear. So we said that the camping site was unacceptable. We felt like cruel masters, as we marched passed the town, and though Wongdee swore it was not a problem to be concerned, still we felt wretched. Until we stopped to camp, a half an hour later. It was another terraced field, but this time, the monstrous Dhaulagiri finally showed us her face, rising like a cloud above the valley that was perpendicular to our valley. It was quiet, the porters, after having set up our tents and camp, left us to stay in the village above us, and the only company we had were three polite farm boys and their boyishi. We watched the sunset, but the sun could not be seen, hidden as it was by the monstrous mountains around us. We could only see the telltale signs of the sunset, painted on the high peaks. And then the clouds parted for a moment, and we watched the full moon rise, slowly, until the fields where we slept in were lit up. We were careful, in the night, when we had to use the toilet, as the fields ended in a jagged drop off, but the views, again, were worth any danger. Better than Annapurna, only a little more difficult, Laura was again writing her recommendations!

View from the terrace where we lunched, picnic style!

A pit stop along the way up.

The amazing terraced rice field where we camped that magical night. The red tent is our toilet tent, the green our sleeping tent.

This is the view from our tent, where we watched the glorious moonrise

The Dhaulagiri Ordeal -- Day Five
The ordeal began in earnest this day, this wicked day, this dreadful day. Our breakfast was delicious, and though we had not enjoyed a cold bath as we had the two evenings previous, the beauty of our campsite made up for it! Wongdee started the day shownig his wit, Laura's sleeping bag had a hole in it, and the down feathers were pouring out of it in rivers. As Wongdee helped the porters in packing up our tent, he asked, "Did you kill a chicken last night?" The hapless Laura had feathers all about her until we found time to mend the hole, and we often repeated Wongdee's joke. We walked through another city,
through another wedding, up a little hill, down the other side, but we saw that we had to climb down the valley that we were on, cross the river, and then climb up the valley on the other side, to reach the perpendicular valley that would lead us to Dhaulagiri and around the other side to Marpha, where we would see if the Annapurna was easier than Dhaulagiri.

We started our way down, the trail, awash with landslides grew treacherous, the silver rock and soil, as slippery as the mercury it imitared, and going was slow. The Austrians, Swiss Italians, and French in no time passed us like trekking poled spectres. Spent, we stopped for lunch, but in a place where a "natural toilet" as Wongdee called it, could not be found. I made do, my shyness since lost, but Laura had to hunt, and came back covered in what we termed velcro burrs, burrs that were not sharp, but simply annoying. Laura was distraught, tired, and did not want to do the afternoon hike. But we had to push on. Wongdee found us a shortcut, and we scaled down the mountain through the rice paddies and millet fields, using the Nepalese trail, which later we would have called a monkey trail. Terrifying and exhausting, never-ending, and knee-breaking. Down, down we went, only to think that we would have to go up the other side. We reached the river, crossed
it, and then started up the other side.

Laura was on the other side of tired, angry, alternating between tears and vitriol. What could I do? I waxed optimistic, promising that the strain would strengthen us, that we would appreciate the views all the more, that the fat that we had gained at our sedentary positions back in the states would soon melt away with the exercise. Laura called my optimism, "Chinese propaganda radio," referring to the shortwave Chinese & world news in English station we picked up that was indeed Chinese and was indeed propaganda. I turned into a Baptist preacher, and voiced the good news of trekking, but Laura retained her obstinate heresy. Eight hours of walking, up and then down, we arrived just shy of five o'clock, camped at a nice spot next to a little shop by the river, that was fine! No human feces to be seen. We went down the river to bathe, but the water proved too cold for Laura (each day we're closer to the glacier source of the water). I dropped the soap, as I was wont to do in a river where picking it up again proved impossible, but the soap re-emerged from the frigid waters, and I finished my bath. At dinner, Wongdee promised an easy, short day, just five hours, and Laura seized the news with relief. Only a little more difficult than Annapurna, mind you, just a little. After "Dawa, shido!" we dropped away to sleep.

Aaron and Wongdee, our guide, in the jungle

More, more, more, onto Day Six