Feature Writing

The Otherworld

Behind the Himalayan wall lies the rainshadow of Upper Mustang in all its arid glory. Here is my account of venturing into the otherworld.

Arid lands, snow-capped mountains, barren hills and nothingness. We found ourselves in the smack middle of nowhere, with not a soul in sight. Prayer flags fluttered and predatory birds overhead struggled to stay aflight against a battery of cold, dry gusts. Perhaps they were checking on if we were still moving. Drenched in sweat, out of breath and near-roasted from the midday sun, we were - barely. Spent, at the first pass we lay listless.

The trudge from the walled city of Lo Manthang to the secluded village of Samzong was all too oblivious. It was one of the villages not connected by roads, which meant steep uphill foot trails nobody had warned us about, and the cloudy morning skies but a joke. With bits of skin already burnt and peeling off, the decision of taking more energy bars instead of sunblock was instantly regretted. But the woes paled amidst ghostly appearance of Upper Mustang before our eyes. Surreal as they were in picturesque shades of brown, white, red, black and silver, giant green massifs over barren dune-like hills and rocky canyons dominated the landscape. We sat in awe with a deadpan look and not a word uttered.

The trek to Upper Mustang, formerly Kingdom of Lo, began with a jeepride from Kagbeni by Kali Gandaki River to Lo Manthang. Thanks to landslides and the lovely transportation syndicates, we lost count of the number of times we had to switch jeeps. We shared ours with a lively bunch of locals, which included a jolly grandmother, a drunk construction worker, a shy monk and a lot of dust. Amused they clearly were by the million photos we took like dutiful tourists, for the alienscape terrain to travellers like us was downright exotic. Despite having ventured on quite a few treks, never had I encountered such an extraordinary sight, completely desertified and jagged, and monasteries thousands of years old dotting the entire region. The slogans of Everest and Buddha chanted to reinforce nationalism do no justice to the heavenly calm and sandy emptiness of Lo’s countryside.

Upper Mustang comprises of the land above Kagbeni, and boasts a predominantly Tibetan culture. Indeed, it falls on the southern tip of the Tibetan plateau, within Nepal. The land was closed to foreigners until 1992, and now requires a special permit of USD 500 for 10 days. (Entry is free for Nepalese nationals.) An important trade route between Tibet and Nepal, Mustang was an independent kingdom till the 17th century when it was annexed by Nepal. It was the last kingdom to give up monarchy when the unofficial King of Lo stepped down in 2008. The border-crossing at Kora La pass along is still used to trade goods to and from Mustang. That explains the countless convenient stores in Mustang that sell an eclectic assortment of Chinese goods including Chinese Coke and godawful cookies that I shouldn’t have bought as trail munchies.

A rest longer than planned waned our lethargy and got us hurrying down to Samzong. As we approached the settlement, a crescendo of howling Tibetan Mastiffs soon had us sluggish tourists frantically looking for refuge. A woman in her 30s witnessed our plight and shooed the dogs off. We sighed in relief only to be met with cheeky chuckles of her 6-year-old daughter Dhoka Gurung. They led us inside their mud home and offered us stay. The less trodden Samzong village was another story altogether, with ruins of an ancient settlement and caves towering above the houses on one side, and unearthly black massifs on the other. The time shared with the Gurungs in their humble abode was easily the best Mustangi experience I could ask for. Save the onslaught of butter salt tea, which requires some getting used to.

For the next eight days, we trekked through secluded parts of Upper Mustang before heading back to Kagbeni. Not without more wonder, horror, surprise and butter tea of course. A certain Krishna Sunuwar in Ghiling deserves a special mention for trying to brush off his pot plantation as a science experiment.  It so happened that he was the lucky husband of the garrulous grandma we met in our jeepride. Lavish buckwheat rotis and homemade chhyang lovingly served by granny Phulmaya threatened to turn our lunch into siestas, but we dragged on.

Somehow amidst tumbling boulders, spider bites, ferocious dogs and sleepy monastery caretakers we reached Kagbeni on schedule. The wilderness, the welcoming people and a culture lost in time certainly tell me that it won’t be long before I’m back in the Forbidden Kingdom of Upper Mustang.

A Million Blue Hues

Trek to Rara Lake, where you’ll be bedazzled by the sublime beauty of the crystal clear waters on which dances a million blue hues.

“Often in moonless nights, it comes alive,” said a short-statured Gurung man we shared the bonfire with. He pointed at the clear sky above and added, “We call it the White Rainbow.” Waiting restlessly for our dinner at the end of a tiring day having traversed along glacier-fed Karnali River, we knew the streak overheard was anything but a rainbow. It was the Milky Way Galaxy – behind stars in their millions seen in distinct clarity of the night and meteorites that we lost count of that ripped through the hypnotic skies.

Our trek from Simikot to Rara Lake had started a couple of days prior with a humid and sweaty queue at Nepalgunj Airport as we queued up to board the first flight to Simikot. Having heard endlessly about the fabled trek over the years, it had made its way to a bucketlist of sorts, conveniently above lesser nuptial goals. Upon landing in Simikot far west of Nepal, we were instantly breathing the freshest air we had in awhile. The tiny town on a cliff was surrounded by hills on one side and peaks on the other, across Karnali. As we walked down the market, we felt Simikot had a really friendly vibe to it and people appeared too friendly to be true.

The trails we walked on were shared with old ladies headed to the market and mules carrying heavy loads on their backs. Rice, salt and apples among other goods for villages farther off. At the time of our trek, it was the season for apple harvesting and we didn’t fail to turn heads and draw an offer for an apple. Ripe ones would go straight to the tummy while raw ones went to dry in a bottle, some fantastic pickle in the making.

After passing several Magar villages for the first couple of days, we were brought to the tiny settlement called Sun Khada. At the base of our first tough pass or Lek at 3,600m in altitude – mountains for us born-and-bred urbanlings, mere hills for the locals – we’d look at the sky in amazement and beat the night chill around a bonfire. We were promised a hotel by locals we met on the way. But interestingly, this turned out to be a home of an elderly lady who let weary travellers crash at her place for a tiny fee. The nearest neighbors were at least a couple of hours away, which then made it possible for guests – not just trekkers like us, but also inhabitants of Humla and Mugu – to reach their destinations on long-haul treks. The stretch between Simikot and Rara is considered some of the most inaccessible places in Nepal and can demand several days of walking to reach one’s destination. So rooming with tired local travellers won’t be very surprising.

On this flawless night, guests the lady hosted were ourselves and the short man, garrulous and short-statured man, returning from Simikot having seen his sister off. He too would be sharing the route with us the following day and willingly volunteered to guide us to the lek. We prayed his navigation was not quite as iffy as his astronomical skills. We shared stories of life and travesties while snotty children ran amok, dressed shabbily, which for a region as remote hasn’t fallen out of fashion. Our supper got cooked on firewood stove and utensils but smoked and dented, probably decades old. Two hearty servings of rice and potato soup, plucked fresh from the garden, got us early to bed. The hardwood planks that doubled as a bed came without warning, but we tried to get a good night’s sleep to wake up early next morning and make the pass.

Two days of trekking here was enough to drop our expectations of any facilities even remotely luxurious, like a toilet for instance. Some houses do get due credit for having one, made obvious from a signage at their door. “We are proud to have a toilet in our home,” they read, which as comical as it was sad, reiterated seclusion of this region. The home we crashed in wasn’t one of them, which meant nights called for a chilly and dodgy walk to the bushes, braving stinging nettles and strange insects. This made us appreciate our lives back home even more.

Unlike a commercial lodge, our stay cost us barely anything though the experience was quite out of this world in its own rights. The old lady squinted at the two bills of hundred we handed her. “I can’t read,” she said, and stared hard at the money. “I have to look at the color to tell how much it is.” It so happened that like many women her age in the region, she never went to school. In the dim lights before dawn, she craftily stashed her revenue in an improvised safe, a pressure cooker, and wished us well for the tough ascent. As we started walking, Gurung went on to explain how the region lacked medicinal knowledge and explained about herbs they improvised to treat various maladies, including diarrhea and poor eyesight. “At altitudes this high the vegetation is pristine and there are ayurvedic experts who come up with natural potions,” he claimed. But these claims seemed questionable when he attributed anti-carcinogenic properties to an arbitrary species of fungus we found on the way.

The climb was intimidating and the ridge looked like it wouldn’t ever end. Amidst giant trees, we were shrunk to bite-sized chunks for bears we were told lurked in the dark corners of the woods. Blooming yellow flowers were incongruous to abandoned shacks used by travellers during winter time when it’d snow hard, and also our pit stops to make the climb less daunting. Natural spring waters tasted like heaven, and made us utterly forget uphill woes. After two hours on wet trails, we finally reached the top to find ourselves rewarded with bird’s eye view of tiny villages at the bottom and the might of Karnali that appeared like a trickling brooklet.

The intriguing culture throughout the trekking route was somewhat aboriginal indeed, which was most pronounced in the village of Simali. Women in a hot and sweaty day would casually walked about with their bosom freely breathing air, unencumbered by social constructs. Kids as small as five or six would gallop on their tiny mules, returning from other townships and villages upon finishing their delivery. Most men nonetheless were mysteriously missing, which upon a quick inquiry with other locals became evident that Humla and Mugu are no exception to the problem of youth emigration.

Nepalese people are generally quite inquisitive, perhaps intrusively so. While lunching at Simali, we were surrounded by a horde and we least of all hadn’t expected a Spanish inquisition. “Are you paid to travel?” would ask a male figure of the house where we ate. “How much do you earn from coming here?” another curious cat would follow up. Their benign questions would be somewhat of an offence in cities. But without further ado, they would go on, “How much did that camera cost?” Our usual lunch of millet bread and potatoes would be embellished with piercing questions. Several shameless servings later, we lied down on the floor, lulled and subdued. Yet the questions didn’t stop: “How many children do you have?”

A few more leks followed and the culture we experienced in the trek remained as pristine as the air was pure, people humble and nature untouched. I can’t say the same thing about a couple of villages which could clearly use a broom and a fly swatter. Towards the last stretch of the trek, signs of modernity became more evident, not excluding a hairstyle and guyliner on a bloke inspired by Korean movies, welcoming us to Mugu’s capital Gamgadi. Huffing and puffing, we left the town’s commotion behind marching towards Rara National Park, just a stone’s throw away.

Two hours later, we found ourselves under blunt glares of a soldier at the park entrance. “Dump everything from your bags onto the crate!” he ordained. It became obvious that they took security seriously at the park. Among our excited bunch was a father-son duo, locals looking for a quiet excursion and goat herders on a quest for their runaway cattle. Also present was a visibly distraught group of red panda specialists, conducting research on habitat of the endangered species.

The final hours to Rara Lake took us through the park’s dense jungle. Veiled by the dense foliage we could barely make out what hid behind, until we reached the shore and lo and behold – infinite shades of blue rippling across the lake. Reflections of the clouds danced on the surface of Rara Lake and turquoise blended effortlessly to deepest azure. Unspoilt greenery abound and gulls soared above while snowcapped peaks in the horizon complemented the serenity and beauty of the lake. We immediately proceeded to get our feets wet until getting sternly asked by authorities to step out of the water, crystal clear where fish could be seen wriggling through weeds, making the entire lake appear like an exotic aquarium. We settled in the quiet Danphe Hotel and got a good night’s sleep overlooking Rara.

It took us a fortnight of trekking on immaculately remote trails to reach Rara Lake, where let alone tourists, even locals would be hard to find on the route, where legs got totalled and ego tossed right out the window by gruelling climbs under unforgiving sun, where Rara’s glittering waters bedazzled Nepal’s far west and made the million blue hues seem like a lucid dream come true.

Kapuche: The Virgin Glacial Lake

The Gurung village of Sikles and an epic journey to the virgin glacial lake of Annapurna II - where not a even a soul, neither a local nor a tourist, crossed paths - wrapped up a short but awe-inspiring trek.

Four days to spare, a fairly mediocre shape and no plans were what we had shown up in Pokhara with. Binging beer along the lakeside in the evening, my friend and I juggled our options, though in vain, to plan an adventurous trekking trip, and by the sixth round we’d almost given up. Just as we came close to settling for the cliched boating by the day and partying by the night, a rather nosey but helpful waiter casually suggested, “Try Sikles. It’s a beautiful village about four or five hours away. The first bus leaves at 7am from a station nearby.”

I’d come across that name a few times somewhere, but remained skeptical of the idea.

“It’s a Gurung settlement, pristine and you can see Lamjung Himal up close. Like you can almost touch it.”

This was tempting.

“Passing through Sikles, you’ll be able to reach Annapurna II’s glacier and lake in just two days from here. It’s is also one of the lowest in the world.”

Eyes lit up and the deal was sealed. We bottomed up our drinks, set our alarms and called it a night.

Little did we know once we reached Kaaukhola bus station that the first bus of the day to Sikles was also the last. The crammed, old bus looked like it couldn’t take a couple more barely awake trekkers. Before we knew it, we found ourselves cringing on the roof. The five-hour drive on dirt roads, we were told, was not going to be particularly pleasant. We held on tight on ropes and bags and whatever we could lay our hands on. Half way through the ride, they popped up in the horizon - Annapurna II and Lamjung Himal almost like a poster, out of nowhere, appeared right in front of us. The snowcapped rock were a sharp contrast to the lush greenery abound. With each passing minute, the road got bumpier, the gorge below deeper and the mountains more majestic - all made for one heck of a bus ride. Woes of a sore butt from being tossed around on the bus roof, blistered arms from holding onto dear life and regrets of previous night’s debauchery nonetheless lingered. Yet in all fairness, we’d have missed the show had we sat inside.

We arrived in Sikles past noon and already blessed with a pleasant weather, prepared to take a quick tour of the village before heading to Namaste Guest House, one we were recommended. A maze of cobbled and clean alleways felt instantly inviting, as did the wide grins of locals who would come to talk to us. The clay houses were as pretty as ever, well decorated and upkept. A steel tower though flimsily built by the locals gave a perfect view of the village with Lamjung Himal peeking at the back. With almost 700 houses in a thick settlement, Sikles is not an easy navigation, but we got around fine. Namaste happened to be a clean and small tea house in the heart of Sikles. Run by Maila Gurung, a chatty and rather well known local figure, who happily volunteered to be our guide to the glacier.

After a fat breakfast next morning we began the 6-hour trek for the day. The gradual descent on stoney steps turned into dirt trails, and the spectacular views of the mountains graced us along. We crossed a suspension bridge and started the uphill on tiny steps against a barren cliff with a steep drop on the side, all the way down to Madi River, which originates from the lake. The sun by this hour was scorching and the solace of a thick canopy finally came at the end of the climb as we entered into the woods. Not to mentioned, a giant waterfall no less than 70 meters in height was the perfect resting spot.

As we inched along, the mountains looked steeper but the landscape around was unchanged and still lush. Barely trodden trails and precarious bridges took us to a lone goat shed, also our stay for the night, a couple of hours short of the glacier. Maila explained, “Until a few years ago, there used to be close to a dozen houses. People were involved in goat herding and honey hunting, but now the trade is dying.” As we were approached by a slender old man, Maila continued, “That is Major Gurung, he is an ace honey hunter but also among the last of his tribe. He is trying to revive his trade by training the young generation.” After a modest dinner of dheedo (millet paste) and potatoes with the hosts, we managed to get some good sleep, though I didn’t want to find out what were making those howling sounds all night.

The final couple of hours from the goat shed on fairly flat and shrubby trails took us to the edge of a cliff. Coming out of the bushes, we stood there frozen. The glacier and the emerald lake were right in front of us. Literally just a stone’s throw away! But reaching the base itself was no child's play as we maneuvered carefully over loose rocks and giant boulders, as enormous as any concrete mansion. Snow on Annapurna II melted in the heat, which sure enough triggered avalanches that deposited snow on the glacier. “If you hear a giant one coming, hide behind a rock,” cautioned Maila. We heeded the caution well but managed to disrobe and make a quick jump into the glacial lake. It was monumental and had to be done!

The unforgettable feat got us shivering, but we couldn’t stay much longer, neither soaking in the views nor waiting for the snow inching high up on the mountain’s shoulders to fall off, which could easily have been the biggest avalanche we saw that day and one that Maila had warned us about. We had a long way back to Sikles, so we packed up and headed up the cliff, not without making a narrow escape from tumbling rocks. We retraced our steps and several hours of tiresome walk later, we were back for a hot deserved shower and cold celebratory beer at Namaste.

We’re glad we chanced upon a journey to Sikles, perhaps Annapurna’s best-kept secret and a trip that would have otherwise never materialized for us. But glad at the end of the day we had an epic experience, especially the dip in the glacial lake, something we only joked we’d do as we were getting tossed and turned on the bus roof. Perhaps adventures are better off that way - unplanned and on a shoestring.

In the Midst of Mountains

Trekking to the mountains is always as challenging as it is beautiful. Whether that switched between idyllic sunshine, relentless rain or a whiteout snowfall, every gruelling step in our trek to the Himalayas was worth it. Trepidations of embarking to high altitudes was thrown into thin air as the night sky glittered with stars, and snow-capped mountains that surrounded us in every direction burst into a majestic sunrise at the Annapurna Base Camp.

Adrift on calm waters of Phewa Lake I massaged my hamstrings in vain attempts to relieve a burning sore. Five hours of involuntary manspreading from Kathmandu to Pokhara in a bus that claimed to have extra legroom (and WiFi) had taken its toll. Yet the discomfort paled before Annapurnas’ grandeur, albeit partially hidden behind scattered clouds. We rejoiced in the morning mist on our last boat ride ensued by a hefty sandwich vital for any trek.

We drove off on jeep from Halan Chowk and after a couple of hours reached Phedi, the starting point of our 9-day trek to Annapurna Base Camp at 4,130m. The gradual uphill climb on stony steps to Dhampus was mere prelude of what awaited. Amidst rice and millet terraces, we slowly made our way up on steps and as the sun scorched, made our way through midhills. With a backpack over 20kgs strapped on my back, the climb would get quite exhausting at times. Layers of clothes got shed by the time we got used to the steps that seemed to know no end. The occasional chautaras as well as Gurung settlements along the wide trail did wonders to help us catch our breath and appreciate the greenery.

Crossing dodgy suspension bridges we reached thick woods and could feel a sense of remoteness of our adventure. Bulls possessive of their femmes were certainly a threat, especially if you had to walk past them while they were mating, which we encountered on more than a few occasions. A brief stop at a shop that sold nak cheese made us smirk on the typo, only to realize that it was not yaks, but their female counterparts naks, that make cheese. As we zeroed in on our first destination Landruk, mountains popped up prominently in a distance just in time to quell complaints about painful legs from uphill walk.

Annapurna’s massifs from the restive Pothana village seemed like from another world altogether. Macchapuchare in its photogenic glory was indeed a treat to the eyes over lunch so delicious that the most insatiable of food critics would be silenced and left salivating for more. After hogging down more servings of dal bhat than we’re proud of, we trailed on, bloated and happy. By this time, the clouds were moving in, which was quite a respite after the dog day afternoon. Weather was in fact perfect as we reached our destination in Landruk. We were settled into our rooms and served hot homemade millet brew called raksi, affectionately called tharra or local. The sleep here was hearty and the sight of the first sight of mountains in the horizon was one to behold.

The jeep tracks from Landruk would dwindle to trails through a forest followed by a gorgeous waterfall. Making our way down towards the fresh white waters of Modi River, we reached a tiny settlement called New Bridge. Distant rolling hills would merge with haze below skies filled with cotton balls of picturesque clouds. It was interesting to note the influx of Nepali tourists, especially youngsters, as we moved up the trails, a few of whom almost tipped us over the cliff by accident when their inebriated selves couldn’t handle the rocky and slippery steps in Jhinu. It then bears pointing out that the prices of beverages (and food) can be pretty steep as it gets more remote. That’s mainly because it has to be carried by porters. We wondered where they got all that booze from. It would take about half an hour’s walk to find that out, as made a pit stop at a small hotel.

A lovely Tamang lady and her differently abled son had championed hospitality to unwitting and exhausted tourists on that climb. Tasty omelettes coupled with fresh pickles from her farm had me licking my fingers. And the liquor she crafted was true to her words: the best and strongest in the Annapurnas. Well, probably. As the only openly drunk raksi-appreciator I took a couple of pegs with the lady. She went on to explain how her last bunch of patrons – half a dozen Nepalese boys – finished a jerry can just a while earlier. No wonder. I would gladly have spent a few hours here, blown away by the jolly hosts, amazing refreshments and equally remarkable views. But we were due for Chhomrong, a ginormous town up a ginormous hill, by dark.

The backbreaking ascent to Chhomrong came without warning. The higher we climbed, the more exhausted we got and better the vantage point. Quite unfortunately, the skies were overcast and mountains up north were shrouded behind gloomy clouds. We conquered the long climb towards dusk and upon arrival at Chhomrong were greeted with chilly drizzles. As everybody prepared to put extra layers of fleece and down, mine went mysteriously missing. Must’ve left it at the omelette place, I thought. So much for merrymaking. The chill in Chhomrong would be nothing compared to the freezing cold in ABC, or so I was told. In a panic-stricken hysteria, I went around early next morning to a million shops trying to find jackets for rent. To no avail. The closest one was one with furry yak wool that made me look like a Siberian hillbilly.

I’d almost given up until I decided to have some coffee in a bakery where croissants looked like swollen boomerangs and the owner’s pretty daughter was basking in the morning sun. I decided to steer clear from the interesting delights, fearing for my tummy. Instead, I settled for some spicy noodles the young lady was having. In fact, after hearing my wardrobe predicament she invited me into her room with a smile. She slowly reached down and pulled out a rusty chest from under her bed. It was filled with medieval-looking clothes, including downjackets left behind by trekkers for her baker father almost two decades ago. Godawful smell and stains from the jackets corroborated her story. Now don’t get me wrong, a good pair to buy would cost upwards of USD 200, and renting would cost USD 10 a day. Instead, she offered it for 50 cents a day. Bingo! I was off with an oversized blue down jacket looking like a clown and smelling like fungus. And with a phone number, might I add.

We really began to feel the altitude Chhomrong onwards as we reached the last few settlements before entering Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP). We arrived at a place aptly called Himalaya whence the mountains towered right above. Soldering on along Modi River raging below and surrounded by rhododendron forests, giant snow-covered peaks followed us. Our ascent seemed endless and just as our legs warmed up and got acquainted to the steps, in rolled ominous black clouds and drenched us in a matter of seconds.

Icefalls and waterfalls were a common site and walking over snow deposits become a breeze as we reached closer to Macchapuchare Base Camp, a station before ABC. The last leg to ABC had our hearts thudding with each heavy step. And if that wasn’t enough, it started snowing hard and mercury dropped further with strong headwinds. Nevermind the mountains ahead, even our steps were far from visible in the inclement weather. Notwithstanding, the eerie feeling of walking on sludge into white Himalayan oblivion was quite thrilling. We were lucky that despite such physical strain in high altitude, our breathing was normal and avoided high altitude sickness as we had taken it slow and steady since day one.

Just as we edged towards ABC on the final path, clouds started dispersing. Almost like the weather gods wanted to save the best for the last, unveiled before our eyes what were phenomenal mountains, some of the highest points on this planet, right ahead, surrounding us in every single direction. Wherever we looked, absolutely stunning sights of elaborate ridges readily took our breaths away and at night when stars lit the peaks, we would stand in awe, sighing at the mountains, ready with a wish, waiting for another meteorite to whiz past millions of stars. More than we could keep count of or even imagine to witness in the nondescript skies of the grind we had escaped.

In bouts of ogling magical landscapes, we forgot that we were soaked wet in the sleet. The heated dining hall came as a warm solace, but not without the price of a singed toe. In burning realization, the heater turned out to be nothing more than a small propane stove under the table, along with smelly boots and socks left to dry. A surprisingly delicious order of pizza was enough to make us ditch the warm room for shivering hours spent outside watching Himalayas in its glory. A peaceful night of sleep was well deserved.

The wake of dawn was no less enchanting. Braving cold chills just before sunrise, we huddled together on the hotel’s tiny patio to watch royal purple glow on Annapurna that gradually turned orange. As the first rays of sun touched the mountain’s eastern flank, a burst of yellow illuminated the summits in a magnificent show of lights and dazzling hues. Annapurna’s furious facade came to life. It was most prominently seen from a short distance away by prayer flags and memorial stones of vanished climbers, spectators in hundreds but dwarfed and humbled by the mountains’ inexplicable might. It is quite fascinating to imagine the monumental feat of conquering mountains, and in that, yourself. Though a daring few have accomplished and lived to tell the tale, memorial stones by the gumba where I stood painted a grim picture. A reminder that mountains are billions of years old, and unlike our transient lives, will be there till eternity. I stood there motionless, numbed, staring into the timeless mountains. Miniscule, as I was and felt, a mere vanishing dot in shadows of imposing rocks. It was a transcendental experience, moving, awe-inspiring and humbling to the knees to say the very least.

My thoughts were cut short when faint sounds coming from far off in the mountains drew my attention. I had lost track of time and the sun now brighter, had started melting previous day’s snow on peaks, causing avalanche high up on the peaks. They looked tiny as they swept their way down, but we knew that if one even half as big got triggered at our spot, a wrath of nature’s hell would be unleashed. The dire prophecy too much to bear led me to seek refuge in a breakfast of pancakes and eggs, which, meanwhile, had gone unregrettably cold. We were thoroughly intrigued and could stay here a whole lot longer, but had a long way to walk back. Snow, foot-deep, got shovelled out at the hotel gate while we packed our bags and prepared to bid the mountains a hesitant goodbye.

Looking back every so often to catch what was now a passing glimpse of the Annapurnas, we retraced our steps. Descents were as deceptively laborious as ascents on the now slippery trail, and especially with heavy rucksacks we were carrying, our knees took an ugly beating. But there was no stopping until walked down to Sinuwa and then Jhunu the next day. Walking back, we couldn’t help but feel proud to have climbed up steps that appeared impossibly steep.

Jhinu was an quite an experience in itself. The hot spring at a hiking distance from the village won’t be obvious. There are no shops by the pool, so our little picnic included snacks and a bottle of local brew. A week of trekking later, relaxing dip in the hot pool served our muscles well. When the heat would become unbearable, it only make sense to take a plunge into the freezing cold waters of Modi River gushing by. It would take sheer luck to avoid tirades (and harassment lawsuits) after nearly barging into ladies’ changing room, thanks to unlabelled doors. The pool was unsurprisingly abuzz with dozens of people. A group of Nepali doctors were on a weekend getaway to the hot spring. As were locals from Ghandruk and Chhomrong on a quick trip to pamper themselves. But mostly it was trekkers like us, trying to unwind and kick back.

Back in our hotel, the owners – a mid-aged down-to-earth couple – partook in an intense and prolonged dohori face-off between our guide and a French-speaking guide. Shortly before midnight as others went to bed, the troupe in dining room, myself a gawky vocal sidekick, was just getting started. After countless rounds of friendly yet intimidating exchanges (and a flurry of noise complaints from sleepy, lacklustre patrons), the party slowly crawled its way to bed well past midnight.

I woke up with a terrible hangover next morning to sensational news that would also explain the toilet filled with holy yuck. Apparently, the French guide in a bid to ease his untimely intoxication (he was with VIP clients) and an unprecedented defeat in dohori (our guide had had prevailed) thought it was a good idea to venture to the hot spring – alone and in pre-dawn pitch darkness. Almost an hour later, an ad hoc SAR team would discover the hapless monsieur a few hundred meters away passed out in cattle cesspool. Embarrassment and dung on his face evident and a foul smell made for the most grotesquely amusing story of this trip. Bad as we felt for him, got a few good laughs out of his drunken stupor.

We reached the spotlessly clean village of Ghandruk in late afternoon, also our final stop of the journey, and explored the quiet, cobbled streets. In the most perfect of Annapurna mornings, familiar sights of mountains, only distant, boasted for a fine setting to recap our trip. We hopped on a bus in Kimche and reached Pokhara in the evening, concluding a trip we’d be bragging about for a long time.

There is no wonder why Annapurna Base Camp is one of the most renowned trekking destinations in the world, one that thousands of trekkers check off from their bucket list every year. For our bunch, it was a dreamy treat to the senses, immersion in a variety of rich cultures and bonding with the wilderness. It was an emotional experience where mystical gompas dotted the snowy abode of mythical yetis, where every exhilarating stride was equal parts tough and rejuvenating, and where showers became luxury and in that cold, barely a priority. Moments spent in the midst of mountains have been etched in our hearts, and they’ve left us with enlivened spirits, tightened glutes, and daydreaming in office cubicle, a longing to return.

Wedding Nuisance

Mangal Dhun, cheesy Bollywood numbers and dohoris dominate airwaves in ornately decorated party palaces. Newlyweds tirelessly greet guests that come in hordes with bouquets and gifts. Young ladies in scant designer blouses defy the winter chill. And the free booze, the fat reason why I’m here, comes with an upsetting realization and a haunting past.

It’s that time of the year… the entire town is getting married. Close to half a dozen weddings of cousins and friends came with joy and merry brought on by all-I-can-drink beer, wine and whiskey drunk to old times and a happy future. An occasion to indulge without trepidation – that of blacking out or of a beer belly. Nothing came between me and the free flow of beer. Even grandpa’s well dreaded look of disapproval failed to deter me from celebrating, my already tarnished image brought on by my drinking habits notwithstanding. Receptions came as a godsend to break my budget-induced drinking hiatus. And with that, my liberty in revelry knew no bounds in a series of weddings.

Except this particular one which, like a mentally stigmatizing experience, like a splinter in the back of my mind, shook my foundations.

I’ve always had a thing for wedding receptions. I remember years ago during my teetotal high school days, I’d given my old bicycle to a party palace guard. The alliance was forged for a rather strategic reason: to crash weddings at the venue. He’d call me whenever there was a fancy party going on and I’d waste no time in getting into his guard jacket and queuing up in the buffet line. I was young and the thrill of conning my way to free food was all lighthearted, all in good humor.

Fast-forward a decade, and I stood there at the party by the bonfire, tipsy, downing one glass of Belgian beer after another. I socialized with the people around the fire, half of whom I didn’t know. Perhaps they were from the dula side, I wondered, but under the influence, I wasn’t even a little hesitant to brag about my drinking capacity to whoever I could. As I got more drunk, I lost focus of what the others were saying and just stared into the flames, unwary of the conversation.

Like a freight train, without a warning, it hit me – Nothing was lighthearted anymore! Folks I played guccha and hide n’ seek with were getting married. The burning realization that time had gone by in a jiffy was simply unbearable. I cringed and a small part of me silently died. I had to clear my mind. In a single gulp I bottomed the glass and, trying not to stagger, made my way through the crowd to the bar for a self-medicating round. I distracted myself by watching a couple of inebriated gentlemen take the lead to set the dancefloor on fire. Lungi Dance had gotten their bellies and bums to shake uncontrollably, which got a good laugh out of me and fellow spectators.

This was an instant fix I felt, and just when the fiery show seemed to put my drunken ponderings to rest, as if things couldn’t get any worse, out popped an army of gossip aunts from the crowd. A session of pulling my cheeks later, they got right into business: “Now it’s your turn! We’ll find a nice girl for you. Or have you already found one? What’s her caste?” Kill me! It was neither the best time nor the correct state of mind to be harassed and pestered. They were adding insult to my injury. I needed solace from this misery and stormed away for dinner. Even as I darted away, along came their intimidating last ditch cry, “Coming Mangshir!”

My system was now precariously hanging at the edge of being smashed, perhaps just a glass away from joining the Lungi guys. I knew the dinner was my last chance to pull myself together. Seated alone in a corner, I started hogging down everything I could fit on my plate, and went for more servings – the second as big as the first, and the third as the second. I couldn’t afford to skip the dessert so, still with some space for Gajar ko Haluwa, I stood in line for a plate.

I noticed someone familiar in front of me in a designer blouse and, in what was the most awkward of moments, came face to face with my ex-girlfriend (who I wasn’t on speaking terms with)! It hadn’t ended on the best of notes, for she had called off the wedding that was the supposed reason for our break up. Before I could even react, in an unprecedented psychological trauma to befall on me, the group of gossip aunts appeared once again and, pointing to my ex, said, “Anuj, have you met [name redacted]? She’s your age.”

So the party ended for me with a cold reminder: Beer is a diddly squat of a solution when time catches up and your hairline recedes, or when you’re surrounded by gossipy aunts and a forlorn ex.

5 Things to do in Nepal

1. Watch spectacular sunrise from Poon Hill
Let’s face it! You’ve either been always too late for the sunrise or you blame that giant, ungodly building in front for ruining it. Give yourself a break you’re in Pokhara next time with a taxi ride to Nayapul and a conquest to Ghorepani’s hilltop. The 6-hour trek itself is quite spectacular with innumerable waterfalls and dense moss-covered woods giving an ethereal feeling of being lost in nature. Ghorepani is the start of what will become a painful hike up to Poon Hill next morning followed by momentous views of the sunrise over the hills. Spectacular sight of first rays touching giant massifs of Dhaulagiri and Annapurna ranges takes your breath away. Speaking of which, situated at 3,210m in altitude, Poon Hill hike may lead to slight difficulty in breathing or headache, some symptoms of high altitude sickness, but we’ll take it easy on the hike and drink plenty of water. Before heading back, queue up to take a selfie with Poon Hill’s signage like it’s your best friend, with mountain in the backdrop. So next time you find yourself in bed hitting the snooze button, let it dawn on you that you’re missing out on a awe-inspiring sunrise somewhere in the Himalayas.

2. Food hop in Kathmandu
Kathmandu has secrets elusive to most guidebooks. You may be mystified by a jogi’s modern antiques in Pashupati, or take an excursion on beaten routes to the hills, and complement your siesta in a chic garden with meals that burn a hole in your pocket. Don’t get me wrong, but you won’t have lived until you’ve tried hot chhoela and chatmari in Patan’s narrowest alleyways or gotten drunk off strawberry raksi in Kakani looking at the widest stretch of mountains before your eyes – best consumed with Tamangs in their residence over a fine plate of sukuti for sittan. Or walking through Indrachowk, chug down a delicious glass of lassi or devour a plate or two of Everest momo in Naxal as you complain about prices. A spicy pani puri and chatpat marathon in Maru Galli leaves you salivating profusely but nothing that a Shreegaha’s Tang-flavored popsicle can’t beat. But if you really mean business, dip hot gwaramaris into Bhaktapur’s juju dhau laced with coconut shreddings, and there you have it – the valley à la carte!

3. Lend a helping hand
Central Nepal has been quite affected in the aftermath of earthquakes and aftershocks. Now as most parts of the country returns to business as usual, there are still countless villages in remote places where people have struggled to bring back normalcy to their lives. If you’ve ever wanted to visit Nepal, now’s the best time! Come over to see the mountains and the gorgeous culture and architecture Nepal is blessed with and take the opportunity to give back selflessly to people of Nepal who most need help. Whether in constructing schools, creating a homely environment or build livelihoods, touch lives in the most meaningful manner. Volunteer at a school as a teacher and tutor the children in any subject you feel comfortable. Help you in the farms and experience Nepal like you never could. Further, the lovely meal prepared by your host family and their hospitality in a cozy home will be as authentic a local experience as you can get. Make a memorable holiday with beloveds by mixing the passion of travelling and creating a lasting bond.

4. Take a dip in Bagmati
If you think taking a bath in Bagmati is out of question, think again. A one-hour bus from Chabil to Sundarijal takes you to the shockingly clean rapids of Bagmati River. Originating from Shivapuri National Park just above our drop-off point, the river with its verdant surrounding is nothing short of blissful. Not to mention tranquility and fresh breeze will add more punch to your nice and quiet bathing escapade. Nice and quiet if you can find a private spot, that is. More often than not, you’ll be joined by overzealous and curious butt-naked kids who proceed to show off their diving and swimming skills, splashing water hither and thither. Ignore distractions and slide into the river and let your system cool down in the fresh waters of Bagmati, which starts from Shivapuri National Park just above Sundarijal. Besides ending up with gleaming skin and refreshed spirits (and wrinkly appendages), it will also hopefully cleanse a few sins under your belt, or so goes the Hindu mythology regarding bathing in Bagmati.

5. Go Jungle Safari
Snug on an elephant’s back, embark on a jungle safari deep into the conserved woods of Chitwan. Under the dense canopy, discover a host of exotic and rare species of animals including rhinos and elephants. And if you’re incredibly lucky, face off with endangered tigers. But it’s nothing your expert Mahouts from Kasara Resort can’t take care of as you sway with your elephants swag and head back to your cottage. Spa and massage treatment as well as ad dip into the azure swimming pool after a day of exploring, boating and visiting the crocodile breeding center will soothe your muscles. The luxurious resort hosts a performance of Tharu dancers in the evening that you can enjoy with chilled beer and popcorn to top off an adventure in wilderness. To up the ante, immerse yourself culturally and ride bicycles like locals around the national park. The perfectly blended nature and modern amenities at the luxurious Kasara Resort will leave you mesmerized. There won’t be a better way to get as close to the wild as you possibly can!

Aila Etiquette

For most part aila holds a religious significance. Drunk right, it awakens the divine spirit in you. Drunk wrong, it knocks your living daylights out.

Aila, the revered spirit. It symbolizes the Newari culture and is considered one of the purest drinks, offered to Gods during the innumerable festivals throughout the year. The fiery brew is believed to ward off diseases and when you couple that with potent taste, smooth texture and then a God factor of prasad, it’s obvious why aila is incredibly popular with the crowd as well. For instance, a horde of devotees amasses during Indra Jatra to drink aila off Bhairab’s mouth. And of course, pulling the giant chariot of Rato Macchindranath before Bhoto Jatra definitely requires bursts of alcohol-fueled energy in your system, so does a Lakhey when he grooves fervidly to the sounds of dhimaya and bhushya, traditional musical instruments. In a more somber homely ambience, the drink is served in tiny clay pots called pyalas during social gatherings and bhoyes or feasts.

One such incident took me to Karyabinayak just the other day, which happened to be my first ever bhoye experience. It was a wedding ceremony of a Newari friend who had eloped with the love of his life. (For the record, the Nepalese law honors these theatrical stunts quite worthy of a soap opera plotline.) So like all things Newari, an elaborate merry of samaybaji and spirits followed. As I waited to be served, seated on a sukkul amidst the hullabaloo and a long line of jubilant menfolk, an elegant young lady in haku patasi approached with a welcoming smile. In a traditional Newari fashion, she poured a drink from a karuwa from a couple of feet up in the air. A sprout of aila landed impeccably on my pyala with not a drop to spill – a perfectly maneuvered serve, impressive and exotic to say the least for an unimaginative Kshetri like me.

Without further ado, I adventurously downed the brew in one go. The decision, as with all first shots, was immediately regretted. The taste of the potent ferment burned like fire down my throat and gave my tummy a sting no grandma’s chili achaar could manifest. All efforts to avoid a funny face went futile, and in unison with fellow men gracelessly grunting and growling, I laid down the spent pyala – only to find the haku patasi lady magically reappear, ready to pour a second round. My humble refusal and repeated requests fell to deaf ears and instead resulted in patronizing laughter from other folks already in their third. After succumbing to a second and then a third, I resorted to cover the pyala with both my arms and body lunged forward to prevent further influx. I could take it no more.

It is good to note, though not reassuring, that bhoyes start with a heavy snack accompanied by aila as aperitif, which is also served through the main course, and – surprise! – right till and past dessert. At a Newari feast, having an empty pyala in front means you’ll inevitably be served more, whether or not you want it. (Same goes for empty botas or leaf plates for food.) Servers, mostly female members of the host family, walk around with watchful eyes and a karuwa to spot and replenish empty pyalas. If you think they’ll eventually run out of aila, the extra jerry cans in the corner should tell you otherwise.

As interesting as it is unfortunate, it is mostly illegal to produce and sell aila commercially due to limitations in regulation and taxation. Hence, aila is prepared silently in Newari homes for bhoyes using either rice for rich and smooth taste, or millet for stronger flavor. Depending on preference, rice or millet along with other ingredients are mixed with an edible organic compound called marcha, which then ferments in about five days to produce jaad. Using clay and brass vessels or potasi, jaad is distilled over a wood fire stove with carefully controlled flame temperature and cooling water, both of which dictate the quality and taste of the final product. Besides festivals and gatherings, Newari families also enjoy this drink occasionally over quiet meals or when they have guests over. It is a stark contrast to other Nepali cultures, especially the conservative Brahmin, that essentially see consumption of alcohol in a family setting as a taboo.

In fact, aila has found novel ways into the average Nepali Generation-Y bloodstream and has been creating quite a buzz already. Dhokaima Café has reintroduced five what it calls ‘locaboire’ cocktails to encourage drinking locally made booze. Among these, the ones with an aila base are Nepatini, Nilo Ailarita and Aila Mary. Bruce Owens, an aila enthusiast with a PhD in Rato Macchindranath, is partly responsible for these concoctions which he says are inspired from Western counterparts and have a local twist with symbolic names and history. It is worth mentioning that the drinks are quite reasonably priced, perfect for broke and thirsty lads like yours truly.

As for me, covering my pyala to prevent refills really didn’t fare well with the groom’s mother who had put all the love and jaad to brew the aila served. Her loud shrieks like air raid siren ordained me to drink complacently like any good guest at a Newari feast would and must. So after the sixth one, I was singing old Hindi songs. After a few more, I was knocked out cold next to the bandsmen. Later that night, I swore never to drink aila ever again (but these promises as proven time and again, come with an expiry date).

Painkillers and gallons of water have stood no chance against an ensuing hangover marked by splitting headache and nausea as I write this. At least I can tell you now that it takes more than just a sharp suit and slicked-back hair to turn up at a Newari wedding. So next time you find yourself on a sukkul at a bhoye, make sure to wear the right attitude, a Newari heart and a tolerance level that’ll make a proud Irish cringe – the only way to immerse fully into the wonderful world of aila.

20 Adventures

Mountain Biking
Don’t mind splashing some mud around and getting some on your face too? If thrill and adrenaline tickle your fancy, with just a hint of daring, then look no further. It’s time to buy a mountain bike that’ll take you through some of the most serene landscapes within and outside the valley. Smooth paved road, rocky jeep tracks to technical single tracks – you can find all kinds of trails to dominate. However you may roll, mountain biking is guaranteed to break your routine monotony.

Hiking
Ditch the city streets for short yet exhilarating excursions up the hills. With various flavors and difficulty levels to choose from, the trails running over and along surrounding massifs bekon. Just a 10-minute bus ride outside the Ring Road mark the start of natural hiking trails that lead to calmness, serenity and lush greenery, otherwise inexistent in the urban chaos. Stock up some water and food, and just grab a pair of robust shoes, and you’re good to go!

Trekking
Longer and hard-earned breaks call for a trip beyond the hills and outside your comfort zone. Treading along the laps of the mighty Himalayas, over rugged terrains and higher altitude demand more stamina and grit. This also means you’ll have to be more prepared, sporting proper equipment geared to the season and region. In exploring the sublime beauty of our country, trekking makes for a humbling experience, a peace of mind and self-discovery.

Trail running
Nothing screams goodbye to belly fat (and hello nice bums) better than trail running! When you’ve become an ace hiker, it’s time to upgrade and go lighter and faster. A camelbak and a good pair of running shoes are imperative for a good running session. Whether intensive sprints on stairs or longer strides on little trodden tracks, you will need more stamina and core body strength to enjoy the the inexplicable sense of achievement running up killer hills.

Climbing
Better clip those nails and do some serious stretches before hitting walls, rocks or boulders, however you want to swing. It’s a true test of body strength and agility as you defy gravity. Walls, or artificial climbing spots, are only a handful in the city, as are natural rocks and boulders about the valley. Proper gear and equipment, along with a partner in crime, are highly recommended – and in some cases, imperative – to hop on the increasingly popular climbing bandwagon.

Peak climbing
There are over a thousand peaks in Nepal over 6,000m in altitude from the sea level, most of them unnamed and unchartered. Though peak climbing does demand high level of fitness, you do not need the same level of preparation.skills, equipment and budget as with mountaineering, which mostly entrails elaborate expeditions. Among the popular peaks you can conquer include the Island Peak, Mera Peak and Pisang Peak – definite bragging rights on Facebook!

Bungy jumping and Swing
Say hello to the second highest natural bungy in Asia! The wild Bhote Koshi gushes 160m below as you walk down the plank on a wobbly suspension bridge. Then the count down. You jump into several seconds of weightless freefall, the air right past you whizzes. Your futile screams echo through the valley and stand no match to the adrenaline. Several seconds of excitement and a splurge later, you’re lowered down safely to the shore.

Zipline
Ripping air at 140 kmph on a 2,000ft drop along 1.8 km route will be the most extreme two minutes of your life. Introduced only recently in Nepal, the zipline in Pokhara serves as the perfect way to get your adrenaline pumped and experience a short-lived yet momentous thrill over admiring the breathtaking sights that surround you.

Paragliding
Brave the terror of jumping off a cliff to float freely above the picturesque lake town of Pokhara. Let the thermals take you far, far away as you stay tight in your guide’s harness revelling in the bird’s eye view of the spectacle below, with people barely visible, houses but specks and Fewa reduced to the size of your palm. But the highlight of the chute flight will definitely be the snowcapped mountains peeking from the horizon from an impossible vantage point.

Parahawking
The only thing more exciting than soaring like a falcon is feeding one while soaring like it. Not only do you get to enjoy the regale vistas of the mountains afar and the valley down below while paragliding , but you’re graced with birds of prey feeding on reward placed on your gloved hand. Floating along raptors and that with unobstructed sights of the mountains ahead will be an experience out of this world. Because the birds are trained, you can fly into the oblivion without a fear in your mind of getting your arm clawed.

Paramotor
Find yourself attached to a parachute above and blades behind for an airborne odyssey. The parachute keeps you afloat and the blades propel you forward. The perfect tranquility of the flight instills a sense of calm and stops the flow of time. Floating along and above the clouds and birds gives a moment of self-reflection and awe. Fly away to the most magical wilderness and around Himalayas for an awakening journey that sets your mind free and casts your soul away.

Ultralight
Drifting far into the snowcapped horizon on a light aircraft, prepare to be enthralled by the impressive massifs that are the Himalayas. Without a window between you and the grand mountains, as cold gusts of wind blow across your face, come face to face with the Annapurna, Dhaulagiri and Fishtail. It’s an opportunity to feel spiritually uplifted and exhilarated in a heavenly and peaceful ultralight flight over Pokhara.

Skydiving
When or if you manage to overcome the numbing fear, pat yourself on the back for jumping off an aircraft cruising at dizzying 30,000 ft. A freefall at terminal speed of 250 kmph or over means the jump will not last very long. But while it does, embrace the skies and appreciate the life-altering views of the world now shrunk below. It takes the right mix of crazy and bling to make this one possible – hands down, the gutsiest thing you’ll ever do.

Swimming
Forget shady and contaminated pool at your gym, and head north from the city or anywhere far enough to take a plunge in crystal clear waters of rivers and lagoons. Redefine fun and rejuvenate yourself with a dive from high up rocky ledges and into the fresh water, as cold as it may be. Sandy shores and rocky moraines are the perfect backdrop for your leisure swim. Pesky butt-naked kids will eventually show up and disturb your peace, so best of luck finding a private, quiet space.

Rafting and kayaking
Thousands of rivers and tributaries fresh from the mountains, meandering through the pristine countryside and virgin forests are a godsend for any adventure lover. Staying adrift on your raft, challenge rapids while dodging rocks and whirlpools. Getting tossed into the icy cold water when your raft capsizes is not a worry because your experienced guide and safety kayak will get you back aboard and paddling in no time.

Jungle safari
Snug on an elephant’s back, embark on a jungle safari deep into the conserved woods of Chitwan. Under the dense canopy, discover a host of exotic and rare species of animals including rhinos and tigers, that are known to occasionally – and if you’re really lucky, in fact – face off with the elephants. But it’s nothing your expert Mahouts can’t take care of. So sway with your elephant’s swag and come as close to the wild as you can get.

Jungle walk and birdwatching
Take to the untouched jungle, marsh and moors on foot. It’s an opportunity to see feral birds up close in a peaceful tropical ambience. A guided excursion with a professional naturalist will not only put you in safe hands, but will also help you identify and learn about local and migratory birds that you encounter on a jungle walk. The diversity of birds you observe here will put the crows and pigeons that frolick on your roof to shame.

Hunting
Though definitely not a common hobby, licensed hunting at Dhorpatan Hunting Reserve gives you a unique taste of adventure. Situated below the Dhaulagiri range and regulated by the government, Dhorpatan is the only area in Nepal where hunting is permitted. Blue sheeps, pheasants and partridges, all found in abundance here, are a popular attraction. Take a break from the mundane and try your luck with hunting, still largely a niche among Nepalese folks.

Dirt biking
People will turn their heads, most likely in rage, when your toy makes the ungodliest noise soaring down the road. But more than aunts’ disgruntled stares, your toy deserves rough trails far off from the city’s constricting perimeters. Take a spin to secluded hilltops, uphill climbs a mere piece of cake for your dirt bike, and that reward you with spectacular serenity and a muddied outfit. We know fuel prices are pretty steep, but that shouldn’t stop boys from having all the undeserved fun.

4WD adventures
Get 4WD adventure kicks on dusty, bumpy roads! There may be no trail too rugged for your SUV that roars and revs through surreal and unforgiving landscapes. New rocky jeeptracks are dug every year throughout the country, and while regular vehicles aren’t powerful enough to traverse these, it only means party time for your SUV, making ascents however steep and descents however frightening look like a child’s play!

Marooned in Jamacho

There is no sugarcoating this, so I’ll just break it to you: hiking to Jamacho peak involves an ascent of almost 5 km on steep steps – with no houses, shops or toilets along the way. Gaining some 800m in altitude through a dense jungle demands stepping out of your comfort zone and that – let me state the obvious – is the entire idea of being outdoors. So challenge yourself to this amazing retreat that’ll keep your mind off petty worries and eyes on your feet for leeches.

Just short of 2 km NW from Balaju, the starting point of the hike is Mulapani entrance of the army-protected Nagarjun forest, a part of Shivapuri sanctuary. The entry fee is Rs. 10 for Nepali nationals and Rs. 250 for foreigners. Don’t forget to take an ID along because you’ll be required to produce one at the ticket counter. They take security pretty seriously here and the look on the soldiers’ face says nothing differently. That means two things: i) a clean, well preserved trail, and ii) no scandalizing, shameless young couples – perfect thus for family outings.

Take the well-maintained stairway that diverges from the paved road into two hours of steep climb to the top. As you tread uphill, the deafening sounds of crickets instantly subdue roaring truck engines and howling dogs. Dust, smoke and dirt are replaced with a breath of fresh air – quite a rarity in our beloved city. Walking through the forest of moss-laden trees and a dense canopy overhead definitely adds an eerie yet serene feeling of being amidst nature.

Within the first half hour, you’ll reach an army checkpoint and find yourself being cross-questioned by a rather stern-looking, no-nonsense soldier. Be warned: your attempts to lighten up the mood with jokes will bear no fruit and won’t be too well received by a certain Private Gurung.

After being cleared for security, make your way up to soon find yourself welcomed by an open space of tall grass and rocks. Halfway to the top, this spot gives you perfect views of the valley beneath and the Jamacho Gompa above – quite a photo opportunity indeed. But it’s easy to get tempted here to exhaust your food supplies and take a nap. One word: verboten. Save both for the top.

After regaining your breath, continue along the trail that feels steeper on the second stretch. High altitude means thinner air pressure, and with that, your ears will pop and interestingly, the vegetation will change as bamboos become ubiquitous. The climb will cause sweat drops to roll incessantly down your face, washing away last remnants of beauty cream that promises a fairer complexion in seven weeks.

Rejoice at the first sighting of lungda (or Buddhist prayer flags) because this indicates you’re only minutes away from the top. As you climb the last steps, you see the rather archaic view tower and then finally, Jamacho Gompa itself. Rush to the veranda behind the small monastery and assume a position next to the Buddhist Wheel of Life guarded by a Ruru Deer missing its head. Without further ado, look straight ahead and brace to be stunned! Clouds float at your eye level and eagles soar effortlessly right below your nose. The bird’s eye view of valley south from here is nothing short of breathtaking and overwhelming, with giants like Phulchowki and Chandragiri emerge above the haze. On a clear day, enjoy the splendid views of Himalayas to the north. Feel the fresh gust of wind blowing across your face and in the sound of the fluttering Buddhist prayer flag, savor the moment standing still with otherworldly sights of the valley. The city appears so hopelessly tiny from up that the only landmark you’ll recognize from up here is probably Swayambhu.

Wandering about the Gompa will be a stoic caretaker who identifies himself as Jyapu, likely his nom de guerre. The middle-aged gentleman is a man of few words and your attempt to draw any information about the Gompa may prove futile.

After some stretches, a plentiful lunch and an elaborate photo session, pack up, say goodbye to Jamacho Gompa and retrace your steps back to Mulpani gate. After the easy and quick way down, it’s time to reward yourself for a job well done! Treat your sweaty, smelly self to cucumber and noonchhuk (chili paste) from a vendor right outside the Mulpani gate. Then walk back to Machapokhari, or if you’ve run out of juice, hitch a ride to the bus stop. Some five hours of exhausting and rewarding hiking comes to a full circle here.

Thumbing Down the Spirit

A run-in with an enterprising grandma moonshiner in Kirtipur results in a bottleful of brew with a kick that takes me on 20 km walk to Bhaktapur.

The nooks and crannies of Kirtipur fell silent with not a soul in sight. Barely audible metal clanks, revving tractor engines and indistinct chatter seemed distant. Under the warm winter sun, inescapable siesta was perhaps culpable for the deserted streets. Couldn’t blame them as a runaway from the revolving office chair for my nerdy self after prolonged bouts of coding error was well deserved. I walked around enjoying take-away bara to appease a growling tummy and a bottle of Coke shot down to quell that sugar craving, decidedly non-alcoholic keeping a later professional rendez-vous in mind. I swung the empty coke bottle in the air, walking up towards Uma Maheshwar Temple atop the hillock, looking for a trash can.

As I walked up the dodgy cobbled alleyways, it would take the most harmless action of carrying around an empty plastic bottle to discover Kirtipur’s cheeky secret. Little did I know an aimless stroll along the streets of the old town would result into a monumental intoxicated march to Bhaktapur.

For in the midst of silence and calm came a low pitched summon, “Oh baucha!” I heard an aged voice calling from somewhere in the endless row houses that surrounded me. “Oh baucha,” she came again. I looked up to hardly make out a grandma figure hidden behind flower pots on the roof making gestures I couldn’t comprehend.

“Hajur?” I duly replied.

I looked more closely and saw she was giving me a repeated and frantic thumbs down. Perplexing to say the least.

“Hajur?” I asked again, confused.

She wasn’t speaking and just moved her lips and gave a thumbs down, almost as if she didn’t want anybody else to hear.

“Say it out loud,” I said.

“Raksi hal ne ho bhanya?” she finally shouted aloud, almost getting annoyed. She was offering me a batch of her homemade moonshine.

Now for a little background. The moonshine in question is Raksi, a clear but slightly murky triple-distilled local brew of millet base, rather tough on the nose but surprisingly smooth on the throat way south. Though technically wine, there’s nothing Victorian about it, especially considering the way it’s drunk – traditionally from tiny dirty tea cups or straight out of jerkins (Nepali for jerry cans) by bandsmen in weddings, followed by primal grunts of approval over sittan or munchies comprised of bone marrow extracts, medium-rare brain matter along with deep fried innards and chewy goat testicles to name a few popular delicacies raksi goes well with. The drink is served in almost all Newari festivals (sorry Brahmins) and social gatherings, and often consumed as God’s offering. Also called local tharra, tin-pane and solmari, the drink comes in several varieties depending on ingredients added, yet the essence and spirit of the drink remains the same. Revered as it is in festivals, it’s interesting though unsurprising to note that raksi gets an unfavorable rap among infuriated wives waiting for their husbands to return home from late night debauchery in bhattis serving said spirit discreetly and less-than-legally so.

That brings us to our next point: raksi can only be produced and consumed personally, and can’t technically be sold commercially. Hence the thumbs down in Kirtipur that turned out to be granny’s cryptic gesture to fill the empty Coke bottle with raksi. Epiphany!

I had no reason to decline the non-conformist grandma’s offer and happily played along. “Thaana waa,” she ushered me down the street and into a quarter well hidden from Big Bro’s watchful eyes. It was her micro brewery, a secret lair in a shabbily kept hall of an abandoned construction site. Not a brewery you’d imagine with mile-long conveyor belts, skyscraping smokestacks and an army of blue collar workers a million strong. But rather we walked into the lady’s beau, her partner in crime, stirring metal pots stacked up on a firewood furnace. A giant drum in the corner meanwhile steamed of freshly prepared raksi that smelled like sweet heaven.

“How much do you want?” the lady asked.

“To the brim,” I replied adventurously, trying to reinforce her idea of the maverick of a drunkard she assumed I was. I dropped a meager Rs. 80 for a bottle full of authenticity and fun I walked out of the micro distillery with.

I sat on the ledge by Uma Maheshwar, the highest point of Kirtipur, and soaked in the good vibes. Over swigs of the handcrafted spirit, the bird’s eye view of Kathmandu from the temple couldn’t have gotten any better. The lovely taste complemented the ambience, the sights, the breeze and the peace. Little by little I felt thrown to what could be called a state of trance until I realized the bottle was almost totalled and that I had a meeting to attend in Bhaktapur some 20 kilometers away. I downed the last gulp and proceeded to stand up, only to discover that the mellow taste of the spirit was a far cry from the punch it packed. The world in front spun and instantly put me back on my throne and gave a reality check. Though barely, I got hold of myself and in an attempt at sobriety embarked on an epic journey to Bhaktapur – on foot.

Long story short, a few hours later I found myself struggling hard to hold a straight face at the meeting, which thankfully after what felt like forever concluded without arousing suspicion. In a poetic justice of sorts, sandwiched between bleating, constipated goats and compatriots reeking of the same spirit on a bus back to Kathmandu was no laughing matter. The inconspicuous run into Kirtipur’s grandma had taken a toll and sent me to bed with a promise – albeit in retrospect a short-lived one – to never again touch Raksi.

UN Habitat – Program Summary

On April 25th, 2015, a 7.8M earthquake and a second one on May 12th measuring 7.3M hit the central part of Nepal sending powerful tremors through most parts of Nepal. Thousands of subsequent aftershocks of varying sizes followed for months. The trail of destruction claimed 8,700 souls and injured more than 60,000. Hundreds of thousands of houses were destroyed leaving millions homeless. Many houses that didn’t crumble sustained structural damages and remained standing precariously. For several months after the quake, many people were forced to live in tarpaulin tents and substandard shelters constructed with materials salvaged from their destroyed homes and materials provided by development agencies and the government.

The immediate need and the most urgent demand of the affected families was safe and durable temporary shelter that could protect them from rain, cold, animal and thefts, particularly as the monsoon season which generally starts in the third week of June was looming. Tarpaulins and tents were would not last a longer period, and it was imminent that proper temporary shelters were urgently required.

In order to provide life-saving shelter support during the 2015 monsoon to the most vulnerable households and to enhance their capacity to engage in community- led recovery, Government of Japan provided support of USD 800,000 to address the immediate needs of the people of 5 of the most affected districts, namely Sindhupalchowk, Dolakha, Kathmandu, Bhaktapur and Lalitpur. 1780 HHs were supported with temporary shelters. Socially disadvantaged groups that include poor, women-headed households, single women, people with disabilities, elderly and socially marginalized people like ethnic minorities and dalits (so called untouchable caste) were considered. Especially in urban areas, women were given more priority. The activities of these projects were in close coordination with the Government of Nepal and local communities.

The shelters are temporary and are designed to comfortably last two years. The spacious shelters have CGI sheets for the roof and are airy enough for ventilation. The structure is created with wood while the beneficiaries had the choice to decorate their interiors. Some have used their creativity and imagination to make the interior attractive and partitioned the shelter to their needs. Kitchens in some cases were shifted outside to minimize the problem of smoke and also to make more space inside.

Likewise, in initial months, UN Habitat supported survivors without land or relatives to stay with by funding their rent until they were relocated to new shelters. During the course of project implementation, challenges and unforeseen hindrances were aplenty. Due to Nepal’s deteriorating political situation in the second half of the year and the ensuing fuel crisis affected supply of materials for shelter construction. Planting and harvesting of winter crop meant local labor was in short supply and gathering community members on scheduled dates became difficult to organize. Two of the biggest Hindu festivals Dashain and Tihar fell during the project time due to which members were unable to participate in any kind of activities. Shortage of CGIs due to high demand by earthquake-affected people also led to rescheduling of various project tasks.

More than 9,800 Nepali people of vulnerable and backward communities affected by the 2015 earthquakes have directly benefited from UN- Habitat’s temporary shelter project funded by the Government of Japan. This publication is a snapshot of the project and showcases the aftermath, the process of construction as well as the lives and personal details of people who are living in shelters they now call home.

KTM Series Proposal

Summary

KTM Series, initiated by Von Kathmandu Adventures Pvt Ltd in October 2018, is a fun and social monthly trail running race in the outskirts of Kathmandu, with 15K, 7K and 3K distances. The Series takes place in sets of 10 races called Seasons throughout the year (except in monsoon), and we have just completed our first season in October 2019. We are about to start the second season from November 9th, 2019. Full details and race calendar: www.ktmtrailraceseries.com

By participant numbers, it is the largest trail running race in Nepal with regular participation of about 350 runners from 30 countries. So far, 1109 people of 54 nationalities have run in KTM Series at least once. Nepali and international participants are half and half, while 60% are male and 40% female. The average age is 31 years old. The race is popular among the runners, who have left us fantastic reviews.

We are seeking Title Sponsorship for KTM Series for a sum of NRs. 1,200,000 (USD 10,000) for the second season (10 races in total), which covers minimum operating cost and maintenance, allowing us to upgrade the race experience for runners and deploy a core team for the season. We reserve the Title Sponsor spot for only one brand, and do not take in competitors of Title Sponsors even as a minor sponsor.

The races have allowed us to create a broader running community; people come to the races, socialize, plan runs together and so forth. We purposefully target an audience of all aspirations and abilities, including getting people that did not run before to get inspired. This can also be seen in our social media engagement on Facebook and the spin off products like the social runs organized weekly by the Series’ practice wing Trail Mob.

As such, we believe a Title Sponsor would have significant exposure among a community that would be interested in outdoors and sportswear. A Title Sponsor receives considerable, often exclusive, exposure pre- and post-event online, offline and at race venue. (Please see Section D for full details.) We also offer photoshoot with Wild Sports team and KTM Series team to announce the new partnership and your joining to Nepal’s running community.

MODUS OPERANDI

We have always focused on improving the quality of KTM Series and have made it a fun yet competitive event where people come to run, enjoy the outdoors and socialize, thus isolating it from non-race elements like linking it with causes, campaigns, politics, religion, etc. The race does not provide cash prizes to maintain healthy competition and also because distances are short. Entry fees and revenue goes towards logistics, printing, transportation, assets and remuneration of a growing and skilled team. Any surplus is reinvested. We actively seek suggestions from runners, thus allowing us to improve constantly, earning us raving reviews.

What Failure Teaches Us

Imagine investing your life’s worth of money, ideas and passion in starting your own business. Now imagine it failed. The desire to win will bring you across situations where this scenario may not be too far from reality. Unfortunately, your failure does not get a warm reception in the Nepalese society where your efforts and passion go unnoticed, and your potential is questioned. Your failure will serve as gossip fodder at family gatherings and draw sympathies at college reunions.

How then will you react? Will you be driven away or driven forward? Will you point fingers or gracefully accept it as a part of success? Will you fall back and settle for the confines of a cubicle – if – or persevere and plot a comeback?

When Metro, a free newspaper-style publication, failed in 2004, entrepreneur Suman Shakya refused to take it as a defeat. During the company’s incubation period, personal obligations had required Shakya to stay abroad and without a co-founder, remotely managing the business became increasingly difficult. Coupled with low demand for the newspaper, the company shut down within the first two years of operation and cost Shakya a large sum of money. The story is no different for the budding entrepreneur Deewaker Piya of Green & Green, a company that imports Electronic Catalytic Converter (ECC), a device for carbon emission reduction from engines. As with Shakya’s, Piya’s product was hard to sell particularly due to its unfamiliarity in the market, aggressive approach and feeble financial strategy. In spite of reaching a point so low that he couldn’t afford to pay his staff, Piya decided to not let go of the company but handle it entirely by himself. And for the better half of 2012, he relentlessly pursued potential clients by marketing door-to-door to sell his product.

“The culture of being open to failure doesn’t exist here,” says Shakya, recalling his Metro days when even his nearest ones questioned his capabilities and labeled his past successes as mere flukes. “From an early age we are taught to win. While winning is certainly necessary, failing along the way too is.” On the contrary, coming from a business family, Piya had all the encouragement he needed from his parents, which he admits is not the case with all entrepreneurs. This reveals a rather interesting argument that regardless of tangible or intangible support – or none whatsoever – the likelihood of an entrepreneur to encounter failure cannot be overruled.

It was one common trait that deterred both the entrepreneurs from giving up their entrepreneurial spirit: persistence. While Shakya, after a few years of reflection, learning and regaining confidence, conceived the massively successful Digitanment company, Piya resiliently revived his business and went on to sell hundreds of ECC units. Neither comeback was easy – there were several challenges the duo had to overcome in order to give their ventures the credibility they deserve today.

Failure is often wrongly attributed to weakness and a lack of skills. But the sweetest victory is often the most difficult one, which requires treading on unstable grounds with risks innumerable. But not all who dare can win, and not all who fail can learn. That begs the question: What is failure?

Failure is your greatest teacher, an entrepreneurial rite of passage, and a learning curve for success. Failure is a catalyst that drives you forward with stronger willpower to accept greater challenges. Failure is a process, not a result. Failure is inevitable and it is imperative.

Incredible success requires incredible risk, and with that, an incredible will to fail. Entrepreneurs and inventors, writers and actors, statesmen and athletes, and all who choose to think differently and live their lives differently constantly face undue skepticism, pressure and even harassment before they become successful. History bears witness to countless visionaries who took a fall yet kept fighting back. Names in the likes of Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, Walt Disney, Donald Trump and Colonel Sanders don’t usually pop up when we talk about failure, but that’s not even scratching the surface.

If people are not laughing at your idea and failure, you’re neither dreaming big nor aiming high. Nevertheless, it is important to not let the negative overrun and discourage you; instead turn it to your benefit by developing a can-do, will-do attitude. Shakya claims skepticism following Metro failed to demotivate him, instead it strengthened his resolve to prove skeptics that his failure was a mishap, not his success a fluke. Similarly, when all employees quit, Piya looked at the bright side that he didn’t have to worry about paying the staff and hence could put all his efforts and budget on marketing the product, albeit by himself.

Failure indeed is an illuminating experience and a wealth of knowledge from which to learn a lesson. Shakya emphasizes, “Seize the opportunity to identify your shortcomings from what you failed at. Ask yourself what went well and what could’ve gone better. Keep improving.” Besides the inability to give full attention during early months of Metro, Shakya points out that the team lacked complementary skills, resulting in a less holistic business approach. Another shortfall was that he put all the eggs in one basket, and when things didn’t go quite as planned, faced incalculable loss. He says that Metro though has given him crucial experience no book and knowledge could ever. “I have no regrets with Metro. In fact, I am thankful because I doubt I’d be where I am today without it. Books teach you strokes, but to learn swimming you must take the plunge into the pool. Metro was my plunge into the pool.”

Likewise, Piya laments his neglect with Green & Green’s financial planning – the capital was almost exclusively allotted to procure ECCs, leaving little to nothing for marketing and other overhead expenses. Sufficient research regarding the market demand for the device could have sent warning signals about the aggressive sales strategy, which instead backfired. Further, having neither a business partner nor a mentor as a voice of reason led to the hardship he could have avoided. “I came to learn the hard way that you have to start small and work your way up,” he shares.

Once you’ve learned your lesson well, the time is ripe to zero in on success. This will neither be quick nor easy. As demonstrated by Shakya and Piya, a comeback is a battle of determination and skill, the will to gain higher ground by constantly learning from your blunders. Piya alludes to the days of his solo marketing conquest and reasons, “Toil sleeplessly and push your limits to achieve your goal. However many times you may have fallen in business, devote yourself to that goal. Leave nothing to chance, prayers or hope.” Shakya adds that it is important to be patient in pooling your experience and expertise for a second round. “This time, you’ll be better prepared and that much closer to achieving what you set out for. Follow your dreams but keep them realistic. Don’t forget that passion is only half the story and you must have sound knowledge of and experience in all elements of business because ideas alone won’t suffice.” Both Shakya and Piya took a hard blow due to their mistakes, but as competent entrepreneurs they endured through failure to rise up for a rebound.

Drawing inspiration from his own experience, Shakya explains, “The desire for success must be greater than the fear of failure. You must come to terms that you are susceptible to failure – perhaps repeatedly so – before you can reach success.” Indeed, the two stories reiterate that with positive outlook and motivation, you’ll be able to surpass fear however overwhelming, to accomplish a goal however daunting.

A fresh breed of entrepreneurs is needed to stride and debunk the fallacy of failure in our society that is obsessed with security, terrified of risks and drugged by short-term returns of a 9 to 5. Bear in mind that failure is a blessing in disguise, an opportunity to accept great challenges with unprecedented determination. If you’ve learned from your failure and mustered the courage to start afresh, failure has served its purpose because subsequently you will be rewarded with success.

Eutai Mala Nepali – Concept Note

On April 25, 2015, a 7.8 magnitude earthquake and dozens of aftershocks left the central part of Nepal in ruins. More than 7,000 people have been confirmed dead and 15,000 injured (as of May 3rd, 2015), and the number is bound to increase in the days to come. Hundreds of thousands of buildings, including those with immense historical significance, have collapsed; boundary walls have fallen and roads have cracked. Remote regions particularly have been more badly hit. Preliminary reports and rescue workers’ observation suggest that more than 90% of the buildings in rural villages of Gorkha, Lamjung, Rasuwa and Sindhupalchowk have either been damaged or destroyed. These remote areas are where the devastation is least reported but the effect is most widespread. Numerous technical and adaptive challenges have made it harder for swift immediate relief and recovery efforts in these areas.

Rescue and relief work, though largely uncoordinated, is underway that has seen involvement of various governmental bodies, security forces and independent volunteers. The role of independent volunteers and organizations working at ground level has been integral in helping with the temporary rehabilitation of the survivors, if not in the rescue, which requires strong support from government regulated Police Force and Army. Despite great enthusiasm among the field volunteers, the local resources most likely will deplete sooner rather than later. Without systematic flow of resources and its appropriate use, temporary rehabilitation can inevitably reach a gridlock. The issue needs special attention with monsoon approaching. Furthermore, we are less than prepared for the long term rehabilitation at present. Once the relief work is over, the main concern would be rebuilding houses along with reconstructing education, health and communication infrastructure.

Through this initiative, we strive to harness collective skills, resources and passion of citizens in Nepal and abroad to restore, reconstruct and rehabilitate the nation. By creating direct impact on the ground, we envision a resilient nation that shall overcome the devastation resulted by the current calamity. We aim to bring forth individuals, from Nepal and abroad, who can work together and share their expertise in bringing direct impact to the shaken grounds of Nepal. Our short term objectives most definitely involve efficient relief of the survivors. However, our focus goes beyond it to long term goals involving rebuilding not just houses, but education, health and employment opportunities for the citizens. We aim to rehabilitate the survivors in the economy through training programs, particularly in agriculture, social entrepreneurship and tourism. 

This initiative is a unique opportunity to work in unison, in the truest sense, for a better and stronger Nepal. We aim to put forward a transparent initiative that has updates on need assessment and progress through newsletters, websites and social media. We, therefore, strongly request organizations, institutes and individuals to come forth and join our initiative. We invite professionals and amateurs, educators and students, individuals and organizations, everyone enthusiastic to support us with expertise, funding and networking for long-term rehabilitation of Nepal.