Takeshi, Gauthier and I left Jagat in the morning, crossing the long, cable bridge to the east bank of the river, where we steadily began to gain elevation as we followed the path further up into the valley. As we walked underneath walls of rock that loomed tall on either side, we got to observe a small piece of the geological history of the Himalayas - a cross section cut away by the river, revealing distinct layers of rock stacked upon each other, their seams skirted with thick grasses, mosses, and small trees. It was like looking at the rings of a tree stump, except the rings stretched vertically up the mountainside, until they disappeared into the upper layer of a pine forest that became flecked with white at the frost line. When we got lucky, the valley would curve in such a way that we could catch a glimpse of hopelessly remote snow-capped peaks sitting miles away and out of reach. It was our third day hiking in the Annapurna circuit, and while we were still nowhere close to seeing any of the peaks of the Annapurna range, the views became more arresting as we steadily gained elevation.
Cross-section of the valley walls
It was the best motivation to keep hiking, knowing that the view just around the bend in the valley might reveal one of the elusive, towering peaks; a mighty waterfall, or another dramatic cliff face. After passing through the village of Chamje, we started to walk a narrow path that had been cut into the mountainside following the river closely from above. This is where we crossed paths with Nepali porters coming down from the opposite direction. These men were carrying seemingly backbreaking loads, easily double the weight and size of any of our packs. Not only did they carry a heavier load, they moved at a pace at least double that of our own, bent peculiarly far forward over their torsos, with both hands stretched backward supporting the weight from below, and a thick band stretching around each man’s forehead that was attached to the top of his pack for balance. They were out ahead of a large tour group, that was strolling comfortably in the absence of any significant burden, apparently giving up on the circuit because of the closure of the Thorung La Pass just a few days’ march ahead. This was a theme of the next couple of days, as we encountered more trekkers turning back than trekkers moving onward with us. What this meant for us was that there was no sense in hurrying, as there was an abundance of trekkers waiting out the snow in Chame, so we might as well take our time and enjoy the walk while the going was still relatively warm and easy, while having the lower villages almost to ourselves.
Later on, we climbed the rubble of a past landslide and were overtaken by a solo trekker, a German man named Nils, who slowed his pace to fall in with us. His pack was much larger than any of ours, as he himself was much bigger than any of us - tall and broad, and absolutely crushing the inclines, making great use of his carbon fiber trekking poles. He worked as a lifeguard in a small town in Germany, but got accepted to a program for voice-acting in Vienna that he planned to start in the fall. When he explained his current job to me (keep in mind English is not a language he practices often), he couldn’t remember the word “lifeguard,” so to help me to understand, through his heavy German accent he likened his role at the pool to that of “Dah-VEED HASS-Hell-Hofe” (I just love European accents). With his deep and booming voice and muscular build, he reminded me of the character Gaston from Disney’s animated ‘Beauty and the Beast’, accept not a douchebag.
Nils, face still a bit swollen
Takeshi (Japan) and Gauthier (Belgium)
We came to the village of Tal together, on the shore of an alpine lake that created a large, flat plateau that gave us a respite from the steady climb we had been undertaking. Takeshi and Gauthier found water stations in the village, while Nils and I looked for a good spot to stop for lunch. We decided on a teahouse that had rooftop seating from which we could overlook the valley over tea and a meal. After finishing up lunch at our round table, Nils headed back downstairs after mentioning his stomach was upset, which we assumed was due to the altitude. Gauthier and I discussed the possibility of staying put for the night, even though we had only completed half of our goal for the day. With Gauthier’s and my knees in such rough shape, he thought it prudent to rest up for the afternoon, maybe take a quick hike for purposes of gaining some elevation before dropping back down to sleep for better acclimatization. As we discussed our options, Takeshi rushed back upstairs urgently announcing “German! Serious!” in his usual abbreviated phrasing. The three of us raced down to find Nils in dire shape, leaning up against a wall struggling to breathe, his face red and swollen, with a disturbing look of panic in his eyes.
I hadn’t mentally or emotionally prepared myself for encountering a medical emergency on my trip (I’m not even sure if that’s possible); especially not while in a remote village in the Himalayas, so you can imagine how terrifying it would be to witness someone you have only known for the course of an hour in the midst of a struggle for their own life. Adrenaline rushed through me, as whatever came over Nils had been so sudden, that I was almost certain the situation would end in disaster if his decline continued at its current pace. He could barely speak and was struggling to even stand upright. We sat him down in a chair after alerting the guesthouse owners, who then sent for a medic. There was little that the three of us could do. My first reaction was to look up his symptoms online somewhere, but we had no cell service, and the entire village’s internet connection had been disabled. We waited for the medic as Nils gasped for breath, his throat dangerously swollen. His lips and cheeks had puffed up as well, and we very much thought that this man we had just met was about to die practically in our arms. We knew it was unlikely altitude sickness, as Nils had seemingly been un-phased by the steep ascents just an hour before, but he claimed to have no food allergies, laboriously shaking his head side to side when we asked if he had any. The medic soon arrived and first started to question Takeshi in Nepali, which wasn’t a surprise (it was almost comical how many of the locals thought our Japanese friend was Nepali). Takeshi sat with Nils and wrapped him in a blanket while Gauthier and I convinced the medic that it couldn’t be an issue of altitude sickness. We pressed the teahouse owners for the ingredients of the noodle plate that Nils had ingested, but nothing irregular stood out. Before this ordeal started, Gauthier had already placed his pack in a room with the intent of staying over, and I questioned whether or not it was a good idea to stay there until we knew what had happened to Nils.
Neither Gauthier nor myself have undergone any sort of medical training, save for CPR training ages ago, but we were sure it was due to the food, as Nils had fallen ill within mere minutes of finishing his plate of noodles. The medic was not overly helpful or even concerned, but eventually at our urging gave Nils a pill that would stabilize the allergic reaction. We sat with Nils for a slow and agonizing hour before the symptoms started to subside, and his breathing returned to normal. The whole ordeal cemented our plan to stay in Tal for the night. After going through all of that, there was no way we could pack up and start hiking again, leaving Nils in Tal for the night alone.
We decided to stay put at the same teahouse after deciding Nils’ affliction was something we couldn’t control given that each teahouse had the same government-endorsed menu. Takeshi and Gauthier and I took a short but steep hike up a nearby side trail to gain some altitude before coming down for the night. Nils was in even better spirits when we returned, able to walk, surprisingly cheerful, and seemed almost embarrassed about the whole ordeal. We sat downstairs in the common room, playing cards and sharing a steaming pot of tea while waiting for our dinner. It was almost as if the traumatic afternoon had not occurred at all. When it came time to order, we did that thing where you look at the menu even though you already know what you want. I ordered Dal Bhat, after which Gauthier looked up at me from his menu to sternly announce “You eat Dal Bhat, I eat Dal Bhat.” And then almost as if on cue, Takeshi popped his head into the room from smoking outside and hollered breathlessly, “Me-too-Dal-Bhat!” Nils ordered a bowl of chocolate pudding to play it safe. As we joked and dined in the cold room that night, it became understood that our trio had grown to a squad of four. It’s times like these where I realize how lucky I am that my native language is so universally spoken. Everyone else at the table beside me was at least bi-lingual. Takeshi and Nils, from Japan and Germany respectively, spoke more than enough English to get by, and Gauthier spoke four languages fluently: English, Dutch, French, and his native Flemish. It makes me feel inadequate to only speak one language, and depend on others to cater to my linguistic shortcomings in order to communicate.
Our squad climbing to Dharapani
After rising the next morning and sitting down to breakfast, Nils was almost as good as new, as during the meal he abruptly brought both hands to his throat and started to make loud choking sounds before dropping his hands and bursting into laughter. I cautiously allowed myself to laugh at that, as it was relieving to see him alive and well, but just the day before I was convinced that this mighty Aryan man was about to literally be slain by a plate of noodles. Our company then proceeded to Dharapani, with Nils leading the way, face still slightly swollen, having bounced back from what seemed like death’s door the previous afternoon; Takeshi next walking with his arms crossed and smoking; Gauthier following close behind and myself bringing up the rear with camera in hand. Our fourth day on the circuit was underway, and though I was feeling absolutely wrecked physically, between throbbing knee pain and an irritating cold, the camaraderie of our small squad and the breathtaking natural surroundings combined to elicit a sense of - and desire to - adventure that was the strongest I had yet experienced.
My pals