Annapurna Circuit

Richard W. Frank

Annapurna Circuit (I)

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The Annapurna Circuit is a trip around the entire massif of the Annapurnas one of which (at 8091m) is one of the 14 highest peaks in the world. Two others Makalu and Dhaulagiri were to perch above us as well. The trail climbs from lush subtropical fields and sub-alpine pine forests to reach the barren alpine pass of Thorung la at 5,412m and then through the arid Mustang district back down to the subtropical hot springs at Tatopani. A large number of trekkers fill the lodges on the route in October and November, but I was three weeks before the spring season and the trails were blissfully empty. As I shouldered my burden before sunrise at Besi Sahar I thought I would have to pay for the indulgences and relative sloth of the last several months. But I was carrying a light load: sleeping bag, warm clothes, an emergency supply of Snickers, and Joyce's Ulysses (by god, I was going to get through it this time). Although my body had not seen the inside of a gym in five months, traveling requires (in addition to sitting around cafes) one to spend alot of time seeing "sights" (and making one's way from one cafe to the next) so my legs had not completely atrophied since leaving Tibet. And without my tent, stove, pad, and eight days worth of tsampa and yak butter my ol' Dana felt like a featherweight. This, of course, would change. Meanwhile I enjoyed escaping from noise, pollution, Tata trucks, and the huddled masses.

The Annapurna Massif

My companions for the next several weeks had had relatively no experience trekking before. It takes courage or stupidity to head into the highest mountains on earth when your only previous walking has been done on the High street. This trail is unique, however, and is as much about stopping as it is going. The trail is littered with tea houses and lodges advertising solar heated showers and German bakeries. One is rarely more than two hours from a milk tea or Coke. One hits the trail by eight, tea at ten, lunch from 12 to 1` and are usually done walking for the day by 4pm. This leaves ample time to get to know fellow travelers (if you want to or not). And they are a varied bunch.

The walking during the second day

"And what's more, Sire, your dance resembles the caperings of a drunken donkey." -Voltaire, Candide, p67.

My legs began to feel fettered; and my typically solitary walker's legs needed to be stretched out on the open trails of the Himalayas. Everyone was able to continue with the normal amount of blisters and Tiger Balm aches, but gradually Tobias and I found out we had a similar pace and sooner than expected found ourselves at 3,500m at the dusty village of Manang.

There was Ariela the investment banker from the City with a butt definitely meant for sitting in board meetings not walking, Gerhardt the Dutch postman with dried toothpaste always on his lips like a rabid dog, Tobias the laid back Bavarian civil engineer, Avi and Udi a hilarious pair of Israeli boys fresh out of the army, John, Peter, and Pipa 18yr old British public school students trekking with an actively alcoholic guide. This group made me feel old and felt almost embarrassed explaining my little experiences to people with real lives. I surprised myself which how much I had retained about Buddhism and Tibet, and I bored them with tales about bouncing around the Roof of the World which seemed to be about some other eccentric Yank not little 'ol me.

From left: Avi, me, unknown girl, Udi, unknown guy, Tobias

Above tree line we stared at Herzog's Barrier of impossible peaks, seracs, and crevasses that could swallow the entire hamlet. Physical exercise, clean air, and a large supply of endorphins left me with a feeling of well-being (just as well because the beer was too darn expensive). With a forced acclimation day in Manang we spent the day scrambling in the dry Tibetan countryside (stopping for the occasional apple pie drowned in custard). Climb high, sleep low is the mantra so I scrambled up the mountainside 800m to a small hermitage to receive the blessing of a local 84yr old lama. When I arrived a tad out of breath he was out fetching a load of twigs for the fire and his spry 83yr old consort (nun?) sat me down on a yak skin and plied me with black tea. My feet dangled outside the cave until I was ushered into a small low room in the mountainside adorned with thangkas darkened by years of smoke, pictures of the Dalai Lama and Karmapa, and paintings of Avalokiteshvara, Guru Rinpoche, and Milarepa. He quickly donned his greasy scarlet robes and proceeded with the blessing: chanting to himself he touched the dorje-symbol of power-to my forehead followed by an old manuscript and holy water, ringing a bell twice. A red ribbon was tied around my neck to bring me luck getting over the Thorungla safely. All for the bargain price of 100rs. He was amazed at my pilgrimages to Kailash and Manasarovar, and we talked about his long life in the valley. Well, we used a lot of sign language and grunts. Why are lamas so much cooler than priests? The couple while spry are too old to climb down to Manang often except in cases of funerals, and the villagers supply them with food in exchange for the cash donated by rich Western pilgrims who make it up here. I had noticed that the shrine also was adorned with dozens of passport photos pasted on the edges of shelves. All white young, innocent looking and a bit eager. I hadn't known that this isolated hermitage I had stumbled onto was so popular. Damn, I thought I was original. I was loath to leave, but a portly Aussie couple gasped their way into the room accompanied by Canons and a guide. Cue exit, stage right.

Picture of Monk and view

I ran down the 800m flapping my arms, whooping at the icy peaks without my boots touching the ground. I was blessed, inviolate. On my return we escaped from the tyranny of dal bhat (ubiquitous, cheap, filling local food of rice, lentils and vegetables but B.L.A.N.D!) we splashed out on rolls, peanut butter, pizzas and stocked up on Snickers for the pass. Yeh, trekking is rough.

To Annapurna (II)

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