A Yak Banged Me, & Other Tales From The Himalayas

At 5.30 in the morning, Mountaineer Bate and Mountaineer Schiller left
Kathmandu to catch the bus to Dhunche for the start of the Langtang
trek. We were sleepy but excited to leave the smoggy city, had just
settled on the bus, the engine was running and we were ready to go. At
this point, we were kicked off due to a seemingly impromptu bus
strike! Strikes seem to affect every business in Nepal - crazy.

After this false start, we successfully set off the next day, bound
for the mountains. After a bone shattering eight hour bus ride, we
ended up at Dhunche at the cutest little bright blue hotel looking
towards mountains in the distance - as Mountaineer Schiller said, the
place ranked high on the 'cute-ometer', and provided a benchmark for
the many other endearing villages we were to stay in over the coming
days.

The next day, we started walking. "Mathi, Mathi" (up, up), shouted our
porter-cum-guide Pasang Sherpa, who was shouldering most of our load
for the ten days we'd be staying in the Langtang National Park. Due to
his humour, nimbleness and physical attributes, we soon nicknamed him
Jackie Chan. He didn't speak much English, and had a maddening habit
of saying "yes" to everything. "Are we going that way?", I'd say,
pointing. "Yes", said Jackie, promptly turning in the opposite
direction. "What are the signs on the wall". "Yes, signs on the wall"
- well, I know that... "Is it this one or this one?". You've guessed
it - "Yes" - even when we asked two opposite questions. To be fair, he
did try "no" out a few times, with equally lack of sense! But he was
sweet, and got us there, which is the main thing.

At our first proper glimpse of snowy peaks, I became like an excited
child. "They're so big, and there are so many", I exclaimed. You don't
say - it was the Himalayas after all. But knowing this only added to
my pleasure, and I kept stopping to gawp as they drew increasingly
nearer. This may sound cheesy, but honestly it was incredible - as we
started walking between snow capped mountains, I genuinely couldn't
believe how big they were, and that I was actually there, dwarfed by
them towering above me. The higher we got, the more Buddhist chortens
(little towers of stones) and walls of Sanskrit we passed, making sure
to go round everything in a clockwise fashion. It really did feel as
if we were inching close to the top of the earth.

I felt such a sense of freedom - even more so than on the village
trek. As it was the very end of the season, we practically had the
park to ourselves, which was a real privilege. For the first three
days we saw no one other than a handful of porters carrying heavy
loads (they lug so much up the hill on their backs, it's insane -
everything you can imagine, from chickens to massive bags of cement)
and some increasingly hairy cows... Now, from my extensive research I
can tell you that most yaks are not in fact purebred yaks, but a
mixture of yaks and cows. The higher you get, the hairier they get -
and hence the more yak-like, or 'yaktastic'. But a female yak (a
purebred, no less) is actually called a nak. But most tourists can't
tell the difference between these yaks, naks and yak-wannabes, and
refer to them all as yaks. Bet you didn't know that.

By the end of our trip we had invented many different yak words and
had sampled many yak products. I can verily report that yak cheese is
yakorific, yak milk is OK, but hot water that has been contained in a
flask that previously had yak milk in is definitely not yakalicious -
in fact, it is exyakly gross. Mountaineer Schiller had a similar
report for Yak butter, which I strategically avoided in favour of
chocolate pancakes.

One of the more exciting yak anecdotes was when a yak, laden with
supplies for the villages, banged me. When I say banged me, I don't
mean "like that" - those of you with rude minds... But it did bump
into me, though not deliberately, and I did end up a little bruised!
Mountaineers Schiller and Bate also melted at the sight of baby yaks
(seriously cute) and at yaks wearing red tassel-like earrings. You
definitely don't see that everyday.

Anyway, back to the important points of this story... After four days
of walking, we arrived at Kenzing Gompa, a small, gorgeous village
nestled between peaks on all sides. A Gompa is a Buddhist Monastery,
and there was one perched on the hills above us. We stayed at the
Lovely View Hotel, which was at the highest altitude we'd sleep at
(and to use Jackie's favourite word yes, the view was lovely). It was
right on the edge of the village, closest to the foot of the
mountains. I remember seeing a 'Hotel at the End of the Universe' in
Nargarkot, but I felt this name could have applied to where we were
staying now. I felt so small as the peaks towered above me, an
insignificant spec among the magnitude.

At this altitude (around 3500m), it was harder to breathe, and it was
considerably colder. "It's like the Arctic or something", said
Mountaineer Schiller, dolled up in an attractive array of thermal
underwear covered with cut off pants and long sock and a woolly hat.
"Well, it is the Himalayas", I pointed out. We were blessed with
gorgeous weather - despite the approaching monsoon, we never got
rained on and had fantastically clear views. At night however, the
clouds rolled in, it went pitch black and you could feel the
temperature drop dramatically as soon as the sun went over the
mountains. I was grateful for my thermal undies and for the many cups
of milk tea Jackie brought us as we huddled in our sleeping bags.
After dinner, we'd sit by the stove that was burning wood and yak dung
(yep, it's those yaks again) in the main room of the lodge, playing
cards and talking rubbish. No change there then, at least on the
talking front!

Compared to our last trek this was five star. In most places, we had
hot showers, pillows and A CHOICE of food! This was a great change to
Dal baht. The only thing was, everything was carbohydrates - you could
have noodle soup, chowmein, rice, pancake, bread, momos or the
disturbingly titled "cream of packet soup". Appetizing! We also
uncovered some delicacies though, such as hearty Sherpa Stew Soup,
Snickers Momo and some seriously good apple pie (one day I ate a whole
one for breakfast).

After a fitful night's sleep (possibly due to the altitude, or in my
case, excitement), we got up early for a serious hike uphill to get to
Kenzing Peak. This was not the peak we were supposed to be going for
(don't ask, or I will positively RANT due to Jackie's
incompetence...but I'm determined this slight issue won't dent my
memories of what was an absolutely amazing experience). Jackie carried
our day bags, and we strode (when I say strode, what I mean is kind of
staggered as fast as we could in the altitude) pretty much straight
up. A short way up, Mountaineer Schiller turned to me, looking a
little green and breathy, and said "I think I'm mildly afraid of
heights". "Not a great trait in a mountaineer", I thought to myself,
but kept quiet, only frightening her every now and again by standing
on rocks near the edge as she sat down and clung onto the mountain for
dear life! But to her absolute credit, she didn't give up, and neither
did Horatio and Hercules, our loyal hiking sticks.

Up and up we went, over hills and along ridges (I've never seen anyone
move so gingerly as Mountaineer Schiller), when suddenly, the summit
was in sight! Woohoo! Over the edge we came, to be greeted with prayer
flags blowing in the wind and chortens blessing the top. We had truly
spectacular views all around, and some good laughs as we admired them
- I felt so lucky to get the chance to have this experience. I'm not a
particularly religious person, but I do think I have a spiritual side.
Standing up there I felt close to some higher being, and very aware of
the power of nature. It was one of the best things I've ever done - a
definite 'high' for this trip.