Day 1

Kathmandu to Lamjung: 
120 KMS | 7 HRS | Bus
Lamjung to Besisahar:
12 KMS | 2 HRS | Trek

Woke up to the sound of a woman screaming outside. Sitting up in bed, it took me a while to gather I was in a hotel room in Kathmandu.

Looked at my watch. 2 AM.

The clamour outside was getting increasingly loud, joined by a murmuring crowd and motorcycles revving unnecessarily. I figured it must be a fight outside the bar opposite my hotel. I had passed it many times on my numerous trips to Thamel Market to buy a growing list of mostly unnecessary but crucial items for my trek. Half my mind told me to get up and enjoy the spectacle through my window.

But I had had a rough night myself.

Post an early dinner of momos and Gorkha Strong beers, I precision packed my haversack to minimize the weight, after Shiba, my guide had declared it too heavy. I reduced and rethought required articles, removed all packaging and even cut off tags on all the clothes.

“In the mountains, every ounce counts.”

Three hours went by before it was finally packed and ready. Tired but triumphant, I checked the weight.

It weighed even more than before.

Devastated, I had crawled into bed to get some sleep before the 4 AM alarm. And now this.

I pulled the blanket over my ears to drown out the noise outside. Anxiety started creeping in. Is it even humanely possible to trek with no sleep? I recollected mountaineer stories of the dangers of sleep deprivation. Several deep-breathing exercises were attempted. None of which had worked in the past. Just as I was attaining enlightenment, louder sounds joined the cacophony. Cops had arrived blowing whistles and sirens. Bikes and cars began screeching away and a lone girl continued screaming in vain at the cops.

Great! Time to sleep again! The lone screaming girl’s voice faded into the night, almost like a lullaby.

Wait a minute. Now, the screams were getting louder. I pulled the blanket down to verify. It most certainly was. Louder and increasingly closer. Before I knew it she had reached the stairwell of my hotel, now screaming at what I assumed was her boyfriend who was rather calm and understanding of her predicament. They started coming up the stairs. She turned her focus to the wooden stairs, stomping on it like kingdom come. Thud! Thud! Thud! Probably going up to their room I thought. The noise stopped just outside my door. Several moments passed in silence.

BANG! 

She started kicking and throwing herself at my door. I planned my course of action. None of the plans made any sense against an inebriated woman. Several other doors in the hotel started opening. Just then the boyfriend realized they were probably at the wrong door and patiently explained this to her while she continued her assault on my door for sometime. 

“Ah! You get the good sleep. Yes?”

The manager asked in the morning after coming across me trying to make sense of the toast machine. I nodded. It was going to be a long day.

The 10-minute taxi to the bus stand cost us 490 NPR. The 7-hour bus to Besisahar, the trailhead, cost us 590. Maybe they felt bad it took seven hours to cover 120 km.

Following a full spread of a non-veg Dal Baht, the staple food of the mountains (without the non-veg), we began our trek, a steep climb down into the valley. From the very first step I was certain the bag was way too heavy to be carried for 18 days. Fear started setting in. I tightened the hip belt but the padding had worn off and the steel support was cutting into my hips with every step. I could feel my legs shiver and quake uncontrollably.

Just when I decided to voice my fears, Shibu looked at his watch and said “I think you very fit brother! We do good pace!” I replied in the affirmative. He asked me about my previous treks and I humbly regaled him with stories of my experiences, trying to forget the pain growing through my body.

Meanwhile, all around me, the fabled scenery of the Annapurna Circuit Trek had already begun to unfold. Every trek blog had warned about the newly built Jeep Road cutting through almost all of the circuit and opinions differed angrily on where to start the trek. Most newer itineraries now consisted of a 7-8 day trek and I had opted to do the full circuit of 18-days. I was already regretting this decision. And my brain was ignoring the breathtaking landscapes, instead choosing to evaluate plans to abort.

One hour into the trek I couldn’t take it anymore. The sides of my hamstrings had gone numb and the resulting bad form was taking its toll on my back. I put on a brave face and told Shibu we might have a problem. He came over and checked the padding and agreed it indeed was a problem. He showed me his bag and made a passing statement.

“That’s why never use hip belt, for me I carry weight on shoulders.”

I unlatched the hip belt and a wave of relief spread over me, enough to overcome the dismay at not having thought of this myself. Yes, 18 kilos of weight resting solely on the shoulders might be a bit much, but I reckon it was better than having to amputate my legs.

We doubled down and set off under the towering presence of the crag-faced 8130m Manaslu, its white gleaming against the setting darkness.