The Annapurna Circuit

Part 1 – Communists, Hermits, and Thin Air.

There was a knock at the door, I rubbed my eyes and half in a daze I picked up my watch. It was 5:55am, I was supposed to be ready to leave by half past. I opened the door, it was Al. “What’s the deal man, we gotta go!” I quickly threw my things into my pack and rushed outside, not the best way to start a 20 day trek. Outside I was met by our guide Surish and three others who would be joining us on the bus ride to the Annapurna region. The two girls from Denmark, Sina and Irene, were with a guy from Canada, Livio, who was filming their trek for a documentary on the Annapurna Circuit. We hustled down the quiet morning streets of Thamel to the bus stop and got a ride to the much larger domestic bus station. The diesel fume polluted compound was over run with people and salesmen trying to push merchandise such as knock off Rolexes on you. Finding out which bus we needed to take proved to be a major challenge, our guide would ask someone where to go and they would point in one direction, we’d walk there only to find out that we needed to go in another direction. This went on and on, until eventually we were ushered onto a bus, never really knowing if it was the correct one or not. The bus was brightly decorated with bright garlands of plastic flowers, tassels, and many stickers and posters of Hindu deities. The seats were broken and covered in stains, there was trash and food on the floor, and your feet would stick to any surface they touched, not unlike an American movie theater. The back of the bus was emblazoned with a large reminder to the driver “Slow Drive, Long Life.”

Some young kids jumped on the bus who couldn’t have been a day older than 17. I assumed these were passengers, and I was a bit nervous when I learned that one would be our driver and the other two would be ticket collectors. The engine roared to a start belting out large clouds of black sut from the exhaust and we made our way slowly through the congested streets of Kathmandu. As we rolled through town random people would jump on and off making deals with the young ticket collector, salesmen would jump on and push newspapers, snacks, and drinks. By the time we made our way through the city, the bus was full, and once on the country roads the real adventure began. We barreled down steep, narrow, precarious roads at high speeds, barely avoiding collisions with people, animals, and other vehicles. Loud Nepali music blaring over the speakers as more and more people would load onto the bus at stops. I gripped the seat in front of me in vein in hope that this would protect me from a collision, my knuckles were white. It did not ease my mind any when we passed one major bus collision or when Al pointed out an overturned bus down in the valley. The Lonely Planet book kindly points out “you are 30-50 times more likely to die in an auto accident in Nepal than most other western countries.”

There were some people on the road waving down our bus and we came to a halt. A young guy with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth boarded the bus and started yelling loudly in Nepali to our driver. He stumbled a bit and smelled like cheap whiskey. It appeared that he was the driver of another bus which has broken down, and it wasn’t long before all the passengers of that bus joined us on our bus. People filled the aisles and any available free space, the rest (20-25 people) went on the roof of the bus, once loaded we started off again. What was supposed to be a 4 hour ride turned out to be 9 hours with our extra passengers and detour routes. I was never happier to step foot on solid ground when we finally came to our destination in Besi Sahar, where we would begin our Trek.

It was still fairly early, around 4pm, and decided to start walking to the first village which was only about an hour away. The 5 of us walked together laughing in anxious relief of our bus ride. We found a nice guest house called Everest Lodge and checked in for the night. A few hours later we were all gathered around a group of villagers singing and dancing together.

The Nepal countryside is an amazing contrast to Kathmandu. Life out here is simple and goes on as I imagine it did a century ago. Porters and pack animals carry supplies to villages not reachable by road. Hand tools are used to build houses out of stone and bamboo, farming by hand and oxen, and travel only on foot. We walked through village after village. Little children run up excitedly and yell out “Namaste!” and then ask for sweets and pens. It seems that some people at onetime gave out sweets and pens to the children, and now you cannot get through these villages without having them climb all over you yelling for a sweet. During the first day’s walk I came across a villager with a hurt foot, I was able to help her by wrapping it in an ace bandage and tried to communicate to her how to take care of it. I’m not sure if I got that much across.

On our second day we started ascending steeply to a higher altitude, though we were still relatively low compared to how high we needed to get. There were amazing valley views and many high waterfalls dumping their snowmelt into the river below us. At one high pass we were stopped by a Nepali man with a crew cut and camo pants. He yelled out “Maoist Checkpoint” and pointed to a small table. Sure enough there it was, a large red flag imprinted with the hammer and sickle above a group of men. They informed us that we were required to make a donation to them in order to pass this point. At first they demanded 2,000 rupees. Our guide, Surish, did us some service and negotiated with the communists to get our “donation” down to 1,200 rupees each. We paid them the amount and they handed us a receipt bearing the name “People’s Liberation Army of Nepal” and a portrait of Mao. It’s nice to get a receipt for extortion, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my name was going to go on an FBI list somewhere for supporting a US recognized terrorist group. The Maoist party is responsible for many bombings and abductions in the country in an attempt to overthrow the government and start a communist system. Their major source of funding is through tourist “donations” and so they do not directly hurt the tourists other than demanding money from them.

After a few days we unofficially became part of a larger group. We were traveling with the two Danish girls, Sina and Irene, The Canadian camera man, Livio, and a Dutch girl traveling with a guy from Seattle, Yevette and Dustin. Each night we would all end up at the same guest house and share stories from the day over a game of cards and some hot tea. The guest houses are usually very pleasant and simple with clean well kept rooms and a very diverse dinner menu usually containing items such as pizza, burritos, and apple pie. It seems the western influence doesn’t stop in the city. And a slice of apple pie is pretty nice high up in the Himalayas.


The mornings were cold, and as we climbed the trails became rougher and more arduous. At 10,000 feet you can start to feel the air thin, and losing your breath is much easier. Walking just a short distance often feels like I’ve just sprinted a mile. The scenery also started to change drastically. Below in the valley it is a tropical-like region with lush vegetation and crops. It is always hot and humid. Rising above, the diversity in vegetation starts to dwindle until all that’s left is mixed pine and spruce forest intermixed with fields of marijuana, it’s everywhere here. The weather up high is extremely dry, and as you are more exposed to the sun it is extremely hot in the sunlight and extremely cold in the shade, sometimes an almost 20 degree difference. On some nights as soon as the sun was blocked by the mountains, the temperature would drop below freezing within minutes. We stopped for the night in the high village of Pisang and climbed up to the Buddhist Monastery perched high up on the hillside to catch our first grand views of the ice capped Himalayan peaks.

The landscape continued to change at higher altitudes from mixed pine forests to a dry arid mountain desert with very little vegetation other than patches of grass. Each step sends up large clouds of dust. The high mountain peaks surrounded us in a massive amphitheater. Around us were herds of Yaks and mountain goats. Settlements are more sparse due to the harsh living conditions and inability to farm. Food supplies must be carried up here and so prices are highly inflated. We entered the old village of Manang, which some parts seem unchanged since the middle ages. Building are made of stone and mud all surrounded by high kingdom like walls to keep the winds out, it is like something out of a story book. We decided to take an extra day here to help acclimatize to the new altitude and to rest some before ascending to the much more dangerous elevation of 4,000 meters.

I climbed the steep mountainside towards Praken Gompa, not knowing what to expect, though I was told a Buddhist mountain hermit resides in a cave somewhere on this mountain. Everyone else that I have been traveling with decided to climb the other side of the valley to view the Annapurna Glacier close up, they were not interested in finding a Hermit’s cave. I needed a day on my own, and also had the need to do something spiritual. The trail was difficult to follow and very precarious. I wasn’t sure if this was a foot path or just a herd path created by all the grazing animals around me. All I knew was that I needed to go up. The path cut back and forth over the desert like terrain past yak and goat herds. I was nervous that the unstable ground below would give and send me tumbling. It was cold and snowing up high above me, with every step large clouds of dust rose from beneath my feet. After a few hours I crested the hillside, the town of Manang still in my vision far below me, and I could see a structure of sorts high up on a cliff with puffs of black smoke rising above. I assumed this was my destination, though I could not figure out how exactly I would get there. I followed the ridge past strings of prayer flags spotted in the distance a razor thin path that led up the cliffs from the east side. I continued to climb even more steep slopes occasionally looking down to the shrinking size of the village next to the glacial lake.

At the top of the path there were many strings of prayer flags converging at one point and a small hand painted sign saying “WELCOM” (misspelled). Behind a small wooded gate there was a large white stone wall with a hobbit sized door on one end. I ducked low and entered, my heart beating with nervous anticipation. On the other side I climbed a small stone staircase and heard some mumbling and clashing of pots and pans, to my left was a small stone cave with a wood fire, a small straw bed, and an elderly man wearing filthy maroon robes. He motioned for me to enter with a big smile and took my hand and said “Namaste!” over and over again, it became clear that he did not know much, or any, English. He pulled me close to the fire, the cave was dark and damp but very cozy. The man stood up and motioned for me to follow him, we left the cave and entered another cave just next to it. He pointed at my shoes, I took them off, and we entered together. The cave was small and cluttered with old dusty Buddhist artifacts such as thangas, statues, mandalas, and many photos of the Dalai Lama. It was dark and cold, but had a warm holy feeling about it. We didn’t speak for some moments. I glanced out of the entrance way to see the high peaks of the Annapurna Range piercing the sky.

The man sat behind an altar and placed some artifacts on top. He placed a pointed hat on his head and introduced himself “I am Lama Teshe.” He pointed at a cushion in front of him and gestured for me to kneel there. As I knelt in front of him he started chanting and praying. He took a vile of water and poured some on my head, and then took a piece of red string and tied it around my neck “For your luck and safety in mountains.” He said some more prayers and placed some mala beads around my neck. He then looked up with a smile “OK! TEA!” He scurried back into the other cave and came back a few moments later with a cup of tea “DRINK!” I gave him some money and a traditional Khata (silk scarf) as a show of thanks. He smiled and said “YOU AMERICAN!” I couldn’t tell if this was a question or statement, so I just nodded. The only other thing he was able to communicate to me was that he was 90 years old and has lived in this cave for over 60 years. I pondered this for a moment and felt very blessed to be there. After my tea he gave me a friendly “BYE BYE” and I began the long steep descent back to Manang.

The trail out of Manang the following day was covered with a mixture of snow, ice, and mud. A dangerous combination as the trail traversed a steep hillside with clear drops on one side. Walking took complete concentration and caution. The snow continued to fall and as we gained altitude the temperatures dropped. The distance we were going was short but with an elevation gain of almost 1,000 meters it was no easy feat. I felt good and strong through lunch, and it was only an hour to our stop for the night. Just when our hotel was in view we came to a bridge. I needed to stop. I looked at Yevette “I feel really dizzy.” I assumed I just needed some rest. We checked in and I immediately settled down for a nap. I awoke at dinnertime feeling terrible. I had a severe headache and could barely stand up straight, every movement felt as I was going to vomit. I came down to the dining hall and everyone looked very concerned. I tried to eat but had a very hard time chewing. The two guides came in and told me I was showing serious signs of altitude sickness. I took some Diamox and tried to sleep. I tossed and turned with waking nightmares. It seemed as morning would never come.

I awoke the following morning not feeling any better, everyone Al and I have been traveling with was packed and ready to go. It made me very sad to think I have made it this far and may have to turn around so close to the pass. I said goodbye to everyone and started back to the last village at a lower altitude. The symptoms did not get better through the next night, and so Al and I made plans to go separate ways, he was going to go over the pass, I was going to go back the way I came the following morning. Although, the extra day did me some good, and I awoke feeling great. Surish told us that we could attempt to go higher, but anymore signs of altitude sickness and we would turn back immediately. And so we climbed on to a higher altitude all the way to Thorong La base camp at 4,530 meters. I continued to take the Diamox preventatively, and felt in good shape. Base camp is really in no-man’s-land. It is a barren wasteland of rock and ice nestled into a high valley between some of the highest peaks in the world. No one feels in perfect condition at this elevation headaches and difficulty breathing is the norm. We dropped our packs and ascended higher to help acclimatize for the high climb the following day. We followed the path up another 300 meters to Thorong La Peak towering over the small mountain valley with 360 degree views of the peaks around us. We would not get this view the following day as we needed to start climbing in the early morning to make the pass before nightfall.

There was a loud banging on the door, it was Surish. “I did not sleep last night, we go up now.” I glanced at my watch, it was 3am. Al and I grunted at each other and started to pack. The moon was full and the peaks glowed from the light. The air was clear and still but bone chillingly cold. The absolute quiet was only interrupted by our footsteps. I needed to stop frequently to bring the feeling back to my hands and toes. Al moved far ahead as I struggled uphill. Once past high camp I found it progressively harder and harder to breathe, I could only take a few steps before having to stop and catch my breath. The entire time songs by the Police ran through my head in slow motion. I stopped paying attention to the mountains and tried desperately to remember the lyrics to “Roxanne” and “I can’t stand losing you.” I found it very difficult to focus and concentrate over the steep snowy slopes, one misstep could end it all. After three hours the sun crested over the eastern peaks and started to warm my body. As I ascended I started moving at a snails pace. My only thought putting one foot in front of the other. I would look up at the horizon hoping that the pass was just ahead, though each new height revealed another horizon. When I finally saw the pass in the distance I was ecstatic to have made it, though my thoughts were fixed on getting off the mountain and down to a lower altitude where there is more oxygen rich air.

If you were picked up by a helicopter at sea level and brought up to the height of this pass at almost 18,000 feet you would only have a few minutes of consciousness before passing out and dying moments later. At this height there is exactly one third less oxygen than at sea level, which is why you must acclimatize slowly to come to this height. By acclimatizing you force your body to produce more red blood cells to carry the little oxygen available to the brain. Your body must work extremely hard to do this, so just standing still at this altitude you may burn upwards of 6,000 calories a day. This does not take into consideration the strenuous climbing you must do to get there, so you can imagine how fatigued and exhausted you can feel there.

We snapped some photos and I reveled in the moment of having made it here, especially since it seemed that two days ago I would have to turn back. Al and I gave each other congratulations and started the long difficult descent on the other side of the pass.


Part 2 – Happy Cross The Pass Enjoy Place.

The effects of the high altitude caught up with me on the descent. A raging headache unlike anything I've ever felt took over. Each step pain would radiate through my body, every step took an immense amount of effort. I was not the only one who felt this. Ahead of my I could see an elderly gentleman being led by a porter, then man was falling every few steps. Without the aid of this porter he would have surely fell to his death in the ravine below. The going was slow, but I had plenty of daylight ahead of me, as we had been walking since 3:30am. I popped the remaining Ibuprofen pills in my mouth and let gravity pull my weight down the 1,600 meter descent.

After and agonizing few hours we reached the village of Muktinath. The first guest house we came across at the edge of town was flying a Jamaican flag with a hand painted sign saying “HAPPY CROSS THE PASS ENJOY PLACE.” This was the Bob Marley Hotel, we had to stay here. We checked in and got some food and water in us before exploring the inside of the hotel. The place was a total trip, reggae music playing out of the speakers, posters of Bob Marley all over the walls, and marijuana leaves painted everywhere. The dinner menu had items listed such as B-Rasta Tea, Bob Cake, The Wailers Dinner, and more. We were joined at dinner time by a group of Canadians and some Australians and all laughed trying to figure out what the deal was with this place. We had a decent meal, and I felt much better afterwards. When it was time for desert I asked the waiter “excuse me, what’s in the Bob Cake?” He replied “Lots of things.” This was fairly cryptic, but I ordered a slice anyway since it looked really good. Christian, one of the Australians, ordered some B-Rasta Tea. The cake was delicious and tasted sort of like Tiramisu, Christian couldn’t quite figure out what kind of tea he was drinking. Christian’s guide came over to our table “So, are you guys stoned yet?” “what?” “Are you stoned, you know there’s hash in all your food!” This explained the green leafy things in my cake, and it also explained the funny feeling in my head, I should have known better!

We started our journey towards Pokhara the following morning. This side of the pass was incredibly different than the other. The entire valley is a large arid desert expanse free of almost any vegetation, miles and miles of sand and rock. After a few hours of walking a wind storm hit us head on, massive clouds of dust came at us with force. The walking became treacherous as there was no break from the wind. I could not imagine how anyone could live in these inhospitable conditions. We pushed through the wind following a dry river bed towards our next stop. Traveling like this went on for a few more days until we dropped enough elevation back into the tropical climate.

My body’s defenses admitted defeat and let a virus take over. The last few days of walking were excruciating as I needed to stop often for a coughing fit. We caught up to the group we hiked with early on, The Danish girls & Dustin and Yevette. They all helped me a lot with getting back down, though they had caught a pretty nasty cold as well. Surish started to carry my backpack to help me keep going. After one more long day of walking we entered the slum like village of Beni which was in shambles from a recent battle between the Maoists and Royal Army. Surish led me to a pharmacy and got me a cocktail of drugs, I didn’t care what it was, and I’d take anything to feel better. We continued down the busy street to the seedy looking hotel Dolphin and checked in. The following morning we boarded another bus and had another adventurous ride into the city of Pokhara ready for a few days of rest.