Nepal - Abode of the Stone Gods

As the official motto of the Ministry of Tourism of Nepal says, “Once is not enough!” And this short phrase predetermined my return to this magical and unforgettable country, in fact, after arriving from my first trip to Nepal. A country of contrasts, incredible landscapes, unusual, kind and strong people. To the country ruled by them - the eternal, powerful and indestructible stone gods, stretching their peaks high to the stars and tirelessly watching over us, such small and pathetic insects, thirsty for blessing in their centuries-old abode...

I knew that I would return to Nepal again, already during the flight home from my first trip, I was 100% sure of it. Memory is a very interesting and unusual thing - as soon as the difficulties are over, they are completely erased from memory and only good and kind moments remain. Moments that you excitedly tell everyone about for a long time, making them even more emotional and meaningful in your life.

This happened to me too - the sieve of my memory let through all the difficulties that I had to overcome and endure on the trek to Everest Base Camp, all the “God why did I lock myself up so high”, “I’ve had enough of the mountains” and “I’m too old for this crap.” Everything negative has sunk into oblivion and left in my head only incredible, breathtaking landscapes, my victories and achievements, the fulfillment of my childhood cherished desires.

And so, at some point, when memories began to emerge so often that some people already knew my stories by heart, I decided that the time had come. And my constant stories added unprecedented enthusiasm and interest in the Himalayas to my girlfriend, for whom a trip there became, as they say, a matter of honor.

There were no doubts about the choice of how and with which company to fly to Nepal, but with the choice of the route they arose. The new program with climbing Island Peak simply beckoned, and, I would even say, shouted at the top of its voice: “Come on, you can do it, you need it!” But considering that I had already been on the trek to Everest, and Island Peak is located exactly there, I decided to leave this challenge for later, and this time the choice fell on the trek around Annapurna, to a corner of Nepal that was still unknown to me.

Part 1. From Kathmandu to Lake Tilicho

And so, the adventure began. Zhulyany, flight to Dubai, meeting the first part of our group, transfer in Dubai, this time very short and comfortable (unlike the previous experience in Sharjah) and it seemed like home, Kathmandu airport (“this small suburban station”). This time it turned out to be quite crowded with people (the trekking season in Nepal was in full swing), but if you prepare for the procedure for obtaining a visa in advance (like us), then everything will take a maximum of 40 minutes. After going through all the formalities and leaving the airport, we learned another piece of news - not only was the tourist season beginning, but the rainy season, so unloved by these very tourists, was also approaching. We were met by Kirill Yasko (tour organizer, our guide and leader for the next two weeks). We all went together, first splashing through the puddles, and then taking our seats in the minibus, we went to the Friendly Home Hotel, which we remembered so well from our last trip. The landscapes evoked pleasant memories, and the chaos around, so unlike the usual European order, was addictive and did not allow me to tear myself away from the window for a minute and from contemplating what was happening. In a word, life was in full swing. Finally we are at the hotel; The first thing I wanted to do after placement was, of course, eat.

On the way to the restaurants, we stopped to exchange dollars for the local currency - rupees. Please take into account one thing: your wallet will 100% not be enough to hold your money after the exchange; Bags, an elastic band and a large pocket came to my aid. Millionaire-mode was enabled.

Memories of the local spicy cuisine were still lingering in my mind and in my stomach. I firmly decided that I would start this adventure by eating those very chili momos that spark enthusiasm and a chair under my butt. In order not to go far, we decided to go to a restaurant next to the hotel, where, due to the absence of the famous chili momos, I tried the chili chicken burger. By the way, he disappointed me a little, because he forced me to drink only (!) two bottles of my so dearly beloved “Everest” beer, which Olya successfully poured, pretending that the beer itself evaporated from the bottle.

Night walk in Kathmandu.

Since we arrived in Nepal with little time to spare, the next day was a day of walking, shopping and enjoying the local cuisine, which is sure to make any European yearn for home-cooked food. Kirill also took us outside the program to the city of Bhaktapur to admire the ancient Nepalese architecture.

Bhaktapur, like many other cities in Nepal, was heavily damaged by the 2015 earthquake. Some historical buildings were completely destroyed, others were left in deplorable condition. The small, poor country is unable to allocate funds for restoration work and most buildings are simply waiting in the wings, supported by wooden supports.

Bhaktapur was once the capital of the Malla kingdom and, from the 14th to the second half of the 18th centuries, united the entire Kathmandu Valley under its rule. It was at this time that many palaces and temples were built, which have survived to this day.

The day was very eventful and interesting. A bunch of new impressions and historical places, pleasant memories from the previous trip - all this awakened a feeling of real adventure and charged us with unprecedented enthusiasm. Returning to Kathmandu, we went for a walk around the city, and in the evening the rest of the group arrived. After a general dinner and getting acquainted, we went to bed, because the next day we were expected to leave for the beginning of the trek and the first, among many subsequent, early and difficult rise at 5 am.

Morning, collecting backpacks, sticky faces, loading into a minivan, at 5 o’clock - this is how my second adventure in the Nepalese Himalayas began. While everyone was dozing peacefully, I stared out the window and tried not to miss anything, following every bush and every stone with my eyes. The winding serpentine road took us further and further from Kathmandu into the interior of the country. Turn after turn, descent, ascent, turn again and sharply down again; God bless the man who invented motion sickness pills. By the way, in Nepal, roads have two states - they either exist or they don’t exist at all. And after a couple of hours of this mind-blowing and stomach-turning carousel, we stopped for lunch.

No, this is not an expensive tropical restaurant or a hackneyed tourist place that is easy to find in guidebooks to Nepal, if there are any. This is a simple roadside cafe, with the most ordinary cuisine, plastic chairs and tables - but with an awesome view that will give odds to many famous resorts. Buffet: rice, mivin noodles, just tea bags - this is, perhaps, the entire range that this cafe can offer. But there was no time to admire the views and spend a long time tasting Nepalese dishes; a long difficult path awaited us. After several hours on buses, we boarded jeeps.

Jeeps deserve separate lines. Indian-made SUVs bearing the proud and loud name “Mahindra” are considered the pinnacle of automotive evolution in Nepal. Mahindra is if a UAZ slept with the god Ganesh and they had a son, whom they never wanted, but it would be a shame to throw it away, because he has a kind face. So this mechanical miracle, which had never heard the word “shock absorber” and firmly believes that springs are the pinnacle of achievement in the automotive industry, on overinflated wheels and with the driver barely sticking out from behind the steering wheel, was supposed to take us to the starting point. And we had to go about 30 km.

Roads with ten-meter cliffs, falling rain, frequent breakdowns (we personally had a chance to see a gearbox being repaired in the middle of the road) on the one hand and dizzying views on the other. Perhaps this is the moment when you begin to gradually understand that you have not set out on a leisurely route and the trials are just beginning. It was here that my memory gradually began to return to me, diluting the pleasant memories from the last trip with real memories.

As a lover of all sorts of gadgets, this time I armed myself with a Garmin Fenix ​​3 watch. It has a cool watch that calculates the oxygen content in the air depending on the altitude and writes whether there is a risk of altitude sickness. There is nothing military here, the program takes zero altitude as 100% of the oxygen content from the norm, i.e. 20.9% by volume. Well, the higher the user, the less there is. It's simple. So get ready to see my hairy hand with a watch throughout the entire story.

And now we are at the starting point. Our first overnight stay in loggias along the route. Here we said goodbye to our jeeps and prepared to continue our journey on foot. By the way, unlike the trek around Everest, where the first night immediately introduced me to a new nocturnal friend whose name is cold, here everything went quite painlessly and I slept soundly and comfortably.

Morning. With the first rays of the sun, life comes to the loggia and sleepily crawling tourists begin to turn off their lanterns. Everyone is fussing, someone is standing in line for a shower, someone is trying to brush their teeth in icy, semi-frozen water, someone is eating the breakfast they ordered the night before, and someone is already haggling with the locals for a hat or a bottle of cola - this is an unforgettable and indescribable atmosphere, the atmosphere of the beginning of a great adventure. After having breakfast and putting our backpacks on our backs, we finally hit the road.

The first thing you encounter on the way are the well-recognized suspension bridges, like arteries, connecting small villages and thousands of colored prayer flags, designed to protect from evil and bless this land. Each color of the flag symbolizes one of the elements - earth (yellow), water (green), fire (red), air/wind (white) and sky/space (blue).

With every step comes the understanding that you are no longer in Nepal, you are in a completely different, unusual, magical place. A place where time flows differently, where the problems and difficulties of modern life completely lose their meaning. A place where there is only one step between fatigue and peace. At some point you realize that you have stepped into the abode of the stone gods and your entire path will pass under their vigilant and tireless gaze.

Many of the roads we had the opportunity to travel along were built quite recently and, most interestingly, practically without the use of any equipment. It is difficult to even imagine how much titanic human labor was spent on the construction of a simple, but at the same time such an important tourist trail. After all, for most locals, tourists are the main source of their modest income.

Our path also passed through the Gates of Heaven. No, the Gate of Heaven is not a huge cliff with a thousand bones below. The Gate of Heaven is an incredibly sized granite amphitheater, once created by the Annapurna glacier. Against the backdrop of this grandiose natural “structure” you understand how insignificant man and his works are. The Himalayas are a place of contrasts.

The second overnight stop on our route was a village with the loud name of Upper Pisang. And it is famous not for what you might think and joke about. Pisang is located at an altitude of 3250 meters above sea level, divided by the Marsyandi River into two parts - Lower Pisang (on the right bank) and Upper Pisang itself (on a hill on the left bank). The only attraction of Upper Pisang is its Buddhist temple, which we immediately visited.

But, as for me, this is not the only and certainly not the main attraction of this village. Its main feature, like all the small villages on our way, is undoubtedly the mountains, which attract all attention and make you completely forget about time, enchanting with their unique beauty.

But the day was drawing to a close. It was noticeably colder outside. The first signs of being at altitude were felt. There was a little noise in my head, my heart rate increased noticeably, and my usual actions began to require much more effort. Altitude sickness stood around the corner and smiled sarcastically, which, by the way, my watch warned about. (and here's a photo of a hairy arm again, don't say I didn't warn you)

We moved to the main hall of the loggia where the rooms had been reserved. Eating dinner by the warm stove, which is only heated in the evening, is a great chance to warm up before the cold Himalayan night. And the atmosphere here is always magical. Dozens of tourists from different parts of the world, funny stories in all kinds of languages, stupid jokes, new acquaintances, pleasant fatigue and incredible views from the window. It’s difficult to exchange such an evening for something else, believe me.

Morning. Several standard procedures, the same ice water that quickly brought us back to life, breakfast, packing and we were back on the route. Next point is Manang.

In Nepal, and not only in it, there is one simple pattern - the further you go into the mountains, the more complex and beautiful the views that open to your eyes. After all, all good things never come easy. The first serious climb was even more of a test - my face began to slowly but surely burn, my lips began to become chapped. However, the view from above more than made up for all the pain.

It was here that there was a bench, as if standing on the edge of the world, a bench, sitting on which, you want time to stop forever, to sit here and absorb everything that is beautiful and eternal that surrounds you here and now.

But the fate of a tourist is such that his whole life is movement and we had to continue our path. On the way we passed through several villages, which are worth stopping for a bit. They are called Gyaru and Ngaval. Their architecture has been preserved and has not changed since time immemorial. All the houses are made of local stone, the same narrow streets remain unchanged from year to year, and people with history frozen on their faces.

After lunching with borscht, we began our descent into the valley of the Martianka River. Stop, you were probably a little confused where borscht came from in a dense Nepalese village? Everything is simple: I took it away from my girlfriend. Because, having heard enough of my horror stories about food after the first hike, she stocked up on sublimates, which undoubtedly played into my hands. And here’s some advice for you, by the way: don’t be lazy and take some freeze-dried food with you. Fortunately, we now have a lot of brands on the market that produce similar products. Sometimes hot borscht seems like manna from heaven among a sea of ​​quickly boring momos, dalbats and noodle soups. But don't take my words wrong, the food here is not bad, it's just Nepalese.
So, the valley of the Marcianda River.

What can you say about this place? Beautiful and dusty, dusty and dusty again. If you don’t keep your distance from the person in front, you’ll be covered in dust from head to toe. The glorious city of Manang. This is a metropolis, a city with a population of 1200 people, with shops, honey. point and even a cinema. And don’t think that I’m mocking you now, no. By local standards, this is truly a city of dreams and I remembered this magical place with delicious buns and Snickers pie throughout the rest of the road. There is even a post office where you can send yourself a postcard.

Back in Manang, we encountered an attribute common to most megacities - rats. And the fact that the first person to enter the battle with these fiends of hell was a man named Leo, is a pure coincidence, and is in no way connected with the presence of superpowers named after him. The evening in Manang was ordinary, like all evenings in Nepal, but at the same time special, again like all evenings. It was in Manang that jokes about robberies in masks of Shiva and Ganesh were born, because, damn it, who dares to stop the gods? The next day was radial day. Ice Lake and an altitude of 4600 meters awaited us.

For those who do not know what a “radial” is, it is an expression that means a walk lasting 1 day and returning to the same place from where you started. With a climb and subsequent complete release for acclimatization, i.e. accustoming the body to rarefied air.

The morning turned out to be cloudy and did not bode well. The wind that drove the falling rain, turning into snow and cold with the climb. But those who are afraid of bad weather do not go to the mountains. On the way, we met a group of Russian-speaking tourists, in which everyone unanimously supported the plump man with shouts - “Come on a little!!!” We joined the support, supported and moved on. We climbed up. Oh yes, somewhere here, at this very top, in this very fog, there should be a stunning view of Gangapurna and Annapurna 3. But, as they say, “it’s not all pancakes for the cat.”

The climb turned out to be very difficult - the height made itself felt with every meter gained. And the weather played along with the altitude, making us understand that we were clearly out of place in this stone kingdom. Fortunately, there was a shelter at the top where we could take a breath, hide from the piercing icy wind and drink some hot tea, inhaling the magical aroma of the yak poop stored here. Why store something like this, you ask? And then, in the absence of wood, this is the only type of fuel for heating.

And here is a mountain of those very fuel poops. Having such fuel reserves in Nepal is comparable, perhaps, to having your own oil well somewhere in Iraq.

A little annoyed by the lack of beautiful views, we headed down. We met the group again and supported Tolik again. The man fought to the last, for which he has undoubted respect. And here, as they say, “let him who seeks find, let him who has eyes see.” The lead clouds parted and we were treated to a stunning view of the river valley, which accompanied us the entire way back, charging us with unprecedented enthusiasm and positivity.

Returning to Manang, the first thing we did was go to dinner by the warm stove, then shower and sleep. After 13 km and a height difference of 1500 meters, I didn’t want anything more than these simple things. The next day the base camp of Lake Tilicho was waiting for us.

Morning. The long and grueling climb upward begins. And the landscapes around change literally with every meter of height gained. Trees turn into bushes, bushes into grass, and then it all disappears altogether, giving way to stones and ice.

And the trail here radically changes its format. Behind the village of Sri Kharka, a huge area of ​​talus begins. This is a relatively dangerous area, because... Stones fall from above every now and then, and they do this with one purpose - to hit you in the head. At the same time, on a narrow path, two tourists can barely pass each other, not to mention locals with caravans of mules, every now and then going to meet each other.

After 3 hours of admiring the unusual and dangerous landscape with breaks to look out for falling stones, our eyes open to a view of the base camp of Lake Tilicho. By the way, the lake is located away from the main route, but despite this, hikes to the lake are very popular.

The base camp itself consists of several loggia houses, a couple of barns and a group of grazing yaks. There are no hundreds of colorful tents here, as in the season at Everest Base Camp. In fact, this is another mini-village and the loud name “Base Camp” is just a name.

Upon arrival, we almost immediately go to bed. Get up at 4.00 and start at 5.30. Morning has come. Darkness, bone-chilling cold, closed eyes. Thermoses and a couple of pieces of pie saved from the evening. We walk, lighting the way in the dark with lanterns. And of course you can’t do without a little adventure. In the evening we borrowed a smaller thermos from the guys so as not to carry our one and a half liter one. While trying to drink some tea on the trail, a small borrowed thermos went down a cliff. But I decided that no, this thermos would not get rid of me so easily and went in search. Still the same night, a frozen slope, shortness of breath, like a dog after chasing a boy who stole apples in the garden she guards, and a terrible desire to find someone else’s lost property - and this is only a small part of my feelings. But the attempt was unsuccessful. Having spent 30 minutes of time and having warmed up considerably, I told the thermos that I would definitely come back for it on the way back, asked it to hold on and remember that he was loved and expected. We wandered on.

OlhaTrostianchuk got acquainted with yaks along the way. The Yaks reluctantly met Olya. In the eyes of the young Yak boy one could read the question: “And you weren’t sitting at home, girl?”

The sun quickly caught up with us, returning joy to our faces. But the rise was just beginning and the joy was fleeting.

Rising higher and higher, it began to seem that only the stars were higher than us, and we could reach the sky with our hands.

Finally, after 3 or 4 hours of climbing, we reached a plateau strewn with snow. At such a height, looking at snow reflecting the sun's rays is strictly prohibited, as this can cause a burn to the cornea. Again there were some adventures - Olya forgot her glasses. From that moment we began the ascent of the “blind bandura player”.

Under my strict guidance - “Here forward, here to the left, here to the right, be careful - there’s a man ahead...” - step by step we reached Lake Tilicho.

On September 24 - 26, 2000, a group of divers performed a series of dives in Lake Tilicho. The maximum diving depth was 26 m. According to them, as well as according to the Polish expedition of 2007, the depth of the lake can reach 150 m, the confirmed depth is 75 m. The only form of life found in the waters of Lake Tilicho is plankton. So don’t expect to profit from a ram from a local Nepalese granny.

Next came: lunch; tea; headache; hatred of the damned white snow that burns out the eyes; long way down. We have covered half of our Nepal journey. Half of the adventure was left behind, and 8 more unforgettable days full of events awaited us. But read about this in the next part of the article.

Part 2. Thorong La Pass and Mustang

So, our adventure continues. After having lunch at Lake Tilicho and thoroughly enjoying the local views, we headed down. The path ahead of us was not easy and it ended right behind the rash area, in a village called Sri Kharka. The first stop on the route was the Tilicho base camp, where lunch and backpacks were left for us before the morning ascent.

All the way back, Dima, like Olya before him, tried to get to know the local yaks.

The local Yaks, in turn, really didn’t want to get to know Dima, just like Olya before him.

But perseverance and friendliness prevail and break down barriers - both linguistic and interspecies. The spark of friendship was lit, a more or less successful photo was taken and we finally continued our descent. Having reached the place where the thermos suddenly left us in the morning, I separated from the group and headed down the steep slope, shouting loudly the name of the thermos in the hope of an answer. And so, after some 20 minutes, I found the wounded body of our steel friend, with dents from the fall. The rescue operation was successful and, by the way, the tea in the thermos did not even have time to cool completely - our friend was doing his job until the end. The moral is this - not everything that falls down in the mountains is lost. Having met with the rest of the group in the loggia and handing over the lost thing to its rightful owners, we had lunch and, putting our backpacks on our shoulders, set off again.

The day was wonderful and windless. A couple of days of no shower became more and more noticeable and so I strictly decided - no matter what the shower was in Sri Kharka, I would go to it. And with this thought, after several hours of tiring and dusty road, I entered the village. And what did I see? Yes, I saw him! The same one, open to all winds, with a non-working hot water regulator, under which you can stand for no more than 3 seconds - a shower.

I will not describe all the intricacies of my bathing, especially since in the mountains any soul is manna from heaven. Even if it’s a drafty booth made of thin metal sheets, flooded ankle-deep with water, with only boiling water in stock, and for 5 bucks. Having waited for a line of people willing (and there is one for every shower, no matter how scary it is, believe me), this desired procedure was carried out. Another fundamental difference between this trek and the trek to Everest Base Camp is that almost all the villages on the route have some kind of road connection. Therefore, it will not be difficult to find such delicacies as Coca-Cola, Fanta, chips, chocolates and the like in small shops. That evening we had a celebration: Fanta flowed like a river and Pringles crunched from all sides. Such harmful echoes of civilization here in the mountains greatly improve your mood and morale, so you shouldn’t deny yourself these little joys. The next day promised to be easy, as easy as a day in the Himalayas can be.

The next day the trail took us to the abandoned village of Upper Khangsar. It is difficult to say what is the reason for the abandonment of this village. Perhaps people simply moved to larger settlements on tourist trails, leaving their homes and farms. Perhaps some kind of cataclysm drove people from their homes.

But whatever the reason why the village was abandoned, at the entrance to it one can feel some kind of ominous and mystical atmosphere of this place. Leaning stone houses, empty window and doorways filled with darkness, and the wind howling between the stone walls. The place that was once alive with life is now dead.

But let’s put aside speculation and mysticism and return to the beautiful. Namely, the view that from this place opens onto the Mananga valley. This place is like a quagmire, it pulls you in and doesn’t want to let you go, turning time into a thick, endlessly stretching substance.

And you are so stupefied, you long to surrender yourself entirely to this beautiful quagmire, stretching out every breath as if it were your last. But now the halt is over and having quenched our thirst for beauty a little, we move on. And then a birch forest awaits us. No, not the one in which the birch trees make noise and the white-trunked ones understand everything. The local birch forest is more reminiscent of a picture from a post-apocalyptic film, where dead trees try to grab a random traveler with their tenacious, dry tentacles.

Having passed this sweet place, in which the image of the Armless Man, howling about the white-trunks, kept popping up between the branches, having lost a little height, we found ourselves... (believe it or not) in Nirvana.

This is the big name that the small tea house bears before the climb to the main Manang-Torong-La trail.

Also, it was here that I remember the most expressive advertisement for yak cheese that I saw in Nepal. As for me, this still life can rather be regarded as “Cheese kills” rather than as information about the availability of this product. After resting for a couple of minutes, we moved on and, with a slight climb, reached the village of Yak-Kharka, located at an altitude of 4030 meters.

Lunch was waiting for us here. And for lunch there were yak steaks. And, judging by the name of the village (Yak-Kharka), the local yaks are known far beyond its borders. This is not the most delicious meat in the world, no. This is not the most tender meat, it has no degrees of doneness, it will not make you squeal with pleasure, but it is a steak, a Nepalese yak steak, and you must try it.

There was only an hour left to the overnight stop. The final destination of today is the village of Ledar at an altitude of 4230 meters. But no matter how high you climb and no matter how difficult the path, never forget about romance. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s a beautiful flower found or just juniper branches in a jar of lemon tea concentrate. The moment itself is important, the sign is important.

The next day was promising, and it promised us nothing less than 1100 meters of altitude gain. The last point of this day was High Camp, which is located at an altitude of 4925 meters. But before High Camp, another pleasant stop awaited us. This stop was the village of Thorong Phedi.

As soon as you enter this windswept place, you are greeted by the subtle and enchanting aroma of cinnamon buns emanating from the local bakery loggia. The choice of dish for lunch became obvious. Having fairly refreshed ourselves, we moved on - to the base camp of the Trong La pass or, as I previously called it, to High Camp. The ascent was extremely difficult, and the winding path seemed to have no end. Life has almost completely abandoned this area - not a bush, not a blade of grass, and there are only them around, stone gods, looking at us through eternity.

As we ascended to High Camp, we encountered an unexpected and interesting phenomenon—queues. There were lines in the common dining room, there were lines in the rooms and even in the toilets. This is due to the fact that this small camp is the only place to spend the night before the assault on the Thorong-La pass, the highest point of the entire route.

After waiting in line, having lunch and finally receiving the keys, we went to check in. The three of us (me, Olya and Dima) were lucky enough to win the lottery. The thing is that for the whole group we got two rooms - one for 3 people (let’s call it “luxury”) and the second for 10 (this will be “hut”). It was decided to draw lots and, damn it, luck smiled on us. The suite was ours.

Having dropped our backpacks, we went for a walk around the neighborhood; sleeping during the day at such an altitude is strictly not recommended. Therefore, armed with photographic equipment, we set off to conquer local hills or (as it was said in the trek program) pimples. The views that opened up were amazing.

And, of course, a photo of a hairy arm. The “AMD Risk level” inscription on the watch is actually an error, which was corrected a little later in the update. The correct wording is "AMS", which stands for "Acute Mountain Sickness" and is translated as "acute mountain sickness".

Meanwhile, somewhere in the distance a storm was raging.

After a saturated (but not oxygen in the air) walk, we headed back to the common room. Dinner, an endless stream of jokes and fighting the echoes of altitude sickness - these are, perhaps, all the main events of the evening, but not the night. And at night the following happened. Having generated and made a good portion of jokes on the topic of Dima’s twisting stomach and the possible consequences of a tightly zipped sleeping bag, we all laughed together and went to the kingdom of Morpheus. But, as they say, the music didn’t play for long, and Olya’s frightened and sleepy voice tore me out of my pleasant oblivion, notifying me of someone’s presence in our suite. It was about 12 at night and, of course, this “someone” turned out to be our old friends - the rats. Having calmed Olya, with a flashlight in one hand and a trekking pole in the other, I took up my first night duty. To say that in the morning I looked like someone who had been run over by a tractor would be an understatement. I felt about the same. And I woke up at 3 am. At 4, our ascent to the Thorong-La pass began.

Dozens of lanterns in the darkness left High Camp in a line, heading towards the main point of the route. Gradually, the small pebbles gave way to snow, and dawn began to light up in the sky. Step by step, we were approaching our cherished goal. Oh yes, I almost forgot! If suddenly your strength has completely left you, and you have an extra hundred bucks lying around in your pocket, then you can climb to the pass without any effort at all, and a small mule will help you do this.

But what is victory without effort, without suffering and pain? Probably, this is exactly that part of the path when you cannot turn back for all the money in the world, but your strength is almost running out, and one thought is pulsating in your head - never and for nothing. But as soon as your foot steps on the desired height and your chest is filled with a breath of rarefied cold air, you realize that all this was worth the effort. Every step, every breath, every curse that comes out of your mouth - all this is worth that perhaps insignificant, but at the same time such a great victory, which in a few days you will excitedly tell all your friends and family, and which you will remember until the end of your days.

George Mallory was once asked “Why are you going to Everest?”, to which he replied “Because it exists!” Perhaps it’s the same with everyone who goes to the mountains. Mountains are a place where everyone finds what they are missing in life. For some, this is a place where you can escape from the hustle and bustle and problems, for others it is a temple, with huge stone gods, and he is ready to put everything on the altar of these gods, if only the gods would allow him to walk among them. Someone shows what he is capable of, without falsehood, without cheap show-off, day after day proving to himself and the whole world that “I can do anything.” Someone comes here to climb to the very top and, perhaps, reach the stars. Everyone has their own reasons. But we all have one thing in common: repeating George Mallory, we go to the mountains because they are there. We love them and they make us truly happy.

Last time I was in Nepal, I really wanted to take a photo in the style of Scott Fisher from the movie Everest. Scott, played by actor Jake Gyllenhaal, sat at Everest Base Camp in shorts, glasses, boots and a Nepalese hat, drinking coffee and inviting Rob Hall to sit down and acclimatize. But the lack of sun, chair, coffee and bone-chilling cold prevented me from doing this. Therefore, when I went to Nepal for the second time, I promised myself that now I would do this no matter what. And I did it.

Think about and do stupid things, stupid things that will lift your spirits and push you to new madness throughout your life. And if it doesn’t work out, don’t give up, because thanks to such little madness, the world becomes less boring.

After conquering the Thorong La pass and enjoying the fantastic views, we headed down, but that was where our adventure continued. Unlike the trek to Everest, where the way back follows exactly the same route, the Annapurna Circuit, as the name suggests, brings us new places and new experiences every day. A winding path led us to the village of Ranipauwa. The snow again gave way to small pebbles and bushes, and somewhere in the distance the mysterious kingdom of Mustang could be seen.

With every lost meter of altitude it became easier to breathe, and with every step I gained more strength. The backpack no longer seemed so heavy, and my legs carried me forward. And so, after a few hours of travel, the Muktinath valley and the village of Ranipauva appeared on the horizon.

The Muktinath Valley is a sacred place for both Hindus and Buddhists. The valley is home to a large number of temples and monasteries, the most famous of which bears the same name - Muktinath. Hindus call this place Mukti Kshetra, which means “place of salvation of the soul.” This place is also one of the 51 Shakti Peeths (Shakti worship center). Buddhists gave it the name Chumig Gyatsa, which in Tibetan means “one hundred sacred waters” and for them this valley is considered the place where four elements unite - fire, water, air and firmament. In short, no matter how you look at it, the place is important, the place is needed.

After checking into the hotel, we had the opportunity to drop our backpacks, change into relatively clean clothes and go for a walk around this magical place. The first place we visited was the Buddha statue. On the way to it, we met dozens of pilgrims coming to this place from all over Nepal and India.

And here are those same 108 sources. According to legend, if you take a bath in each of the springs, your karma will become pure, like a baby’s tear. But the lack of swimming trunks and the weather, which was clearly not conducive to swimming, did not allow this action to take place.

After enjoying the local views and inhaling the incense, we went for dinner to a certain establishment, or rather, the Rastafarian guest house “Bob Marley”. If you ever find yourself in the village of Ranipauwa, be sure to visit this place. Great food, cold beer and a great atmosphere await you. I know it sounds like a slogan from a cheap advertisement, but it really is so. After dinner there was a shower and sleep, in a more or less soft and warm bed, without rats and extraneous noise, without headaches and tachycardia.

The morning pleased us with unexpected snow, which changed the surrounding landscapes beyond recognition. They said that overnight there was so much rain on the pass that it was temporarily closed and we, who managed to cross it before the storm, were very lucky. In this town, by the way, the walking part of our route came to an end. Next was a long descent by bus along mountain roads to the city of Pokhara with several interesting stops. In the morning, after collecting our backpacks, we went to the local bus station and chartered a whole bus for ourselves; After the last glances at the Thorong-La pass, the box with the motor, full of us and our backpacks, set off on the road.

The area around was taking on colors again. Our path lay through the ancient kingdom of Mustang. Once upon a time, people from Tibet gave this place the name Mun Tan, which translated from Tibetan meant “fertile plain.” Over time, Europeans turned the Tibetan Moon Tan into a Mustang. Mustang is considered a closed kingdom and admission there costs a lot of money. But we still managed to see a small piece of this kingdom.

The first stop here was the small village of Kagbeni, and the first place we went to was one of the local Buddhist temples, Gompa Kag-Chode-Thupten-Samphel-Ling, a monastery founded in 1429.

The village of Kagbeni itself is a unique place. This village seems to have been torn out of the past without a single change. Previously, Kagbeni had important strategic importance, being a checkpoint to Upper Mustang. A trade road connecting India and Tibet ran through the village.

The village was built as a fortified settlement; the fort towering in the center of Kagbeni has survived to this day. Frankly speaking, Nepalese forts are completely different from all the forts that I have met, and if I had not read about the fact that this is a fort, I would never have guessed.

After foreigners were allowed access to Lower Mustang, the tourism business began to play an important role in the life of the village.

You can also meet this man on the streets of the village. Don't be alarmed, this is Kheni - a spirit eater belonging to the Bon religion and protecting the village from evil spirits. Somewhere in the village there is also his lady, but, unfortunately, we were not able to find her.

Having thoroughly enjoyed the views and walked around the village, we returned to our deluxe (as follows, of course, from the inscription on the rear window) bus, picked up another group of tourists and went on.

The road (which in most places is under construction and has to be driven around directly along the riverbed) stretches along the valley of the Kali Gandaki River.

The next stop was the village of Jomsom at an altitude of 2720 meters. Jomsom is the administrative center of Mustang district. There is even a small airport from which there are regular flights to Pokhara (flight time is about 20 minutes). The airport operates only in the mornings, as during the daytime strong winds rise in the Kali-Gandaki valley, making air travel impossible.

Gradually, outside the window, gloomy rocks, dust and stones gave way to lush greenery, enveloping everything and everyone around. Wind, cold, snow and thin air were replaced by humidity, dampness and stifling heat.

The final destination of our route was the village of Tatopani at an altitude of just some unfortunate 1190 meters. It is famous for its hot springs and we were determined to visit them.

Unfortunately, in the joy of relaxing in the hot springs with an ice-cold bottle of beer, I completely forgot to take a photo of these same springs and will borrow it from the description of the trek on the website outdoorukraine.com. After a long and exhausting walk and bumping along dusty roads in an old bus, after sleepless nights and endless descents and ascents, after a war with rats and cold, this place seems like the best resort on earth. Lying in the warm water and enjoying a well-deserved bottle of cold beer, you really begin to believe in the existence of Heaven. Such a simple and uncomplicated Paradise. After all the difficulties you have experienced, you begin to understand how little you really need to be happy.

And then - Pokhara and Kathmandu. But, so as not to bore you with a long story, I will tell you in the third and final part of my story.

Part 3. Pokhara and Kathmandu

We continued our journey to the city of Pokhara. The rough mountain dirt roads gave way to asphalt. The mountains outside the window became lower and greener, and the air became hotter and more humid. The road was overgrown with the first signs of civilization: here and there roadside houses with shops appeared, service stations with grimy Nepalese men working on engines right on the ground, and dozens of trucks carrying their cargo to all points of Nepal.

Upon arrival in Pokhara, the first thing that catches your eye is the cleanliness. Compared to Kathmandu, Pokhara is somehow even indecently clean. These, of course, are not the polished streets of European cities, but we are not in Europe. There are an order of magnitude fewer wires covering the sky and jamming GPS signals, less dust sticking to all open areas of the body, more greenery and less annoying and incomprehensible advertising. In a word - a resort. By the way, Pokhara is the third most populous city in Nepal (population about 300,000 people).

Having checked into the hotel and (of course) wearing the freshest and cleanest clothes available, we visited the dining room; although no, perhaps this place, by local standards, even looked like a restaurant. During lunch we learned about one of the main Buddhist principles by which people live in Nepal and it is called “Nepali Time”. I’ll tell you briefly: you ordered 6 lunches, different ones, they prepared three for you, slowly brought them out, put them on the tables, and then “Nepali Time” comes. All the cooks, waiters (and it seemed to me that even the hotel manager) gather in a small group, look at the pale-faced people, actively discuss something and giggle. The remaining people begin to wonder: where is their food and why is no one preparing it? They start calling the waiter, trying to explain to him first politely, and then not so much - like, where is my food? To which he shrugs his shoulders, blinks his eyes in confusion and says with a smile on his face, “Preparing,” pointing to the kitchen, from which the dark smiling faces of the cooks stick out. The reason, as well as the roots of this tradition, have not yet been revealed to any pale-faced person. Perhaps the Nepalese simply like to watch how nervous tourists are, painting their faces with different shades of anger, because it is very, very difficult to piss off a dark-skinned Nepalese, Buddhism and all that.

With grief in half, we finished lunch and went for a walk. The first place on our route was Lake Phewa, around which Pokhara itself is located. This lake is the second largest in Nepal, its area is approximately 4.43 km², and its maximum depth is 22.8 m. The main entertainment here is boat rides, and a boat is the only way to get to the small island in the middle of the lake on which the Varaha temple is located. The temple was erected in honor of the god Vishnu (the supreme Hindu god), or rather, one of his reincarnations - Varaha, hence the name. And that’s where our small flotilla headed.

A sanctuary was built in the form of a pagoda. There is a legend according to which one day Vishnu came to the city disguised as a wanderer. He knocked on every door, but only in one house, where a poor family lived, was he offered shelter and dinner. God got angry and plunged the entire city under water, creating a lake here. And only one island, where the house of the good people who sheltered him stood, remained dry land.

Every day hundreds of Nepalese flock to the temple to receive blessings from the priests. On weekends, animal and bird sacrifices are held in the temple. Don't even ask me about the people, this is Nepal, anything can happen here. I'm kidding, I hope I'm kidding, I'm not sure, but I really hope so.

After wandering around the island a little more, we returned to the boats and glided along the water surface again. The next stop on our route today was the Peace Stupa.

The stupa is built on a mountain 1103 m above sea level and to reach it you will have to work a little. If you start your climb from the side of the lake, as we did, then an old dilapidated staircase, surrounded by lush greenery, will lead you to the top. The rise will take about 20-30 minutes, you will spend about 1-2 liters of water and 2-3 liters of sweat.

The Peace Stupa is a Buddhist stupa created to unite people of all races and faiths in search of peace and tranquility. Most of these stupas were built under the leadership of Nichidatsu Fujii, a Buddhist monk from Japan. Fujii was so inspired by his meeting with Mahatma Gandhi in 1931 that he decided to devote his life to promoting non-violence. In 1947, he began building Peace Stupas around the world. The first pagodas were erected in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in memory of the nuclear bombing of these cities. The Peace Stupa in Pokhara is decorated with four Buddha statues, each of which was brought from a different Buddhist country. The statues are installed symmetrically and geographically look north and south, west and east

And from above there is a simply fantastic view of the lake and the city. There is also a cafe where you can grab a cup of tea and leisurely enjoy the surrounding scenery.

After going down, we immediately went to another famous landmark of Pokhara - the Gupteshwar Mahadev Caves. From the Peace Pagoda to the caves it is approximately 3 km. on foot, this route takes about an hour. The entrance to the caves is made in the form of a spiral staircase.

The name of the cave Gupteshwar Mahadev translates as “hidden god”. Its age reaches 5000 years, making it the oldest in Southeast Asia. This is a chain of interconnected large and small caves. They are connected by narrow junctions. The approximate length of the cave is more than 3 km. Local residents consider it a kind of underground temple of the god Shiva, which houses the symbol of the so-called divine power of the cave - the phallic symbol of Shiva. For a long time, Gupteshwar Mahadev was abandoned. But in the 19th century it was reopened and made a local landmark.

In fact, you can’t see anything special in these caves - dark, damp, stuffy, dripping from above, yapping from below - this is how you can briefly describe the experience of this place. We can say that the Gupteshwar Mahadev Caves are more of an attraction “for show”.

After walking through the caves, we headed to the exit. On the way back, Dima again began to make new friends. This time the god Ganesha fell victim to his charm.

The day was drawing to a close and we headed home. Dinner, shower and sleep - that’s probably all I wanted to end this evening with. And the next day a little extreme sports awaited us in the form of paragliding. There are several agencies that offer their services in Pokhara. The cost of this pleasure is $60. And so: morning, getting ready and a minibus that takes us to the starting point along winding roads. Every now and then, “wings” flying from the top of the hill flash in the window. Upon arrival at the starting point, we were introduced to our pilots, given equipment and given a brief briefing. One by one, my comrades took to the sky and now it was my turn. But the wind had other plans for me. Remember, if someone tells you that paragliding is easy and everyone takes off the first time, don’t believe it. And here's your proof.

But I didn’t plan to give up. After getting out of the bushes and climbing the hill again, I prepared for the second attempt and, thank God, it was successful. The Pokhara Valley is considered one of the best places for pragliding, the reason is very simple - the view from the top is fantastic.

The flight lasts about 30 minutes and the first 25 of them are simply incredible - a lake burning in the sun, a peacefully spread out city surrounded by greenery and beautiful views of the mountains around. But the last 5 minutes turn a peaceful walk into a crazy carousel. If you had breakfast, you did it in vain, because, I guarantee, you will return everything you ate. After landing, my stomach wanted only one thing - to return to me everything that I had carefully placed in it in the morning. My face resembled a white canvas. Having cooled down a bit in the hotel room, we went for one last walk around the city. Shopping, souvenirs and lunch, and then a long and tiring road to Kathmandu. From Pokhara to Kathmandu is only 204 km, but in time this distance can take from 6 to 8 hours. The reason is very simple - traffic jams. In Nepal they can stretch for tens of kilometers. They are caused by the second common problem in this country - the lack of roads. As I wrote earlier, in Nepal there are two states of roads: either they exist or they don’t. But do not forget that they can still be built or repaired. As a result, we got to the hotel after midnight and immediately went to bed. The next day we had a tour of Kathmandu. And the first place the next day was the so-called Monkey Temple or Swayambhunath. Swayambhunath is a Buddhist temple center and village on the outskirts of Kathmandu. Why is it called a monkey, you may ask? Yes because:

The temple grove on the slopes of the mountain is home to a large number of wild monkeys, which are fed by pilgrims and temple servants. Sometimes these guys, without hesitation, can rob a tourist if they notice something tasty or if they simply like some kind of trinket glistening cheerfully on him. Remember, behind these cute furry faces and kind, all-understanding eyes are hidden real bandits and troublemakers, deftly wielding their fifth finger.

But let’s leave the local criminals alone and return to the temple. Ancient manuscripts indicate that King Ashoka visited the site 2,000 years ago, and King Manadeva personally supervised the construction of the temple in 460 AD. By the 13th century, Swayambhunath had become a major Buddhist center. In 1346, hordes of Mughals, immigrants from Bengal, who invaded Nepal, destroyed the stupa, trying to find gold in it. During the reign of the kings of the Malla dynasty, the stupa and the entire temple complex underwent significant changes and reconstruction.

Legend has it that the Kathmandu Valley was once a lake, and Monkey Hill, which today is crowned by the Swayambhunath Stupa, was an island. On this island there was a self-arisen crystal Stupa (“Swayambu” means “self-arisen”). She arose spontaneously from a lotus seed that was thrown into this place by the Primordial Buddha. One day Manjushri saw her on the way from Wu Tai Shan to Nepal. He was so delighted with this stupa that he thought about how to make it so that pilgrims could visit it. And he cut the mountain with a sword and in four days the water came out of the valley, forming Lake Madara in the Chobar region in the South-East of Kathmandu, which is on the way to Pharping.

At the foot of the Stupa there is a huge dorje (vajra), symbolizing Dharmadhatu in the form of the Manjushri mandala. Dorje is a sacred weapon, club, staff or scepter, used in Tibetan Buddhism as a symbol of supreme power and justice, a “noble stone”. It was created and placed here during the reign of King Pratap Malla.

Having fed the monkeys enough and jostled among hundreds of pilgrims, we went to an equally popular place in Kathmandu - the Pashupatinath Temple. Pashupatinath is a large Hindu temple complex located on both sides of the Bagmati River on the eastern outskirts of Kathmandu. It is considered the world's most important holy Shiva temple. Every day thousands of pilgrims from all over the world, mainly from Nepal and India, come to the temple. This time we decided to enter Pashupatinath from the back in the hope of free entry.

But our penetration was stopped by a group of military men. No, the reason is not at all that this place is so carefully guarded from annoying stowaway tourists. It’s just that on this day the Indian Prime Minister flew to Kathmandu and it was at that time that he decided to visit the temple. In general, the soldiers ordered us to wait, and our hour-long wait was helped by our old friends - the monkeys.

A couple of packs of cookies were destroyed, and we didn’t even notice how time flew by. The military opened the trail, we continued on our way, and here again was the familiar supply of fried meat that I remembered so much from the last trip. The thing is that along the river there are pedestals for funeral pyres. Yes, yes, you heard right: no matter how disgusting it may sound, the smell of BBQ comes from here. Near the temple there is a house for those awaiting death, where old people come and live there for their last weeks under the supervision of astrologers, who accurately determine the moment of their death (well, at least not a single person who was burned has complained about their accuracy). To the north of the bridge, representatives of the upper castes are burned, a special pedestal is for members of the royal family. To the south of the bridge are pedestals for low castes. The funeral ritual is quite complex; its correct execution contributes to correct rebirth in the next reincarnation. After burning, the ashes are released down the river. Regardless of what caste the ashes are from, sorry, the river is the same for everyone. In Bagmati, like in the Ganges, people bathe for ritual purification, but I would strongly advise against this. The dead are washed there before burial. Things are released along the river, which are caught below by Sadhus.

Speaking of Sadhus. Dima became friends with them too. Sadhu is a term used in Hinduism and Indian culture to describe ascetics, saints and yogis who no longer strive to achieve the three goals of Hindu life: kama (sensual pleasures), artha (material development) and even dharma (duty). A sadhu is completely dedicated to achieving moksha (liberation) through meditation and knowledge of God. Sadhus often wear ocher robes, which symbolize renunciation.

As for me, these guys are just lazy and dirty, but, as they say, “to each his own.” And what can a pale-faced man like me know about the high? By the way, this is where our free adventure ended. One local guy saw that we didn’t have tickets, ran and handed us over to the security, who in turn forced us to buy them. What to do - we gave our hard-earned rupees and moved on. There are temples on the territory of the complex, where entry is closed to non-Hindus. So much for equality, brotherhood, blah blah blah. For example, they won’t let you through this wonderful painted gate, even if you really, really believe in Shiva, your face is pale.

On the other side of the river are 11 small Shiva temples with lingas, behind which there are galleries of Shaivist lingas and yonis. Ling is in ancient Indian mythology and some movements of Hinduism a symbol of the divine productive force, i.e. in other words, the reproductive organ of Shiva. There are a total of 108 lingas in the complex. A pissy kingdom, in a word.

After wandering around the temple and fully enjoying the aroma of barbecue, we boarded a rented minibus and set off along the noisy and dusty roads of Kathmandu to the next point on our tourist route. It became, yes, yes, again a temple (how did you guess?) - the Boudhanath stupa.

The area around the stupa is radically different from the rest of Kathmandu. Oddly enough, it resembles a block in some small European town. It is relatively clean here, there are no crazy tangles of wires, the houses are painted and neat. If you don't believe me, see for yourself:

And, for comparison, the street adjacent to the stupa:

Boudhanath is considered the main center of Tibetan Buddhism in Nepal. The stupa was built in the 6th century and is often mentioned in historical documents. The route from Tibet to India lay through Boudhanath, and many pilgrims stopped here. The stupa is a spatial mandala, the base symbolizes the earth, the hemispherical vault symbolizes water, the spire of 13 steps (the number of steps to Nirvana) symbolizes fire, the umbrella symbolizes air, and the crowning belvedere represents the sky.

There was only one last stop on our list - Durbar Square. The word “Durbar”, when literally translated from Nepali, means: “the territory closest to the palace (palace, palace).” This name of the square is absolutely logical, because initially it was located near the old royal palace.

The date of construction of the palace square is considered to be the 17th-18th centuries. In 1934, the square suffered enormous damage from an earthquake. Most of the buildings were restored and in 1979 the entire palace area was included in the UNESCO World Heritage List.

And then there was a farewell dinner and the last night in dusty and noisy Kathmandu. The journey was coming to an end. We sat in a small cafe not far from our hotel, ate the boring Nepalese food, drank Everest beer and remembered our recent adventures, and in the morning the plane took us all home, far, far beyond the horizon. Nepal won my heart for the second time, occupying even more space in it. A magical world in which those very stone gods live, hiding their peaks far behind the clouds and helping brave travelers who dare to challenge them to find themselves. Nepal again surprised and enchanted, spinning in a dashing whirlwind of contrasts. And it seems to me that if I happen to visit here for the third time (and I have no doubt about this), this small wonderful country will still have something to conquer me with.

Maxim Noskov, September 2019