To describe this incredible place has to be in relation to where we have been. A lot like life I guess. When we first arrived on our flight from India, we couldn't see a whole lot because of the hazy pollution. We knew the plane dropped down into a valley surrounded by hills and we were thrilled. At first, it felt very similar to India because of the presence of rickshaws, women in saris, shanty town shops and restaurants. We arranged our hotel in the airport information office and the driver from the hotel cheerily introduced himself as we entered no less than 100 hotel touts holding signs for their hotels. They were joined by an equal number of taxi drivers pleading to separate us from our hard-earned dollars. We decided to splurge on a 2-star hotel (mid-range according to our guide book) to really get over the fatigue and various parasites living in our systems.

Kathmandu's Thamel district is a Western travelers' bubble of great restaurants, well-stocked grocery stores, 1st world camping gear, and unfortunately, a lot of touristy shops with a trekking agency in between each and every door. (A side note: There are at least 300 such agencies in Kathmandu and they are overwhelming. We opted to visit a non-profit environmental organization to help us sort through where to trek and what equipment we would need to buy).

We spent two weeks in Kathmandu soaking up the luxury of good food at slightly higher prices than India. But it was well worth it! In one week, we visited all the corners of the culinary spectrum: Japanese miso soup and udon, Italian pasta and brushetta, Mexicanbreakfast burritos, American french toast and apple pie, Irish beer, you name it. And I bet we each gained 5 pounds thankfully. One restaurant cracked me up because they had a bright neon sign advertising, American, Maxican (sic), and Italian food. Inside, they had Marlboro-logo umbrellas for their outdoor dining guests, and rafting advertisements next to the salt and pepper shakers. AND, they had a huge billboard with an arrow for their EMAIL and fax services. They really didn't want to miss helping their customers unload some extra rupees. Some people probably hate visiting this tourist ghetto which is equivalent to Pier 39 in San Francisco, but Chris and I have really loved it. The Nepalese people have been more than friendly and laid-back in their sales offers. Had we just flown into Nepal from the 1st world, we'd probably not enjoy it as much. But it was heaven after India.

So, now the good stuff. After resting in Kathmandu for 2 weeks, we headed to the Annapurnas, a range in the Western side of Nepal which is one of three well-developed trekking areas. After an easy 5-hour bus ride, we hitched another ride in a truck to another village, Besisahar, 3 hours further down the road to finally get to the end of the "road" and the starting point for the "Around Annupurna" trek. The dirt road leading up to Besisahar washes out so often that few private cars drive down it so we had to take any ride we could get. And the ride we got was in the cab of a huge truck piled high with rice and flip-flopped porters perched on top. Yee-haw.

We were just so excited to start walking. And walk we did. For the next three weeks, we walked about 10 miles a day through spectacular mountains, charming rustic villages nestled at the base of snowy peaks, rushing rivers and beautiful clear waterfalls lining the trail. We opted to backpack ourselves instead of hiring a porter which is quite popular in Nepal. Guesthouses and lodges were always about an hour down the trail from one village to the next, so we didn't need to carry too much. The rooms and food were usually very clean and only occassionally did we have to share them with large insects and spiders as big as tarantulas. Never a dull moment. Each day we would get up with the sun about 5:30 a.m., pack up our stuff and hit the trail. Very seldom did we see other trekkers but often we shared the dirt paths with mule trains. All the villages in Nepal in the hills depend on mules to get their supplies and provisions. It took us back hundreds of years, imagining the Wild West and wagon trains. Human porters also trudge up the trail, carrying everything including large armoirs with mirrored doors, and even the kitchen sink! We took lots of photos as we stood in awe of these human dynamos carrying 50 kilos, tied up with a narrow headband and string across their foreheads. A chiropracter would have been mortified. AND, they usually were barefoot or just clad in plastic flipflops. How could we complain about 15 pounds on our backs?

We usually stopped mid-morning for our lunch because the village people are used to eating a big meal about 10 a.m. We adjusted to the local ways and ate "dahl baht" (pronounced, "doll-bought") most days (large plate of rice, a soupy bowl of lentils poured over the rice, and usually complimented by a serving of spiced potatoes and cooked cabbage) which was ideal for trekking energy. Snickers were thankfully always available at staggered prices up the trail depending on elevation. We both admit that this western treat was a godsend. Especially on the 15-mile days! We even succumbed to drinking cokes on a few days but were relieved to know that the porters can carry the empty bottles back down the trail for a deposit. By 2 p.m. we were usually content to stop, find a village with lodges and rest our weary feet after an ice cold shower.

Nepal is incredibly hilly so most days were a combination of walking up AND down. The scenery, climate and foliage changed day by day. First, it was lush, green and jungle-like because of the banana trees or mossy forests. The lower elevations are heavily cultivated so we often were walking near terraced rice paddy fields with bright green stalks--picture perfect with a water buffalo lolling in the shade. As we ascended closer to the snowy peaks, the trees changed to pines, rhodendrum and cannabis covering the hills and lining the paths. The rushing rivers became smaller and clearer. The waterfalls were spectacular and inviting. Then, as we climbed higher, the trees disappeared and we felt like we were walking on the moon. Nothing but grey boulders and stones and grey sand. Higher up, the look of the villagers even changed because of the large influence of Tibetan refugees who have made Nepal their new home. Women with traditional Tibetan dresses and head scarves sold their trinkets along the trail. We began to see many Buddhist prayer flags and white chortens (rocks painted white and built into a small triangular mound or temple). One day we even visited a monastery built into the side of a cliff a thousand feet straight up the hill where the resident lama performed a ritual on us to ensure our safety and success over the Thorong-La pass.

Around Day 10, we reached the final village before our tough ascent to the pass crossing in between 2 very high peaks. The pass was at 5,416 meters (18,000 feet) so we decided to take our time. And good thing too because someone had stolen most of the oxygen from the air. Leading up to this day, we had followed the precautionary instruction not to ascend more than 300 meters (1,000 ft) per day to allow our bodies to naturally acclimate. Because I knew that I am inclined to have headaches (i.e. the big disappointment in not reaching the Kilimanjaro peak earlier) made me even more determined to take it slow and easy. On the morning of our big ascent (4,000 feet to the top), we got about halfway and just didn't feel great. We thought, we're here to enjoy this and savor each moment, so we went back to the base camp lodge and decided to tackle the mountain the next day. And was it ever worth it. In 4 hours, we reached the summit feeling great. The snow lined the path at the highest part so we were relieved we'd brought mittens and warm hats. The Tibetan prayer flags flapped in the wind and we took in every ounce of enjoyment, looking at the Himalayan views.

Down another 4 hours and 6,000 feet, our knees and muscles were aching but we celebrated with beers and 14 hours of sleep, thrilled we accomplished our goal.

The people and climate changed gradually on our way down (still always with many "ups") the mountains. We passed through villages that were so old and primitive that it didn't seem they had changed in millenia. Yaks and mules carry all their trade and provisions. They till their fields with wood plows hitched behind their yaks cross-bred with cattle. Villagers collect their water from stream water wells, women carried huge bundles of wheat in bamboo baskets strapped to their foreheads.

However, they have been very smart to profit by tourism and the abundance of trekkers who bring their communities cash. The lodges sometimes had indoor plumbing, rarely electricity and always a friendly greeting and warm food. I could go on and on describing the beauty and serenity of the mountains, but only our pictures will truly be able to do this experience justice. But I'll pass this off to Chris, because I know if anyone can do it, he can!...Hey, Chris just hi-jacked the keyboard. No, really, the photos could never capture the amazing Himalayan peaks but my husband will do a good job at describing the funnier moments of the trek.

This trek has undoubtedly been one of the major highlights of our trip. And it nearly didn't happen. I hate to admit it, but we were both feeling so worn down after India, we considered just getting right to Bangkok. But our bodies, the marble-sculpted gems of taut sinewy limbs and rippling muscles that they are, prevailed. We now believe that our problems were due to the intense mental/physical stress of travelling through India in the manner that we did. Moving every 3 days intersparsed with 10-12 hour train/bus rides, questionable food preparation and general 3rd world freakiness can take a toll on a person, believe it or not. It kicked our asses. We were very thankful to be in a nice hotel, nice Nepalese neighborhood, relaxing atmosphere when it happened. And we both fully recovered at the same time.

I had never actually backpacked before, and Paige hadn't gone in over ten years, so we really had no idea how our backs/legs were going to handle the 15-20 lbs. for three weeks. This was not an easy trek. In fact, it was very, very difficult. We hiked about 200 miles - up and down - and at our furthest point we were maybe eleven days from the nearest road/help/civilization. Both the strain and difficulty of the trail AND the seriously debilitating effects of altitude sickness (AMS) were constantly on us. In the 6 weeks preceding our trek, they evacuated 8 people by helicopter for AMS on our route. But as a result of these extreme conditions, it was also that much more rewarding, intensly gratifying and easily one of the most amazing personal accomplishments we've ever attempted to undertake. We're undoubtedly in the best shape we've been in since high school, and my calves are the size of watermelons.

I'm sure you noticed that Paige quickly skipped over the "tarantula-sized spider" episode. Ha ha! That crazy kid! Let's be honest. It was hell. The very first town we stayed in on the night of the cusp of starting our trek did not exactly give the positive foreshadowing that we were so needing and craving. First, a huge hairy disgusting spider, again the exact size of my face (not a tarantula, but as big or bigger and more limber = more ability to leap onto my face like Alien), was conveniently trying to unsuccessfully curl up in a corner. A guy had to come kill it with a large board. Thinking lightning couldn't possibly strike twice, early the next morning as we woke up, we watched yet another Buick-sized spider happily crawl along the wall and nestle comfortable down into my towel. Back came the board, but the spider gave a good run, nearly escaping in the open-inviting crevice of my backpack. Yi. (A positive side note: drying yourself with a spider-remnant towel is strangely invigorating...) Again thinking, hoping, praying that lightning couldn't POSSIBLY strike three times, two days later as I was falling asleep in the dark, no-electricity hills in an old Tibetan tea house, I felt something brush against my cheek. I sat up a little and felt the same gently-kissing caress on the top of my head. I jumped 15 feet to the other side of the room as Paige flashed a flashlight over to my bed where an ungodly huge spider was busy building an enormous web directly over the spot where my face had been. It apparantly died a meaningless death because we still weren't able to sleep the rest of that night. I can thankfully say, however, that lightning did not strike a fourth time. Yet.

But aside from these brief moments of weirdness (and I joke, but our tolerance level of freaky 3rd world insects and spiders has now become near non-chalance), the three weeks were absolutely phenominal. We would build up a deep sticky sweat by 6am and keep it running for 8 hours. Every day. The trail was well defined, not because of the prevalence of trekkers, but because it has been the main path for transportation in that region for centuries. Paige mentioned the huge mule trains, all adorned with bells, feathers, mirrors and woven carpets, constantly passing us... you quickly learn to scrunch up against the mountain-side of the path as they will ram you if you're in the way, and the river-side of the path may be 500+ feet straight down. The mules also had a special secret lil' benefit too: when you came to a fork in the path and didn't know which way to go, all you had to do was look for the trail of mule dung and that was always the right way. There's gotta be some philisophical moral to this quirk...

The tea lodges were wonderful. Usually perched precariously on the hillside overlooking the raging river, they provided the cheapest lodging we've had on the entire trip: the lowest was 10 rupees - 16 cents. And thankfully price did not equal quality. All they wanted was for you to eat dinner in their kitchen. Besides the Dal Baht that Paige mentioned (I can only think of it in capitals: DAL! BHAT!, try it, I think you'll find it marginally more rewarding), most tea houses served their own locally-made stuff. Like apple pie, tacos (their interpretation was kind of a saucy, oily thing that I think had an onion in it), and alcohol. Yes, when you live up in the hills for thousands of years, you apparantly learn how to pass the time. "Rakshi" is a prominant drink - many flavors, kind of like fruit liquor, homemade wine is available along with apple cider, but I was only interested in "chhang:" local beer. I think the best way to describe this is "fermented oatmeal runoff." In looks, smell and taste. And this is not a bad thing. Yes, to some people, putting a piping hot glass of greyish, chunky liquid up to your lips may be as frightening as face-sized spiders, but it was actually really good.

In this same vein, one day when we stopped for lunch in the town of Jomsom, as we were scarfing our DAL! BHAT!, we were looking over the extensive liquor bar merchandised so nicely behind the counter. It's very strange to see a place fully stocked with liquor in the third world, let alone way up in the Himalayas. As our eyes were focused on the bar, suddenly the cook comes out of the kitchen in his dirty apron, and unheeding of us, walks directly over to the wall of alcohol, grabs a random bottle, tips it up into his mouth, sucking it with his lips, replaces the cap and walks back to the kitchen. Paige and I looked at each other like, "Did we really just see that?" but our doubts were gone when this scene repeated itself two more times with two more random bottles.

As we left, my level of disgust had been raised to too high a level to NOT say anything, so I told the owner, "By the way, we were maybe going to order a drink from your extensive bar..."
"Yes," he smiled, "what do you want?"
"Nothing now." I said. "Ever since we saw your cook come out here three times, grabbing a different bottle each time and taking a swig before putting it back..." I expected him to be horrified, angry, disgusted....but his answer?
"Yes, of course." ...as if there could possibly be another answer.
It must be a fun place to work.

Prior to this trek, two of the main reasons I was looking forward to it all were Sherpas and Yaks. Unfortunately, we didn't get to hang with the Sherpa homies because these tribal people are only native to the Everest region in east Nepal, but thankfully there were Yaks a-plenty. I think we both knew we were getting up high in elevation one day when we passed a sign in the small town of "Mungji" that said, "Welcome to the Mung Lodge - WE HAVE FRESH YAK YOGURT!" Strangely, this didn't quite draw us in. So no Yak yogurt, but we did have plenty of yak cheese (kind of like romano), yak curd (curd is curd, nothing special here), and we ate many a juicy yak steak here in Kathmandu which were some key reasons our bodies healed so quickly.

Our final week of the trek was some of the most unique and wonderful scenery we have ever seen. Thick, dense jungles for hours upon isolated hours on end with only fuzzy moss vines, gurgling streams and 7 species of cukoos to keep us company. We passed the hours by attempting to imitate a whole spectrum of wierd and foreign bird calls. It rained every day that last week from 3pm to the night, so every morning it was fresh and clear, humid and misty, wet and crawling with leeches. Oh, did we forget to mention the leeches? Neither of us had ever seen a leech prior to this trek...now we've seen more than anyone should have to see in a few lifetimes. One day we were hiking up a grueling mountain for an hour through a dense, misty forest when we met a goat/sheep herder head-on. We stepped aside to let them pass, and for the next 20 minutes an endless stream of wet goats and muddy sheep bounded past us on the trail down the hill. When we finally got going again, looking down at the path we started seeing their aftermath. Millions of leeches - bloated and smashed in big red paint-pellet like splotches of blood on the stones, which had apparantly fallen from the herd. Rightfully freaked, we were on high alert for any crawling on us.

That night at our lodge, another trekker took off his pack only to find that the back of his shirt was completely covered in blood...the leeches even drop from the trees. One day when we stopped for breakfast, Paige looked down at her feet and saw a leech crawling up her shoes towards her blood supply. She smashed it and became extra-sensitive while I was still unfazed, seeing the Nepalese Porters STILL wearing flip-flops through it all and NOT leaving bloody footprints. What were they doing that we trekkers weren't? Whatever it was, I wasn't doing it either, because when we stopped for lunch I glanced down at my feet and noticed my sock above my shoe lip was changing color. To red. I whipped off my shoe to find my sock drenched in blood, a hole underneath my ankle. DAL! BHAT! eased the pain.

Finally we emerged back to the "real world" with roads, incessant horns and thick pollution. And cold beers. This was Pokhara, an absolutely beautiful city on the shore of a large lake in central Nepal. We were finally able to get cleaned up and eat something other than...well, you can probably guess. The bus ride back here to Kathmandu, approximate length of 6 hours, took the expected time of 11 hours in keeping with our 3rd world transportation experiences. However, we celebrated here with two huge plates of Buff Momos (kind of like water buffalo potstickers, but I just like to say "momo") and had the complete pleasure of picking up a care package from my mom. You should feel reassured that we are once again fully stocked in film, batteries, motrin, candy and sunflower seeds. And what more could we ask for as we prepare to fly to Bangkok in two short days?

Thanks for reading,

Mampy & Pinky