Karun Ezara Parikh trekked the Langtang Valley in Nepal with
South Col Expeditions in December 2014. In this evocative guest post Karuna recalls her experiences in this beautiful valley.
The last time I went on a trek I was too young to understand
the magnificence and privilege it brought with it. I loved the peaks in their
powder white perfection and the adventure of being higher than anyone else…the
Tent Chronicles and loo sagas, the campfires and ghost tales. But the
significance, I suspect escaped me. Ever since, aware of the missed moment, I
have attempted so often to recreate the situation, but have found myself on
road trips to the foothills or a similar sort of visit instead. This year as
cruel December crept in, I finally, eight years later, had my chance to redeem
that gift voucher from the gods.
The Lang Tang Valley lies in North Nepal, one range shy of
Tibet. I’d never heard the name up until Sujoy Das of South Col. Expeditions sent
out a group mail suggesting a trek to the area. Sick of having to cancel
various treks over the years due to work, illness, bereavements and so forth, I
signed up, paid, and swore to myself I would go no matter what. And voila! I
did. It’s an attractive trek…only eight days long, not too ungentle on the
knees, and full of glorious sights involving very little boot-in-snow action.
You’re essentially walking the entire valley alongside the river, which changes
from gentle stream to fierce gushing ice water as you traverse up the valley,
closer and closer to the source. The trek allows you such varied views of the
landscape, you’ll find it hard to believe your Day 4 and Day 1 images were
taken only half a week apart.
When you begin walking from start point Syabrubesi (it’s a
tongue twister that’ll be rolling out your mouth neatly by the last day), it’s
through forests sporting tall bamboo, leafy green plants, trees on the edge of
autumn and the obvious evergreens, strong gentlemen, the army men of the forest.
The enchanted woods are full of birch and blossoms, pale minute blue
butterflies and shaded areas. Everything
is magic and you can almost hear the fairies shake webs of their wings
and giggle behind berries. There are places you stop on the mossy path and
imagine Aragorn riding down on one of the many fluffy white mares you’ve walked
past, catching the sun in their manes like warmth saved up for later. Then you
begin walking upward…and mind you upward really is upward (Days 1 and 2 are
serious gluteus-maximus improvement).
As you walk, the terrain begins its gradual transition from
forested to fall. You’re so close to Tibet you can taste the culture changing.
In the faces you pass, the languages you hear, the religious relics you walk
past…and all of it is heartening. The tiny paths that weave through the valley
become strewn with the crunch of auburn leaves. Everything is copper tinted and
dry and looks like it may catch fire if left in the sunset too long. But night
falls too fast each day, and as the clouds rise like ghosts over the valley we
watch the moon as it rises crisp on the other side, over the peaks, waxing as
we walk further and further up paths that have succumbed to no vehicle. That’s
the really magical thing about trekking…that there’s a point where you pause
and look around and you are exhausted and your feet ache and your back hurts
and you can’t recall what a cappuccino tastes like or if you’ve ever really had
one at all, and you wonder when you’ll be able to wash your hair again, but you
also take note of the fact that it was nothing but your feet that brought you
thus far. Your feet propelled by your spirit. And nothing else could have done
that. No bicycle could mount those ancient steps of stone, no car so slim has
been invented for those edges. Your pocket couldn’t afford the helicopter and
your boyfriend’s big bike would be rendered useless by this cold. Nothing but
your feet could have brought you here, and when you marvel at that fact, the
two tiny captains wiggle proudly in their bruised and dusty trekking shoes and
no longer feel any pain. And at night you lie there in your sleeping bag,
temporarily a caterpillar, and you listen to the sound in the far off distance
and think “Gosh that highway sounds awfully close…” until you realize it’s the
waterfall and you can hear it so loud and clear because you are one of only
twenty people for as far as you can walk.
The “hardships” of trekking are only as troublesome as you
are troubled. Yes it’s December and it’s cold and the wind will shred tiny cuts
in your lips and the sun will love you so hard you will burn, but for every
frozen over water pipe and lamp-less shared toilet there’s a Tibetan boy’s
guitar lying idle in a corner…a peak that turns rose tinted just before dark
and a chocolate pancake you could have sworn was made in France. These moments,
they’re what you come back with…not the bedbugs and sweat nor the blisters and
broken nails, but the memory of sitting out on a makeshift bench, the wind
whipping the little parts of you you’ve left exposed, your eyes glued to the
dark silhouette of a mountain, an almost-alien glow growing stronger by the
minute behind it. And then there she is…the first shard of moonlight explodes
upon the valley and the goddess rises, full, illuminating everything within and
without. In her glory the peaks shine silver and your heart turns to gold.
It’s humbling, to say the least. To remember your own
smallness, in the face of such greatness. Those mountains that have sat from
the beginning of time sit serene and somber, and you feel almost doubtlessly
that they’re the abode of the gods. It’s no surprise then why over the
centuries god-men have turned to the mountains and the mountains have turned
ordinary men to God. Because trekking and spirituality aren’t that different.
Technically, you leave behind your materialistic desires and take nothing with
you save the clothes on your back. Whatever food you receive you are grateful
for, and you spend up to nine hours a day in silence, often alone, focusing on nothing
but the next step and the vastness of the universe. There’s no other place on
the planet where I, a one-time cynic, have felt the presence of a higher
governing force more. So very close to the stars, there’s little else that
seems important enough to ponder. Lost in the Himalayas is where I’ve had the
most peaceful thought of my life….that if I should go now, I would go happy.
And therein for me lies proof that those mountains are the closest to Heaven
we’ll get on this Earth.
Schedule for the LT Valley Trek:
Day 1: Kathmandu to Syabrubesi by bus
Day 2: Syabrubesi to Lama Hotel Village
Day 3: Lama Hotel Village to Lang Tang Village
Day 4: Trek to the Lang Tang Monastery and back to the
village
Day 5: Lang Tang Village to Kyanjin Gompa + summit Kyanjin
Ri for views of the entire Lang Tang Range behind which lies Tibet
Day 6: Kyanjin Gompa to Lang Tang Village
Day 7: Lang Tang Village to Upper Rimchhe
Day 8: Rimchhe to Syabrubesi
Day 9: Drive back to Kathmandu
Tips:
-Choose a good time of the year. Everyone balked at my
December plans but the skies were so blue I’ve had to actually de-saturate some
photos to make them more convincing! December is dry, clear skied and
relatively empty as trekking season is technically over. Only drawback is
finding places to stay and food options.
-Carry sunblock and drink enough water. Altitude sickness is
a very real thing that affects almost everyone if the right care isn’t taken.
-Carry enough snacks of your own. Nuts, fruit, chocolate,
energy bars.
-Carry as little as possible. You’ll find one t shirt easily
lasts you three days on a trek.
-If you take sherpas or porters with you, don’t treat them
as your servants for chrissake.
-Don’t litter.
-And finally, go with a company and group that do treks well.
The experience is easily ruined if you’re trekking with folk who aren’t similar
minded or if you’re with a group that chooses to cuts corners on small but
essential things. I used South Col. Expeditions and was overjoyed with the
results to the point where I’ve pretty much put my name down for treks with
them up until November 2016! You can check them out here – www.southcol.com
