There is a buffalo between me and the mountain
The first thing I notice is the eyes. With our headlamps on and the pitch black around us, they look yellow. It takes me a second to realise that we are looking at a buffalo.
A few days before, as I step outside the airport in Kathmandu, I realise I know very little about Nepal.
I come here with the image of the 8000m high mountains, covered in snow and standing tall. Never did I consider that what lies beneath these mountains are lush green forests. Yet that’s what Nepal seems to be offering me on this trek.
After driving for about an hour, the driver drops us at the start of the trek. Sarmila and Anita are my companions. We pick our bags, snap a picture with the trek beginning sign and we move as a unit.
During the briefing, Sarmila shows me a picture of a mountain and says “This is Fishtail Mountain. Notice the shape? Hopefully, we will be able to see it.”
The first few days on the Mardi Himal trek are inside the forest. When Sarmila mentions this fact, it takes me by surprise. The forest does not just exist, it is alive. With every few steps, we are able to spot a new type of mushroom, some I already know and some are new to me and my camera. The sounds of birds pierce through the silence. Sounds we are trying to follow in the hope to spot the birds. On one of these occasions, we are able to spot an eagle flying so close to us and so elegantly.
I keep taking videos on my phone in an attempt to capture all this life in this forest. Most times, I fail. By the end of the day, I’m sipping a masala tea in the teahouse, scrolling through my phone to relive the day but the pictures and videos are no way close to the real image of the forest. Someone announces that Fishtail is in view. I rush out quickly to take a look. The mountain is shy and keeps hiding behind the clouds. Whenever it shows itself, even for a second, I’m there. I ask Sarmila how tall it is and what it takes to climb it but she tells me nobody is allowed to climb Fishtail. No wonder it is called the holy mountain.
Once the sun sets and I know I can’t see the mountain anymore, Sarmila, Anita and I retreat to the communal area and keep ourselves busy with a game of cards until it is dinner time. These games are full of laughter. Sarmila would cheat whenever she can while Anita is sitting quietly and keeps winning. As for me, I’m just trying to understand the rules of this Nepali card game while I enjoy my masala tea and biscuits. Eventually, we are joined by another trekker for one more round. Afterwards he asks us where we were from. “We are from Nepal,” says Sarmila pointing both at Anita and herself, “And I’m from the UK,” I follow. “Wait, you two are the guides?” he says.
By now, we have a routine of walking, chatting, absorbing the scenery around us, occasionally stopping for pictures, videos, water and snacks. This routine gets interrupted by moments of silence when we try to preserve our energy. On one of those moments, Sarmila shakes me and points. Without scaring the small animal, she shows me what looks like the baby of a rabbit and a rodent. This is my first time seeing a Royle’s Pika or a Pika for that matter. This first encounter is brief.
Days later, we see the creature again. This time our encounter is fairly long. That is because the Pika is busy munching on plants, it is paying us no attention. This lunch break gives us the opportunity to get close, observe this animal and snap a few pictures.
Later, I’m chatting to a young Korean man whom I met the day before. I ask if he saw it since he was just a little ahead of us. He didn’t spot the Pika because in his own words, “My guide and I were too focused on moving as fast as possible and not paying attention to our surroundings”.
While we are not rushing towards the summit, we are still aiming at reaching the top. And every day we are closer to our goal. I know mother nature is unpredictable yet I badly want to see the Annapurna Range. To know that these mountains are very tall is very different from seeing them. I want to see how small I’m in their presence. I’m mesmerised by the forest but I want to see the snow-covered peaks. At 3 AM, Sarmila knocks on my door and asks me to come out to see the stars and lightning. I look up and I’m rewarded with so many stars. The lightning, a stark purple colour against the pitch black backdrop, is splitting the mountains in pieces. At this point, I’m not sure if it is safe for us to make our ascent. Thirty minutes later, we are on our way. And just like that, the lightning stops but another hurdle is on the way: a buffalo blocking the narrow trek. We have to navigate our way around it and up we go.
The ascent is more manageable than anticipated. With every step I’m relaxing more and getting more confident. Before I know it, the first light of the day is here. The mountains are starting to take shape. I intently look at them, I make sure I’m memorising the view. I’m indeed very small compared to them. Today, we are much more disciplined with our steps. We have a sunrise to reach. But we are allowing ourselves a break: rest for a few minutes, sip water and snap a photo with the mountains while they start meeting the sun. Sarmila takes photos of me before I invite her to join me for a few selfies. Now in full daylight, it is time for the last sprint but not really a sprint, a gruelling steep set of steps to the top. Finally, we are on the plateau, I see prayer flags moving with the wind. In the distance, the sun is forming shadows that look like mountains until they meet the real mountains. We take our backpacks off, exchange smiles and congratulatory words with the people around us on the top. I’m breathing into the mountains, I look at them in silence. We are not done yet. The exact 4200m viewing point is a few metres ahead. We put another layer of clothes to fight the wind and off we go again for one last time up. I’m at the Mardi Himal viewing point looking at Fishtail on my right and the rest of the Annapurna Range on my left. Sarmila buys us coffee. We savour our hot drinks and head down to high camp where Anita chose sleep over joining us to the top.
After a hearty breakfast at high camp, we make our way down to spend the next couple of days walking between villages in the valley.
Today is my last day of this trek. It is an easy two hours downhill walk to meet our driver. I’m ready, I have my backpack on and we head to the door. Ama, grandmother in Nepali, is there to say goodbye, I’m guessing but Sarmila tells me that she would like, if it is OK with me, to bless me and put a tika on my forehead. I immediately accept the honour. Ama is shorter than me. I bow my head slightly for her to reach. First she hands me a beautiful orange flower then she puts her finger in a red powder and prints a tika on my forehead. I clasp my hands together in front of my chest. Later that day, I decorate my hair with the flower and walk around showing my tika.
A few hours later, this adventure comes to an end with a lunch of momos by the river. A week ago, I said a polite hi to Sarmila and Anita. Today, as we say goodbye, I hug them.