Everyday

You can buy the album on Bandcamp or listen to it on Soundcloud. Check out the album booklet!

I can't remember the moment exactly. I was in Oslo and we went with some friends for a screening of some alternative movie, I think it might have been a documentary. Either way, the theme was around the usual nature of the days in the week. Some of them would be for work (Monday), some for partying (Friday), some for chill and relax (Sunday). And then they said something along these lines: "But what if there was a day in the week that we always live to our fullest? When we do everything we really want to do, without fear or procrastination? What if we called such day... Everyday?"

I honestly can't remember more, even the quoted part above is just me paraphrasing. But the idea of "Everyday" stuck with me and it was around this time, in 2013 in Oslo, that I decided to start doing music a bit more seriously. Or perhaps, to put it in a different way, to do it more publicly. I did my first open mics, started jamming with others, embarked on my to-this-day-lasting busking "shadow" career. And I started writing songs, with "Everyday" being one of the first ones. Ok, there were songs before,  e.g. songs from our skiing trips or other trips with friends, or even my attempts at songwriting that never saw the light of the world (looking back at some of them, that's a good thing). But "Everyday" was the first song that I thought represents who I really am, a song in which I kind of injected part of myself, just like Sauron put part of himself into the Ring. Does it make sense? 

One of the first busking session, just after the
song Everyday was written

Ever since then, the idea of (perhaps, one day..) making an album was there. I started writing more, including some of the new songs in my busking or open-mic repertoire, doing my first "studio" recordings, albeit with admittedly shitty quality. I was both fascinated and intimidated by the idea of song-writing. Fascinated because sometimes the song would "hit me" out of nowhere in the middle of the street (like "Fargo and Pelgrim", or "When this is done" did) and I'd scramble to pull out a pen and paper or open my laptop to write it down. And intimidated because other times I would try hard to write or compose, ending up with nothing else than some cheesy lyrics and uninspiring music that I knew I'd never play again. For every song that I've recorded and published, at least 2-3 others didn't make it and ended up in the music graveyard (located by Swindon, just off M4). 

These "dead songs" were of different themes: songs about interesting articles I've read on the airplane, girls that occupied my mind long enough or places I visited and had a great time in. But in all cases, it somehow wasn't enough. The sentiments may have been strong, but the "songs just didn't care" and it'd feel like a struggle, pulling it out the thin air. And then I'd take a normal walk through London (ok, not completely normal as I left my phone at home!) and boom: "Walking on" was basically ready before I came home! 

Place where I started "Walking on" in London, still unaware there'll be a song at the end of it

I learned quickly that you "can't really push it" with song-writing, or at least not too much. But as Elizabeth Gilbert said in her TED talk, you've also got to "show up, to do your part". In other words, those hours of fruitless song-writing, scrapped song drafts and endless fiddling on the guitar may, perhaps, seem pointless to an outsider. But it's all part of it, a sign to that "elusive creative genius" that we're ready for them to come over. 

With a couple songs, I managed to "push it" a bit. "Hey Dad" was one where the time was ticking, as I wanted it to be ready (and recorded!) for my dad's birthday. "How I'll remember Cardiff" was another one, which was conceived after Alex told me that "before you leave Cardiff, you should write a song about it". However, I believe that this can only happen with certain songs - in both of the mentioned cases, there was enough substance basically ready (e.g. memories from Cardiff), so that when I came along and decided to write it down, it came out quite smoothly.

One of the most vivid memories from Cardiff
looks like this - view at The Hayes while
busking on a weekend morning

As difficult as I think songwriting can be, at first I didn't realize there's a whole new world just beyond it: the world of recording. While the writing is largely dependent on the sudden and elusive presence of creativity, the latter is much more about discipline, practice, patience and method. But the mountain to scale here is much bigger than one may initially think: "I just hit the recording button and play the song, right?" 

Not quite. Although what you can now listen to is just over an hour's worth of content, there are small sections (e.g. 2-3 sec) of individual parts (e.g. lead guitar) of a single song (e.g. "How I'll remember Cardiff") that would take twice, or even three times as long to record! Over and over I'd hit the delete button and try recording the same bit again, never quite happy with the result. And even once I'd finally say "ok, that would do", quite often I would later decide to re-record it again, perhaps because the effect wasn't like I wanted it to be in the first place, or I decided to use another guitar. 

Over time I realized that recording is not about taking a fully grown-up and finished song and "engraving it into an audio format". Quite the opposite - the song keeps evolving hugely and every new bit that's recorded sparks new ideas. Just like song-writing, I understood that one cannot simply force recording of a brand new song and instead I now adopt a slightly different process, which looks something like this: I record a quick demo version that gives a good enough idea, but is far from perfect. I then practice the song, even perform it at open-mics (e.g. my new song "Check, mate!", yet to be recorded!) and only then I'd sit down to properly record it. This way, I get a better feel for what I want the song to look like, I practice it and settle into it, and so recording feels less of a struggle. 

I realized this when recording "When this is done", a song that's probably my quickest one that got from conceiving to a fully recorded version that I did not touch anymore. But what a struggle it has been! Despite it being the most minimalistic song on the album (acoustic guitar and vocals only), I spent hours, if not days recording it over and over again, each time thinking "this is bound to be the final version" and each time being proven wrong. Compare that to "African bird" or "Let's go fail", which are some of my earliest songs recorded back in 2015. After playing the songs for years and listening to the original demo versions, re-recording them was a smooth process which took an afternoon or two.

"African bird" was conceived on this beach in Biriwa

Finally, as I started to think about finalizing and releasing the album, I realized there's some extra bit of work to do. Up until this time, I'd publish the songs on Soundcloud or YouTube, but I could (and would) always take them down and replace with a new version. I knew I won't be able to do this with an album, it being a sort of wax that seals the envelope which can no longer be opened and modified. Then again, I also wouldn't want to be changing those songs anymore!

My first " recording studio"
in my room in Oslo

The last stage of fine-tuning and producing thus began, balancing the volumes of individual tracks, tweaking the post-processing effects, normalizing the tracks etc. And yet again, I underestimated how much effort and time all of this takes, noting down new things to fix or improve every time I would listen to the songs again.

Despite all the "wisdom" I'm sharing above, I'm very much aware that the album is far from perfect. There are lyrics I'd like to have changed, bits of songs that I'd like to re-record, post-processing that I know can be done better... But I've reached the point when I'm simply at peace, even happy with how the album is and I feel it's the right time to publish it. And who says that one day I won't get this remastered, with session musicians doing all the parts, recording in a proper studio and a professional doing the music production? 

I've been working on "Everyday" for over 7 years, although the work was very much off-and-on. Sometimes, there'd be stretches of months when I wouldn't write a single word or record a single second of any song. Other times I'd get back to it again, each time slowly pushing the album towards completion. It was sort of like working on a long PhD thesis, just the result is slightly different here.

The best ever music corner, in my studio in
Cardiff

Now I know that my music is perhaps not the most popular style these days. I know that it won't be played at parties and I won't hit any Spotify records (perhaps because I may not actually put it on Spotify in the first place). But that's ok - I'm not publishing the album with hopes of "making it", or even with hopes of making any money of it. But if there is some audience that would sincerely think "hey, that's a good music" and enjoy listening to it, I'd be more than happy.

For me personally, however, "Everyday" is not just an album with 14 tracks. It's a cut through my post-university life, engraving my memories from all those years - memories of places I visited, people that were there and and experiences that affected or stayed with me. And on some level I really do feel like Sauron who cast part of himself into the ring. For as long as Everyday exists and is played, those 7 years of my life do too. 

So - is this it? 

For "Everyday", it is. But as for me - I'm gonna keep writing and recording new songs. Maybe another album, maybe a "more professional" one and maybe even with different styles. There are songs sitting on my drive ready to be produced, songs that I've written but haven't recorded yet and then there are songs that are yet to be written. And I feel like there's plenty more that can come, and it'd be a shame not to "show up for my part". After all, I've enjoyed the journey so far, so let's keep going. 

Stay tuned ;-)

You can buy the album "Everyday" on Bandcamp or listen to it on Soundcloud. 

I went on a walk, leaving my phone home

Howdy. In this blogpost, there will be no pictures. Why? Cause I left my phone at home. But no worries, I'll do my best to paint the scenery as we go, much like authors do in books. Did you notice that those don't tend to have pictures either? Perhaps they authors left their phone at home too...

Edit - I actually ended up writing a song about this walk. Enjoy! The videos and pics from the clip are, of course, not from the original walk :-)



Vinny had an idea for a podcast. The idea was that although each of us are at a different place, especially now in the pandemic, we will all make a walk to some sort of a "peak" in the city/town where we are, leaving our phone at home. Instead, we'd take an old fashioned notepad and a pen and write down our thoughts - from the journey, from the peak, or any other. In this post, I want to share my experience.

I chose a day during a weekend with not the nicest weather really - I guess had it been nice, I would have gone busking, made a full day bike trip or something like that. But the Sat of 6th of June, I was sitting at home in the afternoon and pondering what to do, when I remembered I am to do this "funny walk", as it featured in my mind. I vaguely recalled there was some rain in the forecast, but "what the heck", I thought, worst case I get a bit soaked and at least it will be a change from the norm.

As I was preparing to set off, my first feeling was that even if I am going to do this by myself (in solitude, defined as "absence of inputs from other minds", as was one of the criteria of the podcast walk), I did not feel that way. It may have been the feeling that maybe others are/will also be doing similar walks, or the knowledge that I will be writing down, and eventually sharing my experience. Either way, this was a pleasant thought.

A bit more weird was the feeling of leaving the phone home. It's funny how I got used to making sure that the thing is in my pocket every time I leave my house, heck perhaps even every time I leave my room and go to the kitchen (heck maybe even every time I go to the loo, which is kind of in my room, as a tiny ensuite)! I subconsciously tapped my left pocket but hah - it was empty! "Right, it's supposed to be empty". Several times I almost slid the phone back into the pocket as part of my "leaving home routine" but eventually I made it outside without the phone. "Haha, addict", some of you may be thinking. But it's not really that I wanted, or needed my phone, it was simply me being so used to having it on me that made it so unfamiliar when it wasn't there. Already the first minutes of the "experiment" were revealing some of this interesting realizations, and I noted them down in the notepad, just a few steps away from my front door.

The next thoughts were a mix of various questions popping into my mind, those that  I would normally type into Google. My plan was to go to the Greenwich observatory, and although I knew the way, I wasn't sure if the Greenwich foot tunnel under Thames would be open (as few weeks ago, it was closed due to it being too narrow and thus not adhering to social distancing rules). "How do I check that now without a phone? Hm, there should be DLR as a backup... But does it run? Where is the station?" All these thoughts were suddenly left there on my mind, without a satisfactory answer I would have otherwise got in the matter of seconds. Not only that, I would likely have checked what's the best route according to Google maps, if the weather is supposed to hold, if the park with the Observatory is open, etc etc...

Gosh... Another realization just a few minutes into the walk. By planning with Google maps, checking the weather and all those other searches, the relaxing walk would have probably turned into some sort of "mission to get to the destination". And while that can be useful, if say one is going for a job interview, that was definitely not my case. Nevertheless, if I had my phone on me, I would have  likely used it, mainly due to the habit...

It got me thinking about another thing. I consider myself very good at "navigating the world" these days. Since I'm in the data/engineering sector, I know technology very well and because the world is increasingly driven with technology, I consider myself to have slight edge here. It's simple things like knowing easily when arriving message is a spam, or roughly understanding how Google search works and thus knowing what to type in the box. It's probably not much of an edge that any shrewd person would easily get too without a degree in computer science. But it did make me wonder - how would I do in the world if Google suddenly stopped existing. If password managers were hacked. If whole smartphones were banned and one would, from one day to another, be forced to adopt different ways of "navigating the world"...

Another thought the sprung into my mind was a more funny one: "what if someone finds out that I don't have a phone". I imagined myself asking for directions, explaining to people "I don't have a phone.. I mean.. I don't have it on me", them looking at me as some sort of weirdo that just time-traveled from previous century, unable to grasp the reality that "I just can't google it". Now this is a bit of an exaggerated thought, I know, but after a few months here I noticed that Londoners are just pushing the phone usage to the extremes - to the point that if you don't check your phone waiting at the bus stop, you may start to feel weird, for everyone else is doing it... So not having it at all felt kind of like dragging heavy sledges wearing a fur coat and a Santa hat on a beach full of people in the middle of a summer. Simply a bit weird.

Approaching the Thames Clippers station in Canary Wharf, I was woken up from all these thoughts by a sudden sound of a thunder. Looking behind me, the sky was turning nasty grey, leaving no doubts as to what will soon unleash. At the north-west, I could already barely discern the silhouettes of the skyscrapers in London city, such strong seemed to be the rain there.

"No problem", I thought, pulling out my rain jacket. However, soon the wind picked up and a proper madness started: torrential rain combined with storm-like winds and I run for shelter, joining a cyclist waiting under a roof on four pillars, a pretty useless shelter in the crazy winds and rains that blew near horizontally, but better than nothing. After five minutes, the worst had moved on and I looked at my trousers, soaked throughout.

In the decisive moment, I briefly pondered turning back - after all, I was mere 10-15 minutes away from my house - but eventually chose to carry on, feeling that somehow I am supposed to continue this journey and knowing that it will work out ok.

The brutal storm was over, but the rain persisted, although at least now it was pouring mostly from above, and so I resumed walking. What was worse, however, were the lightning bolts which kept lighting up the sky, never leaving more than 2-3 seconds before a loud bang followed, making me feel it's all a bit too close for comfort.

Soon, however, I went back on the Thames path and started to enjoy the walk, now very calm with almost no one around walking in the rain on the river side. Few minutes down the line, I passed a familiar pub - Ferry house - where we recorded most of our very first podcast with Vinny and Alex back in January. Memories came round and made me smile.

The Greenwich foot tunnel was just a minute away and I eyed its entrance to see if it will be open or not, but luckily, the restrictions were now gone and the tunnel was accessible. Over hundred years old, one can feel the tunnel has been around for a while. Every of my step was accompanied by echo and a sudden loud clunking sound came from somewhere in front of me, making me jump a bit and wondering what it was. A few minutes later, almost on the other side, I step on a metal sheet and the same loud bang echoes across the tunnel. An old, mysterious, echo-y underwater tunnel in London. Love it.

As I emerge on the other side, I look back at the skyline of Canary Wharf, with the beautiful post-storm scenery above it, thick grey clouds giving way to clear skies. I half wish I had the phone here for the pictures, but then I realize that I could have simply taken a camera. "Yeah Fero, the one that's been sitting on your shelf, unused for a good couple years now", but which suddenly seemed like such a no-brainer to take for trips like this...!

The rain picks up once more as I climb up the hill to the Greenwich observatory at the "peak". I half expected, half hoped that I'd get to enjoy the views alone at the top, but a few other people had  similar ideas. Three Asian girls seem like typical pre-pandemic tourists, a British family comes round with two lively kids, a couple sits under umbrella on a near bench and a father with two sons are making pictures, the father making various poses by the railings like some sort of Hollywood model, taking up a good chunk of my view.

Vinny said we should capture our thoughts at the peak. I noticed airplanes flying above through the storm and I wondered where are they going, what would happen if they get hit by a lightning bolt and just how many more airplanes I would have seen if it weren't for the lockdown. I thought about our heavily optimized world and how many jobs are about optimizing it even more, usually so that we can do even more, run more flights, get to our destinations faster... And I thought about the impressive views I saw with the beautiful post-storm skies. It was definitely the best view that I saw for the past few months, and a thought came to me, wondering for how many people is this the best view they will see in their whole lives.

But in general, I have to say I had a bit of a trouble reflecting there, on the "peak", for too long. And I don't think it was because of the other people. I thought of my experience in Nepal, and how I felt when I reached a "peak" or some sort of destination of a long haul there. And I realized something. For me, it was much more about the journey itself. That is the part where I can do my reflecting, and that is also the import part of the trip for me, the one that actually creates the whole experience. The part that, if you think about it, gets you to the peak.

The peak, for me, it's like a cherry on the top of the cake. I just want to enjoy it for a while, ideally with some company. I mean, I don't really tend to do that with cherries on a cake, but a beer would do. Essentially, it's about being with someone to do a high five, snack on a chunk of chocolate or share experiences from the journey.

Still as the "peak", I want to write up my thoughts but it keeps raining and somehow I don't feel like joining a few people sheltering under the roof of the observatory, so I start to head down. Soon enough, the rain ceases and I pull out my notepad and write down a few notes. "This is the end to it", I write with respect to the rain, somehow knowing that with me coming down from the peak, the rain is now gone too, as if it was here only to challenge me in my mission, but now it left knowing it won't beat me anymore. Not really sure how I was so certain that there won't be more of it that day, but I wrote the thought down and I was right.

As I near the entrance of the tunnel at Cutty Sark, I decide to change my itinerary and head north-west, along the south bank of the river. The next foot crossing is Tower bridge, which is over 5 miles away, quite far really, but in the worst case, I can do my first Underground journey in past months, from Canada water to Canary Wharf.

As I walk, I get into my zone and thoughts. Over the next hour or so, I only write a couple notes. One of them is about how I noticed that I am much more receptive to the surroundings today. Normally I would probably stick in headphones into my ears to "use the time I walk more", but now I realized that even if it's "just walking", there can be still a lot to it if one looks around properly.

Another note I write is about the infamous phone notifications - or rather the pleasant absence of them and the urge to check for them. There were moments during the walk when I felt like that, the urge to "check my phone". If I had the phone on me, subconsciously, I think I would have pulled it out, but the sudden absence of the phone in this case was actually quite liberating, and I instead resumed my focus on the surroundings.

For focus I needed to - as I got into Canada Water area, I suddenly realized I'm not really sure where I am. But the river was on my right and so I kept walking, now aiming for the tube station, as I realized Tower Bridge may be pushing it for today, getting quite thirsty and hungry. I stopped at a bus stop to check that I'm going the right way, and the arrows on the map indicated the buses indeed head towards the Canada Water station. About 20 minutes later, however, I realized that I am still in UK and that buses still drive on the left side, so I was actually walking away from the station. The moral: no Google maps --> more fun!

I realized there is actually one more way to get to the other side of the river on foot: the "dreaded" Rotherhithe tunnel. Another 100+ year old under-Thames tunnel, this one I thought of before as Google maps tends to plan my cycling routes through it. But having read some Reddit posts a while ago about it, I wasn't quite sure it's a good idea, with comments such as:

"I've walked through the tunnel once on a drunken escapade - never again"

" I'd rather cycle on the M25."

or

"I have nice lungs and want to keep them that way."

I popped to a grocery store to get a drink and asked the cashier if it's actually possible to walk through the tunnel. His answer was a somewhat curt "yes" which felt a bit ominous, but I decided to give it a go. After a quick Chinese takeaway I entered the tunnel, the sounds of cars passing by being instantly intensified as if I was on a Formula 1 track, even if the speed limits permitted mere 20 miles an hour. 

For all I've read about the tunnel, it was not really so bad. True, there was quite a bit of broken glass and torn off wing mirrors (the tunnel's car lanes are super narrow) and it felt a bit stuffy and hot in the middle section, but overall I found it surprisingly ok. As the only pedestrian around, I again felt like a bit of a weirdo (especially with no phone!) but I did not really care. 

Back on the north side of London, it was now just 15-odd minutes home along a familiar route, so the roam was drawing to an end. And "what a roam!" was my main thought - for the walk would have surely been much more different and much less fun with my phone on me, perhaps even if I did not actually use it. The enhanced "ingestion" of the surroundings, the unplanned changes of plans, the relaxing nature of noting down thoughts on a piece of paper. I felt some inspiring vibes and a song was already building in my mind, those last couple kilometres.

You may be thinking how ordinary and uninteresting the whole experience actually was and how much I glorify it. "Yeah you got soaked, didn't have a phone and walked through some old tunnel. Is that it?". Perhaps. But it did wonders to my mood that day and I made my mind to do more walks without a phone. Though next time, I'll take my camera. And so there may be pictures ;-)

Nepal pt. 4: You never walk alone

Monday 4.11 - A bit of Wales

Morning comes and we all feel better. I get some nice chocolate pancakes and I reconfirm my decision to get on the road again soon after breakfast, splitting away from the group. I feel like it may be for a bit longer this time, as there's no real plan of going forward - the pass indeed marked a symbolic end of the main trek. We enjoy some nice coffee on the terrace with Maik and Emma, I say "see you laters in Pokhara" and then I head off.

"See you later" selfie at the morning sunlit terrace of Bob Marley hotel

Muktinath is indeed a bit smelly, dirty and "overcivilized" for my taste. The track leads by the busy bus and jeep depot and with the view of the new road, twisting downwards to the valley, I can see why many people choose to end the trek here. After the lovely Manang valley and side trips to places like Tilicho lake, one could question the reasons for hiking these parts of the circuit. But it needs to be said that there are trails that avoid the road, and that there's great lot to see on this side too! And one such trail is the one to Jomsom, via Lupra.

The busy "bus station" area. The road is paved here near Muktinath, but a few miles away it comes back to the dirt road hell

This was a suggestion from the Dutch people, who set off about 30 minutes before me, followed by the Welsh group. My guidebook classified this as a whole day hike, taking something around 7 hours. As I left around 10:30, I was a bit weary of the time, so I tried to keep up the tempo, but kept thinking that everything will be easy now, after the pass was behind us.

It turned out that the trek was quite a challenge though - first a proper ascend into a pass at 3800m where cold winds made me put on extra layers, followed with a looong descent into the riverbed by Lupra that more than stood up to its description of "knee breaking". Here I paused for a quick lunch, but then hurried towards Jomsom, as it felt like it will rain any second. And soon enough, after crossing the river, the rain started in its earnest, accompanied by winds so common to this valley.

Descending to the Lupra valley

Riverbed below Lupra

Lupra

I was on the main road now and slowly catching up with Jo and Grace in front of me. Just before Jomsom, it stops raining and we enter into the town together and start looking for accommodation.

I guess we could say "high street" of Jomsom

Jomsom does not feel very pleasant and there don't seem to be many tourists, neither many lodges. We enter a few and struggle to find something under 1000rs a night. At the "Hotel Spa" we immediately learn they don't have and never had a spa, but can give us a room for 500rs. We ask about hot gas shower and the staff confidently nods their head. Unconvinced until we see the proof, we ask them to show us, and a they lead us to a room downstairs where the guy turns on the shower, puts a hand under the water and quickly pulls it out saying "auch, it's hot!". Jo tries himself and laughs: "it's freezing!", after which the whole bunch bursts laughing too. So maybe no hot shower, but at least we have fun? :-)

Nah, we settle for rooms at a different guest house, 1200 a room, but in return we get super nice en-suite rooms, perfect showers and even a towel or toilet paper! Incredible luxury!

I wash my clothes, shave and generally make myself a human again, then head off to town to find pharmacy. There I mention that I have a chesty cough and "what could I get to treat it please"? To my surprise, the pharmacist pulls out antibiotics, antihistamines and a cough syrup and hands it all over to me without any prescription and free of charge!

In the industrial vibe of Jomsom, one almost forgets they're still deep in Himalayas!

As I make my way back to the hotel, I admire a beautiful snowy peak towering above Jomsom, the height of which is put to something around 7000m by a friendly local. I also stop by the ticket counter to book a bus to Tatopani for the next morning. It seems like the only bus leaves 6:30 and I curse under my breath - why so early - having had a plan to spend a lazy morning in bed.

At the hotel, I aim straight for the dining room and get some garlic-y soup and noodles. A French Canadian named Pierre joins and is very much in a mood for conversation. I play along and he tells me about the highway to hell I can expect the next day, as he's done the same thing in the opposite direction a day before. Good.

The Welsh folks come down too. Being a bit short on time, they finish the trek here and booked a flight for the next morning to Pokhara. We have a few beers and a good chat. At some point Pierre is clarifying where we're from and I am labeled as Welsh too. Hah, perhaps there's some truth to it, and thoughts come to my mind about how I'll miss Wales and its friendly people...

Welsh contingent - Jo, Shelton, Gladys and Grace and Pierre from Canada

Tuesday 5.11 - The highway to hell

Wake up 5:15. Ouch.

Quick, light, but delicious breakfast at the Paradise guest house. And off I go to the "bus station". It's just round the corner, I am the first one there, and so I feel like an idiot for leaving so early. Few more tourists come soon tho and so do some suspiciously looking dogs - poor dirty creatures that don't seem to fare very well in this town and remind me of the Kathmandu dogs…

A bombed-out "deluxe" bus waits there already. The standard set of stickers of WiFi, A/C, seat recline, charging points, MP3, DVD, Facebook (and who knows what else) span the back window, but I am not fooled this time and mentally prepare myself for the next few hours..

The buses remind me partly of some sort of safari buses (tho I've never really been on one) and partly of the high-suspension buses of Iceland that had to cross rivers. Whatever the bus used to be though, its best days were long gone and as we set off at 6:30ish, I kind of think it's kinda for the better that they're old wrecks already, as a new bus would be quickly finished on the surface of "the road".

Despite feeling like an ice-cube in a shaker, I actually enjoy the journey. It's definitely a unique experience. And I'm not saying the word unique just for fun - it's unique because you're unlikely to repeat it again, unless you - for example - are a masochistic maniac, or are feeling suicidal.

The bus actually does cross some rivers. It seems to climb the impossible. It roars and jumps, never really reaching beyond the second gear.

My attempt at capturing the jolly vibe of the inside of the bus.

Now some maths (geometry?): I sit on the right side of the bus, the bus is going on the right side of the valley and in Nepal cars drive on the left side. If you add it all up, I was spared of some unnerving views of cliff drops just a few centimeters from the edge of the bus. An older French lady did not have such privilege and was literally clasping the seat in front of her for 5 straight hours.

At least the road is well build and there's no risk of landslides.

Right?

About 10 minutes from our destination, a landslide made the road ahead of us impassable and we waited some 30 minutes for an excavator to clear the debris.

So 5 hours, some 50 kilometres. Again, bit of maths here and even an idiot understands that the bus is not exactly at the risk or breaching speed limits (not that there are any in Nepal). It's simply a way to save a bit of time and effort, though you could easily do at least a half of the bus's journey in a good day of hiking.

The bus eventually stops in Tatopani and I hop off, feeling like I need to learn to walk again. I stroll around confusingly for a moment, trying to get my bearings and see where the trekkers' lodges are. I fail to notice the main part of Tatopani and take a room in one of the first lodges I see, a more expensive and less pleasant one. Never mind.

After some food I head to the town to find the famous hot springs. I eventually find it just by the road and few minutes later, I pay the 150rs entrance fee.

The hot spring pools of Tatopani

Although far from the pure-nature hot spring experience that I've had e.g in Iceland's Landmanalaugar, the water is really nice and hot and for a moment I truly feel like on a lazy holiday. The moment is even more accentuated when Oli (A) and his friend Shema enter, and after the initial catching up on the last days we grab a cold beer and enjoy it in the hot springs. Now that's a deserved one! Oli furthermore finishes the trek here, having done the proper full circuit from Besisahar to Tatopani, something I originally planned myself but ended up cutting short of the ~3-4 day bit from Jomsom. But thinking about the choice between the amazing Tilicho & Ice lakes and this last dusty segment on the road - no regrets.

I eventually head back to the lodge and have a bit of a lazy evening, mainly on my phone doing absolutely nothing productive…Huh. But then again, this was my day off, right?

Yet I kind of look forward to trekking again, and trying it on my own for a bit. There's something nice about being in the nature alone, and having that time for yourself. True - having a good friend along is even better, but it's good if you can make that friend be yourself for a while.

Wednesday 6.11 - YouTube tourists

An expected 1700 meters of elevation gain is what eventually gets me out of bed - if I am to do this, I better hurry up! Reluctantly, I get on my feet and pack my bag, then head for breakfast, where I opt for Tibetian breakfast set, including a salty tea which tastes a bit like a soup, but otherwise seems to do its job of giving some warmth and energy.

The Old Kamala Lodge, where I stayed in Tatopani, definitely cooks tasty food, but something I ate made me feel not too well, and I end up swallowing my first Imodium tablet. Luckily, only couple more follow that day and by the evening I feel back in shape.

I set off at 8 but am soon stopped at ACAP checkpost at the end of Tatopani, only to be stopped again 5 minutes later on the junction to Ghorepani. I mock the lady writing down my details as I re-fill the water bottles. And then - off I go, up, up and up.

The first bit of the journey is sweltering and sweating. The sun is already getting stronger, altitude is back to the lows and one literally climbs a staircase, or, if not, following a dusty jeep road, the construction of which is very much still in progress. I quickly finish my 2 liters of water and look for some more in a local village.

There's considerably fewer tourists on the track, although that may also be because I started quite late. I really enjoy the trek though, gradually weaving its way through the small settlements and little forests. The peak of Annapurna South keeps me company from time to time and plays hide and seek behind the clouds. Behind me, the massive of Dhaulagiri, with the world's 7th highest peak of the same name, offers gradually better and better views.

Annapurna South peaking through the clouds

I get into my "zone" and after shaking off the initial tiredness, I make good progress, reaching Shikha (1935m) around 10:30am. I contemplate breaking for food there, but decide to push it to Chitre. Doing 1200 meters of elevation gain without a break gets me to run on on sugar, but I finally reach Chitre (2390) just around noon. A lovely guest house appears round the corner and I enter the sun-lit front yard and drop everything on the ground.

I dry my t-shirt, open up the solar panel to soak in some energy (for my phone, but maybe they soon make a USB cable which we could use to recharge ourselves?), take off the shoes and enjoy the superb views of Dhaulagiri while waiting for food.

Dhaulagiri views from the front garden of the restaurant

A few groups of tourists lunch here too, and a couple friendly dogs come round, spying the food on the tables for a moment before sprawling on the grass and sunbathing, kind of like my solar panel does.

Dog charging his solar panels

The latter prompts a conversation with one of the groups, who just did a truly off-the-beaten-track hike, through Tribung Danda and Pode. I guess a solar panel can come really handy there, further out of the civilization. Here at the circuit, it found its use occasionally, e.g. when using electricity was charged in the high altitudes but perhaps did not really justify carrying the extra weight for 200km…

After lunch, refueled, I set off at quite a pace and realize that Ghorepani is really just round the corner now. It's 2pm-ish when I climb the last stairs of the track. I look above and spot a hotel room with a superb view, which I decide to go for. And I am perhaps lucky - the lodges seem to be quite full already and are bustling with tourists, but I get essentially the room I want. On the other hand, clouds soon descend on the town and my super views are finished, at least for the day. : (

The views from my room, before they disappeared behind
the clouds...

I get down to the dining room around 4:30, which by now is quite busy as tourists stream in to enjoy the heat of the large, centrally based stove. That's my intention too, and after ordering dinner I spend a nice while reading a book on a bench next to the stove.

A Nepali guy next to me is trying to impress Chinese girls by showing them that "he has Facebook", and then proceeds to run (at full volume of course) several annoying YouTube videos. I half consider telling him to shut up, but then stick my earphones in the ears and keep reading.

Poon hill is an accessible trek, and a popular one, so it can be expected to find more of these type of tourists - you know, the kind that wears jeans, trainers, small Adidas backpacks and shouts at their friends hundreds of meters away. Or shows YouTube videos at full volume to impress Chinese girls.

After dinner, I go up to my room, which is directly above the loud dining room. After 8ish, the chatter and laughter downstairs slowly dies out though. For people start turning in earlier and getting ready for the next morning ritual - sunrise at Poon Hill. Some say it's the "nicest sunrise in Himalayas". We'll see.

Thursday 7.11 - Goodbye Himalayas

My alarm rings 4:45 and I consider another sweet 15 minute nap. The whole lodge seems to be waking up though and eventually I jump on my feet, get dressed and start the 350m climb to Poon hill. By torchlight, I join the masses of tourists that relentlessly climb the stairs to the hilltop step after step. It's a bit quirky experience, to hike in complete darkness, but "bumper to bumper" with loads of other people, kind of like in London underground.

It's also surprisingly warm and so I slow down the tempo, but at some point I notice the feeble light already emerging on the east horizon - even though it's almost an hour till the "scheduled" sun rise time! I thus speed up and come up to the top as one of the first ones.

I assume a position at the top of the observation tower and set up the mini-tripod for a time-lapse. Unfortunately, as the light increases, it becomes more obvious that it won't be the clearest of skies - the clouds are everywhere and are hiding the peaks of Annapurna South, Machapuchre as well as the distant giants of Dhaulagiri massive.

No, it's not Trafalgar square. Poon hill sunrise attracts people...

The morning theatre is still worth it though - the few visible peaks glitter under the first rays of the sun and the clouds often actually add to the spectacle. After a few minutes though, the sun goes behind a thicker cloud and I decide it's time to go.

After the breakfast back in the lodge, I embark on the final bit of the Annapurna Circuit trek. At first, I was contemplating doing a couple extra days in the direction of Annapurna Base Camp, but the forecast turned a bit pessimistic. And also I just felt like it's a good time to finish trekking. When I later looked at my boots and the now considerably widened cracks and tears, it seemed like they were thinking the same.

At an ACAP checkpost of Ghorepani, I run into Peter and Manuela - two Austrians whom I've overtaken the day before. Peter has the same backpack as me, just a smaller version. We chat a bit and we end up hiking together for the rest of the day, which I'm happy about, as the path is otherwise not very exciting and the constant downhill feels badgering.

Peter and Manuela also have a guide, who shares some interesting insights. E.g I was curious as to how he got to "guiding". He responds that as almost any other guide, he started as a porter, doing it for 4 years, before passing the guide exams. Since then (12 years now), he has done Annapurna Circuit over 80 times, as well as many other treks in Nepal.

As a porter, he says, it was (obviously) physically more challenging (although apparently Nepali guys are quite used to the way of carrying the bulk of the weight on their head), but guiding represents much more responsibility. E.g securing the accommodation, ensuring nothing happens to the clients etc. On the last note though - this time it was himself who got sick from the altitude, even though it has never happened to him before!

We stop for lunch about 2 hours before our destination and Peter and I opt for Dal Bhat with Chicken - which turns out to be the best Dal Bhat of the trip so far! I also try a "mustang coffee", some sort of alcoholic drink that I imagine would taste like premium cognac, but which in reality tastes like shit gone bad.

With Peter, Manuela and their guide

Back to the sub-tropical climate.

Mustang coffee - not recommended

The final couple hours of the Annapurna circuit really feel like final hours - we're tired, sweaty, dirty and there's not too much to see. Peter (perhaps not on purpose) lightens the mood by overenthusiastic greetings to the trekkers going in opposite direction, which prompts me asking if he's all right.

But other than being tired, it really feels like there's no more good views waiting in front of us - all the beautiful snow-covered peaks, the adrenaline raising views, the picturesque mountain settlements and the expensive lemon-ginger-honey tea pots are now behind us. It dawns on me - it's over. I have yet to fully realize the immense achievement of the moment, or the full beauty of the circuit trek, which brings such incredible variety of landscapes, climates and experiences in such a short time span…

But it is over, and perhaps that's why I opt to stay one more night "on the trek", here in Birethanti, just a few meters away from the bus stop to Pokhara: to soak in the unique atmosphere of the area, to listen to the sounds of waterfalls for one more night.. And - of course - to wash all the shit and dirt off me here, so that I don't come to Pokhara like a hobo.

These will take the wear and tear...

My last refuge on the Annapurna
circuit

I start writing the blog and an old British dude sitting at the neighbouring table attempts conversation. It does last long though, as his style is to ask a closed question, get my answer and then proceed to an unsolicited 10 minute monologue of his own experiences. I feel a bit sorry for him, as he obviously just wants to talk, but I am not in the mood for this...

A group of young Nepalese guys come over too, spying my cool bluetooth keyboard. They look a bit dodgy at first, but after a while I realize they also just want to chat, possibly practicing their English which they are studying on the side while working. I ask them where they are from and if they can show me on Google maps. After 2 minutes of hopeless scrolling through whole of Kathmandu, we enter their neighbourhood name in the search bar. Eventually, they ask for my Facebook.

I count the days - this is day 16 since the start of the trek in Besisahar. I sit on a terrace, sip hot chocolate and nib on some biscuits that taste like they're way past their expiration date. The air is pleasant and it's not too cold even after sunset. The sound of the waterfall rings in my ears as I type up these words.

Yep, good choice to stay here tonight. But tomorrow - Pokhara.

Nepal pt 3: Fellowship goes to Mordor

Wednesday 30.10 - "Taking a bath in the toilet is forbidden"

Real shit begins. We're finally heading to places where the main road does not reach, our destination being Shree Kharka, where we are to sleep at 4000 meters. It's not a long distance, neither much elevation gain, but still I have the feeling that now the proper trekking begins. Until now, there have been guesthouses on every corner and stores and restaurants competing for our attention. Now it's a different story and getting a place in a guest house may not be trivial. Plus we're also heading in direction of Tilicho lake, a side trip leaving the main AC trail.

Khangsar is the first (and kind of only) village on the way to Tilicho lake

After breakfast, we engage in one of the most complex rituals of the trek - paying for the food and accommodation. 5 people, 2 nights, lots of food and we're all maxing our brains trying to remember who's sharing which part of the bill. Overall it takes us a good hour till we settle the bill and we make a mental note to organize things better next time (in other words, to avoid this fucking mess).

The valley of Tilicho lake on the left, with Tilicho peak at the distance. Main trail takes a turn to the right

The first steps of the trek are easy and optimistic - why wouldn't they - walking along a flat valley past Manang. We make the occasional climbs and descents, especially when crossing the deep river bed on a suspension bridge, but in about hour and half, we reach Kanghsar and pause there for tea and a snack.

Past Kanghsar, we fully enter the valley which ends (or starts, depending on the point of view) with Tilicho lake - the highest lake in the world (although this also depends on point of view...). And despite being on a side trip from AC, we meet plenty of tourists, including a Russian group which we keep running into ever since Chame.

These prehistoric paintings that resemble our shadows from a suspension bridge were on these rocks since the ice age.

The trail rises steeply and narrows considerably, flattening only at the junction where one can go left for Shree Kharka, and right to Yak Kharka. We continue left and after a few more minutes we spot Shree Kharka in the distance - a nice settlement with a few guest houses, a store and a couple of restaurants. Most of the tourists finish here for the day, though we do another 15 minutes to the Blue sheep hotel, with the idea of making the next day (which is expected to be a killer) a bit shorter.



We strike a deal of 2 rooms for 800rs + the typical promise of eating at the guesthouse - not that we have a choice really. The deal includes also a surprisingly good Wifi, and a not so surprisingly deterrent shower. With the latter, it is essentially a wooden shed at the edge of a big cliff with a pipe of water and a canister of gas somehow attached. None of us take the chances, and it does not seem like any of the other tourists do either, which is perhaps the reason for the weird sign at the door of a particularly smelly and dirty toilet.

Hah, that won't stop me from taking a bath in there!

Hmm, maybe this will. But perhaps I can take the shower?

Being smelly seems like a good option actually

Since we arrived already at 12:30, we all go for a quick power nap. For the first time on the trek, I put in my headphones and get a dose of Mark Knopfler's tunes, dozing off here and there.

Waking up, we eventually meet up in the dining area where a fire is being built up in the stove, though nowhere near being sufficient for the quickly plummeting temperatures after sunset. We order a big pot of tea and I measure my temperature - slightly increased. Others play Asshole as we all wait for the dinner.

We plan the next day - it indeed looks like a solid haul. First thing in the morning, we shall go to Tilicho base camp, a segment estimated at 3 hours by the locals. There the plan is to get the rooms, drop our big backpacks and go light for to Tilicho lake and back - about 1000 meters of elevation gain and a round-trip of 5.5 hours.

We therefore order the breakfast for 6am, set our departure for 7 and I do some bill sharing maths already today to avoid the messy situation from today morning. I do mess it up though and we all chip in the morning a few hundred rupees to make up the difference.

I head to bed early, leaving the others in the dining room. I do not feel particularly well, with frequent coughing, blowing my nose and bit of a fever. It's damn cold everywhere inside and well below freezing temperatures outside, so I wrap up like a mummy at 9pm. Maik and Oli come at some point and are re-packing their bags. Every now and then I hear a burst of laughter, subdued through my silicone ear plugs, and eventually I fall asleep...

Day 9 of the trek done.

Thursday 31.10 - A close encounter

Ehr Ehr. The alarm rings at 6 and I clear my throat and cough like crazy, Chris and Emma mocking me. Getting out of the bed in the bitter pre-dawn cold is definitely no easy feat, but eventually we hatch from our sleeping bags and get out of the rooms too. Washing the teeth or refilling the bottles with water in the stream behind the hotel I realize how damn cold it actually is when I almost fall slipping on the newly formed ice. Serious shit.

Deeper into the valley towards Tilicho lake

On the other hand, waking up so early has its advantages and I film my best time lapse of the trek here - an amazing sunrise on the peaks of Khanhsar Kang or Tilicho peak (see 6th item here). We're also lucky to spot the very rare blue sheep, grazing the pastures just a few meters above the trail.

A look back where we came from. Manaslu is still visible in the distance.

Soon we enter the anticipated section of the day, which is known for its frequent landslides and rockfalls, especially after certain hours when the sun warms up the cliffs above the trail. It is thus only recommended to pass through during the morning and with a bit of raised vigilance.

It sometimes looks worse than it is...

At one bit of the landslide section, we witness a truly disappointing scene. Three local porters are having a break and one of them is disposing of a broken pole by throwing it down the slope, right here, in the middle of the most beautiful and pristine part of the trek. Although I haven't mentioned it yet, rubbish is a frequent occurrence on the paths from the very beginning, and would only become rare once we left the main trail. When we passed by the porters, I try to think of the right thing to say to make them realize what they're doing, but being a bit angry, I only manage "if you don't take care of the area, why would the tourists do?". No reaction.

Down the slope, the broken pole went...

We continue with a relatively quick tempo and despite the original estimate of 3 hours, we reach Tilicho base camp after mere 90 minutes. We opt for the first hotel, which seems quite decent, with a big and sun lit dining room where we instantly warm up with a hot tea.

Maik is not feeling well again and so decides to stay at the hotel, while the rest of us embark on the 1000 meter climb to Tilicho lake. Almost immediately, spectacular views are opening up and give us a good motivation boost to go up and see more.

About 1/5 of the way up from the base camp, the views truly open up and people take Instagram-friendly pics

Khangsar Kang (~7500mnm) and its glaciers and snow covered ridges

And there's much more to see. From my point of view, the journey to Tilicho lake is about the close encounter with the surrounding giants that rule the whole valley, the valley where the Marsyangdi river which accompanied us all the way from the start of our hike is born.

The trail continues up - not at all too steeply, but the altitude is kicking in and we're gasping for breath and progressing slow. At ~4700m elevation, a zig-zag even further up starts and once it's out of the way, we experience the first hits of the notorious winds of Tilicho lake - strong, freezing and coming in bursts.

The lakes are near now, and the winds are strong.

I finally put on some extra layers and within minutes I am wrapped up like an Eskimo and longing for more. The path soon levels up and me and Chris spot the first lakes - some sort of supporting acts for the main event, the huge and incredibly blue Tilicho lake. The sight is absolutely breath taking (not the least thanks to the wind that literally takes the breath away).

This epitomizes what I mean by "close encounter"

Eskimos at Tilicho lake

Me with the awesome Tilicho lake, awesome "North Face" down jacket and the small but awesome Lowe Alpine backpack

We take pics - as many as our hands without gloves can handle and we sip a hot beverage from Oli's thermal flask that we had wittily prepared down at the base camp. I love the views, but the prevailing morning cough, strain from the climb and the freezing wind are taking its toll and after a group pic with the others, I rush down to take shelter from the wind.

Heading back brings new views to the attention.

I find that the wind is more persistent in the afternoon, but thanks to the sun, it is much less cold once I reach the path below the zig-zag. Still, I hurry downhill and can't wait to get to the lodge and get some rest.

I arrive around 2:30pm, with the others not far behind. Luckily, the bottom of the valley is nicely sheltered from the wind and the sun does its job not only to recharge my powerbank through my solar charger, but also to provide a nice warm feeling after a hot shower.

Despite that, I feel a bit rough and I decide not to take chances - I put on lots of clothes, head down to the canteen and order a garlic soup plus I ask for a whole head of raw garlic. The cook stares at me as if I was some sort of divine mirage but eventually quotes hundred rupees for the garlic head, shouting the order to the kitchen with a grin on his face.

Soon the food comes along with a plate full of peeled garlic cloves - now I understand his amusement. He actually thought I want to eat all that garlic for the dinner…! Thus I chew on a few cloves along with my noodles and add some "red shit" (cause the usual spicy green shit was unavailable this time…) to the mix, thinking to sweat any bacteria off my system.

Hungry? How about a head of garlic with red
shit?

Others come to the dining room soon and seemingly everyone is super happy from the day's achievement, or at least the relative comfort that followed. E.g Emma comments: "that was a good shower". When she asks how did I find this day, I only mutter something like "it was nice. I am a little bit fucked up, but if was nice".

Yak sizzlers we ordered with Oli - mmmmm!

Sun slowly hides behind the peaks and the valley along with the hotel and its canteen gets colder. We sip the tea, play cards and I write up my blog. The doors to the canteen keep opening, very often with another new face wrapped in a hiking gear, seeking shelter for the night. The Tilicho base camp hotel is fully booked though, and so the only offered spots are those directly in the canteen, where the hikers must improvise with whatever they have. Soon a loud party of possibly 50 people hang around the sitting area and I am wondering how the hell they're all going to sleep here.

The fatigue hits me and in need of some quite time, I say good night to the group and go to bed, put on headphones and read a book. I also realize that I went to this trip to get some time for myself, yet have been in a lively group of people since the very start! I consider breaking away from the group for the next couple days, and then rejoining them for "day D" - the day we will go through the pass. It feels like a right decision, but I also decide to sleep on it first.

This was a long day, but the views were possibly the best I've ever seen…

Friday 1.11 - "With the first rays of sunshine, look high up to the north...!"

Our alarm rings at 6:30, although we all wake up a couple hours before to some loud banging on the doors - not ours, but in these lodges, walls are thin and people hear everything. In addition I hear someone throwing up and the last hours of sleep are intermittent.

Finally we get out of the bed and start the morning ritual. Breakfast follows and the sun meanwhile enters the valley, so that when we get on the road, we're already being warmed up by the sunshine.

Yet the first moments of our return journey to Shree Kharka are accompanied by cold winds. I press on, thinking to gain some time to spend on a WiFi in the Blue sheep Hotel where we stayed the day before (mobile data from my NTC simcard are long gone by now). I get into my zone, adopting a surprisingly quick tempo and I am asking myself where is all the energy coming from.

At Blue sheep, I find that the password was changed, so I only get a cup of hot water and move down to the main area of Shree Kharka, where there's less wind and some stores to visit too. I pay for the Internet and check the weather - to my pleasant surprise, it is all cleared up and there's only nice days ahead of us! Yay!

Others come and we continue, going left at the junction for Yak Kharka. It gets warmer as we climb to Upper Khangshar, but the trek is now relatively level for the next few kilometers.

Upper Khangsar is quite a deserted place, with no residents that we found. Only people we met here was an English couple who went to Yak Kharka only to watch England play rugby there, then head back to this valley.

Upper Khangsar from the distance, on the way to Yak Kharka. An Iceland-like scenery

I eventually get back into my speed mode and catch up with 4 ~60 year old men, whom I soon recognize to be from Czech republic. Jokes follow as well as some Slovak phrases from them, and Czech attempts from my side. Though I am open minded about any culture and nationality, it's just nice to feel a bit of homely Czecho-Slovakia wherever you are.

At a viewpoint overlooking the Manang valley, we take lots of pictures, get a snack, and I also announce my plan to continue on my own for the next couple days, sleep in Ledar and then High camp the day after. Others being understanding, I say the goodbyes attempting a Gandalf-like line: "on Sunday the 3rd, with the first rays of sunshine, look high up to the north, I'll be waiting for you". However, I don't have a white horse, neither a cool magic stick, so I simply unceremoniously turn around and start the descent into the next valley, leaving Margsyandi River behind for good.

The point where I waved goodbye to Margsyandi for good, and said "see you in couple days" to our group

The trail descends steeply to Thorong Khola and then rises again to join the main circuit trail. Back on the red mark, I get a bit weary of arriving late to Ledar and securing a room, so I speed up. My energy tank is low though, and the last hour of the day's hiking is a real struggle. Finally, the small village of Ledar (also written Churi Ledar, or Leather, or all kinds of different variations…) appears just a few hundred meters away. I cross the bridge, climb the last stairs and head straight for the first lodge that I see.

My favorite guest house of the trek - at Churi Ledar.

And what a great choice it was! The sunny courtyard circled by lovely tiny houses, hot shower, and - what was the best - a guitar hanging in the dining room. And this time, the guitar was a good one! It was a Givson (nope, no typo there) - some sort of electro-acoustic full body with a nice warm sound - not too mellow and not too sharp. But first I shower, get some warm food and "get my shit together". After the long hike today, I feel really messed up, but the cozy interior of the sun-warmed dining room does the fix eventually.

I find out that Kirsten and Jack whom we've met a few days ago are staying at the same place and we have a late lunch together. After that I pick the guitar and spend a good couple of hours going through almost my whole song book. The atmosphere at the moment is unique, very quiet and almost family-like, with people occasionally humming along or Kirsten joining at times. A very memorable time, refilling my near-empty music tank and once more cutting the long guitar withdrawal symptoms.

This Givson guitar made my day.

I eventually leave the guitar playing to focus on other things - dinner, tea, prep for the next day. Time flies quickly, especially here in the mountains, where the length of the day is dictated by the sun - as soon as it sets, temperatures drop and one sooner or later goes wrap themselves in the sleeping bag and blankets. In the similar spirit, day usually starts at dawn, which gives yet another reason to wrap the day up early enough.

Internet works for as long as electricity does, which is not long in Ledar, but long enough to coordinate with the rest of the group - they will aim for High Camp the next day too, and I agree to book a room for them once I arrive. I feel a bit uneasy about people making such an altitude gain in one day (850 meters from 4050 to 4900), especially thinking of Maik who hasn't done any of the acclimatizing side-trips to Ice lakes or Tilicho lake. But it's not my call here, so I simply hope for the best.

Did I say the temperatures can drop to freezing in the rooms
too?

On my way to the room, I run into Kristen who points out the clear sky above - an incredible display of stars and Milky way. I try a few photos and eventually get a nice enough pic with the maximum shutter speed of 32 sec, though still far from the stellar beauty that only my eyes could capture.

I read some of Dying to be me, a book that was on my Kindle for a while, but I never got around to it. John Mayer's tunes from Born and Raised album accompany my reading and eventually I doze off.

Yep, a day to remember.

Saturday 2.11 - The porter is a horse

The alarm rings at 6 am and I spring to my feet and start the now well rehearsed routine of packing the backpack and prepping my stuff.

Morning from Churi Ledar!

Although I ordered breakfast for 6:30, it does not come till 6:50, a delay that seems to be a trend. I nevertheless get to have my "light breakfast set", composed of porridge, tea and two boiled eggs, no bread.

I hit the road at 7:15. The valley is still very much in the shade and the cold is bitter - wherever there's water, ice can be seen too, including a waterfall on the other side of the valley which is just getting defrosted by the raising sun. I continue slowly and methodically and make a pledge not to rush it today. After all, the distance to High camp is not long, but the altitude gain is considerable and one is better off taking it slow.

After I cross the river to the west side, the path finally becomes sun-lit and I pause to change to my standard outfit of the days - shorts, long-sleeved Devold t-shirt and a light-weight jumper top.

Another landslide zone starts soon and I can't help but wonder how safe it is, with stones and rocks up above that could start tumbling down any time. Luckily, it does not last long, and Thorung Phedi appears soon after.

Thorung Phedi - many stay here overnight, then wake up at 3-4am and go through the pass.

I make a break here, getting a bread roll, cup of tea and a cinnamon roll for later. Energy replenished, I set on the final task of the day - the dreaded zig-zag from Thorung Phedi to High camp. A good 350m of elevation gain, at an altitude where one feels every centimeter.

I climb at sluggish pace, careful not to make the heart or the lungs race too much. It feels like a never-ending business and the backpack gets somewhat heavier too. Yet, the end cannot be far now and, finally, the first lodges of High camp appear up above. Interestingly, the very last meters are truly and completely exhausting and I pause every 10-15 steps to catch my breath. But eventually, I reach High camp at roughly 10:45am.

Reaching High camp, 4900m above sea level. These last steps were a total killer, and it feels a bit as if being on the Moon

I get a room for myself and try to get rooms for the rest, who are to come later. This is not so easy though, as the owner is reluctant to keep a room for someone not physically present. Furthermore, I am not completely sure if everyone will come, as I had no Internet since the evening before. But we agree a deal wherein I take one double and one triple, and he holds the triple room until noon.

I unpack and unwind a bit in the sun, which offers some warmth. Soon I spot Chris on his final ascent and I wave to him. When he comes, he explains that the others may be quite far behind, as they were trying to get a porter, and it seemed like the only available one was one that would come from Manang. Not the best news, as the owner was now quite aggressively asking "where are the people?!".

Chris somehow fights him off while I go to a viewpoint above the High camp, with fantastic views all around - starting with the ever-present giants of Annapurna III and Gangapurna in the distance, the more nearby 6000s of Yakwakang and Thorung peak (between which the pass lies) and also the small village dots in the valley below - Yak Kharka, Ledar and Thorung Phedi.

The view from High camp view point.

Thorung Phedi from the viewpoint above High camp - 5x zoom

On the way down to the camp, I meet Chris who goes up this time and tries to gain some time this way in case the owner asks for the keys.

Kristen and Jack arrive too and we all meet up in the dining room where I sit next to a friendly bunch of Welsh people (Shento, Jo, Grace) and a French girl (Gladys). I join them for a card game that seems to require lots of concentration and attention and I just about avoid defeat, while eating an apple pie that tastes truly shit, as if it was mixed with gasoline.

The Welsh group leaves to go to the viewpoint and I look for a nice spot by the window where I could read, when I spot Oli taking the final steps of the ascent, with a tiny backpack on his back. They made it!

Maik and Emma follow soon after and we greet each other as if we haven't seen each other for months. Their porter - or should I say porters? - is a lovely white pony with a smiley guy that looks to me like someone from a Bob Marley videoclip, and is called something like "Lama". Interestingly, I can't find any pics of Lama or his horse :'-( ... So below is a pic from the Internet that can serve as approximation.

The new arrivals drop their bags off and aim for the viewpoint, while I find a cozy place in the dining room and write up the diary, listening to the international voices all around me. The Russian group occupies a big table by the windows. A trio of Italians from Milan region sit nearby and I mock them if they get a pizza for the dinner. A Slovak girl (living in Barcelona) on my left says hello too and we have a little Slovak chit-chat. And I also poll everyone for their leaving time the next day - it seems like they're all planning to leave crazy early, 4am, 4:30, or 5 the very latest. The quoted reason is the wind which is apparently quiet in the morning, but starts to blow more wildly later. The negative trade-off, however, is the freezing cold morning temperature and the first couple of hours of hiking with the head torches on. Choose one.

The fellowship sat for dinner and the departure time was discussed, eventually chosen as 6:45. Chris pushed for 7:30, arguing the crazy morning hours can be avoided as we already have the head start from Thorong Phedi done. I was keen to start at 6, a bit wary of the freezing winds, thinking back to the Tilicho lake experience. But not wanting to freeze in the pre-sunrise temperatures either, 6:45 seemed like a good compromise.

The dining room got completely packed and it was quite a contrast to the peaceful, personal atmosphere from Ledar the night before. I did not really feel up for the noise and tiredness also started to creep on me. And when the stuck chimney caused the whole room to be almost completely smoked, I decided to go to bed early, at 6:30pm already.

And it wasn't even Santa Claus that got stuck in the chimney...

Sunday 3.11 - The D-Day

This is it. This is the day. The day we should get enchiladas in Muktinath. At least that's what my guidebook said.

Although I promised everyone it will be a sleepless night, with the high altitude and bitter cold, I slept super well, maybe even claiming the best night on the trek.

At my usual 5am toilet break I observe already a lot of commotion in the camp - groups leaving for the pass and many more torch lights just finishing the climb from Thorong Phedi. Regardless, I aim back to bed for a few more minutes of warmth and sleep.

We slowly gather for the breakfast at 6, and I eat some potatoes and toasts. Emma shows up and I immediately see that something is wrong. She feels unwell, does not have appetite and has already popped a tablet to subdue a headache. She puts it down to bad food, strain from hiking or other causes, but I am hundred percent sure it's the altitude. I don't want to alarm her or anyone too soon though - it's not too far to the pass and the ideal scenario is crossing it and descending to Muktinath. Yet I decide to keep an eye on her - AMS can quickly turn serious.

The initial segment of the High camp - Thorung la pass

We set off before the planned 6:45am departure already. Emma is really tired, feels nauseatic and has taken no Diamox. We start sluggishly and pause very frequently in the initial steep ascent. and I am quietly putting the odds as 80 to 20 that we'll need to turn back. I suggest the option to Emma, but try to keep it open as only she knows how she feels. When she says she never felt worse in her life, but keeps going despite, I don't know what to think, so I just keep going myself too.

I pull out some sweet candies back from Lidl back home, and they seem to work providing some energy. Shortly, we reach a small tea house where Chris and Oli wait for the rest of us and offer some tea. When we check the distance to the pass, I suddenly see hope - it's just about 2.5 km air distance to the top! And since we started in High camp (4900m), it can't be too much more elevation gain anymore! Perhaps we'll all make it after all…

The pass is somewhere in front of us - is there still much more to climb?

Brief pause. The amount of struggle and the
heaviness of breathing at this altitude
is hard to describe

Maik and I keep Emma company, and I try to also make her slow down as much as possible. This may seem a bit against the logic, as it is staying in the altitude that's dangerous. Equally though, the desire to get it done quickly can set the heart and lungs racing, and could have bad consequences very quickly.

We now see the Thorong peak on the left and Yakwakang on the right. The pass is somewhere in between and it appears we just dealt with the last steep climb of the trek. I now feel like the odds have flipped and it wouldn't make sense to turn now - the victory is near!

So is the snow at the heel of the peaks, now truly just a stone's throw away. Behind us, the magnificent views are springing to horizon one by one, with the Chuli East range, Annapurnas in the far distance and many other giants decorating the impressive scenery.

All around us, snow covered peaks jump into the view

Last steps towards the pass...!

The frustrating series of "blind summits" have started by now and it only adds to Emma's (and ours) struggle. I try to lighten the mood by comparing her to Frodo, whose ring was getting heavier as he was nearing Mordor. "If you let me… Just for a while, Mr Frodo", I'd say. But just like Frodo, Emma chose to fight the altitude by herself and - impressively - keeps going. By now I am sure though that she'll make it and soon someone hails the familiar praying flags on the horizon, some 300 meters away. Brief downhill, final ascent and…

We made it. Thorong La pass, 5416 meters above sea level.



We quickly take a few common pics with the sign on the top that's queued for by all the trekkers. Lama with the horse are already there and Oli, Maik and Emma re-pack their backpacks and wave him goodbye. We don't linger longer than necessary and we start the descent into the new valley, and a new world, and possibly to new ourselves (deep, right? I know!)

Already on the other side of the pass. The barren landscape begins, but the taste of victory is sweet

It starts slowly, but drops continuously. And to the great relief, Emma says she feels better already a couple hundred meters down, and it only improves from there on. Phew!

The descent is monotonous, tedious, and long. The valley with Muktinath opens up below us and it's quite a desert, barren landscape. The clouds start to come in too, but after a few hours we reach the tea houses at ~4200m where the first beers are cracked open in some premature celebration, along with Eyvert and Anouk, a Dutch couple we met at Tilicho base camp.

Series of tea houses at 4200m, still over hour away from Muktinath, but low enough to say "we've made it" already

We push on for the last 500m of elevation loss to Muktinath, me being deep in conversation with Maik. I learn that he gave up drinking for a year as a bet with his brother, so as to help him turn to the right path - a big respect for this. I also like his attitude to life, not being afraid to try new things, which eventually brought him to do this trek and definitely worked for his career too. Finally, I am amused by Maik's point of view when we discuss girls and when I complain how I find it difficult to find the right girl these days. He says "Fero, why don't you take Emma?" to which I reply "Maik, what do you mean, I can't just take Emma, this is not a supermarket!", with Maik countering "I don't know Fero, to me it is a bit like shopping in a supermarket...", going on to explain how little thinking there was in the time he met his girlfriend some years ago. There's a pinch of wisdom and a grain of truth in what he says, and I name the whole process "supermarket decisions" and make a mental note to live by it more often.

Muktinath shows itself in front of us and I am surprised to see quite a few tall buildings, modern hotels and a general feel of the town as if it was a suburb of Kathmandu. It's obvious that the new road changed this area considerably, but I am not sure if this is for better or worse - it really feels suddenly like too much civilization and in turn causes me to feel like this is the end of the trek. Whereas in the past, people would walk further to places like Tatopani, now everyone talks of taking a jeep down, or even flying from Jomsom..

Nevertheless, today is not over yet. We look for a well-known Bob Marley hotel in the town center and take two rooms in there. Celebrations follow, with some good and finally different choices of food (tho no enchiladas, as I advertised pretty much to everyone I met that day) and many beers. Dutch folks stay in the hotel too, so do the Welsh people and Kirsten and Jack come over too. It's a good evening, and we're all happy to have made it alive and well.

No Enchiladas, but awesome food and great vibes just the same.

The early start and my unhealthy cough of the last days, however, prompt me to go to bed already at 8:30. There's noise from the hotel's music, smoke from the fireplace and in my state I don't feel like staying here another day. I am also not too much in a mood for drinking and partying, and at this time, I am more looking for some quiet time on my own.

For with the pass now behind us, it felt like I crossed some path in my mind too. And it was around this time that the decision was finally made, or more like accepted. Perhaps it was not entirely a "supermarket decision", but nonetheless, I now knew that I'll be going to London... And as much as I was happy to finally move from that sweet limbo state whereby one still has both options on the table, I knew what was awaiting me - leaving the ONS and Cardiff. And that thought was growing heavier with every second...

Chris and Oli come to the room at some point and through my earplugs I hear their dimmed voices. Oli seems to struggle zipping himself up in his sleeping bag and eventually I hear a big thud as he falls from the bed, likely still tightly cocooned.

I smile and fall asleep.