Beyond Marrs

“Now boarding Biratnagar”. Our eyes locked from across the terminal. Here it was, the moment we were waiting for: a departing flight. When the wheels went up on the Shree Airlines plane, we collectively let out our breath. Two days spent in the Domestic Terminal in Kathmandu- having booked five different flights to five different locations- we were finally on our way out of the Valley. Haze and low visibility across Nepal resulted in several consecutive days of cancelled flights the week we departed for our trek. Our original Kathmandu to Tumlingtar plane never did fly that week, neither did the Phaplu flight, nor the two Lukla flights. Determined to get somewhere on the section of the lower Great Himalaya Trail that we spent months planning, we sat in the terminal and brainstormed all the different ways we could walk: land in Phaplu and walk the trail backwards to Tumlingtar or fly to Lukla and walk south and then east. We considered other treks in other parts of the country entirely. With our big paper map spread open, we pointed our fingers at locations we’d talked about in passing but never with any seriousness. We were in peak adaptability mode. Finally, when we saw a few flights actually making it out, we bought tickets to Biratnagar – Biratnagar! On the southern border with India!- and determined that we would drive north, across two-thirds of the country-to Khandbari- to begin our original trek. 

Outside the airport in Biratnagar we easily arranged a ride to Dharan where we would spend the night. Sitting in the passenger seat, I knew something was off when the driver kept correcting my Nepali. Now, there’s a lot of room for improvement in my language skills, but the man’s attitude was totally incongruent with all of our normal interactions with Nepalis. He was gruff and spat out his corrections as roughly as he spat out his paan. I decided to ignore him and looked out the window, watching the pretty forests of Morang pass by. All of a sudden I heard Caleb loudly clearing his throat in the backseat and, when I turned around, saw his eyes wide and pointing to the driver who, to my horror, was falling asleep at the wheel. I began talking really loudly, Caleb constantly clearing his throat, just to keep him awake. Grateful to get out of the car in Dharan, the man followed us into the hotel and then demanded a heap of money more than we had agreed on before getting into the car. Arguing in my best Nepali and absolutely not obliging, he finally walked away and left all the money behind that we had paid him. We promptly gave it to the hotel staff who had to witness that whole scene. I’m not sure what stunned them more- the volume and wildness of the clearly unhinged man or the lady standing up to him. They gave us sympathetic looks and very tasty food for our night’s stay. The following day we took a jeep to Khandbari with a lovely man who spent 16 years driving trucks in Saudi Arabia. He pointed to the villages we passed and said “see all these houses? They all have at least one person living abroad”. Unfortunately, this did not surprise me: both because Nepal has a staggering number of citizens living outside the country sending remittances home, and because Dharan was an important training area for Gurkhas who were posted to many far flung places of the British empire (fun fact: Nepal is one of a handful of countries that was never colonized. However, many Gurkhas-an elite force of Nepali men- have served in the British Army over the last 200 years).

In Khandbari we got our feet under us, so to speak. We loaded up our packs and began the journey west towards Phaplu. Our first day was a hot, dusty walk down to the Arun River. The Arun Valley is an absolutely stunning place. The Arun pre-dates the Himalayas and its waters originate deep inside Tibet, so the geology of this valley is fascinating. As an ancient antecedent river it forms one of the deepest gorges on earth. Along its banks you can find low-grade garnet and patches of pink sand. We were delighted to walk beside it for two days as it delivered us to the village of Chewabesi on our first day and then, as we moved farther west, to Majuwadanda on the second. Pausing for a break for tea and food in Majuwadanda with a lovely family, we heard thunder rolling in the distance. Although it was still afternoon, we were ready to practice our promise to each other to “just go slow”. We watched as Willem cuddled baby goats and Ada rested on the patio. We enjoyed talking with the houseowners and, when they asked if we wanted to stay the night, we said yes. Without other lodging in the village, they offered us their own room where Ada, curiously, laid down and took a nap. When she woke up I immediately knew something was wrong. She was burning up and dripping with sweat. She complained of feeling nauseous and dizzy and then she vomited. It was late and dark and we were miles away from medical care. I’ve never seen her so sick in all her life. I was scared. I thought about how she had been complaining of ear pain for a few days and how, the last time she had ear pain like this the doctor thought it could be an infection. We gave her a dose of the antibiotics we carried with us and started alternating rounds of paracetamol and ibuprofen. The Thapas, whose house we were staying in, told me about hospitals and clinics in Tumlingtar and Khandbari, Mr. Thapa promising that he would personally take us there in the morning to make sure we got to the best doctor. They whispered in the dark with each other and then with me, brainstorming all the ways that they could help. But all that we could do was wait. In the family’s bedroom, I slept next to Ada on the floor, checking her forehead every hour. By 3am her fever had broken. When morning came we walked to the nearest place to catch a bus, Mr. Thapa carrying Ada’s pack and walking quickly ahead of us to make sure that it would not leave without us. We got the kids on board and said our thanks to Mr. Thapa who never once asked us for any money. So we gave him the equivalent of what his family would fetch for a baby goat, hugged him, and set off to Tumlingtar. The bus that carried us there was a quintessentially local experience and, if not for Ada feeling so sick, it would have all been quite laughable: there was a Nepali music soundtrack screeching at high volume as we slid around the muddy mountain roads slick from the previous night’s rains while a young woman in the seat behind me vomited into a plastic bag she held next to my face. Poor Ada was terrified as we bumped and skidded along; we were all too happy to disembark this sardine can on bicycle wheels when we reached Tumlingtar. 

We posted up for two days to rest and recover and make a new plan. We were embracing adaptability, again. We needed to figure out how to move forward. It was Ada who advocated hiking to the Salpa Pass. Knowing that there was a bus from Salpa Phedi to Tumlingtar if we needed it, we decided that we would hike to the pass and then hike back. After two days of rest and fluids and meds we hitched a ride back to Majuwadanda where we left off and started our walk forward. We took our time to Gothe Bazaar, soaking up the views of the endless ancient terraces carved into the hillsides. We played our favorite trail games and created a whimsical story about four goats who find a magical pomelo seed and an enchanted garden. As we started the uphill approach to Gothe Bazaar we heard crackling thunder and felt the first fat drops of rain. We moved quickly uphill for the last half mile as lightning flashed in the sky and thunder boomed in the valley. We barely made it to the Kirant Hotel before the skies opened up and the rain poured down. We sat contentedly under the roof and watched it stream down in sheets from the sky, feeling grateful for the shelter. As the rain slowed we peeked over at the garden and saw a beautiful pomelo tree. 

After a full night’s sleep, we ate a delicious breakfast and set off for Dhobhan. The sky was bright with sun and felt hot as we walked along the road, dust sticking to our sweaty legs. We quickly realized that there was no escaping the enormous hydropower project along the river and were resigned to follow it for most of the day. Nepal has enormous hydropower potential and is developing its resources to rapidly increase its output from its current 2,800MW to the estimated 43,000MW that it’s believed to be capable of producing. This stretch of the Ikhuwa Khola is a critical component of the Upper Arun Hydroelectric Project and is currently in the preparatory and infrastructure development phase. This meant lots of truck traffic and heavy loads frequently passing us. In Dhobhan we were happy to leave the project and the trucks behind. We felt good and there was lots of day left so we decided to press on. We reached Salpa Phedi-and the end of the road-by late afternoon. We were back above 5,000 feet and the air felt cooler and, without the road, much quieter. We found a lovely home at the end of the village run by a Rai woman and her school age daughters and son. Over a dinner of dal bhat we discussed our options now that we were at a critical point: moving ahead to new trail or turning around and doing everything in reverse order. Without any hesitation, everyone voted to continue on. In the morning we chatted with Sunila and watched her work her beautiful loom. From the ground floor of her lodge she sold some of what she made-gorgeous handwoven cloth and small bags. After our chiya and roti we started our climb up, up, up to Thulophotke 2,500 feet and 1.5 miles up the trail. We went slowly, stopping every 500 feet or so to suck honey packets and drink water, excited to return to our trail games which were now evolving into seriously funny and creative new versions: ABC foods was now ABC gross foods (very on brand for 9 year old boy humor) and we dreamed up ham and banana smoothies (letter H). Then it became ABC invented dishes like moose momo with mint sauce (letter M). And then ABC potions in which you had to name two ingredients with the letter you landed on and then explain what the potion did–Ada, for example, invented a delightful concoction of jaguar nail clippings and jade powder for hair growth. These games helped us sail on to tiny Thulophotke where we spent the night and then another 2,000 feet and 2 miles up to the Salpa Pass Lodge, the last accommodations before going through the pass. We arrived mid-day and spent the whole of the afternoon in an expansive field out front of the lodge playing cricket with the tennis ball Willem had tucked in his pack and teaching the kids how to properly throw a ball. They were delighted by some extremely adorable and friendly six month old puppies, the many roaming chauri (a hybrid crossbreed between a yak and a cow), and a fat snoring pig in its pen behind the lodge. When we woke in the morning we could see our breath and, as the clear blue skies turned grey we knew we needed to continue on our way. Climbing towards the pass we were enveloped in pine and rhododendron forest and the divine scent of lokta flowers. At one point Willem turned to me and said “mama, I feel like I’m walking in a painting”. The beauty felt overwhelming and this boy of ours captured it so well in such a simple statement. 

When we reached the cold, windy Salpa La we were greeted by the warm smile of Pasang Sherpa, a 70 something year old woman who lived alone there tending a tea shop. We joined her for a cup and a snuggle from her kitten who was overjoyed with new laps to curl up in. With stones laid atop the mani wall we pointed our feet towards Sanam, and for the next 2 hours Ada and I built a fantasy world of characters and storylines that took us around the globe and through time and space, all the while keeping our eyes on the misty forest and the stone path underneath our human legs. A brief pause in both walking and story building to put on rain gear found us in the overhang of a huge boulder and, when we stepped out, we found a raucous group of wild langurs swinging from tree limb to tree limb searching for protection from the wet, just like us. Not too much later we walked into Sanam- a gorgeous, albeit nearly deserted Sherpa village situated at 9,000 feet. We never booked anywhere in advance and Sanam was no exception. So when I asked a woman washing dishes outside her home if there was a lodge in the village she smiled and said “yes, here”. She stood up to her full height, all of about 4’9”, and smiled a hearty smile that I could feel all the way inside my heart. It was immediately obvious that this is where we would be staying. We put down our packs in our sleeping quarters-Ada and I shared a room that was the literal size of a twin bed-and then set out to explore the village. Along the way we met two men in their 60s, both of whom grew up in the village but neither of whom still lived there. They were back for a visit and to oversee the new construction of a Buddhist stupa, ensuring that all of the items that have been summarily blessed will go inside the stupa as the bricks take shape around them. They explained that the village used to be sizable but that now only four households remain occupied–all of the other houseowners now either live in Kathmandu or abroad. He shared with us his fear that this place will be lost when the next generation refuses to come back here. He’s right of course, and that’s a heartbreaking thought. There is no laughter of children, only the quiet chanting of a monk and the slow, deliberate sounds of elders-milking chauri, preparing food, hauling firewood- that carry through the village. That night at dinner the men joined us as we devoured dal bhat and vegetables in the smokey kitchen while we listened to rolling thunder outside. The next morning was bright and clear and we decided that we weren’t yet ready to leave Sanam and that we would stay another night. We had a deliciously slow day-the kids tried tsampa porridge (roasted barley flour mixed with hot milk or tea) and butter tea for the first time; we climbed a hill and hoped for a peek at some peaks (too cloudy) and instead lazed in the hot sun; the kids and Caleb sketched scenes of the village while I contentedly watched a flock of birds flit from field to field. When I turned to go inside and get my book I saw a flash of lightning, then a clap of thunder, and almost immediately and to my surprise, hail! Big, fat, chickpea sized hail came barreling down from the sky, pelting the ground and quickly creating a blanket of white on the just-green grass below our feet. Showing no signs of abating, we dashed inside and watched the storm from our sleeping bags behind thick panes of glass, Ada and I snuggled in our bed-sized room. That night the wind howled and the snow fell. And, in the morning when we woke, Ada was 12! We celebrated with the gifts we had secretly packed for her, complete with balloons and a glittery “Birthday Girl” headband. In addition to a selection of small gifts she was delighted to find a bag woven by Sunila from Phedi. The majority of the day was spent hiking from Sanam to Gudel-easy walking and soon the snow-turned-slush gave way to mud lower down. We plied the wide trail with a sequel to our fantasy story and Ada generously shared her birthday Toblerone when we stopped for a break. Lucky Caleb might have even spotted an elusive red panda! Soon, Gudel was in view and we picked our way down dozens of stone paths to a lodge where we would spend the night. The dining area was warm and moist from all of our wet gear and hot breath as we waited for our dinner of bottomless dal bhat. There were porters and guides and a couple of other hikers-the first we’d seen since we set out and, honestly, it felt more like Namche Bazaar than a little town in eastern Nepal. But all these folks added to the merriment and joined in immediately to sing “Happy Birthday” when Willem and I brought out Ada’s Snickers and Kickers “cake” (just some Snickers bars and knock off Kit Kats) with a heap of candles on top. It was the end of a very unique 12th birthday! 

Our final day of uninterrupted walking was bright and clear and we could finally see the Himalayas! Because we would not have enough time (for it to be fun anyway), we would walk from Gudel to Bung and catch a jeep from Bung to Phaplu. Gudel and Bung face each other on opposite hills with a river that separates them. But to walk from Gudel to Bung you must first descend 2,000 feet to the river and then ascend another 1,000+ feet back up to Bung. It was beautiful walking-following a cool, shaded path of meticulously placed stone steps and free flowing streams. We saw wild orchids and cardamom and impressively long caterpillar trains. We walked with a young woman named Sushila-she had pulled me aside the night before having heard us share that we would be heading to Bung in the morning. She worked for the government’s Agricultural Department and she was in Gudel for a training but preferred to walk instead of getting a ride back to her home office. However, this choice put her into a precarious situation: she was a young woman who would be walking alone. She asked if she could join us. Without hesitation I said yes-and we were so glad to have her along. She laughed and talked with the kids, she pointed out plants I never would have seen and named them, she shared her sugar cane and bought us a pomelo from a local woman she knew. Once in Bung, she pointed us in the direction of a lodge and we headed off, eager for tea and snacks.

In the morning we hopped in a jeep and made the 6 hour journey to Phaplu. It was really about 5 hours but the jeep got a flat tire and-to our great surprise-when the driver revealed that he didn’t have a spare and had to roll the tire somewhere beyond our view to get it patched, we perched on the side of the road with nothing to do but wait, watch the clouds, and eat dry wai wai noodle packets. We felt a sense of relief when he rolled the tire back down the road (shout out to the universe for getting a flat tire in a village and not not in a village!) and got it back on the jeep. And then a mild sense of panic set in as his speeds crept up and up and up along winding roads, the young driver invigorated with the sense of accomplishment with the changing of the tire. Road travel in Nepal really is not for the faint of heart. 

We pulled into Phaplu just before the afternoon rains descended and we walked to Hotel Peaceful where we found a hot shower (my first since leaving Khandbari!) and heated mattress pads. When we agreed that we would continue on to Bung we also decided that we would base ourselves in Phaplu and do some day hikes in the area while we waited for a flight out. Flights from Phaplu to Kathmandu depart on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at 11am. Arriving on a Monday afternoon, we decided to try for the Wednesday flight, but that one was full. The Thursday flight was cancelled and the Saturday flight was moved to Friday. So we booked a flight for Friday- handing over the most ridiculous wad of cash in the process- and hoped for the best. In the days leading up to the flight we walked around the charming town of Phaplu, hiked to the Chiwang Monastery, and explored Junbesi. Sitting another 2,000 feet above Phaplu, the Chiwang Monastery is home to about 40 monks and is over a hundred years old. We were warmly invited in for tea and biscuits before descending back down through the pine and rhododendron to town. The next day we hitched a jeep ride to Junbesi-a village believed to be the cradle of Sherpa civilization and a much quieter place than the upper Solukhumbu region that sees so very many Everest trekkers. Junbesi’s monastery is one of the oldest in the Solukhumbu region and it has several sister monasteries nearby, notably established by Tibetans exiled in 1959. We visited Junbesi Monastery and the cheerful Chewang Lama greeted us with a warm smile and an invitation to look inside. He was the only monk residing at the monastery at the moment and he happily gave us a mini tour, pointing out that the monastery was built in 1636 and withstood the devastating 2015 earthquake. All of the interior paintings are original with vibrant scenes of historical Buddhist narratives and lively deities. We noticed many versions of Avalokita (the great Bodhisattva of Compassion) and various Druk (dragons) protecting the temple. We thanked the lama, purchased a few small items to support the monastery, and began our hike back to Phaplu. This would mark our last day of walking on this trip. We took our time, reminiscing favorite and memorable moments and debating whether or not to retrace this section when we return to hike the length of the trail in some distant future life. 

Just as we returned to Phaplu I received a call from the airlines. Our flight was cancelled. And so, as we anticipated from the beginning, we would return to Kathmandu by jeep. It was an 11 hour, 175 mile journey from door to door-with a demoralizing two hour section along dry river bed and one near head-on collision with a motorbike. I was so grateful to be off the road and back in our Chandragiri house that evening. By the time we returned to Kathmandu it was clear that our journey was more than just miles under foot. We had experienced so much in our three weeks on the Great Himalaya Trail: uncertainty, generosity, illness, beauty, creativity, fear, laughter, wonder. There were endless adjustments and small acts of trust. More than anything, I was filled with gratitude for those weeks of literal and figurative ups and downs with my family-because a trek is never just a trek.

Final stats: 

• 9 on-trail hiking days
• 2 rest day walks
• 2 day hikes from Phaplu
• 64 total miles 
• Nearly 20,000 feet in elevation gain