Junbeshi to Banjang – Simple but not Easy (second blog today)

Junbeshi to Banjang is very simple. You climb this big mountain and go down the other side to a bridge of high land that connects your own mountain to another. Not top to top, more like connecting middle to middle. On that bridge is a tea house that is quite isolated. That’s our crash tonight.

The difficulty is that you climb forever until you’re in a good deal of pain. No change there then! Setting off at 7.00am the sky was clear and the sun was on the higher pastures. That’s where we’re heading.

Going up to high altitude frees the spirit but imprisons the body. You feel a huge explosion of awe, a sense of belonging and joy. But you also feel ill, fatigued and desperate for more oxygen in the lungs. It’s not fair. Why can’t you get good good for both. How brilliant would High trekking be then?

This morning the views drew away the blues.

We just keep walking, David and myself. We don’t get told the plan for the day unless we ask. We just get our heads down and walk slowly and deliberately uphill. The steeper the hill the shorter and slower the step. It becomes part of a spiritual journey, concentrating on the next step, breathing in and out according to the steps. Clearing your head of everything but the steps.

If you don’t clear your head the steps will reinforce any irritations and concerns. Just let them all go.

Now, water break and rest, lift up your head and look around.

And looking forward the route is lovely.

We’ve trekked over 200 kms so far, 125 miles in old money. Muscularly painless for me and not too bad for Killerby. He rattled his toe against a bed leg, and the whole shebang went black. His nail stayed on and it doesn’t seem broken. It is ok going uphill but going down the foot pushes against the front of the boot and causes him more pain. Old bastard.

Why oh why do you have to add the barbed, and usually vulgar comment at the end, boy?

I’m vulgar sir.

Hand, out. Further.

Ouch!

This country does get you mentally clean if you can avoid preoccupation with issues. It’s beautiful, the air is clean and nature is rampant, untamed, dangerous and graceful.

And you realise how insignificant we are against the elements.

And our tea house is waiting far down below. on the bridge between our mountain and Pikey Peak, rising 13,000 feet ahead of us.

We tend not to photograph local people or their families. If you ask them for permission they often say no, or don’t answer. That’s why I’ve tended against it on this blog. Just saying.

We made the tea house for late lunch and rested in the main dining/ communal room. This was a step back due to the isolated location. No running water, intermittent and low power electricity, no internet connection and no shower.

I fell asleep on the bench and started snoring, much to the amusement of the two young children of the family. Grandma occupied one end of a bench and mum ran between the kitchen and the communal room. Preparing food and drinks and checking on the kids, a lad aged 7 and a girl who looked about 3 but was in fact 5.

Dad swept in like a real mountain man, a Kukhuri sword in his belt and a huge bag of wild mushrooms over his shoulder. I had to try those.

As the afternoon wore on the man of the house filled the stove with chopped wood and started a fire. The light faded and we were there as family and guests, equals in this house. The boy and girl entertained us with traditional Sherpa dancing. This family are Sherpas, a distinct ethnic group and caste. I don’t quite understand the caste system so I can’t explain it. It’s a bit like me moving into Sloane Square and hanging my underpants with holes in on the washing line suspended between front windows. I just don’t fit. Thanks Bob.

David entertained the kids. I drifted in and out of sleep in the communal half light and warmth. if you can call this half light!

The family had locally distilled spirit, which would have been rude not to try, and they lived very much off the land. As do most Nepalis in this region. We had eaten a big Dhal Bat lunch, the national dish of rice, curried veg, dhal soup and sometimes pickle and popadoms. The lady of the house quoted us £25 to kill one of her chickens for dinner. This was expensive. It would have fed all four of us royally so really for £6 each it’s a British bargain and we had hunted it. But here it was reflective of the long term value of a chicken laying those golden eggs. No mass produced battery hens in Nepal.

We weren’t that hungry, and I settled for a mushroom omelette and then an early night. We are climbing Pikey Peak tomorrow. Please, please, please be clear. This is the best view of the entire Nepalese Himalayas.

Night night.