Let's start from the beginning.
It was almost a month ago now when I boarded an extremely small plane in Pokhara bound for Jomsom, a town in the Mustang region of Nepali Himalayas. I had never been more anxious about a flight in my life. Although the estimated flight time was all of twenty minutes, the idea of flying in an aircraft that seated less than twenty people through the world's deepest gorge was less than comforting. But as soon as we reached cruising altitude, I quickly realized that the flight was, in reality, the greatest amusement park ride ever. Below us, the Kali Gandaki River; beside and above us, some of the world's highest peaks. We flew between the Dhaulagiri and the Annapurna ranges of the Himalayas. I had the fortune of scoring a seat just behind the pilots (no, there was no door separating them from us), and thus had the opportunity to watch their every move (helped to quell the nerves). I was actually disappointed when we began our descent into Jomsom; I didn't want it to end.
But it did. We survived. And found ourselves in a completely different world. Jomsom, and the Mustang Region, is located north of the Himalayas in what is known as the "rainshadow" of the mountains. So unlike the lush and green landscape we left behind in Pokhara, Jomsom felt like a frozen desert. Every afternoon, the winds pick up (flights to and from Jomsom are only available in the morning due to the winds). As the winds began to pick up, we strapped on our backpacks and headed south.
After a night in a small town called Marpha, we trekked again to Tukuche, the small village in which we would be staying with families for a week. That section of Mustang, the southern part - very much in the heart of the valley between the mountains, is known for apples. That's right - dried apples, apple pie, apple jam, apple cider, and of course, apple brandy. Walking amongst the rows and rows of apple trees, and through the towns that seem to sell only apple products, it seems as though the fruit must have grown in the area for centuries. It turns out, however, that apple trees were only introduced about forty years ago. We had the great privilege of meeting the man responsible this, the Johnny Appleseed of the Himalayas if you will, while staying in Tukuche. He was quite the character and was clearly very proud of his accomplishments in life.
We had just enough time to test out the apple pie before our village homestay families came to collect us. Most villagers in Tukuche are Thakali, an indigenous group of Nepal. While most of the younger generation speaks Nepali, Thakalis have their own language and very distinct culture. SIT always had a "week-long village homestay component" of the semester, but this was the first time in this specific town. Although our families had never had American students living in their homes, they were not unexposed to Westerners. Tukuche is located on the very popular Annapurna Circuit Trek. Everyday during the peak seasons, dozens of Westerners pass through Tukuche. There were half a dozen guesthouses, and it was clear that many people in Tukuche rely on tourism for their livelihoods.
While I had been nervous about meeting my Tukuche family, they turned out to be so much better than I could have expected. A father (the picture-perfect Thakali man), a mother, two older sisters at home - one with a baby (the other, the oldest, lives in Kathmandu), and one older brother - I quickly became the nani (a kinship term for the youngest girl) of the family. My family had a typical Thakali home, constructed of stone, with a central courtyard, and a functioning rooftop. We had large fields located a short walk away, and a herd of mountain goats that spent the night in a stable located directly below my bedroom. Every morning, after stepping out my bedroom door and looking up to see the world's fifth highest mountain, I was immediately given, or rather forced, a cup of nun chiya, Thakali salt tea, by my mother. An acquired taste, I don't think I stayed long enough to truly grow to appreciate it. It was a warm, buttery, salty concoction, to which you add flour, making it a soupy consistency. Let's just say that I stuck to one cup a day. But it was cold in Tukuche, and the warm liquid felt good on those frigid mornings.
While husking corn on our roof with my didi one afternoon, I overheard a British trekker say to his wife as they passed by on the road that runs through the center of town, "It's like National Geographic here; We're seeing life like it was 400 years ago." For a moment, I wanted to lean over the edge of the roof and say "Excuse me sir, but why don't you step into our home and sit with my host father as he watches Hindi shows on our satellite TV. While your at it, I'm sure my sister would let you borrow her cellphone. You should know that she and her husband had a love marriage, not the traditional marriage-by-capture that was typical for Thakalis until about thirty years ago. And before you step onto that bus that will bypass the next stretch of the route, know that the road on which you'll travel is only four years old. Before then, there was no vehicular traffic in Tukuche. That apple you're eating - the people of this town have only been growing those for less than half a century. And inside that quaint village school, the students all have computers thanks to the One Laptop One Child program, and are surfing the internet on wifi as we speak." But I didn't. I refrained. For someone just passing through a town like Tukuche, it's easy to believe that you're passing through an area untouched by modernity. But if you linger just a little while, and ask just a few questions, you'll soon realize that Tukuche is yet another small town, like many other small towns - like Deer Isle in a lot of ways, that is constantly in flux between the traditional and the modern, between the way things were and the way things are becoming. It soon becomes clear that not even a tiny Himalayan village is totally isolated from the modern world. But I let that British trekker believe that he was seeing a town functioning the way it had for centuries, because that's the way he wanted to see it. Ignorance is bliss in a lot of ways. But I think, as travelers in this world, we should strive to see the places through which we pass as they truly are - not as how we want them to be. It just takes a little more effort.
Anyway. After a wonderful week in Tukuche, we left for the next leg of our journey, our bags a little heavier with bushels of apples from our homestay families. We headed first to Muktinath, a religious pilgrimage site, and then south to Tatopani. On Halloween morning, we woke early to begin our first long day of serious trekking - a little "trek or treat" action in the Himalayas. With our bags on our backs, we began the eight-hour trek, all uphill, towards Gorepani. When I say "all uphill," I really mean it. It was entirely uphill. And it really took about eight hours. And most of it was climbing up poorly constructed stone steps. I swear, it was like being on a stair-master at the gym. For eight hours. And not being able to get off of it. It would have been one thing if this were the last leg of our three-week long Annapurna Circuit trek. But we had all just spent a week in Tukuche, eating daal bhaat three times a day and daily servings of apple crumble, and had not been exercising all that much in Kathmandu either. So it would be a bit of an understatement to say we were not in shape. But we did make it to Gorepani, in several shifts. It was such a rewarding feeling to arrive in the village; it all felt worth it.
A few of us decided to set our alarms for 4:30am the next morning to make the trek up to Poon Hill to watch the sunrise with beautiful views of the Himalayas. But as we began our ascent, on those same stone steps, I think all of us were questioning our sanity for voluntarily subjecting our bodies to climbing again, at such an early hour, before another day of trekking. But the chance to see one of the most spectacular sunrises in the world made us all realize we had made the right choice getting out of bed that morning.
After getting a quick breakfast, we headed out on the trail. After climbing for eight hours the day before, we had to climb all the way down. As someone with bad knees, this proved to be more challenging, and painful, than the day before - a concept I had not believed to be possible. Needless to say, it was not an easy feat. But it was beautiful scenery, which made it a little more pleasant. We had made our way back into the lush, green, jungly area on the other side of the mountains at this point. Alongside the trail were beautiful waterfalls and incredible, massive trees. It was stunning. And painful.
But we made it back to Pokhara, of course. And although we were all quite sore the following morning (and for a few days afterwards), we were all in relatively good spirits as we boarded a bus back to Kathmandu, ready for our final week with our host families and final exams before starting our month-long independent study projects (ISP). We're now a week into ISP month. I'll write more soon - I promise.
While I had been nervous about meeting my Tukuche family, they turned out to be so much better than I could have expected. A father (the picture-perfect Thakali man), a mother, two older sisters at home - one with a baby (the other, the oldest, lives in Kathmandu), and one older brother - I quickly became the nani (a kinship term for the youngest girl) of the family. My family had a typical Thakali home, constructed of stone, with a central courtyard, and a functioning rooftop. We had large fields located a short walk away, and a herd of mountain goats that spent the night in a stable located directly below my bedroom. Every morning, after stepping out my bedroom door and looking up to see the world's fifth highest mountain, I was immediately given, or rather forced, a cup of nun chiya, Thakali salt tea, by my mother. An acquired taste, I don't think I stayed long enough to truly grow to appreciate it. It was a warm, buttery, salty concoction, to which you add flour, making it a soupy consistency. Let's just say that I stuck to one cup a day. But it was cold in Tukuche, and the warm liquid felt good on those frigid mornings.
While husking corn on our roof with my didi one afternoon, I overheard a British trekker say to his wife as they passed by on the road that runs through the center of town, "It's like National Geographic here; We're seeing life like it was 400 years ago." For a moment, I wanted to lean over the edge of the roof and say "Excuse me sir, but why don't you step into our home and sit with my host father as he watches Hindi shows on our satellite TV. While your at it, I'm sure my sister would let you borrow her cellphone. You should know that she and her husband had a love marriage, not the traditional marriage-by-capture that was typical for Thakalis until about thirty years ago. And before you step onto that bus that will bypass the next stretch of the route, know that the road on which you'll travel is only four years old. Before then, there was no vehicular traffic in Tukuche. That apple you're eating - the people of this town have only been growing those for less than half a century. And inside that quaint village school, the students all have computers thanks to the One Laptop One Child program, and are surfing the internet on wifi as we speak." But I didn't. I refrained. For someone just passing through a town like Tukuche, it's easy to believe that you're passing through an area untouched by modernity. But if you linger just a little while, and ask just a few questions, you'll soon realize that Tukuche is yet another small town, like many other small towns - like Deer Isle in a lot of ways, that is constantly in flux between the traditional and the modern, between the way things were and the way things are becoming. It soon becomes clear that not even a tiny Himalayan village is totally isolated from the modern world. But I let that British trekker believe that he was seeing a town functioning the way it had for centuries, because that's the way he wanted to see it. Ignorance is bliss in a lot of ways. But I think, as travelers in this world, we should strive to see the places through which we pass as they truly are - not as how we want them to be. It just takes a little more effort.
Anyway. After a wonderful week in Tukuche, we left for the next leg of our journey, our bags a little heavier with bushels of apples from our homestay families. We headed first to Muktinath, a religious pilgrimage site, and then south to Tatopani. On Halloween morning, we woke early to begin our first long day of serious trekking - a little "trek or treat" action in the Himalayas. With our bags on our backs, we began the eight-hour trek, all uphill, towards Gorepani. When I say "all uphill," I really mean it. It was entirely uphill. And it really took about eight hours. And most of it was climbing up poorly constructed stone steps. I swear, it was like being on a stair-master at the gym. For eight hours. And not being able to get off of it. It would have been one thing if this were the last leg of our three-week long Annapurna Circuit trek. But we had all just spent a week in Tukuche, eating daal bhaat three times a day and daily servings of apple crumble, and had not been exercising all that much in Kathmandu either. So it would be a bit of an understatement to say we were not in shape. But we did make it to Gorepani, in several shifts. It was such a rewarding feeling to arrive in the village; it all felt worth it.
A few of us decided to set our alarms for 4:30am the next morning to make the trek up to Poon Hill to watch the sunrise with beautiful views of the Himalayas. But as we began our ascent, on those same stone steps, I think all of us were questioning our sanity for voluntarily subjecting our bodies to climbing again, at such an early hour, before another day of trekking. But the chance to see one of the most spectacular sunrises in the world made us all realize we had made the right choice getting out of bed that morning.
After getting a quick breakfast, we headed out on the trail. After climbing for eight hours the day before, we had to climb all the way down. As someone with bad knees, this proved to be more challenging, and painful, than the day before - a concept I had not believed to be possible. Needless to say, it was not an easy feat. But it was beautiful scenery, which made it a little more pleasant. We had made our way back into the lush, green, jungly area on the other side of the mountains at this point. Alongside the trail were beautiful waterfalls and incredible, massive trees. It was stunning. And painful.
But we made it back to Pokhara, of course. And although we were all quite sore the following morning (and for a few days afterwards), we were all in relatively good spirits as we boarded a bus back to Kathmandu, ready for our final week with our host families and final exams before starting our month-long independent study projects (ISP). We're now a week into ISP month. I'll write more soon - I promise.
