Vignettes of Nepal: On the Trail - Day 1

3,767 steps. There are 3,767 stone steps, if you can call them that, ascending from Tirkhedhunga heading towards Ulleri in the Annapurna Conservation Area - and I have to climb them all. My friend, J. somehow calculates that that's about 140 flights of stairs. Yeah, thanks for the help, I think as I struggle up the uneven steps, sweat dripping down my back, my face purple with exertion. How can this only be day one? I stop on the side of the trail for what seems like the millionth time in the last hour. I look back to see our guide, R. and our porter, A. leisurely walking behind us, as though they were the ones on holiday. This was supposed to be an easy holiday, practically a stroll in the mountains, with spectacular scenery according to the advertisement. Little did I know that ad was geared for granola-loving-trekking-enthusiasts (you know who you are) or at least those who work out everyday. 

I'm thankful for the rest. The air is still with afternoon heat and the sound of my rapid breathing. The uneven clip-clop of a donkey caravan and their minder's impatient "yah-yah" can be heard approaching from a lower switchback on the staircase. I look out across the verdant valley and hills we traversed when we started off from Nayapul this morning. On the hill opposite are rolling, terraced rice fields. Small blue and white buildings nestled down in clumps, interrupt them. The clouds roll by lazily as a slight breeze picks up. 

Suddenly, the head of the first donkey in the caravan appears. There's no need for his keeper to go first as he knows the way. Laden down with building materials, bound for places where there are no roads, he trudges on. I expect him to be graceful, leading a train of other donkeys, but his feet seem just as clumsy as mine on the irregular steps. A moment later he's gone, but more donkeys traipse up behind him, their tails swishing imaginary flies away. Finally, the man minding them comes into view. He's wearing simple garments and a hat, paying no attention to the scenery. It's just another day at work for him. He smacks one of the donkeys urging him on. 

R., our guide, guide tells us that this is the trail the locals use. Many things go up and down it - produce, baskets of grass, building materials. All of them carried in baskets with a strap over the head, dangling down the back or on the back of donkeys. This manual labor increases the cost of items significantly. And, he adds, it takes a long time to build things.  

A few minutes pass. "Bistari, bistari," ("slowly, slowly") R. encourages us as he gestures for us to continue up the hill. I take a deep breath and keep climbing the staircase to Ulleri.