Vignettes of Nepal: Day 3 - After Poon Hill

The sunshine of the Ghorepani morning gives way to misty clouds along a high ridge line as we hike towards Tadapani. I can still taste the funnel cake-like flavor of the Tibetan bread I ate for breakfast on my lips. It's not cool in the least. I'm sweating, but I'm determined to make it through the day. Filmy clouds hover around J., R., A, and I. A light rain begins to fall. Sometimes we have to stop to pick tiny, burnt umber-colored leeches off our socks and shoes. They stretch and wiggle and cling onto our shoelaces with a desperate kind of hope. 

We enter a forest of mature rhododendron trees. Tendrils of ethereal fog drift through the branches and enclose us on all sides. Above us, the trees form a canopy and their gnarled roots make a carpet beneath our feet. We are hemmed into this dreamlike realm. Before us some prayer flags hang in between the trees, faded from weather, welcoming us to this mystical kingdom. I expect to hear the laughter of fairies or see a spell-binding maiden wandering among the trees. This is what I imagine the forests of Middle Earth must have looked like - thick, daunting, and inviting all at once. I am entranced by the beauty of this place. It is not at all what I expected to see in Nepal. I know that a thousand magical, folkloric stories must have come from these woods. 

All afternoon, we wander in and out of forests like this, down the side of steep ravines, next to waterfalls, and beside rivers and brooks. The rain accompanies us sometimes and then it falls back. We carefully pick our way down stone staircases running with water, tiptoe through muddy puddles, and navigate our way though reservoirs of water held in the roots of trees. Today the trek is wet, muddy, slow-going, leech-filled, and wonderful.