Need mo’ momos
I don’t think it’s controversial to say that the capital of every Southeast Asian country is a hot, dusty, crowded mess. Bangkok, Saigon, Phnom Penh, Vientiane, Kathmandu, to name a few…I haven’t even been to Delhi yet but I’ve already heard the horror stories. That said, only a few days in, and Kathmandu has come in at the top of my Hot Mess Southeast Asian Capitals power rankings for a few reasons:
1. Insanely good food. Nepal is a landlocked country squeezed between India, China, and Tibet. So “youbet” that swirling mix of cultures produces some wild fusions. There’s the eponymous momos, fried or steamed dumplings served with chili sauce. Then you’ve got the pakoda, essentially the latke’s bigger, badder cousin. And of course, dal bhat, the superfood that powers every trekker up and down the Himalayas. More on that later.
2. Hilarious public transit system. The ancient buses careening around the city bump competing Nepali dubstep remixes of popular American music as they pull up alongside each other. They are staffed by a two-man team: a driver (slash DJ) maniacally focused on the road, and a perennially-enthusiastic “conductor,” who stands in the open door of the bus shouting out where the bus is headed and collecting your money. There don’t seem to be numbers, set schedule, or really any organization to these buses at all. They roam around like mercenaries looking for clumps of people standing around, then screech to a halt so the conductor can hassle the masses onto the bus. They’ve turned every available square inch into a seat, including next to the driver, so it’s possible to find yourself with a front-row seat right next to him, watching the traffic madness unfold. Even with that, there never seems to be enough room for all; I found myself holding a Nepali baby once. And they’re loose on who…or what…is fair game to ride the bus: animals are not uncommon passengers.
I will acknowledge Kathmandu may have juiced the numbers a bit when it came to power rankings: I (accidentally) arrived in town just in time for Tihar, a five-day long Hindu celebration of lights. The entire city was dressed up in glittering, dancing lights, including hundreds of thousands of small candles called diyas. Most of the storefronts and homes create intricate works of art in their entranceways out of colored sand, flower petals, and other materials, called rangoli.
Each day focuses on celebrating some aspect of life: I arrived on Kukur Tihar, the day honoring the relationship between humans and dogs. What that translates too is a bunch of fluffy good boys dressed in marigold garlands and decorated fur. Dressed up dogs, street art, and candles everywhere? Sold.
My first few days, I tried to eat as many momos as I had waking hours. I got up to 72 before I lost count. New hostel friend Cat and I wandered around the city, including a visit to the Boudha Stupa, a UNESCO World Heritage site. It was here I got my first taste of the unbelievable friendliness of the Nepali people. Asking a passing monk a few questions about Buddhism turned into an hour-long private tour of the stupa and temple. Asking about recommended books on Buddhism landed me a free book on the topic (unfortunately mostly in Nepali script).
Later that day, Cat and I wandered into a bus depot to learn if this is where I’d catch a bus to Pokhara the following day. I stride up to a random guy and asked him — fast forward 30 minutes; I’ve met his wife and children, exchanged Facebook and whatsapp contact information, and received an offer to have dinner with them next time I’m in Kathmandu. As a jaded backpacker, I’ve been burned on such encounters before, waiting for and dreading the inevitable request for money or business proposition, but in Nepal it never really seems to come.
The next day, I met up with some new American friends from the airport for dinner and to explore the melodramatically titled Garden of Dreams. Our evening ended with an absolutely wild rock concert at a venue called Purple Haze.
Eventually, I made my way by local bus to the town of Pokhara. This is the second-largest city in Nepal, sitting on the shores of Phewa Lake. It’s also the gateway to the Annapurna region, where I planned on tackling my first trek. The lake, surrounding peaks, and brightly-colored buildings provide a surreal landscape, only made all the more otherworldly by the steady stream of paragliders circling lazily overhead. It was on the way to Pokhara I met Mai, an American with a similar timeframe and interest in Annapurna, so we decided to tackle it together. The two of us had a blast canoeing around on the lake, exploring the local markets looking for deals, and hanging with fellow backpackers. One of our more interesting collections of drinking buddies included both of us, two septuagenarian solo female backpackers who met and became friends on the road, and a guy from Tajikistan.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t make it all the way through the Annapurna Circuit. About halfway, I started having some eye issues that I needed to get checked out asap. I was definitely disappointed, but did still get in 6 of the planned 13 days.
Day 1: Pokhara to Besisahar to Bhulebhule (800m)
Our bus ride ended with an unceremonious dropoff in Besisahar, a small town you pretty much want to leave as quickly as possible. Given Mai and I were trekking without guides, we weren’t quite sure where the trailhead started. We quickly befriended two new German friends and found the trail with them. This short, hot day had us scrambling up and over terraced rice paddies, traipsing through lush jungle, and ended with our first teahouse stay beside a roaring river. Bhulebhule is a small village reminiscent of many others we’d encounter along the trail: a row of pastel-colored teahouses and small stores catering to passing trekkers. Many of the treks in Nepal are “teahouse treks,” meaning you stay with locals at their teahouses which offer lodging and meals.
Day 2: Bhulebhule to Jagat (1300m)
Our day started early, with breakfast at 7am, and ended in the late afternoon. A long day full of ups, downs, and more ups. A passing local informed us it’s rice-picking season here in the valley, as evidenced by the absolutely heroic loads of rice we witnessed a bunch of old ladies carrying around. Starting to gain a little elevation off the valley floor today meant we got some sweeping views of the very terraces we walked through yesterday. It was also on this day I had my first dal bhat set — a healthy portion of rice, pickled vegetables, mushrooms, and lentil curry. All teahouses offer free refills on this dish, and it’s the meal of choice for guides and porters. It keeps you going.
Day 3: Jagat to Dharapani (1900m)
Another big day, this one full of massive waterfalls and sketchy river crossings via rusting iron bridges. It finally felt like we were transitioning from jungle to low alpine terrain: the ferns and vines started to intermingle with pine trees. For parts of the past few days, we’ve been walking along a controversial road that connects Besisahar to Manang. Road is a loose term here, as constant rockslides and spontaneous waterfalls make this a wild ride. Transport mostly happens via offroad jeeps that careen their way up and down the valley. The road is good because it connects the towns for easier supply delivery, bad because it can make trekking a dusty business and the locals claim its infamous reputation has diminished interest in the route.
Day 4: Dharapani to Chame (2700m)
It was on this day, after a few massive stair climbs, we caught our first glimpses of the mighty Himalayan peaks surrounding our valley. If you look closely, you can see Manaslu, the eighth-highest mountain in the world, nestled among the clouds below. Several waterfalls rushed right through the trail, and trekking required some fancy footwork.
Day 5: Chame to Upper Pisang (3300m)
Climbing higher and higher and I started to get some serious Yosemite vibes. That is, if Yosemite was surrounded by nestled in a valley and dwarfed by the highest mountains in the world around it. Toward the end of this day, the effects of altitude finally started settling in. Telling each other stories while walking suddenly took much more effort, as each breath just wasn’t providing the same energy it used to. Our teahouse in Upper Pisang, built precariously on stilts and with heavy rocks to secure down the roof, jutted out over the valley, providing an excellent viewpoint to watch a small rainstorm drizzle by. I got a slight headache on arrival, an early warning sign of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) due to the elevation change, so I slammed water until it went away. When the clouds cleared in the early morning, we realized we were nestled in the shadows of the uncreatively-named Annapurna II, IV, and III.
Day 6: Upper Pisang to Manang (3500m)
While it may look on paper like the elevation didn’t change much here, this route involves a climb up all the way up to 3700m before you make your way back down a bit. This is luckily consistent with prevailing advice on avoiding AMS, “hike high sleep low.” We were in serious alpine territory now, with pine trees giving way to krummholz in a few places. Things started to take a decidedly Buddhist feel as we made our climb — many villages were fronted by walls of prayer wheels and bright flags flapped in the constant breeze.
Day 7: Bailing on the trek
I had started seeing flashes and spots in my left eye earlier in the trek, so I made my way to a local eye center in a lower village to get it checked out. The assistant guy (not a doctor) running the place barely spoke English, but did speak enough to pronounce that I had detached retinas in both of my eyes. For those unfamiliar, this qualifies as a medical emergency in which patients can lose their sight entirely if not treated quickly. While I was skeptical of the diagnosis, I was entirely too freaked out to continue trekking for six more days, and he recommended I be seen by a specialist in Kathmandu. I took one of the aforementioned jeeps down the valley and made my way back to Kathmandu by bus. And of course, my retinas aren’t detached. The doctor explained that the local guy had likely only rarely examined a white person before, and that the pigmentation of my eyes vs a Nepali person’s eyes may have led to the false diagnosis. With regards to the spots and flashes I was still seeing, I got one of those responses from the doctor you start hearing more as you age: “you have bad eyes, you’re just like this now.” Hooray for the aging process.
I was disappointed I wasn’t able to finish the Annapurna Circuit, but I’ll be back to knock it out someday. In the meantime, I’ve eaten a bunch more momos and settled on a new, 10-day trek in the Langtang region which kicks off in a few days.
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