Day Two-Besi Sahar to Bahundanda 820m to 1310m

Dawn comes quickly and we chitter excitedly over porridge and Nepali tea about the crystal clarity and our first glimpse of the Himalaya rising from the low structures of Besi Sahar. My clothes and I are clean ( for probably the last time on the trek), the weather is fantastic ( cloudless and 70 degrees) and we're ecstatic when we set out hiking.

The path starts sharply to the east over a smattering of large stones breaking a very steep descent to the Marshyangdi River and then widens, swinging up and north, to a dirt ledge wedged into the mountain overlooking a breathtaking valley blanketed in lush green. Peaks of the highest range in the world loom high on the horizon, competing with sky, far beyond the heights of the mere hills we traverse. *see pic* This is surreal.

Freedom!

My pack feels intolerably, increasingly heavy, at about 22 lbs, and I'm starting to worry about my ability to finish the circuit with it, as it cuts deeply into my virgin shoulders. How much are donkeys?! I ignore the subsiding lower back ache I'd gotten pinching a nerve back in Kathmandu, and focus - easily- on the incredible path before us.

Late October and November being the height of tourist season, I expected to be toe-to-heel with other trekkers, but aside from a few locals headed the other way and one Canadian and his guide behind us, we are all alone on the trail. It's exactly what we envisioned. We continue in content silent awe, listening to the distant rush of the river below.

Nepal shares the same latitude as Florida, and at this low altitude it takes less than an hour for the warmth, humidity and exercise to soak us in sweat. Simple, country-side smells of manure, warm grass and hay are thick. We come to our first shaky bamboo bridge spanning a current of stone-choked water. The bamboo is worn slick and the entire ordeal has tilted precariously sideways. I painstakingly navigate the slippery cylindrical planks in a few long minutes when a bare-foot porter, with a 100lb load strapped to his forehead, quickly shuffles by in less than 10 seconds after me. *see pic*

We downed our last liter of bottled water and nervously cracked open our bottle of Potable Aqua iodine tablets. Following the directions meticulously, we pop two tabs in, wait 5 minutes, then shake and tighten cap, and wait 30 minutes before drinking. This time-consuming process reduces chances of getting water-borne amoebas and parasites, which affect their host with, among other tasty symptoms, eggy flatulence and explosive diaorreah. I've never had water treated with iodine, and I am depressed to see the color change to a cloudy yellow, and taste chunks of sediment. The vitamin tablets purported to improve the taste impart an "Airborne"-esque flavor, which, when mixed with the iodine flavor, is supremely disgusting. I contemplate drinking this urine-like disaster for another 25 days. A local girl stares, puzzled by our procedure, takes a few big gulps from the stream, then continues on her way.

Because we don't have a sherpa/guide or porter, and mainly because I have a nervous personality, we question locals, constantly, about the course:
"Namas-te" Hello, literally, I salute you
"Kati ghanta Ngadi?" How many hours to Ngadi?
"Ngadi na-jeek"? Is Ngadi close?
"Dan ya baad!" Thank you!

The locals are an attractive people, of noticeable Chinese and Indian descent, with smooth features and flat buttery faces. Bare-foot and bow-legged old men hobble slowly by, wearing traditional Nepali hats and vests. The women, with copper hoop earings and swathed heads, squat over grains in their clay abodes as their dusty naked children press their tiny hands together and say:
"Namas-TE!"

Roosters, mules, and buffalo roam the cobble-stoned streets of the medieval settlements. The locals seem to lack middle-age population. We see only youth or eldery; perhaps a sign of the hardships of hill life...

The three roof-riding Spaniards we met on the bus continued yesterday to Khudi, the next town 2 hours from Besi Sahar. We cross Khudi at 9:30 am to break for tea and see them stretching for the long day ahead. They greet us as they did yesterday: in a barage of lightning quick Spanglish they assume, in error, we understand. We smile, shrug and keep going.

For one reason or another most people have time constraints when they arrive to trek in Nepal. Condensing the circuit into 15 days or less is, unfortunately, common and therefore when at lower altitudes they continue as long as daylight and their fitness allows. The Spaniards, along with us and many others, will adhere to a grueling schedule of high mileage and even higher ascent before altitude, weather or (hopefully not) sickness restricts the hike.

We drop down from the wide dirt path and finish the walk to Ngadi, our stop for lunch, in a colorful valley of orchids and fields of corn and buckwheat. Orange, yellow and blue-black monarchs encircle us and the picturesque trail, punctuating the fairytale beauty of this place. I've never seen so many butterflies. We're already dirty, breathless, drenched and both welcome this gorgeous haven to eat and air our boots and socks after 4 straight hours of hiking. I wonder how feet can smell like pickled onions just hours into our month-long hike.

We noticed, oddly, foreigners flock to the first teahouses where they notice other foreigners. This gives an unfair distribution of wealth in the small village, so Troy and I pledge to patronize the most desolate houses. In doing so, we feast peacefully in a vivid garden of lillies, carnations and cherry tomatoes, alone, save the beautiful woman who cooks for us, her 12 yr. old daughter, and a large praying mantis. ( I would later learn that a praying mantis is capable of killing a small bird!) *see pic*

Troy indulges in the national dish of Nepal, infamously plentiful on the Annapurna Circuit Trek: Dal Bhat. Village to village and even household to household the preparation of this dish varies, but you will always receive some form of dal ( lentil soup), vegetable curry, and bhat ( rice). Ever popular with porters and trekkers, Dal Bhat is cheap, prepared with locally grown ingredients, served with free refills, and perfect hiking fuel. After a few weeks, however, most trekkers cannot stomach yet another bowl of lentils and rice and opt instead for strange-tasting interpretations of Western foods: spaghetti noodles with ketchup, yak-cheese and kidney bean burritos, curry-ful chocolate croissants etc.

After lunch, sluggish from carbs and rest, we came upon a very steep, seemingly endless climb to Lampata, the town before our stop for the day. Forty-five minutes in, soaked, sore and beginning to tire, we reached the top of a hill where Troy misreads the map and estimates it will be 15 minutes to arrive in Bahundanda.

We see our first dramatic waterfall leaping from a green Western cliff, and I steal 20 minutes of rest, gazing at the fantastic cascade framed in red blossoms.

**An aside: When I use the adjective "steep" referring to the trail, many might picture an incline similar to a San Francisco street. This is not accurate. The steep areas are such that - especially with a backpack - we need to bend over, swing our steps outward 45 degrees like a duck, and grip the dirt/rocks above us to climb**

Another sweat-slogged hour inches away and we are beginning to doubt our map and guidebook; an upsetting notion on the first day of a month long, guideless endeavor. The sun has now ducked behind the rolling hills, throbbing heat subsiding, and the rocky path continues snaking up and up and up with no sight of Bahundanda.

Feeling the familiar just-out-of-reach-ness I felt running a marathon, a checked my watch to see another hour and a half had passed. It's starting to get dark; where the F&*^*& is this place we should have reached hours ago!? My neck has an acute ache, shoulders are chaffed raw, calves are vibrating in involuntary spasms and we discuss spending the night by a huge boulder on the trail when Troy spots a cluster of thatch and stone establishments on the next peak sure to have lodging.

It is Bahundanda, and not a second too soon. It's been a 10 hour, 11 mile and 1700 ft ascent today. It will be the easiest of our hard days to come and it's a painful crash-course back to physical fitness.

The Mountain View Lodge, highly reccommended in the guidebook, is another 100 steps up from the center of the village, and I am literally on my last shred of consciousness as we stumble into the courtyard. The cheery owner, panting heavily after the 100 step ascent to the cottage, offers us a room for free (probably because our haggard, sweat-encrusted appearance is pitiful). Exhaustion greatly assists acclimitization to village/camping standards, and I couldn't be happier to lay in a powerless, waterless bug-enriched thatch hut on a 6'2 slab of plywood. We're finally here!!

Mist-softened dusk hangs spectacularly over the valley, where we tower above the terraced cliffs we'd climbed for the past 5 hours. The crisp dusk turns chilly as night falls, my wet shirt now cold, and we eat dinner by candlelight on the balcony. I'm to tired to think, write or read. I can't remember when I've been this completely spent.

I keep my promise to Mom, spending $12 for a 1.5 minute conversation: "Hey Mom: We're alive. I'm exhausted. This call is $12. Love you,"

Seemingly all the spiders, beatles and roaches in the hills launch an initiation of the first-timers, partying on our faces and in our sleeping bags, but, for the first time in our lives, we don't/can't care! I say a quick prayer of thanks, and then, doubtful of my own abilties, quietly ask for the endurance I need for this journey.

Tingling and achy, we fall fast and hard into dreamless, coma-like repose.