Monday, December 10, 2007

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3/Da Galishor to Ghasia ...



P er back up to the Kali Gandaki Kagbeni, and the border with Mustang, there are about five days' march .

The Kali Gandaki. The deepest valley in the world. A dig Gandaki River, in fact, that its source in Tibet, more than seven feet, crosses the Mustang, and Nepal to throw then in the Ganges. Rushing river, muddy and wild, the Gandaki in this area, winds between the massive Annapurna and Dhaulagiri. Sometimes, in times of flood, during the monsoons, the trail sweeps and sweeps away their homes and villages that have sprung up too recklessly close to its shores.

And yet, as inaccessible and inhospitable, the Kali Gandaki was for centuries a road, the only way that allowed the unfolding of trade between the Tibetan plateau and the plains at the foot of the Himalayas. A road of men, beasts and caravans.

The valley of the Kali Gandaki down I had already, in part, three years ago. I remember the dizzying rope bridges across the river from the shore, sometimes beautiful village with whitewashed walls. The hot spring at Tatopani. The sweet apple Ghasia. The dirt road that runs through Jomsom.
remember many leeches between Tatopani and Ghorepani. I remember that I ran down the path because they did not have time to infilarmisi shoes.

With the rain there was, I reassured about to Goma from Galishor, there is no danger of leeches. They come with the sun. With the sun slipping down from the trees the evening and you find yourself in your hair, swelling of your blood.
The path to Tatopani in all rooms coast to the mountains. Below us the river, but in this part of the valley runs pretty quiet because his bed is wide.
Six or seven hours of walking, today, depends on the path of mud and landslides that might force us to make some detours.
carriers have left an hour before us, loaded with material. Backpacks, cookware, tents, mattresses, bags of rice, and other gas cylinder stored in large wicker baskets. On one of the panniers, just on top of everything, about sixty eggs.

Dilisher, the cook

For the moment, apart from Goma, our Sirdar, I recognize Ram, his assistant, and Dilisher, the cook. Ethnic raj, Dilisher is a little small man with thin legs and stortissime. Always smiling and carrying on his shoulders dishes, pots, containers, tablecloths, trays. A whole kitchen for ten people. Are ten of us, in fact, go up the valley. Eight Sherpas and the two of us.

Ram, assistant sirdar.
Rain slightly. Then aloud. Then fortissimo. Then stops again to resume. In Kathmandu I bought a big umbrella in Scotland. Here, at low altitudes, it is almost impossible to bear the raincoat. Too hot. The umbrella, from experience, is the best solution. And I would once again if, for every kilometer the umbrella of the Chinese bill does not tisfying slowly. Every time I open my hand the end of a stick, and the seams come apart.

On the way large groups of pilgrims.


Men and women, mostly from India, who are heading to the shrine of Muktinath. A 3900 meters di altezza, proprio ai piedi del Thorong La, Muktinath è un importantissimo luogo sacro sia per gli adoratori di Vishnu che per i buddisti. Da secoli è meta di pellegrinaggi. Vecchi e giovani, poveri e ricchi vi si recano per chiedere la guarigione di un familiare, la protezione dei figli o semplicemente per onorare il dio. In una baracchetta bevo un té in compagnia di due sadhu, di ritorno dal santuario. Sono magrissimi, a piedi nudi, con la tikka rossa sulla fronte. L'unico bagaglio di cui dispongono è una coperta, un bastone e un secchiello d'
ottone dove tengono il riso che offre loro la gente. A volte si portano dietro una delle pietre nere rotonde che si trovano facilmente nelle vicinanze del santuario.

When there is very little to Tatopani the trail disappears. If this is taken away in a landslide, and it is too dangerous to continue. In its place there is now a wall of debris and unstable pending. One hundred feet below, the roaring brown waters of the Kali Gandaki.

retrace our steps up to a village. We ask how to get an old Tatopani and the old man shows a peak just above our heads. Then he motioned to a boy to accompany us. The next two hours were hell. I think the carriers who have at least six hours of walking on the shoulder. I wonder how they do. The rain intensified as they climb. The ground is slippery and a couple of times slip and lose balance. Finally you reach the top. Now there is more rain, but a wall of water that is poured on us. We go down the other side, slipping into the mud at every three steps. Below one can see the roofs of Tatopani.



Tatopani, in Nepali means "hot water". And in fact in Tatopani, right along the banks of the Kali Gandaki, there are two huge pools of boiling water. We go there that is almost dark, if only to give us a warm and flushed. A Bathing with us two Israeli girls, and a couple of carriers that scrutinizes intimidated, holding aloof. Is it still raining. In a hut near the swimming pool, a living sadhu, who offers to take our things to avoid its wet. Living there for years. In the evening, lighting a fire and heat up a bowl of rice. Rest of almost half an hour immersed in boiling water up to their necks to hear the deafening noise of the river that runs just meters away.

the evening, we dine at the lodge in the company of an English boy, a Belarusian and three Nepali boys of good family. It is the first time in the Himalayas of Nepal who are trekking meeting. The three laugh when I tell them, and confirm. Add that to every lodge operators complain. They, in fact, consume less of the West. Not sure meno di me, se ne esce il bielorusso. Che è in viaggio da quasi un anno in Asia e sostiene di non spendere più di 100 $ al mese. L'inglese, alza a malapena gli occhi dal libro che sta leggendo.



Tra Beni e Jomsom una costante sono le carovane di muli e cavalli che risalgono la vallata trasportando carichi.

Tatopani – Ghasa, la tappa del secondo giorno, sarà scandita dalla presenza di queste carovane. Le si sente arrivare da lontano. Le alte pareti di roccia amplificano il tintinnio dei campanelli attaccati alle bardature degli animali e le urla dei mandriani che stimolano in questo modo gli animali more recalcitrant. Walkers should be careful when the path is very narrow. As soon as you feel the caravans you climb the sides of the path, behind a rock or a bush.



the morning, leave in Tatopani, no rain, but the sky is gray and the landscape is foggy. We leave almost immediately the main path, on the right side of the valley. Too dangerous, evaluates Goma. Landslides are recent and from the top of the mountain continue to fall down pieces of rock. So it is better to go back a stroke on the left side, longer and steeper, but safer. We cross the river one of the many suspension bridges connecting the two sides of the valley. With us, a group of Indian pilgrims who travel to Mukhtinath.
The bridges crossing the Kali Gandaki is a real challenge for someone like me, afraid of heights. There are suspension bridges, made of metal strings anchored in large concrete blocks at the ends. The bottom of the deck is made of wooden planks bolted to the ropes. Among the hundred and two hundred feet long, vary dramatically in the wind and swaying to the rhythm of the steps of who runs them. It seems to be on a rubber band. A long elastic instability. Between a piece of wood and the other one can see the brown waters of the Kali Gandaki in some places very narrow This valley runs down with indescribable violence. Every time I cross a bridge, and will be tens of Jomosom here and I have the heart starts beating fast. I do not have to look under. The river is much lower, fifty, sometimes even a hundred meters. At the same time I have to be careful where you step. I can not afford to stumble. And then advance slowly, staring at an imaginary point in front of me. During the last few meters to the other side, is stronger than me, I run.


For a few hours that we do not pass from one side of the valley. Arriving at the village of Dana, Kishan meeting. Bringing up the valley two big tires on the back. At the foot of the usual pair of tong. When he sees me, smiles at me. And every time I make a stop also stops him. Do not talk to me. It says nothing. I stop, stop, and really sets the infinite.


overcome some Bhatti, who are rudimentary lodge to house the pilgrims going to Muktinath, and begin a steep climb along a trail carved into the rock. Before me is a Sherpa carrying a hen. Income thirty animals. Doing a quick calculation, I estimate that the man carries on his back at least sixty pounds. It is small, a Magar, like almost all the inhabitants of this valley, salt with plastic slippers, and stops every five minutes. Each time along the path there is a recess or a dry stone wall where the load evenly, without then having to lift off the ground. I can not give any age. Neither young nor old. The face is wrinkling and sunburned.

My backpack does not weigh anything. At most five or six pounds. But I often stop myself. I do it for Kishan. I do not spring instantly. It only stops if I stop too. And I worry about the weight it carries. Once at the top indicates the ridge with my racket hand. Then he shows me the left foot is swollen and has a dumpling visible at the ankle. When I do to spread a little Voltaren, ha un gesto istantaneo di rifiuto. I piedi, in molti paesi dell'Asia sono considerati una delle parti più disgustose del corpo umano. Accetta la crema, ma è lui che se la spalma. Se la spalma accuratamente, mi restituisce il tubo e mi sorride. Io gli presto il mio bastone per la discesa.

Verso le cinque attraversiamo il lungo ponte sospeso che porta a Ghasa, sull'altro versante del fiume. All'uscita del ponte una donna vende delle patatine al curry che cuoce su un fornelletto. Ne ordino due piattini, per me e Kishan, e la donna ci offre due tazze di thé. Alle cinque e mezza si ferma alla baracchetta una coppia di ragazzi spagnoli. Lui ha i capelli in stile rasta e lei una lunga sottana a fiori. Hanno due backpacks are large and obviously heavy. They plan to stay in Tatopani, I say. How many hours are missing in the village? If uphill took us seven hours, I suppose, should down missing five. But the path is ugly and keep falling down rocks from the flanks of the mountain. Between less than an hour it's dark. No matter, the two laugh, then we have batteries and fast walking. And put the bridge in a hurry.



Kishan greet in front of the lodge. He is puzzled. I will return the racket. Shakes my hand and remained motionless staring at me until it disappeared from view.

the evening, along with the carriers, to dry on a brasero our clothes, still damp from the previous two days of downpours. We just all in a circle around the brasero. Everyone with a sock or a shirt in his hand. Wipe our things and we begin to know each other.



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