Up, Up, Up — And Then More Up

There’s a guy named Gregg. Australian. Met him on the bus to Pokhara, and I need to document this man properly before I forget. He told us a story about taking a woman home who turned out to be a hooker and then waking up to find her going through his stuff ready to rob him blind. Okay — that part isn’t wildly surprising at this point. The wildly surprising part: he knew Brian Milewski. From the lake at home.. Lake Shannon… 8,000 miles from home and the six degrees of separation game is just out here functioning at full capacity like it’s nothing.

The first day’s hike started at Birethanti. I’m going to be honest with you: I didn’t think I was going to make it. The stairs go on forever. Not metaphorically — literally, structurally, these people built infinite stairs into the side of a mountain and then said yes, this is the trail.

Lunch was a few hours in: fresh veggie noodle soup with fried potatoes. Probably the best thing I’d eaten since fake Oreos in Tokyo. Simple, hot, made by human hands, eaten with burning legs. Perfection.

By some combination of stubbornness and Kazi’s calm guidance, we made it to Ghandruk. Showered from a bucket of warm water (which I will tell you felt like a spa treatment at that point). Then the clouds rolled in, and we went down for chicken dinner.

That’s where we met the French girl — Megitte — and a mental health worker who lived in Paris. The five of us ended up splitting an enormous chocolate cake and then somehow getting roped into a card game called “The Joker is Hiding.” I have no idea if this is a real game or if we collectively invented it. Didn’t matter. Hot tea, bad French-to-English translation, one girl who only knew how to say “Don’t touch me!” in English, and the whole table losing it.

I slept like something that was recently killed.

It is now early morning. Day two begins. My mind is solid. My legs are questionable. Let’s roll.