From Lama Hotel to Langtang
After a bad night, I am awakened by my roommate at 5. He rummages through his things for almost an hour and a half, I do not have the faintest clue whether he is looking for something or tidying up or is simply awake so early and has nothing better to do.
Olfactory assaults and other insults
After all, he disappears at half past six, and I can finally take a deep breath and set off for breakfast as well. By the way, the toilet - it's hard to believe - represents a further increase in olfactory assaults on my nose, not to mention the visual insults. Nevertheless, I manage to finally give my bowels some relief.
It seems that most of the trekkers are already on their way, which doesn't surprise me. It would only have been a surprise if I wasn't the last one to leave.
After all, the breakfast turns out in contrast to yesterday's dinner as a positive surprise.
An addition to yesterday's dinner: although the kitchen is quite small, it somehow manages to offer a large number of different menus. Pizza, spring rolls, MoMos in all its forms …
However, the green stuff that decorated the Mexican's pizza last night seems to be the same stuff that made up the filling of my egg roll. In both cases - as inedible as it was indefinable. We puzzled over what it might be, but didn't agree. Spinach? Something local that grows here?
But the system needs calories for the next few days, so you eat whatever comes on the table. With little enthusiasm, but what the heck ...
Steps, steps, steps ...
I would like to note that today is less exhausting than yesterday, but I cannot. The path continues just as before, one step at a time, only the distance is longer compared to yesterday. So do I have to be prepared for another 9 hour trip?
It seems so.
At least we slowly get out of the forest, and for the first time we see the wonderful panorama of the snow-covered mountain peaks. Also the weather shows up in a festive mood, azure blue sky, an air that removes all of Kathmandu's rubbish from lungs and bronchi.
However, I feel that the system has largely stabilized after the initial worry. I breathe easier, although the increasing altitude is noticeable (we are approaching the 3000 meter limit). We cross the last few meters in the forest, as usual I am constantly overhauled.
Long columns of different nations are panting up the mountain. Chinese people with expressionless faces who barely show the effort. Tattooed Russians with upper arms like tree trunks. Indian groups, all panting and breathing heavily. A few happy Americans. Almost no Europeans. No Swiss at all.
And everyone is faster than me. Even the donkey caravans ...
The Porters
But not just them. Also the porters, those small, sinewy men of any age (rarely women), with their enormous loads of over 50 kg, pass me light-footedly, most with bad footwear (flip-flops and the like) and hardly a drop of sweat on their foreheads.
I try to lift one of the bags off the ground - no chance. I'm not exactly a weak person, but with this burden on my back, I would not manage a hundred yards.
Cost saving
I am enormously annoyed by the fact that an bad game is being played with them in terms of costs. Many trekkers, those supposedly nature-loving people, want to enjoy a trek as cheaply as possible, which ultimately means that the tour operator saves on costs where he has no resistance to expect. So with the porters. These creatures at the bottom of the food pyramid. It is a shame that is hard to bear.
Sitaram reassures me in that the children of the potential porters (and later guides) begin to carry heavy loads at the age of 5. 50 kilos probably weigh less heavy for them than my 15 kilos for me. Nevertheless – there are supposedly rules to protect the porters, but nobody cares about that ...
Stop at Hotel Tibetan
The first stop at the Hotel Tibetan, which is called that way, but somehow looks more like a shack. It is getting hot, surprising after the freezing cold night.
In the meantime, I've even gotten used to Black Tea, an escape from habits that makes me think. Me and drinking tea? Something is wrong. Maybe out of sheer boredom. And because the so-called black coffee doesn't have much to offer apart from black.
Rhododendron - the national flower of Nepal
And then finally, as promised in the guidebook, the long-awaited Rhododendron-Forests. The Nepalese national flower. Most of the bushes are already withered, but some - pink, dark to light red and white - still shine in all their glory. A picture you cannot get enough of.
The yaks
And finally there are the Yaks. Many many yaks. Brown and black. With white spots or without. With curved horns. With loving eyes that show infinite patience. And perseverance in this life-threatening world.
It is appalling that two years ago, in an apparently extremely snowy winter, 600 Yaks starved. They represent the only reliable livelihood for the inhabitants of the valley. What happened then?
Langtang - A graveyard for 400 people
After reaching the treeless zone – we are now already above the 3000 limit, we can already see from a distance a bright incision on the left mountain flank.
Of course, everyone knows what it is.
It is the landslide zone, visible from afar as a deep wound in the mountain. As you get closer, you can see the devastating effects. You come, strangely quiet, closer, until you reach the limit of the landslide. You stop and do not trust his eyes.
Underneath these millions of tons over 400 people are buried. An entire village, Langtang erased from the face of the earth. Local people. Tourists. Soldiers. Guides. Porters. Animals. Yaks. Cows. Sheep. Death made no difference. In seconds buried, accompanied by a monstrous rumble and roaring and crackling.
The catastrophe was triggered by the Earthquake on April 25th 2015. About 8000 people died in Nepal, countless were injured. The mountain valleys were hit worst, where no help arrived for a long time after the earthquake. Just like in Langtang. But there was nothing to save.
Where only a gigantic pile of rubble remained, reaching from one end of a valley to the other. Apparently the earthquake had triggered the bursting of the dam of a glacial lake above the village, causing water and debris to combine to form a huge deadly avalanche. An interplay of highly dangerous components. And whatever lay in the direction of the avalanche was eliminated.
A new Langtang
Not far from the scree, the new Langtang has emerged with good hotels, restaurants and shops, perhaps more beautiful and modern than the old one. At least that's a small consolation. In any case, I get – oh wonder! – a room with toilet (!) and warm shower (!!).
Looking for potential recipients of crayons
At the last moment before leaving I bought some boxes of crayons, the memory of the neglected children on the last trekking has been memorized. So I'm looking for poor children for my pencils and ask the host for potential recipients. The guy first thinks of his own children, which I now find somehow wrong regarding his large and apparently well-occupied hotel.
Somewhat hesitantly, I put the first box into the hand of a small, cute girl, assuming that this is the daughter of the landlord.
For the other crayons, however, I am looking for more suitable recipients. While walking through the village I hear loud knocking noises, go after them and find workers who crush stones by hand.
Imagine this: it is cheaper to transport large stones up the mountain and have them crushed by the cheapest workers than to have a machine – like ours – do this laborious work. I know that whole families are involved in this and that this work can at least provide a little help in securing their livelihood.
I ask them for children, get - due to language barriers - no answers, but then two other men show up who finally think they understand. So I put two boxes in their hands and try to explain the purpose with my hands and feet.
One box is left, I follow the two men to their miserable dwelling (another unbelievable diminution of human dignity) where we find the last recipient who barely knows what is happening to him.
I say goodbye with deep bowing and Namaste and at the same time I feel that I have done something right, and I feel the deepest sympathy for these poor people who live on the lowest level.
Still upset, I'm told in the hotel that the first box has found the right recipient. Thankfully, the little girl does not turn out to be the daughter of the host, but the four-year-old daughter of a single poor woman working in the kitchen.
Bingo.
A short time later, the girl appears in the dining room, holding the box to the chest as the biggest treasure.
A joyless existence
Since the iPhone could not be charged in the Lama Hotel , it is now on the cable. After dinner one sits a bit bored, nothing to read (except a booklet of just two pages, the boss of the house gives me). They are, one hardly believes, the only readable letters in the whole house.
Feeling violent read-withdrawal symptoms, I get back to my room and swallow a tablet for my still ailing stomach. It is so cold that even my good sleeping bag is not warm enough and the thick blanket over it provides a wonderful cuddly feeling.
Unlike yesterday, my pulse has normalized to some extent and I fall asleep fairly quickly.
P.S. Matching Song: Free - Mourning sad Morning
And here the journey continues ...
