Day 187

At dusk the tea room is warm against the growing chill outside and filled with the calm energy of groups of people who have exerted themselves. Having filled their lungs with mountain air, their bodies with endorphins and minds with spectacular vistas. In the far corner of the room, a memory wall showcases the loved ones of our host, along with prayer flags, wildflowers and flickering candle sticks. Squat and stout in the centre is a mammoth stove, charcoal black and crowned with a rusty chimney poking up and out. On top sits a huge steel kettle, enough hot water to fill a kitchen sink. And all around the edges of the room are an assortment of floral tasselled curtains, still drawn so we can glimpse the vast waterfall and setting sun outside. The edges also contain the gentle hum, laughter, chatter and giggles of several chequer couch seated guests.

I find it hard to sit still. I go from stretching my hips, my legs, my arms, my neck, my back. A lot happened today and my brain’s still processing the new things I’ve seen… passing through steep dirt tracks and climbing onto vast rocks fashioned into steps, dense forest on either side, clean floral air and light filtering through canopies to drift lazily to the moss cushioned floor. As the trail progressed, I felt my body growing tired but then determined, here it relaxed and seemed to absorb energy from the earth below me. On every step I’d feel increasingly weightless, my heavy pack becoming an extension of myself. 

One thing to mention is the drying of clothes while hiking, very difficult as it’s awfully cold out. We have not yet washed any clothes but mine are drenched from the sweat of trekking with a heavy pack. My body’s natural air conditioning system is very acute. I wonder and worry a little about tomorrow when we climb another vertical kilometre and the temperature continues to plummet. Layering to manage sweat and warmth is indeed an art.

We are upstairs now, with no electricity on mains but solar-linked batteries to power the lights. Although today has been spectacular, Wiggy is not well. His body has been fighting something and seems to be losing. We do not know if it is a virus or water or food poisoning but he’s grown increasingly tired. His face is hot, his body shivers. We’ve gone to bed very early, I hope he feels better tomorrow.

The morning comes and Wiggy has expelled a great deal of his demons from both ends. Luckily I brought that bucket into our room.

Over breakfast one of our hosts enters and commences her morning rituals of praise and prayers next to our table. She recites a mantra, and then begins to sing, and then to mumble. Sometimes she sounds like she’s yawning, and in between her musical chants she also inserts questions to us, “where from”, she asks, I smile and say that we are from England, she seems satisfied and continues with her mantra. Her eyes watch the candle flames and a spangled shrine to the Buddha, her hands caress up and down along a lengthy string of wooden prayer beads.

Her husband enters and after a brief exchange, they both leave the room. A young guide dressed in a sun-faded pink jacket has been sat by the fire. He relocates, picks up the prayer beads and briefly whispers his mantra in a few short breaths.

Today, my CGM (continuous glucose monitor) cut out a few times, my blood is high now. The problem yesterday was that even after cutting my morning background insulin dose in half, I still needed to continuously snack and consume a large amount of Skittles, dried fruit, and honey while trekking. So today, I reduced my morning background dose even further, with the plan to split the dose and inject again at our evening accommodation. This plan seemed to be working, in fact, for breakfast and lunch, both carb-heavy, I still needed to reduce my quick-acting dose. My body seems to be burning carbs as quickly as they enter my body while I’m trekking. The error was that when we arrived at our evening tea house, I’d forgotten to inject my split dose, and with my body in rest, my blood sugar rose rapidly. 

Wiggy is not doing much better. He was dead on his feet today, no appetite throughout the day, and muscles fighting every step. Taking numerous short breaks was a necessity, it gave our bodies time to transport much-needed oxygen and energy supplies to our muscles. Setting off again, I’d feel a world better, while Wiggy made little indication of his level of discomfort. It’s because he’s experienced a great deal of physical suffering in his life, he’s too adept at masking pain and pushing on. Slow, constant, pace unfaltering, resolute. 

Meanwhile, I’d frequently stop to take photos and then enjoy a flurry of speed to catch up. One time, I was enchanted by a section of forest; tangles of tree limbs like spiders’ legs, trunks with faces etched upon their rinds, thin weblike knots of branches above, below a tumble of boulders covered in springy moss. I felt like Legolas from the Lord of the Rings, bounding over rocks and tripping upon tree roots! I landed on my damaged dyputrens hand and fragile knees. A new cut adorns my merino leggings and my fingers have no inclination to bend.

But how could I forget the stars of today? The yaks! Such beautiful, tanky powerhouses. We saw our first one today and then many more afterwards, past the 3000m altitude mark. As with the mules we passed yesterday, you move out of their way, move to the side of the path, preferably away from the steep mountain drop-off side. For example, yesterday I dived behind a big rock and landed in a crop of nettles, much better than the alternative. Yet, while the mules are somewhat responsive, the yaks do not acknowledge you, they simply plough on through as if you were not there.