At daybreak, the sky was clear and the views incredible. It was everything I wanted: to be in such a mountainous, magical place, deep in the Himalaya, with Annapurna I and Annapurna South rising immensely in front of me. The soft morning sun glowed on the ridges of these majestic peaks... I wanted to stay so badly. To descend felt like caressing a dream for a moment only to have it dissolve in my fingertips. But the time wasn’t right. The sky would be closing in soon for another day of clouds and snow on a trail that already wasn’t well defined due to recent snowfall; the lodge workers wanted to leave and head home to their families. For the time being, I gave thanks that I was able to experience simply being in the mountains and feeling their presence.
There is a route straight to our destination of Narchyang but the beginning of this is undefined in the snow, and impractical. A group of three Nepali trekkers had actually gotten lost on it recently for two days before they were found.
Instead, we followed the steep route down via Paudwar. My knees took a beating on relentless stone steps that take us from 3640m (11940 ft) at Khopra Danda to 2000m (6560 ft) at Paudwar, descending further to 1190m (3900 ft) In Narchyang by the end of the day: a total elevation loss of 2450m (8,040 ft). In the space of a few hours, we transitioned from thigh-deep snow in alpine tundra, through subalpine forests and meadows, to forests of tall and elegant rhododendron, and on down to terraced farmland growing potatoes and brassicas, and continuing to descend towards the banks of the Kali Gandaki River, where even bananas and a great variety of fruit trees grow.
Lunch stop was in the picturesque village of Paudwar. Kavee suggested staying here if I’d like, that the family is ok with us staying there. Not entirely clear with what he meant by that, my preference was to continue; it was only 2pm. The goal was to get to Narchyang, avoiding Tatopani. There is a tourist police station in Tatopani, and Kavee is a little worried that if we encounter officials they may stop us from continuing to trek; either putting us on a bus back to Pokhara or keeping us quarantined in a hotel for an undetermined amount of time.
Between looking at marginally accurate maps and talking to locals, he scouts out an upper route traversing the mountainside. Along route the locals look me up and down, ask us about our trek, what we are doing. I hear him mention my doctor’s note on occasion, see them nod their heads. The tone had changed: being a foreigner suddenly was not welcome as it normally is in these villages that both maintain their traditional ways and invite travelers and seekers from around the world to witness the surrounding sacred sites and high country.
The media was spreading fear; while the country to this point had only three confirmed cases of the virus, all Nepali citizens who had travelled abroad, the conversation perpetuated by the media was that it is a virus carried by foreigners. The villagers are quick to perpetuate rumors and sensationalize false news. He tells them how I have been in the country for over two months, and am safe, that I do not have the virus. As we walk he expressed concern about us being seen by tourist police, or by locals talking. At this point I’m starting to wonder if, even though it is amazing to be out here... should I start to think about going back? I asked him if he minds guiding me; if he was worried about police, I wondered if his guiding license could be compromised. He replied he was fine, that things should be ok, that we have all paperwork necessary.
Even with the strange undercurrent starting to pervade village life and my experience as one of the only foreigners in the Annapurna Sanctuary as COVID-19 marched around the globe, the movement and scenes along the walk are beautiful. Spring flowers emerging, phenology evolving before my eyes as we continued to drop in elevation. Children playing in the roads. Women washing. The sounds of the bells on the buffalo, chickens rooting around for insects along the trail margins, small herds of black and white goats. My favorite mental image is of an old man, completely barefoot, walking along the trail, jacket torn in rags, and the most resilient mountain village spirit in his eyes. Homes are simple, stone and wood. Scenery changes as we round the mountainsides to get a view of the next valley, even more stunningly beautiful than the last.
Exhausted, we arrived in lower Norchyang. The village is delightful, built for human movement along narrow alleyways, shared with more flapping hens and running roosters, the occasional kitten, local people moving about and clustering in small storefronts, some with masks, some staring at me unabashedly. In the center of town Kavee leaves me to sit with with his pack while he left to find a hotel. I sat, alone in the village made mostly of these wide, flat stones, in the intersection of two pathways. As I waited an old woman, with deep lines in her face and a surprisingly nimble body, came out of her home to look at me, making hand gestures in an attempt to communicate. I smiled my sweetest smile. Another woman approached, bringing her goats back home; she greets me, smiles. I show her pictures on my phone from Khopra Danda; she echoes the place names as she looks at them.
No hotel will take us; Kavee returned with the news.
No hotel will take us; Kavee returned with the news. They aren’t to take foreigners any more. Upon his return, several locals gathered around, until there were about 15-20 of them, all asking him the questions they couldn’t ask me due to my language barrier, discussing our predicament and fate for the evening. I have no idea what is going on.
No one will take us; we have two options. The first is to walk two hours further, up to upper Norchyang, where it is also uncertain whether someone will take us. The second is to walk 30-45 minutes back to Tatopani, but if we go there we would be quarantined alone in our rooms until transportation was arranged to take us back to Pokhara. Neither of these sounded very favorable.
More Nepali talking, more uncertain glances by the women, so many people at once; it was terribly uncomfortable to be the center of attention yet not have a clue what was being said. Finally a homestay was arranged. A man who had been one of the main people talking to Kavee invited us into his jeep and took us down the road to a home; a woman welcomed us in, gave us separate, comfortable rooms, and proceeded to make dal bhat. The family that took us in is kind; they live in an adjacent building and were getting this place started as a homestay. To my understanding because they weren’t officially open yet they were able to bend the rules that had been implemented suddenly prohibiting offering accommodation to foreigners. Apparently the doctor’s note Kavee had advised me to get in advance actually helped us get a place to stay.
We were drained: I was completely out of energy both physically and emotionally. All of a sudden the shit had hit the fan, even though I was about as far away as one could get from anything. I went to sleep early, feeling somewhat like a fugitive being hid away; feeling unwelcome - not at a personal level but at a stereotypical level. All of a sudden the future felt extremely uncertain.