Today was a lot of maybes. How far would we be able to get? If we made it all the way to Ghorepani, would we be allowed to stay? Would we need to go to Australian Camp, and meet with others to catch a vehicle there? Everything felt so unclear.
The walk was stunningly beautiful. First we retraced our steps to Swanta, and then stayed down low by the river, sitting down for a while by the water, drinking in the last moments of being in this valley. Inside me was that distinct and barely describable feeling captured only by the Portuguese word saudade, which I always feel when I leave the mountains, but even more poignant than usual.
We continued, traversing the side of the hill, then dropping down further to the river again, following it for a while, and then going up up up to Ghorepani, taking our time, stopping for lunch, for tea. As we approached Ghorepani, the rhododendron forests became truly spectacular: twisted contortions of branches highlighted with peeling, shedding, reddish brown bark... and literally millions of deep pink flowers.
As we walked, Kavee was texting and reaching out to contacts he had on the trail to make a plan to get us out the best way possible. He was worried that even though he’d gotten us clearance down in Tatopani, and that I had a medical statement, we could run into trouble in Ghorepani just because it is such a high tourist destination, the lockdown could be more strongly enforced there than in the smaller villages we’d been staying in.
Upon arrival, Ghorepani was a ghost town. The only thing to greet us was a few horses, and apparently the area is known for its horses, Ghorepani even means ‘place of horses’ or something like that. Everything, absolutely everything was closed. Heads turned as we walked by. A longtime guide through this region, Kavee has friends at a hotel that allow us to stay. There is only one other guest, a single Nepali man. No one else is there aside from the family: a couple of young women who each tended to their own young baby, and a mom and dad.
After relaxing for a few, we walk up to Poon Hill. We have it completely to ourselves. There can be thousands of tourists here each day so it felt so special. The clouds gather and swirl and eventually clear out enough for us to view the mountains in perfect alpenglow. Prayer flags adorn the empty benches and it is just us and an immense view in all directions. Kavee chants on our way down; I take photos and allow myself the time to process the transition and closing of a chapter.
After dinner we sat around a fire in a huge wood stove, just our small group: me, Kavee, the other traveler, and the family - children running around in laugher, the you women in fleece printed pants and blankets.. it was so informal, so raw. Just as I didn’t know what was going to be happening, neither did they.
