Manaslu Circuit and Tsum Valley

A writer recently confessed to me how words are weird. Someone who dedicates to observing and describing life through writing sees its absurdity.

It’s an odd balancing game. More words frames and limits the experience. The less, it becomes vague and unclear.

Like an iceberg it reveals a small part above the surface. More expressions feel like penguins swimming offering different angles to see underneath. A core remains that only the iceberg knows. I’m happy sharing what I can floating in this sea of icebergs.

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Mountains make me sensitive. An emotional edge that cracks me open.

How lucky to have three weeks of disconnect trekking the Manaslu Circuit and Tsum Valley. Where the biggest problems are muscle fatigue and backpack sweaties.

Here are some pieces from parts of the journey.

Bridging

To the sway I struggle keeping my feet. Trusting what’s deep in the ground yet suspended in the clouds.

Clouds whip through me as they chase each other sweeping the skies. I’m a blade of grass rooted to metal. Mountains tower over me. Fear free falls below rushing to the pace of the river. Courage fills each step navigating a maze of missing bolts and dints.

Crossing dissolves where I was to where I’ll be. Attached to nothing yet connected to everything.

What exists on the other side that’s not already here? High grasslands, fields and pine slopes stretch both sides. It’s not a walk to something greater, but something unknown.

Curiosity catches the rhythm of the bridge’s sway. It moves to the impact of my feet.

Tips of Light

Yaks and donkeys have right of way on the trails. Their chimes ring across the valley. Tails flick us to the side to give way to traffic.

Clothes droop over us as the convoy passes. Lining the alleys they peg the fences of homes. Open to peer inside, glimpses into another’s world.

Clinching to similarities. Banana trees. Goat stables. Open fire cooking. Babies slung to mums. Connecting dots to worlds I’ll never know.

Icebergs revealing fractions to what’s beneath the surface.

Our eyes meet.

We stare into the liminal.

Infinite spaces of difference. We speak to what’s visible.

The light in me seeing and honouring the light in you.

Namaste.

Birendra

Birendra fills a basin in Manaslu. The lake’s blue waters trickle up the mountain to one of Earth’s highest points. Reflections flicker the light of the sun and moon.

When the water shakes the peak is difficult to see. Winds and rocks ripple the surface.

From the surrounds are reminders of the ground.
Rocks rise to soar into the skies
Reaching what’s invisible to the eyes.

Through the night the peak glows illuminating the lambency of the moon. Shining with colour, vibrant and light, it greets the sun.

If it happens, it happens

Snow storms. Landslides. Track closed.

People hurt, snowed in or returning back.

This was the situation starting our Himalaya trek.

We wanted immediate answers to what was out of our control. Our guide Amrit assured us to take things day-by-day. Let each day unfold and see where we end up.

This tested our patience.

Analysing every moment. Forward planning all possibilities.

How often do we surrender to the path? Entitled to knowing when money and time invest. Eager to force things. Resistant to slowing down.

Nature practices patience. Letting the moment be what it is.

We face challenges with patience every day. Transport. Relationships.

What makes this feel different?

Are we controlling too much in our lives?

Is this pressure real or a projection?

Can impatient cycles break?

The clouds cleared. Blue skies unveiled thoughts beyond what we paid and blocked out from our calendars.

Our short time exposed us to the power of people. The pace the Nepalese mountain community came together to move forward. Innovating around cliffs. Seeing nature through fracture.

Goat racks

Two live goats grip the roof. Their hooves and stumbles on the drive indicate that they’re alive.

Relief switches to concern as liquid streams down our window. It’s a clear day. Hopefully the goats’ restroom isn’t near our bags.

Last sun shines to the Himalayas in the distance. They stick to the horizon like wallpaper from this congested Nepalese highway. Yesterday towering over me. Now the size of my fingertips.

An immersion all-encompassing suddenly a memory driving further away.

Containing me now is this shuttle bus. People moving through mountains.

Bags and goats tie to the roof. Planks of wood create new aisle seats for more passengers. The driver operates this manual vehicle sharing his seat with another man. The driver reaches over the passenger to access the gear stick. Locals with severe motion sickness clamber to the back holding a small, thin plastic bag. No complaints.

Bobcats work the city roads. The same machines clearing landslides on the trek now holding traffic. Heroic in the silence of the mountains, seen different in the intensities of the city.