An adventure walk from Simikot to Darma (Day 2 and 3)

The confusion, the question, the purpose and the destination

A snap before the three day walk

 When I woke up in Lali the following morning, I felt like I could not continue any further. I could count every muscle in my legs to the number of separate and different pains accompanying them. My body ached too, owing to the mattress-less bed, I presumed. Naresh dai was, as I had explained earlier, old, and because of that, was having difficulty walking with all of my luggage glued to his back. I admit that it was apathetic and cruel of me to feel a sense of relief that I was not alone in this difficult endeavor.

We continued with our journey slowly, with an undefeated enthusiasm, however little in comparison to the day before. The pain in the muscles lessened after each step. It was almost like my feet were demanding affliction. We made it to Suniyakhada in one hour, the place we originally intended to stay the day before. I asked my companion if we would reach the day’s destination or not. He replied by saying “Khai sir, hidai sasto bhaya cha”, meaning he wasn’t sure because our pace was not as fast as he hoped (it was for the first time in my life that the word “sasto” which means "Cheap" in Nepali bore a negative meaning).

As we moved on, the pain in my muscles and my knees oscillated like a sine-wave – it would come and go in regular successions, the only difference being its magnitude, which increased with each new succession. We limped our way to “Lepche”, where we decided to have lunch. Now I had one or two strange incidences relating to the language of the west, and one of them happened here. I was having my regular daal bhaat, with about a quarter of the food remaining in my plate, when the owner came to me and said, “Bhaat choda” (The conventional Nepali meaning of the word would mean stop eating your rice). I was puzzled, as to why he wanted me to leave my meal unfinished. I looked at Naresh dai and found him munching away merrily. I didn’t know what to do, so I thought about getting up, seeking the reaction that would follow. Just as I was about to, Naresh dai with his stuffy voice said to the owner, “Bhaat choda”. Hearing this, the owner obediently went to the kitchen and put some rice in Naresh dai’s plate. Then, he looked at me and asked, “Bhat choda?”

I smiled and said no.

We left Lepche after an hour long rest, and I was delighted when Naresh dai informed me that the trail was very comfortable then on. And it was. We walked slowly without hurry, and Naresh dai shared with me things about Humla and about his life. We were about an hour away from Sarkeghat, our destination for the day when we decided to take a break.

A dangerous section of the trail

I would be lying if i said my feet didn't tremble when i walked through this place

Our breaks would always be short and without conversation. I was staring into the abyss when he asked me suddenly in his Nepali-Khasa hybrid language why I had undertaken a job in Humla where I had to toil so hard, that too, unnecessarily. This was the first time he asked me something personal, and I looked at him and saw an earnest curiosity in his face. I didn’t know what to say to him because I wasn’t completely convinced myself why I was there. I confessed that I wasn’t pretty much sure myself too, and told him that part of me wanted to see real adversity and experience it firsthand. I knew that it was not the real reason. Six months later and I still can’t fathom any reason, except that whatever the reason was, I had made a good choice.

We reached Sarkeghat at 5:30 pm. Sarkeghat was beautiful, in that it had good hotels with clean sheets, good food, electricity and TVs as well. Another interesting thing about the place was that the people there actually spoke an accent-less Nepali. We had walked for 11 hours and I was tired to my bone, drenched in sweat and smelly.  There were plenty of staff from other organizations in the hotel I was staying. I wanted to have a chat and hear their experiences too but I was too tired to indulge in any conversation. So I had dinner and went straight to bed.

The third and the final day of my walk had been pretty normal in comparison to the other days. I reached my destination Darma at around 4 pm. I finally reached my workplace, and it took me only a taxi ride, two flights and a 25 hour walk to get there from my house. I said my goodbyes to Naresh dai admitting that I had not expected such a pleasant companionship from a porter. He corrected me by saying that he was a mason, not a porter, grinned and left.

Darma Village- The work station

It has already been five months since my first travel through that wretched trail, and I had the unfortunate opportunities to walk through it many times. But I believe that my first work-walk will always be memorable because it had a tinge of thrill, curiosity, hesitancy and pain in it that I will never forget. I remember Naresh dai’s question about my reason, and well, I want to believe that there isn’t one. I went to Humla just for the sake of being there. But I think it’s the eventuality of the action that carries the essence of justification and in my case, it is undoubtedly justified.

An adventure walk from Simikot to Darma (Day 1)

The beginning, the porter, the stone and the nervousness

The Mystic Karnali as seen from Kharpu village, Humla

I was lost for words in Simikot. I had never been so close to the mountains my entire life. It was a new experience to me, and I was talking it all in. I took some pictures, enjoyed the view for a while, and eventually collected my bags and headed towards the airport exit. The office guard was waiting for me by the door. He helped me with my bags and we headed towards my hotel. On my way, I could see heaps of snow laying around houses and roads. I think that snow is something very special for us people living in Kathmandu because we never really get to see them. So, yeah, I was pretty much excited to see so much of it. Part of me wanted to throw my bags and jump right into it, but I controlled my instincts.

We reached our hotel and I had a chat with the guard, Mr. Nara Bir Thapa for a while. Currently, there were no office staff in Simikot, and that I had to leave the very next day and make my way towards Darma, my work station.

In case you don’t know, Humla is one of the two districts that is not connected to the Nepali Road Network (the other one is Dolpa). It has few lengths of earthen roads around the Chinese boarder, but none around its headquarters and VDCs. So, the primary (and only) means of transportation is by foot. And to reach Darma, you had to walk for three days.

Nara kept on emphasizing the fact that the trail was very dangerous, and that it may well take me even four days to reach my destination. He told me that there was no hurry and advised me to walk with no rush. Nara arranged a porter for me; an old foreman who went by the name Naresh Bahadur Shahi.

It felt like everything was moving so fast. Two hours ago, I was in the flat lands of Nepalgunj, and the next thing I know, I was planning to walk for a trail situated in the Himalayan region of the most underdeveloped district of the country. I was enthusiastic, but anxious. Everything was so new to me. A new place, new people, new experiences, and apparently, a new language too, that too in the span of two hours. I knew nobody, except Nara Bir and Naresh dai. The realization that I had to walk for three days in an unknown land with a complete stranger had not blended in well with me, but that was the only option. I had to do it.

Fast forward to the next day, and me and my companion’s journey towards Darma started off. Naresh dai had introduced himself to me the previous day. When I called him dai, he insisted to be called only by his name, but I would not have it. I called him dai anyway. He had told me that the road was steep, narrow and full of dangers, but asked me not to worry because he was there. He looked very old and looked as though he was full of wisdom. His tone, although very different from the ones I was used to, was reassuring and calm. He didn’t talk much, but I managed to get him to tell some things about himself during our walk to Darma. He had worked for thirteen years in India and managed to pay for his younger son’s primary education. He didn’t know how to read or write, but he had enough wisdom to make sure his son did. He also told me that he tried for more than ten years to get his family out of Humla, to Surkhet, for a better life and better opportunities, but he couldn’t. Now, he had given up. When I asked if he was going back to India, he said he was too old for that now, and that he planned to spend the rest of his life in Humla with his family. I thought Naresh dai was one of the many examples of people who wanted to make something of their life but whose aspirations and expectations were crushed and overpowered by the inaccessibility and adversity offered by the mighty Humla.

All the more reasons to make it accessible by roads.

The wise, calm and failthful Naresh Bahadur Shahi

Anyways, we started our walk at around 11 a.m. We made our way through Syamne village, then Kharpu and Yangchu. I realized that the picturesque headquarter of Humla was a deception of its true nature, because immediately after I headed away from Simikot, I could see poverty, hardship and misfortune all around me. I had always known about Karnali zone and its poverty, but not to what extent. Seeing everything first hand, I slowly began to understand the reality of the place and the state of people who were forced to live in it.

Then we made it to Bokche-Gauda. At this point, I could hardly understand what people were talking about. The Khasa-accent of the people there was getting thicker and thicker as we moved away from the headquarters. The amazing thing is that they thought I understood it too. So, I used to smile and nod every time they talked to me. I could figure out some words sometimes and work with it to give a sensible reply.

It had already been five hours of walk, and the trail was very comfortable until Bokche. After having lunch, Naresh dai, with his most somber voice yet, told me that the trail was very dangerous three hours from now.  It was already 4 o’clock. So we had to move fast.

The walk from Simikot to Bokche was child’s play as compared to the trial after Bokche. It was ridiculously narrow. There were no vegetation to cling on to while we walked. And it would be a direct 100m unobstructed free fall into the seething Karnali River if our feet sidetracked even inches from its original route. But we walked slowly and steadily. We passed the most difficult sections of the road and were making our way through Lali Village when all of a sudden, a stone whizzed passed in between me and my porter from above and fell down into the river. It scared the life out of me and my feet began to tremble.  I looked up, and saw as many as 25 cattle grazing directly above us. My feet was really shaky at the moment and I wanted to sit down, but Naresh dai told me it was dangerous so we quickly made our way through that section and into a relatively safer place. It was at that time that I realized that I was really in a dangerous place. The stone missed us by inches, and even though it was small, if it did hit us, we would surely lose our balance and (probably) fall off. It was about 6:30 pm when we reached Lali, and we still had an hour walk ahead of us to reach our destination for the day. But I was pretty stunned to continue after what happened, so we decided to stay in Lali itself.

Narrow paths along the Simikot-Darma trial

It was an old, isolated home and a couple with three kids were the inhabitants. We were given two beds that smelled like feet and had no mattresses. The place was very dirty, with fleas all around. But I was too tired to pay notice to that. We had our dinner (local “Raato Chamal” and “Simi ko daal”) and I had a chat with the owner of the house.

He seemed like an entrepreneur who was born in the wrong place. He had so many ideas for farming and putting up apple orchids and opening up a hotel for when roads made its way along his front yard. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his vision was only a reverie that could never come true in his lifetime. I had a feeling that somewhere in his heart, he knew that too, but he still dared to dream of vehicles passing through his house and making life a bit less tough.

Some of my relatives told me that my stay in Humla will change me as a person and how I perceive life. They were right. It took me only a day to see the atrocious lifestyle of the people there and I realized that Nepal was not only Kathmandu, or Pokhara or Biratnagar. Nepal was also Yangchu, or Kharpu, or Laali, where people had to work the living soul out of themselves for simple bread and butter.

I went upstairs, not sure if I would fall asleep in a mattress-less bed, but turns out I was so tired that I fell asleep the minute I laid down.

Tomorrow was a long day, and I needed my invigoration, for the trail tomorrow was going to be long and full of stories.   

A shaky fly to the mountains of Humla

The seat-belt, the aircraft, the mountains and Simikot

Mid-March 2015. It was the first time I was going to ride a twin-otter aircraft. I heard people say scary things about how the aircraft is shaky, and about how it is old and not safe, and about crashes and what nots. But work is work, and I had to go.

It was 5 45 in the morning. Flights from Nepalgunj to Simikot would operate only in the mornings, because right after 9:00 am, heavy winds would not permit an ideal environment for a twin otter to fly. I went to the counter in the airport, and it was nothing like an airport counter. There was a crowd of people, fighting for tickets. Apparently, due to weather conditions, flights to Simikot would be very rare. And by the time a plane was going to take off, there would be an army of passengers fighting their way to fly. I started having doubts about my ticket so I pushed through the crowd to see whether my name was in the list or not. Thankfully it was. A few minutes and I boarded the plane.

The moment I got in, I knew this was very different from a normal flight from Kathmandu to Nepalgunj. I felt like I entered a dirty local bus. But that didn’t worry me because I was already accustomed to riding the filthiest of local buses in the course of my student life. I took a seat and fastened my seatbelt (i was surprised that there actually was a seatbelt) and I tried to relax. Surprisingly, before the airhostess could even finish informing us about the safety instructions, the pilot started the engine. The airhostess stopped the briefing midway and rushed back to her seat. I was wondering if this was normal but it seemed everybody was fine with it. A few minutes later, we were in the air.

We made our way through the plains of terai, and through the hills of Surkhet and Dailekh. Before you know it, we were flying through a completely different terrain in comparison to where we started off. My nervousness and unsettling feeling disappeared at once after I got to see the mountains of Karnali zone. And believe me, these were different from the mountains I was accustomed to. They were almost vertical, and mostly barren. I could not see civilization for as long as I could see, obviously, I thought, because settlement in such places would be impossible. Down below, I could see the raging tributaries of the Karnali River flowing fiercely at steep gradients, and looking as though they would devour anything that lied in their path. I started having an idea why Humla was deprived of roads (and thus development) for all these years.

Anyways, we were flying further north, and the presence of snow was increasing by the second. After a few minutes, all I could see was white. Maybe it was the wind, or the clouds, but the turbulence in the aircraft stared increasing. But turbulence was not a concern anymore. I got totally engulfed in the beauty the place had to offer. It looked as though I could just reach out and scoop off the top of snow clad mountain with my hands.   

         

 I took my camera out and started taking pictures. A minute later, I got to see a plateau, with a heavy settlement. The airport was a small strip of black-topped runway and a building. Before I could take a snap of Simikot, the aircraft suddenly made a sharp turn towards the right and started its descend. Thankfully, the landing was a smooth one and after a few moments the aircraft halted in the runway. The doors opened and as soon as I got out, I could feel the fresh cool breeze that jump started my enthusiasm to stay in Humla for 3 months. 

Apparently, Simikot was a plateau surrounded by mountains from all sides. And in March, these mountains were covered with snow. I felt I was in a different world after I got out of the flight. Simikot was like an isolated place on its own, hidden from civilization, and far away from the world I was so used to living in.

The view from Simikot Airport, just after I landed.

And I don’t mind the cliché at the end of a travel journal when I say that Simikot is a place to visit at least once in your life. A heavenly place such as Simikot is worth the death defying (okay, overly exaggerated) travel and the hassles for the ticket one has to undergo.

If you are seriously considering going to Simikot, good luck. And carry a down jacket with you (even in summer).