Bhote Bhas to Tumlingtar:
the last stretch
Fate reserved for us a great dawn, with a skyline of Chamlang, Baruntse and Makalu, and hot but not oppressive walking conditions. The shame was, of course, that we were about as far away from the mountains as we could be.
Chamlang, Baruntse and Makalu at dawn
| We
stopped off for tea at Mane Banjyang. I bought a coke from one of
the lodges. As I sat down to consume it, Sudan, the youngest
porter at 16, appeared before me, looking very thirsty. His big expressive
eyes pleaded silently. OK,
OK, would you like a coke?
I had just returned to my seat when I saw Sudan gesticulating to two others that I was the one. They came and stood in front of me silently. OK, would you guys like cokes also? As other porters began arriving; I began to hide, because I had kept back 500 rupees to pay for airport tax for Pat and me (which came to 330 rupees) and I was now broke. Even worse, I was now 20 rupees short. I'd have to borrow it from one of the others. |
Sudan, on his first trek as porter |
We also met the little Tibetan deaf and dumb man with the single triangular tooth again. Pat and I gave him the remains of our cokes. He stuck the half-empty coke bottles into his belt and strode around like Two-Gun Tex.
Our lunch stop was about an hour beyond Khandbari, the regional capital. As we lay around on the lunch tarpaulin, day-old chickens walked all over us, while well-bred, neatly dressed girls from the local school quenched their curiosity at a safe distance from us. The very mention of us taking photographs of them had them running away giggling.
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The walk down to Tumlingtar after lunch was pleasant. I was accompanied by a local Nepali, who showed me a snake: bright green in colour, about a foot long, with a diamond pattern, possibly a member of the viper family. It slithered away as soon as it became aware of us. This was unlike the bright orange one I encountered a couple of days ago. We had stared at each other curiously and fearlessly for quite a while, before it moved off unhurriedly. Of course once our tents went up, we attracted a crowd of local children. |
Tumlingtar children |
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The big event of the afternoon was Dawa giving out the tips to the porters. This was a very serious, long-drawn out affair, with the porters sitting cross-legged in a huddle for an hour or two afterwards. Doubtless, arguments went on of the type: "I carried more than you but got less than you did." "But I carried the kerosene." And so on. Tim gave them some extra money to buy some alcohol for the traditional last night party. Meanwhile, we were treated to a splendid meal. Nima had acquired three chickens and so it was chicken broth, roast chicken, dahl bhatt and his trekking piece de resistance: chocolate cake: a superb end to consistently good catering. |
Debating the distribution of tips |
The end of trek party |
The
party consisted of the singing of Nepali songs, with an
accompanying syncopated rhythm section from a variety of pots, lids, jerry
cans, plastic water containers and cutlery.
Dancing was mandatory for both Sherpas and clients. You had to get up and dance for the length of a song. When it came my turn, I was luckless enough to get "Resham Pheeree Ree", the song every Nepali knows. At the end of each chorus I would start to sit down - and the lead singer would start another verse, to everyone's amusement. I think I gave up after thirty or forty verses. |
