'Tache 'Tastic

The mammoth two weeks of Annapurna, although brilliant and beautiful, had become, by the end, something of a grind. After reaching 3000m at the wildly beautiful and isolated Tibetan settlement of Manang, our party - Jonny and I, our good mates Sarah and Guy, plus our wonderful trek guide Tez and two porters Prim and Buddhi - were only able to safely ascend a maximum of 350m or so each day. Starting early in the morning to avoid the cold afternoon wind, you finish your day’s trek by midday, leaving the entire afternoon and evening with little to do but read books, play cards and contemplate the daunting 4.30am start and ten hour trek of the penultimate day, which came three days later.

Thorong La Pass (5410 metres high) was a final, serious, challenge, unfortunately ending with me getting a severe bout of Giardiasis.

Annapurna has been dubbed the ‘Andrex Trail’ due to this common parasite hitting so many trekkers at altitude. It is carried in the water, which boils at such low temperatures up there that bugs can survive in your tea no matter how long you boil it for, and is a decidedly unpleasant experience when you still have 1800 metres to descend before nightfall and no toilet facilities except a few large rocks to hide behind.

And so, as Sarah and Guy powered on ahead
as usual, Jonny and I finished the last day of trekking from Muktinath to Jomsom on horseback (much to Jonny’s frustration when I refused, on principle, to get in a jeep). Despite my assurances that they would only be pack-mules and he would be ‘completely safe’ because he was on the end of a lead reign, it resulted in Jonny being given a charming but skittish pony which had been loose in the forest for two weeks. Led by a nine year old, it reared and bolted at a particularly scary tractor about three hours into the ride and nearly threw him off the side of a cliff. Luckily, Jonny quite literally held on for dear life, thankfully escaping any serious harm whilst simultaneously impressing the Tibetan horse dealer with his fantastic equestrian skills. I appeased my guilty conscious by screaming at the tractor driver who had stupidly honked his horn at the sweet little foal that belonged to my mare.

From Jomsom we flew to the sleepy post-trekking mecca of Pokhara, where we deservedly chilled out for a few days in a decidedly 1950s retro style hotel called the Bedrock (en suite complete with green tiled corner bath), which wouldn’t have been out of place in Las Vegas. Nepal’s reputation as a world famous trekking destination is fundamental to Nepal’s economy, but it poses a strange problem for Nepal’s tourist trade, for trekkers are an incredibly mixed bunch. Groups are variously composed of young travellers who’ve normally either made it over the Tibet border or are here to escape the chaos of India for a few weeks; older dreamers on ‘do it before you die’ holidays; the odd serious mountaineer; and, seemingly, lots of Austrians, Canadians and Swiss (haven’t they had their fill of mountain scenery?). As a result, Nepal’s main tourist areas, Thamel and Pokhara, seem to cater for everyone and no one in particular, and when you add in the odd itinerant tourist smack-head hanging around trying to score, it makes them both surprisingly ‘unhip’.


So much so, in fact, that Jonny and Guy decided this was the perfect place to try out the power of the ‘moustache’ when they went to have their bushy trekking beards shaved off at the local barbers. There are some serious ‘taches to be seen in South Asia, where matters of great importance are often referred to as ‘matters of the moustache’. Sarah and I were horrified - even more so when we learned they had made a pact not to shave them off until we left Pokhara.

Pokhara’s lack of cool was proven beyond
doubt by a trip to The Beehive, ‘the ‘buzziest place in town’, which had a live band playing so loudly it almost (but not quite) drowned out the droning of the British Army Ghurka recruitment officers, who had made the place their own. Looking around, Jonny and Guy were just two of about 40 bristling moustaches in the place. After a few days, Pokhara’s lakeside prettiness had worn quite thin, and as we were unable to organise our next move from there effectively (not to mention my desperation to get Jonny to a decent barber) we decided to head back to Kathmandu.