From vanity to vanity

Moscow. Bustle. Every day people of all ages and religions run through the streets. Their goals are simple - to check the boxes in their heads and run headlong towards a new one. More often they get money for this, sometimes they get the favor of other people with the same “ticks”. People get very upset when they can’t reach the next point. Psychologists call this frustration. Buddhists believe that in ancient times the Buddha managed to “gnaw through” the orderly system, rise to the occasion and find himself outside of it. To do this, he needed to renounce all his attachments.

I don't look much like a plump Buddha, but apparently I tried to do something similar. On the day of departure, I started my running around in the morning. Since I am also from Moscow, I ran after my “ticks”: in the morning I worked on an order in Shchelkovo, showed the children a chemical show, after which I began to solve questions from the series: I wanted to do it in advance, but did not have time.

Everyday life accompanies us everywhere: we changed currency, found batteries, looked into two pharmacies. We can move on. But that was not the case. Moscow traffic jams did not want to let their inhabitants go just like that: “Through thorns to the stars,” they exclaimed all the way to the airport. It’s good that I didn’t stop by home again, because... a beautiful fairy tale about life's aspirations would turn into another bummer. But here she is, Leningradka. For any path, incl. and spiritual strength is needed. That’s why I stopped at Mega to eat before the airport. We arrived at the airport.

I enter the terminal. Here I feel that I have become a little different - not the same as, for example, the day before. I’m wearing synthetic clothes that I usually don’t wear, on my back is a huge backpack that I usually don’t travel with, in my wallet are dollars that I don’t use in normal life, and my soul is filled not just with inspiration, but with that feeling that is inherent only to travelers and dreamers. I read the scoreboard. It reminds me of a kind of “heavenly office” - it tells me what time my movement to another world will begin. I walk around the airport, enjoying the moment. But here’s another “tick”: you need to cut the photos. And again the running around: Euroset, a beautiful girl with scissors, a little charm, compliments and here they are - chopped heads in an envelope.

I'm handing over my backpack, I have time. I sit down on a seat at the airport and think about high things. But man lives not only in the spiritual and value world. I don’t know whether I understood this or not, but it turned out that I should have gone to the next stage of control a long time ago. A little more dreams - and again there was a potential bummer and the plane that flew to the “world of wonders” could have ended up without Stas Nikulin. The world is harsh, but at the same time, all the traps on the way can be avoided. This time I was lucky. I walk along the corridors, passport and ticket in hand, the last stages of registration, the bus, the doors close, and here it is - the plane.

An airplane... Some will assure you that this is a device that reaches a speed of 800 km per hour, others will say that it is “the gateway to the world of adventure,” and still others will forever disagree with either the first or the second. What is the truth really? The truth is that Stas is sitting on this plane and will now fly to Nepal. Let's set sail...

On an airplane, what immediately catches your eye is the screen in front of each seat with a control panel (I've never seen it before) until it's turned off. The other is more familiar: the pilot’s voice, crumpled English, flight attendants, “fasten your seat belts, our plane is gaining altitude.” And now, the screen comes to life, a picture appears from the camera installed on the plane. I see a stripe right in front of me, and then stars, stars, stars. The plane flies, Moscow is already somewhere there, and I relax and watch a movie: “Red Hotel”, “Futurama” and a film about how guys survive in London, brighten up the wait, and we quietly arrive in Delhi. The duty free package was never opened. The world is already changing. The adventure picks up speed.

At Delhi airport

Indira Gandhi Airport. I walk, I look, I dream. Sometimes I go down to the ground and present my passport. But I’ve never flown on transit flights, where should I go? I understand that I have eight whole hours. Maybe you can get out of the airport without a visa? The queue ends. Idnus is in control (although I wouldn’t be surprised if it was, for example, a turnip speaking in a human voice - anything is possible in an adventure). The Hindu understood everything and even went somewhere to ask about me. Unfortunately, they didn’t let me out of the airport - I didn’t have enough transit time. Although, as I understand it, such a practice exists, even without first obtaining a visa.

I'm going for a walk around the airport. There are clearly more Indians here than in the Sevastopol complex. Some even drive golf carts across the carpeted terminal (yes, there is carpet everywhere). I look and admire. I buy some very strong ginger beer. A very dubious exotic, but exotic! I take another bottle of the usual one. Now you can take a nap. I saw sun loungers somewhere, but I don’t want to look for them. I lie down directly on the seats with crossbars, it turns out that I am half suspended. It doesn't stop me from taking a nap for a couple of hours.

Now have breakfast. Quite a decent cafe. But flies fly. They are hit with special electric rackets - and the women do not scream, as tennis players probably think that screaming is not decent. I don't remember whether there were flies in the food or not. If there were, they were very tasty and harmless, because... There were no disorders after eating. Well, let's fly on.

The next flight lasts only 1.5 hours. There is no TV or food, only drinks. It’s okay, I’m a strong apricot, I have to endure such “difficult hardships.” Below, the entire flight there are landscapes. Last 20 min. I see mountain caps rising above the clouds. The spectacle is mesmerizing. Let's go down. Hello Nepal!!! Puns immediately begin to pop up in my head: men are not fingers, girls are not sticks - hahaha) neither fish nor fowl. I didn't fall, I didn't kill him. Oh, what a cheerful and smart KVN guy I am, what a funny idea I came up with... I understand that this is not very funny, but I’m too lazy to delete the previous sentences.

We're riding in a bus, and I immediately see a woman, she looks like she's about 40 years old, with a shovel at the ready. Nearby is a man without a shovel. Either there is no justice in this world, or the man has already been digging, maybe even longer. Or maybe it’s just another woman in disguise (here for some reason the talking turnip came to mind again).

Kathmandu airport is much smaller and poorer than India's. I was told that some rich Indians have Nepalese working as servants. I learned what to do a long time ago (thanks to Kirill Yasko), I go to fill out the visa application form and quickly get in line. I would have come a little earlier, a little later - there would have been no fundamental difference. A huge line of people stands waiting for a leisurely Nepalese guy to stamp their passport. Another walks along the line with a stapler and attaches photographs to the application form. For some reason, he actively ignores the area where I am (maybe there is a hole in the floor and he is afraid of falling through?). While in line I meet an American volunteer. She came to teach Nepalese children, what a great guy... She probably came to Nepal because there are no Nepalese children in the US (thanks, Kep!). I receive my visa. Now we need to find a taxi. And here they are – second-order consumers in the airport ecosystem – taxi drivers. 7 dollars and the treasured words “I wanted Norling” decide the issue in my favor. Let's go.

And why didn’t I find out earlier that in Nepal the steering wheel is on the right? Apparently, I am drawn specifically to “right-handed countries.” I get into a little Suzuki '93. You can go. And then the huge anthill of Kathmandu falls on me...

Kathmandu

Now I will try to describe this city. Take one piece of brownish soil from a construction site, add little people in gray with skin the color of the same soil. You chaotically poke painted buses and cars with a bunch of light bulbs here and there. And now - peppercorn sauce, consisting of 10 parts of garbage (or maybe all 20) and 10 parts of dust standing in a column. So much for Kathmandu: a garbage dump, a construction site, and a Cherkizon anthill. “Fie,” the most squeamish will say. Stay at home, I’ll tell them, put my arafat on my mouth and start admiring this city - the city of a fresh and warm wave of adventure.

Kathmandu is such a free-spirited city that there are even no traffic rules. Maybe it just seemed like it to me, but simultaneous overtaking from the left, from the right + a car entering the traffic exactly perpendicularly + more cars getting out into the oncoming traffic... Yes, Moscow has ideal drivers, and there is not a single traffic jam! Don't believe me? Welcome to Kathmandu!!!

People, apparently, are also part of the traffic. They walk right among the cars, sometimes imperiously stopping them with a hand extended with their fingers up (just like Master Yoda raising Luke’s ship from the swamp).

The streets are so small that I can touch the goods on the shelves from the car window. Nepalese schoolgirls pass by and their clean uniforms immediately catch your eye. It seems that dust and movement don’t bother them at all (that’s the work of volunteers).

Here it is - Thamel district, Norling Hotel. I enter, immediately contact the reception desk, they ask about the tourist group. As it turned out, they were sitting a meter away from me. Off we go...

I say hello to everyone, get acquainted with the group leader Kirill, questions begin and tasting the products of the local cafe (only, it seems to me that it’s too much to charge clients 10% and another 23% - but then this question didn’t bother me much). What are the prices for me? I'm from Moscow!!! Our major sits on the major and drives the major around.

I’m tasting local momo dumplings - where’s the meat? And why is the sauce so spicy (at that time it didn’t bother me much either; it was only later that I encountered this “food to stomach” problem)? We talked, got to know each other, and we’ll perform tomorrow. Now you can go for a walk around Kathmandu.

But I was not yet fully prepared for tomorrow’s hike. I needed the down jacket advertised by Kirill for 70 euros and a down sleeping bag (the padded polyester one I had with me weighed a lot and took up a lot of space). I go into a nearby stall and “Voila!” - all this, and even more. In 20 min. I was fully equipped. My eyes widen, but I understand that I have already bought a lot in Moscow and don’t need any of this.

There is only one thing left to do - go have a beer and chat with new acquaintances (our group at that time was not so far from the diffuse stage). Chinese restaurant, beer, homemade snack. Life goes on, so does adventure - what more could you ask for? On this day, I also bought a local SIM card, which was almost of no use.

What is most important when you receive impressions? Probably keep them. Memory is a fickle thing, but there is a reliable companion - a camera. He will do all the work for you, and in return he will only ask for a couple of batteries - well, that’s more than enough. But what is it? A dear friend does not want to turn on and reports a malfunction? How is it possible that you will have to walk around with a huge stone and a chisel to capture Nepalese landscapes? There was salvation. Thank you, mobile phone. During the trip, you practically did not perform your direct function, but you adequately replaced the camera! Hooray…!!! But this comrade can’t be fooled with batteries. They warned us about electricity problems, but there is an external battery for 5000 units of some kind. Life goes on, you can go to bed.

Looking at our hotel room, I decide that it is not necessary to use a bag; I can fit in local linen. It looks quite clean. They even put some dubious and used flip-flops in the shower. Friends, sorry, today without you... You never know, what kind of Yetty pulled them. Sleep…

The beginning of the journey is a bus to Pokhara.

6 a.m. – the teeming Kathmandy anthill lay low to attack tourists again at dawn. But, fortunately, we are not one of them, in the sense that we are already going to Pokhara. We go out onto the deserted streets and go to the bus.

There are monopolies in the world of Nepal too... I am convinced of this by looking at the bus. The Tata company has firmly established itself in the eastern markets. Why can’t Avtovaz do this? A bright vehicle covered in stickers pleases our eyes and is ready to take us to the ends of the world for Nepalese rupees. Local chanson - Nepalese music - is playing inside. I think fans of oriental culture could meditate to it. For the Nepalese, this is probably as ridiculous as if the people of Nepal were meditating to our “Ring Man” or “Golden Domes”.

We're driving... The Nepalese "glue chlich" is still playing in the radio, and the composition "das gluechlich" is playing in my mind, where a man sings about how he presses on the gas, hums the tune and realizes that he is happy. And the girl echoes him: Laaaa, lalalala... Laaa, lalalala... The landscapes are stunning (rice fields, Nepalese buildings similar to Chinese ones, local residents busy with their usual affairs) - all this is truly worthy of “lalalalalala”. It doesn’t even interfere with the fact that the bus drives along the serpentine road in its own special Nepalese driving style, managing, however, not to hit anyone. Of the staff on the bus, the driver (I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t there at all, or again a talking turnip - already the third!!!))), besides the driver, there’s also a parking sensor boy. At the beginning of the trip, the boy puts his things away and runs out in the parking lot and knocks on the body when the bus drives too close to the curb. Let's move on... I'm in a state of light doze.

We stop for a snack. It's pretty decent here. Even a buffet. All-inclusive lessons have been forgotten for several years now, so we are recruiting more and more of everything. This is where the proverbial pepper comes into play. Everything turns out to be spicy, with the exception of two or three dishes, one of which is water. Masala tea (milk, spices, ginger) saves you from pepper. The second instructor, Sasha, declares with authority: “Take masala wherever else you can drink it along the route.” At every stop, Sasha!!! Everywhere we walked, this drink was available. In any case, the extra mug didn't spoil the matter. In general, masala was somewhat reminiscent of English tea with milk. I think that Sasha, a Ukrainian by nationality, heard familiar notes in the word “masalo”, which is why he advertised it so actively. Oil in our bodies, and we are on the road again.

We drive and drive, and suddenly the bus stops on the side of the road. As it turned out, something was wrong with the rear wheel. Other cars drive by, honking (in Nepal, instead of blinking, and in general on the road they honk all the time). We drink tea and watch a Nepalese girl enthusiastically play with pebbles. Meanwhile, at the “car service” nearby, they are using a sledgehammer on a wheel rim. Moreover, five Nepalese are involved in the process, one of whom strikes, and the rest watch with rapt attention. In general, everyone in Nepal is very leisurely (as in India), they do everything “relaxed”. Suddenly, a group of children appears, eagerly rub shoulders near the bus, hinting that they should be given money. I take a photo with balls on a palm tree. That's it, the wheel is done, tututu!!! Let's go.

Whether it took a long time or a short time, our mighty bunch finally reached Pokhara. This is no longer a garbage dump, or even an anthill. Decent, tourist city. We check into the hotel, I try to overcome geographical cretinism and remember its location. There is still a lot of interesting things in the program today. For example, let's go boating.

Lake Phewa

Here it is, a lake against the backdrop of mountains with the beautiful name Fewa. I didn’t go into the origin of the name, but for some reason I think that it is somehow connected with either Hindus or Buddhists. We get into the boats. We are sailing with a guy Antokha from Kaluga, Kostyan, who considers himself a St. Petersburg resident, and a video camera. I start filming on my phone. Antokha is rowing. He prepared well, rode his bike specifically before the hike, and has the opportunity to use his libido...

I try to put my foot in the lake, then change my mind. The climate is humid, it will take a long time to dry. We comment on our swim. Romance all around. I don’t know if this is a coincidence or not, but I dreamed about this lake a month before the hike. True, in the dream I was sure that this was Karelia. But no, it’s all Nepal! Let's moor. I also forgot to say that Kostya previously served in the navy, it’s completely believable. Kostya’s type could successfully grace any seaside party. It turned out that he even knows how to waddle. Confirming everything said above, Kostya knits a “sea knot”.

We sailed to a small island. There is a Hindu temple on it. Tourists from different countries, as well as Nepalese and Indians, moor on boats nearby. Some Indian schoolchildren greet me: they fold their arms over their chests and say “Namaste!” At that time, I still did not know that this was a local greeting, and that I would have to say this word 50-100 times a day. There are bells placed in a circle around the shrine. Schoolchildren run and ring.

It starts to rain. Here the raincoat-poncho, bought the day before in Kathmandu, came in handy (I forgot to write about this wonderful purchase). The poncho copes with its task at 5+, does not allow water to pass through, keeping my skinny body dry. I get to the edge of the water and see a lot of trout swarming. It turns out that this lake is not very often fished. Only local restaurants do this. In general, in Nepal (like in India too) the fishermen caste is considered one of the lowest. Fishing is bad, better eat carrots or turnips.

On the hill there is already a Buddhist temple - a stupa. Initially we planned to get to it, but the heavy downpour (yes, it was already a downpour) arranged our tourist program in its own way. We return to the hotel.

Now I need to go somewhere and get acquainted with the local cuisine. We head to the city center. On the way we meet our guys, who under no circumstances recommend going to an Indian restaurant, because... there they were brought diluted tomato paste, proudly called soup, and chips from a nearby stall. Yes, we were not going there. We continue to move towards the center of Pokhara. In stores I find clothes made from hemp (similar to linen), which I plan to buy upon returning from the trek (in the end, I didn’t succeed). Some people think that such clothes can be smoked. This is wrong. It’s better to smoke old cotton socks, the effect will be greater.

At first glance we see a decent place, after some hesitation we go there. Tasting local chicken with flatbread and beer. The chicken is spicy and bright orange, the beer and flatbreads are not. I was told that if you are bitten by a snake in Nepal or India, then for a successful recovery you need to bring this snake with you or at least a photo of it to the medical center. By analogy, I take a few pictures of the culinary delights that I ate at dinner.

On the way back, I buy a CD with music for meditation (you can find it online, but it’s more pleasant). To be honest, I'm not even sure I'll listen to him. The moment of purchase itself is important. In one of the shops on the way we met a small Nepalese cow. The horned one didn’t mind posing a little as a fashion model.

In front of the hotel we bought some local tonic to try. What's a tonic without gin? While the climb and trekking had not yet begun, we allowed ourselves to relax a little. As it turned out, both products were quite successful; accordingly, to strengthen the sporting spirit, several more radials were organized along the route from the hotel room to the store. At the latter we met volunteers from Canada. Our “sailor” Kostyan began a very enthusiastic dialogue with them. We must give him his due; the issues discussed were purely philosophical without any admixture of aggression. But the Canadians were clearly tired of this state of affairs. I had to try to convince Kostya that his questions were rhetorical and go to the hotel. A little more noise, active conversations and sleep... Tomorrow is an important day - the beginning of the trek...

Beginning of the track

We arrived in the village of Naya Pul. All self-respecting trekkers had to start the route from here. Poles (oh, yes, I also bought them in Kathmandu for $10), a backpack, everything is ready. We begin to move in a line among chickens, donkeys, mules, Nepalese and other trekkers like us. In addition to the characters mentioned, there are also men on the route with huge baskets on their shoulders - porters. If you are a lazy and dead foreigner, then you cannot do without the help of a porter. He will carry up to 20 kg for you the entire route. We also had the opportunity to use the services of porters. There were no takers. At least at the beginning of the track. I personally never turned to porter for help. There must be some element of struggle during a hike, even if it’s a struggle with the weight of the backpack. Moreover, the backpack was only about 8 kg.

Let's go quickly. The route goes along stone stairs. Looking ahead, I will say that such stairs accompanied us throughout the entire journey. As we pass, we see Nepalese sawing stone slabs with a two-handed jigsaw. I’m trying to imagine the entire route (to ABC - this is the Annapurna base camp - about 50 km, not counting the numerous elevation changes). How many years and efforts did it take for the Nepalese to build such huge staircases by hand?! I am filled with respect for these small, slightly slanted and dark-skinned people.

Then we climb. It is convenient to climb the stairs. Yes, even with sticks. I had never used poles before, but I quickly got used to them. They have a built-in anti-shock - a shock-absorbing spring, but even without it everything is fine. I had better luck with cheap Nepalese poles, or "Nepals" for short (hahaha). During the hike, none of them broke, although sometimes they unraveled and tried to fold.

If I briefly describe my impressions of the first day of the trek, I would like to thank the manufacturers of Lova boots (Slovakia), as well as the rest of the equipment, which made walking convenient and comfortable. And here comes twilight.

Food and drink

We stay in a small house - a lodge, as everyone calls them here. It's quite cool in the lodge, so I had to wear another jacket. We study the menu. It was approximately the same along the entire route. The same constructor as the city of Kathmandu: we take the basic components - noodles, spaghetti, pasta, rice, all sorts of hot spices, water, garlic, mushrooms, cheese, flatbread dough, a little spicy clingin and put together unimaginable combinations from this, calling them different names. The most interesting thing is that in different lodges under the same name they can bring you completely different dishes.

I study the menu. One of the points immediately cheered me up: local wine. If it is wine, it means grapes, therefore it must be something similar to mulled wine. How romantic it is to drink mulled wine in the mountains. But Nepalese have their own way of looking at romance. They bring me a clear, warm liquid. "What is this?!" - I exclaim. “Local Vine,” the Nepalese answers calmly. I am tasting the product - MOONHOON!!! And warm too. It feels like 25-30 degrees. I'm not ready for this. I put the glass aside. As I later learned, this local chatter is called Rakshi.

Two Englishmen are sitting nearby - a boy and a girl. Well, if mulled wine doesn’t work out, then maybe I’ll at least practice my English. Let's start communicating. They are volunteer teachers. The British have maps. After dinner, the five of us get together, including the English, and start sulking at cards. At first we wanted to play poker, but then we found a more universal game “Bullsheat”. If translated into cultural language, it is “I believe or I don’t believe.” Because It was a pity to pour out the local swill, it was decided to send it into the body of the loser. The Englishman Charles (I call him Dickens) is doing the draining. Hooray! We won and got rid of the local wine. You can go to bed.

In our little room there is a huge hole in the wall. Probably ventilation. I climb into my sleeping bag and sleep...

Monkeys and Poon Hill

The full chronology of the next days turns out to be a little crumpled. The main thing I remember is the constant knocking of trekking poles on the stones and the endless ascents and descents (there are more ascents). All around us, nature constantly delights us with new colors and landscapes.

We enter a forest of rhododendron trees. In the forest, as we were told, there are many monkeys (of course, if they run around the garbage dumps in Kathmandu along with the cows, why shouldn’t they live in the forest?). At first there was no sign of our distant relatives.

On the way we started talking about politics. It's time... Where would we be without her? Thank God, they finally saw the four-armed men snooping around, and all conversations immediately fell silent. I'm trying to take a photo or video. The monkeys are far away, it’s impossible to snatch them among the leaves. Someone has prepared DSLRs and is waiting. I move on, realizing that it is unlikely that I will be able to film the monkeys. We leave the forest. There is fog all around.

In the evening - a decent lodge in the village of Ghorepani with a stove (the only one on the route, as it turned out). On the same day, a slightly higher radial is expected at Pun Hill (altitude 3200m). Maybe I got a little confused with the dates and Ghorepani was the next day, it doesn’t change the overall picture.

We begin the climb to Pun Gil. Here it already feels like we are in the mountains. Breathing becomes faster. When I fell behind a little and sped up to catch up with the group, my ears began to ring a little. Yes, all these “flowers” ​​and “berries” are already growing on the approaches to Annapurna. We rise to a telephone tower and something like an obelisk. There is very thick fog all around. It felt like I was on the mysterious island of Avalon. The impression is enhanced by the abundantly circling crows (not crows, but crows). One girl from the group says that these are big rooks, funny).

Here comes Poon Heel. At the top there is an observation tower. There is nothing around but fog. There is something mysterious about this. Aside from Avalon, the setting is somewhat reminiscent of the game and movie Silent Hill. The only thing missing is goats and other evil spirits. It seems to me that due to the low atmospheric pressure I am already starting to resemble a zombie.

We descend back to Ghorepani. Here, I make my dream of mulled wine come true. We buy bottled wine and ask to heat it up along with spices (out of nowhere cinnamon and cloves pop up in the kitchen). The cook says I have very good taste. Of course, against the backdrop of raksi, mulled wine seems to be the “drink of the Gods.”

In the morning, when we woke up and went out into the fresh air, a magnificent picture appeared before our eyes: the fog cleared, and we finally saw the snow-capped mountains: Annapurna and Machapuchare. Our further journey passed without fog.

Descents and ascents

The following days consisted of constant ascents, descents and successive landscapes. They weren’t fundamentally different from each other, but believe me, it was great. I myself did not expect that I could go so far. From what I remember: a calm tarantula over the sink; the village of Chomrong with a grandmother-like seller and decent lodges, as well as delicious buns; evening watching videos from the phone and playing “crocodile” - a lot of laughing, everyone was having fun.

And now, we have already reached the village of Durali. Very close to Annapurna Base Camp. The bright sun came out. I take off my T-shirt and enjoy it. You can't do without good dark glasses here. The ones I bought at Decathlon are quite sufficient. Despite the bright and hot sun, there is snow not far from us. A Ukrainian wife and a Finnish husband are sitting at a table nearby. They are discussing how Russians can drink all evening, and then go on a hike in the morning invigorated. Apparently, I don’t fully correspond to the stereotype, because... I have no desire to drink alcohol. The sun disappears and it immediately becomes cold. Instructor Sasha suggests going to a small radial - with pleasure. Better than sitting and suffering nonsense. Besides, it’s much warmer when you walk. Tomorrow is ABC. I don’t know about the others, but I’m ready!

Annapurna Base Camp

Morning. We are heading to the Annapurna base camp through the Machapuchare base camp (we pass it). There is already a lot of snow on the way, bright sunshine. You can't do without dark glasses here. There are many tourists coming your way. Most travel light. I think they went to ABC without spending the night. Everything here is a little more extreme. The sensations are still normal. There are almost no stairs here anymore, mostly just stones. Is it long or short... Hello, base camp!!!

I understand that despite the relatively short duration of the journey, I was very exhausted. Now I would like to lie down and rest, but no... The soul demands adventure, I want to rise even higher. I photograph amazing views. We arrived at the camp just in time, because... the fog has cleared, the footage is stunning, even on a mobile phone. A small snack, backpacks thrown off.

The instructors suggest going and looking at the monuments to climbers. There are really a lot of monuments. Every year people die in the Himalayas. It's sad. Mountains are not only landscapes, but also a huge danger to life. In part, we were also at risk, but, nevertheless, there was less extreme on our journey than that of professional climbers.

We pass monuments and a mountain lake. We can't stop taking pictures. We must not forget SUCH impressions. There is a ridge ahead. Glaciers on top. At any moment they can come down, absorbing their next victims. But human life is at risk even at the moment when he is standing and waiting, for example, for a train in the subway.

Be bolder, move on. I understand that my breathing is becoming much faster, my head is a little restless. Here's another photo of me dancing on the edge of a cliff. We see the end of the mini-ridge. Well, you can hobble up to him. Sanya is walking ahead (not an instructor, but a fellow trekker from Orel). Sanya did a little mountaineering, but the miner worries him less. But Sasha’s knee joints promise to organize a “rally” for him in the near future if he doesn’t stop wearing them out.

We continue moving. Every step is difficult. One step - a few breaths. I feel like it’s covering me more and more. Here it is, height 4200, the end of the ridge. To go further is thoughtless and dangerous. I understand that it completely hit me.

Gornyashka

Before the hike, I read a lot about altitude sickness. But, as you know, until you try it yourself, it’s not completely clear how it works. I’ll try to describe my feelings: have you ever had a moment when you get up unusually early for yourself and undergo some kind of physical exercise, and very actively? I remember once I went to play football like that. During the process, everything seemed to be fine, but after that I started to get a really bad headache – my frontal lobe. The sensations are exactly the same. Terrible headache, lethargy, rapid breathing.

The basis of the mountain is quite simple - in the mountains the atmospheric pressure is lower, and accordingly, intracranial pressure rises with altitude. It's mind-blowing. Looks like it's time to go down. Only now, we are spending the night in the ABC itself, and it is not much lower than the point at which we are located. Oh-oh-oh, what will happen?)

We get to the lodge. I plop down on the bed. I don't feel like eating. I drink tea. Instructor Sasha advised me to drink Hot Lemon (diluted hot lemon concentrate), but I don’t even have the strength to walk to the dining room. Now I think that perhaps Alko Seltzer (I had it with me) would have helped. Many people think that this is primarily a hangover drink. In fact, this is not true. Alko Seltzer is a good analogue of aspirin. It thins the blood, lowers the temperature, and also contains vitamin C. But I did not take this wonderful medicine.

The guide recommended a tablet that removes fluid from the head. I drank it and felt a little better, but not significantly. This pill was also a diuretic, so from time to time I hobble to the wooden cabin and back. I understand that it feels dry - the body is dehydrated. Plus, I can’t fall asleep for more than 2 hours. Because breathing more often, less oxygen, the body cannot turn on the “automatic” and pass out. It goes on like this all night.

I wake up, i.e. or rather, I’m rising (I’ve already written about the dream). It seemed like I had a terribly high fever (not sure if that was actually the case), and my dry, chapped lips. I hobble to the dining room and realize with horror that I need to eat... In addition to me, several other guys in both groups were sausage at the height. Everyone had their own difficulties. I order garlic soup (I read that it helps “from altitude”). I forcefully pour it into myself, afraid that I will vomit.

Today we are planning a descent - the distance that we covered in three days while climbing. How will I get through it? Ordering a helicopter costs from 700 euros, and most likely more. Moreover, to get there we still have to cut to the place of our previous stop. All the same, there is no choice. We have to go. By some miracle I put on my backpack, pick up my poles, and begin the descent. The guide Sanya also didn’t feel well (he had previously visited the Everest base camp), so the first rows sank down with great speed: “Away from these mountains.” Sanya is in front, Sanya is also behind (whose legs hurt).

I go down at my own pace. The first few guys are having a blast, they say that they will be waiting for us downstairs in Bambo. It is very far (I was not well versed in the names, I only understood that I needed to go, that’s all). I'm waiting for the tail of the group, I inform them about Bambo. We continue our descent. And where does the strength come from in my exhausted body? Here is MBS, then the previous parking lot. And we continue our descent.

For me, this particular day was the most exhausting. We walked 18 km during the day. You don't want to eat. On the route I only drank hot lemon (for reference, if you drink a lot of it, it burns a little when you pee))). There are not only descents along the way, but also periodic ascents. I turn on the player, it makes walking easier. I don’t undertake to describe this day in its entirety. On the one hand, everything is quite simple - they walked and walked. But I constantly had to gather my willpower and take a few more steps.

HURRAY, BAMBOO!!! We meet the guide, drink hot lemon, and continue. The final destination for today is Chomrong (where the delicious buns are). I understand that the lower we go, the easier it becomes. The main instruction for mining patients is to start descending. Nature is fresher, we seem to be more alert.

There are only a few steps left to reach Chomrong – a huge descent and a huge ascent. I'm storming the rise. Along the way, you can already enjoy the scenery again. Before Chomrong we go to a store where prices are low, but when we ask to buy tea in bags, they bring us it brewed in cups. “Well, Watson, some tea?” The guy from the group Anton wants to buy a Coca-Cola. He is informed that the drink in the glass can only be drunk “without leaving the cash register”, because... the bottles are then returned. That's it, let's go to Chomrong.

We enter the village. On the way there is an aunty offering “hot shower”. First, we walk another 500 meters through the village and pick up part of the group that is already waiting there. After this we return to auntie. The lodge is really decent (compared to other Nepalese ones), ambiance, reasonable prices and Americans, Australians and Spaniards sitting waiting for food.

I'm still not hungry. But you have to eat something. I take tomato soup and rice with vegetables. The soup went great (dehydration was taking its toll), but the dry rice didn’t want to get into any of it. I had to leave this creation of local cuisine uneaten. No, Madam Nepali, I didn’t like the rice, I’m just not ready for such food yet... Or already? I understand that Nepalese food is slowly starting to get boring. Now I would like some borscht and some salsa (yes, we have a lot in common with Ukraine).

In the evening we actively communicate with an Australian woman and her husband, the director of a medical clinic (I think he was Dutch). After that, we while away the evening a little more in a nearby cafe with philosophical conversations.

Thermal springs

The next day passes blissfully and calmly. Same track, same climbs and descents. But there are much more descents. The pace has increased significantly. In addition, thermal springs are planned for today. That's great. There was still a small bummer. We missed the group and walked in the wrong direction for some time. Thank God, the situation was resolved, everyone was found and we finally went swimming.

Thermal springs are several baths with almost hot water from underground springs. It's a pleasure to be here. A cold stream flows nearby, you can run there, and then again to the springs. Oh, contrast bath!!! In the next bathtub an Englishman with oily eyes and a huge joint is basking. It’s probably very good for him, but it’s not bad for us either. We produce joy hormones naturally, without additional stimuli.

Clean and relaxed, we move on. Tomorrow is departure from the track. At this lodge we are greeted by the Dutch, who have turned on the music at full blast. They said they were trying especially for us. There could be some humor here, but I'm a little tired. It turns out that the Dutch have ordered local Nepalese dances for the evening. We also have the opportunity to join.

At the dances, Nepalese children dance colorfully to tunes similar to Indian ones. The spectacle is very nice. In these parts, where people use the Internet less, modern means of communication, etc., some kind of local ethnic spirit is preserved. The whole village gathers to dance. Offhand, about 50-70 people. The children themselves get excited about dancing. They laugh and improvise. Moreover, girls move more actively and make more steps. The boys move their feet back and forth. I feel like I'm watching an Indian movie. They also open their mouths to hear words. Later we join them and get involved in the dance. I notice that I perform more female movements than male ones - it’s more interesting for me. It turns out that many movements are some kind of symbols. But there is no time to study the origin, you just have to dance!!! At the end - a group photo. Thank you Nepalese children!!!

Last day of the trip

We go, we go, and, friend, bam - the end of the hike. We arrived at the point where we started. We receive something like a certificate, get on the bus and go to Kathmandu!!!

We stop in Pokhara and eat at a restaurant. The food here is better than in the mountains, and the atmosphere is more comfortable. Now it’s Kathmandu...

We drove for a very long time, the whole day, but finally we got there. Hello, Norling Hotel. Tomorrow - excursions.

Excursions

I've already ridden a lot, I'm starting to get exhausted. But we also need to write about how we went to Hindu and Buddhist temples. I will limit myself to a short description.

A Hindu temple with some local stentorian name is a place where the bodies of the dead are burned. After this, the remains are thrown into the river. I'm wrapped up in an araft, wearing a pulled-down hat and glasses. There is garbage and a burning smell all around. There are smoldering heaps all around. And you won’t know whether it’s trash or one of the dead Hindus. Perhaps these words disgust you. But, believe me, a visit to this or a similar temple is definitely worth it. You won't see SUCH a sight anywhere else. And there were also “prophets”, something like local supreme religious ministers - decorated men and women whose purpose in life was to smoke weed, meditate and walk from one sacred place to another. They kindly offer to take photos for a small fee.

A Buddhist temple is completely different from a Hindu one. There are much fewer Buddhists in Nepal, but there are still a sufficient number of temples (Stupas). The mortar is clean and the local prayer “O Mane Padme Hum” is playing. The length of this composition is 24 minutes, it is melodic, and the same phrase is repeated 109 times. The mood is meditative, if such a thing exists. There are wheels all around with the same prayer, which must be turned while walking around the stupa. It was very interesting, I learned a lot about Buddhism. Before this I was not interested at all. Be sure to visit at least one stupa (there were two on our way).

Last hours in Kathmandu - food, souvenirs, packing, taxi, plane!!!

The way back was very pleasant and positive. I already wanted to go home. At the same time, I realized that I was taking with me a piece of what could not be found in my homeland - this is the spirit of travel, the energy of protected countries. I hope I will not forget this trip for the rest of my life. Maybe in Nepal, for some vital moment, I was able to go beyond the ordinary.

We've arrived. And here you are, “ticks”. Honestly, I’m bored...

Everything is gray in the subway, but in the shower it’s light. Thank you Nepal!!!