Life lessons from the trail; Annapurna, Nepal.

This article is going to be a long one so maybe grab yourself a cup of tea first and get comfortable. Just to be clear; this is the story of my personal experience on the Annapurna circuit and the lessons I learnt along the way, not an extensive packing list/ comprehensive guide for anyone interested in doing this trip. There are plenty of other resources out there if that’s what you're looking for.

So let’s take it from the top. I knew I wanted to travel after my degree, and I’d always been drawn to mountains but never had much experience with them, so when my partner at the time mentioned the Annapurna circuit in Nepal, my eyes lit up; the photos of the trek looked epic and I loved the sound of the challenge. This trip became the fixture around which the rest of a year of travels was pinned; October was the best season for weather conditions, so in late July as we were driving back up the UK after 3 months of van living in Europe (I promise I’ll get round to that story too!), we booked our flights out to Nepal. 

That initial excitement quickly pivoted and I proceeded to spend the months of August and September in a state of crippling anxiety, apprehensive about my ability to undertake this upcoming adventure. I still had no experience of hiking with a heavy backpack for more than a day at a time; (we weren’t going to be taking guides or sherpas) and the fear of getting lost or injured or just not being able to cope with altitude constantly weighed on my mind. I found pictures online of a particular part of the trek that involved traversing scree slopes and had myself convinced I could die in a landslide (I know.)  I told myself I needed to be in better shape but (probably in no small part due to my anxiety) didn’t end up doing much more exercise than usual in the weeks leading up to the trip.

October (2018) rolled around faster than expected and I didn’t feel remotely ready for what was ahead of me. We arrived in Nepal after a 17 hour layover in China, made our way to Pokhara near the base of the hike and spent a few days recovering from jet lag, getting permits sorted and finding the last few pieces of gear we needed for the trip. One slightly sketchy bus ride over uneven roads running along cliff edges later, and we arrived in Besisahar, (11kg) backpacks in tow and hit the trail. 

The view from our accommodation in Pokhara.

I remember that first day well, the 25 degree heat, plus the weight, plus the pressure of sunset encroaching and the burn on my quads as we climbed the final set of stairs to our first resting place for the night (accommodation on the trek is provided by the locals who run teahouses along the route). That night itself was a shock to the system; electricity cut off after a certain time, there was no running water, and getting to sleep on the solid wooden bed frames proved challenging. Waking up the following morning I remember thinking ‘this is only day one of who knows how many’ (i.e what have I gotten myself into?!).

Somewhere in the jungle on the way to Timang.

The route circles the three Annapurna peaks, all standing around a towering 8,000m. As we climbed in altitude the landscape evolved from a lush subtropical jungle, through rice fields, to alpine regions, and slowly the vegetation thinned out to reveal a stark dusty tundra as we inched closer to those snowy peaks. Days consisted of waking up, packing bags, hiking for two hours, stopping for breakfast, planning how far we could get that day, hiking for a few more hours, stopping for lunch, hiking some more, finding somewhere to stay for the night, maybe practicing some yoga and refuelling at dinner, reading a little (I had Alan Watts’ The Way of Zen with me; great material to contemplate during long stretches of silent walking), and then sleeping for A. Long. Time. — At least 9 hours a night.

The view from a temple near Manang.

The difficulty of each day depended on the altitude gradient; I quickly became aware of the deceptive nature of ‘Nepalese flat’ (little bit up, little bit down), and some days posed a real challenge; climbing over 1000m in elevation in one day or sometimes over a few hours is as much of a mental challenge as a physical one. My body craved recovery but didn’t get much of it; all I could manage was some rehabilitative stretching and some sun salutations in the evenings. 

One of the highlights of each day was undoubtedly the food. There’s nothing more satisfying than an unlimited plate of rice and dhal after a long day being battered by the elements on the mountains. All the food was grown locally and cooked fresh by the locals. One night after the temperatures dropped, we sat down in the communal space by a log fire and ordered food, nursing some hot fresh ginger and honey tea, watching through the window as the family looking after us went out to the plot of land just outside and picked some cabbage from the vegetable patch. Two hours later, we were eating that cabbage, cooked to perfection with a beautiful blend of mild spices. 

Nepalese food = a hiker’s paradise: Alu Sadeko (spiced potato salad), vegetable pakauda (like fritters) with a tomato masala chutney, and an omelette.

The locals in this region were another highlight; I came for the mountains but I’ll come back for the people. Through broken English I spoke to teachers who had moved from Kathmandu to remote areas in the mountains to teach kids who would walk three hours (each way!) a day to attend school. I spoke to a Nepalese guide who was working in the mountains to fund his medical degree, and had numerous other interactions filled with warmth and love; always willing to share knowledge and answer questions I had about their way of life. 

At around 3500m, we reached Manang, a town with more resources, (and the last place accessible by a newly built road) including an education centre and medical station set up to inform hikers about altitude sickness, and SO many bakeries. At this point it is recommended to take a rest day to acclimatise, allowing your body to adjust and to avoid some of the symptoms of mountain sickness. 

One of the resident dogs at a Lodge in Manang.

This ‘rest’ day took the form of a hike up to Kicho Tal, (Ice Lake); said to be a holy place in the area. This was the first real test of endurance for me; 1,100m straight up over only 3 hours, battling icy winds and starting to feel the restricting effects of altitude on my breath. I maintained my yogic breathing, equal inhales and exhales, keeping a rhythm to synchronise my breath with my movements. 

Not far from the top I turned to face a view that honestly took my breath away. Wispy clouds encircling the 8,000m snow capped peaks, moving with a softness; starkly contrasted with the strength and power of the mountains. (This is the cover photo for this post). I found myself in complete awe, watching in real life what I’d spent the last year or two visualising in my meditation practice; my thoughts are the clouds, they come and go. It was complete bliss. I’d never felt quite so deeply connected to the earth before.

Kicho Tal (Ice Lake).

A few days later I was faced with the next challenge; the dreaded scree slopes. Six straight hours of really careful foot placement, trying not to think about falling to my death and being buried under a pile of rocks. In places the path was less than a foot across, and as this was a side trek, people were walking the other way on their return journey. At one point I stopped to let someone past and stretched out a hand to the rock to steady myself, only to find my hand slipping through the powdery silt; my stomach dropped. It was a major mental undertaking to try to quieten my mind for that long in such circumstances and I can’t say I did a very good job of it. By the time we reached Tilicho basecamp I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. 

On the Tilicho Trek path, endless scree!

The following morning, after having spent the night on the floor of the dining room of the lodge with about 30 other people we were faced with a choice; continue the trek through icy winds up to Tilicho lake or turn back and get a head start towards the pass with the hopes of not having to sleep on the floor again; accommodation was filling up quickly at this point in the trek as the trail becomes more congested at higher altitude (one of the downsides of the roads being built is that people can pay to be driven up as far as Manang, hike over the pass and take a car/bus/plane, yes PLANE, from Jomsom, making the hike only 5 days or so, instead of 16). 

We decided to turn back. Not an easy decision to make, but there’s something to be said for knowing your limits, knowing when it’s worth turning away. Yes that was probably my one chance to see that lake, but I’m still content with the decision to miss it as that was the right decision for me at the time and I’d already conquered those slopes despite every fibre of my being telling me I couldn’t do it. That was my dharma, my purpose in that moment.

The walk back from Tilicho did mean repeating every painstaking step of that six hours of scree slope hell all over again, but this time was a little different. The sun rise was brushing its’ warm glow over the heather that sprung up between the harsh rocks, illuminating the horizon at every turn. This time I was a little more at peace. I knew I could do it. After this day, although the prospect of crossing the pass was still looming, my anxiety mostly dissipated. Facing fears head on is an unparalleled technique for realising your inner strength.

Sunrise on the return from Tilicho base camp.

After a couple of less strenuous days, we found ourselves at Throng Pedi Base Camp (4520m), playing games with a couple from New Zealand and another couple from the Netherlands, eating freshly baked cinnamon buns in anticipation of the big day the following morning. It felt like Christmas eve in more ways than one; the smell of woodsmoke, time spent in good company and the distinct air of excitement for things to come. That night I got up to pee in the night (one of the effects of altitude - I also had headaches and sleep apnoea  at this altitude but no other symptoms worth worrying about), and was greeted with the most dense spattering of stars I’ve ever seen, unadulterated by light pollution, just pure, naked universe. 

From the lodge at Thorong Base Camp.

Around 4.30am bags were being packed, I put on literally all the clothes I had with me, and by 5am we were on our way up the hill led by headlight. I have no idea what temperature it was, all I know is that it was cold enough for chocolate bars to freeze solid and for my hands, feet and face to lose virtually all feeling. I was at the complete mercy of altitude here; I was out of breath taking tiny slow steps, but I kept moving. If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that each day prepares you for the next. Each step I’d taken to that point had helped cultivate the strength of body and mind I needed to cross the pass. The trail to the pass takes you over numerous false summits, like the mountains are toying with you, wielding their power. What felt like an eternity later, the tangle of prayer flags that marked the highest point in the circuit finally revealed themselves. 5416m, Throng La Pass. 

Thorong La Pass (5416m).

Thorong La Pass (5416m) - with fellow hikers from the trail.

Thorong La Pass (5416m) - with fellow hikers from the trail: Kaspar & Annemieke.

We had made it! Although the journey was far from over. It was (mostly) all downhill from there; descending 4000m over the next three days, apart from a 1600m incline in one day up to Ghorepani which felt surprisingly manageable without the burden of altitude and the added bonus of all the strength I’d accumulated over the last two weeks. I did a fair bit of hiking alone during this time which gave me a lot of invaluable time for contemplation and self discovery. I spent hours each day quietly turning thoughts over in my mind with no sense of rushing to come to any conclusions, no distractions from external sources, and no attachment to outcomes. 

Good company!

Sun rise at Poon Hill (near Ghorepani).

Nayapul, a village at the end of the circuit.

When I look back on this trip I think there’s a few life lessons to be discovered here; 

1. Yoga isn’t just asana. I thought I wasn’t practicing yoga that much on the trip with only a simple stretch or sun salutations some evenings, depending on how I was feeling, but in reality I was practicing yoga every day. Not the asana practice, but the yoga practice. I was connecting to my breath, finding myself in intense present moment awareness, I was practicing tapas (self discipline), svadhyaya (self study), brahmacharya (non-excess, the practice of seeing the divine in everything — it’s impossible not to when you’re surrounded by mountains like those), and santosha (contentment with where I was in each moment). This is where we start to live and breathe the practice, not on the mat or in a studio for an hour at a time, but in our lives, particularly when things get tough.

2. Nothing can prepare you for what’s ahead. Life, much like this trek, is a journey in which each moment, each step, each day prepares you for the next. Trust that you’ll be able to handle whatever comes your way and you’ll find you’re so much stronger and more capable than you think.

3. This last realisation came to me during teacher training nearly a year later, but I can’t think of a better way to describe what was happening during those moments where I had to dig deep just to keep moving. The moments that were so tough they felt like an eternity are now nothing but a memory. The lesson is this; the hallmark of reality is impermanence; this moment, good or bad, like all other moments, is only fleeting. This too shall pass.