Sujay led the way up the main road for about two hundred yards to a police station where he presented their permits, explaining to her that as this was a national park, entry was strictly controlled. They turned right onto a path, passing a large rock which bore the legend “Langtang 30 km” in smudged blue paint.
A number of trekkers were up ahead, already putting distance between them, and others overtook as they started their ascent, tracking the route of the Langtang Khola, the river that fell away below them as they climbed higher with each step.
She tried to step up her pace, fearing that she was holding him up. “Bistari, Jess” said Sujay. “There is no need to rush.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but her breathing had already deepened from the exertion and they had only been going for fifteen minutes. “How will I know if I’m getting altitude sickness?”
“You probably won’t feel anything below two thousand metres,” he said but then smiled at her. “After that, you will know. The lodge is at about two thousand five hundred. We have plenty of time to get there before dark. Bistari!”
He deliberately slowed his pace, taking long slow strides while she trotted along dutifully behind him, and soon they were alone with the trees and the mountains and the fresh air, the last vestiges of sun warming their backs as it gradually slipped behind the mountains to the west.
She kept her head down in concentration, focusing on a path worn down by thousands of walking boots but still rough and stony. When eventually she did look up, she noticed Sujay was fifty yards ahead and she increased her pace to try and close the gap. Her legs shut down in protest. In an instant, the ache that had been growing steadily in her thighs was superseded by a dull numbness, the signals from her brain failing to get through to her feet, and she halted, unable to make her legs move.
She heard herself gasping for breath, and from nowhere an invisible vice seemed to clamp itself across her chest, tightening inexorably, constricting the airflow to her lungs. She bent forward and rested her forehead on her walking sticks, feeling a distant throb forming in her head.
“Jess? Are you okay?” Sujay had trotted back and was standing next to her.
“Yes,” she panted, meaning “no”, her lungs desperately attempting to suck in huge breaths through ever-narrowing tubes. “What – height – are – we?” she gasped.
“Oh, just under two thousand.” Her faced creased up.
“What?”
“You’ll be fine. We just go a bit more slowly. You have to acclimatise.” She lifted her head and looked at him sceptically, unable to speak. Acclimatise? We’ve been going less than an hour and I’m finished already! She felt a wave of despair and leant forward to rest her weight on her walking poles. “Your breath will come back in a minute.” He was right. As quickly as it came, the debilitating sensation subsided.
“How am I going to do this for six days at over twice the height?” she complained, cursing herself for her weakness.
“You will be okay. After a couple of days it will be much easier.”
“A couple of days?”
“Yes. We just go slowly. You will get used to it. Believe me.” She shrugged and tried to move her feet. They obeyed.
They went step by step, slowly and surely, and the path flattened out. Jess got her second wind and started to stride out. “Bistari,” he said again and she slowed down. They got into a rhythm and, as he’d predicted, it got easier. As soon as she started to feel the ache in her thighs, she stopped for a moment and moderated her breathing.
They climbed higher and higher, and to her relief the path descended at one point and they were able to increase their pace.
“That’s better. It’s a lot easier going down,” she said, almost beginning to enjoy it.
“I am afraid we are only going down to go up again.”
“What? Oh, don’t tell me that! How can that be?”
“There are a lot of ups and downs. That’s why it takes so long. It’s only twenty kilometres in a straight line, but thirty when you take in all the bends and contours.”
She soon realised why they’d been descending. A steel rope suspension bridge spanned the rushing waters of the Langtang Khola, swollen by the rainy season that was now coming to an end. Sujay led her across and she moved nervously, sticks in one hand, the other tightly gripping the twisted steel handrail, while the bridge swayed and wobbled under her feet. She chose her steps carefully, concentrating her attention on where she placed each foot, the gaps in the wooden slats providing a glimpse of the foaming water a hundred feet below her that pummelled the rocks and boulders lining the riverbed. After five minutes of terror, she stepped onto solid ground at the other side, exhausted and relieved.
“Phew! Are there any more like that?”
“Just one or two. That’s why we have to descend to cross the river, otherwise the bridge would be one or two kilometres long. You would not want to walk across a two-kilometre suspension bridge,” he laughed. “Now, we climb. Bistari!”
He set off again and they climbed through dense forest of maple, bamboo and oak, the air filled by a continuous chorus of chirping and screeching amidst the rustle of the trees. She stopped to listen and caught a glimpse of something moving rapidly from branch to branch high above her. “Langur monkeys,” he said. “There are many of them here, but don’t worry, they won’t come near us.”
Jess was beginning to feel more comfortable now. She maintained a steady pace, and although it felt painfully slow, Sujay insisted it was the only way.
“That’s why I said three days. Some people can do it in half that time, but it is more sensible to go slowly, otherwise you risk not getting there at all. Besides, we get to enjoy the scenery.”
“Did you bring Peter this way?” she asked.
“Yes. Colonel Peter and I came along this path five years ago.”
“Was he as slow as me?” she laughed, wishing he were here now and wondering if he was watching.
“He was slow. But he was not as young as you are and I think he was not so fit either.”
“Is that right? Well I’m not feeling so young and fit at the moment,” she said between breaths, stretching out each arm in turn, propelling herself forward on her poles.
“We have one more hour to the Vishna and then we can rest.” Jess couldn’t help but notice Sujay looked totally relaxed trudging uphill at altitude. She judged he was in his thirties and guessed he must have done this trek a hundred times already. She felt feeble and inadequate next to him, a pathetic European out of her depth, but she thought he was probably used to that. She had to accept this was his job, his backyard, and, after years of experience, he was bound to find it easy. A stroll in the park. Literally.
“Have you ever been to England?” she asked him.
“Only once,” he said and then she cursed herself for her stupidity. Must be the altitude.
“Of course. The funeral. You came over with Alisha.” She was careful to get her name right.
“Yes. She asked me to go with her.”
“But you knew by then Peter had died?”
“Yes. We knew that. She did not feel strong enough to come alone, and as I knew her father, she said I should come too.”
“I didn’t see you there,” she asked not so innocently, and felt a pang of conscience that she was putting questions to someone who had no obligation to provide any answers.
“Miss Alisha did not want anyone to know. She wanted to be there and say goodbye to her father but not to interrupt anything.” Jess couldn’t resist probing further.
“Did you see me?”
“No. We saw some people but they were all at a distance and walking away. I just thought they were all family members.”
“What about two little girls? Did you see them?” She looked at him and he appeared to be thinking about the question.
“No. I was worrying about Miss Alisha. Worrying how she might be upset.”
“And was she?”
“Not very. But then she is a Buddhist.”
“Are you a Buddhist?”
“No,” he smiled. “I am Hindu.”
“Are you” – she hesitated, not sure how or even whether to ask the question – “friendly with Alisha?” He didn’t flinch.
“Yes. We are friends. But I am not her boyfriend. I am married. I have two children,” he said with pride. “A boy age six and a girl age two.” Jess smiled.
“I have three children,” she said, and she realised how proud she was too and how much she was missing them. Sujay stopped to look at her and she was grateful for the opportunity to take a rest.
“You have three?” he said, shaking his head in astonishment. “But you are not old enough!”
“I’m twenty-eight.” She smiled, suddenly feeling a little abashed but nonetheless touched by his remark.
“And how old are your children?”
“Leila is nine and the twins are four.”
“Oh my. You were a young mother. And your husband? How old is he?” Jess sighed. She suddenly feared if she were not careful, she might become the subject of the conversation.
“I don’t have a husband. He left.”
“I’m sorry.” Sujay looked embarrassed.
“No. Don’t be. It’s okay.” She was quick to try and reassure him. “We are all better off without him.” That was certainly true. But then she thought for moment. I wonder where Mo is now? Seems like a lifetime ago. But she wanted to get back to Lisa. Alisha. She started walking again.
“So, when you found Alisha, that was the first time you’d met?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know it was her?”
“Colonel Peter gave me a photograph. I always kept it. I pray to the god Vishnu that she is found one day. And he answer my prayer.” Jess knew nothing of Hindu gods and hadn’t heard the name, but before she could ask, Sujay continued. “Vishnu is the preserver of life. He shows compassion and kindness to all living things. This is similar to Buddhist.”
“But how were you sure that the girl you heard about was actually Lisa? Alisha?”
“I was sure.”
Jess frowned, unable to understand or rationalise his certainty. There were forces and beliefs at work here she simply didn’t understand. Faith. Something she had neither recognised nor acknowledged existed, until she met Peter. Back then, they’d each embraced faith in their own way, even if they weren’t aware of it.
They reached the top of the rise where the trail swung sharply left, and in the rapidly diminishing light, the vista opened up before them. Directly ahead and across the valley on the mountain opposite stood a few buildings scattered randomly across the hillside.
“There.” Sujay pointed. “Village of Lamchi. This is where the Vishna Lodge is. About thirty minutes.” She smiled at him and nodded. They set off again, buoyed and encouraged the end was in sight.
As darkness descended, they climbed the last few steps up the stone path to Lamchi and within minutes were standing in a courtyard outside a row of raised terraced huts, each with a bright blue painted door and small, green-framed windows. A few porters sat around, some smoking, some chewing, and several trekkers were outside their huts, attending to washing and rucksacks, one or two crossing the courtyard to the buildings opposite.
The courtyard was separated from the huts by a walkway and railing along which thin ropes, strung between wooden pillars that supported a pitched roof, were adorned with various items of clothing, drying in the evening air. Opposite the huts was a larger, well-lit building from which emanated the sound of revelry; tired and hungry trekkers laughing and discussing the highlights of their day over noodles and soup, dal bhat and beer. The canteen.
“Welcome to the Vishna Lodge,” said Sujay. “We call this a teahouse. It is typical accommodation for all the travellers who visit here. Wait here, I will find the key for your room.” He wandered off to another building next to the canteen and emerged a few minutes later with a large key on an even larger wooden fob. “Number six,” he said, pointing to one of the huts, and she followed him up a few steps and onto the walkway, stopping outside a locked door that sported a large number six crudely painted in white. He unlocked the door and stood aside.
She stepped into a cold, gloomy and vaguely damp room with a flagstone floor, a tiny window on the far wall and sparsely furnished with a double bed and a small pine table. The floor looked damp and dirty, the window encrusted with cobwebs and filth, and a single light bulb dangled from the ceiling on the end of a twisted cord. The front window that looked out onto the walkway was similarly decrepit with smeared, cracked glass, and grey net curtains hung limply on each side. An electrical plug socket and switch precariously fixed to the door jamb were fed by a chaotic trail of wiring. She looked at the double bed.
“Where are you sleeping?” she asked, suddenly nervous.
“I sleep with the guides and porters over in the main building,” he said, giving no indication that he may have understood what she might be thinking. She felt guilty, but relieved and then concerned for him.
“Can I not pay for a room for you?”
“No, no.” He smiled. “Thank you. But we are used to sleeping all together. They are my friends and we will have a good laugh and maybe a little rum later.” He winked at her and she nodded, content. He flicked on the light switch and the dirty bulb cast a dim yellow glow across the room. “There is a toilet and shower at the end of the building. If you want a shower then it’s best to do it now. The water is heated by solar and it will not be hot in the morning.”
“Thanks.” The thought of a hot shower was good. He looked at his watch.
“It is now six thirty. I see you in the restaurant at seven. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.” She dropped her rucksack on the bed and he backed out of the door, closing it behind him. She sat down on the bed; it was hard and unforgiving, and she noticed that for the first time since they’d left Syapru Besi, she felt cold. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Shower!
The shower and toilet were together in a large cubicle, lit by another yellow light bulb. The toilet was a simple ceramic floor plate with ridged sides and a hole in the centre. Next to it, and fed by a hosepipe poking through the back wall, was a large blue plastic bin full of water, a clear plastic jug tied to its rim by an orange nylon cord.
A cracked basin with a single wobbly tap was loosely fixed to the right-hand wall, and on the opposite side, a white plastic box with two dials hung crookedly and precariously. A threadbare flexi hose sprouted from the box, culminating in a small, battered showerhead that lay forlorn on the wet floor next to a central drain hole.
She shivered in the cold. The temperature had dropped quickly when the sun went down and she thought it close to freezing but removed her boots and socks and stripped off, hanging her clothes and towel on a spare nail, careful not to dangle anything on the wet floor.
She picked up the showerhead and examined the controls, turning one of them slowly anti-clockwise. The box hummed into life and a jet of freezing water spurted out onto her leg, making her squeal in shock. Pointing the head down at the drain hole, she fumbled with each control until, eventually, something approaching warm water appeared, quickly learning that the balance of pressure and temperature was a tricky compromise.
With nowhere to mount the showerhead, she squatted on the floor, held the hose in one hand and moved the head around, directing the miserly trickle all over her. She found a thin bar of used soap on a tray next to the shower box, picked off some encrusted black hairs and used it to wash herself, but decided not to wet her hair, as she wasn’t certain how it would dry.
Three minutes was enough, and sensing the temperature of the water dropping, she turned it off and hastily dried herself with her towel. She slipped her clothes back on and, carrying her boots and socks, trotted swiftly back to her hut in bare feet.
She felt clean but frozen, her breath condensing in the cold air as she stripped off again and quickly put on her thermal underwear. By the time she was fully dressed the chill in her body began to subside. Outside, she draped her towel over one of the suspended lines and walked briskly across to the canteen.
A blast of heat and steam cosseted her like a warm blanket. The brightly lit room had several rows of long tables strewn with plates, beer cans and maps. Around it, in animated conversation, trekkers of varying nationalities sat on long wooden benches, joshing good-naturedly with each other, laughing loudly in shared bonhomie, while porters in puffer jackets and woolly hats handed out steaming plates of food passed to them through a hatch to the kitchen.
Through the hatch, Jess could see men in mixed garb, flamboyantly banging woks and metal spatulas, shouting and arguing with each other amidst the occasional surge and flash of flame from the gas-fired ranges.
Sujay appeared and handed her a steaming mug of lemon and ginger tea, heavily sweetened with honey. He found her a space next to a group of Canadian women, and she sipped her tea, feeling the warmth trickle through her body.
“Hi!” said the loudest Canadian, rattling off the names of her friends, who all nodded, smiled or extended a hand, their names forgotten the moment they were introduced. “We’re from Edmonton, Alberta. I guess you can tell? Where are you from?”
“England,” she said, hands clasped around her mug.
Sujay was back.
“Can I get you some food? Some dal bhat and chapatti, maybe?” Jess was in no mood to choose and just nodded.
“Are you by yourself?” asked the loud Canadian whose name, Jess recalled, was Nancy.
“Yes. But I have a guide,” she said jerking a thumb at Sujay’s back as he approached the kitchen hatch.
“Aw. Shame you’re alone. You wanna join our group?”
She smiled broadly but they both knew she was just being polite.
“Thanks. But I think we’re probably going a different way.”
“Where you headed?”
“Chumtang.” Jess felt pleased with herself she’d remembered. It made her sound knowledgeable.
“Never heard of it. What’s there?”
And from nowhere, she heard herself say, “My sister.”
***
Sujay had told her, “Don’t sleep with all your clothes on. You will be warm enough in your sleeping bag with just your base layer.” And despite all instincts to the contrary, she followed his advice.
The room had been like an icebox but he’d given her a hot-water bottle, and having clasped it to her middle for a few minutes, she kicked it down to the bottom of the sleeping bag where her feet now luxuriated in its warmth.
She had no way of communicating with home. As expected, there was no mobile signal, and the Wi-Fi was down, so she couldn’t use her phone for anything other than to take one or two photos of the Canadians. They exchanged email addresses, pledging to keep in touch. She thought it unlikely they would, but they’d been good fun, very friendly and welcoming. The shared experience of adventure, she thought.
She thought again about the days ahead. What will happen when I meet Lisa? Alisha? Alisha presumably didn’t know Jess existed, any more than she knew Lisa had been alive. How would she react? How would she be able to explain?
She had run through a speech in her head, but she knew that when the time came to deliver it, it would all come out differently. There was no escaping the fact that her arrival in Chumtang would come as a shock, but she was coming in the spirit of friendship. She was coming to square the circle, just as Peter had for her.
She had no idea of the time. Everything was quiet outside, the last trekker long since turned in. “Breakfast is at six thirty tomorrow,” Sujay had told her, “and then we climb to three thousand metres.” She needed to sleep, and she did.