This trip was part of my plan; I had already scouted the route and knew exactly where I would start and where I would finish. I had ample time on my hands; what I lacked, however, was the Nepali currency required to hire a guide or porter for the four or five days of the trek. To be honest, trekking solo with a porter strikes me as nothing short of a luxury. I had assumed that, even if not quite to the extent of the Annapurna Base Camp (ABC) trail, there would still be a fair number of trekkers on this path. Furthermore, the signage provided by the NTNC (National Trust for Nature Conservation) is so excellent that one couldn't possibly lose their way, even if they tried. Consequently, I decided I could manage the trek just fine without a porter. However, in reality, I discovered that the foot traffic here amounts to less than one percent of what you find at ABC. Thus, with a pounding heart—and a touch of trepidation—I embarked on this trek.
April 9th: We arrived at Jhinu around 2:00 PM. Upon arrival, I noticed a bus bound for Pokhara, alongside a cluster of jeeps. Since the porter who had accompanied us to ABC agreed to join me on the journey to Madri, the two of us boarded the bus heading toward Pokhara. Locals informed us that a place called Hundru lay along the route to Pokhara; if we disembarked there and walked for an hour, we would reach Landruk. Initially, however, the bus crew was reluctant to take us on board because we weren't traveling all the way to Pokhara. It was only after my porter—my friend Khemu—pleaded repeatedly with the driver that he finally relented. The bus was incredibly crowded—there wasn't even enough space to plant one's feet—but somehow, standing beside a seat, we managed to reach Hundru within 30 to 45 minutes. When the bus dropped us off by the roadside, we were the only passengers to disembark. This meant I would be walking this path entirely alone. Nevertheless, spotting a couple of locals standing nearby, I asked for directions; they pointed us toward a set of stairs leading ahead.
I didn't know if I was on the right path or the wrong one—or even exactly where I was headed—but for the moment, there was no other option but to descend the stairs. Unlike the steps on the ABC trail, these were not low and shallow; having been recently washed by rainwater, they were quite clean—though also somewhat slippery. Consequently, I proceeded with caution, placing my steps with extra care. Come what may, I told myself I wouldn't have to climb these stairs on this path ever again. Perhaps—as the saying goes—it takes no time at all to fall into a state of decline when clinging to such hopes; or perhaps it was simply the natural order of things—I cannot say for sure—but eventually, the stairs came to an end. I looked up to see a small bridge spanning a stream of muddy water. Crossing it led to a dirt path. Khemu instructed me to follow this road. After walking exactly twenty paces, he told me to cut through a vegetable patch. It was then that I spotted a few options resembling homestays or small hotels. I realized we were likely on the right track. My certainty grew when he asked me to walk right across the courtyard of one of these homestays, as I had seen images of this very place in YouTube videos.
Next, I saw that we had to cross what appeared to be a small river—or perhaps just a large stream? Spanning it was a covered iron bridge—another landmark I recognized from the videos. The rain was coming down quite heavily now; checking my watch, I saw it was 4:15 PM. I thought we could pause for a moment—at least until the rain let up a little. So, deciding to take a brief break, I planned to cook up the packet of Maggi noodles I had with me; I hadn't eaten a single thing all day. I noticed a small room nearby; it was empty inside. I took out my portable stove and asked Khemu if he could fetch some water. Khemu took my bottle, went off in search of water, and returned within three minutes.
Ten minutes later, the Maggi was ready. After we both finished eating and packed up our gear, the rain had indeed begun to subside. However, the moment we crossed the bridge, the stairs returned to welcome us once again. Good heavens—what incredibly steep stairs they were! I couldn't tell if it was simply my weary legs or the sheer height of the steps themselves, but I found myself needing to rely heavily on my walking stick for support.
I realized—quite clearly, in fact—that there was no point in looking up toward the top; unless I conquered these stairs, there was absolutely no hope of moving forward. Just as it was impossible to sprint quickly to the summit, it was equally impossible to simply give up and turn back down. So, with my head bowed, I resolved to follow the simple rule: "one step at a time." There was no need to dwell on how far I had already come, nor was there any benefit in knowing how much distance still remained—my only task was to keep moving forward. Every now and then, I would simply lift my head to take in my surroundings; the rain-soaked, lush green jungle truly offered a soothing balm for my weary eyes. In the distance, on the far side of the mountains, a waterfall came into view—a rebellious cascade of water tumbling down at its own whim. Tilting my head upward, I thought I spotted something resembling a small structure. Drawing upon my experience from the ABC trek, I recalled that such a sight usually appears once you’ve covered roughly half the distance; could it be, then, that we were already halfway there? A farmer lives on hope! I kept turning my head this way and that, wondering if I could spot anything else. Khemu pointed out a visible tower and remarked that we still had another 15 minutes of walking ahead of us even after reaching it. Although the rain prevented me from getting a clear look, I realized that we still had a considerable distance to cover. But how was I supposed to speed up? The steps were towering over me; if I were to measure them, each individual step came up to the level of my knees.
Finally—with a sense of relief and accomplishment—the climb up the stairs came to an end. We spotted a village ahead, marked by a statue of the Buddha standing at its entrance. On the side from which we had approached, a sign read "Chomrong." We pressed on, as Khemu’s preferred homestay—"Moonlight"—lay a little further up the slope. I had no complaints about that; the further ahead we could get, the better. Homestays lined both sides of the path, yet not a soul was in sight at any of them. Nor did the rain show any signs of letting up.
We eventually arrived at the Moonlight Homestay. They quoted a room rate of 500 NPR, with meals to be charged separately according to the menu. When I proposed paying 200 NPR for the room instead, they readily agreed. It was a double-bed room complete with an attached bathroom—what more could one ask for?
Once inside, I changed out of my wet clothes into dry ones, unpacked my bag, and sat down to do some calculations. If our daily expenses averaged around 2,000, the Nepali currency I had on hand wouldn't be enough to last the trip. Would anyone here accept Indian currency? I doubted it. What, then, was I to do? Had I come all this way only to be forced to turn back? As a last resort, I decided that if absolutely no other option presented itself, I would simply pay Khemu in Indian currency.
The hosts informed us that there had been no electricity for the past two or three days, so the Wi-Fi was down. With nothing else to do, I simply lay there in silence, reflecting on the events of the day.
Shortly after 7:30 PM, they came to call us for dinner. Lentils, rice, and a cabbage curry. As I sat down to eat, I noticed someone else there—an Australian—amidst the crowd.
