A Moment in Time: Hiking to Annapurna Base Camp

Peering out the window of our little plane, the majestic Himalayan peaks soar upwards like an optical illusion, piercing the clouds and appearing to float in space! A shiver of excitement runs down my spine.

I’m with my 27-year-old son and we’re flying to Pokhara, Nepal’s second city and gateway to the Annapurna region. We plan on hiking to Annapurna Base Camp without a guide or porter. This has upsides - and downsides. The upside is we have freedom and flexibility – the downside is you can find yourself without a bed…

Fast forward five days and we’re trudging through freezing rain at an altitude of 3,500 metres. It’s starting to get dark,  we don’t know if we’ll find a place to sleep at the one remaining guesthouse and my son’s not speaking to me because it’s my fault we’re in this mess because I keep changing my mind. “Actually it’s your fault because you’re such a dawdler,” I’m thinking but not saying as we inch our way miserably up the mountain.

But I digress..

We spend our first night in the little village of Hille 

Day 1: Nayapul to Hille

We’re met at Pokhara airport by Tenzin, a friend of our Kathmandu guide. He’s a supercharged fix-it man and in the space of an hour helps us change some $USD for rupees, get our all-important TIMS (Trekkers’ Information Management Systems) and Annapurna permits and organises us a taxi to to Nayapul where we’ll start walking. He also makes a call and books our first night’s accommodation and advises us on the best villages to stop at on the way up to base camp.

It’s 1pm by the time we set off in dusty autumn sunshine and for the first hour we’re walking alongside a rough 4WD track, vehicles bouncing past loaded with baggage and trekkers. It’s a relief when we turn off onto a well-formed stone pathway which takes us to Hille, a tiny village 1430m above sea level.

I’m finding walking hard: my pack feels super heavy and my knee hurts so arriving at Mamta’s Home guesthouse by 4pm is a blessing. Our room is upstairs and has a window with pink flowered curtains looking down a green valley. After a tot of whisky and a hot shower we sort our bags and order spaghetti and veg dhal bhat for tea. It’s the birthday of one of the little boys who lives there and after dinner we can hear them singing ‘Happy Birthday’ in English. My son comes back with chocolate cake when he goes down to get his phone from the charger.

As dusk falls a train of donkeys trot by, bells around their necks tinkling and jangling.

It strikes me how kind the Nepalese are towards travellers essentially walking through their front yards. While the donkey trains have come past for centuries the sheer volume of hikers nowadays must be challenging, especially for older people who remember quieter times.

With Tenzin in Pokhara, our supercharged Mr Fix-it

Day 2: Hille to Ghorepani

By 8pm we’re asleep and 10 hours later wake refreshed and ready for our first full day of hiking. Our destination is Ghorepani, 2750m and the first section is reputed to be steep. I’ve ordered masala tea and banana porridge, which sounds more interesting that it is: porridge topped with three small slices of banana, no honey, sugar, milk or cream. The English family sitting next to us have ordered pancakes and I’m suffering breakfast envy. The masala tea is good however; it’s hot, strong, sweet and a wee bit milky with a hint of spice. We’re off at 7.40am with a spring in our step.

From Hille the path rises steeply, switch-backing up a valley wall and we’re pleased to have left early enough to avoid the midday heat. There are lots more people on the trail today, many using porters: young men in blue jeans and jandals, hefting enormous packs on straps around their their foreheads. They move quickly, the smell of stale sweat wafting alongside.

We pass goats and horses in dusty, wooden enclosures. One adventurous baby goat bleats indignantly when an old man picks him up by the ear for straying but the villagers generally seem quiet and relaxed as we pass through. This could be because it’s Durga Puja, a week-long festival that celebrates the Hindu goddess Durga.

Nepalis love to go hiking in their holidays and there are plenty doing just that  - but regardless of where you hail from there’s a universal greeting: “Namaste! Namaste!”I didn’t anticipate how busy the trail would be, nor how populated with homes and villages. If like me you’ve only ever done backcountry hiking in tents or huts, trekking in Nepal is a completely different experience. Less solitary, more namaste.

When we finally reach Ghorepani we’re more than 1000m higher than Hille and it’s getting cold. Tibetan traders are out selling jewellery and trinkets and we stop in the street to watch a riotous gambling game before the chill pushes us on down the hill to find a guesthouse for the night.  

Before dinner we sit on the porch and watch the mountains emerge out of the clouds: thrilling.  

Locals of all ages play a game of chance in Ghorepani 

Day 3: Ghorepani to Sulawei

Ghorepani is famous for being the gateway to Poon Hill with its amazing 360 views of the Annapurna massif. We weren’t about to miss this, although it’s a side trip and a decent 500m climb up a lot of steps. Most people get up well before dawn to arrive before sunrise. But my 27-year-old isn’t an early riser and I can give or take a sunrise so we arrived just after 7am; most people were coming down just as we were going up so there were only a few left when we reached the top and it was a clear, frosty-sharp morning with these stunning mountains ranged in a circle around us.

We bought hot coffee and lemon honey from a cart and found a seat by a flock of Tibetan prayer flags. The man standing next to us had a mane of golden hair and he’d also come late to miss the crowds. He was an Israeli guide who’d just finished a trip to Everest and told us the names of all the peaks and how high they were as the the sun spread its tangerine glow over them.

By the time we got back downl and packed it was 10am and past time to go. We climbed what seemed like a million steps, up, up to 3,100 m. Then down, down, down again through rhododendren forest and bamboo to Tatapani, a bustling little market town with stalls ranged around a square and smoke rising from guesthouse chimneys.

Early morning sunshine in Tatapani

Day 4: Tatapani to Sulawei

After what was now our firm favourite breakfast – delicious fried Gurung bread with jam and marsala tea - we set off at 8.30am, finally finding a bed for the night at 5.30pm as darkness was falling. We passed through lots of little communities along the way, stopping to ride on a creaky wooden ferris wheel, a fundraiser for a local school. We passed a farmer ploughing his field with two bullocks and a young man drunk on beer attempting to herd two high-spirited horses up the track.

Sulawei was getting close to base camp and the place was packed and buzzing with excited trekkers. A Nepali man who’d come down from ABC that very day warned us the guesthouses were pretty crowded. I started feeling nervous we’d end up with nowhere to stay. Around dinner time there was lightning visible off in the distance and we crossed fingers the weather would hold.  

Sure-footed ponies are a common sight in the mountains

Day 5: Sulawei to Machhapuchhre Base Camp

The hardest day.

We left early but the weather closed in and there was only one awful room left in Deurali. We fought about whether to stay or push on to Machapuchare Base Camp two hours ahead. I wanted to carry on and then walk from there up to ABC early in the morning. My son wanted to stay put (it was 2.45pm by this point, he hadn’t had lunch and the weather was closing in.)

In the end we pushed on, but as soon as we left Deurali (3230m) the altitude kicked in and every step started to feel heavy and hard. It was spitting and the thick cloud surrounding us reflected our despondent mood. MBC is 3700m but it took us another two hours before we finally arrived.

…Only to find there was just one bed free in a room with a French couple. Aurelias and Elena were already in bed, swathed under layers and layers of duvets and blankets. There were no showers, just a cold tap outside running onto the icy ground. My son would have to sleep in the dining room where there was no fire and lots of noisy, farting sherpas. He looked ready to kill someone. Possibly me.

We ate dinner in silence and then went to bed at 7.30pm. Not even deep fried apple pie could cheer him up. We both spent a miserable night trying and failing to get warm enough to sleep, him in the dining room and me in my cell with the Frenchies.  

At base camp on the morning of day six

Day 6: ABC

We were still feeling low the next morning as we set off across the tundra around 6am, the first rays of the sun turning the mountains a luminous shade of watermelon. Even without our packs it took almost two hours to walk the 400m; the altitude made it feel like we were wading through water.

But as we got closer and the air became thinner and we reached the signs draped in prayer flags we started smiling and laughing and all was forgiven. We high-fived and took photos and walked up to the lodge to order breakfast (Gurung bread and jam of course) which we ate sitting outside in the sunlight. And the magic of the mountains all around took hold and everything was worth it just for this moment in time.