On The Multifarious Food Trail

There is something about mountain hiking. It is liberating and energizing like few things are. I love mountain hiking, even if for me it comes with a good deal of huffing and puffing, a fair amount of under-the-breath swearing, and envious looks in the general direction of anyone passing me by with a vigor and stamina that I don't have. 

 

I much prefer gentle alpine hikes with a reward in the way of panoramic views and a hut to rest and recharge, but for my husband it can't be too strenuous and challenging. We've always met in the middle, figuratively speaking. A longstanding dream of his was to hike in the Himalayas, and when I saw images of the Annapurna region, I was sold. I was even prepared to rough it on yak milk and communal toilets to make it to the Annapurna base camp. Closer to decision time, however, I had second thoughts. I had come across a "luxury lodge trek" in the same area that spoke to me much more than the strenuous struggle up to the base camp. It was a trek where you stayed in authentic mountain lodges; one that came with tea and biscuits at sunrise, a leisurely lunch, happy hour, and a three course dinner. You still had to walk an average of 5-6 hours every day, but with plenty reward in the making. A perfect meet-in-the-middle in my book, but I could see the disappointment on my husband's face. No base camp, no trek beyond the tree line into the snow-covered world of the Annapurna. And then it occurred to me: "Why don't we start out together, you go on to the Annapurna Base Camp with your own guide, and we (son and I) make a lower-altitude trek. We meet again back in Pokhara." The best of both, he would get to rough and tough it, our 8-year-old and I did a gentler trek, and part of it we'd walk together. 

Hiking in the Annapurna region was about the scenic beauty, the remote villages, the panoramic views, and feeling humbled by the strength of the villagers, their arduous work on steep slopes ploughing fields, harvesting produce, raising animals. I saw them en route to the town market, carrying towering packs. And on the way back, the load even heavier with new supplies. As my feet tramped the stony trails, I took it all in. The rice noodles drying on corrugated roof tops, a woman grinding rice to flour by hand, a couple sifting and shaking large mats to separate husk from grain. Rice is cultivated on the lower slopes, ground in-house, mixed with water and worked into a dough, which is then stretched and rolled to form individual noodle strands to dry in the crisp mountain air. They grow corn and vegetables on other plots, water comes straight from the mountains, and their domestic animals provide for other needs, including dung for fuel. Nepal is one of the poorest countries on earth. Yet the villages around these mountain slopes seemed self-sufficient, and in many ways manage so much better to sustain a living than the poor population in the big cities, Kathmandu in particular.  Every morning, straight after breakfast we set off on the serpentining trail. Our guide (a Gurkha) showed me how to ease on the upper legs by drooping one leg a little before moving up the step. The easing is marginal for the inexperienced like me, and soon it felt like I was dragging my legs rather than relieving any strain. What did lighten my step, were the stunning views, the intoxicating motley of smells, children playing in the hamlets, and the "namaste" at every turn. What quickened my step was the pride I felt for my 8-year-old son, light-footedly treading the mountain trails, chatting with the guide, urging his sluggish mother on. There was only one moment in all six days that he stopped, sat down on a rock, pulled his hat over his eyes, crossed his arms, and refused to move. The guide offered to carry him, but that was going against his mountain-goat principles. He took the chocolate candy bribe, and marched on. Every day, with destination in sight, both of us were like the proverbial horse smelling the barn. And what a "barn"! Each of these lodges is an authentic mountain house with thick walls, tiny windows, wooden doors, and decorated with local handicrafts and artwork. There is a fire place to sit around, a lawn area with spectacular views of the surrounding mountains, and a large dining room. At the long table over dinner is where you share stories with other hikers. The individual rooms have two single beds, and private shower and toilet. Authentic and rustic, the luxury is in the fact that you are spoilt rotten on these mountain trails. You wake to a gentle knock on the door. Huddled in the down jackets provided, you get out of bed to watch the sun rise over these glorious mountains. It is a spectacle that never tires. You sip your hot tea, dunk in a biscuit, and slowly wake up, taking in the invigorating crisp morning mountain air. You spend the day on the trails under the caring guidance of your guide and his porters. A late lunch waits when you reach the lodge, and you relax the rest of the afternoon. And while you are having dinner, a hot water bottle is slipped into your bed to pre-warm it for a cold night.

Food memories of the Annapurna region for me are the smoked flavor of the milk, giving the early morning sunrise tea an added dose of mountain magic. The fried corn bread for breakfast, and the Nepali dal bhat for dinner: a delicious array of curries and condiments served with rice. It was the berries and herbs on the trail the guide had me try. It was the sweet, strong black tea that kicked out the mid-hike lull. And never, ever did a momo taste better than sitting by the fire after a long day of leg-pounding climbs and descends.