Lang Tang Trek

Between a rock and a hard place. An expression that I like, but not to feel it. But here I am. In that awkward position. Trying to find the best words to describe the trekking. I know, by the teachings of Katya, never to criticize a trip in a chronicle. Or rather, it is possible to do it, but it requires a good dose of humor.

There is nothing false in this rule. It's just a way of saying that "if you don't have anything interesting to write, then don't do it." The problem happens when having nothing to complain about - except my own stupidity - I cannot say that the trek itself was phenomenal. But the best is to explain what it was rather than what it wasn't.

In the Himalayas there are several circuits that you can do. By areas, the most popular are: Everest, Annapurna and Langtang. Of the three, my choice fell on the latter. Driven by Isabel Braz valuable tips and adjectives that seduced me, I didn't care much to see which was the best treks for me. For each region you will find many paths you can choose. In my case I ended up doing a little research on the net, to see which route best was more known (← the first of a few errors). The decision fell on the route that starts at Syabru Besi - a village near the end of the road coming from Kathmandu - until Kyanjin Gompa - the last village before we venture to the mountain peaks.

What I expected was a few days of climbing mountains and nature. And I cannot say I didn't have it. For I Had it. But I also had much more than that. This whole trip was more than just trekking. It was a huge challenge, and above all, a life lesson. I had to fight everything. The physical exhaustion, illness (did the whole route with paracetamol because of an infected throat and a fever which stubbornly refused to disappear) and above all against discouragement.

This appeared on the first day. To my surprise the trek wasn't easy. The route followed a himalayan logic that often consists of inclined uphills, to follow the subsequent drops that will lead us again ... yes, you guessed it ... to other sloped uphill. In between, the route follows the river which descends from the mountain. And although beautiful, there are two details that cause much impact: (a) the mountains are steep and close the landscape and (b) we never really move away from the river so we do not have the sensation of altitude.

So our physical fatigue tells us that we are going up, but never reach the notion of the altitude that we are. For someone with management background, it all seems too costly for the beauty that we behold. Oit is worse when you don't have a sporty profile like me. At the end of the first day - which I only reached half of my goal - my whole body was telling me that I was a masochist. Everything hurted and I was really tired. And this was just the first of the days that lay ahead.

And with the tiredness came the disease. At the first chill of fever, I knew what to expect: some long hours with the body shaking violently. I was a human blender. This made me fear I could not continue my journey. The higher I climbed, the further medical care would be. If anything got worse it would mean I had to walk all the way back and with no medications that were being depleted by the hours. If I had a crisis on the way, this could mean that I had to stop wherever I was.

It is easy to imagine that everything in my body told me to come back. Of course, if this had happened - or if the trek was only a few aches and landscapes – you wouldn't be reading these words.

The reality was very different from mere pain, an unmotivated mind or some tired legs. It was the company of a special person named Hannah. The motivation that came from America by the force of Miranda. Or the magical moments like the one where a crow landed on the wings of a flying eagle. Was overcoming our limits and continuing on. The certainty that, however much we go up, we would find one more peak to climb just to get a better view. It was the small details of Himalayan life camouflaged by villages that exist for trekking tourism. It was a small child who stole a piece of my heart and gave me moments of fun and wisdom. It was being in the middle of nowhere, without a single sound of civilization. Having respect for yaks and monkeys that were on the way. It was to go up just to get down again. Follow another path in the way back and seeing what I expected to see from the beginning.

By those paths, stayed another stranger. Something that went up didn't return. Something that was only possible by following this path. With the people I met and the effort that I took. I may not have had the best landscape in the world. Not have risen to the highest peak or choosen the worst way. But now that everything has been surpassed, I wouldn't change it for another route.

I conclude this chronicle in the same position I started. Still between a rock and a hard place. Not knowing whether or not I will recommend what I did. I think it's something I'll never know. Even to myself. I am sure that Iwon't recommend this route to my future self - maybe do the villages route or venture to the west of Nepal – I also know I wouldn't say to my past self not to do it. What I got was too precious to change for a more enjoyable trekk...