Slipping & sliding in Ilam

I usually have my handy digital camera in my hands when I’m trekking. The rural landscapes of Nepal make for amazing pictures, and most times, with any camera and any level of skills of the photographer, it’s very hard to take a bad shot of Nepal’s abundant green hills, snowcapped mountains, and meandering rivers. Something or the other catches your eyes everywhere you look and makes you click away. Except for on this trek though, when my camera was safely in my backpack, hidden from harm’s way.[break]

I was in Ilam, the eastern tea district of Nepal, on work. My photographer friend and I had reached there with zero information that there would be a considerable amount of trekking involved. Huge bags, the wrong shoes, and a physical fitness routine that involved jumping in the shower when the water was cold made for one very interesting trek in the hills. And oh, we got there right in the middle of the rains.

Ilam isn’t really a trekker’s paradise, and I discovered this the hard way. The district sees a lot of rainfall, and most days are cloudy. It certainly didn’t help that the rains were ill-timed, causing a lot of drizzles when there should’ve been none. By some stroke of luck, or maybe he anticipated and didn’t tell me for a good laugh later, my photographer friend was wearing hiking shoes which served him really well. Off he went on the slopes, treading on slippery earth in perfect poise, earning the admiration of our two guides who were showing us the way and helping us out with introductions in the villages.

“Oh, he has such a good physique, he should be in films,” said one guide.

“You aren’t bad, either,” they would say after such compliments, making my ego whimper like a cold, wet dog. I had no choice but to smile politely.

The first days of the trek weren’t that bad, comparatively, that is. Even on the “easy” trails, with my Converse shoes and their ridiculously thin soles, I felt every pebble on the trail. In hindsight, I like to look at it as the time I got to know Ilam’s trails well, a little too well, actually. At the end of the day, when all of us gathered in Sherpa homes and shared trekking stories, of which I had but a few, I would secretly rub my sore feet. Only after downing some Mustang coffee, a delightful local concoction with rum and honey in the brew that helped ward off some of the cold from our bones, did I start to enjoy the company of some of the most friendly and kind people I had ever come across. At the end of the day, as we tucked ourselves into unfamiliar yet cozy beds, I’d prepare myself for the next day’s trek.

There were days on the trek when we came across actual roads, where we hopped on to classic Land Rovers and prayed that we wouldn’t get stuck in the muddy inclines that are the norm in Ilam’s hills. But most days involved trekking and a whole lot of it. I wonder why I can so vividly recall so many embarrassing moments on the trek. Once we were on an uphill trail through a thick forest. There was a light drizzle. As usual, I was a little behind everyone and was trying to remember where exactly the guy before me had stepped, so that I could follow on his footsteps, literally, in order to avoid slipping. And then it happened. At one point on the trail, where the path was hardly a foot wide, I stepped on loose earth. Half of the path vanished under my foot as I impulsively reached out to get hold of something, anything, above me. Thankfully, there was a low hanging branch, clinging on to which I pulled myself up. When the others turned at the noise I had made, they only saw me recover from what must’ve seemed to be just another slip.

But there was a definite low point amidst all this humiliation. On the final day of the trek, the four of us – my photographer friend, our two guides and I – had to hike down from the charming village of Jaunbari to Mabu, a bigger, more developed village. Locals traverse this distance in about three hours. It took us six, including four tea breaks, one of them at a cheese factory where we also got to sample some fresh yak cheese. Another was at a wayside teashop where our guides shocked us by stuffing themselves with about twenty eggs between the two of them!

This trail was downhill for the most part, and it had also rained a little the night before. There was moss on every stone, and the ground appeared camouflaged to deceive me. I seemed to know exactly where to step on so that I wouldn’t slip. On purpose, I walked behind my friends. But after hearing me slip and even swear on one occasion, Phinjo – one of our guides – tore a branch off a tree and readied a trekker’s walking stick for me. Although utterly embarrassed, I couldn’t say no to this offer; I could probably use it. As if this wasn’t humiliation enough, from the front of the group, Yubraj – the other guide – called out to me. He too had broken off a branch to help support my clumsy gait! As the two guides argued over which of the staffs would serve me better, I thanked them both and told them I would use both. So as the rest of the group shared jokes and walked down the hill to Mabu, I slid and slipped down the hill, with ridiculous looking poles in both hands, an amateur mud skier with disastrous shoes as skis.

Looking back, though, I have the fondest memories of Ilam, including the one where a local serenaded us with a Narayan Gopal classic, “Euta Manchheko”, as we sipped on some fine Tongba.

Ilam is very beautiful and very charming indeed, and every day I would come across amazing people and places. As for Ilam for a trekking trip, I think I’ll stick to more conventional destinations!