It didn't take long to settle in to the ol' trekking routine again: settling in to a cozy guesthouse, dinners of the amazingly refillable Nepali staple of dal bhat, early bedtimes, and earlier mornings, well, at least for "vacation”, which I soon assigned the more appropriate name of "Himalayan Bootcamp”. While our route up to Lo Manthang generally paralleled the Kali Ghandaki, it frequently crossed the steeply eroded side drainages feeding the powerful clay-colored river. We were either hiking up or down all day long, but at the end of the day, we were at roughly the same elevation we had started at that morning. Nonetheless, the pure physical exertion combined with the simplicity of having no other agenda but moving through the landscape was as invigorating as it was exhausting.

On our first day out of Kagbeni, we mainly stuck to the jeep track that now runs from the border of Tibet all the way down to Jomsom, the artery of change in the Upper Mustang. While a Chinese-built road has facilitated modern cross-border trade with Lo Manthang for over a decade already, these lower sections of road development have made the Mustang all the more accessible for folks like us on a limited timeframe. Jeep tours, mountain bike tours, and even helicopter drop-offs curb visitation to the Mustang only by expense rather than time. And it is not just about the roads within. The road and air connections to Jomsom usher people right up to Kagbeni, the gateway to this “Last Lost Kingdom.” We were guilty as charged. Without a bus up to Jomsom, the Mustang would have been just out of reach for us given the length of our break. Although we opted to stay on trails away from the road as much as possible after reaching Chele, we were constantly reminded of the many ways we were benefitting from road access: a hot shower in every guesthouse, Lhasa Beer at an affordable price, electricity and free outlets in our rooms with real mattresses. These comforts made the Mustang feel far less remote than treks we had previously done just outside of Kathmandu.

On our second day, we took an alternative route that led us to the bottom of a deep canyon where the incredible Chungsi Cave lays tucked away up another side canyon. We really had no idea what to expect, but we had heard from numerous sources that it was not be missed. As we approached the entrance with strings of prayer flags radiating in all directions from a brick wall built out from the cave’s mouth, we realized the element of surprise would only enhance our experience. As we entered into his kitchen, a friendly caretaker from the Amdo region of Tibet greeted us, then guided us to the sacred features of the cave, mantras carved into formations of granite and various self-arisen images of Buddha and Guru Rinpoche in the walls surrounding a central shrine. Caves are central to both the historical and contemporary cultures of the region and this one was a great introduction to their significance and the Buddhist treasures that they guard.

We had a long climb out of the canyon to reach the tiny village of Syanboche, arriving with just enough time to settle in to our own private guesthouse and still muster the energy to continue uphill to a popular sunset viewpoint. The seasonal clouds swirling about only allowed for glimpses of the snowy mountains towering over Mustang’s arid hills, but we appreciated the dramatic suspense they added to the scene. 

The following day brought us to the intensely red cliffs of Drakmar, made all the more stunning in contrast with green groves of poplar trees below and blue sky above. Finally far enough from the reach of roads, we stayed at a guesthouse that felt more like a home. We hung out with the didi while she distilled raksi (homemade rice wine) in the courtyard, while watching blue sheep in silhouette scamper along the clifftops overhead. We were welcomed to sit in her kitchen while she prepared our nightly dal bhat and Dawa filled us in on her story as they chatted back and forth. 

It was hard to believe that we were to reach Lo Manthang so soon, but it was not without my body putting up a fight. I struggled to appreciate our visit to Ghar Gumba, the oldest monastery in the region, as a decent head cold set it, my lower back tightened, and blisters completely encased both of my pinky toes. We finally crested the last ridge for the day and got our first glimpse of the ancient walled city, deceptively far away despite being dwarfed by the complexity of a Death Valley-like backdrop. Dawa sensed the magnitude of my struggles despite my verbal denial of anything wrong, and he kept me distracted with conversation until I finally hobbled in to the outskirts of town.

A rest day was certainly in order and fortunately we had pre-scheduled two days to explore Lo Manthang and the surrounding area. After a leisurely morning of “sleeping in” until 8, we started off with a tour of a photography exhibit and documentary featuring the work of a local senior monk. Then we entered through the main gate of the wall to explore the old town. We paused in front of the Royal Palace, sustaining cracks from the 2015 earthquake and without royalty as the elderly former King of Mustang has recently relocated to Kathmandu.

Then we were tipped off to the impending arrival of a High Lama from India, so we returned to the main gate where a crowd had gathered to welcome his procession. A long row of women in traditional dress held various offerings in front of them while young monks held out khatas (silky white scarves). It seemed that most of the population of Lo Manthang had gathered by the time that fancily-clad horses and horsemen proceeded through the gate, followed by a collection of brightly colored parasols and finally the Lama on horseback. Later that afternoon, we observed the same group of women who greeted him with offerings then performing traditional dances in the courtyard of a monastery. We were lucky to have timed our visit with the Lama’s as so many aspects of local culture were on display that may usually be more difficult to observe.

The next day continued to combine rest and exploration with a loop north of the city by horse. Dawa had never ridden a horse before, but he proved to be a natural cowboy as he tends to pick things up quickly. Matt turned out to be a bit “tall” for his short horse who tended to lag behind a good distance, thus allowing the horseman serving as our local guide to keep up on foot for the duration of the day. Our first stop was a cave complex that an entire village dwelled in for several years when the secretly CIA-trained Khampa fighters were based in the Mustang after the invasion of Tibet. We then peeked in to a monastic school at the base of cave-centric monastery before eating some noodle soup for lunch and aiming for the next village. As the day progressed, the weather got moodier, but it only enhanced the drama of the landscape we were passing through. Despite being a bit saddle sore at the end of the day, it was both relaxing and exciting to shake up the trekking routine. 

While Lo Manthang was both busier and more modern that we had anticipated, its uniqueness is undeniable and will seemingly be sustained even as it adapts to increased tourism, more influence of Chinese goods, and continued climate change. Perhaps no moment captured this better than sitting on the roof of our big new hotel that evening, sipping from a can of Lhasa Beer, and watching several sizable herds of goats heading home and taking over the street below, many pausing to poke into the doorways of all the souvenir shops as they passed by.

'Twas mid-monsoon in the Himalayas. The summer session of the School for Field Studies program in Bhutan had just wrapped up. Matt and I had roughly a month at our disposal for travel before the preparation for fall semester would begin. We had plenty of ideas of where to go, but they all sounded...well...wet...or very wet. 

But there was one place on our priority list that reputedly exists in a rain shadow: the Mustang district of Nepal, tucked up against the border of Tibet, north of the Annapurna Massive. And trekking at the fringes of daily deluge rather than in the heart of it sounded like our cup of tea, having just spent a couple of months in Bhutan, reputedly the rainiest region in the Himalaya. 

However, the tricky part would be actually getting to Mustang. An early morning flight from Paro to Kathmandu surprised us with excellent views of several 8000-meter peaks above a low-lying blanket of clouds--Kanchenjunga, Makalu, and good ol' Everest included. We weren't sure what to expect touching down in Nepal as our initial post-earthquake visit. On a broad scale Kathmandu Valley and the city itself seemed mostly the same, with only the occasional pile of rubble or missing building noticed. For example, our awesome trekking agency, Asian Heritage, had shifted to new location since their previous office had collapsed in the quake. We got our permits and final logistics sorted with our agent Nilam and met up with Dawa, our "little brother" guide who had also trekked with us for a month in late 2014. Of course, Nepal is still very much in the process of earthquake recovery, but little of that is visible to the occasional visitor's eye.

While typically I can only muster a sarcastic enjoyment of tourist epicenters such as Khao San Road or Siem Reap, I have an unabashed fondness for Thamel. I can't really explain it logically. Perhaps it holds a special place in my heart because it was the first place catering to Western tourists we encountered after a long crossing of China by bicycle, or perhaps because our Kathmandu to Pokhara trek had taken shape from there. But this time it was all about the food. We laughed at the irony of being excited about coming to Nepal for its Western food options as we slurped down iced mochas at Himalayan Coffee, ate wood-fired pizza at Roadhouse Cafe, and raided the Hot Breads bakery for breakfast to go the next morning. I guess coming from Bhutan, Nepal is both literally and figuratively closer to the West...

We arrived in Pokhara the next afternoon after an uneventful but long bus ride. We rounded out the foodfest with awesome crepes at Metro, then happy hour at a lakeside bar, and a some last minute haggling over umbrellas, just in case the monsoon found us up north. 

Well, the monsoon actually found us early the next morning before we departed Pokhara on a miniature version of a full size bus, neither a minibus nor a bus designed for your average-sized adult. It wasn't exactly ideal for Long-legged Matt with his knees banging in to metal bars in front of his seat with every bump, while Dawa and I had a few inches legroom to spare. I had a constant stream of water dripping on me from the leaky roof where our backpacks had been tossed and half-heartedly covered with a tarp. 

The discomfort soon became the least of our worries as the overcrowded bus lurched its way up the west side of the Annapurna Circuit, a legendary trekking route that was once accessible only by foot. Our "road" deteriorated into sections of steeply inclined mud pits perched high above the Kali Ghandaki River roaring down the valley bottom below. The driver had no choice but to gun it up the slick stretches, otherwise the bus would have become a permanent fixture in the mud. As the rear wheels spun out and we miraculously did not fishtail towards the edge, a young Nepali sitting on his bag in the aisle turned to us and emphatically stated, "Very dangerous!" Now at this point in our international explorations, we are generally not easily unnerved by sketchy transport scenarios. However, when locals take notice, we do too!

Fortunately, as we continued up in elevation, the dark chocolate mud gave way to rocky road. We relaxed a bit, which was helpful for getting in rhythm with the swaying of the bus from side to side as it negotiated embedded boulders. During a particularly rough section, Matt casually mentioned, "Next time the bus tips your way, look out the window on the other side to see an amazing waterfall above us." It was good advice.

As we closed in on our destination of Jomsom, our bus stalled out as the driver was carefully descending into a river crossing. The starter had gone out somewhere around the fifth hour of the journey, so a crew of passengers had been push starting it after tea breaks since then. This time, they could not push it forward into the river with enough momentum, so the only option was for everyone to get off the bus and push it backwards uphill. Finally, ninety-five miles and twelve hours later, we arrived. Alive. Eight miles per hour is still faster than we can walk, so we didn't have much to complain about in the end. As though to welcome us and our soggy backpacks, the clouds looming overhead briefly parted to reveal the snowy peak of Nilgiri bathed in the last golden light of a very long day.

The next day we made a leisurely three-hour walk up the suddenly and massively broadened canyon of the Kali Ghandaki to the oft-described "medieval" town of Kagbeni, all with blue skies overhead. With a landscape reminiscent of the American Southwest, we were smugly confident we were now under the protection of the all-important rain shadow. Kagbeni is the furthest north one can travel without the expensive special permit to enter Upper Mustang, so it gives those continuing on a good sense of the wonders to come and those turning back a taste of what they are missing. 

We had a surprisingly delicious yak burger and fries at the wittily-named YacDonald's, just because we can't resist a good and cheesy tourist opportunity. Then we set about exploring the maze of narrow passageways between the mud walls of traditional Mustangi homes in the center of old town. Dawa's charisma and outgoing nature led us to the opportunity to take a peek inside one woman's home, fastidiously neat, clean, and cozy inside despite the wear and tear of hundreds of years obvious in the exterior walls.

The next morn our smugness quickly dissolved with the rain drizzling out of low grey clouds. It seems the monsoon had found us yet again. But as much as I have focused on that aspect, escaping the rain was really only secondary to our real drive to experience the Mustang. As with most regions with fascinating histories and unique cultural identities, modern influences are shaping the current identity, a foundation of “old” topped with a layer of the “new”. Time does not stand still anywhere, and our very own presence in this restricted area of Nepal was simple proof of that. We passed through the permit checkpoint, now officially in the Upper Mustang, ready to make the most out of the next wallet-emptying ten days. (A permit for two costs $1000 USD!)

Zoom in for more detail!