Day Seven: Manang
It was rest-and-relax today. All in good order since we’ve been walking on the average 12km a day for the past six days and it has taken a toll on our calfs and thighs.
Still, it was important to practise the “climb high, sleep low” mantra, to prevent Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). After breakfast, we took a short day trip to Gangapurna Lake - a tiny body of water very much like our man-made quarry lakes back in Singapore (Pulau Ubin). More spectacular was Gangapurna Glacier – its ghostly visages peering elusively through the cloud cover. The sun was out in its ful glory, giving us a the bluest skies we have seen since we set off a week ago. Hopefully this was the sign of things to come.
Gangapurna glaciers
Manang village
River delta, Manang Valley
By 11am, we had returned to Tilicho Guesthouse. Since it wasn’t a “work day”, I decided to be more adventurous about lunch and ordered kepra kea – a gray buckwheat mash whipped with butter (tastes like tasteless uncooked dough) and eaten with vegetable curry. Bad choice. It gave me indigestion for the entire afternoon. Later, I was told that buckwheat is known to be unkind to the uninitiated – it either gave you indigestion or constipation. I’m glad it wasn’t the latter.
We made for the enigmatic Braga Gompa after lunch, to see what’s really inside. At 3pm, most the of doors were locked – I think they weren’t expecting any visitors during off-peak. But still, it was possible to unravel a way up to the top, where we detected some signs of human life – an inverted umbrella with dried saag (vegetables), a laundry line and also a few pairs of sneakers. Inside a dark room were four red-robed lamas – a very young acolyte, a white haired monk, and two middle-aged ones in sunglasses – studying the scriptures using window light. We seemed to be intruding, but the lamas signaled for us to come in. The room was dark but had a serene feel. An ancient multi-limbed statue of a bodhisattva faced the window. The monks were a little distracted by our clicking shutters, but tried to pay attention to their texts nonetheless. We felt like we were intruding, so we spent 5 minutes in there, made a donation, and bid the friendly lamas farewell.
Prayers wheels in Manang
Monk in Braga Gompa
Ready to race
At about 4pm, we visited the horse race again. We were lucky to have caught it for two days – the fixture was based on Tibetan calendar and even then, deciding on the actual days involved a complicated process of divination and prayers. All that was certain is that it happened sometime in July, during the monsoon period.
This year, the horse race was to be a casual meeting of local horsemen, unlike the pompous affair the previous year. “There were too many people, all over,” said Kalus, a participant. “Cash prizes also.”I was told that people as far as Muktinath and Chame would ride to Manang to take part.
Still this year’s show was not short on machismo. Dashing young men in all kinds of costumes imaginable whipped up a lot of dust galloping down the tracks – to the delight of the bevy of admirers. Some would dangle a cigarette in their mouth, or puff away as they ride hard – a la the Asian version of the Marlboro Man. All in all, it was a showcase of Asian cowboy culture, whip-toting herdsmen on cargo-carrying ponies against a Himalayan backdrop.
At about 6pm, the horse race festival tapered off to a quiet end. No fireworks. Just ended the same way it began – a long procession of horsemen, riding away into the distance.
As we made our way back to Manang, my mind was on tomorrow. We would head to Khangsar, where we would have our last dhaal bhaat, our last shower, and our last night on a bed in a cabin. Then it is off to the wilderness – 3 days, 4 men, 5 passes to civilization (Jomsom).
Procession of Horses
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