We stumbled into Chhomrong exhausted, with our thighs burning.
We had just descended what felt like a thousand steep steps. My knees were creaking; Saffron was leaning on my trekking poles while gasping; Anker was sweaty but whistling cheerily. “We stop here,” he said, as we walked into Chhomrong.
Chhomrong was the biggest village we’d encountered since we left Ghorepani. You could probably even go so far as to call Chhomrong a town—at least by mountain standards.
Our group was resting at the top of a hill, enjoying some hard-earned rest after an hour of nonstop stair climbing. Saffron, Anker, and I had arrived at the top of the stairs to find Linjon, the sick German from Suile, and his guide already relaxing near a small lodge. They had beaten us out the gate in the morning, and we’d finally caught up.
They could not have picked a more beautiful spot to rest—although after an hour of walking up near-vertical stairs with a heavy pack, a garbage dump probably would have seemed perfect, too.
Prayer flags fluttering in front of snow-capped peaks? Huge glacial rivers carving out immense valleys in the mountains? A journey you take with your own two feet, where you can disconnect from technology and the stresses of everyday life?
Those are just a few of the reasons you should go trekking to Annapurna Base Camp. Still need convincing? We’ve got 10 more great reasons below the break!
We left Suile with our sights set on the trekking village of Deurali.
It would be a long day, Anker pledged, with a lot of up and down. We had to descend from Suile, perched on the hill, to the village of Chhomrong, at the base of the Annapurna Sanctuary. From Chhomrong, we would begin hiking up the valley, towards the Annapurna Glacier, and just short of the glacier, our final destination: Annapurna Base Camp.
The morning after I saw the rainbow, I awoke before sunrise.
I had gone to bed early—around eight— so this wasn’t much of a surprise.
I was still shaken from my experience the day before; filled with a sense of satisfaction. I rose quietly, doing my best to let Saffron sleep. I ventured outside to relieve myself. The only toilet was occupied, so I walked a little ways off the property, and peed on the trail. It felt good; felt refreshing in the chill morning air.
I walked back to the lodge as the morning sky was beginning to fill with light. It was a clear, brisk morning. The valley was beautiful, quiet and peaceful. You could see for miles. Far off, in the distance, the distinctive silhouette of of the Fishtail poked out of the horizon. Although the real name is Machupuchre, the mountain has acquired the English nickname “Fishtail” because of its obvious resemblance, from certain angles, to a fish’s tail.
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