At last it was time to put to put the horror of Tibet behind us and head into the mountains once again, this time it was the beautiful Annapurna circuit, a 250-odd km circumnavigation of the Annapurna range. Unfortunately even on the day we were to depart my stomach still felt like a natural gas refinery and Pat's regular burping was comparable to farting through his mouth, a persistent and none to pleasant reminder of our Tibetan experience. The wonderdrug that is cipro seemed to be taking its sweet time to take effect and the extremely bumpy 5hr local bus trip from Kathmandu to start our trek was certainly touch and go there for a while. Thankfully however I managed to avert the threat of quite the embarrassing pullover midjourney and the cipro finally kicked in.
Took a while for us to actually hit the trail as following the first bus trip, we faced another 3hrs to the starting town of Besisahar. Whilst looking very tourist like in our confusion of finding our next bus, we were ushered into the back of tarp covered jeep and whisked away in a matter of seconds. So here we were, in the back of a truck, in an enclosed cabin with absolutely no idea where we were meant to be going, and all in the heart of Maoist territory. Felt like were being kidnapped and sure enough it wasn't long until our vehicle pulled over in the middle of nowhere to be surrounded by fierce firebrands demanding all sorts of information and money. And sweets. Sure they were all four feet tall and dressed in school uniform but it was terrifying stuff. And there was no getting around them, what with their impenetrable road blockades of tissue paper and daisy chains.
On the back of the bus roof which we caught as our final leg before the hike began. Pat was in front of us chatting up some American girls whilst Tim and I kept ourselves amused at the prospect of Pat burbing mid conversation.
Nepalis have neverending festivals throughout the year (its one continuous holiday it seems) and strangely enough each festival involves the tradition of foreigners giving money (and sweets) as the main feature according to Nepalis of course. (Got so annoying after a while that we just started asking the Nepali kids for sweets before they got started. Pat actually had some success, I think they were just amazed to see what they obviously thought was a small child with such a thick beard). The only other distinguishing feature of these festivals as far as I could gather was some really bad singing of incredibly repetitive songs that keep you awake well into the night. Anyhow we managed to survive this journey in tact, with all 5 and 10 rupee notes accounted for despite stopping at these damn "checkpoints" every 100m.
Some typical scenes we encountered early on in the trek in low altitudes.
Joost and Ashley were a fantastic couple we shared many a meal and game of Dutch Uno with along the way. We were extremely fortunate to meet so many great people along the way which really added to the trip. I was getting so sick of the other guys...
More scenes on the way up.
Only detriment up to this point was our little run in with the real Maoists who demanded more than sweets. You know you're in Maoist territory on this trek due to the unfashionably large amount camo pants but you go there expecting to pay some sort of "voluntary donation" and its a relatively painless experience. You do however have to spend some time listening to their communist speal, during which they regulary cite their desire for a "communist democracy". When I tried to point out that this was quite the oxymoron, one guy tried to convince me that oxygen was in salt and that salt was the key to life. Hmmm. Anyways, we each paid 1000 rupee (about $20) and that was that.
The whole Maoist rebellion has been going on since 1996 and has flared up a bit in recent years due to the doubtful circumstances in which the current, very unpopular king assumed power. Seems a very stagnant conflict however, the token army/police presence on the trail claim to not know where the Maoists are, despite their whereabouts being common knowledge amongst locals and trekkers alike. My suggestion to solve the conflict is to take the Maoists to Tibet and see what Mao did to that place.
Some of the more majestic (and frickin cold) surroundings encountered as we really started to get into some altitude (i.e. 4000m +)
Before heading off on this trek, I made one of the best purchases of my life in a down jacket as once we hit decent altitude, it was frickin COLD. Regularly below freezing as soon as the sun passed down behind the giant mountain walls all around us and the thick blankets of snow across the landscape made the tropical conditions of only a few days previously seem a world away. Unfortunately, although no longer losing precious litres through my porous backside, I encountered a quagmire of a different sort as each day the snow melted into the well trodden path resulting in Somme like conditions. By this stage we were approaching the Thorung La, a high pass during which you ascend to the highest point on the trail. A week or so before we arrived, an unseasonably late monsoon storm dumped a huge amount of snow on the pass, the likes of which have not been seen for quite a number of years. The pass was initially umm, unpassable but it had consolidated enough by the time we reached it to make a very slippery and hesitant crossing.
A rare patch of semi dry trail.
What a day. Due to our time constraints and resultant concerns of developing AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) due to lack of proper acclimatisation, we decided to push from a lower town than is typically done. To achieve this we 
headed off at 4:30am in pitch black, FREEZING conditions, and as to be bloody expected, a flu just when I needed it least. Was so cold that our water supply had frozen within about five minutes and I soon had massive frozen boogers plastered across my face a`la Dumb and Dumber. Faced a daunting 1200m+ ascent up to the pass, a long arduous process in which we encountered many deflating false summits. We finally reached the top however at around 11am but the moment of triumph was soon dulled with the realisation that the usually gentle downhill path descending some 1800m, was covered in hard ice and compacted snow.
Some views of the ascent up to the path, all at about 7am at this stage. Absolutely awe-inspiring. And buggering.
Basically imagine an ice rink tilted at 20 degrees (at least) and you get some idea of what we were facing. Now Aussies and ice flat out don't mix and Tim and I were hardly Torvill and Dean on the prevailing conditions. Was SO tedious, you had to lean forward and take tiny steps, all the while concentrating intensely. One little slipup in concentration typically resulted in one huge slipup onto your arse. Tim and I realised we were fighting a losing battle and decided to use our backsides as they seemed so attracted to the snow. Was great fun to slide down, particularly in preformed, powdery chutes which you could use your outstretched feet as effective breaks. Hit a section of pure ice however and you were in the lap of the gods, exponential speeds were soon attained and monumental bruises accumulated. Often the only thing to stop you plummeting down the mountain was a large mogill, or, as I found out several times by close inspection at high speeds, a lightly sprinkled boulder. Supposedly there were several cases of broken legs, 
dislocated shoulders etc (one Mexican we knew slid for over 200m and was only saved from certain mutilation by a huge mogill that exploded like a grenade on impact) and so it was with great relief that we finally made it down safely some 12 hours after heading off.
My preferred technique of descent
A view of the last section of the pass behind us. Most of path was on the same gradient as you can see sloping behind us.
From then on it was a most speedy descent down to the lower altitudes and higher temperatures we were craving. We found ourselves following the Kali Gandaki river most of the way which wound its way through dusty arid plains at the feet of 8000m+ giants. Long days, aching feet, and neverending caravans of mules were typical during this period.
The scenery changed so rapidly on the way down, this was a view just after the pass, within a day we sweating our pants off again in humid thickly vegetated areas.
Just one of the many bridges we encountered whilst trying to pass frickin mule caravans.
Another element typical of the entire trek which I'm sure provides just as many highlights as the surrounding scenery is the unbelievable amount of ultracheap weed and hash that is available on the trail, you could even pick it yourself if you deviated a few metres off the track. Hell, most trail maps even tell you where it is. You could be walking along in a typically beautiful mountain scene when a farmer behind his plough, a woman behind the counter, even a small child no more than six years old new to the family business would rush up to you trying to make a deal for some "hashish". Bit disturbing, I imagine it would be quite strange haggling over the price and quality of the merchandise with a six year old. ("no, no, this is good shit man" etc.)
The three of us preferred to get our kicks the natural and legal way and there was nowhere better to do so than Tatopani, a beautiful village located right next to the river and famous for its hot springs. I can tell you the sensation of drinking an ice cold Everest beer whilst soaking your aching muscles in a steaming hot bath is rarely surpassed. Very much my happy place on the trail.
How's the serenity....
As always on these treks, you may be heading downhill but there are always some nasty sections which you are in absolutely no mood to tackle. Just when you think you're nearly done, you face an 1800m ascent up to the Maoist centre of Ghorepani from which you climb the famous Poon Hill which provides magnificent views of all the Himalayan giants which you have just circled. Certainly a lot of effort to make it up there (I nearly died when I realised I'd run out of snickers halfway up) but as it was the closest any of us were going to get to any of its namesake, Poon Hill was a must and the views at sunrise certainly didn't disappoint.
Views of the sunset from Poon Hill.
Unfortunately we had another encounter with the Maoists in Ghorepani, and this time it was a lengthy discussion for nearly 2 hours as we tried to explain that we had already paid enough (they generally give you receipt but its such a disorganisation that they often don't recognise it in a different area). They claimed that many people try to cheat them (which incidentally we were trying to do) and Tim thought that they said that Maoists really didn't want to be forced to sue people who did so. Tim was in hearty agreement with them on this, what with all the legal dramas involved and long drawn out court appearances with expensive lawyer fees etc. that nobody wants when they're on holiday. When our kiwi buddy Dave subtly pointed out to Tim that they actually said "shoot people", as was obvious by our Maoist friend's not so subtle display of his large pistol, Tim was also in hearty agreement with that statement too.
Where are the communists?
Our Kiwi mate Dave with us just after sunrise on Poon Hill.
Was sad to finish up the last of our trekking adventures on this trip but it certainly wasn't sad to complete the 5000+ stone steps which we had descend on our last day. More painful than any ascent and I'm particularly glad we didn't have to walk anywhere the next day. But just when we thought the thrills were over, we were faced with the final taxi ride to Pokhara, the second largest city in Nepal and a brilliant place to hang out. We somehow managed to choose the worst looking taxi of the lot (quite a feat) although our taxi driver did look a million bucks with his curly permed mullet and tan pleather jacket. So the four of us get in (Kiwi Dave included) and we start roaring along these tiny mountain side roads, playing chicken with every large bus and truck coming in the opposite direction. We tried to start some conversation with the driver to ease the tension but we quickly realised that he spoke essentially no english. The only words he seemed to know were "no brakes, no brakes" which he said while pumping the middle pedal and laughing hysterically, until he had to spit of course which was literally every 15 seconds for the entire terrifying 45 minute journey. His gear downshift skills were admirable however and we did eventually arrive safely in Pokhara although with slightly thinner hair, which God knows Tim can hardly afford.
The last day was amazing (apart from the steps) with beautiful sub tropical rainforest for most of the trip. So much diversity in the two weeks.
I'm going to miss this place....
