Trek Day 3 - Thuman

Tonight we are in a village called Thuman.  After leaving Tatopani we descended about 500 meters (not bad), then climbed to our highest point yet, 3100m, a mountain viewpoint called Nagthali Gyang.  The views of the surrounding peaks looked like a Himalayan postcard.  We lunched up there then began a grueling descent down a very steep, snow covered trail.  Where the snow had melted, the mud or yak dung was slippery and dangerous.  I lost my footing once, catching myself before I hit the ground.  Norsang is typically close by and reaches out if he sees me slipping.  When we reached a resting point, the French couple caught up and we could see that she had landed fully on her behind.  We kept descending and I fell harder, landing on my backpack, muddying the pack and my hiking poles.  Everyone sympathized...C'est la vie!  Arriving in Thuman, his wife fell on her butt again, luckily no one was hurt.  This was a descent of about 800m, much with ice covered granite steps, much of it melted slush.  I had to zigzag slalom style, digging the sides of my boots into the snow, facing sideways, not down. 

 

 

 

Norsang and I took a stroll through the village trying to get some pictures of people doing what they do. 

 

 

 

 

 

We met up again with a group of Koreans who we had met yesterday.  Their porter, a Tibetan man, told me about the Chinese incursion into Tibet.  He said his grandfather and father had resisted.  His grandfather, on the verge of being captured and imprisoned or tortured, stabbed himself three times, not successfully/fatally.  The Chinese captured him, hospitalized him, and imprisoned him for twenty years.  He said his father had spent fifteen years in prison.   I could see the incentive for crossing the border illegally and taking jobs like porter.

 

As usual, our Nepali crews treat us like royalty, taking our food orders, sometimes cooking the food, waiting on us hand and foot.  Tea? Milk coffee? Banana? More tea?  It seems awkward but they are well compensated at the end in Kathmandu.  It seems to us (the French and me) that the custom is for them to feed us, the customer, before they feed themselves.  We feel like we're supposed to get out of the dining room before they are comfortable eating.  So, we take our leave and sit in our rooms freezing, while they are in the dining area around the wood stove, chatting, eating, and playing cards.  I sit here writing in this journal and trying to read, but it is too cold to read in bed.  All that is possible is to curl up in the mummy bag and stay warm.