Day 8: Bamboo to Jhinu

I noticed the further I go downhill, so does the quality of my writing.

You’re probably thinking that someone who has nothing but time on their hands and is just walking for hours on end has all the time in the word to think about deep and profound life things.

Alas, that is not the case. I’m not on some “Eat. Pray. Love.” journey to find myself (I’ve had those and they’re great- totally recommend). For this trip I just wanted to walk for miles and be absolutely blank.

My mind moves through a million thoughts per minute on a regular basis and I wanted to think about nothing for ten days.

Now, some people might say, “can’t you go somewhere relaxing to think about nothing? Like a beach- heard of those?”

Nope. There is a difference between quieting your mind and doing nothing. I can’t do nothing for ten days. That actually sounds like my worst nightmare, and I’m completely incapable of it.

Anyways, for the curious- my daily thoughts go something like this:

“Step, step, step. Concentrate- don’t roll your ankle again.”

“Is my tetanus shot expired?” (Yes, yes it is.)

“Argh. Rock. Ankle. Fuck.”

“Un kilomètre à pied ça use, ça use. Un kilomètre à pied ça use les souliers…Deux kilomètres à pied ça use, ça use…”

“Slow down- easy on the knees champ.”

“Ouch. Toes. Mmm, that’s uncomfortable. Are they infected yet?”

The views of the mountain and the villages tucked in between rolling hills were as spectacular as usual, but today was extra special because I had a treat waiting at the end. Throughout my trek I was looking forward to two things: 1. Reaching Annapurna Basecamp and 2. Relaxing in the natural hot springs in Jhinu after.

Nothing like getting into a hot tub with all your closest sweaty friends from the trek!

I spent two hours soaking in the hot springs that evening. I usually think of small enclosed bodies of water as cesspools of human filth, but cozied up next to the old French trekkers and Nepali guides, my achy muscles felt so good that I just couldn’t care.

Speaking of the French, I have decided that when I get old- I’d like to be an old French lady.

Poles don’t age particularly well, and they only talk about politics and religion and complain about everything as they get older. (My mother is the only exception to all of these things.)

Along the way I keep passing a group of French trekkers in their 60s and 70s and they are the most fabulous people Nepal has probably ever seen. They do group stretches in the morning and evening, and they always rub their muscles with some woodsy magical ointment. It smells divine.

They all have colorful high tech gear- not like my old Nike leggings that I’ve sewn together a few times and a bamboo stick.

Also, they travel with full sized bath products. Who does that?

Only the fabulous French.

Anyways, I really that this post was about absolutely nothing and absolutely everything at the same time. Thanks for riding along.