I decided that instead of going to Kyanjin Gompa, the top of the Lantang walk, I would stay at Langtang. Or rather, that I would go for the day and then return to spend the night at Langtang. Since I was already feeling the altitude a bit this seemed wise, moreover it meant that we could have a day with no burden.
The way was the most beautiful of all through clear, cold mountain air, with yak pastures on either side walled by tall red-purple hills and behind them white mountains and glaciers, and streaked by streams tumbling down to the river far below. Much of the way was lined with mani walls, made of stone tablets carved with mantras, and small water mills spinning prayer wheels over small streams. We also passed a hydroelectric power plant, inaugurated just yesterday, with shining new power lines extending up and down the valley. Rather ambitiously, I thought, given the landslides.
Kyanjin Gompa is beautifully set surrounded on three sides by mountains and the glacier that feeds the river and has been responsible for near-freezing me many times a day. The village itself is quite large, with scores of teahouses and a cheese ‘factory’ (in the artisanal sense of the word).
The correct thing to do in Kyanjin Gompa is to go up the various hills and glaciers but I decided against it as I was feeling lightheaded and a little ill from the altitude, and after a night of food poisoning it was the last thing I wanted to be airlifted out. It was, perhaps, an error, but that is what I did: sit in the sun, admiring the view, wrapped up against knife-edged wind and daydreaming with mountains on every side, prayer flags fluttering wildly, and Himalayan blackbirds in graceful flight. There was a sleek, red-tailed creature, like a marten of some sort, that bustled from one end of the courtyard to the other.
On returning there was another guest, a South Korean woman who had been on many, many hikes in Nepal and even in Pakistan, which she said she loved. She had a very low opinion indeed of Langtang, particularly of the food, though of course I have nothing to compare it with. Certainly it has not been a culinary delight.
I think what I have concluded from this trip is something I should have accepted about myself anyway. I can put up with filth and discomfort, but not willingly enough to seek it out for even quite beautiful hikes. I will never enjoy camping, certainly. My next trip of this kind will have me carried on a mule with a smal train of porters, cooks and cleaners, a solar shower and hot water always on the go, etc.
I also think my body just likes a steady supply of natural oxygen. Neither diving nor being at altitude seems to suit me and in both cases the discomfort is enough to put me off, no matter how sublime the experience.