Travel memoir

A Family Vacation With a Difference: The Most Strenuous Vacation of My Life

My mother agreed to my plea to visit my father for our Easter break, but on one condition

It was approaching our two-week Easter break from school and my mother was starting to plan our regular visit to Israel. I was eleven years old and my sister was fourteen.

We often went to see my mother’s family in Israel at that time of year, when we could enjoy pleasant, sunny weather before it became hot. We could also spend Passover with our Israeli relatives, which was always great fun.

However, my dad was away working in Nepal at the time and I was missing him terribly. I asked my mother if, instead of going to Israel, we could go and visit my dad.

Until three years prior, we had always stuck together as a family and would travel with him to wherever he worked. The last time we had all been together was when I was eight and we spent eight months in Ghana. Following that, my dad had been out of work for over a year, before finally getting a placement in Indonesia.

By this time, my sister and I were settled at school and, according to my parents, were too old to be bundled from one place to another. Now, our education was important.

So we spent two entire summer holidays in Indonesia before that contract ended and he had secured another in Kathmandu, the Himalayan capital of Nepal.

My mother’s initial response to my request was to say no. My dad wouldn’t have time off work and, in any case, he was living in a hotel in the capital city, with no swimming pool, and definitely no beach. A landlocked country in the Himalayas was certainly not going to offer those kinds of treats.

But I wasn’t one to take no for an answer. It was the holidays and I missed my dad. That was all that counted. Who cared about the beach? Not me!

After having to listen to me pleading with her for some time, my mother finally discussed the possibility with my father and then came back to tell me her thoughts.

“We will go to Nepal on one condition,” she said. “That we will spend one week in Kathmandu with your father, and we will go for an eight-day trek in the mountains for the remainder of the holiday.”

Being the spoilt little brat I tried my best to be, I attempted to say no to this proposition but quickly realised that I didn’t have much choice in the matter if I wanted to get there at all. And so, reluctantly, I agreed to the trek, and plans were put into place!

The journey out to Nepal was uneventful. As a family, we were very used to long-haul journeys and jet lag.

I was overjoyed to be back with my dad and we spent the first few days exploring Kathmandu. The most poignant moment during our time sightseeing in the city was seeing the Royal Kumari, a living goddess. She is a prepubescent girl chosen from a specific Nepalese caste that is historically linked with the Kathmandu Valley. She is worshipped as a manifestation of Devi, the divine feminine energy.

The girl was a little younger than I was and put on show for tourists to look at. My young girl’s heart went out to her, for the sadness that I saw on her face.

During our time in the city, we went to the office of the trekking company and learned of our schedule. As the owner talked through our itinerary, to my surprise, I began to feel excited. What was this? Excitement, when I didn’t even want to go?

And then, two nights before we were due to set off, a meal at Kathmandu’s well-known Austrian Restaurant gave me horrific food poisoning and I spent the night vomiting my little guts up. My parents took me to the international doctor the next day and he gave a knowing nod when we mentioned that we had been at The Austrian Restaurant. I wasn’t the first case of food poisoning he had seen that day.

When my mother questioned whether I should still go on the trek, I found myself crying and begging her not to leave me behind!

What? I actually wanted to go?

To my relief, the doctor said there was no reason why I shouldn’t go, as long as I had plenty of rest for the remainder of that day.

Phew!

A flight and a tough start

The morning of our first day of trekking dawned and we headed to Kathmandu airport to board a tiny plane to fly west to Pokhara, where the treks in the popular Annapurna region began.

At the time, there was no road out of Pokhara toward the mountains. So, after being dropped by minibus where the road ended at Lakeside, the tourist village beside Fewa Lake, we walked for what felt like hours on the flat, before arriving at our camp.

On the second day, we began climbing and, from there, went higher and higher, all the way from Pokhara, at an altitude of 822 m, to the highest point of the whole trek, Poon Hill, at 3,210 m.

We had a couple of guides and a large troupe of porters, known as Sherpas. So named after the muscular Buddhist caste who live high up in the mountains close to Mount Everest and have naturally-adapted lungs that can endure the lack of oxygen in the higher regions.

The Sherpas, carrying all of our belongings, all of the tents, and all of the food and cooking equipment, would run ahead and have lunch cooking when we would arrive at our lunch stop. Or would have the tents up and dinner going when we arrived at our evening stop. The whole thing worked seamlessly with their efficiency and speed.

The guided trek was run for a group, although we knew none of the other trekkers prior to the trip. My sister and I were the only children in the group. All others ranged from a young couple to middle-aged, and all were either British or European.

Having just been pretty sick and still feeling quite weak, on our first day I walked right at the back. My mother was pleased to have an excuse to walk at the back with me. However, I quickly regained my strength by the second day and, with fresh enthusiasm for this exciting trip that I had adamantly refused in the beginning, I went charging off in front of the whole group.

My mother remained at the back!

I was also fairly fortunate to have had my bout of food poisoning prior to leaving since everyone else went down with it at some point during the trek and resting was not an option! Our itinerary waited for no one!

The highlights of the trip

Not surprisingly, within a short time, I had completely forgotten about my dad back in Kathmandu and was loving every moment of this experience.

I loved cracking jokes around the campfire in the evenings, and making everyone laugh — helped along by being the youngest and cutest. I loved the elated feeling that came from enduring some tough walking in hot weather.

I loved the feeling of clear, pure air and the ever-changing scenery that we passed by. I loved the contrast between the terraces on the southern-facing mountain sides and the forested valleys.

I loved the many rhododendrons in flower and would pick them daily, to place in my hat. And I loved climbing to the highest point of the trail — Poon Hill — at sunrise, to see the most spectacular sunrise I have ever witnessed, over the whole Annapurna range.

I loved the many stops with lots of tea and plenty of biscuits, and I loved the simple meals we were cooked each day. I loved hearing the bells that signalled the approach of donkeys on the paths up and down the mountainsides.

But I didn’t love realising how hard these donkeys were being worked, as they carried great loads to and from the road. Neither did I love finding myself on a narrow path with a donkey train passing me, barely wide enough for them, me, and their loads, with a steep drop to the side.

I hated the suspension bridges that crossed steep valleys below. They freaked me out beyond belief, and I would cling on for dear life every time I had to cross one.

My sister, bless her evil heart, thought this was the funniest thing in the world, and would intentionally jump up and down on the end of the bridge when I was halfway across, making the bridge swing violently. I spent many quiet hours on the trail, trying to come up with my revenge, without much luck.

Big sisters, hey?

The return to Kathmandu

The anti-climax came when we descended back down to the valley and walked for several hours back on the hot, dusty, dried-up riverbed, only to be taken immediately by minibus back to the airport, and put straight onto a flight back to Kathmandu.

Of course, I was overjoyed to see my dad again, although I suspect he wasn’t so overjoyed to smell us after eight days of not showering. But that was easily fixed back at the hotel.

We did get a couple more days with him before setting off back to England.

On our return, I was probably the fittest I had ever been and found myself outrunning my whole class during our long-distance athletics practice. It was the only time it ever happened during my school years!

Despite my original reluctance to even go on this trekking holiday, I discovered that I was actually completely besotted with walking in the mountains in Nepal. Years later, I returned to Nepal a number of times and walked the same route again. I also walked a section of the Annapurna Circuit on another occasion, and then took a trip east to Khumbu, the Everest region, where I walked up to the peak of Gokyo Ri at an altitude of 5,357 m.

All because my love for my dad inspired an unusual family holiday, all those years ago.

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