Tukuche, like many even much more remote Nepalese villages, had electricity, a satellite dish, and a TV in most houses. It was quite an unpleasant contrast to where we had been. In the evening, while I (as usual) read, the Tamangs watched TV.
We then ambled down to Tatopani in a day and a half, where I spent the afternoon reading while the Tamangs washed. Since we had a spare day, I decided to cross over Poon Hill back to the road, rather than continue down the Kali Gandaki to Beni.
On the climb to Ghorapani, thefastestporter, feeling frisky with light load and an afternoon's rest, noticed I was following on his heels and, deciding to have some fun, zoomed off. For the next 30 minutes we climbed the hill at speeds of up to 3000 feet/hour (vertically) as measure by my wristwatch/ altimeter/ compass/ barometer/ verticalspeedometer/ andIdon'tknowwhatelse. In revenge, I stole his basket.
Me, pretending (not very successfully) to be a Nepalese porter. Gunjaman at left. [I don't shave either.]
On the last day, Thulo and I climbed Poon Hill to watch the hundreds of tourists watching the sun rise on Annapurna and Dhaulagiri.
Some of the hundreds and hundreds of tourists; Dhaulagiri behind.
Then we descended to the road, where the Tatomobile was waiting for us, having been summoned by telephone from Jomson.
The next day we left early, and got back to Kathmandu about 1pm. The following morning I said goodbye to everyone, and took a plane to Bangkok. By midday on November 12, I was back in Ann Arbor.
Copyright 1999 J.S.Milne.