LOCALadk Magazine
Issue link: https://localadkmagazine.uberflip.com/i/377278
As the days passed, we got to know Manu better. Despite how many Nepalese feel about women in the guiding industry, she told us she loved what she did. It showed, even with the smallest of gestures. Sometimes she'd disappear off trail, returning minutes later with a handful of berries for us. At night, after the first few days, she'd join us playing rummy. By the third game she began picking up wins, her bashful smile trying to conceal her pride. We made our way to Ghorepani and prepared for an early-morning ascent of Poon Hill. We planned to get up at 4 am, but by 3:15, most of the teahouse was stirring to life; we weren't the only trekkers there spending the night. From the hotel, the hike was no longer than Ampersand, and when we got to the top, we met a crowd of more than a hundred. As the sun finally crested over the Himalayas, cheering in a dozen languages broke out. Manu approached us and asked if we wanted a picture taken. I tried explaining how to use my DSLR in slow, simple English, but before I could finish, she took it out of my hand, stepped back, quickly adjusted the focal length, and began snapping away. After Poon Hill we began our three-day descent to Nayapul. From there, with an extra night to fill, we took a short cab ride in a car that seemed as if, at any moment, would break in two. We passed through the Australian Base Camp, now an open, quiet clearing, and spent our last night playing cards with Manu and sampling Nepalese wine (a clear drink that tasted like a mix of whiskey and sake) while the teahouse owner cheerfully served us free popcorn. A day later we were in Pokhara, back in the company of expats, paragliders, and even a performer who attached himself to a rope by body piercings in his back and swung to the beat of techno music. It was a far cry from the prayer flags blowing gently in the mountain breeze far above. Throughout our journey, we became more and more aware of the deeply rooted, and sometimes gruff attitude held towards female guides. Even though they spoke in an unfamiliar language, there was no mistaking the tone of some of the male guides' comments, jokes, or stares along the way. The interactions with them were not unlike the land itself—from beautiful to polluted. Sometimes Manu shot back, but other times acted as if she didn't hear a word. But with every encounter, she continued to hike, always reminding us, and perhaps herself, in her small and quiet voice, "slowly, slowly," confident and strong, knowing she would make it to the end of her journey.