Briefing and Beyond (Kailash-Mansarovar Sojourn: II)

Cosmos at Simikot!

The Pomp, The Briefing, The Panic

Our tired faces were welcomed at the Nepalgunj hotel by a high-octane committee.  Booming smiles, cheap faux-silk stoles, and the kind of marigold garlands that instantly make you feel like a particularly well-fed sheep about to meet Ma Kali. They applied tilaks liberally on our foreheads and pointed towards the dining hall (which was an extension of the reception).

Since it was a crisp 9 PM, the advice was: Eat. Listen to the briefing. Go to bed. Not a soul had the energy to protest sound advice, which is saying something for a travel group.

The lead manager kicked off the briefing at 9:30 PM. He repeated everything, naturally, because we were firing questions like students flying paper planes or blindfolded monkeys looking for the light switch.

The essence? Three commandments to survive the mountains:

1. Thou Shalt Worship the Weather Gods

From this point forward, everything—flights, treks, mountain passes, even stepping outside for a smoke—depended on the sky's mood. I gritted my teeth and prayed for calm, hoping we wouldn't end up stuck in a Himalayan holding pattern. Though the weather held up all through the trip, the universe yet set us up for a surprise reality show later.

2. Thou Shalt Stick to the Clock

"Arrive on time for every step!" We were told our lives now depended on sticking together and being punctual. An Indian being punctual? That man would instantly become the legend and punchline of his entire friend circle. This would be both our strength and our inevitable weakness.

3. Thou Shalt Pack Light (Hahahahaha)

We were issued a duffel bag, a backpack, a sling bag, jacket, and a cap - in deep blue and orange, all branded with the operator’s logo. Our Nepalgunj departure would be on tiny flights, which meant a terrifying 12 kg weight limit. (It could be 15 kg, but they had to account for the precious Mansarovar holy water we'd haul back.)

Crucially, this meant our giant, beautiful suitcases had to be abandoned right there in Nepalgunj. None of the pre-trip literature mentioned this suitcase-hostage situation! Had I known the suitcase-separation-anxiety was mandatory, I'd have packed better!

Some poor souls had brought four suitcases, packed with enough fried snacks to cater a wedding, clearly assuming the pilgrimage was a high-altitude picnic. While even I struggled with what to carry, their trauma was spectacular.. The identical gear was not just  for logistics; it would make it easy to spot a stray traveler in a crowd. No "Mele Mein Kho Gaye Judwe" melodramas here.

Forward Ho!

Our goal was to blitz from Nepalgunj through Simikot and Hilsa, and land in Taklakot (Tibet/Purang) that very same day, buying us precious high-altitude acclimatization time before the Parikrama.

The manager had decreed in the briefing we assemble, fed and ready, by 7 AM. Once flight departures were announced, we’d be trooped to the airport. The late-riser in me started negotiating with my own body clock for sleep. Our passports, he sagely noted, would arrive from Delhi with our "14th man" by the time we reached Hilsa.

We made it to the airport around 8 AM and wondered if we had wandered onto a movie set for a 70s bus stand. People and their assorted bags were everywhere, porters were wrestling luggage, and the cacophony was deafening. The only thing missing was that signature, nostalgic bus-stand aroma of stale pee.

Nepalgunj Bus er Airport!

A little too prepped up!

After an hour and several cups of coffee - made passable only by excellent service, we were handed boarding passes for Simikot. Turns out, the 14th man (our hero!) had arrived overnight with all our paperwork. Our flight was a one-hour scenic tour aboard a 19-seater Dornier-228 run by Sita Air.

Our Dornier Arrives in Simikot!

Choppers, Cosmos, & Time Travel

Simikot’s airport was smaller, dirtier, and, ta-da!—it had the aroma Nepalgunj lacked. But, the little airport was surrounded by stunning, wild cosmos flowers, which was a magnificent distraction from the overall grime.

From here to Hilsa, it was chopper time (maximum four passengers per trip). The ride was breathtaking, a masterclass in mountain flying as the heli skimmed the gorges. It’s a spectacular way to be reminded of the importance of weather and the skill required to navigate these tricky ravines, and why so many important people end up in the news for the wrong reasons.

A wonderful view from the chopper!

We broke for lunch at Hilsa, a tiny village of dirt roads and basic traveler cottages. This is where we discovered we had successfully time-traveled: the local time was suddenly two-and-a-half hours ahead of India's. Despite China being massive, they use a single time zone, and here, right on the border, they had jumped the clock ahead. It defied longitude, but not the political agenda. Getting used to this time warp took a while.

Sheep Crossing the Border

It took over two hours for our entire group to assemble in Hilsa, thanks to the choppers flying back and forth like over-eager sky-autos (weather permitting, naturally). We then headed to the suspension bridge that marks the border with Tibet/China.

Kailash-Mansarovar travel&trek route

This is where the true scale of the pilgrimage hit us. Our operators alone had 50 other tourists, and there were several other operators with similar armies. We all waited patiently to clear immigration at Sher (the Tibetan border post).

China doesn't stamp a visa for Indian travellers; they issue a group permit. You enter together, you exit together, and you follow the designated route, like highly-regulated sheep. We had been fed horror stories about rude Chinese officials, so we were bracing for unpleasantness. Our trepidations were blessedly unfounded. The officials were courteous, even using devices that made robotic announcements in Hindi to help make immigration process smooth.

The final leg to Taklakot (Purang) took a mere half hour. At almost 13,000 feet, this was our high-altitude base camp. The agenda for the next two days? Nothing. Just chill, acclimatize, find a cafe with good coffee (success!), and maybe shop for something utterly unnecessary.

Two days later, with body clocks declared adjusted and lungs tentatively filled, we boarded the bus for Mansarovar.

To be Continued…..