fingertips. Smoothed by time and erosion, the patterns looked almost man-made-like the walls of some ancient fortress.
Behind them a voice said, “Most of Mustang looks like that. At least the lower elevations.”
Sam and Remi stopped and turned to see a mid-twenties man with shaggy blond hair smiling at them. He asked, “First time?”
“Yes,” Sam replied. “But not yours, I’m betting.”
“Fifth. I’m a trekking junkie, I guess you could say. Jomsom’s sort of the base camp for trekking in this region. I’m Wally.”
Sam introduced himself and Remi, and the trio continued walking toward the terminal buildings. Wally pointed to several groups of people standing along the tarmac’s edge. Most were dressed in brightly colored parkas and standing beside heavy-duty backpacks.
“Fellow trekkers?” asked Remi.
“Yep. A lot of familiar faces too. We’re part of the local economy, I guess you could say. Trekking season keeps this place alive. Can’t go anywhere here without being attached to a guide outfit.”
“And if you’d prefer not to?” asked Sam.
“There’s a company of Nepalese Army troops stationed here,” Wally replied. “It’s a bit of a racket, really, but you can’t blame them. Most of these people make less in a year than we make in a week. It’s not so bad. If you prove you know what you’re doing, most of the guides just tag along and stay out of the way.”
From a nearby group of trekkers a woman called, “Hey, Wally, we’re over here!”
He turned, gave her a wave, then asked Sam and Remi, “Where are you headed?”
“Lo Monthang.”
“Cool place. It’s downright medieval, man. A real time machine. You already got a guide?”
Sam nodded. “Our contact in Kathmandu arranged one.”
Remi asked, “How long should it take to get there? According to the map, it’s-”
“Maps!” Wally replied with a chuckle. “They’re not bad, fairly accurate on the horizontal, but the terrain here is like a piece of wadded-up newspaper that’s only been half flattened out. Everything changes. One day you could pass a spot that’s nice and flat, the next day it’s half choked by a landslide. Your guide will probably follow the Kali Gandaki River ravine most of the way-it should be mostly dry right now-so you should figure sixty miles total. At least twelve hours’ drive time.”
“Which means overnight,” Sam replied.
“Yep. Ask your guide. He’ll either have a nice tent set up or a trekkers’ hut reserved for you. You’re in for a treat. The trail that follows the Kali Gandaki ravine is the deepest in the world. On one side, you got the Annapurna mountains; the other, the Dhawalagiri. In between, eight of the twenty highest mountains in the world! The ravine trail is like a cross between Utah and Mars, man! The stupas and caves alone are-”
The woman called again, “Wally!”
He said to Sam and Remi, “Hey, I gotta go. Nice meeting you. Travel safe. And stay out of chokes after dusk.”
They shook hands all around, and Wally starting jogging toward his group.
Sam called, “Chokes?”
“Your guide will tell you!” Wally called over his shoulder.
Sam turned to Remi, “Stupas?”
“Most commonly known as a chortens here. They’re essentially reliquaries-mound-like structures containing sacred Buddhist artifacts.”
“How big?”
“They can range from the size of a garden gnome to a cathedral. One of the largest is back in Kathmandu, in fact. The Boudhanath.”
“The dome draped in all the prayer flags?”
“That’s the one. Mustang’s got a huge concentration of them, mostly of the gnome-sized variety. Some estimates put the number in the low thousands, and that’s just along the Kali Gandaki River. Up until a few years ago, Mustang was all but off-limits to tourism for fear of desecration.”
“Fargos!” a male voice called. “Fargos!”
A bald Nepalese man in his mid-forties picked his way through a crowd of milling trekkers and trotted toward them, panting, “Fargos, yes?”
“Yes,” Sam replied.
“I am Basanta Thule,” the man replied in decent English. “I am your guide, yes?”
“You’re a friend of Pradhan’s?” Remi said.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I do not know who that is. I was asked by Mr. Sushant Dharel to meet you. You were expecting someone else? Here, I have identification . . .” Thule began reaching into the side pocket of his jacket.
“No, that’s fine,” Sam replied with a smile. “Good to meet you.”
“And you, and you. Here, I will take those.”
Thule grabbed their backpacks and gestured with his head toward the terminal building. “My vehicle is this way. Follow, if you will.” He trotted off.
Sam said to Remi, “Very tricky, Mizz Bond.”
“Am I growing paranoid in my advancing age?”
“No,” Sam replied with a smile. “Just more beautiful. Come on, let’s catch up or we’re going to lose our guide.”
After a cursory stop at the customs desk to satisfy what Sam and Remi guessed was Mustang’s firm if tacit belief in its semi-autonomous status, Sam and Remi stepped outside and found Thule at the curb beside a white Toyota Land Cruiser. Judging by the dozens of nearly identical vehicles lining the street, each of which seemed to bear a unique trekking company logo, Toyota was the four-wheeler of choice for the region. Thule smiled at them, shoved the remainder of Sam’s backpack in the Toyota’s cargo area, and slammed shut the hatch.
“I have arranged accommodations for the night,” Thule announced.
“We’re not leaving for Lo Monthang immediately?” Remi asked.
“No, no. Very bad luck to start a journey at this time of day. Better to start tomorrow morning. You will eat and rest and enjoy Jomsom, and then we will depart first thing in the morning. Come, come . . .”
“We’d prefer to leave now,” Sam said, not moving.
Thule paused. He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment, then said, “It is your choice, of course, but the landslide will not be cleared until morning.”
“What landslide?” replied Remi.
“Yes, between here and Kagbeni. We would not get more than a few kilometers up the valley. And then there will be the traffic jam, of course. Many trekkers in Mustang now. Better to wait until morning, yes?” Thule opened one of the Toyota’s rear passenger doors and flourished his arm toward the backseat.
Sam and Remi looked at each other, shrugged, then stepped into the SUV.
After ten minutes of the Toyota winding through the narrow streets, Thule brought it to a stop before a building a few miles southeast of the airstrip. The brown-on-yellow sign read “Moonlight Guest House. Tub Baths-Attached Bathrooms-Common Bathrooms.”
With a smile and a raised eyebrow, Remi said, “It appears bathrooms are the big draw in Jomsom.”
“And monochromatic architecture,” Sam added.
From the front seat Thule said, “Indeed. Jomsom offers the best accommodations in the area.”
He got out, hurried around to Remi’s door, and opened it. He offered his hand to her. She graciously took it and climbed out, followed by Sam.
Thule said, “I will collect your luggage. You go inside. Madame Roja will assist you.”
Five minutes later they were in the Moonlight Guest House’s Royal Executive Suite, complete with a queen bed and a sitting area filled with an assortment of wickeresque lawn furniture. As Madame Roja had promised, their bathroom was in fact attached to their suite.
“I will return for you at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, yes?” Thule said from the doorway.
“Why so late?” Sam asked.
“The landslide will have-”
