Manaslu Circuit Trek - Day2: Jagat to Deng

I Continue From Here: Manaslu Circuit Trek - Day1: Machhakhola to Jagat

Day 2: Trek from Jagat (1340m/4396ft) to Deng (1804m/5918ft) - 21km/10H

8-May-2026

I woke up around the same time as the children at the residential school. From my balcony, I watched them brush their teeth and get ready for the day while a cook prepared breakfast for them. By the time I left Jagat, their classes had already begun.

The homestay we stayed in was owned by the sister of former Home Minister Sudan Gurung. KP introduced me to her during breakfast.

I was up and ready early. Since I preferred walking at my own pace, I decided to start ahead of the group while the others got ready. They would usually catch up with me later. I asked my guide to go ahead and let me know the name of our next stop or guesthouse in advance. If we were stopping before lunch, I would tell him what I wanted to eat so that it could be prepared by the time I arrived, usually 15–20 minutes after everyone else. This arrangement allowed me to enjoy long stretches of solitude along the trail. It also gave me opportunities to walk with trekkers from other groups, including the three Israeli boys I had met on the bus. One of them constantly played loud music through a portable speaker, and most trekkers preferred to keep their distance from them.

Along the way, we passed through the beautiful village of Philim, which also happens to be the hometown of Sudan Gurung. I had read a little about him. A child died in his arms, during the 2015 earthquake. That moment changed him for ever and he decided to dedicate his time for social work. During his initial days as Home Minister, he appeared quite promising. However, a recent controversy regarding discrepancies in his asset declarations had eventually led to his resignation.

We stopped for coffee near Philim and made another stop for lunch a few hours later. For a change, I ordered fried rice. The portion, however, was enormous—enough to feed several people.

On the trail, I crossed paths with villagers carrying heavy construction materials through the mountains. 

I met Bimal along the way. He was trekking alone, and his backpack looked particularly heavy. He was planning to spend almost a month in the mountains and intended to continue on to the Annapurna Circuit after completing Manaslu. He was unsure whether to push on to Deng that day or stop midway, so I encouraged him to continue.

Although I enjoyed my solitary walks along the trail, I was always happy to rejoin the group for lunch, coffee breaks, and dinner. Together, we spoke about everything under the sun. Our conversations often continued long after dinner until the teahouse staff politely reminded us that it was time for bed so they could close for the night.

That evening, I ordered pizza for dinner. By then, I had begun to know my fellow trekkers more closely.

Flavie was the youngest member of the group, and at just twenty years old, she struck me as remarkably mature. She was usually quiet, but whenever she spoke, her comments were thoughtful and sensible. She had originally planned to pursue a bachelor's degree in education but was now considering a switch to neuroscience.

Ward was a service engineer with an electromechanical background who worked for a company that manufactured packaging machines. Apart from being exceptionally witty and funny, I found him intelligent, empathetic, and sensitive. Ward, I must say, was one of the funniest people I have ever met. He had a knack for turning even the most ordinary moments into something humorous with his quick wit. Whenever KP asked what time we would like to have dinner, Ward would respond with oddly specific times—6:37 p.m., 6:41 p.m., or something equally random. KP, being the perfect professional, took a few days to fully appreciate Ward’s sense of humour. With Ward on the trek, there was never a dull moment. He always had a clever comeback or a perfectly timed remark ready, keeping the group laughing throughout the journey.

Gilou worked at a centre that counselled immigrants. He helped administer their applications, advised them on procedures, and ensured that their other needs were taken care of. He had visited India the previous year and had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. He had completed a trek in Kashmir, stayed with a local family in Ladakh, and spent a couple of days in Delhi with friends he had met during his travels. He loved talking about his experiences in India, and it was clear that he had fond memories of the country. I found him to be a genuinely kind and thoughtful person.

Antonio, on the other hand, initially came across as somewhat pretentious. He spoke loudly, cracked crude jokes, and used profanity liberally. He often seemed oblivious to his surroundings, even when other trekkers around him preferred a more restrained atmosphere. What irritated me was not so much the use of bad language itself, but how casually and unnecessarily he inserted the F-word into almost every sentence. More often than not, it seemed to be placed in the wrong spot, making the sentence sound awkward and grammatically off. He would also make dismissive remarks about women in front of Flavie, which I found inappropriate. Another recurring topic was his constipation problem. After a day or two, it became repetitive, yet somehow it found its way into every breakfast and dinner conversation. 

At times, I also felt he displayed subtle traces of prejudice, particularly in the way he spoke about a Moroccan colleague of Gilou's or an Indian friend of his. There was also a touch of narcissism about him. During walks, he would often remove his shirt and then glance around with a smile to see who had noticed. He often spoke about his girlfriend, with whom he seemed to be in a constant cycle of breaking up and getting back together. After a point, I had a strong feeling that he kept returning to her because he had not found anyone else who could provide the attention and validation he appeared to seek.

I realise I may be sounding a little too judgmental, but it was hard not to form opinions when someone was so loud, vocal and attention-seeking all the time. As the trek went on, though, I consciously tried to put those prejudices aside and understand him more sympathetically.

With time, however, I noticed him mellowing. He became less eager to be the centre of attention, and I found myself becoming more understanding of him. At thirty-six, with greying hair, he seemed to be navigating an awkward stage of life—no longer young enough to fit comfortably with the younger crowd, yet not old enough to have fully embraced the wisdom that often comes with age. Perhaps many of us go through such a phase. I too have been through this phase. It takes time to accept that youth is fading and to grow comfortable with ageing. By the end of the trek, I felt he had found a better balance.

The group also wondered why KP never ate with us despite being invited. I explained that this was largely a cultural practice. Someone needed to oversee the arrangements and ensure that guests were comfortable, so the host often ate later. The same thing happens in many Indian homes when guests are invited over. We do not simply place food on the table and sit down together. Someone has to make fresh chapatis, serve the food, and attend to the guests. If there are many people, both my wife and I often end up eating later. Ward found this difficult to understand because, in his culture, eating together is considered important. It was simply a difference in cultural expectations.

That evening, Gilou, Flavie, and Antonio shared a few bottles of beer, and the conversation eventually turned to Gilou's personal dilemmas. Before long, all of us had become an amateur counsellor, enthusiastically offering advice that I suspect he had never asked for in the first place. The discussion was lively and entertaining, and we laughed a great deal. Eventually, the guesthouse staff had to remind us that it was time to sleep. They needed to wake up before dawn, to prepare for the departure of trekking groups. Their day always began long before ours.

To Be Continued...