While our lungs and muscles did toughen it was impossible not to feel puny beside the barefoot locals who tramped past

While our lungs and muscles did toughen, it was impossible not to feel puny beside the barefoot locals who tramped past us carrying huge loads.Frequently we met mule or buffalo trains winding up the hill, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. Unlike his quiet, traditionally clad wife, he was dressed in modern clothes and spoke perfect, businesslike English. He had not slept for 36 hours, having driven overnight from Kathmandu to Pokhara to catch the flight to Jomsom, then ridden straight to Kalopani. “I am a little tired” was his understated reaction to the journey.We found that reaching a lodge by sunset required a fair degree of skill in estimating our walking capabilities. On the first two days we trekked for seven hours beneath laden rucksacks, and still only just made it to our target village before dark. In Kalopani, we bade farewell to our young companion and spent our first night playing cards while the lodge owner’s wife brought us plates of steaming rice, dhal and curious, fried Tibetan bread.Most of the lodges are run by Thakali women, masterminding the tourist trade while their husbands work outside the valley Unusually, the Kalopani Lodge owner happened to be at home. These merchants also profited by providing lodging for the passing traders.

Yet the decline in trade with Tibet after Chinese occupation, combined with competition from cheap Indian salt, forced them to seek alternative business. So we set off in a threesome towards the first village, Syang.She must have thought us very strange, stopping first to dig out gloves and hats; then to adjust a rubbing strap; yet again to remove a layer of clothing. With the growth in tourism, many Thakalis converted their trader accommodation into trekking lodges. Stumbling into a cosy guest house after a day’s walk, we had much cause to laud the Thakalis’ commercial adaptability.Finding accommodation was easy at this time of year, and we had our pick of the lodges.

Generally, one lodge always stood out from the rest, marked by its superior food, or a foot-warmer beneath the dining-table. Clad in her thin shawl and sandals, she watched fascinated, exhibiting just the tiniest show of impatience if we dallied too long.Less than 50 years ago the Kali Gandaki valley was a major trade route, where the Thakalis bartered grain, cloth and cigarettes with their Tibetan neighbours in return for salt, turquoise and wool. A quick look at the map established that she was heading for the community of Beni, some three days’ walk away. Today this well-trodden route is dubbed the “apple pie trail”, a reference to the culinary comforts sold by the numerous trekking lodges lining the trail.Only minutes into our trek, a young Nepalese woman approached us and, gesturing that she was alone, asked if she might walk with us. Outside the airport gates, Thakali women sold us a breakfast of dried apple rings. An impassive official, hovering to stamp our trekking permits, directed us down a rocky path to begin our descent.Our journey would take us along a third of the Annapurna Circuit, a popular three-week trek encircling the quintet of Annapurna peaks and their neighbour, the distinctive Machhapuchare, or Fishtail. The plane’s altimeter, visible through the open cockpit door, nudged 9,000ft on landing.Deposited on the Tarmac at Jomsom, we found ourselves in a stark landscape with white summits piercing the skyline.