I melt into the hot springs at Tatopani, relaxing my sore muscles as the morning sun's rays cut across the top of the valley.  Here at the bottom we are still in shade.

I'm drawn to a sadhu seated nearby, who watches me with interest and invites me to have a seat next to him.  His name is Nayar, and he comes from Kerala in southern India.  I'm amazed to find this out, for sadhus rarely speak of their past, as they have made a complete break with that past to pursue a spiritual quest.  Sometimes they are married and have children, yet suddenly leave their family, job and possessions behind with little or no explanation and head off seeking the truth.

Nayar explains that two weeks ago, there was a large peace gathering in Muktinath.  The Nepalese government paid 10 million rupees for blankets and food for everyone.  Many sadhus made the trek, most of them barefoot.  Although the weather is warm today, the snow has just melted within the last few weeks, so that many of the sadhus were walking barefoot through the snow, especially in Muktinath, which straddles the Annapurnas at a lofty 12,467 feet.

Sadhus eat only one meal per day on this pilgrimage, in the evening.  They carry a small metal container that holds rice, to which they add lentils if they are offered any.  This single meager meal provides little stamina, so they don't progress very far each day.

Two weeks ago, the sadhus were all headed towards Muktinath.  Now, Nayar and other sadhus I meet along the trek are returning from the peace gathering, towards Pokhara, towards India, onward with their spiritual wanderings.

Half a dozen sadhus sit in a lean-to nearby, one with dreadlocks that stretch down below his knees.  They smoke a chillum.  Unlike many sadhus, Nayar does not smoke ganja, but he does smoke filterless 'Panama' cigarettes.  As he lights one, he tells a story of a Vishnu temple in Muktinath.  It is surrounded by a courtyard with 108 water spouts gushing ice-cold mountain spring water. Bathing under each of the 108 spouts is said to bring salvation for Hindus.

I want to keep in touch with Nayar, but this proves difficult as he has no address at which to receive mail.  Sadhu life.

Back at the hotel, a cold shower, tasty apple sauce pie, black tea, and muesli with chunks of apple, orange and cherries covered in warm powdered milk, a nourishing warmth.  Sunny, relaxed.

Pete and Kaji, as is their custom, set off for the day's trek in the early morning.  I set off in the late morning and stop for lunch in Rupshee Chhahara.  A late lunch, three in the afternoon and some clouds are coming in over the "hills" that tower around this fertile valley.

Rupshee Chhahara's fame is its waterfall, which cascades off smooth black stone and down under a wooden footbridge.  The aptly-named Waterfall Lodge & Restaurant, where I down two helpings of daal bhat, boasts an excellent view of the falls.  A sign under a row of cakes in the restaurant window reads, "Life is uncertain. Eat desert first."

The clouds are thickening, and Ghasa, my destination, is a good two hour hike some 1,200 vertical feet above here.

In one of many small villages along the trail, I nod at a sadhu seated on a wall.  He asks my country.  A child is crying, and his parents are trying to soothe him.  The mother points at me, hoping to divert the child's attention from his tears.  I juggle stones for the child, and make many mistakes because I'm so tired.  The child smiles, and his mother can't stop laughing.  The gift of happiness is one I want to cultivate, a driving force to be a clown.

Eventually the trail crosses the Kali Gandaki River via a long, wobbly wooden footbridge, and enters Ghasa.

At the third trekking lodge I pass, Pete is seated out front in the twilight, enjoying a beer.  Maybe he picked up that habit from me.  We make our way inside, and I pursue the habit he's passed on to me -- a warm pot of lemon tea, remarkably invigorating after a day of lugging a pack over rugged mountain trails.  That night, Kaji and I stay up late talking in the dining room by the light and heat of a solitary gas lantern until we are kicked out by the sleepy owner.  We walk upstairs and creak along the thin wooden hall to our austere bedrooms.