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How
I Spent My Christmas Vacation 2: Or
What
Park of “Trek” Don’t You Understand?
When last we met (read
part 1), I believe I’d left you with the distinct impression that
my first trek to Nepal was also my last trek to Nepal.
Except…I also seem to recall that my final words to you were something
like, “I understand Tengboche is beautiful this time of year.”
Oh oh. This little story could only be going one place.
I know, I know. I swore I was finished with trekking. No
more squatting over holes in the ground, no more sleeping in tents.
Once was more than enough. But you know…the trek I’d actually wanted
to take was the one to Tengboche. So, when the brochure poked its tantalizing
little head out of my mailbox, I said, well, I’ll read it. Just to glory
in the fact that I’ll be choosing some other exotic location for this
year’s explorations.
Well, I read the itinerary. And discovered that the accommodations
were lodges and not tents. Now, I’m not talking the Ahwahnee
here when I say lodge. These are wood or stone structures, some of which
make Abraham Lincoln’s childhood log cabin look like a five-star hotel.
But still, this was the trek I had originally wanted to do. And – maybe
most important -- I still had a few Nepali rupees left from my first
trip – rupees I’d forgotten to exchange at the Kathmandu airport. Enough
rupees to pay for another visa. And since you can’t exchange rupees
anywhere except Nepal, hey! Have you got a better idea?
Maybe, I thought, I do have one more trek left
in me. And besides – I’ve been to Nepal. I
know the ropes. There won’t be any surprises this time. We’ll
be in lodges, not tents. How hard can this be?
Ha!
Please fasten your seatbelt. We’re about to take off.
December
16, 2000
Bangkok
to Kathmandu – Elevation 4200 feet
My tale actually starts in Bangkok, Thailand, at the Oriental
Hotel – without question, one of the most luxurious establishments in
the world. Lying in my king sized bed, covered with a feather-filled
summer comforter, staring out over the Chao Praya, glancing from time
to time at the orchid arrangement the hotel had sent to celebrate my
birthday, I again questioned my sanity. I could still cancel my trek
and spend the rest of my vacation here, in Paradise. With a sigh, I
pulled myself out of bed, slipped into my denial and headed for the
airport in one of the hotel’s chauffer-driven Mercedes.
Flying into Kathmandu the second time around was nearly as
exciting as my previous trip. I was again in a window seat on the right
hand side of the plane, the perfect place to view the Himalay as you
fly into Nepal. I was dazzled by our flight path over the Bay of Bengal.
It sounded so exotic! As we reached the edge of Nepal, I saw the unending
row of white peaks poking through the clouds, rising to nearly the same
height as our plane flew. Finally, I spotted Everest. This time, I had
a much better understanding of the mountains’ grace and grandeur.
What a difference two years makes – if not in the Kathmandu
airport itself then at least in how it appeared to me. We landed and
taxied toward the terminal, and I saw the same brick building, in what
seemed to be the same state of semi-construction. But I’ve gotta admit
– for some reason, the airport didn’t look as underdeveloped as before.
Maybe my view was colored by the fact that just six weeks earlier, I
had flown into Durango, Colorado – on a much smaller plane, to a much
smaller and more basic terminal. It’s all perspective, I suppose.
I was the last one through immigration. Who knew Nepal doesn’t
accept Thai baht? (Doesn’t say that in my books!) And they don’t even
want their own currency for a visa! They want US dollars! I didn’t remember
that from my first trip, even though I’m sure it hasn’t changed. Oh
well…they finally took my rupees, stamped my passport and let me into
the country..
Outside the terminal, the same crowds of people – a crush
of young men and boys jostling each other to carry your bags or help
you get a cab – all to earn a few rupees. I was pretty sure someone
would be there to meet me. And if not – well, since I was an old hand
at the ways of Kathmandu. I’d be able to bargain for a cab without a
problem.
Within seconds, I saw the sign for the Potala Guest House
– and a familiar face! It was Kalu, a guide from my last trek who would
be the Sirdir, or leader, on this one. He recognized me, too,
and we shouted hellos as we hugged, two old friends. Kalu ushered me
to the car – not the beat up old tin can of a van I remembered from
last time. But a brand new, barely out-of-the box Isuzu SUV. It seems
that Peter Owens, the owner of the tour company, had invested in a car
and a driver. I felt positively decadent driving through the streets
of Kathmandu in this shiny new vehicle. Things were good. This would
be a wonderful trip! I was in such heavy denial!
We arrived at the Potala Guest House, and I was hit with
mixed feelings. It was wonderful to see all the people I remembered
from two years ago. Since Peter does so much business there, the staff
is like family, not only to Peter and his crew but to all of us who
take his trips. And it really did seem as if the man at the front desk
remembered me. But I was also starting to grit my teeth. The Potala
was still no Hyatt (although surprisingly enough, there was a
new Hyatt in Kathmandu. In the back of my mind, I toyed with the idea
of staying there until the rest of the group arrived. Actually, it wasn’t
in the back of my mind. It was in one of my frontal lobes, dancing and
teasing.) But as I said, I knew the ropes. Before I left the front desk,
I arranged to rent a small space heater for my room.
I met some people who had just come back from the same trek
I would be taking. All they could tell me was how cold it had been.
Didn’t need to hear that. Then they told me about all the people who
had gotten sick – both from the altitude and from some nasty bacterial
beastie. Oh, it was just getting better and better. The bacteria didn’t
worry me. But I was getting a little queasy over the altitude thing.
On my last trip, we had climbed to 11,000’. And I had had no problems.
This time, we were going to 13,000’. Not really much higher. My doctor
hadn’t even suggested any of the stuff he could’ve prescribed for altitude
sickness. But a friend’s parting words to me were, “Get diamox. You’ll
thank me for it!” In the lobby of the Potala, I was starting to wonder.
And worry. Just a little. Either this was a big bunch of weenies, or
I was in deep trouble.
Over the next two days, I ran around Kathmandu, trying to
discover something I thought I might have missed the last time. Some
special feeling or vibe that the city must give off.
Something that would make me feel some magic. I didn’t think
I had really seen much of the city before, so maybe I just missed it.
By the end of the day, though, I had confirmed it – there is nothing
magical about Kathmandu. It’s dirty, dusty, ugly and poor. Cleanliness
is certainly not next to godliness in Nepal. I saw the merchants carefully
dusting off their goods as they set things out in the mornings, and
I wondered why? As soon as the traffic started up, everything would
immediately be covered in dirt. And if one more person hocked a lugie
and spit, I was gonna scream! More than a few merchants halted in mid-hock
when I walked by their shops in the morning. Yuck!
But that’s not to say I didn’t have some fun exploring Kathmandu.
Like early one morning when I wandered into a part of town that was
just the locals going about their daily business. An old woman was deep
frying something in a wok. I saw some cauliflower under the small, low
table she had the wok on and thought maybe that’s what she was making.
I motioned to the woman that I wanted some. She asked me how many, and
I held up two fingers. I honestly don’t know if I told her I wanted
two of the things or two orders of the things. She dropped four
into a paper cone. I handed her a 20 rupee note – about 40 cents – and
she gave me 17 rupees change.
I walked away, biting into one of the balls. It wasn’t cauliflower,
but dough. Maybe this was Tibetan fried bread? (I was staying in a fairly
Tibetan part of town.) It was ok. I probably wouldn’t go for seconds.
But it wasn’t bad.
I also managed to get myself completely lost – but I knew
I wasn’t far from home and would eventually find my way back. By this
time, though, more merchants were putting out their wares, and pretty
soon, I was looking at saris. The owner of one stall invited me to step
inside, and I did, thinking that I really didn’t need more
fabric, but what the heck! Stuff was very inexpensive.
The man in the stall and I went through a number of saris
until I found two that I liked – one was teal with a wide iridescent
border and the other red chiffon with a white hand-beaded border. The
owner and I sat down on small wooden stools to negotiate the price.
The owner pointed to each of the saris. 150 and 175, he said.
I was flabbergasted, absolutely speechless! I knew prices where good
– but this was downright ridiculous! I hardly felt like bargaining,
but protocol demanded it. I offered 300 for both. The merchant was a
little surprised, but said ok. I pulled out 300 rupees, and he said
no, not rupees. Dollars. US dollars! I nearly fell off my stool trying
not to laugh! Who’d he think he was talking to? I’m off the tourist
path, deep in the heart of a local market! Did he think I was so stupid
that I’d just fork over $300.00 for a couple of saris in a stall? Well,
obviously the answer was yes!
I told him he was much too expensive, that in the US this
would only cost about $25.00 (which is true.) I offered him 2,000 rupees
(about US27.00) but he countered with about 2200. Too much, I said,
and left, laughing to myself.
After a day or so, I realized that I was so over
Kathmandu. I was on sensory overload from all the stuff for sale (Isn’t
it interesting that so many poor people can have so much to sell?) I
was over the beggars, the hawkers (Tiger Balm, five for a hundred) and
the men who stand in front of their shops and pick their noses. If I
ever come back to Kathamndu (and ok, I probably will), it’ll be for
a day to shop and then out!!!
I was more than ready to meet the rest of the crew when they
finally arrived. After all, these were the people I’d be living with
for the next week. I’d been in touch by e-mail with Linda and Lynda
– but not enough to get a real handle on what they would be like. I
was delighted when I met them, and the more I got to know them, the
more I liked them. They live in Long Beach, where Linda is a high school
teacher, and Lynda works for the post office. They’re in their mid-50’s
and have been together 17 years. They are so utterly devoted to each
other, the kind of love you wish more people shared. I couldn’t help
but smile whenever I watched them.
Richard was an odd duck. He lives in Maryland, where he teaches
graduate level business classes at a university. But he’s kinda weird.
He talked quite loudly in his nasal New Jersey whine, was constantly
talking about money (how much things cost, how much he spent, how much
he saved – and by the way, how much did you pay>) He seems to have
traveled quite extensively. But when it came to this trip, he was like
a beginner. He had brought every single item Peter had suggested – and
his duffel must’ve weighed at least 70 pounds – 50 more than allowed.
We all took turns trying to lift it – even the guides had trouble!
And then there was Robin, my roommate. She’s 41, cute, perky,
blonde, nice – and after 20 years in the Army’s Special Forces, getting
ready to retire. She’d been to survival school recently and seemed pretty
gung ho. But she also seemed like a lot of fun, and it wasn’t long before
we were chattering away, showing each other what we had brought, comparing
boots and sharing stuff as if we’d known each other for years. I thought
we were gonna do just fine. As long as she didn’t order me to drop and
give her 50.
Trek
Day 1
December
21, 2000
Kathmandu
to Lukla
4200’ flying to 9300’ and trekking to 8700’ Our wake up call came at 5:00am. Robin and I grumbled and
groaned as we got dressed and finished packing. Upstairs in the room
that Peter uses for a trek office, Kalu and a couple other guides I remembered from the last trek were
there to offer us coffee and really, really bad cinnamon rolls. Downright
nasty cinnamon rolls.
At about 5:30am, we piled into a van and drove through the
dark, silent streets of Kathmandu to the airport. Kathmandu is not a
city that wakes early, so not even a cow was stirring. The pre-dawn
temperature was mild, so warm that I didn’t need gloves, and couldn’t
even see my breath in the morning air. The temperature had warmed so
much over the last two days that Robin and I hadn’t needed the little
heater in our room I took this as an omen that we’d have good weather
on the trek.
The airport was a little surreal at that hour. It was dark
and a bit foggy, with uniformed men patrolling outside the domestic
terminal. Once inside, we had to pass one-by-one by the security matrons.
There were no metal detectors in the domestic terminal – only separate
curtained stalls for men and women. Behind the curtain, the matron asked
if I had any knives or matches. We were on the honor system to hand
over any contraband. I surrendered two books of matches.
After a short fog delay, (we were lucky – at this time of
year, fog can slow you down for hours.) 18 of us clamored on board our
Yeti Airways twin engine Otter, belted ourselves in and took off on our half-hour flight to Lukla. The “flight attendant”
was a young man who offered us cotton balls for our ears and hard candy.
I took the window seat, which was just fine with Robin. It turns out
Ms. Survival School doesn’t like flying. She can jump out of planes,
she says, but she doesn’t like flying in ‘em.
The flight was thrilling – and not just because we were crammed
into such a small plane. We
were probably cruising at about 9,000 feet – just above the clouds.
The words to an old Joni Mitchell song kept running through my head
– “Bows and flows of angel’s hair, and ice cream castles in the air.”
These looked more like powder puffs, with huge snow-capped mountains
poking through the fluff. Along my side of the plane were these magnificent
mountains, covered with thick forests of trees, scattered houses, fields
and terraced farmland. The mountains looked impossible to climb, but
obviously they weren’t because I could see scatterings of houses. As
we got closer to Lukla, the clouds seemed to break, although a heavy
mist still blanketed the mountains out my window.
Our route took us between the mountains. It was a little
bumpy, but not too bad. I thought this must be a little like flying
through the Grand Canyon – only on a larger scale. Outside the plane’s
windows, the mountains looked close enough to touch.
We landed on a short runway and kind of pulled over to a
hard-packed dirt area on one side. The airport, such as it was, was
scheduled to close for construction around the first of the year. In
the meantime, there nothing more than the landing strip and lodges that
surrounded it. I stepped off the plane and slammed into the cold air.
Damn! The wind – or rather, breeze, because it wasn’t blowing hard enough
to be considered wind – cut right through my light weight trekking pants.
I started to worry that’d I’d worn the wrong clothes and that I’d freeze.
Now, I was the first to admit that I still wasn’t an expert. But I did
have one Nepali trek under my down jacket. Could I have been so
wrong about the weather on this mountain? I considered trying to find
my thermal undies in my duffle, but passed. I didn’t wanna be the wuss
who made the porters undo everything so I could find my thermals. I
decided to grin and bear it.
Kalu herded us uphill (uphill being the theme of this trek)
to a kind of European-looking lodge where we warmed ourselves by the
wood-burning stove in the dining room. Kalu attended to whatever it
is he needed to do while we drank milk tea and used the facilities –
the first of many squats to come. Then – we were off on our trek! It
was about 8:45am and already noticeably warmer than when we arrived
about half an hour earlier. It was warming so quickly that about ten
minutes into our newly-started trek (in the middle of beautiful downtown
Lukla, I might add, where the merchants get an earlier start than their
Kathmandu counterparts.) we halted and start stripping off sweaters
and jackets. I breathed a sigh of relief – it wouldn’t be too cold after
all.
The path seemed fairly flat. I was trying to pay attention
to what it was like because we’d be coming back this same way, and I
wanted to remember what to expect on the return. What wasn’t flat was
a little rocky. There were a few steps, but for the most part, it was
pretty easy trail walking. Of course, still being heavily in denial,
I was ignoring the fact that we were, in fact, going down hill, dropping
to 8,600’. We were all keeping a similar pace, chattering away as we
made our way toward Phakding. It was a lazy, mild day, and we made an
early lunch stop in a village called Thadokoshi. From our little outdoor
terrace, we were looking up at a snow-capped Thomserku. Our first Himalay!
I talked Robin into ordering momo, which are basically Tibetan
potstickers. I was introduced to them on my first trip to Nepal and
fell in love with them. I’d already eaten them several times in Kathmandu
and bought a Tibetan cookbook with a recipe. Mmmm!
There’s a whole system to ordering food in this part of Nepal,
we discovered. You record what you want in a sort of log book, which
is taken inside to the kitchen. (Very often, the younger guides and
porters will study these books, as well as the menus, reading them as
if they were text books, repeating the English words out loud.) We also
learned something else about dining in Nepal – no napkins! In Kathmandu,
we got paper napkins that were about half the size of a normal Western
napkin. But once outside Kathmandu – apparently sleeves or pant legs
were de rigueur.
Once we’d ordered, we sat back, relaxed and enjoyed the sunshine.
There was a steady stream of people passing us, including a number of
Western trekkers in ones and twos with their guides. We talked to each
of the people, Linda, Lynda and I greeting them with “Namaste!”
and asking where they were going. Some, we’d meet again, like Brian
and Kimberly, a young couple from Colorado that was teaching in Bangladesh
for a couple of years. Richard embarrassed us all when he told them
he’d turned down a job in Bangladesh because it’s such an awful place
to live. Typical Richard.
This part of Nepal is decidedly different from where I trekked
last time. On that trek, we were passing through villages that seemed
fairly untouched by the tourist trade. Here, in the Solu-Khumbu region,
the main means of support is tourism. We passed one small lodge or tea
house after another .It makes sense when you realize that this is the
route to Everest. Still, I’m glad I saw a much more unspoiled area on
my first trek.
Lunch was pretty bad – the momo were fried, not steamed the
way I’d had them before. They were like little rocks and just about
as tasteless. I hoped this wasn’t an indication of the food on this
trip. The last time, it had been great! But the last time, since we
were camping, we had a chef and kitchen crew who cooked for us. Well,
maybe this time around I’d lose some weight ‘cause I sure didn’t the
first time!
Lunch was topped off by my first experience in the roadside
facilities you find in this part of the country. I made my way slightly
down hill to a little wooden – shack. The door was hanging by one hinge,
the building nothing more than four walls and a floor with a diamond-shaped
hole cut in it. Below, in a huge pile, were the remains of those who
had gone before. Oh, joy.
After a two-hour break, we were back on the road. (It took
almost that long to get our food, which taught us Nepali Restaurant
Lesson #1: If we all ordered the same thing, we’d get served quickly.
And if we really wanted to get our food fast, we’d order
dal bhat – the national Nepali rice and lentil dish. It was what our
guides and porters ate, and it was the fastest thing on the menu..)
We passed some odd-looking people, one especially so who
was wearing some type of leather knickers and striped boots. They wore
their very long black hair in what I later discovered was a very old
style the Sherpas also used to sport – braided and wound around their
heads, strands of something red woven into the braid. These, we were
told, were Khampa, a Tibetan tribe. The Khampa make a week-long trek
across the border, traveling to Namche Bazar to sell their various wares
– Tibetan rugs, clothing and so on. They speak their own language, one
that’s apparently quite difficult to understand, and even the Nepali
consider them a little weird.
Our trek for the day was pretty short – about three hours
in all. It was early afternoon when we reached Phakding and our accommodations
for the night, the Sunrise
Now, let’s see if I can give you a good picture of the “guest
rooms.”
The room at the Sunrise was typical of what we encountered
throughout the trek. The only furnishings were two single wooden cots
– good, solid frames – with foam mattresses about two or three inches
thick. They were covered with a kind of velveteen spread, red with bright
patterns of birds and flowers in yellow and green and purple. And
yes, even pillows. Foam pillows. At the Sunrise, they sported
neon-bright fuchsia cases. And before you go thinking these were real rooms – nuh uh.
The “rooms” and “hall” were made by partitioning up the floor with plywood.
At the Sunrise, the walls went up to the ceiling, but the doors stopped
about six inches or so below. Sound proofing or privacy? Nope. There
are no secrets in Nepali lodges.
We had a typed page of rules tacked up on the wall – no fires
or candles, things like that. But it also said the solar-powered light
would be available for 20 minutes before bedtime. That simple statement
on its own unleashed all kinds of questions. Did that mean there would
be a set lights out time? Did we need to request that the light be turned
on? It was all so confusing! I never did get the answers to any of
my questions. Kalu negotiated with the management and got us 30 minutes
of light, and the light was already on when we got back from dinner.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t bright enough to be useful, so we shut it off
an used our flashlights instead.
And, of course, no lodge description would be complete without
a few words on the lovely communal toilet. It actually was pretty decent,
being inside and all. It was a porcelain bowl and had a flushing mechanism.
But it also smelled awful. Breathe deeply before entering!
Before dinner, Robin and I had time to walk down to the river,
the Dudh Kosi, so she could fill her water bottle. (Soldier Girl had
come prepared for war. She had some expensive water bottle with a filter
system so she could drink the local water). Peter had given all of us
iodine to purify our water. I can’t stand the taste, so I opted for
buying bottled water along the way. It cost anywhere from 15 to 180
rupees (about 30 cents to $2.50) On the last trek, we had no access
to bottled water. But since Khumbu is such a tourist area, the necessities
of life, like bottled water, toilet paper and chocolate, are available
all along the way. (Keep in mind that when I say :”tourist area,” I’m
not talking Hawaii here. It’s probably only about 17,000 people who
trek this way during an entire year. But for Nepal, that’s a lot.) On
the way to the river, we ran into three Russians coming back from Namche
Bazar. Robin conversed with them in Russian, one of three languages
she speaks, and I admit – I was very impressed. (Have I mentioned that
Robin’s specialty is interrogation? She spent some time in Germany,
debriefing defectors.)
We wandered along the river for a few yards until we came
to a massive trash build up - paper and trash and plastic bottles and
dozens upon dozens of beer bottles. It’s depressing how people – trekkers
very much included – dump their trash anywhere. Nepal is such a beautiful
country, but unfortunately, it’s being ruined.
Back at the lodge, I had some salty and not very good dal
bhat (ok, so much for ordering what the guides and porters order!) It
was cozy in the dining room, and after dinner, we sat around the wood-burning
stove that heated the room, and just talked. Something kept tickling
my nose and throat, making me cough. (Later, I realized it was the stove.
I don’t think they were burning cow dung at this low altitude – but
something had me hacking.)
I was quite pleased that I made it from the dining room back
to my room without having to put my gloves on. Of course, it took less
than two minutes to make the trip. Once in my room, I gathered up my
toiletries and went back outside to get ready for bed. Overhead, the
sky was full of stars – so crowded there was hardly room for them all.
Think of the most stars you’ve ever seen, and multiply that by about
100,000. That might start to give you an idea of how many stars you
can see in the Nepali sky!
I brushed my teeth, using the water that flowed freely from
a spigot a few yards from the building. (In Nepal, there’s no shortage
of water, and there always seems to be a spigot of running water.) Next,
I took out the lavender-scented, French-milled soap that my friend,
Mona, had given me the night before I left. This, she told me, was a
piece of civilization to take with me. Unfortunately, I had forgotten
that our running water came from – yes, glaciers. And you know what?
That’s really cold! Having soaped my face, I was committed
to rinsing. So before I lost my fingers to frostbite, I splashed my
face with enough water to get the soap off and scurried back inside!
Brrrrrr! So much for the mild weather!
Robin and I crawled into our sleeping bags, with me bound
and determined to let the down keep me warm. (Last time, I refused to
believe the bag would work and overdressed. Consequently, a couple of
times I froze.) I tried reading by my headlamp, but it wasn’t very easy.
It couldn’t have been more than 9:30pm when I turned my light off and
went to sleep And so far so good – I wouldn’t exactly say I was comfortable,
but I was quite warm.
Friday,
December 22, 2000
Phakding to Namche Bazar 8600’ to 11,270 I didn’t sleep very well that first night. I kept waking
up partly because I just kept waking up and partly because my hips hurt.
Robin told me that was because I was trying to curl up. Duh! She thought
I was trying to keep warm. Wrong! I was trying to curl up because that’s
how I sleep! Either curled up – or sprawled out across my king-sized
bed. Take that sprawl and cram it into a sleeping bag and what do you
get? Painful hips! But at least I was warm. Actually, almost too
warm.
At breakfast, we discovered that Linda was sick. She and
Lynda were afraid it might be the altitude, but Dr. Robin thought it
was dehydration – that Linda hadn’t been drinking enough to compensate
for all the water she lost sweating the previous day.
The rest of us gathered for breakfast in the dining room.
(Mine was a fried egg and toast, which comes as a fried egg between
two thick pieces of plain bread, sandwich style. The bread was good
until it cooled – then it became hard as a rock.) While we ate, we discussed
our options. Kalu suggested that Robin, Richard and I go ahead – and
instead of spending the night as scheduled in Monjo, just an hour’s
walk from where we were, go all the way to Namche. (Namche Bazar is
the largest Sherpa village and the trading center for Sherpas in the
region. It’s also the main center on the route to Tibet.) Since we’d
wanted to make sure we were in Namche for the Saturday morning market,
the three of us agreed that was the best plan.
It was about 9:30am when we left – cool but not cold. I was
lightly layered, knowing I’d be tossing stuff in my backpack soon. Richard,
on the other hand, still hadn’t learned. He was bundled up as if he
were ready to tackle Everest. And, as usual, within a few minutes, he
started peeling things off. First his down jacket…then his heavy wool
sweater. But instead of putting them in his own pack, he handed them
to Kalu to carry! As if the porters weren’t struggling enough under
the weight of his duffel, he had the nerve to hand his lightweight clothing
to our Sirdir.
The walk to Monjo was neither eventful nor difficult – it’s
only a 600 foot climb -- but it was beautiful! We were following the
Dudh Kosi, and every so often we stopped to marvel at the clear, clean
water crashing over the rocks and the huge mountains looming over us.
The sound of the flowing water was soothing, almost musical.
The porters climbing the trail were loaded with goods for
the Saturday market. Their packs were amazing, even to Kalu, who has
made this trip 40 or 50 times over the years. The bulk of the weight
of their loads is carried above them, towers of goods that are often
piled as high as the porters are tall. The whole load is braced against
their foreheads with a strap. On top of what’s in the
baskets on their backs, they carry cases of beer and Coke, gallon cans
of soybean oil, cases of noodles and so on. I counted seven or eight
cases of Carlsberg beer on several porters. Another had four of the
soybean oil cans – plus a couple of boxes of noodles. They carried at
least double their weight – and twice their height! They also carried
walking sticks with thick, slightly curved handles. At first I thought
that was odd – the porters I’d seen on my last trip carried heavy weights
but no walking sticks. But then I saw these guys lean on the sticks
when they took a few minutes break. They braced their butts against
the curved handle, resting without putting down their loads.
Our porter, Padam (we left Kumar and one guide, Balakaje,
with Linda and Lynda), also struggled with his load. It’s not unusual
for the trek porters to carry three people’s duffels, which normally
totals about 60 pounds. But with Richard’s 70 pounds, plus Robin’s and
my more reasonable packs, Padam was working. Hard. He couldn’t have
been more than 5’2” and was easily hauling twice his weight. But he
never complained and never stopped smiling.
We stopped for lunch at Monjo, where I immediately bonded
with a lovely dog who apparently lived at the tea house. I said hello
to her, and she immediately shoved her face in my hand, making it known
she was desperately in need of pooch nuzzles – her face, her ears, her
neck, and any other part I cared to scratch.
While we rested, I had time to study the Sherpa women in
front of the lodge across the trail from us. Most of them wore traditional
Sherpa dress, clothing that came originally from Tibet – a long woolen
robe called a chuba. Over the chuba, they wore striped
woolen aprons. The colors were deep blues and reds and black.
Most of the younger Sherpas wore Western style clothing.
But there was one thing all Sherpas shared – all wore
some kind of name brand running shoes (like Nike) and sports jackets,
and carried backpacks. Ah, civilization comes to Khumbu!
We also saw some people we’d first met on our flight to Lukla.
They were American Buddhists, shooting video of ceremonies and rituals
that most people can’t get in to see. A couple of them weren’t doing
too well with the altitude. And a couple of others also didn’t look
as if they really got enough regular exercise to be doing a trek like
this. But that, in a way, is what this kind of trip is all about. Each
person who goes has his or her own reason. Some want to challenge themselves,
some simply want to see a remote part of the world, and others do it
for spiritual reasons.
Just past Monjo, we entered the Sagamatha National Park,
which is the world’s highest wildlife sanctuary. It stretches from Monjo
to the top of the world, Mt. Everest. And while it’s a protected ecological
zone, don’t expect to see park rangers patrolling the terrain in Jeeps!
To the visitor’s eye, nothing changes when you step through the gate
and into the park. Life goes on the way it has up the trail so far.
At first, it was fairly easy going. The path was rocky, but
not too steep. We climbed a little, crossed some pretty sturdy bridges,
dropped a little and crossed some not-so-good-but-still-really-well-constructed-by-Nepali-standards
bridges. And then we started to climb. And climb. And climb. And it
was steep. Very steep. And I was puffing and panting. It made me feel
marginally better that the porters with their monstrous loads were stopping
fairly frequently, too. But it made me feel worse, because I only had
a camera, a couple of lenses, antiseptic hand wash and toilet paper
in mine. (I was carrying my water bottle so I could swig from it as
needed, which was often. Not only do you get really dry from the altitude
and the exertion, but the trail is dusty – a very powdery kind of dirt
that has you coughing and sneezing almost constantly.)
But if the trail was hard, our surroundings made the work
worthwhile. They were just spectacular. Across a small tree-filled gully
from us rose a stark, sharp mountain. Down its angular face were what
in warmer weather would be waterfalls. They were frozen in place by
the winter cold. It was breathtaking. That is, it took away whatever
breath I had left.
Kul was leading the pack on this day. Richard was up ahead
with him. Robin was kind of doing her own thing, but staying close to
me. I kept telling her to go ahead and not wait. I was fine with my
own pace, and I was very conscious of not slowing anyone else down,
especially someone who’s used to doing a couple of full-rucksack runs
each week. But, for some reason, she wouldn’t go ahead. Maybe she didn’t
want to be close to Richard. Or maybe – maybe – she was having almost
as hard a time as I was. In any case, Kalu stayed with me, keeping an
eye on the slowest person in the pack, stopping when I would, giving
me words of encouragement. At one point, I started chanting “om mani padme hum,” the
Tibetan prayer, timing my feet to the words. I tried to stay focused
in the moment, using the climb as a walking meditation instead of looking
ahead to how high I was climbing and how steep the climb would be. This
part of the trek was going to be about three hours, and I didn’t want
to spend it all concentrating on how hard it was. It helped – a little.
From time to time, I wondered if the altitude was doing anything
to me. (I’m always looking for excuses!) I didn’t think so. I mean,
I didn’t feel any different than I do at home – except that I was huffing
and puffing as I climbed toward Namche. I was still thinking about what
the people from the last trek had told me. But nope. No altitude problems.
My nose, on the other hand, was getting raw from constant wiping and
blowing. Robin, on the other hand, used military training to deal with
her runny nose. I saw her hold her forefinger to one side of her nose,
lean over and blow out the other side. Yuck! I’d rather have my raw
nose!
About mid-way (at least, I thought it was midway),
Kalu pointed out our first view of Everest -- just the tip of it peeking
over some trees. I saw a small narrow trail off our path, and edged
a few yard out to get a better shot.
“Didi, we’ll see better,” Kalu said to me. Didi
is Nepali for “older sister. In return, I called our guides and
porters by, or “brother.”
“But this is the first time I’m seeing it!” I answered. It
was an amazing sight, even though it wasn’t Everest that brought me
on this trek. For me, it was Tengboche. But I still wanted to photograph
it.
I edged out a little further, skillfully avoiding the yak
or not-yak or cow poop that covered the ground. I braced myself, snapped
my picture and returned to what was beginning to feel like a forced
march. I was doing much better on this trip than the first one. I was
warm at night, the trek wasn’t so up and down – just up.
But I still wasn’t sure I was having fun. I was pretty sure this would
be my final trek.
At a rest stop, the group met up again. I used the public
facilities – translation: the local shack – but this one was really
gross. Too many misses! Yuck!
I returned to our group just as Robin opened a bag of dried
banana chips from the Thai Airlines flight from Bangkok. The moment
she pulled the little bag open, a hand shot out, palm up, clearing wanting
some of whatever was inside. The hand was connected to a Khumba.
“Would you like some?” Robin asked, putting a few in his
hand. Another Khumba walked up, and she put some in his hand, too. The
first, who hadn’t eaten any, wanted more. Then a third Khumba walked
up.
We’d seen a handful of Khumba along the way, but this was
the first time we were face to face. And it wasn’t a pretty sight! These
guys have obviously never made the acquaintance of
soap and water. Their skin is very dark – not all of it from
dirt. Their clothes, on the other hand, are definitely dark from
dirt. Their hair is messy and unkempt, but not oily or greasy. Most
of them wear their hair wrapped around their heads in the old Sherpa
style. Their clothes? Well – odd, just like they are. Kind of bits and
pieces of everything. When the Khumba approach you, they tend to stand
too close, invading your personal space. Of course, I’m sure that “personal
space” is not a concept that flourishes in their tribe. And very often,
they have this kind of smile. It could be that they’re slightly wacko
in a serial killer kind of way – or it could be that they’re just very
gentle. Not sure which.
Ok…so this third Khumba
came up to us. Up to this point, none of them had said a word.
Then one tried to sell us his bead necklace. Almost every Khumba we
met tried to sell us necklaces with a strange-looking stone. Later,
I found out these black and white stones are called dzi and are
considered precious. The stone has a design in it that looks like eyes,
and the more eyes it has, the more expensive and auspicious it is.
Anyway, as this Khumba was trying to sell me his dzi,
another suddenly reached out to shake my hand. I didn’t want to
touch him, but he was standing so close I had no way out. So I shook
his hand. Then he moved to Robin and shook her hand. They smiled and
nodded and left. Robin and I looked at each other. Without a word, we
dove into our backpacks, searching madly for our antiseptic handwash
and handiwipes. As we de-Khumba’d our hands, Kalu laughed his head off.
Gotta admit – we were pretty funny! But hey – do you know
where those hands have been?
At about 3:30pm, we finally arrived in Namche. Only, to my
huge disappointment, it was just the “city limits.” I
turned to see Kalu sitting on a rock (I think he was tired, too!) and
joined him for a few minutes. We rested for a few minutes before continuing
on to the Sona Lodge, which, of course, was still half an hour and another
steep climb through Namche. It was quieter up there, Kalu explained.
That may be, but at that point, low and noisy would’ve been fine for
me.
The Sona Lodge turned out to be somewhat deluxe and exclusive,
relatively speaking. It was a sturdy structure, made of wood and stone.
There were only five rooms, plus a larger “dorm” room that our staff
shared. The rooms were on the second floor. Up a solid wood staircase
on the third floor was a large dining room, stocked with stuff to buy!
Rugs and hats and gloves and thick wool socks in the colors I’d been
looking for! The room had picture windows on two sides, and under the
windows were window seat-like benches covered with thick foam pads and
topped with brightly colored Tibetan runners. In front of the benches
were polished wooden tables, so that diners sat around the edges of
the room but not in the middle. There was even a television and VCR
(and we were treated to some Nepali videos. Words fail me!)
Hands down, the best thing about the Sona Lodge was that
we could take hot showers! Robin and I had passed on showers in Phakding
and discovered our decision was the right one. Richard had partaken
and described his cold misery in the stone shower “stall” which had
no light and only a bucket of warm water. But in Namche, 100 rupees
(about $1.30) bought about 10 minutes of steaming hot water pounding
down in a good, strong spray. I broke out the lavender soap and lathered
up. Heaven!
Now, granted the shower was outside, between the toilet shed
and the cow stall. Yes, the cow stall, which housed this cute little black and white creature with soft fur.
And there was a small pile of dried cow stuff between the toilet and
the shower. But it didn’t smell. Really, it didn’t.
I changed into my sweats and went upstairs to the dining
room where I realized I could dry my hair with the heat from the stove.
A stove, by the way, that, as is typical in this area, was fueled by
wood and dried cow stuff. There was certainly no shortage of it! And
believe it or not – it didn’t smell. Really, it didn’t!
Dinner was steamed momo. Finally – decent food! We finished
the beer we’d started before our showers, ate our momo and headed off
to bed. The Sona Lodge didn’t have running water. So I brushed my teeth
with bottled water and used a handiwipe to wash my face. It wasn’t glamorous,
but at least I was clean. Robin nodded off about 8pm, but I wanted to
read for awhile. Surprisingly enough, after the tough hike, I wasn’t
tired. My muscles weren’t sore either, and I didn’t have any blisters.
I was pretty toasty inside my sleeping bag – except for my hands, sticking
out of the bag, holding my book. I put on my cashmere gloves but then
couldn’t turn the pages! About 8:30, I finally gave up and went to sleep.
Saturday,
December 23, 2000
Namche Bazar Elevation 11, 270 feet We woke up somewhere around 6:30am or so – that is, Robin
woke up. I was already awake, having not slept well again. I was warm
enough (if I keep talking about being warm, it’s because I was so cold
the last time. And I hate the cold. I hate being cold!
So why am I in Nepal in December?) I just can’t sleep well in a sleeping
bag and kept waking up. I also kept coughing. I had the famous trekker’s
cough you get while hiking here. The combination of the dry air, the
altitude and the incredibly fine dirt from the trail is a horrible irritant.
Add to that the cow dung in the fires – almost everyone was coughing.
Kalu got us going about 8am. The famed Saturday market was
starting. He knocked on our door, calling out, “Go to the market. “It’s
starting. Then come back here for breakfast.”
Robin surprised me – she was kinda cranky. She refused to
budge from our room until she had finished some kind of moisturizer
and face cream ritual. (And this is Soldier Girl, who keeps talking
about Survival School. Wait! She said she went to Survival
School. She didn’t say she finished Survival School!)
I think she was cranky because she was constipated (There are no secrets
on a trek. But actually, she told me. Too much information!!) I followed
Kalu and Kul to the market. Robin caught up with us a few minutes later
and sort of muttered an explanation about how she just doesn’t want
to be pushed to go until she’s ready. Whatever. She can spend the whole
day rubbing creams on her body. I was going to the market.
We walked down the hill and over to the terraces where the
market takes place – and were immediately disappointed. Instead of interesting
stuff and trinkets and whatever we’d been dreaming of, it was all basic
household stuff for the Sherpas, which actually made perfect sense.
It was the cooking oil, beer and other goods we had seen coming up the
hill on the porters’ backs. There was also fruit, lentils and clothing.
Kalu helped Robin buy some bananas, we took some obligatory pictures
and left.
Rather than go back to the lodge for breakfast, I led Robin
past the rows of shops in the center of town to a konditerei I had seen
the day before. Many of the doors were covered with thick hangings appliquéd
or embroidered with Tibetan symbols. In some cases, the hangings covered
wooden doors. Other times, they were the doors.
Namche is really quite cosmopolitan. It has a pool hall,
a couple of places to go dancing, a lot of shops with Tibetan antiques
– and a shop that advertises it specializes in chocolate. This, unfortunately,
wasn’t true. (Trust me – I checked.) In fact, I didn’t see a single
piece of chocolate amongst the junk that filled the tiny shop.
It was too early for the konditerei to be in full swing,
but there were still fresh pastries for sale. I chose a piece of apple
strudel, and Robin picked apple kuchen. The strudel was too sweet for
me, pretty dense, but not horrible. My crust wasn’t flaky, but I suppose
at 11,270 feet you’re not gonna get a lot of flake.
After breakfast, Robin went back to the lodge, saying she
needed some time to herself. I wanted to explore. I ran into Kalu and
Kul, who were on their way to the Khumba campground to shop. I tagged
along, looking forward to a lesson in how the natives do it. I’m pretty
good at bargaining for stuff. But there’s nothing like watching an expert!
The Khumba set up their camp in the middle of Namche. Since
it was Saturday, each had a large pile of goods spread out on the tarps
in front of their tents. Piles of clothing, rolls of Tibetan rugs and
runners, and, of course, the dzi like the guys on the road to
Namche had tried to sell us. Kalu inspected various shirts and jackets
for himself, his kids and his sister. He asked prices, tossing the clothes
back on the tarps. Everything was too expensive for its worth.
We parted, and I continued exploring. The first thing I found
was yaks! And they were really cool! After days of seeing cows and not-yaks
(our term for a cross between a yak and a cow. Sometimes I called them
“nyuk nyuks,” but no one seemed to get it.), I was face to fur with
the Khumba’s herd of yaks. They just stood there, their long fur flowing
and matted, looking kind of, well, dumb. (A little like their masters,
actually. Except for the dumb part.) They had brightly colored tassels
in red and pink and yellow hanging from their ears – marks identifying
their owners, a Tibetan style of branding.
My other great find was a series of four or five prayer wheels
in a little stream that were meant to be water powered. Unfortunately,
only one still worked, spinning and ringing a little tinkling bell than
hung just above it. I enjoyed the sound for few minutes before shooting
some pictures of the prayer wheels and a small stupa with its prayer
flags dancing in the breeze.
I ran into Robin, who finally decided she was ready to be
sociable. We inspected all the goods in town that were spread out for
sale, item by item, stall by stall. Everyone wanted to bargain, everyone
wanted to deal. It was almost the end of the season, and there wouldn’t
be many more tourists coming through. Even so, the villagers were tough
bargainers. You’d have to turn away two, sometimes three times to get
your price. And if they did finally meet your price, some of them would
get sullen looks, as if you’d forced them to do something awful, something
they really hadn’t wanted to do. Only one merchant was really honest
with me, saying he just couldn’t go down to my price for a yak-bone
necklace. I forked over the additional $1.40. I was looking for small stuff – interesting
jewelry, nak (the female yak) cheese for my father. Robin, on the other
hand, wanted a Tibetan carpet. So back to the Khumba we went.
She kind of liked the first rug she saw, so we got a price
just to see what they were asking. As we walked away, the merchant pressed
her hard for a counter offer. But we were firm that we were just looking.
Finally, she found one she liked, and the bargaining began. I didn’t
wanna get in Robin’s way, so I let her do the work, even though I was
itching to get in on the action. Robin consulted me on each offer until
an agreement was reached. I was sure I could have saved her at least
another 500 rupees (about US7.00), but she still got a fair price –
a 12’ runner for about US60.00.
Robin hefted the rolled up carpet on her shoulder (yeah,
she made it through Survival School), and we trudged back uphill to
the lodge. Once there, we learned that Linda and Lynda had made it to
Monjo – but no farther. We had serious doubts that they would get all
the way up to Namche.
That night, we met another guest, a man from Belgium who
was going all the way to Kala Patar. He was hysterically funny, and
we laughed and joked about our countries, ugly Americans (like Richard),
our air travel experiences and our trek adventures. We shared our rakshi
(the local rice liquor), Robin’s Courvoisier and his yak steak and Nepali
apple pie (more like a turnover than a pie.) We had a great evening
before saying our good-byes – we were off in different directions the
next day. It was about 9pm by the time we said good night – the latest
night we’d had so far.
Sunday,
December 24, 2000
Namche Bazar 11,270’ In the dark of the night – or morning – I wasn’t sure which
because I woke up so often – I could hear cowbells. Every cow, not-yak
and yak has a bell around its neck. As it moves, you hear the sound
of the bell. Lying in the dark, I could hear the soft clangs of the
two cows below our window. It was a little like a lullaby.
The morning was cold, but not hideously so. I managed to
get up and get dressed without shaking too much. (From the first night,
I’d sleep with my clothes for the following day in my sleeping bag,
so they were fairly warm when I put them on in the morning.) The view
from our window was beautiful We looked directly at Kongde, and the
top of it looked as if a bowl has been carved out of it. The sunlight
was just breaking across the mountain.
Kalu had planned a day excursion for us – a side trip to
Thamo Monastery, about two hours hike away. We climbed the stone steps
to leave Namche, and immediately I started getting winded. Not a good
sign. The weather was mild, as it had been so far. Clear blue skies
with barely a cloud and temperatures that were probably only in the
low 60’s in the sun – but the effort of our trekking kept us comfortably
warm. It was much cooler in the shade and always a little bit of a chill
in the air. You certainly couldn’t forget that you were surrounded by
the Himalay.
We passed piles of mani stones – stone tablets with
Buddhist prayers carved on them. I asked Kalu if they all said the same
thing. He told me some (and it appeared to me most) of them have “om
mani padme hum” carved on them. Others were specific prayers a monk
or villager chants.
We walked through pine forests, a river far below us. The
canyon carved by the river was mind boggling in its depth and height.
And always along our left side, Kongde, with its chiseled hole in the
center.
I was slow on the climbing parts, stopping to catch my breath
frequently. I didn’t feel any different at this altitude. I felt
good enough to start jogging any time I wanted to – if I
wanted to! But I couldn’t, obviously. What’s more, I was starting to
wonder if I’d be able to make the climb to Tengboche. If it was that
hard for me to get up to Namche, and it was this difficult with hardly
any climbing, then I didn’t know if I’d be able to make a second steep
climb to Tengboche. And Tengboche was the reason I was doing this.
I was the last one in our little pack, with Kalu behind me
to make sure I was ok.(Well, actually, he’d be at the back no matter
who was there. On a trek, one guide is at the front, leading, another
at the rear to keep an eye on stragglers.) I asked him to sing some
of the Napali folk songs I’d heard on my first trip to Nepal. That morning,
in the dining room, I’d heard Kalu singing a few bars of the song I
like most. I tried to get him to sing it, but he’d only give me a few
bars. I think he was probably shy. which was too bad because it was
wonderful to listen to. I told Kalu I wouldn’t be able to climb unless
he sang. Didn’t work.
I stopped to look at some particularly breathtaking scenery
and said, “It’s so beautiful.” And from behind me, Kalu answered softly,
“Yes, it is, didi.” I had asked him several days before if he
ever started to take the scenery for granted. He said no, he always
thought it was beautiful. At the time, I thought he might just be saying
that because I was the tourist. But here, I think he really meant it.
We passed through a kind of arch – concrete walls and a flat
top. Inside, three prayer wheels brightly decorated with the “om” prayer
were set in each side. The walls were beautifully painted with Buddhist
pictures, and ornate mandalas covered the ceiling. The arch was similar
to one I saw in Namche, only this was in much better condition. Kalu
told me it marked the entrance to the village and was probably built
either by monks or someone very wealthy who wanted to honor Buddha (and
rack up a few points for the next life.) We spun the prayer wheels and
continued up the road through the village of Thamo. It was small but
quite clean, and the houses looked very nice. I saw a few people and
fewer animals. The quiet was wonderful!
We stopped for tea at a place called the Tashidele Restaurant
(Tashi dele, in its various spellings, is the Tibetan equivalent of
namaste, which means “greetings to you and the spirit that dwells
within.”) The view from the terrace outside the restaurant was spectacular
– a panorama of Himalay. Ama Dablin. Thomserku. Kusum Kangaru. Strange
names that conjure up the exotic. We relaxed in the warm sun for about
half an hour before continuing another 15 minutes or so up to the monastery.
Again, I was puffing at the tail of the pack as we climbed to the top
of Thamo..
It turned out we’d come on a bad day – the lama was out of
town, maybe in India, and so the monastery was closed. But the old nun
who was there let us in to see some of the renovation work that’s going
on. Thamo Monastery is only about 30 years old, but it’s crumbling.
Little by little, though, it’s being restored, and one of the rooms
we were allowed to see had some magnificent paintings and murals covering
its walls. We all donated money – I was the most generous, giving 100
rupees (about US1.30. The others gave about 15 rupees.) I placed it
on a small table in front of a photograph of the lama, and knelt for
a few minutes with my thoughts. The old nun and I seemed to connect
in some way, as if she understood my thoughts. Or maybe it was the 100
rupees.
We bid the nun farewell and went
back downhill to the Tashidele Restaurant for lunch. I got Kalu to name
the mountains we were facing so I could write it down, but no one else
seemed to care. And neither Richard nor Robin would use namaste when
we met others along the road (Nepalis are very friendly, and if you
greet them, they’ll respond.), nor had they taken to using did and
by. I wasn’t surprised about Richard. He was so into himself
that he probably didn’t even notice. But Robin, who’s traveled around
the world and speaks three languages – well, I would’ve though it’d
be a natural. To me, it’s part of the fun of traveling. To them – I
guess it didn’t matter.
A trip to the facilities here introduced
us to something a little different. Instead of a wood shack, this one
was completely made out of corrugated roofing, which made the floor
pretty slippery. One false move and – well, don’t go there!
For lunch, I ordered vegetable
fried rice. From the terrace, I could see the restaurant’s proprietress
go into her vegetable garden (which was covered with a thick plastic
tarp to shield it from the cold) and pick some fresh green leaves –
the veggies for my lunch. And lunch this day was very good!
Our food was definitely improving!
The return trip to Namche was just
as hard for me as it was going to Thamo. There were some very beautiful
moments – passing through the sun and shadows made by the pine trees,
for instance. It was like walking through a painting. And the light
green spruce tree that was so bright it seemed to glow. But I was panting
and stopping often, and I felt the difficulty of what should have been
nothing more than a little walk. Closer to Namche, I sat down on a rock
to rest and told Kalu I might not be able to make it to Tengboche. I
was almost in tears as I said it. I had never considered the possibility
that I wouldn’t make it. But I had to face facts. Kalu was very kind.
First he said, “I think you can do it, didi. I think you can.”
And I said, “I don’t know – just look how hard I’m working today.” And
again, he said, “I think you can make it. But if you can’t, don’t worry.
It’s just another monastery, didi, and you’ve seen monasteries.”
I said I’d wait and see – I’d try and see what happened..
Robin had taken off who knew where.
(She had finally decided she didn’t want to wait for anyone, not even
Kul, who was leading.) Richard was behind me, having trouble with some
of the downhill. (That made me feel better. I was great on the downhill
stuff. Gave me a chance to gloat!) As we passed the gompa, or
monastery, above Namche, I felt a wave of relief – with a little triumph
mixed in – that I had made it home. I also took a detour so I could
stop at the Namche post office to mail a postcard to the US..
I followed the signs to a long,
two-story stone building with a small door at the very far end, a door
so small you had to duck to get through it. It was a little like something
out of Alice in Wonderland. Once through the door, I was in some
kind of storage space, filled with firewood. There were no lights, so
at first I couldn’t see the wooden stairs off to the side, leading to
the second floor. At the top of the stairs, a small room was partitioned
off with plywood. The Post Office.
A young Sherpa woman sat behind
an old metal desk, carefully checking out the mail set in front of her.
I laughed and joked with an Australian man and his daughter who were
also there to try and send mail. The man told me one of his guidebooks
said that some mail has been known to make it out of Namche!
The postmistress took my single postcard (sending it was really just
a kind of postal experiment!), examined it closely to make sure it had
enough postage, then hand canceled it with a stamp – and enough force
to send it to Los Angeles on its own!
A wonderful surprise was waiting
for us back at the lodge – Linda and Lynda! Both had been sick, but
both were feeling much better. They had decided they wouldn’t go on
to Tengboche. Instead, they would stay in Namche, explore, shop and
do whatever – and wait for us to come back through and pick them up
on the return. It was so good to see them! I was so delighted they’d
made it after all!
Since it was Christmas Eve, I brought
out the box of candy canes I’d been hauling around. (Ok, ok. Candy canes
are not heavy. But it was a pain having to stuff ‘em in my backpack
and worry about not breaking them.) There were so many that we passed
them around our crew, the lodge staff and even offered them to a group
of Japanese trekkers in the dining room. (We couldn’t figure out why
the Japanese trekkers got a table cloth on their tables until we saw
that they were camping outside the lodge. For that, we agreed, they
deserved table cloths – and a lot more!) Lynda had brought packages
of different kinds of hot chocolate (with hazelnut, double chocolate,
and so on.) And even though it was Christmas Eve, no one seemed inclined
to sing any carols.
Sunday, December 25, 2000
Namche Bazar to Lonasa 11,270’ descending to about 10,650’ There was frost on the inside of
the window in the morning. This was definitely the coldest night we’d
had so far. The people from the last trek had told me about ice inside
their rooms, but they had made it sound as if they were sleeping in
a refrigerator. I was beginning to think they were big wimps. (I did
get a little worried, though – I like warm weather. I like humidity.
I don’t want to get used to the cold! If I do, the next thing
you know, I’ll be moving to some place like – Buffalo. Oh, gawd! No!)
I’ve decided that I’m good on a
trip like this for four days. That’s my limit. Then I’m more than ready
to go back into, say, the Oriental. Unfortunately, four days was only
our half-way point. We still had two more days of climbing, then two
days down. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound…
The previous night, I had taken
my contact lenses out for their weekly cleaning. It was too cold to
wash and rinse them outside – my fingers were freezing without getting
wet! So the only place for me to do it was in the toilet
– which didn’t make me too comfortable. Now, this was a nice
toilet, as they go in Nepal. It wasn’t just a hole in the ground – it
was a porcelain bowl in the ground. And there was a little water spigot
with a bucket and a little pail so you could rinse down any nasties
you might leave behind. There were even three large cans with geraniums
on the window sill. But since there was no other place, that’s where
I washed my contacts. My ophthalmologist would’ve turned green if he’d
seen me.
Waving good bye to Linda and Lynda,
we set off for Tengboche. But only a few minutes later, when we reached
the top of Namche, I saw that our planned path went straight up a hill.
Kul was already ahead with Robin and Richard. I was already panting,
just climbing up the steps to leave Namche. I knew I couldn’t make it
up that hill. I stopped and, to my surprise, started to cry. Even though
the day before I had told Kalu I wasn’t sure I could make it, I still
believed I could. Now, it seemed, I couldn’t.
My tears must have embarrassed
Kalu, because for a minute, he didn’t seem to know what to do. I told
him I just wanted to sit down for a minute and think. As soon as I did
that, he suggested that I go around the mountain on another path with
the porters. This was absolutely fine with me. I’d at least be able
to get to our next stop, even though it was pretty clear that I wouldn’t
be going all the way to Tengboche.
Kul, Robin, Richard and Kalu went
up the mountain, and I followed Padam and Kumar on our path. They took
their responsibility of watching me quite seriously and took very
good care of me. They pointed out Monjo far below us and Thomserku
farther off. They asked me from time to time if I needed to stop – but
the path was pretty flat and easy to travel. Along the way, we ran into
a few other porters and trekkers. And older, overweight German woman
checked out my camera and lenses and gave me instructions on how to
breathe at this altitude. I wondered how she’d made it this far. I was
in much better shape, and I was having a hard time. Maybe
everyone feels the way I did, but just deals with it. I don’t know.
But on this day, I was truly enjoying
my walk. Padam and Kumar hummed and sang softly. Sometimes they carried
on quiet conversations in Nepali. I couldn’t understand what they were
saying, but that was ok. It was part of the landscape of my adventure.
At times, when we were all quiet, I could hear the tinkling of cow bells
as herds approached from in front of and behind us. I was having a very
peaceful day and felt as if I was finally experiencing a part of the
real Nepal. Best of all, it was just us – and the ever-growing Himalay.
As we came around a curve in the path, and my porters-turned-guides-for-the-day
pointed out Ama Dablin, Loche and Everest. They were going to make sure
I knew everything I was looking at!
We made a stop at the aptly-named
Good View Lodge in Kyangsuma. It was directly across from Ama Dablin,
Loche and Everest and did, indeed, have a very good view!
I bought my crew tea (I wasn’t quite sure what protocol was here – but
I offered, and they accepted. I was happy to treat them, and the 30
rupees, or 50 cents, was easier for me to spare.) and struck up a conversation
with two German men who were traveling our same route. While we were
sitting there, a man with a small herd of yaks passed in front of us.
It was a photo op from heaven – a yak herd passing in front of Everest.
I didn’t know what the rest of the group was doing – but my day was
perfect!
A number of porters passed by as
we were sipping our tea. Their loads were more “normal” than the ones
we had seen on our way up to Namche. But one in particular caught my
attention – I heard what sounded like a radio coming from him! But a
radio – up here? I thought it must’ve been a CD or tape player. But
to my surprise, other western trekkers later told me their porters had
transistor radios! No one seemed to know where the station was broadcasting
from – but people were listening!
We hit the road again, pushing
on to Sanasa, where we would rejoin the rest of the group. To my surprise,
it was only about 20 minutes from our tea stop. We got there first,
and I relaxed with another cup of milk tea, laughing at a sign on the
gift shop across from the terrace where I sat: “Visit World Highest
Mt. Everest Bakery at Khumjung 30 minutes walk.” I’d sure love the see
the “World Highest” bakery – but not if I had to climb to it! Khumjung
was where the rest of the group was this morning (at an altitude of
12,400 feet, just a little lower than our final destination of Tengboche.)
I heard what sounded like a large
group people approaching from below. It turned out to be 42 people,
ex-patriot families from various countries living in Singapore. About
half were kids, and they were on their way back from Tengboche. They
threw themselves down around me on the terrace, and pretty soon, we
were laughing and talking about everything from our old cameras (one
man had the same camera I have – just slightly newer. So instead of
his camera being 20 years old, it’s only 18 years old.) to snacks to
– whatever! They told me how they didn’t think there were going to make
it to Tengboche, but they did and it was worth it. I asked them how
the climb compared in difficulty to Namche. They couldn’t really give
me a good answer, but the general consensus seems to be it was hard
– but certainly no harder.
Finally, Robin, Richard, Kul and
Kalu arrived. They’d had a wonderful morning, stopping at the very expensive
Everest View Hotel and getting spectacular views of Everest and the
other Himalay. I’m sure it was very beautiful – and part of me wished
I’d seen it, too. But I’d had a wonderful morning with my porters –
and a kind of escape from the regular tourist stuff. I truly didn’t
feel I’d missed anything.
After lunch, we set off again as
a group on a short, rocky downhill. We passed people coming from back from Tengboche and beyond – people who were obviously
having a difficult climb on the return trip. They looked worn out, as
if they’d been to the edge of the world and barely made it back.
It was only a short time –not even
an hour – until we reached our stop for the night, Lonasa, a village
so small I couldn’t find it on the map. Kalu had never stayed here before,
and it proved to be an experience for all us!
Robin was in a pissy mood even
before we got to Lonasa. The minute we reached the lodged, she turned
around and announced she was going off by herself. She told me she was
angry because Kul wouldn’t let her go ahead on the trail.
“He just won’t shut up,” she fumed
at me and started mimicking him. “’Wait for me. Don’t go.’ There’s only
one path. There’s only one way for me to go!”
It was obvious to me why he didn’t
want her to go ahead. She didn’t know Nepal, she didn’t know the path,
and so on. Plus that very American concept of “liability.” But Ms. Green Beret didn’t understand. I tried
to play the diplomat.
“It’s his job,” I said. “Peter’d
have his head if anything happened. He’s just trying to do his job.”
“Well, maybe,” she was still mad.
“I’m going.” And she went off to who knows where.
Kalu showed me the one double room
– and it was awful. Truly, truly awful. The rooms we’d had so far hadn’t
been large – maybe 6’ by 7’. But this was barely wide enough for the
beds. I could probably touch both walls at the same time! The beds,
instead of being side by side, were set up end to end. The windows looked
out over the back of the lodge – and the facilities. But hey, I figured.
It was only one night. What the heck. And besides, there didn’t seem
to be any other place to stay.
The guides were relaxing on a little
stone wall in front of the lodge. It looked like a good idea, so I stretched
out and closed my eyes. It felt good to lie in the warm sun! I heard
people taking softly, a couple of hens and a rooster scratching around
and then the sound of cow bells – a lot of cow bells!
I opened my eyes, and saw an enormous herd of yaks. They kept coming
and coming and coming! I told Kalu I was like the little black one that
was lagging behind – the slowest one that doesn’t want to go up the
steps. That’s me! No problem, didi, he said.
I stretched back out on my wall,
eyeing the rooster and chickens. They were very pretty, as were all
the fowl we’d seen. These were plump and healthy looking, their feathers
a soft, deep orange. They didn’t seem at all interested until a few
minutes later when one jumped up on me, surveyed the scene around her,
walked across me and then jumped down the other side I decide it was
time for me to move to a table.
I was sitting there, drinking tea
and writing in my diary when Robin got back. She was in a much better
mood, having been able to lead herself on her own trek. She was in a
better mood, that is, until I told her about our room. I saw the black
clouds come back, the anger rising in her again. She started talking
about how Peter wouldn’t allow this, that this wasn’t up to his standards
(since this is her first trip with him, and she’d been on it five days,
I’m not sure how she knew so much about Peter’s standards and the available
accommodations in Nepal. But she sure thought she did.) She decided
she’d better talk to Kalu about the situation.
She came back a few minutes later,
much happier. “Management” had moved us to the “dorm,” actually a larger
room at the end of the short hall. Ordinarily, it would house six people.
But with just the two of us, it was positively spacious! We could each
spread our stuff on one bed – and sleep on another two. I admit – it
was probably a good thing that Robin talked to Kalu. But still, one
night wouldn’t have killed us.
I really liked our lodge and so,
it turns out, did Richard. It was very local. The menu
was in English and Nepali, but only the Nepali side had prices. We were
getting an up-close look at local life.
I had gone inside because it was
getting quite cold. The sunlight faded quickly in our little village.
But what was left filtered in through the shelves in front of a window
and cast shadows on me as I wrote. I was so far from the life I live.
I watched the young woman stacking more wood for the fire. She was obviously
the cook. She was younger than me – by at least ten years. Her life
must be hard, very hard. As Richard pointed out, it was as if we’d stepped
back in time 200 years.
I wanted to get as close to the
fire as I could – but since the stove was in a little well in the ground,
and was being used for cooking, it was inconvenient. I was sitting in
the lodge’s kitchen. The dining room and the kitchen were really one
big room, partially separated by some shelves. The proprietress wanted
to move me into the dining room, which, I gathered, was more appropriate
for a guest. I was happy where I was, enjoying watching the cook in
the dim light. But she won. To warm me, she piled coals on a type of
portable pot-bellied stove. It didn’t really generate all that
much heat, but it was better than nothing.
I wasn’t the only one who was cold.
Kumar was curled up under a kapok-filled quilt on one of the benches.
Pretty soon, Kul joined him under the covers, but there wasn’t enough
room for two, and Kumar moved into the kitchen. The dining room, I was
sure, also served as sleeping quarters for the owners of the lodge as
well as various trek crews, like ours.
I was fascinated by the kitchen.
The stove was in one corner – and I never did figure out what it was
made out of. It probably was something like adobe. It was shaped like
a small igloo, with a place to build a fire, then “burners” on top –
holes cut in the adobe to let the fire come through -- room for two
or three pots or pans or woks. At least two dozen bunches of garlic
hung from the ceiling around the stove. Shelves and cupboards to the
left of the stove held eggs and dried noodles and other food stuff.
The shelves that lined another wall and separated the dining room held
pots, tea thermoses, tea kettles and
condiments.
Since it was dark and cold, we
gathered for an early dinner. I ordered mushroom soup and Sherpa stew
– a thick vegetable stew. I liked the one they’d served in Namche and
hoped I’d like this version just as much. We sat back and relaxed, chatting
about places we’ve been and places we’d like to go. For the first time
on the trip, Richard was behaving in a fairly normal, polite way, tolerable
at last.
I glanced over at the cook, curious
about what she was doing. But when I saw her reach into a bag next to
the stove and pull out a handful of cow dung for the fire – well, I
decided the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy was the best way to go here.
Originally, I had wanted to spend time in the kitchens of the various
lodges, watching how they cooked and hopefully learning some secrets
of Nepali cooking. This made me decided some things are better kept
secret.
The soup was great – the best I’d
had in Nepal, and I asked Kalu to tell that to the cook. The Sherpa
stew was ok. It had a spice in it I didn’t care for. But it was a satisfying
meal anyway. After dinner, when it was finally too dark to see, the
lodge’s owners turned on the single solar powered light that hung between
the two “rooms.” It didn’t shed much light on us – as far as I was concerned,
we would have been better off with just the fire. The staff sat in the
“kitchen” laughing and joking with the locals while we sat in the ”dining
room,” nipping at Robin’s Courvoisier and carrying on our own conversation.
Richard – who refused to have anything to drink on the trip – loved
the lodge He liked his room, which had a great view out of the front of the
lodge. And like me, he loved seeing a part of real Nepali life.
Monday, December 26, 2000
Lonasa to Tengboche
Climbing to 12,900 feet
It was cold in the
morning! Not unbearable – but definitely cold! I needed my down jacket
and gloves at breakfast, even though I knew it would be too warm walking
with them. This was the first time I’d really needed them on the trip.
We’d finished eating our breakfast,
but I got a kick out of watching our crew eat theirs. Usually, the staff
would take meals separately from us, in another room and often much
later than ours. But this morning, I caught them in the act. They dumped
huge amounts of hot
chili into their noodles and soup! The cook had made a fried egg sandwich
that Kalu carefully cut into four pieces. Kul and Padam let Kalu dump
their share into their noodle bowls. But Kumar said no, no – and stuck
out his hand for his piece.
I went back to our room to pack
my jacket and tell Robin about the staff eating breakfast. But she was
a little distracted and didn’t seem interested. Then, it started..
First, she asked me – for the second
time since we’d started – how this trip compared to the last trek I
took. Was that one as hard?
It was different, I told her –
again. That one was difficult because it was constantly up and down.
This one was difficult because it was so steep.
“I think Peter should give people
a recommended training program when they sign up for this trip,” she
said, as she carefully packed her duffel. It started to dawn on me where
she was going. And I wasn’t going to play her game. I didn’t say anything.
She went on. Hadn’t I read the
map Peter had sent us? Hadn’t I seen how steep it was? I thought I could
make it, I said. I had no problem last time – and saw no reason why
I should this time. It was just steeper than I had thought.
We went back and forth for a few
minute – all very polite. Then she turned to me and said, “What happens
if you can’t make it to Tengboche?”
“Then Kalu sends me back with Kul
and a porter. It’s not a big deal,” I explained. It hadn’t dawned on
her that this is the way it is on treks. Linda and Lynda, for example.
Plans change, people get sick, people can’t make a climb. On my last
trek, we had a woman with a heart condition. She’d done the trek before
and knew exactly how far she could go. She got to that point and went
another direction with a guide and porter – and met up with us several
days later. Not a big deal. Except, apparently, to Robin.
“And that means changing the porters
all around!” she exclaimed, looking like she was starting to lose it.
All of a sudden she was concerned
about musical porters. Yet two days earlier, when I had said I was having
trouble remembering our porters’ names, she had shrugged and said, “They
don’t know our names, either.” Now she was concerned about possibly
having to switch them.
It also was dawning on me how much
she disliked our little lodge at Lonasa. After having seen the Everest
View Lodge and Khumjung, she was angry we didn’t stay there. Well, I’ve
got news for Missy Survival School – Khumjung may have been on the original
itinerary – but we were never going to spend the night
at the Everest View Lodge! Much, much too expensive for our trek!
And then I recalled something she’d
said a couple of days before – that people over 60 shouldn’t be allowed
on these trips. I knew who that was aimed at, even though Linda and
Lynda are in their mid-50’s and so by Robin’s standard should still
qualify for the trip. At that time, I’d told her that
we had five people between the ages of 65 and 70 who’d been on
my last trek. And they’d been wonderful, especially Gert, who used to
walking sticks, kept her own pace and was so delightful, we’d bought
her a t-shirt with her name on it when we got back to Kathmandu.
The conversation was going nowhere,
so I left the room. Then, deciding I had a little more to say to her,
I stepped back in and said, “Look, I’m sorry if I’m spoiling your trip.
But if I don’t make it to Tengboche, I’m ok with it. If it doesn’t bother
me, it shouldn’t bother you.” I wasn’t ok with it at all. But I’d never
said that to anyone – not even Kalu.
And then she said something about
me whining about not making it. Whining? No, I don’t think so. In fact,
if you think about it, I wasn’t the one whining about our original room
in Lonasa. Nor about Kul not letting her go ahead of him. Or – well,
you get the picture. Somebody had to let her know what this trip was
and was not about. And that person was me. So very nicely and politely
I said, “This isn’t a military exercise. It’s a normal vacation for
normal people.” And left the room. Bite me.
I was ready to leave before the
others, so Kul and I started. The first part of our trek was downhill
– we lost altitude, dropping to Pungo Tenga at 10,650’. Then we started
to climb. And climb. And climb.
This morning, I’d decided to keep
my face covered as much as possible. I was still coughing a lot – mostly
from the dust. And since it was so cold, and I was working so hard,
I knew I’d be breathing heavily through my mouth. So I folded up a length
of toilet paper and used it as a handkerchief, covering my nose and
mouth as we walked. It definitely helped.
I walked slowly, taking my time,
stopping to catch my breath frequently. Kul asked me from time to time
if I wanted to rest. No, I said, I was ok. Do you want to rest? I asked
him. No, he said, and we continued our climb.
I chanted. I tried a walking meditation.
I tried to stay in the moment and not think about how hard this climb
was. But let’s not kid anyone. It was hard. Very hard. It was all up.
No relief. No flat for a few yards to recover. Only up.
I lost track of time, which was
fine. I assumed it was going to be about three hours of climbing, so
I really didn’t want to look at my watch (my Rocky and Bullwinkle watch,
by the way.) I just wanted to keep climbing.
I also tried to look at my surroundings,
which was a neat trick on any trail, but especially one that was so
steep. Even though I was still walking through thick forest, I could
see higher where the trees ended and hard brown and very formidable
mountain continued to rise toward the sky, barren but for patches of
ice.
Below me, several thousand feet
below me, the Dudh Kosi flowed. From time to time, an icy breeze wafted
through the air. I was in and out of the sun, and in the shade, the
temperature dropped dramatically. A few birds chirped. Otherwise, it
was silent. No sign of Robin and Richard.
After awhile, we started to pass
people who were coming down. The first ones were monks, dressed in their
burgundy and yellow robes. I took this as a good sign.
“Namaste,” I panted.
“Namaste,” they answered,
not panting.
Then we started to meet other trekkers
on their descent.
Finally, one jovial man said to
me, “Hang in there! You’re only about half an hour away!”
“Really?” I exclaimed, not believing
him.
“Really!” he answered as he passed
me.
“Oh, I love you!!” I yelled after
him. I could hear him laughing. But I didn’t take him seriously. Downhill
goes so much faster that you can’t always compare your down time to
up time. And by Rocky and Bullwinkle, it hadn’t been anywhere nearly
long enough.
About ten minute later, Kul and
I passed another trekker. He told me I was about 20 minutes from Tengboche.
Even though it was just over an hour and a half since we’d left Lonasa,
I was starting to believe we might be close. But I also finally had
to sit down and rest.
I pointed to some prayer flags
high up on a hill.
“Is that it?” I asked Kul.
“No,” he answered, dashing my hopes.
But truthfully, I wasn’t sure he understood much English.
While I was resting, Kalu and the
others caught up to us. Richard and Miss like-a-good-warrant-officer-I-saluted-and-charged-up-the-hill
stopped for a few minutes with me. They continued on with Kul, while
I took up my favorite position at the back. A few minutes later, I pointed
to same prayer flags I had pointed out to Kul.
“Is that it?” I asked Kalu.
“Yes, didi.”
Oh, I was so close! I could make
it!
Back on my feet, I trudged onward,
upward. And in about 15 minutes, I reached the prayer flags I’d seen
from below. I passed through the gate and in front of me was Tengboche
Monastery. It was as if I’d stepped into the picture on the postcards
I’d sent back home. I was there. I had made it. I had reached my goal.
I was so happy I wanted to cry.
I turned to Kalu. He gave me a
double thumbs up, and then I gave him a big hug. I had made it to Tenboche!
Tengboche sits on a small mesa.
Off to one side, the trail continues, and you see plenty of traffic
in both directions. And directly across from me rose Everest. I joined
another trekker, an woman from England, at a small table, and we sat
drinking tea and chatting, in the shadow of this great mountain.
Robin and I stayed polite to each
other, but she wouldn’t speak to me. I guess she hated the fact that,
in spite of my “whining,” this obviously undisciplined civilian had
made it to the top. I tried not to laugh when I heard her
tell someone that she thought the climb to Tengboche was harder
than the one to Namche. I tried not to gloat that she had come down
with a cold and had almost no voice left. I tried to be humble. But
it was hard.
Tuesday, December 27, 2000 through December 29, 2000
The Descent
We hadn’t been able to see ceremonies
at the Tengboche gompa the day before, so Kalu roused us at 6am for
the 6:30 ceremonies. A small group of trekkers removed shoes, trooped
inside and plopped down on the floor in the main hall to watch. I had
been warned about the cold and was wearing two pairs of socks and two
pairs of gloves. And I was still cold!
There were only about half a dozen
monks at the ceremony. But the chanting was beautiful, the gongs and
horns and drums they used added extraordinary, unearthly sounds. The
monks sat cross-legged on their low seats, impervious to the cold. The
lama who led the chanting read from his narrow prayer book. A young
boy (who I was glad to see was wearing heavy socks and a heavy sweater
under his robes) poured milk tea for the other monks. And I closed my
eyes, lost in the strange sounds. The trip had been worth the difficult
hike.
I stayed about half an hour, until
Kul tapped me. We had to go. I left the group today to begin my downhill
trek. (Peter had shifted the dates of the trek by one day – but hadn’t
told me. By the time I discovered the change, I couldn’t change my flights.
No space.)
Kul, Kumar and I bid the others
farewell and began our descent. Along the way, we passed a number of
trekkers climbing. I laughed and joked with some Japanese girls at a
rest stop. They made me take some of their snacks (The bad ones, it
turned out, were made in the US. The good ones came from Japan!) As
I watched the fresh faces on their upward climb, I knew that I had looked
like that to those I had passed on my way up.
We made it without incident to
Lukla, although there was much more uphill than I remembered from the
other direction. And that’s something I just didn’t understand. If we
were losing altitude – 3600 feet – how could we be doing so much climbing?
Kul, who’s only 19, was like a mountain goat, prancing nimbly along.
I, on the other hand, was more like a plodding yak. But I managed to
keep up. We passed porters on their way up to Namche, loaded with carcasses
of meat, cooking oil, beer and coke. And rush-hour with the yak and
not-yak trains carrying more goods up The cycle was starting over again.
In Lukla, Peter had booked rooms
with private baths. Ah, the luxury of a shower and toilet in your own
room! Not a hot shower, mind you. But a shower. And I was clean! I’d
been clean in Namche. But there’s nothing like being clean in your own
private bathroom!
I sat in the lodge dining room
that evening, trading stories with three British men who had been to
Kala Patar, which is nearly to Everest Base Camp, but has much better
views. They told me I’d done the hardest part of the
climb just getting to Namche and Tengboche. The remaining 5,000 feet
to Kala Patar would’ve been a breeze, they said. But I’ll never know.
Because this time, I’m pretty sure, is my last time trekking in Nepal.
Tengboche was what I had wanted to see the first time. And while I will
go back to Kathmandu for a day or so (the shopping is just too good!),
I think I’m headed for Bali next. Warm. Dry. Civilized.
And if this time you ask me if
I’m sure, I’ll put it this way: You can’t get a view of Everest squatting
in an outhouse at the Oriental. But then, you won’t get orchids for
your birthday at Tengboche. I think I hear the Oriental calling me now…there’s
a room with a view of the Chao Praya that has my name on it… |
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