Distant Journey

                                                  

                                                                 

Funeral pyre in Kathmandu

     

                                 

The fact that I can remember the trip as if it were yesterday tells me something I suppose. In actuality it has been 25 years years since my wife, Vicki, and I flew to Kathmandu, Nepal to begin a month long trek with Mountain Travel Sobek, an adventure travel company based in the San Francisco area. For months we had been gearing up, training, and thinking about this trip, referred to as, “A big bite”, by a friend. As we flew into Kathmandu from Bangkok, I wondered what lie ahead in the weeks of walking over high mountain passes, camping, and living with strangers.

Kathmandu wasn’t what I had expected. A million people live in this smoke filled, sprawling city. Fires burn continuously in the streets, cows are everywhere, and the sounds of horns are omnipresent. Within this context it’s a fascinating place. The shopping is interesting, the restaurants varied, the temples are striking, and the people are friendly and courteous.

Though I enjoyed my stay in the capital city, I was happy to be flying west away from urban life to Pokhara, an interior Nepalese City. From there we took a bus to the trailhead. When I left the bus, I thought we had come to a small village, since there were a large group of people milling around a riverbank. To my surprise I learned that the ninety people there were the crew who had been hired to support we fifteen trekkers and two guides.

Initially I thought it was decadent to have all these people take care of us. However, I realized later that we needed a crew this size to support us for a month. There were no markets or roads, and our porters carried everything we would use for that time.

I had come to Nepal looking for an athletic challenge. I would “take on” the high passes of the Himalayas. Almost immediately the folly of that thinking hit me in the face. Within the first days of the trek, I found myself having a great time interacting with crew, local villagers, and fellow trekkers. It was as if I was back at my New England prep school, where everyone knew each other, and we all lived under the same roof. Though the terrain was beautiful, it became the background, albeit a stimulating one, for a rich, cultural, interpersonal experience.

For the first couple of weeks we climbed high into the Himalayas. We started in the tropics with monkeys swinging in trees and hiked up to fields of rock, devoid of vegetation. We spent two days at the base camp of Mt. Dhaulagiri, the world’s eighth highest mountain. Climbers from France, Russia, Belgium, and the United States were there, trying to reach the summit of this dangerous mountain.

From basecamp we climbed to 17,000 feet to the summit of French Pass. This spot was named for the famous climber Maurice Herzog who came to attempt Dhaulagiri in 1950. The snow was too much for his team, so they bypassed that mountain and went on to climb Annapurna, another 8000-meter peak. I read and was captivated by his adventure while a high school student in the mid 1950’s.  This Pass had special meaning for me.

I would like to say that I climbed the pass well, but the truth is that I had a terrible day.

The altitude got to me, and I walked at the end of our group. At one point I did become more energized. Before me in the distance was Annapurna, while to the rear was the striking Dhaulagiri. The deepest canyon in the world, the Kali Gandaki, was before my feet. The brilliant sun revealed that snow was being driven by strong winds on the summit of Dhaulagiri. As we began out descent to that night’s campsite, I gathered strength with the decrease in altitude.

The next day we descended thousands of feet to the Town of Marpha on the banks of the Kali Gandaki River. This was our first encounter with a sizeable town in more than two weeks. We ate home made apple pie, drank beer, and rested, before heading west towards the Mustang Region, a restricted area of Nepal. Once there we took a “rest day” and hiked several hours to a town, where an important Hindu festival was taking place. We encounted Pilgrims along the way, some on their knees, scuffling in supplication mile after mile.

At the temple a holy man painted dots on our foreheads and gave us spiritual cloth. An Indian man with an open face approached me, asking if I wanted to go through the “pure waters”. He pointed to 108 sprouts, from which poured ice cold water. I said,“ Yes,” and began my run through the spiritual waters. This was followed by plunges into two freezing pools. On one level the pool was indeed cleansing, as I hadn’t bathed in weeks. On another I had been captured by the essence of Nepal. I loved its warmth, beauty, and friendly people. In its simplicity it had something we lacked in technologically sophisticated America. As the Indian pilgrim shook my hand, I indeed felt spiritually touched.

As our trek continued, we hiked mile after mile along the river valley. The porters would awaken us at 5:30 with hot tea and washing water. We ate in a large tent, which was set up for breakfast and dinner. By 7:00 AM we were walking, and a hot lunch was served on the trail four hours later. We ate rice, beans, and local bread. Live animals were purchased and slaughtered along the way. Tea and cookies at the end of the trekking day helped carry us over till dinner.

Vicki and I had one porter between us who carried our duffels, which weighted together 80 pounds. He was only 5 feet tall and wore flip-flops, but his strength and endurance were remarkable. His brother was a kitchen helper, and each afternoon, we would give the two young men, who were sixteen and twenty, food treats we had brought from the U.S. Though they had perhaps learned how to manage foreign trekkers to their advantage, they were caring, loyal, and anxious to help.

One day we arrived at Tatopani, a small town with a hot spring. The fee was ten cents, which by Nepal standards wasn’t as cheap as it sounds, since it was possible to rent a room in a Tea House for a dollar. There is a caste system in Nepal. On the trek the people from the Sherpa tribe had the most status. They served as guides and did little hard labor. They dressed and ate better than the porters and kitchen crew. On the way to the hot spring I invited several porters to join us, which they did. I knew I was breaking a social norm, but it was fun to see some of our people enjoying the warm water. The people, who ran the hot spring weren’t pleased, and though usually I tried to follow cultural norms, this time I did enjoy the minor chaos that followed.

The next day we broke camp and were back on trail. One morning we arose at 5:00 AM to hike in darkness to Pun Hill to watch the sunrise. As the sun came up, 8000-meter peaks sprang up around us. It was truly spectacular! Days later we arrived at our final campsite, Australian Base-camp. There before us was the holy mountain, Machapuchare. No one was permitted to climb this spiritual mountain, which resembled a fish tail. Being in the presence of this beautiful, natural sculpture was a fitting end to the trek.

The next day we walked to a highway and met our bus, which took us back to Pokhara. Our hotel and first bed in a month was situated on an island in the middle of a lake. We tipped our porters, who cried at our departure. As I rode the ferry raft that was transporting us to the hotel, I looked back and saw our two porters waving good bye. The distance between us gradually widened, until I could see them no more.

The next day we flew back to Kathmandu for a final dinner before our departure to Hong Kong. Needless to say, after a month in the Himalayas, Hong Kong provided a real culture shock. Though I found it to be too expensive and unfriendly, it was interesting and beautiful in its own right. Tired and coughing, I spent a number of hours in my hotel room mesmerized by the activity on Kowloon Bay, one of the busiest and most scenic harbors in the world.

As we flew back to San Diego, I thought about my time in Asia. Memories of high mountains, rushing rivers and warm people came into my mind. I remembered the cold spiritual waters, the kindness of our porters, and the international climbers.  As we circled LAX, for a moment, out the plane’s window, I thought I saw the snow capped summit of Dhaulagiri in the distance.