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Archive for the ‘2009 Asia’ Category

Toilets and respect

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal on September 26, 2009| 6 Comments »

9-26-09
Bamboo to Thulo Sarabru 2120m
My new lodging is perched atop a vertical agricultural landscape. In the distance the mountains loom, where in the foreground terraced fields of millet and corn proceed forever down the valleys. Corn dries throughout the village, while men, women, and children chop winter feed for their precious livestock.
Electricity can be a good thing and this village, although I do not know how, has it. Deforestation is a major issue in Nepal as wood is still the primary heating and cooking fuel. Here, propane and electricity serve that role and the forest, thick above us, appreciates that. Now, I am certain that a wild river is moaning its new and restricted role of producing hydroelectric power. Electricity also means a sustained hot shower and as the sweat and rot of the jungle washes away, I feel anew.
About squat toilets; they work. It is like this – many are actual built in units that mount flush to the floor with a hole in the bottom of a basin.  They often have foot platforms on each side that are designed to “properly” align you placement to ensure a successful drop (note: these are designed for short people and if you are tall like myself, you MUST adjust your placement forward or you will miss the target hole; effectively shitting on the floor). After your payload is out the door, you dip water from an alga growing bucket with a, typically, broken ladle, cup, pitcher, spoon, or what ever is provided, and you pour water down your bomb crack with your right hand while you “clean” with your left – thus why you do not touch people or bring food to your mouth with you left hand. Many of these are very clean yet some far exceed your wildest gas station restroom stories. For my Mexico biker friends, well “Big Brown” and that overflowing porta poty in Ensenada has nothing on a nasty squatter in Nepal. Take your own soap as there is none provided, and use the same alga water to wash your hands.  I find that Purell, once outside, makes me simply feel better as well.
“You can buy anything in Nepal, even the Government”, is a phrase I have heard here often. But like everywhere you can not buy respect…it can only be earned. In a land of unrealistic tourist expectations, I earned a bit today. My clothes were filthy and so I walked to the communal water station and drew up a rock to the bewildered looks of the locals doing their clothe and dish washing. Angin quickly ran over and tried to insist on doing my wash. “You are my porter not my maid”.  The soap was passed around and we washed.  Later that evening, while drafting this journal, a plate of momo showed up in front of me.  I tried to explain that I did not order but was assured they were indeed intended for me.  The next morning when I went to fill my waters bottles from the normal stream source, a young women ran out and grabbed my bottles with no explanation. Moments later she returned with them full of water.  I went to put my Iodine tablets in the water, and she put her hand over the top of the bottles; “No need sir, good water”.
Angin was a bit surprised today when I showed him our tentative plan I had developed from the crude map and description in the guide book.  This will not be an ongoing program, but felt I needed to demonstrate that I was perfectly capable of leading as well as following; both key skills.
Met a fellow Californian named Emile Baizel who hails most recently as a software corporate jock from San Francisco. Like me, he is trying to discover if there are more pressing priorities in life.  He recently stumbled upon, and stayed a month, a legitimate Nepal orphanage. Here he put his talents to work developing a Web site and a PayPal donation site. “We got a hundred dollar donation right off, and people are inquiring about coming to volunteer. In 30 days I did something really meaningful, we really can make a difference“. I did not know him before, but I think he is a changed man.
I am officially off the Langtang trek and now am on the Gosainkund trek which leads to the sacred lakes of one of the worlds great religions, and the annual pilgrimage of thousands of Hindu holy men each August. We continue to see less and less foreign travelers.
One advantage of electricity is the ability to recharge my Ipod Nano. I typically leave music and books behind in the mountains, but this trip is different, and spending an afternoon overlooking this valley while listening to Summertime by the Decembers is pretty fantastic.
Bamboo to Thulo Sarabru 2120m

monistary iwth old women

Monastery women

My new lodging is perched atop a vertical agricultural landscape. In the distance the mountains loom, where in the foreground terraced fields of millet and corn proceed forever down the valleys. Corn dries throughout the village, while men, women, and children chop winter feed for their precious livestock.

Electricity can be a good thing and this village, although I do not know how, has it. Deforestation is a major issue in Nepal as wood is still the primary heating and cooking fuel. Here, propane and electricity serve that role and the forest, thick above us, appreciates that. Now, I am certain that a wild river is moaning its new and restricted role of producing hydroelectric power. Electricity also means a sustained hot shower and as the sweat and rot of the jungle washes away, I feel anew.

About squat toilets; they work. It is like this – many are actual built in units that mount flush to the floor with a hole in the bottom of a basin.  They often have foot platforms on each side that are designed to “properly” align you placement to ensure a successful drop (note: these are designed for short people and if you are tall like myself, you MUST adjust your placement forward or you will miss the target hole; effectively shitting on the floor). After your payload is out the door, you dip water from an alga growing bucket with a, typically, broken ladle, cup, pitcher, spoon, or what ever is provided, and you pour water down your bomb crack with your right hand while you “clean” with your left – thus why you do not touch people or bring food to your mouth with you left hand. Many of these are very clean yet some far exceed your wildest gas station restroom stories. For my Mexico biker friends, well “Big Brown” and that overflowing porta poti in Ensenada has nothing on a nasty squatter in Nepal. Take your own soap as there is none provided, and use the same alga water to wash your hands.  I find that Purell, once outside, makes me simply feel better as well.

“You can buy anything in Nepal, even the Government”, is a phrase I have heard here often. But like everywhere you can not buy respect…it can only be earned. In a land of unrealistic tourist expectations, I earned a bit today. My clothes were filthy and so I walked to the communal water station and drew up a rock to the bewildered looks of the locals doing their clothe and dish washing. Angin quickly ran over and tried to insist on doing my wash. “You are my porter not my maid”.  The soap was passed around and we washed.  Later that evening, while drafting this journal, a plate of momo showed up in front of me.  I tried to explain that I did not order but was assured they were indeed intended for me.  The next morning when I went to fill my waters bottles from the normal stream source, a young women ran out and grabbed my bottles with no explanation. Moments later she returned with them full of water.  I went to put my Iodine tablets in the water, and she put her hand over the top of the bottles; “No need sir, good water”.

Angin was a bit surprised today when I showed him our tentative plan I had developed from the crude map and description in the guide book.  This will not be an ongoing program, but felt I needed to demonstrate that I was perfectly capable of leading as well as following; both key skills.

Met a fellow Californian named Emile Baizel who hails most recently as a software corporate jock from San Francisco. Like me, he is trying to discover if there are more pressing priorities in life.  He recently stumbled upon, and stayed a month, a legitimate Nepal orphanage. Here he put his talents to work developing a Web site and a PayPal donation site. “We got a hundred dollar donation right off, and people are inquiring about coming to volunteer. In 30 days I did something really meaningful, we really can make a difference“. I did not know him before, but I think he is a changed man.

I am officially off the Langtang trek and now am on the Gosainkund trek which leads to the sacred lakes of one of the worlds great religions, and the annual pilgrimage of thousands of Hindu holy men each August. We continue to see less and less foreign travelers.

One advantage of electricity is the ability to recharge my Ipod Nano. I typically leave music and books behind in the mountains, but this trip is different, and spending an afternoon overlooking this valley while listening to Summersong by the Decemberist is pretty fantastic.

Read Full Post »

Only in Nepal

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal on September 25, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Kyagon gompo to Bamboo 2042m

bench
God’s bench
I write this entry under a thatched roof where the hens, roosters and I take shelter from the rain. Walked a knee jarring 7.5 hours today after awaking to a magnificent sunrise amongst the mountain giants. Coming down slope we spotted a troop of howler monkeys who put on quite an acrobat show.  More impressive however were the large white faces cousins who demonstrated amazing prowess as they moved from tree to tree with their young clutched to their chest.

People are people are people. My Japanese friend pulled me aside, and as often seen in Japanese politeness, expressed to me that I might want to consider taking a more direct leadership role with my young porter. “I have worked here for 10 years, I understand the language, I understand the caste system, and it is best for you to understand this is a business relationship where you are the boss.  Your porter is a good man, but he like so many here is a desperate young man.  You must manage that; manage the expectations, manage the relationship”. This council came as a surprise and, well, not a surprise. I had seen some indication of conflicts arising  (where to stay, how far to hike…) but attempted to simply go with it. I also had a nagging thought that I new somehow he was right. A friend had told me to be careful on this trip; not physically, but emotionally as I needed to understand that the hugely disparate economics can complicate human interactions. These competing priorities was a primary reason, I later deduced, why we hike so far today -Anjin, was trying to set us up for an early return to KTM.  I did not really mind as I need to get more fit, but I do plan on taking a bit more of an active role in how things will be done going forward. That said, I know that Angin much prefers to stay at tea house within his same caste system so I told him that was fine, but I would be deciding, after consulting with him, how far we walked each day.  He told me that today would have only been six hours if we walked faster.  I looked him in the eye and said: “No, you know I walked very fast, do not mislead me again”. Enough said.

We found the scene of the accident today.  After looking at it carefully, I do not think I would have ever made it into the river as there was a big flat rock I would have hit first.  So that earlier assertion was and exaggeration. Now to not break anything or even survive that initial fall can still be described as: “flipping lucky”. Upon examination, I am certain that the only thing that saved me was that the fall was not completely vertical.  Rather, like a motorcycle or ski jump landing area, I hit a sloped, wet, and very very slippery ramp. This allowed me to bounce and continue to fall as the vines slowed my progress. You know, I always thought it was cool that cats had nine lives; now I am not so certain as I did some calculations and I have to be getting very close to that number.  Thus I now choose to think that I have as many lives as I am supposed to have…hopefully quite a few.

Only in Nepal could something be so backwards and broken. Or is it? I awoke disturbed from an odd dream and spent most of the day reflecting on it.  In my dream, I had needed to apply for a permit to live……a what? After standing in the queue for a good third world time, I was told “Sir, you can not apply for a living permit, without being in possession of a dying permit”.  Looking incredulously at the clerk I replied “What, why the hell is that?” to which he looked shocked and simply said “Sir, no live permit before die permit”. Hours on the trail drove home the point: You can only live after recognizing you are going to die.

I think I am actually sitting in the chicken coop; as night falls I have birds trying to roost all around me. No, a young girl just collected each bird and put them under a wicker basket.

Read Full Post »

Bastard

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal on September 24, 2009| 1 Comment »

9-24-09
Kyagon Gompo to Tsergo Ri 4984m
As I came over a ridge with my heart trying to escape my chest, I suddenly remembered “Their brands were still on fire — their hooves were made of steel, horns were black and shinning, and their hot breath you could feel – plowing through the ragged skyyyyyy, and up a clouded draw”. But these were not the Ghost Riders of Marty Robbins and later Jonny Cash, rather they were the yaks surrounding me in the mist as I attempted to reach the summit; the scene was eerie as it looked like steam was boiling from their nostrils in the thick, cold, early morning mist. Further along we saw a ancient man milking the yaks in front of an crude structure consisting of stacked rock walls and a makeshift roof of cloth, thatch, plastic, and metal. I could see yaks up, down and across this incredibly steep and forbidding landscape and assumed this was a summer herding camp; “No, they live here full time”, Anjin assured me. I don’t think I am going to get up this thing once, let alone live and work here.
“Slow sir, slow sir, we make it, must slow go, we long time”. When I finally reached the prayer flags and a new personal high elevation, I had the exact same experience of reaching the California/Oregon border during my 2006 thru hike; I was suddenly overcome with emotion.  As I looked up, crying while releasing so much emotion accumulated over the last 2 years, the clouds parted for a minor second to reveal the highest places on earth: “We are here, we have always been here…do not worry”.
That was hard, really hard…steep, high, hard. My future plans include tying to climb a mountain that is a thousand meters higher…I don’t know, I am not as strong as I used to be; brain says climb, body says: “bite me’. I do not quit easily, but today I almost quit several times and to combat this, I broke the climb into 20m increments; if you can not go any further after you go 20m further you can quit, repeat, repeat, repeat, for the last 200m and ultimate summit.
I have not been eating well, and while I have been heading John’s advice that “It is a brave westerner who farts in Asia”, today I had to let it go. Dal Bhat was having its way with my lower intestines. Angin kept saying: “Good health” as I produced enough methane to light Kathmandu and maybe Deli as well.  My constant response was “Dal Bhat”.
I know that many, some would argue most, stomach aliments result from hand to hand food contact, so when the young girl held out her hand and offered me a piece of yak cheese I paused momentarily. Then I suddenly realized that this obviously poor family was sharing what little they had – “dawn jya baud” (thank you).  It was obviously cheese, but that is all the good I can say about it. This offering came as a result of deciding to stay at the much smaller tea houses (plank with a thin mattress for sleeping, squat toilet down the hall, and available food) that dot the landscape along these ancient trade routes.
Also staying here is a Japanese guy, who through his work at an NGO in Nepal, speaks credible Nepalese and understands nearly all of it. Everyone else in the house is Nepalese. I struggled with the conversation and felt left out until I realized I had photos; photos of South Korea and photos of Nepal, photos of far away places for these mountain people. The kids loved the show as my Japanese friend provided the translations.
Less here in the mountains, but when I walked the back alleys of KTM I saw women pulling lice from the heads of their obviously uncomfortable and crying children. A bar of soap, if available, can fix this problem. WTF is wrong with this picture?
I don’t feel so good – suffering from altitude, food, poor hygiene. I could sure use a burrito at sea level. But then again,  all of those burritos and pizzas instead of spin class sure did not help in climbing that bastard this morning.
9-25-09
Kyagon gompo to Bamboo 2042m
I write this entry under a thatched roof where the hens, roosters and I take shelter from the rain. Walked a knee jarring 7.5 hours today after awaking to a magnificent sunrise amongst the mountain giants. Coming down slope we spotted a troop of howler monkeys who put on quite an acrobat show.  More impressive however were the large white faces cousins who demonstrated amazing prowess as they moved from tree to tree with their young clutched to their chest.
People are people are people. My Japanese friend pulled me aside, and as often seen in Japanese politeness, expressed to me that I might want to consider taking a more direct leadership role with my young porter. “I have worked here for 10 years, I understand the language, I understand the caste system, and it is best for you to understand this is a business relationship where you are the boss.  Your porter is a good man, but he like so many here is a desperate young man.  You must manage that; manage the expectations, manage the relationship”. This council came as a surprise and, well, not a surprise. I had seen some indication of conflicts arising  (where to stay, how far to hike…) but attempted to simply go with it. I also had a nagging thought that I new somehow he was right. A friend had told me to be careful on this trip; not physically, but emotionally as I needed to understand that the hugely disparate economics can complicate human interactions. These competing priorities was a primary reason, I later deduced, why we hike so far today -Anjin, was trying to set us up for an early return to KTM.  I did not really mind as I need to get more fit, but I do plan on taking a bit more of an active role in how things will be done going forward. That said, I know that Angin much prefers to stay at tea house within his same caste system so I told him that was fine, but I would be deciding, after consulting with him, how far we walked each day.  He told me that today would have only been six hours if we walked faster.  I looked him in the eye and said: “No, you know I walked very fast, do not mislead me again”. Enough said.
We found the scene of the accident today.  After looking at it carefully, I do not think I would have ever made it into the river as there was a big flat rock I would have hit first.  So that earlier assertion was and exaggeration. Now to not break anything or even survive that initial fall can still be described as: “flipping lucky”. Upon examination, I am certain that the only thing that saved me was that the fall was not completely vertical.  Rather, like a motorcycle or ski jump landing area, I hit a sloped, wet, and very very slippery ramp. This allowed me to bounce and continue to fall as the vines slowed my progress. You know, I always thought it was cool that cats had nine lives; now I am not so certain as I did some calculations and I have to be getting very close to that number.  Thus I now choose to think that I have as many lives as I am supposed to have…hopefully quite a few.
Only in Nepal could something be so backwards and broken. Or is it? I awoke disturbed from an odd dream and spent most of the day reflecting on it.  In my dream, I had needed to apply for a permit to live……a what? After standing in the queue for a good third world time, I was told “Sir, you can not apply for a living permit, without being in possession of a dying permit”.  Looking incredulously at the clerk I replied “What, why the hell is that?” to which he looked shocked and simply said “Sir, no live permit before die permit”. Hours on the trail drove home the point: You can only live after recognizing you are going to die.
I think I am actually sitting in the chicken coop; as night falls I have birds trying to roost all around me. No, a young girl just collected each bird and put them under a wicker basket.
9-26-09
Bamboo to Thulo Sarabru 2120m
My new lodging is perched atop a vertical agricultural landscape. In the distance the mountains loom, where in the foreground terraced fields of millet and corn proceed forever down the valleys. Corn dries throughout the village, while men, women, and children chop winter feed for their precious livestock.
Electricity can be a good thing and this village, although I do not know how, has it. Deforestation is a major issue in Nepal as wood is still the primary heating and cooking fuel. Here, propane and electricity serve that role and the forest, thick above us, appreciates that. Now, I am certain that a wild river is moaning its new and restricted role of producing hydroelectric power. Electricity also means a sustained hot shower and as the sweat and rot of the jungle washes away, I feel anew.
About squat toilets; they work. It is like this – many are actual built in units that mount flush to the floor with a hole in the bottom of a basin.  They often have foot platforms on each side that are designed to “properly” align you placement to ensure a successful drop (note: these are designed for short people and if you are tall like myself, you MUST adjust your placement forward or you will miss the target hole; effectively shitting on the floor). After your payload is out the door, you dip water from an alga growing bucket with a, typically, broken ladle, cup, pitcher, spoon, or what ever is provided, and you pour water down your bomb crack with your right hand while you “clean” with your left – thus why you do not touch people or bring food to your mouth with you left hand. Many of these are very clean yet some far exceed your wildest gas station restroom stories. For my Mexico biker friends, well “Big Brown” and that overflowing porta poty in Ensenada has nothing on a nasty squatter in Nepal. Take your own soap as there is none provided, and use the same alga water to wash your hands.  I find that Purell, once outside, makes me simply feel better as well.
“You can buy anything in Nepal, even the Government”, is a phrase I have heard here often. But like everywhere you can not buy respect…it can only be earned. In a land of unrealistic tourist expectations, I earned a bit today. My clothes were filthy and so I walked to the communal water station and drew up a rock to the bewildered looks of the locals doing their clothe and dish washing. Angin quickly ran over and tried to insist on doing my wash. “You are my porter not my maid”.  The soap was passed around and we washed.  Later that evening, while drafting this journal, a plate of momo showed up in front of me.  I tried to explain that I did not order but was assured they were indeed intended for me.  The next morning when I went to fill my waters bottles from the normal stream source, a young women ran out and grabbed my bottles with no explanation. Moments later she returned with them full of water.  I went to put my Iodine tablets in the water, and she put her hand over the top of the bottles; “No need sir, good water”.
Angin was a bit surprised today when I showed him our tentative plan I had developed from the crude map
Kyagon Gompo to Tsergo Ri 4984m
langtang fllagss
Prayer flags and Mt. Langtang

As I came over a ridge with my heart trying to escape my chest, I suddenly remembered “Their brands were still on fire — their hooves were made of steel, horns were black and shinning, and their hot breath you could feel – plowing through the ragged skyyyyyy, and up a clouded draw”. But these were not the Ghost Riders of Marty Robbins and later Jonny Cash, rather they were the yaks surrounding me in the mist as I attempted to reach the summit; the scene was eerie as it looked like steam was boiling from their nostrils in the thick, cold, early morning mist. Further along we saw a ancient man milking the yaks in front of an crude structure consisting of stacked rock walls and a makeshift roof of cloth, thatch, plastic, and metal. I could see yaks up, down and across this incredibly steep and forbidding landscape and assumed this was a summer herding camp; “No, they live here full time”, Anjin assured me. I don’t think I am going to get up this thing once, let alone live and work here.

russin hiker

Mt. Langtang

Slow sir, slow sir, we make it, must slow go, we long time”. When I finally reached the prayer flags and a new personal high elevation, I had the exact same experience of reaching the California/Oregon border during my 2006 thru hike; I was suddenly overcome with emotion.  As I looked up, crying while releasing so much emotion accumulated over the last 2 years, the clouds parted for a minor second to reveal the highest places on earth: “We are here, we have always been here…do not worry”.

That was hard, really hard…steep, high, hard. My future plans include tying to climb a mountain that is a thousand meters higher…I don’t know, I am not as strong as I used to be; brain says climb, body says: “bite me’. I do not quit easily, but today I almost quit several times and to combat this, I broke the climb into 20m increments; if you can not go any further after you go 20m further you can quit, repeat, repeat, repeat, for the last 200m and ultimate summit.

I have not been eating well, and while I have been heading John’s advice that “It is a brave westerner who farts in Asia”, today I had to let it go. Dal Bhat was having its way with my lower intestines. Angin kept saying: “Good health” as I produced enough methane to light Kathmandu and maybe Deli as well.  My constant response was “Dal Bhat”.

I know that many, some would argue most, stomach aliments result from hand to hand food contact, so when the young girl held out her hand and offered me a piece of yak cheese I paused momentarily. Then I suddenly realized that this obviously poor family was sharing what little they had – “dawn jya baud” (thank you).  It was obviously cheese, but that is all the good I can say about it. This offering came as a result of deciding to stay at the much smaller tea houses (plank with a thin mattress for sleeping, squat toilet down the hall, and available food) that dot the landscape along these ancient trade routes.

Also staying here is a Japanese guy, who through his work at an NGO in Nepal, speaks credible Nepalese and understands nearly all of it. Everyone else in the house is Nepalese. I struggled with the conversation and felt left out until I realized I had photos; photos of South Korea and photos of Nepal, photos of far away places for these mountain people. The kids loved the show as my Japanese friend provided the translations.

Less here in the mountains, but when I walked the back alleys of KTM I saw women pulling lice from the heads of their obviously uncomfortable and crying children. A bar of soap, if available, can fix this problem. WTF is wrong with this picture?

I don’t feel so good – suffering from altitude, food, poor hygiene. I could sure use a burrito at sea level. But then again,  all of those burritos and pizzas instead of spin class sure did not help in climbing that bastard this morning.

Read Full Post »

Made it: the Himalaya

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal on September 23, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Langtang to Kyagin Gompo 3800M
Angin beat me by a ball in a game of high altitude billiards; “How did they carry that pool table up here?”
Yaks walk freely around the village and community members pick up semi dry Yak piles and place them on rocks and the stone wall cracks of their shelters- later these very dry dung disk will be used as fuel for cooking and much needed winter heat. Men spilt wood they carried from the valleys below, and women weave beautiful died Yak wool garments on ancient hand looms.
Today is an acclimation day thus we only climbed 400m.  Tomorrow we will day hike to nearly 5000m up the Tsergo Ri for views of the 7000m mountains that now surround us.  I made it, I am in the Himalaya.
Toured the local Yak cheese “factory” (rock and timber shack) complete with wooden presses, drums, and wood/dung stove, used for cheese and curd production. Also noted some very high quality stanless steel containers that arevused in some obvious important sterilization process.
The vines that prevented my further fall, extracted a small price and left me with some festering sores complete with small pieces of broken thorns below the skin; one above my left eye, and one on left ankle are particularly puffy and infected. I opened them with my Swiss Army, flushed with alcohol, and applied some triple antibiotic cream – all good. The bruise on my hip is impressive; the size and color of a very black Whamo frisbie.
Hiked a bit with Stephanie and Courtney of Australia today. Both are taking a year off between high school and university education to do community service work in Nepal.  This is called the “Gap” year down-under and strikes me as a fantastic time to bring some perspective to a young persons life. They are great and provided me so much insight on the “real” Nepal. They are also 25 years my junior and carry 25 kilo less fat than I – keeping up was a real effort. Have also been hanging with Thomas from Denmark. Thomas is a professional sail boat captain when he is not “working” and I am awe struck as going to sea is also a life long dream; so here we are, sitting on the top of the world and we are talking about sailing the worlds oceans.
The guy chopping wood has been at it for 6 hours straight.
Our lodge host is wearing traditional highland Nepalese/Tibet clothes made of tightly woven and beautifully dyed yak wool. Her hair is worn in a tightly woven braid that reaches nearly to the back of her knees, and she sports a pair of white high-top basketball shoes.
9-24-09
Kyagon Gompo to Tsergo Ri 4984m
As I came over a ridge with my heart trying to escape my chest, I suddenly remembered “Their brands were still on fire — their hooves were made of steel, horns were black and shinning, and their hot breath you could feel – plowing through the ragged skyyyyyy, and up a clouded draw”. But these were not the Ghost Riders of Marty Robbins and later Jonny Cash, rather they were the yaks surrounding me in the mist as I attempted to reach the summit; the scene was eerie as it looked like steam was boiling from their nostrils in the thick, cold, early morning mist. Further along we saw a ancient man milking the yaks in front of an crude structure consisting of stacked rock walls and a makeshift roof of cloth, thatch, plastic, and metal. I could see yaks up, down and across this incredibly steep and forbidding landscape and assumed this was a summer herding camp; “No, they live here full time”, Anjin assured me. I don’t think I am going to get up this thing once, let alone live and work here.
“Slow sir, slow sir, we make it, must slow go, we long time”. When I finally reached the prayer flags and a new personal high elevation, I had the exact same experience of reaching the California/Oregon border during my 2006 thru hike; I was suddenly overcome with emotion.  As I looked up, crying while releasing so much emotion accumulated over the last 2 years, the clouds parted for a minor second to reveal the highest places on earth: “We are here, we have always been here…do not worry”.
That was hard, really hard…steep, high, hard. My future plans include tying to climb a mountain that is a thousand meters higher…I don’t know, I am not as strong as I used to be; brain says climb, body says: “bite me’. I do not quit easily, but today I almost quit several times and to combat this, I broke the climb into 20m increments; if you can not go any further after you go 20m further you can quit, repeat, repeat, repeat, for the last 200m and ultimate summit.
I have not been eating well, and while I have been heading John’s advice that “It is a brave westerner who farts in Asia”, today I had to let it go. Dal Bhat was having its way with my lower intestines. Angin kept saying: “Good health” as I produced enough methane to light Kathmandu and maybe Deli as well.  My constant response was “Dal Bhat”.
I know that many, some would argue most, stomach aliments result from hand to hand food contact, so when the young girl held out her hand and offered me a piece of yak cheese I paused momentarily. Then I suddenly realized that this obviously poor family was sharing what little they had – “dawn jya baud” (thank you).  It was obviously cheese, but that is all the good I can say about it. This offering came as a result of deciding to stay at the much smaller tea houses (plank with a thin mattress for sleeping, squat toilet down the hall, and available food) that dot the landscape along these ancient trade routes.
Also staying here is a Japanese guy, who through his work at an NGO in Nepal, speaks credible Nepalese and understands nearly all of it. Everyone else in the house is Nepalese. I struggled with the conversation and felt left out until I realized I had photos; photos of South Korea and photos of Nepal, photos of far away places for these mountain people. The kids loved the show as my Japanese friend provided the translations.
Less here in the mountains, but when I walked the back alleys of KTM I saw women pulling lice from the heads of their obviously uncomfortable and crying children. A bar of soap, if available, can fix this problem. WTF is wrong with this picture?
I don’t feel so good – suffering from altitude, food, poor hygiene. I could sure use a burrito at sea level. But then again,  all of those burritos and pizzas instead of spin class sure did not help in climbing that bastard this morning.
9-25-09
Kyagon gompo to Bamboo 2042m
I write this entry under a thatched roof where the hens, roosters and I take shelter from the rain. Walked a knee jarring 7.5 hours today after awaking to a magnificent sunrise amongst the mountain giants. Coming down slope we spotted a troop of howler monkeys who put on quite an acrobat show.  More impressive however were the large white faces cousins who demonstrated amazing prowess as they moved from tree to tree with their young clutched to their chest.
People are people are people. My Japanese friend pulled me aside, and as often seen in Japanese politeness, expressed to me that I might want to consider taking a more direct leadership role with my young porter. “I have worked here for 10 years, I understand the language, I understand the caste system, and it is best for you to understand this is a business relationship where you are the boss.  Your porter is a good man, but he like so many here is a desperate young man.  You must manage that; manage the expectations, manage the relationship”. This council came as a surprise and, well, not a surprise. I had seen some indication of conflicts arising  (where to stay, how far to hike…) but attempted to simply go with it. I also had a nagging thought that I new somehow he was right. A friend had told me to be careful on this trip; not physically, but emotionally as I needed to understand that the hugely disparate economics can complicate human interactions. These competing priorities was a primary reason, I later deduced, why we hike so far today -Anjin, was trying to set us up for an early return to KTM.  I did not really mind as I need to get more fit, but I do plan on taking a bit more of an active role in how things will be done going forward. That said, I know that Angin much prefers to stay at tea house within his same caste system so I told him that was fine, but I would be deciding, after consulting with him, how far we walked each day.  He told me that today would have only been six hours if we walked faster.  I looked him in the eye and said: “No, you know I walked very fast, do not mislead me again”. Enough said.
We found the scene of the accident today.  After looking at it carefully, I do not think I would have ever made it into the river as there was a big flat rock I would have hit first.  So that earlier assertion was and exaggeration. Now to not break anything or even survive that initial fall can still be described as: “flipping lucky”. Upon examination, I am certain that the only thing that saved me was that the fall was not completely vertical.  Rather, like a motorcycle or ski jump landing area, I hit a sloped, wet, and very very slippery ramp. This allowed me to bounce and continue to fall as the vines slowed my progress. You know, I always thought it was cool that cats had nine lives; now I am not so certain as I did some calculations and I have to be getting very close to that number.  Thus I now choose to think that I have as many lives as I am supposed to have…hopefully quite a few.
Only in Nepal could something be so backwards and broken. Or is it? I awoke disturbed from an odd dream and spent most of the day reflecting on it.  In my dream, I had needed to apply for a permit to live……a what? After standing in the queue for a good third world time, I was told “Sir, you can not apply for a living permit, without being in possession of a dying permit”.  Looking incredulously at the clerk I replied “What, why the hell is that?” to which he looked shocked and simply said “Sir, no live permit before die permit”. Hours on the trail drove home the point: You can only live after recognizing you are going to die.
I think I am actually sitting in the chicken coop; as night falls I have birds trying to roost all around me. No, a young girl just collected each bird and put them under a wicker basket.
Langtang to Kyagin Gompo 3800M
blue roof langtang

Langtang

Angin beat me by an eight ball in a game of high altitude billiards; “How did they carry that pool table up here?”

Yaks walk freely around the village and community members pick up semi dry Yak piles and place them on rocks and the stone wall cracks of their shelters- later these very dry dung disk will be used as fuel for cooking and much needed winter heat. Men spilt wood they carried from the valleys below, and women weave beautiful died Yak wool garments on ancient hand looms.

Today is an acclimation day thus we only climbed 400m.  Tomorrow we will day hike to nearly 5000m up the Tsergo Ri for views of the 7000m mountains that now surround us.  I made it, I am in the Himalaya.

Toured the local Yak cheese “factory” (rock and timber shack) complete with wooden presses, drums, and wood/dung stove, used for cheese and curd production. Also noted some very high quality stanless steel containers that arevused in some obvious important sterilization process.

The vines that prevented my further fall, extracted a small price and left me with some festering sores complete with small pieces of broken thorns below the skin; one above my left eye, and one on left ankle are particularly puffy and infected. I opened them with my Swiss Army, flushed with alcohol, and applied some triple antibiotic cream – all good. The bruise on my hip is impressive; the size and color of a very black Whamo frisbie.

Hiked a bit with Stephanie and Courtney of Australia today. Both are taking a year off between high school and university education to do community service work in Nepal.  This is called the “Gap” year down-under and strikes me as a fantastic time to bring some perspective to a young persons life. They are great and provided me so much insight on the “real” Nepal. They are also 25 years my junior and carry 25 kilo less fat than I – keeping up was a real effort. Have also been hanging with Thomas from Denmark. Thomas is a professional sail boat captain when he is not “working” and I am awe struck as going to sea is also a life long dream; so here we are, sitting on the top of the world and we are talking about sailing the worlds oceans.

The guy chopping wood has been at it for 6 hours straight.

Our lodge host is wearing traditional highland Nepalese/Tibet clothes made of tightly woven and beautifully dyed yak wool. Her hair is worn in a tightly woven braid that reaches nearly to the back of her knees, and she sports a pair of white high-top basketball shoes.

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Unfullfilled needs

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal on September 22, 2009| 1 Comment »

Lama Hotel to Langtang 3434M

I opted not to take any Vitamin I after the fall as I needed to assess the damage less medication; the swelling in my hip is going down while turning black, my ribs are very tender but breathing is ok, so no worries. The abrasions look clean, and there was no blood in my crap so it appears the insides likely held together a well.  My thumb hurts like hell.
Angin and I realized it was not the shoes, nor were he or I responsible; the black cat. At lunch yesterday we startled a jet black cat and I told Angin that in the U.S that was considered bad luck; here also “Very bad luck” he said. When we headed out this morning we remembered that damn cat, and thus started taking an extra few minutes at each prayer wheel, or Stupa to ask for a blessing of luck.
“What do you do when a need can not possibly be met?” As I walked solo through Langtag before dinner, I saw and elderly women and her daughter working in the courtyard of their tiny hamlet; they were sorting and drying some type of grain. They smiled, invited me to take a picture and ultimately in their home for tea. Inside, I met an apparently adopted young women who was death and mute.  With smoke filling the room from the family fire, we had a simple conversation possible given the language barrier. I learned about the winters at this high altitude and how their daily lives worked.  When I needed to leave, I asked how much I owned them for the tea and they actually did not know what was appropriate so I gave them double the going rate. Upon leaving, the young girl asked that when I return to America and have a good job maybe I would remember them and help with school; no hard sell, just a request if possible. I explained that that was not likely, but I could provide them a bit of help now and gave the matriarch  a $500 rupee note. With sign language she indicated that this gift would be used for shoes.  She then removed her three bead necklace from her neck and gave it to me; she also insisted that I take the money back from the tea. Their parting comment was “Please do not forget us”, as I simply took a photo.
water prayer wheel
Water Prayer Wheel

I opted not to take any Vitamin I after the fall as I needed to assess the damage less medication; the swelling in my hip is going down while turning black, my ribs are very tender but breathing is ok, so no worries. The abrasions look clean, and there was no blood in my crap so it appears the insides likely held together as well.  My thumb hurts like hell.

Angin and I realized it was not the shoes, nor were he or I responsible; the black cat. At lunch yesterday we startled a jet black cat and I told Angin that in the U.S that was considered bad luck; here also “Very bad luck” he said. When we headed out this morning we remembered that damn cat, and thus started taking an extra few minutes at each prayer wheel, or Stupa to ask for a blessing of luck.

“What do you do when a need can not possibly be met?” As I walked solo through Langtag before dinner, I saw and elderly women and her daughter working in the courtyard of their tiny hamlet; they were sorting and drying some type of grain. They smiled, invited me to take a picture and ultimately into their home for tea. Inside, I met an apparently adopted young women who was death and mute.  With smoke filling the room from the family fire, we had a simple conversation given the language barrier. I learned about the winters at this high altitude and how their daily lives worked.  When I needed to leave, I asked how much I owned them for the tea and they actually did not know what was appropriate so I gave them double the going rate. Upon leaving, the young girl asked that when I return to America and have a good job maybe I would remember them and help with school; no hard sell, just a request if possible. I explained that that was not likely, but I could provide them a bit of help now and gave the matriarch  a $500 rupee note. With sign language she indicated that this gift would be used for shoes.  She then removed her three bead necklace from her neck and gave it to me; she also insisted that I take the money back from the tea. Their parting comment was “Please do not forget us”, as I simply took a photo.

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Oops

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal on September 21, 2009| 4 Comments »

Syabrusesi to Lama Hotel 2480 m

POST EDIT (Do not read if you are offended by profanity)

nepali kitchen

POST EDIT (Do not read if you are offended by profanity)
“Oh fuck, mother fuck…protect you head, fuck, my hip-oh shit, you head your head -protect your head; second bounce – my ribs- fuck your ribs protect your head, your head…quiet”. Upside down, suspended in vines, 15 meters lower than I had been 2 seconds prior as I crossed a small water fall bisecting the trail. “Shit, don’t look down- next fall puts you into a class 6 rapid and you will not survive that. Grab vines, grab vines, hold on.” Angin is trying to get to me and yelling for other porters we know are behind us. “Angin, I am ok….likely hurt….need help.
Regrettably I would like to tell all of those I have loved, love, and will love, along with all of the deities of the world that, unfortunately – not once, not even for a millisecond did I think of any of you while I was falling.  I am sorry! No, I did not think “ I hope you know I love you” (but I do nonetheless) and no I did not look to Siddhartha for strength, I did not ask Brahma to protect me, I did not seek council from Yahweh, and I certainly did not ask my personal savior Jesus Christ to save me.   Rather I was 100% into me, fully selfish and self centered.  In other words. I did not give a flying fuck about anything beyond myself and trying not to die. So that crap about you life flashing before you eyes and all….maybe so for others, but I now dispute it.
Moments before I was thinking that I like my new Vasque trail shoes; not as well as my old faithful Montrail Hard Rocks… but solid. The only problem I had noted was the Vibram sole are by nature hard and therefore slippery.  Who actually cares if the soles will last 5000 kilometer? The shoe will be worn out in 1000k – give me a soft, sticky rubber that is not slippery”. Ultimately however, and as these thing go, the fall was completely my fault. I was on the outside edge of a water fall trying not to get wet and had completely failed to realize the magnitude of the risk as the drop was obscured by heavy vegetation. With the help of 3 porters and my friend Thomas from Denmark I was freed and pulled back to the trail. Amazingly, I didn’t think anything is broken; but I knew I was going into shock so I tried to walk whiling doing U.S. Dollar to Nepal Rupee calculations in my head. The trail was extremely steep and the adrenaline had completely drained my energy – I could go no more than 10 steps and I was doubled over my hiking poles panting for oxegen. 30 minutes later, I knew I was beyond the risk of significant shock but I was starting to swell and am now wondering if I will be able to move in the morning. Emotionally I felt awful as Anjin was beside himself with remorse and guilt.  As we continued to hike, the rain intensified and I was a dripping, limping, bleeding, ballooning mess. Angin took charge and the next rest stop we reached he ushered me inside and rapidly stoked the fire, got a wool cap on my head, and gave me a coke. After an hour, I was calm and Angin was post cardiac arrest so we headed farther up towards our nights lodgings.   I think I am basically, and amazingly, whole. I may have a bruised or even cracked rib…or two, or three, and my hip now appears to have a small pumpkin attached to it, but hey I am fine. A bit concerned about things internal, but hours have passed now, so If I am bleeding inside out, well, at least it is slow…right?
Besides that and a bee sting it was a great first day to my Himalayan trekking. Seriously, this was a simple accident on a simple piece of trail and this is what happens in life, with or without your permission.  What is the bumper sticker? Oh you know the one.
Warming fire

“Oh fuck, mother fuck…protect you head, fuck, my hip-oh shit, you head your head -protect your head; second bounce – my ribs- fuck your ribs protect your head, your head…quiet”. Upside down, suspended in vines, 15 meters lower than I had been 2 seconds prior as I crossed a small water fall bisecting the trail. “Shit, don’t look down- next fall puts you into a class 6 rapid and you will not survive that. Grab vines, grab vines, hold on.” Angin is trying to get to me and yelling for other porters we know are behind us. “Angin, I am ok….likely hurt….need help.

Regrettabe, unfortunate, but somehow nessesary, I would like to tell all of those I have loved, love, and will love, along with all of the deities of the world that – not once, not even for a millisecond did I think of any of you while I was falling.  I am sorry! No, I did not think “ “I hope you know I love you” (but I do nonetheless), and no – I did not look to Siddhartha for strength, I did not ask Brahma to protect me, I did not seek council from Yahweh, and I certainly did not ask my personal savior Jesus Christ to spare my ass.   Rather I was 100% into me, fully selfish and self centered.  In other words. I did not give a flying fuck about anything beyond myself and trying not to die. So that crap about your life flashing before you eyes…., where everthing becomes clears….maybe so for others, but I now dispute it.

Moments before I was thinking that I like my new Vasque trail shoes; not as well as my old faithful Montrail Hard Rocks… but solid. The only problem I had noted was the Vibram sole are by nature hard and therefore slippery.  Who actually cares if the soles will last 5000 kilometer? The shoe will be worn out in 1000k – give me a soft, sticky rubber that is not slippery”. Ultimately however, and as these thing go, the fall was completely my fault. I was on the outside edge of a water fall trying not to get wet and had completely failed to realize the magnitude of the risk as the drop was obscured by heavy vegetation. With the help of 3 porters and my friend Thomas from Denmark I was freed and pulled back to the trail.

Amazingly, I didn’t think anything is broken; but I knew I was going into shock so I tried to walk whiling doing U.S. Dollar to Nepal Rupee calculations in my head. The trail was extremely steep and the adrenaline had completely drained my energy – I could go no more than 10 steps and I was doubled over my hiking poles panting for oxegen. Thirty minutes later, I knew I was beyond the risk of significant shock but I was starting to swell and am now wondering if I will be able to move in the morning. Emotionally I felt awful as Anjin was beside himself with remorse and guilt.  As we continued to hike, the rain intensified and I was a dripping, limping, bleeding, ballooning mess. Angin took charge and the next rest stop we reached he ushered me inside and rapidly stoked the fire, got a wool cap on my head, and gave me a coke. After an hour, I was calm and Angin was post cardiac arrest so we headed farther up towards our nights lodgings.   I think I am basically, and amazingly, whole. I may have a bruised or even cracked rib…or two, or three, and my hip now appears to have a small pumpkin attached to it, but hey I am fine. A bit concerned about things internal, but hours have passed now, so If I am bleeding inside out, well, at least it is slow…

Besides that and a bee sting it was a great first day to my Himalayan trekking. Seriously, this was a simple accident on a simple piece of trail and this is what happens in life, with or without your permission.  What is the bumper sticker? Oh you know the one.
man carrying grass
Man carrying feed for animals.

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Bus ride

Posted in 2009 Asia, Uncategorized on September 20, 2009| 3 Comments »

Kathmandu to Langtang trek

rop of our bus

Top of our bus

September 19, 2009
I booked my first trek with a company that an very friendly Australian couple is also using. We were both very impressed as the owner of the company (Chandra) took a call during our morning tea and immediately excused himself to coordinate a helicopter rescue (acute mountain sickness, and possible pulmonary edema) from the remote Kingdom of Upper Mustang. We were supposed to have dinner with Chandra later that evening but word came that weather delayed the chopper and thus we were to proceed to his home where his family would host us; he would join us upon his return. After I thought dinner had been served, dinner was served; we ate for something like an hour in the comfort of a Nepalese home, and the food was simply and wonderful.
At dinner I got to know David (from Australia) a bit.  David is enjoying a new life after being nearly completely incapacitated and paralyzed for 3 years due to an unusual disease he secured while performing military duty in Somalia. He did not go into what exactly he was doing in Africa, but my impression was that David was no ordinary foot soldier.  Anyway, with an injection once a day to the abdomen he is nearly symptom free and we had a good chat about what is “important” and also about moving beyond unexpected divorces. He and his partner (maybe wife) are going to Everest base camp, which I am also planning in a few weeks time. “I am looking at this as a test – how does my new body (this guy is crazy big and fit) adapt to altitude, and how well do my limbs actually work outside of the gym. If all goes well, I may try an attempt at Everest in a few years – interested?”  To which I replied: “Please due not ask my questions like this…I am weak”.
September 20, 2009
Exactly how can a bus ride that is less than 120 Kilometers take 9 hours?  Well, first you have to get the cows loaded on top of the bus (I am not kidding here people), then you must check each passengers ticket 6 times, add 70 bodies to the inside of the bus (maybe 30 seats), put another 30 on top, and start to leave a dozen times over the first 45 minutes. Once moving, travel along a one lane road that has vertical drops, landslides, and other hazards to many to mention; seriously, if this road was in the U.S it would be rated as “high clearance 4wd drive only”.  When the spotter slaps the bus hard once the driver heads, and stops immediately; you may have a passenger to let off/pick up, you may have lost part of your top load (we lost some furniture and a crate of chickens), or you may be about to go loose a tire into the abyss (the buss before us did indeed drop a tire over the edge and the Italian lady who described how “Everyone pilled to the high side while the boys on top balled off and pulled the bus back to the road”  was still shaking as she retold the story). Two slaps means proceed. Angin argued constantly with the porter about my bag on the floor as they wanted it on top with the cows.  I think he ultimately paid a bribe but my bag was close by at all times and ultimately served as a seat for 3 elderly mean and a couple of kids. I meanwhile practice  a new yoga position of placing my knees against my ears and holding them there for several hours as the young guy behind me vomited out the window. It was a rather “rich” cultural experience and I enjoyed smiling at the young Hindi girl that sat and Angin’s lap as we listened to first on-board entertainment complete with some sort of 3 string instrument, followed by some really bad Nepalese rap (complete with English mixed in) that blared over the broken speakers.
We stopped for lunch and I without knowing quickly secured that “You have got to be kidding me look” when Angin assured me if was “Ok Sir“.  Pretty good actually as I used a fork and those around me placed loads of Dal Bhat (lentils, curried potatoes, and white rice) into their mouths. I went down stairs to the open pit toilet immediately under the restaurant and adjacent to the owners living quarters and said to myself “if this is ok, I am certainly going to die”.
Traveling along we picked up more passenger, but, how I do not know. We also dropped people and supplies off and every time they dropped a 30 liter propane bottle from the bus’s roof I cringed. We stopped along side the road and we (all hundred plus of us) peed together.  I think the cows shit in place and I KNOW the chickens did.  Reloading was a process but after climbing over young, old, pretty and ugly, I found my seat, amazingly empty, and ready for more yoga.
September 21, 2009
POST EDIT (Do not read if you are offended by profanity)
“Oh fuck, mother fuck…protect you head, fuck, my hip-oh shit, you head your head -protect your head; second bounce – my ribs- fuck your ribs protect your head, your head…quiet”. Upside down, suspended in vines, 15 meters lower than I had been 2 seconds prior as I crossed a small water fall bisecting the trail. “Shit, don’t look down- next fall puts you into a class 6 rapid and you will not survive that. Grab vines, grab vines, hold on.” Angin is trying to get to me and yelling for other porters we know are behind us. “Angin, I am ok….likely hurt….need help.
Regrettably I would like to tell all of those I have loved, love, and will love, along with all of the deities of the world that, unfortunately – not once, not even for a millisecond did I think of any of you while I was falling.  I am sorry! No, I did not think “ I hope you know I love you” (but I do nonetheless) and no I did not look to Siddhartha for strength, I did not ask Brahma to protect me, I did not seek council from Yahweh, and I certainly did not ask my personal savior Jesus Christ to save me.   Rather I was 100% into me, fully selfish and self centered.  In other words. I did not give a flying fuck about anything beyond myself and trying not to die. So that crap about you life flashing before you eyes and all….maybe so for others, but I now dispute it.
Moments before I was thinking that I like my new Vasque trail shoes; not as well as my old faithful Montrail Hard Rocks… but solid. The only problem I had noted was the Vibram sole are by nature hard and therefore slippery.  Who actually cares if the soles will last 5000 kilometer? The shoe will be worn out in 1000k – give me a soft, sticky rubber that is not slippery”. Ultimately however, and as these thing go, the fall was completely my fault. I was on the outside edge of a water fall trying not to get wet and had completely failed to realize the magnitude of the risk as the drop was obscured by heavy vegetation. With the help of 3 porters and my friend Thomas from Denmark I was freed and pulled back to the trail. Amazingly, I didn’t think anything is broken; but I knew I was going into shock so I tried to walk whiling doing U.S. Dollar to Nepal Rupee calculations in my head. The trail was extremely steep and the adrenaline had completely drained my energy – I could go no more than 10 steps and I was doubled over my hiking poles panting for oxegen. 30 minutes later, I knew I was beyond the risk of significant shock but I was starting to swell and am now wondering if I will be able to move in the morning. Emotionally I felt awful as Anjin was beside himself with remorse and guilt.  As we continued to hike, the rain intensified and I was a dripping, limping, bleeding, ballooning mess. Angin took charge and the next rest stop we reached he ushered me inside and rapidly stoked the fire, got a wool cap on my head, and gave me a coke. After an hour, I was calm and Angin was post cardiac arrest so we headed farther up towards our nights lodgings.   I think I am basically, and amazingly, whole. I may have a bruised or even cracked rib…or two, or three, and my hip now appears to have a small pumpkin attached to it, but hey I am fine. A bit concerned about things internal, but hours have passed now, so If I am bleeding inside out, well, at least it is slow…right?
Besides that and a bee sting it was a great first day to my Himalayan trekking. Seriously, this was a simple accident on a simple piece of trail and this is what happens in life, with or without your permission.  What is the bumper sticker? Oh you know the one.

Exactly how can a bus ride that is less than 120 Kilometers take 9 hours?  Well, first you have to get the cows loaded on top of the bus (I am not kidding here people), then you must check each passengers ticket 6 times, add 70 bodies to the inside of the bus (maybe 30 seats), put another 30 on top, and start to leave a dozen times over the first 45 minutes. Once moving, travel along a one lane road that has vertical drops, landslides, and other hazards too many to mention; seriously, if this road was in the U.S it would be rated as “high clearance 4wd drive only”.  When the spotter slaps the bus hard once the driver heeds, and stops immediately; you may have a passenger to let off/pick up, you may have lost part of your top load (we lost some furniture and a crate of chickens), or you may be about to go loose a tire into the abyss (the bus before us did indeed drop a tire over the edge and the Italian lady who described how “Everyone pilled to the high side while the boys on top balled off and pulled the bus back to the road”  was still shaking as she retold the story. Two slaps means proceed.

Angin argued constantly with the porter about my bag on the floor as they wanted it on top with the cows.  I think he ultimately paid a bribe but my bag was close by at all times and ultimately served as a seat for 3 elderly men and a couple of kids. I meanwhile practiced a new yoga position of placing my knees against my ears and holding them there for several hours as the young guy behind me vomited out the window. It was a rather “rich” cultural experience and I enjoyed smiling at the young Hindi girl that sat on Angin’s lap as we listened to first on-board entertainment complete with some sort of 3 string instrument, followed by some really bad Nepalese rap (complete with English mixed in) that blared over the broken speakers.

We stopped for lunch and I, without knowing, quickly secured that “You have got to be kidding me look”, when Angin assured me if was “Ok Sir“.  Pretty good actually as I used a fork and those around me placed loads of Dal Bhat (lentils, curried potatoes, and white rice) into their mouths. I went down stairs to the open pit toilet immediately under the restaurant and adjacent to the owners living quarters and said to myself “if this is ok, I am certainly going to die”.

Traveling along we picked up more passenger, but, how I do not know. We also dropped people and supplies off and every time they dropped a 30 liter propane bottle from the bus roof I cringed. We stopped along side the road and we (all hundred plus of us) peed together.  I think the cows shit in place and I KNOW the chickens did.  Reloading was a process but after climbing over young, old, pretty and ugly, I found my seat, amazingly empty, and ready for more yoga.

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On my way up

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal on September 19, 2009| 2 Comments »

September 19, 2009

I booked my first trek with a company that an very friendly Australian couple is also using. We were both very impressed as the owner of the company (Chandra) took a call during our morning tea and immediately excused himself to coordinate a helicopter rescue (acute mountain sickness, and possible pulmonary edema) from the remote Kingdom of Upper Mustang. We were supposed to have dinner with Chandra later that evening but word came that weather delayed the chopper and thus we were to proceed to his home where his family would host us; he would join us upon his return. After I thought dinner had been served, dinner was served; we ate for something like an hour in the comfort of a Nepalese home, and the food was simply and wonderful.
At dinner I got to know David (from Australia) a bit.  David is enjoying a new life after being nearly completely incapacitated and paralyzed for 3 years due to an unusual disease he secured while performing military duty in Somalia. He did not go into what exactly he was doing in Africa, but my impression was that David was no ordinary foot soldier.  Anyway, with an injection once a day to the abdomen he is nearly symptom free and we had a good chat about what is “important” and also about moving beyond unexpected divorces. He and his partner (maybe wife) are going to Everest base camp, which I am also planning in a few weeks time. “I am looking at this as a test – how does my new body (this guy is crazy big and fit) adapt to altitude, and how well do my limbs actually work outside of the gym. If all goes well, I may try an attempt at Everest in a few years – interested?”  To which I replied: “Please due not ask my questions like this…I am weak”.
September 20, 2009
Exactly how can a bus ride that is less than 120 Kilometers take 9 hours?  Well, first you have to get the cows loaded on top of the bus (I am not kidding here people), then you must check each passengers ticket 6 times, add 70 bodies to the inside of the bus (maybe 30 seats), put another 30 on top, and start to leave a dozen times over the first 45 minutes. Once moving, travel along a one lane road that has vertical drops, landslides, and other hazards to many to mention; seriously, if this road was in the U.S it would be rated as “high clearance 4wd drive only”.  When the spotter slaps the bus hard once the driver heads, and stops immediately; you may have a passenger to let off/pick up, you may have lost part of your top load (we lost some furniture and a crate of chickens), or you may be about to go loose a tire into the abyss (the buss before us did indeed drop a tire over the edge and the Italian lady who described how “Everyone pilled to the high side while the boys on top balled off and pulled the bus back to the road”  was still shaking as she retold the story). Two slaps means proceed. Angin argued constantly with the porter about my bag on the floor as they wanted it on top with the cows.  I think he ultimately paid a bribe but my bag was close by at all times and ultimately served as a seat for 3 elderly mean and a couple of kids. I meanwhile practice  a new yoga position of placing my knees against my ears and holding them there for several hours as the young guy behind me vomited out the window. It was a rather “rich” cultural experience and I enjoyed smiling at the young Hindi girl that sat and Angin’s lap as we listened to first on-board entertainment complete with some sort of 3 string instrument, followed by some really bad Nepalese rap (complete with English mixed in) that blared over the broken speakers.
We stopped for lunch and I without knowing quickly secured that “You have got to be kidding me look” when Angin assured me if was “Ok Sir“.  Pretty good actually as I used a fork and those around me placed loads of Dal Bhat (lentils, curried potatoes, and white rice) into their mouths. I went down stairs to the open pit toilet immediately under the restaurant and adjacent to the owners living quarters and said to myself “if this is ok, I am certainly going to die”.
Traveling along we picked up more passenger, but, how I do not know. We also dropped people and supplies off and every time they dropped a 30 liter propane bottle from the bus’s roof I cringed. We stopped along side the road and we (all hundred plus of us) peed together.  I think the cows shit in place and I KNOW the chickens did.  Reloading was a process but after climbing over young, old, pretty and ugly, I found my seat, amazingly empty, and ready for more yoga.
September 21, 2009
POST EDIT (Do not read if you are offended by profanity)
“Oh fuck, mother fuck…protect you head, fuck, my hip-oh shit, you head your head -protect your head; second bounce – my ribs- fuck your ribs protect your head, your head…quiet”. Upside down, suspended in vines, 15 meters lower than I had been 2 seconds prior as I crossed a small water fall bisecting the trail. “Shit, don’t look down- next fall puts you into a class 6 rapid and you will not survive that. Grab vines, grab vines, hold on.” Angin is trying to get to me and yelling for other porters we know are behind us. “Angin, I am ok….likely hurt….need help.
Regrettably I would like to tell all of those I have loved, love, and will love, along with all of the deities of the world that, unfortunately – not once, not even for a millisecond did I think of any of you while I was falling.  I am sorry! No, I did not think “ I hope you know I love you” (but I do nonetheless) and no I did not look to Siddhartha for strength, I did not ask Brahma to protect me, I did not seek council from Yahweh, and I certainly did not ask my personal savior Jesus Christ to save me.   Rather I was 100% into me, fully selfish and self centered.  In other words. I did not give a flying fuck about anything beyond myself and trying not to die. So that crap about you life flashing before you eyes and all….maybe so for others, but I now dispute it.
Moments before I was thinking that I like my new Vasque trail shoes; not as well as my old faithful Montrail Hard Rocks… but solid. The only problem I had noted was the Vibram sole are by nature hard and therefore slippery.  Who actually cares if the soles will last 5000 kilometer? The shoe will be worn out in 1000k – give me a soft, sticky rubber that is not slippery”. Ultimately however, and as these thing go, the fall was completely my fault. I was on the outside edge of a water fall trying not to get wet and had completely failed to realize the magnitude of the risk as the drop was obscured by heavy vegetation. With the help of 3 porters and my friend Thomas from Denmark I was freed and pulled back to the trail. Amazingly, I didn’t think anything is broken; but I knew I was going into shock so I tried to walk whiling doing U.S. Dollar to Nepal Rupee calculations in my head. The trail was extremely steep and the adrenaline had completely drained my energy – I could go no more than 10 steps and I was doubled over my hiking poles panting for oxegen. 30 minutes later, I knew I was beyond the risk of significant shock but I was starting to swell and am now wondering if I will be able to move in the morning. Emotionally I felt awful as Anjin was beside himself with remorse and guilt.  As we continued to hike, the rain intensified and I was a dripping, limping, bleeding, ballooning mess. Angin took charge and the next rest stop we reached he ushered me inside and rapidly stoked the fire, got a wool cap on my head, and gave me a coke. After an hour, I was calm and Angin was post cardiac arrest so we headed farther up towards our nights lodgings.   I think I am basically, and amazingly, whole. I may have a bruised or even cracked rib…or two, or three, and my hip now appears to have a small pumpkin attached to it, but hey I am fine. A bit concerned about things internal, but hours have passed now, so If I am bleeding inside out, well, at least it is slow…right?
Besides that and a bee sting it was a great first day to my Himalayan trekking. Seriously, this was a simple accident on a simple piece of trail and this is what happens in life, with or without your permission.  What is the bumper sticker? Oh you know the one.
Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal

goat
Simply a cool looking goat in the high country
I booked my first trek with a company that a very friendly Australian couple is also using. We were both very impressed as the owner of the company (Chandra) took a call during our morning tea and immediately excused himself to coordinate a helicopter rescue (acute mountain sickness, and possible pulmonary edema) from the remote Kingdom of Upper Mustang. We were supposed to have dinner with Chandra later that evening but word came that weather delayed the chopper and thus we were to proceed to his home where his family would host us; he would join us upon his return. After I thought dinner had been served, dinner was served; we ate for something like an hour in the comfort of a Nepalese home, and the food was simply and wonderful.

At dinner I got to know David (from Australia) a bit.  David is enjoying a new life after being nearly completely incapacitated and paralyzed for 3 years due to an unusual disease he secured while performing military duty in Somalia. He did not go into what exactly he was doing in Africa, but my impression was that David was no ordinary foot soldier.  Anyway, with an injection once a day to the abdomen he is nearly symptom free and we had a good chat about what is “important” and also about moving beyond unexpected divorces. He and his partner (maybe wife) are going to Everest base camp, which I am also planning in a few weeks time. “I am looking at this as a test – how does my new body (this guy is crazy big and fit) adapt to altitude, and how well do my limbs actually work outside of the gym. If all goes well, I may try an attempt at Everest in a few years – interested?”  To which I replied: “Please due not ask my questions like this…I am weak”.

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Anjin the Sherpa – now guide

Posted in 2009 Asia, Nepal, Uncategorized on September 19, 2009| 8 Comments »

Kathmandu, Nepal

September 19th
Steamed vegetable momos and a coke from a bottle that is so worn it is nearly opaque – now this is living; 65 rupees.  Momo  are like dumplings or maybe think of a pot-stickers that are steamed rather than fried.  Served with a spicy peanut sauce and eaten immediately out of the steamer basket. We scored these at a place no bigger than a closet with a curtain for a door, and  a few broken stools along a wall that had a board attached above to serve as plate and soda shelf.  This was certainly out of my comfort zone, but Patrick who is a Burmese American, from Sacramento of all places, was confident; “They are so hot, nothing can live through that”. Best meal of my trip.
Because it is festival time in Nepal, we had to check several banks to find cash; a lot of locals are moving about the country creating a paper money shortage as they make withdrawals from the banks.  Hey, at least they trust their banks with their money.
I needed cash as I am leaving the city tomorrow and entering a completely cash economy.
My first trek is to Langtang. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langtang ,and thus you will not see any updates to this journal for several weeks. I am going as an independent with a porter/guide named Anjin who just last week he passed his guide license.  He is a small man in stature standing about 5’2” and weighing maybe 120lbs but clearly of man of big heart and strength. Now my kit is light, but when Anjin assured me that he could easily carry 30 Kilo over any pass in the Himalaya I new he was not kidding.  I told him I was out of shape and was viewing this as a 14 day warm up trek, to which he replied “That will not be a problem sir, if you get tired I will carry you also”.   I then inquired if I needed a map to which he replied “oh no Sir, these are my mountains, I know them”.
Patrick, Anjin, and I went on a bit of a shopping trip together as it has been recommended that we treat our water with Iodine rather then buy the plastic bottles.  This recommendation is two fold: First, someone has to carry that plastic water into those mountains therefore it is expensive. Second, most of those damn plastic bottles never get carried out resulting in a huge environmental problem.  I like how these guys are thinking.  So, I needed a metal water bottle because in addition to Iodine, sometimes you get boiling water poured into the bottle which also serves as a purification measure; plastic will not work. Though the back streets we roamed until we came to a small outfitter who had what we needed. And because Anjin was with us, no negotiation needed-the first price was the good and more than fair price.
After we dropped Anjin off, Patrick and I went to explore the back alleys of Kathmandu.  We had a good time and went down a few streets that are best left to traveling with two or more. It was wildly interesting, the people were all smiles and gracious while we discussed the advantages and disadvantages of these types of communities verses the west.  Patrick, being from Burma, had an incredible perspective as he has lived on both sides of this equation.   He loves California with its independence and valued self promotion but is concerned that the trade off regarding loss of community and family causes other social problems. We agree on much, question some, and depart being richer fro the momo and the conversation.

kathmandu skyline

Kathmandu skyline

Steamed vegetable momos and a coke from a bottle that is so worn it is nearly opaque – now this is living; 65 rupees.  Momo  are like dumplings or maybe think of a pot-stickers that are steamed rather than fried.  Served with a spicy peanut sauce and eaten immediately out of the steamer basket. We scored these at a place no bigger than a closet with a curtain for a door, and  a few broken stools along a wall that had a board attached above to serve as plate and soda shelf.  This was certainly out of my comfort zone, but Patrick who is a Burmese American, from Sacramento of all places, was confident; “They are so hot, nothing can live through that”. Best meal of my trip.

Because it is festival time in Nepal, we had to check several banks to find cash; a lot of locals are moving about the country creating a paper money shortage as they make withdrawals from the banks.  Hey, at least they trust their banks with their money.

I needed cash as I am leaving the city tomorrow and entering a completely cash economy.

My first trek is to Langtang. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langtang ,and thus you will not see any updates to this journal for several weeks. I am going as an independent with a porter/guide named Anjin who just last week passed his guide license.  He is a small man in stature standing about 5’2” and weighing maybe 120lbs, but clearly of man of big heart and strength. Now my kit is light, but when Anjin assured me that he could easily carry 30 Kilo over any pass in the Himalaya I new he was not kidding.  I told him I was out of shape and was viewing this as a 14 day warm up trek, to which he replied “That will not be a problem sir, if you get tired I will carry you also”.   I then inquired if I needed a map to which he replied “oh no Sir, these are my mountains, I know them”.


Patrick, Anjin, and I went on a bit of a shopping trip together as it has been recommended that we treat our water with Iodine rather then buy the plastic bottles.  This recommendation is two fold: First, someone has to carry that plastic water into those mountains therefore it is expensive. Second, most of those damn plastic bottles never get carried out resulting in a huge environmental problem.  I like how these guys are thinking.  So, I needed a metal water bottle because in addition to Iodine, sometimes you get boiling water poured into the bottle which also serves as a purification measure; plastic will not work. Though the back streets we roamed until we came to a small outfitter who had what we needed. And because Anjin was with us, no negotiation needed-the first price was the good and more than fair price.


After we dropped Anjin off, Patrick and I went to explore the back alleys of Kathmandu.  We had a good time and went down a few streets that are best left to traveling with two or more. It was wildly interesting, the people were all smiles and gracious while we discussed the advantages and disadvantages of these types of communities verses the west.  Patrick, being from Burma, had an incredible perspective as he has lived on both sides of this equation.   He loves California with its independence and valued self promotion but is concerned that the trade off regarding loss of community and family causes other social problems. We agree on much, question some, and depart being richer for momos and the conversation.

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Sari, bindi, and monkey

Posted in Nepal on September 17, 2009| 2 Comments »

There is something about a beautiful women donned in a gorgeously flowing and brightly colored sari riding side saddle on a motorcycle that is well, just something to behold. Add a bindi low on her forehead indicating she is likely single,  and well, one can only fantasize. As I looked at one such women, I realized she new she was beautiful; not that she thought she was attractive in some western boob job way, but rather that she inherently just knew; knew at a core level.  When she clasped her hands, smiled, and bowed I only had one thought: God, I would love to have that type of grace in my own life.
A good many or maybe most, I believe, of the motorcycle flying around are actually local taxi. I have not jumped on the back of one yet, but yes I plan to.  And boy can these people ride.  Remember what I said about South Korea and the crazy driving?  I was wrong, very very wrong.  The people of Kathmandu would eat the Korean’s lunch in any kind of driving competition. That whole thing about cross walks, traffic lights, and side walks was a fantasy from another time and place. There is a system however.  I hired a rickshaw for an hour and requested that he simply return to the same spot (I could see my room). thus avoiding getting lost again.  Priorities go like this: motorcycles, cars, bicycles, rickshaws, carts (you name it, they push it), pedestrians, goats, dogs.  Oh yea, cows can do what ever the hell they want; the Hindu’s believe they are holy and many Buddhist don’t eat em.  When walking and you come to a hill, it is considered good manors to help push the rickshaws along.  I like pushing rickshaws.
Left at sunrise for the pilgrimage with the locals to the Monkey Temple.  365 steps that were more like a ladder as I dripped sweat like a Harley leaks oil. Amazing place where Hindu and Buddhist worship side by side in this joint (coexistence note to:  Christians, Jews, and Muslims) temple atop a hill over looking the Kathmandu valley. Holy men offered prayer and comfort for those in need, monks chanted while fondling prayer beads, dogs ate from trash piles, candles burned by the thousands, incence filled the nostrils unil they burned,  and monkeys also did what ever the hell they wanted.
A land of extremes; yes it can be hot, humid, filthy, poor, and depressing, but it is comfortable, beautiful, and alive. A land of faith where over a thousand people met at the temple before 8am to turn prayer wheels, sprinkle rice offerings on the monuments, and pay homage to their past, present and future. Where   parents hold their children lovingly while they sweep the dirt street in front of their homes and places of work – where everyone on the street offers a friendly “Namate” (meaning- the divinity in me bows to the divinity in you).  I love this country, these peopleM
Monkey Tempel, Kathmandu, Nepal
monkey on statue

There is something about a beautiful women donned in a gorgeously flowing and brightly colored sari riding side saddle on a motorcycle that is well, just something to behold. Add a bindi low on her forehead indicating she is likely single,  and well, one can only fantasize. As I looked at one such women, I realized she new she was beautiful; not that she thought she was attractive in some western boob job way, but rather that she inherently just knew; knew at a core level.  When she clasped her hands, smiled, and bowed I only had one thought: God, I would love to have that type of grace in my own life.

A good many or maybe most, I believe, of the motorcycle flying around are actually local taxi. I have not jumped on the back of one yet, but yes I plan to.  And boy can these people ride.  Remember what I said about South Korea and the crazy driving?  I was wrong, very very wrong.  The people of Kathmandu would eat the Korean’s lunch in any kind of driving competition. That whole thing about cross walks, traffic lights, and side walks was a fantasy from another time and place. There is a system however.  I hired a rickshaw for an hour and requested that he simply return to the same spot (I could see my room). thus avoiding getting lost again.  Priorities go like this: motorcycles, cars, bicycles, rickshaws, carts (you name it, they push it), pedestrians, goats, dogs.  Oh yea, cows can do what ever the hell they want; the Hindu’s believe they are holy and many Buddhist don’t eat em.  When walking and you come to a hill, it is considered good manors to help push the rickshaws along.  I like pushing rickshaws.

Left at sunrise for the pilgrimage with the locals to the Monkey Temple.  365 steps that were more like a ladder as I dripped sweat like a Harley leaks oil. Amazing place where Hindu and Buddhist worship side by side in this joint (coexistence note to:  Christians, Jews, and Muslims) temple atop a hill over looking the Kathmandu valley. Holy men offered prayer and comfort for those in need, monks chanted while fondling prayer beads, dogs ate from trash piles, candles burned by the thousands, incence filled the nostrils unil they burned,  and monkeys also did what ever the hell they wanted.
india women at monkey temple
Hindu women and child at Monkey Temple

A land of extremes; yes it can be hot, humid, filthy, poor, and depressing, but it is comfortable, beautiful, and alive. A land of faith where over a thousand people met at the temple before 8am to turn prayer wheels, sprinkle rice offerings on the monuments, and pay homage to their past, present and future. Where   parents hold their children lovingly while they sweep the dirt street in front of their homes and places of work – where everyone on the street offers a friendly “Namate” (meaning- the divinity in me bows to the divinity in you).  I love this country, these people.

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