NEPALESE
SOUL TRAIN
“You’re
going where?” they asked incredulously. “Why Nepal? Why Mount Everest?”
“Because it’s there,” I came to reply smugly, evoking Sir Edmund Hillary’s memorable response when he first scaled Everest in 1953 with his Sherpa companion, Tenzing Norgay.
Truth was, I couldn’t explain in any concise terms why I had chosen Nepal as my destination. All I knew was I wanted an adventure. I was a single parent, a new empty-nester, with a yearning to complete some long-held goals and dreams. It would be the celebration of a milestone reached, the launch of a new midlife era. It also would be a reward for a job completed — a watershed in the refocusing of my energy and an inspirational environment in which to consider it.
In a sense, the adventure began three months earlier, on the day I enrolled in a 17-day “Nepal Lodge to Lodge” tour. I couldn’t resist those large, full-color catalogs of faraway places and cultures and the promise of guidance from those who know. To be sure, preparation was a key part of the trip — baggage, clothing, walking stick, medications, trip insurance. No longer would 911 be at my fingertip or 7-Eleven be just around the corner. Self-sufficiency was the operating mantra.
Here was the opportunity to trek through beautiful, mountainous country in the cradle of Tibetan Buddhism and Indian Hinduism and the fabled Sherpa hospitality. A loop to the south would take us into the Royal Chitwan National Park, the ancient hunting grounds of Nepalese royalty. On elephant back, we would seek the elusive white tiger and Indian rhino, as well as the indigenous flora and fauna that even my less-than-acute botanical and ornithological senses could appreciate.
Finally, a seven-day trek to the northeast — at altitudes of 10,000 feet plus — would yield a peek at the magical Everest. Le grand finale!
“Do you know anyone else going on this trip?” doubters asked. “Nope,” I responded. “I can’t wait for friends to find the time, interest, and resources. Besides, what’s there to know about the other campers? We are already bound by a common interest and activity. And who among us has not had that trip with a friend only to return vowing never to do so again?”
So began this journey of mind, soul, and body. Laden with goodies and poignant well-wishes from friends and children, on April Fool’s Day afternoon, I began the airborne hopscotch from Dallas to Los Angeles to Bangkok to Kathmandu.
Somewhere in my readings en route, I came across the apt quotation, “Given the nature of life, there may be no security, only adventure.” It was an appropriate convocation.
I was excited beyond measure, and fearful of the tremendous distance involved. The thought of trekking in mountainous territory, beyond the immediate reach of civilization, not to mention family and friends, virtually on the other side of the planet, certainly strained my 27-year pattern of daily parenting.
CITY OF CONTRASTS
Kathmandu. Capital and cultural/commercial/social center of Nepal. Seat of
government and stopping point on the ancient china silk road to the west. Home
of thousands of Tibetan refugees from Communist China. And a city of extreme
contrasts.
It was truly culture shock. The poverty, squalor, filth, and pollution of this densely populated city was offset by hordes of tourists, trekkers, vendors, and a dynamic energy and bustling economy behind crumbling walls and crowded shop facades. The intensity of the traffic — pedestrian, bicycle, motorbike, rickshaw, and auto intermingled with the occasional cow or buffalo (wandering with sacred Hindu impunity) — was overwhelming. Constant honking was de rigueur, only because there were no stop lights or signs. In America, this would be called mayhem. Here, it was the order of the day, and delivered without rancor or aggression.
The valley of Kathmandu housed not only the city of the same name but also the 9th century fortified city of Bhaktapur, whose brick and carved wooden architectural detail defied credence. The third city of Patan is home of Durbar Square, with its ancient palaces that spoke of the elegance enjoyed by the dynasties that ruled the valley five centuries ago.
The marriage of cultures and customs, aligned with daily religious ritual, street commerce, and the ever-present juxtaposition of tourist wealth and local poverty was a constant. Perhaps the Buddhist philosophy of “accepting what is” created a context for living in the moment, maximizing the opportunities for joy therein, and eluding the frustration and disappointment of unfulfilled expectations.
More food for thought.
TREKKIES UNITE
Day five brought departure from our wonderful local Hotel Vajra for a flight
about 80 miles west to Pokhara — the primary launching area for trekkers into
the Annapurna Range of central Nepal. Ex-Gurkha military provided the lodges and
were our guides for the next six days. Traditional enemies during the Indian
colonial wars, the Gurkhas and the British army subsequently became allies. The
British admired the Nepalese mountain men for their courage, resilience,
fighting spirit, and loyalty. Thereafter, the British contributed to communities
in the Gandruk region, funding schools and utilities and enabling them to
develop their rural economy. Gurkhas manage lodges in the villages of Birethani
(the flagship aptly named “Sanctuary Lodge”), Ghandrung, and Dhamphus. At
each, a “dining patio” with an inspirational view of the Annapurna range and
the sacred Machapuchre mountain snuggled between terraced gardens and patches of
cultivated fields.
Porters deftly managed the heavier baggage, while we “campers” carried lighter day packs and were free to roam the luscious foliage of the wooded, terraced hills dotted with tiny clusters of villages. We passed what seemed to be hundreds of stone huts with slate or thatched roofs, mini-barnyards of chickens, cows, and buffaloes — and exquisite looking children with broad smiles and overt curiosities.
Our operating lingo was “namaste” (the generic Buddhist greeting) and “china” (the Nepalese response for “No, I don’t have any”), our acquired response to the many inquisitive and acquisitive children.
Over hill and dale we went, straining up deep stone steps that put homebound stair-step machines to shame. Through rhododendron-clad hillsides, we descended a thousand rubber-kneed feet or so, only to ascend the same once more. I swore never to think a nasty thought again if this climb truly was the last for the day.
We paced ourselves, physically and socially. We sorted ourselves out as a group of 11 individuals with clearly diverse professions, interests, histories, ages, marital statuses, and areas of origin — seven states in all. Our ages ranged from late-20s to late-60s. The most physically fit were a 66-year-old couple from Georgia. So much for stereotypes.
We shared the love for adventure with a physical challenge thrown in; but we all brought along an individual agenda that colored our hopes, fears, and expectations. Most of all, we embraced the notion of reinventing ourselves.
VIEWPOINTS &
VISTAS
Once again our senses were assaulted by snow white mountain vistas that rewarded
our periodic exertion as we rounded rocky bends, only to be coddled at our
lodges by warm, attentive hosts bearing hot tea and hot lemon.
I found myself happily adjusting to the rigors of five-hour treks through the 5,000- to 7,000-foot Middle Terai of Nepal, which offered the most exquisite spring-green terraced hillsides, dotted with villages gently interwoven by occasional smoky spires. Now and then, children’s shouts and laughter, barking dogs, and the familiar barnyard cacophony echoed from slope to slope.
Lush, verdant green versus the cold, crispy white of 21,000-foot peaks. The simple, agricultural daily existence of the mountain economy and culture versus the modernism of the mildly intrusive foreigner. The old and the new, the primal and the modern. I was struck by the differences in the quality of life and the standard of living; and concluded, between panting ascents and jarring descents, that we probably had much to learn from these mountain people. As we traveled, I learned to pace myself and definitely to stop before I gazed upon another breathtaking view. (The alternative was inevitably a stubbed toe or unintended stumble on an inhospitable rock.)
The area was a photographer’s paradise for panoramic, geographic studies, as well as cultural portraitures. I mastered the art of surreptitious picture-taking when I spied a precious little face peeking around a cabin door, or perhaps the lined, parchment-like squint of an old woman perched on a clay patio as she wove mats and baskets — always aware of our visitor status and our own cultural statement as Americans. We may not have been more colorful, but we were physically bigger, bolder, and more intense, albeit weaker than these resilient, mountain people whose generosity and childlike souls always made us welcome.
With efficiency and attentiveness, our Gurkha guides delivered us to the banks of the Seti River and a hot, steamy two-day float toward Royal Chitwan National Park in south central Nepal. It was a holiday for the local populace and the shores were awash with frolicking, bathing natives who hollered salutations and mocked watery pursuits. Though mild by Grand Canyon standards, the rapids periodically afforded a welcome drenching for sunburned feet and knees. By midafternoon, we rounded a bend to reach our evening encampment of thatch-roofed tents. We dined on an outstanding buffet of local vegetables, rice, and potatoes, retiring at last in the natural light of a full Nepalese moon.
A short morning float, bus, and boat trip, topped off with a dusty jeep ride, and we arrived at the tree-canopied Temple Tiger Lodge in the Royal Chitwan, proving that out-of-the-way places are well worth the rigors of the trip. After settling into stilted, fully equipped cabins camouflaged by the dappled afternoon light, we embarked on our first twilight elephant ride in search of local, wild inhabitants. We spotted a mother rhino and baby on these rolling escapades, but the white tiger evaded us. Lodge operators made a point of not baiting the perimeters for the benefit of tourist sightings, reminding us of our clear “visitor” status in this untamed environment.
PEAK OF ADVENTURE
After a brief turnaround in Kathmandu, the “Everest Group” prepared for
hardier, cooler climes. Now we were down to six people from 11, feeling more
familiar, more fit, and a little smug about our graduate explorer status. The
group’s dynamics changed by virtue of the tougher challenges ahead, the value
of friendships already forged, and a bit of apprehension about weather and
personal resilience.
A short jaunt later, our Twin Otter aircraft landed on the uphill, dirt airstrip in Lukla — at 11,000 feet, we were still in the clouds. Speaking with the limited experience of a recipient of a long-extinct private pilot’s license, I felt it was akin to landing on a rough-surfaced aircraft carrier headed distinctly upwind. Once off the plane, we were struck by our proximity to the clouds and by the thin air in which they floated. Porters and guides looking for business crowded around the plane, but our new guide, “Hari,” took charge. As we walked a few hundred yards to a Sherpa lodge for lunch, we realized we were actually headed to Sir Edmund Hillary land.
Views were even more dramatic than in the Annapurna range — rocky outcroppings, 10,000- to 12,000-foot altitudes, and scores of suspended footbridges. This was clearly the land of the resilient mountain Sherpa culture. Our porters were two young women colorfully dressed in the traditional long, aproned skirts. How they scaled the rocky, uneven steps in that attire and light sneakers carrying 100-pound packs is a mystery. This was an apparent holiday for them too, a change from regular domestic chores to entertain foreigners and garner higher wages.
Our previous trek had prepared our bodies and spirits for the habits and rigors of this Everest segment, but not for the uncertainties that higher altitudes generate. Lungs straining to eke out more oxygen with each slower step, we lifted our heads to the snowy wonders of mountains Kusum Kanguru and Ama Dablam. We followed the Dudh Kosi riverbed to Phakding and our first Sherpa lodge. These were more rustic accommodations, including outdoor latrines with spectacular porthole views that almost forgave their back-to-nature quality. Nonetheless, we felt pretty seasoned and hardy. We dodged school-bound children, many on 20-mile round-trips, and convoys of mules and yaks laden with supplies and goods for trade in our next stop, Namche Bazaar, a trekkers’ and traders’ town at 11,300 feet.
Finally we reached Tyangboche monastery at 13,000 feet. (Actually, it was 12,887, but who’s counting?) This lodge was rustic, yet sufficient for an overnight stay, with a midnight view of distant Everest engulfed by a deep blue-velvet glow. My thanks to the magic of Gore-Tex and Patagonia-style fleece, my son’s down sleeping bag, and a wry sense of humor.
Everything has its price, and this was easily worth it. Five a.m. revealed a distant Everest in the early glow of sunrise, already the characteristic wisps of blowing snow trailed off one side. Despite its 29,028 feet, Everest appeared strangely small in its immensity. The base camp, at 17,000 feet, was another two to three days’ trek from us. The closer peaks of Lhotse and Ama Dablam framed this jewel in crisp, white masses. Distant Everest looked so quiet and passive. And to think, commercially people fly around the country at altitudes a mere 1,000 to 1,500 feet higher.
The rest of the journey was all quite literally downhill from there, through the cloud-shrouded Sherpa village of Khumjung, and one post-lunch “hike” up to the Japanese-built Everest View Hotel at 13,000 feet. It was a solitary, fog-bound desolate structure mimik-ing Frank Lloyd Wright proportions and design. Ironically, the most challenging and frightening part was the slippery descent of what seemed to be a convex slope back to Namche Bazaar. Once again, I was grateful for the “third leg” that my trusty walking stick provided, as the other two were a tad wobbly.
We fairly flew back to Lukla and enjoyed an overnight stay before our flight back to Kathmandu. Mission accomplished, troops intact — notwithstanding a bruise or complaining joint that had been heightened by fear associated with the long distance from home.
I basked in the relaxed joy of a journey completed and the rewards of achieving my personal agenda. Some of my companions celebrated anniversaries and milestones of life; others added to their trip collections. But we all fulfilled dreams or portions thereof. We had met the physical challenges, and learned much from our hosts about their joy for life and their ability to live in harmony with what at times seemed like unforgiving conditions. This vagabond trekking soul train of individuals, bonded by this mountain adventure, would always have a unique connection. Home would offer a familiar and safe haven but would never be quite the same.
Empty-nester Sheryl T. Young owns Conference Coordinates Inc., a conference production company based in Big Sky, Montana. She is the mother of two grown children and three utterly dependent dogs.