no porter, no guide
in october, nepal trekking season
begins. the height of it collapses in late november, so within just
the two months i imagine that thousands of tourists filter through
Kathmandu's international airport...or present themselves, as if in a
stupor, at the mad northern indian border after hours of tumbling
transport, ready for hours more... holding out hopeful fistfuls of
rupees for official entry stamps. probably not many are satisfied
with a basic 30 day entry visa though, as renewals are common
discussion among tourists. if the two of us are at all
representative of the trekkers' tide, we'll let you know that it took
us less than two weeks to decide to get in line for an extension.
there's a palpable feverish energy that swirls through the country in
the autumn. it caught up with us quickly, and we gladly handed over
the extra rupees for the chance to spend even a few extra days among
the wild peaks of the highest mountain range in the world. for once,
nepal is a country that advertises a truism to get your attention:
“nepal,” the signs read, “once is not enough.”
once in the country, tourists typically
follow a straight pull toward the magnet that is the capital city.
ah Kathmandu, how shall i describe you?? between the two of us, ivan
and i have walked an amusing number of capital cities. and among
Washington D.C., Cairo, Jerusalem, Paris, London, Dublin, Brussels,
Belize City, Bogota, Quito, Lima, Bern, Kampala and Delhi (Delhi for
crying out loud!) and Kathmandu, neither of us has seen anything
quite like Kathmandu when it comes to the tourist scene. since its
birthing for a crowd of 1960's hippies, every roadside wanderer or
first class traveler who has meandered through its streets can tell
you that since then, it's been growing...and growing...it's grown so
much it's turned into a giant plastic coca cola bottle. but whether
you find this a nightmare production or your secret dream come true
depends largely, i've decided, on how you would answer the following
questions: A) have you just come straight from 3 months roughing it
in India, where the sauna like climate and red ant like touts fused
and sparked into a fire that flamed until it managed to literally set
your outer skin on fire?! B) would you like to spend your traveling
rupees this week on a gourmet Thanksgiving banquet , complete
with real wine (not sweet) or ice cold (not room warm) beer? C) do
you wish to spend this week lazily browsing through a veritable
smorgasbord of good n' plenty clothing, paintings and handmade
artisan craft, bookstores and wi-fi zones? D) did you leave your
Northface pants, your Mountain Gear boots, or your...sock liners,
trekking poles, etc etc etc? on the floor in a box, back across an
ocean, a cab ride and a front door key at your neighbors' away? or E)
do you have a low pain threshold and just so happen to be traveling
the world in desperate need of a real-life AMERICAN dentist who will
actually stop the procedure to ask you if the novocaine is working?!
if you answered yes to any of these questions, i'd say, Kathmandu
welcomes you to is a week's worth of joy! joy! joy! if your ATM card
is working, you just might find yourself the happiest
American-not-in-America. of course, to get the goodies, you have to
play Frogger through the maniacal traffic and its fearsome yearly
pedestrian deathtoll. even if you manage to bounce successfully
through its seven or so directional streams (ping, ping, PING!), and
make it to the other end of the alleyway cross-lined with a rainbow
of GIANT store and restaurant name boards, you will probably have to
squash yourself a tourist or three to get into an establishment door.
but once in, the import biz is your oyster, and any product you're
craving is yours for the bargaining. ah, Kathmandu and your
celestial tourist bliss!
of course, no matter how high the
city's brand of the deity Consumerism makes your lovely spirit soar,
a week or so in Kathmandu (breathtaking ancient Durbar Square temple
architecture and local tangled street scenes aside) is enough to
satisfy almost anyone's cravings, and most tourists, newly outfitted
in their fresh hiking attire, spread out like wildfire through the
country. toward the famous east and coveted Everest, or on a
northern route: toward Langtang valley. there are countless paths
for the exploring trekker, making the “once is not enough”
tourist-call a very real one. ivan and i decided to head west, to do
the Kali Gandaki trek (also known as the
Pokhara-Ghorepani-Jomsom-Muktinath) trek. you can begin this trek in
a city named Pokhara, which holds Nepal's smaller, more laid-back
tourist heaven. we spent a week there catching our first glimpses of
the far off peaks of the Annapurna Mountain Range, the mountains we
would soon venture into. to put it more accurately, i spent the week
camping out in cafes, sipping latte after overpriced latte (mostly
because on the first day i made the STUNNING discovery that i could
actually request and receive a real live decaffinated coffee, ITALIAN
BEANS no less, each with ground-depth, and topped with swirl-designed
foam as if delivered directly to my awaiting hand by a genuine
seattle barista! and i had quickly decided that it was a sign from
above to dwell in appreciation for all the western world has to offer
and had spent the week, well, blissfully appreciating. an
activity i broke only to browse the occasional hemp shop for flowy
clothing). meanwhile, intelligent ivan spent the week on day hikes
in the surrounding region getting in shape. about three days into
the trek, i found out the hard way i would have done much better to
follow his lead. but safely tucked into my chic nepali cafe couch, i
could scarsly imagine what two weeks of trail had in store for us.
then, one morning at daybreak, my vacation was over, and we threw on
our backpacks, waved enthusiastically to our cheering guesthouse
hosts, and head out to the trailhead....
once every few countries, i've turned
to ivan and said: “i'm going to tell everyone we know that they all
HAVE to do this once in their lives!” one by one, i've compiled
the itineraries: if you have two weeks and want to taste Africa –
go travel Tanzania...go safari, go exotic island hop...go! if you
have three weeks and a mouthful of Spanish, go to Peru...go climb
ancient ruins, climb canyons, climb rural villages, go swim and sun,
go dance, go taste, go...just go! but if you have a month, and you
love to walk (and you HAVE TO LOVE TO WALK for this one) Nepal is
your destination. like i said, it was october when we head out on
our trek, and in october and november in Nepal, the clouds part and
the sky opens up into a deep blue that stretches but does not crease
like a cool wide ocean. in those months, the rivers are low and
inviting, and you can skip across them to the next ceremonial village
waiting to fold you into its ancient story. it is in the autumn when
the colors of the Himalaya, the highest moutain range in the world,
with its peaks and its farms and its monasteries tucked into its
folds, shines under a warm sun spotlight. Tanzania has Kilimanjaro
and Peru has the Andes and ivan and i touched them both this year,
but if i could watercolor you a mountain, i would do it from my
memory of Nepal.
the days on the trek were rhythmic.
sunrise over the mountain peaks and breakfast served warm to us at
6:30 in the dining room of whichever guesthouse we had landed in the
eve before, and by 8 we were into the newest day on the trail.
morning was a spectacular time, each of us with our big rested grins
and loads of curiosity, giddy expectations and boundless energy. the
days brought challenges – the trail had us climbing up stones piled
up on top of each other, forming a trekkers' staircase – up, up,
UP! down, down, DOWN! across precarious bridges and through sandy
valley windstorms. the air was clean only most of the time - the
smell of donkey trains passing us by, dusty woolen blankets
canvassing their backs loaded with native sacks of goods for sale.
but the challenges came along with the sweetness of sinking a bit
into village life – passing by yak and cattle, and hens and chicks
and roosters that passed their days weaving in and out of fences.
the fences led the way, guarding crop squares arrayed in a gold and
copper plaid from intruding pests. i flinched at my first sight of
the natural barbed wire that line those family fences - entangled
bush throns – with berries and budding flowers adding a natural
decoration. the farms were terraced, which i hadn't seen since ivan
and i had spent a day back last spring at grand Machu Picchu in Peru.
we would stop every hour or so at a porter's stone wall, set up
through the years by natives as offerings of compassion to allow
heavy burdened men and women to rest. we'd gulp water, take a
picture, and start walking again. every hour or three, we'd come
upon our next village. but with each passing village, i became more
entranced with the feel of being there, out on the trail.
each village, and certainly each day,
passed us into a fresh landscape - astounding were the number and
frequency. our first days, down below, our breath was warm. our
coats and local wool hats stayed stuffed into our backpacks. bright
flora and wildly giant bamboo hugged the trail; deep layers of lush
and velvet and mossy was the green landscape, sprinkled with low
waterfalls and, consequently, mosquitos. but as we gained altitude,
the insects died out and the wind would blow through me in the
mornings and evenings, ducking into my collar and making me clench my
bones. we began to walk through desert, and instead of scattered
tropical flower petals, we crushed autumn leaves that lay frosted and
glistening under the early morning sun. down below the villages were
inhabited by Nepali Hindus, their foreheads and village temples
showing off their religious adherance. then later the trail wove
into Buddhist lands, and the stone religious monuments and
iconography and wind-shaken prayer flags decorated the juniper-burned
air ahead of us. the old patriarchs and matriarchs carrying their
devotion in the hands, their fingers counting off wooden prayer beads
as their breath carried their prayers out toward all the universe.
prayer wheels lined the stone paths and ivan and i would spin them as
we walked by, as if releasing our prayers out for the world, like
worshippers raising the sign of prayer-filled incense. like the
american poets praising God in the woods, there was the feel of
constant recognition of holiness in those mountains. my heart burst
with praise to the Creator of the mountains, the rivers, the sun!
how blessed are we to behold earth's wealth! and how the villagers
adorned their small towns to reflect that wealth! one after the
next, the villages all seemed artfully positioned on the sides of
Himalayan cliffs, made up of curved streets, tucked away tunnels and
ancient stone buildings, all colored into the mountain landscape in
hues of white and sand. only the deep dirt-fire color of the
monasteries stood out, signaling the focal point of life. we drank
in their beauty, every scene worthy of its own film. from the
highest among them, we looked out and across to neighboring villages,
oil paintings of which i had seen in Kathmandu and Pokhara. often i
slowed and waited until ivan walked out well ahead of me, so i could
capture the sight of him out there...i took photo after photo of him
in the distance, underneath that wide sky and rounding a mountain
bend, wanting to remember always what it felt like, those days we
were young and healthy and took off after one another, across a
Himalayan mountain range.
when we stopped for the evening, we
sank into our evening meals around warm tables where all around us
guides were busy chatting up their tour groups – paragraphs of
information, underlined with interesting tidbits about Nepali
traditions, etiquite, and family life. our supper plates would come
out, overflowing with Dal Bhat, the local lentil and rice speciality,
spicy and rich. or we would ditch the local plate and indulged
ourselves in local soups or thick doughy pizzas and chow mein. one
town offered us its orchards of crisp apples, crushed into juice -
the best juice i have ever tasted – and sweet, steaming and
crumbling apple pie. we did our best to curb our cravings and eat
local, and stayed away from soda and beer, as all those bottles are
hauled in, and hauled empty out, creating the complicated vibe of a
local economy catering to a fairly insatiable tourist appetite. and
my, were there ever tourists from all over the globe! every evening
brought us a chorus of german, french, indian, american, italien,
english and dutch and japanese...all singing praises to sights from
their day.
unlike many of the couples and groups,
we didn't have a porter to carry our equipment, or a guide to point
the way. we attested to this fact every time we stopped at a
mandatory checkpost to show our Annapurna Range entry passes. “no
porter, no guide?” they would ask. in turn, i would point to
myself and happily quip: “porter!” and then point to ivan:
“guide!!” inevitably, they would laugh, and ivan would
demonstrate a mock frown and reverse my pronounced order. “!!”
and then we would walk away, hilarious ivan singing under his breath
his own rendition of Bob Marley's “No woman, no cry”..... “Noooo
porter no guide, no porter no guide......!!!!!”
nah - no porter, no guide. just the
two of us making our way together, one step at a time.
eve after day...and ten days later, we
arrived at our destination: Muktinath, a small pilgrims' town in the
well known district of Mustang. Muktinath is home to a site both
Hindus and Buddhists consider holy; there, a complex has been built.
arriving at our lodge in early afternoon, we went to visit, and
returned awed by the sweet spirit inflamed there by its centuries of
visitors.
in contrast to the wild temple complex
of Muktinath, the bigger district of Mustang is a surprising dusty
kind of beautiful. it is sand-colored, ice-colored, and
crop-colored. its only element of contrasting color is found in its
strung up Buddhist prayer flags that seem to fly in wisps all over
the valleys and mountain tops. they reflect the religious heart of
its people, who breath prayers all day long while working, and are
complimented by whatever remains in the region of pre-Buddhism (yes,
imagine pre-Buddhism). the people are fed daily by the river
and their tight networks of community roles and responsibilities. as
if to testify to their years working the land, grandmothers in the
region look as if they were born a century ago, and old men's skin
folds with the same wind-worn, solar-browned droop. like most in
Nepal, they rise before the sun, and live well into the night. they
carry items in heavy baskets bound to their heads with torn strips of
faded cloth. only in the last decades have they been introduced to
plastic and to brand names, to strange lyrics and clothes, and to the
Westerners sightseeing their lands, accompanied by guides and porters
carrying their loads. if offered a “Namaste!” (meaning “i
greet God in you!”) hands raised and folded in traditional
prayer-like fashion, they smile broadly, and their children too.
“Namaste!” they return (“i too greet God in you!”) their
grandchildren burst out in singsong Nepali-English:
“Namaste-chocolaaaaaaaaate!” calling out to you for sweets. and
although their welcome and many of their work and traditions are
found elsewhere along the trail, the people of Mustang feel
particularly ancient. Mustang borders Tibet and until recently was
completely closed to outsiders. today, not far across its
southern-most border, you will reach the most northern point you can
walk to without having to purchase an additional special government
permit. we stopped there, and while i amused myself by watching a
small child chasing around local farm animals wandering by on our
cobblestone street, ivan asked permission to snap a picture of the
sort of “do not enter” sign stationed there, and with
satisfaction at our achievement, we turned, and head back.
...
writing this, i find i have
forgotten to include at least a dozen or so tales from the trail.
moments of abundant laughter, fear or some bizarre tale.... and the
photographs, i know, do not do justice to the two weeks ivan and i
spent out on the trail. those days, i believe, will turn out to be
some of the most magnificent i will ever have spent in my life,
wonder-filled and completely cherishable. it is an awesome earth
out there. now here we are, some days after we bounced out of the
bus and off our trek, back in the capital, Kathmandu. we came back
to find that the year, after all, has flown by, and Thanksgiving
holiday is already upon us. this year, i find i can hardly begin to
name the blessings. we miss you and wish you a season full of
wonders, wonders like those that come at 3000 meters up, on top of
the world.
