After leaving Kathmandu, Effi and I headed to the town of Pokhara in Western Nepal, a traveler's paradise and also the jumping off point for many popular Himalayan treks. Although I had little to no interest in this crazy notion of trekking, Effi was set on it and was able to convince me to go along.
After a bit of research into our trek to the Annapurna Base Camp and the acquisition of necessary gear, we set off for our journey, map in hand, but without such luxuries as guide or porter to carry our bags. In the first few hours of this trek, I quickly came to realize why it is I never seem to enjoy these things. That is, it's really hard!!!!! I'm not exaggerating one bit when I say that the process of climbing up a mountain involves, well, CLIMBING up a freakin' mountain! Not
just a small incline and funny conversations en route but STEEP, sometimes nearly 90 degree angle inclines, with each step up to 3 or more feet above the last rocky stair, while carrying all your gear. And
it's virtually never ending pain!
Yes yes, there are beautiful views and mountain people to look at but the cost is significant. One thing that was extremely unforgettable on that first day, however, occurred after only about an hour or two of trekking. As
Effi and I leaned up against a rock wall to catch our breath, we noticed a large parade of people coming down from above us. In the front of this line of people, several men carried a stretcher, on top of which was a colorful sheet and many flowers. As the procession approached us, we were able to see that underneath the sheet was a small dead body, being followed by many family members and a wailing woman.
As it turned out, this body was that of a 13-year-old boy who had been killed by a group of other boys in a village up the mountain from where we were. Apparently, the boys were at school and decided to slit the throat of the boy who passed us. No one seemed to know why this happened, but now these villagers had to walk to the town at the bottom of the mountain with this dead boy while the killers were sent to prison.
It was really a sight to see, and one I'll never forget.
By the time we reached the
guest house where we'd decided to stay that night, it had been nine long hours of brutal climbing. Effi and I decided to have a quick dinner and then hit the sack as we were exhausted beyond description. In the dining room of our guest house, we met a lovely young American couple who were enjoying their last night of trekking, and who were being catered to by 3 cooks, 2 porters and a guide, the lot of which had taken care of their every need while they merrily skipped along the way. As Effi and I sat awaiting our meager meal of rice and veges, we watched them dine on a five-course meal and put down several beers in celebration of their wonderful trip.
It made us wonder what the hell we were thinking trying to do this all ourselves, with no one to listen to us moan and groan and take pity on us along the way.
The next day,
as we continued our ascent, we noticed a disheartening pattern. While Effi and I would think we were only an hour or so from our end point of the day, we would innocently ask a local how far we had to go and the answer would always be "oh, about an
hour."
No matter how many hours we had climbed and no matter how many times we asked, the answer would still always be "an hour" or even more disappointing,
"another two." One
Nepali woman who walked along with us for a while could only speak a word of English, which happened to be "up!" As we'd ask how far to the next restaurant, her reply would be "up up up up
up!!" As we continued "up up up up up", I began to
formulate how I would tell my friend that I'd had enough of this trekking business and that I would not be carrying on with him for the next 10 days. But by the time we stopped for a late lunch to sit out the monsoon rains, Effi had also had enough, and so we decided then and there that we would turn around and head back down. It's not that we couldn't have made it, we simply chose not to carry on. At least, that's what we told each other.
As we
walked back down that afternoon, we encountered a group of approx. 11 or so 8-year-oldish school kids on the path. As I approached, they locked arms and blocked my way, and I figured they would probably ask for a rupee or a pen as is usually the case with kids in these parts. But as I reached them, instead of sticking out their hands to beg they stuck out their tongues which were colored a bright purple from some sort of candy overdose, rolled their eyes back in their heads from the high and chanted "sweet!!!!!"
I was in no mood for this red rover tactic, so I tried to break through their wall of tongues while saying "no, ya darn kids!" but my words fell on deaf ears, and soon I found myself being tugged on by several of the kids who had managed to grasp onto my shirt and hang there as I continued walking. As Effi was behind me and witnessed it all, he got quite a laugh out of the spectacle, and after I passed through this wall of purple-tongued monsters I had the pleasure of watching Effi endure the same fate. Anyway, it was a nice few days of trekking in all, but I had had my fill of it, and I'm not in the least bit sorry for cutting it short.
After a few
more days in Pokhara, where I broke my self-inflicted ban on purchases and bought two "sarangis," a violin-type instrument with ornate
wood carved back (mine with a Buddha), I decided it was time to make my way toward the Indian border. Although I had met some folks headed that way eventually (I shall talk about them in my next email), none were ready to go when I was, and so I was left to continue on solo.
Not really the way I wanted to enter India, but nonetheless, it was in the cards, and I'm finding that there is a good reason for each decision I make on the road, even if I have to wait for that reason to reveal itself. As potentially new age-silly as that may sound, I really am starting to believe that there is some waiting path which opens before me each time I move from place to place, and I only have to believe in its existence to actualize it.
Or maybe I've just been left to my own thoughts too long.
