Nepal

From India I headed north for the mighty Himalayas of Nepal. Before leaving, I paid the equivalent of just under fourteen dollars for a trip that included a bus ride all the way to the Indian/Nepalese border, a stay in a hostel, a second bus ride into central Nepal, and, as if that wasn’t enough, free breakfast! I was smug with my seasoned worldly bargain-hunting prowess. My complacent grin, however, wouldn’t last long. After receiving one egg on a piece of bread, I boarded the morning bus with about twenty-five others who had procured the trip. We traversed miles and miles through northern India on an exceptionally long and hot ride. I stared at the dry countryside go by, hour after hour, as the heat slowly and gradually wore away at me. Even though you may be just sitting there looking out a window, as the time drags on in this kind of swelter, you can reach a point of an exhaustive trance. Dazed, I watched the sun set over the passing fields and the sky turn to darkness.

Well after nightfall, we finally reached the border. We entered a little station post to obtain our visas, were passed off from our Indian driver to a Nepali contact, and then directed towards the hostel providing our accommodation for the night. What we found was a total dump. There were eight beds stuffed into every room, dirt everywhere, holes in the screens, grime on every surface, and I didn’t even want to entertain thoughts about the history of the sheets. I was so tired from the lengthy drive though, I didn’t have enough energy to care. I laid down, closed my eyes, and was out cold.

When I awoke early the next morning, I took one look at the shower and ruled it completely out of the question. We all boarded the second bus, where judging by the wear and tear of its seats, interior, and external siding, it was evident that this vehicle had been in hard service ever since it rolled off some ancient Asian assembly line. There was a plainclothes conductor type of guy who had a list with all of our names on it. A number of locals were added to our passenger group, and in some inconceivable enigma of third world administration, and for my first time since 5th grade, we were all given assigned seats. For the rest of my life I’ll wonder how and why he needed to do this. Naturally, the cramped spot that I was designated to was broken and the “cushion” was missing half of its springs. The seat’s back was stuck at an inward angle and I couldn’t alter it no matter how hard I tried. Every other seat was taken, and not that the others in the group had it much better than me, but no one was interested in trading.

The bus edged onto the road and we were off. The southern region of Nepal is flat with farmland and looks similar to the part of India we had just crossed. Curiously, we started to make a lot of detours off the main road to pick up random people at random spots. As we drove along, conductor-guy would see people wave and the bus would stop. Sitting upon my upholstered square of agony, I’d listen to him speak to them in one dialect or another, negotiate a price, and then we would continue on. It appeared their fare was determined on how far they wanted to go and how much cargo they had. Large sacks of rice were a popular carry-on. The seats were all taken, but the main isle and roof rack became stuffed with these random pickups.

I was headed for the town of Pokhara, which sits at the base of the Himalayas and is a staging point for travelers who want to make a trek into the mountains. I was under the impression that this was a direct bus, but it became clear that was hardly the case. Back when we crossed the border and got processed through immigration, there was a poster that claimed Pokhara was only about two and half hours away. I tried to verify this with conductor-guy, but he spoke no English, or more likely chose not to at that time. Our progress was excruciatingly slow. We would stop and go and stop and go, pick someone up here, drop someone off there. This was no longer a bus trip; it was a glorified fifty-person taxi. We continued on as the landscape started to change from flatlands to mountains and it was here where the driver decided it was time to make up some ground. As the road went up and down steep passes, he screamed through the high curves. I had to close my eyes every time we came anywhere near the edge of the road. It was enough to make you sick and by now my seat was so painful it was almost unbearable.

We passed through a number of different towns. We stopped a few times to buy food or drinks, which thank God gave me a chance to get out of my seat and walk around. We’d also stop every once in a while off the road when the driver needed to relieve himself. Others were free to join as he left his mark on the side of the mountain. When through, he’d roar up the old beast of an engine and we’d proceed on. It was so hot. It was cramped. My seat was atrocious. When going through populated areas our progress halted every three minutes for the haggle with the next customer. I wanted to throw myself over one of the cliffs.

Again, I watched the sun start to set. And then, finally and unceremoniously, we pulled to a halt and conductor-guy announced, “This Pokhara. Everyone off.” I nearly cried tears of joy. Instead of the two and half hours the poster declared the trip could take, we were in that transportable cage for a grueling eleven. Reaching the conclusion of this two-day journey I felt like I had just run a marathon. Instead of moving along with cheering fans, however, it was more like there was someone behind me who every few minutes gave me a kick square in the ass. My body was numb. I found a guesthouse, rented a room, and threw my bags on the floor.

It was already early evening and I was extraordinarily tired, but I needed to get my bearings. I came to Nepal specifically because I wanted to embark on a trek into the mountains, but I didn’t have any books or real information on how to do this. I had talked to a number of people back in India who told me Pokhara was the best place to start. I didn’t have any equipment or proper clothing though. I didn’t have any maps. I didn’t know anyone and didn’t have any friends to meet. I knew that the summer monsoon was rapidly approaching and that meant the conclusion of the season. Significant portions of the treks are at lower elevations and the coming rains turn trails into miserable and dangerous routes of mud. There were only a couple weeks left and some treks were up to 20 days long. If I wanted to get up there, every day really counted and I needed to move quickly. I knew there were a number of established routes but I didn’t know the difference between any of them or what they entailed. I just banked on the plan that I could get all the details when I got there. I was still confident that this was achievable, but when I finally arrived, the reality of my situation set in. I was alone, unprepared, and I needed to figure out a lot fast.

I went to check out the town and start to formulate a plan. Pokhara is full of shops selling gear, boots, poles, jackets, sleeping bags, supplies, rainwear, and so on. I purchased a book on the treks and flipped through it as I continued through town. I passed many different outfits offering guided tours through all areas of the country for a whole range of prices. I spoke with some of these people, but realized most of them were just vendors selling trips where they would pass you off to some other operator. They didn’t know much about the actual treks and every question I had about the weather, safety, or particulars of a trip were met with a, “Yeah, it’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.” There were also countless random Nepali men who approached me on the street claiming they were guides or porters who could direct me on a trip. “Trustworthy,” would not be anywhere near the first twenty-five adjectives I’d use to describe my impression of any of these people. I walked a mile through town finding more and more of the same. The whole scene was a little overwhelming and I started to become anxious and frustrated. I then began to have doubts if I was even going to be able to pull this off. Maybe I should have tried to travel up here with another person so I didn’t have to do this on my own? Maybe I should have gotten here earlier in the season so I didn’t feel this pressure to rush? Maybe this whole thing just wasn’t even worth it? On top of the drain of the past forty-eight hours, it was too much. I was beaten. I went to turn around, but decided to walk just one more block.

And then, as it seems to have happened so many times on this grand trip of mine, a little pain and frustration preceded a windfall of serendipity. As I crossed the street, I walked straight into two figures that looked so familiar. With my head still clouded from the eleven hours of motor coach hell, it took a moment to process, but before me was a pair of Swiss guys I had befriended on the Mumbai movie set. I couldn’t believe it. We were literally 1000 miles away and two months removed from dancing on that film stage with our shiny outfits. Ecstatic, I yelled to them, “Yo Bollywood!”

The three of us went for dinner where Marc and Fabian told me of how they traveled through India and Nepal and had just finished one of the classic treks called the Annapurna Circuit. It’s a huge loop that goes around and through the Annapurna range of the Himalayas. It starts at just under three thousand feet and climbs all the way up to one of the highest passes in the world, the Thorong La, at 17,769 ft. The route, which takes about sixteen days to complete, goes alongside some of the largest and most picturesque mountains of the country and is the most popular of all the treks of Nepal. There is no technical climbing, just hiking, and there are small towns all along the way, which offer accommodation making camping unnecessary. The trail goes up and down and across ridges so the actual walking distance has never been officially determined, but it’s somewhere between 130 and 160 miles. It passes through tropical vegetation, alpine forests, treeless high altitude terrain, cold rocky desert-like territory and back again. It’s a true test of endurance and my two experienced Swiss friends claimed it was fantastic. I was sold.

Through dinner and over lunch the next day they gave me a world of priceless information and advice. They told me everything I needed to know regarding where to go, what permits to get, what to expect along the way, how to treat water with purification pills, what gear they brought, what weather to expect and where, what to eat, what to bring, what to buy, and they gave me information on any problems they encountered. They stressed a guide was unnecessary and I could easily do without one. When I expressed concern about going alone, they assured me I would meet people at the start and that lone trekkers morphed into groups all along the way. They even gave me a whole collection of warm gear they no longer needed. These guys were a goldmine of knowledge and generosity. I bought them lunch, and tried to make a donation to their evening beverage fund, but they refused it. They expressed their confidence in me and wished me luck. These guys were just flat-out awesome.

I rented a warm sleeping bag, bought some sturdy hiking boots, pants, socks, and a water bottle. I went to the pharmacy and loaded up on water treatment pills, ibuprofen, and Tiger Balm, which is the Asian topical cream used for everything from sore muscles, to bug bites, to chest rubs for head colds. I decided to use my travel bag as my hiking pack, which I filled with only the necessary gear Marc and Fabian instructed. When trekking 130-plus miles, there should not be one superfluous ounce on your back. I obtained the necessary permit and registered with the proper agency informing them of my route and start. I locked everything else I owned up at my guesthouse, which was customary, and told the owner I’d be back in sixteen days. The next morning I awoke at 5AM and took the local bus to the starting point located a couple hours away.

My lingering concerns of starting this excursion alone were quickly dismissed. On the bus I met fellow passengers Allison, a doctor from Seattle, and Ash, a college grad from the UK. The two of them had met a few days prior and had agreed to start the trek together. They eagerly encouraged me to join them. Allison had completed a number of treks in North and South America and was very experienced. Ash had been traveling around Asia and was more in my camp of, “I wanted to get to Nepal and see the mountains.”

We excitedly disembarked at the town of Besishahar. Here we decided to load up on some water and snacks before officially starting. I opened my pack to get some money and realized my toiletry kit was gone. I went through a mental checklist and reassured myself that I had definitely packed it. Confused, I told my companions, “I think my toiletry kit is gone? I don’t know how this could be.” Allison suggested it had probably just shifted to the bottom of the bag, but then Ash announced, “Bloody hell! Mine is gone too!”

For some reason, prior to Ash’s comment I had not considered that it could have been stolen, but after his declaration, I then freaked. I was carrying over $300, my passport, my permit, and my camera. Frantically I went through every pocket looking for these items and miraculously found that everything remained. On the bus ride our bags were transported on the roof rack, where locals many times ride. Normally I would have had my bag locked, but I had used all my locks to secure my computer and other valuables back in Pokhara. I figured I could chance it for one little ride, somewhat assured because I knew that a kid who works for the bus company also rides up top to help load passengers and supplies. Ash found all of his valuables remained as well. We ran back to the bus, which was still there, to find the conductor. He was standing on the side of the road, but played dumb and motioned as if he knew no English. We yelled at him demanding he produce the kid who rode up on top. There was no sign of him. We didn’t give up, “Our things were stolen from your bus!” A crowd gathered interested in the commotion. We mocked taking down the bus’s license plate in the slim chance it would scare someone into action. We got nowhere. Everyone on the street just stared at us in curiosity.

Defeated, we headed back as Ash pondered, “Why in God’s name would anyone want a toiletry kit?” I couldn’t understand it either. We hypothesized that whoever took them just opened our bags and swiped whatever was on top. I actually had to consider myself incredibly lucky. Besides the fact that all of my valuables remained, by this point I had traveled for over twelve months through nineteen countries, through hostels, through airports, on a multitude of subways and boat rides, across deserts, jungles, beaches, and cities, slept in dorms and on buses and trains, put trust into countless strangers, and I had been the victim of a crime exactly three times. In South Africa my dirty sneakers were stolen. In Laos my flip-flops mysteriously disappeared. And now in Nepal, some wily thief just made off with my used toothbrush and deodorant.

This is not how we wanted things to start off, but we replaced what we could in town and got going. We registered at the first checkpoint and hit the trail, officially commencing the Annapurna Circuit. Starting at around 2,800 feet the climate was still tropical and humid. It rained lightly as we progressed along. Our eagerness carried us as the trail climbed, crossed over bridges, and went along mountain ridges. We passed a couple of towns and a number of locals who encouraged us to stay in their lodges, but we were set on progressing further. After a number of hours we reached our destination of Bahundanda, found a guesthouse, showered, and sat down for dinner. The price of accommodation was around two dollars. Later in the trek we would learn we could stay for free if we agreed to buy dinner and breakfast. The standard dinner meal was a dhal set, which consisted of beans and lentils, curry, vegetables and rice. It had been a long day and sleep came easy.

We awoke on Day Two, got breakfast and hit the trail. It was refreshing to just put on our packs and get moving, unencumbered by the burden of any bus trips or toiletry kit heists. It was paramount to drink plenty of water. The treatment pills we carried enabled one to take water from any source, such as a waterfall, and turn it drinkable within thirty minutes. Staying hydrated and in tune to one’s health was very important. There were small settlement towns all along the way, but we were heading deep into the mountains and this was by no means regular civilization. There were no ambulances or hospitals out here.

We passed school children, cornfields terraced into the hillsides, and many Tibetan prayer flags. The Annapurna region is home to many exiled Tibetan Buddhists who have made Nepal their home. Along the way we also made numerous tea stops. Ash, being British, was naturally a tea drinker, but his deep passion for the drink amazed me. He spoke of dipping his biscuit into his tea the way an artist might speak of putting his paint to a canvas. “Man, you like tea,” I told him. “Oh, give me a cup of nice English milk tea and a chocolate biscuit and I’ll be sorted.” Eventually, we reached our destination of Chamche and in our guesthouse met an Argentinean named Matias.

Matias was an experienced trekker and was also traveling on his own. He told me of how he had lived in the US for a while working for a fragrance company. He was in New York before they moved him down to Princeton, NJ. “Oh I loved New York, but Princeton was terrible. There is nothing to do. I tried to go to one of these, how do you say, fraternity parties?” “Wait. What? You tried to go to a fraternity party? You’re thirty-two,” I told him. “Yes, well how was I supposed to know this is how it works? These damn kids kicked me out and said I was too old.”

The following day Matias joined us as our crew continued to climb. The climate gradually got cooler and the vegetation changed from banana trees to pines. The four of us proceeded together and got into a rhythm for the next three days. We’d wake up early, eat breakfast, hit the trail, hike all day while making numerous stops for rest, food, and tea, taking photos along the way while having discussions on every topic from the condition of the trains in India to the number of hourly hotels in Buenos Aires. We’d then reach our destination, take off hiking clothes, if we were lucky get a shower warmed by a solar tank, hang out hiking clothes to dry, rest, eat dinner, sleep, wake the next day, and then do it all over again.

We were passing through such beautiful country. The air was clean. The wind was cool. And the large peaks of the towering Himalayas surrounded us. At this time of year, there were afternoon clouds that would roll in which could obscure the views, but the first four hours of each morning were breathtaking. The small photos that I can post on this blog cannot do the panoramas justice, not that anything could substitute seeing these mountains in person. Our daily routine may appear to have been repetitive, but it was thrilling to advance on higher and higher. It was physically demanding, but the challenge was rewarding. Each night as I went to sleep I couldn’t wait to get up and get going again.

On Day Six our group enlarged to include Adrien and Bonn-Tien, a French national and a Canadian who live together in Vancouver. The scope of our intense discussions increased to include comparisons of the waistlines between Canadians versus Americans. Eventually we all staggered into the town of Manang at an elevation of 11,614 feet and our group grew one more when Ignacio the Spaniard also joined our ranks. Sitting at the base of a glacier, every guidebook in print advises to take an extra day in Manang to rest and acclimatize before continuing higher.

As you make your way through the Circuit, you start to see the same people advancing along each day. By the time we had all reached Manang, I felt like we were members of a small congenial village where everyone knew each other. At dinner on the night of our rest day we had a very large group. I perused the menu that our lodge offered seeing pretty much the same options I had seen every other night such as dhal sets, fried pasta, or fried Tibetan bread, but this one also had a yak cheese bean burrito. Looking for a change of pace, I rolled the dice and gave it a try. My standards were naturally low for a meal in the middle of the mountains, but to call this burrito “repulsive” would have been kind. Due to the limited cooking fuel, dinner is served once per evening so once you order, you’re committed. I had no choice but to finish my meal.

We went to bed to recharge for Day Eight where we would really be climbing in elevation. In the morning when I woke, I did not feel right. At breakfast I tried to eat a roll and felt a rumble in my stomach. I thought to myself, “A stomach problem? This can’t be.” It was standard in Asia to have digestive issues, but I had made it over two months in India without even a blip. And this was after going through Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos without the slightest complication. I was confident my immune system had become invincible. I was like a goddamn intestinal rock star and I’d be damned if I was going to have a problem now.

We hadn’t even begun hiking though and I began to feel nauseous. The troops of forty trekkers all in town marched out of Manang at about the same time. I stumbled into the procession and started climbing. Every step I took, my stomach, and now my head, started to feel worse. We were now at an elevation where some people start to experience altitude related illnesses from the reduced level of oxygen in the air. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me, but I was struggling. Numerous people asked if I was ok and said I looked pale. I said I would be fine. I forced myself ahead for an hour of a steep climb and realized…I was not fine.

There was a teahouse next to the trail. The sun was shining and many had stopped to take a short break on a deck that had an awe-inspiring view of the snow-capped peaks across the valley. I threw down my pack and sat on a chair. Matias arched his eyebrow and said, “You don’t look so good man. Was wrong?” I had to admit to myself I was in rough shape. It was simply unsafe to continue. Somberly I told him, “I feel absolutely terrible. I am really, really, hurting right now. I think it was that burrito last night.” I now had the attention of just about everyone on the deck. “Here take some of this dried fruit,” a German offered. “No, we have special pills for your stomach, take these,” an Israeli couple recommended. A self-proclaimed Russian pot-head girl advised, “Dude, you need to just pull the trigger. You will feel soooo much better.” All this attention was actually making me feel worse.

As I weighed my options I felt the stomach acid creeping up the back of my throat. I ran to the edge of the deck, and my body naturally heaved that burrito and everything else I ate during the last day all over the side of the mountain. Thirty uneasy faces watched me empty my whole entire tank and then some. I knew this was for the best, but the act required so much energy I almost passed out. I took a few minutes and drank some water that someone had fetched for me. I then laid down inside the teahouse on a bench under a blanket. I felt weak and feared I might have to go back down. Allison then announced she wasn’t feeling well either.

I wasn’t ready to do anything, especially strap thirty pounds on my back and continue to hike up a mountain. Allison had a headache that seemed to be strengthening. Adrien and Bonn-Tien soon claimed they also weren’t feeling stellar and could use some extra rest. They offered to stay for a while and wait to see if our conditions improved. After a while, Matias, Ash, and Ignacio decided to continue on. They got our email addresses, wished us luck, and gave us sympathetic looks indicating they would probably not see us again. I downed a liter of water with hydration salts. The teahouse had beds, so Allison and I each took one and passed out. I was told later the Tibetan woman who ran the place asked what was wrong. When she was told we were not well, she spun her Buddhist prayer wheel.

I slept for over two hours. I knew staying there or heading back to Manang for the night would have to be a serious consideration. Allison had a headache and also spoke of shortness of breath, which are symptoms of altitude sickness. Adrien and Bonn-Tien who had remained with us the whole time were concerned. Allison is a doctor and knew full well that when you experience these signs it is highly recommended to retreat to lower ground. I didn’t have the same problems though. I managed to get up and order a garlic soup, which seems to be the Tibetan remedy for just about every condition imaginable. Although nowhere near one hundred percent, half an hour later I started to feel a bit more capable.

Allison started to feel worse. By this point, it was getting late in the day and some decisions had to be made. Once that burrito was removed from my equation, I was incrementally coming back to life, but Allison was headed in the other direction. She knew some people still staying back in Manang and considered heading back down to take another day or two before deciding her next move. A couple of Irish guys who had showed up were feeling strong and volunteered to leave their packs and escort her back if she wanted. She accepted. With Allison in good hands, Adrien and Bonn-Tien decided to forge ahead. I decided to join them. It was regrettable to see the group split up like this, but we all knew it could happen at any point. Once we were assured of each other’s safety, we were naturally at liberty to make our own decisions about how and if we would proceed.

The three of us took it slow for the rest of the day and by dusk took rooms at a guesthouse just outside Yak Kharka. We were told by others along the way that Matias, Ash, and Ignacio sent word that if anyone saw us to inform us they were continuing to the next town. We didn’t have enough energy to make it that far. We got dinner, hydrated, and went to bed. I was confident that if I could get a solid night’s sleep I’d return to proper form. I slept like an absolute log. I woke the next morning, opened my eyes, and felt much stronger. At breakfast, Adrien sized up my recovery and pontificated, “You know…maybe you shouldn’t eat Mexican food when you’re 10,000 miles away from Mexico?”

We edged higher past the tree line and advanced all the way to Thorang Phedi at 14,600 feet. Here we were reunited with the rest of the crew. We felt bad that Allison didn’t have the strength to continue, but we wouldn’t see the last of her. This was the final stop before what would be the highest point of the trek, the crossing of the Thorang La Pass. The next day would be very long, requiring a large steep ascent and then an enormous descent down the backside. Rest and acclimatization was the order for the rest of the day.

At 4:30AM the next morning a light snow fell. We began the charge up the mountain. It was cold and the trail just kept going up. The air was thinner with each step. I was breathing hard, but surprisingly felt good. A number of days earlier I had tweaked a leg muscle, but the lathering of Tiger Balm I gave it every day seemed to be working. I had also avoided any further exotic choices of nourishment and now had two consecutive solid nights sleep under my belt. We kept going up through the clouds making numerous stops to recuperate. Up and up and up. And then, we came around a corner and saw colored prayer flags flapping in the wind. We were at 17,769 feet and had reached the pass. We were thousands of feet higher than any summit in all of the Rockies or the Alps. Due to the clouds we didn’t have much of a view, but reaching this point was exhilarating. It was cold up there and once you stop moving, you start losing heat fast. We posed for a few pictures and then started on down the other side.

In concept, going down may seem easier, but if the decline is steep, the stress on your legs and knees can be absolutely punishing. With each step, the air was fuller to breathe and the temperature was warmer, but there was just so much ground to cover. Before we would reach the next town of Muktinah, we had to descend over 5,300 feet in elevation, or the equivalent of almost four Empire State Buildings.

Hobbling into town at the conclusion of this feat I thought my legs might fall off. We found a guesthouse, in the middle of Nepal mind you, aptly named the, “Hotel Bob Marley.” The odd Jamaican motif that decorated each room probably would have been enough to seal our business, but this place also had the first genuine gas-heated shower I had encountered in the whole country. I had had the privilege of one shower in the last five days and that was a trickle of cool water back in Manang. By this point, my legs were so sore and my body, to put it mildly, was a filthy mess. As I stood under the piping hot water of Bob Marley’s Nepalese spigot, I am certain I saw a little piece of heaven. It was glorious.

The following day we were at it again and advanced steadily further on down to the next town of Jomson. By this point we had concluded eleven days on the trail and no one gets this far without sustaining one type of malady or injury. From muscle sprains or strains, blisters, diarrhea, altitude-related sickness, general fatigue, soreness, to barfing up yak cheese burritos, everyone had earned their stripes one way or another. There is an option here of getting a jeep back to Pokhara around the range or even flying back from the small airport. Many took that option, but Ash, Adrien, Bonn-Tien and I carried on.

The four of us got along well and continued together for the final five days. Since nature doesn’t work in simple straight lines, we had to go all the way down to 4,000 feet before rising again back up to 10,000 feet. We passed through dry cool terrain, to alpine forest, back to warm tropical conditions. We even took a dip in a natural hot spring. Along the way Adrien, originally from France although now living in Vancouver, would continually try to stoke the flames of a rivalry by grouping with Ash and comparing Europe to North America. Bonn-Tien, the Canadian, would repeatedly invoke our national animals when she’d counter with, “No one messes with the Eagle/Beaver connection!” On the final morning, we climbed a rise called Poon Hill. Poon Hill, which I insisted everyone refer to as “Poontang Hill,” offered some of the best views of the whole entire Circuit and was a fitting way to finish. We then descended all the way down to the last checkpoint, signed out, and congratulated each other on the accomplishment. Sixteen days out on the trail. 130 miles up and down mountain paths, while carrying thirty pounds of gear, through many different climates, some minor hardships along the way, but all in all, a grand success.

It was time to return to civilization. We got a ride back to Pokhara, where we reunited with everyone we started with and virtually every other person we saw along the way. Allison had recuperated a day in Manang and was joined by Rob, a Brit. They had continued one day behind us and made it over the pass before flying back from Jomson. Matias took a bus to another section of the mountains, explored that area, and then returned to Pokhara. Ignacio also continued along before grabbing a ride back. Haircuts, shaves, filling meals, beers, internet, and sleeping in was the order of the day. At the bar one night, it was again like we owned the place, with thirty familiar faces recounting aspects of the trip. Our whole group then took a bus across Nepal to Kathmandu.

The ancient capital of Kathmandu is full of history sitting at the crossroads of many different cultures, peoples, trading routes, and religions. It’s also one of the poorest cities I’ve ever seen. Following a thorough discovery of the temples and narrow alleyways of the capital, we all met for one last meal. Ash was headed back to England, Adrien back to Vancouver, Allison and Ignacio were going to India, as was Bonn-Tien who was going to volunteer at a hospital, and Matias was moving on to Thailand. All of the others in town also had plans taking them out in every direction. On this grand trip of mine, Nepal was another great stop and the trek was a truly enriching adventure. We had spent so much time together, it was a unique experience compared with all the other places I had been. It was different than just going to a new town and making some friends. It was almost like being part of a big extended family that had all embarked on a challenging journey together. But now that the goal had been reached, the family was splitting up and the individuals would follow their own pursuits. I went and acquired a special Chinese visa and booked a ride into Tibet. For it was time for this member of the family to move on as well.


-General Notes and Thoughts:

-Nepal is generally associated with being a Buddhist culture, but the majority of the population is actually Hindu. Up until recently Nepal was officially a Hindu kingdom.

-While hiking the Annapuran Circuit I was devouring things I normally avoid, such as candy bars, cookies, sodas, donuts, and anything fried I could get my hands on. You burn so many calories from the exertion, and due to the reduced level of oxygen in the air, your body just can’t digest as much. This combination makes it almost impossible not to lose weight. By the time we reached the end, we all looked at our pictures and were shocked to see the thinness of our faces. After we finished, we steadily put back the rosiness into our cheeks, but if you want a surefire way to lose weight while eating as much as you want, just head up to the mountains.

-I bought a set of trekking poles along the way. I used to see people with these and think they were pretentious and useless, but I learned that for support while going up or down steep grades, they are priceless.

-Along the trail we encountered a number of tour groups. There was even one outfit from England where people had paid $2,000 each. Included in this price you got a guide and a series of porters who carried everyone’s stuff. There were a couple of customers who were over sixty, hustling along, and getting it done. The fact that they were even out there was absolutely commendable. But for all the others, having someone carry their things, just seemed wrong. I’m glad I didn’t go anywhere near a tour. On top of this, they paid a fortune for what we were doing on $10 a day.

-One day while back in Pokhara after we had finished the trek, I was walking down the main street when it began to pour rain. I ducked into a shop to take cover. There was an old Nepali woman sitting there gazing at the street. Together, we watched the rain intensify. As we looked at the paved street, she pointed and said, “No mud.” I nodded. She continued, “A few years ago, when it rained, this street, all mud. Now, no mud. It’s becoming just like America.”

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