I added 2 pics

I added them to the Moment post. I have now one album online of 127 pics from my days at Everest base camp. I sent them to some people, but if you didnt get them, and you care, Ill send them to you. Just leave a comment!

Pokhara

Oh man im falling behind in my writing. Here is a quickly written magicless description of my last day in Pokhara.

Travel journal September 15-17 2006

My last day in Pokhara was one to remember and easily made up for the four previous rain-filled days of boredom. After eating breakfast, buying a new book to read [Clive Cussler's Valhalla Rising- Dirk Pitt is a GOD] and a waterproof cover to my pack, I was on my way to use the internet when a man standing in the doorway of a fabric shop called out to me. This is not a rare occurence as I am often stopped for one minute of small talk bfore I am asked to buy trinkets, or drugs, enlist the service of a guide, or to donate money for a variety of reasons.

This time the man that stopped me asked about my yellow Livestrong wristbands that I wear [and have worn for over 2 years regardless of fashion trends, thank you very much] on both arms. Being stopped for this reason is also not rare as they are often the first thing noticed about me- besides my long hair, light skin, and 6'2'' frame. But instead of asking me to give him one, the mans wanted to knowwhere he could buy one and I tell him the website. (Livestrong.com)

The man and I chat a little bit and he asks me if I have time to come in and sit down for a tea as he assures me he isn't trying to sell me anything. I acept and as I enter to store I am relieved to see that the hanging designed fabrics are of a very high quality. I relax knowing that I won't feel pressured to buy anything if he actually is trying to sell me something since I couldn't possibly afford them.

His name is Krishna, and he is Indian from Rajasthan near Jaisalmer from where the camel safaris start. He is very kind and we talk about a lot of things for about an hour.

He was married in an arranged marriage and we discuss this topic. He asks me about my home, what my parents do and if I have a girlfriend. I give him a postcard of Seattle with my email address and he tellsm e he will be back in Rajasthan this winer and I say we sould meet up for a drink or dinner.

Somewhere along in our conversation, Krishna mentions he is having a party tonight with friends and I should come. He tells me there will be fish and lots of food and drinking and smoking. He asks if I drink and I say yes- although I drink very little on this trip- and if I smoke to which I answer truthfully: only a little, sometimes.

We continue to talk for a few minutes and then we make plans to meet up at the store at 6 in the evening. I leave the store and walk to an internet cafe to respond to emails. Inside an American girl recognizes me, or maybe the UW email website that Im using, and asks if I got to UW and if I'm going to study in Nainital.

She is supposed to be going with us on our program and has spent the last 2 months here in Pokhara volunteering at an orphanage. She told me that she decided to not go to Nainital, something that her mom doesn't know yet. I think she was planning to work in another orphanage for awhile and then decide where to go next.

She had no airplane ticket home and no plans on what to do next. Complete freedom. I am proud of my fellow Seattlite and mention my own lack of faith in the directors of and people on the program. We talk a few more mintues and resolve to meet in Seattle at a later point.

Saying goodbye, I walked outside intending to walk a very long way up to the post office in town, as the lakeside area is more touristy and away from the city proper. On the way I ran into a couple who was staying in the room next to me at the guesthouse and to whome I've spoken a few times. They offered to lend me a bike to ride upill into town and I gratefully accepted not looking forward to the long haul in the sun.

The ride into town was indeed long, hot, and uphill. I only had a basic idea of where the P.O. was since the only map I had came from the Lonely Planet. I had to stop and ask for directions three different time but I made it after about 40 minutes.

On the way up one long wide road that appeared to by the main street, I stopped on the side to allow a maoist demonstration pass. Red flags waved and slogans were shouted repeatedly as the army of young men, and a few women, followed a car with a loudspeaker down the road. A few of the demonstrators saw me and smiled.

That day there was a strike in the city (maybe also elsewhere?) of all taxi drivers, buses, cars etc. The roads were blocked by buses and people were scared enough to not challenge the maoists and kept their vehicles off the roads. Luckily, bikes seemed an okay means of transportation. [I mean Mao was Chinese...]

Back at lakeside, I dropped off the bike and walked to a shop north of the busy tourist area on the way to my guesthouse. I've stopped their a couple times before and talked to the men outside and yesterday one offered me a boat for the lake at a cheap price. So today I returned but had only one hour before I must be back and go meet Krishna.

The boat was long and narrow and the blue paint looked faded from the sun and years of monsoons. I sat in the back and paddled out into the middle of my end of the lake.

Phewa Tal is the biggest of 3 lakes in the area, and the second largest lake in Nepal. I took pictures back toward lakeside, of the stupa at the top of the hill, and down the length of the lake. A canoe carrying 3 young, well tanned boys out for a swim came by to say hello- and ask me for money to buy a soccer ball.

With 20 minutes left I began to paddle quickly back to the store as the sun began to sink behind me.

After packing and showering I walked back to town and met Krishna. We took some backroads outof the way and back to the lakeside raod so I could view the locals' houses free from the tourists.

I sat awhile in the jewelry shop in which he works and waw amazed at the relatively cheap prices of the beautiful precious stones set in gold and silver. He pointed out some of the stones and where they come from.

Soon we were back on the road walking to his home which, he told me on the way, was actually everyone's (all his friends') home also. We entered his building and walked up the stairs to his apartment. Inside, the room was sparse and simple. Against three walls were three small beds that were only slightly more than a matress with sheets.

On the fourth wall a small low table was cluttered with newspapers and personal affects. A small TV and speakers sat in one corner of the room, and the walls were bare save for one poster like those I saw in Tibet.

Mostly a collage, at the top was Mt. Everest and Mt Kailash and then representative pictures of major cities between Lhasa and Nepal were pieced together will all labels in Sanskrit. I recognized Gyangtse and Shigatse as well as Lhasa and both mountains.

Soon his friends started arriving. There were at least 4 other male friends besides Krishna, and one friend's cute German girlfriend. This guy apparently was the boss- I assume the manager of the jewelry ship- but he was the same age or younger (26) and never acted as a superior. He was among friends. I assume there was another room in the building that housed another 3 of them.

At some point a few friends disappeared to the kitchen and began the long slow process of cooking. I was told they were making a fish curry from a fresh fish caught that day in the lake. When one of the coks came in I asked if he was the chef but he gave all the credit to Raj (the only other name I remembered because its short) and said that he was just the worker while Raj was teh lead chef.

I wish I could have helped because I love to cook and I miss it, but I was told to sit and relax and to not worry. As the guest I didnt want to overstep my boundaries in any way that might belittle my hosts' hospitality.

I hadn't eaten lunch and was told that they ate very late, often at 11 at night. This was the case this night as well. While we waited, we hung out sitting on the fllor of Krishna (and 2 others') room and listened to music, chatted- mostly in English- and well, smoked.

They passed around a metal pipe that was tapered at one end called a chillum. It was heavy and filled with "skunk" and tobacco. One smokes it by holding in upright, placing a thin piece of cloth on it and holding both hands to one's mouth in a variety of ways and puffs through their fingers.

I told them this was the first time I'd smoked from, or even heard of a chillum. I took a small toke and tried to pass it as I didn't want to miss out on the night- and very little will do very much to my head- but the boss jokingly told me I smoked like a woman so I had to make him proud.

More conversation- at this point I can't remember many topics- and I was passed a small bong made from a sprite bottle, for my first ever time. Needless to say that if I was hungry before, now I was starving.

At some point I was asked to pick a CD from one o the German girl's two CD cases. I picked Jimi Hendrix but the CD was broken and wouldn't play. So they put on some hiphip underground stuff- Mixmaster Mike or something. I was disappointed because I knew- because I had seen- that the other case contained music I would have loved to listen to such as The Who, The Doors, Nirvana unplugged and more. The girl asked what kind of music I likedand I said old rock music which sent her on the hunt for her Pink Floyd album that she never found. I miss music.

Finally the food was ready and was served on plates by Raj and others. The seven of us ate with our hands sitting on the floor of the room using newspaper covering the carpet as a tablecloth.

The fish came complete with hundreds of tiny bones that made it difficult ot eat. Also the sauce wasn't spicy and lacked a strong flavor but I gladly soaked it up with my chipati as I was famished by this late hour.

At one point the power went out again while we were eating. [By the end of my stay in nepal it went out about twice a day.] Almost immediately a candle was lit on teh low table that cast an orange glow on the scene and everyone continued to tear chipati and slurp fish meat away from teh bones without any complaints, or even acknowledgement of the inconvenience that the power had indeed gone out.

After dinner, I joined Raj, Krishna, the boss and the girl out on the balcony. They smoked more and asked me more questions. Raj has long dark hair and dressed well in a sweater that one might find in Eddie Bauer or a similar store. I think he could do very well with American women. He told me I don't have an American accent. I'd heard that before in Kathmandu and I know what he means.

What I speak to people whose first and often second or third languageis not English, I unconciously, habitually change my speech pattern. Speaking slowly and clearly and using commone, simple words to convey my meaning I often think I sound like some European- maybe Swiss or Austrian.

It sounds like English isn't my first language and peole are often surprised to find out I am American I assume because I don't use American slang or generally sound like other Americans they've met. I believe this makes it easie to communicte as the person with whom I'm speaking understands me easily and therefore is more likely o open up and be more friendly that with someone who makes them feel like their language skills are inferior.

At about midnight, Krishna offer two of his friends to take me back to my hotel on their motorbike, because its a long way and was raining hard. Three of us squeezed on the seat with me in the middle holding my backpack on my leg with my left hand and some rail beneath my other lef with my right.

They were only able to take me so far- within a five minute walk because there was a police checkpoint and they didn't have a license. They were very apologetic about this, but I tried to assure them that it was very close and the were very kind. These two friends I believe lived in the building, but they hadn't been with us the rest of the night.

I jogged awkwardly through the rain back to my guesthouse. Unlocking the door to my room, I collapsed on the bed as I was exhausted after such a long eventful day, and smiled, satisfied at another unique encounter with generous locals on this trip.

When will it happen again?

The Kumari Devi

Excerpt from my travel journal, September 11, 2006

I was lucky enough to spend a week in Kathmandu during the Indra Jatra festival during which the Kumari Devi makes a rare appearance outside her house near Durbar Square and is pulled around the city in a grand temple chariot.

This is a huge deal in Kathmandu as thousands of locals show up in brightly colored traditional dress and even the King and his wife attend in order to get a blessing from the young Kumari.

The Kumari is so imporatant because she is a real living goddess, a peaceful incarnation of the goddess Kali. She is chosen from a certain caste of goldsmiths when she is between the age of 4 and puberty. There are 32 physical conditions such as eye color, teeth shape and hte sound of her voice that indicate who the new Kumari is.

All possible candidates are gathered in a dark temple where priests attempt to frighten the young girls with blood buffalo heads, scary masks and demonic songs and dances. Of course a goddess would not be afraid of these tricks and so the Kumari is the one who stays calm throughout the trials.

She then moves into a house near all the temples of Durbar Square and is worshipped as the goddess until her first period or an accidental loss of blood which transforms her back into a normal girl and the search must start again.

She never leaves the house except on rare occasions, including once in September for a three-day journey around the city on an huge and elaborate chariot pulled by locals, because, as a goddess, her feet cannot touch the ground.

I arrived at Durbar square at 3 in teh afternoon, a couple hours before the start of the festival, but the place was already packed. I had been told earlier that one temple in the square was reserved for foreigners and I made my way across the sea of humanity and leaned against a large statue of a lion in front of the temple.

To my right was a tall temple with large steps on which sat hundreds of brightly dressed women and children. It was an organic pyramid of oranges, blues, purples and greens.

Further down the square, a temple's side was filled with camera-wielding professionals standing beneath a sign simply stating "PRESS." Straight across the square was the Kumari Bahal- the building which houses the living goddess and her family. Lastly, back towards me on my left stood the newly repainted, white, neoclassical building that used to serve as the King's palace.

In a few minutes, military started arriving in a line of trucks and stood, dressed in full ceremonial dress, in neat lines in the center of the square, forcing all onlookers outward and often onto our temple platform. I don't think anyone really minded the increasing crowd of young Nepalese men at the foreigner-designated temple, except for the blue fatigue wearing security force that was actually in charge of the order in the square.

They came through and cleaned out all the locals which left us foreigners with more room, but with less a feeling of taking part and mor a feeling of watching this ceremony as we weren't sharing it with locals all packed together like sardines on the edge of the temple platform all vying for a good view.

This was no problem for me as the average Nepali man stands below my chin. I didn't even mind later when I realized someone had unzipped my back pocket and made off with about 700 rupees in all the pushing and shoving.

We waited a long time and were entertained in the meantime by the exotic sights and sounds. Soon a group of young men yelling and accompanied by a drum and symbols scampered into the square and up to the front of the palace. Men in elaborate costumes with large colorful masks and wigs the size of a large beach ball [think Disney Land characters costumes- same size] colored red and orange danced primitively along with the instruments. I had seen this same group dancing earlier that day in a small street, and then again on my last night in Kathmandu. Apparently the costumed man drinks a lot of alcohol and is transformed into a god when the wig and mask are worn. Then brave souls try, one at a time, to slap the god wit ha small towell while the god attempts to grab his attackers. I believe this is just a show of manliness.

Eventually the King arrived in a large convoy and made his way up to the balcony looking over teh square. Later I overheard one Nepalese man telling a western girl that no one likes the King, and indeed I had expected a more boistrous reception.

Not long after his arrival I heard a commotion at the other end of the square and soon I saw the chariot appear from the other side of the palace. The Kumari was pulled around to the front where I assume she blessed the King- although I could not see her well. She sat in the center of the monstrous golden vehicle and people- who I can only assume were her family and friends- stood around the outside waving and cheering to the crowd.

After a few minutes she was pulled in front of the press temple and then quickly out of the square and out of site, on her tour of the city. After her leave, more youths showed up running, shouting, and dancing with a large cardboard cow costume worn by at least two young men. When they too extied the square a few minutes later, the King made his way back to his official car, drove away, and the whole ceremony ended as suddenly as it began.

I follwed the lines of people pouring out of the square and was back in my hotel room by 5:30. Although the actual ceremony was short, the festival is more complex that I know and lasts for days. The excitement was contagious and the anticipation of seeing the goddess heightened the electricity in the square. I think a culture is understood best in a short time by experience of its festivals. I know I learned a lot about Nepalese culture and religion by the unforgetable sights, sounds and emotions I experienced in my short time standing on that temple in Kathmandu's main square.

Kathmandu: Broken Down According to Evan

Excerpt from my travel journal, September 8, 2006:

My week in the Kathmandu Valley has been sufficiently up and down that I couldn't come up with a good way to chronicle my experiences and thoughts on the city. Indeed, I am left with a convoluted sense and often contradictary impressions of the city, and to be sure, with no final resolution to the complexities and nuances that is Kathmandu. Instead, I record a somewhat disorganized collage of experiences and observations that I hope will convey well the scale and the spectrum of senses and emotions I have enjoyed.

The People

The city buzzes with activity from early morning, its narrow side streets reluctantly shared by pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, motorbikes and cars. To a point, I believe my time here is a good warm up for the incredible crowds in a major Indian city as there is a great deal of pushing and pulling on a busy street here in the tourist neighborhood, Thamel. Although I imagine India to be on a whole different scale altogether with its ginormous population and related problems.

In general, I find the locals here to be very charming and generally interested in where we are from and especially in what American's think of Nepal. A few times I was left to give the answer to the latter question by explaining the heterogenous nature of the American people: some simply don't know and/or care about Nepal, others may know enought about the recent history of civil unrest to be afraid to come, while others would come but are too bust living the "American Dream" to get up and travel. In truth, I believe the vast majority of Americans belong in the first category, but I assured my interogaters that I think very few Americans think Nepal to be a violent or unsafe country and, if anything, are more likely afraid of the normal unknowns common with travel to all foreign countries.

The Nepalese youth seems to enjoy their exposure to Western culture. I was told priorly that professional wrestling is very popular and this has been confirmed in my mind by the high number of shirts branded with some steroid jockey's face and muscles I've seen worn throughout the city. Other T-shirts featuring Kurt Cobain, Britney Spears, Bob Marley, and random if not clever quips written in English are also popular. Just today I read "I was born intelligent Education ruined me," on one young man's shirt.

A few nights into my stay, my traveling friends, a couple of Spanish men Jose and Julio, and I went to a restaurant that had a few plastic tables outside and sat down for a drink next to a group of 20-something Nepalese men. They began asking me questions across the tables so I quickly took advantage of the situation, grabbed my chair and joined them while my friends were speaking Spanish to each other. Soon the guys and I were having the usual discussion of where we live, why I'm in and what I think of Nepal, and other normal foreigner/local topics. I learned that two of them have been great friends for 15 years and noticed that htey were very affectionate in their drunken state. Nepalese men are often seen holding hands walking in public which I have read is normal behavior for close friends and has no homosexual connotations as homosexuality is officially illegal.

One of the friends is married and I learned that it is normal for Nepalese to get married around the age of 20. This same man loves cowboys- not an uncommon fascination for a foreigner to have from what I've seen- and wants to come to America and go to Texas for the cowboys and Tennessee to see where Jack Daniels is made, as he is a huge fan. I admittedly was a little buzzed myself and was probably more jovial for it. This is evidenced by the unmarried one declaring on multiple occasians that I was fun and he liked me. [I pause to put to rest the questions of this man's sexuality as he clearly and using explicit language explained his fondness for women.] So of course this guy was my favorite and I gave him a coveted postcard. I actually found out later that they came by my hotel looking for me later that night but unfortunately the Spaniards and I were out late eating dinner.

The true charm of the Nepalese people is manifested in the unshy smiling faces of the young children. It is commonplace to be walking down a side street in the valley and, hearing a loud high-pitched "Hallo!", turn around to the excited waving arms of a small group of Nepalese toddlers. On our day trip to Bhaktapur I had the fortune to be approached by five such brave souls dressed in their little school uniforms complete with collared shirt and necktie. They repeatedly competed with each other to be in the photos I was takin gof them and laughed hysterically when I showed them their bright faces on my digital camera. I gave a slight tug on one boy's tie and he slapped his face with both hands giggling uncontrollably and soon they were holding their ties out for me with which to take and flap them lightly on the nose, catapulting each into fits of laughter.

Nepalese women are another source of my fondness for the people. Short and petite, the young women are oftne fashionably dressed and have strikingly exotic features. Because of their small stature, I think the girls appear much younger than they actually are, which is only apparent when view of their mature faces is available. I admit I am attracted to their dark features and slightly curved noses, but alas I have yet to speak with one, as I find them much more reserved that their male counterparts and more often than not accompanied by one. Indeed, the majority of motorbikes humming through town are driven by a young man- probably with relative money- with his magnificently cute girlfriend riding behind him. [Its also common to see an entire family of 4 or 5 riding on one motorbike!]

It is clear that I have favorable words for nearly all groups of the local people and it somewhat pains me to end this section with a summary of one group that I quickly disliked.

One my second full day in Kathmandu, I decided to spend time in the nearby Dubar Square, sitting high on a temple's steps and read, write, and watch the flow of humanity before me. However I left with a sour taste for the cities principal center square because of my constant harrasment by guides trying to bet me to pay for their services. In less than one hour I had to rebuff seven guides that one by one came up and sat next to me, always asking the same questions. "What country are you from? How long have you been in Nepal? Can I give you a 1 hour tour of the square and explain the temples and history?" Getting annoyed at their attempts to guilt me into paying for a tour, I remember that I am constantly fighting the good fight against Ugly Americanism abroad and kept me composure, always politely refusing their advances.

For some naive reason I thought the young man who sat next to me would be different. We began just chatting as usual and he did tell me a great deal about Hindu celebrations and answered every question I had as we discussed some points of their traditions. He was clever enough to thoroughly engage me in what seemed like friendly conversation- exchanging knowledge of our homelands- before revealing his true agenda by asking me if I wanted him to explain the history and temples and in return I donate whatever I felt fair to his education. Of course I hadn't- indeed still haven't- developed a strong enough behavior to reject him after a half hour of discussion and so I reluctantly agreed.

Soon his two friends showed up and they attempted to take turns giving me histories of the temples and the religion. The other two had more difficult accents and talked in a sufficiently confusing manner that I'm sure I'd have learned more reading my Lonely Planet. [Im also sure it didnt help that I was distracted by the disatisfaction I felt for being tricked into the tour.]

Afterward I presented them with what I thought was a very significant payment of 1000 rupees because, again, I'm a horribly soft sucker. (Other guides started the price negotiations at 500 rupees for a 1 hour tour.) The of course seemed disappointed at the amount and tried to convice me in the friendliest way for 500 more to save for his studies, because come one, we are friends! To my credit I politely refused to pay any more and eventually they gave in and got very friendly once more. Giving me their names and phone numbers they told me it's all about making friends and other bullshit until I made an excuse to leave.

I returned to me hotel dazed and disappointed wiht myself at being taken again. I'm sure they only tried to be friends because I told them I was here with friends who were somewhere else (one good excuse to not take a tour) and they wanted me to bring them for a tour in the next couple days. I felt jaded the rest of the night, until that is, I met those guys at the restaurant and successfully flipped my impression of locals on its head.

Indeed, like any big city, a tourist in Kathmandu will find people who see them as a potential money-making opportunity, and people who see them as a potential friend depending on where the tourist chooses to spend time. I was lucky enough to find both in the same day. Without the former, I think I would have not had the same appreciation for the latter, and I am always open to learning from my mistakes, even if I continue to repeat them.

The City and the Weather

Kathmandu is, like I imagine many other big cities are, busy, dirty and often utterly chaotic. This chaos is magnified on the major streets and in the busy tourist area of Thamel by the disorganized traffic, and masses of shopkeepers, artisans, fruit vendors and rickshaw drivers all hawking their goods and services, repectively.

I found few, if any refuges from the madness. Hotels can be so cheep that finding a single room that is affordable is very simple. Exiled in my hotel room I can hear the early risers shouting in the alleys at 6 in the morning. My earplugs provide the only relief from the roar of the city 5 storeys below. It is indeed an early riser's city. The main streets and squares that are so bustling with life by 7 in the monring are equally devoid of it by 10 in the night. This resulted in at last one dinnerless night as I spent each day with two Spaniards, Jose and Julio, to which a meal at 8 pm is very early. Once we did find a revolving restaurant open late and spent the evening eating overpriced food and literally rotating between decent views of the city just beneath us and views of the kitchen door.

This night we had to walk outsie our side street which is lined with restaurants, becuase the power had gone our, and stayed off for the entire evening. This apparently is not an uncommon occurence as a couple nights later it happened again in Thamel while luckily our neighborhood remained with power. A man working in our hotel told us that often there is simply not enough power to go around.

If these blackouts have to do with the day's weather, I don't know. As for the weather in the city, it was as variable as the people I met. The night we arrived, we were drenched in hte torrents of a monsoon. The following day and another after were very sunny, but then the heavy rains again flooded the city streets for days. Indeed, my last days in Kathmandu were all rainsoaked, the rain only rarely easing up enough to enjoy a walk in the muddy streets.

While my written words describing the chaos, blackouts and rain may paint a bleak picture of Kathmandu, I never found this city this way. Because I was just visiting and my experiences with these inconveniences were brief, I found them more adventurous than hassles. I view myself lucky to view the reality of a city- the beauty with the problems- rather than a neatly wrapped package handed to the visiter that many tourists seem to prefer in their pursuit of comfort and luxury.

The Foreigners

I wanted to include a short bit on my experiences with the other foreigners in Kathmandu. Although the glory days of hippie life in the city like it was in the '70s are over, some remnants of this lifestyle can still be seen, such as one temple in Durbar Square being commonly referred to as the Hippie Temple. Indeed I believe that there remains a steady current of hippies and those seeking alternative lifestyles flowing through, or more accurately, floating in, the city.

I found at least one common hangout for such folk and I shared a meal with an aging trio of consumate hippies of an American, a Scott and an Englishman, and youths from France, Greece and Israel. Playing chess and smoking dope, throughout the night they told stories of the drugs of their youth and gave me advice on where to go in India and Nepal, as I trust they've spent many years bumming around in these countries.

The drug scene in the city is very visible as people smoke freely in restaurants and bars. I witnessed on many mornings in the cafe where we ate breakfast, a group of Nepalese teenagers rolling joints with their cups of tea. I joked that many gruff people in the street must think my face looks Middle Eastern because they constantly mistake me for someone named Hashish.

Along with hash-smoking hippies I encountered yoga students on break from months of study in India, and also many young western girls with Nepalese boyfriends.

It was an eclectic group I encountered, but one to which I felt an outsider because I had no plans, nor any great desire, to spend an indefinite amount of time in this city or any other in the region. Our lusts went unshared as I feel compelled to wander constantly to new places and they are quite comfortable to stay months or years in one place provded the alternative life is accepted, and the drugs are cheap.

Nepal

Excerpt from my travel journal, September 6, 2006:

My first experience in Nepal was driving down to the border on the Friendship Highway from Tibet. Although I knew better, I held the image that Nepal was entirely mountainous like Tibet. I was completely surprised by the dramatic change in scenery and climate as we dropped off the Tibetan plateau and down towards Nepal's northern border. Immediately reminded that this is a tropical country, I sat awestruck in the back of our Land Cruiser as rough brown hills devoid of any shrubbery for the grazing goats and yaks quietly transformed into a thick and lush jungle with steep cliffs and powerful cascading waterfalls that washed the Tibetan dust off our windows. I though out loud that this is how I expected much of South America to look, but not what I thought to be a strictly Himalayan country.

By the time we had reached the border, monsoon rains pelted the windshield with heavy, unrelenting drops. Passing through customs and obtaining a visa completed, we piled into a tiny truck to drive a short distance to reach the cab we agreed to hire. The steep road downhill was full of mud and we drove quickly over the large bumps and holes with our car often bouncing high off the road and throwing us in the back around like the untethered passengers we were as if we were traveling over a flood of bowling balls. I very much enjoyed this adventurous drive, stuck in the back seat next to and as often on top of my Spanish friends. That is, however, until we got into our propper cab for the 4 hour drive south to Kathmandu and I found out that the bone-shattering bumps we endured work just as well at shattering LCD screens on digital cameras...

Driving into Kathmandu after dark on Saturday is madness. When empty, I imagine the main highwas into town would appear to have 6 lanes, 3 in each direction. However, as we drove in, I discovered bicycles, scooters, motorbikes, taxis, SUV's and buses shared the road and the presence of lanes, indeed even coherent general directions of traffic, vanished into pure exhaust-filled chaos. I'm glad I wasn't driving.

We got dropped off at an ATM to withdraw money with which to pay our driver, and then awkwardly ran through the re-energized monsoon for a few minutes to our hotel. Arriving soaked to the bone, I was led up 5 flights of stairs and offered a single room with shared bathroom for 150 rupees (2 $US). Exhausted and drenched, I layed out all my damp belongings and lay myself on the 1 inch-thick foam mattress relieved to be finished with this leg of the journey, but so far unimpressed with the capitol city.

[My impression did improve in the daylight]

The Moment

Excerpt from my travel journal, September 4, 2006

Waking up at 5200 meters will inflict a range of maladies on an unacclimated individual. Headache, sore throat, runny nose, sore muscles, nausea, foggy head and overall grumpiness I found are common. I have faith in western medicine and am at least skeptical of most wholistic remedies. However I found relief not through pills- although Im sure they helped- but from a psychological and physiological response to a natural experience...

My least favorite part about camping in snow or in the winter is having to leave the comfortable confines of my tent and sleeping bag to relieve myself in the middle of the night. (That and Dad snores). And it was no better leaving my pile of blankets to brave the bone chilling wind to relieve the gallons of tea I drank the night before at EBC. (Staying hydrated is supposed to be a GOOD thing!) And so it was again when I awoke in the morning, pulled on my cold boots, layered on my jackets and excused myself to my groggily awakening tent mates in order to run around the back of the tent in an urgent response to nature's call.

I face south and get midstream before I look up with eyes half open in the ecstacy of release. But soon my eyes are opened wide as I continue to look upward, and up, and up. My eyes follow the ridge on the horizon and my own groggy brain takes half a second to compute what it is my eyes are already aware of. They Mother has overcome her modesty, shed her shroud of clouds, and is dancing gracefully in the midmorning sun.

My next instinct is that I must share this with my companions as I realize I am the only one outside with full view of the Goddess Mother's impressive physique. Zipping up quickly, I sprint to the door of our tent, poke my head inside long enough to violently slur some sort of announcement to the others, and keep running all the way to the top of the hill. At the top I keep over and suck a few huge breaths to stabilize myself before I can even get a picture off. And for less than a minute, I am getting a private showing of the Goddess's sensual skylit pose.

Not far behind me comes Trevor and soon we are surrounded by a hoard of visitors of different nationalities who- like us- made the long journey in hopes of setting their gaze on the tallest mountain that Mother Nature could create.

The show lasts a full thirty minutes during which time I took nearly a hundred pictures of different angles and zoom. But after I had saturated my eye with every framing imaginable, I put my camera away, and sat alone on the mountain side of the hill. I allowed my eyes to relax again, and my gaze to unfocus, and for a couple minutes I breathed deeply the air of the satisfaction only felt at the realization of a dream. It is a feeling of complete inner happiness that defines a life and I am very blessed because I had felt the same peace once before.



Writing this now it is very easy to draw parallels between reclining in the sun on that hill in Tibet, basking in the warmth of the Goddess Mother's image and reclining in a chair on the sun drenched balcony of my apartment in Siena, sipping an espresso and staring out over the beauty of the rolling Tuscan countryside only a year and a half prior. Both are unforgetable moments occupied by a self-reflection revealing utter contentment with the present and symbolize the successful completion of a life goal. More than never forgetting these moments, I commit the rest of my life, as should other's there's, to the pursuit and realization of these fleeting glimpses oif a perfect world, whatever they may be.

EBC Day 2: Meeting the Mother

Excerpt from my travel journal, September 3 2006:

Late to bed, early to rise. The altitude and dry air limits me to only a few hours of weak sleep. With a sore throat and slight headache, I join the others for a quick breakfast and we hit the road, the Mother awaits.

Tibetans call the peak Qomolangma which roughly translates as "Goddess Mother of te Universe." The goddess that dwells at the mountain is one of five famous Tibetan dieties which predate Buddhism. And we were in a rush to make her acquaintance.

But our plans were quickling put on hold when Friday realized he had forgotten one of the necessary permits. Leaving us at the checkpoint in a small village [Andre the German would say "willage"], he backtracked the 10k to Shegar to fix the problem. We were immediately aware of our good fortune to be left where we were. Allowed to wander through the rural village, we take in a uniquely Tibetan lifestyle.

Hundreds of goats were corralled in pens built of mortar-less rock walls four feel high. Donkeys were tied to posts on a short leash while many dogs were free to roam the grounds. While the villagers were hard at work, they were polite enough to greet our alien faces with a smile and the Tibetan greeting "Tashi delek!" A river bed cut deeply into the terrain downhill of the village, and looking across it a half mile away I could see what appeared to be an old ruined castle.

The hour we were set free on the village was remarkably fulfilling. Far from the Chinese influence which belies Lhasa's historical and religious significance and suffocates real Tibetan culture, this town functioned independently and from what I could see was nearly fully self-sustaining.

Before long, Friday returned and we big farewell to the anthropological interests of the village and focused on the geological ones at hand.

Up about two dozen switchbacks and over another pass we arrived at the end of our journey in the car. 8 km (5 miles) from EBC the road stops at a monastery. Our foursome decides unanimously to forgo the pony-drawn carts taht most visitors take the rest of the way in favor of a nice short trek. The way is slightly uphill the whole way and is made difficult only because we are just shy of 17,000 ft above sea level, and half our group arrived in Tibet only 2 days before (thats me!).

Still, we made short wor of the hike and arrive in camp to find what appears a makeshift Main street with semi-permanent tents serving as stores, hotels and a post office lining both sides. Only a few steps down the hundred yard street and we are greeted with the same sterile English greetings as we could find in a market in Lhasa. Not surprisingly, all the Tibetans in the street were there to sell us something, old stale food, a trinket, fossil, or a berth inside a tented hotel. Tourism dependency has reached the top of the world.

Since all hotels were priced exactly the same- how COMMUNAL for these Tibetans- we chose the nicest looking interior and sat down to rest while our gracious Tibetan host tirelessly refilled our tea cups with hot water heated by burning yak dung inteh central stove.

Within the next few hours a pair of Basque cilmbers stopped for a cup tea in our tent and we asked them many questions. Even though it is late in the climbing season, they will try for the summit within the next couple weeks if the weather holds out. I should remember to find out about the results of their summit attempyt.

The sun begins to set and I am just beginning to get comfortable in our tent- bundled up with all the warm layers I brought- when Andre walks in and informs us the mountain is poking her head out of the seemingly endless clouds. Those remaining in the tent jump to and I run up the short hill just on teh mountain end of main street, quickly losing my breath and nearly passing out before I reach the prayer-flag lined top.

The setting sun casts a shimmering orange glow on the summit which is exposed while the great body of the beast remains hidden behind the cloud. At first glance it is easy to miss the golden pyramid because it floats much higher in the heavens than I expected. And for the second time in two days, my spirit was lifted to heights rivaling the massive Mother and I put to rest any worries about an disappointing adventure as I imagined this moment as the summit of our short journey. But this summit proved to be false, as again I found the next day that the true summit was actually loftier than expected.

EBC Day 1

Starting early as we had a long day ahead, we drove up to Kamba-la Pass which- when clearer than our foggy day- affords views of the magnificent many-armed Yamdrok-tso lake. Our path took us back down the pass to teh Friendship highway- which links Lhasa with Kathmandu- and on to the second largest city in Tibet, Shigatse.

We stopped for a couple hours in Shigatse to visit the impressive Tashilhunpo Monastery. It was magnificent and I loved the architecture, and religious sculpture, paintings and artefacts. I am not what I would call a spiritual person, but I felt uplifted by the aura around the stupas. After taking many pictures our time was up and Trevor, Andre and I headed back to the car because we couldn't find Justin.

At first it was nice to have a little time to buy a snack and people watch. But our driver, Friday, was getting impatient because we still had hours and hours to drive. Soon I was impatient too. I contemplated going back up to look for him again, but the calmer Irishman pointed out that, as the oldest of the foursome, Justin should be responsible enough to not need a young'un like me to look after him. But as we saw in the coming days, age is not a direct indicator of maturity or responsibility.

Arriving 45 minutes late, Justin just seemed to laugh off our unhappiness of his cavalier treatment of all of our time. Although he did apologize in a joking way, I remember him saying that if we had said we would stay 2 hours instead of only 1 hour and a half, he would have only been 15 minutes late, which would have been reasonable. Totally justified.

The rest of the 6 hours of the drive was highlighted by getting stuck stuck behind a line of cars who were themselves stuck in the mud that had formed with the combination of heavy rain and dirt road over another pass. It was very dark and I got out to help and tried to push a van through the mud. But the traffic jam was not cleared until Friday appeared with a shovel and in only a minute had the van moving forward again- a significant improvement over the sideways sliding it had done for the hour we were there.

Back on our way again, we didn't reach our night's stop at Shegar until 11:30pm- over 14 hours after we left Lhasa. Dirty and exhausted, we all shared what we ordered at the hotel restaurant and headed up to the loft for a short night's sleep.

Lhasa

Excerpt from my travel journal September 3 2006:

Waking up early in Chengdu, I took a short shuttle ride, provided by the hostel, to the airport. I meet an interesting American guy and we chat up a Dutch couple while we wait to depart for Lhasa- the capitol city of the Tibetan Autonomous Region. The flight is short and we pass over some white-capped mountains.

Upon arrival in teh city, the American, Justin, and I take a bicycle rickshaw to a budget hotel and get a couple beds in a four-bed dorm room. Minutes after we sat down to rest our altitude-sick heads (Lhasa sits at 12,000 ft above sea level) our dormmates arrive.

Trevor Murphy is a 29 year old Irish primary school teacher in London, and Andre Schaffer is 31 and lives in Dresden in eastern Germany. After the normal pleasantries and questions are exchanged, we begin talking about things to do in Lhasa and Tibet. Trevor describes an eleven-day journal out to sacred Mt. Kailash where a 3-day trek around the mountain comes in the middle of 8 days at 12 hours per day of driving in a bus on a horribly bumpy road. Im glad I have no time for this trip.

Then the Irishman casually drops in that he is trying to get a fourth person to join him and two Thai girls on a four-day trip to Mt. Everest Base Camp- known throughout the tourist agencies in Lhasa as EBC.

I had done smoe research, but frankly was a little unprepared for what to do in Tibet because of the length and size of my trip. But when he said "Everest Base Camp," my interest immediately peaked. I've read books and articles on the mountain, seen movies and even talks about people who've climbed the epic peak. But I never thought, even though I was going to be in the area, I'd ever get a chance to go to base camp and see the mountain itself.

[The way to travel to the numerous monasteries, lakes, cities and treks around Tibet is to hire a Land Cruiser and a driver from one of the multitude of agencies around Lhasa. Even solo travlers are able to do this by putting their information with an agency and then posting messages on boards at the common hotels in the area. Sometimes it takes a long time to find others who want to do the same trip that you want to do. For example, Trevor said he waited about 5 days before getting together some Israelis for the Kailash trip. I imagine many solo or paird travelers can wait a few days between every trip, and often time is wasted staying in Lhasa. This is significant when considering that on my first day in Lhasa, I was able to book a trip to EBC for the next morning. After I returned to Lhasa, I had the fortune to find a trip to the Nepal border in the same amount of time. But thats another story...]

After talking to a couple agencies in Lhasa about hiring a car and driver, Justin and Andre voiced that they also may want to go and we could make it a 5 day trip with an extra night at EBC instead of the shorter trip the Thai girls were trying to organize. We went to lunch to decide and before our food had arrived we were all committed to the journey.

The rest of the day was spent similarly to the start of my one day in Chendgu. The four of us set out in search of an ATM and after scouring the city for hours, we finally found one that worked. We payed the agency, saw the car and met our driver, whose name is Tibetan for "Friday," and we were all set for our Everest adventure...