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Going Up…AGAIN

admin — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 05:40:33 +0000

Heading back up the terraces

Tiger Balm Tales Vol 18

Going Up…AGAIN

We had been on the trail now for 18 days. We no longer had that rookie look in our eyes. We were no longer surprised by cold showers, the same menu, donkeys squeezing by us on the trail. We were old timers. We had 4 days on the trail before we hung up our boots in retirement. Dad and I had one last pass to get over, and then on to civilization.

Basket Weaver

Today we were starting a two-day climb…yes climb. Even though we had peaked on the Thorung La Pass 3 days earlier, it wasn’t all downhill from there. Instead it was downhill – and then uphill again to 9075 ft and then back downhill into Pokhara. However what made this climb different was that this was stress free hiking. Unlike Thorung La Pass, we knew we could make it to Ghorepani at a mere 9075 ft – no problem. It’s really amazing how enjoyable it can be when you aren’t constantly worried about “will I make it?”

Tatopani was a nice stop for us once I calmed myself from my harrowing bus ride. Tatopani is a popular stop along the Annapurna Circuit thanks to its natural hot springs; trekkers tend to use it as a rejuvenation stop before continuing the upward climb to Ghorepani. Try as I might, I’m not really a Hot Springs gal. I realized this must run in the family, as my dad also had no interest in the hot springs. Instead, my father and I decided to simply use Tatopani as a good internet and beer stop skipping the famous hot springs.

Instead, Tatopani offered me a special kind of therapy that my body was craving; fruit therapy. The little village was tropical compared to the high altitude peaks we had come from. Orange and lime trees were abundant and my body welcomed some sweet/sour citrus fruit into my system; better than any hot springs in my opinion!

Leaving Tatopani after a hearty breakfast including fresh orange juice, we were energized for our climb. We hadn’t really done any strenuous hiking since the pass, but that was going to change today. We were at 4,580 ft and had to climb to 9,075 ft in two days.

The trail to Ghorepani took us back among the rice fields and functioning villages – a welcome site. The villages before this at higher altitudes seemed to mainly exist for the circuit trekkers, but the villages we walked thru today were farming villages full of kids and families who lived there year around. Kids along the trail sold sweet green oranges bursting with flavor; I of course put a few in my pack.

Video Trekking to Shikha:

After a good morning hike we stopped for Daal Bhat and corn bread. As we were getting up to leave, an old friend ‘floated’ by – Roman. We had been meeting and leaving Roman for the past 4 days on the trail; each time thinking it would be our last to see each other. The ‘river’ of the Annapurna Circuit never ceased to amaze me – depositing friends floating down the ‘river’ when you least expected it. Roman trekked with us to Shikha where we were to stay for the night. We said our final goodbyes as he headed for the big climb to Ghorepani and dad and I settled down for a relaxing night in Shikha.

Model in the Making

Shikha wasn’t exactly a normal stop on the trail; they had a few guest houses. Shikha was mainly a functioning village full of farmers and herders. It was great to be back in a non-touristy village. We spend our afternoon walking around the village watching the villagers go about their afternoon chores; thrashing beans, feeding goats, milking cows, and making baskets. Of course the kids came running down home from school and offered a wealth of entertainment for us posing as ‘models’.

The next morning we knew we had a challenging climb to Ghorepani, so we ate a hearty breakfast of porridge and started the climb. We walked with kids on their way to school; brothers and sisters walking in cheap flip flops hand in hand bounding up the steep mountain to go to primary school; a typical day for them as we were gasping for air. It was fun however to see the hillside come to life in the golden morning sun. Villagers were out harvesting their hillside crops; serenading us as we walked by.

As we walked up a seemingly never-ending array of stone steps, various parts of my body cried out in exhaustion. Strangely my whole body seemed to be itching too. I tried to ignore it and get into a hiking rhythm. I was able to get a second wind and decided I would speed up a bit and take fewer breaks; mainly because I wanted to be done with this day of climbing and those damn steps! I took off and found myself quickly all alone on the trail. I hit my stride and arrived in Ghorepani about 20 minutes ahead of dad, Bishnu and Diehl. It actually felt great to work that hard and sweat profusely; I had earned my cinnamon roll today!

Signs marked the trail

I sat on the wall itchy and hungry waiting for my crew to arrive taking in the lovely views of Ghorepani and dealing with a tinge of sadness knowing this was our last big climb on the circuit.

We checked into an ugly little room; but it came with a hot shower…a real HOT shower. I had been waiting for a good shower for a while now and quickly called dibs for the first shot to use the shower! Unfortunately I thought my itchiness was due to the fact I was wearing the same dirty, sweaty clothes for the last 3 days, but I quickly realized that it was a rash all over my body! Apparently I was having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics I had been taking since falling ill in Manang . The saga never ends. I took some allergy pills and put on lose fitting, clean clothes and tried to ignore the itchiness.

Sadly, Ghorepani was a disappointment. Maybe I had too high of expectations (which is usually the case) since I had to work so hard to get to the mountaintop town. I was disappointed because it appeared to be just another tourist town; cold and thrown together like a bunch of legos. No real locals lived here, but they came here to work at guest houses for the tourist season. Two men dressed in ethnic garb, stood in the town ‘center’ with violins and played the same exact tune for 4 hours for tourists in hopes of donations. Dad and I sat and watched as ‘newbie tourists’ were enthralled by the singing and dancing and then were hit up for money. It felt as if we didn’t belong here with the rest of the tourists; as if we had been banished to the ‘kiddie pool’ after swimming in the deep end. It just wasn’t exciting or authentic as the past days going over the pass. Let’s face it – we were old timers existing on the trail for 19 days, and here was the new batch of rookies coming all wide-eyed and fresh. The little town tried to be charming by painting all of the metal buildings and roofs blue; but it all fell gravely short if you ask me. It really existed, in all of its blueness for tourists; mainly the ones who came from Pokhara and wanted to hike to Poon Hill.

Rooftop

Ghorepani is seen as a nice alternative for tourists who don’t want to do the whole Annapurna circuit, but want to do a short hike with views of the peaks. It is a short day or two-day hike from the big tourist town of Pokhara. Many groups came to Ghorepani to see the sun rise at Poon Hill viewpoint, and then hike back down. In order to see the sunrise, you need to get up at 4:30 AM to trek up 1.500 ft. to the viewpoint and see the sunrise on a clear day. Dad and I talked about it, but decided that we would skip the early rise trek. This was mainly because we felt like we had already been to the Super Bowl…Thorung La Pass; we were among the peaks that the others were vying to get a photo of. For some reason it didn’t appeal to us.

Instead us two old-timers had a celebratory beer and cinnamon roll happy we had finished our last major climb. It would be all downhill from here!

View photos from Annapurna Day 18 & 19

Read the complete Tiger Balm Tales from the beginning!

Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth
Vol. 6 – Road Work Ahead
Vol. 7 – Changing Rhythms on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 8 – And on the 7th Day We Rested
Vol. 9 – Paralyzed on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 10 – No Room at the Inns
Vol. 11 – A Mouse in My House
Vol. 12 – Beware of Falling Rocks
Vol. 13 – The Longest Day
Vol. 14 – Motorized Travel
Vol. 15 – A River Runs Thru It
Vol. 16 – Carbo Loading
Vol. 17 – Danger Curves Ahead!

Danger! Curves Ahead

admin — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 06:24:21 +0000

The Wobbly Bus

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 17

Danger! Curves Ahead

How do you define a road? It’s all relative – right? I had long ago left behind my vision of what a road should be once I started long term travel in places like Kenya Mongolia, Laos, and Vietnam. Shoulders are for sissies and horns are an art form. I thought I was used to dangerous roads, but today I met my match.

I had my last apple pancake early in the morning with a strong cup of coffee. I was sad to be leaving the unique town of Marpha, but we had to keep to our schedule. We were still trying to make up days since we had taken longer than expected to get over the pass. Making up days was relatively easy to do since on this side of the pass because there are ‘roads’ – at least that’s what the locals call them. We went outside of Marpha and waited along the side of the road to catch a bus that would take us down the mountain into Tatopani. By foot this would have taken us two days, but by bus we were told it would take about 5 hours.

We waited at the ‘bus stop’ with Bishnu, Diehl, and a handful of other tourists; we huddled together to stay warm on this chilly morning. We were still in the shadow of the mountain as the sun hadn’t risen high enough to bake us yet. The bus of course was running on ‘Nepali’ time so we stood around and froze for an hour; our emotions dashed every time another bus passed us by.

Finally our bus arrived and we piled on with the locals. Our bags were ‘secured’ on top of the bus with a mountain of other bags and camping gear. I tried to not think about my laptop precariously perched atop the bus as if it were a cherry on top of an ice cream sundae. We squeezed into our cold seats as bags too big to be put on top were thrown in the aisle. Large bags in the bus aisle meant that passengers had to walk on top of them to get on and off the bus; which is really not much different from the terrain we had been hiking in/on for the last 2 weeks!

The bus of course was over capacity; capacity doesn’t really have much meaning in Asia. If there is space, it will be used. With a long blow of the musical horn, we were off on a harrowing adventure. Our little top-heavy bus took off lurching side to side like a drunk elephant teetering along a plank; I was immediately on edge.

Courtesy of Travelers Digest

We started off on a relatively good road. It was spacious in Asian standards with a gradual decline. It was dry season which meant massive amounts of dust were in the air – so thick at times it was like a fog. Other trucks would pass us on the road leaving a thick layer of dust to wasp around the bus. In order to protect myself from inhaling dust for 5 hours, I wrapped my pashmina around my head so all you could see were my eyes; a trick I learned in the Sahara Desert. My dad was sitting by the window and didn’t seem phased. He was looking out the window like a child, mesmerized by the landscape.

As we continued on, the road seemed to become more narrow and the decline more steep. Dried tire ruts became more prevalent and soon it seemed that we were on a one lane road descending down a windy mountain-side. I tried to disappear mentally for the next 4 hours as I rocked form side to side as if I were on a ship on the ocean.

As the jolts and rocking became worse, and travel became even slower I became more anxiety ridden. I vacillated between fear and anger; I wondered who in the world deemed this a drivable road?! Occasionally I’d hear the guy on my left say “Oh my God”; which would instinctively cause me to open my eyes jolting me back to my terrifying bus reality.

Even though I had authored a piece about How to Survive Being a Passenger last year, I wasn’t able to take my own advice. I was so scared I was paralyzed. My mind kept on telling me to take pictures and video as this would be a fabulous experience to share on the blog! However I was so scared that I couldn’t bring myself to open my bag and get out my camera. Apparently no one else has taken pictures of this road because I scoured the web trying to find some to accompany this post and found virtually nothing! At a rest stop I took this one photo of Dad by the bus – that was the best I could do!

Image from Erika Karmazsin at Trek Earth

My fear made me mute. I didn’t say anything to my Dad, I just wanted to disappear under my pashmina. My dad tried to strike up a conversation with me. He asked me if I saw them load up the bus; he thought it looked pretty top heavy and wondered how the bus driver dealt with that. I looked at him in anger and told him I didn’t want to talk about it! He must have understood how scared I was as he never said another word to me on the trip!

Normally on these types of bus/car rides I can find an inner peace; feeling good about the life I’ve lived and accepting that the ride could very well be the last of my life. However this bus ride was different. As hard as I tried’ inner peace would not come. Maybe this was because my dad was sitting next to me and I once again felt this unusual sense of responsibility. I kept thinking about my mom and siblings and what they would think of this crazy ride I had brought my father on. I think I can accept dangerous situations when I’m solo, but when I’ve convinced someone else to come with me, it creates a sense of responsibility; I’ve put them in a dangerous situation.

Meeting another vehicle meant a slow, complex maneuver with one of the vehicles hanging practically off the edge of the ‘road’ as little rocks slid down the steep mountainside. Once I looked out of my pashmina and saw TWO buses coming towards us; when I saw the maneuvering going on I quickly clamped my eyes shut again and tried to find my happy place.

Our luck ran out when we were in a wet area near a river. We drove through a waterfall and got stuck in the muddy ruts. The driver tried his best to free the bus from the mud, but eventually gave up and motioned for everyone to get off the bus. We had to shuffle out, climbing over the bags in the aisle. I wondered if the driver and conductor were going to make us push! Luckily they maneuvered their way out of the soft rut and then we all piled back into the bus 30 feet up the road.

Soon the bus started picking up even more people; locals who needed to catch a short ride to Tatopani. They sat on top of the bags in the aisle. This last leg of the trip was the worst. The narrow road was carved out of a mountain side with hairpin curves. We teetered and sputtered down the dusty mountain at a snails pace. If someone would have given me the option to get out and walk, I would have. My own two feet had to be safer than this bus!

Pretty in Pink

The road from Marpha to Tatopani is relatively new. It was just completed in 2009. I personally think the only reason why it wasn’t included in this list of the World’s Most 10 Most Dangerous Roads is because it is so new. I predict that it will easily make it’s way into the Top 10 this year.

After 5 hours we finally arrived in Tatopani where I swaggered off the bus, dusted myself off and promptly followed Bishnu to guesthouse where I could take a shower, sit down in a stable place, and have a beer. Alcohol at altitude is always good to calm the nerves! The silver (or should I say pink) lining was the sunset that evening – reminding how great it is to be alive!

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Carbo Loading – Annapurna Circuit

admin — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 15:30:13 +0000

The Nepalese kitchens were always stacked full of metal dishes

Tiger Balm Tales Vol 16

Carbo Loading

Whoever said carbs aren’t good for you never hiked in Nepal. When hiking for 2 weeks, carbs become your ally. This is probably the one time when you can get away with eating carbs at every meal, so my best advice is – enjoy the hell out of it.

Nepalese Donuts

I can’t say the food was spectacular on the Annapurna Circuit, in fact I actually lost weight on the 21 day hike! However, the variety of food produced out of a kitchen with a log flame for a stove was amazing. Given the inherent challenges with getting food supplies to high altitude villages via donkey, the guesthouses did a good job of putting together a western friendly menu. I recently heard from a reader, Jay, about his experiences on the Annapurna Circuit in 1983 – when western type menus didn’t exist on the circuit! It was dhal bhat every day for Jay!

The western food choices were everywhere; Yak steak in Manang, apple pie in Marpha, pizza in Dharapani, and pancakes in Pisang. However these familiar names didn’t always have a familiar look. It was the Nepalese take on these western staples. They did they best they could given the ingredients they had to work with. I quickly learned to not set my expectations very high and accept anything that was put in front of me! I was thankful I had some western options. Granted, those options were the exact same everywhere with subtle differences. At any guesthouse you could expect the choices to fall into one of these menu categories:

Pizza

Potato Dishes
Noodle Dishes
Rice Dishes
Soup Dishes
Bread Dishes
Dhal Bhat Dishes
Egg /Porridge Dishes
Hot Drinks
Cold Drinks

Mmmm——Carbs!

Dhal Bhat Power 24 Hour:

The local dish of Dhal Bhat (beans, rice, & vegetable curry) was one of my favorite things to order. It always tasted good – but more importantly you received free refills of any food item in the Dhal Bhat platter. Dhal Bhat is served on little metal trays that look like frozen TV dinner trays. Each item had it’s own little compartmentalized area on the plate. Apparently Nepalese aren’t fond of their food touching.

Classic Dhal Bhat

Once given the plate full of rice and a soupy bean mixture you poured the soupy beans over the rice, and scooped up the hot mixture with your hands. Traditionally the Nepalese don’t use utensils. They have a whole process of holding their fingers in such a way that they could shovel large amounts of food into their mouth with one hand. I was always in awe of this ability. My Dad even gave it a go without utensils once. He did pretty well in my standards, but he was basically entertainment for the locals who tried to stifle laughter.

When you ran low on rice or beans, someone would come over to the table with a big bowl and ladle and give you more. It was as if the all you can eat buffet came to you; you didn’t even have to go to the effort to get up and walk over to a buffet. However, in Kathmandu you were treated to a ‘fancier’ version of Dhal Bhat which included many more little bowls of veggies and beans including a homemade yogurt to ease the spiciness of the curry.

Dhal Bhat was the perfect food for trekking – the guides and porters ate Dhal Bhat 2 times a day every day; providing them energy for the day to carry heavy loads and deal with foreigners!

Pasta Nepalese Style:

Spaghetti & Soup

Every time I sat down to eat at a guest house, it was as if I had sauntered up to the blackjack table at Caesars Palace; it was a gamble. You try the spaghetti at one place and it’s good, but then you try it again a couple of guest houses later and it’s completely different. You learn to look at food not as an experience, but as nutrition. This can be a hard transition to make sometimes for tourists who treat eating as a overall experience of presentation, smell, and taste. Many times the spaghetti on the menu was simply noodles with ketchup. Or the cheese macaroni was really just macaroni noodles with a ‘sheet’ of hard melted cheese over the top that didn’t really stick to the macaroni at all because the guesthouses were so cold!

We quickly came to learn that Nepalese lasagna was not at all like our version of lasagna made of layered pasta, sauce, and cheese. On the Annapurna circuit lasagna meant fettuccine noodles served on a hot skillet with meat, veggies and cheese stir fried in. All the same ingredients in a way – but a different presentation.

Hot Beer and Cold Showers – Drinks:

Inevitably the beer was always hot and the showers always cold – but at least it was predictable…and the beer ALWAYS tasted good after hiking all day! Some guesthouses would even serve popcorn as appetizers! The usual beer of choice was the local beer – Everest. However the cheaper version of alcohol came in the form of moonshine called Roxy. It was cheap and potent, but it worked faster than Advil when it came to taking away my hiking aches and pains.

The main non-alcholic drink was tea. Milk tea, masala tea, and lemon tea seemed to be the favorites. We’d get a extra large thermos of tea at night and keep it in our room to have a hot drink in the morning when we got up and started packing . I also tried the infamous seabuckthorn juice along the trail. Neon orange in color, seabuckthorn juice is made from small berries and was similar to orange juice.

A Sweet Tooth

Bakery in Manang at 11,000 ft.

The joy of hiking 7 hours a day – you can always have dessert. Someone in Nepal learned that foreigners love sweets – specifically sweets made of bread. When you think about the Himalayas you naturally think cinnamon rolls – right? Nearly every village had a bakery; and I think we visited nearly every bakery! In fact, Dad and I had our share of cinnamon rolls with beer chasers. Don’t cringe until you’ve tried it! In addition to cinnamon rolls, there were other baked goods such as apple pie, chocolate cake, and rice pudding.

Most importantly, we never went hungry on the Annapurna Circuit. I was really surprised with the variety of food choices on the circuit; there’s really no reason why you’d have to bring your own snacks along as the guesthouses along the circuit have plenty to keep you energized. Save space in your pack, support the local guesthouses and bakeries along the way. They exist there for you, the trekkers; the locals certainly aren’t eating at these establishments! Considering how far along food has evolved since Jay trekked in 1983, I can only imagine that when I go back again, they’ll be serving coq au vin and ice cream parlors will dot the trail!

Dad's favorite snack

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A River Runs Thru It – Annapurna Circuit

admin — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 06:07:04 +0000

Nepalese Children

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 15

A River Runs Thru It

The sign read Welcome to Marpha! Delightful Apple Capital of Nepal. I wondered if Johnny Appleseed was the mayor of this little town along the Annapurna Circuit. Aside from the Thorung La Pass, Marpha seemed to be the highlight of the circuit. We had been hearing about the ‘Apple Capital’ for days now from other hikers. It was finally time to experience it ourselves.

River Bed

We had an easy hiking day today. We stayed off the new road and Bishnu instead led us through a flat riverbed away from the dusty, boring, road. The good news is that the hike was completely flat today. Therefore we could take our time and slowly traverse the riverbed.

This side of the Thorung La Pass was different than our last 2 weeks of hiking. It was more touristed, more modern, windier, and strangely more barren. The riverbed was massive and filled with rocks of various sizes while the surrounding mountains jutted up pointing to the heavens. As we hiked, I imagined the whole valley flooded with a web of fast flowing rivers during the monsoon season.

We watched in excitement every time we saw a small plane fly overhead arriving and taking off from the Jomson airport. As if we had been stranded on a island, the plane and accompanying sound was the sign of civilization; something we hadn’t experienced in a long time. Additionally, maneuvering landings and take-offs at 10,000 ft between mountain peaks isn’t something a pilot takes for granted; we enjoyed the show.

When was the last time this Corolla was driven?!

Children followed us as we hiked along; they were on their way to school and I handed out tattered post cards of America for them to take to their class and share. They giggled with glee upon receiving a post card and seemed to guard it as if it were gold plated.

One surprising thing that we started to encounter was cars. However, it wasn’t the typical car, it was an early model Toyota Corolla – and they were everywhere. It seemed this is where Toyota Corolla’s came to live out their last years of life; here in this riverbed. I wasn’t really sure if these cars that were parked alongside run down houses even were functional. However I felt like they had to be functional else how would have they ever made it here to these high altitude resting places? For a moment I wondered if donkey trains (or even porters) brought them up part by part; it certainly wouldn’t have surprised me if that were the case! Maybe I’d see a transmission and a steering wheel on a donkey pass me by today.

The sign to Marpha reminded us that we were entering something unique – the Delightful Apple Capital. The town was nestled into a colorful hillside with flags of temples poking out as sky scrapers. There was one narrow main path into town and one bypass around town for the buses and other random, dusty vehicles to utilize.

Red and White

Marpha was unlike any village on the circuit. As we walked into the pristine town my first impression was “This is Nepal?” The entire town of stone buildings were painted in white with burnt red trimmed doors and windows. It was an out of place gem much like the blue and white island of Santorini Greece or the blue hill town of Chefchaouen Morocco. The main path thru Marpha was spotless and lined with souvenir shops and guesthouses. The storefronts showed off their best big apple pies and crumbles in bakery cases enticing you to enter. I rubbed my eyes trying to clear my vision; I felt as if I was Alice and had fell down the rabbit hole…where was I?

In Vietnam I would eat fresh fruit every day; however, hiking in Nepal made me fruit deficient. I think I had one orange and one apple in the last 2 weeks! The piles of apples stacked elegantly along the path was calling my name! Marpha was my fruit savior!

After a lunch of soup, apple juice and apple pie we went off exploring the narrow pathways of Marpha. As we walked around taking photos we surprisingly ran into an old friend, Jacque. I had last seen Jacque in Manang when he said goodbye to me through my door as I was severely sick and feverish. I never imagined I’d see him again as he was days ahead of us. However, this trail is like a small town in a way; you run into people you know all the time – a weird sensation in a foreign country.

My dad had a fabulous analogy of friendships along the Annapurna circuit. It’s as if the circuit is a stream and you and a friend drop a twig in the water from opposite banks. The twigs float downstream at different paces. Sometimes they meet and they float apart again. Sometimes on gets stuck in a place and swirls around a bit and then breaks free; eventually the two twigs meet again.

Brandy Bottles

We found Jacque ‘swirling’ in Marpha and it allowed up to catch-up with him. This time I could at least stand upright! It was great to reconnect with friends we’ve made along the way. He and his guide Yam had a good trek over the pass. They had changed their plans to avoid the new roads and kept Marpha as their home base spending their days trekking to the nearby villages.

Besides eating apples and shopping, there’s plenty to see around Marpha. We trekked to a government run distillery and saw how they made the famous Marpha Apple Brandy. It seemed to me that the process and operation was similar to how my grandfather made moonshine in his barn!

We also hiked to a Tibetan Refuge Camp in a beautiful forested setting along the river. The camp was funded and provided by the Nepalese government and had been in operation for many, many years. Kids and animals were everywhere! The locals were working on a large restoration project on their temple.

Dusty Buddha

They let us in to view the progress and collect a small donation. The temple was dark , dusty and filled with old Buddha statues and drums. I felt as if I had walked onto the set of Indiana Jones – minus the snakes plus a thick layer of dust.

That night we had some great food and of course more apple treats; apple crumble. Then suddenly another branch in the river found us. Our friend Ramen (who we met on summit day) walked into our guesthouse with a bottle of Apple Brandy and some friends he met along the trail. It turned into a party as we all sat and enjoyed our brandy sharing stories and laughing into the night. This river was full of old friends who floated in and out of our Annapurna Circuit.

View Marpha Photography

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Motorized Travel – Annapurna Circuit

admin — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 06:30:31 +0000

4 wheels instead of 2 feet

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 14

Motorized Travel

It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from our brains. For the first time since we started hiking the Annapurna circuit – I was free of worry and it was a beautiful feeling. It’s amazing how much anxiety the Thorung La pass can cause internally and how it’s gone as if a magician waved his wand and made it disappear into thin air as the audience in my brain gasped in amazement. We had the hard part behind us, now we could simply enjoy our remaining 7 days on the trail.

After an exhausting day of hiking the pass the previous day, I woke up practically giddy without a worry in the world. Miraculously we both felt pretty good mentally AND physically. Our bodies weren’t sore thanks to all of that Tiger Balm! I took a hot shower, and washed my hair. Plus, three days after I had dropped our only tube of toothpaste down the toilet, I was finally able to purchase toothpaste in Muktinath; yeah for clean teeth!

However, there was one important task we would have to do today – reorganize our itinerary. Since it had taken us more days than expected to get over the pass due to sickness, we now had to reorganize the 2nd half of our hike to get all the way to Pokhara in 7 days without killing ourselves.

Leaving peaks around Muktinath

Over a hearty breakfast of fried eggs, toast, and bacon we spread out our maps on the wobbly table, consulted our hiking guide book, and discussed a new itinerary with Bishnu. We needed to make up at least two days somehow on our schedule. The one thing that would make this possible was a motor. Unlike the previous sections we had just hiked, on this side of the pass there were some roads and jeeps carried tourists and supplies from village to village. I had a lot of mixed feelings on this intrusion of motorized vehicles on the circuit – but for the time being, I was happy to have the option of 4 wheels.

We decided that instead of hiking, we would take it easy and take a jeep to Jomsom thereby making up one of the days we had lost. Bishnu went to the Jeep stand and helped us purchase out ‘tourist tickets’. To ride the jeep to Jomsom it costs tourists 500 rupees (6.75USD) and it cost locals 150 rupees. However the Jeep doesn’t really operate on a schedule, it leaves when it has enough people to fill it; hard core supply and demand at work. So we went and waited…and waited…and waited. Eventually enough locals came by and filled the Jeep. Dad and I were the only tourists and they kindly took one look at my dad and put us in the front seat; a version of business class I suppose.

Dad taking the front seat

We started the bumpy ride down the mountain-side jarred back and forth but happy that for once we were off our feet. Dad and I were still in our post Thorung La pass delight – chatting about all kind of things. The terrain had made another massive change again into a wide, flat, rock-filled valley that looked like hell to walk through. The Jeep sped by other hikers sending dust flying and hikers trying to cover their faces as they continued their march through the rock valley. This just solidified our happiness about our decision to drive today!

Jomson is one of the largest towns on the circuit. A regular metropolis…it has an airport. In fact, most people fly into Jomson and then do short treks on the Annapurna circuit from there if they have limited time. However, after coming over the pass, it was evident that thanks to the airport and the development of roads, this side was much more touristed; I didn’t like it. Sure, it was nice to have some semblance of civilization, but the remote feeling was gone.

We took advantage of modern conveniences and sent emails back home to family letting them know we survived which would allow my mother to breath again.

Jomsom Airport among the mountains

We went to coffee shops and ate cinnamon rolls, we took our time and strolled down the ‘street’ in the new part of town (aka – touristville). We watched planes take off and land behind our guesthouse as the runway was right in the middle of town. A perfect afternoon of rest.

We even ran into old friends. People we had hiked with on the other side of the pass were in Jomsom and everyone went out of their way to come say hi to Dad and find out how our summit day went. Other tourists, Nepalese guides, as well as porters were happy to see that Dad made it successfully. They would shake his hand vigorously and slap his back in congratulations. I wondered for a moment if I would’ve had this attention if I had been alone…yeah, probably not. Father’s are like puppies…they are cute and innocent. Some American hiking friends even bought us beers as we sat and celebrated our accomplishments together.

The day was slow, easy, and needed. The next day we would be back on the trail…

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The Longest Day – Annapurna Circuit

admin — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 06:00:33 +0000

Dad going to Thorung La Pass

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 13

The Longest Day

KLOMP, KLOMP, KLOMP
The sounds of hiking boots on wooden floor echoed outside my door. I poked my nose out of my warm sleeping bag cocoon, breathed in the cold air, and let it out only to see my hot breath evaporate into the darkness.

I’m aware those footseps are a ‘wake-up’ call to begin this worrisome day, but I know the footsteps aren’t for me; they are for my neighbor. I tried to put my head beneath the sleeping bag again like a turtle reverting back into his shell. I didn’t want to think about the coming day; I just wanted to sleep another 20 minutes. Soon my watch alarm went off beckoning us to stand upright and face our challenge. However the reality was we were both already awake thinking and wondering about what lie ahead for us.

Snowy peaks Annapurna

We started at 5:30AM in the complete darkness. I was wearing nearly every piece of clothing I had been carrying for the last 12 days. Well-outfitted Europeans breezed by us in their down jackets and other technical gear covering them from head to toe; they were a walking Northface billboard. On the other end of the spectrum, my dad and I looked like we had raided a garage sale with a hodge-podge of winter type trekking gear. Honestly, we were poorly prepared when it came to technical, winter clothing. I had just spent the last year living at the equator in Vietnam, I didn’t even own a coat, so I had to borrow one. We operated under the idea that as long as we kept moving we would stay warm.

Our little headlamps cut through the darkness giving you the effect of being in a tunnel. It was un-nerving to not be able to see more than a 5 ft. radius of your surroundings. The sun slowly rose in the sky, so close to us I felt I could reach out and touch it. I let the radiating rays hit my body and give me energy. Everything around us seemed to be happening in slow motion, our breathing, our steps, the people moving around us, yet there was a palpable energy in the air propelling us forward.

The march to the top was a surreal experience taking us 4 hours to go from 15,100 ft to the 17,770 ft Thorung La Pass. The 4 hours seemed to be a roller coaster of emotions not to mention a roller coaster of nausea. Trekking in high altitude slows down your pace, and turns your insides as well as your brain into jelly. It’s like some drug induced high; memories and thoughts seemed to float through my brain in slow motion getting stuck for a while and rattling around. Until you actually experience this yourself, you can’t imagine how each step seems to take such an effort that it leaves you breathless. My normal healthy self had eroded away into heavy breathing and legs that felt like they were 60 pounds each.

Video of trail up to the pass:

The sound of silence on the path was eerie; sounds of breathing, and snow crunching below our feet were the only thing I could hear. I don’t even think we talked among ourselves except to ask the occasional question “How are you doing?” My dad was breathing heavy and going slow, but his spirits were high. Bishnu was our eternal cheerleader, greeting us with a smile and encouragement at every rest break; and there were many rest breaks. One thing that fueled us was the local Nepalese who sat perched with their donkeys at the steep switchbacks, waiting for us to give up and use 4 legs instead of 2; I imagined them to be vultures. It was cruel punishment. However, one thing that holds true for my family – we don’t give up.

As any great challenge is achieved, great emotions tend to go along with it. As we neared the pass I turned around and watched my dad come around the last bend. My whole body tensed up, my throat closed, my brow furrowed, and I could feel the tears well up in my eyes. I was overcome with pride and love as I watched him realize that he was at the top. I clumsily tried to video the moment but tears stung my eyes and my narration was wobbly at best as I swallowed my words.

Thorung La Pass Accomplishment

I was relieved that we both had made it up safely and I was happy that we had met the challenge together. As I watched him walk toward me I wondered what I would be doing when I was 73. What adventures would I have, and who in the world would be with me?

Even my dad was overcome with emotions; something I rarely get a glimpse of. In fact, I don’t know if I can ever remember a time when I saw him emotional. Angry – yes; tears of emotions – no. He talked about his mom watching him from above on this day, her birthday. She would’ve thought he was crazy for doing this, and she would have been really mad at me for talking him into it!

Bishnu and Diehl (our porter) smoked a celebratory cigarette. We took pictures by the summit sign and reveled in our massive accomplishment. That feeling of being on a high of utter happiness is one of the best feelings in the world. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, we were at 17,770 ft. and we were ecstatic. In my dad’s elation, he gathered us ( Bishnu, Diehl, and myself) all around and told us he had a question that we had to answer honestly – no bullshit. We all agreed to the terms. He got very serious and asked , “On the first day of our trekking, did you think I would make it here to the pass?” We all broke out in laughter and answered a resounding “NO!” . That’s the honest to God truth. After the first few days Bishnu and I sat down and starting making plan B…we didn’t think dad would be able to make it. I never told my dad this. But in the end he proved us all wrong, which made him glow with pride.

Video at the top!

As we soaked in our accomplishment, little did we know what lie ahead of us. Unfortunately it turned out to be an icy downward slope which would prove to take our elation, chew it up, and spit it out down the other side of the snow covered pass. We next had to go from 17,700 ft. to 12,335 ft at the next town of Muktinath. We sent Deihl ahead so that he could get to Muktinath and secure a room as we knew we’d have a slow descent.

The other side of Thorung La

I looked over the other side of the pass and saw a white expanse of rock and snow. Upon closer look the snow was really a sheet of ice. I decided to embrace the wide open space, avoiding the well traveled/icy trail and go ‘off-road’. I picked my own trail through the deep crunchy snow imaging my heavy hiking boots were light, wide snow shoes. At times I could walk on top of the snow and sometimes I would sink in to my upper calf. I generally ran wildly down the mountain side (think Sound of Music in the snow). My dad however didn’t like the uncertainty of my route. Instead he took the slow, slippery route where hundreds before him had gone a few hours earlier leaving a snow packed ice slide.

Needless to say he fell more than once or twice, but he persevered at a turtle pace; and I could feel his nerves with every step. This set my worrying mind in motion again. Visions of broken hips and ankles dominated my thoughts so much so that I could no longer watch him tediously choose his icy route. So I point myself downhill and tried not to think about him as I knew Bishnu was there to watch him and worry for me.

After a few hours we got through the icy snow path and a steep descent down another mountain lie ahead of us. It felt never ending. While most younger, braver people quickly went down the mountain, Dad and I slowly and cautiously made our way down. The good news is that we made some really great friends along the way. We had already been hiking for 8 hours when we met Roman, a tall solo hiker. He was a breath of fresh air since we were all tired of each other by that time; the excitement of someone new to talk to gave us new energy!

Dad slowing down...

However, my dad was slowly deteriorating. The pounding downhill, the stress of the day, the hours on our feet, and little to no food had all taken its toll. First it was his back, then his feet. After 11 hours of hiking he was walking like he was a 73 year old; limping a bit, a pained look in his face with each slow step. We were still far above our destination of Muktinath. The sun was quickly going down and the moon was already up. We had to end the day as we started 11 hours earlier; with headlamps.

I felt like we were barely moving at times, and it pained me to see my dad struggling so much. The sun was down when Deihl came out on the trail looking for us. He had arrived in Muktinath 4 hours earlier and booked our room expecting us to arrive hours before this. He was worried that we hadn’t arrived yet and had come out looking for us; a touching act for a porter to do. He was so happy when he found us limping down the mountain in one piece.

That’s when the most memorable part of this trip happened for me. Diehl and Bishnu each took Dad’s arms and placed them around their shoulders and helped my dad ‘walk’ the last 40 minutes into town navigating down yet more steps by headlamp. I walked on the side trying to illuminate the way with my headlamp and giving encouragement. But in my mind was this feeling of pride, sadness, and gratitude equally vying for my attention. I was sad that my dad couldn’t walk into town on his own two feet, but so immensely proud of his 13 hour accomplishment today.

Towards Muktinath

Bishnu and Diehl helped dad make it to the guesthouse. We arrived in the ‘lobby/dining hall’ and the 3 Polish women who we had befriended the day before were there eating their dinner and celebrating. When they saw us they let out a gasp and as they saw my dad being helped in, they actually stood up and clapped for us. I love the camaraderie on this trail. This was the welcome we needed; smiles beamed on our faces. We were done for the day, and we survived.

Diehl had reserved us a room with a hot ensuite shower – heaven. I quickly gave dad some Alieve and set up a hot (ok – warm) shower for him. Even though we were both starving, exhaustion set in and we barely ate or celebrated at all at the guesthouse. We would save that for tomorrow.

For the first time in 2 weeks we slept without the cloud of anxiety over us. We had successfully made it over the pass. The next day when we woke up and I started getting up to go to breakfast, Dad sat up slowly and said “What adventure are we going to do next?”

I just laughed. I loved his quest for adventure. I answered, “I don’t know – maybe Antarctica?” He laid back down apparently happy with my answer.

See all the photos of our 13 hour Trek!

Like the Tiger Balm Tales? Then start from the beginning!

Beware of Falling Rocks

admin — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 03:10:58 +0000

Landscape of Annapurna Circuit

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 12

Beware of Falling Rocks

All I heard was Bishnu yell “Runnnnn!” My heart raced and I felt as if I were moving in s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n. I sort of knew why I was running, but the gravity of the situation was fuzzy to me; it felt as if my mind were working in slow motion too. Over the last 11 days of trekking there were many things that scared me; the narrow trails, smelly outhouses, falling ill, and a mouse on my bed. However this was the first time when my heart ended up in my throat.

Landscape of Nepal

Today’s trekking would prove to be the hardest yet. This was to be our last push to get to high camp at 15,100 ft. We took off early from Ledar in the cold. The sun was up, but the trail was still covered in shade; I could see my puffs of breath making me feel even colder. As I walked and tried to keep my hands warms by switching my trekking pole from hand to hand trying to warm my free hand in my pocket. I fantasized about the sunlight shining onto the mountainside. Finally, my fantasy turned to reality and the trail was lit up with a golden glow; I could feel the warmth radiate into me.

The distance we had to cover today was short, but it would take a while due to the elevation climb and the lack of oxygen slowing us down. We knew we had a few hours of hiking before we arrived at Thorung Phedi (14,600 ft). The day would culminate in one last big push up a steep section of switchbacks, finally reaching High Camp where we would stay for the night.

Most of the morning we were hiking along a gradual incline perched along the side of the mountain. We were in a rocky terrain. There was no grass, no trees – just rocks of all sizes. It created this patchwork looking landscape in all shades of beige highlighted by a bright blue sky. From a photography standpoint, I couldn’t have had a better day to shoot.

Since the air was thin, we walked at a snails pace; but then again, so did everyone at this point. This is how I found myself following a group of 3 Polish women. Following them provided me a mental distraction. I just focused on their cadence and became fixated on the shoes hitting the ground in front of me. At this altitude and physical strain, your mind isn’t really all there, so simplifying it necessary. In my trance like state, I concentrated on matching them step for step. My dad was a few meters behind me, and Bishnu was behind him. This part of the path was only wide enough to support single file trekking, so we all marched on slowly as if we were marching to war; young soldiers not really sure why they were on this mission, but going along with the rest of the unit.

I remember noticing a sign that said “Rockslide Area”, but I paid no real attention to it. Hell, there were rocks all over, I kind of scoffed at the sign for stating the obvious. Shortly after this I heard a strange noise, but my oxygen-deprived brain was having trouble placing the sound. It sounded familiar like I should recognize the sound, but for some reason I couldn’t really think it through, so I kept walking.

Rock Slides near Thorung Phedi

That’s when I heard Bishnu yell “Runnnnnn!”. His scream jolted me out of my trance and as I saw the women in front of me start running, so I did too. This all happened very quickly, yet it felt like I was having an out of body experience watching it all in slow motion from a distance. My mind finally kicked in and all of the puzzle pieces finally fit together. The sound combined with the “Run” command from Bishnu meant there was a rock slide – Holy Shit.

My heart rate flew into overdrive and in my confused terror without turning around, I instinctively yelled back to Bishnu “Get Dad!” I could hear him in the distance behind me, but I knew he wasn’t close to me. The trail was narrow and there was nowhere to go but forward or backward. We ran along the trail until we could get to a safe spot without loose rocks rolling down the mountainside. We all stood there huffing and puffing in shock. Dad was ok, Bishnu was ok, the women ahead of me were ok. We were all fine, but we had a huge scare. Apparently some loose rocks a few feet wide were rolling down the hillside – if one hit you, game over. Of course, once one rock falls, you never really know how many more it will trigger. We were lucky that day, there were just a few loose ones. However we were all reminded this was not a Disneyworld ride, this was the real thing.

We stopped at the encampment of Thorung Phedi to compose ourselves with some hot tea and a cinnamon roll. Our day was far from over. We took a deep breath and began the steep switchback climb. It looked and felt as if we were walking to the heavens. We took lots of breaks and took our time trying to enjoy the moment as we caught our breath.

Video of the steep pass – your legs will hurt when you watch it!

On our way up, we met a certifiably insane French mountain biker riding down the steep switchback trail. He stopped and talked to us for a bit asking us how much further to Phedi. We learned he had actually mountain biked up the other side and over the pass today, and was now on his was down.

Annapurna Circuit - Arriving at High Camp

These switchbacks were scary enough simply hiking, but on a mountain bike that was insane. Oh yeah – did I mention that he wasn’t even wearing a helmet? To top it off he was ill and had mild AMS which is why he was trying to rapidly descend. I couldn’t even watch him as he took off down the switchbacks further, it terrified me.

Finally, the switchbacks straightened out and we were walking up an incline between two peaks. There we could see the one little guest house at High Camp – we had made it to our destination – finally. The excitement of completing the switchback climb, which some say is the hardest part of the Annapurna circuit, filled us with elation.

I was relieved to be finished hiking for the day, so I took my camera and walked around camp taking a bunch of photos with the brilliant blue backdrop. However, my elation was short lived. I met my dad in the dining hall for a late lunch, and that’s when my mind started to wander into tomorrow. I wished that I could better control my thoughts as they seemed to spiral out of control; mainly into images of my dad or me taking a wrong step and sliding down the mountain. I had vivid images of exactly what could go wrong tomorrow.

High Camp Lodge

To try to control the spiral I took the ‘medicine’ that I always take…I journaled. My nerves and emotions come out through the pen and land on the paper; a purge of my fears.

The rest of the day we spent in the dining hall with other equally nervous trekkers. I could tell my Dad was nervous, but he covered it well. He socialized with everyone and was generally the life of the party in the dining hall. I watched as he entertained people telling stories; the ‘audience’ was laughing as was he. This is a side of my dad I rarely see – a side which only comes out when I travel with him. I felt lucky because I knew my brother and sister don’t see this side of him as I do.

He was not just my dad, but he seemed to play everyone’s father figure. The 3 Polish women we were following during the rock slide hung out with us in the dining hall. One of them was quite sick from AMS and Dad made it his personal mission to worry about her.

Enjoying the View from High Camp

In fact, all of our new trekking friends, as well as our guide Bishnu, bonded together and provided our first aide kits, advice, and well wishes for her as she went to bed that night and. All of us were worried about her.

That night we filled two water bottles full of boiling water to put in our sleeping bag in order to stay warm. This would be the coldest night by far and of course there was no heat in our room. We put on multiple sleeping layers and set our alarm for 5AM. I laid down knowing my sleep would be restless and angst-filled; however like it or not, 5AM would arrive. At 17,770 ft, Thorung La would be there, the question was, would we be there?

View the photography from Ledar to High Camp Trek or watch the slide show below!

Like the Tiger Balm Tales? Then start from the beginning!

A Mouse in My House

admin — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 06:50:14 +0000

Ledar, Nepal - Annapurna Circuit

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 11

Day 10 – A Mouse in My House

After 10 days of decreasing temperatures and increasing wind my body is rebelling. My lips have become as dry as the Gobi Desert , my nasal passages feel like hard booger craters have invaded it, and my hands are so dry they look like they belong to a 60 yr. old; the elements most definitely do have an effect on your body.
We hiked slowly from Gunsang to Ledar today. We saw ice for the first time on the trail. We saw no trees. We breathed harder than we had the day before. Now we are holed up in the 1 of 3 guest houses in the encampment of Ledar waiting; waiting for our body to acclimate a little more.

Donkey Aroma

During one of our trekking breaks today our guide, Bishnu, said “Ohhhhh, I’m smelling like a donkey! I can’t wait for a shower.” Not only did the donkey reference make me laugh, but it also made me realize that I’ve now been wearing the same pants for 10 days, the same shirt for 9 days, the same jog bra for 9 days, the same socks for 4 days; this is beyond donkey filth! On top of the filth, everything smells like Tiger Balm! However, it’s a part of trekking for 21 days. I do wonder at times if these clothes will ever be clean again, or should I burn them for warmth at high camp? I guess the good news is that everyone smells equally badly; like a pack of donkeys.

Even more troubling that my physical rebellion or my odor, is my mental rebellion. After 10 days I’m annoyed. The sunroom in our guesthouse is buzzing with various conversations I find hard to ignore. I don’t understand why trekkers only like to share bad stories about trekking; trekkers who have disappeared, ones who were robbed, ones who die from AMS. This is seriously annoying conversation. Why isn’t anyone telling any good heartwarming stories – the ones about people making it? Or is it that people don’t ever make it…no…that’s just my mind playing stupid tricks on me – right?

All of this negative talk is making me feel ill.

Ledar Guesthouse View

However I also knew why I was annoyed and feeling crappy. Of all days, at all times – I got my period today. So not only was I exhausted, cold and sore – but I also had cramps. Timing is everything. Even though this is a subject that my dad and I had never discussed in my lifetime (my family rarely discusses anything personal), I decided what the hell, I’m an adult and we are trekking partners – so I mentioned to him that I wasn’t feeling well because I had my period. His reply, “Well, at least you’re not pregnant.”

Wait a minute…was this my dad? My dad making a very funny joke about a subject that we had never talked about before? I was in shock! I felt as if I had entered the Father Knows Best twilight zone. This is why I love traveling with my dad, I get these glimpses of him that I never had exposure to before. Previously I only had exposure to the ‘father figure’, not the man. These are the memories that will be burned in my brain.

Dad and I started studying our next 2 trekking days on our map; in 2 days we’ll be climbing higher than either of us ever have climbed before. As we looked at the calendar we realized that we’ll cross the pass on Oct. 30th. We both realized what that meant; Oct. 30th was a special date to our family. My father’s mother (my Grandma Ott) who just recently passed away last Febuary at 97 years old, would have been 98 years old on Oct. 30th. We were going to cross the pass on her birthday. We didn’t plan this – it just happened thanks to our slow speed and my illness ; but it was clearly meant to be.

That afternoon as I sat and tried to journal, trying not to listen to the horror stories around me. I looked over at my dad, he seemed just fine. In fact, he was great. He didn’t seem worried or annoyed like me. Instead he seemed really happy. I started to think about how far we’ve come. In all of that distance, I never saw anyone near his age range attempting what he is attempting. I’m sure there’s been plenty of people over 73 years old get over Thorang La Pass, but they are not my dad, and that’s who I care about now.

Dad taking a break

We are a good father-daughter team. We lean on each other and provide encouragement when we need to. I realize this is the longest time we’ve ever spent together alone. In fact, this is the longest time he’s been away from my mom since they’ve been married 50 years. Surprisingly this is all going really well. I think the best thing about growing older is that your relationship with your parents change from inequal to equal….and I suppose eventually that will change again. But I’ve decided that instead of being annoyed with everything, I’ll enjoy this moment. Sure, I’ll still worry about our ability to get over the pass as a team. But I will appreciate every possible moment of this teamwork.

Our teamwork was never appreciated more than that night when we went back to our cold, dark room to sleep. I entered the room with my headlamp providing a narrow beam of light cutting thru the darkness. I went to put my journal on my bed and that’s when I saw it – two beady eyes staring back at me. A little mouse was scurrying around on my bed as if it were his. I scared the shit out of it; it scared the shit out of me. Amazingly I turned around to my dad who was closing the door to the room and said in a stifled, yet startled tone, “There’s a mouse on my bed.” With precision teamwork and two headlamps we were able to chase the outnumbered mouse off my bed and out the door. I slammed the door shut…whew.

Yet in reality I knew the mouse on my bed had scarred me mentally; this would be a worse than usual night of sleep at altitude. After all, it didn’t take me long to realize that the mouse got in our room when the door was shut; we were in its house. I pulled my sleeping bag string tighter so that only my eyes could peer out; attempting to shut out any entrance for the pesky mouse. One good thing about my excessive worrying about the mouse was that I was no longer worrying about crossing the pass!

Video of Trail:

Start the Tiger Balm Tales from the Beginning!

No Room at the Inns – Annapurna Circuit

admin — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 06:44:49 +0000

A swift wind blows the prayers...

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 10

Day 9 - No Room at the Inns…

By some miracle I woke up on Day 9 with a small trace of a headache, aches, and pains of the day before. Apparently 24 hours of sleep and antibiotics were just what the doctor ordered. I woke up feeling about 80% well; a miracle considering my paralysis the day before.

Harsh Living

Considering I was unable to get out of my bed the day before, let alone walk; we decided to revise our trekking schedule. While being sidelined in Manang we learned that this was the high time to trek the circuit; the circuit was at capacity and guest houses were filling up fast. This was bad news for people who were slow trekkers (us!) as we kept hearing more and more stories of people not being able to find rooms to sleep in. This ‘Joseph and Mary’ predicament left people sleeping slumber party style on the dining room floors of inns. This was even more concerning since there were fewer and fewer inns to stay at as we moved closer upwards towards the pass. Prior to this, little villages dotted the trail and if you couldn’t find lodging, you simply walked another 20 minutes to the next village. However after Manang there were no more villages, just clusters of guest houses spaced out about 3 hours apart.

We decided to try to circumvent the ‘no room at the inn’ situation by going a shorter distance and also trying to send Diehl, our porter, ahead to secure a room for us. We hiked up out of the valley of Manang, crossing into a landscape void of trees. Suddenly the mountainsides took on a bleak, cold look to them. No more pine trees, instead there was just bare, rocky mountains. The white peaks were getting closer and closer and the air thinner.

I moved slowly, but felt stronger as the day went on and the antibiotics worked their way through my body. We hiked for a short 2 hours and stopped at a small encampment, Gunsang, which was the home to 2 guest houses with amazing views. Most people don’t stop in Gunsang since it’s so close to Manang. However, by skipping Gunsang they missed one of the best guest house views on the circuit.

Room with a View - Gunsang

After dropping our bags in our guest room, I went out to the ‘patio’ tables, propped up my feet and simply took in the spectacular view letting the sun beat down on me. You could easily imagine how much closer you were to the sun; the rays were powerful and warming, yet I was surrounded by snow. Some people like beaches, but I’m not one of them. Give me this view and relaxing atmosphere any day…bliss.

Guest houses along the circuit are an exercise in simplicity; in many cases they are a small step up from a tent. For $6 you can rent a room with two beds plus you must promise to eat your meals at their dining room. Typically the rooms had two little wooden beds with a pad on it, a questionable pillow, and if you were lucky you had a little wooden table to set some things on. Most of the beds and tables looked as if I had constructed them; just simple blocks of wood and some nails. Some of the guest houses were more sturdy than others. The worst ones were made of thin boards leaving the wind to whistle through the little room making it feel more like a refrigerator than a room to sleep in. The electricity was sporadic at best and normally consisted of one little light bulb sputtering out light trying to illuminate the room.

A typical guest house

The sparse conditions didn’t matter too much to us as we never really spent much time in the room due to the cold temperatures. Instead each guest house had a dining area which normally contained some sort of stove where all the guests huddled around at night to soak up the warmth. This is also where most of the socializing took place. Guides and tourists would mingle and play cards, swap travel stories and drink Roxie. The closer we got to Thorong La Pass you could feel the tension in the air in the group dining rooms; people worried more and more about crossing the pass.

The bathrooms were normally a shared outhouse with a squat toilet, cement floor, a bucket to put water in, and sometimes a ‘shower’. However before you get grandiose visions of shower heads and curtains…think again. A shower normally consisted of a faucet head situated about a foot above my head; you literally stood underneath a faucet. I normally found it easier to simply fill the bucket with water and take bucket showers. If you were lucky, you’d get some luke warm water to dispense from that faucet. The hottest water that would come out was still rather chilly in my standards thereby necessitating us to hone our abilities at taking very fast showers!

Our deluxe room with ensuite toilet

Our current guest house in Gunsang had no electricity, but it did have personality. In fact, this was the first guest house we stayed in which offered an ‘en-suite’ toilet. I was pretty excited about the prospect of not having to get up, put on my down coat and boots to go outside to the outhouse! When I entered our little guest room, sure enough we had our own little bathroom, but quickly my visions of a typical bathroom were dashed. In my excitement, I had allowed myself to forget that I was in Nepal, and therefore was dreaming of a toilet, sink and towels. However what greeted me was a simple outhouse (cement floor and squat toilet) attached to our room; a little less glamorous than my mind’s picture. Regardless, it was next to our bed – and that was great.

In fact my highlight came the next morning when I woke up and was going through my morning ritual to get ready to hike. Instead of having to go outside and brush my teeth, I was able to go into our en-suite toilet in my pajamas to brush my teeth in privacy. However apparently I was a little too excited about this. When I put my toothpaste on my toothbrush and was trying to put the lid back on the paste, I lost my balance and dropped the toothpaste. I watched as it fell in slow motion, bounced on the porcelain of the squat toilet and then down the toilet into the abyss – kerplunk! “Shhhiiiittttt” I yelled! My dad asked what happened. I popped my head out of our lovely en-suite bathroom and said, “I have some bad news…”

There would be no place to purchase toothpaste for the next 3 days. We would have to rely on gum. I wondered how long it would take the earth to break down a tube of toothpaste in the ‘sewer’…probably longer than my lifetime. Not very ‘green of me’…but it was an accident!

Regardless of the toothpaste mishap, this little guesthouse in Gunsang was my favorite along the whole trail. The family who ran the guesthouse during the trekking season had an abundance of smiles to offer and their diligence in keeping the place clean and inviting was inspiring. I was actually a bit sad to leave their hospitable environment, knowing that our future trekking and lodging was uncertain as we continued to climb.

One thing I knew for sure was our future held less warmth, and less oxygen; but we would keep trudging slowly upward.
Photos from Day 9 – View all:

Want to read the Tiger Balm Tales from the beginning?
Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth
Vol. 6 – Road Work Ahead
Vol. 7 – Changing Rhythms on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 8 – And on the 7th Day We Rested
Vol. 9 – Paralyzed on the Annapurna Circuit

Paralyzed on the Annapurna Circuit

admin — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 07:05:25 +0000

Illness Strikes by Surprise

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 9

Paralyzed

What started as a slight headache the night before had manifested into my complete paralysis the next morning. My head was throbbing, but worse than that, my body had felt like it had gone through a medieval bone crusher in the middle of the night. Every movement I made ached and my body felt as if it were a punching bag. My sleep was restless so I was already lucid when our alarm went off to signify a new day of trekking towards the pass. I rolled over to look at my dad, and ironically I felt as if I were the one that was 73 years old.

A tidal wave of illness had hit me. Immediately I knew what this meant. I tried to put it out of my mind…but the headache kept reminding me…this had to be altitude sickness. Having battled altitude sickness before, I knew the signs. A wave of anger swept over me – why me…again? I did everything right this time, we went very slowly, and I hydrated; why did this have to happen? My mind continued spiraling into the abyss of trekking failure. Yet my emotions were magnified as I had brought my father along this far; if anyone was supposed to struggle I expected it to be him. But he lay there slowly waking up and he seemed just fine. I was going to be the one to ruin it for us. I was going to be the reason we had to turn back.

My arrival in Manang 2 Days Prior

During our ‘rest day’ yesterday we went to the free Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) talk provided at the little medical outpost which was manned by American volunteer doctors. We learned about all of the symptoms, and what can be done to ease them. However I was well aware of the symptoms based on my past experience and I also knew the only real cure – to descend. In the talk we also learned that I had another thing stacked against me; if you’ve had AMS before, you are more susceptible to getting it again. However on a brighter note we also learned that the older you are the less likely you are to get AMS. If you are over 50 years old, your brain actually starts to shrink and therefore has more room to expand in your skull as you go up in altitude; good news for dad.

As I lay in my bed with my head swimming in a sea of disappointment, I listened to everyone departing past my door with a sinking feeling. All of the new friends that I had made the days before stopped at our room door and said farewell to me as they took off trekking again. Everything was moving around me and I was standing still. Whereas the day before I loved standing still; today I didn’t. This was unplanned. This would get us off our schedule. This could be the demise of our goal.

River with a View

Some of our trekking friends loaned us a thermometer and dad came back to take my temperature. Of course the temperature was in Celsius therefore my dad, the retired engineer, had to try to figure out the conversion to Fahrenheit so that it made sense to us Americans! He jotted away with his pencil on his little notebook, multiply this, add that, carry the 2 and presto – my temperature was 101…shit.

Luckily, I happened to be sick in the only town that had a medical clinic. Somehow I mustered up enough energy to shuffle over to the clinic with my dad’s help. We had decided I’d better see a doctor. I felt as if I could barely walk, my head spinning, feeling as heavy as a bowling ball. I was imagining my brain swelling due to the hitting the sides of skull causing me this immense altitude headache. I handed over my $35 USD to see a young doctor. I sat on the cot and told him my symptoms.

He took notes about the length and itinerary of our ascent, he took my temperature, looked in my ears, and listened to my lungs. He put down his clipboard and said, “I don’t believe you have AMS. I think you’ve caught some virus and have a sinus infection.”

What’s that…did I hear him correctly…no AMS…hurray!

He proceeded to give me antibiotics, nasal spray, and Panadol and told me to go consider resting for a couple of days before going any further to see if the antibiotics would take hold. My dad and I shuffled back to my little guest room, I took all of the drugs, and promptly fell back asleep.

I dozed in and out of consciousness for the next 18 hours. My dad was left to play nurse, waking me up to give me medication, watching over me and putting tiger balm on my aching back. He continued to watch my temperature climb peaking at 103 F. I lay in my little sleeping bag cocoon barely poking out my head or opening my eyes.

My dad & I at the Glacier the day prior

When I did come to every so often, I would poke my head out and see my dad watching me. The tables had turned – I was the one that needed him. I thought back to my childhood, and could never remember a time when my dad had to take care of me. It was always my mom who brought me 7Up and soda crackers; watching over me. In my feverish haze I marveled at my Dad’s ability to care for me. Once again I was reminded how happy I was that he had decided to come on this trip with me.

In addition to my dad watching over me, our guide and porter (Bishnu and Deihl) also took care-giving roles. They would bring me bowls of noodles trying to get me to eat food and they would refill my thermos of tea. Eating the noodles pretty much used up my energy reserves and I would fall back into my sleepy haze. I complained about how my body ached and Bishnu came back with another pad to put on top of my current sleeping pad trying to make it a bit more comfortable for me. After all, our guest room was pretty bare bones – a little wooden bed with a 3 inch thick mattress and my sleeping bag; not the most comfortable conditions to be sick in!

I could only hope that with the three of them caring for me, my bag of drugs, and more rest I’d be able to be back on the Annapurna trail again soon. Only time would tell.

No real surprise, but there were no pictures from this day!

Manang Villager at Work

On the 7th day, we rested – Annapurna Circuit

admin — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 03:24:04 +0000

Connecting Point

Tiger Balm Tales – Vol. 8

And on the 7th day, we rested.

I woke up in Manang; I didn’t have to roll up my sleeping bag, repack my backpack, tend to my blisters, or put on my dingy hiking clothes. No, this morning we rested. I lay in my bed listening to the heavy hiking boots on the wooden floor outside my door – clomping back and forth getting ready to depart. You could feel that nervous energy that exists in the mornings as people get ready to depart yet again; however this morning I dozed in and out of sleep feeling happy. I am still today.

Manang Valley

Traditionally Manang, at aprox. 11,000 ft, is the resting spot for the Annapurna hikers. You don’t necessarily rest here because you are tired, you rest here to let your body try to acclimate to the altitude; to slow down and let it try to adjust and fight off the ill effects of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS).

The village of Manang was different than the other villages we had been through. It was designed for rest. There were little shops showing movies at night, bakeries and coffee shops, laundry ‘facilities’ and tons of trekking supply shops. This was the last real ‘livable’ village before we reached Thorong La pass and descended into Muktinath; which would be 4 days from now.

Even though this was a rest day, as part of acclimization people were strongly encouraged to do a day hike. Trekkers were advised to hike up a few thousand feet and then come back down to sleep again in Manang thereby practicing the altitude aclimization theory of hike high, sleep low. We weighed out our hiking options and decided to do a hike up to see the glacier – a 1500 ft. climb. The best part about the day hike is that I didn’t have to wear my backpack. I took my camera and felt light as a feather.

Ice Blue

The climb to the glacier was tough as it was steeper than our normal trail and the air was thin, but it rewarded us with spectacular views of ice blue glacier lakes and golden valleys. When we reached the viewing area near the foot of the glacier, we sat and strategized our hiking plan with Bishnu for the next few days. We had already made it further than I thought we would considering our rough start on day 1 and 2, so we were pretty happy to even be at this point. My dad was feeling good and had greatly improved his trekking balance, speed, and confidence since the first few days. His only concern was the diminishing oxygen and the fear of altitude sickness as we tried to get to cross the pass at 17,770 ft.

Once back in Manang we picked up our laundered clothes and celebrated our progress with one of the Annapurna circuit’s delicacies; cinnamon rolls. I have no idea how the cinnamon roll sensation started, but I was thankful that someone had brought fluffy bread with butter, sugar, and cinnamon to the Himalayas! From the village of Manang, all along the trail there would be places selling big cinnamon rolls –a complete guilt free snack for energetic long term trekkers. When else would I ever be able to eat a cinnamon roll a day – only when you are trekking day after day expending the energy to negate them. I felt like I had landed on another planet; one where calories were non-existent!

Box Seats

With our rest day coming to an end, Manang had one more surprise for us – nighttime entertainment. Word traveled around the village about a horse race, and the locals were starting to line up along the main drag, a long stretch of dirt ‘road’ sort of like a rectangular town square. You could hear the bells in the distance and soon a group of local boys and men rode in on miniature horses and down the ‘road’. The small horses decorated in bells and blankets with grown men riding them made the whole scene seem a bit cartoonish.

They paraded past and turned around at the end of the road. All of a sudden with no warning the riders took off at full speed down the road. The crowd roared, the bells clanged and Manang came alive. This back and forth racing kept going for about 40 minutes. It was Nepal’s version of 1950’s drag racing down main street. There were no real winners or losers; instead it seemed to be a series of small drag races back and forth. Sometimes the riders would be riding so wildly they’d lose control of the horses and they run off towards the crowd of onlookers. Yet we continued to watch in amazement.

Close Call

I watched the horses as much as I watched the locals spectating; you could tell that this event, no matter how absurd is seemed to me, was well loved in the village. Occasionally a herd of goats would also parade down the road stopping the whole race for a bit until the locals shoo’d them off to safety. The whole crowd, locals and tourists, would erupt in laughter.

By resting in Manage, we also had a chance to socialize with other tourists; we bonded over beers, itineraries, blisters, fears, and the crazy horse race. This was the beginning of many trekking friendships for my father and me. My favorite thing about resting in Manang was the fact that we actually had a chance to sit, relax and take in the village and trekking culture that we had been passing by every day.

I fell asleep that night feeling a bit uneasy about what was to come, but thrilled with how far we had made it already!

Annapurna Circuit 360

admin — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 07:32:01 +0000

Many days while trekking I was overwhelmed by the beauty and sounds around me. I wished that everyone could see and experience what I was seeing. Here are some of my panoramic videos along the trail towards Manang (Days 4, 5, and 6). I think you’ll quickly see and hear why this trek in Nepal is so stunning!

Granite Trail:

Chame to Pisang:

Surrounded by Water near Tal:

Windy Valley near Manang:

Changing Rhythms on the Annapurna Circuit

admin — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 08:00:01 +0000

The Setting Sun in Pisang

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 7

Day 4-5-6

A routine is formed. Get up at 6:30AM. Pack up everything by 7:00AM. Eat breakfast. Begin to hike from 7:30AM to 4 or 5 PM. Unpack and change out of sweaty clothes. Choose dinner from the same menu as the night before (even though it’s a different tea house in a different village). Have a big thermos of tea, put on all of the warm clothes I have with me and go to bed at 9PM. A simple and predictable life.

Curves Ahead

It’s amazing how fast you can adapt when you have to. It only took about 4 days of hiking and we were in a predictable rhythm. Even though the days were predictable, I was still constantly torturing my psyche on trying to predict whether we’d make it to the pass or not. I would vacillate back and forth rapidly. Yes we can do it; No, we’ll never make it. It was quite exhausting! In addition to worry about the altitude on the Thorong La pass, I was constantly worried about my father and his ability to complete this hike as well as his health and safety.

As routines formed, other things were in constant states of change. We were making our way to Manang (via Chame and Pisang), the rest spot on the 21 day trek up the mountains. As we gained bits of altitude, we lost oxygen. As the altitude changed, our bodies tried to adjust and adapt. The initial signs of thrusting our body’s into this high altitude was beginning to show. My sleep was restless; tossing and turning in the night. This was accompanied by crazy, vivid dreams that would wake me up in a cold sweat; all symptoms of existing in a higher altitude. I wondered if I would ever have sound sleep again.

Carrying Wood

The environment was also ever changing. We had hiked through terraced rice fields to windy valleys and pine trees. We had started to enter the world of snow-capped peaks. If I closed my eyes and sucked in a big nose of air, I would be transported to the American Northeast – the smell of pine and the crisp fall air. The colors were exploding in reds, yellows, and burnt orange on the mountainsides. The comforting aroma of fires wafted throughout the villages.

The temperature was changing too. Every day I would begin with yet another layer on me. I tried to not use all of my clothes too early on as then I’d have nothing left to layer upon myself when it was really cold. Each night I would sleep with more clothing on. The tea house lodging never had any heat (and rarely had electricity!), so we were left with trying to stay warm by layering. By Day 6 I was sleeping in long underwear, a wool sweater, a wool hat, wool socks, and a scarf. All of this was tucked into a sleep sheet and a down sleeping bag. No wonder why my sleep wasn’t very fitful – I was the size of the abominable snowman!

Rocky Road

My muscles were also undergoing changes. They were screaming out in pain each night and morning thanks to overuse and under training. This is where the Tiger Balm came in. We’d get out our little container of Tiger Balm and put it in one of our pockets for about an hour so that the balm would warm up and be easy to spread on our sore muscles. Then my dad and I would take turns putting the balm on all of our aches and pains; and there were many. After a few days my whole sleeping bag smelled like Tiger Balm. We’d get in our little balm sleeping bag cocoons, put on our headlamps and read up on the next days trekking; trying to prepare ourselves mentally for what we had to accomplish next.

We also started reading up on AMS – Altitude Mountain Sickness. We were now over 9000 feet and this is when your body starts to say “What the hell are you doing? Retreat to where I can breathe!” Since I’ve actually had severe altitude sickness before when I failed to summit Kilimanjaro, I was extremely concerned about getting it again.

Dog and Child

I do remember how horrible it was, and mostly I remember the feeling of not making your goal. I was going to do everything possible to make it over this pass this time, I didn’t want a little thing like lack of oxygen stopping me! However I couldn’t help but have all the memories of Kili come flooding back to me – the delirious sleep, the asthma-like breathing, the headaches, the puking – I didn’t want a repeat show.

At 9,000 feet our breath was heavy and slow already. Even though the hiking on was flat and relatively easy, my legs were tired, my bag seemed heavy, and blisters were forming on my heels. What should have been easy seemed hard. We took our time and tried to make lots of stops. I could tell my dad was as tired as I was. As we trekked towards Manang we had a long walk through a windy valley where we began to see the beautiful, high snowy peaks. These peaks were over 25,000 feet, but it didn’t seem like it since we were already around 10,000 feet! There’s something amazing about standing on solid ground and peering at peaks that are 25,000 ft; a moment I never want to forget.

Hay Stack

As we walked through the valley we were exposed to daily life of the Nepalese. We came across many locals out doing harvesting carrying large bundles of hay for their animals. The basic rule was, if you could walk, then you could carry hay. I saw so many kids carrying huge haystacks on their backs. I used to think my dad was really mean for making my brother and I carry bushels of potatoes up the hill to our house; that seemed pretty lame at this point. We saw people cutting up lumber, thrashing millet, plowing fields; everyone was working hard on these cold fall days. As we neared Manag, yaks first started to appear as a fixture and so did the signs for yak cheese.

We had hit our rhythm – even though our environment was constantly changing. These were wonderful days of trekking.

All Photos from Days 4, 5, and 6

Click on the photo to see all photos at once, or go directly to the Nepal gallery at Smugmug.

Porters of the Annapurna Circuit

admin — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 06:19:12 +0000

Porters taking a break

Porters in Nepal don’t use any fancy equipment to carry their large loads. You see them wearing hand me down clothing and shoes from trekkers past. Flipflops and shoes that don’t fit; but it doesn’t matter because everything is appreciated here. I bet Converse never designed their canvas sneakers to trek to 17,000 ft. in the Himalayas, but they should know that they are being utilized to do so!

In fact, their simplicity of the porter’s gear is what amazes me; if you give them a backpack to carry, 99% of them wouldn’t even consider wearing it on their shoulders. All of this high tech gear meant to protect us from back and shoulder pain are instead introduced to low-tech solutions – a basket and some rope. This is hard for those of us in the western world to understand; but the traditions are strong in Nepal; and so are these porters.

Men and women (and sometimes teenagers) do this thankless task of transporting unimaginable things up and down mountains, on narrow trails, and through streams. There are no/few regulations and their salaries are minimal. They carry items that traditional Nepalese way, using their forehead and neck muscles, hunched over to put the weight on their back. They rest on the boulder ‘benches’ along the trail which are set up at just the right height to gently ease the load off their forehead without bending over.

As most people were busy taking photos of the scenery, I spent a few days just concentrating on the culture of the porters and taking pictures of them. They seemed surprised that I would come up to them and ask to take their picture while simply standing there; but they loved it. They often get attention as they walk by, but few stop to spend time with them.

These photos show their burden.

To see these photos all at once, simply click on the image and it will take you to my photography site.

Or view this link Porters Documentary

Road Work Ahead

admin — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 03:39:14 +0000

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 6

Day 2 & 3 Bahundanda to Dharapani

What is it about growing older that changes us? Not only do our feet get bigger, but we tend to also develop more irrational fears. I’ve been aware of it for some time now; my growing fear of heights. As each year goes by I turn into Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo…I freeze, the world seems to spin around me, and I have to talk myself through the irrational panic. Why on earth did I think that going on a hiking trip in the Himalayas would be a good idea?

After hiking a day to get to the trail, we were now hiking on the main Annapurna trail. This tourist route had little villages peppered along the trail giving you an endless supply of drinks, fruit, food, people watching, and lodging. However the downside to hiking the trail was that it was like a super highway of tourists. On day 1 we were surrounded by locals, and from here on out we would be surrounded by tourists. We chose to hike the trail at the best time of the year; the weather was perfect – no more monsoon, and not freezing cold yet. Of course this was why everyone else also decided to come and hike the trail; Oct/Nov was high season.

The hills are alive...

As we took off and crested the hill from Bahundanda we dipped down into a stunning green valley of rice terraces. The green grass met the blue skys; the landscape seemed to explode. It didn’t take long for groups of people and porters to start passing us. It was as if they were flashing their bright lights behind us kindly requesting us slow pokes to move over so they could pass. Instead of lights, they had walking polls – klink, klink, KLINK on the rocks as they came up behind us. As groups of people briskly walked by us I wondered…why? Why are they in such a hurry? We are in this beautiful scenery nestled among the Himalayas, and we traveled presumably long distances to get here, but I seldom saw many of these people look up from the trail. They just kept maintaining their pace, not noticing the environment around them. All so they could get to the next village and wait? Granted, maybe I’m a bit too slow, and I take too many pictures, but I prescribe to slow travel I guess; I want to soak it all in.

A temporary fix

Every time we seemed to gain some elevation on the trail, we promptly turned around and lost it. Up and down, Up-Up and down, Up-Up-Up and down. We also ran into some trail issues – namely rock slides. The rock slides would force us to use alternate routes, often sending us way up a steep mountainside with loose rock or down to a bridge to cross over the river.

One of the bridges looked as if it were made of toothpicks and was put up a few hours before we arrived there. I watched others cross over the low bridge slowly; it looked easy enough. I waited my turn and gingerly took steps onto the bamboo poles which creaked and flexed with each step. All I could hear was the water rushing below me as I tried to balance on the 3 bamboo poles; rejoicing silently when I stepped on solid ground again.

If it wasn’t rock slides slowing us up, it was road construction. Yes, they are sadly building a road on the Annapurna Circuit – a topic I will later discuss in detail. When I first read about the road being built, I was quite concerned about what it would do to the trail. However, once I got there and saw it in person, I realized that the road would progress slower than the US Universal Health Care legislation. You may wonder how they build a road in a 3^rd world country, high up in the mountains through solid rock on a cliff face. Wonder no more:

5 men, a sledge hammer, and a shovel….yup…that won’t be finished in my lifetime.

For now the road construction led to some entertaining photography and videos, but it also led to obstacles that sent my adrenaline through the roof. I stopped to get footage of this slow, laborious road project as my father and Bishnu went on ahead. They had long since grown tired of waiting for me and my camera. I got the footage, joked with the locals, and left with a smile; but when I rounded the corner the smile quickly disappeared and I was suddenly aware of my heart pounding in my chest.

The blasting for the birth of the road left rock slides and a narrow little loose dirt trail that danced along the edge of the cliff-face. I don’t mind climbing, I don’t mind descending, I don’t mind carrying heavy packs. But I hate narrow trails near ledges that will send you plummeting to your death. This new trail was about 3 feet wide, yet it looked like 1 foot in my terrified mind. As I took a few steps, I felt as if I were hanging off the side of a monuntain. I slowed down and took each step as if it were my first…and sorta my last.

My brain raced with thoughts of everything that could go wrong. For a moment I think I forgot how to walk. I tried to tune out the sound of the rushing river a 700 feet below me. I was acutely aware of the big pack on my back and how it could throw off my center of balance and leave me nowhere to step to recover. Time slowed down and I slowly took each step concentrating so hard I began to talk to myself.

With each year I add to my life this stupid fear of heights seems to get worse and worse. Maybe it has something to so with the fact that as we get older, our appendages keep growing while the rest of us shrinks – in my head I have clown size feet now! Clown size feet don’t fit on narrow trails!

I was thrilled to catch up with my Dad and Bishnu a while later as we entered the village of Dharapani. I just wanted to make sure they had safely made it through that section of the trail. Needless to say, I think the only thing that would’ve made that narrow trail worse would’ve been to watch my father go on it; then I really would have been a basket case!

View all the photos from Day 2 and 3 of Hiking – or click on an image to see more detail:

Want to start at the beginning of the Tiger Balm Tales?

Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth

Breathe Through Your Mouth

admin — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 06:16:29 +0000

The eyes have it...

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 5

If blogs were scratch and sniff…you’d really be in trouble with this post. I found myself chanting the mantra, “Breathe through your mouth, not through your nose.” – while completely naked.

Oh, sorry, I got ahead of myself; let me go back to the beginning.

This was really the beginning of our Annapurna Circuit trekking. After spending a fun, memorable day in the little village of Puma, we put our packs on for the first time and actually started trekking. Since we had made a special visit to Puma, today we had to trek to meet back up with the official Annapurna trail. This meant we had to do some non-tourist trekking at first. What’s non-tourist trekking? It’s the paths that the locals take. We started a massive descent down from the hilltop village, down the uneven steps. Step, after step, after step. I was taking in the beauty of the rice terraces and the diverse shades of green surrounding me and that’s when it happened. My dad fell.

Balancing Act

I was quite a ways behind him and I watched as Bishnu, and Deil, our guide and porter, rushed to help him get up. By the time I reached him, he was up and dusting himself off. We told him to sit down for a bit and relax. I looked at Bishnu and I could tell we were thinking the same thing; ”what was I thinking taking a 73 year old on the trail?!” Dad rested and was fine, but for me, that’s when things really got heavy. No, not my bag, but the stress that was weighing down upon my shoulders; the stress of responsibility for someone.

I’m single. I’ve always been single. I worry about no one but myself. Strangely, for the first time I thought – what if something happens and dad gets hurt; my family will kill me for talking him into this! As a single, independent traveler I revel in my freedom and lack of responsibility. If I do something dumb – I only have myself to blame. I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s feelings, wants, needs, health, or self esteem. Sure, it’s not for everyone; some people like taking care of others; however, I don’t. Actually I never really give my irresponsibility much thought, until I’m suddenly confronted with a responsibility – then it seems overwhelming to me.

Frail but Strong

After this first incident, I found myself watching my dad’s every move, calculating if he was shifting his weight correctly, keeping his center of balance, was he resting enough, was he drinking enough, was he too close to the edge; it was relentless torture to my brain.

We finally made it down to the river where we would shortly meet up with the ‘official’ Annapurna circuit. My quads were shaking uncontrollably from all of the downhill we just finished. The stream didn’t really have a good way across which forced us to take off our shoes and socks and walk over. Bishnu offered to carry my dad as we were both worried about him falling. But dad of course was too proud to do that, so he used his pole for balance and waded across. I watched nervously as I took off my shoes and socks. I looked down and saw my one last going away present from Puma; my sock was soaked in blood. Damn those leaches!

The cold water did feel good on my hot, swollen feet; and it was only noon. The rest of the day we spent going up and down and up and down through villages and across bridges. We met many locals along the way going about their daily chores. We tried our best to stay in the shade as the sun seemed to be sucking the energy out of us with every step like a leach on my foot. We were walking on the flat in the sun when I looked over at my dad and observed him walking along slowly, like he was a steam engine losing steam up a hill…ready to roll backward.

We had been hiking for about 8 hours and the sun was going down fast. The trekking was going much slower than Bishnu or I had originally anticipated. We weren’t near our final destination yet, but we both knew that we didn’t want dad walking in the dark. Quite frankly, I didn’t want to hike in the dark either; I was exhausted from the physical and mental exertion I was putting myself through! We were still about a 30 min. uphill climb to Bahundanda so we decided to simply stop at the next guesthouse we came across.

As we came into a small little spattering of houses, there were a few that offered lodging. I followed Bishnu upstairs to look at the rooms. Considering this was our first look at a guest house along the circuit, I didn’t really know what to expect. The lodging resembled a loft in a barn. Small room, thin boards with gaps plugged up my newspaper wallpaper, small wooden beds, no plumbing, no electricity. Looks good to me…we’ll take it!

After a sweaty day of hiking plus getting caught in a muddy rain storm, more than anything I wanted to get clean. Bishnu kindly organized a hot bucket of water for me to ‘shower’. Although bucket showers are not ideal…I was used to them from my varied travels. I dug my headlamp, toiletry bag, and some clean, warm clothes out of my bag. I was told the only private place to shower off was in the outhouse…um…ok –sounds good. I made my way out to the outhouse and that’s when it hit me…the smell of sewage. I peaked into the door and there was a steaming, small bucket of water inviting me in, but the smell of shit was keeping me out.

This is what it looked like in the daylight

With no electricity, I had to shine my little headlamp around the small, damp outhouse. My beam of light burrowed thru the rising steam and into the corners looking for other creatures that may turn this into a ‘group shower’ for me. The outhouse was the size of a broom closet with a squat toilet, a water spicket, a small plastic empty bucket and now my little steaming bucket. There was a rusty old nail near the faucet and a small window to try to ventilate. The ventilation was futile as the odor rose from the ground and infused the little room as if someone was burning incense in the corner…yet this was no incense. I gingerly stepped inside and thought, how the hell am I going to do this? There was no where to hang my clean clothes, take off my dirty clothes, or to even set my toiletry bag. But my vanity won out…I stepped in and started my mantra…breathe through your mouth, not through your nose.

I’ve been in lots of tough situations when it comes to travel, but showering in the cold, dark, sewage-smelling outhouse was one of the worst. I hung my headlamp, towel, and clean clothes on the faucet head, my dirty clothes on the nail, and I tried my best not to step in the squat toilet. Even though I was in theory getting clean, I wondered if the smell would seep into my skin and I would smell like shit for days.

I continued to try to breathe through my mouth with long deliberate breaths. I decided that my hot water seemed to make the smell worse…like boiling a pot of soup or something…as things heat up, so does the aroma. It was the longest feeling short bucket shower of my life! I quickly tried to dry off with my little shammy travel towel and put on enough clothes to go outside and finish dressing. I stepped outside and the cold air hit me and I took in a big whiff of fresh air trying to purge my senses of the past odors.

In the end, I was clean, and my dad made it through the first day of trekking; that was all that mattered. The first day of trekking was a success. Albeit a bit stressful and smelly – but still a success!

Start at the beginning of the Tiger Balm Tales:
Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time

Photo(s) of the Week – Dec. 11 2009

admin — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 16:34:10 +0000

I chose some pictures this week from my recent trip back to Puma Nepal. One of my favorites is of this woman and young boy because I took a similar picture of them exactly one year earlier. There are some subtle differences, but what I found astonishing is that these two seemed attached at the hip; they were always together when I was there last year. This year I was only there for one short day, but this woman sought me out to take a picture with the boy in tow.

Photo taken in 2008

Photo from 2009 - changes?

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Sunrise in Puma

Travel Back in Time

admin — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 21:27:48 +0000

The hilltop village of Puma at Sunrise

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 4

Travel Back in Time
Itinerary: Kathmandu to Puma
Photos: View Puma Snapshots

We said goodbye to the bustling city of Kathmandu and hopped in our time machine which took us back in time about 50 yrs. A time and place where electricity and plumbing were not guaranteed, where harvesting was done by hand, and transportation meant your own two feet. We had actually hired a car and driver to transport us plus our host, Giri, to Puma. No, not the shoe factory; Puma is the tiny village where I volunteered 1 year ago. I was going back to see old friends and students, to see how the village had evolved, and to truthfully see how much I had evolved.

When I volunteered in the little village of Puma prior, I was in complete and utter culture shock. Yes, even a seasoned traveler like myself can still be jolted by going from New York City to remote mountain village; sleeping above the buffalo in a little barn with no plumbing and sporadic light. However, after a whole year of living in the undeveloped world in Asia, I felt like mentally I was much better prepared for this trip to Puma. However, this time my father was traveling with me and I had no idea what he would think of the simple little village. Granted, he grew up on a farm in the middle of Nebraska during the depression, so I figured that this trip to Puma would be a trip back in time for him.

A seat with a view

As we drove to Besisahar we barely said a word to each other in the car. Simply looking out the window was all of the entertainment we needed. There were loads of people on top of buses, cows grazing in the middle of the highway, a random man sleeping in the shade on the highway (no joke), people selling huge bunches of bananas, and of course the many people working out in the fields during this harvest time. Even with all of this activity going on outside the window, it was a relatively quiet day for Nepal. It was a national holiday, Tihar (aka the Festival of Lights). Tihar is a 5 day festival where each day has a special meaning. This day was a day when groups of children go door to door and sing traditional songs in exchange for money or small gifts. Hmmmm – sound familiar? Trick or Treak …minus the costumes.

After eating our first taste of dhal bhat in Besisahar, it was time to do the hard part of the journey to Puma. No, we weren’t doing the 3 hour hike up to Puma as I had done in the past; instead we were taking the Jeep. Giri , Bishnu (our guide), Deil (our porter), and my father and I shared a jeep with other random villagers and we took off up the steep, bumpy climb towards Puma.

This is when you start to question your definition of the word ‘road’. To me, this dirt track littered with boulders and pot holes wasn’t a road, to the Nepalese it absolutely was a road. As we rocked back and forth on the steep mountain ‘road’ teetering next to the edge, my dad looked at me and said, “people in America would pay lots of money to go on a ride like this if it were at an amusement park. Plus, this ride isn’t short like a roller coaster, instead it’s 1 hour long!” This was a great introduction for him into Nepal. This is where his views of the world started to change. Your idea of normal, good, bad, difficult are completely redefined. This is what I love about travel in developing countries – it pushes your mind’s boundaries of ‘normal’.

Didi's House

We arrived in Puma with a layer of dust over us and everything else in the Jeep. They dropped us off at the school – where I taught; it looked the same. In fact, I was a overwhelmed with the feeling of I never left. It felt good to be back – really good. I was aware immediately of my confidence in my surroundings– something I lacked when I was here prior. We took our bags down the familiar stone steps to Didi’s house where she and Ama waited for us with a big smiles and flowers.

Quickly cups of chai were served with snacks. It was as if I had returned back to my home after being away at college; Didi had made all of my favorite things to eat! I surveyed the house; it looked the same – except…wait a minute…what’s that? A new building attached to the house…a bathroom! Damn…that would have made my stay here last year easier!

The new bathroom - progress!

The International NGO, World Vision, had donated bathrooms to each house in Puma last year. While I was there the villagers were in the process of building outhouses on everyone’s property. Didi already had one, but they went ahead and built a new one…bigger, better, with pseudo plumbing (a hose that ran from the spicket up the hill and down into the new bathroom). It was big, clean, and it had electricity – joy! No more bathing at the water spring with the villagers watching me as if I were a Broadway show.

That night we all sat around and ate Didi’s delicious Dhal Bhat. My father was so enamored by the hospitality that he ate like the locals…with his hands. They all got a kick out of him trying to scoop up the dhal bhat with his fingers; everyone trying to give him advice. I loved to see him partake in this new culture – a sign of a wonderful traveler; I was proud of him!

The bookshelves I had transported

The next morning I got up early and went walking around the village with my camera. It was just as I had remembered – within 10 minutes I had a stream of children following me watching my every move. My father, Giri, and I went to visit the school. When I left Puma last time I gave the school money to have bookshelves moved up via Jeep from Besisahar. They unlocked the library to show me the bookshelves; I shrieked in glee as I had forgotten about them until this moment. It made me so happy to see such a great looking library for the kids! We played around on the giant bamboo swing made special for the Tihar holiday and then returned to Didi’s house for chai and my favorite donuts!

Touch the Sky

Didi with a donut

Back at Didi’s there was a crowd of people milling about the porch. Many of the people I recognized as the town chair people and kids I had taught. I looked around at the people sitting and staring at us and realized that the town of Puma had all come to wish us farewell. This wasn’t just an ‘off the cuff’ farewell, this was elaborate. They placed two chairs in the middle of the porch and everyone gathered around. They brought the elder of the village who was 83 to come and give us blessings. I believe that by having the elder do it, it conveyed respect for my father who is 73. They gave each of us tilaks (a mark made of sandalwood paste on the forehead as a blessing or mark of auspiciousness), and a khata (a white silk scarf signifying safe journeys), as well as a mala (a wreath/necklace of fresh flowers). They gave my father a traditional Nepalese hat and me a beautiful purple pashmina. As if this wasn’t moving enough, each person and child came up and gave us more malas around our necks. The outpouring of blessings from the little village of 45 houses was overwhelming. I found myself wondering what we did to deserve this attention? The village’s generosity, the hospitality of Didi and her family, and the uniqueness of this culture was pure and overwhelming. Yes…a few tears of happiness (the best kind) were shed.

Dad receiving a Tilak from the Elders

The villagers of Puma

Dad and I weighted down by colorful malas

Didi - my big sister in Nepal

I had been worried about returning to a place that I had been before. Though, I’m not really sure what I was so scared of. I was surprised by how good it felt to return back to a place. I’ve NEVER had a welcome/goodbye like this before, and was touched beyond words; even more so since my father was experiencing this with me. At that moment, I was proud to be a traveler. I look at myself as a messenger for Puma to the rest of the world; showing people how wonderful cultural exchange can be when you open yourself up to it. I know that my goodbyes that day were only temporary. Puma is my home in Nepal, and I will go back – again and again.

View Snapshots of our travel back to Puma

Read the previous Tiger Balm Tales

Didi, Dad, and Ama

Start at the beginning of the Tiger Balm Tales:
Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary

Annapurna Itinerary

admin — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 04:24:27 +0000

Tiger Balm Tales – vol. 3

Start from the beginning! Tiger Balm Tales – vol. 1, vol. 2

The Rigid Peaks

We saw the first glimpse of them from the plane window – the rigid, snowy Himalayan peaks. They were practically at eye level with our cruising altitude; you could reach out and touch them as if they were the pages of a book. They looked beautiful and scary at the same time. They were so cold, hard, and barren; as if they were saying “leave us alone, you don’t belong here.” Yet at the same time they were the fascinating peaks I had studied as a child, topped with snow that looked like an inviting dollop of Cool Whip.

It was a bit surreal; all of my planning was becoming a reality. As my dad excitedly peered out the window at the daunting peaks I asked him if he ever thought he’d see the Himalayas in his lifetime. He thought about it a bit and said “No. I don’t think I ever thought about it before. I’m sure I learned about Nepal as a kid, but I never thought beyond that I suppose.” I’m pretty sure at his elementary school, which was a one room school house in the Nebraska countryside, no one ever thought they’d see the Himalayas. It was a marvelous feeling to know I was helping someone achieve goals they never knew existed; isn’t it wonderful when we push beyond our boundaries of possibility?

If I had been traveling solo as I normally do, I would have simply bought my flight ticket, arrived in Kathmandu, and then figured out the rest of the itinerary in a spontaneous manner. This lack of planning is the ‘badge’ of a backpacker – carefree, go where the wind takes you attitude that comes from a fat passport. However I wasn’t a typical backpacker this trip; I was a daughter traveling with her father, and I knew I couldn’t be that blasé; I needed a plan prior to arriving.

The busy streets of Kathmandu

Thamel is the backpacker/tourist area of Kathmandu. It is loud, chaotic, dirty, and positively terrifying when you step off the plane from a cushy westernized country. There are plenty of people in Thamel who want to be your ‘friend’; it can often be a daunting experience as everyone tries to sell you some tour, gift, or drugs – you have no idea who to trust. However when I volunteered in Nepal a year ago, I was able to form relationships with some great people whom I trusted; Giri was one of them. He was the younger brother of my past volunteer host, Didi. When I volunteered in the village of Puma, I stayed with Didi and her mother Ama. Whenever we had trouble communicating (which was often), Didi would get her cell phone and call her brother Giri and have him translate for us. That’s right – there was no indoor plumbing, and sporadic electricity – but there’s always a cell phone not more then a few feet away! The last time I was in Kathmandu I met my cell phone translator in person and we formed a friendship and kept in touch over the last year while I was in Vietnam. Giri runs a travel company in Thamel so he was perfect to arrange our trip for us.

Giri and I

I had been working with Giri for the past couple of months putting together transportation and lodging for my father and me, as well as to find us an experienced guide and porter. This is where I became rather high maintenance – finding a guide. I needed to make sure that we had someone with experience, knew about altitude sickness, was mature and responsible and most importantly – a guide who was willing to take a 73 yr old over the Thorong La Pass.

The afternoon we arrived in Thamel, we met our guide, Bishnu; he was a perfect fit. Mature, good English and many successful trips over the pass. Plus, he seemed to be social and have a really great sense of humor – something necessary if you are going to travel with someone for 21 days! Everything was set in motion and we’d be leaving the next morning for Lamjung district where the Annapurna circuit begins.

With the help of Giri and Bishnu, we laid out a loose trekking plan. For most people, the Annapurna circuit will take about 16 to 18 days to complete; we knew we weren’t most people. None of us (including himself) were really sure how well dad would adapt to the hiking conditions, so we decided to not be in a hurry and practice the concept of slow travel. We’d take our time, enjoy the trek, and give ourselves 21 days to finish the circuit. Prior to this the longest trek I had ever been on was 8 days at Kilimanjaro – this was the big leagues.

We laid out the following loose itinerary which included approximately 5 to 8 hours of trekking a day depending on our speed, with altitude changes of about 1,000 to 3,000 feet a day.

Day 1 – Kathmandu to Puma (the village where I volunteered last year)
Day 2 – Puma to Bhahundada
Day 3 – Bhahundada to Jagat
Day 4 – Jagat to Dharapani
Day 5 – Dharapani to Chame
Day 6 – Chame to Pisang
Day 7 – Pisang to Manang
Day 8 – Manang rest/acclimization day
Day 9 – Manang to Yak Kharka
Day 10 – Yak Kharka to Phedi or High Camp
Day 11 – High Camp to Muktinath (cross the pass at 5417 meters/17, 781 feet)
Day 12 – Muktinath to Kagbeni
Day 13 – Kagbeni to Marpha
Day 14 – Marpha to Ghasa
Day 15 – Ghasa to Tatopani
Day 16 – Tatopani day of rest at Hot Springs
Day 17 – Tatopani to Shikha
Day 18 – Shikha to Gorepani
Day 19 – Gorepani to Tikhedunga
Day 20 – Tikhedunga to Birethandi
Day 21 – Birethandi to Pokhara

Oh my – this was going to be a long time roughing it! However, it was also going to be a long time enjoying some of the most spectacular scenery the world has to offer, the friendliest culture, and the fresh air; oh yeah – and a long time spending time with my dad.

Planning a trip to Nepal? Please consider utilizing Giri’s services:
Giri Gurung
Nepal Tourism
www.nepaltourismtravels.com.np
Kathmandu Office – Nurshing Chowk, Thamel 17
+977-1-426-1114

Start at the beginning of the Tiger Balm Tales:
Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents

Preparing the Parents

admin — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 04:46:51 +0000

My Dad's packing list - quite thorough!

Tiger Balm Tales – vol. 2

What’s that – you missed vol. 1 of Tiger Balm Tales? Go back and read it now! Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 1

“Dad, you NEED to get a hepatitis shot.”

“Do I really? I’m strong, I should be ok.”

“Dad, your strength has nothing to do with it – when you travel in a developing country you are at the mercy of that country. You can’t control who is preparing your food, and what they’ve been doing. You can’t control how clean or dirty you may be trekking or who you come into contact with. You can’t control anything – you are going to Nepal, not Paris. Spend the damn money and get the shot!”

This was one our many pre-trip skype conversations that left me wondering what I had gotten myself into. What was I thinking – asking my 73 year old father who had never traveled to a developing country (ok – he had one business trip to Ecuador years ago) to go to Nepal?! Nepal is like India – it’s the big leagues of developing country travel. I had asked him to skip the play offs and go right to the super bowl.

I spent the next skype conversation with him going through his packing list.
“How many pairs of socks should I take?”
“Dad, I have no idea….uh….how about 5 pairs.”
“5 – Ok. How many t-shirts?”…

Yes, this conversation lasted about an hour. My dad is a retired engineer – logic and being precise was his job for 35 years – so this ultra precise list shouldn’t have surprised me I guess. I was annoyed and a bit tickled by this conversation at the same time. Annoyed that I was doing his packing for him; something I hate to do for myself! But I was tickled he had put this much prior thought into his list down to the exact number of pairs of underwear – 5 in case you were wondering.

Then there was my mother.

The Tallest Mountain Ranges in the World!

I had been sending my dad various blog posts about Nepal and trekking there in the hopes that it may help set some expectations as to the culture. This was probably done in vain since I don’t think it’s really possible to set expectations for Nepal and specifically Kathmandu. One of the blog posts had a bunch of information about the Annapurna trail and lots of pictures. I had a skype call from my mother early that morning from the US.
“Hello – you are up early mom.”
“Yes, I just read your email and now I’m freaked out?”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“I’m freaked out! I knew that your father was going to be trekking, but when I saw those pictures and saw how big the mountains were NOW I’m freaked out! How’s he going to do that?! They are really high up and it looks really dangerous!”
“Well you didn’t think it was going to be flat like South Dakota did you?! It’s Nepal mom, the world’s tallest mountains are there! Don’t worry, he’ll be fine, there will be a trail, we won’t be using ice picks or anything.”
This was said boldly, but truth be told – this was the beginning of my worrying. My worrying about what I had talked my dad into. I really had no idea if he’d make it or not. Hell, I didn’t know if I would be fit enough to make it! The highest pass we crossed was nearly 18,000 ft; higher than I had ever been before. So why did I think this was a good idea?

While I started worrying and fielding more questions from my worried mother, my dad was enjoying a bit of celebrity status in his small town of Milbank South Dakota. I informed him that he would need to bring some ‘emergency’ US dollars in case we had trouble using the ATM to take out Rupees. Based on all of my travel experience, I made sure he knew he had to bring relatively new currency; get it at the bank if possible so he could specifically ask for bills from the last 5 years. Developing countries are rather funny about things like this – I’ve lost many arguments with banks in remote African, South American, and Asian towns about the validity of my $20 bill from 1993. When dad went to his local bank , they were intrigued with his request and even more intrigued with his travel plans. I would bet $20 that most of them didn’t know where Nepal was – this isn’t a dig against their geographical knowledge – it’s just a fact. Everyone at the bank then started saving up new currency for him – a group effort for a few days. I’m quite positive it was the talk of the town.

At this point there was no looking back, we were prepared as we could ever be. My mom had been sedated by my reassurance, my father was vaccinated and precisely packed; we were ready to go. We met in Singapore and took off on our flight to Kathmandu, where our father-daughter adventure began!

Read Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 1

The Beginnings of a Nepal Trekking Plan

admin — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 12:55:30 +0000

The Himalayas were beckoning me...

Tiger Balm Tales – Vol. 1

Why? Such a simple question, yet it resonated in my head many, many times on my most recent trip to Nepal.

Why was I going back to Nepal?
Why did I ask my dad to come with me?
Why did he decide to actually come with me?

At this point in my 26 day journey (pre-departure), I could really only answer the first two questions. I have to start by explaining one of the many weird quirks about myself – I HATE doing the same thing twice. Once I’ve done something or accomplished something or been somewhere, I don’t have any desire to do it again. I guess I figure that the world is such a HUGE place that why go see something again when you can see a new place or experience a new restaurant, etc. This quirk can be rather frustrating at times since I am often in mental struggles with my psyche that go something like “Why can’t you just be satisfied with standing still and staying put; doing things like everyone else?” Yet I’ve had to accept that this is who I am, take it or leave it. However this trip meant I was bucking the system, I was taking my precious travel time and going back to a country and area that I had already been to a year prior. But in some weird way, because I had never gone back to a visited place before, it meant that it was sort of a ‘new’ thing to do and I wanted to see how I felt about it. Yes – my mind is a bit twisted at times.

The village of Puma

My last trip to Nepal one year ago was strictly about volunteering and not necessarily about traveling as a tourist. Volunteering in the tiny, remote village of Puma was one of the hardest things I had ever taken on, but I survived; and therefore I wanted to go back primarily to see how the people I had met and bonded with were doing. I had other reasons though too – after a year of living in Vietnam, I wanted to see how it had changed me and going back to a challenging country seemed to be a good way to take the temperature of that change. Finally, I honestly wanted to trek. When I was there last time, I trekked from village to village not on any tourist trails. However I had always wanted to hike the Annapurna circuit so I felt like this was my chance to do so.

I had made some key contacts on my last trip there who could help me arrange such a trekking trip. The brother of the family I lived with in Puma ran a travel/trekking agency in Kathmandu and I had stayed in contact with him for the last year. Giri was eager to arrange all of my trekking, in addition to my journey back to Puma to see his sister and mother. Oct/Nov is the best time of the year to trek in Nepal – so that scene was set; I had chosen a time and a person in Nepal that could help me get it all organized. The only thing missing was a travel companion.

For me this always tends to be the thing that I’m missing. I suppose if I would pick some ‘easier’ places to travel to besides Mongolia and Nepal I might have a better chance of friends coming with me. The problem is that ‘easy’ isn’t really part of my vocabulary. No friends were interested in the trip to Nepal (maybe they had read my blog posts from last year and the leaches scared them away?), so I next went searching for family that might like to come with me. Brother has no passport – cross him out. Mother thinks Singapore is ‘too scarey’ – cross her out. Sister and brother-in-law would love to go trekking, but taking a month off of work and kids was impossible – cross them out. That left my father. He had already traveled to China with me, he enjoyed going to foreign countries, he loved mountains and trekking (I’m assuming this fact since he used to drag us kids on vacations in Wyoming camping all the time), and he – like me – was always looking for something new and unusual to do.

My father and I on the Great Wall

From an outsiders point of view, my dad is really quite adventurous in a quirky way. He and my mom once traveled from Seattle to New Zealand and back on a freighter. Plus, for the last 25 years he’s been walking to/from US capital cities on an intricate path around the USA. This fact alone could be a whole separate blog post I may explore at some point! But for now, let’s just say that he’s a bit quirky…and apparently that’s where I get my own quirkiness from. It took me 39 years to figure that out though.

I asked my dad if he wanted to join me as I really thought that he, out of any of my family or friends would appreciate the simplicity of Nepal and the rural lifestyle of the villages. Plus, at 73 years old, I felt like it would be quite an opportunity to see the mountains of Nepal. After a lot of uncertainty and pressure from others in the family (the most coming from my mom) he decided to join me. Game on…

The Tiger Balm Tales will be a series of posts and photo documentaries which chronicle our father-daughter journey to Nepal for 26 days; the trekking, the people, the culture, the great heights (and some lows), and the excessive use of Tiger Balm.

After the whole trip was over my comment was, “For the rest of my life, every time I smell Tiger Balm it will remind me of Nepal.”

I hope you enjoy the journey…

To read my other ‘travel series’ check out:
The Spice Diaries – volunteering in Delhi India for a month
Dhal Bhat Days – volunteering in Nepal last year
The Motorbike Diaries – learning how to drive a motorbike in Nepal

Hands for Help – Final Thoughts

admin — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 15:49:37 +0000

Nepalese Secondary School

Dhal Bhat Days – vol13
9/15/08

While in Nepal I heard from my old students in India; they wished me a happy teacher day via email; it took me completely off guard, and shook me up a bit . It had been a year ago that I was there living in Delhi teaching my wonderful group of young adults that I become so attached to. While in Nepal I heard about the bombings in Delhi and emailed each of them to make sure they were ok and their families were safe. They all wrote back with positive responses letting me know they were fine. However, one note stuck out to me, a note from one of my favorite students, Ashish.

Respected Ma’am,
Thank you! for encouraging me and the credit for all this improvement is your hard work with us and the dedication you have to improve our life. Today’s world nobody wants to help other but you did it. It is really nice to hear that you are going to teach students, i now you will do it excellently. Yes nowadays I am working with an U.K based charity organisation ( MKC – ROKO CANCER ) as a computer operator and where i have to use English to mailing and communicate with my colleges.I have to use my Internet Browsing, and Website Designing Skills in our website. Now we can keep in touch because I have freedom to check my mails regularly. The most important thing is that I am enjoying my job, even they are paying me a lot less which I actually have to get. I hope you are well and having fun…
Even now I am working but I still need your concern and guidance forever….

This is why I do it. This is why I brave leaches, spiders, rats, cow shit, and no communicating…for a moment like this which is absolutely priceless to me. I would pull off a thousand leaches for the feeling that runs through my body when I read this.

Granted, my volunteering experience in Nepal was vastly different than my experience in India, but I know that I made some sort of impact; whether it was teaching English or simply cultural exchange.

Sun-kissed fruit for sale

Nepal was breathtaking and infuriating at the same time. A small country that is rich in tradition and culture, but economically poor. My old vision of Nepal was Mt. Everest and mountains; a tourist rich area that was well known around the world. However, my departing impressions of Nepal doesn’t really have anything to do with mountains or terrain – it has to do with people. People eager to learn about others, people satisfied with very little, people who live a simple life. The tourists who travel to Nepal are hearty and strong, they have to be, as Nepal is not a place for the weak. You can’t come to Nepal just to look, you need to become involved in Nepal. If you are not willing to become involved with the local people and interact, then I say, go to Switzerland and look at the mountains. However, if you are willing to put yourself out there and meet the locals, interact with the culture, then you’ve really succeeded at traveling in Nepal.

Nepal shocked me into the space I needed to be in for my move to Vietnam and for that, I’m grateful. All of these challenging experiences prepare me for the next, and the next, and the next.

To learn more about the Hands for Help Nepal NGO that I volunteered with, please check out their website at http://handsforhelp.org.np/
Hands for Help is doing a great job at really making volunteering work rewarding. For them, it’s less about the vacation and more about the volunteering, which is exactly what I was looking for. However, even though it was no posh vacation, it was filled with cultural experiences that I will never forget! Check them out if you are looking to do something meaningful and see another part of the world! They have a variety of great programs ranging from short term to long term. They are a great bunch of people!

Kathmandu – Second Time’s A Charm

admin — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 10:06:35 +0000

Nepalese boys saluting me

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol 12
9/13/08

For all Kathmandu Photography – click here! (opens new window)
For all Kathmandu snapshots- click here! (opens new window)

After a refreshing, civilized stay in Pokhara for two nights, I arrived back in Kathmandu with a new outlook; it was no longer scary. I was reminded again of just how powerful time is. As I’ve noted before, I think time is one of the most important resources in the world. Forget pining away for youth…I just want more time. I’m a time whore. It makes everything better.

This was my chance to explore the innards of Kathmandu. With my new outlook I was ready to embrace the muddy, crowded, loud capital city. I was amazed I could walk around the same streets that I had been on 2 weeks prior with a new confident, happy manner. Smiling at people I passed, snapping photos. Quite a turn around from when I first arrived where I was as jumpy as a dog in a thunderstorm. I trusted no one, I was terrified of walking on the streets, I hated being dirty and not understanding the chaos going on around me. Now I was accepting it.

I had a lot of ground to cover in Kathmandu in a day and a half, seeing some of the main sites and capture the city life on film (ok – digital ‘film’). I first stopped at a few of the famous temples. Nepal is a mixture of religions but it is mainly Hindu and Buddhist which isn’t surprising considering it’s neighboring countries are India and Tibet. We (a guide and I) went to the stupa at Swayanabath, on a hill on the western edge of Kathmandu. A stupa is a Buddhist religious monument consisting of a hemispherical base, and a square top with a pagoda-style roof. This temple was also known as the Monkey Temple, due to the troops of monkeys living there waiting to harass you. Situated high on a hilltop, it was a great place to get some perspective on just how sprawling Kathmandu was.

The Seeing Stupa

Next I went to see the most famous Nepalese stupa of them all, Baudha. It’s one of the largest in the world and locals and tourist circumvent is all day long offering and receiving blessings. It’s the center of attention surrounded by shops and a circular path. The all-seeing eyes peer down at the masses of people coming to visit.

The next stop I knew very little about, Pashupatinath, a temple dedicates to the Hindu God Shiva. Hindu pilgrims and sadhus (holy men) come from all distances to Pashupatinath. In addition to the live people, dead people also come to Pashupatinath since it is the most auspicious place to be cremated in all of Nepal. I decided that investing in a guide at this site would be money well spent – so I hired someone to take me around and explain what I was seeing; lord knows there was a lot to see. There were funeral pyres lining the river bank as ambulances pulled up with bodies wrapped in golden cloth. Mourning families poured out of cars with the deceased and had small ceremonies around the pyre before the body was set ablaze. This was a first for me. I stood there mesmerized by what was in front of my eyes – an actual cremation.

Family gathers by the river before the cremation

My guide walked me around the whole complex explaining the sadhus, Shiva, and the funeral process to me. Most of the time I stood there listening to him overwhelmed by what I was seeing. The temple complex was beautiful, however I was fascinated with watching the families of the deceased. The Hindu culture is built on karma, and this was a wonderful example of how karma works. As I watched the families go through their ceremonies I was struck by how calm and accepting everyone was. They all knew that their loved one was coming back in some other ‘form’. I’ve always found the Asian culture to be more accepting of death than our western culture, and I believe that Karma has a lot to do with it. Pashuspatinath was a fascinating place to see and wonder around for an extended period of time, I was happy that I spent the extra money for a guide so that I could better understand it all.

After a relaxing a bit at my hotel and some cold lime juice I was ready to go out again and explore the streets of Kathmandu. The same streets that terrified me a few weeks ago now were my backdrop for some photo shoots. I made my way to the most famous spot in Kathmandu, Dubar Square. As I walked down the muddy, narrow street I stopped along the way and interacted with the locals taking photos and asking them questions when possible. I wandered into stores and took my time really looking at my surroundings this time.

Video of the what it’s like to walk on the streets of Kathmandu – a bit chaotic!

I arrived at the square and was of course accosted by a ton of people that wanted to show me the square for a fee. I swatted them away and went about exploring on my own. The square is a complex of ornately carved temples and monuments including the old royal palace. It feels like the central nervous system of the city with people, bikes, cyclos, cars, and animals darting about with horns blaring. The Times Square of Nepal.

Dubar Square

Locals come to sit on the oversized stairs of the monuments and watch life slowly roll by and tourists come to see the chaos. Little outdoor markets surround the perimeter of the temples and monuments where people hawk their fruit and vegetables, flowers, rice, and beans. I thoroughly enjoyed wandering around the markets making connections with the various vendors. They may seem stand-offish at fist, but eventually I would get a smile or a laugh when I pointed my camera at them. Hopefully I was able to capture some of jubilation that I witnessed in these Nepalese shopkeepers.
I took my seat on the oversized stairs and watched life roll by for a while. Soon I had one of the tour guides come and sit next to me and strike up a conversation. His English was good and once he understood that I wasn’t going to hire him for tour, we actually just sat and had a really great conversation that didn’t include “buy from me”.

A shot of modern Nepal, a young boy displaying his western attitude

My final stop was for payback; payback of the hospitality that I received. Mr. Badri, the head of Hands for Help Nepal (the organization I was volunteering through) took me over to a tour agency where I had the pleaure of meeting Didi’s younger brother, Giriraj. He lived and worked in Kathmandu and spoke very good English. He worked at the university by day and ran a tour agency at night. I wanted to meet him as I had spoken with him on the phone while I was staying with Didi a few times. I think she wanted to make sure that I had someone I could speak English to periodically , so she would call her brother and have him speak to me! I sat and shared a coke with Giriraj and Badri and talking about Hands for Help and how they could continue to bring in volunteers from the US, and we talked about Puma. I left a big envelope of hundreds of photos with Giriraj to take back to Puma and share with everyone. I was excited for them to have their own photos as I knew it was a unique treat for them to have pictures of themselves.

I exchanged contact information with Badri and Giriraj in the hopes to continue a relationship with them. Finally, I wandered to a place for dinner and wasn’t even surprised when the electricity went out for a few hours. I had become accustomed to the electricity being off more than it was on. I treated myself to an apple tart for dessert and sat satisfied with my new outlook on Kathmandu.

Kathmandu Photography

admin — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 10:03:17 +0000

View the best of my Kathmandu, Nepal Photography

Fruit Vendor

Or go directly to my photography website at and view all of my global travel photography! If you see anything you like, feel free to purchase!

I prefer window

admin — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 14:54:08 +0000

Did and I

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol 11
9/11/08

I thought I would be more excited about leaving Puma considering my living conditions for the last two weeks, but surprisingly, I wasn’t. In fact, it was a bittersweet. I was excited to get to some sort of civilization (yet I had started to question if civilization actually existed anywhere in Nepal), but I was sad to leave my new friends in Puma. They took excellent care of me in the best way they could. The morning of my departure was filled with tears as we took final pictures, said final goodbyes, and I promised to come back and visit again. Didi and Ama draped me in khatas and insisted that I take the lunghi and Gurung jacket that they dressed me in the day before. I accepted their gifts graciously, but in the back of my head I wished I had something to give them. They had so little material things, and here they were giving some of it to me; it felt wrong. However I knew that the wrong thing to do would be to not accept the gifts, so I took them and plotted how I could repay them in my head.

Naba, the principal, had graciously agreed to accompany me on the 2 hour trek down the mountain into Besisharha and deposit me on the correct bus to Pokhara. I had planned to travel to Pokhara, a 6 hour journey by local bus by myself, to see another part of Nepal. Everyone had told me that Pokhara was a lovely town; clean, good food, proper hotels, all surrounded by a lake and snowcapped mountains. I was cautiously optimistic about this place called Pokhara. I didn’t want to get too excited about it as I’ve spent the last 2 weeks resetting my Nepal expectations. However, I have to admit, I was fantasizing about bathing properly! My cautious excitement was overshadowed by the task ahead of me – the journey to Pokhara alone. I didn’t really have a choice, but I knew it would be a challenge. Prior to this, I always had someone with me, they didn’t always speak English, but they could at least understand what was going when they told us to get off the bus due to mud slides.

The first problem was that I had a big, heavy bag and electronics to haul down the steep, harrowing mountain. I opted to throw money at the problem and hire a porter. For a moment I felt a bit guilty about being lazy and not carrying my own stuff, but when I realized it would only cost me $4 for a porter to carry 60 lbs of luggage, I instead considered it as helping the economy. Seriously, $4…that’s all he wanted. Actually, he wanted $3…I gave him $4 and a t-shirt and a coke when we got to the bottom.

Didi and Naba at the edge of Puma

The principal, Didi and I left Puma together and Didi accompanied me to the edge of the village which made me even sadder to leave her and my ‘family’ in Puma. Sure, we didn’t have long, meaningful conversations, but she took care of me, she fed me, she did her very best to speak to me in broken English, and she was the perfect host; what more could I ask for. She watched and waved as the principal and I took off into the clouds blanketing the mountains in a somber mood, which matched my mood.

We made it to Besisharha and my knees were relieved to reach some flat ground for the first time in two hours. At the market, my porter sat waiting for me (he took a steep shortcut). He smiled through the smoke of his cigarette as he saw me. My ego dropped to the dusty ground as I thought about the fact that I was dripping in sweat and exhausted, while he was about 10 years older than me, had just carried my 60 lbs of luggage down the mountain, beat me there, and had time to smoke a cigarette or two.

Naba husteled me through the town to the bus area. We found that there were no ‘fast’ mini buses that traveled to Pokhara, instead, my only option was to take a local bus. I guess I was used to this by now, yet that didn’t exactly make me happy about it. In fact, the prospect of riding a slow, hot, loud, dirty, crammed bus for 6 hours was enough to make me walk back up the mountain to Didi’s and simply stay in Puma. Then the vision of a bathtub came to mind; I had to get on that bus. Naba and I shared our last Coke and he put me on the right bus making sure that I knew to get off on the last stop. He sat there and watched me until the bus pulled out of sight. We waved and my eyes welled up with tears yet again. He was a good man, a very good man. My safety net was gone…I was now on my own traveling in Nepal.

I had my usual Dramamine and tried to listen to my ipod as the bus shaked and rattled its way slowly down the poor roads stopping every 3 miles to pick someone new up. They would all stare at me at first wondering who the foreigner was. I eventually dozed off. After three hours of gut wrenching, near death driving, we came into a town where we promptly were caught up in a traffic jam; I imagined there was a herd of goats stuck in the road or something. The bus driver decided to turn off the bus and just wait it out. He got out to stretch his legs and other passengers followed to take a bathroom break, or whatever. I wasn’t going to move an inch…there was no way I was getting off that bus for fear of not finding it again, not understanding that this was a short stop, not being able to speak to anyone; I had a myriad of good reasons not to get off that bus…so I sat there, hot, sweaty, full bladder, and sore from the uncomfortable seat. Yet I was used to this by now…right?

There was a commotion and the traffic drain was unplugged – things started to move again as everyone hopped back on the bus; except for the man that was sitting next to me for the last three hours. The bus started to move and I looked at his bag sitting in the seat next to me and thought…he must have known what he was doing…he/s probably going to catch the bus again in a second. However the bus started speeding up and it was clear – they had left this man behind! I wasn’t really sure what to do, but in my best charades, I tried to tell the young conductor boy that this was not my bag and they left someone behind. This came out something like “Bag no mine!!” They didn’t seem to care too much. Five minutes later and about 10 k later, the bus comes to a screeching halt and the missing man gets back on yelling at the boys running the bus. He had hitchhiked a ride and overtook the bus in order to stop it and get back on…impressive. I looked at him and tried my best to give him the look that said “I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen”. I remained misunderstood.
View a short video of my bumpy bus ride!
The bus lumbered onwards on a slow, sticky, aching path. After traveling for 5 hours, the bus stopped yet again to pick more people up. I was in a bit of an ipod daze, listening to music and trying to let it take me to another place where I wasn’t dripping with sweat and feeling nauseous. A young woman stepped on the bus dressed lovely and looked at me with big eyes and mustered up the courage to speak to me. I was intrigued with what was going to come out of her mouth; this is what I heard, “Please, I prefer window”
“What?!” That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. In fact it took a second for it to register, she was actually asking me to move from my window seat because she preferred the window seat. At first I was rather excited that she had gotten the confidence to speak to me and use English that I could understand – I was impressed. However, the impressed feeling quickly disappeared when I actually digested what she was asking of me.

Let me get this straight, she wanted me to move from my window seat that I had been sitting in suffering for 5 hours just so that she could have it. Ahhh – let me think about that…yeah…no f’ing way was I moving for this lovely girl just because she could form an English sentence (oops…maybe I’m not really cut out for teaching!). I had earned my way into this seat and no one was going to move me. Ok – maybe the heat had gotten to me more than I knew – but she might as well have been asking me to poke my eyeballs out – I was appalled.

My low blood sugar response went something like this, “I prefer window too.” Said with my best New York ‘don’t mess with me’ stare.
She looked at me with a really hurt, confused expression which made me feel bad for 2 seconds – then she moved towards the back and found a different window seat. International crisis diverted.

Somehow I made it to Pokhara without losing my mind or hurting someone on the bus. Needless to say, I was relieved to be somewhere that sold Diet Coke…heaven. Didi had provided me with the name of a friend to contact when I arrived in Pokhara that was in the tourism industry. She assured me that he would help me get a room. I took a taxi to his office in the tourist area of Pokhara and he sent me to a guest house that had a queen size bed, air conditioning, a bathub and western toilet – minus any huge spiders. He said he’s give it to me for a deal since I was a friend of Didi’s. $12 a night. I thought about it for about half a second and said – I”ll take it!

That night I had pasta, a cold beer, and gelato for dessert. There’s no better feeling than when you come out of a difficult situation and survive to eat gelato again. I stopped at a digital photoshop and dropped off about 100 images to be printed. This was my solution for how I could ‘give something back’ to the people that took such good care of me – my photography.

Didi and Ama on the stoop of the house in Puma

That night after one of the longest baths in my life and a much needed leg shaving, I fell asleep, thinking about my friends in Puma. I wondering what Didi, Ama, and my friendly spider Charlotte were doing. Actually – I knew what they were doing – I knew the routine well. The electricity was off as usual and they were cleaning up the dishes from another meal of Dhal Bhat, but tonight, they didn’t have to try to speak any English.

Flower Children

admin — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 04:41:07 +0000

The school, elders, teachers, and children on my last day

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol. 10
9/10/08

To see all of the snapshots of the ‘last day’ activities – click here! (opens new window)

Time is very powerful. In fact, I think it’s the most powerful thing in this universe. Time heals feelings, it causes us to forget, and with time; everything gets better. My time in Puma felt like it moved slowly, especially at first. I agonized about how I would ever survive the two weeks living in conditions that were completely foreign to my mindset. Then time arrived. Over time, I began to accept my new surroundings and even grow to appreciate the hardships and the simplicity. Time made me forget my old expectations and allowed me to set new ones. Because of time, I survived this challenge; as I do all challenges. Now I find that it is time to leave Puma and my little school high on the hill nestled between snow capped mountains; thanks to time, I’m finding it hard to go.

Today was my last day at the Puma Primary school with my kids that I have come to love. I got up early to try to catch the sunrise on the stoop of the village. I was hoping for an amazing photo opportunity of the sun rising above the mountains, but instead I got a game show. What’s behind door #1? However, there were no doors, instead it was big, fluffy clouds and behind them somewhere are magnificent snow covered mountains towering to heights of 20,00 to 24,000 ft. Sometimes Mother Nature would be kind and give me a little glimpse and I would look in awe thinking “this was here the whole time and I didn’t even know it.” I realized that the whole village of Puma is surrounded by these mountains, yet I never saw it with my own eyes; I had to take the local’s words for it.

I went back to the house and had my breakfast snack of popcorn and tea. As I ate the rain started to fall cooling everything off a bit and bringing the leaches. I fantasized about having M&M’s with the popcorn but was thankful for the popcorn regardless! Despite the rain, I had to head to the local ‘watering hole’ and wash my hair. Seemed kind of silly in the rain – but no more silly to me than having to go bath in public with my shorts and tshirt on. As I washed my hair at the water spicket dumping cold water on my head, I suddenly looked up and realized that I was attracting a crowd. 3 young teenage girls sat there and watched me unabashedly. They didn’t look away when I caught them staring – they just kept their fixed gaze. It’s a strange feeling to have people watch you bath, but I had gotten used to it by now. One of the girls even went as far as pointing out some soap I missed when I was rinsing; how very kind of her.

Me in traditional Gurung dress

I arrived back to the house where Didi used me as her American Girl doll; well, actually a Nepalese Girl Doll I suppose. She brought me a lunghi (wrap skirt) that was trimmed in gold and a traditional jacket that had as many ties as a straight jacket. Next came the jewelry – bracelets and a very long green necklace – the traditional outfit for a Kumari woman. Finally, she topped it off with a tilak, a mark of auspiciousness. It is put on the forehead with sandal past, sacred ashes or red tumeric. I had been transformed for my last day of school.

As I walked the school all of the kids stood on the wall and held flowers welcoming me with the chorus of Namaste’s. Yes, I already had that familiar tightening of the throat and tears welling up in my eyes. But it was too early for that; I had to get it under control.

I brought all of my electronics that day – 2 cameras, and my laptop. This was the most electronics that Puma had ever been exposed to. For many of these children, this was the first time they had ever seen a laptop. I put it on the desk and proceeded to show them pictures of my family, my friends, my home, my (former) cat, and pictures of America. They all crowded around, pushing each other to get a glimpse of a world that they had never really seen. They watched the screen magically move through photos with background music; and I watched them. I watched their faces display utter amazement; it was a touching feeling to think that I was exposing them to something that is so normal to most of us. I watched them push, kick and fight their way closer so they could see. Next I showed the photos of them that I had been taking for the past two weeks. They screamed in glee when they saw themselves. The touching thing is that the adults/teachers were just as mesmerized by the children. Today, I had helped the world become a little more global – a good feeling.

Students receiving their pens and notebooks

After teaching in the morning, the afternoon was left for special festivities. Thanks to the donations of international charities, all of the school children in Puma received a pen and 12 notebooks. This was a big event and the local politicians were even invited to be a part of the ceremony! The various chairmen/women of the village attended the festivities and handed out the notebooks and pens to each child individually as well as provided each one with a tilak. At the end I topped it off with giving each of them a pencil. It was like Christmas morning for these kids, the gifts were enthusiastically received!

Next came the speeches, and of course I had no idea what they were saying, yet every so often I heard my name intermixed. Before I knew it I was directed to sit down and each kid, teacher, and chairman/woman were putting a wreath of flowers around my neck and giving me tilaks thanking me for my stay here.

The Principal tying my khata

They asked me to come back and stay longer, but mainly they asked me to never forget Puma. Lord knows thee is no chance of that ever happening! The gratitude was overwhelming for me. With my neck weighted down by flowers, the Principal gave me a a final gift, a khata. A khata is a white, silk ceremonial scarf symbolizing goodwill, auspiciousness, and compassion. It is given during special occasions and welcomes and departures. It was a beautiful gesture and the whole thing took me by surprise. The kids sang songs and we all took pictures. I was moved by the outpouring of blessings that I felt and the personal accomplishment of making the absolute best of a challenging situation.

Didi, I, and my massive flowers

The main reason why I was in Nepal was to volunteer and make a cultural connection. Unbeknownst to be this adventure also came with spiders, leaches, and hardship. However it was worth every moment, ever breakdown, every struggle, every charade for the feeling that I’m feeling now.

After the festivities and pictures, the elders and I went back to Didi’s house where we all sat and had tea and biscuits on the stoop. As Nepalese conversation was all around me, I looked out at my familiar view of green hillside and thought, I’m sad this is my last night; I’ll miss this magical, remote place.

Indie Travel Podcast: Bathroom Adventure Travel

admin — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 16:14:22 +0000

Building a toilet in Puma

Here’s a link to my latest article on the Indie Travel Podcast. It’s about my recent Nepal adventure and intestina foritude.

Sherry Ott explores the idea of adventure travel for the digestive system . She recommends Nepal for the ultimate travel adventure for the gut.

Once you’ve read the article – browse around the site, it’s full of great travel informaoin, videos, and podcasts for the independent traveler. Craig and Linda have been on the road now for over 2 years!

Do You Meat?

admin — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 09:47:42 +0000

Didi eating with her hands

Dhal Bhat Days – vol. 9
9/9/08

During a break at school one afternoon, I noticed a big crowd in the village. I asked the children what was going on and they said “buffalo kill”. The village was slaughtering a buffalo and from my vantage point it looked like a lot of work as they were hacking away at various parts with an ax and knives. Had I known this earlier I would have grabbed my camera; but I missed the opportunity because I was teaching. That night while we were eating Didi asked me “Do you meat?” It took me a while to figure out what she was trying to ask out of these cryptic words as I didn’t have the luxury of spelling the word ‘meat’/’meet’ – then I finally realized that she wanted to know if I was a vegetarian or not. In my excitement of finally understanding the question, I quickly said , “Yes, I love meat!”

Butchering a goat - to be used for the whole village - including me.

As soon as the words came out of my mouth I knew I was in trouble. Now I love a good burger, steak , or pork chop; but that’s not what you get when you order meat in Asia…you get all of the parts that we generally discard…mixed in with bone and fat. Crap, I knew that I had now set myself up for having to eat meat; a luxury for village life in Puma; a luxury that would be extremely rude to pass up. Sure enough the next week I had different people from the village bringing me various slaughtered animal parts. Joy.

Nepalese food and eating habits really were quite fascinating to me. The staple food is dhal bhat; boiled white rice and beans/gravy poured over the top. Generally there would be some sort of vegetable that they would put on the side. I’m not exaggerating when I say – they ate this same meal EVERYDAY. There really wasn’t a variation to it, the same boiled rice and beans served at 9AM and around 7PM; only two meals a day. They would normally have a tea time around 3PM with some type of snack accompaniment. The snack consisted of biscuits (cookies to you and me) if you were well off or roasted corn on the cob. The corn was particularly good; cooked over an open flame and then you pulled the kernels off and ate them like nuts. On a special occasion Didi made me popcorn! I was so excited the first time I heard the popcorn sound coming from the kitchen, I leapt up to go see here popping corn in a frying pan with a lid over it…the original Jiffy Pop. Occasionally I would get one other snack variation, fried dough. Well, at least I thought it was dough until I watched Didi make it and then realized that it was rice mixed with a little sugar and pounded into a pulp and then deep fried. I never knew rice could be used in so many ways.

Cooking in a Napalese kitchen

I observed the Nepalese eat, and I was enthralled. For being such a laid back culture, they eat with passion; which is a nice way of say it was barbaric! Utensils are not used; instead your fork, spoon, and knife is your hand. Didi always had a spoon for me which I was thankful for as I couldn’t imagine picking up the heaping handfuls of hot rice and beans with my fingers. The Nepalese ate as if it were a race and they were trying to win a gold medal. I’ve never seen people eat a 4 cups of boiled rice so quickly before. They would slurp it all up and then look at me with my slow little spoon and say, “lazy”. I had to try to correct that that “slow” was the appropriate word to use as ‘lazy’ was a blow to my ego! They would seldom drink with dinner, but after they were done with their platter of rice, they would take a pitcher filled with water and drink directly from the pitcher pouring the water straight down their throat and never touching their lips to the pitcher. I was impressed with this ability as I would have the water all over my chest if I tried that. After the eating frenzy, they would sit back and then proceed to do everything we were taught not to do, belch loudly and spit. All of the ‘forbidden’ things that Miss Manners would cringe at were a part of normal Nepalese culture. It took me by surprise at first, but it was completely explainable based on how fast they shoveled food in and the amount of food they would eat at one sitting.

A plate of dhal bhat - the portions were HUGE!

Each night I would always have a pile of rice left over as my stomach couldn’t eat 3 cups of boiled rice in a sitting! I always felt terrible leaving any food as food is a precious commodity in Nepal. So when they started bringing me one of their prized possessions, meat, I felt like I had to eat it. We would eat in the kitchen sitting on the floor off of plates that looked like big pie tins. Most of the time it was rather dark in the kitchen as the electricity was off more than it was on in Puma. I sat and stared at my little dish of buffalo meat I realized that this not the meat that I was accustomed to, instead it was a mixture of fatty meat, grissle, stomach and intestine. I had no options of politely refusing, I had to eat it. I gingerly grabbed a piece with my fingers and chewed, and chewed, and chewed, and chewed; trying to be appreciative of the protein that I was giving my body. When I did get the rare piece of eatable meat, it tasted like jerky and was actually quite good; but the jerky pieces were few and far between. The next night it was chicken; as I nibbled on my various chicken parts and feet, I wondered who the lucky person in the village was that was nibbling on the chicken breast!

Didi also treated me to the occasional ‘Nepalese beer’. Wipe away those visions of a cold, frosty mug of amber colored beer; and replace that with some cloudy, fermented rice at room temperature. However, alcohol is alcohol – and I rarely meet alcohol I don’t like. Plus, it helped me sleep through the night without waking up to the rat and buffalo noise!

I also found that different villages had different variations to the standard dhal bhat. When I was in Barbot with the principal, they would milk the cow, then boil the milk, and pour it over the dhal bhat turning it into gruel. However, the variation was welcomed and a little dairy in my body had to be good for me. Prior to this moment, I don’t think I’ve ever had fresh milk; I mean really fresh, 5 minutes from milking to drinking.

My favorite little kitten loved to sit by the 'stove'

Just as I wondered if I could take one more day of rice. I was treated to one of my favorite meals in the world; rice pudding. The principal and his wife cooked up some of the best rice pudding I’ve ever had; fresh milk, sugar, rice, butter and coconut. The best part was this wasn’t desert, it was dinner.

I think the hardest part about eating was realizing that eating wasn’t an event as it is for us in the West, instead it was for sustenance. The lack of variety didn’t seem to phase the Nepalese. So for two weeks, I changed my perspective on food. I adapted and happily ate my dhal bhat, goat inards, and corn and was thankful to have boiled water and the occasional beer.

School Days

admin — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 16:03:29 +0000

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol. 8
9/8/08

The Primary School surrounded by mountains

To see snapshots of the school and the kids – click here! (opens new window)

To view all Village Photography click here! (opens new window)

The whole reason I came to Nepal was to volunteer and teach. In some way I was trying to recapture my rewarding experience that I had in Delhi last year I suppose. When I arrived however, I quickly realized that the teaching was a bit secondary to my culture shock that I was experiencing. Considering my new living environment in Puma, teaching was really the least of my concerns. I think I was so caught up in my own fears that I didn’t really put a lot of effort into worrying about teaching the children. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t put a lot of planning and thought into it, I certainly spent hours on the porch planning my lessons for each class the next day, but the teaching seemed secondary to me for some reason. I fell into a good groove with the teaching and it was very rewarding. A typical school day went something like this…

The kids awaiting for me to arrive

I go to school at 10am, and as soon as I start getting close to the little school high on the hill, I hear it. It is faint at first, but gains volume with each muddy step I take past the buffalos.
“Miss….Miss…”
“Namaste Miss”
“Miss, Miss, Goohd Moating!”
The kids gather in the yard and eagerly awaited my arrival. There’s a part of me that simply thinks they like watching me try to navigate my way through the steep rocks, the buffalos, the buffalo shit and the mud. Today, one of the boys came to my rescue and ‘shoo’d’ the buffalo out of my path as I was a bit scared to walk by a buffalo that was staring me down; that’s not an everyday occurrence for me and simply telling them to go away doesn’t quite work.

After greeting all of the kids with Namaste’s and ‘How are you?”, I take a seat inside with the teachers for about 20 minutes and I ask the principle what periods I can teach that day. Today he surprised me and said “No teach today.”
“What? No teach?” I reply a bit dazed and confused
“Yes, no teach.” He repeats
I look at him with a puzzled look wondering if I’ve done something wrong or if I just am misunderstanding him which is the typical situation
He takes the Nepali calendar (which is lunar) off the wall and points to a day on the calendar which I cannot read and says, “This today” then he moves his finger to some fine print in Nepalese script on today’s date and says “today for games”.
“Game day? What is that?” I reply in a surprised manner wondering if Bob Barker was going to show up with his prize wheel.

Only the boys showed up during Teej

As a side note, I really shouldn’t be surprised at all about game day. Since I’ve been here there have been 2 holidays and now one game day – this is all in the course of 1 ½ wks. It seems to me there is not a ton of school going on. The two holidays were special festivals for women…sounds great…right? Not so much. As I inquired more and more about Teej, I learned that it was a holiday celebrating women, but it was less of a holiday that celebrated women, and more of a holiday that celebrated women’s commitment to men. Red flag! What? I had to pause and try to put my western views aside; I tried to bite my lip as I inquired more about this subservient festival. Apparently, no on worked or went to school that day and instead the women dressed in red and visited the temple making offerings to the various Gods (sorry, there are really too many for me to keep up with the specifics), and the women fasted all day. Call me crazy, but fasting doesn’t sound like any type of holiday to me. These acts were to show the women’s devotion to their husbands and brothers. Two days after the fasting, the women once again had to go to temple and fast in the morning. This Theet Part II took me by surprise when only the boys showed up to school. The principal was once again left trying to explain why I wasn’t teaching that day. Instead of coming to school the women in the village did chores, cut buffalo grass, fetched water, watched the buffalo/goats, worked in the rice fields, etc.
Here’s a bit more official description:

“Teej” is the fasting festival for women. It takes place in August or early September. The festival is a three-day long celebration that combines sumptuous feasts as well as rigid fasting. Through this religious fasting, hindu women pray for marital bliss, well being of their spouse and children and purification of their own body and soul

When we did have class, I typically taught for an hour for each class. There were three classes of children; age 6/7, age 8/9, and age 10. Each were at different level of English, which basically meant the 10 yr olds knew more vocabulary than the younger kids and they could read the Roman letters better. The youngest kids really had to start at square one and we focused on colors, drawing, songs, and body parts.

I had to be rather inventive as the classrooms were bare; and the kids had minimal supplies (sometimes a pencil and paper). The only items in the classrooms were an old chalkboard with pieces of chalk that were no larger than ½ inch in length. I learned quickly that the teaching periods were very, very lose; nothing was very structured at all – at least in my western eyes there wasn’t a lot of structure.

The game of Cat and Rat!

Game day turned out to be a lot of fun. They taught me Nepalese songs about buffalos and rice fields. There was even a song about some man who was divorcing his wife, yet I’m a bit suspicious that I might have misunderstood the translation of that one! After the singing, we started to play organized games. First we played musical chairs….yet I looked around in confusion as there were no chairs. Soon the children were all running around gathering big stones; the substitute for chairs. Now the next hurdle was music…there’s no electricity at the school, so I wasn’t quite sure how they were accomplishing the musical part – but they brought out a drum and someone pounded on the drum as we all went around from rock to rock in a circle. I didn’t fare too well in the game as I’m not very good at running in flip flops whilst the kids were very adept to running in their bare feet – I didn’t stand a chance!

See video of the kids singing Nepalese songs for me – this one is about water I think!

The next game I had a chance at winning because it was in English! The principle drew a big circle in the dirt with a stick and we all gathered around it and played In/Out. The principle would say ‘in’ or ‘out and we would follow the instructions jumping in and out of the circle. Eventually he would trick someone and they would be out of the game. I stayed in the game until the last 5 kids and was eliminated; maybe I would have done better if it was in Nepalese. My lack of conversation in Puma has obviously impaired my English!

See video of the kids playing a game of tag!

Finally they played a game called Cat and Rat. I loved the fact that they used the term rat instead mouse. It was a type of tag and I sat that one out as I had more fun taking pictures of it! I taught them how to play hopscotch and the Hokie Pokie…in which they all stood there and stared at me at first as I ‘shook it all about’..but eventually joined in! Thank god as I was feeling rather silly! The principle handed out prizes and the kids went home early that day.

How can you resist these faces?!

I stayed around and talked to the teachers for a while. The main teachers room was full of stacks and stacks of books that had been donated from World Vision and other organizations. I asked the principle what they were going to do with the books and he referred to putting them in the library.
“What, there’s a library?” I remarked
He got a key and took me to the room next door and showed me a newly painted room in red, blue, green and yellow. He told me that this is to be the library. I was rather impressed and asked him where all of the furniture was and when it will be completed. He explained that the shelving, tables, and remaining items were down in Besisharha and that they didn’t not have the funds yet to bring the remaining furniture up to Puma via Jeep. I asked him how expensive it was to have the Jeep bring up the furniture and he said that is was 2,000 Rupees ($30 US ).

I went back to Didi’s that night and thought a bit about the stacks of books and the unfinished library. After living in Puma for 1 ½ weeks, I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t get as much time as I would like to actually teach the children due to festival schedule, game days, and trips to other villages. I counted up my Rupees and decided that I would provide the funding to get the last load of library equipment to the school. I felt like it was a way to provide more help considering I hadn’t done as much teaching as I originally thought I would. It doesn’t take long for the kids and the people of Puma to occupy a piece of your heart in this environment, and I wanted to provide as much as I could for them.

It seemed like the logical thing to do. After all, $30 is 3 mixed drinks in NYC and giving these kids access to books is much more important to me than martinis!

Barbot or Bust

admin — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 02:38:08 +0000

Innocence

Dhal Bhat Days Vol 7
9/5/08

To view snapshots of Barbot – click here! (opens new window)

To view the photography of Nepalese village life – click here! (opens new window)

What the F have I done? Just when I was starting to settle in – I agreed to turn my little village world upside down again. I think the Dhal Bhat is making me crazy. I’m traveling through some of the worst conditions for the past 8 hours. Maybe it is more mental than anything physical, but after the 6th hour of sweating profusely, feeling disgusting, and now trekking in the complete darkness up a trail that I cannot see – I started to cry. You know that feeling, tears welling up in your eyes, throat tightening; on the verge of letting it all lose. However I soon realized that it would get me absolutely nowhere. It wouldn’t even make me feel better. In fact, it would make me feel worse.

It was that moment that I realized I was not on any ‘organized’ trekking outing or tour where there was a leader responsible for taking care of me and my safety; someone that knew tourists were different than locals; our cultures are vastly different. I realized that I had absolutely no choice but to keep going – keep following in the dark. I had surrendered to the fact that when we arrived at our destination there would still be no one to talk to, no shower, no clean clothes, no comfortable bed, no sort of ‘visitor’s welcome’. Instead there would be more people staring at me in an environment where I am a complete oddity.

The Principal and I

Let me back up a bit, the principal of the school in Puma, Naba Raj, invited me to visit his village, Barbot. I was honored by the invite, but I actually had to stop and ponder this for a bit. This was not simply an invite to come across town and have dinner with his family. This was an invite for a journey down the mountain to Besisharha, to a local bus to another town, then yet another trek back up a different mountain. Naba does this every Friday to get to his home and it takes him 3 1/2 hours taking very steep shortcuts that I knew I couldn’t handle. So in my head this was more like a 6 hour journey if I was lucky. To top that off, in some weird way I had just become ‘comfortable’ with my little existence in Puma; the sleeping conditions, the toilet, the food. Did I really want to turn my little village world upside down again? Naba did not speak English very well so I knew that it would be a very solitary trip once again.

I decided to go. I felt like I was up for the challenge and I didn’t really have anything else to do, so what the hell. I decided in the name of photography and the Ottsworld blog I would accept his invitation.

The way to Barbot

I packed something to sleep in, my first aid kit, a pair of flip flops, my sleep sheet, toothbrush, soap, towel, and of course my camera and lenses. I didn’t have hiking boots, and decided to trek in my water sandals since the trails are normally wet and we frequently have to go through streams. These aren’t the ideal shoes to be trekking for 6 hours in, but it was really my only option. I tried to tell Naba that I was very slow and couldn’t walk as fast as him when climbing and descending. The Nepalese are like Kenyan marathon runners; fast beyond my comprehension. They wear cheap, plastic sandals that don’t fit and practically run up and down the steep stone trails that are typically wet and slick. I told him I preferred to stay on the jeep trail when possible as the other trails were the ones the locals used and were simply a vertical incline of stone steps. He obliged and we slowly made it down the mountain to the town of Besisharha. I was exhausted by the time we made it down as the sun was out and it was very hot. My clothes were soaked through with sweat. Naba had to stop at the education office in Besisharha so I simply sat and waited in an office. I found it amusing being inside an ‘office environment’ in a small town in the hills in Nepal. I compared their office with the cubicles that I was so used to in America. There were no computers, instead there were shelves and shelves of binders and stacks of papers. There were a number of ink stamps and a two hole punch that the women would use when they put another set of papers in a binder. I felt like I had stepped back into the 40’s.

We left the office to go catch a bus, but Naba soon learned that there were no buses running any longer due to mudslides. However, that story quickly changed when he talked to other people on the street. Actually, the story seemed to change every few steps, so we went to the bus area and waited. At this point I was at a mental and physical low, I was hot, sunburned, and hungry. I stupidly didn’t pack sunscreen, and I didn’t want to eat as I knew we would be on a bus that would turn my insides upside down; instead I had a coke and tried to imagine the sudden influx of sugar in my system energizing my mind and body. Soon Naba told me to follow him onto a crowded bus. We squeezed into a seat in the back near the window where the sun was beating down. I got out my pashmina and tried to drape it over me so that my sunburn would not get any worse. I squeezed into the back seat with 4 other people and my knees were crammed against the seat in front of me in a very uncomfortable fashion; I could not move an inch of my lower body. I said to Naba “The bus is running?” and he said that we wait here to see if it goes; it could be 2 hours before it leaves. I immediately started a mental panic….2 hours crammed in this seat in the sun going nowhere? I really wasn’t cut out for this. After about 45 minutes and 10 more people cramming on to an already full bus we left. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or scared…so instead I just tried to shut my eyes and find a happy place. I surrendered in my head; gave up; I was just a puppet at that point and would do and go wherever anyone told me. We kept stopping to pick up more people who sat up on the top of the bus and after 1 ½ hrs of bumpy travel on paths that shouldn’t even have the honor of being called a road – we made it to our destination. Ahhhh – but this was not our final destination; we still had to climb up the mountain again for another 3 hrs.

Curiosity

We took a short break for a coke at a market stand and sat down. A crowd of people gathered outside to see the ‘foreigner’ drink her coke. I was a rather popular attraction and apparently word traveled fast. We took off along the jeep trail again and I felt a bit revitalized; Coke does wonders. After about an hour we stopped at a colorful little village for a break; Naba’s brother lived here so he welcomed us with a glass of milk. I was a bit intestinally apprehensive about drinking the milk, but they had boiled it so I thought that it must be ok. As we sat and drank warm milk, the crowd started to gather to come look at me. I was beginning to get used to this celebrity status. However it was already 5PM and it gets dark around 7PM, so we took off again, however this time there was no jeep road. Instead we had 2 hrs of steep uphill climb ahead of us that I don’t think I was mentally prepared for. I started off ok – but soon I was soaked with sweat, breathing heavy, and blisters had started to form on my feet. After an hour and a half, it started to get dark and that’s when I hit my ultimate low and started to cry as I was following Naba. My tears didn’t last long and Naba was aware of them because I realized that it did me absolutely no good to cry – no one was coming to rescue me, I just had to deal with it.

Naba's House

We arrived at Naba’s house and I dreamed of having a shower, a big hamburger and beer and then falling asleep in a comfortable bed, but I had to settle with washing my feet and hands, changing out of my wet shirt, having rice and beans for dinner, making my way to a new outhouse in the darkness, and then going to bed on a mat with no padding and various rats hanging out in the ceiling above me (thank God for ear plugs). Sleep came fast to me that night…but I can’t say that it was a good, relaxing sleep. The next morning when I could actually see my surroundings, I surveyed the area a bit and then they started coming, the family, the friends, the kids – it was as if I was an attraction at the zoo. They would all come and stare and talk to each other about me. I know they were talking about me because they would all talk a bit, and then look at me, then start talking again and look at me. This didn’t bother me too much, as every so often I would try to ask Naba what they were talking about and he would try to give me an explanation of sorts. I had to accept the fact that I was an oddity to them; this wasn’t a village on the tourist trekking route.

Drying the Dhal

Naba and I spent the day walking from village to village around the area and I was able to photograph much of the daily life. Everyone wanted their photo taken, I was bombarded at times with photo requests. They would laugh in glee when I would show them the photo on the screen as if it were magic. As we would walk around it was as if I were the ice cream truck, everyone would come running. Kids would yell at their parents and soon everyone would come out and take a look at me. Naba had kindly arranged for me to talk with a few of his teaching colleagues that knew English rather well; this was really the nicest ‘gift’ anyone could give me besides a hot shower! These conversations were the highlight of my time there as I was finally able to ask some of the questions that I had been saving up for a couple of days. One man even had a masters degree in English so we talked about Nepali and American culture, politics, the role of women; it was delightful.

Seeing another village and staying with a different family provided me a different perspective. I realized that even in village living there are vast differences in quality of life. If I were giving labels – I would say that the family putting me up in Puma (Didi and Ama) were upper class and the Principal and his wife were middle class. Both well off in Nepali standards and well respected in their small communities; but there were subtle differences that I noticed in food quality, sleeping pads, size of home, clothing, size of kitchen and toilet. Little did I know, but I was living quite the ‘high’ life in Puma.

A beautiful smile

Even though I was enjoying my time in Barbot, there was something nagging me in the back of my mind…how hard was the journey back to Puma going to be. I dreaded the idea of having to do another 8 hr journey up and down the mountain and on a bus that may or may not be running. Naba had suggested that we go a different route back to Puma the next morning; one where it didn’t require a bus or the steep up and down, but the downside was that it would be a longer to trek and he warned me that there would be leaches. Wow…what a toss up….strenuous climbing and bus of death vs. leaches…what to do, what to do? Considering I hate doing the same thing twice – even if it is something that is known, I generally take the new path…so I opted for the leaches. After all, how bad could they be? Naba makes the trek to Puma via leach country in 4 hours, so I mentally prepared myself for a 7 hr. journey for my slow, old body.

The next morning, after many more photos (I seriously think the government of Nepal could employ me to simply go around and take family photos of village communities and make a directory) , we departed. Naba kindly provided me with a walking stick and carried one of my heavy bags. I think he did this in hopes that it would move me along a bit faster! The walk was hot and challenging at times, but I was doing fine and actually enjoying it until we reached the cold side of the mountain. Naba informed me that leaches congregate on the cold side of the mountain…a fact that I never really cared to know before.

Naba, his wife, and I

Sure enough it was as if the leaches could smell the foreign white skinned person plodding slowly along and they took the opportunity to pounce on me. Over the last week I have become a bit more comfortable with the occasional leach – no problem; but 5 at a time did not make me comfortable. It was difficult to keep up any decent pace when I had to constantly stop to pull the leaches off my shoes. Eventually I just gave up and tried not to look at my bloody feet and just keep walking until we got to a clearing where I could take off my shoes and pull them off and try to wash off the blood. After 90 minutes of this, Naba decided to tell me that there is a plant that is supposed to keep leaches away and heal the wounds. He picked some and I happily rubbed it all over my feet and put it in my sandals as he suggested. I would have been willing to pee on my own feet if it would make them go away…so a plant seemed pretty harmless.

We had a final push up a steep section and finally arrived in Balugpani, the village only 30 minutes away from Puma. I was so focused on trying to climb that I didn’t even realize that we were close, but was relieved when I knew that I had actually made it back. As I trekked into Puma, I was greeted by my students who came running to me to say hello – a ‘welcome home’ of sorts. It actually felt good to get back to my familiar surroundings and see familiar faces in this small foreign village. A feeling that took me completely by surprise.

At Last!

admin — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 09:33:41 +0000

Nepalese Shower

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol. 6
9/4/08

I think it’s happening – I’m settling into my travel life a bit more. I’m not fighting all of the change as much, and starting to accept. However, the key to all of this was to have some people to talk to. Today was a good day – I actually found some English speaking folks in the next village (about 30 min. walk away). At last, some conversation; it’s just what the doctor ordered! The Principal of the Puma primary school where I teach offered to take me over to the secondary school in Balungpani. I decided that I was up for an adventure, so I agreed to go along.

However, I started my day by finally overcoming my confusion and ‘fear’ of going to the public bathing area in the village to finally clean up a bit. I was feeling very gross after 3 days and I really couldn’t take it any longer. Luckily there is only one small 5×7 mirror in the house I am living in – so I don’t have to look at myself too often. I took my soap, shampoo, bucket, and towel up to the bathing and washing area and simply did the best I could dressed in running shorts and a tank top. I have no idea if I offended people or not – but at least I had clean hair – which improved my mood at least twofold. By the time I finished bathing I had a whole crowd of people watching me which felt a little strange, but I’m starting to get used to being the entertainment of the village.

When I came back to the house Didi had brought me a lungi, a traditional Nepalese wrap skirt, for me to wear today. She also came and provided me with a Hindu blessing placing some red coloring and rice on my forehead. She basically dressed me all up and sent me off to school. Even though Didi and I can’t communicate too much, we have been getting by and I feel like my presence here is certainly welcomed.

My goofy boys!

Today I taught the kids about body parts, and at recess I taught them hop scotch and we did a round of hokie pokie once I figure out what right and left was in Nepali. I personally think that the goofier I act the more the kids like me – they seem to get a kick out of the goofy foreigner with blonde (clean) hair. After school today the principle and I went for a trek to the next village where I was able to get the best therapy anyone could offer…actual English conversation…full sentences at last!!! The principle of the secondary school in Balungpani was a dream come true to me – he was fluent in English and we sat and talked about all the questions that had been burning inside of me for the last week. He drank tea and I had a Coke…oh joy; my first coke in a week! I think I was high from the sugar rush and the conversation! We even talked about politics. It was rather amazing that in a village with sporadic electricity he had seen Obama’s acceptance speech and I hadn’t. Once again – I was reminded that the rest of the world loves the US democratic party. He was pro-Obama all the way.

He took me on a tour of the secondary school and I was very impressed with what they had been able to do there thanks to many donations from various organizations. It was exactly what I needed to see – things that made a difference. It sort of renewed me in a way. They had just built a new 2 story building thanks to donations from the UK.

Balungpani Secondary School - Built with Donations

The principal, Bill, had networking down to a science; he did a great job of raising money for his school. The secondary school was attended by kids over the age of 10 from many villages around the area. Puma kids went there after they were 10 yrs of age. There was another volunteer there from the UK teaching English for a week. He was young and going back to University in a week, but I can’t tell you how elated I was to talk to a native English speaker – someone to sort of commiserate with. I literally felt like I was tripping over my words I was so excited!

Me at the village 'stoop' with my constant crowd of onlookers. This is what it's like to be Angelina Jolie - kid's everwhere! PS - yes - I know the picture is blurry...but I had to try to teach someone to use 'the magjic' (how they referred to my camera)!

We came back to Puma and hung out on the stoop in the village (a lookout area that you can see down the mountain over the rice fields; the gathering place for people to sit and talk). In some strange way I was starting to feel as if I was myself again in this strange environment. I was interacting with people on various levels and that’s what was most important to me. Later that evening Didi and I looked through her pictures of her family and had our typical choppy conversation. However, it is to get easier now.

As much as I hate this process of reconditioning myself, I also love it. The rewards are plenty.

Nepal Photography – Village Life

admin — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 11:44:50 +0000

Barber of Barbot

I thought I would give you all a break from the writing and present my photography from the villages I visted. This is the ‘best of’ the village photography.

View my Nepal Village Photography at my Global Photography website!

Fee free to browse around and remember that I sell these prints! If you are at all interested in adding some art to your walls, or simply supporting me, please click on that shopping cart!

Saved By Youth

admin — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 16:37:19 +0000

Kids of Puma

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol. 5
9/3/08

I hit a low today. I think it was due to many different things; but what affects me the most is not being able to have any type of conversation with anyone. I’m not simply sitting here silent – I am trying to form together a few words whenever I can, but it is very hard to get a question out or a sentence out when you really just know the words for rain, good, small, big, eat, house, leach, you, my, tomorrow, mother, sister, father, I and water. Great if I want to say “you eat tomorrow” or “I eat leach” or “mother rain water”…but you can’t do much more than that with my limited Nepalese vocabulary. I’ve been writing down my questions in the hopes that when someone does come by that knows any English, I can start to ask them all of my questions.

The day started like normal, I woke up to the sounds of a rooster and the smell of cow shit. As a side note, I think that me having to sleep over the cow barn is the universe’s way of payback. When I was a kid, we’d take family vacations and when we went by cow barns, I would profess to love the smell of the cow barn. I would sniff loudly and say how good it smelled; leaving my brother and sister utterly disgusted. Actually I’m sure that I didn’t really like the smell – but what I did like is that it pissed my brother and sister off. When you are the youngest you will do anything to make your brother and sister mad. If they liked something, I didn’t. If they hated something, I liked it. So, I hope my brother and sister are reading this as they should be happy now that karma has come my way in the village of Puma as I sleep over the smelly cow stall.

Children in the village

I got up and went to the bathroom as my bladder was about to burst since I would push my bladder to the limit by not getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. Else I would have to go outside in the pouring rain, pitch dark, and brave the leaches and huge spider; instead I would just hold it. I went to the outhouse and spotted Charlotte (I had to give the spider a name so it would seem less intimidating), and that’s when I noticed that Charlotte had invited a friend into her home (my bathroom) –another huge spider. Seriously – was I being tested? So I named this one Wilbur and did my business. I remembered to check my feet for leaches afterward and washed up a bit.

My intention today was to finally take a ‘shower’. However this wasn’t as easy as one would think. First, with no plumbing, there is no shower. Instead there is a pubic wash area where the water flows. Everyone goes to this area and washes clothes, their bodies, and gather water for their home in huge metal jugs. You can imagine my concern when I was trying to figure out exactly how to go about this public bath. Do you bath with your clothes on? Did you ‘shower’ under the spout or take a bucket with you and do the ‘bucket shower’? Is there a line? What is the bathing etiquette? I had millions of questions but no way to really ask them. Sure, I tried charades, but that didn’t get me too far. So I decided to go one more day without a shower in the hopes that I would find someone that I could ask my questions to. I put on some baby powder instead.

I taught all day today and it went fine, yet it was challenging as usual as the kids vary in their abilities. Plus they are like me learning Nepali; they know vocabulary words, but don’t know how to put them together in a sentence. They love to watch me and mimic me though; that can be hours of fun. After school I said goodbye to the kids and arrived back at my house and hit a low. I sat there and was completely frustrated that I couldn’t talk to anyone in a complete sentence. Plus, what seems to piss me off more is that every time I am trying to recall a word in Nepalese, the Italian word pops into my head. Hell, I couldn’t seem to remember the Italian when I was trying to learn Italian a year ago, but now it seems to just come back to me – when it does me absolutely no good. In fact I lay awake at night and think of a bunch of Italian words and I can normally remember them with ease. I think my brain is misfiring.

Didi's Nephew

After trying once again to have the conversation with Didi about the ‘public’ shower and how to go about it, I was defeated. I had decided that I would wear my running shorts and jog bra up there if I had to and figure out how to do it regardless. As the night began to fall, two kids came over to the house. They were older teenagers and nicely dressed. Didi explained that the kids were her niece and nephew (when I say explained…I mean more like somehow said the word sister and kid and I put together the rest). This was her way of providing me some answers to my charade questions. She had her niece and nephew come by who knew more English then she did. After all, the youth of the world typically know more English then their elders. It wasn’t as if conversation easily flowed – but we got through it and I have a better idea of how to go about bathing now. In addition I was able to get through a number of other questions that I had such as will the spider in the bathroom pounce on me? They assured me that the spider will not bite me. However, the most important thing is that for the first time, I was having a conversation – and I could laugh and feel a bit human again. Thank god for youth.

Powers of Observation

admin — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 12:39:33 +0000

Containers of Water

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol. 4
9/2/08

For snapshots of Puma – click here!

It rained last night like I’ve never experienced before in my life. I now understand the meaning of Monsoon season. Sure, maybe it was amplified in my mind as it sounds worse when you are sleeping under a tin roof; it echoed through my little barn room as if someone was dumping gravel from above. At one point I did actually consider that the whole mountain might float away. It was better to think of that rather than the huge spider that I saw above my bed before I fell asleep.

The rain means more leaches, which somehow like to attach to me. It’s kind of like how bees seems to flock to one person…I am the leach magnet; I think I am also the laughing stock of the village because of it. Or maybe the leaches just like my lily white skin. I must have gotten this one when I got up and went out to the outhouse bathroom. I was so concerned about the huge spider that lives out there that I must not have paid attention to the leaches…priorities. I know, I know – you are probably wondering why a person that is not comfortable with spiders is living in a remote village in Nepal. I’m comfortable with regular spiders – not huge hairy spiders in my ‘bathroom’ the size of my hand and lightening fast. I mean really – is anyone comfortable with that? Yes…the people in the village Puma are.

Ama

Most of my day is spent observing. Since I can’t really effectively communicate with anyone here, that pretty much just leaves observation. Yet the observations leave me with many questions unanswered. Sometimes I will take 20 minutes to simply try to look up how to ask a simple question like “Who is that woman” or “What is in all of the jugs”. But most of all, it has left me with questions about Didi (older sister in Nepalese and Hindi). Didi is name I call the woman who is boarding me. I don’t really know her name, as people don’t really use names here much. I do know that she has the largest house in the village, she is the village community chairperson, is clearly well respected among all, and she lives with her mother, Ama (mother in Nepalese). She also has 1 dog, 1 little skinny kitten that I’m in love with, 2 water buffalo (that’s very impressive in village culture), and 5 chickens. She’s amassed quite a good life here in Puma.

Did in traditional Gurung Dress

Didi speaks very little English, but we get by when we have to. I am unable to have long conversations with her, but we have exchanged the sentences such as “Are you married?”
”No, I am not married” I said
“I not married” she said. She then asked me “Why no married?”
Oh how I could write a book on this answer….but I had to remember my audience…she didn’t know English words or concepts like “independence”, “freedom”, “waiting to find the right person”. So instead I said “Me no like marriage”. I asked her “Why you no married?”
She replied, “Me no like marriage” and laughed as we had found some sort of bond in our lack of ability to hold a conversation.

This specific exchange left me with many additional questions that I wanted to ask, but could not. This is one of the first women I have met in Asia within a rural area that is clearly powerful, smart, independent and isn’t married. So the obvious question is why doesn’t she like marriage? I’m absolutely fascinated with this. She is a very strong woman – the other night she heard a rat in the kitchen and got a pipe and went looking for it by candle light. I was a bit intimidated.

Baby Doll

When I travel I get asked if I am married all of the time; when I say no, the next question is ALWAYS “Why?” I’m left trying to explain that my parents haven’t abandoned me and that in Western culture it isn’t that unusual to be unmarried. People always look at me as if I am a lost cause and they still blame my parents for not trying to find me a mate. On top of all of this shocking discovery, I found out that she also doesn’t like babies as evidenced by her carrying a big stick and waving it at the kids to go away. I can only imagine what the kids think of her! So, I have finally encountered someone from an Asian culture that isn’t married and doesn’t want kids, but I’m left here dying to know more. How the tables have turned.

Putting aside relationship status, there are many other observations that I have taken in. I have determined that even though there are bugs, rats, leaches, and the ‘houses’ are a step above a shack in our western eyes; the women here keep the place spotless. They spend a great deal of time cleaning up…which is quite a feat considering there is no running water in the house. They have to walk up the mountain to get to the water (a waterfall) and then fill big metal containers that weigh at least 30 pounds and they carry them on a basket on their back with a strap around their forehead which bares all of the weight. There is a whole system to the water usage that I’ve started to figure out. What they use for drinking and what they use for washing are different. The water inventory is closely watched and it’s clearly first in first out. I’ve tried to figure out a method to the way they wash the plates, glasses, pots and pans – it is so thorough and it involves at least 3 different pots of water that all seem the same to me but leaves me thinking that they must be different. Regardless I know that the items are clean even though they aren’t using soap. They sweep the house at least 4 times a day and no shoes are allowed past the porch.

So I continue to observe and slowly try to form sentences that ask burning questions that aren’t open ended. It’s amazing how long the days are when all you do it sit around and observe.

Learning How to Remove Leaches

admin — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 16:46:07 +0000

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol 3
8/31/08

Stairway

Snapshots from this day of the journey can be found here!

Photography from Nepalese Villages – click here!

Today I arrived at the village of Puma where I will be staying for 2 weeks. It’s pretty much what I thought it would be in my ‘prepare for the worst’ expectations. Yet I don’t know that one can ever be prepared to pull big leaches off their body.

Khadgo leading me to Puma

We got up early in Besisharha And Khadgo went to inquire about taking a Jeep to the village of Puma – up in the mountains about 1 hour away by Jeep. “The road to Puma is very poor.” This is what Khadgo told me, and he’s Nepalese; when a Nepalese person says something is bad – then it is worse than bad in my mind. We wouldn’t even call it a drivable road in America. With all of the mud slides and rain from the previous day, he wasn’t sure if the Jeep could even make it through. He came back to me while I was eating breakfast and broke the news to me – the Jeeps can’t make it through, we would have to hike to Puma. This was ok with me for three reasons; I would have been terrified of being a passenger anyway as the ‘road’ was steep and narrow, I thought the exercise would be good for me as I love to trek, and I wasn’t in any hurry to arrive at the village due to all of my fears about being there anyway.

Unfortunately, if I had known this, I might have packed a little differently…like much, much lighter! I took my big pack and Khadgo took my other two packs with computer and camera and we took off. I loved the trekking. It was definitely challenging as I’ve never had to carry a pack that big while trekking before. Normally porters carry the bags, but I was my own porter today.

The home of my hosts in Puma

It took us 3 ½ hours to make it up the mountain to the Puma village. The last part of the hike we went through muddy/watery rice fields as a ‘short cut’. That is when it happened…the leaches. I of course didn’t know this until I took off my sandals after we arrived at my guest house. I had 3 big leaches and 2 small ones on my feet. I pretty much freaked out. They told me that there could be leaches here, and I’ve had them before, but they’ve been small, not like these big ones that were happily attached to me. I tried to stay calm, but I’m sure that the panic on my face was a give away that this is something that didn’t happen regularly in NYC to me. In NYC I just go for pedicures, the little pedicure ladies are the only ones that touch my feet – not leaches.

Khadgo quickly took his chewing tobacco (unused) and put it on the leaches and then he pulled them off. See, I learned something today – if you want to remove a leach, have chewing tobacco, they come off much easier and less painfully than pulling them off. Apparently salt and lemon also work. Tuck that info in your survival handbook just in case you find yourself in a similar situation. After they were pulled off blood started gushing everywhere…those little suckers work fast. Seriously, I’ve never had something bleed so much before. It’s worse than nicking yourself shaving – it’s like they drill into a vein or something! We cleaned it off with water that is undrinkable for me, and the situation was handled.

The walk to my outhouse

The house that I was staying in was big in village terms. But for those of you out there reading this, it wouldn’t be a house to you, so don’t get some vision that it has 2 bathrooms, carpeting, and a living room. Instead it is a concrete/mud structure with a porch that you sit on, an outdoor fire pit and an indoor fire pit (2 kitchens…practically a mansion) and an upstairs room where the family sleeps. It has electricity, but no plumbing. The women fetch water from the many waterfalls around the village. The ‘bathroom’ is an outhouse with a squat toilet and a bucket of water. Overall, there were no big surprises to me, until I went into the outhouse and saw the HUGE spider that is also in the outhouse. There’s nothing better than doing your business in the dark a huge spider to jump on you. Can I just give up now?

Trust me – I did consider giving up…but there was no real way to do that either…so I had to survive and go on.

My room above the buffalos

My room is not in the main house, in fact I have a little room all to myself just off of the house; over the cow stable. Can you imagine the smell? It also has a host of spiders in it, after all, it is a barn. I’ve tried my best to make peace with all of the spiders; they have their space and I have mine. Hopefully we won’t intrude on each others space; .at least I pray that’s the case. The room isn’t too bad, you get used to the smell and honestly it’s about what I was expecting. Yet when I woke up in the middle of the night and heard the rats, I started wearing ear plugs after that.

What I wasn’t expecting is that there is no one here to speak English with at all. According to my volunteer company, there was supposed to be a man that lived in the village that is to be my ‘contact’. A person that can speak some English and looks in on me, answers questions, is my contact back to the modern world, etc. However, I got here today and we found out that his father-in-law has taken ill so he is away and no one knows when he will be back.

My Spider...I won't miss her...

After depositing me with my ‘host family’ Khadgo had to leave me. So here I am – all alone with no way to communicate. When Khadgo left I had to fight back tears as I really felt like I was being abandoned. Sure the woman and her mother that I would be living with seemed nice for the 5 minutes I spent with them, but they didn’t speak English and I was all alone up here on the hill – 3 ½ hrs from any sort of civilization. I felt like I was about 7 years old again; completely helpless. Before he departed, Khadgo said that if there is an emergency that I can call on the family’s cell phone. I talked myself out of the tears, I had to. My image of myself was coming crashing down, and I couldn’t let it plummet any further; I couldn’t give up, that’s not who I am.

Before Khadgo left, he took me on a quick walk around the village where we went to go see the school. The school is very minimal and there are about 20 children in all. The principle at the school speaks minimal English and the other two teachers speak even less. I’m not at all clear on how the school operates and what and when they want me to teach, but that’s my cross to bear tomorrow. Today was just for learning how to remove leaches…one day at a time, one day at a time.

Landslides and Local Buses

admin — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 12:39:13 +0000

Dhal Bhat Days – Vol. 2
8/30/08

For snapshots of the muddy journey – click here!

Mudslides abound

Today was the day the surrender happened; surrendering to my new environment. I believe this to be the first surrender, I think there will be many more. I met my ‘guide’ Khadgo in the morning in Kathmandu and we set out to go catch a ‘minibus’ to the village of Puma an approximate 6 hr journey. Khadgo was not really my guide, but more of the delivery man. He was supposed to deliver me to the village and then leave. We went to the ‘bus area’ of Kathmandu which was really more of a mud pit with various size buses and minivans packed full of people way beyond any safe capacity limit. I realized that this I was going to be riding one of these mini-vans and that sort of put the fear of God in me. I hadn’t quite made the transition to easy going vagabond yet – that honestly takes a few weeks after coming out of a comfortable Western culture…but I was getting the crash course in culture shock over the last two jet-lagged days and I had to stop fighting it. Khadgo negotiated a place for us to sit in the back of the minivan. He told me to sit by an open window as fresh air had to help in this situation. These are the mini-vans that I had sense tons of times around the world; Africa, Malaysia, Indonesia, Morocco, and India. The vans that were crammed full of people (and sometimes livestock) with people peering out at me riding in my taxi; looking at me as if they were begging me for help silently saying “Get me out of here please” with their eyes. Now I was going to be one of them.

Polluted Travel

In any western culture, this van was not meant to seat more than10 people max. We started with 15 people in the van. Granted – this van shouldn’t have even been running by western standards…bellowing out black smoke, clunking in idle as if a bolt were rattling around somewhere, no shocks, and I just prayed the breaks worked. The only thing that I knew worked for sure was the horn…the horn always works because you couldn’t even get out of the parking lot without a horn in Nepal.

By the 3rd stop there were 18 passengers. Then just when you thought there is no way they can fit more people in this death trap, we stopped again and let two more people in …and a refrigerator. I’m not kidding, they hoisted a medium size refrigerator on top and secured it down along with the other luggage up there (including my backpack). I had my camera and my small backpack with my computer in the van on my lap and Khadgo’s lap. So – with 20 people in the van, me in the far back corner of the van head out of the window and high on Dramamine…we took off. The driver, a young Nepalese boy, thought that he was in Nascar. In between dozing off (thanks god for Dramamine) and being painfully lucid, I watched the boy act as if he were Luke Duke driving the General Lee at breakneck speeds. We were going around hair pin turns so fast and hard that he would hang his head and upper body out the window when he was turning right and then move his whole body left when he was turning left. I think it was an upper body workout for him; the passengers were bobble head dolls. We’d weave in and out of oncoming traffic narrowly avoiding other trucks and buses. Don’t think that he was the only one doing this…this is how everyone drives.

My vantage point in my microbus

At one point there was a murmur on the bus and Khadgo leaned over and told me that a truck just went over the side of the mountain…I said “What?!”, hoping that I had lost something in translation. He proceeded to point to the area of the plummeting truck as we rounded another turn. You could easily look across and see that a huge truck just plummeted to it’s death. I told Khadgo “Please don’t tell me this stuff, it freaks me out.” I took another Dramamine hoping to drug myself enough to get through this ride. I thought about my family and friends and said a silent goodbye just in case though.

After about 3 hours we came to a stop and I was awakened from my doped up sleep. The driver and ‘conductor’ got out and went to see what was going on with the cars in front of us and they came back, said something in Nepali at which everyone erupted and they started getting out. Khadgo told me to wait while he went to find out what was going on. He exited through the back window that I had been hanging out of as it was the easiest way out of the packed van. Soon he came back and gave me the bad news. The road had numerous landslides (it is monsoon season after all – I probably should have checked into that before I decided upon this crazed adventure), and there was no way the cars or minivan could get through…it was closed, but it was the only way to Besishahar. He told me that we would need to get our bags and walk about 5 km to get to the other side where the buses could get through.

Muddy crossing

All I could do was laugh…this was my first surrender; surrendering my patience. I strangely was ok with all of this (maybe because it was safer than riding in the minivan), or maybe I had just realized that this is what happens in developing countries…you just have to roll with it. Nothing is surprising, or out of the ordinary, you just have to be patient and let things happen.

Unfortunately I wasn’t really dressed or packed for a 5k trekking outing in which we would have to be wading through water, mud, and rocks. I rolled up my pant legs, changed into my water sandals, and strapped on my 50 pound pack (including camera), and we took off. All I can say is that it is a good thing that I am moderately in shape else it would have been a disaster.

We walked for an hour and a half through mud, waterfalls, rocks; about 6 different mud slides in all. I was drenched with sweat and hungry, but I didn’t want to eat anything for fear of getting ill in the next bus. So I settled on a coke and we kept going until we reached the buses at the other side. It was a pilgrimage of sorts and we had made it.

View from Besishahar - Puma is up there on the mountain in the clouds

We reached Besishahar about 3 hours after we had originally anticipated therefore we were unable to go any further to the village that night – we had to stay in Besishahar. After I had a shower and a beer, I felt good about the day. I felt like it was my first step to surrendering to my surroundings. Yet I knew there would be many more steps to come as I was still terrified about staying in the village. But at least I was one step closer to coping with it all. I lost a bit of ‘America’ today – and that was good; that’s exactly what needs to happen for me to get through these 2 weeks here.

Abrupt Transitions

admin — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 13:36:14 +0000

Dhal Bat Days - Vol. 1

8/30/08

New Cultures

Oh my God – what have I done? I kind of feel like it’s my first week at college again where I miss my friends and my comfortable life and wonder how the hell I’m ever going to make it.

I arrived in Kathmandu after 27 hours of travel from NYC to Nepal…My body and mind felt like mush, on top of it I had cramps. I was excited to be in a new country again – yet a bit intimidated to be doing this all by myself. When I left on my around the world travel 2 years ago, I left with a group of friends who I could talk to and in some way that could comfort me and ease me into the solo adventure. Plus – I went to a country where I was taken care of by a friend who lived there; once again preparing me gently for what was to come. It was a nice transition.

However, this transition was anything but nice; in fact the whole thing has been terrifying to me. Maybe I got to cocky and thought that I was tougher than I really am. Maybe I got too soft in the US where life is easy. I’m not sure what it was but this transition has knocked me on my ass and has left me freaking out thinking “What have I done?” Going from shiny, bright, clean, NYC, the epitome of western culture, to Kathmandu Nepal felt as if I had left this planet and traveled light years away. Nepal is like India. I’m not sure why I hadn’t realized that before I stepped off the plane, but I didn’t. I was thinking that it might be a bit more developed than India…but trust me – it isn’t. In fact, in some ways – it’s harder than India. Delhi had pockets of calm and of places you could go to get some western pampering…but I’ve yet to find anything like that here…then again I haven’t been looking too hard either I suppose. The streets are terrible and the traffic is crazy – beyond crazy; trying to walk down the muddy ‘street’ is a death wish. It’s monsoon season so it’s muddy and wet and you share the road with bikes, people, motorcycles, cars, buses, cows – it’s a massive mess where every step is possible death – or at the very least a severe injury. I remember India like this, but for some reason it seemed a bit more civilized there – maybe because there seemed to be more open space. Here it’s a 1 ½ lane road surrounded by buildings with no where to go to get out of the way. It’s dirty, it smells, I have no hot water, I’m just waiting to get sick, the bed is a foam pad. Sure, I’ve dealt with all of these things before, but not after I had spent 8 months of easy living in America. I had normally come from one bad condition to another…so it never seemed that shocking before. This time I was shocked.

Holy Men

I all of a sudden was flooded with memories of what I left behind and thought why did I do this to myself? I’m all alone in a challenging situation and regret starts slipping into my head….but I can’t let it….yet it really, really wants in.

I met with the man that runs the volunteer organization. I knew this would be very different from my last volunteer experience. When I volunteered in India with a US organization, I knew I would be taken care of well, doted on even – after all – the cost was $3000 – which was really because they had staff to completely support us. This volunteer stint that I as doing in Nepal was $340 – so I knew that you get what you pay for…and I thought I could handle that. Yet now I’m really wondering if I can. Once again – on top of it all I am reminded that I’m on my own, which can make a difficult situation ever more difficult. Let’s just say that there isn’t much support here…it’s ok while I’m in Kathmandu, but once I get to this village – I’m terrified. In fact, the more I hear about the village I get even more terrified. I think I‘m tough – but I am currently doubting that right now as I sit in my lonely room awake thanks to jet lag.

In the ‘orientation’ that I was put through, I learned that I will be eating rice and beans every day for 2 weeks; a type of real life Survivor. They told me that I should expect to get sick at some point too thanks to all of the new bacteria waiting to invade my virgin western stomach. In order to get to the village, there is a jeep that runs but the road is quite poor and steep; they told me that if I was scared, I should just tell the jeep to stop and I could get out and walk. First I should learn the Nepali word for ‘stop’ I suppose. Oh yeah – and I also found out that there will be a community bathing area in which I will need to bath in front of everyone from a large bucket of cold water. Then I was informed that the village that I will be living in has many leaches, but I simply have to pull them off. Mind you, leaches were never in the brochure. Yet, maybe the most terrifying thing to me is that I will be completely shut off from the outside world. No internet, no friends, nobody to converse with in English. My two days of Nepali language class while I was severely jet-lagged isn’t going to get me through any meaningful conversation besides ‘my name is Sherry’.

On top of this – I have to figure out how to teach…I honestly don’t know what to worry about more, eating beans and rice for 15 days, bathing in front of everyone, leaches, having diarrhea, falling off a cliff, or teaching kids everyday. It’s all a toss up.

Bhuddist Prayer Wheel

I’ve been trying to remind myself that the first few days in a new country/city are always like this – very shocking and very scary; but eventually you get used to it and ease into it. It never seems as bad as it first did when you arrived. So I’m really hoping that that feeling takes hold and this immense load of worry that I’m carrying on my shoulders goes away. I know that at some point your brain just gives up and resets itself – much like when I was climbing Kilimanjaro. You stop fighting it and just give in to your surroundings. Unfortunately, I haven’t stopped swinging yet…

This whole process has made me totally forget about my fears of Vietnam for now, yet it is there in the back of my head. What if I can’t live like this? What do I do?

To top things off tonight, I wanted to get some stories posted that I had been working on – and I wanted to check email before going into the hell that I have subjected myself to. Little did I know – there’s a daily power outage in Kathmandu and as I was writing my email to my friend in the hopes of feeling better getting some of this off of my chest – the power goes out and the whole city is black. I am writing this by candle light right now. My cell phone doesn’t work – and the fact that I’m completely cut off makes me want to cry; but I won’t. Why won’t my brain just give in? Maybe it would if there was someone to talk to about all of this…to laugh about it…to commiserate with…but there is no one. Just me and this keyboard. Instead – I didn’t even get to feel like I could say goodbye for two weeks. I just hope that I persevere and make it though.

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