200 Miles of Zen Buddhist Germans, et al

After realizing that the reason the bus had left from Kathmandu fifteen minutes early was that we were not on the bus that we'd paid for, we forked over for three fresh tickets rather than risking waiting on the roadside until the proper bus came by. After all, we can't even read the writing on the things, and there's no way we would've known which one to hail. In any event, the second bus was cheaper, so at least we got a deal on one of them.

A few hours later we arrive in Besishahar to see the seedling of the spectacle that was to become our lives for the following weeks. Hoards of "trekkers" readying themselves and their gear and their porters and their guides for a trip of 200 miles around one of the world's great peaks (measured by distance from the sea, the world's 9th greatest), where neither porters nor guides are even remotely necessary save for the most inept of tourists. That said, there was a plethora of inept tourists. Particularly from France, not that that means anything...

But rather than bore you here with detailed accounts of every peak towering above the valley floor in a manner previously inconceivable; and rather than try in futility to describe them so that you understand the magnificence, the magic of the place - after all, everyone's seen pictures and you still don't understand. Even if you think you do, you don't. The only way to know the place is to stand under the Nigliris as they turn pink in the sunset miles above, with Dhaulagiri brushing off its rank as the fifth highest while shrugging behind you calmling observing, "do you really think I care about such petty things? Leave it to humans to try to classify what they can't comprehend..." - yes, rather than bore you with endless details of the Himalaya, I'll just provide a snapshot: duality, dichotomy, contradictions.

Oxcarts plowing fields and four star resorts with helipads. Workers (probably what Marx had in mind when he wrote of peasants) hammering away with picks and shovels at sheer rock walls and throwing boulders into the abyss below in their quest to open the region to access by roads, while trekkers trot past them to get to the next town with the next good view and the "german bakery" so they (we) can enjoy apple pie. Prayer flags flying buddhist mantras alongside shrines to Vishnu, Shiva, and the rest of the Hindi crew. When thoughts of the western world creep into mind, the dichotomy enhances: the 21st century versus a lifestyle stemming to before christ.

And, of course, geography. The trek begins in the tropical heat of Besishahar only to climb steadily past throngs of tourists retreating from the unseasonable depths of snow leading to Thorong La Pass. In fact, we ditch the tropics for the alpine and affirm the claims - about 3 meters of white bliss has fallen on the pass. As a little preparation, I lead my father up toward Ice Lake - at 15,000 feet, we have to post-hole most of the way; and we never even found the stupid thing. Little worry, though, for the view of Annapurna III, II, and Gangapurna makes the turnaround at just under 15,000 feet well worth it. Then, we truck further toward the apex. On the final morning, my father is gidgety but we successfully dissuade his ridiculous mention of a porter and prod him skyward. We leave Thorong Phedi "Base Camp" at 7:00 am, 3.5 hours after the first crew of inept French people. After passing them and most of the rest of their kin who reminded me continuously of the Everest disaster of 1996, we arrive at the pass somewhere near 11. So there we stood, one woman who had her ACL replaced six months ago, a man who was born in 1942, and, well, me - all in a row. A row 18,000 feet above the sea in snow up to our waists. Not bad....

Then the final duality - we descend into the depths, where Annapurna I and Dhaulagiri stand as gatekeepers above the Kali Gandaki - the deepest gorge in the world.

All the while as we alternated between intense experiences and relaxing Tuborg Beer, Chhang, Racksi, and apple brandy sessions, we always had something to keep the mind busy. And we always reveled in the moment, and the opportunity at every encounter to simply love life.



Oh, and Maoists. The dicotomy doesn't dissolve with thoughts of Maoists, it enhances. Nepal is a country engaged in an all out civil war. Military road blocks line the "highways" and hype is endlessly exaggerated. However, soldiers rarely have ammunition, we think, and many have rags stuffed in their WWII era rifles. On the trek, one forgets entirely about the travel warnings and the terrified Americans in their society of fear who repeatedly plea that "you can't go to Nepal now, it's not safe."

Though many areas through which our route passed were supposed to be through areas controlled by communist ambitions, we only encountered a Maoist "checkpoint" on the final day. Even then, the procedure is less than intimidating - two small unarmed men flash a pack of receipts and, mostly to avoid a lengthy discussion, we hand over 15 dollars each and move on with proof of payment in hand. Of course, one must think of the atrocities committed by such interests in the past years and of just where this money will be spent; but alas, to pay the park fee to the legitimate royal government is to support corruption which robs people of rights and of life perhaps as frequently. Not to mention the taxes we pay at home - where does that money go? Go check out this week's newsweek for a clue, and follow up with a phone call to John McCain to ask him how supportive Bush has been of his bill to ban torture by the US armed forces. Bush, or if you prefer a more party-neutral approach - Washington, and the Maoists may not differ so much in their stances on human rights as many might believe.

Anyhow, we emerged back into civilization, sort of. (but not before running into Steve Gore - a high school classmate of mine - six years out of GWHS and as far away from Denver as possible) We spend a day in Pokhara, then back to this capital city to jettison my father and spend a night sleeping on cold pavement outside of the Indian Embassy to get the first of two visa forms submitted in the morning.

Today, we head to Tumlingtar in Eastern Nepal - partly to kill time while our forms are processed at the ever-more-ridiculous Indian Embassy, and partly to get well off of the tourist track and see what's in the middle of nowhere Eastern Nepal. We've packed peanut butter and cheese, so we should be all set.

Yet again Asia strikes and I'll be out of touch for a week or two. Happy Thanksgiving to all, and Retox - leave it to you to discount all your previous knowledge of the world in exchange for what was learned on a single rock climb. Perhaps the rest of humanity has something to learn from you.