Everest 7 - Base Camp and Irrational Spirituality

Today certainly wasn’t a bad day, my hikes just didn’t possess that magic they had in the past few days.  What the day lacked in breathtaking views and “moments”, it more than made up for in new, exploding thoughts.

When I woke up, I just didn’t “feel” the hiking.  Maybe it was because I was physically exhausted from walking with a 35 pound pack on my back for the past ten days, or I was emotionally exhausted from the beauty that had been assaulting my senses.  Either way, I really just wanted to hang out in the common room and read a book.  Still, I asked myself “How often am I in the Himalayas?”, and forced my trekking boots on and walked on to Base Camp.

Of course the hike was gorgeous.  It was the same peaks, valleys and snow that nearly brought me to tears the past two days, but some of the magic was gone.  I tried using the Key, but it simply wasn’t effective.

Things turned up a bit when I was at trekkers base camp and chose not to go to the Climbers Base Camp.  A guide told me that trekkers were supposed to stop here and the views weren’t really going to be any better or different at the climbers camp, so I resigned to stop hiking for the day.  I watched a group walk further toward the Climbers Base Camp, and found a comfy rock to lay on and soak up the sun.  Here, I was not driven to the point of tears, but a bit of that magic seemed to creep back into me.

This brings up something I only briefly touched on the other day.  Until now all aspect of this figurative Travelers Key I’ve been carrying with have been mental processes.  They’re all states of mind.  None of them involve actions.  How could I ignore this?  A couple days ago I sensed there was a relationship between the Key and following your soul, heart, intuition or whatever you want to call it.  Now, I think that listening to that irrational aspect of self that tells you what to do isn’t related to the key, it’s part of it.

In the shadows of Lhotse Mountain I reveled in this new understanding for a bit.  Gratitude, clear mind and egolessness could only do so much if you were betraying a fundamental aspect of yourself.  And what is this aspect?  I’ve placed a lot of new age sounding word on it, but at it’s core it’s just doing what you want.  I suppose most people would argue that in their free time they already do what they want without listening to some logic-defying inner voice, but I’m not so sure.  It seems that the current American lifestyle is so stressful, that our rare moments of free time is merely spent escaping the stresses and anxieties of life.  Escape is quite different than pursuit.  Also, It seems that even when we’re momentarily free from all of our responsibilities and stress, we become more concerned with feeding an ego than listening to our true nature of mind that really reveals what we should be doing.  When you compound this with the reality of our expanding workweeks and decreasing vacation times, doing what you want is becoming harder and harder to come by.

I also imagine that quite a few people would consider simply doing whatever you want as a selfish desire, but I’m not so sure of this either.  I think violent criminals are simply afflicted with many delusions of mind.  Furthermore, it seems like those that are involved in the helping profession are much closer to doing what they want than those in the Corporate World.  From this frame of reference, it seems people lean toward the socially proactive when left with the option of doing what they want, not such a bad thing.

Doing what you want – Following your heart – Intuition – Wisdom – Soul – It all started to seem like the same elusive thing to me at that moment.  Even more important, it started to seem like one of the most important aspects on the effectiveness of the Traveler’s Key, one of the most important aspects of a fulfilling life.

Maybe the strength of the sun rays at 18,000 ft made me disoriented, maybe I was dehydrated, but as I laid on that rock my mind began to race all over the place.  Reflecting on the difficulty of simply doing what you want to do, my mind turned toward the CBT model of psychology.   The basic idea is that our thoughts, behaviors and emotions are all interrelated, and for some reason the unification of thoughts, actions and emotions seemed like the most beautiful idea in the world to me.  Furthermore, it seemed like the Travelers Key I’ve blabbed on so much about, was the key to accomplishing this!  I think all three times I was on the verge of tears was not only because of the natural beauty around me, but because of the harmony in which these different aspects of self were in accordance with each other.

I kind of laughed to myself on the rock for a bit.  Everyone is wandering by, sitting around, snapping photos, and although they see me in the background here, they have no idea what’s going on in my head.

Anyhow, the swirling of thoughts momentarily slowed down a bit as I reveled in the harmony of self I’ve been lucky enough to forge on the trek here. But then I started thinking of the aspects of self, and the currents of my mind grew stronger than ever.  Thoughts – behaviors – actions.  These are the aspects of self that the CBT model views a human.  Nice, tidy, easy to define and measurable. 

After living the past few days in the appreciation of that which is irrational and illogical, this normally neutral concept seemed repulsive.  Surely there is more than this.  Surely there is an aspect of self which holds higher meaning than this, something that escapes measurements, definitions and reason.  Surely if there was such an aspect of self that escaped logic, modern psychology and science would miss it!  Our attachment to reason, fostered since a child in our classrooms, would almost blind us to its presence!

The swirling stopped and I had a clear thought.

Yesterday I said my purpose was to pursue, appreciate and create that which holds unmistakable beauty.  As part of this, I now dedicate myself to a personal understanding and practice of spirituality.

Everest 6 - I Saw Mt. Everest Today

Today the Earth told us it was alright to go, so we did.  It was our 10^th day of the trek, the climax of the trek.  Today was the day we went to Kala Patthar, which rests at a healthy 18,500 ft, but more importantly, was a viewpoint at the seat of Mt. Everest.

In all we had to walk about 4 miles and 2,000 ft up.  An easy feat in Flagstaff, but with the snow and altitude one of the most physically trying things I’ve ever done.  Every step demanded magnificent effort and at least one breath.  When contemplating Alchemist ideas of following destiny, I’ve noticed it could be hard to recognize when our suffering was a sign to change course, and when it was an inevitable struggle that one draws strength from in achievement of dreams.  I have no secret to decipher between the two, no “destiny’s key”.  But this unbelievable difficult stretch was certainly the latter.  No part of my essence doubted it.

Overcoming this struggle rewarded us with a glimpse of unmistakable beauty.  At the wind-blown peak, the snow-dusted valleys, boulders and hills yearned for my eyesight, but the power of Mt. Everest demanded my appreciation.  Here I was.  Looking out toward the highest point on the Earth, 29,000 ft high, twice the size of the Rockies.  With the reflective state of mind I found myself in the past few days, you’d think that I would draw some meaning of humanity or nature from the most brilliant landmark on the planet.  But, with a tight clench of my Traveler’s Key, none came.  Instead, I was simply content in its beauty.  No brilliant insight, no deeper meaning - just unmistakable beauty.  Yet again, I almost cried.  Apparently the Traveler’s Key is also quite adept at turning me into a big “softie” who would probably be ridiculed at any Rugby party across the States.  Who cares.  

I’m at freakin Mt. Everest, the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my life.

On my way down my breath wasn’t nearly as labored, and I retreated back to my reflective self.  For a while I’ve been wondering what my purpose was on this 6 month trip I was on.  When people would ask me before I left, I’d usually come up with some half-believed statement about culture, adventure and experience.  Even though what I said always made sense, it never seemed right.  In honesty, my real purpose for doing this has always evaded me, and I figured that at some point the experience itself would reveal the purpose.  Well it did, and the words came to me from seemingly nowhere.

The pursuit, appreciation and creation of that which holds unmistakable beauty.

This is a loaded purpose, one myself haven’t had the time to unravel.  I don’t mind.  In the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my entire life, it simply appeared to me, and I’d be foolish to ignore it.

Everest 5 - Snow Day

Rob and I woke up at 6, bags packed and ready to tackle the 18,500 ft Kala Pattar.  Mother Earth had different plans for us though, as she sent us a full-blown Himalayan blizzard.  We decided to eat breakfast, consult with the other groups and decide what to do.  My feet and ego were telling me to go forward, but my heart (or perhaps just common sense) was telling me stay inside.  I was hoping the other groups were thinking similarly, making it easier to justify staying in for the day with my trekking buddy, but to my surprise and concern, almost everyone was plowing onward in the throes of the blizzard.  Still, I wasn’t going to let the actions of others drown out what my heart was telling me, so we firmly decided to stay in for the day.

What a wonderful thing that intuition turned out to be.  I had a fantastic day.

I wrapped up the book I was working on, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”.  Some of the philosophy was a bit over my head, but I loved reading about his idea of Quality.  I remember after reflecting on The Alchemist, I thought that it seems there is some aspect of self, lying outside pure reason, logic and thought, which if listened to, just might provide direction and purpose for the individual. Back in Kathmandu, when I wondered what to do with myself, I just quieted my thoughts, and did whatever my heart told me to do.  It wasn’t though, it wasn’t logical, but it was certain something.

In this book, Prisig’s main idea, Quality, is a real part of the human experience that has been drowned out by Greek methods of reason and logic we’ve adopted in society.  I would probably do a poor job of fully explaining his idea of Quality, but at a basic level it’s a fusion of subject and object, mind and object.  It’s an experience that can’t be defined, and because it defies logic and reason, science and the modern man doesn’t acknowledge it.

For the first time since I’ve been five years old, I’m not in an academic institution that generally holds reason and logic above all else.  The indefinable and irrational hold no place in the classroom.  Now, with a temporary vagabondish lifestyle, I can give these things the attention I believe they deserve.  I’m not sure if this will amount to anything, but a bit of exploration into the soul feels like the right thing to do.

Back to what we actually did that day.

Just as my mind was becoming tired from a meaningful conversation with a Spanish couple, the snow ceased and the clouds cleared up.  Following my heart led to my mind getting its fill and now it was my body’s turn.  I zipped up my down jacket, snatched my hiking poles and reminded myself the tenets of the Travelers Key – Gratitude. Clear Mind.  Seeing mind.  Egolessness – and headed up a hill overlooking the village.  It snows plenty in Flagstaff, but I never really had the time or motivation to really immerse myself in it.  Here, scrambling up slippery boulders, plowing through fresh snow, I was in it.  Reaching the crest of the hill revealed quite a remarkable scene.  The mountains, which usually honor only the peaks with snow, spread the distinction to their whole being and the rocky hillside below.  It was amazingly beautiful.  With the Travelers Key in hand, I almost cried for the second time in as many days

.

I listened to my heart that day.  I held on to the Traveler’s Key that day.  It turned out to be quite the day.

Everest 4 - Travelers Key in Action

It works!  On the hill up to Lobuche, I made concerted efforts to try and put my thoughts into practice.  I generated gratitude for where I was.  I took efforts to clear my mind, which allowed me to deepen my appreciation of both the boulders strewn all over the hill I was climbing, and the larger panorama of snowy Himalayan peaks it was a part of.  I had no ego related to forging ahead to reach my destination quicker, which let me be content with the climb – labored breathing and all – instead of occupying my thoughts with getting to Lobuche and drinking hot tea.

This all culminated at the memorial site for fallen climbers.  Prayer flags linked many stone temples, bearing plaques with names and accomplishments of people who lost their lives in their attempt to summit Everest.  I became overwhelmed with…something.  Being in the presence of memorials that honored people who followed their dreams so intensely it ultimately led to their demise… made me feel something.  Overwhelmed with awe perhaps that some people have a sense of purpose, direction and effort so strong it leads them to live extraordinary lives.  Lives I haven’t an inkling of desire to imitate, yet extraordinary nonetheless.  For myself, some lateral drifting seems like a fine course of action to take at the moment, but perhaps one day after some more experiences and growing, I’ll feel comfortable adopting a purpose so strong.

The prayer flags also had some weird, indescribable effect on me.  I always knew their meaning, to spread good Buddha vibes through the wind that raps on them all day and night, but I never really comprehended this.  Suddenly, the meaning of these multi-colored cloths attached to strings seemed like the most beautiful idea in the world.  With the Travelers Key in hand, these flags were completely different than they ever were.  The combination of memorials and flags summoned such an intellectual and emotional wave, I was a few degrees away from tears.

I could’ve stayed there for hours, but fortunately Robert was standing around on the trail ready to go, kindly reminding me (Even though I kept him waiting quite a bit…), that if we didn’t hurry up a bit we probably wouldn’t be able to find an open room at the next village.  I tried to hang on to the “moment” I was having for a bit longer, but the Traveler’ Key lost it’s power.  The prayer flags became cloth and the memorial turned back into stones.  I walked off to Lobuche.

So, the Traveler’s Key does exactly what I wanted it to do.  It heightened my senses and awareness.  It brought me to the “now”.  It made what has already been an indescribably amazing experience even better. 

Still, the end of the experience brings up an important point I hadn’t considered.  First let me say this.  Recently, I’ve been trying to follow where I think my “soul” is telling me to go.  Less mystically I’ve just been trying to listen to my intuition.  Even less mystically, I’ve just been trying to quiet my thoughts and do what I, want to do, instead of my ego or sometimes circular thought processes..

To this point I don’t know of any link between the Travelers Key and soul/intuition, but there seems to be one.  At the prayer flags my intuition was telling me stay, admire and simply be there.  I listened, I kept the Traveler’s Key in the back of my head and the results were magnificent.  Then I was reminded that even if I was having a great time, I better get a move on unless I wanted to sleep outside in the Himalayas at 16,000 feet elevation. Things became less magical.

While it seems that following your egoless wishes helps strengthen the Key, external pressure that pushes you away from following these feelings seems to bend it, rendering it useless in unlocking the secrets it holds.  If the freedom of the Himalayas and worldwide traveling presents enough pressure to bend the Key, I have a lot of work to do heading back to normal life.

Everest 3 - The Traveller's Key - Scattered journal entry from 10/19

I don't know why today, but things seem to be coming together. Perhaps because I've been in Nature for a week. Perhaps reading about a deep thoughtful madman has been inspiring me to return to a form of deep contemplation that I've abandoned. Either way, a lot of things seem to be making sense today.

My current train of thought took off when reading about the difference between ego-climbers and instrinsic, selfless climbers. The ego-climber may make it to the top, but he'll miss out on all the subtle beauty beforehand. Blinded by a furhter destination, he'll never appreciate the present. Even reaching the summit may prove to be a hollow victory, because there will always be another summit to climb. More ways to build and feed an ego that he's terrified of viewing realistically - a temporary illusion.

This thought led to a previous one I had not too long ago at Kopan Monastery. One of the nagging, unanswered questions I had was about positive desire or attachment. More specifically, I was interested by my desire to see the world and everything it holds. To "see it all." Obviously this is a desire that will never be fulfilled, but in pursuit of this unfulfillable desire, I'm likely to see and experience much more than if I never had this desire. What's the problem in this?

Through my limited experience and knowledge, I've come to conclude that there's two types of travelers. Some who are in a cage, and some who are not. The actions of the two different travelers may seem similar. They both get off planes, stay in swaggy motels, see the sights and search for ways to penetrate the tourist veneer to see the "real" country. Yet although the actions may seem the same, the caged travelers have a motivation that drastically changes the meaning and experience they have.

So, where does this difference in motivation lie? Directly at the motivation to travel itself. It lies at the motivation to "see it all." If the motivation is truly this simple, then like I said before the desire will never be realized. Yet the damage caused by this motivation lies much deeper. It's clear to almost anyone that they actually won't see everything, so most will be somewhat satisfied with the travels they do have. Yet the desire to "see it all" significantly decreases the satisfaction one will have on their travels. If one truly wants to see it all, their current location will never be enough, because "it all" is over at some vague horizon "over there". Yet once they get "over there", they'll find it unsatisfying because now "over there" is "here" and "it all" lies on some new horizon "over there". With this desire to get "there", one is likely to miss out on the subtle beauty of "here", which ironically was once the very horizon they were seeking.

What a conundrum! The very desire that leads to one to get to a new location is clouding the beauty and perfection it holds. It's a troubling trap without a clear escape. I call this the "cage of seeing it all."

For an evening in my sleeping bag and a morning of meditation I examed this cage. Looked at the nature of the bars and the possibility for escape. But after close examination I discovered the cage was complete, inescapable. I looked inward instead.

Upon doing this, I learned numerous routes of escape. With a sincere feeling of gratitude, opposed to a delayed gratitude for the ever-moving horizon, the bars widened a bit. With a clear and aware mind, developed through meditation, one's mind was free and open to sense the subtle beauty of a place and its people - the bars widened more. With eyes that aimed to truly "see" instead of just "looking", both the panorama of the mountains and the small rocks that create them were simultaneously visible - the bars became rubbery and flexible. Finally, as the ego disappeared, which is so concerned with clinging to impermanent identities to impress others and oneself, the bars themselves disappeared. The "cage of seeing it all" was no more. Contemplating this, I feel free to roam while still being completely content with what "is.". I feel like I can move to "it all" over "there", but find satisfaction with every step of the journey, every moment that I am "here.".

Meditating upon all this, I feel free, almost as if I've entered a new state of being. What is this state of being? "Roaming enlightenment?" "Flowing isness?"... No... Those both sound amazingly pretentious and stupid... Hm...Aha! "The Traveller's Key." A key to escape the "cage of seeing it all", which invariably leads to seeing nothing at all. A key to being perfectly content with here, but also being perfectly content with going over there. Perfect.

Well, not perfect. In all honesty, I don't know if a renewed focus toward gratitude, awareness, seeing and egolessness will be the solution to trying to travel the world while still finding happiness with the current location. I don't know if it will help me escape the cage. At the present moment it's only a thought, with just faint traces of it in my feelings and actions. It's like a potentially wise passage of a book that I've skimmed over instead of carefully reading and understanding. I have 3 days until I reach the viewpoint for Mt. Everest, so until then I'll study the passage, revise as necessary, and see what I find.

Everest 2 - The first 6 days

The first 6 days of the trek were amazing in every regard, but my train of thought and experiences became more meaningful toward the end, so I'll recap these days quickly.

The days went very much like they did on the Langtang trek.  On the first day I found another fun guy who was trekking by himself, so we became partners.  Rob was a funny and talkative guy, making conversation and companionship fit naturally.

Also like Lantang, most of the days followed a similar pattern that somehow always led to new experiences.  Wake up early, eat a good breakfast, trek through beautiful scenery, find a lodge to stay at, meet all of the other interesting travelers, and fall asleep reading a good book in a cozy sleeping bag.

Somewhere along the way I discovered that the quality of my days were measured in laughter, beauty and conversation.  Many times on the trail while looking toward the almost incomprehensibly massive peaks that were all around, I couldn't help but laugh because a smile couldn't quite containt my appreciation for the scenery.

Like I said, these were great days, full of connection with nature and other human beings.  I was genuinely happy. 

Still, the following days contained more intense experiences and thoughts, so I'd like to focus more exclusively on those.

Everest 1 - Insane planes and Insanity

        The Kathmandu airport proved to be as confusing as I expected. At around 8:20, the gate I was directed toward announced they would be boarding the flight to Lukla. With my 8:30 boarding pass in hand, I confidently strolled through the gate and followed the crowd to a bus that would take us to our flight. Once there, a man asked us to show him our boarding pass, and while everyone else pulled out a blue ticket, I confusingly held up my red pass. With an exasperated face, the attendant told me I was seconds away from riding toward the wrong bus and hurriedly escorted me off. Having given up the idea of self-efficacy with Nepali transport long ago, I cracked a joke about my own foolishnes and headed back to the terminal with an unshamed smile. Being able to laugh at your mishaps has become necessary, as the other option is a crippled self-esteem, scared to do anything at all. So, I sat with a grin and waited for my correct bus.
       2 full hours after our schedule departure, I was led into the correct bus ths time and rode to plane. As the ten seat plane gained altitude, all the soon-to-be trekkers eagerly snapped photos. With my camera lens focused on the green rolling hills underneath the plane, it took me a couple minutes to notice that huge snowwy peak lie on the horizon. I couldn't identify which mountains were which, but I knew that among these lie the largest in the world. Then it hit me. The Himalayas are mountains on top of other mountains. It was like Mother Earth had twins. The older brother peaks looking down on their younger hills, who in themselves are perfecctly formidable mountains in themselves.
When the plan had been in the air for about 1/2 hour, my vantage point revealed that we were heading directly toward a mountain. This concerned me little. If busses can driver over waterfalls then planes can fly into mountains. My hunch was correct, for as we flew closer to the mountain, a short, upward slanting runway appeared. We landed and the plane slammed on the emergency brakes, stopping us mere few feet before a barricade that protected the village from the planes.

       Exiting the spine-tingling plane ride, I walked to a cafe with a good view of the airstrip and ate some lunch. Watching the planes take off a strip that ended in a complete mountain drop, I was overcome with insanity. It's a different sort of insanity that normally plagues me (and I imagine many others as well.) It wasn't that insanity and unrest caused by a monotonous and strangely unfulfilling life. No, this was different. It was the same feeling I got at the Phoenix airport before my flight to India departed. It was the feeling I got lying on top of a Nepali bus all by myself, staring at the stars as the bus roared through the hills. It's an insanity that arises when I actually take the risk to fully live, and the places this drive leads are astounding and unbelievable. This insanity is one of the best feelings in the world, and I hope all people are lucky enough to experience it at some point in their lives.

      With a "moment" still lingering in my bones, I set off on my 17 day trek through the Himalayas and to the seat of Mt. Everst.

Laughing in a Nepal Village - Journal entry from 10/5

Today was my second day staying in Gopal’s village, the 9^th day of the Dashain festival.  Having grown comfortable at Gopal’s home and establishing it as a sort of safe zone, I felt more comfortable venturing outward through the rest of the village.  This led to one of the largest, most consistent WTFs of my life.

At around 7:30, I walked up to the water sprout to do some laundry.  On my way I passed a very welcoming and smiling family.  The mother insisted I sit down on her porch and she handed me a huge plate of some sort of buffalo cheese.  Suddenly, the entire village swarmed around to view my reaction.  I felt like a giant movie screen showing the climax of a summer Blockbuster.  Will Shia Lebouf somehow defeat gigantic evil robots!?  Will Doug like the buffalo cheese!?  All eyes were glued to the screen for the exciting conclusion.

And…

It was delicious!  I proclaimed to the crowd, “Mita! Mita!” (Delicious! Delicious!) and they went crazy, cheering in a frenzied jubilation.  As I ate the crowd dissipated a bit, but as I was forcing down my last bite one of the children went into the room and brought out a two sided drum.  He placed it around his legs and banged out a simple but catchy beat.  Out of the thin air the crowd grew again, all eyes turned toward me to see how this weird creature would react.  As I do frequently in uncomfortable situation, I danced.  An overjoyous roar of laughter and cheering consumed the crowd yet again.  I didn’t know whether the villagers genuinely enjoyed my company or if I was just some weird freakshow that happened to roll into town.  Either way, they were smiling and I was smiling, so I was happy to play whatever role they wanted.

After finishing my laundry and reading in my safe zone for a bit, I noticed all of Gopal’s family had left to mingle in the rest of the village.  So, with a chest full of confidence and pockets full of juggling balls, I ventured outward.

 I namaste’d everyone I passed, cracking smiles and namastes in return.  Finally, I mustered up the courage to gesture to a family that I’d like to sit with them.  With a huge smile they pulled up a chair and told me to sit.  Much to their amusement and pleasure, I asked them “How are you doing.” And “What is your name?” in what must’ve been awfully fractured Nepali.  After hearing their replies I did my best to tell them that I was doing well and my name was Doug.  Telling them my name was Doug arose an overflowing curiosity in all the kids around, who took turns trying to pronounce my name.  As weird as it for them to hear my try in vain to correctly pronounce a common name, it was bizarre to have 5 children all screaming, “Derg”, “Daug”, “Dog”, and their favorite “Daaaaaaaaaaaw?”, but never just “Doug.”

Having captured the attention of the youth by simply sharing my name, I decided now would be an ideal time to bust out the magically unifying juggling balls.  Once again, I was urrounded by a huge crowd, this time all the village’s children mystified by my ability to throw three balls in the air.  They took turns trying, laughing equally hard at their catches and drops.  Then it turned into some hectic, volleyball, hackeysack, baseball group play session with myself at the focus of everything.  After what seemed like hours everyone in the village started yelling, “Bing! Bing!” and ran down the steps to a rare flat spot in the hillside.

In a frantic yet synchronized effort, Nepali men sprung from every direction and dug four deep holes and hacked away at 50 ft. tall bamboo trees while the women threaded together budles of tall grass into long rope.  Up on the hillside I caught eyes with the kind mother who served me cheese earlier.  Sensing my complete confusion, she laughed, to which I shrugged my shoulders and laughed, which spiraled her into the uncontrollable laughing fit of a stoned 14 year old watching Pokemon.

Luckily, a 12 year old skilled in English had found my juggling skills as proof that I was the coolest person on the planet, and he stuck me like velcro for next few hours and narrarated the bizzare scene the unfolded.  Apparently, “Bing” means “Swing” and it’s tradition across the villages to build a huge bamboo swing for the festival.  With concentration and dedication that surpassed the deepest efforts of the monks at Kopan, the men cut down bamboo trees and anchored them into the dug up holes.  Then, men scurried easily up each tree and bound them togethers using the rope the women weaved together.  To get the trees to line up just right, the men on the ground needed to push the trees from the base, causing the trees to violently sway back and forth.  Thankfully, the villagers on the ground found the sight of four men, aged 15 to 50, grasping for life onto wildly swaying trees with their lives as funny as I did, and I could laugh hysterically without being culturally insensitive.

The completed swing was quite a spectacle to behold, easily five times the size of a standard American swing and utilizing much more bamboo and grass.  Like thie buffalo cheese before, the entire village was eager to see the Westerner’s reaction.  So, by no choice of my own really, I was forced onto the swing by a mob of villagers, and I started pushing.

While the swing is five times the size of an American swing, it’s infinitely more fun.  Within seconds my backwards swing brough me to a height that made me the tallest peak in the Himalayan range.  Upon reach such astronomical heights, I show my legs forward, blasting me like a missile through the crowds of cillagers, and back to dizzying heights perilously close to thick bamboo forests.  The whole time I was on this testosterone-infused swing, my screaming and laughter was drownded out by the wild cheering and laughter of the villagers.

Having enjoyed such a rush of emotions and adrenaline, it was nice to retire back to Gopal’s home for a healthy serving of daal bhaat.  As the family and I sat on the clay floor, stuffing rice and lentils into our mouths with our bare hands, for a guilty second I though of how from an outside Western perspective, the group of us on that clay floor could almost be seen as savages.  Yet, if the lack of utensils and tile floors make someone a savage, these are the nicest savages I’ve ever met.  For most of the year the family has only enough food to eat one meal per day, and they still only have enough food for about 10 months of the year.  If they’re lucky, they can sell some extra milk or cheese for enough profit to buy food for those hungry months, and if they’re unlucky, they take out a loan which traps them in debt for years.  Despite this, they take a rich foreigner into their home during the Nepali equivalent of Christmas and feed him plentifully without a second’s though.  I finished my meal with genuine gratitude.

After dinner, the village gathered around a skilled drummer, sang Nepali songs and danced.  My hippie wiggle looked no more bizarre than the children’s flailing dances, so for once I was simply a part of the scene instead of the focus of attention.  This quickly changed once the the somewhat English speaking children told me their parents wanted me to sing.  Everyone grew quiet and stared at me with anticipation.  I felt like a scared Freshman girl who was about to speak the opening lines at her first big high-school musical.  Obliging to the wishes of the villagers being my only real option,  I told the drummer to start up a beat, and to the surprise and delight of everyone, I belted out a famous Nepali pop song Gopal taught me on the trail.  On the last repeating line, “Ny nobunde lu” (“Don’t say no to my love.”), half of the villagers sang along, and the other half laughed and cheered in their most crazed, complete joyfulness yet.  That scared freshman girl gave the eager crowd the performance of a lifetime.

After about another hour of swinging and dancing, I now find myself in the perfect place.  My bed.  After adopting the roles of Emeril the master food-taster, Bozo the juggling clown, Evil Kineivel the daredevil swinger, gracious guest and the Nepali Ricky Martin, I’m glad to just be Doug, the exhausted, uneducated and bewildered yet speculative anthropologist.  It’s hard to make sense of the day I just experienced,  but I know that the villagers laughed a lot, I laughed a lot and laughing is good.  I think I’m going to go to bed now.  I wonder what the final day of the Dashain festival will bring.

 

Langtang Trekking

If teahouse trekking was available in the United States, everything would change.  Obesity would vanish as people of all ages, races and sizes raced up the hill to the new attraction.  Organized sports would become obsolete as our finest athletes would be revered for their ability to run up mountains instead of putting balls through hops.  World peace would prevail as our leaders reasonable compromised over black tea in the Himalayan shadows.  Okay, I'm being a bit hyperbolic, but my first trek through only the third most popular trekking route was quite spectacular.

Interestingly enough, my first trek began with one of the most horrific moments of my life.  My lonely planet guide wrote only a meager forewarning sentence about the bumpy, dangerous road to the starting point for the trek, but I mostly shrugged it off.  If the Nepali people take it all the time, how bad could it be?  After exiting the bus in a pouring rain so I could walk over a landslide and piling into an overstuffed cattle truck to clear the next stretch of land, I found how bad it could be.  As we approached a narrow, boulder-laden stretch of road with a small waterfall crosing, I figured this was where we would get out and walk past the next landslide.  Instead, the insane truck driver kept rolling along through the waterfall, boulder-field death trap.  In the midle of the crossing, the truck teetered off the edge of the cliff and everone gasped in terror. 

This is it I thought.  Remembering the Earthquake fiasco a few days prior, I resolved to view my Death as an inevitable conclusion to my impermanent nature and decided I wanted my final thoughts to be calm and peaceful.  Still, I hoped my body could be readily identified so my mother wouldn’t send my poor father on an endless and ultimately meaningless quest acros the Himalayas to find his lost son.  Yet, to my surprise the truck landed back on four wheels and proceeded (somewhat) safely down the road.  After walking another hour down slippery rocks in a drenching rain, my wet, carsick body found a peaceful lodge to rest at.  Even better, after locating a friend from my Meditation retreat, I met another lone trekker who I invited to walk with me the next day.  Now I had not only a guide named Gopal, but a friend named Luke.

On day two, Luke and I walked up 100 meters to Lama Hotel and discovered thestark differences between teahouse trekking and backpacking.  The first difference for me at least was the scenery.  I’ve hiked many places, but never a jungle like this.  Throughout our hike we were accompanied by a raging, rocky river that only the truest mad man would consider rafting down.  The greenery was the greenest green I’ve ever seen.  The green-leafed trees have green mos on them that have different green plants growing off of them.  The second main difference is the food.  At around noon when I would normally be pulling out a crumbled up bagel sandwhich and a bag of trail mix, Luke, Gopal and I sat down at a riverside village café and were served endles heaps of rice, lentil soup, curried vegetables, and all the black and lemon tea we could drink.  The third main difference is the sleeping arangements.  After trekking up and down steep hills for a few hours in a light but consistent raind, I may dread the prospect of setting up a tent and the possibility of my stuff getting wet.  Instead, at the end of the day I was shown into a simple but clean room, outfitted with a cozy bed and desk where I could lay my nighttime essentials.  Finally, the most important difference is the company and culture at the end of the day.  Packed comfortable into a comfy dining area, I could chat with trekkers about life on the road, and to locals about lives without roads.

Having quickly accustomed to life on a trekking trail, day 3 was another pleasant, albeit tiring, walk up another 1000 meters to Langtang valley.  About halfway up the trail to Langtang the rainforest thinned out and high-alpine mountai valleys opened up.  By the time views of the highest peaks were possible, we were stuck in a cloud and couldn’t see all that much.  I didn’t mind at all though, because by early evening I found myself in a quiet lodge, consumed in conversation with Gopal.  He told me all about the joys and struggles of living in Nepal, and I shared my perception of the successes and failures of the American lifestyle.  More and more on my trip I’m learning how people amongst cultures are completely different yet so similar at the same time, and my discussions that evening only reinforced my viewpoint all the more.

The 4^th and last day of trekking uphill was both the easiest and most spectacular.  It took only a couple hours to climb the 500 meters to Kyanjin Gompa, and with a clear sky the majesty of the Himalayas were in cull force.  Vocabulary could never do the beauty and power of these 20,000 ft plus peaks justic, so I won’t even try.  Instead I’ll simply say this.  They are huge, snowy and beautiful.  Solitary confinement for life wouldn’t be all too bad if you had these peaks for company.  Unfortunately, by mid-afternoon the clouds covered the peaks from view, so I allowed myself a well-deserved nap.  That evening, Luke, Gopal, Gopal’s friend and I laughed about women, girlfriends, multiple girlfriends and sharing girlfriends with your brothers (not too uncommon in Nepal according to Gopal’s friend…)

On Day 5 Gopal and I awoke at 5:30 am, determined to tackle the daunting Tsergo Ri which lies at 4,900 meters.  A cloudy morning changed our plans though, so we slept in and hiked to a glacier field instead.  We admired the glaciers and the peaks we could see for a bit, then curiously interacted with the locals who were collecting yak milk that they churned and boiled into butter and cheese.  Normally on hikes I enjoy watching nature untouched by human interference, but for once I considered that humans working in accordance with nature could be at least equally beautiful.

Later that evening with the clouds let up, I went behind the lodge and sat on a roack for some surprsingly rare alone time.  I had one of those moments where my monkey mind stopped jumping from past memories and future concerns and simply sat still to fully observe the present moment.  I noticed just how many boulders laid strewn acros the many hills and valleys.  Just how yellow the alpine grass was.  Just how contoured the mountains peaks were.  Just how transient the clouds were.  It was magical.

On day 6 Gopal and I walked steeply up to the 4,800 meter viewpoint at Gyanjin Ri.  Some of the postcard views were covered in clouds, but I could care less.  Lying next to a prayer flag and admiring the many powerful peaks I could see still easily ranks as one of the best sights I’ve ever had the privilage of viewing.  After about 20 minutes of silence, normally mild-mannered Gopal blared Nepali pop music from his phone and started dancing around the stones and flags, providing me with some unexpected hardy laughter.  Sure, the panoramas weren’t quite as spectacular as they would be in another few weeks when the monsoons fully ended, but I was perfectly content and happy in these moments.

During the afternoon of Day 6 and all of Day 7 we retraced our steps in a knee-busting trudge from 4800 meters at Kyanjin Ri to Sryabu Besi at 1400 meters.  Gopal and I shifted the focus away from our knees by sharing famous American and Nepali songs with each other.  Just when I thought my knees couldn’t take anymore, Gopal would randomly start singing Adele, renewing my jovial spirit and giving me the motivation to walk another hour or so.  As always, the lodging company was suberb.  At Lama Hotel I had a fun time trying to explain to a British family that actually very few Americans identify with the tea party, and on the final night I had a really interesting discussion with a Denmark couple about the development field.  I went to bed that final night with firm thighs and a slew of new memories to cherish.

Normally when I have such a remarkable experience like this, I try to search for some grand truth or ultimate meaning.  This time, I think the experience itself holds all the meaning it needs.  I shared beautiful sights with beautiful people, and I was happy.  I think that’s enough.