The River of the Dead.

A truck pulled up to the edge of the river, the mourning families waited in line crying while holding handkerchiefs to their face to lessen the smell. A group of men piled wood onto the pire, and men were scavenging in the river below in hopes to find jewelry that may have been left on the bodies, without any respect for the dead or their families standing just above. The body was carried from the truck and placed on the pile of wood. We could see this persons feet out of the wrappings placed on the corpse, this made the experience real. Some family members walked around the body several times and placed flowers while saying prayers and stepped away. It was then that a man approached with a torch and set the wood pile ablaze. Al, Ali, and I sat silently as the flames grew and we watched the body burn in a cloud of smoke and ash. The smell of burning flesh is not one that is pleasant, and will remain with me for the rest of my life. This process was repeated again and again, as bodies came in one after the other, families waiting in queue like it was the D.M.V. to see their loved ones cremated. I don't think any of of knew what to say or how to react to witnessing this, and if it wasn't for the interruption, we may have sat there for hours. "Would you like to see my friend hang 90 kilos from his penis?" This statement drew our attention away from the funerals. "Excuse me?" I said. A ratty looking Nepali man stood behind us with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, standing with a bit of a hunch. "My friend over there..." He pointed to a Yogi holy man dressed in robes and painted in tikka "He is trained in advance Yoga, and can hang 90 kilos from his penis, would you like to see?" I thought to my self "Only in Nepal can you go to a funeral and get an offer like this." Ali Answered the question "Yea mate, I'd bloody love to see that!" "okay, for one thousand rupees each you can follow him into the forest and he will show you." "Sorry mate, don't want to see it that badly." We stood up and started to walk away, behind us we could hear the man yelling out lower prices in hopes to rope us into the show.

We spent the afternoon here visiting Pashupatinath, the most important Hindu temples in Nepal and one of the most important in Asia. Here lies very large temples to Shiva, though only Hindus are allowed inside. Outside the temple area is somewhat of a strange circus. There are vendors and sales people everywhere selling items for funerals, worship, and tourist souvenirs. Just 100 feet from the temple area is the funeral cremation ghats. Though nothing like you would see in the west. it is merely large piles of wood on the river where they burn bodies and spread the ashes into the river below. Dozens of bodies are burned here everyday. Just below the burning area there are scavengers digging through the remains of bodies looking gold or tooth fillings to cash in. It is an overpowering scene to witness. After walking away from the Penis Man, we took a stroll out into the forest and temple area to see some of the ancient architecture and statues. We explored the maybe half dozen temples and took a taxi ride home, not exactly sure how to discuss seeing dead bodies disposed of and men offering to hang weights off the penis in the same moment.

So Much for Peace.

I arrived at school on time and noticed that all the students were walking away from the building. A few of them ran over to me "Today is a holiday, you can go home!" I walked into the building to ask the principal what was going on, I was unaware of any holiday this week. Principal Shiva welcomed me and said quickly "you should leave now and get back to Thamel, there will be a battle today in Kathmandu, The Maoists are angry and plan to fight." Apparently there was a major disagreement within the Parliament last night and some decisions were made without consulting the Maoist party, and so they have decided to go against the newly signed peace treaty and fight. I left the school and got a bus, which was unusually overcrowded. I only made it a few blocks before we hit a barricade. The Maoist army had blockaded all the roads in the city and throwing stones and smashing any vehicle that tried to pass. People unloaded from the bus and started running frantically through the crowds trying to get away from the violence. In the distance I could hear constant gunshots. People were chanting and the communist flag was being raised by large groups. I pushed and ran through the crowds trying to get to a safer place. In front of me a large line of the Nepali army marched towards the main intersection where the blockade began, all of them armed with automatic rifles. I walked quickly away from the commotion and made it back to Thamel safely some time later. Though it was not the Thamel I was used to, it was a barren ghost town. All the shops and stores were closed and gates drawn, and only a few people wandered the streets. Not a single vehicle was seen in any direction. Back at the Monastery I learned that the army has imposed a daytime general strike and a curfew until further notice. The Maoists are acting in a way that will jeopardise their peace agreement and their place in the Parliament. After a few hours Al, Huff, and I walked down into Durbar Square to see if things have calmed down. And other than a heavy military presence, things were pleasantly quiet. Though there still seemed to be quite a bit of a commotion near the palace area. All Businesses continue to be closed and all roads are shut down. Things were looking so good for Nepal, and it seems it may go back into civil war.

Finding My Home in Kathmandu.

I stand on the street corner in the early AM outside the tourist area of Thamel awaiting my bus. The mornings in Kathmandu are amazing to watch. Shopkeeps are out getting their store ready, housewives are out buying produce, and children are all rushing to get to school. Buses are constantly coming pass yelling their destination and I wait for the one yelling out "MANAMAIJU BAHK!" This is the bus that I will take to work. My life in Kathmandu has taken a very interesting turn after coming home from Everest. My second day back I met a man named Rishi and had lunch with him and my friend Ram. We got to talking and I told him that I am to live in Kathmandu for another month and a half and don't have any plans other than a short trip down to Chitwan National Park. He thought for a moment and said "My Uncle has been looking for someone just like you." I wasn't quite sure what this meant, I just said "okay." And before I knew it we were on our way to Manamaiju to meet this Uncle of his. His Uncle, it turned out, is the principal of a small school just outside Kathmandu called Shuvakamana, and he was looking for a foreigner who was staying in Nepal for some time who would be interested in teaching English. I only talked to him for a few moments before I agreed to take the job. I didn't really have a reason not to.

Every morning after the bus drops me off, I walk up the street to the school, and as I enter the school grounds I am greeted with an enthusiastic chorus of "GOOD MORNING SIR!" The students at the school have impeccable manners, and always look sharp in their school uniforms. The school bell rings at 9:30am and the students line up outside in about 10-15 rows and do their morning exercises before being dismissed to class. My schedule varies from day to day, though I usually teach three to four classes. With the younger kids (grades 3-5) I will usually only play games and answer their endless, but amusing, questions about America. With the older kids (grades 6-9) we will do a mix of activities to improve their English skills, which can be hard at times, like explaining the difference between "sad" and "depressed". Though it is always fun and I look forward to going in everyday. Today I realized that I came to Nepal for the mountains, though teaching at Shuvakamana will be the most rewarding experience I will have had here.

After school each day I will come back into Thamel and visit with my Nepali friend Nabbin. We will sit in his office drinking tea while he dominates me in Chess, every time. I will meet up with Al and Ali for dinner (who are now back from Everest) along with some other friends we have made staying at our guesthouse. My friend Huff from the US is also in Kathmandu, who surprised me suddenly having decided to cut his trip to India short. My living situation has also been quite interesting, when I got back to the city I met a few people who informed me that I could come and stay at a small Buddhist Monastery in Thamel for a small price. And so I moved into the Himalayan Buddhist Meditation Center which is an amazingly peaceful place. The week I moved here a high Lama was living here and giving teaching and blessings. The monks that run the place are very pleasant and hospitable.

My life in Nepal has become so comfortable, that I sometimes think that I will never leave.

Journey to Everest: A Mountain Denied.

I tried to sit still and wish it away, but I knew it was all over. After getting so close, the mountain was within reach, only a few days further. The guests in the dining room did their best to help, bringing me water and blankets, though from the look on their faces it wasn't good. It hit me like a bolt and within seconds I was outside vomiting up my insides retching with pain. Every movement I felt as if I would pass out, my head searing with pain. I stumbled back into the lodge, and immediately vomited again in the center of the dining room creating a scene I am sure the other guests would not forget soon. "We are going down now." Gombo Sherpa told me as the guest house staff began to clean up my new mess. "I know." I said, head between my knees.

Ten days earlier the four of us Al, Ali, Gombo Sherpa, and I boarded a bus headed for Jiri, the old starting point for Trekking to Everest. This was once the only way to get to Everest, though nowadays almost no tourists travel this way and instead opt to go the much easier route by flying into Lukla and cut about a week off the journey. The bus ride was nothing short of an adventure in itself, having caught fire halfway to our destination creating absolute panic high up on a mountain road. It was a false alarm, and despite most passengers needing to vomit out the bus window every few minutes, it wasn't too bad a ride.

And so we followed the footsteps of the great climbers of the past like Sir Edmond Hillary and Tenzig Norgay. The path to Everest from here to Lukla goes due east crossing over the river valley draining to the south, which means every day is a long up and a long down, until Lukla when you move straight north up a valley. This section of the trek was incredible. The Jiri region is untainted by tourism like most of the other popular trekking areas and so you can experience "real" Nepal. Most of the tea house stops are small and quaint, and the villagers are excited to meet and talk with you. This is also in the meat of Sherpa country. The Sherpa people are notorious for their hospitality and friendliness.

We moved slowly day after day trudging over the daily high mountain passes, and staying in small tea houses at night always to ourselves. We only came across 2 or 3 other westerners throughout this section. In every village the children would run up to us in wonder and amazement and stare at us, but too shy to respond to our questions. I would toss them a piece of candy and they would giggle and run away.



Just before we reached Lukla we came upon what seemed like a big festival. People were gathered around a large Mani Stone (a boulder which has Buddhist prayers chiseled out and painted white) there was singing and many candles. Ali approached first and accidentally knocked over a large bowl of holy water when passing. When I approached I was handed a large bag full of food by a Buddhist monk. "Please take, its a puja offering." he said. Al and Ali also received a food bag, as did all the villagers and passers by. We stayed and watched the ceremony. The celebration was for this new Mani stone that had just been finished and the monks had travelled very far from different regions to bless it. As we watched the monks began playing traditional instruments and chanted loudly over the music. It was amazing to witness, and luck to arrive just in time for it.

Now in the Everest region proper past Lukla, things changed dramatically. suddenly there are thousands of tourists going in both directions, all to come and gawk at the biggest mountain in the world, most of them are well to do hiring porters to carry all their belongings and do most of the work for them. The villages changed from small farming communities to sprawling tourist towns with hotels and shops as far as the eye can see. The trail is now littered with water bottles and discarded candy wrappers. This is not what my original envisionment of what tramping through the Himalayas would be like. A few more days brought us to Namche Bazzar, the bustling trading town of the region. Here we took an extra days rest to acclimatize.

Leaving Namche I felt a bit under the weather, but mostly okay. It was to be a short day up another few hundred meters to the village of Tengboche. We reached the village shortly after lunch. Mt. Everest towered overhead in the backdrop. The village is home to the country's largest Buddhist Monastery, and we arrived in time to watch their daily chanting. I watched as several hundred monks read prayers together and played instruments, though I started to get that all too familiar dizzy feeling and had to leave. I came back to our guest house and tried to lay down, but it was no use. I started to feel worse and worse and within a few hours I knew I wouldn't make it the night. After vomiting several times, Al and our Sherpa packed my things and helped me walk back down the mountain in the middle of the night. The moon was full and the Himalayan peaks glowed in its light, I looked back to see Everest and it loomed over head as a reminder of what I would miss.

After a few days rest the Altitude sickness subsided, though I also had a bad case of food poisoning and could not keep any food down and then developed a fever. I was too weak to do much, and so I sent Al back to Everest without me, and I began my slow walk back to Lukla where I would take a plane back to Kathmandu.

The Sherpa people call Mt. Everest "Chomolungma" which means "Mother Goddess of the Earth." They believe that the mountain chooses those who will climb it, and often denies many for unknown reasons. I did not make it to Mt. Everest this time, and although I am disappointed, I feel I will be able to return again and stand at its base. Sometimes adventures don't turn out the way we expect, but this is the drive that keeps me going.