See Your Breath in the Air.

Life is a Journey.

2007-01-06T08:59:00.000-08:00

I walk towards the Himalayan Buddhist Center in the heart of Kathmandu after a day of teaching at school. On my way I am enthusiastically greeted by some familiar shopkeepers in Thamel "Namaste Casey! Tapailai kasto Chha?" I reply "Ektum ticch chha! Tapailai?" When I get closer to the hotel some of the street kids run up to me "Casey Casey, how are you? Will we have tea today?" "Maybe later." I tell them. Kamal, the youngest of them, I will pick up and swing him around a few times and then come back to the Monastery. The staff at the center know me very well as I've been living here for almost two months and will sit and talk with me about my day at work while we share tea. I check my phone messages and see that a few teachers have called as well as a few other local friends. I call them back and make dinner plans to have rice at their home. I am constantly surprised at how much my life here has changed from when I arrived.

Three months ago when I stepped off the airplane into Kathmandu, I was a bit overwhelmed. Nothing could have prepared me for the culture shock I received. Though it didn't take long for me to fall in love with the country. But still, I was a tourist and nothing more, I came to Nepal with dreams of Himalayan peaks in a distant land. I never expected things to turn out the way they did. After coming home from Everest prematurely, I didn't think I would enjoy living in Kathmandu for such a long time, and things turned around so quickly after landing the teacher job at Shuvakamana School. Teaching there became the thing that I looked forward to everyday. The amount of welcome I received daily from both the kids and the teachers made me happier than I can ever remember feeling. My friends at the school helped me improve my Nepali to the point where I can speak it very well now. And I've developed friendships that will last for a long time.

The day before I left for Chitwan was my last day teaching at Shuvakamana, I was very sad walking into the school not ready to say goodbye. I was touched when the teachers all came with gifts for me to say goodbye, and the students all made me cards with heartbreaking statements like "we'll never forget you" and "please never forget about us." I took a photo with each class and with the teachers, after my last photo it was time for me to leave. I said thank you to the Principal for my most meaningful Nepal experience. He stood and presented me with a gift then placed a ceremonial Kata (silk scarf) around my neck, hugged me, and then said "Life is a journey. Sometimes we come, and sometimes we go. Friendship never dies." This was very poetic for someone who's English is not very great. I walked away from the school my eyes full of tears.

The street kids and orphans of Kathmandu have become my new best friends. After Huff came to the city he introduced me to a few and it was soon after that I became their buddy. Now instead of begging to me they come up and give me all the local gossip about the other kids and shopkeepers. I will take them out for rice about once a week and have tea every few days. Its a nice feeling to know them all and also have all the inside knowledge that is denied to most tourists. The girls are my favorite, who share the juiciest of gossip, and take me shopping when I need the best deals. On Christmas we all had a big meal together, and each one of them gave me handmade Christmas gifts.

My Nepali friends have become really close and I will meet with some of them every few days. We'll either have dinner at their home, or we will go out for a walk around the villages outside the city. My friends who all have little money go out of their way to be hospitable and pay for everything, they insist no matter what I say, and its insulting to them to not accept. With my time running low here in Nepal, I don't think I have ever had such a busy social schedule. I am meeting with 2 to 3 people per day to say my goodbyes. Each one of them makes me promise that I will not forget them, and that I will return one day. Nepal has quickly become a place that I can call home. With only 5 days remaining I am not sure how exactly to bring it to an end. I think Principal Shiva put it best "Life is a journey. Sometimes we come, sometimes we go."

Saying Goodbye.

2007-01-18T08:26:00.000-08:00

The Boeing 747 taxied to the runway and I could see the Boudanath Stupa off in the distance, a place I visited just a few days earlier with Pranita. Just past the fences of the small Kathmandu airport the busy streets of the city could still be seen. The flight attendants were at the front giving safety procedures. The plane sped down the runway and took off. As soon as we were in the sky I looked out the window to see the Himalayas crystal clear, a rare sight from Kathmandu due to the air pollution. I stared at the massive wall of mountains as they got smaller and eventually out of site. I took a deep breath and said a silent goodbye to Nepal.

My last week in Kathmandu was spent busily running around the city to try and say goodbye to all of my new found friends and to shop for gifts for all my friends back home. The process of making deals and haggling over prices helped me to detach from the sadness of having to leave. I toyed with the idea of extending my flight back home, but knew that I really didn’t have the money. Everyday I met with a different friend, though I was pressured to see some more than once. Most everyone had the same questions. “When will you return to Nepal?” “Will you forget us?” I gave out my contact information, and promised them that I could never forget this place, and I promised to one day return.

My friend Pranita who became quite close during my last month in Nepal invited me one day to Boudanath. I was busy trying to get my shopping done, but decided to take the afternoon off to see her again. We arrived at the temple in mid afternoon when everyone comes to pray. It was very crowded, but amazing at how peaceful and quiet everything was. We climbed to the top of the stupa and sat for a long while. We barely spoke a word and just watched the people praying down below. It hit me then that in just a few short days I would be back in the world of Dunkin Donuts and American Idol. We sat until the sun set. She looked over at me and said “we should go.” I just sighed and said “I don’t want to go.”

On our last day in the city I was able to see all my good friends one last time Nabbin, Suresh, Ram, and Sankar. They all had gifts and they all blessed me with a ceremonial katta (silk scarf), I had six around my neck when I left for the airport. Al and I said goodbye to the Monastery staff and our western friends traveling in Asia, and got a taxi to the airport.

Arriving home it was nice to see family again and to reunite with my dog Lily. But something just didn’t feel right. Bringing a journey like this to an end is not an easy thing to do. I have fallen in love with a far away land, that I hope to return to some day. Theres a lot back home that I will need to readjust to, like the fact that my Starbucks coffee this morning cost me more than 3 meals and lodging in Nepal.

Safari in Chitwan.

2007-01-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

I thought he was joking when the elephant driver looked back and said "okay, now you drive elephant." I jokingly replied with a laugh "okay, sure." I was a bit shocked when he handed me his stick and jumped off the the animal. I hesitantly crawled out of the safety of the basket strapped to the back of the elephant over to sit on her massive head and carefully straddled her neck. The feeling you get when you mount the largest land mammal on earth is not an easy one. The idea that I might control this beast was beyond me, and looking down the 10 or so feet below, I dug my heels into its neck and hung on tightly. She took her first step and her huge shoulder bones pushed up into my buttocks pushing me way off balance. I simply held on tight trying my best not to hurt the creature below me.

Al and I began our safari at Chitwan National Park by exploring the villages of the Tharu people, the tribal peoples that inhabit the terrai region of Nepal. The people here have retained a culture that goes back thousands of years that is tied to the jungles and grass lands that are found here. Agriculture and fishing is the areas main use, the landscape could not be more different from what I have previously seen in Nepal. It amazed me that the country that is home to the worlds largest mountains is also home to this vast flatland of jungle and grass. Most of of the countries crops are produced here in the rich soil and warm weather. We walked through the village watching the people live a simple life in huts made out of mud and grass, happily harvesting crops and chopping wood. Elephants would pass by every now and again with a driver and a load of wood. We came to the Narayani river and watched the sunset over the vast grasslands.

We woke the following morning at sunrise to begin our canoe ride down the Narayani river in hopes to spy some Crocodiles or rare bird species. We were joined by a very nice couple from Bangladesh. The air was cold in the early morning though the water was extremely warm. The water was quiet and many species of birds were seen on the banks of the river. The ferryman whispered something I didn't understand, everyone on the boat gasped, and I was disappointed to find out that a crock surfaced next to the canoe and I was looking in the other direction.

We landed the canoe on a remote bank down the river and disembarked. The Bangladeshi couple looked a little nervous when the canoe pushed away and started back without us. We turned to only see a wall of jungle in front of us. We stepped up the bank and into the wild, following our guide. A few meters into the jungle our guide stopped and turned. "There are few risks on walking safari. If you see rhino, run in zig zag. If you see bear, make some noise. If you see Tiger, pray." This statement was a little disheartening, and our safety seemed a little unsure when our guide presented us with his only means of protection, a four foot long stick. The walk was very exciting, first through thick jungle and then through the tall grasslands. Our guide was very knowledgeable in tracks and signs. He pointed out several rhino and deer tracks and scat, and we found a tree full of claw marks. "This is how tiger marks his territory."

We didn't come face to face with any deadly creatures, though we were startled a few times hearing loud rumbles in the grasses, never really knowing what was out there. The real adventure began after the walk when we finished our walk and climbed onto the back of a full grown Asian elephant. From an elephant is the only real safe way to see rhinos, as the rhinos will not be aggressive to the massive creature, and are generally not concerned with their presence. Our elephant stomped its way through the jungle our driver at the head, hoping to find some of the parks 350+ black rhinos. The driver moved us to an area where he heard some noise and sure enough we were lucky to spot two full grown rhinos. They were unfazed by us and went about foraging for food, and one took the biggest bathroom break I have ever witnessed. We watched them for a few moments and let them be. On the remainder of the safari we spotted several types of deer, but didn't come across any tigers. As it got later, we turned to go back to our lodge for the night. It was then that our driver jumped off handing the wheel to me.

The River of the Dead.

2006-12-24T09:36:00.000-08:00

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.

Finding My Home in Kathmandu.

2006-12-18T13:55:00.000-08:00

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.

So Much for Peace.

2006-12-19T01:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Journey to Everest: A Mountain Denied.

2006-12-06T03:07:00.000-08:00

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.

Kathmandu to Mt. Everest.

2006-11-20T07:44:00.000-08:00

I have only been in the country for a month and already returning to Kathmandu feels like home. My time in Pokhara was spent resting and nursing a cold as well as indulging in the incredible food that is available in the city. Al did all sorts of exciting things like renting a motorbike and exploring caves. I merely sat in a garden for a week soaking up the tropical sun sipping tea, such a rough life.

I did really enjoy the time spent in Pokhara. I had the most epic haircut of my life, it took about an hour and a half and included all sorts of strange massages (like eyeball massage, cracking your ears, and hitting your head with palms) A good explanation of this haircut would be impossible, and the only way to understand is to receive one yourself. All of this for one US dollar (and I was highly over charged!). I spent some time with a Tibetan Grandmother (see story below), and I visited a beautiful Buddhist Monastery that I may take a meditation retreat at next month.

We took the bus back into Kathmandu and arranged our Everest trek, we were informed that our guide (Surish) would not be joining us on this trip and will be replaced by a Sherpa named Jombo Sherpa from Eastern Nepal. We also met a nice Brit named Ali who will be joining us on this leg of the journey. With only 2 days back in Kathmandu we quickly resupplied and got things ready for the long journey to the highest peak in the world. It all starts tomorrow.

Leaving Tibet, A Woman's Story.

2006-11-20T07:16:00.000-08:00

The year was 1958 and the young Punchok Angmo was told by her parents that they would be leaving their homeland Tibet for Nepal. She was 7 years old and did not quite understand why she needed to leave her home set in the highlands.

I was sitting in a small Tibetan cafe set back away from the bustling streets of Pokhara when a kind voice from behind me asked where I was from. I turned around to see the aging yet gentle face of a Tibetan woman. We introduced ourselves, her name was Punchok Angmo, though she asked if I would call her Aama, Nepali for Mother. This is what most people call their elders here as a show of respect for the older generations. Aama invited me to sit and have tea with her. Her English was very good despite never having a formal education. I asked Aama if she would tell me the story of her leaving Tibet. She gazed into the distance as if to look back on her childhood in a land forgotten, a tear slowly rolled down her face.

"That was a long time ago." She began. "My family were herders on the great plains of Tibet, we had yaks, goats, sheep, and horses." In the summer months Punchok lived a nomadic life following the herds living in a mobile hut made from yak hides, she travelled with her three siblings, and older and younger brother and a younger sister, along wither her grand parents and aunt and uncle. "Life was simple there, we would work and pray." In the winter months they had a small home in a village in central Tibet located near many friends and family.

"One day we were told the Chinese were coming, and we heard the Dalai Lama had left the country." Punchok and her family packed up some supplies and left most things behind. "We could only travel at night, because the Chinese were looking for us during the day and would catch us." Every night they would move slowly through the country towards refuge over the border in Nepal, though this was no easy task. "It was always very cold, and there was always a lot of snow." Their journey into Nepal took almost an entire year, travelling only at night, with only the moon and stars to light their way. "I felt very scared, I was afraid of the dark, and I was afraid the Chinese would find us and kill my family." Though it was not the Chinese who would be their only mortal danger. "We had to cross the high mountain pass to come into Nepal. There was much snow and ice, and it was very cold. My father became very ill and weak from the cold, and then my older brother." One night high up on a mountain pass Punchok's father lay down in the snow and did not get back up. "I had to watch him die there, I was very sad, but my family made me keep going and we left him behind."

Punchok's family arrived in northern Nepal in early 1959. Her brother's condition worsened and he died soon after their arrival. The hard times did not end there. Her mother also became very ill after the journey and in a years time she also passed away before the family relocated to Pokhara, Nepal. She lost almost her entire family all before she was 9 years old. "When we arrived at the refuge camp in Pokhara, I was relieved to be there, but life here was so hard." Despite the country offering refuge to Tibetans there is very little more available. "They do not let us have jobs or citizenship." Times are hard for the Nepalese, though they are harder for the Tibetans. There are very few jobs to go around for the natives, and the ones available are reserved for citizens of the country. "Things got better when I married my husband at 25, he had a job and we raised a family." Things went well for their family for some years until the Maoist up rise. "The Maoists do not want Tibetans to have jobs, so they took away my husband's job and gave it to a Nepalese." Out of work, Punchok's husband turned to alcohol. "He drank much alcohol, and his liver stopped working. Without money we could not get him medical help, so he died." Punchok's two sons are also out of work, and her older son (age 27) has also developed a serious drinking problem. "Many Tibetan people have drinking problem. It is all they can do."

Punchok shows me the contents of her small backpack full of handmade jewelry and explains to me that this is the only way the people in her community can make money, in dire hopes that they can sell a few pieces to passing tourists. "I buy beads when I have the money, I make crafts everyday. Though it is very hard to sell to tourists without a shop." This explains the many Tibetan women in Pokhara walking the streets desperately trying to pull you aside to look at their handicrafts. "When I sell crafts, I buy some food, and send money to my sons so they can eat." I asked Aama if she has hope for her homeland or her people. "I pray everyday, sometimes I say 'Om Mani Padme Hum' ten thousand times or more." This is the Buddhist prayer for compassion. Punchok explains that she has faith in the Dalai Lama, and hopes that one day her children or grandchildren can return to the homeland that they have only read about in books.

I invited Aama for a walk and we talked some more, she taught me some Tibetan words and gave me a small necklace bearing the Buddhist symbol for protection. We parted ways and made plans to meet for tea the following day. When she arrived I purchased a handful of her handmade jewelry. She took my hand in hers, her skin was dry and cracked. She had a large smile on her face. "I knew when I met you that you would help me, you have a very good soul. Thank you my son." She gave me a hug and returned to her home at the refuge camp.
For a long time I have read about Tibet and the Chinese oppression, though to meet someone who has lived through it and is a victim is a humbling experience. To learn more about Tibet and Tibetan people please visit http://www.savetibet.org/.

The Annapurna Circuit

2006-11-12T02:29:00.000-08:00

Part 1 – Communists, Hermits, and Thin Air.

There was a knock at the door, I rubbed my eyes and half in a daze I picked up my watch. It was 5:55am, I was supposed to be ready to leave by half past. I opened the door, it was Al. “What’s the deal man, we gotta go!” I quickly threw my things into my pack and rushed outside, not the best way to start a 20 day trek. Outside I was met by our guide Surish and three others who would be joining us on the bus ride to the Annapurna region. The two girls from Denmark, Sina and Irene, were with a guy from Canada, Livio, who was filming their trek for a documentary on the Annapurna Circuit. We hustled down the quiet morning streets of Thamel to the bus stop and got a ride to the much larger domestic bus station. The diesel fume polluted compound was over run with people and salesmen trying to push merchandise such as knock off Rolexes on you. Finding out which bus we needed to take proved to be a major challenge, our guide would ask someone where to go and they would point in one direction, we’d walk there only to find out that we needed to go in another direction. This went on and on, until eventually we were ushered onto a bus, never really knowing if it was the correct one or not. The bus was brightly decorated with bright garlands of plastic flowers, tassels, and many stickers and posters of Hindu deities. The seats were broken and covered in stains, there was trash and food on the floor, and your feet would stick to any surface they touched, not unlike an American movie theater. The back of the bus was emblazoned with a large reminder to the driver “Slow Drive, Long Life.”

Some young kids jumped on the bus who couldn’t have been a day older than 17. I assumed these were passengers, and I was a bit nervous when I learned that one would be our driver and the other two would be ticket collectors. The engine roared to a start belting out large clouds of black sut from the exhaust and we made our way slowly through the congested streets of Kathmandu. As we rolled through town random people would jump on and off making deals with the young ticket collector, salesmen would jump on and push newspapers, snacks, and drinks. By the time we made our way through the city, the bus was full, and once on the country roads the real adventure began. We barreled down steep, narrow, precarious roads at high speeds, barely avoiding collisions with people, animals, and other vehicles. Loud Nepali music blaring over the speakers as more and more people would load onto the bus at stops. I gripped the seat in front of me in vein in hope that this would protect me from a collision, my knuckles were white. It did not ease my mind any when we passed one major bus collision or when Al pointed out an overturned bus down in the valley. The Lonely Planet book kindly points out “you are 30-50 times more likely to die in an auto accident in Nepal than most other western countries.”

There were some people on the road waving down our bus and we came to a halt. A young guy with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth boarded the bus and started yelling loudly in Nepali to our driver. He stumbled a bit and smelled like cheap whiskey. It appeared that he was the driver of another bus which has broken down, and it wasn’t long before all the passengers of that bus joined us on our bus. People filled the aisles and any available free space, the rest (20-25 people) went on the roof of the bus, once loaded we started off again. What was supposed to be a 4 hour ride turned out to be 9 hours with our extra passengers and detour routes. I was never happier to step foot on solid ground when we finally came to our destination in Besi Sahar, where we would begin our Trek.

It was still fairly early, around 4pm, and decided to start walking to the first village which was only about an hour away. The 5 of us walked together laughing in anxious relief of our bus ride. We found a nice guest house called Everest Lodge and checked in for the night. A few hours later we were all gathered around a group of villagers singing and dancing together.

The Nepal countryside is an amazing contrast to Kathmandu. Life out here is simple and goes on as I imagine it did a century ago. Porters and pack animals carry supplies to villages not reachable by road. Hand tools are used to build houses out of stone and bamboo, farming by hand and oxen, and travel only on foot. We walked through village after village. Little children run up excitedly and yell out “Namaste!” and then ask for sweets and pens. It seems that some people at onetime gave out sweets and pens to the children, and now you cannot get through these villages without having them climb all over you yelling for a sweet. During the first day’s walk I came across a villager with a hurt foot, I was able to help her by wrapping it in an ace bandage and tried to communicate to her how to take care of it. I’m not sure if I got that much across.

On our second day we started ascending steeply to a higher altitude, though we were still relatively low compared to how high we needed to get. There were amazing valley views and many high waterfalls dumping their snowmelt into the river below us. At one high pass we were stopped by a Nepali man with a crew cut and camo pants. He yelled out “Maoist Checkpoint” and pointed to a small table. Sure enough there it was, a large red flag imprinted with the hammer and sickle above a group of men. They informed us that we were required to make a donation to them in order to pass this point. At first they demanded 2,000 rupees. Our guide, Surish, did us some service and negotiated with the communists to get our “donation” down to 1,200 rupees each. We paid them the amount and they handed us a receipt bearing the name “People’s Liberation Army of Nepal” and a portrait of Mao. It’s nice to get a receipt for extortion, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my name was going to go on an FBI list somewhere for supporting a US recognized terrorist group. The Maoist party is responsible for many bombings and abductions in the country in an attempt to overthrow the government and start a communist system. Their major source of funding is through tourist “donations” and so they do not directly hurt the tourists other than demanding money from them.

After a few days we unofficially became part of a larger group. We were traveling with the two Danish girls, Sina and Irene, The Canadian camera man, Livio, and a Dutch girl traveling with a guy from Seattle, Yevette and Dustin. Each night we would all end up at the same guest house and share stories from the day over a game of cards and some hot tea. The guest houses are usually very pleasant and simple with clean well kept rooms and a very diverse dinner menu usually containing items such as pizza, burritos, and apple pie. It seems the western influence doesn’t stop in the city. And a slice of apple pie is pretty nice high up in the Himalayas.

The mornings were cold, and as we climbed the trails became rougher and more arduous. At 10,000 feet you can start to feel the air thin, and losing your breath is much easier. Walking just a short distance often feels like I’ve just sprinted a mile. The scenery also started to change drastically. Below in the valley it is a tropical-like region with lush vegetation and crops. It is always hot and humid. Rising above, the diversity in vegetation starts to dwindle until all that’s left is mixed pine and spruce forest intermixed with fields of marijuana, it’s everywhere here. The weather up high is extremely dry, and as you are more exposed to the sun it is extremely hot in the sunlight and extremely cold in the shade, sometimes an almost 20 degree difference. On some nights as soon as the sun was blocked by the mountains, the temperature would drop below freezing within minutes. We stopped for the night in the high village of Pisang and climbed up to the Buddhist Monastery perched high up on the hillside to catch our first grand views of the ice capped Himalayan peaks.

The landscape continued to change at higher altitudes from mixed pine forests to a dry arid mountain desert with very little vegetation other than patches of grass. Each step sends up large clouds of dust. The high mountain peaks surrounded us in a massive amphitheater. Around us were herds of Yaks and mountain goats. Settlements are more sparse due to the harsh living conditions and inability to farm. Food supplies must be carried up here and so prices are highly inflated. We entered the old village of Manang, which some parts seem unchanged since the middle ages. Building are made of stone and mud all surrounded by high kingdom like walls to keep the winds out, it is like something out of a story book. We decided to take an extra day here to help acclimatize to the new altitude and to rest some before ascending to the much more dangerous elevation of 4,000 meters.

I climbed the steep mountainside towards Praken Gompa, not knowing what to expect, though I was told a Buddhist mountain hermit resides in a cave somewhere on this mountain. Everyone else that I have been traveling with decided to climb the other side of the valley to view the Annapurna Glacier close up, they were not interested in finding a Hermit’s cave. I needed a day on my own, and also had the need to do something spiritual. The trail was difficult to follow and very precarious. I wasn’t sure if this was a foot path or just a herd path created by all the grazing animals around me. All I knew was that I needed to go up. The path cut back and forth over the desert like terrain past yak and goat herds. I was nervous that the unstable ground below would give and send me tumbling. It was cold and snowing up high above me, with every step large clouds of dust rose from beneath my feet. After a few hours I crested the hillside, the town of Manang still in my vision far below me, and I could see a structure of sorts high up on a cliff with puffs of black smoke rising above. I assumed this was my destination, though I could not figure out how exactly I would get there. I followed the ridge past strings of prayer flags spotted in the distance a razor thin path that led up the cliffs from the east side. I continued to climb even more steep slopes occasionally looking down to the shrinking size of the village next to the glacial lake.

At the top of the path there were many strings of prayer flags converging at one point and a small hand painted sign saying “WELCOM” (misspelled). Behind a small wooded gate there was a large white stone wall with a hobbit sized door on one end. I ducked low and entered, my heart beating with nervous anticipation. On the other side I climbed a small stone staircase and heard some mumbling and clashing of pots and pans, to my left was a small stone cave with a wood fire, a small straw bed, and an elderly man wearing filthy maroon robes. He motioned for me to enter with a big smile and took my hand and said “Namaste!” over and over again, it became clear that he did not know much, or any, English. He pulled me close to the fire, the cave was dark and damp but very cozy. The man stood up and motioned for me to follow him, we left the cave and entered another cave just next to it. He pointed at my shoes, I took them off, and we entered together. The cave was small and cluttered with old dusty Buddhist artifacts such as thangas, statues, mandalas, and many photos of the Dalai Lama. It was dark and cold, but had a warm holy feeling about it. We didn’t speak for some moments. I glanced out of the entrance way to see the high peaks of the Annapurna Range piercing the sky.

The man sat behind an altar and placed some artifacts on top. He placed a pointed hat on his head and introduced himself “I am Lama Teshe.” He pointed at a cushion in front of him and gestured for me to kneel there. As I knelt in front of him he started chanting and praying. He took a vile of water and poured some on my head, and then took a piece of red string and tied it around my neck “For your luck and safety in mountains.” He said some more prayers and placed some mala beads around my neck. He then looked up with a smile “OK! TEA!” He scurried back into the other cave and came back a few moments later with a cup of tea “DRINK!” I gave him some money and a traditional Khata (silk scarf) as a show of thanks. He smiled and said “YOU AMERICAN!” I couldn’t tell if this was a question or statement, so I just nodded. The only other thing he was able to communicate to me was that he was 90 years old and has lived in this cave for over 60 years. I pondered this for a moment and felt very blessed to be there. After my tea he gave me a friendly “BYE BYE” and I began the long steep descent back to Manang.

The trail out of Manang the following day was covered with a mixture of snow, ice, and mud. A dangerous combination as the trail traversed a steep hillside with clear drops on one side. Walking took complete concentration and caution. The snow continued to fall and as we gained altitude the temperatures dropped. The distance we were going was short but with an elevation gain of almost 1,000 meters it was no easy feat. I felt good and strong through lunch, and it was only an hour to our stop for the night. Just when our hotel was in view we came to a bridge. I needed to stop. I looked at Yevette “I feel really dizzy.” I assumed I just needed some rest. We checked in and I immediately settled down for a nap. I awoke at dinnertime feeling terrible. I had a severe headache and could barely stand up straight, every movement felt as I was going to vomit. I came down to the dining hall and everyone looked very concerned. I tried to eat but had a very hard time chewing. The two guides came in and told me I was showing serious signs of altitude sickness. I took some Diamox and tried to sleep. I tossed and turned with waking nightmares. It seemed as morning would never come.

I awoke the following morning not feeling any better, everyone Al and I have been traveling with was packed and ready to go. It made me very sad to think I have made it this far and may have to turn around so close to the pass. I said goodbye to everyone and started back to the last village at a lower altitude. The symptoms did not get better through the next night, and so Al and I made plans to go separate ways, he was going to go over the pass, I was going to go back the way I came the following morning. Although, the extra day did me some good, and I awoke feeling great. Surish told us that we could attempt to go higher, but anymore signs of altitude sickness and we would turn back immediately. And so we climbed on to a higher altitude all the way to Thorong La base camp at 4,530 meters. I continued to take the Diamox preventatively, and felt in good shape. Base camp is really in no-man’s-land. It is a barren wasteland of rock and ice nestled into a high valley between some of the highest peaks in the world. No one feels in perfect condition at this elevation headaches and difficulty breathing is the norm. We dropped our packs and ascended higher to help acclimatize for the high climb the following day. We followed the path up another 300 meters to Thorong La Peak towering over the small mountain valley with 360 degree views of the peaks around us. We would not get this view the following day as we needed to start climbing in the early morning to make the pass before nightfall.

There was a loud banging on the door, it was Surish. “I did not sleep last night, we go up now.” I glanced at my watch, it was 3am. Al and I grunted at each other and started to pack. The moon was full and the peaks glowed from the light. The air was clear and still but bone chillingly cold. The absolute quiet was only interrupted by our footsteps. I needed to stop frequently to bring the feeling back to my hands and toes. Al moved far ahead as I struggled uphill. Once past high camp I found it progressively harder and harder to breathe, I could only take a few steps before having to stop and catch my breath. The entire time songs by the Police ran through my head in slow motion. I stopped paying attention to the mountains and tried desperately to remember the lyrics to “Roxanne” and “I can’t stand losing you.” I found it very difficult to focus and concentrate over the steep snowy slopes, one misstep could end it all. After three hours the sun crested over the eastern peaks and started to warm my body. As I ascended I started moving at a snails pace. My only thought putting one foot in front of the other. I would look up at the horizon hoping that the pass was just ahead, though each new height revealed another horizon. When I finally saw the pass in the distance I was ecstatic to have made it, though my thoughts were fixed on getting off the mountain and down to a lower altitude where there is more oxygen rich air.

If you were picked up by a helicopter at sea level and brought up to the height of this pass at almost 18,000 feet you would only have a few minutes of consciousness before passing out and dying moments later. At this height there is exactly one third less oxygen than at sea level, which is why you must acclimatize slowly to come to this height. By acclimatizing you force your body to produce more red blood cells to carry the little oxygen available to the brain. Your body must work extremely hard to do this, so just standing still at this altitude you may burn upwards of 6,000 calories a day. This does not take into consideration the strenuous climbing you must do to get there, so you can imagine how fatigued and exhausted you can feel there.

We snapped some photos and I reveled in the moment of having made it here, especially since it seemed that two days ago I would have to turn back. Al and I gave each other congratulations and started the long difficult descent on the other side of the pass.

Part 2 – Happy Cross The Pass Enjoy Place.

The effects of the high altitude caught up with me on the descent. A raging headache unlike anything I've ever felt took over. Each step pain would radiate through my body, every step took an immense amount of effort. I was not the only one who felt this. Ahead of my I could see an elderly gentleman being led by a porter, then man was falling every few steps. Without the aid of this porter he would have surely fell to his death in the ravine below. The going was slow, but I had plenty of daylight ahead of me, as we had been walking since 3:30am. I popped the remaining Ibuprofen pills in my mouth and let gravity pull my weight down the 1,600 meter descent.

After and agonizing few hours we reached the village of Muktinath. The first guest house we came across at the edge of town was flying a Jamaican flag with a hand painted sign saying “HAPPY CROSS THE PASS ENJOY PLACE.” This was the Bob Marley Hotel, we had to stay here. We checked in and got some food and water in us before exploring the inside of the hotel. The place was a total trip, reggae music playing out of the speakers, posters of Bob Marley all over the walls, and marijuana leaves painted everywhere. The dinner menu had items listed such as B-Rasta Tea, Bob Cake, The Wailers Dinner, and more. We were joined at dinner time by a group of Canadians and some Australians and all laughed trying to figure out what the deal was with this place. We had a decent meal, and I felt much better afterwards. When it was time for desert I asked the waiter “excuse me, what’s in the Bob Cake?” He replied “Lots of things.” This was fairly cryptic, but I ordered a slice anyway since it looked really good. Christian, one of the Australians, ordered some B-Rasta Tea. The cake was delicious and tasted sort of like Tiramisu, Christian couldn’t quite figure out what kind of tea he was drinking. Christian’s guide came over to our table “So, are you guys stoned yet?” “what?” “Are you stoned, you know there’s hash in all your food!” This explained the green leafy things in my cake, and it also explained the funny feeling in my head, I should have known better!

We started our journey towards Pokhara the following morning. This side of the pass was incredibly different than the other. The entire valley is a large arid desert expanse free of almost any vegetation, miles and miles of sand and rock. After a few hours of walking a wind storm hit us head on, massive clouds of dust came at us with force. The walking became treacherous as there was no break from the wind. I could not imagine how anyone could live in these inhospitable conditions. We pushed through the wind following a dry river bed towards our next stop. Traveling like this went on for a few more days until we dropped enough elevation back into the tropical climate.

My body’s defenses admitted defeat and let a virus take over. The last few days of walking were excruciating as I needed to stop often for a coughing fit. We caught up to the group we hiked with early on, The Danish girls & Dustin and Yevette. They all helped me a lot with getting back down, though they had caught a pretty nasty cold as well. Surish started to carry my backpack to help me keep going. After one more long day of walking we entered the slum like village of Beni which was in shambles from a recent battle between the Maoists and Royal Army. Surish led me to a pharmacy and got me a cocktail of drugs, I didn’t care what it was, and I’d take anything to feel better. We continued down the busy street to the seedy looking hotel Dolphin and checked in. The following morning we boarded another bus and had another adventurous ride into the city of Pokhara ready for a few days of rest.

All Hail King Gyanendra.

2006-10-25T22:22:00.000-07:00

Al had been in the country all of 2 hours before I broke the news to him "dude, I need to get out of this city. Get some rest and we are leaving for the mountains in 2 days. Deal with it." We went to see Nibban, my Nepali teacher, who was going to help us get the best prices for permits and travel arrangements into the Himalayas. Nibban introduced us to his good friend who runs a trekking company next door. We were then informed about a new government law that goes into effect starting tomorrow. "tomorrow?" As of the 27th, you can no longer trek solo in the country, you must have a guide, you must plan it through a government approved trekking company, and you must purchase the new government permits. It seems the king wants to squeeze every last rupee out of the tourists as he possibly can. After an agonizing 5 hours of haggling over costs and fees related to this new law, we folded and hired a guide, despite our resistance. I crossed the street to the ATM and took out a cool fifty thousand rupees. It was quite a feeling to be walking around with $50,000.00 in my pocket. Too bad it only amounted to about $600US. We paid up and got the plans together. The good news was we were able to plan not only the Annapurna trek, he also got us a good deal on both our Everest trek and jungle safari for later this winter. More than anything I am just happy to get out into the mountains. The king can have my money.

Waiting in India.

2006-10-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

"You are not allowed in India, you must wait." The man behind the immigrations counter did not seem very happy, nor was he going to give me any more information other than that I needed to wait. "What about my baggage?" I ask. "You must wait." So Waiting I am, though I have no idea what it is I am waiting for. The Flight from New York City was spent dozing in and out of sleep in very uncomfortable positions. It seemed that every time I awoke they were serving yet another meal. Always a mystery Indian dish that was quite tasty. My flight companions where very friendly and had some great stories. Roslynn, the woman, had been to Kathmandu in the 50's and had been invited to stay in the Royal Palace by the Prince of Nepal, as westerners were rarely seen at that time.

And so I waited, and waited, and sat. After a painful three hours of sitting alone in the large empty immigrations room of Delhi International Airport I walked back to the desk. "Please tell me what I should do." It wasn't long before I was in the middle of ten men talking loudly in Hindi, every so often pointing at me. This went on a bit and I was then ushered into a small grey office with a small desk, a few chairs, a sofa with a woman asleep on it, and one poster on the wall of Dennis The Menace. A man pointed at on of the chairs and motioned for me to sit. He then sat behind the desk, a small sign indicated that this was the Immigrations Officer. I didn't speak, and in all honesty I was feeling really scared. Men were coming in and out of this very cramped office speaking very heatedly in Hindi and shuffling immigration paperwork. The officer finally speaks to me "I'm trying to contact Air India to find out where you belong, you have my deepest sympathies." He calls out to a man, I gathered his name was Babu. Babu joined us and sat in the only available chair and lights a cigarette despite the large sign stating 'NO SMOKING IN AIRPORT' directly behind him. the officer pulled a white box from under the desk and places it on top and opens it. It was a cake. He says something to Babu and looks at me and asks "do you have any knife?" I didn't, seeing I was just on an airplane, and carrying these sorts of things is frowned upon these days.The ten or so men from earlier all crammed into the office and sang happy birthday to the officer. I think to myself "is this actually happening?" The officer points and the cake while staring at me and says "please, eat." I take a piece and have a bite. When I look up, the entire office is staring at me intently. I am scared again. Did I do something rude? Did I eat with my left hand? No one said anything. The officer broke the silence "well... how is Indian cake?" "It is very good." I say sheepishly. Everyone seemed pleased with this and went back to ignoring me. I sat quietly for another two hours, occasionally the officer got on the phone yelling to someone on the other line. All I could decipher was "Air India 112." (my flight #) and my name. After what seemed like an eternity I am told that I just need to go upstairs, and I shouldn't have some to immigrations. I am taken to a new area and told to wait until 11:30am. "What about my baggage?" I ask the new man. "You must wait." he says.

Buddha Would be Proud.

2006-10-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

I met Laurie, another traveller I met in Kathmandu, for breakfast at the Brezel Bakery across the street from the Kathmandu Guest House. It was a big relief to meet someone that was travelling for similar interests. Laurie, like me, is also a practicing Buddhist. While we were enjoying some Nepali baked goods and milk tea she says to me "Would you like to come with me to meet a Buddhist nun that I know?" Of course I did! I changed my plans for the day to go to the temple where Rammawati resides.

Laurie and I walked south of Thamel into old Kathmandu. We turned down small alleyways past butcher shops and fruit stands. It is disturbingly quiet today as it is the last day of festival, and so everyone rests, most shops are closed. As we turn down one more alley it opens into a large courtyard with a large Stupa in the center. There is a Tibetan Monastery on one end and a Nepali Theravada Nunnery on the other end. This courtyard is delicately decorated with prayer flags and prayer wheels, with the usual assortment of shrines and statues. We approach the door to the Nunnery and ask if Rammawati is available. The Nun bows and runs inside to fetch her. I took a moment to appreciate how clear and nice it was out today. the quiet is something I wasn't used to in this city, and the pollution seemed to be taking a holiday as well. After a few moments a very small woman with the unmistakable shaven head emerged from the building and introduced herself to me as Rammawati. She was very excited to hear that I have been learning Nepali as her English is still not perfect.

We walked into the Nunnery and sat down in a common room area very modestly decorated with a few pictures of Buddha. Rammawati immediately started bustling around with teapots and dishes. Laurie leans in and whispers in my ear "she really likes to serve people and make them eat." She came back with some hot milk tea and some biscuits and sat with us. Rammawati decided she wanted to be a nun at 10 years old, and has devoted her life since then to the Buddhist path, she is currently in nursing school as well, as she wishes to give back to the community as a healer. I am amazed to learn that she is only 20 years old. As we sit Nuns are coming in and out of this room, and a few come and offer us some fruit and more biscuits. The plates in front of us just continue to pile higher. We really were not that hungry. After tea Rammawati invited us up to the roof of the Nunnery to see her room and the view. From the roof of the building you could see all of Kathmandu and the monkey temple out to the north west. Behind that I had my first view of snow capped peaks since Ive been here. I remind myself that there are mountains in this country. Rammawati pointed down into the Tibetan Monastery next door and pointed out a young monk "He is only 4 years old." There was a small 3 foot child running around in maroon robes with a shaved head. "Sometimes parents give their first child to the monasteries to ensure that they will have a good life." This was the most adorable thing I think I have ever seen.

After visiting with Rammawati, Laurie and I took a taxi west of the city to Boudha, the site of the largest Stupa in the country and home to at least a dozen Buddhist Monasteries as well as the largest area of Tibetan population in the country. This stupa is a holy place to Tibetan Buddhists and some believe that inside the stupa houses a piece of bone from the Buddha himself. Hundreds of Tibetans and monks were walking clockwise around this stupa counting prayers on their beads, and off on the sides performing prostrations, and sitting in meditation. It was a powerful experience. We grabbed a quick lunch and rushed back to Thamel to meet up with Al who just arrived from the states.

Tonight We Gonna Party Like It's 1127.

2006-10-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

Nepal is not for the weak of heart. The sights one sees on a daily basis can really tug on your soul's compassion. Lepers roam the streets with missing limbs begging for alms, homeless children are seen curled up asleep in trash heaps, stray dogs dying every few street corners, trash is piled everywhere, and living conditions are as poor as one can imagine. Maybe this is something that the Nepalese are used to, and so their standard of living is much lower that what we would expect in the west, and maybe to see how we westerners live would be a complete shock. It is hard to not give alms to every beggar or child in need, though it is not easy to tell the con artists from the true needy. My Nepali teacher says the best way to help Nepal is to donate to a non-profit organization that directly helps. I sat in old Kathmandu today half in tears watching a small child find his daily meal from some discarded trash in a market, he gave up on his search and instead stole an apple from a fruit stand and took off without the vendor knowing it. You go kid!

Today is Nepali New Year, Their calender is a bit off from ours and are only on year 1127, and the streets couldn't be any more nuts over this festival. There are long parades, musicians playing traditional Nepali music, and all sorts of holy rituals. Men are seen dancing in the streets, just men, as men and women do not show affection for each other in public here. Which is pretty interesting, men are seen dancing with each other, and it is normal to see male friends holding hands as they walk down the street, but never a man and a women besides the occasional westerner. I actually saw two police men holding hands the other day, cutest thing I've ever seen.

As interesting and amazing as Kathmandu can be, I am ready to head out into the mountains for a while. This city can take a lot out of you mentally and physically. The mountains will be very refreshing and I would really like to get to know the Nepal countryside as a contrast to the city. Tomorrow I will head out east of the city to Boudha to explore some Buddhist shrines and look at some monasteries to consider for a meditation retreat later this winter.

Enter Goddess of Wealth.

2006-10-21T05:04:00.000-07:00

Today is day three of Tihar or Deepawali, which is the most important festival of the year for Nepal and India. It's on par with Christmas. Each day of the festival honors a different animal, some for dark reasons. On the first day of this festival you can see seeds and breadcrumbs scattered throughout the streets of the city. I noticed this but passed it off just as trash. Though this is a food offering for crows, as they are beleived to be sent by the god Yama, the God of Death, crows are the messangers of death. Day two is festival of the dogs. Dogs are honored with tika powder and garlands of flowers. This must be a considerable surprise to most Nepali dogs, who are usually honoured with no more than the occasional kick, but the fact that in the afterworld it is dogs who guide departed souls across the river of the dead must not be forgotten. Today, Deepwali, is the day when Lakshmi (Vishnu's consort and the Goddess of wealth) comes to visit every home that has been suitably lit for her presence. No-one likes to turn down a visit from the Goddess of Wealth and so homes throughout the country are brightly lit with candles and lamps. The effect is highlighted because Deepwali falls on the new moon day.

Feeling a bit under the weather today I decided to lie low and relax some. So after a nice breakfast with some friends at the Guest House, I strolled down some unexplored streets and alleys away from Thamel. I am amazed at how Nepali life goes on, and it seems that the entire city relies on each other and everyone has a friendly face. Wandering into areas that tourists do not go can be interesting, and the locals give you a look like you really don't belong here, but a simple bow and Namaste' brings a friendly smile to their face. I took random turns and aimlessly wandered down small alleyways and hobbit sized archways. I was shocked to emerge into a courtyard that had a very large Stupa in the middle surrounded by rows of Buddhist prayer wheels. This spot is not listed in the guide book, and so I was quite happy to discover it. I crossed the courtyard and entered into the very busy and congested marketplace. Fruit and vegitable salesmen and women were shouting and bargaining. And everyone was stocking up on flowers, candles, and firecrackers for the festival tonight. Hoards of little childeren are seen walking from storefront to storefront singing childish songs, hoping that maybe the shopkeeper will give them a rupee to move on.

Hoina means no.

2006-10-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

Kathmandu is an extremely overwhelming place to walk around. There is so much going on everywhere you go. The only escape from all of this is the hotel gardens. A simple walk down the block and Nepalese people are in your face every few steps. Shopkeepers, beggars, taxi drivers, rickshaw drivers, holy men, children, monks. "Sir, come into my shop." "Come with me, I will drive you." "I will guide you up Everest." ""Please buy milk for my baby." "Let me be your tour guide." "Want some smoke, Hash, Hash." This is what you hear as you push your way through the crowded streets. It doesn't stop, at first I felt rude for ignoring people, though I now am comfortable with it. Doesn't take long to figure out how it works, and if you do greet someone or even make eye contact, you are done for, and you will have a new friend for the next few blocks, as they will follow you. I have learned the most important word in Nepali, Hoina. It means no.
I explored Thamel a bit more and found Karen's friends Thuptin and Jeevan and gave them her photos. They were so grateful and so happy to meet me. Thuptin's employee Hari-Dangal was instructed to show me around as a thanks for the photos. I thanked him with a pen, he was very grateful.
Eating at budget Nepali eateries is very adventurous, a plate of chicken curry includes many chicken parts that are unidentifiable, and would never be served in an American restaurant. I do not wish to know exactly what I am eating, and besides the slight bother of pulling bones out of your mouth, its all very tasty. And who can complain about a full meal including tea and bread for under a dollar. I'm already feeling pretty cheap, nothing here costs much more than a few dollars, yet I will walk the extra 1/2 mile to save 10 rupees (roughly 15 cents). How the hell will I readjust to prices in America.
You must watch your feet in this city or you will lose your toes, I've learned to hug the curb while walking around. I don't believe you need either a license or insurance to drive in this country.

Beware the Monkey Gods.

2006-10-20T04:23:00.000-07:00

Everyone wants to be your guide in Nepal, everyone. Richard and I bargained our first rickshaw ride and headed down to Durbar square or Hanuman Dhoka. This is the religious center of Kathmandu and houses dozens of shrines and temples. We flew down the narrow precarious streets of the city watching Nepali life go on, once out of the tourist area (Thamel) things go about very differently, and you finally are the minority. Back in Thamel there are probably more white people on the streets than Nepalese. We got dropped off at the corner of the square and were immediately greeted by a Nepalese man "Hello my friends, what country are you from?" "America." I say. "America! I love America, America is very good country, let me be your tour guide!" It is sometimes very hard to say no, and you have to admire some people's determination. "We don't have much money, but thank you for the offer." "MONEY! No money, I will pay you, I have no cash, but I will write a check. Free tour." I liked this guy, he had charisma. But this is how they get you, I immediately think of people like my mother, she would not have as much luck as me and would probably have two dozen personal guides.

Durbar Square was running wild today, it was day one of the 'Festival of the Dogs.' Wild dogs were running around the square and had Tika (paint) on their foreheads and flowers draped around their necks. It was all pretty hilarious. I saw a dog that looked identical to Tiger Lily all painted up like a Hindu god, she would have liked this. We paid the modest tourist entry fee to the temple area (200 rupees) and watched as people would pray and chant and street vendors selling various holy goods for rituals. A holy man approached us "My friend, you have beard, just like me, you must be a Holy Man. We must have picture together." Richard snapped a shot. Mr. Holy man wanted 200 rupees for this, a bit steep for a photo. I declined his asking price and handed him 5 rupees for his time. Tourism in Nepal has started many bad habits among the locals. Those who come to photograph all the "strange and interesting people" created frauds who dress up like holy men and expect money for a photo, we watched many other well off westerners pay large amounts of money time after time. I learned later that a real Holy man would never ask for any money, as they have chosen a life of simplicity.

From Durbar Square we took a quick short cut down Jochne, which used to be called Freak Street back in the late 60's, when hippies would gather here, and so was named after the strange freakish white people. Huff from work recommended a small cafe on this street claiming the best chocolate cake in Kathmandu. And so Richard and I stopped in the Snowman Cafe and had some banana chocolate cake and milk tea, better than anything you can get in the US. We jumped on another rickshaw and started heading towards Swayambhunath, or more commonly known as the 'Monkey Temple' as hundreds of monkeys like to call this temple home. This Temple, or Stupa, is a holy place for Buddhists. The temple dates older than 2,000 years old and the architecture around the site is equally as old. The path to the temple is something out of a story book, you first walk through a archway and start climbing up thousands of steps up the side of a small mountain, the stupa is on the top. On the way up you pass by many Buddha statues and shrines, there are hundreds of thousands prayer flags strung up every which way you look, and monkeys, shit loads of monkeys. Let me quickly explain monkeys in Nepal for a moment. At first site, I say to myself "aww, a little monkey, I think I'll have a picture." I take my picture and watch another tourist repeat the same thing I just accomplished, only she was not as lucky. The monkey leaped from a standstill and landed on this woman's head and gave her a little wallop. From this point on, I learned to always yield to these simians. You are not allowed to disrespect monkeys though, as they are a representation of the god Hannuman, or the Monkey God, for Hindus. I for one do not wish to upset these gods for their teeth are bigger than mine.

Exploring the Stupa was probably the most exciting part of the trip so far, from the top of this mountain you can see all of Kathmandu, we are away from all the tourist hubbub. And it is very serene and peaceful. Hoards of Buddhist monks are seen walking about, and sitting in chanting meditations. After walking around some more , we start to head back through the "real" Kathmandu. Jumped on one more rickshaw and came back to Thamel just in time for my Nepali lesson.

BOOM-SHAKA-LAKA.

2006-10-18T19:33:00.000-07:00

I don't think anything could have mentally prepared myself for what I would encounter in stepping off the airplane into Kathmandu. Luckily I had made a friend on the flight, Richard, he would share this dreadful experience. Inside the airport was quite nice. Getting a visa and documents for entry was a breeze. After baggage claim, I stepped through a door guarded by a heavily armed police officer, on the other side we were engulfed by dozens of men trying to take our bags and coax us into their taxi. The commotion was scary. We spotted a man holding a sign 'FREE RIDE - KATHMANDU GUEST HOUSE' (This was our destination) We pointed at him and then many more men claimed that we should follow them. In an instant one man got a hold of Richard's duffel bag and started off with it. We chased after him through the cars in the crowded lot, and he tossed the sack into a van bearing the name of the guest house. The man put his hand out and said "Please, 100 Rupee for carry bag." A crafty man, though he carried the bag all of 50 feet. We refused him money as the country urges visitors not to give money to these beggars as it encourages bad behavior. The man walks away quite upset and we board the small cramped van. A young Nepalese child approached the van and said "Bon bon or rupee." with his hand extended. We all say no. He then goes on "give me sweet please." We say no again. The boy scrunched up his face and said "BOOM-SHAKA-LAKA." and walked off, I looked at Richard. "Did he actually say Boom-shaka-laka?"

None of this compared to the ride we were about to have. We pulled out of the airport and started barrelling down small streets flooded with cars, motorbikes, bicycles, pedestrians, rickshaws, cows and calves, wild dogs. there are no lanes on the roads and people drive all over in any direction they please, collisions narrowly avoided within millimeters. The overwhelming noise of high pitched horns and honks and shouts dominate. I look outside and see more people than I could ever imagine walking the streets, street vendors, store fronts, filthy living quarters, homeless on the street corners. I see monkeys climbing up on roofs, Cows lying down in massive trash heaps, and children playing on street corners. It finally sinks in "Holy shit, I'm in Kathmandu." we keep going down smaller and more narrow streets. I am amazed we aren't hitting anyone or anything. every square inch of this city is utilized, store fronts, restaurants, living space, markets, they are all crammed into each other and on top of each other. We twist and turn down more roads and dead end at the Guest House.

The Kathmandu Guest House is large and beautiful with gardens, courtyards, fountains, and sitting areas. I checked into my private room for a modest US$4 a night, this is expensive for where I am, but I figured I'll stay in comfort until I know my way around. After a quick unpack, Richard and I explore the streets. The city shops have everything you could imagine. My favorite are the trekking shops that sell poorly duplicated North Face jackets for $2-3. They appear to be Goose down, but I am sure they are stuffed with chicken feathers. I am asked at least a dozen times if I want to buy hash. Despite all the chaos, everyone is extremely friendly and most everyone speaks english well. I have a good dinner and retire back to my room. I am already in love with Nepal.

Up S**T Creek with a Paddle.

2006-10-01T10:04:00.000-07:00

"If I slip you a twenty can you guarantee that Scott will fall out of the boat?"

Torturing my brother has been a favorite passtime since his birth 22 years ago. But don't get me wrong, I love the guy more than anyone else in the world. I dragged the whole family out to Caratunk, Maine in a few weeks ago to do some white water rafting on Maine's fiercest river, The Kennebec. I also somehow convinced my step father Don to join us. My brother looked at me as we walked down to the Dam where we launch out into the gorge and says to me "Casey, how do you convince me to do these sorts of things?"

The run was actually a fairly mild one compared to my past rafting trips, no flips, no fall outs, no deaths, etc... Everyone had a great time. We had some very successful hits of Big Mamma and Magic Falls. Got everyone's adrenalin pumping and I think I got a few new addicts to the river.

Now on to the bigger mountains. . .

2006-10-12T09:03:00.000-07:00

On October 7th, a day before my 2 year anniversary of finishing the Appalachian trail I took the final steps climbing a mountain that would complete another long time ambition 10 years in the coming. When I crested the summit of Mt. Adams (5,574') in the Presidential Range of New Hampshire's White Mountains, I had climbed all 48 Peaks in the state that rise above 4,000'. This feat has been accomplished by many in the NH area, and I am glad to join their ranks. I committed my first peak almost 10 years ago on Mt. Lafayette, and over the years with friends and family I climbed several peaks a year up until 2004 when I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail which crosses over 15 of the peaks required. By the beginning of this summer I had exactly 20 peaks checked off my list and decided I would take on the challenge of hiking the remaining 28 peaks in a single summer. So between day hikes and several day backpacking trips, I slowly started working towards the last walk. The 26 mile Presidential Traverse which crosses 7 peaks over 4,000' (some of which I have already climbed). On the last day, with maybe the clearest and best weather of the year I finished on the second tallest peak in the state.

So, you may ask, what do I do now? Well, I will do what any person as insane as I am will do and leave the country for the tallest Mountain Range in the world. The Himalayas. I leave in just 4 days for the Kingdom of Nepal for a 3 month adventure. During this trip I will Trek across several ranges including Annapurna and Everest Base Camp. As well as climbing some fairly modest peaks (in relation to the range) such as Kalla Pattar (18,372'). Other than Trekking and climbing, there will be plenty of immersion into the culture of the country as well as exploring the southern Terai and finding some Bengal Tigers and Black Rhinos.

I am hoping to update this BLOG from time to time from internet cafe's in Kathmandu to keep friends and family updated. Next time I post I should be sitting amidst Nepali natives and large mountains.