a perilous journey, hard work, guides and porters, beauty, a dark and stormy night, leaving on a jet plane

Langtang is about 120 km north of Kathmandu, easily within sight of the Tibetan border. However, 120 km on a Nepali road and in a Nepali car, can take anywhere from 6-12 hours, despite the surprising speedy recklessness of a Nepali driver. Dad and I got to experience very different car rides, one that lurched it’s way through hills and valleys in the morning sunshine, and one that inched it’s way past sheer drops in the dark of the night and fog, with lightning flashes to provide a little atmosphere. More on that later…
After our first long, rocky but relatively pleasant drive we spent the night in Sybru Besi (pronounced Shehbrue Baysie), where dad encountered the first of many hikes in beer prices and I took advantage of the first of many opportunities to tease him. Before dinner we took a walk, finding ourselves on a hill above the valley containing the Langtang River, which we were to follow to it’s source in the Himalayas, and with many people hard at work below. There was much construction on the road, and you could tell that the lack of pavement (all 60 kilometers) wasn’t for a lack of desire for smooth driving. Even that many hands have a hard time competing with vertical mountain faces, monsoon rains, and the destruction caused by landslides. Down below our perch on the hill we could see women sitting atop piles of rough shale breaking down bigger stones into construction-size pieces with small hammers. The tap-tap-tap of their work was a better reminder than anything about the hardship and monotony that some people face every day. Next to these women sat children, bored and hardly less lifeless than their mothers on those piles. I don’t know if I’ll ever really be able to comprehend that level of poverty, or the huge amount of good fortune that I have been so lucky to receive, but reminders like these are important reminders to appreciate what you have and always be generous.
This was part of the reason why dad and I decided to hire both a guide and a porter, although we both originally wanted to carry our own weight up the mountains and find our own way through them. We were both glad of the decision as Suresh, our guide, did provide lots of information and explanations, for example pointing out huge beehives attached to sheer cliffs, some of which had been harvested by villagers via hundred-foot long rope ladders. While an incredibly nice man, Suresh was sometimes like a golden retriever puppy: overly eager to please and bounding easily up the hills, two traits that smack and the pride and independence of me and my dad. In contrast, our porter Lok was incredibly shy and quiet. We only found out our last day of trekking that he had two children, one a 3 month old daughter! Both of us found that we interacted and talked a lot more with all the Nepali guides and porters. An amazing guide who we saw many nights named Durga called me “chori” which means daughter, as well as ‘bird’, both because I remind him of his daughter (also 20) and because my mouth is always moving, just like hers.
The trek itself was phenomenal and each day brought different kinds of scenery: primordial forests with twisting trees and green light, huge mountains cradling us in the river valley, rhododendron flowers of pink, white and red, and finally the snowy peaks and tundra-like land of kyanjin ghompa, populated by wild-looking horses and herds of yaks. Along the way we saw plenty of Tibetan culture and met many nice people running teashops or guesthouses. Although part of me would love to see these towns before the influence of tourism, the other part recognizes how hard these people’s lives must have been before tourists came. The ground, especially up high, is ill-suited for farming, and there were two nights of snow while we were trekking, despite the fact that this is the ‘hot time of year’ in Nepal. Despite the nightly chill and the constant wearing of hats I loved seeing snowy peaks again, and appreciated the cooler air while hiking, as sweating all the way through your clothes is hardly Alaskan (or attractive).
Our crowning achievement was climbing a peak called Kyanjin Ri which got to 4,700 meters. We started around 3,800 m, so it was quite the morning climb, although we got to the top in only two hours. Although I didn’t consider altitude problems when we chose Langtang, I did worry about my overall fitness. In Sankhu I would usually go for several walks during the day, usually at least one that counted as a short hike. Unfortunately, none of it seemed to qualify as real condition for something like an 8-day trek through tall Himalayas, and I suspected my dad, always (overly?) active, would absolutely smoke me. As luck would have it, we were actually about the same speed, although he was much more affected by the altitude when we got higher up. Luckily neither of us got true altitude sickness, which is characterized by vomiting, headaches, weakness, and the general breakdown of your dignity. The only cure is to go back down to a lower altitude, and we saw and met several people who had to re-trace their steps, as well as at least 4 helicopters flying past, most likely to get people who had serious altitude sickness. Dad only had some really heavy breathing on steep climbs, but continually pointed out to me that not only am I 40 years younger, I also have more hemoglobin, and “there’s just less AIR up here!” Dad- you are an absolute beast, and I’m glad I have your genes so I can strive to be climbing the Himalayas in my 60s.
Anyhow, we made it up and back down the valley in one piece, and arrived in Dunche in the early afternoon a day earlier than planned. After eating a sub-par and relatively uncooked pizza we were preparing to relax for awhile when our guide told us that there was a 4-wheel-drive vehicle preparing to go back to kathmandu that evening and that he would take us for cheap. This information was interesting to us because there had been a transportation strike in Nepal that day, and we didn’t know if it would start again the next day, thus trapping us in Dunche. Plus, we really really didn’t want to take the local bus which is supposed to seat 30 but often has over 70 people riding on it, stuffed into the aisle and hanging to the top, many of whom are puking from the slow, rocking motion of the bus and the overwhelming heat of the sun and way too many people too close together. In ten minutes we’d re-jammed our bags with smelly gear (forgetting dad’s hat on a hook), crammed our stuff into a jeep-like vehicle, and packed ourselves in along with a British man and 4 Nepali guides/porters.
That ride is probably the closest I’ve come to a near-death experience and it lasted for 6 and a half hours. Soon after we started on the unpaved road one of our windshield wipers stopped working, and then it began to rain, thunder, and lightning. This rain caused semi-flooding on patches of the road when we finally got down the mountain to the valley. Worst of all, when darkness fell the rain turned into patches of impenetrable fog, which is terrifying when a road is only 20 feet wide and one side is an unprotected drop into space. At one point the driver jammed on the breaks and when I poked my head out the window to peer through the fog we were two feet from the edge of the cliff, pointed straight off into emptiness. Despite the danger, a 6+ hour drive is also full of monotony, and I found my mind wandering randomly. I thought about summer jobs and the probability that I’d actually get one. I thought about making pesto popcorn and watching movies when I got back home, and also how weird it would feel to have a cushion-y bed and a clean house and middle-class neighborhood to wander through every day. I thought about Harry Potter spells that would be useful in this particular scenario. For instance ‘Impervius’ to repel the water from the windshield, and ‘wingardium leviosa’ to keep us afloat when we drove off the cliff. Too late I realized I hadn’t brought my wand trekking, and plus Hogwarts isn’t real.
We made it back to Kathmandu tired, but in one piece, and have spent the last several days doing some sightseeing and buying way too many gifts for the lucky people we love. This morning I helped dad pack and hunted down a reasonably-priced taxi to the airport, waving goodbye as the tiny car honked, clunked and aggressively drove away, dad and his Nepali man’s hat inside. My flight is this evening, and while I know I want to come back to Nepal it isn’t hard to leave. Saying goodbye to the kids in Sankhu and to the mountains and yaks in Langtang were difficult, but it’s easy to say goodbye to the pollution, noise and aggressive men of Kathmandu.

goodbye sankhu, hello himalyas, a proven nepali rule

Saying goodbye is never easy, but it’s always harder when you don’t know if you’ll ever see someone again. This is the hardest part about traveling in Nepal: you may meet someone only for one night that you really connect with, and despite unrealistic “maybe I’ll visit your country sometime” conversations, the chances are high that you’ll never set eyes on that particular person again (unless it’s via facebook). Living in a children’s home creates even greater challenges because the kids don’t have e-mail or access to internet, thus making it nearly impossible to ‘stay in touch’. Even a month before I was set to leave I already got the question “You come back, Auntie?” While I don’t like to make promises in situations like that (who knows what the future holds, especially in terms of Nepal-visiting opportunities?) I usually say yes, but the next question is always impossible to answer: “When you come back?”
The problem is that the people in the home I am closest to are mostly 15-18, and children generally leave the home to start standing on their own feet after they turn 19. Thus, returning to Nepal makes the most sense in the next couple of years, but those years are already pretty full with a summer working at home, a final year of college, and getting some kind of career-oriented job after i graduate. How much time and money does this leave for nepali visits? That's essentially the question I had to evaluate every time one of the kids asked. Thus I promised only that I WILL return, especially because Nepal, and most notably the people I met here, finally stole my heart. My last trip I often felt so homesick and out of place I could hardly imagine coming back, let alone returning and finding real happiness and contentment here. It took a lot of reflection after my first trip into the unknown, and more adjustments to finally appreciate Nepali culture and fall in love with it, even when I occaisionally disagree with some aspects.
Having my father come to visit, fresh from the states, reminds me of the challenge i will face when i try to have the same 'chill' approach to life when I return home. It's not just at college, the environments I find myself in and especially the roles I play in the US are often stressful, over-scheduled and hyperactive. I certainly enjoy that state a lot of the time, but finding more of a balance is something i strive for, and hope to fight for when I get home. I'll have lots of time to think about this in the next ten days, as my dad and i leave for our trek in langtang tomorrow, which is eight hours (by bus) north of kathmandu near the tibetan boarder. My dad (gratifyingly) proved the 'Nepali rule' (everyone who comes here gets sick) so we didn't leave today as planned. I am excited to do some reading, breathe some fresh mountain air, and finally grill my dad on his life story (he'll be trapped- it's the perfect plan!). sometimes i'm amazed at what i don't know about my parents... hopefully after this week i'll know some of the crazy stuff he did in his youth that was too risque to tell me before i turned 20. If not, i'll have to ask his sisters when I get to seattle in a couple of weeks... regardless, wish us luck in the himalayas! I can't wait to get there.

the easter egg rock, family arrivals, the best kind of family baggage

What better way to wake up then the sound of birds greeting the sunrise? Especially when you know that in just an hour you will already be running around outside a Nepali children's home, hiding colorful rocks with paper ears strapped to your head. Thus dawned the Nepali easter, which we decided to celebrate on their weekend, saturday, instead of the classic Sunday rebirth kind of deal. The most challenging part of the hunt was getting the kids inside the house so they wouldn't be finding everything as we hid it and demanding instantaneous candy. This proved as difficult as herding 40 cats into a big cage with a small door (and lots of windows). As I was also informed at the end, those very windows each had 5 kids behind the curtains watching our every hiding place, and the roof probably had many more "james bond"s. Oh well- we clearly explained the rules, literally shoving back the flow of children that tried to escape when we went inside, then stepped out of the way and yelled "Go!". They actually got stuck in the door. I wish i'd gotten a picture. Quickly (as soon as 10 seconds) they were running back with colorful rocks in their hands and demanding prizes, which we gave out to all of the hunters, as well as the older kids (too cool to participate), the kids working in the kitchen, and, of course, Goma Auntie, who was feeding the cow. We considered giving chocolate to the cow in hopes of chocolate milk, but decided against it- her calf may not appreciate the new flavor.
After breakfast we got out the easter egg dyes my mother had sent and the 50 eggs we had boiled the night before. While a little confused (We color eggs and eat them? Why?) there was still a big crowd around me, danny and kristel, and a lot of difficulty in forming a line (kind've like trying to make 40 cats form a line when we're marinating mice at the front?). The coolest thing was that hard-boiled eggs were just as much a treat for the kids as the candy. At home the week after Easter contains lots of eggs in salads or sandwiches, which i try to avoid even as i devour my chocolate bunny. Here, the kids couldn't wait to eat thier egg, and had no qualms about peeling off the colored outside and devouring it then and there.
After the hunt me, danny and kristel grabbed our bags and took the bus to Kathmandu, as i had a plane to meet on monday and they had a bus to pokhara to catch the next morning. I found it surprisingly hard to say goodbye- when you live with two people for two and a half months, especially when you are the main english speakers, you get really close. I'm definitely going to miss the randomness of our conversations, and how comfortable we managed to make a shared room. Hopefully we'll have the chance for one last dinner with my dad when he and I get back from trekking (finger's crossed!).
Speaking of fathers, my dad flew into Kathmandu yesterday afternoon, already apalled by the state of the pollution, which kept him from seeing the ground until the plane got pretty damn close to it. We had an epic happy hug, negotiated for the right price for a cab, and were on our way! Already it's great to have time with my dad, especially because even when i'm at home he and i are always busy and distracted with other things or people. Here we have two and a half weeks where we'll get to talk, travel, and hike together, and I can't wait to delve into his past, like: Hey dad, did you ever smoke the ganja? or What's the most dangerous thing you ever did (don't say smoking the ganja)? *Evil cackle* we're going to have so much fun!
My father also brought one of the best kinds of luggage: presents from home! Included were some wonderful letters from loved ones (Fiona, that card was absolutely amazing, i can't wait for sister time either!), a huge tupperware of chocolate chip cookies (homemade by sisterly hands), some trekking clothes, and even an anti-pollution present from my dad (one of those rolls of cloth that you can make into a neckband, headband, hat, or (my dad's current favorite) a doo-rag (when he does this i refer to him only as rufus). Anyhow, it's great to have him here, better than the goodies, and I can't wait to introduce him to all of my friends in Sankhu later today.

a general post office kind of day, being a damsel in distress, ah-cone?

When planning a trip to the General Post Office, you need to maximize your zen-buddhism: plan to use the whole day, encounter delays, and use many means of transport. Thus i set off on Thursday morning, intent on completing my quest and picking up the three packages waiting for me in Kathmandu, especially important as my mother mentioned some Easter goodies in one of them. The bus ride, as ever, was crowded and hot, and i decided to stretch my legs and walk to Thamel for an early lunch before going to the PA Nepal office to pick up my package slips. The early lunch turned into a two-hour lunch when i got involved in conversations with a Dutch guy who also works in Sankhu, and a New Yorker who gave me some solid trekking advice. Unfortunately, this led my anxious-prone self to power-walk to the office, horrified that i might not be able to get my packages out before 3:00, in only two hours, at which point they would stop, mid-signature, on my form, and throw me out on the street (at this point sad music would play and i would walk, rejected, into the sunset).
My fears were un-realized, although Indira, the President of PA Nepal, was in the office, and did break the news that she wanted me to have the final photo show for the PhotoPals program in Kathmandu in a gallery, to which she would invite many dignitaries and important people. As great as i envisioned that kind of publicity and recognition of the kids, there would only be perhaps 6 days to prepare, during which my dad would arrive, and my final five days at the home in which to let him see this world that I feel so close to. I really really didn't want to deal with the complication of presenting in a new space and bringing only the photo students to kathmandu, all instead of a 'house party' that all the kids could be a part of and that could double as a kind've goodbye treat with lots of snacks and soda pop. Despite her intensity, I stood up to her surprisingly well. Indira mentioned the other night that her nicknames range from "chocolate caramel" (hard on the outside and soft on the inside), and "bull dozer". These both seem totally appropriate to me, as she is definitely a power-house of a woman, hard to interrupt and harder to question, but i have also seen her stroking the cheeks of a sick little girl and flicking away the bad energy, chanting softly in Nepali. Everyone is multifaceted, i suppose, now I'm starting to wonder what my nickname is...
Actually getting my packages out was easily the quickest part of the day: perhaps 30 minutes, some quick paperwork, and friendly workers, made the experience quite pleasant. Just to make it easier to imagine, this section of the post office is all concrete, mostly one open room with a small desk in the middle and rooms in the back in which packages are piled haphazardly. Everything is filled out by hand in a ledger, and it's still surprising to me that the process actually manages to successfully bring me easter eggs and dove chocolates from Tennessee.
When i arrived at the bus park, packages stacked to my chin, there were no buses in the line to Sankhu due to a four-day festival in my (normally) quiet little village. I finally got on the bus, and slumped, exhausted, over my packages, breathing little puffs of cooling, polluted air through the crack of the window. I watched out the window until we were a ways out of the city, and then fell into a kind of stupor in which i began to feel nauseous and dreaded lugging the packages up to the home in my extreme tiredness. Finally, after perhaps two hours, the bus stopped and everyone started getting off. This didn't worry me because Sankhu is the end of the road, but when I looked out the window I quickly realized I wasn't IN sankhu. Shit. "Sankhu Janchu?" I asked lamely. "No, no! This i Alitpur!" everyone responded, as if i was crazy. A small crowd of children gathered round to laugh at me, and more adults came up and discussed my silliness in rapid Nepali. Feeling like I was going to cry, I started to laugh. The whole situation was so ridiculous- my arms full of packages, this bus, clearly stopped for the night, and no other vehicles in sight, and an utter lack of comprehension over where I might actually be. After five minutes one of the Nepali guys, wearing some impressive aviators, walked off, and his friend waved a hand at me, which i interpreted to mean 'please wait madam'. This aviatored guy drives up on his dirtbike, and the next moment I've been helped onto the back and the packages balanced in my lap. The kids waved goodbye, despite their mockery, and we were off, cruising in great loops around corners and talking about all the English bands my savior could name (Avreel, ah-cone, seen kingston). This is the way to travel! Cool breeze, lots of space, the fields whizzing by and the sky above- I wasn't falling in love with Naples (the name of aviator boy) but this was far preferable to a bus or even a nice American car. When he dropped me off he was quite gentlemanly, and although he did ask to come visit me again, he was quite polite when I told him I would be leaving soon. This incident, and several others since then, have slowly transformed my attitude towards Nepali men, which was quickly approaching complete hostility. I walked the rest of the way towards my home with a smile on my face, my energy very much boosted by so much friendliness and help where I expected only disaster.