HIMALAYAN TREK

THE STORY---

The Tibetan name for Mount Everest, the tallest of the mountains in the Himalaya's, (and the world) is .... Qomolungma, the goddess mother of earth Often spelled: "Chomolangma", "Sagarmatha", "Qomolungma", "Chomolungma", "Qomolongma", "Chomolongma", "Qomolangma".

After 2 long traveling days, with an overnight in Seoul, we arrive in Kathmandu, Nepal. (13 hours to Korea and 8 hours to Kathmandu). Korean airlines treated us royally, meet with a handshake, a van, delivered to a 5-star hotel, 5-star dinner, breakfast; with no added charge to the ticket!!!  https://www.koreanair.com The best I have been treated by an airlines, and I travel alot.

That was to become the last of that type of fancy accomodation, and a dramatic contrast of what was to come for the next month. 

I am compelled to comment here, that although my upcoming sleeping arrangements were to be absolutely basic and simple...plywood bedframe, sleeping bag on foam pad in unheated, stone-walled tea houses...it was a different kind of luxuriousness, sleeping peacefully under the absolute silence of nights, so far removed from all automated sounds of any kind, that at the end of long trekking days, inhaling crisp, fresh, mountainous air ... I have never slept better.

Arriving in Kathmandu, we indulged in the chaos and madness of the busy streets for the next two days. Although every single inch of Kathmandu is filled with honking horns, people, prayer flags, squawking chickens, rickshaws, bikes, dogs, potatoes, prayer flags, cars, kids, goats, garbage, flowers, prayer wheels, shops, apples, monkeys, drying herbs, prayer flags, did I say honking horns? and what about prayer flags?!!!  .. in the midst of it all, there was an amazing underlying tone of calmness.

Altho everything was bustling with activity everywhere, in every available corner and space, the local people were not stressed out ... they were not in a hurry! The taxi driver barreling down the road into oncoming traffic in the wrong lane, honking madly on his horn, was honking, not because he was angry, but rather as a courtesy! .. to alert other driver whose car he was swerving to avoid hitting in a head-on collision, know that he was coming (as if the other driver had not already seen him!) Any conversation became the most important thing to them in that moment and they gave their full attention, full eye contact ... For me, the dichotomy of the chaos and the calmness, within the same environment, was fascinating. I supposed it to be due to their, primarily, Buddhist culture, where living fully engaged in every single moment is a primary emphasis, and where they believe in karma ... that every action (good or bad) will insure that same exact behavior back towards yourself at some time.

Before dawn, we walked thru the semi-quiet early morning streets with headlamps. Our destination, Swayambhunath, known as the Monkey Temple, where we tested our legs on the 365 grueling steps, to a high point in the midst of Kathmandu, where we ohhed and awed, watching the sun rise, along with hundreds of Rhesus Macaque monkeys swarming the place. http://www.atlasobscura.com/places/swayambhunath-monkey-temple-in-kathmandu
We decided, our legs were ready!

Our next destination was Lukla, the beginning of the end of roads, cars and automation, where, after landing at the airport, walking is the single and only means of transportation.

Beginning in Kathmandu at 4500 feet, we are transported in a twin engine military aircraft, with our bags piled so high in the middle aisle we can barely see our friends on the bench across from us, and with no legroom, our knees up to our chins. Our group of 9 arrive at Lukla, the beginning of our 3 week trek which culminated for four of us at our highest point at Gokyo Ri, 17575 feet... (For comparison, the elevation of Mt. Rainier in Washington state, where I live, is 14,410 ft). From Gokyo Ri one can gaze upon four 8000 metre peaks (they are also 4 of the 10 tallest mountains in the world):

Mt. Everest, 60 million years old and the highest mountain in the world at 29,029 feet, Cho Oyu "Turquoise Goddess", Lhotse, and Makalu.

Five of our group will continue even higher, climbing Pumori "Unmarried Daughter", at 23,494 feet, 8 kilometers west of Mt. Everest.

(Note that all flights into Lukla are not military planes, altho they are all small twin engine aircraft. Two days before we arrived, the regularly scheduled flight in the plane that we would have been on, crashed into a heap, killing all but the pilot, so ours was a substitute aircraft!) Lukla's airstrip is noted as being one of the world's most "challenging" landing strips: http://interestingengineering.com/top-10-dangerous-airports-world/
 ... the short runway, often enshrouded by swirling fog, is located with one end on the edge of a cliff & the other ending abruptly at the stone faced mountains, similtaneously leaving one awed as well as tense (the root word of intense!) during landing & take-offs.

The immediate feast for the eyes, as I stepped off the plane in Lukla, Nepal, around every turn and on all sides, are the stone mountainous faces of the Himalaya's, standing boldly unaware of their magnificence.

Our first night was spent in this small village, where everything is built of stone ... stone buildings, stone streets, stone steps, stone terraces ... soon enough I would realize this is common to every village in these wonderous mountains. The next morning, after superb hospitality and breakfast at a quaint (stone!) teahouse with honey-colored interior wooden planked walls, we shook out our legs, and started to walk ... up!

Although my legs quivered and groaned at the demand I made upon them to trek for those looooooooooonng hours, primarly upward, after the first day, they succumbed to my insistence, and decided to thoroughly enjoy the sweat-inducing exertion and unsurpassed scenery! They paused, of course, to allow me to gawk at all the things I had never seen before. Laundry and prayer flags flap in the steady breeze, warmed by hot sun in the day and cooled by chilly winds at night, a temperature change we responded to as well, pulling on and off layers of clothing.

Tiny children, some just taking their first steps, not even as tall as the stone steps they climb up and down, place palms together, speaking "Namaste" to me in their sweet voices, as I pass their stone homes on the trail ---
Namaste: "I honor you and myself". 

"The people here are as beautiful as the scenery".

At the entrance and exit to every village, the unspoken understanding is: trek to the left of prayer flags, stupas (cairns), and of the piles of large, flat prayer stones, leaning upon each other in long rows, carved by hand with symbols for "Om Mani Padme Hum"... the Buddhist mantra involking compassionate wisdom ... some stones are ancient, worn by wind and weather. Karma and kindness are a way of life. Trekking is the reason (we think) we have come (but more is happening: our cells are changing; we stretch, our lungs and hearts expand with every step and every encounter, we connect to the powerful Himalayan earth, air and energetics, we become closer to our core, to the beating heart of life itself) ... we go up, we go down, long stretches up and then down, up and down ... 5 to 7 hours we trek every day (with a couple rest days, acclimatizing to the increasing elevations). 

We visit Tengboche Monestary, at 12,664 feet, only accessible by foot, perched on a high rocky ledge, expansive view points of Mt. Everest and Lhotse, one of the world's most spectacular building sites!

A few days into the trek I start to cough: "the Khumbu cough" they call it ... it is one that never ends ... except for a reprieve at night as I sleep. The cough comes from decreasing oxygen, from long deep breathing necessary due to high altitudes, of chilled air and of smoky teahouses at night. http://www.climbing-high.com/khumbu-cough.html

*Khumbu, the region I am in, is explained as: "...one of three subregions of the main Sherpa settlement of the Himalaya, located in northeastern Nepal and includes the town of Namche Bazaar, the main trading center for the Khumbu region, as well as the villages of Thami, Khumjung, Pangboche, Pheriche and Kunde. The famous Buddhist monastery at Tengboche is also located in the Khumbu."

Sleep comes easy .. moments after I close my eyes, the day fades. A hint of altitude sickness (caused by exposure to low air pressure at high altitudes, commonly above 8000 feet), all that mountain air and the daily trekking, up and down, mostly up ... continually gaining altitude, all contribute to a sound and peaceful sleep. My legs are stronger now, and after some days of headaches, oxygen saturation stabilized ... I breath deep and easy, the dizzy-ness gone. I walk slowly uphill and with a steady stride I can go all day. The down hills quicken my pace and make my knees groan. The views and people .. they are remarkable, kind, astonishing, every moment, in every direction, every turn of the head, every corner we round!

I'm amused and entertained by the baby yaks, --- wisely retracting my first impulse to hug them, since they have feisty, not-to-be-handled attitudes. Their long, fuzzy fur and tiny stubs grow into long, graceful, curved, sharp-pointed horns, becoming massive adults (A wild male Yak can grow 7ft and 1300 pounds), some domesticated to carry the heavy loads of multitudes of trekking foreigners and mountaineers, 15,000 each year, yet only 50 years ago was the first ascent on Everest by Sir Edmond Hilary.    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domestic_yak

We are above 11,000 feet now, at Namche Bazaar ...
http://www.welcomenepal.com/places-to-see/namche-bazaar.html
yaks do not go lower, as they are well adapted to the cooler air and higher altitudes, having larger lungs and heart than common cattle, therefore a greater capacity to transport oxygen through their blood. These animals are beautiful. It is a majestic sight to see a wild herd of yaks stirring up clouds of dust, as the earth rumbles, alerting you to their regal presence, and always a surprise and delight to turn a corner, coming suddenly upon one grazing on the steep banks of a mountainside. So massive, yet so nimble, and unfortunately dwindling in numbers, now classified as "vulnerable; a threatened species".

The zopkio breed is adaptable and carry burdens for sherpa's and trekker's, in the lower elevations. Porters, like yaks, also carry trekkers bags, food, windows, generators! ... many with far too much weight ... to make money (more bags = more money). Their backs are bent, where handwoven baskets ride, piled high above their heads and supported by a single strap across the forehead. You must try this to fully comprehend. The porters carry the loads, while the Sherpa is the guide for the expedition. The Sherpa does not carry the heavy baskets, however will occasionally take a trekker's day pack, who might be sick from the altitude. The lead Sherpa, typically with years of experience, is called "Sirdar".

 Yak and zopkio bells are constant music, ... and warning ... on these mountain trails... They are telling you, "watch out" "we ARE coming thru and you better move over and make way" .. but make sure you do NOT step to the cliff side of the trail, or the yak might just bump you over the steep edge and that long fall would likely be a most unfortunate end to your life!

A whimpering mama Tibetan Mastiff dog leads us to her single, shivering newly born baby --- we feed her and she feeds her baby, and we feel better somehow --- like we have done something this day, that matters.

An annoyed zopkio (also dzopkio, zokio, dzokio, zopkyo, dzopkio, a crossbreed of yak and ox), tries to jab his horn into Dave's leg when he was reaching for his pack (which happened on the zopkio's back)... Dave and the zopkio both become annoyed ... with each other--- funny how quickly a mood can change and one beast's annoyance becomes anothers.

Not only do the yak and zopkio provide broad backs for carrying huge bundles, and nimble feet for treading on narrow, cliffside trails, their milk quenches the thirst and is turned into cheese and butter, yak downy fibers are spun for woolen ropes, rugs and clothing, the horns and bones used for utensils and jewelry, hides for shoes, the meat is apparently delicious, and the dried dung is coveted as the most efficient form of burning fuel. (In fact, it is smoke-free, burns hot and long, and fairly ordorless).

Where-ever a yak or zopkio relieves himself, it is quickly scooped up and slapped into a pancake-like patty and laid to dry in the sun. ....and yet, erosion is prominent in the high treeless elevations of these mountains and the soil is starved for the rich nutrients from the yak dung, while the need for heat is equally important ... to cook food, heat tea and bodies. How do we co-exist on this planet ... humans and earth?

Stonework in the villages also support their lives. Stone steps we climb up and down ... thousands ... all hand hewn and set with hard labor, pick and axe. Every house, hut, teahouse built of the stone from which the Himalaya's themselves are made of ... every single stone, chipped by hand into squares and dry set one upon the other, until a structure takes shape. Many men, many hours, many days, many stones ... "chink, chink, chink..." the sound is heard day after day after day.... and the walls grow higher. Stone walls around fields, like maizes, are the framework of every village or group of dwellings. The mountains and people are as one... living and breathing each other ... eating away at each other, eroding each other, even as they are born. Is it possible to populate the earth and replenish it at the same rate ... in harmony with one another ... or do human needs eventually become greater than the earth can provide?

The voice of the river is always speaking, as it winds and weaves through steep banks and cliffs, tumbling from high up in the Cho Oyu Mountains, a serpent in constant motion. It does not care what you or I think. Nor is it concerned for its beauty.... and yet, beautiful it is.... at times, rumbling so loud I cannot hear my own breathing and then at the next incline it becomes a whisper far below, appearing thin as a rope. We cross the raging waters over and over on the long swinging bridges, and I pretend not to notice the numerous bolts that are missing their nuts, on the planks that span the cables.

Matt is ever-encouraging ... Drink water! and then . . . drink more water! We drink so much in prevention of dehydration and high altitude sickness, it causes me to be ever on the lookout for a good bush or large boulder to relieve myself! Every night we pull out the steri-pen to sterilize the 2 -3 litres that we must drink every day.

Each evening we gather in teahouses, a single barrel stove warms the cold room, lit only at night... sometimes belching smoke into the room thru cracks in the rusty stovepipe. In the morning, it is the sun beaming thru glass windows that warms the back and takes the chill away. Sitting on benches that take up the entire perimeter of the room, over-lain with beautiful hand-woven carpets, we play cards and take dinner on the narrow tables in front of us. Each evening while we play cribbage, rummy or hearts, and read our books with headlamps, we also watch the towering peaks, hidden and revealed by passing clouds, fade into the night sky ...

.... only to reappear as the morning sun bathes just the topmost peak in its light. We take pictures of its magnificience and watch while the sun quickly rises higher, and, as if pouring the sunlight down the mountainsides, the entire valley is soon dripping in the sun's heated rays.

Trails unravel between rhodedendren trees that are gnarled and ancient, hillsides of azelas, red and prickly barberry, dangling cotoneaster, clumps of blue flowers in rocky crags, and a brown sticky-leafed plant gathered, dried and burned for incense and good health. This sticky plant also grows in Alaska.... and the rest are regulars of Washington. So interesting to see the same flora, so far away.

I learned and observed an interesting phenomena ... that the terrain, climate, flora and fauna change in a similar manner when one travels from the equator towards the North pole, as when one travels from sea level up into the high elevations such as in the Himalaya's.... from tropical, to forests, to tundra flowers, treeless terrain and snow...

Hima means "snow"...
... Alaya means "abode or home"

This quote from P'sng Chu-shih "Layman P'ang" ... calls to mind the simplicity and joy any given moment can reveal no matter what a person is doing, and of how this is so embodied by the people and this land in the "abode of snows" ... Himalaya's:
"How wonderous,
 how mysterious!
 I carry fuel,
 I draw water"

Higher and higher we trek, to 18,000 feet, at the top of Gokyo Ri, where we look out at 4 of the 10 tallest mountains in the world, including Everest.  This height takes my breath away: for the phenomenal views, for the feat of getting here, and, because the oxygen is less at this elevation! 

I am Ecstatic! 
I AM Standing ON the Top of the World!









And then ... down we go, back (almost) the way we came, but nothing is the same, retracing steps ... yet still ... every moment a wonder to my eyes!

Weeks have passed and I have not felt the steady stream of hot water on my bare skin! Icy cold rivers offer their waters for washing ... too cold for the soap to even make suds. Two quick 'splash' showers in a month, using the precious fuel of the teahouse to heat my water, hand-poured, pot by pot, into a clever plastic container on top of a shed with a hose inside to cleanse my dusty body. However, I am surprised that some perfumes are more offensive to my nose than the natural accumulation and layers of scents on my body and those around me.

I think of the Tibetan nomads with whom I have interacted, who have traveled over high passes of the Himalaya's, into Nepal, with their goods from China, piled high on yaks backs, to sell at Namche Bazaar. They are coated in dirt and smelling of the yak they herd ... their strong scent mixed of animals, earth, sweat, yak dung, rivers, sky and juniper.... that smell is life itself.

This rich humus is no longer a scent reveled where I live, where it is scrubbed and hidden away by a booming industry of scented soaps, powders, lotions and perfumes. I am not judging this manner of cleanliness, or the masking of our bodies natural scent, ... but, observing, smelling, the vast difference... and feeling its closeness, or separation, from earth itself. I acknowledge, during my overnight in Korea on my return trip home, I stood for 15 minutes savoring the steady stream of ceaseless hot water, scrubbing my entire body with scented soap! ... altho, I also grieved, as I watched the dirt dissappear down the drain .... that loss of feeling that my body was so much a part of the earth. Now, when I smell my scented hand, I do not inhale the wind, the earth and the freedom of the juniper covered slopes.

I wonder if this last month was a dream or if my steam shower at home is a dream. I suppose right now, they are both dreams, as they are only thoughts in my head and have nothing to do with the clean, beautiful, user-friendly, multi-million dollar airport in Korea where, as I stretch out and write this, I feel so small and luxurious reclining upon one of its extra large, grey leather, lounge chairs, which is my current and immediate reality, so dramatically different from where I was yesterday or where I will be tomorrow.

I feel the vortex of my materialistic life sucking me back into its bosom, where I am warm and protected by walls, floors, fashionable clothes, wasted water from my long hot showers and cappucino... (I have had two already!) Abundant hot water flows from the showerhead in my heated, warm northwest U.S.A. bathroom, and, I realize I have not cherished each warm drop- - -until now! 

Several months ago, I walked thru vineyards and plum orchards in France with Zen Buddhist teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh. In silence, we focused on each and every footstep, and on the breath, noticing only that which was in our immediate presence
........ Breathing In, Breathing Out .... I am breathing, I am walking ....
.......I am breathing, I am walking.....

I felt this so sharply trekking in the Himalayan Mountains
..... breathing, and walking
                         ... saturated senses ... feeling ... and marveling ...

"How wonderous, how mysterious!
I carry fuel, I draw water"!

the world turns ...
every single moment ....
changing .....
and offering ..........
abundance and mystery!

Of course, I must give due recognition to Four Winds Expeditions: http://www.fourwindsexpeditions.com/treks.html
and .. to my guides and my trekking companions, becuz, their inclusion and involvement in this trip were integral to my gratitude, delight, chuckles, laughter, moments of periodic discomfort, appreciation, wide-eyed wonder and etched-in permanently, unerase-able memories.

Thank you Matt, Fabriccio (we all seem to have had problems either spelling or pronouncing his name!), Kim, Peter, Dave, David, John, Tyler, Allen, Corinna, Lahkba Sirdar, Gombu Sherpa, Nima and his 3 zopkio's and Mila our porter. (sorry if I spelled any of those names wrong)

Lastly, I must mention my unabashed joy at the memoriable singing of Happy Birthday by the lot of them, while I nurtured nausea and a pounding headache in my sleeping bag, laying on a hard bench with my head at the foot of a Dalai Lama shrine  http://www.dalailama.com/  (of course it would be my one day of altitude sickness) ... I hope they all enjoyed my chocolate cake! They did not even save me a piece!

* description and reference of Khumbu from Wikepedia on the internet