Nepal 3: Low Camp to High and back again

Part 1
Part 2

            We played more cards and sat and talked and went to sleep early in a freezing-cold mist.  There was the clattering of cowbells and my subconscious mind traced the cows paths up and down the hillside.  The next day we woke up early to grey in every direction and soon started up towards high camp.

 

           We ate and drank our tea relatively quickly at Low Camp.  The scenery grew more rugged as we started up the gently sloping path.  The many shades of glittering green from the forest below gave way to tall, dullish yellow grass with a brown path and grey silver rocks.  Shorter bushy rhododendron trees, which soon tapped out themselves, replaced the forest and soon only rocks and a grassy slope surrounded us.  






There was mist drifting every which way, whirling around our heads.  Sometimes the veil opened to reveal glaring snow-covered mountains through the cracks.  Krishna encouraged us to blow on the clouds to blow them out of the way but every time we opened a crack another swirl would swoop in to take its place.  At points the trail got steeper and rockier as we had to pull ourselves up, but it was never unmanageable as we wound our way through rolling hills onto the ridgeline that led to High Camp.  We were now up at around 4,000 meters, almost the height of the highest Colorado Rocky Mountains, and we were still only at the base of the Himalayas.

            At this point it was freezing cold with an icy wind clawing our numb cheeks and toes, and we could see nothing but moist glittery bushes and grass in all directions.  We went into a guesthouse that was full and walked further to the next one that had a very basic room and a little common area with benches around a stove.

    We ordered food and curled up in sleeping bags for a bit as a savage hailstorm began that furiously whipped the prayer flags outside.  The hailstones were the biggest I have ever seen but Krishna assured us it was tiny compared to what was typical up there.

            We ate lots of rice and lentils, drank lots of tea, then sat huddled around the stove playing 20 questions and Nepali card games.  We joked and giggled, louder and louder to keep up with the hail banging on the roof.  I was high only on the altitude but when I get up at such high altitude it makes me feel ridiculous and so I shouted nonsensically and giggled nonstop for a couple hours.

            By mid afternoon I was in my sleeping bag because even with my ski jacket on my toes and cheeks were still freezing.  I found strange comfort in the fact that my only task at the moment was to survive, to consume calories and to keep my body temperature within the survival range.  My typical 21^st century life scatters my attention and mind in so many directions that it was soothing to have nothing to do, nowhere to go, just find a way to be cozy and maintain an equilibrium.  I marveled at the happy young man who ran in and out filling the fireplace with logs and at the older woman hunched over the wood stove in the kitchen making dinner.  I tried to wrap my mind around the idea of living up there in whatever the elements threw at them year round.

            The guesthouse was a bit simpler then the others but still comfortable considering the elevation.  Krishna told us it was a “singing bathroom” and after awhile we understood that there was no lock so the occupant was required to sing continuously to announce their presence and protect privacy.

            Around 4 we realized the sky was clearing in some directions, and also that Adriana had locked Monica and I in the room, perhaps unintentionally or perhaps as payback for when I did it to her earlier in the trip.  We banged on the door and screamed then resigned ourselves to sharing our single Snickers bar before banging and screaming some more.  Finally one of the other guides came and said he had heard us but assumed we were banging on a door from the outside trying to wake someone inside up.

            We went outside.  Our feet cracked the icy cover towards damp muddy puddles and we took in partial views of the mountains as the haze exploded upwards into grand poofy towers.  More windows opened in various directions as the mist blew in and out in slow motion, revealing pieces, then whiting it all out. Between the clouds slivers of dim yellow sunlight peaked out as it all turned to more shades then I knew there could be of silver and pale grey.  We saw icy towers in the distance.  Above us was Mardi Himal with its snowy façade that would pass for a high mountain in Colorado.  Yet Krishna assured us Mardi was but a hill.  Beyond it the Himalayas were only beginning to slope up to the frozen third pole of the Tibetan Plateau.  After an especially brutal burst of wind the steep slope of Fishtail appeared as a ghost, hardly visible against the white sky.

            We went back into the common room and there was a newly arrived German with his guide who boasted he would climb Everest the following year.  He bragged about how lucky he was to have been caught in the hailstorm because it made it all more intense.  He preceded into a long barrage of rapid fire sentences, each designed to show how extreme and intense he was.  We made small talk about Malaysia and Hong Kong following a consistent pattern.  “Oh, you went to (Cameron Highlands, the big Buddha, Angkor Wat, etc)?  You went in a bus?  I biked/ran/flew/dueled my way there.  I passed the bus while on my bike then mocked all the tourists for not realizing how much more fun I was having!”  He complained about the pollution in China while also bragging about running a successful textile factory, totally oblivious to the irony of the situation.  I actually marveled at the fact that we hadn’t met more people obsessed with showing how tough they were, though we had seen quite few other hikers at all.  Obviously the Himalayas are a beacon for men with something to prove.

            I went back outside and it was snowing silent, soft, flakes as the sun dimmed the mountains to mysterious shadows.  I shivered as I tramped around on the crisp icy ground, then hustled back to the fireplace.  The lodge was smoky now from the wood fire in the kitchen and I enjoyed the homey feeling the scent of wood gave off even while knowing it was horribly unhealthy.  Soon the delicious potato, spinach, lentil curry was ready, warm and hearty and wonderful in every way.  I marveled at how they could cook this at this altitude while the German kept bragging and moved on from how rugged to proving how local he was, mocking westerners who order pizza in China while going on about how he always only ate the most local of local cuisines.  I shoved my face till I felt a bit bloated then immediately went to my sleeping bag to curl up until the morning.

            The next day was hazy but not completely, and the clouds swirled in and out, revealing then masking clear blue skies and steep icy slopes.  We were going to head up to Mardi Himal base camp but opted out with the lack of clear skies and ice up ahead, and I felt like I was dancing from stone to stone down the gradual descent that followed the ridge.  At some point I found the perfect spot to sit and meditate and do yoga so I let the group go ahead and I stopped and did my sun salutations as the clouds cleared to reveal so many waterfalls cutting through green canyons below.  When I finished I skipped and danced down the hill, my only focus on how to lightly hop off the next sequence of rocks.  I stopped from time to time to gaze at the snaking brown and yellow ridgeline ahead and behind and the glittering white snow in the distance.  I fell into a trancelike rhythm with each long breath matching 4 then 6 quick light footsteps.

            I reached the rhododendron forest and before I knew it I was lost on a cow path that left me in a big green field.  I realized I was off the main path and followed a couple more unconvincing paths that led out of the field into dead ends.  The reality that I was lost in the Himalayas hit me, and although I wasn’t too far out I started to worry about the others and how long it would take them to look for me.  I longed for a cow to follow to safety.

            Eventually I followed the cow paths to the main path, but then I wasn’t sure if I was above or below Forest Camp where we were meeting for lunch, so I got worried that I missed it and ran upward for 15 minutes until I saw some other travelers who confirmed Forest Camp was below me.  I hurried back down until the adorable fluffy dogs welcomed me into Forest Camp and I found out the girls had already ordered my lunch and had tea waiting for me.

            As we started down the hill I got into a stupid argument with Adriana, and I remembered how just an hour earlier I had been sitting on the hillside meditating and felt like I would always be at peace with everything on earth forever.  I remembered a yoga class when the teacher talked about how easy it is to feel enlightened on a Himalayan mountainside or in a cave away from society, but its with the annoyances of day to day life in society that we are tested and really practice mindfulness.  I marvel at how quickly I had slipped back into every day irritations just 1 hour down from the mountaintop.

            From forest camp the trail wound steeply down the mountain and we dropped through the enchanted forest as enormous buffalo blocked the path.  We forced ourselves to stay calm as we walked past them, while they gazed at us with penetrating, wise, eyes that forced me to inwardly apologize for ever having eaten beef.  I always get the feeling that cows or buffaloes look through me and see all my sins and flaws.

            Eventually the forest gave way to rice fields with little streams flowing throughout, and we dropped into a tiny village where a hostel awaited a small green hill.

            When we got into our room the bathroom was filled with big spiders with long, thin legs.  The worker insisted that they weren’t spiders at all, but regardless she began to spray water all over the bathroom to drown them.  We ordered food then took the first shower in a few days.  While Adriana showered a bigger spider appeared and we chased it under the bed, then debated forgetting about it before deciding we couldn’t sleep with it there, so I grabbed a shoe and Monica pulled out the bed until it climbed up the wall and I smacked it dead.

            There was a group of British men outside who seemed to be a mountaineering expedition and they had about 6 local men working for each member.  They had huge open-air tents for recreation and a whole kitchen of men lined up cooking steak and fried chicken outside.  I sat down with them and they made inside jokes in a British slang that left me feeling like I don’t speak English, as they recounted almost dying the day before up on Mardi Himal; apparently they had tried an ascent and gone snow blind in a savage quick storm.  It was a strange sight indeed, seeing how they took over the camp and brought all the comforts of home to the expedition.  The excess of it was shocking to me seeing so many local men practically working as slaves for these white men who lounged around enjoying their steak.  Of course, we had guides as well and there are two sides to the story; some who would call this exploitation while others would claim they were helping the economy.

            We met a group of West Virginians, one of whom was living in a local village.  His family had come to visit him and they planned to hike to Everest base camp but their plane had tried unsuccessfully to land for an hour in that region before they abandoned and eventually came to Mardi area instead.  They had that small town American charm I hadn’t experienced in a long time and I really enjoyed the conversation as we headed onto the roof to watch the sun set over the green foothills and maze-like rice fields.

            The next morning we were set to leave in a jeep around 10.  We enjoyed one last mountain sunrise from the hostel roof and this morning was clear and beautiful, as roosters called and cows mooed and Macchapuchare glowed silver against the pale blue panorama.  We had one last mountain egg breakfast with endless chai teas and then packed up to meet the jeep.  I did sun salutations on the warm grass and the owner of the hostel, and older Nepalese man in traditional clothes came over and smiled at me, giving me a thumbs up and motioning that the yoga was very good, very good.

            I crammed into the front of the jeep with Adriana, Monica, and the Colorado pilot who had caught us at the hostel.  The West Virginians went in the back.  They argued with the driver and the hostel manager for a long time about something to do with payment; it would seem that they thought the whole jeep cost a certain amount of money and now that we were packing more people in it should be cheaper, but the jeep driver wanted to charge per person.  Our door was closed so all we could hear was “I’m not happy!”

            “I’m not happy either!”

            They came to agreement as we debated whether to throw in extra money to shut them up.  We started off.  The jeep bounced up and down as it wound around and around in what seemed like circles.  The scenery on the sides constantly threatened to turn us upside down.  We went past beautiful rice paddies filled with children playing with sticks and stones, then through many scenic waterfalls, winding around and around for a couple hours until we were back on flat ground and on into Pokhara town where cows sleeping in the street and munching garbage greeted us.

            We gave the guides their payment and a tip as we found a comfortable hotel and took that relished first hot shower in a week.  Krishna invited us to dinner that night and I took a nap then sat in a coffee shop sipping a cappuccino as the girls shopped.  I walked down to the grassy lakeside and admired some cute little goats that interacted with tourists in a manner one would expect from puppies.

            We went to Krishna’s house for dinner and it was small and simple but nicely decorated.  He had a garden but it was in shambles from the recent hail storms.  We sat on a big square sofa that was almost like a mattress and tried to make conversation through our exhaustion.  I only now was realizing what a toll the day of steep downhill had taken on my legs.

            Krishna’s wife was quiet and stayed in the kitchen cooking while he entertained us, then they invited us in and the table was set with beautiful wooden plates and 3 or 4 different types of curry to choose from.  The homemade chicken curry was so good that it put all the teahouses I had loved to shame.  We had joked that Krishna looked like a Greek God with his fine physique and perfect hair that never looked damaged by the wind, sleet, rain or snow.  He stood arm and arm with his wife laughing as we ate since they insisted guests go first, and they did look like a couple of immortal statues together.

            He drove us back blasting electronic music that got me in the mood to dance, but my legs disagreed so we headed back to the hotel to end this adventure before flying back to Kathmandu in the morning.  It was a wonderful introduction to the Himalayas but hopefully not the last adventure, as the desolate, icy backside of the mountains still called my names into my dreams.