October 23, 2009 by pecoskid.

(Writings from my Nepal / China Travels)

“Is it not easy to be a wise man on top of a mountain”.
W. Somerset Maugham —- from The Razor’s Edge

My room was basic, quiet and achingly cold. Begrudgingly, I shuffled my body away from the warm multi-layered blankets and sleeping bag, turning my head toward the window to gaze out into the night.

The prior afternoon, I was climbing the steep mountain ascent that begins above the Himalayan village Namche Bazaar when a series of clouds swiftly vanquished a previously gorgeous blue sky, enveloping the lower peaks and cloaking myself in a sea of ethereal chilled clouds. The stunted alpine trees and grassy hillsides I was trekking through abruptly took on a mysterious tone.
Soon descending, distant human and animal sounds breached my ears, telling me my destination, the Sherpa village of Khumjung, was near.
By nightfall, the fog had gradually lifted over the mountain village, however, the Himalayas, including Mount Everest, still remained a mystery.

I was, for the second night, the only guest at a Sherpa family-operated lodge that I had chosen for my stay. The warm fireplace stove situated in the center of the dining room was a great welcome and relief, especially since heating sources are a scarce commodity. The food was tasty and filling. The family’s husband lent me a book on Sir Edmund Hillary, the book dedicated to the 50th anniversary of his Everest summit. I asked if he and his wife had ever met Hillary and he said Yes, many times, including the big party thrown in Kathmandu three years ago celebrating the 50th anniversary. I said very cool and we shared a cup of tea.
Since the summit, Sir Edmund Hillary had continued to contribute a great portion of his life to the betterment of the Sherpa people, a people he had become so fond of and admired.

Bedtime is always early in this cold region. I scrambled under my blankets and prayed for clear skies in the morning.
My prayers were answered. I was awestruck when I looked out my bedroom window.

A moonlit night, an abundant horizon of Himalayan giants, including the “Big Guy”, Mount Everest, glowed in the near distance, while crystal clear, sparkling stars danced over their heads. The uniquely shaped Ama Dablam was regally crowned with the Southern Cross constellation. The time was 2AM. I could not wait for daylight.

Morning light marked a truly memorable moment. I was staring at the “top of the world”, Mount Everest and friends; Nuptse, Lhotse, Ama Dablam, and other snow-frosted, steel gray masters of the Himalayan range. The grandeur of the landscape was breathtaking, humbling. I shared many respectful salutations with the peaks, ranging in languages from Nepalese to Navajo. I joyfully shouted the Basque cheer and even did an Irish jig. It was, you may guess, an exciting moment.

Near yet still worlds apart from where I stood, these peaks held their court, lived on their own terms far from humanities’ influences, though many mountaineers try. This was the realm of the snow leopard and the Yeti, a fiercely frozen, inhospitable, glorious region.

I thought, if I did come across the Yeti, on the trail, he’d probably freak, immediately reverse direction, hightailing down the mountainside muttering “I’d heard the stories about the existence of the Pecoskid but…I …I really didn’t think he existed!!!”
To no avail, I’d call after him saying “But I thought we’d have espressos!”

So how did I get to this place? The Everest Himalayan trek journey began with a Yeti Airlines flight from Kathmandu to Lukla. The small aircraft rises over the Kathmandu Valley and within minutes is within view of the approaching Himalayan mountains. The journey climaxes with a swift descent to a narrow mountain valley where Lukla’s small inclined runway assists arrivals.

I grab my backpack, say “no guides, no porters” to many an anxious Nepalese, lift the bag onto my shoulders and proceed briskly forward through Lukla to the beginning demarcation of the trail. Even from Lukla, there are dramatic views of several peaks, their shimmering sections of bleached-white snow set against the steel gray granite rock peaking above the green canyon valley I now traversed.

The initial five miles of trail is fairly level sloping first down to the river, past several villages, and gradually ascending parallel to the river. Along the trail, many Swiss-built, reinforced steel cable bridges crisscross the river. They don’t sway TOO much, depending on how many yaks and porters are also on the bridge. Let your eyes drift downward and you realize how small the river now looks!

This particular trail is heavily traveled by trekkers, porters and beast of burden alike. Initially I maneuver pass the large group processions, each accompanied by their guides and porters. These processions however pale in size to the leagues of sherpas, and their labored yaks, that regularly traverse this trail’s steep stone steps to deliver supplies to the trail’s linked villages, some many miles away. You skirt along a narrow section of the trail and bang! you have to find a safe spot to position yourself as a long yak team comes lumbering in your direction.

The scenery along the trail is simply beautiful; crystal clear blue river, occasional waterfalls, interesting villages draped in prayer flags, and the occasional appearance from one of those Himalayan guys.
To my surprise few people, trekkers and locals alike, bothered to take a moment to find a spot to rest their gear and marvel at their surroundings. I did as often as I could.

The scenery directly on the trail usually consists of gray slippery stones, gravel, loose dirt, wet mud and plenty of yak dung! Several Buddhist stupas are positioned along the trail, offering comfort to those laboring sherpas. The sherpas, men and women, all ages, carry everything; four full cases of beer and whiskey, propane tanks, beds, wooden beams, you name a product…it’s on their backs!

I spent a very pleasant first night with a Sherpa family. Besides the spectacular moonlight enhanced views of the mountains, waterfall, river, and forested canyon that night, I also gained a friend…the family’ pet dog. He took a liking to me and sometime in the middle of the night, he had pushed my poorly latched door open so he could sleep on the bed next to mine.

The second day included a steep 2000 foot climb to Namche Bazaar, the veritable metropolis (there’s a lodge with electricity) within the Sherpa Khumbu region.
Always the day’s highlight was gazing upward at those massive snow and rock monoliths, the day’s altering light and moonlight providing different shades and moods to the Himalayas.

This was still an ancient landscape, watched over for centuries by the regions traditional mountain people, the Sherpas. Even here, the encroachment of the modern world provides amusing dichotomies as young Sherpas’ ogled over their cell phones after they’d spent the afternoon grinding corn the same way they had for centuries. The old and the new worlds colliding again.

Each year, more people attempt to summit Mount Everest. Each year, more large groups of ill-prepared, ill fit hikers attempt the trek to base camp. Each year, more red rescue helicopters fly out some of those ill-prepared hikers, at considerable personal expense. On my return, ninety marathon runners passed, upward bound to run a marathon, a route that passed Everest base camp, crossed a 18,000 ft. mountain pass that circled over to Gokyo and back down to Namche Bazaar. More power to them, I thought.

Back in Kathmandu, I smiled when a young Swede told me he decided to see Mount Everest by plane. As his plane passed Mount Everest, he was going to raise his gin and tonic glass, look out the window and toast the poor fools down below struggling up the mountain.

For me, the sweat and struggle of the trekking journey just makes the view of the “top of the world” that much sweeter and a heck of a natural high!

To see more of my Nepal photography, travel books, and more, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com

Posted in Nepal Travel, Travel | 4 Comments »

March 13, 2008 by pecoskid.

(The writing below is an epilogue to my recent Nepal travels. For a review of the travel journal I kept while on the road, click this web site link located on the blogroll section: www.travelpod.com/members/pecoskid)

After a month of travels in an exotic mystical land, what did I bring back from my journey? Was it a neon-colored T-shirt emblazoned with the word ENLIGHTENMENT, or, perhaps, an unfriendly microorganism? Or, like Bill Murray’s character in the movie Caddyshack, did I befriend a holy man and receive in gratitude the gift of total consciousness. As Carl, Bill’s character, would say, “So, I got that going for me…”

Nepal is the poorest and most exotic country I have ever visited. The ancient blends with the modern here as easily and awkwardly as does abject poverty with the sublime.
The streets of Kathmandu present the stage and testing ground for what I’ve dubbed the Zen Buddhist Chaos Theory and its unlikely natural flow. The movement of humanity through the narrow dusty city streets of Kathmandu exudes a pattern of beautiful chaos. Every inch of precious space on the main thoroughfares through town is coveted by one form or another of colorful man, woman, beast, or moving machine, yet somehow they all manage to flow without incident miraculously avoiding certain collision. Here in Nepal, the religious cultures and practices of Hinduism and Buddhism also manage to merge and blend without colliding into each other, though there is evidence that Indian Hinduism with its leanings toward materialism and class conflict is causing societal friction and fractures.

Could another question be raised that while exploring the mystical world of Nepal I had gained some new wisdom or discovered a unique sense of harmony among the Nepalese that didn’t exist elsewhere? Regretfully I would find no attendance to a teaching by a Holy man, a guru, a teacher or Tibetan monk, no golden opportunity to delve deep into the beliefs and blessings of the Hindu/Buddhist spiritual mystique. I did however get to speak with The Mountains, the Himalayas; a spiritual connection that offer a truly enlightened discourse. I also had the good fortune of listening to a portion of the Nepalese story, engaging conversations told through the personal experiences of several distinct Nepalese gentlemen, and one proud Sherpa mother; several tales which illustrated the human saga that exists among all mankind no matter where in the global community you find yourself.

The first gentleman, Ashesh, was a 57 yr. old world traveler, friend and promoter for a local Nepalese blues band. He was not happy with the recent changes in Kathmandu. Ashesh admitted in recent years the standard of living had improved for the average Nepalese in Kathmandu. Instead of walking barefoot, they now had shoes on their feet. Many even chose driving mopeds instead of walking. Yet, through his observations, he felt the air of friendliness and community among the people was diminishing. A pursuit of wealth and materialism was replacing better habits.

His range of observation was far from limited. His travels had taken him to America and Western Europe. He was well informed about American culture and politics. Ashesh was also an honest man who liked to paint an honest picture. He said, “you think you’re government is corrupt”, a reference to America. “Nepal has the MOST corrupt government.”

Ostensibly, the Nepalese had lived under a corrupt Kingdom for many years, a Kingdom quite isolated from the outside world until only a few generations ago. As in the modern world, the kingdom of Nepal apparently still suffered from the same inequities inherent in the imbalances of classic human power divisions; The Haves (in this case, the king and his family) and The Have-nots (the rest). Recent unrest among the people, instigated primarily by the Maoist rebels, had seen to pressuring the reluctant abdication of the throne by the King allowing the slow installment of a more parliamentary, democratic form of government for Nepal.

The Maoist became representatives within this evolving new government, yet, after a year of counterproductive rhetoric, inaction, and violence by the Maoist against journalists and dissenting villagers now critical of the Maoist intent, it’s becoming clear to the people that the Maoist just want a share of the spoils and power once held by the King; not to truly help the people. There would be no nirvana solution here.

Political corruption aside, an issue of greater importance to my gentleman friend was the continued promotion of this fine blues band we were listening to and the infusion of blues music into the Nepalese mainstream (yes…they have an artistic mainstream albeit mainly influenced by their larger neighbor India). The band played great classic rock songs as well including a generous helping of Jimmy Hendrix jams!

I told him about the wonderful experience I had at the village of Sauraha which lay across the river from the Royal Chitwan National Park. Situated along the camel-colored dirt riverbank, restaurants set up tables and chairs for visitors to enjoy the waning rays of the sun. Our stage: a lavish tapestry of jungle-green visible through moist-dust laden air with the incredulous backdrop of the Himalayas in the distance. The audience, a cornucopia of colorful nationalities watched in quiet awe as a glorious sunset’s subtle pastel hues bathed the surrounding jungle and mountains; an extraordinary natural performance.

It wasn’t long before pitched darkness enveloped the jungle. As we all still sat in our chairs, contemplating what we had just witnessed, I thought wouldn’t a drive-in theater size screen with the hauntingly beautiful images of the movie Baraka projected onto it be the perfect continuum compliment to that stunning sunset, utilizing the developing night sounds of the jungle for musical accompaniment.
Ashesh’s eyes lit up and he exclaimed, “Man, that would be COOL!”

Another fine gentleman I spoke with, Kumar, was a hotel manager for his families’ hotel in Pokhara. Kumar was smart, energetic, and had vision, both for himself, his family and for his country. He stressed the importance for Nepalese to support each other by buying from Nepalese businesses instead from India or other countries. He felt this economic policy would strengthen a sense of pride and hope among the Nepalese thus persuading them to seek opportunities within their own country rather than immediately applying for visas to pursue opportunities abroad.

Kumar pointed to the local stone his family, at his insistence, was utilizing to build an addition to the hotel. Kumar talked about the devastating effect the ten year conflict between the Maoist rebels and the Nepalese government has had upon the tourist economy that Nepalese have come to rely so much upon to make a living.

The view from the top of his hotel offered dramatic views of the Annapurna Himalayas; however the view also provided a telling tale of Nepalese reality. Pokhara’s building fronts offered a dichotomy of economies; a tale of two worlds, the western and the developing worlds. Hotel competition was prominent along the lakeshore neighborhood.

Families that owned hotels were staking their hopes that an attractive expensively built hotel would draw the foreign tourists’ business; many families investing their life savings into these entrepreneurial endeavors, taking the risk and betting heavily that a steady flow of tourist trade would come their way. Often behind the attractive facades, lay the very modest enclaves the local hotel staff and owners called home, barely equipped with basic plumbing and running water. An economic gamble often seen today in the new developing world countries, betting heavily that some form of political stability would provide the comfortable green light for foreigners to come visit their beautiful land.

Within Kumar’s Hindu family, an aura of conflict existed between his siblings, mostly monetarily driven by the patriarchal father, frustrating Kumar so. Social place and strict adherence to religious disciplines and traditions seem to divide rather than bond their family.
A very important Hindu festival, Deepawali, with its colorful Festival of Lights, was fast approaching. For Kumar the festival meant another stressful monetary obligation for it was customary for the brother to present set monetary gifts to his sisters. Deepawali represented a Christmas like celebration on the outside, with stressful Christmas style monetary gift obligations on the inside. Poor Kumar…

Local bus travel can often be a source of stimulating conversation. As we sat squeezed together like sardines on a local bus returning from the ancient city grounds of Bhaktapur, I chatted with a Nepalese guy who lived in Dublin, Ireland for the last six years, making very good money as a Hi Tech Co. manager. He was just back in Nepal to attend a cousin’s wedding. Kumar might view this man as a betrayer to the cause of a greater collective Nepalese good yet who could honestly blame him for pursuing a better path for himself. The man also spoke with good authority and humor about today’s ever changing global shift in employment opportunities, shifting from country to country, continent to continent, depending on the cost cutting/profit driven avaricious whims of the world’s multinational companies. Ireland and China were already starting to overprice themselves, even with their cheaper paid immigrant workers. Would Cambodia or Kenya be the next economic boom?

The next two conversations represented the hopes and aspirations of today’s porters and trekking guides; the first, Gopal, a young Annapurna trekking guide who loved his mountains. Gopal spoke well, was quite world savvy and very good-natured. He worked at a travel agency in Kathmandu when not on a guided trek. He attended school to learn languages. He was very good at languages and knew that multiple language skills translated into a greater realm of foreigner guide opportunities. He sent money back home to help his parents and sister.

I met the next fellow while trudging along the Everest trek, each of us moving steadfastly with our burdensome backloads, taking in the magnificent views while also carefully avoiding the abundant yak dung on the trail. He spoke about his recent years of experience, carrying goods for others, learning the trade, gaining knowledge of the mountainous terrain so he could ultimately become a guide. He also talked about his difficulties dating his girlfriend who is from another Hindu caste family; a recurring Romeo and Juliet theme even here high in the Himalayas.

Then there was the proud, gregarious middle-aged woman who owned the profitable lodge along the Everest trek trail. Her parents were refugees that had fled Tibet during the 1950s Chinese invasion. They started a new life in the Nepalese Himalayans, gradually making a good living which afforded them the ability to send her to college in India. Parlaying her new educational skills with a keen acumen for business, she along with her husband, built a good livelihood for themselves through the burgeoning foreign trekker trade while also raising three children who all now attended various universities throughout the world. Their children’s futures also held strong promise.

And, as always in my travels, there were the numerous simple acts of kindness and generous smiles and gestures from the local people you meet in the streets and along the dirt paths through the countryside fields and villages. And what of these same people that offer goodwill to the Hindu Sidhus, the Tibetan monks, or to the passing stranger. Are they not the real practitioners of spiritual enlightenment?

Are Kumar’s trials and tribulations really any different from those of a family man working in New York City? They are two individuals living in two very diverse cultures yet they still share many common human traits. Nepalese, like the rest of us, want a better life for themselves and their families. Some take too seriously issues revolving around money and social status.

Life is what you make of it: sharing a smile and a conversation with strangers. Making the effort to extend goodwill to other people such as the American I met bringing up the Himalayan trail solar water heaters to the villagers or Sir Edmund Hillary’s charitable legacy to the Sherpa villagers.

There are no easy answers found upon discovery of the world’s iconic spiritual dwellings or alleged enlightened cultures. Does a visit to Machu Picchu or a trek to a Buddhist or Hindu temple provide immediate answers to an enlightened life path? Or are the answers more subtle, found along life’s daily journey? Are life’s answers discovered during a high desert pilgrimage to Mount Kailash, a low desert pilgrimage to Mecca, or maybe by a solitary stroll in the woods; any woods.

Often I discover in my travels, it’s not so much in the sacred destinations themselves but in the journey itself, and the good people you meet along the way, where the answers to life’s mysteries lie.

My last day in Nepal, I’m standing in the middle of a busy Kathmandu street. The usual beautiful crowded chaos is passing me on either side, yelling, honking, and tooting yet now I only hear the steady rhythm of the Buddhist chant music wafting down the street. The once irritating touts are pestering me, albeit nicely, as usual however now I just politely shake my head and smile.

I’m looking around and observing the chaotic and liberated manner in which growth was being constructed throughout the city of Kathmandu; the rampant disregard for electrical, utility or building codes. Somehow it all worked; well, at least until the next blackout, which happened almost daily.

I slowly shifted my eyes, leveling my view to the city street ahead. Soon, the concrete physical forms began to blur, merging, shifting into blends of colors and movement until finally all that stood before my eyes was silence and the glimmering white sheen of the Himalayans.

As Ashesh, my Blues aficionado friend would say, “COOL!”

(To see my photo images of Nepal, as well as my travel books, please visit www.michaelmcguerty.com listed on the links section.)

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