I woke up at 6am to the beeping of
my travel clock, feeling the crisp morning air bite the tip of my nose, the
only exposed part of me outside of my sleeping bag. It’s strange, waking up in
a new place everyday, I can’t say I’ve experienced just that yet, but what I
have of it has been so disorienting. This morning I woke up and thought I was
home and that this had all been just one long, elaborate dream. With a little
motivational speech to myself I was able to pull myself out of my sleeping bag
and put on my previous days clothes. With the light of the rising sun and the
fog clearing from my head, I was now able to actualize my surroundings. My room
in this guesthouse was but a cardboard box made of plywood and wallpapered with
the Nepali Times. The walls were paper-thin and I felt as though my neighbors
next door were in fact talking to me. The light shined through every crack,
illuminating the newsprint like a clever lantern.
I quickly packed away my belongings
once more into my pack, hurrying to the toilet to brush my teeth with a bottle
of water and the fear of accidentally dropping something with its nightmarish
consequences. I then hauled my stuff down the narrow staircase with its slanted
steps, placing my pack on a bench beside a group of older French trekkers.
Chandra, my quiet guide then helped me order a breakfast of banana pancakes,
while he sipped on a hot cup of tea. We were off ahead of schedule, he taking
my large pack upon his back while I agreed to carry his lighter pack. We walked
out of the village and through many construction sights, signs in Chinese
telling us stopping was not permitted. Exposed mining entrances ushered in
huddles of Nepali men bearing hard-hats, brought there in the backs of white
trucks. We walked on, taking breaks every so often at the muttered words of “we
will rest now” from the otherwise silent Chandra. The dirt road was scattered
with tumbling rocks, making footing unsure in parts. We crossed rivers that
flowed swiftly concealing the road, hopping across scattered rocks, Chandra’s
outstretched hand helping me keep balance. The sun came up over the mountains
and blared down on us like a bully with a magnifying glass.
Every so often a jeep would pass us
full of travelers and their luggage, wobbling down the rocky road, stirring up
dust and spitting fumes into our lungs. During our second or third break, one
of these said jeeps stopped in front of the store where we rested. A group of
well-dressed Nepali women popped out of the jeep, wearing clothes I had seen on
sale in Kathmandu, pegging their origins by the fake coach bags, and shiny down
jackets. They overtook the store, squeezing beside me on the bench, an older
woman using my shoulder for support as she eased herself next to me. One woman
came around offering popcorn, everyone taking some, then coming to me, holding
open the plastic shopping bag, smiling and blinking. “No thank you,” I said
politely, but am greeted by just more blinking and smiling. I remember then
Nepali culture, no means yes, and yes means I would love some. I then take a
handful and munch along with the rest of the bench. With a slight nod from
Chandra we set off again, the road twisting up then falling back down.
We trudge on, another jeep passes
and a boy sitting on top whistles at me. I keep my head down recognizing the
sound from a previous stop when a woman made it trying to drive the chickens
from her store. We walk in silence but my mind is ablaze, singing every song I
know and some songs I’ve never heard, reciting every book I’ve read, and
renaming Chandra and me as if our journey was of significance. “The Adventures
of Lizard Man (that’s Chandra, he kind of takes on the resemblance of a
lizard), and Gorkka Girl.” In this vision Chandra pushes on guiding me through
the jungles of Nepal with nothing but a mere coin purse, while I travel as a
brave Nepali soldier with canteen and Gorkka knife in hand.
Nearing the end I find myself being
led up steep cliffs where the road snaps back and forth, feeling the weight of
the walk throbbing in my feet. My ankles ache and I find myself questioning why
I chose to set out on this god-forsaken trip for almost 3 weeks. We climb over
slippery rocks, the climate changing with growing altitude. A jungle scape sets
in; large stone faces echoing back the nearby river, creating an illusion of
two rivers on either side of us. We start on a slippery incline, a near 75-degree
angle over boulders. I feel myself deflating and I fight to keep walking. Each step
feels like a battle and I force myself not to ask Chandra for a break. His energy
pulls me up the mountain, an invisible rope tow, carrying me on. We finally are
there, the top plateau. A nice, quaint guesthouse sits upon it dignified, with
a magnificent view of a waterfall.
Thought of the day:
I have to say, if there really is a
yeti in these mountains of Nepal, they’ve got it all terribly wrong. With
climbs like that he would have a pretty kickass body!
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