Trekking and other feats in Nepal (continued)...

Our socks and underwear are almost dry from the very cold water wash in the running stream this morning. Sun's going down, yaks (real ones, with long, woolly hair and don't-mess-with-me-glances) coming in. Getting ready for our next trek tomorrow morning to Phongi Tenga, three hours supposedly, but for us of course that means...

Mountain goats and Snickers bars: Himalaya highlights...

3 December...Climbed our way out of Namche at 7 a.m. this morning, steep, rocky trails lined with fences made from piles of stone; the fences run zig-zag all along the mountainside, connecting trails and winding down into the village. Once up on the ridge, the terrain evened out some, and as early morning trekkers, we were able to see mountain goats grazing, as well as several dape, Nepal's national bird. The males are as gorgeous as peacocks, their bodies deep royal blue and irridescent, shimmering in the sunlight, their head feathers rich, bright green with touches of red and yellow.

Following the trails...switchbacks which gradually work you up and along the mountain. We reached a bend where Lhotse, and behind it, Everest, came into view. Walking today was breath-taking. Ama Yak did really well and didn't fade out at all, though Moti and I teased and prodded her like a yak. Had Arki, who stayed close and walked with us today, laughing hard, too, as often Ama Yak would unknowingly point to a yak trail, asking if she could take that one, and Moti would jump in front to block it, flailing his arms, hissing and whooping and yelling, as the yak drivers do when naughty yaks try to wander off the trail to graze.

We had a great time today and eventually climbed down to Phongi Tenga, a tiny village situated by a river. Only about four houses, and only this one guest house for trekkers. It has only two rooms and we're the only ones staying here tonight. We've been welcomed by Mingma (the husband) and Mingma (the wife)--Sherpas are named after the day of the week on which their born, Mingma meaning Tuesday.

They invited us into their kitchen for dinner, just us, along with Moti and Arki, a quiet night, waiting for the full moon. Mingma (the wife) slowly rolls the mala (prayer beads, strung like a rosary) between her fingers, muttering special prayers--her Buddhist beliefs coinciding with the worship of the full moon--under her breath. Nothing to do here, and no electricity, but the people are so wonderful to us, and this will be our first really personal experience in someone's home, as ll the other places have had more trekkers. We're lucky to be able to spend time with them.

They both speak English fairly well and Mingma (the husband) explained that their two children, nine and ten years old, live with their grandmother in Khunde, as there are no schools closeby, and the school in Khunjung (near Khunde) is a good one: the Sir Edmund Hillary School. Though quite old now, about a month ago, Sir Edmund himself flew in by helicopter to visit the school, the children, the village (though he needed the aid of an oxygen mask), to all kinds of welcome and ceremony, as he has contributed so much in the way of assistance to Nepal: hospitals, clinics, schools, etc. Tragically, he is said to have lost his wife and child in a helicopter accident in the Himalayas, some years after his successful climb of Mt. Everest.

Mingma continued to tell us that he feels education is the most important thing for his kids, so despite the fact he and his wife don't get to see their kids very often, he's glad they're getting a good education at a good school. We got in around 1:30 p.m. and by two the sun had already dropped behind the mountains, making it colder here very early. Apparently the sun doesn't come up over the mountains here until after 9 a.m. So I've been sitting by the kitchen fire chatting with the Mingma's, Mom's resting a bit.

I was ecstatic to find they sold Snickers bars, even here, and had one for a snack earlier. Everywhere we've been they've sold Mars bars, and sometimes Snickers--at a cost--as they've been carried from Lukla so many days away. Sometimes I've paid over US$1, just to indulge in the satisfaction of chocolate. You can't imagine how sweet and delicious they taste when you've been eating plain rice and noodle soup for days.

Totally Phakding in Phongi Tenga!

5 December...Yesterday morning was rough for both of us. It's pitch dark by 6 p.m. so you end up struggling to stay awake 'til 7. After dinner of dhal bat (steamed vegetables, white rice sprinkled with yak cheese, and lentil soup poured over), we stepped outside to see the full moon which had popped up between the mountains. We had hoped to be at Thyangboche in time for the full moon festival celebrated by the monks at the monastery there, who perform dances with masks under the moonlight on the last full moon of the year.

Anyway, went to be early, as usual, didn't sleep well, as usual, so by the time we got up around 6:30 a.m., I discovered my first case of the Himalaya runs, and Ama Yak almost threw her back out from coughing. Dilemma. Continuing on for her would mean the possibility of her back going out completely--but not going would be a big disappointment, as Thyangboche was only a 1/2 day's trek away, and that was where she so wanted to be.

We talked it over with Moti and Ark, and eventually Mom decided she'd just wait in Phongi Tenga while I went on to Thyangboche and Pengboche. I knew I had to at least make it to Thyangboche, but it was hard to leave her behind; I felt as though I was robbing her of the experience she'd dreamed of having all this time.

So Moti and Arki and I set off over the wooden suspension bridge and started up the steep ascent to Thyangboche--one experience I don't think Mom will mind missing. Within minutes i was winded, every step a higher elevation, the air thinner and thinner. The hike to Thyangboche takes 1-1/2 hours with the average group, but it took me 2-1/4 hours, including a lot of little breaks and several moments on the verge of tears. People going by tried to console me with "It's definitely not a trail for amateurs...you'll feel great when you get up there."

So on I went, every step was torture, as every short breath that went with it wasn't enough. Moti said, "This hill, everybody same like you," because of teh increase in altitude, which made me feel better, but somehow I never believed we'd reach the top of the ridge--it was uphill every painful step of the way. Not to mention my internal fight with the Himalaya runs, and waves of nausea coming on due to altitude.

Yet stepping up onto even turf, the saddle (kind of plateau between mountains) on which Thyangboche monastery sits, you've reached the top and Mt. Everest, framed by Lhotse and Nutse, is in full view, your grand reward for the climb.

Moti and Arki got me a room and I found a bench in the sun to lie on and rest awhile. The Himalaya sun is really hot; amazing that you can be in a T-shirt, warm and glowing during the day, but once the sun goes behind the mountains you need layers and layers to keep warm.

Had a hot shower, Himalaya-style: a wooden hut with a huge jug of hot water placed on top and piped in through a shower spigot (once the jug is empty your shower's finished). My second shower since leaving Kathmandu, made more exciting with the little Nepali kids peeking in through the cracks, giggling and saying "namaste".

An American girl gave me some meds for nausea, and by dinnertime I was feeling better and hungry again. Crawled off to be around 6:15 p.m., sprang up for a toilet run (pun semi-intended) at what felt like dead of night, as I tiptoed through the darkened dormitory, past all the sleeping bodies, and around the woodstove, the porters crashed out on benches, through th ekitchen, where two more bodies were huddled, out into the moonlight, bright enough to see me down the rocky path to the outhouse--squat, and you get an unobstructed view of Mt. Everest, daintily framed in the tiny window of the outhouse. A Kodak moment! (see photos: http://www.oocities.org/TheTropics/6330/Photos.html ) Crept back in and looked at my watch by candlelight: 10 p.m.

At 8:30 a.m. Arki took me to the gomba (monastery) for the morning ceremony (he and Moti and I had been yesterday afternoon as well). Climb up the steep stone steps to the gomba entrance, turn and climb more steps up to the open courtyard within the complex...cross the courtyard, steps and actual entrance, where you take your shoes off, then duck under large quilt curtain covering doorway and choose a seat on floor cushions lining the right wall facing the monks...

The center of the room has three long wooden platforms topped with cushions...facing us on the platform furthest away, a monk seated on the right, closest to the altar, recites prayers and leads chanting...rhythmical humming, up-and-down, in-and-out...a young boy sits by a large dompu (hanging drum) at the far left end of the second platform. The second rinpoche (the head rinpoche, or head monk, does not participate in this service) sits perpendicular to the boy on a small raised platform by himself...

The room's interior..wooden beams painted bright red with elaborate, colorful paintings on the walls, depictions of Buddha and different stages of his life, his search for enlightenment...green, blue, red, gold, every spare inch beautifully, intricately painted.

The ceremony begins with what seems like warm-up chants by the priests, followed by the beating of the dompu and blows on the jaling, loud, jarring, trumpet-like horns, and cymbals clanged by the three monks facing us...The monks are draped in heavy wool burgundy robes, long burgundy skirts...A huge gold Buddha sits above the altar, framed by ornate wooden carvings of bodhhisatvas, flowers, animals, etc.

After the ceremony I approached the monk who leads the prayers and chants. He always stays behind to clean up and straighten things up (did I mention he's damn cute?!), and I asked him for a kata, one of the white silk scarves that have been blessed by the rinpoche and are kept in a brass dish on the altar. He gave it to me to put around my neck, and after that I didn't know quite what to do with it, to pay some money, or give it back, or someething. "You keep," he said, "good luck." So I walked out into the sunlight feeling enchanted by my token from the monastery at Thyangboche, perhaps lending more mystery and sacredness to it that it deserved, and than I was actually feeling, but it was a special gift, nonetheless.

I decided not to go on to Pengboche today, but rather to relax and enjoy the peace and sunshine here at Thyangboche. Went for a short climb on an upper ridge which winds along behind Thyangboche, a dusty trail with a steep drop down to the right, and rhododendron (the national tree) bushes on the left. Strung through the trees, hundreds of prayer flags, forming long chains, blowing in the wind, some still bright with color: red, green, yellow, blue; others worn and ragged with wind and weather, fading white to gray, tattered and shredded--but how many hundreds of prayers they must've sent up to heaven!

Towards the top of the ridge, a chorten (Tibetan word for the Sanskrit "stupa"; a stone monument) with prayer flags posted all around it. A monk passed me on his way up the trail. "Namaste, how're you doing?" he asked in English. He was on his way up to cut firewood.

I found a rock and perched myself, looking down the hillside at the chortens and the colors of the prayer flags, the Thyangboche monastery looking small in the distance, compared to the magnitude of the mountains--giant, snow-capped peaks jutting up in every direction.

About an hour passed and my monk friend was coming down again, his basket filled with firewood, his head straining somewhat under the weight of the cloth band and ropes rigged up to the basket on his back.

"You finished?" I asked him. "Do you make one trip, or many trips?"

"We monks," he laughed, "we work a lot. I like work, so...many times!" He chuckled to himself and started moving down again. "Bye!" he called back over his shoulder. Another cute monk...But the monks of Thyangboche are celibate and don't marry. Moti tells me the celibate ones have their heads shaved, as these do, but the long-haired ones can marry. All practice Tibetan Buddhism.

Up atop that hill, by myself, an image and moment I won't forget--the silence and solitude and serenity, and the sacred, so nearby. I was able to look far down below and see the tiny village of Phongi Tenga, where Mom is, hoping she was enjoying the same sunshine and finding some perfect moments of her own.

It's almost noon and everybody's sprawled on chairs and benches by the lodge here, drinking up the sunshine, under clearnest blue skies, surrounded by gigantic white peaks. Lakba, a six year-old little girl here at Gomba Lodge...I asked her if she went to school, "No, no school." But her mother explained that this year she would be sending her to Kathmandu to boarding school (you see boarding schools everywhere there, apparently for the numbers of country kids--who can afford it--to have educational opportunities). There is no school in Thyangboche, and the one in Pengboche is not a good one; the Sir Edmund Hillary in Khunjung is too far. Lakba already speaks some English from her interactions with Westerners. Another little boy whose mother died and whose father works in Namche, lives here with this family. I gave them each some stickers and pens, so we're drawing pictures of each other, and stickers are getting stuck on the lodge windows with all the other decals from around the world.

Afternoon, the sound of the battered and torn volleyball being kicked around up the hill in front of the monastery--playtime for the monks, jumping and kicking the ball up in the air in their long wool robes and sneakers, hooting and yelling and laughing at one another...a much different image than the one I have of them seated chanting in the gomba.

Saw the cute one I met collecting firewood, as well as the one who leads the prayers and chants during the ceremony--beautiful smile and gleaming bald head. Oh my God, I've got a crush on a monk--time to go!!

I went one last time for the afternoon ceremony, concentrating on not concentrating, allowing the voices of the monks, the incomprehensible flow and hum, to dictate the images in my mind...voices going in no particular direction, criss-crossing and topping one another like my thoughts...God, I've got a crush on a Buddhist monk (he was so damn cute!) Does that mean I haven't given up my worldly desires? Maybe that's a message in itself: has crushes on celibate monks, needs to find a suitable mate...

A Japanese group came in about dinner time, down from Khala Pathar, one of the peaks up from here. One guy, sick from altitude, staggering and swaying, being catered and tended to by his guides and fellow trekkers. Have seen several people come down sick over the course of this week. A girl that didn't make it past Monju, had already felt sick down at Lukla. On the Namche hill, a group passed us going down, a tiny Nepali porter carrying a girl on piggy back, too sick to walk down. The Australian couple, young and spritely on their way to Khala Pathar (we met them in Monju and ran into them again in Namche)...yesterday as I struggled up to Thyangboche they were coming down. Had made it only to Pengboche where the girl got sick as a dog, vomiting all night, had to come back to Thyangboche and were headed back to Namche--never even got close to Khala Pathar.

We've been lucky I guess. Moving so slowly, perhaps, that acclimatization has come easily, gradually, as it should. So many people push it and move up to higher altitudes too quickly. It's serious stuff; people die every year from altitude sickness.

Glad I too the day to relax, could easily stay in Thyangboche longer, but tomorrow we're going back down. Arki went ahead down with Moti's pack because it's much more expensive for him to eat and stay in the dormitory up here (than in Phongi Tenga). Tomorrow early, Moti (carrying our duffle) and I will descend, pick Mom up and head back to Namche. A long day, as we have to climb up and out of Phongi Tenga, back along the switchbacks on the ridges, then down, down, down into Namche again. My legs and ankles are feeling weak today, so I'm hoping I'll get some strength and stamina back for tomorrow. Hope Ama Yak's well-rested, too, as the more she can depend on her own energies, the better, though sometimes my focusing on her efforts distracts me from the difficulty of my own. Hmm, there's a lesson.

The Return of Ama Yak

6 December...An amazing day...moti and I left Thyangboche at 7 a.m., made it down to where Mom was in 45 minutes. The Mingma's made us Tibetan bread and milk tea for breakfast; they had taken good care of Ama Yak while we were gone. the wife was so friendly and affectionate, holding our hands and smiling goodbyes--really good people.

We hauled ourselves back up the ridge and stopped off in Sanasa, 2 hours after setting off with Mom and Arki. Approaching Sanasa we heard someone calling after us "Dawa! Ama! Dawa!" (Dawa is the Sherpa name given to us by the Mingma's, meaning "Monday", as both Mom and I were born on a Monday). It was Mingma chasing after us, had been trying to catch up with us, laughing "Ama moving fast today, yeah?" She was driving two yaks off to somewhere but had abandoned them downhill a way and ran to catch us. She was waving two Snickers bars in her hand and came running up to give them to us, gave us each a hug, then headed back to her yaks.

We ordered noodle soup for lunch in Sanasa and Moti informed us the lama from Thyangboche was a guest in the Ama Dablam Lodge there. Once a year he makes rounds to different places at the invitation and request of different people. If you would like to have him visit your home--considered a great honor and blessing to your house, good luck, etc.--you visit him in Thyangboche and request the honor. The lama then arranges an appropriate day with you and comes with an entourage of monks to perform ceremonies and chanting all day long at your residence or establishment.

We took a peek, trying not to gawk at the monks seated in a row in a side room, clothed in their burgundy robes,sunshine reflecting off their shaved heads. Two of them sat before the dungchen, long brass alpine horns which have a deep bellow, deeper than a tuba. A small doorway to the right revealed the lama himself, seated in a tiny inner room.

We wanted so much to approach and offer something, a greeting, a prayer...Mom came up with "Best wishes from the United States" and Moti said it was okay to approach. So we both tiptoed through the front room, trying to exude meekness and humility, but the monk seated to the right of the door stopped us and gestured that we needed to kneel down, or at least lower ourselves before addressing the lama. Somehow we fumbled and bumbled to the great amusement of the monks seated around the lama--they even stopped chanting to chuckle at us!

Decided from Sanasa we would skip Namche for the day and head instead to Khunjung, about an hour's hike off the trail we were on. More laughing fits and hysterics as we made constant yak jokes about Mom, giving her a new nickname for every day...
*Dawa Yak--when she's in Sherpa country
*Naughty Yak--wanting to stray off on yak trails to graze
*Happy Yak--at the end of a day of trekking
*Crazy Yak--occasional fits of insanity
*Ama Yak--always!
*Yak Cheese--when having her photo taken

We reached Khunjung and found a beautiful village, teh cleanest and easiest to walk around in--beautifully spread out on a hillside and small valley, everything connected and framed with neat stone pile walls, with a backdrop of Ama Dablam, a huge peak shaped like deformed "M".

Got settled in and headed off to visit the Sir Edmund Hillary School, as we wanted to give some pens to the Mingma's kids, one of the major expenses they have for sending their children to this school. It was a test day, but we were welcomed by the teachers and principal, who showed us around some of the classrooms and had us into the office for tea.

The Sir Edmund Hillary School has a much higher standard than most schools in Nepal. It's well-funded by the Hillary Foundation, has some 350 students with 18 teachers, all subjects, grades from as young as six years old (sometimes younger) up through high school, from which time the kids often go on to college in Kathmandu.

One of the teachers knew the Mingma family and kids so they stashed the pens away in the principal's office for the two kids, and spent a lot of time telling us about the school. As some kids come from really distant villages, the school provides a hostel for them so they don't have to trek great distances daily. There's even a dormitory/hostel for teachers who are also from far away areas.

Some of the buildings, cement brick structures with wooden rooves and skylights have signs saying who the buildings have been funded by: "Belgian Friends," "The Hillary Foundation", etc.

Checked out a few classrooms, the only warmth and light provided by ceiling skylings, and the rooms so cold in winter that school is closed from December 15th to February 15. But there were posters everywhere--of the solar system, the chemical elements, English verbs and tenses--obvious care put into making the classrooms lively.

The kids we've seen in Khunjung, and some of the students at the school, seem to be less ragged, dressed less shabbily and a bit cleaner than many we've seen. Of course there are still some little ones running around with dirt layered on so thick, their faces, hands, clothes, and huge gobs of snot dripping out their noses which moves in and out of their nostrils as they sniff and snort.

Haven't described enough the scents and sounds of Nepal, much harder to capture in words than images are. Everything from fresh yak shit to burning wood to incense, the powerful gushing of the river, only a still roar when you're far above, the sound of the coordinated feet of porters stepping on the trail, their heavily-laden baskets creaking behind them, the sound of our wakling sticks hitting the sandy earth and rocks as we plod along, the breathy greetings of "namaste" from passersby on the trails, yak bells clanging hollowly in the distance or as they approach you on the trail...oh yeah, and can't forget the hacking and coughing, snorting and snotting everywhere. God, it's the one thing you find constant, people coughing up and swirling around huge loogies before spitting them on the ground. (Can't say we haven't been guilty once or twice...)

After visiting the school we headed up to the Khunjung Gomba and had a few serene moments sitting inside, listening to the lama reading and chanting ancient texts. An old Sherpa lady unlocked the donation box cabinet to reveal one of the famed Yeti skulls. Yetis, or abominable snowmen to us, are great legend here, and there, locked away in a small glass case, what appeared to me, was a large, hairy half-coconut, but that's not something you'd want to say loud enough for anybody to hear. Not that I'm much of a doubter when it comes to UFOs, angels, and why not throw in yetis, it's just that the object didn't look all that convincing.

The yeti is said to be much larger than a human being, though the Tibetans hold that there are actually three different kinds of yeti, which vary in size, diet, and types of mischief. Their eyes are piercing, and they have thick black or brownish hair over most of their bodies, except for their faces. Most agree that a male yeti will devour male human beings, but would take kindly to a female human being, and vice versa. They yeti lair, and the yeti themselves, supposedly give off an extremely foul and offensive odor. They're thought to be some living relic, a being crossed between our primitive ape ancestors and our fully developed human selves. They're supposed to be very intelligent, but lack the ability to communicate verbally, their sound being a kind of whistling. In general they leave people alone, preferring the higher elevations and a solitary life.

I've since asked Moti his view on yetis and he told me some pretty convincing yeti stories which paralleled ones I've read about. When he was younger, about 14, his father sent him about two hours away from the village to allow the sheep (or cows, I forget) to graze. He had to spend the night there by himself and it was a remote place where no other people, villages, animals were. In the middle of the night he heard "hoo-hoo" (not an owl), sounding like a human's voice, and he was absolutely terrified, so the next day when he went home he told his father he wasn't doing that job anymore. He also said his aunt claims to have seen a yeti once when Moti's younger brother was staying with her. In the early-evening she saw a really huge person, not up close, so she couldn't see the face, but saw this massive figure (and Nepalis are not very big people, so...) which moved away very quickly, and the next morning she found a big footprint in the yard.

Of course the stories are endless, and all of them similar to these, one woman even claiming to have been a yeti's wife. Nonetheless, the stories set off a wave of exploration and expeditions throughout the Himalaya, Westerners coming in the 50s and 60s in search of Yeti evidence. Sir Edmund Hillary was even said to have searched, though announced that there was no sufficient evidence. And if you talk to most people, it seems they have some belief that the yeti is part of the Himalaya reality. Moti said he doesn't believe there are any yeti now, because he has been trekking around for ten years and longer and hasn't seen anything to prove it, but still concedes that there was a yeti in years past.

Namche or Bust

7 December...Headed out of Khunjung, through Khunde, a neighboring village, then began the slow descent to Namche, driving Ama Yak slowly down the terrain. By noon we were back in Namche at the Kalapathar Lodge where we'd stayed before. We had previously discussed giving Moti a present, aside from teh big tips he and Arki will each get from us. He'd been eyeing a big plush blanket in Namche earlier, brought over the mountains from Tibet; he wanted it for his baby. So we wanted to buy it for him, and also get a jacket for Arki, who's been wearing the same thin, long-sleeved shirt for days (and cold nights). So we gave them money and he and Arki went down to the Tibetan market where all the Tibetans are camped out.

The scene, though I've already described it, is just so wild. On a small plateau a few levels down from our lodge in the center of Namche, the whole area reeks of yak dung. Ragged woven wool tents are propped everywhere, yaks lingering about, ground cloths laid out with heaps of clothing--pants, jackets, sweaters--lots of knock-off fleecewear with Nike, Tommy Hilfiger, North Face labels, all made in Tibet (or China perhaps) and carried over in huge sacks on teh backs of Tibetan men, or piled and strapped on the sides of their yaks.

Inside the tents (from what I could see...yes, I was having fantasies about seeing the inside of a Tibetan nomad's tent--eek!), coal stoves with cooking pots on top, Tibetan guys lying on top of sacks stuffed with goods, or sitting out amidst the piles--selling things to the locals. The Tibetans don't speak or understand much Sherpa or Nepali, let alone English, but somehow everybody communicates with gestures, small calculators, and a few words here and there.

One more time, the Tibetans just look WILD, like no kind of people I've ever seen. All men, too, as the women only make the trek during the warmer monsoon season...They all wear thick animal skin or wool pants, puffed out from the fur linings inside which peek out around the bottom cuffs...and that wild long, matted hair with the red ropes woven in, strands of Tibetan beads around their necks (which they're constantly trying to sell me by hissing and smiling to get my attention, then pointing to the beads), and SO dirty, dark, black from the the dust and filth they travel through, faces weather-beaten, making them look much older than I imagine they are. Mom observed they look like wild Plains Indians, but somehow the term "Indian" connotes a more familiar image, and the Tibetans look like no one else I could compare with.

Lamas, Tibetan Nomads, and return to "civilization"...Nepal continued!

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