Day 5 - Remche - 2500 m

 

 

 

Are the kids gonna miss me when I die...

Will they say 'Daddy's gone, I want to cry?'

Will they remember the good times, the nothin' times, or just the bad times...

Will the kids really miss me when I die?

 

This song, along with a melody, came to me in a dream the other night, and it keeps recycling in my head as we climb and descend these granite steps.  I also keep telling myself, "If I fall here, I probably won't die, there is vegetation down there to soften the landing, and a bush to grab onto."  This refrain was most prevalent as we climbed from Briddhim about 2,200m on a rock strewn trail that barely clung to the side of the mountain.  The trail was about 2 1/2 ft wide, and in places the drop would have been into the abyss, 1,000m, or more, below.  I was very scared, at one point holding my hiking sticks in my right hand and hugging the mountain wall with the left.  Besides the sheer drop, the trail often had the uneven, uncertain stairs which add to the uncertainty of footing and security.  At one point, Sam, the porter, stopped at a very narrow spot looking down at nothing to rest.  I could not do it and told Norsang that I wanted to proceed.  The acrophobia seems worse just standing there.  Moving, you have to watch the trail, and cannot afford to look down.

Tomorrow, we climb 1,000m, supposedly gradually, through forest.  I am definitely wearing knee braces.  We encountered an old Frenchman at the lunch spot who told a story about his knee giving out on a descent.  The knee was wrapped, but I could not figure out how he was going to get back down.  Mule?  He kept rubbing it, looking very unhappy.

 

There is a young German man here who speaks English, so I could finally have a conversation.  He has been to Nepal and India several times, and loves trekking, no guide - usually with a friend, but this time alone.  He looked as isolated as I feel.  He is a house painter in Germany and during this time of year there is no work, so he travels.  I don't think house painters and coal miners in the states trek in the third world.

 

We are now on the Langtang National Park trek, having left the Tamang Heritage trek at Briddhim.

 

 

 



 

Day 4 - Briddhim

 

 

I think I am going to make it.  After a discussion with Norsang about the next two days, they don't sound impossible. 

 

I was tempted to ask for an alternate route back to Syabru Besi and Kathmandu.  The 800m, very steep climb down to the Langtang Khola from Thuman was gut-wrenching.  There was no snow, but the incline was steeper.  My knees ached and I feared total knee failure or permanent damage, requiring surgery at home.  Who knows?   I brought two knee braces, but had no idea the path would lead straight down. 

 

On these steep ascents or descents, with jagged, uneven, or gravelly granite forming the trail, it is imperative to analyze and engineer every step, pick the flattest or most secure looking footfall.  One look to the trees or the distant mountain could be disastrous.

 

This guesthouse is about the same as the others, except the shared toilet has a western style toilet, not a trough.  The toilet drains to outside, but as elsewhere, there is no incoming water, so a bucket of rainwater or snowmelt is in the room for the user to use for flushing. 

 

All these villagers are friendly - their clothes and children are dirty - what little kid is not dirty - but no one looks hungry. Norsang said that at this altitude chickens take about four years to reach killing size and are too valuable for eggs, and cows are too valuable for milk, so most people up here are vegetarian.  Every menu has looked the same...starch, starch, starch: momo - a dumpling stuffed with cheese, vegetables, or even snickers, are either fried or steamed; chow mien, spaghetti, soups (last night I had pumpkin soup, freshly mashed pumpkin made into a liquid..very plain, but different); rice with eggs and vegetables, even pizza if the kitchen has invested in a pizza oven.  Bread is either chapatti or Tibetan bread (a flour, water, and baking powder dough rolled out flat and fried, always with two slits in the round slab of dough.  Teas: black, masala, milk, ginger, lemon, coffee (instant), with hot milk or black.  Sugar up here is very course, and we use a lot of it to keep the energy up.

 

I am also using maca, one in the morning, one at lunch if I have the opportunity.  Sometimes, the exertion is so great, the heights and narrowness of our stopping place (10 minute rest) are scary enough to make me pop a pheno, because I'm feeling shaky or vulnerable.  When we reached the river this morning, it had the typical metal suspension bridge, 50-75 yards long, high over the rushing water.  My legs were shaking from the descent, and boarding the wobbly, swaying bridge was scary.  I had to breath deeply, like a meditation, and not look at the water boiling below, but look straight ahead at the end of the bridge.



 

Then we ascended the 200m plus about 500 more to reach this village.  At the lunch place a tiny lamb

was tied in a place where it could not see anyone.  The Frenchman tired of the bleating and went down and untied it and brought it up and tied it to the table where we were waiting for lunch.  It liked being petted and wagged its tail when I scratched the right part of its back.  Two tiny nubbins of horns were sprouting from the top of his head. 

 

Watching the French couple, I have to admit, I wish I were not doing this alone.  She slathers sunblock on him, he guides her patiently up or down the trail, and the two of them exchange observations or fatigue comments, or whatever, even hugging...all in French so no one but their guide can understand, if he's within earshot.  

 

Trek Day 3 - Thuman

Tonight we are in a village called Thuman.  After leaving Tatopani we descended about 500 meters (not bad), then climbed to our highest point yet, 3100m, a mountain viewpoint called Nagthali Gyang.  The views of the surrounding peaks looked like a Himalayan postcard.  We lunched up there then began a grueling descent down a very steep, snow covered trail.  Where the snow had melted, the mud or yak dung was slippery and dangerous.  I lost my footing once, catching myself before I hit the ground.  Norsang is typically close by and reaches out if he sees me slipping.  When we reached a resting point, the French couple caught up and we could see that she had landed fully on her behind.  We kept descending and I fell harder, landing on my backpack, muddying the pack and my hiking poles.  Everyone sympathized...C'est la vie!  Arriving in Thuman, his wife fell on her butt again, luckily no one was hurt.  This was a descent of about 800m, much with ice covered granite steps, much of it melted slush.  I had to zigzag slalom style, digging the sides of my boots into the snow, facing sideways, not down. 

 

 

 

Norsang and I took a stroll through the village trying to get some pictures of people doing what they do. 

 

 

 

 

 

We met up again with a group of Koreans who we had met yesterday.  Their porter, a Tibetan man, told me about the Chinese incursion into Tibet.  He said his grandfather and father had resisted.  His grandfather, on the verge of being captured and imprisoned or tortured, stabbed himself three times, not successfully/fatally.  The Chinese captured him, hospitalized him, and imprisoned him for twenty years.  He said his father had spent fifteen years in prison.   I could see the incentive for crossing the border illegally and taking jobs like porter.

 

As usual, our Nepali crews treat us like royalty, taking our food orders, sometimes cooking the food, waiting on us hand and foot.  Tea? Milk coffee? Banana? More tea?  It seems awkward but they are well compensated at the end in Kathmandu.  It seems to us (the French and me) that the custom is for them to feed us, the customer, before they feed themselves.  We feel like we're supposed to get out of the dining room before they are comfortable eating.  So, we take our leave and sit in our rooms freezing, while they are in the dining area around the wood stove, chatting, eating, and playing cards.  I sit here writing in this journal and trying to read, but it is too cold to read in bed.  All that is possible is to curl up in the mummy bag and stay warm.