Trekking the Khumbu in Nepal   

September 14 – November 29, 2013

by Joseph Stevenson

Joseph with Everest and Lhotse – from Gokyo Ri.

In the fall of 2013 I spent 9 weeks in Nepal, most of it up high in the valleys around the Mt Everest region — the Khumbu as it is known. I whittled my pack weight down to 35 lb and carried my own gear throughout the trek with the exception of one day when I was just too sick and needed to quickly retreat to a lower altitude. Carrying no camping gear except for a warm sleeping bag, I stayed in the many “tea houses” that dot the popular trekking routes at an average cost of less than $25/day for an unheated room and 3 meals a day. I spent at least 6 weeks at elevations above 11,000 ft, getting as high as 18,500 ft.

I knew before I left that from time to time I would encounter internet access and had promised to send emails to folks back home when possible. What follows is a digest of those emails, sent from various locations often under difficult circumstances: cranky keyboards, bad connections, freezing fingers etc. Not a polished piece by any means, it does paint a picture of the scene at the top of the world, the people who flock to see it, and the thoughts that swirl in the mind as you trudge through what seems in retrospect a gorgeous blur.

September 14 – Astoria, Oregon (before I left home)

Dear Friends & Family,

By now most of you know that I’m going to Nepal to do some trekking in the high Himalayas. I’m scheduled to leave Seattle on Sept. 18th and return on Nov. 22nd. I will enter and leave Nepal via Kathmandu, but will spend most of my time on the trails. The first plan is to fly to Lukla (this landing is worth a search on YouTube — look for “World’s Most Dangerous Airport”) and then walk north on what is called the “3 Passes Trek” through the Khumbu region. This should take maybe 4-6 weeks, taking my sweet time. Upon returning to Kathmandu, if I haven’t had enough of trekking my plan is to head north into the Helambu and Langtang areas for the balance of my time. If you want to know more you can Google some of those names. No, I am not going to be climbing Everest or any other mountaineering peak, but they will be on display all around me, and the 3 passes on my proposed route are all over 18,000 feet.

You are getting this little fare-thee-well because I have put you in a group email that my brother Ted will manage. It will rarely be possible for me to send emails (and I’m not even bothering to take a phone), so when I can get a message to him he will forward it to you. That’s about all the communication there’s going to be until I get back to the states.

I’m going alone, which has it’s pros and cons. It’s not my first choice but was dictated by circumstances — could’t find anybody. The pros include complete independence as to where I go, stop, or linger. Therefore all plans are tentative and subject to change except for the departure date which is fast approaching. I will try to be more judicious in the mountains than I typically tend to be, and hope that all goes well. This is obviously bucket list territory, so if I end up in a bucket, know that I went out on top of the world, and thinking of you.

September 21 – Kathmandu

Arrived Kathmandu (henceforth to be known as ”Ku-City”) yesterday after a series of flights totaling 45 hours start to finish. My Sherpa family met me as arranged previously by Nawang Furba who works as a chef in Astoria. I was carrying a suitcase with 44 lb of presents he bought for his Ku-City family, making me a sherpa for the Sherpas. As best I can figure it out I am 12 hrs 45 min ahead of PDT, so my bio-clock is turned on its head. As tired as I was from the trip I had no trouble sleeping.

Tomorrow another member of the family is going to take me on a whirlwind (motorbike) round of errands for bank, maps, permits, etc. and I’ll fly to Lukla on Tuesday the 24th. This 24-yr-old Sherpa has summited Everest 7 times already and showed me a photo of himself on top with the record-setting 80-yr-old Japanese guy earlier this year. Fate has delivered me into the hands of experts. Too bad he can’t go with me. My biggest problem is the heat, in the 90s when I arrived, today a breeze made it feel cooler. I washed clothes earlier today, hung them on the roof, and in 2 hrs they were dry, even the wool socks. The staple diet seems to be white rice with vegetable curry, a yellow lentil soup poured over it, served with a side dish of deadly chili sauce — 1/2 tsp is plenty! — plus many little snacks and treats.

Before the heat of the day, Nawang’s daughter Futi walked me to the big Buddhist temple of Boudanath where I turned many a prayer wheel, bowed to many an image, and did 3 full (flat-out) prostrations to the great stupa on well-worn wooden planks. The streets are a chaos of people & honking vehicles, shops and sidewalk vendors, dust, smoke and exhaust. Pigeons dominate the temple grounds, ravens seem to rule elsewhere. I’ve seen this brand of chaos before, some 25 years ago, but then it took 2 years to get that far down the road — this is pretty sudden. The heat should take care of itself once I get to higher ground.

I’ve already met some great people and had some great conversations on the planes. The family just called Nawang via Skype — he tells me it’s 12:30 am in Astoria, it’s 1:15 pm here; you figure it out.

September 29 – Namche Bazar

Due to various complications it has taken me a long time to get another email out. This computer makes corrections very difficult — it took me 1 1/2 hours just to get into my email account.

I escaped the heat and tumult of Ku City on 9-24, flying to Lukla in a 2-prop plane, viewing a few sky-piercing peaks along the way. At the Ku airport I met a British couple with 8-yr-old triplets. I watched as Daddy leashed and carabinered each darling girl to her Teddy bear — what a good Dad! Today 5 days later I ran into them all on the trail heading uphill.

Anyway no sooner I got to Lukla it began to rain and it went on all night and next morning. A headache that had started in Ku City continued to blossom and I was keen to lose some altitude but didn’t want to trek in the pouring rain. The lodge I stayed at was run by a majestic Sherpa woman who’d been there for at least 30 years; there were photographs of her with Edmund Hillary on the wall. I asked her about cheaper alternatives to flying out of Lukla for the trip home. I’d heard that recently a bus route had been established to a town about 2 days hike to the south of Lukla, making it possible to ride a bus back to Kathmandu at a fraction of the cost. “No no no you mustn’t ride the bus,” she exclaimed, “the bus is hódeeble, hódeeble!!!” I loved the way that came out, spoken very quickly at high volume and pitch, peaking on the first syllable. It became a little mantra for me later when things went bad on the trail and I needed cheering up.

Finally around 11 it cleared a little and I headed up-trail (downhill) for Phakding where I spent the next two nights until the headache lifted. On the 27th I climbed to Namche at 11,400 feet where I stayed at a place recommended by a friendly policeman:

“You stay at the Hilton,” he said.

“What??” I said, “In America, Hilton veeeeeery expensive!!”

“Yes, in America but no the same here — Heeeelton!” he stressed. After some hilarious back and forth he finally wrote it on the palm of his hand — “HILL TEN” and we both had a good laugh. The Hill Ten turned out to be just fine, anything would have been fine after that climb, I was toast.

In the morning I called my Sherpa friend Tschering (the motorcycle riding, Everest climbing 24-yr-old) and he insisted I move to another place run by his friend (also Tschering). So here I sit trying to write on Tschering’s MacBook which freezes about every sentence and you have to play with the scroll bar to get it moving again.

Today I did a dayhike to Kumjung (12,560′) where I had noodle soup in the kitchen of a tiny teahouse that caters mostly to school kids from the Hillary School across the road (trail) and porters. On the way up I caught two glimpses of Everest itself and lots of great views of the much more elegant Ama Dablam. Again I ran into the triplets with their parents. All had suffered various forms of altitude sickness but like me they are all recovered and adjusting their plans towards the more ambitious. One of the triplets had actually thrown up in the dining room when they got to Lukla. The girls are all carrying small packs and flying small Nepali flags somebody gave them, but the family did hire a porter to help out with their gear. Their goal at this point is to hike up the central valley to Gokyo with its emerald lakes and alpine vistas. They are posting to a blog at <www.travelswithtriplets.com>, check it out.

[Note: I did when I got home — it’s awesome! Beautifully done, lots of photos, even some video, and all of them write for it including the girls. One broke her leg later in another part of Nepal but they are soldiered on, and didn’t return to England until September 2014, nearly a a year after I met them at the Ku City airport. There’s even a detailed account of what they spent — you’ll be surprised how little it cost!]

Tomorrow I will head up to Tengboche (13,000 ft+) and see how I feel. Oh…I have to tell you, some of the best Nepali humor happens in the toilet. At Lukla: “Gentlemen: You aim will help, stand closer it’s shorter than you think. Ladies: Please remain seated for the entire performance.” And at a small teahouse john in Monjo: “Keep me clean and treat me well, and what I’ve seen I’ll never tell.” That last one sounds vaguely familiar…

And a word about the porters, the 18-wheelers of Nepal. In Lukla I saw a porter dwarfed by 5 mattresses on his back, a boy carrying a full-size couch on a sheet of 1/2″ plywood, an old man carrying 2 cases of whiskey and 2 cases of beer, and a very small boy toting 2 cases of Mars bars. According to the airport scale I am carrying nearly 40 lb, and after the ass-kicking I got between Phakding and Namche I realize that some of that has got to go. I’ll be leaving some things with Tschering in Namche if I’m to have any hope of doing half the route I want to do. But those porters…they keep you humble.

I hope that life is being good to you whatever you’re up to. Please send me whatever psychic/spiritual/telepathic help you can. I walk clockwise around every stupa and mani wall, turn every prayer wheel — I need all the help I can get.

October 4 – Dingboche

Where were we — Namche last time? I’ve done two days of hiking up since then — now at a little over 14,000 feet in Dingboche after spending two nights in Tengboche at 12,000 something. I’ve got another altitude headache but I did have an actual HOT SHOWER today! It would take too long to describe how that was accomplished but I will say that the water was heated by bottled gas, I did not contribute to the further deforestation of the Khumbu.

Tengboche is the home of probably the most famous Buddhist monastery in the Khumbu. I attended a chanting service in the ceremonial room, probably the most ornate room I’ve ever seen ever. The monks were outnumbered by the trekkers. On each side of the central alter were two Jizo bodhisattva figures about 10 feet tall, pretty much identical to the Jizo figures at the Great Vow Monastery in Clatskanie, 40 miles up the river from Astoria. Jizo gets around.

There was a monastery information center outside the grounds. I paid 100 rupees (about a dollar) to look at the exhibits and watch a short film. When I asked about the film I was told the DVD player was broken and wasn’t likely to be fixed anytime soon. I did really enjoy the exhibits, really informative on many aspects of Buddhism and the ecological challenges in the Khumbu. Here are a few quotes I copied down:

 “The Tibetan name for Everest, Chomolungma, is a reference to Miyo-Langsangma, the Sister who gives food. She rides a tiger and is very beautiful. In her right hand is a bowl of food, and by her left side is a mongoose spitting jewels.”

“Modern industrial society is a fanatical religion. We are demolishing, poisoning and destroying all life systems on the planet. We are signing IOUs that our children will not be able to pay. We are acting as if we were the last generation on the planet. Without a radical change in heart, in mind and vision, the earth will end up like Mars, charred and dead.” J.A. Lutzenberger – The Sunday Times.

And this on the preciousness of this human life we’ve been given: “To be born a human being is said to be more difficult than for a blind turtle in a vast ocean the size of a universe to surface accidentally with its head poking through the single wooden ring floating on the surface.”

Well that will have to do it for now — I need to go rest my aching head. I should tell you that I have been in the clouds for three days now and have not had a glimpse of the mountains since I got my peek at Everest. No hurry, my time will come.

October 14 – Pheriche

Coming down from Everest base camp (EBC) I have hit unexpected snow, very unusual for October — there’s a foot on the ground and its still coming down hard. All of this thanks to a cyclone that brushed the tip of India, enough to ruffle the weather up her in what’s supposed to be the best month of the year. Actually I’ve seen more wet, or at least cloudy days than clear since I got to Nepal. Luckily I have lots of time and living up here (room and meals) is costing me less than $25/day.

To catch up, after my last email I hiked up to Chukung at about 16,500 ft elevation and had more headache. I spent 3 nights there and only on the last day did the skies clear for the first time. With a daypack I scurried up nearby Chukung Ri (18,000 ft) for splendid views in all directions, looking right at Ama Dablam, perhaps the the most beautiful of the Khumbu peaks, and so close to Nuptse (actually just the highest point on a steep snowy ridge) that it blocks the view to the NW and Everest. Having suffered no further problems with headache after 3 nights in Chukung and my side trip up Chukung Ri, I thought my altitude problems would be over, but alas it was not to be.

The internet is so slow here (no wonder with the weather and the satellite connection) that I think I will have to leave off here and pick up the narrative under better conditions later. Juan from Spain has been kind enough to loan me his MacBook, and with a half hour just to load my email account this much has taken an hour. So much more to tell….

October 15 – Pheriche

Picking up where I left off when the net went down yesterday: personalities. You meet so many interesting adventurers up here. For my hike up Chukung Ri I brought plenty of water but only one hard boiled egg to eat. When I got to the top I groped fruitlessly in my daypack for the egg, finally turning it upside down and dumping out everything. No egg. The raven sitting 10 feet away up on top of the summit shrine laughed at me. (Turns out I left it in my room.) So on the way down I met a young Austrian woman and her guide practically leaping up this steep rocky trail I had just dragged my ass up with both hands. When she heard my boiled egg story she broke out a tin of delicious Austrian chocolate and gave me 3 or 4 big chunks….like an angel straight from heaven! Later back at the lodge I learned that she was with a group aiming to climb Island Peak, a 20,000+ ft “trekking peak” (meaning some mountaineering equipment required but not a full-on mountaineering climb). But for her, Island Peak. was just a tune-up for climbing Ama Dablam, a much more serious mountaineering venture. I’ve never hung out with people like this or seen them in action (cept maybe my friend Mort), but Sabrina was as sweet and humble as they come.

Other notable personalities I got to know:

Rafaele, a 30-yr old stereotypically outgoing, friendly and dramatic Italian social worker who works with autistic children on a farm/school. Two weeks after meeting in Chukung I ran into him again in the dark outside a tea house in another valley, recognizing him by the merry sound of his voice.

Tony, a 64-yr old German retired hospital administrator who, like me, likes to travel alone. Tony travels a lot — this is just the early phase of a trip that will go on into next spring. He sizes up every woman he sees hoping to spot wife #3.

Julie & Pascal, 30-something palliative care nurses from Switzerland, again stereotypically the diametric opposite of Italian Rafael — perfectly sweet and responsive if asked direct questions, but apparently no actual curiosity about anything or anybody else.

Dan & Lynn from Wash. D.C., government employees whose paychecks stopped abruptly about a week earlier, which is how I found out about the 2013 American government shutdown. “What about congress?” I asked, “Are they still getting paid?” somehow knowing the answer already before they told me “Oh yes, they passed a bill exempting themselves.” That’s our Congress for ya!

From Chukung I gingerly worked my way higher, but when I hit 17,000 ft near Everest base camp (EBC as they call it up here), the headache was back. By now the trekking season is in full swing, nearly everybody headed for EBC, so the last lodging on that route was so full of trekkers that I ended up spending quite the “hódeeble” night with my headache outside in a tent in sub-freezing weather.

Well dear friends, this emailing from cafe computers is not working out so well. Unfamiliar keyboards, antic jumps of the cursor, letters that don’t work half the time (“t” on this particular  laptop), make it a slow, frustrating, and expensive proposition when it is possible at all. Hate to leave it hanging but there you are, my hour is up.

Appreciate your life!

October 17 – Namche

I’m back to Namche after an 11-hr marathon day on the trail yesterday, covering the same distance it took me 3 days of hiking to go up — and not because it was all downhill. Up high (over 14,000 ft) the trails pretty much go up or down, but below Tengboche the canyon walls are so steep and the river crossings frequent enough that you do nearly as much up as down when going “downhill”. I read somewhere that getting up as high as I went involves 24,000 ft of climbing and 12,000 ft of downhill. Anyway Pheriche to Namche in a day is unusual for a laden trekker.

I had my first fall of the trip on a long steep downhill amid some heavy traffic of trekkers heading up after all the bad weather delays. I slipped on something, rolled down the hill hitting my head on something hard and crashing into a terrified Chinese girl as I came to rest against a big rock. She managed to stay on her feet, uninjured, and I seem to have escaped with only a lump in front of my left ear that only hurts when I try to eat. No blood lost.

My last email left you hanging with me in a tent with a headache at 17,000 ft as I recall. I woke up the next morning with the same poison headache and decided to head downhill. On the way up I’d spotted a peak in the distance that looked just like Everest, so I figured what the hell, I’ve already seen Everest several times, no need to hike to base camp or the famous Kala Pattar viewpoint just to get a little closer view of the top of the world. So I hiked back down to Lobuche at 16,000 ft and indeed the headache relented.

But the next morning, just as I was about to head down from there, I found out that the Everest look-alike I’d been admiring for days was not actually Everest. So I immediately grabbed a daypack, scampered back up to Gorek Shep and on up to Kala Pattar (18.000 ft) for the Everest view, and back to Lobuche in less than 8 hours. Without the heavy pack I was suddenly transformed into the fastest trekker on the trail — a great ego boost for Mr. Slow. Next day I went down to Pheriche where I was snowed in for three days, and I don’t think anybody’s seen Everest since, so I was very lucky.

Now back in Namche for my first hot shower in about 2 weeks, clothes washed for the first time since home, oh yeah. I’ll be here 2 or 3 days then head up the western valley, leaving behind the crowds of Everest-bound trekkers, and see more of the old-school high country life the way it was before the invasion of the trekker army. I’ve pretty much decided to spend my whole trip up here exploring one valley at a time — no passes for me, too high and too long a day for me without hiring help. I’d say maybe 1 in 10 trekkers I’ve seen appear to be operating without guide and/or porters. Oh that reminds me, apparently Jimmy Carter and Roselyn were up here in 1985. I saw a signed photo at Tengboche monastery and some horribly spelled bragging on the wall of a place in Pheriche; I don’t know if they made it to Kala Pattar, but I’ll bet they had some porters and guides.

[Note: Later, in a book at Powell’s I found an account written by Carter of his climb up Kala Pattar. Sounds like his guide had him continue up the ridge to a slightly higher peak than the one I was at, and in much worse weather. Good for Jimmy.]

Coming down my only stop other than lunch was at a Buddhist nunnery on the outskirts of Deboche, just above the more famous Tengboche Monastery. I left my pack at the gate with the beaming old man doing chores (every monastery in Asia seems to have one, the beaming old man that is) and entered the modest front gate. Inside the first yard I turned the giant prayer wheel which rings a bell with every revolution, and a shy young nun appeared. After a great deal of sign language back and forth she ushered me, now bootless and hatless, into the main shrine room/meditation hall, very like a miniature of the larger and grander Tendboche up the hill. She bent over a long narrow book and appeared to be studying/reciting the text while I did my prostrations on the plank floor worn smooth with a century of barefoot traffic, and then explored the room in the profound hush. The walls, ceiling, posts, everything covered with paintings of Buddhas & Bodhisattvas, demons and saints. The images (statuary) on the far wall all behind glass, the rest of the wall covered in tiny cubbyholes — 44 on each side of the central images. With more sign language I determined that each contained books, presumably similar to the one she was reading, as all you could see from the outside was folded cloth. On the way out I left a donation — apparently they are very poor cousins to their brethren on the hill.

Well it seems I am finally getting the hang of using other people’s computers — last time I used this one it drove me crazy. Anyway I like this high country tho I wish the weather would get better. Out of about 24 days above Lukla I’ve had maybe 7 nice days. Even now we never really got sun here. The moon is nearly full but who can see it? Still I’m happy to stay up here as long as I can and return to the hell of Ku City only when it’s time to fly home, roughly 5 weeks from now.

Blessing to all from the top of the world.

October 26 – Namche

Back in Namche for the third time, the gateway to and grand central market for the whole Khumbu region. There is much to say about Namche but I didn’t come up here to see gateways or go shopping, so if you want images of its spectacular setting and colorful markets (as with any of the place names I drop into these letters) there’s alway good ol Google. I came to get close to these sky-piercing peaks and get a taste of Sherpa culture and meet these gentle-natured and physically remarkable Buddhist people.

Originally from Tibet, the Sherpa began to come into Nepal from the north 300-500 yrs ago, and things accelerated in the 20th century with the Chinese occupation. The earliest migration began possibly because of religious persecution by other younger and more aggressive Vajrayana sects. Even today the Buddhist monastics here are trying to get the lay Sherpa to turn away from the old Bon (pre-Buddhist) animistic spirit traditions that got folded into the new faith that reached the Himalayas over 1000 years ago. Outside of the monasteries the Sherpa still cling stubbornly to the old land spirits, water spirits, tree spirits etc, one reason the landscape — the hilltops and passes, every bridge, certain trees, all monuments and memorials and every house are decked with prayer flags. Long lines of them, some at least as long as a football field, can be seen running from peak-let to peak-let, across canyons and rivers. As they flutter in the wind the prayers are sent flying across the land, and they say that anyone who breathes that air is blessed. If that is so, then Nepal in general and Khumbu in particular is a great place to receive abundant blessings.

From the summit Everest on down it’s hard to find a view w/o prayer flags. I thought I had found one the other day, but putting down my load and sitting for 5 minutes, at the top of a ridge miles away I made out the silhouette of a line of flags against the bright blue sky, strung between two rocky points on the ridge. Then I saw another string lower down across a gully, and then another over here, and two over there…

The Sherpa believe that saying prayers, making offerings at the home alter or the monastery, just breathing in this well-blessed air and many other rituals that I don’t see and am not aware of, takes away their sins. However one prayer does not erase one sin, it’s not that easy. Therefore various mechanized systems of praying (eg: the flags and prayer wheels etc) are employed for mass-production purposes. Here and there you see elderly Sherpas repeating their prayers using a rosary or mala to keep count, sometimes sitting in a doorway, or even walking up a trail, presumably trying to make up for all the drinking, gambling and fooling around that Sherpas love to do when they’re young (don’t we all?) before their time runs out and they get reborn as a dog or a chicken or worse.

Sherpa children are the cutest. In the shops of Namche glossy calendars of Sherpa or Nepali children rival those with images of these world-famous peaks. Sherpa men dress pretty much like a Western working-class Joe, while Sherpa women, at least after they marry, almost always wear a long heavy black skirt with an apron almost as long with horizontal stripes so fine you have to be pretty close to see that the lines are multi-colored. I have not seen these aprons for sale in Namche but I will ask — I’d like to see this cloth up close. And Sherpa girls….what can I say, many are just drop-dead beautiful, take an old man’s breath away.

I just returned yesterday from my journey up the westernmost valley of the Khumbu, a ‘road less travelled’ for sure. Gone were the traffic jams of yaks, dzopkio (a yak-cow hybrid), and trekkers. In 3 days I got as high as you can go without crossing the Renjo La pass (18.000 ft) to the next valley to the east, still closed due to all the snow last week, or the Tashi Labtsa pass north into Tibet, closed by the Chinese. At my first stop in Thame I met young Jacob, a mountaineering EMT from Colorado who was trying to get down the valley from Gokyo after the big snow started when he witnessed an avalanche on the narrow trail that killed 2 dzopkio and swept their herder into the raging river below. Luckily no one was killed, but a lot of trekkers around him needed a change of underwear afterwards. Or at least that’s how Jacob told it. He  told me he’d spent the next several days assisting with the rescued victims at the Machermo clinic before continuing with his trek.

Later, when trekking up the Gokyo valley, I attended another altitude sickness lecture at the rescue post in Machermo, and afterwards asked the doctor about Jacob’s story. She told me that Jacob had arrived at their clinic after the avalanche in a state of traumatic shock. The accident he described caused them to mobilize for a major emergency with dozens of victims. This turned out to be a huge overreaction, and she remarked that in the days that followed Jacob had been more of a nuisance than a help.

In Thame I stayed at a lodge owned by Apa Furba Sherpa, renown as the man who’s climbed Everest more times than anyone else, something like 19 times now. He currently lives in New York but his brother is running the lodge. There is TV in the dining room and the porters sit channel surfing, switching the station every time a commercial comes on. At one point the movie “Mr Bean’s Holiday” came on and I found out once again how many people can’t stand my idol Mr Bean.

One night a man with no fingers or thumbs came into the dining room selling his paintings. A former climbing guide he lost his digits to frostbite but apparently can still hold a brush somehow — how I never was able to determine. I did buy a painting and managed to get it home in one piece, a sweet portrait of two danphes, the pheasant-like national bird of Nepal, with amazing detail, a lot of it edged in gold.

[Years later I found an account from another trekker of meeting this same artist In Thame in 2015. He reported his name as Pasang Nuru and that he lost most of his fingers and toes crossing the Nangpa La pass from Tibet in 1975. Yesterday I photographed the painting that I bought in 2013 and I managed to insert it here. The style is very typical of traditional Sherpa art. It measures 30″ X 8″ and is the loveliest piece  I have ever brought home from an adventure. — June 2024]

Also in Thame I hiked up to the regional monastery clinging to the side of a canyon looking across at a magnificent wall of 20,000 ft peaks. Moving on, I hiked from Thame up into the snow-covered village of Lungden, where a double-whammy dose of headache and nausea confirmed that on this trip I have to go slow and re-acclimatize every time I gain altitude. For one day I was too sick and weak to do anything; the next day I realized I needed to get down to lower altitude no matter what, so I hired a porter to carry my pack down to the next village Marlung, the only time I was to hire help. After a night in Marlung I felt better and got myself down to Thame, and back to Namche a day or two later.

I’m sitting in the Danphe Cafe (serving Starbucks coffee) as the afternoon fades once the sun disappears behind the towering peaks, music blasting both inside the cafe and through the open windows from the Irish pub (“the world’s highest”) across the alley. My fingers stiff with cold, my ears ringing with John Lee Hooker, Steppenwolf, Janis Joplin…

I contemplate my next move. I’m getting tired, and I get sick every time I go up, but I’ve got to see Gokyo if I possibly can, with the emerald green lakes and great views including 3 of the world’s 10 highest peaks. I’ve got nearly 3 weeks before I need to fly back to Ku City, I can take a week getting up to Gokyo and still have plenty of time. And if it gets too painful I can bail anytime, I’ve had my fun….but I’m goin’ for it.  Now I’m hearing B. B. King’s “The Thrill is Gone” — but it isn’t, not quite yet.

November 4 – Gokyo

I had accepted the likelihood of failure when I started up the third and last valley in the Khumbu. What with all the headache problems seemingly triggered by altitude over and over again, I promised myself that I wasn’t going to kill myself getting up here. I planned to take a leisurely 5 days, ended up taking 7, but yesterday morning I cruised into Gokyo with nothing more than half-frozen fingers to complain about. You need to Google “Gokyo, Nepal ” immediately — there’s no way to adequately describe the scenery up here. Suffice to say that there’s a huge turquoise green lake at my feet and if you climb the small moraine behind the lodges you look down on the Ngozumpa Glacier, a seemingly endless river of rubble-covered ice running down from an immense snowy ridge to the north with Cho Oyu (the world’s 6th highest mountain) at one end and Gyachung Kang (the 16th highest) at the other. There is still snow everywhere from the big fall — 3 weeks ago now? — and some of the day trips are impossible for someone like me who did not come to Nepal prepared to trudge through snow. It’s not supposed to snow in October…

A few notes about the journey up: my first day was longer and harder than I planned and once I was ready to take refuge in a lodge I was told “no room”. There was nothing else in sight, but after an hour’s search I found probably the worst lodge ever, and I would have been turned away from that one too if Yuri, a 53-yr old mad Ukrainian athletic coach hadn’t agreed to let me share his room. Yuri had just 2 days before climbed about 7000 ft in one day, camped in a tent in the snow at 18,000 ft , crossed a pass and then came down quick, and now he wasn’t feeling all that great. We communicated mostly with sign language and the few words of English he knew, but he was full of enthusiasm about everything. In the morning he pulled out a harmonica and played a basic version of the Happy Birthday song. I’m not sure that tune means ‘happy birthday’ in the Ukraine but it was apparently the only song he knew. I did manage to get across that I’d had a birthday 2 days before (and the significance of the song he played) and before he took off to run up another valley he presented me with a Ukrainian Snickers bar.

The food at this lodge was mostly inedible, and for breakfast I had 2 bowls of muesli with hot milk — hard to ruin that — but it failed to really start my engines, so faced with some tough uphill first thing (stairs really), I soon stopped by a waterfall and ate my Ukrainian Snickers which got me to the next village. Here I stopped to nurse a small headache but by the second morning I was ready to rumble again. The next 3 villages were pretty much the same altitude, each with it own attractions, so I spent a night in each, and one more a little higher before making the final push to Gokyo. This last section was where the avalanches had occurred in the early days of the big snow.

I was  apprehensive about this steep, narrow, icy section, now very muddy lower down, so I set out very early without a real breakfast hoping at least the mud would still be frozen. The sun reached down into this gully just as I was about give up that my fingers would ever be warm again — then came a little bridge, and the first of the 6 Gokyo lakes appeared. Cold to the bone, I marveled at the dabbling ducks paddling on it’s surface, but I guess that’s what ducks do isn’t it? Soon after that I saw a fat little pika (rather like a big hamster) who looked like he was expecting treats from me. Then a second lake, and then the third, and Gokyo. Later, after finding a lodge with edible food, I hiked up to the ridge and nearly tripped over a flock a the Tibetan Snowcocks who paid me not the slightest attention as they went about their business, pecking at the thawing turf and seemingly extracting something they thought was yummy. One other wildlife note– I finally saw an actual danphe (the beautiful pheasant and national bird of Nepal) pecking away in a garden at the top of Namche on my way out of town. So except for the mule deer and the very rarely spotted snow leopard, I’ve now seen about all the high altitude wildlife there is. At first glance at least it’s about 95% crows and ravens.

Tomorrow AM I will try one more 18,000 ft peak across the valley from the top of which you can see half the world apparently, and then a lazy day and it’s time to turn my footsteps homeward. I should be back in Ku City by the 17th, and flying out the 19th I think. I may dilly-dally along the way if Qatar Airways will let me, but I should be back in my own bed by the first of December at the latest. It’s been a fabulous trip; I’m glad I did it alone without guide or porter, the freedom to go at my own pace without any pressures was key.

But it’s almost over, and I feel I’ve had my fill. I hope never to be cold again.

November 6 – Gokyo

Yesterday at noon I made the summit of Gokyo Ri. It turned out not to be another “18er”, but only 17,500 ft. I love it when that happens! As it was it was climb enough, a 4-hour unrelenting steep trail through turf, rock, mud and finally snow. For the very first time in 6 weeks I had a trail companion Connie, the charming wife of an equally charming 81-yr-old who’d really hit the wall getting up to Gokyo and stayed back at the lodge trying to wheedle a doctor into signing off on a paper that would justify (to his insurance) a helicopter evacuation to Kathmandu. Frank & Connie live in Canada and have somehow managed to raise 3 children and still spend about half their lives traveling the world. They’ve trekked in the Khumbu six times since 1985, when they met Jimmy Carter on his visit with Rosalind and Amy. When Connie and I got to the bottom of the hill we were met by a chatty English doctor who’d been sent out to look for us — seems Frank had gotten his ticket to ride and a helicopter was scheduled to scoop them up in about 90 minutes.

Earlier, as we began our descent it suddenly dawned on me that this was the turning point, that every step from now on was a step closer to home. The climb is over, I will never ever be this high again. No more agenda, just a safe return, still having to scrutinize every footstep.

Last night as I was engineering my old fork, toothpick and salt cellar stunt in the dining room, a Chinese-Australian engineer asked me what was the most interesting thing I’d seen in my 6 weeks up here, and I didn’t really have a good answer. What there has been is a long haul through some of the world’s highest mountains, unique wildlife, great conversations with adventurous people from all over the world (27 different countries so far), peeks into the the world of the amazing Sherpa people and the high monasteries of “Red Hat” Vajrayana Buddhism, freak weather, wild-ass card games, the jingle-jangle of the yaks and dzopkios, tiny fragrant rhododendrons perfuming the breeze….a gorgeous blur.

I’ve loved every bit of my time up here, well maybe not so much the headaches or the constant battle with the cold… The greatest lesson is the one I’ve been taught over and over again in this oddly blessed life of mine: have a dream, a goal, a plan — adjust it if you need to — but JUST KEEP GOING and it’s astonishing what you can do. On this trip that stubborn perseverance has been tempered a bit by an awareness of how threadbare my safety net is. It’s a tightrope I’ve walked before — but never this high off the ground as it were.

So from the heights back to the seashore and the home that I love so much there are many steps, but there is a special quality to the steps that are bringing you back to the people and the places that you’ve loved so long. Still you have to be watching for that loose rolling rock that wants to break your ankle or your neck as a parting gift…

The other piece, which I speculated about on the way to Gokyo and seemed to have confirmed this afternoon, is that I am about exhausted. I think when you’re young, acclimatize easily, and in shape, you will get stronger as time goes on, however age takes it’s toll and even seasoned climbers start to deteriorate after some time at altitude. I took my third hot shower in 6 weeks a few hours ago and afterwards climbed about 300 feet up the moraine to say goodbye to the Ngozumpa glacier, see the afternoon sun glinting off the green waters of the 3rd Gokyo lake and maybe warm up a little, and I swear to you I didn’t think I was going to make it. The gas tank is about empty and even the deeeelicious chicken cutlet that you can get at this lodge for about the same price as at home doesn’t seem to fix the problem (and I had two). There’s some up and down on the way out, and my pack will get heavier once I get back to Namche and all the gear I jettisoned there, but I have plenty of time and I seem to know how to KEEP GOING.

And for a good news closer, I just found out from the lodge owner that yes, the 8-yr-old triplets — Scarlet, Evie, and Jemima — did make it up to Gokyo about a month ago. I was reminded to ask when a 10-yr-old girl walked into the dining room today. And did I mention the Swiss guy with the “alp horn” playing on top of Gokyo Ri?

November 17 – Kathmandu

Between Gokyo and Namche (after the ‘turning point’) I met 3 more diverse but kindred souls. Here are their stories.

Emma:   I think I mentioned that in Gokyo I was reminded to ask about the triplets by the arrival of a 10 yr old girl. Later that day I struck up a conversation with her — Emma — and she turned out to be from California and one of the friendliest most outgoing people I met on this whole trip. She and her hot teenage sister Henna were both dark Hispanic beauties like their mother, their father Steve was straight-arrow Americano. All of them were sweet as pie, but Emma and I had some especially great conversations about words and language such as tricks to employ to best communicate with someone who speaks only a little of your native tongue, which languages are easier or harder to learn and why, and why visiting a country just because you like the sound of it’s name is a great idea.

Emma is at that perfect age when she is looking out at the wider world and still full of curiosity, but not yet to the stage when all adults are suddenly stupid and not worth talking to. In my experience it’s usually a narrow window, but thanks to parents who took the trouble to take their daughters to the top of the wider world, Emma and Henna may be able to hop, skip and jump through the more self-conscious phases of growing up. Talking to Emma was having someone’s complete attention, compelling you to give the same — it felt wonderful, like a foot massage at the end of a long hard day.

Piran:   Piran grew up in Cornwall, near Land’s End, the peninsula at the SW tip of England. He was named after an Irish saint who was beheaded on the beach rather than renounce his faith. Back in the old days the quickest route to sainthood was to endure some sort of gruesome death, nowadays it takes a bit more of a resumé. Look at poor Mother Teresa — still on the waiting list isn’t she?

Like me Piran never cared for school and gave it up early, but unlike me he was soon out in the wider world and has spent over 20 of his 42 years headquartered in Bali where he designs handicrafts for export, executed by Bali’s myriad fine craftsmen, and then ships to his distributors all over the world. He told me he works just enough to support himself and allow plenty of time for travel and surfing. Like many an ex-pat he seems to have a bit of a substance abuse issue, and confided that one reason he was up in the Khumbu was to “try and get off the booze.” To assist in this he showed me a iPod-sized chunk of “Nepal’s finest black hashish” that he fished out of his pocket, also a small ball of opium. As I was packing to leave he knocked on my door and offered me a piece of the hashish. I told him I appreciated the gesture but “that’s a piece of my life I left behind 12 years ago and have no interest in revisiting now.”

Piran and I talked and talked, and shared much the same outlook on the world. He was encouraged to hear that I was 45 years old before I ever knuckled down and worked in a more or less diligent fashion for 21 years. He was about halfway through training to be an occupational therapist when he finally flew the coop and hit the road  We exchanged emails and promised to stay in touch. He’s the first person I’ve met in the 30 years since I left Bali who knows the place better than I do, and names of places that haven’t passed my lips in all that time came popping out of the dusty overflowing file cabinets in the back of my musty dimly-lit old brain just like magic, like pulling rabbits out of a hat. I wouldn’t be that surprised to see Piran turn up in Astoria one of these days.

Willi:   Born in the Austrian alps in 1947, Willi came to Canada in the 60s and settled in the same area as Frank & Connie. As a teenager he began climbing in the nearby mountains, and as the years went by branched out into just about every avenue of outdoor adventure, on the ground, on the water, and in the air. Until he got married he worked for years as a bush pilot in Canada and Alaska, then he built an ultralight aircraft at home from a kit he bought in Beaverton, Oregon, and flew it for 10 years as far south as Texas and back. When his young son began bugging him to fly it as well, he got rid of the ultralight and took up flying gliders. His favorite route is to start in Minden, Nevada, get towed up to 3000 ft and then “catch the wave” as it were, soaring up as high as 18,000 ft over the Sierras, flying down to the Mojave desert, and if the conditions are right, return to Minden, a round trip of over 400 miles of sailing through the heavens with no motor to intrude on the ambiance. I had no idea you could do that — but Willi can and does.

 When I met him in Namche he was quietly celebrating his 65th birthday with a nice supper and a pint of rum, having just completed the long walk in from the town of Jiri (the “hódeeble” bus ride from Kathmandu) instead of flying to Lukla as I did, a tough up and down route that takes most people 9-12 days — Willi did it in 6. As it happened I had just quietly celebrated my 70th birthday, and when we parted he said “I just hope that when I’m your age I’m in as good shape as you”, which I took as a huge compliment tho I’ve never ever been in the kind of shape Willi’s in at 65. Hunting, fishing, climbing, backpacking, trekking, flying, gliding, kayaking — Willi does it all, usually alone and unassisted. About the only thing I’ve done that Willi hasn’t (yet) is jump out of an airplane. For all his years of flying ultralights and gliders he’s always worn a parachute as there’s always the chance that rogue turbulence might rip yr craft to shreds, but never had to deploy it. As for me, a lot of my adventures were intellectual, spiritual  or artistic, and it’s only as I’ve aged (and especially retired) that I’ve returned with a vengence to exploring the outer world, much as I did with my dog when I was 10. If I had been raised in Alaska instead of Hollywood I could well have turned out more like Willi, but again, as with Emma and Piran, there was seemingly an almost immediate bond between the two of us, lone-wolf grandfathers (“baji” the Nepalis call me) meeting on the road to the top of the world — no need to ask why.

November 19 – Kathmandu

6 AM

I scribble in my journal so much it’s hard to remember what I’ve already shared with you. I have no memory of talking about the trip down from Namche but it was pretty uneventful except for the departure of a cold virus and headache that kept me away from computer screens for awhile, and a noticeable increase in political activity on the trail. It all comes to a head today, election day, and I will add little updates to this as the day unfolds. I hope to follow my hosts to the polls and do some additional wandering explorations of the general atmosphere.

First some background as best I can scope it out. A ten year guerrilla war waged by “Maoist” (whatever that means) fighters ended in 2008 with a peace deal in which the king stepped down and a democracy of some sort was promised. In the elections that year the Maoists won an overwhelming majority of seats in a “Constituent Assembly” charged with writing a constitution. This they’ve been unable to do in 5 years tho the reasons why, the contentious issues, remain a complicated mystery to me. As a Nepali who sold me a wonderful singing bowl yesterday put it to me, “If they really wanted to get it done it would be easy: just take India’s constitution (India and Nepal are neighbors of course and the Nepali rupee is tied to the Indian rupee so their economies are in sync), erase the word India and write in Nepal.”

 In any case, there are now something like 33 communist parties of one stripe or another, and they are doing their best to undermine the election by declaring a general strike for election week paralyzing transport in most of the country and throwing fire bombs at vehicles defying the ban. So far one driver has died of burns and dozens of others including innocent passengers on buses trying to get back to their home villages to vote have been hospitalized. In addition some of the communist factions have been attacking each other, so when you condense all this into the newspaper it looks pretty grim. I haven’t seen any fighting but you certainly see well-armed police and military on the streets. It seems clear to me that the reason for this resistance to democracy is probably the natural reluctance of the party (or alliance) currently in power to allow an election that is certain (due to their failure to deliver a constitution) to be voted out or at least have their influence severely curtailed.

Meanwhile back in the USA we have a comparatively orderly “democracy” where it’s all about the money, and regardless of how you vote elections and politicians are bought and sold to the highest bidder…oh don’t get me started. Getting rid of a king is real change — when are we at home ever likely to see real change? And for a last footnote on Nepali politics, a few more party symbols to add to the list: the bird party, the praying hands party, the umbrella party, the drum party and yesterday I was told about the dog party, a tongue-in-cheek outfit headed by a 25-yr-old student that doesn’t put up posters, talks to people one-on-one, and makes a point to not use motor vehicles, they do all their campaigning on bicycles. The guy who told me (same guy I quoted above) thought they might win an assembly seat in his neighborhood at least.

2 PM

Just returned from a stroll in the neighborhood up to the local polling station located in Janakalyan Higher Secondary School. On the third floor balcony is painted: 

“Educated men are as much superior to uneducated men as the living are to the dead. — Aristotle”

Well I don’t know if Aristotle ever said such a thing — I wouldn’t go that far myself — but if it keeps you in school it’s probably for the best I suppose. Anyway there were about a hundred people chatting outside the gates of the school, some of them had probably already voted, other hadn’t gone in yet. At the gates were several APF (Armed Police Force) in blue camouflage clearly tired of holding their AK47s at the ready. Any prospective voter had to show their voter ID card and undergo a brief frisk before entering the school grounds. If there was a purple finger system to identify people who’d already voted I could not detect it.

At several intervals I noticed sizable groups of young men dressed in dark blue jackets looking very purposeful as they walked briskly down the road past the voting place. They looked very much like the groups I saw marching along in my last days on the trail in Khumbu except then those had the amplified bullhorn and the red hammer and sickle flag. There were always a number of other people in ordinary dress traveling with them and I guessed that perhaps they were party workers escorting their particular voters to another polling place. They never even looked in the direction of this polling station so the whole thing remains a mystery. A man who engaged me in conversation clearly didn’t know either tho we watched one of these groups go by as we talked. He ventured the opinion that maybe they were undercover police but this made no sense to me — if you are undercover you do not march around in large groups.

The only other mildly remarkable thing I saw was when I returned from a short wander down the road to buy myself a Kit Kat bar: one of the ways back into the polling place was seemingly blocked by 4 sizable men in dark clothing with their arms folded across their chests and menacing looks on their faces. I walked right at them as if they weren’t there and they parted to let me through. There was nothing overt about it, but they didn’t not look like the welcome wagon staff either. The fellow I talked to said that this place was very peaceful and that other polling stations were likely not so mellow, and that 5 years ago apparently things got really hairy. He was one of those stranded in Kathmandu, unable to get back to his home village in another province to vote.

Back at home and up on the roof, the air in the huge flat valley that is greater Kathmandu looked cleaner than I’ve ever seen it before. To the north there is a low spot in the nearby mountains through which you can now see a ridge of 3 snow-covered peaks looming large. Judging by what I saw in Khumbu these would have to be over 20,000 ft — Denali size mountains — and probably on the Tibetan border. You could hike right to the foot of those mountains from Ku City if you had a couple-three weeks, I actually had planned on something like that before I fell in love with the Khumbu and decided to spend all my time up there. Down on the street the lack of vehicular traffic is a bit of a miracle, and today the streets are full of children with jump ropes, hula hoops, and improvised cricket games. What few motorbikes there are are not in a hurry or kicking up dust, using the horn sparingly. Kathmandu is not a hell-hole today as I think I characterized it in one of my early emails. I’m glad I got to see its brighter side.

8 PM

Voting was over at 5 but most of what I know I found online. The TV in the next room doesn’t speak to me, mostly it’s news anchors chatting endlessly in Nepali and if there’s video there’s not much going on and it loops endlessly. What I read online is that there was 70% turnout in Kathmandu where the general strike was largely ineffective, elsewhere it was probably lower than that, but not bad for a new democracy with bombs going off. No reports of fatalities but bombs exploded in a number of locations including at least one in Ku City near a polling place when a child picked it up thinking it was some kind of toy. On TV earlier I saw a 90 yr old at the polls, and later a old guy 101 yrs old who looked a bit lost and didn’t have much to say. Two old folks keeled over and died after voting, ages 67 and 73 respectively, their last act in this life.

I spent a lot of the day starting to organize my gear. Because I brought a whole suitcase packed to the brim by Nawang Sherpa for his family, and I haven’t acquired much stuff myself, I have a lot of empty space to fill. I’m thinking about buying a large case of Wai Wai, Nepal’s version of Top Ramen, and stuffing all available space with the packets. They’re light and if they get crunched a little it won’t matter. I talked to Nawang via Skype today and he showed me the same Wai Wai noodle packets — he managed to find some in Portland — they’re much better than Ramen and not so salty. My project for tomorrow is to buy some presents for his family here, they have been so sweet to me. I have everything scoped out, I just need to make the buys and get it all home in a taxi. It’s so much fun to play Santa Claus — I actually look a lot like him these days.

POSTSCRIPT

To underline the international character of the trekking experience, here is my final list of countries I met people from. I didn’t quiz everybody I met so this is just a snapshot from one trekker, roughly in order of how many there seemed to be from particular countries starting with the undisputed champion trekker nation: Germany, followed by the UK, China, France, India, Nepal, Spain, Korea, USA, Japan, Italy, Australia, Israel, Switzerland, Taiwan, Venezuela, Austria, Brazil, Slovakia, Belgium, Poland, Slovenia, Canada, Russia, New Zealand, Holland, Ukraine, Ireland, Norway, and Singapore. The last on the list was added as I came down the homestretch from Gokyo. A bubbly little straggler from her group, moseying along with the ‘sweeper’ guide stopped me and asked me a number of questions. When she found out how old I was I instantly achieved celebrity status. She had the guide take several photos of us together —  I might as well have been Jimmy Carter or Methuselah himself. Unfortunately I didn’t have the presence of mind to give her my email address or I might be able to show you a photo of Nini from Singapore, my biggest fan.

So that will have to be the last word from Nepal — tomorrow I’ll need to focus on pulling myself together and getting my ass on the big airplane the next morning. It was great having one last look at the other side of the world. I think it’s unfortunate that so many people experience the world pretty much exclusively via books, TV, movies, the net and so forth, and never get out and see it for themselves. We all have our own paths and our own choices to make, I can only recommend the direct experience as worth a try, and hope these letters have whetted a few appetites out there. 

May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you, and the pure light within you guide you all the way on.

November 29, 2013 – Astoria, Oregon

Hearth and Home

A few of you I’ve seen or spoken to along the long road home, but for most of you this will announce that I have officially come to rest in Astoria. After so many recent evenings warming my cold soggy feet around oil drum stoves fueled with yak dung, my project for the year ahead is to make the “hearth” part of the above subject line a reality and get a wood stove installed in my current “home”. I lived for many decades cooking and heating with wood (out in the woods), and having moved into town 5 years ago I miss that glowing radiance. With age the chill seeps into the bones and cold feet seem to be unavoidable especially when life gets more sedentary. And sedentary is what I’m craving right now, I’ve had quite enough adventure — for this year at least.

I did not take a camera to the Khumbu — I wanted to be there rather than photographing there. Besides it would have meant an extra pound of gear. Connie from Canada sent me the photo  she took (featured at the top of this blog post) from the summit of Gokyo Ri of me with Everest over my right shoulder and Lhotse above my head. You may remember that Connie and I climbed Gokyo Ri on Nov 5th just before Frank got a medical 10-4 to fly out in a helicopter at the expense of his insurance company. While I was waiting for my flight out of Lukla a week later I ran into one of the docs from the Machermo & Gokyo clinics flying home to the UK after a 2-month tour of duty in the Khumbu. She told me, “That guy Frank was a tough call. He was stumbling around, showing all the cardinal signs of AMS (acute mountain sickness), but I happened to see him when he got on the helicopter and he practically skipped on board.” Well Frank is 81 yrs old and the only previous occasion that he ran up a travel insurance bill was about 20 years ago when he accidentally fell down a well in the dark near Lake Titicaca in the Andes and shattered his collarbone. This photo represents documentary evidence of “The Turning Point” and the beginning of the descent towards home as described in an email from Gokyo. The rest of the pictures are in my head, and in yours if you read all the way through this account.

So I wish you all well, happy holidays and all that, and remember, like Obama says: “Yes we can!” Even if he can’t, we certainly can.

Love, Joseph