Sarangkot, Nepal 9/5/07

Sarangkot, Nepal 9/5/07

Today I saw, for the first time in 2 weeks, a cigarette butt on the ground. It was just a single butt but it stood out significantly from the natural world I have been surrounded by and my eyes were immediately drawn to it. About 90 minutes later I heard the first car horn. Thirty minutes after that I was reintroduced to the smell of diesel exhaust. (Insert heavy sigh here)…I’m back; back to what I’m not really sure. I guess you could call it the modern world but in Nepal that term doesn’t seem to really fit. Even in this area there are still no phones and I’m writing this entry by candle light at 8 p.m. So I don’t know what to call where I am sitting but I do know I would rather be sitting on a hillside at 3,000 meters watching clouds drift by.

Today marked the end of my main trek, or at least the part that has me carrying my pack for hours a day. Ngima and I reached Naya at about 12:30 p.m. From there we took a cab about 30 minutes up the paved road, well mostly paved that is. There we got out and hiked another 3 hours down a dirt road until we reached this little village.

Sarangkot doesn’t look like much of a village from what I’ve seen so far. Just some shacks selling the standard tourist “needs” and a couple guest houses. I think the only point for this place is the view. It sits on a high hill, or ridge, that overlooks the medium sized city of Pokhra.

It is a good view. The city below looks nice and calm; no big buildings, except a hospital on the edge that looks about 7 stories from here. To the West of Pokhra is the lake, Phewa Tal, and after that there are more steep rolling hills covered with thick jungle. Basically what I’ve been hiking through for the last couple weeks.

This spot, Saragkot, wasn’t on my original itinerary. Ngima threw it in a few days ago when we realized we were a day ahead of schedule. I think the route I took really could have been done in 10 days, maybe 9 if you pushed it. They build a day in for altitude acclimation, which I didn’t need on this trek, but even without that we had a couple half days where, if you had to, you could tackle more ground.

Plus I’m no speed hiker but with just the two of us we move much quicker than even a group of three. We would make just a few quick stops for a photo now and then, maybe a quick swig of water. I have to really be tired before I ask for a break. I’d rather just get to my destination and stop until the next day than stop a dozen times along the way. There might be another life lesson in there for me to find but I’m not in the mood today.

There is one day that stands out on the hike. All the other days have little moments that I remember but as to which day they were, or where exactly I was, is gone; melted into the joy of the overall experience. The day that stands out was the trek from Chhomrong to Tadapani.

Technically it was only a 4 hour hiking day with a couple 10 minute water stops thrown in but that day kicked my ass! There is no other way to put it. In hindsight I should have asked Ngima for a few more breaks. We weren’t in any hurry. I felt great at the beginning though and by the time I felt exhausted I figured we were close to Tadapani. ”There’s no point stopping now!”

The terrain that day was almost all uphill in various degrees of steepness. To make it harder the sun decided to come out that day. 2/3’s of the hike were in the scorching sun and of course this was the 2/3’s when we were out in the exposed part of the trail. When we got to the “jungle” part, as Ngima calls it, the sun quickly went away and the rain showers moved in. There is nothing like feeling slimy, sweaty skin, slick with sun block UNDER your poncho as you trudge up a muddy trail in the pouring rain.

By the time we got to Tadapani I was done! I put on dry cloths, ate lunch, and then told Ngima I was taking a siesta. I went to sleep at 1 p.m. and woke up at 4 p.m. Even after my nap I felt drained. It was the closest I have ever come to duplicating what I feel like after a marathon…AND I loved it!

I think I still have 10 days left in Nepal but I’m a little sad today. I’m sure I’ll have more great day hikes before I leave but they won’t be the same as this two weeks of consecutive hiking. For some reason I love the feeling of being self contained, able to wander anywhere, my “essentials” on my back, and no specific place to be at any time. Sure there’s always a goal, a destination, but they aren’t expecting you. Not getting there won’t let anyone down. I loved the simple, natural beauty and the laidback pace of each day; you push yourself physically just so you can sit around for hours with nothing to do but sip coffee, stare at the scenery, and have slow conversations. Yep, I will miss this a lot!

In just the 12 days that I was hiking I quickly settled into a daily routine that I found very relaxing. I would wake between 6 a.m. and 6:30 a.m. Normally this would seem early but I was always asleep between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m. (or 8 p.m. on the night of the Chhommrong to Tadapani hike) so I always got at least 8 hours of sleep. I always set the alarm on my watch for 6:30 but each morning I woke up before it went off. On clear mornings Ngima would knock on my door at 6 a.m. to make sure I didn’t miss a great view of some mountain peak.

I would wake slowly, usually a curious look around the room to remember where I was. I’m a deep sleeper. I swear one morning before I opened my eyes I thought I was in West Palm. Now that’s deep sleepin!

Eventually I’d roll off of the simple platform with it’s thin padding that I was sleeping on; gather up my things and repack my backpack as much as I could before breakfast.

The humidity, and rain, make it such that once something is wet…it’s going to stay wet.
Even things dried by a fire will regain a certain amount of moisture as soon as you take them away from the fire. As a result I basically hiked in the same clothes everyday. This would leave me a set of clean dry clothes to put on when I was done hiking. It’s a simple system that many hikers use and one I’ve used on other treks but here it seems even more essential and noteworthy because of the obvious result; my hiking clothes cut! Wow, my shirt! I think it stinks so bad I’m causing my own air pollution. Once you start hiking you start sweating again and the smell becomes less noticeable but putting it on in the morning is always held to the last possible moment.

I would head to the kitchen or lodge, depending on the size of the place, a little before 7 a.m. and would always find Ngima waiting for me. We would chat a bit, usually on the weather conditions for the day. On chilly mornings I’d have a cup of coffee but normally we’d just sit and watch the sun continue to rise. Eventually he’d grab a menu for me, once he knew the cook was up or they had the fire going in the kitchen. He offers me a menu every day even though I have not looked at one since the first day. Granted the menus at each place are pretty much the same (translated and issued by the local tourism committee) but I didn’t need one because I basically ate the same thing each day.

On the first day I glanced at the menu in the morning and said to Ngima, “What do you usually have?”
“Tibetan bread and honey.”
I figured if that was what a professional hiker eats for breakfast that was good enough for me…but he is smaller than me so I said, “I’ll have that and a plain omelet.”
It was perfect and I’ve had it everyday since. Of course by omelet I mean simple egg scrambled, cooked, and then folded over. This aint Denny's.

Ngima must have liked the look of my omelet on that day because he added it to his order the following days. Tibetan Bread is puffy fried dough usually about 8 inches in diameter. Each place made it a little different and some called it different names but it was essentially the same thing each day with honey poured over it. Yum!

After breakfast I would make sure my water bottle was full. (Always boiled water, boiled & filtered when I could get it. Never bottled. I’m proud to say I have not used a plastic bottle since I left Pokhra and even when I get back to the States I’m going to drastically cut back on the number of bottles I use!) I would then quickly pack up the rest of my things, and put on the smelly T. Ngima and I would start hiking between 8 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. each day.

Like I said earlier the actual hiking was quiet; not much talking. Occasionally Ngima would point something out or I’d ask a question, stop for a photo, etc. but hours would pass with nothing said. In the low country there were frequent stops to check for leaches, a drawback to the monsoon season, but after the first day even this didn’t involve much talking. It would be just the occasional pause; review of the ankles, boots, legs and a few “there's one” or “I’m good” and off we would head. For some reason after hanging with Jesus & Susanna for a few days we started using “Vamanos” whenever we were ready to start again. Sadly I think Ngima’s Spanish sounds better than mine.

Leaches were a new experience for me. I had never seen one before this trip. My only visual reference of the little blood suckers is from a scene in Stand By Me. I was happy to see that there are different types and the main ones on the trails here are not big green slugs but rather like little noodles. They vary in size; sometimes like angle hair pasta others around spaghetti size. They also vary in length from a tiny ¼ of an inch to maybe 1.5 inches. Well the ones I saw at least. My research was far from comprehensive.

When I saw one it was usually wiped off with Ngima’s homemade salt stick pretty quickly. For all the ones I had to wipe off my boots I’m surprised I only got bit twice. Knock on wood of course; I’m not back in the city yet. One did make it into my boot but I never even saw it. There was just a blood splotch on my sock, about the size of a 50 cent piece to prove it had been there. The other was a tiny little guy who made it onto the bottom of my chin/upper neck and blended in with my 3 weeks of facial hair. Ngima plucked him off and it bled less than a nick from shaving. I’ve actually come to not mind the little guys much. No, I’m not looking to get any on me in the future but they don’t hurt or itch. I’ll take them over mosquitoes any day. Unfortunately they both like the same areas.

Our morning hikes would last between 3 to 4 hours and then we would break for lunch depending on when we passed a tea house. Again Ngima would offer me a menu each day but I never opened it, not even on day one. “I’ll have what you’re having. It worked at Breakfast.”
So each day I had traditional Nepalese Dal Baht.

The Dal Baht varied slightly at each place; especially the higher we got, but basically it consists of:
- White rice
- Dal soup; lentils
- Some vegetables; grilled, fried, stewed, etc.
- Curried potatoes
- Fried Chapatti (flat bread)
- Something pickled; bamboo, vegetables, etc. (Yuck!)
- Occasionally fried soy beans. (Yum!)

I really like Dal Bhat and it’s a great lunch. It’s very filling with…uhhh, no side effects. Which is a good thing because usually within a half hour of eating it you are hours away from a bathroom. Plus these tea houses aren’t like a regular restaurant. They make your personal order and then they make the next order. By ordering the same thing as Ngima I could guarantee we would eat together. There was no way I could hike for 4 hours with a guy and then eat my lunch in front of him while he waits for them to cook his…even if I am technically the guest or customer.

After lunch it was “Vamanos!” Well usually that is. We did have a couple half days where we reached our destination by 1:00 or 1:30 and that was it for the day but normally we would hike another 2 hours or so after lunch. For some reason the afternoon hikes always seemed much faster than the mornings. The mind is so powerful. Just by knowing you are almost done for the day makes things easier. Well that’s at least how my mind works.

When we would reach our destination I would relax a bit either in my room or on a bench nearby. I’d pull out my book and read for an hour or so. Usually just long enough to stop sweating. After that I would take a shower. The bathing facilities at the tea houses were always different. Sometimes hot (solar), sometimes cold, sometimes just a bucket of water and a cup to pour it over me. No mater how chilly the air or water was, or even me for that matter, I took a “shower” and always felt great afterwards.

After my shower I’d put on clean clothes, well relatively clean…much cleaner than the trekking clothes and I would feel amazing. Recharged but in a very relaxed mood; no desire to be active but not tired. I would go find Ngima who was usually sitting by the kitchen sipping black tea. He would order me a cup of coffee and then we would just sit. Sometimes I would write but most days we would just talk. Slow conversations with long pauses in-between subjects.

I loved our conversations. I learned so much about Nepal, Buddhism, guiding, climbing, etc. Looking back it’s impossible to figure out which I loved more; the actual trekking or the conversations with Ngima while staring at the scenery. I suppose both of them together is what I loved.

Around 6 p.m. he’d get me a menu and these times I would look at it. Ngmia always had Dal Baht for dinner too but I do like some variety. After dinner we would usually talk more, sometimes with some of the other Nepalese. The last few nights we have played cards. It’s funny but there isn't much of a language barrier when it comes to cards. Trash talking is all in the tone. When you pick up a card someone else wanted or win the game just before someone else was about to…you know it whether you understand their frustrated words or not.

I would start yawning by 9 p.m. and retire to read some more. (My Mom would love it here!) I never made it past 10 p.m. and rarely got close to the top of the hour. Ahhh, good days!

Reading is always a big part of my trips. I love it when I have a good book to read in my pack. Travel delays, long slow trips by bus, train, or plane, lonely meals, quiet nights in cheap simple rooms; all of them are made bearable often enjoyable, when I have a book I really love.

Of course when you talk about love there is usually a loss at some point. I only carry one book with me at a time so as much as I love having it when I’m reading it when I’m done it’s always bitter sweet because it means I have to start searching for another.

Finding a book is usually easy. Finding a book I’m excited to read is the challenge. Usually you are dealing with second hand stores full of paperbacks in a variety of languages. Most of the books are old with the exception of the really poppy stuff like Grisham, Crichton, Clancy, etc. of which I’m usually not in the mood for or have already read. You can usually find a Carl Hiaasen novel which is always a fall back for me. They are entertaining and full of South Florida references; nice to read when you are far from home.

In India after two days of searching second hand stores (which by the way are never organized, you almost always have to look at every title. It’s like prospecting for gold) I was getting worried. Then I struck it rich. A HUGE nugget! A brand new copy of Ayn Rands The Fountainhead. A book I’ve always wanted to read but always seemed to forget about it when I hit the U.S. book stores. I’m glad now that I waited because it has been perfect on this trip. I could tell within the first few pages it was going to be one of my all time favorites and now with just 30 pages left I was right, no matter how it ends.

I’ve been rationing myself for the last 100 pages. I don’t want to finish it until I get to Pokhra and stand a good chance of finding a new book there. We hike there in the morning so I’ll probably finish the book off tonight depending on how late cards with Ngima lasts. I won’t be exchanging my Fountainhead copy though like I usually do with the books I read as I wander. It’s getting shipped home for a spot on the shelf. (Along with Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows….I’ve been lugging it around since San Fran! Far from a good travel book based on it’s size but it’s the last one in the series and it came out just before I left the country. There was no way I could wait until October to read it!

Tomorrow’s also a sad day because it’s my last day with Ngima. He’ll leave on a 1 p.m. bus back to Kathmandu so he can catch a small plane the next day to Eastern Nepal and rendezvous with another trek just starting. It will be just another day at the office for him; an office of constant walking. I’ll stick around Pohkra for a couple nights; visit some markets, the peace pagoda, and hike around the big lake that the town sits next to.

I will miss Ngmia. Not only will it be back to solo travel for me where I have to figure everything out on my own, a pastime I don’t mind but it has been nice to take a break from it, but I will miss my new friend. I really enjoyed the conversations and by the end of our time together there were even inside jokes. Laughs that didn’t need a verbal set up just a look. For example one night I was pestering him to tell me when his job got annoying. Ngima, always the professional and always the polite guy would just smile and say never.
“Ahh, come on! There has got to be guests that are a pain once in awhile. Ones that you count down the days until you are rid of them. Ones you have to listen to complain about stuff. Like maybe an American that asks too many questions?!”

This got him laughing and he finally cracked a little. “Sometimes…people with the really big cameras and ALL the camera gear….hanging around their necks…it’s not good for trekking…sometimes.”

A few days later Ngima was walking in front of me when we passed a skinny guy carrying half his body weight in camera gear and a Kodak cannon hanging around his neck. As he passed, Ngima just turned around slightly and rolled his eyes at me. Ngima never broke stride and I didn’t either but I chuckled out loud once the guy had passed us.

I wish I recorded my conversations with Ngima. I learned so much. I would ask questions about Buddhism, his education, growing up in a small village in the shadow of Everest, goals in his life, hobbies, etc. He explained the cast names in Nepal (of which Sherpa is one, it’s not an occupation), religious holidays and customs; I learned, like with all religions, some Buddhist are more devout than others. Many Buddhists eat meat, as long as they didn’t kill it themselves, and for a religion known for not drinking alcohol they have dozens of ways of making it. Ahhh, religion continues to amuse me.

He would ask me questions about the places I have visited; what is SCUBA diving is like? What’s bungee jumping like? How big is my family? Etc.

We would talk about the differences between our countries. How farming is radically different. How wealth is distributed and how what people do with their wealth is very different.

We talked about how Nepal was developing and he is happy about that but they have a long way to go. “Most villages still don’t have electricity…unless tourist go there.”

My initial gut reaction during this particular conversation was to shout “GOOD! Don’t Change!” But luckily my heart realized how selfish that feeling was. Who was I to deny these people all my modern conveniences, some that go beyond convenience and become sources of pleasure. Did I really expect these people to stay undeveloped just so I could have a pristine natural environment to hike and a place to experience a cultural time warp? It was a feeling that was contrary to everything I believe so I crushed that feeling and said “I hope you continue to develop too but I hope you do it better than others have and that you don’t loose your gorgeous environment…or identity.” He agreed.

This conversation was over a cup of coffee and I think it wrapped up nicely. I said “This is really good coffee. Way better than Starbucks!”
Ngima said, “What’s Starbucks?’
I smiled, “Oh ya…it’s a coffee franchise. Kind of like McDonalds only with coffee instead of burgers.”
He said, “What’s Mic Donald?”

Ngima is the most educated member of his family completing over 10 grades. He speaks 5 languages including Japanese and English. He is the only member of his family to ever fly. He is a very smart guy…and he has never even heard of, let alone seen, a McDonalds. I said, “Never mind. Please forget I ever mentioned those names.”

Maybe I didn’t crush that feeling as well as I thought.
MJF