Adjusting to Hong Kong

The Hong Kong Skyline


A Bustling Victoria Harbour


It is a bit shocking to go from a country with virtually no roads to a country where Louis Vuitton is the national uniform. I have always loved Hong Kong, but for the first time, I'm no longer sure how I feel about it. A lot of fun can be had in this city, but something about spending US$2,000 on a Dior handbag seems totally wrong when you consider that the average Filipina maid in Hong Kong makes US$550 a month, or when the average Nepali lives on US$2 a day. Sure, people are handed different lots in life--I get that...but still. Perhaps what concerns me the most is that I know that as soon as I'm away from Nepal or Mongolia or India and settled back into life in the States, or Europe, or even Hong Kong--I know that commercialism will sink back in. The ads will cloud my memory and I too will go back to wanting--perhaps not the US$2K Dior bag (because, well, I have my secret sources for these things)--but the Eames chair or the Louboutin shoes or some other item that costs more than some people make in a year. And the thought of this bothers me.

Goats sacrificed to fix Nepal Airlines Jet

Tomorrow night I fly Nepal Airlines to Hong Kong. Unfortunately, this article does not give me much confidence in the airline. I hope we don't have to sacrifice any goats!

Nepal's state-run airline has confirmed that it sacrificed two goats to appease a Hindu god, following technical problems with one of its aircraft. Nepal Airlines said the animals were slaughtered in front of the plane - a Boeing 757 - at Kathmandu airport. The offering was made to Akash Bhairab, the Hindu god of sky protection, whose symbol is seen on the company's planes. The airline said that after Sunday's ceremony the plane successfully completed a flight to Hong Kong. "The snag in the plane has now been fixed and the aircraft has resumed its flights," senior airline official Raju KC was quoted as saying by Reuters. Nepal Airlines has two Boeing aircraft in its fleet.The persistent faults with one of the planes had led to the postponement of a number of flights in recent weeks. The company has not said what the problem was, but reports in local media have blamed an electrical fault.

A Maoist Strike

An Eerily Quiet Kathmandu.


Woman Passing by Road Blockade.


Burning Garbage in Kathmandu.


UN Convoys Shuttling Employees to Work.


A Random Temple.


Man with Bike.


The streets of Kathmandu are quiet and eerie today--there is a Maoist strike and the whole city has been shut down. Everything is closed. Blockades have been set up on the street--no taxis, buses or private vehicles are allowed to transit. The only vehicles on the streets are ambulances, convoys from the United Nations, trucks carrying soldiers with machine guns and bullet proof vests, and the occasional mini buses from the Nepali TV station stopping to drop off photographers and then swiftly driving away. I feel like I'm walking through the scene of a newscast by the BBC--in the background tires are burning and UN jeeps with massive antennas drive authoritatively through the lonely streets; in the foreground, young boys laugh and play football on the street.

As I approach the tourist ghetto of Thamel a little boy approaches me and points to a group of protesters wearing red shirts and carrying bamboo poles--"Strikers, Don't go there!" he warns. Then he smiles at me and asks "Where you from?" The United States, I respond. He smiles. I wonder what he wants from me. He continues. "Your capital is Washington D.C., your 1st president was George Washington, your 16th president was Abraham Lincoln, your current president is Obama. What state are you from?" California, I respond. "Your capital is Sacramento" I'm not sure I knew that until I lived there, I think to myself. You are a smart kid." I tell him. "You can ask me any capital of any country in the world and I will tell you the answer!" Ok, what is the capital of Colombia? He doesn't even stop to think. "Bogota." What is the capital of Bhutan. "Thimpu." I've just learned something new. "Your flag has 50 stars because there are fifty states. Your flag has 13 stripes because you were trying to make 13 kingdoms." I have to laugh. I try to explain to him that we had colonies, not kingdoms. He looks at me skeptically and says--"If there was no king, then how were their colonies? What is a colony?" The kid is really smart--but I go back to wondering what he wants from me. He picks up on my distraction immediately and interrupts my thoughts "Can you buy me some milk?" he asks. I look around. Everything is closed, I say. He suddenly remembers about the strike and looks down sadly at his feet. "I don't want your money" he reassures me "money is bad. I just need milk." He points to a pharmacy-- "Maybe there?" he asks. It is a pharmacy--I don't think they have milk. "But I need powdered milk," he insists. He has a desperate look on his face. Is it for your family? I ask. "No, its for my little brother." He asks for milk at the pharmacy, but they don't have any. We both look up and down the streets--there is no possibility of milk today. I pull out my wallet and hand him 50 rupees. Its okay, I tell him. Take the money. Buy your milk tomorrow.

The Funeral of the Former Deputy Prime Minister

Shailaja Acharya, the former Deputy Prime Minister of Nepal


Yesterday I visited Pashupati, the Nepalese equivalent of India's Varanasi. There are burning ghats where Nepali Hindus come to be burned after they die. I happened to arrive in Pashupati several hours before Shailaja Acharya, the former Deputy Prime Minister of Nepal was to be given her last rites so I got to witness first hand the funeral of high ranking Nepalese official. Hours before, I took my place on a bridge, 10 feet above the pyre where Ms. Acharya was to be burned. I stood with my camera and all of my lenses next to a photojournalist from a local Nepali newspaper. The funeral was attended by the Prime Minister, the Minister of Defense, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Army Chief and other Nepali dignitaries. Although all of the people were ultimately cleared from the bridge (for security reasons) by men with machine guns, I was apparently confused as a member of the foreign press and was allowed to stay alongside the Nepali photographers. Here is the article that appeared in The Himalayan.

Sadhu in Pashupati


Old Man in Pashupati

The Curious Story of the Kumari Devi

To see more pictures of Durbar Square, click here.

The Royal Kumari, Kathmandu


The Nepali's have an interesting custom: the worship of a living child goddess which they call the Kumari Devi (Kumari means "Virgin")--a prepubescent, virgin girl from the Shakya clan of the Newari community. Although the Shakya's are Buddhist, the Kumari Devi is worshipped as a Hindu goddess and is seen as the living incarnation of Durga. There are many Kumari Devi's in Nepal, but the most famous is the Royal Kumari who lives in Kumari Ghar, a place in the Durbar Square in Kathmandu. The practice of worshipping a living virgin child is said to have originated in the 17th century when a pedophile Malla king had intercourse with a prepubescent child who died as a result of the trauma. In penance, the king began the practice of venerating a young girl.

Thousands of girls from the Shakya caste (Newari gold and silversmiths) compete for the title of child goddess. To be eligible, the Kumari must be between 3 years old and puberty. She must meet 32 strict physical characteristics (the 32 perfections of a goddess), her skin must be without blemish, she must never have shed blood, been afflicted by disease, and must not have yet lost any teeth. Other eligibility requirements include having: "a neck like a conch shell, a body like a banyan tree, eyelashes like a cow, thighs like a deer, chest like a lion, and a voice soft and clear as a duck's. Her hair and eyes should be very black, she should have dainty hands and feet, small and well-recessed sexual organs and a set of twenty teeth." See Wikipedia. Girls that meet these criteria must undergo a series of rigorous tests to prove that she is the "living vessel" of Durga. They must show that they are fearless and possess great intuition.

On Kalratri or "black night" during the Hindu festival of Dashain 108 buffaloes, goats, chickens and other animals are sacrificed to the goddess Kali. The test of fearlessness involves placing the child in a dark room with the severed heads which are illuminated by candle-light while men in scary masks dance around them. The child must show no fear and remain calm. The final test of serenity involves locking the child alone in a dark room with the severed heads of the dead animals. If the child remains calm throughout the night, she moves on to the final test of intuition. An assortment of items are placed in front of her and she must pick out those that belonged to the previous Kumari. If the child passes this test, then there is no doubt. She will be taken to priests to undergo a series of tantric rituals designed to cleanse her body and then she will walk on white cloth across Durbar Square from the Taleju temple to the Kumari Ghar and she will be presented as the new Kumari. She will reign until the day she menstruates (or accidentally loses a significant amount of blood)--at that time she will lose her godliness and return to society as a normal human. "The Kumari's walk across the Durbar Square is the last time her feet will touch the ground until such time as the goddess departs from her body. From now on, when she ventures outside of her palace, she will be carried or transported in her golden palanquin. Her feet, like all of her, are now sacred. Petitioners will touch them, hoping to receive respite from troubles and illnesses. The King himself will kiss them each year when he comes to seek her blessing. She will never wear shoes; if her feet are covered at all, they will be covered with red stockings." See Wikipedia.

Durbar Square, Kathmandu


Although the Kumari was a royal invention, the tradition did not die out with the fall of the Nepali Monarchy in 2008. The current Kumari is the first Kumari to be selected by the Maoist regime instead of royal priests. It is said that marrying an ex-Kumari is unlucky, but according to Lonely Planet, it is believed more likely, that taking on a spoiled ex-goddess is just too much work!

Kumari Ghar, Kathmandu

Sunsets in the Himalayas

To see more pictures of Pisang Peak and the Himalayas, click here.

Base Camp, May 31, 2009


View from Pisang Peak, June 1, 2009

A Helicopter Evacuation: June 2, 2009

My Rescue Helicopter.


Villagers Watching the Helicopter Take Off.


I wake up at base camp, I am coughing heavily. My chest is tight and I am still having trouble breathing, but my headache and the dizziness had substantially subsided. When I stand up, I notice that I am still unbalanced and my brain is working slowly but because I have asthma, I am more worried about getting bronchitis than about my apparent altitude sickness. There are no pharmacies in the villages on the Annapurna Circuit and I know that if I need antibiotics I will be in trouble. The nearest hospital is Kathmandu, 4 days of walking plus a 1 day bus trip away. I know now that I can not continue with the Annapurna Circuit and that I have to turn back to Kathmandu, and I don’t think I’m healthy enough to make the 4 day walking trip. I have to find a phone in the nearest village and get evacuated by helicopter.

It took a long time to arrange the helicopter trip—for starters, the travel agency that Dorgee was working with told us that the helicopter would cost $5,400 and that my insurance policy with Everest Insurance Company, a Nepali Company would only cover up to $4,000 and I didn’t have $1,400 to spare. Given that there are only two helicopter companies in Nepal it seemed strange to me that the insurance company would cover less than the fees—something didn’t feel right. After what seemed like hours of discussions, Dorgee’s travel agency informed me that a cheaper helicopter had been found for $4,300. Although it still seemed fishy, I needed to get out of there and I gave them the go ahead thinking that I would split it between my US insurance policy and the Nepali policy or that I would pay for it myself. Several hours later I was in a helicopter bound for Kathmandu. In Kathmandu I was treated at the CIWEC clinic, an expat hospital. The doctor diagnosed me with severe AMS with mild HACE and HAPE. High Altitiude Cerebral Edema and High Altitiude Pulmonary Edema—meaning that I had fluid in my brain and in my lungs. This was caused by ascending too rapidly—i.e. the decision to skip high camp was not a good one. I still do not know why the Sherpas decided to skip high camp. Either they believed the good weather wouldn’t last and we should make a go of it, or the porters were not properly equipped to ascend to high camp in the snow (they were climbing in sneakers). I have a feeling the latter reason played quite a big role in the decision. In the end I found out that the travel agency that Dorgee was working with—Nepal Alsace Trekking—was trying to rip me off with the helicopter. They refused to give me the receipt for the helicopter and when I threatened to call the tourist police they forked it up and the charge had been exactly $4,000. Because of his overcharging, I almost decided to walk to the hospital instead of risking the possibility that my US insurance wouldn’t cover the excess. Because I didn’t know I had HACE and HAPE, this decision could have been lethal.

At times when I am in the East surrounded by Buddhist philosophy and incredibly kind people that are much less materialistic then the people in the West, I feel that people in the East are somehow more enlightened than we are, but when confronted with experiences like this one I am reminded that thieves are everywhere and that people all over the world are the same and sometimes, things are just not what they seem.

As for climbing, my mother asked me if I had learned my lesson and wouldn't do it again. Unfortunately, the answer is no, mom. I didn't learn not to climb again. Instead what I learned is that I am responsible for my own safety. I should have done more research on the mountain. I shouldn't have double checked the safety precautions (i.e. the lack of a satellite phone) and I should not have put as much trust in my guides as I did. In a country where safety standards are not enforced with a risk of legal repercussions for negligence, corners will be cut. Sometimes it isn't even because a person is mal-intentioned, sometimes it is just ignorance. I know better now and from now on, I will be a better educated climber.

Back Safely in Kathmandu.

Summit Day: June 1, 2009

1:47am: Pasang unzips my tent. “Morning! Breakfast.” He passes me a hot cup of tea. I have a hard time coaxing myself out of my sleeping bag. The air outside is freezing. I start putting on all of my layers and Pasang comes by with a bowl of soup and curried boiled eggs with potatoes and chili. It feels like dinner and I’m hungry. I eat all of it knowing I will need the energy for the long climb ahead. We leave base camp at 3:15 am. At 5:20 am the sky is pink and the sun is rising. The mountains are beautiful and I am so happy to be where I am.

Sunrise Reflected in the Snow.


Dendi had estimated 3 hours to high camp, but the snow is heavy and the mountain is steep and by 6 am he realizes that we won’t make it up safely or fast enough with all of our equipment unless he ties a fixed rope. I am the first to ascend via the rope. It hangs at a 45 degree angle, flush with the mountain—this is the first time I have ever climbed with a rope outside of training—I grab it and suddenly it dawns on me that I am putting all of my trust in a rope, the person who tied the knot, and the metal clips that will soon help me pull myself up. I know that as soon as I grab onto the rope and lift my feet off of the ground my entire life will depend on these three things. If any of them fail, I will fall to my death onto the rocks below me. I lift my feet off of the ground and pull myself forward. Everything holds. We begin climbing with ropes at 6:15 am and do not arrive at high camp until 8:30am. We are now running more than 2 hours behind.
A Snow Covered Valley.


10:00am: Pisang is largely hidden from view by the hill on which high camp lies. But as soon as we clear the hill we get a full view of Pisang and as soon as I see her my jaw drops and I hear myself saying “Holy Mother of God” aloud and I know then that Stok Kangri was a cake walk, and that what I am about to climb is a whole different animal.
My first "real" view of Pisang Peak.


Pisang is steep. From where we are standing to her crest, there is a rocky ridge. On either side of the ridge the mountain drops steeply. To the left side is a big blue glacier, rocky ledges, and a steep snowy slope with fresh avalanches running down its side. To the right of the ridge is another steep snowy slope with more avalanches. My fears of an avalanche taking us down are immediately quelled since I can see that there is no way to climb Pisang other than straight up her rocky ridge where it is physically impossible to be killed by a falling avalanche. The risk of falling into an avalanche, however, is quite high. At 10:45 am Dorgee and I arrive at a portion of the ridge that is so narrow, that the snow on the ridge forms a perfect inverted V shape. Dendi and Pasang are ahead of us setting up the fixed ropes and have already crossed the treacherous path to the left of the ridge. Dorgee stands on the edge of the ledge staring at the ridge. “Are you scared?” I ask him. “A little, he replies.” I am considering turning back. The wind is blowing strong and one big gust could blow us off the ridge in either direction. “Get down on your hands and knees,” I tell him. I am pretending not to be scared, but inside I am thinking that this is crazy, even for me. Dorgee gets down on his hands and knees and crawls. After mentally calculating the effect of the winds, I decide to straddle the mountain with one leg hanging off of one end and the other hanging off of the other and I slide myself forward over the ridge until I safely reach the other side. We have to cross three more treacherous ridges like this one and each time I think that this is crazy, even for me and that we should have a man rope or a fixed rope or something to act as protection in case one of us falls. I keep wondering if Dendi Sherpa is too self confident, cutting corners, or if I am just a wuss.
Musk Deer Tracks.

11:30am: After successfully crossing what must have been the most dangerous part of the mountain I run into Pasang at the end of the next fixed rope. He is sitting there waiting for us and when we arrive he says “Dendi says you go up rope, you take pictures, then we go back down. It is 11:30 and mountain closing.” “What!?! I exclaim. I tell Pasang I’ll discuss it with Dendi who instead of tying the next fixed rope is sitting in Rodin’s “The Thinker” pose staring at us and waiting for us to give up from exhaustion. I force myself up the mountain as quickly as possible and ask Dendi why we aren’t continuing after just having done all of that work. He tells me we won’t make the summit until 5:30pm and he doesn’t want to die coming back at night. He is exhausted, frustrated and irritable. I tell him I don’t want to die either, and ask if it is safe to give ourselves until 3pm with the strict policy that wherever we are at 3pm, that is where we stop and turn back. The discussion takes a half an hour but Dendi agrees that this is a good plan. We lose another 30 minutes while Pasang and Dendi set up the next fixed rope.





My feet hanging off the edge of the mountain.


3:00pm: 6,000 meters (19,686 feet). We have been climbing for 11 hours and 45 minutes. There is little snow on this part of Pisang—for the past three hours we have been climbing over huge slabs of stone, pulling ourselves with jumars from fixed rope to fixed rope. We are about 300 feet from the summit but given our level of exhaustion it will take at least one hour to summit and it is now too dangerous. I am frustrated, because this is Dendi’s error--I know that had we spent the night at high camp we would have made it. But now the clouds are rolling in, the winds are getting stronger and my arms can pull no more. I can’t stop thinking of the book “Into Thin Air”--Jon Krakauer’s account of climbing Everest--and how a missed turn-around time had deadly consequences. I understand the power of the mountain and I know we must turn around. I pull myself to the end of the last fixed rope. I’m done, I say to Dendi. This is my summit. As soon as we stop and my adrenaline rush fades, I notice that I have a massive headache and I am feeling a little dizzy. My lungs feel as if someone is pressing down on them, I’m coughing and having a hard time breathing.

The Path We Took
(climbing over the ridges avoids the avalanches)


The Last 300 ft to the Summit.


We gave it a good go!


The descent: 30 minutes later we begin our descent to base camp. As soon as I stand up, I realize that something is terribly wrong. I’m having a hard time balancing, my head is pounding and I am incredibly dizzy. I feel like I’m going to pass out. Dendi ties me to the belay device and I start belaying myself down slowly. My brain feels like it is working in slow motion and I no longer recognize my surroundings. I look around me and everything seems foreign, “Wow, that looks hard, I climbed that?” I keep asking myself. My feet feel clumsy and I keep falling on my knees. The sharp shale rips through my trousers and my knees start bleeding. I have to stop every five minutes to catch my breath. We are moving more slowly than on the ascent and I know this is not good. We have to make it past the dangerous part, because I know won’t make it down in the dark. I am cursing the Sherpa’s for not setting up camp at high camp.

At some point I stop belaying myself and I put my head on the ground. I am coughing up yellow stuff and there is a little bit of blood and it freaks me out. I keep thinking about the part of the mountain that I had to straddle to get across—there is no way I’m going to make it without falling to my death. “Dendi, I don’t think I can make it.” I call out to him. “Doesn’t your cell phone work? Can’t you get me off this mountain?” I don’t know why I am asking, because I already know they don’t have a satellite phone. “What’s the point of helicopter evacuation insurance if you have no way of calling a helicopter,” I ask him. I can’t believe they don’t have a satellite phone. Dendi picks me up off the ground and tells me we are going to tandem belay, he straps me onto his harness with carabeeners. My feet are like jello and I keep tripping and stepping on his feet. Somehow, I don’t know how, we make it across the treacherous passes and down the mountain.

18 ½ hours later, at 8:45pm we are back at Base Camp.

Base Camp at 7:00pm, May 31, 2009

The Moon Shining Over the Mountain



The Summit of Pisang Peak from Base Camp


I walk out of my tent to an amazing surprise: blue skies, a crescent moon, the beginnings of a sunset and 360 degree views of all of the peaks that had thus far eluded me. Dendi is standing outside with Dorgee—he has returned from high camp and thinks we should head for the summit at 3:00am. He tells me it will take about 10 hours to summit and return. I can’t contain my excitement. Now it is 9:30 pm and I am going to sleep hoping that the clouds don’t suddenly roll in and praying that if an avalanche should happen on Pisang, that it happen tonight before 3 am. I’m falling asleep to the sounds of thunderous rumblings all over the valley—they are avalanches falling.

Base Camp 4:00pm, May 31, 2009

Base Camp at 4:00pm



Clouds Slowly Parting


By 4:00pm, the sound of snow hitting my tent stopped. I could hear Dorgee Sherpa singing to himself outside as he walked to my tent to bring me tea. “Katoon, I have an idea,” he said. I looked behind him and saw the clouds parting revealing the first view of a mountain that I had seen in days. I jumped up with excitement. “It’s clearing!” I said. “Yes, Dendi go up to high camp with Pasang.” He proceeded to tell me that if Dendi Sherpa came back with a positive report on the conditions at high camp we’d try to leave at 2 or 3 am and try to summit directly from base camp instead of stopping for one night to acclimatize at high camp (5300m). I was so happy that we were going to have a chance to summit that I did not consider the implications of ascending from 4300m to 6092m in one day. Moreover, I thought that if good weather were to come, it would be wise to take the opportunity since good weather days seemed to be few and far between. I got up to find my camera and walked to the edge of base camp to photograph the eeriness that was a monsoon snowstorm lifting from the valley. There were still no visible peaks—a fine line of dark gray clouds loomed over everything but below that line the sky was almost perfectly clear except for small light clouds that moved rapidly from right to left creating the eeriness of sleepy hollow.

For the first time I was genuinely excited to be photographing this—a sight that is clearly not available to those who visit Nepal in September or October when the weather is perfect.

Morning in Base Camp: May 31, 2009

Base Camp at 5:20am


Fixed Rope Training at 8:30am

Ang Dendi Sherpa, Me, Dorgee Sherpa (I look so tall!)

In all religions, prayer is fruitless. Clearly, the Pisang lama pocketed our money and ran without properly negotiating with the rain gods and the mountain gods because this morning we woke up to a half a foot of snow at base camp and a storm that wasn’t abating. At 5:30am Dorgee Sherpa popped his head into my tent “Good morning, Katoon! Weather no good. We go back to Pisang?” he asked, hopefully. There was no way I was turning around now. “Maybe we wait one day until snow stops, ok?” I responded. Dendi Sherpa popped his head in too. “But what will we do?” he asked, while gesturing out at the snow. “We wait in our tents until no more snow!” I replied with a grin. I don’t think he liked that answer much, but two hours later when he was tired of sitting in his tent he showed up with harnesses and ropes. “Ok, get dressed. We go rock climbing and training.” Dendi is a skilled mountaineer who can’t sit still and I was excited to spend the rest of the day practicing climbing on a fixed rope, doing glacier training on a man rope, and tying knots.

Blessing our Prayer Flags: May 30, 2009

It isn't often that one can say: "Look at the plane flying below us!" This was kinda cool. This picture was taken halfway between Pisang Village and Base Camp.

Plane Flying Below Us!


Close Up of the Plane!


The colorful flags are Tibetan prayer flags. Because the Tibetans and Buddhists believe that mountains are sacred (e.g. the name for Mt. Everest Chomolangma in Tibetan, which loosely means “Goddess Mother of the Universe.”), early this morning my Sherpas sought the blessing of the local lama. For a fee, of course, he blessed our prayer flags and wished us good luck for our journey. He wrapped around each of us a crème colored silk prayer shawl and made us eat reddish brown pellets that tasted somewhere between tobacco leaves and a barn but looked like little Willy Wonk a nerds.

According to Wikipedia: "Traditionally, prayer flags are used to promote peace, compassion, strength, and wisdom. The flags do not carry prayers to 'gods,' a common misconception, rather the Tibetans believe the prayers and mantras will be blown by the wind to spread the good will and compassion into all pervading space. Therefore, prayer flags are thought to bring benefit to all.

By hanging flags in high places the "Wind Horse" will carry the blessings depicted on the flags to all beings. As wind passes over the surface of the flags which are sensitive to the slightest movement of the wind, the air is purified and sanctified by the Mantras.

The prayers of a flag become a permanent part of the universe as the images fade from exposure to the elements. Just as life moves on and is replaced by new life, Tibetans renew their hopes for the world by continually mounting new flags alongside the old. This act symbolizes a welcoming of life changes and an acknowledgement that all beings are part of a greater ongoing cycle." See also: http://www.tibetanprayerflag.com/history.html#8

Chame to Pisang, May 29, 2009

To see more pictures of Annapurna click here and here.

The Giant Slab


Old Woman


I Love the Children


Me, Showing Little Kids Digital Pictures



Today we hiked from Chame to Pisang Village through dense pine forests. Our trek was short—a mere 5 hours—compared to the 8-9 hours/ day that we have been walking over the past few days. We passed a magnificent slab—a completely flat piece of stone that jets out of the ground at a 45 degree angle. The locals believe that when people die, they rise up the slab on the way to heaven. Although we are completely surrounded by 360 degrees worth of 8,000+ meter snow capped mountains, due to the monsoon clouds we aren’t able to see any of them. I have been doing rain dances to the gods and praying for them to take the clouds away if only for one day.

Tomorrow we trek from Pisang Village (3200m) to Base Camp (4300 m). It is bloody cold already and I am bundled up in my down everything.

This guest house, like most on the Annapurna Circuit has no hot water (despite its huge advertisement that claims otherwise) so I think I will pass again on the showering bit.

Jagat to Dharapani, May 27, 2009

Baby Donkey


Horse on a Mountain Path




Today we trekked through more villages. The last bit of the trail from Taal to Khoka was downright treacherous. We hiked over crumbling rock on a goat trail that was 2.5 feet at its widest and about 16 inches at its narrowest. (For the purpose of clearly explaining this to anyone who might take this out of context: the trail was treacherous not because the actual trail was steep or hard to walk on--the trail was actually flat with the usual rocks and stones that one would expect on an unpaved trail, but otherwise flat. What was treacherous about it was that it was very, very narrow and the "road" (as the Nepalis refer to it) was literally crumbling at its edges down into the river. The entire road had been chiseled out of a rock mountain by hand by Nepali laborers with a large chisel and a hammer--they were widening the road, so I got to witness this--so literally, we were walking over rock that was crumbling down into the river. And because the road was so narrow and it was very windy, it was scary to think that the wind might blow me away into the river). It hugged the edge of the mountain a little too close for comfort and dropped precipitously down into a raging Class V rapids river. I think I would have been less nervous if the wind hadn’t been so strong, but I could feel it blowing up against my back and making my balance a little unstable. I did my best to look straight down at my feet and avoided my peripheral vision at all costs.

As we were leaving a soda stand in the hamlet we had stopped in we nearly got run over by a stampede of donkeys that were running madly down a very steep hill. The source of their terror was their donkey driver—a young Nepali who was abusively whipping the donkeys at the back of the herd as if he had found a new sport. His face was wild with excitement as if he took pleasure in the beating. He was cackling and showing off to his friends. As he approached me, he raised his whip again. I could see terror in the donkey’s eyes and because I’m a sucker for animals I started screaming, “Stop it! You are hurting him!” but of course he didn’t stop. He raised his whip again--I was still screaming, he was still cackling, but this time he was within two feet of me and I had a knee jerk reaction—I picked up my trekking pole and wacked him hard on the ass just like he had done to the donkey. “Stop it!” I screamed. This time he stopped. His friends stopped. Their cackling stopped. All they could do was stare at me—their faces frozen in astonishment while I was still screaming like a madwoman “Stop it! You don’t have to do that! “Very bad driver,” Dorgee said. “He of a lower caste.”

Begining of Expedition: May 25, 2009

Chart of our Expedition: Besisahar to Pisang Peak



Today we start our expedition to Pisang Peak via the Annapurna Circuit. Until we reach Pisang Village a typical day of trekking will be: wake up at 6am, breakfast at 6:30am, begin trekking at 7am for approximately 7 to 8 hours per day.

The first part of our trip is by local bus from Kathmandu to Besishar and then by foot to Bhulebhule. I am accompanied by Ang Dendi Sherpa, the lead mountaineering guide, Dorgee Sherpa, the Annapurna guide, and Pisang Sherpa and Nima Sherpa, the porters who are carrying the ropes, harnesses, ice-axes, crampons, plastic boots, tents, stoves, cookware and all of the other equipment needed for our journey to Pisang. This is my second time climbing a peak over 6000 meters (my first was the Stok Kangri in India which we failed to summit by 15 meters), but it will be my first time attempting to summit a technically demanding climbing peak so I am a little nervous.

My previous attempt to summit a 6,000m peak (the Stok Kangri in India) was rather unplanned—in actuality I had signed up to “see a glacier” but, unbeknownst to me, the glacier happened to be at the top of a 6137 meter (20,135 feet) high peak. So when my non-English speaking Indian Sherpa pulled out plastic boots, an ice axe, and crampons somewhere around 18,000 feet I was rather taken aback. But at that point there was little I could do but put the things on and hope for the best. I do know that summiting the Stok Kangri should have required ropes and helmets, because the British team I passed when I was on my way down had lots of them. And when I asked them “Oh, was I supposed to have that?” I got a distinct “you must be a bloody idiot” look. But, the only rope we carried was a 15 footer that had previously been employed by our donkey as a bridle.

This time we are headed up with at least 40 pounds worth of climbing rope (the kind you see at the climbing wall, not on a donkey) and ironically, because of the equipment I find the whole thing rather intimidating. I have no point of reference to know whether the Stok Kangri was technical or not, but I guess I am about to find out how stupid I really was back then. Stay tuned. Don’t worry mom.

Nepal

The Many Faces of Nepal's Children













I knew as soon as got off the plane that I would love Nepal. It was chaos combined with a sense of peacefulness that reminded me of India. But unlike India, which is relatively homogenous from a religious and ethnic perspective, Nepal is a crossroads of people—lonely planet says it best “Nepal is a remarkable mosaic of peoples who have not so much assimilated as learned to coexist. It is the meeting place of the Indo-Aryan people of India and the Mongoloid people of the Himalaya.” In Kathmandu, where people have mixed somewhat, the result is visually unexpected combinations in its people—such as light skinned people with Asian eyes wearing saris. While in the countryside, one finds pockets of culturally distinct populations that have preserved their forms of dress and way of life throughout the centuries. For someone who loves photographing faces, like I do, the contrasts are fascinating.

There are virtually no roads in the Himalayan region of Nepal so people live in hamlets much like they did centuries ago. It is perfectly reasonable to have to walk 5 days to reach the nearest town with bus service to the nearest hospital. Although most hamlets have electricity, there are no refrigerators, people still cook on a wood fire, meat is dried and smoked and hung up in the kitchen to dry, people fetch water from the local rivers, houses are made of stones stuck together with mud, roofs are thatched without nails—often times this means several slabs of wood laid vertically with stones laid on top to hold them in place, and if there is phone service—there are probably only one or two phones in town. Most people are farmers—they grow their own crops and have goats, chickens, cows, water buffalo, donkeys and yaks and although they live in extreme poverty from a monetary perspective, it is not the same poverty as is seen in other countries where the children are malnourished. Families and their dogs are happy and healthy. The children are chubby and have bright red cheeks and there is a respect for family and community that I have not seen elsewhere.

It is not uncommon to walk into a shop and find a male shopkeeper ringing up goods with one hand and carrying a baby in the other; or to find the older male son helping the mother cook and serve and pick up plates; he may even be the main cook in the family if the mother has young children that she has to breast feed. I was also surprised to see how much neighbors help each other. Often the older children of one neighbor will be tending to the younger children of another. If someone falls ill, families borrow money from each other. I have mostly interacted with the Sherpa, Tibetan and Gurung people (the Gurungs come from Mongolia) and I still have much more to learn about the Nepalis but so far I am fascinated by the people—they exude what I can only describe as love and kindness.