Category: Nepal

Dzum, Dzum…let’s go! Dzam, Dzam…any time! These were the impatient admonitions of Buddhi, our intrepid guide as we headed into our two-week trek from the little town of Syabru Besi at 4500ft., reached by a perilous journey over a circuitous route of winding roads, many washed out by avalanches and heavy rains. The road was one lane most of the way, defined by tight hairpin turns and endless switchbacks overlooking a lush valley below. Guard rails were non-existent.

Ride, anyone?

Sometimes a bus would get ahead of us…but not for long!

We stopped for veggies in a small town…

And finally arrived in Syabru Besi in mid-afternoon

The intrepid trekkers, Meg, Cary, and Christy settled for a night at the Yala Peak Guest House…

Lots of children playing games in the road as we took an evening stroll around town….

Chicken, anyone?

Our first day was very strenuous, reminiscent of the rocky trail in Sikkim two years ago. We climbed for seven hours with 3,500 ft. of gain. There were numerous long skinny swinging bridges and several stops for tea.

Take your pick!

I’ll take the swinging ones, thank you….

Typical lunch break

Way on a distant cliff were hanging beehives

We were never far from the Langtang River….

The mountains are getting closer and closer

Approaching Lower Rimche

We made it!

Erwin and Christine, German friends we met our first and last night in Langtang.

Our hostess used a most unusual stove, and was the food good!

Day is Dying in the West

And now for a long winter’s nap….

Majestic Swayambhunath, the monkey temple….

See, I promised to give you a fast trip around ye olde Kathmandu as I revisited the student quarters in Thamel, my favorite guest house, The Potala, and the temples of Durbar Marg. You’ve heard the statement, “You can never go back,” and I’ve been defying that for twenty-five years. But this year I finally am convinced that my lungs and my nerves have grown fragile enough to warrant moving down the road apiece and leaving the pollution and the center of town to the crazies. Hate to give up, but down the road apiece isn’t exactly dullsville. There’s a whole separate culture in Boudhanath and I loved being a part of it!

Monkeys, monkeys everywhere!

Top of the world…Kathmandu Valley spread out below

Temples, chapels, prayer wheels, worshippers….

Exotic carving…typical Newari architecture

Heading up the other side….

Three giant Buddhas

Their heads are a favorite perch for the monkeys!

Anyone for woodcarvings and singing bowls? Christy and I could not resist….

Heading back to Kathmandu

The Potala, my former not so fancy digs….

Christy went wild over the wandering cows

Durbar Marg, a feast of temples

Classic Hindu temples filled with erotic paintings and sculpture

Be sure to park your vehicle outside the square….

Raj Kumar, who makes the best espresso coffee in Kathmandu….

If you don’t believe me, just ask Christy!

So there you have it, folks. We’re un-jetlagged, we’ve found a good cup of coffee, and we’re ready to head for the hills. Next episode…discovering Langtang.

In closing I have a few words for the people who have ruined my life. Those who have put electronics in the hands of children so they can make the old and the wise seem stupid and useless. When a five-year-old has to explain why your screen is moving from side to side with no help from you, and the words and lines just keep bopping around senselessly, and then begs you to calm down and tell him the problem (just tell me where it hurts?), you know you’re ready for the ice floe. In fact, before very long you’re yearning for it.

My children and grandchildren tell me that I’m the only person they know who becomes violent when using an Apple computer. They’re “user friendly,” they say. Perhaps so, but WordPress isn’t. Uploading photos takes about as much time as waiting for someone from Verizon or the Bank of America to answer the phone. Is it any wonder that being a nervous wreck is becoming a way of life in these h’yer United States? So, you ask, why do you keep going back for more, Meg? Are you so imbued with the old-time Protestant work ethic that says that all life is a struggle, and the only way  you coast is downhill, that you can’t let go? Why not invest in a hatchet and let these blamed devices know who’s boss?

In the meantime, I do have my diversions or activities that feed my soul between bouts of computer depression and sun deprivation (it’s been a dreary winter). Have had a couple of neat symphony concerts, one of which was led by Sabin Pautza, our former conductor at the Plainfield Symphony. Along with his compositions, we played the Brahms 4th Symphony. That kept me out of trouble for some time.

Opera season is in full sway and, of course, Broadway is forever beckoning. Outstanding plays I’ve seen so far this year are the hilarious and unusual The Mystery of Edwin Drood, The Heiress, with the superb David Strathairn, Dan Stevens of Downton Abbey fame, and Judith Ivey, The Other Place, with an outstanding performance by Laurie Metcalf, and the stunning Steppenwolf revival of Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, with Tracy Letts and Amy Morton.

I’m still waiting for imaginative suggestions about where I can live, but none have been forthcoming. Is everybody frozen? Surely not my friends in L.A. or the Caribbean (I hate them, anyway). Hey, I could just sit tight and wait for Global Warming to do its job and wake up some morning with Miami Beach in my backyard. Who knows?

Blogs are supposed to be short and sweet, with pictures for those who are tired of the onslaught of verbiage in their daily diet. Pictures I have by the thousands with words to match! But suffice it to say that since my last entry on November 19, 2012, I have trekked to around 17,000 ft., sold my house in Maplewood, NJ, moved to temporary digs at daughter Martha’s, with the aid of my second son, Tom, who journeyed from California to keep me sane and on target, and managed to rid myself of sixty years of accumulated “stuff,” more, even, than the legendary George Carlin could imagine. And all of that in one sentence! The remainder of my memorabilia that I couldn’t bear to throw away is in a storage facility near Kean University just waiting for me to decide what to do when I grow up. I might add that the announcement of the sale of my house came as I was trekking in the Langtang region of the Nepalese Himalayas with daughter, Cary Peterson, and Christy Korrow, a writer and editor who, like Cary, lives on Whidbey Island, WA.  The message came in on Christy’s cell phone. We’ve come a long way since my first climb to Everest Base Camp in 1987! In those days, when you were away, you were definitely AWAY! I know, that’s a split infinitive, but who cares about grammar today, when half the newscasters on TV are throwing fig leaves to the enemy in lieu of olive branches? Things are just plain going to hell, aren’t they?

For those of you who read the dedication in the front of my book, you know that one of my mantras is: Never fear walking into the unknown. I’ve tried to live my life accordingly, but now am being tested big time to put my money where my mouth is. The next few months will be exciting and a bit scary. Any suggestions, no matter how crazy, will be welcomed. I feel very fortunate to have so many choices, but also am torn between my love for my town, my symphony, my friends, the opera, and Broadway to name a few of the advantages of the New York Metropolitan area, and the wild Northwest with its open spaces, its rugged mountains, and the delightful town of Langley, WA, where my daughter, Cary, lives…a stone’s throw from Seattle.

Let’s start from where I left off and take you, first, to the picturesque Tibetan enclave of Boudhanath, not far from the center of Kathmandu. When you take a cab from the airport, however, over unimaginably pot-holed and semi-paved roads, you think it’s far. This is unfortunately true of most of Nepal. The traffic has gotten worse along with the roads, but for some reason the tempers seem to be stable. I had to park my western impatience on the tarmac when I arrived.

It gets  worse the closer you come, and is positively treacherous if you’re trying to walk at night. No streetlights…just your wits and good humor!

Boudhanath is famous for its immense stupa with eyes that look out over the pilgrims who come there. Every morning and evening throngs of the faithful, of all ages, walk around the outside and the second tier, saying mantras and meditating. The stupa is 118 ft. high and if you want to see the action you can look it up on line. I found it a glorious place to be, especially at dusk when the candles were lit and the stores lining the route were filled with music. It was magical.

Notice the pigeons…they’re everywhere!

Hundreds of people light candles for their loved ones

And burn special incense

This little lady sat there all day blessing the faithful

This little lady captivated me with her saucy eyes….

And her father, too….

Boudha Gate

Stupa entrance

Scenes around the temple….people doing Kora; some buying and selling; others just watching

Public washing outside stupa complex

It’s almost impossible to convey the excitement and camaraderie surrounding this sacred place. We were so lucky to have found a guest house nearby, affiliated with the Shechan Monastery (pron. Say-chen), which I will show you in detail in a future post.  People from many countries enjoyed the courtyard…those involved in NGO’s, monks, and trekkers  like us…making our stay ever-changing and always interesting. Having been in Nepal several times over the last twenty-five years, it was especially amusing for me to see this quiet, meditative space invaded by iPads and iPods. Imagine monks in the old days sitting around communicating with these modern devices. Cell phones have long been the phone of choice in Asia, but the iPad blew me away!

Shechen Monastery

Just getting to my home-away-from-home was high adventure! Try thirty-two hours and three layovers, and a bus ride from one Toyko airport to another for starters. Then picture me curled up on a bench, in a semi-coma, hugging my pack and hoping someone won’t lift my duffel with all my trekking equipment, and then hoping they will so I won’t have to carry it. I have to say that I’ve never met more hospitable, helpful people than in the grand Tokyo airports or the even grander Bangkok edifice.  It was being completed when I was last there, and the only way I can describe it is to imagine yourself in the belly of a huge glass whale with intersecting ribs and fins shaped like torpedoes.

I had to laugh when the pilot on my first United flight came on the intercom to laud the grand new Boeing 777 with its multiple engines and luxury appointments. All I could do was wonder why such an enormous piece of machinery could decrease the seating space for the tourist class to the point where anyone with knees would soon be an endangered species.  Never before have I so envied first class!  I will say that the food during my flights was awful, until I boarded Thai Airways.  Now that was fabulous…the food as beautiful as the stewardesses.

For three days my daughter, Cary, and her friend, Christy Korrow,  have been staying at the Norbu Sangpo Hotel in the town of Boudha, which is famous for its enormous stupa around which devout  Buddhists do kora morning and evening. There is a much more relaxed pace than in Kathmandu, and nowhere near the smog and dirt that is becoming so prevalent in Asian cities. Temperatures are in the 80’s, since we’re in the Indus Valley, and poinsettias and bougainvillia abound. It’s spring all over again.

Yesterday Chisty and I did a grand tour of Kathmandu, starting at the famous Swayambunath Temple, swinging through Thamel, the student area, and ending up in Durbar Marg with all the Hindu Temples.  Next time I’ll write more about my sentimental return, but right now a car is waiting to take us to the mountains. For two glorious weeks we’ll actually be incommunicado, something I’m looking forward to after the hustle and bustle of the city.

I’m thinking of you as you approach Thanksgiving and will be with friends and family in spirit as you celebrate.

Many of you, like me, read in the Travel Section of the NYTimes this week that they’re building a road into the beautiful Annapurna Circuit, which I traversed in 1999.  Here is the link if you wish to read it. The lead photo is exactly like one I took on Poon Hill facing the  magnificent 26,795 ft. Dhaulagiri peak.

http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/03/21/travel/21nepal.html?ref=travel

I must say, at the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, that I’m glad I laid eyes on Nepal and on Kathmandu, and trekked into Annapurna, Kangchenjunga, and Everest Base Camp before it turned into an out-of-control haven for tourists. Those were the days when you went there to be IN the mountains, not just to look at them from a jeep. There were the broken-down buses with their hangers-on that labored over treacherous mountain passes to get you to a trailhead, and there were well-worn trails to get you into the wilderness. You struggled, you huffed and puffed, and you grooved on the excitement of a possible snowstorm as you climbed up the Thorong La (17,500 ft) at 3 AM and ran down the other side like a mountain goat, so relieved to have made in over the top and survived.

M.P. on top of Thorang La

The only way you got to Muktinah, the Kandiki Valley, Manang, Chame, or Tatopani was on foot, just as the Nepalis did. This was even more so on the difficult 30-day Kangchenjunga trek where you could look down on the Jannu Glacier from Kampachen and risk a “yak attack” from thundering mountain herds at sunset. Sometimes our small group walked on paths the width of a single foot, tamped into the side of mountains, right after the original trail had been washed out by an avalanche of falling rocks. We walked through isolated villages and used the footpaths of the locals. We slept in our own tents, since there were no public teahouses at that time (1996). We made friends with local policemen and children and grandmothers. It was joyous! We felt part of Nepal, not an isolated group of tourists.

As Ethan Todras-Whitehill, the author of the disturbing  Times article put it: Trekkers want places where only their own feet can take them.

Here, just for old times sake, are some of my happy memories of Annapurna and the pristine Himalayas in days of yore.

Typical bus heading for the mountains

The Annapurna range lies ahead

One of many footbridges over the Kali Gandaki River

The gate through which we leave Chame

Trails leading to the pass

Here's what happens when there is no bridge. Let me tell you...it's cold!

Yours truly outside of Pisang, before the pass

One of many stone stupas. Stones are intricately fitted together without cement

A typical trail near the Kali Gandaki River

The wilderness outside Hongde

Morning friends. Herds of goats and sheep blocked the trail

Children greeted me with Namaste and took me to their home

Tibetan woman with her child, living in the valley. This was her first photo, she told me.

Kalu, our wonderful guide

Mani stones under the prayer wheels

M/P., Kalu, and Denise kicking up our heels on top of Poon Hill

Dhaulagiri from Poon Hill

Sacred Jwala Mai Temple in Muktinah

The leader of the pack. Move over!

This delightful schoolboy walked several miles with me to his school, practicing his English

We arrived at the school

Terraced farms

Leaving Manang and heading for Thorong La (the pass)

Young women working in the field

After the "Gurung Staircase" we reach our final camp, Birethanti, where the porters are playing a heated card game

Morning and evening shots of the magnificent fish-tail peak of Machhapuchhare