Asia Adventures 2010

Someone Else’s Eyes

I am madly in love with India. The culture, the food, the people, the colors, the scenery, the history… all of it. I wake up every day with excitement and anticipation flooding through me. It’s a proper love affair.

After I left Adam in Varanasi, I flew to Delhi and then took an 18 hour train out to Jaisalmer, “The Golden City.” Settled in the middle of the Thar Desert, Jaisalmer seems to be lifted straight out of the pages of an Arabian Nights fantasy. At the center of the city a giant sandstone fort rises out of the desert like an oversized sandcastle. Streets are draped with jewel-toned silks, scarves, tapestries, puppets, bags, and every article of clothing imaginable. The near oppressive sun is refracted off of bedazzled mirrors and bangles, metal statues and handcrafts. Camels and cows cross the streets as often as people and every shop owner offers you “the best prices in town” and a cup of chai as you pass. I spent hours in dimly lit shops drinking tea and learning the details of tapestry weaving, miniaturist painting, and palm reading. Young men regularly offered to take me to sights just outside of town (sunset points, a maharaja cemetery, a camel festival, the post office, etc.), happily I saw the sights while hopping on and off the back of motorbikes. Can you imagine a stranger offering to take you to the Empire State Building on the back of his bike in Manhattan, I would run the other way as fast as humanly possible. But here in Jaisalmer I joyfully rode for kilometers with perfect strangers through the desert and as each dropped me back at my guest house they would ask, “So, how do you like India?” and when I replied, “I love India” each of my new friends smiled brightly and said, “Thank you very much!” as if it were a personal compliment, as if it were their India. Though in a way, I suppose it could be a personal compliment, each boy on a motorbike, each shop keeper, painter, tapestry weaver, camel driver, chef, hotel owner… they are all now permanently a part of my India.

After 5 days wandering sandstone streets, riding camels and motorbikes, exploring ancient temples, sleeping on sand dunes, and eating plates upon plates of curries, I bid adieu to Jaisalmer and moved on to Jodhpur. Just five and a half hours away by train, Jodhpur is India’s “Blue City”, a fitting name considering that the walls of nearly every building in the old city are painted blue. Smurf blue. Like, wow this town is actually blue. Blue. I spent my 36 hours in Jodhpur climbing a rock cliff to the entrance of the imposing Mehrangarh Fort, sharing a rickshaw with an Israeli traveler to the Maharaja’s hilltop palace, watching street musicians play instruments that I didn’t know existed, and discussing controversial politics on a rooftop with people from China, India, and Germany (topics included the Chinese occupation of Tibet, the Kashmir conflict, the Holocaust, and the current war in Afghanistan).

Following my jam packed day and a half in Jodhpur I hopped in a car to Udaipur, where Daniel would be meeting me the next day. On my way to the lake city, I stopped in Ranakpur to see the magnificent Jain Temples. I was given a tour of the complex by a Jain priest who explained to me the fundamentals of his religion and patiently answered each one of my never ending questions. I was taught Jainism by a priest in an ancient temple… awesome. That evening I arrived in Udaipur, India’s “most romantic” city, and the next afternoon Daniel landed in India (yes, the timing was totally intentional)!

Over the course of our week together in Udaipur, Agra and Delhi, we saw two unexpected firework shows over a lake, took an Indian cooking class, explored palaces, forts, temples, mosques, and tombs, took a boat ride to an island where we smoked hookah as the sun set, rode an elephant through traffic, saw one of the Seven Wonders of the World, slept in a tiny bunk bed on an overnight train, and spent hours eating delicious curries on rooftops. After 11 weeks apart, it was a pretty spectacular way to see each other again.

I am madly in love with India but seeing my lover through my boyfriend’s eyes was quite an experience. Three months is a long time to be away from home and the places I’ve been are a REALLY long way from home. Traveling with Daniel I learned that I’ve stopped seeing a lot of the things that strike fresh eyes as shocking. I know that there are cows in the streets, I see the poverty and the begging children, I know that the traffic is properly manic, but it’s become an inherent part of life. It’s as common as sidewalks and traffic lights are at home (neither of which incidentally really exist here). So when a new pair of eyes arrived, mine were opened in a way that they haven’t been in months. I saw the touts aggression as they tried to pull us into shops and rickshaws, I heard the ceaseless blaring of deafening horns, I saw the filth that filled the streets, and I saw someone holding my hand who was pushing himself wildly outside of his comfort zone just to spend a week with me. In an instant I saw both my lover and my boyfriend in a new way, the idealized sheen was gone, reality became clearer and in both cases, brighter.

-L

Varanasi

Varanasi is a great many things: vibrant, chaotic, spiritual, and unapologetic. Settled on the Ganges River it is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world. Hindu pilgrims come from all across the subcontinent to wash away sins in the holy Ganga (Ganges) River. Death here is particularly sacred as it offers liberation from the cycle of reincarnation, daily cremations occur on the ghats which line the river and bodies wrapped in colorful fabrics are continually paraded through the alleyways. Climbing over cows in the road is a daily occurrence and the moment you step outside you are accosted with the oppressive smell of filth. Touts follow tourists through the alleys offering the best deals on the finest silks, bangles, incense, statues, hotel rooms, decorative powders, gem stones, etc. The city is a veritable shangra-la of chaos, a place that could be anything to anyone depending on which alleyway you happen to wind down. But to me, Varanasi will always be two men in a silk shop.

I met Adam in Varanasi after my week up north in the ashram, it would be our last week traveling together in Asia. Getting to the hotel is a rather confusing affair, the city is a maze of alleyways that twist and turn in a seemingly impossible configuration. Adam had arrived in the city a day before and was waiting for me on the steps of a silk shop near our hotel to help me find the way. While waiting he stumbled into conversation with the owner of the shop and bought several articles of clothing, including some very comfy looking pants. Now, if you’ve spent any significant time at the Joseph house you know that my family has a particular affinity for pajama pants. In fact, most of our house is specifically tailored for lounging and cuddling. My father regularly invites people over for dinner with a pajama pant dress code. As such, I thought that traditional Indian “comfy pants” would be the perfect souvenir for my family. We returned to the silk shop the following day to buy presents and ended up staying for hours. I’m not exactly sure how it happened but after we picked out fabrics we ended up sitting with the shop owner (Bablu) and his friend/business partner (Ganesh) chatting and drinking chai for several hours. We discussed modern India, family, politics, traveling, and education. At some point we mentioned that we wanted to take a music class in town and Ganesh told us that his friend was not only a shop owner but also a musician. Serendipitously, Bablu was teaching a tabla class the next day and he invited us to come watch. Happily we accepted.

Naive to what we were about to experience, Adam and I arrived at the shop the next day and walked with Bablu to class. We arrived at a near empty building situated in a hidden alleyway and walked through the vacant house to a room in the back where windows overlooking the Ganga flooded the room with light. In the center of the room there was a large wooden box covered with colorful mattresses and the walls were adorned with faded photographs. Men entered the room and began setting up the tablas, it was only then that I realized the students where not in fact children but adults. We sat in a large circle on the mattresses and class began.

The two tabla teachers taught with almost no vocal instruction, the master offered a rhythm and the pupil was to recreate it. If a student was having trouble the master offered assistance in the way of vocal percussion, much like a tap dance teacher breaks down difficult rhythms (tik-e-tik-e-tik-e-ta-ta). The class progressed its level of difficulty, tablas being passed to the more advanced students as time went on. Adam and I sat for 2 hours listening to the intricate rhythms and watching the musicians’ skilled hands and expressive faces. Its amazing how much you can learn about a person while watching them learn; their inner monologue of struggle and accomplishment is silently splashed across their face. Although I suppose that’s true of a great many things, what it’s possible to see through humble observation. None of the men were professional musicians, all had other jobs (doctors, business men, shop owners) but every Sunday they came together to play. The joy that emanated from the circle was electric, you could feel it in the air. I still can’t believe how lucky we were to have been invited into this private world.

——-

Before I continue, a couple of of things about Indian culture: most marriages in India are arranged, although some of the bigger cities (New Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata, etc.) are progressing towards “love” marriages. Traditionally families agree on matches, the daughter’s family arranges a dowry, the bride and groom meet the day of the wedding (although some families are now offering their children the chance to see one another before the wedding), and after marriage the bride leaves home and moves in with her husband’s family. Additionally (and on a completely different note), as a sign of close friendship, men often walk down the streets holding hands. One night as Adam and I were walking home from the Assi Ghat two men passed by holding hands. Adam turned and said, “every time I see men walking hand in hand, it makes me so happy.” He went on to explain how in America he is generally uncomfortable and always extremely aware of other people when holding Jonny’s hand in public. Which, without getting on a platform about equality, breaks my heart. But here in India, men casually (and completely platonically) walk hand in hand as easily as my mother and I do at home.

——-

The next night we were invited over to Ganesh’s home for dinner with his family. Most travel books contain at least one passage that reads something like, “befriend a local and get invited to their home for a meal.” I had always believed it to be something of an urban legend, “Certainly, Lonely Planet. I’ll meet a local, charm them and magically find myself welcomed into their personal life.” It never seemed a viable reality, just an extravagant traveler’s dream. Yet here we were, off to a local’s home, graciously welcomed into his personal life.

The first stop was to one of Ganesh’s friend’s homes for a few beers. On a side note, I’ve disliked beer my entire life but oddly I’ve found myself enjoying a pint on occasion while in Asia. I hopped on the back of Ganesh’s motorbike, Adam on the back of his friend’s and we zipped off. We arrived at his friend’s shop, Ganesh bought us each a couple of beers and we went inside. He solemnly informed us that normally he would drink outside in the shop but he didn’t like the way the men were looking at me so we would be drinking inside. I laughed and told him that my father would be very appreciative. After a couple of beers we said goodbye to his friends and headed over to the house.

We arrived at Ganesh’s home, which he shares with 41 family members: his father, his 5 older brothers, their wives, their children, and their children’s children. The youngest was a boy of 3 and the eldest was Ganesh’s father (no one seemed to actually know his age but they guessed around 80). We were taken from room to room meeting family members left and right, each group was more hospitable than the next. Everyone encouraged us to make ourselves at home and were happy to share intimate details of their lives. I couldn’t believe the warmth with which these perfect strangers were welcoming us into their home.

We entered a room on the second floor where we met one of Ganesh’s college aged nephews. He and Adam instantly struck up a friendship and Ganesh asked if I would like to learn how to make chai upstairs. I was whisked away to the kitchen where I was greeted by four beautiful women in saris. The ladies taught me how to properly mix and boil the classic Indian tea, adding a touch of fresh ginger at the end. I took my tea and was introduced to Ganesh’s father in the television room. He was a stout old man with q-tip white hair that had been dyed with henna paint (most likely weeks prior) tinting the ends a bright orange. His white tank top was rolled up over his belly, he wore wooden beads around his neck and wrapped a blue fabric around his waist. His hearing was going and he spoke only a little English, but he took my hands in his and told me that I was a welcome guest in his home. Two of his granddaughters (aged 14 and 19) who had been watching television with their grandfather pulled me aside and asked if we could talk. They wanted to know everything about what life was like for a young woman in America: what clothes did I wear, what are my favorite foods and drinks, what movies did I watch, and most importantly when would I be married? I explained that marriage in America was much different than in India and that I would chose whom I marry and when. They were thrilled with this piece of information, they had heard about “love marriages” before but they had never met anyone who was allowed to have one. They asked if I had a boyfriend and when I said yes they were positively overjoyed. Little did I (or they) know that downstairs Ganesh’s nephew was telling Adam about his secret girlfriend and how difficult it is hiding her from the family.

A bit later, the rest of the family joined us upstairs and Adam and I were brought thali plates with a variety of delicious homemade dishes. For hours we ate and chatted with our new friends, hospitality had taken on a new meaning. The girls asked if we could spend the night, I was cordially invited to have a sleepover in their bed (Ganesh’s nephew extended Adam the same invitation). Ganesh said that we were welcome to spend the night, but not wanting to overstay our welcome, at 12:30am we said our goodbyes. Again Ganesh’s father took my hands in his and told me that we were now part of the family and that their door would always be open. We walked down to the street to a chorus of heartfelt goodbyes and please come agains.

Ganesh and one of his brother’s walked Adam and I to the main road where they would send us home by way of rickshaw. I walked side by side with Ganesh, profusely thanking him for his generosity and the marvelous evening. I turned back to say something to Adam and I saw him walking hand in hand with Ganesh’s older brother. I caught his eye, turned around and suddenly felt hot tears running down my cheek. I did my best to hold myself together but when Ganesh’s brother squeezed Adam’s hand and told him that they were brothers and that we would always be a part of their family, I was helpless. I learned more about generosity and hospitality that night than I have my entire life.

When I came on this trip I imagined all kinds of wild adventures. I saw myself climbing mountains, exploring ancient temples, eating exotic foods, haggling in local bazaars, studying eastern religions… but never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined a night as perfect as this one. I found a home on the other side of the world.

Adam and I spent out last 5 days traveling together in Varanasi. We took a boat ride down the Ganges at sunrise, we saw bodies wrapped in colorful fabrics paraded through the streets, we observed the deceased being cremated on the ghats, we attended a beautiful Ganga Aarti ceremony on the river, we explored colorful alleyways (regularly climbing over cows), I bought a sari while Adam took pictures and gave advice on colors and beading, we ate the best Indian food I’ve ever had, and one afternoon we met two men in a silk shop.

-L

Going with the Flow - PART TWO

Going with the Flow in Nepal - PART TWO

I chopped off all my hair. Back to the easy-to-manage, buzzed crew cut that requires zero time to manage. Quite a contrast from the “Sonic, the hedgehog” coif that defined the past two-plus years while I worked on Mamma Mia. Goodbye hair gel. Goodbye comb. Slowly but surely my morning prep time has been reduced down to some liquid soap with a quick rinse and a little moisturizer on my sun-kissed mug. What do you think?

It’s all about simplicity. With each new adventure, you learn what you really need to get you by. Sometimes you find yourself completely reliant on what’s in your pockets and nothing else. Those of you who’ve ever lost luggage on a flight can attest to that. I have learned that as long as I have some cash, a roll of toilet paper, and a bottle of water (yes, just water), I can survive.

Leah and I shifted gears and headed out of Kathmandu to the laid-back, lakeside town of Pokhara, about seven hours west via bus. The accelerated pace of the city life faded away, replaced by the easy sensibility found in most lakeside towns, at least all the ones I have been to. Arriving at our quiet hotel, we were greeted by some of the nicest staff I have ever met. Next time you are in Pokhara, go to the Hotel Travel Inn. Two thumbs up.

This village would be the base camp for our adventure week. We organized a five-day trek up into the mountains, an hour of paragliding, and a two-day white-water rafting trip, all of which were new to me. I was even hoping to add on bungee-jumping, but that would have to happen after we got back to Kathmandu. I figure that if I am going to do all of them sometime in my life, might as well do all of them NOW. Life is too short, right?

The trek.

Leah and I compressed our main essentials into one backpack and rented a couple of sleeping bags in town. We met up with our guide Dhruba and our porter Goki the evening before we began and were slightly unimpressed by the guys at first. Being a professional guide in Nepal, home to some of the highest mountains in the world, one would imagine strapping Nepali guys with bulging calves, quick wits, and maybe the ability to talk to animals. In fact, in previous wars, Nepali men have been used as soldiers by other nations because of their resilience and aggressiveness in battles. So I learned. Dhruba was no soldier. He had the frame of any average man and looking at him in the face, arms, and legs, you would not even look twice. But then you noticed his perfectly-round pot belly, so perfectly round that you would think he was hiding a basketball under his shirt. It was kinda charming really. As for Goki, who was nearly ten years younger than Dhurba, we debated for a second if he he was mentally challenged or not. When he wasn’t speaking, he embodied the coolness of a Nepali James Dean. But then he spoke and it was Elmer Fudd.

(“I’m hunting wabbbit!” huhuhuhuhuhuhuh….)

First impressions. Funny.

Here’s a play-by-play of highlights from the trek:

DAY ONE-
Quick drive up to the starting point. Then three hours hiking through a little village, several bridges, and some hilly terrain. Followed along side a rushing river for most of the way. Constantly kept getting ahead of Dhruba, our “GUIDE”.  Hm.

DAY TWO-
Climbed a never-ending mountain of steps we heard numbered over 7,000 but felt like a gajillion million billion. Just so much vertical for the first three or so hours. We passed by many teahouses that ran along the trail throughout. The last four to five hours consisted of dense rain forests and huge hills.

Absolutely gorgeous…my legs eventually cramped out more than I have ever experienced. Ended in a mountain village filled with many Tibetan refugees. I bought a bowl.

DAY THREE-

Butt-ass crack of dawn…no…even earlier…and we were marching up to Poon Hill to catch the sunrise. Legs completely traumatized by the day before, walking in the dark with only flashlights and the heavy breathing of other early risers also on the trail to guide the way.

Got to Poon Hill and only saw overcast skies and not the whole range of snow-capped mountains we wanted. Damn. Caught a view of an amazing sunrise that cut through the clouds though. Yay.

And became best-ies with a dog I named TINA, who followed me around the hill. I think he just wanted my Ritz crackers though. Oh Tina…how I miss you so.

Spent the rest of the day climbing down things. Goki’s skills as a porter amazed me, traipsing down slippery rocks and trails like he was part-deer. And he had our huge backpacks on him!I took back my first impression and replaced it with quiet chats of “Hercules! Hercules!” Dhruba was still in the back of the pack for most of the day. Learned that this was his first trek since May. Ah…I get it. He’s four months preggers with twins.

DAY FOUR-

Saw my first full-blown marijuana plant growing right next to me as I had my coffee in the morning. Nice. Does weed mix well in coffee, I ponder? Hm.

Trekked down down down the hills, dropping over 1000 meters in a matter of hours. Had my first experience with a blood-sucking leech that was ACTUALLY a blood-sucking leech. Blood-stained shirt to go with my sunny disposition. I was determined to keep up with Goki today…did pretty well. Going down is much better for me than going up. Since we all had flown down the trek so fast, we decided to screw the last night and finish the trail that day. Five-day trek in four days. BAM!

Now can I take a bath?

Worth it? Oh yes. Despite the pain, there was something about marching up and down the trails I really liked. My mind could only focus on what was in front of me….where I could step, pushing through the aches, breathing steadily. Very meditative. I had to just deal with what was in front me and nothing else. There’s a lesson there….something about not dwelling on what has passed….or worrying about what is ahead…..yada yada yada….no need to spell it out. You all are smart. Well. Most of you. Just kidding.

Next on our adventure list was some white-water rafting. Woohoo! The closest I have ever gotten to do it was at Magic Mountain, which somehow didn’t seem to be a good parallel for the real thing. I was ready….still didn’t know how to swim though (like so many of you know…and on a side note, thanks for all the lessons Rutina, Ayme, Bobby, And Jonny….I still can’t swim and have failed you. Next year I’ll figure it out.) We were told to expect Class 3 rapids, enough for some thrills but still pretty family-friendly. I figured that as long as I had my floaties, I would be okay. :)

I was trusting in Leah’s years of experience going rafting with her family every year growing up. My family and I did not ever go rafting. Or trekking, camping, jet-skiing, barbeque-ing, swimming, ecetera ecetera, or any of those typical “American” activities I had always heard about. We were ASIAN. My family worked from sun-up to sun-way-down. (Lyndsey, this part’s especially for you.) When my uncle came to this country (this being the US of A, to clarify for my international friends), he had the dream to open up a Thai restaurant. In downtown Los Angeles, Thai Original BBQ Restaurant was born.

(This actually is one of my mom’s locations in Las Vegas, NV. 1424 South 3rd Street…and many of you have been here many times. Thanks for your continual support!)

It was this business that allowed the rest of my family, who were living in the rural villages of Thailand, to come over and achieve their American Dream. (cue “Miss Saigon” cast-recording). Amongst the family members who were able to obtain their Green Card was my mother, Nona. She was the youngest of nine children…..NINE…that’s three more than the Brady bunch. Wow, grandma.

My mom would spend her days in Chinatown working in a sweatshop sewing clothes and her nights working at Thai BBQ. I still can remember going with my mom to work when I was a little tike and loving the amazing sweet and sour chicken I would always get at the corner fast-food store during her lunch break. My dad worked as a parking lot valet, and my memories with him consisted of many hours sleeping in his rusty grey van while he parked cars.

If I wasn’t with them, I was in our little apartment, watching cartoons and learning exactly how long to put in my frozen dinners in the microwave.   

Of course our lives didn’t just consist of work (or for me, sleeping and sweet & sour chicken). Disneyland was a huge part of growing up. HUGE. I don’t know how many times I have been there…too many to count. Driving to Las Vegas and going to Circus Circus was another biggie. But no outdoor activities. No real nature. We just weren’t the type to do that sort of thing, so I don’t know how I came to love it so much. Well…I do. But that’s a whole other story.

Let’s get back to Nepal.

Rafting…yes….so we took a bus to the starting point of our trip, and soon found out that we were being joined by another 20 or so people who also signed up. This was really our first time joining such a tourist-based crowd, and I definitely felt like cattle being ushered along. Grab your life jackets! Grab a paddle! Get into the boat! They split the group up fortunately, and Leah and I ended up with a good group of travelers. Our captain, Dan….haha….”Captain Dan”…. Get it? Haha….he instructed us on the procedures of rafting skills and safety, and soon we were drifting down the river under a beautiful sky. We passed under long wire bridges with Nepali kids staring down at us. We cut through bends and curves that made up the gorge. “Forward!” Captain Dan would yell every five seconds. “Back pedal!” he would cry. The waters were pretty tame though….so tame that Captain Dan announced that if we wanted to jump in, we could. That’s all the cue we
needed. Everyone leaped in! In the distance, I saw the other rafts with their quiet tourists paddling along, still inside their rafts. I realized Leah and I were in the “cool raft”….hehehe.

Eventually, we had a brief lunch break on a sandy shoreline, chatting it up with some of our raft mates. There were the dentists from the Netherlands who had come across the Trans-Siberian train, through China and Tibet, and were now here.  

There were also the casino workers from Britain, Diana and Ross. “Diana and Ross”. I chuckled about it inside my head and chose to not comment.

Besides some moments here and there, our first day out on the river was tame. We said goodbye to most of the group and soon found out that we were the only ones waiting on the side of the road. It turned out that there were only four of us who were doing the two-day rafting trip, and the other two were long gone. Captain Dan eventually piled us into a random truck along the road and dropped us off at our campsite, which was basically a lawn with some tents in front of a building right beside the river. We met the other two rafters, a pair of British guys named James and Dan.

Within hours, after plates of the local Nepali dish dal bhat and several Everest beers later, we had made new best friends. These guys were absolutely brilliant…good-natured, intelligent, and funny. Plus they were cute….straight…but cute. We kept saying that it was too bad we weren’t heading the same direction the next day…

In the morning, the four of us made our way to the new starting point. Our host at the campsite piled all of us into another random truck that happened to be carrying one of the other captains from the day before. There we were…about ten of us…squished into the front of this truck, techno music blaring, and big grins on our faces.

Test of patience #5. You had to be there. Just one of those unforgettable moments.

Once we got dropped off, Captain Dan was back, along with a few Nepali guys to make up for the lack of people. We also had a girl named Liz from West Virginia, the first American I had really met since being on this trip. Today made the entire rafting tip worth it. The waves were much more charged, and Leah thought that we definitely had many Class 3 moments. Whenever Captain Dan would yell, “Faster! Faster!”, you knew you were on for something good. Adrenaline was high. I was in the front of the raft for this trip and spent most of the time soaked or trying to hold on to anything that would keep me in the raft. We all made it through without losing anyone once, and it was over before we knew it. Freakin’ awesome, and I swore that I would head to the Colorado River for some more rafting when I got back to the states.

Sadly, we parted ways with our new friends and had to make our way back to Kathmandu. Captain Dan waited on the side of the road with us. Judging from what I observed yesterday with the other tourists, I had a feeling that we would be put on the roof of a bus. The buses were often already full, and no seats were available. I was secretly hoping for it actually. And sure enough, Leah and I hurled up our backpacks to the kid on the roof (who was no more than twelve years old). We climbed up, held on to the luggage bars, and we were on our way. The moment was only amplified by our belting of James Taylor, Indigo Girls, and the score of Rent. So kickass.

That is how our time in Nepal pretty much ended. Leah left for India the next day to spend some time in an ashram, while I hung around Kathmandu to see some more sights we missed. Bungee-jumping didn’t happen due to yet another landslide. And our paragliding trip was cancelled due to weather. PATIENCE. Life happens to you and you have to just go with the flow. You meet new friends, you have random adventures, and often times the things you never planned turn out to be the things you remember most. Thanks for reminding me Nepal. Like the river we were on, sometimes you just have to go with the flow.   
   
-Adam

END OF PART TWO

Going with the Flow in Nepal - PART ONE

Going with the Flow in Nepal - PART ONE

Exhale…

I’ve got some nice candlelight at my table, a pleasant soundtrack of a wooden flute in the background, and miscellaneous conversations at dinner tables all around me. I sit alone, with my orange fanta, awaiting yet another plate of spaghetti bolognese to come. It’s my food of choice in Nepal, and apparently what I would choose if I could only have one meal over and over for the rest of my life. Pasta. What kind of Thai am I? (Sorry mom. But your cooking is a very close second.)

Three weeks in Nepal, and I can only describe it as a test of patience. Traveling in general is constantly a test, learning what you can and cannot expect. One-hour trips become three-hour sagas. Exciting plans get cancelled due to weather. Spaghetti bolognese doesn’t come with spaghetti or what I would call “bolognese” sauce. Things aren’t always going to work out like you plan it. That was the lesson of Nepal.

After an exhilarating journey across Tibet, Leah and I, as well as the rest of Team Tibet crew, crossed the border into Nepal. The vast, stark flatlands of Tibet gave way to an entirely new terrain, one of lush, green jungles and woodlands, streaming waterfalls that fell from enormous heights, and deep gorges cut with racing muddy rivers.

Imagine Jurassic Park’s  ”Lost World” and you pretty much got it. I was floored by the extreme contrast. The air breathed life, the kind of freshness you take in after a rainfall or when you’re out in the wilderness. Of course I was ecstatic to be rid of AMS and breathing normally again. Yay air!

First test of patience….a landslide. Yep. It being the monsoon season here in Nepal, our road to Kathmandu was blocked by a huge landslide.

Me, being the optimistic guy I am, logged it as another great story for the books. Once we all had made it across, we hired another driver to take most of us the rest of the way. Jordi and Olga opted for the cheaper option and took the public bus. It was perhaps a blessing in disguise that we parted ways. The rest of us came to realize how different they were from us. Budgets come in all sizes with backpackers, and their tight financial situation continually had them going left whenever we went right. Sophy, french dude, Leah, and I could afford to splurge once in a while, but we also weren’t trying to travel for a year and a half like they were. 

Test of patience #2….late arrival into Kathmandu. In Vegas, speed limits reach up towards 70 miles per hour, so when you know that you only have to drive less than that, subconsciously you think that you will be there in no time. Not the case here. It took nearly five hours from when we crossed the border until we pulled into our hotel, after dealing with landslides, car pile-ups, windy roads, and traffic. We couldn’t even imagine what taking the local bus would have been like.

Coming to Kathmandu from Tibet was like entering Manhattan having spent your life under a rock. International restaurants, small tourist shops, real WESTERN TOILETS. For us, we couldn’t have asked for anything better. We were exhausted, dirty, and starved. Checked-in to our own rooms with our own bathrooms, and that was it. Time to recharge our batteries, literally and figuratively.

The reality of Kathmandu was distorted by our weakened state of mind. We were still in a third-world country, and though we had landed in the tourist hub of Thamel in the heart of the city, signs of the poverty were found on every street. The touts stand in front of the hotels stopping any westerner to sell tours or guided trips. Rickshaw drivers are constantly asking to take you to a temple or wherever else. Scrappy street kids in second-hand clothes of dirt beg for change, for candy, for whatever you have in your pocket. One Nepali guy kept asking me if I wanted to go get “jiggy” at a local whore house. Our tourist dollars were a commodity that was morphing this poverty-stricken area, and I knew that there had to be more to Nepal once I left the tourist bubble.

For now, Leah and I embraced our location, and not walking more than four blocks from our ultra-comfy Kathmandu Guesthouse, we opted to explore the restaurants and local watering holes. The cluster of international dining options was unbelievable. Thai, Korean, Nepali, Mexican, Italian….it was all here. With the help of Leah’s cousin, who wrote us a detailed “must do” list having recently lived here in Nepal, we came upon “Fire and Ice”, the best Italian restaurant in Nepal and arguably Asia. I never thought I would find the best lasagna I have ever had here in Nepal, but I did. Oh yeah… I did. The pizzas all were cooked in a wood-burning oven, and they were unreal too. Maybe Leah and I should be eating more local cuisine, I think. But with the local cuisine consisting of a lot of curry and our trip to India just around the corner, we decided to pass on the curry for the first few days. Soon enough.

Thamel scene is loud, chaotic, and aggressive. At night, many of the bars have live bands blasting a mix of current pop hits and local Nepali tunes, and you cannot help but climb the stairs to see what was happening. I was excited to check out the scene, and fortunately for us, the narrow streets that make up Thamel’s core meant that we constantly ran into people we had met. Jang was a man from Shanghai who helped us forge the landslide near the border, and immediately I grew to like him. We had a night of several huge bottles of local beer and music.

A few nights later, we met up with our old friends, Sophy and French dude, and had a brilliant night of more beer and a hooka, which eversince our debacherous time on the island in Thailand, has become my preferred poison.

Leah also ended up meeting some really cool Israelis named Or and Gal, who we befriended and would end up having several outings with in Thamel.

In just a matter of days, we were hanging out with people from three different countries and cultural backgrounds. There was a mutual curiosity between each others’ customs, politics, and upbringing. This was what traveling was all about.

Test of patience #3….blackouts. Power constantly gets cut off for the city as well as the rest of Nepal regularly. I have been cut off mid-episode of “Ugly Betty” more than twice. Batteries don’t get charged when you want them to. Your flashlight ends up being used more often than not. It’s a strange thing but you get used to it, and you learn to adapt. Like the huge blackout in New York City years ago, you go with it and make an event out of the situation. Candlelight, some music from your battery-operated iPod, and walla… ambiance.

Like two born-again virgins, Leah and I burst out of our bubble and head into the world eager and anxious. Our time in Thamel consisted of lots of indulgences and only one day-trip to Patan, one of the former city-states, which had an absolutely amazing museum where we learned everything we could about Buddhism and Hinduism. Cool little area but heavily touristed as well.  

We move to a new guesthouse in the Tibetan area of town called Bodhnath, where the pace is noticeably slower and the people friendlier. In the middle of the area was a gigantic whitewashed stupa, the largest in all of Nepal, and hundreds of worshippers circumnavigated it throughout the day.

With our experiences in Tibet fresh in our minds, being here was fantastic. The smell of incense, the sight of prayer wheels spinning and yak butter lamps…it was great to see a Tibetan community unfettered by the presence of oppressive dictators. Here they could flourish. And judging from the numerous stores, restaurants, and people, they have.    

We found a tranquil guesthouse on the grounds of a monastery, popular with the Dharma crowd from what I learned, and enjoyed the peace. I managed to pass by main assembly building right at 6:30pm and catch the flood of monks pouring out of the building. Amazing.

Not far from Bodhnath was Pashupatinath, sight of Nepal’s most important Hindu temple….that we could not enter. Nevertheless, we found a fantastic guide (or rather, he found us and followed us until we listened to him), who led us around the surrounding Shiva shrines, lingams, and stone steps called gnats. Photo-happy sadhus, or wandering Hindu holy men, sat around hoping to earn a buck or twenty, and though I had my reservations about these supposedly “holy men”, you couldn’t help but think they looked bad-ass. 

Monkeys climbed around all the structures, and we watched one jump onto a tourist who must have been a little too teasing with his bag of food. I learned my lesson earlier in Thailand….throw your food in one direction and run the other way.

Leah and I sat on the gnats beside the holy Bagmati River, watching cremations happening right across the the water. As drums were beating mysteriously somewhere nearby, we sat and watched a middle-aged woman, wrapped in red from head to toe, weeping beside a burning gnat. As tears streamed down her sobbing face, she kept splashing water from the river onto her head and her body, saying her prayers, seemingly destroyed by the loss of a loved one. She rose from the waters, said her last goodbyes, and walked off into the crowd quietly. 

Death and mortality. I don’t know how to deal with the subject. In many ways I am in denial that it will ever happen. Of course I know it will… It’s a natural part of life. I have had relatives and a few friends who have passed, but often times, I shut myself off from feeling any deep emotion for the loss. I think the pain is just too much for me to handle, and I hate feeling that kind of pain. Watching the woman in red was too overwhelming though. I found myself crying for her and the pain that she was going through. Whomever she lost…a husband, sister, child… I hope that I never have to feel what she was feeling.

Test of patience #4….rain. On our walk back to Bodhnath, the clouds came in and the skies open up. We were stuck under a canopy beside a random shop on a random gravel road. Waiting until the rain let up a little, we eventually said screw it and ran as fast as we could all the way back. We were a bit soaked, but sometimes you just have to let the rain fall on you.


As I write this, I am realizing how much more I have to share. I will continue this in PART 2. We are switching gears and heading into nature. It’s ADVENTURE WEEK. Bring it.

- Adam 
 
END OF PART ONE

Change

This morning I was talking to Rachel and she asked me if I felt like this experience was changing me. I thought for a moment and answered, “no.” Somehow “change” doesn’t seem the right word, “change” insinuates a turn of direction, a transformation of sorts. What I’m experience feels more like expanding, a broadening of perspective and understanding.

After our Himalayan trek, Adam and I went on a two day rafting trip. Following the first day’s adventure, we piled into a van with the rafting team to head to our campsite. About half way through the drive I turned to Adam and said, “don’t you think its odd that nothing is striking us as odd.” We were sitting in the back of a van that was piled full of people with those who didn’t fit inside sitting on the roof. Around us were enormous mountains, lush green valleys, animals (cows, chickens, dogs, goats, etc.) wandering along the roads, children bathing in the river, women washing clothes in waterfalls, and automobiles flying around mountain bends without a thought to anything resembling “rules of the road.” If you would have put me in this situation 3 months ago I would be having a proper panic attack while simultaneously trying to snap pictures out the window. These things are now simply a fact of life, nothing particularly remarkable, just passing scenery on a drive. Its amazing how quickly I’ve become acclimatized to this dramatically different culture. This by no means diminishes the impact, quite to the contrary, it has allowed for a different kind of understanding and empathy. The culture, specifically the people, have become more human and less like vignettes on “Its a Small World.”

That night I contemplated the reality that I had settled into and the following day gave me a kick-in-the-ass that reminded me just how far away from home I am.

After a quick breakfast by the river it was time to head over to the rafting site. We walked up to the road ready to hop on a bus only to find that there was in fact, no bus. We, along with our two new British friends and our Nepali rafting guide, would be hitchhiking. You can imagine the rapid-fire montage of hitchhiking disasters that flooded my head but when a colorful cargo van pulled over I turned off my deep-rooted American sensibilities and climbed in. The truck smelled like a potent mixture of incense and body odor, was decorated with jewel-toned string, fabric and paintings, and crammed 10 people into a cabin that was built for 5. Local music blared and Adam and I exchanged looks that must have read like something between excitement, bewilderment, and awe. This couldn’t possibly be my life.

Hours later, after a fantastic afternoon on the river, it was time to head back to Kathmandu. We said goodbye to our new friends and again went up to the road to hop on a bus. Luckily this time our transportation appeared, however the seats were all full, leaving Adam and I with alternate accommodation. We threw our bags to a boy on the roof, who couldn’t have been more than 13 years old, and proceeded to follow them up. We were eventually joined by 3 Nepali travelers and the young boy, who climbed on and off the roof into open bus windows with an ease that suggested a lifetime of practice. Later, as we rounded mountain bends, Adam and I had an impromptu sing-a-long: Indigo Girls, Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, and hits from the pop-rock musical theatre cannon. For hours we sang at the top of our lungs, on the roof of a bus, in the mountains, in Nepal. It was nothing short of spectacular. Yes, this is my life!

As I write this I’m on a plane from Kathmandu to Delhi. India. I can’t believe I’m already here. Two months have past. Five countries down, one to go. I can’t help but feel remarkably lucky and profoundly grateful.

The other day on the raft a girl was talking about driving in Kathmandu and thinking about how all the pollution could cause cancer. The conversation went as follows…
Me: Yes, but in the unlikely event that you get cancer from the pollution in Kathmandu, at least you’ll have been to Nepal unlike the other millions of people who get cancer and have never left home.
British Boy: Well you’re an optimist, aren’t you?
Adam: And now you’ve met Leah.

So upon further contemplation I will stick with my gut response; No, I don’t think I’m “changing.” Expanding, learning, growing, maturing, evolving even? Yes. But “changing”? I don’t think so. My glass is still half full and I’ve been drinking for years.

-L

Tibet - Part Two (by Adam)

(Still on the toilet? Good.)

TIBET - PART TWO

Thursday, August 26th

“FIRSTS” for the author…experienced in Tibet

1. FIRST time to experience Acute Mountain Sickness, or AMS, which initially is annoying, but gradually feels like you’re on shrooms….not that I would know, because I have never done drugs. never………… ever. Hmm.

2. FIRST time I have eaten Yak. Had Yak curry. Not too bad. Tasted like beef. And I really wished it had been bad just so I could say, “Yak? Yuk.” or with a gay flare, “Yaaaaakkk?!? Yuuuuuuhhhhkkkk!!!!!!!”, because we gays can be dramatic.

3. FIRST time I have urinated into the same toilet/hole at the same time with a complete stranger. Imagine one small closet of a toilet, and one hole in the ground, and two guys who have never met peeing openly into it….together. My willy. His willy. Hi Willy! Is this Tibet’s way of saving water? oh wait…they don’t really flush. (you can imagine what toilets look like there)

Our time in Kathmandu had come to an end, and we all were headed out on a long journey across Tibet that would eventually take us to the border of Nepal. After snagging a couple of provisions form the local supermarket (some apples, some rolls, imitation Oreos, and a bag of Shrimp-flavored chips…I know weird but very Asian), I piled into our 19th century minivan with the team and headed out of the Holy City.

(Side note: Now there are moments of silent understanding when traveling with a group of strangers that I want to bring up. Six people about to hop into a small van…who sits where? Lots of things come into play…aggressiveness, physical size, generosity, apathy, timing, but what I believe it mainly comes down to a person’s character. We all are there…we know what seats are good and what seats to avoid, but how do you deal with choosing? Jordi and Olga, the young couple, choose the front row of seats….roomy, less bounce, and the golden seats of our jalopy. They I would consider to be the AGRESSORS. Sophy and “French dude” choose the back row, which actually had room for three and though felt all the bumps of the road was quite roomy as well. They I would call the ADVANTAGE TEAM PLAYERS. What was left was the row in-between, small seating space, cramped leg-room, and clearly the shitty option of the three available. That’s where we were, and silently everyone else had agreed that since Leah and I were the most “compact” of the group, we would be fine there. Hah. I would consider us the IDIOTS.)

So……we went on our merry journey….la di da…..to our first destination, a supposedly gorgeous lake called Nam-tso, about a seven-hour drive north of Lhasa. The views of the city quickly faded and we found ourselves out in huge open fields with sweeping hills and mountains as our backdrop. There were creeks flooded from the season’s monsoon rains, winding seamlessly aimless across the valleys. The landscape was vaste and open, with speckles of rural Tibetan homes scattered in clusters throughout. Yaks grazed in the open grass, and often times we found ourselves stalled from a flock of sheep in the middle of the road.

The drive led us through a huge area where nomads were settled, and I found seeing their tents and livestock to be so far away from everything I knew during my lifetime in The states. These Tibetan people today were living the lives of the first settlers of America that I had always read about in history class. Except we were in the present, and this was their reality. Their only breach with the modern world was the addition of motorcycles into their nomadic wanderings. At least that is all I could see. Maybe they have satellite discs in their tents and iPhones in their pockets?

After a long drive, we made it Nam-tso Lake, considered one of three holy lakes in Tibet and is also the world’s highest salt water lake, located at just over 15,500 feet above sea level! No boats are allowed on the waters, and there is absolutely no fishing. There’s a story that a family had caught some fish on the lake, took them home for a delicious dinner, and died shortly after. Now I am not that superstitious, but you can pretty much assume that I won’t be testing my luck.

The lake was enormous and stretched beyond my viewpoint. All along the shoreline were touts selling yak rides and pictures with yaks, doing there best to earn a buck. I was on guard with snapping photos of Tibetan cultural icons. Just an hour earlier I had gotten accosted on two occasions for innocently taking pictures of some dogs and then a skull. “10 YUAN! 10 YUAN!” the guys would yell in my face. Ridiculous!

It seemed like anyone could set up a stand in front of any beautiful thing in Tibet and charge you 10 yuan for it. The Chinese government already figured that out and had a monopoly on the entire country, and they were charging much more than that. The Tibetan people were not really reaping the benefits of it unfortunately. I had developed a sense of trust with our guide Jibu, who was Tibetan, and he informed me about how the Chinese government was stripping Tibet of all of it’s natural resources, exporting them to foreign nations and using them across mainland China. His opinion was that by doing this, China was throwing off the balance of the natural world in Tibet, which is considered sacred and the center of Tibetan spiritual beliefs. He believed that this was the reason for all earthquakes, mudslides, storms, and other ominous catastrophes.

I took some time to wander the hills that ran along side of Nam-sot Lake, exploring all the cave dwellings and crevices hung with countless numbers of prayer flags. After a while though I could feel the high altitude creeping on my head again, and so I retreated to our guesthouse, a very basic set up of flat walls and some electricity. My head was feeling compressed by an invisible source, and it was affecting my temperament. All I could do was fill my head with positive thoughts, of Jonny… and of how despite my quiet annoyances I was exactly where I was suppose to be in the world.

Friday, August 27th

At six in the morning, the world is dark in Tibet. There is only one time zone for the entire region of China, and therefore Tibet. So when we headed out of Nam-sto Lake, all of us were delirious as we headed into the pouring rain and stormy weather that greeted us. The day was going to be a long one, having to make up some time due to the group’s desire to change the trip itinerary. Most of the first few hours in the van was a blur of flashes of lightening, bumpy roads, and grasslands. I was just happy to leave the high elevations and gain some relief from the AMS, so it didn’t matter that I was wearing the same clothes and hadn’t showered in two days. If you know me at all, this is usually completely unacceptable…I take at least three showers a day, so I was really behind. Oh the things you learn to adapt to when you are traveling….

The road climbed higher and higher through some of the most extraordinary landscapes I had ever seen….deep canyons of lush fields and mountains overlapping each other in the distance, their snow-covered summits blurring in with the white clouds above. The sky, a crisp sapphire blue, watched over us as we skirted the edges of cliffs, and my head wondered repeatedly what it would be like to fly off the road and perish in a fiery blaze of glory. Alas, my prayers had been heard and we made it to safer lands, stopping at spectacular turquoise lakes and gigantic ice glaciers.

While overlooking Long Ma Lake, which sat at the very bottom of a deep canyon from where we were, Leah and I got a stack of small prayer notes and threw them across the skies in hopes of good luck in the future. In my head I think, “Yes…send us some good luck in the future….and sorry about littering all over your canyon.”

By the time we reached the town of Gyantse, most of the troops were too exhausted to see yet another monastery, but Leah and I decided to fork up the few yuan bills to get into the Pelkor Chode Monastery. We were of course getting accustomed to the entrepreneur-ship of the Chinese government and refused to pay for taking a picture, but where we could, we did. At exactly 6:30pm, the monks of the monastery flooded out of the main assembly hall, a moment we were lucky enough to catch as it was happening.

Men draped in red robes and of various ages, mostly in their teens and twenties, scattered across the courtyard, off to who knows what but clearly leaving at an eager pace. It was as if class was over and some of them really had to go pee. Or catch “Ugly Betty”.

Another few more hours and we arrived at our destination, Syigatse, in the late-night hours. halleluyah….there’s a hot shower. We grabbed our own beds quickly in our shared room and I wondered if I would ever fly my kite again.

Saturday, August 28th

THE BIG DAY.

Back before Leah and I left the states, I was searching for the best tour to take through Tibet and came upon the word EVEREST. What?!? REALLY?!? How was this possible? Never had I imagined ever visiting the tallest mountain on this planet. Only the truly brave and physically adept could ever grace the mountain’s dangerous cliffs, a place that has a history record of taking many many lives. And here it was scheduled on this itinerary….. “Everest Base Camp”, the place all climbers on the Tibet-side begin their journey up to 8848-meter summit. We were on our way.

But before we left Shigatse, we visited one last monastery named Tashilhunpo (good luck with that one)…the largest functioning monastic institution in Tibet.

This was where the Panchen Lamas would rein, and many of them are entomb here in absolutely the largest burial tombs I have ever seen. From what I gathered, the Dalai Lamas were the great spiritual heads and the Panchen Lamas dealt with the scholarly and theoretical aspects of life in Tibet. Since it was a Dalai Lama who acknowledged the existence of the first Panchen Lama, the Dalai Lama has the rein over the table and gets the biggest slice of cake. Unfortunately for him, with great power comes great responsibility. When Chinese Communism came in to “liberate” Tibet, the current Dalai Lama managed to escape to India where he still lives now. When the last Panchen Lama died in the mid-90s, the Dalai Lama acknowledged a new Panchen Llama to replace him. Well, that “lucky” boy and his entire family were taken away by the Chinese government and haven’t been seen since, only to be replaced by a government-sponsored Panchen Lama whom the Tibetan people have refused to accept but under pressure must. Those are the facts. I will leave you to make your own opinions.

We head off after a while on the long drive to the Base Camp. It was clear that due to our late start, we were not going to get there until dark. Of course on this long day was when one of our tires blew out and we were stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere for a bit. Luckily the rain had left us and the day was sunny and calm.

While Jibu and our driver worked on the wheel, the rest of us entertained ourselves in our respective ways….Jordi and Olga practiced salsa moves in a ditch by the road, Sophy and French dude smoked like it was their job, and Leah and I took jump shots in the middle of the road.

Before long we were on our way, stopping for a brief lunch where I discovered how AWESOME SNICKERS IS.

They really do satisfy you, especially after eating in Tibet for nearly a week. I don’t get it….but of course I come from a background where food is the core of the culture. Thai food is vibrant and full of intoxicating flavors…but in Tibet, there’s barley, some veggies, yak, and yak butter. An episode of “Top Chef Tibet ” would be as thrilling as watching grass grow in real time. So I suggest bringing your own sustenance if you are going to spend any time here. Sorry Tibet. Just how I feel.

The sun disappeared and any hopes of seeing Mount Everest were quickly being tossed in the toilet, especially because the monsoon season had filled the skies with dark clouds. Any glimpses of the mountain we got were unsatisfying, and though we all tried to be happy with what little we could capture on our cameras, I think we all hoped that the next day would bring about some miracle. In the distance it was there…. Everest, but we would have to wait.

And after driving down the worst dirt road I have ever driven down, taking FOUR HOURS to drive a distance of just over sixty miles…..60 MILES, we arrived in tent city an hour before midnight. Was it worth it?!? I was too exhausted to think about it, choosing to just settle into my thick blankets while the rest of my companions went about eating, chatting, and smoking under the flicker of the firelight that glowed in the stove. 

I was dirty, exhausted, and only had the remnants of chocolate and nuts lodged in between my teeth to satiate my hunger. Thanks again Snickers. At nearly 17,000 feet above sea level we were, the temperature dropping, and here I was hoping that the next day would bring about something great besides my candy bar.

Sunday, August 29th

I could see my breath when I woke up at 7 in the morning. Everyone was still asleep, and already our 6:30am go-time had passed. There was no way anyone was getting up, despite grand ambitions to catch the sunrise at the Base Camp. I went outside to see what the conditions were, and all I could see were clouds and barely a hint of sunlight. Damn it. It seemed that we were all going to have to settle for what few mediocre shots we got the evening before.

After a while, everyone slowly got up and decided that we had to at least get up to the Base Camp. Jordi, Olga, Leah, our guide Jibu, and I chose to walk the last few kilometers up to the base camp, while Sophy and French dude took the bus. It was a nice hike through the canyons, and after only an hour, we had seen the postings for the Base Camp! It was rather anticlimactic actually…just an area marked off with a few signs and a tent where a Chinese authority checked your permit.

Everyone climbed to the top of a hill where the best view Everest would be, but the clouds were not shifting. We all kept watching the skies, hoping for some gusts of wind to swoop into the valley.

Jibu encouraged us to whistle and yell to the skies, saying that it might help. Like idiots we did as we were told, yelling and screaming and whistling as best we could. Call it what you will…coincidence or luck…but soon after, the clouds parted, the sun came out, and WALLA. The summit of Mount Everest. Oh yeah baby.

I couldn’t get enough of it! My index finger never left the click button of my camera! Right in front of me was the summit of the tallest mountain in the world. Even Jibu, who had done this trek many times before, was impressed by the sight. He had spoken to another guide days before telling him to just skip this part of the trip and that the whole region was just too cloudy. Hah! Not for us! We were seeing Everest against a perfectly clear and sunny skyline. Everyone was ecstatic, and nothing was going to ruin this moment for us. It didn’t matter that we had hardly any sleep, hadn’t showered, had barely eaten… All of that went away with the sight of this beautiful mountain. I was energized by it and felt alive in its presence. Nothing would ever make me forget that moment.

The rest of the day consisted of hours of driving to the border of Nepal, but all of it was rather irrelevant. We were thoroughly in awe of our experience at Everest, and I spent my time in the van filling my head with memories of the past several days. Lhasa, Nam-tso Lake, monasteries, the Chinese military, and yak butter candles…prayer flags and incense…. Mount Everest….. What a thoroughly jaw-dropping, eye-opening experience Tibet revealed to be.

At times frustrating and sad, and at others, utterly exhilarating, the country still leaves me with so many questions that I imagine will never be answered. I can only appreciate that my previous perceptions have found some grounding and that my understanding of their situation is far more concrete than before. I may have not spent “Seven Years in Tibet”, but seven days were enough to ingrain an experience in my travel diaries for a lifetime.

Go now people… before it’s completely gone.

END OF PART TWO