April 24 – Namche Bazaar

We have finally arrived in Namche Bazaar, a village that is a crossroads for trading and where many Trekkers spend an extra day to get used to altitude. We’re at about 12,500, it’s colder, especially when clouds move in late afternoon. The main room of. Guest house has a small wood burning stove, but bedrooms have no heat at all.

The weather has been much better the past few days, climbers returning from the northern areas where we are headed have told us that there is a lot of snow, but passes are open. I’m so excited to be seeing Himalaya grand peaks reaching so high above me!

Because this is prime season for Nepal trekking (not to mention Everest climbing time) there is what can only be described as a “conga line” along the trails. It has been good to meet other English-speaking folks along the trail. Met some fine “mates” from down under. Mani stone walls, prayer flags and prayer wheels are all along the trail. I spun this one around several times!

A special thank you to Chelsey Dupakoski, my former neighbor, who is posting blogs for me. You’re awesome chedupa!


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April 22 – I Am Didi

It is a four day walk to reach Namche, we are halfway there. The reality of how much it takes to climb up, climb down, then repeat again and again was starting to hit me when up ahead I saw this old woman carrying a loaded basket. Kajie spoke to her in Sherpa language and learned she was very poor and worked as a porter. Her husband had died 22 years before, and she had worked hard to raise her son. She will earn maybe $10 to carry this load for two days.

We stopped at a little shop and Kajie bought her some tea, and also gave her a pair of socks. When she drank her tea, I couldn’t help but laugh when lifted up her nose jewelry so it wouldn’t get wet. She laughed with me. i felt so drawn to this hardworking, strong woman. I sat next to her and said, “You are my Didi” which means older sister.

Kajie explained to me that she was 55, and then explained to her I was 68. Then this beautiful wrinkled face turned, patted my hand, looked up at me and said, “My Didi”.


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April 20 – Follow That Mattress

Early this morning I finally put my pack on and bid a (not so) fond farewell to busses and jeeps. We are in a place where going from point A to point B requires feet, and transporting goods requires feet, donkeys, or yaks. A donkey train carrying bags of flour, rice, and kerosene passed us right after lunch.

As we headed up to Taksindu Pass (about 10,000′), a group of maybe fifteen boys (young monks) about 8-10 years old came running down the stone-stepped path. A short while later, they passed us again, now going back up to the pass carrying loads of rolled up mattresses.

Kajie explained the  new mattresses for the young monks were part of getting the monastery ready at Taksindu village (where we are staying tonight) for a ceremony by a Great Lama who visits soon. Hundreds of Sherpa people will come from surrounding villages. Kajie and I will visit the monastery tomorrow to receive a blessing for a safe and successful journey.

It has been just an absolutely wonderful day. Toddlers sitting in doorways along the trail smile as I pass by, fold their hands together, and shyly say “Namaste”, Rhododendrons are in peak bloom. I saw giant peaks in the distance where I will be in a few days. I love this amazing land and it’s beautiful people.


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April 19 – We Be Jammin’

Our Jeep driver cranked up the volume to some Nepali pop music as soon as we were out of Kathmandu proper, shortly after 5 a.m. Kajie was in front, Nawa (our cook) was in the small second seat with a couple of backpacks, and Sitra and Pasang were left and right of me. It started with some head nodding, then some arm movement, and soon we were “dancing” in our seats.

I thought the roads were exceptionally good! It was like driving on the Great Wall of China through the mountains. Not at all bad like Kadjie had said. When we veered off on to a gravel road, it still didn’t seem that bad. Then became dirt, the a rock riverbed, then we were going through two feet of water.

Do you see a road in the picture? Neither do I.

After water, there was lots of air, as in severe exposure on shelf road going up until we were in clouds. If you don’t have Dangerous Road in a Jeep on your bucket list, put it on today. It was an amazing journey. Poor Pisang was so tired, he found a good pillow and took a long snooze, even with all the jostling.

All comfy here now at the Sangri La Guest House. And, no, that’s not a typo of Shangri La — that’s the way it’s spelled on the sign.

Thanks for reading.


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April 19 – Plan B It Is!

The weather was so much clearer driving back to the ‘Du today–the views were amazing! We left at 5a.m., arrived at the hotel 3:30p.m. and Ngima was waiting with a new plan.

It was even better than what we first thought We’ll have time to go to Gokyo and then cross Renja La Pass before attempting Kyajo-Ri. Renja La is about 17,500′ and reaching that will better prepare us for Kyajo’s 20k altitude. It’s also my favorite place in Nepal! The photo here is from my 2012 trip. All this, of course, is dependent on weather.

I am so grateful to Kajie and Ngima for working out the logistics of a new itinerary. We expect tomorrow’s trip will be about nine hours, so that’s an improvement. And we’re going by jeep. That will be better than a bus. . . won’t it?


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April 17 – Plan B

In the last ten days, I’ve spent 18 hrs in a car driving to Columbus, 32 hours in a plane or airport, and 11 hours in a hot overloaded bus. So walking 1500′ up a rocky trail today sounded really good to me. Kaji led the way.

About halfway up we met an Italian group coming down. Speaking in English, we learned they had turned back just a few days before from their attempt to cross Tashi Labsta Pass, our intended base camp to climb Pachermo.

“Eez not posseeble,” the leader informed us. “Already dangerous, then a snow storm came and is theez deep.” His hand was at his waist. “Tashi Labsta Pass eez imposseeble now. There was also a big avalanche just before the upper glacier and trail eez now buried. My heart just sank. I looked at Kaji and in his eyes I could tell that my disappointment was his as well.

“Is there a way–do we have time–could we return south then go north to the Solo Khumbu region and still climb Kyajo-Ri?” I asked Kaji His answer gave me some thread of hope for salvaging my adventure. “Let me think” he said, “then I will call Ngima and see what we can do.” We continued up to Simagaon, where he got a signal strong enough to call.

I understood nothing of their conversation, but did pick out “Jiri”, “Lukla”, “Namche”, and “Kyajo”. He explained a potential new plan: go back to the guest house we stayed at the night before, and return by bus to Kathmandu. Ngima could arrange a jeep and we’d head northeast beyond Jiri, then continue on foot for two days to Lukla. From there, we would go north toward Machermo in the Everest region and pick up our original route to climb Kyajo. It’s a possible plan for now, thanks to Kaji and Ngima.

It is the mountain that determines who is allowed passage on her lofty slopes, not us mortals. Pachermo wants no visitors. Will Kyajo welcome us? We will find out next week.

Highlight of the day was seeing these delightful, giggling girls picking berries in the tree on the way back down. They threw down a sprig for Kajie and me to try some.


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April 16 – Are we There Yet?

When our bus left Kathmandu at 6 a.m., I had a seat to myself. Ngima had purchased an extra ticket so I could keep my backpack with me and not be crowded. That privilege lasted half hour. As we added riders along the way, not only were the seats filled, but the aisle way as well. Two hours later, there were more standing than sitting, and they couldn’t help but press outward. It became impossible for me to move. At all.

Hairpin turns were endless and drop offs severe, with only occasional shrubs or tree to provide some an illusion of protection against going over the edge. We stopped in every village, and more and more riders got on . . . and climbed onto the top of the bus. Shortly after lunch, we stopped for a young mother holding a basket with a baby . . . and she climbed on top of the bus. Her young goat was lifted up.

I asked Kaji why so many people were going north and he replied they were going to look for some bugs up in the higher mountain tundra.

“Yarsagumba?” I asked, and he said yes, somewhat surprised that I knew that. Yarsagumba are worm-like insects interrupted in development by a fungus growth while buried in the ground. To Asian men, it’s their “little blue pill” and is outrageously expensive. I learned this on a previous trip.

It was a day of continual out-of-ordinary events. The first prize, hands down, though, goes to a young man who pulled down his black pollution protection mask . . . I kid you not . . . to smoke a cigarette.


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April 15 – Remembering Kathmandu

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April 11- The Reason

 My flight leaves 7 a.m. Monday from Columbus. The next two days will be a struggle to untangle all that is going chaotic within my brain. It feels hyper-critical that I don’t leave out any essential gear, clothing or footwear. I can’t forget any important documents such as passport/visa, rescue insurance paperwork, emergency contacts, flight itinerary, customs and immigration forms. Do I have all my electronic gadgets, with all the right cords, adapters, and batteries? Have I tested everything?

Besides getting the gear bag stuff ready, what about me—am I ready? Did I train hard enough? Can I still tie a figure-eight knot with my eyes closed? Besides being physically fit, am I mentally prepared for this challenge? As a friend of mine recently said, when you’re making that difficult climb upward into thinner and thinner air, you will think of a thousand reasons to quit, so you must be prepared with a powerful, positive reason to keep going. What is that reason?  I can’t ever allow doubt or hesitation take over. But I know I’m ready. I just need to go through my checklist one more time, after which I’m sure all this “clutter and noise” will go away. By Sunday night, I will have seen my Ohio family, given each a hug, and said the things I need to say.

Monday morning, I will fly to Philadelphia, then continue on to Doha, Qatar. Once I’m no longer on U.S. soil, I’ll be able to relax and to enjoy my dream now becoming a reality:  I’m going to Nepal, where smiling children and old toothless men will greet me on the trail with “Namaste”; where I will hear bells on bleating goats and on yaks carrying bags of grain and rice. I will smell fresh juniper along the trail and sweet incense burning inside a monastery. I will spin prayer wheels and watch prayer flags flutter against the backdrop of high snow-covered mountains.

I will climb Kyajo-Ri. My reason to reach the summit is simple: to stand where nothing is above me but endless blue sky and feel the warm rays of a golden sun caress my cheeks; to stand in peaceful silence and experience an emotional awe that will renew my soul and spirit.

As always, thank you for reading.


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Just Like George

   My fifty-year high school class reunion will take place in late May, just a few days after I return from Nepal. Today I thought it might be a good idea to dig out my senior yearbook, just to freshen up my brain a bit and try to remember who was who. Like most classes, we had an “in” crowd and “out” crowd. I was in my own little “awkward stage–just me crowd”. I enjoyed both marching and concert bands, but what I really wanted to do was participate in sports. I wanted to be just like George.

 As I looked through the sports section of the yearbook, I smiled, remembering all the athletes that performed so exceptionally well that year – Logan High School had league championships in almost every sport! And there of course was George the quarterback, George the center, George the first-baseman, George the outstanding senior athlete, George the All-South-Eastern-Ohio-League . . . everything.

   No matter how many times I leaf through these pages, silly me thinks that somehow magically I’l see a few photos of my teammates and me.  But this was 1965, before Title IX. and there was no such thing as sports for girls at Logan High School. Nothing. At. All. I recall that in the spring of ’65 I asked the track coach if I could at least just do practice runs with the team. I got an eyeroll along with “the look”. I think I could have done very well. I think maybe  I could even have been just like George.

   I’ve no bad feelings about missed opportunities, though. It’s fifty years later and I’m exceptionally fit and well. At our 45th reunion, there was lots of knee-replacement talk among the athletic group. Had I poured myself into sports would I even be heading to Nepal right now? Or would my joints be suffering from high school sports injuries coming back to haunt me?

   A few weeks from now, I’ll be in Nepal climbing Pachermo, then Kyajo-Ri, both over 20,000′. It will be tough. Such endeavors are a bit (lol) more challenging than they would have been fifty years ago. I’ve worked hard for this, but I’m ready. I think on the long, arduous climb up, I’ll say to myself, You know, maybe you are, perhaps a little bit, just like George.”

 

 



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