A Himalayan High.

             the roof of the earth, the emperor of all mountains,

                you stand there, a benevolent force,

your arms spread wide encompassing one tall fortress after another,

standing protectively over the lands north and south,

you are not as foreboding as I had thought.

It’s you, every year thousands of people go to meet, 

million others live on the foothills at your feet.

So many others want to conquer you,

they take you for granted, scramble all over,

sometimes even have the temerity to trash you.

What do they know?

These pesky trespassers,

for you are the original warrior,

who in the Mesozoic era,

rose triumphantly from the ancient deep bed of the Tethys sea.

Do the mountaineers know they are on a pilgrimage?

After all, you are the abode of Gods,

where the divinity resides,

and watches us mere mortals 

go on with our lives.

But you don’t like to blow your own trumpet,

instead, just stand there serenely.

It’s rarely do we hear when you lost your calm,

and a mountaineer was lost in your snow white arm. ..

                                “The Himalayas.” – http://shirlingtonlibrarypoetry.lefora.com/2009/08/22/three-    poems-on-the-himalayas/

Only one more country to write about! Admittedly, I am excited at being caught up.  I was a slacker for too long allowing myself to get too far behind, and honestly, I didn’t see the point in writing a blog I was convinced no one ever read.  I am still not entirely convinced, but it gives me something to do to pass away the dull moments of Arabian life.  Of course, this certainly won’t be the last country I write about, just the last one to get me caught up to the present date.  I will undoubtedly travel to many more countries in the future, and already have some possible plans for new adventures. 

  I really have been blessed as far as traveling goes over the last couple years.  In the past 2 ½ years, I have been fortunate enough to travel through 20 countries, the 20^th of those being the beautiful and mountainous country of Nepal.  I chose Nepal for a variety of reasons.  I was looking at countries not too far from the U.A.E., such as Lebanon, Ukraine, & Nepal, and Nepal seemed it would be the cheapest.  Also, with living out in the horrid desert of Al Gharbia in what I consider the most unattractive place I have yet visited on earth, I really, really felt a need to go somewhere with beautiful nature, amazing mountains, rivers, lakes, grass, trees, flowers, etc.  The Himalayas of Nepal seemed they would offer all I needed, and sure enough, they did.

  I flew in to Kathmandu, and landed at the somewhat disheveled airport.  Like most of my travels, I had no itinerary, no reservations, no plans, just an idea that I wanted to see something beautiful.  As I had no place to stay that night, I bartered with a cab driver to drive me in to town where all the cheap guesthouses were located and quickly found a place not far from the bustle of Kathmandu.  I did not stay in Kathmandu long, just long enough to explore and get an idea of one or two things I wanted to do in Kathmandu at the end of the trip. 

  The next day, I hopped on a local bust heading toward Pokhara.  There was a bus made for tourists, but I opted to ride the journey on the local bus with the Nepali people.  I knew as soon as I arrived in the country that I was going to wish I had more time there.  Nepal is ripe with adventure sports and amazing treks.  I tried to fit in as much as I could, but I suppose you are rarely, if ever, able to fit in everything you want.  I started off though with what most people come to Nepal for, a trek through the amazing Himalaya Mountains.  I found a local guide named Kamal, and the two of us alone set off up in to the mountains.  We began the trek with a two and a half hour bus ride.  The first half hour I had to stand up inside the bus, the roof being at least 10 inches shorter than I am.  The bus was cramped, and everyone crammed in unable to turn around or shift position.  Once we got out past the city, the bus driver, seeing my hunched over uncomfortably, pulled to the side of the road to let me hop on top of the bus, where I comfortably enjoyed the remaining two hours in Asian style.  It lightly rained as the bus passed through small Nepali towns and countryside and climbed the mountains and dropped down the back end.  The bus was old and rickety and clanky and had all the men gotten out and pushed the beast uphill, we may have moved faster.  The road was torn and bumpy and cold have grinded out every drop of urine inside a person, so the bus driver stopped to allow the men to pee at the side of the road.  That is something about Asia I still laugh at , men peeing in public everywhere with no worries at passersby or care at all for anyone to see.  You can be walking down a busy street in many Asian cities and see a man in a suit unzip on the street and take his leek right on to a building as everyone casually passed, so potty breaks on a bus in Asia means the side of the highway.  It was a lovely drive up top, with my unfettered view.  Nothing passed me unseen, not the mountains, not the fields not the children on the road with their pants around their ankles, not the lines of hanging to dry; nothing passed me.

Once off the bus we immediately began to hike upward, unable to see the tops of any mountain.  We started ascending through a canyon where a river rolled downwards.  For some reason, that made me think of Korea, looking down at the river.  I remembered the mountain rivers of Korea and their perfect clear green color.  This river was different, but still it gave me pleasant memories.

  We hiked steadily up passing through small village upon small village, a collection of a half-dozen homes.  In one village the men stood outside shooting arrows in to posts with homemade bows in a friendly competition.  People tended fields, sat on porches and did what people do.  It began to rain on us and I was soon soaked through.  We made it to a tea house and stopped for lunch to wait the rain out.  Once the worst of it passed, we continued up in the lighter drizzle.   The first day up was easy enough.  We continued to pass arrays of trekkers, and my guide was a little surprised at our fast pace.  I didn’t realize we were going fast at all, but he mentioned we cut several hours off the usual time for each day that we hiked.  That gave me lots of free time for reading and staring out to the valleys and mountains of Nepal.  The first tea house we stayed the night in was quite, with no other visitors.  We ate dinner and breakfast there and chatted with the family.  Then I sat alone up on the balcony looking out over rice terraces and potato fields and watched wild monkeys sneak in to steal potatoes and passing oxen try to steal clean greens freshly picked from the lettuce patches.  I read from my book and enjoyed the restful and quiet passing of night, and in the morning we continued upward.  The next day was much more difficult.  It just kept going up, step after step, hour upon hour.  I was not sure the climb would ever end.  We climbed through forests and jungle and passed over rivers and small waterfalls and hills clothed in trees of red rhododendron, the national flower of Nepal that brightly speckled the mountainsides.  It was humid, but not hot.  Still though, I dripped with sweat, particularly where my backpack covered my back and rubbed continuously against the fabric of my shirt.  I had to wring the sweat from my shirt several times and finally decided to continue shirtless despite the brisk air of high mountain altitudes.

  All the way up there continued to be small villages high in the mountains, usually a village comprised of only a few lodges catering to trekkers.  The kids in those villages had to climb down the mountain each morning for school and then walk miles and miles steeply up each afternoon.  That is dedication.  It was a regular occurrence to see a Nepali man with a giant bag or basket thrown on to his back with a strap around his head to place the weight upon his neck and head.  They would climb that mammoth mountain with supplies for villages or lodges up to the top, or supplies for long camping treks.  Oh, what mighty men to climb that mountain from dusk till dawn with such enormous bags and weight upon their backs and heads as they steeply climbed, up, up, up.  Many women also carried baskets up, with goods or crops.  I even saw one small girl who looked no more than 4 or 5, a basket to the brim, carrying her load up the mountain. 

  I stayed in small lodges in small rooms of hard beds with blankets clearly made for short Asian people, and particularly the last night up on top, I had to ask for extra blankets, as the below freezing temperatures and the biting and howling wind slithered in to my bones and swooshed across my face.  Cooking was done on wood burning stoves and the rooms were typically no more than thin wooden planks loosely nailed together, not much thicker than the glass of the windows.  Up on top, the window of my room started out to mountains more than 8,000 meters, or 26,000 feet, high.  It was an incredible view.  At night I huddled in my bed and listened to some Nepali guy screaming and singing and playing all night long.  He was still at it at 4:30 when we left to make it to the peak before sunrise in time to see the sun come up.  The sun rose above the clouds.  It was foggy, and the thick mist covered all views.  Fortunately, the fog moved quickly and as it raced on it left spots of clear open views to the magnificent peaks across the deep canyon.  The place I stood is a mountain indeed, but those peaks I stared out to are beyond it.  I gazed out hypnotically, calm in the chilling the air and and wonderfully alive and alert in the stillness of damp mountain fog.  I was in my own special high in that moment, not just high in elevation, but high, tripped out and dazed; It was a Himalayan high, the adrenaline of perfect scenery and an amazing moment. Those giant domes of white rose craggy and massive to twice the height of the mountain I stood on.  One of those mountains, Kachanjunga,  is the 3^rd tallest mountain in the world.  Oh, how the first two must look!  Even with the clearing it was still foggy and misty, as it often is that high up.  The fog swarmed over trees and frosted beady drops of dew hanging from thin branches and grass.  Moss almost looked like snow covered in the frosty dew, and in the cold, cold air, my breath left no cloud, but instantly camouflaged in to the thick moisture of damp and fog.  I stood on top gazing out and braving the numbness of my fingers and toes in the high altitude.  I will never be able to get my fill of views such as those on that mountain, and I never wanted to leave, but after a long stay on the peak I turned and began the 30+ kilometer hike to the finish.  The downhill was easy, but aching on the knees, and I was sore afterward and earned my sleep.  When I left to head down, the fog fell thicker and covered nearly everything.  It was like walking steeply down in smoke and haze and slippery rocks.  We stopped for food, but otherwise made our way fast down the mountain.  My guide continued to be surprised at how quickly we went with so little rest.  I may not be in the same shape that I once was, but I do still have the same stubborn determination, and I wasn’t going to let some professional Himalayan trekking guide get the best of me. 

  It was beautiful down as well as up.  We continued down, and down, and down.  Had I really climbed that entire mountain in only a couple days?  Was I really on the peak of a mountain in the Himalayan range staring out to some of the tallest mountains in the world?  The valley below was green with farms and surrounded by hills and mountains in some idealic setting.  Down below it looked almost more like jungle, like the mountain areas of Vietnam or the Philippines, but the monstrous Himalayas stood just behind.  I went to Nepal for scenery, nature, and mountains, and I got precisely what I went for, though the Nepal journey was not yet over and more adventure lay ahead for me. 

Kanchanjunga

In east ,

on a clear day, you can come across

                a magnificent and mystical panorama,

detailed in ancient scriptures by great lamas,

an enchanting sight,

in the glow of dawn’s ruby light,

the strawberry snowy peaks,

the mighty cliffs,

a lofty castle in the sky.

It’s the Kanchanjunga.

Even if I were a hotshot scribe,

the emotion I felt

when I first saw this view would be hard to describe.

Looking at the mountainous shrine,

I felt a good kind of shiver

run up my spine.

For even now just its memory,

the warmth and hospitality,

the starkness and beauty,

of the landscape and humanity

of that pristine land,

brings a whistle on my lips and a certain bounce in my stride.

  “The Himalayas.” - http://shirlingtonlibrarypoetry.lefora.com/2009/08/22/three-poems-on-the-himalayas/