Election Day In Nepal

Four months ago I left Vermont, two months ago I arrived in Nepal, four days ago the country finished voting for a new parliament and two days ago I had a sideline view of the international community’s initial take on how those elections went.

When I left home to travel, I trusted that I would find interesting projects and opportunities that I couldn’t then conceive of. I came to Nepal wanting to trek in the mountains and having a vague idea to volunteer for something worthwhile. I’ve spent the last 10 days helping The Carter Center’s Election Observation Mission here, an inspiring and fulfilling end (for now) to my visit in Nepal.

I’m a raving sentimentalist when it comes to elections, and civics, and democracy. I can recite most of Mr. Smith Goes To Washington by heart, and I still get misty when Jimmy Stewart declares that “democracy is too precious a thing to buried in history books.” Being an American journalist and covering U.S. elections has not dulled my faith in the potential of democracy, but I have been disappointed in how fecklessly some Americans regard the act of governing, and the process by which we choose our government. It matters, and we shouldn’t let ourselves off the hook by pretending “they’re all the same” and “my vote doesn’t matter.”

Nepal’s politics are impossibly complex, and its  recent political history is straight up astounding. Kings and prime ministers sacked, a civil war with a Maoist insurgency, the assassination of nearly the whole royal family by one of its own, a new constitution and a nationwide learning curve to determine what Nepal’s new democratic norms will be. And the consequences of governance here are crucial: Nepal faces real problems in economic, health and social indicators. 

Diagram explains how the polling place is set up for voters to cast three separate ballots. 

I am naive enough and optimistic enough, therefore, to draw real inspiration from how Nepalese people embraced their election.  

Nepal had 70 percent voter turnout in its recent parliamentary and provincial elections.

Seventy percent.

They did this with no absentee voting, no mail-in voting, no early voting. They did this by walking (sometimes very long distances) to stand in line and cast their votes. They did this despite a confusing electoral system that voters had to learn for the first time. They did this despite weeks of IED attacks on candidates and political rallies, presumably intended to suppress voter turnout. Time will tell us Nepalese people are satisfied with the government they elected, but I remain inspired and impressed with the urgency and commitment they showed in showing up to vote.

I wish Americans didn’t take our system of government for granted, or fail to see our own responsibility in making it work.

Newspapers for sale, the day before the election.

Nepal Trek 3: Annapurna Circuit

"Ugh, the roads! Annapurna isn't the same as it used to be." Variations on this statement had me questioning whether traveling out to Pokhara for this trek was worth it. But if roads are encroaching on what has been called one on the world's most classic hiking trails, then I better go now before it gets worse, I figured. Plus, I can't begrudge people in this region wanting to build roads and infrastructure. It's a bit precious to prioritize a nice walk for tourists over quality of life for locals.

The circuit is a horseshoe-shaped arc that starts east of Pokhara at Besi Sahar, travels counter-clockwise (advisably) through river valleys, climbs one high altitude pass at Thorung La, runs down through the Mustang Valley and around to the foothills west of Pokhara. Already acclimatized, I was able to cut out the rest days and I modified my start and end points, all of which made this trek faster than expected -- just nine days.

The Route

From Besi Sahar, I followed advice to take a Jeep up to Syange (1,211 meters/3,996 feet) and stayed my first night there. From Syange, my overnights were at Dharapani, Chame, Ngawal, Manag (two nights), Yak Kharka, Thorung Phedi, over the high pass of Thorung La (5,416 meters/17,872 feet) during the day and down to Jharkot, and then finishing in Jomson.

The trail traces the bank of the Marsyangdi Nadi river from Besi Sahar all the way to Manang. While the river is your constant companion, the shape and current of the water changes constantly, along with the vegetation. I was stunned to see wild poinsettias flowering on trees in the early, low elevation days of the trek; apparently I thought they only grew in plastic pots at grocery stores between Dec 10-25. After a few days the elevation barely scratched 2,000 meters (6,600 feet), making for warm days and fast trekking. The walk through an autumnal woods and a valley filled with apple trees near Timang made me nostalgic for Vermont. Just beyond there, nearing Chame, we emerged around a bend in the trail and the mass of Annapurna II was directly in sight. These are definitely not Vermont's Green Mountains!

This was the stretch of trail where I met Mathilde, and later Tavis, Florianne, Kinga, Mike, Adam and Selena, cheerful and easy trail companions all. We hiked together from below Chame to Upper Pisang, and then I continued solo that day to Ngawal, a long, satisfying day that finally put me at a respectable elevation, 3,660 meters/12,078 feet.

From Ngawal, I had an easy, short walk to Manang, the Namche of the Annapurnas. Here, they recommend you stay put to acclimatize for a few days, stock up on supplies and prepare for the high altitude that comes next. I stayed two nights so I could take in a movie (!), check out the political campaigning ahead of the parliamentary elections and do my laundry. I had my blood oxygen tested at the Himalayan Rescue Association and it was an impressive 92 percent, so I sped out of there and up to Yak Kharka after a day and half.

Manang is full of "video projection halls," a fun cottage industry in town that doesn't offer much else in the way of distraction. A Slovak couple and I caught the 5 p.m. showing of Seven Years In Tibet; the wooden benches had yak furs to keep us  warm, and the projectionist lit the yak dung stove too. (Lighting the stove is the most expensive part of the operation for the projection hall.) Halfway through the film, a woman brought in popcorn and hot tea for us. Delightful!

Above Manang, the landscape changes dramatically again and the trek starts to feel like a TREK. Vegetation disappears, the brown, barren mountains in the foreground are lit up with crisp, snow-covered peaks in the distance. Yaks meander down the trail, the dull but cheerful sound of their bells announcing their approach. Here the trail has turned north along the Thorung Kola and Kone Kola rivers, tiny threads of water at the bottom of impressively carved valleys.

Looking south down the Kone Kola river valley, the section of trail between Letdar and Thorung Phedi.

Thorung La is the high pass on this trek, and the options for accommodation just before making this ascent are few. Thorung Phedi is a cluster of noisy lodges, and further along is High Camp, essentially one noisy lodge. I lucked into the last room at small quiet lodge in Thorung Phedi, on the hill overlooking the rest of the guesthouses. A dozen of us huddled around the stove with cups of milk tea and compared notes on how early we planned to start the ascent.

In the pre-dawn morning, light, dry snowflakes floated in the dark air and I could see a dotted line of headlamps snaking up the mountain trail behind the guesthouse. Their 4 a.m. departure seemed pointlessly early and I waited till first light. I had the benefit of weeks of conditioning and acclimatization, and my climb up to the high pass was fairly easy and speedy. I had expected it might be, but it seemed unwise to presume too much at 17,800 feet.

Maps describe this as "biggest" mountain pass in the world, I think because it's extremely broad and the flanks on both sides of the pass extend far out. In Three Passes, a sharp knife-edge defined each pass with steep ascent and decent on both sides. This was more of an enormous saddle.

At the top, the signpost is swaddled in bright prayer flags and swarmed with trekkers seeking a quick photo in the windy cold exposure of the pass. Joining the group of trekkers at the top, I heard a British voice calling my name: Stu! We had first met weeks ago on the hike from Jiri to Lukla, on the evening after Andy and I got lost in Bupsa. I had last seen Stu on Three Passes, the night before the first pass when he was expressing extreme dread that he was not cut out for this. And now here he was -- having finished Three Passes he kept going, and now we stood at the top of Thorung La! Stu offered me a celebratory sip of his beer (17,000 feet, 9:30 a.m., drinking a beer - this is definitely not the stressed out Stu I met in Chhukung!) and we toasted the chances of meeting up again precisely at this spot. Fantastic!

The 10 kilometer/6 mile decent toward Muktinath and Mustang Valley was long, barren and deceptively tricky. Along the way were bad weather shelters, the fierce blue of their tin sheaths providing a shot of color against the dun-hued landscape. A porter told me these were built after the disastrous 2014 trekking season when a snow storm stranded and killed 43 people on this section of trail. Even in good trekking weather like today, it's easy to see how few options for escape or natural shelter there are on this long, exposed slope; guidebooks everywhere are full warnings to check the weather conditions with reliable locals before attempting this section of trail.

Muktinath offers a celebratory oasis to trekkers coming down from the pass -- bars, hotels, restaurants, a LOT of white people. The vibe of partying backpackers who were a little too impressed with themselves was jarring after a long string of peaceful days in the mountains. I checked in quickly at the TIMS station and kept walking to the village of Jharkot, another half-hour down the road. A nice lodge with hot showers, and the company of a small group of French trekkers made for a good end to the hardest day of the trek. The sun dip below the mountain ridge, and herders brought cows in from the small nearby fields, their bells clanging and hooves clomping as they moved down the narrow stone alley next to our lodge. As we ate our dal bhat dinner, the lodge-owner lit a metal bucket of coals on fire and nudged it under the wooden table where we were eating. Defying the odds but clearly in line with the proprietor's expectations, the table did not catch on fire, and our feet and legs were toasty warm as the temperature dropped outside. Another item added to the list of "Things We Don't Do In America." (Or in France, I was assured.)

The next day was my last on this trek, ending in Jomson. I had debated how to use the time I had left in the region and realized I could either finish walking the low foothill sections of the Circuit Trek, or take a bus to Naya Pul and get in one more trek to Annapurna Base Camp. The hours walking to Jomsom proved to be the most annoying, and most filled with self-inflicted problems of any hours I would spend in the Himalaya, but they could not dull the satisfaction and joy of hiking in this region.

[Annapurna Circuit Trek: November 10-18, 2017]

Is This Safe?

“You’re hiking alone? No guide or porter? Good lord, is that safe?!” Imagine this in a Scottish accent, being spoken out of concern by a woman nearing my mom’s age. In fact, these are words my mom has thought and spoken aloud, minus the accent.

My answer without pause is yes, it’s safe. I feel no risk of personal safety from theft or assault, from marauding animals or political vigilantes. “It’s totally safe here!” I have declared repeatedly. And it is. But that feeling of safety comes not only from helpful strangers looking out for each other, but also from knowing and mitigating the risks that do exist.

Altitude sickness

"You have altitude sickness until proven otherwise."

"Many in the burgeoning adventure travel industry are clueless about mountain sickness," the Himalayan Rescue Association writes on its web site. This is no joke. AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness), HACE (High Altitude Cerebral Edema) and HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema) are problems that everyone trekking in the Himalaya needs to understand and be ready to diagnose – in themselves and in others. Symptoms like breathlessness and headache are pretty normal to experience at high altitude, but they can progress to something much worse, including coma and death. Knowledge is key here, and so is a willingness to curb your ego and cut your trek short. Spend a day hiking at altitude in Everest or Annapurna and you will 1) feel the effect on your breathing and perceived physical exertion, and 2) see rescue helicopters coming and going across the sky.

Injury

My first aid and medical kit was overstuffed with useful bandages, tape and medicine, most of which I never needed but freely doled out to other trekkers. Again, I think preparation ensured that the supplies would largely go unused. There was one day, though, when I literally fell on my face. My legs were tired, my mind was tired, and when I tripped on a rock my nose and forehead broke my fall. Stunned but lucid, I pulled myself into a seated position and felt my face. There was a little bit of blood on the bridge of my nose, but not a lot. A half-hour later, I got to a teahouse and used their outdoor spigot to clean myself up. My face was streaked with dirt and the scrapes on my nose and forehead were noticeable but not terrible. I opened the med kit and found antiseptic wipes, Neosporin and Band-Aids and did an admirable job bandaging myself up, then kept walking walking for another hour before ending the day at sunset. Moral of the story, even when you fall on your face, remember that the damage could be far, far worse.

About dangerous animals…

In six weeks of trekking, I had exactly one encounter with an animal that had me worried. I mostly restrained myself from playing with adorable but filthy stray dogs and cats, I never saw snakes or menacing insects and the legendary snow leopard did not wander near. But one afternoon, alone on a trail, I looked up to find myself nearly face-to-face with a black-faced langur. I stopped short and took in the monkey-like animal 15 feet ahead of me. He sat still right in the center of the trail, and then continued grabbing at leaves with his long-fingered paws. I stood still, too, took pictures and wondered, how is this going to end? The langur started toward me, my perception of his size and strength growing exponentially as he came nearer. I wasn’t sure if I should move aside (would that indicate weakness and encourage him to pounce?) or try to scare him away (and thus provoke a fight?) but in the seconds I had to consider my options, he ran-hopped-lurched toward me and then past me, as eager as I was to create distance between us. After that, I made an effort to whistle and sing occasionally, to ward off any unsuspecting primates on the trail.

Trail conditions

Read through the descriptions of trekking routes and study the maps, and certain phrases will jump out at you. Phrases like, "landslide," "avalanche" and "Warning - Unstable Scree Slopes." What made me increasingly hesitant the longer I trekked wasn't the trail itself but the frequent bridges. The aluminum suspension bridges were solid, no problem there. (I mean, if a team of yaks can cross it, surely one more tourist won't be the breaking point.) But I encountered plenty of streams and eroded sections of trail that were spanned with logs and rocks in a manner that did not always inspire confidence. Usually, the only way out was through, so I learned to trust the trail but to step carefully.

Random stuff

Light 'em up!

Every day, I encounter things that would send US regulators into a frenzy of preventative rule-writing. For instance, in nearly every guesthouse, the doors have slide locks on both the inside and the outside, so you could -- if you wanted to -- easily lock someone inside their room without a method of escape. Another example: at one chilly guesthouse, the owner lit a metal bucket of coals on fire and placed it under the wooden table we were eating at, to keep our feet warm. (Nothing went up in flames, and it was fantastically warm, but.....). Guardrails are nonexistent on roads that cling to the sides of cliffs, though occasionally there are large blocks of rock that help set a barrier. My first car ride in the frenetic streets of Kathmandu, when I was encouraged to take the front seat, I asked if there was a seat belt. "Welcome to Nepal!" the guy shrugged and smiled, as if that answered the question.

***

Perceptions of safety can often be confused with familiarity. I'm reminded of a friend who lives in the country and who says she always feel safer in the woods than in a big city. I think most city people would feel vulnerable if they were cast out into the rural woods, and they feel safer amidst buildings and businesses and people. We operate with confidence in environments that we know; but just because you're in a new or foreign place, doesn't mean the experience is inherently unsafe or risky, and preparation and acquired knowledge makes it all the safer.

What have we learned, now?

Seriously, look at these guys work. A hundred feet of air between the bridge deck and the water, and they're basically playing hokey-pokey while carrying untold weight.

Three months into my semi-permanent vacation, I’m making this monthly check-in a variation on the theme: these are things I knew already, but in the last month I’ve noticed them more sharply than before.

• My strengths:  tenacity, endurance.
• My weaknesses:  staying on the correct trail, wayfinding generally.
• I love, love, love my family and friends and their easy, generous, spirited enthusiasm for my oddball, unusual goals. Life is less lonely when you’ve got a tribe cheering you on, and I’ve had that and more throughout this trip. Thank you for the steady stream of encouragement from home, it’s been invaluable.
• Porters  are badasses.  Seriously, these guys are so strong. They carry unimaginably heavy loads over difficult trails and across narrow bridges, uncomplaining and often smiling. I’m amazed every time they make the effort to unleash a joyful, “Namaste!” Were I they, my utterance would be closer to, “Get the hell out of my way….”
• Dal bhat is the best! Rice, curried vegetables and lentil soup, served on a tray with a crispy bit of papadam, this is the ideal nutrition for long days of hiking, and generous seconds make it the best deal on the guesthouse menu. 24-hour dal bhat power.
• Everywhere in Nepal I’ve observed the easy kindness of strangers, and it makes smile and feel glad to be alive in the world. Sharing water with thirsty people on the trail, congratulating people on reaching the top of a climb, making space for everyone around the fire. There is an interest in communal well-being and kindness that softens the severe environment we’re trekking through.

Nepal Trek 2: Three Passes, Everest

The blocky, triangular mass of Mount Everest sits on the Nepal-Tibet border reaching (8,848 meters/29,029 feet) and adds a few centimeters to its height each year. The Nepalese name Sagarmatha and the Tibetan name Chomolungma are lesser known, but the one singular fact of this peak is universally famous: this is the highest mountain on the planet.

So no, obviously I didn't climb Everest. Let's be clear about that.

Surrounding Everest are dramatic Himalayan peaks, many of them more beautiful but that just didn't have the ambition to stretch a few meters higher to grab the title. Nuptse, Lhotse, Ama Dablam, Pumori fill the sky with twisting peaks and serrated edges. To hike among these peaks in the Everest region means crossing from one deep glacial valley through a cut in the mountains and tumbling down into the next valley, and so on. The mountaintops are out of reach without mountaineering equipment, expertise and a death wish, but the high passes are accessible to hikers who are willing to work for it.

The Three Passes trek is a massive loop that encircles the Everest region, taking you up and over three extremely high mountain passes: Kongma La (5535 meters/18,265 feet), Cho La (5380 meters/17,754 feet) and Renjo La (5388 meters/17,780 feet). And while these were the highest heights I climbed, it's interesting to remember that they are the low spots in their respective ridgelines; each pass was a small sag in the rock face, the "easiest" way to get to the other side of the mountains.

The Route

We started from Phakding and our first overnight was up the trail from Namche Bazaar at Khyangjuma, then I spent two nights at Tengboche for acclimatization, one night at Dingboche, two nights at Chhukung for more acclimatization before taking on the first of the passes. From Chhukung, we tackled the first pass, Kongma La, and stayed in Lobuche for two nights; from Lobuche I did a day hike up to Gorak Shep and up Kalapatthar (meters/feet) for spectacular views of Everest; next we climbed the second pass, Cho La and then stayed in Gokyo for two nights. After Gokya, we climbed the third and final pass, Renjo La and then walked down the valley all the way south to Thame Teng. The final day was a lazy walk back to Namche Bazaar to finish the circuit.

Namche Bazaar is a commercialized carnival of trekking supply stores, western restaurants and guesthouses. But this last-chance town on the Everest frontier also sits in a grand natural amphitheater that deserves to be appreciated. In Namche, you can buy airline tickets, indulge in chocolate cake and cappuccino, tap into free WiFi and load up on any supplies you forget to pack -- from toilet paper to trekking poles. I skipped the poles, actually, but I did rent a down sleeping bag in Namche. 

Sunrise at Tengboche, Days 3-4. The knobby peak of Ama Dablam on the right was my favorite mountain in this part of the trek - people describe it as a "thumb" that sticks up, somewhat apart from the other high peaks. 

During an acclimatization and rest day here, I spent a few hours at the Tengboche monastery watching the monks pray. Horns, drums and chanting are the soundtrack of worship here, and it's a booming joyous noise that stays just on this side of cacophony. During the service, the monks walked a khora around the outside of the monastery, and elderly monk who stayed behind gave me a friendly nod of permission to walk with them.

Leaving Dingboche on Day 5, looking back at town from the stone walled fields. The trees have now disappeared at this altitude, but yaks still graze here on grass and scrubby shrubs. At Dingboche, we met a Tibetan guesthouse operator name Takshi Lama, who totally charmed us with his curious, quick sense of humor, ruminations on life and delicious apple cake.

Chhukung is a tiny smear of a village, just a handful of guesthouses for trekkers and not much else. On the map, it looks like a slight detour from the counter-clockwise circle of the Three Passes Trek, but it serves a solid purpose in giving people good exposure to high altitude. We spent two nights here, and during the "rest day" climbed the nearby hill of Chhukung Ri (5,550 meters/18,209 feet), my first time hiking at altitude! Climbing up was a slow slog, the smallest effort of walking 20 feet forced me to stop and catch my breath. This would be become a familiar experience over the next several days.

First Pass: Kongma La (5535 meters/18,265 feet)

My journal entry for this day begins, "Holy hell, this was much harder than I expected...." We set out at 7 a.m., walking into some fog that made it hard to find the trail. After walking off-trail up the side of a steep hill, we joined the actual trail headed up a valley toward the pass. The topography tricks you here, with false peaks and blind curves. One uphill section was particularly rough: tight, steep switchbacks through deep shards of rock. Sliding feet, off-balance, and long hard way to fall if something goes wrong. Getting through that section was a relief, but we were still far below the actual pass. The trail provided a respite with an even walk among a few bright blue-green ponds before the real test presented itself. The passes are crowned with multi-colored prayer flags, and spotting those flags was an awesome relief. One last stiff climb over boulders and rock face and we were at the top! The views back down the valley were stunning, and now we could also look west to take in the terrain we had to descend.

The descent was a bit ugly. The western slope of Kongma La is a nasty, steep scree field of jagged rocks. There is a trail, but rather than a single-track of exposed dirt it's a barely discernible thread of compacted rock that slides underfoot. Eventually, this gave way to actual ground, and we walked happily, naively up to the sidewall of the day's final challenge: we had to climb up into and across and then out of a glacier.

A friend we met on the trail, Abbey, picks her way across the glacier from Kongma La to Lobuche.

"Glacier" might bring to mind a wall of white snow and ice, but the glaciers in the Everest region are all receding, I've read, and this glacier looks more like a moonscape than a snowcap. The shape of it is a massive river of sand-coated ice flowing north-south, and our task was to find a pathway directly across it to the town on the far side. High sidewalls form the outer edges, and between then is a disorganized slurry of rock, silt, ice and water.  

Climbing the far sidewall of the glacier deposited us with relief into the settlement of Lobuche. The entire day of hiking took more than seven hours, and I immediately crashed when we checked into the guesthouse.

Everest

We stayed two nights in Lobuche to make time for a day hike up the valley toward Mount Everest. Here, the Three Passes route meets the human highway of people of trekking to Everest Base Camp, an easier route that is still no slouch. From Lobuche, hundreds of trekkers set out north to Gorak Shep, which is just a couple of guesthouses and helipad on flat spot in the valley. From Gorak Shep there are two destinations: Everest Base Camp is a few hours walk to the northeast; and Kalapatthar, a stiff climb to a spectacular hilltop at 5,550 meters/18,315 feet. I skipped the walk to EBC itself and instead hiked up Kalapatthar for spectacular views of Everest, Nuptse and entire panorama of the Himalaya.

Second Pass: Cho La (5380 meters/17,754 feet)

The first pass I approached with zen-like resolve, and the relief of that accomplishment freed me to really have FUN climbing the second pass. Cho La freaking rocked! We had hiked a very short day from Lobuche to Dzongla, where fog descended by afternoon and pressed against the windows of the warm dining room where 20 of us passed the time. The next morning dawned with ice on the inside of our windows, and set out west for Cho La.

Side view of the glacier at Cho La Pass. We climbed from here, over the ice to the high point at the upper left.

The climb was steep, no surprise, but most of the elevation was gained in a long stretch of scrambling and climbing through boulders. Tumble-down rock piles are so much more fun to climb than slippery scree slopes! We emerged from the boulders to a viewpoint that looked east down the valley toward Dzongla, but more impressive was the view right in front of us: a massive white glacier. Unlike the sand-filled ice quarry that drained my energy a few days earlier, this was a field of ice and snow cascading down from the pass. The glacier was shot through with running meltwater that we could hear beneath our feet and see between the fissures in the ice. (This was one of the few times in the entire trek that I wished for trekking poles.) The bright blue sky and warm sun lit up the white ice and put everyone in a happy mood. Icy snowballs were thrown, people stared at each other with giddiness, two Nepalese trekkers cranked up the music on their phone and broke into dance party in the middle of the ice. From the glacier we could see the flags marking the pass, and it was just a few hundred more meters of climbing over rocks to reach the top. Triumph! I loved this day so, so much.

The backside of Cho La is not so nice. Similar to the backside of Kongma La, there were a lot of rocks to climb through, but these were easier to navigate. A long, long walk through a valley led to a much-needed stop for tea and soup. We reunited with Abbey and Corey here, then set out to cross another rock-sand-ice glacier, this one even larger and more ominous that the one that followed Kongma La. We stood on the sidewall and looked across, not able to see the town of Gokyo, our destination somewhere on the far side. The trail through this glacier was much easier to find -- a season's worth of trekkers had worn a reliable path here. But as we walked we could hear the glacier alive beneath our feet -- cracks, moans and shifts in the sandy ice were mesmerizing, but I was also stricken by thoughts like, "Let's just get the hell out of here as fast as possible..."

Finally, finally, finally emerging over the sidewall was a relief, and a bit later we were rewarded with a view I'd been looking forward to ever since Beth and Michael described Gokyo with dreamy voices. The town's lodges are nestled between snowy mountains and one of the opaque blue-green lakes the region is known for, and just stunning.

Third Pass: Renjo La (5388 meters/17,780 feet)

Gokyo was lovely but so, so cold. We took a rest day here, and the timing was great: that day was socked in with fog, hovered below freezing and turned to slight snow in the evening. I spent most of the day huddled near a stove with Jill, Abbey and Corey playing cards, drinking tea and genuinely resting. I also walked over to the Fitzroy Hotel on the advice of a Scottish doctor who's living here for the season and paid $6 to take a hot shower. Eight days of hard hiking had passed since my last shower, and this was possibly the best six dollars I've ever spent. The gas-fired water heater was no joke -- the water was wonderfully scalding, and sent plumes of hot steam billowing around the small bathroom. (The mildewed curtains and exposed electrical wiring didn't dampen the joy of it at all.)

A screaming headache woke me up hours before our planned early morning departure for the third and final pass. I had intermittent headaches at high altitude, but usually in the afternoons after climbing high. I tried to drown it in ibuprofen and by 6:30 a.m. it was definitely more tolerable. Looking back on the previous day, I realized dehydration was a likelier culprit than mountain sickness, and figured I would give Renjo a try. If the headache came back stronger, I could I always turn back and stay another night at Gokyo.

The climb up Renjo was the easiest of the three passes, but my hiking was molasses slow. Altitude seemed to have a more deleterious effect on me at this point than earlier, which was annoying as well as counter-intuitive. Twenty steps left me panting like I had sprinted 200 meters on a track. Lots of pausing to catch my breath, which happily also created time to take in the views. The final climb up to the knife-edge of the pass seemed interminably steep and high overhead, but after a not-too-long series of switchbacks we had already made it! The wind was fierce, but the snow that fell the night before dusted everything in a silvery white sheen. Spectacular.

The walk down the backside was long and steep and the snow made it slippery. The trekkers hiking uphill from west to east had a miserable climb ahead of them; I didn't envy them. Four of us were walking together and making quick work of it. Lonely Planet suggested taking a couple of days to cover the stretch that we banged out in one day. At a lunch stop we asked a guide how far we were from the large town of Thame, where his group was heading to. "My group will take 3 1/2 hours. You guys are faster, maybe 2 1/2 hours." How long would it take you to do it on your own? I asked him. "Me? 45 minutes!" he laughed, as he poured himself a cup of tea.

We walked hard and made it to the edge of town, Thame Teng. An enterprising guesthouse owner was hanging out at the chorten that marked the entrance to town and asked if we needed rooms for the night. She walked us (and her cow) down the dirt lane to her house, where her teenage daughter spoke perfect English and was a great host. (I was more than a little proud that she was shocked we had walked from Gokyo, over the Renjo, all the way to Thame. Hell yeah!) We warmed ourselves around the yak-dung-burning stove and feasted on the ubiquitous meal of the trail, dal bhat. Outside in the yard, two baby yaks snoozed in the grass and the sky darkened to night.

The fast descent from high altitude to the low valley (5,388 meters down to 3,800 meters) revealed a wild change in landscape, vegetation and local settlements. By the time we reached Thame, just a few hours from Namche bazaar and the trek's conclusion, trees had returned and the scent of evergreen needles was strong. Electric lines reappeared, linking houses and villages with singular, swooping blacks lines. We stopped at a Tibetan Buddhist monastery and sat in the prayer hall as the students -- teenagers and younger -- sat in the warm robes and chanted the scripture. As we sat quietly on mats in a sunny corner, a tray of hot tea appeared to welcome us. It was perfect, meditative moment of appreciation to remember the trek by.

[Phakding-Three Passes-Namche-Lukla: October 17-31, 2017.]

Nepal Trek 1: Jiri to Phakding

This summer, Beth and Michael spread maps and books across the table of their screened-in porch in Vermont and gave us an introduction to hiking in Nepal. The impressions were lasting -- their reverence of the culture, their reassurance about the physical demands, their gorgeous photos of the landscape. But my notes from that day were cryptic and scattered. "Renjo, but next pass closed." "IGH/leave bag Kathmandu."  "No shower 3 weeks." And, "Everest: start in Jiri."

There are endless options for trekking in Nepal, and I had a few top choices: the Everest region, the Annapurnas in the central hills, and the possibility (later discarded) of serious wilderness trekking in western Nepal. Andy and I would trek in the Everest region together, and then I would head to the Annapurnas solo later in the Fall. The draw of Everest is self-evident: it's EVEREST. And not just the highest mountain in the world, but one surrounded but almost-as-high mountains that surpass it in beauty and the ability to dislocate your jaw.

But there are two downsides to trekking in the Everest region:

1. People. So many, many friggin' people. A massive region that is almost devoid of settlements (save those tiny villages that exist to support the trekking routes) should not feel so crowded, but it does when you pile scores of bucket-listing tourists onto the same trail and steer them in the direction of Everest Base Camp.

2. Altitude. This one is serious: Acute Mountain Sickness is no joke, and visitors to the Everest region are warned constantly to be vigilant about symptoms. (I'll write about the day-to-day experience at high altitude in a future post.)

It seems so simple from here.

To help remedy both of these issues, Beth and Michael suggested that we start our Everest trek from the town of Jiri, rather than the traditional starting point of Lukla. From Jiri, it is one week's walk to Lukla; the trail runs roughly from west to east across farms and foothills that gradually acclimatize the hiker to altitude, but it's not nearly as well-traveled as the trails we'd meet once we turned north toward the big mountains. The landscape, vegetation and interaction with locals are all of a totally different stripe than we should expect closer to Everest, they said. If you have time, do it.

And so on October 12 we left Kathmandu at 5 a.m. in a Jeep to Jiri, and by early afternoon we were walking south on the dirt road out of town.

Lonely Planet's Trekking in the Nepal Himalaya and Himalayan Map House's incredibly detailed topographic maps were our best resources, in addition to knowledge we gleaned from people on the trails. LP suggested that Jiri to Lukla would take eight days, but on October 17, six days later, we stopped walking just before sunset in the town of Phakding, several towns beyond Lukla, now noticeably on the Human Highway of Everest-bound trekkers. (This would not be the first or last time that our walking speed grossly outpaced Lonely Planet's estimates. But I feel for the writers -- they have a very broad readership of wildly varying physical abilities.)

The Route

Distance is not a dimension used in Himalayan trekking; instead, everything is measured in hours between locations, and the meters to ascend and descend the mountain in front of you. In the six days between Jiri and Phakding, we hiked anywhere from four to eight hours a day, and the cumulative ascent was approximately 6,100 meters (20,130) feet and descent was around 5,400 meters (17,820 feet). We stayed overnight at guesthouses in Shivalaya, Kinja, just below Lamjura La, Ringmo, Bupsa and finally Phakding.

Suspenseful!

Amazing scenery

About 10 minutes down the trail from Jiri, we came across a small group of goats and my heart skipped with elation! Of all the animals that I easily fall in love with, goats smite me every time; they are really damn adorable. I didn't know it yet, but the goat/cow/ungulate-to-human ratio for the next several days would be maybe 1,000-to-1. The main "Jiri to Everest" trail crosses directly through tiny subsistence farms, bumping right against the side walls of people's houses, stepping through their dooryards and past their laundry lines, down across the terraced fields that they've plowed into the mountainsides with hand tools and horsepower (cow power, actually - very few horses here).

The trail undulated up and down river valleys, around hills and through settlements, constantly revealing new panoramas of green terraces, dense forests and red earth. The thin line of the first suspension bridge stretching over a roaring milky blue river was a thrill: the footbed was aluminum grates, the sides were chainlink attached to cables, and the span was guarded by a barking dog. I stepped energetically across as a way of casting off any wariness. (A few days and many more suspension bridges later, I'd be casually ducking around porters and stopping mid-span to take in the views.)

Stiff challenges

Day 3 on this hike was straight uphill from Kinja to near Lamjura La, the high point for this stretch of trail. The profile of the hike suggested an eight-hour walk from 2,500 meters (8,250 feet) in altitude to 3,500 meters (11,550 feet). I felt encouraged that I was moving faster than Lonely Planet predicted but it was a hot, relentless uphill slog. At one water break, I admitted aloud, "This is hard," while remaining aware that the real mountains loomed in the near future. "By this time next week, it will seem quaint."

Fantastic lodges

Teahouse trekking is a special style of backpacking. You don’t carry tents, sleeping bags or food (though I did have a stash of Snickers bars). Instead, your backpack holds just your essential clothes and personal needs for the trip, and you stop at trailside teahouses or trekking lodges for meals, and then to stay overnight at the end of the day.

This is the way we charge our phones, so early in the morning...

The lodges vary in simplicity and size, but the basic deal is the same everywhere: a bed for the night is very cheap -– just one or two dollars. The lodges make money on serving you dinner and breakfast, and that can run a few dollars or several, depending on what you order. (Always order dal bhat! Delicious, nutritious, and you always get seconds.) A hot shower, boiled drinking water, an electric outlet to charge your phone -– sometimes these things were free and sometimes there was a small fee for them, too.

Laundry. At first, I rinsed out a few pieces of clothes every few days and dried them in the sun if we finished hiking early enough in the afternoon, or by the fire if it was evening, or sometimes by draping them on the back of my pack while we hiked. This seemed worthwhile when we hiked in the lower elevations, where the hiking was hot and sweaty. Once we hit the cold temps further north and higher up, I basically just wore the same clothes constantly for days, adding layers and rarely subtracting them.

A stone fireplace fit for warming people, cooking meals, and drying laundry.

Along the main trekking route, there was intermittent cell service, and some lodges had WiFi. In Kinja, a German trekker asked for the WiFi password and Dumbar, the man who ran the hostel, said it wasn’t working.

“What if there’s an emergency?” the German asked, a little put out by the lack of connectivity.

Dumbar gestured to a small wooden box, a black phone receiver visible inside. “We have satellite phone for emergencies, to call rescue helicopters or anything important.” He smiled broadly at the man, “You want me to make emergency call for you? I can call Angela Merkel!” (We declined his offer to call Donald Trump.)

The Junbesi Chamber of Commerce can thank me for this photo.

Welcoming towns and people

Trekkers wandering through were normal enough not to raise notice among the people who live on the trekking route, yet every person we encountered greeted us with a warm, genuine, "Namaste!" Sometimes it was joyfully drawn into a singsong, "Na-ma-staaaay!!" which I loved and tried to mimic back.

Hiking down from Lamjura La through a forest of rhododendrons, we walked into the idyllic valley that cradles the town of Junbesi. The village was alive in the sun, with kids playing at recess in the schoolyard and artists painting the decorative entrance gate at the town center.  As we neared town, a handful smiling boys passed us on the trail; they had shorn heads and were dressed in the burgundy robes of monks, clearly students at the monastery. (The youngest of them, maybe seven years old, had white earbuds snaking down into the collar of his robe.)

After climbing up the far side of the river valley at Junbesi, we got our first view of Mount Everest, some 50 miles away as the crow flies (and there are lot of crows here). We ate lunch on the sun-soaked patio of a lodge that had a perfect view of the snowy distant mountains. The owner trimmed pieces of yak cheese from a huge wheel and his wife perched on the stone wall and took in the view through her binoculars. There are people who radiate good feelings, and these two effortlessly warmed the air with their kindness and humor. Also, hands down the BEST vegetable soup I’ve ever tasted.

Company on the trail

One particularly cloudy day deposited us at a lodge that was nestled up near the ridge of a mountain pass in a dense fog. Ducking into the dim gathering space around the fire, a dozen or so trekkers who were staying the night warmed themselves by the open stove, sat on thick carpets that lined the benches around heavy wooden tables and sipped milky hot tea. The Nepalese women who ran the lodge were kind and good-humored, and we sat in awe watching them crank out plentiful servings of dal bhat and more for our dinner. Four Aussies had been our consistent leapfrogging companions for a few days, and we played Uno while shivering off the damp air. Outside, well after sunset, the fog had lifted and we stood together in the cold, mesmerized by the Milky Way and the massive sky that had been hidden from us all afternoon.

An Israeli, a Brit, a Chinese and a Russian walk into a lodge... Osiv, Stuart, Ivan and Pham discuss the perils of trail health.

A few days later, we shared a lodge dinner with four guys who had just met at the trailhead -- a Brit, an Israeli, a Chinese and a Russian. If it sounds like the beginning of a joke, it should: I hadn't laughed that hard in awhile when I listened as Ivan tried to explain to Pham, using the English that they both struggled to command, that you don't want gastrointestinal distress while trekking because there are no port-o-lets on Mount Everest. Pointing dramatically at a poster of the Khumbu Glacier on the wall, Ivan exclaimed laughing: "Go to photo! Where is toilet?! All malfunction, no toilet!" (In this case, "malfunction" was his term of art for diarrhea.)

Trail friends come and go easily in this environment. You match pace for awhile, sometimes you exchange names but not always; the Aussies, the Three Musketeers, Abbey & Corey, the Minnesota Not-Nice Guy are just some of the people who made the trail more memorable, as if the trail needed the help. Strangers can stand together comfortably here and just revel in your mutual appreciation for the surroundings or your pride in finishing the climb, and move on. It's transient, but not sad. Chances are, you'll see them again few days or hours down the trail; and if not, you had a rare shared moment.

Transportation, Nepal-style

The entire transportation infrastructure of eastern Nepal, in one photo.

Part-way through this trek, a German family heading in the opposite direction gave us a preview of the terrain that was ahead. Among other things, Katya told us, there are a LOT of "mullays." The native English speakers among us looked at each other quizzically. Was this a religious group? A native flower?

"Mullays," she repeated. "You say, M-U-L-E-S?" Mules. MULES. And man, was she right, so many mullays! After the town of Ringmo, the cargo traffic on the trails picked up dramatically and it was all carried by mule trains -- teams of a dozen or two dozen or more mules, laden with water cans, grain sacks, gas cans and pretty much anything that needs to move from one village to another. This region of Nepal has almost no roads, and all goods, merchandise and people move on foot and pack animal, up and down trails across the mountains.

***

As we neared Lukla we met the influx of people who were starting their trek from there. So many people, most of them in guided groups, too many of them under-prepared for what they were attempting, and all of us funneling onto the same trails heading north. Trekking in Everest is NOT a wilderness experience, but we tried to create some separation from masses by choosing a slightly less traveled and harder route through Everest: the Three Passes.

[Jiri to Phakding: October 12-17, 2017.]