frank’s big adventure

The road between La Paz and Rurrenabaque is an unpaved mess carved out of the side of the Andes for the first several hours.  We were inside a cloud with no more than 15 feet of visibility slowly working around turns with cliffs that dropped into oblivion.  Occasionally a peak or canyon would show itself through the stark bright grey and make my heart race, but for the most part there was no telling how dangerous the road was.  The bus was loaded to the gills with people crammed into the aisle and bags everywhere and the guys in front of us were taking full advantage of the reclining seats.

Somehow I managed to get to sleep slumped down in the chair with my legs reaching out into the aisle.  I would regularly get jolted awake when the bus hit a massive pothole or we slammed on the brakes and backed up to allow a truck to slip past us, but as we bounced into Rurre I felt surprisingly rested.  We had to wait a couple hours for the town to wake up and get moving before finding a tour to take us into the jungle and spent the time fending off mosquitoes and contemplating where exactly we had gotten to.  We decided to go with the jovial fat guy in the faded NFL t-shirt over the cranky and unkind woman and after handing over some cash were on our way to the river.

As if Rurre were not remote enough, the jungle tour is another 3 hours upstream by boat in the beautiful Madidi National Park.  We spotted birds and marveled at the jagged hills and dense foliage while the driver deftly wove through the deeper channels of the rapids and then turned from one river to its smaller tributary.  We stopped on a beach and helped carry some supplies to the outpost.  At one point we had to take off our shoes and wade through knee deep murky water much to the chagrin of the Scottish girl that had come along.

There were a few small huts clumped together in a clearing, two guides and a cook waiting there for us.  The men were all pretty sleazy looking with pot bellies, machetes and shorts.  Right after lunch we followed our guide into the jungle along a path which the jungle was constantly fighting to reclaim.  We ambled around trees and over streams across fallen trees and within the first 10 minutes of walking happened upon a puma.  It must have been distracted by something because it didn’t know we were there until we were practically right on top of it and it dashed off quickly out of sight. 

We had heard that there were only rarely animal sightings in the jungle, but our luck continued as we went deeper and deeper.  Before too much longer there were some big monkeys in the tree tops howling back and forth at each other.  They were the color of Zach’s hair which our guide found to be hilarious.  Then further on the guide stopped suddenly, looked ahead to the next clearing and began to silently creep forward.  We followed alertly and saw some wild pigs rooting around for food.  When we got within earshot they barked and howled and plodded away.

I was now very much lost with not a clue as to which direction the camp was and totally at the mercy of the guide and the jungle.  We hacked through more of the woods turning left and then right and taking different branches off what appeared to be the main trail before a noise up ahead made everyone freeze.  There was a terrible clamour of screaming and trees violently thrashing.  It sounded like some prehistoric mega-fauna toppling small trees as it came along to lay waste to the encroaching civilization. We inched our way closer and I could see a tree shaking through the brush.  The screams got louder and louder and then…

A parade of little monkeys were working their way from tree to tree, playfully yapping and yelping at each other.  There must have been 50 or more of them, none bigger than a little house cat and some quite a bit smaller.  They were not fazed by our presence and one little guy even stopped to look us over in depth.  I tipped my hat up to him and then we continued on.  The rest of the way we saw a few birds and lots of little flying insects before emerging back into the camp clearing by some miracle of navigation.

After dinner, when things had gotten very, very dark, we again went into the jungle armed with our little flashlights.  Again within the first few minutes of walking our guide spotted the eyes of a puma looking back at us.  It was a bit too close to the campsite for my tastes, but he assured us through laughter that we were safe.  A little further on Zach spotted a little snake coiled up on a leaf right next the the trail.  The guide came back and informed us that it was very poisonous.  The rest of the way I divided my time between looking back for feline eyes following us and snakes ahead of us. 

We stopped at one point and turned off all the flashlights.  The darkness was choking, closing in on us immediately, and the sounds of the jungle at night began to intensify.  Turning to look around my eyes were completely useless and my ears began to pick up what I knew had to be the puma on the prowl for some fresh white meat.  The lights came back and we continued on again.  The next sighting was perhaps the most exciting of all, a jaguar.  Its eyes were quite far apart which gave some idea of how big the full cat must have been.  It would look at us and then turn away only to reappear again a little ways away without making a sound.  Was it moving closer? Were we safe? Would it follow us to the camp which must have reeked of food?  These were the questions that I thought the rest of the night trying to sleep in my mosquito net.

The next day we again walked through the jungle focusing more on the vast assortment of plants.  It is really amazing to think of how many unique and useful species there are in the whole of the Amazon basin and it is quite sad to think of how quickly we are wasting such a valuable natural laboratory.  We again bumped into some monkeys and spied a toucan and a woodpecker before returning to the camp for lunch.  The other group had been fishing all morning and came back with a couple monsters.  Zach’s eyes got big and he made sure that we would get to try our hand at the waters the next day.  That afternoon we visited the tarantula at her lair and were both shocked to see how big it was.  Put both of your hands out like a big spider and you’re close.  It was so fast too and apparently has tons of little spider babies keeping it company. 

That night was real quiet and Zach and I sat out on the porch of our little hut talking and looking out into the blackness.  The next morning we went fishing, catching nothing.  It wasn’t for lack of skill though, you just hurl a hook out with a big hunk of fish meat on it and wait for a tug which never came. Then we were back on the boat racing down stream and back towards the civilization of Rurre.  I felt overwhelmed by the sky.  We had been under the canopy for the whole trip and to see up to infinity again blew my mind.  Then at the town I felt amazing to see so many people in one spot.  There must have been at lest 40 people on the beach.  I cannot imagine how difficult it would be to return to the world after months or years in the jungle.

No, I didn’t leave Peru without seeing Machu Picchu.

Yes, it was amazing.

No, I cannot put it into words yet.

Yes, it is a mustache.

I drifted off to sleep on the bus out of Cuzco listening to Mercy, Mercy Me and woke to a woman frantically shaking me and telling me we had to get off the bus. No one else was awake, but Zach and I were ushered into a waiting minibus at 5 a.m. in the freezing cold. The sun was beginning to brighten the horizon, but I was in no mood to sit in awe. We had bought a direct ticket to Copacabana and I was cold.

Finally we were able to convince the driver that there were not going to be another 10 people to fill the bus at sunrise at an intersection in the middle of nowhere, Peru. He pulled out and we were cruising along for the border. Unfortunately it is closed until 7:30, so again we were stuck waiting. Unlike the border between Ecuador and Peru, though, once things were moving for the day it was a pleasant and stress free passage. Again we found ourselves in a minibus heading for Copacabana. From what I had read, the town is a great place to “chill out” but I wasn’t digging the hippy rasta vibes that the gringo transplants selling beads and hemp were giving off so we caught the next boat out.

Lake Titicaca might not be the highest navigable lake in the world, but it is one of the most beautiful places I have even been. After an hour and a half we came ashore at Isla del Sol, the birthplace of the sun in Inca mythology. We waded through the scores of people trying to push tickets and housing on us to find a little kid of no more than 8 years old who took us up the hill. Up up up up the hill. At the guesthouse we dropped our bags and sat gasping for breath for a few minutes before even taking a moment to look out the window at the view. We were about 300 feet up on a cliffside above the deep blue water with snowcapped peaks stretching across the horizon.

Rallying our energy we climbed up to a vantage point for the sunset. The lake is already at about 11,000 feet above sea level and we went straight at the highest peak we could see. Terrace after terrace we saw not a soul. The light was becoming magical and when when we crested the peak the view was perfect.

While the sun sank down to the horizon I looked around me at the pastel moutains and sky, the lake which looked like ice and the golden rocks around me and felt like I was inside a painting.

Later in the evening as the stars of the southern hemisphere began to fill the sky, Zach and I cracked open our box of wine and sat out in the cold watching shooting stars and the Milky Way singing songs and listening to the quiet sounds of the island. I have begun to make up my own constellations out of the unfamiliar bundles of lights to make sense of the sky, but for a while at least the big dipper was hanging upside-down on the horizon reminding me of warm summer nights in Texas.

I know that it has been a long time since this page has gotten any updates, chalk it up to the Great Firewall of China blocking my access or to weary travel bones unwilling to sit in front of a computer, but the fact remains that I´ve barely made mention of my month in China. Rather than attempt to recreate the whole trip I´ve decided to leave little picture postcards from each stop along the way…

Xián

In the ancient epicenter of China´s government we found ourselves atop the unexcavated mausoleum of Qin Shi Huang who unified the country and ruled with an iron fist. The is nothing more than a large mound with (at the time) snow covered steps up to the top. Archaeologists are hoping the tomb is still intact and full of regal wonders from over 200 years before the common era. Xián is also home of the Terracotta Warriors, which were also a part of Emperor Qin´s post life protection plan along with the rivers of mercury purported to flow inside the massive mound. When we were back within the ancient city walls around the old part of the city, we spent much of our time in the Muslim Quarter. It was a cozy little town, but soon we were on our way to Beijing.

Beijing

I feel bad for the poor athletes in this year´s Olympic Games. Even if they make major strides in thinning out the smog in the city, it will still be dirty air. I often found myself out of breath at the top of the stairs and upon arriving in the city I fell ill and tossed and turned in my little hostel bed for an entire day. Unfortunately Mao was under repairs while we were in town as were some of the major sites of the city. I doubt there has ever been such a large scale renovation of a city as the one that the Chinese are attempting to pull off in these last few months. The highlight of the city for me was cruising the small side streets called hutongs and watching the assemblage of faces flowing past.

The Great Wall

We made our way 2 hours outside of Beijing to walk along an unrenovated section known as the ¨secret wall¨. The smog was still thick in the air, but we were able to get an idea of how massive the fortification is. The Mongol hordes were able to get through without any problems by bribing the lonely and unloved guards watching over remote sections, but what a wall. Our guide was a little old Chinese woman who hobbled along with surprising speed up and down the hills while regaling us with stories and history in Mandarin. We just smiled and nodded, making up our own translations and continuing along.

Shanghai

Beijing is the cultural center of China and Shanghai is the economic one. Perched along a major waterway dividing the city in two, the place reeks of capitalism. We cruised along the waterfront walkway (the Bund) to the old town. It is one giant shopping extravaganza. At dusk on our last night in town we found ourselves on the top floor of the Hyatt in a swanky bar sipping on over-sized and overpriced glasses of Hennessy V.S.O.P. watching the lights come on. Along the water the sightseeing ferries made lazy loops while deftly avoiding the massive cargo ships. I felt like a god.

Huangshan

The next few weeks were spent moving inland through more rural terrain beginning with Huangshan, the famous Yellow Mountain. We arrived in the evening after a long bus adventure and prepared ourselves for a day of climbing. Our plan was to climb to the summit of the mountain, stay the night, and then get up early for the sunrise. Unfortunately we found ourselves inside of a cloud for the entire 7 hours of climbing up stairs. Occasionally the clouds would part long enough to see the jagged and amazing peaks, but it was only a tease. This was the first real weather disappointment on the whole trip, but the images I´ve seen of the mountain and especially the sunrise from the top in clear weather, only make me upset. I was there but could only see about 20 feet ahead of me, but my legs are bulging muscles.

Three Gorges

The damming of the Yangtze river by the 3 Gorges Dam has caused the water levels to rise considerably and will ultimately force the displacement of around 4 million people, but the energy yield will be equivalent to about 18 nuclear power plants. Even though the dam has flooded the reservoir to within 30 meters of the final depth the gorges are still a breathtaking sight. We cruised along upstream for a little over 2 days and made side journeys through the Little Three Gorges and the Mini Three Gorges in increasingly smaller boats. It was a time of slow reflection and was the relaxing breath of fresh air I needed after the bustle of the cities and the rigorous climb at Huangshan.

Fenghuang

One of the places that I was most looking forward to visiting was Fenghuang along the quiet Tuojiang River. It is supposed to be one of the last vestiges of pre-modern China with little buildings hovering precariously over the water. The Fenghuang that we found, though, was in the midst of a major makeover. The river itself still has the amazing views and picturesque look, but the place is becoming a Chinese yuppie paradise. Chinese yuppification is yuppification in perhaps its most depressing form. The whole place is practically being rebuilt with cheap looking imitations to house the throngs of tourists that flood the town and every shop along every road is filled with the exact same useless and expensive shit that its neighbors are pushing. For now, though, the illusion of the past has been able to survive along the waterfront and that is where we spent most of our time.

Wulingyuan

We were not sure what to expect from Wulingyuan but decided to give it a try. I had never even heard of the place before randomly stumbling across the name and a brief allusion to the amazing scenery in our guide book. It is perhaps the most beautiful place I have ever been. The landscape is straight from a Dr. Seuss acid trip and walking in the shadows of 1000 foot tall sandstone chopsticks I felt like I was in a dream. The fog lifted towards the end of the afternoon and we decided to take a ride up the theme-park lift to take in the views from above. Looking down some several hundred feet through a forest of rock towers I tried to soak in everything before the sun crept out of site and we were left nearly stranded in the park.

Yangshuo

Yangshuo was a continuation of the natural wonders of the karst land. We took a bike ride several miles through the rice fields stopping often to turn circles and gawk at the landscape. I expected a dinosaur to emerge from behind the hills at any moment and the light rain kept the roads virtually empty. We got turned around several times in little outcrops of houses with narrow winding alley-ways but eventually made it safely back to town with sore asses and covered in mud. Yangshuo was one of the few places in China I could actually see myself living in for any amount of time, but my time was quickly coming to an end in Asia.

Hong Kong

Hong Kong made Shanghai look like the boonies. Never have I spent so much time in shopping malls trying to navigate the city on foot. The only way to get from point a to point b is through malls c, d, e and f. The building we were staying in was a constant source of interesting sights, though. It is called the Chung King Mansion, but it is really an 18 story dilapidated building filled with several thousand people occupying rooms barely large enough to fit beds. The first two floors look like the distopian amusement park from A.I. with flashing lights and cheap electronic gizmos for sale in every little nook and cranny. Every nation in the world must have a representative in the building and if an extraterrestrial being wanted to hide out in anonymity this would be their place. Jacob left for Southeast Asia and I had a few days left before my flight so I took in a number of movies at the Hong Kong Film Festival which happened to coincide with my visit perfectly. Then it was off to the airport and back to the U.S. of A. for a couple days.

China in my rear-view mirror

I was glad to have visited China and glad to leave it. It has a long way to go before it can become the country of the 21st Century. I was amazing that Mao, the man responsible for more human deaths than any other person in human history, still graces every note of currency. There is still a mess of poverty hiding under the rug and the slick gloss being put on everything in preparation for the Olympics cannot hide the reality of the place. The Tibetan protest and the subsequent military clampdown are only the precursors for more conflicts and continuing and increasingly more violent protests. It is not in such dire straits as India, which has a population bursting at the seams and no money to spare, but it China does not begin to loosen its stranglehold on its people, something is bound to give way. Buildings now being built in earthquake prone areas are made to sway and flex as the ground moves so they can absorb the energy and remain standing while the rigid structures all buckle and collapse.

We left Ulaanbaatar the day after we arrived to get out into the ‘real’ Mongolia.  The country is about the size of Alaska and is home to 3.5 million people, half of whom live in UB.  The city is a mess, full of bustle and commerce…and pollution and traffic, but within the first 5 minutes out of the city I began to realize that Mongolia is a big, empty place.

 We set out in an old Russian military van from the early 80’s with our driver and our guide/chef.  The road began as a neatly paved affair, but soon we were bounding through the open desert following a weave of tracks over hills and through little ditches while swerving to avoid rocks and livestock.  I have done some offroading in my life, but never at 60 miles per hour.  There were no seat belts in the van, or ‘oh shit’ handles, so we bounced and slid and were tossed about for hours. 

Our first destination was a little ger (or yert) on the fringes of the Gobi Desert owned by a couple of senior citizens.  I hope when I reach 70 that I am still able to ride out into the desert to bring back a herd of wandering sheep and goats (but I also hope that I won’t have to).  Life of the people out in the countryside of Mongolia is full of work.  There is always something that needs to be done to keep life going; whether it is fetching water from the well or gathering dried dung for the fire, there is much to be done.

Spring is slowly creeping in again and the first unmistakable sign of the year was the one-day-old little goat that was keeping warm by the stove.  This was one of the first of the season and three more were born overnight.  The family would have to routinely go out and check for new ones to bring them in from their dangerous and cold new world. The nights are still too cold for little lambs.

Once we had settled in a little bit and I’d had my first cup of milk tea (sheep milk, water, salt, tea) I began to study the layout of the ger I was in.  These easily mobile structures have stuck around in most of Mongolia despite the fact that many of the occupants are no longer nomadic.  As I appreciated the simple and elegant efficiency of common room living, I began to relive some of my architectural ambitions which so consumed my visions of my future back in high school.  The whole family lives within the confines of a single room which is a living room, kitchen, dining room, and bedroom at various times of the day.  And it is so cozy against the hard winds whipping through the valley that you can’t help feeling at home.

We decided to do a little rock climbing in the early evening and I found myself again in awe of my surroundings as I had been in Tibet.  Before me was an enormous field stretching for lord knows how many miles before being interrupted by another little rocky outcrop like the one I had mounted.  I could see the herd out in the distance moving as an amorphous mess, eating what little grass was still clinging to the ground.  Overhead some vultures were circling and I realized I had been sitting motionless for over an hour.  These were massive nasty looking creatures with wingspans easily over 6 feet and as they briefly eclipsed the sun again and again I thought back to the Tibetan sky burials and quickly began a “life dance” (read spastic flailing of the limbs) to prove that I was not yet carrion.

The night was spent basking in the warmth of the dung fueled fire and the next morning we learned that we would be taking a horse ride.  I’m not much of a horse person, which is to say that aside from a couple controlled follow the leader exercises, I’ve never ridden.  Mongolian horses are war horses by their breeding, and history will tell us they’re not very shabby ones, so when we started out I was a bit nervous.  Somehow I managed to get stuck with the stubborn horse again, the one generally reserved for the hapless and usually white American, that serves to make him look a fool kicking and yelling commands while turning in circles or walking backwards.  Or maybe I just cannot ride a horse.

I’d like to say that I was charging across the plains, battle lance poised for a kill, but that would be a lie.  For much of the trip I was in tow behind the 70 year old man or the younger horseman that was our official guide.  My horse would trip over rocks and bob his head like Stevie Wonder and neigh and whinny; he would not go a single step without pitching a fit.  About two-thirds of the way through the trip I got it stuck in my head that this horse had it in for me and would wait for his chance to buck me off and trample me for the vultures to collect.  I took to walking and watched as Jacob and company trotted up to me and passed me at relatively great speed.  It would be suicide to try to live out here in times of war without a horse and the necessary skills for riding it.  My dreams of Khan roots came to an end.

After the horse ride, we had a lunch (all the food on the trip was prepared by our guide and was delicious, I even managed to put on a few pounds) and set out for the next destination: another ger, but this time in the steppes.  We were greeted by one of the happiest looking men I’ve seen in Mongolia and a pack of kids eager to play.  As the sun set and the evening set in, we built ourselves a campfire under the starry night and sang and laughed and drank with the family and our guide and our driver.  We went around in a circle singing song after song and convincing the shy kids to perform for us.  It was a magical evening and I though about all the wonderful times I’ve had around a camp fire. 

The sky was ablaze with stars like I hadn’t seen since Everest and I figured that this was probably as remote a place as I’d ever been. At the time I had no idea exactly where we were.  If someone handed me a map I could probably guess to within a few hundred miles, but by and large I was in the dark.  I have never in my life not known where I was except when in transit and even then I knew the starting point and ending point of the journey.  I realized that for the next 3 days I would be lost in the world and I embraced it with glee.  And then I sang a song.

The next day was my return to nature.  In the morning we hiked over to the ice waterfall, a lingering reminder of how cold it really gets in Mongolia, and I spent several hours reading, writing, drawing and thinking.  I wandered off a little later andclimbed down into a canyon where another river was still flowing along.  I hopped across the rocks and cautiously walked across little ice bridges.  I found a rock that looked like a chaise lounge and proceeded to lay myself out and bask in the sun, each hand dangling in the cold flow making little ripples that found each other a few yards downstream.

Being around a river always makes me thing two things these days.  The first is fly-fishing in Colorado and the bliss that goes along with that annual family pilgrimage, and the second is my aborted thesis project on the Philosophy of Time for which I spent many a day meditating on the metaphor of a river while trying to make sense of the fourth dimension.  I went through the rest of the day in a pleasant transcendence and while watching the sunset behind the mountains I thought fondly of Texas.

The next day we drove to the ancient capital of Karakorum where Genghis Khan presided over most of the known world (when he wasn’t out conquering it), though nothing of the former city is left after it was leveled by the Chinese in the 14th century.  We visited a monastery that has been destroyed and rebuilt and destroyed and rebuilt again over and over throughout it’s history before we drove into town and found our ger for the night.  The town is a very strange place and feels kind of like a maze for mice with high wooden fences lining every inch of the road.  It also reminded me of what I would expect to find in an old American colony town, except that it is located in a dusty desert.  Our expedition out across the place revealed no exciting epicenter of culture, only more gers and dozens of convenience stores with beer and candy. 

We made it back to our place and entered the fence.  All the gers in town were surrounded by these fort-like walls and I wondered why there was a need for protection.  Mongolia is a safe place I’ve heard aside from the pickpockets in Ulaanbaatar, but this place is built like the post-apocalyptic old west.  When night fell the reason became clear: dogs.  The whole place has become plagued by packs of stray dogs that have no fear of man.  Throughout the whole night hundreds of dogs could be heard barking from every direction with a maniacal abandon. 

We made it back to Ulaanbaatar the next day after a long drive and settled back into life in square rooms.  Then we set about the task of getting yet another visa for China.  They seem to enjoy making travel tough, bureaucratic, and expensive for American travellers.  I am amazed that I have little over three weeks left in Asia.  As they say, time flies.

Our second day in Tibet was to be the longest drive.  It took a good 8 hours to get to Lhatse and from the start I was not feeling up to the drive.  I had my first real bout of home-sickness and thought about all the people that have filled my life with joy back home in the states.  I closed my eyes and thought about Austin and then opened them back up to watch the Tibetan mountains slowly crawling past us.  It does not look like I expected it would up here and one could easily mistake this place for the desert mountains of Arizona or New Mexico.  It is very dry and there are not the fields of snow I expected.  The landscape is rugged, but in an arid sort of way.  I thought that there would be lush mountainous terrain with glacial rivers and foliage and an abundance of wildlife, but this place feels more like Mars than Colorado.  There are several places I have seen in the world that remind me I am on a rocky bubble of a planet amongst other, less hospitable bubbles in the solar system, and now Tibet is one of them.

Hello all, Jesse here. I’m posting this on Frank’s behalf as he is inside China at the moment. Not every day you get to help defy a major Communist nation (other than by purchasing Beastie Boys music, of course).

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Hello everyone, I’m writing from behind the Great Firewall of China so I cannot actually access this site myself, but I wanted to let everyone know that I have safely arrived in Lhasa and will be taking a train into mainland China today.  It is a 36 hour journey to Xi’an.
Tibet has been amazing.  I was not sure what to expect from this trip beyond cold nights and high altitude, but it has turned out to be a wonderful experience.  We travelled the first day in a microbus up to the Chinese border climbing higher and higher and winding through river valleys and past tiny Nepali towns.  We stopped at a tourist hotspot where paying customers could bungee jump off a narrow suspension bridge several hundred feet above the rocks and water below.

Our group, assembled from various different countries and backgrounds, is about 25 strong.  Most everyone is in their 20’s and we’ve become quite the crew.  Every night at dinner I marvel that we’ve only known each other for a few days as the conversation flows as smooth as the Lhasa beer, which has been consumed en masse (and would you believe that Pabst Blue Ribbon has made it’s way into Tibet?).  As we all stood on the bridge at the border waiting to get into China, Jacob and I thought about the implications of entering a communist country and the whole idea of a nation clicked into focus in my mind.

I was humbled by the landscape.  The river along the border is fresh and quick, cutting sharply down from the mountains, and there is a marked difference between China and Nepal.  The stoic soldiers and construction of massive new buildings made the Nepali side look a bit like a cozy little shanty town.  My paper visa passed the test and we were across.  From the border we all poured into five Land Cruisers and begin to make our way over the rough, unpaved road to Zhangmu.

The Chinese government began to pave the Friendship Highway last year and already they have almost completed the entire 700 or so kilometers to Lhasa.  The road itself is an amazing feat, but to think of how quickly it has been completed baffles the mind.  There is no doubt that once it is done, more and more goods and people are going to be cruising through this previously remote part of the world.  We got caught in some traffic due to construction and once we got into Zhangmu a wedding procession stopped us again.  Our group got out and watched as the bride and groom, looking rather glum, waded through the throngs of drunken revelers.

The first night into Tibet, I went out drinking with some of the guys and as we walked from bar to bar the cultural differences between a night out in Austin and a night out in Tibet became very apparent.  Climbing the steps up to one of the bars, the booming folksy-sounding Tibetan music that had drawn us in from the street became louder and louder and pulling aside the drape of a door revealed a nearly empty room.  It was very dark and there was a little dance floor occupied by 4 or 5 kids that looked to be no more than 16 years old performing some archaic looking circle dance.

With a few beers in my system I was quick to try out my dancing feet and I tried to follow the pattern of steps and kicks as we spun in lethargic circles.  My eager attempts to introduce new steps into the fold were met with looks that seemed to say “Who do you think you are?” so I spun and hopped and jumped my way back to the guys laughing at my failure.  The song hadn’t changed in what felt like years so we pressed on to the next bar, which was just like the previous one.

The next day I was moving slow and we had a long ride ahead of us to Lhatse.  Our driver had decked out his Land Cruiser with fancy seat covers and a fuzzy rear-view mirror dog slip and he insisted on playing his cassette of modern Tibetan dance music.  The incessant beats were driving my brain into a wall and the frequent English samples of lines like “Whys it gotta be so damn hot in here?” or “C’mon party people, get sexy!” were not funny enough to make up for the endless 30 minute loop of music.  I vowed there and then that I would buy another tape at the first opportunity, no matter what it might be.

“It is the middle of winter and I am somewhere in the highest mountain range in the world, outside and on my back looking at the stars from over 16,000 feet above sea level.” That’s the moment of realization that I had in Lobouche, when the magnitude of this trek began to set in.

I got sick the day before we left. I had made it all the way through India, eating at a number of places that should have made my stomach liquefy, without the slightest hint of illness, but one plate of Shahi Paneer in Kathmandu did me in. I was miserable, unable to sleep through the night, and barely able to swallow food let alone process it for energy and nutrition. I was in no shape to attempt the toughest climbing of my life, forget the fact that I am in less than peak physical condition and have not exercised regularly since…

Dawa will be our guide and he is a master of this mountain. He has been to the summit twice and is going again in a couple months with a man attempting to be the first open heart surgery patient to make the peak. It will be just the two of them going up the Tibet side and back down into Nepal. He feels no pain. He is immortal on this mountain. I feel good knowing that he will be there to pull me up to the top if I need it.

When the airport in Lukla finally was clear enough for our departure we climbed into a little bus and got shuttled out to a little prop plane on the tarmac. I had never been in a Twin Otter before. Before takeoff the stewardess, a beautiful Nepali woman, crouched down the aisle with a little basket full of candies and cotton balls. I deduced that the cotton was for our ears, as my view through the window was a close-up of the engine and propeller, and the candy must be handed out to sustain us for the first few hours after we crash into the mountains.

As we got closer in to the mountain the engines seemed to gasp a bit and I felt the bottom drop out. I looked out the front window and saw to my dismay a little spit of a runway angling up at about 45 degrees. There couldn’t have been more than 100 yards of it before a rock wall. I concentrated on breathing and began to open my first candy. Somehow we landed and spun around into a stop. The Koreans cheered and clapped.

We had been told that there was 2 feet of snow on the ground in Lukla, and while this turned out to be an overstatement, there was ice everywhere. I slipped and slid through most of the first two days to Namche Bazar where I succumbed to altitude sickness. I have never been higher than about 12,000 feet in my life and between my stomach and my lungs I was toasted. I tried to take my mind to the icicle waterfalls and magnificent suspension bridges from the hike to that point, but I couldn’t think about anything beyond the next 30 miserable seconds of existence. My head pounded and I was dizzy after climbing a flight of stairs. I knew that I wouldn’t make it up any farther and tried to think about how I would tell Jacob to go on without me.

The air was very thin and every time I exhaled, there was a panicked need to gasp in again. It came in waves. Sometimes I could go hours without thinking about breathing while other times I felt like I was constantly suffocating. That night it only got worse as it plummeted to 25 degrees below zero. The little room we were staying in had nothing in the way of insulation and I got little fits of sleep between long hours of shaking and coughing. And then…a miracle. The sun rose, I took an Immodium, and I had acclimated. Base Camp became a realizable goal again and I felt like a champ as I climbed up over the first ridge and Everest came into view.

Most people are lucky to catch a glimpse of the peak through rolling clouds, but we were very, very lucky. There was nary a cloud in sight and the mountain looked crisp against the sky blue sky. The few initial minutes of glory turned into hours of heavy breathing and labored walking. We had revisited our packing decisions in Namche Bazar and decided there were a good many (heavy) things that we could do without. Still, the 500 meter climb from the riverbed to Tengbouche made my legs rubber. We were done for the day.

The little towns that dot the map up to base camp all have the same basic accommodation: tea houses. Each tea house is made from exactly the same materials, those that made their way up the mountain on the back of some poor Sherpa porter, but the mood is set by the decorations, the people, and the fuel for the fire. In Namche Bazar, Jacob and I were the only foreign trekkers and we spent much of our time in the cozy little room with Dawa, the women that owned the place, and the kid that did all of the grunt work. There were windows on all the walls, they played festive Nepali music, and they burned wood.

In Tengbouche the tea house was packed full of people. There were two old French couples in their 60’s chatting a bit and laughing on the outside, crying on the inside, when they had to go outside to use the Sherpa toilet. The inside toilets all freeze up in the winter leaving the cold breezy hole out back as the only option. Their Sherpa guide was nearly as old as they were and I don’t suspect they were planning on reaching base camp with the way they handled the climate. There was an Indian man who had been living in Hong Kong for a few years chatting with an American man who had been living in Taiwan and each of them had a Sherpa there to lead them up the mountain. We saw the Indian man again a few days later trudging his way along the rocks to base camp and we chatted a bit more with the American about where we should travel in China. I cozied up in the corner and began discreetly drawing the faces I saw. Soon a young British couple came in with their guide and everyone tried to get as close as they could to the Franklin stove in the center of the room. In Tengbouche, the fuel for the fire is dried Yak dung.

The next morning we set out to Dingbouche and our bodies had become well-oiled machines, pressing ever onward, ever upward. We began to lose people as they stopped to continue acclimating in Tengbouche or Dingbouche, but we continued unfazed. There was a pair of young Brits that had been trekking together through Dingbouche, but only one, Joe, remained. Paul had apparently turned back due to the heights. Joe and Paul made Jacob and I look like a professional team of climbers. They had bummed in from Thailand a few days earlier and were just winging it up the mountain. Joe had a cheap sleeping bag, some cheap boots and a cheap jacket that he’d bought in Kathmandu. He was practically wearing pajama pants and there had been a rumor amongst the travelers in Tengbouche that he’d gone for a dip in the glacial runoff of a river.

Joe had been a Royal Marine for a few years and served in both Afghanistan and Iraq. He joined the service at 18 to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather and personal hero, but found life in the service to be too much for him after a few years. He never saw any action and described his time in Afghanistan as a 6 month mountain hiking tour with guns. They were looking for Al Qaeda in little towns long after they had fled across the border, so they spent their tour of duty wandering the beautiful countryside in 2 week spurts. In Iraq he again was spared of action, but the wear and tear of a life in the war zone brought about a change in his outlook and he came back to Britain to go to school to become a teacher. When that couldn’t keep his interest he set out to the mountains of Nepal for a while. Now he was freewheeling up to Lobouche with meager supplies and dwindling funds. Paul had most of the money with him when he turned back down the mountain, so Joe had to move quickly if he wanted to get to the top. As we climbed up along a glacier we could see his little backpack bounding quickly onward up ahead.

Lobouche is an extreme little outpost. It sits at over 16,200 feet above sea level and the air has little oxygen to feed the blood. Everything is frozen, crisp and clear and the peaks look too close for comfort. Once we arrived I wandered out onto a ridge and had a beautiful moment with the sun. My shadow was cast out across the valley of rocks and ice and I felt significant in time and space. I thought about the glaciers that ran thickly past Lobouche within the last couple decades before retreating back up the mountain. Along the path that day we came upon a beautiful memorial site for the climbers that have lost their lives attempting to top Everest. The rock stupas were perched at the top of a steep slope in full view of a multitude of amazing looking mountains.

I thought much of the rest of the day about my aunt, Anne Kearl, who had hiked this very trail a number of years back before she died of cancer. I was too young to really know her before she passed away, but I suspect that we would have gotten along famously. My shadow sat down with me for a while and we watched the light changing across the snow and ice which was clinging to a 20,000 foot peak.  Then the sun set and I returned alone to the tea house.

Joe was in bad shape and retired early. He pushed too hard and was now living with the consequences. Jacob and I decided to take advantage of the clear night and we put on as many layers of clothes as we had and went out to see the stars. I cannot begin to do justice to the mirror ball that was the sky. We had to lie down to let it all soak in. The Milky Way was a dirty splash of light, the Seven Sisters were joined by several new sisters I had never seen before and Orion wore a glimmering coat of starry armor. We talked about the world that was stuck to our backs as satellites and shooting stars came closer than they ever had before. We were out there for about an hour, our extremities slowly losing feeling and succumbing to the winter’s chill, before going to our frosty room and shivering in our sleeping bags for a few hours.

When I woke up the next morning it dawned on me that I had been abroad for exactly one month. It was clear outside and we were going to be mounting Kala Patthar to take advantage of the perfect Everest viewing conditions. On my first day in India I had seen the Taj Mahal and now, bookending my first month would be an Everest view from over 18,200 feet above sea level. We hiked through Gorak Shep, home of the last permanent structures on the trail, and left our bags behind to make the little hop up the little mountain. We had over 1600 vertical feet to climb and the higher we got the windier it became. By the end I was gasping for air as I let the wind carry my wilted body from rocky point to rocky point. I was carried up the last 40 feet or so just moving my legs and holding out my arms for balance. At the top Jacob, Dawa, and I sat behind the shelter of a big rock, taking turns to explore the little outcrop at the top.

And there was Everest, right there… I felt like a god.

The views are too amazing for words, so here are a couple images and links to videos Jacob took from what is probably the highest place I will ever be:

Some links to videos from our epic climb: