"In other days, I understood mountains differently, seeing in them something that abides. Even when approached respectfully (to challenge peaks as mountaineers do is another matter) they appalled me with their "permanence", with that awful and irrefutable rock-ness that seemed to int intensify my sense of my own transience. Perhaps this dread of transcience explains our greed for the few gobbets of raw experience in modern life, why vioence is libidinous, why lust devours us, why soldiers choose not to forget their days of horror: we cling to such extreme moments, in which we seem to die, yet are reborn. In sexual abandon as in danger we are impelled, however briefly, into that vital present in which we do not stand apart from life, we are life, our being fills us; in ectasy with another being, loneliness falls away into eternity. But in other days, such union was attainable through simple awe."

Perhaps this quote from "The Snow Leopard" helps me undertand my unexplained fascination with the mountains. While my father and grandfather always loved the sea, I have always been drawn as far from sea-level as possible. I'll never forget my excitement the first time I laid eyes on the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, having reached them from a bicycle across the Great Plains of the United States, tears in my eyes. Since then, I have lived and travelled in the Rockies as well as the Andes Mountains in South America. It was with great excitement that I arrived in the Himalaya, the highest mountains in the world (Nepal itself has 8 of the 10 highest mountains in the world).
After 2 nights in Katmandu, I headed to Besisahare to begin trekking the Annapurna Circuit, a 200+ km, 2 week loop around the Annapurna Himalaya massif, including the 8th highest mountain in the world (Annapurna 1, 26,300 feet, 8091 meters).

The trek started only a few hundred meters above sea-level, and the first several days were hiking through hot, sub-tropical forests. We passed hillsides of terraced rice-paddies and other agriculture, and even saw monkeys. The trail ascended the deep Marsyangdi River valley, so most of the views were of the surrounding low hillsides. Nonetheless, our first night's stop allowed for a distant view of the distant snow-covered "Kang Guru" peak, which at just under 7,000 meters, was the highest mountain I had ever seen up to then (although not by much-- Argentina's Aconcagua, the highest mountain in the Western Hemisphere, which I had seen back in September while skiing in the Andes, is less than 50 m lower). It looked so close, yet after examining the map I realized that we would spend the next several days walking through valleys approaching it.

My guide's name was Dinesh. We was a friendly, shy, 22 year old Nepali of Indian descent. His english was mediocre, but good enough to communicate the basics. Nonetheless, I soon discovered that asking any sort of complex question was usually more trouble than it was worth. I liked him, though, and could tell that he truly wanted to please me.

One of the things which surprised me in the first few days was how well made the path was. It even had extraordinary cable suspension bridges crossing the river every 5-10 km, some spanning over 100 meters. I was also surprised with the lack of wilderness on the trek-- I had expected the Himalaya to be much less populated, but the trail was complete with lodge/restaurants all along the way. At first I was disappointed, thinking that all of this was made especially for the tourists. But soon I realized that, while there were lots of us, foreigners were still the minority, as this region has been inhabited for millenia, serving as a trade route between Tibet, Nepal, and India to the south. The well worn trail and bridges were the Nepali version of an interstate highway--but instead of 18-wheelers, there were enormous mule-trains, averaging at least 25 animals each (I estimate I saw well over 1000 mules over the course of the trek--while interesting at first, they became quite annoying, not only because their crap and urine covered the trail, but also because they were not particularly cautious about running into you with their heavy loads).

The guesthouses we slept in were quite comfortable and enjoyable (after I got used to the idea that this wasn't going to be a trip into the wilderness). Most of them had electricity and hot (or at least lukewarm) showers. They are the present extension of the ancient teahouses which served travellers and traders in older times (and still serve them today for that matter) and are an interesting combination of old and new modern influences. For example, while the menus would always have traditional Nepali "Dhal Bhaat" (rice with lentils and vegetable curry, very delicious), they would also have Nepali attempts at international food such as pizza, lasagna, tacos and, of course, Yak burgers and steaks!

After 3 or 4 days of gradual ascent, we left the subtropical climate into cooler, more temperate areas. There were forests of pine as well as oak and other broad leaved trees which, in the late October fall climate, were changing colors. The foliage, as well as locally grown apples, reminded me of back home in New England, where fall is also in full force.

At that point, the mountains, which previously would only be glimpsed sporadically over the valley walls, were beginning to appear much closer. By the time we were in Pisang by the 5th day, we were right at the foot of Annapurna II. I even saw a small distant avalanche as I was walking by-- at first, I thought I saw a cloud, but then realized since there were no other clouds on the mountain, and it was moving slowly down, it was actually snow. The sheer wall was just stunning, and I loved how the colors changed with the position of the sun throughout the day. As much as I attempted to photograph it, I ultimately concluded no matter how hard I tried, it would be impossible to do justice to the scene in a photograph. Everything is just to big--what comes out as a white triangle on the screen doesn't begin to capture the magnificience of the mountain. Even with the highest resolution photo, it is impossible to capture the fine detail and contrast of the sky, clouds, snow, and stone.

The longer I spent in Nepal, the more I realized that it is simply impossible to describe the features of a "typical" Nepali, as their is great diversity among the people here. Nepal is a tiny country squeezed between the two giants of India and China (since Tibet has been annexed, that is). The people, as well as their culture, consists of mixed influences from both places. Some Nepalis (like Dinesh) appear more Indian, while others (especially in the North near the border with Tibet) are more Asiatic in their appearance (I'm not sure if that's the right term to use). As we trekked further north, near the border with Tibet, the Tibetan influence grew stronger.

After 5 days, I was surprised and concerned when Dinesh told me that he had pain when he urinated. I asked him about what was wrong, and his symptoms strongly suggested a urinary tract infection, not serious in and of itself, but potentially complicated considering our location, schedule, and the fact that we were headed higher up and further away from civilization. Fortunately, our destination for that day was Manang, where they had a medical clinic as well as an airstrip, with several flights in and out per week. After seeing the doctor (the rate for foreigners was $30U.S., while for Nepalis it was less than $1.50!), who confirmed my diagnosis, Dinesh was prescribed antibiotics, which would clear up the infection in a few days. Unfortunately, his condition worsened in the night, and he woke me up in intense pain to ask if I had any painkillers, which I arranged for him to receive from two French nurses who were staying in the same lodge, and he was able to sleep through the night. The following morning, after some convincing from me to not continue on, Dinesh headed back down on his own. The infection would hopefully clear up with the antibiotics, and he could take a flight out in an emergency. He had also been in contact with his boss at the trekking agency in Katmandu. Fortunately, part of the money I had paid for the trek went to buy insurance for the guide.

Nonetheless, I did feel a bit guilty about leaving him on his own. I was quite confident for myself, however, as I knew that with such a well marked path and so many other hikers, it would be virtually impossible to get lost, and would not be alone if I ran into problems.

Continuing up from Manang, I crossed above the treeline as I approached Thorung La Pass, and the weather continued to get colder. On the morning I crossed the pass, it was icy cold, completely quiet, and stunningly beautiful as I ascended up the slope on my own. I was thrilled to see a group of Blue Sheep (Bharal), the ancient cross between a goat and sheep described in Peter Matthieson's "The Snow Leopard", cross my path (Like Matthieson, I was eluded by the Snow Leopard itself). I climbed for 3 hours before reaching the summit at 5,400 meters (17,769 feet!), the second highest I've ever been. There was snow and ice all around and, despite the bitter cold, I stayed on top for almost an hour.

It took 9 days to reach the pass, but only 5 to descend on the other side. I was able to cover much more ground because it was downhill (the exception was going from Tatopani to Ghorepani, where in 7 hours of virtually straight climbing, I climbed almost a vertical mile back up!) I visited several Buddhist temples along the way, and also Muktinah, a holy site for both Hindus and Buddhists. Every year, thousands of Hindu pilgrims come to see the flames created by natural gas there. Going out, I descended the Kali Gandaki river, which flows down from Tibet, through Mustang, and ultimately across the Ganges Plains of India into the Indian Ocean. The gorge it creates is supposedly the deepest in the world, and is quite dramatic. Along the way, it passes right by Dhaulagiri--the world's 6th largest peak!

After 14 days of hard trekking I reached Naya Pul 2 days earlier than planned. The last 2 hours into Pokhara was by bus, which felt like cheating, but was alot of fun because I got to sit on the roof and see the incredible view of the lake as we descended the steep precarious mountain roads into the city.
The next day in Pokhara, I had an excellent time renting a motorbike and zooming around the surrounding region. Not as fast or powerful as a fully motorcycle, it's quite a step up from the bike I'm used to, and was plenty fast enough for me to have a great time weaving in and out of traffic on the left hand side of the road.

The following day I headed back to Katmandu bright and early, arriving after 7 hours in the afternoon. After checking into a hotel, I looked into bungy jumping at the Last Resort, which is supposedly the world's highest (although I've discovered it's a more complicated and controversial call than I had realized). Nonetheless I celebrated my successful completion of the hike with a trip out there yesterday. It was quite intimidating to stand on the edge of the platform, looking 160 meters down, relying on nothing more than an oversized rubber band to save you. I realized that bungee jumping--jumping off a bridge-- is a completely irrational act. That's why I didn't think about it when I jumped, and just quietly dropped into the air. It was quite a long free fall--about 3-4 seconds, giving you enough time to overcome the initial panic of the fall, and actually perceive, even think about, the fact that you are in the air, falling rapidly towards the earth. It was a pretty extraordinary experience, and I'm glad I did it (despite being very expensive)--nonetheless, I'll still take skiing in the long run.

As much as I enjoyed my time here in Nepal, it also made me wonder about the impact I had here-- overall, was it good or bad? The Nepalis I spoke with were all grateful of the tourism which gives them jobs. Moreover, I think it's paternalistic, in a sense, to talk about "ruining" local culture by coming here. Yes, the influence foreigners have here certainly changes things, but many if not most of the changes are brought about and embraced by local people. In my experience, most "villagers" don't necessarily choose that lifestyle, and would gladly change their way of life if they could (one example was the "100 rupee lama" (Buddhist monk) I met after hiking up the mountain from Manang to his cliffside dwelling. After paying 100 rupees for a blessing, he tried to sell me a bead necklace for about $8--I thought that was pretty symbolic) After all, our ancestors all lived in villages at some point in history before joining to form more complex societies). Nonetheless, unless you choose to just ignore the poverty here, it's quite awkward, to say the least. I couldn't help feel strange yesterday when, walking back up the gorge to the resort after the bungee jump, the path passed through a village where, what I just spent for about 4 seconds is several months of income.

I'm flying out in a few hours to Bangkok, and am really looking forward to visiting my good friend Weijie next weekend in Singapore. I'd right more, but I need to head to the airport so I don't miss my flight!