October 2, 2009
We are back from our stroll in the Himalaya’s. :) We had a wonderful, if not strenuous time. We began early and didn’t get into our “tea-house” accommodations until a couple of hours after dark each of the past two days. In Nepal you do not move horizontal. You are either moving up or down. We flew up from Kathmandu to Pokhara a few days ago and that same day traveled further up two hours by van to a trail head and then trekked further up about 6 hours to our first stop. It was a good thing we brought rain gear. The rain organized a greeting party and came down in sheets to welcome us. Too bad we didn’t bring flashlights because when darkness fell down we were still moving up.
By the first night, when we reached our destination we were all exhausted. Our very polite Nepali guides kept saying, we’re just a couple of hours more till we arrive… After awhile this encouragement ceased to be uplifting or even amusing. I think most of us had used up our constitutions and burned through our by-laws. It was, however, a good opportunity for us to put our faith into high gear and trust we would arrive at our dark destination. Throughout it all we remained cheerful in a flagging sort of way with one another, and with God, thanking Him for strength as we moved up into the night through puddles of moonlight. We trusted Him quite literally to be a Guide our feet and a light to our path. We carried one another across rain-swollen rivers, and finally into a little pool of light where our inn popped out of the dark. I thought about this little poem as we trekked upwards:
the heights by great men reached and kept
were not attained by suddle flight
but they while their companions slept
were striving upwards in the night
--Longfellow
The next morning we got up and out of camp by 8 am on a 21 km trek through the foothills. We splashed through creeks, rivers, waterfalls; climbed up one mountain side and down another along rocky paths and sloping meadows. We hoofed it up endless slate steps that had been placed with untold woman and man-hours. We passed porters lugging packs bigger than they were, straining and sweat-staining against the bands around their foreheads. Passers-by up and down trafficked along the foot- path highway as each rose or fell to the occasional hill.
Never has it been clearer that life itself is a journey one must make on his or her own two feet. It’s about endurance, a marathon indeed rather than a sprint. It’s about going together, not alone. It’s about holding each other’s hand so the night doesn’t claim you. It’s about singing faith into your own heart, and the heart of your companions, so doubt doesn’t dampen your spirit, so the pernicious voice doesn’t impugn with whisperings, “this journey is for another; you’re not made of the stuff that will survive this trek.” It’s about praying for each other, arranging a pony to be shared among three of the party who came up lame, tired, or nauseated. It wasn’t a journey to be taken alone. And, in the end, we arrived at our destination--together, smiling, sore, satisfied. Five of the seven of us checked into the Landmark Hotel and then we all ate lunch together at a lakeside restaurant. I stared my whole fish in the eye and asked if he had any idea who or what was eating him :)
The rest of the group stayed in Pokhara for the night while Bethyl and I hailed a cab to the airport. Sabash and the two of us flew the half-hour back to Kathmandu in a little prop jet run by Agri Air. Once in our room we crashed for the night and didn’t emerge again, batteries drained down to the red-line.
