Prayer Wheels

I first intended to go to India a few years ago, but instead fell hard for a remarkable woman and cut my trip short. But it wasn’t meant to be and two strong personalitie soon found themselves frustrating one another. One year later I was again dreaming of India.

In the Khumbu Himalaya of Nepal, prayer flags, prayer wheels, and mani walls line the paths I trek. As is the Buddhist custom, they are always passed on the left and as I encounter the wheels, I give them a spin, and for each one think of a loved one, past or present, in the winds of the Himalaya.

In Tengboche, I visit a monastery and spend an afternoon in the cold room at twelve thousand feet, open doors, monks bowed and chanting, accompanied by occasional music. I watch from the dark as streams of light silhouette the rhythmically gyrating saffron robes and the air is thick with incense and frosted breath.

It is peaceful, the chanting, and I close my eyes, sitting cross-legged on the carpets in the corner and wish I could lie down and fall asleep here; for it to never stop.

Today, as is her wish, and for reasons I’ll never understand, our relationship is estranged. But after another morning in the monastery, I leave, breathe the cold mountain air, and return to spinning the prayer wheels, wishing peace for her and all.

Hike, eat, sleep and repeat

Yaks perform only above ten thousand feet; the cows below sixty five hundred. They cross bred them to fill in the gap and the mixed breed works inbetween. How is it I’m expected to function at all these elevations? I’m not even from around here.

Acclimitization days we hike packless, generally climbing 1200 feet or so, then return, eat, sleep, and wait for the next days climb. After each rest, dahl baht and tomato egg drop soup, we are all psyched for another day of climbing; to take the next step.

Aside from that anticipation, it’s barren. From the menu, to the accommodations, to the landscape. It’s cold, windy, and colorless. But the mountains are tremendous, this place is big. It’s a place of dreams, when sleep comes and even a midnight bathroom trip is a heart racer.

Completely Unprepared

Compared to India, Kathmandu is almost a cheat. Crossing the street is almost easy. There are a couple stop lights, the occasional sidewalk, and not a single sign of livestock. Thats not to say you couldn't get yourself killed, but with no cow patties to hop, no hagglers to dodge, and temperatures back in the pleasant range, a lot of the challenges have been removed.

Regardless, today was a bit exhausting as we whipped around town in cabs and on foot, following Perwa Sherpa as we raced along to finalize permits and tickets, secure the last minute cold weather gear, and gather with the mountaineers around a map.

Tomorrow is the twelfth anniversary of Jon Krakauer's summit in the book, Into Thin Air. We've got the book and a six a.m. Yeti Airlines flight into the Everest region.

We ain't comin' out for twelve days.

Hey Doc, I got this wrist thing see...

Somewhere between doctor and nurse is a term for Darlene's job that doesn't seem to exist in other countries.

Physicians Assistant? Never heard of it.

Nurse? Blasphemous!

Doctor? Hmmmm.

You're a doctor? Well, now that you mention it... Every one seems to have a little something that's bothering them, but no, they haven't been to the doctor and maybe you could just take a look at it?

Darlene was called into service today. Our guides older brother punched out someone while gallantly defending the honor of his clients, a mother and daughter pair. Or so the story goes.

However it played out, the guy had a serious wrist injury. I could tell by the jolt and grimmace whenever she poked it; "does this hurt?" Yes, it obviously hurts.

I've never seen Darlene work before, but today she was a star.  Operating with dull shears, a razor blade, a bucket of water, and cast plaster, she had all she needed to sink into her element, a buzz of activity, questions, and care.

A line formed mid operation and a second wrist was examined and prescribed a simple, "if doing that hurts, then don't do it." Plus a couple aspirin.

When all was done, she had rendered an impressive removable cast to one happy customer. We were later invited to their home, his mother gave cooking lessons and we dined on the best food we've had yet.

A Flower for Mom

A childs hands arranged a small banana leaf bowl adorned with bright orange flowers and a centerpiece tea light candle. We were adrift in a small wooden boat on the Ganges River.

Her tiny voice instructed me as we lit the wick, then I sat in quiet reflection for a moment, thinking of loved ones gone, most specifically, my mother.

As the sun set, I lower the craft into the water and sent the light afloat on India's holiest river.

Getting the hang of it

What kind of holy animal lies in it's own shit? Rats wont even do that.

I boated down the Ganges River at sunrise this morning, past the blazing riverside crematorium fires and alongside several dead, bobbing bodies wrapped in burial cloths. After lunch I walked back up the river along the ghats. A lot of stuff happened in between, but as I walked, I watched dead, naked cows float by. Cows are sacred and when they die, they are dignified with a toss into the Ganges. As I stood watching them drift by, I couldn't help but wonder if the carrion birds riding the bobbing steak are worthy of such a holy meal.

Yesterday, I was attacked by a cow. Karma? I think it was just a warning, because one firmly placed hand on it's head redirected it's aggression.

In the days before cars and rickshaws, the vehicles of the Gods were animals. Shiva used cows, or perhaps bulls. Regardless, thats why cows are sacred and it's illegal to kill them (though I see them getting whacked with sticks a lot).

Hinduism has three primary gods, as part of the trimurti: a creator, a sustainer, and a destroyer.

Shiva is the god of Varanasi and the Ganges. He's the destroyer. If you don't believe me, ask his son, Ganesh. Shiva chopped his head off in a case of mistaken identity and barely saved his life by replacing it with one from a baby elephant. Ganesh is a favorite of the people because he eats lots of sweets, is a bit rotund, and quite jovial. If you had an elephant head, you'd have to have a good sense of humor.

It's all rather complicated, but I visited a number of temples today and i think I'm finally getting the hang of it.

I really quite fancy Ganesh, actually.

Morning Chai

I woke up this morning on a train crossing the Ganges Valley in India. The day was already hot when I moved from the air-conditioned coach to the open doorway, but the movement of the train kept it fresh. I stood watching kids playing in the fields, waving to us as we passed, a hot chai in one hand, a warm samosa in the other. I slept well and stretched to welcome a new day.

Last night we stiffed our driver after he flew into the parking lot a few hundred meters from the train station. We had minutes to catch our train and the old man, a faithful hare krishna, ran from his car to fetch a young porter, who then raced us on foot, thru alleyways and across parking lots in total darkness to the station.

Running up the stairs, we learned out train was an hour late. Lucky us.

Or so we thought.

We tipped the porter and sent him back to the driver to thank him and explain. The old man came back to us beeming and we tipped him well.

It wasn't his fault we were late; in addition to the ever-present traffic, there was massive construction five kilometers from the station. (There were also blinding sandstorms, but they stopped when it started to pour.) The clock reset to noon everytime he powered off the vehicle, so we weren't sure what time it was, but could more or less add up the minutes passing us by. While he sat in his seat, his face buried in his hands, we formulated plans B and C, which were mercifully unnecessary.

At the station, the hour delay turned to two, three, and four plus. Each time the departure time encroached, it disappointed. We sat on the platform, perched atop our backpacks staring into the tracks, fighting sleep, and waiting for that train.

Under the stale warmth of the platform lights, the scene was pretty banal, minus the adolescent three ring circus piled high over the bench of two young female travelers and the wily bearded man with a grain sack that found infinite jest in pestering a young man for his plastic bottle. Meanwhile, we were the quiet center stage in a sea of stares, engulfed by dropped jaws and devoted awe.

When I finally laid down in my berth, sleep came fast and as the train rattled along India's rails, I knew there was no where else I wanted to be.

Eviction

The Nepalese Royal family has been evicted from their palace as a result of the Maoists winning a democratically held election. They've also been slapped with an overdue one million dollar utility bill. How embarrassing; you'd expect the palace manager could have better kept up on the royal expenses.

A Great Place to Bring a Date

This morning I watched the sun rise over the Taj Mahal. I sat on its smooth marble steps and marveled in it's cool interior.

They say it's the greatest building ever built for love.

Probably true.

But if I were a Maharaja (in those times), I would have put a swimming pool in the center, entombed my lover below, and enjoyed this sensational building on a daily basis.

Timeless

Pssst. Hey, are you awake?

Yeah.

Turn on your camera. I want to know what time it is.

She reaches for her camera and turns it on. We have no watches, no clocks. Every room in the hotel displays a completely unrelated time from the other rooms. Even the computers in the cafe are only within a couple hours of each other.

We flew on one ten, one six, and one four hour flight to get here. We crossed the international date line, zipped thru time zones, and traveled with the sun thru our internal clock's night-time hours.

The camera is the only item we have that tells time and it's only accurate to within a couple hours. But whats more interesting is that we have no idea what the date is.

That's just the way I like it.

Its Absurd, But its Real

Photographically speaking, this place is explosive. The colors are brilliant, the chaos is charged, the absurdity is invigorating. But what I see, sense, and feel is not yet captured by the lens, not to my liking.

We shoot all morning, walking the streets, surrounded by assertive people full of hope to a commission for unwanted services rendered. Tired, we break for the sancity of lunch and hold an enthusiastic review of the days field sessions over thali and lassis.

The mornings playbook was bold, but blank. Darlene deflected unwanted solicitors like an offensive linesman, while I danced thru the busy streets like a quarterback, my camera cocked and ready for action. We were surrounded, a complete canvasing of solicitations. We've discovered that speaking together in Spanish, even complete gibberish Spanish, turns the masses away. Though one hardy soul persisted beyond comprehension, but eventually huffed off seriously postulating, "Lady, are you crazy?"

Nicely done girl, they think you are nuts.

No Guidebook Necessary

Bangkok and its curry welcomed me back for the third time. Like an old friend, we dined on fresh fish, caught an excellent soccer game, drank some beer, and wandered together on a timeless morning.

It was a quick, eighteen hour affair, an easy transition back into Asian culture, a soft step to prepare for the culture shock of India. It was so smooth, we didn't even bring a map.