DAY #1 - April 28
April 26 - 28. Before starting the trek we stayed in Pokhara for two days to recuperate from a medical mission camp above Waling.
From our second floor room at the Home Family House Hotel we could barely see Fishtail straight ahead. To the left the range continues. The lead doctor on the medical camp, Del Endres met Mukti, the industrious owner of the clean and well-located hotel six years ago when he was still a trekking porter.
My own Shangri la. Trekking in the Himalayans? Years ago if someone predicted I'd travel to Nepal and do such a thing at age 40 or 50 I would have thought them looney. But at age 67? Never! Heck, as a farm girl growing up in Kansas I didn't even know how to spell Kathmandu. It was the same caliber as the mystical Shangri la. Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz was more likely, with the mid-west flatland. Tornadoes and all.
Never say never. In the spring of 2013 I had my own version of a Shangri la experience trekking down the harmonious valleys and up and over mountains of the Himalayans. But it wasn't easy. In fact the first day was the worst. Come to think of it, many worthwhile experiences in life aren't easy.
After an early start in Pokhara, and a very long van ride, our arrival in Beni was anticipated and lunch was soon ready. From experience I know better then to eat before trekking. We were barely 30 minutes up the hillside when I began to feel sluggishly uncomfortable. To make matters worse - much worse - we started the uphill trek in the heat of the afternoon. I'm from the Arizona desert, but I know my body. Heat, uphill, and a full stomach is not a good combination for me. What works best for me is to start early in the morning, with little or no breakfast, and let my body acclimate to the heat. But I didn't set the time table. Within minutes my internal thermometer was soaring. I was brutally hot. To make matters worse I seem to be the only one having trouble. I know enough when to cry 'Uncle.'
I knew something had to be done if I was going to make it to the end of the day. Much less survive the 10 day trek. Part of the prooblem was my brand new SundayAfternoons hat. The kind with the wide brim and flap that hangs down the back of the neck. Two thumbs down. It wasn't breathing. And neither was I. This hot-headed woman tried to do without the hat, but the sun was too intense. "Does anyone have scissors or a knife?" I pleaded.
As the other trekkers came to a halt on my behalf, Amrit (whom I came to admire as a patient Nepali saint) whipped out a penknife and slashed my new hat. "Are you sure this is what you have in mind?" Amrit looked up doubtfully.
"Yes," I nodded. I didn't care. I needed air. I also found the humidity level awfully high. Remember I'm an arid desert rat. Hat on head I trekked on another quarter-mile. The ventilation in the newly slashed hat wasn't cutting it. I stuffed it in my backpack.
Beforehand I read that in this primarily Hindu and Buddhist country it is culturally frowned upon to bare one's shoulders. But understand, I was dying of the heat. Off came my beloved white Columbia PFG long-sleeved shirt that saw me across northern Spain on the Camino de Santiago. (www.Linscaminodesantiago.weebly.com) Now I'm stripped down to a sleeveless runner's shirt. I would rather risk frowns and a sunburn then heat stroke which was sneaking up on me fast.
The Nepalis did not frown. Amrit could see my physical distress and poured water over my head. He asked first. I whipped out my purple bandana, and he poured water on that too. I put the wet bandana on my head and my pink baseball cap on top. I must have looked like a clown. I didn't care. Amrit offered to carry my backpack. I resisted. I'm not that much of a sissy! - even though I do love pink and purple.
Fifteen minutes later, when I was still sweltering, Amrit asked again. Reluctantly I accepted his offer to carry my backpack. Even worse, he insisted on carrying my fanny pack to lighten the load. I could only imagine what the other trekkers are thinking. "How in the world is she going to finish this 10-day trek?" I was wondering the same thing. Looking ahead, each of the three other women would also succumb to having their backpacks carried for several days. The guys also had their moments when they didn't feel so swell either.
I live at 2,600 feet elevation. Today we nearly doubled our altitude - from 2,723 to 5,007 feet. But that wasn't really the problem. I've trained for this altitude and more. Primarily I was still sick from "the mysterious virus," I caught in Kathmandu from my roommate, Donna. I had been coughing like no tomorrow for the last week during the medical camp in the two villages above Waling. Having strained my vocal chords by now I was as croaky as a toad.
Upon reaching the village we climb stairs to our second story dwelling. I found the stairway going down to be treacherous. I waited my turn as village women washed clothes and another washed cooking pots. I refilled my water bottle and shampooed my hair as another villager looked on. Doubled over in a squat position under the faucet I had trouble getting the shampoo out of my hair and ears. Perhaps in the interest of time the on-looker jumped up and rinsed out the remaining suds.
Never say never. In the spring of 2013 I had my own version of a Shangri la experience trekking down the harmonious valleys and up and over mountains of the Himalayans. But it wasn't easy. In fact the first day was the worst. Come to think of it, many worthwhile experiences in life aren't easy.
After an early start in Pokhara, and a very long van ride, our arrival in Beni was anticipated and lunch was soon ready. From experience I know better then to eat before trekking. We were barely 30 minutes up the hillside when I began to feel sluggishly uncomfortable. To make matters worse - much worse - we started the uphill trek in the heat of the afternoon. I'm from the Arizona desert, but I know my body. Heat, uphill, and a full stomach is not a good combination for me. What works best for me is to start early in the morning, with little or no breakfast, and let my body acclimate to the heat. But I didn't set the time table. Within minutes my internal thermometer was soaring. I was brutally hot. To make matters worse I seem to be the only one having trouble. I know enough when to cry 'Uncle.'
I knew something had to be done if I was going to make it to the end of the day. Much less survive the 10 day trek. Part of the prooblem was my brand new SundayAfternoons hat. The kind with the wide brim and flap that hangs down the back of the neck. Two thumbs down. It wasn't breathing. And neither was I. This hot-headed woman tried to do without the hat, but the sun was too intense. "Does anyone have scissors or a knife?" I pleaded.
As the other trekkers came to a halt on my behalf, Amrit (whom I came to admire as a patient Nepali saint) whipped out a penknife and slashed my new hat. "Are you sure this is what you have in mind?" Amrit looked up doubtfully.
"Yes," I nodded. I didn't care. I needed air. I also found the humidity level awfully high. Remember I'm an arid desert rat. Hat on head I trekked on another quarter-mile. The ventilation in the newly slashed hat wasn't cutting it. I stuffed it in my backpack.
Beforehand I read that in this primarily Hindu and Buddhist country it is culturally frowned upon to bare one's shoulders. But understand, I was dying of the heat. Off came my beloved white Columbia PFG long-sleeved shirt that saw me across northern Spain on the Camino de Santiago. (www.Linscaminodesantiago.weebly.com) Now I'm stripped down to a sleeveless runner's shirt. I would rather risk frowns and a sunburn then heat stroke which was sneaking up on me fast.
The Nepalis did not frown. Amrit could see my physical distress and poured water over my head. He asked first. I whipped out my purple bandana, and he poured water on that too. I put the wet bandana on my head and my pink baseball cap on top. I must have looked like a clown. I didn't care. Amrit offered to carry my backpack. I resisted. I'm not that much of a sissy! - even though I do love pink and purple.
Fifteen minutes later, when I was still sweltering, Amrit asked again. Reluctantly I accepted his offer to carry my backpack. Even worse, he insisted on carrying my fanny pack to lighten the load. I could only imagine what the other trekkers are thinking. "How in the world is she going to finish this 10-day trek?" I was wondering the same thing. Looking ahead, each of the three other women would also succumb to having their backpacks carried for several days. The guys also had their moments when they didn't feel so swell either.
I live at 2,600 feet elevation. Today we nearly doubled our altitude - from 2,723 to 5,007 feet. But that wasn't really the problem. I've trained for this altitude and more. Primarily I was still sick from "the mysterious virus," I caught in Kathmandu from my roommate, Donna. I had been coughing like no tomorrow for the last week during the medical camp in the two villages above Waling. Having strained my vocal chords by now I was as croaky as a toad.
Upon reaching the village we climb stairs to our second story dwelling. I found the stairway going down to be treacherous. I waited my turn as village women washed clothes and another washed cooking pots. I refilled my water bottle and shampooed my hair as another villager looked on. Doubled over in a squat position under the faucet I had trouble getting the shampoo out of my hair and ears. Perhaps in the interest of time the on-looker jumped up and rinsed out the remaining suds.