Yes, this is very delayed, and I am sincerely appologetic. Yes, I am in fact in Spain now. But there were fun adventures in the Himilayas not so very long ago, and i will detail them for you now. I must give a photo credit to my Aunty Lisa, who donated photos to make up for the diseased ones on my camera.
In early May, Ian and I met up with our respective parents for the end of our Southeast Asia tour. We spent a few terrific days in Chiang Mai with the Kennelly-Hott clan, enjoying a dose of luxery that approached fatal levels. After several months of dirty sheets and cold showers, the down pillows were enough to send shivers up a man´s backside. Throw in Egyptian cotton bath robes, an endless lap pool (the kind with jets to swim against), and a couple protein heavy meals, and Ian and I were almost rehabed and ready to return to the society we have been raised in. We attended a cooking course with Thailand´s top TV chef, and spent a day at the elephant rehab center outside of town. they teach them to paint, and aside from bob ross, never have you seen a group of educated people so earnestly watching paint dry. it was incredible on many different levels. After the necessary thai diversion of getting custom tailored cashmere suits, I flew down to Bangkok to meet up with my folks. A day of sightseeing, and another poolside at the riverfront Marriott were spent in a bit of a haze, so great was my excitement for the next item on the agenda: India, and the might of the mountains topped with that lovely white substance which i have missed so much on this trip. After countless sunburned appendages and mosquito bites, i was going to throw snowballs again.
It was a sad moment when Ian and I finally went our separate ways, but both on to new and exciting things. We had our final dinner at the uncomrehensible seafood market and restaurant, with the slogan ¨if it swims, we cook it.¨ We reminised, and told funny stories, and wept for the cruel twists of life that the world brings. WHY MUST THIS BLISS END!¿?¿?!!¿? Ian, as I understand it, is moving to Portland in about a week to help design and sell funny t-shirts. you can see the products, and read about the adventures of their entreprenuerial triumverate here: http://www.lonelydinosaur.com/
Alright! Yes, i will get on the point - India, snow, dzos, and sherpas. I flew with my folks into Delhi, and we were whisked quickly to the Imperial Hotel. I was made comfortable to the point of discomfort, and the acceptable level of attire was higher than my bag could support. All of a sudden, my Lao baby-blue jandles were a strike against me, and my long hair and bandana marked me as closer in class to the staff than the other guests. There was marble everywhere, and photos and paintings from the days of the Raj. Not that I didn´t enjoy it to the fullest; I reveled in it. Two days in Delhi, and the entire trekking group had arrived, so we shipped out to Darjeeling, beginning our acclimitization at 7,000 ft.
Darjeeling is known world wide for two things: a very funny movie (none of which actually takes place in Darjeeling) and the tea. The tea was incredible, and we had the luck to have in our ranks a good friend of tea importer in the uk. This friendship enabled us to go on a tour of one of the top plantations, remarkably devoid of any chance for marketing. Not only did they not actively try to pull a profit from the tour, but they wouldn´t sell us the tea! It was another of these rare, and wonderful experiences which was devoid of the commericialized barating I´ve grown so used to.
Uncle Phursumba and I, celebrating the end of the expedition.
I will keep the description of the trek itself quite brief, and let the photos do most of the describing. We were a group of nine, composed of myself, my parents (Lesley and Richard), aunt (Lisa), and several of their good friends (John, Dorset, Mike, Caroline, and Geoff). All experienced hikers from various parts of the States and the UK, and all with remarkably high spirits despite blisters, altitude, delhi belly, and other ailments common on long walks. Everything was arranged by a good friend of my mum´s, Phursumba Sherpa. He has been living in Seattle for 38 years now, and has led over 300 expeditions to the top of Mt. Ranier. Although he says that this trek was to be his last, we all have doubts about that. After all, he´s still a youthful man at 68. We had the tremendous honour of being joined by his brother in law, Gumbu Sherpa, who was the first man in the world to summit Everest twice.
Sherpa and Dzo, on a murky morning . Check out his footwear!
Many of the evenings were filled with the incredible stories held in his indelible memory: of reaching into his breast pocket for a Nepali scarf to give to JFK, and having the secret service pulling their weapons in surprise; of meeting the Queen, and Indira Gandhi; of his climbs and run-ins with every famous mountaineer of the 20th century. The unanimous favorite of his stories was that of his escape from a monastary at the age of 12. This is how i recall the tale, and please forgive my butchery of it:
Gumbo Sherpa, mid-laugh
When I was a young boy, my father sent me to a monastary in Tibet to study as a monk. It was terrible. There were beatings, the food was poor, and I hated life there. After a year or two of thought, at the age of twelve, I conceived of a plan to escape. I shared it with my best friend, and he rejected the idea outright. When i exclaimed that I would be leaving with or without him, he relented. After collecting meager rations of rice, we excaped on the night of a full moon. We snuck out through the toilets, dropping through the hole into the snow below. Knowing that we had until morning before we would be missed, we made haste to cross the river three km away. Bear in mind that this is in the middle of winter, in Tibet. After the river, we made straight for the great pass that separated our monastary from my home in Sikkim. At the base of this mountain, we found the home of a herdsman. We told him that we had been sent to find food, and were from the monastary up the hill. Surely he knew what we were attempting, and he fed us and gave us shelter for the night. Over the next three days, we crossed the 18,000 ft pass, and walked home. My father, when i arrived, beat my severely, but did not send me back to the monastary.
Our highest campsite, at around 15,000 ft.
The trek was eight days, with just over 17,000 ft of total elevation change. We started in lush rainforest, then spent about three days in varying types of high-altitude rhodedendoren forests before reaching the tree line at 15,000 ft. Our final goal was Goache-la, the pass that must be crossed when walking from Sikkim into Nepal, at the base of the third highest peak in the world, Kanchengzanga. And somebody up top was really looking out for us, because the skies cleared for the two days we spent in the high elevations, and the scope of the mountainscape was excruciating. I was in the very highest of spirits, walking in this crushing wilderness, singing along with Al Green and Marvin Gaye, the sun (and a rather light pack) upon my back, and a pack of 15 dzos and 6 ponys carrying a majority of the gear, knowing that dinner would be a three course affair, and my tent was set up for me before i even ate lunch. Playing frisbee in high alpine meadows with our porters, and backgammon at night with John. These are memories I will maintain to share with my grandchildren, and yours.
Suddenly, I was travelling by myself, if only briefly. adios, for now, from España.
Sitting down for dinner with the whole group.
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