I was tempted to leave McLeod Ganj a day or two before Steve’s 27th birthday, but it seemed silly to not stick around to help him celebrate it.  When my 32nd birthday rolls around in September, I hope to have a few travel buddies with whom to hang out.

We ordered dinner and a few Kingfisher beers while chilling on the roof of Carpe Diem.  The whole gang was there, or at least the gang of people I came to know during my time in town.  Mostly though, I saw it as my last night with Steve and Marie, though Steve was planning to head to Thailand just a few weeks after me.

Anastasia had amazing taste in cake-selection, picking out an entire chocolate mousse from a great Italian restaurant where I ate previously ate twice (getting sinful chocolate desserts both times).

My plan was to stay up all night so I could ensure I caught the 5am direct (local) bus to Amritsar.  Based on my all-nighters in Christchurch and China before leaving those countries, I felt confident in this plan.  Unfortunately, I realized such a strategy doesn’t work as well when taking a 6-hour bus in India.  The Russia-Spain Euro 2008 semifinal match at 12am did less to keep me up then I expected.  I drifted in and out of sleep until 4am when I received a wake-up call.

I walked through the quiet streets, passing cows and dogs in the shadows, until I found a drowsy taxi driver to take me 30-minutes downhill to the bus stand in Dharamsala.  The bus left on time, winding it’s way down to an elevation of just a few hundred meters.  It began to rain, resulting in all the windows being closed.  Lacking a flow of fresh air, I felt increasingly nauseous, wondering whether I made a mistake in trying to leave so early.  Luckily, despite a full bus at times, no one seemed to want the damp window seat next to me.

Around Pathankot, the halfway point of our journey, the road straightened out and I began to feel better, even excited to be on the move again.  The times when I’m in transit are when I feel the greatest sense of freedom.  Recollections of the recent past mix with excitement for  what lays ahead.

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It felt great to meet up with Steve again after having first hung out together in Pokhara, Nepal back in April. Since then, I’d also kept in regular contact with Marie. As a reminder, we all took the same 3-day meditation course. Since I had control over my schedule, I decided to give myself a few days extra in McLeod Ganj after she arrived to enjoy her company.

On her first night in town, Steve and I introduced her to Khana Nirvana, which was holding its weekly open mic night. A few nights later we returned to Khana Nirvana for a beat-the-monsoon blues benefit concert. Dara, one of the owners, gave a solo performance. She had played a few songs at the open mic nights I’d attended so I knew she had a knack for writing good, fun lyrics.

On my last day before leaving McLeod Ganj, Marie and I met up for lunch, made some travel arrangements, and went for a walk (the long way) through the pine forest to sacred Dal Lake and The Tibetan Children’s Village (where I previously saw HH the Dalai Lama). We then snaked our way back toward town, stopping for tea and a bathroom break inside the Vipassana Center.

While I had decided to put myself on a plane to Bangkok July 1, Marie would be starting an intensive 10-day Vipassana retreat which entailed around 8-10 hours of meditation per day, complete silence, two vegetarian meals/day, and even a rule which disallowed eye contact with the other participants. She was a bit apprehensive, but I envied anyone’s ability to commit to such an experience of their own free will.

And yes, you heard me right.  I finally decided it was time to leave spiritual India for the full moon parties and beaches of Thailand!

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Eating

Food…delicious food. McLeod Ganj is filled with great restaurants offering predominantly Tibetan, Indian, and Italian food. I became a regular at popular Carpe Diem after trying a few of their Indian dishes. The service was friendly and they had a great rooftop seating area with views of upper McLeod Ganj, and the Dhauadhar Range (though less so once the rains began). The Green Hotel made the tastiest cheese and tofu momo’s, while western-styled Moonpeak Expresso offered the best cappuccino I’d tasted in months.

Khana Nirvana

Khana Nirvana is a non-profit community cafe run by several American and silent Indian partners. In business for 11 years, it employs Tibetan refugees who take home any profits. The cafe runs nightly events and I greatly enjoyed the open mic nights when travelers would sing, play the guitar, recite poetry, do spoken word, or play the digiridoo (my personal favorite). One American guy was actually able to play the digiridoo while drumming on one song, and playing the guitar on another. The menu was vegetarian and very bohemian, with the restaurant using organic ingredients.

Ex-Political Prisoner Talk

One evening, I joined Anastasia, Olga, Ron, and Fred for a talk sponsored by an Israeli group. The event was in Bagsu, a town 2km away from McLeod Ganj. The event was packed, and lead off by a Tibetan who worked with the International Campaign for Tibet. While not a historical expert on Tibet, he had been asked to give a brief history of the country during the 20^th century.

He was followed by the ex-prisoner whose story was translated into English. To sum it up, he was jailed for 7 years (in the 90’s) after being a part of a small protest in Tibet. He spoke of regular beatings, being hung from the ceiling, and placed in solitary confinement where he would only receive one dumpling and a small cup of water per day. He said it was hard to make logical sense of what activity would result in the beatings. Ten years after his release, and now residing in India, he is still suffering the effects of repeated trauma to his head. Sadly, from what I’ve read, his story is not unusual, and highlights China’s poor record when it comes to human rights in Tibet.

Public Audience With The 17^th Karmapa

It’s not every day you can attend a public audience with the spiritual leader of a Tibetan sect of Buddhism (of which there are four). Given the 17^th Karmapa resided in Dharamsala, I convinced Steve to join me for a visit. Public audiences are held at the monastery where he resides twice a week. We took a taxi, bought katas (silk scarves) to offer, and queued up outside the gompa. Steve made it a point to be first in (the men’s) line, which enabled us to sit front and center.

Eventually, a voice came over the speaker system, and I realized it was the Karmapa speaking. We were a bit disappointed that he wasn’t speaking from the solitary seat in front of us. After 20 minutes of talking, a group of monks entered the gompa, followed by the young Karmapa. Everyone lined up, holding the katas in front of them as they approached a monk. Giving the kata to the monk as an offering, he then returns it by placing it around the giver’s neck. In effect, he has then blessed it by this interaction. We weren’t sure who the monk was, but he certainly wasn’t the Karmapa. The Karmapa would then hand each person a red string. People placed the strings around their necks or wrists. I did the latter, hoping it’d bring me a little good luck in the near future.

In the future I intend to read the story of the 17^th Karmapa, as he escaped from Tibet over the Himalaya in what is suppose to be quite an amazing adventure. Currently, his status as the leader of the sect is up for debate because there is another monk in Delhi who is also said to be the 17^th Karmapa. Neither is allowed to assume their rightful seat at the Rumtek Monastery in Sikkim for fears it will further aggravate China.

Euro 2008

Once I was feeling myself again, I downgraded my room at Hotel Mount View. I lost the soft mattress and balcony, keeping cable TV access so I could continue to watch the Euro 2008 tournament. After the first week, all the matches were at the late local hour of 12am. It wasn’t until the quarterfinals that I realized it was saner to simply watch the replays at 9am. McLeod Ganj didn’t offer much in the way of public viewing options. The town all but shuts down by 10pm each night.

Watching the matches offered a nice opportunity to indulge my historical love for television, however it also acted as a gateway to other programming, such as The Wonder Years, CNN/BBC news, and movies like The Father Of The Bride (great one) and Blood Diamond. Sometimes I felt guilty for being tucked away in my room, and other times it felt like an overdue experience. The early arrival of the rainy season made it all the easier to stay indoors.

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The morning after returning from my trek, I awoke with a giant, furry spider in my bathroom, aching right shoulder, stabbing pain in the area of my right ribs, and mild soreness in my legs. The soreness in my right shoulder felt as though I was carrying a heavy bag, even when I was lying down. The sharp pain in my side was only a problem when I coughed, sneezed or laughed, but it caused me to keel over in agony without fail.

I was in sad shape when Steve stopped by for lunch. I wanted to tell him about the trek, and share my photos so we went to the nearby Peace Cafe. Steve is a funny guy, so I had to explicitly tell him not to make me laugh. While I wasn’t complaining much, it didn’t take long for my body language to give away the discomfort I felt. We cut lunch short and he picked up some Paracetamol (aspirin-like drug) from a pharmacy and met me back at my room where I was already back in bed. I was in enough pain to wonder whether I should see a doctor. He recommended rest, and given he had trekked to Everest Base Camp without a porter back in April, I trusted his advice.

The Paracetamol took the edge off the pain, but it was hard to be comfortable, especially at night. I felt as though my arm should be in a sling to relieve the aching, and I had to sleep on my left side. I was so glad I made the effort to find a new room with a soft mattress.

After two days, I felt as though I could handle a Tibetan massage. I’d been meaning to try acupuncture, so I combined the two and visited a Tibetan doctor whose office was in the building adjacent to my hotel. She recommended three sessions given my injury was new. I was doubtful the pain could be alleviated in just three days.

The first session was limited to 25 minutes of acupuncture. Three needles were poked into my shoulder, with a fourth and fifth in each elbow. Unsure whether to credit the acupuncture, I found myself able to spend a few hours on the internet before feeling a lot of pain again by bedtime. The second session began with a 25-minute back and shoulder massage, followed by acupuncture. Again, I felt better after the session, though it was even more noticeable the next day. To my surprise, I felt 100% again after the third session.

Unfortunately, I have no way to know whether the pain would’ve dissipated as fast on its own, or whether the massage helped more than the acupuncture (or vice versa).

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On our fourth and final morning of the trek, I awoke with surprisingly little soreness in my legs and body.  And my headache was gone, again.  Harold and I packed up our stuff, ate breakfast, and we were all on our way back to McLeod Ganj.  A dog we had fed leftovers to the prior night followed us for the hour’s walk back to Triund.  While he probably belonged to a local shepherd, he made for nice company, often barking at the other dogs we’d encounter (though having to back down due to being outnumbered 2-1).

Ashok had indicated it would be about a 13km walk from our second camp to town.   We made good time, and I had many recollections from our way up as we passed old rest spots.  One nice aspect of going back the way you came is the lesser desire to take photographs.  The trail also looked far less steep and challenging given what we had to climb the day before.

We stopped for lunch at the cottage where we first met Ashok.  Harold and I took showers and relaxed. Normally, we would have taken a taxi the remainder of the way however the heavy rains from the night before (at lower elevations) had washed out roads.  Later, we would hear firsthand reports of the 5-hour deluge which ushered in a week’s worth of rain.  Thankfully, we had spent the night above the storm (literally in the clouds), only experiencing flashes of lightning through our tent.

As we walked through the misty pine forests above McLeod Ganj, we began to see monkeys, and signs of modern civilization.  These lead to the ever-nearing blare of car horns, and before we knew it, we were spit out at the bus stand (main intersection) in central McLeod Ganj.  It took just a few seconds for me to become fed up with the noise and crowds, making me appreciate the time we had just spent communing with nature (and goat poo).

After the goodbyes, I was overcome by a wave of energy which had me hotel-hunting for a room with a soft bed.  After visiting a few places, I settled on Hotel Mount View.  I emailed Steve so I could tell him about the trek the next day, and let my parents know I was alive.  I tried hard to stay awake for the Euro2008 soccer match that night (as I also had a TV in my room), however it was hopeless and I soon drifted off to sleep.

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When the photos were taken, the Tibetan freedom video shot, and the food consumed, we began our descent into the now cloud-shrouded valley. I was glad to have finished one of my two bottles of water so I could use both of my hands to steady myself on the way down.

The first stretch of snow we needed to cross was also the steepest. Despite my recently gained experience on the way up, I was still reticent. Ashok picked up on my anxiety and offered his hand until I was safely across. I could tell the snow had softened up since we last passed through. Harold managed it on his own, though I sometimes worried about his safety when I would watch him.

We continued to head down at a faster pace then we ascended, and I felt comfortable enough on the remaining sections of snow to walk them independently. Ashok showed me how I could poke holes into the snow using my hand to create a third point of contact. The first time I tried this technique, my hands grew wet and cold very fast. Thereafter, I began to wrap my bandanna around my fingers before driving them through the layer of goat poo into the soft, wet snow. In any other circumstance, I would’ve found the process disgusting. Harold joked that I wouldn’t be using the bandanna to moisturize anymore (a reference to my use of it as a cold compress for my sunburn the first two nights).

Harold was the first to slip and fall. He fell forward and caught himself against a medium-sized rock. It looked jarring, though he managed to escape with only a scraped knee (to my knowledge). He vocalized his frustrations about the safety of the trail, namely the wetness from the rain and goat poo, and the snow. Ashok tried to refocus his mind and energy on taking secure steps, as there would be ample time to air concerns once we safely reached camp (and later town).

I slipped second, my feet sliding forward from under me. I landed lightly on my bum. I tried to sharpen my focus on footsteps, finding it a great challenge given my body’s natural momentum to move downhill. My headache was moderate by this point, and I knew Harold’s was worse. The best thing for the both of us was to reach camp as soon as possible.

Harold’s next fall was the result of an unstable rock. Without hesitation, Ashok dove on top of him as he landed on his right side. The moment was over in an instant, yet Harold later acknowledged that our guide’s quick reaction probably saved his life. He said he recognized he was in trouble, and knew he’d have to try and grab onto a rock or something to keep from falling over the edge of a drop off, yet there were no guarantees he could’ve arrested his fall on his own. I redoubled my efforts to continue cautiously thereafter, though I slipped and landed on my behind lightly one more time.

We stopped in a large cave on the way down for one of our breaks. Ashok said it was mainly used by trekkers coming from the opposite direction, that it was cold, and could sleep around 30 people. It had a low stone ceiling and a hay-covered floor. There was a large flat rock which acted as a balcony. The view was beautiful as the sun had emerged. While Harold and Ashok soaked up the rays, I spent the ten minutes in the shade of the rock, under my jacket trying to shield myself from the most intense sunlight I’d ever felt.

As our 3.5 hour descent drew to a close, my legs were like jelly and my fear of falling on the glacier were clear. Ashok waited for me to reach him in the middle, and again offered me his hand so I could be guided across in a more timely fashion. Harold slipped and landed on his butt once while walking ahead of us.

Arriving back at our humble camp, I felt a great sense of satisfaction. Our porter brought a delicious rice and potato dish to our tent, followed by French fries and tea. He refilled our water bottles. I savored my last two squares of Cadbury chocolate which I had saved for consumption back in the tent. Harold and I rested, hoping our headaches would quickly disappear. We ate dinner in the rock shelter kitchen, though neither Harold nor I were especially hungry by that point. We both slept well that night.

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Video Dedication Of My Climb

The world’s attention is on the Chinese government in light of the upcoming 2008 Summer Olympics.To find out more about the Tibetan cause and how you can help, see the International Campaign for Tibet’s website.

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We initially planned to wake at 5am, and head up to the pass at 6am, however there was a rain delay of an hour. I was again thankful to awake with no headache. A light breakfast of cornflakes, hard boiled eggs, and tea was served. Around 7:15am, Ashok lead Harold and I across the glacier, while the porter watched over our camp.

The glacier looked like a frozen ocean, upon which you could walk on the waves like steps. The drizzle let up soon after our departure, allowing us to strip off the ponchos. Harold carried his backpack, Ashok his sleeping bag’s bag with our lunch and one of my two bottles of water, and I carried one bottle of water and a small nylon dry bag with my camera and an assortment of pills.

I felt lucky to have clear views of the pass and mountain ridge the whole morning. I wanted to see where we were going, and somehow found the view energizing instead of daunting (ok….a little daunting!).

The terrain was very rough. The rocky path was in no way as stable and well defined as the Nepalese trails around the Annapurna region. It was developed by shepherds who still use it to bring their goats from one valley to the other. As a result, the path is covered in goat poo, making it especially slippery. Dark brown strips of the poo can be seen wherever the goats cross snow as well.

The steeper we climbed, the more I tried to focus on ensuring the stability of every step. I was the only one who could be held 100% responsible for my footsteps. There would be no one else to blame if I slipped and careened down the mountainside.

As I was getting a little more comfortable in my rugged environment, Harold and I were presented with a new challenge, crossing soft snow on steep pitches without the use of ropes or ice axes. When I saw the first section we had to cross, I snapped a photo stating “this will go in my holy sh*t file.” I was at once petrified of slipping to my death hundreds of feet below, and surprisingly calm and collected. Ashok cut out fresh footholds in the snow, and we followed behind.

I knew going uphill in the snow was easier than what we faced on our descent later. We continued to cross 4-5 sections of snow on our way to the top, with the final one being the steepest.

Ashok lead us up the mountain at a slow and steady pace. The higher altitudes and rugged, slippery terrain forced us to walk slow just the same. My heart would pound heavily during the first hour or two. I either got use to it, or it quieted down a bit the higher we rose.

About thirty minutes from the top, Harold developed a headache, appeared more lethargic, and signaled a feeling of uneasiness. I gave him a 1/2 pill of Diamox which I carried as a precaution.

For better or worse, the place where Harold decided to lay against a rock was not a resting spot according to Ashok, who ushered him to the top just ten minutes away. As for me, I was feeling energetic and hungry.

It was exhilarating to reach the top of 4,320m (14,256ft) Indrahar Pass after four hours of climbing about 1,100m in altitude. I was completely surprised by the view of the snow-covered valley on the other side of the ridge. A dark brown path of goat poo showed the way down the other side. Clouds remained in the distance while we enjoyed lunch and views for thirty plus minutes. Speaking of food, I was the only one who’d been buying chocolate, so I devoured a beloved Snickers, along with a mango, trail mix, biscuits, and fruit juice.

Once you’re seated, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that you’re in a very precarious position. The high altitude is affecting your body’s chemistry, and it is not an uncommon side effect to feel a sense of euphoria (or intoxication).

Besides the aforementioned euphoria, I felt an amazing sense of redemption. Despite efforts to accept my trek in Nepal as “complete” just as I experienced it, there was never a climax. I knew it then, and I couldn’t let go of my desire to successfully climb something high. I had told Cameron I wanted to know what it felt like to be at the top of a mountain.

I now had that feeling, in addition to a headache, and the sobering knowledge that climbing a mountain means little if you can’t get back down alive and well.

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