Saturday, December 24, 2011

More tidbits and the FUTURE!

Merry Christmas everyone! Close enough, anyways.

I'm writing this email from my luxurious (at 500 Rupees, which is about $6 a night, better be) hotel room in Kathmandu. In fact, tonight, and for the last week or so, I will have been literally sleeping in the same bed as I slept in on the night I got into Nepal, September 11, 2011 – 103 days ago. And in that 103 days, I haven't shaved or trimmed my beard. That's just for those of you who couldn't be bothered to read my last post.

In the preceding 103 days, my understanding of the country has improved considerably, so I'm now drinking “Officer's Choice” Whiskey, which features a picture of what seems to be an airline pilot on the label, instead of overpriced hotel-sold beer, as I did 102 nights ago. If there's someone whose taste in alcohol you can trust, it's got to be an airline pilot. This trust may, of course, result in a fiery death, but I guess we're all going to die eventually. Now there's an optimistic start to a holiday-themed message!

About a week ago, I finished my 34-day Everest-region trek, and to be perfectly honest, I don't have a clever one-liner about my happiness or sadness that has come about due to my completion of the Everest Base Camp / Gokyo trek. I'm happy to be through trekking, since on my last day on the trail, my knees finally started to really bother me, and now, a week into my relaxation / recovery period, they haven't quite stopped yet. Same for my feet. I suppose the fact that it took 5 weeks for my feet and knees to get unapologetically painful is actually something to be thankful for, rather than angry about, so … thanks? And now, some general trekking thoughts, my impressions of the Everest vs. Annapurna treks, personal records broken, a few things I forgot to mention in my last post, and the FUTURE!

“Backpacking” is called “trekking” in every country I've been to, aside from America. So if there was any confusion about what the hell I've been talking about every time I've mentioned any variation of the word 'trek' in any past emails or blog posts, hopefully it's now cleared up.

I never really got the idea of trekking until a few years ago, and it took my interest in photography for me to really get it. Back in the day, I didn't understand why anyone would willfully walk into the wilderness with a million pounds of supplies on their back, when seemingly the same goal – isolation and a feeling of oneness with nature – could be accomplished by taking a day pack and going for a day hike, instead of a trek. I guess there are degrees of truth to this statement, and a person's location in the world is more responsible than any other factor for how true it happens to be. In North America, there are ridiculously beautiful day hikes that will get you away from any semblance of human interaction and into beautifully untouched natural environments. Us Americans are lucky in this way, because in many places I've been, it simply isn't this simple. But I'm glad I've ultimately come to the conclusions I have, because I really do believe it will make any future treks I take in my life considerably more enjoyable.

So in Nepal, I've learned a few valuable trekking lessons:
  • Trek at a comfortable pace. Don't follow a guide book that tells you that you have to trek from A to B before you can call it a day. If you get halfway from A to B, but don't feel like continuing onwards, stop. Similarly, if you make it to B, feel good, and want to keep trekking, do so. I think this is the most important single piece of advice I can provide anyone thinking of doing any trekking. God, this is about to sound like motivational-speaker cliche-speak, so here's me asking for forgiveness in advance, but if you are out trekking, and your eyes are on your feet and the trail the whole time so that you don't trip, rather than enjoying the scenery and atmosphere, what the hell are you doing? There were times that I found my eyes glued to my feet and the trail, and I'd have to make a conscious effort to stop walking, move my eyes upwards, and enjoy the trek. This should not require a conscious effort. It took over 3 weeks on the Everest trek before I was able to actually relax, and enjoy trekking as it is supposed to be enjoyed. If I was thirsty, I finally learned to stop, sit down, drink some water, and relax. If you are going to do some trekking, be it in Nepal or somewhere closer to home, just remember why you are actually there. Hopefully, it isn't to get from A to B, but rather to enjoy the journey from A to B.
  • Eat enough food. Something else that took me way too long to figure out. Early in the Everest trek, I found myself constantly lethargic and often unable to enjoy the journey. I was trekking with a 110-pound girl at the time, and for whatever reason, I figured I'd be able to survive on the same amount of food as her. This was obviously, in hindsight, a foolish assumption. Don't be dumb. If you're hungry, eat. If you aren't hungry, it probably still won't hurt you to eat … you ain't gonna to gain any weight trekking 6 hours a day.
  • This goes along with some things I said earlier in this section, but I think it's important to reiterate. And maybe, without getting to philosophical, this can be viewed as a prescription for life. Ultimately, it's the journey that matters. Goddamn it, that sounds like such a douchey thing to say, but it's true. I made it to Everest Base Camp (and have not even an inkling desire to go a single meter higher), but the destination wasn't ultimately important. What really mattered was the things I saw and the experiences I had en route. Of course, there's also the chance I'm a retard, and it is the destination that matters, and everything I've been doing for the last 3.5 years has been for naught. But I really don't think so...

Everest vs. Annapurna
I'm going to have to put some serious effort into keeping this section of the post shorter than a million pages. I doubt this section will really impact anyone, since the intended audience is future visitors to Nepal who can't decide whether to do the Annapurna or Everest trek, but what the hell? It's what I want to talk about right now, so deal with it.

When I got back from Semester at Sea, I was often asked something to the effect of “What was your favorite country?” This turned out to be an impossible question to answer, as will be “Which was a better trek: Everest Base Camp or Annapurna?” The countries I visited during Semester at Sea were each a totally unique experience, and trying to rank them would be impossible. The same is true for trying to compare the Everest and Annapurna treks. But here are some considerations:

  • The Annapurna Circuit is basically that – a circuit, with only a couple options to get off the trail and see anything not on the trek, while the Everest trek is a mountaineer's paradise, with side trails every which way from Sunday, that could keep a serious trekker / mountaineer busy for months at a time. Basically there is more to trek in the Everest region than on the Annapurna Circuit. But there's a TON of trekking to do around Annapurna too, enough to keep a serious trekker busy for a least a couple months. So this distinction, for most people, probably doesn't matter at all.
  • The villages along the Annapurna circuit appear to be, for the most part, legitimate villages that were around before the Annapurna circuit existed for commercial and / or tourist reasons. The villages along the Everest trail, at least beyond Lukla, seem to have been purpose-built to accommodate trekkers en route to Everest. While most or all of the villages on both trails are enjoyable to stay in, there's a feeling of legitimacy in the Annapurna villages that doesn't exist, at least not as intensely, in the Everest-region villages. People live in the villages along the Annapurna circuit, businessmen live in the villages en route to Everest.
  • The Everest trek costs probably twice as much per day (maybe $15-20, throwing money around like a baller) as Annapurna (maybe $8-12). But if you are coming from America, the cost of either is insubstantial compared to your flight cost, and if you'll only be in Nepal a few weeks, it frankly doesn't matter.
  • Electricity is available almost everywhere on the Annapurna circuit, but almost non-existent on the Everest Trek. The same is true of hot showers. Where these luxuries are available on the Everest Trek, they cost some serious dough – up to maybe $5 for a hot shower or an hour or two of charging time for your laptop, camera batteries, etc.
  • The Annapurna circuit is a loop, so you only see any given section of trail once, while the Everest trek, in most cases, involves returning on the same trail as that on which you walked up. This is another toss-up for which is actually better. It's nice to go through an area and know that everything you will see after this point will be new. But it's also nice to return down the same trail you already climbed, as this allows you to see everything from a different perspective. I consider myself pretty lucky that I was able to do both of these treks.

Personal Records
For better or worse, intentionally or unintentionally (in all cases unintentionally), and through sickness and health, I've broken some personal records that I was unaware even existed a couple months ago, these include:
  • I didn't see a road vehicle for 31 days. There are no roads within one billion miles of Everest, but there is an airstrip at Lukla, roughly one week of relatively hard trekking below Base Camp. So I did see planes and helicopters in this 31-day car-free adventure. Without roads, everything, literally everything man-made in the area is carried up by porters, donkeys, or yaks. Buildings are constructed at 5000-plus meters, made entirely of materials carried up several vertical kilometers of muddy, rocky trail, over the course of a week or more per load.
  • I didn't shower for 27 consecutive days. Seriously. I really hope this isn't a record that I break for the rest of my life. I was pretty surprised by the fact that I didn't smell like a Yeti's ass-pubes by the end of this unintentional abstinence, but I guess even though I was walking around with a fifty pound backpack (maybe?), it was cold enough that I didn't really sweat much, at least at higher elevations. I took wet-wipe showers occasionally, but it was honestly just too cold to deal with a real shower. But now that I'm back in the land of nearly-constantly-available electricity, I've been making up for this grossness by showering, at a minimum, twice a week. Yup, I'm nice and shiny-clean now.
  • Drinking! I accidentally didn't drink for like 20+ days! Again, it was just too cold to deal with it, and as I mentioned earlier, everything man-made in the Everest region is brought up on the backs of intensely-tough porters, so the prices ain't cheap. At 500 Rupees (about $7) for a 650mL beer, it just wasn't ever worth it, especially since it would guarantee my being sick from dehydration / altitude sickness the next day, and it would probably make me too cold to get to sleep. But don't worry, now that I'm back in civilization, I'm back on the wagon. Or off it. How does the wagon work?

Things I Forgot to Mention in my Last Post
  • Mt. Everest can't be seen from Everest Base Camp. Weird, right? So in order to get a good view of the tallest mountain on Earth, you have to hike up some random hills. Perhaps the best view of Everest is from Gokyo Ri, a 5360 meter-high (17,581 feet) hill / mountain roughly 30 kilometers West of the 8,848 meter (29,021 feet) summit of Everest. I went to Gokyo Ri for sunset on December 3rd, and was treated to one of the most memorable sunsets of my life. Honestly, I know I saw better sunsets a few times on the trail – occasionally, the setting sun would turn the peaks of the surrounding Himalayas an unnaturally orange or red color – but years from now, I know the sunset I saw from Gokyo Ri will be the one I remember. What I wanted to mention though, from this particular night, was the fact that at the summit of Gokyo Ri, I had a snack of crackers and canned tuna. There isn't really anything particularly weird about this, until you consider the fact that my snack could literally not be more out-of-place. Tuna … which when I last checked is a fish that lives in the ocean … at 5,360 meters above sea level, in the middle of Asia.
  • More beard-related stuff:
    • Comments I've gotten from passers-by: (1) “That beard looks warm!” (2) “Nice beard!”
    • Once, when I was stopped on the trail, snacking and reading in the sun, a porter came up and began talking to me. Nepalis are incredibly friendly, and this is something that happens all the time. During our conversation, he asked me where I'm from, and I responded, “America.” He replied, “Which one?” I told him I'm from the USA, and he responded by telling me he thought I was from India because of my beard. Strange.
    • At a lassi shop (lassi is an Indian / Nepali yogurt-like drink that might be the best beverage in the world) in Kathmandu, the proprietor, who spoke very little English, explained that he thought I was a 'baba' from India. I'm not sure what a 'baba' is, exactly, but I think it's one of those religious (Hindu, probably?) guys who have … guess? … big beards.

The future, an empty slate a mere week or two ago, is becoming a bit clearer. The immediate future, anyways. Today is December 23rd, and I now know where I'm going to spend my Christmas. As I feared, I will be spending a portion of the one day of the year I'd rather spend at home with friends and family than any other day of a given year, on a bus. A Nepali bus. This means it will not be a fun bus ride, and may result in my death. This untimely death could come from either from a heart-attack, as the bus careens dangerously along a single-lane dirt road without so much as a barrier between the road and the thousand-foot cliff that will, in all likelihood, fall dangerously from one side of the road or the other, or from a crushing, fiery death that will come about as the bus I ride topples over the thousand-foot cliff that will, in all likelihood, fall dangerously from one side of the road or the other.

If neither of these circumstances arises, I'll arrive in Chitwan National Park on the afternoon of December 25th, and spend the next three days in the park, riding around on elephants, trekking through the jungle in search of tigers, birds, and the other wildlife that supposedly is so abundant in Chitwan, canoeing down the Rapti River, seeing an uber-tourist cultural show, and in all likelihood, continuing to eat way too much food – a “problem” I've suffered from since completing the Everest Trek. I learned a couple days ago that from December 26th to the 28th, there will be an elephant race, an elephant soccer game (yeah, I'm serious), and other elephant “Olympic” events in the park. This happens once a year, and my dumb luck has arranged (barring the fiery death) for me to be present this year. Awesome.

On December 28th, I'll go on another horrible (about 14 hours this time, ugh) bus ride, this time from Chitwan to Bardia National Park, which is in the southwest part of Nepal, and because of it's remoteness, it is still supposed to have the atmosphere and charm of Chitwan 30 years ago. That's what I've read, anyways. If I don't see a tiger in the wild in Chitwan, Bardia will be my last chance to do so in Nepal. I'll spend another 3 or 4 days here, doing silly tourist activities, like more elephant and 4x4 rides, and then head back to Kathmandu via one last horrifying Nepali bus experience that should get me into Kathmandu on the night of January 2nd or 3rd.

And then, after a few days of getting my last-minute stuff figured out and organized, I'll board a plane to Bangkok on January 6th. From there, the future is again a blank slate. To anyone reading this that's spent some time in Thailand, any 'must-dos' you can share with me would be appreciated. I think I'll relax for a week or so on an island or a beach or something, then reassess my financial situation and figure out how much time I can spend tooling around Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and maybe some other neighboring countries before heading over to Vietnam to look for work. And that's that.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Tidbits and Tragedy

A whole lot has happened since my last post, most notably the month-long trek to Everest Base Camp, but writing down the specific events that transpired upon this trek would take far too many hours and pages for me to bother writing or for anyone else to bother reading.  So instead, here are some tidbits and observations from the damn near 3 months I've spent in Nepal, a few random stories that are hopefully worth reading, and a shocking and tragic conclusion that no one could have seen coming.  Without further adieu...

My beard:
Before I even left Korea, I decided that I wouldn't shave while I was in Nepal.  Why?  I've never had a big beard before, and it seemed that one appropriate time to grow one would be when I'm high in the mountains, trekking from village to village, in all probability wearing my red, white, and black checked lumberjack flannel.  Of course, my original plan was to be in Nepal for maybe 2 months, not the 4 or so months that it is starting to look like it will ultimately be before I finally am able to pry myself free of this enchanting land.

I guess the whole giant beard thing is working out alright, but I will be getting a hot shave before I leave Nepal, since it will only cost a buck or two, and it's one more thing to check off my bucket list.  Plus, I'll probably look 5 years younger.  Bonus.  The downside will be that I'll no longer look like Chewbacca, but you know the thing about beards?  They'll grow on ya!

My pack on the Everest Trek:
My backpack is absurd.  It's an 80 liter bag, and for the duration of the Everest trek (I'm presently on day 25 of said trek), it's been either close-to-full, so full that I have to attach things to the outside of it, or somewhere in between.  What in God's name could I possibly have with me that would occupy so much room, especially given that I have no tent or sleeping mat, and meals are available (and cheap, at least compared to US prices) at teahouses located every few hours along the whole route I've been following?

Let me start by saying that if I weren't such a photography dork, my bag, and life for the last few weeks, would be vastly different.  As for photography and photography-related gear, I'm carrying 3 different camera bodies (my old Canon 30D is just a backup in case one of my other cameras breaks) and two lenses, a 24-105mm f/4 and a 100-400mm f/4.5-5.6.  That's enough techno-babble for now, but what this means is that I have some serious weight in cameras.  The 100-400mm lens looks like a bazooka, and sometimes seems to weighs as much as one.  I brought it to take pictures of wildlife, which unfortunately is almost non-existent.

I've also got a big external flash which has yet to be used in Nepal, a tripod that is probably about 2 feet tall when compacted and about 6 feet tall extended (doesn't fit inside my bag – it has to be strapped to the outside), 2 spare batteries, extra lens filters, a remote timer, cleaning supplies, and … oh yeah!  A freakin' computer.  And an external hard drive and mouse.  All of these things require care to transport, whether it be on my body or in my bag as I trek, or in my bag on top of a hellish Nepali bus that makes a Six Flags roller coaster look and feel like a limo ride.

AND a 20 degree Fahrenheit sleeping bag, a couple changes of clothes, outerwear like a raincoat, gloves, hats, etc, a Kindle, a Steripen (If you don't know what this is, good.  If you are thinking of buying one, don't.), running shoes, sandals, hiking boots that cause me to be in crippling pain every time I put them on, a backpack cover for rain, a first-aid kit, bungee cords, a headlamp and flashlight with extra batteries, a 'sleep sack,' which is basically a thin fleece liner for a sleeping bag that doubles as an extra padded case for my laptop as I trek, maps, a journal, a quick-dry towel, a generic Leatherman, 2 1-liter Nalgenes, a bag of random electronics (cords and mounts for charging, adapters, etc.), all the toiletries you'd need, including pills for the unforeseen, and a couple rolls of toilet paper – you have to provide your own here, although I've learned to go without, in the typical Indian / Nepali style, when the appropriate tools are available.  I'll leave that one for you to figure out on your own, if you are so inclined.  And then there are the things that have come and gone from my bag, like snacks and a rented down jacket, without which my time above 4000 meters in the Everest region would have been unbearably cold.

I never weighed all my stuff together, but it's gotta be above 50 pounds.  Hopefully I'll get a chance to weigh it back in Kathmandu.  I've seen porters carry bigger bags than me, but after close to 2 months of trekking in various regions in Nepal, I haven't yet seen a tourist with more stuff than me.  I guess in the end I'll be glad I carried all this, since I'll theoretically have some kick-ass pictures, but there have been times when I've wanted to say “NO MORE!” and throw all this crap into a glacier, off a cliff, or into a yak-shit fueled furnace.  But I only have one more week of dealing with this, as I make my way back from Namche Bazaar to Jiri on foot, and then to Kathmandu via bus.

Weight loss
When I left Korea, I weighed about 185 pounds, which at 6'-4” was probably a pretty healthy weight.  I inherited a belt from another teacher at Beyond Advanced, where I used to teach English to elementary-school students, and I fastened it on the third notch at this time.  When I use it now, which isn't too often, as it increases the chaffing and bruising that occur on my waist and hips because of my ridiculously heavy backpack, I have to use the sixth or seventh notches.  And my ribs are fairly visible all the time.  Picture Christian Bale in “The Machinist.”  Or make your own inappropriate joke about death camp prisoners.  It isn't that bad, really, but I am going to need to start doing some serious eating and upper-body exercises as soon as I'm back down in civilization, where food is cheap and there's enough oxygen to exercise.  I don't know what I weigh now, and hope to find this out, too, as soon as I'm back in Kathmandu, but I'm willing to guess it is less than at any time since when I was in junior high or high school, when I was a rail.  But my legs are rock hard, and I am hoping to try kicking down a door or two at my earliest possible convenience.

I used to be an anti-globalization nut, for purely romantic reasons.  My thoughts on the matter have changed since, but I'll leave the debate and politics out of this paragraph and just mention a few related things I've seen here.  Back in September, I saw a newspaper article in Kathmandu's English-language newspaper that shocked me with the following fact: Ten years ago, only 0.5% of Nepali people had access to a telephone.  Now, 50% of Nepalis have access to a phone.  Awesome, right?  And there's nowhere that it is more apparent than on the trail.  Not a day goes by, and on more crowded portions of the trail, not an hour goes by that I don't encounter an overladen porter (they're almost all overladen) trekking along happily, listening to Indian or Nepali music on the speaker that's built into his cellphone. 

We live in a weird time.  I haven't seen a car, truck, or bus for almost a month, and all the heating in this area is done with wood or yak-shit burning stoves, but there is cell phone service all the way from Jiri (in the middle of nowhere) to Everest Base Camp (even more in the middle of nowhere).

I once came around a corner and saw a Nepali woman with her back to me, dressed in traditional clothing sitting meditatively, looking out on a beautiful green valley with the imposing Himalayas completing the tranquil scene.  Judging by the atmosphere and her meditative pose, I assumed that she was … yes!  Meditating.  I walked by as quietly as I could, hoping not to bother her attempts to reach Nirvana, and when I looked back a minute later, I discovered she wasn't meditating at all.  She was texting.

The Annapurna Circuit versus my Everest Base Camp / Gokyo Trek
Maybe later...

Gadgets and nicknacks
In America, if you pick up some kind of small nicknack or tool, like salt, soap, or a bag of rice, it's likely to say “Made in China,” “Made in Taiwan,” or “Made in Mexico.”  Here, everything is “Made in India.”  Perhaps there's some kind of link to my globalization paragraph above, but I'll leave this alone too.  It's just kind of weird.  I wonder if the world is at all shifting towards a “Made in India” market.

The Tragic Conclusion
I'm sitting in Namche Bazaar, where I hope to leave tomorrow, on foot, en route to Jiri and then Kathmandu via bus.  But unexpectedly, I'm sitting here alone.  Katie is back in America due to circumstances I'm not going to discuss here, but that neither she nor I had any control over.  I only found out that I would be on my own into the foreseeable future yesterday.  Needless to say, this came as a shock.

Katie and I had planned on finishing this trek, checking out a couple National Parks / wildlife preserves here in Nepal, and then going overland into India, and touring across at least part of this huge nation via train, stopping at landmarks as necessary to fulfill the tourist checklist.  But now I'm on my own, and I'm just not sure what is going to happen.  Everything just got extraordinarily complicated.  Now, if I need to use the bathroom, I can't say, “Katie, can you watch my stuff for a second while I use the bathroom?”  I can't take care of the laundry while Katie figures out where we are going to sleep that night.  I can't even drink hot tea anymore, as Katie took off with the camp stove! (No fault of her own, and I wouldn't have room for it in my overflowing backpack anyways.)  And finally, who the hell is going to get me out of bed before 10AM?

I'm going to finish off my Nepal checklist, which includes getting back to Kathmandu in one piece, eating a ton of chocolate cake at the Snowman Cafe, and then visiting Chitwan and Bardia National Parks, where wild tiger sightings are common, and when this is all done …

… I really don't know.

I'm hoping the next week, which I'll spend on a relatively empty trail (peak season has come and gone) with no company but my annoyingly large backpack, will provide some sort of clarity / answer / revelation, but in my experience this ever hoped-for moment of lucidity will remain as elusive as it is today.

I'm back to living day-to-day, and it's both exciting and terrifying.  But more terrifying, possibly because I haven't been in this situation in a while.  I'm considering finishing up in Nepal and heading straight to Vietnam to start looking for work.  The advantage of doing this would be that I'd start off with more money in my pocket than when I got to Korea.  And some form of stability.  The disadvantage would be that I'd have to start working again.  Not that teaching English is too stressful.  On the contrary, it is (or was, in Korea anyways), a wonderful experience that earned me a great number of friends and a feeling of accomplishment.

Of course, there's also the original “overland to and through India” option.

Of course, there's also the “hang out on the beach in Thailand” option.

Of course, there's also the “See and photograph the awesome wildlife in Borneo” option.

Of course, there's also the “hang out on the beach in Indonesia” option.

Of course, there's also the “go to Sri Lanka, which I know nothing about” option.

Of course, there's also the “go check out Cambodia and Laos” option.

And of course, there's the “finish writing this long-winded blog entry” option.

If anyone has any brilliant insights, I'd love to hear them.  Send me an email.

Oh, and one of these days I'm going to take a shower and wear a clean change of clothes.  But don't hold your breath.  Or do, if I'm in the room.

Going to Everest Base Camp TOMORROW!


I write this entry in the Snowman Cafe, a Kathmandu institution on the perpetually hippy-infested “Freak Street.”  The Snowman Cafe is famous for it's chocolate cake, so Katie and I have been spending a lot of time here in the last week or so.

Tomorrow morning, I leave the comforts of Kathmandu to begin the month-or-so long journey from Jiri, a town known for being a trail head, to Everest Base Camp, located at a lung-busting 5545 meters (18,187 feet) above sea level, and then on to Lukla, a town known for it's airport, the deadliest in the world.  There, I'll board a plane a fly back to Kathmandu.  I should once again be able to enjoy the luxuries of free electricity, warmth, internet availability, chocolate cake at the Snowman Cafe, and Tiger Balm salesmen sometime in early December.  So there won't be any more entries for a month or so.

I've been in Nepal for 2 months exactly, and it's been amazing.  I've had more adventures than I can count, but one of the biggest was Katie and my having “finished” the Annapurna circuit.  The reason for the quotes will be apparent by the end of the story.

On Thursday, October 13th, Katie and I boarded a bus to Besi Sahar, where the Annapurna Circuit, a 20 or so day, 300 kilometer trek, begins.  The bus ride was one of the most uncomfortable and terrifying experiences of my life.  Seriously.  Ugh.  But then, after a little bit of last-minute Nepali-government related paperwork, we were on the trail.

The first few days involved walking up an almost tropical canyon with 1000-foot cliffs rising sharply on both sides.  We must have walked past several hundred waterfalls cascading down the tropical cliff faces.  The lodging was impressive, with many teahouses at these lower elevations offering such luxuries as free in-room electricity and hot showers.  And the prices here were … well, less impressive than the 1000-foot cliffs, but pretty impressive.  A room would typically cost 100 Rupees (about $1.33), and dinner and breakfast cost something like $7-8 per person.  We would typically be in bed by 9pm, and up by 7, usually getting on the trail by 9.  The temperature during the day at these sub-2000 meter elevations was pleasant, and if anything, a bit warm for trekking with big, heavy backpacks, but we didn't see any rain, and it was generally sunny.  Katie and I would sometimes walk together, sometimes separately, and although we met a few other trekkers, we didn't really make any friends during the first few days on the trail.  By October 17th, our fourth day on the trail, we'd gone up in elevation from 830 to 2640 meters, and the thinner air was making itself apparent, especially during sustained uphill sections.

As the elevation increased, the temperatures dropped, and soon, Katie found herself wearing all the clothes she had brought with her on a nightly basis.  Almost as rapidly as the temperatures dropped, the prices rose.  A milk tea that cost 10 Rupees in Besi Sahar suddenly cost 70.  Room rates, fortunately, stayed near the 100 Rupee mark for the majority of the Annapurna Circuit.

On the 18th, Katie and I met some people that would end up becoming good friends.  It's amazing how a shared, challenging activity can bring people together.  29 year-old Emre, from Turkey, was in the middle of his first year abroad – he intends to travel for four years.  21 year-old Wendy, from Belgium, was on month two of a planned year-long round the world trip.  And 25 year-olds Christy and Natalie are from Alaska, so I'm jealous.  We walked together a few days, and shared an “acclimatization day” or two in Manang, at 3500 meters.

In Manang, population probably 200, Katie and I got silly-drunk on 25 Rupee rahksi (Nepali moonshine) and watched “City of God” in a tin-roofed “movie theater” adorned with yak-fur covered benches.  When we emerged from the movie theater, the first snow of the season was falling in heavy, wet flakes.  We did the 20-minute walk home in the dark, through fields filled with glowing-devil-eyes yaks, and discussed our chances of surviving the night when it had such a horror-movie feel.

The scenery at this elevation was varied, but vastly different from the almost-tropical atmosphere of the lower elevations.  A 30-minute stretch of walking could see you through a pine forest, across a 100 meter gorge on an Indiana Jones style rope bridge (but usually made of cables), and staring slack-jawed at any of the 8,000 meter peaks that dot the Annapurna range.  Or maybe you'd see an avalanche.  Katie and I saw 2.

The villages at these higher elevations were Tibetan in style, which basically means all of the buildings were constructed entirely of stone, and if they were heated, it was with wood- or yak shit-burning stoves.  They were absolutely beautiful.  Walking through some of these villages evoked a feeling of stepping a few hundred years back in time … at least until you spotted a NepalTV satellite dish.  But if you did see a NepalTV satellite dish, that implied that it was carried in on the back of a person or a donkey.  No roads reach these higher elevations, so literally everything in these towns is carried in by people and donkeys.  Katie and I caught a few sunrises and sunsets from scenic viewpoints along the trek, and some of them were simply stunning.  Pictures won't be up for a while, sorry.

On the night of October 24th, Katie and I slept at Thorong Pedi, a “town” that consists of a huge, 200+ bed teahouse and some donkeys that must hate their freezing-cold lives.  It's at 4540 meters above sea level (14,891 feet), which means it's cold AND hard to breathe!  Surprisingly, I slept well on this particular night.  The next day, almost everyone Katie and I talked to had not been able to sleep well because of the thin air.

On October 25th, Katie and I arose at the crack of 3:43 AM in order to make it to our 4 AM breakfast.  Why, oh why would we actually choose to get up at such an absurd hour?  Because on this day, we were to cross Thorong La (Thorong Pass), about a thousand meters above Thorong Pedi at 5416 meters (17,764 feet) above sea level.  It was hard, but nothing compared to what we had built it up to be in our minds.  Katie crested the pass at 9:30, and I did the same half an hour later.  We had some celebratory whiskey and took a buttload of pictures with Wendy, Christy, Natalie, Adam, Merida, Ido and Tal … we'd made some more friends by this point.

And then there was the descent.  It went on.  And on.  And on.  And on.  And then, at 3:15 pm, we found ourselves in the lobby of the Hotel Bob Marley, in Muktinath.  At 3800 meters, the air felt amazing in both its relative warmth and thickness.  After 4 days without a shower, the hot shower at Hotel Bob Marley was one of the best things to ever happen ever.  We celebrated with all our friends by throwing more money away on Everest Beer and Bagpiper Whiskey than we'd spent on alcohol for the preceding 2 weeks.  Katie and I spent another day in Muktinath, and then continued down.  From this point on, the circuit would gradually decrease in elevation, and go through a similar transition in scenery that had happened on the first half of the trek, but in reverse.  At the higher elevations on this side of Thorong La, though, the scenery was completely new.  I'd never seen anything like it before.  It was like a dry, dusty desert surrounded by the unimaginably tall and beautiful Himalayas.  I guess it wasn't like that, it was that.

A few days later, Katie and I found ourselves reunited with Adam and Merida, 2 new American friends (and our doppelgangers) who work 9 months of the year in Australia, and travel 3 months a year in Asia.  Together, we walked as far as Marpha, where I got sick.  Again.  Hooray.  On the 29th, we got on a bus (a road runs along the section of the circuit that lies West of Thorong La) and rode a few hours to Tatopani, where we hoped the hot springs and decreased elevation would help me recover quickly.  This was not to be the case.  I self-diagnosed myself with strep throat, and with help from antibiotics, cakes and candy bars aplenty, I recovered.  A little bit, anyways.  But not enough to have a happy Halloween.  In fact, years from now, I think I'll remember this as the lamest Halloween of my life.  I went to bed at 4 in the afternoon.

The next day was a memory that I wish I could forget.  Katie and I spent November 1st on a series of buses.  It sucked.  Katie sat next to a Nepali guy who prayed the whole ride.  I almost did too.  It was weird.  And then we were back in Pokhara.

I spent a week or so there, and a week or so in Kathmandu.  Almost every night since finishing the trek has been one of our new friends' last nights in town, so every night has been a going-away party.  And I'm all partied out.  Good timing, since there won't be any of that going on for a while.

Wish me luck!

Monday, November 21, 2011

Bah! I suck at this blogging thing!

Well, I've written another update, but because of technical difficulties, I can't post it yet.  The internet in Nepal is awesome.  I'm in Namche Bazaar right now, and will be at Everest Base Camp in a week or so!  Hooray!  Then, just a short jaunt to Gokyo, where the views of Everest and the rest of the surrounding Himalayas are supposed to be superb, and on back to Kathmandu.  Then, some National Parks to see rhinos, elephants, tigers, monkeys, and other awesome wildlife, and then maybe overland to India.  Maybe.  Sorry for the lack of updates, there will be a pile of them in the nearish future.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Rushing to create an entry results in shitty blogs.

So, this may or may not be (it will be) written into my epitath as the worst blog ever, since I'm aiming to complete it in 15 minutes and I have no idea what I'm going to write about, but since I may or not may have access to electricity and the internet for the next 3 weeks, I've at least got to put forth some effort. Shit, now I've got like 12 minutes.

Nepal is awesome.

I'm starting to hike the 3-week-or-so Annapurna Circuit tomorrow. I may or may not die / make it all the way.

I just finished a 3-day whitewater rafting trip on the Kaligandahki River (spelling?). It was amazing. All sorts of things that would predictably happen on a 3-day whitewater trip happened. They were predictably awesome.

Packing / unpacking / repacking is stupid, and I don't like it at all.

Porters and guides are for pussies.

We're accidently starting the trek a day late after not wanting to deal with the fiasco known as packing last night.

I hope 72 granola bars, 2 jars of peanut butter and a bag of beef jerkey is enough extra food to survive the next 3 weeks.

I just purchased all the Pepto-Bismol (locally known as Digene) in Nepal.

Next time I post, I hope to have some awesome pictures of mountains with or without sunrises and / or sunsets and / or badass night pictures.

Holy shit I'm finally gonna do this in about 12 hours.



Saturday, October 1, 2011

I recently had an experience that, while I can't really recommend it to anyone, was still perhaps worth happening if for no other reason than I can now check “Spend a day in an overcrowded, understaffed hospital in Nepal” off my life's To Do list.

In my last blog post, I explained that on the morning of Wednesday, September 21, after a sleepless night filled with flies and endless fever-induced tossing and turning, I awoke at sunrise, my whole body aching. I told Katie that we'd have to abandon our plans to trek to Namo Buddha in favor of a much more enjoyable alternative – a Nepalese hospital.

My symptoms were unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. I had what felt like a side-ache, the kind you get if you run too fast for too long, except instead of being limited to the left side of my stomach, just below my ribcage, it was directly below my sternum, and was made more and more painful the heavier I happened to be breathing. And while it was primarily limited to just below my sternum, it would occasionally jump to my shoulders, or down towards my groin. I guess I'd never before realized this, but simply walking causes one's heart rate and breathing to climb, so the simple 15-minute walk from our hotel to the nearest place to get a taxi was a horrible, painful 15 minutes. And the hour long, bumpy-ass ride from Bhaktapur to Kathmandu was what some people would describe as agonizing.

But we made it to town, and Katie dropped my useless ass off at an internet cafe to figure out hospital stuff in Kathmandu while she went looking for a new hotel. She found and quickly decided on “Happy Home Guesthouse,” which was overall a pretty crappy hotel, but it DID have one super important attribute – the manager was the friendliest woman in the universe, and when she found that I wasn't feeling well, she threw away the rest of her day's plans to accompany Katie and myself to the Kathmandu Teaching Hospital.

I'd read about the CIWEC hospital in town that is run by Westerners – all the doctors, apparently, are European – and considered going there, but a few things ultimately directed me towards the Teaching Hospital. One: After purchasing my travel health insurance, I'd read some horror stories about them making it difficult to get refunds for hospital bills taken care of. I knew that if I went to the CIWEC hospital, my bill would be off the charts compared to what it would be at the Teaching Hospital. Two: I thought (and was correct) that it might be interesting to see what it is truly like in a 3rd world hospital.

At 1 or 2 in the afternoon, Katie, myself, the Happy Home Manager, and a random friend of hers who happened to be relaxing at Happy Home took off for the Kathmandu Teaching Hospital. The first thing I noticed when we got there was how incredibly overcrowded it was. We learned that this was at least in part due to the earthquake that had shaken Kathmandu 3 days earlier, on September 18th. So I sat down on a cot occupied by only one other person (this seemed to be a rarity) and let about 4 doctors and 53 nurses visit me in turn, asking me the same questions again and again, filling out forms, performing tests, and then coming back to ask the same questions, fill out the same forms, and perform the same tests. It was a paperwork nightmare, and by the time I left, I had 14 individual papers containing itemized receipts, test results, test request forms, EKG graphs, and a blueprint for a Soviet-era nuclear submarine.

Hours passed, during which time three angels – Katie, the Happy Home Manager, and her friend – ran from room to room and building to building, delivering test sheets, picking up syringes, dropping off vials, getting the name on my receipts changed from Chungle Louis to Glenn Lewis, and doing a pretty goddamn respectable job of keeping my spirits up in such a depressing location.

As the hours ticked away, the crowds at the hospital increased, and I eventually found myself sharing my cot with 4 other people. A man in fatigues came in with unnaturally yellow skin, and even the whites of his eyes were a yellowish color. He was unable to walk by himself, and seeing him in the condition he was in allowed me to realize that although I was in an overcrowded Nepalese hospital feeling like balls, my life was STILL better than 99% of people in the world. Who knew that a hospital visit could prove to be such a learning experience.

Some other odds-and-ends that didn't fit too well anywhere in the above story:
  • The nurses at the hospital wore sarees. Not the bright red or yellow ones that Katie and I have come to love in the last few weeks, but light blue sarees with white crosses.
  • I had to get an IV, and for whatever reason, the staff was unable to do so on the inside of my elbow, and instead had to do it at the wrist. It took 4 nurses 3 tries (by tries I mean stabs) to get this painful, Nursing 101 procedure taken care of.
  • When picturing a hospital, most people think of a white-walled, clinically clean room with fluorescent lighting and workers in masks. Not the case in the Kathmandu Teaching Hospital. The bathroom, for instance, contained one (1) squatter toilet and zero (0) sinks. So no hand-washing at the hospital. Fortunately, I'm in the habit of carrying hand sanitizer everywhere, so this wasn't really a problem. Just kind of an interesting thing to experience.
  • All the nurses and doctors speak English better than I do. WTF?

When all was said and done, I had a 9,000 Rupee ($120) bill that I'm hoping will be reimbursed, and a relatively clean bill of health. The doctors tested my pancreas, heart, and all sorts of other stuff that could have been indicative of serious, long-term health problems; everything was fine. Whew. It turns out I just had some generic virus that had given me a temperature of 101F, and gastritis that would have knocked out an elephant. I got a bunch of pills that I only finished today (October 1, 2011), and finally feel pretty much back to normal.

Overall, this was a pretty shitty day, but I've come to realize that in order to enjoy the life-changing highs that walk hand-in-hand with long-term travel, one must at least occasionally experience some of the lowest lows that similarly walk hand-in-hand with long-term travel. I realized how blessed I am, in more ways than I can count, and my faith in humanity got moved up a peg or two, thanks to Katie, my adopted Nepalese mother, and her friend.

Let's hope this is my last Nepalese-hospital story.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Trekking around the Kathmandu Valley

Story Three: Trekking around the Kathmandu Valley

Katie and I have two big objectives while in Nepal. We want to do the 3-week Annapurna Circuit trek, and we want to do the 3-week extended trek to Everest Base Camp. Each of these treks might be stretched out to 3.5 or 4 weeks, we don't really know enough details yet, and are going to play it by ear. But we do know that both of these hikes involve reaching elevations of over 5,000 meters, and Everest Base Camp is at an elevation of 5545 meters – about 18,200 feet above sea level. Needless to say, we're going to need to acclimate. So we decided it would be a good idea to do a few short hikes around Kathmandu (only at an elevation of 1300m, lower than Denver, Colorado), and on Friday, September 16, 2011, we set off from our guesthouse in Kathmandu for the village of Sundarijal, an hour and a half by bus from the city center.

Our initial, planned itinerary went something like this:
  • Day one: Bus from Kathmandu to Sundarijal (1.5 hours), hike to Chisapani (5hrs), stay the night.
  • Day two: Hike from Chisapani to Nagarkot (10 hrs), stay the night.
  • Day three: Hike from Nagarkot to Changanarayan (6 hrs), take a cab back to Kathmandu.

Backpacking (or 'trekking' in this and most non-American places in the world) is very different from anywhere I've trekked before. Unless you are in a super-remote area, you can count on walking through a village every 3-4 hours, and each of these villages will typically have several 'teahouses' available where you can stay the night and have your dinner and breakfast prepared for you. And depending on the season and the village, the prices can range from so-cheap-it's-basically-free to cheap. Because Nepal makes it so easy to be flexible with your trekking schedule, our final trekking schedule ended up working out like this:
  • Day one: Bus from Kathmandu to Sundarijal (1.5 hours), lunch at Sundarijal (2 hours), hike to Chisapani (4 hours), stay the night.
    The very beginning of the Sundarijal - Chisapani hike

    Katie hiking through what sometimes seemed to be endless fog.
  • Day two: Hike from Chisapani to Nagarkot (8.5 hours), stay the night.

  • Cute Nepali children

    Day three: Day-hike around Nagarkot, stay another night in Nagarkot.
    Talk about a creative restaurant name.  Just below the Nagarkot View Tower, Nagarkot.

    Katie, climbing up the Nagarkot View Tower, just before the monsoon that almost ruined the rest of our evening.
  • Me climbing the Nagarkot View Tower.
    Day four: Hike from Nagarkot to Changanarayan (5 hours), stay the night.
  • Day five: Hike from Changanarayan to Bhaktapur on the Kathmandu Valley floor (6 hours), stay the night.
  • Day six: Feel like shit, cancel rest of hike, taxi back to Kathmandu, go to hospital.
Notables from the six-day trek:
  • Our room in the teahouse in Chisapani (first night) cost 100 rupees. That's about $1.33, or $0.67 each. When you stay at a teahouse, you're expected to eat their food, so that's where they make their money, but food and drinks are also ridiculously cheap. Over the course of our single night and morning at this teahouse, we had 3 large pots of tea, one large pot of coffee, a very-filling and delicious dinner AND dessert, and an awesome breakfast. Our total food bill – 1,200 Rupees, about $16, or $8 each. So a cheap day on the trail can be done for about $10.

    Mmmm... chow mein.  I don't know if I've ever had chow mein, but I discovered it in Nepal, and it changed my life.
  • About two weeks into our Nepal adventure, we STILL haven't seen the Himalayas. The views from Nagarkot are famous, but the Himalayas have been hidden from view for the whole time we've been in the country. Annoying.
    Trailside view en route from Chisapani to Nagarkot.  If there were no clouds here, the Himalayas would be visible at the top of this photo.

  • Leeches! Katie got 4, and I got 3. I was the one wearing shorts. Go figure. And then there was the one we found in our hotel room in Changanarayan that I had to crush to death with a Nalgene bottle 5 times before it finally died. Reminded me of the invincible spider from Australia. And by the time it was actually dead, one little corner of our hotel room looked like a murder scene.

    Hooray!  Leeches!
  • Diarrhea. I'll leave it at that.
  • Seeing a local boy herd a herd of 50+ goats down a mountain road.

    Herd those goats, 10 year-old boy!
  • Mt. Dog Fuck, Nagarkot. The best place in Nagarkot to view the sun setting over Kathmandu is from a small hill in town inhabited only by fat, friendly stray dogs … that can't stop fucking.
    Sunset over Kathmandu, seen from the world famous Mt. Dog Fuck, Nagarkot.

    The view down onto the road out of Nagarkot from the famed Mt. Dog Fuck.
  • Drinking home-brewed Chang (Nepalese moonshine “beer” that tastes like lemonade without enough sugar in it) and Roxie (Nepalese moonshine liquor that tastes almost exactly like saki) in a dirt-floored restaurant for 15 rupees per cup. The drinks were poured by a Nepalese hobbit from old gasoline cans. Classy. In an totally unrelated story, I found myself in a Nepalese hospital three days later with crippling stomach and body pains.
  • Being trapped in the “Friendship Hut” across the road from an Army Base a few kilometers from Nagarkot in a monsoon. When it rains here, it can rain HARD. We spent an hour or two in what basically amounted to a small gazebo, trying to avoid the downpour. Eventually, when it started getting dark, we had to give up and walk back to town, understandably miserable in the dark, pouring rain. And all this just after I'd had to run off the road to poop in the woods, and had gotten bitten on my ass by what must have been a spider.

    Katie testing out her $4 raincoat in monsoon rains at "Friendship Hut," just outside Nagarkot.  It wasn't waterproof.
  • Having this same night turn totally around because of our having dinner with a Nepalese family, who rather than watching TV together at night, sang songs while one of the men played the guitar. We tried to reciprocate the kindness they'd shown us by singing the only song that both of us knew: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
  • Forming a hippy death-pact, whereupon if any of the following rules are broken, a mutual suicide has been deemed the most prudent action:
    • Dreadlocks (either of us), and head-shaving (Katie).
    • The use of patchouli for anything at all ever.
    • The use of the word “chakra.” More items will be added to the list as our terrifying free fall into hippydom provides more specific examples of punishible-by-death crimes.
  • Seeing Changanarayan, the oldest Temple in Nepal, and a mere 5 minute walk from our $4.66 hotel after dark.
  • Meeting 5 Nepalese college students, 2 of whom were out celebrating having just passed their final college exams. We relaxed with them on top of one of the hundreds-of-years-old temples in Bhaktapur Square, and then bought them dinner and chang at a local restaurant.
  • Surviving an Earthquake that neither of us even felt, but that resulted in several deaths mere miles away in Kathmandu.
  • Waking up in Bhaktapur after a sleepless night of fever-induced tossing and turning, body pain, and spending the rest of the day in a Nepalese hospital, being taken care of by Katie and the manager of the hotel we'd moved into a mere hour earlier. But the whole hospital thing deserves it's own entry. So be patient, both of you that have managed to read this far...

    And some more photos... 
    I'm eventually going to have a full album of "animals in weird places."

    See what I was saying about "Animals in weird places?"

    Haggling for bananas or something.

    One way of getting around Nepal.

    This is a picture of corn.

    I love it: "I'm bored.  No electricity."  The whole country has rolling blackouts.
    I believe this is a flamingo.

    ...and more "Animals in weird places."

    Here's a necessary caption: This is a butterfly.


Story Two: Monkeys

Katie had read about Swayambhu, or Kathmandu's famous “Monkey Temple,” and insisted that we go there as soon as we had some free time. I happily agreed. Every now and then, you find yourself in a new place or having a new experience that feels truly … maybe not life-changing, but at least significant. Swayambhu was both such a place, and such an experience.

On September 14th, Katie and I awoke at 4:30 with the intention of making it to the top of Swayambhu by sunrise. It was about a 30-minute walk from our hotel to the temple, but as has been the case literally every morning since our arrival, sunrise wasn't that amazing – we've been in the clouds almost the whole time we've been here. The night before, when we'd decided to come to the top of Swayambhu for sunrise, I'd envisioned it being devoid of people, a peaceful refuge from the hussle and bussle of Kathmandu. Wrong. There were probably over a hundred Nepalese people at the top of the temple by the time we got there, but we were the only non-Nepalese, which I suppose was kind of cool.

The temple itself was beautiful, but I'm not going to write much about it here – look it up on Google images if you're curious what it looks like. And I'll put some pictures up somewhere, sometime. After seeing the main area of the temple, which was inhabited by a good number of “wild” monkeys, we went off to explore some of the lesser-viewed areas of the Temple grounds. And here we encountered several different groups of monkeys, including one group led by the aptly named (Katie and I named him) “King Monkey,” who really seemed to run the show at Swayambhu. When we found this first group, we simply wandered around, observing and taking way too many pictures of our evolutionary predecessors.

The activities they took part in were hilarious and amazing to observe. Baby monkeys would fight each other and then ride around on their mother's or father's backs. Monkeys of all different sizes would swing back and forth from the endless prayer flags adorning the Temple. They'd scream at each other. They'd jump from ancient stupas to moss-covered trees, pick up discarded candy-bar wrappers, and get the last crumbs out with their little monkey-hands. I didn't see any poo-flinging, but I plan on going back to Swayambhu as often as practical, and maybe poo-throwing will eventually make it onto the list of things I've seen monkeys do.

Now for three quick monkey stories, all from this single day at Swayambhu.

ONE: Katie and I were taking pictures of the monkeys, and a baby monkey wandered very close to Katie. They don't seem at all afraid of being even a few feet away from people, but Katie must have made some sudden move that frightened the baby, so it shouted and ran off towards mama, who shouted and started running away with the frightened baby on her back. King Monkey must have observed all this from nearby, because within 5 seconds of baby monkey freaking out, King Monkey was running towards Katie with a fire in his eyes. At this point, Katie was freaking out and coming towards me, when she heard the pitter-patter of monkey feet running up behind her. King Monkey screeched in anger and two-hand slapped her on the ass before Katie was able to complete her hasty retreat.

TWO: Swayambhu, being an actual, functional temple in addition to a massive tourist-draw, has resident monks. And there are child monks. My stint as an elementary-school teacher in Korea taught me that no matter where in the world you are, children will be children. So it shouldn't have been a surprise to Katie or I that the three 10 or so year-old monks we saw while at Swayambhu spent their time chasing, yelling at, and throwing rocks and sandals at the monkeys that also inhabit the Temple. It just seemed counterintuitive – aren't monks supposed to stand, above all, for peace and harmony with all living things? To see them throwing rocks at their quasi-pets was weird.

THREE: Dog-monkey war! King Monkey was hanging out on a little stupa, when an older Nepalese man, unaware of King Monkey's presence only a couple feet away from him, walked by. King Monkey got angry for some reason and swatted at the old man. There are well-fed, friendly stray dogs all over Kathmandu, and one that happened to be nearby at this moment ran to the old man's defense. This started an all-out dog/monkey war. Barks and screeches filled the air as the dogs eventually chased the King Monkey-led gang of monkeys back into their safe haven – the trees all around Swayambhu. Although the monkeys were obviously much more fun to observe than stray dogs, neither Katie nor I could help but root for the dogs, as they'd come to the helpless old man's defense. We hoped this was a sign that if we faced any further problematic monkey-business (yeah, I said monkey-business) of our own, we'd be able to count on being defended by stray dogs. If only there'd been dogs around at the time of Katie's monkey-hands molestation.

Bathrooms in Nepal

This whole blogging thing is still pretty new to me, and I guess I don't really know what kind of format, if any, “Glenn's Adventures” will ultimately follow. I know there will be plenty of events in my upcoming travels that will warrant an entire entry, but there will also be long periods of time where I'll be away from electricity, or when I simply won't want to or have the time to do much writing. So for today's entry, I'll try doing this in short story style. Here are some of the amazing things that have happened to Katie and I since everything went to hell on day one of our Nepal adventure.

Story One: Bathrooms in Nepal

Let's start with what everyone reading this must certainly be most interested in: peeing and pooping! In Korea, western-style toilets were the norm, but you'd occasionally find yourself having to use a squatter. A squatter that flushes. In Nepal, squatters are the norm, and western-style toilets are the rarity. And I haven't yet seen a squatter that flushes – at least not in the traditional sense. Most bathrooms have a big bucket and a tap (that occasionally works), so once you've done your duty (by 'done your duty' I mean 'taken a shit'), you fill the bucket with water and dump it into the squatter, thus mysteriously flushing away whatever you might have left behind, excluding, of course, the terrible smells that are a permanent fixture of Nepalese bathrooms.

There are no public bathrooms in Nepal, which is problematic on several levels. Since I got here, my digestive tract has been angry at me, perhaps because of the amount of street food I've been eating, or perhaps because all the damage done to my camera and computer stuff on day one wasn't quite enough to satisfy an inexplicably vengeful higher power. Either way, whenever you need to use a bathroom, there isn't one around. But there is ALWAYS a tea and snacks shop / restaurant. It doesn't matter if you are downtown, or on a high mountain trail. There's always a tea shop. So you can simply go in, order some tea, and use the bathroom. Problem solved – except for the oxymoronic concept of stopping at a place to pee, only to order another few drinks which simply perpetuates the problem.

Now for some specifically memorable squatter experiences: On Katie and my first full day in Nepal, we went to Swayambhu (Monkey Temple; see Story Two below), and when we came down at dusk, we wandered into a hole-in-the-wall for tea and snacks. The phrase hole-in-the-wall takes on a whole new meaning for spoiled Westerners like myself over here – many places have dirt floors, 5-foot high ceilings, and no electricity. This was one such place. Both Katie and I needed to use the bathroom, and upon explaining this, the proprietress told her 8-10 year old son to show us each, one-at-a-time, to the bathroom. To get there, you had to follow a boy through a single-candle lit kitchen, then through a pitch-black hallway (with 5-foot ceilings, of course), seeing only with the help of the boy's keychain-sized LED flashlight that emitted about as much light as a black hole. And it smelled like death. Poop-death.

The other specifically memorable squatter came at another hole-in-the-wall near Durbar Square, one of the touristy areas of Kathmandu. Getting to this squatter involved going upstairs, and through a chicken-wire “gate” that said something about a construction zone, under a collapsed brick / concrete / rebar pillar, and onto what can only be described as a bannister-free balcony. It looked like part of the floor had collapsed some time earlier (Days? Months? Years? No idea.). And there, on the middle of this 'balcony,' was the squatter. The 'balcony' was still hidden from the outside world by walls on all four sides, so you couldn't look out on the city or have the city look in on you, but after dark, it would have been terrifyingly easy to try to squat down, and instead fall over the edge of the balcony and impale yourself on one or more of the pieces of rebar sticking out in all directions from the floor below. Fun.