CHAPTER 11 - NEPAL (VIA BANGKOK) PART I

Sa 2/6/99 - Flying Sydney to Bangkok, Thailand

Thailand! This is our day to fly to Asia!

I awoke at 8am, before Fi's wakeup call, showered, repacked, and called the Bank of Newport's touch tone service only to wonder why just four transactions were in the account history. My third and last morning with Gary and Fi was a bit sad. They made me feel very comfortable and welcome in their home. We shared genuine common interests in traveling and boating, these were the morning conversations again. I viewed photos of their 32 foot double ended cutter, a boat Gary built over a fifteen years, they have had in the water for nine, and lived on for five. Sadly, I learned they were to sell the now seldom used boat soon.

Fi dropped myself and bags at the station. I trained and taxied to the airport to find more than 90 people waited at the Olympic Airways (Greek) counter. John and Rachel soon arrived and I was greeted by Rachel loudly yelling, "Bob Roklan, I don't believe it!" across the airport. Unfortunately, John's greeting told of how we acquired a $A320 ($A160 each) bill for malaria and altitude sickness medication yesterday. At the counter we found that we were flying via Melbourne and my comment to John was that we could have sold the car there and hopped on the plane. My backpack weighed only 19.2 kg, the daypack 3.1 kg, a significant drop since leaving Green Airport in Rhode Island. Tears flowed from Rachel as I said goodbye and went ahead through the gate to make a phone call to a friend of Fi's to inquire about Bangkok and Nepal, and to leave John and Rachel to it.

We faced twelve hours of travel to Thailand, eight and a half from Melbourne to Bangkok. On the second segment I noted the western style food, the water of Greece, and especially the passengers. The plane was chocker block, mostly with Greeks who were shockingly loud and over curious about fellow passengers. I attempted sleep in many uncomfortable positions with some success. I was awoken once by a man and women arguing and yelling across the plane in Greek. Well, maybe this is good, maybe this will cushion the shock of entering Bangkok. Maybe not.

We had crossed four time zones and I spent hours searching for comfort while attempting sleep but not missing the decent meals. I mused and speculated about the European niceties, the Olympic dinnerware, and Greek water and wine. This would be our last taste of western culture in a western surrounding for months to come.

(The exchange rate is 37 batt to 1 US dollar)

We were greeted in the Bangkok airport with an elevator version of "The House of the Rising Sun". While waiting to pass through customs we chatted up an Australian couple. The girl had been to Bangkok a year or so earlier, so we latched on and shared a cab ride (400 batt) to Khao San Rd. Khao San Road is central to the city and the most popular lodging area for backpackers. Especially after our financial blunders in Australia, I was looking to living like a king for nothing in Asia, but that was only to be wishful. We walked the road looking for lodging, the first choice was 700 batt for two, we then passed a few filled for the night, and settled on single rooms at the Grand Guest House for 100 batt each, only $US2.70 each. We could live with that. Downstairs was a large, sprawling, and dark lounge area showing English rugby and filled with rooting patrons We sat in weathered plastic chairs on the sidewalk and celebrated our arrival into Asia with a rare beer, then shocked for the price was more than the room, 120 batt.

Khou San Road is shoddy as one would expect in an Asian city and I loved it. The streets are coated with a filth and sometimes smell of sewage. The buildings are old, maybe a hundred years old, and I found unusual the amount of wood used in the city. They looked a bit sad, maybe never having been cleaned, and have a plaster of wires and transformers across them. But this all is just the streets infrastructure, what has been built over is fun and colorful. The street has countless spots for lodging, the reception found in an alley or the back of an establishment, the rooms on the second and third floors. The street level is filled with restaurants, bars, shops, internet cafes, and so on. The streets filled with cabs and tuk tuks, a three wheeled motored rickshaw. The people are a good mix of locals and backpackers, and the locals themselves are great, friendly, smiling - exactly as I have heard, and to mention only now how beautiful the Thailand women are is an injustice. We were loving it!

Su 3/7/99 - Bangkok

We had a cheese and ham omelet with toast and jam for 60 batt, then set off to explore this great country, this country I have heard wonderful things about, and have been eager to visit.

My strategy was to walk along the riverfront, past the Great Palace, and on to the Indian Market in ______ xxx. Aided by the South-East Asia Lonely Planet and a small map inside it of Bangkok, we were able to find the river, but there was no riverfront walk. We wound along as best we could, eyeing the river boats and far bank. We were entertained by the xxxxx, long, colorful, narrow boats with huge car motors suspended atop a long propeller shaft.

The goal at the Indian Market was silk for a sleep sheet, $B400 for two meters plus $B40 to cut in half and stitch to the size to sheet.

Mo 3/8/99 - Bangkok to Katmandu

7am van for $B70, filled with dolled up and sleepy young airport workers

bags 20.7 and 5.2 kg

3hr flight, changed 1.25 time zones

chatted with two Australian sisters, Wendy and Samantha, later mom Ivy

split cab to Katmandu hotel their mom had booked, Annapurna Guest House, $US6 for our room. filthy street, dusty. Wandered dusty and dirty streets of Thamel, especially Durbur Square.

I was looking for pants, hat, disposable cameras, etc

passed a pile of black cows legs

someone through bucket of liquid, hitting Samantha and I in the head

ate vegetable curry with rice and pan (bread)

Tu 3/9/99 - Katmandu

trekking permits, visa extension. some business guys helped us out with filling the forms. the application for trekking costs $US5 per week (3 and 2 weeks), $US1 per day for visa extension. Gov. req. $10, $10, $8 respectively for agent to do forms, we said sorry after being in their office talking about the trekking and filling in forms, then walked out. 10a we passed in the forms and were told to return at 3. another lung wrenching tuk tuk ride across town looking for money for john through MasterCard. there are no ATM's in Nepal and most businesses take only visa for cash return.

booked bus for tomorrow for Annapurna circuit, and also return flight to Lukla to jump a (reportedly boring) week on the Everest base camp trek, $US83 one way. back at 3pm, immediately picked up paperwork then went

searching for money for john again. hit road block with that so we split the pile of small bills I had (for trekking country) and went to pick up Lukla tickets. had pants sewn up, bought super heavy wool sweater, wool gloves, and hat for john for $US12 cash.

john tripped over bum, he had no toes

changed ticket to leave three days later, on 16th. for trekking

same restaurant for veg curry, two cokes and amazingly no dessert. picked up few last essential items, checked email, back to pack.

We 3/10/99 - Katmandu to Naya Pul (Annapurna Circuit, Day 1)

Wake up call at 530am, cold shower, walked to bus stop, arriving at 630am. Bus left Katmandu, heading North-west to Dubra passing steep dry terraced hills normally used for farming and grazing, but today the dry earth was unused. We passed many small villages made of a mix of building materials such as neat square chipped stone, bamboo, red brick, concrete bocks, thatch, and corrugated roofing, although most were a fix of tin walls and thatched roofs. The roads were very windy, narrow, and harrowing, with misty views that eventually included distance dramatic snow bound Himalayan peaks. At one point the traffic, mostly buses and colorfully decorated trucks, were backed up at a construction sight and I followed a few people off the bus to look for a pic back up the road and then found the traffic moving along such that I needed to run down hill to catch our bus just as it was freed from the congestion.

We sat near three young American girls who were on vacation from volunteer work in India as nurses for a Christian order. We all acted silly and exchanged stories and had a fine time. They were staying on the bus to Pokura, the normal end of the Annapurna Circuit, and finding amusement there for a few days.

We then blundered, potentially big. We had paid for a bus ticket from Katmandu to Dubra, halfway on the road from Katmandu to Pokura, where we were to find a local bus to Besisahar. We expected Dubra to be one of the stops, but after laughing about how our three hour bus ride was turning into five, I spied a sign reading, "Welcome to Pokara" . Oh, oh.

I was very bothered by this for a number of reasons. To find our way back to Besisahar would cause us to lose a day, we wouldn't arrive until the following day. To continue from this direction meant a few worrying issues. Firstly, our trekking permit was written as starting from Besisahar and ending in Pokura. The Nepalis appear to be very strict on this and way overboard in tracking trekkers through a series of fourteen checkpoints along the circuit.

Secondly, the good book, the Lonely Planet's "Trekking in Nepal" describes attempting the Annapurna Circuit clockwise follows.

"It is easiest and safest to cross the Thrung La from east to west ... The reason is that if you travel west to east, there are no camping spots or water sources on the west side of the pass from a meadow above Mukitinah, at 4100m, to a spot two to three hours beyond the pass on the Manang side, at 4150m. This means that you have to make a 1300m climb, plus at least a 900m descent, in a single day. This is an impossible feat for many people, especially those who have not yet acclimatized to high elevation.".

The Thrung La Pass is 5416m (17,764ft), so this task is like climbing up and down Mt. Washington but with a starting elevation of 11,500 ft, without any source of water on the way. Disabling altitude sickness, called acute mountains sickness (AMS), can start below 10,000ft. Worsened forms can lead to high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE) and high-altitude cerebral edema (HACE), these can result in death. From the Besishar side there are a number of tea houses near the pass that allow acclimatization slowly. On the Pokura side they do not exist in that manner.

Thirdly, ending the trek on this side allows for the best of amenities. The subset of trek from Pokura as far north as Jomson is called the Jomson Trek, nicknamed the "Pizza and Apple Pie Trek". And Pokura is flash. Travelers are well catered to and Phewa Tal is a great lake on the side that of town.

So, the question was lose a day traveling back or take our chances with the ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) check points, high altitude sickness, and a better village arrangement for trekkers. We decided to forge ahead on this side, or "wing it" as some my say, "the wrong way".

From the Pokura bus stop we taxied to Baglung Bus Station at the north end of the city, then found a local bus leaving for Naya Pul two hours away. I climbed on top and wedged my pack between the many crates there. John had been eager to ride on top of the bus, so up he went while I fended with the locals below. As expected, the seats were suitable to smaller people and the bus was jammed with locals. I chose a seat on the only bench available and it was above the wheelwell so my knees where in my mouth. A small runny nosed little boy sat besides me and that was good because we split the seat 80/20. An adult would never have fit. The bus was colorful, women in intricate dressings, a language I will never understand flowing around, and of course the customary stares.

I waited until we were half way to Naya Pul, then I stuck my head through the window and yelled to ask John how life was on top. He replied "good", and I turned back to a busload of hard stares. Either I did something in bad taste or I was the devil. I smiled and shrugged. I climbed up on at the next full stop.

Yes, riding on top was good. John was laid out on the packs, his feet up on the baggage railing. Beside him was a young man with the slanted eyes of this local mountain people. We could view villages and mountains without obstruction. Small boys an girls yelled to us to say hello or ask for things which I did not understand. I smiled and waved and felt like the Queen. In the distance we could see Pokura and the lake, after an hour and a half only twenty kilometers away.

Eventually we stopped at a village and I nervously asked the boy whether we were in Naya Pul. I had disturbed his sleep, he motioned that it was further on, then nicked a handful of small oranges from a crate.

Naya Pul is simply marked by a line of shacks on the road. We clambered down and were directed to the trail without asking. Down the hill we reached a fork and again were directed without asking. This section of the circuit is well worn because of the popularity of the Jomson Trek, a subset of the circuit which runs from Naya Pul to Jomson with trekkers often completing the circuit over the Thrung La Pass to Muktinath.

The first village we reached, Birthanti, is really pretty, third world uneven construction which adds to the charm and very neat with clean buildings and colored paint on basic white. Here would have been a nice place to stay, but we wanted to put some km's on. Over a suspended walk bridge was the ACAP desk, our first check point. We were overly pleased to have our paperwork accepted but not too happy about the 1000 rupee charge for the park area permit.

This was our introduction to trekking in Nepal. Trekking here isn't just walking on a trail through the woods. The 'trails' are routes used for a millennium by Nepalis, the only path from one village to another. The draw to trekking are the Himalayan views and the villages and people. The goal is not necessarily to 'get in touch with nature'. Sherpa's are famous for carrying great loads on their backs with most weight supported by a band running across their foreheads. Although Sherpas are a people in the Everest region, carrying wares and food basics is the way of life throughout the Himalayas. Along the Jomson Trek are Gurung and Magar people. We saw amazing feats by these small and scrawny men such as carrying a bundle of empty glass bottles three feet wide, four feet high, and a foot deep. Often one would see a trekking porter carrying four or five backpacks. One amazing sight was a man carrying four by eight foot sheets of plywood. One trekker had seen a satellite dish. They walk barefoot or in thongs and do not carry water. Simply amazing.

Imagine spending seventeen days without seeing or hearing automobiles, stop lights, stop signs, or any other sign of modern civilization!?

The trek here was mostly covered with flat stones and wide enough for two people to pass. We followed a river and sped past great swimming holes. 'Sped' is an overstatement. Our physical robustness was at an ebb having not seriously exerted ourselves for weeks. We had had a long, exciteful day and were tired. I dwelled on the thought of our trek going astray and did an inventory of my pack. I wish I knew what it weighed, too much is certain. I probably brought along a few items of little importance and I would certainly pay for it.

We had left Naya Pul around 4:30pm, and when it became dark near 6:30pm we were facing a tea house called Anjan in Sundame. The women were only slightly friendly, but considering our weariness and the closing darkness we stopped. We were the only trekkers here, perhaps too close to Naya Pul for people to stop. Dinner was milk tea, vegetable soup, and chapati (flat bread). Spinach in the soup was overly strong and not to my liking, and John wasn't keen on the bread, but we were happy to be resting.

We wrestled with what foods to eat. Meats were out across the board. Five weeks without meat?! Any freshly cut and potentially washed items were out like salads. Food needed to be cooked thoroughly or bacteria and virus infection would occur such as amoebiasis or giardiasis.

We hit our stubby beds early at 8pm for another broken night of sleep.

Th 3/11/99 - Sudame (~1000m) to Ghorapani (2775m) (Day 2)

Up at 6am and waited too long for breakfast (2 eggs, 2 pancakes with honey). We paid our lodging (100 rupees total) and food (430 rupees) and after a line of decorated donkeys passed, hit the stone trail. We labored up and up the endless stone staircase past Hille to Ulleri and were beat up by the ascent. We were exasperated and at 10:30am stopped for a Coke and a Snickers (90 rupees) and discussed our position. Before setting out in the morning I figured ourselves one quarter into the first day as described by the good book (Lonely Planet) and assumed that trek times we have seen were accurate and that we were moving very slowly under our loads. Feeling like hell, how could we face the higher altitudes?! But, oh contraire. We had missed the signs for a couple of villages and were actually only three hours from the end of day two and talked of descending this damn hill to make the end of day three. We were in much better spirits and with a load of sugar in us away quickly.

Of course that didn't last long as we were once again moving slowly, constantly stopping and standing or unloading our packs for a break. There was plenty of water, which we treated with filtering and/or chlorine, and we gulp it. By the time we reached Ghorepani we were racked and I was wondering if going to finish the third day was a good idea. We had already gained a day. We would decide after lunch.

Walking into Ghorepani was a relief because of our tiredness, but also a thrill because of the See You Lodge. It is the first tea house and stands above the trail, clean and painted brightly. A deck area was set with tables calling us to eat. We had just met four girls (three Brits and an Aussie) traveling to Tatopani with a drunken porter and they walked straight up and into a room. That was good enough for us. Fifteen minutes of sitting on the deck and we were there for the night. Although our legs had cramped, my heels hurt and pushing on worried me. Pushing too much my have caused an accident and the rest of our bodies were probably glad of the decision.

After a lunch of vegetable pizza (Yak cheese) and vegetable soup, then organizing a bit, I pursued the local attraction, Poon Hill (3210m), a religious site where views of Machapuchre, the Annapurnas (there are a number of Annapurna peaks suffixed with numbers and names, here I saw Annapurna I and Annapurna South), Nilgril, and Dhaulagril. I went up alone. Teebee Poon, the hotel owner, gave an estimate of forty minutes to Poon Hill but with the torment of a body not wanting more exercise, it seemed more. Even with just a daypack on I labored, one step after the next. I wasn't immediately convinced the effort was worth it, we would see similar sights later on, but after a couple of pics and sitting and staring out over the vista, I decided it was a good move. I was alone on Poon Hill, the breeze was moderate and pray flags flapped. I sat on a stone bench made for porters to rest and just gazed out to the high Himalaya. Since Poon Hill is at 3210 meters (10528 feet), this is the highest elevation I have ever hiked to.

As I was returning to the village, I passed Teebee Poon and a group ascending to Poon Hill. I had just had a pee and a dribble and tried to cover this embarrassment while the horde of a dozen people faced me to ask the worthiness of the effort, a bit embarrassing. John followed them a minute later.

Teebee Poon, the owner, is a great character with big smile, laugh and a fairly good handle on English. He is always into light small talk, getting people to open up and on the ready to make people comfortable including of course with food and other transactions. Businessmen are similar around the world, but Teebee Poon is a really likeable character. He also prods people to climb Poon Hill for sunset and sunrise, the climb he leads.

See You Lodge has a good dinning and sitting area, surrounded by glass and with colorful bench tables. The center of the room has a big metal wood stove with a gray mud wiped covering. People gathered and filed the room for dinner and it turned into a fun, festive social occasion. Trekkers traded stories of their journeys and where they were from. We sat and ate with a couple, Julian from England and his girlfriend Martha, a transplant from Poland to New York City to England. To the right sat a German couple, at the end of the table sat two young girls from England, and across the room were the four girls we met earlier. All were as going north on the Jomson Trek.

This Cassiopeia handheld I type on has raised interest from trekkers but more so from the locals. A number came smiling to see the machine. The language barrier makes an explanation impossible for most although one young man said he has used Microsoft Word. In the early evening a boy of about sixteen sat by me and smiled and stared. He did not speak English but I tried only brief instruction and left him with it. I don't think he understood how the back lit screen works, that it turns off after a period, and how to type. After ten minutes of hard concentration he had typed the following, "cls bhubankumarfromnepal cls"

Fr 3/12/99 - Ghorapani (2775m) to Tatopani (1189m) (Day 3)

Teebee Poon announced last night there would be a wakeup call at 5am much to everyone's dismay and resistance. We turned our light on at 6am and a minute later Teebee Poon's excited face was stuck in the door window, motioning and asking if we were going up Poon Hill. Emphatically, I jokingly motioned no way.

Sleep was broken again, I continuously woke with cold legs even though I stuck the end of my sleeping bag into my closed jacket. Although there was ice outside at the tap this morning and our rooms were not heated, we are going down in elevation so it should be warmer. I suppose I could wear my funky cotton Nepali pants to bed.

The days trek started very well. After a small up, we signed in at the checkpost in Ghorapani at 8:22am, and started a generally downward route for the day. We were using new muscles and joints, the air was cool, we sucked our two one and a half liter bottles of filtered and chlorinated water and for hours we were moving quickly. We stopped for a Coke and Snickers, not so much for a rest but to keep Julian and Martha company. John guessed we must have done half the day's trek and we were happy, knowing we would beat the estimated time of six hours.

Then after three hours we saw a sign for three more and the day became hot. The trail steepened and was relentless, down and down and down. Our knees were hurting and my toes jammed the end of my boots. We passed a cool notch through a pass and began another ridiculous down. Our knees started shaking us we neared a large interesting river that has a right elbow heading east. Two suspension bridges crossed at each arm. In the foreground was a village that housed our third check point. Behind the officer and his desk was a small window with the most incredible view of the river valley. On the wall were statistics of trekker's countries of origin, showing numbers in the following order: England, America, Australia, France, Israel, and so on. Japan was about eighth in the list although we seem to see allot of Japanese.

John walked ahead to the first bridge while I fiddled with my new setup with my camera on my hip, the reason for too many pictures taken today, and my handheld in my pocket because my only pen fell through a hole in that pocket. Also in my pocket was the Lonely Planet's "Trekking in Nepal", the "Around Annapurna" map, a stack of money of little value, sunglasses, hat, comb, Ventalin. and wallet with trekking permit. I looked reminiscent of Gadget Man, Stewart Beazley in South Africa, with things tucked in every pocket and things swinging from my pack and pants.

Approaching the bridge I found John at the near end and a hundred sheep facing him from other end. Not to be stuck waiting for the flock to cross, I followed John and ran across. Now this was a bit scary, even for those not running. The basic structure of the bridge seems sound, made of steel cabling and bar, but the flooring was suspect, simple pieces of wood laid and attached in same segments over support bands Where the wood gave way there were stones covering the holes. So here I was running with a full pack avoiding the stones and attempting to step on the joints, the bridge shaking wildly. The shepherd was totally miffed at us although he had waved John on because he lost control of the herd. I am sure he swore in Nepalis or some local language when I tried to take a pic, he waved fanatically and incorporated 'No' in his screaming.

We walked along the river to the second suspension bridge, just as interesting as the first but longer.

The last piece of the day became very interesting. We then walked along the other side of the river to a thatched drink stand with a handful of pretty young girls, all with small nose rings on the left. One told me she had a friend named Malla in Canada and asked if I knew her. There was a hard sell for a Coke, but we laughed and said "Thank You" and walked up the path. After a few steps I looked back at the shack and saw a path leading further along the river. I returned and asked again which way to Tatoponi and they pointed up. I pointed along the river and asked, "Tatoponi?". They again pointed up the hill. I wondered of a locals ruse, There was a few more iterations of pointing. We walked up. There had been a landslide and the new trial went up and up. The sun was baking here at the lower elevation and the wind was still. We walked and stopped and walked. Forty five minutes later I viewed where we came from, a series of too many dusty switchbacks but with great exposure. Across the valley behind the checkpost, kilometers away, was the unbelievable windy path that broke our knees descending. I tried for a few minutes to find a picture, but decided against for inevitably the pic would have diminished the scene. It was awesome and we were beat.

John and I booked straight into the Dhaulagiri Lodge because the Lonely Planet quoted rave reviews for their food. The desert display case was incredible! Apple pie, apple crisp, chocolate cake, and on and on and yummy. Mystically the others we have met the previous days also rocked up here.

Tatopani means 'hot water' in Nepali. Below the town on the river banks is a wonderful hot springs contained in a concrete block. There is a manned shack offered soda, beer, food, clothes washing, and massage. But the hot springs was excellent! I jumped into the cold river which caught my breath tight, floated to the end of the spit and stumbled over the rocks onto shore. The tub had a handful of trekkers, German, English, the usual contingency, and everyone was loving it. A hot bath after six hours trekking can't be beat.

At night our little social crowd was solidifying, people comfortable with and finding comfort in each other with simple familiarity alone.

Ghorapani is noted as the only spot for oranges and lemons and our courtyard was filled with trees, oranges available for 40 rupees for a kilo. I ate nearly two kilos that night.

Sa 3/13/99 -Tatopani (1189m) to Kalopani (2530m) (Day 4)

We trekked mostly up, starting nicely with picturesque villages and waterfalls and interesting primitive wooden bridges. The trek then became mundane, not so interesting, notables then being a huge landslide on the other (eastern) side of river. We watched rocks and sand crashing down. I declared the day "Donkey Day", having passed and been passed by countless donkey trains. The lead donkeys are normally decorated at the front of the head and sometimes with a decorative pole sticking up at the shoulders or top of head.

Lunched with Jordan (23) from Montana, Jenny (18), Katy (19), and John. Left 7:30am arrived 3:30pm, very beat. John found second wind at the end, I suggested 'horse to water'. I was aching, hips and shoulders.

Dinned with Katy and Jenny, laughed and enjoyed.. We all ordered the local meal, dal bhat, rice, vegetables, and vegetable soup. Normally dal bhat is eaten with the right hand and shoved into mouth. It is always made a little differently at each locale, and includes endless seconds. We had vocally posted a notice of contest earlier in the day - who could eat the most dal bhat? The portion of rice is immense and Katy claimed she had eaten three full servings, John and I needed to be convinced such a small girl could consume so much. The event ended with Katy and I at odds, Katy ahead but I trotted constantly right behind. She made three full servings and I pushed just a bit more down. My stomach could have taken more but my gag reflex said, "Stop!". The prize of a massage was never delivered and I was fine with that.

Su 3/14/99 - Kalopani (2530m) to Marpha (2667m) (Day 5)

We had a corner room, very nice, and a good nights sleep except for two German girls talking loudly and one of them barfing and moaning in the middle of the night, although Katy and Jenny who were next door to us complained of snoring and I was the culprit.

Breakfast was the standard two hard boiled eggs and toast with jam. Our bill at Kalopani Lodge was 730 rupees, less than eight dollars for lodging, dinner, and breakfast.

On the window sill were a stack of thin folded newspapers, The Katmandu Post. A headline on the front page of the top paper, dated February 24th, caught my eye, "Girl trafficking hurts psyche of the nation".

Today's trekking was meant to be a easy five hours. John had spoken to an American who recommended traveling the river bed thus alleviating the ups and downs through the villages. Sounded like a good plan except for the same wind that has closed Jomson Airfield. The wind howled through the mostly dry riverbed sending gray dust full force into our faces. It was worse than miserable. I used a cheap white paper mask that we purchased in Kathmandu but it's usefulness was suspect since the fit was questionable. There were five of us together, Katy, Jenny, and Martin, with the two American guys. In a surreal way the blasting and vast riverbed was interesting, on the other hand I couldn't breath or see and I branched off from the group an hour into our trek.

Trekking alone was welcome. Beside not needing to be conscious of someone in front or behind and being able to dilly dally without affecting the groups pace, I was suffering from asthma. Climbing was a ridiculous chore and I couldn't even speak on the flat. The disease has been a daily issue, but today the problem was at its worse and when feeling this rotten it is best to be alone. I wasn't sure what tipped the scale further to bad or good - the dust or the flat terrain.

The scenery turned very dry, almost desert like. we had left at 7:30am and around 11:30 I was within an hour of Marpha and in the middle of nowhere bargaining with an old Tibetan over a yak bone necklace and small saucy wooden statue. I probably paid too much, 450 rupees, and was feeling guilty about spending money on this trek since John and I were on the edge in that department (John had a problem getting any money in Kathmandu). Then I heard shuffling on the trail from behind a bush and said aloud, "Oh oh", and yes, it was John.

The other three were somewhere behind us, so we strolled into Marpha after hearing different estimates of how far away it was from other Tibetans, pushed our packs onto a porters wall and waited. A small boy was enjoying himself in a fountain near us, spending more time than needed filling his hands, then splashing his face and smiling. The cute kid had my attention and made it to three pieces of celluloid.

Eventually Katy and Jenny rocked up without Martin. We walked into the center of this great picturesque village, with narrow alleys of whitewashed stone buildings, and water and sewerage running beneath the neat flat stone walkways which is high tech. The Neeru Guest House looked inviting with an upstairs patio in the rear. We ate and decided to book for the night, 60 rupees for a double room.

There was still a lot of afternoon left and I threw my baggage into room 10 and ventured without showering, picture taking being the priority. Marpha is really a great village to poke around. The narrow twisting alleys, stone walkways, kids playing, people congregating, and so on. The buildings higher up in the dry hill blend in with the yellow-brown sand, are much coarser in construction, and dusty. An amazing feature are the rooftops. They are flat and used for storing. The flatness isn't an issue because of rain, there is little. To view these rooftops which sit close together from a height is really cool. Each roof has stacked fire wood along its perimeter, a strange sight.

I walked through town and sat and talked at length with a young man who lives in the nearby Tibetan refugee camp. His name was Kavma, 21 years old, has three sisters, two brothers, and his parents (father 75, mother 47), most of whom live at the camp. We talked of many things, starting with him trying to have me purchased souvenirs. That conversation died when I sat down on the wall and we then talked of Tibet and China and America.

It is a sad story. China invaded Tibet in 1959, pretty much destroyed their culture, and many people fled. His father fought in one way or another until he married at age 50. Kavma was born in the camp, went to school for seven years, and has been selling souvenirs since. He has picked up English to a slight degree from his business which isn't greater than a cloth with metal and wooden items laid across it. He has ventured illegally into Tibet to bring them money and clothes five times and wants to return in July. It's a clandestine operation because they can not afford the$US50 visa. He liked to talk about the States, the different places he is familiar with so I pulled out my travel diary and we looked at maps of the States and the world.

While sitting with Kavma an obnoxious Ukrainian cum American women who crossed the Kalungla pass needled me on the difficulties of doing the pass the 'wrong way'. We have been hearing stories from others who have crossed, it's easy to tell who crossed he pass because of their clothing, and we found a few more issues besides acclimatization and snow, such as wind and clouds. This girl crossed with a porter who lagged behind, went ahead down the other side because of the onset of altitude sickness, then was lost having descending a wrong slope. She labored part way back up, as far as she could push herself, and shouted for help across the ridges. She was assisted down and hospitalized. Other stories include a trekker who died last week in an avalanche and a porter who succumbed while searching for water.

I don't know how, but as obnoxious as I found her, we walked back through town to the Tibetan Refugee Center and observed a ceremony for a deceased person in the temple. Interesting. There were men crossed legged banging drums, blowing horns, and tooting whistles. When the music (noise) stopped, a leather bags of white bars (yak bone?) were dropped into a bronze dish and read one by one. We didn't understand but the men looked very serious. The ceremony may have been unusual for children were mashing their faces to the glass windows until they were then shooed away.

The last couple of days we observed fires on the hillsides. At some points we could see only burnt land on both sides of the river. As we sat at lunch we all gawked at smoke billowing up from the south. With the sunlight it look almost pretty, like a colorful swirling atom bomb. Before I had a chance to walk to the heights of the village for pictures, the wind had changed direction and dosed the valley in Marpha with smoke spoiling distant shots.

Dinner of vegetable lasagna, John had vegetable pizza, four of us deserted on apple crisp with custard, so yummy I had seconds.

Mo 3/15/99 - Marpha (2667m) to Ranipauwa (3710m) (Day 6)

Today was a great day. The four of us targeted Ranipauwa, just below Muktinath, for the day. This meant bypassing the "don't miss' village of Kagbeni, but missing one village was acceptable I guess. What was great about the day was the amount of kilometers and altitude we put on and how my asthma didn't interfere much. Although I may pant and lose breath quicker than the others, and I can't talk and walk when the others could, I figured if I didn't fall behind, that was great, and falling behind was never an issue.

The morning was a pretty flat walk through dry landscape, following or in the riverbed. When there was wind it was at our backs giving a little push and not stuffing our faces with dust, a big bonus over yesterday.

We pasted through the large village of Jomson, not a nice place to stay but noted for having the only airport on this side of the circuit. Many Japanese and Germans fly here and do short treks. Katy and Jenny needed to book a flight here even though John and I badgered them into staying on for the pass, and were happy to see planes flying into the valley since the wind had put a stop to the schedules for days now.

We made Eklebhatti for lunch, a dusty cluster of a few buildings placed obliquely within this waterless land. Our next leg was tough, 1000 meters to Ranipauwa and I was nervous of slogging up and not being able to breath. I took a couple puffs of Ventolin and drove my body and pack upwards with nearly as much ability as tramping in New Zealand. Very happy about that!

The river and its wide dry bed fell from our view as we ascended creating a huge dramatic landscape, shades of gray in the bed and shades of brown through the mountains. We then followed the Jhong Khola River east towards Muktinath. We passed a sad looking yak left of the side of the track kilometers from a village, tears running from his eyes.

In the distance, up the valley, we could see the villages of Jharket and Ranipauwa stuck on outcropping ridges. At the top of the mountains was the Thrung La Pass, our major obstacle to conquer. I walked slowly along with a guide from Pokura talking about everything applicable. He was guiding an Israeli couple, and I believe he was lonely for conversation. He was interesting though, and strolling along at a pace facilitating conversation was a nice change.

The others were waiting in Jharket for me, a strange village because it hid within walls. We wrongly assumed that we were very close to Ranipauwa and our high spirits fell as we climbed another 200 meters. We were nackered when we walked into Ranipauwa and to the Hotel North Pole, noted as serving the best food here. On the other hand, we had before us reason to celebrate. John and I had reached our attack position on the pass, and I especially felt positive about it from a better day trekking. Maybe I can do this crazy pass, a steep 1300 meters up and 600 meters down reaching 5416 meters, probably a twelve hour day. I told John a couple days ago that "if we could pull this off it would be great". Maybe we could. We all had talked of toasting to our trekking together over the last four days, Katy and Jenny would be heading back to Jomson tomorrow. All told, finishing the long day, reaching the end of trekking legs, lessened anxiety about the pass, departing company, lodging in a decent tea house, and showering - we were all in good moods.

We ordered our dinners ahead at the Hotel North Pole and wandered through the rough and dusty village to the famous social spot, the Bob Marley. The atmosphere was festive throughout, trekkers in a apre ski atmosphere, full of laughter, story telling, and light heads. Funky long tables with long hanging table cloths hid cylinders of hot coals radiating heat underneath, a curious but effective method of warming the patrons. We leaned over the tables and held our hands underneath for the warmth. Everyone sat in full outdoor attire, some with large heavy winter jackets and some with woolen hats, but it was comfortable. The walls were covered in Marley and other reggae memorabilia, pasted posters, hand written song titles, and the Jamaican colors red, black, and yellow everywhere. Booming over the stereo was endless ... Bob Marley. The Bob Marley was noted in the trekking books as having marijuana hanging from the ceilings and there it was.

We were having a great time, again I can only compare it to an apre ski atmosphere, and John tried hard to convince us to forget dinner and instead just hang. We each had a double size San Miguel beer made in Nepal and a small basket of popcorn and it was all filling. John didn't convince us however, and we walk the few minutes back to the Hotel North Pole for dal bhat.

I had talked with Jenten, the 19 year old with the best English at the hotel, and the one who seemingly runs the show at the hotel, about porters for the pass. I figured we had too many issues working against us such as the large increase in altitude, the steepness, lack of experience, and unreliable breathing. Porters would increase our score by one. I heard, and continue to hear, too many horror stories about the pass and negative comments about attempting it from this side.

After dinner we again were entertained at the Bob Marley, but first getting there over the dark hilly road provided a laugh, we were totally blind as we felt our way along. The Bob Marley had even more patrons and we slowly lost our energy until calling it a night at 11pm.

The door to the North Pole was locked upon our return, and I was rolling with laughter as John climbed atop a rickety table to scale to the roof. I thought he was going to flatten the table. The building had an overhang that prevented purchase, and our continuous banging was being answered us he dangle in air.

This breathing problem has really got me anxious and depressed. In the best circumstances I figure I can fair with most people and certainly better than a smoker. But there is a plot against me. Here in Rainpauwa the kitchen uses wood for fire and exhausts through the hallway and up the staircase. They heat the dinning room with a pot of wood coals under the table. The ground everywhere outside is covered with dirt and so the dust filters throughout the inside of buildings. When someone walks above our room at night bits of this dust and pieces of ceiling rain upon our sleeping bags, crinkling the material. And all these damn smokers, people stuffing their faces with the cancer sticks without regard to those eating nearby or the reek in clothing they cause. Smoking has always been a huge pet peeve. This all is really frustrating, none of these problems occurred while tramping in New Zealand or hiking back home. All considered though, I still really love this country and the opportunity to trek. It really is wonderful.

Tu 3/16/99 - Ranipauwa (3710m) - Chabarbu (4100m) - Ranipauwa (3710m) (Day 7)

The plan for the day was to visit the Hindu and Buddhist temples just 90m higher in Muktinath (3798m) with the girls, then see them off, then John and I were to make a acclimatization walk to the tea house at Chabarbu (4100m).

I gathered myself at 8am and sallied to the enclosed rooftop dining room to find John, Katy, and Jenny having breakfast. I copied John's order of vegetable and cheese omelet with Tibetan bread with jam, it was really good. We then stopped into the checkpost in town then visited Muktinath.

At the entrance are a number of different sized Buddhist prayer wheels. Prayer wheels are cylindrical, spin on their long axis, and are inscribed with prayers. They are contained in a long stone and mud enclosure along the footpaths, spun by hand as a person passes. Their elaborateness varies greatly, from huge hand painted wheels, to pretty brass and imprinted ones, to those simply made of dry milk cans quickly painted over in yellow.

The Hindu temple is just inside the wall boundary, small and without much fanciness, but further along the Buddhist temple is highly decorated with a massive amount of prayer flags through the trees, bells, a long wall of animal fountain heads, and intricately carved columns and roof. Prayer flags 'say' their printed prayers when they flap in the wind.

Muktinath is one of the most holy places to Hindus and Buddhists. Inside the ageless temples is the eternal flame, a blue flame lit by natural gas. It is a place for pilgrimage. From southern India walk Sadhus with long silky black beards, dark eyes, colorful robes, and staff. Along the trail we occasionally crossed them asking for handouts with happy and wanton faces.

Back in front of the North Pole we said sad good-byes, we really enjoyed trekking with these English girls and will miss them.

I changed into trekking attire which means the same daily grey shorts and green t-shirt, packed my day bag with camera and valuables and set off for the one building village of Charbarbu where would stay tomorrow night to start our bid for the pass. And the world came tumbling down.

When I had climbed Poon Hill on the second day of trekking I acquired a small funny headache, but enough to be conscious of and wonder about. I rarely have headaches and wondered if this was a result of altitude. Before noon today we had walked up to the temples of Muktinath, 90 meters above Ranipauwa and felt only the slightest problem. Now with passing Muktinath to Chabarbu the same Poon Hill ache started, same place in the back of the head. It quickly worsened to the point of capturing my mind, I couldn't breath well, but the headache smothered me. I stopped more often then John and he made Chabarbu ten minutes earlier. We had increased 390 meters in altitude, from 3710 to 4100 meters.

At the Chabarbu tea house John was smiling and happy to be talking to a couple named Will and Ann, who just crossed the pass the 'right way', and they exchange knowledge of the two sides of the circuit. I walked past them and sat and held my head in my hands. How could I be suffering at 4100 meters when the pass is 5416 meters? That's 1316 more meters, 4300 feet. The pass would take about eight hours to make tomorrow and this headache would only worsen. I felt awful. I was thinking "I'm finished, I'm beaten, I'll have to backtrack to get off the circuit". I was really down on myself, miserable, and thinking I was less of a person than the others around me. I wished we had attempted the pass the "right way". I thought of the Lonely Planet, "This is an impossible feat for many people...".

And then there was that repeated question, "Why didn't you do the circuit from the other side?". Imagine if something serious happened to one of us while attempting the pass. Someone may say, "Yes, they died because they missed their bus stop".

At this tea house were a dozen people, trekkers and porters who had just come across then pass, and most were pretty happy and excited of there accomplishment. Many asked how long to Muktinath. One French guy was feeling really bad and sitting as I was, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. I listened to others describing headaches also and I wondered how close these people had come to dire consequences.

John's conversation eventually died, and he went up higher while I sat a little longer in silence. I guessed going down would be better than sitting in pain and slowly went back.

I stopped at Muktinath to take a few pictures since yesterday the roll ran out on the first picture (my camera had reset its counter and I hadn't calculated how many photos may be left). There were many people here today, locals who were coming to be blessed by a monk in front of the Buddhist temple. The monk thumbed orange dye onto their foreheads.

I went back to the North Pole and sat in the airy top dining room to type and wait for John who had the room key. Jordan, from Colorado/Montana, had arrived into the village earlier and said he would like to do the pass with us. After an hour the three were here together, strategizing for tomorrow. I pulled out the map and guide book and compared how one acclimatizes doing the pass the 'right way' versus what we were in for. I was quiet about it all and after Jordan left, John and I decided to allow another day to acclimatize. Maybe another day would help and I had started taking Diamox in the morning, an altitude acclimatization aid that works by increasing speed and depth of breath, especially important at night asleep when people hold their breath involuntarily.

The night was void of any excitement. John was tired and in his sleeping bag at 8pm and rolled over to sleep. I read my Wilbur Smith's "A Falcon Flies" by flashlight since the room light was only a few watts, that was enjoyable.

We 3/17/99 - Ranipauwa (3710m) - Chabarbu+ (4600m) - Ranipauwa (3710m) (Day 8)

Happy Saint Patrick's Day. Newport should be going through another rowdy annual green night.

For the first time in days I wasn't cold at night and slept well from about 10:30pm until 7:30am. My plan for the day was to eat breakfast, type a bit, shower, then head again toward the pass. I had taken Diamox last night and this morning (125mg) and hoped that this along with another day at this altitude would show effect. I sadly told John that if I didn't do well I would be out of the running and heading back down this side of the Annapurna Circuit. He could go on with Jordan and I would meet him in Katmandu.

Breakfast was great again, vegetable and cheese omelet, and Tibetan Bread with jam. Jordan came over to the Pole and we small talked about the next couple days. I changed for the shower (there is one shower, one toilet (porcelain hole), and no sink) into slip slops, shorts, and t-shirt. It has been a couple of days so I was looking forward to ridding my hair of grease and my face of that scary gray stubble. I turned the hot faucet, nothing, they hadn't filed the solar tank. A shower wouldn't allow procrastination of the inevitable, I had to check if I acclimatized anymore.

I packed my day bag appropriately and walked, for a third time, past Muktinath. On the far side of the gate there are tin prayer wheels and when I passed them to see if a good picture may exist I realized the mountain air had cleared - I could see details across the valley. Then an old women crooked over to a right angle walked up the hill. This was a good picture - prayer wheels, walls of Muktinath, Mt. Dhaulagril (highest peak in area), Ranipauwa, and crooked over old lady. Yes, I would like to see that picture.

As I ascended I continuously checked my head status. Past Muktinath I was fine and guessed I would make Chabarbu without problem. I walked slowly for my lungs ached and made Chabarbu and the tea house in an hour and a half. My reward was a good rest and the second half of a Bar One candy bar I wanted to test since it was cheap (25 rupees, Snickers cost 70). Like yesterday, the front of the tea house had a handful of trekkers that just came over the past. Most were smiling and I would guess half had headaches. I talked to a young and skinny Irish kid and gave him the low down on Muktinath and Ranipauwa, which meant to tell him how long to the village, that the Hotel North Pole was good, and that Bob Marley was the hot night spot.

I was happy to be this far without feeling the altitude and figured I would climb a bit more. The trail was much steeper here and on average is very steep all the way up. In places my feet slipped backwards because of the incline and in other places my feet found mud and ice. I walked slowly and thought of ascending until my head hurt or maybe for two hours but instead stopped after an hour of slow walking. At a second set of ruins on a plateau I spoke to a guide who suggested ascending to a another small plateau he pointed out at 4600m. I was still feeling fine and rested and spread out at that plateau amongst a dozen trekkers. I was in shorts, a t-shirt, and fleece then added my long jacket and laid down to read Wilbur Smith. Around me were small groups of people resting from their descent, except for one large group gathered around an overweight older lady sick and laid out comfortably. Her problem was obviously altitude. Ten minutes later two men were helping her quickly down.

I laid and relished the moment. Hey! I wasn't feeling the altitude, my head only had the slightest ache, and I was at 4600 meters according to the guide. I was happy with that and also happy with my position - a high grassy spot with incredible views both up and down the mountains. The trail to the pass wove up between patches of snow and out of sight. The mountains siding this ravine soared upwards in shear granite. Westward only the mountains beyond the villages and valleys could be seen, seemingly an infinite amount of air between us.

I enjoyed the book and alternated my cold wind blown hands. The crowd changed from trekkers coming from the pass to a clan of French who awaited the descent of two friends and their guide. The reunion was a wonderful scene full of smiling faces, big hugs, and congratulations.

Eventually I was alone, reading, feeling the wind on my hands, and enjoying the feeling of being so high by myself. I soaring noise past by me, I crooked my neck and grinned at a blackbird diving by. Then another familiar noise only heard before in New Zealand - an avalanche. This happened a few times but I could not see the source of the sound. After nearly two hours of reading and relaxing my body became too cold for comfort and I picked up my things and started down.

I tried to approximate a ratio of ascending this trail versus descending. If it takes people on average four hours down I guessed twice the time up, eight hours. But then as I slid in the gravel and mud I tried to imagine that it wasn't twice the time up because of these hazards. It appears now that I do have the chance to find out! And since I experienced a bit of the descent, I now understood why so many people complained about it. These were also the people who thought us crazy to attempt the pass from this side.

Stopping again at the tea house I found the usual scene I then threw my jacket into the day pack and carried on until I came across two girls, one of which was limping hard. I commented on her predicament and offered to carry her pack. She thought only once and agreed. This made the walk back to the village slow, but at least I was able to hear another story about the pass. As far as her injury, her left ankle had been twisted and her right knee was hurt in a recent automobile accident.

Dinner was vegetable chow mien and vegetable soup. We sat at our table, tired and sleepy and cold, waiting to talk again with Jenten about porters. They came down to 1200 each and I voiced other essentials such as meeting us at Chabarbu at 5am, that they should carry their own water, that they should climb with us and not ahead, and that we would give them nothing more than the1200 rupees.

Th 3/18/99 - Ranipauwa (3710m) - 4600m - Chabarbu (Day 9)

We have been at the Hotel North Pole for three nights now and both feel like it is far time we change scenery. I laid awake most the night thinking about the pass and the next two days. I ran through how I thought the days should unfold, ran through altitudes from here to the pass and estimated times, and converting between meters and feet. I rationalized a plan, how we could overcome this ascent. Then again, I wasn't totally sure of anything and then ran everything through again. This went around and around and then I wondered how high Everest Base Camp (which we have already planned for) and Mt. Kilimanjaro (which we have been talking about). Can we make these?

After breakfast we packed and bought candy bars and biscuits. We said our good-byes to Jenten who was a sweetheart. She slipped me four apples and a big smile and handshake. We were finally on our way to start this anxiety provoking climb.

For the second day I was walking past the temples of Muktinath and to the tea house at Chabarbu. John, and I carried our full packs today and suffered under the weight which we haven't seen for a few days. Jordan, the young buck, left us behind and arrived ten minutes earlier. The tea house was filled with porters carrying tents, chairs, backpacks, and everything else imaginable for a couple parties that were coming over the pass. When the trekkers filtered in the porters left and we then spoke with a few of the hikers.

After lunch we dropped our packs in our earth floor bedroom on to a dust covered bed made of tree branches and pad, wide enough for the three of us. This tea house is by far the in worse conditions I have ever had the pleasure to experience. It is basically stone walls on dirt with a roof. There isn't a toilet, people simple go on the ground behind the building. There isn't heat and neither have many of the other tea houses, but at 4100m our night will show no mercy. The running water is from a black rubber hose in the front of the building on the ground, the hose runs from a gully not far away and runs snowmelt into a grubby blue plastic container. There isn't a separate dinning room either, instead people have the option to eat outside or in the smoke filed kitchen. The corrugated roof is held down on the stone walls with rocks, no nails used. Earlier I saw the dog scratching itself and I wonder if he sleeps in our 'room' when lodgers aren't present.

We hung at the tea house for two hours resting and exchanging stories with those trekkers that were coming off the pass the 'right way'. Again we saw eyes roll as we mildly told of our plan.

And the same happened on our acclimatization climb to the same spot I hung at yesterday. Jordan was ahead followed by myself and John. Literally every person stopped each of us to ask our intentions. Try walking up hill at 15,000 feet and have someone ask you yet another stupid question. We were all frustrated and sure that we still had the energy in us to throw at least one of these people off the mountain. Each would then go on to say how ridiculous our quest was. Jordan's said, "I didn't reply to them, I just told them to wish me luck and kept walking".

I trimmed a big five minutes off my time to the 4600 meter plateau with a slight headache again. Again I was happy to be resting, and like yesterday I spread out my day kit and laid and read Wilbur Smith. This trekking thing is a definite love / hate relationship. You curse the ups and embellish the resting. The others had books to read or write in and were similarly relaxed. I wished we would have departed Chabarbu earlier for this picturesque spot for we spent only one hour before descending. The next time here, my third, will be amidst our final objective, three total days in the planning.

We ate a typical dinner of dal bhat. Rather than suffer the wrath of the open kitchen fire, I ate alone and cold outside in the waning light. I wasn't in the midst of creature comforts but the quietness was appreciated. Until the dog started barking.

I had been reading Wilbur Smith's "A Falcon Flies" outside and only had about twenty pages left and urged to finish. The light faded, John and Jordan had earlier slipped to bed. I was about to read by flashlight when I noticed the kitchen had a lantern. I investigated, found the kitchen to be light on smoke, and sat next to the door and draft to complete the book (Kathryn marries the court-martialed captain, her brother Zougla sails to London, and the bad guy who Katherine bonded with gets away, case you were curious).

We had set up our bedrolls earlier in the daylight and we all simply crawled into our sleeping bags, the only preparation was brushing teeth. Expecting the coldest night yet I wore everything possible...

two pairs socks

underwear

Nepalis cotton pants

wind pants (in case of night wind?)

t-shirt

fleece

heavy-duty Nepalis sweater

long jacket

hat

scruffy beard

greasy hair

..and then I was in my mummy sleeping bag, the face hole pulled tight. I was not cold. We fell asleep to the dog incessantly barking at yeti's.

Fr 3/19/99 - Chabarbu (4100m) - Thrung La Pass (5416m) (Day 10)

I was toasty during the night but didn't sleep well as expected. Trying to fall asleep, all the possible thoughts of this endeavor over the pass swam through my mind even though I struggled against it.

I was half asleep listening to an unappreciated wind wiping past the tea house when our wake up call about 4:45am came. John, who was laying beside me abruptly and much too loudly called repeated the same information. The porters were here. Our time has come. The kitchen was thick with smoke and I gruffly asked that someone inform me when my omelet was ready. I waited in the dark bedroom. Our two hired porters watched us eat in the dark recesses of the kitchen, sipping coffee. I couldn't make out their faces, I wanted to confirm that they were as young as I thought those three days earlier in the dim night at North Pole Hotel. After I ate and walked back to the bedroom I found my pack already on one of the porters. I shook with the thought of these two 4000 meter yahoo locals zooming ahead with our belongings. I had packed everything non-essential into the backpack including items I would need later on such as camera equipment. In my day pack I carried airline tickets, money, a water bottle, and only a few other items.

I wanted to know their names. I wanted to be personable to our porters on our journey and to give them identities in the journal. I asked their names outside in the dark and they smiled and politely responded. Again I asked and again all I caught were too many syllables with foreign accent. Damn. Although they understood my question, they knew very little English.

Once ready, without a word, we started up with the porters leading. It was 5:30am and we had just eaten. This was unusual and so was the immediate soreness in my legs, a soreness that had taken hours to develop the last couple of days. Maybe those three acclimatization climbs, the last two 900 meters, were too rigorous. At least one day should have been total rest, but they needed to be done and we were limited by time. The soreness was a shock and the lungs were grasping in the cold and altitude.

How long would this climb be? Our first guess was eight hours made by doubling the average time down. My first day at the 4600 meter plateau a guide said it was only two and a half hours more, a total of four hours from Chabarbu. We heard a Japanese group did it in six hours. Our minds locked in on six hours.

Our pace was slow, our lungs racked. I scrapped along for ten minutes with my boot untied, I must have tied it poorly earlier in the bedroom, and this was the first time I sat for a moment. Slowly the path became visible. Walking and stopping. Thankfully the porters set a slow pace although Jordan, even with his full pack, could have quickened. Reaching the 4600 meter plateau, our acclimatization plateau, took about one and three quarter hours. We had just passed through the steepest part of the climb, but the air would be thinning still. We stopped and talked lightly for a couple of minutes, feeling as if we were safe on this familiar spot. From here on up was unknown to us.

The sun was reaching the westward peaks far away, shining a warm orange glow across them, slowly unveiling their massive structure. We wanted the sun on us, we wanted to feels its warmth and assuredness. With another short break I drank from my water bottle and the first sunrays hit us. I photographed the others hiking into first light.

The climb itself was almost routine. I thought, "Just don't dwell and in some future time it will be over". With each step my lungs grasped, the air was thin, my chest felt like a rubber band was taut across it, and the dryness of the air scrapped my throat. About thirty seconds of small steps, maybe a minute at most, then someone would stop and everyone would join them. Often the porters would throw glances at us while sitting and decide we rested enough then without word stand and move on. Maybe halfway up John's porter started to slow. The climb was all of arduous.

With the cold wind ripping at our faces I worried about frost bit. Sure I have been this cold before but what really was the wind-chill and how long would I be exposed to it? I asked Jordan for a favor, to close the bottom of my hood so my nose would be protected. I walked on for only minutes before my mind and body revolted. With this material covering most of my mouth breathing was more than most difficult and I twice strained for breath that didn't come. I caught my bladder and bowels loosening and ripped at the hood for air. Hmmm, that was strange I thought.

It is difficult to say if the time went by slowly or not. Certainly, suffering through this breathlessness and weakness seemed timeless, but most of it seems a blur and a jumble. After a couple of hours gratefully the wind slowed.

Resting for a moment was a wonderful thing. You could resist for a minute the tortuous thing that someone (the porters? the group? the mountain pass? me?!) holds above you, turn and look around at God's country, the beauty that unfolds and changes as you move. We were passing between two high peaks, Yakawa Kang (6482m) to our left and Khatung Kang (6484m) to our right. Behind us the Kaligandaki Valley was getting brighter still. The ground was a patchwork of snow and gray rocky dirt.

After a couple of hours the guide said it was two more. An hour later it was one and a half hours more. Is this Western time or something different? Did we slow? You can only ignore any expectations and push on.

On one of our many breaks I noted a small hill set in the middle of this wide pass. I felt my head starting to ache slightly. I hoped it wouldn't worsen to extreme and believed it wouldn't. Over the hill three porters came trooping briskly carrying trekking camp items, the first people we have seen today. Then a lone trekker passed 100 feet away from us down on the same hill. Maybe we were close?

The trail here was confused, branches came from a number of places over the hill. After a brief discussion between our guides they walked over the rock chunks to the left and around the hill.

After ten minutes John's porter, the more friendly of the two, smiled and pointed, "Thrung La". I didn't smile. I didn't want to get sucked into that one and besides, I didn't see the tea house and prayer flags, the two things to save one from false hopes.

Ten minutes later I smiled, my heart warmed, I saw the prayer flags atop the pass, and the slope to them was not too steep. I could finally see the focus of my anguish over the past few days!

As we approached I saw handful of trekkers celebrating their achievement, similar to seeing hikers atop Mt. Baxter celebrating reaching the terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Those people had just spent days preparing themselves for the pass the 'right way'. They completed slow altitude rises through Manang, Churi Latter, Throng Phedi, and possible High Camp. They put the time and sweat into becoming acclimatized and fit enough for the climb. It was the scene I hoped for.

The prayer flags ran from many directions to the top of a stone pile (cairn). There is a plaque commemorating the life and death of a Nepali. There is also a small stone tea house offering hot drinks which the porters bee lined for after unexpectedly meeting friends.

I did a quick scope of the scene then looked for John to congratulate him. It was a long trip, a lot of rationalizing and plotting and self doubt, but we made the Thrung La Pass. We celebrated by eating candy bars and drinking water. I helped a group with their photos, being handed a camera from each person as they individually held signs in total reading "5416M". They returned the favor and we completed our obligatory pictures, Blacky included.

I paid my porter the 1200 rupee fee for is time with a 100 rupee tip. After 30 minutes John, Jordan, and I uniformly decided to head off, for we heard of people spending too much time on top. Both John and Jordan joined me with small headaches.

We were told the views on this side of the circuit were more spectacular and this was a driving force for me to attempt the pass. The reward was immediate. Abruptly, we were surrounded by densely spaced snow covered high Himalayan mountains ranging from 6035m to 6500m only kilometers away. Outstanding ! The lower elevations were equally dramatic with sheer walls and great undulating valleys. Jordan described it as 'epic'. The awesome scenery would carry for the day to Manang..

We encountered snow and mud patches from the top, past a tea house, and to High Camp at 4700m. We passed dozens of trekkers, one silly group of Japanese carrying a women up, and I shook my head side to side. We stopped at High Camp for fifteen minutes, bathing in the sun and the relief of the pass behind us. We were asked many questions, people as nervous and curious us we had been.

We continued through a village without stopping when a girl asked, "Did you just come over the pass?", and went on to Thrung Phedi (4420m). The scenery was positively amazing, much better than the Jomson side. I continuously stopped and marveled and took pictures. Frustration occurs when a grand scene stands in front of you and it won't fit in the viewfinder. Above Phedi I side stepped across the descending mountainside, looking for the best angle for a picture. There were too many objects too consider, the grand peaks, the village, the riverbed, and the prayer flags. And across the valley was the most daunting zigzag we would have to tackle.

This zigzag was not welcome. Before seeing it I had told John I couldn't think of going up again, and was glad we didn't have to. It was another forty minute trudge for us, but not Jordan who rallied ahead. We passed terrific scenery, especially watching Gangapurna (7485m) and surrounds sitting continuously in front of us for hours.

We finally caught Jordan waiting for us in the two building village of Yak. He had already unpacked and didn't want to join us in our ambitious journey to Manang. Well, it was originally his idea, and therefore I blame him for the next two and a half hours. John was suffering more with blisters on both feet. My complaint was mashing my toes into the end of my boots. But I was still enjoying myself, staring in awe at Gangapurna and taking pics.

Nearing Marang (3351m) we came on upon an unbelievable sight. The sun was low and nearing the top of Tilicho Peak to our right and casting long shadows. Here the Maryangdi River meets the Khangsar Khola in a fork 100 feet below. The river valley fell off into the great distance while the village of Tanki followed by Manang sat on the eastern border of the valley. As I approached Tanki I pic'd a few of the continuos and similar ancient stone houses built upon the hillside, then of prayer wheels.

Finally, we arrived in Manang. The wind had picked up and blew dust around from the streets. I was blinded by stinging that the dust created and struggled to follow John. Not pleasant. We made our way to the Tilicho Hotel, highly recommended by trekkers and the good book. Immediately we were astounded by the dramatic increase in prices, room 150 rupees with loo, 120 without, and the food is at least twice the price. Urggh.

This day ended after 12 hours of hiking, reaching 5406 meters, the longest day by far on the Annapurna Circuit and personally the most physically exerting challenge ever.

And then, during the night... We did have a loo and we joyed at the idea of only needing to walk a few steps in the middle of the night. I would guess this happened at 3am. I woke and laid still in total darkness and tried to remember where I was. Okay, Marang. Slowly I remembered where the walls were and which side of the bed was. This was too much work just to relieve myself, but I couldn't sleep without help. I then recalled putting my flashlight on the floor beside my bed and reached over and turned it on. No, it didn't go on. Damn, the batteries must be dead. Now this would be more of a chore than expected. I left my warm sleeping bag to the noxious smell of my feet and carefully oriented myself to point toward the toilet. I only hoped that the light switch was somewhere near the doorway. I crept towards and groped at the wall. I found the doorway and ran my hand along the jams and then found a switch. Click. Nothing. Damn, damn. Now I would have to search for the bedroom light and potentially wake John. I went right, found the door, found the switch, and click. Nothing. I went back to bed and laid awake for some daylight to find the loo to relieve myself. Damn. In the morning I found myself in my sleeping bag inside out.

Sa 3/20/99 - Manang (3351m) (Day 11)

Notes for this day starts simply. I spent from 9am until 2:30pm typing notes and talking to people.

At 3pm we attended the local Rescue Post's daily lecture on acute mountain sickness (AMS) presented by two married Canada doctors. A couple of brief facts of interest to me - AMS symptoms are common after 2500m, after 3000m do not ascend any higher than 300m per day, rest day every three. One result of increased altitude is gas.

I spoke to a 72 year old from Denmark who had lived a lot of his life in Shanghi as a construction consultant. With a big stiff physique, gray hair, and bushy eye brows, he reminded me of Monica's dad. We spoke for ten minutes, he laughed, leaned on his cane and walking stick, and told whimsical stories of the differences in cultures, mostly favoring the Nepalis. He is trekking the circuit with only a porter (he had done it before in 1982 when he needed to solve a personal problem, "if you have a problem, come t Nepal") and was planning on the pass in only two days. Most notable was his attitude of AMS - don't think about it, because then you'll get it

At 5:30pm, stuck in a dusty back alley is a sort of movie house made of typical local construction. It has a dirt floor, low wooden bench seats, and a few stiff yak hides thrown in front of an entertainment console holding a television and VCR. There was no heat (at night the temperature is near freezing). Jordan chose Sylvester Stallone in "Doctor Dred". I balked but actually enjoyed the movie along with a dozen others seeking any kind of entertainment.

Su 3/21/99 - Manang (3351m) - Psiang (3190m) (Day 12)

I woke throughout the night with stomach pain, not gas or nausea, just a bad gut pain. Coincidentally there were the two Canadian doctors across the wide dirt and stone main road and for $US30 I could have consolation visit. But $30 is a magnitude of money and instead of a proper visit I asked for stomach gas relief tabulates and thought that hinting around with my symptoms would illicit free advice. They surely had seen that strategy before, avoided my hinting, and offered the consolation visit. I left with eight Tums-like chewables.

John, Jordan, and I left from the rescue office and headed south. We had heard about the upper route and the great views from Hongde and Pisang. I especially pushed for it and regretted it more than not. I wasn't feeling well, not functioning at prime. I had slept poorly, my stomach still hurt, and after two days of whipping Manag dirt I was breathless. I couldn't keep up with the others and just wanted to go slow. I really wanted to just lay and rest, I was so fatigued.

The path slowly descended for an hour and entered a thin pine forest until Hongde where it ascended to 300 meters higher than Manang. This was too much effort for the views which would have been great but for the dust and smoke filled air. The wind had been blowing hard from the south for days and raised dust high into the surrounds. The mountains were spectacular but where hidden and pictures were not really possible.

Along the top of the high route we walked through old stone and mud villages of Ngawai and Ghyaru. In Ghyaru I found John and Jordan waiting for me laughing from some story. From here we had a long descent, tough on the my knees and toes, and John's bloody blisters.

At the mani wall (walls with etched stones with prayers called mani stones) at the bottom of then high route John and Jordan were waiting again me. I said I was exhausted and John replied that we still had an hour and a half. I sarcastically told him to go on then, which they did and I was left alone to rest and feel bad for being rude. I put my pack down near the wall and laid against it and tried to sleep, but kept imagining someone sneaking behind me and dropping a rock on my head and stealing my worldly possessions. That didn't happen and I went in and out of a near sleep not wanting to raise and continue on until a 'poof' and small accident forced me up and behind a bush.

The path pointed at awesome views of Annapurna IV (7325m), Annapurna II (7857m), and Lamjung Himal (6931m), extraordinarily high snow and ice covered peaks glistening in the low afternoon sun. Most interesting was the huge walls of shining ice, similar to simple small patches of bright ice seen on the ground back home, but thousands of times larger. Estimating distances and heights can be very deceiving and interesting. "Wow, that's 26,000 feet?!".

Green Lake was passed on the left, a bright and clear high altitude lake. I had no interest in taking a dip however. John and Jordan were hanging in the dining room when I arrived. I loitered for a bit then went to our room below for a comfortable two hour nap.

At Hotel Pisanga a room for two is only 20 rupees versus 150 rupees in Manang, unfortunately food prices were not lower.

Mo 3/22/99 - Psiang (3190m) - Dharapani (1920m) (Day 13)

I had rolled around for an hour before falling asleep and woke to John rolling around and coughing. I was relieved to realize that my stomach did not bother me us much, only occasionally during the night and later on the trail. We were up, had eaten, and off by 8am. To follow Jordan's schedule of getting off the trek in a few days we set sights for the village of Dharapani. We heard Chame was two and a half hours, and three and a half hours later we were there and lunched at a nice spot called the Himilayan Hotel.

The days trek was through pine forest, including an area called "Peaceful Forest" on Jordan's map, and followed the tantalizing clear green Marsyungdi Kola River. We were often between sheer granite walls. When we asked Nepalis about the trek they said it was flat and although there was not the killer 1000m up or down, the trail still had it's moments that left us breathless.

We passed a gorgeous tumbling waterfall that spilled in a bowl beneath the bridge we stood on at about the same time we passed one of the most gorgeous Nepali women we have seen. She had passed me while I drank a Coke and trailed just behind John and Jordan for a long time. I watched from a minute behind as the three of them wound in and out, and up and down along the mountainside. She wore a head and shoulder scarf of solid red, red pattern wrap dress, and red bindi on her forehead. She talked to most people on the path but walked faster than us and as I watched for a distance I wondered why she didn't pass them. When I had a chance for a picture she refused. Ahhh, what a loss.

Just before Dharapani the village of Bagarchhap had two memorial plaques, one to a lost German, the other to the three Canadians who lost their lives when a landslide wiped out the village in 1995. There are a handful of these memorials around the circuit to Western climbers and trekkers who have perished, but I have to wonder what the Nepali think of these memorials to foreigners. Should they be here when their own countrymen aren't recognized? For every foreigner killed outside his homeland, should a memorial be built?

By the days end at 4:30pm, we had dropped 1270 meters, walked eight hours, a significant amount, and covered a bit more then two days distance for those ascending. Arriving Dharapani we met a companion of lower elevations - flies. I had forget about such creatures. We lodged at the Manaslu Hotel.

Blisters on John's feet have become so bad, bloody and raw, that he questions the Everest Trek. My desire also wanes a bit, I have become discouraged with pressing up these hills at high altitude, but as I type, comfortable in a tea house, I am inclined to make the trek.

Tu 3/23/99 - Dharapani (1920m) - Ngadi (880m) (Day 14)

My handheld allows for a local time and a home time. It is currently 7am in Nepal and 8:15pm but a day earlier. That is really strange. The past few days I have felt, well, a bit homesick. When we were in other countries and people would ask what thing I miss most, I'd say "my mom". But then I wasn't "homesick". I believe this started with Jordan a few days ago, before the pass, describing a Sunday while staying with his parents at their country retreat they are building, later to be their retirement home. He painted a pretty picture, the log home itself, the river, the lake, fishing, hunting, the meals. The anxiety of the pass may have antagonized this sickness, but only afterward. Additionally, John and I were feeling a bit fed up with third world living and the three of us shared the fantasies of the foods we missed (John peanut butter and jam sandwich, Jordan egg and bacon breakfast, and me, the huge Sunday breakfasts in town with western omelet with cheese, homefries "done more than not, please", stack of blueberry pancakes, loads of syrup, toast, and orange juice!). I started reading Grisham's "The Street Lawyer" and in it he describes making sandwiches for a soup kitchen - even that made my mouth water! He also describes snowstorms back East and I've missed the season, missed the rare snowfall blanketing Newport and the jaunts north for skiing. I feel though that the strong feelings have dissipated since yesterday. I suppose they will come and go, and be more prevelant when I am sick or in rough conditions.

Jordan has kept better track of the number of his daily walking hours of the circuit. He rarely took breaks and his normal lunch was satisfied by quickly grabbing tea and bread. Excluding two acclimatization days, which leaves then twelve walking days thus far, he totaled 66.5 total hours, averaging 5.5 hours per day.

total = 66.5

average = 5.54

days = 8,3,4,6,8,5,5,3,9,2.5,5,8

Tu 3/23/99 - Dharapani (1920m) - Ngadi (880m) (Day 14)

Although we descended again today, 1040 meters, we agreed that there were many more ups and downs. We continued to follow along the Marsyungdi Kola River, watching as it drove down the gorge which at times towered a thousand meters above. Countless times the trail would dive down to near water level only to ascend again hundreds of meters. And when we asked the locals how the trail was, "flat and down". Right!

I was mesmerized by the outrageously high and tumbling water falls seen across the river when we were at height, so beautiful as the water appeared from a gorge higher and out of sight for the mountains reached 4000m, crashing in a couple of steps into pools. and finally smashing near the river below. The first such fall was like a fork, dividing three quarters of it's way down. And as we saw a couple more I wondered why we didn't cross such falls over bridges on our side, then we would cross the river by suspension bridge and the sights moved to the other side. Confusing, but I wasn't complaining!

The clarity today was poor again because of the many fires around, reportedly from Northern India, so I concentrated more on people pictures. However, there was a point when I was high and the view of the river and mountainsides was nicely set. The trail I had just walked followed contours like a French Curve so I sat on a flat stone on the cliff edge and waited for a subject to round the far curve. Four porters had also chosen this spot to rest, sit, and talk. My subject came from behind, a long train of donkeys. These trail donkeys have funny characters and manners. Sometimes they will walk around you, other times they seem to aim for you, and they often don't seem to realize how wide there loads are. Later on today I was laughing when John and a donkey met head on, dancing back and forth in front of each other, the donkey with head low and giving football headfakes and John bouncing side to side on his feet trying to guess which way the beast was going. "Dancing With Donkeys". Anyway, here I then stood on this rock to catch the colorful animals with clanging bells rounding the far bend, but as they walked by they came awfully close, and less than a step away was a thousand foot drop. The porters all had jumped to the other side for safety. I stayed on my feet and took a few pictures.

Throughout the day the vegetation changed and plants and trees we hadn't seen in a week appeared again. From pine and fur forests I first I noticed deciduous trees, a couple lonely palm trees, then bamboo. We walked through pretty terraced rice fields with noisy parrots, then before Bahundana a long disgusting hill appeared, I thought of "Heartbreak Hill". Since we had last stopped together, Jordan was off in front, followed by John with his rash of foot blisters and a twisted knee. My heels were paining after a couple of trail hours each day, so I walked slowly. It was another long day, and both John and I were not the happiest coming upon this hill. At the top of this climb was like an oasis, a hilltop village named Bahundana. I found John and Jordan and a couple others sitting on a round stone wall containing wild trees in the small village center which was bordered by narrow roads and tea houses. I laughed and shook my head when I met them, "We didn't really need that', referring to the last slog.

At the bottom of Heartbreak Hill is Ngadi, another small village with a run of establishments packed together, also an attractive village. I offered to check out lodges, but after the first lost interest in the task and suggested we take it for 20 rupees each per night. The Kamala Lodge seemed to have more locals than trekkers, was loud, and we had a funny communication problem with a young man. For every exchange we thought we were appearing difficult, but it wasn't intentional, it was just the way it happened. We laughed about it and wondered if they would plot revenge by adding unwanted ingredients to our meals.

We 3/24/99 - Ngadi (880m) - Besisahar (820m) - Katmandu (Day 15)

Our final day on the Annapurna Circuit. We wanted to be in Besisahar early to make the direct bus to Katmandu, but learned at a police checkpost that the last direct bus was at 9am. We were walking by 7:30am and had three hours to go. Soon after Ngadi we were on a road under construction for a hydroelectric project and not too long afterward I saw tire tracks. I mused, this was the first sign of ground transportation more sophisticated than a donkey we have seen for weeks. From then on it was like dominoes, first a tractor, then a truck, later even a bicycle. Yes, we were coming off the trek. We passed a really wild, precarious bridge over a small river that dipped incredibly. I took two pics and then we came across a scarier bridge, one made almost entirely of bamboo, held together with only a few pieces of stainless wire. I carefully walked onto the first section with my pack still on which didn't help balance, holding on for life while the river raged beneath me. I had to reach over for any kind of handhold, and the floor as simply fat and round pieces of bamboo, not easy to walk atop. The bridge flexed and swung, and to gain a bit of confidence, I shook the bridge side to side. Wait, was I gaining confidence that the bridge wouldn't tumble away into the river or was I about to cause it to tumble away?

We reached Besisahar and searched for the bus station, ten minutes walk through this filthy town. Coincidentally, a bus was leaving immediately for Dumre. The three of us climbed atop and were followed by a bunch of locals. We stopped five times in ten minutes and the fifth time everyone was told to leave the top of the bus, "We all have to get down because of the police, except for tourists so the can enjoy and see things". Throughout the day we would be asked to climb down and go inside because of police checkposts, then the next stop we would climb up again. The advantage of the top was that it was more comfortable than being stuffed inside on the short seats, and of course the views were great.

The bus ride to Dumre has a long standing reputation for being hairy because of the poor road, tight turns, and drop-offs. I found comfort simply laying down on the bus roof, and felt very relaxed and laughed to myself that this is the way to avoid being scared by the ride. Really, I was just tired and comfortable. But how long can one lay on top of a careening bus? After a couple of hours I was ready to unboard. The sun was bearing down and although I had a bandana over my lower face, the fumes were bad. Another hour, three total, and we were in the Dumre. Jordan immediately found his bus to Pokora, and John asked what I felt like doing, I replied, "puke". I was feeling a little nauseous, tired, and very thirsty.

We found another local bus going on to Katmandu, again leaving immediately. John and I climbed aboard and had the top to ourselves. I managed to yell out the first line to Bob Seger's song, "I think I'm going to Kathmandu", even though I felt weak.

As the ride went along I was feeling worse. I tried to lay and look forward, I was on my side watching the mountain scenery and road fold before me. I guess I was a little feverish, the scene was unreal through my glasses, my head sideways. But I was amused and observed the road action. It's really funny watching the trucks and buses pass on the winding mountain roads without any consistency to possible courtesies. This bus would pass anyone he came up to, no matter if there was a blind curve or the vehicle ahead said, "Extremely Flammable". Typical scenario, we are ascending a hill and passing on the right, blind, and a vehicle comes barreling down the hill. The oncoming truck may or may not have a warning from the buses horn, again not consistent. Then when all parties see the convergence, everyone slams on their brakes. Everything comes to a quick crawl then one vehicle will slowly snake between the other two. I had faith, there was no choice and it was out of my hands. Their system, whatever it was, seemed to work, we saw only one bus crashed and burned down a ravine. Once, this convergence of vehicles was especially interesting when five vehicles were involved, trucks being passed on both sides at the same time, that made John and I sit up anxiously.

When I was feeling a little better and sitting up and facing forward, or sitting up and facing forward so I would feel better, I felt as though I was hanging on the forward edge of a balcony at an IMAX movie. I leaned against my backpack and swung my feet over the forward inclined section of the luggage rack. My dark cheap sunglasses provided a shield between my somewhat foggy mind and the land of Nepal. Sitting high atop the bus the perception of speed is reduced. We could only see the road far in front and around the bus, so we seemed to be moving slowly. Because we had limited views, the bus often appeared to be about to hit someone or something. There wasn't enough room for two vehicles, then try adding locals walking side by side along the road, and displaced farm animals. They really don't appear interested in hitting objects, inanimate or alive, but the locals in the road do seem to ignore these trucks and buses grinding down on them. Actually, the driver did it a basket over a women's shoulder once.

The scenery was breathtaking, so unusual to New England with huge steep mountains and equally steep drop-offs from the road edge down. The roads wound up and up and we could see far into the distance where we were and where we were going. Rivers flowed steadily way down in the valleys, and we passed through these dirty third world towns, the details of which, the people and buildings, are always interesting.

I seemed to float above this world, swaying back and forth like in a motion ride in Disneyland, one where the producer tries to scare you by coming too close to the steep road edge or truck, only to turn quickly away.

At one stop most of the people left the bus to mill around so I climb down to stretch. I was feeling incredibly hot, thirsty, dry mouthed, and tired. This movement was the final catalyst. To the side of a eatery where two corrugated toilets. I asked John to toss my paper down and I hurried into the first. It was simply a tin box over a small concrete pad with a small run off out the back and feces spotted about. That was it, no place for the runoff except for the ground behind and no water to help anything runoff. I was desperate and relieved to be there then, otherwise I would have been hanging off the top and back of the bus. After a stomach problem three days earlier I had taking Imodium and moving again was precipitated by another stomach bug. I lost my world, the most horrible thing I have seen since the start of vacation, until Katmandu.

The second bus also took three hours. Dumre was a big dirty town, but Kathmanu is the epitome. I had forgotten how filthy it was since being in the mountains for two weeks. The mass of humanity, the vehicles crowding and beeping, people everywhere. It was overwhelming. I stared in disbelief, yes I like these third world scenes, but I was shocked. There were little fires on the roadside, people crouched over cooking and selling food, people hanging about, people waking along. Traffic was incredible, perhaps it was rush hour. Since the last police checkpost we were asked to it inside the bus. Again I was amazed at the traffic mayhem, how do they get from one place to the next and not hit something?

Or someone? Out the right side bus window an unusual crowd had formed and centered their attention to one spot. I first thought and assumed a demonstration. I jumped up to see the focus of that attention. I man laid in the street on his side, arms and legs out as if sleeping after inebriation. He wore a grey suit. A puddle of blood flowed away from his body, his head was flatten, and his brains were laying above. While I was sitting back down, I took second notice to the faces in the crowd, and now realized a few had horror on them. I sat and the song line ran unconsciously through my head again, "I think I'm going to Kathmandu..". I already wasn't feeling good and I didn't open the subject to conversation.

We found the Annapurna Guest House and our belongs left in storage intact. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, did not desire dinner, and wanted to stay close to a loo. I read Grisham and fell asleep with the light on.

Hey, we did it! We did the complete Annapurna Circuit, and the wrong way at that. It took fifteen days, about eighty hours of walking plus ten hours of acclimatization walks. The total posted distance around the circuit is 240 km, 150 miles. Now, what of Everest?!

Th 3/25/99 - Katmandu

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Islands of Thailand....

Simet and Ko Chang, 3hrs south of Bangkok

Ko Sammet, Ko Samui - on eastern side