Last Day in Kathmandu

(Leah and I recently returned from a three week trip to India and Nepal. This is the last of 16 daily posts I've done, sharing photos and journal notes I made as we traveled.)

Kathmandu, Nepal
July 19, 2014

I don't know that I'm willing to call this journey that Leah and I have been on the past three weeks "The Trip of a Lifetime." That sounds a little final, like there won't be other trips in our future.

It has, however, really been something, and I appreciate it so much that you've joined along, via these posts. I do hope you have enjoyed yourself.

Our last day in Kathmandu looked like this:
--We made one last trip to our hosts' neighborhood market, and the three pictures you see above were made in the alleyways along the way. All reflect the color and humanity to be found on the streets of the city, but I particularly like the top image because it seems joyous and hopeful, the way Kathmandu feels to me.
--We spent some time in our hosts' kitchen (see photos below) and, as our friend Saraswati cooked, I photographed the wonderful braid that hung down her back. We all laughed, shared food,  used my camera to shoot goofy "selfies," and enjoyed a few last hours of visiting.
--Our friends asked me to shoot a few "family pictures," and Leah and I were flattered to be included in some of those. Bhagawati (last image, on the left) and Saraswati dressed Leah up for the photos, then insisted that she take the outfit home as a gift.

We head for the Kathmandu airport in just a few hours. We should be back in Seattle by early afternoon Sunday.

Thanks again for reading!

Afloat?

(Leah and I recently returned from a three week trip to India and Nepal. This is the 15th of 16 daily posts I will do, sharing photos and journal notes I made as we traveled.)

Kathmandu, Nepal
July 19, 2014


Our Nepali hosts took us to Kathmandu's ancient and amazing Pashupati Temple today, our last full day of this trip, and, if there is a place on this planet where the Human Experience is more in-your-face, I am pretty sure I am not enough of a stoic to handle it.

As I walked around the temple grounds, I was part of a crowd of people so diverse -- beggars, the affluent, individuals who are faithful, and I'd guess some who are not -- that I couldn't help but think about that famous newsreel film clip of the crashing of the Hindenburg, where the announcer keeps exclaiming "Oh, the humanity! Oh, the humanity!"

The temple's recorded history dates back to the time of the birth of Christ, and today it  is sacred to Hindus, Buddhists, and others.  It is a place for prayer and meditation, for very public funerals and cremations -- smoke from the burning bodies hangs in the air over the temple -- as well as a market where visitors can shop for candles and flowers to leave at the temple as offerings, or buy gifts to take back home.

As always, I wanted to be a humble --and I hope respectful -- visitor and observer,  while trying my best to stay emotionally afloat and positive in that sea of humanity.

 

Coming Full Circle

(Leah and I recently returned from a three week trip to India and Nepal. This is the 14th of about 16 daily posts I will do, sharing photos and journal notes I made as we traveled.)

Kathmandu, Nepal
July 18, 2014

Leah and I traveled to Nepal in 2007, and it turned out to be a trip loaded with many "firsts."

--It was our first trip overseas.
--The trek we did to Kala Patar near the Mt. Everest Base Camp was the first time I'd experienced any problems with altitude sickness, even though I'd climbed most of the highest peaks in the Cascades, including eight times to the summit of Mt. Rainier.
--It was the first time Leah was no-contest stronger on a mountain trip than I was (the altitude sickness reduced me to a whimpering wreck.)
--That trip was the first time I met Tibetan refugees, or visited a Buddhist monastery.

Today our Nepali host (he was our guide in 2007) took Leah and me on a walking tour of the neighborhood where he lives in Kathmandu. The tour included the traditional, circular kora walk around Boudanath Stupa, a sacred site which, on our trip here seven years ago, was my first encounter with Tibetan Buddhism...but it sparked something that is a huge part of who I am today.

As we joined the pilgrims making the clockwise circle around the stupa seven years ago, I was very much a tourist.

Today I felt right at home.

Kathmandu from a Rooftop

(Leah and I recently returned from a three week trip to India and Nepal. This is the 13th of about 15 daily posts I will do, sharing photos and journal notes I made as we traveled.)

Kathmandu, Nepal
July 14, 2014

This is summer monsoon season in Nepal, which made our flight last night from India into this Himalayan city:
A: An Air Travel Adventure, and
B: Visually stunning.

The flight from Delhi to Kathmandu normally takes just a bit over an hour, but, last night, as our flight began its descent into Kathmandu, our pilot was informed that a heavy, monsoon-season rainstorm made a landing impossible. Our plane went back to India.

An hour or so later, the Kathmandu weather improved enough so that our plane could make a second attempt. I had a window seat, and my view of the sun, setting into the abating storm clouds,  was incredible.

We landed safely in Kathmandu. Leah and I made our way through a number of points of security officialdom to get our passports stamped and Nepal visas approved, then, happily  met up with our Nepali friends who, we learned, had been waiting at the Kathmandu airport for 5 hours for our arrival.

Our friends took us to their home where we had a wonderful reunion visit, after which everyone retired for the evening.

During the night, I awoke in a sweat, barely making it to the toilet in time to be sick.
(Leah had a bout with Delhi Belly a couple of days earlier, and now it was my turn.)

Today I still feel crummy, and am laying low at our friends' home, limited to "sightseeing" from the rooftop of their home in the "New City" neighborhood of Kathmandu.

I may not be feeling my best, but I'm well enough to be wowed by what I'm seeing of this amazing city.

The Last Day

As we hiked down from the remote villages of the high Himalaya and our month-long trip in Nepal entered its final few days, I knew we were getting close to civilization when we arrived in the village of Lukla and I saw a Nepali kid wearing a Britney Spears t-shirt. There is no getting-away from the worldwide influence of American pop culture, and I guessed that soon I’d be back home in the US, standing in line at the grocery store where I’d see People Magazine and the image (again) of Britney, or Paris, or some other celebrity bimbo.

Traveling and being away from home is hard, but re-entering the everyday world is harder.

There is a small airport in Lukla. A 45-minute flight on a prop plane gave us a last up-close view of the mountains, and--before we could say culture shock-- we were in Kathmandu, the crazy-frenetic city of honking horns, elbow-to-elbow humanity, and oversaturated colors.

A month earlier at the beginning of our trip, we’d arrived in Kathmandu to learn that the Hindu festival Dashmi was going on. Nepalis (even non-Hindus) were in full-on celebration mode then. Now, as we returned, we were told that we’d be witness to yet another festival.

We joined in the fun and took to the streets with the crowds. I photographed a funky group of enthusiastic (but not-very-good) musicians. I gave the musicians a donation of rupees but I suspected that if we lingered around those guys too long, they'd demand more money. We ducked into a Buddhist shrine where we knew we’d find peace and quiet. I watched as two young monks played inside a huge ceremonial bell, an old woman joining the boys in their game. Leah bought a cup of tea. I took portraits of some of the older monks.

That was our last day in Nepal.

Early the next morning we began the long trip home.

Walking Out

We trekked for over two weeks to get up to the foot of Sagarmatha (Mt. Everest,) but when it was time to turn around and head back downhill and begin the journey home, we did the walk in only five fairly easy days.

Leah and I both looked forward to getting down to lower elevations where the weather would be warmer. The promise of a long, hot shower (not to be found in the high mountains) sounded particularly good. At the same time, we knew better than to rush the final days of our travel experience.

We’d get back to our everyday lives soon enough.

We trekked on a trail that passed high above Tengboche. Early in our trip we had visited the monastery there and watched Buddhist monks perform their dance-drama during the amazing Mani-rimdu festival.

We walked through Khumjung, home of the school that Sir Edmund Hillary built for the Sherpa children of the region. In the years following his historic, first successful climb of Everest in 1953, Hillary has dedicated himself to environmental and humanitarian causes. The Khumjung school was one of his projects, and Leah and I visited with the school kids during their lunchtime break from studies.

Down and down we hiked, passing many mani walls, Buddhist prayers carved into the rock.

When the day came that we arrived in Lukla to catch the short flight back to Kathmandu, it was humbling to look up at the high mountains.

We couldn’t believe we’d been up there, among those looming giants, and those beautiful people.

Sagarmatha

Maybe it’s just because I have climbed mountains that she even mattered to me, but as our small plane flew into Lukla, I looked for her. For the first two weeks of our trek, even as I labored in the high, thin air, I hoped to see her. She flirted with me; I caught glimpses of her, but mostly she hid.

We in the English-speaking world have given her a very unromantic, not-very-feminine name: we call her Mt. Everest. The Tibetans know her as Chomolungma, and to the Nepalis she is Sagarmatha.

As a photographer traveling for nearly a month in Nepal, I’m not saying my trip would have been a bust if I hadn’t seen and gotten a reasonably decent photograph of the highest mountain on our planet, but I certainly would have been a bit disappointed. I would have pouted for a week or two. Sagarmatha teased me with her occasional appearances. I wanted to see more of her.

Most of all, I wanted to see her in the light of the setting sun.

On the day we camped at the highest village of our trek, Gorak Shep (elevation 17, 100 feet,) two Nepali friends and I set out in the late afternoon to walk to the top of a nearby “hill,” Kala Pattar (18,200 feet) where there is a wonderful view of Sagarmatha. My plan was to be at the top of Kala Pattar at sunset, hoping for that sweet, warm, late light. As we hiked higher and higher, more and more of Sagarmatha came into view, peeking out from behind lesser summits. At the same time, clouds began to build, hiding my lady mountain.

But luck was with me that day. On the top of Kala Pattar, my friends and I dropped our packs and put on heavy down parkas. We waited, and we watched. The clouds cast a few dramatic, parting shadows, then retreated. The valley below us fell into darkness. The very highest peaks caught the light, and, finally, only Sagarmatha could be seen on the planet’s stage. She was alone in the last light of the day, and she was radiant.

My two friends and I watched in awe.

Several minutes passed. When the light flickered out on Sagarmatha, the three of us shouldered backpacks, switched on headlamps, and headed down toward our camp. We didn't talk much.

I believe we were all smitten.

Dreaming

(Blog Update 12/25/07: Twelve hours after I had originally posted these photos and notes, I learned that a suspension bridge has collapsed in western Nepal. Seven people are dead and scores are missing. The people were reportedly headed to a celebration of the full moon.)

***

I’m afraid I’m one of those people who wakes up in the middle of the night and, though I wish this was not the case, my brain switches into Alert Mode. I start thinking about a book I’m reading, or a photo project I’m shooting, or I have a brainstorm for a way to solve the world’s problems. And I know right away that I might as well get out of bed. There will be no going back to sleep.

Last night I think it might have been the moon that woke me up. About 3 AM I opened my eyes to see that the just-past-full moon was shining so brightly into my bedroom, I thought for a minute it was daylight outside. I got up, went to the kitchen and made a big mug of hot tea, then headed outside for a walk in the cold, clear, sleep-robbing moonlight.

It was a little surreal for me to realize that, just two months ago when we were half-a-world away in Nepal, I photographed that same moon setting over Mt. Khumbila, a beautiful peak in the Solu Khumbu region of the Himalaya. The mountain is sacred to the Sherpa people, and, as I walked near my home last night --Christmas lights twinkling on my neighbor’s
front porch-- I realized my mind had wandered and I felt like I was back in Nepal.

I thought about the Nepali greeting “Namaste.” It’s a word that can simply mean “hello” or “good-bye,” or it can have a deeper, more-spiritual connotation: I honor the good in you. As Leah and I hiked from village to village in Nepal, passersby would practically sing their greeting, Namaste floating in the air like a chant. Often their Namaste was accompanied by a palms-together hand gesture, yet another way Nepalis show respect.

I suppose I’m about to suggest something that is going to sound simplistic, but on my walk last night in the eerie moonlight, I couldn't help dreaming that the various peoples of our planet, unable as we are to co-exist peacefully, might have a better starting-point for understanding if we had some kind of worldwide way of communicating and demonstrating respect.

Namaste.

Serendipity

When Leah and I got on the plane in October to fly to Nepal, neither of us had any experience with foreign travel. (Actually I had been to Canada a couple of times, but isn’t Canada the same thing as America, except that Canadians get hockey? Does Canada truly qualify as being foreign?)

Part of the reason Leah and I lacked travel resumes is where we live. The Pacific Northwest offers an ocean, islands, mountains, deserts--pretty much a lifetime’s worth of adventure and travel temptations. Why go anyplace else?

Then there is how we live. Leah and I are fairly simple people (a longtime friend teases us--only half-jokingly, I fear--of thinking we’re Amish, but my friend is incorrect: Leah and I think we are Hobbits.) As Tolkein might have written, travel kind of struck us as being for The Big Folk, not for a couple of country bumpkin Halflings.

To be sure, I had always liked the idea of travel. Many of my friends have been to Mexico, Europe, even Africa. Some of my mountain climber friends have been to the Himalaya in Nepal. I thought Nepal sounded cool and when I saw the pictures my friends shot there, it certainly looked cool. So when Leah and I decided to expand our Hobbit horizon, Nepal was the destination we chose.

While we were in the planning stages for our trip, I attended a couple of lectures in Seattle given by adventurer Willie Weir, an inveterate bicycle traveler. (By-the-way: Willie’s book Spokesongs is a wonderful read. Here’s a link: http://www.willieweir.com/) I remember Willie telling his audience that the best part of travel happens when we toss aside the guidebook and ignore our itinerary, allowing the unexpected to enter our trip experiences.

A trekking trip like what Leah and I did in Nepal is generally about movement, about hiking from one village to another. The photographs I’m posting today came into my life quite unexpectedly, most often when I stood still for a few moments:

Above: a group of Nepali students on holiday march along the trail at a spot where there is a large mani wall.
Below: Scenes from villages in the Solu Khumbu (Mt. Everest area.)