Walking Home

reveries of an amateur long-distance hiker

Feb 20

February 23rd, 2016

Feb 20

Slept straight through the night and woke at 6:00, courtesy of my fellow hotel guests. The people of Nepal tend to be early risers, one of the things I most like about the country this far. Went to sleep at 8:00 so that was 10 hours plus the three or four of my nap– I hope it is the altitude, otherwise something is really wrong with me. Definitely plan to take it slow today. Sima, the daughter of the hotel manager was also up and at it early. Yesterday in the car the driver was playing traditional Nepali music though by modern musicians. It was fascinating but will require some diligence to appreciate. In the hotel this morning, some young Nepalis started their day with the Grateful Dead — quite a contrast but somehow fitting. Electricity here is usually off, and the hotel’s backup light system is on the shelf– a trickle charger and a car battery. I’m stiff this morning, feeling my age. These last weeks I’ve questioned these treks, wondering if I’m being selfish or even foolish, but then I look out at these mountains and realize that in a few years I won’t be able to explore them on foot which is the only way to do it. The construction workers, young and old, squat over piles of rubble, picking out bricks and cleaning them with masonry hammers. When they get a good pile, they load them in baskets with shoulder straps and a tump line (a strap that goes across the forehead), squat down and slowly rise, carrying the load to the mason’s building the wall. Leaving Chispani was an easy walk to Pati Bhanjyang along a dirt road. On the road I kept seeing lines of small caterpillars. They looked like little wooly bears nose to tail in a line ten or fifteen long with a leader burrowing through the dust. A Land Rover passed me and offered a ride, but I’m not ready to yellow blaze this one just yet. At Pati I started to go the wrong way, but some men on the hill yelled and pointed the right direction. Turns out the trail was a set of steps going up to a hotel, and then curving around it to go straight up a steep hill. Since much of the rest of the day would be spent climbing, I stopped and had a Coca Cola, the first in at least a decade. It was pretty much the only thing in the window, and I thought a little caffeine would help my head. It was a Saturday so there was a crowd in front of the restaurant part of the hotel (more a counter than a restaurant) and the woman behind the counter overcharged me for the drink. I hiked on out and at some point made a wrong turn and ended up walking a path parallel to the Helambu for a few kilometers taking me through the village of Chipling before rejoining the true path up on a high pass. Altitude for much of the day was around 2400 meters, and I seem to be adjusting fine to it now (which is good as tomorrow will be spent around 3600). My navigational difficulties result from my iPhone GPS program spelling the names of the towns differently than my paper map. The map does not have enough fine grained information to help me decide which way to turn at an intersection which makes the phone valuable, so coordinating information between them requires patience. That’s the price I pay for not using a guide. Clearly it is an unusual choice (everyone is surprised that I am alone) but I so prize my walking solitude.

The entire day smelled of smoke as the farmers are burning off the terraced fields in preparation for spring planting. Some people had finished burning and now were turning their fields with short-handled, heavy hoes. Part of the day was through a bamboo forest, and just outside Chipling a man was splitting bamboo with an axe that had a bit with a lengthened, curved heel tapering to a point. I watched him split for a while, and he then showed me a curved knife similar to a machete he uses to cut the bamboo. Much of the day was hiking through an agricultural countryside. At one point I inadvertently drove some stray cattle back along the road to a village. Unlike in the States or New Zealand (with its almost mythic no. 8 wire), here there are no fences. Most people’s livestock are a cow or two, maybe half dozen goats, and some chickens. They keep them tied, sometimes turning them out to forage. Chickens peck around the yards, but are also kept individually under large baskets. They just plop the basket over them–instant chicken coop. My plan for the day was a short hike to Golphu Bhangyang which the map lists as having several guest houses. Most of the town was rubble, so I pushed on. I’m curious what the villages looked like before the quake. It is easy to see the effect it had on large buildings that are now on the ground, but I wonder how the individual houses were constructed. Today they are mostly wood frames sided with corrugated steel and seem temporary. I slept in corrugated steel huts hiking the Te Araroa. They keep out the wind somewhat, but are very cold. They do not retain heat in winter and are like ovens in the summer–a point confirmed by a woman I spoke with in a village here. Hiking out of Golphu, one of the last houses I passed was a low structure. As I walked by, I saw a counter displaying sodas and candy bars. Through the door were two men sitting at a table eating heaping plates of some dish I did not recognize. I think it was rice, vegetables with eggs mixed in. They motioned me in, and I took my place at the next table sitting across from a very old woman with a deeply lined face and legs as thin as sticks. I asked for tea, and the proprietor went outside with a pot, presumably to get hot water from a open fire. Accompanied by the loud lip-smacking and belching of my dining partners, I had a delightful conversation with the old woman though the only words we shared were Chisipani (my starting point) and Kutumsang (my ending point). The rest of the conversation was her talking and me signaling how I looked forward to sleeping in Kutumsang. The tea room had a dirt floor and the inside of the corrugated steel siding was lined with split bamboo, perhaps the handiwork of my axe-wielding friend. Every one there told me Kutumsang was a two hour walk which turned out to be accurate. Measuring distance here by kilometer makes no sense. You can toil an hour just to walk up a half kilometer’s worth of steps. Near the top of my long climb out of Golphu, I passed what must have been a small village complete with a guest house. It was arresting as all the buildings were now on the ground, and the place was deserted. Eight thousand people died in the quake, but I wonder now how many have been displaced and moved to the city. Most of the fields seem to be well-tended, so there are plenty of people here still working, but I did pass ones that were abandoned near the deserted village and wondered where the people went. There was an eerie silence there, save the rustling of faded prayer flags.

On the map, Kutumsang is a village of some importance, but it too was devastated, so much of the “downtown” is rubble. This morning on leaving Chisipani, I discovered there were several hotels a little further into town which looked more inviting than the one where I stayed, so I made a mental note to walk most of a town before settling on lodging. In Kutumsang, I got to the Namaste Hotel and stopped. There a young woman with a baby welcomed me, we negotiated a price that I hope was generous, and once again I took a nap. That evening I was invited to sit with the family in the only warm room while the mother of the young child made Dal Bhat, clearly the dinner of choice on the Helambu trek. A wood stove is set into the floor in the room, and the baby’s father sat on a pile of rugs on the floor next to the stove keeping the one year old entertained while his mother and grandmother worked on the fire and cooked the meal. The child has one Western toy– a plastic friction powered car that looks like something you would get from a gas station promotion. He played with it, or rather his father played with it as he turned to all the bright colored plastic buckets on the lower shelf– small chaos ensued. Later the grandmother brought in more wood for the fire. Some small pieces were cut from old boards, and she set them up like blocks for the baby to knock down, a gesture accompanied by loud giggles. The mother kept singing “baa baa black sheep, have you any ool?” (she really didn’t need that “w”). It was fascinating watching the meal being prepared. Lots of big teapots and pressure cookers were placed over the holes on the flat top of the wood stove where flames from the fire shot up. She understood the heat and let things cook as if they were on a temperature controlled stovetop. She ground her spices and garlic with a mortar and pestle, scooping the material out deftly with a large silver spoon, one of many beautifully decorated ones which were hanging on the wall. I ate with the family, all the time laughing at the antics of the child. Such warm people, living so well.

T. Hugh Crawford

Feb 19

February 23rd, 2016

Feb 19

The combination of a upper respiratory infection, being out of shape, and altitude changes made for a short hiking day. I took a car from the center of Kathmandu to Sunjarijal, a small town out on the edge of the big city’s sprawl. It was a national holiday, and the traffic was bumper to bumper the whole way out, my driver zigging in and out of his lane. Actually “bumper to bumper” sounds much more orderly than it was. There were lines at the gas pumps, hundreds of motorcycles filling the street looking like the start of a long distance race. There was garbage being burned in the gutters, and even a dead cow on the side of the road along with a number of live ones lying in the gutters on top the garbage–quite the scene. The Helambu Trek is in the northeastern part of the Kathmandu Valley, an area hit very hard by last year’s earthquake. I was grateful to be outside the city finally, though it does go on for miles. The trail today was up through the Shivapuri Nagarjun National Park starting out around 1200 meters and topping out at 2430 before descending down into Chisipani (that is 7972 feet which is a good bit higher than all the East Coast mountains). The path was not so much a nature trail as it was the path that people living in these mountains use to get around. It passes through a number of settlements which are primarily subsistence farming, growing winter wheat and then corn on terraced hillsides. Many goats and some cows are tethered by the buildings, most now eating corn stalks or forage cut from beech trees. After the first long set of steps, I was stopped at a military installation to buy the permit to hike an Eco center. It was a little intimidating at first since the soldiers carried automatic weapons and frowned the way you would expect them to. I talked to several and all were surprised I was hiking without a guide. They asked if I had children (a very common question) and soon one young man wanted to come along. We all laughed a bit stumbling through language. After the ticket agent finished his mid-morning meal, I got my pass which was immediately checked by the military man I had just finished talking to. The nature preserve is supposed to have leopards, monkeys, Ghoral, Himalayan Black Bear, and wild boar. Listening intently and watching carefully, the only thing I heard was a large animal moving through the jungle at a pace more closely resembling a domestic farm animal. On my way out of the park I did see a cow in the woods chewing beech leaves. The forest included oak and rhododendron, so parts resembled the “green tunnel” of the Appalachian Trail. In Mulkharka, a small village, I sat for a while at a “tea room” front porch. It was a stone building with a lot of packaged drinks in the window and some plastic chairs out under the porch. Across the way a woman was boiling water in a huge kettle over an open fire to wash clothes. The proprietor of the tea room, who only spoke Nepalese, was cooking over an open fire in the front yard. Her cousin, who lives in the city, was visiting for the holiday, and we talked about the many dialects spoken across the country. A handsome young man whose phone would go off occasionally but still he seemed right at home in this distant place. Like the others, he asked why I walked alone. I told him I liked the solitude, and he said “solitude makes for thinking.” By noon, after climbing what my phone said were 250 floors, I was unusually exhausted and found myself taking breaks every couple kilometers. The last two into Chisipani were downhill, but I was still feeling it. The town has several large masonry hotels but the earthquake hit hard, completely destroying several of them. Two were still intact, but had moved off their foundations and were sitting crooked in a field.

I went to the Hotel Annapurna Mountain View–Annapurna was nowhere to be seen given the smoke and haze. The proprietor, a nice 22 year old man with a beautiful 2 year old daughter named Sima, showed me to my room which was bare concrete with a few very hard beds– exactly what I expected. I got out my sleeping bag, put my sleeping mat down and immediately fell asleep from mid-afternoon until six. They called me for dinner — Dal Bhat (Nepalese lentil curry)– and brought many extra helpings. After a quiet meal I went straight back to bed. This altitude is kicking my ass.

T. Hugh Crawford

Feb 18

February 18th, 2016

Feb 18

Kafka taught me years ago to fear bureaucracy. Today I dutifully walked down to the Nepal Tourism Board to get trekking passes. I used to be puzzled by people wearing surgical masks in cities, but here they are pretty much required. The dust when walking the streets gets deep in your lungs. Couple that with the sheer craziness of motorcycles, scooters, cars and people moving at different rates in the same space, and at times it feels like one of those car race video games where I keep waiting to see the accident unfold in front of me, but everyone veers off at just the right moment in a bizarre human-machine ballet. The road bordered a large field where the Nepalese Army was parading, complete with horses. I arrived at the NTB just when they opened and soon filled out three lengthy forms for the various required permits. I carefully entered all the information required, happy to have plenty of ID photos and all the proper documents. Still, it was with trepidation that I presented my forms to a staffer who barely looked at them and instead took my 4000 NPR, stamped some cards and handed them back with a smile. Kafka should have let Joseph K come to Nepal; it would have saved him considerable anxiety. I later stopped at my Himalaya Java for a coffee where I met a San Francisco dentist who was originally from Nepal. Good looking guy with bright white teeth he seemed to like to flash, a good advertisement I suppose. Turns out he is here interviewing women to be his wife. He had been sitting talking with an interesting and engaging woman, though I’m not sure if she was a candidate for matrimony, guess I should have listened to their conversation more closely. Then I ducked out for lunch having now found some good street food stalls– had a large plate of dumplings for $1. On the way back I stopped to watch a crew of kids working in a pile of rubble that had once been a multistory brick building. Apparently they were doing some new foundation work, wiring together rebar grids. A young boy was cutting it to length with a dull hacksaw. Rebuilding is a slow and arduous process. I’ve arranged for transportation to Sundarijal tomorrow morning. It’s about 25 km from Kathmandu and the starting point for the Helambu trail. It works its way through some not too-high mountains north toward Tibet. It is a highly recommended trek and a good warm up for the Annapurna circuit which I’ll start near the end of the month. After picking up some snacks and toilet paper from the “super market” I laid out my equipment to be ready to leave first thing in the morning, then spent a few hours finishing re-reading Peter Matthiesson’s magnificent Snow Leopard which is about a trek north west of the Annapurna circuit in the Dolpo region. I wanted to follow his narrative of trekking in Nepal as a student Buddhism. Instead I found myself studying his style, hoping to learn his descriptive energy. Then I made my way back to the New Orleans Cafe, a place that for some reason makes me think of Hemingway. Sitting in the courtyard tonight I better understand the name. Along with a jazz soundtrack and occasional live music, the structures rising up around the courtyard give a real French Quarter feel, though it is clearly Nepal as the heavy wood columns supporting three stories of brick are intricately carved, the capitals depict scenes from some version of the Kama Sutra. Tonight the black cat prowls on the tin awning above the courtyard while a boxer mongrel patrols the ground floor.

Feb 17

February 17th, 2016

Another early morning, still without electricity, I spent the early hours running down my iPad checking internet sites planning my hike. I’m still not sure why the wifi works when the electricity is out but they do have a low voltage backup which I guess powers the router. Himalaya Java was calling me though, so a breakfast of pancakes and a couple of cups of coffee were a great way to start the morning. CNN was on the television so I got all up to date with the current US political controversies — today it was the republicans blocking any Supreme Court appointment Obama would dare to make and the Kendrick Lamar Grammy performance. Race pervades it all. I wandered a bit, happening onto a shop in a narrow alley where many women were stooped over, carving prayers on stones. Nearby were wood carvers, keeping alive the art so in evidence in the partially ruined temples I walked through at Durbar square. And of course, at every turn someone wanting to be a guide or to sell me hash (or both). Thankfully checked out of the hotel and carried my pack a few short blocks to the Hotel Amaryllis– a clean, well-maintained place at the end of an alley just off the street with most of the trekking stores. There is a little plot of grass out front, the only green I’ve seen just yet. I’m hoping it will all lighten my mood– the past few days I’ve been a bit down, worrying over paperwork from school, messages, etc. and not yet embracing the adventure I’m beginning. Finished out by visiting the Kathmandu Environmental Education Project where I spoke a long time with the director about planning treks– a really helpful conversation that will guide my decisions in the coming days. That also stoked my enthusiasm to get back out on the trail. Had dinner at the New Orleans Cafe, an interesting courtyard restaurant bearing almost no relation to New Orleans except vegetarian jambalaya and a jazz soundtrack. Their specialty seems to be wine and meat cooked on a smokey grill on the edge of the courtyard. A black cat prowls the dining area, crying for scraps. It was on a very quiet alley, primarily populated by tourists or expats. A lot of American accents but they seemed to be discussing relief efforts and the like, not planning to bungie jump the next day. After dinner, I ordered a second glass of wine (been avoiding alcohol these past days) to listen to traditional Nepali instruments playing jazz–a trio on Tabala (drum) Basuri (wooden flute), and sarangi (a lute-like stringed instrument played with a bow). It was a magical place to end the day.

T. Hugh Crawford

Feb 16

February 17th, 2016

Woke very early– still on Malaysia or maybe Wellington time. Actually I woke up a few times in the middle of the night as well. The Silver Home Hotel is cheap, so I’m saving money, but it’s also pretty low-rent. My room has a strange smell I just can’t quite get used to, the ensuite bathroom is a little rough (though I guess it’s better than the one I stayed in the Dolomites which had a board over the floor-level toilet where you stood to take a shower). When anyone else runs water at the Hotel Silver Home it sounds as if its flowing through my bathroom. So, to continue in the mode of overly fastidious American tourist, I’ll note that the city is full of dogs who eat the garbage piled in the streets. They are everywhere (as I’m guessing are the rats but I haven’t seen them just yet).

Most of the night the dogs were howling– first one, then another, and finally a third. They seem to prefer trios. Toward morning, when it just started to get light, they stopped, but then in started birds that sounded a lot like crows. I could not see them, but just like dogs, one would start, then the crew would join in. I left the hotel around seven to walk down Thamel Marge and get a feel for the city. No tourists were out, just people hurrying to work. The street was much easier to walk than later in the day when it gets very crowded, with constant honking from cars and scooters, so you have to jump out of their way. The streets are narrow with no sidewalks. People were watering the street in front of their shops presumably to keep down the dust (it doesn’t work). There is still plenty of rubble from the earthquake and dust settles everywhere. Many cook and heat with wood so the air quality is very bad, people cough a lot and spit everywhere. I passed a stupa where people feed the pigeons, great crowds of them (pigeons) circle amongst the prayer stones. On passing a fairly major intersection, the traffic was disrupted by a couple of cows wandering about. I made it down to Durbar square, then cut over east to the parks which are covered with rubble from earthquake excavation. There are large buildings that must have once been grand but now are in disrepair. I passed one with huge gardens in the front that have gone to ruin. Even the trees seemed dead. Circling back into Thamel, I passed a Himalaya Java, the local sorta Starbucks. Couldn’t resist what turned out to be a great cup of coffee, and a pleasant time with some wifi. It seems to be a gathering point for foreign trekkers or expats. Not tourists, but also not locals. Later in the day I toured Durbar Square, home to many temples and Royal buildings, most severely damaged by the earthquake. The wood carving on rafters and window casements was amazing, as was the damage suffered because of the quake. Most of the structures are brick masonry which vibrated into piles. All very sad. Later I wandered a bit in the area where all the treks are organized, going to have to make some decisions soon about starting the Annapurna Circuit, but want to get a good understanding of how things are here before committing to any course of action. Spent some time reconsidering my hostel– the electricity is almost never on, which might be a citywide issue but many of the places I have visited seem to have it more often. Continuing in fastidious mode, I opted to book an upgrade for the next two nights at what appears a nicer place– it has a great coffee shop right out front. Then went to the Roadhouse Cafe which is no way resembled any restaurants in America that might be called roadhouse, but it did have really good wood fired pizza. Pizza, a necessary food wherever you find yourself. I sat at a table in the window, quietly eating and reading Peter Matthiesson while two cute children who were obviously beggars tapped at the window only to be noisily chased from the front by the cafe maitre’d. An early night again, still adjusting to time change.

T. Hugh Crawford

Feb 15

February 17th, 2016

A long quiet morning in Malaysia before catching the shuttle back to the airport. Wandered the grounds a bit and was startled by a large black bird perched high in the trees which an increasingly loud whoooowhoooo call. Not sure what it was but at first it sounded like a monkey. No one else seemed to notice it. Malaysian Air paid for my breakfast which was a large buffet directed toward a multitude of ethnicities. There was the English/European row of sausage (chicken), baked beans, pasta, waffles. There was the fruit, cereal and yoghurt lane (with Kiwi juice), an omelette bar with some dried beef (instead of bacon), and the row of rice, curry and a whole lot of tasty but unidentified things. Of course I visited each row and went back for three plates. The patrons–all on their way onto other countries or picking up rental cars to explore here–were as diverse as the food. Many Muslim locals, Chinese and Japanese sophisticates in hip,clothes (contrasting sharply with the dress of their host country), and what were probably kiwis or Australians and were no strangers to a buffet line. Talked to what I think was an Austrian couple in the shuttle back to airport. They were off to explore Malaysia, but I was just passing through. The airport had a Starbucks, a venue I’ve been ignoring this entire trip but I thought it would be the last time for a while in something so corporate and standardized. Getting on the plane were several English couples who seemed to be old hands at traveling to Nepal but who also sounded as if it was still part of the empire and they were headed to the club. Going through security there were a number of security guards who were slight of build and resembled the vietnamese often portrayed in war movies– the ones who were always so vicious–but of course these guys smiled and welcomed me warmly. Assumptions informed by old films are not to be trusted. Flying to Kathmandu, how can you not be excited? The flight again was uneventful except for the man in front of me who buzzed the attendants constantly, usually for more wine. Watched a Tom Hardy movie, The Drop, which was better than I expected. Then I switched on the flight tracker which reminded me that Malaysia was a Muslim country. Part of the cycling windows included a compass rose which pointed toward Mecca. The flight in soon revealed a wall of mountains including Everest out the window (fortunately that seat was empty on my row). I was surprised to see houses and farms perched on top of mountains with rice terraces working down. It looked to be a land long occupied. Closer into Kathmandu the concentration of houses increased though still separated by fields and paddies. The airport is old and not easy to navigate. I was a little concerned about my visa, which I had applied for online but was not sure I had enough information. There was no need to worry. After paying a $100 fee, they were happy to let me into the country without asking too many questions. All was smooth except waiting at baggage claim which took an hour and half, then I was launched into the chaos of the arrivals/transportation area. I found the one ATM and got 10,000 NPR (100$) then one of the many aggressive assitors took me in hand. After some resistance I went along, he secured a cab at a good rate (500 npr instead of the 700 standard) and off we went to the Thamel district which is where all the hostels are. It was dark by then but still something of rush hour time, and the traffic including buses, cars, scooters, bicycles and pedestrians all in the same space was manic. After about 20 minutes we arrived in one piece, and I found my darkened and inexpensive hostel — darkened because the electricity is regularly shut off. I went around the corner for a traditional Nepalese meal– rice, lentils, some incredibly flavorful vegetables, very satisfying. Then back to bed pretty exhausted.

T. Hugh Crawford

Feb 14

February 17th, 2016

Said farewell to Wellington with a Sunday morning taxi ride through empty streets to the airport. The only people stirring were those going to the cricket pitch early for the first day of a test with Australia. My friends Greg and Anne were off to Queenstown for some trekking, and I flew on to Auckland to catch a very long but uneventful flight to Kuala Lumpur (10+ hours). Air Malaysia had mixed up my ticket earlier so, in order to rebook, I had a night’s layover in Klia, the town named for the acronym of the Kuala Lumlur International Airport. Arrived around nine pm Malaysia time (which one or two my time), and after some fumbling around I finally found the hotel shuttle bus, only to discover on my arrival I needed a Malaysian Air voucher and had to return to the airport to secure it. Fortunately the Hotel Concorde concierge was very accompanying and finally I found myself in a room. It was an odd place, a lot like an old fashioned motel with long concrete block buildings opening out to a middle breezeway. But the bed was comfortable, the television adequate, and there was pretty good wifi. I sat up catching up with some correspondence and watching BBC news. I wanted to be sure I had plenty of that in anticipation of limited access while in Nepal. The only hint that I was stepping into a different world was the warning in the bathroom to boil water in the room before drinking or brushing teeth. A world I’ll be in for some time to come.

T. Hugh Crawford