The New Height of Misery
Unbelievably, while we waited in Cheplung for Gita to eat dahl bhat, we heard “Achy Breaky heart” by Billy Ray Cyrus.
We left Lukla on Saturday, around 11:30 a.m., and arrived at our new home, Phakding, close to 3:45. Gita guided us to ShangriLa Lodge & Restaurant. The Nepalese/Sherpa woman, possibly the owner, showed us to our room for the night – two single beds, a small bare fluorescent bulb, windows that could open, a supplied lock, just down the hall from an indoor, Western toilet and shower with hot water. Our double room cost us 100 Rupees. A great price for what we would come to consider luxurious accommodations.
These lodges make the bulk of their revenue by selling meals, not from renting rooms. The menu listed the room rate of 100 Rupee, but if we were to eat at a different lodge, the room rate would increase to 500 Rupee.
We changed shoes, put on warmer clothes and pushed our single bed together. I had made a commitment to sleep next to Guy whenever I had the opportunity, even if I had to make the opportunity.
Downstairs, on the outside patio, we sat staring and trying to believe that all this was real. We wrote our order for black tea, rice pudding and potato soup. I gave the order book to the one of the two guys in the kitchen, so the order was on its way, or so I thought.
Guy and I walked further uphill, into “town”, a bit deeper into the small village. By a quick check of other lodges’ facilities , we decided that our new home was the finest.
We had been waiting for our tea, etc., for at least 40 minutes before Gita told us that we should order dinner early, as it could take more than one hour to prepare. “Wow,” we thought, “if dinner could take one hour to prepare, just for us, it must be very good.” Gita was correct and told us that we should have specified the time that we wanted to eat in the order book.
That night, an American man joined our informal group in the enclosed dining room. He was very loud and was traveling alone. In just a few minutes, he had announced his travel schedule, his recent past, his home location, his profession, and his love for drinking. He had brought his own wine and was not shy about letting everyone know it. He suggested that everyone introduce themselves. This was just the type of person that I had loved to avoid in the United States. He was initially objectionable person and was certainly becoming more so and I was tired and tired of being around people. I had started getting tired of people on Saturday, in the afternoon.
Tara had met us early in the morning, haggled to get a good cab fare. We had to drive fairly far west of Kathmandu, toward a Hindu temple to see if we could watch a sacrificial ceremony. The road was so crowded with people, cars, and motorcycles that traffic had come to a complete stop a few miles before the temple. People had simply parked their cars on the road or left their cars where they were and started walking. We got out, too, and started to follow the crowd. A few Nepalese kids at a house nearest to our taxi started yelling “Hello” to us. Guy turned around to face them, said “Hello” back and waved. Everyone involved giggled.
As we walked, we noticed that most people were headed in the opposite direction. Guy was afraid that we had missed all the cool stuff, but I tried to stay positive that we would be able to see something. It was probably 1/2 mile before we came across the reason for the traffic back-up: two overloaded buses were trying to get past each other at a very narrow part of the rural road. We watched for a while but there was nothing that we could do to help and plenty of people trying. These were literally hundreds of people of the street, trying to get either to or from the temple, Dashainkali.
We joined the throngs of people heading toward Dashainkali. Again not much order to the traffic pattern, whether in cars or on foot. I got separated from Guy a few times but as the only other white person, he was easy to find.
As we walked on, the area got more rural, maybe more isolated, and a lot less crowded. Again, a young child called out to us, “hello”. We called back and forth as long as possible, waving all the time.
After one more really small village, we continued to walk along the only road, when Tara pointed downhill, seemingly at nothing. We followed him down a steep dirt path. The path was difficult enough without having to fight people for space on the good steps/stones. At that point, I wondered if it would be worth it. It wasn’t long before I knew that it was.
I think we hit another paved road, this one loaded with small stands of produce, beans, fruits, cheap jewelry, plastic toys, etc. We were starting to get the idea that we hadn’t missed the event. One more set of steep steps, one more direct path – this time past begging children and crippled adults. Almost at once, we either had come into a clearing enabling a larger view or somehow we just began to see the forest for the trees.
The crowd gathered was huge and only getting larger. Lines, many hundred people in length, spread out in a few directions. Every sidewalk was full, the sun was hot, the lines did not seem to be moving, just growing. But no one complained, at least not that we could understand. No one seemed to be pushing or impatient. Amazing patience, and purpose, probably, as this was an important religious ceremony and sight. Tara had to explain everything we saw, and some things that we would not have seen without him. Like a woman laid prostrate under a tent, receiving a long line of people. She claimed to have planted some seeds on/in her abdomen and was going to remain lying down for nine or 10 days in order to allow the seeds of God to grow. From Tara’s description, it sounded as if she had actually implanted seeds in her body, so naturally Guy and I wanted to see the freakiness. Tara got us admittance up to that section, only to see a woman just lying down with flowers in her chest. Any seed or growing stunt was merely symbolic. She would do no more than place a red dot on the forehead of people who had cash donations.
Tara let us know where we could and could not walk. He led us around to view the river area where men washed up after their bloody sacrifices. From another view, a higher vantage point up a hill, we could see the end point of all the long lines. One line, for vegetarians, cramped and crowded up to a small stage where people offered/threw gifts of flowers, eggs, split coconuts and rice, and grabbed to get back a small piece of offering that had recently been blessed. That tantric, or non-vegetarian, line ended in the animal’s end. One man would take the animal, a chicken or a goat – preferably a black goat – and slit its throat, let some blood drain, and then cut off its head.
Tara told us that this religious ceremony was a commonplace event, which happened whenever a person or a family wanted to appease Kali – or a justification for killing an animal so they could eat the meat. Tara, a Buddhist and vegetarian, was a bit skeptical of the reasoning. Guy and I, being neither Buddhist, Hindu, or even faithful Christians, could only watch, listen, and wonder. Whatever the reasoning behind the ceremony, we were just floored by the never-ending lines, the bloody carnage, and the calmness of people waiting for hours to have their animals slaughtered.
With this event, and the over-crowded, narrow road crammed with cars, motorcycles and stuck buses, plus the extreme poverty of the rural people we passed, the friendly but shy and definitively naive, protected children yelling “Hello” and then hiding, plus the livestock roaming aimless, the dusty roads, the exhaust pollution, and the occasional car radio blaring Indian/Nepalese music – it was definitely a “third-world” day. On our way back from the ceremony, after the second or third pair of stuck buses, while walking along the rural country road, I proclaimed this day as one of the best of my life. I knew that I had said that same things about the day that I swam with dolphins, the day that Guy and I got to feed and pet kangaroos, the scuba dive when Guy and I got to make friends with sharks, the day that Guy and I flew to Sedona for a lunch date and he let me fly his plane and earlier in the week when we were travelling and I got to see Hong Kong, Singapore. and even a bit of Bangkok. I know that I have said it before, and I can use it frequently without it losing any significance.
I told this to Guy and recounted my favorite day. He noted that he was involved or would like to take credit for some of those days, at least indirectly. I agreed, and secretly, give him a lot more than just indirect credit for 90% of my greatest days. On one of our good trekking days, and there have been only the first and the fourth days, I was feeling great, feeling googly and thrilled with Guy for being so strong, so patient, and so helpful. He had just offered and taken out my sleeping bag and added it to his pack. I decided that I would ask him to marry me – I guess it wouldn’t be official but I wanted to ask him to consider it. I would remind him about how most the of the greatest days of my life have been with him or because of him and how I wanted that trend to continue. And not just for selfish reason either. I wanted to be good to him, good for him, to take care of him, to make his life easier, better, happier. Later, I decided that he was not ready to hear this. I think it makes him uncomfortable.
Oct. 15 Tues. Early morning of our third day trekking. The first day was idyllic, our flight through the Himalayan mountains gave us great views of Everest range. Guy and I both enjoyed the pilot’s skill of landing on the no-room-for-error runway at 11,000 ft. in the village of Lukla. Our trek that afternoon was short, only a few hours, and mostly downhill. We started out at 11:30, stopped for lunch in Cheplung and walked on to Phakding without much physical strain. Gita found the lodge that Tara had recommended, The Shangri La, which was very nice by lodge standards as it offered a hot shower and the toilet, Western-style, was inside.
Today was markedly different. As much as I loved the first day, I have hated the second and third day. My pack was very heavy and made walking on anything but flat surfaces difficult. At the beginning of the day, early morning, I already had misgivings. I didn’t want to walk for hours again, and did not see the point in doing so. At our lunch break, I thought that I might not be able to get going again. Because I hike slowly, I got moving before Gita or Guy. Our lunch stopping place was near the halfway mark but most of the second half was uphill, steep uphill. My headache came back. I was tired, discouraged, and my left foot hurt with every step. I hadn’t used the toilet at our lunch stop just because it seemed to be such a bother. but I soon realized that I should have as there was no place to go on the trail. We hiked for hours, uphill only. Finally, when I almost couldn’t go any further, Gita and Guy saw a home and that meant Namche Bazaar was close. Unfortunately, our lodge was on the far other side of town. Even though it was a small village, it was farther than I had wanted to walk. And then, once we got to the lodge, we had to walk uphill more and then up steep stairs – more torture. Because of the late hour and the early curfew (due to attacks by Maoist rebels), Guy and I hurriedly changed shoes, put on warmer, drier clothes and went back outside to see Namche. I was still too dazed to register any of the sights.
Tuesday night – I still feel fairly miserable. This lodge, this experience, is very rough under the best of health conditions.
Today is Wednesday, Oct. 15. I woke up feeling great – no headache for the first time in two days, no nausea, and after two quick bouts of diarrhea after dinner – no stomach ache. I felt great, I felt normal again Living was easy and pleasant. Guy and I started packing up to leave, the nausea hit again, and hit pretty hard.
Guy told me that I should write something positive, but I want to record how I feel as accurately as possible. I know that I tend to forget bad experiences, and I don’t want to sign up for this again.
We started this morning at 8:45, left Namche Bazaar and walked straight uphill. It’s now almost noon, we’ve stopped for lunch in Phungi Thang. Earlier this morning, even after the nausea cleared, I still had doubts about this trip. I was feeling mostly healthy and the weather was perfectly temperate and clear but if I could have been teleported out of there instantly, I would have done it gladly.
But then a group of young Buddhist nuns came up behind us on the trail. At first, I was happy just to see their beautiful orange or red silk tops and simple turquoise jewelry. Gita was out in front, Guy was in front of me but closer. I was practically walking with the nuns. The woman closest to me was directly on my right; we were sharing the width of the path. When parts of the trail were extremely narrow, steep, or in any way more dangerous than usual, my nun walking partner would offer direction or her hand to guide me. Every so often, the nuns, as a group, would break into song. I could not understand a single word but could mimic the sounds. I tried to sing along. That made the nun next to me laugh, and that made me laugh. She told her group what was happening and each time I sang, we all laughed.
The nuns walked along with us only a bit father before veering off on a trail that lead down to a large, flat rock where other nuns and monks were waiting. They were going to paint a gompa – a religious monument before they headed back to Namche. They waved to me to come down with them and join their group. I seriously considered it and had I been alone, definitely would have joined them for who knows how long or for what type of experience.
Guy watched me watch them, as we continued to wave goodbye to each other as long as we could. Guy could tell that I was giddy, or googly, as he would call it. My time with the nuns was short but pure joy. When I had tried to sing along with their song they laughed, not at me, but just because we were having fun. Without talking, we had become friends, I could feel it. I had wanted to sing an English song to see if any of them would listen and mimic me. I choose “Happy Birthday” because it’s so simple and repetitive. Very soon, my friend, the nun was singing it.
In Nepali, I told her my name and asked for hers. She told me her name but I could not pronounce it or remember it. Not that it mattered. We had enough just to walk together, trying to sing each other’s song and laugh together. I kept up with her quick hiking pace and never even felt the weight of my pack. I swear that I was in love. For one more time, I proclaimed this as the best day of my life.
Thursday, Oct. 17 Woke up freezing cold with a bad headache in a dark, cold, and sparse room in one of the only two lodges in Tengboche, home of the most famous Buddhist monastery. Outside the morning was cloudy and the bright, hazy light came through where the curtains did not cover the windows. My first thought upon waking was that I wanted to leave. I took Vicodin for the first time – hoping that its narcotic strength would relieve my physical and mental pain. I thought back to the afternoon before, our arrival as foreigners in this holy place. Gita showed us to where we would be staying for one or two nights. After peeking into the cramped, dingy and dark room, we decided that just one night would be enough. We dropped our heavy packs inside and quickly set up our sleeping bags while there still was some daylight to use. We walked over to the museum, toured the exhibit and watched a film presentation that described the daily life and routines of Buddhist monks. We learned that many young boys are turned over to the monastery if their family cannot afford to feed them. Alternatively, we had heard that monk school was very expensive and only the most affluent were able to send their sons. Either way, the boys who entered the monastery entered into a life of safety and structure. Older boys were then able to choose whether or not to stay enlisted as monks or join the outside society. We did not get any numbers about the percentage of boys who choose to stay versus leave. Somehow, and somewhat miraculously it seemed, we were allowed passage inside the monastery’s high temple to watch a ceremony in progress. Inside, there were more foreigners and we were sectioned off to the side.
We starting hiking just after 8 a.m.. Met a Tibetan man named Tenzing who was working for his brother’s trekking company.
Oct. 17, 16:46 or 4:46 p.m.
“Prolonged Misery” I’ve finally decided on the best words to accurately describe this high-altitude trekking experience.
Both Guy and I battled the altitude gain, I think we’ve both lost. My head has been throbbing for hours. We almost called it a day in Somara but the lodges were so abysmal that we continued hiking to Dingboche. There, Guy and I found a nice lodge on the near border – and walking no farther was just as appealing as a clean lodge. Gita was way ahead of us so Guy dropped his pack and went after him. It was close to 4:30 when we sat down in the dining room for tea. Dinner order needed to be placed between 5-5:30. We ordered and were very surprised when the food came out quickly.
At the first lodge, a posted sign said to order one hour before you wanted to eat, just to allow time for preparation – our order there had taken more like an hour and a half.
We went to bed at 6:30, it seemed like midnight. When we woke at midnight, it seemed at 5 a.m. I woke up desperately ill and afraid. I thought Guy was sound asleep and would be of no help. I was deathly thirsty and in such incredible pain that I didn’t want to get up to help myself. I knew it meant I would have to get out of the sleeping bag – the only thing keeping me warm. I forced myself to get up and make some flavored water before I’d gotten too dehydrated. Then I thought that I would throw up, which meant putting on shoes and that meant bending over. I found Guy’s headlamp and slipped on his shoes, went outside beside a boulder in the field next to our lodge and tried to throw up. I couldn’t. When I got back inside the room, guy was awake. I was afraid that he would be angry for waking him but, again, he was compassionate. He asked if I needed anything, which was just what I needed, so I said No. After taking off the shoes, I realized that I had to put them on again, immediately, and run outside. I did not want to waste the valuable pills by throwing them up but felt that I had no choice. Back in bed, Guy put his hand on my leg – again, just what I needed in order to feel less alone, less scared. Within a couple of hours, I was feeling better.
Friday, Oct. 18
Woke up around 6 a.m. – almost 12 hours of sleep, not counting the sick time. This was to be our rest day so we laid in bed later than usual. We took breakfast late, and after a bit of convincing, Guy got me to hike with him. he said that it would help me acclimatize. It had helped before, in Namche.
We hiked high and felt great so we hiked higher. Before long, we were at cloud level. the mountain views were spectacular. Guy was tempted to use all his film and did get some great shots of mountains with stupas or chortens in the foreground. The wind was strong, blowing updraft of clouds up the hill toward us. We watched their patterns and how flocks of birds used the wind.
We walked back to the lodge by a slightly different route. We both felt great and had a very nice, very comfortable time together. We treated ourselves to a hot shower each. I was reminded of how sanitized, convenient, and comfortable our lives are in the U.S. That shower, which we both considered to be the best we’d seen so far was: outside, on gravel for drainage, had a mediocre head and only hot water, funneled down from the big bucket on the roof, the walls were just sheets of fiberglass material placed together and had at least one large hole that let the cold mountain breeze through and a very small changing area that consisted of a plastic lawn chair on wet and dirty wood planks. It was impossible to undress or dress without picking up more dirt. However, our standards had changed quickly and the rare, hot shower felt like a luxury, despite the simple design. We moved into the sun room to warm up and to let our hair dry.
A group of trekkers came into the sunroom looking for the lecture. We did not know what they were talking about. Then two doctors came in and asked where the lecture should be held. We all went into the dining room for the health, safety and high altitude lecture in which we learned the Diamox could be taken as a preventative.
I took half a tablet immediately and Guy let me buy a Coke. It was like reuniting with an old friend, and I hope that the Coke would help to settle my stomach.
We leave tomorrow, headed for Lobuche ideally, or Dughla. Getting to Lobuche would make for a long, hard day so we will try to get an early start.
Going to the bathroom here is inconvenient, at the least, and outright disgusting other times. We are now in a lodge that offers only an outdoor, hole-on-the-plank floor outhouse. I find myself “holding it” until the last possible minute, until I have abdominal cramps. Then, after I empty my bladder, I can still feel the pain – I call it “Phantom Urine Syndrome”.
Oct. 19 Saturday
We are now in upper Lobuche, at the 8000 Inn, supposedly the nicest, fanciest, most luxurious lodge outside of the ultra-expensive Everest View Lodge near Namche. I mistakenly believed that this place would be nice, and I mistakenly expected way too much. I expected a Lake Tahoe mountain lodge, where we’d be comfortable inside, sipping hot chocolate while wearing robes, and watching the snow fall before retiring to our very plush room with a clean, private bathroom with flush toilet and Jacuzzi tub. I was wrong about everything. This place, like all the others, reminds me of a concentration camp, except not as comfortable.
After a very short nap, I awoke to the smell of smoke. I excitedly thought that the place was on fire, which meant that it would be warm for a few minutes. It wasn’t.
I like being asleep because I forget where I am. No matter how bad my dreams may be, I’m always more disappointed when I wake up and realize that I’m still here.
It’s nearly 7:30. We are still waiting for our dinner, as we have been for 2.5 hours. We ordered pizza as this is the Italian Research Centre and we heard their Italian food and pizza were great. Dinner came just after 7:30 the pizza, like this lodge, was a huge disappointment. the sauce was distasteful and there was too much, plus they put onions on it. Diarrhea struck me before I could finish it.
Oct. 20 Sunday
It’s late afternoon here in Gorak Shep. Our room is so cold that I moved outside to the solar room. If you like the smell of bad breath, this would be the place for you. I moved back into the dining room where it was so packed that I couldn’t find a place to sit. Gita cleared out a space near the stove – not a wood stove, at least not in function, as they burn anything and everything here, including yak dung. We are well above the vegetation line and wood is not eco-friendly, and more importantly, it is too expensive.
Oct. 21 Monday, or so my watch says. It’s not that I could tell Monday from Saturday our here but I had hoped that it would be Friday or at least later in the week. It’s hard to lose track of time here. There has not been a minute go by that I haven’t noticed its passing. It’s difficult even to come up with enough negative adjective to fully describe this extreme type of misery. Yes, it’s cold, windy, dark, smelly, oppressive, impoverished, basic, rough, crowded, dirty, unsanitary and depressing – and that’s just inside. I hate being awake here. I hate being here. Last night, it was actually only afternoon but it seemed later. I was depressed and discouraged and tired of being so uncomfortable and usually sick that I almost cried. I decided against it either because it was futile or maybe I did not have the energy.
Every effort is difficult at such a high altitude. We are at 17,000+ ft. this afternoon, I wanted to tell Guy a three-sentence story and I had to pause twice to catch my breath.
This lodge, like most of the others, has an offense for every sense. I’ve spent days studying and evaluating these offenses, purely from a victim’s standpoint and have decided that the most revolting are the sounds. It makes me wish to lose my hearing, or most of it.
When you travel to another country, you expect smells to be different. When you travel to a third-world country and stay in rural areas, you can count on unpleasant malodors from the proximity of animals, the scarcity of running water or indoor plumbing and the lack of basic hygiene.
But worse than putrid outhouses and foul body odor is the almost constant noise of other people’s bodies. Without exaggeration, no one here can eat quietly. Everyone slurps their food, whether it is soup, noodles, noodle soup, wet rice, or potatoes with some wet sauce. And they slurp their drinks, too. No one here will use a tissue to blow their runny nose, everyone sniffs, sniffs, sniffs and then forces out the snot by pushing closed one nostrils and blowing.
The absolute worst is the throat-phlegm expectorating, which seems like the national pastime. It’s not so much the pitch that bothers me so much as the wind-up. We have been in Nepal for 11 days and I still cringe each time I hear that sound – which means that my shoulders have been going up and down like a marionette.
Guy has strongly recommended that I write positive things about this trip, so in no particular order:
Good Things about This Trip
(this space intentionally left blank)
Tuesday night we arrived in Lobuche late . It was around 5 p.m., the sun had set recently and everyone else had arrived hours earlier. All Gita could find for us were dormitory beds in the extra-dumpy Sherpa Lodge. The loud Americans were there, already talking to anyone who would listen or was forced to be near them. I was already sick of them and their stories that I’d already heard in Gorak Shep.
Wednesday 10/23
Yesterday was so miserable that Guy would not even let me write anything so I am behind and need to record some facts and reactions so I don’t forget the pain and mistakenly sign up for another trip like this.
I also forgot to record our hike up Kala Patthar. It must have been Monday. Guy and I woke before 4:30 a.m. It was easy as I could not sleep more than two hours at any time. We were experienced enough to have laid out what we needed the afternoon before while there was still daylight. We dressed in all the clothes that we had brought. We expected Gita to wake up and be knocking at our door. He didn’t. I roped around in the dark hallway down to the dining room where he was sleeping with the other porters. He did get up and get ready quickly but I felt the pressure of being behind schedule. Our mission was a sunrise assent.
The moon was full but setting before we got across the flat, bare area to the base of the hill. Still, it was light enough that we did not need to use the headlamp that I was wearing.
The hike was miserably tough, it seemed to be straight uphill. I could not catch my breath. Even with Guy coaching and encouraging me to breathe deeply, I swear that I couldn’t do it. It was dark, cold, windy, really difficult to hike and I really didn’t want to do it. My only motivation was that I told Guy that I would climb KP with him so he could photograph us on the peak and add that photo to an old poster. Not the best motivation for such a tough climb.
Guy wanted to see the view – I could not care less. I had already seen these mountains, we both had – from the Royal Thai flight into Nepal from Bangkok, on the ShangriLa flight from Kathmandu to Lukla, on many postcards, posters, and even from the hilltop army base at Namche Bazaar. For him, it’s different to see the mountains in person, as close as possible. I guess that it would make a difference to me, too, if I cared in the least.
My point is, that this is a very difficult trek even if you love this stuff, and after however many days here, I cannot imagine what there is to love.
After about two or two and a half hours, we made it to the top of Kala Pattar, 18,192 feet – the new height of misery.
The sun had risen before we reached the top but we had to take our time so we wouldn’t get sick. At the top, it was very cold and windy. The sun was too bright to see Everest. Guy has told everyone that the views were spectacular. I don’t doubt him but I had my head down the whole time to avoid the wind chill. From the photos, I could see that I was dressed like a blimp. As we were descending, the sun was warming the ground and air and more people were ascending. A few made comments on how warm I looked. One man even said that I looked “thick”.
Guy had been sick the night before with a cold or mild fever so when we finished with KP, we were finished for the day. We planned to hike to Base Camp the next day and then walk to a new town in the afternoon. I had told Guy that KP was the last thing that I would do, save walking downhill to go home. However, it was only later that afternoon when Guy made reference to “us” trekking to Base Camp and I said “yes”.
The next morning we were allowed to sleep in until Gita woke up around 7 or 7:30. After a few bites of the new worst breakfast, I set off with Gita and Guy for Base Camp. I’m not sure why I was going, as I had no interest in seeing where some climbers had camped. And I did not need more uncomfortable exercise. I guess that I wanted to see Guy see Base Camp. That, or I just wanted to get out of that dumpy, depressing lodge for a while.
10/23 almost 6 p.m. Guy is upset with me for focusing only on the negative aspects of this trip. He doesn’t understand me at all. If he did, he would know that I will automatically remember the good things. Like the puppy in Dingboche, the cool effects that clouds gave us while hiking above the Snow Lion Lodge on our rest day, the necklace he bought for me and how we heard U2 just after that. The fun that we’ve had with Gita “thanks for the golden opportunity” and Guy’s funny jokes like “don’t feed stray cats”, and small pleasures like our rare showers, or Coke, or the way that we can laugh every day.
What Guy does not understand is that I automatically remember the good parts and am more impressed with him than ever. He has been the best part of this trip, not because the trip has been terrible, but because he has been extremely patient, compassionate, and pleasant despite any circumstance.
I just have to remember the bad parts so I won’t ruin another trip by coming with him.
10/24 new day, new approach
Guy has let me know how my negativity was affecting him – I had not realized. I’ll admit that I let myself get caught up on focusing only on the bad aspects and writing about only the unpleasant events. Last night he read my private recordings and got very upset. He felt personally insulted and told me why. Now I understand.
I understand that because of my bad attitude and behaviors, I took the risk of losing a man whom I love, adore, respect and admire. Losing him to another woman I could understand, and could not control.
But losing him because of my own misconduct would be my biggest mistake, my most painful regret.
I know that I have some making up to do. I will start today. I hope that it’s not too late.
10/24 We are on our way downhill. Tonight at our small lodge in Portse, we had our first alcoholic drinks since Kathmandu. We tried Nepal’s Everest Whiskey and some of the other trekkers were drinking the local spirits, chang. Gita was given some and offered it to me. When I told him that I was glad to be able to taste it he exclaimed, “You’re glad? Wow!”
So it was a big surprise to everyone that I had a great time today. I started enjoying myself, everyone and everything around me a lot more sometime last night. Guy, Gita and I laughed about this and that, about nothing important.
According to Gita, Guy is the Boss, our boss, a title that Guy wants to retain outside of Nepal. While we were in Gorak Shep, we ran into the trekking company’s Big Boss. I asked if he was like Guy is to me – the Boss. Gita said, “No, David is the boss for my work, Guy is the boss of your life.”
Please all my guests, take anythings but write them in book.
Okay.
Because we are forget. Thangs.
Toilet only for our guests — Not for you!
cornflasks, corn flaks,
snakes
snickers roll, mars roll
shower
Soup
gralik
popcorn
Friday, Oct. 25 Heidi’s birthday by date, but will actually be tomorrow in the US
At 6:20 p.m., we are in the dining room of the “luxury” Himalayan Resort awaiting the pizza dinner we ordered for 6:30. I have Guy to thank for getting us into this clean, comfortable and quiet lodge – a lodge that includes hot, indoor showers with the price of the room. We arrived here rather early, considering that our trek would be about five hours, four of those hours uphill.
Although we had a couple of miscommunications earlier in the day, we got it worked out at the bakery. I was being a brat after Guy blew off our designated lunch stop. Guy had literally run away from me on the trial, just to get some real distance from my negativity. Actually, after spending only one hour walking alone on the trail, I was feeling much more pleasant – even on the long, slow uphill hike. It had been only two hours or so before I actually missed Guy and was hoping that he would have stopped and I could see his cute face again, and maybe even kiss him on the cheek. On the other hand, when I saw Gita gaining on me, I sped up, even uphill, just so I could remain alone, or away from him.
This Himalayan Resort is easily the finest in this village and the nicest that we’ve stayed in since leaving KTM. A few facilities that we used to take for granted, like electricity and an inside toilet, are facilities that we have sorely missed en route. This lodge has both, and a western-style flush toilet, with toilet paper provided.
Upon checking in, I immediately brushed my teeth in the sink and used the toilet. But when I left the hotel to meet Guy at the bakery, I loaded my pockets with toilet paper and baby wipes merely out of habit.
Now, at 7 p.m., after a delicious, if not garlic-laden, pizza with a bottle of Australian Shiraz, and staring at the most handsome, most compassionate and patient man on earth, I am in relative heaven.
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