Nepal/Final Thoughts

I arrived in Nepal and felt like I wanted to cry for no particular reason. This actually happened to me almost every time I got to a new country, but it felt especially strong this time. I really had no way to account for this feeling, since in a few days one of my best friends was coming to visit for 10 days, and Nepal was a country I had most wanted to see.

The climate was completely different to that of Southeast Asia (I was now technically in South Asia). There was no humidity and it was much cooler. The streets were so full of dirt that you could see, especially at night, a thick layer of it swirling in the air. Kathmandu had been seriously affected by a 2015 hurricane that left it — especially the outskirts — looking rather decrepit. Many key and historical landmarks had been destroyed, and the economy had been left reeling. While the country is currently doing much better, I could sense the profound economic differences between people here, and say Thailand, or even big cities in Vietnam.

I was assigned a bunk bed next to a very bizarre Austrian man who was singing very loudly to himself, which added to my irritability. I knew the only way to overcome my Day 1 blues was to actually go outside and walk around, so I dragged myself off the bed and put on a clean shirt.

I, of course, almost instantaneously felt better as I walked through the narrow streets decorated with prayer flags, dotted with little shops selling hiking clothes. I still had to buy hiking pants and a sleeping bag, and I dreaded having to haggle for them.

I went for dinner — which is often served on a round metal tray that holds a pile of rice and lots of little bowls of different curries. Sadly but unsurprisingly, my spice tolerance had not really increased in the past three months, but I still managed to make it through the various curries. I also ordered a mint tea, which I ended drinking with almost every meal.

I spent the next few days reporting on the Kathmandu Seder — the largest seder in the whole world (supposedly). I spoke to the organizers, and Jewish backpackers who were planning on attending. I went early to the seder and watched as rain destroyed the beautiful outdoor spread. Soaking wet rabbis and members of the Kathmandu synagogue rushed to move all drenched white table clothes and boxes of wet matzo into a nearby mall, and the tables were reset up in the hallways — a funny angle for the story. Unfortunately, everywhere I pitched the story to said the Passover angle was now passé.

I woke up hungover on a Saturday morning to a message from Giulia that she had arrived at the airport and would be at the hostel soon — thank goodness. It was funny and comforting to see such a familiar person in such an unfamiliar place. We sat on cushions on the top floor of our hostel and drank tea — Giulia had lemon and I had mint as usual.

Despite having spent many many hours on various planes, Giulia was ready to hit the ground running — so we walked south down a dusty road for about 15 minutes to reach Durbar Square. Durbar Square, which means “Royal” Square in English, describes the plazas and buildings opposite the old royal palaces in Nepal. While these sites have received significant damage due to the earthquake, most structures still remain. The architecture is quite unique, and was unlike anything else I had seen on my travels — intricate wood carvings on top of red brick. It consisted of temples, idols, open courts, and most fascinating perhaps, it is the home of Kumari, or the living goddess of Nepal.

There is a tradition of worshiping prepubescent girls as manifestations of the divine female energy, or “Devi” — a Hindu goddess. Eligible girls must be in excellent health, never have shed blood or been afflicted by any diseases.The girl is also observed for signs of serenity and fearlessness, and her horoscope is examined to ensure that it is complementary to the King’s. One of the final tests, among many, is that the living goddess must spend a night alone in a room among the heads of ritually slaughtered goats and buffaloes without showing signs of fear.

Giulia and I went to the palace where the goddess and her family live, to try and catch a glimpse of her (the general public is not allowed to photograph her), but she did not show her face in the window high above the courtyard that afternoon.

The Kumari’s reign ends with her first period, or any serious accidental loss of blood. Once this first sign of puberty is reached, she reverts to the status of a normal mortal. On retirement, the old Kumari is paid a dowry but readjusting to normal life can be hard — it is said that marrying an ex-Kumari is very unlucky. We felt sad for the poor young goddess.

The next day we decided to head to a different Durbar Square in Patan to continue our education on ancient Nepal — about a 15 minute drive south of Kathmandu proper. Instead of taking a taxi, which would have cost us about 500 rupees (a bit less than $5), we decided to take the local “bus” (20 rupees each, about 20 cents). The van would stop occasionally, and it was the job of a young boy who couldn’t have been older than 13, to call out to people on the sidewalk to say where we were going, and people could hop on if they felt like it.

We took our time in the museum at the square, which explained the various tenants of ancient Hinduism and Buddhism. I went outside to find Giulia, feeling passionate about the fact that people often considered these long-standing religions to be so legitimate, but scoffed at newer religions like scientology or mormonism. It’s as if “ancient-ness” lends a spirituality that doesn’t exist today, when really, all religions are just thought up by people.

Later that day, we went to the Monkey Temple — or Swayambhunath, as it is really called — and I had so much trouble getting up the many stairs, that all I could think about was how scared and unprepared I was for our trek. A group of Indian boys asked me to pose for many selfies with them.

We went to have curry for dinner — Giulia could not have momos (Nepalese dumplings) as she was still dutifully observing Passover. We counted down the days until the 27th when she could eat yeast, namely have a beer, again.

We decided we deserved a drink — Giulia had a glass of Jager on the rocks and I had an expensive, albeit surprisingly nice-tasting glass of red wine. As we stood up to pay, a well-meaning, rather tipsy young guy asked me over loud music if we had been at the square in Patan that day. “Yes?” I replied a bit confused. “Oh, well, I was taking photographs next to you guys and was listening very carefully to your conversation about religion,” he said with a drunken slur. I was very touched by the whole thing, and Giulia made fun of me.

We left Kathmandu for Pokhara on a long bus ride that was supposed to take 6 hours but took about 8 — we stopped many times and the roads were not in tip-top shape. We were heading to do a trek in the Himalaya in the Annapurna region. We going to do the Poon Hill trek which takes 4 days and 3 nights — you reach the top of Poon Hill on the third day, where you can see the entire Annapurna mountain range if the weather permits (so we were a bit concerned we would get to top only to see greyness).

When we finally arrived, very hungry after only eating peanuts and pringles all day, we took a quick look at the picturesque lake in the middle of the town, the headed to Sisne Rover Trekking. We paid them to basically take care of everything for us — trekking permits, places to sleep along the way, a guide, a porter, etc. When we got there, they informed us there would be another girl on our trip, so we would have to pack all of our things into one backpack and leave the rest in Pokhara.

We carefully packed our bag and went to bed early, which was of no use as a loud rooster right outside our window did not seem to crow only in the morning, but quite consistently throughout the whole night.

Our guide’s name was Purna (“Like Annapurna” he said) and our porter was called Dev. Our third trekking partner was called Hannah — an extremely neurotic Dutch girl who spent each meal meticulously picking out every piece of onion in her food, and was always at least half an hour behind Giulia and me (don’t worry — Dev was walking at her pace).

We sat down for our first lunch and Giulia and I both order Dal Bhat, aka rice with lentil soup. Purna seemed impressed with us for ordering the classic Nepali trekkers meal. “Dal Bhat power, 24 hour!” He laughed — a phrase we would hear often for the next four days. I tried to turn on my camera and it wouldn’t work — oh my God, I broke it! I thought, until I realized that I had left the carefully charged camera battery at the bottom of the mountain in the other backpack.

I had been really afraid — as Giulia can tell you — leading up to the trek. I am seriously out of shape for one thing, and as you all know, have a history of fainting so I felt particularly nervous about altitude sickness. Giulia patiently and consistently reminded me that we were really not going up that high.

On our first day — we had to climb 4000 stone stairs upwards, and it was quite literally one of the most difficult things I have ever done. While doing it, we concluded that our investment in trekking poles was perhaps our best purchase of the whole trip. Giulia has serious endurance and was always at least 20 steps ahead of me and Purna. Purna kept turning to me, out of breath, “Why is she going so fast?” We both decided that she should be the guide instead.

We were so lucky to have Dev, our porter, because I could barely make it with just my daypack. I couldn’t have completed it without him. Other porters walked slowly and steady, carrying a 20 kg (or more) load on their heads by attaching a strap to the bag, then wrapping it across their foreheads.

I kept asking Purna what kind of training there is for becoming a porter, and he thought I was crazy — “You don’t need practice!”

Every evening on our trek, we would go to bed around 9pm because we were so exhausted, but also because there was really not much to do after this time. I was reading Into Thin Air — a book about climbing Mount Everest that I would highly recommend to everyone, even though it is definitely not my usual kind of preferred reading. It is a fantastic, detailed account of a horrible tragedy that shows how little mistakes along the way are often just a crucial as seemingly momentous ones. It also gave an in-depth and compelling background on climbing culture in Nepal. I have never really been interested in achieving physical feats, so it was horrible yet captivating learning about things people go through to get to “the top” (oxygen loss, brain swelling, etc.)

Reading the book also occasionally gave me pangs of fear. When I thought about our climbing to higher and higher altitudes, Giulia would kindly remind me that we were about 1,500 meters below the base camp of Everest.

On the morning of the third day, we woke up at 4:30 to begin our ascent to Poon Hill. It was very cold, but since we were doing a completely uphill climb — I almost immediately had to take off my fleece and did the whole thing in a flimsy tee shirt. Purna had scared me the night before when he told me to bring lots of water as it can be hard to breathe at the top. I tried not to focus on this possibility, and Giulia didn’t seem worried at all.

The last stretch of a hike is actually always the easiest because you can see the top ahead of you. When we made it, there was almost perfect visibility of the entire mountain range. Awestruck is too obvious a word to use, but the vastness of the mountains was something I had never experienced and would probably not experience ever again — or at least any time soon. As Giulia put it: “The next time I go to Poon Hill, it will be in an elevator.”

Later that afternoon, after our Dal Bhat lunch, it began to heavily pour. We wore rain ponchos and continued on. Giulia wore a waterproof fishing hat, and with her two trekking poles, and her backpack under her poncho creating the illusion she was a hunchback — I couldn’t help but laugh every time I watched her ascend up slippery rocks looking like a very old man. Because of the rain, we were essentially climbing up waterfalls — moving very slowly for fear of slipping. My socks sloshed every step I took, and rain pounded down on my hood. I wasn’t really sure why, but I found myself laughing the entire time. When we reached the little town where we were staying for the night, it of course abruptly stopped raining.

All in all, the highest point we climbed to was 3,300 meters and we walked about 55 kilometers (mostly uphill, it felt like). The last day was all downhill and was a walk in the park (although, long descents like that are quite tough on your knees).

We eventually made it back to Pokhara after a very long, extremely slow and bumpy jeep ride. Giulia (finally) had a celebratory beer and we had a dinner of anything but Dal Bhat. We crawled into bed and slept past 6am the next morning.

The custom of incredibly slow customer service extended to the airport, and it took us almost 3 hours to check into our flight to Dubai, where we would have a layover before heading back to London. We, of course, missed our connection and slept in a very fancy hotel in the airport. The giant, cushy bed felt particularly luxurious after three months in a hostel.

Nepal was absolutely the perfect place to finish my trip. It was basically the ending to some horrible movie that goes like: “Young chick goes off to find herself somewhere far away, and her final hurdle — the absolute final obstacle is that she must climb to the top of a mountain.” What a joke.

But it was rather metaphoric in the sense that, the whole time I was by myself, it felt a bit like I was climbing up Poon hill and I couldn’t stop to reflect on what was happening to me. Sure, I could take a few short breaks to (sort of) catch my breath, wipe some sweat off my face and have a sip of water — but I couldn’t really stop completely until we saw the view.

I didn’t feel fully relaxed and off guard until I was sitting in my dad’s not-falling-apart car drinking a tea out of a Costa coffee cup. I didn’t feel worried about where my passport was, if I was walking in the right direction, if I had enough drinkable water on me, did I have enough cash but not too much cash, had I remembered to put bug spray on, was I being respectful to the locals, and so on and so on.

When I got back to Epsom, I had my own room! With a hot shower right next door! I looked at my shoes lined up in the corner and felt genuine excitement that I didn’t have to wear the same pair of sandals everyday anymore. I immediately put on a pair of jeans. I drank water straight from the tap. I sat on the couch and watched the news. And I guess the main thing I got from this whole is: regular life is really easy. I came to perceive this in two distinct ways: it’s easy not being a backpacker because it is very hard living out of a backpack for 3 months, and it’s also easy not being the average person who lives in South or Southeast Asia. This is of course not say that Laotians, for example, are not living full, happy and productive lives, but many are living without the amenities that we are so used to. And of course we all knew this to a certain extent, but now, since my return, this fact has been at the forefront of my mind.

I had bought a necklace my first week in Bali — a little brown choker with a shiny shell on it. It is not really my style, but for some reason I had christened it to be my travel necklace. When I got back, I almost immediately took it off and tucked it in my desk drawer, as it felt like it belonged to a different version of myself.

I want to thank you all so much for coming on this trip with me. It is very hard to encounter a lot of very new, exciting and important things, and to not have anyone to share the experience with. So these posts really gave me a sense that at least someone was following along, and knew and cared about what I was doing. I really couldn’t have made it all the way through without your thoughtful responses and your support — it has been a real pleasure. Or rather, it has been a delight, as “we can do without pleasure, but not delight.”