Asia by Hammock

Well kids, that is just about it. After a fun day reconfirming my ticket, stocking up on good karma and avoiding Asia's notorious jem scam, I am set to head back to the relative sanity of Bangkok tomorrow. I have about 18 hours there then about 18 hours on a plane to the other city of angels. Here are a couple of summarizing points:

• Number of days: 153
• Number of countries visited: 6
• Range of elevation: -30m (various dives) to 5545m (Kala Patar)
• Number of dives logged: 24
• Number of Bobcat hours logged: 17
• Maximum number of beers duct taped to my hands at one time: 2 (Changs)
• Number of hospital visits: 4
• Number of barbeques built: 1

So, Cheers, Prost, Salud, Skull, Suru and Choc Di Baby!

Steve "now I'm just unemployed" Gore

PS: If you're bored, check out these fine publications:

• Alex Johnson cavorts around New Zealand
• Justin Richmond does pretty much the exact opposite
• Julie Fefferman plays with monks and kids
• Mike Lane goes to places I am way too much of a wuss to visit

As I was sitting in the courtyard of the Dhulagiri Lodge in Tatopani, the family at the table next to me got up, capped their brandy and started to leave. As he was passing, the father remarked "damned bottles won't close, you just gotta keep drinking them". I agreed, and offered my services if he wanted help. He continued the conversation:
"So, where are you from?"
"Colorado"
"No shit, where?"
"Denver"
At this point, his son chimed in:
"Do I know you, whats your name?"
"Steve"
"Steve what?"
"Steve Gore"
"Hi Steve Gore, I'm Mike Lane" (for those of you just joining us, Mike and I are buddies from George Washington High School and I probably last saw him about five years ago)

Anyhow, there is no stranger place in the world for me to be running into someone than Tatopani, and really no one stranger to be running into than Mike Lane. He is doing a year round the world with the lovely and talented Jen Boyd and his father Ed (or more appropriately Dirt) is tagging along/funding their Anapurna Circuit. The one bottle of Mustang Brandy quickly turned into Everest Beers then more Mustang Brandy and more Everest Beers. At some point we moved to the hot springs (which we alternated with jumping into the Kali Gandaki - glacial river) and enjoyed the lovely tunes of the Macarana whiles monks (and a weird topless Nepali) bathed in the springs. We had dinner which consisted mostly of Everest Beer and Mike starting a story, forgetting the point and me being too drunk to notice.

It twas a fun night indeed, but perhaps not the best idea with seven hours of hiking infront of us for the next day. I kept saying the swing bridges made me feel drunk and Jen kept telling me it was actually because I was drunk. Ed told us that his theory of drinking was "If you don't learn, you die", it seemed about right. The alleged jeep never showed up and I strongly considered using my medical evacuation insurance. Anyhow, we made it to Galeshor, spent the night and arrived back in Pokhara just in time to start drinking again. I like the Lanes.

My trek started out on a pretty shitty note. I got into Ulleri easy enough and was looking forward to a relaxing four or five more days. At about 9pm my stomach started feeling a little odd and by 10pm I was praying to the porcelain Buddha (puking my brains out). I didn't stop until about 4 that morning. It was a lovely scene. I think I either had food poisoning, water poisoning from not enough iodine, water poisoning from too much iodine, bird flu or one of those 24 hour Ebolas. I wanted to die, and I believe a part of me thought that I would. I actually considered grinding up a cipro and snorting it because I couldn't keep them down (In retrospect, I am glad that I abstained from this course). Anyhow, the next day I stayed in Ulleri and prided myself on keeping toast down.

The third day I felt pretty well and continued on up the trail. I made pretty bad time, and had to listen to a nice but incredibly arrogant Italian (or maybe he was simply Italian) discuss the nationalities of all the prostitutes he's had. Got to Ghorepani, dodged Maoists (it is in the "Magrat Autonomous Region" - these guys are like fucking kids spray painting slogans and putting up stickers: "Political power comes from the barrel of the gun" doesn't work so well when your gun is from 1824 and you can simply be pushed into the river) and saw a pretty awesome sunset on the Dhalagiri and Anapurna ranges. Next day I got up, didn't go up Poon Hill for the sunrise (the main reason most people make this trek) not because I am rebellious or independent, simply lazy and trekked down to Tatopani.

I'm now back in Kathmandu doing last minute odds and ends and trying to prepare myself for the traffic on the right side of the road.

Say it like you're yelling at your slow donkey:
Sttttttttttttttttttevvvvvvvvve Ohhhhhhhhhh

PS>The greatest poster ever was a picture of a cross and the text: "I asked Jesus 'how much do you love me?' and he replied 'this much' and stretched out his arms and died" Zing

Duke University has bestowed on me some inredibly useful knowledge: the relationship between current and voltage in a resistor, the solution to partial differential equations and even how to make Schwartz's computer go to gayporn.com ever time he tries to check his mail. But nowhere, in this prestigious university's curriculum was there the mention of the fine, practical art of riding on the roofs of busses. This is truly a shame.

Yesterday, during my four hours "on the top" (as they call it), there are a few things I wish I'd been educated about. Like how to place your bag so it is not the communal seat/couch. Or how to dangle your legs over the side so they don't cramp up AND you don't go careening off the bus on blind curves. Or how to accurately throw paper bills to hawkers and catch the coconut/peanuts/roast yaks leg. And most importantly, something that probably doesn't come with textbook learnin', the skill of ducking under low hanging electrical wires, tree limbs and bridges.

It actually was a tremendous (if feezing) experience. Crusing through the Nepali countryside, listening to traditional songs ("You are a donkey, I am a monkey. Jes an ji ri ri. Sometimes trekking, sometimes rafting. Jes an ji ri ri") I was much happier than if I'd been in the bus. The sun set and enough people got off so that we could lie down and watch the stars and listen to the odd sounds of the bus passing under trees.

Earlier did about four hours of pretty easy rafting. It is always a dangerous idea to sign up for a rafting trip solo, you will undoubtedly be placed with the shrieking Chineese group who've never been in a boat before and couldn't paddle together with the Red Army pounding out a marching beat. That said, the river was calm enough that it didn't really matter. At the end, I, brilliantly, decided it was a bit too boring and hiked myself out over the side and quickly ended up swimming through the last rapid. Luckily the guide had really good aim and hit me square in the forehead with the throw bag.

Tomorrow I am off to Poon Hill (ha, ha), land of Annapurna, Maoists and Hot Springs. Back in four or five days and home in ten!

Yep, after 17 days, 243 kilometers, 2,745 vertical meters gained and lost and 0 showers later, I am safely back in Kathmandu (note for this and all other posts: all names, distances, altitudes, events and images are imaginative to made up). It was a fantastic trek, I did see the sunset on Mt Everest, I did get blessed by a monk, I did cross a 5,320 meter snow covered peak and I did not get trampled by a yak or hire a porter to carry me. For those of you with longer attention spans (or more boring jobs), I'll put up day by day "vignettes" soon (and pictures). Here are some more general trip observations:

People I Met

• Patrick, the Boulderite, who came to Nepal to work on his breathing and to that end brought a didjeridoo to base camp
• Mike, who kept calling his porter a yak (boo) and only wanted to go to base camp so he could tell his friends at home had. That might be a little negative cause he was about 65 and twice as fast/fit as I was
• Chris, the Vail ski instructor/windsurfer/divemaser/bareboat captain/trekker/embodiment of what is awesome. Except he had a mustache, definitely not awesome
• Albert and Julie, the husband/wife team who had been to every country on the face of the Earh, were headed to Iran, Pakistan then Africa and had even managed to live in Utah without being Mormon
• Julie and Arthur, the father/daughter team that gave me free food (the surest way to my heart) even though they had "way too much stuff" and kept running into trains of animals at very inconvient times
• Finally, the American couple who when asked if they'd just finished their trek responded "kinda, we just finished climbing Ama Dablam" as if they were saying they'd just gone to the fucking kitchen to grab a sprite (Ama's quite a technical climb). The fact that the girl is a six foot, blond hair, blue eyed, mountain climber from Aspen might have helped them make this very prestigious list.

Steve's Trekking Medical Guide

• Iodine cleans water, is nutricious and delicious
• If you're muscles are sore, take an Alleve.
• If you're muscles are really sore, take Codeine, readily available in Kathmandu
• If you have a headache, take Diamox
• If you have a stomach ache, take Cipro (also good for: chest infection, foot infection, broken leg, broken heart, if you're too hot, if you're too cold, if the trail is too steep or if you don't like the food. Cipro is amazing, I've heard of people grinding it, cooking it up and mainlining it cause they can't get it quick enough)

All right, more to come tomorrow but until then, consider this literary jem which I believe is the motto of Yeti Airlines (no shit the airline i flew): "In Nepal we don't fly in the clouds cause the clouds have mountains in them"

Gore

If the IRS, CIA and my EE 170 teacher combined to make an airline, they would surely adopt the Yeti airline's Lukla check in scheme. Its confusing, mysterious and no one had any idea what the hell is going on.

Their office is open from 3 until 4 in the afternoon, but this is purely for show. It is, in fact, a program of the Nepal English Outreach Center so that a different porter can practice saying "no", "I don't know" and "ok, ok, you're on the 17th flight." There are 13 flights a day. Luckily, this did not faze my guide. Happily he told me the flight was at 10am. It wasn't the 9 oclock I was hoping for, but hey, I'm not that picky. So we got up, walked around Lukla (that took up three minutes) then watched planes take off and land - lots of them.

I checked my watch and at 9:30 suggested that maybe we should be checking in and other normal pre-flight things. "No no, we go to the airport at 10am" Ahh, the keys to communication are the subtle little nuances. So at 10 we headed back to the lodge and I asked for my ticket. Apparently "can I have my plane ticket" is Nepali for "I'd like a cup of lemon tea" because that is exactly what I got (or Yeti is a lot more fucked up than I suspect). Pressed further, it seemed our hotel manager had taken the ticekts back to the airport to take part in an ancient Buddhist religious ceremnony.

Shortly, however, he returned with the news of an 11 oclock departure (to the airport). So after some sun and cake (Yeti serves a delicious in flight mint, but I wasn't sure when I'd be able to indulge) we headed to the airport. Once there we gave our tickets, airport tax, excess baggage allowance and a bit of our souls back to the hotel manager who promptly disappeared. Nevermind that five feet away is the check in guy with bag tags and boarding passes, our tickets have just walked off (again).

But lo and behold, twnety minutes later the resilient manger returns and we are issued our boarding passes! Unfortunately, some pertinent imformation was missing. Destination. Flight number. Departure time. Point of fact, the only thing no this piece of paper was the number 2, stamped one inch tall in blue ink. What does the number 2, stamped one inch tall in blue ink, tell you about your chances of getting back to hot showers, sheets and a beer? Noting. Except that when they call flight 1, its not you.

And so we sat in the Lukla airport. No gate change announcement. No screens with DELAYED or BOARDING flashing in red. Not even a recorded voice reminding us that if we leave our bags unattended they will be blown to smithereens. The did let us outside on the tarmic which was pleasant if a bit odd. They are fighting a war with Maoists, there are bunkers built into the runway and they are letting 50 people go for a little stroll and chill out in the shade offered by razor wire.

And then, at 2:15pm, with the clouds steadily closing in, the unexpected happened. A short siren sounded, some army people blew whistles importantly, and out of the sky descended a Yeti airlines Twin Otter. In an impressive dispaly of human restraint, the scene did not turn riotous and there was nary a push or shove as we loaded and were back in the air, Kathmandu bound, by 2:30.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is a good day at the Lukla airport.

Hey, yesterday was Halloween! An early morning to start out the long downhill trudge to Luka. It is a lot faster going down, though not necessarily easier. Got down the valley without much incident, the path was much busier with a lot more houses and lodges than I remeber. Apparently 6,200 trekkers visited during Octubre. Yikes. Thats up from 1,300 in Septembre.

In Phakding we were blessed with the 2005 In Da Club mix November edition which featured 50 Cent, Avril Lavigne and other favorites. It was a bit better than the Best of Ace of Base in Lukla. To counteract the musical, I imbibed heavily on the gaksish - the local rice wine. I really hate rice wine. I do not believe it is a big fan of me either.

Kathmandu tomorrow which means a shower, shave, laundry, shorts and maybe, just maybe, a steak. "The goal is the path"