twilight buttress

twilight buttress big willow canyon

together again

crossing that bridge

the water fairy

shadows

dreaming about that river

vultaggio adventurer

getting organized

Into the fog

the blessing

 

mandalas

Tibetan, pepper, shoe Mandalas

Stone Mandalas

Wild monkeys

There were 14 people waiting behind the ticket counter at Kathmandu airport but the counter was closed, they just looked at me, like wondering if I wanted to get on the airplane that was going to take off in 15 minutes. I only found out by accident I was even supposed to be on an airplane, I thought it left tomorrow. Chris, Cam, and Meryl threw my bags into the back of the Asian trekking truck, hah, he is doing it again! Sorry to leave Chris by himself in the room overlooking the jungle of screaming monkeys and dawn crazed birds and jack hammers that begin at 5:00 am, followed by someone carefully dropping large marbles on the floor upstairs.
So Nima and his brother and cousin came over and we drove out to the local crag, way up in the hills overlooking the city. We piled into two taxis badly needing seatbelts, although they did come with prayer wheels. Which was good since the preferred method of driving in Kathmandu is to head down the middle of the road, daring the other car also in the middle of the road to swerve left. Large trucks especially like to drive this way, so that our small rickety rattley taxi was constantly at the very edge of the narrow road, which turned into a large cliff rolling into the valley below. The other popular maneuver is to pull out into the incoming traffic lane and honk that horn and close your eyes.
But we made it to the crag after a very long drive, climbed up the hill and did some sport climbing. Chris conquered the harder climbs using his bare feet and long reach. Cam pointed out that Nima calls me gram, probably so he doesn't have too many Marks to worry about, although young Mark is probably basking by the pool in Long Island at the moment.
Somehow, I made it on that plane to India, heaven knows where my three huge bags were sent.

driving off the road

local Nepali crag

Nima buying fruit

monks washing up

Kathmandu

The mad jungle of unpaved roads, piles of bricks, and constant honking unravels before us as we head toward Nima's house in the valley. There are no stop signs, no traffic lights, and sometimes hardly anything that could be called a street. I want to drive the cab and honk that horn 4,000 times. The genial Nima, Sherpa guide, boxer, proudly showed off the baby kittens under the desk and draped us with prayer sashes. He somehow managed to get our bags through the Kathmandu airport, which had no logic of organization that I could see, and they appeared again like magic at the hotel. Nima's two sister in laws made the lunch, but I was so under the weather I could hardly eat. Kathmandu, where the power shuts off three times each day, where the shop vendors pursue without mercy if you show the slightest interest in their tawdry collection of dusty Buddhas, where just above the dusty street a thousand birds gather from tree to tree, it is springtime in Nepal and I just want to get on the plane to Paris.

in Nima's house

Kathmandu hotel

lunch at Nima's

Me and Nima

Lukla to Kathmandu

The very smartly dressed flight attendant drinks tea by the edge of the runway with the pilot while they unload cargo from the small airplane. As the motors rev up I look at the badly worn leather seats and wonder how or if they maintain these planes and how or if I will ever see my bags of climbing gear again ever. She hands out cotton for the ears and tiny ginger candy, and with a deafening roar we race down the unbelievably short runway that slants down at about 30 degrees and then just disappears off a cliff.

Namche to Lukla

It is a fine day in Namche, I eat my porridge and hard boiled eggs and set off with Cam and Meryl for Lukla. Meryl stops to give away water to as many porters as possible. These porters carry immense loads up the trails. We call her the water fairy. We have a fine snack of yak cheese, ginger tea, and what they call macrum cookies, we call them macaroons. But it is at least a hundred miles to Lukla, and we are carrying heavy packs. The countryside is turning green and the little plots of potatoes are thriving. It is warm and humid, and the birds remind me of New York in the summer, or Long Island. Nima meets us at Lukla, it is almost dark and I sleep in a tiny room with no light and a difficult to open sliding door.

monk meeting room inside the restaurant lodge

Namche may 10

Sitting in my very high mountain room in Nanche at 6:00 am eating chocolate, still in the sleeping bag, still dreaming at night of trying to reach base camp, camp one...such a clearly defined dream, with few distractions, so different from the elusive phantoms of ordinary life.

sherpa stew

fresh Yak cheese

500 year old Tibetan mandala

Namche

drying clothes in Namche