These events happened on March 24. We left the town of Ngadi, which
although shown on the trekking map because of the three teahouses
located there, is no more than a couple of huts on the side of the
Masange river. Crossing the river by suspension bridge the path became
quite steep and we all reached for our untouched trekking poles. You
know the fancy telescoping carbon ones we bought in Kathmandu a few
days prior. It was slightly less hazy than the days before as we were
starting to emerge from the pollution as we gained altitude. The
valley looked beautiful but as of yet we still had no breathtaking
views of the mountains. We climbed in the upwardly direction until we
clambered into the hilltop town of Bahundanda at lunchtime. After some
less than colossal dal bhat, I had a cold shower and did my laundry.
Laundry on the trail means filling a five gallon pail with cold
water from the one inch PVC pipe sticking from the side of the hill,
grabbing a red bar of the foul-smelling laundry soap and scrubbing all
surfaces of the clothing until they appear clean. You slosh them
around in the pail a bit more then rinse. The clothing is hung usually
without clothes pegs because they are scarce and hard to find.
After a little nap, I played a round of golf and then we all played
PS3 in this village kids basement. Wow... Wait a sec. After a little
nap, I walked around the village and checked to see if my laundry was
dry. Supper rolled around and I brought in my clean clothes. They were
scattered across the hillside because the evening wind blew them there
and clothespins were indeed scarce and hard to find. It got dark as if
someone had switched out the light and I climbed up to bed. It was
then I heard drums. The sound of little voices joined in. I was
intrigued. Grabbing my camera, I stole down to get a closer look. From
the hotel on the hill I could make out shapes moving in the dark
village square below me. I sat on the steps and was absorbing the
music when I was approached by a young boy of ten and a little girl of
maybe three. They grabbed me by the hands and pulled me running to the
village square below. There I discovered about forty village children
aged two to thirteen dancing and singing and drumming (one even had a
guitar). When I went back to bed I could not believe what had
happened. It was just so spontaneous it was great!
Friday, April 16, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Sniff, Sniff
Partly due to the book I am reading, and drawing upon past literature
and experiences, I was called to notice a certain of my six senses;
smell. The book is "Perfume: the story of a murderer" and is set in
France in the 1700s. The main character Grenouille although gifted
with super human smelling abilities, possesses no natural human scent
himself, therefore other people, not realizing that they can't smell
him, can't put a finger on what's different and are afraid. He is a
strange little man and so obsessed with smell that he commits murder.
It is a strange strange book. I believe that it was translated from
the orignal French.
So as I'm reading this book, my nostrils are flairing, the sense of
smell is tingling! I smell the stronger smells of cut grass and the
subtle smell of cooking rice. In the book Grenouille can walk around
in pitch darkness just using his sense of smell. This got me thinking
of smell-chitecture. Architecture of the olefactor. Common
architecture uses visual as the primary means of impressing the
audience. There is architecture designed for sound, even touch. The
sense of smell is all but neglected.
I was in a store in Edmonton that was selling a line of perfumes with
scents like garden tomato, freshly turned sod, or the smell of the
forest. I was instantly transported back in time to my young years,
helping mom cut tomatoes for salsa, my grandmas garden shed, and lying
under an old tree listening to the sound of birds and breathing in the
musky smell of decaying leaves. Is it possible to create a subtle
smell-scape in an area to set a mood, or to even guide the blind
through a space? Or maybe an art gallery of scents. Not typical
alcohol based perfumes, but natural smells, both pleasant and
revolting to stir an emotion, to create an atmosphere. The art would
appeal to smell itself, like a room that smells like a pumpkin field
in October or the seaside near the pier.
and experiences, I was called to notice a certain of my six senses;
smell. The book is "Perfume: the story of a murderer" and is set in
France in the 1700s. The main character Grenouille although gifted
with super human smelling abilities, possesses no natural human scent
himself, therefore other people, not realizing that they can't smell
him, can't put a finger on what's different and are afraid. He is a
strange little man and so obsessed with smell that he commits murder.
It is a strange strange book. I believe that it was translated from
the orignal French.
So as I'm reading this book, my nostrils are flairing, the sense of
smell is tingling! I smell the stronger smells of cut grass and the
subtle smell of cooking rice. In the book Grenouille can walk around
in pitch darkness just using his sense of smell. This got me thinking
of smell-chitecture. Architecture of the olefactor. Common
architecture uses visual as the primary means of impressing the
audience. There is architecture designed for sound, even touch. The
sense of smell is all but neglected.
I was in a store in Edmonton that was selling a line of perfumes with
scents like garden tomato, freshly turned sod, or the smell of the
forest. I was instantly transported back in time to my young years,
helping mom cut tomatoes for salsa, my grandmas garden shed, and lying
under an old tree listening to the sound of birds and breathing in the
musky smell of decaying leaves. Is it possible to create a subtle
smell-scape in an area to set a mood, or to even guide the blind
through a space? Or maybe an art gallery of scents. Not typical
alcohol based perfumes, but natural smells, both pleasant and
revolting to stir an emotion, to create an atmosphere. The art would
appeal to smell itself, like a room that smells like a pumpkin field
in October or the seaside near the pier.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Kathmandu
So the last couple of weeks have been interesting for sure. The summit
of "the worlds largest pass". It's not the highest, most trecherous,
or any of that, just the largest. Whatever that means. I saw three of
the over 8000m mountains. I ate too much apple pie. I lost my shampoo
and didn't wash my hair for weeks. I fought a yeti, battled food
poisoning twice and saw enough prayer wheels to make my head spin.
We climbed this hill called Poon in the early morning to watch the sun
rise over the Annapurna range. The locals were up partying with drums
and chanting the night before until midnight. Shortly after 2:00am the
rooster crowed and awoke some eager tourists ( I was convinced they
were elephants and could have sworn I heard trumpetting as they
crashed along the corridor to the squat toilet). Just as the noise
quieted down, our faithful Sherpa Tak knocked on our doors and
informed us that it was time to go. And this point I noticed a dull
pain in my stomach but thought it was most likely intense rage bottled
up inside rather than a bacterial invasion. We marched on Poon by the
light of our head lamps. Myself, still irked by the unexpected lack of
sleep invented a song to commemorate the pilgrammage to the top. It
was difficult to sing whist running past hundreds of elderly tourists
of all nationalities but I sang with vigor. The vigor was cut near the
top when I experienced a pain in my side. By the time I reached the
bald top of Poon (now covered in a toupee of tourists) I was in need
of a toilet, and quick. Luckily the outhouse faced east and the door
had a crack in it wide enough to offer the full benefit of the
sunrise. I managed to finish up before the blood red sun showed her
face over the Annapurna mastif and celebrated by yelling "Hey look
everyone! It's the sun! It's the sun! Yeeeeaaahooo!" I then threw the
water from my water bottle around like freshly uncorked champangne. By
the time we reached the bottom of Poon, I was quite ill. I cancelled
my breakfast order and settled for a vomit session instead. I felt
much better, brushed the bile from my teeth and started my hike down
the mountain. We saw a mongoose dash from the tree by the trail and it
was about then I fell sick again. We stopped at the next tea house and
I collapsed on the bed and slept for five hours. Feeling a little
better with the assistance of Tak I moved to a lower camp that
evening. I felt better the next morning.
We are now in the big city of Kathmandu. Fun fun.
of "the worlds largest pass". It's not the highest, most trecherous,
or any of that, just the largest. Whatever that means. I saw three of
the over 8000m mountains. I ate too much apple pie. I lost my shampoo
and didn't wash my hair for weeks. I fought a yeti, battled food
poisoning twice and saw enough prayer wheels to make my head spin.
We climbed this hill called Poon in the early morning to watch the sun
rise over the Annapurna range. The locals were up partying with drums
and chanting the night before until midnight. Shortly after 2:00am the
rooster crowed and awoke some eager tourists ( I was convinced they
were elephants and could have sworn I heard trumpetting as they
crashed along the corridor to the squat toilet). Just as the noise
quieted down, our faithful Sherpa Tak knocked on our doors and
informed us that it was time to go. And this point I noticed a dull
pain in my stomach but thought it was most likely intense rage bottled
up inside rather than a bacterial invasion. We marched on Poon by the
light of our head lamps. Myself, still irked by the unexpected lack of
sleep invented a song to commemorate the pilgrammage to the top. It
was difficult to sing whist running past hundreds of elderly tourists
of all nationalities but I sang with vigor. The vigor was cut near the
top when I experienced a pain in my side. By the time I reached the
bald top of Poon (now covered in a toupee of tourists) I was in need
of a toilet, and quick. Luckily the outhouse faced east and the door
had a crack in it wide enough to offer the full benefit of the
sunrise. I managed to finish up before the blood red sun showed her
face over the Annapurna mastif and celebrated by yelling "Hey look
everyone! It's the sun! It's the sun! Yeeeeaaahooo!" I then threw the
water from my water bottle around like freshly uncorked champangne. By
the time we reached the bottom of Poon, I was quite ill. I cancelled
my breakfast order and settled for a vomit session instead. I felt
much better, brushed the bile from my teeth and started my hike down
the mountain. We saw a mongoose dash from the tree by the trail and it
was about then I fell sick again. We stopped at the next tea house and
I collapsed on the bed and slept for five hours. Feeling a little
better with the assistance of Tak I moved to a lower camp that
evening. I felt better the next morning.
We are now in the big city of Kathmandu. Fun fun.
Ronando
Monday, April 5, 2010
Tatopani
I'm still alive. Crossed the Thorong-La Pass two days ago. I'm now in Tatopani, home of some famous hotsprings. It looks like a couple dugouts with a fence around it. We finish our tour on Saturday back at Kathmandu. I saw only one Stupa with eyes on it but I've seen nearly a hundred without eyes. Today was really hot. I thought I was going to get sun stroke.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Chame
We have now trekked to the town of Chame. The internet here is exceedingly slow and quite expensive. So far the trek has been great. The legs are a wee bit sore but it is nothing too serious. We got our first glimpse of the mountains today. Manasolu I think was the main one we saw. It is eighth highest in the world. I had some fab apple pancakes the last couple mornings and plenty of Dal Bhat, the local curry dish. I'm missing everyone at home but I think I can cope. Digby is providing good company as well as the English bloke Stewart and the London lawyer Yvonna.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Bandipur
The trip so far has been amazing. The thirteen hour plane ride to Hong Kong was trying. I don't know how I managed to sit still so long. Once in Hong Kong we took a train to down town and then walked to the tram that took us to the Peak overlooking the city. The great thing about Hong Kong is that the price on the price tag is the price you pay. Also, it is quite inexpensive for a big city. There is tons of shopping and you could spend all week there visiting Prada, Gucci, and all the other designer outlet stores.
Once we got back on the plane, Digby and I were both quite exhausted (having only slept an hour since we left) so we caught forty winks. There was a stop-over in Bangladesh and then on to Kathmandu. At the airport we got our visas and luggage and went out to find a taxi. After some sketchy business (an unauthorized taxi driver wanted to take our business, but we chose to use the authorized one) we managed to bargain down from 1200NPR to 400 and we were off. We told the driver to take us to the Kathmandu Guesthouse but he took us to a completely different place. Since Graeme and I were both so exhausted, we accepted the accommodations regardless. I was pretty sketched out at this time and was kinda worried that the other taxi driver we bargained with would come and cause us trouble. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a rattle at the door! I was instantly awake. My hands formed fists as I stood in a fighting stance near the door. It was then I realized that it was just Digby trying to exit the bathroom. My heart was racing so hard I had to calm myself down before I could get back to sleep again.
When we woke in the morning, we found that we were only a two minute walk from the Kathmandu Guesthouse. We spent the day wandering the markets and getting acquainted with our new friends Stuart and Ivonna and our guide Krisna.
We caught the five hour bus this morning to the mountains from Kathmandu. It left the busy streets of Kathmandu and followed a twisty road through the valley. Many farms with goats and chickens lined the road. There was only one sketchy moment where the bus slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a motorcycle and almost sent our guide who was standing at the time, through the front window. We also saw a goat riding on top of a van. Stopping at a town we then took a twenty minute jeep right up switchbacks and through terraced farmland to the village of Bandipur where we will spend the night. The hotel is an ancient building with incredibly low ceilings and doors. Tomorrow we take a three hour bus ride and then begin hiking!
So much more has happened but I don't want to tell all my stories!
Once we got back on the plane, Digby and I were both quite exhausted (having only slept an hour since we left) so we caught forty winks. There was a stop-over in Bangladesh and then on to Kathmandu. At the airport we got our visas and luggage and went out to find a taxi. After some sketchy business (an unauthorized taxi driver wanted to take our business, but we chose to use the authorized one) we managed to bargain down from 1200NPR to 400 and we were off. We told the driver to take us to the Kathmandu Guesthouse but he took us to a completely different place. Since Graeme and I were both so exhausted, we accepted the accommodations regardless. I was pretty sketched out at this time and was kinda worried that the other taxi driver we bargained with would come and cause us trouble. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a rattle at the door! I was instantly awake. My hands formed fists as I stood in a fighting stance near the door. It was then I realized that it was just Digby trying to exit the bathroom. My heart was racing so hard I had to calm myself down before I could get back to sleep again.
When we woke in the morning, we found that we were only a two minute walk from the Kathmandu Guesthouse. We spent the day wandering the markets and getting acquainted with our new friends Stuart and Ivonna and our guide Krisna.
We caught the five hour bus this morning to the mountains from Kathmandu. It left the busy streets of Kathmandu and followed a twisty road through the valley. Many farms with goats and chickens lined the road. There was only one sketchy moment where the bus slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a motorcycle and almost sent our guide who was standing at the time, through the front window. We also saw a goat riding on top of a van. Stopping at a town we then took a twenty minute jeep right up switchbacks and through terraced farmland to the village of Bandipur where we will spend the night. The hotel is an ancient building with incredibly low ceilings and doors. Tomorrow we take a three hour bus ride and then begin hiking!
So much more has happened but I don't want to tell all my stories!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
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