Echoing thoughts on Annapurna

So once again, I’ll just elaborate on Simon's blog entry; I wholeheartedly agree with his sentiments. (Still no pictures, but imagine a post card image of the Himalayas and that's what we'd post.)

Creating Memories

It's funny what tricks our memory plays on us. If you ask me now, I would look back on working our way up to the pass and think how cool and exciting it was to do it in the middle of the snow storm. However, I remember distinctly a handful of moments when I was truly scared that I would never be able to catch my breath, that my left arm would freeze off since it was so numb, wondering how the hell we were going to find the trail under all that snow, and wanting to be finished with it. These memories are more like facts in my mind, like the height of the pass itself, but are stripped entirely of the emotion and the physical discomfort that I experienced with them. But I’ll try to tell it like I think it was.

The top of the pass was the hardest thing I've ever done, more specifically the last 45 minutes to the top. As we got higher up, it was getting harder and harder for me to breathe and I literally needed to stop after every 4 steps to catch my breath, which also made me a lot colder and stiffer since I was barely moving. To say the least I was exhausted. And of course the snow and wind grew tougher the higher we got. But I knew that I was not suffering from serious altitude sickness like some of the other trekkers we had seen. I finally had to ask Simon to take some of the weight from my pack for the last 50 meters to ensure I could keep moving. I would have liked to have said that I carried all my weight up the pass, but I knew that it was a safer bet to not be so proud. My confidence was somewhat shot since I had rolled my friggin’ ankle again the day before (once again, on perfectly flat ground.)

But in the end, we did it and I’m psyched. Even though we missed the views at the very top, we had such amazing views all along, truly stunning, that I don’t feel like I missed out.

The Camping Americans

I hate to take comfort in other people’s misery, but we met these two Americans from Arizona who were travelling with an entourage of nine porters and two guides and I can’t believe how thankful I was every time I saw them. It turns out they had signed up to do a trek in the west and off the beaten path, but the company got worried about Maoist activities and changed their itinerary. To say the least this type of expedition is completely unnecessary on the circuit we were on. Nevertheless, they braved on in their tents every night, in the backyard of guesthouses, while their porters stayed in rooms inside. But after a snow storm or two, the started to get a bit cranky and just wanted a hot shower. So while I appreciated my time in the guesthouses, my appreciation increased exponentially when I saw them.

Trekking Fuel

I must say, I enjoyed the food on the most part. Dal Bhaat isn’t nearly as dreary as many others made it sound. There is a surprising amount of variation in the dish – the consistency of the dal lentils, the kind of curry, presence and type of pickle etc. Knowing that you have an unlimited plate of hot food coming to you at lunch or dinner is a great motivator (to continue walking and to order the dal bhaat). The thing that killed me was that we denied ourselves of the noodles, since they were generally ramen noodles and we saw a lot of the packaging ending up in the rivers and streams near the villages. The first thing I did when I got into town was order noodles. And I don’t know how this has come about, but I’ve had, hands down, the best oatmeal (that’s porridge for you brits), ever on this trip. Nepalis make delicious creamy perfectly sweetened oat porridge.

Becoming British

We ended up on the same schedule as four Brits (Will, Nicky, Louise and Curtis) and a Dutch guy (Mark) and it was really great. After trekking on our own for five nights we were ready for some company. We had met other trekkers who were pleasant, but it was nice to be I the company of people you really enjoyed. And playing poker with them.
It was great fun hanging out with everyone, but Simon and I are slowly turning into Brits ourselves after spending so much time with them. We’re starting to pick up their speech patterns. Hopefully, we won’t ended up speaking with half assed accents a la Madonna and will just continue to use the adjective "nice" to describe our food and be pleased with we are served tea with "proper" milk.

Yoga Dreaming

So I’m slated to start a two day yoga retreat tonight. The irony is that I’m a little nervous about it. I don’t know why. It’s something I want to do, though the schedule sounds a bit challenging (getting up at 6 am for meditation and doing things until 8 pm), but I know it will be good. While I’ve seen the center, there is definitely a fear of the unknown here. I’m a little jealous of Simon who will be zen with HBO in our guesthouse.