October 6-20, 2003

  My trekking friends and I were on the trail somewhere in the midst of large rocks, hills and GIANT waterfalls, inside the world's deepest river gorge. It was two miles down from the summits of two mountains to the river between them! We were not lost. We were just not at the village where we were supposed to be by a certain time, and it was getting dark. It was getting darker and darker. Pemba raced ahead to find the porters, by now hours ahead of us on the trail. (Did I mention "Sherpa time" versus "tourist time"? It means multiply Sherpa time by four to get tourist time. If it takes a Sherpa one hour to get to the next village, then the same distance will take the tourists about four hours.)  

It was really dark now, and we were creeping at a snail's pace along a rocky path we could not see. Baerbel was holding my arm and we were both feeling our way with our toes. Finally Pemba was back, bearing headlamps. We had to trek in total darkness to a town an hour away!   As we were crossing one spectacular suspension bridge over a dark and raging river, under several million stars with a silver sliver of the moon shining down, Baerbel yelled, "Oh WOW!" She insisted we turn off our headlamps. "Oh wow!" we said in the blackness. The night sky and mountain shadows surrounded us as we stood on the narrow walkway of the huge bridge. The sound of the river echoed from the deep void underfoot -- Oh WOW! This night turned out to be the highlight of our trip.   Finally we made it to the intended village where we promptly ordered a large and hefty dinner. We were exhausted and were soon sound asleep in our sleeping bags on wooden beds in stone buildings at the lodge. This was Tatopani, one of the biggest villages on the trail. It was also worth every sore muscle since Tato-pani means "Hot Water" in Nepali. There was a natural hot springs here along the river bank. The next morning, it felt SOOOO good! A swimsuit would have been nice, but instead I wore a T-shirt and a pair of fake Adidas men's shorts I bought at a shop nearby.  

Continuing on our journey, ten days on the trail altogether, we were now moving beyond the giant white Himalayan peaks. One reason they were so white is because they catch all the rain that sweeps across the Indian subcontinent during the summer monsoon. We were now on the other side of that wall-like barrier in a land that got hardly any rain. It looked like the Tibetan Plateau. It was a sandy dusty, arid, brown, high altitude desert with major gusty winds in the afternoon. We had to wear face masks since sandblasting our lungs did not sound pleasant.   We trekked along the Kaligandaki River which was almost dried up. A steady yet raging canal flowed in the middle of the mile-wide valley. It bubbled and growled its way along, angry it could not reach both sides of the valley. It was not the season yet.   This was a totally different landscape than the green tropical hilly region in which we started. We had come a long long way. It was easy to forget the adventures of the previous day. Now this flat, windy river valley was taking us straight into Tibet.  

And at that moment, the trail where we stood -- ended. It was a narrow road cut into the rocky cliff, and it was gone. Maybe years ago or yesterday, it slid into the river, and at this juncture, the rest of the cliff was on the verge of going down too. My mind rapidly mapped out our options and visualized the consequences. Pemba instinctively headed -- up the cliff and expected us to follow. No way, I said.   Another choice was to go down and somehow wade across the river. But what if it was deeper than it looked? What if one of us were swept away? What if we turned around instead? It was a four hour journey back to the last bridge. Ugh. Going up seemed the best. Maybe the trail would pick up again on the other side.   Trusting Pemba, we went up. We were following the man who was recently pulling comatose bodies off high Himalayan peaks and who aspires to climb Mt. Everest. Linda, Baerbel, George and I followed him, grabbing the occasional shrub, hoping its roots would hold. Slipping on a loose stone or scree, could have sent any one of us tumbling down into the river. I stayed behind ready to catch. But even with sore muscles, we were strong. We did it. We made it, up and over that landslide. On the other side of the cliff and once on solid trail again, we were beaming in amazement and pride. Look what we did! Perhaps mountaineering was in our future after all!  

At the beginning of our trek, something not so good happened. It was when we finally made it to the top of Poon Hill at 12,000 feet. It was six or seven AM by the time we got to the top of the lookout tower. This is one of the most spectacular mountain-scapes in the world. It was excellent! And such a view had been worth every one of the 3,000 stone steps the day before. It was a short 45 minute hike UP that morning, and at the top there were 40 more wooden steps to get to the top of the tower. Without a care in the world, we were watching the sunrise, mingling with other tourists, taking pictures and rolling video tape.   We were almost the last to leave that special spot. That was when the bad news thing happened, the dreaded, the stories we had heard for months, the one reason we almost canceled the whole trip. The other trekkers on the trail the day before had warned us. It happened to them too, and it was happening to us now.  

From the lookout tower, it was a short distance down to where there was a gate. The only way back to the lodge and down to civilization was through that gate. At this moment, two "Maoists" were waiting for us on the other side. They held the gate shut.   Nepal is in the midst of a very violent peasant uprising. Every day several people are killed in clashes between the "Maoists" and the Nepalese army. They call themselves Maoists because they believe in Mao Zedong's philosophy. Though not backed by the Chinese, they believe "the only way to change is through the barrel of a gun". The Maoists have a lot of support in the villages and have managed to gain control of two-thirds of the country. They want to chan ge the old traditional Hindu ways into new modern ways. They want communism and most of all, a less corrupt government.  

These two Maoists were young, maybe 15 and 18 years old. They were nervous about the situation, more than we were. They wanted us to pay 1000 rupees (about $15) each. Pemba spoke in Nepali. "I am with one German, one Hungarian, one Spaniard and one Arab. They do not speak English. I cannot explain this problem to them. Please let me pay you something and let us go," he said.   Meanwhile I whispered to Linda, "We do not speak English," and she whispered to Baerbel, "We don't speak English," and Baerbel, facing the Maoists, said somewhat loudly to George, "We don't speak English." We tried not to laugh. Luckily the Maoists were in a hurry. We paid only 200 rupees each (about $3). And it was worth it to get an official "Maoist" receipt. In the past, villagers pretending to be Maoists had been asking tourists for money. Now the Maoists were issuing receipts so there was no doubt. These were the Maoists.  

With a hammer and sickle in one corner and pictures of Lenin, Stalin, Marx, Engles, and Mao in the other, the receipt says in Nepali: "Long live Maoism, Leninism and Prachandapath! Nepal Communist Party (Maoists). Special Regional Bureau. Peoples War Assistance Mission 2060. We received from Miss Heather O'Neal for the development and success of the peoples war with best wishes, 200 rupees. Signature of Recipient. Biplar in charge." Then it says, "Thank you for your support!"   They didn't carry guns, and we didn't feel threatened, but we also didn't know who or what was lurking in the bushes nearby. We were polite and so were they, and everyone was happy when it was over. I was only sorry for the youngsters and for Nepal and sorry my video camera was not rolling. Darn.  

The situation is terrible, especially for the Nepalese. It is brother against brother like most civil wars. As tourists, we are the very fragile golden egg. Both sides tiptoe around us. Without tourism, Nepal has very little income.   While trekking, our ultimate goal was to get to a very sacred spot, the ancient temple of Muktinath. People from near and far, both Buddhists and Hindus have worshiped here for the last two THOUSAND years. It is the holiest place within several miles of difficult mountain terrain and everyone comes, even Hindu pilgrims from India. We encountered a few Indian villagers on the trail, real pilgrims who had obviously come a long long way. We had come a long long way too.  

The temple was built in the middle of a large mountain stream. I bathed my hand (rather than my body like the natives) under the 108 cow-head spouts that poured freezing cold glacial water from their mouths. I made a few wishes and prayed that the gods would grant them soon.  

Thank you for reading the Adventure Journal. I am trying to bring the world home to you. I am also trying to take you around the world. :) Happy Holidays!

Heather O'Neal
Of Global Interest LLC Adventure Travel
Ann Arbor, Michigan
(734) 369-3107
www.ofglobalinterest.com