Homeward Bound

Well, I came in here to write some final thoughts on the eve of my return home, but can not quite remeber now because of the heavy gas fumes from the generator running in the room. I changed my flight a few days earlier in time to arrive for my good friends Vaughn and Karen's shotgun wedding on the 17th, and wish them the best on their new life that is growing day by day inside the womb. The power is off (as usual) here in Kathmandu. I will begin, but if the text goes to akjlfgfjghdfkgjdfhjkgvbfdkvjdfvbhdfjkvd, you know that I fell asleep do to carbon monoxide poisoning, and my head if stuck on the keyboard.
After spending a few days doing nothing but relaxing in Pokhara, I returned here to the big old capital. The ride should have been only 6 hours but turned out t be 12. There was some rock debris on the road, and just unusual congestion from some recent rains. But mainly it seems that Nepal has these invisible traffic jams that back things up for hours. Usually, there is an accident, or something that people slow down for to get a peek of some other human dead or in discomfort that backs the whole road up. But here, you pass this moment where there are other people in the other lane with there heads poking out of the window too, and you both look at each other as if to say "Is that all we are slowing down for...a peek at you!" as you inch by each other.
I have been wearing a bandana around my face for the past three days in Kathmandu, as it is just too much to bear without it. I picked up my first taailored suit (don't worry I am not going corporate) that I was fitted for before I left. Truth is, the taailors are excellent and the price is even better, and don't want to have to keep borrowing my brothers...now just pray that I can continue to avoid situations that require me to put on a noose...I mean tie around my neck. I went with the tailor's son, Suraj, to a screening of a documenatry about traditional Nepalese music, as he plays the sitar. Other than that Kathmandu has been pretty uneventful.
So some long thank-you's back from the beginning, in chronological order:

Swiss Robert for showing me your wonder-boat, Enes the Zimba Taxi-driver for the free rides, Robert Dauncey in Simonstown for the lift from the train station, Barbara for picking me up hitching on my very last attempt...changed the WHOLE direction, A HUGE thank you to Kent and Landy in Castle Rock....impossible to have done it without your generosity, Zimba Robert (not Mugabe) for the great walks/talks, Jaco and Peter the slick used car sales men for teaching me, Jay & Debbie & Maya, Grant for the CDS, Dave for the accent, Chris for the good cheer, Tim for proving that good philosophers still exist!, Gary Streiker, Neil the incredble mechanic, Micheal and the Malawians also great Mechanics, Patrick the gas staion manager in Fishook, the Fishook Library staff, Brahm for the Nissan Bakkie, The Nissan Bakkie for being the Nissan Bakkie, the hyperactive muslim man who sold me the canopy for the truck, the Elands in Cape National Park, the electrician who quietly made soup for everyone at the Longstreet Backpacker, Sean for picking me up hitching, his mother Maureen for the incredible lesson in selflessness, the men and women at TeddyBear care for allowing me to work with them (hope your reelin in the rand on the rockin chairs!), the little boy at the campground in Swellendam who was so excited to follow me around with eternal curiosity, Chris and Linda Bodges and the Webster, Joey, Hope, and Jeremy what a fantastic time that was, Moses the woodcarver, Angis for allowing me to build the railing at his hotel, Wendy at the Kolstead bed and breakfast, Edward in Lestotho: hope you are enjoying the bakkie!, James in Quachas Nek for his laugh, Edward's mother...ride on, the village that I stopped at and played a concert in Lesotho, Kiso in Maseru, Blessing the Zimba drummer, Rob and family at the Johanasberg airport hotel, Mr. Fantastic for the tour of Jo'Burg, The Frankfurt bankteller for your rare happiness in daily work, Marianne Romeo for being Marianne Romeo, Wonder the world's wisest security gate man, the Tashenini liquor store gang, the zebra at the hotel for letting me finally pet stripes instead of solids, the Tashenini School for my largest audience yet!, the surly Kruger National Park receptionists for teaching me patience, the giraffes, lions, and especially the warthogs, Bambu at Fatimas in Maputo: a huge help dialing in the place and for our great converstaions, Oscar: the Mozambican Buddah, Armando for forgiving me for locking the gate, the Maputo baker for hot bread, Taju and his brother Abu for such kindness, Vivo the security guard with the golden heart, Nuclio de Arte, Ana, Dino, Dan, and everyone at Justicia Ambiental, Carlos Bento, Joaquim for the teaching us Maputo, Yassim at Turkish School of Maputo for giving us an interview and offering us a job on the spot even though we came to the wrong place!, Patricino for the interview, the Qualimane airport debriefing office, Emilio for the exorbinant quote on the airplane and teaching me love for all!, Amaral the airplane mechanic and the pilot (i forgot your name) of the crop duster....true gentlemen, Jessica, William and the migrant Zimbas of Marremeu, the hotel help who washed my car, "The Proffesor" for his wonderful inquisitive nature, Morris who told Marianne about the great stop on the way to Marremeu, Jean-Marc and his wild dogs, the woman (forgot her name too) and her baby Blessed in the Mutare hotel (your baby has the right name!), the incredible security guard John at the same hotel for warming the hot water by fire for our showers, Oliver Mutukusi my hero, Sam Mutukutsi, Never Mpofo for introducing me the world's musical oyster, everybody at ZMC for the hospitality and memorable business meeting, Micheal the gatekeeper, Flora and the crew at the Baobab Guest house, Slyvano for the records-God Bless you, Emmanuel for the wisdom, the Zimababwe National Art Gallery, the police for letting me go for speeding, the immigration officer for selling us icecream, Harriet in Zambia, the Zambian basket weavers, the nice couple who let us camp in Namibia next to the river where I thought we would certainly be eaten by hippos in the night, the Botswana immigration who waved our entrance fees for a few songs, Tico and the Predator Conservation crew and tireless work, Craig in Tuli, the mechnics in Maun for a delightful day, the cop for grilling me on speeding-I honestly was only goes 75 that day, the Florida Hotel and chuby security guard, the guy who helped dry the distributor cap when we went river rafting in the truck, the South African Immigration for extending my visa, the wacky pyschodelic flamboyant hotel, the guys in the Johanasburg art shop for the fair trading, Aklilio the Adis Ababa shoeshiner/saint, Ady and Feven friends forever, Johnny the mover and shaker, Yerga for the one night out on the town, Danny for the kindness, Ben for the rich company, Geten for the tea, Eden for her genuine helpfullness, Job even though I never bought you a soda, Thomas the lost Rastafarian, the wonderful women at the Tel Aviv inn who nursed me back to health, Florian and Andrea good travel companions, all of the goats and cows for their courage, the guy on the bus who fought for me to get my money back when the bus driver tried to rip me off, Jesus, Mohamed, Buddah, Jan in the Amsterdam airport for the very accurate map to the art supply store, Jeremiah the wise waiter in the Nairobi Int. Airport lounge, The Kenyan Immigration department for listening to my music, the entire airport staff in Kenya for making me feel at home, Min Min and the Burmeese fishermen, the 8 radical Pakistani Muslims for the discourse, Gil for the surfboard in Mahambo, the entire village of Mahambo, all of the Antananrivo prostitutes for reminding us that life can be a struggle, Mami for the hotel guidence, Patrick the Belgium business man, Luke the world's greatest shuttle driver, Edmund at Zanataney and all of his many wifes and children, Alexa for the her hard work, Dade the grumpy baby, Chez Urich for the tre bien poisson, Stephane for the drunk jargon, Ben, Janic the French friendly pirate, Modest for the diligence, the internet guy in Fenorivo, Nehema and the Evangelicals for putting me up for the night and allowing Jesus to possibly save me (just kidding!), the airport cab driver-I honesty had no more money for a tip, the very friendly Russian consular in the Moscow airport, Diana for making a day stuck in an airport go by quick, Olga the Russian adventurer, the taxi driver in the Kyrgystan airport for again teaching me patience when getting ripped off, the German couple for breakfast and my last cigarette, Turksbek for the incredbible Audi-cab ride, the Asanova family for the deep well of artistic inspiration, the Russina ladies at the Hot Spring, the Kirghiz nomads, the women who knitted the wool socks, Valentino the surly Russian, the lesson in the friovilous material goods given by the Aeroflot staff in Bishkek, Tshering Chopel in the Pisang Monastery, Kalzung- I cant even imagine 9 years of solitude, all the monks of Pisang, all of the monks everywhere, the himalyas, Eti the couargeous Isreali woman, Louis the deaf adventurer, the monks at the Shechen monastery for the delicious apple juice, the Dalai Lama, Soresh the taylor, Surjev for the music, the staff at Madhabun Hotel, Marina the Brazilain teacher, Yaer the Isreali computer man, my guitar (actually my brother's), and all you good people who took the few moments out of your busy life to read this. May the world keep spinning! Till soon, jg

Nepal

Back to civilization!
Lowland waterfall
Can you see the bus? Glad I am not on it...
Run quick, your free!
How lazy people become reincarnated!
High Arid region
Woman with nice job!
Girl helps her father sift sand for a new house
Dang Tibetan refugees always building temples.
Do you have a building permit for that?
Very Cold at the top
Above the clouds Highest I have ever been! (In altitude) The High Camp Good Store Monks learning photography

Dinner time in Pisang
Its everywhere...
Don't want to slip on this section of trail!
Everywhere...prayers on rocks
These are always found when entering or leaving a village
Sooo many bridges!
Katmandu street kids at dawn.
Boy on a bamboo swing
Good fun!
Tibetan prayer flags
Little guy makes street art! Hey wait! Thats not chalk!
Korean girls shopping
Can't you just make the game taller?
A Korean Crush


Leaving Kyrgystan was painful on the wallet. When I arrived at the airport, they did not have my name on the flight list, so I had to wait for a long time until they found it. Then, when I was checking in with about a 1/2 hour to spare, they said that my baggage was too heavy. I am sure it was as I am lugging treasures from around the world for myself and you good people at home. How much? $50.00? okay maybe $100.00? "No. $780.00" the man said in flat Russian. I coughed. As soon as I began to plea he simply said "next please...". They kept me there pleaing until 5 minutes before the last call. I was ready to just ditch all of the material goods as their value does not even add close to that, but all of the irreplaceable gifts from new friends made it impossible. They cut the price down: $560.00...last offer....payable only in cash. With the world's largest silent "FUCK YOU!"...I paid. Ouch.
The Russians have a very strict visa policy, and would not allow me again to leave the airport. I took to buying more beer at the duty free store, and putting on another concert for people jet setting from all corners of the world. I made friends with one woman named Diane from Belgium. She had a film being exhibited in the St. Petersburg film festival that week, but they were sending her back to Brussels for not having the proper visa. We spent time until our respective flights shooting candid pictures of airport passengers. Quite fun actually!
When I arrived in Seoul, it was a monster 28-hour lay over, but here I could leave to get a hotel and walk the video-game-esque streets of Incheon (new neighbor city to Seoul). Again when I arrived at the airport, they had no ticket number for me. Ahhhh! I managed to call Continental Airlines and sort the whole thing out. The women at Korean Air were then very apologetic and offered me business class. "Well, this is a business trip after all!" I said. I enjoyed the massaging chairs, free tea and wine, and watched "Chinatown" while practicing my best Jack Nicholson imitation.
The arrival into Kathmandu was shocking. Hot and muggy, and streets FULL of Chaos. It seems many in Asia are now wearing surgical masks or bandannas around their face because of exhaust, and lousy air quality. I can see why. I could barely breathe...again. Many of the kids shout when they talk, and I am convinced this has to do with the endless barrage of traffic horns. I did a cartoon drawing about it entitled "The Buddah's ultimate test: Kathmandu Traffic". On top of the routine chaos it was a huge Nepalese Hindu holiday, which made things extra alive. People pouring milk, flower petals, and ground up spices over the city's numerous Hindu statues and shrines. Nepal is fascinating because it is the convergence of Hindus from the lowlands in the south, and the Buddhists from the Tibetan plateau to the north. They seem to gradually blend together some how. I enjoyed watching the goats, and footloose urban cows grazing all of the flowers and spices off the statues after they had been blessed.
After a few days, I took off with the loose plan of doing some trekking through the Himalayas. As always, I like to say that the plan is that there is no plan, and some how it congeals into the perfect plan. I took a bus to Bisisahar, a town to the west of Kathmandu by way of a hair raising 6 hour bus ride. The connecting bus ride goes down as the worst of all. Hot muggy air, the seats in the bus literally have "NO" room for your legs. There is a baby with bumps all over his face being held by his mother, who just kept looking at me in agony. I had to straddle my guitar as I was not about to put it on the roof with the 40 careless guys up there spitting tobacco. The town of Besisahar is a bit above sea level at 2,400 ft. I did a few sketchings here, and again the people stare and giggle. The next morning, I packed a few things and set out with the intention of going as far as I could in order to get back in time for my rapidly approaching flight. The trails through this Anapurma region link into a nice giant loop. 211 kilometers (125 miles or so)long going over what I later learned is the highest walking mountain pass in the world at 17,800 ft., before coming back near the fairly large city of Pokhara (back at a few thousand feet). I managed to do the entire loop in 10 days, which shocked many people including myself! I actually always hike at a very rapid pace, as I seem to enjoy the mindset that I slip into. After the first day or two of getting your body adjusted, you start to forget about the aches and pains of the robot body and get to have this completely detached mind! Since this is Nepal's high season for tourism, many people were out and about roaming in the wonders of the world's highest majestical mountains. Most hire guides and porters. Neither are really necessary for this trail. The trail is well marked, and I feel that anyone in reasonible health should bring only what they can carry. Everything you need you can find in the villages along the way. Sometimes i would meet a person or a group and walk for a while chatting, and often just walking with a nice empty mind. When you reach about 10,000 ft or so (on either side of the pass) the villages and culture turn to much more Tibetan Buddhist from the lower altitude Hindus. On the whole trek there seems to be a village on average every 6 km. or so, so there is really no need to pack food or camping equipement. Infact, the hotels or lodges are very cheap, and the food is excellent. Part of the reason is that everything is grown pretty much right there. One morning, I ordered a "Milk Coffee" from the menu. I heard a door close, an old Tibetan woman waddle out next to a Yak, and start pulling on her udders! It was an Excellent coffee by the way. Since the Himalayas ascend so rapidly over such a short distance, you are passing through a different landscape everyday. First the humid sub-tropical jungles, then the moist waterfall ladden forests, then drier oak woodlands, then thick pine forests, and then dry high alpine areas with no trees at all, then Mars. It was crazy to see marijuana grow wild between about 8,000 and 10,000 feet....EVERYWHERE, even on moist rooftops, between cobblestones, and on top of logs. Yup, it is a plant that has to be native to some area of the world! But equally facsinating to see the Nepalese complete indifference to it. Not some magic weed that will save all of the world, but just as beneficial as any of the other fruits of the landscpe. Each having their purpose and special time/circumstance. Many of the very young children in these villages sadly take to asking "You like hashish?". They hold out there charcoal black hands from rubbing the plants to extract the oily resins. I noticed a severe attention deficeit in some of these children. Often, i would stop to play a few songs in the villages, as they would get so eager to see that I was carrying a guitar up to these elevations. A few times these boys with black stained hands would reach out and smack the guitar. The slightly older (or maybe more logical girls) would then smack the boys on the head and say something in Nepalese to the extent of "knock it off stupid". Most of the time it was a pleasure. The kids would say "Namaste" (Thank You) and bow with their hands together with impossible gratitude. On the third day I had a real incredible experience. The afternoon seemed unusually quiet and not many hikers. I arrived in a one-restaurant village with a number of abandoned stone Tibetan buildings. I set my things down at the restaurant, and stretched out to nurse my wounds. The only other customer was a Buddist monk sitting cross legged on a bench sipping his tea. He waved me over without saying anything, and made the sign of the "the sun is too strong for you out there with no roof, so come sit at the table here with me". So I did. I ordered my first Coca Cola in a long tiome, as it sounded really good. When I twisted the cap off, the coke bubbled out. Oh that rascally elevation change! The monk giggled a bit and I did too. He offered a tissue to wipe up the puddle. We had a quiet lunch, and when he got set to leave I told the owner that I would pay for his lunch. He explained that the monk had already paid. The monk then looked at me and gave a bow. He said that he would wait on the trail along the way and we could walk a bit. I finished my lunch and continued on. I got a little lost on the way to the next village, and never crossed pathes with the monk. That evening, I arrived at the village of Pisang. I took out my guitar and played for two of the most weather worn old women you could imagine. I then strolled past the Gompa (Buddhist temple) and monastery at the top of the hill. I heard the carved wooden window sash open and there was the monk so happy to see me. In his very limited English, the said that he waited an hour and a half on the trail for me, and was wondering where I had gone. He then invited me into the little communal kitchen room where there was a handful of monks who made some of the most delicious tea I have ever had. The monk that I had met "Tshering Chopel" and another monk, "Kalzung Sultim" seemed to be the older monks teaching at the monastery to maybe 8 other young monks. They were both from Bhutan, limited in English, but limitless in wisdom. It was readble from the calmness on their faces. Tshering had completed a 3 year solitary-silent meditation. Kalzung had completed one of 9 years! It was incredible to sit in this little cozy wooden building and watch all of them work as a machine making dinner. One pouring the boiling water into a bowl another was stirring, another rolling out the dough, etc. A well tuned machine. Everyone singing or talking and making joy from the work. I taught one of them to strum a few chords on the guitar. They all looked with curiousity at my sketchbook, and were enthralled with seeing the videos of all of the places I have travelled on my video camera. Tshering was completely taken back by the camera, and I gave it to him. The crazy thing was that he had recently bought a mini DV tape for a video camera dispite not having a camera! He had a friend who was going to lend him his camera, and bought a tape so he could learn. We then ate one of the most delicious dinners I have ever had called "Tupa", a Tibetan pasta-like soup. I had three bowls, and so did many of the monks! One young Tibetan guy there named Sangay and his wife lived there as well, and were good friends with the monks. They helped with meals, fixing things around the Gompa,
and keep the general upkeep. He was very cool guy, and was struck at how all of these guys got along. Growing up Catholic, I always thought of priests/monks as kind of creepy, dark, secret and intimidating. These monks would laugh like school chums at how to use a cellphone. We then sat around with a few candles and only the light of the fire and talked about their views of the the universe/reality. You know, usual after dinner discourse! Sangay, who spoke good English translated. As these two Bhutanese monks so patiently listened and then confidently replied. Many of the young studying monks just sat quietly listening to this strange white guy's questions, and the responses from the Bhutanese. I heartliy thanked them for one of the most unusual and interesting evenings of my life, and skipped back to my hotel under a clear Himilayan sky. They invited me for tea in the morning, and so I scampered up the hillside again. Inside the temple, the monks were already busy with a puja (prayer/ceremony), the doors were closed, but there was smoke from juniper needles as incense, drums beating, and the blowing of horns that sounded like an old Sun Ra albumn. Others were making tea and chatting. I was told that the puja was for all of the animals that were being slaughted that week in the Hindu festivals around the country. Amazing! I taught a few of the young monks to work my old 120 mm. film camera, and they enjoyed taking a few shots. I then sat with Tshering and Kalzung and had a final tea. We talked more about things...slowly. They packed me a gift of dried fried rice and dried red peppers from Bhutan, carefully in a bag. They said it was a really good snack while hiking. They were right. Still I have plenty to bring home and share! They were adament they I come to visit Bhutan in the future (they return next year). They waved me off as I started the long trek down to the valley floor. When I looked up at the walls of the gompa, they were staring with the most incredible serenity. I waved and got back on the trail. The next two days were spent getting all the way to the high camp, which is the last overnight lodging before you cross the pass. I decided to rest the whole day here and get used to the lack of oxygen, before setting out at dawn the next day. I had a very troubling night of sleep as I was so tired but could not fall asleep! As soon as I drifted into sleep I would suddenly wake up to a sharp gasp for air. Finally, I took a Tylenol thinking that it could thin my blood a bit and drank a lot of water. I dozed off into a sound slumber. In the morning, I was one of the last to leave the lodge as other hikers left at 4 a.m.. It is about 2 and half hours from the top, and the wind gets unbearable up there by about 10 a.m. So I started the slow and steady climb, and felt very good. About half way there, I came across a porter leaning on a rock. He had fallen way behind his guests, and I asked if he was feeling okay. He said that he was not feeling well today, but maybe tomorrow he would be better! I rested with him a bit, and offered him water. When he tried to drink, he ended up just pouring the water all over himself. I then offred to carry the bag he was carrying, and he could carry my guitar. So I had my pack on my back, his on front, and just imagined I was the toughest donkey in the world. Actually, the weight was not the real problem, it was that I could not see over his pack, and so had to stop every so often to turn sideways and see the trail. I repeated the old Tibetan prayer "Om Mani Pema Hom" (which I think translates to something like "The beauty is in the Lotus Flower') to keep the mind nice and retired. Many of the old Tibetan men and women repeat this all day everyday as they go about their life. Incredible to see. I finally reached the pass, left his bag on the side of the tea house so that he would not have to explain to a quiet obnoxious woman who he had to carry it for...yep....there is a guy who has a little shack and boils up tea with snacks up there at al,ost 18,000 feet. Guess i'm not so tough afer all! I had a tea and started the long decent back down the mountains. I stopped in a little village called Marpha, and it was home to some of the world's best apple pie. I ended up staying there two days and reading Ghandi's autobiography (abridged...again not that tough). The next day I did a marathon day... just about the same length as one all the way to a village called Totopani. During the last hour as the sun was getting low, I came across a purple crab in a puddle. (Alive). I was so amazed to see an animal that looked like it belonged back on the beaches of California! I was so confused and excited I started to shout at a hiker a hundred meters ahead of me on the trail. "hey"....no response...."Hey", as I am running after him. I finally caught up with him and showed him, and realized he was deaf. He replied in very good English that he had seen many of them as well. I let it go in the next puddle, and we talked for a while. His name is Louis and he is a 22-year old Frenchman travelling the world. He can read lips in both French and English, and speaks better English then most Frenchmen (and probably many Americans too!). Really quite amazing. After soaking my achey muscles in a hotspring that night, I set out for the last two days back to Pokhara. I met up with Louis again, and a Brazilain woman, and an Isreali guy durng the last morning. We hiked together down the final steep grade, and got to sit on top of a bus for a bit heading back to the city of Pokhara. My calves are much harder....and my mind is a lot softer. Once again, spelling does not count on these blogs...till very soon, jg