The age of rats

Somewhere around 12/7 on the way to Bikaner....

We get up at 8:30 AM to drive over 300 kilometers to Bikaner. Mr. Singh has made me a Punjab mix tape. Each song title takes up about 3 lines. Here's a couple of ideas as to what the songs are like. If you visit this site in the future, I hope to put some links to the music here.

Track 1: Sajem Meray Rangalay Jai Totay Mehlan
Description: A tabla E flat minor trance rhythm. It gives off a surreal, mystical feeling as it hits you most in the early morning hours.

Track 2: Kahan Gahay Baba Boleteytey
Description: A B flat minor down tempo song, with more melodic singing.

There are more songs like this, but you get the idea. The music matches the scenery. Deep guttural voices match the looks of desperation many of the surrounding townspeople have on their faces. Simply put, they are just happy to be alive. They don't need soap dispensers or bagel slicers. Give them a few pieces of wood and some chana masala and they are happy.

I also receive a great mix tape of a Pakistani Classical Musician named Hans Raj Hans. The album Mr. Singh gives to me is called Aaja Ve Mahdi. It is some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard. If you have iTunes, you can look him up at this address:
http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?id=110951353&s=143441

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Bikaner and the Rats

So there's one major reason one goes to Bikaner and that is to see the Rat temple. The Rat temple is beholden as one of the most sacred temples in all of India. When we reach there, we see gray rats scurrying along the exposed stone temple floor. Having no shoes on adds another degree of adventure as we try and sidestep the rat dung. And yet, it is considered good luck to have these rats walk over your foot. It's especially good luck to see the big white rat. For the moment, I shake my head and wonder why.

For every strange Indian tradition, there is even a stranger mythical story. This one is no different, so here goes.

Travelling Sherman's Summary of Why the Rat Temple is Such a Big Deal

• It all starts with a real person named Karni Mata (Mamma Karni). She is believed to be an incarnation of the Durga God (see Oh My God).
• Karni had mad superpowers. Karni supposedly could bring people back from the dead. She could turn the water pure, she could help kings win battles, and she can feed people for days based on dirt and grass. Basically, Jesus, Allah, and Moses gave no competition to Mamma Karni.
• So Karni Mata had one son and one sister. The sister wants to take the son to a holy temple down the road to spice things up.
• The Karni Mata says o.k. to her sister, but warns not to dip the son into their holy tank they have over there. They have some disclaimer stating that dipping can be harmful to your health including death.
• The sister takes the son, ignores the orders and dips the son into the holy tank. The son drowns. The sister is crying.
• The sister goes back to Karni Mata to bring the son back to life since she heard Karni has superpowers. Karni says sorry, no way. The sister cries some more.
• Karni gives a compromise. She says to her sister there is a way to bring the son back. The sister asks how, to which Karni replies 'the only way my son will come back is as a rat'.
• So Karni does her magic and her son comes back as the one white rat at the Rat temple.
• It is believed by the locals that when elders die, they also come back as rats. So essentially, you can see great-gramma gertrude running around the rat temple once a week. The locals claim this the '8th wonder' of the world. I just wonder who does the janitor duty.

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The last days of India....12/8 - 12/10

To be honest, the last days of India reminded me of a hangover. You rub your eyes, you collect your belongings, and you make arrangements to go back home. We arrive in Delhi on 12/9 into a hotel that the 'company' provided for us. All I have to say is that these hotel workers were so awful, it becomes comical. For example, a hotel worker asks us if we would like a cup of tea while were waiting for our room to be ready. After we agree, the worker comes with the tea and charges us $3 US. Most people in India give tea out to their enemies.

After going to a hotel of our choosing, we have a somewhat relaxing day in India, as possible as that may be. We go to Cannaught Place - the upscale section of Delhi to get some new clothes.

Mr. Singh takes us to the Delhi airport on our last morning - 12/10. It has now been almost a month in India. I can honestly say that India is the toughest country that I have traveled in during my short life. The laws do not make sense, the touts seem to be at every turn and have one hand in your wallet and one mouth in your ear. But if you can get past it, you realize that India is mysteriously beautiful. I try to remember the Indians like Mr. Singh: Kind, honest and warm. We leave India emotionally drained. We will fly to Thailand for a recovery session yet to be determined. But that is another blog for another time. The further the India trip becomes a memory, the stronger the memory lasts. It has been an unforgettable trip that has made me a better person.

Keep travelling, wherever you are.

-Travelling Sherman

Jaisalmer and Khudi

12/4 - Jaisalmer

We pull into the Golden Sand City of Jaisalmer in the late afternoon. The rain has started to come down ever so steadily. We check into a hotel on the outskirts that reminds me of the Bates Hotel. Everything is in working order, but it seems like no fixtures have been replaced in the last fifty years. After taking an early dinner at a 'lonely planet recommended' establishment, we go straight to bed - praying that the bedbugs stay away for the evening.

12/5

So Mr. Singh has set up a tour from the 'company' today. The gentleman that will be giving the tour has a moustache that is an inch too big on either side. He joins us in the car as he sits in the front. After Mr. Singh drives us to the starting point - The Jaisalamer Fort - he drops us off for the morning tour with our 'company friend'.

For a lack of memorization skills, we can call this tour guide 'company friend', even though we have no idea if this tour guide works for the company and we know for sure that he's not our friend. The company friend guides us along through this fort - the oldest living fort as 4,000 Indians still live inside.

The company friend tells us that of the 4000 people, half are the Brahman (priest) class while the other half are the Rajput (warrior) class. The company friend is full of pride when he tells us that he is Brahman. He claims the he eats only vegetables and that he is clean, right before he hacks a big spitball into the ground.

Red handprints can be seen all throughout the fort. We are told the story....

• The men of the family would go out to battle. Many of them would die and never come back.
• The first thing the victors of an opposing army would do after slaying their dead is to come for the women. The women of the fallen sacrificed themselves in order to not allow this to happen.
• The women would cut their hands and make red handprints upon the door, and then bury themselves in a funeral pyre.
• When future nobility came to rule Jaisalamer, they began to see these handprints as good luck.

The rest of the fort tour by our company friend is fairly good. He rattles off other pointless facts that have escaped my brain once again. We see some more Jain temples, which by far humble the much dirtier Shiva temples within the fort.

We are finally taken to a Haveli. Havelis were inspired by the Mewari clans of the 19th century, as they had an Islamic architectural feel. The Patwa Haveli is one example. This Haveli, the one we are shown, was split later in the 19th century by 5 brothers who ran a merchant house selling ivory, silver and the like. The problem is that merchants, like many businessmen, were not satisfied with making some money. These merchants headed for the desert plains of the Pakistani border for the silk trade as Indira Ghandi takes it over in the 20th century. From this day forward the Patwa Haveli has been preserved as a national landmark.

The rest of the Jaisalmer tour turns lackluster, as we get shown various other emporiums where people try to guilt us into buying cash meres, shawls and other textiles. Between my years of training with Jewish guilt as well as my recent training with Indian con-artists, Lisa and I grow both bored and tired of the charade. We meet back with Mr. Singh and bid our 'company friend' farewell. May this strange man figure out his way in this more incredibly strange country.

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Khudi

Mr. Singh is back in the driver's seat as we head down the dusty road to Khudi, about 1 hour south of Jaisalmer. Khudi is famous for its camels and camel rides, as this becomes the program for the day.

At about 30 miles from Pakistan, it begins to feel like the Arabian Peninsula. Desert sand dunes as far as the eye can see along with sporadic cacti and other desert flowers shape the horizon. Today, we are a small group of three: myself, Lisa and a younger British woman.

I realize why I will never enter an equestrian tournament. Riding horses, camels and ponies are more suited for the female body.

Lisa and I begin to realize that our camels have taken on our personalities. Her camel is moody and doesn't want to walk anywhere in the dry heat, my camel is a little spastic and poops every 15 minutes.

We finally begin to get the hang of riding a camel. We increase the speed as we make our way from various villages to what we call a sunset point. Later we find out that many camel rides all converge on this point, making it the perfect hippie gathering.

My camel is named Disco. He is short, but feisty. He gets mad is the teenage guides use him for a gym vault. I would not feel bad at all if Disco took a big poop on our guide at this moment.

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The dinner is good that night. Lisa turns to bed early inside the non-heated bungalow hut. Mr. Singh then proceeds to beat me multiple times in Gin-Rummy. I'm going to get that card shark when he least expects it.

The bungalow huts prove to be worse than a night of camping in Nepal. It gets into the 30's Fahrenheit. Lisa and I have sent our sleeping bags home. The covers, being thin and narrow cover the most important organs of my body. The toilets are overflowed. I'm itching for morning.

But then, this is what India is all about - the highs and lows. I must admit, I'm in one of the most remote places on earth. I'll shiver a bit tonight for the experiences over the last week. I put on my beanie cap - my protective cap against the evil cold. I start to slumber. Good night for now.

Travelling Sherman

Hippies, lakes, and the blues

11/30 Pushkar

Mr. Singh takes us to Pushkar - the land of Brahman and the hippies. We are in desert country. The quick story is that Brahman was so upset that he lost Savrati (see Oh My God) that he started crying. Brahmans tears fell to the ground and produced three lakes. Today, it is customary to go to Pushkar and throw some pink lotus flower petals into these lakes.

There are so many friends around here that welcome us to Pushkar and try to Pawn their lotus flowers for some quick rupees. To be honest, I can't shed a tear right now. I'm sorry, but Brahman is going to have to wait another day.

Another quote I hate is the "Where you from?" quote. If they were really nice people, they wouldn't come up and barge into the middle of my conversation. Today, my answer to this question to the upcoming vagabond is "Very far, far away." The vagabond leaves only to try his luck on another tourist.

There is a great hike that Lisa and our Swedish friends - Johanna and Rangard - follow. Savarti, Brahmans first wife got all upset about the wedding (see Oh, My God) and decided to move up into the hills. It's only a 30 minute walk, but you can see for miles in any direction.

The all you can eat Indian buffet is a bad idea, especially when nobody else is around. Lisa and I survive with some mild indigestion.

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12/1 - Udaipur

We get back in the car with Mr. Singh, as God's compact vehicle takes us 6 hours south to Udaipur. Along the way Mr. Singh gets a flat tire. This guy changes to the spare in 5 minutes flat. I believe he may have done this before.

We pull into a tire 'shop'. There's no AAA out here. After banging the spare tire off the wheel, the mechanic patches up the tire and crowbars it back on to the hubcap. Flies are sputtering everywhere. There is a famous joke about how many people does it take to change a lightbulb. The same could be said about how many people it takes to change a tire in India. I say 3. One to change it, one to make tea, and the other one to sit cross legged and stare incessantly.

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We finally make it to Udaipur. Known as the lake city, there are a handful of lakes within a span of 10 miles. After resting that night, we wake up and walk through the old city through the city palace. It was the home of the Mewar Dynasty - the longest running dynasty in the world. The Mewar today is still honored and respected in Udaipur, if even only as a figurehead position.

Walking back through the old city, Lisa sees some spices she wants to buy. We get stopped by a well-dressed Indian lady whose name is Rochi. She speaks English very well, and makes us feel comfortable. We find out that there are also cooking classes available. Being a great eater of Indian food, I have no option but to give in to temptation. Lisa and I go back to Rochi's house and arrange the times, dishes and details of the operation.

It turns out we have an hour more of 'free time' before our driver, Mr. Singh, is supposed to pick us up. After getting something to eat, we see Mr. Singh passing by. After explaining that we are going to be out longer to take this cooking class, Mr. Singh's usual smile turns into a scowl. He doesn't really say much to me after that, only that we should take a rickshaw back to the hotel and that he will continue our tour tomorrow morning. As he leaves, Lisa and I are baffled as to what we did or said to anger him.

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Lisa and I walk the 1/2 kilometer back up the hill up to Rochi's house. We take off our shoes and are greeted by Rochi. Rochi is also a teacher - teaching high school students english as well as other subjects. We get right down to business. Lisa has brought her pocket notebook as we make Saffron Lassi, chipote, bangain bharta (eggplant curry), aloo palak (spinach and potatoes), and vegetable curry (the base for many Indian favorites such as Chicken Tikka Masala). Lisa is writing frantically as both her and I try to take turns at shaping the dishes.

What is interesting is that for all of these dishes, there is one kitchen the size of a closet. There are 3 pots and a couple of metal spatulas and spoons. There are no revolving doors, fancy cutting boards or steamers for rice. Everything is either boiled or sauteed. Rochi and her mom have this down to perfection. All the ingredients are cut for every dish immediately. All the ingredients have been bought fresh before. The regrigerators are smaller than most Television units.

Two hours later, we are eating. The food is delicious. I'm glad that Lisa and I have had the experience to enter an Indian home and see how life is really lived inside. We later learn that the amount of food we cook is not normal. Most Indians eat what is comporable to simple rice and curry plates most nights. Rochi and her family have been most hospitable. We thank them for not trying to rob us of more money, or trying to poison us with their food, or trying to sell twenty-five other products we have no interest in buying.

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12/3

Mr. Singh loads us up bright and early today at 8 AM. I feel like a 10-year old ready for day camp. We have our lunches packed and the itinerary set. For today's journey is to Jodhpur, the blue city with a stopover at the jain temples in Ranakpur.

The Jain religion is a minority religion these days in India, but has a long history. Similar to Buddhism, there is a path of enlightenment. Like the Buddha man, the Jain founder Mahariva gave up family life earlier, got rid of all of his possessions, and started his own religion. The idea is that they are looking to be spiritually perfect. They do this by preaching the big concepts: non-violence, truthfulness, don't steal, don't be possessive, and no sexual relations. The Jains believe that by doing this, their souls become pure and achieve a better life the next time around. To be honest, there is no way that I could follow this regimen (especially the last rule), but I applaud their discipline.

For every religion, there are dozens of temples that enshrine them. Jainism is no different. We visit a temple in Rankapur called the Chaturmukha Jain temple. It is supported by 1444 carved pilars, not one of them the same carving. It looks like a child used some ginger bread cookie forms and laquered the print in marble. But a second look shows the holy Mahariva in all of his forms. The Jain temples get Travelling Sherman's nod as the cleanest and most welcoming temples. No one hounds you for donations, the marble floors are spotless, and there is no camera fee. We stay long enough to take some pictures of the carvings and have a proper look around. It's time to get back in the SikhMobile of Mr. Singh. Still another 300 kilometers to Jodhpur.

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So Mr. Singh, for the first and only time on this trip, is upset at us. He's not outwardly upset, but you can tell he is not his usual jolly self. The conversation turns back to last night. He asks how much we paid for the Indian cooking classes with Rochi. After telling him, he retorts with the fact that the amount of money we paid her could suffice a family of four for one week. I want to state my case, but I'm in no position to do so. I just nod willingly and try to steer the conversation in a different direction. Mr. Singh is more worried that we could had been poisioned or kidnapped or the like. "This is India", he says, "People will do almost anything for money." While the concept could be true, I believe that a brief paranoia has struck him. Moments later, he comes to his senses. He says, "My friend, that's over. Let's go get some tea."

Taking tea at a local highway stop is not like it is back home. First of all, you pull over to the side of a dusty road and you see no chairs. Instead, there are rubber like cot fixtures, where the customers take a seat in cross-legged fashion. While waiting for the tea, Mr. Singh reads the Hindustan Times - India's largest newspaper. He translates the local headlines for me, and then procedes to work on Sudoku. Milk tea is the beverage of choice in India, but since my stomach has failed me from time to time, I do without the milk. Flies hover around us as they want in on part of the action. I've grown accustomed to their presence by now. I take the customary sips as I look out on the Indian highway. Local villagers wait for busses not on benches, but in squatting position with both heels on the ground. Old, young, man and woman have no problem squatting for long periods of time. My legs become sore from just looking at them.

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Jodhpur

We are in Jodhpur, the blue city. The old city of Jodhpur has apartment buildings covered with faded blue paint. Founded by Rao Jodha of the Rathore clan back in the mid 1400s, the Rathores controlled much of western Rajasthan. Jodha was paranoid that neighboring clans would attack, so he moved the Rathore city capital to Jodhpur in a hillside spot. On top of the hill, the Mehrangarh fort was built. Overlooking the city, the Mehrangarh fort still sits high above the city. The fort is over 6 miles long and has ten gates. Never once was it penetrated by its enemies. Lisa and I take the audio guide tour. For once, no one hounds us. Just myself, Lisa, and a piece of electronic equipment. The Prime Minister of India has declared this a Historical Landmark and thus has invested in maintaining its luster. I thank the Prime Minister as this has been the best spot on the India tour thus far.

Mr. Singh is waiting for us outside as we finish the tour. We buy some teas at the local "Lonely Planet" reccomended shop just outside the fort. We get to our hotel and take in some dinner. The rooftop overlooks the fort, which illuminates at night. Lisa and I hear calls to prayer from all over the city, as the 15% Muslim population gets ready for it's 4th of 5 prayer sessions of the evening. Everything from atop is cam as the music from the chanting is dreamlike. Not to worry, for we will be back on the ground in no time avoiding the touts, cows and street beggars. Tomorrow, Mr. Singh promises us the best Lassi in Rajasthan at a local shop. I fall asleep gathering my strength for another day in India. I pray to the spirits above for hot water.

Travelling Sherman

Oh My God

So Today's Journal entry is a little bit different.

Instead of giving you the days' events, I think that we need to take time out to talk about God. It's only the proper thing to do, given that we are in India.

To many, India is the hoilest place on earth. It is the home of yoga, ashrams, Buddha and mediation. Today's focus will be on the Hindu gods, since the majority of the people in India prace the Hindu faith.

Without further delay, these are travelling sherman's top 10 hindu gods. My apologies if the god of your choice is not on this list.

Top 10 Hindu Gods according to travelling sherman.




1. Brahman. The first of the Hindu tri-fecta, Brahman is what is called the creator. He is the God whose caste name is the highest on the planet. The Brahmans, or the priests, are top notch. Brahman is most revered in the town of Pushkar, in which Lisa and I later visit. The reason being is that he planned on marrying his long time Goddess girlfriend - Savarti. On their wedding day, Savarti was delayed in getting dressed, and the Indian wedding ceremony had started. Brahman needed a fill-in bride to complete this one portion of the ceremony so she calles this other woman - Gaytri - to take her place. Needless to say, Savarti is upset. She throws a curse on Brahman that he will go in decline as a God and will only be worshiped here in Pushkar. Years later, this turns to be true. While Brahman is still revered as the original, his stock has fallen recently due to Gods #2 and 3, to be explained forthcomming.





2. Vishnu, the preserver. He gets much respect around India due to the fact he was a wartime hero back in the day. He has supposedly been incarnated many times. The most famous ones being Krishna - the cowherder God explained below, and Buddha - everyone's favorite yoga idol.



3. Shiva. The destroyer and recreator. I guess you can call him the God that takes care of the Recycling. He takes old souls that has passed on and creates new ones. This God is everywhere. There are multiple temples in every city in India and Nepal. He has many different moods. When he gets angry, he turns into Bhirbab - this 'incredible hulk' like God that goes ballistic on anything crossing his path. All in all, Shiva is very much respected. He also rides on a neat-looking Bull named Nandi.



4. Pavarti. Shiva's consort - or wife. She is probably the sexiest Goddess of them all, so by all means, let's put her in the Top 5.


5. Ganesh. The elephant God. The Good luck god. Ganesh is also seen as a God of Knowledge. He was the Son of Shiva and Pavarti. Unfortunately, he had some hard times before achieving God Status, as Shiva the Dad was mad one day. Shiva is looking for his wife, Pavarti and sees her holding Ganesh in a loving fashion. For some reason, Shiva thought that Ganesh was making the moves on his mother and had his head cut off. Realizing what he's done, Shiva is torn to tears. The other Gods tell him that to redeem himself, he should take the first head he finds and put it back on Ganesh. After looking in the forest, all Shiva finds is an elephant. Sure enough, Shiva whacks the elephant's head and brings it back home for Ganesh. From here on out Ganesh becomes the elephant God. Elephants are celebrated throughout India - as Jaipur city elephant rides are as commonplace as rush hour traffic. Ganesh can now be found in gift shops, restaurants, and street vendors statewide.


6. Krishna. Everybody's favorite incarnation of Vishnu. He gets much heroic respect for his role in what Hindus call the Baghwad Gita. The story goes as follows.

Arjuna, an Indian general going back many centuries, is trying to win back the rightful ruling of his kingdom. He and his brothers are more than willing to fire out the Bows and arrows, but there's a catch. The people that they are fighting against are actually their jealous cousins, who also want to run the place. Arjuna starts to tear up when he realizes that he may have to kill some family members. That's when our superhero Krishna shows up as an armyman. Krishna tells Arjuna to get a grip. His overall message is, "Sometimes you just have to do your job, even though it's tough, because it's the right thing to do.'

Krishna was supposedly was also a cowboy as well as a part-time musician who wooed the ladies. All I have to say is that Elvis Presley has nothing on this guy, or God.



7. Hanuman, the monkey god. Another crowd pleaser. He is a hero of the famous story called the Ramayana. There's a whole story to this, but I'll try to summarize. There is this other King named Dasaratha who had this jealous wife named Kaikeyi. Kaikeyi is a younger wife, as Dasaratha has many wives. Kaikeyi wants her own son to become king. The problem is that her son is not the oldest one. The oldest son of Dasaratha's in named Rama. Kaikeyi gets all bent out of shape that her son won't be picked, and sends Rama into exile after the king Dasharatha's death. Years later, Rama gets some backup from this monkey god named Hanuman and reclaims the throne.



8. Gangaur. This Goddess is worshiped because she brings good luck. Recognized by her pink dress, Gangaur wishes them a safe return from battle. For women, they fling the pink flowers - signifying Gangaur - into a lake and pray for a good husband. This strategy may work as well as online dating.



9. Durga - the Goddess of destruction. While it sounds bad at first, Hindus believe she really destroys evil and is the true mother love of the universe. Personified as Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth, and Saraswati - the Goddess of Knowledge and Learning during the Hindu Diwali festival, Durga is like an old fashioned Mother Knows Best character. She is a consort of Shiva and holds great respect for the Hindu faith. That's why she makes the travelling sherman Hindu top 10.



10. The Holy Cow - the Kandenu God. They're not just for milking anymore. Cows are prevalent throughout all Hindu stories and traditions. Our friend, Krishna, was a cow herder. Our other friend, Brahma, created cows when creating priests. The Cow dung and cow urine are used in many Hindu ceremonies - including weddings - in which the people purify their houses. The horns on the cow represent the Gods. The face represents the sun and the moon. Their shoulders represent fire and their legs are the Himalayas. One can see cows o'plenty in almost every Indian city. Just don't ask for medium rare.

A disclaimer to anyone who may be reading this: The comments of the writer are not meant to be, nor are they meant to be used as fact in any way whatsoever. There are many Gods in the Hindu religion, and all of them have their place. These are simply some of my favorites.

Whether you are a religious zealot from the deep hills, or a cappucino agnostic living in a city, you cannot ignore this topic of God and religion when you are in India. Every bus has the Title of "God's Carrier" above the windshield. "God is great" can be seen on bumper stickers everywhere. What's great about Hinduism is that it's more of a buffet religion. You take what you like, you pass on what you don't like, and have as much as you want. Just make sure that you finish what you take, and use a clean plate each time when passing through the line.

-Travelling Sherman

Tigers, Textiles and Bollywood

"Tigers and Owls and Deers, Oh My"

11/25

It is Day 3 in our India program with Mr. Singh, are hearladed driver. We are driving to Ranthembore National Park. It is the home of the Tigers, as Indira Ghandi started Project Tiger years ago to prevent them from extinction. Today has been a long drive at approximately 8 hours. I idle the time away looking out into the wilderness. The chaotic touts of Agra have been replaced by low lying brush and a big red ball of sunset. We go to sleep early tonight, as we are informed by Azra, the safari manager, that our wakeup call is roughly 5:30 A.M.

11/26

We enter the jeep and are two of six people. We meet a Spanish couple, whose names escape me at the moment along with a Swedish coule - Johanna and Rangnard. As we reach the park entrance, we are greeted by our friends barraging the jeep asking if we need things such as earmuffs, wool caps, gloves, and the like. I'm so glad my friends get up so early to harrass me. I'm also glad that my seat is towards the middle of the jeep, so the others become the line of first defense.

We venture on into the park. The driver and the guide parade us around promising us to see tigers. To be honest, my head is hurting so much that I could really care less about a tiger. It's a beautiful park at roughly 200 square miles. Why wake up the tiger? He's probably having a good nap. I turn my eyes to the sky as the 'guide' shows us various huge sitings of deer and owls. I could have driven 10 miles from my hometown for this jeep tour.

The hours pass and the group is almost about to give up. No tigers. The huge jeep/bus in front of us is making more noise than a samosa street stand in Delhi. All of the sudden, we hear what is referred to as the 'monkey call'. The monkeys in the trees warn the deer that a tiger is coming. Sure enough, the monkey is right. A beautiful Bengal tiger parades himself through the forest. We take some pictures and think we are through. No problem, the guide says, let's drive closer to the tiger. Johnanna, the Swedish girl, is losing her cookies. No problem, the guide says. Who is to argue at this point, as I am sure all of the necessary precautions have been taken for our safety.

We get to about 10 feet from the tiger and the tiger crosses our path. The tiger ignores us like we were yesterday's news and continues to the other side of the forest. It is amazing. We take some more pictures. Soon enough we are on our way back to the hotel. We have seen the fabled tiger. I just hope that the world can see more of them over the next 100 years.

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11/26 -11/27

"Jaipur"

Mr. Singh, our driver plays 2 cassette tapes front to back constantly. He plays his Sikh relighous songs. They actually are quite good as they have their share of tablas and accordians. The top song (translated into english) is called "Call to God". It is sung by a Sikh Priest in E flat minor. Mr. Singh promises to make a mix tape for me before he leaves us. I think he has a crush on me.

We reach Jaipur a few hours later. Jaipur is known as the pink city, as its old city lined with off-pink colors. Mr. Singh tells us that Pink is the color of hospitality and that this is how its color was created.

Jaipur is the completion of India's golden triangle, as Delhi and Agra make the other 2 corners. Started by Swai Jai Singh in the 18th century, Jaipur became the Capital of the Rajput colony - which later formed to become the state of Rajasthan. Jai Singh was the Mahanajra (or king) of this dynasty for many years, and wanted to make a home that was safe and had some access to clean water. The city was made as a grid like system according to Hindu Texts. Its is one of the few cities in India where you may not actually get lost if given a proper map.

Jaipur is also home to some of the nicest textiles in India. They use semiprecious stones with silk to make beautiful wall hangings, shawls, saris and the like. Three hours and a few hundred dollars later, Lisa and I buy enough cloth to cover the walls of a small studio. Don't worry, that's not the current plan - I hope.

Mr. Singh gives us the proper city tour. We enter the Pink gates to the City Palace, and check out the textile and arsenal museums. We see the assortment of knifes and guns. I find out that these guys were the first to come up with pajamas. Millions of small children with underoos are eternally grateful.

We see the Janthar Mantar - King Jah Sing's Astronomy museum. There are assortments of sun dials, rising sign dials and every dial known to man. The guide gives a good job as he tells us how to compute the time using the sun, the sign of zodiac, and the angle of this sign. This guy definately would be the student you would use to correct tests and quizzes if you were the teacher.

There are plenty of other forts and sights we see. A pink blur seems to cross my mind as I take it all in. We retire back at the hotel in the afternoon. We get suckered in to see what is called a "Bollywood" movie. Supposedly these films are the highest money grossing films in the world. Read on to find out the review. Otherwise, you can close this book or web browser and relax for a while.


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"The Bollywood Cinema at Raj Mandir, Jaipur, India"

The name of this movie is called "Vivia" or in english "From engagement to wedding". How do those Hindi-speaking folk pack so much into one word?

Start of Plot: Skip if not interested

• So this family has one daughter and have adopted 1 niece. The adopt the nicece since the dad's brother and wife were in an accident.
• The niece is considered the 'eldest daughter' by the dad.
• The niece gives him his shawl every morning. They painstaikingly show this about 12 times. We get the point that the dad really loves this daughter.
• This father has a friend who knows a family with a son that is ready to wed. The father gives this friend a picture of a daughter. The groom's family is excited that their rich son is leaving the house.
• The mom resents the dad and niece since Dad spends way too much time with the niece instead of his real daughter. The mom gets all bent out of shape and decides she does not want to participate in the marriage.
• Right before the wedding, there is a fire in the bridal party's house. The niece goes back into the house to rescue the younger sister (or real daughter's) life. The bride receives internal burns in the process.
• There is a big dramatic scene about if the bride will be okay. During this scene, the mom comes around and accepts this niece as her daughter.
• The bride is okay. The husband comes to the hospital. They have money so they fly in this rich guy to fix her up. Everyone is happy. The audience is applauding for the 30th time during the movie.

End of Plot

Going to see an Indian movie is an experience I will never forget. The lines are long and the people are pushy, which is quite normal by Indian standards. As the movie starts, people have no problem coming in bit by bit for the next 30 minutes making as much noise as possible. Seven to Nine cell phones can ring at any time. In fact, our driver, in the midst of translating every 10 seconds (there are no subititles) picks up his ringing cell phone and has a 'quiet' conversation. I don't mind, as I enjoy this more than the movie itself.

The movie contains cheesy dream sequences and obvious music cues. Musical outbreaks happen through the movie. Bad lip syncing is a must. It is fun for the entire family. In the end, how can I complain. This is India after all. Everything is about drama. Even finding your seat is dramatic as yells across the theatre are commonplace. I'm glad that I've had this experience at the Bollywood Cinema. I just don't think there's room on my Netflix queue for any more of them.

Travelling Sherman

Agra, India

11/24

We see our driver, Mr. Singh, come up to the hotel in his tweed coat and black turban. He is happy to see us again, as we are of him. We step into the White dolphin car - our mode of transport for the next 2 weeks. He pulls open the passanger door as Lisa and I step inside.

Mr. Singh lights up two matchsticks of insense and has his morning prayer tapes playing in the background. I feel like I have just entered some mobile tantric room as his car is a shrine of peace. The white and pink flowers hang from the Dashboard. Next to it is his creed of how he is to protect and serve all visitors to his Nation of India. "It is my duty", he later tells us, "to make sure you are having good time in this program."

The 'program' for the day, as Mr. Singh calls it, is to drive to Agra. Agra is home of the famed Taj Mahal as well as many other fabled buildings. The drive is roughly six hours today. Mr. Singh is a fan of banannas as he stops by the fruit stand to order two bunches for the next few days. We take some bananas and store them in the back seat of the car. "2 bananas, 3 banans, no problem!" Our Sikh driver was definitely a monkey in his previous life.

Driving in India is a symphony of chaos. As every rule breaks Western intuition. They drive on the left side of the road and they use their horn every two seconds. In fact, it becomes way too common to see the sign "Please Blow Horn" on the back of a truck. It is way too common for cars to pass each other on to oncomming traffic. I close my eyes every 10 seconds for fear of another head on collision. Mr. Singh looks at me befuddled. "We drive, left, right, fast, slow, no problem!" We are told there are very few accidents in the major cities, and only very few accidents on the freeway. I tell Mr. Singh to just keep his eyes on the road.

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Today's first stop on the 'program' is the Agra Fort. There is a fairly long story, but I will try to limit it to a paragraph. This fort was the home of Shah Jahn - a Moghul emperor - grandson of the first Moghul emperor Akbar. The Moghuls were the Muslim tribes that occupied India for over six centuries. This Shah Jahn was quite the ladies man at a herum of over 5000 wives. S. Jahn's son, for either reasons of herum jealousy or just plain out power hungry, imprisoned his father later in life within the Agra fort. For the son had begun to assume power over the years. At any rate, the story goes that the last few years of Shah Jahn's life was spent in the Agra fort looking at the Taj Mahal from the bedroom. To me, that's not prison, that's a 4 star hotel with unlimited room service.

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11/25

Aap kay say hay? What's going on? Mr. Singh has us up at 6:15 today. We get dropped off roughly one mile away from the Taj Mahal. The sun has not come up yet, but the tourists are coming. We walk the rest since the Indian government has banned all vehicles within 1 mile due to pollution.

The Taj Mahal is considered the 8th wonder of the world. This Shah Jahn character mentioned above really liked Marble. He liked it so much that he instructs 20,000 of his closest friends to retrieve marble from Rajasthan, India over a 20 year period in order to build him a building. As I mentioned above, this guy had 5000 wives. He had a favorite wife, whose name I forget, but she must have been something. For he decided to start building this Taj Mahal in her honor when she died. Artesans come into the mix and bring in semi-precious stones, and then etch these stones in the marble. Each octagonal shaped marble piece took 20 days. One crack of the stone and they had to start over again. At any rate, S. Jahn's wife is buried here in the Taj Mahal. And after S. Jahn goes, he gets buried right next to it. All I have to say is that the estate tax accountants must have had a field day when he died.

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The reason we visit the Taj Mahal at sunrise is that sun and light affect this building tremendously. Being built of 100% hardened Indian marble, it is translucent in nature. When the sun or the moon or the stars hit the building, strange things happen to it. For example, when Lisa and I get there, the Taj Mahal becomes a soft, gray color. By midday, it becomes a pearly white color. People spend all day at the Taj Mahal just checking out the changing colors from the different lighting. It is a photographers dream come true. For me, I just like sitting down on the bench and getting away from the harrasing guides whom are not allowed inside.

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We stop on our way out of Agra at Fatehpur Sikiri, the old abandoned palace about 40 kilometers from Agra. It was the original capital of Akbar's reign, but was abandoned due to a low water supply. And given the 110+ degrees farenheit of the Indian summers, I don't blame him. We walk through the sandstone and marble structures and take pictures of the place. A highlight is that there is a pavilion where they played human chess. I guess it's good to be the king.

More to come, talk to you then.

Travelling Sherman

Delhi, India - Part 2

We check out of the Ajanta hotel like bandits that morning. The DTTDC has instructed us that the Ajanta hotel is an assembalnce of small time crooks and are putting us in a good place today. We walk down 1/2 a block to where we will be meeting our driver. Our Driver's name we are told is Mr. Singh. Singh in English translates to Lion. So in other words, we are going into the Lion's Den.


A white, compact car with Dolphin borders pulls up five minutes later and we flock to it like it's our ticket to freedom. Mr. Singh steps out of the car. He is wearing a black turbon and carries a grizzly black beard. He reminds me of an Indian Santa Claus. Immediately he charms us as he whisks us away from the swarms of touts, rickshaws and beggars in the immediate area. As the door shuts, we are away. We leave the headaches behind us for the next few weeks.

Today's itinerary is a city tour of Delhi. Mr. Singh assures us that as his driver, we have nothing to worry about. He is going to take care of admission into any buildings and museums. He tells us in his heavy Punjab accent, "no problem".

Punjab is a state in India where many of the Sikhs of India live. Sikhism began in the 18th century as a means of protecting India from being overrun by the Islamic empire. Sikhism borrows from both Islam and Hinduism. The Sikhs believes in only one God, and they preach to this god using personal mediation. Sikhism was started by a Guru (expert) named Nanak. There were ten Gurus that followed. The last Guru basically stated that it is up to the people to continue this religion and pass it on to their respected families. One of the precepts of Sikhism is honesty to others. At this time, I'm really glad Mr. Singh is a Sikh. He can pray as much as he wants just as long as the trip gets better.

And the trip gets better - Immediately. It is amazing how easy it is to get from one monument to another monument to another museum in minutes in what usually would take an hour of combined haggling and worry. We visit New Delhi today. We see a Lakshmi temple. We see the Indira Ghandi Museum - a fascinating tribute to Ghandi's life. Ghandi was one of the most important Prime Ministers of India, as she started the India-UN food grain program and nationalized the banking system. She was a champion of Civil Rights, and like all leaders way ahead of their time die much too young. She was assasinated in 1984 at the tender age of 67.

We see the Qutab Minar - the Islamic victory tower. Bascially the Muslims destroyed a series of Hindu temples in the last great battle in the 12th century. Believing in recycling, they use the rubble of the old Hindu temples to create an immense 200 ft. tower. Those guys were ahead of their time.


We see the Lotus Temple - a strikingly beautiful temple that reminds me of the Sydney Opera house. It's a Bahaii temple based on the new Bahaii religion. This religion mixes the best in all of the major religions and creates its own. It has a whole bunch of precepts that state tolerance to all, world courts, just societies, and all of the other nonsensical unrealistic ideas. Still, it's a beautiful temple. I know that someone high up is laughing about the Bahaii temples all the way to the bank.

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After 4 days of intense frustration, today is finally a success. Having a driver allows you to see the charms of India. Lisa and I are leaving with Mr. Singh to Agra tomorrow - home of the Taj Mahal, the Agra fort, and troublesome scams. I'm sure I'll be telling you every painstaking detail here quite soon. Enjoy yourselves, as we will do the same.

Talk to you soon,

Travelling Sherman

Delhi, India - Part 1

November 22,

I wake up from the sleeper train as people all around me have woken up. There is some commotion on the train, as tourists are throwing their rucksacks upon their backs. After a surprisingly good night's sleep on the train, we have arrived in Delhi. We exit the train station and walk down the steps to find ourselves planted in this Nation's Capital.

You begin to feel the throng of over 10 million people when entering in Delhi. Samosa stands, rickshaws and 'tourist' agencies fill the streets. As many of you may know, Delhi is broken off into two main sections: Old Delhi and New Delhi. The old city is the original Delhi township, that may have been settled over 2500 years ago. After originally being one of the primary towns of worship for the Hindu religion, it was overtaken by the Muslims in the 12th century.

The Muslims ruled Delhi for almost 6 centuries until the Brittish empire rolled into town around the early 19th century. The Brittish moved the capital of India to Delhi in the early 20th century and decked out what is now New Delhi. New roads, stores and restaurants were installed. Today, you can still see evidence of these two distinct parts of town - Old Delhi and New Delhi.

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While the food and mystique of India cannot be beat, India is not by any means a place to receive consistent information. Nothing is what it seems. For example, you can forget about asking for directions in India. A friend that we met told us that she asked six different people where a certain establishment was located and received six different answers. In India, the response of "I don't know" is never uttered. In fact, asking for directions can easily get you into a wild goose chase, where you are leashed around the city for 20 minutes and are emphatically shown your location when you get there. In other words, if you don't have your act together, don't even bother setting foot outside your hotel or guesthouse. Just go back to bed and try again the following day.

We are staying at the Ajanta hotel nearby the train station. And at first glance, it's a fine hotel. Lisa and I were thuroughly drained from Varanassi that we needed a nice place to stay. At $30 per night, the Ajanta hotel seems like a 4-star hotel compared to our previous amenities.

We then begin to read between the lines. If you want to get a taxi, they may say to you: "Why do you need a taxi? Just step into our travel office." You may even get impressed the first time you see "Gov't approved" outside the window. You then realize that half of the travel agents have the same sign posted out in front of their offices. My head begins to spin again. Nothing is what it seems.

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We finally look back into our India Rough Guide and find the DTTDC - the Delhi Tourism and Transport Development coorporation. This is considered the official government agency. I ask the rickshaw to take me here and he obediently follows. He insists on staying parked right outside so that he can take me back. After a weak showing of resistance, I give in. I let the rickshaw driver stay as I walk inside the office.

I meet a gentleman named Naz. Right away, he seems much more subdued than the scores of other agents and touts I have met in my travels. I tell him that my girlfriend and I wish to take a Delhi tour tomorrow. Naz gives me the information and tells me to come back with Lisa. For the first time, here is someone that was not desperately trying to squeeze out every rupee from my wallet.

I take the rickshaw back and it's a harrowing experience. The driver takes me to an emporium (an Indian craft store) despite my sharp disagreements. I refuse to get out of the rickshaw. The driver caves in and takes me back to the hotel. He makes my skin crawl. As I get out of the rickshaw I try to go into the internet cafe next door. The driver follows me in trying to 'help' me. If he was back in the USA, he would be a Friday evening miniseries. In India, he is business as usual.

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I meet Lisa and go over what Naz from the DTTDC told me. She agrees that it sounds good, as we agree to go back right away. We decide to walk this time. The same rickshaw driver follows us for a block and then gives up. We get to the area of town where I think the DTTDC is located, and then we get lost. Located in Connaught Place, you have to navigate through a series of concentric semicircles. We try asking for directions, and it's a disaster for the reasons explained above. After an hour, we retrace our steps and we miraculously find the place. We are exhausted yet relieved, as Naz sees us and greets us at the door.

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Naz has us take a seat, as a few groups of westerners are working out their travel plans as well. By the looks of their faces, it seems that they had some of the similar experiences as us. I gulp down two cups of chai (Indian tea with milk). We finally get a chance to speak with Naz.

Paranoia has taken over both Lisa and me. How do we know these guys are not imposters. Nothing is what it seems. India now seems to me as one big Twilight Zone episode that never ends. Naz assures us that all is okay. Between his experience with westerners and his experience in the industry, both Lisa and I begin to relax. Lisa is on her 3rd cigarette this afternoon, and I don't mind one bit.

After realizing that the bus tour is full tomorrow, Naz convinces us to take a driver and make it a bigger tour. We decide to do it. It may seem posh to have a driver every day, but in India it makes all the sense of the world. No rickshaws, no haggling, no headache. Let me know where I sign the check.

So Lisa and I sign up for a 15 day tour that starts with a 1 day city tour of Delhi, a few day stint in Agra, followed by almost a 2 week stint in Rajasthan. We are so relieved. After taking dinner closeby, the DTTDC even has a driver drop us off at our hotel. We are instructed to be packed and ready at 8:30 in the morning to meet Mr. Singh - our driver for the next 15 days.

Varanasi, India

November 19,

I am sitting at the Ganga Fuji guest house with the various tourists from the UK, Australia and New Zeland. The boss tells us to have a seat. And for the first time here in Varanasi, my headache is beginning to subside.

Some people say that India is a constant headache. For the moment, I could not agree more. There are vehicles swiping at you from every direction. There is dust coming out from every angle. There are people coming at you with every trinket known to humankind. It begins to make sense why yoga was started in this country. It prevents people from the straight jacket. It also makes sense why Buddha became enlightened not far from this very spot. It furthermore makes sense how Buddha came up with his 4 noble truths: sorrow, the cause of sorrow, the end of sorrow, and the path leading to the End of Sorrow. My current theory is that the citizens of India need an escape from the chaos of its 1.1 billion people. They need to escape from the constant heckling of the Cycle rickshaws, Auto rickshaws, and bovine creatures. If anyone has found the path leading to the End of Sorrow, please send me an email straight away.


The Brahman (high class priest) has just stepped on the couch behind me and is murmuring some prayers in Hindi to Shiva - the God responsible for destroying and recreating things. The Brhaman looks into a red lighted box and reads his prayers similar to how an elementary school kid emphatically recites the Pledge of Allegiance. Within minutes, he is gone. Express prayer. You can leave the two hour sermon behind you. Now that is a religion looking into when I get back home.

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Varanassi is a love/hate relationship. It is India's olderst city - from the 6th century B.C. -- and to be quite honest, you can tell immediately when you get there. The old city is limited only to small motorbikes, pedestrians and cows. After one night in the plush outskirts of town in the Cantonment district, we dive into the old city like a 5 year old dives off the high dive for the first time. We take the auto-rickshaw as far as it goes, which is on the fringe of the city centre. For those not familiar with an auto-rickshaw, imagine attaching a lawn mower engine into an golf cart. You then fill the vehicle to 175% capacity, and charge exhorbatant ammounts to take people very small distances.

The driver lets us off the rickshaw as we walk on to the main Bazaar - rucksacks strapped in. It is like a scene out of the "Indiana Jones - Temple of Doom" movie. Shops and Bazaars outline an otherwise dusty road. There are no addresses - simply alleyways. The traffic is chaos. The rickshaws run rampantly down the roads with no sign of traffic laws in sight. The only thing that trumps their manner is the holy cow. Black cows, white cows, bony cows, gangly cows - it does not matter. The cow runs the road. That is the end of the story.

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Varanasi is considered the holiest city in all of India. Its temples mark the epicenter of Hinduism, attracting thousands of pilgrims each year. It would make sense that the Ganges river - India's largest and holiest river - would flow right through Varanasi. The people of Varanasi hold the Ganges with high regards. They believe that the river has a healing and theraputic power. Hence, many spiritual rituals are performed here on the river Ganges.
One such ritual is what I will call "The Sendoff of the Dead". During the day, the townspeople decorate the recently deceased in a shiny foil. The deceased are then put on to stretchers and paraded through the old city. After a brief ceremony in one of the old Hindu Temples, they are taken down to a ghat - a tiered riverbank where the sendoff ceremony will take place later that evening.
There are many ghats in Varanasi. They are mainly separated by caste system. For example, someone in the priest caste would be sent off in a different ghat than someone in the warrior Caste. We go to the Manikarka Ghat that evening, where mainly members of the priest caste are sent off.

Huge fires have been created along the ghats. The dead will first be creamated in a ritualistic nightly ceremony before their remains are sent along the Ganges. We huddle as close as we can around the procedings, but we are warned that getting to close would provoke hostile behavior. To be quite honest, I can understand. I wouldn't want a bunch of strangers scribbling notes and taking pictures at my loved one's funeral. On the flip side, the local Varanasi onlookers have no problem bugging you constantly while you try and watch the "sacred" ceremony. They may try out their broken english and ask questions such as the following:
"Know Something?"
"Friend, where you from?"

You can even pay a few hundred rupees per person to take a boat ride along the Ganges and watch the whole event. I'm sorry, I think I will pass on this and save my money for Redskins tickets.

The only thing I have learned in India is that I make many friends without saying a word. "Hey friend, I can take you around the city". "Hey friend, Rickshaw". They are even so nice to you that even the most tactful of "no's" is responded by a greated persuasion tactic. For example, they are willing to follow you around for 30 minutes stalking after you and yell. "Friend! Friend! Guide!" What nice people. WIth friends like that, who needs enemies.

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After 2 days of getting harrased by our "friends" at the Ghats, we decide to take a trip outside the city. We visit Sarnath. Home of the Buddha enlightenment and the 4 noble truths. It is here that Buddha was born and preached his first ceremony. It is here that Buddha sat under the Bodi tree and became enlightened. On roughly 5 acres of land, the grassy complex provides a great refuge from outside the Old City of Varanassi. There is even a museum that is quiet. While my brain is full from the outside stresses of India, I quietly sit on the benches inside the museum for 20 minutes straight. It was the calmest 20 minutes I have had in days.

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My goal is to not give this area such a hard time. Varanasi proves wonderful in many ways. Every meal we have had here is excellent. We eat South Indian flatbread (Dosas) with chickpeas. We have chana massala (chick peas and vegetables) and paneer palak (cheese and potatoes). Every meal is the equivalent of $3 US or less. We eat Dosas for snacks at 15 cents a piece. At lunch, they even realize to turn on the fan as the only white guy in the restaurant is sweating through his 2nd shirt of the day. Next time, I need not order the spiciest thing on the menu.

After a 3 days stay and a nice shave from the barber, Lisa and I realize it is time to leave. We have the Ganga Fuji guest house reserve a train. The Indian trains are quite good, being the 2nd largest train system in the entire world. Lisa and I get what is called AS-3 reservations. This means an air conditioned car with 6 twin folding beds (3 per side, vertically stacked). We meet some good people from France and Israel, and I eat the non-veg fried chicken and rice. Sleep awaits me. For tomorrow morning, we should arrive in Delhi, India - the Capital. If I've learned one thing in India thus far, it would be that nothing is what it seems, for better or worse.

Keep travelling, wherever you are.

Travelling Sherman

The last 5 days of the Trek and the future...

Like any good story, you start with a setting, some character development, some rising action, followed by the climax - or turning point of the story. The Larke Pass was the climax. From here on out, we have what is called the falling action and conclusion of the Nepali trek story. Don't worry, there are more stories to come. In most books, the falling action and conclusion usually are quite brief. For this reason, I have condensed the last 5 days of the trek into one entry - and I promise it will be brief.

Bimtang - Day 16. The morning after the Larke Pass.

Lisa and I have slept for over 13 hours. I feel like a new man. Bimtang still proves to be a fairly cold night as Ice has molded over our tent. Our rain fly was not put on right as a humid chill and dampness fills the tent. We are dropping another 5000 feet today so I am told the weather will continue to be balmy.

We walk through some lush, tahoe-like scenery and reach camp in the mid-afternoon. We decide to explore the town, as there is an apple brandy distillery on site.

(Hours later)
There is no distillery, only roaring chickens. Tonight is the last night of camping. We wish the porters goodbye as we tip them accordingly. Kumar makes a good luck cake for us as rick tries the Nepali distilled alcohol called roxie. I get cajoled to take a sip. It reminds me of Sake, only worse.

O.K. Time to do the evennig rituals of blowing up the thermarest and clothespinnng the broken tent zipper shut. Talk to you tomorrow.

Day 17: Tilje to Tal.

So it was naiive to think that the hard hiking was indeed finished. I am confused as to why we keep going up steep, lush, trails with bamboo hugging either side. I am so over hiking right now you have no idea. A few times, the trail is completely unrecognizable. It turns out that the monsoons of last season caused a landslide which destroyed the first half of the trail. Nepli workers are despreately trying to repair it with the latest tools such as shovels, pick axes, and hand saws. A note to self to tell the Home Depot corporation to open up a new branch this side of the pacific.

As soon as I could not take it any longer, we enter a gate. Rick tells me we are now officially on the Anapurna trail. It is like I entered the land of Oz. These roads look like interstates compared to what we have hiked on for the past 3 weeks. We see a teahouse - which is basically the Nepali bed and breakfast. If you hike on the Anapurna trail, you actually get to stay in teahouses with beds every night of your trek. This sounds like such a foreign concept to me at this moment, but I'm not complaining.

We all sit down at a table. There are menus. They serve coffee. I am sitting on a chair. Such are the finer things in life. We are back in civilization. The only down side is that Nepalis are on Nepali time, so it's not rare to wait over 1 1/2 hours for your food to arrive. If you order chicken, for example, allow the appropriate time for the chicken to be caught, slaughtered, and sauteed.

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We push on for 3 more hours today. We see "trekkers" that look more like they stepped out of their cubiicle for a brief stroll around the office. They have all of these fancy trekking poles. They look funny. Ok. It's possble that we look funny coming out of the bushes with our bamboo walking sticks, but that is for a jury to decide.
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We sleep in Tal. We have a roof over our heads. I'll call the grounds "rustic". I am quite happy with rustic, no problem at all. No hot water yet. That luxury will have to wait for another day.

Day 18: Tal to Jagat to a little South of Syanje

Today , we arrive at a fairly clean and nice guest house. It is now Lisa and Jose's job to inspect the guest house before we go in to stay. We meet many foreigners. One foreigner of note is a German rastafarian who insists on blowing his digoredoo at dnner while he east Dahl Baht with his right hand. He claims it just tastes better this way. I should tell him that he probably went to one too many Grateful Dead concerts.

The only other notes of the day is that I accidentally order "pato pani" - trail water, instead of ordering "tato pani" - hot water. That gives a good laugh to the manager. Maybe I should just stick to english for a while.

Day 19: Syanje to Khudi
At this point, the temperature is balmy. We are in the jungle and we are back at 1,000 ft. elevations. It looks like we are going to shave off one day of the trip. Khudi is simply a bus station with 2 teahouses. We stay at a very average tea house. We don't care anymore. It's right next to the bus station. The owner persuades us to watch a slide show of his trip down some himalayan pass. We barter with him to show it to us for free, even though he initially offered out of his own goodwill. Some of these people are just plain funny with their logic. I fall asleep in the middle of the presentation and retire early to my room.

Day 20: The last day - the return to Kathmandu and Civilization

My sandy eyes glean out on the dim table as we wait for the 7 AM breakfast. Tika is reading the local newspaper out loud. The little boy is using the sink nearby. He is the owner's son, and is cute enough. He wears a Diadora shirt with English print on it. I'm sure he has no idea what it means. We have seen Michael Jackson, Usher, AC/DC and Eminem impregnated upon Nepali T-shirts. I don't think Nepalis choose the t-shirts based on their rock icon, I just think they are glad that they own a T-Shirt.

Bobby and Rick join us now. Rick has tweaked his knee and is popping every pill known to man. Bobby is miraculously clean as ever. Anup and Vinay have pressed on 2 days ago with Gopal in order to try to shave off an extra day on the trip. Tika thinks that they are most likely back in Kathmandu by now. Jose is always the slowest in the morning. He is most likely fumbling through his pack for the 5th time this hour.

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We are fortunate enough to hire a minibus for the voyage home. While plush at first, Nepalis are 'efficient' enough to fill the vehicle to 135% maximum capacity. We make it back to Kathmandu within 6 hours even with the Maoist celebration parade that appears right outside of town.

We all arrive to the Kathmandu Peace Guest house. Civilization is upon us. After taking showers, we decide it's time to eat some American Food. We find a restaurant in Kahmandu called "K-Too". They serve steak and hamburgers. I am in heaven as I eat my half pound burger. It feels like the best burger I've ever tasted.

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Alas, Part 1 - Nepal is now over, for the most part. Anup's birthday is tomorrow. He leaves the day after tomorrow. Vinay, the day after that. Rick, Jose and Bobby leave early next week. The fellowship is now broken. Not to worry, like any good miniseries or trilogy, there will be more stories to tell. Lisa and myself will continue on. Here is the rough guide.

Part 2: India - through mid-december
Part 3: Thailand through early January
Part 4: Cambodia and Viet Nam through early February.
Part 5: Taiwan.

Whatever happens, whenever it happens, i'll try to tell you about it.
Keep traveling, wherever you are.

--Travelling Sherman

Day 15: The Larke Pass (Part 2)

After finishing our photo opportunities at the top of the Larke Pass, we make our way down. Rick has accessed the Manaslu map and points to the spot that says Warning: Loose rock and scree. At first, I'm not sure what scree means. Eventually, I find out. Rick has warned that the first 45 minutes of the downhill may be a bit tricky. When we ask the Nepalis this, they say that it is difficult as well. This does not sound good.

The downhill section of the Larke pass at first seems gentle. It opens up into a wide canyon. From the distance, you can even see where the snow stops and the rock begins. Unfortunately, this proves to be quite the misleading picture. Soon thereafter, the trail narrows. We begin to deal with rock and scree, or sheer ice.

I make my way down slowly. I have let the others pass. The only people behind me are Tika and Jose. Jose still is not doing well. Every 10 minutes he slips and falls. Tikka is just about walking for him. The ice is bad. I try sidestepping, which turns into slidestepping. The others are going quite slowly and have begun to use the help of Gopal - the other guide of our trip.

Like a newly trained jedi or a Dungeons and Dragons player that has recently received new weapons, I now realize the power of my walking stick. Every 10 feet, I reach out with my stick and break down some ice. Once the ice is broken down smoothly, I move one foot to the appropriate spot. I repeat this action over and over again. This action helps me get down the hill for some time.

I pass by some of the others and am now right behind Bobby. Bobby slips, stumbles and breaks his stick in two in the process. He becomes so disgruntled, he tosses his stick into the snow and purges on. He has developed a snowboarding like stance and tries to carve the hills.

After the 5th fall in 30 minutes for me, I decide to take a similar course of action. I decide that it's time to go sledding. I get on my behind, push, and go. I feel like I am 6 again. I am dodging rocks and making turns. I feel like I am on the Jamacian bobsled team. I roar past Anup and Vinay. I am actually beginning to enjoy myself. I wonder in amazement why the Tibetans and Nepalis have not gotten together and open up a slip and slide. Later on, Tika tells me that he wasn't too happy with us sledding as he feared we could have fallen off the edge.

I am dog tired. It is roughly noon. The sun is shining down heavily and I did not bring sunglasses nor my brimmed hat. I have had nothing to eat since 4 AM. My gas tank has hit empty long ago. I have gone maybe 1000 feet in the past hour. I see a group of rocks in the distance that signify the end of the snow. The Canadians have pressed on and have taken a break. Krisna - one of our sherpas (or leaders) - has already walked down a mile passed this point and is now walking back up to meet us. Anup and I are picking off rocks with our walking sticks and are hopping from place to place like the frogger video game. With a little help from Krisna, I get down 30 minutes late to the rocks. Lisa, Rick, Vinay and Bobby are now down there as well. I lay down from utter fatigue.

The Canadians were nice enough to give us some chipote (pancake) with salami. I devour my share like it was Thanksgiving. Supposedly our guides and cooks forgot to give us the snack pack that was promised. I am cursing them with all of my might - inside of my head of course.

Jose comes down about 20 minutes later and we all regroup. We take some water. The toughest part is almost over. We have come down over 2000 feet already to now be at a little bit under 15000. Soon we will be below where we camped last night. And tonight we are supposed to be down at under 12,000 ft - balmy conditions compared to our current situation.

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We walk for another 45 minutes and find all of the porters sprawled out in a grassy knowl. They have given us some Nepali Capri Sun and day old wafers. I'm not sure whether to thank them or punch them in the nose. I choose the first option as to not cause a scene. I slowly come to my wits and realize I am just happy to have finished the hard part.

We all take some time out and take pictures. The mountains are indeed beautiful. I feel like we have just taken a helicopter high up into the Alps. White mountains and glaciers as far as the eye can see. We did it! We are over the Larke Pass!!

The only problem is that we still have another 3 hours of walking to do. The good news is that it's all downhill from here. Or should I say, all fairly easy downhill with some uphill, but no falling rock and scree...from here. It sounds like a mouthful. I'll just keep quiet and continue walking.

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2 PM. The same day.
When will this hike ever end? I can not concentrate anymore. I simply look down at my feet so that I do not trip. I look up to see Tika sitting on a low rock wall. He is grinning brightly. Welcome to the Manaslu cafe, he says. Shalesh - The youngest of the porters at 19 years old - has come back from our base camp to bring us tea. What a guy. Vinay, Lisa and myself sit down and take in the views. Out in the distance over a grassy field we see our tents. High above the tents Manaslu mountain makes its appearance. We finally see the mountain we have been circumscribing. At roughly 24,000+ feet it is the 8th largest mountain in the world. You feel like you could just run up the side and climb to the top. Not me. Not this trip. Not this lifetime. I walk down for the remaining 45 minutes into camp and collapse in the tent. Lisa is beside herself. Having a migraine come in during the last part of the hike, she is having a tough time. I blow up her thermarest as she walks into Bimtang. Free at last, free at last. We have done it!

We are both teared up from the day's events. We are both puzzled and insulted when the lunch call comes. It is 4 PM. The latest of lunch hours usually end at 2:30. I should take it easy on these guys, I know. I'm in bad spirits but I'm feeling great. I feel like a contradiction in terms. Tika assures me in his broken english, "The Larke Pass trek is really One day". "It is happy day, sad day, proud day, Manaslu day, our day." I couldn't have said it any better. Bring on the rice and potatoes. You may just have to pick my face up from the soup bowl.

Travelling Sherman

Day 15: The Larke Pass (part 1)

I scramble out of bed at 3 in the morning to Nepali murmoring. "Shuba Biyhani" - good morning, Gopal announces triumphantly to each tent. I rub my eyes. Today is the day we go over. As Gopal later tells me, there is only one day of trekking, "the pass day". Today is our day. Lisa has already reported to me numerous times this morning how miserably cold the weather is outside. As I appreciate the weather report, it quite frankly does not motivate to make the move outside the tent. I prepare for the day's events by putting on just about every article of clothing I own: Hat, gloves, sweater, jacket, thermals, you name it I have it on.

After a few minutes, I venture outside. It's a day off from being a full moon, but the moon shines bright nevertheless. The coldness sets in. Oh my god, I need to start moving soon.

After using the lovely facilities, we go into the dining tent for a modest meal of hot water and ramen. While it's not much, it sure topples the disaster of last night's meal of the return of the spaghetti and cheese. Barf on a plate did not cut it for me last night. I felt compelled to eat as much as possible as I dig around the cheese for every last morsel of carbohydrate. Again, I am eating for energy, not for pleasure.
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Karna, the porter has made walking sticks for all of the westerners in the group days ago. While I think a tool like a walking stick may be unnecessary, the porters and guides tell me that it will be crucial today. I should take heed of this advice, for if the Nepalis tell me it will be tough, it will most likely be more excruciating than I could possibly imagine.

Jose is a wreck this morning as he is running late from the tent. Rick checks in on Jose inside the tent and observes that Jose's items are everywhere. The altitude is starting to hit him as he claims to be feeling light headed. It's going to be a long day for Jose.

We officially begin the trek at 4 AM. In addition to our group, we are joined by the Canadians (Don and Linda) as well as a set of Czechs, an Austrian named Ziggy, and some Chinese. We are roughly 40 people in total - taking turns along the trail for rest stops and bathroom stops. I can now tell you that using the outdoor restroom at 15000 feet at 5 in the morning is not what I call luxury.

Within the first hour, Jose is overheating. He bought an "old navy security" jacket along that has kept him almost too warm. We stop for him to take off a layer, and then continue. Roughly 5 minutes after beginning to walk again, Jose can not find his hat. Jose at this point is freaking out. Rick joins jose in marcingh halfway down the hill to look for the hat. No such luck. Rick is slightly irritated. We are all cold. We continue the trip. The current time now is 4:40 AM.

After the first two hours of walking, we begin to see bits of sunshine. Looking around, the landscape seems lunar. The snow in every direction reminds me of moon rock. There are huge mountains in every direction. We are at roughly 16,000 feet. We have developed a steady pace and stop roughly once every 20 minutes. I use my walking stick to finally crack open my water frozen nalgene bottle. Since everyone else's water supply has been frozen, I share out my newly found treasure with everyone - Bobby, Lisa, Gopal and Jose.

Soon enough we see a rounded hill full of snow. I ask Gopal how much time we have until we reach the Larke Pass. Gopal responds in his relaxed fashion, "Maybe 1 hour, maybe after this hill, or the next one". We reach the summit of the first hill only to find that there are more hills up on the next horoizon. Large black poles have appeared to guide us through the Larke Pass. It is quite usual for the path to be covered with snow, so on heavy storm days - the poles are your only guides.

The rest stops have become more frequent now. It's tough to walk for more than 10 minutes without a quick break. Jose is struggling with the altitude as his head continues to hurt. Bobby and I are tired, but are doing well under the circumstances. Lisa is starting to grow headaches but is not sure whether or not it is due to more from the altitude or just her usual migraines. Under the circumstances, Lisa is doing amazing - helping out Jose as much as possible.

I reach a point where I need to continue to walk if ever so slowly. I feel as if I were to stop, that I would not start again. Lisa gives me the okay to walk ahead. She is in good hands with Bobby and Gopal. I trudge further along and pass the Canadians, Don and Linda. Ziggy the Austrian is still ahead of me. He hurdles through the poles one at a time in disciplined fashion.

I see Anup about 200 ft. ahead. His pace seems to be going slower now. I eventually catch up to him and we rest for a bit. I break my rule and take a bit of water and eat my last cliff bar. Anup is struggling as well. I offer him some water and the last half of my cliff bar. Anup tells me he is okay, and that he just needs to rest. I tell him that we are all here if you slip further behind.

My frustration has turned to anger as it is now almost 4 hours passed and no Larke Pass as of yet. Each hill seems more cumbersome than the last. Don and Linda catch up to me. I express my mild frustration of not reaching the pass as of yet. They inform me that I will know when the pass is coming by the prayer flags. These are the multi-colored banner flags that symbolize a Buddhist town or outpost: Blue for sky, White for clouds, Red fire, Yellow Jungle, and the Green Earth. I would take some green earth right about now.

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Alas, the prayer flags. Like a man dying of thirst finding a canteen in the middle of the desert, the peak is in within Reach. I take my stride up one notch and see Rick beaming down the hill back towards me. He asks me how I am doing, and I manage to tell him I am well. I tell him about Jose and the others. Him and Tika are going back to help out.

I climb a bit further and meet Vinay. We high-five each other as I reach the Larke Pass. I did it. We did it. I also inform Vinay about the others and he goes back down for a bit to find them. I hunch over a bit and look out. I'm on top of the trail. The Canadians have just made it up the pass as well. I become the guest photo taker for a while. I have no energy left, but I'm still able to focus into a viewfinder and snap a photo.

About 20 minutes later, everyone else has made it up the pass. We all celebrate. We are so estatic. Everyone takes pictures of everyone else. Jose is exhuasted but fine. Anup and Lisa have some headaches, but they are holding it together. One pass. One trek. One day only. It's all downhill from here. Unfortunately the first part of the downhill is at at 20+ degree incline with ice and rock. It deserves its own blog entry. For now, we celebrate our accomplishments. I'll get back to you once I am on safe ground below.

-Travelling Sherman

Day 14: Samdo to Dharmasala

I wake up at roughly 6:30 in the morning. I have slept more than 6 hours, which qualifies for fairly well. The yak trains have stopped clammering their bells. I look outside the room and see the bright sunshine. The snow has stopped. A fresh foot of snow has fallen overnight. It looks like we are on for today. We are happy. Lisa and I do the usual morning preparations of stuffing the sleeping bags, airing out the therma-rests, chlorinating the water, packing the day packs with necessary materials such as baby wipes, toilet paper, cliff bars and water.

We finish in record time as breakfast is called at roughly 7:30. Today I try on an extra helping of Rice porridge. Tasty and warm, I have now grown accustomed to it. I eat now not on the whims of my taste buds, but on a need for energy. Vinay has told me that 1/2 the oxygen will exist at 17000 feet and that water and food are more vital than ever. I've supplemented my regimen with some Diamox - altitude sickness pills. Only myself and Bobby are trying the medicine. Gopal claims that I now need to drink 5 litres of water a day. Let me tell you something. If I start trying to drink 5 liters of water a day, I will be urinating more than I walk.

We start the trail at 8 AM. Another 3-4 hour push is scheduled for today. Today's hike calls for a 2,500 ft. climb to reach roughly 14,500 ft. For those of you back in the USA, this is higher than Mt. Whitney - the highest peak in the continental US.

The first stretch is actually quite gradual. After leaving Samdo, I follow the footprints made in the snow. It's a winter wonderland out here, but ironically warm. The sun is shining bright. I have 4 layers of clothes on. We are all cracking jokes and laughing. I continue to drink lots of water. At some point, we need to do a #1 break. Jose, Bobby and I take turns trying to spell our name in the snow.

The next stretch becomes treacherous. Some of the snow has melted and frozen over to ice. There is a 10 degree narrow downhill. To the left is about a 60 ft. drop. Not realizing the severity of the situation, I slip and fall from time to time. I am left frustrated. I curse at the mountain somewhat. Tika comes in and helps me find my footing. Thank the Gods for Tika, he stands at the edge of this path with no problem - pushing and prodding me to a safe haven.

I feel silly for making such a big scene and cursing the mountain. Lisa assures me that all is okay, and that it's better for me to focus on the last 45 minutes of uphill. We still have another 1,000 feet to climb. The 45 minutes feel like hours. Gopal has joined back up with us to help. Eventually, they point to the prayer flags, which symbol the edge of Dharmasala - our campsite. A last 10 minute push and we reach the hilltop.

The porters seem to have an extra set of lungs, as they have already passed us hours ago and set up our tents. Lisa and I put our belongings inside the tent, and take some pictures. I feel like I am at the top of the Swiss Alps. The wind is not strong at the moment, so walking around feels just fine. We take a break for some lunch. It's simple rice and potatoes. The Dahl of the Dahl Bat is no longer so we stick to lots of carbohydrates.

After Lunch, Lisa retires to the tent to read. We are told not to sleep at this altitude. Some of the gang tries to scare us into saying that sleeping by day equals the sleep of death. If I were to die at this altitude, it would not be in vain. I join the guys in doing a short aclamazation hike upwards. Rick and Vinay cruise past us with Gopal at their sides. Anup, Bobby, Jose and myself go for about a half hour and say screw it, there are better things to do.

The sun begins to set and cold start to seep in. We are told to basically where all of your clothing tonight. The temperature should get as low as the low 20's or even teens. We all go into Jose's tent and play more bridge. Five smelly people is the easiest way to keep warm.

Tomorrow lies the big day of crossing the Larke Pass. We are instructed to get up at 3 in the morning as we begin the hike at 4. The idea is that the uphill part should be nothing harder than we have seen before. There is talk of the downhill becomming quite tricky. I try not to let worry ruin my thinking. Get some sleep tonight, even if it's only for 4 hours. In 24 hours from now, we will be in Bimtang and over the pass. And more importantly, we will be over the hump. Hopefully, I'll be over my worries.

Good night from the frostbitten Tent,

Travelling Sherman

Day 13: Onward to Samdo

As we wake up from our bed shack slumber, I find myself actually warm. Having a roof overhead does wonders after being in a tent for almost two weeks.

Today's trip is to Samdo. According to the maps, Samdo should be only a three hour hike today. Therefore, people have been calling to try and hike through to Dharmasala and cut one day off from the trip - and more importantly, cut one more day off from the cold.

The rain did not let up for most of the night. Jose is gladdened that we chose to stay in the bed shacks. Unfortunately he explains with excrutiatingly painful detail that he had to get up six times last night to pee. If that were to happen to me, I would have camped out in the bathroom. Even Tika and Gopal the guides start laughing. They must be wondering how can one human being talk about excretions for so long.

I'll be honest and defend Jose in saying that the bathroom turned disgusting overnight. Someone has forgotten to 'flush'. Excuse me, someone has forgotten to throw the bucket of water in the hole within the wooden planks. It really does make for a bad experience.

We get cracking early today after breakfast as more precipitation has started rolling in. Today, Jose has volunteered to walk with Lisa, myself and Bobby. Rick will flag behind with Gopal and take more pictures, while Vinay and Anup will push forward with Tika.

As the 4 of us start walking, we have an easy enough time talking and getting about our hike. Lisa takes pictures of streams and mountains as I aimlessly look around at the sky. An open canyon suddenly starts to climb gently in the distance. As I look around, I feel some raindrops on me. Not a problem. We keep walking and the rain starts to get a little bit harder. Since we are taking it slow today due to the altitude, most of the people pass us by. At some point, the 4 of us seem like we are lost. I imagine myself huddling under a boulder for the next 3 weeks until the local government finds my decrepid bones. I come to my senses when we see Rick and Gopal right behind us. Of course we knew where we were going the whole time.

Rain turns into snow and the snow starts to fall harder. This is not a good sign. We continue onward after 2 hours and realize the last hour will be a fair bit of climbing. We pass by what is called a yak train. A yak is basically a shaggy cow with huge horns that lives in the mountains. Yaks are beautiful creatures. Although each one weighs rougly a 1/2 a ton, scores of yaks will still be petrified of one human. The local herders bully them into shape by throwing rocks at them to keep their line. It is a sad sight to see, although I know it sadly has to be done. The yaks carry supplies from village to village. I just don't want to be the herder who falls victim to the first mutiny.

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We reach Samdo in roughly 3 1/2 hours today. We all are dragging somewhat. Anup, Vinay and Tika greet us and ask how we are feeling. I'm coping well enough, although a bit sluggish. Lisa, Bobby and Jose seem fine. The snow is falling harder now. There seems to be a bit of confusion at the moment. Tika, Gopal and the porters are shimmying about trying to accomplish some sort of task.

There is another shelter at Samdo. This one is more sophisticated. 2 levels. Approximately 10 rooms or so. There are some more groups that have caught up to us now. Three canadians, another group of Czechs - these guys being much more friendly. We huddle around as we are not sure if we are pressing on another three hours to Dharmasala - the 14,000 ft. campsite otherwise known as the landing point before the pass.

Vinay informs us that a porter from Dharmasala has just walked back to Samdo for more supplies today. Supposedly, blizzard-like conditions have hampered things for the trekkers in Dharmasala. An estimated 40 people are stuck up there for one more night, as no one attempted to make the pass today. It looks like we are not pressing on anymore today. To be quite honest, I'm fine with that. The only problem is that it's only 11 AM, and we still have the rest of the day to freeze and contemplate life.

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I am playing bridge again and I almost understand what I'm doing. It's the middle of the day and we are playing in the big room. This is the dining room, the living room, and a bedroom for 15 porters. I hear jingling bells outside which remind me of christmas/chanukah time. The only problem is that neither holiday is celebrated here. The bells are placed upon the yaks to signify a yak train is passing by. Samdo is a big depot for the yak trains as herders get supplies for the road ahead. There is even yak parking in this joint. The ratio of farm animals to people up here is most likely 2:1.

It's nice travelling with a girl sometimes. Everyone feels bad for the girl and gives her the best room. Being the boyfriend, you know that you most likely are going to sleep at least in the same bedroom with her - so you are set for accomodation. It's a cruel world, I know. I actually feel bad for Rick and Jose as the reservations get botched up and we only get 2 rooms instead of 3 rooms. They drew the short straws and are sleeping in the storage closet. I offer space and even bed time, but Jose and Rick are too humble to take me up on the offer.

The smoke has overwhelmed the porter room. There is only 1 kitchen and maybe 2 stoves. The smoke from these stoves permeates directly through the cracks into the porter room. We are flushed out once again as the masses huddle in either Lisa/mine/boby's room or Vinay and Anup's room. We are like sardines that have been placed in the frozen food section. I wait for dinner to come because I know that it will be time for bed immediately afterwards. The snow is still falling. There is contemplation of turning back if the storm does not let up after tomorrow. For the first time in my life, I am praying for the snow to stop. This means a lot coming from living in Truckee, California from time to time. I pray to God, Moses, Jesus, Vishnu, Shiva, and Buddha. We are going to need one of you to come forward and help us out, if for only this once.

-Travelling Sherman

Day 11 and 12: Sama (Ro)

As Jose, Vinay and I are walking into a box canyon, we see a town in the distance. While Vinay stops to take a picture, Jose and I walk nearby to the prayer wheels, where I have grown accustomed to the Om Mane Padme Om chant.

The hike has been miraculously fast. Shailesh, another porter, is trying to teach me the nepali numbers 1-25. Between memorizing strange Nepali syllables and coping with now 11,000 ft. altitude, I now feel that I am trekking in a foreign land.

We reach Sama (Ro) in roughly 3 hours. Not bad for a day's walk. It's not even high noon as the rest of the group reaches town. The town has an alternate name, Samaygao, which I believe the Nepalis use and it sounds better to me, so from now on Sama (Ro) is Samaygao.

This place is much better than yesterday, as my mood is much better. The back of my head is starting to throb ever so slightly as I cope with the elevation. While 11,000 feet does not sound like much, my headache is compounded by the constant cold temperatures and a steady Nepali Diet of chipoti and Dahl Bat.

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After Rick and Lisa finish smoking their cigarettes, we decide to do a short hike to acclamate a little further. As we walk, we begin to hear heavy pulsating base drums, much like a war drum chant. Anup and Vinay tells me that this is coming from the Gompa (a small, buddhist monastary). We walk towards this gompa, sidestepping up a hill for roughly 30 minutes. My head is getting slightly lighter with every breath.

We reach the Gompa and walk in. I feel like I am with Buddha Gotama, himself. While it is not terribly lavish, I walk into the Gompa feeling like I just went into a time warp. The pungent smells of incense and smoke fill the air. There is a thronelike shrine in the middle with an image of Buddha. One of the people in the group say that Buddha is represented much differently in Nepal. He is more modest, more business-casual as opposed to the ornate sharp dressed Buddah shrines in Thailand. I like kicked back Buddah.

I go to kick back even farther and I almost bump into the dummer. A man in Traditional Boti clothing is reading a rectangular based Nepali Prayer book made out of parchment that looks decades old. In his left hand, he is holding the handle to a drum with an "S-like" handle which has a mallet attached to it. He seems to rhythmically strike the drum in sync with each syllable he utters. The man is so in the moment, I don't think he has bothered to look up in the last 5 hours. Lisa, myself and the gang leave him in peace as we go back to camp. The sunset is coming which basically means cold. I just hope I don't have to go use the poo-poo tent in the middle of the night. That's all I ask.

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Day 12: Rest Day in Samaygao...

Today is the scheduled rest day on the tour. The socially inept Czechloslavakians have left this morning. I think we slightly invaded on their privacy. They had stayed in the rudimentary bed shacks last night while we camped out in their front yard. Lisa thinks the shacks are so nice that she insists on moving in. This happens to become a wiser decision later tonight as the freezing rain moves in.

Since this is a rest day, I feel that this may be a good time to take a break from the action and introduce further some of the other westerners on our trip:

Lisa: The girlfriend. The only girl on this trip. She gets the Purple Heart award based on that alone. Even as she may complain behind closed tent zippers from time to time, she has done quite amazing. No other woman I know would even dare do this, and for that I am grateful. She is the practical one who brings baby wipes, sterilizing alcohol and conditioner. While I may snicker at some of these 'feminine' products from time to time during this trek, I'm so glad she brought them.

Rick: The leader. Whenever I have had a question about anything on the trek, one of my first responses would be, "let me ask rick." Rick has the best knowledge of the trail within the group of 7 westerners. He is the doctor of the moment with the most biological knowledge and extensive supply of pharmacutical supplies. Above all else, he keeps the most even of keels even when we individually gripe about our menial concerns of being cold and eating day old baked pasta.

Anup: The jokeman. He combines his knowledge of Indian and Nepali culture with a laid-back attitude and hankering towards College basketball. He can talk about anything from the chances of Duke winning the NCAA tournament to the palaces of Jaipur to the process of making ethanol fuel more efficient. I thank him advance for all the contacts in India he has given me and Lisa for the remainder of this trip.

Vinay: The cheerleader. Vinay is the one that goes out of the way to try and lift people's spirits through stories and songs. He knows more stories than Mr. Rogers. He tells me stories from the Tragedy of Karna to his child's escapades at school. A master photographer, he would qualify as a Renniasance man only if we can fine tune his singing. I will need his energy to make it over this pass.

Bobby: Lisa's brother and a good confidant. Bobby is the one that makes sure Lisa is okay when I'm not around from time to time. Him and Vinay are in a dead heat for biggest appetitite. Currently I give the nod over to Bobby, since he has eaten 12 bowls of porridge to Vinay's 11 up to this point. He is also known as the steri-pen man, as he waves his UV ray wand into people's nalgene bottles to zap away nasty parasites. Bobby tells it like it is. I like that. If more people just told it like it was, we would have less problems.

Jose: The enigma. What can I say about Jose that Ihaven't said already? I am glad he is here. He needs to stop eating raw sugar cubes as he is making everyone bonkers. Other than that, I love him.

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Today the group have 7 has broken up into 2 factions. One group will handle the gompa route to the Southeast and peak at about 13,000 feet. The other group will go to the nearby lake at about 11,000 feet. Rick, Anup and Tika the Guide are thinking about making it to Manaslu base camp today. I wish them the best of luck.

Our trip to the lake is quite nice as we hop over boulders and puddles. We get to see Manaslu oozing out slides after slides of ice and snow. The lake is just about frozen over. Hari, one of the porters, is our guide for the day. This makes me laugh as he has no idea where he is going. We reach the lake as we say goodbye to Rick, Anup and Tika as we head down to the lake for a closer look.

Hari likes to say "danger" a lot, even when there is none. If we pass by a thorny tree, he says 'danger'. If we pass by a few rocks out of place, he says 'danger'. He is what I think of as the Nepali Green Bean. Straight out of high school, this is trek #1 for Hari. Something tells me that he's not going on trek #2 anytime soon.

Hours later, Bobby, myself and Lisa are back at Samagyao. All in all, a great hike. The rest day was desperately needed for me. The cold has settled in a bit more and we go inside for lunch. A simple set of boiled eggs and leftover peanut butter, I do not mind. One by one, the rest of the comrades make it back inside. First, Jose, Vinay and Gopal. Then, Anup. Then, Rick and Tika. Rick looks like the Aboninable snowman as he tells us he just about reaches 15,000 feet. Rick is crazy to try to keep up with Tika. Tika is not crazy, since he is Nepali. Nepalis were born being able to hike. I was born being able to hike as long as there were porters carrying my stuff around. I swallow my pride and my eggs and enjoy the warmth. I'm excited about sleeping in a bed shack. I hope the sugar plum fairly pays a visit.