ABC trek part 2

Day 3: Ghorepani to Poon Hill for sunrise, and then on to Tadapani

Today began at an excruciating 3:12 am, when we were awoken by the Russians. We were to meet for our hike up Poon Hill at 4, and our alarm was set for, naturally, 3:50. It's not like we had to look pretty. Evidently the group needed a lot more time to primp than us! We arrived at Poon HIll about 40 minutes before sunrise, as we were all movin' real fast this morning, and then anxiously awaited the mountains to alight and our butts to stop freezing. The sunrise was nice over Dhaulagiri (3rd tallest mountain in the world), but we saw equally awesome views later as we began our ascent to Tadapani.

After coming off Poon Hill in the morning we packed up, ate breakfast in the awesome dining hall at the Sunny Lodge (which held handsome panorama views while we sipped masala tea and milk coffee) and got sick and tired of waiting for the Russians, who were evidently waiting until Poon Hill cleared out and then meditated on top for an hour. We left the group and didn't see them again until Tadapani, when two ladies arrived on horseback, very butt-sore.

The trail began with a climb of over 1,000 feet to a pass covered in blooming rhododendrons- white, red, fuschia, pink- absolutely beautiful. The trail was up and down, up and down, quite reminiscent of Everest Base Camp trail. Unlike EBC, however, there are no villages anywhere- only rainforest. The valleys are very narrow and nearly all sheer cliffs, making villages impossible. We walked by a stream nearly the entire day, in tight valleys interspersed with rhododendron forests, oaks, ferns and waterfalls that ended in beckoning plunge pools. 

 

We arrived in Tadapani around lunch time and promptly shared a plate of fries (home cut and fried, no frozen french fries here!) and a refreshing Everest beer. When we awoke from a fantastic nap, the Russians had finally arrived- 4 hours after us! A little soggy from rain, they had made it. 

The climb to the top! ABC, part 1

We just returned from our trek yesterday, with rock-solid calves and a little bit of a peeling nose (on my face), but completely happy and enamored with what we saw and accomplished. Ten days of hiking in the Himalayas will toughen anyone, at times sweaty, at times freezing, at times exhausting, but altogether amazing. We learned that the Incas got nothin' on Nepali stone construction, as we climbed and descended more stone steps than I thought were even physically possible over the course of the trek. Slate staircases scaled all the mountains around us, leading to villages, tea houses, and much of the time, to a single Gurung farm. I've decided to share an assortment of my journaling from the trek, just to give you an idea of what the heck goes on in the mind of someone who only walks, eats, and sleeps for 10 days...

Day 1: Nayapul to Ulleri 5/4/13

Though sweaty, the first few hours of our trek were in the sun, eventually entering a cooler rainforest spotted with large boulders. After a lunch of delicious potato and cheese momos (steamed dumplings) in the quaint, quiet town of Tikkhedunga, we crossed a river and a few amazing waterfalls before we began our ascent to the town of Ulleri. A supposed 3,000-step staircase, Ben and I noted that it must have been an exaggeration, as it was not as bad as everyone made it seem (then again, it's the first day...spritely leg muscles abound). It feels great to be moving again, as our two weeks at Harka were quite sedentary!

Day 2: Ulleri to Ghorepani 5/5/13

We are hiking the first few days of this trek with my friend Guru, a guide, and his accompanying Russian tour group (9 people, 1 English speaker). Let me tell you, the Russians are slowing up. With 4 women over 60, one wearing what appear to be moccasins (the orthopedic kind), I don't think they had any idea what they were in for on this one. Luckily, they are only going to do a 4 day loop of the scenic viewpoint at Poon Hill, NOT the entire trek to Base Camp like us.

Our porters, who really aren't "our" porters as they aren't carrying any of our stuff, are hilarious. The one with aviators is currently playing Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On' off his cell, and previously on the trail he played Britney's "Hit me Baby"- to which we all chimed in. I wished I remembered all the dance moves, so as to throw off my pack and bust it out for everyone's enjoyment.

The trail from Ulleri to Nangethani, where we had lunch, was sunny and open for a bit, and then heavily forested in oak and rhododendron, the national flower of Nepal. Though not in bloom, the forest was lush and reminded me very much of our million steps day on the Inca Trail- similarly mossy and dense trees, hanging precipitously over crystal clear streams filled with marble boulders.

After a 2 hour wait at the Hungry Eye Guest House for the Russians, the finally came trickling in. Evidently one of them is ill, as she immediately curled up in her sleeping bag on the guest house floor. Guru let us leave ahead of the group, thank god, as it was about to rain and we didn't want to walk in it if we didn't have to! The sick one ended up taking a horse the remainder of the way, which was good as it did start raining, and was quite steep and difficult at points. Ben and I got to the Sunny GUest House in Ghorepani just in time, and were only rained on for about 20 minutes. A quaint collection of tea houses, upper Ghorepani has a little square, bookshop, internet stand, and curio stores- and potentially a very nice view of Dhaulagiri...we shall see tomorrow when we hike at 4am to Poon Hill for sunrise!

Cooler climes

Finally out of the blistering heat of the flat Nepal south, Ben and I are in Pokhara for the day, getting some last minute supplies before we head out on a 10-day trek to Annapurna Base Camp.

The week after 'My Big Fat Nepali Wedding' went by all too fast, for me at least, and I realized on the bus ride yesterday that I wish there was some way for the Harka kids to be closer or more accessible...because I always want to stay longer! Though our time at Harka flew by, there was a point in each day when I thought that it would never end. With temperatures over 100 degrees, escalating each day above the previous, and humidity indexes of a Midwest August, each day proved to be a test of patience between the hours of  2 and 6pm. Neither Ben nor I had experienced such heat in over two years. The kids were in school most days of the past week, coming home at 4:00 for a climax of crazy-kidness and heat. Most of our time between 9am and 4pm was spent trying to find a comfortable position in which to catch a passing breeze and sweat the least. A rotation of sitting in various shady spots proved to be the best option, but I seem to have formed some butt callouses from the amount of sitting on concrete I managed to accomplish over two weeks.

Whereas Ben was able to read quite a bit, I couldn't focus on a book as much as I would have liked, instead finding a balance between walking around, playing with the kids, dunking my head in water, and reading a magazine article. But in each day there was a point when, despite the constant layer of sweat enveloping my entire epidermis, I was entirely grateful that we were able to come. Albeit short and hot, it was completely worth working a second job for the past two months! Whether it was Suman telling me what crazy contraption he "wants" next (zip line, cutting laser beam, etc.), Srijana and I lounging in the hayloft talking about our futures (and whether or not any of my friends (or myself) will be having a baby soon, that would like her to be an au pair for...takers?), Jamuna crazily jumping all over my body in apparent disregard for the heat index, or Tulie's constant appearance desiring nothing more than some lovin', I feel as though I could never spend too much time with these kids.

On Wednesday, heat rash coupled with exhaustion from sleepless nights (heat and a relentlessly barking orphan home "guard dog") led to a small bout of anger on my part. Luckily Ben passed it off, even though it was mostly directed towards him, as heat-induced. Almost angelically I think, Ariana is staying at Harka for 10 more days, before she heads to Kathmandu and then home. I hope to all the gods in Hinduism that it cools off for her! As we left yesterday, Laxmi thanked us repeatedly for coming, for our donation, and wished us and our families well. We told her that the next time we come, we will be coming in cool weather, and that we will bring with an air conditioner. Evidently air conditioners in Nepal cost around $1,000, which seems ridiculous, but in a constantly fluctuating economy, not entirely unbased. Seeing as we could probably equip the whole home for that much using American-purchased air conditioners, we think that would probably be a fantastic investment. Plus, I've always wanted to be that person traveling internationally with HUGE boxes tied up with ropes from abroad. Plus, then volunteers could come in the summer!

During our time at the home I made some new revelations that were confusing at first, but completely typical of traveling with a language barrier. For one, Sima and Bisal are brother and sister. Apparently I was completely oblivious of this on my previous trip, which was shortly after Bisal had arrived at Harka and didn't really hang out with Sima all that much. Also, I don't think anyone told me. Either way, they are now very much attached, being 15 and 14 years old, respectively. They walk around with their sideways trucker hats and cell phones blaring Nepali and American pop music, bossing the little kids around (as Sima always has). Especially hilarious was a morning when all the younger children got ready for school and stood in two lines while Sima dictated from a bench various commands in Nepali ("touch your toes!" "do 25 jumping jacks!"). And, like typical teenagers, do only minimal chores and like to sulk away by themselves for most of the day (though Bisal is still very much social and constantly asking questions). Sima still has the contagious giggle that she always has, and when we were looking through a Shutterfly book I made for the kids using pictures from my past two trips, I commented on my favorite picture of her as a 9-year-old. "I love this because you look like a little Chinese sumo wrestler!" to which she responded, "No Miss, I look Korean." Oh yeah, I forgot that Nepalis hate the Chinese.

Another revelation, brought to my attention during our hour-lunch with Samurai, was that Jamuna and Ganga are not, in fact, twins. This is confusing to me, as their names are the typical names for twins (two holy rivers), and when they were young, they simply called them the Nepali word for "twin" (jumli, I think). Apparently they are about a year apart, and their real names are Laxmi (Ganga) and Rosni (Jamuna). Hmpf. Ya learn something new every time. Jamuna and Ganga are simply nicknames, that have stuck for good. I only realized this when looking at a new poster that was up on the wall, featuring a photo of each child at Harka with their name in Nepali script. Before traveling I attempted to learn the Nepali alphabet, and practiced sounding out words as often as I could. I realized that Jamuna and Ganga's names were not Jamuna and Ganga on the poster, as Manessa walked up and noticed my confused face. "What, Miss?" she asked, and we proceeded to clear things up. That place never ceases to amaze me.

Between our games of Twister (too funny), throwing balsa and paper airplanes in the field, reading books (all children can now read in English), having dance parties, painting nails and doing hair we had the pleasure of laughing at, and with Domre, the newest addition to Harka. He arrived after we had been there for a few days, and Laxmi said he was to be a "worker, and then go to school". The boy is a gangly teenager of undefinable age, possibly 16, but in class 9. Like most American teenagers, he's always got his headphones in, but unlike most American teenagers I know, he is also constantly dancing and singing along at full volume. He is extremely awkward and has no sense of personal space, but I originally attributed that to his never having been around white people (figured he just wanted to see what we were "up to" in our personal bubbles"). Though he annoyed me a touch during his first few days (when washing my clothes in the shower room, he squeezed himself in to take a fully-clothed shower, thus completely soaking me in the process), he grew on me. I think he started to grow on me when I realized he was just a really goofy guy, and even Nepalis found him extremely entertaining. Out in the field with the kids playing one day, Domre had finished his work tilling, and proceeded to dance and sing, eyes closed, across three fields while the kids giggled their faces off. During Hare Krishna one night (nightly singing/prayer/meditation time), Domre got especially into singing, overpowering all the young children in decibel-level, and Manessa gave me a look as she pointed to Domre that said, "What's with this guy?!" and burst out laughing.

And that, my friends, is one of the reasons I love this country so much. Beneath a seemingly peaceful, quiet countenance, Nepalis have a very similar sense of humor to our own. If they are comfortable with you, they will laugh all night about ridiculous things. They will also be the loudest, shrewdest people you've ever met, but will laugh at the end. Listening to Laxmi talk on the phone makes me wonder why any guidebook would ever refer to Nepalis as "quiet", as it usually sounds like she is irate with the person on the other line, scolding them for years of bad behavior. After hanging up, she'll turn to me and say, "That was my friend, she is going to help make roti tomorrow night!", referring to a jovial conversation. It's why I love the kids so much too, as they are completely hands-on, all-out nearly all the time.

There are certain times though, early in the morning or late at night, when everything at the orphan home moves at a slower pace. Yesterday morning we were to leave at 10 o'clock, and after we'd had our morning tea I sat down with Ashish, Suman, Tulie, and Jamuna and read and entire Amelia Bedilia -like chapter book. None of the aforementioned moved, each one's head popping through a crevice of my body so as to see the pictures. If it had been 4 o'clock in the afternoon, this would not be the case, each one running amok wielding some sort of toy in each hand, screaming, "Miss LOOK!!", but mornings are much more sedate. As the kids got ready for school and we hugged each one goodbye, promising to come back in a couple of years, and that we would not forget them (but not committing to any purchases of "500 hot wheels cars" or "100 light sabers"), I found Tulie in her room sniffling and missing her school pants. She had been wearing them minutes before, and had seemingly taken them off in retaliation to our departure. I picked her up and hugged her and told her we would be back when she is in class 5 (which makes me sniffle), and that I loved her. Because I do. Just an hour before I was popping a squat in the toilet, when Tules came in to talk to me through the cement wall. She asked how long I would be in the toilet, as she wanted to play some more before we left. It reminded me of my first time here, when, as Becca and I were leaving, we couldn't find Tulie anywhere. Only 2 years old at the time, she was in the toilet, taking care of herself. I said goodbye to her through the squatter door. Though I love all the kids, something about that little monkey face gets me every time. Her little dimple and presence 10 feet from my side at all times makes me happy, and even if another kid is asking incessantly for me to buy him/her chocolates, Tulie will be there to set them straight. That's what friends are for.

Marry or Tang?

The past week has been a roller coaster of craziness. The children continue to be on holiday, and with wedding planning, general thirteen-children-mayhem, humid, hot weather and dramatic downpours- it feels like we've been here ages, but in the best way possible! This being my third trip to visit the kids, there was no 'hesitancy' period where they held back, no shy, timid nature, no couple of days of 'testing' me to see if I was the same Britta Miss that they knew. Nope. Their rambunctious selves remembered me completely and we jumped right back into trusting friendship. From the minute Ben and I arrived, we have had nothing but sweaty fun (ending in exhaustion) every single day.

A normal morning with the kids, when they're not on holiday

As we approached the Harka gate a week ago, dripping with sweat after our one mile walk from the Coca Cola Factory where the bus from Kathmandu dropped us off, I spotted Ashish near the chicken coop. "Namaste Ashish," I said quietly as I put my hands together in the traditional greeting. He looked up as he responded with hesitancy at my American accent, "Namaste...[pause...questioning look...spark of recognition] Britta Miss!" before he shot through the yard and the back, screaming to all the others that we had arrived. I love surprising people, and later found out that Laxmi and the kids weren't expecting us until Friday. We arrived on Wednesday afternoon- what a great surprise! Ariana, a young American volunteer, has been at Harka for the past two months and she also looked more than happy to see additional volunteers arriving.

Sujan flies a homemade kite in the field behind Harka

Having another volunteer around is great because it allows each of us to focus our time on small groups of children. Instead of one person fielding the fire of thirteen children, the three of us have been able to  more effectively manage our energy. It was also great to have Ariana around for our 'traditional' Nepali wedding last week, as she was able to capture the whole she-bang on camera! The event was completely planned by Laxmi, as she considers herself my Nepali ama (mother). During our first trip to Nepal, she told both Rebecca and I that if we were ever to get married, we HAD to come to Nepal to have a Nepali wedding as well. Though at the time neither of us was even in a relationship, we laughed and promised we would. Well, four years later and who would have thought that we would both get married and then return to Nepal? Becca's wedding was about a year before ours, so I was able to get a grasp on how serious Laxmi was.

Well, she was serious. The day turned our to be a huge success, which I base solely on the facts that we had a great time, and Laxmi has reiterated how "very very hap-py" the day made her approximately 7 million times since. The day was quite a steambath, reaching into the low 100s.

Sima holds my sari (and makes fun of me, per usual) (Photo: Ariana)

 During the three pre-wedding hours I was restricted to the girls' airless room, as my future groom was not to see me until I was in full wedding attire. In the room I dressed in my wedding sari and had a local 'beauty parlor lady' do my makeup, henna, and hair. Though I almost passed out twice, I sent the girls out to get me water, chocolate, and a piece of paper to make myself a fan, and I managed to save myself from a trip to the hospital. After all my preparation, I realized two things: I love all the girls and how much effort they put into this, and I am not made to wear the color red. My Scandinavian skin screams in sunburned glory when I wear red, and I was wearing a red sari, necklace, headpiece, lipstick, and bindi.

Me and 'beauty parlor lady' (Photo: Ariana)

I managed to sneak a peek at the proceedings a few times before the ceremony began (which I was immediately scolded for, but I couldn't help myself!) and caught Laxmi wearing a towel on her head while she did puja (prayer-like acts showing reverence to different gods) with the guru.

Laxmi performs puja. 

The day before, some of the children had spent almost two hours creating a sort of poop-platform surrounded by gathered branches. They used cow dung to create a rectangular platform, and used the branches as 'trees' around the perimeter. Then, the day of our wedding, the Hindu guru arrived early in the morning and began to create an intricate mandala of colored powders on the platform, which I was fascinated by. It was beautiful.

Soniya and Suman decorate the altar area. 

The guru begins to clean up the altar post-ceremony. 

About an hour after Laxmi began her prayers with the guru, Ben and I were ushered from our separate rooms and we were finally able to see each other 'for the first time'. I use quotes here because if I was a true Nepali bride (of an arranged marriage), I would only have met Ben once in my life, and I would have had no say in his choice to marry me. I am thoroughly grateful for my privilege to choose who I married, but I have also had many serious discussions with Nepali and Bangladeshi friends who have very happy arranged marriages. Though cultures are different, it doesn't mean that one is right and one is wrong.


During the ceremony, which lasted only about 45 minutes, we (not in this order): puja puja-ed an array of dishes of fruit, noodles, and rice in the center of our intricately drawn altar area, which involved blessing each item with a mixture of red powder and rice; walked slowly in circles around the altar; I ran as Ben chased me in circles (which I took literally, and received an uproar of laughter in return, as I was only supposed to pretend to run); tied a knot of fabric around rupees and offerings; more puja puja; exchanged grass necklaces (which I was instructed to keep until I die); exchanged rings (except we forgot to get one for Ben); and then a long white fabric was draped over my eyes for an indeterminately long period of time when I had no idea what was going on. Evidently there was some confusion as Ben determined how he was supposed to drag red colored powder onto the part in my hair, a traditional tikka mark that I was instructed to wear on my head until I died as well.

Ben and I literally "tie the knot" (photo: Ariana)

And then came the dancing. Oh, the dancing! When discussing the wedding prior to the big day, the kids all seemed really excited for the dancing part. But when the day came and our yard was filled with strangers, they became wallflowers. Shyness in full force, Ben and I were left to dance alone to the awesome Nepali band. The band was one of our favorite parts of the wedding, a group of six musicians-- one equipped with a horn that looked like a huge elephant trunk, and made an elephant sound.

The elephant trunk horn

Over the course of my three trips to Nepal, I have come to understand one critical aspect of culture: if there is one thing Nepalis love more than dancing, it is watching foreigners dance. So we did, for hours. I could only take so much, with the heat and humidity seeping into my layers of cotton sari, and after a while I gave Ben the "you think this is the last one?" look after every song. It usually wasn't, but two hours later Laxmi called a taxi so that we could spend the night in Chitwan National Park. She insisted we go, as it is bad luck to stay at your mother's house the night of your wedding, and she's a firm believer in luck.  As we bid adieu to the village of Nauranga, residents threw coins, grasses, and rice around the car, wishing us luck on our wedding night.

Ben and Laxmi dance pre-ceremony

Though we have been at Harka for couple of weeks, Ben is still getting used to both being around kids 24/7 and sitting around because it's too hot to do anything for eight hours of every day. It's not in either of our natures to sit around and not be involved, but I have the precious experience of knowing that just being present and playing with the kids is positive. Slowly but surely (or maybe only because I love being here so much) Ben is becoming comfortable in this loud, chaotic, no-boundaries family-- a far cry from our cabin in the woods where we spent the last five months.

Twister is an international hit! 

Harka Round #3

Just as kooky and crazy as the last time I was here, those kiddos at the orphan home never cease to amaze me! Though they are bigger (older, not necessarily any taller) and can speak better English than ever before, they are still the same little munchkins that Becca and I met 5 years ago. The baby Tulie is now in class 4, and at 7 years old can carry a complete conversation in English while climbing all over my body and probably doing my hair 12 different ways, while little pudge-face Sima is no longer pudge-faced, but 15 years old, sometimes dresses like a rapper (oversized ball cap and low slung jeans) and listens to Nepali pop music constantly. Ahhh, what is the world coming to? Times change, but not too much.

We arrived almost a week ago, and have spent nearly every minute just hanging with the kids, flying kites in the field, painting with watercolors, and playing Jenga (but the crappy Target version, which, you should note, is worth spending more money on the real version). It was pretty darn hot the first few days that we were here, but yesterday it rained nearly all day, cooling off the skies yesterday and today. Hopefully the temperature lasts through tomorrow, as that is the big NEPALI WEDDING day.

Yep, Laxmi has taken me to the market three times already to go 'shopping', which I am all for, albeit the scooter ride itself. We've picked up our outfits, decorations, and some food already, and are headed back today for more.Riding a scooter in Nepal is nothing short of a horrifying experience every time, unless of course, you are blind. With functioning vision, however, you will see that truck honking and rapidly approaching from the rear as you head into an already overcrowded alley way, and thus also see your impending death by smooshing. Despite the sometimes anxiety-ridden ride,  I do enjoy my chats with Laxmi at the stores while we wait, the 25 minutes it takes to haggle with every single shop owner for a reasonable price (just think of what it would be like to haggle with the Gap cashier, the Safeway cashier, and the waiter at Chili's...yep, nothing would ever get done), and the fact that sometimes Laxmi leaves me sitting on her scooter for 15 minutes, only to come back and give me a chocolate and tell me it will just be a little longer. I think I may actually be one of her American children. This, of course, is all leading to tomorrow...the big day. We have no idea what is going to go on except for "drumming man" "lot of food" "wedding cake" and "beauty parlor girls". Should be a hoot!

I will definitely write more about the kids and what happens tomorrow when we are on our "honeymoon" to Chitwan on Wednesday .... until next time.

We're off! En route through the Middle East

My parents dropped Ben and I off at the airport last night, gave quick hugs and said we'd see them again in a month. It felt like we'd only been in Chicago a few minutes because, well, we had.

On Wednesday we had breakfast with friends in Whitefish before hitting the road to Portland, camping en route in the Umatilla National Forest, poaching a "seasonal" camping spot in a narrow, lush valley beside the Umatilla River in eastern Oregon. The valley came out of nowhere, a crack in an otherwise Iowa-like landscape that transported us to another climate in under 20 minutes. After accidentally tossing the shrimp we brought with for dinner into the river (blonde moment), I crafted spaghetti in an IPA+butter sauce with bits of deer stick as we sipped our remaining before heading into the tent for bed. We woke early the next morning and headed to Portland, where we'd leave our car at the R&R household for the next month and a half, while we travel and Russell and Rachel have their first baby! Friday we flew to Chicago, spent a night and day with the family, and headed out on a Qatar Airways red eye to Doha.

And here we are. I've been here before, in Doha, under probably equally stressful circumstances, but at a totally different time in my life. My first time at the Doha Airport was 5 years ago, when I met Rebecca en route to our Nepal journey. We had never met the kids at Harka, had never really traveled to such a place, were both fairly fresh out of college and had been thinking about our trip for months. Now, 5 years later, I get to bring Ben to meet the kids I can never stop talking about, just finished my winter job on Tuesday, and have only been thinking about this trip for about a month. I haven't really even thought about it until a couple of weeks ago when I realized- holy crap! We're traveling again!

The apparent ease I feel with traveling to Nepal from being there twice already is probably good and bad, good in that there is nothing to be nervous about (fyi, for all you scaredy-cats out there, Nepal was just put in "good standing" on the State Department website after being on the warning list for nearly 15 years), bad in that I didn't even look at the visa requirements until three hours before our flight yesterday, when I realized we each needed to have 2 official passport photos with us. Thank the good lord Shiva Walgreens is only three blocks from my parents' house.

So here we are, on the road again, currently posted up in Doha for 10 excruciatingly long hours staring at Middle Eastern men who stare back blank faced (really hope that if I become a foreign service officer, it is not in the Middle East), women with beautiful eyes and equally beautiful Coach purses, and screaming children with heavy sideburns. We both slept tumultuously on the flight over, as the plane held the greatest proportion of children and infants I have experienced on any flight, ever. In fact, at one point I woke up from a dream in which I was at an amusement park racing go-karts with three 5-year-olds, probably incited by the yelping child to my right and my recent completion of the Cirque du Soleil movie.

Luckily, I was just forwarded two videos of the kids at Harka from Anthony, a friend who was just there for 3 months with the kids. The videos were of the quirky girls and boys dancing to Michael Jackson, and it reminded me that some children are just hilarious, and not as annoying as children that have just endured a trans-Atlantic flight. I can't wait to see those kooks in a couple of days, even if it is going to be 1879243 degrees outside!

Stay tuned for more in the coming weeks!

Playing with others

Ben and I are driving across Wyoming, the night sky already glittering at 5:30 in what would normally be labeled ‘afternoon’. Though it is not snowing, the daze of grey skies and an unending, khaki landscape is a far cry from the blooming Chilean springtime we called home for the past month. Being on the road seems like a bit of a blessing though, able to stretch our legs at will and go at the beat of our own drum…slightly. The journey home is not complete yet; 6 plane rides in the past week brought us to Kansas City last night, where we packed up Forest (our blue Subaru, for those of you who haven’t met) and headed west this morning, in order to arrive in Montana tomorrow, have a quick sleep, and open the mountain on Saturday. Crazy? Maybe. Willing to make use of every vacation day? Absolutely.

 

I stopped blogging so long ago, I don’t even know where to begin. When in doubt, begin at the end.

 

In elementary school, we were graded, literally, on our interactions with others. In high school and college, the dreaded ‘group project’ forced us to compile papers and presentations with our peers, seemingly selected at random, but somehow never involving people we actually trusted had a brain in their head. Meant to encourage acceptance, teach life-long cooperation and negotiation skills, and prepare us for a life in the ‘real world’ where things aren’t always going to go according to our specific plans- working with a group as an adult is sometimes fun, often trying, and always good for a laugh and some stories afterward. Let’s face it, every other one dreads working as a group, except those slackers out to do less because they someone else will do more.

 

The night before beginning our hike on the Inca Trail, we had a ‘briefing’ session at our hotel. Unclear as to what exactly we needed to be briefed about, we were met at 7:00pm by a small Peruvian man who, immediately upon meeting us, stated that he was not our guide. He actually had no idea who our guide was. Whoever it was would pick us up at 5:30 the next morning, he assured. In order to hike the Inca Trail, you must have a guide, meaning you must book through a tour agency. Completely against Ben and my natures, going with a group, especially on a hike, sounded like the perfect way to commit annoyance-induced homicide.

 

Perhaps our fear stemmed from working with tour groups throughout the greater part of the year at our hotel jobs, or perhaps it stems from our independent traveling nature. Either way, we were on a tour now and we’d have to deal. But we had one question for our non-tour-guide, “Can we hike at our own speed each day?” Completely mortified that we would have to walk at the speed of our slowest link, this was a crucial element of the $600 hike. He assured us that we would be able to carry our own pace, while waiting to meet the group at the designated rest areas.

 

We awoke the next morning, groggy but excited, and headed out to pick up the remaining 17 in our group. The tour ended up being massive, with 19 hikers, 2 guides, and 20 porters. We hardly paid attention to those getting on the bus around the city of Cuzco, or the porters who leapt onto the bus from a hillside about an hour outside of Cuzco. As we ate breakfast and got on the trail, however, we slowly realized that we had a really young group- everyone in their 20s and early 30s, save for an Indian couple from San Francisco who were scarcely older than that.

 

Thrilled that we would be with an active group, I started chatting with a gal from Toronto. “So, have you ever done anything like this before?” I prodded. “Actually, no. I’ve never done anything like this. I mean, I walk my dog around the park sometimes,” she responded with a chuckle. That being said, we had an amazing group. Ben and I took turns leading the pack with a Norwegian couple and an Israeli couple, the Norwegian couple usually a half mile ahead of us because they, evidently, weren’t as into the scenery as myself and my new camera.

 

Though our guide, Raul, insisted we walk as a group, he could never keep up with any of us and consequently gave up telling us what to do. We couldn’t get lost, as there was only one trail, and there was no way in hell any of us was going to linger near him, as he proved to be thoroughly annoying. By day we puffed up thousands of Andean feet, the second day to the notorious ‘Dead Woman’s Pass’ at over 14,000 feet. The Incas were known for their excellent craftsmanship in the working of stone, and the passage to Dead Woman’s Pass was just one ridiculously long and steep stone staircase. Winding through dense rainforest, skirting desert-like hills and hanging above Inca temples and terraces, the trail itself was ever-changing and amazing. By night we collapsed in tents set up by our porters, and ate massive amounts of food prepared by our camp chef.

 

The bonus about being on a group tour is that everything is included. Three overstuffed square meals were provided for us by our chef and porters every day, who constructed a beautifully ornate spread involving multiple courses. They never all fit on the table all at once. Often a completely unexpected course would appear after we thought we had finished; at breakfast on our third day, a fully-frosted sheet cake materialized after we had finished our bread, jam and pancakes. Nibbling bits of moist banana cake at a table with a tablecloth, I thought, Hm, this must be why the Inca Trail was so expensive. Ah well, better eat another piece of cake!

 

Copious amounts of coca were also part of our all-inclusive trek to Maccu Piccu, which we chewed, drank, and sucked on as though it were going out of style. In a way, I believe it was a go-to for our guides when they encountered resistance or slow hikers. Feeling the altitude? Just chew some coca, you’ll be fine. Can’t relax? Have some coca tea. Not energetic today? Coca candy. Haven’t gone to the bathroom in a few? Coca. Want to feel like an Inca? Coca.

 

As I said before, our group turned out to be fantastic- a bunch of liberal-minded and interesting young travelers from around the world with which we shared stories and good humor. We loved them. Couldn’t have asked for a better group. Our guide, on the other hand, was horrible. Our tour actually had two guides, Raul and Jose Luis, but Jose Luis was the ‘Spanish’ guide, exclusively for 6 Argentinians who were sharing our campsites, porters, and food. However, it was Jose Luis who actually had excellent English and knowledge of the Incas, not Raul. Raul repeated the same ten-or-so facts about the Incas (‘facts’ used very loosely here), every time asking us if we knew what he meant (which we didn’t), and repeatedly addressed the group as ‘Senores’ (really, we weren’t). Thus, nearly all spoken interludes headed by Raul went something like this: “Hola Senores, Senores attention please, Senores. Here we have an Inca outpost, you know what I mean? An outpost. You know what I mean? The outpost was used by the runners. The runners, you know what I mean? The runners, Senores.” We usually did not know what he meant, but were fearful of more conversation if we objected. So we didn’t. I am definitely buying some books about the Incas from Amazon when I get home.

 

The final day of hiking on the Inca Trail is very minimal, only about an hour and a half, followed by a comprehensive tour of Macchu Picchu with your guide. When booking the trail, Ben and I jumped on the opportunity to also purchase permits to climb Huyana Picchu, the peak overlooking Macchu Picchu. This meant we had to be fast in our last day of hiking, so as not to miss our entrance time of 7:30am. Ridiculously enough, all hikers are to wake at 3:30am on their final morning, only to wait in line until 5:30 at the next permit outpost. We waited, and then forged through the masses (of course, our group was one of the last in line at the permit outpost), turning our bodies up a notch and, admittedly,racing to The Sun Gate. We were able to witness a cloud-free sunrise on Macchu Picchu before we made the final summit to Huyana Picchu, where we spent a glorious hour crawling and climbing over the nearly vertical ruins of the Inca temple.

 

When we returned to meet the group below (no one had Huyana Picchu permits but us) we were exhausted, sweaty, and exhilarated. Our group, on the other hand, looked as though they were ready to strangle Raul.

 

Stay tuned for the next quip on 'playing with others'...about Chile!