Re-directing wanderlust during lockdown.

The view from Little Mt Peel looking West.

It is difficult for us souls who are curious and crave a sense of adventure.

To be in an enforced lockdown for those who love to be outdoors, or those who love to travel, is indeed a challenging time mentally. Let’s not go into how lucky we are compared to those who are sick or who have lost loved ones to this virus - that is not what this post is about, it is not a guilt-fest, to keep ourselves in check for even daring to feel hard done by; it is a post to help manage the feelings that can come with not being able to access the places we normally might, in the outdoors.

We cannot underplay the stress that people will be experiencing during this time, and those that use adventure as a medium to navigate through the world, will more than likely be feeling anxious.

Here are some ways to help managing ‘separation anxiety’ from the outdoors :

1. Check out the nature areas close to you that you could access via foot or bicycle

If you are used to jumping in your car and driving to a trailhead to access nature, why not walk or bike there if it is not too far away. With conflicting messages over how far one can drive to access trails, it would pay to err on the side of caution and seek an alternative method to get there. Check out google maps for other nearby trails that you previously never been to.

2. If you are not close to a trail, develop different routes in your neighbourhood for walking

To keep this from becoming monotonous, try to mix up your routes but you could also turn the walks into an adventure, by (for example), checking our the neighbourhood’s gardens - you might garner inspiration for something that you could do in your own garden!

3. Create a garden or re-design your existing outdoor space

Now is a great time to get stuck into the garden or outdoors in your own backyard (if you have one). You could use this time to create a space that you love to be in - prune trees perhaps; plant vegetables; place some outdoor seating in a spot where you normally would not place it; make some outdoor furniture - old doors and concrete blocks are perfect for this so long as they’re covered during rain. There are many things you can do to enhance your outdoor spaces ands this is also great if you have kids, who could get involved and take on a different form of learning.

4. Walk to the supermarket with your hiking pack on

I stole this idea from my friends who live on a hill in Dunedin, New Zealand. They each wear their packs and walk down to do their shopping, load up their hiking packs and walk back up the hill to their home with newly acquired weight! This turns even the mundane task of shopping, into an adventure (not to mention an excellent workout!).

5. On yer bike!

If you do not get onto a bicycle very often, now is the perfect chance to change that! If you own a bike, dust it off. You can cover so much more ground on a bike, and right now the roads are practically empty, so it is a cyclists haven! Take a camera, a pump, spare tube and tyre repair kit if you have them and get out and about.

6. Start an online exercise routine

For those days when you do not feel like getting outdoors, or when it rains, an online class will lend a hand to keeping itchy feet in check. There are numerous options, including exercises you could include into a walk (when the rain stops), for hiking; there’s yoga; Les Mills fitness classes on TVNZ Ondemand and many other options you can find on Youtube.

7. Day dream! Make an intention list of hikes you will do as soon as the lockdown is over

Having some hope in times like this, is pivotal to staying positive. Having activities to look forward to, bring us an opportunity to plan and research; so what about making a list of places you will hike once an appropriate level of movement is given back. The Department of Conservation has many day walking tracks, huts, multi-day hikes and places to visit, so why not plan a hike to somewhere new.

8. Dream big! Jump onto google earth and explore.

Google earth is awesome for getting up-close views of far-away places. Pick a country or city you would like to go to and explore it through google earth. 

9. Do a little, often

If you are still working from home, there is a chance you will be sitting in one spot for longer. If you do a little movement more often, you can scratch that itchy feet urge as well as keep your body from becoming stiff. Maybe take a walk around the block every hour or two. Maybe have a morning walk and then an evening bike ride. If you have kids this may be difficult, but if walking, take them too. Try to keep as active as humanely possible without driving everyone else around you crazy.

10. Just get outside and bask in the sunshine when you can.

If all else fails, at least lifting your face up towards the sun once a day (if the sun shines), is better than being inside all day long. This is immune-building as well as feeling just so darn good. A good 20 Minutes in the middle of the day, will do wonders. Hopefully if you are outside gardening, walking, cycling or playing with your kids, dogs or maybe even washing your car, you will be getting some valuable sunshine without consciously doing so.

Lastly …

Being anxious can result in our immune system reducing in function. This makes us more susceptible to illness. If you find yourself becoming really stressed from being cooped up, at the very very least try some deep slow breathing, somewhere alone and quiet, when these feelings arise. Our body knows when something is bothering us and we wear these anxieties and stresses in our joints, fascia and muscles. There are many resources online for those who need some guidance in relaxation breathing.

Chill.

Lockdown Habits: nine ways to establish a productive 'new normal'

As we settle in to the second week of lockdown in Aotearoa, New Zealand

the stark realisation of our “new normal’ will have landed. New routines will have been established; some constructive and some not so. New ways of negotiating life inside the bubble will be illuminating strengths and weaknesses in our lives and relationships. How do we navigate this new landscape in a manner commensurate to maintaining a sense of order when all else seems to be beyond our control?

It is at a time like this that I am thankful for over 25 years of martial arts training, which has instilled a strong ethos of discipline that has helped see me through tertiary study and very tough times in my life. I have not trained in karate for over a year now, but after being marinated in it for over two decades, the tenets will never leave me. I have established strong positive life habits and high expectations of myself (not that I am suggesting everyone should have high expectations of themselves - because that in itself needs appropriate management), and this way of being has allowed me to persevere when the going has become tough. And it has at times, been extremely tough.

Habits can define us and the choices we make.

Ultimately, everything is a choice - do I do this, or do I do that? As humans are pleasure-seeking beings, we are more often than not, drawn to whatever it is that will bring us the most pleasure or will take us to our desired destination the easiest, shortest and most painless way. The manner in which we go about our daily life can be deemed to be partly habit and partly choice. Choices and habits can be both constructive and destructive. So how can we make sure we are establishing constructive and productive habits during this hiatus of home confinement, that will lead us into making well-grounded choices?

Nine ways to establish habits of excellence:

1. Set an alarm to wake you each morning

It is easy to remove the morning alarm if you are not working during the lockdown. Keep the alarm set (sure set it for a little later, but not too late), so that you establish a routine of waking at the same time each morning.

2. Get dressed soon after you get out of bed

Get up, get dressed, get going. Don’t linger.

3. Write a list of things to do for the day

If you are still working from home, then obviously that takes priority, but write a list of things you want to achieve in the day. Keep the list short (achievable), so that you CAN do what is on it.

4. Maintain regular eating routines

This is important, as often we are guided in our working lives by timetabled lunch-breaks, ‘smoko’ breaks and designated times when we are legally allowed to take a break. Clearly we cannot be this rigid at home, but remember to eat and drink at regular intervals during the day, as you would at a work-place.

5. Get some exercise everyday

This may be more important now than ever before, as the new normal more than likely sees many of us sitting a lot more than we did prior to this lockdown. If your new normal exercise routine is indoors, there are plenty of online classes available with anything and everything available, from yoga to tai chi to hard core HIIT workouts. Les Mills have even provided free classes through TVNZ Ondemand. This is a great time to establish a fitness routine if you do not already have one.

6. Get outside everyday especially if the sun is out

Our body needs vitamin D3 as a defence mechanism and this is obtained through exposure to sunlight. Now more than ever, in the midst of a viral pandemic, it is vital to get as much sunlight exposure as possible to help develop a healthy immune system. The middle of the day is the best time - about 30 minutes. This can happen during a stint in the garden perhaps!

7. Limit social media time

It is tempting to stay connected with everyone and what is going on, by sitting on social media platforms all day. This can suck up time and can also be a negative spiral, being drawn into the dramas permeating around the world right now. If you find this is an issue ( I do have to be strict with myself!), try setting aside a time for social media; set a timer and limit yourself to that time only.

8. Set aside some time for reflection and solitude

Being in such close confinement to those within your bubble can bring about stress and tension after a while, especially if there are children in the house. It is important to take time for being alone and re-setting. This might not be possible every day, but it is important to ensure that this happens at least one to two times during the week. It could look like taking a walk by yourself; going into a separate space for meditation; practicing yoga; reading quietly; writing a journal or a blog; sitting alone in the garden. This will enable you to maintain focus, energy and motivation.

9. Go to bed at the same time each night

It is tempting to stay up later when it seems all routines are out the door. It is extremely important to create and maintain excellent sleep habits during times of stress, as this is a time when the body is rebuilding and harnessing physiological renewal. We each need at least 7 hours a night of good quality sleep and preferably a sleep that allows cortisol levels in the blood to reduce. Turn off all devices an hour before bed. Read. Dim all house lights. Wind down body and mind.

As we go forward with a sense of uncertainty about the length of lockdown, having well-grounded daily habits can help keep a feeling of control over our lives.

And who knows, maybe these newly-formed actions will become habits which remain with us long after the lockdown has ceased - informing and guiding us towards greater clarity and genuine purpose in our choices.

Chasing waterfalls and Rocky's Walk

How did I not know about this track, after living for a year in Thames?

In the search for a mystery waterfall, I discovered Rocky’s Walk.

Rocky’s walk is found on Victoria Road in Tararu, just five minutes drive from central Thames, with two possible entry points, making it an ideal circuit walk.

The stated track time is three hours, but I think this is generous considering I completed this in half the time.

I started the walk from an entry point 1km up Victoria Road, where there was ample parking space for cars.

The walk from this point, initially follows a stunning narrow fern-lined gully (Tinker’s Gully), dotted with mine shaft entrances and small waterfalls. It is an attractive start to the track and continues along with a moderate uphill trend until the track takes an abrupt steep uphill deviation away from the stream.

Beautiful waterfalls dot the track upstream.

The up-hill slog takes the track to a ridge with expansive view-points over the Firth of Thames.

Views across the Firth of Thames

It is a welcome rest on the legs after hand-over-feet climbing up to this ridge, with a change of flora to open pine forest and soft red needles underfoot. Glimpses of roof-tops in Tararu start to appear once the descent through this forest commences.

The descent through pine forest to Dickinson’s Camping Ground carpark.

Dickinson’s campground is at the start of Victoria Road.

There is a purpose-built carpark for the Rocky’s Walk track and people usually do the track in an anti-clockwise direction. Having gone up the leg-aching steep climb to get to the ridge, I was thinking to myself I would rather have gone clock-wise than anti. Once I started the descent to the exit point, I changed my mind - it was equally as steep this way as well. Either direction is going to be a suffer-fest for a while; a good suffer-fest. My exit through the campground meant I had to walk for approx 20 minutes up the gravelled Victoria Road to where I had started the loop.

Track in red; add on the gravel road to make a complete loop.

Total Distance: 4.1 km track + 1.2km road

Total Time: 1.5 hours (track time 2-3 hours)

Total Elevation Gain: 344m over 2km

Three hundred and sixty degrees from Crosbies.

How many tracks lead to Crosbies Hut (you might ask) … a LOT!

Crosbies Hut sits perched on top of a cleared historic farm site and provides coast to coast views of the surrounding Coromandel area.

From the ample deck you can see Whitianga Harbour; Table Top Mountain; the Kaiaua Peninsula and the lush forested hills of the Coromandel Forest Park. There are seven access points to the idyllic spot, each with their own flavour of suffer-fest. These include from Thames itself (Karaka and Waiotahi); Tararu ( Tararu Stream - five minutes out of Thames); the Kauaeranga Valley (Whangaiterenga - 30 minutes from Thames); Te Puru (15 minutes from Thames); Waiomu (20 minutes from Thames); and Tapu-Coroglen Road (35 minutes from Thames). Mostly, the track times are the same, but the tracks can vary somewhat in steepness, depending on where they are accessed from.

Today, it was waterfalls that made me do it.

Mention the word “waterfall” and I am all ears. My intention had been to hike up to Crosbies after my night at Pinnacles Hut. That night was the night that never ended! I got ZERO sleep due to it being packed to its 80 capacity with noisey weekend warriors; and after descending foolishly down the Billygoat Track instead of the normal quick way (doubling my descent time), I was a walking zombie, desperately in need of a nap! And so plans to hike the 5-6 hours up to Crosbies was the least inviting idea I was entertaining.

[ … but back to those waterfalls … ]

I had heard of some attractive waterfalls in Tararu, the camping ground there mentions them on their website - but gives no clue as to where they are located. Someone told me they were on the Tararu Stream track up to Crosbies - I am IN, I thought - the old “two birds with one hand” kind of thing. I will go to Crosbies AND I will photograph this picturesque cascading waterfall.

Perfect.

I walked that track to Crosbies - the steepest (but shortest at 9km) route up to the hut, of ‘360 degree views’, salivating over all the waterfalls of a post heavy-rain Tararu Stream, and not one single access point (unless I wanted to bungy, abseil or fall down), that I could see. Bummer.

The first of a three-tiered waterfall I was able to look longingly at from above.

The stream was pulsating with water energy!

Tantalisingly close - but oh so far.

With a stated track time of 4-5 hours, the Tararu Track is apparently the steepest and shortest route up to Crosbies Hut.

I was pleasantly surprised - although there were some places where I needed to stop for a bit and urge myself forward. The track, once it leaves the stream and continues to climb, joins the Karaka Track at ‘Jam Tins Junction’. From this point, the track time stated one hour and thirty-five minutes to the hut. I completed this section in half that time. It was boggy underfoot - a telling remnant of the previous two days heavy rainfall.

There are tell-tale signs of the history in this area, on these tracks. Originally cut for the trams which transported kauri logs into Thames, the tracks are wide in places and some parts have remnants of cobblestones underfoot. There are also mine tunnel entrances - particularly in the lower Karaka and Waiotahi tracks - and shafts in the bush, so staying to the track is essential; no wandering off to chase waterfalls in this region!

The final push to the hut

is a short scramble up a narrow, tree-rooted track which takes you to a clearing that the Crosbie family farmed at the turn of the century. A flash new building erected in 2010, takes in the stunning views and I was certainly happy for a chance to laze about on the sun-drenched deck while I ate my lunch and drank in the views.

Hut to myself - so time to get the camera on a tripod and do the official ‘selfie’.

And what about those views …

A glance north towards Coromandel township, from the hut.

Going down?

I wanted to walk into Thames directly, so I planned to return via the Karaka Track. This is longer by 30 minutes than Waiotahi, but I know that after heavy rainfall, Waiotahi would be a quagmire; so my choice was Karaka, which also has snippets of amazing views.

From the junction with tracks down to Kauaeranga Valley, the stated track time to Thames was five hours.

I was a woman who need caffeine

and so I knew my time would be half that. And it was. I was able to roll into Melbourne Cafe in Grahamstown (the top end of Thames) for my daily dose before they shut their doors for the day.

I never did find the waterfall I was looking for. Thats a mission for tomorrow.

A view to Tabletop Mountain from the Karaka Track)

Total Distance: 21.7km

Total Elevation gain: 720m

Total Time: 6 hours, 45 minutes (including 45 minutes of breaks)

Total Fun: Big fun

Tararu Track and Karaka Track to/from Crosbies Hut, in black.

Reflecting on the last twelve months (and other observations).

I caught myself pondering a question, as I walked up the road to join Te Araroa in the Te Kahui Kaupeka Conservation Park.

Below to my left I could see Coal River, swollen and swift from snow melt. In my face a strong wind blew, deafening much of the roar coming from the river, and making the push up hill even slower.

Where has this last year gone? I thought. It is nearing Christmas, the school year is out, and now I have time (and energy) to think. I don’t want this to be some ode to a shit year - but actually - it has been in many ways!

This year I lost part of my normal self and had to adjust to a new normal; I lost my best friend and soul-human to cancer in May; I was hospitalised four times in August and to top it all off I had a kidney operation in October. It’s been a year of learning.

But mostly I lost myself. This day, last December, I was walking in the Himalayas on the trip of a lifetime, to Everest Base Camp. Base Camp itself was not the be-all-and-end-all for me (just as well), rather, to be back in Nepal, amongst her people and her mountains; that was the draw. I wanted to walk there this time; drink in those huge hills and push myself. After a stressful year as a teacher, I felt I was ready for a complete change of scene.

As I wandered along on the small segment of Te Araroa I had under my feet, I thought about the similarities between the landscape before me, and the landscape in Nepal - I could be walking in the Khumbu region, but I am here, walking in the Tekapo region. The world is smaller than we think.

A side creek flows into Coal River over a significant loss in elevation.

Milky waters of the Dudh Kosi carved their way down from the high mountains ahead of me.

When I am near a milky river - such as what I saw coming from the valley today on my walk near Coal River, I am always reminded of the mountain rivers in Nepal. The milky hue; the noise; the energy.

I consider often, how life is like a river. Sometimes it is fast flowing, sometimes gentle and lazy. At times a river may have rapids that require deft negotiation, other times there is so much shallow water you can see the bottom. Sometimes also, you think you know where to cross and you place your foot - sure of the steady footing - only to have swept from under you by the current, or a slippery unseen stone. Life is like a river.

No part of a river is the same; no drop of water is repeated, identical or moves in the same way. Each is unique.

Like an unpredictable river, so too has the last twelve months been.

I never could have imagined a year ago, I would be so eager to get out of Nepal - her sounds, rush, colours, smells, all too much for me. My brain was fried. Just over a week into my walk in the Everest region, I came back down in a helicopter. I was really unwell. My brain was filling with fluid and the impact it had has largely dictated my year since.

I felt betrayed. How could beautiful surreal kind lovely Nepal do this to me? How could my body do this to me. Had I done something wrong? Was I going too fast? Too slow? Was it the chest infection I had when I went there? Did I climb too high the day before on acclimation day? What? What? What?

The Chukhung Valley leading away from Dingboche, towards Island Peak (left of centre) as viewed from nearly 5000m.

It was not until I got into the swing of things back home

that I realised the toll this head injury had taken on me. CT scans had confirmed small clots in my brain affecting vision - that sorted itself out far sooner than expected, thankfully, but not without an effect on my overall vision. The biggest issue was headaches (still ongoing but less in frequency - but they can still be really powerful); initially (and usually unexpectedly) balance issues; but most noticeably, I had a reduced tolerance for light, noise, stress, and anything requiring mental cognition. I became tired very easily. My ears rung.

I came home to a new job, a new town - a new life.

Having to shift house to 300 km away was incredibly fatiguing. I made several trips in a week back and forth - sleeping on the side of the road when my brain hurt. Funnily enough even though friends wanted to see my Nepal photos, they didn’t ask me how I was or if I needed help. It was almost as if ‘ignore it and it will go away’ was the prevailing attitude. Who steps up for you in times of hardship, is very telling. I boxed on none-the-less.

I started my job with a brain that couldn’t cope with too much noise (not a good mix for a school teacher); I couldn’t deal with people (again - where’s my buzzer - wrong on every level!); I struggled to teach; I forgot things; I was utterly mentally fatigued at the end of each day. Brain dead. I am still living this - but not as noticeably.

So where has the last twelve months gone? It has gone into trying to get well; trying to get enough sleep; to remove myself from stress when I can; to leave work when my brain has absolutely had enough; to take care of myself unapologetically. I have also given up worrying about what people think of me, allowing others to speak to me as if I am an idiot, AND I have given up chasing people. Way too much energy involved in that!

It has also gone into taking stock of all the great things that have happened this year, despite the crappy interludes.

I have landed myself in amongst a wonderful community in small-town Canterbury; my job - although stressful and exhausting - is the best teaching job I have had yet. It is a joy to be at this school with such a supportive, loving and caring staff - these are people who STEP UP. I have started yoga and meditation again. I have joined an active photography club. I have re-connected with friends from this area. I have made the most of the stunning scenery where I live, to indulge my love of photography and hiking. I have more energy to be creative again. I have visited USA twice this year and have the absolute pleasure of being able to show my friends around the lower South Island when they visit here in January. Lots to look forward to. I have packed a fair bit into this last twelve months. I have learnt a lot.

Slowly, slowly, she grows into her new normal, and its not so bad.

What do you do when it feels as if the river cannot be crossed? Find a way to cross it.

Washpen Falls: A Hidden Canterbury Gem

You can almost feel the grand disgorging of rock and fire that would have occurred in order to form the unique landscape housing the stunning Washpen Falls.

An 80 kilometer drive South West of Christchurch towards the Rakaia River, will bring you to the one-petrol-station settlement of Windwhistle. It is in the back hills of this area, that the land divests itself of smooth rolling consistency, and becomes a fracture within which Washpen Falls drops steeply as part of its descent towards the Hororata River.

Accessing the falls is via private land, which is open to the public for a $10 fee. It is worth every cent, as this interesting 1.5-2 hour walking trail takes you through forests of Radiata pine, bush and scrub rich with Tikouka, Harakeke, Horopito, Horoeka and native birds a plenty. You can experience earth’s upheaval as you walk under massive imposing canyon walls, nooks and cranny’s where rhyolite lava has been blown away and where Maori once made use of the indentations for shelter. Maori hunted Moa in this area, making use of the narrow high-walled terrain to trap the birds by forcing them up into the gorge where there was no escape.

Steep canyon walls provide a sense of enclosure.

The walking trail is a loop

and includes commanding views over the Canterbury Plains from one spectacular high point, along with heart-thumping peeks deep into the gorge where Washpen Falls thunders down. It is not a technical walk, although good walking shoes are essential and a moderate level of fitness would be an advantage. There are steps to negotiate, steep climbs and descents, and you can even laze in a row boat on a pond if you feel the urge to rest the legs, alongside a large covered picnic area.

Vicky from Arahi Tours, take Jo for a row on the pond.

You may not know, that Washpen Falls was used for the Hollywood movie ‘Z for Zachariah’,

a post-apocalyptic science-fiction movie filmed in 2015, where the falls (deemed to be full of radio-active waste) were used to shunt water onto a waterwheel to generate electricity. As soon as I stood in front of the falls, I recognised them, having just watched the movie recently. I went away and checked my suspicions that these indeed were the falls used, and was happy to see they were. This thundering weight of water crashes down for 22 meters and is known as a ‘horsetail’ fall - due to its shape. It sits beautifully framed by surrounding cliffs and clatters into a perfectly round pool at its feet. This, plus its private location, would have made it ideal for filming.

There is much to take in on this walk; much to explore and perfect for families and photographers alike.

Take the time!

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New Beginnings: The Emergence of Spring

Springtime

[noun] ‘an early or flourishing stage of development’.

Monday 23 September marks the vernal equinox in New Zealand. It is a time of new beginnings and promise; a time of renewed energy and increased warmth in an emergence from winter’s incubation.

An equinox is a time during the year when night and day are almost equal. There are two equinoxes; in spring and autumn and these are defined by the angle of earth’s tilt toward the sun. During these times, the earth neither tilts toward or away from the sun.

Spring is defined by warmer temperatures and increased rainfall, making it perfect for growth and regeneration. Many animals give birth during spring and even in humans, the birth rate is higher during this season. Some cultures celebrate the return of spring every year, for example, Japan has the cherry blossom festival - the cherry, or sakura - symbolising the transience of life. Jewish people celebrate Passover and in other northern hemisphere Christian countries, Easter falls in springtime.

As New Zealand starts to uncurl from it’s winter hibernation, all the signs are here for a glorious spring season. Trees are in blossom; the grass has an increased luminance; the days are longer; birds are singing louder and the sound of lawn mowers are beginning to permeate the weekend. It is little surprise that people ‘spring clean’ and start to feel a new sense of purpose during this time of year - it brings with it so much promise.

Spring is the time for awakening and for wonder.

The magnolia blossom above, adorned its tree along with many others all in varying stages of arrival. The magnolia to me, signifies more than any other flower, springs imminent visit; more so than the daffodil.

The magnolia is an ancient tree - around a long time before bees were - and originated in South East Asia. There are many different varieties of the tree, with blooms ranging in size, shape and colour. To me they are simply stunning and one of the treasures of spring.

The image above, is available as a digital download for sale from my gallery/shop page.

When stuff slows us down

It hasn’t been my finest couple of weeks.

In fact it has been absolutely less than average. Being a person who finds it difficult to sit still, I have had to sit and experience my body telling me there is no way I can move forward. I felt like this for months after I came back from Nepal - a dragging fog; fatigue and a rapidly declining fitness - and I was only just starting to feel as if I may be able to get my act together. Then I became ill again and am at the end of an enforced ten days off work, which included three stints in hospital. I have been unable to do much at all and if I did, then man did I pay for it later.

I do not like this ‘sitting around getting better’ gig; but I am fearful of how my energy levels will be when I step back into my classroom tomorrow. Today I was unable to get out of bed before mid-day. I wasn’t sleeping, I was simply feeling too unwell to move too far. It sucks. It is teaching me about myself though; priorities, value around wellness and re-thinking how I have really been feeling these last nine months since I was sick in Nepal. Pretty bloody average to be honest. I have ignored my health; I have allowed stress to take over; I have not dealt very well with grief; I have not had five minutes really, to stop, breathe and just bloody well land.

I know the ‘told-you-so-ers’ out there will be thinking I push too hard and need to slow down. This could be true - sometimes. Since Nepal I have been literally at snails pace because I have been unable to push myself like I did. I have slowed right down and I do not like it one bit! Many people think they know how to live your life better than you do … maybe so, but it’s not theirs to play with.

But here is the lesson - I have a large amount of control over how I respond to feeling so darn blah. I can choose to wallow in it all and marinate myself to nothingness in how bad it all feels, or, I can accept this is how it is for now and each day aim for feeling a little better. I can continue to absorb myself in the activities that bring me a sense of wonder and fulfilment. I can even make the most of the down time to catch up on things I am usually too busy to attend to; today, for example, I loaded a bunch of new photos into my website and yesterday I ordered new cards for printing. I can and have, spread out on the couch with my cat and watched back to back movies - a rare thing for me. I have sat in the sun and soaked up those healing rays, and I have made bliss balls and soup to store in my freezer. This situation has also created the opportunity to be helped by others - and I have had plenty of it in the last couple of weeks, from wonderful people I barely know.

Good things can come from a seemingly sucky situation, it is just sometimes difficult to see past it as we are often so busy comparing ourselves to how things were.

Folding Upwards Part Eight: The inward collapse

I downed two Panadol and settled in for the night, eager to be on that final leg to EBC.

Sometime in the night I awoke needing to pee (the cold made me pee all the time and it drove me nuts having to get out of bed several times every night - the energy expenditure was massive in order to accomplish this menial task and I would come back to bed with my heart rate pounding out at least 150-160bpm).

I got up and was immediately hammered with a headache again and a bit of vertigo.  As I moved towards the toilet I felt a wave of nausea and wrote it off as a reaction to the gut-ripping odour from the toilet. 

With a constant urge to pee, I couldn’t sleep and as the night wore on my head began to pound with an urgency that had me worried.  Was I dehydrated? I had been drinking plenty - the recommended amount while at altitude. I used Panadol during the night but found they had little effect - they provided me instead with a sense that at least I was doing something. When morning came after a long painful night, I knew I was in no state to walk to base camp. Jeet came to find me for breakfast, excited about the day ahead and seeing his uncle who owned the teahouse we would stay at, in Gorek Shep, after we had tagged EBC.

“I can’t go Jeet - my head”

He looked shocked.

“Ok well you must sleep and tomorrow will be better. Drink many water” - his response was encouraging although I could sense his disappointment. Ok - I thought - this will pass and I will be sweet for tomorrow. Nothing to worry about here.

As the day wore on my symptoms worsened. I started to feel a stiffness in my neck and as if my head would explode; I felt increasing nausea and vomited frequently and just felt generally awful. I started to think I needed to go down, even back to Thugla, or Periche where the mountain hospital was, but doubted I could walk. I remembered seeing a child descending on horseback somewhere in the region of Pangboche, the family walking behind. I had stopped to chat to the mother who said her son had AMS (acute mountain sickness) and that was the end of their family trek.

I lay in an utter state of misery, the pain in my head becoming un bearable, the room spinning; I could not stand up; my vision was blotchy and my heart felt like it would burst out of my chest.

I wonder if I have altitude sickness/AMS … the thought began to grow in my head along with the pounding pressure. If I do, I need to go down.

For most people, mountain sickness is a self limiting illness, but it can become life threatening.

It is estimated that more than 100 million people per year travel to the hypoxic (reduced oxygen) environments found at altitudes above 2500m and at least 10 to 20 percent of people develop acute mountain sickness at this height.  Acclimatisation to altitude involves multiple physiological changes, occurring over days to weeks, which enable individuals to function better in these hypoxic environments. If this natural adaptation is surpassed by the rate of exposure to altitude, acute mountain sickness can occur.

For this reason, “rest days” of walking to a higher altitude and sleeping lower, aid the body’s physiological response to reduced oxygen and encourage a faster acclimation response. I had done everything right. EVERYTHING. Two nights at Namche (with a walk high rest day); two nights at Dingboche, also with a walk high rest day. Not changing more than 500m per day in my sleeping elevation. Taking it slow.

What was going on here?

I did not take diamox due to a kidney condition I have - diamox is a diuretic and my specialists advice was to avoid if possible. Was this the reason? I have since found out from an experienced guide in the Himalayas, that good old aspirin is best - prophylactic - and avoid diamox if possible.

I could feel myself slipping into a weird kind of head space; I lost all sense of time; I vomited a lot; my ears were ringing loudly; the pain in my head was literally driving me crazy; I couldn’t move my head, my neck was so stiff. It started to dawn on me that the only other time I had ever felt like this was when I had meningitis.

I had been unlucky enough to have had it twice in my life - once in Belgium in 1991, and in New Zealand 2001. This was feeling the same. I started to panic. I am in the middle of nowhere, I and I feel as if I have meningitis.

This is not going well!

Sometime in the afternoon I asked to be taken down. I could not stand up, I pee’d myself, I vomited on myself, I was a disgusting train wreck. I didn’t care - I needed to go down straight away.

A helicopter was called. My passport and phone were taken from me.

“Call my Mother - P L E A S E!” I told Jeet there were emergency contact numbers in a notebook in my pack; I at least had enough wits about me to remember that. I told him to get this information and call my mother to call my insurance company.

After what seemed an eternity, a helicopter arrived and a small army of men came to carry me. Someone packed my gear. I remember being carried to the heli and seeing people unloading bags of rice - how odd. I thought this was a rescue helicopter. I had heard of stories of trekkers being fleeced by the heli operators, and I briefly wondered if this was what was happening here too. Where was my passport? Did anyone call my mother? Did my insurance company know what was going on? Where the F…..K was I?

I was losing it.

I remember seeing the ground lift away and my dreams of EBC eroding away like the monsoon rains deal to mud. GONE.

What had gone wrong?

My symptoms were like those of meningitis - severe headache, vomiting, stiff neck, aversion to light, dizziness, loss of cognitive function, visual disturbances, unable to walk. Research shows that the brain does swell on ascent to altitude - this is normal for everyone, but those with less cerebrospinal fluid volume (a tighter fit of the brain in the cranium) are more likely to develop cerebral oedema symptoms. So those with less ability to accommodate the increased brain volume are the ones that are more likely to suffer.

HACE (High Altitude Cerebral Edema) is directly related to increased intracranial pressure; in effect, it is like meningitis but due to altitude not a virus or bacteria and it is not the inflammation of membranes that occurs, it is the inflammation of the brain that causes similar symptoms. Since being home, the doctors who I have done the rounds with to sort out the various challenges I brought back to New Zealand, have suggested that two bouts of meningitis may not have done me any favours - when ascending, my poor old brain had no where to go due to reduced cerebral spinal fluid (which may be related to my meningitis illnesses), and bingo.

How could I prevent this from happening again?

Don’t ever go to altitude again? Probably sensible. But, I want and need to finish this. Next time, it has been suggest I take even longer than the suggested trekking times, so instead of one rest day I would take two and to limit my rest day acclimation climbs to no more than 500m in elevation change. In Dingboche, I went from 4410 to 5180m on my acclimation day climb; even though I slept at 4410m, the ascent that day may have been too high. Take aspirin? Yes. Next time for sure.

So what happened with my insurance?

I eventually saw my passport and phone again - given back to me at Kathmandu domestic terminal where I was taken to pay the helicopter bill (with my credit card). No they had NOT called my mother or my insurance company, as requested. The evacuation cost me just over $8000 NZD. There was some dispute over who was in the helicopter with me (I didn’t have a clue - I was out to it!), and my insurance company were vary careful before paying out - even then I did not get all my money back and it took over a month. Thats a whole story on its own which may be worth telling for novice travellers! They were however, (insurance) very good at getting me to hospital for tests, CT scanning and paid for my flight back to NZ which they booked and sorted for me. I left Nepal three weeks earlier than planned.

Health outcomes?

I have ongoing headaches, regular attacks of dizziness, increased ringing in my ears but the main issue was my right eye vision loss which was temporary but scary none-the-less. I find it hard to concentrate, I get tired easily, my vision has deteriorated.

I learnt a lot from that experience. I came out of hospital and had a few days relaxing with my very good friend Amanda at her guesthouse above the smog in Changu Narayan. I tired quickly and slept, and generally took it slowly. I found I was less tolerant of the noises, smells, people - the things I loved about Nepal were attacking my senses. I found it almost unbearable. It was a relief to leave and go back to New Zealand. I KNEW I was really sick, when I felt it a relief to board that plane - I LOVE Nepal, and would never normally want to leave.

I arrived back in NZ facing having to shift houses and start a new job. I was struggling physically and emotionally and felt extremely alone. I had packed all my contents into the garage of my old house (where my son was now living), before I had left NZ for Nepal, on my own, but now I needed help more than ever to set up in Fairlie, some three hour drive north and inland of Dunedin. Once again, I shifted my life, alone, as I had done a gazillion times before - but this time I needed help. Help never came. It really hit me that I was truly on my own and that if I had died up there in the Himalayas, my family would have been affected by it, but certainly no one else. The experience up in those beautiful hills has changed my outlook a LOT. I am taking no bull from people; I am choosing who to spend my time with, and I am putting my energy into my family.

The experience has also made me realise there is more to life than

sleep, eat, work, repeat.

Folding Upwards Part Seven: Dingboche to Lobuche

The day dawned a clear, crisp, vivid iridium blue.

Jeet and I cautiously picked our way over morning ice to the trail heading away from the Chukkung Valley, to the Khumbu Valley - the valley that houses the famed Khumbu glacier, snaking its way down from the Everest massif. Within minutes I was out of breath, and needing to slow my pace. ‘Step step stop’ - I reacquainted myself with the ‘altitude shuffle’.

As we walked above Dingboche onto the plateau that gradually inclined towards Thugla, I could see the shapes of people spaced out ahead of me. Trekkers and porters; guides, villagers, moving laboriously forwards as if in a trance - slowly making headway.

A porter loaded with goods heads towards Thugla from Dingboche

I felt somewhat comforted by this scene; reaffirming that I was here with others going through the same experience. The valley broadened and I could see the trail leading to Cho La - where I would be walking after EBC.

The Cho La (pass) over which Gokyo Lakes is reached can be seen in the middle of the mountains. The path leading there is barely visible, scratched out like a thin line along the middle section of hills.

The peaks of Taboche and Cholatse leaned inwards at a foreboding angle, making their prominent pointed peaks appear even more surreal, as if they leaned in to whisper to passing trekkers. The deep vivid blue sky contrasted strongly against the stark white snow of the surrounding mountains - a sight so stunning, I could not take my eyes off what lay before me. My camera never left my hand.

A cottage lies empty for winter with Taboche and Cholatse in the background.

The trail between Dingboche and Thugla is a seemingly benign ascent; a welcome respite after the previous days of hiking.

I told myself I was doing well; keeping the ‘step step stop’ shuffle going as a way to provide some rhythm to the process. As I plodded slowly along in my zombie-like oxygen deprived state, I noticed the landscape changing rapidly. What little green space there had been on the plateau, now gave way to a barren rocky moonscape. At one point the trail crossed the lower reaches of the Khumbu Glacier. The moraine walls tower either side, accentuating the deep rift carved through the landscape forming the valley. People were dwarfed by the size of the moraine; large boulders scattered haphazardly as if a giant hand playing marbles had thrown with child-like delight.

The changing landscape to Thugla

The trail picked its way through this obstacle course eventually arriving across the valley at Thugla, a small settlement of no more than a fistful of buildings. Here I downed garlic soup (a supposed natural blood thinner which makes breathing at altitude easier - supposedly); and I chatted with Jeet who had arrived some 45 minutes before me and was hanging out with a bunch of other porters. Surprisingly many of the porters were smoking a cigarette; a somewhat innocuous activity at such an elevation!

The small settlement of Thugla lies at the foot of the Thugla Pass in the Khumbu valley.

Porters take a load off at Thugla

Jeet told me “not far Lobuche but first Thugla La - little bit climb”.

I was getting used to a porter’s version of “little bit climb” which usually meant a steepish track which would have me gagging for O’s within the first few steps. I wasn’t disappointed- the trail snaked upwards at an angle that proved to be time-consuming and challenging at this altitude. It felt like forever had gone by, when I finally set foot on the eerie wind-blown pass.

The trail leading out of Thugla towards the Thugla Pass.

Chortens and memorials, prayer flags, cairns and all manner of remembrance paraphernalia was housed on that pass. The first one I saw was that of New Zealander Rob Hall who lost his life on the hill in 1995. It was a humble memorial and I felt momentarily emotional- it suddenly kicked in at how isolated the area was; how difficult the conditions were and how fragile life was. I wandered for a while looking at who else was remembered here. Scott Fischer’s memorial stood near Rob’s; another all-American hero, lost to the hill.

From the other side of the pass, the trail descended gently. Pumori came into view - a magical triangular shape jutting into the valley space. I knew that Everest stood to my right, obscured by the mountains, unable to be viewed. I could see a wild plume flying in a line behind this mountainous barrier, hinting that Everest was lurking - wild as ever.

The perfect peak of Pumori

Lobuche is a small village that serves as a major stop for trekkers heading to EBC or over to Gokyo via the Cho La.

It is also accessed from the Chukkung Valley via the Kongma La and houses several large tea houses.

I arrived in the mid afternoon after what felt like a surprisingly challenging day despite the apparent lack of a major altitude change. The ascent had been gradual and insidious, but my difficulty breathing belied the lack of obvious altitude gain. I went to my room to sort my gear out for the evening - absence of lighting meant everything needed organising during the day before evening fell. The room was stunningly situated - right opposite the vile-smelling toilet which leached the sharp odour of urine and excrement through the thin walls.

I marinated yet again, in Nepal toilet smell. What a treat.

I went through my usual routine of setting up two mattresses and layering as many blankets as possible. The blankets were very heavy and at this altitude every time I moved to pull them over me was a monumental effort, requiring much consideration of how I would lie in the bed - wishing to remain warm but also conserve my energy. At this tea house (name forgotten) a party of Chinese trekkers in a tour group was staying. In the dining hall they sat in muted exhaustion - one guy looked like death and another woman slept with her forehead on the table. I wondered how they would get on with the final push to base camp if they looked this bad now! I always looked forward to my evening meal, and consumed a large plate of spring rolls (not like NZ spring rolls - these things were the size of a pie and crammed full of vegetables); garlic soup - standard now several times a day for me, then took myself off to bed with a mild headache in tow, but excited by the prospect of stepping foot at Everest Base Camp the following day. I was nearly there!

---

The day’s numbers:

Start: Dingboche (14468.5 ft/4410m)

• End: Lobuche (16207.35 ft/4940m)

• Distance: 4.13 mi / 6.66 km

• Sleeping elevation change: +1,738 ft / 530 m (In fact a decent altitude gain!)

• Day's elevation change: +2,263 ft / 690 m

• Total time: 4:32:18

• Moving time: 4:02:39

• Starting Oxygen: 61% of sea level

• Ending Oxygen: 56% of sea level

Folding Upwards Part Six: Pangboche to Dingboche and Acclimation Day

It was welcome relief to move on from Pangboche toward the higher ground of Dingboche, nearly six kilometres away.

Joy had bid his farewells to me and announced his plan to walk the Kongma La. I had visions of him with his mad hair and camera gear flapping all over the place, along with his gargantuan back pack, moving swiftly up the pass like a machine. I could see why he had changed his name to Joy; he was such a happy ebullient human; finding joy in the smallest of things..

The plan for me was to stay two nights in Dingboche with an acclimation climb up to Nangkartshang Peak; around 5000m. We left on a brisk but still clear blue day (I was beginning to understand that this was normal December weather for the Khumbu), with two dogs that dropped in at my heels, for a bit of company.

Every now and then they would stop by the side of the trail and stare down the deep valley or out over to the opposite side; perhaps imagining ghost dogs or illusive prey they would be too oxygen-deprived to bound after. They were thickly-coated and looked well-nourished; seemingly they enjoyed human company and stayed with me for several kilometres.

We arrived at Dingboche after what I considered to be an unchallenging few hours. I enjoyed the slow gradual incline; stopping only to photograph the mind-blowing scenery around me or to negotiate yak trains.

Passing a yak train always required an inside manoeuvre - the alternative was less appealing.

Dingboche (4410m) is an energetic little village that lies on the cleavage of two valleys - one leads to the Kongma La (the Chukhung Valley) ; and Imja Tse/Island Peak (a popular “trekking” peak of 6198m) and the other turns away to the left (the Khumbu Valley) to find itself at the feet of Chongolumga; Sagmartha ... Everest herself. It is a popular base for people embarking on expeditions to Island Peak, Makalu and other big peaks in the Makalu-Barun National Park. It can form an alternative and less busy trek than EBC, looping back to Namche via the Arun Valley - the deepest valley in the world.

Jeet knew the teahouse owners (a husband and wife team whose names I have forgotten) who donned mountaineering gear - hard alpine climbing boots were the everyday footwear staple for him, along with a one piece down suit, whilst she wore two hats; two puffers and thick climbing pants along with more sensible tramping boots. I suppose they slept in this gear too.

They very kindly gave me a room warmed by the afternoon sun. Here on the window ledge I could use my solar pack to charge my phone and not have to pay the 500 NRP per hour for charging. The tea house was 1500 per night (the higher you go the more expensive everything is); hot water 500 a fill; power charging 500/hr. The food was delicious however and the owners hospitable; giving me extra blankets and making sure I was comfortable. By now I was well-versed in how to maximise warmth for sleeping. I would place the second bed mattress on top of the bed I would sleep in as they were so thin the cold air would freeze you from underneath. I would put one blanket on top of the mattress then use all the others I had for sleeping. 

At this elevation it was starting to get harder to do simple tasks without the heart racing - pulling the blankets up and snuggling down to sleep felt like running a 100m sprint.

At Dingboche there is a beautiful stupa which overlooks the village and stands opposite Ama Dablam, which by now is right above Dingboche. The stupa requires a short sharp hike to reach, and the views are stunning. There is also a very good cafe, selling pretty good coffee by Kiwi standards and a decent array of cakes and pastries. 

The stupa above Dingboche and fittingly opposite Ama Dablam.

I had to sneak away there under the guise of “going to take photos” as Jeet and the teahouse owners felt I should be drinking coffee at their teahouse (no way! I wanted decent coffee!); and they questioned me closely on my return ...

Them: Where have you been?

Me: For a walk with my camera - so beautiful here!

Them: You go to proud cafe where all westerners drink coffee? (? ‘proud’ ?)

Me: Me?!! .... no no .... nooooo. (Face turns red; extreme feelings of guilt and shame well up inside).

Them: Good - you can drink coffee here.

The toilet even attempted to flush at this cafe - that alone was worth seeing.

Several small shops supply mountaineering equipment and one had a veritable array of pharmaceuticals which in New Zealand would require a prescription - such as diamox. Dingboche had a lively feel to it; I liked it and could have stayed three nights quite happily. 

For acclimation I was quite keen to explore the Chukhung valley up towards Island Peak BC. Jeet however, was not keen. “Better we climb Nangkartshang” he informed me with an air of great authority - “better for you and good view for camera”. 

So we did. Setting out on the short term trail to the ridge above Dingboche I quickly felt the effects of having gained 500m from the day before. My legs felt heavy and tired and I was walking at snails pace. Every step was a mammoth effort - step, step, stop … step, step, stop. A mild headache ensued.

Stopping to breathe above Dingboche. Island Peak in the background.

“You must be like Joy with the camera’s” Jeet told me; “he eat very much and you don’t eat enough. You need for energy”.

I was having a large three-egg omelette for my breakfasts along with other fantastic Nepalese food, so I didn’t feel there was an issue. Besides Joy was a man-mountain. He needed to fuel the beast. I had plenty of fuel storesI had been saving up all year on my body!

The day was beautiful and what had started at around -22 degrees rapidly warmed and before long I was peeling off my down jacket. We slowly ascended, taking in the incredible 360 degree views. I could see Makalu, Lotse, Nuptse but Everest was hiding behind the flank of Nupste - I couldn’t even get a ‘sneak peak’.

We took a couple of hours to walk up that hill to just over 5000m. My camera battery gave way part way up - possibly due to the cold, I’m not sure.

It was tough going for me and by the time we got back to the teahouse, I was rocking a mild headache. I went out in search of Panadol and found some Panadeine at the make-shift “every drug you could ever need” store, across the path. This removed the head pain and I once again felt good - happy at my effort and having reached an elevation milestone. In hindsight, going from Dingboche to this peak may have been too high too soon, but I was not to know this at that time.

That evening I had the best pizza I have ever eaten (of course). It was utterly delicious, full of vegetables, topped with nak cheese and a home made crust. It was a decent size and I scoffed the lot. That was an expensive 600nrp ($6-ish), the most I had spent on food so far. Well worth the splurge.

“You eat too much” said Jeet.

No pleasing him.

As the night grew dark and cold, the teahouse filled up with locals, who came to use the wifi and huddle around the yak dung stove. It was a funny sight; about 10-15 people in this basic teahouse around a basic fire in the middle of the mountains - heads down watching YouTube clips of western daredevil stunt motorcyclists, or music clips. I felt a bit annoyed as I had paid 500nrp for internet and all the band width was being hoovered up by everyone downloading.

The pot of water on a centre dung-fired stove, is standard heating in the Sherpa village teahouse. I came to love these things.

I contemplated heading outside to do some night photography, mildly encouraged by the clear sky at this altitude, but the walk to my room from the dining room was a plunge of at least 20 degrees (my room would have been -5 to -10 at night), so I decided that standing in the frigid mountain air was a daft idea and went to bed instead. Tomorrow we were moving higher; I had spent two nights at Dingboche and Everest Base Camp was rapidly becoming tangible. Tomorrow I was off to Lobouche and this meant I was two days from Base Camp.  I was mere kilometres away from the mountain of all my childhood dreams. I was feeling good and was eager for the days ahead.

I pulled up the thick warm blankets, pulled my hat around my ears and drifted off to the sound of dogs barking in the bone-chilling air outside. It seemed to me, that as night approached, the dogs became restless and barked repeatedly.

Perhaps it was an innate way to create some body warmth.

Here’s the rub:

Start: Pangboche (13,074 ft / 3,985 m)

• End: Dingboche (14,461 ft / 4,410 m)

• Distance: 4.3 mi / 6.96 km

• Sleeping elevation change: +1,387 ft / 425 m

• Day's elevation change: +2,024 ft / 617 m

• Total time: 3:02:18

• Moving time: 2:39:39

• Acclimation day elevation change: 675m

Folding Upwards Part Five: Namche to Pangboche

I had conceded to hiring a porter

as the journey up to Namche had shown me this was no easy trek. For $20USD a day, I had the company of Jeet, a Namche local who had worked as a porter many times to EBC. He knew teahouse owners, where to find the best coffee and best of all he was amazingly helpful and thoughtful.

Pangboche was our aim

and so off we went, slowly ascending on Namche’s hundreds of steps out into a grey gloomy morning.

The ever-smiling Jeet with my pack on and his inside it!

Once the ascent out of Namche is complete, the path sidles around the mountains on a wide, flat-ish very pleasant trail that provides commanding views of Ama Dablam and show-cases sweeping vistas into the valley below Namche. I could see the double swing bridges far below with the Dudh Kosi flowing beneath.

The track was busy with people - not all tourists like me, but mainly with ‘locals’ ferrying goods, walking behind yaks - seemingly a bustling main highway. The track had an extremely steep drop-off on one side to the river below, and you very quickly learn to stick to the mountain side of the trail especially when a yak train approaches.

Jeet pointed out Tengboche perched on a hill in the distance. I quipped that it did not seem too far away (which actually it wasn’t - only a few kilometres; however, I could see we would need to descend to the valley below to cross the river and then climb again in order to reach the small village. Oh how I looked forward to that climb … not.

We walked along at a fairly reasonable pace until reaching the foot of the climb that would take us to Tengboche. At the base of the hill, across a bridge, was a small booth inhabited by a khaki-clad young man who was checking permits. I used this as an opportunity to gather my wits, drink some water and prepare for the steep trek ahead.

Tengboche sits at 3860m

and is famous for its monastery (Dawa Choling Gompa) where tourists can walk the grounds or even attend meditation early in the morning alongside the Buddhist monks who reside here.

I was originally going to stay in Tengboche the night, but decided to move upwards to Pangboche with the plan to ascend to Ama Dablam base camp as an acclimation trek, necessitating a two night stay at Pangboche. I felt the elevation difference between Namche and Tengboche was not enough to warrant a night there.

The haul up to Tengboche was again a sufferfest for me. Step-step-STOP; step-step-STOP; step-step-STOP

and when I finally arrived, Jeet was already relaxing in the teahouse with his ginger tea and ready to order my lunch for me.

Looking back down to the entrance into Tengboche.

As I sat eating my lunch, shouting erupted from outside.

Jeet rushed out to see what was going on and I followed. A group of men had a man bailed up and pinned against the stone wall. They were shouting at him and things escalated quickly as heated debate about something took place. Fists were thrown. I started to worry. A guy in a military style uniform yielding a massive rifle stood silently to the side, watching.

I asked Jeet what it was all about and he informed me the man was accused of stealing something. Shortly after local ‘police’ (man in uniform with gun) had him handcuffed (with rope) and sitting in the teahouse where I resumed my lunch-eating. The man sat muttering loudly.

Jeet came and sat with me “good decision not to stay here” he said.

I couldn’t help but be aware of the juxtoposition of being at the world’s most famous monastery amidst a violent outbreak. Surreal.

The trail from Tengboche slopes away from the village

through rhododendron trees, which I imagined in flower would have been exceptionally stunning; for now they waited for a warmer season, retreating into spindly barren twigs for the winter. Across the valley we could see Phortse, enveloped in greyness, accentuating the chilling cold of the Nepal winter.

As Jeet and I continued, I became aware

of how dark, gloomy and cold it was. I was beginning to get a deep sense of how isolated this part of the world was, and how far I was from all the things I took for granted in my life. There is nothing like a good walk to sort some of this stuff out.

As we approached a swing bridge, I could see its former counterpart, collapsed into the valley, highlighting again the tenuous relationship of man in nature. This strong robust bridge could not hold against the conditions here. If a bridge is out, the impact on local villages must be enormous..

At the end of the swing bridge I noticed a tall man with long hair holding what appeared to be numerous bags. As I approached I could see he had an enormous pack, plus several smaller bags slung over his shoulders. He had colourful feathers woven into his hair and was sporting a camera with a long telephoto lens, trying to capture the Himalayan Thar that were gazing back at him. He heard me approach and delightfully exclaimed “are you following me?!”

I laughed and queried his choice of hauling heavy camera equipment up here. He informed me he had four lenses and two camera bodies with him. He was a strapping man - well over 6 foot 4 or 5 and I figured he had the brute strength to lug all this kit around. I asked him what his plans were and he said he had no plans, but thought he may do the Three Passes. I was in awe of this mammoth of a man.

So were the Thar.

Himalayan Thar

You can see a Thar just to the left of the bridge

“My name is Joy”

he said, with an extended hand. He told me I should check out his instagram page - something about ‘spiritual wilderness’ - and how he had come to the Himalayas 17 years ago to just wander around. He couldn’t believe how things had changed - “mostly the bridges” he said, “thank god”.

Joy informed me he was going to Pangboche that night and maybe we would catch up there. I wasn’t sure if I should be looking forward to that or not, but certainly he had camera gear and photos i was eager to look at.

The track to Pangboche from Tengboche is a gradual ascent but I was beginning to feel as if my legs were tiring. When we arrived in Pangboche, I was cold and tired and looking forward to a decent meal. The teahouse was one of several in Pangboche but one of the few open for the straggling tourists venturing this way in early winter.

Pangboche is at 3985m in elevation

and is often used as the launch pad for Ama Dablam base camp as the trail starts just outside the village.

Ama Dablam (6812m) oversees this part of the Himalayas and is a steady presence right through to Dingboche. It feels as if you are walking around Ama Dablam, rather then walking to EBC; a treat I absolutely loved whilst in this part of the Himalayas as it is such an enigmatic mountain.

The mysterious Ama Dablam, hiding behind cloud.

… and there she is.

Pangboche was alive with the sound of helicopters.

It was the first time I had really noticed them. here they arrived and left with a scary regularity - ferrying sick tourists back to Kathmandu or Lukla for treatment from the high altitude. I felt grateful not to have felt any indication of altitude sickness - just tired legs; I knew to take it slow, pace myself and to take my time going up. I was in no rush.

The tea house in Pangboche (the name escapes me) was my worst experience so far in Nepal. My room was next to a toilet - traditional Nepal style of course - but people obviously had aiming issues, as urine and shit stained the wooden footpads. The smell was vomit-inducing and leached into my room. I decided to do what many people advised and use a make-shift ‘she-pee’. This felt like a feral thing to do for me, but was far more hygienic than using the toilet unless for number two’s. These are the things you need to think about when in the mountains - again - stuff we take for granted in New Zealand. I also couldn’t brush my teeth as there was no running water. My water bottle was frozen solid in the morning necessitating buying hot water - which the tea house charges exorbitant prices for. They were onto a good thing. The village had an air of cold dampness and gloom about it. I didn’t want to stay two nights. I told Jeet, “no Ama Dablam base camp - we carry on to Dingboche tomorrow”.

“Oh there you are!”

I heard that familiar American East Coast inflection that I had encountered at the bridge with the Thar.

“I wondered if you would be staying here. You wanna come up to the old Gompa with me?” Joy said with way too much energy and enthusiasm; “the monks are there - you should totally come with me”.

I was thinking I should totally lie down and just totally get a coffee and totally eat something before I did anything at all. He (Joy) pointed out the trail to the Gompa - up steeply out of Pangboche. I refused his very kind offer, making up excuses of having to edit my photos.

Later that evening, I ate in a dining room full of trekkers - there were at least ten of us all from different parts of the world, sharing our stories and backgrounds; our experiences in Nepal and on the trail so far; the ‘what to do’s and what not to do’s”. I sat there thinking about how wonderful this aspect of trekking was. I had come to Nepal to be on my own. I had resisted taking a porter, I wanted so badly to be on my own. I had secretly bemoaned a full tea house of fast-track EBC trekkers, ‘doing’ base camp and back in something crazy like seven days so they could get back to their office job in New York City. But here I felt that sense of connection with all these people - the fast trekkers, the slow trekkers, the ‘Joy’s’ of this world who were simply wandering with no real fixed agenda or plan; the trekkers who just wanted to tag EBC as fast as they could; those like me who wanted the scenery so badly to infuse into our being.

We all had our own reasons for being here and yet there was no sense of ego in the room. Everyone humble and reverent and extremely mindful of the environment we were in. All connected; all experiencing something incredible. I reflected on what an interesting, almost strange day it had been, and even questioned whether I should just stay another night and acclimate at Ama Dablam base camp (as some in the room were planning to). When I went to bed, the smell from the toilet permeated so strongly that I felt sick to my stomach and I lay in a sleepless state marinating in toilet smell all night. The next morning I could not wait to move beyond Pangboche and into higher ground. I felt claustrophobic there.

We walked past the Ama Dablam base camp turn off and a twinge of regret flowed through my veins - well, its not going anywhere, I thought, and I will be back some time.

The track to ADBC crosses the river far below and then ascends to 4700m in elevation.

What I did: Namche to Pangboche:

• Start: Namche Bazaar (11,286 ft / 3,440 m)

• End: Pangboche (13,074 ft / 3,985 m)

• Distance: 9.4 mi / 15.12 km

• Sleeping elevation change: +1,788 ft / +545 m

• Day's elevation change: +4,194 ft / +1,278 m

• Total time: 6.30 (including stops)

A Coffee Story: Kiwi coffee flavoured with Vermont.

“Anyone here speak with a Kiwi accent?”

Norm announced as we stepped out of the snow and through the door of the tiny coffee roasterie Ungrounded, in Rawsonville, Vermont, some 15 minutes away from Stratton Mountain Resort. I quickly scanned the small intimate room; the familiar whir of a mazza super-jolly grinder comforted my ears, coupled with the heady aroma of freshly roasted beans and recently extracted coffee.

Ahhhhhh....I was going to survive the next six weeks.

This small gem in rural (middle-of-nowhere) Vermont, was the answer to my “I need a decent coffee” prayers. America is not well-known for the perfect coffee, at least not by Kiwi standards, in fact it is very difficult to find a nicely extracted coffee and silky steamed milk - if you are lucky enough to find a cafe that has an espresso machine at all.  But here, in a wintery wonderland, was a Kiwi guy and his family, living the dream, making coffee and slowly gathering momentum in terms of popularity amongst the locals.

I was intrigued.

How did a New Zealander end up in such a tiny community, roasting and making coffee, and why was he not doing this ‘back home’? A quick chat revealed that even though Kristoffer Lynch had grown up in New Zealand, he was in fact born in USA, shifted to NZ as a young child where he was raised in Nelson and Art-Schooled in Dunedin; living there until relatively recently.

In my eyes he was as Kiwi as one could get.

To understand why this was such an interesting enigma to me, to find decent coffee where I would least expect it, there needs to be some context.

Vermont sits in the group of states collectively known as New England. It shares borders with Canada to the north, Massachusetts to the south, Maine to the east and New York to the west. The total population of the state is 626,000 spread over 25,000 square kilometres; so people enjoy relative isolation amidst prolific lush forests and gently rolling mountains which remain snow-covered for around five months of the year. The state is known for its forestry, maple syrup, snow sports and is the home of the famous Ben and Jerry’s ice cream (an asset not lost on me). It is home to a vast variety of wildlife which includes moose, coyote and coy-wolf, bear, fox, lynx, catamount (eastern couger),  plus a host of rodents large and small. 

There is a quaint rawness to Vermont, accentuated in winter by the stark landscape and perennial whiteness. There is a sense of wholesomeness and a tangible feeling of time slowing down. It is a world away from the frenetic pace of New York city; one almost expects the smell of baking cookies and moose droppings to permeate the air here.

Customers stand in the small space marinating in the smell of coffee, chatting over their brews about the latest snow plough attachments for their over-sized trucks. People linger even though there is no seating and very little standing room. Four or five customers, and the place feels crowded.  Looking around I see sacks of coffee beans stacked wall to wall in a back room where a small Pavoni roaster is housed, emphasizing again, the industrial nature of this small venture.

A blackboard on the wall offers a coffee spiked with maple syrup - a local specialty, and gallon-sized containers of Vermont maple syrup sit stacked on a shelf above the sacks of coffee beans; not a sight you would come across anywhere else. Jessica (Kristoffer’s American wife) and Kristoffer work the space well, taking the time to converse with customers and all the while maintaining the busy ambience that sets this place apart from any other coffee-serving space I had been to in this country. I could just see that the focus here was coffee.

This was good.

“A short double shot latte please, with whole milk”; I have garnered the knack of asking for what I want here in the U.S, but with the added confidence of knowing that in THIS small cafe, when I say short - it WILL be a small cup, as opposed to the standard big, bigger and super-size that seems to have somehow become synonymous with the word ‘small”. As I have discovered, “short” or “small” can mean a cup size anywhere from 15oz to 20oz (or in Kiwi-speak 450 - 600mls!). I found it almost impossible to find a cafe that offered its brew in a cup less than 400mls (13oz), except for in New York city where good coffee seems to be escalating. This, however, is Rawsonville (population around 300); one of four other small towns within a five mile radius, known collectively as the town Bondville, making up a total population of around 1500 people; and here the locals are catching on.

You wouldn't be wrong in wondering how on earth a Kiwi roasting coffee could make a living here.  It was a lifestyle choice that brought him back to the country of his birth.  In Vermont in the Green Mountains, they could buy a house for $60,000, own and operate a business, open only for half a day and spend the afternoon with their young kids (Cole now 13 and Mikaela 12, who by the way, both sported a decent Kiwi twang to their American accent), enjoying the myriad of outdoor activities the area has on offer. They truly were living the dream, but it wasn’t always that way. 

At one point, they lived in a house truck, sharing the confined space with their newly acquired Pavoni, trying to figure out what they were doing, where they were going and how to craft the life they wanted for their kids. Their story is crayon colourful and truly inspirational.

As I stand there waiting for my coffee, I am treated to a display of Cole’s double-jointed capabilities. Extroverted, open and friendly, he twists and contorts himself in front of me, all the while chatting about what he remembered and liked from his last trip to New Zealand - pausing to ask me if I knew “the hole-in-the-wall cafe in Dunedin” - clearly a place he was impressed by (and that I have yet to discover). I admire his Amerikiwi accent and he then proceeds to complete the entertainment by showing me tricks he could perform on a snowboard, asking me if I was a skier or rider.

“Skier”, I admitted, “oh......you should snowboard” he informs me with the authority of an adult.

Soon I had that liquid warmth cupped in my gloved hands, sipping the smooth sweet caramel notes of the bean roasted to perfection, and wondering how on earth I was so lucky to have been acquainted with a fellow coffee-lover way out off the beaten track (and a New Zealander no less); someone so committed to the pursuit of the perfect coffee that he chose to bring its nuances to the people of the Rawsonville, Vermont. They may have moose, catamounts, lynx and maple syrup; they may skite about Ben and Jerry’s, but they can't lay claim to the genius of this American-born Kiwi coffee-enigma.  

To find out more about how this came to be, I asked Kristoffer and Jess if they would share some of their story with me. Here’s what I asked and what they said:

Why coffee?

Ultimately it’s to find a way to support our family. We wanted something that gave us the flexibility to live the life we believe in. We wanted interaction with people, to be part of a community and we started a coffee cart together in 2009 and in 2013 bought the roaster. We roasted coffee in the house truck initially. We sold our beans at local farmers markets, just buying a sack of beans at a time when we could afford to, and roasting it. That is how we learnt about Sumatra, Bali, Costa Rican and Ethiopian coffees. We got amazing feedback from locals and when we ran out, people started showing up at our house - looking for our beans.

All our coffee is organic - we go for freshness.  The standard American coffee is a hot watery drink usually with lots of cream and or sugar. Usually it was ground months ago and brewed a while ago - its about the caffeine, not the coffee experience for them.

Have the locals been responsive in a positive way?

We couldn’t do it without them. We have a good group of every-dayers. Some drink flat whites, lattes, maple lattes (espresso steamed with locally made maple syrup). We have just finished our 3rd winter in this location. We have created a funny little space where a huge variety of people come; the working crews, the old man locals, the visitors, the New Yorkers, New Zealanders, (they come back because we make it like they do in NZ), the snowboarders and skiers. We get a lot of foreigners, all looking for that better coffee. Coffee is the thing that brings them here - to our tiny little shop in the middle of nowhere.

Tell us about Vermont. What grabs you?

Its painfully charming. The snowboarding is good, the summers are beautiful, the foliage, the rivers, winding roads. Its like the American version of New Zealand. Its strikingly beautiful.

Where we live the population is small - most of the houses are second homes here. So we could create the life we had always talked about; having a house with a barn, some land to park the house truck, trees big enough for a tree-house. We can open the shop for half a day and spend the rest of the day with our kids (who we home-school). Even though we close the shop in order to do the things we want, the roasting side of the business continues to operate outside these hours.

Do you visit New Zealand at all?

Kristoffer went back to New Zealand early 2014 for family reasons but right now it doesn’t make sense for us to go back - its too expensive and we have priorities further up the list such as a new kitchen and a house renovation. We also wish to know Vermont more; it seems a bit wasteful to travel just for the sake of it when there are so many amazing places in our back yard that we are not familiar with yet. But as time passes, visiting New Zealand again seems to be inching its way up our list - we miss our friends there.

Did you ever feel as if the dream would never become reality?

There were many times when it felt like it was never going to happen - like we would have to give up (the idea of having a cheap house in a beautiful place and freedom) and conform in an unfulfilling job just for the sake of security. We would rally each other into believing it could happen; live in the house-truck a bit longer, save some more cash, keep looking and eventually we would have the life we wanted. We just didn’t know where. Having met in Vail, me from the East Coast and Kristoffer from New Zealand, not even a country could be pinned down! We moved a lot. Colorado to New York, then California and back and forth between New York and New Zealand, then Massachusetts. Dreaming this dream, drawing crayon pictures and driving friends and family crazy with our constant babble about houses and markets and impending doom - still believing at some time our dream would be a reality.

How has New Zealand influenced what you do here in Vermont?

New Zealand’s coffee culture definitely influenced us - long blacks, flat whites, strong short lattes.

Oliver Lequeux’s Mon Very on George Street in Dunedin, was part of the inspiration. 

Tiny, friendly, quirky and most importantly, really good coffee, roasted in-house. We spent hours in that stinky little brick alley. It was the kind of place you found yourself talking to a bull-rider, an American, a professor, a Frenchman, a Russian tourist, an art student, a mother, a musician …

As I stand in this tiny, quirky aromatic space,

I cannot help but think there is more than a little bit of New Zealand in this crayon-drawn dream space. There is a tangible sense of having landed; of ownership in one’s direction. Cole continues to enthral me with his double-jointed act, daring me to try the limits of my own joints, whilst his younger sister plays on top of sacks of coffee beans in the roasting room.  Customers come and go, the space breathes in and out; the snow outside continues to fall, and I am happiness fulfilled.

Downtown Rawsonville!

Folding Upwards Part Four: Namche Acclimation Day

The sound of roosters calling in the new day woke me from a deeply restful sleep.

The village of Namche Bazaar is known as the gateway to the Himalaya, but was once a thriving trading centre for farmers from surrounding villages and Tibetan traders to do business. It is still a thriving business hub - but that business is now the mountains.

A walk down the streets of Namche makes you realise how important it is for trekkers, selling everything you could possibly need for expeditions - even though more expensive of course than in Thamel, I was surprised, however, that things were not that much more pricey than in the big city.

The village streets are built on the semi-circular shaped terraces that give Namche its character - allowing everyone to tune in to life everywhere in the village - I could imagine that nothing goes unnoticed here!

The delightful streets of Namche

Livestock wander the streets and poke their heads out the doors of houses.

It is cold in winter, and most animals will sleep indoors at night, reinforcing the close proximity within which Nepalese and their animals dwell. It is a charming departure from farming as I know it, in New Zealand.

Pasture is not as abundant in the mountainous areas as it is in the more lush lower areas, and livestock such as yak. nak, cows and goats need fodder in the winter which has been retained from the summer months when pastures are rich. The greatest change possibly seen in Namche is the transition from a farming lifestyle to one of following the climbing and trekking seasons. Many people opt to run teahouses and also to use their livestock as pack animals, where there is much more earning potential. The old traditional systems of livestock movement upland (during summer) and downland (during winter) has slowly been lost, as tourism takes over and livestock are seen for their value related to this activity, rather than how they can provide meat, milk or wool for a family.

I wandered in search of coffee

and even though it was the end of the busy trekking season, I was still flush for choice of cafes. There are many different eateries in Namche; even European bakeries selling pastries, although I did wonder how long some had been sitting in the cabinet for. Namche was neither busy nor bustling when I was there, given the time of year, but there were certainly trekkers such as myself, in search of good food and caffiene.

I was not disappointed. The cafe culture prevalent in Kathmandu had made it to the mountains!

Namche is the first acclimation stop for trekkers going on any of the trails that branch out from this location.

A common and popular way to spend the extra day is to walk up to the world’s highest hotel - The Hotel Everest View, which sits at 3880m above sea level. My plan was to go to the hotel and then continue over to Khunde and Khumjung (where the Hillary School is located). The idea of walking higher and then sleeping an extra night at Namche, is to allow the body time to produce more red blood cells, triggered by a hormone erythropoietin, which is produced in response to lower oxygen levels in the blood.

Seemed a legitimate excuse to take another walk!

The grand stairway up to the Hotel Everest View

It was a grey dull day when I set out and the uphill heave out of Namche had me working hard within minutes.

The beauty of this steep climb upwards, is the view when you look back. It is completely outstanding - and it made me realise how much higher I was than two days before. I could barely make out the misty enclaves of Monjo in the valley far below.

I did not hold out much hope of an Everest view, when I stepped inside this Guinness Book of Records world record holding establishment, as we were enclosed by greyness, but what I was not prepared for was the commanding view of Ama Dablam, seemingly just up the valley. For the first time I was grasping the sense of how compact everything was. Maps do not relay this information well, and even my google earth-imagined journeys that I took before I left New Zealand, did not portray the close relationship the mountains in this region have with each other. Ama Dablam was ‘right there’. I also recognised the famous village of Tengboche which I could see on a neighbouring hill, it appeared to be just a short walk away, but was in fact a challenging trek from Namche over several hours and up a steep track.

The gorgeous Ama Dablam as seen from the Hotel Everest View. The enigmatic Everest is hiding behind cloud in the gap to the left of Ama Dablam.

The hotel was empty.

Sagarmatha - Everest was nowhere to be seen.

I walked on.

The track to Khunde is an easy downhill and goes past a small stupa where I stopped to take photos. The village of Khumjung sprawled out before me and I could see Khunde beyond that at the head of the valley.

A black dog joined me here and stuck with me all day and all the way back to Namche!

Khumjung sits in a valley behind Namche but is at 3790m, some 350m higher.

Khumjung Village.

When I arrived here I was feeling fantastic. My dog-friend stayed close by my side and together we walked into this village made famous by Sir Ed. It was here that Edmond Hillary decided to build a school in 1961. Back then it was a meagre but much-needed asset to the local area. Today it is a boarding school, where children come from miles away to spend their schooling, rather than going into Kathmandu. I was impressed by what I saw and felt proud as a New Zealander to see what legacy our own Sir Ed had left.

As I walked into the school, kids came up to me to say hello. A teacher introduced himself (excited to know I was from New Zealand) and showed me some classrooms - sparse and under-resourced by NZ standards, they were still a sight to behold and he was very proud of the school.

I wondered what Sir Ed would think now and I remembered his observations on the opening of that school decades ago …

“It was a remarkable occasion. The Head Lama of Tengboche carried out the official blessing. The forty pupils had grubby hands and smelly clothes – but their rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes were irresistible. It was a happy and satisfying occasion. When I left Khumjung on June 13th I little realised I was leaving behind what was to become a new way of life for me.

”

— Sir Edmund Hillary, On the opening of Khumjung School. Himalayan Trust

A large Stupa dominates the middle of Khumjung near the school

Now Khumjung School is successfully operated by the trust Sir Ed set up all those years ago; Himalayan Trust New Zealand

and has provided unreal benefit to the peoples of the Solukhumbu region. I felt truly humbled to be there.

As I wandered through Khumjung I also recognised the home of Phurba Tashi Sherpa, made famous by the recent documentary “Sherpa” highlighting the inequities of Sherpa people working in the mountains.

Phurba holds the world record for the most ascents of 8000m+ mountains, with 21 of those being on Everest and he worked for New Zealander Russell Brice until he decided to end his guiding career. I ate noodles in his teahouse (Tashi Friendship Lodge) and stared out into the view.

What an incredibly humbling experience to stand in this small village of utter greatness!

With my belly full of food, I was ready to begin the walk back to Namche via Khunde.

I knew there was a monastery in Khunde worth seeing, so I decided to slowly make my way there. Khumjung is a very neat and tidy village, with low stone walls marking small plots of land where livestock are housed, as well as marking the trail towards Khunde. As I wandered upwards, three monks walked towards me; broad smiles greeted me as they approached me whilst playfully jousting with each other.

“Where you from?”

The laughing monks

… the usual question …

I told them I was from New Zealand and immediately they launched into animated talk about the All Blacks. These three monks were rugby-mad and they primed me for every bit of information I had (which was very little!).

I never imagined I would have a conversation about rugby with monks, in a Himalayan village.

An old woman walked around the monastery again and again, muttering her mantra as she went.

From Khunde to Namche, there is a path leading up out of the village, over a small pass and drops down into Namche. I could imagine the area being stunning in springtime, with Rhododendron trees in flower and the hills green with pasture and life, but for now it was cold and unfriendly as the winter settled in.

The monastery in Khunde created a colourful addition to the surrounding winter starkness and as I could see, was a focal point for the village.

The walk back to Namche took approximately one and a half hours and felt unchallenging. I was rewarded with a stunning view when I came into Namche from the opposite side that I had walked out of in the morning.

The stunningly beautiful village from above. In the morning I had exited along the path leading out, at the top of the frame.

The striking contrast of colourful rooftops against the stark dusty surroundings, was captivating

as I descended hastily into Namche. I had spent all day walking; I was hungry and eager for a shower. I also needed to find an ATM machine and another layer of clothing.

A lesson on ATM machines in Namche:

Quite simply - if you can avoid using one - then stay away. But, if like me you neglected to bring enough cash to last for your entire trek, then a visit to an ATM is unavoidable. They are an experience all to themselves in Namche. Some work, some think about working and some definitely leave you wondering if you will ever see your card again, let alone any money. Then they also leave you wondering if the correct amount would come out. One ATM spat my card out but told me it had deducted funds. I stormed into the ‘bank’ and the man casually informed me that I should see a refund in my account in about a month.

“About a month?!!”

I exclaimed, completely unhappy with this situation. “Yes” he replied in a manner all too relaxed for my liking, “a month”.

Shit.

I needed cold hard cash. “Come back tomorrow, machine might be working then” he informed me.

So I did - and he was correct, it was working, and indeed within a few days I could see a refund had been applied for the first 5000 NRP I had attempted to withdraw the day before.

Better just to bring enough cash from Kathmandu

and also to avoid the ATM fee charged with each transaction of 500NRP, and the stress.

So what had I achieved in my acclimation day? I hoped a few more red blood cells were being coaxed into action by my incredible endocrine system, and that was due to this:

Starting elevation: 11,290 ft / 3,440 m

• Through elevation: Hotel Everest View 3880m / Khumjung 3780m / Khunde 3840m

• Ending elevation: 11,290 ft / 3,440 m

• Elevation change: +0 ft / +0 m

• Starting oxygen: 67% of sea level

• Ending oxygen: 67% of sea level

• Distance covered: 4.72 mi / 7.6 km

• Time hiked: 4h 00m

An awesome day out.

Street Dog Care, Kathmandu, Nepal: My date with love.

We hear a lot about volunteering in Nepal.

Volunteering in the Solu Khumbu region is particularly popular with ‘voluntourists’, but what if time is an issue? What if you want something different?

Try Street Dog Care (SDC) in Boudhanath.

The stunning Boudhanath Stupa in Kathmandu.

Street Dog Care of Kathmandu is celebrating ten years of being in the business of caring for Kathmandu’s street dogs that hang out near or around the Boudhanath Stupa. SDC can be seen at the Stupa every Saturday from 10 A.M until 1 P.M, where they will provide any dog who shows up, with some attention - in particular washing, caring for wounds, infections and skin conditions, treatment for worms, lice or mange and general grooming/cleanliness care. They also carry out de-sexing programmes, re-homing and international adoption plans.

On a short trip to Nepal recently, I decided to go to Boudhanath

to spend some time with this organisation, and it turned out to be a wonderful way to spend several hours. The day was bright, warm and sunny and the dogs were thoroughly enjoying the extra care and attention provided by a group of children from a local orphanage. It is so important to educate children from an early age, the importance of kindness to dogs and how to take care of them, as there is a long tradition in Nepal of ignoring the needs of dogs.

Another volunteer brushes a happy dog, while orphanage children watch intently and learn about how to care for these animals.

Nepal has a huge stray dog problem and in recent years, the Nepal Government used poison to control the dog population, disposing of the carcasses in local rivers.

Today there are an estimated 30,000+ street dogs in Kathmandu and the number is rising. In one hospital alone, in Kathmandu, there are up to 150 cases of dog bites per day. Many organisations now exist in Kathmandu for the care and protection of stray dogs and they have been effective in educating about the ineffective method of poisoning dogs for population control.

Street dogs in Nepal live a hard life, especially in Kathmandu, where many are injured due to collisions with vehicles. Large numbers of dogs carry diseases and some have rabies, which imposes a large risk for children who play in the streets if they are bitten by an infected dog. It is organisations such as SDC, which ensure that at least some street dogs get a better chance at a healthy life and they can educate others about how to be responsible dog owners.

In my few hours with SDC under the Stupa, we washed several dogs, treated one poor dog who had painful skin lesions, combed and cut knots from dogs hair and generally showed lots of TLC to the many dogs who hung around for a bit of love. One dog was very keen to get onto the grooming table, she loved the attention so much.

I was pleased to see that a large crowd gathered around to watch us in action. SDC do their job with as much visibility as possible, so as to raise awareness (and also funds) to help the dog situation in Kathmandu.

A six week-old puppy has been washed and treated for worms, immunised and has been tagged for de-sexing in the near future.

SDC operates from donations, and the work they do cannot continue without steady financial support.

They have a website: http://www.streetdogcare.org/ and they also have items for sale such as T-Shirts, calendars, bags, badges, purses and other Nepal-made items, which all go to support the work they do.

If you are in Nepal and wish to volunteer in some small way, spend some time with SDC on a Saturday morning. Look for the Rainbow coloured umbrella right at the Stupa and introduce yourself. You will be warmly welcomed, handed a brush, some gloves and a dog to love for a while.

Dodo was a big softy that showed up each Saturday for some TLC!

Dorje loves her weekly wash and brings herself along each Saturday.

Heidi lives outside SDC headquarters near Boudhanath.

Folding Upwards Part Three: Phakding to Namche

A coffee can make all the difference.

Chimmy’s coffee was infusing into my veins by the time I had climbed out of Phakding, towards Namche.

I knew it would not last long, however. Today was the day I would be crossing the infamous swing bridge that marks the steep climb to Namche Bazaar - the bridge portrayed in the movie ‘Everest’ - and it is every bit as stunning as it is in the film.

The day was gorgeous - blue sky, slightly chilly (although that was changing rapidly), no wind; just stunning.

The trail started upwards with an unrelenting determination and I was feeling the weight of my pack as I slowly climbed the path out of Phakding. Remember, I had dropped 200m from my arrival in Lukla, and had to regain that elevation plus more, on the walk into Namche.

I knew the 7.5km walk would take me several hours.

When hiking through the Himalayas, it is necessary to stop at several checkpoints along the way in order to have your ‘permits’ checked. I had heard that the previously required TIMS Permit was no longer needed, however, this had been replaced with another mootable ‘permit’ which I handed over 3000 rupee for earlier in my trek ( I cannot remember exactly where this occurred). Many of the checkpoints are dubious-looking tiny shacks, within which sits a teenaged male usually in army fatigues. They have been trained in the subtle art of looking gruff and scary. Most could be better trained in the english language, given the number of tourists that visit the region.

The auspicious Sagarmatha National Park permit office in Monjo. Guides usually deal with permits on behalf of their clients.

The Sagarmatha National Park permit office

is housed in Monjo, about an hours walk away from Phakding (if that). Here, all trekkers must show their permits or purchase one. I thought I had already purchased the correct permit, but had to hand over 2500 rupee for yet another permit - this one the Sagarmatha National Park permit. On a whiteboard behind the woman at the counter, was written the number of trekkers for each month of the year. In December so far, there had been over 4000 people pass through the park gates, but the busiest month was October, when over 18,000 people had ventured along this trail. I started to do the math on the revenue created by the park permit and the other ‘permit’ I acquired. I could see how trekking in this region was a lifeblood for the people here.

Lots of reading material awaits those who stand in a queue for a permit.

The Sagarmatha National Park

is officially entered through a grand-looking gate from which a series of steep steps cascades downward towards the river below. Just prior to walking through the gate, I realised I had no water and I started to look around for somewhere to fill my filter bottle. Three men were standing to the left of the park gates all staring down at something; I thought I would ask them where the village tap was. As I approached, I realised they were all looking at a large dead goat. I approached and asked what had happened to it. “Fell”, said one man, gesturing upwards to the sheer cliffs looming above our heads, with trees barely clinging on by their roots.

“Fell dead”, offered another man. “Oooooh” I said, “ramro” (trying out my Nepali and hoping that I had said “bad”). Everyone nodded in agreement, so I assumed there was some level of understanding.

I held up my water bottle; “pani?”

“Yes, yes, pani, yes, water … there behind house”, the first man said, pointing in the general direction of a cluster of houses. I walked over to a pile of rubble, clambered behind two tethered goats and found a tap dripping lazily. I happily filled my water bottle. Regarding water - I purchased a Lifestraw water filter bottle in Kathmandu. It cost what I would expect to pay in New Zealand, maybe slightly cheaper - $70NZD. It was worth every cent, as it meant I could fill my bottle from literally anywhere and 99.999% of all nasties would be filtered out. It was easy to drink from and did not require the suction of a vacuum cleaner to draw the water through the filter.

As I started down the steps, I looked back up towards the gate I had just walked through. I quickly snapped an iPhone shot, even though I thought I would capture an image on my way back in a couple of weeks time. The view of the gate from the park side, is far more enticing.

I was now officially in the park. It suddenly felt ‘legit’.

Monjo is a village that trekkers often opt to stay in, rather than Phakding. It is about halfway to Namche, only four kilometres away from it, however, it is a challenging four kilometres and often where people begin to feel the terrain and altitude mix.

Not far from Monjo - in fact closer than I had anticipated - was a point where the river I had been following, branched into two arms. The rivers flowed through deep valleys with steep walls, and one arm (still the Dudh Koshi), is crossed via a swing bridge - the longest and highest on the EBC trekking route - from which the steep zig-zag uphill grind to Namche Bazaar is reached.

There are two bridges, one upper and one lower; the lower bridge being unsafe for use. It is a truly impressive and somewhat intimidating sight to come across these bridges slung high across the windy valley with the raging Dudh Koshi far below.

The upper bridge is the one in use.

I stopped for a rest at the start of the bridges

and met a French woman who, like me, was trekking alone. She looked exhausted and I thought I would ask her to photograph me on the start of the bridge, and handed over my camera. Sadly the shot was completely blurry when I viewed it later! We talked a bit about our trekking plans; hers to do the Three Passes - RESPECT.

I dutifully captured a shot of her at the bridge on her iPhone and off she strode. “Wow” … I thought … “she is fit!”

The wind howled across that gap between the mountains and the prayer flags flapped loudly.

It is a strange thing to negotiate these metal bridges; they move beneath you with each step, and they feel precariously delicate, yet there needs to be a sense of submission while crossing over - what is the alternative? I stood on the cliff and watched those walking behind me - one woman so terrified she needed to hold the hand of someone in front of her. This was a really big deal for her; the region was full of these suspension bridges and I was hopeful they would become water-off-a-ducks-back for her, by the time she had come full circle.

The trail up to Namche starts in your face at the other side of the bridge.

The only thing I could liken it to was the walk up to Mueller Hut in New Zealand, not as steep in places, but a steady uphill grind requiring lots of rest stops; a 740m elevation gain over two kilometres. I struggled to find my uphill walking rhythm and tried to - as a friend told me - adopt the ‘altitude shuffle’ - two steps, breathe, two steps breathe … it was here that I really noticed the weight of my pack and started to have doubts about making it to EBC with it on my back. It was here that I first entertained thoughts of hiring a porter; it was here that I started to ask myself what the heck I was doing; it was here that my body told me how unfit it was.

But … one foot after another … slowly, slowly … upwards.

Part way up the hill to Namche, you are greeted by the most incredible view of Sagarmatha herself.

She stands grandly for all to see, protruding upwards behind slow clad mountains with spin-drift blasting from her peak, indicating the power of Mother Nature at the top of the world.

There she is … the best view I would ever get of her.

It was not long after the Kushum Khangru peak viewpoint, that I came across the French woman again. She was sitting on the side of the trail, pack off and looking very unhappy. I asked her if she was ok. She stated she was feeling ‘very headachy’. “Perhaps you should slow down?” I offered; “No” she replied “I am used to hiking fast, I will be ok”. I offered her some panadol, which she happily accepted, and that was the last I saw of her.

I was amazed at the internal dialogue I had on that walk up to Namche. Never in my life had I tackled something that appeared so benign, but yet was so deceptively difficult. I berated myself, chastised myself, beat myself up and decided in no uncertain terms, that I was finding a porter when I reached Namche.

Humble pie was consumed.

After what seemed like endless hours of uphill, the entry to Namche was indicated by yet another check-point with another army outfit-clad young lad. He too did not know how to smile and was more concerned with his cell phone than actually looking at my permit. From here, it was one last corner and spread before me like an amphitheatre, was the large village of Namche Bazaar. The entry into the village from the downhill side, is stunning, with a large stupa and numerous prayer wheels making a gorgeous feature.

The inviting and vibrant entry to Namche from below.

I was over-whelmed by arriving in Namche and felt slightly emotional. For me it marked my arrival to higher elevations and was something to be celebrated. I was also though, over-come by extreme fatigue and could barely walk the last few hundred metres towards the village centre in search of a teahouse. I had seen one mentioned on a blog, the Pumori Guesthouse, and so that was my intended target for the night, but when I arrived it appeared to be closed up for the season. I sat forlorn and knackered at the front door, trying to conjure up the energy to try somewhere else, when I heard a voice yelling “you want to stay Pumori Guesthouse?” I looked up to see a friendly face smiling at me. “I see you from below .. I was just hanging out with my friends … little bit bored”, he stated enthusiastically, “if you want to stay I can show you inside”.

I could have hugged the man.

I needed to stay two nights for acclimation. He showed me to a comfortable room with a commanding view of the town and surrounding mountains. I was to be the only guest for two nights as he and his wife were leaving to Kathmandu for the winter, in a few days. They were very hospitable. The room was 400 rupee which included free wifi and free charging of devices. It also included a free hot shower. The food was wonderful and the owner (whose name I have forgotten) was an ex Everest guide - a wealth of knowledge and interesting stories. He was a great friend of Conrad Anker and New Zealand’s Russell Brice. Boy did he have some stories to tell!

I settled into my room, happy with my achievement for the day, which looked like this:

Starting elevation: 8,563 ft / 2,610 m

• Ending elevation: 11,290 ft / 3,440 m

• Elevation change: +2,727 ft / +830 m

• Starting oxygen: 74% of sea level

• Ending oxygen: 67% of sea level

• Distance covered: 4.6 mi / 7.4 km

• Time hiked: 4h 15m

Tomorrow would be a day to explore Namche and the surrounding higher villages of Khunde and Khumjung, as I allowed my body to acclimate to the higher altitude.

I was looking forward to the ‘rest’.

Folding Upwards Part Two: Lukla to Phakding

The trail towards Namche from Lukla, is well worn.

At 2860m above sea level, Lukla is the main starting point for treks heading into Sagarmatha National Park, and is also the starting point for lesser traveled treks into the Makalu Barun National Park, which includes Meru Peak and Makalu. This part could also join to the main Everest trekking routes via the Island Peak trek at the end of the Chhukhung Valley, making a very long circuit for the those who have the time for more wandering.

After shunning the advances of eager porters, I found the track to my destination for the night - Phakding - and strode off with lofty confidence; my pack embracing me from behind as if to say “your’ve got this, girl”.

The walk from Lukla to Phakding, although very up and down, trends downward, finishing at an elevation some 200m lower than Lukla. The trail largely follows a milky aquamarine river (Dudh Kosi) through the valley floor and passes through quaint villages with tea houses and shops selling trekking provisions. Even though this was the end of the season, there was still an air of ‘business to be done’.

It was early in the day when I started walking.

Women were outside their homes engaged in the days tasks - washing clothes, preparing vegetables, washing children’s hair, tending to goats. The sky was a deep blue and occasionally I would catch a glimpse of a snow-clad peak. There was a noticeable absence of noise - just the sound of children laughing, the river flowing, birds singing …

Walking the trail into Phakding is akin to walking a main highway in New Zealand. The trails are the only way supplies can be delivered to villages higher up; everything travels by human or donkey power. Yaks are seen at higher elevations. I saw people carrying the most insane loads and also learned very quickly to stay to the mountain-side of the trail whenever a long line of donkeys came through - kicking up dust, with their ‘driver’ cracking the whip on foot behind, whistling and vocalising their instructions which only the donkeys could understand. Whilst the majority of supplies come in via the trail, helicopters are increasingly being used as well, particularly beyond Namche.

A man, singing away loudly to himself, carries a huge load down towards Lukla.

A heavily laden donkey seems to know the way to go.

The trail kept me engaged and acutely aware of my surroundings.

My senses felt as if they were on hyperdrive; I was over-whelmed by the colours, smells and sheer beauty of the trail. It was a humbling experience to know that before me, many incredible people had walked this same way - Sir Ed, Rob Hall, George Mallory … what a path to walk along. I am certain though, that Sir Ed did not have the luxury of using modern wire suspension bridges to negotiate river crossings! These bridges, suspended high above the rivers, look intimidating, but are such an integral part of successful transportation for the mountainous regions, that life without them would be far more arduous.

Suspension bridges always have Buddhist prayer flags on them, as a way of ensuring safe passage across the river.

It was hard to believe I had lost 200m in elevation, when I walked, tired, into Phakding village, less than three hours after leaving Lukla.

I felt as if I had been walking uphill since leaving Lukla, but the reality was:

Starting elevation: 9,383 ft / 2,860 m

• Ending elevation: 8,563 ft / 2,610 m

• Starting oxygen: 72% of sea level

• Ending oxygen: 74% of sea level

• Distance covered: 7.5 km

• Time hiked: 2h 40m
  

In New Zealand, a 7.5 km walk is one that I would be able to easily and quickly do, in a short period of time, without breaking into too much of a sweat.

In Nepal, this same distance at a higher elevation, means everything slows right down. I was not feeling the reduction of oxygen in terms of my breathing, but my body was telling me there was less available for my muscles to use - I walked slowly considering I was going to a lower elevation. I was relieved to see the teahouse was still open that I had researched before leaving New Zealand - it was two years old and looked comfortable. I knew as I got higher into the mountains, that comfort would cease to be!

A new clean sleeping lodge is behind the main teahouse.

The ‘Sherpa Guide Lodge’

was clean, warm and cheap. I paid extra to have my own bathroom (NZ $12), but a room with no bathroom was only 400 rupee ($5 NZ). The shared bathroom facilities were clean and also had warm showers available. - a small luxury.

It is expected practice to eat at the teahouse you are staying in. The food at the Sherpa Guide Lodge was wonderful. My total spend here was NZ $20 including room, dinner, breakfast and lemon-ginger tea. This lodge also included free wifi and the room I stayed in had a power point, so the charging for me was free, otherwise it was 500 rupee an hour (standard charge for the mountain teahouses).

On my way out of Phakding to Namche, I stopped at Everest Lodge Restaurant and Bar for a very good coffee made by a friendly local, Chimmy, who spoke with a strong American accent. When I commented on it, he thanked me profusely - seemingly it is a desirable attribute!

He had never been to the USA.

Chimmy and I chatted for some time before I set off towards Monjo - the official start of Sagarmatha National Park. I had caffeine in my veins and had slept well. The day was clear and warm.

I was good to go.

A Space in Between

I need a place to find some space.

I never imagined I would be having to find another job and home in a different location, after moving to Dunedin two years ago, to live. I loved being in Dunedin; last year three of my four children were there; I enjoyed my job at one of the many high schools in the city and I was beginning to develop some good friends and an active out-of-school life. I loved the house I lived in which had expansive views across the harbour to the Otago Peninsula, offering the most gorgeous sunrises many of the mornings I awoke in that house.

Until I moved away at the start of this year, I did not realise how vitally important that view was for my well-being. I now live in a small two bedroomed flat (the size actually is far better for me), with an expansive view of my neighbours corrugated iron fence. Occasionally I get to see my future students ride their bikes down the road whilst looking out the kitchen window and if I am super lucky I may catch a glimpse of some colour from behind the hills at sunset which I can just see out the other side of my kitchen.

It sure is different.

I am living in rural South Canterbury in a typical farming community ‘hub’ town. It is also quite a tourist spot as it is on the main road to Mount Cook. It has the best pies anywhere.

Yes - Its Fairlie; fairly good, fairly friendly, fairly unassuming … fairly land-locked too.

An inversion layer begins to sneak through the valley towards the aquamarine Lake Tekapo.

I have to go chasing my view.

I never saw my neighbours homes, when living in my last house - my view was directed completely towards the water. It was an effortless view; one you could sit and drink in all day. Since moving to Fairlie, I have driven somewhere nearly everyday in search of a view - mostly I drive to Tekapo, to the water. It is the water that calls me; the water and the mountains.

Today I walked and felt so grateful to have access to such a stunning area.

Walking has a way of being therapeutic; during a walk, things are sorted out; solutions are arrived at; the world is again (even if just momentarily), a better place. So things did not seem quite so bad right then. As I walked, I looked at what I was surrounded by and rationalised that my working life as a teacher this year would be so dominated by school, that I would be too busy to worry about missing my harbour view. Instead, I will need to make time for chasing my view; I will need to prioritise time for myself and for breathing in what is important to me - finding a space in between the chaos and stress of teaching; finding somewhere that offers expansive solace away from the enclosed environment of small rural town New Zealand.

Someone said this town will grow on me, and I am sure it will, but I also think it is extremely important to recognise and trust in what we know to be best for ourselves - this is a crucial aspect in being happy and also in living authentically as who we are. There is no shame in saying something is just not quite right and I am getting too old to pretend everything is.

For now, I will chase my special spaces and explore the region with an open mind.

I will treasure these spaces in between.

“Honour the space between no longer and not yet”

Nancy Levin

Folding Upwards Part One: Into Lukla

“Ah you go to Lukla!” the taxi driver exclaimed loudly; “very dangerous!”

“Thanks for that” I thought, as we drove through the dark empty streets of Kathmandu towards the domestic terminal. I was booked on the first flight out of the city, on the advice of the booking agent who suggested that Lukla can be open one minute and closed the next, due to unpredictable weather patterns in this tiny airport perched on the side of a hill at the start of the Himalaya’s. I wanted to be sure to get there - safely.

Ten anxious tourists sat hunched into the tiny plane, nervously discussing Lukla’s reputation whilst consoling each other with the fact that it promised to be another stunning winters day - seemingly the most settled weather was in December. As the plane taxied down the runway, a young Nepali woman walked the isle with a basket of white fluffy stuff - the man opposite looked at it, bemused; “it’s for your ears” she said, “cotton wool”.

Before I knew it we were off the ground, and there was a sense of urgency in the ascent out of Kathmandu.

Kathmandu, the largest city of Nepal, sits at an elevation of 1400m above sea level. It is housed in a large valley called the Kathmandu Valley, surrounded by four mountain ranges all with an average elevation of 2800m. It is necessary, therefore, for aircraft to rapidly ascend when leaving the city, and particularly heading towards Lukla - some 30 minute flight away - as the land just seems to fold upwards in never-ending steps towards the planet’s highest mountain.

The plane travels so close to the surrounding mountains that it seems as if they are just an arms-length away.

As the morning starts to emerge, and the sun begins to spread the first of it’s rays through the deep valleys below, it highlights a stunning mist-draped landscape; layer upon layer of hills and valleys; a golden-pink hue marinating all that lies in the sun’s path. Too stunning for words.

Image by Andrew Bain

As I sat in mouth-wide-open awe at the beauty I was witnessing, I forgot all about being on a tiny plane flying into the worlds most dangerous airport.

Nepal from the air is just so beautiful - layered agricultural plots for crop growing, dominate the landscape alongside snow-capped mountains. Small villages in the most impossible locations are dotted along the flight path, dirt tracks connecting them all - no roads - and we were flying low enough that I could see people on the tracks far below.

Suddenly, I could see an airstrip to the right, on the side of a hill.

I could see that the airstrip ended abruptly - there was certainly no room for mistakes in either landing or stopping! The airstrip at Lukla is about 500m long and is on a nearly 12 percent gradient - planes land uphill, and take off downhill; it is the most bizarre thing to watch a plane take off as it disappears below the houses near the runway. Suddenly, no longer than a minute or two after I saw the airstrip far below, we were on it.

It was an abrupt landing - seemingly dumping us from the sky - everyone cheered. We were very quickly ushered from the plane, as the turn around time for flights in and out of the small village, is extremely quick.

“Watch your bags, watch your bags!”

I heard someone with an Irish accent yell. One of the flight passengers came up to me and said “keep an eye on your bag or it will go walking without you’. I went into the small baggage claim room - no bigger than a bathroom, just in time to see a Nepali guy taking my pack and about to open the top. “no-no!” I yelled, “thats my pack!”, waving my ticket with number ten printed on it - matching the one stuck to my pack.

“You want a porter?” the man asked me - “no” was my response … “I’ve got this” I thought …. “Ive totally got this ….”

Lukla was cold . I was now at 2860m and would be descending to Phakding at 2610m. The walk would take me two to three hours and I was chomping at the bit to get started. I pulled my puffer jacket from my pack and put it on then went in search of a pre-hike coffee.

I was here. Let the walk begin.