At 4,600 meters

Right now I am sitting in my kitchen in Hetauda. Which is only at 500 meters. There is thunder and lightning outside. And it isn't raining, but the air is so thick that - even though it's only about 70 degrees outside - I have to keep my shawl close by so that I can wipe the sweat off my forehead every few minutes.

At some point this evening it will rain, and even though just for a bit, it will come fast and furious. It is like the land and sky here is preparing for the big rains to come. Slowly working up to the monsoon. The long shawls that belong to the kurtas here seem superfluous in the heat, until I realized how useful they are when I am sweating (and I'm certainly not the only one).

It is the 5th night in a week we've had thunder storms. I absolutely love thunder storms. I have this vivid memory of first moving to Eugene for graduate school and being new, and alone, in my apartment. One of the first nights I was there I was visited by a huge thunder storm. I sat in the living room working on an art project for hours, just watching the sky, thinking that it seems appropriate that thunder and lightning accompany big change.

Last night I had dinner with my Hetauda Nepali family, feeling frustrated again that my conversations are inhibited how much Nepali I know. So, after signing myself up for language classes today, I'm celebrating with Omar Faruk Tekbelek, some of my favorite music from home, and pancakes. My parents used to bake pancakes on our heated wood stove when I was little. They are comfort to me tonight.

I have several interesting pictures from my trip to Langtang Valley, so I figure that I'll post them a few at a time with some stories.

At first, I considered starting at the beginning. But in a way, the top is the beginning. The destination the start of the trip.

I made it up to 4,600 meters (15,200 feet), which, for me, is both higher than I've ever been before in my life, as well as higher than I ever imagined I'd make it to - even two weeks ago.

Our trek followed the Langtang river along a valley - and up, and up. We started around 1,400 meters with forest, rhododendrons, and monkeys. Ended up - well - here. At an ancient and very-much-in-use monastery just a few miles from the Tibet border. The monestary sits surrounded by rocks, horses, yaks, and peaks on all sides. Brian and I made it up one peak on our fourth day of the trek. The picture with the mountains and the river (at the very bottom) was taken along the way up just after 5:00 in the morning. Early starts are good, as the wind picks up something fierce in the afternoons.

Entering the monastery felt like entering into a swirling circle of prayers, hopes, dreams, focus, intention, anger followed by release, frustration followed by peace. Candles to carry what was most important to the visitor as she placed what was most precious or weighing in her mind. And paintings that felt so sacred there was no way I even dared to ask if it was okay to take pictures. They were intricate, explicit, light and dark, vibrant, of this world and other worlds, complex. The stones that made up the building protected the space by the harsh winds up so high.

Being in this place I felt like I was somewhere truly different, foreign. As in a place that I have never, ever been before and could have never imagined or dreamed up no matter how I could have tried. Maybe it was the flocks of birds that were so close to us. Or the circles of stones - either to shelter a small crop from wind and animals, or as a base for a house that will be inhabited at a later time this year. I think it was the stones that make up the mountain, the cold from the wind that isn't forgiving, the difficulty of taking in breath. The stones, they have a different feel, they house old stories. Stories I've never heard before.

It seemed that - for me - I was welcome here in this place for 2 days only. After visiting the peak and the monastery I was happy to move back down. Back to trees, to water, to full breaths. Brian got altitude sickness pretty bad. He threw up four times our second night at the top after going to the peak. I didn't feel great myself, but was okay.

What an amazing experience to do something I never imagine I could have. To put one foot in front of the other, moving towards the altar at the top of the mountain, moving quicker than I thought I could have, with more determination than I thought I had, and with more ease than I had anticipated.

Funny that it's sometimes the things I think will be easy that can be the hardest. And the things I think will be hardest or impossible that come to me with ease when I least expect it.

In the time it took me to write this, the rains did, indeed, come. And I have a light show outside since the electricity has also gone out. And so I transport myself mentally back down to this elevation, breathing in the warm air, the relief of the rain finally giving in after it has been building all day...