Leapfrog

I wake up at 5am, not from an alarm, but simply because I go to sleep by 8:30 or 9. I spend the morning repacking my backpack, a task that becomes more and more automatic, and then reading or listening to music before breakfast, which is always at 6:30. Breakfast is a quiet meal, eggs and toast eaten over sipped tea and gentle “How did you sleep?”s.

By 7:15 we’re on the trail, for me, the first 30 minutes are incredibly uncomfortable as I work and stretch my legs which without fail stiffen and lock up each night. Giri, our porter runs lifts up our bags without any visible effort and pulls the strap attached to them down over his forehead while Santosh, our guide, leads the way, walking slow and steady in preparation for the many hours ahead. The terrain varies, except that it also, invariably, goes up. There may be sections that roll gently downhill, or stairs to hop down, but every step down will be matched and then outmatched by the steps up. We are going to a Himalayan base camp, after all. We go for three hours, sometimes more, and depending on how I’m doing, we may or may not take breaks more than once an hour. We usually take breaks.

Around 11 we stop for lunch, which is quite an affair as all food has to be prepared from scratch once you order, so lunch stops are usually an hour and a half or so. Timing is not so exact in the mountains. The afternoon march is usually shorter, and we often reach our next guesthouse around 2. By then I am totally spent, and if the day was particularly hard, a quick nap is a necessity. If not, I’ll take a shower, read a but, listen to some music, or just sit quietly and watch as the view is overtaken by storm clouds. Rain is a certainty in the afternoons, with thunderclaps louder than anything I’ve ever heard. But we never got caught in the rain.

We all come back together for dinner around 6, with Giri and Santosh having their second bowls of Dal Bhat, the national lentil dish, and Florian and I eating whatever appeals on the surprisingly extensive menus. After dinner we sit together until dark and then go our separate ways, sure to get plenty of sleep before the next tough day. The guesthouses aren’t luxury accommodation, power is limited to a single bulb in each room, and I don’t recall ever sleeping on sheets that were stain free, but they are better than camping and are usually pretty clean. It is important to prepare for bed quickly, so the bugs have minimal time to find your light and invade your sleeping space.

Every day on the trail is different but there are some sights that remain consistent. The tried nods and “Namaste”s from fellow hikers, young local boys running up and down the difficult trails with large roughly woven baskets strapped to their foreheads, herds of mules with clanging bells around their necks as a warning that a force capable of pushing you off the trail is coming towards you. Of course, it is also always beautiful. The natural wealth of Nepal is unbelievable.

Nepal greeted me with taxi drivers shouting at me, all trying to get my business, but they didn’t know that I had a secret weapon- a preplanned pickup. I found the sign with my name on it and a man I didn’t know yet but would soon be spending hours with each day, my guide, placed a necklace of bright orange marigolds around my neck. “Welcome to Nepal!” We drove to my hotel where I was dropped off to spend the rest of my day napping and catching up on news with my exciting middle-speed internet. I met the man I would be trekking with, a German political science professor at the University of Idaho, and was given a brief orientation before we all headed out for our welcome dinner.

The next day we took a seven hour bus ride to Pokhara, Nepal’s second largest town, before starting the trek on my third day in the country.

My goal was to get to Annapurna Base Camp. After the first and second days, climbing hours of stairs in the intense sun, I amended that goal to getting to Base Camp without passing out, a distinct possibility for me after keeling over for no reason in Belize early this year.

The heat didn’t make the landscape any less beautiful, with its rolling green terraced mountains and the little villages made of stone dotted throughout, but it did make the hiking more difficult. I really struggled the second day, when the trail was covered in manure from the donkeys and cows and the sun beat down without mercy- there was no cover. But I persevered, and the next day was much gentler, still mostly uphill, but in the forest, where the terrain felt familiar and my lungs didn’t feel like they were about to collapse.

The landscape shifted over the week I spent climbing up and down the mountains, starting with those dappled hills, slowly morphing into the tall snowy Himalayas and then back again. Some of the views made me ache with the foreign foreboding nature of them standoffish places covered in mist and scrub, while the waterfalls were overwhelming with their great height and ferocious roaring, which was often the only sound echoing through the large valleys, drowning out the little mountain birds. The beauty of that place seems angry, untamed, wild in the purest and truest sense. That is terrifying, which pulls youin, exciting you with its mystery and relatively safe danger.We crossed through sections of the mountain totally swathed in mist, like the clouds were resting on the earth, giving the land the ethereal, cinematic quality that fantasy films are so good at evoking.

The mountains aren’t the only source of natural beauty along the trail, although they do dominate the minds of every trekker. We passed through dense forests, walking on trails that were only pretending to be trails, but were really streams, under a canopy of bright green leaves so thick you couldn’t see the sky. The forest here isn’t quite the deciduous forests of home or the lush tropics, but somewhere interestingly in between, with dropped leaves on the ground, rubbery plants hanging from the sides of cliffs and brightly colored and fantastically designed insects buzzing all around.

This is a water rich country, with streams trickling across the trail every few feet and a mighty waterfall with a rickety wooden bridge to be crossed seemingly at every turn. There are different types of waterfalls too, not just the ones that angrily hurl themselves off the sides of the mountains racing towards the ground and stampeding through the valley, but also the long thin model-looking falls who tumble off the edge of cliffs gracefully as if to saygoodbye to the earth and hello to the heavens. There are miniatures, hiding in the cracks of rocks, peaking out at the passing hikers like kittens hiding behind their mama and the rocky falls which are slower, but just as noisy as the water bounces from boulder to boulder, somewhere in between waterfall and river.

On Monday instead of heading to the school like I would have, Caitlin and I were informed that we would be going paragliding, which we previously thought would be on Tuesday afternoon. Right after breakfast we got in the car sent for us and started to drive up.

We eventually came to a little town where we were transferred to a sturdier vehicle and again we headed off, up the mountain we would later be flying down. The windy mountain roads sharp turns and lack of a guard rail in many places occasionally made Caitlin and i turn to each other, wide eyed in both fear and incredulity.

Soon (ish) the ride was over and we had reached the top of the mountain where we could already see other people running off the edge and being lifted up by the giant colorful sails soaring above them.

In no time at all it was our turn. I went first, getting strapped into the backpack-seat combination device and then being told to “Run! Run!” Run I did, and in seconds we were airborne.

It was absolutely spectacular. We rose up, feeling the strong pull of the wind and the sail, and I watched as the ground got further and further away, and the air got chillier and chillier. As we twisted around the top of one of the small mountains in the area and eagled soared up to meet us, its wings catching the same air current we were using. I was happy to share.

I didn’t simply feel “like” I was flying, I was flying in a way that seemed totally real. The cool air brushed through my fingers, through my hair. We swung back and forth at the will of the wind, swaying and sometimes aggressively tilting. It’s sort of like being on a boat in the ocean, and yet completely different.

Then my pilot said something unexpected. “Acrobatics now, yes?” I said yes, of course, I wasn’t going to have gone paragliding in the foothills of the Himalayas and not opt for the acrobatics! So we began, at first with some sharp turns and twists that eventually led to a full on corkscrew. It was dizzying, and I could feel the force of it pushing back the skin on my face.

These movements added life to the already beautiful landscape, specifically reminding me of Van Gogh, a man whose work also feels alive.

And then, 20 minutes from the first leap, I was back on the ground, with shaking legs that had somehow already forgotten what solid felt like. We also visited a Tibetan Monastic School/ Temple, and a Hindu Temple, but neither really held up to the experience of the first flight.

Day One:

We woke up at 6:20 on Saturday morning and ate breakfast in the quiet way two people who woke up just a little too early do. We walked to the end of our short road and climbed into the waiting car, ready for the 5.5 hour drive to Amritsar, a city close to the Pakistani border which is home to the Golden Temple. The drive was lovely, as we left the mountainous area we are staying in and slowly watched the landscape turn dry and arid, rivers turning into riverbeds and forests turning to scrubby brush.

When we got to our hotel in Amritsar (a very plushy Best Western) the first order of business was, of course, to get connected to the wifi. After sorting out a little bit of nonsense we settled in for a quiet early internet afternoon. I started the long process of downloading various content and we both stayed plugged in for awhile.

We then headed to the Pakistani border in order to watch the guard changing there, which was apparently an event. I can now say I’ve seen Pakistan, which is cool, I guess. It turns out the change really is an event and we walked into a stadium full of people who all seemed to know perfectly clearly what was going on. There was lots of music and cheering and dancing, and eventually, guards in giant hats shaped like fans started doing high kicks and quick step choreography. At the same time, the Pakistani side was doing similar maneuvers with different music. Eventually the gates were opened and the  flags were lowered and everyone danced back to their original places. The place emptied out, and we were able to use our pale pale faces to walk on the foreigner side, which was much less crowded. We had been able to get in this way too with our American passports.

We then began the journey to the Golden Temple, even though it was already after 7pm. It was going to be a long night. It was a stressful drive, including a dust storm, and we were stuck in the kind of traffic that is more of a parking lot. We finally got the the parking lot, our driver guided us down the stairs and stuck us in an auto rickshaw and sent us off into the unknown. He drove us through the dark and incredibly busy streets for a little while and then pointed forward and said “There.” We paid him and walked with the giant crowd toward the temple. Getting into the temple was a process, and we were turned away twice, the first time because we tried to carry our shoes, which wasn’t allowed, the second time because we hadn’t washed our hands. We got in the third time. It was beautiful, night is really the time to see the temple, as the lights reflect on the dark water surrounding it and the people seem calmer. The crowds on the way back were even more overwhelming, it was like a moving human wall, made worse by the fact we were being followed by a young sikh boy that earlier helped us wash our hands and now wouldn’t leave us alone. We lost him as we drove away in the auto rickshaw, which took us back to the parking lot, where we met our driver and made our way back to the hotel.

Day Two:

We spent a calm morning in our hotel and enjoyed a full breakfast at the hotel. We were then driven to the Jallianwala Bagh Memorial, a lovely garden and memorial in honor of the non-violent victims of a British firing squad. We then walked back to the Golden Temple, as it was quite nearby, but I decided not to go back in and just waited for Caitlin in the beautiful white marble courtyard watching the many visitors, most, of course, sikhs.

And then we began the long drive back, stopping only for some lunch, and napping much of the way.

Day 4:

On Thursday Ushma, the grumpy english teacher who had disappeared Tuesday and Wednesday, reappeared, which was kind of terrible. She warmed up to me, which was nice, but I disagree with her teaching style completely. She is also occasionally wrong, which is frustrating. I was once again relegated to sitting on the edge of the classroom, quietly observing, and sometimes being called upon by Ushma to see some failure in the students. They also changed my schedule, which was mildly terrible. Instead of having the 8th graders, who I enjoyed teaching, I had the 1rst graders for 2 periods, and they don’t even realize I don’t speak Hindi. Halfway through my first period with them I was informed that I was supposed to be teaching them science! It was a confusing day but I continued to do my best, and I continued to have success getting through to some of the students.

We chose to take a walk that afternoon, with the specific goal of visiting Heena and her family, the lovely people who had helped us when we got lost on our first day. It was an awkward visit, just because of the language barrier, but extremely friendly. We were ushered inside and brought glasses of water and then lemon-lime soda on little trays, in the very hospital way Indian families serve you welcoming liquids. After slow conversation and many smiles and thank you’s Heena’s brother asked how long we were going to be in the country. Upon discovering Caitlin would be around through July he immediately extended an invitation to his upcoming wedding, which Caitlin was happy to accept, as one of her great goals for the summer was to go to an Indian wedding.

That evening a yoga instructor came to our apartment. We moved the table and chairs in the dining room and put extra mattresses on the floor to serve as mats. The session was interesting, not in the least because of his insane number pronunciations, but also because the yoga was put into some historical and spiritual context. He also pushed us a little too far in some of the poses, and I woke up the next morning feeling much more stiff than relaxed.

Day 5:

Friday was very similar to Thursday in terms of teaching, I still had my less than ideal schedule, and I was still quietly sitting behind Ushma, but I kept doing my best. I did indeed end up teaching the 1rst graders science, but luckily their textbooks were in English and I was able to act out the motions they were supposed to be learning. They were particularly fond of “jump.”

We spent the afternoon at the market as there were some last minute essentials we needed before our trip to Amritsar. It wasn’t great, we were hoping to go to the market only once a week, but it was fine, and our spirits were bolstered the entire day by the promise of wifi over the weekend.

Day 1:

Caitlin and I woke up, ate breakfast, washed the dishes, and we were just settling for the peaceful half hour wait for our coordinator when he knocked on our door with an upbeat “Ready to go?” Caitlin was not, as she was still in her pajamas, so I covered for her a bit and then we headed out. We weren’t given much information, just quickly shepherded into a waiting car, Caitlin and I in the back and our coordinator in the front passenger’s seat twisting around to smile at us. This is the same coordinator that hadn’t told us that the bus would drop us off at a different bus stop than the one we left from and hadn’t mentioned how to get back to the house from that stop, leading to the previous getting lost situation.

We watched the school children walking to school, all in very proper uniforms with the girl’s long dark hair done up in looped braids hanging like basset’s ears from the sides of their heads. We passed the Tea Estate and the closest “market” (we are outside of Palampur and we need to go all the way in for a proper market) and crossed over the many terror-inducing narrow bridges regularly crossed by giant trucks.

All the while our (hopefully) earnest coordinator is giving me conflicting advice on how to take the bus to my school the rest of my stay, while Caitlin made confused faces at me in the backseat. We turned off the main road and onto a little red dirt side road, pulling up to a bright green school in a couple minutes. Caitlin and I looked at each other in the backseat and shrugged our shoulders- we didn’t know where we were going, but we didn’t expect to be launched straight into work on our first morning. She stayed in the car as she is doing a medical internship and I was ushered inside. It immediately became clear that I was starting my first day. There were many people rushing around and speaking very fast hindi, perhaps trying to find a place for me. This part of the program is quite noticeably underprepared.

I was introduced to a beautiful Indian lady in vibrant green was fussed around in a very school-administrator way. It turns out that she was building a schedule for me, and when the first bell rang and the white-shirted scamps taking a test in the hallway had dispersed, she took me to the 4th graders classroom where I was given the teacher’s name and sat in the corner.

I first saw the 4th graders, then the 8th graders, then the 1rst graders, then the 3rd graders, then the kindergarteners, and then finally the 7th graders. The teachers in the kindergarten, 1rst, and 3rd grades just let me have the classroom, which was odd, as I am much better equipped to handle older learners. I got through just fine, but the other classes, the 4th, 8th, and 7th grades were a different story. I just sat in the back of the classroom quietly disagreeing with the grumpy teacher. There is a very different style of teaching here, completely rigid, with memorization and slaps on the back of the head. It is not how I would choose to do things.

Day 2:

The main surprise of day two is that I was completely abandoned in the classroom for all but one of my six periods. I was worried that I wasn’t going to be useful at the school, but I guess giving regular teachers a break is an important function…

When I got to the school I waited patiently during the daily test until once again the bell rang, (it’s not a bell it’s more of a bashed up gong) and headed to the 4th grade classroom, after being assured that I had the same schedule as yesterday. As I walked in the classroom I asked my escort where Ushma, the grumpy english teacher who had made me feel so unwelcome the previous day, was, I was informed she was not coming. So I walked into the classroom, asked where the students where they were in their books, and began teaching. I taught all of my classes on my own day 2, and I think I did quite well.

Palampur is incredibly beautiful, with layers of mountains encircling the twisted roads and lush greenery. There are sloping green mountains, which loom gracefully, but are miniaturized by the himalayas stretching into the clouds behind them, with their craggy snow white caps visible only in the clear morning.

Day 3:

I continued to teach my six classes on my own on Wednesday. I especially got in a rhythm with the 8th graders, they had the best grasp of english, and I think we developed the best dynamic. The little one’s still don’t realize that I don’t speak Hindi, which is inconvenient. Being at the school really makes me think about the role of education, and the different needs of students, and the needs of a community in a school, somethings I’ve pondered before, but never with the desperation that classrooms without doors lends.

That afternoon we went to the market, for what would hoped would be the last time, and were extremely successful. We got peanut butter! There were other purchases too, but they were not as important as peanut butter, which feels like a hug from home and a saving grace and is just the best. The quiet success of the day was the bus, which in both directions took us the entire way, not something to be sneezed at, as sometimes the trip takes two legs.
A quick side note- Caitlin brought an adult coloring book and a set of colored pencils with her and it has been a real boon to our unbearably slow dial up situation. Sometimes the internet takes 5 minutes or more to load one google search.