Ibuprofen and muscle-relaxing cream had done little for David during the hike to Beni. The next morning when he got out of his sleeping bag, the pain was even worse and spreading farther down his thigh. At the meal table, we talked over what to do, but there was really only one option, as Sanga had already pointed out the day before. David had to make the hike to Phaplu; from there, he could fly back to Katmandu.
Sanga informed us that the hike to Phaplu from Beni would only take a few hours and we should be there by midmorning, even at David's slow pace. For the first time, Sanga correctly calculated our rate of progress.
The hike due south to Phaplu was the easiest stage of the trek. We crossed another river, Chiyang Khola, by a cable and wood plank bridge, then hiked across a broad river valley before ascending and descending a rocky ridge.
Slipping and sliding over the ledge of the ridge and then down the steep rocky trail was intensely painful for David. But David, like Karen, was being transformed by his experience in the Himalayas.
On the first day, hiking out of Jiri, he had been careless and clumsy, falling repeatedly in his enthusiasm to photograph everything he saw. He was starry-eyed, and his balance was probably affected by the rapid increase in altitude. On the trail to Phaplu, he hiked with a grim determination. It was not that he had lost his eye for the wondrous beauty that surrounded him or his enthusiasm to be in this place. He still stopped to take the occasional photograph, but with his little digital camera rather than the big bulky Nikon he carried the first day. He was still an engaging companion, grinned between grimaces of pain, and did not complain at all about his physical suffering. David's transformation, in my mind, was that he became stronger through his willingness to accept the physical pain and to put one foot in front of the other despite the pain.
This seems a small thing, perhaps, to those who have not endured pain while hiking for miles and days. But I know what it is like to have to keep moving down the trail when it would feel so much better to stop and hire a pack animal or porter to carry you out, or to contract for a helicopter evacuation. I don't think David seriously considered those possibilities, although he may have fantasized about being flown out. Instead, he became more like my description of what is so attractive about the people of the High Himalayas; he became stronger and gentler.
The first time I hiked to Everest Base Camp in 1998, I began suffering from acute mountain sickness two days below Base Camp. The symptoms were not debilitating at first, severe headaches at night and feeling a little nauseous and weak in the morning. By the time we reached Gorak Shep, the last campsite below base camp, however, I was so weak I needed help to stand up. But I was determined to see Base Camp. I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other. A few hours later, I sat on a ridge looking down at my goal: Everest Base Camp. Then I hiked twelve hours to the medical clinic in Pheriche. It was very grim. I could barely stand. I had seen sick climbers being carried down the trail in dokos. I was determined not to rely on someone else to get me out of the predicament into which I had put myself. Looking back on it, I don't know where the strength came from to keep putting one foot in front of the other, but I found it.
David exhibited the same grit. He did it without kvetching and maintained a smile and pleasant disposition despite being in severe pain for three days on the trail.
In the lives that privileged professionals like David and me live in the United States, accepting physical pain is abnormal. If pain is experienced, we have a cornucopia of medications for relief as well as being able to turn to health-care professionals. Our culture encourages us to avoid pain. We are not to accept pain or discomfort; rather, we are encouraged to seek immediate relief. Most Americans would surely think it perverse and masochistic simply to accept pain and to continue to enjoy and appreciate the world around us rather than focusing our attention on escaping the discomfort of physical suffering. But that is how mountain people live, and that is how one from the West, like David, may choose to adapt to the experience offered. And he did.
A mule train passed us before we arrived in Phaplu. And, hooray, everyone in our group moved to the mountain side of the trail as instructed!
As we neared Phaplu, the trail widened and became dusty. It's a good idea to hike with a handkerchief around your neck or in a handy place, so if the trail gets dusty, you can cover your nose and mouth. You may look like a bandito with a handkerchief tied around your face, but better to look like a Wild West bandit than to breathe dust.
As we closed in on the village, local people hurried past us and children played along the trail. It was slightly disorienting to see people; we had seen so few on the trail in the last two days.
We followed Sanga down the main drag of the village, looking for the Number Lodge. Number is the name of the highest mountain visible from Phaplu. Shops, lodges, restaurants, and homes lined both sides of the trail. We hiked by the airstrip and a hospital. Phaplu looked to be a very prosperous Sherpa village. Many of the buildings were multistoried, which was in sharp contrast to the rough settlements we had passed through on the trail from Jiri.
Sanga has come through Phaplu on his way home to Basa village many times and has friends there. Sirdars make a point of developing contacts along the trails on which they guide clients. They use their contacts to find the best buys for local food, campsites, and lodges. But this was the first time Sanga had brought clients to Phaplu. He told me he knew the family that owned the Number Lodge and trusted them to look after David. This was also the lodge to which he had instructed Some to bring Bill when they arrived in Phaplu.
Sanga took care of making the arrangements for a room for David with the lodge didi. The group members rested and drank tea and Fantas in a little courtyard within the lodge. Our porters also took the opportunity for a rest, but the kitchen staff had hiked on ahead as we needed to continue to make time and the plan was that we would eat lunch farther down the trail.
After making room arrangements for David, Sanga gave him his Nepal Airlines ticket for return to Katmandu. He explained that David would have to buy a new ticket if he decided to fly before the scheduled date on the ticket, but Niru would arrange for a refund back in Katmandu. Otherwise, David could await our return from Basa and fly back with the rest of us. Sanga had given the same information to Bill.
We needed to say our good-byes to David and get on down the trail. Dax started to complain about the group always being in a hurry. He said he was tired of pushing the pace and would enjoy just hanging out in Phaplu for a while. This was disturbing and put Sanga in a difficult position because sirdars do not like to deny a client's request. So I said that, if he really wanted to hang out in Phaplu, he could stay with David, but the rest of the group needed to move on.
Dax actually considered the prospect of staying, which surprised me. I thought he might just be attracted to the idea of spending time with David, who is a good-looking young man. David seemed indifferent and just wanted to nurse his sore leg.
After a little more “Should I or shouldn't I?” by Dax, we were finally ready to leave. We each hugged or manfully shook hands with David. He apologized for holding us back, which he really hadn't because Karen's speed was not much faster than David crutching with his trekking poles. Once again we shouldered our packs, walked out of the lodge, and headed south down the trail through Phaplu.
Just outside of Phaplu is the district government headquarters of Solu at Sallert. The main trail turned downhill toward the impressive compound of buildings. It would have been interesting to hike down to visit the government campus, but our trail narrowed and forked left uphill. We needed to make time and catch up to Purna and the kitchen crew.
As we put distance between Phaplu and us, the incline became steeper. Apparently well used by local traders and herdsmen, the trail's dirt was packed so hard that the trail had developed a U shape. This, along with the incline, made footing difficult. Unfortunately, the rain that had drenched us during the last stage of our hike the night before had also soaked the narrow trail, making it very slippery.
Dax started muttering about not enjoying this. As the footing became more difficult, his muttering turned to whining. He slipped and fell to one knee. When he got up, he proclaimed in a shrieky tone of voice, “I'm not enjoying this! This is not working for me!” Then he announced he was not going any farther. He demanded that Sanga get his duffel and that he was going back to Phaplu and would stay at the lodge with David.
I started to argue with him to try to convince him not to quit the trek, but when he resisted, I got disgusted. I shook my head and said, “Fine, but I hope you realize what you're making Sanga do.” Sanga quickly intervened and said not to worry, he would take care of it. Luckily, our porters were just behind us. Sanga stopped the porter carrying Dax's duffel and pulled it out of the doko. Sanga slung the duffel over his back and strapped his own large backpack in front so it rode on his chest instead of his back.
We were only about an hour out from the Number Lodge. Our farewells were brief and formal. Sanga began hiking back, with Dax following. I was pissed at Dax and headed up the trail, muttering to myself and shaking my head. Carl and Karen both looked a bit wide-eyed with surprise over these developments but didn't seem too upset by Dax's departure.
On one level, it made no sense to me. Dax was the most fit member of the group. Yes, he had trouble with the slipperiness of the trail and, despite his strength and fitness, his coordination is not particularly good. But I think the real problem was that he was not spiritually committed to experiencing Basa and so lacked the mental toughness to endure the discomfort of slipping and sliding on the trail to get there.
When we were in Ladakh in 1997, Dax endured altitude sickness, dehydration, and sunburn and did not want to quit when our leader, John Roskelley, ordered him to abandon the expedition due to his weakened condition. He was ready to fight Roskelley to continue but reluctantly acquiesced after Judy and I helped him see the sense of this decision. I don't know why he had not made the mental and emotional commitment to Basa. He was the only member of the group who had not contributed to the school project prior to the trek. But we only had to hike the rest of the day and then part of the next day and we would be there. Why surrender now?
Sanga would have to hike back to Phaplu, get Dax checked into the lodge, and then run down the trail as fast as he could to catch up to us. It was a great imposition for Dax to require Sanga to make this sacrifice of time and energy, but to Sanga it was just part of the job. He did not seem at all upset about the imposition, just disappointed that Dax was quitting.
I had no right to feel self-righteous about Dax requiring extra work of Sanga. One day during the 1996 Ladakh expedition, I thought I lost my camera. Halfway between our lunch stop and campsite for the night, I couldn't find it. After we arrived at camp, while we were getting ready for dinner, I told our group that I must have left my camera at the settlement where we had eaten lunch. Well, there was no way I could hike back to retrieve the camera that night. Our sirdar, Tsering Sherpa, said he would hike back and look for it. I told him he need not, but he did. We had hiked four hours after the lunch stop. He made the round trip on his own twice as fast as we had hiked, but that still required him to hike another four hours after a full day of hiking. When Tsering arrived back in camp long after the rest of us had finished eating dinner, he told me he had talked with locals who had watched us eating and they remembered seeing me take photos and put the camera back in my pack. It was a mystery. I had carefully searched my pack for the camera—I thought.
A day later, I discovered the camera in the bottom of my pack, hidden under a book. I don't know how or why I had not found it before then. I was so ashamed that Tsering had wasted all that time and energy in search of my camera that I did not tell him I found it. My guilt meant a larger tip for him, but I still bear the shame. So I had no right to feel too uppity about Sanga's extra effort for Dax.
Now we followed Arjun. The trail became even more difficult, like a slippery roller coaster. Another hour onward, it finally flattened and the hiking became much easier. We passed a farmer carrying a bundle of hay in the typical Himalayan way. All we could see of him was his legs. To an American child, the farmer would look like a hay monster.
Around a bend, we discovered a little one-room temple just off the trail. It had a padlock on it, but because Carl and Karen were curious to see the inside of the temple, Arjun put down his pack and ran up a side trail leading to a couple of houses. He came back with a woman who told him the caretaker was working in a field, but she unlocked the door for us. Inside, bare wood walls surrounded one large prayer wheel. With the woman's permission, we turned the wheel. It was a release. Karen and Carl turned the wheel faster and began whooping with joy while they sprinted around the prayer wheel. They had the spirit.
It struck me once again how tolerant Tibetan Buddhism is. Imagine two strangers entering a church or mosque and whooping with joy. I know how my minister reacted when I was thirteen and he walked into the sanctuary and found two girls and me rolling around on the floor tickling each other and laughing. In New Delhi, a caretaker wielding a broom chased me from a mosque because out of curiosity I had walked in to look around and had forgotten I was supposed to take my shoes off before entering. And “unclean” sahibs are not even allowed inside many Hindu temples. Yet here we were, Karen and Carl whooping with joy and turning the prayer wheel while the local woman and Arjun watched with broad smiles on their faces.
Karen and Carl turning a prayer wheel
Arjun, Karen, Carl, and I left the temple after warmly thanking our new friend for unlocking it for us. We each gave her a small offering to help maintain the temple. We walked off with a new lightness in our tread. Arjun was carrying Karen's pack, as he had since the first day on the trail, in front with his pack on the back, so he looked like a pregnant young man with a hump back. I patted his protuberant “belly” and asked if it was a boy or a girl. He didn't understand the joke at first, but after Karen explained it, Arjun laughed like it was the funniest joke he had ever heard. He knew we were happy, so he was happy.
We hiked and bantered in good humor until we saw Rudra standing at the top of a side trail waving and calling to us. We hiked up a ten-foot rise into a grassy kharka. Purna and his crew were already cooking lunch in the open field. They had spread out a tarp for us to relax on. So we plopped down and gratefully accepted cups of chilled Tang, bowls of peaches, and chapatti (thin, crisp, unleavened bread). It was pleasant to enjoy the view looking back at the country we had just hiked across.
Just after we started eating our lunch of cooked sardines, veggies, and ham sandwiches, Sanga came huffing up, dropped his pack, stretched his arms, and looked at us quizzically. He could tell something had changed in our mood since he had hiked off with Dax. We were joyful.
Karen, Carl, the whole crew, all of us felt a liberation and joy that had been lacking in our experience on this trek. But we had come alive and were infused with the richness of living in the moment and the joy of sharing the experience of being in this place.