Chapter 15
Trekking into the unknown.........
“Where the sidewalk ends.”-Shel Silverstein, 1974
The map made it look so clear, yet it wasn’t. Tom had expected big signs, or something, but that wasn’t to be. Standing in a whirl of dust from the departing bus, Tom rubbed his eyes to better look at the Trekking map. The red line of the Trekking trail that led through the
“But where is the trail?“ Tom wondered. “This has to be Besisahar....”
Despondently, he thought, “I hope.”
“Damn, if that bus driver dropped me off in the wrong village!“ he said angrily, into the dust cloud.
Then, as the dust began to dissipate, Tom got a clearer view of the village; and the one street that ran down the middle of it. He was on that street, literally standing in the middle of it. At the end of the street was a nearly solid wall of green foliage - the base of the mountain range that he came to climb. As Tom’s gaze rose up, higher and higher, above the green wall, he could barely see the snow capped peaks of the Annapurna mountains.
“This is it. Its so much more than I could ever have expected, little girl!” he said to his bird aimlessly.
Then, it hit him. He was at the base of mountains. Not little hills like back home in
“I feel like we are headed into a prehistoric mountain jungle, little girl. The mountains come up right out of the ground, like they do in the dinosaur movies. Well, I’ve always said I wanted real adventure! So, here it is!” he said, with not a little trepidation.
Then, he advised his bird: “Careful what you ask for, little bird, you just might get it!”
The bird remained silent, yet she walked over the back of Tom’s neck, to perch on his left shoulder - as if to get a better view of the beautiful mountains, and to see what was concerning her master so much. She could feel, and reacted to, his moods. Tom was exhausted, and a little overwhelmed at what faced him. He sat down on his large back pack, right where the bus had left him, on the nearly deserted dirt road. As he sat, captivated by the beautiful range of mountains before him and a bit worried about his next move, he collected his thoughts from the long day, and prepared himself for his new adventure.
After an arduous 6 hour bus ride from
“Dumre? Dumre?” he questioned Tom.
Then Tom got the message, this was his stop. Expecting half of the bus to exit at Dumre, he’d been unprepared to leave so quickly, without warning. But like all of the bus drivers in
So he grabbed his bag, re-positioning his bird on his shoulder, and pushed his way through the crowded bus to the front. He soon found himself standing in a cloud of dust, as the man atop the bus threw his backpack down, and the bus roared off. The ‘town’ was comprised of one street of storefront buildings. They were shacks with sleeping rooms above them. The street was crawling with people, yet Tom felt, and stood, alone. He was like a small island, in a moving sea of life. Unlike the other towns he had visited on his trip, the dominant traffic in Dumre was on foot. There was nothing motorized. There were people, chickens, an occasional straggly dog, and water buffalo’s being led about by little kids, or women. But there weren’t any cats, or monkeys, to be seen.
A ragged short fellow greeted Tom, and accosted him at the same time.
“You need guide!” he demanded.
Barely off the bus, it had begun. Disoriented, and without a clue, Tom was being asked to make immediate decisions .....like his life depended upon it. Although he felt risky and unsure, he made a resolution to not be pressured into anything, anymore.
“No guide, I’m meeting friends.”
That line usually worked. And, it went along with Tom‘s experiences of backpacking truisms. He knew he was going to meet his friends, he just didn’t know who they were yet. The unspoken code among the European travelers, if they were being overwhelmed with over-attention by the natives, was that they were all long lost friends - even if they had never met before. It was a group coping mechanism for unwanted, and near assaulting, solicitations. So Tom, still unable to extricate himself from his new ‘guide,’ walked down the street to see who chance would make his new friends. In a few minutes, he came to reputable looking travel agency called Nepal Travel Partners, and went inside to buy his next bus ticket.....leaving his recent escort politely behind, still talking. Tom played dumb tourist, and bought an overpriced bus ticket for passage onto his destination, Besisahar. He’d given up on going the absolutely cheapest route, because it meant fighting crowds of locals and dealing with misinformation at overcrowded train or bus stations. It was better to pay the extra hundred Rupees, and be assured a guaranteed seat on the next available transport. Once he realized that after conversion it was only $1.25 U.S. dollars, Tom no longer had the patience, time, or interest, in doing the fighting for the best prices. He decided that he might as well splurge, spending the extra dollar or two, and let the agents do the behind the scenes work. Sometimes it cost three or four times the real price, but with the exchange rates being so favorable, it simply didn’t amount to much in total. Therefore, Tom hadn’t the same indignant anger that Susan had for the corrupt system.
Luckily, the next bus to Besisahar left in only an half an hour. That gave Tom just enough time to get a bottle of water and a candy bar before it left.
The bus ride to Besishar was uneventful, except for a pleasant and attractive woman from
The bus, hot and dusty from the grueling ride from Dumre, rumbled to an abrupt stop, and the driver gave Tom about two minutes to collect his stuff and get off the bus. So sudden was their arrival, and his subsequent departure, that Tom hardly had a moment to say goodbye to the sweet young woman whom he had befriended on the ride.
“Well, have a good....hmmmmm....trip? Uggghhh....life?” Tom stuttered out as he wrestled his way out of the packed bus. Both of them smiled with melancholy smiles - knowing somehow that they would never meet again. Tom had a sudden flash, a premonition that made him shudder. He saw her image fading off into nothingness. Still smiling. She was still happy and serene, but off of this world - as her life faded away. Tom wanted to talk to her more. To warn, reassure, or sympathize with her about a vague unknown future. But that wasn’t to be, and he had to accept that was probably to be her fate. Nothing he could do or say would change that. So he gave her a warm hug, and ran down the length of the bus with his backpack, bouncing off of passengers as he passed them. All the time, the driver was yelling some warning in Hindi. Tom didn’t understand the words, but got the typical message: ‘get the hell off my bus, I’m leaving!’
The driver started to drive off, while Tom still had one foot on the last step. He lurched to catch his balance, and cursed the sadistic Hindu humor that prompted the obvious attempt to make him fall. But he quickly regained his balance, and was able to wave goodbye, and smile at the departing woman. She was clearly visible, pressed close to her window, as the bus whooshed past him barely a foot away, and nearly ran over his feet in the process. Somehow, she had been stricken by a fear similar to Tom‘s, and her bright smile dissipated into a worrisome look. In a flash it was over, and Tom stood dumbfounded in another cloud of dust. Looking down the street, his gaze following the bus’s course.
Still sitting on his backpack, after an hour of reflection and awestruck consideration of the incredible mountains before him, Tom felt rested and able to face his next challenge. Time had passed, without his notice. He cared little about its passage these days. He returned from his reflective state, awoken to the here and now - as if drifting back from a waking dream. Slowly he surveyed his immediate surroundings, and began to look closer at the buildings that lined the short street. He sat alone, with his bird on his shoulder. Calmly, and in a relaxed voice, Tom spoke to his little feathered friend.
“It looks like a twisted version of an old Western ghost town, doesn‘t it little girl?”
The bird chirped as if in assent.
Very few people moved on the street, and no one took notice of the anonymous pack packer resting on his pack. The clay-heavy dust lingered in the vapid, disturbed, air; and the sun bore down on it all, relentlessly. Choking on the dust, Tom stood up and looked all around. He was puzzled, and tried to locate the bus ‘station,’ but it was nowhere to be found.
“Hey pretty bird, where the hell are we? Some demented version of ‘West World,’ huh?” he asked jokingly.
Tom half expected a robotic version of Yul Brenner to appear from the side of one of the buildings to challenge him to a dual of quick draw.....one he was predestined to lose. It was a bleak feeling, provoked by an alien version of a western town from some twisted amusement park - straight out of a cheesy
“Hey birdie, lets go get a drink and sit down a while,’ he suggested.
Calming himself not to panic, since he had been dropped totally alone, into the middle of nowhere, Tom walked across the dusty road to a little restaurant styled shack.
“Fanta, Please.” was all he said to the puzzled shop owner.
Tom was sure that he didn’t understand English, and he certainly didn’t get Nepalese, but he knew a few international words that worked. ‘Fanta’ was one. And, it tasted good too. Expecting a wonderfully refreshing cold drink, he was handed a lukewarm bottle of Orangina soda.
“Oh well,“ he thought, “at least it is orange, and safe to drink.”
Realizing that he was talking aloud, Tom stopped, and handed the grizzly old man forty rupees. He got an even more confused look in return. The man handed him back a lot of change, and Tom pocketed it quickly. He didn’t even count it, due to his embarrassment. As he walked out of the shop and sat on a rough stool beside a round wooden table, he spoke to the bird.
“Damn, I did it again! overpaid way too much. Now I’m not only obviously alone, but exhibiting my stupidity and money all over the place! I might as well wear a sign saying ‘Rob me, I’m an idiot!’”
The colorful bird fluttered her wings at Tom’s raised voice, and then settled down in a comfortable perch on the back of a chair, alongside his stool.
“Glad to be someplace solid, eh?” Tom asked her, with a smile.
He then removed the bird’s chain from his wrist, and attached it to the wood dowel on the chair.
“Poor girl! That ride was crappy enough for me, you must be beat, huh?”
The bird chirped, and said something in Nepali -as if in reply. Tom liked to think that the noises she made after he spoke to her each time were replies.
“In a way they are,” he considered.
She did respond to every one of his questions. Except if she was cranky from a long and stressful day. On times like that, she withdrew - only wanting the quiet solitude of a perch in a dark room. Then she would feign sleep, or whatever ‘rest’ birds did.
“I guess you aren't so different from me little girl, eh?” he asked.
But this time he got no reply.
"O.k. I get it, you’re tired. Ok, no more tough questions.”
She ruffled her wings, and tried to settle down into a calmer state.
The old man came out of the shop, and sat at the other table. Shortly thereafter, he was joined by two lively younger guys, who sat down with him but said little. They eyed Tom and his backpack with obvious interest, and exhibited foul teeth through their rabid smiles.
“Yuck,” thought Tom. “Its going from bad to worse....quickly,” he lamented to himself. “I’d better speak first, though, to set the conversation.”
“Hullo. Do you know when the next bus is due? My friends are following behind me from another town, and should be here soon. Or, maybe they are already here?” he asked quizzically.
This put the men off. Their smiles disappeared, and were replaced with puzzled looks. Tom could see the thoughts churning through their simple minds, as their dilemma played out across the features of their faces. The dilemma? Roll Tom now and run, or wait and fleece both him and his friends on the trail? Indecision always seemed to rule the Hindu Nepali. Nodding to each other, and smiling once again, their decision was clear. Speaking some quick and rough dialect, they made a mutual decision to play Thomas by the book, and fleece him. They went into character so blatantly, that Tom had to stifle a laugh at their absurd game.
“You need guide, it isn’t safe to travel alone,” one said, with obviously false concern for Tom’s safety.
“Well, I might need one. I’ll know as soon as my friends arrive. How much do you charge per day?” Tom replied casually, mimicking a simpleton.
“Which isn’t too hard, since I have two prime examples staring me in the face,” he joked to himself.
“Oh, we not guide. We find you a good guide. A safe one who not rob you,” the other toothless wonder said with a weird snicker.
The sneer in his words found creepy purchase in his smile as he spoke. Tom became concerned.
“We find you guide. Very good. Very cheap. Only $20
“Wow,” thought Tom, “they sure knew how to play into people’s real fears. I can’t show any fear though. If I agree to the guide, they’ll think me stupid and that I’m carrying a lot of cash. That’ll insure me being mugged on the trail later, probably deep into the mountains. Think quick, idiot! But only show humor, and stupidity.”
So thus self instructed, he came off with a lame statement: “Jeez he must be a really good guide. Regular guides cost only $5 to $10 a day! Even still, those are more than I can afford. Thanks for your help anyway. I’m just a poor student. My friends have trekked this way before, so luckily they know the best way to travel, and how to avoid bandits.”
Looks of frustration and defeat flashed across their faces. They got up without a word, and walked inside the shop to beg a soda off of the owner. The owner only laughed at them. One said something unintelligible to the other, and they walked away, muttering epithets about ‘the stupid American’ to each other. They were like two errant bully boys, who were caught at their game. Tom cautiously watched them walk down the short alley between the buildings, to be sure that they wouldn’t be a future concern. He followed their departure, until they were thankfully swallowed up by the thick, dense, jungle that encircled the buildings of the village.
Tom finished his Orangina soda, ordered another, and began to feed his bird some dried fruits as he relaxed in the partial shade of the little building. He was in no hurry to take on more drama or adventures. Even though the day was waning, he had wanted to collect himself before going through the process of locating a place to sleep. He had learned that everything on a trip into the wilds took significant effort, and a chunk of his energy......both physical and emotional. So he tried to be overly patient, take plenty of time to do anything, and thereby paced himself. In this way he avoided being overwhelmed by cultural adjustments. The bus trips had pushed him enough, and he knew when to take a rest. This was it. He’d start on his lodging ‘adventure’ when the time was right. The old man at the shop sat nearby him, and watched his bird with genuine interest. Although they couldn’t speak to each other, both he and Tom understood each other. He had found it amusing that Tom wasn’t taken in by the two sleazebags, and he was curious about the parrot.
“Damn girl, I thought that we’d be away from this kind of crap once we got out of
Tom kept talking to the bird, trying to calm himself down by bringing rational thought to the situation.
“Anyway, it’s bad for business if the area gets a reputation with the tourists that it’s unsafe to hike. Gratuitous violence isn’t good for business, little girl.”
Tom counted on the greed factor to keep him relatively safe on his Trek through the wilds, alone. He certainly held no illusions about the Hindu locals having any good intentions, or compassion, for anyone. The Indian movies that he’d seen on his bus trip confirmed his suspicions about the Hindus’ interest in sadistic teasing. This didn’t always translate to violence, but the delineation between good and evil was very clear to Tom here. In
“See silly girl,” they would say.
More appalling to Tom was the use of young girls as sex toys for the men. The relatively ineffective efforts of the women to stop it, were only superseded in insensitivity by the mild disappointment of the father, once it was clear that his daughter wouldn’t have a good marriage thereafter. The father was ok, if not particularly happy, if the abuser had enough money to repay him for his “loss.” The thought that valid sincere human emotions were purposely ridiculed, and that life was deemed so insignificant, shocked Tom.
“I’ve heard the euphemism that ‘life is cheap,’ little bird, but I’ve never truly understood it until these undeniable examples kept hitting me in the face.”
It was bad enough to see it on the streets, but to see it reinforced in the movies was appalling to Tom. He had always felt that movies were meant to educate, entertain, and provide uplifting examples of how life could be; or, conversely, to show how reprehensible people could be, as a warning. But, the Indian movies glorified sadistic behavior.
“How can they ever hope for improvement in their lives, when they see that crap?” He asked the bird, randomly.
Tom better understood the dilemma of
“
“Definitely good and evil are much clearer, and therefore easier to see, in
This revelation only brought him an odd sense of calm, though.
“At least you know what you are dealing with here, little bird. It isn’t any different in the
The words of friendly advice from a lifetime ago, came back to Tom with a new clarity. Leaving him with yet another realization.
“I’ve danced with too many devils, a little too long, sweetheart. Its time to exorcise the bad things I learned while trying to beat them,” he lamented, sadly.
“You know little bird, euphemisms, truisms, and seemingly hokey sayings endure and withstand the test of time, because they are so correct, and succinct. They’re like little hints. Messages of knowledgeable advice from people who’ve already learned things the hard way. Why’s it so hard to take them seriously, I wonder?”
“Qauuaak!” replied the bird, almost immediately.
“You’re right again, my smart little friend! It’s because we make fun of them!”
"Ok! I’ve had enough for one day. My disk is full, little girl. Jeez, you’re always so serious! Lets just chill for a while. Lighten up, would you?” Tom laughed, as he petted his bird softly on the head.
After a half an hour or so, another bus pulled into the village. This time, it stopped directly in front of the shop where Tom sat. As Tom, the bird, and the man watched, three young men jumped off the bus and into their lives.
“Hullo? G’day!” The British sounding one said, as he sprang past by Tom and to the outside left of the building.
A mixed Asian fellow quietly walked to the other side of the building, to relieve himself, after dropping his pack at the table next to Tom. And a swarthy looking black-haired Australian dropped his pack on the ground unceremoniously, and began playing with the Parrot.
“This is a lovely bird, eh mate?” he said, as he put his finger out to the parrot.
“Here we go, birdie. Polly got some crack-er?”
Laughing at his joke, Tom replied.
“Nope she hasn’t any crack, but she can lead you to fields of marijuana if you like!”
“Reaaally?” he asked jokingly.
“Yeah, it grows wild here. But I’d mind your finger though. She’s a bit testy right now. The bus ride was pretty rough, and she’s just now beginning to settle down. If she’s settled, she’s fine. But, if she’s edgy, she has a tendency to bite.”
The words were barely out of Tom’s mouth, and....
“Ouch!” yelped the Australian.
“Damn, if you weren't right on that account!”
“Sorry, I tried to warn you. I guess I wasn’t fast enough though....” Tom said, dryly, and with a smile.
“It’s not your fault,” spoke another voice behind Tom. “Quentin ‘ere is always sticking ‘is finger where it don’t belong. Eh, Quentin?” asked the Brit, sarcastically, but in good humor. He then shook his head, and made a funny face that clearly said: ‘boys will be boys.’
Talking as he walked towards the door of the shop, he said: “You kids take care of yourselves. I’m in for a good cold drink, and to find out where our guesthouse is located.”
Summarily dismissed, Quentin just gave Tom a ‘what the hell?’ look, and smiled.
“Damn, though. This still hurts!”
He was totally absorbed by his pinched finger.
Tom was a little surprised at all of the spontaneous, and abrupt, energy. But he was thankful at the same time.
“I bought her in
“Really? Can I?” He asked cautiously.
“Sure, have at it. She likes the attention.”
“Well, I’ll git me drink first, and then wee’ll play!”
“Whatever works, we aren’t going anywhere soon.”
“Watch our stuff, would ya? I’m relieving me self first, then filling her back up with a cold soda!”
“No problem, but the soda isn’t cold.”
“Reeely?”
“Reeely. Sorry, but it still tastes good!”
“I guess that's the best we can ask for in this place, eh?”
“Just right.”
“Well, see ya then.”
“Sure, no problems,” Tom replied to his well muscled back, as he walked away slowly - still sucking his finger.
He and the bird were alone again, only now with three huge backpacks in guardianship.
“I guess our friends have arrived, dear,” he said to the bird with a laugh. “I wonder what they feed those Australians, though? They’re always strapping, and full of energy. I want what they eat! Maybe its genetics? I wonder.....”
The quiet Asian fellow was the first one to return. He sat down with a puzzled look. Guessing his questions, and understanding his reticence for conversation, Tom was the first to speak.
“One went to take a piss on that side of the building, and the other is inside buying sodas.”
“Thanks for watching our stuff for us!”
“No problem. Its ok, he talked to me first before leaving me with all your stuff.”
Relief washed through his facial features, and he confided in Tom.
“They just don’t have a feel for what they are involved with here. I get frustrated because they think they’re home, and that no one will hurt them, or take their stuff. If we lose our bags......”
“Yeah I’ve considered that too, so I get really worried and cautious about my things. I don’t want my trip ruined before it starts.”
“Exactly! That's it exactly. My dad brought me through here a couple of years ago. Just him and me, so I learned. These blokes!”
“Don’t worry, they’ll get it. I can help, and experiences on the trip itself will do a lot for them.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem, I’m traveling alone. Or was supposed to be, but never seem to be. It’s alright though, because I’ve met all kinds of interesting people. And right now, I don’t know where the beginning of the trail even is! Imagine that? I’m a lot older than your friends, but not much more prepared!”
“Oh that's easy, it’s at the end of the road there,” he said, pointing to the place where Tom had been looking when he’d gotten off the bus.
“You mean, right there? No signs, nothing else?”
“Yep, that's it! We’re spending the night in a guesthouse down the street, its two blocks from the entrance to the trail. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that. Well, at least as long as it makes sense. It’s your guy’s trip, after all...”
“Believe me, you’ll be very welcome. It won’t hurt to have someone else trying to knock some sense into those hard heads!”
“Yeah, but they are fun guys.”
“That's true,” he beamed. “They’re good friends, just a little inexperienced. Glad to know ya. My name is Paul!” he introduced himself brightly.
“I’m Thomas,” he responded quickly.
“I think it’ll be great to hike together. Just let me know if I get in the way.”
“No problem with that. I’m concerned with the mountain pass, and the narrow trails. They can be fun, but if you aren't careful, you can die quickly on this trail. They say that one or two hikers die each week on the
“What from?”
“Mostly stupidity! Seriously! Water takes a few....the current in the river is terrible. Some are lost to rock slides, and most just simply fall off the trails and down the cliffs. The oxygen level goes way down, as you get to the higher altitudes. If you get altitude sickness, or just really dizzy, you can easily get disoriented, lose your footing on the narrow trails, and fall. The big backpacks only worsen the odds. Most people just don’t think they can die, and then they get careless. You can’t afford to get careless here. There aren't any safety nets, or people to come rescue you. You fall, you die! Either quickly, or slowly. The best you can hope for is a quick death.”
“Now I see your concern with your friends.”
“Yeah, they’re strong and smart.....but a little too cocky.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll work out. Before long you’ll get them on track, and then you won’t have to worry so much. It’s good that you do though, you’re a good friend to them.”
“Thanks, here they come.”
The other two sat down. The blond one talked a blue streak, while the other sat quietly and was fully absorbed by his pinched finger. He was totally oblivious to everything else, as he over-scrutinized his finger for any more cuts. It was clear that he expected everyone to still be interested in his injury, and he wanted sympathy. Reviewing the threesome, it hit Tom as to how comical they all were and just how quickly they’d interjected themselves into his life. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“What's so funny, mate?” asked Johnny.
“Oh, you guys. You’re a trip! I think I’m gonna have fun with you boys.”
“Ahhh, not sure I like tha sound of ‘at!” quipped Johnny, dryly.
“You’re too fun,” Tom said, laughing harder. “I’m sure glad that you guys came along. Where are you from?”
“
“No, where are you from originally?”
“Oh, Paul here has moved around a bit, as have all of us. But ‘is home is really
It all made sense to Tom. Quentin had the quiet demeanor, rugged stockiness, and solid muscled form of an Australian. Whereas Johnny was a skinny thing, with a quick wit and an even sharper tongue. Paul, on the other hand, was the mature one of the group. He was smart, responsible, and carried himself in a relaxed manner common to oriental martial artists.
“It still hurts, I tell ya!” Quentin said loudly to no one in particular, and with a sullen puppy-eyed countenance.
Tom enjoyed their company. They were like a barrel full of monkeys.....playful, yet they could bite. Tom watched, as their conversation gained momentum, speed, and voracity. Quentin became intently focused on feeding the parrot, yet did so nimbly - carefully watching his fingers.
“Well I didn’t want a guide, but the other guys....” said Johnny, as his sentence trailed off. Tom grinned to hear the same story for the third time. Each of the guys, in turn, had confided in Tom that they didn’t really think they needed a guide; but the others thought it was best.
“You all alone, mate?” asked Bangkok Johnny.
“Yeah. I thought I’d hook up with various folks on the way, but you guys are the only other Trekkers that I’ve seen so far. I guess I’m stuck with you, and you’re stuck with me!” he said with a warm smile.
The guys were in their early to mid twenties, full of positive energy, and masterworks of human complexity. Between the three of them they had lived, ‘for years,’ in
“He’s a piece of work, that one. He’s going to be a hard to figure out, and then to help,” thought Tom.
Tom realized that he was being given his challenge for the next few days with Johnny. He hoped to ease the guy‘s struggles a bit; since he was obviously reaching out for help. Tom was happy with the exercise, yet he was puzzled on where to begin. Destiny seemed to hand him these kind of challenges on a regular basis; but while appearing similar, they were always as unique as the person.
“I guess we all get them, it’s whether we spend the time and effort to do anything, or not,” he considered silently.
He saw it as part of his new, unfolding, path in life to help out where he could and no longer ignore other people’s pain. He’d resolved to do as much as he reasonably could with them, and as they ‘asked’ for it; then, to ‘let go.’ So destiny was giving him what he sought, and he was happy for the lesson.
“Well blokes, let’s get to the guesthouse and get us some real eats. I’m as ‘ungry as a starving Roo!” exclaimed Quentin.
“And about as pretty as one, too!” quipped Johnny.
“Boys, lets not fight. Well, not on an empty stomach, anyway,” instructed Paul.
Dinner was good. It wasn’t terribly filling, but it was healthy. They crashed early, right after dinner, and were asleep within minutes. It had been a long hard day for everyone.
In the morning, Tom rose before everyone else and ate his breakfast atop the small guesthouse. It was built haphazardly, high above the main road of Besisahar. It was the same road that led to the beginning of the
From his rooftop perch, Tom looked down the small street the distance of two blocks, and saw the road ended abruptly at a seemingly impenetrable wall of mountain forest. The inviting deep green hues of the forest made an enticing call for visitors; but also looked as though it released none.
“There isn’t any gradual rise in these mountains,” Tom mused. “They start out on a flat surface, and just go up, and up, and up - scraping the sky.”
His long awaited Trek would begin the next day, and he smiled with contented serene pleasure at the thought. He could see the beginnings of the rocky trail. The trail didn’t go far before it turned into itself with snaking, downhill, turns. Then, it was abruptly lost to sight - buried in the extensive green of the semi-tropical landscape.
Looking at the street below, Tom could see random chickens clucking and pecking their way along.
“The chickens are fat and healthy here,” he thought, gladly.
From the beginning of his travels, Tom had evaluated the health of the local chickens; and used that as an indicator of the surrounding living conditions. Traveling from
“It’s best to have a chicken dinner tonight, before going for twenty days with only beans and rice,” he told his parrot. “But you don’t really want to hear me talking about eating birds, do you sweetheart?” he asked with a teasing laugh.
The parrot ignored him.
“Well that wasn’t a nice joke anyway, was it? I’ll be right back honey,” he told the bird.
She remained perched on the back of the neighboring chair, tethered onto the upper slat of the chair for safety’s sake. Tom went straight to the kitchen. He asked the girl for another pot of tea, and placed his order for dinner with the woman who ran the guesthouse. Tom had inadvertently hurt the woman’s feelings earlier when he asked her about good local restaurants. She was from a strong Tibetan background, and she respected the traditions of a guesthouse mother of old
“Could I have chicken for dinner tonight? They look healthy, and I’m really hungry. I hear that your meals are quite good!”
“Yes. Chicken, no problem,” she said with a beaming smile.
“Oh, could I have a pot of tea for now?” he repeated his earlier request.
“Yes, here...”
She walked into the kitchen area, and took the perpetually cooking pot of hot water off of the low wood burning stove, and poured Tom a small pot of tea.
Taking the offered pot, Tom thanked her, and proceeded back upstairs to his roost. Turning as he climbed, he could see her warm smiling face below, following his movements to the upper floors.
“Bingo!” he said. “One little push of a button that was important to her, and she’s delighted! I like this. Maybe I’m finally on the 12th step of my asshole recovery program!” he joked with himself.
Tom felt good to see someone so happy, and to realize that seemingly minor things could illicit such strong positive feelings. Somewhere inside, a new door of awareness was firmly locked open in him.
Reflecting back, he realized that it had started with Ken, many years back. They used to play a game together, a game of random acts of kindness. It had been an exhilarating, and eye opening, game. They could’ve been anywhere, in a Burger King or on a lonely
Throughout Tom’s torturous past, he’d tried to carry on alone. But as he hurt more, it became harder to give. It was therefore fascinating to Tom to see the Tibetan’s culture firmly based on this precept. Every day they worked to be compassionate, empathetic, and hospitable towards others - even in the face of horrible oppression and abuse. How they did this, and still remained whole, was one of the things Tom hoped to learn during his travels.
As Tom walked past the open doors of the second floor sleeping rooms, on his way to the spiral stairs that led to the rooftop, he was greeted with sleepy “hullo’s” from his late rising new friends. They weren't even coherent, so Tom spoke first to forestall a long and sketchy conversation.
“Hullo guys! I’m up to the roof for breakfast and Tea. See ya, when you wake up!”
“Sure enough, mate. These blokes are lazier than most, eh?” the blond one said, grinning at his friends.
“We’ll join you when I get ‘em awake and cleaned up.”
“Good luck, I’ll see you in a few hours,” Tom jibed back, and kept moving.
Upon reaching his rooftop sanctuary, Tom set down the tea pot and petted his parrot.
“Hey, how are you doing girl? Are we happy today? Daddy’s happy, and he wants his little girl to smile too!”
Tom didn’t think the bird really understood the words, but she did feel the good vibes. She preened, and almost purred, at the attention he showered upon her. She was a happy bird. Happier still, because she was closer to the jungle, and could hear thousands of birds calling out to each other. In
Tom didn’t think that she would fly off if he removed the silver chair from her foot, but he didn’t want to test the theory. The chain had been necessary in
“Sorry girl, it’s better if we keep to the program for a while. If you really want to fly off, and we know that you’ll be o.k., I’ll let you go; but for now lets hang together. Anyway, I think you’ll really like to come home with me and meet Marie.”
Satisfied that the bird was settled again, Tom poured himself a cup of tea and reflected upon his current circumstances.
“I guess we’re both going into the wilds for the first time, eh? You hear the birds calling, and I hear the mountains. I wonder what that's about?” Tom asked the bird out of habit.
The bird started to chirp, thrill, and speak some Nepali words that Tom didn’t understand.
Surprised, Tom responded to her: “I wish I understood you, honey. “
Then, he reconsidered. “Maybe I do....”
Drinking his tea slowly, he looked off to the beautiful mountain range. He couldn’t see it all because he was too close to get a full perspective, but the size of them sill stunned him. The mountains seemed to sprout straight up out of the ground.
”And, we’re going to climb them?” he asked the bird incredulously.
The bird didn’t answer this time, as if to say: ‘You’re, crazy! I’m just along for the ride!’
Tom thought about his new travel companions. The guys this time were a mixture of everything. They were children of the world.....wandering professionals. The three of them had lived all over the world, in fascinating places that Tom had only heard about; yet, they were discontent. He looked below to the street, and saw ten more pack animals pass by the guesthouse. and walk directly into the jungle path. These pack animals, however, were human ones. They were porters who carried everything necessary into the deep jungles, and inaccessible mountain villages. Each had huge loads strapped to their backs via a long leather strap that was strung around their foreheads. It looked impossibly hard and grueling work to Tom, yet he’d been amazed to hear that it was a badge of honor to be the one who could carry the largest or heaviest loads. Two to three hundred kilos were the largest numbers Tom had heard that they could carry. He doubted the accuracy of that number, until he saw guys in
As Tom watched the interesting activity of the street below, the day slipped by. Eventually his new friends appeared on the rooftop patio, hung around for a while, and then took alternating trips down to the street level to purchase items for their upcoming hike. Tom went down once, to pick up a few Snickers candy bars. They were future awards to himself, once he’d made his hiking goals. Other than that short trip, he stayed on the rooftop all day. As it got nearer to dinner time, they all reassembled and tried to get psyched up for their morning Trek.
Johnny started humming a few lines of an old tune. Tom picked it up, joined him, and they finished it together with a quick laugh at the end.
“He’s a fun one,” Tom thought to himself. “And, he’s also deep, complex, jaded, and very endearing. He’s going to be a handful, he is!”
His thoughts of Johnny were interrupted by the noise of a man who juggled his way up the steep stairs with Tom’s dinner. The effort was made doubly hard because the man had only one arm. It was an amazing feat of balance, and Tom admired the man’s persistence and courage. As a handicapped man, he couldn’t do work the other men did, but he seemed content and happy in his work at the guesthouse. It reminded Tom of a severely retarded young man that he’d seen on his bus trip from
“It is lucky for him, for surely he would have died not long after me with no one to care for him. He would not even make it as a beggar, so simple he is. But look at his beautiful work!” the man had said proudly to Tom. “I know now that he will live. That is very comforting for a father!”
Tom realized then that crippled people either fit in, were beggars, or simply died. They didn’t have the word ‘handicapped. ‘It was live or die. That was
As the man went down the stairs, barely out of ear shot, Johnny made his comments.
“You know, with that one armed crippled guy carrying each of our dinners up three flights of stairs, the third being a spiral staircase, it’ll take him about 15 minutes for each dinner. I figger, by the time I get my dinner ‘ill be another 45 minutes!”
Bothered by Johnny’s insensitive observation, Paul suggested, “go and help him then!”
“Hmmmmm, let me think. No! I think not. I’d rather wait!” he said with a devilish, elfin smile.
“Just how many nannies have you had, Johnny?” asked Tom, without missing a beat.
“Oh, loads of ‘em, I’ve ad. But I called ‘em ‘mannies.’ Oohhh they weren't women, but they sure were bitches!” he said in quick répartie. With a wide smile, he blew off any inference to his pampered upbringing with a flourish.
“Wow,” thought Tom.
The barely suppressed pain in his reference to his childhood sent Tom reeling.
“He’s a tough one, with a biting sense of humor as a consequence,” considered Tom silently.
Then, Johnny was onto another topic altogether.
“Damn, you know I forgot that pile of film back in
Ignoring his invitation for a pity party, or a ‘save me’ request, his two friends quietly drank their tea. Tom, however, seeing the trolling line he sent out, decided to take the bait in another way; and pointed to the street as he spoke.
“That sucks! Maybe you can buy some more at the shop down there before we leave tomorrow morning? It’ll cost more than
“Yeah, I was going to go snap crazy on this Trek. I’ve got a bit of a project to do. I’m using mostly slide film, and I doubt they have any of that.”
“Yeah, right,” was Quentin's only response to Johnny’s obvious line of crap.
“Don’t worry Johnny, I brought along enough for both of us,” said Paul.
“Paul, why do you keep bailing him out when he’s obviously full of shite?” questioned Quentin.
“Ahhh, its no big deal.”
“Right!” was Quentin's only response, but he shot Johnny a black look.
Johnny just laughed.
The group dynamics went up a notch for Tom, but he was still ok with the guys.
“They’re sincere guys, and lots of silly fun. None of them have a real mean bone in their body. They’re just immature, and happy to be out on an adventure....” he considered, silently.
Tom’s only response was to the leader of the group, Paul.
“It’s a good thing you guys have a guide.”
Paul laughed at the hidden joke, and went on like nothing had happened.
“Yeah, my dad brought me through here a few years ago when I was really young, but I don’t remember it all that well. I just want to be sure we have someone to get us through the mountain pass. If it weren’t for the pass, we’d go it alone. But then again, who’d keep Johnny in line?” he said with a laugh.
Quentin casually interjected himself into the conversation, deftly changing the topic, as if Tom’s and Paul's conversation were over.
“Do you have a name for the bird, Thomas?”
“No, I haven’t even thought about it. I suppose she had one before, a Nepali one no doubt, but I have no idea what it was.”
“She should be having a name, ya know.”
“Fine,” Tom replied. “What should we call her? Any good ideas?”
“Anna,” suggested Johnny without hesitation.
“Why Anna?” asked Tom. “That's an odd name for a parrot!”
“Well, we are ‘iking through the Anna-purna mountains, aren’t we now? And since she’s ‘iking ‘em wit us, I’d say that it’d be good to name ‘er by ‘er achievement. Anna, or
“That's a good idea,” responded Tom.
“And how about Suga for her last name?” asked Quentin. “Instead of
“Anna Suga, it is! Do you like that name, my dear?” Tom asked the bird.
She replied with a little chirp.
“Mate, she likes it!” exclaimed Quentin, joyfully.
“Want a little fruit, Anna?” Quentin asked the bird.
For the rest of the evening, he and the bird were inseparable.
The next morning they set off for their trek. They stuffed all of their things into oversized backpacks, strapped them on, and began walking down the street that dead-ended into the jungle. The guide had shown up early in the morning, took one look at his charges, made a scowl, and motioned them along without many words. It was clear that he didn’t like the prospect of babysitting the crew of guys. So he made it perfectly clear that he was the expert, and that everyone was to do exactly as he said. Otherwise, they would be ‘exposed to great dangers,’ and risked ‘grisly deaths.’ Tom question the guy’s sincerity from the start. With one look to each other, Paul and Tom acknowledged their mutual assessment of the guy. Johnny disliked the guy from the moment they met, and he tormented the arrogant and mentally challenged guy relentlessly. Quentin just shrugged his shoulders, and followed along without comment. He didn’t really care about the guy, that was clear; but, he didn’t like fighting about anything, and so he kept the serene, strong, silence that marked his Australian childhood. Tom felt closest to Quentin. He enjoyed walking along with him because he always seemed to have something positive to say.
All of the guys liked Tom’s parrot, and spent endless hours feeding it whatever they could get it to eat. The parrot liked everybody, except for the guide. He’d been mean to it when he first saw it, and the bird didn’t forget. Someone had told Tom that parrots had the vocabulary memory of a five year old child. He hadn’t believed it, until he experienced it.
Generally, Tom was surprised at how simply the multi-week hike began. They walked to the end of the road, and stepped onto a narrow and obscure little path that quickly disappeared into the dense forest jungle. That was it. Within a few minutes, they’d left behind what little bit of civilization that remained in Besishar. However, Tom had a hard time defining it as a forest or a jungle. So he simply referred to it as a forest-jungle. There were regular mountain trees like hemlocks, yet there were hundreds of lush semi-tropical and tropical foliage plants that Tom associated with jungles. After about four hours of hiking, Tom stopped to catch his breath with Quentin. They sat on a log, and looked around. It was quiet, peaceful, and restful. Unfortunately, the guide was trying to impress upon them how weak they were, and how strong and fit he was.
“What a pig,” thought Tom.
But before long his game backfired. Eventually Quentin and Tom walked ahead of the group, hiking in tandem - with periods of discussion, and long periods of introspective isolation. Johnny relentlessly taunted the man, and Paul just ignored him.
Hiking through the forest-jungle was a great experience for Tom. He felt alive, free, and in touch with the little nuances of nature that were lost in ordinary city life. Large cities now seemed like a totally alien world to Tom. He’d been in lots of woods and National Parks in the States, and felt safe and comfortable while ‘in nature. ‘But, the
Tom tried to determine what was different about the experience, but he didn’t want to affect the experience by over anal-izing everything either. He knew he was good at doing that, but he sincerely wanted to really let go and stop being so cerebral. He wanted to let new life experiences be his teachers, as opposed to accumulating a series of new views. He knew that ‘snapshot views, ‘as opposed to real experiences, would be heavily influenced by his interpretation of events; colored, as it were, as they were filtered through stereotypes or preconceptions that were generated from prior experiences. It was a tough thing for him to do, and a little scary. Because to be successful, he had to totally submerge himself in the culture and environment. It meant living the new experiences fully, while using past experiences, and lessons, as ideas for solving current situations. It was a wide open process - as opposed to categorizing his new experiences into old, and therefore limiting, frames of reference. It was like being a child again, but with the aid of years of life experiences behind him to help face everything anew. For he determined that it had to be anew for him to really learn anything; and to not build, nor retain, artificial barriers. It was a tough exercise, but a great adventure.
So many times in his life, he’d heard older people lament: “If I only knew then, what I know now...” and, “Youth is wasted on the young.”
“Well,” Tom thought proudly to himself, “I do know now, and I’m starting to live another whole life.”
The cost of doing this however, as he knew all too well, was to abandon any sense or pretense of control. To let life unfold out before him - without reactions, judgments, or attempts to manage it, or the people around him. This required that he kept his mouth shut, and other than life threatening circumstances, let those around him learn things without his advice or influences. It was a hard, but necessary, exercise for Tom. Surprisingly, an unexpected side benefit was that he didn’t feel so responsible for other people. It was the first time, as far back as he could remember, that he worried so little about others. Since a child, he’d felt responsible for other people’s happiness. He realized at an early age that simple things brightened up his mother’s disposition, and that people really benefited from his extra efforts on their behalf. For most of his life he didn’t understand why he felt so ‘responsible,’ without ever really feeling appreciated for the efforts. People appreciated what he did at some level, and therefore kept him tied into the efforts; but it got to the point where he felt always drained, and he received little, or no, reciprocation. Eventually, he’d much more going out than coming in, and the emotional deficit weighed upon his psyche as it grew. He learned that the clinical term for this situation was being co-dependant. Hating labels, and the snap categorizations that preceded over-generalized and formulaic solutions, he denied the assessment. Until, he ultimately had to face it, and his hidden side ‘benefit’ that he received from it... It felt like it gave him control over people and things in life. Somehow that felt like a safer, more manageable, and more predictable way to live life. He found he couldn’t trust others to be responsible with his feelings, so somewhere along the line he decided to take control from them. He knew in his heart that he always tried to act in other people’s best interests over his own; so, he never felt that his ‘control’ was bad, just a helpful guidance thing. The results however weren't so good, and as hard as they were to see now, they were doubly hard to see then. Tom never understood why he got resentment and anger from the very people whom he helped the most. He loved them, and showed it through his actions for them. Many times he did so in ways they didn’t, or couldn’t, understand. So while he felt he was doing good, he was fostering an unhealthy dependence upon him which ultimately hurt him deeply. People knew that Tom worked in their best interests, and they appreciated it in their own ways. But they also felt managed, when they realized that a lot of what they had experienced had been influenced by Tom - however well intentioned. So they felt stuck in a trap that neither they, nor Tom, fully understood. They couldn’t be angry and hateful to Tom for managing people and things around him, because he was doing it with very good intentions. But they were also unable to show healthy appreciation to Tom either, for the same reasons. As a result Tom was hurt, and they simultaneously realized that they’d hurt the one person that loved them the most. Paradoxically, things were made even worse by Tom’s subsequent overcompensation. When he didn’t get back the love and appreciation he expected, he tried even harder to do more things for these people....therefore making them feel even worse. The result of all this was arrested relationships, where both people ended up just hurting each other.
“Starting now,” he said to himself again out loud to insure his resolve, “I’m doing what I can, and then I’m letting go. If they ask for anything more, I’ll do whatever I can; but they’ll have to ask for the help, so that we both know what's going on.”
He knew saying this was easier than doing it, but he was determined. In his present circumstance, he could see the difficulties that were going to be caused by the obsessive guide. He had a very fragile ego, and lacked the strength of character to admit his mistakes - trying to hide his obvious ignorance behind blustery and arrogant behaviors. Tom knew this to be a bad combination, and worried about the man’s negative influence on the group.
“I’ll tell the guys my concerns, and they can form their own opinions. Then I’ll shut up about him, and let them do what they will - unless I feel he’s dangerous, or he plans to rob them while they’re in the jungle.”
He talked to the guys, and kept watch to ascertain if anything bad developed. Then, he let go of the whole issue.
“Regardless of what kind of butthead the guy ends up being, I can always walk away on my own if he really gets to me,” he decided.
With the situation resolved Tom felt relieved of any burdens or responsibilities, and so he enjoyed the forest without worries or distractions. It gave him a sense of liberation, fun, and fulfillment that he’d never felt before. With his new perspective, Tom’s awareness was unencumbered by anything. He was therefore able to observe, assimilate, and feel, the subtleties of the brilliant jungle-forest. For as far as he could see, it was a virtually undamaged, virgin natural environment. There was something much more beautiful than just the physical attributes of the place. It felt like coming home to life itself.
“Oh my God, look at the greens! “ he thought to himself.
The multitude of green colors became the harmonizing element that evoked a feeling of supreme calmness. The green was everywhere. There were forest greens, sherbet greens, and even yellowish greens. The colors came in light, medium, and dark green shades. As Tom hiked deeper into the forest, the lush green vegetation enveloped him in a cocoon of warm, comforting, life. A branch, high unto Tom’s left, bent down and dipped back up quickly, in a slow motion whiplash, as a scampering monkey grabbed for purchase on a neighboring branch. The new branch was stronger than the other, and it barely bent under the monkey’s weight.
“Anna, see the monkey?”
The bird was perched on Tom’s right shoulder, and had become increasingly more animated the deeper they hiked into the Nepalese jungle. Birds of all kinds were calling, and screeching throughout the green canopy of trees.
“Wanna go play, Anna?”
Again the bird cocked her head, as though listening, but withheld any reply.
“I know that you can talk. I’ve heard you before. You aren't fooling me! I sure wish I understood Nepali,” he added wistfully.
He knew that the bird’s silence was due to its unhappiness at being tethered to a stupid human. Even still, she was smart enough to understand where she got fed, so she never tested the beautiful chain that held her bound to Thomas.
“I bet you’d like to be off into the trees, eh? Life with me might seem a little restricting, so you may feel dependant and resent that; but you’re much better here, than out in those dangerous woods.”
Tom knew that she didn’t understand the words, but she did understand the emotion that he expressed, and his sincerity. Tom knew that was why she stayed with him; with or without the chain. Dependence upon Tom wasn’t a form of slavery. It was a good, safe, and reliable alternative to the fear of the unknown. Unlike her wild relatives in the bush who lived with ever-present fears, the safety mechanism that kept them alive, she’d drunk the intoxicating drink of a pampered and protected existence. Being insulated from a normal and cope-able level of daily fears, she was not prepared to deal with any fear. Thus making her highly susceptible to any fears. Her level of natural fears had become exaggerated to the point where she was too afraid to even try life in the wild. Besides being scary, it surely was less comfortable. As a result, her silver chains of a cozy existence kept her from even trying.
“If you did go out there right now, unprepared, you’d be trapped again by some not so nice guy; and God knows what he’d feed you!” Tom said with a laugh.
“He certainly wouldn’t give you all these wonderful fruits and nuts I buy you!”
Tom enjoyed joking with the bird. She liked the attention, and visibly perked up whenever he went into a dialogue.
“Yeah, I know I’m projecting lots of human things onto you, but I don’t think I’m far from the truth.”
Tom understood the bird‘s conundrum, he‘d lived the trapped bird situation too many times in his life to not finally figure it out. He found that he often helped trapped human birds out of their gilded cages. Cages that were manufactured by manipulative people. Many times it was the person’s family who built the cage; out of misdirected love and over-protectionism, or due to a desire to keep them ever dependent upon them. With someone dependant upon them, the manipulative person wouldn’t ever be faced with being left alone; and they’d have someone forever at their beck and call. Whether over protective or manipulative, it hurt the trapped person. Surprisingly, Tom found that he had an ability to free them without too much effort. The only problem was that Tom spent a lot of emotional energy on these people, and usually ended up falling in love with them - only to have them say: “Thanks for letting me go, I love and respect you for it, but now I have to fly!”
Each time Tom did this, he felt good about how the person grew, and flew, with newfound confidence in themselves; but he also got hurt badly in the process when they did the inevitable thing, and flew away from him to experience life on their own - now through different eyes, and vibrantly. Tom couldn’t, in good conscience, hold them back; nor step into the shoes of their former emotional jailer. So he was destined to let them go; out of love and respect for them. This was something they never really understood until years later, when it was too late for their relationship. It was as much an alien concept to them, as freedom was to an animal born and raised in captivity. Their lives were, in fact, very much like that kind of animal; or worse yet, they’d been subsequently ensnared by an unscrupulous person when they tried to escape their original captor. It was a concept that Tom could never seem to teach, or communicate to them, since they’d never been allowed to feel respect for themselves - or taught how to treat others with respect. How could they treat Tom with respect when their emotional captors never engendered any respect? He came to realize that the new emotion they felt strongly for Tom was scary in itself; and as unfamiliar as everything else. How could Tom blame them for not understanding his feelings; and accordingly, being responsible with them? It was all new ground. They had a lot to learn, before they understood what was the right thing to do for their liberator. Acknowledging Tom’s sincere efforts, and the resultant display of the love that they felt for him, was too new to fully understand and express effectively. So, this simple expression of respect was often denied Tom. He found that the trap for people like him was to be misjudged, when they were the very ones who were telling them people the truth - encouraging, nurturing, and quietly supporting them in their desires. It seemed that the liars always ‘won.’ The old saying about ’shooting the messenger’ was often true; particularly if the messenger was the one to show the trapped person the strings in which they were ensnared. The strings that were being pulled by the very people they wanted to trust, wanted to believe, wanted to love. Tom also learned that they eventually determined who was sincere, and who was using them. Unfortunately, that often didn’t happen before the person was out of his life due to misinformation that wasn’t corrected in time. Life circumstances like geographic moves, new relationships, inability to face misjudgments, or death, sadly inhibited reconciliation. After a time, Tom realized that this was the common fate of good and sincere teachers, many mothers and fathers, and sincere but unaware lovers or family members. Like these caring and nurturing people Tom knew that for him to do otherwise, to stop helping and nurturing, would be a horrible wrong to the people he could teach and help. It would result in him being a person that he didn’t want to be. So even if he was tragically misjudged, he considered it as his fate to continue on releasing people as he could. The dramatic change in Tom’s perspective, however, was finally accepting his fate without remorse - realizing that it was just part of who he was. It was the final acceptance of himself, and the acceptance of the consequences of his choice to help, even if they were often negative. Through this realization, Tom gained a new appreciation for all the people who had quietly helped him throughout his life. This enabled him to go back to them, and share his appreciation for their efforts. Like his charges, it was years after they had helped Tom before he was aware enough, and brave enough, to show them properly. Unfortunately, some were dead and gone; beyond knowing his appreciation. But many were not, so he made amends where he could. Tom first started with his parents. He arranged solitary visits with them to tell them how much he loved them; and to tell them how lucky he felt to have been born into the family they conceived, and nurtured, at great personal sacrifice. Then, he individually visited all of the adults who had nurtured him throughout his life. They were the people who constituted the true ‘village’ that had raised him. He next visited his friends, or wrote them appreciative letters. Yet he still had one group to address: his former loves and lovers. That, to Tom, was the hardest group to approach, and to emotionally address. The good and bad feelings still ran strong, even years later, and he could see how people.....no matter how thankful and appreciative....would find ways to avoid doing this critically important act of kindness, and compassion, for the people who made emotional gifts to, and significant personal investments in, them. He still hadn’t done this himself, some 20 years after the fact; so even though it made him miserably sad to be neglected, he did understand how his nurtured charges felt.
While Tom hiked along and reviewed his experiences with people, he was struck by the realization that the whole line of reflection brought along with it. He now understood the quiet, reflective, and seemingly wise look his favorite elders had given him in his younger years. It was a look of pride, hopefulness in his future, a reassertion of their confidence in him, a compliment of his abilities; and, it conveyed an incredible sense of their sadness at the same time. It always confused Tom in his prior ignorance.
“Why are you sad? Its all good,” he’d think briefly - just before he walked out the door, and out of their daily lives forever.
“What goes around, comes around Anna,” Tom spoke with forced happiness, and a tear in his eye.
“Its just like the Buddhists say: ‘It’s all connected. Good and bad Karma exists, and will ultimately catch up with you!’”
The bird turned her beautiful multi-toned green head to look at Tom directly. Again, uncannily, she sensed a difference in his mood and responded the best way that she could-she thrilled out a melodic tune.
Tom smiled a sad smile that turned up into a happy one, and said: “Thank you, sweetheart,” as he broke into a faster stride, and caught back up with Quentin.
Quentin and Tom hiked beyond the dense lower level vegetation into a different climate zone that contained sparsely covered hills. Soon the hills gave way to verdant mountains; and as they hiked even higher up, the vegetation changed visibly again.
“People told me that this trek through the Annapurnas is the best hike in the world. Now I believe it,” Tom said to Quentin, as they maintained a steady pace.
“It’s great. Best I’ve ever done,” Quentin confirmed.
Then he changed the subject.
“Tom I’m going to fall behind you and let the guys catch up with me, so I can see how they’re doing with our wonderful guide. I don’t want him throwing Johnny into the river, and he will if Johnny keeps bugging the poor blighter. Johnny is a pro-fessional provocateur; he is - for sure and real!”
"Ok I’ll wait at the next teahouse, somewhere near Bhulbhule; and then we can eat lunch together, ok?”
“Sure, I’ll let the others know. It doesn’t look too far on the map, I think.”
“No, maybe another hour or so hiking from here.”
“See ya then, mate.”
“See ya,” answered Tom.
The terrain had gone from woods to desert, then to rain forest and jungle, and finally to the barrenness of high mountain altitudes. Between high winds, little moisture, hungry mountain goats, and a high demand for firewood, the plant life in the higher altitudes was scarce. But down in the valleys, the thick inviting green world was teeming with life. A glacier fed river rushed through gorges and valleys at an ever increasing rate. It became wilder, colder, and therefore eminently more dangerous as they hiked alongside it - up its mountainous course, towards its icy source. Tom hoped that he never fell into the raging river, and now understood the stories about hikers drowning on the circuit.
“If hypothermia or drowning doesn’t kill you, the huge rocks will, Anna!”
The ancient mountain glaciers were melting quicker than ever before, and the abnormally high waters were obvious proof of the effects of global warming. Thousands of gallons rushed by every minute, and the sheer volume created a perpetual roar. Tom could tell that the runoff wasn’t from the regular winter melting of ice and snow. That was long gone. Nor was it attributable to any rivers or streams being overloaded by rains. Monsoon season hadn‘t begun yet, and no rains had fallen in months. The only possible source was the unnatural and drastically quick melting of the mountain glaciers. As a result the river raged on, like a turbulently twisting dragon. It was beautiful in its visible magnificence, rumbling force, and terrible strength; but, it was very deadly nonetheless -starting with its sad origins. Each bamboo suspension bridge over the river both delighted and terrified Tom. The view up and down the river, from the vantage point of the precariously high suspension bridges, was incredible; yet an easy fall into the river meant a certain, brutally quick, death.
“If you survived the fall, all those other things would mangle your body and kill you,” Tom mumbled out loud to no one.
“Hmmmm, better not lose sight of that little fact on your next crossing, Thomas!” he said to himself as cautionary advise.
“God,” he spoke to the bird. “There are thousands of gallons flying by per minute, continually. How much longer can this last? Pretty soon those beautiful white mountain tops won’t be so white. Then what happens to life in this jungle, and throughout the mountains and valleys below? The river will run dry like others have already, the climate will be less humid, and then things that need constant water will die. What can we do to........“
His question trailed off into oblivion, and the ramifications of the present reality threatened to depress him. So he tried to blow it off with a joke.
“Oh well, girl. We don’t have to worry about the melting glaciers anyway. If the Chinese get their way, there’ll be a highway down the middle of
The joke did Tom no good, and only made him feel worse. He ‘d heard from reliable sources in Kathmandu that the Chinese already had bulldozers waiting at the northern borders of Nepal - just waiting for the King’s permission to proceed with the road. Ostensibly it was to bring tourism to
The ignorance, and insensitivity to everything living in his joyful proclamation was brutally shocking. Tom could imagine what
Tom had also heard that the planned road was to be built very thick; strong enough to handle army tanks.
“Now why would
“Damn them!” was all that Tom could manage.
He tried to entertain the futile hope that at least his children could see and experience ‘the best hike in the world,’ before it was destroyed forever.
“Well there’s hope, Anna,” he tried to reassure himself. “I heard that the King threw the Chinese delegation out of
With his statement to the bird serving to verbalize his feelings, Tom cleared his mind of the controversy and allowed himself to let go again. He hiked with renewed vigor as the trail rose gradually, and veered away from the river. Tom was relieved to be back in the quiet woods. Just as he relaxed totally, he came upon a small group of buildings that constituted a small village. It had a large ancient tree growing in the center of the village, around which children played happily. Tom looked for a drinking faucet, and his search led him to a road that turned off of the right side of the circle. He walked along, and played with the kids as he went. They all seemed well fed, and were overjoyed to see his parrot.
“Suga, Suga, Suga,” they said over and over, calling out to his parrot.
Seeing a white shack with a red cross on it, Tom kept walking, holding the kids off until he reached it and made his inevitable stop. He knew he’d have to let the kids play with the bird, and he might as well pick up some re-hydration salts in the process, he reasoned. The building lay at the edge of the village proper, and near the beginning of verdant fields of crops. As Tom approached the small shack, he saw that it looked more like a fireworks stand than a dispensary. But there it was, fully stocked with medicines, bandages, and a multitude of medical products. Tom was impressed, and walked right up to the counter. A young man came to the counter with a big smile.
“What can I get you, sir?” he asked politely.
“Oh, I need some re-hydration salts. Do you have any in an orange flavor?”
“I will look, sir.”
“Thanks,” Tom replied, as he set down his heavy pack and put the bird on her stick perch that he carried in his pack.
“Suga, Suga, Suga....” the little kids called to the bird, as the small group finally caught up with him.
Tom smiled, and handed them a handful of dried fruit to feed the bird. The kids were delighted, and instantly fell silent as they each expectantly held out food for the bird to eat. Thus relieved of his burdens, Tom looked around at the lush fields, and the immediate area around the dispensary. To his sad surprise, there was a little child sitting in the shadows next to the building. The child had flies crawling all over his face, and body. Large groups of them crawled around his eyes. The poor kid was so ill that he sat still as a tree, lacking even the energy to swat the flies away. Touched by the poor child’s state, Tom knelt down next to him and felt his forehead with his hand.
“You’re burning up, you poor thing,” Tom exclaimed, quietly.
He then noticed that the child had loads of green mucus oozing from his nose. Through all of Toms examinations, the child just sat as still as a statue. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the kid was so sick, that he was dying.
“Right next to all of these medicines,” Tom lamented.
Tom turned his attention to the man behind the counter, and rose up to speak to him.
“So sorry sir, I have no orange salts. Maybe lime will do?”
“Sure, no problem. But what is the problem with this child? He’s deathly sick, and obviously needs antibiotics. He has advanced sinus and ear infections.”
“His parents have no money for medicine,” he replied casually. “How many packets would you like of the salts?”
Shocked that the man cared more about his salts than the child's life, Tom became incensed.
“Forget the stupid salts. What’s to happen to this kid? Surely you have medicines to save him in here?”
“Yes, we do. But his parents are very poor and have no money,” he replied without a shred of empathy.
Frustrated beyond words, Tom turned and faced the small group of mothers who had followed their very healthy children as they pursued Tom and his bird. The women all had stupid cow like smiles on their faces, while they silently considered the confident and fit man before them.
“Whose child is this?” Tom asked them bluntly.
“Not our child, his mother is in the fields working. These are our children,” one said, as she pointed out the thriving kids around them.
It amazed Tom that no one ’saw’ the dying child in front of them. They just ignored his existence, until that was ultimately over. Tom couldn’t allow them to get away with this horrible slight.
“Can none of you care for this child? Are you going to stand there and allow him to die, just because he isn’t your own? What kind of mothers are you? What do you teach your children, when you let others die in front of them?” he demanded.
Their faces changed from smiles to serious concern. Evidently, no one had placed this responsibility upon them. They cared for their children, and others were either cared for, or died. Again, Tom was faced with the inescapable harshness of life. Tom then realized that they were unable to do anything for other kids, without seriously neglecting their own. He regretted his verbal assault on them, and turned back to the man in the medical booth.
“Can you not give this child antibiotics? You can see that he’ll die without them.”
“I can’t give away medicines to every poor person, I would lose my business.”
“Well then, I’ll buy them for him. How much does thirty days of antibiotics cost?”
The man was shocked at Tom’s suggestion.
“Why would you waste your money on such as him, his family....”
“Shut the fuck up, and get the antibiotics!” Tom spat out quietly, but firmly.
He was beyond patience. He was offering to buy medicine to keep the kid alive, and the guy was still arguing with him. The man was a monster, with a disarming smile. He was surprised at Toms anger, and reacted quickly. As he handed Tom the antibiotics, Tom handed him the money. Tom then went back to the group of mothers, and asked them if they knew the child’s parents. A couple of them said they did, and Tom picked the most sincere looking one.
“Give this medicine to the boy’s parents when they return from the fields. Have them ask the man how much to give the child, and how often he should get them, ok? “
"Ok, I will do so, “she said with open admiration.
Just as Tom finished with the transaction, two older kids cycled into the clearing to see Tom’s bird. The older brother was driving the bike, and the younger one was standing upright on the hub of the back wheel. Both were focused on the bird, and not much else. The young boy slipped as his brother hit a rock, and his left leg went into the spokes of the moving cycle. Instantly, he let out a blood curdling scream, and let go of his brother’s shoulders. He quickly fell to the ground, before his brother could even stop. Tom watched him fall, as if in slow motion; and suddenly felt like he was in some surrealistic world. His brother immediately jumped off his bike, and swooped up his brother into his arms in one fluid motion. He carried him over to the medicine building to seek help. The man at the counter retained his uncaring demeanor, and studiously kept his attention on Tom; unbelievably ignoring the undeniable.
“How many salt packet do you want, sir?”
“Five or six will do,” said Tom said distractedly. His attention was now on the bleeding boy.
As his brother brought him closer to the building, it was clear to everyone that the boy had a serious gash in his leg and that he was losing blood quickly. Again, the man at the counter only had eyes for Tom’s money. He tried to ignore the boy who was pleading for medical attention for his brother. The situation was impossibly bizarre. Tom saw that it wasn’t a mere scrape; it was a serious life threatening injury.
“Good God, man! You aren't going to ignore him too are you?” Tom asked him harshly.
“They have no money. Like I said before, what can I do?”
“You put down my stupid re-hydration salts, and tend to his wound. Now!” Tom yelled.
The man was scared by Tom’s righteous anger, and moved quickly to attend to the boy with bandages and tape. Tom was totally disgusted with the man, and emotionally wiped out from the entire experience. He just wanted to get away from the man. Tom looked at the bandage packages to see their prices, and made a rough estimate of their cost, along with more antibiotics. He then went to the boys’ brother, who was holding and comforting his brother throughout the long process. He handed him a hand full of Rupees. It wasn’t that much to Tom, maybe $10, but it was a lot according to local standards, and easily exceeded the cost of the medicines and bandages.
“This is for your brother’s medicine, and bandages. Make sure he takes all of the medicine so that he doesn’t get infected like that poor little boy,” Tom told him - as he pointed to the sick little child who still sat like a numb statue.
The boy smiled to Tom and nodded.
"Ok, I’m leaving now. Take care of yourselves,” he said to the boys.
Tom put the parrot on his finger, picked up his heavy pack, and swung it over his shoulder in one fluid movement. It was difficult for him to be the center of attention, so he was thankful that he didn’t drop his pack. He walked away from the little crowd with visible relief.
“Let’s get back on the trail, sweetie. I can’t take much more of this reality,” he told the bird, as they walked out of the village quickly.
It took Tom more than half an hour to calm down. He was still very upset by the pain of the children, and the insensitive attitude towards their health. But hiking helped calm his nerves.
“I think I did the right thing back there,” he said to the bird. “I feel bad that I lost my temper so bad, but that asshole....”
Then he started some self instruction, to school his thoughts along more productive paths. “You did good, Thomas! You did good. You did what you could, and let go. That is all you can do. Do what you can, and let go. Let go, let go....”
The litany helped him clear his mind of anger and unproductive thoughts, and brought him to the realization that he’d graduated today. It was the first time in his life that he faced a very serious life threatening situation, and didn’t let it eat him up inside. He’d truly done what he was capable of doing, and went on with his life - emotionally letting go of the situation, in good conscience, without desensitizing himself. His step lightened perceptively, and his mood improved with the knowledge that he really had done something good - and that it was enough. He felt wonderful, again.
As he walked further along the winding trail, Tom was a bit worried to see that the trail turned sharply right after a large stand of trees - taking him directly towards the river. Before long, he came to the cliff edge by the river. Directly in front of him was the old suspension bridge that he’d seen before, from a long distance. It was a rickety, broken down, handmade affair. He pulled out his map to review the course of the trail again, only to find that the little red line of the trail crossed back and forth over the river at various points.
“Oh my God Anna, we have to go over that thing! And, even more after that one!”
Dumbstruck, and fearful, he stood still and stared at the foot bridge. The narrow, open sided, suspension bridge yawned its snaggletooth mouth at Tom. Inviting, yet scary, the foot bridge contained almost as many holes as it did large bamboo footboards.
“The wires supporting it look strong,” he said absently, “but I dunno.....”
The view down to the rushing waters of the river was overwhelming. Walking alongside the river on the cliff edge had been bad enough, but the thought of being over it was terrifying to Tom. The rock boulders in the river were as large as small houses. The drop was formidable, and the water was ice cold. It was a daunting prospect to cross the lethal river on the treacherous bridge. It was a dilapidated, wide open bridge, and only had two ropes as handrails. Tom knew that to fall was to die, but to not go across meant ending his trek.
“Oh, what the hell,” he said aloud, and he started to run across before he gave himself more time to worry, or freeze in fear.
He got about a quarter way across, and stopped out of sheer terror. He gripped the hand ropes desperately, and tried to remain rational. The instant he got onto the bridge, it had begun to sway and move with his weight. Not allowing himself to think and worry anymore before starting across, he neglected to take into consideration that the bridge itself would move with his movement and weight. His feet slipped off of the wet bamboo floorboards, trying to gain a steady purchase; as the whole bridge moved underneath him. Luckily he grabbed a side hand rope as he fell, and thereby kept himself from sliding off the wet deck and into the river. Anna was chirping wildly in confusion and distress, but awareness of her fear was peripheral to Tom’s thoughts. He loved the bird, but he was fighting for both of their lives.
“Hang on Anna, I’m trying!” was all he could manage in the way of reassurances.
Tom pulled himself up slowly from his prone state, suspended halfway between the hand ropes and the floor of the bridge. He wanted to keep what little footing he had, so he quickly substituted extreme caution, and slow motion, for his stupid and reckless first attempt to run across the bridge. Fear was in the back of his mind, but a startling clarity of awareness rode precedence over everything else.....it was survival instinct at its best. He began quiet and rational internal reassurances that calmed him down, and then helped him focus - instead of freezing in panic. He knew he couldn’t stop totally because he’d then be frozen in fear, and there was no one around to help ‘unfreeze him.’ So he knew he had to keep moving......if ever so slowly.
"Ok think, stupid! This time think!” he yelled at himself.
“But if I think about it too much, I’ll never move,” he warned himself. “Just do it, stupid! Somehow everybody else gets across the bridge, there isn’t any other way across to the other side.”
He rose slowly to his feet, recognizing the slippery wetness of the bamboo under his feet, and he began to step nimbly.....but with growing confidence...across the bridge. When he reached the lowest point in the sagging bridge, the actual center of the bridge, he started to freak out again.
“Oh my God, look at that hole!” he said, as he stopped just before a gap of missing bamboo shafts.
“Shut up, stupid! Just don’t put your foot in there! Keep moving, it’ll be ok.”
Self reassured, he went on slowly but steadily while the bridge increased its back and forth swaying motion.
“Don’t fight it Thomas,” he told himself. “Move with it, steady yourself - and that‘ll steady it.”
So he went on, navigating around the holes and weakened floor boards. Periodically, he slipped across the rounded bamboo floor. He’d never seen bamboo so wide before.
“It has to be six inches in diameter,” he thought randomly.
Laid end to end, vertically down the length of the bridge, some pieces were well over 12 feet long, while others were only three feet. They were strapped together with a patchwork of heavy ropes that highlighted the many repairs over time.
“The thing looks like a bunch of rounded Popsicle sticks, tied together by some inept giant. But jeez, it’s strong. Where there aren't holes of course!”
Talking to himself both calmed him down, and improved the experience. His fear abated, as he learned how to navigate the bridge safely. It was much longer that he had realized, so he had time to more thoroughly process his progressive phases of fear, focus, understanding, learning, and finally confidence. By the time he was three quarters across, he was actually enjoying the experience. Now confident with his footing, he stopped to look up and down the river; then finally, straight down into it. A cold misty wind blew along with the movement of the water below, and the tall cliffs created a wind tunnel of sorts. The strong steady wind forced the bridge into a gentle back and forth sway. When Tom first started across, his movement had amplified what the river was already doing.
”That's why it moved so easily,” he concluded.
The view straight below his feet was scary, and beautiful; but he could only look down for a short time, before suffering extreme vertigo. As he looked straight up or down the length of the winding river, he was afforded an unobstructed view of the lush green valley that cut like a huge deep ‘V’ between the startling mountain ranges to either side.
“Yeah, these are real mountains, Anna. I thought I’d seen and understood what mountains looked like from being in the mountains in the States and in
The parrot was huddling as close she could within the crook of Tom’s bent arm. Tom thought it was out of fear from their recent ordeal, but then he realized that it was significantly colder. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees while going over the bridge.
“Too breezy, dear?” Tom said with a loving smile. “I’ll get us over faster now, baby.”
After Tom learned to move with the bridge, and to not fight the mountain winds, he glided gracefully across the remainder of the bridge. What started out as a scary event, actually turned out to be a great experience. Nonetheless, he was glad to finally reach the other side, and solid ground. The path however, ran along the crumbling cliffs of the river, and he was reminded of deadly rockslide stories heard in
“No use brooding on how I’ve missed out on this so long. Its best that I appreciate that I’ve gained it now, eh Anna?”
The bird chirped as if in reply, settled down on her perch on his right shoulder, and they walked through the forest together.
Tom loved his new ‘connectiveness’ to nature, and gratefully thanked his father for taking him camping so much as a child. That’s how it all started, even though he grew up in a city. While it was a small farming town, and relatives had farms nearby, it still wasn’t real nature. The mountainous trails of
Not far from the suspension bridge, he came upon a small teahouse. He was glad to set down his heavy pack and rest a while, as he waited for his friends to catch up.
“Hoy, Thomas there,” was the first thing he heard as he awoke from a light sleep.
He was still shaking himself awake from his impromptu nap, as the guys threw down their backpacks onto the heavy wooden table. The vibrations jolted him to full awareness.
“Hel-lo in there, anybody home?” asked Johnny jokingly, as he lightly knocked his fist on Tom’s head.
“No, he’s long gone,” said Tom in a vacant voice. “He lost it already!”
“Na, you were just moving faster than us girls! I told you guys we need to ditch this stupid guide. He makes us go so damn slow.”
“That's so we enjoy the trip, Johnny,” said Paul patiently. “You’ll appreciate it as we get into the higher altitudes. You don’t want to get altitude sickness by going too high too fast.”
“Well, I’m getting a bad case of attitude sickness instead!”
“What's new about that?” commented Quentin.
“Did you guys like the bridge?” asked Tom.
“Oh that? It was a barrel of laughs. Our guide tied us all together with a stupid rope that wouldn’t save anyone, and ‘led’ us to safety.”
“Well, it scared the bejeebees out of me,” said Tom. “Until I figured out how to move with it.”
“The Bee Gees, what?” asked Johnny comically. Then Quentin jumped in, as well.
“Are you now ‘one with the bridge?’ Oh, enlightened one?”
“You guys have waaaay too much energy for me. I give up!”
“Well,” started Paul. “We don’t have as much as you think, we’re planning on stopping at Nagdi tonight.”
“That's fine with me, I’m totaled. It’s been a rough day for me,” responded Tom cryptically.
“Oh, here comes our great brown leader.....shhhshh!” joked Johnny, loudly.
Loud enough so that their guide could hear him.
“Yes, I am your leader! You must always do what I say, otherwise I can’t make sure you remain safe. It can be very dangerous without a good guide.”
“Plueessse,” groaned Johnny. “Is your recording stuck in a repeat loop? You keep saying that over and over!” Johnny said with dramatic exasperation.
“All I want you to do, is to tell me when you find a good guide!” Johnny drove home his punch line.
The man fumed in anger, and Tom wasn’t sure if he wasn’t going to backhand Johnny. He was pushing the man too hard. Tom pulled Johnny aside.
“Johnny, I agree that he’s a dick. But guys like this won’t restrain themselves from knocking your head off. This isn’t one of your mannies. This guy is a volatile Cro-Magnon, with little intelligence and a fragile ego. You don’t push these kind of people, they’ll flip out. Be more careful who you antagonize, o.k.? Someday, one might blow up and really hurt you. Always remind yourself about people’s mental state, before you needle them. Some can take it, while others will take you out. Comprende?”
“Yeah, I get you. Sometimes I just get so mad at the idiot!”
“Well you guys talk about it, and make a group decision. Then, pay him off and fire him. Just pay him, and he’ll go away without any trouble. If you don’t pay him, he’s liable to flip out as well. These folks live on nothing, and they really need the money.....even though it isn’t much money to you.”
"Ok, that's good advice. I’ll talk to the others tonight.”
“Great! Now lets get to Nagdi so we can get some food, I’m starving. How about you?”
“I got you. Let’s boogie!”
“Do they still say that in England?”
“Dunno, haven’t been there in a while; but I do!”
“I really like being with you guys,” said Tom. “You keep me smiling.”
They hiked another hour, and arrived at Nagdi without incident.
“We’ll stay here, in this guest house. It is the safest place to be!” stated their guide, as he walked away from them and went inside.
“Well, democracy isn’t alive ‘ear. Is it now?” asked Johnny.
“Oh well, it looks ok. Hey look, they have two cute kids..... they can’t be all bad,” commented Tom.
Tom went inside for a room, just as the guide finished his arrangements with the woman. The guide got free room and dinner for bringing people to the guesthouse. They raised their rates, and then let him stay for free. Tom pretended not to understand the arrangement that he saw negotiated. He was just happy for a decent place to stay. The place was less than a dollar a night, so he didn’t care.
The rotund little boy and his sister looked up at Tom as he talked to their father about a room and dinner. Neither of them could have been over 11 years old, yet they scurried between the main room and the dirt floored kitchen, helping their mother and grandmother out.
“I’d like three candy bars, as well,” Tom asked the man.
The man reached down into the cabinet for the Snicker’s bars.
“Thanks, here’s your money for the room and the candy. Can I order a roast chicken dinner?”
The man looked surprised, but nodded yes and quoted Tom a reasonable price.
“Great, I’ll take it. I’m going to clean up, and to rest a bit. When should I come down for dinner?”
“Seven, or after seven,” he replied.
“Thanks!”
As Tom walked to the stairway, the little boy ran past him for the fourth time. Tom reached out quickly, and grabbed him by his collar. The boy was surprised, and looked fearful. His mother looked up from the archaic kitchen room below, to see why Tom had detained her boy.
“Hey! You and your sister are working hard, yes?”
“Yes, very hard.”
“Well, here’s a present for being good kids for your mother!” Tom said, as he handed him two candy bars. “Give one to your sister now, ok?”
"Ok!” the boy said gleefully.
He ran like a bullet directly to his mother and grandmother; showing them his prize.
Tom smiled, and went up to his tiny room to rest. He lay on his bed for two hours. He was unable to sleep, but still felt rested. He washed up at the water basin in his crate-like room, and went downstairs for a drink. Quentin was alone in the room, and was looking out of the screened wall sullenly - into the forest far below. Like the rest of the building, the wall was paper thin. The whole room hung precariously over the edge of a cliff. The upper half of the wall faced the deep valley, and was made out of cheap plastic screen.
“Doesn’t it make you nervous to sit so close to that silly wall?” Tom asked Quentin.
“Naw, sometimes I don’t care if I fall or not.”
“How can you say that? You’re bright, handsome, and obviously from a fairly well off family. Then there’s the part of you being such a nice guy.”
“I’m not going out on a date with you, mate; no matter what you say. So just get that idear out of your head, now!” he laughed.
“See, you even have a good sense of humor. So what's the issue?”
“It’s this damn psoriasis. My skin feels like it’s crawlin with insects half the time, and it makes me crazy. It looks like hell too! Everyone thinks they’ll get it from touching me, so the ladies......”
“I understand how you feel. If I had itchy poison ivy all the time, I’d get down too! It isn’t noticeable, though. You can’t get it off your mind, but it’s not really visible. I doubt the girls even notice it. I didn’t, until you just told me.”
“Reelly?”
“Reeelly!” Tom mimicked, playfully. “Now brighten up, and let’s have a pint, eh?”
“Sounds good to me!”
The little boy ran through the room, and Tom caught him on his return. He smiled, as Tom tried to hold his wiggling form still for a minute.
“Hey, ask your dad to bring us two beers when he has a chance o.k.?”
“Yes, sir. You having chicken tonight?”
“Yes, I am. Thanks.”
The little boy ran out, and his dad promptly returned with two beers.
“Better drink up now,” said Tom. “They say that we can’t get beer further on, cuz it’s too heavy to carry far; and then, there’s the trash to consider. Everything that’s carried in, has to be carried out as trash later. It must be a pain in the ass.”
“I can’t imagine. I’m surprised that they just don’t throw the trash down the valleys.”
“Evidently they used to, and it got messy.”
As Tom finished talking, he heard a commotion outside the front of the building.
“What’s that, do you think?” asked Tom, puzzled.
“I think they just caught your chicken dinner!”
“Really? Ewe.....”
The front door opened, and the little boy ran through to the kitchen. As he returned from the kitchen, he noticed Tom looking his way and he came to their table. His white shirt was splattered with blood.
“Do you want more drink?” he asked brightly.
“No, but what’s that all over your shirt?” asked Tom.
“I kill your chicken for dinner sir. Would you like to see?”
“Uggh, sure,” said Tom in reply.
The three of them walked into the kitchen, and they were treated to seeing his mom pull the chicken out of a pot of boiling water by its feet; and then, her and the grandmother plucking it. They didn’t stay long; but Tom felt obliged to thank them both for their efforts.....even though he was slightly repulsed.
Returning back to their table, Quentin was the first to speak.
“Well, that's the best example of cause and effect I’ve seen in a while. You order chicken dinner, and they go kill it for you......yuummm!”
“Thanks for reminding me,” groaned Tom.
That evening they all had nice meals, although they were smaller portions than Tom was expecting. The best parts of the chicken surprisingly went to their guide. He drank his beers with a group of local policemen, and slowly got drunk. He leered periodically at Tom and Quentin......particularly Quentin. His attentions didn’t go unnoticed, and Quentin grew more uncomfortable with the guy. Tom didn’t blame him.
“Johnny says you guys are going to leave him. I think that’s the best thing to do. Pay him off, and let ’em go.”
“Paul doesn’t want to, though. And the problem is that Paul’s father already paid the agency for him.”
“So, you don’t even have to pay him then!”
“We’ll see what we’re going to do.”
“Whatever, I’m going to bed. I guess we’re safe enough. There are five policemen here tonight,” Tom said, as he nodded towards the table on the other side of the room.
Quentin’s gaze followed Tom’s, and lingered there, somewhat critically. Voicing Quentin’s silent observations, Tom continued speaking.
“Although they look more like army misfits, than real police! I guess they don‘t need much, way out here. They’re the Nepali equivalent of small town sheriffs in the States.”
“They say that Maoist rebels are running around the mountains again, causing problems,” commented Quentin.
“Reelly?” asked Tom with a sardonic grin.
“Reelly, Tom!” Quentin replied, as he laughed at Tom’s near perfect imitation of his exclamation.
“You feeling better now?”
“Yeah, thanks mate. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, I enjoy the company! Goodnight, I’m exhausted and need some sleep. See ya in the morning!”
“Cya, mate.”
Not long after lying down, Tom fell into a deep sleep. He was tired from a physically and emotionally grueling day. But his dreams were troubled. They were punctuated by barking dogs and random gunshots. By morning, everyone was wondering what had happened during the night. All thought that they were dreaming, but eventually they were woken by the commotion. Strangely however, their guide wouldn’t answer any questions. The little boy was unusually quiet and morose, as he brought their rice pudding breakfast. Tom asked him what had happened, and all he’d say was that some people had died. Then he got a scathing look from his father, and ran out of the room in tears.
Paul and Johnny joined them, and they ate quietly. Everyone had been tired from hiking, and the strange noises in the night kept them from a restful sleep. Their guide strode into the room abruptly.
“We leave in five minutes. Be ready!” he said harshly, and with a note of meanness.
“Well, aren’t we sunny taday....” Johnny started, then stopped mid-sentence as he caught Tom’s severe look.
“Five minutes, outside!” he repeated firmly, broaching no further discussion; and he left the room.
“Sorry, Johnny,” said Tom. “I didn’t mean to cut you off, but he’s got murder in his eyes today. Something’s up, and we don’t need his anger to land on any of us. It’s not about us, so let’s not give him any reason to make it that way.
“Obviously! We ‘aven’t done nothing,” said Johnny in his defense.
“Yet,” interjected Paul. “Tom’s right, there’s something up, and we just need to keep out of the way.”
“The little boy said someone died last night,” offered Quentin.
“I think a few somebody’s died last night, from what I heard. If the guns didn’t get them, the dogs did,” added Paul seriously.
“I agree with Paul,” said Tom. “But, I think we’re only at risk if we happen to get in the way. From what I’ve read, the Maoists are trying to cause unrest with the mountain people, so it looks like the monarchy isn’t working. They’ve killed over 1,500 policemen during the past eighteen months, but no tourists that I’ve heard of. Neither side wants to mess up the tourist trade. It’s a lot of hard currency coming into the area. The Chinese Communists sit a few moves back, since they’re masters of subtle manipulation. They provoke continual unrest and uncertainty. Your guide is obviously Hindu, as are the owners of the guesthouse; and therefore sympathetic to the police. They were probably friends who died. Most likely, some of the guys we saw last night. Seeing your friends picked off like pigeons can’t be too much fun.”
“Damn, I never considered....” started Johnny.
“That’s the point,” said Paul. “There’s a lot here that we can’t really consider, because we don’t live here, and understand all the details. That’s why we need our guide.”
“I’d agree with you Paul, but you should watch your back with this guy, o.k.? He isn’t what he seems. He’s got a hot temper, and low intelligence. Not a good combination. As long as you don’t fully trust him, you’ll probably be ok.”
“I don’t fully trust anyone.”
“Well there’s that, of course,” answered Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Five minutes is up mates,” noted Quentin.
“Let’s go then,” instructed Paul.
Tom just followed along.
Throughout the day, their guide got meaner and ruder. By noon he didn’t even try to hide his contempt for his charges. Additionally, Tom saw the man’s obvious hate of him; even though Tom had said nothing to him for days. Tom could tell that the man resented his influence on the younger guys. He could read the man’s frustration in his angry eyes, and abrupt actions. It was clear to Tom, that the guide believed Tom’s presence kept him from controlling the young men totally. It made Tom chuckle to think that he’d believed that anyone could control the wild guys. But the guide was correct about one thing. Tom wouldn’t allow him to intimidate the young men. He worried about the man’s stability, sincerity, and real intentions.
“This manny is a bugger!” whined Johnny, as he threw his pack to the ground and collapsed in exhaustion.
He and Tom had been hiking together for over an hour, while the others pressed on ahead. Johnny was the least athletic of the group, and the guide’s sudden breakneck speed seemed to be done intentionally to impact Johnny.
“Yeah, it’s really odd. The guide wants to take you guys around the circuit slowly to increase his fees, yet he does these stupid sprints and stops. It’s like he’s competing with us. He’s a weird one. I can’t figure him out. I know that Thorung pass is supposed to be risky, and I for one don’t want to go over it alone; but that seems to be the only reason to keep the guy.”
“We decided last night to dump him after the pass, the bastard.”
“I think that's probably wise. But he doesn’t like me over much, and I don’t want things to be uncomfortable for you guys.”
“You’re the one thing that isn’t uncomfortable, mate. I like talking to you, as do me buds.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. But just the same, I’m not going to let him ruin my trip. And I don’t want to cause any more friction than need be - if you know what I mean.”
“I most certainly do! The bastard is purposely punishing me physically today, and laughing about it when ‘e sees me. I know what the bugger is up to, and he ain’t buggering me! Bloody wanker! I’ve managed a fair number of mannies, he doesn’t know what he has started with me. I was just funning before. Just youse wait and see what I ‘ave in store for ‘im!”
“I know you can deal with him, but please remember you’re dealing with an unstable personality.....” Tom let his voice trail off.
“You’re right. I’ll watch me step, and not push ‘em over the edge. But, I’ll take him right up to it! ’E will rue the day he took on this Brit!”
“No doubt,” Tom replied.
“Johnny I think you’re a strong guy, but it sounds like you’ve had your challenges. Maybe that's what has made you so strong?”
“You don’t know the half of it, mate! Life ain’t no bowl of cherries likes they tries to tell ya. We, all of us boys, ‘ave had it easy livin in some ways; but there were challenges. Mostly not what was done to us, or for us; but wasn’t done with us. Why do you think I’ve ‘ad so many mannies? I’ve been alone most of the time.”
“And torturing the mannies was interesting, and got you some attention, eh?”
“Now you’ve got it! But me dad’s patience is running thin. Not that I care about the bastard! Pretty soon I’ll be out on me own....totally.”
“That has to hurt, though. I didn’t get to spend much time with my dad because he worked two jobs to support the family; but we did have vacations together, and summer Sundays at the beach.”
“You lived by the ocean?”
“No, one of the great lakes, Lake Michigan. It’s as big as some seas, you know!”
“Really?”
“Reeelly! The sands wash and blow to the end of the lake, and pile up into huge sand dunes. You can get lost in them, they’re so big.”
“Sounds great to me. I grew up in the city, not much beach time.”
“Well, it sounds to me like all of your guy’s parent’s work in politics, or for multinational corporations. That's a tough life for everyone. Lots of interesting places, and more than enough money, but never enough time for the little things that bring families together. I bet your dad is stressed out, and doing the best that he can - under the circumstances. Keeping you guys in good schools, and on trips like this, is probably the best that he can do; and after all, it isn‘t that bad, eh?”
“Yeah, I’ve never thought of it that way before. I know ‘e loves me, I just never see ‘im.”
“Maybe you can send him letters and pictures to remind him who you are, and to hint that you want him around but can’t be waiting on him forever. Because before long, you’ll be gone for good. Then you’ll never have much time together. Let him know what he’s been missing, before it’s gone for good. It’ll be a surprise, if nothing else, to hear something from you other than ‘manny problems.’ I wouldn’t expect much from him, he might just be a workaholic that can’t change. But you’d feel better, and it’ll help to get this frickin monkey off your back so you can make your life special for yourself.”
“Thanks, Thomas. I appreciate the thoughts. I’ll think about it all, and definitely do something.”
“Well, you’re too bright and too talented to waste your energy anymore on unproductive things. There comes a time when we all have to make our own lives. You have tons of opportunities to make yours whatever you want it to be. I totally understand the pain that you feel. But if you face it, and work it out of your system by dealing with your dad’s situation without reacting; then you’ll feel free to turn wherever you want to go. I doubt he means to be distant, cold, and uncaring. It’s probably a situational thing that he doesn’t even understand. Help him understand. Then, he’ll either respond in a positive way, or confirm your fears. Either way, you’re in charge with what you do with it. I’ve a feeling that the news you’ve been worried about all this time isn’t really there. You’ll just find a man, with real problems of his own. Then even if he can’t be there for you the way that you’d like, you can forgive him and move on with your life. Either way, you win. You’re in charge of your life. I think you’re going to have a really happy one, once you understand your real strength.”
“Damn, you are right. E’s just a mess his self. How can he be there for me, when ‘e isn’t there for his self?”
“Bingo, you’ve got it! Move this man to the head of the class, please,” Tom joked.
“I’ve been so caught up in my hurts and disappointments in him, I never considered ‘is! Guess I’ve just been a self centered kid, a? Does this mean I’ve got to be more responsible than me dad?”
“Sometimes we have to be. Didn’t you ever hear that it’s tough raising parents?”
“You’re so right, mate. So right,” he said drolly, while shaking his head with mock despondency.
“And you’re too funny! Git up off yor ass now, and walk young man! Walk! And, don’t you slow down again!” Tom said, impersonating the guide.
Johnny looked up to Tom with a calm face, and a warm smile. His appreciation for Toms ‘discussion’ was expressed through his smile, and his new serene emotional state. Then quick as it came, it left. He snapped back to his joking character again, and he fell to his knees at Tom’s feet.
“I love you man, I love you!”
Laughing with him, Tom played along with the quick witted joke.
“Let go of me, you bugger! I’ll have none of that now!” he said jokingly.
Tom then marched forward, and yelled out to woods ahead of them, as if to their guide: “Hey I’ve got a cute lad here, for your buggering! Come and get him, before the Maoists do! Once he goes Maoist, there‘s no going back!”
Johnny got up at a run, and chased after Tom.
“Damn you, blighter. I’ll never get rid of ‘im now!”
They laughed, and ran their way to the rest of the group.
“Honey, I’m home! Where’s me dinner, bitch!” Johnny yelled, as Tom and he caught up with the others.
“Ifin that’s your attitude, you might as well be cooking it yourself!” Quentin replied quickly, in an angry feminine voice. “And you better know this - there’ll be no fun for your ungrateful ass tonight! Wank yer own willy, you ungrateful sot!”
Everyone broke out laughing, except for the guide. He wasn’t in the mood for anything fun. Sensing this, Johnny went in for his jugular.
“Aren't we ‘aving any fun taday? How ‘orrible ‘at is! Life is too short, youse know, to not be ‘appy!” He said playfully, directly into the guide’s face; as pure sarcasm dripped from his words.
The guide merely groaned at Johnny's sudden appearance and jovial attitude. He only showed disappointment that Johnny hadn’t been discouraged by his rough treatment. Johnny was bright though, and knew that he had to deny him that satisfaction. Besides, he was happier. He’d been relieved from some of his burdens through his talks with Tom. Paul recognized the dramatic change in him.
“Fun is fun, and happiness isn’t just made up of a pile of fun things, you know! But I can tell that you’re really happy Johnny, and that’s a relief! It must be the mountain air,” Paul said, as he winked at Tom.
“No, I’d say it’s the company. Yes, in-dee-de! It’s our inspiring guide, it is! Our brave leader, always keeping us from ‘arms way, as it were. Tell me, brave leader, wence do-ist lead us now?”
The Hindu guide was confused by the speed and complexity of Johnny’s witty repartee, and gave up without a try. He’d been humbled by the kid he’d tried to run into the ground.
“We sleep in Jagat tonight!”
“Can we go a bit further to Chyamje?” Tom asked. “Its not far, and only 100 meters higher. Someone in Kathmandu told me that there’s a great Tibetan guesthouse there. Let me look at my map, and I’ll find the name of the place. Maybe you’ve heard of it, or been there?” Tom asked, trying to mollify the man.
“No, it’s no good! Tibetan guesthouses are no good. Nepali guesthouse are best! They are run by Hindu’s. I know these people, they are the safest.”
“No doubt, we’re sure to die if we don’t stay at a Hindu guesthouse,” Tom said sardonically, in obvious frustration.
“Well, let’s move out then,” Tom said, in a sincere attempt to put a good face on things.
He knew he needed time away from the man, or he’d lose his patience. Striving for self control, Tom didn’t want that to happen.
“I’ll just let him be who he is, and simply stay away from him,” Tom thought to himself. “That's the best that I can do.”
Tom’s weird feelings at the guesthouse had been confirmed, and he knew that he’d never see eye to eye with the guide. Their value systems were totally different, and while Tom could be flexible he knew that the guide would never be so with him. Everything would be a competition to the man, and would result in unnecessary conflict. It was the logical outcome of a troubled soul. Tom’s self preservation voice screamed: ‘watch your back.’
As Quentin and Paul put on their backpacks, the guide walked over to Tom and tried to play with the bird on his shoulder. Everyone played with the bird, and he had no problem with that.
“Maybe I was wrong about the guy,” he wondered to himself.
Then, the man started to taunt the bird. He pushed his finger up against her beak, and then circled it around her head to confuse her. The bird reacted, and squawked as she flapped her wings. As she was distracted, he flicked her head hard with his finger - intentionally hurting the bird. Everyone saw what he was doing, and looks of disbelief registered on their faces. Tom immediately realized that the guy wasn’t much different than the sadistic bastard at the monkey temple. He was upset about something else, probably Johnny, and took it out on the bird. After weeks in India and Nepal, Tom understood how to counter this abuse, and did so calmly.
“Touch the bird again, and they’ll be looking all over the forest for your body parts! But that’ll be fruitless, because your body will be in some deep ravine that you ‘fell’ into.”
The man looked straight into Tom’s eyes, nodded that he understood, and casually walked away.
Everyone was shocked by the interaction, but visibly relieved that Tom had protected the bird. Paul lagged behind the others, as they fell into line behind the guide. Johnny wasted no time in exacting retribution for the bird. He walked very close alongside the man, and asked him the most irritating things that he could. Tom couldn’t hear all the words, but he knew that it was Johnny’s way to return the infliction of abuse with more abuse, in a subtly obtuse way. Quentin walked quietly behind them, deep in his own thoughts.
“Tom, I’m sorry about the guide and the bird. He’s an odd fellow. I doubt that it’ll happen again.”
“Oh, it won’t happen again. I’ve finally learned how to communicate things to the Hindus who are abusive. Not all of them are bad, mind you; but there is a lot of ‘variation’ in the crowd, you might say. Some are cold hearted and ruthless, and you can be nice to them for your entire life; but they’ll only think you weak, and continue to hurt you sadistically. You simply have to let them know that you won’t tolerate it. Then they stop. The funny thing is that he’s met his match in Johnny. Johnny isn’t really sadistic, mind you; but he knows how to retaliate in kind. This is going to be this guy’s longest trek ever, I wager you.”
“I think you’re right. You handled it well. And, I’d like to thank you for whatever you did for Johnny and Quentin. Quentin is an easy going bloke, but prone to sadness. After spending time with you, he seems much more hopeful. And Johnny? Well, let’s say that the weight of the world seems lighter to him now.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the feedback. They’re both great guys. As are you. I’ve enjoyed hiking with you all, but.....”
“But your ‘job here is done,’ eh?” Paul said laughingly, but with appreciation.
“I wasn’t thinking that, exactly; but I feel that I’ve done what I’ve could, learned a lot from you guys, had a great time, and need to move on. I can’t stand this man, and I think the feelings are mutual. You guys are stuck with him, at least through the pass; but it won’t do me any good to be around him anymore. And, I don’t want to my patience and blow up. If he really hurts the bird, I know I will. My tolerance for bullshit is just about zero.”
“I understand. We’ll see you around the circuit anyway, or back in Kathmandu, eh?”
“Probably. I’ll stay along with you all, until it makes sense to make a move, ok?”
“Cool with me. Thanks again for everything. This trip is going to work out fine now. I was worried before, but things are manageable now - if sometimes uncomfortable.”
“Well, that's it really. I need to lose the ‘uncomfortable’ to really achieve what I want to on this trip. Its certainly not you guys, but you understand.”
“Yeah, I do. Hey, we’d better catch up to the others before they leave us!”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that. The pace this guy’s setting is about one and a half times longer than the map guide says. The hiking part of the circuit is supposed to last about twenty days. At his present rate, I expect it’ll take you guys about twenty seven days. He does these stupid sprints, but stops only at guesthouses where he gets free room and board. He doesn’t go very far each day.”
“Yeah, he’s going slower than I’d like, but it won’t hurt on the altitude adjustment as we get closer to the snowy mountain pass. We’ve decided to go on our own after the pass.”
“That's what I heard from the guys. It makes sense to me. I don’t relish the idea of climbing on narrow, icy, mountain paths on my own; but I also don’t want to have to worry about being pushed off the edge by that bastard either. I don’t think he’ll harm you guys, no matter how much Johnny bugs him. People know he’s with you guys, and he’d be caught. But, me? I think he’d enjoy seeing me fall. He disgust me, and I don’t need that now. So, alls cool?”
“Yep, let’s go.”
As they hiked on, ever slower, it became apparent that they might not make it to Jagat by the end of the day. At a couple of points there was hardly any distance between the hikers, and they literally bumped into each other. They liked to walk separately for extended periods of time - leaving enough space between each other that they could barely see the person directly ahead of them, or the one behind them. Then, they’d team up from time to time to talk. The guide’s pace was infuriating to everyone except the guide. As they approached Syange, someone called for a rest stop at a large teahouse. They dropped their heavy packs on the wide porch as soon as they stepped onto it, and then dropped themselves onto the wooden benches. Tom left his pack, and kept walking. He opened the door of the teahouse to see if they had Snickers bars - he needed a treat. As he walked into the building, someone was exiting. They both stopped mid-step, and their eyes held each other’s in positive consideration. The man was about six foot four, dark haired, and built like a boxing professional. His deep blue eyes captured Tom’s, as they unflinchingly held each other. It was the instant recognition of equals. Men of equally strong wills; and of equal fearlessness, confidence, and gentleness.
“Hullo,” said Tom, holding out his hand, unabashedly. “My name is Thomas.”
They both remained still, frozen in the doorway; and nearly physically touching; but both quite comfortable, and unwilling to break the spell between them.
“Albrecht, happy to meet you!” he replied quickly.
“Are you leaving right away? I have to go in for a Snickers. Will you be here when I get out?”
“I’ll wait.”
“Good! See you in a few, then,” Tom said with a broad, warm, smile.
Nodding and smiling in assent, Albrecht moved outside as Tom moved inside. The moment was gone, but the spell was left unbroken. In fact, it had just begun; and they both knew it.
Coming out of the building with his Snickers bar, Tom walked directly to Albrecht where he sat waiting.
“So, where are you from?”
“Holland. This is my best friend, Behrens.”
“Good to meet you. My name is Thomas.”
“Yes, I see..... We really should get moving, Albrecht.”
"Ok. Where are you headed, Thomas?”
“Over the pass, and then onto Pokhara. Tonight I’d like to stay in Chyamje. I heard there’s a great Tibetan guesthouse there, and I haven’t really been to a truly authentic one yet. Most of them have gotten commercial, and are run by Hindus. I’ve been hiking with these guys from Bangkok, but their guide is a mess, and......” his voice trailed off purposely.
Tom had given him all the information he needed to make a decision whether to cast his lot with him, or not. It was now up to Albrecht to ask for more information, provide some himself, or decide outright - yes, or no. Albrecht was a clever and adventurous sort, and quick to decisions.
“We haven’t decided where to stop tonight, but that Chyamje sounds good to me. What is your bird’s name? Oh, does that sound good to you Behrens?” he asked absently, abruptly remembering the existence of his friend.
“Sure. I’d like a decent place to stay, and a good meal for once. Have your meals been good?”
“Passable, but I prepared myself for sustenance meals on the trek. Her name is Anna-Suga.”
“It’s a nice bird. Can I hold her?” asked Albrecht.
“Sure, but mind your fingers. So long as you don’t poke at her, she’ll be fine. She only bites assholes.”
“You might watch it, Albrecht!” laughed Behrens.
“I agree with you on the sustenance thing, Thomas; but our meals have been hideous.”
“I’m beginning to realize that there are places to stay, and places to stay. The ones that look newer and more organized really aren't better. The simple ones seem to have the right kind of people running them. Well, people I want to spend time with. This trip is supposed to be relaxing for me, so I’d like to avoid dramas, and bad experiences.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” agreed Behrens.
Tom was beginning to like Behrens, he seemed really sincere and caring. Albrecht, however enticing, was still a closed book in many ways. “I suppose that's what makes guys like him intriguing,” he thought.
“Well, lets get a move on,” said Albrecht as he handed the parrot back to Tom.
“Fine with me,” answered Behrens.
Albrecht threw his large heavy pack over his shoulder and onto his back, with an easy fluid movement that bespoke athletic prowess.
“He’s an impressive personality,” Tom commented to himself as he rose, and walked to the other side of the porch where the Bangkok fellows were sprawled out.
He was greeted with looks of interest, and faces full of questions.
“Did you find you an ox, matie?” asked Johnny first.
Then, Quentin followed up with another quick question.
“Yeah, the bloke’s got a great form. Wish I could build up arms like those!”
“He isn’t an ox Johnny, he seems quite civilized actually. His family owns a tulip farm in Holland, or some such thing. And, Quentin, you’ll have arms like those. It’s in your genes bud! You just have to work them,” Tom said with a good hearted laugh.
“Hey guys, I’m heading out with these two. I’ll hook up with you somewhere down the road, ok?”
“No! Really?” asked Johnny, incredulously.
“Reeelly!” Tom replied with a big laugh.
“I have Quentin’s email address; so, if worse comes to worse, I can get in touch when we all get back to Kathmandu. It’s been great hiking with you guys, and getting to know you all. Thanks for keeping me around, see ya soon.”
Since Tom had spoken to each of the guys beforehand, it didn’t come as much of a surprise that he went off on his own, especially because of the guide situation. But signs of surprise still registered on their faces because of whom he went off with, and how it had happened so fast.
“Is ‘e an old friend of yours?” asked Johnny.
“Naw, we just met. But, we get along really well.”
“I should say. You’re amazing, mate! I give ‘e that. Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“Thanks, that leaves me wide open for anything, eh?” Tom laughed.
“Gotta run, boys. See ya!” Tom said as he ran off to catch up with Albrecht and Behrens.
Hiking with the Dutch guys was more physically challenging, because Albrecht kept up a steady, and persistent pace. But in many ways it was easier, even though they covered more area, and were climbing into higher altitudes. Albrecht was very athletic, and told Tom about his invitation to be in the Olympics. But rather than making the trekking harder, his disciplined approach made Tom more aware of the benefits of a steady pace and periodic breaks. They stopped at many teahouses along the way; and if they got separated in their hiking, they would catch up with each other at the next teahouse. Whomever arrived first at the tea house, ordered two pots of tea and waited for the others. This meant that Albrecht often bought the tea, but Tom did many times as well. Behrens however never bought the tea. He wasn’t in great shape. While he was holding up well, he began to slow down as they rose in altitude. Tom found himself bridging the wide gap between the two men, and enjoyed the company of the urbane Dutchmen.
“What are your plans for the parrot, Tom?” asked Behrens while they walked alongside each other.
“Oh, I want to take her home with me. She’s very adaptable, and travels well. India will be a challenge when I go back through there; but other than that, she should be fine.”
“She seems a bit cold, though,” Behrens observed.
Tom looked at the little bird, and saw that Behrens was right, she was nestled closer to Tom than she’d ever been.
“Well, she snuggles a lot. I’ll have to watch her. Thanks for noticing and telling me.”
“Don’t worry little girl, daddy will keep you warm,” Tom told the bird, as he picked her up, and stuffed her inside his jacket.
“Its not just the cold Tom. The air is thinner up here. By the time we are at Chyamje, we’ll be at 1,430 meters. That's nearly 4,700 feet. The lower oxygen is already getting to me. Not bad, mind you; but I have to take more breaks. Thorung pass is over 5,400 meters above sea level. That's almost 18,000 feet! If the ice and snow doesn’t get her, the lack of oxygen will. You might be taking her home to a taxidermist then, huh?”
“You know, I didn’t think it would be an issue; but you’re right. The higher we get, there’s less animal life and vegetation. If animals don’t normally live up here, she might die. I always thought that we’d be hiking in and out quickly, but even a short exposure to low oxygen might kill her. Someone told me that a lot of people can’t make the pass due to altitude sickness. Maybe it’ll get to her, since her lungs aren't very big to begin with,” Tom worried.
“It’s an oxygen exchange issue. Since I used to smoke, my lungs don’t exchange oxygen as efficiently as they would otherwise. It doesn’t affect Albrecht, since he only occasionally smokes dope in the cafés in Amsterdam. Because he was working out for the Olympics, he kept away from anything that would diminish performance.”
“I don’t think the bird ever smoked,” quipped Thomas.
“Right, but its lungs probably aren’t efficient enough to handle low oxygen - even for short periods.”
“I’m joking, but I think you’re right. She isn’t an eagle, after all. And even then, they have their limits. I just can’t think about giving her up. I’ve become really attached to her, and I want to be sure that she’s safe. We’re buddies, and have been through a lot together. I can’t just let her go. Some asshole like that guide back there would probably get a hold of her, and then what? Its weird, some of the Nepali absolutely go bonkers for her, and revere her like a special life form; while others just as soon stomp on her, or twist her neck. I can’t figure it out.”
“Tom, you have time to decide. I wouldn’t stress about it. Maybe you can leave her with someone, and then come back and pick her up?”
“That's an idea! Yeah, that could work. Thanks.”
It felt good to Tom to be able to talk with adults about many different topics, and to get some helpful advice himself, rather than always having to be the ‘dad.’ So the day passed quickly; although they traveled far. After they stopped near Jagat, Tom walked ahead of Behrens and Albrecht. They wanted time to talk together, so Tom drifted forward while they fell back. Their hiking flowed naturally, because they enjoyed each others company. Soon, all three felt very close to each other. They were attuned to each others moods, needs, and interests; and as such, they were able to share many personal stories. Since Behrens and Albrecht had been friends most of their lives, they were already very close. Because Tom was open and receptive to their level of intimacy, he fit in quickly with the twosome. It was a nice surprise for them all.
As Tom approached Chyamje, it was afternoon. He walked alone, and it felt wonderful. Being freed from the growing drama of the Bangkok guy’s and their guide, he felt released. He liked them, but they allowed the conflict to continue by keeping the man. Tom regretted that they didn’t replace him with one of the many good guides around, but he felt good that he made a healthy decision to move away from drama, rather than getting sucked into it. Saving others from their bad decisions never seemed to work for him. He found that people didn’t always appreciate his efforts, especially if they were unsolicited. He congratulated himself again, for doing his best, and ’letting go.’
“My new mantra’s working, Anna! “he told the bird, happily.
He knew that the Bangkok guys were in a better place and better prepared because of his efforts, and that was enough. Albrecht and Behrens proved to be good company as well, but being alone felt the best. Knowing that they were not far behind him, and that they’d meet up for the night, gave him a greater sense of security and comfort. As he talked to the bird, and shared his observations, he also realized that she’d helped him adapt to traumatic events.
“We’re a good team sweetie, but daddy has to make sure that you’re safe too!”
Turning a sharp right in the path, he emerged from the dense forest into a wide open clearing. To the left of the clearing was a two story wooden home that would fit comfortably in rural Kentucky, Arkansas, or the Ozarks. It was simple, built of thin materials, but clean. The sign above the door read ‘Tibetan Hotel.’
“This is our stop, little girl. It looks nice.”
He walked into the open door to find a spacious common room, with a large cabinet on the far right wall. The cabinet was impressive. Not for its large size, but for all of its spotlessly clean contents. Dishes and serving pieces were proudly displayed in its open shelves. While Tom surveyed the room and its contents, a sharp crooning voice spoke out - coming from behind the open door.
“Suga, Suga, Suga!”
Turning in surprise, Tom found an old woman sitting on a small cot. She had been completely hidden to his right, behind the open door, and sat there fretting with a roll of rough wool yarn. After he’d recovered from his surprise, his face beamed with a warm smile for her. He pulled up a wooden chair, and sat next to her bed.
“Suga, suga, suga, suga,” she repeated, lovingly.
At first, her voice held an exclamation of surprise; now, it was a loving call to the bird. Tom plucked the bird from his shoulder, undid her chain from his pack, and set her on the bed next to the old woman. The woman glowed with happiness. With a bony, arthritic finger, she gently petted the birds head from front to back. The bird instantly responded to her kind and sincere affection, and chirped out a thrill. Then to Tom’s surprise, she flapped her wings wider than he’d ever seen, and preened her feathers slowly and methodically. Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out the small bag of dried fruits and nuts. He handed it to the woman, and stood up.
“Feed Suga. You feed Suga. Suga hungry, and thirsty,” he said kindly.
He walked towards the kitchen room to find whomever ran the guesthouse, and to get the bird some water. He found a perky woman in her mid thirties stirring something in a cooking pot. Like most kitchens in Nepal, cooking was done over an open fire in small cast iron cooks stoves, and in small clay ovens. It was hard and dirty work. The woman looked up when Tom entered the no-mans land of the kitchen. Meeting him at the door, she spoke to him.
“Do you need a room?”
“Yes. Two or three, actually. Do you have space?”
“Yes, it’s the end of the busy season, we are nearly empty tonight. We expect some people to come, but there are plenty room.”
“Great, I have two friends coming in behind me. They’re about half an hour behind me. I’ll take one room, and they’ll either share a room or have separate rooms, whichever is best for you.”
“No problem, either way. You are most welcome, Namaste.”
“Namaste,” Tom repeated the customary Nepali greeting that meant ‘welcome to my home,’ for the host; and ‘thank you for your hospitality,’ from the guest.
“I like that greeting, its sooo simple,” he thought, silently.
He was very impressed with the cleanliness and orderliness of the guesthouse, and its gracious and gentle hostess.
“This is what it’s supposed to be like,” he thought. “Those poor guys will never experience the real thing with that damned guide,” he lamented to himself. “Thank God I left them,” he concluded, sadly. “Oh well, we all have our own paths - it’s up to us if we chose to follow them, or not,” he temporized.
As he was thinking this, he heard an awful yell come from the common room. The old woman demanded something, and screeched out her orders to the young woman. Tom didn’t understand the words, but he caught the drift. ‘Come here, now!’ was the order; and the young woman snapped to attention, and left the kitchen for the main room.
“God, I hope the bird didn’t bite her,” he thought, worriedly.
But as he reached the woman, two steps behind the younger one, he understood what was going on.
‘Suga’ this, ‘Suga’ that, ‘Suga Suga Suga....’ she ranted, unforgivingly. The woman wanted water for the bird - immediately. The younger woman was surprised to find a parrot with her mother, but Tom could tell that she was also happy about it - even though her mother ranted severely.
“Now I know who runs this place!” thought Tom. “She’s probably relentless and demanding, since she’s immobilized and stuck in one place.”
The cot he’d seen was evidently her bed, and it allowed her to keep active and involved by staying in the thick of things.
“She must’ve suffered a stroke,” he thought.
She was physically frail, and unable to walk; yet still very strong willed. The younger woman returned promptly with water for the bird, but received a scolding for not being fast enough.
“Like the bird’s going to die,” Tom accidentally said aloud.
The daughter heard him, and laughed. Even though she tried to look serious for her mother, Tom could tell that she was happy about the bird. Her mother, though complaining, was enjoying the bird. Seeing that the bird was well tended, Tom made a request.
“My friends won’t be here for a while, and I’d like to walk into the village. Could I leave the bird here with her?”
“Most certainly. She will care for it.”
“Yeah, I see that. I just don’t want you run ragged because of the bird. You have enough to do, without worrying about a bird.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. My mother will be occupied.”
“Always people of few words, and deep meanings. I love it!” Tom said spontaneously.
The woman merely smiled serenely.
"Ok, I’ll see you later. I’ll just tie the bird up to the chair, and I’m sure all will be well.”
Both women were surprised to see the beautiful solid silver chain that was the bird’s tether. The old woman fingered it gingerly, and inspected it closely, to be assured that the bird’s leg wasn’t being hurt by the chain. Seeing this, Tom tried to ease her mind.
“Please tell her that the bird doesn’t hurt from the chain. It was necessary to put it on her, so she wouldn’t get hurt by flying off into traffic in Kathmandu; or, hurt by bad people who tried to scare her away. The bird’s well trained, and probably doesn’t need it out here in the country; but I worry that she’d get lost, and starve in the wild. She’s lived in captivity all of her life, and can’t survive in the wild alone.”
“I will assure her. You leave now, and enjoy your walk.”
“Thank you.”
“Not to worry.”
Tom left the guesthouse, without his heavy backpack or his parrot. Without any burdens, he felt freed. He loved the bird, but he always had to be on the alert for her. Walking along, almost skipping, he felt as light as a feather and happier than he’d been in years. Before long, he came upon another suspension bridge. He looked down below, before crossing the river, and he saw a large green area of plants by the riverside. It was as inviting as a Japanese garden, but more beautiful due to its natural state. It sat alongside the raging river, and up against a massive rock wall. The area was inaccessible, and yet Tom had seen similar areas below most of the bridges. The green areas were lush with plants, and sandwiched between water and cliff. Tom had swam with the Bangkok guys in a place such as this one, but it had a secluded pool of water that sat in the middle of a large water-carved rock - safely removed from the dangerous river currents.
The bridge was wider than any of the other bridges he’d crossed, and it had wooden boards running across its width, over the bamboo understructure. It was much more solid that the other bridges he’d crossed, yet it still swayed with the wind from the turbulent glacier river below. As Tom approached the middle of the bridge, he came upon a little old man who was herding a large group of goats across the bridge. Unencumbered by his backpack, Tom could move fluidly and quietly among the large group of goats. As he walked among them, they grouped around him gently, easily carried along in his wake. Another old man came across the bridge from the other direction, and greeted the herder warmly with a big hug. They began to talk, and remained in the middle of the bridge. Tom kept moving quietly amongst the goats. To Tom’s surprise, the goats mingled around him; and followed him as he crossed the long bridge. He looked back to see the tiny old man still standing in the middle. The man just nodded and smiled to Tom. What Tom understood from his posture, smile, and nodding was: ‘take them along, I’ll be there in a while.’ So Tom glided amongst the goats, and they followed him without fear, worry, or hesitation. Tom knew that goats didn’t take easily to people, and being herded. They could be quite independent minded; and outright stubborn at times. So he was impressed by their trust and sensitivity, as much as he was by their acceptance of him. It felt peaceful and calming to Tom‘s spirit.
The day was beautiful. Clear, brilliant blue skies beamed overhead; and sunlight showered through breaks in the thick, lush, and multi-hued green canopy of vegetation. Wisps of white clouds subtly marbleized the royal blue heavens, and swam across the sky in surreal slow motion. Cooled by the gentle breeze from the mountains, Tom’s skin glowed from its caress, and tingled with the heavy mist arising from the ice cold river far below. He felt truly free, yet comforted by the warm embrace of life - as it emerged all around him. For once in his life all of his senses were vibrantly alive, and he was consciously aware of every nuance that they perceived.
The wizened old man remained on the bridge, as Tom and his goats continued to flow off of it - disappearing into the dense forest growth. The man was casual, relaxed, and without worry. He knew that the goats might wander a little, but they’d be o.k.. They knew their home, they understood their place in the world. He saw Tom’s openness, felt his gentle spirit, and was heartened to see Tom’s desire to feel a part of his world. Tom wasn’t like the typical self-possessed, and arrogant, intruders that often stomped past him as if he were an obstacle in his own home.
“This one wants to understand, he’s trying. Let him go, let him enjoy his time here,” the man thought.
So, he took his time talking with his friend and allowed Tom to wander away with his flock. He felt good, knowing that such a simple thing brought happiness to the friendly stranger. After his friend departed, he lingered alongside the rope railing - to look down into the depths of the turbulent river.
“It won’t be long before I join you,” he thought contentedly. “But, not today. I am still needed here, for a while longer.”
Smiling, despite his open acceptance of his mortality and his imminent departure from this life, he gripped his gnarled walking stick with his right hand, and walked slowly towards the village and his home.
Tom enjoyed the little goats walking all around him, and was surprised to find them following his every action. As he walked, they walked. When he stopped, they stopped. Before long, they were far away from the herder, and he began to worry that he might take the goats down the wrong path. So he slowed down his pace. At the slower pace, Tom realized that the goats were hungry. They began to grab at the large ferns that grew alongside the road, as they walked. Tom stopped, and allowed them to move off of the path entirely - into a large growth of ferns. The goats were in heaven, munching up all of the ferns that they could, as quick as they could. After a while, Tom began moving again, and all but a couple followed him down the path without hesitation or urging. Just as Tom became concerned that the stragglers weren’t coming along, the little old man appeared - walking stick in hand. With a large warming smile, a sweep of his arm, and a nodding of his head, he acknowledged Tom’s ‘help’ in watching his goats; and began to make sharp barking noises to the few stragglers. When two didn’t move, he tossed a few stones into the woods to make a noise that they would hear. Tom watched in fascination at the subtle, gentle, and very effective way that they all worked together. The woods, the goats, the man, and the path. It seemed so ‘right’ to Tom, such a balanced life. It made him wonder how people had become so removed from their connection with other life, and nature.
The goats followed Tom into the village - encouraged by a handful of ferns that he held behind his back. The herder pulled up the rear, and made sure that no goats went astray. All of it was done without a word between the herder and Tom, or to the goats. Once they came upon the first path alongside the first building of the village, the herder turned right onto it, and the goats scurried to follow him. They were close to home, and knew it. With mutual waves of ‘goodbye,’ and friendly smiles to each other, as they drifted further apart along different paths, Tom and the herder moved on with their individual lives.
“It’s all good!” Tom said aloud to himself, as he passed into the village.
With the start of the buildings, came the start of a flagstone path; which, in turn, became a narrow flagstone street. The village was clean, and in good repair. While people went about their daily business of living, however, it was with a noticeable lack of the confusion, noise, and general bedlam, that had dominated all of the cities Tom had visited. He let out a sigh, full of relief, acceptance, understanding, and appreciation, for finally having arrived at the world that he had hoped he would find. A water buffalo wandered down the middle of the street. It hesitated, as it awaited a new born pony that followed her, as if she were his mother. A flock of chickens squawked about, under foot; and children ran after each other in a game of tag, full of joyful chatter. Enchanted, Tom found a place to sit and simply absorbed the wonderful life that swarmed around him. After a while, he explored the area beyond the village as well.
Returning to the guesthouse later in the day, Tom felt comfortably at peace as he walked into the wide clearing in front of the building. He wanted to desperately share his experience with someone, but he knew it had to be someone who was of gentle spirit, and receptive to a new understanding. Albrecht and Behrens greeted him on the porch of the guesthouse, where they relaxed with cold drinks in hand.
“Hullo, Thomas. Off adventuring, eh?” asked Albrecht kindly.
“Yes, I’ve seen the most amazing things. We’re finally away from the tourism crap, and it’s a wonderful world,” Tom glowed.
“The only wonderful world I want to see is the inside of my eyelids, on my cot, in my comfortable room,” commented Behrens.
Albrecht was more attuned to Tom’s state of mind, and he could sense that Tom had experienced something important.
“Look at him, he’s all glowing and happy,” Albrecht said to Behrens.
“I’m happy too, right here! These feet have gone as far as they’re going to go today.”
“Well, that's cool,” said Tom. “Maybe I can take you on a little walk, Albrecht? After I get something to drink, and check on Anna Suga.”
“I’d like that,” answered Albrecht warmly.
Tom could tell that he was searching for something, and was eager to pursue adventure in whatever form. They were very much alike, and shared a kindred spirit; or so Tom thought.
“Well, I’m fine and happy here. I’ll go get a rest while you boys play around, and I’ll meet you both for dinner. As for your parrot.....”
“Yes?”
“Well, Thomas,” started Albrecht, “I know you really care for it, but it may not live if you take it through the pass. Look inside, someone’s been watching it for you......”
Tom got up and went inside the building. The old woman, and the bird were in the same position as they were when he had left. The woman seemed tired, yet couldn’t relax because she was worried about the bird.
“Suga, suga, suga,” she said in a worried voice; and pointed out the window.
Outside the window was a fat cat, with his eye on the bird. The woman was guarding the bird from the cat. Realizing her fragile state, Tom knew he had to take the bird to his room for safe keeping, and for both of their rest.
“Suga, will be safe,” he tried to comfort the old woman.
“I’ll take suga to safe place,” he tried to explain.
But it didn’t register with the old woman. She didn’t understand English, and was a little feeble minded - given her advanced age and poor health. Tom untied the bird, and placed her on his shoulder. He proceeded to the kitchen, and talked to the woman’s daughter.
“What room am I to use tonight? I need to get the bird settled, so that your mother can relax. She seems to be worried that the cat will get it. If I get it into a room, it’ll go to sleep. The poor thing is tired and worn out too. The hike has been tough on her.”
“I’ll show you the room. My mother, she worries everything. She is very old, and very tired.”
“Does the bird upset her, or does it relax her to have something to keep her occupied?”
“She loves the bird. It has been very good for her. She is just very tired now.”
“Hmmm, that's good.”
After Tom settled the bird into his room, he closed the rough wooden window shutter to keep the light, and the cat, out. The cat had followed Tom up the stairs, and waited patiently outside on the porch. Having no glass, the wood shutters were the only way to close off the windows. Tom then went downstairs to meet Albrecht and Behrens. He found the old woman lying on her cot, still fretting about the bird.
“Suga, suga, suga.....” she repeated over and over, in a worried voice, as her daughter tried to calm her down.
“Tell her that I closed the shutters in my room, and locked the door so the cat can’t get the bird. Let her know that she’s safe, o.k.?”
After her daughter convinced her that the bird was safe, the old woman calmed herself; and settled down to sleep.
“Has the bird caused problems with her? Should I leave it in my room, so she doesn’t worry about it?”
“No, she just likes the bird very much. She does not want the cat to kill it. The cat likes birds.”
“So you think the bird is good for her? “
“Yes, she is very happy for the bird.”
“Great. I was worried. By the way, should we order dinner now? Would that help you?”
“Yes, it would. I will come ask in a few minutes, I must return to kitchen now.”
"Ok, see you soon.”
Tom went outside to join his new friends. They had been listening through the open window.
“Well,” said Behrens, “I think you have a solution for your bird.....”
“Yeah, I’m happy, and sad at the same time. I think I’ll leave her here for the old woman. But, I wanted my daughter to have her, and......”
“Thomas,” he interrupted, patiently. “It’ll most likely die in the mountain altitudes. We are still low enough now, that it’d be fine here.”
“I know, and the old woman is bedridden. She’d watch it like a hawk, and have something to occupy her time. It’s a great solution, its just hard to....”
“Accept,” Behrens finished.
“Yeah. Oh well, it’ll be fine,” he tried to convince himself.
“Lets go and explore that surprise you had for me,” offered Albrecht.
Shaken from his gloomy thoughts of losing Anna, Tom was looking forward to sharing his earlier experience with someone, and Albrecht seemed eager.
"Ok, let’s go. Behrens, can you order dinner for us before you take your nap?”
“Sure, I’ll see you all in a while. Enjoy yourselves.”
Albrecht and Tom jumped up, and were off and into the forest within minutes. After walking for a while, Albrecht spoke up tentatively.
“How long to get there?”
Tom could tell that he was happy to be alone with him, but at the same time, unsure of the closeness. “Oh about ten minutes. We go around this bend, over the bridge, through the village and just on the other side...”
"Ok, I get it, just lead the way.”
“Sure.”
They wordlessly passed over the bridge, and through the now empty village. It was close to the end of the day, and everyone had gone to their homes. Without the people and animals, it was a different place. It wasn’t as magical, but it was still serene. He then realized that he couldn’t recreate his same experience for Albrecht, but he could still have a special time with him. So he led him down the wide stones steps at the other end of the village, and followed the path to another bridge.
“Are we there yet? How much longer?”
“Patience, patience, you’ll see,” Tom said with a conspiratorial smile.
Obviously skeptical, Albrecht followed along. Once they reached the bridge, he could see that Albrecht's reaction was the same as his had been. He didn’t speak any words, he just looked at the raging torrent of water, and the monstrous boulders that lay scattered in the waters like child’s toys. The force of the raging waters vibrated throughout their bodies, and caused involuntary shivers. Tom didn’t think anyone could be unaffected by the beautiful, and extremely powerful force of nature. After a period of awed silence, Tom broke the spell and handed Albrecht his camera.
“Hey, take a picture of me from the bridge. I’m going down to that area right by the water. I want to get a picture of this river, and me sitting on one of those huge boulders. Ok?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Tom took off at a run. He followed the narrow path by the bridge, and threaded his way down through the dense woods and large rocks until he reached the waters edge. Unfortunately, he was greeted with a fifty foot drop to the water, from every angle. Frustrated, he gave up and went back up onto the bridge to join Albrecht.
“I can’t get close enough to the rocks, sucks eh?”
“Yeah, but why don’t you try the other side of the river?”
“Sure, o.k.,” Tom replied happily.
He could tell that Albrecht was into the whole experience, and shared his sense of adventure. On the other side of the river the flagstone path resumed, and made a sharp left turn, running parallel to the river. Tom saw that the drop-off was only a few feet, so he jumped down into the sea of plants without hesitation. He was surprised that the plants were taller than expected, nearly six feet high, and that they were all marijuana plants. The sea of marijuana plants extended all the way down the north side of the river. He started laughing at the absurdity of it all; and knowing the Dutchmen’s penchant for café smokes, he thought that Albrecht would love it. He didn’t waste time though, and worked his way to the rivers edge and onto the boulders for his picture. After he saw that Albrecht had gotten the picture, he ran back up to him on the bridge.
“Hey, you’re gonna die. Come follow me!”
Newly trusting of Tom’s suggestions, Albrecht followed, but at a slower pace. Once there however, he was stunned.
“Oh my God! This is too incredible!”
“Yeah, I thought you’d like it,” Tom said with a grin.
“Come over here Albrecht, and I’ll take your picture. There’s a niche in that rock wall. Sit in there, in the lotus position; and I’ll get your picture in a sea of marijuana plants. You’ll look like some kind of Hindu deity!”
“This is waaaaay to funny!” was his only response, as he jumped down into the huge field of plants.
On the walk back to the guesthouse, Albrecht finally opened up to Tom. He talked about his University work, his desire to pursue a career in architecture, and his plan to spend the next year or two traveling and working his way around the world. About 29 years old, Albrecht wasn’t particularly too old to take a long ‘walkabout;’ but it reminded Tom of how common this type of travel was for European students.
“American students don’t travel so much,” commented Tom. “I think that they miss a lot by not exploring themselves, and the world; before they lunge into careers, suburbia, or urban ‘bliss.’ Once they do that, they feel too much a part of the system, and think it’s too late for them. They feel like they’d be losing something, if they took a year or two to travel.”
“That's sad,” was Albrecht's only response.
***************
©Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World…the American Delusion, a Parody of life ( L'illusion Américaine, une Parodie de Vie); is copyright protected, by author, Patrick Mahoney. Online Internet Reproduction/Propagation/Quotation Encouraged, with this citation. Any Printed reproduction, other than for personal reading, requires written permission by author, patrickm at http://patrickm.gather.com/ or patrick1000000000@yahoo.com
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