Thursday, March 20, 2008

Chapter17:The Two Faces of Tulips With Two Lips. Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World





Chapter 17

The two faces of Tulips with Two Lips








“Only the hand that erases can write the true thing.”

-Meister Eckhart (1260-1328)










It was a little odd for Tom to be totally alone, for once. He expected to be alone during his trip; but for whatever reasons, he’d been in the company of other travelers almost everyday. At first, it was the mutual security of strangers in a strange land, unconsciously teaming up. Then, he got into deeper relationships; and they grew more complicated. So, being alone felt great. It was finally freedom from everything. Freedom from trying to appease two friendly, but judgmental Dutchmen. Freedom from a tyrannical and narrow-minded guide, who only showed paths leading to more insincere opportunists.

It hurt Tom to break away from Albrecht and Behrens the way that he did. He would’ve liked it better, if they’d split on good terms. But he had no control over Albrecht’s arrogance, nor Behrens self effacing, yet enabling, behavior - and overwhelming homesickness for his girlfriend. With the morning sun shining gently upon his face, he felt free as a bird. Free of all encumbrances, as he set off for Pissang Base Camp, and ultimately for Ghyaru.

They had hiked very hard all day to make it to Lower Pissang. Tempers were short, and expectations were too high. The distance they traveled was supposed to be done over five hours; from Chame to Lower Pissang, according to Tom’s trekking map. But Albrecht was in a hurry. The distance itself wasn’t arduous; but over three days, they had hiked from 1,100 meters elevation to over 3,200 meters above sea level. They had risen 6,900 feet, and the air was getting thinner. Hiking, and climbing, was hard for Tom; but he had little trouble keeping up with Albrecht‘s maniacal pace. It was Behrens, the smoker whose lungs were giving him trouble, that was suffering. It had started two days before, as they rose nearly 900 meters from Chyamje to Danaque; but it didn’t hit him until the next day.

“We must reach a phone tonight,” repeated Behrens for the hundredth time, between wheezing breaths.

“Hey, we will. It’ll be tough, but you will. Just keep moving, o.k.?”

Tom’s encouraging words, with an entreating smile, kept Behrens moving. Behrens grimaced with pain, but stood up with a firm Dutch resolve. He was a determined, if overwrought, man. Tom liked Behrens. He had a good heart, and honestly loved Albrecht. It was fraternal, yet Behrens would do anything for Albrecht, and Albrecht knew it. But he wasn’t up to the physical and emotional rigors of Albrecht's pace, and often fell behind. Tom understood Albrecht’s physical need to push his own endurance; so he slowed his pace down purposely, allowing Albrecht to feel the full rush of his hormones without worrying about Behrens. By hiking between the two, compensating for the rush of one and the delays of the other, Tom made sure that Behrens could relax; and therefore not feel inadequate, nor a burden to Albrecht.

“It’s just that I miss her so much. I didn’t think I would, you know; being absorbed with the trek. But during the quiet times of walking, or in the evenings just before sleep, my mind always drifts off to her. I can’t get her off of my mind.”

“You really love her, don’t you?” Tom asked with a warm, and acknowledging smile.

“Yeah, I guess I do. At least this trip was worth figuring that out!”

Although Behrens said it with a hint of resentment, Tom recognized the sincerity of his feelings.

“She’s a lucky woman to have the love of a person like yourself.”

“No. I’m the lucky person, and I haven’t been as good as she deserves.”

Then, Tom really understood the situation. Behren’s urgency for a phone was to express his true feelings in a way that wouldn’t be misunderstood - before he lost her for good. He had broken off their relationship just before his trip, and now regretted it.

“Well, I’m going to try to catch up with Albrecht; so that he knows we’re o.k., and on our way. I’ll see you at the next guesthouse for tea, o.k.?”

“Yeah, go on Thomas. I’ll be right behind you,” he said with a visible effort.

Shielding Behren’s battered ego, Tom strode off at a brisk pace to pretend that it’d be hard to catch up to Albrecht. He didn’t want Behrens feeling less a man for lagging behind. Forty five minutes later, Tom found Albrecht lounging at a teahouse. He was calm, cool, collected; and looked every bit the charmer that he was. He sat, with legs stretched out, on the bench facing the trail.....expecting to meet them with a greeting of accomplishment. His smile faded however, as he realized that only Tom was coming.

“Hey, Albrecht, do you have that pot of tea ready?” Tom asked lightheartedly.

Tom was greeted with a subvocalized grunt. Accustomed to Albrecht’s mood swings, Tom ignored the slight. He worked hard on retaining a positive attitude; although it was getting more difficult to maintain.

“Bless his heart, Behrens is having a tough time of it today. It’s good that you try to keep him enthused. I hung back, so you could move at your own pace.”

“Thanks,” he responded stoically.

Resolved to set things straight, before he left the Dutchmen, Tom kept on - regardless of the response.

“Yeah, he wants to get to a phone today to call his girlfriend. He really loves her, you know.”

His comment met with silence, but Tom dropped his heavy backpack and sat down anyway.

“Do you have a girlfriend at home?” Tom asked.

“A few.”

“A few?” Tom asked incredulously. “How can you love more than one at a time?”

“I said girl-friends!” he said with the pragmatic firmness of an insensitive pig.

Tom could see that he was someone who strung women along with his looks, money, and penis.

“Oh, now I understand,” Tom replied. “Before Behrens gets here, I want to talk about a few things.”

"Ok.”

“I’ve enjoyed hiking with you guys. I haven’t minded adapting to your plans and schedules, because I’m a temporary companion. But I won’t always be here, and I’m not sure that you realize how much I’ve kept Behrens on track while you shot ahead of us. I know that you enjoy the freedom, but I can’t keep doing it. You guys are going to have to come to terms with the fact that he isn’t as strong and athletic as you are, and therefore can’t possibly be expected to keep up with you.”

A look of shock passed over Albrecht’s face, but he remained silent. Tom forged on, undeterred.

“Albrecht, Behrens loves you as a close friend. He’d do anything for you, so he’ll keep pushing himself too hard; and get sick, or hurt, just to keep you happy. You know, lots of people get altitude sickness at this point in the circuit and have to turn back. I don‘t think he will, but he needs to take an easier pace.”

“I know. But I don’t need someone looking over me,” he said with thinly veiled malice.

Tom realized then that Albrecht had always been aware of his effect on people, and purposely used that influence to gain what he wanted. He did have a grain of concern for how it affected Behrens, however; and it scared him that Tom understood his game.

“Things haven't been the same between us since the Saul incident. I wish it wasn’t this way, and I’m willing to answer any questions or discuss anything you want, to clear the air.”

“Nothing needs to be said.”

It was clear, through his verbal and non-verbal responses, that the brick wall to Albrecht’s emotions not only stood strong, but was being reinforced.

“Well ......” Tom started, but he was cut off with Albrecht’s sighting of something behind him.

Tom turned around to see Behrens struggling into the clearing by the guesthouse, totally exhausted. He dropped to the ground unceremoniously. Immediately, Tom and Albrecht went to him to help - without seeming to demean his laborious efforts.

“Lets stop here and eat,” offered Albrecht, responding to his friend‘s distress.

Through his voice he implied: ‘We’re all tired, lets take an early break.’

So they stayed for a meal, and the conversation between Tom and Albrecht never resumed.

Throughout the rest of the arduous day, they both struggled to bring Behrens along. Through his sincere efforts and sensitivity to his friend, Tom saw Albrecht's love for Behrens. He expressed it through his quiet understanding of the unbridgeable gulf of physical prowess between them; and his willingness to stay along, and help Behrens feel accomplished - rather than highlighting any deficiency. Tom felt good about this, and saw how Behrens could admire Albrecht - despite his poor dating behavior. Behrens must have accepted his character flaw, because of his other winning qualities. He was simply waiting for Albrecht to realize the error of his ways, and to mend them. Additionally, it probably seemed like fun to see a virile man like Albrecht in action - seeing his conquests, and living them vicariously, as reaffirmation of his manhood. The realizations jolted Tom into stoic silence, as he trudged along the trail. Like Albrecht, Tom was way ahead in his understanding of people and their feelings. Both understood the burden of responsibility placed upon them, concerning the use of their magnetic power over people’s hearts.

“He knows that he’s being irresponsible with people’s feelings. By highlighting his poor behavior, I’m making him look at himself. Then, he blames me,“ Tom thought to himself.

Their discussion of his attentions towards the woman and Saul had shaken Albrecht’s confidence in his manhood. Tom understood that, but stayed along with him out of concern and compassion for his enlightenment. By doing this, Tom had unwittingly doubly unmanned him. Albrecht’s fragile ego couldn’t accept Tom’s recognition his weaknesses in character, nor his subsequent sincere efforts to help him correct things. It was scary stuff, and Tom hadn’t realized how disturbing this was to someone like Albrecht.

“I’ve got to get away from these guys,” he thought to himself. “Once we make it through the pass, we can split up. It’ll be good for all of us to do that together. It’ll be less dangerous,” he rationalized.

Visions of a narrow, snowy, and treacherously slippery cliff-edge scared Tom into accepting any help that he could get. In his mind’s eye he envisioned a trail that hugged a mountain peak; with a beckoning crevice yawning expectantly miles below. So, out of fear of being alone and possibly falling to his death, Tom felt that he needed to stay with the Dutch duo until they made it through the pass. He’d decided to even pay for a guide to get them through safely, if need be. So far, the rumors about the Trek circuit had proven to be correct. It was the best hike in the world, but it was also fraught with hidden dangers. Tom had expected dangers like thieves and wild animals. But the dangers were more subtle. They were the lulling beautifully dramatic vistas, utter silence, and a pervasive sense of peace. All of which could seduce people into a false sense of security, causing them to literally fall off one of the mountains. Tom enjoyed the peaceful aspect of the trip, yet he was understandably cautious. He wasn't so scared as to take what he considered as a guided pansy tour; but he didn’t want to take unnecessary risks either. Instead, Tom wanted to share the adventure with people he could trust, and respect.

“That last part is the hard part,” he thought to himself.

“Tom are you listening?” Albrecht’s agitated voice interjected itself into Tom’s wandering thoughts.

“What did you say? I was in dreamland, again. Sorry.”

“I said we need a phone tonight for sure.”

“Well, the map, the guide book, and the ‘intelligence’ gathered to date, shows that Chame has phones. Its a fairly large village, almost a town. It looks developed, while on the other side of the river it’s more native and natural. That’s where the hot springs are as well. We all want a hot bath, huh? So lets do the hot springs area, o.k.?”

“Well, we’ll see. We must have a phone,” countered Albrecht.

“Cool with me,” commented Tom. “Lets check out the hot springs area first though, it’ll be a nicer place to stay, o.k.?”

Nods of assent was all he got in reply. Before long, they approached the village of Chame. Like many other scenic areas of the trail, its beauty had been marred beyond repair by flashy new guesthouses that resembled poorly run motels. They also found numerous ‘grocery stores,’ that weren't much more than shacks stocked with tourist trash. Tom felt ill. All of his calmness and connectedness with nature, so dearly earned, was at risk of dissipating - like so much windswept fog.

“These poor people are being converted to consumerism,” Tom moaned. “Their near perfect balance with nature is being corrupted by cheap T-shirts, Frisbees, and ‘Luxurious’ accommodations.”

To see the irreparable damage to the environment, culture, and the well being of the gentle and loving rural Nepali and Tibetans was almost too much for Tom to handle. He felt strongly that they had to hang onto their traditions; and as a moneyed tourist with influence, he felt he needed to support that. The locals needed to be warned that they were being misled to their spiritual deaths. Albrecht and Behrens, of course, didn’t get it. Tom didn’t expect them to, being tourists on holiday who were only there to observe, experience, and run along home. They totally misunderstood their impact, and the quiet destruction being wrought by the huge influx of hikers. It was easy to ignore, because it was nearly invisible to those with a materially corrupted western perspective. Tom didn’t hold this against them, they were a product of their bifurcated society.

“The Dalai Lama says there are two truths. Conventional truth, and ultimate truth. They can only see the conventional truth of their society,” Tom observed to himself.

“Their society condones drugs in cafés, and is the world capital of perverse sex.”

To Tom, the rampant promiscuity stood out in stark dramatic contrast to the stoic, silent, hard working, and highly conservative, ‘proper’ Dutch.

“Plueeese!” thought Thomas. “These guys are so mixed up with pretense and false appearances at home, what can I expect? Like any culture constricted into mindless conformity, the people play their proper public part; and then blow it out their ass when they can - as a safety valve for the mind numbing confinement of an overly inhibited social code.”

Tom reflected on the Dalai Lama’s words on Vipassana Meditation in one of his books: “(it) is the wisdom that arises (when one) meditates on the ultimate nature of oneself, others, and all phenomenon.....To realize (this), we must first be attentive to the differences between appearance and reality. Very often there are contradictions, things that appear one way; while reality might be quite different,” he’d written in ‘Live in a better way.’

“How can anyone discern ‘ultimate truth,’ when they’re deeply twisted up in the contradictions of the ‘conventional truth’ of their society?” he wondered. “Talk about structural, and even institutionalized, distractions from exploring reality! They don‘t have a fucking chance, and I expect them to understand empathy for others when their entire lives are a game? No wonder they escape into drugs and sex.”

Distracted by his observations, and struggling with contemptible social issues, Tom was totally lost in his thoughts. A loud voice snapped him to attention, and back to immediate concerns.

“Goddamn it! I need a guesthouse with a phone!” spouted Behrens loudly, in an angry and disgusted tone of voice.

“Don’t worry Behrens, there are signs everywhere for phones. But most don’t seem to be in guesthouses. They are stand-alone businesses, and all use that satellite dish over there,” Tom said to reassure him, as he pointed over the Dutchman’s head to the large dish atop a little wooden shack.

“Lets get settled in a civil place, away from this mess; then we can find you a phone. Its like the internet stored in Kathmandu. Its only afternoon now, we have plenty of time,” Tom continued, trying to calm him down.

Tom could see that Behrens was emotionally overwrought, physically exhausted, and ready to snap. Tension-filled blank stares was all Tom got in return for his suggestion. Seeing that both men were at their limit, Tom temporized further.

“Lets go across the bridge to those quiet places, and settle in....“

“They must have a phone!” reiterated Albrecht in his disassociated, and unemotional, mantra of: ‘Phone, Phone, phone....’

Tom was getting disgusted himself, but tried hard not to aggravate the situation. He decided to simply placate their obsessiveness. He knew that the phones would either work, or not. If they did, fine. If they didn’t? Well, that was out of their control. Tom was willing to accept this, even though he wanted to call his children too. But he knew it was simple physics that radio waves couldn’t make it out of the huge mountain range; and the thought of wires being run through the mountains was hysterical. So the only way to communicate with the rest of the world was via the village satellite dish. If it worked, it worked. If not, there was nothing they could do. They could go to a hundred guesthouses, and none would have a phone. They were all obviously dependant upon a fragile satellite uplink, which looked comical to Tom. But he decided not to explain this to his hiking buddies.

“That wonderful task, and the anger, frustration, and derision that’s sure to follow, is going to fall on whomever tries to explain reality to these guys. Its not going to be me,” he decided silently.

Then Tom spoke.

"Ok, you guys look tired and beat. I am too, but I’ll go across the bridge and check out the guesthouses there, while you guys wait here.”

"O.k.. Just make sure they have a phone!”

“Sure thing,” was all Tom could say.

His observation of a central phone system for the village, was obviously lost on them both. Relieved to be away from their obsessive desires, and unanswerable questions, Tom set off for the bridge. He resolved to find them a phone link; and a quiet, more authentic, place to stay.

“Everybody will be happy,” he laughed.

The walk through the large and busy village, past avaricious hawkers, took Tom more time than he‘d expected. Finally, he arrived at the long suspension bridge and was happy to see that it was wide, and in good repair. As he walked across the bridge, he looked down. He had to fight off vertigo as he watched, in scared fascination, the raging ice-cold waters below. The size of the boulders, which had been drug along by glaciers that had traveled through a millennia ago, amazed Tom every time he’d gotten close enough to the river to really see them. Suspended above them, he was mesmerized by their beauty and silent strength - as demonstrated by their unyielding resistance to the perpetual rush of water over and around them. Tom unclenched his hands from the large rope handrail with a conscious effort, and continued to walk across the bridge. He hadn’t realized how strongly he had held on, until he tried to move. It was kind of funny, because the bridge was really quite safe; but still, his mind alternately felt a natural fear of falling and a perverse desire to jump. He had to consciously fight both, to move again.

Once on the other side of the river, Tom walked to the guesthouse perched upon the hillside. The view of the river from its vantage point was startling; and he hoped that they had rooms, and a phone connection. On the way, he met a nice group of older people from the States who were returning from the hot springs in their towels. They told him that the guesthouse had rooms available, but the phone wasn’t working.

“The hot springs are within a short walking distance, you’ll love them!” they told Tom, happily.

“No phone work here. Across bridge. Building with phone. Calls in evening there,” was all Tom could get from the woman who ran the guesthouse.

She was nice, but looked perplexed at why Tom would want a phone. As Tom had surmised, the phone source was the satellite shack and all phones worked off of it.

“Duh, I had to walk all the way over here to find that out? Oh well, at least the guys will know that I tried my best.”

Excited about the prospect of actually getting a good nights sleep and a hot bath, Tom sped back across the bridge and wandered through the village to find the Dutchmen. They were sprawled out where he’d left them - wiped out, and surly. Tom felt the same, but tried to keep things upbeat and positive.

“Any phones over there?” was his only greeting.

“No, they all work off of that shack over there; and the woman said the evening is best. But it’s a great place to stay, and a lot more calming and comfortable than this area. The guesthouse hangs off of the river cliff, and it has a tremendous view. We’ll wake up to raging waters,” he said with a smile.

“It doesn’t really matter where we stay, eh? Lets settle in, get a hot shower, or a bath in the hot springs, and then make your calls.”

Tom’s suggestion was met with blank, emotionless, stares. He could tell that both guys were at their limit, and had probably been arguing between themselves while he was gone.

“The littlest spark will start a conflagration,” Tom concluded quietly.

Both guys had shown incredible moodiness, but never both at the same time. Usually, the one in good spirits helped Tom mollify the stressed-out one. This time they were both a mess.

“Lets sit down and eat,” was all that Behrens said.

To avoid any blow up, both Albrecht and Tom quietly followed him. The tense silence was palpable, as they sat down in the common room of the closest guesthouse. Both Behrens and Albrecht barked out their orders for food, and scared away the resident child with their sour looks. Spoiled, and overweight from a never ending supply of candy treats from trekkers, the child naturally came back to their table and sat down next to Tom....waiting for a handout. Aware of the prevalent misunderstanding concerning candy, Tom offered him some granola with fruit. Tom knew that candy wasn’t a good treat to children without dental care. In fact, it was a very bad thing. But the little boy was accustomed to outright gifts of candy, and wasn’t aware of rotten teeth. The boy pushed away Tom’s treat, and screamed for the Snickers bar that he’d seen sitting on the table.

“No, you can have some candy after eating the healthy food. Candy is a treat, not a main meal,” Tom said to him, kindly.

Not accustomed to kids, and already cranky, the Dutchmen sat in silence as the drama unfolded. The boy of course, didn’t wholly understand Tom’s words, but he got the message. Deafening screams then bounced off of the walls. Most people would have just given him the candy to shut him up, and to divert the attention of everyone in the room; but not Tom. The locals looked on with interest, and the Dutchmen were close to exploding. Of course, Tom knew kids enough to know that if you met their bluster with calm and patient reiteration, the lesson would sink in. The key was not to react to their reactions. After a few more feeble tries, the boy gave up, and got quiet. Then he smiled, as a new thought came to mind. It was a devilish one, from the look on his face. He picked up the bowl of granola and fruit, and slammed it down on the table so hard that the contents flew everywhere. The ante in the battle had been raised, and Tom was up for the challenge.

“I’m really sorry, but your behavior is sooo bad that you’ll never get any candy from me.”

The look of gloating on the boy’s face turned into a state of quiet confusion; then, as understanding came through, he screamed one final loud scream and went running out of the guesthouse....with only one shoe on. His mother cleaned the mess up quietly, in embarrassed silence; while his father, who had watched everything unfold through the kitchen window, just smiled broadly. The locals broke out in laughter, and the Dutchmen sat in dumbfounded silence. Rather than just blowing him off, Tom had gotten involved and made a lesson out of the incident - a lesson that had impressed the locals. Staring at Tom with confused admiration, Behrens responded with a simple statement that seemed apologetic.

“Tom. While you were in the bathroom, we checked into the guesthouse here.”

That was all either of them said, as they unceremoniously got up from the table and headed up the stairs to the upper sleeping levels. It was clear that they were stressed-out messes; so much so, that they couldn’t even be civil. They craved their addicted escape from reality, and headed upstairs for their regular evening activity of smoking hashish - early, in the afternoon. Tom didn’t even try to figure them out anymore. He was justifiably upset about not even being consulted; when, he had tried so hard to please them. So he finished his drink, checked into a room himself, and took a hot shower. He knew that there would be plenty of hot water in the afternoon, and he was spent.....and pissed. That evening Tom purposely stayed in his room, and ate dinner alone - avoiding the Dutchmen. He could hear them talking through the paper thin walls. Once he could tell that they were deep into their smoking ritual, he went downstairs to eat. Tom wanted no more involvement in their drama.

“Let them cool down,” he thought. “Tomorrow will be better, after they contact whomever they want to at home,” he reasoned.

The next day came quietly. Tom rose early, since he had slept more than his travel partners, and quietly ate his breakfast while he completed his journal entry for the past days. Tom had heard the Dutchmen return to their room after dinner, and they smoked heavily - late into the night. Tom could see everything they did, through the gaping cracks between the thin wallboards that separated their rooms. It was unavoidable. Tom almost got high on the second hand smoke that came into his room, through the wide cracks. The walls were made of flimsy wood strips from old crates. Behrens bumped into Tom, briefly, near sundown - when Tom was hanging out clothes on the balcony clothesline to dry. The wind whipped the laundry all around, as Behrens and he silently watched the setting sun. Tom remained silent all the while. Finally, Behrens spoke.

“None of the Goddamn phones work in this town!” was all that he said.

“I’m really sorry about that,” replied Tom; and he left without waiting for further conversation. He knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant, and he didn’t want any more of their drama.

“Its not my damn fault!” he said to himself, upon returning to his room. “Frickin grow up, babies! Jeez, they aren't any different than that spoiled brat!”

Breakfast was uneventful, and silent; yet rewarding for Tom. The little boy came up to him in a good way, and Tom once again gave him a bowl of granola and dried fruit. The little boy ate it all, and showed Tom his empty bowl. So Tom broke down, and split the snickers bar between them. Both enjoyed their candy, and their truce. The boy’s mother watched the interchange in mute surprise, and his dad smiled proudly from his position in the kitchen. The Dutchmen were amazed, but silent. After breakfast, they silently packed their backpacks and took off on the trail. The trail led through the village, and across the bridge. Once across the bridge, Tom could see the looks on the Dutchmen’s faces when they saw the guesthouse in the cliffs.

“Wish we stayed there!” was written all over their faces.

“Dugh!” was Tom’s silent reply, as he picked up the pace and walked quickly past the trail to the hot springs. He had no desire to dally there with the Dutchmen.

”To the pass, to the pass,” was Tom’s simple mantra for strength. The strength for patience that he no longer felt.

The day wore on, harder that even the day before. Making it worse was an annoying Hindu guide who adopted the Dutchmen and Tom when they were walking through the forest. The man wouldn’t go away, and he talked incessantly. He spoke mostly of stupid things, trying to impress the hikers on his abilities, and their necessity to hire him as their guide. After that approach yielded no results, he changed his tack. He pretended to be interested in the surroundings, and kept emphasizing the dangers along the trails......especially the mountain pass.

Thorung Pass is very, very dangerous you know. Many, many people die there. Tis very sad, indeed. It is cold, and the snows can be deep. Many people slip and fall to their untimely death. So very sad.....”

Tom was upset about the silent tension that was building between Behrens and Albrecht. They had impacted him negatively for two days, and he was at his limit with outside interferences in his supposedly solitary trek. He had heard that the pass was bad, and that he should go alone. But he didn’t want the cheesy guide’s help, nor his continuous prattle. Finally, Tom became really upset with the man’s intentional intrusion into his space. Like one of the annoying street vendors however, the guy persisted; thinking that if reason or fear didn’t work, then annoyance would. Tom knew that many people bought stuff on the streets of Kathmandu just to get rid of the annoying, and overly persistent, vendors. The ‘guide’ was smoother than those vendors, but still exhibited the same harassing behavior. So Tom went into his ‘vendor dismissal’ mode. Honed after weeks of annoying behavior, Tom was fairly good at it; and although it disturbed him to have to do it, he wanted to be rid of him. Tom’s first step was to stop talking or responding to any of his inquiries, or to comment on anything. He did that for an hour or so, and the guy just moved back and forth between Albrecht who walked ahead of Tom, and Behrens who walked way behind him. All three had silently agreed to avoid each other by walking in their standard ‘I want to be alone’ formation.

After being equally unsuccessful with Albrecht and Behrens, the man fell back into step with Thomas. Faced again with his unwanted presence, Tom went to step two. He was outright blunt with the man.

“Listen, I heard everything you said; and know that you want to hire on as our guide. We don’t want a guide, so let go of it; and walk along silently. Let us enjoy our hike, or go away. Either way, please be quiet. You can see that we want to walk alone, even between ourselves, so be quiet or move on.”

Undeterred, he simply fell back to talk to Behrens. Then he came back to Tom, just as he’d thought that he was finally alone. After multiple attempts at nice and very effective communications, Tom could only come to the conclusion that the guy was intentionally being a pest. Tom knew that the guy hung around partially because Albrecht kept asking him questions about the pass, and what it would cost to be guided just through the pass. Emboldened by this possibility, and the Dutchman’s conversation with him the night before at the guesthouse, the man went on, and on, and wouldn’t give up. Tom tried everything to shake the guy. He walked really slow, then really fast, and at one point even seemed to run from the guy. Then, he hit Tom’s final nerve and he blew up.

“You must stay at the guesthouse named Tibetan tonight! It is a nice place, clean; and no worry for Maoists or any other trouble,” the man droned on, producing a throbbing pain in Tom’s psyche.

“Tibetan guesthouse is this......”

“Tibetan guesthouse is that.....”

“All other guesthouses are unfit,” Blah, blah blah.

The man had bothered him for hours, and Tom finally stopped dead in his tracks.

“My friends and I have spent a lot of precious time and money to travel across the world to enjoy the natural beauty and serenity of these mountains. I’ve asked you nicely, multiple times, to respect this and be silent. Instead, you not only ignore my requests, but you get louder and more insistent that we follow your instructions, and stay at that damned guesthouse! The guesthouse is probably good, and you get kickbacks for taking people there. I don’t care if you do, its so insignificant. I do know that it isn’t really Tibetan, because only the Hindus and Chinese use the word ‘Tibetan’ in the names of their guesthouses. Even still, I would’ve stayed there if you hadn’t been so obnoxious about it, and didn’t keep ignoring my requests to be silent. Your approach may work for intimidated folks, or for people who just want to shut you up. But, it won’t work for me, or anyone I tell about your behavior. You think we’re stupid to fly way over here, buy silly hiking stuff, dress funny, and deprive ourselves of modern day conveniences to hike through the woods. The truth is, we come here to get away from people like you! We aren't dumb, and only tolerate your presence out of kindness. But you’re ruining my trip by harassing me! I feel like I’m back in India, being hassled on the street. Get the hell away from me, before I punch out your lights!”

Shocked into silence, the Hindu man hurriedly walked ahead to Albrecht and pleaded for his assistance. Albrecht gave him a look of: ‘What the hell can I say? That's Tom...tough luck!’ Then he blew the man off by pointedly ignoring him, and walking quickly away. Finally, the guy got the message and wandered away into the forest. All three of the guys were close enough together to see him turn off the trail, and disappear. They all smiled to each other in mutual relief.

The rest of the day’s hike was hard, but pleasant. Each of the three hikers wordlessly kept their place in a hiking formation that allowed them to be watchful of each other, but far enough apart to enjoy their solitude. The day went on silently, peacefully, and wonderfully. Tom was in heaven again; and this time, it lasted for hours. The Dutchmen’s spirits were better, and their disappointments about the phone situation seemed to drift into the past.

Tom reflected on his days spent on the trek, while the three hiked silently along. Different hikers had passed them, or were passed by them, during the days; but they often stayed at the same guesthouse that night, or eventually ran into each other on another day. The trail was big, long, and serene; but the number of trekkers were limited. It was interesting to Tom to watch people’s progress; and to observe which ones kept up with the general pace of overall group, and who fell behind. Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen the Bangkok guys since he’d left them. He wondered how they were faring with their odd guide.

“He’s probably led them on shorter days, to get more billable days,” reasoned Tom, cynically.

The thickly wooded trail gradually broadened from one foot wide, until it was nearly seven feet wide. At the broadest point, as they drew closer to the village of Lower Pissang, there was a clear break in the vegetation that offered a panoramic view of the whole valley. It was shocking for Tom to go from dense forest and jungle to wide open spaces, but it was a welcome relief to know that they were in sight of their destination. Directly in front of Tom, and literally down the trail into the valley floor, was a conglomeration of cheesy new guesthouses that looked more like poor imitations of cheap motels from the 1950’s, than authentic Nepali or Tibetan homes. He’d thought Chame had been enough of a mess, but Lower Pissang rankled him even more. By the time the three were in the streets of Lower Pissang, they were exhausted and ready to crash. While the day’s hiking had been great, the altitude was beginning to be an issue. Moving from 2,600 feet to 6,500 feet the first few days of the trek had been tough; but now they were entering altitudes in excess of 10,830 feet. Pissang contained an upper village, and a lower village. Upper Pissang was 330 feet higher in elevation than Lower Pissang, but those 330 feet rose over a very short distance....less than a kilometer. The trail looked straight up to the tired hikers.

“It’s just 400 feet shy of the peak of Mt. Hood, and it’s 4,500 feet higher than Mt. Washington!“ Tom marveled, as he remembered camping with David on that mountaintop on an extremely windy, snowy, and cold fall night

“And I thought that was an adventure!” he laughed at himself.

Walking through the streets of Lower Pissang, Tom saw that it was worse than it had looked from a distance. It was clearly a tourist trap with big commercial guesthouses, and assorted Hindu-run gift shops. Upper Pissang lie on the far side of the river, across a long bridge, and up a steep mountain slope. It looked native, natural, and non-commercial to Tom. It was therefore much more appealing to him. Ahead of the cancerous sprawl of ‘development,‘ a barren narrow road led steeply up the mountainside, to the relatively untouched Tibetan village of Upper Pissang. Tom could see the old original architecture of the place, even from a distance; and it looked fascinating, while Lower Pissang was irritating.

”So there’s hope, Anna! That place looks cool,” he said aloud.

“Tom, are you talking to that bird still? Don’t you know that you left it in Chyamje?” Behrens said with a weak laugh. “Is the higher altitude getting to your brain?”

“Yeah, I know she isn’t here, no altitude sickness yet. I’m just used to having her on my shoulder, and talking to her.”

“Oh, o.k.,” he said sardonically.

Ignoring his comments, Tom changed the topic; leading into the inevitable discussion on where they were going to stay. He didn’t want to stay in Lower Pissang; but he also knew he’d probably have trouble convincing the Dutchmen to continue hiking up the steep slope to Upper Pissang. They were all tired, even though it was only early afternoon.

“Hey guys look up, at that place! It must be Upper Pissang. It looks really interesting, eh?”

Greeted by unintelligible grunts, Tom continued on persistently.

“You know that these areas north of here were actually part of southern Tibet? Those are probably real Tibetan homesteads. This lower area of Pissang smacks of Kathmandu tourism, eh?”

“Tom,” Behrens started talking in a overly patient voice. “We’re in Nepal, not Tibet. I think that you’re having problems with the altitude.”

“Don’t you know the story?” Tom replied without hesitation. “These Northern parts of Nepal were Tibet, or settled by the same peoples; and, were cleverly protected by the King of Nepal. After the Chinese invaded Tibet, and before they could draw up maps of the remote areas and set up the demarcation markers, the King and his wife spent a year traveling as far north as they could and stayed with people along the way. Each time they stopped, they left their pictures to be hung up in the public, or most popular, buildings. So when the Chinese finally did come by to draw lines for Tibet and Nepal, these areas were considered Nepal. Over thousands of years of conquests and wars, Nepal has grown and shrunk accordingly. Nepal is the ultimate chameleon country. They’ve had to deal with hostile cultures for so long, being squeezed between China and India, that they’ve learned to adapt accordingly. I think it’s really interesting.”

“Where did you hear all of this?” asked Albrecht impatiently.

“From a good friend I made in Kathmandu. He grew up around here, but then traveled about the world quite a bit. He’s an interesting guy; reliable, trustworthy, and full of great stories. Did you know that the Gorkhas are from this area of Nepal and Tibet?”

“Who are the Gorkhas?”

“Just the best fighting soldiers in the world wars.”

“Naw!”

“Yep, you are in his-tor-ic environs .....”

“You are so full of crap, Thomas.”

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tom said, acknowledging that it was no such thing.

Tom was nearing his limit with the Dutchmen. He didn’t have any patience left to try and explain things that would breathe life into their Trek.

“Make it through the pass, Tom,” he told himself. “Through the pass, then you can be on your own again,” he said to himself, silently.

In a last attempt, he commented: “So yeah, Upper Pissang appears to be a relatively untouched. An authentic Tibetan village. I think it’d be great to go up there! This area is so cheesy.”

As they walked, they began to see other hikers who’d stopped there for a rest. Before Tom realized it, he was being spoken to - from behind.

“Hey, how are you guys doing? Great trek I’d say. How about you?”

It was the obsessive British couple, who always hiked with the aid of two walking sticks to measure their paces exactly. The sticks were more like ski poles to Tom, and he thought the whole effort was preposterously funny.

“Even in the wilds of Nepal, the Brits know how to make it proper,” he thought quietly to himself, as he stifled a snicker.

It was a comical sight to see them stride along methodically; in a typical British ‘walk in the park’ way.

“Only the British could try to bring formality to a Trek in the mountains of Nepal,” thought Thomas.

The incongruity of it all made it increasingly hard for him not to laugh out loud.

“We’re fine. Doing quite well, thank you! Although we’re a bit tired,” Tom said heartily. “Where are you two staying tonight?”

“Well, there was this odd sort of fellow, a guide of sorts, on the trail that annoyed us to no end - to the point where we preferred to not take his recommendation. So we are staying at the Snows guesthouse. It is a pleasant enough place. You? Where are you bound?”

“Let me guess. He suggested the Tibetan guesthouse, huh?”

“Yes, he did!”

“We ran into him too. He must’ve been working everyone on the trail today! Quite a walking advertisement, that one he is,” commented Tom. “A little travel hint: real Tibetans don’t have the word Tibetan in their name. The Nepali Hindus do. For a real Tibetan-run guesthouse, you need to look for words like Yak, Snow, or Clouds, and go for the quiet, self-effacing hosts. So, I’d wager you’ll enjoy your stay at The Snows guesthouse better than the highly advertised Tibetan guesthouse!”

“Philip, did you hear that?”

“Yes I did, dear. It seems like our good choice has been confirmed. Thank you my man!”

And then, they were off. Just like that, no more talking; pacing off efficient strides down the main street. Tom had been holding them back with his talking, and they were eager to get back into their rhythm.

“Too funny, eh guys?” he said to his travel companions, and got blank stares in return.

“Boy, you guys are a cheery lot,” he continued; as he tried lamely to arouse a smile or two.

Then Albrecht spoke up, as they approached the Tibetan guesthouse on the right hand side of the street.

“Well, it does look like a clean place; and we promised him we’d discuss him being our guide.....”

His sentence trailed off, as his voice got quieter. Behrens was silent, and looked a bit sheepish. Albrecht then said, with a firm tone that broached no dissent: “We’re staying at the Tibetan tonight!”

Behrens face betrayed his disagreement with Albrecht’s choice, and his methods of communication; but he appeared to accept the decree without question. It was apparent that he was avoiding an argument.

“Well, that's fine with me. Thanks for considering my opinion,” Tom said with an assured, yet concerned voice.

He made his decision as he spoke, upset for the final time with Albrecht's juvenile antics.

“I’ve had fun, and appreciate being with you guys on the hike; but its time for me to move on.”

Furious with the whole situation, Tom resolved that he wasn’t going to let Albrecht, or some lame guide, ruin his trip. He felt that he’d made many concessions, and Albrecht didn’t respect his efforts.

With a shocked look, Behrens asked: “Where will you go?”

Turning towards Albrecht directly, face to face, he bluntly said: “Anywhere but here!”

“In fact, I think I’ll go to Upper Pissang tonight. This commercial crap disgusts me, and its ruining my trip. Its time to get off of the most traveled trail. I lost tons of enlightenment points today, when I ripped that guide a new asshole; and I didn’t come all the way here to hide in a cheap hotel and smoke dope. I came here to experience, and immerse myself in, the environment and culture; so I could learn an different perspective. Playing it safe, and staying to the tourist route we’re led through, isn’t very real. I might as well have stayed home, if that‘d be the case. At least there I’d have a toilet and a hot shower!”

With that said, Tom left them standing in a state of shock and disbelief. He knew what was going through their heads, and that was enough: ‘Here’s a guy that’s a lot older than us, who can not only keep up without a problem; but is going off without us to adventuresome places. He’ll never make it, crazy bastard!’ It was written all over their faces.

***********

Tom was just as tired as Albrecht and Behrens, but he held himself better; in order to maintain civility, and to not take it out on them. They didn’t accord Tom the same kind of respect, so he decided to leave them - rather than feel like an appendage without rights. Although, Toms internal anger had the positive benefit of fueling his energy to set off on the trail to Upper Pissang alone. It was still early in the afternoon, and although exhausted by the grueling pace Albrecht had set that day, Tom forced himself to ignore the pain in his legs and to keep moving. The trail climbed, turned sharply, and climbed again - seemingly straight up into the sky, to Tom’s tired senses. It zig zagged along the face of the barren mountain, and literally rose into the clouds. The altitude, according to his rough map, was close to 11,000 feet. It was only a few hundred feet higher that Lower Pissang, but Tom was going to find out how hard those extra feet ‘up’ really were.

Tom, in his fury to leave the Dutchmen, didn’t stop to consider ‘the altitude thing.’

“People got sick, and died, from altitude sickness,” he reminded himself. “I wonder what it feels, and looks, like?” he worried, briefly.

“Ahhhhhh, it won’t get to me,” he reassured himself, unconvincingly.

As he rose higher and higher, he stopped thinking about anything. He just put one foot in front of the other; then another foot in front of the other - and mechanically moved along. He knew that the lack of oxygen was making him lightheaded, but he didn’t really care.

“I’ll rest soon enough,” he thought.

After walking for a couple of hours, he turned his attention from the dirt just before his feet; facing backwards, towards the valley - now far below him. It was startling in its beauty. The high vantage point provide him with an incredible view of the green valley and the snowcapped Annapurna Mountain range. He then knew why the old village had been built on the highest point of the mountain. It held a commanding view of the terrain below, and of the mystical Annapurna Mountains. By chance of fate, and obstinacy, he had raised himself from the narrow perspective of the forest, to the majesty of Northern Nepal. He stumbled out of amazement, and fatigue.

As he approached the village, the path rose so sharply that he had to watch his footing, for fear of slipping on loose stones, and sliding back down the mountain.

“Oh my God,” he thought, “I’ve just stepped back 600 hundred years or more,” he exclaimed.

To his right was a small fenced-in area for goats. It was made entirely of branches that were secured by woolen twine, and looked like something from the middle ages - yet it was very usable, and smart in its simplicity. On the building to his immediate right there was a poorly scrawled sign, that was faded to near illegibility. It was small, and hard to read, but said ‘Yak Hotel.’

“Hotel indeed!” thought Tom comically.

“Someone’s using their home to make extra money. Hotel?” he questioned the claim; and then he wished that the residents didn’t think that the western values of salesmanship were worth emulating.

“Maybe it’s a translation thing, not an attempt to present themselves as something they aren‘t, “he considered, with better understanding.

Looking around, he couldn’t think of a more beautiful, safe, serene, and spiritually pure place on earth. He passed the ‘Yak’ building, and noted that there was a gate in the wall next to the house.

“To a courtyard? Hmmm, curious,” Tom wondered; as he was instantly captivated by every nuance of the unique architecture that had been so perfectly preserved.

Proceeding along on the trail towards the center of the village, Tom came to an elaborate entrance gate into the village. While passing through the temple-like structure, he felt a tingle run down his spine. Ancient images of serene Buddha's looked down upon him. The blue colors in the ceiling paintings were brilliant, and the details were exquisite. Still in awe, Tom walked to the center of the village. Until then, he hadn’t seen one person in the village. In the exact center of the village stood a rectangular shaped stone structure, with piles of stones mounded on top and all around it. The slate-like, flat, stones had blessings and prayers etched into them; and, there were hundreds of them.

“Mani stones,” he remembered their name. “Tons of them! This must’ve been what it was like in Tibet, before the Chinese invaded and destroyed everything.”

To Tom’s right, there were two young kids playing in the village water source - a faucet in a concrete slab. Startled at seeing Tom, they ran off into the narrow alley between the buildings on the far side of the open city space. Tom didn’t know the name of the structure in the middle of the village, he thought of it as an alter, because it obviously looked holy to its visitors - the pilgrims who left the inscribed stones over hundreds of years of pilgrimage. On top of the structure there were many cylindrical, gold plated, brass prayer wheels - all lined up along the full length of the narrow structure. These, Tom remembered from his guide book, were what passersby would spin, as they walked around the structure. Again, there were prayers written on the prayer wheels, so that when it spun, the prayers would be sent off into the heavens. The guide book also said that Mani stone shrines had been built on the highest point of mountains, and mountain passes, where the winds were the most forceful.....and therefore more ‘effective’ at dispersing the blessings of the messages. Above the prayer wheels, there was a sharply peaked roof that protected the prayer wheels from the elements.

Tom was lost in a silent reverie of calmness, hearing only the sounds produced by the constantly shifting winds. The strong gusting winds caused unseen prayer flags to flap wildly, and heretofore inanimate objects to vibrate and rustle; providing a muted backdrop to the mysterious world into which he had risen. The village was rough hewn, and ancient; yet it fit right into the mountain - it was as natural as any stone outcropping or tree. The fragile balance of nature, structures, people, and spirit was incredible. Tom could feel the harmony of the place. It was an unusual feeling, but reassuring nonetheless. It was more inspiring and peacefully integrated with nature, than any garden he had ever visited. He stood alone in the center of the village; and just stared, as if in a trance, at the jagged edged, and craggy, Annapurna Mountains.....watching a cloud slowly drift across the vibrant, royal blue, sky. As he stood, mutely captivated by the atmosphere, people came and went through the common area of the village. To Tom, they were like ghosts in a dream. Words between them were sparse, yet recognition and understanding was obviously there. They hardly took any notice of Tom; as if he were an errant tree or rock, something just slightly misplaced.

He left the center of the village, walking to the opposite side; and went through another temple arch, identical to the one where he had entered the village. Again, the brilliantly painted, coffered, ceiling captured his sight and imagination.

“You can’t walk through these things, without looking up,” he realized. “Which is kind of strange, because most people never notice ceilings......wherever they are,” he observed.

Still slightly dazed, he returned to the central square and checked out the buildings for a place to stay. All of them were built as single family homes, in a simple, yet efficient, floor plan. Being on the outside, looking in, it was hard for Tom to discern the exact internal layout; but, he noticed identical patterns in each. The most notably being that fire wood and juniper branches were neatly stacked in the same location on every second-story patio. Lacking any other place to go, Tom went back to the abandoned looking Yak Hotel. He grinned at himself for going there, but decided: “What the hell! When in Rome..”

So, he let go....

He let go of pretense, judgments, interpretations of what he saw, of everything; and decided to simply go along with whatever happened. It was an empowering experience to feel the freedom of non-interpretation, and to just absorb and meld with his environment. He felt like a small child once again, accepting the world with blind trust. Here, for some reason, he felt safe in being openly vulnerable again. He felt uncharacteristically safe, and natural; and, it seemed right to be a humble visitor in a villager’s home, as opposed to a demanding tourist. So, it was with this mindset that he approached the Yak Hotel. He walked past the goat pen, and noticed that the tall gate in the wall was the only opening in the high walled structure. The building was simply four, two story, mud and stick walls, washed down to give a stucco appearance. Tom peered inside a small crack of the slightly opened solid gate, and saw a neatly arranged vegetable garden. Safe from the winds, marauding animals, and hungry passerby, was the family garden. An old man, a seemingly ancient and wrinkled man, came to the door and smiled a benign, yet inviting, smile that reassured Tom, and eliminated any lingering nervousness. Tom was the only Caucasian around, and he doubted that anyone spoke English. The old man was absently spinning black wool out of a pouch, and onto a small handheld spindle. He spun and twisted the new thread without even thinking about it.

“How much for a room and meal?” asked Tom.

The wizened old man didn’t respond, but motioned Tom inside. They then entered a door adjacent to the garden courtyard. It was a dimly lit stable without any animals.

“It looks as though there haven’t been animals here for a long time,” though Tom.

He expected the smell of a stable, but it never materialized. Instead, breathed in a dry, dusty, warmish smell. It was actually quite comfortable. The stable was a large room that was located at the ground floor level, below the living areas of the home. In the lower right corner of the stable was a large log that had been notched out with steps, each evenly spaced at one foot intervals. Intrigued, by the ‘ladder,’ Tom inspected it closely. It lay at a sharp angle to the roof above, and looked to be more than 100 years old. It was old, and worn; yet solid, and amazing in its simple design. The old man scampered up the log without hesitation. Surprised to see an old man, over 80 years old, run up a ladder like that, Tom decided: “What the hell? If he can, I can....”

So he followed the old man to the upper level of the house. It was fun climbing the log ladder, and Tom would have gone up and down it 10 times, like a little kid, if he wasn’t being watched so intently. Grinning with delight, he followed the old man across the 2nd story open patio into a dark room that served as the kitchen, and eating area. Motioning Tom to sit, the man started preparing hot water on the metal stove that was positioned at the end of the room. Upon entering the room, Tom entered a different world. Even though the place was constructed with logs, sticks, and mud, it felt incongruently clean. On a narrow shelf, around the perimeter of the kitchen ceiling, stood spices in old bottles, and a collection of cooking utensils. Everything seemed perfectly normal, and Tom felt like he was at home in Michigan - in his grandparent’s kitchen. The man hadn't spoken a word, yet Tom understood everything clearly. Tom tried not to stare; and allowed himself to relax, letting events flow as they would - without aggressive intervention.

“How much for room and dinner?” Tom repeated, in a gentle reminding tone.

“Ten Rupee,” was the man’s response.

Stumped, Tom held back surprise at the low amount. At the current exchange of 75 Nepalese Rupees to the U.S. Dollar, that amounted to less than 10 cents.

Tom considered this for a moment, but didn’t want to delay his response too long. It was obvious that the man was opening up his home to Tom - a perfect stranger, as a favor to a traveler needing shelter. He didn’t want to ask for too much, in case Tom had no money. Looking around, Tom saw minimal food; and quickly determined that as poor as the man was, he was willing to share what they had with Tom. Tom smiled, and felt a warmth suffuse his body. He felt like he was home!

“Hmmmm,” Tom started to reply. “That doesn’t quite seem to be enough for a place to stay, and dinner. Here take this, and do what you want with it,” Tom said, as he handed the man 200 Rupees.

The man hesitated, and then smiled. With that settled, Tom was able to really relax. He knew now that he wouldn’t be a burden; and in fact, they would have time to get whatever they wanted for dinner. Once the kettle was boiling, Tom pulled out two tea bags, and motioned for hot water. The old man picked up a metal cup and filled it for him. It was Tom’s way of meeting the welcoming tradition of tea, without having to drink the homemade Tibetan Tea, or other drinks, that may not have been boiled sufficiently. He hadn’t caught the diarrhea bug yet, and didn’t want to - although everyone he had traveled with had fallen victim to it. He drank only boiled water, or bottled water with a seal on it. Tom offered the man a tea bag, and he accepted it with another smile. They sat that way, in contented silence for an indeterminate amount of time; and it was good. Absently spinning away, and chanting a mantra under his breath, the man retained a warm smile. Tom smiled too, and tried to repeat the same mantra that he had learned in Kathmandu. “Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum......”

Like a child's lullaby, it soothed his spirit, and it seemed like a natural part of just sitting around the homey kitchen. The man’s smile brightened when he heard Tom, and he raised the volume of his singing chant. After a while, Tom got a little too relaxed, and started to nod off, sleepily. With a start, he shook himself awake, and laughed at his sleepiness.

“Maybe you can show me where I am to sleep? My room?” Tom asked while pillowing his head on his folded hands in pantomime.

Tom could see that there was a sleeping room right beyond the warm kitchen, but he felt that it was the old man’s room. He had no clue where he was to go.

“Oh well, Jesus slept in a manger; I guess I can sleep in a stable,” thought Tom with a laugh.

Instead, however, the man motioned Tom out of the door and onto the rooftop patio. The second level, like the surrounding homes, was surrounded by stacks of neatly cut, and packed, sticks.

“Firewood,” thought Tom, “and evergreens for blessing fires.”

The old man turned left, and motioned Tom to another one of the log ladders that he hadn’t noticed before. It led to another, third level, floor above the kitchen level.

“Will wonders never cease? This place is incredibly designed. Talk about functionality! Truly amazing,” Tom commented to himself.

The stables on the first level once held animals, whose body heat rose to the living area on the second level, and the kitchen on the second level, lay just below the third level sleeping quarters. Both the second and third levels had open patio areas for outside living, and normal daily activities. The building was a totally self contained, and very efficient, structure - made from mud, rocks, and sticks, constructed hundreds of years in the past.

When they reached the uppermost level, Tom saw a large, lean-to like, open shed with Yak pelts drying out on stretchers.

“So that's where he got the wool for his black yarn,” mused Tom. “Great.”

To the right of the large shed, and directly ahead, there were three wooden doors hanging open, down a narrow hallway. Tom walked to them and peered inside. All three rooms were about the size of a twin bed, and each contained a wooden cot that just fit inside the tiny space.

“Oh well, at least they’re clean,” he thought. “And, it looks like they haven’t been used for years; so no bed bugs, eh?” he joked with himself, just relieved to have a relatively clean place to rest.

Tom set his backpack on the cot in the middle room, and sat down with a sigh; showing the man through actions that he’d picked his room. The old man nodded, and left. Tom was alone, at peace, and happier than he had been the entire trek. Finally, he had found what he had been searching for - “real people, real lives, and real calm. No cars, no cell phones, no beepers, no computers, no roads, no trains, no shopping malls or stores, no banks, no attorneys, no jails, no police, no screaming ex-wives, and no bathroom!” he said aloud.

“God, I have to pee badly!” he suddenly realized.

“What am I going to do?” he asked, rhetorically; laughing out loud, as he walked out onto the wide-open rooftop patio that had no walls nor railings.

Walking away from the tiny set of rooms, he faced westward for the first time, since he had entered the house; and he literally fell to his knees when he saw the view before him.

“There is Annapurna - one of the scariest, and most treacherous climbs in the world - staring me right in the face!” he said, aloud, in amazement.

He could see the snow blowing off, and around, the steep reaches; giving him the feeling that he was footsteps away from being there, and that he could almost touch them.

He was now high enough, and close enough, that he could see the details of the razor sharp peaks that seemingly pierced the sky with their jagged edges. Wispy clouds wafted in and around the peaks, as a reminder of their 26,000 foot heights; yet, they didn’t obscure the magnificent peaks. Startled into silence, he stared at the panorama before him.

“Now I understand the word panoramic. It’s incredible,” he thought, “its better than any picture I’ve ever seen.” And suddenly, he realized that his view was a full, unobstructed 360 degrees. It totally surrounded him, as he physically spun around - trying to take in the commanding, and breathtaking, views. There wasn’t a single sign of human life beyond the village from where he stood. Lower Pissang was lost in the green valley, far below; and, he stood sandwiched between two startlingly beautiful mountain ranges. It was just him, and the majesty of the mountains. He felt like he was afloat in the heavens with the Titans, and half expected to see some of the old Greek Gods among the pristine, and dramatic, mountains. He suddenly felt a bit dizzy, overwhelmed with the experience, and the incredible sense of calm that came along with it. The only sound was that of the wind, and he felt as though he was part of it somehow. He was totally alone, perched high upon the ancient structure; and thereby held aloft in the heavens - with sky, clouds, and beautiful mountains all around him. Out of nowhere, he remembered a TV interview he had seen with a guy who had walked, high-wire-style, between the World Trade Center towers. The man said that the experience of being suspended that high above the world had been so moving that his life was forever changed; that the experience had given him an indescribable perspective of the world, and that he felt as though he had been in heaven.....walking among the clouds. Tom now understood the guy’s experience, and realized that he was privileged to be standing in the center of a real place that rivaled any breathtaking panoramic mountain photograph. It was surreally perfect beauty.

Maybe the lower level of oxygen at the high altitude....the highest he had even been in his life, nearly 11,000 feet..... affected Tom’s perspective; but, he attributed his exhilarated state of mind to the physical realization of his heretofore romantic thoughts of raw nature. Romanticism was gone, it had been confirmed, and replaced, by the stark and undeniable reality of untouched nature.....the actual experience being stronger, and more overpowering, than any dream.

“God, I have to Pee!” Tom said to himself with a real urgency; as his body called his mind home with comical, and dramatic, emphasis.

“Where the hell do I go?” he wondered. “To the stable? In a corner? Out, and down the path to where?” He was dumbfounded by his basic, now extremely urgent, physical need; in the midst of his spiritual ecstasy. Without any trees in the area, and homesteads right next to each other, it left no place for him to pee.

“Well, they must go somewhere,” he thought logically. He couldn’t very well ask the guy who owned the place without knowing the language; and he could just imagine the pantomime he would have to do to communicate the simple question of “Where is the toilet?” Especially since he already knew the answer that he would most likely get; a shrug of the shoulders, and puzzled look as the old man pointed to a field. Tom didn’t have the time, or patience, to go through that exercise. Nature was calling his bladder loud and clear; it was an immediate physical imperative, and he’d be too embarrassed to go through the translation exercise.

“Damn, I can’t even go down these steps quickly without probably falling; I’m so giddy with lightheadedness. I need to rest, I’m about to collapse, “he predicted, uneasily.

After looking all around, he noticed that there was a three foot gap between the building he was on, and the building beside it.

”Voila!”

He looked down between the buildings to see if there was anything important down there, and he was hit with vertigo so bad that he almost fell over the edge, and into the gap. What he did see, however briefly, was trash.

”Yeah,” he said to himself, and peed off of the roof into the gap. Finally relieved, and totally exhausted, his body screamed for rest. The sun was at about 4:00, and it felt great upon his face. Looking around his feet at the roof surface, he finally noticed that almost the entire area was covered with round black seeds. They were spread out all over the roof, and lie on a tan canvas to dry in the sun and air.

“What the hell is it?” he wondered.

He figured it wasn’t poison, and the best way to find out was to taste some of it.

“Its pepper!“ The strong, black, pepper corns burned in his mouth. “Jeez, is this how we get spices?” he wondered aloud.

He sat down, as he spoke; and feeling the sun warm his face, he decided that it was time to really relax. He saw that the tan canvas extended beyond the pepper corns; so he surmised that there was enough room to lie down, without disturbing the pepper. He then went to his room, took off all his clothes, and returned to lie down amid the pepper corns in his skimpy Calvin Klein’s. He had expected to relax, but he didn’t expect to crash. His head hardly lay down, before he fell into a deep and wonderful sleep.

“What is that noise?” his mind asked his muddled consciousness.

He was half way between deep REM sleep and a regular sleep. His mind and body wanted to stay in REM; but something outside of Tom was interrupting, and pulling him up out of a nice deep hole of comfortable sleep.

“Its two women casually talking to each other in a strange sing-song language,” his consciousness answered his mind’s question.

“What a weird dream,” he thought, absently.

After drowsily laying a while longer in a state between sleep and wakefulness - a wonderful limbo state that Tom enjoyed when waking from a deep rest - he slowly opened his eyes to the waning sun, and

the intent consideration of a 90 year old wizened woman. Alongside her, sat her 60 year old daughter.

“Oh my God! “he exclaimed, silently, totally shocked.

She looked down at him, as she methodically picked over the pepper corns while on her knees. Startled to the sudden awareness of his near nudity, Tom felt the blush of embarrassment spread across his face.

“Jeez, I’ve never really been embarrassed before...being naked in all kinds of situations.....but, this is a bit disarming.”

By talking to himself, Tom calmed his alarm. He felt silly, embarrassed, and then got to: “Oh what the hell,” as he saw that the old woman paid him hardly any attention. He might as well have been a piece of furniture, or a rock.

The women were concerned with their task - getting the pepper corns clear of all pebbles and small debris....clucking and chanting, as they quickly plucked away the detritus. So Tom rose smoothly, and calmly, and went to his room for clothes. After getting dressed, he went back outside, sat down between the two women, and began picking out trash without a word.

“It’s just the thing to do,” he thought nonchalantly. “It’s a task that needs to be done, so lets do it!”

“What’s happened to me?” wondered Thomas. “Have I totally lost it?” he worried.

“No Tom, its a perfectly normal thing to be sitting on a 3rd story mud and stick building; picking through pepper corns with two ancient Tibetan women who speak no English. I do the same thing at home everyday, so what’s the big deal?” he commented to himself sarcastically, but in good humor.

He smiled at himself, and the women; and they smiled warm sincere smiles of acceptance in return.

It became obvious, after a while, that the eldest woman was in charge, and was the woman of the house. Figuring out who was oldest meant surveying the depth and occurrence of wrinkles.....both of which were plentiful on the elderly women. Undoubtedly, the woman was the wife of the man downstairs. The other woman was still being taught what to do - at over 60 years of age. The matron of the house ran the place like a battle sergeant.

“She’s a definite kick. Too much, too fun!” thought Tom, as he continued on with his monotonous, but fulfilling task.

*********

With quick, deft, and effective flicks, the old woman buzzed through the pepper corns. In a near hypnotic trance she rocked back and forth, humming a mantra just under her breath, and methodically picking away. Her gaze was locked onto the small black kernels below, but her sight was reflecting back in time. 75 years back, when she was nearing 16 years of age. It was a different world then. Things made sense. Life had order, and followed a logical flow.

“Now, only confusion and silliness. Change. Disorder,” she reflected.

In her mind, she was once again sitting with her grandmother, picking through pepper corns.

“No, you missed this - that - that.”

Pointing with an ancient, yet strong, hand, she firmly scolded the young girl for inattention.

“Move along with the mantra, dear. Discipline is the first step to enlightenment. Learn to work, and do your devotions at the same time.”

Mesmerized by her grandmother, she thought then: “I’ll never be as good as her - if I live to be one hundred years.”

Admiration, and pride in her now dead grandmother’s strength of will, showed clearly on her face.

“Grandma grandma, grandma, I miss you so....” The old woman thought as she came back to the present.

Tom, like a child, openly started at her motion and concentration. He was amazed at her skill and speed, just as she’d been when she first sat with her grandmother. The old woman’s stare left the pepper, and her rocking stopped smoothly. Her sad, deep, brown eyes searched for his; and they acknowledged each other at that moment with knowing smiles. They both returned back to work. Tom was amazed at their mutual ability to communicate without language; all three. The old man, Tom, and now his wife. It was a comforting and reassuring feeling. Again, he felt like he was at his home of his childhood; sharing knowing and loving smiles with his mother. No words were spoken, but understanding was there.

The last step of the pepper process was to draw all the seeds together, and funnel them into a partially filled, large burlap sack. How the woman could carry this when full, Tom couldn’t guess. As the last rays of the setting sun streaked sharply from the jagged top of the Annapurna Mountains, they hurried to fill the bag. Tom wasn’t included. Again, nothing was ever said; nor did the women speak to each other about Tom - he would have known. They just followed a script developed over hundreds of years, and moved on. Before Tom knew it the wiry old woman slung the huge burlap bag, now three quarters full, over her right shoulder; and scrambled down the log ladder. Amazed, he stood still. He’d planned on carrying it down for her; obviously being a fit young male, he assumed he should carry it down. He’d secretly wondered how he was going to navigate the steep log ladder without falling and killing himself. He never expected her to carry it down, and so quickly....before he could intervene.

“Oh well, they say the Tibetan women are stronger than most men,” he reminded himself. “This 90 year old one just reinforces that opinion.”

Tom lingered long enough on the roof to snap a picture of the dramatic sunset, then he followed her lead. She dropped the bag unceremoniously, and then moved on - never really stopping. Tom wondered what he could do to help her, so she could relax a little. Stumped, he turned his attention to the open kitchen room. The old man sat with his back to the wall, spinning away and smiling at Tom. Tom took this opportunity to once again try to ask for dinner.

“Menu?” Tom asked quizzically; in reference to the standardized menu the general vicinity used to avoid this kind of confusion, and to keep hikers or hosts from taking advantage of the nicer people.

The man looked at Tom’s questioning face, and hopped to his feet. He began rummaging around every nook and cranny, shelf, and cupboard, for the elusive menu. Tom felt safe pointing at something from the standardized menu; and the man obviously the man knew what the word menu meant, and had one at some point. Sensing his growing alarm at not finding the old thing, Tom waved his hands to get the man’s attention.

“No worry, no worry,” Tom repeated as he shook his head to let him know that the menu itself wasn’t important.

He knew the concept had been communicated, so all he had to do was clarify it. They didn’t need an actual menu to do that. Visibly relieved, the old man sat down again and resumed spinning like nothing had ever happened. Tom laughed, and said “Whatever. I’ll just eat whatever.”

He decided to take the opportunity to further explore the building, and to check out the vegetables in the garden. Scrambling down the lower ladder, like he’d seen the old woman do, Tom found himself in the stable again. As he walked towards the door to the street, he stopped and looked around. Taking his time, he was able to really examine the space thoroughly. There was a network of evenly spaced logs that supported the roof of the stable, which also served as the floor of the second level. The ceiling was about two feet thick, and made of mud and sticks. The walls were straight, strong, and clean; and old wooden cabinets and pegs dotted the perimeter of the room.

“This would be a cool common room,” thought Tom, as he examined the amazingly well crafted space.

His mind started to imagine possibilities.

”Take out the hay, put in a kitchen stove, and a fireplace; and then, add a few trestle tables with chairs....voila!”

“Tom you see potential in everything, and have more projects than carter has pills,” he heard his mother’s kind voice again, chiding him nicely for starting too many projects.

"O.k. Thomas. Get out of ‘that's a cool project’ mode, and just experience the place and people. Do you have to try and be busy with everything? Let go, dude, let go....”

So thus self admonished, Tom laughed at himself and exited through the door onto the path outside. The garden courtyard door was unlocked and open. Tom peered in, and found the old woman picking lettuce and greens on her hands and knees. The garden was wonderful. The rows were spaced neatly, and consisted of plants organized in descending order of height. It was small, but full; and Tom could see how it was enough to support the old couple. She rose then, and smiled at Tom with an inviting look. He entered the garden, wary of stepping on something, and made a show of inspecting the various types of plants and shaking his head with praise. Then, as he turned, she disappeared through the door to the village lane. Following her quickly, Tom saw her meet her husband at the water fountain beside the goat pen. It sat aside the path that led to the village. She handed the load of greens to the old man, turned smartly in one fluid move, and proceeded deliberately into the house again. Tom went down the path to the old man, and helped him wash the dirt out of the greens - leaf by leaf. Again, Tom witnessed a meticulous, yet extremely patient, disposition. When they completed washing the greens, they went back inside the house. Boiling water was on the stove, and Tom longed for some tea. He motioned towards the tea kettle, to get the man’s attention. The woman was absorbed with her greens. She sat down across the table from Tom, and began to break off the inedible stalks of the greens. The man nodded at Tom, in recognition of his request, and surprised Tom with “you want tea?”

“Yes, please,” Tom responded.

“Tibetan Tea for you!”

A bit baffled at the mans final use of English....however simple....Tom was nonetheless happy to be getting some tea; and he turned his attention to helping the old woman with the greens. Tom didn’t want to be an imposition on the elderly couple, even if he paid for room and food. Anyway, he enjoyed doing things with them, and being included. Besides feeling energetic from his impromptu sun nap, Tom felt bad that the woman was working so hard; and he wanted to ease her load as best as he could. Contrary to the pepper corn deal, she bristled at his offer of helping with the greens; but grudgingly accepted it. Tom broke off the stems fairly quickly, having done it many times with greens from his gardens; but he got a disapproving stare, and a pointed wrinkly finger poked at the waste of his efforts. If any bit more than the stem was removed, she frowned. Every bit counted.

"O.k.,” Tom thought. “They have to be thrifty with food. “

He logged that fact away in his library of cultural sensitivities; but being so accurate however, required a lot more time.

“Oh well, where am I going tonight anyway?” he joked to himself.

Tom felt happy and comfortable just sitting with the wonderful couple. His eyes wandered to small photographs and pictures from magazines pinned to an outside wall, just under the eve of the roof. They seemed like random pictures, without any apparent connection. Then, he noticed that there were many pictures of monks.

“Most of them are young monks just entering service, or graduating from ‘monk school,’ or whatever they call it,” he observed, silently.

One picture had the old couple in it too, so Tom got up and inspected the wall with renewed curiosity.

“Children? Your boys?” he asked.

They didn’t seem to understand what Tom was asking, and just went about their tasks, unperturbed. Tom could tell that one or more of their children had gone on to be a monk.

“Jeez, my mom would’ve loved that. She always wanted a nun or priest from her kids - insuring everyone’s entry into heaven.”

Then, he wondered: “Are these people that different from my parents? Not really, just older and healthier.”

Tom’s mother had died the prior year, and his dad had open heart surgery. This couple had zero health care, and yet they were at least 90 years old. But other parallels between the two couples were unmistakable. The Tibetans were devoted to their faith, and proud to have children be monks.

“Our roots in the U.S. aren't much different than these folks,” thought Tom. “Mom’s and Dad’s parents, and their generation, just broken away life on the farms; and, the conservative convictions of religious immigrants from Prussia, Poland, and Ireland.”

Tom then realized that all of his grandparents had backgrounds that were unique, and special, in their own ways. The melting pot of America had not only erased their differences, but it seriously altered the value structures as well - in two short generations.

“Am I seeing the final stand of the Tibetan culture here? Are they being homogenized into western consumerism?” he pondered. “Are these people that different than my great grandparents?”

Disturbed by his thoughts, Tom’s awareness returned to the table and his work with the old woman. Meanwhile, the old man was busy fiddling around in the kitchen with a long wooden cylinder with large brass fittings. He poured mysterious things into it from various odd containers, and shook it gently. His smile got bigger, in anticipation of his concoction.

“Whatever he’s doing, it’s apparent that he’s really enjoying himself,” thought Tom contentedly.

They finished de-stemming the last of the greens within a few minutes. Once done Tom’s interest wandered, and he became intrigued by what the old man was up to; so he went into the kitchen to watch the him more closely. When he entered the dark little kitchen, he sat down quietly against the thick firm earthen wall, to the right of the opening.

Part of Tom felt like an anthropological visitor - cataloging everything, and all the activities. Another part of him felt like a welcome guest in a family home.

“Let’s ditch the evaluation part, and just blend in as best that I can into the family,” he decided.

The man was concocting some type of brew, and Tom was curious. He had ‘authentic’ Tibetan tea at a guesthouse, but it tasted and looked like butter melted in dirty dishwater. He gagged at the memory. This however, was something different all together; so Tom relaxed. Grandpa took the steaming kettle of water from the small cast iron stove, and poured it into his wooden cylinder. He replaced the cap on the end of the long wooden cylinder, and shook it with a plunger-like action, similar to an old butter churn.

“Tea! Tibetan Tea!” he said gleefully.

“You drink us,” he said to Tom in broken English.

Tom got the message that this was the traditional home brew by the man of the house, and therefore it was an honor to a guest. Tom smiled, and color rose uncontrollably to his face again. It was the second time in the same day. To hide his nervousness, he simply replied: “yes, yes!” as he placed his hands in a praying position, and bowed gently in appreciation of the honor. The man smiled in confirmation.

“I bet this stuff is great,” thought Tom. “No tourist trap joke - the real thing.”

Tom began to look forward to drinking his first real Tibetan tea. Grandma picked up two cups from the dirt floor beside her, and set them on the stove. Grandpa, meanwhile, opened his contraption and poured the contents into a waiting kettle. Then he meticulously replaced the cap, re-checked every part the ‘thing,’ and reverently hung it on the wall. Two thoughts raced through Tom’s mind.

“This must be a treasured artifact of the family; an heirloom, how cool!” he thought.

Then it dawned on him.

“He didn’t wash or rinse it out; he just closed it, and hung it back up on the wall! Oh my God, what am I about to drink?” he thought in a panic.

But then, he realized that there was no turning back.

“Oh my God, will I do? Just drink the stuff quickly, and smile- whatever it tastes like. They seem healthy, it hasn’t killed them - so it must be safe.”

He willed his mind to squash all thoughts of germs and bacteria, and focused on the moment.

“I’m not going to mess this up by being childish,” he decided.

They’d accepted him, and he wasn’t going to jeopardize that over some silly drink. Grandpa poured, and grandma passed out the large cups. Tom got his, smiled, and tried to drink as much as he could before anything could register through his sensory organs.

”It has to be drunk, all of it. So if it’s going to hurt, I might as well make it quick,” was his silent logic.

He tasted salt, butter, feta cheese, and warm water as the creamy fluid passed through his mouth.

“Jesus, this is why they work nonstop. This stuff is liquid rocket fuel,” he said to himself, trying his best to distract his mind from his body’s barrage of olfactory messages.

The taste was totally alien to Tom’s western palate, and he hoped his body wouldn’t gag out of reflex. He sat the cup down, smiled his best smile, and said: “Good. Very Good! Thank you!”

“More? More?” was the old man’s entreating reply.

“Ugghhhh, no. I still have half a cup left, see?” Tom spoke haltingly as he showed him his cup.

“Maybe later?” Tom said.

“Maybe Not!” is what he thought.

“Well I lived,” he congratulated himself, silently. “I didn’t make a fool of myself, nor hurt their feelings. Success! The worst is over,” he thought.

Grandpa motioned with his hands to his mouth, a direct reference to eating dinner. With a quizzical look, he showed that he still didn’t understand what Tom wanted to eat - never finding the menu to help him. Thinking quickly, Tom wondered what would be the least burden on them, and the safest to eat. Then he got inspired, and pointed to the greens. Then they were really confused. So was Tom. He was confused about why they would be confused. It was too funny, but he couldn’t let it keep going because it would upset them to not know. Obviously the greens were for another purpose, or weren't dinner food.

“How about Dahl Bot?” he quizzed.

Tom was stuffed up to his ears in the lentil bean and rice mixture, eating it almost every day on the trek; but it fit the criteria.

It was safe, easy to make, and something understandable to both them and him....hopefully. It was the only Nepali Tom knew. At least, he thought it was the name of the bean and rice dish! Again, he wasn’t sure; but he really didn’t care what he ate at that point. Grandpa’s face brightened. He understood, and seemed to be happy with Tom’s choice.

“Whew!” sighed Tom. “Glad that’s over.”

Grandpa got up and left the house, leaving Tom and Grandma alone. Tom wanted her to relax, and take it easy. She obviously had a hard day, so he stoked the fire with branches; and motioned for the water containers, so he could go fill them up down the street.

“That should help,” he thought.

When Tom returned with the water, Grandma accepted it without comment; and poured some into a boiling pot on the stove. Then she went to a darkened corner of the room, and returned with a pile of small potatoes. Tom was overjoyed to see them. He was starving, and was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t get a substantial dinner; something which his body was screaming for. Grandma casually dropped the potatoes into the boiling water, and stared at them for a while, to be sure that all was well. She then retired to the wall opposite of Tom, and sat down on the dirt floor. Tom wondered about how she must feel, sitting on the floor this way at her advanced age. She showed no signs of discomfort, so Tom let it go and relaxed. At first Tom thought it would be awkward sitting alone with her, with nothing to say; but he found that it was actually very nice. They both relaxed as they watched the small licking flames of the fire, and the boiling water on the stove in the middle of the room. Darkness had fallen, and the room was dimly lit by just the firelight. She got up, and lit a candle near the other end of the room to the left of the door opening. It wasn’t too long before three men poked their heads into the cozy little kitchen. They were surprised to see Tom sitting in the shadows, as they sat down on the left end of the room. Tom nodded hello, as they did; and then their conversations started in earnest. Tom was relieved to not have all the attention on him for once, and was also very interested in watching the guys talk and carry on. They all were very jovial, amiable, and joked happily with each other. Bursts of laugher punctuated their exchanges, and served as a clear indication of their mood and conversations. A little while later, a few more men came into the room. By then, Tom had figured that this was the meeting place for the working village men. As the last guy came in, he shook Tom’s hand and said “hello.”

“You speak English?”

“Yes, a little. Some of us work in lower Pissang, or in other places, and need to learn some English.”

“Thank God, maybe you can translate a little for us. These people are really nice and I’m enjoying staying here, but I can’t seem to get the woman to stop working. I try to help out, and have tried to tell them I’m happy to eat potatoes; but they want to do more, and seemed concerned.”

“That's funny,” he said. “That's why I stopped by. You’re the talk of the village. I thought you were being demanding, and asking too much from old people.”

“That’s the opposite of what I’m trying to do. Can you tell her?”

“Her? Not me! She’s in charge of the village. When she makes up her mind, then everyone follows. They are good people though, and everyone is happy to follow her instructions.”

“Yeah, I got that. We cleaned up pepper corns today.”

The Tibetan guy laughed a hearty laugh. “That's woman’s work!”

“I don’t mind, it was kind of fun and interesting. Well, not if I did it everyday, but....”

“You don’t mind, but it kind of upsets the established way of doing things; and to old people, that’s hard to handle.”

“Well, they seem to appreciate my help.”

“They do, don’t worry.”

“Well please tell her that I’m happy with potatoes for dinner.”

“Too late, the old man has gone to get his granddaughter to cook you a big meal.”

“Well, tell them that isn’t necessary.”

“Its o.k., just don’t ask more of them.”

“No problem, I think. I’ve been trying to do that all day, and now look where we are!”

“Its o.k.. Their granddaughter is a good cook. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks for the help.”

“No problem,” he said with an approving smile; and then he returned his attention to his friend’s conversations, and joined in with them.

Tom was alone again, but relieved. He sat in his spot quietly, and observed. He felt calm and relaxed. He was happy to be accepted into the community, however marginally.

While the old woman was absorbed in poking the potatoes in the pot, and the guys were all turned towards each other in talk, Tom used the opportunity to dispose of the rest of his Tibetan Tea.

“Thank God for dirt floors,” he laughed, as he leaned over to his right and poured his cup out surreptitiously into a dark corner.

Relieved to not have to drink the rest of it, Tom complimented himself on his cleverness. Just as he sat back in an upright position however, the old woman said something to the men and they stopped talking. She then nimbly grabbed hot potatoes out of the pot, and rolled them gingerly across the floor to the guys .....one by one. The men picked up potatoes, and tossed them from hand to hand until they were cool enough to eat. Tom was shocked that she didn’t just hand them out, and that they were eaten right off of the dirt floor. Then, she rolled a couple of potatoes to Tom. He tried to imitate everything the men had done, and ate them without worrying about dirt. He did brush them off a little before eating them, but he ate them hungrily nonetheless. His stomach welcomed the food, but rather than satiating his hunger it only increased it. By then, he was beyond worrying about germs.

“After all,” he rationalized, “they don’t really thrive at these high altitudes.”

“WhatEver,” his rational mind said, inside him. “Let go, Thomas, let go....” he told himself silently.

As he finished his potatoes, a young girl came into the room and was loaded down with cooking utensils, and food. Right behind her was Grandpa. She seemed a little perturbed to be there, but happily greeted her grandmother, and began cooking instantly. She was only about 16 or 17 years old, to Toms’ observation; yet she was very bright and resourceful. He wished then that Patrick was with him, he would’ve really enjoyed the tough and resourceful girl....who was beautiful as well. Tom tried to talk to her, but her English was fragmented. She understood some complicated things fairly well, yet missed simple things completely. Tom could see her grandmother in her; and it was evident that she was a proud and strong descendant of the wonderful couple.

Grandpa came up to Tom, and inspected his cup. He smiled to see that Tom had apparently drunk it all; and Tom smiled back with a nod of ‘thank you.’ Then, the old man picked up Tom’s cup and went to the stove and refilled it to the brim. He had put the extra tea into the kettle, and wanted Tom to have some more. All of a sudden, Tom didn’t feel as clever as he did before.

“Now I have a whole cup to drink, and no way of dumping it out discretely,” he mumbled.

The girl glanced sideways from her cooking, and showed that she understood Tom’s predicament.

‘We are all victims of circumstance here, you might as well accept it,’ her face told him in no uncertain terms. Shrugging with acceptance, Tom began drinking the tea - much to the delight of the old man. The rest of the tea, luckily, was distributed to the visitors.

As the girl finished making dinner, the visiting men stood, said their goodbyes, and were gone. Jovial conversation was replaced with complete silence, and it was a nice relief for Tom’s tired senses.

The whole experience felt more like his childhood home.....life in the kitchen.....than anything he had experienced since in life. Tom felt good, as did his hosts and the girl. The girl and Tom talked enough to understand each other, and the situation; so she became relaxed and happy as well. The food smelled very good, and Tom was happy to get his fully loaded plate. Whatever it was, it looked and smelled great. He was confused though, because he was the only one with a plate. The old woman had moved to his side and sat on a small cushion beside Tom; and the man and young girl were on the opposite wall looking encouragingly to see if Tom liked the food.

“Where are your plates of food?” he asked her.

“We aren't eat. You eat. We eat rest.”

Tom felt really awkward. They’d gone to all this trouble for him. He supposed because he’d given the old man so much money; and had gotten along so well with them today. But he couldn’t eat in front of them, and have them wait. He wouldn’t accept this custom, and decided that he could be stubborn too.

“I won’t eat unless we all eat!” he said, as he put his plate back in front of her....untouched.

“At first they seemed shocked, that he might be refusing the food. But then the realization hit them, and they smiled.

Being pragmatic, and not so bound by tradition, the young girl chattered something to her grandparents in a voice that breached no dissent. She loaded up four plates, and redistributing the food equally. As soon as Tom saw that they all got their food, he began to eat his; and he flashed them a big smile of appreciation. The food was wonderful. Tom felt much better with a full stomach. Between that and the Tea, he felt a lot better physically. After they ate, Tom went to his room and retrieved some regular tea bags and a surprise.

He sat at the table outside the kitchen, on the patio with all the wood, with the young girl. He tried to carry on a conversation with her, while the old couple cleaned up the kitchen. When had Tom tried to help clean up, he got yelled at; so he gave in, and left the kitchen - retreating with a pot of hot water. He shared his tea with the young girl. It was a welcome thing, and relaxing. After Tom had talked to her for a while, he got a pretty good picture of the situation in the village. Most of the young people had moved out to seek their fortune in Kathmandu, Lower Pissang, or far off places. They were bored in the village, and yearned for adventure. Most of the people left in the village were the oldest generation, who were close to passing on - and those who cared for them. Tom could barely contain his shock.

“How can people move from this beautiful place to Kathmandu; or to anywhere else, for that matter?” he wondered to himself.

“Here, I want you to have this,” Tom said aloud to the young girl, as he handed her a large necklace heavily laden with old silver, turquoise, red coral, tiger eye, and Yak bone.

It was a heavy, but beautiful, traditional Tibetan necklace Tom had purchased from an old man in one of the remote villages he had visited. It was a very old antique, and probably worth a small fortune back home. But, that was the very reason Tom felt uncomfortable taking it away. It was worth a lot of money at home in the States, but it was worth more as a living part of the Tibetan cultural heritage. Tom wanted the young girl to be inspired by her family’s history; and to carry on in this village, where she could live a happy and full life.

Blushing from the surprise, the girl was speechless. Tom didn’t wait for her, or her grandparents, to misinterpret the gift; and spoke first.

“It’s a traditional necklace, yes? I want you to have it, and to give it to your daughter someday. I bought it to take it home to my sister; but it is better that it stays here. I appreciate your wonderful dinner tonight, and hope you’ll always stay here with your grandparents.”

The girl hadn’t understood everything Tom said, but she understood enough to smile widely in appreciation.

“You’ll be here tomorrow morning, right?” he asked her.

“Yes, I will make a very good breakfast.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Tom. “I’d like to talk to you before I leave; but now, I’ve got to get to bed - I’m exhausted.”

She hadn’t understood the word ‘exhausted,’ so Tom mimed a yawn, and laid his head on his folded hands as if sleeping. She brightened up at that, and nodded that she understood. Her grandparents had gone off to bed, to the little room adjacent to the warm kitchen. Tom could see them lying down to sleep, as they pulled the Yak hide across the opening. Tom got up, put his hands in a prayer position, and nodded ‘goodnight’ to the girl, as he took his leave of her. He had another, bigger, surprise for her tomorrow; but this was enough for one night, and he was exhausted. After climbing up the split log ladder steps to the top level, he walked straight to his little closet of a room, closed the door, and fell into bed.......into an immediate, deep, and restful sleep.

The next morning came early, but Tom felt wonderful. The mountain air, thin as it was, felt clean in his lungs; and the morning sky was an effervescent, brilliant, blue. Again, he was transfixed by the unobstructed view of the mountains, and so he sat at the edge of the roof for nearly an hour before his awareness registered sounds in the kitchen below him. Hurriedly, he wrote a detailed note to the girl. He wanted to fully explain his intentions, and to provide further inspiration for her. He spoke about her wonderful grandparents, and the special world that they had in the village. He wrote about what the loss of that world would mean for her, and her family. He wrote of the young person’s dream to run away into the unknown world; but cautioned her to always plan on returning, if she felt the need to go away for awhile. Then, he wrote about the treasured existence that they had in Upper Pissang; and that she had to preserve it at all costs. Then, he tried to give her a couple of ideas on how to improve on the guesthouse so that wandering trekkers would make their home a favored stop on their tours. Along with all of his opinions, and advices, he left her with a bundle of cash, $300 U.S., about 12,000 Nepali Rupee’s, so she could start her guesthouse business. Tom was pleased with himself, and although it left him low on cash, he felt very comfortable that he had made a good investment in this strong young woman by leaving her with the bulk of his money. He hoped, someday, that his oldest son would meet this young woman. They were very much alike. Both were very strong, very resourceful, and wise for their years.

After repacking his belongings in his backpack, Tom worked his way slowly down the log ladder to the eating area on the kitchen level. After having a three bowls of thick and gummy Tsampa porridge, he waved off the girl with a laugh, and told her that he would explode if he ate anymore. She evidently appreciated his gift from the night before, and wanted to do something nice for him. That, to Tom, was a very good sign that he hadn’t wasted the necklace either. He was reassured that his instincts were right about her, and therefore felt doubly safe in giving her the letter and cash.

“Here, take this letter to someone you trust and who reads very good English. He can explain to you exactly what I mean by making your family this gift.”

She nodded assent, and told him ‘thank you’ in broken English, even before she opened the letter. As she opened the envelope, she saw the wad of cash and her eyes grew wide in surprise. Last night, she had been surprised; today she was stunned.

Wasting no time, Tom stood up and waved goodbye to the elderly grandparents in the kitchen and took his leave. He didn’t want to stay long enough to allow them the opportunity to refuse the gift, or to have to absorb effusive thanks; so he felt that he had to be long gone before they even saw it. It was obvious that they could make good use of the money, however they decided to use it. If nothing else, they could help support their sons who were monks. Tom hoped however that they’d fix up the guesthouse so that it would provide viable long term income for their family. He knew he had to leave enough money to buy wood, furniture, eating utensils, and the inventory to adequately stock the place. In his minds eye, he saw a large cabinet full of plates and mugs; and thick wool rugs on a new wooden floor. He hoped this vision was for real. Time would tell.

Loping up the narrow stone street, with long and tireless strides, Tom soon reached the center of the village, and the large central arrangement of prayer wheels. He turned them all smartly, as he walked past them with deliberate and measured steps. Soon, he was walking through the northern arch of the village. Again, he was astounded as he looked up into the ceiling of the structure and saw the fine detail and brilliant colors of the paintings high above him. As he stepped through the arch, and out of the village, he stepped onto his new path. The path was narrow, nothing more than a goat trail. But, that was something that Tom had become accustomed to traveling; now spurning the wide and worn path of the hikers. The goat trails were more direct, although more challenging; and held no signs or markings. They just dissolved into the stark and rocky mountains, that he now traveled with ease. He no longer feared getting lost, he decided to follow the trails where they led; and then see where life took him next. A winding red line on his map showed that Pissang Base camp was due north of him; eventually, his new path led back to the larger trail. Eventually...









©Tibet

***************

©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




Thank you to HHDL The 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso,
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