Nepal

April 14, 1978. Kathmandu. Letter to folks.

Hello folks. Both your letters were waiting for us when we return from a 31 day trek to Annapurna and points north. Happy anniversary! I raise a glass of yak tea and wish you many more. The home front news sounds good, although I would feel a lot better if you got out once in a while while and did things – why not take a trip somewhere, see a bit of the world?

You asked what our long range plans are. Every time we’ve tried to predict where we'll be more than a month in the future, we’ve been wrong, so treat the following itinerary with suspicion: leave for final Nepal trek to LangTang Valley tomorrow (about three weeks of walking.); quit Nepal for Benares– Agra – Delhi – Srinagar; a month in Ladakh (“Little Tibet“, southeast of Kashmir); a month in a north Indian ashram; northern Pakistan,  Afghanistan, then back to India around November. Christmas in Goa; Jan – Feb in South India and Ceylon; then probably back to France for an extended pit stop in Aubenas before returning to California in late 1979(?) I have some work opportunities in France, as well as a vague notion to start up a café in Aubenas.

We’ve been doing some wheeling and dealing in gemstones and Persian carpets, and so far haven’t much to show for it, but I predict success in the future. We both been reading a lot, I’m studying computer programming and chess to keep the cerebrum satisfied, we watch birds and stars, take pictures, cook a lot, do situps and push-ups.  I’ve got a mustache that needs shoe polish to be visible. We spend a lot of time thinking and talking, meeting new people, discussing old friends. We are extremely comfortable, eating, and sleeping well, in excellent health, wondering what the catch is. This trip is the best thing we’ve ever done, and we know it. There’s plenty of time to get caught up in the real world again, and we are in no hurry to return to a more normal way of life.

On your visit to the People’s Republic of China: don’t eat any of the food  (you just can’t trust the cleanliness standards in foreign countries), drink only bottled Cokes, and keep your backs to the wall. Remember, they are Commies, and they outnumbered us five to one.

Love from Sam and Nicole

PS S meeting you in Tokyo/Hong Kong in September/October is regrettably out of  the question (We will be in Afghanistan), but Christmas has possibilities, although it sure is a long way from India to Guadalupe.

15 April, 1978. Kathmandu Guesthouse.  Back in town once more after 31 days to Annapurna and up the Kali Gandaki to Muktinath. The unusually heavy snowfall and unsettled weather kept us out of the sanctuary - kept us in fact to below 12,000 feet - but what a fine adventure in walking, talking, eating, relaxing. Jacques and Catherine had a ball, despite sore knees for the latter, and regretted they couldn't go further. We went first up Seti Kola from Pokhara, in a vain attempt at reaching Machapuchare base camp. Spectacular lightning storm with hail the size of marbles. Lovely Ghandung and Chomrong, with their many terraces and views of Annapurna South, Hiunchuli, and Machapuchare Sanctuary, full of snow, no easy way to go beyond the Hinko Cave, so we just hung around the last villages, eating tsampa porridge with fresh milk, cornbread, and pancakes with honey, grilled buffalo and potatoes, and of course, the odd packet of Nabisco wafers and the occasional plate of dal bhat. Our fine porter carried most of our food, while our useless Sherpa turned out to be an expensive and unproductive addition – we dispensed with his services after five days or so. The porter cost us $1.50 a day, and he provided his own food. Typical meal cost about $.30, the nights were usually free. When we said goodbye to Jacques and Catherine, two hours before Ghorepani, with the finest Himalayan view of the entire trip), Jacques was still at his desk at HP, while Catherine had blossomed and relaxed, smiling and gay, enjoying nude river dips, and an occasional joint – an altogether delightful transformation.

Then on, "alone", in fact, never out of sight of tourists, on this, the Nepal Milk Run, with for example, at least a hundred tourists in the several hotels at Tatopani, and even a brave dozen or so at Muktinath, the end of the trail for all, but the foolhardy. Dramatic scene beyond Tatopani, with Dhaulagiri leaning over on the left,  Annapurna on the right, Nicole and Sam winding up the 8000 foot deep canyon with its layers of pebbles, endless zdo and mule caravans, hauling goods between Pokhara and Mustang, everything dry and brown, the air clear, very few plants are animals, the villages, crumbling, and partially abandoned, with it orange cube Gompas and bristle of white flags.

Back home, we met up with Francis the day after  we returned - lovely, fine face, insolent black curly hair, short and stout, a talking mime with eyebrows raised and mouth oh-ed when surprised, little girls screeches when pleased, hands busy forming images to assist her speech. She and Nicole have an intimacy and understanding of each other which has permitted a blending of their separate personalities, each borrowing from the other, so that they actually look and act like sisters (and have been mistaken for such).  Francis will be with us at least 10 weeks - I predict a rich period for all of us.

We leave tomorrow morning by bus for Trisuli  (if the ladies get over their stomach upsets), the start of a 2–3 week trek to Langtang Valley, and, hopefully, lake Gosaikunda. Then by plane to Patna and by train to Benares – Agra – Delhi and onto Kashmir and Ladakh. We will be seeing a nice piece of the world, but not a comfortable one – I hope it doesn’t wear us down too much.

April 24, 1978.  Langtang Village. Sitting  (Nicole sleeping) in a moderately grungy “hotel“ as the clouds slip by and the rain comes - better to stay the afternoon then attempt the next three hours, 1000 feet up to the last hotel at Kyanjin Gompa.

April 29, 1978. River Lodge. Never finished the last entry, but now it’s four in the afternoon of a lovely day, the tent is up on a grassy slope beside the river, the orders for fried rice and potatoes have been placed; the perfect time for duties. Across the river of band of white faced Langur monkeys pick fruits off the trees, while Plumeous redstarts, White-Capped River Chats and Dippers command rocks in the waters. Our tent faces a growth of rhododendron trees in full bloom, pink and white blossoms amidst shiny green leaves. At the far north end of the valley, the first snow peaks of the Upper Langtang Valley are covered by the usual afternoon gauze of clouds and fog. 

The Tibetan lady who runs the River Lodge had twins three nights ago (The night after we slept at the lodge on the way up), and is grinning so widely we fear she may hurt her jaw. We gave her and her husband our plastic water can as a present, and because they are such a sweet couple.

Let’s see: We’ve been on this trek about 12 days now, with another four to go (if we can get to Lake Gosaikunda), and it has been pure joy all the way. Though we’ve had some rain almost every day, and a rough snowstorm at Langtang Village five days ago, we haven’t really been inconvenienced at all, and in fact, enjoyed splendid weather when it counted, at the upper end of the valley. The walk from Trisuli to the last yak shepherd's hut, which we did in about a week, is almost uniformly a pleasant uphill gradient, with none of the ups and downs that kill the spirit (and the knees) on the other trek.

Lovely forest to shade us at the lower elevations, Tibetan/Tamang villages on high ridges, surrounded by ripening green fields of wheat and barley, generally good hotels (though not nearly the culinary treat of Jomsom), nice camp spots (we've slept out all but two nights), fewer tourists, and as the lower valley changes to the upper wide valley with its meandering bouldering with river, steep snow walls, and constant snow avalanches, certainly the best mountain scenery we had encountered in Nepal. I took a lot of photos of villages, snow peaks, flowers, and people (!), almost a whole roll, a veritable blizzard of shutter clicking. Seen quite a few birds, but identified only about a third of those: screw the leaf warbler, and other look-alikes, and screw the difficulties of observing birds in the forest. Up high, we nailed the spectacular ibisbill, plus great coveys of yellow-billed choughs and snow pigeons. This afternoon a bearded vulture with about an enormous wingspan checked me out close enough so that I could hear the air through its wings as it circled. Met some nice folks on the track as well: Ian, a Canadian walking enthusiast who may try a horse ride across Afghanistan with us; an English couple who had driven from London, and are the sweetest people imaginable; George and another mad ex-PCV, who are finishing up three months in Langtang, and now hope to spend another three in Jomson; Chipper, a California masseuse, all happy and rotund, with her newly-purchased Tibetan puppy, Kukor. We all hope to have a bash at George’s place Kathmandu on the eighth - it will be fun to raise a western hell hell again.

We walked a few hours further up the valley from the last hotel and camped in a yak’s herder's hut at about 13,000 feet, on a floor of straw before a roaring fire. The next morning I walked to the crest of the glacial moraine one hour further up and checked out the 23,000 foot peaks on both sides of the valley, got up close to a recent avalanche, photographed a few yaks, had a good morning. 

Storm!

Flashes every few seconds, from five or six different sources, some outlining the ridge of a slope, some lighting up the valley a bit, some from behind the tin-roofed shack, flashin  the porch and fence into brilliance, or best yet a general ball of haze, brightens and explodes directly in front of you, no way to know how far away, and shimmers and expand sa few rapid times before dying out all in a half second, leaving the porch and picket fence in negative floating after-images. Very little thunder, only saw lightning once in 20 minutes. Steady, slow building of rain on the roof, now this very second hitting it with such fury, I can barely think to write these words - coming in waves now, rolling off the roof, steady roaring of rain and water, no distant hills or valleys being illuminated, but just a uniform, gray curtain being irregular and rapidly lectured to blending uniform brightness. Sound of rain so loud Nicole has plugged her ears.