Chapter Nine: Stairway to Heaven

   The next day dawned gloriously.  We were on the edge of a tropical rain forest, reachable only by the endless chain of uneven stone steps that have been trod for centuries.  

 As we loaded up our packs and got on the road again, we could hear waterfalls down in the gorge below.  Colored prayer flags fluttered in the trees, and many birds sang in the trees around us.  Many groups of hikers passed us, both going and coming.  Regardless of their native language, all of the trekkers greeted one another with “Namaste!” as we passed by on the stone steps.

   The second day of trekking was to be five times as difficult as the first day, according to our cheerful guide.  I groaned inwardly, trying to imagine where on Earth I would find the strength to ascend five times as many stone steps, in the ever-increasing altitude.  I was blowing my nose constantly, and still coughing up a storm.  At no time did I think about quitting, although Rob had said all along that this trek was about me, and I could call it off and go back to the Eco Village at any point.  I was determined to finish this trek.  I had worked so hard, and I was so angry about getting sick right before leaving India. I wasn’t about to call it quits now. That day was one of the two most difficult days of the trek.  It was entirely uphill.  

We passed through beautiful rhododendron forests, seeing a huge wild monkey swinging through the trees, and beautiful white orchids growing up a tree trunk.  Hari is a birder and a naturalist.  Every now and then he would pause to identify a bird’s call, point out the bird, or point out a tree or plant of interest.  

He knew I was interested in the flora and fauna of Nepal. I was equally grateful for the moments of pause.  Hari also named all of the majestic peaks all around us.

   I called on God, the Holy Family, my deceased parents and brother, and every other deity in the neighborhood (and there were many) to get me up that mountain that day. 

As we came closer and closer to the top, a thunderstorm broke out.  Along with thunder, lightning, and rain came heavy hail, pummeling our hands and feet and anything else that wasn’t covered.  Every time the steps leveled out for a few yards, I could see up ahead that the steps continued to march vertically up the mountain.  We barely passed a porter with a yoke suspending two large baskets either side, weighing probably about 100 pounds. 

 We had passed him throughout the day when he took smoking breaks.  We saw men carrying impossible loads of firewood and grasses for their animals.

Occasionally we would be hiking alongside water buffalo. 

 In another life, I might have been apprehensive about sharing a trail with these horned beasts.  However, one side benefit of total exhaustion and near-hallucination from illness is that things just aren’t as scary as usual.  As I passed this benign creature, all I could think of was “whatever.” Human, buffalo, it’s all good. We’re all God’s creatures on this Earth – monkeys, eagles, cows, goats, buffaloes – and as Hari said, in Nepal we all live together.  The reverence for life is so complete here that the animals are unafraid of humans. They are their friends.

   Finally, the welcome archway of Ghorepani stood before us, and the highest elevation of the trip thus far at 9429.’  

Our ultimate goal was to climb to Poon Hill before dawn the next morning to see a spectacular sunrise ringed by the Himalayas.  As we came into Ghorepani, Hari commented that we would stay at the highest guest house in the village, since it would give us the best launching point for the Poon Hill climb in the morning.  I dragged my soggy, sorry self up the last hundred feet of the stone trail and once again fell into a chair at the guest house.  

The views were spectacular.

   Again, we had a good room, complete with an attached bathroom with a Western toilet. No hot water or heat, of course, and this time there was snow on the ground.  After yet another dinner of rice, vegetables, tea, and Kir (rice pudding), I went to bed while it was still daylight, swathed in longjohns, wool hat and gloves, and wool socks.

   After the trek Rob told me that there had been an enormous spider on the wall of our bathroom.  He had stayed up all night to go in at regular intervals and monitor its movement. He had scared it into a crevice in the ceiling, from which it didn’t venture, thank God.  I’m grateful that he didn’t tell me about this hairy resident until we came home, because I needed my sleep that night and I surely wouldn’t have gotten any if I knew that Shelob the Spider was in my bathroom waiting for me!