17th April, 2008

ADAM KELSALL

A year ago I came home from Africa feeling like an overstuffed emotional sausage; a vague scratch of my surface and everything would tumble out. Tears and way too many over-analyses later, it was time to travel again. So I left for Nepal as an epiphany-dodging vague-out. If it involved going any deeper than the weather, food, celebrity pop culture trash or the songs on my iPod, I didn’t want to know. Perhaps this is the wrong attitude with which to approach a Third World country. But heck, I thought, if there is going to be some life-changing cataclysm, I wasn’t going to go look for it - it had to find me! Many had told me about the breathtaking experience of seeing the Himalayas from the plane as you fly in. I flew in at night. It was foggy and the cold certainly took my breath away.

If one were to use the meat in the sandwich analogy then population-wise Nepal is a very thin piece of ham wedged between two semi trailer sized chunks of bread. To the north lies China , with a population of 1.3 billion. To the south, India with a population of more than a billion. There’s a lot of humanity in this section of the world. Meanwhile Nepal barely beeps on the population radar at nearly 30 million people.

CHALLENGING TIMES: Adam Kelsall in the Himalayas. PICTURE: Jane Goodson

China and India have dragged themselves zealously up the economic development ladder with their industrious approach to manufacturing and IT respectively. Nepal meanwhile seems content to approach life at a very different pace. Landlocked and challenged by a mountainous terrain, things move slowly.

The everyman’s economy measuring device is what you pay for a can of Coke. Of course, there are local rates and tourist rates. However, to the tourist the local rates remain hidden like a family secret. In the capital Kathmandu a can of Coke will cost you 50 cents; in the mountains at the Everest View Hotel a can of 2006 coke will cost you $5 and the walk to get there takes a little longer.

To increase its value in this manner, the humble can of Coke has to first of all catch a plane from Kathmandu to Lukla, the beginning of the Everest Base Camp trek. This flight could be influenced by factors such as wind, snow, fog, Maoists, politics, even whether the pilot can be bothered to fly! Usually the plane will depart hours, sometimes as much as six days late. Successfully landing involves negotiating a runway tenuously balanced on the side of a mountain with the start of the runway 60 metres lower than the end ensuring the plane stops before smashing into the mountain like an egg into a hammer. Once it arrives at the airport the can of Coke will be mounted on the back of the human porter where it will accompany bottles of kerosene, building materials, farm animals or even sheets of window glass. Most loads tip the scales at about 100 kilos, strapped over the head of the porter who himself would weigh no more 60kg.

Anyway, having arrived, up I go into the Himalayan Mountains. They shift with the restless energy of adolescence as the tectonics plates underneath the skin of the earth grow, morph, shift, change the landscape. Stunningly harsh rock and ice tower above like rows of jagged, broken, unbrushed teeth gnashing aggressively at the sky. Avalanches plunge, crashing downwards, leaving stretch mark scars in the earth.

I enter this harsh terrain with a shortness of breath that is a reminder of how vulnerable my skin and bone are. Vulnerable, the word catches like a hook in a fish’s lips, like the sleaze of an undesirable touch, but I push it away; unwilling to accept its presence, it’s too soon my thoughts say quietly, too soon! This time my thoughts scream at the word, admonishing it like a demon. The wind blows through my body like my skin is wire mesh. The clouds brew and storms hit like a temper in the distance. My brain puzzles at this impossible landscape, gasping at it’s seeming unreality, too much sky, not enough air.

NEPAL: "I know the only way my friends and family can experience the wonder of this place is to come and sit in this spot, hug a rock and smile against the wind and cold". PICTURE: Jane Goodson

Upwards I walk, slowly towards Kala Pata, about 5,500 metres above sea level. I arrive at Gorak Shep - 5,200 metres.  Strangely, after a feed of tuna pasta, my head stabilises. It is decision time. This is the fork in the road. I can go to Kala Pata at 5,500 metres - an incredible view point for seeing the Himalayas. Or to Everest Base Camp, where you can’t even see Mt Everest but you encounter the footprints of so many legends of the mountains. Despite all my resistance, I am suddenly emotional. Maybe it's the altitude, maybe the effort required to reach this point, maybe the thought of another two hours up hill, and 500 metres altitude extra.

An Aussie bloke says some offhand comment about a tough two weeks and I am biting my lip, holding back tears, internally sooking like a baby...for no rational reason. When emotions come it's time to move. I dump my 15kg pack in favour of a day pack with water and camera. The climb is excruciating, after already walking to Annapurna base camp and the here, I am probably as cardio fit as I will ever be. Frothing with anticipation. Not to be. The last 100m was steep and shaley. The wind blasted small sharp rocks into me. Hurting any exposed skin. I was on all fours to brace against it's force. Finally I reached Kala Pata. The worst headache I have ever experienced. I visualised brain cells at breaking point. I expected to hear them cracking and crunching like coco pops.

Still, I reassured my self, all I have to do is walk down, lose some altitude and my head will be better. The view was astounding, the mountains crowded the sky, jostling with the clouds for room. Pumori, Everest, Loptse, Nuptse - all seemingly within hand’s reach. I sat for 10 minutes, fiercely hugging a rock for fear of being blown away. I was too cold to take my gloves off and get my camera out and in my mind I knew that photos couldn’t do this place justice. It's like trying to get a very big chunk of place into a obscenely small rectangle of paper. I know the only way my friends and family can experience the wonder of this place is to come and sit in this spot, hug a rock and smile against the wind and cold.

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