Tibet | Everest and the Real Girl

October 5, 2012
Friday

The Journey is the Destination

The Changing Path

It came up so fast – tomorrow I board a Thai Airways flight to Bangkok, then on to Kathmandu to begin the adventure! Thing is, it’s not the adventure I’ve been sharing with you for the last several months. At all. I stopped sharing because, quite frankly, I had no idea what to say. I’m still coming to terms with my feelings about how this trip has evolved, and I swing from hating every second and wanting to cancel it to knowing that once I get there, it will be overwhelmingly, jaw-dropping amazing and I will forget that it’s not the trip I planned.

Expectations are dangerous. And painful. They truly are the cause of our suffering. I expected to go to Everest. I expected to see Nepal, Bhutan, and maybe even Tibet with a friend. I expected to be perfectly healthy and in great shape by now.

Expectations suck. They can be shattered.

Here are the highlights, the pieces I can put together and make some sort of sense of at this point.

The Trek

I wanted to go to Everest Base Camp. I’ve always wanted to go. Wade Davis, my first inspiration to become an ethnographer, recently wrote a book about Everest. Talking with him about his experiences at a lecture at the Bowers Museum back in March just sparked the fire. I was going to do it!

I psyched myself up for it, told all my friends and family, and even blogged about it. I trained hard – but wait. Something was wrong. I was getting short of breath, light-headed, and even passing out on training hikes that were a bit challenging, but should have been easy for me. They weren’t easy. I thought my asthma was acting up again. So I went to my primary care doctor, who sent me on to a cardiologist.

The good news is, I don’t have asthma! The bad? Asthma was a misdiagnosis from way back when. What I do have is two different congenital heart defects. They’re minor, but for some reason that we still don’t understand I also have mild pulmonary hypertension which is causing my symptoms and is likely related. My western doctors have been great at doing tests, and more tests, and more tests, and fine-tuning the diagnosis. We are still in that process, and I still need more tests when I get home. However, they have done NOTHING to address the shortness of breath and dizziness while exercising. Zero.

I did find a wonderful acupuncturist and specialist in Chinese Medicine, Michael Vercos at Pacific Bay Integrative Health Center in Santa Monica. Between the herbs and the acupuncture, my cardio world has changed. I never realized how it really felt to run – I never knew I shouldn’t be gasping for air, feeling faint, and getting a migraine a few hours later like clockwork. With his treatment, I am improving. However, I am still far from normal.

Because of this, I know I will be slower than the rest of the group at high altitude – and maybe even at lower altitude. I thought it was best to be honest with the trekking company, and perhaps hire an extra porter/guide to stay with me if I ended up being too slow, so I didn’t hold up the group. Nobody wants to be That Person, but since I knew there was a chance, I thought I’d be prepared.

Big mistake. Huge. Ethics suck.

Although they were very polite about it, the trekking agency made it clear that they really didn’t want me on the Everest Base Camp trek. They gave me the choice, but the tone was clear – if I chose to go, they would consider me a liability from Second One. I felt like I wasn’t wanted. I was devastated. I don’t feel like it would have been fun to go where I’m not wanted, and where everyone immediately considers me a pain in the ass. Hiring an extra porter wasn’t an option they really wanted to offer. Instead, they offered to switch me to another trek – Annapurna Sanctuary – which is lower altitude, and well within an altitude I have successfully tackled before. I switched. I want to hike with people who want me hiking with them. So. Annapurna Sanctuary, it is.

Another issue with the switch is that it’s a shorter trek. This has pros and cons. The main pro is that China is not issuing Tibet Permits in October. The shorter trek leaves me a potential window if they begin issuing them again in November, so it’s possible I can still make that work. We’ll see. The cons are numerous, from the disappointment to having to pay for an extra week’s lodging in Kathmandu at the end, which was still cheaper than changing my flight date. In the end, what should have been the less expensive trek ended up costing me more. I’m hoping to make good use of that time though, trying to get a Tibet Permit, or perhaps traveling to the south, or even just to Bhaktapur or some such place. I’ll make the best of it. But dealing with logistical changes and even a slightly different gear list has left me scrambling and stressed out rather than truly excited.

The Solo Travel

Then there was another change in plans. Although she didn’t plan to trek with me, a friend was supposed to join me for the first part of my trip. We were going to travel to Nepal together, then on to either Tibet or Bhutan, then I would return for the trek. A few weeks ago, she learned she was unable to go and she had to cancel. So here I am, traveling solo yet again. Now, for the record, I’m used to traveling alone. I enjoy it to an extent, and there are definite benefits. But this time, I was looking forward to company for at least part of the trip. I was still able to go to Bhutan, but as most of you reading this are probably aware, single supplements are the solo traveler’s punishment. For what, I’m not sure. For being too much of a loser to have a travel partner? Whatever. What it means is that Bhutan cost me twice as much as it would have in a group of two. Not a surprise, just yet another disappointment.

I was excited again when it seemed I might be able to connect with another friend who is traveling solo in Asia right now, but it turned out she’s arriving in Kathmandu the day after I leave for Bhutan, and she’ll be moving on before I return. I won’t see her either.

So. Solo it is. Story of my life.

At this point, with the flight tomorrow morning, I’m trying to get back in the game and remind myself that this is the beauty of travel. It always changes. The path you take is never the path you expected to take, and those detours are what make the memories. Like taking the Lares Trail when the Inca Trail permits were sold out, and meeting only locals along the way – no other trekking groups for days! Instead, we met farmers and herders who shared their lives, stories, and homes with us. Or driving from Victoria Falls back to Bulawayo in Zimbabwe, and running into a random guesthouse on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, where we ate the best french fries in the world as a local reggae band started an impromptu party that mesmerized us into dancing for hours. Or taking a standard wine tasting tour in Stellenbosch, South Africa that unexpectedly ended with Mark Bilton of Bilton Wines inviting all of us back to his home for a tasting in his private cellar. Fabulous wines, by the way! Get your hands on them if you can!

It’s the moments you DON’T plan that are the best moments. The real moments. Life.

I’m off to live mine. xoxo

June 18, 2012
Monday

First of all, you’re missing a whole bunch of days here – what’s going on?? It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve had to choose between actually doing stuff and writing about it for the last two weeks, so I decided to do. Don’t worry, I plan to catch up and fill in the gaps. Some really, really important stuff has happened – so here’s the “trailer” version. The asthma my doctor was pretty sure I didn’t really have? Now we’re pretty sure I have it after all. This has made training…interesting. New Barney purple hiking boots? Awesome. And I bought a boob wallet. Tibet? China closed the border and terrible human rights violations are happening there. This makes my travel planning seem so terribly petty in the grand scheme of world events. It’s a reminder of how very lucky I am to have the life that I do, and of how humbling travel can be.

Now, moving forward…

The Culture and Some Gear

On my way back to the hotel from lunch today, I did some shopping along the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder. I stopped in at the GoLite store and looked at a backpack that was on sale, but nothing really struck me as worthy of going home with me today. In fact, I’m doing quite well in the gear department and there’s not much left that I truly need. This is the point where I have to start being careful not to buy too much, knowing that once I start packing and weighing my bags I’ll end up leaving half of it behind anyway.

I passed a store called Potala Imports, and the rack of skirts out front caught my eye. An ankle length skirt! Now that’s something that I still need. I have several long skirts at home from my travels in Guatemala, but most of them are only calf length. Even though that’s probably fine – especially since I’ll likely be wearing long underwear beneath it – I think I’ll still be more comfortable going into monasteries and other sacred sites with my ankles fully covered. This type of cultural sensitivity can be tough for us Western women, but I find that erring on the conservative side is preferable to offending anyone in any way. It’s inevitable that when entering a culture with norms that are very different from your own, you will probably offend someone somewhere along the way. Still, it’s best to at least avoid the land mines that you’re warned about in advance, especially when it’s not that hard to do. Now, eating with only my right hand? That one could be a challenge. So I’m at least going to make sure my ankles stay covered.

I walk into the shop and I am mesmerized. I love little shops like this – full of incense, brightly colored fabrics, and tiny statues of Buddha and Ganesh. A mixture of Buddhism and Hinduism fills the air, and the palm reader in the back only adds to the eclectic mix. I marvel at how Eastern spirituality has become such a commodity here in the United States. Sacred beliefs become just more knick-knacks to sell on a tourist-filled street. I marvel at myself for buying into it all too. But I keep shopping.

I find a couple of skirts to try on, but most of them are made in the United States and they are very expensive. I find that odd, given the name of the shop. Imports? From Illinois? I know that if I wait until I get to Kathmandu, I’ll be able to buy a skirt for a fraction of the price and maybe, if I’m lucky and careful, I can find one made locally. Still, I find myself trying them on. One is too stiff and the fabric is a bit scratchy. I like the way it looks, but I remind myself that comfort will be key out there. Nobody will really care how it looks, but I will be wearing the same skirt for five weeks and I will certainly care how it feels. The second one is perfect. I love it. It’s soft, comfy, and will easily fit over a couple of layers if need be. It’s also a bit lighter, and I’ve learned that matters, a lot. It’s made in India and is “ethically produced,” whatever that means. It is also $60. I feel like a touristy fool, but I decide to fork over the cash.

On the way out, I pick up a small Ganesh pendant. Ganesh is the remover of obstacles, and I can certainly use all the help I can get. I look for the perfect tiny Buddha or Ganesh statue to carry with me on my travels, but the offerings here are all too a little too big and too heavy. “Light” is a recurring theme in my travel world. I stick with the pendant and the skirt.

As I wander back to the hotel, I pass another shop on the route that I take to my field site, Tibet Gallery. It’s always closed when I pass, both early in the morning and again late at night when my day is finally done. Today, it’s mid-day and it is open. I wonder if they have tiny Buddhas, so I go in.

This decision changes my whole day.

At first, it looks like just another knick-knack shop catering to people like me who like to spend money on incense and items that make us feel more spiritual while we go about our daily lives selling out to The Man. I could not have been more wrong.

Yes, I found my tiny statues. But I found much more. I overhear the owner, Tenzin Passang, talking with another customer about the Tibetan community. When it’s my turn at the counter, I mention that I’ve been planning a trip to Tibet, but that due to China closing the border it’s probably not going to happen. I ask him if he has family there. He does. For the next 15 minutes, I learn about the people who have chosen to self-immolate in protest. For the first time, I hear their names, ages, and about their families. I learn that they choose self-immolation in order to avoid harming anyone else and that they pray for all sentient beings, as the freedom of Tibet is tied to the freedom of all. This is not just a spiritual belief, it is concrete and real – we talk about how the economy of China impacts the rest of the world, including us, here in the United States. He reminds me that buying products made in China supports the human rights violations of the Chinese elite, as they are not using the profits to uplift their own people but to oppress them.

I remember the movie Mardi Gras: Made in China. I’ve seen it many times, and I used it as a teaching tool in my Social Problems class. Every time I see those girls toiling away in dangerous conditions for the sole purpose of making plastic beads that American women flash body parts to get, I swear off buying Chinese goods. But it strikes me that it’s so easy to forget the message when I’m stressed out, hurrying through a store, trying to find a new microwave or set of coffee mugs or a pair of socks. Today, I’ll think of the people of Tibet and I’ll remember to look for items made in democratic countries with a better human rights record than China. But will I remember to do that tomorrow? I like to think that I will. I will try.

Other customers are in the shop, so I arrange to meet Tenzin another time for more conversation over tea. I am looking forward to hearing more about the beauty of the people and culture of Tibet, and about how we can help. This visit made my day, and I return to the hotel grounded and grateful and more awake and aware than I was when I left.

Namaste.

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