I just arrived back in Rishikesh after a two week trekking sojourn to the pilgrimage sites of Kedarnath, Hemkund Sahib (and the Valley of Flowers), and Badrinath.
I spent the day praying... not in the enlightenment sort of way, but rather for my safety! I'm not usually sqeamish about bus rides, but have to say the roads in the Uttarkhand mountains are the most dangerous I have been on... more so than the 40 hour ride from Manali to Leh, Ladakh. The Uttarkhand roads lay or try to lay upon very steep mountainsides.
In the last two weeks I spent three or four 10-12 hour days on these roads. One day I was amused as we passed a sign that said "Warning: Landslide Area!"... this was after about 8 hours of traveling upon roads covered with landslides. I think that was the same day that I saw a sign saying the area was being monitored and measured for landslide activity. I felt better knowing that my death would be counted should we get swiped out by a landslide.
Over the last weeks, a line in Aaron K's book Between a Rock and Hard Place kept coming to my mind: Geologic time does not stop. He means that the Earth keeps plodding away in Her changes. Boulders fall. Earthquakes, floods, and ice ages happen. No matter where we and our little selves happen to be. We tend to live in denial of that. Memphis is on a major fault line which either Lewis or Clark happened to be around during the last major earthquake in that region. The alluvial soil rose up in waves! I pondered that alot as I rode along roads that could slide away, or be covered in boulders as big as cars in the flash of a heartbeat. Really all we have is our faith and prayer and intention. Doesn't do much good to worry about such things.
Today I was fortunate enough to get the "death seat"... my assigned seat was in the cab of the bus... next to the front window on a bench that is perpendicular to the direction of travel. If I were to look straight ahead, I would be staring at the driver. I looked over my left shoulder to focus on the horizon so as not to get motion sickness. There were six others besides myself and the bus driver in the "cab" of the bus. Three of us sat on the bench seat, backs to the side window. Three others crammed onto a platform extending from the console. One fellow sat in lotus position for several hours!
I faithfully kept my eyes on the horizon, occasionally glancing over the sheer dropoffs, while the man next to me vomited. He was joined by a woman in the cab in vomiting fever at one point. I was happily upwind!
The driver seemed to be going too fast. These are not normal roads... it takes 10-12 hours to go 250 km or so. Often the roads are barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. On one side, there may be rock outcrops that threaten to decapitate vehicles, and sheer dropoffs on the other side. Unlike the road to Ladakh, much of the road here was paved, where it wasn't washed out or covered by landslides. I think the paving made it worse because it allows vehicles to go faster.
When I got my ticket yesterday, I thought the front seat would be good. On my way to Kedarnath, I was in the back seat which serves as a catapult to pummel ones behind. The front seat wasn't much better. I spent a good deal of my time trying to perfect my posture so as not to increase the growing pain in my back. And then, in the front seat, I got to see all the action! The near misses with other vehicles. At one point the driver nearly ran right into a lorry (the mainstay of Indian road transport, lorries are rather like large dumptrucks, bright ornamented and painted). We skidded to a halt about 5 feet in front of the oncoming truck.
I wasn't sure whether to wish the driver was on or off drugs! I rather wished I was on some! I kept to my prayers... to live healthily into my 90s... to arrive intact to Rishikesh. I tried to send the driver psychic images of love and peace and no hurry. Meanwhile the Border Road Organizations signs tried to do their part: Better Late than Never; Hurry, Burry, Spoils the Curry; Be Gentle on my Curves; etc... The BRO signs are amusing parts of the border/mountain roads with quaint antedotes, often misspelled. One sign said "Mobile Phone Off; Sent Bell On!" I suppose they meant seat belt!
It didn't matter much because either our driver didn't read English, or didn't care. We careened around the corners and I could only pray that he knew the road well (he seemed to know the maximum speed to take the curves for sure!) and that because this is India and things work differently here... we would encounter oncoming vehicles at just the right spaces... where we could pass each other. I realized at one point that at least if we all died, since we had been to the Holy Badrinath Temple, all our sins and karma would be clear! The Hindu idea is that then you are spared another incarnation. I'm not sure if I want to be spared another incarnation, but maybe spared another bus ride like this!
Last week on one bus, we passed a truck with about 5 inches of clearance. In many ways, I think these mountain drivers are the best in the world. They know their vehicles to the inch. All the trucks and buses have conductors who play an active role in monitoring the vehicles edge. They work long hours. We left at 6:30 am this morning and it would likely be 8pm before the bus finished it's route. I couldn't imagine being the driver. There wasn't more than 100 yards of road today that was straight... and even then it was likely in a village where any number of people, cows, bikes, etc... might be on the road.
But it is different here. Passing is not an ego based thing. We pass them. They pass us on the next curve. Passing is part of life. There is no such thing as defensive driving here either. You just go along as fast as you can. But there is an awareness that pedestrians, bikes, cows, etc will be on the road. In contrast, in the US there seems to be ego and upset about passing, and in many places anything that is not a motor vehicle is considered a dire obstacle to the progress of the supreme automobile. In India, lanes do not really exist. You keep to the left. The bigger vehicle usually demands the right of way, but will sometimes back down. It's kind of like a game of chicken with a tiny bit of courtesy and common sense.
Towards the end of the day, we skidded to a halt with my seat seeming to hang over the edge of the cliff. It didn't seem to phase the driver much. By that point, it barely phased me. I knew my journey was nearly over and I was hopeful that since we had made it that far, we would reach our destinations.
I was grateful to get off the bus. Next time I think I will be happy with a seat in the back where I can't see all the action. The leg room was just as bad in the front... Asian buses are not built for larger people and often my knees are crammed against the seat in front. Today, they were crammed against the console.
I think I reached a few moments of lightheartedness in my prayers today, but overall I was tired. As I tried to remember how to walk from where the bus dropped me off, I ran into a manager from the guest house where I'd stayed before. He escorted me to the guesthouse... the staff and owner were happy to see me... it was like coming home to family.
Now it's time for bed!
Saturday, October 06, 2007
The Trouble with Rubbish
The trouble with rubbish in India is what to do with it. For any environmentally conscious traveler, India proves aggravating. It can be humorous at times. In a Varanasi internet cafe, a tourist holding a piece of garbage looked around diligently for a rubbish bin, and finally asked the shopkeeper. He took the piece of garbage and threw it out the door into the alleyway. For Indians, the place for garbage is down. Get rid of it as soon as you are finished with it. In the city of Varanasi, it's funny because the garbage seemingly disappears. A wallah (worker) comes along with a hand cart and carts the rubbish away from the back alleys. I'm not sure where he takes it out of the back alleyways. Perhaps it gets tossed in the Holy Ganga. Perhaps it gets taken to some of the piles of rotting rubbish I saw on one of the main streets. I even saw what seemed to be a landfill of sorts along the river. Along the bigger streets there, the practice seemed to be to put rubbish in the road, let the cows pick through it, and light it afire. Most everyplace in India seems plagued with toxic fumes from rubbish fires. Plastics even get thrown into cooking fires! Yum!
Two years ago in Rishikesh, some travelers told how their guest house had signs proclaiming "Throw your rubbish in the bins." One evening they saw the housekeeper from the guest house emptying the rubbish bins into the river.
In Varanasi, one young man suggested going to Bangalore, where not only do they have rubbish bins, but they know how to use them!
In several places like Sikkim, Ladakh, and Badrinath, I've seen signs saying "ban plastic bags". A brilliant idea, except that even if the plastic shopping bags are not used, there is no end to the plastic packets of candy, tobacco, soaps, etc... that manufactured items are sold in. Enterprising capitalists have realized that they can package most any consumable in a small dose and pedal it for a few ruppees to millions of Indians. Laundry detergent, candies, chewing tobacco, shampoo... you name it... can be purchased in a single use/dose sachet. And the wrapper ends up on the ground.
It's ashame. On the other side there is some marvelous recycling and compostable wrappers being used. Independent food vendors make and sell such things as popcorn, butter cookies, snacks, etc and fold up little bags out of newspaper. It's so ingenious! And the paper at least will rot somewhat quickly on the ground. Sometimes unkilned clay vessels are used for tea, yogurt, etc. And the used vessel can just be thrown on the ground. Many times shopkeepers will wrap your purchase in newspaper. It's quite brilliant. Unfortunately, it's slowly disappearing with the marketing of plastic cups, containers, bags, etc.
Last week I was hiking near Badrinath and ran into some locals and sat with them as we enjoyed our packets of manufactured biscuits (sweet cookies/crackers). They threw their wrapper on the ground. I put mine in my pocket to take it to my guesthouse, where conspicuously there was no rubbish pail in my room. I laughed at my predicament. I realized that my small pile of rubbish in my room would likely end up in the river. Was it better to leave the biscuit wrapper on the mountain trail? I considered, that I could take it back to Rishikesh with me. Where it would just end up further downstream in the same river. I fantasized about taking it to Delhi, where maybe there was some sort of proper landfill... as if that is much better. Or even carting it back to the U.S. on a fossil fuel spewing jet, to be laid to rest in an potentially even more proper landfill. I left my rubbish in the guesthouse in Badrinath. And realized the best policy would be not to buy anything wrapped in rubbish.
Two years ago in Rishikesh, some travelers told how their guest house had signs proclaiming "Throw your rubbish in the bins." One evening they saw the housekeeper from the guest house emptying the rubbish bins into the river.
In Varanasi, one young man suggested going to Bangalore, where not only do they have rubbish bins, but they know how to use them!
In several places like Sikkim, Ladakh, and Badrinath, I've seen signs saying "ban plastic bags". A brilliant idea, except that even if the plastic shopping bags are not used, there is no end to the plastic packets of candy, tobacco, soaps, etc... that manufactured items are sold in. Enterprising capitalists have realized that they can package most any consumable in a small dose and pedal it for a few ruppees to millions of Indians. Laundry detergent, candies, chewing tobacco, shampoo... you name it... can be purchased in a single use/dose sachet. And the wrapper ends up on the ground.
It's ashame. On the other side there is some marvelous recycling and compostable wrappers being used. Independent food vendors make and sell such things as popcorn, butter cookies, snacks, etc and fold up little bags out of newspaper. It's so ingenious! And the paper at least will rot somewhat quickly on the ground. Sometimes unkilned clay vessels are used for tea, yogurt, etc. And the used vessel can just be thrown on the ground. Many times shopkeepers will wrap your purchase in newspaper. It's quite brilliant. Unfortunately, it's slowly disappearing with the marketing of plastic cups, containers, bags, etc.
Last week I was hiking near Badrinath and ran into some locals and sat with them as we enjoyed our packets of manufactured biscuits (sweet cookies/crackers). They threw their wrapper on the ground. I put mine in my pocket to take it to my guesthouse, where conspicuously there was no rubbish pail in my room. I laughed at my predicament. I realized that my small pile of rubbish in my room would likely end up in the river. Was it better to leave the biscuit wrapper on the mountain trail? I considered, that I could take it back to Rishikesh with me. Where it would just end up further downstream in the same river. I fantasized about taking it to Delhi, where maybe there was some sort of proper landfill... as if that is much better. Or even carting it back to the U.S. on a fossil fuel spewing jet, to be laid to rest in an potentially even more proper landfill. I left my rubbish in the guesthouse in Badrinath. And realized the best policy would be not to buy anything wrapped in rubbish.
Uttarkhand Pilgrimage Treks: Kedarnath
23 Sep, 2007. No seat on the local bus I caught from Rishikesh. Standing, holding on to the ceiling rails as the bus swerved around the mountain curves... landslides, traffic... my muscles and stamina were being tested. It was hot, dusty, and cramped. I nearly bailed out and returned to Rishikesh where I'd been staying about a week... primarily exhausted from my 24 hour journey from Varanasi. My Reiki colleaugue put met to work seeing clients and I never got a day of rest. But, I persevered on the bus and after an hour and a half I got a seat... the very back seat. Not very comfortable because every bump in the road, and there were many, slapped my butt and sent me flying. Back seats are always the bumpiest! Later I was glad I stuck it out. The mountains soothed my soul... but initially, I wondered if I hadn't been better off staying in Rishikesh.
The bus stopped about 6 pm in a small town in the mountains. I didn't know where I was. I thought we were just taking a dinner break as I didn't expect to reach my destination until 8pm. Finally the conductor managed to convey to me that the bus was going no farther! And I would have to catch another bus in the morning. I tried several places to get a room, but all were booked. As I looked for a room, I learned that I was in RudraPrayag, which was my destination... we had arrived two hours early because the roads were "good"! You could have fooled me! Bumpy, full of traffic, and blocked by landslides, the roads didn't seem good to me! I would later find out on other bus trips in the near mountains, that we were lucky. Sometimes landslides caused delays of several hours or more!
Surprisingly, in the congested transport hub town, in the guesthouse I finally found a room in, I got a good nights sleep in spite of the noise. I found a 7am bus to Garikund (1982 m/6503 ft), the starting point for the trek to Kedarnath. Arrived four hours later, on schedule. I took a bath in the public hot springs... like small swimming pool in the center of town, fed by natural, hot, sulphur water. Then I started my trek. It felt very good. Amazingly good. I remembered how much I love the mountains, and I realized it had been a long time since I'd been any place near quiet. I'd been in the sweltering, noisy plains of India for several months. It was only a 8 km (5 mile) hike to Rambara (2591 m/8501 ft), half way up the mountain, where I planned to spend the night. I was walking too fast. I didn't want to pass the scenery so fast, plus I wanted to go easy on my body which hadn't hiked for a while, and also go slowly on the elevation gain for acclimitization purposes. So I took off my sandals and went barefoot on the nice smooth stone path. I savoured the scenery.
I practiced the "Christ walk" an old hippie had told me about in California. He said he'd met a guy in the Summer of Love whose "trip" was the "Christ walk"... it meant to walk barefoot, putting the toes down first, before letting the heal come down. Walking this way is easier on your joints, and allows you to sample a footstep before committing to it... useful in case of harsh ground. And the idea was that it gets you in touch with the Earth.. the Goddess... in some spiritualities. So I practised my Christ walk and remembered a chant from Rainbow Gatherings "Mother I feel you under my feet... Mother I feel your heart beat... Heya heya heya, ya haya haya ho, haya haya haya ha-ya ho!"... and no, this doesn't mean stepping on your biological Mother! It's about the Earth Mother! It felt good and got me in touch with the Reiki/earth energies. It slowed me down. It allowed me to enjoy each step and look around. I felt myself flow into a meditative bliss. I beamed and glowed.
"First be natural. Then you will be flowing in the river of the natural. And one day the river will fall into the ocean of the supernatural." -- Osho
Hindu pilgrims walked or rode on ponies, dandi's, or bandi's. Kedarnath is one of four holy temple sites in the region, and is related to the story of Shiva and his transformation into a bull. Various body parts went to different regions. His lingam to Varanasi. His rump in Kedarnath. Etc. Kedarnath is also one of the water sources of the Ganga. Visiting these sites is supposed to remove one's karma/sins and allow one to die in relative peace removed from the cycle of reincarnations.
The route was hard enough. It's 14 km (8.7 miles) and a 1601 m (5252 ft) rise from 1982 m (6503 ft) in GauriKund to 3583 m (11,755 ft) at Kedarnath. Most pilgrims do the trip in one day up, and one day back. Many are not in any kind of condition for such a climb. Yet instead of being sensible and taking an overnight break at Rambara, which would be easier for their legs and lungs (acclimatization), they push themselves very hard. It seemed the same for Babadham, the 105 km barefoot pilgrimage I did in Bihar/Jarkhund in the summer. So here, all ages and shaped pushed upward at a hellish rate to reach heaven! The aged, infirm, and "lazy" hired ponies to ride, or bandi's... a large basket that a porter carried suspended from his head, or dandi's... chairs on rungs carried on the shoulders of four porters.
Most of the pilgrims looked miserable. It appeared like a penance. Being out of shape and walking at such a rate would be miserable. I concluded that riding on a pony, or other conveyance would likely be worse. One poor lady got off a pony and walked bowlegged in pain over to a bench. And as the weather cooled with higher elevations, I thought the riders must be even more miserable. Meanwhile I sang, enjoyed the view, and took my time. I was comfortable in a single layer and barefoot... the exercise generating plenty of body heat. I was in no hurry and enjoying the views. I put my sandals back on when my feet began to get sore. I thought it odd that no one else thought to make the trek a fun and enjoyable journey. But then I wasn't out to focus on my sins!
I was having the time of my life, traipsing along one careful barefoot step at a time. Feeling the energy of the Earth.. the natural church. Soon, as is often the case in India, my solitary pleasures were disrupted by a young man from Haridwar. Shod, he was walking faster. I let myself be drawn into his company. His goal was to be a champion body builder in five years. I dismayed at the thought... he was beautiful as he was, I thought. His English was only slightly better than my Hindi, and I misunderstood that he planned to stay in Rambara where I wished to stay. After meandering a hour past Rambara... I kept thinking we would reach the guesthouse where he planned to stay with his family... I found out that he planned to go all the way to Kedarnath. So I left him and retreated to Rambara where there was a delightful dormitory of clean white sheeted beds next to the river.
I was the only guest and looking forward to some quiet time and reading. I was just settling into bed when someone barged in the room looking for the manager. A family of four was caught in the rain... soaked and cold. The manager and staff were no where to be found... later it turns out they were off watching a cricket match on TV. I told the family what I knew of the rates and suggested they just move into the dorm. They did. I feel asleep to be awakened by the son who wanted to know if I knew how to give injections. No, I groggily replied. I looked over to see the middle aged man sitting up in bed on oxygen. His daughter intently sitting with him. I went to the bathroom and peed, and groggily returned to my bed. Finally, I inquired what was going on? I suggested if it was merely altitude sickness, that a simple retreat down the mountain would cure it. The daughter said that her father was suffering from kidney disease and his lungs were full of congestion. They had apparently anticipated such things and had some vein-injectable medicine for him. But no expertise in needling. I offered Reiki and went and gave the man some Reiki which he said was helping. Then someone walked in with a "doctor".. a young man who smelled of alcohol. He did seem to be knowledgeable about injections and medicine though. Unfortunately, the sick man had "no veins". After an hour and a half of unsuccessfully jabbing the man with a needle, the doctor gave up. I held my headlamp over them the whole time, and the son tried to help find the veins. I nearly grabbed the syringe and tried my intuitive luck, frustrated at the doctor's attempts. I was rather glad though that I didn't try my first injection on this difficult case. He had been imploring me to try before the doctor showed up.
I did some more Reiki on the man after the Doctor left and gave him the large Bethlehem Grid Crystal I was carrying to hold and sleep with... he seemed to be enjoying it. I asked if the family would retreat in the morning. No, they said... they would perservere and take a helicopter from the top! Crazy, I thought! Enough faith to get killed, but no enough to get cured! As I went to sleep, I had the intuitive thought that the man was dying of dehydration. In the morning I suggested water only to be told that that is the worst thing for a kidney patient! Here is someone whose kidneys are clogged and need to be flushed out. Meanwhile he is likely on heavy medications that are clogging and killing the kidneys. And so he is told not to drink water. Instead, drinks a few thimblefuls of tea or coffee... which likely only contribute to the problem. And certainly contribute to dehydration. A death sentence, I thought to myself. Then I prayed that I was wrong and that somehow he would survive in good health! No need for my judgements to affect him in the quantum consciousness of reality. I gave him the crystal after breaking of a few small pieces for offerings in my journeys.
In the morning I chanted by the river, then set off for Kedarnath. After the sun and my walking warmed me up a bit, I slipped off my sandals to savour the trek. I thought I'd waited long enough so the pavement would be dry from the previous night's rain... and I thought I'd gotten past the places where goat herds had soiled the pavement. I rounded a corner of the switchbacked trail to find the stone path speckled in goat droppings. I laughed at my attempt for cleanliness, and pressed on. I thought of my Grandma Emma and her tales of walking barefoot through the barnyard and enjoying it! I embraced my heritage! A bit reluctantly, but I embraced it!
I hummed, chanted, and sang enjoying the scenery. I passed, and was passed by the family with the kidney patient. I hailed "Jai Kedar!" to them with a broad smile each time I passed one of them. That is the chant of this pilgrimage to cheer your sister/brother pilgrims on. The whole family was riding in dandi's.
Soon, my enjoyable solitude was intruded upon by a Nepali man. He kept demanding to help carry my backpack, to which I refused. In part, I didn't want to feel colonial; in part, I was quite happy carrying it and strengthening myself; and in part, I wondered if it wasn't a ploy for money. I was soon missing my solitude and singing to myself. I wondered how I might nicely part from him. Luckily a group of porters carrying a dandi passed and said something to him... it seemed that maybe he had some work to do and he ran off! I rejoiced in my solitude again.
Eventually I reached the bowl of land holding Kedarnath, surrounded by mountains on three sides... like an open flower. I could see some peaks in spite of the clouds. The path was flat now, and ponies and pilgrims trudged into the center. On the outskirts of the small town surrounding the temple, I passed a row of dhabas serving food. Fresh mustard greens caught my eye and I ordered a thali... a plate of rice with dahl (lentils) and sabji (vegetables... in this case cooked mustard greens)... and I enjoyed one of my favorite greens!
Then I proceeded into to town only to be overwhelmed by the chaos of a tourist center surrounding the temple. At 3583 m, no one lives here year round, except maybe a couple of priests. The town is merely for the tourists. Numerous priests hawked the route to sell puja's (rituals). Several tried to latch on to me as I walked through the town. I shed them. But at the temple I grew fearful. Could I just go in? Was it required to have a priest and puja? I sat and meditated on a stone wall. A doctor from the nearby clinic chatted me up. He turned out to be genuine and nice. He said I didn't need a priest... that I could just go in the temple.
The chaotic civilization scattered my mind. Maybe the altitude too. It took me a while to figure out what nearby sites I wanted to visit. Then I got "lost" for a bit from directions in pigeon English. After a failed attempt at the shortcut path to Ghandi Tal, the glacial lake where Gandhi's ashes were spread, I finally got on the right route. Unfortunately, I was quoted a time of two hours, and I wanted to return to Rambara. The day was running short. But I decided to try to make it to Ghandhi Tal.
I clipped along up the rough path, higher above the already high Kedarnath. I practically ran. Rain started falling. I began to get wet and stopped to change from lungi to windpants and rainjacket. I debated turning back. But a group of young Indian men trudged past. So I decided to follow them. A couple of them were good at eeking out the shortcuts between the switchbacks. I was glad I perservered because in a few minutes we reached the lake. It lay about 30 feet below the path in a cloud bank. Moss green shown through from the rocks below the clear water. It was beautiful. I didn't dare photograph it in the thick rain/sleet for fear of my camera getting too wet. I made some prayers and tossed a piece of Bethlehem grid crystal into the beautiful abyss.
I barely finished my prayers and chants when a plastic covered figure came out of the mist. A monk from Bangledesh who had trekked over the glaciers from Gangotri greeted me. I glanced down to the ground and picked up a small stone that "spoke" to me, putting it my pocket. I continued with my "work" to visit a cairn that lay above me on glacial til. Not much to see there, I returned to find the monk waiting for me. I wondered where his guide and/or companions were. I learned he wanted to join me in the descent. I was a bit dismayed as I was happy alone, and was now bent on running down the mountain so I could get on to my other trekking destinations.
We made our way down to Kedarnath, where I visited the Temple and he continued downwards. The temple was anticlimatic. I managed to get through it with out buying a puja (ceremony) from the many priests. I then started jogging down the mountain. I was drenched. I was cold. I didn't fancy the clustered village of Kedarnath. And I was ready to head out to Hemkund the next day. Even in my jogging, I was passed by Nepali porters carrying the dandi's (chairs with passengers). I marveled at their synchronized steps and endurance. They jogged down the road with their loads. They seemed to dodge the raindrops while their passengers grew wet and cold. I marveled at their seeming comfort in simple cotton clothes that seemed to shed rain while I grew colder and wetter under my poly base layer and raincoat.
Just above Rambara I ran into my glacier trekking monk friend. I wasn't sure I wanted to end my solitude. We trod down into Rambara together. The rain kept us wet and cold while the lower elevation took a bit of the edge off the chill. In my mind, I mulled over the idea of staying in Rambara, but decided I wanted to head to Garikund so I could leave for Hemkund the next day. About 100 m past the guesthouse I'd stayed at in Rambara, I felt a twinge of pain in my left knee. Stupidly, I thought it silly to return up hill. Surely I'd cruise on down to Garikund in no time. Aches continued to spread through both legs with each of the 8 km. The monk tried to talk with me but my misery kept me removed. He shared some glucose powder with me, which I mixed with water. I began to realize I hadn't taken the best care of myself. Water and food I knew would go along way to rejuvenating me. I tried to drink more water. I felt a lack of time, in wanting to get to Garikund by dark.
We trudged onwards down the cobbled trail, stepping aside as ponies with cold wet riders clipped past us, sometimes nearly running us down. The monk went into a spontaneous spiel on the wonders of meditation and how if you meditate into pain it will go away. My ego made me feel talked down to... I knew all that from a Reiki perspective and wasn't sure I needed the free advertisement! Nonetheless, I tried to heed the advice... I don't think he realized how much pain I was in. I tried to meditate the pain away. Well, as well as one can when they are trekking down a mountain in cold wet rain. About as hard and fun as trying to do a sitting meditation in a room of mosquitoes! A few minutes later I grumbled to the monk that I was trying and the meditation thing wasn't working! He acknowledged the difficulty that we all face. He acknowledged his own challenges.
We trudged on through the rain and mud. I stepped off to pee a few times to let out all the water I was drinking in hopes of lubricating my knees. At one point, he asked if I wanted to stay with him in the ashram; he'd have to check with the manager of course. I never gave him a direct answer. The truth was I wasn't sure if it would be nurturing. Perhaps it would be better for me to take care of myself. Finally, he asked if I was going to answer his offer. I said I wanted to see how things went. He didn't know where the ashram was. I didn't want to walk any further than I had to.
About an hour after dark we finally reached Garikund. A hotelier asked me if I wanted a room as I went by... how much I asked? 100rs he replied. I was going to check it out, but the monk was upset that I wasn't going on to the ashram. He said it was near. I hobbled along like a spent race horse. The pain was unbearable as it had been for nearly 2 hours. We reached the ashram which was down by the hot spring. The manager did not permit me to stay. He told me to follow a boy, who led me to the hotel next door. The hotel didn't thrill me a bit. The manager led me all the way up the stairs to the fourth floor. I gimped up the stairs. He showed me the room. Grimy green walls and musty odor didn't impress me. He said it was 250rs. I told him I'd seen another for 100rs. He was shocked when I started following him back out. "Don't you want the room?" I said why should I pay 250rs for a room when I can get one for 100rs! He finally relented to 150rs. My legs were aching so much, I took it, top floor and all.
I gimped down to the hot springs 50 m around the corner, and found the "pool" emptied for cleaning. Uggh. I returned to my room for a cold bucket shower. I went for food. I risked ordering palak paneer (spinach cheese curry) from a priceless menu, thinking I'd treat myself to a favorite dish. It wasn't so good. Then I was charged 90rs which seemed outrageous. My feet hurt from rubbing on my sandal straps. My legs ached. I lay in bed. I went to a pharmacist for Tiger Balm. All he had was some chemical heating lotion. Not even anything like Ben Gay. I got some Vitamins C and B. He said I'd be fine after a day of rest. I wasn't so sure.
Miserable. I lay in bed. I yearned for home. "I want to go home!", I moaned to myself. A typical response to sickness in a foreign land. I tried to imagine home Images of the US flashed through my mind... my last domicile in San Francisco, my parents house, my Aunt and Uncle's house. But I couldn't really imagine going back and creating a home, setting up housekeeping, etc. And later sitting in the steaming waters of the public bath, a stone adorned tank similar to a swimming pool, I began to appreciate where I was. In India. In a public hot pool. Surrounded by men (women have a separate pool). It was comforting. And I began to see my confusion.
I want to go home. But where is my home? Fond images from all over the world popped into my head. Steamy saunas of Thailand, and the familiar streets of Chiang Mai and Bangkok with their marvelous street food. The foggy hills of San Francisco and my faerie friends there. The stone lined streets of Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal, and the little disco that calls itself the Funky Buddha Bar. The hills of the Butternut Valley where my father grew up in upstate New York. The Clay Hotel Hostel and Washington Street in South Beach, Miami. The glowing energy of Joshua Tree in California. And my beloved Mauna Loa in Hawaii. The friendly people of Laos and tubing in Vang Viang.
I realized I have no place to call home anymore. My sense of place is shattered. I'm truly homeless. I've virtually shattered my identity. The only thing left to do is to be at home wherever I am. The only thing left to do is to be present with who I am in the moment.
I felt empty. I felt pain. I lay in my bed depressed. The pain and injury didn't fit into my plans. The balm from the pharmacist didn't seem to work. I was miserable. In 36 hours I'd gone from discovered my greatest joy... traipsing up the mountain... to loosing it. To top things off, I felt a cold coming on.
Then I picked up the stone I'd found by Ghandi Tal (the lake above Kedarnath). I felt the vibration and energy of the stone permeate my body. I grew excited. The "other" reality. The Reality of Reiki and metaphysics and energy healing was back! I thought to myself how years ago after getting into Reiki I had learned to disown the reality of having/catching colds. I had started viewing them as detox symptoms from my body clearing toxins. Why, that made sense now after my first big exercise in a month. Further I remembered how several years ago I had decided to quit having colds, and merely seen them as patterns of being that I could choose my way out of if I started to have symptoms. Then I realized my knees and legs were no different! Why was I projecting a self hypnotic future of not being able to continue on my treks? I started to remember my own magic. The power of empowerment I had shared with so many clients in my Reiki practice. I remembered how several years ago I would simply ask my body to release the pattern if I started to feel twinges of knee pain. And it would work. I remembered how one day riding my bike up a hill to work, I had felt a twinge of knee pain, and banished it off, saying "I don't have time for this now!"
I grew excited. I started setting intentions for healing for alignment. I started to envision myself going trekking at Hemkund. The next few days rained. I spent two days in that hotel room. I discovered the best sleep in months as the raging river made a beautiful melody that drifted in the bathroom window. I enjoyed dreamy sleeps that felt like streams of consciousness. Memories from my past bubbled through my minds eye as the rains bubbled through the hills. I felt the most relaxed I had in months. I felt good! I slept and napped and Reiki'd myself throughout the day. I found a dhaba that had the best all you can eat thali (only 35rs) ever! I ate there twice a day. The staff treated me like a king. In between I soaked in the hot sulphur waters of the public bath, enjoying the views of the other men. My pains indeed went away. And finally one evening I booked a ticket for the 6 am bus to Govindghat, the departure point for the Hemkund trek.
The magical monk from Bangladesh, who had popped out of the fogs at Ghandi Tal, I never saw again. I tried to find him the day after our descent, but he had left. I'll always wonder how he transversed the glaciers from Gangotri to Kedarnath, apparently alone in a lungi and a plastic raincoat. Like so many others we meet walking about the world, he flashed out of my life as quickly as he appeared.
The bus stopped about 6 pm in a small town in the mountains. I didn't know where I was. I thought we were just taking a dinner break as I didn't expect to reach my destination until 8pm. Finally the conductor managed to convey to me that the bus was going no farther! And I would have to catch another bus in the morning. I tried several places to get a room, but all were booked. As I looked for a room, I learned that I was in RudraPrayag, which was my destination... we had arrived two hours early because the roads were "good"! You could have fooled me! Bumpy, full of traffic, and blocked by landslides, the roads didn't seem good to me! I would later find out on other bus trips in the near mountains, that we were lucky. Sometimes landslides caused delays of several hours or more!
Surprisingly, in the congested transport hub town, in the guesthouse I finally found a room in, I got a good nights sleep in spite of the noise. I found a 7am bus to Garikund (1982 m/6503 ft), the starting point for the trek to Kedarnath. Arrived four hours later, on schedule. I took a bath in the public hot springs... like small swimming pool in the center of town, fed by natural, hot, sulphur water. Then I started my trek. It felt very good. Amazingly good. I remembered how much I love the mountains, and I realized it had been a long time since I'd been any place near quiet. I'd been in the sweltering, noisy plains of India for several months. It was only a 8 km (5 mile) hike to Rambara (2591 m/8501 ft), half way up the mountain, where I planned to spend the night. I was walking too fast. I didn't want to pass the scenery so fast, plus I wanted to go easy on my body which hadn't hiked for a while, and also go slowly on the elevation gain for acclimitization purposes. So I took off my sandals and went barefoot on the nice smooth stone path. I savoured the scenery.
I practiced the "Christ walk" an old hippie had told me about in California. He said he'd met a guy in the Summer of Love whose "trip" was the "Christ walk"... it meant to walk barefoot, putting the toes down first, before letting the heal come down. Walking this way is easier on your joints, and allows you to sample a footstep before committing to it... useful in case of harsh ground. And the idea was that it gets you in touch with the Earth.. the Goddess... in some spiritualities. So I practised my Christ walk and remembered a chant from Rainbow Gatherings "Mother I feel you under my feet... Mother I feel your heart beat... Heya heya heya, ya haya haya ho, haya haya haya ha-ya ho!"... and no, this doesn't mean stepping on your biological Mother! It's about the Earth Mother! It felt good and got me in touch with the Reiki/earth energies. It slowed me down. It allowed me to enjoy each step and look around. I felt myself flow into a meditative bliss. I beamed and glowed.
"First be natural. Then you will be flowing in the river of the natural. And one day the river will fall into the ocean of the supernatural." -- Osho
Hindu pilgrims walked or rode on ponies, dandi's, or bandi's. Kedarnath is one of four holy temple sites in the region, and is related to the story of Shiva and his transformation into a bull. Various body parts went to different regions. His lingam to Varanasi. His rump in Kedarnath. Etc. Kedarnath is also one of the water sources of the Ganga. Visiting these sites is supposed to remove one's karma/sins and allow one to die in relative peace removed from the cycle of reincarnations.The route was hard enough. It's 14 km (8.7 miles) and a 1601 m (5252 ft) rise from 1982 m (6503 ft) in GauriKund to 3583 m (11,755 ft) at Kedarnath. Most pilgrims do the trip in one day up, and one day back. Many are not in any kind of condition for such a climb. Yet instead of being sensible and taking an overnight break at Rambara, which would be easier for their legs and lungs (acclimatization), they push themselves very hard. It seemed the same for Babadham, the 105 km barefoot pilgrimage I did in Bihar/Jarkhund in the summer. So here, all ages and shaped pushed upward at a hellish rate to reach heaven! The aged, infirm, and "lazy" hired ponies to ride, or bandi's... a large basket that a porter carried suspended from his head, or dandi's... chairs on rungs carried on the shoulders of four porters.
Most of the pilgrims looked miserable. It appeared like a penance. Being out of shape and walking at such a rate would be miserable. I concluded that riding on a pony, or other conveyance would likely be worse. One poor lady got off a pony and walked bowlegged in pain over to a bench. And as the weather cooled with higher elevations, I thought the riders must be even more miserable. Meanwhile I sang, enjoyed the view, and took my time. I was comfortable in a single layer and barefoot... the exercise generating plenty of body heat. I was in no hurry and enjoying the views. I put my sandals back on when my feet began to get sore. I thought it odd that no one else thought to make the trek a fun and enjoyable journey. But then I wasn't out to focus on my sins!
I was having the time of my life, traipsing along one careful barefoot step at a time. Feeling the energy of the Earth.. the natural church. Soon, as is often the case in India, my solitary pleasures were disrupted by a young man from Haridwar. Shod, he was walking faster. I let myself be drawn into his company. His goal was to be a champion body builder in five years. I dismayed at the thought... he was beautiful as he was, I thought. His English was only slightly better than my Hindi, and I misunderstood that he planned to stay in Rambara where I wished to stay. After meandering a hour past Rambara... I kept thinking we would reach the guesthouse where he planned to stay with his family... I found out that he planned to go all the way to Kedarnath. So I left him and retreated to Rambara where there was a delightful dormitory of clean white sheeted beds next to the river.
I was the only guest and looking forward to some quiet time and reading. I was just settling into bed when someone barged in the room looking for the manager. A family of four was caught in the rain... soaked and cold. The manager and staff were no where to be found... later it turns out they were off watching a cricket match on TV. I told the family what I knew of the rates and suggested they just move into the dorm. They did. I feel asleep to be awakened by the son who wanted to know if I knew how to give injections. No, I groggily replied. I looked over to see the middle aged man sitting up in bed on oxygen. His daughter intently sitting with him. I went to the bathroom and peed, and groggily returned to my bed. Finally, I inquired what was going on? I suggested if it was merely altitude sickness, that a simple retreat down the mountain would cure it. The daughter said that her father was suffering from kidney disease and his lungs were full of congestion. They had apparently anticipated such things and had some vein-injectable medicine for him. But no expertise in needling. I offered Reiki and went and gave the man some Reiki which he said was helping. Then someone walked in with a "doctor".. a young man who smelled of alcohol. He did seem to be knowledgeable about injections and medicine though. Unfortunately, the sick man had "no veins". After an hour and a half of unsuccessfully jabbing the man with a needle, the doctor gave up. I held my headlamp over them the whole time, and the son tried to help find the veins. I nearly grabbed the syringe and tried my intuitive luck, frustrated at the doctor's attempts. I was rather glad though that I didn't try my first injection on this difficult case. He had been imploring me to try before the doctor showed up.
I did some more Reiki on the man after the Doctor left and gave him the large Bethlehem Grid Crystal I was carrying to hold and sleep with... he seemed to be enjoying it. I asked if the family would retreat in the morning. No, they said... they would perservere and take a helicopter from the top! Crazy, I thought! Enough faith to get killed, but no enough to get cured! As I went to sleep, I had the intuitive thought that the man was dying of dehydration. In the morning I suggested water only to be told that that is the worst thing for a kidney patient! Here is someone whose kidneys are clogged and need to be flushed out. Meanwhile he is likely on heavy medications that are clogging and killing the kidneys. And so he is told not to drink water. Instead, drinks a few thimblefuls of tea or coffee... which likely only contribute to the problem. And certainly contribute to dehydration. A death sentence, I thought to myself. Then I prayed that I was wrong and that somehow he would survive in good health! No need for my judgements to affect him in the quantum consciousness of reality. I gave him the crystal after breaking of a few small pieces for offerings in my journeys.
In the morning I chanted by the river, then set off for Kedarnath. After the sun and my walking warmed me up a bit, I slipped off my sandals to savour the trek. I thought I'd waited long enough so the pavement would be dry from the previous night's rain... and I thought I'd gotten past the places where goat herds had soiled the pavement. I rounded a corner of the switchbacked trail to find the stone path speckled in goat droppings. I laughed at my attempt for cleanliness, and pressed on. I thought of my Grandma Emma and her tales of walking barefoot through the barnyard and enjoying it! I embraced my heritage! A bit reluctantly, but I embraced it!I hummed, chanted, and sang enjoying the scenery. I passed, and was passed by the family with the kidney patient. I hailed "Jai Kedar!" to them with a broad smile each time I passed one of them. That is the chant of this pilgrimage to cheer your sister/brother pilgrims on. The whole family was riding in dandi's.
Soon, my enjoyable solitude was intruded upon by a Nepali man. He kept demanding to help carry my backpack, to which I refused. In part, I didn't want to feel colonial; in part, I was quite happy carrying it and strengthening myself; and in part, I wondered if it wasn't a ploy for money. I was soon missing my solitude and singing to myself. I wondered how I might nicely part from him. Luckily a group of porters carrying a dandi passed and said something to him... it seemed that maybe he had some work to do and he ran off! I rejoiced in my solitude again. Eventually I reached the bowl of land holding Kedarnath, surrounded by mountains on three sides... like an open flower. I could see some peaks in spite of the clouds. The path was flat now, and ponies and pilgrims trudged into the center. On the outskirts of the small town surrounding the temple, I passed a row of dhabas serving food. Fresh mustard greens caught my eye and I ordered a thali... a plate of rice with dahl (lentils) and sabji (vegetables... in this case cooked mustard greens)... and I enjoyed one of my favorite greens!
Then I proceeded into to town only to be overwhelmed by the chaos of a tourist center surrounding the temple. At 3583 m, no one lives here year round, except maybe a couple of priests. The town is merely for the tourists. Numerous priests hawked the route to sell puja's (rituals). Several tried to latch on to me as I walked through the town. I shed them. But at the temple I grew fearful. Could I just go in? Was it required to have a priest and puja? I sat and meditated on a stone wall. A doctor from the nearby clinic chatted me up. He turned out to be genuine and nice. He said I didn't need a priest... that I could just go in the temple. The chaotic civilization scattered my mind. Maybe the altitude too. It took me a while to figure out what nearby sites I wanted to visit. Then I got "lost" for a bit from directions in pigeon English. After a failed attempt at the shortcut path to Ghandi Tal, the glacial lake where Gandhi's ashes were spread, I finally got on the right route. Unfortunately, I was quoted a time of two hours, and I wanted to return to Rambara. The day was running short. But I decided to try to make it to Ghandhi Tal.
I clipped along up the rough path, higher above the already high Kedarnath. I practically ran. Rain started falling. I began to get wet and stopped to change from lungi to windpants and rainjacket. I debated turning back. But a group of young Indian men trudged past. So I decided to follow them. A couple of them were good at eeking out the shortcuts between the switchbacks. I was glad I perservered because in a few minutes we reached the lake. It lay about 30 feet below the path in a cloud bank. Moss green shown through from the rocks below the clear water. It was beautiful. I didn't dare photograph it in the thick rain/sleet for fear of my camera getting too wet. I made some prayers and tossed a piece of Bethlehem grid crystal into the beautiful abyss. 
I barely finished my prayers and chants when a plastic covered figure came out of the mist. A monk from Bangledesh who had trekked over the glaciers from Gangotri greeted me. I glanced down to the ground and picked up a small stone that "spoke" to me, putting it my pocket. I continued with my "work" to visit a cairn that lay above me on glacial til. Not much to see there, I returned to find the monk waiting for me. I wondered where his guide and/or companions were. I learned he wanted to join me in the descent. I was a bit dismayed as I was happy alone, and was now bent on running down the mountain so I could get on to my other trekking destinations. We made our way down to Kedarnath, where I visited the Temple and he continued downwards. The temple was anticlimatic. I managed to get through it with out buying a puja (ceremony) from the many priests. I then started jogging down the mountain. I was drenched. I was cold. I didn't fancy the clustered village of Kedarnath. And I was ready to head out to Hemkund the next day. Even in my jogging, I was passed by Nepali porters carrying the dandi's (chairs with passengers). I marveled at their synchronized steps and endurance. They jogged down the road with their loads. They seemed to dodge the raindrops while their passengers grew wet and cold. I marveled at their seeming comfort in simple cotton clothes that seemed to shed rain while I grew colder and wetter under my poly base layer and raincoat.
Just above Rambara I ran into my glacier trekking monk friend. I wasn't sure I wanted to end my solitude. We trod down into Rambara together. The rain kept us wet and cold while the lower elevation took a bit of the edge off the chill. In my mind, I mulled over the idea of staying in Rambara, but decided I wanted to head to Garikund so I could leave for Hemkund the next day. About 100 m past the guesthouse I'd stayed at in Rambara, I felt a twinge of pain in my left knee. Stupidly, I thought it silly to return up hill. Surely I'd cruise on down to Garikund in no time. Aches continued to spread through both legs with each of the 8 km. The monk tried to talk with me but my misery kept me removed. He shared some glucose powder with me, which I mixed with water. I began to realize I hadn't taken the best care of myself. Water and food I knew would go along way to rejuvenating me. I tried to drink more water. I felt a lack of time, in wanting to get to Garikund by dark.
We trudged onwards down the cobbled trail, stepping aside as ponies with cold wet riders clipped past us, sometimes nearly running us down. The monk went into a spontaneous spiel on the wonders of meditation and how if you meditate into pain it will go away. My ego made me feel talked down to... I knew all that from a Reiki perspective and wasn't sure I needed the free advertisement! Nonetheless, I tried to heed the advice... I don't think he realized how much pain I was in. I tried to meditate the pain away. Well, as well as one can when they are trekking down a mountain in cold wet rain. About as hard and fun as trying to do a sitting meditation in a room of mosquitoes! A few minutes later I grumbled to the monk that I was trying and the meditation thing wasn't working! He acknowledged the difficulty that we all face. He acknowledged his own challenges.
We trudged on through the rain and mud. I stepped off to pee a few times to let out all the water I was drinking in hopes of lubricating my knees. At one point, he asked if I wanted to stay with him in the ashram; he'd have to check with the manager of course. I never gave him a direct answer. The truth was I wasn't sure if it would be nurturing. Perhaps it would be better for me to take care of myself. Finally, he asked if I was going to answer his offer. I said I wanted to see how things went. He didn't know where the ashram was. I didn't want to walk any further than I had to.
About an hour after dark we finally reached Garikund. A hotelier asked me if I wanted a room as I went by... how much I asked? 100rs he replied. I was going to check it out, but the monk was upset that I wasn't going on to the ashram. He said it was near. I hobbled along like a spent race horse. The pain was unbearable as it had been for nearly 2 hours. We reached the ashram which was down by the hot spring. The manager did not permit me to stay. He told me to follow a boy, who led me to the hotel next door. The hotel didn't thrill me a bit. The manager led me all the way up the stairs to the fourth floor. I gimped up the stairs. He showed me the room. Grimy green walls and musty odor didn't impress me. He said it was 250rs. I told him I'd seen another for 100rs. He was shocked when I started following him back out. "Don't you want the room?" I said why should I pay 250rs for a room when I can get one for 100rs! He finally relented to 150rs. My legs were aching so much, I took it, top floor and all.
I gimped down to the hot springs 50 m around the corner, and found the "pool" emptied for cleaning. Uggh. I returned to my room for a cold bucket shower. I went for food. I risked ordering palak paneer (spinach cheese curry) from a priceless menu, thinking I'd treat myself to a favorite dish. It wasn't so good. Then I was charged 90rs which seemed outrageous. My feet hurt from rubbing on my sandal straps. My legs ached. I lay in bed. I went to a pharmacist for Tiger Balm. All he had was some chemical heating lotion. Not even anything like Ben Gay. I got some Vitamins C and B. He said I'd be fine after a day of rest. I wasn't so sure.
Miserable. I lay in bed. I yearned for home. "I want to go home!", I moaned to myself. A typical response to sickness in a foreign land. I tried to imagine home Images of the US flashed through my mind... my last domicile in San Francisco, my parents house, my Aunt and Uncle's house. But I couldn't really imagine going back and creating a home, setting up housekeeping, etc. And later sitting in the steaming waters of the public bath, a stone adorned tank similar to a swimming pool, I began to appreciate where I was. In India. In a public hot pool. Surrounded by men (women have a separate pool). It was comforting. And I began to see my confusion.
I want to go home. But where is my home? Fond images from all over the world popped into my head. Steamy saunas of Thailand, and the familiar streets of Chiang Mai and Bangkok with their marvelous street food. The foggy hills of San Francisco and my faerie friends there. The stone lined streets of Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal, and the little disco that calls itself the Funky Buddha Bar. The hills of the Butternut Valley where my father grew up in upstate New York. The Clay Hotel Hostel and Washington Street in South Beach, Miami. The glowing energy of Joshua Tree in California. And my beloved Mauna Loa in Hawaii. The friendly people of Laos and tubing in Vang Viang.
I realized I have no place to call home anymore. My sense of place is shattered. I'm truly homeless. I've virtually shattered my identity. The only thing left to do is to be at home wherever I am. The only thing left to do is to be present with who I am in the moment.
I felt empty. I felt pain. I lay in my bed depressed. The pain and injury didn't fit into my plans. The balm from the pharmacist didn't seem to work. I was miserable. In 36 hours I'd gone from discovered my greatest joy... traipsing up the mountain... to loosing it. To top things off, I felt a cold coming on.
Then I picked up the stone I'd found by Ghandi Tal (the lake above Kedarnath). I felt the vibration and energy of the stone permeate my body. I grew excited. The "other" reality. The Reality of Reiki and metaphysics and energy healing was back! I thought to myself how years ago after getting into Reiki I had learned to disown the reality of having/catching colds. I had started viewing them as detox symptoms from my body clearing toxins. Why, that made sense now after my first big exercise in a month. Further I remembered how several years ago I had decided to quit having colds, and merely seen them as patterns of being that I could choose my way out of if I started to have symptoms. Then I realized my knees and legs were no different! Why was I projecting a self hypnotic future of not being able to continue on my treks? I started to remember my own magic. The power of empowerment I had shared with so many clients in my Reiki practice. I remembered how several years ago I would simply ask my body to release the pattern if I started to feel twinges of knee pain. And it would work. I remembered how one day riding my bike up a hill to work, I had felt a twinge of knee pain, and banished it off, saying "I don't have time for this now!"
I grew excited. I started setting intentions for healing for alignment. I started to envision myself going trekking at Hemkund. The next few days rained. I spent two days in that hotel room. I discovered the best sleep in months as the raging river made a beautiful melody that drifted in the bathroom window. I enjoyed dreamy sleeps that felt like streams of consciousness. Memories from my past bubbled through my minds eye as the rains bubbled through the hills. I felt the most relaxed I had in months. I felt good! I slept and napped and Reiki'd myself throughout the day. I found a dhaba that had the best all you can eat thali (only 35rs) ever! I ate there twice a day. The staff treated me like a king. In between I soaked in the hot sulphur waters of the public bath, enjoying the views of the other men. My pains indeed went away. And finally one evening I booked a ticket for the 6 am bus to Govindghat, the departure point for the Hemkund trek.
The magical monk from Bangladesh, who had popped out of the fogs at Ghandi Tal, I never saw again. I tried to find him the day after our descent, but he had left. I'll always wonder how he transversed the glaciers from Gangotri to Kedarnath, apparently alone in a lungi and a plastic raincoat. Like so many others we meet walking about the world, he flashed out of my life as quickly as he appeared.
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