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The Rooftop of the World
The success of our lives and our future depends on our individual motivation and determination (The Dalai Lama)

By Hillary Short

My flight landed in Katmandu on September 20^th, 2001. I felt relieved to be getting away from the chaos caused on 9/11. The last nine days had been a waiting game, filled with mixed emotions of guilt and uncertainty. I wandered around aimlessly. As flights were slowly getting back into their schedules, fear and panic ruled the nation. I needed to trust I would still get there in time for the trek.

My first impression of Nepal was of the young boys begging for ‘baksheesh’ (money) in the airport. Exhausted from the long journey, our group moved swiftly through the hustle and bustle, eager to find our guide. The seven of us clambered into the mini van, it bounced its way through the busy city streets to the hotel. This night was to be our last comfortable bed and shower for six days. Once the rooms were chosen, I headed straight to bed. We had an early morning scheduled. The small plane transporting us into the foothills had a slim landing opportunity, due to the clouds that settle on the mountains by mid morning.

The Himalayan trekking idea had sprung from a conversation with a friend. She mentioned this possibility; my immediate response had been “count me in.” What was I thinking? I had never even been camping, but I knew with enough determination, anything is possible. Two years ago I had made another life changing decision, to stop drinking and live a sober life. I had to learn how to take things “one day at a time”. This was to be the start of my spiritual quest. My search for the peace of mind I knew I could attain. There always seemed to be a constant chatter going on in my head, too many thoughts without enough actions. How could I silence the chatter? I hoped this journey would offer some answers.

The flight to Phalpu, our doorway into the hills, took thirty-five minutes. I sat staring in awe. The green valleys had snowcapped mountain ranges in the background. We flew above the hills but below the mountains. Vibrant aquamarine homes jotting throughout the region, with the occasional plateaus growing rice or corn added to the beauty. The reality that I was actually here felt like a reward for all the work I had done in preparation for this trip. Suddenly I was jolted out of my meditative state, my sense of calm turned into a knot in my stomach as I saw the landing strip. It was a mountain ledge, approximately the length of 6 football fields. With one strong gust of wind we would be dropping into infinity.

Phalpu lies in the heart of the Solu Valley, the North East Region of Nepal at an altitude of 2,400 meters. There is one hotel, a pool hall, a television and a telephone, these being rare luxuries in the region. The nearest mode of transportation is a seven-day walk. We weren’t going anywhere fast. It seemed as if the entire village had arrived to greet us, we were the first visitors of the season. I felt like a visiting royal. The smiling, shoeless men and boys eagerly watched and waved as we walked down the steps and across the field to the customs hall, it is located in a tiny hut, but taken very seriously.

My Himalayan ‘family’ consisted of six fellow British travelers and fourteen sherpas. They are the local people, indigenous to the area. Having migrated many years ago from Tibet, escaping over the mountains from the tyranny of the Chinese, who had taken over their land and slaughtered many people, not allowing them to practice their Buddhism. Tej, Dowar and Indra were our group leaders; the others carried all the belongings, cooked and set up camp.

Our daily meals were prepared on small burners. There was always soup, followed by a main course, consisting of various vegetables, chips, pasta or momas (Nepalese dumplings), and canned fruit. Everything tasted delicious, especially at the end of the day. Even though there was a language barrier, we communicated through laughter, actions and facial expressions. By the end of the trip I felt I had known everyone most of my life. Tej was the only guide that spoke good English. He had spent four months in Wales. The supermarkets had been his biggest surprise. He couldn’t believe his eyes, seeing the shelves stacked with so many different products in various brands. He had spent his life in these foothills where everything is scarce. The locals we saw eating in the teahouses lived mostly on potatoes. I felt guilty eating our wholesome meals alongside them. Most of the locals have hacking coughs, probably due to the environment and lack of medicine. Their kindness and hard work added to my sense of security. Nothing seemed to be too great a challenge. Everything was achieved with a sense of dignity and calm. Their lives cannot be easy, cold weather ravages through the region most of the year. Their homes have no electricity or warm water, most of them being a mere shell of concrete with a thatched roof. In the morning, as we ate our cereal, the barefooted Sherpas would get a head start, each of them carrying four heavy backpacks tied together. Their clothes were gifts left behind by appreciative travelers. Indra amused us by wearing a tartan cap with hair attached that had been sent to him by a Scottish pen pal named Eddie. In the evenings we saw a few tipsy locals coming out of the village teahouses. The local brew is made from corn that tastes similar to strong whiskey. The many teahouses are small huts with wooden benches and tables, usually seating around 10 people. Some villages had larger establishments. There are no toilets or sinks. The amenities consist of a tap outside, with a small burner to heat water and cook food.

Our first evening was spent visiting a school in Ghunsa. The children wear blue uniforms and walk many miles to get there every day, starting out before daybreak and arriving home after dark. Around 60 children had been waiting patiently for us to arrive. They stood in a large circle, holding garlands of flowers, cheering as we crawled in, exhausted from the five-hour walk. We had brought them each a precious gift. Once we were seated, and our garlands had been hung around our necks, with much excitement the children lined up to receive their pencil. It was a humbling experience to watch their faces light up over such a simple gesture. Once the ceremony was over they went home clutching this precious commodity. There are several charities that fund these schools. It costs sixty British pounds a year to educate, buy books and dress a child. Sir Edmund Hillary started this tradition of building and financing schools in the region. He was so grateful to the Sherpas for the work they did; he asked what he could do to repay them. Their reply was that “Our children have eyes but they cannot see”. Every time Sir Edmund led a climbing expedition they would first help the locals build a school’s foundation.

My favorite time of the day was stopping along the path for lunch, I felt relieved when I turned the corner and saw the lads cooking in the distance. The lunch was always ready for serving as soon as we arrived. It is a custom to feed the men first. The first two days I was exhausted, I couldn’t eat or drink enough. The weakness began to show, everyone was concerned that dehydration would strike. Luckily by the third day my lungs had filled with air from the altitude and I caught up. The daily afternoon downpours caused me to remain damp the whole trip. It was lucky that I had placed my belongings in a garbage bag inside my backpack; at least all my clean clothes were dry. The dampness was my greatness discomfort. I was always happy to get into my sleeping bag; it felt as welcoming as 400 thread Egyptian cotton sheets.

Day two brought several challenges. The leeches along the path were sucking my blood, I screamed every time they attacked. No area of my body had been left sacred. The Sherpas would casually pull them off, leaving bloody trails. I couldn’t remove them myself; I was afraid that they would break off and remain forever within my body. Thank God they were only in one specific neighborhood, after that we remained leech free. At nightfall we were still heading ‘home’, the final part of the journey was a steep uphill climb. I needed to stop every ten minutes to catch my breath; I was too weak to carry my small daypack. Secretly I panicked that I had made a big mistake coming on the trek, I cried and complained bitterly, doubting my capabilities. I was determined not to give up. That night I was concerned about the next day’s journey.

After such an arduous start, to my relief the next day was a flat, pleasant, walk. We chatted along the ‘well-groomed’ paths. Our destination was a small hotel, with a couple of other tourists and a few sinister looking locals hanging around. It didn’t feel safe. We arrived early in the afternoon, I washed my underwear and hung them out to dry, bras and knickers on full view. Everyone laughed at my domesticity. A sherpa boy came to the tent, in a fluent New Zealand accent he asked, “have you got a plaster, my Mum cut her finger?” Shocked, I said “no.” Anything unfamiliar was unsettling. We found out later that his father owned the hotel, and had sent the boy to live in New Zealand with a family who had passed through. He loved having toys, but missed his parents. His Dad was still willing to ship him off with any of us.

Shortly after we arrived, one of our group (Claire) misplaced her pouch that had some belongings, her money and passport in it. It was nowhere to be found. Our return to Katmandu fell on a weekend, the British Consulate would be closed so a passport needed to be issued beforehand. The next morning Claire and Indra had to walk five hours to the nearest phone to handle these arrangements. On our last night she was taken into the village to meet with a tribunal of elders, for UK insurance purposes. The overcrowded room was filled with locals and a translator. They asked her to list the missing belongings, along with their value. When she said her face cream cost twenty-five pounds the whole room burst out laughing, I am sure this was an annual wage for a Sherpa. All the details were written down on a piece of paper and signed. This was her legal document. I am sure no British insurance agent will be wondering into the foothills any time soon to check authenticity.

On day four we climbed to a Mount Everest vista point. The walk was in a national park. We passed a solitary hut, surrounded by mountains; a very old man and a young boy sat weaving baskets together. When we arrived at the vista point, we sat and waited an hour for the clouds to leave so we could see Everest. This did not happen. Everyone’s spirits sank, we had come all this way and had not seen the great mountain.

On our way down we stopped at Thubten Chuling, a monastery where 500 Tibetan monks and nuns live in seclusion. Good luck was on our side the Lama was in residence. The gong sounded in the valley around five and we were led into the hall with all the monks and nuns to receive a blessing. The Lama sat on a large ‘throne’, everyone formed a line, once in front of him we bowed reverently and he place a white scarf around our necks. Tej said that in the ten years they had been coming to the monastery, this was their first appearance with the Lama. He is usually abroad seeking funds.

On our last evening the sherpas prepared a farewell party, the cake read “happy last day”. We all decided to pay the hotel a dollar for a hot shower. The camaraderie between us had grown in such a short time that everyone in the group had to agree or we felt it would be cheating. It felt so good to be clean and dry. In the morning, before leaving I got up early and took a final walk around the village, no one was around except the children setting off to school. I was sad to be leaving this place. Some day I hope to return. The peace that eluded me my whole life I finally discovered within myself. I felt grateful to the Sherpas for opening this window into their lives. With heaviness in my heart I kissed them all ‘goodbye’.

This spiritual journey was a lesson I would not know until I returned, and had some distance from the trip. Today, when something is troubling me, or I lose a sense of feeling connected, I can close my eyes and visualize myself walking in the hills. It brings me straight back to feelings of inner peace, security and strength. No place else in the world has left this mark on my soul. ###