Trekking with family and friends who followed vicariously…

Thank you so much for being a part of my expedition. 
The two new solar towers worked only a few days, 
 













so the few times I had wifi access, I coveted your emails, facebook comments and blog responses; moreover, I was shocked when I noticed the blog stats and realized that my post recieved over 100 hits a day (thanks Shareon.) 

                                 You put a smile on my face
                                 during the coldest nights,

                                                              

                               

                              the farthest privy trips,           

                           

                    and the steepest mountainsides.

                              Thank you …

                              and

                            Namaste.

Trekking home with new perspective, treasured experiences, and unforgettable memories.

As I leave this beguiling country and its people–to return to cherished family and friends–the beauty of the northwest fights to regain its  place as the memories of the solokhumbu ascend through my mind's mist. The people and the peaks in both countries share a complexity that aphorisms  can't touch; like two lovers, they pull sagaciously, and unapologetically, at the rhythm of my heartstrings–swirling across the continents–and at the memory of prayer flags fluttering in the wind. 

Trekking back to the city of Kathmandu

At the beginning of each trek, I smugly nod at my three outfits…proudly organized into my  "wear, share and air" program…yet once the temps drop to zero, my night wear jumps into the line up, all shrouds fight for position on my body, and soon I look like the Yeti and smell like the yak train. In collaboration, fatigue steals away any thoughts of ice cold showers and convinces me that everything smells better with a smile. However, at some point the almighty "Duffel" calls us all in and my clothes and I roll ourselves together and board the plane for Kathmandu. In an effort to keep my friends, I hose off an outfit or two for the three day race around the city, checking out Deepak and Indira's programs, and stopping at the training centers, the local orphanages, and the stunning Tibetan Monastery. Now I face the return flight from Kathmandu–to Dehli–to Paris–to JFK-to PDX, so yesterday, on my last spin of a prayer wheel, I requested that the airlines lose my duffel, hand over a small sum of money and bless me with a fresh start.

 The new Tibetan Monastery.

      A nine day celebration at the local monastery brought out the crowd.

 

Outside the cirty, on a beautiful hillside, this orphanage provides security and education for children.

 One of Indira's programs provides training for Nepali youth. 

This particular session was on conflict resolution.

I'm particularly taken by and proud of the work Indira and Deepak are involved with.

 Their programs are making a difference in Nepal.

I'm most pleased with the plum wine created by Deepak.

I'm not a wine person, but if I had stayed in longer…I would have become addicted.

Deepanker, a graduate of Oregon State, entertained us with Nepali music.

Trekking Over Treacherous Terrain–Above and Below Treeline–Around Steap Mountain sides–Up and Down Snowy Trails

Twenty days of traveling up and down steep trails, sharp ridges and sheer mountain sides, send sweat and swear words zinging across the rim followed by echoes that rise above the peaks and settle into the valleys.  My Rinji keeps asking why I don't have more friends traveling with me or meeting me along the way. I try to explain that my friends are sitting on the beach drinking margaritas, but he doesn't get it.  He says if I can do it so can you.  Any takers out there?

Trekking through the lives of children in the villages, in the tea house, in the lodges and on the trail

Children on the trail "play." Watching them stirs up questions without answers and pictures without words. Does technology give more than it takes? Will our children remember how to "play."

On a cold evening in Tangboche, Shalla, a social worker from Spain, and I huddled around the stove and shared precious time with this darling five year old who knows how to count to 100 in English.

 Children gather outside, chase each other, sing songs and "just play."

This is as close to a toy as I've seen on the trail: someone made the wooden stick and wheel; the child runs with it, rolling the wheel as he/she goes.

Mothers carry their children up hill on their backs and in baskets with straps across their foreheads.

 This little boy washes his face and hands before running to school.

This precious child plays with sticks.