Journal Entry 7

September 14 Friday

We walk under a peaceful white sky and are eyes are opened wide by the beauty of our surroundings as we carry on. Beautiful fields of pink flowers stretch out over rolling hills which run into steep cliffs where several waterfalls spill from crevasses down into the Marsyangdi. People are busy tending apple orchards and when they see us pass they call out their famous greeting, “Namaste!” which literally means, I honor the god that resides with in you. The wonderful smell of cedar trees tells us that we are climbing ever higher towards the climate of the Tibetan people.
We pass through many small villages and I notice at one point that a boy of maybe fourteen is following us as we exit his village. He walks with us for a long while and at first I think that maybe he just happens to be going on to the next village or perhaps he wants to assist us in some way, but after passing village after village he still walks behind us. He never speaks to us, but it is clear he is curious about us because whenever we would stop for a rest he too would stop and remain close by. I feel a warning in my heart when we are all climbing up a muddy hill and I am falling behind from the weight of my pack and Tony and AB are far ahead of me almost out of site. The boy is walking so close behind me that we are practically toe to heal to each other. Each pause I take to catch my breathe he lags behind with me until I stagger forward. I think to myself, “Okay I am going to get robbed any minute now, I’m the weakest one and once Tony and AB are out of view he will make his move. They are just about to edge over the incline when I yell “Wait!” The boy followed us for about an hour keeping so close behind us until AB finally forced him to walk in front of us. Maybe he was trying to pickpocket or maybe just curious about all the strangers that pass through his land day after day. He did not appear menacing, but actually quite scrawny. Eventually he broke away from us only making off with one peanut butter flavored Power Bar which Tony gave to him.
We dodge our way through what seems to be endless stretch of fecal matter from either a mule, water buffalo, or cow. Navigating your way can be tricky because at times huge puddles of water surrounded on all sides by deep squishy mud from the thousands of pack animals the trudge through each day block your way. You have to shut your eyes and take that leap of faith and hope you don’t end up sinking to your ankles in the mixture of mud and shit. There were quite a few times where all three of us were slipping and sliding our way through the valley while nimble footed Nepalese chuckled and laughed at us.
A bright eyed boy approaches Tony as we walk on a nicely stone paved trail through the village of Lattemarang and asks him, “What country.” Tony and I both say, “USA”. A sudden look of dread comes over the boys face and he shakes his head from left to right and says, “No, USA not good now.” We look at him puzzled and he raises his arms above his head and says, “ Many dead, many Americans dead.” I don’t know how to react my immediate feeling is that there has been an earthquake or maybe a plane crash, but here we are way up in the Himalayas and this boy has such a grave expression on his face that I feel it has to be something of really alarming proportions to have made the news up here. We try to have him explain what has happened but he can only tell us that many people are dead. It is hard for me to image that anything bad could be happening in the world let alone my own country. Things are going so well for the three of us and we are having the time of our lives which makes tragedy hard to soak in when you are a million miles away and surrounded by a towering wall of mountains. I see Jack and Trisha and ask them if they have heard of something bad going on in the United States. They both say yes but that they’re unclear of what exactly has happened. They think a plane has crashed, but the numbers of the dead don’t add up. Someone told them over 10,000 people have been killed. “10,000!” I think unless the plane has crashed into a stadium full of people then I don’t know what could cause such a huge number. My thoughts are on my sister who is a flight attendant. God, I hope it is not her.
A blue mist rolls in as evening approaches and we arrive in Chame. A beautiful snow covered mountain looms above us before it is smothered by the clouds. It is our first view of a snow covered peak since we left Besisahar four days ago. There are trekkers every where from all different countries chatting outside the inns and it is here that we finally here the news. One plane has crashed into the Pentagon, two planes have crashed into both the World Trade Center towers in New York City, and as if it couldn’t get any worse a fourth plane has crashed in Pennsylvania. All four planes went down on the same day of September 11 the very day when we were sitting in the sun looking at far off snowy mountains and getting ready to take our first steps on the Annapurna Circuit.

The world suddenly seems huge and dangerous as I stand looking up at the mountains from the trenches of this deep valley. I feel if I could manage to peer over the mountains I would see the lands beyond burning and thousands screaming in torture. I shiver in my fleece as laughing children race by pushing there way through the hordes of backpackers playing an innocent game of tag. A sigh of relief that I am here, protected and safe. I don’t want to leave.

Our lodge, The Everest Guest House has a television, it has a blown speaker and the picture dances rapidly up and down the screen, but it is enough to make out a little of what is happening. A BBC reporter fizzles through the speaker and images of the World Trade Center towers smoking appear along with what looks like a road paved with photographs of people young and old who have been killed. There is a man being interviewed, I cannot understand what he is saying but it is clear that he is crying and crying hard as he speaks. I feel my heart skipping beats and my throat feels swollen like it is being hallowed out. Tony, AB and I all stare blankly at each other, the room seems frozen with everyone staring wide eyed at the television trying to scratch away the blur and static on screen. I young Israeli girl dressed in oversized pants and a baggy sweatshirt stands over the head of our table. She says, “You are Americans?” We nod and she leans down closer to us. “I am so sorry, this is terrible. In my country, Israel we have much destruction like this and I am very sorry it came to you.” We all try to smile back at her, but each one of our minds are somewhere else and all we can do is nod at her as she slips back into the crowd.
The food that I was so hungry for when I hiked into the village now doesn’t look so appetizing. I force myself to eat anyway while the dining room flickers with the glow of the television and the shadows of many astonished backpackers. I feel helpless and haunted, where is my family and are they wondering about me?