Starting to Trek

On the morning of September 1, the sky comes awake as we drive from Rishikesh to Jankichatti. Shortly after 6:00, as dawn is breaking, the drive becomes steeper. We eat lunch, or perhaps a late breakfast, in Barkot. It is now noon, and we are at approximately 4,000 feet. It is too early for us to appreciate the comfort of this altitude, or the fact that the paved roads on which we have been driving much of our trip will give way shortly to eight days of unpaved roads, washouts, landslides, and trails. In this moment we enjoy the children heading to school, the blue sky, and the clouds that still wrap the mountains.

We get to Jankichatti an hour and a half later than we had expected to arrive. For those of us new to India, we have yet to learn that is not a delay, nor anything to be concerned with. It is the flow of life.

Our first trek is to Yamunotri and back. I pack my knapsack as I intend to pack it for the longer treks; for me, this is a “test flight.” I pick up my poles. I don’t complete the trek, turning around and returning to the guest house after an hour and a half on the trail. Lesson 1: I do not need to (and physically will not be able to) carry my 35mm digital (for color) and my 35mm film (for black and white). Lesson 2: I am okay with the altitude. Lesson 3: It is not a race. Lesson 4: Enjoy the scenery. On the way up my focus was the destination; on the return I see the monkeys, the green birds, the clouds wending their way through the valleys and along the trails. I consider the trek a success; I have learned important things about how to succeed going forward.

September 2 (16:13): We are at camp, at Seema. In Jankichatti we stayed in a guest house. It was my introduction to a bathroom where the toilet is a porcelain basin in the floor (Lesson 5: When using, only bring your pants to your knees). For a shower we order a bucket of hot water, and scoop it over ourselves. Tonight in camp the toilet is a hole in the ground (inside a latrine tent), and there will be no shower for another two days.

Overnight the rain was incessant. Halfway from Jankichatti to our starting point in Hanuman Chatti, the road had been washed out. We left the cars, starting the trek kilometers early. As it turns out, there had also been landslides that blocked portions of the road. All in the life of a pilgrim….

It was quite the trek. I was carrying my 35mm digital. It kept on swinging and bouncing. When I anchored it with my belt, I found myself being pulled forward by its weight. I could not lengthen the strap enough to be comfortable. Tomorrow it will go in my pack. It is too much; I will use my point and shoot and be content.

Today I often found myself thanking Mitchel for the challenge, and the variety, of my training. Those thanks will be amplified in the days to come. I also expressed thanks for quick dry clothing (even though, in the clouds and the rain they remain wet as I write this). And, thank you to the discovery of trekking poles. I am the only one with them; and I find them a tremendous help.

Today was a struggle. I learned a few more lessons. Lesson 5: There is always one more ankle-deep stretch of mud to traverse than there is clear glacial spring to ford. Lesson 6: The mud is never pure. Lesson 7: The best place to set down your next footstep has been marked for you in the recent past by a cow, a donkey, or a water buffalo.

Tomorrow, my mantra will be, Make it effortless.

I Am Back

Yes, I am back from India. It was quite the journey.

Actually, the journey is continuing. As I settle back into my life, I know that there are things yet to be learned, yet to be understood, yet to become a part of my life. I returned seven pounds lighter, 2,000 photos richer, and physically, mentally, and spiritually stronger than when I left. As I seek to sort out my images, my impressions, my journal entries, and my memories, I have yet to find a clear way to articulate it all. Perhaps I never will; perhaps it is not meant to be neatly reported.

What follows is my first “post-India” blog. I will continue making entries each weekend.

August 31: We are on the road from Delhi to Rishikesh by 5:00 AM. Though I don’t know it yet, this departure is a great awakening for my senses, and will serve me well in the weeks to come. As we drive this morning, the sun doesn’t rise, so much as the haze becomes increasingly luminous. Over the next two weeks we will experience many sunrises, from the road and on the trail. There will be those days when we look up to see the sun lighting the tops of the mountains above us, and look down to see the clouds engulf the mountains below. In Seema, sunrise finds us inside the clouds, while at Tapoban the sky is blue, the peaks of Shivling and Bhagirathi glistening white and gold. These experiences still await me this morning.

Today as the haze grows brighter, it is clouded over at times by the dust from the road, or the infrequent patch of fog. The cacophony of noise, even at this hour, is almost overwhelming. Painted on the rear of every truck is Horn Please. We oblige, frequently. Honking, like so much else on the roads of India, carries a different meaning than it does here in the US. It is not about aggression, or dominance, or bravado; nor is it an expression of testosterone. Honking is a means of communication. It is telling the driver in front that you are behind, and that you are preparing to pass. It is telling the driver around the curve that you are coming in the other direction. Each time you honk, you are asking the other driver to be aware of your presence, to let you know if “the road is clear” to pass, to pull further to the left if possible (in India you drive on the left side of the road).

I quickly begin to learn the language of the horns, and to trust our drivers. The first of these lessons is interesting. The second is indispensable. Two lane, two way roads quickly become one way as vehicles pass one another in an intricately choreographed dance. The bicycles, motorbikes and oxcarts dance with the cars, taxis, buses, and trucks. Each moves at a different pace, finds its own space. All forms of conveyance share the roads, whether highway or byway, city or—increasingly—country. Tractors pull carts laden with grass while oxcarts are loaded with brick. Mini-buses (many three-wheeled), bicycles (again, many with three wheels), donkey carts weave a living fabric of noise, sight, sound, and motion. Through all of this wend the cattle, the dogs, and the pedestrians. One lane in each direction becomes two, three, or even four leading a single way. The road doesn’t change width, only flow, until there is no choice but to reclaim its original two-way identity.

We stop along the way for breakfast. This is our introduction to virtually two weeks of vegetarian eating, though we don’t know that at the time When we arrive in Rishikesh, all of our senses are awakened. We will rely on them in ways unanticipated in the coming days.