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The Adventure Begins
I
am sleeping in the village of Jiri in the same room as the porters and my Sherpa
guide. |
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I cannot believe my good fortune. He is great! Dawa Wangchu
Sherpa; thirty years old, married, with one child. He has eight
years experience as a guide and has advanced up the ranks from a
porter, to assistant cook, to cook, to guide, to Sirdar. A
Sirdar is the main man. He organizes major expeditions, both
trekking and mountaineering, and carries a license by the
government. His wife has grounded his climbing because of the
danger (some things are the same the world over) and so he is
limited to leading treks. When I walked into the agency
Sunday evening to meet Dawa for the first time, I saw a
slight man with a huge smile and twinkling eyes.
My apprehension immediately melted away, and with a firm
handshake an extraordinary connection was made. At the
time that Dawa decided to be my guide he had another offer
to lead a major expedition. He chose to be with me.
Dawa did this, in large part, because of the positive
experience he had with another American the previous year.
This American’s good attitude and kindness translated into
my good fortune. |
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The
Road Ends - The Adventure Begins |
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The bus ride to Jiri from Kathmandu was horrendous. I had a
suspicion when a local women who’s age indicated to me that
she should know, sprayed the dash of the bus with wheat at
the outset of the trip. This for good luck, but evidently
did not cover the twelve hours of torture that followed. The
seats were made for the slight of build Nepalese. My knees
were jammed against the front seat, my butt crammed into
the back. My body was wedged tight against the window with
no room to wiggle. With visions of the bus careening off the
road and plunging in a final death dive over the edge in a
nightmarish replay of "Thelma and Louise,"** I suggested to Dawa
the possibility of sitting on the roof with the luggage
and perhaps the wiser locals. At least I would
have a "jumping" chance of escape! But he said it would
be too "dangerous", so there I sat, with the
bus following the serpentine road and me stuffed like a
turkey in an oven waiting for the dooms day plunge. |
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| ** The movie "Thelma and Louise" ends with
them plunging at high speed into an abyss |
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Page 11 |
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