This is the sequel to my last article (The Road to Rolwaling, Part 1).  It recounts a quick trip this past spring, undertaken to groundtruth conditions for a proposed study-abroad program which would involve a collaboration between Tribhuwan University and Mountain Legacy, a non-profit that I helped found in 2003. The text is drawn from a travel diary written as an extended letter to my wife Empar, with whom I had organized Bridges: Projects in Rational Tourism Development; from 1999 to 2002, we ran three study-volunteer expeditions to Rolwaling.  

Khelse. May 1:15 pm. 

It's amazing how quickly and completely some things change up here. I left Simigaon this morning at 6. Despite the dozen or more times I've been here, most of the path seemed unfamiliar -- a lot more uphill, for one thing. After four hours, I was struggling.  Ten steps, rest. Five steps, stop. Five-minute sit-down every half hour. Finally it began to rain, fortunately only about twenty minutes before Khelse. Same little farm, same picnic table, same woman and same little girl as last time we were here. [I mistakenly attributed the photos of photos of the little Khelse girl and her goats to Simigaon in last month's article.] Now there's a cute new dining wing and three bedrooms. Very tidy. Two beds in each room, bedding, all the conveniences. No glass in the window, though.

 

Khelse farm and guest house

 

Early afternoon, weather settling down on Rolwaling Valley 

At first I was only going to stop for tea... or until the rain stopped, which it did in about half an hour. Then as the sun came out, I was thinking it's nuts to go on to Drongkhang at the river's edge, where it's always windier and cooler, and the shack is smoky and often crowded. I can stop in and see our old friend Zangmu tomorrow morning. Maybe have some chapatis. I'm pretty sure the path after Drongkhang is relatively easy.

3:25 pm. It's raining again, and chilly. I don't think I brought enough clothes.

Two Israeli guys showed up about an hour ago. I met them at Simigaon yesterday. Had a long chat with one of them, tried to explain how you could not trust the map's representation of the path to Drongkhang -- how easy it is to take the wrong path and end up stuck somewhere. But he was confident of his ability to follow trail ("The path doesn't lie..."). A few minutes ago I was talking to the other guy, who told me they had set out from Simigaon at a 5:45, fifteen minutes before me! How could it be that I got here first? They have very light packs and are in great shape. Well, it seems they took a wrong turn at the farm down where the trail approaches the Rolwaling and then loops straight back up; they ended up scrambling around boulders at the river edge for three hours. I nodded sagely -- didn't tell him that I took the exact same wrong path, but turned around after five minutes. Probably a goat trail.

Beding. May 2, 2:47pm. Wow, that was grueling. I dragged my butt into town around 1:45. The raw fog had finally turned to rain about halfway here from the Nyimare bridge, and I pulled my rain poncho over myself and the bag. Still, I'm bone-chilled. How could I think I wouldn't need a parka?

I stopped at Drongkhang for breakfast. There were a lot more shacks, and an unfinished building next to our old place. Our friend Zangmu wasn't there. One of the girls remembered the boots you gave Zangmu, and said she was a relative; Zangmu is out collecting firewood, no idea when she'll be back.

 

 

Drongkhang, halfway between Simigaon and Beding

I had tea and 3 big fat chapatis for breakfast, and took another two for the road. Left at 7:49. I was even weaker today than yesterday. Could be the increased altitude, or just accumulating fatigue.

Changes: There's a double-log bridge across the river at Drongkhang. The main bridge across the Rolwaling, where I fell through a broken plank back in 1999, now has a steel floor. A new bridge has been built upstream of the crazy mossy log bridge by the sacred place.

A small run-of-the-river hydro plant has been installed opposite Nyimare, apparently by the Norwegians, and there is supposed to be light after six pm.

 

 

New hydro at Nyimare 

The new Beding stupa was built just below the gompa. I walked through the courtyard -- the west gate was intact, with skirt, although the yellow paint was gone from the metal roof. The deer and courtyard painting looked great. The west gate is intact but dilapidated; the east gate, however, has lost its top. Too bad.
 

 

New stupa at Beding 

 

Bridges-PRTD participants upgrading gate in 2001 

 

Completed gate in 2001
 

West gate of Beding gompa today

 

Nyimare was empty. Every door seemed locked. I was afraid the same might be true of Beding, and wondered if any of the lodges we set up were still functioning. From the stupa I could see yellow signboard Lama's Om ["Home"] Lodge, and made for it through the rain, despite a couple of girls who were trying to hail me.

 

 

Lama Shakya's house with the yellow Lama's Om Lodge sign we made back in 2001

 

Bridges-PRTD participants painting and installing the Lama's Om signboard in 2001

 

After verifying that there was no one Om, I went back to the girl next door, who told me she had "staying place." Turns out she's Nima Zangmu, the niece of Lama Shakya; she proudly displayed a 10-year-old photo of her with Uncle Shakya and "Paper"!! [That's Pepper Etters, a Bridges participant who later returned and set up a clinic.] She said Shakya is fine, his wife too, and they are in Na.

 

Nima Zangmu, all grown up

 

Bridges-PRTD 2001 members Seth, Empar and Pepper with one of the Beding lamas whose name escapes me for the moment.

Then I went out to check on the two Israelis, who had arrived a couple hours earlier and taken a really nice room in the house next door (just west of mine). I ran into a familiar face-- it was Lama Chokling, who was very excited to see me, dragged me inside for tea and explained to the hostess who I was. I had to leave right after a quick tea because my didi ("elder sister" -- in this case, hostess) was making tea for me when I left "for two minutes." I asked Chokling about the clinic, and he said it was fine. I'll have to get photos for Pep.

 

 

The clinic built and maintained by Pepper Etters, with help from The Mountain Fund (mountainfund.org)

 

I was just sitting here shivering and the girl brought out a bag full of Gauri Shankar-Rolwaling hats. I bought two -- one for Pepper, too. Just what I need: more weight in my pack. But I am SO glad to have it. I feel my temperature soaring already. Too bad it's kind of ugly.

4:59. I'm in bed. Too cold and rainy to do anything else. 

This room leaks. I can see daylight through the roof. Nima Zangmu says it's snowing in Na. Bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep.

May 3. 8am.
I have a cold and am feeling shaky. I would go to bed now and rest, but the nights are so long that I can't spend the day there too. Last night I took two sleeping pills several hours apart but still lay awake much of the time. Had a headache for a while, but it went away.

9:47 am. The sun has come and gone. At least I was able to dry out my sweat-damp clothes. Still schnurdling, using up all my toilet paper.

Just had a talk with Lama Chokling, who manages the meteorology and hydrology research station at Nyimare.  Ruedi Baumgartner, an old Rolwaling hand, has been helping with projects. So far the electricity from the Tsho Rolpa spillway hydro isn't going to the locals, but they have submitted a request to deliver some to Na, since all the trees have been used up. Also, they started the lama school about a month ago. They got government approval, and already have three students. [If any WE.com readers want to get involved in helping to sustain traditional culture, this is a brilliant project that needs funding and promotion. These people are planning an institute to train Tibetan Buddhist monks from all over Nepal.]

So I said, "Things seem to be getting better here. Are the people happy?" He sort of laughed. "Everybody's gone to Kathmandu ... or expeditions."

12:45.  Food's coming. I'm cold.

This rain is a killer. What am I supposed to do if it keeps up this way? Everybody seems to think it's normal. Not monsoon... just midday rains. It's cold. My sleeping bag is cold. I slept in all my clothes last night -- jacket, vest, long-sleeved North Face shirt, long pants, thermal underwear, PhD Smartsocks and Gauri Shankar cap. Still cold.

I need to take a dump, but the charpi  (outhouse) is a mess, and I don't want to wade out there through the muck and rain. This is how I get constipated.

Na. May 4 11:37. It took me more than three hours to get here -- normally, an hour and a quarter walk. I'm still exhausted. I was worried that I might be coming down with Acute Mountain Sickness, but, since I'm feeling better, it must be just fatigue.

Nima Zangmu told me I should stay at her mother's place in Na, and this seems to be it. Not much space here, and no separate "room" like I had in Beding. Had to change pants in front of everybody. It's going to be cold, too. And boring.

The lady here says she's Nima Zangmu's mother. The guy looks exactly as I remember our landlord in Beding... Ngawang Norbu . He sounds like NN too, but we were told NN was dead. And this guy is missing a bunch of fingers. (Later learned from anthropologist Dr. Janice Sacherer, that he is Ngawang Norbu's brother Dorje.) 

 

Dorje and Nima Zangmu's mom

 

Missing fingers, typical collateral damage for high-altitude expedition workers 

Five big flies are buzzing at my window. I want to kill them.

1:05 pm. nothing to do but shiver. I definitely didn't bring enough warm clothes.

6:12. Still light out, one of the nice things about Na. In Beding, the steep valley walls and fog rolling up from Simigaon block out the sun by mid-afternoon. On the other hand, it's raining and snowing now and a half hour ago it was hailing.

I've been huddled in all my clothes since I arrived; then I opened my sleeping bag to use as a blanket. A few minutes ago one of the didis gave me a fat new Chinese blanket. (Yay!)

As I was getting up to go the charpi for the fifth time (all that tea they keep force-feeding me to fatten up the bill), without my fogged up glasses, one of the blurs said, "Seth, don't you know me?" It was Norbu, former chair of the Village Development Committee, before the Maoist revolutionaries showed up and disbanded it.  He launched into a long slurry schpiel, which may have been about me not doing anything for Rolwaling -- or maybe not. I couldn't follow it at all. Then he left, saying something about us meeting at the puja (ritual ceremony) at the gompa tomorrow night. Crap. I really want to be gone before then.

6:45. Thugpa (noodle soup) for dinner! Yay! I'm getting to like this place.

May 5, 5:38,  This morning I emptied everything out of my backpack except water, money, and camera, and headed up for Tsho Rolpa, the glacier-dammed lake that sooner or later will probably ream the Rolwaling Valley and everything downstream for hundreds of kilometers. I thought seriously of skipping the lake -- last night I had a headache and I've been feeling weak. But, partly because I want to get out of town for a long-overdue dump, I decided to give it a try.

(I'm getting hailed on... through the roof!) About 15 minutes out of Na, I found a suitable place -- a high rock to lean against, nearby stream to clean up with -- and was just about to drop my pants when four Israeli trekkers showed up. (Not the two I mentioned earlier.) I had to pretend I was just going to relax in the sun for a few minutes. Told them I was tired. They offered to carry my pack! Finally they went on, and I exploded all over the rock. I had almost finished my feeble attemps to cover it up when a second eruption occurred. I don't know if I do have giardea or what, but it was nice to lighten the load. [Later I realized that this was indeed giardea, which explains the fatigue, fever, and gastrointestinal pyrotechnics.]

 

 

I made it to Tsho Rolpa. The last bit was just like Kala Pattar -- even with a tiny load, I had to take a few steps, stop, steps, stop.  Stop. The biggest thrill was seeing the prayer flags flapping on Dutch Rock. Okay, they're not the same, but I wonder if someone borrowed our idea. Also, the area next to Dutch Rock has been squared off to make a kind of terrace.

 

 

 

 

Israeli trekkers at Tsho Rolpa

 

 

 

Lunch: another huge daal-baht-tarkari (rice with lentils and vegetables). Wisely, I refused seconds.

After lunch, the main event: Spring Puja. I ran into Norbu, who again complained that everyone knew I was here, but I didn't come to find him, didn't even say hello when he was sitting there in my room. I explained I had my glasses off because of a headache, sorry sorry sorry. Then the big surprise: a skinny young man of 22 wearing pushed-up reflective sunglasses stepped forward to tell me that I was a friend of his father's, Ngawang Norbu. He had the same jittery mannerisms. I asked him about his father -- he said something about trouble and so they pushed him off. I'm pretty sure he was saying his father was murdered. Just to be sure it was the same story we had heard, I asked if that happened at Tashi Laptsa. Yes.
 

 

New gompa at Na. The original was wiped out by the same glacial lake outburst flood that destroyed the old stupa at Beding, and left the riverside fields strewn with glacial till.

 

The puja itself was pretty nice. I refused the chang (local brew, made with unboiled water), but got roped into licking some disgusting oil of my hands -- actually, you're supposed to sip a bit and rub the rest into your hair. Shakya didn't insist I rub it on my pate.

Thukpa's coming.

[Burp] I took a few shots with the Nikon before the battery ran out. There were some particularly good moments -- all the guys thrusting butter-dabbed knifes in the air -- and the big Israeli at the back trying to stay in time.

 

 

Spring puja, with yak butter daubed knives and showers of beaten rice.

 

Then an argument broke out around the Israelis. It seems someone (let's call him "The Drunk," although they were all drunk) said the Israelis should make a donation. Ngawang Norbu's son ("The Kid") was insensed, wanted to fight The Drunk. The Israelis went outside, The Kid followed, and started yammering for the The Drunk to come out and fight. Throughout the whole episode, the Spring Puja in the gompa continued, and then shifted into dancing.

Apparently the girls (especially Nima Zamgmu and her big sister) convinced The Kid to leave. I watched him, a couple hundred yards away, abusing a cute young yak; he and his friend eventually got it loaded with two big sacks of potatoes.  A woman at the gompa yelled at them not to bring the yak, which was rather feisty, toward us, but to take the main trail to Beding. Instead, he brought the yak right into the gompa courtyard. Soon the yelling started again, and The Drunk came out flailing. The big girls broke up the scuffle and pulled The Kid out of the courtyard, while the yak stood bewildered watching the scene. Then The Drunk hauls out a Tibetan knife with a foot-long blade, swinging it at the people who are trying to restain him.

 

Nima Zangmu's big sister with chang jug

From about thirty feet away, The Kid threw an apple-sized rock, which amazingly knocked the knife right out of The Drunk's hand. The Drunk picked it right back up and staggered, swing the knife, toward The Kid's yak. I thought he was going to stab it, but then The Drunk just snicked through the yak's rope (which was trailing on the ground, not tied to anything anyway) and slapped the yak to make it run away. The Drunk turned and lurched back into the gompa. The yak stopped about fifty feet away.

The Kid went berserk. He tried to go get The Drunk, but all the matrons yammered at him, and Nima Zangmu's big sister simply muscled him away from the gompa door. Then they latched the heavy wood door from the outside, so The Drunk couldn't come out.

Whatever the matrons were yammering at The Kid was quite effective. Eventually The Kid was laughing a litte -- but still "machignay-ing" -- and then the girls brought out a pitcher of chang and mugs and a whole buch of them went into a side house to drink.

The Drunk emerged shouting while I was eating, and continued for a long time.

One thing that struck me was that The Kid was wearing the flimisest of clothes. He took off his "Northface" jacket when he was challenging The Drunk to fight. At some point, he lost his shoes -- walking around in just socks and a thin undershit and pants as the temperature dropped through the late afternoon. It was sad.

Khelse. May 6 5:05 pm. 

I cleared out of Na at 6:20 am, took the wrong way out of town. Instead of trying to negotiate the maze of walls, I circled down to the river, which was perfect for finding a dumpsite, but turned out to be a huge waste of time, up and down a  dozen ravines, before I finally caught up with the main trail near the big pained Buddha (or whoever he is).

I left Na without eating, hoping I'd find a smoking house in Beding or Nyimare. Nothing. Pulled into Drongkhang around 1:45, very shaky -- hungry and thirsty. Zangmu was there this time. She immediately set out a cold beer, very nice, although I woud not have ordered one. Of course she asked about you [Empar] and when are you're coming back, etc etc etc. And when I wanted to pay for the stack of chapatis and omelette and beer, she said no-no-no money, friend, blah blah blah. I gave her 1000 rupees anyway -- said it was to help with her new house.

 

 

 

Zangmu and friends at Drongkhang

 

I badly need a shower. Very sticky. Also a shave... I may do that at Simigaon tomorrow, if the tap is working. But the shower will probably have to wait for Charikot. Anyway, I won't have clean clothes.

Simigaon. May 7 10:55. Left Khelse at 6:15 and got here around 10:30. No breakfast -- just tea. Lots of flies here. Nobody working around the lodge. Help!

First couple of hours out of Drongkhang were okay. Then I came to the wall-blocked path. There were some notched logs set against the wall, suggesting people actually went that way. Since I didn't see an alternative path, I went over the wall and crossed the boulders piled in the steep tributary creek. Pretty sketchy.

In a couple of other places I got confused about the path; would have had a lot more trouble if some people hadn't happened by and pointed out the right way. Part of the problem is that so many leaves have fallen that it is hard to see the trail.

8:43 Ate too much. Again.

A Luxembourgeois, George Something-or-other, was discussing with his two Sherpa collaborators their project to fix the roofs of the school, the health clinic and the gompa here in Simigaon. Seems he's been undertaking projects for years, independently. I don't recall having heard of him.

Gauri-Shankar from Charikot. Before the first measurements of Everest, this double peak on the north side of Rolwaling Valley was thought to be the highest on Earth.

Hotel Laxmi, Charikot. May 8 7:29pm  I feel like I'm back in Kathmandu. Expensive hotel (500 rupees/US$7), real menu, and the Nikon battery is recharging upstairs in my room... for free. Across the street are a couple of Internet Cafe signs.

I left Simigaon at 6:01 this morning, promptly fell over some poles in the path -- nothing serious, but two later slips could have had consequences. Time splits: 7:15 Bridge at Chechet   8:00 Gongkar  9:08 Jagat  11:45 Singate

Thought I would have to wait till tomorrow for a bus to Charikot, but I got two tickets right away (260 rupees); got on the bus at 1:30, and just staggered off about half an hour ago. It was grueling, of course. No leg room. Fighting with passengers who thought my jhola's spot should go to a Nepali manche (person). The bus system is so disgusting; they let everyone who wants get on the bus -- probably upwards of seventy in a bus that would have been crowded with thirty.

But... I just had a three minute cold shower (until the water ran out), dried off with what was probably someone else's towel, shaved with an old blade that pulled out more follicles than it cut, and put on some "clean" underpants that I washed yesterday at Simigaon but which didn't have time to dry before the afternoon rains began... And I feel fantastic!

Tomorrow I'm supposed to be able to get a bus to Bandhar... that means I skip the entire Deurali pass. Things have changed.

 

 

For more information on Rolwaling see http://www.rolwaling.org. 

 

 

Seth Sicroff, Nepal Editor for Wandering Educators
Manager, Sunrise Pashmina