Before I went on my 'long strange trip' to the Himalayas, I thought that deeply spiritual, life-changing thoughts would descend on me like snowflakes from the heavens. Surrounded by snow-capped peaks, serene and untroubled, I would have challenging thoughts and revelations even as I ate my morning cornflakes for breakfast. Was I a latent Buddhist, perhaps? Or a born-again vegetarian, about to discover my true self by meditating in an ice-bound cave.
There were no revelations - and the cornflakes were a bit sparse, too. Nothing. So, what DID I think about?
1. Survival ruled. Ie, getting up or down the next impossibly steep slope without disaster. My legs were getting strronger daily - breathing was the problem. And as the air thinned down I had to stop more and more often, just to get air in my lungs. It was dispiriting to see the next impossibly steep incline and know that I would have to plod, gasp, plod, gasp, plod, gasp, stop. Several times as we came to yet another steep incline I just looked upwards and said words to myself that would have deeply shocked Ram and Nurbu.
But going down wasn't much better. Although easier on the lungs, slippering and slithering on uneasy, desperately steep downhills was downright frightening at times, not helped by the nonchalance with which Ram - and Nurbu with my heavy backpack - sometimes almost danced down them. So I had to concentrate. I had no brainpower left for a good ponder about the meaning of life.
So what did I do with what was left of my brain? I stated to learn Nepali: I chanted numbers 'ek, doi, tin, char, panch', timing them with my footsteps as I went slower and slower up the hills. Two tunes jumped into my mind and I used them as some sort of mantra: 'Another one bites the Dust' (what a rhythm for determined plodding - and the words are pretty good, too) and 'Adiemus' when the views were glorious.
2. Life became very simple. I often looked at Norbu, moving like a top-heavy tortoise with my backpack. He carried his own in front - nothing more than a daypack, yet it held everything he'd need for 25 days. Ram carried the same. So - did I really need all the stuff in my medical kit - well, yes - something might go wrong. Did I need spare shampoo AND soap? (Well, maybe - perhaps I'd run out of one of them). Two cameras? (One might break). The list went on. I coud have managed with half the stuff. On the Annapurna Circuit, literally everything has to be carried to the villages - on ponies or people. What did I really need? I could have managed without most 'essentials' but I couldn't have managed without Ram's encouragement and Nurbu's quiet humour.
3. People matter. On our second day we had to cross a colossal, crumbly and chronically unstable landslide. Nurbu, (burdened with my rucsac) pushed me up the last part of a steep and crumbling slope. Not daring to look down, aware of stones and rocks falling around me, I swung across a gap, hanging onto tree roots, and Ram pulled me up. Teamwork! And when we'd reached the other side (3-4 shaky minutes later) Nurbu took off my rucsac and went back across, helping a mother with a young hild who, incidentally, was making the crossing in flipflops.
4. Sleep matters. Each night I was in bed by 7.30 and woke just before 6am. One day I 'rested' in the afternoon, waking up 2 hours later, went to bed at 7 and slept dreamlessly until the usual time. I tried to be awake then as toilets (squatty, of course) were shared with at least 10 other people and so I 'went' before the morning rush. It was also a lot cleaner; using a 'squat' toilet demands a range of skills that I would prefer to leave vague.
5. Boots. Walking started out hot and got hotter; I removed layers until decency prevailed. But I could not remove my boots. I wore my tried and trusted well-worn-in boots and they never gave a moment's trouble. Thank you, Berghaus. But I met several limping people who had bought NEW BOOTS just before setting off amd had been plagued with blisters. Moral - never buy new boots before doing anything major - use the tried and trusted even if theylook horribly worn and old. Is that a moral for life? And socks. I had bought quality walking socks and they did me proud. But as I walked my feet became hotter asnd hotter,and socks felt more and more damp until they seemed like solid masses of sweat. Which they were. And they ponged. But then, so did everyone's, so perhaps that's another lesson for life.
So, all my hopes of having magnificently spiritual thoughts and discovering the meaning of life were reduced to:
1) We don't need as much as we think we do.
2) People are far more important than possessions.
3) 'Another One Bites the Dust' can get you up mountains.
and, finally,
4) Sweaty feet and smelly socks are the great levellers.
