Tales of the Unexpected

40,429 ft – somewhere east of Budapest.

Despite my current altitude I don’t have the slightest element of a headache as I’m currently onboard the last of my 6 Qatar Airways flights in 3 weeks and heading for Heathrow. I could’ve started this sooner into the flight but quite frankly I decided to prioritise the viewing of the cinematic mast

erpieces that are the 2010 versions of The Karate Kid and The A-Team. I don’t regret my decision in the slightest and if I only had time I’d knock off that other sure fire Oscar winner on the list ‘Marmaduke’ aswell. But all that excitement in one day could finish this rather tired little penguin off once and for all, so to the blog…..

Well the last time I updated this I was in Kathmandu and I knew that what lay ahead of me over the next few weeks would be an unforgettable experience. The anticipation of trekking through the jungle of the lower Langtang valley as the world’s most famous mountain range opened before my eyes had me breakdancing on the spot with excitement. Whilst the details were yet to carve themselves indelibly in my heart and mind, I could visualise what lay ahead. Yes, if I’m brutally honest I knew I was sitting on the verge of many great unknowns, but there were certain ‘givens’ that I was expecting from my Himalayan adventure. By the time I returned to KTM I certainly expected at least the following:

1. To have experienced the sensation of my jaw dropping at the sight of these awesome mountains and to have been privileged to have seen the great mountaineering skills of the Sherpas and famous Nepali porters first hand

2. To have on my camera a handful of spectacular blue sky, prayer flag fluttering, arms around teammates summit photos and probably even more images of small, impossibly cute, and very dirty children

3. To have witnessed spectacularly disgusting toilets and to have been afflicted by some pretty hardcore action in ‘Bots’wana region if you know what I’m saying…..

4. To have learned a great deal about Nepali, Tibetan and specifically the Tamang culture and probably have bought some of those ridiculous MC Hammer colourful trousers which I would believe were fantastic despite the constant reassurances from my boyfriend that they were in fact simultaneously hideous and pretentious

5. To have had at least one personal epiphany which would change the course of the future of my life – perhaps involving a shaven head friendly faced and serene man sporting maroon and yellow robes

Oh and by the time I boarded any European bound flight, I would of course have spent 4 days in Dubai and would be leaving overwhelmed by the excesses of the place, horrified by its lack of authenticity, and vowing never to grace it with my MC Hammer trouser wearing presence ever again.

Ok so that is what I expected, so what actually happened? A lot. Shed loads in fact. Some of it I expected yet to be brutally honest, most of it I couldn’t have anticipated in my most yak cheese fuelled dreams and that in itself has been the greatest surprise of the trip.

Of course I should have known it would never have been predictable. The whole randomness of how it even came into being (touched on in earlier blog posts) rendered it nigh on impossible that this would be a ‘normal’ trip to the Himalayas and beyond. If I had been using the services of the stereotypical UK or US based trekking/mountaineering company, things would have undoubtedly been far more predictable. But normality was not what I was seeking and as a result I was served up large portions of mentalness on a daily basis.

I should’ve known that things were not taking a regular – so to speak – direction when four days after landing in Nepal, I was still to take a Brad Pitt (if you don’t understand I have utter faith you’ll work it out in less than 5 seconds….5, 4, 3….there you go), let alone experience the kind of nuclear fall out I had been forewarned would be nothing less than an inevitability. And so it was that the trip continued along these lines – ie contradictory to what I had anticipated yet full (!) with the lessons and experience that inevitably come with the unexpected.

The Langtang Valley itself is supposed to be the destination of choice for those looking for a more authentic Nepalese trekking experience. With little desire to be route marched alongside thousands of other MC Hammer trouser wearers around the Annapurna circuit, or up and down the staircase of the Everest Base Camp trek, I was looking forward to trekking for hours on end with only yaks, monkeys, red pandas, and the occasional snow leopard for company. While there were elements of the trek that were indeed like this - the initial day from Syabru Besi up to Khangin and the following day’s trek high up the valley before joining the well trodden route at the god awful Lama Hotal – there were far more animals in the shape of Western tourists than I had expected to find in the valley. No doubt an enormous contributing factor was the weather which had grounded flights in and out of Lukla (the airport for all Everest bound travellers) for an unprecedented 4 days and meant that alternative routes needed to be found for hundreds of trekkers pretty damn quickly. It may also just well be that my own idea of solitude in the mountains comes from a slightly different basis than others – as a Scot I have been brought up on a diet of ‘no bugger around’ when heading towards high places and as a result, may be a tad bit spoilt in that area.

Whilst I might have appreciated a little more of the solitude that I am used to in the mountains of Scotland, what I certainly didn’t appreciate was the distinct and rather too familiar Scottishness that the weather began to assume the higher up the valley we travelled. Yup, not only did the weather inadvertently bring more bodies to the Langtang than I had anticipated, it also had a pretty significant impact on the days when we were due to be away from the crowds – ie those which involved the attempt on Yala Peak. Minimal visibility verging on nil. Drizzle turning to snow and ice rain all in the space of 4 minutes. A shifting breeze verging from annoying to menacing the higher that we laboured into the mist. As it was we didn’t make it to the summit of Yala Peak and I for one am not particularly fussed by this – for sure the Scottish weather conditions slowed our progress but had we continued the last few hundred meters towards the summit, they would have undoubtedly have had a far more sinister and longer lasting impact on the trip and quite possibly our lives. It was big boys stuff up there and to play any Highland games would have been quite frankly, nothing less than idiocy.

Ah yes. Idiocy. A word upon meeting my 2 fellow Iranian adventurers I feared might feature rather regularly in my vocabulary when it came to observing their behaviour in the mountains. And so it came to pass. From the minute that Shervin suggested that Mohammad buy a $20 sleeping bag in KTM to spend at least one night at 4,800m in the Himalayas, the phrase utter f**king idiocy (U.F.I) almost became my catchphrase when I watched them go about their day to day business on our trip. To give you an idea, Shervin’s summit day rucksack contained jeans, flip flops and a copy of The Guardian. Exactly. To be fair, Mohammad lives in Dubai and Shervin in Frinton on Sea so I guess their mountain U.F.I is kind of forgivable. What was completely not forgivable in my eyes however was a Sherpa demonstrating any kind of U.F.I high in the mountains and I almost wept with disappointment when Chumbi insisted on leading us in a direction that I instinctively knew was not only incorrect but also ridiculously dangerous. Spending the ensuing 2 hours clambering over 4 foot high rocking boulders covered in snow at 5,000m was not only incredibly energy sapping and a total waste of time, but could have very easily resulted in legs of the broken variety. I have never felt so frustrated, angry, and quite frankly like I was the only one who could observe what we were trying to do and actually adopt the appropriate strategy and go the right bloody way to facilitate any chance of getting near the summit. It appears that Sherpas don’t follow maps. Well you know what? That’s great if they know where they’re going. Otherwise it is as stupid as anyone heading out to try and climb Ben Nevis wearing nothing but a pair of Speedos and Crocs.

A strange set of circumstances indeed and the weirdness foundations were now firmly laid to build a strong set of utter bizarreness for the rest of the trip and this is exactly what happened. Any illness that I had anticipated experiencing in Nepal would surely have resulted in dodgy water induced bottom explosions so enormous that the Richter scale would struggle to record their historically unprecedented levels. But the oddness continued when I began to feel worse and worse, no energy, the occasional totally untactical chunder in front of everyone dining in the Namaste Guesthouse in Kyanjin Gompa, ludicrous headaches and irritability, and enormous swings in body temperature. I would awake in the morning and my sleeping bag would be utterly drenched through with my sweat, my hair would be soaking and heart racing. Altitude sickness? No it would appear that only our Nepali porters would be the ones who would be afflicted by this during the trip. Of course. They are totally unaccustomed to these kind of situations as they only come out into these mountains about 5 times a year. Yeah right. Anyway, as it was when I got to Dubai I was thankfully route marched pretty much straight to the local medical centre by one of my dearest friends and it was a damn good thing that we did not pass Go or collect any amount of Rupees or Dirhams as an infection had made its dangerous little way into my kidneys and I was informed that had I waited much longer, things could have been pretty messy. As it was I loved Dubai. I didn’t even expect to like it, let alone love it but I really really did. Perhaps it was the security of being looked after by someone after the difficulties of the preceding weeks, or maybe it was the utter relief of being somewhere where life was not a minute by minute shit fight. It may have even been the fact that I was shockingly, blatantly chatted up by a very handsome Emirati passport control officer when entering the country but there’s no need to analyse. It’s a fantastic place and I look forward to returning when I don’t feel as if I have only 33 seconds left to live……

So as I sit on this UK bound aircraft, I am returning home with a whole host of memories and experiences, a painful peeing problem and a total absence of MC Hammer trousers. My boyfriend will be pleased with the latter but probably a little less enamoured with the previous acquisition. I may not have put many of the experiences on my ‘must-haves’ list before going to Nepal but I wouldn’t have changed any of them for the world. It is an intriguing place and a land where visitors should suspend any kind of expectation upon hitting the tarmac at Kathmandu airport. From the moment you head out of the relative calm and safety of airport interior and into the chaos and heat of the city and beyond, I advise you to do nothing more than make a pact with your own adventure – smile, open your eyes and your heart and expect only the unexpected. If you do only these few things then you might just have your own unique Nepali experience. And no amount of strange happenings will ever be able to take that from you. Ooh, looks like I may actually have had an epiphany after all…..Kathman-done.

Doing the Du in the Kat Man….

And they’re off…. That’s what it feels like arriving in Kathmandu – one minute you are in your little peaceful airplane world gazing out of the window and trying desperately to identify any of the countless majestic Himalayan peaks soaring above the fluffy clouds, then you land and that’s it. Majestic silence and wonder are immediately replaced with majestic chaos. Smells, noise, horns, people, colours, fires, rubbish, cows, dogs, dead people, flags….its gloriously mental. Having said that it appears to be a slightly different kind of anarchy in Kathmandu. More one of a kind of ‘ordered chaos’ – a total oxymoron I know, but that is absolutely the stand out observation that I have made since my plane hit the tarmac at an alarming rate 24 hours ago.

The greatest example of this structured confusion can be found on the roads of this awesome city. Now I have just had one of the most mind blowing days of my life sat on the back of a Sherpa’s motorbike zooming all over the city. We went speeding around from one jaw dropping temple to the next incredible prayer flag adorned K-Du highlight but I have a confession to make. Visually and spiritually awesome as these temples and other must-sees were, by far and away the most amazing experience for me was actually when we were in transit. You see some stuff sat on the back of a motorbike weaving in and out of the Tuk Tuks and buses wearing shorts, flip flops and not even a glimmer of a helmet – sorry mum. Yup we raised a few eyebrows did Sherpa and I on our red bullet and it definitely didn’t pass me by the fact that I didn’t see one other westerner on the back of any bike. While I loved every minute and it didn’t worry me in the slightest, I’m not bloody surprised there weren’t any others doing the same thing. It’s mental out there people and is probably the best form of therapy anyone suffering from any kind of control issues! And it doesn’t make sense but it does make sense if that makes any sense? Hmmm…..let me try and explain. On the roads in Kathmandu there appear to be no rules and as a result people make up their own, and they all seem to work even though some are a little more perplexing than others. For example, safety. So as I’ve said already, I am helmetless (oi oi!!). But Sherpa, who is driving, has a helmet (repeat previous bracketed phrase). This seems to be the norm for all bike riders and their passengers in K-Du and I can only speculate that it’s something to do with legal stuff. Why else would a family of four be riding on the same motorbike (indeed a sight to behold!) and the father is the only one wearing a helmet? God knows. Wait, let me rephrase that. Buddha, Shiva, Ganesh etc etc etc knows. There is a plethora of geographically appropriate Gods in this country and I may be so bold as to speculate that it may in fact be they who actually hold the key to the functionality of the whole traffic mentalness. From what I’ve witnessed in only 24 hours on the roads in this great city, the entire population should be wiped out in about 10 years. But during the entire day I didn’t see one crash, not one person shouting at anyone else, and only one ambulance. So where does religion come in to this? Oh yes, well basically it got me thinking that to drive and ride like they do in such huge numbers with no rules and barely a set of traffic lights, the Kathmandu-ers must be bloody aware of what is going on at all times. Awareness and tolerance. Key skills to be a good driver in any country I would suggest. And if you think about it, this approach would have to be at the base of your belief system to enable itself to permeate out into the way you operate on a daily basis, even down to getting on your bike/in your car to journey over the tarmac and dust. And this is the unique thing about Kathmandu – you have literally thousands of extremely spiritual people living side by side others who follow an equally long established religion and they all appear to respect each others’ open displays of worship. There does not appear to be any sense of anyone feeling threatened or operating from a point of blame, anger of fear. So what I’m saying is that it would appear to me that this base awareness, respect, tolerance of others which underpins the city’s moral framework translates out onto the roads meaning that its citizens absolutely can drive around in the most dangerous conditions with barely a problem.

Being fortunate enough to be offered this crazy ride by my Sherpa, combined with having the balls to actually get on the bike in the first place, has given me what feels like a very unique insight into this city on day 1. But that’s kind of the way that life works I reckon, whack some equal parts luck and bravery into the pot and a dinner of great rewards is very often served…..I’m just glad that roadkill wasn’t the dish of the day.

En route from the Highlands to the High Land

Qatar Airport 0520 BST. I have definitely headed East but have not yet reached my destination. Ah nothing like a bit of philosoph(ie) at stupid o'clock half way around the globe. "They" - the ones who spread myths about a range of topics but always remain anonymous - say it's all about enjoying the journey right? Well the journey to get to the point of actually getting on a plane bound for Nepal has been extraordinary to say the least. What started out as a plan conceived in the Canadian Rockies to climb Ama Dablam has now materialised into a trek into the Langtang Valley to distribute medical aid into the mountain villages and then an attempt on the 5,500m Yala Peak. Originally I was going to be joining an organised expedition with a bunch of other Western high altitude seekers but how things have actually worked out is that I'm going to be hanging out in the Himalayas with Shervin, the Iranian pharmacist, Shervin's random friend Mohammed from Dubai, a Sherpa called Chumbi, Sherap the Nepalese student, and 3 porters. And of course this all materialised as a result of an ankle ligament injury which inadvertantly led to a meeting with a Nepalese Sherpa on a beach in the north east of Scotland. The rest as they say, is the present.

So yes, it's going to be special, it already is. As a result it was befitting that the journey kicked off with something a little bit different in the form of sharing the Inverness - London Gatwick flight with a Hollywood A-Lister. Of course Penguins respect the privacy of all human beings and stay away from the tendency to name drop ("Amanda.......Hamilton".......you know who you are!!) and as such said celebrity shall remain nameless in this instance. However should anyone wish to contribute financially to my ridiculous globe trotting and attempt to set the largest carbon footprint for a penguin in 2010, then I would be more than happy to reveal anything about Tilda Swinton's personal flying habits. Oh bugger. Back to the credit card then.....

Speaking of the credit card, it had better prepare itself for some Guantanamo Bay proportioned abuse. Having already had to spend £175 on excess baggage (don't ask, well do, but I'll hit you) in Heathrow and facing the prospect of having to pay out twice that amount for the return journey via Dubai, I decided to celebrate with a wanky soya latte in Doha. £7 later. If I knew the Nepali for arseholewankershitbumpoo, I would evidently write it here.

On that note, I'm off to consult my language book to learn a few useful and possibly even practical words and phrases. Currently my vocab extends as far as the Nepali for 'sexy' and a fantastic word for lady's bits. Am thinking that 'hello' may just be more appropriate but you never know......