November

So I wrote a book, in November. Given that it was national novel-writing month. I took the plots (well, the ideas - plots are not my strong point) from the two books I've been playing with for the past ten years and amalgamated them into one book. I didn't look at anything I'd written, the hundred or so pages I had, between the two, I just started writing again from the beginning, wrote 1667 words a day, give or take, and now I have 50,000 words. A coherent whole. It needs a bunch of work, but I'm going to see if I can make it be a real book. If nothing else I can get the two ideas out of my head and start something new finally.

A strange thing happened, halfway through the writing process. I realized that I had set up something that totally made sense, without realizing it. And I managed to tie both plots together, and no-one will guess I'm thinking because I didn't even know until I got there. Now I just have to try and not screw that up by dropping too many hints.

the town formerly known as Frobisher Bay

Had a little bit of a cross-Arctic tour this past week, went to Iqaluit for meetings, with stops in Igloolik, Hall Beach, Kugaaruk and Cape Dorset.

Some things that happened in Iqaluit:

I lost my good hat. (it was blue and had braids. I think it fell out of my pocket when I wasn't wearing it.)
I ate a lot of ginger beef. (and chicken wings. it was a meat-fest. I also had steak and roast beef. that's what happens when you hang out with a whole bunch of guys.)
I was assessed a fine at the regimental dinner, for trying to pay for the ticket with less than the full amount. (apparently the fines are a tradition. my boss got fined for falling asleep in a meeting.)
Went to the movies, saw "Get Low" and although the plot was a bit corny, the dialogue was amazing and it was very visually stunning. (plus I like Bill Murray.)

a Nepal post

Because I'm still processing...

There is a coffee shop on the corner of the road that leads to the Radisson hotel in Kathmandu. I found it the first day I was there and needed somewhere to sit for a while. I sat in the window and had an americano and read all of the newspapers from cover to cover. Every now and then I'd think to myself, "I'm in Kathmandu." The coffee shop had patrons but not so many that I felt uncomfortable sitting there for an hour. The coffee was hot enough to have to drink slowly. They offered me a choice of Lavazza or Nepali coffee and I chose the Nepali, which made the boy behind the counter smile. By the third time I came in, I walked up to the counter and he saidt to me, proudly, "Two shot Americano, Nepali coffee, black." On the day I messed up the money and tried to give him a 1000 rupee note instead of a 100 rupee note, he insisted on giving me my change. One of the days I was there I was talking to a man from I think Ohio who now lives in Kathmandu, and he told me how to get to a street fair I wanted to visit. Chris that I was hiking with came and met me for coffee a couple of times.

But although that was comfortable and somewhat familiar to me, a block to the east there was a woman who was always sitting on the sidewalk. She was there every time I walked past, sitting on a blanket on the filthy sidewalk, with her two small children lying next to her. They were all wearing what amounted to rags. The babies had crusty eyes, and there were flies on their faces that they didn't bother to brush away. Their mother, emaciated and translucent, was talking to the children one morning, and mixing something that resembled grain in a plastic bowl with water that she poured from a cloudy plastic bottle. Breakfast. She didn't look at me. Traffic was passing by within two feet of them, and emission controls haven't caught on in Nepal yet. Also most drivers honk continuously and sometimes ride up on the sidewalk. After a couple of days, we went out at night and they were still there. I realized that they weren't just setting up to spend the day there, that was where they lived. There was a bank a few doors down, with armed guards at the door, perhaps that made her feel that she had a little bit of safety from their presence. It occurred to me that a lot of the annoyances that I complain about on a day-to-day basis are really very trivial. I imagined having to try and explain my complaints to this woman - "nobody helps me with the housework". What would she say? "You have a house..."

Children who looked as young as ten were working as porters, carrying enormous loads on their backs up the steep mountain trails, wearing crocs or flipflops on their feet, and we were told that the normal fee for porters is about 200 rupees a day. To put that into perspective, chocolate bars on the trail were 200 rupees, mostly. That's about two bucks a day. Granted, in the non-tourist stores in Kathmandu you can buy a litre bottle of water for about 15 rupees, but still. Not a generous wage.

I had a conversation with a cabdriver, who was lamenting the rising divorce rate in Nepal. He said that divorce was previously almost unknown, but that recently it has become more commonplace. He felt that although Nepal desperately needs the money the tourists bring, they don't need the Western/secular influences.

I loved how close religion is to ordinary life. There are little shrines everywhere, in the street, prayer rocks out on the trail, and people walking around fingering their prayer beads. I liked to see the little old ladies in their sandals, out walking around the stupas and pushing all the prayer wheels. Everywhere you go, there are recordings of Om Mani Padme Hum playing, and I found that it got stuck in my head. I ended up acquiring a cd of it, and have been playing it in the kitchen when I have the place to myself.

I stood behind an Australian man at a little store on the trek. He was wanting to buy a chocolate bar, and he was bothering the owner for something he didn't have, a twix or something. I backed off a bit, because although I was trekking with him, I didn't want to be associated with him. After a lot of complaining, he picked out one of those kitkat chunky bars, and the proprietor said, "300 rupees." My trek mate started getting aggressive, "No, I'm not paying that much, everywhere else it's 200 rupees." The proprietor replied, "300." No sale, and he's off, muttering. I stepped up, smiled, we exchanged Namaste, and then I asked for a Mars bar. "200 rupees". I just pulled out my money and paid him. I would have paid 300. I can't see arguing over what is basically a miniscule sum of money.

summer

It's been really quite warm here the last week or so, I even wore my sandals and capris to work.

Thanks to a garage sale, there has been a fair bit of complaining from the other members of the household about my plants. I adopted an elephant tree, a giant ivy, a big trailing plant with heart-shaped leaves and another spider plant. The elephant tree is so big it was hard to find a place to put it, but the funny thing is that Joeby really likes to lie underneath it. Pretending he's a puma, maybe. I also have a nice crop of lettuce this year. (I know, anyone can grow lettuce, but it's fun to have fresh salads from my 'garden').

I've had lots to do at work, Iqaluit sent me a couple of files to work on in my spare time, which is good as I'm saving my money to go walk across Spain next year with Jessica.

Ian's off at cadet camp, he's staffing this year. Rachel goes on the 26th. Kirsten and Jordan are home, and Eric's staying with us this week as his mom's out of town. So the teenager count remains the same.

When school starts again Ian will be in grade twelve, which is wild, Kirsten will be going back for her second year of university, and Rachel's starting senior high. Where does the time go? (Dumb question, really, I know).

I am enjoying this phase, they're happy to go for walks with me and discuss things, they help around the house - the other day I got off early from work because it was a holiday and when I got home and was going to start cleaning house, they said, "You go have a nap. We'll clean up tomorrow." And they herded me off to my room, and the next day they did clean, they vacuumed and tidied the living room, did the dishes, swept and mopped the kitchen and dining room...

home

It's been different, here, since I got home. I haven't been in the habit of recording my relationship woes here, and I'm not going to start now, but suffice to say some things got said that have needed to be said for a long time. Well, truthfully I have said them before, but they weren't taken seriously. Mayhem ensued. I don't know what will happen next, but it will at least be truthful.

I'm taking a gun safety course. I don't know that I'll ever be courageous enough to carry a gun - I tend to think that if bears eat me that's just karma - but I'm doing my practical test today. I have to load and unload guns safely and demonstrate awareness of safety procedures. On Thursday I didn't think I'd be able to pass it - it wasn't sticking in my head, but yesterday the guys at work explained bullets and shells to me, and then Kirsten and I looked at her dad's guns and I think maybe we're almost ready.

back in Kathmandu

It's almost time to go home. I've got a flight Sunday night. Shopping still needs to be done, gotta take souvenirs. We went to see the monkey temple this morning, the monkeys were fighting and the temple is under construction.

So what did I learn about myself? I'm tougher than I thought. The only thing I missed on the trek was coffee. I really count on my coffee in the morning to get going. They bring tea, which is lovely, but it's not enough caffeine. I'm still angry about a couple of things, but I think just being able to say what they are will help, in the long run. I'm pretty self-contained, I didn't mind being alone.

Namche again

The choice today was to walk directly to Namche or detour through Khunde and Khumjung, where there is a school founded by Sir Edmund Hillary, and a hospital. There wasn't much enthusiasm for another climb, and the end result was that Paul, Arthur, Dilli, Hosta and I went up the valley and the rest went straight for Namche.

I was happy with the choice - they were non-tourist villages, and very quiet. Little kids were playing ball in the street, and Dilli struck up a conversation with a couple of them, who then followed us for a while. He said "Namaste" to them, which is the usual greeting, and later told us that the little boy said, "You don't have to say that, you're not a tourist."

The walk was hard, the uphill part. Actually the down was hard too, because it was so steep, and it was stiflingly hot, so hot that tonight there is a huge thunderstorm circling Namche, it seems to be stuck in the bowl of the mountains. We're camping in the garden at the Sherpa Lodge, and all our sherpas are giggling in their tent, I think they're playing cards.

The hidden valley

We only walked half the day today. And not very fast, at that. Although some of the trail was a along the side of a steep muddy bank high above the river, and I fell over coming around a corner and had to be caught by Basu and Helena so I didn't fall in the water. We are camped in a beautiful valley, with a stream trickling past, and we've got the afternoon off. I'm planning a nap. I washed clothes in the stream - I picked the wrong rock to rub them on, it had green slime on it and I had to start again - but they're drying now on the fence. I washed my hair, too, first time since Namche. It's been in braids, though, most of the time, so it wasn't too dirty.

Tomorrow we'll be back in Tengboche and Namche, and staying in the Sherpa hotel again.

Orsho

"He had gone trekking among their lower reaches, but had never attempted to climb them to the summit: it seemed to him a sacrilege" - The Mountain is Young, Han Suyin.

Much easier day today, downhill from Lobuche to Orsho. Beautiful quiet campsite by the river, and we're all more relaxed.

I feel as if I'm headed for home, now. And yet I could keep walking. I have a much better sense right now of what it means to be ME than I have had in years. Not sure where I'm going to go with that, but I can only think it's a good thing.

Base Camp

This morning, Base Camp. It was very emotional. Today more than ever I was thinking that Dad should be here.

The walk from Gorak Shep isn't a difficult walk, there's a bit of uphill but it's mostly flat. "Nepali flat", Dilli says, and laughs - he means there's flat bits but there's also ups and downs. There is only one trail at this point, so all the traffic, yaks, climbers, trekkers, some Japanese people in puffy purple down jackets and running shoes, everyone's on the same track. Two young girls are driving six or seven medium-sized yaks in front of us, Razkumar and I have gotten ahead of the rest of our group. We pass the two girls sitting on a rock, and we catch up with the yaks. The yaks walk for a bit and then they stop. The trail is too narrow for us to pass the yaks, so Raz picks up a rock and throws it at the back one. It bleats a bit and starts to scamper, the others move too. We walk for about a quarter of a mile with the yaks, Raz throwing rocks and making "haaa" noises. He turns to me and says, "Yak driver." When the girls catch up again, they move in behind the yaks and shout at them, but they don't say anything to us. The yaks are carrying provisions for Base Camp, mostly instant noodles.

We didn't go all the way down to the tent camp at Base Camp. We took pictures and sat around for a bit enjoying the 'being there' and then we headed back. Some of the group started talking about wanting to have a quick route back to Kathmandu, they'd seen what they came for, but I am still liking the walking and liking the fact that we still have almost a week of walking to get back.

We're back in Lobuche this evening.

Gorak Shep

Hard walking, today. The ground is very rocky, and the air is paper-thin. You breathe it in and it doesn't do anything. We got to Gorak Shep at lunch time, and my headache from yesterday had returned. I wanted to go up Kala Pattar, though, to see the views of Everest, so I lay down for a while in my tent, hoping the headache would go away.

It did. After lunch, those of us who felt able (and not everyone did) started to climb up Kala Pattar. It's a big black lump, in fact I think the name means 'black rock', and we were headed for the top.

I've read about climbing at altitude, and how you take a few steps and then take a few breaths, but I wasn't ready for the reality - four steps, six or seven breaths, four steps - at first, then later on it was one step at a time, like moving through water. I even went into a sort of dream state, at one point, and found myself being annoyed that the girl behind me was crying. Her husband was encouraging her, but my brain was saying, "Why is she whining in my dream?" Can't sustain a thought, though, really, for a while I was counting breaths and steps and thinking, I'm walking, but then it seemed I was just thinking, "I am. I am."

The views from the top were spectacular. Everest is so black, inbetween the whitenesses of Nuptse and Lhotse. You can't really see it from the valley, because Nuptse and Lhotse are in the way, you have to climb up the other side of the valley, hence our little sortie.

Climbing Kala Pattar, I think, was the hardest three hours of my life so far. And that's saying a lot, after having given birth three times, But I did it, and I've got the pictures to prove it.

Lobuche

My head hurts this evening, a bit. Lying down helps, though, and apparently altitude sickness gets worse when you lie down. So I guess just a headache.

We are traveling through hill farm country. There are yaks and the occasional farmer, planting potatoes, I think.

I'm reading a beautiful book, that I bought in Kathmandu - The Mountain is Young, by Han Suyin. It's set in Kathmandu in the fifties, and I'm enjoying it. When I bought it, in a tiny bookstore in Kathmandu, the owner said to me, "Very good book." It's sort of strange, the characters are flamboyantly dramatic and absurd, but the story is very simple.

Easter Monday - Pangboche

My right hand is a bit stiff. I walk. Most of the morning I am feeling weak, not capable. We have covered a lot of ground. One step at a time. There is less traffic now, and we move out of the trees after lunch. Basu is leading. He sings a never-ending song, in front of me. He points out another trail, says, "That's the Everest circuit". I say, "Next time." He turns to look at me and says, "Really, next time?" "Yes", I say.

Last night it was very dark and I felt some, I think, altitude-induced confusion. I hope tonight will be better.

I'm looking forward to my dinner. I am a stomach with legs. I think the food is awesome, lots of vegetables and rice, pasta, potatoes - I especially like all the different 'pizza' they produce, with tuna on it, yak cheese, spinach. It's oatmeal for breakfast every morning, which makes the others groan but that's what I eat at home every morning anyway. In some ways I think I'm not feeling anywhere near as deprived and uncomfortable as the others - I'm used to there being limited water, no fast food, no coffee shops. I'm accustomed to cold and sleeping out, I don't need poles to walk because I'm not finding the walking difficult. In fact, with little stores selling chocolate and candies along the trail, stops at tea houses serving tea, someone cooking for me, I'm perfectly content.

I'm glad I waited until now to come here. I am a grownup and my epiphanies are natural - not forced. If I had come when I was reading about Buddhism, I think it would have interfered.

"I feel I stepped out of the wilderness, all squint-eyed and confused, but even babies raised by wolves they know exactly when they've been used."

Tengboche

Duncan is very ill. He has been helicoptered out. We congratulate our leader on his care and concern - untreated altitude sickness can be fatal. We feel, what do we feel? Sorry for Duncan, glad it's not us.

We visit the monastery, briefly. Everyone has to take their shoes off, and when we get inside it smells awfully like sweaty feet - all the hikers having walked on the same carpet we are treading on. The monks need some Febreze...

Some of the others are still feeling crook, as they put it, being Australians, to varying degrees, and some are starting to feel better. Will, Lloyd and I are at the front today mostly. I feel pretty good, overall, but I've been having strange dreams.

We walked a long time today. I begin to forget that I'm walking. My brain is starting to think of the future - what do I want to do? The answers are simple. Walk, pray, work. My head is clearing. I'm remembering what it is like to be ME, just me. What I can do. At the moment, I can do this. Tomorrow? Who knows. I'm not frightened. I trained so hard and tried to imagine what it would be like to do the trek, but this is so far beyond my wildest dreams.

I am not alone, somehow, but I don't know how to explain it. Someone keeps talking to me in the night, last night whoever it is told me to put my fleece pants back on again, woke me up to tell me. So I did.

The way up to Tengboche is steep. Steep and hot. But not nearly as busy as the road to Namche.

I am lying in my tent. I can smell the kitchen staff cooking dinner, frying potatoes. The yaks in the next field are ringing their bells. I can hear Vishnu, I think, talking softly in Nepali, over by the lodge we are camping next to. The river, down in the gorge, is moving past. It starts to get dark. The mountains are shrouded in cloud. I hope for a good view tomorrow.

In the last half hour of the trek, downhill from the monastery to Deboche where we are camped, I was walking with Razkumar and Nawan, and we had gotten ahead of everyone else. They were walking fast and talking in Nepali, and I just kept up. It felt good that they were ignoring me. I don't want to be treated like a tourist...

on the road

my shadow is defined by rocks. Sue, walking in front of me, puts her feet down. I put my feet down. I ascend. I look up, there are mountains. I look down, my shadow, rocks, my feet, Sue's feet. Duncan, ahead of Sue, puts his feet down.

behind me, yaks. their bells ring and they are taking the cabbages to market. I am a yak. I am 60 years old and I am carrying all my cabbage to market, wearing my thongs. You are a trekker.

today we saw Everest through the trees. It's still there. I say to Duncan, as I sit in the dirt like a small child, "We've seen it now, we can go home." He laughs. Then Basu says, "Ready?" and we get up obediently and put our packs back on.

last night a large black dog slept outside my tent, guarding me. I asked Dilli this morning if he paid the dog. he said, no.

people feed me. I feel incapable of taking care of myself. the altitude makes my head fuzzy, as if it's full of cabbages too. I have eaten unrecognizable vegetables. It's all good.

the song in my head - "You Can Call Me Al." It comes to me as I'm walking across a bridge, Roy saying that was how he felt in Indonesia:

A man walks down the street
It's a street in a strange world
Maybe it's the Third World
Maybe it's his first time around
He doesn't speak the language
He holds no currency
He is a foreign man
He is surrounded by the sound
The sound
Cattle in the marketplace
Scatterlings and orphanages
He looks around, around
He sees angels in the architecture
Spinning in infinity

Last night the Sherpa lodge - real toilets! Hygiene has suffered. The outhouses are getting more and more primitive as we get further away from Kathmandu. The standard now is a shack with a hole in it. Try not to pee on your shoes.

There is a big dining room here, and it was full of trekkers, and they have the internet. For a price. I have a room to myself. A hot, sweaty room, but it has a bed. My red bag full of stuff is being carried for me by a porter. I hope he is an adult but to me he looks about sixteen. I vow big tips at the end. We are spoiled, brought tea and hot water for washing, fed and cared for, even down to our drinking bottles being filled with boiling water at the end of the day so that we can warm our toes while we sleep.

Today I'm happy to wake at six. Basu and Vishnu bring me tea and hot water. Breakfast is rice pudding, and we discuss walking up to the Everest View Hotel. A majorly steep climb up vertical cliffs, then a walk along the edge of the cliffs, and the view starts out breathtaking and only gets more so as we climb. At one point Arthur ventures out onto a big rock to take a picture - we are all shouting at him to come down. Will says something sarcastic and I'm giddy so I start to laugh, and then realize I can't catch my breath and am on the verge of passing out. Oops.

Arthur gets down safely, I retain consciousness, we soldier on. The Everest View has the promised vista. We have tea. I try not to laugh too much. On the way down, the view is all-encompassing. I put Eric Satie on my Ipod, because I have drifted away from the others, and it almost makes me cry. I wish Dad was here.

Monjo

It took us about five minutes this morning to figure out what day it is. I think we're right, but possibly not.

Lots of tea. And the smell of yak dung. The hat I bought in Kathmandu, while impossibly touristy, is comfortable and doesn't make my head sweat. My backpack is not too heavy and I'm not blistered at all yet. Magic boots and socks. And the sun keeps shining and my solar charger works, so I can recharge my Ipod. All the planets are aligned.

We went on an altitude acclimatization walk this afternoon, climbed another 300m or so up the valley we're camping in - then came down again. I feel pretty good so far. Hopefully that continues.

And I continue to be amazed by the surroundings, the life, the air, and the sheer experience of BEING HERE.

Ghat

So here I am in my tent in Ghat.

Sometimes I feel paralysed, I can't speak up for myself in a strange culture. I'm scanning the eyes of passers-by for contempt. I don't see it, but maybe it's there.

We spent the morning getting to Lukla, by Twin Otter, and then waiting for lunch. Cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

This afternoon we walked along rocky paths above the river, making our way towards Ghat, and donkeys and yaks and porters carried things around us - we were keeping pace for a while with two teenage boys carrying giant loads of plywood. They stopped to rest a lot.

At one point we came around a corner and a wizened lady in traditional clothes came out of her house into her little garden, lettuces and chickens, with the mountains and a flowering tree in the background, and I thought, I'm really in the Himalayas.

After hardly being able to eat in Kathmandu, I'm eternally hungry again. The kitchen staff are cooking outdoors on primus stoves and it's amazing to watch them get the food ready, food for us, and for the porters; huge pots of rice and daal. We have 25 porters, a cook, kitchen boys, four guides, a leader, and sirdar, who is in charge of ops. Lots of people to feed.

One of our group has very hairy legs, and today he was wearing shorts and gaiters. A group of schoolgirls in red skirts, four of them walking home arm in arm, overtook him, pointed at his legs, said something in Nepali, and ran off in gales of laughter.

Everywhere there are teahouses and lodges. We are self-contained, mostly, though, with our camping.

Some of the lodges have solar panels, but I think they're powering the internet to be rented to tourists - and a few lightbulbs. There are no cars here, everything goes by foot. Vegetables are growing in the fields.

Going to Kathmandu

What can I say about Kathmandu? I felt so dragged out, coming in. The plane ride from Hong Kong was almost more than I could bear, five hours of torture. I kept falling asleep abruptly and darkly, and waking to find I hadn't even the wherewithal to keep my own mouth shut. Not a nice feeling. We arrived in Kathmandu, I was told, at 10:30pm but as a time it was meaningless - I had flown 13 hours from Vancouver to Hong Kong and crossed twelve time zones. And then flown to Kathmandu via Dakar. I think.

My trepidation coming out into the darkness at Kathmandu airport, after having navigated the visa-getting process, was alleviated by two young men holding a big red "World Expeditions" sign up against the glass wall that keeps non-passengers out of the airport. I smiled at them and nodded at the sign, and they popped out from behind the barricade and said, "Catherine?" I agreed.

They put me in a sort of tin minivan, and drove me off, one of them told me, towards the Radisson, through dark streets. The one who spoke English explained that there was a power outage. There was supposed to be power between 6pm and 1am but it didn't always happen. There seemed to be storefronts or something with roller doors on all the ground floors, but above there were the occasional lights in windows.

He also told me not to drink the water, but that the Radisson would provide bottled water. And he said I would be safe to walk around by myself, in the morning.

At one point, he was driving straight towards an oncoming car - and he turned to me and said, "This is a one-way street". In fact the better idea would perhaps have been to let the other fellow drive, as the driver kept turning around to talk to me, the whole trip. I wasn't capable of much more than occasional assent or interested noises.

When we arrived at the hotel, it looked like any nice hotel anywhere, even though it was situated at the bottom of a narrow alley and surrounded by buildings in various states of being built or dismantled, it was hard to tell. I got my room keycard and went up, had the usual "How the hell do you wokr this?" thing. When I finally got the magic green light and let myself in, I put my bags down, the door closed behind me, and I was in total darkness. I found a light switch but nothing happened when I pressed it. Which seemed odd, as the lights were on in the lobby and the hallway. Tripped over my bag, sprawled on the floor, got up and said, out loud, "Fuck this", stripped off my clothes, found the bathroom and used it, found the bed and got in. A hard bed, but I slept like the dead.

When I woke up in the morning I felt much better. Anxious in a way, but physically better. It was light in the room when I opened the curtains, but the light switches still didn't do anything, and I grabbed the wrong little bottle in the dark bathroom and washed my hair with the bubble bath the hotel had thoughtfully provided. Man, did that stuff foam.

I wandered downstairs and found some coffee, then went out into the early morning and walked around the Royal Palace walls, feeling strange and adrift. I had nothing official to do until 4:30. I went to Thamel and managed to buy a towel, but that was pretty much it for my courage. The traffic started building up, all the inhabitants of the city seemed to be buzzing about on motorcycles or in little beat-up cars - lots of honking and as there were no traffic signals, lots of chaos. People were walking, too, but nobody bothered me. A little lady even helped me to cross the road, I was standing there waiting patiently for a break in the traffic, and she came up next to me and said, unsmiling, "You want to cross the road?" Then she just stepped off the curb and held out her hand, and everyone stopped, and we crossed.

In the afternoon I went upstairs to the pool on the roof and had a swim. I got talking to a man named David, who had been medivaced off his trek to Everest and was waiting for his friends to return from their trip. We drank beer and had a late lunch, and for some reason he asked me to go with him for dinner at his friend's house.

He actually did me a huge favour - his friend was Nepali and the food was home-cooked and lovely - the other members of my trek went to a restaurant together and some of them got sick from the food. Well, two favours, even, he told me that in order to get power in your room you have to put your room key in a little plastic card reader on the wall. Arrgh.

I realized today that I was very lucky when I went to Thamel by myself - maybe in my jeans I didn't look like a tourist.

Today we went as a group to Boudhanath, a Buddhist temple, and Pashupatinath, a Hindu temple, where funerals were ongoing - I still have the sweetish smell of cremation in my nose. Boudhanath was very clean, being polished by ladies with whisk brooms, and we went round the bottom and pushed all the prayer wheels.



Anyway. This afternoon we went back to Thamel to look for some gear, and I saw what really happens to tourists there, we were constantly accosted. Tiger Balm, my lovely necklaces, ma'am, flutes, even 'smoke' which I took to be drugs.

I got a good hat, some sunscreen, and a purple pouch to keep my camera in. I'm set to go. Gotta pack my bag tonight so we can leave for Lukla tomorrow morning.

things I'm not taking to Everest

Jordan's Slinky. He watches too many Jim Carrey movies.

My towel. I've packed like six times, I swear, and in the end I decided that I'd rather have an extra fleece jacket than a towel. I'm sure that somewhere in Kathmandu, before I go to Everest, there will be somewhere I can buy a towel.

Frederick. (I sleep with him.) Sigh. He's just too big. I've taken him as carry-on, before, pretending he was a pillow, but he's really not. He's really a large stuffed frog.

My cell phone and my laptop. As an aside, the trek company emailed me and said that at the moment there's only about four hours of electricity a day in Kathmandu. So I did get a flashlight.

Kirsten's bus tickets for next weekend. (We've had bus ticket issues before...)

I am, however, taking my Ipod. I got a cool little solar panel about the size of a Pop-Tart to attach to the back of my pack, so I can recharge it.

I leave tomorrow for Vancouver. I leave Vancouver at 3am Saturday. I get to Hong Kong at 8am Sunday morning after a 13 hour flight. I guess that's a lot of time zones. I lose a lot of March 27th. Then Sunday afternoon I fly to Kathmandu. My only real trepidation is that I'm hoping that the trek company remembers to pick me up at the airport... wish me luck :)

the other end of the spectrum, musically speaking

my favourite piece of music in all the world

Winnipeg

So I have spent the past week in Winnipeg, taking an interesting course for work.

Things I found out about Winnipeg:

• The course participants from the smaller centres outside Winnipeg told me that they never go downtown. When I mentioned my plan to walk downtown Friday afternoon and go to the museum and possibly the symphony, universal horror was expressed.
  
• Downtown Winnipeg is not as dire as predicted. There were drunks in the library, true, but the museum was amazing and nobody tried to mug me/sell me drugs/solicit me on my walk back and forth.
  
• The fog is like a second skin.
  
• Everyone talks about the traffic. The main topic of conversation (other than asking me questions about the north) was how long it took to drive certain places, and what the traffic was like. And there is a lot of traffic, and it tries to run you over. There was a hit and run Friday night.
  
• The Winnipeg Symphony performs regularly – except for this weekend – and I can't even remember why I thought it did. Calendrical dyslexia of some kind.
  
• The Red Lobster on Portage doesn't serve vegetables. And when they ask you if you want them to Lobster-size your margarita, they don't mention they're going to serve it in a fishbowl. Two or three fish could have had pretty decent lives in there. I mean, if it wasn't full of tequila. I should add that I wasn't drinking alone, four others from the course invited me there to celebrate, when the course was over and we all passed.
  
• When I inquired about the possibility of seeing interesting sights, nobody had any suggestions. I'm not sure why that was. Also I could not get an answer about Winnipeg's population.
  

I think that when I was twelve years old we passed through Winnipeg on our way to Quebec. I seem to remember seeing the Legislature before. It looks pretty much like Edmonton's. From where I was standing today.

Nowhere that I walked was like the Lower East Side in Vancouver, and I was kind of expecting it based on the horrified comments previous. Everyone on the streets was retaining consciousness, I didn't see any homeless citizens lying on benches in sleeping bags or pushing shopping carts full of cherished belongings. I was not once asked for change or a light or a smoke. I don't know if I maybe didn't go into the bad places or if I was there and it just wasn't that scary. Ok, no, I lie – I was asked for change – by a teenager who got off a school bus, right outside Headquarters.

I stayed in barracks at HQ and that was a bit strange. Especially sleeping in an office building where people are working – there are bedrooms but no motel-ish amenities like a coffee maker and I do count on a coffee maker for late night hot drinks - I ended up using a paper cup and heating tea water in it in the microwave in the coffee room on the second floor. At 10pm, in my Evil Bunny pyjamas. Had to drink it fast, though, because the heat melted some of the glue from the cup's seams and the tea started to drip out the bottom pretty quickly. Breakfast and lunch were provided, and they were cafeteria style. The soup was not bad, except for the cream of mushroom on Wednesday which I think was wallpaper paste with some mushrooms. Breakfast, of course, was eggs every day – but there was yogurt and cereal. So I did ok for food. Some of the other ladies who ate the 'pork on a bun' and such for lunches were a bit disparaging. I had soup and carrot sticks every day so as not to fall asleep in class.

We were invited upstairs to the central Manitoba dispatch for an hour on Wednesday afternoon, and one of the dispatchers let me plug in a head set and listen to calls – fascinating.

The sun came out for a while late Friday afternoon, but other than that there was a pervasive, sticky fog for the whole week. It was a bit like being misted by one of those bottles used for tropical houseplants. Can't really call it wet, but you know there's water in the air. The snow that's left here is lying around in dirty piles and melting into gritty puddles. But it was lovely to walk around outside without a hat and gloves – I'd forgotten about them until I saw them in the bottom of my empty suitcase when I started packing to go back to Edmonton. I walked back and forth to Chapters at Polo Park a couple of times, the first time I went I bought three books but then read them by Thursday night so I went back again after Red Lobster. I also took myself to the movies. There was a little internal arguing over the film choice – When in Rome or The Crazies - but I settled that with a big bag of mini eggs to make up for picking the silly movie. I had some trouble relating to the movie – the heroine (whose name escapes me) looked about twelve, and I thought to myself, "Yeah, right, honey, you're not old enough to be in love".

When I woke up Saturday morning, to get ready to go to the airport, I was lying in bed thinking about how lucky I am. I have the best job in the world, for an organization that, despite what you see on the news, has a corporate culture of valuing hard work and listening to new ideas, and my family is getting more and more self-sufficient, freeing me to participate in all the aspects of my work.

On Monday the 22^nd I'm leaving again. Going to Edmonton to prepare for my trip to Nepal.

Being dust

It's Lent, and I suppose I should give something up - but I'm thinking of my trip to Nepal as something of a pilgrimage, so I just plan to continue my preparations. I try to keep to the Glycemic Index diet as much as possible (lots of oatmeal and rice and vegetables, not much sugar or fat) and I'm still working out a fair bit.

I thought it was going to be my turn to do church next week, but it turns out we have a real minister coming to visit so I'm off the hook. It's a lot of work to plan a service and write a sermon that is even vaguely meaningful. I think the church-leading aspect of things is one of the most surprising, in my stay here. I think I went to church maybe twice in the seven years I lived in Nanaimo, although I did do a lot of reading. I did the Ash Wednesday service this week - Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Unfortunately the heat wasn't working, so it was a very quick and chilly service. My breath made clouds in the air and made it hard to read the words.

There's something about this place that makes it seem reasonable to pray. Something about being so much in the quiet of my own mind, and with friends and family, without the constant pressure of cities and roads and malls. I find I'm beginning to accept mortality, because I'm accepting my place in the universe. I am tiny, frail, easily chilled, easily stilled, I will die and it will be as it always has been. It's comforting, in a strange sense. I don't know if I'm explaining it properly. It's more a waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night feeling than anything else. I have accepted a lot more things about myself, living here, than I ever did living anywhere else. I can't change who I am.

The dog is sitting on the couch, next to me, he keeps being alarmed by snowmobiles outside. Rachel is in her room, Miguel's gone curling, Ian's at work, and we put Kirsten and Jordan on the plane today, off to the next phase of their lives. It's going to be very quiet without them. They will both be back in the summer, but then Ian and Rachel are likely going to cadet camp. I have just had the last week of family togetherness, with it being reading week, and it was lovely, but it'll be a while until it happens again.

Except for last weekend when we had the church AGM on Sunday, I have worked pretty much every single day since New Years, on various projects for other sections, finished the last one yesterday. Hence the silence here. In a month I'll be leaving for Nepal. So there will likely be more silence then. I've contemplated taking this down, but I still like to think it's here, so I'll leave it.

sun

I'm anxious for the sun to come back...

Someone today said it's four more days. My plants are tired of being shuffled under the grow lamp, they want the real thing. I'm tired of being sleepy all afternoon and evening because it's dark, and then finding myself wide awake at 3am for no apparent reason.

Rock Band

So we welcomed in the New Year, Kirsten and Rachel and I, by doing the vocals for the Endless Setlist on Rock Band - all 84 songs, all in a row. I have to do all the songs that came out before about 1995, which includes some Journey, the Go-Go's, Fleetwood Mac, Billy Idol, Alanis Morrisette (my favourite - You Oughta Know) and some other random stuff, but Kirsten really did the majority of them. Rachel does a wicked "Psycho Killer" and Miguel came and did Aqualung because I hate that song. Ian did a couple where singing wasn't necessary, just rhythmic talking, and he made up zombie words for them.

I'm not actually trying to claim this as any sort of an accomplishment. The guys at work just raised their eyebrows at me when I said we'd spent all New Year's Day playing Rock Band. I was happy the girls asked me to help, and it was fun to do together. I like to dance while I'm singing, but they don't seem to mind.

When the kids first got their Rock Band, I was sitting in the living room and I was singing along while they tried to do "You Can Go Your Own Way" and were failing (the little indicator turns red) and they gave me the microphone. And then at regular intervals after that I'd walk in and they'd say, "Oh, good, you're here, do you know this one?" And I'd sing for them while they played their pretend instruments. Really, I never thought knowing all the words to "White Wedding" would get me any points with my kids.

It has been a good holiday, other than some difficulties with medications - they're still trying to find the balance for me, and I'm finding that tiring. On Thursday they put me back on one that I don't like because it makes me dizzy and spacey. (Dizzier and spacier than usual, I should say).