Thame in May

 

Leaving the mountains is bitter sweet. You are excited to go home to the amenities that Kathmandu can afford. Hot showers, clean sheets, and good food are just a few of the things one craves. Yet, as you get ready to board the twin prop odder plane you take one last breath of clean air and one last glance of the mountains knowing that these are two things Kathmandu is without.

They say that the Lukla airport is one of the highest and shortest in the world. If you look at the short strip you travel down you don’t debate the “shortest” claim. The plain starts to shimmy as it gears up to head down the runway and before you know it you are in the air. The flight home is amazing. If the weather is clear you can see the whole Himalayan range.
Unlike the trip to Lukla the return flight is filled with an intimate knowledge of the mountains. They are no longer things seen in the far far distance or on a post card but rather they were home to you. You have walked amongst their majesty and splendor. You have spent ours walking up, only to lose your breath, and realize how small man is. They are not intimate like a friend, but rather it is the sort of intimacy that comes from a relationship where you are fully aware that it could take your life and are due respect.

Once you arrive in Kathmandu there is no easing into the city life again. After haggling for a taxi you hit the crazy streets, swerving in and out of traffic littered with bicycles and cows. Once you reach your destination it is assumed that you are a tourist so you are surrounded by those trying to sell you tiger balm hindu statues, and other nick nacs…to me it is Kathmandu’s way of saying hello and welcome home.

This most recent time home as I approached my house the blowing of horns, beating of drums, and the hundreds of people surrounding my place tipped me off that something was up. It turned out that my Landlord’s father had died four days earlier. In Sherpa culture when a family member dies they have puja (a sort of worship to Buddha) for four days. On the fourth day they take the body to a Buddhist holy place to be burned.

As I approached my gate and swam through the crowd of grieving Sherpa my heart felt heavy. My friends were grieving over the loss of a loved one. They had just spent the past four days praying that that Grandpa would make it to a better place, unsure if their prayers would be heard. In that moment God soberly reminded me why I was here. He reminded me why I go to the mountains. He reminded me that I have a hope for a future and I am not to keep that a secret.