pushing to my limits and beyond...

I don't sleep much (no change there then - and neither wonder I'm beginning to feel rather more strange than usual, acute sleep deprivation being a standard torture technique). My porridge goes cold after three trips to the pit latrine (I should have known beer wasn't such a bright idea), so I can't face much breakfast, either. I manage a milky coffee which at least gives me a familiar kickstart.
It's our toughest day today, and leaving camp my heart sinks into my walking boots at the prospect ahead...
The good thing about giving in to being a bit of a pisshead is that you get pretty determined not to give in to the hangover...
What's much weirder than feeling hungover in the Himalayas is the feeling that my prayers for help are being answered... in a most unexpected way. I feel supported and enabled - by my dad... Puzzling though this is, I'm grateful - though hopeful that the consequent catching of tearful breaths is fairly discreet as I'm straggling at the back...
Soon, we're high enough to look down to the knoll where we were camped (clue: miniscule building atop the terracing).

I leave one of my garlands, with a blessing for dad, at this spot - which seemed impossibly high from camp...
Our lads pose for a photoshoot.

And then we carry on up... and up... and up...

I can hardly believe they tend cattle this high up...

One of my shoulders begins to object to hauling my carcass up the mountain. I sit down and try a bit of reiki, but shoot back onto my feet, disconcerted at the strange sensation there is something banging on the turf from beneath me... Freaky.

Meal stop: painkillers and packed luches. The food our porters have provided is delicious - bread, cheese and surprisingly sweet and delicious crackers - but it's such an effort to eat.

In other surroundings, it would feel very different. But somehow the sheer beauty of our environment creates an altered consciousness... All the same, I'm struggling to get into the rhythm which helped so much on the first couple of days.

It takes me ages to realise the increased shortness of breath is altitude induced rather than just my lungs labouring at physical exertion. At one point, I try to sing myself along, but I haven't the breath. Behind me, Karna - who has noted many of my fallen tears - begins to sing for me... like my dad used to... Oh, God, more bloody tears... It's taking all my energy to focus, never mind the effort it takes to clamp down bubbling emotions...

Rainforest; and now we're higher than the surrounding mountain ranges. We walk into cloud (we ARE at the roof of the world) which slowly clears, the mountains back more searingly magnificent than before... (but I can't use any of my precious resources for taking pictures!)

We stop on a high resting stage, and I think it's a good idea to reconnect to MacNeice by this wondrous panorama, being unable to take much in while we're moving. As I read through 'Entirely', to my horror, I don't just shed a few discreet droplets. Maybe it's feeling connected to dad after more than twenty years, or maybe it's exhaustion - or maybe it's something else entirely...
Whatever the reason, it's excruciatingly embarrassing - I haven't the energy to take myself out of earshot.

Our party now straggles into three distinct parts; Sergio, Trish, Sam and Tracey ahead, Jeff still mopping my emotional incontinence, and behind us Petra with Tanka coaxing her through the problems she's been having with the altitude for some time.

We come out of the rainforest onto bare rocky mountain slopes, made terrifyingly slippery by a sudden hailstorm.
This is so hard. Not quite impossible, but only just. If I was on my own, I'd give up. But I'm not, and I can't let the others down. So I keep going - somehow.

We're about halfway up this nightmare stretch when the sun sets. Jeff lets me grab a welcome breather while he shoots what must surely be the most spectacular sunset I've ever been blessed to witness - but I haven't a shred of energy spare for appreciating it. I can barely lift my head!

It's now dark. By the light of our head torches, we pick our laborious way towards camp. I can feel Jeff's anxiety, but once the terrain levels out, my worry has evaporated. I can't stop moving, or I'll fall over, but while I am moving, it feels as if a power from outside me powers my muscles. It's exhiliarating and euphoric - like mainlining something extreme.

Then we reach our busy little encampment, and reunite with the others.
I'm cold - so cold! My heart is warmed by the bear hugs Jeff and Sergio give me, but my exterior continues to chitter pathetically. Even with my hot water bottle filled and strapped under my t-shirt, I feel chilled to corpse-like levels. I shake myself into thermals and a few more layers and wonder how I'll survive the night... Particularly as I find I can't eat anything that needs chewing - I haven't the energy. Soup, custard and steaming mugs of hot chocolate will have to suffice. Jeff broaches the subject of tomorrow's plans - none of us, bar Sergio, up to the extended altitude trek tomorrow. Sounds fair enough to me. I might have argued if I believed a good night's sleep would restore me - but Sergio will have to be up at 5.30am. I'm not putting my hand up for that.

Tucked into the four-season sleeping bag and fleece liner, Sig bottle and platy to supplement my hot water bottle, I warm up. Soon, in spite of cooling rapidly each time I have to get up to pee (ironic that I sweat so much in the day I barely pee at all), I'm toastily cosy.

The wonder of what we've just done begins to dawn on me - we MADE it!!!!!

still feeling ceremonial (or should that be colonial...?)

We walk up to the school from our lunch stop to find all the pupils and teachers out to greet us with more garlands. We walk round the square (assembly space?) to the music of 'Namaste' in a variety of melodic registers, until reaching a long, narrow table set in the shade for us.

They have prepared a show of dancing and singing, specially for our visit.
Not only that, but they have used their precious resources to copy an A4 sheet about the school in the hope that we might add our personal efforts to those of Community Action Nepal (the fundraising arm of CAT) in helping equip and maintain this school. The English is quaint ('Peoples of different spices and religions stay here') and the dates a little disturbing, given that the Buddhist (I think) calendar is calculated differently ('Our school, Jaya Devi Lower Secondary School, purano Duwar, was established on the date of 22nd paush 2039') but the message remains clear.
It's a very emotional experience.
I can't imagine going to a school like this - and would I just accept the backdrop as normal, or would constant exposure somehow make me a more spiritual person?
A lot of the children here will have walked the same path we have today from Taksar - just to get to school; and it's taken us hours!

The charming and beautiful performances over, we head to our camp - accompanied by most of the school, it seems - to plunder our bags for the notebooks, pens, pencils etc. that we brought to give out.
Our porters have already set up camp when we arrive.
And they've set up a shower.
And - can you believe this - some of the enterprising villagers have carted up crates of beer and bottles of water and set up a beer stall.
What do you do after a terrific walk? Glug a few refreshing beers...
So I did. It would have been rude not to...


The afternoon is spent chatting with each other and with a group of young lads who visit to enlist our support for a building for their community. Dilli Raj is their spokesman; keen to practise his English, he presses us for our email addresses and promises to write. We are all impressed with his courtesy and enterprising spirit - our UK teenagers come in for some unfavourable comparisons... (sorry Ath - with a few notable exceptions!)

We happen to be camped at what appears to be the cultural centre of the area - i.e. there are a couple of shelters, one of which, after the cooking of our meal, doubles as a kind of dressing room/tiny performance space. The villagers have planned more entertainment for us...

The cultural evening is a kind of cross between (what sounds like) a political rally and a cabaret. There is (naturally) more dancing, and at the end, those of us who haven't sloped off to bed join in.
Another beer (or two) to round off the evening...
And a great deal of star-gazing... so many shooting stars!

I'm reminded of the film 'Touching the Void' where Joe lies looking at the stars and feels like he's locked into eternity; although I'm in nowhere near the physical or mental state he was in by that point in his ordeal, I think I get an inkling of how he must have felt.

I'd never looked at the night sky long enough to watch the stars gently moving across the heavens before - not even at Durdledoor...
Now I have!

feeling positively ceremonial...

We stop for lunch. For an awful moment, I think the table and chairs are going to come out - this is too much... too bloody colonial for my taste! But our porters merely spread a tarpaulin (although they must also have set up a field kitchen of sorts to heat our beans and bread...) As with carrying the baskets filled with our gear, I have to remind myself this is their job (I feel quite chastised by our Sherpa Sirdar, Karna, when I comment on the size of the baskets and how they must weight a ton - he's quite sharp, 60kg quite normal for them). One of the local Women's Groups (not exactly WI, these women build the paths and steps we walk on - not that I'm saying the WI couldn't, just that they don't usually go in for that sort of thing) have a presentation to make to us. We each get bedecked with a luscious, fragrant garland or two, and a generous dab of red dye on our foreheads. The garlands are mainly bright marigolds, and feel cool, as if they've been soaked in iced water in readiness for our sweaty arrival.

Although busy scribbling, I take a couple of pics...


Then we attend to our stomachs... The food is delicious. The cheese is something like Emmental, so with the soya beans and the toasted unleavened bread I guess we're having cheesy beans on toast half-way up a Himalayan mountain - beats even the best value greasy spoon hands down (even without the views). In my notebook; what a spectacular place to stop for lunch. Annapurna and Machhapuchhare, the Fish Tail Peak, over to our left, Manaslu, Peak 29 (sic), Himultuli and Bowdahimal on our right...
Next stop the school...

first sight of snow-capped mountains...

Beginning an all day trek after (an early!) breakfast is not something I would normally choose to do... It's knackering. My legs shake, I'm puffing like a steam train as I stumble behind the others... I have serious doubts about the remainder of the trek... I note in my journal the first bit is grim. really grim.
But the landscape is beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.
And all the people we pass clasp their hands together in that lovely gesture of greeting and sing the lilting Namaste! to us - which we return delightedly.
Inside my head, I'm lilting my own mantras... they help me keep going. That and the wonder of our surroundings.
The path levels off and it starts to get easier.
We look in front...
...it's truly breathtaking. The snowcapped mountains don't look real somehow - hyper-real, as if they belong to a world only loosely connected with the one we normally inhabit and this, this is higher existence (which, of course, in at least one sense, it is).

if you thought I wasn't there... & errata!

Showing a couple of people the blog, I noticed the Kathmandu arrival pic I posted earlier on my blog is the one I'm not in (dozy mare moment) so thought I ought to remedy that.
And I also noticed I quote 20,000 feet as our highest point somewhere - I think that should be 12,000-ish!
The original itinerary says 3,050m, the map contour reckons 3,500m. So take your pick... It's definitely not 20,000 feet!

(posted this earlier - managing to squeeze in two typos... on a post headed by 'errata'... hmm.)
I've been tinkering with my slideshow - listing events etc. - which has been absorbing, and has moved the preparation for it on a bit, but I'm still not much past that first half-day...

present interval

Today has been glorious, a clear and bright Autumn day after two grey days of rain. So I made the most of it - had breakfast, put a load of washing on the line, rang the Co-op Bank to try to access the Dreamweavers account, rang Steve to tell him I'd failed (so no statement for the bid til he's back from London) and then took off over to the woods at Longleat. I took the dictaphone, and as I walked I listened to what was on the tape already (so I didn't tape over anything I wanted - I'm incredibly anal...)

First came a guided visualisation... very interesting (but I won't say why yet - haven't reached that point in the trek yet!)
Then, the account of my last walk up Golden Cap before going to Nepal (see 'temporal experiment' posted on the 10th Oct 06). Quite bizarre, strolling the lanes to Longleat, listening to that again! The 'twinning' nature of walking while listening to an account of a different walk earlier in the year and therefore being, in my consciousness, in two places at once, gives me an idea for the play...
A bit from Karen's and my walk on Friday the 13th, with a great quote taken from the Roman Fort - a confluence of histories flows to this day. Karen reading a poem, also from the fort, lovely to hear her voice on my solitary meanderings!

The most gorgeous man drove past me as I walked... twice! The second time, he mouthed an exaggerated thank you as I skipped out the way - there's something incredibly sexy about the almost-pursing of the lips the words thank you demand...

Back to the dictaphone to distract me from libidinous musings (although those are perfectly legitimate - I can just substitute Aidan for the anonymous driver of the car, and be Frankie... Particularly as the next dictaphone notes include promptings for Driftwood Mirror!)
First is a reminder to include in my last blog post something on how some of our porters went by mistake to the previous site of the first trek camp, so the porters that were with us had to go back to the point where the bus dropped us off to fetch the rest of our bags... Like I said on the dictaphone, They had to make two journeys - Christ, I was knackeered enough! [after only one]
A rant about listening on Wednesday to Terry Wogan's auction for the Children in Need Appeal, I can't BELIEVE some of the bids!!! Like, twenty thousand pounds, thirty thousand pounds, eleven thousand pounds, ten thousand pounds, eleven and a half thousand pounds - where the f*** do these people get that kind of money? How come they've got that kind of money to donate to charity? What the bloody hell's their income like?

And at last to the things I noted last night in the car. Which took me more or less to exploring the wood close to Gunville Cottage - and puzzlement that I never investigated these woodland trails in the months I lived here with Tania! I guess on my days off, I drove straight to Frome to spend the time with Sheena...

Walking in the wood is absolutely gorgeous. The sunlight through the trees is just beautiful, and walking over the red and russet fallen leaves is great fun as well as stunning visually (although it is a mite 'soft' underfoot!). Coming back, by the edge of the wood, the view out across Frome is amazing. There's even an interesting optical illusion (I'm having camera withdrawals!), which could be useful for the Driftwood Mirror...

It's been a hectic week... I'm pleasantly surprised to find I managed a post on Wednesday - I feel terribly slow in getting my account of the trek up.
Thursday night, Penny had an Ann Summers party (the last mention of Ann Summers attracted no spam, let's hope this one doesn't either) which was a great laugh, and I even managed to buy some useful stuff... not, I hasten to add, anything battery powered (I'm afraid all that just puzzles me).
On Friday, for The People's Hive Open Day at work, I improvised (badly) as I'd had no time to prepare a proper speech... Bit grim - but it wasn't too disastrous... Going to the pub after work with the team was cool - haven't gone for a drink with workmates in YEARS! Shame Laura couldn't make it...
And then on to see David's play at the Alma; getting very wet in my search for cheap and cheerful grub beforehand (I ended up with garlic mushrooms at the Alma - not too pricey) - but not as wet as Jan, who cycled up; she was drenched.
The Voice that Keeps Silent is David's most challenging piece yet; I wish I'd read the bit about 'other' on Theatre West's website before I'd seen it, that would have helped enormously - I came out just very confused...
It was, however, inspirational - not only spurred me on on my journey home to muse a bit further on the novel, but I had an idea for a play... of which I wrote ten pages before retiring to bed (where I didn't sleep until after Ath had gone to work...)

Walking the lanes, thinking about David's play, Steve, and people in Stepping Out makes me smile as I think how Stepping Out has done just that - empowered such a great deal of 'stepping out'; airing painful autobiographical material in performance as well as publication, onto the stage, the training and aftermath of the trek - which is mega stepping out... reminds me that how you interpret your life metaphors is crucial!

That today's post should be headed present time is apt indeed...

sleeping (or not) and waking in the mountains...

Late on Tuesday, I wrote in my notebook:
a night of cicadas and stars...
So many stars that I can't begin to find even the few constellations I know...

Supper is tomato soup with ginger and garlic - and prawn crackers! - rice, dhaal, spicy fried potatoes, fresh tomato and cucumber slices followed by oranges and great mugs of hot chocolate (! now that was an unexpected luxury!). Although I eat heartily, I sleep fitfully. An unfamiliar environment always takes me a few nights to settle into, and sharing space with another person exacerbates that. Our metal water bottle and water bag double as hot water bottles (plus I brought a hottie just in case...) but in the night, the four season sleeping bag is more than warm enough - even dispensing with the fleece liner, I have to shed most of my clothes (the bulk of which have to go back on to go outside again...) As I manage to fall off the rice terrace at dusk when I go for a pee before the loo tent is erected, thereafter I decide to stick to the official loo, although it's a singularly unpleasant experience... I bloody hate pit latrines.

I wake around 4am lathered with sweat - much as I do at home, but there I go back to sleep once I've been to the loo. Here, as I begin my reiki, the roar of the kerosene burner and the clanking of the porters' preparation for our day mean I decide to poke my head outside the tent.
Sunrise over the Himalayas.

Wow.

I take a few pics, and write in my notebook:
Being here is like being a child again. Everything is new and strange, we have a father figure in Jeff and subsiduary 'carers' catering for our basic needs (the porters, Sherpas and Sirdar). The mountains are so BIG they shrink us down below our accustomed size in the world. So little is under our control, it adds to the sense of infantilization.
But this lack of autonomy is what I have chosen, in order to make this trip, giving over all decision-making to others. It involves an enormous amount of trust - and is, in many ways, rather restful. Yesterday I tapped into youthful excitement, wonder and energy - although I was careful to take things slowly. My body has actually been surprisingly accommodating of the effort involved.

My muscles are certainly not as stiff as I expect them to be - but that might be because I haven't had a full night's sleep.

Later:
Getting ready after my first quick scribble is a bloody nightmare. It starts well, Petra is awake too, so we pootle about (well, I do, Petra gets organised), and then our cup of tea comes, swiftly followed by a bowl of hot water for washing. I wash and rinse my knickers and yesterday's top, but then I'm well behind with packing all my stuff as the team try to take down the tents around us.
This is the bit I don't like. I take so long to get going in the morning - it's hard to slot in your own routines around others. Let's face it, I can't manage that successfully with Atholl in a two-bedroomed flat!
I'm not last at the breakfast table, but nearly. Porridge with muesli or granola stuff - wheat flakes? and nuts - beautiful. Omlette and unleavened bread, no time for 'toast', but I blag a milky coffee (they heat milk for us!) and have a quick fag.
And then we're off!

continuing real (and fantasy) life interludes

In my blog, I'm here, now, in the UK - and about to wake up at Taksar, the first camp, ready for the first full day's trekking...
In the writing, I get to re-live it, so to those of you checking my blog for updates on the trek, I apologise for prolonging your anticipation but I hope you don't mind humouring me on this!
(a big thank you to everyone who has given me such kind feedback on the blog).

and to integrate the me still in Nepal and the me back at work, here's a couple of pix, one from those Howard took for Crysse yesterday during filming Things that are weird for the poetry and visuals DVD - with water in the Pinot Grigiot bottle! - and one shot this morning for work's website. (I'm impressed, Sarah!)

I might have been too tired to write anything new tonight (two late very nights in a row), but I did type 800 words from the (latest) draft of the novel.

I wonder if I take the same approach to racking up word totals in my blog as I did for training if I can propel myself through a complete first draft?

I've never got beyond 20,000 words before that particular draft has withered away... (see, I'm a crap mother - can't even nurture my novel babies!)
I've been writing 'Get fitter' in my aims book since 1991 - but never managed a sustained effort until the trek...
Transferrable skills?

virtual and spiritual existence

I make no apologies for this bit of self-indulgence.
It's likely to be a bit garbled - I'm tired and quite emotional (now there's a surprise!) and I've had a couple of glasses of Chardonnay (real stuff Crysse, not the mock Bolly this afternoon!)

One of the touchingly heart-warming and steadying things about being home having braved something incredible that stacks of people knew about has been hearing how my family and friends, in the ten days I was away, wondered what I was doing, where I was, how I was coping...

to give a flavour:-

Atholl; flowers on my return, big hugs and lots of telling me how PROUD he is of me - this my great big lad, who's so young, clever, creative, strong, witty, and vital (I was so envious of his effortless jog up Durdledoor cliffs on our last day - I hate him sometimes!) and utterly, utterly gorgeous... yet so nearly not with me to share anything...
sometimes when you exist in the same space as another individual, you have no conception of the depth of their love for you... that the love you hold for them may be reciprocated immeasurably...

Mum; Alexander Graham Bell, your innovation has made a world of difference to many of our lives! - where would I be without my weekly check-in with my wonderful mother (though we're not good with 27/7!)
(and one day, you WILL be proud of me...)

friends - without whom I wouldn't be breathing: -

Crysse; apart from more or less single-handedly sorting my fundraising, training with me, and supporting me emotionally, financially, creatively and practically, there's all the emails, texts, references on her blog (http://crysse.blogspot.com/ you'll find an update on our filming session today for the 'live n' lippy' DVD project with Howard, such a priviledge to work on creative projects with enthusiasts like him - and today, Howard and Kate both comment how good I look after my challenge)
WALKING TIME MADE FOR ME ON COMING HOME - and that, in our pressured lives, is probably the most precious gift.

Carole; friend so long she's definitely a surrogate sister as well as a dear and precious friend & Durdledoor campmate - we'll get together in London asap - she's been following my blog although she's a bit of a technophobe...

Karen; she's coming down to Frome on the 22nd Nov, the day after I collect my first batch of meds!!!!! Can't wait, sweetheart!

Helen; I so miss being with my beautiful process partner to write and touch base, but in spite of her trials and tribulations with various massively physically debilitating problems (traumatic and frustrating), she has taken the trouble to stay in telephone contact... thank you!

Mike; got my computer up and running again after a horrendous offline few days... devoting time and effort to processing my 400 plus shots, helping me with slideshow preparation... you've made a real difference, thank you!

Steve H; his perception of support involves much longer-term projects (including a day's work on a grant bid for my Dreamweavers project, and also consolidating further the Coleridge connection, soo exciting - thank you Steve! & see website http://www.steppingouttheatre.co.uk/)

Penny; good company, a tidy house and food in the fridge on my return! plus consultations and a rucksack swap with army cadet daughter Sinead...

Andy; (Ath's dad) a surprise visit a week ago Sunday to find out how I'd got on...

workmates listening to me gush about Nepal:-

my boss, Dave Mac (what a welcome back to work - and suitably dramatic, arms thrown wide, 'Hazel - you're ALIVE!!!!')
Rowan, Lucy, Nigel, Dave H & Laura...

email, phone and snail mail contacts (sometimes all 3) sending their best wishes:-
Peter P, Mike & Fi, John P, Jill, Pippa, Alan, Peter Mac, Michele, Vanessa, Carole J

trekkers:-
Petra's photos, Sam's mails...

(and I will have missed some out - my apologies!)

there I was, up Himalayan mountainsides, in all sorts of emotional knots, ecstatic highs and physical privations - and just as I was held in their hearts and minds, so that helped me take another step...
sure as (something proverbial), if it had all been just for me, or my efforts alone, I'd've dropped to the deck and said stuff this trek nonsense where the sun don't shine... there's an easier way than this!

But I didn't, I kept going...

just not by myself, and not just through the efforts of those that were actually there either...

and now, it seems the Driftwood Mirror is re-entering my life - good to feel it again!

time for bed, said Zebedee...

Taksar, our first camp

We toil up the mountainside in the warm sun to the gentle singing of cicadas... There's another noise, which sounds strangely akin to a piercing factory siren. Dawa and Karna tell me it's a particular species of bee responsible for this mechanistic shrieking...

Then there's the universal clamour of children playing. I can't quite believe we pass two or three of these four-seated swing wheels and I miss a photo opportunity each time.
I have several shots of the bamboo swings, but none of these incredible wooden contraptions which I'm sure have contributed substantially to Nepal's infant mortality...
It's not that I feel they're hugely dangerous in themselves, it's their positions and the way the tinies run around underneath that alarms me! One wrong move and they plunge downwards...

We arrive at camp as our porters are setting up for us. The kerosene burner is fired up for a cuppa (tea and biscuits - how English is that?) and for our supper later - and layers go on; the sun is sinking behind the mountain, the temperature is dropping.


I sit on the edge of the crop terrace where our tents are being pitched, gazing at this wonderful vista of mountains stretching for miles back towards Kathmandu, and the enormity of being here is overwhelming.

I'm only here because lots of people supported this crazy notion of mine to test my mettle against a challenge I couldn't begin to fully imagine. Nearing the end of the first day - which is only really half a day - and I am so tired, and understandably anxious about how I'll feel tomorrow morning.

I feel the support and goodwill that brought me to this place acutely as I drink in the vastness before me.
It's a profoundly moving and humbling moment.

the trek 'proper' begins...

Our mini bus stops at Phaliya Sangu (Jeff tells me later, at the time, I have absolutely no idea where I am - and very little notion of where I'm going, either! But until I have my own reference points for places, I'm not going to remember them - so it made sense to sort out where I'd been in retrospect... )
I take Jeff literally, and expect that when the bus stops, we'll stop then for lunch. In true Jeff style, we have a good way to walk before we get lunch...
The steep descent into the river gorge gives us a taste of the terrain to come...
And the rope bridge crossing of the Marsyangdi River is a suitably testing beginning...

(it's great fun, too - both Sergio and I took pictures of our shadows and those of Jeff and Karna over the river bed from the bridge - which I won't inflict on my blog readers!)



















After crossing the river, I understand why Sim told me to spend an hour on stairs every day for a few weeks before the trek - it's like ascending a never-ending stairway to heaven, and my legs wonder what the hell I'm doing to them!
Bestare, bestare (slowly, slowly) becomes the mantra as I lean on my walking poles - but I don't know whether it's being in such strange and intensely beautiful surroundings, being fuelled by the wonder of it all, or whether it's being part of a group who have made the commitment to give this their best shot... whatever it is, the boundaries of your limitations somehow extend without too much effort...
Or maybe it's the novelty of being waited on... Lunch is delicious; it seems our porters commandeer kitchen space at a tiny settlement high on the mountainside above the river to not just prepare our food, but to boil water for us to wash our hands and for tea. There's unleavened bread, local cheese, tuna (that was a surprise), cucumber, carrot, turnip - and there's jam. The others seem to think making a cheese and jam sarnie is weird - but if you have tasty cheese and jam available, doesn't it make sense to combine them? Familiar comfort food in this kaleidescope of unfamiliarity...
Later, we stop at a resting place under a peepal tree; Jeff reminds us that Buddha became enlightened under a peepal. I'm trying to encapsulate the journey so far in my notebook, and a young Nepal lad dressed in Westernised clothing, his feet in purple plastic slip-on sandals, comes to watch me intently, joined by a tiny toddler in combat gear. He wears the ubiquitous red dye mark on his forehead which I wish to know the name of, so I try to pantomime my question. I'm obviously not creative enough, so he wanders off, embarrassed. It's a tikka, Jeff tells me - but I can't help being downcast at my signal failure to communicate unaided...

back in real time... or maybe just another dreamtime...

before I go any further on the Nepal journey, I want to come back to 'real' time briefly...




The trouble with surmounting an enormous challenge - and feeling ten years younger for it - is that the constraints of the working week have made me feel a little caged...

So Crysse and I went down to Lyme today to tackle the Lyme to Seaton stretch of coastline, retracing the steps of my last solitary training coast walk. In spite of a forecast for rain, it stayed fine and sunny - such a gift, as the woods in autumn are so beautiful. I remember being a little disappointed in the summer that I was walking so close to the sea, yet saw so little of it... To my delight, the green leaf canopy thinned by the season, the sea was an integral part of our visual landscape...

We had a fabulous day.

leaving Kathmandu...

Many of us make contact with our families the night before leaving Kathmandu. The trip looming so close, my call is to Ath, just to say I've arrived safely - an excuse to hear his voice. I know I can be a bit of a drama queen, but after all, on trips like these...
I feel more unsettled than ever when I get off the phone. The time-lag makes our conversation more of a frustration than a comfort... especially if it had turned out to be our last!
Luckily I've been so disorientated by the mayhem of Kathmandu that the peace of mountains seems more seductive than scary, however challenging it turns out to be...


Sitting in the back of the bus, chicaning through the Himalyan foothills, isn't the best seat for decent shots of the landscape, but nonetheless I rack up a few, and take copious notes in an interestingly jagged and uncontrolled script (I've never mastered the art of writing beautifully while moving - but then again, this particular journey was never going to be a smooth one!)

The road follows the great river cutting through these immense valleys; the Marsyangdi according to my map. Jeff tells us much later that its powers join the Ganges in India.

I find it quite bizarre, seeing billboards advertising Lifebuoy soap and Tuborg lager alongside Nepali products and signs in Sanscrit. The houses frequently double as tiny cramped shops like those we saw in Kathmandu, often with a few lifestock thrown in for good measure. What I can't quite comprehend is how, living so much as an integral part of the landscape and beside such a dusty road, people keep themselves and their vibrantly coloured clothes so fabulously clean. None of the farmers or horsy people I've come across in the UK are able to maintain such fastidiousness when in such close contact with the earth.

At the armed police checkpoints, Jeff observes that machine guns have been replaced with wooden sticks. Given the amount of damage that a judiciously aimed club can inflict, I'm not wholly reassured...

Travelling through the valleys, a bright electric blue-plumed bird sails alongside the bus - a roller bird, omen of a good journey...

restoring tranquility

the Bouddhanath Stupa, an oasis of calm and tranquility... gently spinning prayer wheels slow the thought processes back to some semblance of comfort...

where to start...?

Shopping expedition on our first full day in Kathmandu - straight into a Divali (festival of light) procession...

I find it all totally overwhelming. The visual phantasmagoria, the NOISE, the concentration of shops, traffic, people... and I'm meant to be part of a group excursion... in this bedlam, I can barely recollect who I am, let alone who I'm with!

At this point, I begin to long for the silence of the mountains...

Pix at last!

We arrive at the airport in Kathmandu - exhausted but SOOO excited about our impending adventure....













I didn't remember this one - Petra took it, I think... I wish you could see in my face the wonder of the experience I was going through.... (just LOOK at that backdrop...)


And here we are, triumphant after ascending to 20, 000 ft and back...

WE DID IT!!!! ALL OF US!!!!
(not that there was ever any doubt that Sergio would - where does he get his ENERGY.... but at least a couple of us thought we could be contemplating porter basket descent before being bunding into a helicopter...)

More soon - my difficulty now is choosing WHICH PIX - there are so many, and each one takes me right back to the top of the world, and the peace and space...

Where people get on with simple lives unchanged for centuries, nestled in eternity...

slipping through the fabric of space and time...

last Tuesday morning, we set off from the pandemonium of Kathmandu...
... and on Saturday night, we were encamped by the racing torrent of the Marsyangdi River at Bhulebhule... having completed the 100 km circuit, and climbed to 12,000 feet...

one of the most challenging, scary, exhausting, traumatising - and spectacular experiences of my entire life...

a cross between a vision quest and boot camp...

I've been trying to get some of my pixs up for a couple of hours or so (between phone calls), but blogger doesn't want to upload any images today...

Departure day

This week has felt pretty crazed - and crazy... I've been kicking myself all week for not taking this week off to prepare...
But here we are, the 21st October (Coleridge's birthday) as ready as we'll ever be to depart to Kathmandu at 9.30 tonight.
The tube for my platy has black mould growing in it, which I only noticed this morning. Emergency dash to Sainsburys (on what must be their busiest day this year) for a bottle of Milton... The mould 's proving a little stubborn, so I might need to grab another waterbag (or tube) in Katmandu... so much for allowing YESTERDAY to deal with such minor hiccups...
We each have a list of mobile numbers - am hoping my trains/bus to Heathrow is less eventful than today has proved so far!
I'm full of sugar and not much else...
SOOOOOO excited...
One of my volunteers is obviously going through a bad patch right now, but when I told him I'd be away for ten days to do this trek, his face lit up, and he said, 'I went on a 3-day trek in the Himalayas - it was the best experience of my whole LIFE.'
A good note to close on.
So - til I get back...

fell walk

Karen said she'd 'do a fell' with me as part of my training - but neither of us fully believed it would happen...

but as you'll guess from these snaps, we tackled Catbells - and got to the top! (not the biggest of fells, but higher than anywhere I've been so far (about 1400 ft I think). Not counting Skiddaw of course (Blencathra and the start of Skiddaw behind us here - I could hardly believe I was on the highest ridge in July, saw Derwentwater from the other side...)

I managed to shoot a video clip of the fantastic view surrounding us - and then deleted it by accident in the car going home!

maybe more later - but maybe not till after Nepal...

temporal experiment

I want to try to take you with me on my journey...

From my dictaphone:

It’s the 9th of October.
Just going up Golden Cap. It’s very cloudy, the wind’s blowing the rainclouds across the hill… So far, I seem to have managed to stay in dry pockets.
There’s a kestrel hovering ahead of me, and the sun is picking out highlights on the sea’s surface…
This is the coolest I’ve walked this stretch, the colours are muted; grey cloud overhead and the sea quite choppy, with those sunlit patches. As yet, most things still look green, although I did see a couple of absolutely gorgeous trees, no idea what kind they are, not just changing colour but changing into a variety of colours… One particularly striking example as I went through West Coker…
Wonderful to get feedback from Lesley at the Fisherman’s on the enormous benefits the classes gave to the people who took part.
It’s quite eerie being up on the top of Golden Cap in the mist blowing in from the sea… you can see a lighter pocket over in the sky, presumably that’s where the sun is - and actually some of the shimmering water is shining through a break in the mist. Otherwise, the top, with its scrubby grass, bracken and gorse is quite disorientating – you can see why people get lost in mist so easily.
My brief today is to go as far as I can, yet take it as easy as I possibly can, try to ease off my [aching] knees from the stepper, ease my body into the realignment that Carla’s shiatsu did last night, and also check out ‘how much ground I’ve lost’ through all the changes over the last month. The last time I was down here [sic], I was still employed at CAAAD, and of course, now I’ve moved…

The silvering of the sun on the water looks like some kind of a mirage as it appears and disappears though the mist…














(from my dictaphone on the way back)

Walking the coast path is like walking on the edge of the world.
That [bank of] clouds… and then the sea – it’s just like colour washes, doesn’t look real… if you went into that, you’d enter a different reality – which of course you do!

I think that’s one of the reasons I find it so powerful to walk by the sea rather than woods or hills.
Interesting. My training for trekking in Nepal – the mountains! – underlined that the place I like best to walk is by the sea!

A cracking rosy light close to the horizon, particularly round by the headland. Everywhere else is grey, overcast… the bracken is beginning to change colour. It looks muted, faded, almost like the summer’s burnt out the landscape…

I passed a man with a rucksack on his back with a Cavalier King Charles spaniel in it, an old dog with blue, rheumy eyes, obviously got tired…

It feels like I haven’t taken in as much of the sea as usual. I’ve been too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other in a slow, steady pace, trying really hard not to tire myself out and trying hard also not to put extra strain on my knees and hips, taking things gentle and steady…

That’s what will get me through Nepal.
Slow and steady.

I’ve emptied my platy for the first time. (Possibly ‘cos it wasn’t quite full! I have got my Sig bottle, too).
I’ve obviously downed a heck of a lot of water today, which is good, ‘cos I’ve been sweating like a pig underneath this waterproof – it’s breathable stuff, but even so, it gets hot and steamy.
In between getting very cold. A bit of exertion and you get overheated, then you slow down, or you come into the wind - and next thing, you’re freezing.
That’s going to be the biggest challenge when I’m in Nepal. To keep my temperature steady enough, so it’s been good to have the practice.

Near the top of Golden Cap, just stopped to let my temperature drop a little bit – I also wanted to note ; the journey today has been marked by pairs of magpies… a definite magpie thing going on since the beginning of this venture...

The sky is really amazing. It’s really difficult to describe it, it’s like there’s a cloud ceiling – a false ceiling, and over in the distance, it stops, and the light shows through… no, that’s not quite right… there’s this ragged rim of light right round the horizon really… even over between those hills you can see it. Utterly phenomenal…
I’m trying to capture it on camera, but it’s just not sensitive enough to pick that up… you’d have to be a painter, I think… it doesn’t seem to show up at all, unfortunately. Nice to think our eyes are more sensitive than a digital camera [except they’re not].

I'm not the dancer with the red shoes...

...and neither is Crysse... if you want to know where that little in-joke comes from, Crysse references the dancer with the red shoes in one of her beautiful performance pieces... which is on her website, under poetry http://www.crysse.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/poetry/

if you get the chance, check out one of her performances! (email crysse@cryssemorrison.co.uk if you want to go on her mailing list)
Crysse liked this photo better than the one I put in my last post, so I wanted to put it up.
After all, the reason I'm at this point in my life is in huge part due to her creative fire and encouragement, plus an incredible creative fund-raising programme to get the trek fund up and trekking...

writers on fibreglass trees...

I meant to post this photo with the previous lot, but as always, trying to squeeze blog writing (or any writing, anyTHING, come to that) in between other activities is usually hurried and incomplete...

Crysse and I have so few photos of us both. This feels fairly typical, posing on the blue fibreglass tree at Longleat - that sense that we're kids playing in this big old world. The photo is courtesy of Peter (all the more appreciated because he doesn't take shots for himself, doesn't own a camera as he find it interferes with his writing process!)

I understand that. It works for me in different ways; first the expense of f***ed up films when I was always so short of cash, then my partner was 'the photographer' and I was the writer (although he took forays into 'my territory' - ha!, now there's a metaphor...). Then it just became a matter of priorities...

The first day I walked with the camera, I barely wrote. And I have used imagery as an alternative way of representing my blog journey here, having been so short on time to write, time to reflect... poetic time, attuned to my own cycles and rhythms. Making the time to train for this trek yet holding down a job in Bristol throughout feels nothing short of miraculous, SO much stepped-up working, walking. I've also slotted in freelance work and WEA work... I have frequently been a little crazed and crazy...

On Thursday night, I had the opportunity and inclination (not usually any energy left!) to indulge in the rhythms of music, and language, and looking back over my journal for the last few months and forward again to the trek and beyond. I played with an acrostic so I'd be able to show the kids at Somervale if they needed a demonstration, and wrote a poem about being Atholl's mum... I've spent most of his life fighting to be me rather than 'Atholl's mum'...

I had a wonderful evening - and most of the night... I've so missed writing in the evening; most of the time I either don't dare (in case I end up on a roll and don't sleep) or I just can't do another thing except veg in front of the telly.

I got to Somervale having had three hours sleep (albeit late, rotten weather and appalling map reading taking me via Midsomer Norton's Sainsbury's car park), and I had a great time. Cruising on adrenalin, maybe I fired the kids' creative energy - they produced some wonderful poetry. Their teacher intended writing a review of the week's workshops for the local paper, so I gave her some info on the trek - I won't be doing my press releases now, no time... I can do a follow-up instead - after trying to sell those travel pieces!

A question posed by a year 9 poet; what does love look like?

Love looks like a journal, patchworking a life into a work of art.

the trees, they are a-changing...

These are the first trees I've seen with such fantastic colour - most are still green, even though it's the 8th of October and the wind and rain has claimed many leaves already.

The woods and hedgerows have an abundance of berries...

Mike has loaned me his stepper for the last couple of weeks, ably demonstrated here by young Ath (not quite so young, his 19th birthday this week, a real poignancy for me after that terrible night when I didn't think he'd see much beyond 18, let alone 19...)
The stepper is a real godsend; the change in the weather combined with the nasty cold I went down with have meant my fitness isn't as I'd have liked at this stage... I even had to have a day off sick last week (which REALLY freaked me - the idea of feeling as grotty in Nepal was horrifying; much though I fancy a ride in a helicopter, I don't think I'd appreciate it if it was a necessity!)
I seem to be picking up pretty well after being crook, though I only managed a couple of walks last week. I'm not so keen on walking in the dark, which makes it tough to keep the exercise up on working days now, though I could stick to areas with streetlights... It's not the same though.

Today's walk over on Longleat Estate with Crysse and Peter was fabulous. Great to catch up with them, and hear all about their break in Crete (which you can read about on http://www.crysse.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/) but mostly just lovely to have companionship while walking.
I've been reading Julia Cameron's 'Walking in the World' again, feels very apt right now...
Must go - I have a shiatsu at 6pm, and it's five to six...

Time is running out...

Not long to go... Mere days now!
I have a cold. Really just sniffles, repeated sneezing and a sore throat which is creeping downwards... I feel decidedly wimpy... I even flirted with the idea of a day in bed, and then thought 'Don't be RIDICULOUS woman - what if you get sniffles in Nepal? You'll HAVE to get on with it!'
With luck, a cold now will mean I don't get one in Nepal...
I bust a gut last week squeezing training in on my working days. My 'workfree' days went less well exercise-wise... Crap, actually. And yesterday was given over to my yearly accounts (always a thoroughly depressing day).
Then, today, my car broke down. Twice.
The first time, I discovered that my AA membership has been cancelled by the bank. Cheeky swine - my account is still being charged for the privilege of NOT having such fringe benefits - and it cost me over £100 to upgrade my membership last time I broke down, just so I could get home...
Thank God for Kit, who covered the cost of having my battery recharged this morning to get me to work...
...and then she died a second time, round the corner from work as I headed home. A helpful RAC member to the rescue...
So I'm chilled, hungry and thoroughly fed up - alongside overextending my not-so-stretchy overdraft beyond breaking point...
I thought I would post some pix from my day in Bath on Saturday. Good walking before and after the travel writing workshop I went to...
Always good to end something on a positive note!

amazing changes...

My inbox is chocka... It can wait til at least tomorrow.
Time is rapidly running out for trek training... Which is to say what I haven't done now is unlikely to get done. Although I would like to do the stairs work suggested by Sim to combat the worst of the muscle pain...
I spoke to Debbie on Monday. She did a similar trek in Peru for one of the breast cancer charities back in April. And boy, had she trained (and she'd done the triathlon the year before...)
So I'm feeling very cross with myself (though why is a bit of a mystery - if I'd had the resources and the time to fit in more training in, then I would have. I've done what I could, and that is generally good enough for the rest of the world - I just seem to be rather attached to that hair shirt and self-flagellation...)
Tonight, I'm slugging back up the hill (actually called Paddles Lane, according to the Google map of Frome, which makes me smile!), feeling really chuffed that two working days in a row I've managed a good hour and a half training - and last night I went to the Alma Theatre as well!
A knot develops between my shoulder blades, and I think; my rucksack is quite heavy tonight. I have a sudden memory of Glastonbury. In particular, returning from Glastonbury...
The year I went on the bus with the bike club (? sounds a bit bizarre, doesn't it! - day tickets, hence the bus...). My backpack simply had waterproofs, a couple of layers, water and snacks - and boy, did I struggle round Worthy Farm. The site never seemed so huge... No, that's not true, the year I 'commuted' in Karen's car to stewarding work in the information tent, I barely made it further than the main stage and then onto the car after my shift... In fact, after some shifts I just went straight home (Ath was about 13 or 14, so there were 'issues' there as well... but imagine not having the energy to check out at least some of Glasters! - and (mostly) no partying whatsoever... Al & I shared a bottle of wine at lunch-time on the last day - and then I did stay late, to sober up!)
But going back to that day ticket trip - eventually, about 7ish, just as the rest were starting to get into party mode proper, I had to give up attempts to enjoy it and start the slog back to the bus stop. (I didn't know the club members very well, only through Mike and Karen, but I was a bit shocked that nobody bothered making sure I was OK - I must have been grey-faced by then, but I'm sure they just thought I was a real lightweight...).
It took me hours to get to the buses, and then the driver wouldn't negotiate an earlier bus than was on my ticket... I was so exhausted I could barely focus on the way home, and when I arrived in Frome, there were no taxis on the rank (not sure I had cash anyway!). I managed to get up beyond Sheppards Barton and into Park Road before I phoned Ath to come and help me and my bag home... It probably took me three or four days of resting before I felt half-way human again.
And now, I can walk for nearly two hours on top of a day at work!!!!! Two days in a row - now that's pretty miraculous.
Considered like that... I may not have managed the optimum level of training recommended, but boy have I achieved an amazing increase in fitness this year...
They say these treks are life changing experiences. And maybe, for some of us, those changes start long before we get on a plane...

More about Ebbor Gorge...

Mike sent this, so I couldn't resist posting it!

In haste - more walking to do (among 1001 other things - most of which I'm happy to postpone through training having priority... don't you just hate tax returns?)

Ebbor Gorge

Another fantastic ramble today - through the woods (where I took nearly as many fungi shots as anything else!), up the cleft in the gorge and onto the plateau at the top. A bit too misty to see very far - but mist is always quite magical.

In haste - Crysse is in the Exposed show, commissioned by Apples and Snakes, at the Merlin tonight. One of the biggest national poetry tours ever programmed... I don't want to be late as I've promised to write a review...