BRINGING PROGRESS to PARADISE

What I Got from Giving to a Mountain Village in Nepal

Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC

Contents

CHAPTER 1

PTSD

I turned forty in 1993 and began manifesting symptoms of a midlife crisis. Iwhined about the responsibilities of marriage, two kids, a law business, and amortgage. All the responsibilities and obligations were sucking the life out ofme. Buying a Harley didn't cure it.

One evening my wife slapped a brochure down on the coffee table in front of meand said in a steely tone, "Why don't you do this? Go climb a mountain." Thebrochure advertised a Himalayan trekking expedition. I'd lived at sea level inIndiana most of my life and had no trekking or climbing experience. But I haddone a lot of rugged outdoor activities, so I was intrigued. Alicia may laterhave regretted her "go take a hike" therapy, because I fell in love—with themountains.

My friend and chiropractor, Long John, and I went trekking along the EverestBase Camp trail in Sagarmatha Park, Nepal, in the spring of 1995 in a five-membergroup through an American expedition company called Snow Lion. The grouphad an American guide but was really led by a sirdar (chief trekking guide)named Ang Nima Sherpa, and it was staffed by Nepalese mountain dwellers. I hadnever met anyone as strong, kind, and admirable as Nima, and the spectacularbeauty of the Himalayas turned me on like no other place in the more than thirtycountries I had visited in my travels.

* * *

Adventure travel was part of my life before travel companies packaged it inbrochures. As a teenager I hitchhiked across the United States and traveledaround Europe on buses and trains. In my twenties and thirties, I motorcycledaround Mexico, scuba dived throughout the Caribbean, went horseback riding andfour-wheeling in Belize, and kayaked around islands in the South Pacific and theIonian Sea. From each of these experiences, I was enriched through encounterswith different lands, cultures, and people. But my encounter with the Himalayanmountains and Nepalese-Tibetan culture on that introductory trek in 1995 touchedme so deeply I could hardly wait to return.

During the next two summers, I took introductory and intermediate climbingcourses at Seneca Rock, West Virginia. I joined my first mountaineeringexpedition to Ladakh, India, in 1996, led by the renowned American climber andwriter John Roskelley. I went back to Nepal on increasingly challengingexpeditions in 1998 and 1999. I didn't climb 8,000-meter (25,000 foot) peaks orattempt extreme climbs requiring oxygen tanks and hanging off sheer walls inbivy bags. As a father, husband, and attorney with staff and family to support,I knew becoming a climber bum wasn't in the cards; and I'm far too cheap tospend $65,000 and six weeks to attempt Mount Everest. Trekking for a couple ofweeks and climbing 20,000-foot peaks was sufficiently challenging and wonderfulfor me.

For a middle-aged Hoosier flatlander, Himalayan mountaineering and trekking isdifficult in terms of the conditioning required and the physical and emotionalstress of a long trek followed by twelve to twenty-four hours of climbing. It'sgrueling, and when weather conditions are bad, it's dangerous. But I loved it.The Himalayas pulled me back each year. That is, until the disastrous expeditionto Mera. The experience of advanced acute mountain sickness, barely escaping anavalanche, and seeing three porters disappear broke the mountains' grip on me.

Off the Mountaintop

Six months after my return from the Mera Peak expedition, I was driving homefrom my office in downtown Indianapolis. Without warning, tears startedstreaming down my face, and I had to pull over to the side of the street. I satin the car and cried. I could no longer hold in the feelings of guilt and shame.The picture of the three porters just before they were enveloped in the tsunamiof white snow was seared in my mind. I had done nothing to try to help. I coulddo nothing to help. But the memory wouldn't release me.

The author of Ecclesiastes (1.14–15) wrote, "All is futile and a striving afterwind. What is crooked cannot be made straight." I found myself overwhelmed withexistential despair, feeling the unfairness of life and the futility of tryingto do anything about it. It was unfair and awful that the lives of those threehardworking men could be snuffed out in an instant. I had no more thirst foradventures in the Himalayas; my throat was dry.

I had participated in four Himalayan expeditions in five years. But after theavalanche, I did not return to Nepal for four years. It was no longer safe tovisit anyway. SARS had broken out in Asia, and Nepal was undergoing a violentMaoist revolution against the king. The army was shooting demonstrators in thestreets of Katmandu, and Maoists were blowing up buildings and bombing buses. Ina shocking incident in June 2001, Crown Prince Dipendra shot and killed hisparents and siblings as they sat down to dinner, and then shot himself.Political instability followed, because many Nepalese distrusted the new king,Gyanendra, brother to the murdered Birendra. Some even suspected that Gyanendrawas involved in the murders. Nepal was put on the U.S. State Department's travelwarning list. Then came 9/11.

The allure of Nepal as a magical kingdom for Western adventurers was lost. In1999, more than 500,000 tourists visited Nepal. By 2002, less than half thatnumber entered the kingdom.

Religious people equate a "mountaintop experience" with a spiritual awakening ora transcendent connection with God. Why equate being on top of a mountain withexperiencing God? Because feeling the awesomeness of the natural world on top ofa mountain is such a glorious feeling that the limitations of language force usto call it "God." Every day of a mountaineering expedition or high-altitudetrek, that feeling is available.

John Muir described "the ecstasy of the surrender to nature." He meant that byopening oneself to natural beauty, the soul is magnified to a point oftranscendence beyond the ordinary consciousness of task-oriented living. Duringeach of my Himalayan expeditions, I surrendered to the ecstasy of nature. Ilearned and lived what John Muir described.

But after the disaster of the 1999 Mera Peak expedition and what followed, I'dhad enough. The dark side of nature then got a hold of me. I was sick of beingtired, cold, and sick. To hell with the Himalayas. I was done with mountains. SoI went kayaking and diving in sunny Palau, a remote archipelago near Micronesia.

CHAPTER 2

JUBILEE

May 29, 2003 was the Golden Jubilee of the first recorded summit of MountEverest by Tenzing Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary on that date in 1953. Thatfirst summit of Everest, the highest mountain on planet Earth, turned theworld's attention to the Kingdom of Nepal.

Nepal's economy badly needed tourists to return. The Maoists and the government,at war with each other, declared a truce for the Jubilee. Sir Edmund Hillary'sfamily put its considerable resources to work at bringing tourists back to Nepalfor the Jubilee celebrations. Sir Edmund would cohost with the King of Nepal ablack-tie affair in Katmandu. Hillary's son, Peter, would cohost with theRinpoche Tenzing, the Incarnate Lama of Tengboche Monastery, the "highest partyin the world" on the monastery grounds at 12,700 feet. Mountaineers around theworld were invited to return for the celebrations.

I was born in 1953, just a month before the first summit of Mount Everest. Ithad been almost ten years since my first trek along the Base Camp Trail. As theJubilee approached, the magnetism of Nepal pulled me back.

The last three weeks of May 2003, I trekked with my friend and translator HariPudasaini through Sagarmatha National Park in the Khumbu region of Nepal alongthe Everest Base Camp Trail up to base camp at 18,000 feet. Along the trail, Iinterviewed many Sherpas and mountaineers to do research for an article aboutthe celebrations and the effect of tourism on Sherpa culture. Members of theHillary family were making a pilgrimage along the Base Camp Trail, which becamethe most famous hiking trail in the world after Hillary and Norgay hiked it ontheir way to Mount Everest in 1953. The Hillary clan stopped at the HillarySchool in Khumjung, the first of several schools built by Hillary's foundation,the Himalayan Trust, and inspected Kunde Hospital, the first medical clinicestablished by the trust.

After Sir Edmund Hillary became rich and world-famous, he devoted much of therest of his life to philanthropy for the Sherpa people. He greatly admired theunique character of strength and Buddhist gentleness he found in the highmountain people of Nepal. The assistance of Sherpas employed by his climbingteam led to him becoming one of the most famous people of the 20th century, andhe gratefully returned many times to the Khumbu, home to the Sherpas. Hisphilanthropic efforts brought schools, medical clinics, and eventuallyhydroelectric projects to the Sherpas. And the Sherpas loved him back. Theycalled him "King of the Khumbu."

The Two Sides of Tourism

I hiked to Phakding with Sir Edmund's older sister, June, who was then 86.During dinner, the intrepid octogenarian reminisced, "When Ed was young, heloved to personally work on laying brick and stone to help build schools andmedical clinics in Sherpa villages. He had so much fun!" But not all of thedinner talk was so sanguine about the last fifty years for the Sherpas of theKhumbu. In response to my question about how the Sherpas had been affected bytourism, a grandniece of Hillary exclaimed, "It's bad!" She argued that therenowned toughness of the Sherpas had been softened by material gain fromtourism, and the Buddhist gentleness had been hardened by the pursuit of money.At breakfast the next morning, Hillary Carlyle, June's daughter, confessed,"It's hard for us to judge whether the Western influence and tourism has beengood for the Sherpas. My uncle has been such a significant part of all that."She told me she'd been to the Khumbu five or six times, "but it seems like I'malways here— it's the family business, you know."

The enthusiasm of the Hillary family for helping to better the lives of Sherpaswas inspiring, but I was conflicted about the overall impact we Westerners havehad on Sherpa culture. The Western influence can be seen in the villages alongthe trails that have become popular with trekkers and climbers in the Himalayas,especially the Everest Base Camp Trail. The lives of the villagers changeddramatically in the fifty years following Hillary's "conquering" of Chomolungma(the name of Mount Everest in the Tibetan language). Tourism in the Khumbu hasaffected Sherpa culture by turning many Sherpas from yak herders to lodgeowners, or to guides, cooks, or porters working for expeditions. Tourism hasbrought trash and garbage into the majestic peaks and valleys of the Khumbu.Before the climbers and trekkers came, there was no metal, paper, or plastic inthe Khumbu. Everything the Sherpas used was recyclable, because they had no manmadeor manufactured products. Everything they made or used came from the yak,earth, or plants: clothes from yak hide and fuel from yak shit; shelter fromstone and wood; and food grown in plots of rice, barley, corn, and potatoes. Themountaineers and trekkers brought packaged products and trash along the BaseCamp Trail. The trail has become a potpourri of international litter—tobaccopacks from India, beer bottles from Spain, blown-out boots from China, andripped t-shirts from the United States.

Yet Mahendra Kathet, the headmaster at the Hillary school in Khumjung, told mein 2003, "Without tourism, we couldn't survive here." He has taught at theschool since 1976. He flatly stated that no one in Khumjung thinks the changesbrought about by tourism have been bad for the village. "Even the old people whomaintain traditional dress think changes are good, because they have betterfood, like salt. Life is much easier." He related that before the HimalayanTrust built the school in 1961, people in Khumjung lived at a subsistence level.A guide employed by Peter Hillary's company, Ang Temba Sherpa, put it simply,"If you had the choice between walking two hours downhill and then back uphillcarrying a bucket of water for the day, or having water piped to your house,which would you choose?"

The Highest Party in the World

Lama Tenzing is a small slight man with white hair. His skin is a soft mahogany.He wears a mango-colored cloak. He is revered by Sherpa Buddhists as a lama andthe abbot of Tengboche Monastery. Lama Tenzing receives visitors every day andconsiders welcoming visitors one of his most important duties. He sits placidlyon his divan looking at his guests with kindly interested eyes. His facialexpression rarely changes. Decorating the wall behind him are brightly coloredthangka paintings (sacred Buddhist paintings on cloth) draped with lengths ofred silk.

A few days before the "highest party in the world" took place on the grounds ofthe monastery, Hari and I shared tea with Lama Tenzing. When I asked him what hethought of the effect of tourism on Sherpa culture, he responded through Hari'stranslation that he was "not happy and not upset about Western influence onSherpas. People should do what they want."

As I walked across the grounds of the monastery back to the lodge where Hari andI were staying, cumulus clouds to the north cleared and the Everest Massifemerged in its spectacular majesty. A single cirrus cloud trailed like a kitetail from the pinnacle of the highest peak on Earth. The sound of monks chantingin the monastery echoed across the valley. I was looking at perfection. Theaesthetic bliss of the Himalayas and Buddhist chanting was working its magic onme.

Pilgrims from all over the world endure the strenuous trek to Tengboche to berewarded with this experience. Peace and harmony emanate from this beautifulhuman creation, developed by the ethics and aesthetics of Tibetan Buddhism andrefined over a history of 2,500 years. Surrounded by the most magnificentnatural scenery in the world, visitors apprehend the resident monks' harmoniousdiscipline and are invited by the Incarnate Lama to participate in the peacefulcharacter of the community.

But the night of the Jubilee party, the character of the monastery changed.

The official party commenced in a big blue tent erected on the monastery groundsat 4:00 p.m. There were many speeches, a fine dinner of yak steak and champagne,and black bowties for male attendees. Ladies wore long evening dresses overhiking boots. Peter Hillary, Sir Edmund's son, served as master of ceremonies. Iknow this not because I was inside the tent, but because I was outside lookingin. About a hundred of us uninvited guests who had not paid $400 for an officialinvitation stood outside the tent for over an hour trying to eyeball and listento the festivities inside. Employees of Hillary's trekking company werestationed around the tent, and a particularly burly fellow stood at the entrancewith a lethal-looking two-foot-long club in his hand. Sherpa hospitality was notthe order of the day for the official celebration at Tengboche.

Eventually, most of us impecunious voyeurs drifted into the meal room in thenearby Gompa Lodge. Pints of Mount Everest Whisky, a quite nasty drink brewed inLukla, appeared. The manager, who wore monkish garb, brought out a cassetteplayer and blasted techno music at full volume from the little recorder. A fewporters entertained the crowd with a Nepalese version of techno dancing. Weclapped and hooted for the dancers and passed the pints around.

After an hour or two, someone burst in and shouted that the tent was open.Everyone dashed out of the lodge and into the big blue tent. Two porters beganto thump out a beat on gourd drums as others chanted the erotic lyrics of aNepalese folk song. The crowd began to clap and sway to the beat of the drums.The rhythmic beat, clapping, and singing got more frenetic. Women were hoistedonto men's shoulders as Nepalis of all ethnic groups and trekkers and climbersfrom all over the world shouted and clapped to the pounding beat. Loose-limbedNepalis, longhaired trekker girls, scruffy sunburnt mountain climbers, andspiritual seeking trekkers got down and the dancing got wilder.
(Continues...)Excerpted from BRINGING PROGRESS to PARADISE by Jeff Rasley. Copyright © 2010 Jeff Rasley. Excerpted by permission of Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC.
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