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This was the belief that would be put to the test many times before reaching my goal. Never was it put to the test so clearly as when one morning my porter, Osman, disappeared. Osman had been with me for a week, and by this time we had moved far up into the mountains and entered into an officially closed area of Nepal. The Nepali have closed some of their more remote areas that share a border with Tibet. They don't want any trouble with the often harsh Chinese government when over zealous adventurers who have little respect for the rules and regulations of a government that has systematically destroyed the Tibetan culture, cross into Tibet without Chinese permission. I admit that I have never been much of one for rules and regulations and when I heard that the area I wanted to trek in was closed I knew I had to go. I got a trekking permit to the town of Jirgit which was as far as I was legally allowed to travel. I then bought a carton of American cigarettes which are as good as gold in the far reaching checkposts where all but banished officials might overlook a badly forged permit for a chance to be the Marlboro Man. The creative writing that I did on my trekking permit didn't even look too bad after I crumpled and soaked the document sufficiently. If asked, I planned to claim an exceptionally arduous few weeks on the trail complete with a few life threatening dunks in the river. The man at the checkpost carefully looked over my permit in the sunlight that filtered through the stone roof of the dark office. He looked at me with a doubtful eye and through a cloud of Marlboro smoke said, "I'm sorry, my English is not so good. Just what does this permit say?" And so, I told him just what the permit, in its present form, did indeed say, and within minutes Osman and I were entering a far off region of northern Nepal where very few Westerners had ever set foot before. Closing in on the "X" that marked the spot on the decaying cocktail napkin map, Osman and I set off from the town of Silim where I had rested my renegade leg for a few days. The morning was bright and clear. High snowy mountains loomed above us and as the sides of the canyon grew more precipitous the trail became more precarious . Thin veils of water fell from high up the canyon walls and down to the now constricted and raging river. Our spirits were high and the rest in Silim amongst warm hearted villagers and well-cooked daal bhaat (the traditional Nepali meal of rice and lentils) had renewed my faith in my quest. |
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