Manaslu and Tsum Valley Trek

I wasn't sure if trekking was for me, but instead of dipping my toes in to see how the water was I cannon balled into the deep end with a 3 week long trek.

Escape the crowds, get off the beaten path, and visit some down right remote areas of Nepal. These were my thoughts for choosing this particular trek -the Manaslu and Tsum Valley Circuit. It's a restricted area trek requiring permits, guides, and a bit of red tape; which thankfully keep the hordes of trekkers like the 10 000 or so that hike the Everest Base Camp trek every October to a minimum.

I've never been challenged more both physically and mentally in my life. But with sacrifice comes reward, and the rewards reaped from this adventure won't soon be forgotten. Not even close.

How can I describe how cold it was some nights? The water bottle next to my sleeping bag froze solid one night in Dharmsala, a ramshackle outpost of tents and stone walled rooms, your last "guesthouse" before crossing the 5160m Larke Pass.

If I said I was awoken by mice crawling over my sleeping bag more than once you'd think I was nuts.....that's a vacation? Damn right it is. The veranda of the Gumba Lundang monastery I slept in made up for the uninvited creepy crawlers, as did the back drop of the Ganesh Himal range which occupied my field of vision like an Imax screen. A 7400m range of jagged rock and ice that seemed so close you couldn't help but wave your hand in front of your face to try and touch it.

The majority of this trek takes you along the Beri river, up and down precarious stone pathways with hundred meter sheer drops next to you seemingly the entire time. We added on an 8 day permit to trek the restricted area called Tsum Valley, a beautiful stretch of fertile land curtained on both sides by 6000m peaks. 'Tsum' comes from the Tibetan word 'Tsombo', which simply means 'Vivid'. It's a pretty fair word to describe this area of Nepal I reckon. Even a violent bout of food poisoning didn't deter me from enjoying this valley full of friendly Tibetan villages and wild pot plants as far as the eye could see.

In a rather extended chat with a couple of young villagers toiling their fields, I couldn't help but ask what they were growing. The almost perfectly lined seedlings of marijuana sprouting from the parched dry earth was my main reason for asking.

"Barley!" he said.

"You like Ganza?"  He replied with a chuckle.

Now the conversation was going the direction I wanted.

Long story short, I asked what their views were towards the plant, and whether or not they smoked the stuff. In a nutshell he told me as a kid their parents always told them not to, it was always said to be wrong - 'very bad stuff' were his words. To my surprise he also strung together a phrase in broken English that I immediately understood and related to; that being the irony of home brewed Raksi (rice/barley wine) and cheap booze flooding the valley from the nearby border of China run Tibet caused more problems than marijuana could ever do.

No matter how far away from home you are, some things just don't change.

This was my first ever over night trek, and I can't help but feel a bit of pride completing 20 damn days straight of it. Although the majority of it wasn't exactly in high altitude conditions, I like to think I did -even if only for a day- walk in the shoes of a real mountaineer. Crossing the Larke Pass requires at least 7-8 hours, and you don't want to be caught at 5200m in November anytime in the late afternoon. So that means lacing up your boots and walking in the blistering cold & ungodly hour of 4:30am. I might as well have been climbing Everest for that 90 mins before the sun came up; I actually thought my nose was going to fall off from frost bite.

I gained a new appreciation for a sport that no one really acknowledges- Mountaineering. These super humans who do this in exponentially worse conditions than I was subjected to are the toughest of the tough as far as I'm concerned, because I sure as hell don't ever want to experience that level of cold again!

Crossing the last suspension bridge into Dharapani, 19 days after setting foot on the trail, my eyes locked onto the first motorised vehicle I had seen in almost 3 weeks. I yelled at the top of my lungs in glee, the trek was finally over. In another 24 hours I'd be in a jeep back into civilisation.

Fast forward a few days, I now realise the bitter part of my sweet ending takes a little time to settle in. I'm back in Kathmandu dodging motorbikes, inhaling exhaust fumes, and telling touts to leave me alone.

As much as I wanted the trek to just be over, I'm already day dreaming of my next one. Not before I see what else this country has on offer though :)

Confused, Amazed, and Lost in Tokyo.

When a country is so polite that it gives you shivers down your spine, that's when you know that you've landed somewhere special.

I left Tokyo more intrigued than before I arrived; I stopped trying to understand the everyday life of a Tokyoite and instead just strapped myself in and enjoyed the ride.

And what a fascinating ride it was.

I've been left amazed in previous travels from witnessing how some of the poorest people in the world carry on with perseverance and a smile no matter what hardships they face; but leaving the prosperous nation of Japan it's a different kind of smack up side the head.

The level of respect I witnessed being given to the rule of law, to tourists, and in the everyday life of the Japanese people just made my jaw drop. From the 7-11 clerk who backs up one step to perform a complete bow to each and every patron, to the teenager who waits on a deserted side street for the signal to turn green before he even thinks about crossing.

I heard one horn honk in the 5 days I was there, the whole street turned and looked towards a somewhat embarrassed driver. How dare he!

I leave still curious about a few things in this country (manga and pachinko included) but I leave clear as day on one point; the world could definitely learn a few lessons on politeness from Japan.....including myself.

Sayonara Tokyo, until next time!

A familiar feeling.

Just over a year ago I ended an adventure of a life time, an adventure that took on a life of its own and spanned months longer than I could have ever hoped and dreamed.

I came back with a set of short term objectives I wanted to complete, some to do with my personal life and some to do with my career. All in all I'd consider this past year a resounding success...yet the bite from the travel bug hasn't quite stopped itching.

I've come to grips with the fact that this so called 'travel bug' isn't some ailment that simply goes away with time. Musicians don't get over their 'musical instrument' bug, nor do baseball players lose their 'sports bug'.

A burning passion towards a thing that you love doing isn't something that one should suppress, especially if it makes you as happy as travelling does to me.

Life's on hold again, at least at home anyways.

Nepal is first on the list with a short stop in Tokyo.

I can hardly sit still :)

It feels like that time.

8 whole months.

243 friggin days.

Who would’ve thought?

It’s been a trip alright, more than I ever imagined it to be from the onset. I’ve hit highs I could have only dreamt of reaching and lows I never wish to experience again, but it’s all part of the experience I guess.

I've visited 6 countries, mostly on quick whirl wind tours aside from Indonesia and India. Nothing I've seen anywhere came close to the magic I experienced in my 5 months exploring India. The culture, history, people, sights, and landscapes are in a league of their own. I suppose it's subjective and everyone has their own opinion, but it truly is one of the greatest travel destinations on earth. Not a day has gone by that I didn't find my mind wandering, reflecting on one of my countless train rides or random tea stall conversations I had with a friendly local.

I am very much looking forward to home, I miss my family and friends like crazy, so much so that to continue on travelling would simply be a waste. I’m not properly absorbing the amazing things that are right before my eyes any more. I need a recharge, or a reset, one of the two.

This won’t be my last adventure, not even close. I’ve pushed myself to the boundaries and came out relatively unscathed. Why stop now? This go where the hell I want attitude towards travel I’ve adopted is exactly what I wanted to have in the end. No more pre-trip anxieties, no longer am I frightened of the unknown, quite the opposite actually. I can look at a map like a restaurant menu after this trip, the only obstacle for my next meal being the cost in dollars.

There is one more currency that travel requires besides dollars, and that is time. You shouldn’t look at the year you were born to see if you should take that trip, you’re never too old to pack your bags and take off somewhere if that’s something you crave. More so you need to envision the year you expire and use that as an incentive. This is a limited time only, one shot deal we have in life. I’ve met people of all ages travelling, couples, solo travellers, and countless families with their children as well. It was like wishfully looking into a mirror when I looked at these couples and their young kids, especially in India. It might be easier to put the family up in a resort somewhere in Mexico to sip cocktails and watch movies as oppose to monastery hopping in the Himalayas, but it sure as hell ain’t as rewarding. It showed me that it’s never really over, you can travel at any time in your life.

There’s a stack of bills waiting for me when I walk back into my apartment tomorrow, both the paper kind and some ones in my head, but I think I’m ready to deal with them. In preparation I’ve been continually asking myself if I’ve changed in the slightest from this trip, more so this past month as I knew home was on the horizon. I’d read my 1^st blog post over and over trying to think if I really applied this “seize the moment” attitude to each and every day. Unfortunately I can’t say that I have, I still got some work to do. Perhaps I’m being a bit hard on myself but it’s true. It's just that with everything I’ve experienced -all the scrupulous characters I’ve had to deal with along the way-I simply do not take bullshit from anyone anymore, including from the dude in mirror.

I’ll call out a dishonest rickshaw driver just as quick as a lie I tell to myself.

So maybe that’s just as good.

It's been a hell of a ride but it's time to get off...for now.

Thanks for following!

This picture below has nothing to do with the current country I’m in, it’s simply just a picture. It’s not even that great of a picture to be honest, there’s a bright sun spot near the centre that bothers me and I don’t know how to photoshop it out. Secondly it’s full of tourists; I try and keep all foreigners out of frame whenever I shoot, gives a more authentic cultural feel to the photo.  It is one of my favourites though, not because of what’s in the picture but because of what I was thinking at the time when it was taken. I don’t really  know what I was thinking, can’t recall exactly. But I do know that I was happy. I was exhilarated and grateful to be in that spot, in that country, watching the sunrise on that very day. 

Every time I look at it I get that same feeling.

I love travelling.

Matunga Hill- Hampi, Karnataka, India. February 2012.

Sumba and Bali.

The island of Sumba was probably the most challenging place I've visited on this trip. It seemed like the only time I'd meet someone who I could communicate with in English were the places I'd never expect them to be, like a deserted beach or a village far away from the main townships of Waingapu and Waikabubak. It was a rewarding experience but I quickly realised I may have bit off more than I can chew when I couldn't even check into a hotel room. Five staff members, one Indonesian phrase book, and some pretty pathetic charade moves on my part was still not enough for me to get the room I was looking for. I left after 5 days, by no means defeated...just a little exhausted.

Back to Bali I went, only this time to the place I for some reason initially tried to avoid one month prior -Kuta Beach.

It's the Nickleback of Bali I guess you could say; the place everyone loves to hate. It has its fair share of reasons to be hated this is true, but for those who say you can't experience some authentic Balinese culture here are taking it a bit too far. There's a large population of residents coming from all parts of the archipelago that simply live and breathe surfing here. The tourist dollar may have brought them but it's the waves and beach life that keep them put. This stretch of ocean is important to them as Ipanema Beach would to be a Cariocan. Like it or not, surfing is as much a part of Kuta as art and dance is to the rest of Bali.

So where does authenticity lie in one of the most visited islands in Asia? It lies in the local population, and the ones who frequent Kuta Beach selling drinks, renting surf boards, and just basically enjoying every waking moment of their lives are as authentic as they come for this part of Bali. Their uncanny ability to remember faces and names amazed me, their ability to guess nationalities and yell pick up lines to passing women in any language from Japanese to Dutch amused me, it seemed the only time a smile would leave their face is if there were no swells to surf, even then it was only momentarily. This held true for almost all locals I met, from shopkeepers to hotel staff alike, hell even a few cab drivers had a charismatic way about them. The locals here turned out to be some of the most entertaining and down right coolest dudes I've met in my travels. Sure they may not be able to perform an authentic Balinese Legong dance, or carve out a Buddha statue from solid stone with their eyes closed, but for me they are what I'll really remember Bali for.

I lazed away about 9 days all together in Kuta, and just like the rest of my longer than expected stops it was the people I met which really kept me put. My second night there while enjoying a beverage at a table alone, I was invited over to join a group of fellow Canadians; the week that followed is just a blur of hangovers, good times, and good memories. But with new friendships comes new goodbyes, and I was soon on my own again. The flip side to this whole travelling solo thing.

Lately I've been asking myself how much longer I can keep this going, the longest which I've ever been away from home was 30 days before I embarked on this adventure. It's been over 6 months and counting now.

I've also been asking myself if this trip has changed me -for better, for worse, or for neither. I can't say it has at this point, I still feel like the same dude who woke up that morning in February way back when.

'The more I try to change, the more I feel the same' 

I didn't write that line by the way...it's from a song called Boondigga. Google that shit yo.

What this trip has given me is a new appreciation for just how bloody easy I have it in Canada.

It's also given me a life time worth of memories that I can bring up at will, like an endless supply of day dreams-on-demand, Netflix style. They'll prove invaluable when I go back to the daily grind of work (whenever the hell that is).

Most importantly of all it has let me see parts of this world I've always wanted to see. I left home with no expectations but to see a country or two, all the amazing people I've met and memories I've made are just a bonus as far as I'm concerned.

And what a bonus it has been.

With all that being said it's Java time, and no I don't mean coffee. Jogjakarta is my next stop located on the island of Java- the most populated island on Earth. Sounds a bit crowded when I put it that way!