Navigation bar
  Home Print document Start Previous page
 198 of 239 
Next page End Contents 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203  

CHAPTER 30
I wasn’t entirely sure how I got there. Somewhere between my
collapse in India and the mountain I was standing on, there occurred
a sequence of events that led me in this direction, but I was damned
if I understood them. I remembered that instead of getting on the bus
headed for the south I had mistakenly boarded another bus for the
north and stayed on it. I realized it was a good idea: I had to continue
moving ahead, and that to return to a Dionysian beach party would
be a return to the mindset of Thailand.
The Himalayas—where high altitude met high attitude,
according to Joe Fortune, who should have known. But I couldn’t
help feel as if this was a last resort. After months of carefree living,
my money was nearly extinguished and if I couldn’t find peace and
meaning in my life as an ascetic in the Himalaya, I would have to
pack my bags full of crap and spend the rest of my short life as one of
those grungy trinket salesmen on the streets of Europe.
My bus had crossed the border into Nepal and after a hair-
raising journey over unpaved mountain roads, finally arrived in
Pokhara. Without examining my surroundings, I set off on a trek
with only my pack, a walking stick and a crude map. I honestly didn’t
believe I would find anything in the mountains other than a bunch of
weird little people and a few yaks.
The natural surroundings were the stuff of legend, though.
Going up the rocky trail, I saw enough sweeping gorges, epic
waterfalls, and unusual wildlife to fill an entire year of National
Geographics. My mood improved somewhat, elevating to a solid
numbness. The air was sweet, and so were the few people with whom
I crossed paths, each singing a hearty namastein my direction, often
through rotted teeth.
After four days of walking up steep inclines and spending the
night in freezing tea-house cabins, I arrived at the end of the trail: the
base-camp of a mighty range of mountains. There was a small cabin
nearby where I checked in my stuff and ordered some tea. The old
man who brought me the tea spoke exceptional English, and I invited
him to sit down and have a cup with me. Straight-faced, he sat down.
“Sir, do you know of any wise men in the area that I could meet
with?” I asked.
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
198
http://www.purepage.com Previous page Top Next page