The more I look through my pictures from Tibet, the more I want to go back there. Had a great guide with GAP, nice crew of people, and just an amazing experience. It came at a strange point in my life, too -- my father had passed away less than a week before I left, which made it hard for me to feel very social for much of the trip.
I saw him that last week, too - his memory was faulty for the last couple years of his life, and he could not remember that I was going to China. He and I had talked about going some time around 2003-2004, but then he got sick, and never got to go.
In his last few days, my mother reminded him - again - about my trip, and I told him where I was going. I could see in his eyes both the regret that he would not get to go himself, but excitement for me that I was going. He couldn't talk in his final days, so I told him about the bargains I'd gotten for the trip (he was a consummate budget traveler - always very proud of some of the incredibly cheap prices he found) and told him the trip's culmination was Everest.
Although he was cremated, there wasn't time for me to be able to get some of his ashes before my departure, so I took the closest thing I could get, a lock of his hair. I kept it carefully sealed in a little packet that I carried throughout China. I collected items symbolic of him along the way. His favorite animal had been the eagle, so I found things like a shadow cutout of an eagle, a piece of money with an eagle on it, etc. I meant to burn it all with some juniper I got in Lhasa, and scatter it together with his hair at Everest Base Camp.
He would've loved Tibet - the magnificent countryside, the mountains, the friendly people. I loved it, and want to return there one day under better circumstances.
When we got to EBC, I was too wiped out from altitude to make the final trek (I didn't know then that my sleep apnea had become quite advanced), and I was a bit disappointed in myself for that. But I took a pony cart up the last stretch with the most marvelous woman, a woman from our group, Marjorie. She and I each took an earplug from my MP3 player, and listened to and sang along with Johnny Cash singing spiritual songs, with her drumming along on a Tibetan drum she had bought on the trip, as we rode up the path to the primary EBC.
"Some glad morning when this life is over, I'll fly away.
To a home on God's celestial shore, I'll fly away.
I'll fly away, O Glory, I'll fly away. (In the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, bye and bye, I'll fly away."
To a home on God's celestial shore, I'll fly away.
I'll fly away, O Glory, I'll fly away. (In the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, bye and bye, I'll fly away."
The air up there - 17,000+ feet - is thin, and it took a lot of effort for me to simply walk across to the mound, and make it up the sandy slope to the top. It suddenly put all the dozens of books I'd read on high-altitude climbing into sharp perspective. I was dizzy and cranky from low-grade altitude sickness, and once I'd climbed up the mound's slope, so many emotions suddenly overwhelmed me that I plopped onto the sandy, rocky ground, and fumbled in my bag for the carefully protected sleeve of items I'd collected.
It was far too windy for me to attempt to burn the juniper and small paper items I'd collected; the wind sucked the breath right out of our lungs. (Oddly enough, there was no trademark plume of snow off the summit the entire time were were there. I was a little disappointed!) I managed to rip open the little packet containing the lock of his hair, and gripped that last connection to my father between my fingers, crying my way through the Lord's Prayer, and my words of farewell, before letting the grey hairs fly off into the winds.
"Maybe you didn't make it here yourself, Dad, but a little piece of you has seen China, and will now fly on the wind, forever continuing to travel and explore."
The pony cart driver was sitting beside me. He didn't speak much English, but he understood that the picture I held was my father, and that I had recently lost him. He gave me a hug, and was able to convey that I could take my time, and not have to rush to get back down to his cart.
I had bought a lovely brass eagle, poised in flight, from a street vendor in Shigatse; it looked a lot like one he had had in his collection of eagles at home, and just like his logo's eagle. I had put a string of monk-blessed beads from the Jokhang around the eagle, and also wrapped a kata - a Tibetan buddhist scarf - around it, before tucking it into the pile of stones there on the prayer mound.
The cart driver sang in Tibetan all the way back down the mountain, and while I waited for everybody else to make the trek back down, I was overcome with fatigue. I sat down against one of our SUV's tires, gazing on one side at the world's highest post office and a local dog, and at Everest's magnificent north face on the other, and let it all wash over me, letting it all come out in a tremendous crying jag.
Later same day (or maybe it was the next day), on the other side of the world, my family was also saying goodbye, as his ashes were finally interred.
There are those who say travel can cure all ills; I know from this experience that travel is many things for me, but it isn't something I want to do while I am trying to come to grips with a major emotional change in my life.
One of these days, I will return to Tibet, and to EBC.


















