I looked down at the puddle. What’s a bit of piss on your feet?
Grimacing, I dried myself off and got dressed. I was content to have day one over and to be out of my trekking gear and into something more comfortable, particularly the flip-flops on my aching feet.
‘Ah, my name is, eh, Akio.’ He was sitting alone at one of the wooden tables when I entered, but quickly rose to greet me. Another tourist!
‘Akio,’ I tried. ‘Nice to meet you. My name is Sean.’
‘Sean, good-o.’ He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and began to scribble in it. ‘I write your name so I not-o forget.’
I smiled, it was hard not to.
The room seemed like a greenhouse, though it was the restaurant. We sat down.
‘Where are you from?’ I asked him.
‘I come on bus to Nayapul and I trek to Ulleri from there!’
I had to smile again. ‘No—which country do you come from? I’m from Ireland.’
‘Oh, I see,’ he exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘I am residence of Japan.’
‘Japan? Very good,’ I said cheerfully. ‘And have you been in Nepal for long?’
‘I stay for two weeks only. You?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m travelling until I get tired of it all.’ He looked at me confused, so I decided to clarify. ‘Until my money runs out.’
He understood and gave an acknowledging nod. He was a short man, in his early twenties, of a sturdy, hefty build. His face was youthful and unlined and his stance expressed an enthusiastic confidence, which was refreshing.
‘So, how far are you trekking?’ I asked.
‘Not so far, I only go to Tadapani. I want to see hot-o springs.’
‘Hot springs?’ I replied. ‘I didn’t know there were hot springs in Tadapani.’
‘Yes.
Tada,
it mean hot;
pani,
it mean water. You go to Tadapani also?’
‘No, I’m going to Annapurna Base camp, in a different direction.’
I knew the route he was taking; we’d both be travelling to Ghorepani but then we would go our separate ways. His way would see him to the hot springs and back to Pokhara in four days; mine would take eight or nine. Feeling the pain in my legs, I was slightly envious of him.
‘So do you travel alone? Have you no porter?’
Akio seemed confused by my question. ‘I have good map. He is my guide!’
Mani broke up the conversation as he entered the room; he was showered and looking very fit. With him
he brought a friendly black dog, which paraded around the room seeking attention.
Mani had already met with Akio while I showered. They began trying to impress one another with how much of each other’s language they knew. I was content to pet the dog and be reminded of my own two dogs, Benji and Rusty. They were like two extra kids in the house. Benji had never developed the quick assertiveness of his mother, Rusty. He’d grown to be a huge bear of a dog, utterly harmless in every way and never smart enough to be trained to do anything other than eat, drink and roll over for a rub.
‘Leechee, leechee!’ The yell came from Akio first, then both men sprang into action. There was a big leech on the dog’s head!
Stuck tight to the dog’s right ear was a fat leech about six centimetres in length, filled from the day’s feeding. And I hadn’t noticed a thing! It was the first leech I had ever seen, and it was disgusting. Akio promptly pulled a box of matches from his pocket. Quickly he began to strike a match along the side of the box but with no success. The matches were made from candle wax and weren’t very strong—each strike broke the stick in the middle and Akio was forced to try another and another. Mani approached
the situation more calmly. Lifting the shaker from the table, he slowly poured salt onto the leech. Within seconds the leech began to shrivel up, and finally its grip on the dog failed and it fell to the floor, wriggling helplessly. Mani’s flip-flopped foot came down hard and fast on the leech; it took three crashing blows before the leech finally gave in.
‘Oh leechee, very bad,’ Akio was excited. ‘My matches no good-o. I tried to burn but no good-o.’
‘I didn’t even see the damn thing,’ I said, still surprised by the whole affair.
The dog wasn’t fazed by its ordeal and in fact was now enjoying Mani’s attentions.
‘Tomorrow I think we will see leechees.’ Mani spoke thoughtfully. ‘Rain coming tonight, bringing many leechees tomorrow!’
Shit.
‘What’s tomorrow like? Have we got many steps again?’ It seemed like a good idea to know what lay ahead.
Akio answered. ‘Tomorrow has jungle, not as difficult as today—am I right?’ He looked at Mani.
‘Tomorrow not difficult, today very difficult. I think too difficult for first day.’ Mani shooed the dog away and stretched his legs.
Then the
dal bhat
arrived. Serving up our meal was a young Nepalese girl, perhaps in her late teens, maybe even early twenties. She had slightly slanted eyes, fair skin, well-defined cheekbones and a small, well-suited nose and mouth. She was slim and when she entered the room all three of us became silent and attentive. I thought she was very beautiful.
A year earlier when I’d ended a three-year relationship, my brother John had said, consolingly, ‘You’ll get over it.’
‘I’m already over it,’ I’d replied. ‘We were finished months ago. We just hung in there for routine.’
‘Then what’s wrong with you? You look upset.’
‘Nothing. It’s got me thinking.’
John was only half interested. ‘What?’
‘Relationships are about so much more than good looks. Next girlfriend I find will be somebody whose personality I hit it off with straightaway. If she’s good looking as well, that’ll just be a bonus.’
The Nepalese girl delicately served Mani and me a large helping each of
dal bhat,
while Akio tucked in to his choice of Tibetan bread, custard and fried potatoes. We ate in silence, too fatigued to talk, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
I watched as the Nepalese girl left our company and
imagined the life she was leading in Ulleri. Back home a girl like her would have her choice of men and, at this age, would be experiencing life at its most exciting. In Nepal she was one of so many confined to a hard life, which would include a husband and a tribe of children. It seemed so young to be so old.
My own parents, who’d married young, would say that hard times lead to hard measures, people grow up faster when they know they have to. I pondered it…if a child of nine has to hold down a badly paid job so that their contribution ensures that the whole family has a place to sleep at night, well, surely with that must come early insight into adulthood? I supposed that was where Nepal was sitting in the bigger scheme of things: a poor country excluded from the advancement of the rest of the world, progressing with whatever tools it had to survive. It was sad.
Akio suddenly broke my train of thought. ‘I hear there are many bandits in Ghorepani, is it true?’
Bandits
—that was a word I hadn’t heard in a while. Mani hadn’t understood, so I answered.
‘The Maoists, yes, I heard that they are in Ghorepani and they look for donations from tourists.’
‘Oh!’ Akio seemed unimpressed. ‘Oh, very bad.’ Silence fell again in the room.
‘I travel with you tomorrow,’ Akio started again. ‘I now travel alone, but maybe safer from bandits if we all travel together.’
It was strange and comical watching Akio, the nuts and bolts in his head intelligently and methodically figuring the way through a problem. While he thought out the difficulty, his face made many contortions.
‘Hey, the more the merrier.’ Despite feeling the odd sense of danger when they were mentioned, I was still not overly concerned about the Maoists. They remained in the shadows of my other consuming anxieties. ‘What time tomorrow, Mani?’
Mani smiled at me, knowing I wouldn’t be pleased. ‘I think we leave at six o’clock and maybe breakfast at five-thirty.’
A long day tomorrow! I decided to call it a night. When I reached my room it was five past eight, but I was wrecked. The room was freezing at this high altitude, but at the end of the day, a bed is a bed.
I lay in the dark trying to recite my final prayers of the evening. Nine-thirty came and went. Almost an hour and thirty minutes of exhausted praying, before I fell asleep.
Excruciating pain pierced my sleep. I lunged at my right leg like a security guard at a thief.
Even in the dim light of the room, I could see the extent of the spasm. I groaned. My entire calf muscle had contracted so tightly that the muscle looked like something growing out of my leg. In a half-awake panic I began rubbing the cramp with the palms of my hands, just to heat the muscle, to release its painful grasp on me. But this was useless.
Breathe, Sean, just breathe. Come on, just relax.
More awake now, I started to remember. I released my palms from the leg and began trying to quieten down.
I’d had many muscle spasms when I was a kid. From being one of the shortest in school, I’d grown late and
fast into an average-sized young man. Suddenly I was getting almost nightly attacks of cramp, in either leg. Instinctively I’d tried to rub the muscles, to push them back into place.
‘Stop shouting like that,’ my brother John yelled one night after being woken by my panicky, pained wails.
‘I can’t. It hurts!’ I rubbed the leg frantically.
‘You’ve got to calm yourself down,’ John called more quietly. ‘Just try to relax and the pain will go away.’
‘No it
won’t,
I’ve got to push the muscle back
in.’
‘No, you don’t, just let go of your leg and take a few deep breaths. Try it, for Godsake.’
What did I have to lose?
He was right. Within seconds the muscle relaxed and my body bathed in relief.
In the dark of this morning in Nepal, heeding that advice again, I felt the spasm start to loosen.
In the room next door an alarm clock went off loudly. The walls of the guesthouse must have been wafer thin.
Three bleary-eyed people, all struggling to wake themselves up, sat eating quietly.
‘Today we start upwards,’ Mani said.
‘Upwards,’ I moaned. ‘You said today would be easier than yesterday.’
‘Today not so bad as yesterday, but first uphill and then up, down, up, down. Not so bad and also jungle today.’
Akio got excited. ‘Ah, jungle, I like it! Maybe we will see monkeys!’
‘You like monkeys?’ I asked, slightly bemused.
‘In Japan my brother has a pet monkey. I like it very much.’
It’s not everyday that you talk to somebody about their brother’s pet monkey.
Akio wrote into his notebook, which he had placed beside him. He must have noticed my curiosity.
‘I am student. I keep journal so I not-o forget,’ he explained.
‘Do you have a camera?’
‘Camera good-o but I think journal better. Camera cannot take picture of man I hear screaming on this morning!’
The penny dropped and I must have blushed. I smiled and then turned away from him.
I sipped my milk tea; it was hot and had too much cinnamon in it. Mani rose from the table and announced that we would leave in five minutes. Again
I sipped my tea. I had packed earlier, and was under no pressure now. Despite my lowered gaze, I could feel Akio staring at me oddly.
‘Is something the matter? I finally looked up and asked, trying not to sound hostile.
‘Yes, no problem.’
He glanced away but I noticed that he was still very much in thought. I decided to get it over with him; surely even he had had a cramp before.
‘You look as though there’s something on your mind.’
‘Okay, I have been-o thinking—’ He fell silent again.
‘Yes, what?’
‘Today we might meet bandits!’
Relief. ‘Don’t worry about bandits,’ I said breezily. Everything will be fine. You have nothing to worry about!’
Akio regarded me seriously; obviously I had interrupted too soon. He had something more to say.
‘I not-o worry about bandits. What I think is, when we meet bandits today, I not want to give money.’
‘You what?’
‘Bandits no good-o.’ He became more confident, more focused. I could tell from his tone that he felt
determined about what he was saying. ‘It is not a donation, they rob us. I not want to be robbed so I no want to give my money!’
Obviously he had a point—and one that I agreed with. Donating at gunpoint sounded more like robbery than charity to me. But if they had guns I was going to give them whatever they wanted. The Maoists didn’t scare me off the trek but I wasn’t planning on messing with them either. Years of travelling up and down to Northern Ireland had taught me that it was better to avoid confrontation; do as they asked and go home.
‘Akio, I think you should give them what they want.’ I spoke softly but with purpose. ‘It won’t be very much money to us,’ I continued, ‘and I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
Akio remained calm, his tiny eyes staring at me intently. I saw that he was trying to size me up, trying to calculate whether it was worth arguing with me. Whether I could be persuaded to stand up with him against the rebels.
‘We will see,’ he eventually replied. ‘I will think about it today while we walk.’
I wasn’t satisfied. Sure, it was every man for himself, but I knew too well that in such situations it was better to be united. The fact that I’d give a donation would
be entirely outweighed by Akio’s reluctance. We’d be seen as one defiant unit. And Akio had probably never known the kind of violence that a terrorist group could mete out to those who resisted.
I wanted to shake some sense into him. Make him see the danger. Make him see it my way.
Listen here. You’ll keep your mouth shut and give them whatever the hell they want or you can piss off.
It’s amazing how fantastic your imagination can make things look, especially a confrontation. I remembered back to when I was in primary school and I was being bullied by a boy older than me and twice my size. I told my parents and they advised me to confront him.
‘Don’t run away from him,’ Dad instructed. ‘Talk to him, tell him to leave you alone.’
For the rest of that night I’d thought of different conversations I could have with the bully, and before I fell asleep I had planned an entire speech.
The following day in the schoolyard I walked up to the boy. I was terribly nervous as I recited the speech in my head.
‘What do you want?’ he growled.
I was petrified. The words I’d practised just vanished from my mind. Suddenly I did what I never
thought I would do—I lunged forward and kicked him between the legs. The bully collapsed to the ground. My look of astonishment must have lasted all day.
For now, I decided to let things lie with Akio. Time out. I was irritated though—and overcome by an urgent need to pray and rub my hands together. I began repeatedly brushing one palm roughly over the top of the other.
Dear God
…It was a familiar action to me but to another it would have looked absurd—as though I was desperately trying to remove some imperceptible affliction from my hands.
‘What you doing?’
I turned away from Akio, trying to conceal my embarrassment. ‘Nothing,’ I muttered. ‘Just trying to think of something.’ It was a pretty lame excuse, but I’d been using it for years and it had always seemed to work.
‘But, with your hands, why you do that?’ Suddenly it wasn’t me directing him; I was the child now.
‘I…’ I
what?
What kind of stupid excuse can you give now, Sean?
I was exposed. There he was, this forthright little man I hardly knew, catching me off guard in the most uncomfortable of ways.
Have I questioned him about any of his peculiarities? Why should he ask me about mine? Why should I feel the need to defend myself!
‘I thought I felt a leech on my fingers. I was wiping them clean!’ How practised I was at feigning—lying. It was the easiest route. Pathetic.
‘Ah, I see.’
He probably thought I was some kind of weirdo.
‘We leave now!’ Mani’s voice came like a rescuing hand over the side of a cliff. ‘Yes, I think it’s time!’
I leapt up.
‘Ah yes, good-o, I think we make good time if we leave now.’ Akio spoke pleasantly and without any hint that he was still curious. Maybe he believed me.
Mani threw my backpack upon his shoulders and we were on our way. It was a cold morning, not unlike a winter’s morning back home in Ireland. A shroud of wispy clouds crossed our path and the night’s rain added its own slippery touch. Yesterday the weather had been warm and heavy—quite a contrast to the cool and wintry feel now on day two. Thirty minutes into the trek, though, and despite the pinching cold, all three of us were sweating. The path still led uphill. It was, in fact, a continuation of the three thousand steps of the previous evening. It was a strenuous start to the day.
Soon Mani found a dry spot to put the backpack down. Everybody was pleased with the break, even though we’d only been walking a short time.
‘Not so easy now!’ Mani massaged his calf muscles. ‘But later not so bad.’
Akio nodded in agreement, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. I just gazed out across the vast, vibrant landscape.
The previous day’s trekking had loosened my muscles and I didn’t feel so fatigued this morning. And it wouldn’t be unlike me to find some competitive energy, too, with Akio joining our group. Ever since I was a kid I’d striven to be the best at everything, from athletics to music to how many pints of beer I could drink. Relentlessly, I’d pushed myself, often beyond my capabilities, especially against someone I didn’t know well. But trying to be the winner was never my drive: it was the desire to let people know what I could do.
Mani was back on his feet. So was Akio. I went ahead a few steps. It felt good to be leading the group.
‘You know,’ she said with a giggle as we strolled along the beach, ‘you walk very fast.’
‘Do you think so?’
She pinched my side. ‘You know so!’
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. It was almost sundown, the beach was quiet and still, the Indian Ocean shushed calmly alongside us.
‘Isn’t this sunset breathtaking!’ she exclaimed in a gasp of emotion.
Our footprints were still visible along the shoreline, under the intense reds, oranges and yellows of the sky. We stood side by side, hand in hand, watching the horizon and the daylight fading. Then the night sky was upon us. We didn’t speak for some time. We were both happy to breathe in the cool air and enjoy the surroundings. ‘You know,’ she exclaimed cheerfully, ‘if you don’t slow down, you might just walk by a moment like this.’
Perhaps she was right. I was moving so fast I was actually running away from things.
‘How about we go and get some food,’ I suggested.
‘Sounds perfect to me,’ she said, with a beautiful smile on her face.
The path continued uphill, occasionally dipping down much to the relief of all three of us. I found that in taking the lead I’d actually wound up quite a pace, and often I had to stop to allow Mani and Akio to catch
up. Now I wasn’t trying to race my way through the mountains, but had just discovered that in leading I could have some time to myself. And the prayer that Akio had witnessed earlier still needed finishing undisturbed.
Dear God
…
I began thinking about the Maoists. We were getting close to Ghorepani with every step and that’s where the British guy had met them. What if they did have machine guns? What if things got out of control? What if the guns went off even accidentally? What if they decided to take tourists as hostages?
Dear God
…
Time went by in the blink of an eye when I was dealing with a disturbing thought or an incomplete prayer—my many different attempts at reciting a prayer properly could take so much of my attention that anything else could pass without my being aware.
‘What happened?’ Mani rushed up as I scrambled to my feet, embarrassed.
‘I’m fine,’ I said with a slight grumble. ‘Not a bother.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I must have tripped over my feet.’
‘Not concentrating,’ laughed Akio as he reached us. ‘Eyes not on road.’
‘I had my eyes on the road,’ I snapped back. ‘I just tripped—simple. Anyone could do it.’
Mani threw me a sharp look; I was taking out on Akio what I should have been taking out on myself.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.’
Akio accepted my apology humbly and gave a friendly laugh.
‘Anyone fancy a break?’ I said then, knowing we all did.
‘Maybe we stop for lunch in the next village?’ Mani became enthusiastic at the prospect.
‘Dal bhat
for Mani!’ He rubbed his stomach in a show of his unending love for the dish.
At the thought of food we shot off along the track. With so many downhill sections now, it was even tougher, being forever teased. Each downhill burst felt like fresh air, the muscles eased, the pain drifted away and then suddenly—bang!—an uphill slog grabbed hold of our legs and tied two giant boulders to our ankles, bringing us instantly back to earth.
As I struggled along, I couldn’t shake my frustration at having tripped earlier. Rituals and prayers—they’re the bane of my life, I thought with disappointment.
They’ve affected everything I do, everything I love, even my music for Godsake!
A flurry of memories came to mind, one eventually settling upmost.
It was a showcase I’d played for record company execs back in Ireland. Showcases are nothing special—playing to one or two people who, if truth be known, usually had little power in making decisions. Generally ‘they’d be in touch’.
On this day, performing solo in a room in front of four casually dressed men, I played my heart out, singing songs that meant the world to me. I’d written them for myself, but people obviously liked them, including the four guys sitting before me.
After the set of songs the room fell silent. The men showed no reaction, then began to chat among themselves as if I wasn’t there. My mind started racing with worry and doubt. Finally they stopped talking. They’d reached agreement and they returned their focus to me.
‘Hi, Sean!’ said one. His accent was American; his tone slightly condescending. ‘You probably know who I am but, in case you don’t, I’m Don Taylor.’ I nodded in acknowledgement. He was a well-known record producer.
‘We’re delighted that you agreed to come and play for us today. We’ve all heard so much about you. What with the media and your gigging in Dublin, you’ve made quite a name for yourself over the past while, even internationally.’