So there was one time in my life that has affected me more deeply than any other event or period ever. A time that I frequently think back to - almost daily. I was still in my 'traveler' phase after living in Korea, traveling practically every weekend. I was going around Asia; Thailand, Vietnam, China, Hong Kong as well as various European countries. Some places I'd just visit quickly, like Thailand, others I'd explore in great depth like Vietnam.
But I decided these two pockets of Europe and SE Asia were kind of safe, and I needed to push myself further, and so I took my savings after Korea and traveled to Nepal. I was to spend a month there in the Himalayas, trekking the Annapurna circuit, and had very last-second got some contact info from two random people who were also going and would like to go with me.
Tim and Russian girl I forget the name of, who did the whole journey with me, the three of us walking, talking, eating and sleeping together every day. But in Kagbeni, I went solo.
The plan was to do this, then move to India and slowly work my way down south, fly over to Thailand and help the elephants for a month, then end in Vietnam where I would live and work.
Didn't quite go to plan.
I decided to skip out on emergency insurance or whatever, which would allow me to be helicopter'd out or whatever should I hurt myself or faint from altitude sickness (which can be fatal) and so on. I mean, who needs it? And that should have been a sign. If I'm willing to skip on safety to save money, I probably don't have enough money. And it turned out I was indeed running out faster than I anticipated.
Regardless, I passed the highest peak (5416m) of the journey...
Thorong-la pass, the highest point we'd reach, and our guide Rebu (sp) wearing my t-shirt
... and descended down into a totally new terrain; desert. Before this it was tundra and before that, jungle, so this was awesome
But after an extensive trek, deep in a valley I saw trees - an orchard. A little hamlet town!
Namaste, Kagbeni
This is where we would rest for a full day because walking down hill 1,000 metres an hour or whatever is really hard on your ankles after they've been going up 5,000 metres for the last week and a half.
Kagbeni is... a dream. It's surreal in its existence. It's peaceful and separate from the rest of the world. No city exists a week in any direction, just icy mountains on one side, dry, dusty cliffs on the other.
At a certain time around mid-afternoon each day, you get a wind storm that charges through the town and the salty, dried up flats surrounding it.
Wind so strong that you need masks and glasses to prevent yourself going blind from dust and sand.
In the village, there were children who had never seen the technology we take for granted, 3 kids fascinated with my kindle as I sat on a tiny bridge watching the world go by, sharing chocolate with them.
Oxen and donkeys would use this bridge, too, and when enjoying a novelty restaurant named 'Yacdonald's', the cobbled street outside was suddenly overwhelmed with hundreds of casual sheep and rams.
During the afternoon of the next day (the day we would fully spend there), I clambered up some small muddly track following some donkeys and their owners, and appeared in a field that seemed to serve no purpose other than to let the donkeys chill for a while. One of the owners spoke to me in surprisingly good, but still very broken English, just basic stuff, all with a smile. I stayed for a few minutes with them before heading to a weird church.
The church was kind of on a heightened platform; if you walked around the church to this religious-looking bell, you end up with your back against the wall with a 5-10 metre drop down to a river.
This river starts off as a stream that flows, uninterrupted through the town. The people there even build their paths around it, so you occasionally have to jump across either side, or even with the stream between your legs as you go.
I followed this stream down to the bottom, where it meets a river. Yellowing leaves of a miniature orchard tint the air with warmth as the wind tunnel occasionally knocks the leaves off, which float idly down to the floor to meet its companions. I can imagine some royalty coming here occasionally, sneaking out of their palace to be with the people, reading a book sitting against the tree trunk, occasionally dipping their feet into the pool.
I feel my description has been too vast to get a real picture so here's a summary:
Icy mountains, some of the tallest in the world loom in the distance. Desert and harsh cliffs surround a small village in a valley; an oasis. A windy tunnel reminds you there are only two ways in and out. The green and yellow trees living off a small stream are enjoyed by the naive locals, unspoiled by the developing civilisation around it. A powerfully blue sky lights up the town as if not a drop of pollution had ever been there.
Standing on the second floor of some building, looking down at a kids coming home from school, I felt like this was home. I was suddenly extremely tired of the big cities; Seoul, Shanghai, London, Beijing, Bangkok, Ho Chi Minh. I realised this whole idea of 'living in the big city provides opportunities' was a pointless endeavour.
Opportunities for what, exactly? More money so you can pay for a slightly bigger apartment one day? More money so you can occasionally go on vacation to another ugly city like New York, or sit at a beach taking selfies until it's time to go back to work?
To me at that time, these ambitions felt no different than the girl I watched carrying straw and gas to and fro. One day she'll be respected enough that she can get somebody else to carry the straw and she can take on a slightly easier role in the town.
The only difference to me was cleaner air, quieter, more humble people, healthier lifestyle and less formal education (The kids older than 12 had to walk 4-5 hours to the nearest middle school, several of which would be trekking alongside us on the way, though most I imagine stayed at school for the week, if they went at all).
Could I stay here? I mean, if I did stay here, who would stop me? The locals get my money and... oh yeah money is finite. Nevermind, I could offer to work. I could offer to teach and work with them in exchange for housing and food. If I did stay here, the government was hardly going to come marching into the desert looking for me once they realised some foreign guy's visa has expired but there's no record of him leaving. Who would care?
I was ready for it, mentally. I had had no internet connection whatsoever for weeks by this point, and I didn't miss it for a second. This town did have some computers with a slow connection; enough to quickly send a message on Facebook letting family know I was alive. That's all I needed really.
I guess reality hit me at some point before we were set to head out to the world beyond. I can't remember why I left, but I suppose it was just too much of a commitment to do unannounced. I had no home to speak of, my family separated and living their own lives in England, and I had just left my job and home in Korea. I was just as much 'home' here than I was planning on being in Vietnam, but I suppose some element of cowardice stopped me attempting this fantasy.
It's a shame, really, because even to this day, 5 years on, I still think of that town and the thousand moments I haven't shared here, and I still lament over big cities, ugly pollution, pointless career goals. Sometimes when I'm stressed or approaching depression I just close my eyes and instantly return to Kagbeni, take a deep breath, and open my eyes.