It has been a few days of work and nights of sleep adjustment for us, so we’re finally getting back into our routine. I can’t quite say that we’re back to normal because we’re still feeling some of the effects of our out-of-paradigm experiences from trekking in Nepal. But now we’re able to look back and see how we’ve changed and what we learned. Richard had some specific objectives for himself as far as leading his family through the adventure, overcoming his physical challenges, and making some personal decisions. He really wanted to give his teenage boys some memorable experiences to help shape their character and give them some footing in life. He also wanted to get past the setback he had a few years previous from injuring his leg, which took him completely out of action for many months. Another personal motivation for him was the guidance he had gleaned from books he had read on leadership that all told of the great effect of taking personal time for such a grueling challenge (and they directly mentioned high elevation) to come upon personal revelations. Through the fog of his return to the United States he already sees that he reached his goals solidly and he’s making the adjustment to deal with what’s really important in his life.

We noticed a great improvement in place at the point of entry at the Kathmandu airport. As you first climb down from the plane and line up in the immigration queue you are required to pay a fee of US $30 (yes, they take dollars there) for a tourist visa of 60 days. However, you need to provide a few of your own passport-sized photos, and in the past there was no way to get new photos if you forgot to bring them with you on the plane. The immigration checkpoint had no photo booth and you were not allowed to move on. You couldn’t have anyone pack up your face to go into the city for a new photo. I was relieved to find that there is an automated photo booth available there now. I’m glad that the Nepalese government have embraced the philosophy in this case that tourists are not perfect. Interestingly, the immigration point at the Bangkok airport has a webcam at each desk and they just snap a picture of you on the spot and they don’t charge a fee for their visa.

Just to be weird I’ll stop complaining about Nepal and for now I’ll contemplate something really esoteric about the experience. I’d like to tell you about the sounds I encountered while trekking through the mountains. Of course there were the countless footsteps of my boots shuffling over the dry, rocky trails. As I got to higher elevations the steps became more deliberate and my breathing became more rhythmic and laborious. Also depending on my elevation I would be nearing the sound of the rushing water in the violent river current at the bottom of the valleys. Crossing the suspension bridges in the open spans the breeze would drive through and carry the prayer flags and long strands of katas to flutter and flip in harmony with the din of the river. The prevailing concern at that height was the wobbling waves coursing through the steel cables miraculously supporting that feat of engineering. Not to complain all of a sudden, but my concern in crossing the bridges was for the eroded wooden planks loosely lining the walkways rather than for the integrity of the cables. I suppose you could imagine some sounds involved in that scenario.

Now that I’m clear of being jinxed I can safely say I’m lucky I never got sick or ever sprained anything during my travels. Now I wonder if I was overly paranoid, but I imagine nasty, little crawly microbes waiting at every turn to infiltrate my tender immune system. I was in the habit of washing my hands and supplementing with hand sanitizer, and I got out of my habit of picking up and eating used candy (or whatever those colorful clumps were) off of the sidewalk. Another important habit for some people to break (though I would never be so uncouth) is biting their nails or rubbing their eyes. I was careful about the fresh fruit and vegetables I ate too. Thankfully I only ate at restaurants that already go to great lengths to keep a good reputation so they only used treated or bottled water. The only real threat was the Lama in Pangboche who offered each of us some holy water from Mt. Kailash directly in our bare hands. I was quick to swipe out and douse my hands in alcohol just before he turned to me, but Richard took it straight up and swallowed a gastric time bomb. I don’t think the water itself was all that bad, but at any given time our hands were swarming with bacterial mayhem.