Sorry to break into what is turning into a pretty alright travelogue, but I’ve just got to share.
Do you know who Robert Bly is? Have you ever heard him speak? Few times in my life have I heard lines so moving and hilariously dark that I couldn’t remember (barely) at all. Honestly, usually I can pick out at least one of those vague metaphors meant to stir your spirit, to uplift or lie low the burdens of your heart, on your chest; the weight set comfortably across your shoulders and body. Nary once.

Tonight, Bly spoke for about an hour and a half, reading excerpts from a few of his books, and reading them well at that. Bly has an amazing gravity, supported by stoic eye contact, which was turned in my direction more than once. This happened often at what I felt like were critical moments, though this is equally his job as it is my perception (and perhaps a flattered ego). This, this is what people communicate with other for, that weighty, fleeting moment of sheer direction and focus, that glimpse into a world perhaps not so different from out own.

To accentuate these well stirred fires, I have been thinking a lot about writing, about what it means, the motivations and mechanisms behind the aguilar linkage of words and (often incoherent) ideas. These motivations seem to historically stretch from the romance of being immortalized to simple love of the words themselves as singular, well, words, for lack of an inspired articulation. However, it is the sharing of these words that gives meaning (of course, the order counts for something too). Anyways, here I am, late on a thursday night, again at school past 10pm, with a little bit of the sauce in my stomach from some great shared beers earlier, having listened to a ‘rock star’ of the poetry world, and cranking away on physics homework due at midnight (the very serious bane of appx. 30 students lives at the moment, though I feel like most have already finished….). What can one do but parry a bit?

Jam, fresh from the pot
dripping in sticky bits,
a sweet burning sensation
on open wounds, rifts of flesh
torn by the days work.

Numbers, cruising through
cuticles of the brain.
Push them back, lest
they grow too long.

Water spills over the edge
of an overflown sink, wondering
why no one moves to turn the over-size
paddles of a hospital faucet

and so form breaks down,
shattering into bits that splinter into our skin
sinking deep before blood wells like ideas,
running straight down and off the tips of hanging fingers.

Maybe I’m no good, but who says I ever was?
And maybe you’re not good, but honestly, that ain’t bad
until you’ve been asked sincerely to leave
But no one ever does, not around here.

And when the jokes are over,
and no one has stood;
none have left but one
but he has left for good.

Ian, RIP bud.

It isn’t much, but it’s a stab

-Peter

ps, I just found a picture framing a portion of the Burlington area phone book in my physics text. Creepy, it had a portion of a Lee Zachary’s and New England Wing ad, respectively. Page 952, Wolfson & Pasachoff’s Physics (with modern Physics), for the morbidly curious.

The superlatives come fast and thick out here, sorry. Her proper name is Qomolangma, or Everest for the us culturally impaired westerners

Arrived in Kathmandu after a five day trip south from Lhasa. We spent a night at Rongphu monastery, about 8km from the base of Everest, and hiked there the next day. As you can see, the scenery is dull and colorless. But there is no denying a rush of being so close to the highest point on earth.

We spent our fourth and last night on the plateau in Tingiri, a truck stop just inside the Qomolangma Nature Reserve. Two days ago we left at 7am and completed the 200 km trip to the border. I understand why someone might want to do this trip on a bike: after Nyarong, the plateau drops all the way to the border. Maybe 50k of downhill? The change from barren tan ridges to dense forest is also an emotional experience. Or it was for me, after such a long time without green.

Kathmandu is crowded and completely different from the empty highs of the plateau. I wasn’t expecting such a mix of people, noise, cars, tourists, dharma freaks, mexican food and samosas. It’s overwhelming, but I think I could like it if I wasn’t so ready for a rest.

Had an interesting first day, yesterday. Visited Durbar square in the morning, then went to Boudnath to drop off a package for a friend’s cousin in the Tibetan section of town. Later in the evening, met the cousin of another friend, involved in the restoration of Buddhist sculptures in Paris. Ended with live jazz at some hipster joint, with a local Newari guy who has started his own community association to teach young people about Newari culture.

The plan is to catch an early bus tomorrow to the Annapurna circuit and hike at least to Manang.

Other madapes: where you at?

First, pictures, pictures, and probably more pictures later if the other lads send their links.

I am back, in one piece, and happy that I made the trip. Even if it was a wee bit chilli. The journey out west was an excellent way to see another part of the plateau, both geographically and culturally. It also gave me some insight on how the complicated Tibet/tourism thing works. And of course, it was a good way to relax after two years of work in the area…

It seems the roads most traveled in the Tibetan Autonomous Region are those by unwashed backpackers and well-groomed tourists, flying in for their piece of the mythos. There are also the pilgrims, but foreigners don’t follow their roads too often. Lhasa is an interesting city, not just for it’s historical and religious significance, but because it really is the most popular tourist city in the Chinese sphere. This might seem a little too bloodless-technocrat, but it really struck me as an important aspect of the Tibet scene. You are more likely to meet China and Tibet newbies here than anywhere else, and they are more likely to know little about the place they are visiting than any other city in mainland China. There is some long-term significance to this.

At the same time, while outside influence flows through the streets alongside pilgrims and locals, Lhasa is the most tightly controlled and ideologically planned city in the Chinese sphere of influence.

This makes visiting an interesting experience for me. I couldn’t relax too much, partly because there was so much to see and do, and partly because I kept looking at the city for lessons on how to do tourism well, or not well; looking for connections between the outside visitors and the local culture. There is a bigger question bubbling in my head about how the globalizing travel will affect traditional cultures, but I can’t articulate it right now.

This, plus some intense reflection on the last two years of work, was my state of mind when I set out for Mount Kailash. This is a road not-so-much traveled by the aforementioned masses, but still I found it easy to scrape together a group of likeminded travelers, solo guys who were looking to do something slightly adventurous and interesting. After posting on the message boards in hostels around the city, and on the lonelyplanet’s very useful thorntree forum, I found an Israeli, a Brit, and a Brazilian. Our troupe hired a landcruiser and spent four days traveling to Darchen, the small town at the foot of Mount Kailash.

I won’t bore you with the details, but the highlight of the trip was certainly the three day, 52 kilometer trek around the mountain. Normally the kora (the clockwise circuit made by devout Buddhists) can be done in a day or two, but we were all of us a tad ill, and somewhat affected by the altitude. The mountain, although not high, makes an impressive snow-covered impression against the deep blue skies. As the center of the universe for both Buddhists and Hindus (and Jains and Bons), four legendary rivers are meant to originate from its flanks. And in reality, four do, making this an interesting intersection between the mythos, the worshipper, and the tourist.

Besides our leisurely stroll around the mountain, we also spent a day at the analogous Lake Manasarovar, the yannic equivalent to Kailash’s fully revealed power. It’s also a nice big blue lake, filled with migratory birds and ringed by Himalayan mountains. Both were great places to reflect, and to chill out.

Of course, it wasn’t all hard work and deep, meaningful gazes into the distance. We spent an unhealthy amount of time playing whist and hearts. I am now known as Card Vader, so don’t mess with me. We also exchanged useful information. For example, did you know:

-In Jaffa, there is an old man who makes the best hummus in the middle east. He sells out by 10am, so get there early

-A British battalion contains 600 soldiers

-The most popular drink in Brazil is the caipirinha. Mix cachaca, lemon, sugar, and ice

and so on

In the last few days, we have made our way back to Lhasa, and re-grouped. Israel is out, and the Czech Republic is now in the house. The route has turned south, visiting Gyantse, Sakya, Everest Base Camp, and on to the Nepal border. Life is rough

Happy thanksgiving

Half-empty train, about 13 cars total. I had the fortune (?) of sharing a car with a tour group from Guangdong. Their group gasps every time something new rolled into view had me wondering why they didn’t asphyxiate. (Not that I wanted them to)

Example:

(mountain passes by)

First Guandong tourist: oooooo! a mountain

30 Guangdong tourists (in unison): ooooooooooooooooOOOOOOO!

Anyway, the peculiar mass-psychology of certain tourist types aside, the train is an excellent introduction to Tibetan geography. Highly recommended if you have the time, and haven’t visited the area before. 26 hours from Xining, and at least double that from any other city. I’m in Lhasa now finishing some work and arranging a trip to Mt. Kailash. More pictures, all taken from the train can be seen here.

Volunteer search and rescue groups have had a peppered history regarding funding. In the semi-closed circles, much money has come out of the pockets of both private citizens and organizations, as well as public and federal funding.

While many rescue groups have difficulty acquiring funding across the nation,
the group I’m working with in AK has what seems to be a rather unique method of funding. Much like the way the VT education fund is given all profits from scratch and lottery ticket sales, a percentage of pull-tab sales (much like scratch tickets and the only legal form of gambling in the state) goes to our group, providing reliable, steady income. Having a steady funding source is rare except for federally funded (read: military or forest service), or municipally funded (usually sub-divisions of fire depts) groups.

Military search and rescue (SAR) is usually reserved for their own, and often operate overseas. The exceptions to this rule are the Coast Guard patrols, which are restricted primarily to maritime regions. We are fortunate enough to have one of two AK USCG helibases within 70 miles. These pilots are the best in the business, as they fly regularly in some of the harshest conditions the country has to offer. In fact, the flying is so difficult up here, that every USCG pilot is required to do at least a 1yr tour in AK, either in Sitka (near us) or in Kodiak, in the Aleutians. While its great to have the mobility of a helicopter, there is also a strict limitation in terms of flying weather, available manpower for ops, and in situational circumstances (i.e. helis: they’re great, fast, and convenient, but they can’t do it all). These guys are career professionals.
Forest service SAR teams are restricted to areas of USFS jurisdiction, and are found only in park areas where an extremely high liability is perceived: Denali, Rainer, etc. These are often seasonal, paid climbing rangers who are able to call in additional help if needed, but primarily operate within their own organization using nearby climbers to provide fast response (mountaineers are usually trained in self and group rescue techniques specific to the glacier and mountain environment). Perhaps the one exception where there are paid climbing rangers on a state level would be the rangers of the Shawnagunks near New Paltz, NY (an amazing place!).

Municipal/Country SAR teams are usually fire dept. branches, and operate under the NFPA (national fire protection association) standards, which can be limiting, as they are designed with a more urban setting in mind. In fact, in Juneau we have one through CCFR, which overlaps with our mission somewhat, though they tend to stick to the road system, while we operate more in the back country and do all the searches. Municipal teams are usually all volunteer, but often have a paid director. JMR strictly volunteer, funded only by the pulltabs (only 5 other organizations in the state have this deal, and only one of those is SAR), and fueled by many generous donations from businesses and individuals.

There is effectively no direct compensation for teams, all that time, training, and execution in a callout. However, there is compensation for gear lost in the so-called ‘line of duty’ (how much duty is assumed when you are a volunteer? That is a whole other legal, ethical, and personal debate for another day).

The reason this comes up is I had the pleasure/pain of participating in my first full blown technical rescue the other day. I’m not going to launch into the details, but it was a great experience to put under the belt (you can read the articles below, the press got it sort of right). I basically tore up a bunch of gear in the process, and its all gotten replaced, which feels weird. The biggest thing to go was a pair of Mammut goretex pants, ~$350. All of a sudden, I’m getting materially compensated by the state (through which we are authorized to act) for something that was previously considered, well, not a big deal. We just had a big debrief tonight, rehashing the whole operation, critiques were made, lessons reviews, etc. I started this post a few days ago, when things were pretty intense, but now I seem to have run out of steam on it,

so cheerio,

News Links:

KVTA (anchorage news brief)

JNU Empire (you may have to make a free account, but this is the closest thing to the full story; also, Jrad is wearing my jacket; also, it may have be 8h for him, but it was 12h for Jim and I: first in, last out baby!)