to tears (subtitled: into thin air and back again)

i started the annapurna circuit trek in besisahar 18 days ago. the trail begins around 1,500 feet and climbs to 17,764 at thorung la, the highest pass in the world. the path crosses four nepali districts and varies geographically from tropical rainforest to alpine mountains. now it seems like a dream.

binod, my nepali guide, and i rode a bus to the trail head. porters hoist chickens onto the roof of the bus. everything that enters the area is carried on the backs of porters. the trail is hot and i have the feeling i am cooking in the heat. a man passes, seated in a chair affixed to a porter's back. the porter wears only cheap, rubber sandals. it's over 90 degrees. maybe 100. the humidity is 110%. each night we sleep at a guesthouse. i'm shocked by the amount of guest houses on the trail. tea breaks, lunch and dinner are no problem. binod eats dal bhat (rice and chickpeas and curry) every noon and night. nothing tastes like orange fanta when it's this hot. corn fields, raging monsoon-full rivers, scores of perfect waterfalls and suspended bridges dot the tropical, hilly landscape. we meet a german couple, felix and nora, and we become a four person trekking team of water filterers and gin rummy players. we climb.

the fields of buckwheat flower pink. children greet us with hands held up in namaste. one night the maoists assemble with flaming logs and carry them through the street, chanting slogans. we find real, deep hunger impelled by true exertion that can only be quenched by dal bhat and a snickers at lunchtime. the divine heat of food. when i am succumbing to a bacterial infection, felix tells me of the tour de france and i somehow latch onto the wonder of the bikers to get me through the day. the weather cools and the buddhist prayer flags and prayer wheels increase as we enter the manang district. women pass, muttering om mani padme hum as they finger their prayer beads. i visit a schoolroom where they are practicing dancing and singing for a festival. the night is cold, the masala tea is hot and the pizza is stupendous. nora, binod and i visit a lama who has lived in a cave for 35 years to receive the blessing to ascend the pass. we begin the ascent to thorung la.

yaks become prevalent. the climb up to 17,000 feet is steep. the weather is cloudy and damp. the supposedly-amazing views are only in our imaginations. we rise at 4 am to begin the ascent to thorung la. the day has the feeling of the olympics, each individual representing a different country's glory. first the frenchman. i win the silver for america. the spanish couple, germans, american crew and a lone russian follow. at the top we dance and sing. we are joyous. now we have entered tibet-like mustang. a colt tails his mother in the beginning of his training to be a grown up horse. we descend 5,000 feet until my knees could pop out of my skin. upon arrival, we find the new buddhist monastery is performing puja. the gigantic drums, horns, bells and mantra chanting accompany the burning of rice, food, clothes and scarecrow-like people to bring the inhabitants of muktinath long lives and good luck. we celebrate the pass ascent with a beer on the porch and listen to tshering, the sherpa guide, tell stories of his two successful everest ascents.

the weather begins to turn sour in the windy valley. a bridge is washed out and we must ford the river. it's an awesome, wet rush. the rain comes and stays for two full days. i couldn't've been more wet. soaked from sweat and rain. i protect my last pair of dry socks like buried treasure. the thick clouds obscure the fact that we are in the deepest valley in the world. rainfalls and rivers have washed away the trail and we add hours and steep ascents and descents in the way of detours. we are disheartened. though i've chosen to hike during monsoon, i still had the expectation of mountains. in tatopani (which means "hot springs") we sit in the natural spring and consider stopping.

we rise. the rain has abated. we continue. we climb almost 5,000 feet in 9 hours of a grueling stairmaster course. i want to die. i cry out of exhaustion. we arrive in gorepani and hope the clouds clear for the famous sunrise at poon hill. as i fall asleep, i look out the window and think i hallucinate the white mountains illuminated by the moon.

the stars are numerous at 4 am and the lodge bustles with energy. i climb to the top of poon hill and, in my excitement, binod cannot catch up. as i come to the top of the hill, dalugiri comes into view and i begin to cry. it's all worth it now. i can't stop taking photos, though pictures can't capture it anyway. it's more than enough.

the rice fields return. the most wonderful green. red dragon flies dart and swoop. an old woman smokes a giant cigarette with her family all around. a small boy walks down the path, craddling a baby goat with the goat mama following.

we reach the road at nayapul and it begins to rain. we cruise with the windows down and nepali music blaring from the speakers. as the women sit by the road, spinning yak wool into yarn, i see the mountains one last time, golden from the sunset, through the thick clouds.