Himalayas (Nepal)

There are some places in this world you are told about since you are young, whose reputations proceed them and create a legend that you build up in your mind that could not possibly compare to the reality of their place on the planet. The Himalayas are not one of them. For all the majestic and sweeping views, enormity and heights I had been imagining, the Himalayas were still more than I expected. They are one of the few places in my travels I'd return too as soon as possible.
After spending a couple of days relaxing in Kathmandu, Colleen and I were ready to head out on our Himalayan trek. I wanted to go to Everest Base camp, but the less-touristed Annapurna region won in the end. We decided not to hire a guide, being Colorado girls we figured we knew what we were doing and didn't need porters, we could carry our own packs. We were the exception, the vast majority of everyone we met had hired one or both, but that decision made all the difference. We were free to go where we wanted to go and stay where we wanted. Both being quick hikers, we had no one to hold us back.
It was rough going at times, easier than I expected at others. The Annapurna region was more populated than I had pictured, but it proved to be a great way to met locals and get a glimpse of village life. Everyone was friendly, saying "Namaste!" when we passed and surprised to see us on our own.
The foothills of the region we began hiking in are vast and green- full of rice paddies and waterfalls. We were constantly near rivers with the largest influx of waterfalls I have ever seen gushing in all sizes. The clouds float down in wisps below the peak zeniths, creating a mysterious and dark atmosphere, especially with the thunderheads ominously poised above us, and it did storm quite a lot on our trek.
As we climbed higher we saw sweeping views of snowy peaks. We crossed saddles where there was nothing but clouds disappearing off both sides of the trail so all we could see was the 1ft wide trail, a couple feet of grass and wildflowers on each side of the path, then a drop into cloud soup nothingness. Higher up we passed through mossy forests with gnarled and twisty trees out of a Tolkien novel. Water was pouring everywhere we went. Our trails were steep and up and down. It would have been amazing to go to base camp, but unfortunately time, Colleen's ankles and my neck didn't allow for it on this trip.
One of our best days was actually due to a huge storm. We had hiked quickly and arrived in a little village right at the onset of a downpour. It happened to be the coziest tea house of the trek and all of us bundled together next to the fireplace. We met a couple of hilarious English boys who quickly helped us pass time with an enormous amount of shit talking, card playing and laughing. The next day we were too socked in to go anywhere. The highlight of the trek is a hike up to the top of Poon Hill (3,193m) for a view of the Annapurna range, but we couldn't see a thing. While others with guides pressed on out into the storm we were able to wait out the miserable weather and the English guys persuaded their guide to wait it out too.
The day had an inauspicious start with lots of rain and us scrambling out the third story window sill when we thought a view might appear, but by late afternoon it had cleared up and we ascended Poon Hill.
The top of Poon Hill might have be the most impressive view I have ever seen. On one side, I only saw clouds. Turning my head, I got a view of the Himalayas like I have seen in the Everest I-max. The peaks are more imposing than I could imagine. The sun seemed to clip the tops and the longer I stayed the more the view changed; the sun highlighting various features of the snowy mountain face. The mountain range stretches on for most of the view until white peaks collide with blue mountains in the distance, rolling off into green at lower elevations, then the river of clouds shadowing over the valley.
Standing there in such intense beauty, I felt so lucky to be there but other than that I felt numb. I don't know what I was expecting- a glimpse of enlightenment or earth-shattering realization would have been nice, but all I could think were Saturday Night Live "Deep Thoughts." Nothing. Maybe in the events of the last year I really have just shut down.
We had a photo shoot at the top and made it down in the dark. That night the four of us laid out under the Himalaya stars in a village with no electricity. It was one of the most impressive starry skies I have ever seen. One of the English boys had it right when he said, "Today I have seen two of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen in my entire life."
An early start the next morning got us back up Poon Hill for sunrise. It was exciting to see a little blaze of pink erupt over the darkness, a sliver of the mountains lit up by the moon. We made to to the top as the sun struck the first peak face and pink and orange rippled down the mountain range. The valley was filled with purple and blue clouds. It looked exactly like I would imagine the ocean would if it was frozen. There was a sea of waves. For all the beauty I still felt quite numb.
It was only later as I was jostling back to the city of Pokara on the local bus that any emotion hit me. I'm a nostalgic person to begin with, but the sadness and aloneness of the mountains as I drove away was staggering. I didn't' want to leave the Himalayas in their absolute strength of loneliness, their inspiring solitude and magnificence. It reminded me of coming back from long-term travel or camping trips, how hard that readjustment can be, how nothing fits anymore. I was so sad it was over and struck by how fast this trip, life as a whole is reeling by, I could physically feel the nostalgia, urgency, pointlessness, wonder and sadness.

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.
Rene Duamal