Patti Lefkos - Nepal One Day at a Time: One Womans Quest to Teach, Trek and Build a School in the Remote Himalaya

Nepal One Day at a Time

Copyright 2020 by Patti Shales Lefkos

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access copyright.) For a copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

LOON ISLAND PRESS

Box 3093

Vernon, BC, Canada.

V1B 3M1.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Nepal one day at a time: a Himalayan adventure travel

memoir with a humanitarian twist / Patti Shales Lefkos.

Names: Shales Lefkos, Patti, author.

Identifkers: Canadiana 20200153625 | ISBN 978-1-9992298-0-1 (softcover)| ISBN 978-1-9992298-1-8 (e-book)

Subjects: LCSH: Shales Lefkos, Patti. | LCSH: Shales Lefkos,

PattiTravelNepal. | LCSH: NepalDescription and travel.

| LCGFT: Autobiographies. | LCGFT: Travel writing.

Classifkcation: LCC DS493.53 .S53 2020 | DDC 954.96 dc23

Cover design by Mishell Raedeke

Cover photos by Patti Shales Lefkos

Interior design by Mishell Raedeke

Interior photos by Patti Shales Lefkos and Barry Hodgins

Printed and bound in Canada

For Barry who led me to the mountains.

Travellingit leaves you speechless,

then turns you into a storyteller.

Ibn Batulla, 13th century Moroccan scholar

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

Upper Mustang; June 2, 2014

S o whats up for today? I asked my guide, Raj, requesting his usual blow-by-blow of the days trek. Wed been teaching, trekking, and conducting interviews together in remote areas of Nepal for more than two months. Over steaming cups of coffee cooled with fresh goat milk we sat side by side in the drafty Syangboche Village guesthouse kitchen planning the day ahead. I was tired. He seemed upbeat, ready for adventure. When I had whined about fatigue after an especially long and arduous trekking day he had threatened to hire a Jeep. Instead he rewarded me with a half-days respite, an afternoon to curl up and read after a short morning hike. Now he was upping the ante, suggesting an alternate route.

Do you want to try the trail through the canyon to visit the Chyungsi Rhangchung Cave Monastery? he asked. Monks from Ghilling Village discovered it about thirty years ago.

Ive never been much of a risk taker. Is it longer and harder than the normal route back to Samar?

A bit longer, I think. Ive never gone that way. He hesitated.

There is one extremely steep part.

Is the trail really narrow? The image of a friend from home flashed across my consciousness. A friend whose one step near the edge of a narrow, rugged trail in Portugal had resulted in a horrific accident.

Our heads almost touched as we leaned over the map in the smoky kitchen. Raj traced the route described to him by the man of the house. It was time to step out of my comfort zone, to take a risk. What better place than on a desolate plateau high in the remote Himalaya? Unlikely to return to the area and eager to research stories worthy of publication in newspapers and magazines, I agreed to the alternate path.

Hazure, hazure. You convinced me, I said, using one of my newly acquired Nepali words, roughly translated as okay. I smiled bravely, masking my trepidation of yet another high pass to climb, a rarely travelled, unmarked route to find, and a hidden cave monastery to search for. Excited but apprehensive, I shouldered my pack and followed Raj out of the guesthouse.

CHAPTER 1

STEPPING OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE

SilverStar Mountain Resort; January 2014

M y journey of thousands of footsteps on Himalayan trails started with a single step, an escape from a January snowstorm into a yoga studio.

I kicked the snow off my boots. Puddles had already formed from snow melting off the boots belonging to women who had arrived before me.

Like others, I had walked through the plump snowflakes falling through the sunset skies of a peaceful winter afternoon at SilverStar Mountain Resort, in the Okanagan Valley of the British Columbia interior. Gentle snowflakes drifted down to kiss my eyelashes, reminding me why I loved living here. Bundled against the cold, some of the others came from hotels, but most, like me, had sauntered through deep snow from nearby mountain homes. The laughter of children enjoying family ski vacations briefly interrupted the silence. Through the frosted window I could see groups strolling along, swapping stories of the ski day. A classic late 1800s Currier and Ives tableau of a pick-up hockey game and figure skaters on Brewers Pond complemented the scene. The slap of frozen wooden sticks against hard rubber pucks punctuated each move by youngsters lost in their dreams of the NHL.

Strings of white lights framing the commercial buildings of the village glittered amid the flurries. Tall Douglas firs flaunted capes of teal and purple icicle lights, each tree topped with an ice-blue star. At the far end of the village, bright lights illuminated a section of hill for night skiing.

Easing into the warmth of indoors, I hung my down coat on a hook in the entryway and slipped around the corner into the toasty L-shaped room. On the left was a wall of mirrors, an aid to checking asanas, poses. Candles placed around the perimeter of the room twinkled against the deepening pink of the early evening alpenglow.

On the floor at the end of the room our resident yogini, Gillian, sat cross-legged on the floor. Her open notebook signaled this wouldnt be the usual stretch-and-strength class. We were here to be guided through a series of activities designed to help us release fears, thoughts, and habits no longer serving us. We had come to realize our true selves.

Twenty soul-searching women wandered into the space and unfurled their yoga mats. Aged twenty to seventy, some were tall and slim, some small, some not so slim. I was at the top end of the age range. Most were athletic women, toned from downhill and cross-country skiing and woodsy snowshoe walks with their dogs. A few wore trendy lululemon coordinates, but most, like me, preferred the comfort of leggings and an oversized T-shirt.

The small studio was crowded. Apparently I wasnt the only one with baggage to dispose of, looking for a fresh start in 2014. Some sat down. Some stretched, showing off their flexibility. Others collapsed on their backs with a sigh, glad the holidays were over and company had departed. No one knew what to expect. I positioned my mat in an alcove so I was close to Gillian in a safe, quiet corner.

Namaste, Gillian said, her palms pressed together close to her heart. The divine light in me acknowledges the divine light in you. The chatting stopped. Congratulations to all of you for setting aside this time from your busy lives on this special evening, time just for yourselves to explore your personal limitations, to discover and commit to your true intentions.

Locals loved Gillians classes. She generously shared her own fears, joys and stories.

Ive never offered this class before, she said. Its new for all of us, so well work through the steps together. My breathing quickened. I was excited but apprehensive. Gillian looked around the room, lips curved in a gentle smile, making eye contact with each of us. Some of you look nervous. Im nervous, too. Some of this inner work can be frightening. Well just forge ahead together and see what unfolds.