Ganga Lodge
Kathmandu
11th August 1975
Dear Mum and Dad
Have just spent a
week with a Yugoslav and a British lad and Colin, trekking in the Himalayas. A
really interesting experience, as we were very lucky with the weather, and saw
the mountains a couple of times early in the morning. The day Everest appeared
though, I was too buggered from the previous day’s climb to take a ten minute
walk to the ridge to see it. In all, we climbed up and down with packs for 7
days, from 4,000 ft to 8,000 ft. All the way we passed porters with loads
suspended from their heads, no shoes on, carrying supplies to the mountains
from Kathmandu, and firewood back. Sometimes they asked us how long for a
particular distance: “how many days from Nargakot to Temberleng?” Us: “Five”.
Porter: “Me – three.” And they’d all laugh uproariously, delighted by the slow
tourists.
Often we were
stopped by these people for medical help, which was a “white man’s magic” and a
mystery to them. The first time was after we had crossed a river five times in
one afternoon, and were pretty tired and wet. We administered mercurochrome to
a healing wound, and our friend beamed proudly when he saw the bright colour on
his chest. Another time we washed down a little girl with rashes and scabs,
which were from wearing dirty clothes and not being washed. Leeches were a problem
to us, as they put an anti-coagulant in the blood, and leave a spot bleeding
for an hour or so. At one house we shared a room with a Baba (holy man) who
constantly smoked a pipe filled with a marijuana extract, and who had lungs so
filled with phlegm, he got up twice during the night to empty his spittoon. He
was unconcerned by this though, and showed us his festering thumb, which he
indicated hurt him right up to the shoulder. He needed a doctor, as I’d say he
had blood-poisoning which would make his arm gangrenous, but he would never
have made the 4,000 ft climb over the hill to town.
During our times
away we existed on their diet of rice, dahl (lentil soup) and potato curry, so
were quite glad in a way to get back to Kathmandu and eat at the Western
restaurants here. It’s a really dirty town though, with few toilets (people
shit in the street or in the courtyard behind their houses), and many cattle
and goats wandering round the streets. Every time it rains (nightly) the
unpaved streets become a sludge of effluence and mud, which squelches on to
your jandals!
Thank your lucky
stars there are no leeches to hamper the tramper in NZ. They climb into your
boots and nestle between your toes and are unsavoury.
Tomorrow we fly to
India (the roads have been washed out) and will go to Benares, which is where
the cremating and washing in the Ganges takes place. I will write again from
Delhi.
Love from Jill xxx
