All I wanted was quiet time away from the world. Wake up, walk, eat, meditate, sleep, repeat. Away from noise, from all things digital and anybodies opinions about anything. The Himalayas promise to be a host for all those who are seeking silence. Also promised everywhere along the way was free WiFi and luckily, this promise was not kept.
I find myself on empty paths in mystic landscapes that feel like scenes from a Japanese Manga movie today and the Canadian wilderness tomorrow but not at all what one would expect the Himalayas would look like. It is February, the air is clean and in the often sunny days it is a pleasure to wander through these magical landscapes. But when the night approaches and the sun sinks behind the mountains, the cold sets in. Only a few of the guesthouses are open, and I would be lucky if the oven was heated up for me and maybe a handful of other guests. We gather around the fire like in ancient times. A WiFi connection is advertised everywhere but due to a problem with the hydro power station it is never available all along the valley. No TV running, nobody sinking into worlds far away through their phone. Whoever is present, is present.
I keep on reaching higher grounds, using any opportunity to walk away from the beaten path. Some days, I decide to stop and stay for a day while staring at incredible mountain panoramas, thinking to myself „Why rush? This is what I came here for, to just be“
One day, I come by a buddhist monastery. Nobody seems to be there, just a solar charger connected to a smartphone hints to someones presence. Through one of the windows, I can spot a few dog puppies in a messy room. When I was a teenager, I romaticised this religion with its monks in red robes, mystic rituals and singing. Up here, in this monastery and others I came by on my journey, this image cracked. The monasteries are often the buildings in best shape, next to a row of the housings of ordinary people. They’re separated by high walls and barbwire.
As the air gets thinner in higher altitude, vegetation disappears completely. I am impressed by the people living up here and their stoic efforts to produce food and have everything carried up here that cannot be grown from their animals dung. Away from the main tourist treck which is empty in this season anyways, it really feels like a time machine where things haven’t changed much for hundreds of years.
I spend two nights at the high camp, the last stop before the Thorong La pass at 5400 meter above sea level. It’s somewhat funny that up here, where I feel so far away from everything else in the world with nothing but rocky mountains around, there is electricity for the first time. With that, the atmosphere in the house changes. The men running the house gather around the TV. The off world romantic that I felt all along the way, cracks and suddenly I’m back in the late 20th century.
On the other side of the pass, the landscape changes and reminds me of the images I’ve seen of Tibet. After almost three weeks without connection to the outside world, the internet is back but after a first excitement, it feels dull to look at a screen after experiencing the raw, cold, epic and calming nature of the Annapurna mountain range. A road, suitable for busses reaches all the way to Mukninath and it gets harder to find a treck away from the road. Electricity and the Internet are present again and I struggle to stay present in the moment.
Nepal, 2018