The following is a continuation of Mera Peak Expedition – Why Basa matters so much
If arriving in Basa was remarkable, spending a day there was incredible. We slept incredibly well after our prior evening of rahksi and dancing…and rahksi. Even though we were in their home village and they slept in their own homes, the trekking staff continued to show the same hospitality they would later show in the jungle or at 5000 meters. The morning started at sunrise with washing water as always.
Computer training
Computer training for the school children started shortly after breakfast. The day prior we asked Asan, Nanda and Dena to choose five bright children who weren’t close to graduation to come for training. We also asked that they choose students who would be likely to help others learn as well…to become masters instead of experts (experts are smart, but master make others smart).
Despite it being a national holiday, five smartly dressed and groomed children were ready for us at the appointed time. They were patient and listened carefully as we walked them through the basics of operating a computer. We were very glad to see that the children were both Rai and lower-caste Hindu and both male and female.
They learned extremely quickly and also knew to should out “Masters!” when asked, “Do you want to become experts or masters?” It was an amazing experience to be part of an entirely new experience for these children. Their appetite for learning was remarkable.
While we took care of the training, our teammates toured the power generating station, inspected the cabling from the plant to the homes, and talked with villagers about how the electrification program was going.
Family visits
Once the children had absorbed as much as they could, we moved on to visit the homes of our Basa friends. By the second home, it was clear that we would be expected to drink rahksi in each house, and that our cups would never be empty unless we made an effort to turn down refills. The effort required to navigate the steep terraces increased with each home, likely related to our gradually increasing intake of alcohol.
The visits and the rahksi eventually came to a close and we made our way back to the schoolyard for the last time. We packed our bags and watched as the staff broke down our camp and prepared to leave the village. Though we were ready, we were still a ways from our actual departure. The Village of Basa didn’t intend to let us leave without an appropriate ceremony, complete with visiting school dignitaries and speaches by the elders.
Closing ceremony
We were once again presented with beautiful silk scarves and asked to sit in the shade while different people publicly spoke about our visit and the programs that have resulted in so much managed change in Basa. Sitting among Westerners like Jeff and Mike who had created so much good will among the Basa people was a privilege for Jeanne and I. The entire village was present despite the afternoon heat as the each local dignitary spoke.
Leaving Basa
Once it was time to begin trekking, we once again passed an enormous line of children who presented us with garlands of marigolds, leaves and beautiful purple flowers. We were headed to Adheri, the next village up the Dudh Kosi from Basa, but not before one more home visit with our cook’s family. Purna Rai wouldn’t let us pass Basa 8 without another stop to meet his family and to have more rahksi.
Up next: Mera Peak Expedition — Adheri to Namdolingomba
Positive change requires great leadership, and the village of Basa, high above the Dudh Kohsi in the Solu Region has been fortunate to have leadership that understands the danger of thoughtless change and benefit of community involvement. Basa matters so much because it is emerging as a model of sustainability that might just work as a template for how to bring progress without destroying paradise.
Each of these projects will be managed in the same fashion as the previous ones. A proposed design and cost will be created by the village leadership before fundraising will begin. Once the funds are available, the project will be executed by the local people who need to have ownership and continue to own and maintain whatever is put in place. The benefits of this model are obvious when you see the results in this one corner of Nepal.
The next day’s trek was almost entirely downhill from just above 3000 m. (about 10,000 ft) and ended up at 1800 m. (5900 ft). We were in the sun most of the time, making it a warm but very enjoyable journey into what is a very fertile part of Nepal. We passed large villages that had significant buildings, but were told those were Basa 4 and Basa 3. Just before Basa 6 (there are 9 Basa villages), we were met by several villagers, including the village band. They played traditional music on horns and drums while we made our way further down the hill into the village.
Just as we entered the center of the village, we were met with what looked like a crowd of 200 or more, the first being the children with garlands of many types of local flowers and leaves, mostly marigolds of orange, yellow and crimson. As we passed, they each placed a garland around our neck until we had so many that we could no longer see and our necks became very heavy, not to mention the heat that steamed our glasses that were mostly blocked by flowers, anyway.
We made our way to the yard of the Shkhar Babuchhiri Bal Kunja Primary School, built in 2002 (Nepali year 2059) by SolHimal, a French group inspired to generosity by the obvious need for a school they observed when they trekked through.
We shed our garlands and placed them on a table that was placed in front of our dining table for just this purpose. We were immediately served juice and then a full meal of pasta, potatoes and vegetables and told to relax, enjoy ourselves, and that there would be another ceremony at 4pm. Once fed, we were fairly alone to ask ourselves, “Did that really happen?” It was so remarkable and happened so quickly that it had a surreal quality and the heaps of flowers became the evidence that yes, it happened.
We met our friend Buddi’s 75-year-old mother, Maya Rai, adorned with the traditional Nepali nose piercing and colorful Nepali dress, including a colorful cloth wrap on her head. We then met his brother, Dinesh, a soldier in the Nepali Army and a member of the Army Volleyball Team. Volleyball is a popular sport in Basa since it only requires an unused terrace, a ball, and a net. The biggest challenge is that an unreturned spike often results in the ball traveling 16 or 17 terraces down the mountainside. One of the children will run down to retrieve it, of course, and then sprint back up the hill to rejoin the game as though they were on a flat beach instead of a steep mountainside.
After a short meal, we made the decision to hike to the glaciers we had seen as our helicopter landed. It was a very aggressive plan considering that we had only arrived from Kathmandu that morning and had little opportunity to become accustomed to the high altitude of Kyangjin Gompa (3,800 m., 12,467 ft.). Regardless, we had lost a few days trying to leave Kathmandu and wanted to make up for the lost time. The trail started just behind the village and we were soon making our way to the yak pastures used only in the summertime, dotted with shepherd’s huts and just beginning to show the flowery signs of Spring. It was remarkable how well we hiked without significant loss of breath or headaches.
We had both experienced glaciers in Europe, but nothing that compared to the enormity of what were now seeing. The moraine ridges on each side were easily fifty meters above the surface of the moving ice field. We saw no real snow or ice, but instead saw a gray surface dotted with turquoise blue pools of melt water. There was no noise of popping or creaking as we expected. Above the river of gray, we could see enormous hanging serac coming down from the peak of the mountain at 7,227 m. (23,711 ft). The air was unbelievably clear and the day was as sunny as we had ever seen. The combination made the peak seem close enough to touch, though we knew it was a world apart from where we stood. It was likely extremely cold and a deadly place, even though it seemed so close.
Soon after making the stream crossing, we were passed by a group of porters from another party, whistling as they walked very quickly up the mountain despite their heavy loads. As they drew closer, it was apparent they were wearing sandals without socks in the below-freezing temperatures, further evidence of the strength and resilience of the Nepali people.
The going became easier once we were on the ridge. The trail was smooth and we made excellent time as we climbed rapidly higher. There were once again occasional shepherd’s huts in the few grassy areas along the ridge, and the views on either side became gradually more impressive. The day warmed up to the point that we were down to shirts and pants despite a cold breeze thanks to the exertion. As we were only in our second day of acclimation we were feeling the lack of oxygen much like when we climb Mt Whitney in California after coming from sea level the day prior. An occasional stop to catch our breath was enough to keep moving, though by the time we left the ridge and started a rockier section, we were both feeling headaches and light-headed.
Toward the summit
The ridge gave way to rocks and snow and the going became slower and more difficult. Breathing also was starting to come with greater difficulty as we were both at the highest altitude we had climbed in our lives. The peak was anti-climatic except for a tricky ice field we had to cross on the north side of the peak, where the sun rarely warms the snow enough to melt off. The peak itself was adorned with many prayer flags left by both our Nepali and Western predecessors. The views, however, were amazing in all directions and well worth the effort. Going down, as always, was the more tricky portion of the day as our exhaustion and haste to be back in a safe and warm place had us pushing the limits of wisdom.
Few experiences in our lives compare to spending two days trying to fly out of the Kathmandu domestic air terminal. Our destination was Tumlingtar, east of Kathmandu and south of Mt Everest, but weather conditions both days were hot and humid, closing most of the airports at lower elevations due to wind and thunderstorms. We had no idea of this as we left from our hotel in Kathmandu on a clear, cool morning. Our plan was to trek the Arun Valley from the foothills to the Himalayas, with hopefully clear views of Mt Everest.
Immediately inside the door was the typical luggage and walk-through scanners that you’ll find anywhere in the world, except these had seen better days and we suspected were purchased second-hand at the security equipment auction (if there is such a thing). To emphasize the point, the baggage scanner didn’t have a functioning belt to move the luggage through, and so it was the job of a nepal police officer to reach into the machine from the far end with wooden pole that had a hook on the end that would allow him to pull the bags through. It was one of the first many ways we would see Nepalis make up for technology with human labor.
Before this, back in the terminal, we asked Agni for a forecast for the next day for Tumlingtar and were told, “the same as today.” Something had to give. We approached Buddi and asked for alternative plans. He didn’t seem very surprised. He stepped off the bus, pulled out his cell phone, and called the trekking company to see what could be done. He returned a surprisingly short time later to offer us a 9-day trek in Langtang Valley, but with arrival at the highest village in the valley by helicopter. After two days of chaos, a 45-minute flight to the heart of the Himalayas sounded like a perfect plan.
To make up for our loss of trekking time, we were also offered a chance to spend the night in a hilltop getaway not far from Kathmandu known as Nagarkot. It turned out to be a very pleasant, quiet area that seemed a world apart from the noise and density of Kathmandu. We walked around the resort property, bought a dusty, old map of Langtang Valley in a nearby store, and had a great dinner before going to bed early for our 4am drive back to the airport.
Travel by helicopter was an entirely different experience. Sure, we had the same security as the previous two days, but once through, we were taken directly to the aircraft and were boarded and in the air in a very short period of time. Our pilot was trained in Russia and Florida (an odd combination) and looked like a Nepali version of pilots everywhere with a green flight suit, a leather flight jacket and Ray Ban aviator sunglasses. After takeoff we Kathmandu and then two heavily terraced ridges before making a hard right turn into the opening of Langtang Valley. The valley floor rose quickly but the peaks rose even more quickly until we were well below the peaks of either side of the valley. The pitch of the helicopter blades also changed as the air grew thinner and we fought for altitude, quickly approaching the helicopter’s limits.
Before takeoff, we were warned that we would probably be too heavy to take all the way to Kyangjin Gompa, the highest village in the valley at 3,800 m. (12,467 ft.) and that we’d need to walk a couple of hours to meet our bags. As we approached, however, the weather and air conditions were favorable and our pilot was able to build up enough forward speed to trade for altitude and just bring us over the ledge on the shoulder of the mountain where the village clung to the mountainside, putting us down on the “H” formation of rocks in what turned out to be a yak pasture.
Just before landing, we spotted enormous glaciers just above the village on the north wall of the valley on the side of 
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