I was unnerved at the thought of these mountains, aging near 50 million years old, full of history and wealth. There above lies rigid peaks and soaring heights, strong waters and vivid sharp-edged grey walls building the homes of the wild. The comprehension of beauty is influenced by comparison, however, there’s not a damn thing on the planet deserving enough to be compared to the Himalayas. They’re alive and awake, growing every day, shaped and shifted by avalanches and tremors and growing rivers fed by melting glaciers and the snow leopards, one of the only carnivores of the Himalayas, lies present yet silent, symbolic and representative to the creator of nature. There’s something alive here, hidden in plain sight, echoing out and drawing me closer. Something I feel I can reach yet is impossible to touch. Something I so long to search for.

I reached for the benefit of the beauty of nature over the fear of the unknown. Unable to sleep, I drifted between anxious shudders and these visions of eagles gliding along the soaring heights of the rocky mountains, Himalayan mountain sheep grazing in herds leaping between dry bushes and through the in-betweens, I saw a blurred vision of my dad. Maybe the unearthliness and historic existence measure the markings of spirit. I’ve always liked to believe that there’s an existential energy out there that lies between Earth and the resting world. One that holds the past souls but prevails in the present. One that doesn’t speak a human language but communicates well. Perhaps a world we still find ourselves in. Perhaps this alerting energy that bellows in nature.

I packed his ashes into a locket and I arrived late at night in a slow, small airport. There were crowds of taxi drivers yelling across the fence. I walked, exhaustedly, as they followed the travelers and me out to the parking lot. I hopped into a jeep with a quiet older gentleman who spoke little English. Too tired to put effort into a conversation, I watched the dirt roads ahead of us full of potholes. I paid most of my attention to avoid hitting my head against the windows until I arrived at the hostel. I fell asleep quickly on the top floor that had windows wrapping around the entire building that would once wake me with sunrise.

I opened my eyes with the sun and I lied awaiting the rest of the city to slowly waken as I craved the chance for a warm cup of tea. I stared out the window as the sun rose above Swayambhu, a temple full of greedy monkeys, one that embodies 365 steps to achieve its beauty. While the beauty lies in every corner through Nepal, it seems we had much walking to do to reach the most beautiful parts of the country. I traced the steps slowly and followed the monkeys to the top, soaked in the sun above the city with my eyes closed and welcomed the vibration of prayer wheels as they were spun by tourists and locals. I was here, alone, accompanied by reason and purpose. Time was no longer a ticking clock, but a gift on this pursuit of searching and understanding this echo that led me to Nepal. I had no intention of leaving this place quickly. Many know how fascinated with leaving I had become. I had always wanted to leave. Run, in fact. But here, I don’t want to leave here. As the sun went down, I watched as the shades of purple grew the mountain range near by into dark shadows. I’ll be lost somewhere in there soon.

I packed my bag with 2 pants, 2 shirts, a water purifier, a sleeping bag, some hiking boots, and a couple of layers to keep me warm through the next two weeks. It was enough and there are places in the world where you constantly feel like what you have isn’t enough. It feels good to strip down to the necessities of human kind. No one to compare richness and debts to. What matters from here is faith in yourself, trust in nature and to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

The trek up the Annapurna circuit began with a few hours walking through rice fields. It was colorful and quiet. I walked behind my Nepali guide who had curly hair and a passion for mountains. They were his home after all. He was shy and between the sounds of footsteps jumping over puddles and cattle grazing nearby, the habitual warming questions were passed back and forth. After all, I am spending the next two weeks with this man. I must get to know him and find the reason these mountains echo to him, what his reason is for climbing them for a living despite their obvious beauty. Perhaps for my own desire for clarity. I found out that he’s scared of dogs and swings, loves smoking weed and the phrase “Why not, coconut?!” And we talked and laughed for hours and we hopped around the trail until we finally reached the village we were staying at for the night. We shared some raksi, a traditional Nepali liquor, accompanied by dal baht, a traditional rice dish, that I fell in love with. And we laughed and stared at the stars until our eyes grew heavy. I fell asleep to the sound of the Ngadi or “river” and the high pitch noise of the crickets.

Again, I rose with the sun, purified some water from the tap and walked alongside the river. This time for 8 hours to the town of Chamche. We took a stop at the base of this massive waterfall to cool down. In an attempt to get closer, I stepped on a grass patch that was not supported. I fell down the side of the cliff, completely burring myself with mud and grass. The mist was blinding being this close to the falls but I screamed and lifted my hand as high as the dirt allowed and was pulled up with nothing but a few scrapes, a sore foot and ankle, some leeches and a whole lot of luck. Upon arrival to Chamche, eating another serving of dal baht, he had the decency to ask me if I’m tired after walking 8 hours with a sore foot and ankle and I honestly didn’t know if he was serious or not but he looked at me waiting in silence for an answer. The day was best described by the words I wrote in my journal: I am climbing these mountains with a goddamn mountain goat.

I woke up to a throbbing foot and cramping calves. 5 hours today. I can do this. I ate lunch under an apple tree and dropped my sunglasses in the toilet or let’s say a full ‘hole in the ground’. Lovely. He said repeatedly “Bistārī, Bistārī” or “slowly, slowly.” He was right and he probably saw my frustration and felt it through my silence. Climbing mountains aren’t meant to be a race. Climbing mountains aren’t meant to be easy. If they were, no one would do it. I finally grew the courage to ask him why he does it. He said it’s in his Nepali blood. And they’re beautiful. He wants to own a tour company one day. And through his rambles, he eventually began to tell me how he started climbing mountains with his brother who passed away in a motorcycle accident two years ago. This was his connection and his dedication to his passing. I didn’t have words to respond and to break the silence, he pointed to the left of us and said: “that’s Annapurna 2.” I counted the rest of my steps with the Nepali words he taught me, “Ēka, du’ī, tīna, cāra, pām̐ca, cha..” and he corrected me as I went on with my mispronunciation.

I stayed up later that night, despite how exhausted I was. It’s been a wave of emotions. This traveling is. Within a mountain lies the heavyweight of awareness due to the lack of distractions. Hours and hours of walking with nothing but your thoughts is the most draining part of it all. The conquerable part of it lies within a sufferer who climbs them anyway and does the difficult achievement of simply surviving.

Today, I fluctuated between ‘why am I doing this’ to ‘I’m so happy I’m doing this’. Today, I sat in a cafe and grew annoyed by a group of Israeli hikers complain about how they found a worm in their pasta. Today, I rolled my eyes to a couple of Americans moan about how they don’t have a private “bathroom.” Now despite being in the middle of the mountains on a trek that will reach near 17,000 feet, I have found myself more irritated with these people than I have with the fact that I have pulled hairs out of the past 3 meals I’ve eaten. Contemplation over whether to be disgusted or impressed with myself began. Is the lack of toilet paper I’ve used in the past few months of traveling impressing or? Is the cracking sounds that my socks make as I put them on in the morning disgusting? What about how comfortable I became peeing on the side of a road or trail? I’d say it’s impressive but I will leave that for each individual to decide.

The next few days, I spent plenty of hours practicing more Nepali, laid in the grass to watch the eagles fly in circles above, hiked up to lake Tilicho lake, the highest lake in the world to listen to ice crack and fall into the lake, and played an indefinite amount of card games with other trekkers. Oh, and ate all the dal baht I could possibly eat.

And when it was finally time to summit, we woke at 4 am before the sun, to a snowstorm and all I kept hearing was, “Bistārī“ and my god, did I hate that word. When I neared the top and saw the tip of the Nepal flag, I walked as close as I could before I eventually collapsed to my knees. 17,769 feet. I cried after over a week of wondering if I’ll make it, if it’s worth it and constantly questioning why the hell I was doing it. 

And it was for this. For the historic instinct of healing through nature. The feeling of confronting the reflection in the walls of the mountains and the spirits that lay between them. For my dad. For the first time, my backpack had felt like nothing and my foot had stopped throbbing. To be humbled and disciplined. To become more human. Enamored by the mountain range, my attitude changed. For so long I carried this feeling of defeat or numbness that I reconciled as avoidance and throughout the trail, there was nothing I could use to hide from myself. Lost in the purest sense of oneself.

I looked at my guide as he twirled and looked up at the mountains around us knowing how connected he felt to these giant grey walls. And I hugged him and we both laughed and fell into the piles of snow as we danced and yelled. All this mountain range was before we started was something that led to the sky and I looked up and thanked them for becoming so much more than that.