Trek Days

The night before I was already properly briefed by the trek guide, Pema, a quiet and conservative man.

Trek Day One: I woke up feeling a little apprehensive about my physical condition and shaky mentality. Yet Pema was really encouraging and professional. At no point during the trek did he lose sight of the weak. The climb was almost 300m ascend per hour. Plagued by a little telltale sign of altitude sickness and dehydration, exhaustion quickly kicks in. The trek up to Taktshang Dzong was spectacular. This monastery is important for the Bhutanese people because the Buddhist monk, Guru Rinpoche, is thought to have landed there on the back of a flying tiger centuries ago to bring Buddhism to Bhutan (from Tibet). The Guru Rinpoche is close to a God in Bhutan and there were many signs of him there.

Trek Day Two, left the town of Paro where the airport is, for the start of the trek into the mountain ridges. Nothing prepares me for it except sheer determination. The weather was supposed to be hovering around 26 to 28 degrees Celsius during the day and a 5-degree in the evening. This was not the case, the last of the monsoon rain did not stop pouring till my last second day in Bhutan. Through the five-day trek, it was a shattering 5 degrees Celsius during the day and most evening, my shoelaces on my trekking boots were frosted. The trek was truly a test of patience, teamwork and leaning on each other's support. Perhaps the most difficult to overcome is the chilling wind, frost bitten fingers and toes, with minimum cold weather gear battling through the ridges of the mountains.

Our trek path as it turns out were either washed away during the downpour, landslides or flooded streams turning into a gushing white river. Pema and one of his trekking assistant had to maneuver slaps of rocks and start constructing a visible path to cross the powered river valley on the opposite bank. I can never forget the dedication and commitment to the safety of the trekkers on his watch. Despite the fact that everyone's spirit was dampened not only by the rain and streaking chills of the wind, we were also affected by egoistic trekker that wanted to spear ahead of the group omitting all rest breaks and lunch time just to keep warm. What turns out to be a 6 to 7 hours trek were extended to more than 9 hours of nonstop trekking at a grueling 5 degree rainy weather in our summer clothes. My fingers were numbed from gripping the walking stick that Pema has kindly carved it out for me on my second day. My sinus bled due to dryness and my lips cracked. My toes were numbed from frostbite and I could no longer feel any functional body parts of mine. As tired as I was, I knew deep in my heart and in my mind that I still could go on till we reach the second base camp. The last time I felt that way was when I first attempted to do an ironman triathlon where my leg muscles were all cramped up and soaked with blisters.

Throughout the rest of the trek days, all I could remember was praying for just a speck of the warming sun rays. It's funny how the basic instinct of survival kicks in when one is fighting against what Mother Nature has to offer. All of a sudden, my troubled mind about work, life, and every earthly rewards that one holds dearly to heart were washed away. Nothing seems more crucial than channeling one's resources into any survival tips one had read during the pre-trip preparation.

Trek Day Three to Five: At the end of my trekking journey, I realized that life is never an uninterrupted smooth sailing journey. Not that this wasn't made known to me at all. Somehow, as life becomes comfortable and cushy in one's protected world, we become complacent to the kind of luxury that we have been enjoying. It has its ups and downs, highs and lows. Old age with its infirmity is part of a normal life; yet how often do we learn to accept gracefully and thankfully all the good things that life gave us, but rather to sulk and regret.