A Sick Wedding Day
The day I was planning to go to a Sherpa wedding in the village across the valley I woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. My stomach was seizing in pain and I had to run to the bathroom and throw up. I was supposed to meet Wangden in Chulamu village, about an hour hike down the mountain from the monastery. He had told me to text him when I left the monastery and he would come meet me for the last section of the hike so I didn't get lost. Unfortunately, the night before the power had gone out because of a storm and my phone and battery pack were completely dead. I didn’t know if I would be able to make it to the wedding – I felt shaky, nauseous, and was in so much pain – but since my phone was dead I didn’t have any way to tell them I wasn’t coming. I didn’t want them to think I had forgotten or didn’t care to come so I began to walk. Unable to eat any breakfast, I set off down the hill taking slow steps. When I had made it most of the way there I met Wangden on the trail. He had assumed I had forgotten or gotten lost so he was on his way up to get me.
At Auntie Yandi's house they insisted on feeding me bread, which immediately made my pain so much worse the second it touched my stomach. They tried insisting on tea but I know that is how I got sick. I had spent the past two days in the village and probably drank well over 20 cups of tea – they insist quite firmly and refill the cup after every sip and if I try leaving the cup there without drinking they will come stand over me and tell me to drink. However, in the village they don’t get any foreigners so they didn’t know they had to boil the water before giving it to me. When I would ask about it they would say “yes yes boil water” but I soon learned that to them that just means hot water. The water in the village often comes directly from the river and my body was now paying the price. The milk in the tea is also straight from their cows. This sounds nice and fresh but the cows lay in the stables full of manure and the teats are not cleaned at all before milking. One time I also saw the milking bucket – it had dark spots, old milk, and other grime sitting in the bottom.
We began to hike to the wedding and almost immediately I knew it was a mistake. The walk was straight down the hill and with each step down my faith faded that I would be able to take that step back up. The village we were going to, Hewa, was at about the same height on the hill across the valley. The problem was we had to hike to the very bottom and straight back up to get there.
By the time we reached the first house of the Hewa village, my strength had disappeared completely. They tried to give me more food but I puked again just thinking about it. I finally gave in and let Wangden carry my bag for me – he had been insisting since the beginning of the hike but I tried to push through. About half way through the village, continuing straight up the hill, we stopped at a house to rest. The second we stepped inside they were already insisting on tea. I had to plead with Wandgen to tell them that I truly could not have any, that it would make me much worse. They tried offering me juice instead and a cup of plain water – which they filled from a large plastic barrel in the middle of the room – but I had to refuse. An adorable old lady with a teapot hobbled around the room, literally chasing people down to refill their tea cups and I felt so bad that I had to refuse her hospitality.
Here, I again saw the importance of tea in Sherpa culture and the strong insistence that comes with it. It is something like a game. The guest will try to refuse a refill, covering their cup with their hands and putting it behind their backs and the host will literally wrestle them to refill the cup. The game then continues when the guest tries to offer some money for the tea and ends up having to shove it into the hosts shirt because they won’t accept.
The wedding was at the highest house in the village and it took us another 30 minutes to get there from where we had stopped. When we arrived, I realized just how much of a mistake it was to come. The actual ceremony was the day before and today was the big party, aka where everyone just eats and drinks. Unfortunately, I could do neither. I had managed to escape the tea all day but when we arrived a cup was literally placed in my hands before I even sat down and I had to grab it so it didn't smash to the floor. Dozens of people were gathered outside a house, all dressed in beautiful traditional Sherpa attire. There were people who just ran around insisting on refilling tea and handing out beers. At one point they put an open can of beer in the lap of an old lady next to me who had been refusing and she had to grab it before it spilled all over her and they ran away before she could give it back. When I tried to tell them that I really couldn't have a beer because I was so sick they tried to convince me it would make me better and then left it next to my chair. There was a little toddler who was copying everything the adults were doing and at one point he was running around holding a can of beer and trying to pour it into everyone's cups. At one point he managed to refill a hald drank cup of tea with beer before anyone noticed. One of the old men got extremely drunk and I saw the groom bring him out of the house and sit him in a chair, which he immediately got out of and began dancing and skipping around.
When we left the wedding they took me to the village monastery just down the hill. It was brand new and the detailed artwork inside was just being painted. It was fascinating seeing just the sketches of the incredibly intricate artwork. There were three men there working on the painting. They sat in chairs balanced on rickety tables and pieces of scaffolding and painted the high walls and ceiling. This monastery is attended by just one monk who is originally from the Taksindu Monastery.
After leaving the monastery it was time to head back to Chulamu. I stared across the valley and could see Yandi’s house. It looked worlds away and I knew there was no way I could make it so Wangden said we could try to take a jeep. We found a driver but he told us his jeep was already reserved but if we wanted we could try to ask if they would be willing to let us squeeze in. The jeep was meant to fit 6 people and there were already 10. When the group arrived, we found out that one of the ladies was Wangden's grandmother! She immediately told them to fit us in so we crammed 13 people into that 6 person jeep. I got to sit in the cab with the old ladies because they could see I was very sick. Everyone else had to stand in the bed of the jeep and cling onto the roof. Most of the people were quite drunk and I could hear them whooping and hollering everytime we went over a bump. The whole time I was just trying my best to not throw up.
The jeep dropped us off at the edge of Chulamu village and we walked from there back to Auntie Yandi's house. The plan had been to stay in the village that night but I felt like I really needed my bed (at auntie's house we just sleep on benches), my medicines, and to be in a place where I wasn’t being forced to drink more tea. The hike back from Chulamu to the monastery is about 1.5 hours of stairs straight up. On a normal day it is a tough hike, that day it was one of the hardest I had ever done. In the end I was glad that I had chosen to go back but I almost didn’t make it. I had to stop and rest every five minutes and each step up felt like a mile. Towards the end it became a mental battle – my mind fighting every part of my body to make me keep going. There were times when I had to crawl on my hands and knees, just trying to push myself up the next step. At one point we took a rest and I made the mistake of laying down. To be fair, it wasn’t exactly a choice as I had practically collapsed onto the bench, but when I tried to get up again it felt as though a 2 ton boulder had been placed on my chest. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I pried myself from the cold, hard surface of the rock and my body shook from exhaustion, pain, and the cold. My bones felt as though they would melt as I tried to place weight onto my legs again. Three times I had to stop and throw up except nothing would come out as the only thing I had eaten all day was one bite of bread which I had thrown up hours ago.
Throughout my life of adventures and this gap year, anytime I am struggling I always try to look back and find something that was worse. An uncomfortable bed? That’s nothing compared to the sharp rocks and mud with only a quarter inch thick foam pad to sleep on. A gross shower? That's way better than the singular bucket of ice cold water in the shed with cockroaches on the floor. This way I help myself remember to appreciate what I have, where I am, and to not complain. If I can't think of a tougher situation to look back on, it becomes an achievment and a new benchmark for the future! Looking at challenges in that way has helped me turn even the worst moments and situations into adventures and experiences that will help me later on. Through toughing it out and surviving this moment, it will make something difficult feel a little easier in the future. This hike was pretty much tied with the time I got hypothermia on a backpacking trip while I had a parasite and had to get evacuated and hike to the trailhead in the middle of the night in the pouring rain an hour after being unconscious and nearly going into shock. This trip has also given me a new benchmark for the roughest car ride – the 14 hour jeep trip to get to the monastery (specifically the last 2 hours). I try to see these moments as adventures and little monuments to my ability to tough it out. They might absolutely suck to experience but they help me in the future and make some pretty epic stories.
Stunning rhododendrons from the hike
The hike from Chulamu to Hewa
Oh, my! dear Sienna. What an experience! and what a gripping story you have made out of a torture-experience! Hope you will look back at this day as the very worst of a long and healthy life! xo Anne