Disclaimer: There are no pictures in this post; it is merely my recollection of the trek and as such the only pictures that will be painted would be with my words (which isn't very good). Stop reading if you are looking for pictures.

I have no idea how other people perceive their lives but for me it has always been a collection of snapshots and still pictures in my mind, much like a collection of post cards or a patchwork quilt with rough and smooth portions. Sometimes, over time, the pictures change. They become in some way unreal, unrepresentative of the time past and in some way they are lost forever.

It has been about 4 days since the end of the trek and already it is beginning to fade. When i look back at actual photos of the trek i find myself scarcely believing that i was there - they look so different and so much like part of another world that i only visited in dreams.

So i have decided, before more is lost, to try to collect as many pictures from my mind as possible. Usually, i am not too concerned about forgetting events and i hardly, if ever, write anything regarding my memories down but then again, humans are strange creatures.

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My hands are always cold in the mountains. It could be because i rock climb and somehow they are injured, or weaker than normal hands are because my travelling mates do have periods in which their hands feel warm but for me, the only memory i have is of my hands feeling cold or colder, numb or number. At first, i used to continually blow into them in a desperate effort to warm them up but gradually it progressed to the stage where i simply climbed the rocks with my bare hands, shooting pains notwithstanding. And then stuff them into my pockets and curl and uncurl them desperately, searching for some feeling.

It is impossible to be comfortable in the mountains. Even when we went in the easiest season of the year and were lucky to have perfect weather for the whole trek, there was still some suffering involved. no doubt this is due to the fact that we come from an air conditioned nation, pampered and spoilt with food and drink readily available. Many times during the trek, i was acutely aware of just how fragile we were and how well the Nepali guides and porters took care of us.

After finishing a trek, the guides would hurry to prepare food and hot water or garlic soup for us while we would go into some form of hibernation until it was dinner time. This despite the fact that they were equally as tired as us and had minimal clothing on them. While we had our various jackets and top end sleeping bags, they only had a regular, thin sleeping bag and 2 layers of clothing on (i once wore up to 4 layers). They woke up at 3 am in the morning, in the biting cold, to get food and water ready for us before our morning treks. To us, the cold in the twilight was paralysing and we could only stay in our sleeping bags shivering until they came to our tent door.

Nepalis are interesting in the sense that they are cheerful quite a lot of the time. Many times during the course of the trek, they would be singing and laughing among themselves, even when they were sick or tired. To us, who come from a so called developed country, this was hard to understand because people usually become obstinate or grumpy when times are hard, and not the other way around. Indeed, there is much that is childlike about them. You rarely see grown men packing together waste plastic into the shape of a ball and then joyfully kicking it around. You rarely see grown men (married) tease and pinch other grown women and play a game of tag around the house.

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When trekking at high altitudes, especially for one who is not used to it, the effort involved in quite tremendous. There is a constant pounding of blood in your head. When you breathe in, the cold wind sears your lungs and sends icicles up your skull. Your nose is permanently runny. Every step up a steep incline feels like an almost maximal effort.

The sport that most readily comes to my mind is cycling. It is the same feeling of lungs, legs and head burning, the same effort when one goes on an attack up a steep hill. Except that there is no great surge and no great joy. There is only painful slowness and what seems like an eternal road up ahead.

There is much time for one to reflect in the mountains. When we trek, i usually find myself alone and up in front (because i climb at a faster pace than the rest) from anywhere between 15 minutes to 1 and a half hours (until we take a break). Being unused to the terrain, my view is mostly centred on the ground before me. In fact, a large portion of the trek for me was spent literally looking at the ground before me, especially when descending. When i look at photos of us on the trek, there are some that i do not recall seeing at all; such is the irony.

This is interesting because i think it reflects on my Singaporean background. In Singapore, people tend to want to go places fast and do things fast. Indeed, during the trek, we covered distances amazingly fast, even our guides were surprised (and knackered). We would routinely finish a 3 hour trek in 2 hours. Part of this is because everyone has an optimal speed that he or she can travel at. Any faster and one would tire quickly. Any slower and because of the load, the trek becomes suffering and a slow death; you need to use your momentum to move efficiently over ground (especially when descending).

Another reason is also because for most of the trek, when moving between 2 viewpoints or checkpoints, there is little variation in flora and fauna. One literally sees the same monotonous scenery again and again. However, ever so often, if you are lucky, you see a bird whose feathers are the colour of a rainbow, or a shock of mountain flowers of the deepest purple and red in much the same way that one discovers rare items while playing an RPG.

There are periods of great intensity. At Goche La, i recall having to crawl up to the end point, drinking air through a straw, refusing to stop any motion. In the mountains and the cold, movement is life and staying still is a slow death. When you take a break, no matter how short, your body immediately cools down and becomes sluggish. Starting again takes great energy and effort.

Moving uphill also takes a similar great effort of will not to give up and sit down for a break. Better to flop like a fish and reach the top then take twice the time and agony. When we go on treks, there is only 2 litres of water shared between the 4 of us. 2 litres for 5 hours of effort. Stopping and consuming precious water if there is no real need to is wasteful. At Goche La, this meant that we were quite dehydrated when we were on the way back.

Since i spend most of my time permanently looking at the ground and wishing the top would come faster, there is a particular scene that stuck in my mind. I was ascending this hill towards Goche La when i happened to look up and i saw the pure pristine whiteness of Kanchenjunga peak in contrast with the black, barren surroundings that i was on. I cannot explain why but it was extremely beautiful.

We have always had some doubts about whether we could complete the climb but after seeing that i knew i had to get to the top no matter what. The agony of not reaching it and turning back would be more than i could bear. I guess when your mind is set on something and ceases to be bothered about nagging pains and concerns about safety, it can move your body much better than you can yourself.

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I remember the last day was the only day that rained throughout the trek. We were going back to Yuksom from Tshoka and we started out ginerly down slippery rock paths, weary of a twisted ankle or a sudden fall.

I moved ahead of the rest and caught up with the cook, the old man and the assistant cook, who had gone on before us. They were a tad surprised to see me but very soon, i was to receive an education in how to descend effectively.

You have to realise that i am wearing a pair of Salomon shoes. Shoes that are designed for adventure racing in all conditions and terrains. The old man, Sukdas was wearing yellow rubber boots (like the construction worker boots but thinner and with holes in places) and the assistant cook was wearing lok cock flat sneakers. In addition, my load was very comfortably balanced on my back as i was using the SAF full pack (weight about 8kgs). The other two were carring loads of about 20 kgs strapped to their heads. (see earlier posts for an example)

So, you might ask, how does one descend effectively in wet and slippery conditions with heavy loads and rubbish footwear?

The answer is : you throw yourself down the path with no regard for personal safety and let your legs and balance take care of themselves.

It was exhilarating. It was like a game. The old man was singing and laughing. I was breathing in ragged gasps, my lungs immolated, my legs slipping and sliding about as i tried to follow their path down (they take the shortest path regardless of terrain). I think they were perhaps amused by me, certainly no other tourist trek group races their Nepali porters down a rainy, wet, boulder strewn descent?

In this abandonment to the wind, rain and wet stones, i felt a sense of freedom that i rarely felt elsewhere. All my senses were enhanced, as if i had just taken a drug of sorts and the effect was almost overwhelming. I ceased to care where i placed my feet and instead focused on the flow of the motion, flowing, rushing, descending ever downwards towards the river below.

At times, on an uphill, the old man would give a few testing surges, a few bursts of acceleration, his yellow boots lightly dancing up the moss strewn boulders in contrast to the heavy clanking of utensils on his back.

I have no doubt in my mind that they could have dropped me anytime they wished to do so. But they allowed me to stay with them, and that was a nice feeling, to be able to run without cares in the rain, just like when we were kids.

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The night before we were to go to Yuksom, we were having a conversation with Bikash when he mentioned that it would be nice if we were to give the porters and cooks some tips since they had been doing gruelling work, pulling 15 to 17 hour days (from 3 am to 7/8pm) for 8 days consecutively. The average porter earns 150 rps a DAY. This translates to less than 5 SGD per day. The guides and cook earn more, at about 300 to 500 rps per day but still this means about 10 SGD to 16 SGD a day. If you work at Macdonalds, you earn 3 SGD in an HOUR.

We had no qualms about tipping them because they really deserved it but somehow it didn't turn out quite the way we envisioned it.

We were at a loss as to how much to tip and so we settled on an arbitrary 10% service charge, which is about 100 rps per person.

I remember that when we gave out the tips at dinner time in Yuksom, their faces fell. The assistant cook (a young boy of about 18 or 17) held the note up to the light and stared at it.

Nepalis are an extremely polite and nice bunch of people. The fact that they did not say anything and quickly excused themselves after dinner meant that something was up and so i asked Bikash if the "tip was enough?"

"Sir, the porters...they are very poor...and they are...habit, you know? after trekking...get tips..habit."

"So usually, how much do they get each?"

"i think...2500 rps per person. but its ok, that is in a big group...this is small group...and i told them you are not have jobs, you are students....they said ok ok."

I doubt if they said "ok" but still, that meant that if we were to tip normally, we would have to pay 5000 rps per person (for a total of 15000 rps), which is way out of our budget. Even going on the trek itself was busting our budget daily (52 SGD daily, our trip budget is 40 SGD daily).

I state all this not to excuse our naviety or our conduct regarding the tipping. We had no idea that the average amount was so much (and we did not find out from Bikash beforehand). We naively assumed that a 10% tip was adequate. Maybe we had been made jaded by Calcutta, we assumed people got by with their poverty just fine when poverty is never ever fine.

I cannot help but feel that i have just effectively screwed 6 extremely hardworking, compassionate and loyal people over. I couldn't sleep properly that night, not that it matters because when i wake up in the day, it is not going to be me going back to my family trying to explain why i only made so little an amount from so many days of hard work.

It is true that you will not really understand or feel the effect of poverty unless it touches you in some way. I had hardened my heart against giving to beggars on the street but I cannot do the same here. And so, I believe that this will forever be on my conscience.