Redemption

It takes three days to hike around Mount Kailash. We leave most of our gear in Darchen, taking only a change of clothes and some food. Good packaged food is hard to come by in Tibet. The fresh food is good enough, but Uncle Toby has not yet made it into the lucrative Tibetan market with his muesli bars. We have some fruit, but the bulk of our supplies consist of what the locals call energy bars: effectively brown lumps of compacted sugar and salt.

We have never heard of this mountain, but it is one of the most sacred sites in the Hindu religion. Shiva, who ranks in the top three for Hindu Gods, is said to hang out at the top. As a result it is forbidden to climb the mountain. The Hindus believe however that by making a pilgrimage around the mountain you experience spiritual death and rebirth - a complete once round of the kharma cycle. This effectively wipes your current kharma and gives you a clean slate to work with.

The Buddhists, as well as the lesser known Jain and B'on religions, also hold Kailash as holy. The B'on is the most interesting of these, being a darker, more primitive religion predating Buddhism and still practiced by a large number of Tibetans. These guys revere the Swastika (the one pilfered by Hitler for his Nazis) as a symbol of power, life and death. They reckon they can make out a Swastika on the south face of Kailash but personally I can't see it.

We set out early. Kailash sits to our north, it's pyramid like peak covered in thick white snow. It's a clear day and the sun is warm, though a cool breeze follows us. Frank is with us, wearing an incredibly unattractive jump suit. He likes to walk in front and we let him. His constant, humourless babbling has begun to annoy, and I wonder whether the trip round Kailash can clear enough Kharma to cover a little hiking 'accident'.
The Canadians, Ben and Riva, share the path with us too. They are proving to be good travelling companions and I'm glad to have them along. Various Japanese travellers are ahead and behind us, but the language barrier limits our conversations to one word comments and pantomine jokes.

As we start down the path, a friendly white dog comes along side and leads the way. At the same time a shaggy black dog passes us heading in an anti-clockwise direction. All this talk of Gods and kharma has made us superstitous. It seems too great a coincidence that the white dog follows the Hindu and Buddhist way, whereas the black dog seems to follow the B'on path.

We reach a spot on the path littered with old clothes and tattered prayer flags. This is the beginning of the first stage of the pilgrimage - the dying stage. Here, believers discard old clothes to symbolise leaving behind their previous lives. I discard a Join Me T-Shirt, lying it flat on the ground. It seems appropriate, a black shirt with the words "Join Me" on it marking the start of a pilgrimage into death and beyond.

Both Ben and Riva have minimal gear and clothing. Riva opts to ditch a flower covered g-string. Surely Shiva is satisfied with this. One of the Japanese guys has been travelling with a little troll-like doll that he calls his "Master". This is his offering and the pug faced troll is left standing in the pile of old clothes, staring at Mount Kailash.

After a few hours hiking the path splits. Myself, Chris and Frank are a little ahead of the others, who have stopped to take photos. I decide to let the dog choose the path. The dog however walks to the intersection and stops, waiting for us. It seems we must choose our own path to redemption.

We take the path to the right and immediately the dog takes the lead, once again guiding us. The path rises steeply and before long it becomes little more than a goat track on the steep side of Shiva's home. Far below us is a great plateau, with a river curving through it. Had we taken the left path, this is where we would have ended up, an easy walk.

We would however have missed the view - and the view is spectactular. The white peak of Kailash lords over the land, and smaller mountains huddle around it, like worshippers bowing at its feet. In the valley below dozens of brightly dressed pilgrims make a snake-like trail along the gray-green path. We drop our packs and spare a moment to take it all in. Only Frank's babbling breaks the serenity but the climb has left him breathless and he is forced to reduce his normal banter.

Eventually the path leads us down a rocky ledge. It's a hard hike but the white dog is with us, and I enjoy it all. After a final climb down a small cliff face (forcing us to remove our packs and throw them down in front of us) we reach the plateau. The moment we are down the dog dissapears. I take it to mean that our path is sure and we no longer have need of a guide. Glover thinks it's because the dog has realised we are idiots and is happier following more sane, sedate pilgrims on the easy paths. I like my explanation better.

In the valley we come across a herd of yak, loaded with expedition gear. Many of the Hindu pilgrims are often elderly, wanting to patch things up with Shiva before their final judgement day. They come here on guided tours, with cooks and camping gear. The yaks serve as beasts of burden, carrying their equipment. I wonder how many times these yaks have circled Kailash, they are surely well on their way to Nirvana.

I am enthralled with the yak. They seem somehow more noble than your average bovine. Great curved horns and long, draping manes lend them a certain dignity. They are massive creatures with powerful strong bodies, yet despite this they can break into a skipping run with ease. I wonder weather customs will let me bring one home as a pet. I'd call it Malcom. It's a good name for a yak.

Frank has no time for yaks and he powers on ahead, leaving us in blessed peace. We eat lunch in a tent tea-house, set up to make a buck off the pilgrim trade. The menu is limited to instant noodles and tea. This is our first of such meals but in the days ahead this becomes our staple, aweful diet.

Ben and Riva catch us and we stroll up the gently sloping valley together with Kailash sitting peacefully to our right. As the afternoon wears on we begin to feel the climb. The incline is slight but steady, our destination for this day is a camp sitting at 5,200 meters above sea level. This is dangerously high, and the air is thin and dry.

Glover is hurting the most, his pack is from an Irish reject shop and the straps have obviously been designed by a kindergarten class. What's more he has insisted on bringing with him his heavy bath robe, claiming it to be the warmest thing he owns. Thankfully he has left the travel scrabble set behind. We are in no hurry however, and we stop frequently to rest and take in the awesome scenery laid out around us.

Finally, after a full eight hours of hiking, we reach the camp. It is a small mud brick dwelling with primitive beds, but it is a welcome paradise for our tired bodies. It faces Kailash, with a view of the white peak nestled between two smaller foothills. There is a monastary across the river from the camp, where we can also stay. Frank however, has already organised a room for us and the extra kilometer needed to cross the river convinces us to stay.

Dinner looks to be pot noodles again. Shiva sends us a blessing however. Staying in our camp is a group of Indian pilgrims. I start chatting to one of them. Knowing very little about Hindu religion I ask child-like questions about Kailash, Shiva and their beliefs.

I learn that Shiva is one of three great Hindu Gods. The first is Brahma, the creator, who made the earth and all things on it. The second is Vishnu, the preserver, who takes care of the living world. The last is Shiva, the destroyer. Shiva's main job is to judge you when you die and determine whether you will have to spend your next life as a dung beatle or if you are good for Nirvana. Basically he's a pretty tough character and you should try and keep on his good side.

Shiva is also a cross dresser, having decided to make himself half man and half woman. I didn't quite understand all of this last bit, I think it requires a little more knowledge of Hindu culture. The Hindu guy explaining it to me said it was done for the benefit of mankind. Personally I've got nothing against it, but I'm not sure how it helps either.

While explaining all this to me (with intense passion and belief) the Hindu pilgrim also decides to boost his kharma by sharing his meal with us. Their yaks have carried up a delicious feast of fragrant rice, spicy soup and vegetable curry. Even under normal circumstances this would have been a treat. After a day of hard hiking and artifical meals it is a taste sensation.

The next day we begin our second stage of the pilgrimage - the ascention. It is to be an even harder hike than the first day, as we must climb to reach the high point of the trek, a rise of 5,600 meters. This is the highest any of us have been in our lives and we expect a struggle.

Frank is up at six, and rushes off. His idea is to beat the climb by hitting it early, he insists that we do the same. The rest of us prefer to get a decent sleep in, have a bit of breakfast, and then take the climb when the sun is warm and the view can be enjoyed. I can almost feel Frank's 'dizgust' with this attitude as he rushes out into the cold, morning darkness.

For breakfast we eat the last of our fruit. It is heavy and we want to get rid of it before tackling the high point. The Tibetan people crowd around us as we eat. They have a culture of begging and they are insistent. The begging in itself is annoying but more dissapointing is the complete lack of gratitude shown when you do actually give them something.

Worst of all, when I hand a bag of raisins to one of the beggers, instead of sharing them around with the others, he runs off and hides. I have seen several cultures where people are too poor to eat. In nearly all, the concept of sharing was intrinsic. These Tibetan beggars are a great dissapointment, even more so since my expectations are so high based on the western ideals of Buddhism.

I put the beggars out of my mind as we head out on the climb. I lead the way today and set a slightly faster pace, knowing what's ahead. It is a tough climb. The path is wide and sturdy, however the steep ascent and lack of air make it physically draining. Talking is limited to one word grunts.

Despite hitting the highest part of the path the view is less spectacular than it has been. The back of Kailash is hidden by the smaller foothills around it, and there is not much else to look at. We focus on the climb.
After four hours of an exhausting trek we come upon a rise, marked with a huge tent-like structure, covered in brightly coloured but ragged prayer flags. We have reached the high point. It is almost an anti-climax, the view is still limited and the brown-grey hills around us are somewhat dull.

We stop for lunch (a few 'energy bars') and while we are there a few other pilgrims top the hill. The Tibetan pilgrims pull out brightly coloured prayer sheets, about the size of post-it notes, and hurl them into the air. They flutter gently in the breeze, like coloured snow they twirl in the chilly wind. We share some food with these pilgrims, but they are distracted by the hair on Glover's arms. The Tibetan people have hairless arms, and the thick ginger curls on Glover's arm are a fascination. Glover makes gorilla noises and is rewarded with squeals of delight from his audience.

The Hindu group, who we passed earlier, reach the rise as well. They are exhausted, most of them being over the age of sixty. They huddle around a red stone I hadn't noticed, and my host from the night before explains that they each will draw a drop of blood and leave it on the stone. Another symbol of death and rebirth. While they are performing this sacred ritual, Glover pulls out his beef jerky (too disgusting to describe) and munches down on it. I'm just glad that the vegetarian Hindus don't notice him gnawing away on the carcass of their most sacred animal.

Having eaten, we set off once again, but this time downhill. It's an easy walk, though Glover is still hurting from his dodgy pack. Clouds roll in, hiding the sun and the wind takes on a nasty chill. After a while a light rain closes in before turning to hail. Despite this Glover decides not to use his bath robe, and I once again abuse him for bringing it. He is unrepentent.

The path leads on, seemingly forever. Eventually it comes down to a ravine, and we follow a muddy river flowing south. The rain has caused the river to swell and the land is a muddy marsh. We hop from dry patch to dry patch and occasionally have to make running leaps across smaller streams. We have been hiking for nearly eight hours and every time we round a corner we expect to see the camp. Each time we are met only with the sight of more mountains and the endless muddy path.

Finally, after more than nine hours of hard hiking we stumble into the camp. It's much the same as the night before. There is a monastary a little up the hill. Ben and Riva stay in this as its cheaper and they have a pretty tight budget. The monastary can't take any more people so the rest of us stay in the camp. Dinner is pathetically sparse. Our Hindu friends are camped separately to us so we make do with the sugary junk left in our pack.

The final day is overcast once again, but we have a flat easy walk ahead of us. This is the day of rebirth, the beginning of our new, kharma clear lives. Frank is off again before dawn - some anxiety about organising transport. This makes the day all the more pleasant and we take our time on the last leg of the trek. The view is once again impressive. Kailash is still mostly hidden, however a wide flowing river has cut a deep gorge through the valley and we walk along the edge of this. Steep cliffs drop down to the river below us.

Some four hours later we arive at Darchen. Here we gorge ourselves on freshly cooked noodles and dumplings. In any other circumstance this meal would have been an ordinary affair but to us half starved pilgrims it is a feast fit for kings.

Despite having cleared our souls of bad kharma, we feel only dirty and tired. There are no showers (or plumbing of any sort for that matter) in Darchen and we have not washed since Ali. We take solace in the fact that we are all pretty much in the same state. We spend the rest of the day planning the rest of our trip through Tibet and contemplating just how we will restore our kharma levels to their previous levels.