JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi (20 page)

“
So they’re just talking?”

“
I think so. They pushed each other around a little, but it isn’t anything you don’t see every day.”

Christian came back with a round of beers for everyone and we talked until Cook told us that dinner would be in a few minutes and we should come inside to the dining room. We all filed in and washed in the warm basins of water they gave us. We ate rice and lentils that had been creamed. There was a green salad and some type of cracker, or breadstick. Cook also made sure that we had some type of desert each evening, usually just some canned fruit or a pudding. We also had some type of vegetable, but I could not tell what it was. It was bland and had a pleasing texture and that was all. It filled the enormous void in my stomach.

After dinner I went upstairs and got my mandolinden and went outside and played songs for an hour. Before I had finished there must have been twenty-five or thirty Nepali men and women sitting around and listening. I know they had never heard anything that sounded like that because I invented the instrument, still, they seemed to enjoy the diversion it gave them. After that I retired and left the young people to their own devices.

In my room I put the mandolinden back into its case and zipped the reinforced cordura covering it. It is a small instrument like a mandolin, however it is tuned a full fifth below a mandolin and a full fourth above a guitar. It has six strings and the tuning is set to a fourth, the same as a guitar. It is unusual, but it has a lovely, pleasing sound and can be played by itself or used to accompany a voice or in ensemble.

***

That was the way it went for the next week. We would climb over passes as high as 12,000 feet; we passed through the towns Bhandar, Sete, Junbesi, and Mandingma and along the way we passed monks in Buddhist robes as well as many prayer walls. Each day began with tea and bowls of warm water served while we were still in our sleeping bags. We developed a routine and found a groove that suited us. Each day after breakfast Celine and Esra would start off with Bim. Chris and Curtis would follow. Christian would walk with me and we would bring up the rear while we talked about many things, but primarily aikido.

Eventually we found our way to the Dudh Kosi. This is the river known also as the ‘milk river’ which flows off the main glacier from Mt. Everest. It is so called because the pounding descent of the water causes it to fill with bubbles and foam giving it the appearance of thin milk. We finally began the hardest part of the trip to Namche Bazaar from the low country of the Himalaya Massif. At this point we started climbing up the tributary streams that fed into the Dudh Kosi and often would have to climb straight up winding switchbacks as high as a mile into the mountains. We would then turn around and come back down in order to cross over another tributary stream and follow the reverse path as it wound its way to Lukla.

Lukla is the village where an airstrip perches tight against an improbable, mile high wall. It allows trekkers to fly directly from Kathmandu into the mountains. It is the easy way. We’d spent the last 12 days climbing. This was supposed to build you up and get you ready for an assault on the huge mountains that lay ahead. The truth is that in many ways it broke us down.

Eventually we arrived at Lukla. Lukla is a major village and an important stop along the trail and is the gateway to the Solo Khumbu region which includes Everest. There are many fine lodges and numerous restaurants and places to buy things. Lukla is the main transportation hub in Solo Khumbu because of the airstrip and also because of it there are more trade goods and supplies available than almost anywhere else up in the high country. There is a school where children spend their time and learn the ways of Buddhism and the ways of the Nepal people as well as learning the new ways of the western world. We visited there the morning after we arrived. Celine and Esra were thrilled at the paintings being done by the children and arranged to purchase two. They would be held until our return. In the afternoon Christian and Curtis and Chris all found a wonderful clearing covered in dense soft moss and spent an hour training hard under the high Himalayan sky.

At this point I started to become concerned because until now we had not actually seen a high Himalayan peak. It would be clear in the mornings while we were deep in the valleys and as we rose higher and higher and tried to get to a point where we could get a good look at the giant Himalayan peaks the clouds would close in and we would be walking through mist and clouds and rain for the better part of the trekking day. We had yet to catch a glimpse of Everest. We sat at dinner that night talking about it and anxious to move on after our day of rest and acclimatization.

“
The next three days are going to be the most interesting we’ve had since we started.” I looked at Christian and Curtis, Chris and the two ladies. “We are in better shape now, there’s no question, although I have to be honest, my knees hurt pretty badly. I can handle the kind of discomfort I’m experiencing, it isn’t new. I just need you to understand from here on things began to get serious. Tomorrow is a pretty good day and we will stay at a nice lodge on the river. It isn’t quite as nice in terms of the infrastructure – I mean here we actually have a shower we can use… but the day after tomorrow is a day that you will remember for the rest of your lives. The day after tomorrow we make that climb from the Dudh Kosi River all the way up to Namche Bazaar.

“
I have only gone up that trail once. I have only come down that trail once. Look at me now, and believe me when I tell you I can remember every footfall, every switchback, every rock, every tree, the most amazing river valley I have ever seen, while wondering if I would actually be able to make it to the top. I mean that. I wondered at the time if I had the guts to go all the way.”

Curtis was amused. He was listening to me the way he listens when I lecture (or tell sea-stories) in class. He knows me well and is used to hearing sea stories and knew that this was a sea story. He played the willing participant and asked the expected question.

“
How did you make it up the trail?”

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I watched a fifty year old barefoot woman who weighed about 90 pounds go past me carrying a pack that weighed about 90 pounds. Yeah, she was probably carrying her own weight. And she walked right past me and right up that damn mountain. How in hell was I supposed to quit then?”

Everyone laughed. They were supposed to. Just like they were supposed to remember the story two days from now when they couldn’t catch their breath, their muscles were on fire, and their knees were trembling with exhaustion. I wanted them to remember that old woman.

“
Sensei, is this why you do what you do? Is this why you treat each of us individually and in such a way that we understand our limits because you test those limits? Remember when you decided to test Erik for third dan black belt?”

I thought back. Jesus, I’d forgotten. Erik was warming up one night in class and he seemed to be a little frisky, full of juice, so I sent him out to demonstrate some techniques from a straight punch. He threw one of the guys around until the uke started glancing my way and I knew he was getting tired. I replaced him and Erik kept throwing the next uke until that young man was tired. I replaced him and suddenly decided to make this Erik’s san-dan test. I have some standardized testing, but I am also known for impulsively testing how well one of my students can perform when the test is unexpected or unknown. Erik demonstrated techniques for one hour and forty five minutes without stopping or taking a break of any kind. When I finally stopped him I asked him to elaborate on the third principle of aikido. He started right in, without needing to catch his breath and after listening for ten or fifteen seconds I stopped him. That was it. That was the test. That was what Curtis was asking about.

“
Yes, I guess it is. When you do aikido you should do it as if you are cooking in your kitchen or working in your wood shop. You don’t slam a pan onto the stove top. You don’t speed up turning from the refrigerator and going over to the sink. You don’t strike those eggs like you are cleaving a samurai in half with a sword. You just move at the correct speed and move in the right way. You can do this kind of activity for hours and not get tired out. Right? When you are doing aikido and uke comes after you with one attack after another, if you just keep your center and never let yourself get too excited and keep moving calmly you can do it forever. Uke, on the other hand is the person who is bringing the energy and consequently must give enough away that nage has something he can get a spatula or an egg beater on… so to speak. Uke has to expend enough energy for nage to experience it and guide it. It is why you cannot be uke for an hour, but you can be nage until the cows come home.

“
This is why I keep referring to this journey as ukemi, not aikido. We are attacking the mountains every day and giving up our energy to them. We are sacrificing our power and life force to become one with them and to experience them. If we were doing aikido we would still be in Orlando waiting for something to happen.

“
Aikido is not the act of a pacifist, but it is a passive act. It does not generate or add energy to an encounter. It only dissipates the energy that is contributed by the uke. We absolutely must bring everything we have to this encounter with the high Himalaya because it is not a forgiving place. It will do everything it can to dissipate all our energies and leave us collapsed and spent on the side of a trail or a deep ravine. Does it sound like I’m being overly dramatic?”

Christian was pale, but he mustered a small smile and nodded. Curtis, cool as usual, shrugged. Celine shook her head no, and Chris said, “I just want another beer before we all die.”

Everyone laughed. Even me.

***

We left Lukla the next morning. As usual the sun was shining and the sky blue, but quickly gave way to fog and then clouds and eventually a light mist that began to thicken and once again we were denied sight of the looming mountains. We descended the valley of the Dudh Kosi River from Lukla and for 6 hours followed the trail to the town of Phakding. Our lodge was a lovely building on the river. The lodge was spacious with rooms both on the first and second floors and several dining halls. It is important to understand that when I say lovely you must understand that beds are simple board slats laid out with thin cot-like mattresses. The dining hall consists of one or two very long tables and picnic-like benches on either side. There are no soft padded seat covers, there is little soft anywhere. Still, this is one of the nicest lodges in Solo-Khumbu and I enjoyed my time there. It reminded me a Swiss chalet with the construction of heavy blocks of stone combined with timbers and plaster. Lovely and picturesque.

Since we had arrived relatively early, Curtis, Chris, and Celine once again went down to the river and found a soft place to train. Christian wandered around the village for a while, then came back to the lodge and joined the others. I took a short nap then wandered around the village waiting for Cook to present afternoon tea.

Somewhere Christian, Curtis and Chris had found lengths of bamboo; they were engaged in jo practice. This made sense to me, since the ground was extremely hard no matter how much grass or moss seem to cover it. They struck at each other over and over, deflecting the strikes with accurate blocks. They began to move in a round robin and the whirring of the sticks and the clacking noise they made attracted a large crowd. Once again Cook delivered tea during practice and I nibbled on cookies and sipped the warm beverage while watching my friends and students train. I admired their energy but I knew that because today’s journey was primarily all downhill they had energy to burn. Tomorrow would be completely different.

The next morning we continued our climb up the Dudh Kosi River Valley that took us through the town of Momzo at about 9,300 feet in altitude. It was at this point that Bim told us we must all stay together. Very shortly we would be entering the Sagarmatha National Park and we would have to present our passports and trekking permits. We would also have to purchase entrance visas to the park itself. Mr. Pasang had already taken care of arranging reservations for us in the park; still it was necessary to go through the checkpoint, possibly a search, and registration procedures.

We arrived at the checkpoint and had to wait while two groups preceding us were processed. The Italian team was boisterous and good-natured, while a group of Americans wearing what appeared to be brand new clothing without so much as a wrinkle seemed suspicious and ill humored. They had obviously arrived in Lukla the day before and without so much as a days acclimatization had marched straight away to the park. Four women with the group looked positively angry and the Nepali porters and Sherpa guide did not seem to be happy. The entire group had the look of a packaged tour that would be hustled up the mountain, shown the sights, and the purveyor would hope no one dropped dead from altitude sickness.

Two Nepali guards stood on either side of the entrance. They wore crisp green uniforms, black berets, and had the requisite khukuri knife strapped to their belts in back. They carried their machine guns at port arms and stared straight ahead. They did not move. After the American team had been processed and moved through, Bim gathered our passports, opened all the books up to the visa page, and carried them into the park office. Curtis, Christian and Chris walked between the guards to the other side of the fence. Celine followed offering one of the guards a pretty smile, but he was not moved. I picked up my gear and motioned for Esra to proceed through the gate. She sauntered forward and gave the guard her most dazzling smile. He must have been a man of stone because he did not react at all, but the Italian team all jumped to their feet and began to wave and call to her. They knew a beautiful woman when they saw one, and Esra was certainly that.