How to Take up Hiking When You’re Almost Dead

The Wild Road to  Everest Base Camp October 2018 Kathmandu is an assault to the senses. It rivals cities in India for nihilistic traffic, pollution, dust- borne pathogens, impossible crosswalks, and crowded store fronts - always with the obligatory guy sitting on the steps in front urging you to come in and buy his counterfeit stuff. In theory, traffic is supposed to keep to the left, as it does in England or Japan. In practice: any open space is fair game. Traffic is ostensibly controlled by ineffectual men in uniform that spend most of their time cowering in small wooden booths but do sometimes immerge to waive long red wands in the air until they are tired of being ignored. Almost immediately upon exiting the hotel I met the universal young man who approaches: “Hello sir. How are you? Where are you from? What are you looking for today?  “ These guys are everywhere: Istanbul, Dar es Salaam, Delhi, and Buenos Aires. I have learned how to politely decline their advance

                                            In the spring of 2012, I read Cheryl Strayed’s book Wild: a memoir of her 3-month hiking journey on the Pacific Crest Trail. Many people have hiked the PCT, but few of them have described the experience in such an intimate and compelling way. She successfully juxtaposed the challenges and obstacles of her personal life with those encountered on the long dusty trail. My first thought was to get out there before the mobs of people who learn about this story from Oprah’s Book Club to lace up their boots. There is a mountain out there waiting for all of us. To be alive is to struggle. Sooner or later everybody has to walk uphill: fight the powers that be and overcome the obstacles. In the high Sierra, you zigzag up steep switchbacks over loose gravel and talus at altitudes of 10, 12 or even 14,000 feet. The blazing, unobstructed California, summer sun will dry the throat and cloud the mind. The air is thin: containing sometimes as

Kilimanjaro 2014 The evening air in Africa is full-bodied, rich, and complex. The humidity gives it body; the rich red earth and thick vegetation give it aroma and richness; and scent of living beings gives it complexity. My first drowsy late-night memories of Tanzania are hazy. In the Dar es Salaam airport, once you have passed through customs, you walk past the barrier where there are the universal limo drivers waving their usual signs with client names on them. You are not in a glassy, high-ceilinged greeting area. You are in the open sultry air of the African night. A taxi driver wearing a clean white shirt, with, a necktie and an official looking ID badge, quickly approached me. For about $7 he took me to the Transit Hotel that was literally right across the street from the terminal. He honked his horn when we reached the gate so that the security guard could buzz us into the front yard of the Hotel. This must have been a precaution against the rough customer