I walked out of Eastern Light Trekking feeling confused.
For the first time since I arrived in Nepal, I had a plan. An actual, concrete plan. With dates and destinations and everything. It felt odd. Didn’t feel right.
After the messy struggle that brought me here, had I finally sorted it all out?
After being wracked with a sudden onset of anxiety on the streets of Pokhara, Nepal, I’d finally managed to drag myself into one of the city’s many trekking agencies.
This agency, it turned out, was Eastern Light Trekking.
Now, it may seem strange to say this after we’ve journeyed all across the world, through foreign lands where I don’t speak the language, and ended up all alone with no plan, but: I’m actually a fairly anxious person.
Coming to Pokhara cleared my mind the way a big chunk of wasabi clears the sinuses.
I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and refocused. Everything seemed clear.
I’d hang out in Nepal until I resolved things with the Austrians. I’d return home with a job offer in hand, ready for a new adventure, or I’d return home with that particular door closed. Obviously, one of those was the preferable option.
Once I had an interview or an offer, then I could work out the exact details.
The trek from Jiri to Everest Base Camp seemed too long to contemplate in my shell-shocked state. When I considered the prospect of trekking through rural Nepal for three weeks, alone, it sounded insane, bleak, and lonely. Not to mention, the trek would take at least 21 days, and I only had a 30-day visa. I’d eaten up a few of those days already, and I still needed to outfit myself almost from scratch. I’d been in the tropics for the past five months: I had only a single piece of the I equipment needed to venture into the high mountains — my hat.
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