In the spring of 1983, after completing two months of medical work at a Christian mission hospital in northern India, I headed to the mountains in Nepal. The train from Delhi took me to a town near the border. From there I hitched a ride in an open jeep to the Nepalese frontier. I walked across the border on foot, then caught a bus for the long ride to Kathmandu where I met up with John B., someone I barely knew. John was the partner of a close friend from the Peace Corps in South America.

Recently graduated from residency training in family medicine, John wanted to have a big adventure before he began his new life in private practice. He offered to pay for my ticket abroad and all travel expenses if I would be his “guide” since he had no prior experience traveling in third world countries nor traveling in high mountains. Although I insisted that he did not need a guide, in the end, I accepted his generous offer which allowed me to make the trip abroad.

John was a kind and friendly man, who greeted me with a big bear hug. He appeared enthusiastic about our upcoming time in the mountains. I told him that the route we would follow around Annapurna had just been opened to foreigners a few years before our trip. We looked at the maps together.

Our trip would start and end in Pokhara, a 21 day, 128 mile trip. I ended up adding another five days to the trip, after John left, by climbing up to the Annapurna Sanctuary, a glacial basin also known as Annapurna Base Camp, noted on the map as ABC.

After exploring the exotic temples and restaurants of Kathmandu over the next few days, we hopped onto a bus and rode to the picturesque mountain town of Pokhara, base camp for trekkers making the circuit of Annapurna and home of the famous Gurkha soldiers. In Pokhara we bought some supplies and a good map. Without any problem, we found a porter named Kamal who agreed to help us carry our tent, dried food, and some of the other camping gear that we brought with us; we were not certain we would find lodging each night.

The trail passes along paddy fields and into subtropical forests, several waterfalls and gigantic cliffs, and colorful villages. The spectacular mountain scenery, seen at close quarters, includes the Annapurna Massif (Annapurna I-IV), Dhaulagiri, Machapuchare, and Manaslu. Numerous peaks around 8000 meters in elevation (over 26,000 ft.) rise from the Annapurna range.

The lower part of the trek is made up of Hindu villages. My Indian friends advised me to buy a sarong to wear over my shorts for modesty while I passed through the villages.

At the teahouses where we ate dinner and spent the night, we ate endless portions of dal bhaat, the Nepalese national food staple, consisting of rice, watery lentils and potatoes or the occasional in-season curried vegetable. Sometimes we had the luxury of yak meat or chicken. For breakfast each morning we ate vegetable and potato soup, roti—an unleavened fried bread, and chai—a spicy tea sweetened with milk and sugar.

There often was no electricity and no running water. The toilets consisted of a little enclosed place outside the house where one had to squat over a hole in the ground. There was no toilet paper, just a pot of water for washing the left hand. The thought of going out into the cold in the middle of the dark night made me determined to hold my urine until morning.

Sometimes we chose to camp by the river and make our own food. I enjoyed camping with Kamal. He offered to make our meals and tell us stories well into the night. I had heard that Kamal’s people, the Gorung, are known to love music. Kamal agreed, at my insistence, to sing some Nepalese songs in the evenings. During the day, I could hear the porters singing their songs along the trail.

The Gorung people, along with three other ethnic groups from Nepal, have served valiantly in the British military since the time of Queen Victoria. This group of Nepalese soldiers, referred to as the Gurkhas by the British, are known for their bravery.  They live mostly along the higher reaches of the Annapurna area where they farm the terraced slopes. Kamal looked pleased when I called him a Gurkha.

We headed down the other side of the pass into the Muktinath area. Not far beneath the pass, we came to a fork in the trail. Our route led straight ahead. The trail to the right went into Tibet. I contemplated taking that trail, but was told that I could be arrested by the Chinese military and accused of spying. So, I kept walking straight down the mountain.

Toward the end of our 21-day, 128-mile trek, we passed through a magnificent rhododendron forest. The brilliant red flowers glowed in sharp contrast to the blue sky and the snow covered peaks.

At this point John and I parted ways. John had suffered from tendonitis and bursitis in his knees much of the trip and was in significant pain, in spite of the pain medication he took. He wanted to rest for a few days in Pokhara. I decided to go back into the mountains and spend five days exploring the Annapurna Sanctuary, a glacial basin, also known as the Annapurna base camp.

Climbing alone, I had the opportunity to talk to people from many different countries. I joined up with two Frenchmen who shared their delicious food with me. We parted ways after a few days as I headed down the mountain.

Halfway down the mountain, I saw a thin, bearded man holding a begging bowl and dressed in rags, with hair that looked uncombed for years. As I passed him on the stone path, I greeted him while looking into his wise and smiling face. I slowed my pace so I could walk beside him, then put a handful of rupees into his bowl.

In broken Hindi mixed with English, I asked “Where are you going?” He answered in a mixture of fairly good English and Hindi, “I am going to a holy place.” I continued to question him. “Have you been walking a long time?” He answered, “Five years.” He said he walked from southern India all the way to the north and then over into Nepal to pray at the sacred sites.

I asked him if he was always able to find food to eat. He said sometimes people were generous with him and other times he went days without eating and without a roof over his head. I asked him why he chose this kind of life. He told me he had been a wealthy business man and father of a big family in southern India. When the children were grown up, he said it was time for him to leave the material world behind—including his wife—and tend to his spiritual life.

At that moment, I realized I was talking to a sadhu, a Hindu holy man.

The last part of the trek took me back through the rhododendron forest. I lingered, not wanting the trip to end, but knowing I had to get back to Denver, Colorado for the last few weeks of medical school and graduation. I spent a few days in Kathmandu, then returned to Delhi where I caught a flight back to the States.

When I arrived back in the States, I felt disoriented and overwhelmed by the material life in America and the tremendous waste. The culture shock upon re-entry was a mini version of what I experienced when I returned to the States after being in South America for two years in the Peace Corps. It took me a few weeks to adjust to life back home in Denver.

I finished up my last few classes of medical school and prepared for graduation. Some friends from medical school threw a welcome-home party for me. Before the party, I went to a salon and had my long hair cut off as a symbolic gesture, a rite of passage into my new life as a doctor. I also pulled out the silk sari I bought in Delhi and wrapped it around me with the folds in just the right places, exactly how I was taught by the women at the mission hospital. Then I painted my eyes with black eyeliner, trying to imitate Indian women.

And that, my friends, is the end of the story.

Namaste, dear Readers. With palms pressed together, I bow to the god within you.