Divine Order

I check my watch and see that it’s nearly time to stop for lunch, although I can’t imagine where that will be today.  Everywhere I look I see the Tibetan mountain range hugging the winding road that our seven-vehicle caravan is on.  Other days, small clearings on the side of the road have provided ample space for the members of the expedition team to set up lunch and toilet tents.  “Green for the girls and blue for the boys” were the instructions given days ago, as well as, “Look for the white tent — that’s where lunch will be.” 

The pattern was established.  Every day, two members of the local ground crew travel about 45 minutes ahead of our caravan to find our mid-morning, lunch and mid-afternoon break areas.  The three tents are a sign for the remainder of our caravan to take a break from the formidable drive and get some nourishment. 

As we make another hairpin turn, I look to the wall of rock that is mere feet from my backseat window.  My stomach grumbles, and I’m not sure whether it’s from motion sickness or hunger.  A break is going to feel refreshing, and I’m hoping it won’t be too long from now… 

Today is day 11 of my journey around the world, and this segment is with a group of photographers on a National Geographic photography expedition.  Our tour will take us through Tibet and end with two days in Kathmandu, Nepal to photograph the Bala Chaturdashi Festival.  I’m not sure what that will be like since its purpose is to honor those who have died, but I’m curious to learn more about that Hindu tradition before I travel solo to Bhutan, India and France.

We take another turn on the switchback road, and I feel my stomach churn.  There is no doubt about it, the journey is physically challenging, but the staggering beauty of the Himalayas is well worth the effort.  Each day, the scenery gets more dramatic as we get closer to our final Tibetan destination — Mount Everest’s base camp.  Just the thought of it makes me smile.  I remember being a young girl and looking at photographs of the world’s highest peak in my school books.  Back then, an adventure like this was incomprehensible to me.  Now, I look to the rugged mountains ahead and find it hard to believe that I’m so close and actually doing it.  It feels surreal, but I know that in one more day, my dream of being there will become a reality.

I take a deep breath and feel tremendous gratitude for this journey.  Being in this Buddhist region has nourished my heart and soul.  Every day I’m greeted with panoramic landscapes umbrellaed by a pristine blue sky, the crisp autumn air and the opportunity to photograph peaceful people whose kindness has touched my heart.  Nearly a week ago while visiting the private residence of His Holiness The 14th Dalai Lama, my eyes welled with tears as I listened to the gentle chanting and rhythm of Buddhist monks while one of the elders gave me a blessing.  The tears gently spilled onto my cheeks as he placed his holy book over my head and said a prayer in the local Tibetan language.  And then as our eyes met, he graciously repeated it in English for me.  It was a lovely moment that I will always remember. 

“There are the tents,” my fellow passenger says in a tone with a hint of relief.  “And look.  There are yaks near them!” 

He immediately gets his GoPro camera ready.  The minute the vehicle is parked, he’s out the back door and running toward them with childlike exuberance. 

“Looks like fun, but I’m hungry,” I say to the National Geographic photography expert that I’m riding with today.  “I’m going to have some lunch first.” 

The sun feels warm on my face as I exit our vehicle.  Steps away from where we are parked, I start to smell the pleasant aroma of food cooking on an open flame.  A man with hot hand towels offers me one, and I wipe my face and hands.   “Thank you,” I say.  He smiles in return.

One by one the other vehicles pull in, and my fellow travelers and I get in line at the lunch buffet.  Each day the cooks prepare enough lentils, rice, vegetables, french fries and homemade soup for all of us to enjoy.  Today it looks like tomato soup from the way the red chunks are bobbing in the hot broth. 

We gather under the white tent to enjoy the delicious meal and reprieve from the chilly air.  We’re all there except for the traveler who is still off photographing yaks.  I peek out across the dry river bed, past the green and blue tents, and see him trying to get an image of himself and a yak with his selfie stick.  The scene is comical but dangerous. 

“Be careful!” I yell to him. 

He ignores me and keeps doing what he’s doing.  I shake my head and go back into the warmth of the white tent, hoping that he doesn’t get hurt.  We are deep in the mountains on the highest highway in the world, and I can’t even imagine how difficult it would be to get medical care out here. 

Amid light conversation and watching for yaks, we all enjoy our meal and compliment our crew that has taken such excellent care of us.  Not only are the tents in place each day, but the cooks also make sure that the food isn’t too heavy for our digestive systems.  We’ve been told to eat lightly and stay as hydrated as possible while we are in these high elevations.  Today we will cross the Lhakpa La Pass, which has an elevation of 17,121 feet and is the highest point of the journey thus far.  It will be a continued uphill climb to get there but worth it as the view will offer us our first photo opportunity of Mt. Everest.  I can’t wait! 

A container of small chocolate bits is passed around along with thermoses of hot tea.  I take both and move my chair to the opening of the tent, sitting in the comfort of the sun’s rays.  It feels so good to be here, isolated in nature, relaxed and breathing in the pure mountain air. 

I lose track of time and before I know it, we get the signal that we need to leave. With an eye on the yaks, I rush over to the toilet tents just as two of the crew pull the pins on the blue one and it collapses. 

“Please wait,” I say.  “I need to use the green one.” 

It’s awkward since they are standing right next to it, but I need to pee.  I step in and immediately look for the toilet paper in its usual spot. Ugh…It’s not there.

More impending awkwardness as I poke my head out of the tent. 

“Is there any more toilet paper?” 

They look surprised, knowing how attentive to detail they’ve been. 

“Is there toilet paper in the blue tent?” I ask, pointing to it and trying to ignore a nearby yak. 

One of the men digs in the blue canvas and holds up a roll. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

I zip the thin wall closed, knowing that they’ll be able to hear me peeing.  Ugh…  It’s so embarrassing given how much water I’ve been drinking.  I do my business while listening to them talking in their language.  I can’t help but wonder what they are saying.  When they start to laugh, I nervously imagine that it’s about me still peeing.  It’s a vulnerable moment for me having my pants around my knees and them standing so close with only thin fabric dividing us.  All I need now is a mishap stepping in yak droppings as I make my way to vehicle #1, and my total embarrassment will be complete.  Thank goodness that doesn’t happen. 

As I situate my gear in the backseat, I glance over to the two men who have carefully folded the canvas tents.  One of the men is carrying the blue tent over his arm, and the other is carrying the green one.  They load their vehicle and head off to locate the spot for our afternoon break.  This is their job, day after day of our expedition.  I have so much appreciation for the work that they do, but I make a note to self not to be the last one in the toilet. 

Within 20 minutes or so we are back in the rhythm of our eyebrow-raising, twisting climb over the mountain.  The photography expert is seated up front, quietly looking out of the passenger window while my fellow backseat passenger and I do the same.  We talk occasionally, but the scenery is so incredible that we enjoy taking it in while being tossed by the zig-zagging motion of our vehicle.  There are moments on journeys when I think about how amazing it is to be doing what I’m doing.  Now, so close to Mt. Everest, is one of those moments.  I can’t even imagine what it’s going to feel like being there tomorrow, photographing the panorama in the beautiful golden light of sunrise…  I suddenly spot something that my eyes and brain want to deny seeing because it doesn’t fit with my peaceful mindset.  There is a vehicle crushed underneath a huge construction truck in the ravine off of the right shoulder.  The left quarter panel and some luggage protruding from a bulging trunk are the only evidence that there is a trapped vehicle. 

“Is that one of ours?” I hear the expert ask. 

“It is,” the driver confidently replies, pulling to the shoulder and parking behind vehicle #3.

Everything starts to move very quickly as I watch our local Tibetan guide race from the front seat of his vehicle down into the ravine. 

“Let me out!  Let me out!” my fellow passenger exclaims. 

Being a physician, his instinct is to help.  He throws the door open and runs into the ravine with the photography expert not far behind.  I get out and stand on the side of the road staring down at the horrific accident scene not knowing what I can do to help.  I look to all of the mountains around us while my mind tries to absorb what’s happening.  Wait a minute…  How did vehicle #3 get ahead of us?  We normally travel in succession — #1 through #6.  Numeric stickers are displayed on the right rear window of every vehicle, keeping us in order.  The vehicle that I’m in today should have been the first one here, but it wasn’t.  I look to #3 then to the accident scene and try to see what number is on that vehicle.  I can’t see a sticker. 

My mind races thinking about some of the members of my group: the parents from California with a large blended family, the ordained minister with a friendly demeanor and the tightly knit father-daughter duo who chose to ride in separate vehicles today.  Oh My God…  I feel sick to my stomach thinking about who might be pinned under the massive truck, and I wonder whether they are still alive.  Other vehicles from our caravan are parking, and doors are rapidly opening.  I watch as a few of the drivers go down into the ravine while one stands on the shoulder gripping his hair and yelling, “NO!”  I go to him. 

“I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling helpless. 

I don’t know what to do except hug him as he cries in my arms.  He softly sobs as we stand together.  I don’t know how much time has passed until he leaves me and goes down to the accident site.  I look at our group, which has gathered on the side of the road.  A number of them are crying.  I feel a little relief when I see the father and daughter hugging.  I can only imagine the fear that was going through their minds as they approached the scene.  A man’s yelling brings my attention back to the situation below.  An argument breaks out between one of our drivers and a man that I haven’t seen before.  I assume he’s the driver of the truck.  I don’t want to see this aggression on top of everything else that I’m working to process.  I look back to our group and start counting familiar faces…  One, two, three, four…  I try to see who isn’t with us.  Five, six, seven…  Everyone seems to be here — or am I forgetting someone?  I start scanning faces again, searching.  Then it hits me.  Where are the men with the green and blue tents?  Noooo!  I look back to the crushed vehicle feeling incomprehensibly overwhelmed.  I just talked to them…about toilet paper?!  My mind is screaming that this isn’t happening.  A wave of grief and guilt washes over me.  Did I keep them from getting on the road sooner?  Was this accident avoidable?

As a spiritual person, I know the answers to my own questions.  They are difficult to accept.

My experiences have taught me that in every moment I’m either teaching or being taught.  Everything in life happens in divine order — including tragedies.  I know that we are all connected and play a role in each other’s lives.  What happens each moment is part of our destiny.

Suddenly, I feel very alone and sad. 

I stare at the wreckage. 

A life-long teaching is unfolding.  I want to reject it. 

I just wanted to go on my dream trip around the world…

I feel angry.  And selfish.

My mind flashes back to 2015 when I was scheduled to take this same trip.  After the devastating 7.8 earthquake occurred in April of that year, I knew that I couldn’t travel to Nepal and see all of the devastation and loss.  Having endured three personal losses that year, it would have been too difficult for me emotionally. This rescheduled journey, in these spiritual countries, was to be a continuance of healing from that time period.  And it was supposed to be fun.    

I shake my head.

This is hard…

My fellow traveler from vehicle #1 comes back and pulls me to him.  We stand holding each other. 

“The crew are both dead,” he whispers.  “I took the pulse of the passenger.  No pulse.  I could not get to the driver.” 

Time seems to stop with his words confirming who the victims are.  I start to cry. 

Eventually, a police vehicle arrives, and the driver of the truck is arrested.  Our crew gathers, and each driver goes back to their respective vehicle — #1 though #6.  We’re instructed that there is nothing we can do except go forward to our hotel in Xêgar.  I feel numb as we ride in silence to Lhakpa La Pass.  There, we have a small ceremony and hang prayer flags.  I stand in the cold, strong wind and work to catch my breath at the very high elevation.  I look to the thousands of Tibetan flags flapping against the blue sky.  I wonder about all of the prayers, spiritual vibrations and intentions that were released with them.  Now, two men that we knew are remembered with our prayers. I wish for their souls to have peace on the other side and for the wind to silently carry our prayers and comfort those who feel this heartbreaking loss.