Action-Man, 14 July, Deurali, Nepal

Deurali is the first village on this trek into the Himalayas. Tonight, we are gathered at our lodge around a big dining room table. Next to me the innkeeper is playing cards with a boy. There is little separation between management and customers up here. On the other side of the table, Drew is reading. The wooden table between us is huge with a heavy carpet skirt. Drew just pulled on some long brown socks, dry from last night's kerosene fire in Sinuwa. Yogya is stretched out next to Drew, flipping through a thumb-worn magazine.

It's cold in this room. The price of daal baht rises as the temperature falls in these vast altitudes. We didn't buy lunch today, because we couldn't find anybody in the last village. But I had a tin of sardines and tuna in my bag. Yogya cut open the tuna with his knife. And prudent Drew unpacked Clif bars and beef jerkey from America. We are looking forward to dinner.

Across from me is a mural entitled, "Our Local Wild Life." It shows creatures that we in Iowa and North Carolina only see in our dreams--the satyr tragopan, a red, speckled bird, and its next of kin, the Himalayan monal impeyan. A fierce snow leopard prowls in the forgeround and above is its prey--the yak-like Himalayan thar and the musk deer. The last animal is the langur, an elderly primate with a rim of frizzy white hair around its head.

I do wish there were a roaring fire and big logs and a soft hearth-rug in the corner. It's so cold and wet. My numb fingertips are white and yellow. Drew and I both have bad circulation in our hands. But I am glad to be inside as the rain picks up, as the mountain torrents rush and break against the rocks.

Here at 3200 meters above sea level, I have unanswered questions. How do these villagers get around so easily? What are their methods of trekking? How do they get water filters and crates of Fanta and heavy ceramic toilet seats all the way up here? Are the hoofs of horses agile enough for the steep rocks?

Sam