The Big Four; Mountains

Planning a trip or an adventure is incredibly intoxicating. I love the process of pricing flights and accommodation, always trying to get the cheapest option at the best times; I love looking at the map of the city and figuring out where to go, what to see; I love researching a city or an adventure by searching online for tips and ideas of how to make the most out my time there. The process before the actual trip is different for everyone, and it changes sporadically and continuously before it even takes full shape. But I don't love the process for the outcome. No, I've never successfully planned out an itinerary and actually pulled through with it.

Planning a trip - or anything really, even methodically and obsessively, does not always turn out the way we expect it to be. In fact, I've learned that the more I try to lay out a plan step by step, the more likely that plan is to fail. And that's totally cool. That's part of the adventure isn't it?

But when traveling, there are a couple of things that we do look for and try our hardest to make happen. One of the biggest factors in deciding our way back to West from South Korea were mountains. Which mountains could we potentially get to? Which ones could we get to see or to hike?
After deciding on the countries that we would pass through on the exit trip from Korea, we dove into researching what mountains would be accessible for us.

1. Pik Lyubvi (Love Peak) - Arsha, Buryat Republic, Russia
Elevation: 6889 ft (1242m elevation gain)

Originally, we were hoping to get to the Altai Mountains on the Russian side when we were first researching Russian mountains. The Altai region was incredibly fascinating and alluring, but also challenging to get to within our time frame. I had taken the time to reach out in forums and spoke to tour guides who assured me that there was very little chance to see the Altai Mountains in the beginning of April because of snow and road accessibility, unless we were willing to spend a hefty price for it. Which we weren't.

So we decided to leave the Altai for a future trip, and we focused on the Sayan Moutnains on the west of Lake Baikal, bordering southern Siberia and northern Mongolia.

The village of Arshan is small and known for it's mineral waters spas. The marshutka ride from the station in Irkutsk to the village was one of the most picturesque rides I have taken; the mountain range slowly coming to view, and steadily spreading dramatically as we approached the village. We were back on high mountain terrain.

The Love Peak was said to be an easy enough hike, despite the steepness of the elevation gain. Supposedly, people have been able to do in in sandals and without water. It is also said that couples who make it to the peak are destined to be together for the rest of their lives, or to break up very shortly after the accomplishment. Well, as we set off the next day for our hike, we learned that either a) All our research was horribly misjudged or b) We weren't really that competent of hikers as we thought we were. Or a bit of both. Or just damn bad luck.

After walking through the terrain of what seemed to be abandoned Soviet sanatoriums, we found what we thought to be the trail. It really was like hitting a wall and we found ourselves up one of the steepest hikes we have ever done to date; we kept pulling ourselves up by the trees and making sure that our boots were well dug into the ground with each step. Not to mention the small rocks slipping beneath us, making every step a bit unsteady. To think that people would actually be able to do this in sandals was beyond me, and it really made me feel small and weak. By the time we found the actual trail, and as it evened out, we had a clear view of our love peak. Well, we had a clear view of it being covered in heavy clouds of rain and snow. Soon after, at a distance, we heard something that resembled much an avalanche.

We stood for a couple of minutes hoping that the cloud would move away; after all, this was the first mountain in our trip, and we really wanted to summit. There was a sense of pride and stubbornness at being so damn close to it, and yet realizing that we were not prepared for a snowy hike, and that it was something that we really had limited to zero experience before. After we heard the second avalanche come down in the distance, we decided to turn back and make our way back to the ground. We must have been a little bit less than 400m short from the peak when we turned - maybe even less. On the way down we could see clear blue skies over in Mongolia, as the storm clouds behind us settled. We passed a grave with a name and a reminder to always respect the mountain.

And that was our first failed mountain of the trip.


2. Stepantsminda, Kazbegi, Georgia 
500 Elevation gain from the village to Gergetis church

Georgia will always have a very special place in my heart. The memory of my year in Georgia is one of the most treasured experiences I hold - all the people, the places, the food, and the chaos. One of my favorite and most memorable weekends from that year in Georgia is the time me and a dear friend of mine went up to Kazbegi in the fall. By then we had learned to prepare for the unexpected and even the worst in Georgia - a potentially deadly marshutka drive, or overly intrusive Georgian men, or having a woman stare at you while you are squatting in the toilet and try to make conversation. Anything could (and usually does) go in Georgia. However, for that weekend in Kazbegi - everything seemed to fall right into place.

Going back I had an expectation of what the hike would be like, what to prepare for and what to be careful of during the hike. We were hoping to hike to the Gergeti glacier, which is roughly a 8 - 11 hour hike depending on pace and weather. The day we arrived to Kazbegi was absolutely beautiful and the weather, although crisp and bordering on uncomfortably chilly, gave us the reassurance that the hike would be absolutely possible. We were well prepared, extremely excited and ready for the hike. Locals even said that if the weather kept like it had been, there should be no problem for us to make it to glacier, even with some snow on some of the higher grounds of the trail.

We woke up to Mt. Kazbegi covered in clouds, and the Gergeti church invisible among mist and fog
and snow clouds. It was almost like a cruel joke and bad weather kept waiting until our hiking days to make an appearance.

We hiked up to the church regardless. And the mountains all around were covered in fog and there was really no view to be enjoyed. The air was still incredibly crisp and there weren't that many people in the mountains. We decided to walk around the church grounds for a bit, and chatted up with the monk while we debated whether to call it a day or make an attempt for the glacier regardless.

 

As it turns out, those 10 minutes were enough for the clouds to disperse and for the mountains to come into view. Maybe we could do this hike after all ...

Spoiler alert - we didn't make it. Snow was too high, and although the clouds had dispersed out in east, they were still quite heavy in the west - where the glacier is. We got off the mountain, followed by a snowstorm that left the village of Stepantsminda without power for the remainder of the night. Still, Kazbegi turned out to be one of the most beautiful hikes of the year so far. I learned what rime snow is, and as it turns out it is one of my favorite things in the world. I caught glimpses of Mt. Kazbek behind heavy clouds, looking all majestic and sublime. I learned with all assurance that Kazbegi is one of my favorite places ever. And I can't wait to go back a third time.

Somewhere in the Borzhava Mountain Range, Carpathian Mountains, Volovets, Ukraine

The village of Volovets has been, by far, the most elusive and complicated village we have ever attempted to get to. Everything until that point had been pretty straight forward - you know the difference between feeling like "Okay, I can roll with this" and "Where the hell are we and how did we get here?". There were train transfers which we couldn't really make sure would get us to the place we wanted to get; once we got to said place, we realizes that we were still incredibly far from the actual village and there were no taxis or buses in sight. We finally got ourselves a marshutka, which didn't actually make us feel any more secured about our final destination. But luckily, we were able to call the hostel we were staying at, and through broken and desperate English and Russian and a lot of confusion, we made it! 

After talking to some of the other guests at the hostel, we learned that the trail was not a difficult one and that the peak was easily accessible - BUT - they were expecting a rainy and foggy weekend. 

So, if you're reading this then you should probably get the idea of what the theme of these hikes was.
The closer we got to the peak, the thicker the mist grew and the less we were able to see. I was the first one who suggested turning back around. We had gone off the trail earlier on in the hike, and we really didn't know how safe we'd be the higher we went. 

However, the rain and the mist actually turned this to be one of the most eerie and moody hikes we have ever had. It really felt like walking into a fairy tale setting: the fog grew so thick that it became really difficult to see past a couple of feet. The rain darkened the wood which just made the green of the grass and the trees pop even more dramatically than they would have on a clear day. 

So this turned to be the third mountain we failed to summit during our trip. It was a very strange feeling, turning back around - despite the fact that it had been a beautiful hike up; that we were in the Ukrainian Carpathians and that I was with my best friend, not peaking felt defeating. And on the way back down was when I learned to let that go - I mean, what did it matter? It's not about bagging peaks - it can't be about bagging peaks. It's about going outside, getting lost and letting go. 

Knocknadobar, Cahersiveen, Co. Kerry, Ireland
620m of Elevation 

Ireland - a country well famed for rain and bad weather. I had prepared for the worst possible outlook for our hike. We had originally planned to hike the highest mountain in Ireland, Carrauntoohill, but considering our luck and the high possibility of bad weather, we changed it to a more accessible mountain and to one that we could still hike up comfortably enough if we were to get caught in rain. So, we headed into Knocknadobar through the Pilgrim Path Walking Route.

So, something interesting about Ireland and these Pilgrim Paths; there are a total of twelve Pilgrim Paths in Ireland. Some of these have existed from even before Christianity was introduced into Ireland. So before these were known as Pilgrim Paths they were simply known as sacred mountains. These were the places were harvest festivals were celebrated; where pagans would meet and dance and celebrate around a lit fire. These are the scared mountains were magic happened. 

The trail is now marked with crosses all the way up to the top. Each cross depicts a scene from the Bible's station's of the cross scene(I am so sorry, I am not sure what the correct name for it is). As you hike up to the mountain you have a crazy view of the Atlantic to the west, and green pastures to the east and north. And the further you go up, the more you see - and the iconic Skellig Islands come into view(home of the puffins and uninhabited monasteries... OH! and where they filmed the new Star Wars movie). 

Surprisingly enough, Ireland gave us our clearest day, and our most picturesque hike. We were accompanied by graffitied sheep and nothing else. We had the sun right above us and the breeze of the Atlantic. It was unheard of - not just good weather, but glorious weather... in Ireland. It was also one of the barest mountains I had ever hiked; most other hikes have always been covered and overcrowded with trees (and I love that), so I didn't expect a bare mountain to be as beautiful and as majestic as Knocknadobar is. Everything was finally falling into place, and it seemed like our last mountain of the trip was going to make up for the rest of them. 

Until we got to the top. Where a heavy cloud of rain awaited us. 

Oh well. Still pretty darn epic. 
The whole thing was epic. Rainy, foggy, unpredictable and absolutely epic.  

Auschwitz

I find beauty and power in many things about this world. 

I find beauty and power in the mountains, in the trees. I find meaning in silent connections and interactions with strangers. I find joy in learning something new. I find challenges exciting. I find the unknown intoxicating and addicting. I find the same beauty and power in an old woman's back as in a child's laughter. I find power in being curious. I find power in being open. 

I am eternally grateful for my family, and for my friends. I can say confidently, that I know now what I deem meaningful in my life because of them. But also, and drastically so, because of the opportunity to live in the places the I have lived, and to have seen the places that I have seen. I know, without a doubt, what matters to me. I also know that some of the things that I value deeply in this world and in my life are not universal. I can't assume everyone to love the mountains (although, come on, everyone should!); I can't assume to connect with people over my Asian-culture fascination; I can't blame someone for not thinking that communicating through body language only can incredibly fun. I can't expect people to show an interest in what I love, in what matters to me - in my life.

And most people don't. Most people don't ask questions, don't really seem to be able to connect or to care really. And I really don't expect them to. I really don't.

But there has been one place, a single place, that I had the opportunity the visit, that seemed to draw everyone's attention. And family members who I hadn't spoken to in over five or six years - my father, who is having trouble with his memory - my brother, with whom I usually only talk about video games and shows and mom - my friends, ALL of them, even the ones I hadn't seen since high school - everybody cared. Everyone wanted to know. 

"Work will set you free"

While planning our stop in Krakow, my boyfriend asked me if I really wanted to go to Auschwitz. He had been once before, and warned me about how it might affect me emotionally (I am incredibly emotional). I was hesitant. I called my mom and told her that I did not see the point of putting myself through something as strong and intense as Auschwitz. I had friends telling me "Why wouldn't you while you're there? Just be sure to get the tickets before hand because I hear the sell out like crazy" FACT: Visiting Auschwitz is free. And truly, I didn't want to. I simply didn't know how I would respond, and I didn't know if my response would be appropriate, or not appropriate enough, or... I don't even know.

I friend of mine (an awesome, awesome friend of mine [thank you so much for everything, Jarek]) met us in Krakow and was kind enough to drive us to Auschwitz himself. He explained how when he was in college he was part of the Erasmus exchange program and that he was used to taking people to Auschwitz on a regular basis.

"Don't you mind it? Isn't it hard to go?"
"No, I actually really like going?"
"Really? That seems like such an odd thing to say! 'I like to go to Auschwitz'!"
"Well, I think it's important to go."

And that did it. A shift happened, and I stopped thinking about how being there would affect me, personally - because really, it isn't about me.

Passing through the main camp, we passed through people taking selfies, people having a small picnic by the gate, people literally trying to snap the perfect picture of the toilets in the shacks. It really did not feel like a place where 1.1 million Jews were murdered. I did not feel like my soul was shattering as it felt when I watched Schindler's List. There was a massive sense of detachment as we first entered the main camp, and I remember realizing how through the shock of seeing so many easy going people, I was unfeeling. I didn't feel anything, entering through the gates where the trains came through - the trains with millions and millions of Jews being transported into a dead trap. I remember just thinking 'What are these people doing?'.

It took us walking through the first set of encampments where it slowly -very, very slowly - it started to settle in. Imagine, you pass through a group of Germans on a tour, facing a site where Jews were burned - heads down, hands shaking and trying to hold back tears. You see people kneeling, hands on the ground as if trying to feel something, or trying to connect to something, or to control something. You read everything there is to read, you try to understand what you read, make sense of it. You walk through the march of the dead, where men and women and children were stripped, shaved and herded into the gas chambers. You see the pictures of men and women and children who died there. You see the rooms with the shoes, with the suitcases, with the hair. You see the book, the size of an entire room, filled with names - the names of all the prisoners, all the murdered. You hear Hitler's speeches and read along the subtitles. You see pictures that the children from the camps drew about their daily life. You see Auschwitz, and you see what hate, what pure bigotry, and what pure hate does. You see what it is capable of.

How can it not shake you?

And maybe you're shaken - hard and deep into your core, and you think about the brutality of history and the brutality of men and women. You're truly, truly shaken. But what can you do? What can anyone do? It happened. It's done. And in a couple of days, life continues and the impact and the shock become a memory.

 "Auschwitz stands as a tragic reminder of the terrible potential man has for violence and inhumanity" 

I do believe that it is important to go and to be shaken. I believe that it is important to be reminded of the wonders and the horrors of our history. I believe that it is easy to forget and to think of it as something of the past - that we've come so far.

Maybe not everyone can understand my obsession with mountains or with culture. But everyone can understand humanity. Anyone can have a completely different experience and response from a place like Auschwitz - but I believe that it is plain, for anyone to see, what Auschwitz stands for, and why it is important.