Prepare for an exciting trip soon to come your way.

It's beside the point that I received this fitting fortune cookie message in a Vietnamese restaurant. This unexpectedly spot-on message startled me into a brief silence. The truth is I was excited about my upcoming trip to Nepal, but it posed a different sort of challenge than previous travels had, particularly that it was more physical and cerebral in nature.

Travel is cerebral. Whether you're surfing, trekking, yoga-retreating or relaxing. Where you go, what you do with your limited time and the attitude you take drive the intensity of this factor. Some people set out specifically, excuse the cliche, to find themselves and discover that they were already found. Others set out to relax and are hit with an unexpected evaluation of one's own life in the process of seeking ignorant bliss.

As my fortune teller (cookie) had warned, "prepare". My impending vacation would be a test of my physical endurance, my ability to simplify -- a mental shifting of priorities. I went through the plethora of emotions from the idea to flight booking to planning to packing to destination. In a vain attempt to prepare for the Himalayas, I tried to maintain a regular running routine that incorporated hills and/or stairs. Each time I barely made it to the top of a staircase, out of breath and discouraged, I wondered how I'd fare. Or rather, I came to the realization that there was a wall, a breakdown of sorts, and it was only so far away, waiting for my surrender.

I was almost embarrassed to even admit to friends that I was trying to train (even now I still hold on to "trying to train") because I could almost always hear myself speaking in echoes, like in a bad telephone connection. Halfway through your sentence, you hear yourself saying the first bit and realize how ridiculous you sound. It's startling to hear your own voice and even more so when it sounds something like "Well, I walk to work everyday, so I should be good to climb Everest." Okay, so maybe I exaggerated for effect.

I kept my fortune cookie message in a pocket of a dress that I wear often. It was washed repeatedly and I left it there, as some sort of test, I suppose. Sure enough, each time I put the dress back on and reached into the pocket--which is why I love this dress--there it was, folded neatly, no visibly fading. I began to dislike the choice of words in the message.

Not an "important" or "life-altering" trip. And not a "journey", just a trip. I tried to glean more specificity out of this generic, any-man message and only then did I realize how fully I'd convinced myself that this trip was for me without thinking too much about it.

Then I realized that "exciting", as much as I dislike that word, was precisely the right word in this case. "Exciting" is a descriptor that lacks confidence. If it were a colour, it would be gray or brown--shades produced from combining various primary, more specific, colours. That was how I felt about this quickly approaching trip.

I resolved to let the various emotions combine into what could only be described as daunting excitement.

Have legs, will run for advice

Having just booked a ticket to Kathmandu, I felt the need to start a regular training regime, particularly one that includes stairs or steep inclines of some sort. As I run/walk/go in the general upwards direction, I think about how I've always perceived this place like I have Transylvania. Just saying the name of this exotic city aloud elicits thoughts of lingering and unexpected fog. It feels good to say it, so I do so on a regular basis. It imposes itself on otherwise humdrum conversation like an Irish accent and begs to be heard.

I'm going to come back to Kathmandu later. After all, I still have two-and-a-half months to contemplate it.

It's the training regime I want to talk about. I hate to use the word 'regime' to describe what has been a half-hearted attempt at best. Typically, I like to run down the promenade, down Victoria Park Hill and up the stairs from Victoria golf course a few times and run/walk home from there. I know this isn't much, but it incorporates a little of everything in a manageable time frame.

First off, stop laughing. Indeed, Edmonton has it's very own promenade perched on the lip of the river valley peering over Victoria Park Road. It stretches from 116th to 121st Street. I'm shocked at the number of Edmontonians who eye me suspiciously when I call this stretch of avenue a promenade. Honestly though, if you were over 75, you would know this place. It's the avenue of the old and wise.

The first time I ventured out to try my route, an 87-year-old woman (name unknown) waited as I ascended my final go of the stairs. "My daughter does that six times a day, you know." She also noted that if I continue to do this (six times a day?!), I would look as good as her at 87. She looked pretty able for her age! Noted.

The next time, I met Freddy. Where to begin with Freddy? He lives on the promenade and if you make eye contact, you may as well discount a good half hour from your day. Having said that, he will make it well worth your time. Freddie is 84 and here's his life secret: "No alcohol but the finest cognac." Oh yes, and only share it with your real friends (because it's expensive). How do you know real friends from your fake friends? "Look them in the eye and you'll know their character."

This man is straight out of a Dostoevsky novel. In the span of 30 minutes (him talking; me listening), I saw the lighthearted Freddy ("How old was that other lady you were talking to here? Does she live around here?" - referring to the 87-year-old lady from my last jaunt), the humorous Freddy ("you're young, but not that young."), the thoughtful Freddy ("this modern architecture [referring to a new condo on the promenade] it's built like a prison! Why would I pay $1 million to live in a prison!") and the dark Freddy ("I survived for 70 days on leaves during the war.")

After a half hour, I had to tell Freddy to save some stories for next time we run into one another and I cut my stair climbing short to make my escape. It's rare that you meet people so sure of themselves and of life. Over the weekend, I found myself wondering what Freddy or the nameless 87-year-old woman would think about _________. I wonder if I'll be more inclined to talk to strangers when I'm old?

Tonight...six flights of stairs, the finest cognac and hopefully another gem to add to the agenda.