Tag Archives: Everest Base Camp

May 13, 2013: Active Day 8, Deboche to Dingboche

tengbochetodingboche


Path from Rivendell along the Imja Khola River Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Path from Rivendell along the Imja Khola River
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

We said goodbye to Rivendell and continued on a beautiful prayer stone lined walk along the Imja Khola River. It wasn’t long before we came to a typical Asian style public composting toilet, which a few of us had to use already due to altitude and morning tea. We walked up stone steps to a wooden structure with a thin fabric curtain, probably an old sheet, for a doorway. Inside, the wood floor had a square hole in the bottom and a pile of pine needles for compost. Once in view of the deposits at the bottom of the hole, it became a real test of faith in the wooden floorboards to go ahead and use the toilet rather than flee the structure to find a tree. The great outdoors can be kinder on men in situations like these.

The forest. I like the artistic affect of this one. Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

The forest. I like the artistic effect of this picture.
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

The walk down to the river reminded me of Northern California with its evergreen trees and ferns. We crossed a suspension bridge and headed back up hill. Soon we were above the tree line. By this point, we had picked up our first pet of the day. One of the world’s cutest dogs decided to accompany us on the trail and Dovile named him Fernando.

 

Fernando and Fernandbro

Fernando and Fernandbro

Fernando followed us to our first tea stop, where we were joined by his doppelganger, whom Kevin dubbed Fernandbro. We enjoyed hot lemon and watched some builders working on a roof. I doubted there was much in the way of building codes and inspections, yet they were obviously building this structure to last. On the way down we passed stone cutters working on the same project, patiently chipping their stone building blocks by hand.

Fernando. Or is it Fernandbro? Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

Fernando. Or is it Fernandbro?
Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

“Did you know Chuck Norris is the only man who can build a house from the roof down?” said K-Fed, master of all Chuck Norris facts.

My favorite was; “When Chuck Norris goes swimming, he doesn’t get wet, the water gets Chuck Norrissed!”

At lunch we were treated to our first hot mango. Wow, where had that been all my life? I loved the hot lemon already, and the hot mango was just as good if not better.

We continued climbing and paused in front of a shop. DK disappeared inside and came out with some yak cheese to pass around. This was our first opportunity to taste it on its own, versus cooked in with lunch or dinner. The taste reminded me of parmesan, the texture of cheddar. Either way, it was delicious. I didn’t say no to seconds.

It was about this point that Fernando and Fernandbro were bullied back down the hill by another dog looking after his territory. Should we interfere and come to their rescue? We considered it, and decided to let the dogs settle it on their own and continued on, sans pets.

Baby Yak

Baby Yak

The landscape was getting very barren and rocky. We passed a few baby yaks with their protective mothers. On a water break as I was adding more ginger and ginkgo tincture to my canteen, Ele told me more about her dad the naturopath. He sounded like a really cool guy, which explained why she was a really cool chick. The conversation inspired me to continue my studies on the subject and work towards a certification, regardless of what I end up doing with it.

The porters returned from Dingboche to take some of our day packs. None of us really needed help at this point, and were hesitant to burden the boys further. DK explained that they would be offended if we didn’t let them carry. He told a story later about a man in Kathmandu who was deeply offended when someone suggested they deliver a new refrigerator with a truck. “That’s my job.” he insisted before he strapped it on his back and hauled it away. Well then, what the heck? I handed mine over.

Dingboche Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Dingboche
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

We climbed up the rocky hillside along the river towards Dingboche. The elevation on the trail was around 14,000 ft. / 4,270 m, yet the sun was out and we were moving so I was perfectly content to wear a t-shirt. We were getting high enough now that DK was starting his more permanent transition in guiding style from friend to parent. He touched my exposed arm to make sure I wasn’t lying about not being cold and commented that I run pretty hot for a California girl.

“Do I?” I reflected. I knew I ran hot, but really had few people to compare myself to. He’d probably hiked with more California girls than I had. True to Kiwi form, DK and Ele almost always wore shorts. I would keep reminding them that I just dressed in reverse. My black waterproof, windproof pants were what helped keep my top half warm.

Valley View Lodge Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Valley View Lodge
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

We arrived at our home for the next two nights, the Valley View Lodge in Dingboche (14,800 ft. / 4,530 m). From tonight on we’d be sleeping higher than Mt. Whitney (14,505 ft. / 4,421 m).

DK and Sudip set up their own water filter and began topping everyone off. We would take double precaution to keep everyone healthy with the filtered water (filter-ko paani), boiled water (umaleko paani) and the tablets the next few days.

We checked into our rooms and then hung out in the common room. DK knew the drill. He made a beeline for a corner seat and made himself a cozy little nest with one of the big heavy tea house blankets, a pair of the handmade knit socks we saw for sale everywhere down below, and a book.  I was a bit envious of the socks and made a mental note to pick some up later. Sudip had a pair of downy slippers I wouldn’t have minded having either. Once the sun went down, it was actually a bit chilly at this place. I might have even partially zipped my expedition weight sleeping bag that night. I debuted my fluffy pink winter hat, and would seldom take it off the next few days, if not to keep warm, then to cover my greasy hair.

To change up the card game routine, a few of us played Hearts before dinner. Afterwards we just read.

I have the universe all to myself. The universe has me all to itself,” Mattheissen (279). It was a pleasant thought.

May 12, 2013: Active Day 7, Sunshine, Reggae, Chocolate and Cricket

Snow through our bedroom window.

Snow through our bedroom window.

The next morning we woke up to… snow!! The view from our window was epic already with Everest and Ama Dablam in the background. The fresh powder made Rivendell that much more enchanting. I had never heard of a snow thunderstorm and was really surprised to see the dusting of white.

Dovile and I chatted about dreams as we got ready to go upstairs for breakfast. Altitude for some reason makes a lot of people have angry or violent dreams. I’d love to hear a theory on what causes this. I wondered if it was old stuff wanting to be released that had an easier time bubbling up to the surface in the thin air. Her dreams sounded pretty intense. My dreams were ordinary if I remembered them at all. My experience in Nepal was more of a waking dream, and a really delicious one at that.

That morning was the first time I remember becoming conscious of what we would come to refer to as “the breakfast song.” It was probably playing in the background the whole trip, but now that it had a nickname, it became an obvious morning tradition. More Om mani padme hum, only set to music:

http://youtu.be/bbgHZWwyhcQ?t=1m30s

Since we were lucky enough to have two nights in Rivendell, the day’s only planned activity was another acclimatization hike. The sun was out, and the sky was perfectly clear. No one was in any particular hurry to get going and a pickup game with the rubber ball ensued.

We climbed back up the stone path towards the monastery. DK picked a wildflower and stuck it behind his ear.

(Scarlet Begonias was stuck in my head after that for hours. ♫ The one scarlet with the flowers in his hair, he’s got the police comin’ after me. ♫ Is it in yours now too? Good. You’re welcome.)

Mike did an excellent impression of Bradley Nowell’s What I Got.

(I don’t remember now exactly what day this conversation took place, it just fits here.)

“See? You have rhythm!” I teased him.

“Only because I’ve heard it a thousand times.”

“Hey, whatever it takes. Maybe in Lukla we’ll hypnotize you and get you up on stage in a pair of moon boots like Napoleon Dynamite.”

He laughed that fantastic laugh.

Kevin and Ele took pictures of a particularly yakkish yak at the top. We climbed up above the monastery until it got too steep to safely traverse the snow and posed for pictures.

A fine specimen. Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

A fine specimen.
Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

View of Ama Dablam from Rivendell.

View of Ama Dablam (22,493 ft., 6,856 m) from Rivendell.

The way we came.

The way we came.

Rock on K-Fed on Rock

Rock on K-Fed on Rock

Helicopter tour. Do you reckon they had a decent view up there?

Helicopter tour. Do you reckon they had a decent view up there?

Prayer flags and rhododendron.

Prayer flags and rhododendron.

Sudip and Tengboche Gompa

Sudip and Tengboche Gompa

Tengboche Gompa

Tengboche Gompa

IMG_3324 IMG_3325

Back at Rivendell, the snow melted into sunshine, reggae and chocolate. It was a perfect day. DK had music playing on his phone and passed around some chocolate. He and Dovile laid out in the sun. Sudip even treated him to a massage.

“Take a photo and send it back to Active!” he said.

Ele took a picture and captioned it out loud: “This is how hard DK works!”

I enjoyed the view of Everest in my long-sleeved shirt, trying to protect my barbecued forearms (one of the hazards of using hiking poles) from any further damage and did some more journaling.

Life is good. What would it take for every day to be as good as this or better?” I wrote.

The boys started up a game of cricket. Eventually most of our crew joined in, and I took some videos of the scene.





Raamro means “good”


I especially remember DK on the cricket field. Longish hair, bare feet… a Kiwi native playing with the Nepali boys and American tourists and completely at home among both, radiating a sort of contentment that I could only imagine comes from fully living a life of your own creation. There was nothing about him that felt fake and I found that so refreshing. At that point, it was harder for me to see some of the others on the tour in this way, when conversation consisted of little more than casual street talk, career ambitions or movie quotes. Where was the real person? Who am I more like? I felt in limbo on either side of the spectrum. I no longer fit in with the mainstream, but have yet to fully realize what I’m here for. It was a lonely place. What would it take to fully step in to my most authentic self? At least now I had an idea of what it might look like.

This is closer to my idea of a freedom, the possibility and prospect of “free life,” traveling light, without clinging or despising, in calm acceptance of everything that comes; free because without defenses, free not in an adolescent way, with no restraints, but in the sense of the Tibetan Buddhist’s “crazy wisdom,” of Camus’s “leap into the absurd” that occurs within a life of limitations. The absurdity of life may well end before one understands it does not relieve one of the duty (to that self which is inseparable from others) to live it through as bravely and generously as possible.

Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

After lunch everyone but Amanda and I left the common room to do fun things like wash socks or take a shower. She worked on her journal and I made it my ambition to simply stare out the window, take in the epic view, and drink tea until the pot was finished. When was the last time I allowed myself to just sit and do nothing?

In my meditation I kept coming back to two ideas. The first was that all paths lead nowhere; all that matters is whether or not the one we choose to take has heart. The second was that when we dig deep enough, we’ll find that every world view is wrong. Good news, because it sets us free to consider them all and choose what works for us in the moment. With these two ideas in mind, what path would I choose when I returned? I like to think that our souls are here to enjoy life. Yet I still felt tied to my old way of being. What would it take to release those ties by the time this trip was done?

Outside ravens soared on the breeze. Local boys played ball and frisbee outside while the girls looked on, giggling. Tattered prayer flags fluttered in the wind. Amanda finished her journal and went downstairs. I poured another cup.

Huge mountain houseflies bumped against the glass and crawled along the windowsill looking for an escape. I watched our tea house hostess catch them in her hands and open a window to let them outside. I couldn’t have asked for a better example of eastern kindness and compassion. What would I have done? Thoughtlessly grab a fly swatter, probably. Not anymore though. We can learn much from the rest of the world if we pause long enough to take it in.

Some ideas for the future entered my mind. I wrote them down, resolved to take action when I got home, and poured my last glass. For now it was still chill time. There was no one left upstairs but me and Sudip. How long had he been there? How long had I been there? I retreated to enjoy my last hot shower for the next four days, which for some reason was not as scalding as the day before. I did this more for something to do, than because I felt I needed one. Strange as it may sound, the natural smell of hikers and pack animals were becoming a familiar comfort.

May 11, 2013: Active Day 6, Tengboche and Rivendell

namchetotengboche


The trail to Tengboche.

The trail to Tengboche.

To get to Tengboche, we walked up the village in the same direction as our acclimatization hike the day before. Just before leaving, DK and Bibak stopped to buy a rubber bouncing ball for the boys to play with at our next home. My face lit up at this. Besides appreciating the considerate gesture, I also couldn’t wait to watch the game.

We continued on the trail across the mountainside. It was a beautiful walk, and Everest got closer with every step. Most of the walk is best communicated in pictures:

Just a few of the stairs out of Namche

Just a few of the stairs out of Namche.

Flyby

Crazy Italian pilot shaving the mountainside. We’d see helicopters all day every day, rarely so up close and personal.
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Everest gets closer.

Everest gets closer. This stupa was in honor of the 50th anniversary in 2003 of the first summit in 1953. We were there a couple of weeks before the 60th.

View from whence we came. See the little Hillary Bridge waaay down there!

View from whence we came. See the little Hillary Bridge waaay down there!

The first little rhododendron.

The first little rhododendron.

Everest max zoom.

Everest max zoom.

Rhododendron

Rhododendron

All the pretty sheet metal roofs in the villages were NOT carried by helicopter.

All the pretty sheet metal roofs in the villages were NOT brought in by helicopter.

DK showing us what was in store.

DK showing us what was in store.

We'd hike all the way down to that river, than all the way back up the switchbacks. Zip line anyone?

We’d hike all the way down to that river, than all the way back up the switchbacks on the other side. Zip line anyone?

Before hiking down to the river to stop for lunch, we took a tea break up on the mountain. We passed around some sunscreen. It was already too late for me, my forearms and ears were cooked. I suspected the sunscreen I brought had expired because it did nothing. We tried out each others’ sunglasses to get different perspectives on Everest. The hostess brought us treats to share. As is true with any trail I’d ever been on, people seemed to become more their true selves (kind, generous, personable… all the good qualities) the higher we went.

Dovile tossed some spilled almonds at one of the ravens who had been hanging out. The bird seemed to understand the game and tried to catch them. Eventually it caught one and we all cheered. As we packed up to leave, DK suggested we top off our canteens with the remaining tea. I was rather addicted to the hot lemon by this point and was happy to find that it made my treated water taste much better.

It was time to head down to our lunch spot on the river (10,663 ft. / 3,250 m) before heading back up to Tengboche (12,664 ft. / 3,860 m) I only ate a little because I knew we had a climb ahead of us, and wished I could have had more because it was delicious. It was the right decision, I stayed pretty light on my feet and enjoyed dinner that much more.

"Mero naam Dan"

“Mero naam Dan”

This tea house also had a little one, a boy this time, who wanted to hang with us. DK tried to talk to him, and shared some of his chips/crisps. He promised to leave one of the toys on the way back down.

 

Bridge across the river to Tengboche. All the pink on the opposing hillside are the rhododendrons in full bloom. Nepal has over 30 species.

Bridge across the Dudh Khosi River to Tengboche. All the pink on the opposing hillside are the rhododendrons in full bloom. Nepal has over 30 species.

Rhododendron

Rhododendron

Some locals.

Some locals.

We foreigners took our time plodding up the switchbacks on the other side. Sudip on the other hand, preferred a different method. He’d take what we came to refer to as the Sherpa trails, which basically just shortcut the switchbacks and went straight up the mountain. He’d be behind the group one minute and then waiting for us up above the next, not the least bit out of breath, and laughed when we teased him for being a show-off.

I brought lavender organic hand sanitizer with me and decided it was time to continue the lavender theme and put some lavender essential oil on my toasted forearms for the sunburn. The smell was very strong. The group didn’t mind, and maybe even preferred the overpowering flower scent to what I smelled like before. It didn’t stop my poor arms from peeling like a snake later, but did keep the burn from becoming painful or blistering.

By the time we reached Tengboche, some clouds were building and it was getting windy. Our first priority was of course, more tea. Once we were nice and hydrated, we dutifully obeyed DK and Sudip when they took on the parent role and told us to put on our coats before heading up to Tengboche Gompa for the afternoon puja.

At the entrance to the monastery was a stone said to bear the footprint of Lama Sangwa Dorje. I thought of The Source Field Investigations which goes into detail on similar stories and the science behind how it might actually have happened. It was interesting to see one in person.

We walked up some stairs, through a courtyard, and then up into the building itself. Before entering, we were asked to take off our shoes, and to turn off any phones and cameras. Filming the puja was not permitted, though we would be able to take pictures of the inside once all the monks had left.

We filed into the right side of the building with a crowd of other tourists and sat knees together, as there was no room to sit cross-legged, on some nice soft rugs on the floor. The interior was an explosion of texture and color. Everything was painted in symbolic detail, there were statues, tapestries, and all manner of religious artifacts not the least of which being a giant Buddha in the front of the room. Outside the windows we could see snow-capped mountain peaks.

The monks walked in the room wearing an eclectic mix of traditional red robes, modern puffy coats (also red), and trail runners. They sat on benches in the center of the room, opened their prayer books, and began to chant. I alternated closing my eyes and breathing to the rhythm of the chant or keeping them open to take in the sound with the color. The effect was peaceful, calming, and a little hypnotic. When it was over the monks walked out and we got up to take pictures. None of mine do it any justice, so I’m electing to leave them out. You can use your imagination. Or Google.

The wind was cold outside the building. DK had loaned his coat to Stacy and ran back down to the tea house where we left out packs. I ran with him. Wait a minute…. did I just run purely for the sake of running at 12,600 feet? Granted it was down hill, but running is not something I typically consider fun. When we got to the tea house I was panting, yet felt exhilarated, recharged and full of energy even after hiking all day. Maybe there was some magic in the chanting we heard after all.

The itinerary said we’d be staying in Tengboche. Our trip leaders decided instead to upgrade. While the views in the tea house up by the monastery were off the charts, the odds of getting food poisoning while we were there were not in our favor. So we headed down the hill on the other side a short distance to Deboche. DK seemed excited to try out the new place, and the threat of illness was more than enough to encourage us to follow along.

Trail to Rivendell

Trail to Rivendell

The trail down was especially picturesque as it tunneled through the rhododendrons in full bloom. Eventually on our left was our destination, a beautiful building just above the Imja Khola River called Rivendell. Like the The Lord of the Rings, I thought as we walked down to the entrance. We dropped our packs and headed up to the common room to order dinner. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper tacked on the wall explaining that the place was indeed named to honor the elves. Perfect. Why would we want to stay anywhere else?

IMG_3295A shower in Rivendell cost 500 rupees. To me this was money well spent and I signed up right away. The woman in charge walked me downstairs and showed me how to work it. It was a big wooden room with green plastic carpet, a mildewy shelf that I used to keep my soap and clothes off the floor, and a tank-less water heater that must have somehow been powered by kerosene. She showed me where to turn the lever on the water heater to get hot water and then left me to it. At first it was luxurious. Our showers before may or may not have had pressure or heat, and this one had both. Soon warm turned to scalding, and no matter what I tried with the lever, the temperature was the same. Well, I’d take too hot over too cold any day, and it was nice to scrub a layer off.

We played cards again that night and my luck or skill didn’t improve. As Dovile and I were out early, we went downstairs to sit on the picnic benches outside in the courtyard and look at the stars.

After a while I noticed DK and Sudip were outside with us. DK was holding his phone up at the sky and squinting at it like it was supposed to be doing something.

Ooo! What does he have?” I wondered, totally intrigued. I love astronomy and I love apps and was curious to see if I was missing out on something.

I was. When I scooted over and asked what he was doing, he showed me the app he was playing with called Google Sky Map. (I resolved to download it when I got the chance, only to discover it’s only for Android phones. Bummer. I settled for Star Walk which seems to do most of the same.) As part of his demonstration he asked me when I was born and then asked if I knew what time. Ha, easy, this amateur Vedic astrologer knew precisely what time she was born. It’s the awkward question I ask people all the time. We couldn’t do the full demo without internet as I couldn’t come up with the latitude and longitude of Ridgecrest off the top of my head. The idea was that it would show a map of the sky at the time and place I was born. Perfect. This was going to add so much credibility to my astrology hobby, and I was really excited about it.

We gave up on technology and moved to his paper star map. DK guides in Australia when the climbing season in Nepal is done. He told me of the Southern Hemisphere constellations and accompanying Aborigine tales. I had visited Australia before and had a fun time, yet all it really did for me in the long run was make me want to go to New Zealand. Learning about Aboriginal culture might make a return trip to Oz worthwhile, though I still doubt I’d be able to resist the urge to just continue on to the South Island.

The stars we were trying to find on the map were quickly disappearing in the night sky. More clouds. DK headed in for the night and I followed.

As the night progressed, the clouds became thunder. Mountain thunderstorms are one of my favorite things in the world and I was struck again at how lucky we were to be there. In my experience it takes about a week to leave the cares of the world behind and really start to enjoy a holiday. True to form, by the end of day six I was starting to remember my true self. The self who loves music, astronomy/astrology, psychology, education and alternative healing. What would it take for my life to reflect these themes? I fell asleep, lulled by the rumbling in the distance.

May 10, 2013: Active Day 5, Namche Bazar

The next morning we met for breakfast in the common room. A few of the other gals in our group said they weren’t feeling particularly well, and Sara had been hit especially hard. When they brought the food out we watched in distress as all the color drained from her face. DK and Sudip took good care of her, and she opted out of our acclimatization day in favor of more rest.

They checked in on the rest of us.

“How are you all feeling?”

“I’m good,” I said. “Other than getting up to pee ten times like a little old lady!”

Sudip laughed, even though this was expected for two reasons. First, we were drinking a ton of water! Second, our bodies seemed less able to just hold it like they would be at lower elevations. The higher we went, the more intense this effect would be. When my body wanted to answer the call of nature, it wanted to do so right away.

Mt. Cook, New Zealand. 12,316 ft. / 3,754 m.

Mt. Cook, New Zealand. 12,316 ft. / 3,754 m

For our acclimatization hike we’d go above the village, which was built up the side of a mountain, and reach an altitude higher than the summit of Aoraki / Mount Cook. Admittedly, our day’s “summit” would be a bit easier to reach.

Before we left we gathered in the courtyard in front of The Nest for some stretches. Mike and I tried to remember the yoga routine from P90X. The sun salutations, up and down dog and a few warrior poses would become a pre-hike morning tradition. Mike and I tended to be “Johnny stiff” while Dovile and Ele would put us to shame with their excellent flexibility.

On the way up, we met our pet for the day, a cute black puppy with white socks on his front paws. Doville immediately christened him Eddie Socks Sherpa.

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Pointing at Everest
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Just above the village, we enjoyed our first views of Everest, which was about 10 miles / 16 km away. DK said we were lucky to see her, because “she’s usually pretty shy.” Meaning, there was usually cloud cover.  We took a ton of pictures, including many failed attempts of the group jumping mid-air.

Further up the hill we encountered a sketchy runway that made Lukla look like LAX. The opposite grassy hillside was too appealing to pass up, so we plopped down for a quick water and sunshine break.

The best of our failed attempts.


The best of our failed attempts at “Yay, Everest!”
Photo credit: Amanda Tutton

The runway above Namche


The runway above Namche.
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Working hard at acclimatizing.

Working hard at acclimatizing.

Morning calisthenics at the local school. Imagine going to school with that view every day!

Morning calisthenics at the local school. Imagine going to school with that view every day!

Namche from above. Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Namche from above.
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

As we walked back down to the village, DK, Stacy and I found that we shared many of the same views on career choice, materialism, and life in general. I’d read somewhere that our generation generally favors life experience over material things. The fact that we were even on this trip was evidence enough of that, though I admit we were more on the extreme end of the spectrum.

Stacy said she had encountered criticism from people along the lines of “when are you going to sell your soul, get a real job, and make your life about accumulating stuff like the rest of us?” Um, never. All of us had encountered similar pressure at some point. I wasn’t used to being in such effortless agreement with people on these topics and it felt good to relate to them in this way. DK mentioned an article he carried with him on the subject and offered to let us read it later.

Namche Bazar marketplace.

Namche Bazar marketplace.
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Back in Namche we walked through their marketplace and had our first encounter with some real-life yaks.

Yakety yak! Yakety yak!” sang Kevin.

“Only a matter of time,” I smirked.

“Yep,” said DK

One of the first yaks.

One of the first yaks.
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

After lunch at The Nest, we went back into town, browsed the market, and then settled in to the Liquid Bar for an Everest-themed movie, a drink, and some WiFi access.

I ordered a Bloody Mary, the fact that it would have alcohol in it didn’t even cross my mind until I sat down to write this a month later. Whoops, guess I violated my own “no alcohol on the way up” rule and lived to tell about it. We handed the server our phones so he could enter the “secret” access code to the internet.

The day’s movie was an IMAX film called Everest, about a successful summit attempt at the same time as the Into Thin Air tragedy.

As it started, I began sifting through the hundreds of emails in my inbox and came across an message from PayPal telling me to confirm my account due to “unusual activity”. Uh oh.  I kept scrolling down. I found a receipt from PayPal saying I had sent $408.75 to some random person for a camera to be shipped to some other random person. WTF? Someone had obviously hacked my account, and unfortunately, it was linked directly to my checking rather than a credit card at the time. My blood ran cold. I checked for any other transactions, and it appeared PayPal had frozen my account in time. Too bad they didn’t reject that first one.

The transaction occurred just days after I left the country. My intuition immediately said someone at the bank or credit card company, the only institutions besides my work who knew my dates of departure and return, must have had access to my email and password and decided to give it a shot. At the time I used the same password for both. Dear readers, please keep PayPal in mind when making travel plans. It was an account I tended to forget I even had until this happened.

Meanwhile, on screen, we heard one of the last radio conversations with Rob Hall. It was bad enough reading about it, and my heart bled as we heard his actual voice through the speakers.

Bleh. I chugged the Bloody Mary that had been sitting untouched. Maybe using WiFi was a bad idea. I wasn’t about to send any personal details to PayPal on public WiFi to “confirm my account” and start a dispute for the fraudulent charge. That would have to wait until I got home, better I had remained blissfully unaware of it until then. We walked back down for dinner in a somewhat more somber mood than when we started.

After dinner most of the other gals still weren’t feeling 100% and turned in early. I ended up playing cards with the boys. At first I just watched. DK was on a roll, and won over Sudip. He pretended to fold up the score card as a treasure to keep forever. They offered to let me play the next game and said I needed a card name.

“What’s your nickname?” asked DK

“Uhhh, I don’t really have any,” I said. The wheels don’t turn all that fast up there, and I had forgotten about some of my old band nicknames like Love Shack.

“Okay, you’re T-Pain,” he said.

Perfect. It’s in. Mike became Magic Mike and Kevin became K-Fed.

I’m on a mountain, I’m on a mountain
Everybody look at me
‘Cause I’m trekking on a mountain
I’m on a mountain, I’m on a mountain
Take a good hard look
At the mother——- mountain
I’m on a mountain, mother—–, take a look at me…

Somebody please help me out with the name and spelling of this game! Dun bohl? Something like that. It was easy to pick up, yet funny and competitive enough to keep us interested, so would be a mainstay at the tea houses as we continued. As with any card game, there are variations to the rules, the following is how we played.

The minimum number of players required is 2 and maximum is 5 with one deck. More people can play, and then two decks are required. The goal is to reduce the total count in your hand to 5 or less, unless you’re playing with two decks, then it’s 7 or less. Ace is worth 1, two is worth 2, and so on up to the king which is worth 13.

To begin, the dealer deals 5 cards to each player counter-clockwise. The person on the dealer’s left goes first and the game continues in a counter-clockwise rotation. Players must first discard a card or a sequence of cards (pair, triple, quad, or straight flush of 3 or more), then pick one up from the deck or from the top of the discard pile. Skipping turns is not allowed, you must discard and pick up or else show your hand if you have less than 5 or 7.

When someone gets under 5, they must wait until their turn and then show their hand by placing the cards face up on the table. Once this happens, everyone else must show also. If someone has a lower score, the first person to show has to double their hand count. The person with the lowest score gets a 0 for that round. Everyone else counts up the cards they have left and the round is recorded on a scorecard. The game goes to 100 points. Once you pass 100, you’re out. The last person standing wins.

That night Mike was the newbie who hung in longest. Kevin and I lost spectacularly. If the goal was to get to 100 as soon as possible, we’d be rock stars. I suspect that Sudip, aka Sudafed, won that game.

Now, typically I’m a person who prides herself at being able to sleep through anything. Except maybe planes. I like sleeping and tend to think I’m good at it. Tonight that aptitude was put to a new test.

It was still too hot to sleep in an expedition rated sleeping bag. As I unzipped it to turn it into a blanket, the sound of loud violent retching began echoing through the room. I knew the dude couldn’t possibly be in our bathroom, yet it sure sounded like he was.

The sound kept going.

…and going…

Wow, this poor fellow is really suffering.

…and going…

The amplifier.

The amplifier.

Literally, I believe this person was sick all night long. We might have heard a boot come out of him. I didn’t know illness like that was possible. I’m terrified of vomit and will go to great lengths to keep it from happening to me. In my limited experience, the body empties itself out at some point and the suffering subsides, at least for a while. Not in this poor guy’s case. He made no effort to be quiet about it either, maybe he reckoned if he wasn’t sleeping, no one else ought to be able to either.

The next day I went into the bathroom, curious about what would make the sound so loud. It turned out there was a random vent in the ceiling. Whatever its intended purpose was, it had the added effect of amplifier for bathroom sounds. Dovile and I weren’t the only ones who heard it either, it was a subject of conversation amongst the rest of the group the next day. Yeah, I know, not the most pleasant of conversation topics, but life gets more real up here the higher you go, no use denying it.

May 9, 2013: Active Day 4, Phakding to Namche

PhakdingtoNamche2I was up with dawn and the sweetly singing mountain birdies, a pleasant change from barking and crowing. Everyone else was still asleep so rather than stir too long and wake people up, I crept downstairs to read. The beauty and surreality of where I was made it hard to focus. I started to wonder what I was doing reading a book about someone else’s experience in the Himalayas when my own real-life experience was all around me. So I just sat there and soaked it all in.

We met in the common room for breakfast. The night before I decided to keep with the Nepali theme and ordered Tibetan bread and honey, and was very happy with the decision. Other typical breakfast choices were omelets, porridge, toast, and pancakes.

At the airport in Kathmandu the day before, I had my hiking poles attached to my day pack, then thought better of trying to get them on the flight as a carry-on. The porter bags were all piled on a cart, so I stashed my poles in the bag at the top for the sake of convenience. They ended up being my only piece of luggage that made it to the mountains the day before.

When we gathered to leave, someone pointed out the rubber snow basket from a hiking pole was sitting on the bench where my pack had been a moment before. I looked down and sure enough, both of the snow baskets from my poles were missing. The group headed down the stone stairs from the courtyard by our lodge toward the village, and I quickly backtracked to the building where we slept to check for the other one. We were separated maybe a minute.

When I didn’t find it, I hurried down the stairs to catch up. On reaching the bottom, I saw nothing but empty village. Uh oh. I checked back the way we came (right) to see if they picked up the trail again that way. There were some other foreigners outside having breakfast at a different place, and I asked them if they saw a group go by. They said no, and then felt sorry for me and started asking where I was trying to go. I just told them thanks and took off in the other direction (right, then right). Here I found some locals who actually didn’t speak English (most did in our “tourist tunnel”). Okay, that’s enough of this nonsense. Back up to the common room I went to get directions. They told me when I went back downstairs to go right, right and right again and then I’d see the trail and another suspension bridge.

Right, right and right. That explained how the group disappeared so quickly. I jogged through the village and quickly caught up with Bibak (our third guide) who had come back to find me. I told him what happened and when we caught up with the rest of the group who was waiting at the suspension bridge, repeated the story. Quite an embarrassing way to start the day.

Hot lemon at the first tea stop. From left: Bibak, Me, Ele, Mike, Sara, Kevin, Amanda, Stacy and DK Photo credit: Dovile Soblinskas

Hot lemon at the first tea stop.
From left: Bibak, Me, Ele, Mike, Sara, Kevin, Amanda, Stacy and DK
Photo credit: Dovile Soblinskas

We enjoyed some hot lemon on our first tea stop. My mind was still brimming with ideas from the book Abundance and how so many of them would improve the lives of people all over the world, especially in places like Kathmandu.

How can I participate in making it happen?” I wondered.

Ele made a patient listener. She mentioned someday she’d like to teach and I told her she’d be great. Education was a subject both of us were interested in, and I got to learn a bit more about how kids were taught in New Zealand (not much different than the States, unfortunately).

Which one is Everest?

Gee, I wonder which one is Everest?

We stopped again at a sort of museum with a scale model of the mountains surrounding Everest. What’s interesting for a fellow Californian to note is that Mt. Whitney wouldn’t even register as one of the little brown 18,000 ft. / 5,500 m molehills below the 29,029 ft. / 8,848 m behemoth known as Mt. Everest / Sagarmatha / Chomolungma.

Soon after that was the Khumbu National Park entrance. We read the posted rules for being in this sacred Sherpa valley and World Heritage Site:

Park entrance

Stacy by the Khumbu National Park entrance.

  • Refrain from taking life.
  • Refrain from anger.
  • Refrain from jealousy.
  • Refrain from offending others.
  • Refrain from taking excessive intoxicants.

Good advice anywhere, actually.

At our next stop there was a delicious lunch of Sherpa stew and spring rolls. We talked about hypnosis and later Mike told us about his new girlfriend and how she was a music teacher.

“We’re opposites, I have no musical talent,” he was saying.

How sad.

“Is she working on you?” I asked.

He laughed and said, “All the time.” (Mike had a great laugh. Sara said some old classmates tried to add a “best laugh” category for the yearbook just so he could win it.)

I told a story about some girls I went to school with and how we had to teach them to find their rhythm by physically picking up their foot and putting it down in time to the beat.

“They did pick it up eventually,” I said.

“I don’t get how you can have NO rhythm,” I mused out loud, thinking that the universe is essentially nothing but rhythm/vibration, and it’s impossible to be separate from it. We feel the beat of our own hearts every day.

“Thanks a lot!” said both Mike and Sara, who apparently at some point had bought and sold a story to themselves that they had none.

Doh! I’d been in the park less than a day and had already broken rule #4. There was the Rakshasa influence again. Sometimes I am so inappropriate I offend myself, partly why I tend to keep quiet until I get to know you. Or until alcohol enters the equation.

(Mike and I would find out later he was both a Deva and a logical communicator. I’m an emotional communicator. This makes understanding each other slightly more challenging.)

“What I’m trying to say is I don’t believe you,” I told them. We may not be born with perfect pitch and the ability to play Beach Boys drum solos out of the womb like my musician uncle, but all of us can learn and improve.

“You’ll see in Lukla,” he said. It was only day four, and we were already thinking about the party at the end.

“Okay,” I told him, resolving to prove him perfectly capable given the opportunity. This ended up not being necessary, he’d prove himself musically adept long before then.

Hillary Bridge

Hillary Bridge

We continued along the river and spotted the beautiful Hillary Bridge, suspended across a gorge as all suspension bridges tend to be, but this gorge was especially picturesque and this bridge was especially adorned with thousands of prayer flags and scarves to honor Sir Edmund Hillary.

Besides being the first to summit Everest, Sir Ed was extremely influential in the region. He founded the Himalayan Trust which helped set up and now maintains schools, hospitals, and forestry services.

Hillary Bridge

Hillary Bridge

After the Hillary Bridge we roundhouse-kicked one of the largest elevation gains of the trip, including some good old-fashioned switchbacks, up to Namche.

Somehow through the dust DK spotted the rubber piece to a hiking pole that exactly matched the one I lost and got lost trying to find. He picked it up and fastened it to my pole. Wow, problem solved, and fast! I marveled at how effortlessly the universe works when we let it. Interestingly enough, mine wasn’t the only hiking pole DK rescued. He’d do the same for Dovile on the way down. I hoped whomever lost the piece that found its way onto my pole ended up finding my lost piece later.

Just before Namche we had to stop and check in to the park. They made us write down the kind of camera we had in case it got lost. A precaution so we wouldn’t pick up a free camera from the lost and found on the way out.

Namche

Beautiful Namche

Namche Bazar was a beautiful village. At 11,286 ft. / 3,440 m we’d be sleeping higher than Telescope Peak (11,043 ft. / 3,366 m); the highest point I could remember climbing as an adult.

We were staying at a place called The Nest for the next two nights. Dovile and I were reunited with our porter bag. When we opened the door to our room, I debated making priority one stopping the flow of kerosene fumes seeping in the window or hopping in the shower. As there was a huge clear glass window on the door to the bathroom, I opted first to stuff our drapes in the cracks of the window while I devised a makeshift bathroom curtain.

The Nest

“The stupa is a monument, shrine, and reliquary that traditionally derives from the Buddha’s tomb, but has come to symbolize existence. On a square red base (signifying earth) sits a large white dome (water) with a sort of spire (fire) crowned with a lunar crescent (air) and a solar disc (space); such structures guard the approaches to towns and villages throughout the Buddhist Himalaya.”
Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

What I came up with was using a bit of my duct tape (this was use #1, see gear list) to tape my empty potato sack up on the window. When I took a shower, I learned I had failed to consider one very important detail. I had taped it to the inside of the window and the steam from the shower immediately caused it to fall off. At least the steam also fogged up the window somewhat.

Dovile rockin' one of the enormous expedition weight rental coats.

Dovile rockin’ one of the enormous expedition weight rental coats and puffy gloves.
Photo credit: Dovile Soblinskas

For take two, I used a bit more tape and taped it to the outside of the door. Win. The curtain came in handy later when DK stopped by with our rental coats and walked in when one of us was still in the shower.

The rest of the night was typical tea house. We had dinner and more tea in the common room. Many tea house common rooms would be wallpapered with t-shirts bearing the names of previous trekkers and this one was no exception. We socialized a bit and then headed back to the rooms for some reading or writing time before bed.

May 8, 2013: Active Day 3, Surke to Phakding

Kathmandu to Lukla

We were up at 4 am for a 5 am call time. It was pouring rain, which didn’t bode well for the planned flight to Lukla. To add to the bleary-eyed early morning confusion the hotel experienced one of the routine rolling blackouts that move throughout the city. Dovile and I finished packing by headlamp and then enjoyed our first of many early morning workouts in which it would take our combined strength to squeeze the porter bag closed and force the zipper around. We met the group in the lobby and then loaded up the van for the airport.

The domestic airport consisted of the same rubble, garbage, mangy-looking monkeys and stray dogs that characterized the rest of the city. It hadn’t yet opened so we joined the queue outside. Lucky for us, the rain had lightened up. Kevin was awake enough to observe one of the airlines was called Yeti.

“Their tagline should be ‘Yeti Airlines: We Do Exist!'” he quipped.

We passed through an initial security screening consisting of a baggage scan and pat-down and picked up our boarding passes. One thing unique to this flight is you have a weight limit to your carry-on bag. Each is weighed before a pass is issued. We emptied our water bottles beforehand for this reason.

Hey guys, whatcha playin'?

Hey guys, whatcha playin’?

We went through a similar security procedure a second time to get to the terminal. Once inside we looked at the monitor. So far so good. Our flight was still scheduled to depart at 6:30, the weather must be better in Lukla.

Not long after we sat down, the screen flashed “delayed to 7:30” due to weather. Bummer. We settled in to play cards, read, or fiddle with our phones.

DK had told us earlier that the locals have a different idea of personal space than we westerners. We got a taste of this when a man walked up and began hovering nonchalant over the card game.

Define irony. Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Define irony.
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

7:30 became 8:30. 8:30 became 9:30. DK and Sudip were on the phone and said the weather forecast didn’t look good for the next two days. Rather than stay longer in Kathmandu and repeat this tedious morning ritual the next few days, we unanimously voted to try to hire a helicopter for an extra $200 each. By 11:30 our tickets had been exchanged. We got to leave that day AND we got to ride in a helicopter! The trip just got exponentially more awesome.

Our group wouldn’t fit in one helicopter so Mike, Sara, Kevin, Stacy, DK and I were to take the first flight. Ele, Amanda, Dovile and Sudip would follow in the second. The first six of us went out the back door of the terminal and then piled into a tiny, ancient pickup truck which embarked on a long, scenic drive through the airport to the helicopter landing pad.

From Left: Mike, Sara, Kevin, Stacy, Me, DK

From Left: Mike, Sara, Kevin, Stacy, Me, DK
Photo credit: Dan Keys

We got out of the truck next to a helicopter, took photos, and signed our lives away. Suddenly a whole crew of men showed up and started talking quickly in Nepali. Uh oh, what is going on?

DK tried to call the pilot, a Kiwi he knew named Jason. He told me that Jason was from Queenstown, and flew rescue missions during the climbing season so we’d be in good hands.

Speaking of rescue missions, it turned out that all the commotion was regarding a rescue. Someone up on the mountain wasn’t going to be able to make the walk down and we would have to leave our porter bags behind in favor of more fuel for the mission. The porter bags would go up with the next flight. (Note: This is why it’s a good idea to buy travel insurance. The rescue flight would have cost that person around $5,000.)

They got the fuel issue sorted, we loaded up the helicopter and took off. There were no seat belts or ear protection. Jason was kind enough to open his window for some A/C. We cruised over the colorful buildings of Kathmandu. From the air it seemed like there was a brick smelter on every street corner. On the edge of town we saw an interesting religious statue, big enough to be seen some distance away from the air, though no one knew what it was. After the statue we started to get into the hills, all terraced, still mostly dry and brown.

Surke

Surke

Eventually the hills got steeper, and greener. We flew into a gorge and were treated to little cascades on either side. My mind started to hum the opening tune to Jurassic Park, especially since we were approaching the most beautiful waterfall yet. Then, just like that, we landed right above it. Wow, really?? I was happier than a slinky on an escalator. (Woo hoo! This is awe-some!)

The extra fuel we brought in favor of the porter bags. They unloaded it in Surke to make the helicopter lighter for the flight up on its rescue mission. They'd stop and refuel on the way back down.

The extra fuel we brought in favor of the porter bags. They unloaded it in Surke to make the helicopter lighter for the flight up on its rescue mission. They’d stop and refuel on the way back down.

I knew we weren’t flying to Lukla, but I had a picture in my mind from the History Channel’s World’s Most Dangerous Airports of what Lukla would be like, and to me this place was a thousand times more beautiful. An organic farmer’s paradise. Surke. (7,513 ft. / 2,290 m). I thought we were already in the mountains, but DK would say later that these were just foothills. 10,000 ft. foothills. We were in the Himalayas!

“HimaYAYA!” Kevin would say. Perfect. It’s in.

Seriously, they don't make them much cuter. Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

Seriously, they don’t make them much cuter.
Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

The helicopter ride wasn’t exactly short, and I needed to find a toilet. They had one outside of the building and it turned out to be the first of many Asian style toilets I would encounter, and actually come to prefer, on the trail.

We went inside for the first tea break, milk tea (dude chiyaa) this time, and also enjoyed some ramen style noodles for lunch. In this tea house we met the first two of the world’s cutest dogs.

Gotta love those ears!

Gotta love those ears!

The dogs in Kathmandu, while still cute, tended to be mangy, dusty, and exhausted from barking all night. The dogs up in the mountains were healthy, soft, perky little hiking companions. We petted this skinny pup who was begging for a bit of our soup, while his cousin was outside getting rolled by helicopters and having the time of his life. The other dog would run around barking madly at the choppers taking off and landing and got blown around quite a bit in the process.

Eventually the others arrived, a little weak in the knees since their flight was a bit more exciting than ours, due to both pilot and weather. It was about 2 pm and daylight was becoming a consideration. Surke was about a mile or so below Lukla, our intended starting point, and we also arrived much later than originally scheduled. We had about 5 miles / 8 km to hike. We stayed long enough for them to have some tea and then hit the trail. Including today, it would take nine days of slow and steady acclimatization to reach base camp.

Prayer stone. You can see the good vibes radiating off this one.

Prayer stone.  Look closely to see the good vibes radiating upward from the symbols.

Shortly after departing, DK and Sudip stopped us to give us the rules of the trail. Rule #1: Let animals pass cliff side to keep from being bumped down the side by a mule or yak. Sudip had learned this one the hard way and was kind enough to let us benefit from the experience. Rule #2: Always obey rule #1.

On the trail there would also be cultural rules to follow. Carved prayer stones were everywhere. So were prayer flags. The symbols carved or printed on each represented the sounds “Om mani padme hum” and repeated over and over. We were invited to invoke these sounds and asked to pass the stones on the left, keeping them on our right side. In villages we’d also pass prayer wheels. These were brass cylinders engraved with the same symbols that typically would be spun by hand, though occasionally we’d see one powered by water. We’d spin these toward the direction we were walking, clockwise, though the good energy would be sent in all four directions.

OM MANI PADME HUM is dedicated to the Great Compassionate Chen-resigs, [and] is found inscribed on prayer stones, prayer wheels, prayer flags, and wild rocks throughout the Buddhist Himalaya.

Om Mani Padme Hum

Pronounced in Tibet Aum–Ma-ni–Pay-may–Hung, this mantra may be translated: Om! The Jewel in the Heart of the Lotus! Hum! The deep, resonant Om is all sound and silence throughout time, the roar of eternity and also the great stillness of pure being; when intoned with the prescribed vibrations, it invokes the All that is otherwise inexpressible. The mani is the “adamantine diamond” of the Void–the primordial, pure and indestructible essence of existence beyond all matter and even antimatter, all phenomena, all change, and all becoming. Padme–in the lotus–is the world of phenomena, samsara, unfolding with spiritual progress to reveal beneath the leaves of delusion the mani-jewel of nirvana, that lies apart from daily life but at its heart. Hum has no literal meaning, and is variously interpreted (as is all of this great mantra, about which whole volumes have been written). Perhaps it is simply a rhythmic exhortation, completing the mantra and inspiring the chanter, a declaration of being, of Is-ness, symbolized by the Buddha’s gesture of touching the earth at the moment of Enlightenment. It is! It exists! All that is or was or will ever be is right here in this moment. Now!

Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

Prayer wheels. Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

Prayer wheels.
Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

The trail started out green and misty. We walked through lush green organic farms, with beautiful stone walls and houses. I marveled at a shelter for some of the animals, in which even the roof was woven from all natural materials, much like a basket.

Typical mule costume. Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

Typical mule costume.
Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

Speaking of animals, in Nepal the mules were well-dressed and wore all kinds of bells, from small ones all around the collar of their draft harness to single enormous ones dangling below the neck. We couldn’t see them through the mist, but would hear them ringing from behind and let them pass cliff-side (it was still too low in elevation and therefore too warm for yaks).

It wasn’t long before we encountered our first suspension bridge. As this was some people’s first suspension bridge EVER, a scene from Shrek ensued. They started slowly and gingerly crossing, clinging to the rails on both sides.

Ever have a friend who you knew was about to do something because they just got that gleam in their eye? Yeah, that “friend” was me. How can one possibly resist the urge to start jumping on the bridge given this opportunity? They caught that gleam in my eye as they turned around to scold me for rocking the bridge and laughed. Sorry, can’t help it! Rocking boats (and bridges) is a Rakshasa specialty.

Notice the death grip on the handrails. By the end of the trek we'd all be skipping across.

BEFORE (Day 3): Notice the death-grip on the handrails.
Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

AFTER (Day 15): Look ma, no hands!

AFTER (Day 15): Look ma, no hands!

namasteEventually the mist cleared somewhat and we passed some more houses. DK told us if we saw kids to put our palms together and tell them “Namaste!”

Informally this is a greeting that means hello and goodbye, similar to aloha. Formally it translates along the lines of “I solute the God within you.”

Namaste! The girls, except one, tended to be more shy. Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

Namaste! The girls, except the one described below, tended to be more shy.
Photo credit: Eleanor Tresidder

Sure enough, most of them loved to play along and returned the greeting. DK was walking behind the group. We passed another kid, who after hearing “Namas-te!” from all of us, lit up like a Christmas tree when DK began chatting him up in Nepali. I turned around and lit up along with them, totally blown away. I asked DK later how long it took him to become so fluent, and modest as ever said he really wasn’t, that the boys (our Nepali guides and porters) knew what they could talk to him about and what they couldn’t. He was still learning every day. Well, he could have fooled me, and probably also that kid.

We  stopped at our second tea house for lunch and more tea. From here we watched an avalanche of clouds roll down the mountainside. Lunch was delicious, fresh, local and organic. What could be better?

“I’m so glad this life still exists for somebody,” I remember saying.

Home of little twinkle toes.

Home of little twinkle toes.

Further up the trail we stopped again for, you guessed it, tea (chiyaa). Dovile made friends with a little girl who lived in the tea house. The little girl seemed to think we were so much fun she just had to dance for us. She giggled and swung her hips from side to side, hamming it up for the foreigners.  She used whatever English words she knew and laughed when we answered her. She was so cute we regretted leaving, and looked forward to visiting again on the way down.

We ran out of daylight and had to don our headlamps before reaching Phakding (8,563 ft. / 2,610 m). Darkness brought out some spiders, and Amanda was not a fan. Hopping away from them interrupted her conversation with DK about books by Conn Iggulden. I was intrigued and made a note to add them to my reading list.

It wasn’t long after switching on the lights that we reached our home for the night and dropped our packs in the tea house common room. We were out of time to order dinner individually since all the food was made to order, so the group all shared our first yak cheese pizza, along with fries and some soup. Once we were all completely stuffed, they brought the menus out again and asked us to pick what we wanted for breakfast. (What?? You expect us to think about more food now?) This would become a post-meal-time ritual the rest of the trek. Eventually we learned what to expect on the menus and would consider what we wanted for the whole day at a point when we were still hungry. Or else we simply alternated between veggie momos and dal bhat.

There was cricket on TV, and I was mesmerized both by the cricket and the TV since I don’t have either at home. We met a couple of trekkers who were on their way down and asked them how it was. They looked much more… shall we say… worn than we did and we wondered what would look like by the time we were in their place.

Back in Surke we heard that two porter bags did not make it on either flight and would arrive the next day. It wasn’t until Phakding that we confirmed exactly whose bags were missing, because apparently some of the identifying prayer flags did not even last a day. Dovile and I paid the price for having such a heavy, crammed bag, as it was probably the ideal choice to abandon in favor of more fuel.

“Nobody say anything about my outfit tomorrow!” she joked.

We likely would have worn the same shirt three days in a row anyway, but having something different to sleep in and a toothbrush would have been nice.

The lodge where we would sleep was separate from the common room, and very beautiful. Everything was wood, down to the carved stair rail. There were three western style toilets down the hall from the rooms, with a bin in each for toilet paper we were not supposed to flush. Not having a sleeping bag was no problem. At most of the tea houses, they would provide us with pillows and big, heavy blankets. Those of us without sleeping bags got a couple extra at this place. I took stock of my day pack and was thrilled to see the bar of soap I forgot I tossed in there after forgetting to pack it in our porter bag before it was forcefully and irreversibly zipped that morning.

“There are no accidents!” I said to Ele as we washed our faces at the community sinks in the hallway.

So ended a long and wonderful day. I don’t think anyone had trouble sleeping that night.

May 7, 2013: Active Day 2, The Monkey Temple

The sun, roosters, and dogs were up early and so was I. It seemed the local canines were able to sleep like the dead all day because every night was an up ’till dawn bark-fest. Everyone else went down to a buffet style breakfast but I wasn’t hungry so I just stayed in and enjoyed some quiet time.

Why we don't eat meat or drink the water.

Why we don’t eat meat or drink the water.

When our 9 am call time arrived we went downstairs and met our tour guide for the day, a local woman whose name I don’t remember, only that it started with an R. We walked through the real Kathmandu (vs. the much cleaner tourist district where we were staying) which was an eye-opening bit of environmental-disaster reality. Raw sewage poured into what might have once been a river but instead was more of an open sewer choked with garbage. This did not seem to bother the pigs rooting around down there in the slightest. We held our breath as we crossed the bridge. You couldn’t ask for a better illustration to discourage us from eating meat (especially pork) or using the water to brush our teeth.

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

We reached our destination, Swayambhunath, or the Monkey Temple and began the climb up a steep length of stairs to the top. True to its nickname there were quite a few monkeys climbing around the building and the trees. We were warned beforehand not to give food to the monkeys or they’d steal our hats, or make eye contact with the vendors or else they’d follow us up the stairs.

The trouble with the second rule was, I actually liked what they were selling. One woman was carving what looked like a zodiac in stone. Want… Somehow I mustered the willpower to avert my eyes and keep walking. Next we came to a man selling singing bowls, which I already knew I had to go home with. Whatever willpower I had left immediately vaporized and I succumbed to a demonstration.

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

He told me what all the symbols meant and I was enthralled. He then put one in my hand and made it sing. Nice, very nice. He put another one in my hand and played it, and this time hummed into the bowl as it sang. The sound of this one resonated somewhere deep. Yes! This was the one. I asked how much. $35. That was way too much, I knew from shopping for them online at home. I began throwing objections his way and he had an immediate counter to each. I started to walk away and sure enough, he followed. The best part of this game was that the price went down the higher we climbed. A few levels up, we settled for $10. I was happy I got my singing bowl, he was happy he didn’t have to climb higher.

Pineal gland, or third eye. If you have the time David Wilcock's talk about its appearance in religious symbolism is worthwhile.

Pineal gland, or third eye. If you have the time David Wilcock’s talk about its appearance in religious symbolism is worthwhile.

At the top of the temple, R told us more about all the symbolism. I saw an excellent example of a pineal gland symbol in this particular stupa. The temple had a great panoramic view of the city, though it was a bit hazy.

My mandala.

My mandala. No tools were used to create these perfect squares or circles. Often times they use a paintbrush with only 1-3 bristles.

The highlight of the Monkey Temple for me was the Buddha Thanka Treasure art gallery. (Thanka means cloth painting.) A charming young man who spoke perfect English gave a lecture on both the symbolism of the paintings and the discipline it takes to create them. Artwork always ends up being my favorite souvenir so I happily bought a mandala and promised to email them a picture of the painting in exchange for a more detailed explanation when I got home.

I did not budget cash for this, so I paid for my painting with a card. They used a calculator to determine the exchange rate in rupees. When I signed the receipt the artist told me I had a very bad habit.

“I have many bad habits I’m sure.” I responded, bemused.

He said I needed to be more careful to check the number AND the words on my credit card receipt rather than just signing it. Yes, good advice. I wasn’t planning on using the card at all, but would keep this in mind if I decided to use it again.

Rather than walk, we took the van back to the hotel and then walked to lunch at a funky little upstairs cafe, the Phat Kath. In the innocence of daylight it reminded me a bit of the Swiss Family Robinson tree house at Disneyland, only, well… cool. The cocktail menu looked very appealing, but I was still being good at this point so I ordered a delicious mixed-fruit lassa. DK asked me what made me decide to come to the Himalayas.

“It’s like the backpacker’s mecca,” I said.

I was waiting for the right opportunity to make my pilgrimage, and found it when Active began organizing trips a few short years earlier. I chose Everest Base Camp over Annapurna because to me there was so much more history there, in the sense that I would be standing on the same ground as some of my favorite adventurers. Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, Rob Hall, and last but most certainly not least my husband, er, hero Bear Grylls.

Later on in the hotel lobby downstairs we met a Catholic priest who taught Protestant school in Bangladesh but lived in Kathmandu. Very kind, interesting fellow, and I couldn’t help but envy his life a little bit.

That afternoon we were free to wander the shops and pick up any gear we may have forgotten. Many shops specialized in jewelry or textiles. All smelled of dust and incense. There was a trekking gear shop on every street corner, and great deals to be had on brands such as North Fake or Pataphonia. Dovile and I browsed for Buddha masks and flip-flops. She promised a vendor to return for a particular mask and took charge of bargaining for the sandals.

1000 Rupee NoteWe changed currency in one of the many currency exchange market stalls for rupees in small denominations, 500 or less, for the climb. The exchange rate for rupees was about 87-1 at the time. It helped me to think of a rupee being worth slightly more than a penny. So 500 was a little more than $5. Anything higher than that and the tea houses likely wouldn’t have change. (ATMs gave you 1,000 rupee notes.)

Mentally worn down from haggling, crowds, dust, and blaring horns we abandoned the city streets to shower up and start packing the potato sacks before dinner. DK stopped by to make sure our gear was adequate. He thought both our down jackets were too light and recommended we rent heavier ones. They’d handle it for us in Namche.

“You likely won’t need it and might be cursing me later for having to carry it up there,” he said.

“I wouldn’t curse you!” I laughed. The idea that I might curse someone for trying to keep me warm at 18,000 ft. was silly. Besides, the poor porters would be carrying it, not me.

“Oh, good.”

He said something about my hei matau greenstone necklace, a mainstay on all my adventures since New Zealand. (The nice thing about writing is you can look stuff up. If you ask me about my necklace in person I’ll forget the Māori hei matau and refer to it in English as a “fish hook.”)

“Yes, it works,” I replied. “Safe passage over water, right?”

DK wore an enormous toki, which represents leadership, strength, power, wisdom, authority, control, determination and focus. Good attributes for a guide. I considered asking him who gave it to him, as traditionally people don’t buy greenstone for themselves, but decided the question was too personal.

My head was starting to pound. This was the only time it would happen the entire trip and for that I am so grateful. I drank more water but suspected the cause was simply lack of sleep and spinal misalignment from trying to sleep on planes for two days.

We followed DK through the crowded streets of Kathmandu for dinner, which was easy owing to the fact that he was so tall. He had his own look yet from behind the way he walked reminded me of Heath Ledger. We arrived at another nice restaurant. Instead of starlit views of the city, this time we were treated to live Nepali music. I ordered a salad and did my best to eat it all but my headache had killed my appetite. The host was concerned about whether or not I liked the food when he took most of it away and I insisted yes. DK saved me by telling them I was just full (pugyo) in Nepali.

Once back I tried any energy medicine tricks I could remember on the headache. I never get them in real life and wasn’t sure what would work. Tapping, Mirror Technique, Expanding Joints, Quantum Touch. The thing that finally worked was a few good yoga spinal stretches. One of them finally gave me the crack I was looking for and soon after I fell blissfully asleep, dogs and roosters be damned.

May 6, 2013: Active Day 1, Kathmandu

The time to board the five-hour domestic flight to Kathmandu had finally arrived. I went through security for the third time and had another uneventful flight. We began by soaring over the stunning green landscape and turquoise oceans of Malaysia. Soon after the water took on a brown, barren appearance that at first I took to be a desert. It’s only when we crossed onto land again that I realized it was water. The land appeared equally inhospitable. Where are we? The in-flight monitor was no help. Instead of the “you are here” flight path we enjoyed on the international flight, we were stuck with a cheesy Asian talent show involving sock puppets and reruns of Wipeout.

We crossed over huge brown rivers, or maybe they were they dry river beds. Eventually the land sloped upward and the pilot announced our approach. I looked hopefully across the sea of brown haze for a mountain peak and realized I must be on the wrong side of the plane. From Singapore, you want the right side of the plane to view the Himalayas and I was on the left.

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Kathmandu
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Flying over Kathmandu, I was surprised at how big and colorful the city was. I’d had fair warning that it would feel third world and indeed the lower we flew the more apparent the crumbling buildings and scattered trash became.

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Kathmandu airport
Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

We landed and used a ladder to deplane. A bus picked us up and we drove a short distance to customs. The building was old and beautiful with brick masonry and carved wood. I followed the crowd to a big room with various wooden kiosks littered with paper.

Okay now what? I overheard a man with a British accent loudly and bossily giving directions to a group of old ladies as to which lines on the form they needed to fill out and which ones the Nepali customs people didn’t care about. I chose a kiosk within eavesdropping range and followed his directions to fill out a Visa application (the big form) in addition to the card from the flight. But the anal accountant in me filled out all the lines. There were no writing utensils. I didn’t pack a pen and made do with my pencil.

I followed them to a line behind a desk with a row of four Nepalese men. When I reached the front, the first man checked the length of my stay, collected the $40 entry fee, and gave me two receipts. Next I handed the pink copy of the receipt to one of two men who were checking forms and passports. Finally I proceeded to the last man who issued the Visa, which was a sticker rather than a stamp.

From here I proceeded to the baggage claim. By this point I was tired, but perked up the instant I glimpsed my bag disappearing back to the employee-only side of the carriage. It made it! I almost skipped to the other side of the belt to await its reappearance and immediately stuffed all the coats I had been carrying with me “just in case” inside.

They waved me through customs and I braced myself for the chaos that awaited outside the airport. Active had sent multiple warning emails before our departure about arrival in Kathmandu. Forget altitude. Forget base camp. Apparently our most difficult challenge would be getting from the airport to the hotel.

I carried my own bag as instructed and found a man outside holding the Active Himalayas sign without any trouble. I then proceeded to walk the wrong way around a fence and was shooed in the other direction by airport security.

The man escorted me to and then left me at a van as he went in search of another passenger. Not long afterward he reappeared with a girl who introduced herself as Amanda.

Next we got our first taste of what we were warned of repeatedly before arriving. A man rushed up to the van and shouted aggressively that we must leave a tip and US dollars were OK.

Amanda told him “no” but he persisted.

She then shouted “we’re with him!” and pointed to our driver who was ignoring the whole scene as he calmly got in the van and closed the driver’s side door.

At this, the man melted back in to the madness and we were on our way. Amanda was originally from Wales and exclaimed in her lovely British accent how intense that was. I told her she did great, especially since all I could offer while it was going down was a mute wide-eyed stare and a mouth slightly ajar.

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

Photo credit: Kevin Cordova

We began the navigation through the narrow, dusty streets of the city. The closest I’d ever experienced to this before was in Mexico, but even that could not compare. It was order within disorder. Totally organic. No traffic laws, signs, lights or lanes. People, bicycles, motorcycles, cars, weird tractor car looking things, rickshaws… You name it, it was on the road and traveling wherever there was space to move forward. I was reminded of science movies featuring magnified blood cells all squeezing by each other, except blood cells tend to move in one direction.

I was amazed at how well our driver navigated our relatively large vehicle through the bedlam right down to the point where he made a three-point turn in the middle of a crowded narrow street and backed into an even narrower crowded alley in front of our hotel with maybe a few feet to spare on either side of the van.

Thamel Eco Resort

Thamel Eco Resort

We checked in to the beautiful Thamel Eco Resort and received a note from our trip leader DK instructing us on where and what time to meet. My future roommate had already arrived, had the only key, and was not there. I waited outside the room until an employee let me in and checked the clock… my clock since there wasn’t one in the room. It had been 40 hours of travel since I left my house in California. Nap time. I collapsed on my bed, so grateful to be horizontal.

The rest of the afternoon was something of a blur. I met my roommate Dovile, a spunky and pretty blonde from Chicago who woke me up in time for our orientation with the whole group.

“This is my first backpacking trip,” she told me.
“What?” I laughed, somewhat incredulously. “If Everest is where you start, what are you going to do next?”

We walked upstairs to a yoga studio on the top floor of the hotel, and pulled some chairs in a circle. Including Dovile and I, there were 8 guests and two main guides (a third guide, Bibak, would join us on the mountain). Kevin and Stacy, a beautiful couple from Aspen. Mike and Sara, friends who just finished grad school in Colorado and were embarking on a world tour before starting work. Amanda and Ele who worked for Active in New Zealand.

Our trip leaders were DK and Sudip. Both of them, but especially DK, had that “smell.” The smell of someone who’s ridden the back of the wind, of 100 fun summers, of sleeping in trees, and adventures with Indians and pirates. (Hook, 1991). They were good-looking and had the sort of charisma that made people want to be around them. This adventure was going to be a fun one.

The trip was organized by Active Adventures in partnership with Earthbound Expeditions. I’d traveled with Active before in New Zealand on one of their Rimu trips and couldn’t have been happier with the experience so they were easily my first pick to see the Himalayas. Our goal was Everest Base Camp, and we’d be together 19 days for the journey there and back.

The guides gave us each goodie bags full of fun stuff like water purification tablets, hand sanitizer, and toilet paper. I joke, but all these things were practically worth their weight in gold on the trail. Each pair of roommates received a porter bag to share with a potato sack to separate each person’s belongings. Each porter bag had a different colored prayer flag to identify it. People who rented sleeping bags received one of these with a prayer flag to identify it too, in case it needed to be moved to another bag for weight distribution reasons.

Later we went to dinner on a rooftop with a starlit view of the Monkey Temple. Insanely cool place. DK told us the meat was okay to eat here, but I was looking forward to jumping right in to the Nepali cuisine experience after reading about my friend Katie’s experiences on her earlier Annapurna trek. I ordered my first dal bhat with ginger tea. Dal is lentil soup, bhat is rice, and it also usually comes with some sort of vegetable curry. I proceeded to start eating the dal with a spoon and DK tried to steer me in the right direction. In his gentle and polite Kiwi way, he told me the dal was supposed to go on the rice. I poured a little bit on, but still wouldn’t get the right idea until I saw the locals do it later. Even then I never mustered up the courage to eat it with my fingers.

We began to get to know each other better. Somehow I mentioned I’m from the Mojave desert and people asked me if we really have snakes and scorpions. Yes, we really have snakes and scorpions. Funny how something so ordinary to you can be so fascinating to others. Ele, Amanda and I realized we knew a couple of the same people through Active. Ele told me about a Nepali translator app she downloaded and I was immediately super-jealous of it. We’d hear the language all day on the trail, but I knew it wouldn’t sink in for me until I also saw it in print. The app really would have helped. Even without the benefit of alcohol (in most cases, see keeping healthy on the trail), the group was warming up to each other and starting to feel like a family.

IMG_3130That night was my first adventure with Nepali plumbing. After two days of planes, trains and automobiles I was rather greasy and keen on a shower. The entire bathroom was tile and a shower head on a long hose was simply attached to a wall. I turned it on and it proceeded to drench the toilet seat and the spare toilet paper on top.

I closed the lid, found higher ground for the TP, and engaged in a wrestling match with the hose, since more water was pouring out of it than the actual shower head. We settled on a compromise where I looped the hose in such a way that the water poured straight down and held it over my head, trying with some success not to get it in my mouth or eyes.

The entire bathroom was now a lake. Neither of us had packed thongs/flip-flops/jandals and made it our mission to find some ASAP.

I was still on California time and wide awake even though it was after 11 pm so I begin reading The Snow Leopard. I’d read a few other famous Himalaya-related books already and was saving this one. It had been highly recommended to me the year before by a friend whose opinion I respect, and I was happy to finally open it up.