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Kathmandu - EBC
Wide-eyed with excitement after spotting what we both assumed to be Mount Everest (Sagarmatha) piercing the clouds on the short flight, we arrived in Kathmandu's modest little airport in the early evening. Evading the barrage of touts and baggage donkeys, we were led by Deepak from our pre-booked hotel to a tatty taxi car, loaded in and shipped across town. Deepak chatted constantly all the way, and not fully comprehending everything he was saying we concluded most of it to be something of a gibberish intro into Nepali culture. Over tea at the very pleasant and highly recommended Himal Ganesh we checked in, eager to drop our bags and get out exploring. We navigated our way out into the dim alley and back tracked to the main road which led to a 'traffic circle', or small but intensely chaotic roundabout. Selecting the third exit, we mashed in amongst the assortment of fearless pedestrians, stray dogs, idling tri-Shaw bicycles and the incessantly honking Suzuki taxi cabs and motorbike riders.
We were immediately confronted with Thamel, the primary tourist district, stacked from bottom to top with layer of handicraft gift shops selling every item of 'foreigner favourite ethnic hippy-wear' and knick-knacks imaginable, and outdoor stores rammed with fake North Face, Mammoth and Gore-tex. Guest houses, roof top restaurants and bars densely populated the areas in between, each one coupled with at least one tour/trekking agency office. We drifted in and out of a few shops soon to realise they were all selling the same things, in their thousands, and outside were hawker-stalkers trying to sell anything they had been able to poach or claim craftsmanship to with a bag of mini-chess sets or wooden flute type recorders. We were inextricably disorientated and relented to hit up a roof top bar for some dinner and a cold Everest beer. Namaste Cafe was in the centre of all the action and became more promising after we took off our shoes to sit at traditionally low tables on big cushions, as a band were setting up in the corner. We ordered our first dish of vegetable steamed mo mo's and a plate Nepalese peanut masala in spices with ginger and garlic (which come with a guarantee of a good clear-out the following day). To celebrate our first night in Nepal we continued with the beers, refreshingly superior to the variable Kingfishers we had tested in India, and got on board with a Shisha, trying to teach Lana to how blow smoke rings!
Stumbling out, after enjoying some of the rock classics the Nepali band banged out with surprising class and authenticity, into what appeared to be a maze of this tourist-driven craziness, we realised quickly our best guess left here, right there had wound us up in the dark and pretty lost! With limited alternatives, we found a cut through at the end of a dark dead end, which led us from a rear approach into the garden of a guest house restaurant, with an open bar. A couple more unforseen beers and much circling later we finally got back to the hotel...first port of call the next day, alongside doing some much needed laundry, would be to purchase a map :)
By the end of the second day of entering Thamel and feeling like you couldn't find a way out, we were looking forward to heading to the Himalayas. Our dedication as tourists however compelled us to pursue some of the sights. Adam took a walk up to the Swayabaryum (the popular MonkeyTemple); relieved at exiting the busy streets and daily choke of petrol fumes and unroadworthy vehicles in desperate need of a service, while Lana sought out a very shady local haircut. A hairdresser's qualifications in Kathmandu appear to be owning a pair of scissors (not necessarily sharp), plastic spray bottle, comb, couple of clips and a hairdryer - result, a rather uneven, fashion-rebellious bob. We walked down town to the infamous Durbar Square only to be confronted by a wooden hut pitched in front of one of the temple structures, demanding 250 rupees per foreigner. After conveying our disbelief to the 'man in charge' of said hut, that anybody, Government included, should be able to charge for access into or through a public square where traffic, cows and pedestrians were walking past in a steady stream, unhindered, we walked away feeling the brunt of basic racism towards us being 'white', to find a different way in to this historical part of the old town. Following some lanes up the western side Adam cunningly navigated our way to the back of the square and commenced our brief walk around the dilapidating 'monuments' without unreasonable interference. It was obvious that any funds yielded at the tan gloss-painted huts were in no way contributing to the upkeep of the historical temple and stupa structures, in terms of their general restoration, or any constructive effort to eliminate or reduce the piles of rotting garbage culminating at the bases, which were accessible by climbing through the fruit and veg sellers and seemingly unoccupied loiterers. We enjoyed some of the hazy smog-ridden views over the city and out towards the mountains from the roof top of a tall restaurant building. Departing the square again, undetected by Mr. 'I'm just going to hop-on to the Tourist-Exploiter band wagon'; we surprisingly located the office for our trekking company with relative ease amidst the maze. We discussed the few particulars, met our to-be-guide Bhala, and paid up - we just wanted to get into it and out of Kathmandu!
5:45am our guide arrived at the door of our hotel room, full of smiles and informed us the taxi was downstairs. We had packed one back pack and deposited the other into the care of the hotel. Bhala was more than happy with the weight - which we had been advised should be less than 25Kg although we managed to hone it down to just under 20. The tiny wing of the domestic airport was cluttered with queues of large and small parties of tourists and big bags, trying to check-in at the makeshift wooden stalls which represented the desks of the various small charter airlines flying to Lukla and Pokhara. Steel rollers made up the basic conveyor belt system. We extorted ourselves at the only cafe over a measly 5 cups of tea which cost us more than 2 nights accommodation, and headed down to the waiting area that was reminiscent of an old bus station, with 'gates' leading out directly onto the runway. Rumours of a small cloud presence fuelled our delay, but we quickly realised that they only book you in at a particular time as your flight number is part of a lottery system, drawn as each next plane lands. The little planes are really just like mini shuttle buses, running to and fro all day, and have unusually long bulbous front ends for balance and luggage. Excited to finally board we took our positions on the 12 seater, marvelling how they managed to load the correct luggage into the hull, we were issued with cotton wool which we dutifully stuffed into our earlobes to muffle the din of the propellers and rattling panels, and a packet of 3 caramalised sweets, also dutifully stuffed into mouths to provide a placating glucose rush for if the going got rough.
Flying over KathmanduValley towards Lukla was just fantastic, and the best part being everyone got a window seat and a good view of the cock-pit! The views over the stepped valleys and steep undulating hills stretched far out into the distance, over and around numerous meandering rivers and streams. There was a speckling of villages, hamlets and single dwellings perched amongst the lower slopes of the landscape. Each abode surrounded by tiered land, varying in size and in all shades of green, yellow and deep brown of the highly fertile soils, and occasionally a sand coloured dusty trail could be seen connecting ridges. The simplicity and purity of the scene below was enough to bring tears to your eyes. The immense beauty of the whole view, the land below portraying physically the contour lines as you would see drawn onto a map, with a backdrop of white capped mountains soaring elegantly beyond the blue of the sky, etching out a would-be horizon on all sides of the plane...If a heaven existed it could easily be mistaken as here on earth, and it's almost intense enough to convert the surest of atheists. For anyone with a fear of flying this would be the trip for you - not much chance of a successful crash-landing, but if your plane is going to go down it may as well be in possibly the most beautiful place on the planet.
The landing strip at Lukla approached - however all too quickly much to our delight as keen lovers of 'out of my control' danger and adrenaline. The 400m bitumen airstrip is set into a cliff's edge, pitched with a significant uphill gradient to assist the aircraft in a prompt, rapid, and very necessary, deceleration before the sheer rocky face of Lukla. We later learned that during the establishment of Lukla airport the local Nepalese drank bucket loads of Raksi, a rice whisky, with a similar taste to that of Japanese Sake with less of an alcohol vapour, yet stronger kick) linked arms side by side in a line across the runway, then proceeded to ceremoniously dance throughout the evening stamping the soft soil flat to allow for smooth landings for many years to come! We waited at the luggage collection point inside an open wooden shed, whilst our bags were unloaded and thrown through a large square window onto a table. Grabbing the bags and requiring no further checks, we ventured up to the wire fenced exit to some wide harshly cobbled steps to 'pick up a porter'. Bhala had stridden off ahead and quickly negotiated with a small young lad with a big white smile. Dil happily jumped aboard our 3-man crew, threw on the back pack and stormed up the steps. Having missed out on breakfast we stopped at a hotel named Mera Lodge for a dal bhat brunch. A bit taken back at the already super inflated prices, Bhala informed us that the cost of food and ultimately accommodation too, would get pricier, the higher we went. We understood this already but weren't quite prepared for over a 100% increase so early on!
We hit the trail heading to Phakding for our first night in the Himalayas, grinning ear to ear, sucking in the fresh, clean air and feeling the difference in the altitude already. The first few Yak caravans we passed going both ways filled us with awe - these great creatures of endurance, loaded up with sacks and coloured trek hold alls, weighing over 90 Kg. The rhythmic clanging orchestra of cow-bells, coupled with whistling or shouts of 'choh' from the herders, was to become a very familiar sound. But the real kings of the trail are the porters. Superhuman strength for their petit frames, their agility in footwear ranging from battered thongs, to rigid looking plastic or leather lace-up boots and level of fitness is overall astounding. Some of the guides had proper hiking boots or shoes, but most of the guides and porters defied the modern outdoor wear technology (breathable anti-fungal T shirts, lightweight trekking pants with zip-off option, sturdy trekking poles poking obliviously into hazard's way at every step) which was sported by the clean and pristine clad, puffing and sweating, tourist walkers. Standard porter dress: grubby pair of trusty joggers, long sleeved t-shirt, some form of footwear with sole and optional bandana/stretchy wind chief worn on head or over face as a dust protector. The porters were carrying unbelievable loads up to 70kg plus. On one occasion we witnessed two 10kg bags, a slab of yak meat the size of an industrial cement bag, and 8 cases of San Miguel beer stacked on top of one another! On the other occasion to our disbelief, one guy was chartering ten 3 metre lengths of 2", 3 mm thick steel tubing roped together like matches up hills that were taking trekkers at least 2 hours to climb at best!!! Even on the way down we were still marvelling at some of the type of goods and quantity of supplies they were shipping up and down. An unspoken courtesy will always give the porters right of way on whichever steep, narrow, rocky or muddy part of the trail they are approaching, and rightly so!
Passing extraordinary countryside along the slightly congested track, mountains growing up all around us (mountains our guide laughed at and called hills) 3 hours or so crossing steel bridges suspended by blue, white, red, green, and yellow prayer flags, brought us into Phakding. We stopped at the Shangri-La Guest house and drank tea, recuperating from our warm-up walk. Our room was basic plywood walls floor and ceiling, but had two clean beds and a window overlooking the front of the guest house and undulating 'hills' behind. Our first wet-wipe wash ensued, and we realised just how much we'd taken for granted the life-long luxury and availability of a hot shower.
With a carb loaded dinner firmly settled, we passed an hour or so getting better acquainted with our new 'employees' over a few games of cards. The boys being fast learners, we managed to get into quite a competitive game of 's***head'. Becoming conscious of the cool night creeping in, and the prospect of an early morning start to reach Namche Bazaar, we headed to bed shortly after. Namche, we were informed was about 4.5 hours away. A little bit flat, a little bit up, a little bit down, over a bridge and then up for around 2 hours, the 'up' part, inclusive of hand signals that did not at all look comforting, instilled in us to brace ourselves for hard, almost vertical walking after every bridge we crossed...Eventually it came, The Bridge, and we started our ascent up the craggy, sometimes unstable rocky, sandy and stone stepped trail. About three-quarters of the way up Lana and I were rewarded with our first view of Everest. Awesome. The highest point of land on earth standing defiant and majestic behind the cold brown craggy slopes of the mountains in between us, and the sight of King of all hills. After resting briefly, distantly awestruck by one of the world's natural wonders and re-hydrating our much depleted bodies with fresh cool mountain water and fresh oranges courtesy of some trail touts making a quick buck, we headed back over to the dusty trail, joining a Yak caravan we were unable to overtake for the majority of the remaining uphill slog into Namche Bazaar.
Arriving into Namche was only for a brief moment rewarded with a sense of relief, as we ascended further up the valley to our guest house which was conveniently located at the top of the town. Namche rests in an a natural amphitheatre/alcove in the side of the mountain ranges, dwarfed by the towering snow capped peak of Kongde Ri (6187m) opposite, and overlooking the grueling valley which serves as a constant reminder to every foreigner, that coming to this place by choice will always require a lot of effort. Upon arrival however, the views are by far worth every bit of the sweating and cursing! After the routine bag drop we both were served with a refreshing hot mint tea in the communal dining area overlooking this beautiful natural amphitheatre setting. Adam being eager to dive into a new book, 'My quest for the Yeti', which seemed fitting as we were bordering its territory, we both settled down nicely for the remainder of the afternoon. Namche and all its charms could wait for now, as we had the comfort of another full day to explore and inevitably shop, as this was our first acclimatisation day to allow our bodies to adjust to the new altitude of around 3,500m.
Adam's hard earned and peaceful sleep came to an abrupt end in the early morning around 4:30am, initially thinking the unrelenting growls of 'Adam, Adam, and Adam' were a result of a really disturbing chapter he had read just before his head hit the pillow. Fortunately it was not a dream and it was unfortunately Lana, head hanging deep into a conveniently placed plastic bin, who had been violently woken by our first case of food poisoning! All bets at this point are officially off and Adam is the victor. Nude snow angels in Canada are now imminent. To add insult to injury the plastic bin, Lana's saviour, had a giant 'Have a happy day' sticker plastered firmly on one side, very amusingl!
Adam made his acclimatisation hike up to the stunning Everest View Hotel with Bhala. Lana was going nowhere and extraordinarily completely off all food choices and unable to eat, it was obvious we would need to postpone any continuation along the trail as planned for the following day.
Weakened Lana managed the same walk the following day, up the tough rocky path up from Namche, and along a sweeping trail which hugged the hillside through low-lying shrubs and blooming blue flowers poking out from star shaped leaves in between the rocks all in the shadow of the amazingly beautiful soaring peak of Ama Dablam. The afternoon was spent haggling viciously over hats and yak wool bed socks in the market shops which swamp the body of Namche Bazaar throughout its steep stone narrow lanes, as if the porters have actually transported whole pockets of Thamel from Katmandu.
Leaving colourful Namche early in the morning, the boys breezed through the walk on to Tengboche, but Lana, taking a multitude of rest stops, struggled on up through the last stretch of zigzagging trail into Tengboche, relieved to reach the large white stupa structure at the entrance. With limited accommodation options we were lucky to find a reasonable, 'hold on, we'll just knock together another room out of this old bit of ply' style room at a teahouse behind the monastery'. We enjoyed fresh mint tea with the most astounding of mountain views across from the harsh flowing glacial water course below, as the afternoon clouds swirled in heavy and cold around us. Heading into the small town space, mostly consisting of the famed Tengboche Monastery and a meadow with a few scraggy horses, we stood and spoke to a group of young monks, exchanging names and indulging their interest in my facial piercing with gestures of the temporary pain endured for each!We were told that we would be able to enter the monastery at 3pm to witness their prayer ceremony, so we sauntered off to kill some time at a rather flash little cyber cafe-bakery at the end of town, where we resisted the devils temptation of the surprisingly good display of cakes and goodies, and settled for a decent large mug of coffee.
Shedding shoes with the crowd of tourists gathered at the steps in the courtyard to the monastery, we swarmed inside the wonderfully decorated stone cold interior of the Buddhist temple for the lama's ceremony. Taking a seat on the floor to one side, the lamas in their deep burgundy robes filed in and took their positions on cushioned benches in the centre of the room, pulling on thick hooded cloaks to defend themselves from the cold, they were then served tea, or possibly hot chang, at regular intervals throughout the rolling chanting of the 'puja' prayers. Feeling incredibly annoyed at the manners of the chatting, jiff ling tourists who seemed unable to remain still and quiet let alone resist the papparattzi fervor of flashing, clicking photography throughout the brief time of the religious ceremony, we left with a sense of embarrassment.
We left early the following morning for Dingboche at 4360m where we were to stay 2 nights for further acclimatisation. The walking was relatively easy, following the valley below Pangboche, and by-passing the turn off for Pheriche, a smaller village slightly lower than Dingboche. By now we had reached elevation beyond the tree line, and although the transition into low lying shrubbery was somewhat subtle, it certainly lent a different atmosphere to the setting of the villages we passed, Dingboche being no exception, was comprised of stark stone lodge structures and low bordering walls of muddy paddocks with rough pathways intercepted with streams of water redirected from the main water courses. The lodge Bhala directed us to in Dingboche was busy but cosy. We met a group of Australian guys on their annual trekking trip from Victoria, who made interesting company. The following day were rather over-cast day and the temperatures getting noticeably colder as we descended the stairs icicles dripped from the eaves. We hiked up the steep ridge behind the lodge to gain 400m. There we caught views amidst the clouds of Makalu number 5 on the world's highest mountains list, as well as a less distinct perspective of Ama Dablam. We could also see IslandPeak, a seemingly popular option for a basic mountain summiting experience holding its ground at over 6100m. Being day 6, Lana decided to attempt to wash her grimy hat-hidden hair. A bowl of brain-freezing cold water, I assisted with scooping much to the amusement of the porters standing around outside. Lana insisted the next wash could wait until Kathmandu!!!
We passed through the small village of Dughla, getting hideously ripped off for a small pot of tea. Traipsing on into Lobouche, the temperature difference was noticeable and the down jackets made it out for the first time that afternoon whilst reading in the sun outside the guest house, in a yard area resembling something of an amateur carpenter's workshop. Lobouche is situated at around 4800m. The risk of feeling the effects of the altitude were now very serious, but other than mild headaches we appeared to be unscathed. Dil, our Porter, had an upset stomach which we tried to rectify with some of our anti-nausea pills, and we settled into the mostly reserved dining area of the lodge for copious amounts of black tea. Our room didn't have much of a view, but this observation was mostly due to the fact we had been spoilt with superb mountain-scape views in previous lodgings that you would pay hundreds of dollars for in Europe! The bright thick yellow gloss paint which dripped and streaked the walls and the dark green skirting, somehow made-up for the gloomy outlook. Lobouche was striking in the way that other than tourism, no body would be living there. The land surrounding Lobouche is basically uninhabitable. Nothing grows, bird life is minimal and even the yaks were not driven up here. The river had been diverted and contained in slightly stagnant pond catchments in the centre. Later we were given warnings about the water quality of Lobouche, but we were already onto it making good use of our ceramic water filter!
We scrambled up the neighbouring hill during the afternoon for a little extra elevation. From here we had a glorious panorama of mountain ranges and could clearly see the peaks of Nuptse Ridge and Lohtse with Everest butting against it. Scrambling over some rocks on the way down we came across a cave. Bhala spoke to the inhabitants who were taking refuge inside, and then he explained to us that porters will often stay in such shelters either to avoid expensive accommodation costs or the porter lodges in the villages are already full. Knowing how few of the porters have even half decent warm clothing this seemed crazy.
Leaving Lobouche around 7.30 made for a cold start. The pond and little streams running across the town had frozen over and our finger tips were feeling the chill of the frosty morning. The short uphill climb to the trail soon warmed us up as the sun slowly rose above us. The walk to Gorek Shep was smooth sailing but still took around 3 hours. But this was Base Camp day, and our excitement and anticipation at reaching our destination kept us well fuelled. We arrived at the lodge where we were lucky enough to score a 3m x 3m stone clad room, in the new section outside. We opted for garlic soup to help with the acclimatising and changed clothes in preparation of colder weather further along the track...late morning we set off, by which time the group of Australians had caught us up and were heading off at the same time, so we began the 6 hour return hike with them. We walked along a dry stream bed, soft sand underfoot, following the valley and learned that in winter this area freezes over and local people come skating here! The sand soon turned to gravel and then chopped up rock material as we ascended the bank of a ridge. Evidence of the sheer power of former glacier movements was soon all around us and it was clear to see how glacial ice had cut through the valley shifting great masses of rock and churning boulders into gravel. This was a harsh landscape, making the well known outback look like a kiddies playground with only a few tufts of some hardy species of grass poking through sandy patches amongst the rock on the ridge we were walking along. Soaring mountains to our right - Lhotse and Nuptse, and Everest cutting behind the left wall of Lhotse, its enormous summit gleaming proudly against a pure blue sky. The Khumbu Icefall coming into view was amazing. We were thrilled enough at the ice ridden moonscape all around us, but the sight of the icefall, with its fierce notorious seracs and bright turquoise crevasses seemingly unreal against the pure white. We could see base camp a long way off in the distance, as the steady stream of pin-point sized people walked across it, assembling on the flat rocky outcrop only a couple of hundred metres before the foot of the icefall. The weeping solid glass edges of the ice beneath us were visible under the layer of gravel and dirt; we were now walking on glacial ice, which forms the bridging pathway over to Base Camp. Arriving, finally, exhilarated by the flooding enormity of the history of this potent position on the planet! So many ambitious expeditions, so many people passing through this place with their life goal staring them in the face, their dream almost in their grasp, and then there are the memorials for those whom have lost their lives. Spine chilling reminders of those not making it back down to their loved ones, not having the opportunity to share their glory, their tragic stories, near misses, trial and errors. The rock cairns, staggered around the central stone declaring this as Everest First Base Camp, with plaques and prayer flags, notes and marker pen inscriptions. Two black birds circled and fluttered around, watching, waiting, curious or maybe not so, just familiar with this spectacle of visitors. After snapping up a few photographic reminders of our accomplished feat, we sat absorbing the atmosphere around us, wondering where the blackbirds go once the trekking season is over and the trekkers snack bar crumbs are no longer there to feed them!
After half an hour spent in awe of this magical destination and our achievement, we gathered our final thoughts, finding it difficult controlling our emotions and imagination running wild with the possibilities and what ifs, and headed back along the brutal terrain stopping only for a photo and a lasting glance at a geographical wonder. It's amazing that a place of limited recognition can suddenly become so important and pose so many questions. We would also honestly say that no one comes away from places of such harsh beauty unscathed or uninspired. Adam found this out sometime in the early hours of the following morning and was to become the next victim of the Khumbu belly as he decimated the only toilet in the Yeti Lodge in Gorak Shep. Suffering terribly from horizontal diahorrea and blasts of projectile vomiting that would be useful for any bushfire fighter; we decided to descend toward the stark barrenness of Lobouche 200 metres below, unfortunately missing the spectacular views of Everest from the vantage point of Kala Patar at 5545M. As Adam shivered in bed and slowly recovered Lana became very ill as altitude sickness caught up with her following such a minor descent, and took over the fire fighting from where Adam left off, but this time into a red bucket with no happy stickers. A unanimous decision was made to wash for the first time on the journey to rid our memories of the sickness and a bucket of hot water had never been so appealing.
Perking up significantly by morning we embarked to drop considerable altitude during our descent through the long boulder-strewn valley of Pheriche. There were noticeably less people trailing down this route. The valley sprawled out into a greener plain ebbed with small grey stone built houses and low stone walls making up small paddocks and a low running stream contorting its way through to the village. Pheriche itself was almost devoid of all life and feeling far from hungry we only stopped for a cup of tea, reaching our destination of Upper Pangboche shortly after. Upon entering our lodge for the night and hopefully a peaceful sleep void of all things projectile, we noticed quite a strange and pungent smell like musty age-old garbage, or possibly a missing trekker under the floorboards? Bhala told us it was because the lid was off something...and it would go away...selecting a room anyway as far as possible from the stench so as not to offend, we were confronted by the delights of the bizarre bird-fish-flower print table cloth wall hangings, covering all walls and ceiling and windows. A brilliant view of Ama Dablam made up for the scary decor and as Adam went to work with the camera, Lana watched from the window while an old grumpy man roughly milked a tethered cow, in the Yak dung ridden vegetable garden below, in front of its thirsty calf. The smell did not go away.
Feeling remarkably better than days previous, we dared to replenish our energy stricken bodies with a carb loaded breakfast, and set out for Khumjung almost 7 hours away, not realising however that this would be the greatest increase/decrease in elevation for the whole journey. We walked through the early morning chill and vegetable gardens of Pangboche past the local school, and became rather disappointed to have not known about the monastery at the other end of the town. We made a steep descent through forest over a thick autumn leaf coated track down to the river below. Adam had decided to race Dil our porter down to the bottom. After crossing a small bridge we started a steady ascent, hugging the ridge line high above the shadowed valley, still waiting for the sun to thaw our chilled bodies. As we carefully navigated our way around some interesting yet exciting narrow rocky trails cut into the cliff side (praying for any Yak caravans to be nowhere in sight) we gained stunning views of Tengboche monastery seated on a small peninsula on the opposite side of the valley across the Dhud Khosi river, whenever there was a break of sunlight through the morning cloud. We continued to Phortse marveling at the renewed vividness of green and reds as we were reemerged into the tree line. Phortse came into view around a wide bend as eagles scanned the ground from above us. We continued on through Phortse to Phortse-Tenga, where we stopped for hot orange tang as Bhala and Dil loaded up on dry instant noodles. The huge hill we had to conquer before lunch loomed above us. The slog up wasn't as torturous as expected, but the rewarding views and chilli veg noodle soup at the prayer-flag covered top was worth every step.
Reluctantly leaving our picturesque lunch spot, we continued down the other side of the hill to yet another river crossing, where sand banks led us down to a shonky suspension bridge. Up the other side and along another knifes' edge ridge, where this time we had to battle for survival against several herds of yaks, we came back into familiar looking landscapes, realising we were getting close to Khumjung. It was late afternoon as we descended into Khumjung and the increasing cloud cover formed a kind of misty atmosphere over the town, and a noticeable drop in temperature. Leaving our bags in the most solid lodge we had stayed in yet (brick walls, tiles in the toilet, solid wooden staircase etc), we ventured out to visit Sir Edmund Hillary's pioneered school project opposite. The younger children had been let out and played together still wearing their schoolbags outside the gates, chasing each other over the stage built to one side. The older children were exercising - being made to run around the outside of the school (2 km we were told!) in their uniforms, faces bright red from the cold air. No one seemed to mid us wandering into the school. We had a look in some of the classrooms. The original classroom and boarding lodges stood strong in the front yard, other buildings were all donated contributions from other countries and organisations, and we were impressed to see a Computer Laboratory! A large and sophisticated bronze monument statue of Edmund Hillary was in the centre looking out to the spacious sport and rec area. We went into the art block to one side and tried to speak with a Nepali teacher. Some of the student's art was for sale, as well as pieces from the lecturers.
Exiting the school yard we were amazed to see how big Khumjung was. The houses and lodges were all built facing the same direction in the same style and were large and solid, using grey, hand chiseled, stone bricks and striking blue painted wooden frames for the windows and doors. We walked through the streets heading up to the monastery, and still Khumjung sprawled into the distance to our left. Behind us next to the school, we got occasional glimpses through the cloud of Ama Dablam and hints of a blue sky beyond. We watched with interest as a cow that had been loitering at the stupa in front of our lodge followed us up the street and returned itself to its owners paddock for dinner time. Reaching the monastery we turned some of the large prayer wheels outside and went in. To our excitement inside were a closed cabinet, the key holder, an old grinning, and thoroughbred believer, proudly opened up the doors for a donation into the mysterious box. Inside, framed in a glass case was the famous Yeti skull! Enthralled we bent down to take in the texture of the hair and strange cone-shaped head, and read with intrigue the story it displayed above. The skull was a gift, and initially caused a bit of outrage before becoming a sacred relic belonging to the Lamas. The Yeti is far from just a myth :)
We returned back to the lodge for dinner and got chatting to an interesting guy from the UK who had attempted Island peak earlier in the week but failed due to extreme altitude sickness. He fuelled interest in us for taking on the 3 Peak Challenge in 24 hours across England, Scotland and Wales in the summer. After a couple of hours of conversation and a warming tomato soup we headed for bed, parting ways with the present company which included possibly the most annoying American family we have encountered to date with two undisciplined children that seem to be in total control of the situation - and who said that the United States was void of Dictators!
Waking around 6am with a clear blue sky piercing through our slightly tattered curtains, we hurriedly packed our kits, scoffed breakfast, and hit the trail for the return to Namche Bazaar and following the down hill run bound for Phakding once again. On the trail Adam and Bhala started to talk politics, business, culture, pollution, sport and what seems to be the topic on every foreigner and Nepali's lips...Corruption. For a country whose economy is dependant on the huge annual influx of foreign money and has done for the last 50 years, the government's collection of profit from tourism seems to stay securely within the government's pocket. There is a strong emphasis on trekkers leaving personal gear for the porters, yet there is minimal donation from the government to the workers of the tourist industry that depends entirely on their seasonal wages. Perhaps some contribution towards these poor hardworking communities of the mountains in terms of education or training to improve their future earning prospects may be a beneficial initiative towards building Nepal's future.
Reaching Phakding in the late afternoon we settled back into the same guest house, and spent an hour or so observing how clean all the new trekkers were looking compared to our ragged, unshowered, grubby selves. The short walk into Lukla the following morning saw us returning to the Mera Lodge Guest House for brunch and awaiting a potential flight out that afternoon. Hanging our hopes on a fast escape we spent several hours splashing out on veggie burgers, snacks and several beers, only to end up tipsy and disappointed, resigning ourselves to a cruddy little room at the lodge and a night in Lukla, with little to do but hit the bars! The Irish Pub (everywhere in the world that is anywhere has one!) was quiet and a little strange, painted black with UV lighting and a pool table. After a swift beer, it was time to move on and back to Waves the only other bar that had any action. Shamefully we stumbled straight into happy hour (free pop corn of course) but cheap cocktails...perhaps the worst cocktails ever - one tasted something like you would find in a medicine cabinet or mix up from your parent's mini bar when you were 13. We played pool, and even roped Bhala into his first game, and had monopoly of the i-pod music sound system until the bar started filling up with Sherpas and trekking parties. San Miguel took over somewhere during this time, more effective at altitude, Adam had partnered up with a Sherpa-come-pool-shark and together they ruled the table over several games as other challengers jumped on board and got promptly knocked out, Lana did the English proud by holding up the bar and hitting the now disco-light lit dance floor. Sometime in the early hours we wrestled each other and our way to our room and were soon awoken by Bhala banging on the open door reminding us that we had to be at the airport, (very soon) confronted by the hung over, still dressed forms of his trekkers. Lukla airport was uneventful. Feeling rough we entertained ourselves watching people flocking to the 'gates' clutching their tickets each time a plane roared into the flight-time lottery. The turbulent flight back left Adam feeling pretty ropey and on returning to Kathmandu into a hotel suite on the 4th floor of a decrepit building in the centre of Thamel, we settled in a comfortable position with the Discovery Channel and room service for the next two days.
The shock of Kathmandu hit hard, the highlight being hiring a motorcycle and venturing out into the hills weaving in an out of frantic traffic whilst consuming unhealthy loads of dust and fumes! Our destination was to be Baktipur but unfortunately we got lost in the first 10 minutes and decided to wing it for the rest of the afternoon. We arrived back to Thamel dusty and tired and dropped the bike back in one piece, much to the surprise and delight of the rental shop owner. That evening we had an invitation to Bhala's for a traditional Nepali banquet dinner and celebration, so we weaved once more through the foot traffic of Thamel to the hotel for a quick clean up. We were picked up at 7 sharp and headed into the suburbs of Kathmandu and the night. Passing old shanty homes and an abundance of stray dogs through the narrow back alleys in complete darkness due to the routine power out, we arrived at Bhala's shortly after and was greeted by his sister in traditional Nepali fashion with a bright eyed, bright smiled Namaste, and were draped with silk scarves for good blessings and served a delicious hot lemon tea. Then Bhala reached for his back pocket and pulled out a traditional Nepali hat worn by gentlemen, and handed the extra gift to Adam much to his delight as a keen lover of hats! We were spoilt with beer and fried mutton as starters with an authentic Dahl Bhat to follow. After a few hours spent chatting, drinking and reflecting on the trip, we headed back to Thamel with our ever patient taxi driver who had been waiting for us since he dropped us off, for an early night and the comfort of our hotel bed as we were booking our trip to ChitwanNational Park in the morning.
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