Everest Base Camp via Gokyo Lakes (Part 1 of 7)
And to the mountains once again
Trekking Day 1: Trek meeting
B. the Office Manager and A. the Guide (henceforth respectively BOM and ATG) arrived at our hotel punctually at 5 pm for our trek meeting. We were surprised to see how very young ATG seemed; more worrisome was the fact that his English was a bit challenging to understand.
BOC must have been trained in parliamentary rules because he began the meeting by offering a “Namaste” and introducing himself — a little strange because we’d already met and spoken many times. It must be that’s the way meetings are made official in Nepal. He then introduced the trekking company, gave us a rundown bio of the company’s founder, and mentioned a couple of educational programs that they run, for education and training of Nepali youth in the tourism and trekking industries.
It was obvious that ATG was a bit nervous when it was his turn to introduce himself. His hometown was close to Lukla; he had grown up in the Tengboche area, attended the Hilary school and begun trekking as a porter at the age of 14. He had been to the Everest Base Camp more than 200 times (although for some reason, most of the guides we’ve spoken to mention that exact number — maybe it’s considered good luck?). BOM explained that the fall trekking season coincided with Dashain and other festival periods — time in which ATG could work because he was Buddhist and those Hindu holidays offered a good opportunity to earn money. ATG began as a porter and then moved on to assistant guide and now, for us, as a guide.
N. continued to marvel at how young ATG seemed — only 24 — but I reasoned that for someone who needs to gain experience and confidence as a guide, we were the perfect guinea pigs: we were only two trekkers, easy to manage, older, patient.
They went over the gear checklist, highlights of the trek, the cautions about health and altitude sickness (ATG would monitor our condition daily and carry a first aid kit and an oxygen tank), accommodations at tea houses, expectations of tips for the guide and porters.
And so, nothing else to do but wait for tomorrow.
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Trekking Day 2: Sightseeing in Kathmandu Valley and drive to Manthali (5 hrs)
We are riding in a small black sedan, half way between Kathmandu and Manthali. We had a meh lunch about an hour ago and I was trying to get a bit of a nap, but it’s impossible: we are negotiating one mountain road after another (at least there were cement barriers on the cliff sides), several stretches torn up by rain and landslides, jostled like human smoothies. We’re passing by snack stands, locals walking to heavens know where, finished and unfinished houses latched onto mountain sides but that look as if at any minute they may slide like butter from a hot pan. It’s a miracle our car’s tires haven’t fallen off their axles or look like shredded cheese.
We started early this morning, after a quick breakfast. The bags and gear we wouldn’t be taking to the mountains we left in the hotel. We got into the car with the driver, ATG, and a city guide named Aditya (they do seem to have strong predilections for names that begin with the letter A.)
First stop: Boudhanath Stupa.
According to Aditya, it was once the largest stupa in Southeast Asia, but was supplanted a few years ago by another in Bhutan or Sri Lanka. According to legend, an old woman asked the king for a bit of land. When asked how much, she responded that she would appreciate whatever can be covered by a buffalo skin. When the king agreed, the clever woman used a buffalo skin to make a long string and then used the rope to circumscribe her desired plot. And so on this very large area was built the Boudhanath.
Monks, acolytes, the faithful, the curious and the enterprising — all gathered on the grounds to pray, to gawk, to make money. It was again one of those ironic situations whereby a structure of a religion that preaches freedom from material things was completely surrounded by souvenir shops.
We stopped by the onsite monastery and received prayers from the monks who wrapped colorful strands of thread on our wrists — left on women and right on men — for a small donation.
Next stop: Pashupatinah Temple.
We had stopped here on Teej, but this time, the occasion was not as festive. Aditya guided us to the temple grounds through a different part of the complex and we soon found ourselves by the Bagmati River where commemorative services, death rituals, and actual cremations were taking place.
Although we were outdoors it was difficult not to feel claustrophobic and overstimulated by all the things happening within sight:
The family mourning a woman wrapped in a white shroud. Aditya explained some of the rituals: laying the body with its head toward the temple, removing all jewelry and clothing because Hinduism teaches that we are born with nothing and we should leave this earth with nothing; washing the deceased’s feet one last time; the duty of surviving descendants to perform rituals to remember the previous three generations.
Cows were munching on offerings of grain and leaves, and monkeys were busy scouting which plates of offering to snatch for a meal — or which plates from other monkeys to steal
For these rituals, many priests were doing brisk business on the grounds
It was hard to tell whether there were more beggars or sellers of trinkets
In a certain area, we saw the holy men loitering in fantastic clothing, accessories and make up. However, they were not so abstaining that they didn’t want tips for our having taken their pictures.
I found it unnecessary to witness the whole ceremony of cremation, and so we left.
At one point of the drive, we passed a mercifully well paved section of the road and alongside the concrete supporting wall were glued thousands of mirrors of all sizes. The road had been build with financial support from the Japanese, but once built it had been plagued by accidents and landslides. The local people attributed the bad luck to the anger of a local goddess, so they built a small temple and made offerings of mirrors. My guess is that the mirrors — reflecting light and mirroring the mountains — were seen as tricking the goddess into thinking that the road was not there.
We arrived in Manthali — alive! — and checked into our hotel. The most important feature of the room was the LG air conditioner that mercifully worked. We rested in the cool dry air before venturing into the sticky garden for a dal bhat dinner, the only thing on the menu and compulsory at NPR 1000 pax.
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Trekking Day 3: Hang around the Manthali airport lounge all morning; go back to the hotel to wait out the weather
We slept fitfully, tossing and turning each time an annoying bird cawed right outside the window.
5:30 am: While it was still dark outside, we shlept our bags to the courtyard and waited for ATG. He nonchalantly heaved the heavier bag on top of this own backpack, behind his neck, and N. and I lugged the other one for our first trek — to the airport, a ten-minute walk.
At that hour, the only beings awake were the street dogs who sniffed at our heels hoping without success that we would throw them some food.
6 am: We arrived at the Ramechhap Airport to a mini illustration of the world’s population dynamics. A large group of Chinese were organizing themselves loudly — they were not shy about just yelling across a room. Soon enough, a van disgorged a group of 20 Indians, which I understand is a small group compared to their usual large congregations. The petite groups were us, a quartet of Russians, a solo Frenchman with his guide.
While checking us in for our flight, ATG asked for our passports and realized that he had forgotten his own ID. As he looked frantically for a photo of a document on his phone, our confidence in him slipped just a tad — we’re trusting our lives to a youngster who cannot remember to bring his ID? I sincerely hoped he remembered to bring the emergency oxygen canister.
We got our boarding passes, went through security, and waited in the departure lounge for the clouds to part.
Order from a little canteen: a latte and Snickers bar (S#1). They did have an expresso machine, but not much else.
The plane parked on the runway looked tiny. ATG said it seated 18.
9:30 am: all the people spread out in the lounge seats, some sleeping, all the ones awake staring into their phones. Like others, we walked to the windows from time to time, stared at the cloudy skies, and sighed. I also just spotted a “Smoking Zone” where these hikers — headed to the Everest Base Camp — were puffing away — did not look a helpful habit for hiking in high altitude.
N. also made a friend with a solo hiker from Mumbai and gave him the rundown of our retirement adventures. I felt like a pastor’s wife who’s re-hearing her husband’s sermon.
10am: I was approached by a woman from the Chinese posse who started to ask me a question in Chinese. I had to shake my head and mutter, “Hankok.” She whipped out her phone’s translation app and asked whether I had an iPhone charging cable. Sure, happy to help. But I had my cable attached to my power bank, and she also needed the plug. I checked her phone and it was at 84%. I made some noises about how she still had plenty of juice. She understood and then spoke into the app. She explained that she wanted to charge her phone now while charging was free from the many outlets around the lounge. (Charging costs moola in the mountains.) I could not help her.
10:30 am: were officially hungry enough to order from the canteen onsite. Two egg sandwiches and a milk coffee (mental memo: next time, make sure to bring Maxim coffee).
10:34 am: the Chinese got up mumbling something excitedly along with exclamations of “Yes!” The silly things had heard a motor starting and thought flying would happen.
11:52 am: to everyone’s disappointment an announcement was made that due to bad weather in Lukla all flights were cancelled for the day — it’s as if the air went out from a ballon, causing widespread deflation. What now?
So began the Helicopter Scramble.
Some large groups were talking about driving to Lukla — 10-12 hours on a jeep
At our request, our guide made desperate calls to the trekking office in KTM to find information about hiring a pigeon bird, a kite, a helicopter. 🚁
One helicopter costs USD 2,500 and carries five. First we needed to find if we could even get a hold of one. Second we spoke with a few couples who might be interested in hopping along and sharing the cost. There was one young couple from China; another older from Italy, I think. We promised to keep in touch, but who knows?
12:50 pm: lunch back at last night’s hotel. We cannot stay here since all rooms are already booked and N. requires AC (he was not about to stay in the “glamping” tents next to the overfilled hotel pool). So our contact at the trekking company in KTM is looking for both a helicopter and a hotel room.
2:30 pm: N. and I leave for the shops by the bus depot around the corner to get some fruit. Apples and bananas. The bananas tasted rock hard and unripe, despite their color. I could not find a store that sold Snickers bars (so all those YouTubers who advised, “There’s no need to stock up on bars or snacks in Kathmandu” — I’m calling BS on your cursed heads!) Still waiting to get a hotel room with AC.
3:07 pm: we finally get our room with AC — in the same hotel — to which we practically run with our bags. N. collapsed on the bed and I tried to wash away the sticky humidity with a cold shower. Nap time.
7:00 pm: dinner. The hotel was calling it a buffet, but in all honesty it was just self-serve dal bhat.
Another guide from our trekking company arrived with four trekkers from Boston. He came to say hi and I realized that we must really really have looked patient and kind for BOM to have saddled us with ATG. The other guy was older, seemed more confident and experienced and, bless his heart, had much better English.
8:07 pm: back to the room, to rest and sleep and re-do today all over again.
Glitch in the Matrix.
***
Trekking Day 4: hang around the hotel all day, hearing the rain, rain, rain
4:55 am: our guide had said last night that he would knock on our door if he got word that there was a chance the first flight to Lukla would leave at 7 am. I wake up to sounds of a rain and no knock comes. N. now can’t go back to sleep because of my alarm.
6:25 am: we wake up to the sound of rain and a text from our guide — because of bad weather there was no need to pack our bags now. We should just come for breakfast at 7:30 am.
7:30 am: breakfast.
I have to begin wearing my glasses — I have brought exactly the correct number of disposable contact lenses for the trek. If I keep wearing them here, I will have to wear glasses during the trek.
Upon leaving our room, I saw what was making the sound of an extra large faucet open full blown — it was an overflowing drain catching the water from the roof, overflowing a large basket and spreading on the tile floor. The actual rain was a more civilized pitted-patter.
After breakfast, our guide gave us the run down of the possible changes in the itinerary — skipping the acclimatization day at Namche; hiking a few extra hours instead of stopping at Phorse Thangna. Chances don’t look good for a helicopter ride today either: forecast calls for rain all day today and tomorrow.
8:51 am: back in the room to wait for the rain to stop, for the clouds to clear, for our trek to begin. I try to make good use of the downtime and downpour by working on our blog entries for the Poon Hill trek.
10:37 am: my big brain and small thumbs are working overdrive on the blog, but it’s tedious to write on the phone. I’m already hungry and it’s still far from lunch.
11:39 am: N. steps outside to mutter at the rain and about helicopters. I’m even hungrier.
1:07 pm: we finally get lunch (chicken biriyani and veggie momos)
All the guides staying at this hotel are watching a Nepali sketch comedy show on the TV. I asked them if they like these delays: thumbs up or down?
Thumbs down. They said these delays cause stress (and hence the comedy show). I imagine it’s not easy to deal with large groups of guests who have paid money to trek the mountains and must be antsy and disappointed by delays which they cannot control or blame on anyone. Besides, most of them probably don’t have the luxury of the scheduling flexibility that we do. (We were scheduled for 3 days in KTM post hike; we have now used one of those days. After today, another buffer day is gone.)
As more and more guides gather, it suddenly hits me and I ask them, “Are there guides who are women?” A clever one pipes up, “Yes, but they only work in good weather!” He should have his own stand up special.
1:54 pm: with our masala and ginger teas, we make our way back to our room, to give the guides their space so they can rest in peace. Back to our prison rooms.
3:33 pm: after working on the Poon Hill trek entries — what else is there to do — I’m trying to take a nap, but the hotel workers keep having to empty the rain collection buckets and so the sound of sloshing and splashing — on top of the drizzling, dripping, trickling, falling, plonking — water is keeping me from falling asleep. They also keep having to squeegee the floor to prevent a flood on the open air hallway which keeps pooling with a few inches of water.
4:18 pm: I give trying to sleep and pick up where I left off working on the blog.
4:48 pm: for some reason I remember the couple who hooked up during the Poon Hill trek. What would they do during this deluge confined to a room, with nothing to do and nowhere to go?
5:17 pm: good thing I wasn’t taking a nap because a couple of guys from Boston (from the group of four being led by another guide from our trekking company) settled themselves in the little table and chairs that make up the common area in the hallway between the eight rooms. They began blasting music, singing, talking, making video calls.
6:38 pm: the ruckus stopped. Dare I hope they are gone?
7:15 pm: our guide came to call us for dinner and we did meekly follow along despite planning not to eat. What in heavens name are we going to do with all this stored dal bhat power?
8:31 pm: as we walked back to our room, one of the previous inconsiderate guests is sitting in that table again, listening to music and having his solo karaoke session. N. sternly forbade me from going outside and giving him a piece of my mind.
Groundhog Day.
***
Trekking Day 5: rain Rain RAIN! Where’s my flying ark?!?
12:54 am: wake up to sound of NO RAIN. Could it really be? Fall back asleep.
7:05 am wake up to the sound of RAIN.
7:35 am: same breakfast as the last two days. I love breakfast, but in this mood — and the food from this resort — I’m starting to wish I could hibernate-on-call.
Guides said that the government shut all roads because of flooding. I cannot begin to imagine driving on that road now. Also, some trekkers who were on the road had to stop in whatever place they could because of the closures. So we should be grateful for being here — safe, dry, and with food. And yet.
N. and I cheered ourselves with the idea of following the original itinerary all the way to the EBC and then skipping the descent by just taking a helicopter from Namche Bazaar — or from Base Camp even — to Kathmandu. Doing so should create a buffer of two to four days.
10:03 am: back to our cel—, hmm, room.
10:38 am: went to the pool area to stare at the rain — and saw a muddy waterfall coming down the side of the mountain. The owner of the hotel was saying that all of Nepal is now a disaster area. He was scheduled to be completely booked today, but had told the his contacts that he could no longer accommodate any more incoming; and might as well, because trekkers were now stranded on the road. He mentioned we are lucky because another large hotel in the area with more than 100 rooms had been flooded — what would all those guests now do?
11:48 am: I finished the journal entries for the Poon Hill trek. It’s still raining. Maybe I should take a morning nap?
1:22 pm: wake up from nap and get lunch.
N. refused to get a biriyani as we have done for the last 3 lunches, so we had a veggie pakora (fried veggie patties) and chicken fried rice. For some mysterious reason, it takes longer to make a milk coffee than any of the food we ordered. (I hate it that all our farts and poops smelly like curry! )
3:05 pm: we come back to our room/cell and I take a shower, as much to pass the time as to get clean.
The rain has dwindled to a trickle, but then it’s been doing this Jekyll-and-Hyde thing for three days now. We caught a news segment about an unusual weather pattern in Nepal that has created monsoon-like conditions, causing rain and floods and landslides and quite a few deaths. Kathmandu seems flooded and all domestic flights have been grounded. Travelers always talk about to get have authentic experiences in the countries they travel to — well, be careful what you wish for.
4:03 pm: I’m really sorry I didn’t bring a knitting project. Idle hands and all that.
The rain actually stopped for a few minutes — I didn’t see water plinks in the swimming pool surface — but then it started again.
4:11 pm: N. must be really bored: he uncharacteristically takes a nap.
5:35 pm: the skies seem to be holding back the rain — for now.
6:30 pm: we try to grab an early dinner, but the kitchen doesn’t serve until 7:15. Dare I expect that they will do something — anything! — different for their dal bhat today? Why would they?!? How can they serve exactly the same thing day after day after day after…
Because we are expecting to leave tomorrow, we went to settle our bill and I was irritated by the discrepancy between what ATG had told us about the room including breakfast and dinner, and the charges for both breakfast and dinner on our bill.
8:45 pm: we get back to the room, dare to hope to leave this place in the morning, and pack our stuff.
N. is reading “Into Thin Air” by Jon Krakauer and freaking himself out about altitude sickness. Isn’t it a little late for that?
***