Everest Base Camp via Gokyo Lakes (Part 2 of 7)
Planes and bridges and jopkes
Trekking Day 6: Flight from Manthali to Lukla, Trek to Phakding (2,610m/8,563ft)
1:51 am: I wake up because I hear loud conversations. Why, o why?!? It takes me a good hour to go back to sleep.
3:48 am: how is this possible? Who’s having an effing party in the middle of the night? I peek behind the curtains into the hall outside and see doors open, loud talking and even music. Seriously?!? It’s the party of 6, two of which we spoke to during dinner, one of whom was from Long Beach, CA). I lay fuming in bed.
5:05 am: both N. and I give up sleeping, turn on the lights and get ready.
5:20 am: the alarm rings.
5:30 am: we go to the bar and get a couple of coffees.
6:15 am: we lug our bags to the airport — no tuk-tuk — and join the sea of anxious trekkers.
8:16 am: we’ve already seen two flights take off. The waiting lounge is crowded and there’s a nervous energy in the air.
8:30 am: our guide told us our plane will arrive in 40 minutes; it’s coming from KTM and will stop in Lukla before coming here to Manthali. Question: why couldn’t we have taken that KTM-LUA segment in the first place?
8:58 am: we finally board the plane. TAKE OFF! 🛫
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The airplane was similar to the tiny little one that we saw sitting on the Manthali runway (supposedly, the grounded plan was waiting for a repair part). N. had originally wanted to sit on the left side of the plane because of what he visualized the flight path would be, but ATG said, no, the right side was better, so we took his advice. The tiny plane for 18 had a flight attendant who waved a flight safety card and distributed cotton balls for ear plugs. The plane had two pilots.
Because we were sitting in the first row, right behind the pilots, and because the plane was indeed a tiny sardine can, we could see through the dividing curtain and peek at their instruments and knobs that they kept fiddling with. Soon enough, we took off for the mountains and lo and behold…
… the views were better on the left — as N. had envisioned. Did ATG misunderstand our question about views, or was he simply taking pleasure in sabotaging us? Nevertheless, it was awe-arousing to see the snow capped mountains through which our little tiny plane was just weaving in and out. The only con was the fact that the flight itself was so short — just about 20 minutes to Lukla.
As we approached the Lukla runway, we could see exactly what the pilots were seeing: a super short strip of asphalt, tilting upwards. They had to maneuver the plane to land on this strip and then stop before hitting the face of the mountain. It was not for nothing that Lukla was considered one of the most dangerous airports in the world.
As soon as we got out of the airport, we saw many young men waiting, among them Sherpas who supposedly were fiercely protective of their turf in the porter business (our Poon Hill trek guide mentioned that people from other areas were not allowed to come to this area to work as porters). My guess was they were waiting for clients. They also must’ve been frustrated for the last three days since they had had no work. After we retrieved our bags, ATG took us to a tea house closeby where we ordered breakfast, we arranged the bags — I would carry only small essentials in a sling while N. would lug his heavy camera — and then we met our two porters, Nayan and Gyanju. (Although our trekking company insisted that one porter would be sufficient, we chose to hire two so that one could be in charge of our day packs). While taking a break, we watched planes and helicopters taking off and landing. Scary every single time.
Now to Phakting we go.
Outside the busy center of Lukla — tea houses, trekking supplies, and even an Irish bar — we reached the ticket counter for the entrance to Sagarmatha National Park. ATG said the process of getting tickets and stamps would take a while and asked that we go ahead with the porters; he would catch up.
N. and I followed the trail for about two hours. There was nothing challenging about it; my only trepidation involved one wet rocky section which reminded me of the spot where N. slipped and fell during the Poon Hill hike. I could not help but wish that our guide from that trek were here with us — whenever I hesitated around down-sloping wet rock, he would make sure to walk closely, in front of me, to be ready to catch me in case I slipped. ATG was still nowhere to be seen.
There were lots of little villages and communities along the trail, lots of kids around as well. The tea houses looked well built and well organized; most placed plants and flowers here and there to make everything look pretty — trailside appeal I guess — and so attract customers. Prayer flags flew everywhere.
We arrived in the teahouse in Phakting in the early afternoon. N. seems to be already feeling some of the effects the altitude — not really great news. His oxygen level was down to about 83 percent (I felt OK at 93%), so we’re hoping that with rest his body will make the adjustments to breathe and suck oxygen from the thinner air more efficiently. He is also running a bit of a fever, so we’ll have to keep an eye on him. I gave him a Tylenol as soon as we came to the teahouse. After a quick lunch of cheese and tuna sandwiches, we went to rest.
The rooms are very utilitarian — a couple of bunks in a small room with walls made of thin plywood so we might be wise to put on our earplugs to sleep tonight. The bathroom is at the end of a long hall, shared with about 10 more rooms on this floor.
I went down to the main hall around 4:30 pm to order dinner, as directed by ATG, but could not find him anywhere. The teahouse boss man went to wake him up from the tent in the backyard. (ATG had told us that in the high season, guides had to sleep in tents because all the rooms in the teahouse were reserved for paying guests. Porters rested in altogether different, cheaper teahouses that catered specifically for them.)
Before dinner, I snuck in the kitchen to use our Grayl and filter drinking water the next day.
Guess what dinner was?
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Trekking Day 7: From Phakding to Namche (3,440m/11,286ft)
Miraculously, N. seems to have had a good night’s sleep. I even heard him take the initiative and take a Tylenol around 2 am. I had worried that he must have been in really bad shape to take meds without my nudging, but he woke up in the morning, despite the occasional cough, without any other debilitating symptoms.
It was windy — the prayer flags outside our window flew like wooden boards.
We heard people getting ready around 6:30 am, but we were not scheduled to leave until 8 am. We took our time, packed, and went downstairs for breakfast.
We had worn multiple layers, but by the time we walked outside, the wind has died down, and the sun was hitting the trail; it was not cold at all — in fact it was absolutely perfect hiking weather.
The trail was a steady undulating uphill. Our night bag had already disappeared ahead with Gyanju. We would not see him at all on the trail (which is funny, but as soon as I woke up and opened the curtains, he was the first person I saw this morning). So it was ATG, Nayan with our day bags, N. and I.
Or maybe not. The trails were crowded today, a result of that three-day mini-monsoon that kept everyone from reaching Lukla. Now, three days’ worth of trekkers, which would otherwise have been spread out, were moving together.
Trekkers were not only of the human kind — we often had to give the right of way to caravans of animals, mostly jopkes (type of ox) and donkeys. These animals carried a variety of goods: mystery plastic bags (sand, cement, gravel?), propane tanks, trekkers’ duffels. It was hard not to feel both for their lot and their caretakers’; I wondered how the porters feel when they see these animals.
We also saw a woman on horseback, with a guide holding the lead, and her husband following on foot. We met them on a rocky section, and the horse was resisting going down. The guide kept pulling, but it was a miserable scene. I could not help picturing in my mind the horse just bolting — and the disaster that would be for all involved.
According to our guide, trekking groups that had been in the mountains before the recent deluge had trekked with thick clouds and heavy rain and, in the higher altitudes, snow. We saw many of these trekkers on their return journeys, headed to Lukla, without having reached the EBC. Gulp.
But there was nothing impeding the views today.
We would be among trees with nothing particularly special — we could have been in the Great Smoky Mountains or among the Redwoods — and then we’d turn one switchback and there the vista would open: layers and layers of mountain ridges meeting together above a snaky river; farther and higher would be giant mountain peaks covered with snow. According to our guide, these were Kongde Peak, Thamserku, Kusum Kangaru, Tabuche, and Cholatse.
We passed several suspension bridges, high up from the river and festooned with new and old prayer flags. These were also effectively crossed by the yaks and donkeys. Of course we trekkers made a fuss about the Hilary Bridge. It spanned a wide section between two ridges, over the Dudh Koshi River.
The final ascent to Namche was not as steep or relentless as the one to Ulleri from the Poon Hill trek, but it was getting late, the altitude did nothing but rise, and the constant stream of animals making us stand around, waiting for them to clear was getting tedious. And we were getting tired.
By the time we were finally on the outer ‘burbs of Namche, N. was ready to stop trekking… except that we still had to get to our tea house. Not sure why he thought the first tea house he saw would be ours, but he was sorely disappointed when Nayan kept going. It brought to mind another trek we did almost 20 years ago near Kachendzonga in Darjeeling, when our daughter was so disappointed when the teahouse she thought we would stop in turned out to be the wrong one and we had to keep going — she threw a fit then, sprawling on the ground and refusing to budge. I guess she got it from one of her parents.
Once we went through downtown Namche, we were flabbergasted at how large and wealthy it seemed: it had a large stupa, prayer wheels that turned continuously through a water mill, lots of shops — North Face and Columbia stores — and, of course, restaurants and coffee shops… and another branch of that Irish bar we saw in Lukla. It was amazing all this was sitting on top of a mountain at this altitude. For some reason, both of us got emotional — we were grateful that we felt good and healthy and that we were able to do this together.
We arrived at our teahouse and settled in with tea and carrot cake. Dinner was a treat because it was not dal bhat: chicken sizzler, tuna kimbap and, best of all, garlic soup (it tastes much better than it sounds). For dessert, N. had apple pie. We already pre-missed the food from Namche.
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During our daily briefing after dinner, we asked our guide if we could have lunch somewhere other than in the teahouse. He responded that, yes, we could eat elsewhere, but that he could not be responsible for any type of food poisoning because food from other places was not hygienic. A bit bombastic, no? Message received: staying at a teahouse involved an unspoken agreement that trekkers would buy their meals there.
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