“I expected the Orientals to be inscrutable; I just hadn’t expected them to be inscrutable to my face.”

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Standing at 5000m near the head of the Gokyo valley, I turned to our guide, Man Magar, and said "Man, I've visited fifty two countries in my life and I've never seen anything like this." We were braced against the wind perched on the moraine at the aptly named "Scoundrel's viewpoint", so called because it affords an excellent view of Everest and Nuptse without the need to climb any of the steep surrounding hills. To our left was the massive wall of snow and ice that comprises the slopes of Cho Oyu, at 8201m (26906ft) the sixth highest and one of only fourteen 8000m peaks in the world. On the far side lay Tibet, only a matter of a few kilometres away. As our eyes followed the wall they were inevitably drawn to the distinctive, almost hunchback shape of Everest itself (8850m, 29035ft), the black rock of the South West face scoured by the famous yellow band, consisting of limestone mixed with marbles and quartz. Through my telephoto lens the Hilary Step, the crux of the traditional route up the mountain, was clearly visible. To the right of Everest the horseshoe ridge terminated by Nuptse (7841m, 25726ft) leading to the world’s fourth highest mountain, Lhotse (8516m, 27940ft) and finally to Everest itself, reminded me somewhat of a mirrored version of Ben Nevis or perhaps even my favourite Lake District Mountain, Saddleback. Closer to our dramatic eyrie peering over the Ngozumba glacier the close proximity of the two massive vertically-sided towers of Cholo (6089m) and Kangchung (6063m) made them the most dramatic of all the sights. Man, with typical humility, replied with a sigh, "Thank you. I only hope that Nepal's problems can be solved so that more people can come and see this wonder."

Truth be told we hadn't done much advance research about Nepal. A few weeks prior, as we traveled through North India, I phoned a contact in the UK who had spent much of his life tramping in the Nepalese Himalayas. "Where would you go?" was the simple question, and the answer equally simple - "Jiri to Luckla and then the Gokyo valley. You can then cross the Cho La pass to Everest base camp." A few more questions elicited a reliable Kathmandu-based guiding company and after a few emails with them we had a price, an itinerary and were good to go. What could be simpler? We also felt there was a small element of romantic endeavour about our chosen route - simply that we should travel from the southern tip of India to Everest Base camp overland - hardly Shackleton, Scott or even Palin, but satisfying enough for our limited ambitions.

A couple of days in a relatively calm and tranquil Kathmandu, seeking to supplement the limited high-mountain equipment that we had lugged for two months across the hot plains of India, and we were ready for the off. If you find yourself shopping in Kathmandu beware - the myriad of fakes are authentically fake and even though they say 'Gortex' they aren't waterproof at all. Likewise, after accosting a German eye-doctor in the streets of Thamel, the central tourist area, I confirmed my suspicions that the fake sunglasses would do my eyes more harm than good at high-altitudes (this was a slightly odd incident - I was looking for advice on buying sunglasses and the first random person I stopped happened to be a professional who had been on secondment to Kathmandu's main hospital - prolonged living on the subcontinent really can lead you to start to believing in the fates). You also need to be sure your sunblock really will block the sun, a problem we'd already encountered in India. The manager of our guiding company had recommended Shona's and we should have gone straight there - it would have saved two days of traipsing. Run by a grizzled old Aussie and his wife, ex of Macpac, they manufacture and sell more down sleeping bags than top UK down specialist Rab. They import non-branded but 100%!U(MISSING)V protection sunglasses from Australia, and also manufacture a range of cheap waterproofs - you can't import waterproof spray to Nepal very easily so it is best to just simply bring in cheap pre-waterproofed material. Kim bought a three-season down bag off them for under fifty-quid, and spent the next three weeks warmer than I was in my aging Rab. They also proved a fountain of useful information and when it came to gear they really knew their stuff - we quizzed them to make sure.

This being prime Everest season the shop was packed with punters about to attempt the world's highest mountain. We chatted to one familiar looking pommie lad who was on his third attempt - first time he hit bad weather, second time without oxygen he timed out, let’s hope third time lucky. There was also a group who had cycled from Jordan (the country in the Middle-East, not the UK celebrity) to tackle Everest. We felt suitably humbled and left in search of penniless backpackers over whom we could feel superior.

(Sadly, whilst searching for the author of an excellent guidebook to the region, I have just realized that the pleasant English fellow we met was David Sharp, who this time managed to summit, but died on the descent. This has saddened both Kim and myself more than we would expect. He didn’t seem like a typical high-altitude mountaineer - he seemed like a nice, self-effacing, pleasant chap who was fun to talk to. Our thoughts go to his family. This blog was written before I found this out and I haven’t subsequently changed it.)

Yet another long drive took us out of the relatively developed Kathmandu valley and we quickly found ourselves winding around the steep valleys that guard the giant's above. It took us about six hours to reach the tiny market hamlet of Jiri, the biggest place for miles around. The views on the way were of course spectacular. Nonetheless there was a certain amount of trepidation as we huddled around the small fire in our ramshackle guesthouse. Ahead of us was an itinerary of twenty five days walking, after nearly three months on the subcontinent we were very unfit, and the state of this guesthouse in a relative metropolis suggested worse to come. And, of course, there were the Maoists.

I'm somewhat reminded of Bill Hicks' satire on the first Gulf War. This is not an exact quote, as it's from memory, but the sentiments ran somewhat like this:

"Does anyone remember CNN and the news channels during the Iraq war - 'Hey we're doing well but we have yet to face the Elite Republican Guard.' … Seven foot desert warriors … We shit bullets. Turns out, after several weeks of continuous carpet bombing and not one squeak out of the these people, they went from 'The Elite Republican Guard' to 'the Republican Guard' to the Republicans made all this up, we hope you enjoyed your fireworks show."

Our own encounter with the Maoists followed something of a similar pattern. The first seven days of our walk, from Jiri to Namche Bazaar, was of a very different character to the rest. Jiri lies just below 2000m (6560ft), altitude and Namche is at 3440m (11282ft). Most of this early route lies between these heights and is far more typical of rural Nepal than the area above Namche, which lies in the Sagarmatha National Park. Nowadays most tourists avoid the Maoist threat and the strenuous climbs and descents of the approach trek by flying direct to Lukla (2840m), only a day’s trek from Namche (although most take two days to help acclimatize). Starting at Jiri you are also taking the route that many climbing expeditions of the seventies and eighties had to take, as there was simply no other means of transport into the region. This is still better than poor old John Hunt's expedition, who pretty much had to start walking in Kathmandu.

A couple of days prior to our departure the fate of a small group of Polish trekkers had reached the newswire. Reports around the world claimed they had been kidnapped by the Maoists. What actually happened is unclear and indicative of the inaccuracy of modern reporting, suffice to say the refused to pay the extortionate demands of the Maoists and were hence delayed for a day. It takes several days for even the fastest to reach Luckla from Jiri and they had no means of communication after leaving the village where they met the Maoists. At some point, according to the BBC, they had used the Maoist's satellite phone (the idea that the Maoists had a satellite phone caused great hilarity amongst our Nepali friends - in fact they almost certainly just used a landline which incredibly exist at one or two places along the route) to report they would be late due to discussions with the Maoists. Due to language problems this quickly turned into a kidnapping situation in the eyes of the world. In fact no such thing happened, nor was likely to happen.

Obviously concerned, we spent a long time trying to get to the bottom of this incident and the local Nepalis were quite scathing of the news reports. The simple fact was that the Poles were safe, apologetic and strenuously denying all reports of kidnap as were the Maoists themselves, Our trekking agency, who were managing several treks and an attempt on Everest, were more than happy that the route was safe. Nonetheless, many trekkers we met after Lukla were quite shocked we had attempted it - "But that's dangerous isn't it?" Well, if it is dangerous it's a hell of a lot less dangerous than being up here - more on that later.

We met our Maoist in the tiny village of Bhandar, a day and a half into the trek. We had expected a platoon of men with at least rifles and combat fatigues. Instead there was one young fellow dressed as a local sitting in the sun outside a tea house. We let our guide attempt to negotiate with him but this didn't help - they wanted 5000 rupees from each of Kim and I - a whopping forty quid each. Anyone who has read this blog in entirety will not be surprised that, Maoist or no Maoist, he wasn't going to get this amount without some degree of protest. So we sat for half an hour, drinking welcome cups of tea, whilst I lectured him in market economics and he tried to lecture me about the People's Revolution. The tension increased as I refused to answer his question as to whether we were going to pay, even though I had no intention of not paying -, although I hadn’t let Kim and Man in on this. I asked him what we could do if we didn't pay and he didn't answer. I said "Go back" and he replied "Yes." I had wanted to push the point: in light of the recent Polish incident, the Maoist leadership had made it extremely clear they would not kidnap or detain tourists, so if we go forward without paying what would he do? Sadly I declined this chance to see him squirm as my colleagues were by now even more uncomfortable. The answer, which we already knew from various bulletin boards, was that they would probably steal our stuff, and possibly beat us up.

As it was he seemed a fairly nice chap, with good English but an understandable lack of perspective on the world. We all agreed we didn't like George Bush and had a good laugh (I think he finds this line of conversation a sure winner with tourists). He showed me the receipts for our payment, with the Maoist logo including Trotsky, Lenin, Stalin, Mao and another who I didn't recognise. He asked what we thought of Stalin and I replied "That is complicated" to which he laughed - again I think he's been down this road with others. Thankfully he didn't ask what we thought of Mao. Sadly he wasn't a great listener, and interrupted me several times in the middle of making structured points, which led to me more forcefully shutting him up so I could continue. This also raised the tension, although he was actually fine with it.

His response to my laboured point that 5000 rupees was too much and they should be charging no more than 3000 rupees was that they were looking at it - it is a temporary situation and they may lower the fee. Sadly I doubt this. I also said they should publish the fees on their website so that people could be prepared (we had been expecting 3000 not 5000, and there are no ATM's or Bureaux de Change here). He said he'd take it up with his superiors. Again, I doubt it.

Retrospectively, what annoyed me the most was he said that the money would be used to help local schools and hospitals, not to buy guns. This is an admirable sentiment but we were to learn it is simply not true. Local people told us the Maoists are extracting heavy fees from local schools and hospitals. Later in the trip we met a New Zealand family. Dad was the first doctor in the Edmund Hilary hospital south of Junbesi, working there some thirty years ago before doing a five year stint at the main hospital for the Everest region at Khunde (3840m, 12595ft), above Namche. He told us that the Maoists had recently taken 150,000 rupees (1200gbp) from the Hilary hospital, which has nearly bankrupted it. Donations, no doubt mainly from westerners, have kept it going.

So the situation of the Maoists seems to be following the well-worn route of many who take up violent means to resist the powerful. You start out representing and fighting for the poor and disadvantaged. This generally means you occupy the rural areas whilst the government occupies the urban areas. Initially the people are with you. However unless you win a swift victory you need to rely on the poor to support you. Of course this is a problem, as the poor are rich in problems and low in resources. So you start to take by force - you take money in the form of 'taxes' and you take sons and daughters to bolster your fighting force. And suddenly the people you are supporting and representing don't want you. But you are now in a trap - the government, if it can, will catch and kill you - so your only way forward is to fight harder in the hope that one day you win. This is the situation the Tamil Tigers find themselves in - they can't stop fighting because if they lay down their arms they will be killed - either by the government or by their own Tamil people. Admittedly the Tamil Tigers are far more bloodthirsty and ruthless than the Nepalese Maoists have ever been, but from people we talked to in both Kathmandu and the mountains it seems the Maoists are now finding themselves in the same position.

Thankfully the King has now been overthrown and dialogues with the Maoists are ongoing. Whether this will lead to a real surrender of arms is anyone's guess. I hope so, but I'm not positive in the long run. The Maoists represent a more extreme culture than many Nepalis seem to want and their copybook is already blotted. Hence their only way to maintain power, even in a democracy, is likely to be by the continued use of force.

As a postscript, it is possible to evade the Maoist taxes. We met one young American who I will call 'Longshanks'. He completed the Jiri to Namche traverse in three and half days, half the time we took and closer to the pace of a local Nepali. His walking pace was quite similar to ours, but his days were twice as long, often arriving after dark. He had met our Maoist toll booth and, after assessing the situation, decided to push past him and carry on walking. The no doubt humiliated secretary - gossip spreads fast amongst the locals - shouted after him 'I'll get the Red Army after you.' It is not clear whether this happened - I suspect they probably did chase him for a bit but, underestimating the speed Longshanks was going they never caught up with him. A young Irishman was trying to catch him, about half a day behind. There was no reason for the chase other than pride, but pride is a powerful thing in the mountains. He evaded the Maoists by arriving at the checkpoint after dark and leaving before dawn. He admitted that, whilst happy not to have paid the fee, he spent the rest of the trip to Lukla looking over his shoulder, and in fact wished he had paid.

Of course, whilst on the trail to Everest, it seems fitting to read anything one can about those talented and experienced or egotistical and foolhardy enough to attempt to climb it. The bookshops of Kathmandu are packed with accounts of the 1996 Everest Disasters vying for space with Sheffield's one-man-disaster himself, Joe Simpson. Both Kim and I had read Jon Krakauer's "Into Thin Air" several years ago, but during the pleasant afternoons resting in the foothills below Luckla we added Anatoli Boukreev's "The Climb", Matt Dickinson's "The Death Zone" and perhaps most interestingly "Touching my Father's Soul" by Jamling Tenzing Norgay, the son of Tenzing Norgay who managed the first ascent of Everest with Hillary in 1953.

A simple conclusion can be drawn from these books. Climbing Everest is a lot harder than most people think. Sure, if you are an experienced mountaineer intent on climbing all fourteen 8000m peaks then Everest probably does look pretty easy - certainly easier than staying alive to complete your mission. Boukreev, the most experienced and talented climber amongst the authors listed, is of course already dead. The chop rate on K2, the world’s second highest mountain, is something like a third of all those who summit (or was a few years ago which is the data I saw). So in that sense Everest is easy. To the rest of us, simply getting to Everest Base camp is likely to be challenging enough. An obvious extension to this - if you’ve not been up there you’ve no right to comment - so think twice before you do.

Like many of the world’s top climbers, Boukreev treated high Himalayan climbing as a sport. It seems odd to risk your life for a sport, but the alternative - that of risking your life on a commercial trip purely to ‘bag’ Everest - seems even crazier. Boukreev was very much of the opinion that reaching the summit was secondary to survival. For many climbers on Everest today this seems not to be the case. The book is interesting in that he describes in some detail his approach to preparation and acclimatisation, which is not dissimilar in its scientific approach to an athlete preparing for an Olympic Marathon.

Boukreev also recounts his feeling about Nepali food. Whilst many westerners at base camp have brought endless luxuries to survive, Boukreev would eat the same food as the Sherpas - Dhal Bhat, the wonderfully tasty combination of potato curry, rice and watery lentil dhal that provides both the carbohydrates and fluids necessary to function at such altitudes. Coming from the impoverished Ukraine, he noted that on one expedition he was the only person to gain weight - everyone else, including the Sherpas, suffered with the meagre expedition food. For Boukreev it was better than he got at home. Sadly, he omits mention of Tomba, a kind of mulled-wine created by pouring piping hot-water onto a specially prepared maize. It is hard to obtain in the traditional tourist area above Lukla, but for the first week we drank the warming fluid whenever we could get it. Don’t stir it though - the starch will give you a wicked hangover.

But the best climbing book we read, in fact the best climbing book ever read, was W.H Bowman's immortal tale of understated heroism and extremist derring-do, The Ascent of Rum Doodle.. Many of you will know that, at 40,000.5 feet Rum Doodle is the world's largest mountain by some margin. Bowman ghost's for Binder, the leader of the Expedition, which, with the help of a few thousand 'inscrutable Orientals' succeeds in the first ever ascent of this magnificent peak.

Unlike many better known comic works, Bowman manages to sustain the parody throughout the length of the book, perhaps an indication that the genre of mountaineering literature is itself, by its very nature, so extreme as to always live on the knife-edged serac of self-parody. Kim read "The Death Zone" as I read "Rum Doodle" and for every detailed paragraph in which Mr. Dickinson struggled to walk, breath, eat, drink, pee or undress himself, every superlative view, every fleeting moment of ecstasy punctuating the long periods of drudgery, agony and fear, within seconds I could find Bowman's almost exact parody. I’m sure Matt Dickinson is a sufficiently good author and I suspect a sufficiently good cynic to not find this offensive - after all, what more can one write about the process of climbing a high Himalayan peak after this:

After a short distance the ground steepened, and soon we - or rather the porters - were cutting steps in hard ice. We were now high. Every step climbed demanded an effort equivalent to running up 153 steps at sea level … The great ordeal had begun at last. We could now number ourselves amongst those who had trod the ultimate heights and invaded nature’s last stronghold against the advancing spirit of man.

I tried to remember all I had read about climbing at such heights. I took one step, then waited for ten minutes. This, I understood, was essential; our predecessors were unanimous about it: one step, then ten minutes rest, or seven in an emergency. I found it more difficult than I had anticipated. To remain in one position for ten minutes was not at all easy. First, I tended to fall over sideways; then I got cramp in the calf; then my nose started to itch; then my foot started to vibrate and had to be held down by both hands. This was very tiring, and when I crouched to hold my foot I was lower than I had been before making the step, which caused me to wonder whether I was gaining height or losing it; and the mental strain was so great that I lost control of myself and fell of my step.

The book is so obscure as to not yet have an entry on Wikipedia, but so well loved as to have a mountain in the Antarctic named after it.

By contrast to the evocative writing of Krakauer and Dickinson or the direct and analytical approach of Bourkreev, Jamling Tenzing Norgay introduced elements of spirituality into the whole business of risking one's life for no great purpose. His book does much to explain his own life, divided between the high hills of Khumbe where his ancestors reside, the tea plantations of Darjeeling where he grew up, and the modern lifestyle's of the West, which he experienced whilst spending ten years in America.

I found America to be organised, prepared and on-schedule. I could easily reassure myself that I was doing something important there, though I grew to wonder what I was actually accomplishing. And what where the people around me achieving? Success was the universal Holy Grail and my American classmates had begun to pursue it even before they graduated. What did they expect to gain from it? More leisure time? More material goods? America has countless time-saving appliances and conveniences, so why is it American's seem more pressed for time than those who don't have them?

One foreign aid worker calculated that subsistence farmers in the Himalaya have more leisure time than Westerners do. It's true that, in the absence of labour saving devices it takes us three hours to cook our evening meal and nearly that long to cook the morning meal. But we are together while we cook - there's activity, discussion, visitors, laughter and learning. Much of our work doubles as leisure time, though we don't generally distinguish between work and play.

Village life in Nepal can seem idyllic to the outsider, and I suspect in some senses it is. Jamling's description is certainly borne out by our experiences, and in many ways the manner of life reminded me of the simplicity of the nomads in we visited in Mongolia. Of course there are the nasty little statistics of infant mortality and life expectancy at birth to pop this little bubble - in Nepal they aren't as bad as say, Sub-Saharan Africa, but they aren't that great either. One may debate whether material goods enhance our lives, but in comparing lifestyles one must perhaps assume that living is better than dying. Like all of Asia Nepal also has a dirty little secret - across the country young girls from the villages are sold into sexual slavery, forcibly taken to India where they populate South Asia’s many brothels or are moved on to even richer fare elsewhere. This is by no means unique to Nepal or India, as we'll come to in subsequent blogs, the worrying thing being that in the past it was assumed that families sold their daughters in order to buy food to stay alive. Now it seems in many countries they are exchanging them for consumer goods. And, whilst the end-customers are most clearly men, the procurers are very often women - after all, who else would a young girl trust?

But we saw none of that, as clearly it is well hidden from Western eyes. And Jamling, who makes many good points, continues:

What student needs more than four shirts? One of my room-mates had thirty. I lived in the U.S. for ten years and everything I owned fitted inside two suitcases. Uncontrolled excess may be excusable, but where was the sense of gratitude? To many of my classmates nothing was ever quite good enough.

Back in Britain, sitting on the commuter train from London back up to Sheffield, it is clear that Jamling is partly right. Nonetheless, as soon as I've saved up enough money I'm going to get the biggest widescreen TV I can fit in our house. Four shirts does seem excessive though. Why would anyone need four shirts?

A final paragraph caught my eye, for all you budding travelbloggers:

On occasion I witnessed this kind of disrespect among foreigners in Nepal and Darjeeling. When my mother died, I was offended to see a small group of tourists taking photographs of her funeral procession and her body, which was seated on top of a carriage, as if they were watching a festival: I felt my privacy was being invaded. In their own country I doubt these people would simply appear at a stranger's funeral and begin shooting pictures.

Hmmm.

Apart from the Maoists, our walk to Namche Bazaar was largely uneventful, if somewhat hilly. Whilst the scenery was most definitely pre-Himalayan, valleys carved with steep terraces leading to towering peaks above, the dry-stone walls and dry-stone buildings reminded me of my childhood in the English Lake District. These buildings are built to last, and we saw teams of up to fifty stone-masons busy chiseling away to shape the rocks in these impressive structures.

There was, however, one small incident on the sixth day. At this stage, at relatively low altitude, Kim and I could still travel fast enough to stay ahead of our porter, who was carrying almost all our gear. This is generally quite an achievement - few, if any, large groups will manage it. At higher altitudes it becomes impossible for most. Around 9.30am we stopped four our first cuppa, having been walking for about two hours. Somehow our porter slipped past without seeing us ensconced in the tea house. Not knowing whether we were ahead or behind he pressed on. To cut a long story short, we finally caught up with him at Namche Bazaar itself, having done two days walking in one. Obviously we were concerned that the porter hadn't done a runner with all our stuff, something Man assured us was impossible as he was a relative and of good character. Our reunion was met with relieved laughter on all sides, and we took a days rest in Namche to acclimatise, having already climbed and descended close to the vertical height of Everest in the last six days.

To continue with our acclimatisation we took a side trip up to the small village of Thame, the original home of Tenzing Norgay himself, and home to another successful sherpa who I believe has now climbed Everest 16 times (it must be easy). In this side-valley the landscape changes from one of tree-lined and terraced valleys to barren rubble strewn slopes. Man described this as being more typical of the Tibetan parts of Nepal, high-up near the border. It was a great change, and I would recommend this two day excursion to anyone. Early the next morning Man and I set off at 5.00am to climb up towards the head of the Thame valley, up to about 4400m. We were treated to the sight of the largest avalanche I have ever seen, seemingly half a mountain of snow breaking off and plunging into the valley about a kilometre from where we stood. Man was unimpressed - apparently it was small for the Himalayas.

A pleasant night was spent at Kunde (3824m), nestled amongst what would be some great high-altitude orienteering terrain above Namche, before rounding the corner and heading into Gokyo valley itself. Our route was to take us to Gokyo village at 4800m where we would spend a couple of nights before attempting the 5300m Cho-La pass to drop into Everest valley to head for the, by all accounts, barren and lifeless moonscape that is Everest base camp itself. But that was still a few days away. Were the Gokyo valley at sea-level a fit runner could leave Namche and take in Gokyo, Cho-La and Everest base camp and return in not much more than a day - probably quite a lot less. Namche to Gokyo return would be less challenging than one of the Lake District classic races.

But the long sloping valley isn't at sea level - it's above 4000m, and there's the rub.

The fact that your body can acclimatise to the reduced levels of Oxygen in air is really a remarkable thing. At 4000m there is 60% of the Oxygen available at sea-level, at 5000m 53% less, at 5500m 50% less and at 8000m 36%. If you were taken by plane and dropped on top of the oft visited Everest viewpoint of Kala Pattar at 5500m you would probably collapse and die within the hour. If you tried the same trick on top of Everest you'd be dead in minutes.

Your body takes time to acclimatise. People acclimatise at different rates. Some struggle to acclimatise at all. Western medical science doesn't really know why some people acclimatise better than others. But the consequences of not acclimatising can, and frequently are, fatal. The Nepali helicopter rescue pilots name Gokyo 'Death Valley', quite simply because it is so easy to walk up. Those who know tell us do not ascend more than 300m in a day. Gokyo tempts you to constantly go further, since on the gently rising, well-trodden valley paths climbing 300m will take you no time, and seem like nothing, even in the thin air. But, during conversations with the Machherma Rescue Post as we exited the valley after four nights above 4400m, we found that in the previous nine days there were seven helicopter evacuations of trekkers with severe symptoms of altitude sickness. I won't describe these in detail; suffice to say if your body doesn't adjust it can lead to either cerebral or pulmonary edema, or both. If you get such a condition and you don't descend quickly you will almost certainly die. All the BBC and Foreign Office warnings about rioting in Kathmandu neglect to state that every year several trekkers die in the Khumbu region of altitude sickness (not mountaineers - trekkers). The vast proportion of these (80%) is on organised treks even though organised treks comprise only 40% of trekkers in the region. This counterintuitive statistic is put down to the effects of peer pressure and a perceived (or real) requirement to stick to an itinerary. I'm not aware of any tourists that have been killed in the fight for Democracy in Nepal. 50% of people who spend five nights or more above 4000m in Khumbu will experience symptoms of altitude sickness (headache, nausea, vomiting, dizziness etc). That's pretty much half of everyone who visits the area - and this was born out by those we talked to. We met, briefly, two of those who had to be flown out later, and it was very clear one was already ill. Nonetheless their organised group carried on upward and sure enough a couple of hours after we saw her she had collapsed and was being given oxygen. I’ve since also learned that a Sherpa died from altitude-sickness at base-camp whilst we were in the region.

But that was still to come. We reached Phakde, our last waypoint before Gokyo at about 4400m feeling fit and strong. That afternoon we climbed the steep spur behind our tea-house, reaching a height something above 4800m and taking in a panoramic view which included Everest itself, and dropped down to sleep at Phakde. “If I don't see anything more I'll be happy just to have seen this”, I thought. Little did I know.

The next morning we both awoke feeling strange. Kim was nauseous and I just didn't feel right. We discussed with Man and postponed departure until the afternoon. After a couple of hours Kim was feeling better but I still wasn't right, so I went for a short walk with Man amongst the detritus brought down by the glacial meltwater. It became clear to me I was in a bad way. Up until this point, even though we had difficulty breathing, I had still been able to walk strongly, climbing slopes within myself and recovering my breath quickly when stopping. Suddenly the slightest incline was proving problematic. More worryingly I was very dizzy, and at one point experienced spots before my eyes. Nothing in Bolivia or China, where we had previously been to such altitudes, had felt like this.

Caution prevailed and we spent another night in Phakde - we had days to spare, and the next morning managed the easy climb to Gokyo (4800m) with no problems. I didn't feel too bad - just a mild headache, but the rest of the previous day’s symptoms had gone. After a rest and an early lunch we set of for the "Scoundrel's Lookout", which was a ten kilometre flattish walk along the valley amidst astounding scenery. The going wasn't easy despite the lack of climb, with snow-covered boulder fields requiring concentration and balance if not sheer physical force. Kim turned back, chaperoned by a bunch of English gents, claiming she was tired (a likely story) and Man and I pushed on. It was well worth it, but even the supremely fit Man was tired as we stumbled back into Gokyo at the onset of dusk.

The following day I still had a headache, and so Kim and Man climbed the viewpoint of Gokyo Ri (5360m) for the spectacular elevated view of the valley and across to Everest. Bored, I wandered around the nearby lake and then started climbing diagonally up Gokyo Ri, reaching about 5000m again. I wasn’t high enough to see Everest but the view, quite different with the extra height, was definitely worth it. Around four in the afternoon we decided we should descend back down to Phakde in order to see if I would recover prior to crossing Cho La.

The next day was again one of nervous waiting but by lunchtime it was clear I wasn’t improving so we decided we should descend. I knew I was well enough to cross the Cho La without too much problem but I was concerned that at the far side we would be spending another four days close to or above 5000m and I still hadn’t acclimatized. After an easy walk down the valley we reached Phortse Tengo at 3680m.

The following morning my headache was gone, but as we started our trek back towards Everest, along the Imja La and heading straight for Ama Dablam (6856m), I didn’t feel all that good. I could walk well enough but my breathing had become laboured, painful and recovery after stopping took longer. After a morning’s walk we reached Pangboche at 3930m, having climbed back above 4000m on the way. As we sat in the sun for lunch I again started to feel dizzy and had to struggle hard not to collapse. That was it - we made the decision to head back to Namche as soon as possible.

It is a strange thing, but you know you are not well when someone offers you the chance to descend 100m in height and it seems like the best present you’ve ever had. That night we stayed at Deboche, pleasant accommodation in the woods just below the famous Tengboche monastery. Next morning the condition of my lungs was similar but there were no more dizzy spells. The only thing impeding our progress was an overnight snowfall, which had already dumped about two feet of snow and seemed set to continue.

To say I was like a granny climbing up the 40m gentle slope to Tengboche is an insult to grannies everywhere, particularly Nepalese grannies who would probably have tossed me onto their head and carried me up like a sack of potatoes. Every few steps I doubled up struggling for breath.

The atmosphere around the monastery was eerie, with the continuing heavy snowfall, the chanting of the monks, the deep resonance of the 3m long Deng Chun horns, and the horses and dogs playing madly, possessed by the gods of the elements. Gazing upwards whilst spinning the gigantic prayer wheels in my weakened state I felt as if my prayers and my soul really were floating off into the universe. Or maybe I just felt dizzy again. Cold as we were we didn’t linger, and I raced down the next 500m descent passing around fifty people - proof again that studded Walshes are far better in slippy conditions than the ubiquitous trekking poles.

The extra descent seemed to help, and the inevitable 500m climb didn’t go too badly. However with the drop in height came a warming in the temperature and the snow turned to rain - we were wet through without really the right gear for such conditions. At the top of the climb we made the mistake of pausing for tea, but this just caused our temperature to drop further, so we ran much of the trail back to Namche, getting warm and finally starting to enjoy the days trek. Sadly we learned that a Japanese trekker had died of altitude sickness the previous night at the place we stopped - at only 3800m.

The snow continued, the next day and much of the third day. We watched as happy groups of trekkers made it safely back to Namche with smiles of relief on their faces. I suspect there was serious avalance risk in some of the trekking valleys further up. When the weather finally broke three helicopters headed up the valley towards Everest, presumably to rescue those critical with altitude illness. We learned from ExplorersWeb that three Sherpas had been killed in the Khumbu icefall and that several parties had been stuck at Everest Camp 1 and Camp 2, right beneath the avalanche-prone Lhotse face.

On the afternoon of the third day we headed down, and, kidding ourselves that maybe we might return if I got better, we slowly made our way to Lukla airport and back to civilization.

So what advice would I give to the would-be trekker in the Khumbu region of Nepal? Firstly, trekkers tend to be “goal-oriented” and many could well do with learning from the first three precepts of Tibetan Buddhism:

1. All life is suffering
2. Suffering is caused by desire
3. The way to eliminate suffering is to reduce one’s desire.

In many circumstances this rings true, and for me it helped me deal with the disappointment. Expectation can, and often does, outweigh objectivity. We shared much of the highest part of our trip with a group from Exodus in the UK. They were doing a short trek up Gokyo valley and back down - about as much as you can fit into a two week Teacher’s holiday. Talking to them they thoroughly enjoyed their trek. Conversely, when making the decision to abandon our attempts to get to base camp I was very upset, feeling I’d let Kim down and frustrated with my body for letting me down. Yet we had done all the Exodus group had done and much more, so why should I be disappointed? Of course, a couple of days after we decided to quit, I was able to appreciate what we had done and how wonderful it had been but at the time it seemed awful to give up.

Treat altitude sickness seriously. We calculated that on any given day in the Spring trekking season Gokyo valley has between 200 and 400 trekkers. When we were there one of those was airlifted out almost every day. That’s pretty short odds compared to most risks we take in life. Learn and understand the symptoms of altitude sickness beforehand. Carry some Diamox which can help relieve the symptoms by easing the problem. Drink lots and lots of water - urination helps remove some of the carbon dioxide (I think) that causes the problems. Walk slowly above 3500m - don’t push yourself, particularly on a day when you are climbing to a new height. The climb-high sleep-low maxim is often stated but I’m not sure about that. I would recommend taking care any day you ascend to a new height. Climb high on an acclimatization day if you wish. Remember that the onset of altitude sickness can be delayed, as much as several days in the case of pulmonary edema. If you are thinking of booking with a large group check their capacity to split the group if you fall ill and need to go down or take longer to acclimatise. I would say this is particularly important if you are tackling the three high passes, where you’ll be over 4700m for many days. If you’ve had problems at altitude before then take special care - they’ve no idea why altitude sickness strikes some and not others but once affected it seems more likely you will be affected in the future.

At Phakding (2610m, 8560ft) on our way up, after two hours walking, my pulse was measured by a German research student at 69 - not bad for a fatty and our O2 SATS were both 96% - also fine for this height. Even when I was struggling with what was certainly the onset of HAPE I was still passing most trekkers on the trail (reentrant HAPE is apparently quite common in those who descend to acclimatise and then reascend). Do I feel we made the right decision? Undoubtedly, and I knew it at the time, even though I really didn’t want to give up. The ensuing blizzard underlined that decision - had we continued fate would have had us stuck up at 5000m, cold and shivering, in low-pressure weather conditions which mean even less oxygen than normal. It would have been three days until we could realistically have made it down. Helicopter rescue was impossible in those conditions. Those we met who had been stuck up there really hadn’t enjoyed the experience.

The three day storm had caused a serious backlog of disgruntled trekkers in Lukla. We got there on the fourth day and watched as some flights made it out. We were rescheduled to fly next morning, but the weather closed in just before our flight set off from Kathmandu, so we waited another day. Finally we took off, the tiny plane careering down the sloping runway heading straight for the mountain wall just across the valley. Of course, we took off just before the end of the runway, like all the planes we had watched in the last couple of days, and banked left before hitting the mountain. Amidst the fear I felt a strong sense off loss at leaving this beautiful area.

My seat was directly behind the two pilots and stared avidly out of the front window, lest my lack of concentration should cause the plane to crash. When they looked back they must have felt as if there was a deranged Great Dane slobbering down their necks - they didn’t look impressed at all.

Back in Kathmandu we were stuck in our hotel for a day due to the curfew. I bumped into a Philippino film crew on the roof of our hotel. They were trying to get to Everest to cover an attempt by their countrymen (who were successful) but were stuck due to the rioting. In true Drop the Dead Donkey style their bosses weren’t interested in their risky coverage of the riots (not enough Damien Day clearly), so instead they interviewed me for their documentary, and took some photos in exchange for several bottles of beer. The award winning reporter described his cameraman as the best producer in the Phillipines having been to both Afghanistan and Iraq regularly, and twice kidnapped by Muslim extremists whilst back home in the Philippines. Nepali riots were really quite a rest for him. The reporter seemed most interested in my assertions that you didn’t have to be that fit to get to base camp, just sensible and lucky with the altitude.

And, before we had time to blink, we were out on a plane to Bangkok, with spectacular views of Everest, Lhotse and Nuptse on the way. Almost as soon as we landed we learned the King had capitulated and the curfew was lifted. Drat. The timing caused a couple of conspiracy theories to circulate in Sheffield - one that I’d started the riots by getting into a political argument with some Maoists in the pub, the other that I’d stopped the riots by taking everyone out for a big sesh and they were all too hungover to continue. I guess an inquiry will be the only way to find out the truth. Has anyone got Lord Hutton’s number?

I’d like to recommend Jamie McGuinness’ excellent guidebook Trekking in the Everest Region, an example of just how useful guidebooks could be. It’s has far more detail and off-the-beaten track ideas than the alternatives from the big publishers. The author, an experienced Himalayan hand, advises never to trek alone in the region and I think this is good advice for two reasons: many of the tracks are narrow, and if you don’t take care you could fall off - after all you’re walking on them for several hours a day and it only takes one concentration lapse - or encounter with a Yak - they don’t give way, you do. If you do fall you might well survive but not be able to regain the path without help from others. The second reason is that the region is populated - on the whole the Nepali’s seem a good bunch, but there are baddies. You can figure the rest out yourself.

For various reasons I won’t add details of our guides, but if anyone wishes to make use of them I would recommend them very highly - contact us through Travelblog.

And finally, an organically unethical and shameless plug for some great organic beauty products from our friend Abi, including the only shampoo certified by the Soil Association in the UK.

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Photos

Thamserku (6608m)
but not a Munro.

The view from Thame
The birthplace of Tenzing Norgay

Cute kids
Chaurikharkha

Sunset near Jiri
Early on in our trek, deep in Maoist territory => no alcohol :-(

Village nr Lamjura La (3530m)
After a 2000m climb, which the locals take in their stride as if it where a flight of steps on the way to the bookies.

Curious kid
Lamjura La

Broad shoulders
A young chancer sizes up the possibilities of sneaking Kim onto the top of his load.

The big spliff
Nepali porters live in dread of Dutch clients. This pipe, ostensibly for a HEP scheme, weighed 100kg, plus the rest of his baggage. This bridge is shortly after the nearly 2000m descent from the previously mentioned 2000m climb.

Terraces
Nunthala (2330m)

No Nintendo
Nunthala (2330m)

Light
Nunthala (2330m)

Rock on Tommy
Cool dude pauses near the end of another 12 hour day with a back-breaking load.

Dudh Khosi
Our first bridge over the Milk River, and the lowest point of our trek.

Khumbi Yu Lha (5671m)
Above Namche, from down nr Lukla

Nupla (5885m)
From Chaurikharka, just below Lukla.

Dudh Khosi valley
Below Chaurikharka

"Pass the stupa on the left hand side"
... except this one only had one route past.

Kim above Namche (3440m)
looking back down the Dudh Khosi(2800m) and across to Kusuum Kanguru (6367m)

Car boot sale, Namche Bazaar
Except here you have to carry your prized collection of Slade LPs over at least five days of mountain trails to sell them.

Everest and Lhotse
From Nuptse. The climbing books tell you that the plume of windblown ice from the top of Everest can extend thirty miles. In this picture you've got about three. I guess it would still sting a little.

Namche (3440m)
with, from left to right, Nupla (5885m), Shar (6093m) and Lho (6186m).

Namche again
I dunno, all in all Namche was a pretty cool place really.

Stupa
On the way to Thame, with Lho (6186m) behind. I think.

Thame (3820m)
with Tangkang Poche (6560m)

Ermintrude
A Magic Roundabout moment.

Gatekeeper
Stupa nr Thame

Slate Roof
"I'll call Mr Stubbs then shall I Basil?"

Khure Kharka (4230m)
Above Thame.

Comments

[Anne]

Amazing Photography
Hello, I've just been browsing through your photos - they're absolutely beautiful. Would you mind letting me know what camera you used? I'm very jealous and want to go to Nepal now.

[AlanZ]

Amazing Photos...
Finally subscribed to your blog today. Your photos are stunning. Hopefully I'll be in Nepal this October and after seeing your blog I think I have to make that happen...Happy travels!

[Alexis]

Beautiful Photos!
What great pictures! I echo the others' statements-- your photos are quite stunning!

[Stephen Paul]

Anne-
http://www.travelblog.org/Australasia/Australia/Victoria/Melbourne/blog-17379.html The Giant Cumberland Sausage already made reference to his equipment in a previous blog. If you aren't looking at his previous posts, you're missing out! --Steve

[gnel]

Great pix
Image of Thamserku look like a horse :)

[Clare Marsland]

THIS IS A BLOG AND A HALF!
I am printing this off as I don't want to rush read this! Amazing photos and writing, keep it coming.