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Published: August 6th 2007
Delhi was waking up to a lazy, hazy Sunday as the morning sun warmed me through the window of my Ambassador taxi, making stars out of the dust particles that swirled out of the back seat as I sat down. A trip to the ATM to pay the Sikh behind the wheel took me through shady streets, shining with stall upon stall of grapefruit, orange and melon. The wide, tree-lined avenues of Souther Delhi were almost deserted. I felt sad to be leaving, as though I was sneaking away without saying goodbye properly to my slumbering host.
Back in Delhi International Airport, over an incredibly strong coffee in the Ashok Lounge, I reflected that this travelling lark is actually like big holiday, so far. The waiter amused himself between taking orders by walking round with a fly-swatter, bringing it down with elan on the tables of unsuspecting customers in order to kill the many "very naughty" flies. "I'm not having anything to eat here.", I thought.
Luckily, the food on the Jet Airways flight to Kathmandu was marvellous. I was under the impression that Jet was a "budget" airline, and the cost of the flight reflected this. However, with
linen napkins, reassuringly complimentary cans of imported Stella and a delicious vegetable curry for lunch, it was certainly a lot less budget that some of the airlines back in the UK.
On arrival at Kathmandu Airport I filled out the visa application forms and after queuing for about an hour with my fellow passengers, I walked away with a 60 day visa, but without the book I was half-way through reading - d'oh!
Three taxi touts escorted me to the official taxi rank outside the airport - being deaf in one ear came in handy - and I negotiated a fare of 200 rps to take me to the celebrated Kathmandu Guest House.
I wasn't sure whether I should join a group of trekkers through one of the many travel agents in Thamel or whether I could make it to Everest Base Camp (EBC) under my own steam. Having spoken to a few people and read up about the Khumbu Valley I'd decided to first trek up the Gokyo Valley, crossing into the Khumbu over the Cho La pass and then proceeding to EBC and Kalapattar.
After a shower and a mooch round the tourist
bubble
that surrounds the guest house, I met a few people at the bar. We went for dinner and a few drinks and met the next day as Sarah, a Nepal veteran, knew of a good place to buy trekking gear.
"Shona's" is the shop belonging to Andy and Shona. What they don't know about trekking or climbing in Nepal probably isn't worth knowing. He explained the likely weather conditions on the trek I was planning, told me the route is easy to follow, apart from the Cho La crossing for which I should probably hire a guide, and that I needn't join a travel agency organised group. I walked away with a new down-jacket and a three season sleeping bag.
The flight from Kathmandu to Lukla (2850M), the starting point of my trek, is worth every single one of the one hundred US dollars the ticket cost. I'd never been on a small plane before, let alone one that lands on such a tiny airstrip on the edge of a mountain that's considered too dangerous to fly too by some local airlines. The night before I could hardly sleep, especially as I knew I had to be
awake
at 4.30 AM to meet Magda, a doctor from the Czech Replublic who is undertaking the same trek, to share a taxi to the airport.
I drank a plastic-flavoured, treacle-thick coffee before checking my rucksack in at Kathmandu's basic but functional domestic air terminal. Half an hour later we were called to board the tiny plane. There are two rows of seats on this model, each with its own window. Luckily for me there was an empty seat on the left hand side from where the views are rumoured to be more spectacular on the way to Lukla.
After a short taxi, during which the air hostess distributed balls of cotton-wool and boiled sweets, the pilots revved the propellers up to full speed and us passengers crossed our fingers and hoped for the best. As we picked up speed, the words of the guy I bought the ticket from popped into my head:"Don't worry, it's not a Russian aircraft", he'd laughed, "it's German, usually safe". Let's hope this is one of those "usually" times.
Before I knew it, we were circling above the smog of Kathmandu on our way to Lukla and the Khumbu Valley. As
the
aeroplane made its way east, the land below became greener and more rugged, dotted with villages and terraced farmland linked with a thread-like network of centuries old trade routes that the Nepalese now share with thousands of trekkers and climbers each year. The last twenty minutes or so of the flight and we were climbing up a valley with proper Himalayan giants towering above us on either side, their white peaks glistening in the sunlight.
Suddenly, a bang and a jolt. We'd landed at Lukla and were slowing down quickly, approaching the end of the uphill runway.
Waiting for the flight in the departure lounge were other trekkers ready to descend to Kathmandu. Some of them looked exhausted. In the arrivals hall was a mob of porters and guides looking for their next job. The sky was overcast and the air cool. It had been an early start and breakfast was overdue.
In the Himalayan hostel, eggs and yak butter on my toast and with Namche Bazaar (3450M) almost within reach, it felt as if the Himalayan adventures I'd read about were coming to life. Lukla's houses were beautifully made and in stark contrast to the
filth
of Kathmandu the air was pure and the streets wide and clean. As we walked to Phakding, the first over-night stop of the trek, the scenery took my breath away. Prayer flag strewn bridges hung precariously across plunging valley rivers, the smell of the pine trees was almost intoxicating and several of Nepal's bird species sang and flapped their way across the increasingly blue sky.
After a couple of hours we arrived at Phakding, stopping at the Star Lodge. It boasted a hot shower, but after a good look round I couldn't even find any running water.
Dressed for dinner in my new down jacket, I ate a very tasty dahl baht, a dish I would soon come to loath. With no tv, dim solar powered lights and an increasingly chilly dinning room (that's how they spell it), I was in bed by 8 PM, looking forward to the next day's early start and trek to Namche Bazaar.
The walk to Namche was, on the most part, fairly easy going, especially as I managed to have two breakfasts that morning. At Monjo, we signed in to Sagarmatha National Park, having bought entry tickets in Kathmandu. We
were
making good progress, ticking off the villages on the way to Namche. Ambling along in my own world, enjoying the views and saying "namaste" to just about everyone I met, including yaks and cows, I'd forgotten that Namche is 1000M higher that Phakding and there was precious little climbing going on, in fact, some of the path was downhill.
After the third dizzying bridge crossing of the Dudh Kosi, the path started to climb steeply. As acclimatised trekkers skipped past me on their way down, my progress in the opposite direction got slower and slower, almost grinding to a halt. I ran out of water, hadn't stopped yet for lunch and had no supplies in my pack. Just as I started to wonder if it would be possible to pay someone to carry my pack the remainder of the way the path turned a corner and few yards away was a shop. I spent a small fortune on Pringles, chocolate and water, and ate a Snickers bar without chewing, slumped against a well-crafted dry-stone wall amonst a family of almost smugly acclimatised locals.
Feeling much better, I walked the remainder of the way up the hill and
Everest
...is the one on the left.checked
into the Namche Hotel in the centre of the bust market town.
The following day was to be an acclimatisation day and so a trek to a higher altitude followed by a night back in Namche was in order. Equipped with a fine new yak wool hat, I set off to Khumjung. After a steep climb out of Namche the path levelled off and became what Nepalis call "flat" and the rest of the world call "very hilly". After an hour or so's walking I caught my first glimpse of Ama Dablum, arguably the most beautiful mountain in the region. The morning clouds continued to lift and shortly after we reached the Everest View Hotel for breakfast number two, the familiar shape of the highest mountain on the planet was visible in the distance..
I arrived in Dole (4090M) at roughly 4 PM the following day, having walked for seven hours. After lunch at a small place called Mong the slog to Dole began, through rain, snow, lots of low-level cloud and slightly worryingly, lightening. I was glad that the Himalayan Lodge provided hot showers, but was surprised to find that this involved boiling a big pan
of
water on the kitchen stove and tipping the contents into a plastic bucket on the roof of the shoer cubicle. It was heaven. Smelling fresher than I had for a few days I sat close to the yak dung stove and waited for another dahl baht, nursing a headache brought on by the altitude.
The headache had gone by the time I’d walked to Machermo the next day, but setting off at a sea-level pace from the Namgyal Lodge to another part of the village to hear a talk about Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) the headache came back with a throbbing vengeance. I started to feel nauseous and was gasping for breath. I slowed to a Himalayan lope as it started to snow, but although my breathing was less ragged I still felt pretty ropey when I arrived for the talk.
After the best dahl baht dinner since Kathmandu, I felt a lot better, but after being woken in the night by a mouse noisily nibbling my Coconut Crunchees, I decided I was suffering from High Altitude Pulmonary Edema. I eventually got to sleep and woke refreshed with no headache.I had a shivery wash standing outside
the
lodge using a bowl of hot water as the usual supply had frozen in the night. Machermo was the sight of a yeti attack back in the seventies, so I’d be keeping my eyes peeled today. Walking in the sun, my pack felt very light and my head was still ache free for most of the trek to Gokyo (4750M). It wasn’t to last and as I approached the final lake it started to snow and my limbs and luggage became heavier and heavier.
Gokyo is a desolate place; it’s cold and high up, but beautiful too. My sleep that night at the Gokyo Resort Lodge was restless and filled with strange dreams including one where I was mates with a bumble bee.
I was glad to get up early the next day and was already heading up to Gokyo Ri (5357M) at 5:45 AM. I reached the top of the peak after two hours of breathless climbing, munching a breakfast of boiled eggs on the hoof, to see outstanding views of Everest and Cho Oyu. By 8.30 the clouds were coming and it was getting cold, so I set off back down to Gokyo. After
more food
and a couple of paracetemol I relaxed for a couple of hours, ate some lunch and then headed down the valley and across the Ngozumba glacier. It was as if I’d walked onto another planet of glacial ponds, grey sand and the strangest light diffusing through the slowly shifting cloud. Arriving at the picturesque Tashi Friendship Lodge in Tagnak (4500M) I was reminded of the English Lake District, but with yaks. It was literally the calm before the storm. Tomorrow would bring an attempt at the Cho La Pass and the toughest day of the trek so far.
We had breakfast at 4.30 the following morning hoping to be on our way to the Cho La Pass by 5 AM. Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas and it wasn’t until 7AM that the cloud lifted and the visibility started to improve. I wrenched myself away from the warmth of the yak-dung stove, shouldered my pack and headed into the cold morning.
For two hours the path gently rose to a ridge from where the route to the Cho La, a saddle of ice and snow between two enormous peaks, was visible. We still had a
long way to
go and expected to be at the high point of the pass three hours later. Eventually, after crossing another moonscape glacier, we arrived at the bottom of the col. With glacial ice hanging above us there was no obvious route up. After a touch hour of scrambling up a very steep hill of boulders we were on the ice and snow. We started walking, every few steps breaking through the crust of the snow and sinking up to our thighs in powder. It was tiring and made more difficult by the proliferation of crevaces as we gained altitude. The visibility wasn’t great either, the sun disappearing behind swirling layers of cloud for long periods.
Several times I thought I’d reached the final ridge, only to find, a few breathless steps later, another. Waiting for Magda, who wasn’t feeling well, in case she’d fallen into a crevace, and so she’d be in sight in case I fell into one, I was getting cold and tired. The water was freezing in my bottle and I was feeling every one of the 15 kilograms of my pack. As we looked in vain for the prayer flags we
knew marked the way, a
snow storm blew in and the visibility reduced to less than a metre. With the risk of falling into a crevace or walking down the wrong valley now quite high it was an easy decision to make to retrace our steps and get off the side of the mountain. It was going to be hard work getting back as we’d already been walking for six hours.
Four exhausting hours later, the Tashi Friendship Lodge once more came into view. The sun was shining again and after a black tea and a sit by the stream I felt a lot better glad to be alive.
I woke early the next morning and washed in the cold mountain stream. Out of the sun, the water on my towel froze and after washing some clothes so did my hands. I warmed up round a fire the porters of a climbing expedition had made in the corner of their hut, the smoke rising through loosely fitting rood tiles.
After a restful morning and deciding I’d seen more than enough of the Cho La Pass, we headed down the other side of the Gokyo Valley to Phortse.
At Thare we called it
a day and settling in for the night at the rustic even by Nepali standards Sherpa Lodge. I could hear a couple of porters in the kitchen of the lodge at the wrong end of a chang session, slurring every word. After a while they staggered out and picked up their baskets and headed off in what turned out to be the wrong direction. A couple of minutes later they wobbled past the lodge again, bumping each other off the narrow path as they went. I hope they got home.
The beds in my room at the lodge were made from rocks with a layer of turf on top, follwed by a thin mattress. To the side of the bed was a big rock, stuck fast in the earth floor. There was no electricity and no running water. As the afternoon drew on the snow stopped and the sky cleared. The beauftiful setting of the lodge became apparent. From each window of the dining room all that could be seen were snow-capped peaks.
After a warmish couple of days walking to Phortse and Pheriche and meeting a Sherpa heading to base camp,
a walk that would take him
5 hours instead of the four days it takes mortals, for his 9th ascent of Everest, disaster struck. I’d had a dahl baht too far and in one of the grubbiest lodges I’d yet seen owned by a man with the dirtiest coat in Nepal, perhaps the world, I succumbed to food poisoning.
A couple of days recuperation at the, luxurious by Nepal standards, White Yak and entertained by some Extreme Everest trekkers lead by the mountain god, Smiler, I tagged on the end of their group and we headed to Lobuche (5018M) and Gorak Shep (5140M). After lunch I walked up to Everest Base Camp just in time for another snow storm. I dived in to the Highest Bakery On Earth for a cup of tea and some cake.
Strengthened by the wedges of banana and pumpkin cake I had a wander round base camp, a confusing place in a blizzard, and then started the walk back to Gorak Shep. The ice of the Khumbu glacier creaked and groaned as I walked past and the melt water gushed loudly underneath. At 5:30 AM the next morning I was on my
way up Kalapattar (5600M). At the top
the sky was clear blue and the views of Everest , Nuptse and Pumo Ri were out of this world. Base camp was just visible at the edge of the Khumbu ice-fall.
After breakfast at the originally named Himalayan Lodge, home of the surely soon to be world famous turd stalagmite, standing a foot proud of the wooden squatting platform in the outside toilet, I started back down with the idea of walking as far as possible.
Eight hours later I was slogging my way up the last steep slope to Tengboche (3860M). The walk had been fantastic as spring had arrived and the valley was home to butterflies and cuckoos (the only birdsong I could recognise) and the rhodedendron forest was starting to bloom.
The gas-powered “long as you like” shower at the Gompa Lodge was a welcome luxury, despite being told to hurry up after only three minutes by a grumpy Italian woman. Mamma mia!
The next day I managed to be up in time to attend the early morning ceremony at the nearby temple. The monks filed in and after prostrating themselved in front of a
statue of buddha started to chant. It
was very atmospheric, but after nearly an hour of sitting on the floor most of my body had gone numb. The monks weren't showing any signs drawing the chanting to a close and so I crept out to get some breakfast.
The walk back to Namche (3450M) took about four hours, starting with a hair-raising, knee-bashing desent. I was actually glad to cross the bridge at the bottom of the valley and start walking up hill again. The views of the valley towards Jorsale and beyond were gorgeous, the forest filled slopes interlocking with each other as far as the eye could see into the distant mist.
I had a rest day in Namche at the Sherwi Khangba lodge that for some reason has a crashed Russion helicopter in its grounds, during which I gorged on mangoes, the first fruit I’d seen for nearly three weeks. Food was becoming a problem; off rice since Pheriche I’d been surviving on flavourless pasta dishes, weird tasting baked beans and tuna sandwiches. I started to fantasize about a spicy chicken pizza I’d had in Kathmandu.
It was time to get back to civilisation
so I left early the next day with
another group of Extreme Everest trekkers. The last stretch of the way to Lukla is a touch uphill climb and I was glad to see the village’s welcoming archway.
We had a fantastic meal of roast chicken that evening, followed by a few beers, some Sherpa singing, upside-down drinking and trekking pole limbo dancing. I think the mountains were sending us round the bend. The ticket arrangements at Lukla are somewhat informal and Tenzing, the sirdar for the Extreme group, had a word with someone and arranged for me to fly out of Lukla a day early.
Waiting for the flight at Lukla airport I felt like I was waiting in the queue for a roller-coaster; a mixture of fear and excitement and the knowledge that I was already past the point of no return.
There was an atmosphere of nervous tension as the pilot revved the engines and released the break. “Oh my god”, groaned a girl sitting behind me through gritted teeth as the plane sped down the runway towards the edge of the mountain. I couldn’t have put I better myself.
Luckily we were in
safe hands and the aircraft was in the
Everest from Kalapattar
Pehaps obviously it's the tallest mountain on the right. air before we ran out of runway. Out of the window were the tiny ant villages and farms. Every flat space appeared to be inhabited. We were soon entering the smog of early morning Kathmandu. Tonight I would dine on pizza.
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Adam
non-member comment
Stunning pictures
Love the pics, particularly the Gokyo Lake. The trekking looks and sounds stunning - definitely on the to do list. Where's next (can't remember your route).