Sunday 7th February
We’re in a taxi by 5am, bumping through the dusty, dark, deserted back streets of Kathmandu. The driver, having been told that we’re flying to Lukla, drops us off at the international terminal, and we have to walk about five hundred metres over what amounts largely to waste ground, in order to get to the domestic building, which we find closed. A small queue has formed at the entrance, and I’m pleased to observe a couple of monks in it. One of my mental images of the Himalayas is of mountain monasteries and stupas, so this all fits in quite nicely. When eventually the terminal does open up, check-in is unproblematic, although security do confiscate the roll of duct tape I left in my bag after securing the bin bags back at the hotel. In the lounge the gates are conspicuously quiet. Nothing is taking off, because it’s foggy; our nemesis returns. We’re delayed until 8.45am, but thankfully no later than that. In any case, it’s worth the wait. Outside on the tarmac we’re bussed to the smallest plane I’ve ever flown on. It holds fourteen people, and the cockpit is in full view just in front of us, so we can even see out of the front windows! The lone flight attendant hands out cotton wool buds for us to put in our ears, and we each get a boiled sweet. Soon enough the engines get going, and the necessity of the cotton wool becomes clear. It shouldn’t be surprising that the cabin is on the loud side, since the propellers are only about three feet away from us on the other side of the fuselage.
Once airborne, our Nepali and Aussie pilots take us out across Kathmandu, and mere moments later we are passing over and through stunning mountain scenery. Other than brief glimpses in Pokhara, this is our first serious view of the Himalayas, and they are every bit as majestic as I’d imagined. I’m enjoying the flight intensely, although I must confess to a certain level of quiet trepidation. Our destination, Tenzing-Hillary Airport, is one of the most dangerous in the world. Since 1991, there have been nine serious accidents there, and fifty-two people have lost their lives. The most recent incident was only just over a year ago, when a plane crashed into the runway in fog, killing eighteen passengers and crew. What makes it so dangerous, other than being in the middle of the Himalayas, and therefore prone to violently unpredictable weather and thin air, is the fact that Lukla is a one-shot airstrip. The runway is very short, slopes upwards for landing, and is surrounded on three sides by mountains. All of this means that if a pilot gets his approach wrong, or for some reason is forced to abort a landing at the last minute, there is absolutely no way he can pull back up, or veer sideways in time to avoid slamming into the mountainsides. You get it spot on the first time, or there won’t be a next time. So, when after about thirty minutes in the air I catch sight of a small strip of tarmac nestled among the vast slopes ahead of us, I will admit to a slight tightening of the stomach. In the event, we make a smooth and perfect (well, from my point of view at least, in that we all survive it) landing. From the large grins on the faces of the other three when I look round, I think we are all sharing the same relief.
Safely back on terra firma, we retrieve our baggage from a large crate, head out of the tiny airport building, and are immediately greeted by the sight of three large yaks, standing nonchalantly by the main exit. I’m a big fan of yaks, and these are the first I’ve ever seen in the flesh. That we encounter them less than five minutes after arriving in the mountains, is an extra added bonus! The next thing we notice, is the breathtaking scenery. Lukla, while high up on the side of a huge valley, is also surrounded, and absolutely dwarfed by a series of enormous peaks, which rise skywards to seemingly impossible heights. It’s hard to believe that these aren’t even the big ones; in Himalayan terms, they’re modest. Thoughts are brought from the soaring and magnificent, back to the small and loathsome when Odie discovers a tick on her leg. Thankfully hers shows considerably less determination than mine did, and is removed in seconds. With that done, it’s time for us to find our own nutrition, and we make our way down the main street of Lukla, a narrow, cobbled affair flanked by sturdy, functional, and yet charming stone buildings, all of which for some reason have window frames painted an identical shade of blue. We are in search of breakfast, and in my case, a toilet (my digestive system hasn’t really settled down since we arrived in Mumbai). At the place we settle on, it seems the entire family is roped in to the cooking. At one point there are five people chopping, boiling, frying, and mixing, and it’s all being done right in front of us, as the kitchen is also the dining area.
Satiated, our trek begins at around midday. It’ll take us two days to reach Namche Bazaar, one of the larger towns on the EBC (Everest Base Camp) route. Sadly, we simply don’t have the time to go any further, so our plan is two days to get there, a day in Namche, where hopefully we’ll be able to get a view of Mount Everest, and then two days back to Lukla. A stone arch marks the end of the town and the start of the trail, and as I pass under it I have a distinct feeling of adventure. The walk is mostly downhill, or level during this first stage, and hugs the side of the valley, giving stunning views across steep, terraced farmland, and to the peaks on the other side. We’re passed regularly by sherpas carrying unbelievable amounts of stuff. These guys function as the only supply chain for the lodges further along the trail, and as such are burdened with crates of beer and soft drinks, boxes of food, and bundles of kitchen equipment. Any one of their loads would probably cripple any of us immediately; these are tough men indeed. Now and again we also pass yak and mule trains, for when manpower is simply not enough. We’re making good progress under clear, sunny skies, and through magnificent scenery along the Dud Kosi Valley. The river below is crystalline blue, and as Jung-Ok discovers when she goes for a paddle beside a little house, bitterly cold. Now and again there are large rocks along the trail, painted white with black Sanskrit lettering all over them. Since none of us can profess to be able to read Sanskrit (a terrible oversight on our part I know) I can only assume the verses are of a spiritual ilk, possibly mantras. After about two hours and a couple of exciting cable suspension bridges, we decide to stop for a break. Having refuelled with energy food, we continue, and are all somewhat taken aback when a mere twenty minutes later, we reach Phakding, our scheduled night stopover. We’d expected this leg of the journey to take three to four hours, so just over two is a pleasant surprise.
The clouds are beginning to roll in across the tops of the steep mountains that surround Phakding on all sides and make it seem very tiny indeed. It’s also getting chillier. We secure rooms in a small lodge for Rp400, and have a stroll through the insanely rustic streets (Well actually, street) to the water refill station. This is an environmental initiative designed to combat the problem of plastic mineral water bottles. Where a new bottle of water would cost Rp100, and add to the thousands that need to be disposed of in these parts, one can here get a used bottle refilled with filtered, purified water for only Rp50. Back at the lodge, we huddle round an electric heater (with every degree that the sun descends, the temperature seems to do likewise) and order apple pie (nice) and chyang, a locally-brewed warm beer. It tastes lovely – very similar to makgeolli, (a Korean rice wine) actually. So impressed are we that a flask is ordered, and by the end we’re all quite merry. The phrase ‘Drunkard’s Cheek’ (in the line of Tennis Elbow and Jogger’s Nipple) is coined in response to Jung-Ok being of rather rosy hue. Still, for all that, it’s by no means a late night, and we have all retired by 7.30pm. There is profound pleasure to be had curling up in a warm sleeping bag with the knowledge that one is surrounded by the Himalayas.
Monday 8th February
I partake of muesli with hot milk for breakfast, but Jung-Ok stays in the room with cereal bars. She’s not feeling well. By a nasty coincidence of timing, it’s her time of the month, and the first two days of that often strike her down horribly. Generally speaking, she’d be curled up on the sofa with a heat blanket and painkillers, but today she will, despite the discomfort, simply have to deal with it – we have a non-negotiable schedule to keep. I can only hope she doesn’t feel too bad.
We’re on our way by about 8am, and it’s a lovely walk along the Dud Kosi until the small village of Monjo, but after that Jung-Ok really starts to suffer. She’s in a lot of pain, and has to stop frequently. At one point she lies down on a rock, and I can’t get her to move. She’s hurting, and exhausted, but can’t eat anything to get energy in. A Sherpa, walking with a Chinese group stops to ask if she’s ok. I tell him she has a bad stomach, and he says, “Please just go slowly slowly, then rest, then slowly slowly again. It’s better.” He seems genuinely concerned, and it’s quite touching. We agree with Andy and Odie that they will trek ahead, and we’ll either meet them in Namche, or find a way to call and let them know if we aren’t going to make it. To be honest, it seems unlikely that we will unless she perks up considerably. Eventually we get moving, but very slowly. I’m very proud of her in any case; I know what kind of state she’s usually in at these times, and here she is, trekking in the Himalayas! I love my wife – she’s awesome. After getting a bit of trail mix into her, she improves a little (although four kinds of painkillers may also be assisting somewhat) and we make better progress. We’re soon at the entrance to Sagarmatha National Park, where our TIMS cards are checked and logged. Not far from here is the village of Jorsale, where we catch up to a resting Andy and Odie. It’s nice to be back together, and Jung-Ok seems to be a lot better.
We get moving again ahead of a large group of American teenagers who’ve stopped for lunch nearby; no-one wants to share the trail with them. After crossing back to the eastern side of the Dud Kosi, we almost lose the trail, but pick it up again on a pebble bed that would be underwater in the monsoon. It takes us up steeply to the high suspension bridge. This is a dramatic affair, spanning the valley a good forty metres above the river, and as we cross, we’re buffeted by a howling wind. The LP says it’s a two hour steady climb from the bridge to Namche. I am, if truth be told, starting to get tired already. My bag feels a lot heavier, as if someone has surreptitiously dropped a few rocks into it while I’ve not been looking. We take a break before the hill, and then it’s on.
The path upwards is exhausting. It’s a steep, unrelenting climb, sometimes on steps, and sometimes on dirt track, but all very significantly up. Tiredness, a heavy pack, and being above 3000 metres do not help. It’s about two and a half hours before I see buildings some way ahead, and realise we are almost there. Even then, we’ve got a way to go. Namche sits in a three-sided bowl, and we’ve just crested the rim. I honestly can’t remember feeling this tired, ever. Exhausted doesn’t do it justice. As we make our final approach to the town, the clear skies and sun that have graced the trek today, turn to low cloud, and everything is plunged into a grey overcast. Once in Namche itself, we find a quaint, cobbled town that at any other time would be very scenic indeed, except I’m too tired to appreciate it. All I want is a hotel room, and preferably a cup of hot Chyang. Unfortunately, first impressions would seem to indicate that 80% of Namche is closed and locked-down, literally. Odie and I cannot face trawling the steep, staircased streets, so Andy and Jung-Ok go in search of lodging. While they’re gone, we sit by the side of a small street, completely lined with shuttered shop fronts. It’s like being in a British seaside town in the middle of January. At one point a heavily wrapped-up American guy passes by and starts talking to us. He’s on his way back from Everest Base Camp. I feel slightly less guilty about my condition when he says that the hill up to Namche was the hardest part of the whole trek! I notice a sign on the wall of a nearby building that pictures a heavily-laden Sherpa, with the words ‘Namche Bazaar – 3443 metres. I made it here…did you??’ Jung-Ok and Andy return soon after with news that everything is either closed, costs $15/$20, or is cheaper but with showers as extra. We go for another look. Having tried two or three places, and rejected them on various grounds of price or quality, we backtrack to somewhere they looked at on their first foray. It’s called the Yak Hotel. I am immediately drawn to the place for that alone. Room with toilet is Rp200, and showers are an extra Rp300, but by now I think all of us just want to dump the bags, and stop moving, so we agree to stay.
After showers (wonderfully hot water, but terribly cold when you get out of it) we reconvene in the dining area, round an electric radiator. Jung-Ok and Andy order yak steaks, while I go for a Dal Bhat set, consisting of rice, curry, popadoms, and lentil soup. We also indulge in a bottle of South African red, which is chilled, just by virtue of being at Namche room temperature. Chilly, tired, and in need of bed and warm sleeping bags, we all retire early.
Tuesday 9th February
Wake to more cloudy skies. Before breakfast the two of us go for a stroll around town. Namche is no more alive than it was yesterday, less so in fact. We do find an internet cafe charging exorbitant rates, but I need to email my mother, as it’s been a while, and if I don’t do it here, it could be days until I get another opportunity, so I dash in and send the fastest email I can. There’s a hint of snow in the air as we make our way back to the Yak for breakfast. Following an incredibly nice porridge with cinnamon, I head out again to visit a large stupa near the lower edge of the town. It’s definitely snowing now, and seems to be getting harder all the time. The yaks that are loitering around (Namche has a lot of yaks) are all by now covered in a thin layer of white, and look rather as if someone has coated them in icing sugar. With conditions deteriorating more and more, I retreat to the hotel and doze the rest of the morning away. Lunch is cheese and curried potato momos, and sets us up for a bit more activity, despite the weather. Andy, Jung-Ok and I take a walk up to the National Park headquarters on the hill above town. It’s totally deserted, although the visitors’ centre is at least open, which is more than can be said for most of the things in Namche. Inside we find an alarming stuffed red panda, a mannequin dressed as a trekker, which looks as though it’s been run over by a tank, and a pair of fibreglass peasants bearing facial expressions that suggest they just witnessed it. The big shock though, is Mt Everest. It can apparently be seen from here. We’d been under the impression it was a ninety minute walk away at a viewpoint, but no, it’s right in front of us, or at least it would be if the snow wasn’t falling in dense squalls, and if an impenetrable bank of low cloud wasn’t obscuring the view in every direction. Visibility is down to about fifty feet; it’s almost funny. There’s a plaque telling us that we’re looking at Everest and Lhotse, but all we can see is white. We can only hope that things clear up tomorrow, although the weather forecast we checked in Kathmandu predicted even more snow, so it doesn’t look hopeful. To have trekked for two days, specifically to glimpse Mt Everest and then not be able to see it at all would be bitterly disappointing. To add to the unease, there is the concern that the path back down will be invisible under all the snow, if it isn’t totally impassable. Namche is becoming a little more like ‘The Shining’ with each passing hour. To console ourselves, Jung-Ok and I build a miniature snowman outside park HQ, and then we have a contest to knock its head off with snowballs. Andy is victorious. Back in town we have a snowball fight with three little kids who then follow us all the way to the Yak, pelting us as we go. Moments after we get in, the power goes out. It seems to be a Namche-wide problem, and goodness only knows when it will come back on. This only adds to the feeling of stranded isolation.
The issue of the path is bugging me, so a little later I decide to go down and check it out. When I reach the top of it, I meet a bunch of trekkers coming up, and am pleased to learn that it’s apparently not that bad. The snow is thick up here, but further down it’s already mixed with mud, and the path is reasonably negotiable. Still, I head down it for fifteen or twenty minutes to see for myself. It’s fine, in fact it’s absolutely beautiful – a picture postcard winter wonderland with snow hanging prettily in the boughs of the conifers that cover the hillside.
Back in town the snow is still falling thickly, and the electricity is still off. It remains so even at dinner time, when the dining room is candlelit. Half way through my fried potatoes with egg and cheese however, it suddenly returns, and this serves to cheer spirits considerably, as does the revelation a little later that the snow has finally stopped, and the sky is clearing. Fingers crossed for tomorrow.
Wednesday 10th February
Jung-Ok wakes at 6am, and rouses me immediately. The skies are blue! We are up and out straight away, leaving a note for Andy and Odie (I don’t feel able to wake them up this early). We make for the visitors’ centre again, under cloudless skies and crisp, clear air. The morning is stunning – the sharp blue sky strikes a deep contrast to the snow covered roofs, surrounding hills, and giant peaks beyond. About five or six inches of snow fell yesterday, and most of it is pristine and untouched. The walk is tough given the altitude and the coldness of the air, but after about twenty five minutes we make it to HQ. Jung-Ok notices it before I do, but then I turn round, and there it is, Mt Everest. It plays its part in a scene of monumental majesty, rising up behind the ridges of Nuptse, and next to the diamond peaks of Lhotse to its right. It’s really one of those life changing moments to gaze upon the highest mountain in the world. I feel dwarfed and humbled by the spectacle, and can’t quite make myself accept that Mt Everest is right in front of me. It seems almost unreal, and simply too grand to be possible. We’re actually surrounded by huge peaks in all directions. It wasn’t apparent yesterday with all the cloud cover, but Namche is a speck in the centre of a gargantuan amphitheatre of mountains. This is an incredible place, made all the more dramatically beautiful by the snow cover. As the sun begins to crest over the eastern peaks, Andy and Odie arrive, and after a great deal of photography, the two of us decide that we’re getting rather cold. Additionally, the glare of the sun on the snow is getting very bright, and I didn’t bring my shades, so not wishing to tempt snow blindness, we take a last, long look at Everest, and descend, very happy indeed.
After breakfast, we settle up, and are charged Rp500 for the rooms, rather than the Rp200 we were told yesterday. Immediate bristling results in a detraction and apology, although I think the guy who showed us the rooms and quoted us the price is probably going to get his arse kicked by the management later. We’re out by 10am, and it’s a lovely, if occasionally slidey trek back down Namche hill. The lovely is supplied by the Christmas card views, the sun glinting on the snow, and the mountains that appear to reassert themselves at every break in the tree cover. The slidey comes from a combination of snow, ice, and mud. My boots were coming to the end of their useful life before this trip, and now they’ve pretty much reached it, so I’m sliding even more than the others. Still, the snow provides a soft landing, and it’s all good fun. At the bottom of the hill, we cross back over the high bridge, and then we are once more hugging the side of the Dud Kosi valley. I decide, at a point where the water is relatively easy to access, that I really can’t be here without putting my feet in a glacial Himalayan river. As I am sitting on a boulder removing my shoes, I notice a pair of hiking boots, minus their owner. It doesn’t really seem feasible that someone could have forgotten them; most odd. Anyway, I manage about thirty seconds up to my calves in the flow, but it is bone-chillingly cold, and I have to remove myself when icy pain starts to creep in.
It seems to take longer than it should to get back to Phakding, but when we do arrive at the lodge, we check the time, and find that the whole journey back from Namche has taken two hours less than the outward one did. We are back in the same rooms again, indeed the bin still contains our rubbish from two nights ago! Wonderful hot showers are followed by celebratory chyang and a delicious vegetable curry. As darkness arrives, a middle-aged Korean guy and his sherpas come in. Hyung-Soo is a professor, on a trip to climb two 6000 metre peaks. His sherpas, Tashi (summited Everest twice), Gyalgen, Namkha, and Pasang Namgel, are all very friendly, and we end up spending the rest of the evening in conversation while large amounts of chyang from a giant kettle are demolished. According the Tashi, chyang is a perfectly good substitute for oxygen. He knows of a guy who climbs the big mountains carrying only that and a supply of chillies! It’s probably not recommended though. The evening ends in splendour just as the day began. A night sky of startling beauty opens up above us, with the Milky Way stretching across a firmament of billions upon billions of stars. It’s a fitting end to a perfect Himalayan day.
Thursday 11th February
After breakfasting on toast with peanut butter and two cups of coffee each, we head out on the last leg, back to Lukla. It’s cold for the first hour or so, as the sun has yet to reach over the mountains to the valley floor and take away the night’s chill. Since the return journey is mostly uphill, we take longer to get back, and it’s three hours or so before we hear the sound of planes taking off and landing somewhere round the next ridge. A final set of steps, and through the stone arch, and we’re back in Lukla. It feels great to have completed the trek. Even if it was only a little one, it was still an effort, but worth every bit of it for the scenery and the chance to see Everest. The sherpas last night recommended the Himalaya Lodge, which we find just behind and above the airport. It seems to be deserted, although eventually some staff appear, with a distinctly lacklustre air. The rooms are basic but adequate. Rather oddly, there’s a notice requesting guests to eat at the lodge. “Rooms will be charged extra if you eat outside” What the hell?! The stupidity continues with “Please try to order the same thing to save fuel” and “Don’t go to pubs or bars, be back in the hotel by 8pm.” Are these people serious? We obey, taking our lunch on the terrace. It’s unremarkable, but does come with the background of an elderly, wheezing dog that sounds like an obscene phone call.
We have to reconfirm our flight back to Kathmandu, so find the Sita Airlines office, which is closed. When at 2.30 it finally opens, the boss isn’t there, and the man who is seems unable to perform anything in the way of useful services. Eventually the manager arrives, and informs us that they have a “Technical problem” and as such no flights will be leaving tomorrow. He assures us that if we get to the airport by 7am he’ll secure us passage with another airline. The rest of the afternoon is spent not doing much, as there’s not much to do. The only point of note is a lovely sunset that colours the mountains red and purple. Following a decidedly average meal, we all retire early to stave off the chill.
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