EVEREST BASE CAMP TREK – NEPAL
I took the Mars bar out of my armpit, where it had remained all night, and anxiously peeled back the wrapping. Still frozen.
For many, the Everest Base Camp trek is a trip of a lifetime. The historic route to the base of the world’s highest mountain has been drawing in thousands of trekkers for almost half a century. From Dudhkoshi Valley to Namche, and Thyanboche monastery to Khumbu Glacier, the 18-day hike culminates with Everest Base Camp and nearby Kala Pathar peak with its spectacular views of Everest. A friend who had climbed Ama Dablam advised: Don’t rush it. Rest days are imperative to enjoying a high-altitude trek. In this respect, World Expeditions was a good choice - private campsites, three hearty meals a day, experienced porters and a deeply knowledgeable guide.
The first two days were spent in bustling Kathmandu. Visits to the Swayambhunath and Pashupatinath temples revealed unchanged rituals. In touristy Thamel the group dodged tiger balm sellers and bought trekking gear that had been forgotten in the packing scramble. Kathmandu’s backstreets are its real charm, exposing hidden temples and hobbit-sized teashops. The Nepalese are Hindus in ritual and Buddhists in practice. They speak from their hearts and are friends upon introduction. Even in the chaos that is Kathmandu, my memory of the city is of calm and smiling faces.
Lukla serves as the starting point for the EBC trek and the flight there is an adventure in its own right. The airstrip was built by Sir Edmund Hillary to service the Everest Region when he began his work of building schools and hospitals for the Sherpa people. Compared to the standard 5,500 m long and 80 m wide runway, Lukla is unusually short and slim at 450 m long and 20 m wide. Built on a steep 12% incline, it has a cliff at one end and a sheer drop off the other. Landing and taking off leaves no room for error and are stomach dropping, palm sweat inducing experiences.
"No hurry, chicken curry” was the mantra of Mani Raj, the guide. A slow and steady pace is just as crucial as rest days. Beyond guiding, Mani played the role of doctor, father and friend. He dispensed medication and counsel on everything from taking care of blisters, "tape with moleskin, keep socks dry", to altitude sickness, "remember no hurry, chicken curry… take this Diamox". Mani evolved from being helpful at the start to a nurturer once we started trekking and by the end, he was Yoda.
Goshi met the group in Lukla after having walked two days from his village, leaving his wife and three children at home. He and the other porters were enviably tough, breezing through the days with a thin shirt under a fake Northface jacket and well-worn boots picked up second hand. It was guilt-inducing to see some of the tasks they did. Carrying 60 lbs of kit bags on their heads, they ran ahead to prepare camp and wait for us with hot wash water and snacks. In a place far from first world comforts, these simple offerings became luxuries. It got harder to watch them work in higher altitudes and colder temperatures. Stripped of energy from the day’s walk, there was nothing left to do but crawl into my tent. Lying in my sleeping bag, I listened guiltily to the hurried footsteps around the camp over the strong, Himalayan winds.
Mornings dawned with something novel; a bridge crossing over the icy waters of the Bhote Koshis River or watching an expedition group summit Pumori. The day would start around 6am to the call of “Kala Chia”. It was a struggle to get out of a warm sleeping bag and unzip the tent so Goshi could hand in a steaming cup of black tea and a bowl of warm water for “washy washy”. By lunchtime, the two-hour break was welcome – it meant resting outdoors during the warmest part of the day. The afternoon walk was little shorter and reaching camp with enough time before dinner left time to explore the surrounding area and villages. A woman washed her clothes in the river as her child stood by her, shivering in the icy water. A farmer led his yaks to a market, their purple tongues wagging as they trudged on.
Food was a frequent topic of conversation. It was therapeutic to talk about favourite dishes that were missed. One of the Australian trekkers carried a squeezable tube of Vegemite to breakfast every morning. She found comfort daily in that small taste of home. The cook realized that the livelihood of the group depended on a satisfying meal. He was limited by a tiny kerosene stove and very few ingredients but still, the chapathis were fluffy and the curries flavourful. For this, he earned admiration and respect.
Winding through Sherpa villages and past monasteries, the trek starts on a high note. From a distance, the peaks make for a silent and seductive backdrop. It was a magic show - a cloud would shift, the sky would open and a peak would materialize. We would stop and stare quizzically before it would vanish into the sky as quickly as it appeared. And the show went on.
As the gateway to the Himalayas, Namche Bazaar is a major stop-off point for trekkers. The village is located on a mountain slope and at 3,500 m, it is a grueling 3 to 4 hours climb to reach - kind of like half a day on a stair climber. The colder temperature in Namche is a preview of what is to come. It is the last opportunity to use the Internet and most important, it is the first chance to possibly suffer from altitude sickness. Therefore, it is advisable to spend at least two nights to acclimatize. My most enjoyable day started with a short walk up a hill to the best vista stretching across the village, followed by a strudel at a German bakery. Then I wrote my sister to tell her I was alive, drinking strong coffee, and regretting not bringing more socks.
Past Namche, the vegetation disappears and yaks are found in abundance. Heavy built animals weighing up to 2000lbs, yaks do not thrive at lower altitudes below the tree line. Their shaggy physique and the sound of their cowbells were a reminder of the vast and empty space of the Dhulga Morraine. The moraine runs along the Khumbu Glacier and towards the settlement of Gorak Shep, the final campsite of the trek. Completely exposed, the temperatures significantly drop. Hygiene became a problem, exposing a bare backside to -15C becomes a tug of will between biological urgency and basic survival. At night the temperature plummeted further and I slept cradling a bottle of hot water between my legs. Only my face was exposed as sheer exhaustion from the day enveloped into sleep.
Gaining elevation created more challenges. Appetites disappeared, breathing was laborious and the freezing temperatures prolonged the simplest of tasks. Tying shoelaces became a burden. Applying toothpaste demanded focus. Endless research given on high-altitude trekking does not prepare for these unexpected frustrations. It helped that we could voice our complaints with one another and the daily banter was a good distraction from the problems. The journey started with a collection of strangers from different countries, lifestyles, and reasons for doing the trek. Adam was doing some soul searching. Ben and Claire were on their honeymoon. Alison wanted to prove that as a single mom at age 45, she still had it in her. Regardless of individual purpose, trekking in the Himalayas forged a family.
The crew worked hard to keep spirits high in the midst of the final slog. Since most could not speak English, they performed card tricks and had Mani translate their jokes. More than anything, they wanted to get a laugh. Shyly covering their giggles, they insisted that there is a brothel at base camp during the expedition season in May. This is actually a fact but regardless, it had us howling.
Getting to base camp turned out to be all about the bragging rights. It was a desolate, rocky scene void of any tents or explorers. It was hard to imagine where the brothel would be set up. The climax of the EBC trek is actually in the views of Everest and its surrounding mountain range from atop Kala Pattar, a nearby hill (5545m). Below, the Khumbu Glacier snakes towards the icefall and the Western Crown. Straight ahead, the rocky skyline is punctuated by the same Ama Dablam seen just nights before, when a full moon glowed over the most beautiful mountain I’ve ever seen.
Gorak Shep was the original Everest Base Camp and it has one basic shop. Among other things, it sells Mars bars - the perfect treat after a cold, tiring day racked with altitude sickness. The chocolate was rock hard and impossible to eat, so it was stuffed into my armpit before bed. I so badly wanted that Mars bar for breakfast. I had soggy oatmeal instead. It took three days and warmer altitude for it to get soft enough to eat. But it was a sweet reminder that no worthwhile experience can be rushed – especially on the roof of the world.
