There are those places that we so often imagine ourselves being, imagine the feelings we’ll feel, the state of awe we’ll be in, the romanticism, the adventure, the grandiosity, the serenity. For some people, it’s the backstreets of Paris or the cobblestones of ancient Rome, for some it’s the promenade of Rio de Janeiro or a palm-fronded beach in the South Pacific, still others it’s a lakeside villa in the Alps, or standing atop the lost city of mystical Machu Picchu. Wherever the locale, we create the scene in our minds and run it over and over whenever we feel the need to Walter Mitty our way out of daily life. We imagine, we save, we plan, and, if we’re lucky, we go, in the hopes that the fantasy we’ve created becomes reality before our eyes. I, myself, have dreamed up a list of time and place perhaps larger than most, and have been fortunate enough to translate fantasy to reality for many a locale.
Mount Everest was never on that list.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, the Himalayas never made their way into my daydreams. The biggest mountains in the world, accessible to any willing trekker, were never a place I wanderlusted over, incessantly researching and imagining what it’d be like to stand at the foot of the giants. My last world tour came to an end ever so close, as I made it as far as India, but never north into the mountains. Since then, I knew I would make it to Nepal and the great peaks next, but I can’t say I ever really wondered what it might be like. I never put myself at the foot of Everest, never smelled the thinnest of mountain air. Curiously, my only real daydreaming came from a short scene in Benjamin Button, as an aging, but now able-bodied, Brad Pitt travels through India and wakes up to the sun in his eyes rising over some snow-capped peaks that I determined to be the Himalayas where I would one day find myself.
While a lifetime’s worth of wanderlust can enhance an experience, sometimes adventure lies in the unknown. And so, I decided to jump in blind, doing as little research as absolutely necessary to plan for the trip, ready to be overwhelmed by whatever lay ahead on the multi-week trek to and through the Khumbu, the region in and around the tallest mountain in the world. The trek would take us to Everest Base Camp, the jump-off point for would be summiteers, and over three 5000+ meter passes: Kongma La, Cho La, and Renjo La.
We began the journey with a thankfully non-eventful puddle-jumper flight into Lukla airport, a short runway stuck between a mountainside and a cliff (watch the 1st minute or so). From there, our trek began, meandering along the mountains high above, alongside, and over roaring glacial rivers. We passed through village after village situated into the hillsides, with farms, gardens, goats, yaks, porters, and, of course, Tea Houses. Tea Houses in Nepal serve as de-facto room and board for trekkers, glamping if you will. The basic structures typically have a large, comfortable, sometimes warm, common area where meals are served, tea is drunk, and smelly trekkers commiserate before heading to their chilly rooms to sleep the necessary 10-12 hours each night to recover. If you’re lucky, a warm shower may exist (for a fee), and there might even be a fully functioning sink. While glamping may not be the appropriate term, the comfort of protection from the elements, a hot meal, and a steaming cup of yak butter tea sure are some significant perks over pitching a tent.
The first 2 days of the trek were devoid of the peaks we were chasing, as the high clouds that typically make for excellent hiking weather weren’t quite high enough to reveal the looming mountains that we were unaware surrounded us. Our eyes instead were fixated on the dense forests, covered in ferns and mosses, and the ubiquitous mani wheels and stones found at the entrance to nearly every village. With each village came a twirl of the wheels to cleanse our souls and ensure a safe passage. Tombstone-like slabs of carved rock piled high and long, all repeating the mantra, served as guideposts. Porters with loads piled high on their backs serve as the long-haul truckers of the region, as no roads exist to transport goods up the mountain. Distances between villages are referred to as days’ walking, rather than kilometers covered. We crossed many a bouncy bridge suspended over the powerful rivers below, some a bit more precarious than others, dodging donkey-train traffic jams and doing our best not to look down over the sometimes hundred-plus foot drops.
The deep greens of the forest and the icy blue-gray of the river below were interrupted by the vibrant pop of color emanating from the famous prayer flags. A repeating series of green, red, blue, white, and yellow flags can be found in and around every corner of the mountains, hanging from bridges, strewn across high passes, covering stupas, decorating the walls of teahouses, you name it. Always eye-catching as they blow in the breeze, they served as a sign that we were near something important, perhaps our destination for the day, providing a vibrant reminder of the different world we were in as we lost ourselves on the meandering trails.
After the first of many arduous climbs, we found ourselves in Namche, the last major “city” before climbing deeper in teahouse-only territory. Sitting at 11,500 feet, Namche is the last stop for anything a trekker may have forgotten; you can find all the gear, food, souvenirs, and WiFi you can dream of. The city itself is situated like an amphitheater high above the valley below, with peaks (still hidden to us) surrounding in all directions, it’s colorful buildings and lodges making for a kind of lego-land feel from high above. All roads, er trails, in the area lead towards, from, and back to, Namche. Many trekkers (us included) choose to spend 2 days in order to begin the acclimatization process prior to proceeding higher into the hills.
After a successful start to the trip and sufficiently getting our hiking legs under us, the anticipation began to build for the prize of the whole adventure. Sure, the vastness of the mountainside, the power of the rivers and waterfalls, the quirkiness of the donkey and yak trains, the charm of the teahouses, and the mystique of the prayer flags and mani stones made for a trek already worth writing home about, but these were the Himalayas, we came to see the Giants, and it was time to do so. My wanderlust was in full effect, no more relying on Benjamin Button, no more zero-expectation travelling. I was Koo-Koo for the Khumbu, ready for the great peaks to knock my socks off.
Let’s Hike…