Well I recovered from Lloyd’s purges and, after a couple of lovely days spent buying last minute souvenirs and hanging out with my lovely friends in McLeod, I left this wonderful town in which I had been based for almost four months, and embarked the two and a half day bus journey to Kathmandu, via Delhi.
In McLeod I had hooked up with a couple who were planning to trek to Everest Base Camp with a group of friends from New Jersey, at the same time as me. At around the same time another American friend from the March to Tibet also arrived in McLeod with another Brit in tow, who also planned to be on the Everest trail around the same time, so we all agreed to meet in Kathmandu, from where we planned to fly to Lukla to begin the two week trek, on March 13. So with my plans set I bid a sad farewell to my friends in McLeod, and set off for Delhi. On board I was pleased to find a friend I had met previously in Delhi so had someone to talk to. I arrived in Majnu Ka Tilla (Delhi’s Tibetan settlement) early and exhausted, and slept a while before taking the onward bus to Kathmandu. The bus had seats only, but I was fortunate enough to get two to myself near the front - good job as they were tiny. I hardly slept a wink the first night as, even when I did manage to drift off, one abrupt halt would roll me straight off the seats onto the floor, and the unbelievably loud Hindi music they insist on playing day and night rendered sleep quite impossible. The following morning we stopped at a lonely Dhaba about six hours from the Nepali border, where I ate the staple Indian breakfast of parantha (stuffed flat bread) and curd. At around 1pm, still trying to grab some sleep scrunched up on my two seats, I started to feel a little nauseous. Putting this down to the fact that I’d spent the best part of two days on a bus, I sat upright and tried to think of other things. The situation did not improve however and by the time we reached the border where I, as the only westerner on board, was required to jump down and get my visa, I was feeling really quite rough. The kind Nepali administrators helped me find water and bananas, before I found the coach and it was announced to my horror, that we were stopping for lunch. That was it. I began projectile vomiting all overt the border. My condition didn’t improve and, under the direction of a firm but kindly Tibetan girl, who I had chatted to briefly the previous evening, I ate a small amount of rice, only to bring it straight back up. We resumed our journey but my condition was going rapidly downhill. I was puking out of my open window and the bus kept having to stop for me. After a while the bus stopped so that the Tibetan girl, helped by a lovely Nepali lady, could take me to an emergency doctor. I was laid on a hard couch in a dimly lit room where the doctor took my pulse and temperature etc. I have never been so violently ill and as I lay there retching uncontrollably I could feel the life draining out of me. Then the electricity conked out and the doctor lit a candle. Sitting writing this in my cosy English bedroom, it sounds over dramatic now, but I was really beginning to worry and I remember thinking that it must not all end like this – surrounded by strangers in a dingy doctor’s surgery by candlelight. I announced that I needed to go to hospital, but the nearest one was two hours away and by all accounts pretty terrible. I was advised to travel by ambulance to Kathmandu 12 hours away at a cost of 5000 NR which I agreed to, only to then be told that no ambulances were available and, as the doc experienced night blindness, he was not prepared to drive me to the crappy hospital two hours away. By this time I could only shuffle a few paces before collapsing in a heap, but I had no choice but to get back on the bus and hope for the best. I must pay tribute to the Nepali and Tibetan people who took care of me – particularly the two girls who never left me, and helped me every step of the way, no matter how uncompromising my situation… As it was a two and half day journey, the bus had two drivers and a (very narrow) bed at the front for the second driver, which was immediately given over to me. The two girls came and sat up front to keep an eye on me, and thank heaven as the hours went by my condition began to improve. I was already noticing a marked difference in my treatment by the Indian and Tibetan/Nepali people. These people were strangers, yet they did everything they could for me and all the time I was so grateful for their help and company. Perhaps it was the result of karma accumulated during the March to Tibet, that Tibetan people were there for me when I needed them most, but I remember feeling relieved that it wasn’t an Indian bus!
By the time I reached Kathmandu I had stopped vomiting and checked into the Kathmandu Guest House (into a room that had sadly been vacated by my friend Anne just an hour before) and slept. Later that day I visited the CIWEC Clinic, beside though not affiliated to the British Embassy, which unbeknown to me at the time, is a world renowned travel clinic. The place has a very reassuring air and the moment you walk through the door you know you’re going to be ok. They did some tests and I was soon seen (at a discounted rate) by a lovely American doctor who said it had just been food poisoning and that I was going to be fine. He even gave me the all clear to go trekking four days later!
I recovered quickly and met up with the friends with whom I was to trek to Everest Base Camp. However, this experience of a lifetime didn’t go entirely to plan. Firstly, after three of us had booked our flight to Lukla for May 13, my friend from New Jersey announced that he and his friends had changed their flights to the following day. The two I had booked my flights with said they were still happy to go when planned so we arranged to meet outside the Kathmandu Guest House shortly after 4am to catch our 6.10am flight. But they didn’t show. I had arrived 10 minutes late, so after half an hour, thinking they had gone on without me, I took a taxi to the airport, where there was still no sign of them. I kept expecting them to appear any minute, slightly disheveled with huge grins on their faces, but as the time drew closer to 6.10am, my mindless optimism gave way to unromantic realism, and I boarded the flight alone. With the help of a friendly guide (who hoped I’d take him on for 20USD a day) I found somewhere to stay and tried to find out where my friends were. I received an email from Chris saying that their alarm had failed to go off, but I still didn’t know where they were, so I remained in Lukla awaiting the arrival of the others the following morning.
I met them at the airport with some relief and they allowed me to trek with them, despite the fact that their guides were not happy with the extra cargo (I paid one 10USD per day to carry my stuff.) My friends had paid almost 1000 USD for a complete package which included their flights, food, accommodation, guides and permits and I was not part of the official party. But I trekked with them for the next week though the wonderful landscape of the Khumbu region.
What a place this is! I have long had an interest in the Khumbu valley - kick started by a chance encounter with Sir Edmund Hillary whilst waitressing in New Zealand. My curiosity was nurtured when running the editorial for a small local newspaper in Thame, Oxon, I discovered the existence of another Thame (pronounced Tamay) in the Khumbu, just a few days trek from Mt Everest. I persuaded my editor to let me run a feature on our Nepali namesake and following three months of research, I completed my masterpiece. To experience the Khumbu for myself was to fulfill one of my greatest ambitions – and I was not disappointed.
Home to the world’s highest peaks, this inaccessible area lay largely undiscovered by the outside world until Hillary and Tenzing Norgay conquered the 29,035ft mountain in 1953, bringing international interest and tourism in their wake. The Sherpa people, world renowned for their climbing prowess, began migrating to the area from Tibet around 600 years ago, bringing Tibetan Buddhism to the valley. Ancient Buddhist texts tell how Guru Rinpoche, who brought the religion to Tibet in the 7th Century AD, hid the Khumbu and other Himalayan valleys for the people of Tibet who, he foresaw, would need to take sanctuary during future troubled times. How prophetic he was. Evidence of the Sherpa’s deep but gentle faith is everywhere to be seen; from the monasteries forming the focal point of every village, to snow white stupas adorned with colourful prayer flags carried to the summits of mountains, and mani stones, intricately carved with the mantra Om Mani Padme Hum (hail to the jewel in the lotus) which litter the paths. Never more did I lament the fact that my camera is buggered as when trekking through such scenery. The Himalayas are a photographer’s paradise in their own right, but mounting a peak to see white stupas emerging from the swirling clouds, covered in a tangle of coloured prayer flags and surrounded by clusters of carved mani stones, is indeed a religious experience and something I’ll never forget. I must say that, in spite of having spent almost four months in His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s hometown, I found Nepal’s Buddhist monuments even more enchanting than those I left behind. Perhaps it was their age which added to their allure (His Holy Lamaness only arrived in McLeod in 1959 – meaning all monasteries, temples and stupas are modern.) Perhaps it was the majestic surroundings. But the stones, flags and monuments littering this enchanted landscape speak volumes about the unswerving faith that kept these sturdy yet extremely kind hearted mountain people going through far tougher times.
The allure of Everest, long called Jomolangma by Tibetans and Sherpas after the goddess they believe inhabits the mountain – has transformed the lives of Khumbu people over the past five decades. And I can honestly say I don’t believe I have ever visited a place in which tourism has made such a positive impact on a society, without also robbing that society of often irreplaceable attributes. Lodges and hotels have sprung up to cater for the ever increasing number of trekkers who flock to the region in their thousands each month, yet, constructed using traditional methods and materials (everything has to be flown in and then carried – there are no roads in the Khumbu) these buildings blend in perfectly with the towering landscape. Many of the villages we trekked though are almost entirely devoted to tourism, now the region’s economic backbone, but not once did I see a building or development which looked out of place. Also, keen to repay the region for the fame and fortune it had brought him, Sir Edmund Hillary left a lasting legacy through his organisation The Himalayan Trust, building schools, clinics, and infrastructure including the Lukla airstrip, which enables a constant supply of food, equipment and trekkers, to be flown to the villages.
The villagers themselves do more than their bit to make visiting the region a pleasure. Extremely hard working, warm hearted and accepting of all, these people are in complete contrast to their cold, harsh surroundings. Sturdy and strong (the loads these people, many of whom are shorter than me, carry in baskets on their backs up the steep mountain paths never ceased to amaze) the Khumbu people lived the rawest form of existence until the arrival of tourism. Now most lodges, usually family run, cater for western tastes and wood-fired pizza – followed of course by a Snikers Roll (spelling is clearly of secondary importance to the Nepalis) seems easier to find than the traditional Tibetan fare of momos and Thukpa, or Nepali daal bhaat.
My friends and I stayed at several such lodges where fellow trekkers provided great entertainment. We walked almost in parallel with an extremely enthusiastic American group, in reverence of which we dubbed ourselves ‘Team Extreme.’ A bunch of Rotarians raising funds for a local village, they were better men than us Gunga Din. But the almost nauseating enthusiasm with which they regarded ‘The Team,’ combined with their valiant lack of humour and the women’s insistence on wearing Heidi style plaits, shorts and spotless knee high socks like oversized girl scouts as they strode through the mountains like Family Von Trapp, made them a constant source of amusement to us naughty people. We met the same people again and again as we climbed higher, making our way up the steep paths at the rate suggested to avoid altitude sickness. Acute Mountain Sickness can affect anybody at anytime once they climb higher than around 10,000ft. There is no real rule or logic as to who will be struck down. Often it is the person you least expect and I saw a few big blokes who suffered quite badly with tell tale symptoms including headaches, dizziness and nausea. At heights of over 15,000ft, no one is unaffected, but I was lucky enough to be among those who suffered least. At 17,600ft, the oxygen level at Everest Base Camp is just half that at sea level, but other than one morning on which I became a little breathless climbing a peak, a slight headache and the general feeling of being a bit retarded (nothing new there then) I was fine.
From Namche Bazaar, the economic hub of the Khumbu region, filled with hotels and souvenir stalls nestled high in the mountains, I made the first of two day treks to Thame, and that evening we were reunited with Dwight and Chris - my friends who missed their flight to Lukla, who were sweetly apologetic. The next morning we continued up to Tengboche Monastery, a surreal paradise of peace and tranquility (and chill) far above the clouds. But the addition of three trekkers to the organised tour was beginning to take its toll. As I had accompanied the five official trekkers for three days awaiting the arrival of the others I had unwittingly fallen into the group, and whilst I paid my way regarding food, accommodation, and porterage, there is no doubt that I was using some of the guide’s services and this was seriously pissing off the organiser, who had been my friend in McLeod. True to my absent minded nature, I accidentally lost a walking pole which had been lent to me, infuriating the organiser, and Dwight and Chris’s arrival just exacerbated a worsening situation – for instance, the guide was not at all happy when asked to help try to find Dwight who we lost momentarily in a snow storm. Things came to a head at a place called Lobuje, just a few hours trek from Base Camp, where the group’s organiser took me outside and launched into a 10 minute verbal attack – after which I had no desire to remain with the group and resolved to strike out on my own. This is not recommended, but I was failing to live within the group’s means and was running out of money fast, meaning I would have had to have detached myself to some degree anyway in order to make my money last (there are no ATM’s beyond Namche Bazaar and even that is temperamental.) It was a shame though as I had really liked him in McLeod and all his friends (including his girlfriend who is the sister of one of my original McLeod crew) were lovely. I think this was for me the lowest point of my trip so far – despite being at the highest altitude.
The next morning, aided by the extremely obliging family that ran my lodge at Gorak Shep, the last stop before Base Camp, I hired a porter for two days and trekked through biting wind and hail to Everest Base Camp, which I have to say was a bit of a let down. The freezing conditions and cloud cover didn’t help, and the camp itself consisted of a large number of tents clustered close to the mighty mountain’s base. On arrival my porter went to visit friends and I spent an hour in an exhibition/bakery tent awaiting his return where the lovely Sherpa bakers, on seeing I couldn’t afford a slice of the fabulous smelling chocolate cake they had just produced from an oven, gave me a slice of tea cake.
From there I returned to Gorak Shep, collected my baggage and began the two day fast track trek down to Namche Bazaar. Whilst it is very important to acclimatize en route to Base Camp, there is no limit to how quickly you can trek downhill (even if it knackers your knees) and by nightfall I, and a nice American guy Jon, who I met on the way, were ensconced in a warm cozy lodge in Pheriche, run by the mother of the lady who helped me sort myself out at Gorak Shep.
I spent three days in Namche Bazaar making day treks, once again to Thame, and another to Khumjung – both stunning places which benefited greatly from Sir Edmund Hillary’s work. Hillary built schools for both villages and I wandered around that at Khumjung, a thriving place enveloped by swirling cloud which boasted a well kept statue to its benefactor. Khumjung Monastery (closed when I got there) is also said to contain a yeti scalp - although American analyzers concluded the artifact belonged to a Tibetan Blue Bear - a fact the locals are either unaware of, or choose to ignore.
On May 27, two weeks after arriving in the Khumbu, I took my return flight to Kathmandu. XXX
