Everest Circuit Rerouted VIII: Yak Yak Yak

Wednesday, 16 October 2013 14:40 Hrs at 4040m (Dole)

The road between Phortse Tenga and Dole is relatively short. Only three hours separated them. It is also much less traveled than the road from Namche Bazaar. As we wandered along the path – slowly, slowly as always – the panoramic Himalayan vistas that were concealed from us the day before were finally revealed. We are now only a few hundred metres below the snow line, and at over 4000m, the foliage has changed. There are no more soft pines or conifers or what appeared to be paperbark. The trees are smaller, scrubbier, and very soon will end altogether.

Dole is a sleepy little place, smaller than even the main drag of Amphitheatre, Victoria (the nearest town to where I grew up where the population is a little over 200). Constantly bells ring from the necks of grazing yaks and dzopkos. There are very many yaks here, and appreciative few which I would judge from their uncollared necks and the way at least one local chased them from his land, are wild. They are far hairier than their bovine cousins, with tails much like that of a horse, and great horns protruding from their heads. They have voracious appetites as they grazed almost continuously since our arrival a few hours earlier.

Having arrived at Dole before midday, and the weather much finer, a number of the group took the opportunity to wash soiled clothing by the river. We then laid them over rocks, as the Nepalese do, so that they would dry. The walk down to the river and back would have been much more pleasant had the 2 litres or so of fluid consumed before lunch not made for such a hasty retreat to the facilities which, in Dole consists of a small building with a hole cut into the floor. There is leaf litter piled at the back of these ‘facilities’ to cover any more substantial deposits through the gap. These composting toilets, I understand, are used to help fertilize the land on which vegetables are grown for human consumption. A practice long utilised by the Nepalese people.

The less that pristine weather has made much of the land unsafe to tread, circumventing any afternoon excursion aside from the short laundry trip. As we meandered up steep steps and great wallows of mud, the mountainside on the other side of the valley was subject to a landslide, the crack of falling rock as loud as gunfire. Aside from the road to Machermo where we will be trekking tomorrow and the road back to Phortse Tenga, there is no other real tracks to take and so any excursion would have been on very smaller, lesser used trails. Meet was concerned we could dislodge rocks.

The trails have been, thus far, steep but doable. Our lungs run out of oxygen before our legs their strength. The reduced oxygen is very noticeable on exertion, as though you were carrying an additional 16 or 20 kilograms and it will only worsen as we are to ascend another 1600 metres. Our pace, thankfully, has been slow. Regardless, we generally make each day’s trek within the approximate times as outlined in the trek overview. Even with a cold, I have had no difficulty keeping pace with that set by our sherpa guides. Today D.B. lead us and Basu was located somewhere toward the back of the group. Meet watched us all walk in turn, ever mindful and observant of signs that any one of us may be exhibiting AMS. The drone of helicopters in the valley is becoming our constant morning companion, as ever more trekkers are airlifted from the hillside.

(Postscript: This was the day I commenced the course of Cold and Flu tablets I brought with me in the hope that I could relieve my symptoms before Cho La. While my cold symptoms did subside a little, the cough persisted until I returned to Kathmandu. Developing a persistent cough is quite common in the Himalayas, I understand. It is often called the Khumbu Cough for those that develop it in the Khumbu Valley on the way to Everest Base Camp. I have since been advised by a fellow hiker that a ventolin inhaler could assist with persistent coughs developed at altitude.)

Everest Circuit Rerouted VII: Rain, Rain, Go Away

Tuesday, 15 October 2913 19:10 Hrs at 3650m (Phortse Tenga)

The Dudh Kosi, our almost constant companion since Ghat, rages beneath the campsite, louder than I have ever heard it. Water runs down the nearby mountainsides in great rivulets. There are always a handful of waterfalls in view at any time, falls that I am told freeze in winter attracting ice climbers. Water runs down the tracks also, so deep in some places that we rock hop across to the next patch of damp dirt. At one point during the trek from Namche Bazaar to Portse Tenga, we had to climb up a flight of stone steps holding onto a low handrail as the waterfall broke over our heads and brushed our shoulders and ran over our feet. Our sherpa, Basu was not particularly amused being the last of our group to brave the sodden crossing.

It has rained almost constantly since we arrived in Namche Bazaar on Sunday. Not heavy rain, and often no more than incessant drizzle, it has slicked the tracks with thick mud and left us wet to our baselayers. A frenzied search for the ‘perfect’ poncho through Namche’s winding streets yesterday saw at least T and I – and our packs – mostly dry with minimum condensation. Much less than my Montane eVent jacket, the condensation on which transfers too readily to my mid and baselayers, subsequently leaving me cold on stopping (as I discovered on our forays in and around Namche on our acclimatisation day there). The last minute find earned the tick of approval of Basu, as he told me more than once today that the poncho was a very good rain jacket. He, himself, made do with what appeared to be a heavy duty plastic bag intact on two sides, which he drapes over both his head and his pack. We saw a very many variations of this among the other sherpas and porters and Nepalese people treading the wet trails, as well as a surprising number of umbrellas more often than not furnished by one of the locals. The Westerners, however, proceeded in their rainbow parade of Gortex jackets and Nepalese made ponchos (whose zippered sleeves disqualified them from being the perfect ponchos) and waterproof overpants. There was a surprising amount of foot traffic, even following the separation of the Everest Base Camp and Gokyo trails, in both directions. We witnessed as a helicopter landed in a nearby village, presumably to collect a trekker suffering from AMS (only the first of many to come). Our own pace is steady and we do not rush the trails. Even with the extra traffic and poor weather conditions, we still managed to conclude the trek to Phortse Tenga within 5 hours and without any great exertion.

The trail itself is much more difficult than that to Namche Bazaar. And while there was talk of this awful ascent into the town and to our eco-lodge, it was no more difficult than the 1000 steps in the Dandenongs, Victoria, the greatest challenge being unable to see the end. I do believe our gentle introduction to Nepal is at its end, however. The next few days, at least, are relatively short ones which will be fantastic for acclimatising, with afternoon ‘excursions’. Today was the first day I did not go on the excursion. After the long wet slog in the rain with a sore throat and runny nose, I felt it more prudent to rest. As such, for the second time now I pulled my camera tripod out of my kit bag and took a few photographs with the adjusted exposure time. I am looking forwarded to seeing them enlarged when I return to Australia.

Everest Circuit Rerouted VI: Namche Bazaar

Sunday, 13 October 2013 14:03 Hrs at 3445m (Namche Bazaar)

The Nepalese people of the Himalayas are a compact hardy folk. Much smaller than those of the lowlands. Whether by genes or other environmental or organic factors, such as reduced oxygen saturation of the air or carrying heavy loads from a young age, there is a marked difference. Their facial features differ also. The higher we get: broad flat faces with beautiful catlike eyes and rose cheeks. Men and women alike are much older than they appear by Western standards. It is becoming easier to distinguish the porters and the guides that have come from the lowlands and middle hills from those native to Khumbu. Indeed, our leader, Meet is from the Annapurnas and our sherpa guide, Basu is a lowlander. He is much taller than the locals. Head and shoulders above some of them.

The higher we ascend, the more we see youths carrying loads that would make a grown Western man cringe. Mere boys of thirteen or so hunched beneath the great weight of bottled drinks and chocolate and toilet paper for our consumption. And it is largely for the hoards of tourists that they haul these things – the Nepalese do not use toilet paper, they use water – the cost progressively increasing the higher we ascend. The mules and dzopko (cow-yak crossbred) we often give way to on the trails appear, more often than not, to be transporting fuels such as kerosene or pressed dry grass for fodder. These beasts of burden also carry the yields of vegetables we see growing in the terraced paddocks to be sold at Namche Bazaar. It is quite a sight to watch as the laden animals negotiate the slippery rock stairs and the great hanging suspension bridges that cross and re-cross the Dudh Kosi, all to the whistles and calls of their handlers.

The mules must be easier to manage than the dzopkos as they are driven in herds of between six and ten, and appear to respond to a command to stop and another to proceed. The dzopko, however, appears usually in groups of two and three. They are a fascinating animal. Short coat like a cow, often black and white or closer to a buckskin colour similar to a jersey cow. Their tails are closer to that of a horse or mule than a cow, and they have narrow forward facing horns as inherited from their yak fathers. Yaks do not live below 3000m and having only ascended above 3000m today, we are as yet to see any.

Last night in Monjo we shared our camp with another World Expeditions tour descending from a trek to Gokyo Ri. They arrived in the camp late, well after 16:00 hrs and had been hiking 9 hour days after their 11 day trek was delayed 2 days in Kathmandu due to weather. They looked especially weary compared to our group, most of whom had elected not to undertake yesterday afternoon’s excursion. This was the first of the other World Expeditions tour groups we came across, however today we have passed porters transporting the distinctive red and black kit bags toward Lukla, and at least one other group have arrived at the eco-lodge in Namche Bazaar today. This last group did not have our fortune with the weather. The clouds that clustered around the mountainside yesterday at approximately 16:00 hrs did not lift and by 11:00 hrs this morning there was drizzle. The sky opened a little after we arrived here at 12:00 hrs and this group has not long arrived.

The eco-lodge is a sherpa hotel and is affiliated with the Namche Bazaar Museum to which we will be shortly visiting. The accommodation is sparse, much like our tents, only the room has a toilet for our convenience and panelled windows which afford spectacular views, even with the hanging grey sky. Yesterday’s wet washing hangs from the line I have strung between the window handles hoping to dry. My kit bag is stored neatly at the end of my bed with my boots. My day pack is beneath the window next to the other end of my bed and I am making full use of the spare down blankets with their velvet maroon covers to keep me warm, as the room is without heating.

Headwind

This week, short as it has been with only four days, has been a trying one nonetheless. A rest day tomorrow is well overdue, although I am trying to mentally prepare myself for a short run in the hopes that it will come to fruition. I've struggled with the motivation to really get back into running.

It seems more and more that I ride my bike uphill into a headwind in the evenings with other road users that behave with ever more self entitlement. This week I have been forced to swerve car doors opening into my path when my strobe light into their rear vision mirror, especially in the dim light, should have made my presence plainly known. To stop and give way to cars that have pulled out into the road in front of me, cutting me off (both from turning right across my path into a side street and turning left onto my road from a side street). To stop because a vehicle is abreast the shared bicycle-pedestrian pathway. To negotiate cars parked in clearway zones at clearway times. To avoid cars that drive two wheels into the bike lane.

Cyclists are by no means a perfect community of road users but the damage a cyclist could cause to a driver and vice versa are incomparable. A fright and scatched car versus death or lifelong impairment hardly fit onto the same scale. Yet how careless some drivers have been toward me, and I'm not even including those that have failed to overtake me at a reasonable distance. To top it all off, winter winds push against me, fighting me for my forward momentum, as I square myself against the enduring rise of St Georges Road, my hip flexors protesting and teeth set. My calves are particularly sore and hardened, their recovery from last weekend delayed. I am grateful for the breeze, however, that keeps the sweat from sheeting off me, the cold blooded Scotsman descendant that I am.

There is something invigorating about riding to work in the morning, however. Even when it is so cold gloves must pad my fingers to retain the sensation in them and my ears are hidden beneath the neck buff that I tuck under my helmet. A little bit of water on the road is even better, as there are less cyclists to contend with and it is quicker to ride than to drive. I try to ride to work at least 3 times a week, each day saving me at least an hour of petrol. I feel that I begin those days at my desk alert and functioning, without the need for a strong caffeine injection. I begin the day well grounded also, especially if I have seen the homeless gentleman that sleeps beneath a narrow overpass on my route, his belongings packed into 3 or 4 green square Woolworths bags lined up neatly in a row.

The weather is truly winter now, our mild autumn ended a fortnight ago. It is so cold that I can hardly feel my hands as I carry my bike down a flight of steps, even in my windproof gloves. I store a cap in my bag in the event I need to keep the rain out of my eyes while I ride. And today as I made my way toward Ferntree Gully to climb the 1000 Steps, I watched as mist enveloped the hillsides so thickly and unexpectedly that I wound my window down to smell for fire, I could hardly believe what I was seeing was cloud. The damp day did make for much less traffic during the 2 hours that I was on those stairs.

My Salomon XA PRO 3D Ultra 2 GTX shoes are slowly but surely being broken in. I bought them specifically for training conditions such as the Steps where I might be inclined to jog or trot downhill. Something that I do quite frequently where pedestrian traffic permits, today being no exception. It is, I believe, the reason for the slow recovery of my legs this week even with a few days of hill and step work already breaking them in. They are less sensitive to the touch today, and I'm hoping they will improve and not worsen again.

On a trek proper, I prefer to wear my Scarpa Mythos nubuck leather hiking boots. They are much sturdier and provide greater ankle support. Last weekend I realised that I have cracked the heel of one orange Superfeet insert that I took to Nepal. Possibly on my rapid descent down the mountainside after the ascent to Kala Pattar. As someone with high arches, I prefer the extra arch support of the orange Superfeet on long hikes to prevent cramping although so far, I have not needed any additional inserts in my Salomons. I have not done a full day's hike in them yet but I will in the next month or so.

I will need to rejoin my hiking club to insert full day walks back into my training calendar for Kilimanjaro. I hiked at least 2-3 Sundays out of the month in preparation for Nepal, routinely carrying 12-14kgs in my pack, keeping pace with other hikers carrying less than two thirds that weight. This, I felt, was an important contribution to my training that I would have wanted for had I not included it in my training regime.

Tonight at my best friend's bridal party dinner, I was seated across from the partner of the Best Man who intimated to me that she thought that while trekking the Kokoda trail a few years before she got by mostly on the vitality of youth and not training, the consequence of which seems to be a persistent weakness in her knees. This is not the first I have heard of knees permanently damaged in twenty-somethings lacking trek preparation, I have heard it applied to Mont Blanc also. Descent is wearing on joints. I try to train specifically to build up the stength of the stabilising muscles around my knees to protect them which is what makes the 1000 Steps such an appealing training ground. It seems that others share that sentiment as I saw a singleton as well as a group hiking with weighted day packs and hiking boots while I was there today.

Over preparation has to be better than under preparation when trekking. Within reason, of course.

1000 Steps, Dandenong

The 1000 Steps located in Dandenong Ranges east of Melbourne is, at least on a pleasant day, a frenetic place to train or to even take a stroll as many seem to do, but there is good reason for it's popularity. The narrow stairs are, in places, hardly the width of two shoulders passing one another. There are regular gaps in the handrail to allow climbers a place of respite out of the way of the other stair-goers and water often collects on the trail making it extraordinarily slippery. It is, however, a beautiful trail. Ferns expand in either direction beneath the great eucalypts. Moss collects on fallen logs. Birds twitter and call and sometimes even flit across the path to hide in the undergrowth almost within reach of it. Through the trees, there is the most beautiful view. It is always slightly cooler and damper than the car park below.

It takes me approximately 15 minutes to scale the steps carrying packed weight. There is another 15 or so minute walk to get to the base of the steps from the car park which I tend to trot down afterward to get back to my car, pack bouncing against my back. I am not a fast climber by any means but I do not stop except for the occasional step aside to allow another significantly faster person to pass me. It is more important that I work on my endurance and longevity than to run to the top with many little breaks. Carrying a bag tends to slow me down. Newly back into training, today I carried 8 litres of water plus my day pack, a couple of bananas, wallet, keys, phone, fleece jacket and wet wipes. Around 9-9.5kgs in all carried up and down that muddy stair case 3 times over. Before Nepal, I was carrying between 16-18kgs and climbing the stairs 3 or 4 times but today was a good reintroduction. I only carried around 5kg here a few weeks ago and I hardly had the leg strength then to go down those slippery steps the second time, they shook so much from the exertion. I let myself get well out of practice.

It never ceases to amaze me the number of small children climbing the steps. Pint size 3 or 4 year olds, perhaps even younger, that really haul arse up that stair case quicker than some of the adults with legs 3 or 4 times the length of their own. Mum or Dad, brother or sister, aunt or uncle following dutifully behind them, maybe with a baby in a front or back carrier. Usually in casual clothes and not leggings and sweat shirts.

People that visit the 1000 Steps for the experience and people that go there to exercise are readily discernable, even in the car park, the latter looking as they would if they were walking through the doors of their gym and not a walk through the bush. Both carry water most of the time. Tension sometimes exists between these two groups.

Those that have come for the exercise do not usually block the stairs and almost always step off to the side to rest if they need to but they can be inpatient to pass other climbers, especially those that run the track even though they are not supposed to. Conversely, casually clothed persons are sometimes slow and very unaware, causing mass congestion by failing to remove themselves from the narrow stair when they are tired or want to take a photo. They can also be seen wearing the most inappropriate footwear: ballerina slippers or high heeled boots, ugg boots with foam soles. Anything that looks like it is not made to walk through the prospect of mud or lacks traction on the sole should be avoided in winter, it is just too muddy and slippery as my blackened legs could attest. Then there are people like myself that carry a day or full hiking pack and usually wear hiking shoes or boots. Occasionally, someone will have a single hiking pole, or a pair, or a stick pulled from the undergrowth. These can form a trip hazard for other walkers although I see benefit in descending with one as it can be very slippery and there is not always a handrail available on the left.

While the first climb is always anonymous, the serious trainers are the faces with which you become familiar because they, like you, are climbing the steps multiple times. The guy in the superman t-shirt. The woman in the increasingly muddy red sneakers. The person hand carrying free weights or wearing a weight vest or a day pack. Not all are thin and wiry, I most certainly am not, but enough are to kind of wish you were too. Just look at the definition of those calves on their third trip past you!

I don't usually find people training alone to be rude or obstructive. Personally, it is those climbing the steps in groups, even in pairs, that I find frustrating. The faster party will scoot past you and then you have to pass them again as they wait for their friend. Or the group rests together, only there is not space enough off the path to do so, so they obstruct some of the narrow pathway causing congestion. They are also harder to overtake going downhill as they are reluctant to separate but they descend slower because they are talking and one is constantly turning back.

There is something endearing about the place, though, even for all the foot traffic. Weekends are busy but they are also the only time that I can train there as I have to commute from the more Northern suburbs. I know that I should just go earlier, it becomes increasingly difficult to find a car park in the afternoon. I need to work on my love of sleep. Speaking of which, I need to right now. I'm riding my bike to work in the morning (it's only a measly 9k or so) and that's always better done rested than not or I become dreadfully forgetful.

There are still more Everest Circuit Rerouted to be posted for those interested.

Everest Circuit Rerouted V: Is it Yellow?

Saturday, 12 October 2013 17:17 Hrs at 2850m (Monjo)

The terrain encountered today was much the same as yesterday. Stone and dirt paths that cut through the mountainside, trees or sheer rock on one side and the view on the other. We have been following the Dudh Kosi (Milky River) since our departure of Ghat, crossing it a number of times. The sheer torrid force with which the river flows renders the glacial blue waters white and the roar can be heard throughout the valley. Its musical sound is one I doubt could ever grow tiresome. Crossing the river, however, is slightly less pleasant as it involves crossing suspension bridges – often behind mules or other tourists – which shifts and sways beneath our feet, especially as we near the centre of the bridge. I have taken to focusing on the pack in front of me and shuffling as quick as possible across the bridge, occasionally pointing the camera one way or another and shooting without actually peering through the view finder.

Our leader, Meet, has done his best to allay any fears and preconceived notions regarding our ascent into Namche Bazaar tomorrow. He insists that when it comes to that last steep climb, that by looking down at our feet and not at the seemingly never-ending rise before us, will make it easier for us. I think he has been pleased with our pace thus far. Today we traveled from Ghat in around 4 hours, and that was with a long break to allow one of our group to recover from a sudden spell of light-headedness. She is only carrying a single 1 litre water bottle and it has been very warm in the sun with little breeze through the trees. Yesterday at Lukla it was 27˚C. Today might have been a little less. It is apparent, however, that tonight will be much colder than last night notwithstanding the clouds that cling to the surrounding mountains where only 2 hours before there was blue sky. Our faded orange tents are bright against the blue-green pine trees that line the mountain.

We arrived in Monjo just after 12:00 hrs and sat down to a lunch of roti bread, spinach, potatoes and spam. That last was new for me but given the scarcity of fresh meat, aside from perhaps poultry, I ate it with the ravenous appetite 4 hours of trekking gave me. Afterward, I went for a small 1.5 hour acclimatisation excursion with Basu, Meet and one other of our group up a nearby hill. As with yesterday afternoon’s side trip, the walk was much slower with a greater number of breaks. I use the extra walk as an opportunity to take photos and, hopefully, acclimatise better.

I do not know if I should be concerned that I have had no more than very mild passing headaches and the occasional disturbance in spatial awareness (as though I were slightly intoxicated). Most of the other trekkers have experienced a variety of much more pronounced symptoms. One experienced such severe light-headedness so as to require her daypack to be carried by the sirdar, Padam for a time. Another experienced strange dreams last night and the sensation that the tent was spinning. Both have since commenced taking their Diamox. A third felt intoxicated yesterday and generally unwell. While a forth has had stomach upsets that persist in spite of the Immodium. Yet another is experiencing fatigue. I cannot state for sure if the last is having any symptoms aside from perhaps the sense she might be coming down with a cold or, as Meet put it, the Khumbu cough. The dry air is leaving blood in my nasal mucous just as when I am in an airplane.

The camp works to a routine. At approximately 06:00hrs, we are awoken to a cup of black tea. Warm washing water is then provided in large silver bowls fifteen minutes later. We are to pack our kit bag and present for breakfast at 07:00hrs. The trekking party departs at 08:00hrs, our kit bags already collected by the porters. Following a day of trekking, we receive glasses of warm orange cordial. More hot washing water is provided at 15:30hrs and then afternoon tea at 16:00hrs. Dinner is between 18:00 and 18:30hrs. Coffee, tea and hot chocolate is provided at the end of all meals, at which time our empty water bottles are collected and filled with hot water. We are encouraged to drink constantly and as a consequence must relieve ourselves quite frequently also. Discussing our hydration status as determined by the colour of our urine makes for an interesting bonding experience. And then it comes time for bed and, if early days are any indication, it will be very early nights for us all for the next few weeks as everyone trundles off at approximately 19:30hrs. Who could blame us.

Everest Circuit Rerouted IV: Into the Mountains

Friday, 11 October 2013 12:47 Hrs at 2600m (Ghat)

The sheer magnitude of the Himalayas cannot be overstated. It is so utterly breathtaking that I do not yet feel myself intimidated by its towering presence around me, only in awe. Would I that its exquisite inclines continue to inspire me to push ever forward. ‘Slowly, slowly,’ as proclaimed by the signed shirts that we see tacked to the walls and ceilings of the tea-houses or eco-lodges affiliated with World Expeditions. Today at least was not a baptism of fire.

We have been spared the flames until the day after tomorrow when we make the trek up to Namche Bazaar where there awaits us a very steep and – at least seemingly – never-ending trail. We covered approximately 4.8 kilometres today trekking from Lukla to Ghat with approximately 200 metres descent in total. The walk was at a very reasonable, slow pace. Even at 2600 metres in altitude, the air is noticeably thinner on exertion. We all have vague headaches and many a light headedness that might otherwise be attributed to mild intoxication if we had been drinking. It took us approximately 2.5 hours to trek down to Ghat, stopping twice for around 15 minutes each. The weather is still quite warm in the sun.

The flight to Lukla from Kathmandu was stunning. Flying much lower than the Silk Air Airbus that deposited me in Kathmandu two days earlier, the Twin Otter that negotiated the very short, very uphill runway at Lukla provided us with the most magnificent views. Lukla is a small narrow village with not room enough even to accommodate a vehicle down its main thoroughfare, should there have been a vehicle in sight. Indeed, aside from the small planes and helicopters on the airport tarmac, I saw not even so much as a motorbike. Everything was moved by the power of hoof or foot. Counterfeit hiking gear lined the street. Leki poles. Marmot down jackets. North Face down hut booties. A boy of perhaps 10 with down syndrome was trying to fly a kite in the street but he was unable to generate the force to cause it to lift into the air and there was hardly a breeze around us as the smoke and burning juniper at times clouded the walkways and caught in our throats. Lukla was, by contrast to Kathmandu, a far quieter, serene place. Simpler also and perhaps more honest. The shop keeps did not call out to us to ply their trade and it seemed, sometimes, that they left their store unattended as we discovered while trying to purchase bottles of water.

The weight restriction on the Lukla flight was supposed to be a measly 15 kilograms and yet I made it through with 17 plus the down jacket in my hand and those various items lining its pockets. In hindsight, I could have lined those pockets with so much more like the chocolate I left in my suitcase at the hotel. The last four squares of Amedei, however, remain in my kit pack with my electronics – I have big plans for that hand numbered block of Tuscan chocolate. If what I have read regarding crossing the Cho La Pass (should we stay on schedule and on route), I am going to need it that day. But I digress, Lukla was a beautiful place: old mixed with new, poverty with wealth.

The streets were lined with stone, the well placed pavers concealing a drain that ran beneath the centre of the road. The buildings were of stone construction also with thin glass windows and iron or wood thatched rooftops. Flags and electrical cables ran between the buildings, a surprising number of which boasted satellite dishes of varying sizes. Shop fronts were often shallow so as to suggest living quarters directly behind. Their wares lined the facade at the front so that you had to duck your head to enter. Space was at a premium. Chocolate bars and drinks looked out from beneath glass counters. In Lukla, a bottle of water cost 100 rupees (around $1). I am curious to see how that price inflates over the coming weeks. We will be surviving on boiled water and not bottled.

There was a steady tide of trekkers returning to Lukla as we descended into Ghat. Perhaps less than I expected. However, it is early October and there will be a great many others still on their ascent to Base Camp and Kala Pattar. Always there is the obligatory nod or hello from the other tourists. Sherpas, guides and porters travelling in the opposite direction do not really acknowledge us, their faces set as they haul what seems to be very nearly their own mass behind them, hunched forward against the weight, hands pulling down on the straps that anchor the load to their foreheads. Occasionally another guide or sherpa recognises our sherpa or leader and they exchange brief pleasantries in the quiet quick language of the Nepalese. Even when talking to one another they appear reserved.

I do not believe it is the language gap that divides the Nepalese from the Westerners. Their English is quite understandable and, to my linguistically-untrained ear, shares an inflection not so different from that of the Indian accent. They have no real difficulty getting their point across and with so many Aussies and Brits on the trail, it is little wonder that their English is so good, for even the German and Japanese tourists I have come across use English to communicate with the Nepalese people. Their mannerisms are very humble also. They smile and laugh with one another but when they look at us, for example to offer us something, it is with their head bowed and eyes peeking out from beneath their brows looking at you while at the same time not looking at you at all. I feel guilty refusing the second or third helping of potatoes because the person holding the pot just appears so eager to please. Perhaps it is just those on our trek that are like that. The tour guide in Kathmandu yesterday was extremely confident and outgoing, and was not so visibly reserved in his countenance. When my bank card failed to transact on a particular purchase, he leant me the rupees without question and without my even asking. He insisted upon it. Basu, our sherpa guide, does not share that same confidence with us as yet. According to our leader, Meet, the Nepalese are a shy people that will open up if you approach them. It would be a shame to not to get to know them better.

There are 5 porters to remain with us throughout the entirety of the trek. 7 additional porters are only temporary, there to see us through the Cho La. There will be no dzopkos or mules carrying our bags due to the limitations of that pass. Then there is the cook and his assistants and the 2 sherpa guides. The sirdar, who coordinates the trekking logistics. 20 men in all are required to see this trek through including our Leader. 20 for 7 Western tourists with big dreams and the good fortune of being able to bring them to life. There is something unbalanced in that equation.

(Postscript: Bank cards often could not be used at the same store twice on the same day even where the bank had been pre-notified of travel to Nepal and sometimes not even on the first transaction. There also seemed to be a limit on how much could be withdrawn by ATM on a single day which was something like $200. You were never able to withdraw more than $100 in any transaction at the ATM as the greatest amount available for withdrawal was 100,000 rupees. It is advisable to take more than one card (maybe one pre-paid credit card in USD) as well as a few hundred USD in cash for the Himalayas. There is only one ATM in the Himalayas located in Namche Bazaar although many money exchangers in Namche also appeared to offer the option of withdrawal from credit (which I did not try). It is easier to take enough money in cash with you into Lukla for chocolate, Pringles chips, battery charging, showers and tips for your porters, guides and cooks rather than try to find it in Namche.)

Everest Circuit Rerouted III: Kathmandu

Thursday, 10 October 2013 06:40 Hrs (Kathmandu)

I cannot remember a time since I slept so soundly. My head must have barely touched the pillow before I was out. I cannot even recall processing the evening’s events except to wish I had the energy to record it in this journal, but that the day had been too long and my roommate was already asleep and I wanted to be as well. It came as no surprise then that when I did first awaken, it was 05:00 hrs local time (10:15 EST), a solid 8 hours later. Presently I am enjoying the buffet breakfast that reminds me greatly of Thailand with a hunger better suited to lunch.

Already I am considering taking a dose of Gastrostop, the truly amazing Nepalese dinner last night turning in my abdomen. Expected, to say the least, and something best reigned in now. Eating fruit for breakfast will not help but as with Thailand, their pineapple and lychees just seem so much sweeter than our own. As for that dinner, it was had with all 7 of us adventurists and our Nepalese leader, Meet.

...

So it is now 18:28 hrs and I am seated in the Fun Cafe located in the hotel’s lobby only it is dinner and no longer breakfast, and I am seated here on the opposite side. I have taken a moment’s respite from the group before we fly out tomorrow morning either at 06:15 hrs, or as soon as visibility allows. I am finally satisfied that I am as close to my 15kg weight restriction for that flight as I can comfortably be, relieved that for 2 or 3 dollars (all ‘dollars’ here are in USD) there is a 1 to 2kg buffer. I do not believe my roommate had truly comprehended the flight’s weight restriction. She is presently reorganising her gear, after her partially filled kit bag was still 12kgs. Mine will be 10.3kg at the outside, which I am pleased with.

The group is reasonably diverse, as ever a group of 7 can be. I am perhaps the youngest by a month. The newly weds are 30, while the two female friends appear to be perhaps 10 years older, more in speech than in their countenance. The only solo male traveler is similar again while the other solo female traveler is perhaps late 50s. A pleasant and friendly group, as earliest signs can tell. I imagine we will become all intimately familiar with one another’s ticks over the next three weeks.


(Postscript: It is a shame that I did not record more about my first experience in Kathmandu. What with trying to recover from our flights and a day of serious sightseeing before we flew out again for the mountains, there was little time that could be dedicated to my journal. Some things made a lasting impression not easily forgotten, however and it would be a loss not to record them now. Nepal was in the middle of a religious holiday when I arrived and the sheer press of people in Kathmandu was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

The city smelled of dust and exhaust fumes but in October at least it was far more pleasant than the persistent odour of sewage or spoiled food as encountered in Patong or Bangkok, Thailand. There were vehicles and scooters everywhere and I mean EVERYWHERE. While drivers stayed to the left of great concrete bollards down the centre of the arterial roads, there was no observation of traditional vehicle lanes. Cars and vans and scooters and motorbikes and brightly painted trucks from India all clustered in together edging past one another with only centimetres to separate them. Horns sounded continually, not used as the chastisement intended here in Australia or abuse, but just to let another vehicle know that there was a vehicle passing and not to change their course lest they side-swipe them. In the countryside where the speed limit was a generous 60kph, vehicles would use their horn when signaling their intent to overtake and asking the driver in front if it was safe to do so. In Kathmandu, however, the traffic was too dense or the road to rough to travel any faster than 20-30kph. In many places the bitumen was eroded by great gaping holes and oftentimes there was no sidewalk to speak of, foot traffic forced to share the road with the cars and bikes. I assure you that I skittered about very aware of the vehicles around me and lack of dedicated pedestrian crossings except, perhaps, for the police or military directed traffic crossing immediately outside Thamel, Kathmandu, the major market place walking distance from my hotel. The press of bodies within the market streets compared with the road traffic without. People swarmed everywhere, Nepalese and foreigners alike. Market streets were a single car width apart and you were forced up onto shop steps to give way to the vehicles that rolled past.

It was during my second day in Kathmandu that we witnessed the Hindus cremating their dead beside the river, their backs to the Fred Hollows Cornea Excision Centre, the deceased's family wearing white robes. The smoke was cloying and sweet as it swept across us. Upstream, Nepalese bathed in the river water under the shadow of Hindu fertility temples. Yogis posed for photos in exchange for rupees. There was so much colour. Hindus worshipping at the Pashupatinath temple across the river were adorned in bright robes that caught on the gentle breeze. While we were permitted to wander around the fertility temples and other Hindu religious monuments, as non-Hindus we were not permitted inside the sacred temple of Pashupatinath. The occasional Braman cow or bull could be seen wandering around but not nearly so many as might be expected of a predominantly Hindu city.

Across Kathmandu in Boudhanath, we wandered around our first great Buddhist monument, the Great Stupa. We would see many more stupa in the weeks to come but none so grand as this. Still, we did not yet know to keep our right to the monument and to the prayer wheels that existed at its perimeter. The whitewash was bright in the noonday sun in spite of the haze that we saw on the horizon, and the gold shone. From the very apex, we knew there to be a lotus flower though we could not see it then, not even from the fine vantage point where we lunched,our wallets lightened by the tourist purchase of mandalas (Buddhist paintings) and singing bowls. It was a wonderful cultural immersion, chaotic and colourful and exotic.)

Everest Circuit Rerouted II: In Transit

Wednesday, 9 October 2013 07:20 Hrs (Singapore)

Gate 54, Terminal 2 of the Changi Airport in Singapore is a cheerfully noisy place notwithstanding the early hour local time. Children and adults alike chatter excitedly and laugh, although from a stolen glance one could make the reasonable assumption that the more animated patrons of Changi are, by and large, not congregating here waiting for a connecting flight. The stony-eyed, more dishevelled patrons like myself are scattered throughout and we are quiet or even downright mute, but who could expect more of someone into their 26th hour of wakefulness with nary 2 or 3 hours light drowsing to rest. I possess hardly the cognitive function to keep myself awake and it is only in fear that I succeed. Fear of the unknown. Of falling into such a stupor that I miss my connecting flight. Of losing my documents, my phone, my hiking boots. The latter are tied to my pack, a lumpy pillow for my head upon an even lumpier bed of hard unforgiving chairs. And it is ever so amusing this weary, dull but still present excitement and nervous anticipation. For I am excited. And I am ever so nervous, but determinedly so.

The reality of it all did not strike me until I was through Australian Customs. It was the same for Thailand last year. I was purchasing last minute items for this trek right up until 21:00 EST before my flight which was scheduled for 01:05 EST the following morning – substituting gear that I had for technically superior and lighter options, equivocating on that damn camera tripod issue – and still the whole trip existed to me as little more than a fanciful dream. I was so engrossed in the motions of preparing for it that it had not yet become real to me. And then I had cleared Customs and the grin on my face grew to such fantastically foolish proportions because I WAS ON MY WAY!

For now, however, I am waiting until my wristwatch reads 08:20 Hrs and boarding can begin. It will be, then, only a few short hours until Kathmandu, Nepal. The dream of my adult lifetime: who knew that it would one day be a distinct possibility instead of the dream forever unrealised by physical, structural limitations. My cheeks are burning and my eyes are dry. My skin stings where I touch or rub it, especially around my eyes, nose and mouth, and I long only for a shower. But yet, I am so excited also.


Wednesday, 9 October 2013 15:15 Hrs (Kathmandu)

The utmost enormity of the Himalayas cannot be understood from photographs or video footage. Never could these mediums truly convey the intimidating bulk of it. Appearing on the horizon, almost as a bank of clouds at first, visible above the plane’s wing and not under it, visible as though it were at higher altitude than us, a suggestion of snow peaked land that as it draws ever nearer is refined until yes! that is it! Everest is second from the right, the pilot informs the chittering cabin, affirming our suspicions that this undefined white mass rising above the haze that is the curvature of the earth is not a cloud at all. And then the aisle floods as passengers in rows A through C try to glimpse that most infamous of mountain ranges, the tectonic plates colliding beneath them, forcing them ever up, UP!

It was not for long, however, as our first glimpse of Everest and K2 and the many others prefaced our increasing descent into Kathmandu and the apparently flat countryside beneath us resolved into mountains of impressive incline, both wooded and farmed. The farm land had the distinctive terracing as seen in other locales of steep incline such as Peru. I do not know why, but this surprised me. I had prepared myself for the tundra and scree and barren landscapes of Khumbu, not dense forest as blanketed the earth around Kathmandu. The houses were largely uniformly cuboid in arrangement with flat rooftops. Occasionally there was a flash from these passing rooftops becoming more frequent the further into Kathmandu the plane travelled. Solar panels, large and gleaming in the noonday sun, they had been erected upon many buildings, perhaps to ward away the frequent brownouts of which there were three very short ones in quick succession not long after I had washed the grit and grime of travel from my skin and hair. Standing in the pitch black bathroom, I was glad that I had expected it or else it would have come as a mighty shock. They were, thankfully, not even a minute in length. Not time enough even to reach for my phone to light the room.

Everest Circuit Rerouted I: In the Land of Oz

Monday, 7 October 2013 22:12EST (Melbourne)

I am perched upon my couch from the base of which there extends the wonderfully chaotic sense of order that consists of the gear to accompany on my last overseas foray as a twenty-something. Three pairs of footwear line up together in a neat row. Piles of t-shirts and thermal baselayers block out broad swatches of my rug. Medication, ranging from prescription to over the counter, are arranged according to the proportions of their packaging. Something for too much bowel movement and another for not enough. Tablets for fluid retention, for allergies, for infection, for respiratory conditions, for vomiting, malaria, stomach pain, regular pain. The sunscreen, insect repellent and body glide sit askew. As do the windstopper gloves. The camera tripod that I am dithering about stands erect. Opposite me, the scales are mute having already weighed the items that are to follow me into the Himalayan mountains. A long, considered list that will be included shortly.

Tomorrow I am to fly from Melbourne, Australia to Kathmandu, Nepal via Singapore in what will be my first solo overseas trip since I was fifteen. Half a lifetime ago almost. I am going there to turn thirty. Although, I confess I have not deliberated to any great extent on turning thirty this year, except to hope with a naive heart that the Cho La Pass will not be too unkind to me, for it is there that I am scheduled to attain that fearsome age.

So that is how I come to be seated in my living room, surrounded by thousands of dollars of gear on a Monday evening, trying to figure ways of reducing weight so as to justify a Manfrotto camera tripod and the book, The Wind Up Bird Chronicles by Haruki Murakama weighing at 1kg and 0.5kg respectively. I am especially tired as similar considerations had kept me awake until 5:30am this morning before my mind eventually willed itself to sleep.

Presently my gear list looks something to the effect (not including gear to be worn on the plane to Lukla):

Daypack: (5,461g + Pack)
115g Sunscreen
90g Insect Repellent
45g Body Glide (Anti-chafe)
22g Eyedrops
56g Hand Sanitiser
10g Blistex
35g Strepsils (1 foil)
15g Gastrostop
8g Nurofen (1 foil)
14g Buscopan
25g Leukoplast Elastic
10g Micropore
61g Bandaids
35g Crepe Bandage 4 inches
29g Sunglasses
181g Eyeglasses and case
42g Leatherman Multitool
16g Shoelaces (spare)
267g Writing Journal
88g Socks (spare pair)
24g Icebreaker Merino Glove Liners
68g Outdoor Research Windstopper Gloves
51g Buff Neck Warmer
57g Montane Beanie
52g Columbia Hat
116g Montane Windshirt
500g RAB Baltoro Alpine Softshell Jacket
340g Marmont PreCip Full Zip Hardshell Pants
316g Montane Athena eVent Hardshell Jacket
286g Patagonia R1 Hoody Midlayer
336g Sea to Summit Quagmire eVent Gaiters
391g Black Diamond Z Poles
360g Nalgene 1 Litre Bottles (x2)
33g Compact Mirror
36g Bungy Washing Line
93g Black Diamond Spot Headlamp
1238g Nikon 5100 DSLR Camera and Case (includes spare battery)

Kitbag: (6,574 + kitbag, sleeping bag and liner, and down jacket)
166g Swisspers
20g Toothbrush and Cover
50g Toothpaste
34g Mascara (don’t judge)
44g Shampoo
75g Moisturiser
10g Lip Eze
110g Bodywash
48g Wilderness Wash
74g Brush
75g Deodorant
144g Foot Antiperspirant
156g Contact Lenses
39g Sanitary Napkins
186g Dry Shampoo
9g Ear Buds and Hair Ties
8g Nail File
43g Cuticle Clippers
78g Strepsils (2 foils)
15g Gastrostop (Stoppers)
12g Lariam (Anti-Malarial Drug for Chitwan Park)
77g Diamox (Anti Fluid Retention)
24g Cefalexin (Antibiotics)
15g Stemzine (Anti-Nausea)
17g Coloxyl (Un-stoppers)
59g Cold and Flu Tablets
16g Zyrtec (Antihistamine)
31g Nurofen (3 foils)
14g Buscopan
72g Gastrolyte
50g Leukoplast Elastic (2 rolls)
115g Underwear (3 pairs)
231g Bras (1 Sports, 1 Crop Top)
176g Smartwool Mid Weight Hiking Socks (3 pairs)
48g Wigwam Coolmax Sock Liner (1 pair)
65g Patagonia Belt
228g ExOfficio Jandiggity Pants
274g ExOfficio Convertible Pants
453g Smartwool Midweight Thermal Set
366g Patagonia Capilene 3 Set
99g Nike T-Shirt
134g Berghaus T-Shirt
136g Columbia Short Sleeve Shirt
368g Montane Fury Hoody
759g Salomon Walking Shoes
458g Keen Clearwater CNX Sandals
90g Orange Superfeet
141g 90L Pack Liner
69g Sea to Summit Towel
52g Power Adapter
123g Nikon Battery Charger
649g Nikon Lens 55-300

Postscript: This gear list was subsequently trimmed before I left Australia and yet again in Nepal. Indeed, as weight seemed to be such a serious consideration, I went so far as trimming tags off clothing and the extra foil off medication to try to shave off the grams. In truth I could have made it with 1 less pair of socks, jocks and t-shirt, and half the Diamox, moisturizer, shampoo and stick deodorant. I could have left the anti-chafe at home as stick deodorant worked just as effectively. I left the fleece jacket in my suitcase at the hotel and was without regret. There are lists that were compiled toward the end of the trek as to what I wish I had brought with me and items purchased en route that I considered valuable additions, such as mini chocolate snacks for energy boosts.

Everest Circuit Rerouted: A Reflection

Before ever I disembarked my plane and stood (not so) tall in Nepal in my expensive hiking boots, I had drawn parallels between my trek through that beautiful land and my thirties as I expected I would come to know them in due course. Ironic that we should be rerouted from our original planned trek of the Everest Circuit due to closure of the Cho La Pass following unseasonable heavy snow. The very Pass on which I was to celebrate my birthday. Instead I found myself turning thirty not where I had anticipated but under the shadow of the most beautiful of mountains, Ama Dablam. So was it true of my life. The journey that I had plotted for myself, younger and less burdened by cares, is a far cry from the course that I have stumbled down. Very fitting that on my first great adventure alone in half a lifetime it should be my trek to be so affected by the snow, for ever have I been the subject of the most curious misfortunes.

My last hoorah as a twenty-something was spent much as I anticipate the next 7 months will be spent: researching my upcoming adventure and training for it. I read books and scoured blogs trying to get a sense of the enormity and the enigma trekking the Himalayas seemed to present. I was half terrified and half confident in my training preparations. I felt myself intimidated by the sheer size of it all. Eighteen days of hiking with people that I did not know. Would my legs withstand that much UP? Would I fare well enough trying to maintain conversation with strangers once fatigue kicked in and so too the vagueness and quiet that accompanies it? What about altitude sickness, would I get it and my trek be ruined? All the while trying to get an appointment with my cardiologist to be cleared to even be allowed to join the tour group.

Now, it should probably be said that I consider myself somewhat of a coward or a wuss. It is the cause of my self-attributed social ineptitude where I straddle the hemispheres of talk too much and not enough. The impassioned me can fall into monologue or lecture yet I cannot generate conversation where it will not flow of its own accord, I do not possess the skills to do so. The tired me does not even have energy enough to participate and I find myself withdrawn. This yellow streak also applies to a host of other such bothersome things, including a fear of falling (but not necessarily of heights) and of the unknown in general. Once I was incapable of using the phone to order takeaway, ridiculous as it seems now, and hardly looked up when I walked alone. Yet even as a cripplingly shy adolescent, rock climbing and abseiling gave me a thrill and ever was I drawn to travel and a life that was generally nothing like my own. I am a walking contradiction.

I dealt with my fears in obsessive research. Nothing that I read could ever convey the true experience of the author. I could feel the great hollows between their sentences, the language lacking in the subtly and nuances of senses and emotions that feed our experience entire. But reading the general experiences of others did more to bolster my confidence in the training that I had done than anything short of trekking it myself could have done.

For that reason I am going to share my experiences trekking Nepal, that others may reassure themselves also. My trek journal was heavily geared toward the observations I made of the Himalayas and the Nepalese that we encountered. I describe the trail and how long it took to hike between camps. I compare and, dare I say appraise, the preparation the other trekkers completed prior to our trek.

What my journal fails to convey is perhaps how slowly we seemed to go, shuffling shallow steps, zigzagging from one side of the trail to the other to lessen the incline traveled (the increased distance over a lesser incline helping to keep the heart rate down to avoid the overexertion that brings on altitude sickness). Nor does it address the sickening sensation of trying to pass trekkers going in the opposite direction on a narrow, jigging suspension bridge almost 100m over water (I'm certain that was the height of the last bridge we crossed before Namche Bazaar) or turning around on one of those bridges because a caravan of mules did not stop as they were supposed to in wait of their driver on the other side of the bridge to allow people to exit the shifting wire structure before they got on. (See below for photos of offending mules and suspension bridges over the Dudh Kosi aka Milk River). Certainly with all the snow and rerouting, mine was not the standard experience for the Everest Circuit in the peak season of October but perhaps it will provide some insight to those that want it and search so desperately for the experiences of others as I so did. I certainly hope so.

There were quite a few entries so it will take some to post them all.