Trek - boy

With the benefit of no research and with only my limited imagination to go on I expected C and me to be trekking in solitude over the vast expanse of scrublands with the tallest of the Himalayan Mountains looking down on us. Day one was a bit of a shock. Our guide pointed to our trail; the one with a long line of trekkers, dzos (yak+cow), donkeys and porters carrying the most cumbersome and heavy items you could imagine. Our first day's trek ended almost before it started as we came to our first village. A bit too quick so we carried on for a bit - the beauty of a private "trek" - and were happier still when we rearranged our itinerary to have a more solitary experience away from the too well maintained sherpa paths, bridges and stairs up and down the mountainsides.

 

Our (and everyone else's) acclimatisation town was Namche Bazaar, where we made our first medium altitude mistake by finishing off a small bottle of Nepalese spiced rum that was supposed to last us the week. The altitude sickness pills came out in force, as did paracetamol and ibuprofen over the next couple of days for some major headaches. Fortunately, my headaches and C's sickness abated for the main hike; some lung busting ascents (and later knee-busting descents) to Panboche, and later to the base camp of Ama Dablam. This was indeed the type of terrain I naively thought we'd be trekking over on day one; an impressive mountain surrounded by awe-inspiring scenery and no one else but us.

 

However, to get to this stage there was a lot of cold evenings playing Scrabble by dung fuelled fires and colder damper nights sleeping in plywood box rooms in the village tea-houses. The sleeping bags we carried around India came into their own here; a veritable cocoon of comfort when all is right with your head and gut but a goose down coffin when not, especially during many insomniac nights (another side effect of altitude) where your only respite is bouts of fitful sleep filled with claustrophobic dreams. The altitude pains come at any time, when they're absent you feel fit enough to run up Everest naked, when they come - drill a hole and get me to sea level - now.

 

By the end of our basic ramble we were well into the trekking spirit. We appreciated small comforts, like the sensation of being clean after a few days of dirt. We worked out techniques to feel clean during the shower drought. Our cleanest clothes would surely be in the 'immediate wash' category at home and our walking clothes - with dirt, dust and material in equal quantities - no doubt for throwing away or to be washed with heavily soiled doormats.

 

Lessons learnt: Untalkative or unresponsive guides don't give good insight into Nepalese village life, though chatty hotel owners who speak good English do. Nepalis don't eat Dal bhat (lentils and rice) twice a day every day, but they give it a go. Half a ton of sweets and biscuits is really too much for an eight day trek, though I'm sure we'll make that mistake again. Everest is not a pretty mountain, from any angle. QUAD, with the 'Q' on a double letter and the 'D' on a triple word is very handy when you're losing at Scrabble. And finally, if my wussy feeble excuse for a body gives me problems at 4000m, then I should take pills from day one when we go to Tibet.