I Want to Take You Higher

April 27, 2010
Phakding (8573 feet) to Namche Bazaar (12,303 feet)

On my first morning in the Himalayas, I once again awoke with the sun at 5AM. I didn't have to get up until 6:15 but still found it impossible to fall back to sleep. I've never been one for sleeping bags, and my cozy rental was of the cocoon fashion, which I found rather uncomfortable for morning lounging. I dawdled as long as possible, then unzipped myself into a cold room and stepped into an even colder hallway. The lodges up here (none of them heated) have thin walls and rarely offer private bathrooms, so you are humbly forced to share toilets, see fellow trekkers in their long underwear, listen to their ailments during the night, and wash your face with the coldest water you have ever felt in front of strangers. After hearing someone have diarrhea a mere 12 inches from where I was brushing my teeth, I was thinking this has got to be the rudest way to wake up in the morning, when Phurba Sherpa knocked on my door. I was still in pajamas and glasses and was packing up my stuff at the time, with a good 10 minutes to go before breakfast. (Up here, you order your breakfast and pick a time to eat it before you go to bed. This affords the kitchen staff, usually one woman cooking over an open fire, time to prepare breakfast for all the guests.) At dinner the night before, I ate with a tour group of Aussies and Kiwis. As I was the only person not part of their group, I was there when their guide described their morning wake up call. The porters were to knock on their doors around 6 am with bowls of hot water for washing up. I thought maybe Phurba was knocking on my door with such a luxury. I thought wrong. Instead, he came into my room empty handed and just kind of hung out. My cheeks were still burning from the icy water I'd splashed on them, I wasn't dressed, I was having trouble fitting my sleeping bag into its stuff sack, and my sherpa guide had just walked into my bedroom at 6:30 in the morning empty handed. This was the rudest way to wake up. I don't know why Phurba was uncomfortably hovering over me, but I wasted no time in telling him to get lost so I could finish getting ready. Ten minutes later, packed and suited up, I unlocked my door to find Phurba still standing there, as if he was ready to raise a fist and start knocking. He grabbed my big pack, followed me downstairs and sat next to me in silence as I ate my yak cheese omelette. (Said he'd already eaten.) It was weird.

Lukla to Phakding, while up and down, is actually all down since Phakding is at a slightly lower elevation than Lukla. My first day of trekking was a relatively pleasant 3-4 hour walk through lush valleys and scenic passes. I knew today would be different. We had a hard day of climbing ahead; we'd be ascending almost 3300 feet in altitude, and trekking mostly uphill for at least 5-6 hours. What I didn't know was just how hard it would be.

We were on the road, so to speak, by 7:30ish. Starting later is not an option this time of year, because the weather patterns dictate that at around 1pm every day, thick clouds roll in and carry with them rain or snow. It's best to be at your tea house by that time. Since there's absolutely nothing to do once the sun goes down, and your body is usually drained, going to bed at 8PM is not uncommon, nor is waking at 5 or 6. Hence, the morning walk was relatively pleasant. There were a few steep inclines, and lots of stairs, but in general the steps (which were giant rocks worn or formed into a crude staircase over time) would lead to a natural resting point, where you could stop for 5 minutes, have some water, take in the scenery. Often times stairs led to bridges or villages. We stopped for tea sometime around 9 and continued onward. The trail was broken up quite nicely, winding up and down the mountains. I was getting a workout, but it wasn't anything to complain about. Certainly beat sitting in a spinning class. I saw my first snow capped peak, which was awesome in the true sense of the word. I asked Phurba its name and he said it did not have one. In this part of the world, where the mountains are the tallest on earth, peaks under 6000 meters are not even named. Yet another of Phurba's intimidating facts, since I knew to view the really high peaks, we'd have to actually walk really high.

Just before lunch, we crossed into Sagarmatha (Everest) National Park. This was an exciting landmark for me. It is the gateway to the Khumbu region and meant that I really was in the presence of the largest things on earth. I've read countless books on the area, and it was startling to think that I'd actually figured out a way to get here and see it with my own eyes. While Phurba dealt with my trekking permit, I checked out a little tourist room with maps and a model of the entire region, which provided a mini overview of the path we were waking and gave a real scope of the vastness of the Khumbu. I was headed towards Everest Base Camp, but there were so many other routes – towards Gokyo Lake, Island Peak, Thame and Tibet, Ama Dablam. It's a giant park. I thought of all the people, from inexperienced trekkers like myself to famous mountaineers, who had passed this way en route to something bigger, many of them never to return. There were teams assembled right now at Everest Base Camp, having been there since March, waiting for the weather to give them a window to attempt a summit bid as it usually does every May. There were novice climbers taking a stab at Island Peak, hoping their newly learned ice axe skills would guide them to the top. There were high and scary winds atop Ama Dablam, making summit attempts dangerous that morning. It was an exciting time to be in this part of the world, even if the next few hours would prove to be utter misery for me. As I walked through the park entrance, I felt very privileged to be there.

Around 11, after being slightly delayed by yet another passing yak caravan, we walked into a small village called Monjo and sat down for lunch. The temperature had more than doubled since morning and I was happy to shed some layers and sit down for a bit. I gulitlessly ordered a giant platter of fried potatoes and vegetables. It's a rare occasion that I could feel good about eating such a meal, but it's rarer that I burn as many calories as I was. I knew the afternoon would be tough and I needed the energy. There is some meat on the menus here, but I've seen the porters carrying leg of yak around for days in the blazing sun, which can get to over 90 degrees. Better to get your protein from eggs, and otherwise stick with what's local, which are potatoes, spinach, carrots, cabbage, all grown in the restaurants' back yards and all delicious.

When was the last time you had a six hour workout? Can't pinpoint it? That's because only people who are training for marathons, or the Olympics, or to summit an 8,000 meter peak do that regularly. I was doing it daily for the next week by choice, just to spend time in this fabled land and to get a view of the mammoth peaks. So it began after lunch, where we once again crossed the Dudkhosi River (or “milk water,” because it moves so fast it's always milky white) and were on its rocky banks, where we walked on nice, flat ground for the better part of a half hour. It was good to be on the ground, looking up at the mountains and level eyed at the river, rather than glancing down from above. It was possible to momentarily forget how high you were, except for the slightly labored breathing. I say momentarily because after only about 20 minutes, an extremely long and high prayer flag-covered hanging bridge came into view, and with it, some steps disappearing into the hill. On the other side of that bridge was a dark mountain that I couldn't see past, though I knew we'd be climbing up and over it. And then, just as quickly as I was sizing up my surroundings with anticipation, I was at the foot of a staircase that did not stop for the next three hours.

We climbed up a good 30 minutes before crossing the bridge, which I did with trepidation. It was almost littered with prayer flags and khatas (scarves) there were so many, and was long and crowded. We swung over the river at a rate that was a little too fast and when I saw the row of heavily burdened yaks coming from the other side, I hoped the bridge would hold. Following in Phurba's stead, I threw myself face first against the chain link fence and tried to will my body to be as skinny as possible to let the beasts pass without incident. They stop for no one, as I would come to learn in future close encounters. I felt uneasy as I stared into the river, noting to myself that it really did look like gallons of rapidly flowing milk.

From there onto Namche, it was agony. The path zigzagged at steep (sometimes very steep) angles across and up that massive hill. Some places were a sand-like dirt, making a hard climb harder to gain footing on. Some places were thigh-high stone steps that ascended into oblivion. It was endless, and here that I realized I might have bitten off more than I could chew. I'd spent the last three weeks sitting on my ass eating paneer and chapati in India, and the week before that sitting on the beach in Malaysia. I wasn't exactly in great shape, and endurance has never been my thing regardless. I am also 5 foot 2 inches tall at best, which means that for every one step a 6 foot tall German takes, I'm taking two. It basically takes twice the effort for my legs to carry me. After awhile, I was in so much pain, and also so dizzy from the altitude that I had to rest and breathe every 4 or 5 steps. I felt like I might topple over. I kept telling myself one foot in front of the other, mind over matter, all the while my heart nearly beating out of my chest to compensate for the loss of oxygen. This hike would have been a bitch anywhere. Add the near 1000 meter gain in altitude to the equation, and it could have been a recipe for disaster. Each step made it harder and harder to catch my breath. My lungs hurt and my chest heaved. I was getting a headache and was light headed. If I'd still been a smoker I would not have made it. I felt every ounce I was carrying in my stuffed pack, and realized just how heavy my cheap boots were (thanks again, volcano). It was very slow going.

Phurba kept asking me what was wrong, and I kept telling him that I was dizzy and tired. He didn't offer too much by means of moral support. What he did offer, just when I literally was not sure I could take another step and was on the verge of a mental and physical collapse, was a glimmer of hope. Far in the distance, was a little speck of blue. He pointed out the corner of a building that was barely visible. It was still 30 minutes away for a strong walker, but Namche Bazaar was within eyeshot. Within earshot was some low talking and congregating. We had come upon a tiny tea post. I was too weak to even walk inside, and dropped my bag on the side of the trail and leaned against the stone wall with the other weary trekkers, all too tired to talk to one another. I breathed heavily and wondered if I would have to spend the night out there. Phurba got me black tea with extra sugar, which helped to bring me back to life a little. I remembered the chocolate I'd bought in Kathmandu for such an occasion, and broke off a few pieces. It gave me the energy, however low, that I needed to push on through to Namche Bazaar, the highest trading post in the world. We got to our lodge at around 3:30 in the afternoon, just as heavy clouds were rolling in. Two liters of boiling water and one cup of ginger tea later, and I was feeling human again. We sat in the heated dining room and watched through the picture windows as a violent thunderstorm covered the town in blackness.