Higher Colder Thinner
The town of Namche Bazaar was our home for two nights as we paused to have an important acclimitisation day, which is basically a day by which we punish our bodies to the max and build up as many red blood cells in as short a period of time as possible. Or as Arjan our guide said, “Go high, sleep low”. We didn’t know what that meant until we started the day’s climb.
Namche might be at 3430 metres but it is at the base of some amazing mountains. The view from my room was stunning and up the valley not far away was the spectacular Ama Dablan (6812m) with its narrow tower summit and long steep glaciers, known as the most beautiful mountain in the world (admittedly a big call). But we were going up today and that meant more spectacular views.
The town with its narrow cobbled stoned paths may be small but the stairs leading out were steep and we were exhausted by the time we reached the dusty museum and saw our first view of the day of Mt. Everest. Then it was literally straight up a numbing steep switchback track, uneven loose rocks, wind whipping across the ridge, the thin air making breathing more difficult, absolutely brutal. Did we really pay for this?
At the top of the ridge was the Syangboche Airport, at 3,700 metres said to be the highest in the world. The runway was a dirt rocky track with yaks and kids playing on it; abandoned sheds acted as some sort of terminal many moons ago. We saw numerous helicopters all morning coming and going, later hearing there was some sort of film crew in the vicinity.
But we climbed further up the ridge, past our first snow patches to the Everest View Hotel, allegedly the highest located hotel in the world at 3880 metres, empty of life but perfectly perched on the ridge for stunning views up the valley and 360 degree views of the Himalaya. We had another of the ubiquitous teas that are such an important part of Nepali life and sat in wonder of the view around us. Mt. Everest (8848m), Lhotse (8516m), Ama Dablan and countless more peaks had us surrounded and spellbound.
Back down to Namche Bazaar, this time recklessly walking across the dirt runway, fighting a different dusty track to the town for lunch and some exploring of the town, shopping and photos. So on this day we had a net climb of 470 metres, hard yakka, but great views from the top and presumably a lot of new healthy red blood cells. Go high, sleep low.
Our guide Arjan told us he is 26, one of three sons from a village east of the Khumba region we are in. He’s not a Sherpa but from a similar caste. He would like to be a climber someday but in the meantime during low season he returns to his village and helps his parents farm potatoes and cabbage.
The next day the climb to the small village of Tengboche was a net gain of 460 metres but really played out as a game of two halves. Following the ridge above Namche we walked up the valley with spectacular views of Everest and her sisters ahead of us all afternoon. At this altitude we had lost the donkeys and were seeing mostly the dzo, which is a cross between a cow and a yak. They have the huge head of a yak but short hair of a cow; the females are saved for milk and mating while the males are beasts of burden up and down the trail.
But we also started seeing the full blooded long haired yaks with their can-not-miss bells clanging around their neck and their long hair, long horns and big heads swinging from side to side. These guys were big and beautiful, carrying huge loads when going uphill but be sure to step to the uphill side of the track as they go by or be knocked off the trail and down in the canyon below. You’ve been warned.
The evenings in Namche had been below zero (the pipes in the toilets were frozen) and the morning on the trail was clear and crisp. We had a long downhill section, back below the tree line, walking amongst the pine trees and junipers, even passed a rare blooming rhododendron (the national flower of Nepal!) before stopping for an early lunch at the merger of the Dudh Koni River. A very pretty and peaceful spot.
But then, without warning or mercy, carrying a full stomach of potato and garlic soup (more garlic than potato) we began a steep endless climb of 700 metres to Tengboche. This was tough on our legs and lungs, made worse by the higher altitude and incessant wind and dust, but we made it slightly ahead of Arjan’s two hour prediction.
The village of Tengboche at 3860 metres was something out of a dream, maybe five tea houses and the home of no more than 50 people, sitting on a ridge with magnificent views of Everest above it, cold, lonesome and stunning. But the shining piece of Tenboche was the monastery, or gompa, beautifully painted, proudly sitting on the little spur, the spiritual home of Buddhism in the Khumba region, rebuilt after a fire in the 1980s.
We went inside the gompa for the daily puja (prayer) at 3pm, sitting on the cold floor while the monks chanted their scriptures. The interior was ornately decorated and brightly painted and had a very peaceful and calming effect. But the temperature inside was substantially below zero and I don’t think I have ever been inside a building that was colder. The monks can have it.
It was a cold night in Tengboche, even around the little stove which is always situated in the middle of the communal room. The stove burns mainly yak dung for a couple of hours around dinner but that subtly foul aroma can get in your mouth and lungs in a very unpleasant way. Facilities were very basic, as is fitting to a place where everything has to be carried up, and the food was passable if you like potatoes, eggs, pasta and tuna. We were never tempted to order hash browns as a main course.
The next morning the bucket of water used to manually flush the squat toilet was frozen solid which was only fitting because so were we. Time to get trekking.
From Tengboche we walked to the village of Dengboche at 4400 metres, dipping down
amongst the pines and junipers but eventually climbing above the tree line for the last time and using the constant views of Everest as our inspiration. But circumstances had changed because without the trees the freezing wind hit us hard, numbing our face and whipping our pants. The mood was different, more wild, less colourful, more forbidding. Every layer was on and all heads were down, only keeping an ear for the dangling bells of the yaks before they bowl you over.
Dengboche was planted amongst the giants all around it but had nothing to offer. All the buildings were made of hand-cut granite blocks with tin roofs, no trees or colour, no life amongst the tracks between buildings. Carl, who had previously been an absolute mountain goat race horse on the previous days, had finally started to feel the pain like the rest of us.
Our rooms were only accessible by going outside and up some steep steps, thin plywood walls, wind whistling through the cracks, no curtain on the window or electricity, the most basic of facilities down the corridor. Nevertheless we didn’t go out because the village looks less appealing, we huddled around the stove with maximum layers. I bought a bottle of water from the counter and it is frozen on top – the new room temperature.
The challenge is upon us and we now realise the task at hand is significant – from now on it is all up hill, no protection from the elements, thin air making breathing a tough task and it’s very cold all the time no matter what you are doing. And we’re loving it.