Up and up, we continued through forests and edged our way along mountain ridges. Although the day had started with a promise of clearing, the gray descended and stayed for the next two days. After first, the trail marched up and down in elevation until we crossed the Imja Kola river. From there it was all up. Heart pounding, heavy breathing and small steps for roughly two hours until we reached Tengboche flush and damp with sweat at 12,700 feet.
The village, if you can call it that, is a handful of lodges and the large, famous Tengboche Monastery. We arrived shrouded in a thick gray cloud. Jopkyo dotted the grassy areas around the lodges. We checked in at the Gompa Lodge for lunch and place for the night. So far the worst lodge yet. Very rustic and bare bones basic without charm. Toilet, a shack outside with a hole in the wood floor very near a running stream (do NOT drink the water). The people who run the lodge are abrupt and unfriendly.
Accustomed to western comforts, the lodges overall are a challenge. Most are simply plywood boxes with a bare light bulb at the room's center—that is if there is electricity at all. There is no heat. One must spend the evenings before sleep in the dining/common room of the lodge with its dung or wood burning stove. With a couple of exceptions, bathrooms are down the hall or outside. Toilets are squat style for the most part although a few have western style. None of them flush and large barrels of water and a pale are provided to flush it all out by force of gravity. Neither of us are practiced in the squat toilet experience and we hold off as long as possible until the inevitable rears its ugly head and we are finally initiated—whatever the, um, outcome. Let’s just leave it at that.
But the lodge is an all encompassing experience. Meals are provided with your stay over and the dining/common room is the social center to share stories and experiences, tips and recommendations with your fellow travelers. The guides and porters congregate around the stove, catch-up, and, most likely, gossip about us trekkers in languages we don’t understand. They are homey and family-run businesses. Although most are bare boned in construction, some attempt at decoration with lacy or flowery curtains on the windows and wildly patterned comforters on the beds. You can purchase basic supplies from toilet paper to chocolate bars to Mt. Everest Whiskey. For a price, you can take a shower.
After lunch, Ngima takes us to the famous monastery. In the wet courtyard, monks are practicing dancing in sneakers for the upcoming Mani Rimdu festival. They are dressed all in red—including their sneakers and down jackets. Inside, the main temple is wildly colorful with walls painted with stories of the Buddha’s life. Angry faced gods and deities swirl on the walls and columns. The room feels as if its alive with movement and smells of burning incense. A large modern Buddha sits at the front staring down on us all as we snap photos and gawk. Chris ends up attending the daily, evening ceremony but I stay in the lodge room and rest. I hear it though. Cymbals crashing and horns blaring in the wet twilight.
It is now raining heavily as we make our way to dinner. The dining room at the Gompa Lodge is packed and smokey reminding me of an Indiana Jones movie. I expect Indiana himself to burst in followed by gun toting Nazi’s as we hit the deck below a spray of bullets. But no such excitement. Ngima has loyally saved us a table where we survey the lively but tame dinner crowd babbling in French, German, and English. The night has become cold and we wear our knit hats to sleep in covered by 2 blankets each. Sleep generally comes easy after so much daily exertion and I pass out to the sound of rain.
The morning fades in to crashing cymbals and blaring of horns from the monasteries morning ritual. Spots of blue sky hover above us as we make our way on the trail. More brief glimpses of mountains tease us with the enormity of their presence. The days walk is fairly easy compared to the previous day's slog. The trail slopes gently upward through rhododendron forests hanging with long strands of pale green moss. We pass villages with fields separated by hand stacked stone walls. We slowly climb up the valley above the tree line. Furry yaks dot the hillsides along with bright red bushes that glow against the gray stones and green moss. Piles of mani stones edge the path blessing our way.
After a stop for lunch at Shomare, the clouds finally begin to break. We move onward through a lunar landscape of stones and yak ruts. Occasionally, the high peaks around us show through. It is hard to describe these peaks. Their enormity seem beyond comprehension. Here you are at close to 13,000 feet and they tower above at more than 20,000 and much higher. They don’t look real and feel painted against the sky. You can almost reach out and brush your hand against the backdrop. A haze of snow blows around the tip top and I begin to feel very tiny in this land of giants. But we ain’t seen nothing yet.
At one point we are befriended by—who we named—Manny (as in mani prayer). A fluffy, black mountain dog, he trots along beside keeping a watchful eye. He stops ahead of us only to look back to make sure we are still there and catching up. Since our guide books recommend that one does not pet or handle animals we do not. But it’s hard to resist since he became our guide and protector. Manny accompanies us all the way to our next stop for the night, Dingboche. Chris and I want to bring him home with us.
We reach the Paradise Mountain Lodge by late afternoon. At over 14,500 feet, we like Dingboche. It has a nice feel about it nestled against the mountains with a river running alongside. Stoned walled paths guide you through the village. Although the night will be cold at this elevation, our room is clean and cozy with its own bathroom. The owners are friendly and welcoming. The lodge itself sits above the town so that the view from the dining room surveys the village. As I rest before dinner, a storm blows through. The sky becomes dark and winds make the walls creak. Heavy rain and snow fall outside the window as I drift in and out of sleep. But after its all over the skies are clear. The peaks at twilight are illuminated by a crescent moon and, later, the sky is full of stars, large and twinkling at this altitude. So large and close you feel you can reach up, pick one out and put it in your pocket.
We still get short of breath easily but recover quickly. All in all we feel pretty good at this altitude although the real test comes in the next few days as our elevation sharply increases and we approach the base of Mt. Everest just 2 days away.
Photos from this trip can be viewed here.
No comments:
Post a Comment