I had just completed the trek to Annapurna base camp. Although still feeling ill, from who knows what, I was determined to hike to Everest Base camp. Monsoon season was rapidly approaching yet I felt compelled to make the journey. I compromised and flew part way to Lukla cutting the trekking time down considerably.
As we approached the short landing strip the locals aboard were in a frenzy of prayer just prior to landing. The plane came to an abrupt stop just moments before hitting the mountainside. Bits and pieces of old broken plane parts lay scattered around the landing field giving evidence to the fact that not all planes stop in time. I later found out this is considered to be one of the world’s most dangerous airports to fly into.
It was a bit unusual for a western woman to do the trek without guide or porter. I was on a strict budget and had great difficulty imagining another human being shlepping my gear up the trail. As I disembarked the plane a dozen guys offered to be my porter for a dollar a day. (In retrospect, it might have been nice to give them the opportunity to make a buck). As I travelled from village to village I was constantly offered the same service. During the course of each day I would meet up with various large and small tour groups with numerous guides, porters and cooks. Somedays I avoided the groups; other days I felt a bit sociable. I suppose it often had to do with how I perceived the group energy to be.
At times there seemed to be a connection and respect between the group and their porters. Sadly enough, I often sensed an air of superiority from tour group participants towards the locals.
With tea houses often being so very small, it was difficult to stay clear of groups such as those. Often while fellow trekkers would be sitting around popping back bottles of beer (carried up the trail by their porters) I was happily sipping the home brew with locals. I would enjoy watching them indulge in games and storytelling. I felt a connection even though language was a problem.
When I arrived at the village of Namche Bazaar I was treated to an unforgettable experience. I was invited in to have a tea with an old Sherpa that was apparently on the Hillary Everest Expedition. He was having audience with a trekking group and invited me into his home as well. Framed certificates lined the walls of his home. Ceremonial scarves were presented to each of us one by one. It is embarrassing to say that I don’t recall his name, nor can verify his participation in the Expedition.
Most of the lodges offered open air rooms filled with a dozen or two wood platforms each covered with a handmade wool carpet probably around four foot by six. The higher the elevation the less comfort and the closer we all slept to one another. As I got close to base camp it was not unusual to sleep on a mound of dirt formed in the shape of a bed (perhaps six or seven feet square). I would share the mound with three or four others, usually Sherpas.
From the start of this trek I would leap frog certain tour groups. I would pass them and they would pass me. I was most impressed by a Dutch group all in their seventies, though they were not planning on going as high as base camp. I decided I wanted to be like them when I grow up.
A few days into the trek I caught a smile from a tall, dark and handsome Sherpa. He was unusually tall (As Sherpas go). His smile probably melted the hearts of many a tourist on the trail. Over the course of a week I would catch a glimpse of him and that smile at least once a day as we all played leapfrog on the trail.
It was a couple of months since I had received the Dear John letter from Ed. This particular Sherpa was the first man that caught my eye in a very long time. I thought about tall Sherpa off and on while getting closer to base camp. A few of the leap frog groups all seemed to arrive at Mingma’s Hotel on the very same day. I knew it was Mingma’s since the cardboard sign said “Mingma’s Hotel, Highest Hotel In The World.” Tall Sherpa’s group arrived as well. At this point we had finally reached Gorak Shep.
I wondered how we would all fit in this tiny stone shack. Even if we all slept together on the dirt floor, packed in like sardines, it didn’t seem likely that there was enough space. I was the last one to arrive that night. I was totally beat and was feeling the effects from the altitude. Additionally, I was not feeling well from whatever sickness I had caught at Annapurna. I was now at around 16,863 feet and couldn’t walk another step. Please God, let there be a spot for me I thought.
Mingma came out to greet me with open arms. Somehow, in pieces of the English language, he explained there was no room at the inn. He did, however, have a few tents left over from a Japanese expedition and I was welcome to stay in one (for almost nothing).
Just moments after I set my sleeping bag and gear in the tent my tall Sherpa stood very close within my personal space. He motioned, as if to say that he need to stay in this tent also. No room left in the inn. Sharing a tent with a Sherpa didn’t seem all that odd to me since I had already spent several nights sharing dirt mound beds with other porters and guides. The only difference was that I did find tall Sherpa to be attractive.
Since it was apparent that he could not speak English I tried to explain in sign language where I was to be sleeping and where he was to be sleeping; he not go here and I not go there. I think he caught the drift of what I was trying to tell him. I fell fast asleep rather quickly, not even thinking of all the things that could go wrong ( or possible right) in the night. I was still a pretty trusting individual back then.
I awoke abruptly at near daylight with a hand reaching its way down my pants. I looked into the eyes of my handsome tall sherpa. They were nearly as beautiful as his smile; I thought, for a moment or two. For another split second I felt a bit of passion for this man. I looked more carefully at his face and spotted the encrusted nose. I had seen it in so many others. Snot had formed at the base of the nose; it was never cleared away and left to air dry. That was what saved me.
I let out a big NO and pushed his hand out of the way on to his side of the tent. I think he got the message. At that moment he said the only English I ever heard him say “please, just once, so sweet”. I guess he might have shared Mingma’s tent with other foreign women before probably with greater success.
A moment later a Sherpani (female Sherpa) tried to unzip the tent. Tall Sherpa said something to her. I imagined that he might have told her to leave us alone. Perhaps he told her we were in the middle of an intimate moment. They both giggled a bit. I got my belongings together, left the tent and never saw tall Sherpa again.
My day improved significantly as I summited Kala Patthar at an elevation of 18,513. It offered excellent views of Everest and the surrounding peaks. I met a few other solo trekkers; we each shared on special item we carried in for the celebration. Between the four of us there was a candy bar, a few cookies, some sort of dried meet and a spot of alcohol. It was truly a feast.
To make the day even more complete, I hiked in to Everest Base Camp and was invited in to an Austrian team’s summit celebration. That experience, is certainly the basics of another story.
My hike out was just as spectacular as the trek in. I had, however, some uncomfortable feelings as I solo hiked though villages back down the trail. Maybe I let my imagination run wild yet maybe tall sherpa passed some rumors about our night together at Mingma’s Hotel, Highest Hotel in the World.
(Late seventies, Nepal)