We arrived in Nepal after 36 hours of travel and stumbled out onto the bustling street. The air was thick and it seemed as though a giant incense stick was burning nearby. A nice guy negotiated a taXi for us and then jumped in too. We became such good friends that we made it Facebook official and hopped out together in the heart of the city. We walked passed tons of shops and restaurants with yak scarves and hogs cut in half, laying outside in the heat. We arrived at the hostel, exhausted, and laid around until Moose's brother, Sam, arrived. We went to grab some dinner of Dal Bhatt, a traditional dish that usually comes with seconds or thirds and is known for giving you Dal butt. On the way, I was pelted with water balloons by young boys starting to celebrate early. We spent the rest of the night looking over the city from the roof of our hostel before passing out. Trying to get enough sleep for the Holi festival the next day.
The Holi festival is a celebration of peace held throughout Nepal and India, marked by people filling the streets and throwing paint and water everywhere. We grabbed some paint ourselves and waited for the frenzy to start. We had no idea what we were in for but we'd soon find out. As we walked back to our hostel young boys would kindly walk up, wish us a happy Holi, and sweep paint across each cheek. It was sweet and friendly; I remember thinking how much I enjoyed it here and how nice the people were. My thoughts would soon be slightly tainted when we encountered a gang a few blocks from where we were staying. A dozen or two young boys started pelting us with water balloons.
What should have been all in good fun turned into an all out attack. They threw them as hard as they could from close range, usually aiming for your head. We began to run and realized that they had lined the streets. One came and hit me in the side of the face knocking off my glasses and disorienting my view. Two more hit me in the back of the neck so I scooped up my glasses and ran faster. As I looked up Moose was coming right at me. It was too late to stop. We collided and I flew to the ground, hard. A short cease fire ensued as the parents gasped. I could feel the skin on my knees rip off and I wimpily wanted to start crying. I couldn't shown these little bastards weakness so I hopped up and kept running, only getting hit three more times before we turned the corner. In the alley of our hostel, balloons dropped from roofs and knocked my glasses off again. Back at our hostel, I took stock of my wounds. My pants were ripped and the blood had already started to seep through at the knees. My hands were shaking and raw at the palms but my glasses made it out mostly unscathed. I could feel welts on my back start to stretch my skin.
The worst part was that I knew I'd have to pass them again, more than once. We cleaned ourselves up and prepared for battle. We started running as soon as we turned the corner. Sam and Moose went on the offensive and began catching balloons and chasing the children. I took much less fire this time around and we made it into the center of town quickly. There everyone had paint and would rub it in your hair, ears, neck, arms, basically anywhere they could. At one point, a man came up to me and told me the paint was bad for my arms and that I should cover up. A clever ploy that he thought I would fall for. As we walked through the streets, we were covered in all different colors of paint and drenched in water, luckily the kids in town were a bit more gentle or were dropping buckets from the roof. After getting thoroughly covered in paint, we headed back to the hostel to clean up a bit. Which meant we had to run through the gauntlet again. Before we made it there I was surrounded by three different groups of teenage boys who trapped me and dumped as much paint as they could on me, rubbing it into my face and hair. I tried ripping their hands off but there were way too many. Then the water balloon boys came. I remember getting hit in the head too many times before one came straight at my face. It took my breathe away and I stopped running. I put up my hands but there was no mercy. One more came for the side of my face, the hardest one yet, and it felt like the skin at my hairline had ripped apart. Two more hit me hard in the back before I got to safety.
I don't think I've ever hated children more than in this instance. I took a long, hot shower and fell asleep for the next few hours, not wanting to leave the safety of my room again. I didn't leave the hostel until Holi was over the next morning and even then I was weary it would continue. The next day was all about getting our stuff together in preparation for our Everest base camp trek. We bought extra warm layers, tried to arrange our permits, and looked into transportation. We decided it to was too expensive too fly and booked a jeep that would leave us 50 km from the start of the trek. It was a ten hours jeep ride through terrible terrain, passing piss covered "bathrooms", and cafes with outdoor kitchens. If you tried to sleep your head would slam up against the side of the car until you stopped trying. We arrived in the afternoon and began hiking out of town. We made it ten kilometres before either began to get dark and the temperature dropped. We stayed in the attic of a small team house with a wonderful woman who cooked us dinner and breakfast and tried to help us with anything she could.
We headed out after breakfast to a wonderful day. We left the road and started on a trail that would take us through tiny villages of children waving and wishing us "namaste." Some asked for candy or chocolates while grabbing hold of your trekking poles. Some wanted their picture taken and I wish I had obliged, maybe on the way back down. In the afternoon, it got much harder to breathe and the heat was zapping all water from my body. It also didn't help that I had a bad case of surpirse Dal butt and had to stop at least once an hour. We got to a town where I told the boys how I was feeling and we decided to stop for the night. Unfortunately everything was closed and we would have to push on to the next one. Hut after hut we passed with no one in sight to let us in. I layed down by a river, feeling like I was going to pass out. I rolled over and threw up, hoping no one would see me. I met the boys at the next hut which was, again, closed and abandoned. I wanted to cry. I thought I was on the verge of a serious problem. We'd have to go another kilometer and 750 meters up. I stopped multiple times to throw up a bit more or expel my bowels, or both. When I finally reached the top it was all I could do to take my dusty shoes off and crawl into bed where I wouldn't fully regain oxygen to my brain for over an hour. I would suffer down some soup and spend most of the night in the bathroom. The next day I took my time, taking breaks, eating and drinking better, and not trying to keep up with the boys. I felt incredible better until the last few kilometers. It was a huge climb to Lukla, where the official trek starts and where most people fly into, and my lungs couldn't handle it. This time, at least, I didn't lose my lunch but it still took me an hour of not moving to regain my breathe.
We watched airplanes land and take off from what has been known as one of the most dangerous airports in the world, slightly thankful we had walked in but thoroughly ready to experience it on our way out. We headed out the next morning and I was convinced I would not make it on another big day. I let the boys go ahead but when I got to my planned stopping point, I felt like I could go a little further to where they would be. I was very wrong. I couldn't breathe and even under my zero degree sleeping bag I couldn't get warm. Moose wasn't feeling well either and Sam made sure to bring us tea and make sure we didn't fall asleep. The next day we discussed our plans, knowing my limits, I ended up leaving town alone. The trail was wonderful and only moderately challenging. Turning a corner, I heard someone remark about the view of everest and was stunned when I looked up and saw the tallest mountain in the world. Completely clear, it was one of the most incredible things I had ever seen.
I had cut my mileage in half from the previous days and arrived to a small village early in the afternoon. I took the opportunity to visit the monastery and watch as the monks performed their daily prayer. The room was the most ornate room I had seen since arriving in Nepal, even the ceilings were covered in paintings of the stories they told. The monks barely breathed as they went about chanting, only stopping for a tea break every five minutes. By that evening the view of Everest was completely clouded over and we'd have to wait for the morning to catch another glimpse. I woke up the next morning and took my time eating breakfast and packing up. The day was another beautiful morning and I enjoyed hiking past all the groups taking breaks. I sat down to grab a tea when Moose walked by on the trail. We hiked to the next town and met up with Sam who had gotten us a room in the cold basement of a hostel. His room was conveniently upstairs. We spent the rest of the day warming up in the common room, reading books and making friends. We got out early the next day and the sun warmed us as we climbed up the valley to Chuhkung. The wind bit at us and even the sun wasn't enough to stay warm outside. We made friends with the few people staying at our lodge to huddle around the stove, burning yak dung, and eat dinner.
It was some of the coolest, most genuine people we'd met so far and we we're thankful to have gotten off the beaten path. I was feeling the altitude that night and the next morning so I opted out of going over the pass to the next village, taking the long way around instead. The day was windier than it had been and I had to take frequent stops to lay in the sun and rest. I stopped in at a tea house just to get out of the wind for a minute before one of our biggest climbs yet. I made a fast beat playlist and powered up the climb with the wind at my back.
At the summit, memorials sprang out of the ground, each one different, representing a life that had been lost in that Mountain range. Feeling lightheaded and not all together, I blew by the place before realizing what it was. I got into the extremely overpriced town of Lobuche first and settled rooms for us. The woman was nice at first but would become extremely manipulative, even crying to us at one point, by the end of our stay there. We got out of there asap, which was nice because we had beaten the large ant trails of groups that morning. Dropping our gear at the last village, we headed up to our final destination, Everest Base Camp.
When we got there, tons of other people were crowded in the small area, taking jumping pictures and flashing peace signs to their Facebook audiences. I remember thinking "thank God, I never have to come here again." After a few pictures of our own, we made our way back to the village to try to stay warm above 5000 meters.
It was then that I would start to feel pain in the back of my head. Moose and Sam woke up in the middle of the night to take pictures and though I was awake, tossing and turning with a now unbelievable headache, I couldn't imagine climbing any higher. By the time they got back, I was in trouble. We packed quickly and headed down the mountain. I felt as though my brain was swelling out of my skull and every step sent a pounding through my whole body. My eyes hurt to move so I fixed them at my feet and kept moving. By the time we got back to memorial point, I no longer felt the throbbing in my head. It was there that Moose and another friend peeled off to go climb a few more passes and Sam and I would head for lower elevation. We entered a valley that the wind was whipping through and it was hard to stay warm. It soon began to snow throughout the valley and the trails were suddenly deserted. The snow was wonderful, covering the entire area with a glistening white blanket. It was the first time we had the trail to ourselves besides the porters. After a few hours of snow I got to a town and checked into a lodge while Sam kept moving. Grabbing my book and heading for the toasty common room, the snow dumped down outside for the rest of the night.
A young European sat down next to me and we started to chat when his friend entered and asked him how he was feeling. Suddenly very aware of how close he was sitting, he told me of a possible lung infection he'd picked up along the way. Of course the next morning I'd wake up with a terrible cold. I tried to blame the cold, windy valley as I hiked to the next village and not think of the germy European who so rudely sat next to me in the common room. Sam and I would spend the next few days in town waiting for Moose, him trying not to get sick and me trying to get better. Moose would arrive later and we'd hike to Lukla where we'd fly back to Kathmandu via one of the most dangerous airports in the world. We got up early and were first in line but when check in started they grabbed everyone's ticket but ours and bumped us to the next flight. Livid, we had to wait another hour in the freezing cold airport until check in started up again. We nearly shoved our tickets in their faces so we wouldn't be forgotten this time. As soon as we made it to the only gate we saw the clouds coming in and knew we were in trouble. They closed the airport for the next few hours but we were unable to leave or grab extra layers or food from our bags. When the first airplane landed we all cheered and were rushed out onto the tarmac and into the tiny airplanes that had barely stopped before turning and launching back down the runway. For the next 45 minutes I was sure that death was imminent. But we landed in Kathmandu unscathed and were finally able to take showers and deep breathes.