Day 3 (March 21st, 2010) - Namche Bazaar (11,300 Feet) to Pangboche (12,900 Feet)
Anxious for the next days adventure, sleep once again eluded me. The morning rising the moment my eyes fell shut. Tiredly gazing out my lofty Namche window, an unexpected phenomenon met my gaze. Dawn over the Himalaya’s.
Akin to a vain performer awaiting her grand entrance, the sun taunted the cold, sleepy giants with her anticipated rays. Creeping up from the east, a soft haze of light first cleansed the majestic faces of night’s inky blackness. Then, as if direct from the heavens, strong beams of light rained down from above. Highlighting every crack and crevice on the aged mountain faces, an unstoppable avalanche of colored poured forth and the darkness of night was laid to rest in minutes. It was a sunrise I will not soon forget.
Anxious for the next days adventure, sleep once again eluded me. The morning rising the moment my eyes fell shut. Tiredly gazing out my lofty Namche window, an unexpected phenomenon met my gaze. Dawn over the Himalaya’s.
Akin to a vain performer awaiting her grand entrance, the sun taunted the cold, sleepy giants with her anticipated rays. Creeping up from the east, a soft haze of light first cleansed the majestic faces of night’s inky blackness. Then, as if direct from the heavens, strong beams of light rained down from above. Highlighting every crack and crevice on the aged mountain faces, an unstoppable avalanche of colored poured forth and the darkness of night was laid to rest in minutes. It was a sunrise I will not soon forget.
Collapsing against one of the rock walls and giving our legs a well-deserved rest, we thought surely the worst was over. But a demoralizing find soon revealed itself. The steep up would be met by an even steeper down, followed by an almost vertical climb to regain the elevation we were about to lose.
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Thanks to a retired mountain guides recommendation, we decided to veer off the, “Everest Superhighway”, and onto the road less traveled. A series of remote tracks that promised to reveal Everest in her truest light. So while all the happy-slappy tourists hung right, our trekking trio swerved left!
What the path lacked in human traffic, it made up for in length and difficulty. Using the “how many fingers between villages” scale, our proceeding nights map assessment failed to factor in contour lines. “It’s only two finger lengths to the next camp. Can’t be far…”. Ha! Famous last words. Equating to more of a ten-finger distance, possibly even a few toes, failing to consider extreme elevation changes was a painful lesson learned. A deep scar cut into the side of the plump mountainside, the narrow path stretched as far as the eye could see. One side dropping off 4,000 feet with the other rising it’s steep equivalent. Physically speaking, the elongated traverse was challenging but mentally it was excruciating. No carrot to pursue, no piece of cheese at the end of the maze, no light at the end of the tunnel, there was nothing on that desolate road to signify progress. “There…in the distance!” A tin roof…a rock wall…a prayer flag…civilization! Perched on the top of the mountain, this one horse town emerged our trekking salvation. |
As much as I complained about the uphill slog, the downhill proved even worse. Working completely different parts of my legs, combined with a fully-loaded pack crushing down on every step, my knees screamed for an end! I never thought uphill climbing would seem so appealing.
The epic descent was challenging, to say the least, but our next obstacle proved even more difficult - borderline insane. An ice bath!
Snaking along the valley floor, a crystalline glacial river called out to our achy joints and 3-day old, un-showered, bodies. Verbally proposing what we are all thinking, Steve was first to undress, and headed straight for the rocky embankment. Barely kissing his big toe to the glacial surface, Steve’s face said it all. BRRRR!! Quickly retreating from the waters edge, Steve’s withdrawl did not deter Clay and I, it only encouraged us!
Tempering our bodies to the intense cold was out of the question. It was either all or nothing. 3, 2, 1…SPLASH! The water washed over me like a million tiny needles! My lungs constricted to the size of a peas and every breath strained against the suffocating chill. In an attempt to lessen vulnerable body surface, my every extremity folded into my chest. It took every ounce of resolve to rip shell shocked limbs from my core but I had to if cleaning were to occur. I soaped, lathered and rinsed quicker then the speed of light. Now had I known it would be my last shower for the next 9 days, I may have attempted a longer dip but after a painful few minutes my body succumbed to the debilitating cold. Uncurling my frozen, gnarled fingers, I hoisted myself from the waters icy embrace.
The epic descent was challenging, to say the least, but our next obstacle proved even more difficult - borderline insane. An ice bath!
Snaking along the valley floor, a crystalline glacial river called out to our achy joints and 3-day old, un-showered, bodies. Verbally proposing what we are all thinking, Steve was first to undress, and headed straight for the rocky embankment. Barely kissing his big toe to the glacial surface, Steve’s face said it all. BRRRR!! Quickly retreating from the waters edge, Steve’s withdrawl did not deter Clay and I, it only encouraged us!
Tempering our bodies to the intense cold was out of the question. It was either all or nothing. 3, 2, 1…SPLASH! The water washed over me like a million tiny needles! My lungs constricted to the size of a peas and every breath strained against the suffocating chill. In an attempt to lessen vulnerable body surface, my every extremity folded into my chest. It took every ounce of resolve to rip shell shocked limbs from my core but I had to if cleaning were to occur. I soaped, lathered and rinsed quicker then the speed of light. Now had I known it would be my last shower for the next 9 days, I may have attempted a longer dip but after a painful few minutes my body succumbed to the debilitating cold. Uncurling my frozen, gnarled fingers, I hoisted myself from the waters icy embrace.
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High-altitude sunshine to the rescue! Melting the frost from my brow and the ice from my veins, the burning sensation eventually dissipated and movement was restored to my comatose limbs. And best of all, I saved 5 bucks. What? It was either bathe in the river or pay for a bucket of luke-warm water at our next teahouse. Frugality always beats logic.
Switching back to alpine autopilot, we began the next menacing leg of our journey. A steep climb out of the valley working to regain the precious elevation we had so reluctantly lost.
Switching back to alpine autopilot, we began the next menacing leg of our journey. A steep climb out of the valley working to regain the precious elevation we had so reluctantly lost.
A labyrinth of walls, passages and farms greeted us at the top of this next challenge. Basic mud caulking held together rows of rudimentary stonewalls, while heavy stone houses anchored each piece of land to the steep mountainside. Buzzing with activity, each farm was undergoing preparations for spring. Like well-oiled machines, dozens of skilled farmhands plucked, weeded, removed and tilled. Demonstrating the strength of oxen, the resolve of warriors and the faces of…Grandma’s? These weren’t your typical Old McDonald farm hands. Years of field labor defined their deep, weathered wrinkles, strong broad backs verified their ability, and rough, leathery hands proved their commitment to the land. Strap a grandchild on their back throughout and you have one truly remarkable Sherpa woman!
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And it wasn’t just Grandmas in the fields. It was a whole family affair! The men typically took charge of the family yak. Guiding large wooden plows behind their prized beasts, they churned life back into the land after an undoubtedly cold winter. The women, on the other hand, could be found huddled in small circles, repetitiously weaving baskets, mending clothes and engaging in a favorite female past-time, gossip.
Our hunger for real Nepali culture had been satisfied but our appetite for lunch, had not. It was Momo time! Thin, delicate slices of dough folded into half moons and filled with your choice of pork, beef, vegetable, or yak meat (although a combination of whatever is on hand is typically what you receive) await in every Nepali kitchen. Whether you prefer a crisp, fried skin or a soft, steamed exterior Momo’s will become a favorite staple! |
What made these momo platters even more satisfying? The love that went into them. Opening her kitchen to us, the generous teahouse owner offered an impromptu Momo cooking course. Unable to speak a lick of English, or for us, a lick of Nepali, visual demonstrations uncovered the tricks of the Momo trade. Roll dough, simmer filling, fold, fry and enjoy!
Now, there is only one problem with stopping for an extended lunch break…soar siesta syndrome (SSS) can set in. Allowing your body just enough time to lose the adrenaline that once masked its exhaustion, complete physical breakdown can occur. Thankfully, a few stiff stretches and hearty shakes of our cramped legs were the only necessary steps to getting back on the proverbial horse. Waving goodbye to our momo maven, the climb to our next checkpoint, an apex miles in the distance, commenced. |
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Our once jovial and animated exploration team, turned silent on this final leg. Relying on inward reflection and supreme focus, we reserved just enough energy to complete the day’s epic hike. Arriving 8 hours later in Pangboche.
Settling on the first teahouse in sight our legs carried us only so far as the dining room. It was days like today that Dal Bhat Day became our saving grace. For those of you not familiar with Dal Bhat, Dal means, “lentils” in Nepali and Bhat translates to “rice”. Put the two together and you get rice and lentils. Sounds pretty gourmet doesn’t it? A nice base of garlic, onion, ginger, and a few dry spices simmer the lentils to life in a soupy like substance while steaming sides of white rice and robust potatoes provide the carbohydrates. Spicy and bold, fresh and light, sweet and tangy, with so many possible spice combinations, no Dal is ever the same. Each time you open your mouth for that first eager bite, another flavor combination dances to life on your palate. What could possibly make this meal any more satisfying? Portions…“Bottomless portions!” A claim we tested on a few occasions but always seemed to be cut off after our second glutinous helping.
Settling on the first teahouse in sight our legs carried us only so far as the dining room. It was days like today that Dal Bhat Day became our saving grace. For those of you not familiar with Dal Bhat, Dal means, “lentils” in Nepali and Bhat translates to “rice”. Put the two together and you get rice and lentils. Sounds pretty gourmet doesn’t it? A nice base of garlic, onion, ginger, and a few dry spices simmer the lentils to life in a soupy like substance while steaming sides of white rice and robust potatoes provide the carbohydrates. Spicy and bold, fresh and light, sweet and tangy, with so many possible spice combinations, no Dal is ever the same. Each time you open your mouth for that first eager bite, another flavor combination dances to life on your palate. What could possibly make this meal any more satisfying? Portions…“Bottomless portions!” A claim we tested on a few occasions but always seemed to be cut off after our second glutinous helping.
Sleep did not evade me this night. In fact, I fell asleep before even making it to bed. Curling up on a small wooden bench in the common room, Harry Potter and a warm crackling fire provided the passage to dreamland. Blissfully unaware of the dwindling fire beside me, the Himalayan chill soon overtook the room. A zombie to physical exhaustion, I reluctantly rose from my bench and staggered to bed. 8:30 pm and out cold!