three passes trek journal - part 3

Day 4 - Namche Bazaar to Pangboche

My fourth day doing the Three Passes Trek was the day I made up my mind regarding my itinerary. That is, I wouldn’t have any.

After having breakfast and packing my bag, I went back to the dining area to pay my bill. There I found the guide who offered to adopt me and his team, ready to leave. He told me they would be staying in Tengboche, in case wanted to go with them. Thinking they’d be walking faster than me, I told him I’d find them. My bill was a little over 3000NPR. I gave 4000, but the staff didn’t have enough change so he just gave me back my 1000. It wasn’t that much money but I was still amazed with the contrast from my previous experience.

The 'road' to Everest.

 It seemed like every trekking groups in Namche that day agreed on leaving at the exact same time. I was walking with a herd of people; not much how I imagined spending my day. I tried to walk faster to escape the crowd but just a few steps and I was already panting. And then I remembered the one kilogram of yak cheese I bought the day before. I convinced myself that the weight would be all worth it. Was it? I wasn’t sure except that my backpack was a lot heavier. So I stayed within the pack and fused with its comfortable rhythm.

The woman walking to my right started chatting with me. She expressed her fondness of people like me, adventuring on my own in the Himalayas. She’d been to Nepal 16 times, a number of times alone but most of the time with her husband, who was then trailing behind us. Now, that was a very impressive number. Despite her age, she said she would still find a way to come back and trek in the mountains. She inspired me to do the same. And if I could do even half that, I would have lived a good life.

It was very cold when we left Namche so we were all bundled up when we left. But by then, the sun has gone above the mountains. And the lack of clouds gave the sun full power. We stopped to take some layers off. They decided to take a short rest so I bid them goodbye and went ahead. By then, the crowd has magically thinned out. I could see a few people both way ahead and behind me, but where everyone else had gone was puzzling.

I noticed only then that the trail I was sauntering on was more like a paved road, which could accommodate cars, even trucks. Only that there were none of those in that place. Farther ahead, I came across a man who was sitting serenely in the middle of the ‘road.’ I stopped to read what was written on the nearby signboards and learned that the man is Pasang Lama Sherpa, who was responsible for the improvement and maintenance of the trail in the Khumjung area. It said that he doesn’t get any funds from the government and was relying only on donations to accomplish his endeavor. Such an inspiring man.

Soon, the ‘road’ ended and I found myself walking on a trail lined with some kind of short trees on both sides, whose upper branches meet and make a canopy. Many of those trees have leaves which looked like thick, green hair. It felt like walking in a fairy tale scene. I did like it a lot although not having sweeping views was the trade-off.

Tengboche monastery.

The trail progressively seemed less well-kept compared to the one I was taking in the early morning. I was probably out of Mr. Sherpa’s jurisdiction then. It was also gradually descending, which was not a good thing if you’re on your way up. Add to that the smell of a freshly baked cinnamon bread permeating the air surrounding me. I walked for some time with the whiff torturing my rumbling stomach and making me slobber like crazy. I later found the culprit; a guy walking in front of me who must have stashed a great deal of that bread in his backpack. I wanted to despise him but I understood his action. Thankfully he took a detour to a teahouse before crossing the bridge. I went ahead, grateful that the source of my suffering was then behind me. I only needed to endure the two-hour steep ascent to the village of Tengboche.

It was a hot and dusty climb and the only thing I could see was the other mountain across the gorge. There was no epic scenery to make up for the toil. Although it was still noon, I was ready to call it a day. And then I saw chortens and people and finally Tengboche, straddling in a broad ridge. I was aiming for the set of teahouses at the far end of the village, but my feet couldn’t walk straight to it but instead brought me to a muddy trail, out of the village. Not that I regretted my feet’s decision. Because a few minutes later, I found Rivendell. Legolas wasn’t there but I could gaze all I want at beautiful Ama Dablam while having plates of dal bhaat.

I could have spent the night in that teahouse but I made a passive decision of walking farther. Kind of a wrong move. Sometime later, after crossing a bridge and the trail started going up, I felt a pain on my lower right chest. At first, it was more like a discomfort but it became unbearable as I continued walking. An old man passed me by and must have noticed me hunched, clutching my chest. He was concerned, and offered that I take one of his two guides if ever I needed any help. I thanked him, said that I was fine and continued walking so he would stop worrying. Besides, it was only day 4 and there’s no way I would give up that early. Luckily, the pain went away once the trail levelled.

Funny how I ‘chose’ my guesthouse in Pangboche. Several minutes from the village, I felt a rumbling in my stomach. So I hurried. Once reaching the village, I had my eye out for a place with an outhouse. At the first one that I found, there was a group of young male trekkers. It didn’t feel right. I must have walked several hundred meters more before finding the perfect spot. The only person around was an old man who was busy reading. I quickly unbuckled my backpack, dropped it on the ground and went on with my business. When I went out, I saw a local woman. I smiled at her and asked for a room.

Day 5 - Side trek to Ama Dablam Base Camp

I spent half of the day taking the side trek to Ama Dablam Base Camp. Having accepted the fact that I have a knack for getting lost, I was ready to shut the idea of going there when the guesthouse owner told me that I might have some trouble finding the right trail if I go on my own. But as luck would have it, I met a fellow trekker, Dierk, who offered to go with me. And since he’d been there before, there was little chance we’d lose our way.

I met him the day before, while I was waiting for my dinner to be served, listening to another group of American trekkers lamenting about the recent win of Trump. He approached me while I was busy writing on my journal to ask if I am a trekking guide. Being mistaken for a guide may mean that I looked strong and fit, but he said that it was because I looked like a local.

Getting to the base camp proved to be a bit tricky. At first, we only needed to go down to the river but we diverged from the road too early and even though we could see where we needed to go, the crisscrossing trails before us were either too narrow or too slippery. Once we crossed the bridge, we went up a steep slope which was supposed to be a shortcut, following what seemed to be a derelict trail.  It was mostly worn that I had to use both my hands to climb. It was so steep that the only thing I could see if I look up was the blue sky and there was no telling if the end was nearing or not. I wasn’t going to give up though and a few curses later, the scramble ended and we landed on a wide, flat area.

Ama Dablam as seen on the trail to Tengboche.

The rest of the trek was spent on that gently rolling terrain towards the foot of Ama Dablam. There was not even a single signage telling as to where the base camp was so we only relied on Dierk’s memory of his previous jaunt there. There were trails leading everywhere as the place is used by grazing yaks. Which was kind of incredible because there didn’t seem to be grasses growing on the ground. We went up and down mounds of rocks and dirt until we got a glimpse of brightly colored tents and prayer flags strung on huge boulders.

The place was quiet, with only a few people and yaks roaming the area. We found a guy, and someone who was most likely his guide, sitting comfortably on a camp stool, acclimatizing, as they prepared to attempt reaching the summit in a few days’ time. From afar, I could see a group walking towards the mountain. (About a week later, a magnitude 5.2 earthquake rocked the Everest region. The news said that a Sherpa died from an avalanche in that mountain, while the climber he was with was badly injured.) I was content looking only at Ama Dablam, its prominent peak with ridges radiating from it was a sight to behold.

Ama Dablam Base Camp

Our return journey was without any incident, although the descent on that steep, worn-out trail terrified me a little. Along the way, Dierk and I agreed on climbing Nangkar Tshang together the next day. However, once we reached the teahouse, he felt like walking further that day. I opted to stay to get some rest since I hadn’t been sleeping well for days. So we resolved to meet at a particular teahouse in Dingboche the following morning.

Before leaving, he showed me a photo in his camera – the only photo he took since Lukla. It was of a guy who was about my age and the photo was taken the day before. Dierk told me he first met the guy two years prior, in the Annapurna Circuit. As if the universe conspired, they met again on a different trail. But they were going the opposite direction. Still, it was an extraordinary circumstance. And although trekking in the Himalayas, with its sheer beauty, kind people and daring challenges is a wonderful experience, encounters like that of Dierk and his friend’s is what makes up an epic story. (Which was something I hope I could have as well.)