My trek to the Everest Base Camp - Part 7.

With its cobbled pathways and colored roofs, Namche painted a pretty – if slightly dirty- picture. Namche was the Sherpa Capital. If the Everest Trail –actually, the entire Khumbu Valley (the valley of the Everest trail is called Khumbu or Solukhumbu) - were a country, Namche would be capital, business hub, transport hub rolled into one. For a settlement in the middle of the mountains, with no roads and no vehicles connecting to it, Namche was a surprisingly large town. Lukla’s older sibling. It had restaurants, bakeries, several shops selling everything a trekker would need, local handicrafts, cyber cafes and its own movable, shifting ATM!. And the lodges much larger, fancier as well. Namche had its own version of an airport as well  at close-by Syangboche. With its tiny, unpaved runway (yes, unpaved-'kutcha' !) , Syangboche catered only to helicopters, emergency evacuations and chartered flights.

Namche was a recommended acclimatization point : we would be spending an extra day there to get used to the altitude. Balaram had called ahead – even with patchy cell phone connection enroute- to ensure we had a room with an attached bathroom and toilet in a nice lodge. It was peak tourist season, and we had not made bookings. My guess is independent trekkers rarely do, or maybe it was Ajit’s way of adding excitement to the trip. Tour groups usually booked well ahead of time, however. So they took the best lodges, the best rooms.  But Balaram brought his experience and connections to bear here as well. He went beyond our expectations-and his call of duty – and ensured we stayed in amongst the nicest of teahouses our destination had on offer. Every single night.

Despite his inability to visualize how I would complete this trail, Balaram’s other virtues soon became apparent. And Invaluable. He was proving to be  a compassionate, kind companion. He matched my snail’s pace by walking slowly, as well. He watched my every step, cautioning me at the tricky spots and finding the best pathway though  slippery slopes. He would tell me stories, about the mountains, about his village far away, about his wife and children, in his broken, barely adequate English. He catered to my many whims –every few minutes I wanted to sip a little water or needed my gloves, or an extra jacket, or wanted to remove a layer. He was Patience Himself.  And I saw that even his apparent negativity came from concern for my well-being. We began to form a bond.

Ajit, on the other hand, kept comfortable distance from me during the trek. Sometimes he was so far ahead, I would  forget I was here trekking with him, not Balaram. No, he did not ignore me completely- he usually waited for me at bridge crossings. And yeah, he would wait to ensure that my bright pink jacket was always on his horizon before galloping forward. Ajit Hare, Shweta Tortoise. Except this was not a race. So pardon me if you hear more about Balaram on this trek than Ajit. Not that Ajit has any issues with that- he was just thrilled He did not have to be in Balaram’s shoes!  Ajit, even more than I, saw the wisdom of having Balaram!

On day 4, our rest day, Balaram took us we for a small acclimatization hike close by. We climbed a bit, walked though a few trees and soon we were at a clearing with all the handsome peaks in the Everest neighbourhood surrounding us. It was a clear blue morning, with not a cloud in the sky. The sun was already above our heads and was illuminating the white snow covered panorama. Balaram introduced them to us. Flanking the south were Thamsherku(6608 m)  and Kangtega(6782)-twins, neighbours. On the west was the beauteous Ama Dablam (6812)- so distinct, we would never mistake her to be anybody else. On the Northeast was Lhotse(8516 m), tall and brooding-4^rd tallest in the world, 2^nd tallest in this neighbourhood and rightfully upset over his anonymity. A little bit more to the left was Sagarmatha (8,848 m ), now closer- so we needed a reintroduction. And just a little in front of Everest a bit westward was Nuptse (7861 m ), Everest’s immediate neighbor, and to untrained eyes-  appearing taller.  At the far left –westward - was Pumori(7,161 m) ‘Everest’s Daughter’.  I read somewhere - while researching for this write up – a description of this panorama that I very much liked. So I share with you “ Everest is like a fat man in a room full of beautiful women”.  It is such an apt description. Each of these beauties, separately, had enough individuality and character to have made their own headlines. But when you are being compared with  the tallest, the wealthiest, the prettiest or the  largest in the world -in any sphere - nobody remembers you if you are second or third or fourth. If you care for being famous, being at the top matters. Old Rule of Life.

It was now apparent that the Everest trek was not Just About The Everest. It was about getting to appreciate her lesser known, but just as handsome- family and friends as well.

The rest of the day was spent in the various restaurants and bakeries. I quickly discovered that there were different types of the trekkers- the seasoned mountaineers-they had the swagger, the stories, the audience; the rookie mountaineers in groups -they had the money and sometimes-a T-shirt proclaiming their destination, and all the bells and whistles of the trekking tour groups; the trekking tour groups (usually having older(60+) or younger(teenagers) members with their own special food, their cooks, and their porter train; and finally the independent trekkers- people like us. People seemed to have come from all over – though not surprisingly, they were mostly from Europe and America.  Asians across the board, love their couch a lot, apparently.

My analytics-trained brain picked out two surprising demographic trends : A LOT of the trekkers were in the ‘no longer young’ category  -fifties , sixties or seventies . There were absolutely NO families with children (not including locals).And for a lot of people –especially among the independent trekker group, this was not their first Nepal outing. Conclusion? Nepal is like an addictive drug, risky and Not Meant for Kids. Oldies love it – they probably think they are on the stairway to heaven anyway!  

The final task for the evening was going to the ‘ATM’ and withdrawing enough money for the rest of the trail. You see, all transactions on the Everest trail are in cash, and Namche has the last ‘ATM’ on the Everest trail. Prices of everything would climb along with us, reaching Everest levels at the top. So we would need to carry money. Wads of it. To account for every conceivable emergency.

The sole ‘ATM’ Machine in Namche had character. It worked only 10 hours a day. Only on days it was in the mood. It hid in a different corner each day. And would spit out cards it did not like. Even if the card met specifications. So old fashioned loan-sharks came to the rescue. Charging exorbitant cuts to help you withdraw money from your own credit card. It was a lovely racket.

Invigorated by our rest day, washed and scrubbed clean, clothes washed and packed, we got ready for the days ahead. I was brimming with confidence, ready to take anything on.