I have wanted to go to Khumbu for as long as I can remember. But mostly it was a dream. I knew I would go, but life always got in the way. So, I left it.
Then out of the blue, a notice. A notice of an event in Khumbu. A celebration of a historic event. My wife’s family was going to be a part of it. My wife’s cousin urged us to go: “Go for it, you’ll have a great time.” Her and I talked about it and hesitated, we were already planning a trip to India. In moments like this, our minds fall back into cautious default mode. It is not as adventurous as we would like it to be. There was doubt. Would we be able to do all the hiking? What about the altitude? Finally, we agreed. Everything be damned. Trust your gut. Or at least don’t talk yourself out of doing something outside of your comfort zone.
In the last week of May, we landed in Kathmandu. My unofficial home, the place of my birth, a city I used to love, but mostly loathe now because of how she’s evolved. No fault of hers, mine, for judging her on her uncontrolled proliferation. In the one day we had in the city we tied up loose ends, packed our rucksacks, and met my wife’s dad who was making the trip with us.
Early next morning a friend dropped us off at the airport and a 25-minute flight to Lukla. The “most dangerous airport in the world.” If I said I wasn’t anxious before this flight, I would be lying. It was more than anxiety; it was getting to a point of outright paranoia. Tight stomach, short breaths, chest pounding heartbeat. And this was in the terminal. The flight itself was a non-event. I closed my eyes and listened to a podcast. We landed in Lukla before the podcast host had taken his first sip of coffee.
At Lukla, we met our porter/guide. After a quick delicious breakfast, a cup of honey lemon tea – which we would become overly familiar with on this trip, we started our trek to our first stop: Monjo, 13 kms away. After a meandering hike through the gorgeous Nepali countryside, through ancient Sherpa villages, and past modern tourist hotels, we came to our stop for the evening, an uber-luxurious hotel in the foothills of the Himalayas. A complimentary accommodation from our close friend who comped the remaining 4 nights we roomed in their groups of hotels as well.
After a restful sleep in the tranquility of the Nepali highlands a 7-kilometer trek from Monjo to Namche Bazaar early the next day. The first 4 kms are flat, the final 3, a no respite climb. On this leg, we were blessed to walk along the Dudh Kosi, aptly named for the milk-colored rapids that form and froth on the angry, noisy river. The climb to Namche was brutal. We only had a day pack with water and some snacks, yet it was hard. The porters lugging 50 kilograms, the ones who do it professionally, how do they do it?
After a murderous 4-hour climb, we arrived in Namche in the comfort of our elegant, spacious hotel.
Namche Bazaar is a bazaar in its purest form. You can find almost anything you need on the narrow, clean, cobbled streets of this jewel of Khumbu. Maps, compass, sleeping bags? They got it. Apple pie, chocolate carrot cake, strudel? Probably the best we’ve had outside of their place of origin. We ambled about, gorging on delights, sipping hot beverages, and talking to new friends. Soon we were back at our hotel, in the comfort of our luxurious room, unconscious, after a long tiring day.
The trek the next day was special. We were headed to a mystical place. A Shangri-la high up in the Himalayas. An abode of high priests. A spiritual recess for all climbers headed to conquer Everest. From Mallory to Tenzing to Jordan Romero: the youngest person to summit the highest mountain in the world. The trek to Tengboche Monastery starts flat from Namche as you walk along a well-kept path. With a deep gorge on the right, we should’ve had a clear view of Lhotse, Ama Dablam, and Everest. Alas, it was already the fourth week of May, the monsoon clouds had rolled in and enveloped the Himalayas in its melancholy gray coat.
But we walked, the three of us, me slightly ahead, walking at my normal pace, my wife, and her dad slightly behind, talking, enjoying the surroundings. The trek led us downhill to the bank of the river where we stopped at Phungi Thenga for lunch. After a break, the climb to Tengboche starts. Unrelenting, switch back after switch back, we finally arrived on top of the hill where the monastery sits at 12,687 feet having trekked 12 kms from Namche. It was foggy and cold and the monastery hid behind a thick blanketed mist. You could sense this was a special place. A tinge of spiritual aura engulfed you. We made our way inside. The lamas were in the middle of a ritualistic ceremony. In quiet reverence, we said our prayers, offered khadas, and lit butter lamps.
Then we hiked a kilometer to our hotel in Deboche. A charming place. Immaculate and elegant like the hotels we stayed in Monjo and Namche. On days like this, the simple pleasure of a hot shower is rewarding. We bundled up and made it to the dining room where we sat beside a Ukrainian and an Indian climber who had just summited Everest without oxygen. We listened to their stories in awe. A young Nepali trekking entrepreneur told of us other treks to attempt. He loved Gokyo, the Annapurna Circuit and Dolpo if we felt adventurous. For dinner, we had the most delicious Shyakpa – Sherpa stew – unlike Sherpa stew I’ve had at many other places this used liquified Potato as its soup base. I remember memorable meals, this one I will never forget.
Skies cleared up a bit next morning and we got great views of Ama Dablam – its twin jagged peaks glistening in the morning sun. After breakfast, we were on our way on the longest trek of our trip so far to the tiny hamlet of Phurte, 13 kms from Deboche. As we passed the Monastery for the last time on this trip, my father-in-law fastened prayer flags around a Chorten – Buddhist Stupa. Most of this trek was retracing our steps back to Namche and then going beyond for another kilometer and a half to Phurte where my wife’s family lives. Tragically 2 months before us coming to Khumbu, 2 of my wife’s cousins lost their lives on Everest. They got swept by an avalanche and fell into a crevasse. We were there for the 49th day of puja to remember their passing. Tibetan Buddhists believe the deceased are reborn 49 days after their physical death, we were lucky we could spend time with them easing their burden by joining them for the day.
The following day after delicious Alu Roti – Potato Pancakes, we started our trek to Khumjung. This was the primary reason we had come to Khumbu. To celebrate the 70th anniversary of the first Everest summit by the intrepid Tenzing Sherpa and Edmund Hillary. After 4 hours of strenuous hiking, we made it to this charming village, checked into a quaint hotel and soon joined in the dining room by the most rambunctious, happy group of trekkers – a group led by my wife’s cousin. There was a restaurateur from Baltimore, a foreign service officer from Austin, a lovely married couple both travel writers from Northern California, a guy from Google and an architect from Kathmandu amongst others. We hit it off immediately. The conversation flowed and laughs were shared. We exchanged phone numbers and emails and promised to meet back home.
The next day was a blur of speeches and cultural shows celebrating the achievements of Shri Tenzing Norgay and Sir Ed in Khumjung and Namche. A new auditorium was unveiled in honor of Tenzing Norgay, and a visitors center in honor of Edmund Hilary. Both marvels of architecture given the location high up in the Nepali Himalayas. We attended the program in the morning in Khumjung and made a quick hike down to Namche for the second part of the celebration. This was our last night in Namche, I went to a Nepali concert not far from the hotel while my wife crashed early.
Early next morning we walked to the heli-pad and caught a chopper down to Lukla. Instead of walking 19 kms downhill we shortened it and saved our knees by taking a 10-minute thrilling ride. Then our last night at another luxurious hotel in Lukla. We made the most of it. Explored the grounds. Had endless cups of tea in the gardens and met friends from New York who ran the Everest marathon for dinner later.
This trip to Khumbu feels like a dream. Even after 6 months as I sit here and type this, the memories of the 8 days spent in the Himalayas are as clear as yesterday. Once you get a taste of the mountains, the unnatural experience of living in city of concrete buildings teeming with automobiles and crowds feels unsuitable. The memories of being in the cradle of the biggest mountains in the world amongst the most hospitable local natives makes the grind of daily life in a big city almost unbearable. Lest we forget, we are part of nature, it is our natural tendency to be part of it. But we always have the mountains to look forward to, we always have the liberty of knowing the Himalayas are home to us, we now can head back anytime we want.
About the author.
Sonam Ukyab is a Futures Trader based in NYC. He travels when he can
