Back from the Bottom of the Top of the World

I just took my first shower after 10 days. I put my clothes into a nuclear holocaust resistant bag and burned them/dropped them off at the laundry facility in Kathmandu. Then I looked at a map and realized we have hiked 70 miles roundtrip spanning an altitude of 2,200m to 5,400m. The latter is 17,600 feet for you people to think non-metric.

My dilapidated ankle held up amazingly and no altitude sickness to report except the odd headache. I guess coming from the absolute flat marshy parts of Germany really does prepare one for mountaineering. Newly acquired husband managed to acquire a nice war injury from the trek, but that is his story to tell. All I want to add is that he walked the last five days holding hands tightly with a lovely, older Nepali man who managed to carry about 40 kg load strapped to his head and felt adapt to rescue A on his long and arduous hobble down the mountain in which he realized he did not like cold weather, or trekking. Bless the Cuban.

I have come back to the world of electricity, running water and fresh produce this morning only to realize that if I ever have to eat fried eggs, fried rice, fried noodles or fried bread ever, ever, ever again I will vomit. I don't mind walking around the dark with a flashlight on my head (very coal miner-ish), don't mind washing my face in a cold bucket and only partly mind freezing my butt off at night when covered by five moldy blankets, I can even handle that A declares publicly he no more wishes to take my clothes off with a 10 foot pole then he wishes to be gagged, bound and drowned but I just can't eat any more fried eggs. Never. Again.

The basecamp trek was amazing though and we even saw Everest. You laugh, but it's not a given. We did not see more than its chunky mid section when we were standing right below it while balancing on an ice fall that moves it's sweet 3 inches a day and in the process throws huge ice chunks around in a playful manner that can kill the casual observer, but on the way up and down we saw the Mother Goddess in all her beauty. That was a run on sentence if I have ever written one. As we were walking we were sometimes above, in the middle and below the clouds and every morning we woke up to a clear sky only to start seeing little clouds sweep in like a parade of cotton balls through the valleys. I could get excited about how pretty that looks that every single day and I did. It's now summer/monsoon season, meaning it's warmer, wetter and less crowded, which is a good thing, minus the wetter maybe. With the exception of the last day we were very lucky. Yesterday we did walk in the pouring and I mean pouring rain for about nine hours. I was forced to leave Lukla, the town where our trek ended and we boarded a dinky plane back to Kathmandu, in short short red shorts, my soaking clothes over one arm, some prayer scarfs over the other. Due to the dinkyness of the plane I felt it was unwise to discard the scarfs and alas, we made it. On the short walk to the "airport" I made many and oogling man happy too, which seems like a nice way to give back to the community. Note: short shorts and not appropriate mountaineering gear or culturally acceptable in any way.

While walking for eight hours a day for thirteen days, crossing various ridiculous rivers, breathing almost non-existent air at 5,400meters and squatting over overflowing holes in the ground for entertainment I realized something that somehow most travel until now has failed to really hammer home: I am so lucky that I can visit this place and then leave. I am so lucky my husband neither smells like Yak cheese nor shit. I am so lucky I don't live in a damp hut with a smoky fire place high up in the mountains where every single thing, be it rice, rocks, wood, sinks, roofs, chairs, must be carried up on some one's back. Literally there are half constructed houses walking along small windy paths from 1,500m up to 5,400m. Thank the UNDP and as it turns out the German government for building some decent bridges, that while resembling those fun wobbly bridges on playgrounds, span canyons with waterfalls 200m below, buit at least they hold up. On our return trip from basecamp we were forced a different route however because one of the non UNDP bridges that we had crossed on the way there, had simply collapsed. A great feeling. Other crossings were made with eyes closed, boots in hand and frozen feet finding boulders to hop on while the glacier waters crashes on by. The time has come now to put those feet up and have that first sip of something that is not water or fried and catch up on what's been happening in the world.

The only news that reached me on this trek was that Germany made it to the quarter finals of the euro cup. I will now have to look up if Obama has a running mate, whether anyone has started WWIII and ponder whose birthday I am forgetting.

Pictures to follow.