Hanging on in Tingiri...

Conscious that I was awake, I did a quick survey of the percentage of my body that had direct contact with the dusty, dank bedding and pulled my sleeping bag over my head as protection from the freezing cold air.

It could be worse… (Continued)

I gripped my trekking pole in one hand and my yen in another and shuffled as unobtrusively as a blond, brightly dressed, down-clad, Oakley-wearing female could in the middle of a town of locals all dressed in blacks and browns. To the left and to the right mangy, flea bitten dogs eyed me conspicuously with saliva dripping from their jaws. A small tractor made its way down the road as one of the dogs dragged its lame and infected hind limbs over the road to avoid its path. A puppy ran through the raw sewage which lay in the ditch alongside a dirt sidewalk. Dust from the dry Tibetan plateau blew through the streets kicking up dust devils and leaving a trail of rubbish in its wake. I tried to remember the exact date of my last rabies shot...

The Roof of the World - in Tingiri

I could have stayed in Nylam for another day - there was something about the ‘slow’ pace that appealed to me and I’d already been pre-warned that this was the absolute lap of luxury compared to our next stop - Tingiri. Through the clever use of sign language I purchased a pillow stuffed with rice and about 20-years of dust as we boarded a lime-green bus and set out on the beautifully paved road to Tingiri.

The Basement Spa in Nylam

A yellowed-crinkled piece of paper was thrust in front of my face by a weathered brown-hand. With a giant toothless smile and sparkling eyes a little man demanded, “Massage? Hot tub? Steam” as the little drawings on the paper further translated his pigeon English. I looked apprehensively around the local coffee shop as a small heater glowed brightly in the middle with three chairs gathered round it. Josh had recommended the shower in this building, but I began to wonder if I had perhaps wandered into the wrong place.

Enroute to Nylam

Fortunately my stomach survived the night although there were more ‘tummy’ complaints from a few others and a communal bathroom made me realise that I was not ‘suffering’ alone. A 6am wakeup with a view to be on the bus and leave Zheng Mu by 7am for a 10am brunch in Nylam. Andrew, who had travelled through Tibet when he climbed Cho You hinted that Nylam night not be the ‘Hilton’ that we’d hoped for after our basic hotel in Zheng Mu - 4 walls, a bed and a small window looking onto a building about 4cm away.

The Journey to Tibet

You never appreciate being healthy until you’re sick… I woke at around 2am with the feeling that something was horribly wrong. I went through the usual motions trying to convince myself that it was my imagination. About 5 seconds later, with a sprint to the washroom I knew that things were not well. I gripped onto the porcelain bowl as if my life depended on it. I have always prided myself on my ‘stomach of steel’ but clearly, something I’d eaten had gotten the better of me.

Final Preparation...

Today was ‘sorting out kit day’ - a day dedicated to buying all of the extra bits and pieces needed for the mountain and also get training in using our ‘Top Out’ oxygen masks. We gathered in the garden of the hotel for a presentation by Tom Atkins, a former RAF pilot, to learn how to hook the masks up to the oxygen tanks, put the masks on, and troubleshoot in the event that things should go wrong. An interesting but daunting presentation as it has started to make the experience so much more ‘real’. There were a lot of questions on the ‘engineering’ behind the mask as well as the history verses the former Poisk masks. Fortunately we will have another opportunity to try the masks and the Top Out system when we get to base camp.

Destination Kathmandu!

Standing in line in the grand 'immigration' hall waiting to get my 3-day Nepal transit visa reminded me of the ‘organised chaos’ that is so typical of Nepal. For 1.5 hours I listened patiently to the heavy ‘thud’ of the visa stamp slamming down on the passports on the hundred people ahead of me in the line, the careful counting of the US dollars for the visa entry fee, the shuffling of papers looking for hotel addresses and the quiet humm of tourist anticipation. Off in the corner two local people had been tasked with tending to the paint peeling off of the windowsills while another swept up the dust brought in by the arriving planes.

And so the journey begins...

“Life is uncharted territory. It reveals its story one moment at a time.” (Leo F. Buscaglia 1924-1998). Needless to say my own uncharted territory will certainly be developing further over the coming weeks and months... It's a strange feeling being so conscious of that. I have just two short hours until my taxi comes and takes me to Heathrow. My two bags (guess-timate weight is 35kg, 8 over the maximum) are both parked at the front door waiting to be whisked away on this great adventure - although, given the weight, the more appropriate term would, in fact, be 'lugged'..! I managed to get everything organised in time and even had a delicious 'last supper' at the fantastic pizza-place just down the road with my flatmate... complete with a complimentary glass of champagne! I have a number of different emotions and thoughts going around in my head - nerves, excitement, standing on the cusp of the unknown... Soon this journey will 'formally' begin... and I can't wait..!

The Sherpa Tradition

I opened my eyes, shuddered and wiggled deeper into the down depths of my -30C sleeping bag. The wind outside was howling and I could tell by a dark-ridged shadow along the ouside of my bright yellow tent that a fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight. Ice condensation lined the inside dome - sparkling in the light coming from my headlamp. Over the sound of the wind I could hear a 'crunch crunch' outside - it sounded like someone walking over styrofoam. Early morning chatter was heard coming from the tent next to mine and then suddenly there was a rustling at my tent-flap.
"Heather di-di - Good morning to you..!" sang a cheery voice as my tent was unzipped and a thick-gloved hand lay a tray of biscuits and a cup of warm tea at the foot of my Thermarest. I smiled to myself as I fumbled for the warm thermos, marveling at the gracious hospitality of the Sherpa culture. I couldn't believe that I was actually getting tea and cookies in bed..! I don't even get this kind of first-class service at sea-level, let alone 6000m..!!