Kathmandu, Nepal.
In spite of the camera-wielding crowd of wierdos our 10 day trek to Everest base camp was a suitably rumbunctious adventure.
I arrived amongst the multitude of shops touting fake 'North Face' gear in Thamel, Kathmandu to meet up with my old pal Calum and his Uni chum Chris. Despite my best efforts they were still determined to 'do' Everest base camp. Even citing the wierdly chummy 60ish year old ex-army guy I'd been socially abducted by that morning who'd said that Anapurna Circuit was a 'better' trek wouldn't sway them. In hindsight, perhaps the reference might have carried more weight had I not mentioned that the advice had been imparted moments before sargent crazybags earnestly introduced me, quite unprovoked, to his 5"0 tiny-fiddle-playing Nepali drug dealer, insisting that he "look after me".
Knowing that the tide of general oppinion was, as it so often is, against me I decided to jump on board the Lad wagon (no euphamism intended). Worryingly the vessel being boarded was a severely crappy 2nd hand (I know this because 'Agni Air' hadn't bothered to paint over the 'airtasmania.com.au' on the wing) airplane headed towards the world's most dangerous airport at Lukla, in the Himalayas. The thought that "At least if I'm horribly disfigured I can become a masked super DJ" held my hand as the plane plopped onto the 460m long runway, only letting go when it wheeled away from the impending cliff-face, off into the parking bay.
The next few days saw us taking an overdose of the prescribed pace up several thousand metres to Luboche, a town one day's walk away from our famous destination, so that we arrived less two acclimatisation days. This was, of course, fine as Calum had only a slight headache, nothing a little 'manning up' couldn't fix.
The journey up had been tiring but superb, we had crossed wobbly bridges suspended over gushing crystal rivers, slowly struggled up rocky paths past unnecessarily cautiously clad Japanese tourists and through Yak Traffic (incidentally also the name of the band we formed, our first album title being 'Emaculate Ejaculate'). We slept and ate in wonderful lodges with beautiful wooden detailed kitchens and not so pretty plywood board bounded rooms. At night we were barely bearably chilled to highly negative temperatures, the freezing haughty coughs of the malevolent snowy mountains creeping through the gaps in our cheaply rented sleeping bags, cruelly pinching the sensation from our unwashed feet. I combated the cold by eating as large a second helping of dahl bhat (THE Nepali meal, by which i mean, almost literally, the only thing they eat) as possible, while 'Bum Piss' Chris tried to retain some noodle nutrients, Imodium being his only ally against the food poisoning he couldn't escape from.
Our attempt at base camp on day 7 did not go to plan; after a 3 hour walk, and only an hour away from our destination, Calum finally decides to tell us that his headache is 'pounding'. He tries to muscle through but after ten minutes he's delirious with the altitude, staggering about like a drunkard. On an unrelated note, I'd crucially run out of biscuits and couldn't go on, it was gutting to be so close and have to turn round, but the lack of biscuits was really quite a serious health concern. Calum must have followed us down because he was there in the lodge later discussing with an apparently well informed Pakistani man about whether to go down further and give up on base camp or risk the headache and try again tomorrow. Being a Lad he of course decided to gamble. It paid off; in the morning he was fine(ish).
The following day we make it all the way to the boulder strewn temporary settlement where people with too much money (an expedition guide told me it cost 50,000 pounds) prepare to be dragged to the top of the world by a team of hardy Sherpas. We celebrate a successful struggle with an 'Everest' Beer. Our headaches worse and maybe slightly drunk, being (as I may have mentioned before) LadZ we get a little bit naked for a photo, pop our freezing selves back into our clothes and peg it back down towards Kathmandu.
Hello warm(ish) shower and 40rupee Buff MoMos!
In spite of the camera-wielding crowd of wierdos our 10 day trek to Everest base camp was a suitably rumbunctious adventure.
I arrived amongst the multitude of shops touting fake 'North Face' gear in Thamel, Kathmandu to meet up with my old pal Calum and his Uni chum Chris. Despite my best efforts they were still determined to 'do' Everest base camp. Even citing the wierdly chummy 60ish year old ex-army guy I'd been socially abducted by that morning who'd said that Anapurna Circuit was a 'better' trek wouldn't sway them. In hindsight, perhaps the reference might have carried more weight had I not mentioned that the advice had been imparted moments before sargent crazybags earnestly introduced me, quite unprovoked, to his 5"0 tiny-fiddle-playing Nepali drug dealer, insisting that he "look after me".
Knowing that the tide of general oppinion was, as it so often is, against me I decided to jump on board the Lad wagon (no euphamism intended). Worryingly the vessel being boarded was a severely crappy 2nd hand (I know this because 'Agni Air' hadn't bothered to paint over the 'airtasmania.com.au' on the wing) airplane headed towards the world's most dangerous airport at Lukla, in the Himalayas. The thought that "At least if I'm horribly disfigured I can become a masked super DJ" held my hand as the plane plopped onto the 460m long runway, only letting go when it wheeled away from the impending cliff-face, off into the parking bay.
The next few days saw us taking an overdose of the prescribed pace up several thousand metres to Luboche, a town one day's walk away from our famous destination, so that we arrived less two acclimatisation days. This was, of course, fine as Calum had only a slight headache, nothing a little 'manning up' couldn't fix.
The journey up had been tiring but superb, we had crossed wobbly bridges suspended over gushing crystal rivers, slowly struggled up rocky paths past unnecessarily cautiously clad Japanese tourists and through Yak Traffic (incidentally also the name of the band we formed, our first album title being 'Emaculate Ejaculate'). We slept and ate in wonderful lodges with beautiful wooden detailed kitchens and not so pretty plywood board bounded rooms. At night we were barely bearably chilled to highly negative temperatures, the freezing haughty coughs of the malevolent snowy mountains creeping through the gaps in our cheaply rented sleeping bags, cruelly pinching the sensation from our unwashed feet. I combated the cold by eating as large a second helping of dahl bhat (THE Nepali meal, by which i mean, almost literally, the only thing they eat) as possible, while 'Bum Piss' Chris tried to retain some noodle nutrients, Imodium being his only ally against the food poisoning he couldn't escape from.
Our attempt at base camp on day 7 did not go to plan; after a 3 hour walk, and only an hour away from our destination, Calum finally decides to tell us that his headache is 'pounding'. He tries to muscle through but after ten minutes he's delirious with the altitude, staggering about like a drunkard. On an unrelated note, I'd crucially run out of biscuits and couldn't go on, it was gutting to be so close and have to turn round, but the lack of biscuits was really quite a serious health concern. Calum must have followed us down because he was there in the lodge later discussing with an apparently well informed Pakistani man about whether to go down further and give up on base camp or risk the headache and try again tomorrow. Being a Lad he of course decided to gamble. It paid off; in the morning he was fine(ish).
The following day we make it all the way to the boulder strewn temporary settlement where people with too much money (an expedition guide told me it cost 50,000 pounds) prepare to be dragged to the top of the world by a team of hardy Sherpas. We celebrate a successful struggle with an 'Everest' Beer. Our headaches worse and maybe slightly drunk, being (as I may have mentioned before) LadZ we get a little bit naked for a photo, pop our freezing selves back into our clothes and peg it back down towards Kathmandu.
Hello warm(ish) shower and 40rupee Buff MoMos!
