'Thats because I didn't sleep! I have a cold, 'Mark pronounced, 'I was coughing and sneezing, and had temperature issues. At first I was too hot in my sleeping bag then too cold. The night seemed to go on forever'.
'One of the other group, the old Irish guy, asked me if I was the one having problems sleeping last night', whispered Neil the American to us (he was the guy we had shared a flight with yesterday). 'I think he heard you'.
'I suppose you two slept all night?' Mark asked mock bitterly.
"Yup' I said smugly.
The mornings walk was utterly glorious. Imagine the landscape of Yosemite in California, the quaint characterful buildings of Alpine Switzerland and the colours of Highland Scotland in the Autumn. A milky river thundered below us, steeply wooded slopes on either side, and high above the snowy mountains rose.
Neil joined us for the mornings walk. He had been to this area a couple of times before so was confident enough to do it without guide or porter. We made extremely quick time, and quickly outpaced the larger group who were staying in the same hotel as us.
'They are with Royal Mountain Travel too,' Indra told us. 'They are going to Base camp. We will probably see them quite a lot'.
We stopped for an early lunch, and then over a steel bridge, we started a steep ascent to our destination for the night, Namche Bazaar. Mark was extremely quick, I could scarcely keep him in sight, let alone keep up with him.
Indra estimated our arrival time to be between about six to seven hours from when we left. We rounded the bend and got to Namche Bazaar at one thirty, making our total travelling time five and a half hours, including an hours break. This was really fast, but I knew that it would be foolish to even try to keep this up at the higher altitudes.
After a hot shower at the hotel we explored the town. Namche was a strange place. Perched a steep slope in half a bowl shaped valley, it seemed to be mostly hotels and restaurants. All seemed quite new, but were attractively made in stone.
In the centre, just behind a Buddhist Stupa, was a tented market, looking nothing so much like a cheap car boot sale. The goods were all chinese knock offs of high street brands. This was the Tibetan Market, where itinerant traders were allowed to come over the high passes once a week to trade here.
We passed a sign for 'The Highest Barber in the World'. I had intended to have ny hair cut in Kathmandu before we left but ran out of time.
'I'm going in', I said.
'Are you sure?' Mark replied. 'You're hair looks fine'.
'Nah, its getting too long'. So I sat down in the barbers chair.
Mark started a commentary after a few minutes. 'Looking good! You're gonna need a leather jacket when you finish, you're gonna look so cool!
'And a comb in your back pocket so you can check it regularly.
'And you will probably need some oil as well to give the bit at the back a nice shine!'
'Will you back off! I can't help it that I am losing my hair!'
'Hasn't he finished yet. Its not like you had a lot to start with'.
'Are sure you want to start matey! I can bring you down anytime!'
The banter carried on back and forth until the Highest Hairdresser in the World had finished.
As the cloud started rolling in from the ridge, covering the higher hotels, we stumbled tiredly back up to the hotel le Base camp. The other group were straggling back too, and we joined them in common room to chat in front of the wood heater.
No comments:
Post a Comment