The path to Lukla, the final stop on our Everest adventure, seemed endless. We had been walking for six hours, from Kanjuma, to Namche, to Monjo and Phakding, but Lukla seemed always to be the next town along. Chutinawa, Nurning, Cheplung all pretended to be suburbs of the airport town, but all deceived us.
Eventually though, at the top of a final flight of steps, was a gateway that announced Lukla. We staggered up, under the arch, and collapsed. 'Thank feckin Christ!' Mark puffed. 'Right. Lets go and have a beer!'
At the hotel, I tried to hold out. 'I think we should wait until we get back to Kathmandu to celebrate'.
'You can if you like. I'm having a San Miguel right now'.
When Marks attention was elsewhere I took a quick sip of his beer. It was cold, sharp, bitter and beautiful. It tasted like victory. 'Hi, waiter, I'll have one too!'. Mark cheered, and we clinked glasses when mine arrived, toasting our success.
After a shower and a change, we headed out in Lukla with Indra. 'Is there a Starbucks here?' Mark wanted to know. There was, although a weird Nepali version, but underneath was an Irish Bar. We descended.
A dark room, seemingly hacked out of granite, neon lighting, an offish waitress, hardly anyone there. Johnny Cash was playing loudly, and four old men clapped randomly and out of time. It felt like a cross between a hamburg stip bar and a scene from Deliverance. We had a couple more beers, and looked at photos of the trip.
Back at the hotel, we had the best meal in two weeks - Chicken Curry and Chips, and another beer. Afterwards, Indra and Mundre, our porter, joined us. Mark suggested something different, something warmer to toast our adventure, so we got brandies. The spirits warmed us and gave our tired bodies a rosy glow, but it was soon after this, things started to get a little out of hand.
There was only one other couple staying in the hotel. They were sat round the central heating with their guide and porter, but after awhile, they went to bed. Their guide, got up and lurched over to us.
'Why you no give me visa?' He sat down next to me, his eyes bloodshot and glassy.
'Sorry?' I said politely.
'Why you no give me visa. I want to go to America as tourist, but I am not allowed visa!'
Indra said something to him in Nepali, sounded like he was telling him I was not American or in charge of visas, but the guide completely ignored him and carried on at me.
'Why you no give me visa! Am I a bad man?'
Indra tried again, this time a bit more sharply, I think telling him to stop bothering us. I could see him and Mundre getting frustrated and annoyed at the drunken guides behaviour.
'I'm English by the way, and not in charge of Visa's.'
"I want visa!' He banged his fist on the table. Mundre, our porter had had enough. He got up from his side of the table, came round and gently tried to remove the drunken guide from the table.
'Hey, leave him alone!' The drunken guides porter called out from the other side of the room in Nepali, but the meaning was clear.
Something seemed to snap inside Mundre. He pushed a chair away, rushed over to him and as the other porter stood up, Mundre kicked him hard in the chest. He staggered back and Mundre swung a mighty right hook that took him the face and floored him.
We all stood aghast. Violence seemed to have errupted our of nowhere. Only the drunken guide seemed oblivious.
Mark and Indra dragged Mundre away, he was struggling to get back at the porter trying to get up from the floor.
'Why you no give me visa!' The drunken guide shouted at me again.
'Shut the fuck up you! This is your fucking fault'. I was very upset now and angry as well. I marched away from the table, and helped Mark and Indra drag Mundre to a table at the far end of the room.
The hotel owners and staff came over to check we were all right, and then try and persuade the drunken guide and the porter that they should leave, but they really didn't want to.
'We should go Mark', I said quietly, 'We are making this worse'.
'I'm not sure dude. If we go, it could all erupt. We might be the thing that stops it going crazy.
'He is well known drunk', Indra was still nervously grinning, trying to calm the situation down. 'He is always getting in to this kind of state and bothering people. None of the hotels like to have him here'.
the drunken guide and his porter were still in the hotel room. They didn't want to leave, and wouldn't let the hotel manager kick them out.
'There is an unwritten rule about guiding', Indra told us, still keeping a careful eye on the situation, 'you don't hassle another guides clients. You just don't. He was bothering you. We are here to protect you'.
It was true, I did feel very protected by Indra and Mundre. I knew that they wouldn't let anything bad happen to us. This feeling of security was very comforting. It was also thrilling to have a champion stand up and fight for us and see some real life action in front of us.
But I also felt sickened by it too, at the blood lust that seemed to throb in me, at the excitement of the violence. The aggression with which Mundre protected us was actually causing the instability of the situation. 'Mundre, sit down!' I said, as he tried to get up again to go back and start some more aggro.
'He's young and full of testosterone', Mark commented. 'Silly really. I mean its not as if we don't know how to handle drunk people without it ending in a fight. We live in England. If we acted like this, the country would fall apart'.
The hotel manager was still remonstrating with the drunken guide. Phones started ringing. 'His manager is calling to find out the story,' Indra said. 'And the owner of the hotel too. They will sort it out soon'.
The situation was beginning to get a bit farcical. The likelihood of more violence had dissipated, and it now seemed to be playground antics. Posturing and bravado by the drunken guide and his porter, arguing with the hotel manager. It was the kind of thing that I saw in school countless times.
The drunken guide came over one last time. Mark and I sat on Mundre immediately, and Indra got up to deal with him. I had never seen Indra anything less than calm, and he shuffled the drunken guide out of the room in an efficient and non aggressive manner.
'Well done Indra. You did that really well'.
Soon after we went to bed. It was an unexpected last night to our travels in Everest. Slightly unpleasant, but also a very intriguing glimpse into real Nepali life. The people here, because of the peaceful nature of Buddhism and Hinduism, have a reputation for non violence and aggression, but it is still there under the surface. The tribal loyalties which you buy into when you have a guide/client relationship will be defended with blood if necessary.
Next morning, Mark and I went for a stroll through Lukla. It felt like a frontier town in the wild west, mud underfoot, livestock wandering round, crude markets and shops, all open to the elements.
We bumped into Mundre a few hundred yards away from the hotel. 'Come, come, Chai'. His English was not as good as Indras, but we followed him to a small house off the main street. We had to duck to get into the one room. In the gloom we could see a number of people of different ages, a mother at the stove, a child at her skirts, a middle aged man in a chair, and three or four young men on a bench. 'Family, friends' Mundre indicated.
We were treated like family members too, people budging up to make room, making us Chai, chatting away. I definitely felt closer to Mundre after the last nights events, and felt that his family welcome us in because of it.
When we got up to leave, there was genuine emotion in his eyes. 'Goodbye, thankyou'.
'No more fighting!' Mark wagged his finger at him. 'Dangerous, bad! You must calm down, do something to get the aggression out, or you will never be guide!'
I am not sure that he understood all of that, but I know that we had made a loyal friend.
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