'Yes thats right'. Indra replied.
'This is our rest day right? Eight hours walking?', Mark asked, raising one eyebrow.
'Acclimatisation day. Hiking up to 5400m will really help when we do base camp. Plus, no one will be doing this peak. We will have it to ourselves'. I answered for Indra.
One of the advantages of having a guide with just the two of us was that we could make little detours like this. As a rule we were much quicker thatn the larger groups too, which opened up more opportunities in the mountains. The larger groups were just walking round the village, and going to a small local peak.
We didn't quite make a 7.30 departure, Mark was faffing about, but we were not far off. It was icy cold, the grass and mud crunchy or solid underfoot. The sky was blue, the sun was just beginning to creep round over the mountains. It promised to be an awesome day.
Our porter, Mundre, carried a small pack, empty to begin with, but soon filled up with the layers we peeled off as it got hotter. It was lovely walking.
The path wound through the village, then up onto open ground. There wasn't much of a path, just a different ways through a lot of rocks. A lot of yak and cow footprints were often the best indication of the way to go.
We stopped in the hamlet of Chikung just before ten. A warm drink before we started the climb.
'Are any of these mountains holy mountains?' I asked the tea shop owner. I had heard that a few of the peaks were off limits to climbers for religious reasons.
'Yes, there is domed shape peak that you will see. This is a holy peak?'
'Why?' I wondered if there was a story behind it.
He looked a bit panicked at having to translate, but had a go. 'You know the millet they grow in Dingboche? The black barley?'
I nodded.
'Well when they harvest this, they pray to this mountain for a good crop'.
'Don't they make Roxy from the millet?'. The teashop owner nodded. 'And Chang too'. These were the local home brew drinks that were made at the back of most of the lodges in the cow sheds.
'So this mountain is holy mountain because of beer!'
Indra and the tea shop owner dissolved into giggles. 'Yes, yes, home of the beer God!' 'The God of Beer Mountain', the tea shop owner laughed too.
The path up to this area was a diversion away from Everest Base Camp. Acclimatisations Days are built into the program to help trekkers adjust to the high altitude. Chikung was off the path to Everest, but had a peak behind it with great views over the mountains.
The top was 5400 metres, higher than either Mark or I had ever been. Dingboche was 4300m, so this was a climb over 1100m, quite big difference. We were expecting problems, shortness of breath, laboured breathing, but also headaches and nausea.
We passed a couple of monuments to casualties of the mountains. Sherpas and climbers alike. Sometimes these were proper structures, but often they were just piles of stones.
'We put on a pebble to remember the dead', Indra told us. 'And also to ask the mountains that we may come back down again alive. And when we do come back down, we put a pebble on to give thanks'.
After the rise of one hill, there was a field of these cairns. 'This is like a graveyard Indra'.
'Yes, many dead. Too many'.
'Do you know people who have lost their lives?'
'Yes. Many'. Indra was still smiling, Nepali people seem to do little else, but I could feel the pain and the loss behind the mask. We gathered some stones and added them to the cairns.
'My .... teacher.... the one who gave me chance to become guide, died on a climbing trip. He was going to teach me to climb too, but now I don't want too.
'People don't need to die. There is too much selfishness and stupidity. People take risks just because they want to make a peak. Often it is the Sherpas, one in ten high altitude Sherpas die. There is no need for it'. I had not seen Indra so passionate about anything.
It took two hours to climb to the top. Two very challenging hours. Although the path was clear, it was steep, with a lot of rocks to pick through.
The altitude began to affect us. I could only take tiny little steps. Every so often, I would have little dizzy spells and would have to hold a rock to keep my balance. Indra kept calling out 'Bistari, bistari, slowly, slowly', but it wasn't possible to go quick.
Mark was affected more than me. In the lower altitudes, I couldn't keep up with him, but at this height, it was me who was forging ahead. A fierce determination seized me, I wanted to make the peak, I wanted to be the first there.
At the top of the ridge was another graveyard. I made it to the top first, placed my stone and roared my victory of having claimed the summit.
The feeling of having conquered the peak was amazing. The views were of course stunning, but to have climbed this high, to have won this victory was a massive feeling of triumph.
As Mark and Indra came puffing over the hill, I suddenly felt a kinship to the people who had died in the mountains. They were searching for this feeling, and with mountains over 8000m the feeling would be even more intense. How could you not take risks for this feeling of being so close to God.
I looked at Indra's face, and suddenly felt ashamed of myself. Was this really being close to God? Was it just not vanity and pride speaking? Was it not the thin air and the lack of oxygen making me giddy and euphoric? Was I no better than the people who had taken risks and lost lives?
But we hadn't risked anything. Indra was as happy to be up here with us, as we were. Our arrogance and pride was not risking anyone. We had listened to our guides advice and followed it.
We shared a chocolate bar between the four of us, and Indra told us about the mountains. 'Four of the Worlds highest peaks here'. 'This Numche, this Lutse Face, this Mahendra'.
We waited a little a longer, savouring the feeling, then began the descent down, placing more stones on the cairns as we went.
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