Day 16: Pheriche -Phortse: Nepali Flat...Little Bit Up, Little Bit Down

Trekking Day 13 Kilometres: 12.4km on trail Maximum Elevation: 4240m Sleeping Elevation: 3810m Morning Temperature in Tea House: 3 degrees celsius Rupees: Breakfast: 1200, Lunch: 1400, Dinner: 1600, Room: 200, Other: 500 

After passing on a bit of 'you can do it' encouragement to the British guy who last night had a headache, and saying goodbye and thank you again to the lovely lodge owner, we strapped on our bags. Today we were heading further down. Somewhere after Somare we stopped to ditch our jackets. That's when Chris' face dropped. From his pocket he pulled the key to our room in Pheriche. It had taken over an hour, downhill, to get to where we were. And now what? Go back? Some fellow trekkers came along and I pulled them aside. They would be passing through Pheriche so with vague directions, a key and an apologetic note we sent them on their way and hoped the precious key would make it back to its rightful home. Oops. We could have headed straight towards Namche today. We did it five years ago and, while it's a massive day, it's doable. Instead, we decided to take an alternate route that veered off the main trail.  

We followed a track that took us high above the tourist version of Pangboche towards the old town and monastery that sat above it. As we wandered, a line of ten or so army soldiers came past us. One guy was so busy texting his huge gun almost bumped me on the way past. Pangboche, when we arrived, was probably the most traditional town we had come across on this trail and it was thoroughly enjoyable to walk between its stone walls. We followed the trail, even though it was heading downhill, because as far as we knew, it was the only trail. Wrong again. We soon realised that the path we wanted was a fair way back up the hill. A costly detour when our legs are so fatigued.  

Once we gained some height we saw the tiny sign, scribbled on a stone, pointing the way to Phortse. We could then see the path we would follow. Cut into the steep mountainside, it seemed to continue on forever. The path was as narrow as a foot wide in places and, in the three hours we were on it, we saw only one man, out for a stroll. No porters. No yaks. No tourists. It was just us and this killer trail. While it looked flat from a distance, it was more 'Nepali Flat'. Nepalis would describe it as 'little bit up, little bit down' but the reality was that after every corner we came around, the path would veer steeply uphill, often up fifty or so stone steps. Then, immediately, it would head back down. This frustrating game continued over and over and over. Corner after corner, stair after stair, our feet were killing us. For the first time in thirteen days, I was over it. 

When Phortse finally came into view it was much bigger than expected. While there weren't a huge number of lodges, the view from above showed the buildings spread out, many set on their own large piece of land.  

Picking a lodge is often a lottery. Sitting high above the town, we picked the night's bed based on a a good looking red roof. When we drew closer and the place was called Peaceful Lodge, we couldn't resist. We stepped into a courtyard, protected from the wind and the lovely man, who we would come to know as Pema, pulled out a couple of chairs and sat us in the sun while he prepared our lunch. Once we had dumped our stuff in our room we sat in the common area and got chatting with Pema, probably the most humble man you will ever come across. He told us he had been involved in some very successful expeditions, most significantly with a very grateful New Zealander, on Everest. Quizzing him revealed that he himself had actually reacher the summit three times. Three times! This guys was no joke. As evening came he told us about his family, all of whom currently lived in America, except his son who he was expecting home from Khumjung, a neighbouring village, tonight. With worried eyes, he looked out the window frequently. A parent's worry for their commuting child was universal it seemed. Whether it was a long distance drive or a long distance walk through the mountains, the feeling was obviously the same. Eventually a charismatic young man walked through the front door and smiled broadly. Tashi introduced himself and spent the remainder of the evening chatting with us by the fire. Having spent six years studying engineering in America and his entire school life before that at an English-speaking school in Kathmandu, his grasp of our language was impeccable. When pushed, Tashi elaborated on his father's Everest escapades. It turns our these conquests were kept mostly quiet, even from his children, for a long time. The New Zealander that Pema had guided up Everest had been the famous Rob Hall. He had sought Pema out specifically after Pema's entire team made the summit the same year that Rob's team failed. Rob asked him to do one more run at the mountain but, after visiting a monk, Pema was warned not to be involved that year. It was that year that Rob passed away in the horrific 1996 Everest disaster featured in the film of the same name. Tashi was an energetic guy. Today he had walked from Khumjung in just over two hours. A walk that would take us close to five hours. He and his brother were starting a trekking company, he was learning his local language, Sherpa, and reading up about Buddhism. The culture many of his neighbours took for granted he had missed out on when he was sent to boarding school, for eleven months of the year, at age 6. In between all of this he was trying to decide whether to return to America and pursue a career in engineering or remain in Nepal and look after his parents. We ate and chatted the evening away with one of the most humble men, and one of the most driven.