The whole truth about Nepal

Review of trek Everest Base Camp + Gokyo Lakes

“Once is not enough” (once is not enough)... This is not what you think, but the official tourism motto of Nepal.

There were practically no Europeans in the cabin of the plane on which we flew from Sharjah to Kathmandu. We, and a couple of the same tourists. The rest are small Nepalese flying to earn money. In the Asian world they are professional guest workers.

I, pressing my forehead to the window, melancholy looked at the white clouds lying below and right along the plane. And then, at some point, I realized that there, ahead, these were not clouds. Huge mountains rose at the flight level. And it was as if we were flying straight into this wall.

When your single-engine plane with a dozen seats lands in Lukla, you too seem to be flying into a wall. But not the one on the horizon, but a very specific one. And then you can watch how the Nepalese rummage through the engine of the plane on which you will take off in five minutes. That's impressive too.

By the way, I’ll warn you about the legitimate question from the male half: “how are the women?” Overall - terrible. Almost everything in Nepal, from the Loggia to the local airline, bears a name, as they say, with a local flavor: “Yeti Loggia”, “Everest Inn” or “Buddha Airlines”. In any combination and sequence. So, the most beautiful local girls hand out candy in the single-engine planes of these same Yeti Airlines. This, and with folded palms, saying “namaste” is their only duty on board. Well, you still have to make sure that the white gentleman doesn’t hit his high forehead on the low opening of the front door. Yes, yes, even on this plane there is a flight attendant. However, there is almost more plaster on them than on Kumari herself.

But, surprisingly, driving through the villages, I saw very beautiful, European-beautiful faces of the girls. Everything else, of course, is no good: crooked legs, flat torsos. Apparently poor nutrition. But if you feed them for a couple of generations, then perhaps it won’t even be that bad.

This is where many may think that I am somewhat arrogant. But, believe me, when the money on your card suddenly runs out, you stop feeling like a “white sahib” and immediately become closer to the people.

Our permits are green. This suggests that we are walking without a guide. Without a local guide. Most Europeans and Anglo-Saxons have blue permits. And when they saw us, they were always surprised: “No porter? No guide?

For some reason they are, for the most part, taller. But this is not the main sign by which they can be distinguished from our brother (here by “ours” I mean the entire former “scoop”). Ours and the Poles can be seen from afar - we carry our own backpacks. Because we are greedy. Porter costs $10-15 per day. And civilized foreigners carry small backpacks with a camera and a bottle of water. Everything else in the form of a huge trunk is carried by porter. They and the yak caravans also carry all supplies to the loggias located higher up the trail. They are, in a sense, porters. Not white sahibs, of course.

Porter is a small Nepalese weighing about fifty kilograms, and carrying about the same weight. Often this is a huge basket with a strap draped over the porter's forehead. Many people have t-shaped sticks. They lean on them when walking or place them under a basket while resting.

Kirill obliged us to take photographs with us from Kyiv. But in Kathmandu it turned out that our permits already had photographs of some European-looking people pasted into them. The fact is that for Nepalese we all look the same. Unexpected, right? Therefore, our photos will be used for permits for the next group. In addition, usually at the checkpoint only an instructor with a stack of documents squeezes through to the window.

Already at the first cordon, the local guard asked us: “No porter? No guide? And he unexpectedly added in Russian: “So what now?”

It appeared as we sat on low wooden benches along a table covered with a tablecloth and prepared to dine. It flew right over our heads, and its black leathery wings literally touched my standing hair.

But it seemed like it was only me who was worried. The owners of the loggia, as if nothing had happened, continued to serve dishes, and my friends pretended that there was nothing special about it. This was our first overnight stop in the mountains of Nepal on the day we just arrived in Lukla and walked a little along the road towards Namche.

The owners decided to drive the bat out only when they saw that the white sahib was waving a folder with a menu over his head and could not eat. Oh, this could be a good shot for a vampire movie.

Here's some more horror. Hannibal's mask on the face of our guide Kirill. By the way, this is also the answer to the question of those going to those places about how to dress there.

On the second day after arriving in Namche, a radial trip to Kumjung and an acquaintance with the Yeti scalp were planned. How's the radial? Namche is at an altitude of 3400 m, and Kumjung with a scalp is at an altitude of 3900 m somewhere. But, on the other hand, this is the same scalp that is shown in all documentaries about Yeti and other paranormal phenomena. Fans of this business spend their entire lives hunting for artifacts and wanting to see UFOs.

You ask this guy:

-Have you seen a UFO?

“No,” he answered honestly.

“And I saw the Yeti’s scalp,” I will boast.

The scalp is kept in a small monastery. In general, monasteries in Nepal are not at all monumental. At the time of our arrival, the only keeper of the scalp, who is also the local lama, had gone to lunch. Upon his return, he willingly agreed to show his scalp. I asked for a small donation. And he opened something like a large iron cabinet.

As we left, we debated for some time: is this a real scalp or not? And if it is such a relic, why is it not guarded more carefully? It’s not clear whether someone researched it or not? They say that this thing is one hundred percent ancient. But most likely an ancient fake, made from bear skin.

“Question,” I thought. “Was there really such a hype for Yeti in ancient times, or maybe the best way to protect yourself from potential artifact hunters is to declare that it is a fake?”

Again, such a scalp is a great investment. How many ringing rupees did he earn from gullible pale faces?

As Kirill Yasko correctly noted: “a girl on a hike does not allow a man to smear snot on her face.” What am I talking about? Here's what it's all about.

Does everyone know the symptoms of “altitude sickness”? This is roughly what we were told at a lecture in the village of Machermo, where we arrived a couple of days after leaving Namche Bazar. A medical center for porters and tourists is located in Machermo. There are a lot of campaigns there so that the pale-faces do not torture their porters and treat them like people. Or almost like to people. After all, they also suffer from altitude sickness.

Having nothing better to do, we went to a lecture at this center. The lecture is, of course, in English. And there I saw her for the first time.

She is an American or Canadian tourist with a beautiful face and traces of the good work of overseas dentists. In general, she made an impression on me, who at that time had not seen even the slightest attractive women for a long time. If there were any other advantages, you couldn’t see them behind your hiking clothes. It turns out that many groups are walking along the route. And you periodically meet the same people in loggias or just on the trail, with whom you move at approximately the same pace. We subsequently saw their group more than once.

I'll anticipate the questions - there was nothing. After all, I was deprived of my main weapon - my tongue. I'm talking about knowledge of English. Or rather, about my poor knowledge of him, which prevents me from showing all my eloquence. Who thought what?

But on the plane from Geneva to Rome, I took a small step forward. No, I didn't know English better. I just became a little braver. But it all ended as it began. I put my hand luggage in the compartment above the seats. But not above mine, since the utensils necessary for the stewards’ work were located above me, but above the next one. Some Italian lady decided to put her suitcase there. Having first pulled out my backpack.

- Whoa, whoa! – I was indignant.

As it should be, not recognizing me as a foreigner, she began to babble in her own way. I answered as usual in such cases. But her pretty daughter translated her mother’s wish:

- Could you put your bag under your seat (Can you put your bag under the seat)?

I was not ready for such manipulation. The landing continued, and I was already suffering from the fact that there was nowhere to put my legs. But I saw how the flight attendant found a place somewhere in the middle of the cabin for the bag of a passenger who was one of the last to enter.

- Maybe you can find place for my luggage too (Maybe you can find a place for my luggage)? – I asked a steep-hipped Italian stewardess with hot brown eyes.

- Why did you refuse your place (Why did you refuse your place)? – she smiled as we walked with my backpack to the center of the fuselage.

“Girls (women)…,” I sighed.

And then she served drinks. I agreed to drink tea, although I had to pay as much as 3 euros. She warned me to be careful not to spill it. And, of course, when she moved the cart to the next row of chairs, I awkwardly yanked the plastic lid of the cup, and boiling water splashed right on her leg. The flight attendant squealed and rushed somewhere towards the toilet. When she emerged a few minutes later, I said, trying to put on my sweetest smile:

- I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! (I'm really sorry!)

But from the look of the brown eyes, from which professional concern had disappeared somewhere, I realized that I was not forgiven.

About five thousand meters. In fact, their significance in the Himalayas is somewhat leveled. There are such mountains all around that Elbrus would seem like a hill. So, on the way to Gorakshep, Cyril waved his hand towards the large white mountain and said: “This is Kala Pathar. We'll go there tomorrow. 5645 m. It has a good view of Everest.” My legs were already giving way. How to get there?! The mountain looks scary steep.

“Oh, you don’t understand,” Kirill corrected me. – Kala Pathar is that brown hill below. And this white mountain is the seven-thousander Pumori.

And before that there was a climb to Gokyo-Ri 5360 m. It is considered one of the observation platforms on Everest, which we have already more or less clearly seen from the fifth lake of the same name (Gokyo).

Here, at the top, there is a huge pile of flags with prayers and Japanese tourists who rose after us. So, to the question about colleagues...

When, on the way back, I realized that we were about to arrive in Lukla, and there was no need to save the charge of my mobile phone (after all, charging costs money in the loggias), I turned it on to player mode. Metallica started playing, then December and away we go. Or rather, I rushed.

“You didn’t expect it?!” Of course, because I usually walk quite slowly. Everyone knows this. Here in Nepal, on a flat surface, I even galloped for unloaded porters for some time. That is quite fast. And here, near Lukla, it’s almost a plain. Lungs full of oxygen. Life is behind us at five thousand. In short, I blew it up so much that I surprised myself. Moreover, he actually danced and jumped, pushing off the ground with sticks. And so on until the “airport”.

And tourists who had just landed walked towards me. So clean. The faces are sleek. Leg warmers. At first I didn’t understand: why? It's hot here and there's no snow. Then they explained: so as not to get the socks dirty. Damn!

Grandmothers walked towards them with porters. One was caught lame. And I am dirty, sweaty, my face chapped. The cap, like a papakha, moved jauntily to the back of the head. And all these grandmothers, these lame ones - THEY ERASE OUR FEAT!

When we walked, it was HARD for all of us. A week or so at five thousand. Even if they are “southern” ones. And when Japanese old ladies climb Gokyo-Ri, a special porter carries two huge thermoses of tea for them, so that they have something to drink there at the top.

I might be accused of not providing enough technical details. So, to increase interest, it’s worth “throwing shit at the fan” a little - adding hard-hitting details. Something I don't usually do.

Did I mention that a miner overtook us in Namche? The plane brought us to about 2800 m, then we descended, then rushed to Namche 3400 m, then another radial for the Yeti’s scalp. At least Marina’s words about the fact that these mountains are minus 1000 m compared to the northern hemisphere again erode our feat. But at night I woke up in a state strongly reminiscent of the flu. Fever, headache and hellish dryness.

I drank the entire contents of my small thermos. In the darkness I found Kirill’s thermos and emptied it. But this was not enough. So when I more or less recovered, I went and bought myself a new large thermos here in Namche, which I carry around to this day.

So this is about shit in the literal sense. In the morning it turned out that Sasha, perhaps the strongest elk among us, suffered even more. He was poisoned by something and completely weakened. Here it was decided to rest for another day in Namche and hire one porter for all of us, so that he would carry Sasha’s and my things.

But it's not just about altitude sickness. When you spend so much time in relatively difficult conditions with the same people, they gradually begin to irritate you. Yes, I was a bad boy.

So, in order to get to the trek to Base Camp from the Gokyo lakes by the shortest route, you need to take the Chola pass 5330 m. And it was not easy. The fact is that the entire ascent takes place over large boulders, when there is no opportunity to mince little by little. You have to take long steps or even jump. At times I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my mouth. It’s good that we managed to tag along with the Scottish tourists who were led by a guide. After all, following someone is always easier.

By the way, the descent from the pass was almost the only place covered with ice. Except for the moraine. And the next day it covered our porter.

Here you need to understand that porters and sherpas are not the same thing. Porters are a profession. And the Sherpas are a tribe. Moreover, it is very privileged. We heard that the place for the loggia in Namche, where we spent the night, was bought by the Sherpa tribe for seven million dollars. They are usually conductors. They don't carry things around. And, as a rule, more Mongoloid Tibetans. Ours seemed to be an ordinary guy from the valley. He looked like an Indian - a European face, only dark.

When I watched the Discovery movie “Everest beyond the Limit,” it showed how a young Sherpa died of altitude sickness at Base Camp. You are also reminded of the danger by rescue helicopters, which every now and then fly overhead, urgently bringing someone down. No one is safe.

And then our little friend suddenly squatted down, making him look like a bird. In English he knew only two words: rest and go (“rest” and “go”). Therefore, he showed by signs that he felt bad. We are good hosts. Kirill gave him some kind of pill, and I gave him my down jacket. And you say I'm arrogant! We took our things, the bird came to life and with the words “go rest” (go to rest) was sent to look for a loggia for all of us to spend the night.

It should be noted that the bourgeoisie has a tradition of leaving some of their still quite decent things to the locals after the trek. This is probably why, in addition to two fleeces, which our porter never took off, he was wearing boots that were clearly two or three sizes too big for his feet, and after recovery, he did not immediately give me the terrible-smelling down jacket, apparently believing that it was a gift. And, apparently, for a similar reason, the police in Lukla carry nineteenth-century English rifles.

Those who went to see the movie “Everest” may have noticed the Lukla airport flashed in the frame. So - this is not Lukla! Lukla cannot be confused with anything. The short landing strip begins with a deep abyss and ends with a welcoming wall. Well, or it begins. It depends where you are flying.

And at the end of the trek, we were in a hurry to return there, since we had already heard that planes were not flying due to bad weather. And there are two options - or wait for the weather “window”. But it’s not a fact that it will happen. Or go on foot “to the people,” which should have been five days if you walked very quickly.

In general, Lukla was seething! Due to the impossibility of flying, a lot of people gathered here. Many have already “wasted” their air tickets to their homeland. Some hired rescue helicopters for exorbitant amounts of money, and they brought them down. But most were jostling in lines outside airline offices trying to check in for their flights. It was in this line that we met her...

Kirill and I approached the crowd of people. He invited me to take a turn, and he intended to go knock at another office. I complained loudly: it’s not clear who’s behind it and what? Because I’m already used to the fact that no one understands Russian. But then a tall girl responded and said that I would follow her. The girl's name was Masha.

While we were waiting, she told me her story.

On the Internet, Masha found a travel companion for a trip to Nepal. They went to Base Camp together. Then he climbed Island Peak, which she could not climb. Then we returned here. But here there are queues, and it’s not at all clear when the flight is leaving. The man freaked out and walked downstairs. She couldn't keep up with him. It's scary to go alone. I had to go back. And he moved on. And here she is, in line.

“This is somehow unmanly,” I thought. In addition, it turned out that she barely speaks English. In general, some of us had an instinct (perhaps the most ancient and correct of those that allowed us to survive as a species) - to protect the female! I wanted to take patronage. True, it soon became clear that Masha is not one of those infantile ladies for whom not knowing the language is a problem. But instinct is instinct.

Then people began to line up. I fought off Masha, who pushed forward. I tried to get through to her, but some English speaker reasonably asked: “Which one?” On your own, of course. I quickly found something to answer. He pointed his finger at Masha and said “my wife”!

The next day, at the very least, we flew out of Lukla. We had a couple of days left and decided to go to the Chitwan Nature Reserve.

The road from Kyiv to Kathmandu and back goes through Sharjah (UAE) and the Air Arabia check-in counter. In both directions it is better to take seats on the starboard side. When flying from Kyiv, you can see Ararat from this side. On the way back, I saw Elbrus through the window.

The most affordable option involves a nine-hour (it seems) wait for a transfer. And Sharjah is still that Babylon. Kirill recommended sleeping, but how can you fall asleep when Arabs in white burnouses walk freely around you, smartly dressed shawarma sellers, mustachioed Hindus, miniature Nepalese and almost our own, Soviet Muslim Uzbeks scurrying around you, making the Hajj to Mecca?

And here are European faces! The whole family: mom, dad, children. And everyone is so huge and sleek. Gold chains as thick as a finger, signet rings. As I say, lard with milk. I expected to hear Russian speech, but I heard a fragment of a conversation: “Tato, give me five bucks for a hamburger!”

It’s no wonder that when a black man approached me near the reception desk and said “hi!”, I said nothing. I thought it seemed. But he was persistent and half an hour later we were eating together at some eatery. I found out that his name is Ken, he is from Kenya and is returning to Ukraine to continue his studies at KhAI. Hence the passable Russian.

Nice guy. He called me to come and visit Kilimanjaro.

But in general, during a transplant you need to keep your eyes open. The flight may not be announced. I myself saw how some mustachioed guy walked around and shouted at people to check in for a certain flight. And our gate was changed several times even when we were lining up at the next doors. We found out that his number had changed almost by accident, following a crowd of Nepalese.

Did I mention that they are some kind of Asian guest workers? That's why there are a lot of them here. And, of course, we are almost the only white people on the Sharjah-Kathmandu flight. But from Kyiv there are only ours on the plane. To be honest, I don’t quite understand why they fly to the UAE to sunbathe? Each emirate has its own policy regarding the level of compliance with Sharia law. Somewhere harder, somewhere softer. But on board the flight attendant clearly announced: they don’t serve food and they forbid us to drink. Moreover, if already in the emirate they “burn” that the tourist is under the influence, they can punish him.

That didn’t stop the passengers behind me from starting to rustle bags from duty free as soon as the plane took off from the runway. After the slant-eyed stewardess reprimanded them, they didn’t even think about stopping clinking glasses. To the repeated remark, they objected that this was tea, and did she really not understand English at all, or what? And this is unfair, since it seems that these girls are from completely different Asian countries. And I myself heard how they even discussed their sexual problems among themselves in English.

The story is coming to an end. Finally! What else? Food. Nepalese drink masala tea. This is tea with spices. It is advisable to drink it with milk. As for the national food, I tried “dolbat” - boiled rice with something like a vegetable stew and lentil soup. All this needs to be mixed and eaten with your hands.

And then we flew home, where there is a gray sky and gray faces of pale faces.