Yak Toilets from Mount Everest

Resting up for the night, we collapsed in the lounge area and huddled round the wood-burner to keep warm. The young women living and working in the lodges would rush in with big smiles on their faces throwing chunks of wood into the fire. 

Stephanie Marshall

And so it began: Seatbelt fastened and ready to fly on a tiny propeller plane belonging to Skyline Airways, I greeted our smiley air stewardess as she checked our seatbelts, then offered each of the 12 passengers a sweet and two bits of carefully wrapped cotton wool buds for our ears. "Plane noisy" she explained. No kidding I thought two minutes after takeoff. Our 45-minute flight from Kathmandu to Lukla encompassed wonderful clear views of the Himalayas if you sat on the left. I was sitting on the right, but as I was almost inside the cockpit, I managed to sneak a look through the front window. Landing was a hair-raising experience as the runway was nowhere to be seen until three seconds before touchdown.

We felt the drop in temperature almost immediately as we’d flown up to 2,800 metres, a climb of 1,500m from the Kathmandu Valley. My trekking guide Ramoo (Ram Bdr. K.C) and I found somewhere to sit in the sun and take breakfast before the start of our 8-day ascent to the base camp. In the adjacent café, three English guys – Richard, Richard and Simon – were eating porridge, sipping sweet Nepali tea, and talking with their guide, the eccentric Ang Babu Sherpa. As our guides were already acquaintances, the six of us decided to team up and trek together for the next two weeks. As we set off we noticed the whirr of a mountain rescue helicopter flying overhead. "Give us a lift up to base camp and we’ll walk down!" Richard called out. Simon and himself were employed as helicopter engineers in the UK so knew how to drive the things if it came to it. The other, Richard, a carpenter, was too busy looking in disbelief at mountain porters walking past us, carrying huge piles of wood, even whole doors, up the mountain. They get paid according to the weight of the loads they carry, 60 or 70 kilos in some cases, whether it be 20 boxes of beer for the thirsty consumer or tourists’ backpacks.

Our trek could be divided into two distinct parts scenically. Below the treeline at 4,000m we could have been forgiven for thinking we were somewhere in the Swiss alps – thick pine forests, waterfalls and the jangling of bells. It was only when a huge traffic jam of yaks and their loads would appear round the corner we would be brought back to the Himalayas with a bump. Above the trees and clouds nothing really grows (except potatoes apparently) and the terrain is incredibly sparse. At times we felt as if we were traipsing breathlessly around on a remote planet.

Ramoo and Ang Babu went into a small office to show our passes for Sagarmatha National Park, Sagarmatha being the Nepalese word for the Mt. Everest itself and translating literally as "Goddess of the Skies". The entrance was simply an archway with warning notices about the systems of AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) and what to do if afflicted. "Descend, Descend, Descend", it warned.

Our first major port of call was Namche Bazaar, capital of the Solu Khumbu region. At 3,480m we spent a night and the following day here acclimatising: Unfortunately we arrived too late to catch the famous Saturday market, as the only stall still open had an old man snoozing in a corner, selling bottles of Everest Whiskey and other useful consumer items such as plastic Buddhas or woollen Tibetan hats. We bought a hat each, then found a mini-market next to our lodge and bought some mars bars, a real luxury item at £1.20 a bar. We also purchased a small bottle of local rum, some pineapple juice and some coconut juice in advance of the imminent Bisket Jatra Festival or Nepali New Year. Ramoo and AngBabu didn’t seem to agree on when New Year actually fell but came to the conclusion it must be the 14th or 15th April. I suppose we could always leave our pina colada mix for base camp instead.

Resting up for the night, we collapsed in the lounge area and huddled round the wood-burner to keep warm. The young women living and working in the lodges would rush in with big smiles on their faces throwing chunks of wood into the fire. At much higher altitudes we weren’t so privileged and had to burn yak dung to keep warm instead. We shared our lodge with an enthusiastic French group who were sitting around laughing as they uploaded pictures from their digital cameras onto laptops. I was astounded to notice that at least 2 members of this team were disabled; one having climbed to base camp with one leg. The other was wheelchair-bound, so I have no idea how he managed to get up there. We spent New Year’s Eve climbing near Namche, hiking up to the infamous Everest View Hotel, a Japanese run place charging over £70 a night, but extra for oxygen! A team of Japanese tourists typically flew in by helicopter to almost 4,000m, trekked for a day or so with out any time for acclimatising, then helicopter out again. (Not without taking a few snap shots of the big mountain of course). We also saw a hospital and high school funded by the Edmund Hillary Foundation.

The next few days took us through a succession of villages, all with the suffix boche, or village. Tengboche, Pangboche, Dingboche, Syangboche. We slept in tea houses, small lodges built from stone and wood with their brightly painted blue roofs. Each lodge featured a corridor of small bedrooms on each of the 2 or 3 floors, very basic but cosy. The lounge always featured a woodburner in the centre, where trekkers would sit around eating yak steak or buffalo burgers, playing cards and comparing Everest stories. Outside there was a solar powered shower if we were very lucky. Otherwise a small hut where we could carry some hot water for washing, a bargain at 50 rupees (60p) a bucket. As for the toilet, it was miles away; about 50 to 100 metres from the lodge - most irritating when nature called in the middle of the night and the only things I could make out with my head torch were the horns of a yak parked outside it.

The four of us managed to escape the worst symptoms of AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness or Altitude Sickness). Some trekkers we met had suffered partial paralysis, loss of speech and severe headaches. They had to be carried down to a lower altitude by yaks on a stretcher. Not being so afflicted, we had to make with severe headaches and regular nosebleeds. Each morning spent above 4,500m we woke up at 5am (our normal waking hours were 5am-9pm) and greeted with headaches so painful we felt as though someone was drilling a hole through our temples. Reaching for the aspirin, our guides intervened with a steaming bowl of garlic soup, which alleviated the symptoms almost straight away. As a thinner of the blood, everyone up here swears by it. By mid morning I began to feel almost human again, although the lack of oxygen made walking even a short distance a struggle. The intensity of the midday sun and the sharp wind took their toll on our already exhausted selves, and we had to remember to put on our factor 35 face cream as we got closer to our maximum altitude.

Day 2 into our headaches, a week and nearly 3,000m after flying into Lukla we set out from Gorak Shep, our highest night’s accommodation and starting point for the Everest Marathon race, and began our final 300m climb across rocks and glaciers to Base Camp (5,545m – 17,600 ft). Although it was only 2 miles away as the crow flies, it was almost 3pm by the time the multi-colored expedition tents and Buddhist prayer flags at the foot of Mount Everest appeared in our binoculars, nearly four hours after we set out.

After celebrating with photographs and cocktails, we met up with two Texans who showed us around the campsite pointing out the different expeditions; the North Face, National Geographic, a Korean team climbing to promote the World Cup, etc etc. Teams usually spend around a month at base camp, and four camps on Everest itself, to acclimatise. Then they made their summit bid during May. The Nepalese government charges each expedition group around $70,000 plus a further $10,000 per person to attempt Everest, and then there is only a 25% chance of success. The Texans obviously had too much time and money on their hands as that they were going for their 2nd or 3rd summit attempt. More than delighted to touch the bottom of the tallest mountain on earth, it seemed beyond comprehension to even think about climbing two and a half vertical miles above us.

Mission accomplished and physical selves exhausted we made a rapid descent to Lukla for our return flight to Kathmandu, and on being offered rooms on the 3rd floor of the guesthouse, we protested saying "We’ve just climbed 160 miles in under two weeks. Don’t you have anything on the ground floor instead?" Ramoo and Ang thrust two cans of warm cans of San Miguel beer in each of our hands as a reward, and we all passed out in the living room in front of a yak dung fire.

MIRACLES around the world

By Suvecha Pant 

I think that this is the prefect time for all of us to start realising the value of those things we have previously taken for granted. One of such ‘things’ are miracles. Our lives are so full of unrest that the everyday wonder of life has been swept away by the waves towards an ocean of forgetting. Sadly, there are only handfuls that take a pause in our lives to think about these miracles and give them gratitude.

However, now that there is instability around us it is necessary to take a moment and begin to appreciate the many miracles surrounding our lives. Perhaps, this will be a way to bring some of those long lost smiles on our faces again.? Each morning we awake to the warmth of the sunshine that heals our past wounds and helps start a new day with fresh enthusiasm but few thank this miracle. Start to appreciate this morning sun and its warmth. Think miracles to be like the morning sun, a ray of sunshine small yet powerful. It touches the hearts of people bringing them together. All humanity are bonded together in a web of miracles.

On Monday mornings, we always wish for a miracle so we did not have to go to work or school. The phone rings and someone tells you that you have won the lottery, or just inherited a fortune from your long lost aunt, that is a miracle is not it?. When we are in trouble or our love one is sick, we find ourselves relying on miracles to help us. We call on a supernatural power that is above our reach. A mystic power we cannot explain. Sometimes, calling upon this power brings a solution to all our problems.

In the spring as the snow starts to melt one gets to see the beautiful mountains that surrounds the valley from our rooftop. To me, this is the most beautiful miracle and the feeling while looking at this splendid sight cannot be explained. The world suddenly becomes a beautiful place full of peace and for a moment. Everyone and everything goes out of focus and I find myself in heaven. During those moments I feel I shared a secret with the earth.

Even the first flower that blooms after a long winter is a miracle for it brings back the happiness in the surroundings that the gloomy winter had swept away. This beautiful flower brings hope for the new season giving us the confidence by reminding us to try our best once more.

So, isn’t it justifiable that next time one feels down or just sick and tired of life to look for such miracles. Miracles give one the energy to live life to the fullest. A remedy that each of us needs to try. Just think of the birth of a child, one of the most precious wonders of this world. The new child carries with it the innocence and purity of birth. Each time life starts and the first breath is taken, a new generation, a new life is created bringing on joys to our lives. Most of us find a smile on our faces when we see a small child.

The other day I asked a child what he thought a miracle was. The answer was so simple that I began to think where all that childhood innocence had gone. To him a miracle was not to be caught by his mother as he stole sugar from the kitchen. I asked a man the same question and he replied that for him it was a miracle getting to work everyday on time, making enough money to support his family and still having time to spend with his children. I approached an old man barely able to walk and he said that to him a miracle was life. The man found waking up each morning, smelling the fresh air, seeing the flowers in the garden and being able to listen to the birds singing miracles. However, if one thinks about it. do we fully realise how precious and unique life is? Do we all realise that life is also a miracle? But then, if life were a miracle, would it not be a real miracle not to kill a child or adult? If we did not murder? If we did not kill innocent people in senseless battles? What kind of miracle would need to take place in order for this to stop? Do we need to wait for a major miracle to stop all these? Is it right to pray for a big miracle to put an end to all the unrest around us? Perhaps change can happen in the smallest form possible. Well for a start, we can start looking at each other with warmth, friendship and compassion.

These three words although small are miracles in themselves and together can make a difference. These are the three words that make us humans. As we have seen, miracles can vary from small things found in everyday life to large unexplainable events.

Like when you have accomplished something you thought was never possible like full marks on a test. Of course, it is mainly because of your own effort but isn’t there a little bit of luck involved?. We believe miracles to have connections with how good/bad we were in our past lives. It is said that in this life we have to live the consequences of our past. Astrology says the miracles are because of the stars of each individual, which is said to map out our lives. Each miracle is said to be already embedded into our future and that it is just a matter of time before they occur.

Whatever the case, adding up all these ‘miracles’ enables us to see the whole picture of the world. We begin to appreciate life. A miracle is like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Each piece, although different form the rest, fits together and eventually forms a portrait of life. It is from the time of birth to when you die that each piece in the form of a miracle is being placed in its right spot.

Venice on a Vaporetto

By Achyut Bhattarai

Venice, often regarded, as the most romantic city in the world is unique in many ways. Venice comprises of hundred and seventeen small islands. These islands of lagoon are intricately connected and separated with each other by four hundred bridges and a hundred and fifty canals.

Interestingly, there are no cars in Venice for public transportation. One can choose to explore umpteen of Venice’s long, narrow and winding streets a pedi. Alternately one can wander along its many canals on pricey Gondolas; cheaper option, of course, is the Vaporetti (water buses).

A vaporetto ride along the Grand Canal is a must. It reveals Venetian homes, hotels, palaces, prisons and churches, all in different Gothic, Rococo, Renaissance, and Moorish styles.

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