Aloha Chile!

I know now that this surrender was bound to happen. The surrender of expectation, and meticulousness, of planning and perfection. My life has become magnified these last three and a half months by the random encounters, the gut instinct and the beauty of impulse. As such, I find myself this morning eating a Geisha chocolate from Doha airport's duty free and people watching from my balcony in Santiago, Chile. Just spectacular.

I was first introduced to Geisha chocolate in 2009 at Mackenzie's wedding. For four long years, I have sought them out, but sadly, I accepted they could only be found in Finland...but then! The Doha Duty Free. So yes, I consumed 2500 (that's right, 2500) calories of chocolate in my 48 hour journey. Gross...but lovely.

It all started when I returned to Kathmandu following my Everest trek, and discovered an email from Michael. He was potentially traveling to Chile for a month long cultural immersion over the holidays. It took about two seconds for everything to come halfway together in my mind. At that point, I was without any long term plans, and was just considering the yoga retreat. Heading into my ten days of meditation, chanting, yoga and meeting some of the most incredible people yet in my travels (more to come later...), I had the the bud of a South American idea in my mind.

After only wearing giant green Solomans for weeks, I opted for another pair of walking shoes...the ever classy black Converse low tops.

Emerging from my no-wifi cocoon at the tail end of the retreat, I had fallen in love with the idea of a South American tour. And, I am ready in my heart to spend some real time with Michael. To bring together, and repair some of what we have lost in our years of separation and long distance. We are two changed people from where we were at 24 living and loving in San Diego. Life is possibility, it is change, and as Bipin from Sadhana told us, "happiness is a birthright." So I am here, and happiness followed.

After almost exactly 48 hours of travel, 3 flights (6, 19 and 2 hours respectively), six movies, airport strolls for an 8 hour layover in Doha, then a 10 hour layover in a Buenos Aires, and I am here. Whew. And yet, the journey really did seem to fly by. 

One of the most egregious misprints I have ever seen. 

I miss Nepal already. And Spain, and Italy. I miss my beautiful friends, old and new. But I am not sad. I have seen and experienced, and I know in my heart that I will return to these places. And that I will laugh and chant with my friends again. Truth.

New amigas!

Way back friends.

Familia! So many incredible people in my life...I love you all! Does travel make you even more sentimental?

Tonight, Michael and I are taking a 12 hour bus ride south Puerto Montt. We have a week to play before starting Spanish lessons in Mendoza, Argentina on Monday. The holidays with a person I love, in the sunshine heat of the Southern Hemisphere. 

Day 15 (November 26, 2013) - Tengboche (3870) to Namche Bazar (3420m)

Trekking in the Himalayas is not straightforward. When ascending towards the pass or base camp, we were struggling ever upwards, but each day we sadly lost deserved elevation on downhills, only to slowly regain all we lost and more to reach our destination for the day. The reverse is true when descending. Up and down, only precious few sections of flat, and we are constantly tilting this way and that in the challenge of trekking. How so very different than El Camino!

Everest and Ama Dablam views.

Today was a prime example of this classic Himalayan walking. Although by the end of the day we had descended 450m from Tengboche, we ascended over 350m during the course of a long, steep, switchbacking hill, so we actually descended much more. As such, Em and I were fairly exhausted when we rolled into familiar Namche Bazar for a late lunch. Despite the grueling effort, the walk was expectedly beautiful, with numerous crossings of the Dudh Kosi river, and our first suspension bridge crossing since the first few days of our trek. 

Em is such a pro.

Spending a few hours meandering through Namche, stopping to regard all kinds of Himalayan shopping, both kitschy and unique, we enjoyed the slow pace. Reveling in my first real shower in days, it pained me to have to put on my not-once-cleaned trekking clothes afterwards. 

Namche!

Seized again with a drive for baked goods, Em and I headed out after dinner to Namche Bakery for more deliciousness. 

I broke down and got pizza.

And this...

Tomorrow is our last day of trekking. We are heading all the way back to Lukla in order to fly back to Kathmandu the morning of the 28th. Our guidebook regards tomorrow's knee-crunching descent of almost 1000m to be the one of the most challenging days of the trek. I highly doubt it will compare to the mental anguish of the days proceeding Cho La, but I recognize tomorrow will present its own challenges, as every day has. It is surreal to think our days of shouldering our mochilas and setting out into this beautiful wild are over. 

But I know, it is clear, that someday I will be back...

Day 14 (November 25, 2013) - Dingboche (4360m) to Tengboche (3870m)

The first couple of hours of walking today were simply perfect. A narrow trail, banking downwards to the humming, then roaring Imja Khoka river, and stunning backdrops of Ama Dablam. We started the morning in Dingboche with chapati, essentially soft matzo, that we regretted almost immediately as our stomachs rumbled soon after setting out. We descended continually towards the river until we are able to cross it on a wooden bridge. We are now below the treelike, and instead of walking through snow, it feels more like a valley of forests. Our quiet, mellow and relatively short walk today was capped off by a steep hill into Tengboche, where we fell upon lunch like a pair of yetis.

Finally Em's miraculous self control against all things junk food is beginning to crack. While I have been happily snacking on Victoriabaking brownies and cake, chocolate bars and maple almond butter, Em has stuck to non-chocolate trail mix and granola bars. But the speed and consistency of movement with which we are walking downhill, the weight of our packs and dwindling snacks has driven Em to French fries, and for the first time today...bakeries!

The bakeries in Namche and other lower villages are something worth writing home about, and today we experienced our first taste. Following lunch we headed to Tengboche Bakery and proceeded to make ourselves uncomfortably full on cake and pie. Lounging on sunny picnic tables for two hours, life feels delicious and simple. 

Tengboche with views of Everest and Ama Dablam in the background.

The Tengboche monastery.

Wandering through the famous Tengboche monastery, learning about ecological efforts in the Khumbu valley in the attached Eco Center, the swell of trekkers through this part of the world is brought into focus. Since trekking has become increasingly popular, so have the problems wrought by tourism been increased. Inefficient and polluting energy sources, litter and garbage choking wildlife, abuse of porters and the environment. Green saviors have initiated education and sustainment projects in various villages throughout the Himalayas to target trekkers like myself. We have been given everything we have asked for on this trek, a testimonial to Bishnu's ability...but should it be so easy to receive what we demand? Have we been properly thinking through the consequences of boiling water, eating whatever and whenever we please? Education is where the change can happen.

Photos were not allowed during the chanting, but here is the beautiful (but freezing) room where you can be swept to another world.

Running into Hilary, a young Canadian who we have bumped into quite a few times on the trek, she and I headed to the chanting session at the Buddhist monastery. Seating ourselves on the ground prior to the ceremony, we couldn't have had any idea the intensity that was in store for us. Along with about thirty other trekkers and guides, we watched as a line of monks streamed in, taking their assigned seats throughout the room. First draping themselves with robes of deep maroon, they stepped up and seated themselves cross legged on hard wooden benches. Waves of voices began to mount upwards, some deep and monotone, others higher with slight lilts. Suddenly the sound of the monks' voices were punctured by the sound of instruments. I could feel the electricity of the chanting coursing through me, my heart beating in time, as my pumping adrenaline heightening the intensity of the sound. A high clarinet-sounding instrument alternating between two notes, a gong thumping and pushing shock waves around the room, a deep horn (part didgeridoo, part tuba) blasting loud, pounding notes. It was at times frantic, and then suddenly soothing. Undoubtedly, I could not remain unmoved by the scene. 

Snacks?

The 90 minute session was near constant chanting. A younger monk ran throughout the room handing out a strange collection of food (popcorn, cookies, prawn chips, hard candy etc.) to the other monks, which they saved and later bundled up to eat at a different time. Slowly, the cold and hard ground took its toll on the weary trekkers, and they slipped from the room. When only four spectators remained, the young monk shared some popcorn with us. Finally, just Hilary and I remained, totally taken in with this unfamiliar religious experience. It was beautiful and haunting, and I couldn't begin to tell you the first thing of what it all meant. I just know it had an effect on mind, body and soul. 

Walking in the gathering darkness of late evening, Hilary and I returned to our guesthouse after the chanting for steaming bowls of soup before sleep. What a wondrous day, sugar and Buddhist chanting...I feel here, now.

Day 13 (November 24, 2013 ) - Gorak Shep (5100m) and Kala Pattar (5545m) to Dingboche (4360m)

It seems that whenever I am required to wake up hours before dawn, a tinge of adrenaline in my blood in expectation, I either wake up continuously throughout the night, anticipating the alarm, or sleep so deeply I don't wake up on time. This morning I was the later. Deep into a vivid elevation dream, Em woke me by whispering my name. Was I going up to Kala Pattar? Looking at my watch, it was 0454, giving me six minutes to get ready and meet Bishnu. Leaping from bed, I tore through the morning routine. Quickly shuffling through our freezing room, putting on cold, truly gross trekking clothes, packing my daypack, and miraculously finding my headlamp in the melee to go to the bathroom down the hall. All the while, the mix of adrenaline and elevation had my breathing coming in great ragged gasps that I couldn't seem to slow down. Grabbing a packet of almond butter to help wash down the Diamox, I was only one minute late in meeting Bishnu. 

My second error of the morning was eating almond butter while extremely congested, at elevation, walking uphill, and without water (it was in my pack, and I wasn't coordinated enough to get it out while scrambling uphill). The sticky butter lodged itself securely in my throat, and only after coughing up a wad of it about twenty minutes into the climb was I able to breath deeply. Lovely, and I know Bishnu appreciated all my throat clearing.

The sun rising over the mountains. Everest is the bright orange peak on the left.

I thanked with each step God that Kala Pattar isn't nearly as steep as Gokyo Ri, although it is still a relentless uphill toil. Ascending the long dirt switchbacks in the dark, I could see a trail of headlamps behind Bishnu and I also making the sunrise journey. Slowly we walked, one foot in front of the other. My progress was slow, but so was everyone's. Breathing deeply, I leaned into the ascent, stretching my calves on the crumble of rocks and snow that fell underfoot. Leveling off on a small flat valley, I still couldn't discern the summit of Kala Pattar. Two massive hills lay to the left and right, but Bishnu said the summit was still concealed. A little overwhelmed at the daunting task of climbing, I called on my mental strength fortified in the last couple of days to tell myself I could do it. That I was doing it. 

Finally the summit revealed itself in the new day, and I could see a rainbow of prayer flags in the upward distance. I let out a great exhale. Oh, it seemed so teasingly far away. How were my legs and lungs going to carry me so far? I looked around me for encouragement. It isn't hard to be inspired in this place. All around me, above me, below, left, right, in my very lungs and beating through my veins, is beauty. The sun was beginning to glow on the mountains, and my heart swelled, even as my breathing felt short. I kept pushing. 

A view from Kala Pattar, Everest flanked by Nuptse and Lotse. The Khumbu glacier runs below. 

Reaching the final stage of climbing, I was grateful for leaving my trekking poles behind, as it was a hands and feet scramble over large black rocks. And as every journey begins with a single step, so does each small journey end and with one final leg burning push, Bishnu and I stood at the top. 

I think my mouth may have fell open as I was presented with a 360 degree panoramic of soaring mountains, glaciers and lakes. The bitter cold, whipped around me as I stamped my feet and clapped my hands to regain feeling in my appendages. The other side of the hill is actually a sheer drop off, thousands of feet down to another converging glacier. Clambering to a higher vantage point, maneuvering around the tangle of prayer flags, I just stared at Everest's south face. Strangely enough, Everest still appears smaller, and frankly, uglier than the mountains around her. While the summit of Everest is brown with a dusting of white snow, Lhotse, Nuptse and Pumori, are soaring, delicate peaks of slender white grace. As a quote from mountain writer Ed Douglas in our trekking book puts it, "Everest is like a grossly fat man in a room full of beautiful women." I wouldn't necessarily go that far, but I am impressed and awed with Everest for its majestic grandeur, it's ability to inspire (me), it's sheer strength in size rather than its beauty. For beauty, I personally think Ama Dablam takes the cake. 

The crown of Everest above me.

Spending 25 bone chilling glorious minutes at the top, I reluctantly gave Bishnu the go ahead to make our descent. I was standing at 18,187 feet, having worked and strained and struggled to get there. All around the Himalayas proudly poured forth, Everest coolly surveying everything below her. How could I walk away from this? Only with a heavy heart. So much went into to achieving this personal triumph, and I shall never, ever forget it. The Himalayas...

Descending quickly what took so long to gain, we met Em for breakfast before our breakneck descent towards Dingboche. Setting off at an unsustainable pace, we retraced our steps to Lobuche, where I nearly collapsed in the dining room of our previous lodge for lunch. Restored following sustenance, and with a non too subtle hint to Em and Bishnu to slow it down a tad, we continued on towards Dingboche. 

"Finisterre" sticker I discovered on a window at Buddha Lodge in Gorak Shep. Fate?

Happy to be healthy, to have achieved and to be heading back down.

Backtracking on the main EBC trail was welcome new scenery, as we passed countless trekkers huffing and puffing towards Gorak Shep. While we were on winged feet, able to descend as quickly as our bodies can handle, those ascending must take it step by grueling step. Were we really just fearing and uncertain before the gauntlet of Cho La a few days ago? The scent of thousands of rhododendron plants filled our senses, inducing a dizzy sensation of walking in a dreamland. 

Yaks ALWAYS have the right of way.

On the crest of a steep climb for those trekkers headed towards Lobuche, is a broad memorial site to the many lives lost in pursuit of Everest. The largest memorial marker and tangle of prayer flags belongs to Babu Chiri Sherpa, a legendary climber who has the fastest ascent time of Everest, and once spent 21 hours on the summit without supplementary oxygen. He died on his 11th attempt. The 1996 Everest disaster, the deadliest year on the mountain is also commemorated with a memorial to guide Scott Fischer. The various trekkers walking amongst broken dreams and tragic losses is a stark reminder of the unforgiving nature of these mountains. Our hearts can be fit to burst with adventurous spirit, but we cannot think ourselves conquerers. Life and Earth is a balance. It is sad to walk amongst these memorial markers, but all of these people dreamed and dared greatly, and so lived life with splendor.

Babu Chiri Sherpa.

After a relentless day of trekking, we finally arrived in Dingboche. From the top of Kala Pattar to Dingboche, I had descended 1,185m. Days of acclimitization and painstaking effort, and we can undo it just like that. We decided to splurge and pay extra and take hot showers. Going after Em, I stood under the lukewarm water for enough time to suds up my hair, before the water flow slowed to a trickle, eventually ceasing all together. Being that the shower was an extension of the dining room, I was forced to finger comb out the shampoo, shivering uncontrollably, until I could put my clothes on and emerge not only still dirty, but also damp. Later when Em revealed that she had washed her hair twice during her Hollywood shower (the reason there was no water left), it took every ounce of humor to laugh about the situation. 

Good thing Em is awesome. Ama Dablam in the background before reaching Dingboche.

Lounging in the dining room of Hotel Family Dingboche, feasting on Sherpa stew and momos, we are embraced with good cheer in our accomplishments. In that amazing mystery of life, that throws up coincidence at all the perfect times, I am meditating upon a quotation by Rene Daumal I randomly received via email the day Em and I crossed Cho La: 

"You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again...So why bother in the first place? Just this: what is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs. One sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art to conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know."

Perfect. 

Day 12 (November 23, 2013) - Lobuche (4930m) to Gorak Shep (5160m) and Everest Base Camp (5340m )

There was a peculiar energy cracking across my eyes as I woke this morning. Today was a day of dreams. I am connecting with the dreams of countless curious and brave and bold souls who long for a connection to grandeur. To stand on top of the world, climbing the great broad back, sloped shoulders, crowned head of the mountain we call Everest. To dare greatly and then to achieve. Yes, today was full of the energy of those dreams, and now Em and I are a part of it.

The walk today to Gorak Shep was the strongest of my entire trek. My feet were winged, my pack inconsequential. Along our route we traced the massive Khumbu glacier. It groaned and shifted, an omnipresent sense of movement on our right side. We covered the distance an hour faster than Bishnu had estimated, and so sat to lunch at Buddha lodge at 11. Covered in a rainbow of flags and t-shirts of past trekking groups, this feels like the coziest of all the lodges we have stayed in. "Veni, vidi, vici." I came, I saw, I conquered.

Khumbu glacier.

With only our small daypack filled with the essentials, we continued along past Gorak Shep towards EBC. River walking, gave way to a narrow ridge, the ever shifting moraine of the Khumbu glacier. We walked along the hump of the ridge, towards an expanse of snowy mountains, Everest prominent in her sky display. As we walked onwards, the brown white peak of Everest slid behind its neighbor, Nuptse. 

Khumbu icefall.

The infamous Khumbu icefall came into focus, it's peaks and crevasses frozen in a seemingly benign cool blueness. I was mesmerized. This place that I had read so much about, imagining what it looked like, the rolls and curves of the frozen ice, like a crashing wave frozen in place. The thrill of delicately balancing on ladders bridged over crevasses, my imagination's idea of crossing the Khumbu icefall all came rushing to me. And there we were, walking ever closer.

Taking a deep breath before arriving.

I could hear EBC before I could see it. Breaking the silence innate to walking in beautiful places, I heard a great joyous cry go up. Looking into the distance, below us and on the a rocky flattop on the glacier, I could see a paint blot of color. A trekking group, brightly clad in windbreakers and Gore-Tex had just reached EBC and were celebrating. We were still a little ways off...but there it was!

Descending down off the ridge, we picked our way across the moraine. The cries getting louder, we turned around a boulder, and the tangle of prayer flags were right before us. Within steps of this place, I halted. Again I felt the collective energy of so many dreams. I imagined a city of tents, of climbers biding their time through acclimatization and the perfect window to attempt the summit. Whether a person reached this place at the end of a journey, or the beginning of one, it is hallowed with belief in ones self. What a magical slash of earth. 

At this moment I felt deeply connected to all the people in my life who have encouraged me to dream. Kate, who inspired the wanderlust of this year, had stood in this spot 4 years earlier, and I felt that connection of friendship and love through the thousands of miles that separate us. And I found this feeling of love was universal. All around me, people were embracing, grinning, laughing. A Japanese man held up a sign, "I LOVE YOU," and had his picture taken in front of the "EVEREST BASE CAMP 2013" mound of tokens, pictures, signs and prayer flags. 

Thirty minutes of heart swelling happiness, we flitted around the base camp, taking pictures from all angles. Everest is only seen as sliver behind Nuptse from this vantage point, but the route to her summit was before us. My mind was reeling, is reeling, with the power of it all.

Victoriabaking almond cake at EBC.

Reluctantly, we crossed back to the ridge and began out ascent and trek back to Gorak Shep. About twenty minutes after leaving base camp, along the ridge, we heard a loud clap and boom. Turning around, we saw a massive avalanche accelerating down the towards the icefall. A mushroom cloud of snow and debris filled the area, racing down the mountain. Growing larger and larger, it engulfed the entire mountain face and came crashing down on the icefall. Whoever was standing at base camp got quite a show (and maybe a mini heart attack). Even from our point, snow flurries swirled around us as the aftermath of the snowy collapse. What drama!

Avalanche!

Arriving back at Buddha Lodge, we settled into the hum of activity and excited voices of the other trekkers. Striking up conversations with the multitude of international trekkers, it felt like a community of adventurers. Em has made the decision to forgo hiking to Kala Pattar in the morning. Exhausted physically and mentally, she is happy with the challenges and successes of our trek, and has opted to rest while Bishnu and I make the climb tomorrow morning. 

Celebration. I will miss her on top of Kala Pattar.

Leaving the warmth of the dining room, and crawling into bed in preparation for a 0430 wake up, my heart is full of contentment. I like the pace of my life, in this moment. It let me realize this wonderful dream, giving me the opportunity to inspire myself through overcoming self doubt. The last push, to the top of Kala Pattar, will be a beautiful finale to this trek.