G'day, Rohan here with today's update. Fortunately we have got the pda working now so we can send updates and receive your messages.

Day 3 - Namche Bazar to Khumjung

This morning, after a hearty brekky of porridge, toast with jam, choccy pancakes, cheese toast [complimented by some imported vegemite], nepalese toast (like a grilled pita bread) and copious pots of lemon tea, milk tea and hot chocolate, we set off up the hill out of Namche, headed for Khungjung. We'd arrived late in the afternoon the day before and, as is so common in the mountains, the tops of the surrounding hills were cloaked in fog. Now, at 8:30 am or so, the skies were clear, revealing those same hills to be fully fledged, ice and snow clad mountains. Our guest house, the "Camp de Base", looked straight out on Kwonde, who weighs in at some 6000+ meters. From Namche, at a mere 3400 meters, Kwonde towers more than 2.5 kms above and takes on a somewhat ghostly, larger than life appearance, particularly in the golden morning sun.


We watched as our trekking bags were sorted by our porters based on weight. The heaviest bags were then loaded onto a "zopku" (a cross between a cow and a yak, bred specifically to cope in the altitude band between where cows and yaks can comfortably exist). [Special mention here must go to Dave D whose bag even made the zopku groan.] The remainder of the bags were then paired up, lashed together to be carried on the back of a porter, secured by a strap over the porter's forehead. The strength and endurance of the Nepalese porters is legendary but it is truly humbling to watch these people power up and down rocky slopes with loads well in excess of 40 kgs that we struggle with, carrying only light daypacks.


As I plodded along the trail, stealing as many glances at the landscape as I dared lest I trip on a rock, or off the edge of a cliff, I was frequently amazed to glance up at the clouds and see part of an icy mountain top suspended in the air above where the sky should rightfully be. The magnitude of these mountains needs to be experienced firsthand to be believed.


As we reached the top of the hill behind Namche,we passed by a aircraft runway that claims to be the
highest in the world (at 3810 m) before reaching the Everest View Hotel (at 3880 m). The plan was to take in views of many of the awe-inspiring peaks (including Everest, Lhotse and Ama dablam) while enjoying a cup of tea / coffee. The weather wasn't ready to cooperate, however, but insisted on teasing us with only fleeting glimpses of the mountains. Reluctantly, as the clouds decided to end the game and block our views entirely, we set off down the hilll to Khumjung where we would spend the night.


After a few pots of tea, we headed out to visit the Hillary School in Khumjung which is still under construction but still impressive. Then we were entertained watching some young kids flying kites made from crossed sticks, wrapped in black plastic. The choice of colored plastic was no accident as a white kite would have been lost completely against low hanging cloud.


After a check of our climbing gear, we made our way through the village to visit the local monastery. On the way we happened a bunch of locals playing cricket on a makeshift pitch. Eager to bond with the locals, we asked if they'd be up for a match. Although these guys clearly demonstrated some decent skills, and had a definite home town advantage, we thought our chances of a win to be fair and we were keen to send the message that us Aussies were a force to be reckoned with when it came to cricket. The fact that the average age of our opponents was probably no more than 4 didn't reduce our conviction in the least. The home team decided to bat first and began racking up an impressive score as we struggled to bowl balls on the pitch, and found it hard to make out the muddy brown colored ball against the muddy brown colored field. Finally we managed to get the home team all out and prepared to chase a 50-something score. After a couple of near outs (due in no small part to poor sighting of the camoflaged ball), we managed to convince the home team to borrow a yellow tennis ball from one of the younger kids playing on the field. As Rich fell for 15, we were on target to teach the locals a thing or two. As I came in to bat, I was made aware of the local rules (bottom field is out, over the close fence is 4, etc.) and was handed the bat. This was a fine speciman, hand-carved from a piece of local timber and probably handed down over generations. I found some early form and was only slightly phased as one of my shots hooked for 4 resulted in a small splinter flying from the bat. My next shot, however, a glorious hook, was overshadowed by the sound of splintering wood as the bat broke in half. For a moment I was stunned as I tried to come up with a culturely-appropriate way of dealing with the situation. I wondered if I should just go with it and casually ask, "So, got another bat?", or perhaps, "Got any glue?" But the looks of shocked horror and dismay on the local kids gave me pause. Fortunately Dave A., thinking quickly on his feet, decided that a diversion was the best course of action and quietly signaled that I should exit stage left while he took up the crease (with the standby bat). Ok, I thought, international incident averted. But not really. Dave started to blast away with gay abandon, smacking 4's and 6's seemingly at will. (Perhaps he was just following his own advice that in our slightly hypoxic state, it was best to avoid actually running.) Dave didn't blink as he cracked shots high up over the fence, never to be found. When he lobbed the last remaining ball, the yellow ball, up into the monastery, the little guy it belonged was clearly distressed. At that point, with a crushing lead, we called the game in our favor. Our efforts to pay for the bat were politely refused and, although we offered to buy some new tennis balls, we were advised that there was nowhere nearby to buy them. (Thankfully, all balls were subsequently retrieved.)


Before dinner, we were treated to afternoon tea at our guide, Ang Nima Sherpa's place and got the chance to meet his family. The highlight of the evening was when each of us was given a ceremonial good luck scarf by Ang Nima's mother. We are to tie these onto our packs as we climb Island Peak and it wiil give us good luck and a safe return.


Day 4: Khumjung to Tengboche

Having been robbed of spectacular views the day before, a bunch of us were very excited to awaken to perfectly clear skies this morning. Before sunrise, we made our way back up to the Everest View Hotel to take some snaps. The views truly lived up to all expectations with fantastic views of Everest, Lhotse, Ama Dablam, et al. As the sun rose it tinged the edge of Everest with a vibrant golden light. Half an hour later, however, the clouds slithered up from the valleys where they'd spent the night and cloaked the horizon in cloud.


After brekky (more or less a repeat of yesterday's, and the day before's, ...) we headed down, then up again to Tengboche). Upon rounding the final hill, we were greeted by crisp, clear, vivid views of Everest and Lhotse, almost luminescent, popping white as they bathed in the afternoon sun. (One runs out of superlatives for the views here.) We then all sat drinking more tea as we took in all the surrounding peaks from our lodge window and wondering what tomorrow might bring....