This is a story of when I decided to trek to the Base Camp of Mount Everest with eight of my craziest friends. It’s kind of a difficult story to tell because it’s not really what you’d expect, but I’m going to tell it anyway…
I guess the best place to start this story is where my very first story left off – descending from the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. I was sitting in the mess tent during our last night on the mountain, surrounded by my new friends and old ones. As we were all joking and reminiscing about our great adventure together, someone lobbed out the idea of trekking to Everest Base Camp. Two people eagerly jumped on the idea while the remainder of the group went silent. I shuddered at the idea of the frost gnawing at my nose while I squint into the blinding snowstorm, struggling to find our group. I shook this thought away as I leaned into Sieu and whispered “Yeaaaaaaaaaah … that’s a little too hardcore for us…”
Fast forward 18 months later and here I am looking for the gate to Kathmandu in the Istanbul airport. Somewhere in between that moment on the mountain and now, all nine of us impulsively booked this trip, no questions asked, when it went on sale. So, here we are, soon to be reuniting for the first time as old friends at the Moonlight Hotel in Kathmandu, Nepal.
The reality of this trip still alludes me. I’m going through the usual motions that I do during all of our travels. I go through security. Roam the airport. Board the plane. Pick out a movie. Fall asleep. Wake up. Leave the plane. And repeat.
As I head towards gate D13, I feel as if I’m walking in slow motion against a blur of cell phones and business suits rushing by me. Everyone looks the same and pulls along that same rectangular carry on suitcase with the long handle and four-tiny wheels struggling to keep up. As I look around to find real signs of life, an image comes into focus. It’s two men, in their late-20’s, standing off to the side. They are casually dressed and are both wearing Osprey backpacks. One of them is bent down tying his hiking boot while they continue to engage in conversation. As I watch him tighten his laces, it’s like something finally clicked. It’s as if I finally woke up from this haze and realized what’s going on. I guess the best way to explain it is like being the last person to understand a joke: … waiiiiiiit a minute …. we are soon going to be in Kathmandu …. which is in Asia … and then we will be hiking for 12 days through the Himalayas to the Base Camp … of Mount Everest! My stomach fluttered with excitement. I walk over to them and lean in, a bit giddy, and say “Let me guess … you’re going to Kathmandu?” They both stop talking and look at me blankly. “Uh.. yeah…” one of them finally replies with a puzzled look on his face. “I can tell by your backpack!!!” I respond quickly, with a big goofy grin, as I point to mine and keep walking. Good job, Sherlock Holmes. I praise myself; however, they don’t seem as impressed with my deductive reasoning.
As we reach our gate, it’s buzzing with eager travelers waiting to board their plane. I look around and see Osprey backpacks, Merrell hiking boots, and pants, which zip off into shorts! The girls have messy hair and their faces have been kissed by the elements of wind, sun, and cold. They don’t airbrush these flaws but instead, embrace them. Although I’ve never been here before, there’s a sense of familiarity in my surroundings. It’s like I stumbled upon an isolated pocket of misfits hidden in this hectic, polished airport and it’s exactly where I belong. Normally, I don’t always feel like I fit in, but here, I do. I am innately shy, which makes me quite socially awkward and a little bit weird. My social skills are slightly limited by my attention span and my interests are all over the place as a result of that. Here, I look around and see dreamers, explorers, and risk-takers who refuse to conform.
As we wait to board the plane, I begin feeling slightly apprehensive. Leading up to this point, I’ve had a false sense of certainty since my last hike to the summit of Kilimanjaro went so well; however, what exactly was it that made me successful? The training? Proper hydration? Taking Diamox? Or perhaps it was an absolute fluke?! I began realizing that I may not be able to replicate that same experience. This may actually be very challenging. My training and diet have suffered due to the reality of adult responsibilities but also due to the lack of motivation brought on by fear, as I had with Kilimanjaro. I am tired, dehydrated, and have never trekked for this long before. Also, we are only 10 kg of gear, which is 5 kg less than Kilimanjaro, yet the trip is double in length. Did I even choose the right gear to at least stay comfortable? As these questions fill my mind, I realize that it is too late now. In two days, we will begin our trek.
36 hours of transit later. 4 airports. 3 flights. 6 movies. Roughly 5 broken hours of sleep. And we land in Nepal. Let the adventure begin…