7 AM in Phakding. Today’s mission: hike to Namche Bazaar. Seven hours of uphill. While sick.
Nicholas and Pokin woke up feeling better. Not good. But better. The fevers had retreated enough that the plan still held: get to Namche, don’t die, use the two built-in rest days there to actually recover.
Breakfast#
The lodge put out a breakfast spread that had no business being this good at 2,610 meters in a village accessible only by foot.
We’d been warned not to eat meat in the Sagarmatha region. No refrigeration up here. Everything gets hauled in by yak, and cold chain logistics aren’t really a thing when your supply chain has hooves. Everyone acknowledged the warning and then made their own choices. I’m not naming names.
The Split#
Pokin left first with Manoj, the assistant guide. She’s a slow hiker, and she knows it, so she gave herself a head start. Between already having partially collapsed lungs and now running a fever, she wasn’t going to be setting any speed records. The plan was simple: Pokin heads out early with Manoj, the rest of us catch up to her eventually.
There was just one problem. Manoj had introduced himself the night before, but Pokin is famously terrible at recognizing faces. As in, she has genuinely misidentified Nicholas on the trail before. Her own husband. So when Manoj started walking alongside her that morning, Pokin looked at this stranger following her through the Himalayas and told him, “I already have a guide.”
“Yes. Me,” said Manoj.
Hitting the Trail#
Outside, the porters were already loading up the 3A Adventure duffel bags and heading out. Those bags weigh a significant fraction of a human being and these guys just strap them on and go.
The trail started gentle. Stone paths, green gates, and trees absolutely covered in pink blossoms. April in the Khumbu is spring, and everything that can bloom is blooming. For about twenty minutes it felt more like a garden walk than a Himalayan trek.
Then the stairs started.
Nicholas grabbed a few photos of just the two of us along the way, but we were with the main group the whole time. Perks of having long arms and a phone with a good front camera.
The mask wasn’t a fashion choice. The air quality on the trail is rough. Dust from the paths, pollution drifting up from the valleys, and two recovering lungs that didn’t need any more problems. Buffs, masks, and sunglasses were going to be standard equipment for the foreseeable future.
The Valley#
The Dudh Koshi valley opened up as we gained elevation. The glacial river cut through the bottom, pale green and fast, with mountains climbing on both sides into clouds. The scale of it is hard to describe. Everything is just… bigger than it should be. The trees are taller, the slopes are steeper, the sky is further away.
The trail passed through small settlements where the only constant was propane canisters lined up against every building. Red ones, stacked neatly, waiting for their turn to heat a teahouse or boil water. No pipelines up here. Everything arrives the same way we do: one step at a time.
Traffic#
The EBC trail has a traffic problem, and it’s not other trekkers.
Yaks. Or more accurately, zopkyo, which are yak-cow hybrids, but nobody calls them that because “watch out for the zopkyo” doesn’t have the same energy. They come through in caravans, loaded with white sacks and blue crates, moving at whatever speed they feel like, and you get out of the way. Mountain side rule: stand on the uphill side of the trail. Getting nudged downhill by an animal carrying 80 kilograms of rice is not how you want your trek to end.
I need to address something. I want a pet yak. Yaks are awesome. They’re huge, fluffy, unbothered by everything, and they live in the mountains. That’s basically my ideal roommate. Nicholas says we can’t have a yak at Bear Falls Resort. I say the HOA hasn’t specifically said we can’t.
Also, I want to ride one. I saw other trekkers riding horses (there’s literally a “Horses on Rent” sign on the trail) but nobody was renting yaks. This feels like a gap in the market.
The Porters#
I need to talk about the porters for a second.
The amount of weight these guys carry is absurd. Multiple duffel bags stacked and secured with a headstrap called a namlo, bent nearly double on stone stairs, moving faster than most trekkers with daypacks. Everything that exists in the Khumbu region got there on someone’s back or on the back of an animal. Every propane canister. Every mattress. Every bottle of Coke that costs 500 rupees (about $4 USD) at altitude. It all came up these same stairs.
Monjo#
The trail passed through Monjo, where a sign for Mount Kailash Lodge marked the elevation at 2,835 meters. Cherry trees were in full white bloom over the stone paths. Prayer flags strung between buildings. If you ignored the altitude headache and the fact that every muscle below your knees was filing a complaint, it was actually quite pretty.
This is where we caught up to Pokin. She’d been waiting for us at the rest stop, having hiked the whole morning section with Manoj.
Cultural Pit Stops#
The trail is lined with mani walls, prayer wheels, and chortens (stupas). You’re supposed to pass them on the left, keeping the sacred object on your right. Nicholas explained this to me on day one and I’ve been very diligent about it. Mostly because the left side usually has more room to avoid yaks.
The Guides#
D.B. is the lead guide from 3A Adventure. Manoj is the assistant guide who Pokin didn’t recognize. Together they’re managing five trekkers, a bear, a pile of duffel bags, and whatever logistical chaos the mountain throws at them. D.B. is the “okay, let’s go” type. Manoj is the “bistari, bistari” type, which is Nepali for “slowly, slowly,” which is advice most trekkers should take more seriously than they do. Good balance.
Rustic Views#
The settlements along the trail all look like they grew out of the mountain instead of being built on it. Stone walls, corrugated metal roofs in red and blue, wood-framed windows painted green. Everything is slightly worn and slightly beautiful.
Now back together as a full group, we continued on to the Mount Kailash Lodge for a proper drink stop. Water, tea, sitting down, and pretending we weren’t only a fraction of the way to Namche.