The Haul

We had one last day in Kathmandu, and we had missions.

Mission one: Manoj needed shoes. The man had spent three weeks walking slowly behind Pokin over snow and ice in a pair of beat-up tennis shoes with actual holes in them, like footwear was a suggestion rather than a requirement. This was unacceptable. So we all went to a local sporting goods store to get our guide his first real pair of hiking boots.

Manoj and his young daughter sitting in a sporting goods store — Manoj and his daughter at the store. She came along to supervise the boot acquisition.

Manoj trying on a pair of new hiking boots in the store — Manoj trying on real boots. With laces and treads and everything.

The group posing with Manoj and his new shoes outside the store — The whole crew, mission accomplished. Manoj’s feet have been upgraded from ‘suggestion’ to ‘actual hiking boot.’

Mission two: Nicholas needed to stop looking like he lived under a bridge. Three weeks of trail had turned him properly scruffy, so he wandered into a random barbershop and asked for a shave. With a straight razor. By a man he’d met four seconds earlier.

Nicholas getting a shave in a Kathmandu barbershop — Nicholas, in the chair, committing.

Close-up of a barber holding a straight razor to Nicholas's neck — A straight razor at the throat from a complete stranger. This feels irresponsible. I watched the whole thing in case I needed to be a witness.

Then we met Manoj back at the hotel for his own sendoff. He’d brought scarves and tea for everyone. No cocoa? I question his gift-giving sensibilities.

Manoj presenting a scarf to Po On at the hotel — Manoj giving Po On her scarf.

The group wearing their new scarves from Manoj — The whole crew, properly scarved.

Remember Alice? She’d escaped a day early on that one sketchy helicopter seat out of Surke. When she left, D.B. had handed her an extra piece of luggage to carry back for him. No big deal. Then, while we were all sitting in the airport that evening, D.B. called her. “Alice, Alice, I need you to do something for me. I need you to take the chicken out of my bag.”

The chicken. Out of the bag.

We assumed he was joking. He was not joking. There was, in fact, a bag of actual chicken in his luggage, given to him by one of the porters’ families on the way out as a parting gift. Alice had unknowingly couriered a chicken down from the mountains. So the next day she packed the chicken back up and brought it to the hotel, to hand to Manoj, to give back to D.B. A whole relay of people moving one chicken across Nepal.

Alice unloading a plastic-wrapped package from a green duffel bag for Manoj, with Manoj's daughter watching — Alice, returning the chicken. The most-traveled chicken in the Khumbu.

And then Manoj left. The last of our guides, off to his next group of people who had no idea what they were walking into.

The group saying goodbye to Manoj at the hotel — Goodbye to Manoj. Good boots, this time.

With the goodbyes done, Nicholas was free to do the thing he does in every interesting country on earth, which is hunt down weird instruments.

First up, singing bowls. Pokin tracked down one of the top singing bowl masters in the country, who happened to have a shop in town. We walked in and Nicholas started sampling bowls, working through them one at a time, until the master pulled out a special collection tuned to a full octave of notes. That was the end of any restraint. Sold.

Nicholas entering a singing bowl shop in Kathmandu — Walking into the singing bowl shop. The wallet did not survive.

Nicholas in a SpaceX t-shirt testing a large metal singing bowl by a hotel window overlooking Kathmandu — Testing one of the big bowls back at the hotel.

Then, walking down the street, we found a guy named Ashish sitting on the ground in a tiny shop making his own drums by hand. Of course we had to stop. Nicholas and Ashish talked for a long while, played a few together, and he showed Nicholas some beats. Then he customized one of the drums right there, cutting fresh leather for the head. Nicholas walked out with an armful of new instruments.

Nicholas holding a hand drum with Ashish, a tattooed drum-maker, working on a frame drum on the floor surrounded by wood shavings — Ashish, mid-build, surrounded by his own work. Nicholas found his people.

Nicholas and Ashish playing drums together in the shop

At which point the obvious question became: where exactly are we going to fit all of this? A full octave of singing bowls, a pile of hand drums, and everything else we’d hauled down a mountain. We crammed it all into the bags through sheer force of will, and then it was time to go.

The Kathmandu airport, ready for departure — The airport. End of the line for Nepal.

Goodbye, Nepal. We had many plans, none of them went the way we planned, so we made many new plans, and that didn’t go as planned either, but we made it. I’m glad to be headed home, but knowing Pokin, I’m sure she’s already re-planning to see you again soon.