I’m in transit in Abu Dhabi reflecting on the last month, and thinking particularly about the last week. I really like Pokhara, it is a civilised place to rest. Kathmandu stinks, it’s a mess and the traffic is mental, but it fits like an old, stretched but unwashed sock.

These boats on Lake Fewa in Pokhara are hiding.

The view from the roof of my guest house is divine darling!

Which hotel would you choose? Hotel God Pigeon or Hotel Fire on the Mountain My Home? Would you want to sleep under the same roof as the bloke who thought up those names?

You could always nip down to the local Chinese for fied gralic chicken wings.

Or have a quiet word with the local deity!

And then retire to the sanctuary of the garden of my guest house, with a warm welcome from Suryanath.

Flying out from Kathmandu today the view was amazing. As if the city was baked on to the valley floor and the Himalayas were floating in the sky!

It will be next year before I blog again. Be good.

Night night my matey mates. X

We got up at 5.30am at Nir’s house to rock down the road to catch an early bus. It was a quick goodbye to the place where Hillary and Tenzing started it all.

And a final group hug to celebrate the passing of the Fellowship.

All things must pass.

Tolkien puts a lot of emphasis on the slow return from Minas Tirith to the Shire. It feels right to do so. And it feels right for me to do so.

Me, Dav and Nir took the bus to Kathmandu, which Nir said took 4 hours. It took 10 hours. bouncing Nepali music all the way.

And finally into Kathmandu at 5.00pm. We took a taxi to our previous hotel, where Dav would stay for the next few nights, seeing the sights of this most frenetic of places. Nir showed us to the door of our hotel and then left to stay with his brother here in the city.

Dav and I went out to the same restaurant we ate at nearly three weeks ago. And the burgers were great! We rode back to the hotel in a pedal taxi. A late night laugh.

Cheerio Dav. It’s been a gas but you can’t follow me. I’m going to the Grey Havens, before retiring to the Undying Lands. My advice to you is that you cannot be always torn in twofold . You will have to be one and whole, for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.

Here is the view of and from my bedroom in Pokhara.

And the view from the hotel roof,

I probably won’t blog anymore this trip, so I’ll take the opportunity now to thank you all, my wife, family, friends and visitors for the support you have given me and Killerby, Thank you and a la prochaine.

Night night.

Well, our journey is nearly over. We are a little behind schedule, which we knew was very optimistic, but we have the advantage of buses which can drive over boulder fields. We’ve done well over 250 kms, around 153 miles, which is 60 miles more than we set off to achieve.

We have been trekking for 18 days and have climbed Chukhung Ri, 18,200 feet, Kongma La, 18,209 feet and Everest Base Camp, 17,600 feet. We climbed Kala Patthar up to only 17,900 feet due to adverse effects of altitude. We then yomped through 60 miles of jungle, enduring leeches, mudslides, landslides, tigers, bears, humidity and schadenfreude.

Schadenfreude? What the feck has schaden-feckin-freude got to do with this list of adversities?

Well, it demonstrates inclusivity towards the German language and ergo the German people, who have never been referred to positively in any of your blogs over the last 8 years.

Ok, I kind of get it but just let me point out how positive I have been about the Germans, and their delightful language, over the last 8 years………………………… I didn’t glorify two world wars and one World Cup! Well that’s good innit?

The first light of dawn lit the poor road through the town.

We got up at 5.45am and grabbed breakfast before catching the bus to Khimti Khola. This is not a normal bus service. This is hell, especially when the bloke next to you is looking in two different directions and his wife starts throwing up before you’ve set off. The road is a bulldozed reminder of which direction it might be wise to go in, but not essential, and the penalty for a momentary lapse of driving concentration is a thousand foot tumble. Taking the passengers (like us) along with you.

The rolling and tumbling these buses take is ridiculous. How they keep going is a miracle of modern suspension, strength and schadenfreude.

If I see that word again I’m abandoning this blog. Why did you put it in again?

It made good alliteration with suspension and strength.

Well tickety feckin boo. Arse makes good alliteration with a lot of things but it doesn’t mean I have to put it in my blog.

Like what? What does arse alliterate with?

Farce?

That’s rhyming not alliterating,

Erm………….. lots of things alliterate with arse, anyway you’re barred. I think most people will feel mightily relieved by that.

I’m not relieved.

The road started with a marathon climb up a very steep hill, followed by a marathon drop. It lasted for three hours. Bouncing over boulders. Then we reached a turning in the road, signposted to Jiri. Hooray! We disembarked and walked a way down the Jiri road.

And a shop over the river showed signs of normality. Chickens and fish. Get them here!

Within 15 minutes the bus to Jiri had arrived. We’re off again! And through the window we could see Jiri nestled in the distance.

These buses play really loud Nepali pop, with a bouncing beat. It’s really easy to get wrapped up in it. We love it. Dav said it’s better than Joe Satriani! Well, I thought he did. But it was a noisy bus.

Then we came to the edge of Jiri. Me, Dav and Nir disembarked and walked down a short track. Here it was, the starting and finishing point for Hillary and Tenzing, which we had followed for many days. It was emotional.

Emotional enough to get the flags out in respect to our heroes.

Best regards gentlemen, may you rest in the peace of the mountains which allowed you to climb them. Our commitment to our sponsors and those who had supported us was now over. We had delivered more than I could have envisaged in effort,pain and schadenfreude! The Fellowship had served its purpose and had now passed into Smith and Kilby folklore.

We made our way up to Jiri.

Eating momos, local savoury dumplings, and having a shave and haircut.

Cop the Barnet on Killbilly junior.

And Smithy too!

We marched the last three kilometres to Nir’s house,where we had been invited to stay. And could look back from there at Jiri. And the newly shorn Nir!

Mrs Nir met us with marigold garlands.

The Trek was officially over. We had a lovely evening with a great chicken meal and drank several variations of local beer. Watched recorded football and went to bed for an early start and a very long bus ride.

I’ll continue the blog for family and friends but the trek is done.

Thank you for following us and may the road rise with you. It’s been a gas!

Thanks Shane. In fact it’s the last main drag, to get ourselves down the rest of the valley and well up the other side, to a place where we can get buses. Yes – roads. Well, not roads but buses all the same. Running on boulders and mud. It’ll be ok. Let’s focus on getting down in one piece, as Dav said on the route down. It’s difficult on steep, muddy drops and slippery rocky surfaces.

The day was looking good as we set off from this unlikely overnight stop. With cobs of sweetcorn dangling from the rafters. Cheers.

It was hotting up, and getting stickier the closer we got down to the valley floor. Another great panorama, but let’s get down.

I’d packed my walking poles and needed support so I found a local branch to help.

We’re aware of the slowly unfolding end of the Fellowship and sadness is tingeing our fatigue. You can get fitter from trekking day after day but don’t expect not to be knackered. And there was still a long way down.

Nir is a great bloke. Which usually preambles a reservation. However his main failing is a grotesque underestimation of the time it will take us to walk from A to B. He estimates for Usain Bolt, not some 68 year old, tubby turd. Sorry – I got carried away with the alliteration again.

We had to start dropping down perpendicular paths (allit.) to avoid the long sweeps of the road. Don’t get excited it’s not a real road.

Dav’s strength is climbing up, but he isn’t as strong at descent. It’s only practice. He’s a bloody good trekker. Strong lad.

Dropping down we began to take paths leading past small farms, which were more easily navigable. When there was grass or other vegetation on the path our grip was far better. And there below us, all of a sudden, was the bottom of the hill and a hydroelectric plant.

Dropping down through dense vegetation Nir told us that these were lychee plants. Pity they weren’t in season. I love em.

Then we crossed the bridge to the other side. We did it, don’t know why the chicken did it.

We stopped for lunch at one of the restaurants that catered for hydroelectric workers. No menu – Dal Bhat or Noodle Soup? Noodle soup – yes, yes, yes, yes!

To quote Spandau Ballet, ‘to cut a long story short’ (thanks Gary), we strained hard up the far side of the valley. Avoiding the road that isn’t a road and taking vertical steps. Well, not vertical, perpendicular I meant. Alright, I said vertical and I can’t take it back. How about this that I can’t take back? Kiss my arse!

This was another long slog. Nearly four hours of complete, steep uphill, then half an hour of a flatter route to Bhandar.

The tea house was most welcome. We were tired now. And the hot shower was the best of the entire trip.

Night night.

I was awake early and out for 6am, taking photos. The sky was blue and the sunlight was golden on the hillsides. Going up to the spirit in the sky. Thanks Norman.

It was blooming freezin though, and this long range photo shows the ranges, ridges and valleys between here and Bhutan.

This felt like a great day. The gods were with us. Nir had promised clear skies over Pikey Peak when we set off from Gorak Shep a long time ago. We had been lucky throughout with the clear conditions we had enjoyed at crucial moments.

We got ready, ate a great breakfast and set off at 6.30am. Just in time for Killerby to have a scrap. Trust him! Apparently he’s fighting over alleged jelly baby theft. I thought the circumstances justified photographing a Nepali without his permission.

And the tide begins to turn against our teamie bro.

Who shamefully surrendered at 6.35 in the morning. Mind you the kid was a nasty piece of work!

We set off. Well you would wouldn’t you? Oh Christ. Sometimes it’s hard to come up with decent, original stuff.

Climbing up Pikey Peak was somehow quite easy for me. I could see it was particularly hard for David. It’s like that though. One day is easier for one teamie and Vicky Verckie. The first turnaround to see what was behind us, rather than looking forward at the uphill steps, was quite astounding.

And the view down to our Tea House of last night was stunning, the path snaking up along the ridge which we walked down and Everest in the background just right of centre.

This is an extraordinary perspective. As we climbed higher the gargantuan proportions of the view were revealed. Sorry I couldn’t load it all on one.

It was a fabulous moment. The temperature had warmed up and being able to see Tibet, Bhutan and India as well as the southward faces of many Himalayan peaks was astonishing from such a small mountain – only 13,000 feet. Pah! I wouldn’t get out of bed for 13,000 feet. Oh, I did. Well, only once then.

This is embarrassing dad dancing, but the clip is evocative. All the world is a stage, and the stage will remain when the players have departed.

Another unfurling for SUFC!

The mountain man enjoys the sun.

The real mountain man enjoys everything.

Boy band? Maybe forty years ago for the one on the left. and fifty years ago for fat boy.

The time came for us to wrap. And with a long walk ahead of us we needed to make pace. We walked round Pikey Peak 2, the lower of the pair, and with our feet on the gas we made it to a great tea house for lunch, just three hundred metres below Pikey 2’s summit. Lunch would be 30 minutes and the tea house had a hot shower. Be rude not to!

And after lunch, with a brief discussion on whether to stay here tonight or crack on, we cracked on.

What music did Dave Smith listen to on the way down Pikey Peak, young fella me lad?

I’m not rightly sure sir. I don’t know the man or his musical tastes.

Hand out boy. Did that remind you!

It’s very much a guess sir but could it be Songs from a Room, by Leonard Cohen?

What kind of witchcraft is this boy? How can you know that without being guided by the Devil or his associates? Hand out.

And Songs from a Room, the most simple and plaintive of all Cohen’s albums, drifted along the breeze like the smoke from burning juniper in the Himalayan mornings. His absence makes me want to cry but he lives on in my memory and in his music. Thanks Leonard.

We approached a village and were diverted to the left of it by Nir.

Who had been rabbiting on for days about a yak cheese factory somewhere on the hillside, and here it was.

The man who appeared to be in charge had a little English and took half an hour to explain the process in detail. Then he took us to the store, where they wash dozens of cheeses each day in salt water. And we could buy some. In football terms Yak Cheese would be a journeyman. Solid and unremarkable. But the source, the location and the pre-industrial process added massive value. May you prosper. Me and Dav left a kilo heavier and several pounds lighter. All to a good cause.

We had spent so long here that the sun was starting to sink. Having no wish to spend the night dodging tigers and bears we cracked on at renewed pace.

All the way down was too big an ask but there was a village on a ledge part way up the valley side. We were aiming for that. Nir drifted ahead, thinking about time. We were running it close.

We followed a track for 4×4 vehicles and motor bikes that zigzagged down the mountain but the zigzags were too long and we needed to get down quick. We dropped down little paths which were muddy and very slippy and as it got darker this was only going to end one way. We won’t make the village and someone will fall. We’re all tired. Let’s do something different.

We passed a small house and Nir went up to it to talk to the owner. He eventually came back with relief on his face. The house owner had an uncle who had a tea house and we could stay there and it was only a short (10 minute) walk away.

The tea house had a barn, which accommodated all four of us together in one room for the first time. It was like the Boy Scouts. And the food was good in the house and they had some beer and local wine and we relaxed, knowing we weren’t going to be eaten by tigers.

Night night.

Junbeshi to Banjang is very simple. You climb this big mountain and go down the other side to a bridge of high land that connects your own mountain to another. Not top to top, more like connecting middle to middle. On that bridge is a tea house that is quite isolated. That’s our crash tonight.

The difficulty is that you climb forever until you’re in a good deal of pain. No change there then! Setting off at 7.00am the sky was clear and the sun was on the higher pastures. That’s where we’re heading.

Going up to high altitude frees the spirit but imprisons the body. You feel a huge explosion of awe, a sense of belonging and joy. But you also feel ill, fatigued and desperate for more oxygen in the lungs. It’s not fair. Why can’t you get good good for both. How brilliant would High trekking be then?

This morning the views drew away the blues.

We just keep walking, David and myself. We don’t get told the plan for the day unless we ask. We just get our heads down and walk slowly and deliberately uphill. The steeper the hill the shorter and slower the step. It becomes part of a spiritual journey, concentrating on the next step, breathing in and out according to the steps. Clearing your head of everything but the steps.

If you don’t clear your head the steps will reinforce any irritations and concerns. Just let them all go.

Now, water break and rest, lift up your head and look around.

And looking forward the route is lovely.

We’ve trekked over 200 kms so far, 125 miles in old money. Muscularly painless for me and not too bad for Killerby. He rattled his toe against a bed leg, and the whole shebang went black. His nail stayed on and it doesn’t seem broken. It is ok going uphill but going down the foot pushes against the front of the boot and causes him more pain. Old bastard.

Why oh why do you have to add the barbed, and usually vulgar comment at the end, boy?

I’m vulgar sir.

Hand, out. Further.

Ouch!

This country does get you mentally clean if you can avoid preoccupation with issues. It’s beautiful, the air is clean and nature is rampant, untamed, dangerous and graceful.

And you realise how insignificant we are against the elements.

And our tea house is waiting far down below. on the bridge between our mountain and Pikey Peak, rising 13,000 feet ahead of us.

We tend not to photograph local people or their families. If you ask them for permission they often say no, or don’t answer. That’s why I’ve tended against it on this blog. Just saying.

We made the tea house for late lunch and rested in the main dining/ communal room. This was a step back due to the isolated location. No running water, intermittent and low power electricity, no internet connection and no shower.

I fell asleep on the bench and started snoring, much to the amusement of the two young children of the family. Grandma occupied one end of a bench and mum ran between the kitchen and the communal room. Preparing food and drinks and checking on the kids, a lad aged 7 and a girl who looked about 3 but was in fact 5.

Dad swept in like a real mountain man, a Kukhuri sword in his belt and a huge bag of wild mushrooms over his shoulder. I had to try those.

As the afternoon wore on the man of the house filled the stove with chopped wood and started a fire. The light faded and we were there as family and guests, equals in this house. The boy and girl entertained us with traditional Sherpa dancing. This family are Sherpas, a distinct ethnic group and caste. I don’t quite understand the caste system so I can’t explain it. It’s a bit like me moving into Sloane Square and hanging my underpants with holes in on the washing line suspended between front windows. I just don’t fit. Thanks Bob.

David entertained the kids. I drifted in and out of sleep in the communal half light and warmth. if you can call this half light!

The family had locally distilled spirit, which would have been rude not to try, and they lived very much off the land. As do most Nepalis in this region. We had eaten a big Dhal Bat lunch, the national dish of rice, curried veg, dhal soup and sometimes pickle and popadoms. The lady of the house quoted us £25 to kill one of her chickens for dinner. This was expensive. It would have fed all four of us royally so really for £6 each it’s a British bargain and we had hunted it. But here it was reflective of the long term value of a chicken laying those golden eggs. No mass produced battery hens in Nepal.

We weren’t that hungry, and I settled for a mushroom omelette and then an early night. We are climbing Pikey Peak tomorrow. Please, please, please be clear. This is the best view of the entire Nepalese Himalayas.

Night night.

Thanks John. Blessed boy.

Another beautiful boy who left us far too soon was Amar. He had to return up the mountain to home and back down to Lukla to pick up another group. He was worried that we might be angry about his defection. Not in the least matey mate. Goodbye mountain boy.

Then we were joined by Bisnu, Nir’s youngest brother, who is studying at University in Kathmandu but needed some dosh before term restarted. This was his first portering assignment. The porter is dead. Long live the porter!

We had ended up last night in a decent room in a tea house that made extra money as a rainbow trout farm. The first fish we have seen in the Himalayas. Hundreds of ‘em.

Setting off at a comfortable 8.00am we somehow knew that we would have to pay for it. The sky was clear and the views were lovely.

Whenever the summit of the ridge or pass that you are crossing appears close, then be aware! It’s blooming miles.

‘Blooming’ now is it, you Tory boy? Where have four letters gone?

I can still do it. What about this. Bum!

Three you Cretin.

Ok then. Tiddle!

Oh God! How far have the mighty fallen. Tiddle! Is that the full extent of your anti-establishment linguistic ability?

No, but the next bit is rude.

Well spit it out. We’re all adults here, come on, expose yourself Tory boy!

Cock Cola!

You filthy animal, put your hand out.

The Himalayas were buzzing in the early morning clear sky. Buzz buzz. Which is unusual because they’re normally peaceful and serene. Our route was likely to be up and down And it Was. Thanks David.

The cloud started to accumulate again and the mountain views were beginning to be restricted.

The first peak today was marked by a stupa, and down below on a ledge of the valley was another, bedecked by prayer flags. What a sacred sight.

Just down the valley from this shot was a tea house where we stopped for lunch. Al fresco. Noodle soup. We still haven’t seen meat for a fortnight.

From here we dropped further down the valley to a Swinger, and then started cutting up around the shoulder of a mountain where the cloud added a touch of other worldliness and mythological ambience to the occasion. I am the god of hellfire! Thanks Uncle Arthur.

Only to rise and fall, the final fall for the day, down to Junbeshi. We had slogged again for another 9 hours and were relieved to see a pleasant tea house with a pleasant woman owner, clothes washing facilities under a pipe from a mountain stream and drying facilities around a log burning megastove.

For the last five days my dirty clothes bag was full and my clean clothes bag empty. I had started to sniff out the least dirty clothes but Killer brutally refused to sniff my socks and pants to identify the least offensive. Point blank. Let’s see how he feels when he needs his undies sniffing. Don’t look in my direction matey boy. The only skiddies I’m sniffing this trek are yours truly’s.

The lads helped dry out my gear by holding the clothes in front of the fire for ages. Good lads. It was a beer night around a warm stove, smiling and telling tales of bravery and friendship.

Night night.

Due to the adverse climbing conditions today I didn’t take photos, apart from the leech strike. However I am inserting at random previously unseen material!

We woke, we packed our gear and wandered down to the tea house from the barn that we slept in. It’s ok sharing a room with Killer. He’s considerate and a decent bloke. He doesn’t snore either, not like the old bugger sharing with him.

What happens is that you start high up but want to trek down to a village quite a long way away. Most villages are set high in the hills, so even though you’re heading lower, you have to drop way down, cross the river that’s in your way and then climb up really high to the village. And this happens day after day on this route to Jiri. At least we’re as fit as butchers’ dogs at this stage of proceedings.

It had rained heavily overnight and it was cold. Not the cold that we felt at 18,000 feet but a kind of insidious wet cold that crept into your bones and dismantled your joy for the new day.

After breakfast we set off into the cloud at around 6am.

I couldn’t take any photos; I just wanted to hold on to my walking poles and make sure I didn’t slip over the edge. We had heard that there were significant mud slides and landslides across our path but that we should make it. However the rain resumed soon after we set off, to reduce the odds.

After an hour or so of difficult walking we hit the biggest landslide on a particularly steep and seriously long drop. It had wiped away our path and left areas of deep mud, which had remained on the slope, defying gravity. To cap it all, whilst we were looking at the problem there were a number of decent sized stones falling down across our path from higher up the mountain.

I decided to go first because if the lads went before me I wasn’t sure I’d have the bottle to follow. It was very dodgy, trying to behave normally on a slope that would have done justice to some kind of life-threatening episode of It’s a Knockout. But being sensible and calm helped a lot. Oh yes I was, for most of the time.

We let a couple of dozen people walking in the opposite direction come across the landslip first. It wasn’t safe to cross each other on the slope. I then called out to another big group about to cross towards us that we were only 4 people and would appreciate it if they would wait until we crossed over to them. Setting off I got to halfway over the slope without great difficulty and without being taken out by falling rocks. David was behind me and the two lads behind him. Here there was a choice of climbing up the mud and taking a higher route to safety or dropping down to the level that the people waiting to cross towards us were gathered.

A fat idiot of a German in the waiting group shouted at me ‘Come down this way’, getting more and more worked up when I turned round to Nir to ask what I should do. ‘Come zis vay’ shouted the idiot. ‘Climb higher papa’ said Nir, and I followed his advice. After a few metres of climbing I saw that the idiot had come out onto the slope and was immediately below me. I said to him that he was in danger of me falling on him or dislodging more mud or rocks onto him if he didn’t go back to safety. He said ‘You are endangering me! Vy did you not obey my instructions’.

Fair play to me I didn’t shout anything about orders that must be obeyed or anything mildly controversial like that. But I did lose it with the fat idiot, until Killer, the arbiter of calm and common sense, shouted for us to keep quiet and get on with crossing safely. I did and we all did.

Anyway we had another bout of avalanche crossing and then for the rest of the way down it was just slippery mud. And leeches. The jungle is full of them.

Nir got three in him, David two and me just one. This is a genuine leech strike from today. The dirty cheating dogs slip down into your boots and suck blood from your feet.

After lunch, in a village over the next river and up a bit, we climbed further, dropped again, crossed another river and then started climbing. The rain began to let up but it was still a hell of a climb this late in the afternoon, and it lasted for hours until the light started to fade. We made sure we got out of the jungle before dark – there are tigers and black bears roaming about here after dark!

Another draining day climbing up and down for 10 hours, with mudslides, leeches and tigers waiting to eat us. Good fun innit!

Night night.

A typical Himalayan trek day starts between 5am and 8 am. It ends between 4pm and 6.30pm. It goes up and up but rarely down. It hurts and at high altitude you feel unwell and breathless. Your heart beats fast with every laboured step and you can’t walk more then a few metres without resting. If you’re unlucky you’re one of the 5 per day who needs an emergency helicopter evacuation in the Everest area. Of 30,000 people who complete the Everest Base Camp trek every year up to 15 die.

But now we’re coming down. We’re all ok and things are hunky dory. Aren’t they?

We set off towards Lukla and watched out for the turnoff down towards the river that would take us to Jiri (our endgame after Pikey Peak).

We found it, followed it and we’re glad that we did because Lukla airport was shut, and had been for a few days because the weather wasn’t good there. That meant that a horde of people due to fly in with Lukla tickets would be taking short flights or buses from Kathmandu and walking up the very valley that we are walking down, And competing for normally unused, and certainly scarce, accommodation.

We dropped down further and the clouds, jungle and ancient Buddhist carvings and steps weaved a spell. The weather was worsening but the place has charm, and that held up.

So does Killer. Those gaiters, shades and camo-shorts spell C-L-A-S-S.

The views as we dropped down were amazing.

And then we noticed that the route down the valley had started to climb. Nir had advised of a climb, but this went on and on.

And the drops on the right hand side of the path rose from 500 feet to over a thousand. Don’t trip.

In fact we were climbing back up into the ‘mostly gasping when climbing uphill zone’ and we were in complete cloud.

The climb continued and we came across more people walking up from Salleri/Jiri to Everest, and we began to wonder about accommodation for the night.

When something is up, Nir lags behind and phones folk. He may be behind, out of sight for ages, but then turns up like a rejuvenated Gollum. On this occasion the lag got longer. And so did the climb, up to two hours and no white smoke from Gollum. Whilst the weather got worse.

Then a breakthrough. Nir came scampering up, smiling and relaxed. He had bagged the last room in Paiya and he was, rightfully, pleased with himself. Thank Christ for that; I didn’t fancy sleeping outside in the rain.

We were climbing forever, clocking up a total of 4 hours ascending, and we were knackered. The climb was steep and it suddenly evened out, with a small village appearing out of the cloud. We found our tea house and there were a group of people outside looking forlorn and fatigued. They had come up in the opposite direction and were drained. And sadly without accommodation.

Our room was in an outside barn with an inside room that was not supposed to be let due to the lack of facilities like electricity and running water, but it was adequate for our needs.

As we ate dinner we could see, in the darkness, dozens of people walking down towards the village with their head torches shining. As they arrived they were turned away. I was sorry for them, but an elderly group of Americans from Wisconsin, who had been very depressed outside the tea house when we arrived, were allowed to sleep in a group on the floor of the tea house restaurant. At least they had shelter. It’s harsh up here.

Night night.

Alright, who sniggers at the mention of Phakding.

Me sir.

Phakding hell boy. How can you snigger at something like that? Hold out your hand.

Ouch! Sorry sir, but could I have a can of cock?

You vile little animal. Hold out your hand!

Ouch! Please don’t hurt me anymore sir.

The morning was fine and Kantega, blowing snow off the top, looked magnificent in the early sun.

We set off at a pace down the valley, like the physical superstars that Amar and Nir are, and the shortly to be physical superstars that me and Senor Kilby will be.

This is the luckiest trek ever for breaks in the clouds and magnificent views. In no time we reached the valley floor, crossed the Swinger and were beginning to climb up to the Buddhist monastery at Tengboche. And incredibly on the way, the monastery came to us! It was longer than this but I edited it to be able to upload it. Very impressive and humbling snaking down the valley.

Over the hill behind Tenboche, an hour trapping back down to the river and then three hours trapping back up and over to Namche Bazar again. We had lunch and set off quickly.

Down, down deeper and down. Thanks Francis. Until we reached the high Swinger that we crossed on the way up. And it was still scary.

But me and Killer nailed it!

On the way down we came across the Cambridge United football team crossing a Swinger (Southend have a thing about Cambridge)!

I was getting exhausted and struggling to make the downs as well as the ups. The weather turned to monsoon-like part way down the valley but we kept going. And there were bright points, like this garden.

And this waterfall.

And this ‘orse.

And then we made it to our tea house, showered, ate and had a coupla cans.

Night night.