Nunthala to Junbeshi – Nobody Told Me There’d Be Days Like These

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.