There was no question of getting out of bed early – apart from anything else, there wasn’t much for Don and I to do anyway. We could have taken trips out to a number of places for sight-seeing but we saw no point in making work for ourselves. Instead, we strolled leisurely around Thamel enjoying the unusual absence of street-hawkers (probably suffering from similar excesses after New Year) and making a few last-minute purchases before packing up the bags and clearing out.
We went for one last lunch together at The Roadhouse Café and enjoyed their fine pizza with one final Everest (hair of dog), followed by their delicious cheesecake and the best fresh coffee in Kathmandu. After lunch, as Don scribbled postcards, I took the time to scrawl a few notes to be passed on to friends at home – Don would act as courier and mule, taking Uncle Al’s masks, my kukris, the Prem Lama Ganesha and a whole bunch of unnecessary kit (including my tent and stove, which I’d finally admitted to myself that I just didn’t need). Fortunately, virtually all of this fitted into the spare bag I’d bought in Bangkok and the rest he managed to squeeze into his own rucksack and carry-on bag (still smelling faintly of whisky!).
We took a taxi out to the airport and, while I was sad to see him go – particularly, as so much of our trip had been cruelly stolen from us by his stomach bug – we parted more with conspiratorial grins than sad smiles. It would be less than five weeks before we saw each other again and in the meantime we were both going to have immense fun, scheming and plotting our surprises on people back home. If there’s one thing we both love, it’s pulling off a good joke and we were both looking forward to seeing the looks on certain people’s faces when I suddenly appeared at The Cross.
After I waved him off I took a long contemplative walk instead of jumping in a cab. Much as when Dave had returned home in January, I felt deflated and perhaps a little lonely. It was lessened by the knowledge that I’d be seeing virtually everyone so very soon anyway but I couldn’t help feeling a little melancholy to be without my brother once again. Eventually I came to my senses as I realised I was walking alongside the pollution and noise of one of Kathmandu’s busier roads and I hailed down the first empty cab and high-tailed it back to Thamel.
I had no plans that evening and ended up making an early night of it with a book Don had lent me by the Frenchman Maurice Herzog, who had led the first legendary success on an 8000m peak. ‘Annapurna’ was a truly gripping tale, which highlighted the hardships of mountaineering in the Himalaya back in the 50’s with limited equipment and an even more limited Nepali infrastructure than the few paltry roads available now. Over recent weeks I’d been reading a lot of inspirational stuff – much of it focused on the crazy world of high-altitude climbing. It was the perfect prelude to my trip to Everest because, time and again, I was reminded of the depths of strength found in the most ordinary human beings…and yet also forewarned of the dangers of pushing oneself too far. After my somewhat shaky performance on the Jomsom trek, I had my doubts about being able to complete the Everest trek. However, as I read about the heroic struggles of Herzog and his team I found myself developing a strong determination to succeed and I knew it would take something pretty disastrous to prevent me from reaching my goal when I set off on Sunday.
No comments:
Post a Comment