I arranged my trek through an agency in Kathmandu and ended up going with the "all inclusive" package. I paid a daily rate that included a guide, accommodation and meals. Basically, I dealt with the guide and he dealt with everything else. He also acted as my porter, carrying my large pack while I carried a smaller day pack. We weren't part of a larger group, it was just the two of us. I think this is something of an odd arrangement for a Westerner. For one thing, you're introduced to a complete stranger from another culture--then you spend the next two weeks together rarely separated (what could go wrong?). But I think it's the "servant" role of the guide that made me the most uncomfortable.
At first, I had these romantic ideas about the two of us on some grand adventure, facing nearly insurmountable odds, becoming busom buddies, like some kind of 50s adventure movie (without the racist overtones). You know, someone Indiana Jones would have by his side.
Well, we can fantasize all we want.
I briefly met Santosh the night before I was to leave on the trek. I was imme
diately struck by how little he was; the guy must weigh 100 lbs. It's not that Santosh was was a bad guide. He just wasn't a great guide. He's young, 23, and a lot of the time acted like the trip was an inconvenience and, in retrospect, a lot of his decisions were obviously for his benefit, not mine. I don't want to make it sound like it was two weeks of torture. We did have a few good laughs and there was no animosity between us. I guess when you're having some of the more spectacular experiences in your life, you want someone next to you with a little more enthusiasm. All this was made worse by the fact that our traveling companions, Holger, and his guide, Dep, got along famously. Considering the possibilities, though, it could have been much worse. And, maybe, in the end, it was just that our personalities didn't click.Our days were somewhat routine as far as the eating and sleeping schedule went. We'd meet for breakfast early in the morning, about 6:30 or 7:00am, our order put in the night before. We'd hike till lunch, stopping at a guest or tea house, Santosh always acting as waiter and taking care of the bill. After lunch we would either check into the guest house or continue hiking until we reached our destination for the night. Here's a typical one. This is where we stayed in Gokyo
The guest houses varied in comfort and quality. The one above was one of the nicer ones, but there were others that seemed to be copying the architectural style of the tree house I built in sixth grade. The worst was a dump we stayed at in the village of Lobuche. There was only one guest house on the entire trip that fellow travelers went out of their way to tell us to avoid. "Don't go to the first guest house in Lobuche." So, as luck would have it, when we got to Lobuche every guest house was full except...you guessed it. Holger was so upset and worried about getting sick Dep promised to watch the people in the kitchen while they prepared our meals. None of the guest houses have heated rooms but at least the nicer ones were somewhat insulated and warmer than being outside--not this plywood shack. I fondly remember my experience from that night. Holger and I retired to our room after a blah meal in a fluorescent lit room that never seemed to feel warm no matter how close to the stove you were. Our room was filled with puffs of condensation from our breath lit up by our flashlights--it reminded me of a light show at a dance club. It was so cold and we were trying to get into our sleeping bags as fast as we could but laughing hysterically. "Our friends go to tropical islands, sunbath on white sand beaches, stay in nice hotels, but not us..." The next morning Holger said he sometimes woke up when the guy in the next room rolled over because the plywood wall separating them would bend and bump into him.
Usually the rooms were pretty small and spartan with only a couple of twin beds and a pillow. The beds had sheets covering them and no other bedding, but you could usually request a blanket to help out your sleeping bag. Sometimes there was an electric light, but the power was less than reliable. The "bathrooms" were usually down the hall and if it was a western style toilet, you were in a pretty fancy place. I won't describe some of the others. If I wanted a "hot" shower, I had to pay an extra charge. At the more remote villages it was usually water heated in the kitchen kettle and poured into a countainer above the shower room. Sometimes it really was hot, sometimes it wasn't. Either way, getting out of the shower in a cold room is not pleasant.
As I think I mentioned in a previous post, the only heated rooms in the guest house are the kitchen and the restaurant/common room. All the villages and guest houses always smelled of buring kerosene, wood or dried dung. If it was above the tree line it was usually yak or dzo (yak/cow hybrid) dung. It doesn't smell bad--or good, for that matter--but it's strange to see a stack of dried yak turds next to the pot belly stove. The locals handle it with none of the disgust I would. They just pick it up, break it in two and stick it in the stove. Apparently it's pretty efficient, not burning too fast or too slow. The stove was usually lit around 4:00pm and everyone would pull up a chair to warm themselves and await dinner.
The guest house is also your restaurant and the food ranged from delicious to just okay. The menus had a lot of options but were virtually identical. They also suffered from Taco Bell Syndrome: a limited number of ingredients combined in slightly different ways and given different names. I usually had porridge and a pancake for breakfast, some kind of rice or noodle dish for lunch and everything from pizza to the local staple, Dal Bhat, for dinner. The guides and porters eat Dal Bhat almost exclusively. It's rice and Dal (lentil soup), usually served with a cooked vegetables and potato dish. The nice thing about ordering Dal Bhat is that it's all-you-can-eat. I also had tea with every meal: black tea, ginger tea, masala tea, milk tea, lemon tea, ginger-lemon tea. I think I've had more tea in the last month than I've had in the last five years.
The guest house kitchen
After dinner, and maybe a chat with fellow trekkers, we'd usually go to bed around eight. It was early but I found that I easily slept the 10 hours till breakfast. Our bed time was also about when the guides and porters would be putting down the Dal Baht, eating with their fingers, Nepali style. They rarely ate with the trekkers and usually late, after everyone else had been fed; another offence to to my egalitarian sensibilities.
All in all, I enjoyed the guest house experience. I met some fun people and, while obviously not luxury living, it was comfortable. The other way to do it is to sleep in a tent. These treks are more like an expedition. There are porters and guides and cooks and lead guides and so on. Everything has to be carried in and the number of support people can outnumber the trekkers three or four to one. I have friends who've treked this way and loved it. Maybe I'll try that next time.
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