tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43446377047893492812024-03-14T07:14:44.590+00:00Zoob's Randomly Related BlogIt was a snowy day in April
when a friend invited me down to
'The Duck' in Clapham Junction
to see if I would photograph
an event that he was holding.
A month later I find myself more
part of the event than I thought
I would be.Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-58009274800838975722009-10-07T11:14:00.006+01:002012-05-15T10:40:59.662+01:00Day 15 Trekking day 14 - Namchee Bazaar to Lukla<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX31Fm_THfiC9_VSBY_V0j2AWxQJlDDaH5Dy6dRK2fzLIWlNXfOiH-gtyA0elNGAZVHXel8CHIjFEPmZ2BOuN1qYtgzya0ZuVErLHq4EcDDIEMNO_vZvETBxV_n8Vw6Ap4Tg-dMobG-g7y/s1600-h/CNV00037_2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 102px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX31Fm_THfiC9_VSBY_V0j2AWxQJlDDaH5Dy6dRK2fzLIWlNXfOiH-gtyA0elNGAZVHXel8CHIjFEPmZ2BOuN1qYtgzya0ZuVErLHq4EcDDIEMNO_vZvETBxV_n8Vw6Ap4Tg-dMobG-g7y/s400/CNV00037_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389905091579806770" border="0" /></a><br />
Waking up to another plate of the stodgiest, thickest pancakes ever doesn't really inspire me, nor anyone on the trip but we force it down with whatever sauces and sugars we can find. It might be the only thing we get for a while. I check on Joe and the poor chap is sweaty and stinky and looks as green as my socks.<p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQr0j0ejUKZAzQzuny3YYHZ_Fwuj0S9hhgezQg4VYQ8RFFLKVVxQHg47sLP3CWj4zZZhHMpwJmGv05GZLgkoe2obkKi9pIp3ohqLGTphKFirDb1qx2kaUdY4a0YmtWSiusXzIX6jPFWUe9/s1600-h/CNV00024.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 117px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQr0j0ejUKZAzQzuny3YYHZ_Fwuj0S9hhgezQg4VYQ8RFFLKVVxQHg47sLP3CWj4zZZhHMpwJmGv05GZLgkoe2obkKi9pIp3ohqLGTphKFirDb1qx2kaUdY4a0YmtWSiusXzIX6jPFWUe9/s400/CNV00024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389905077794346162" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojrJSZ0zAkVzh7XF-rFnaprFkSByK_UAmtaRQVQXi9kHuG4f0mZFf9-TXQUloKWvq6ni_Wa6dEXtKOgnEMdRrbNPcTltYIrIfJqlnGW_NJkKYUZdhSnqOVASJt21AvzwmDkHEUNRuutkp/s1600-h/CNV00023.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 119px; height: 80px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojrJSZ0zAkVzh7XF-rFnaprFkSByK_UAmtaRQVQXi9kHuG4f0mZFf9-TXQUloKWvq6ni_Wa6dEXtKOgnEMdRrbNPcTltYIrIfJqlnGW_NJkKYUZdhSnqOVASJt21AvzwmDkHEUNRuutkp/s400/CNV00023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389905085994996274" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Heading looking out on this early morning and Nir is there on the balconied courtyard in front of the tealodge smoking with Prem and a few of the guides and porters. Prem, the oddest bloke on the trek. Friendly and sometimes not understanding where you're at entirely but well meaning nonetheless.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">We set off for another days trekking. I don't recognise the route through Namchee as we seemed to be taking a different route through the town. Suddenly we were out of the hilltown, going down that 800ft track which really took it out of most people coming up 12 days previous. Was it really 12 days? We've come to the last leg of our Himalayan adventure. By tomorrow night we'd be in a hotel room having a shower. I can't even really contemplate that, it is such a distant prospect, if anything like last night was to be endured. For the most part I knew that we were going downhill apart from the last section which was uphill, if I remember correctly. We passed the shop that Brooksie, Milo and I stopped at. Seeing familiar sights, sights which contain memories of the struggle to get up here. A strange and overwhelming sense of achievement comes over me in waves. I guess, yes, I have made it. All my worries about gambling with my condition suddenly melt away, all my fears about not making it. Not making it. Such a euphemism for those that didn't before us. Suddenly I felt more tired than I have ever felt in my short life. Still we have the long journey down, the endless zig-zagging down the dusty path. We lunch at Phakding where we have fishcakes. Rather disturbing as we are 100s if not 1000s of miles from he nearest coast. While waiting for the others to get there, I buy some trinkets for Mum and Aunty Janet from this Tibetan lady selling Tibetan jewellery. So I buy this pair of identical necklaces. Apparently they're Tibetan turquoise and not Nepali. To me, it looks like bits of molded plastic but as they only cost 800 rupees (£8) each, I think, 'Oh well, that's what they are in Accessorize'. Probably. )</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Eeod2PYuFSUT3o91D0FyuMLgZK3302QZVOVGJY4Tl_eZlf-QHLwtr7N1zR292OoWepH76MuFLStjZsgsNskotQrpLoG3ZNui2hJiFxwQ1BPPM3Y7vNOXHRbxbqKNlgqZ8g48PEHWlvFZ/s1600-h/DSCF4325.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 114px; height: 85px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Eeod2PYuFSUT3o91D0FyuMLgZK3302QZVOVGJY4Tl_eZlf-QHLwtr7N1zR292OoWepH76MuFLStjZsgsNskotQrpLoG3ZNui2hJiFxwQ1BPPM3Y7vNOXHRbxbqKNlgqZ8g48PEHWlvFZ/s400/DSCF4325.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389894639857187522" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">The many river crossings that we took on the way up here, following the river, each one closer to Lukla. All the time going downhill, easier. We start going uphill and things are getting exciting - this is the last leg of the journey.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">The group I'm in are in a long line, we sometimes see the leaders on the other side of a ravine so we can gauge their reaction every time they reach the next bend before they disappear round it. Slogging on we watch them closely, sometimes being given an update by James Pieterzoon, comedy banter over the airwaves building as we get closer. I turn a corner, squinting through the setting sun, to see an arch. I remember only walking through one arch, the one arch that signalled the start of the Himalayan trek. Could it be? Could it be the arch that signals the end of our Himalayan trek? I see the others get there and they jump up and down in excitement. Joy of joys. About 10 minutes later we get there and someone radios the other groups behind us that we have made it. We have made it. Fuck. I want to drop. Lukla is a bit hazy to me and I don't really notice much about it. I just want to sleep.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Going to the very first teahouse that we had breakfast in so many days ago I organise a room with Moulinex (Nick 'The Blender' Mullineux) who reputedly has the smelliest feet on the trip. Yes, reputation intact. He does. I really don't notice or mind. My body won't stop shivering. I can't move. I know that there is a Marathon in my jacket pocket hanging up on the door but I really can't move. I sleep.<br />
</p>A couple of hours later, I'm woken by someone telling me that it's dinner time. Food will do me good. Probably. I tried to get out of bed but it was really difficult, like I was weighted by stones in my pockets. Walking down the stairs was agonising as nothing would bend. I get to the dinning room and it's like conversation stopped and the piano stopped playing and the whores stopped doing their high-kicks. Apparently I looked awful - even Chris Martin asked if I was all right, it must have been that bad. Sadly, I was in no place to be jovial, I just needed sleep and perhaps a bit of food. I could hardly walk, my legs were the stiffest things, there was no moving me. I go back to my room and pass Kirt giving all our porters and guides, some people whom I had never really seen before, some I recognised, these amazing people who had carried our equipment, the heavy pitch, the generators, the satellite transmitter, the food, the fuel, my backpack, bless them, amazing, amazing people.Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-12948647575593539612009-09-27T01:14:00.001+01:002009-09-27T01:19:44.577+01:00Day 14, Trekking Day 13 - Pheriche to Namche Bazaar<p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Last night I got talking to a German in our tealodge who was travelling up alone. Really brave or really stupid? I dunno. He managed to get himself caught out in the dark so was glad for the company as he was really scared that he had lost his way in the dark and didn't know where he was, passing only a few people, not really knowing whether he was on the right path. Thankfully he found himself at our tealodge. He was showing signs of AMS and I supplied him with ibuprofen as he'd already taken some paracetamol. I'm no medic but I did suggest that if he wasn't better in the morning, go and check himself out at the Mountain Rescue Centre, which was in Pheriche.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Also, the German couple who lived in Holland were there, with whom I got chatting to in Dengboche and who Dr Nick helped on the morning that I had decided to not come up. She was very chatty and grateful for his help and Dr Nick really helped her husband who was showing symptoms of AMS. Lovely couple. She gave me some Immodium.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I forgot to mention (while we're on the subject of people I was speaking to) that while at Gorak Shep I met a lovely young Britistani lady called Rahila Hussein who said she was on tour around the region, travelling up into Pakistan seeing relatives and picking up recipes for a cookbook. She's going to email me a recipe for a fish curry which I'll have to give her my opinion on. Hope she does.<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Anyway, we carry on down to Namche Bazaar which we are all excited about. We seem to be travelling in several groups. The fast group, the slow group (me included) and the quarantined. </p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Immodium is working it's stuff and I'm glad. The route starts taking on familiar sights; the highest occupied village, the stone boundaried fields, the windy paths, all going down hill which was such a blessing. Eventually the track evened out but my tummy was getting the better of me. It was making me feel a bit weaker than usual. When we finally get to TyangBoche, I have o take an extended loo break as everyone seems to have got here earlier than I have. Was I that far behind? Am I with another group? I remember the hill track down with some fondness as we pass some trekkers on their ascent. They look tired and worn. We say, 'Not far now, and at the top you get to see Everest,'. I must admit a certain smugness did colour the undertone of my words, though the supportive look of recognition did try to convey a certain sympathy. I was chatting to Joe Williams for a bit before he got a bit quiet. I shared my last snickers with him as he was feeling hungry.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I shouldn't have done that really. Minutes later, Joe complains of feeling none too well and we all have to sit and take a break from walking at one of the bridges. A couple of shops that were there selling trinkets and bric-a-brac took our minds off the sick ones. </p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">We continue along after it's decided that everyone is going to make the final push to Namche, no one is going to stay behind, despite the growing numbers of the unwell. Drisla and the other doctors confer that it's tough and that they should've stuck to their guns and not let us take the decision in travelling down over 3 days. It's really tiring for everyone and everyone seemed to be dropping like flies from exhaustion. I'm watching myself for signs of the lurgy. For too early for any of that nonsense if I got it from Joe. It'll hit me in Kathmandu if it does.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">We struggle on through the closing darkness, I'm bringing up the rear. As ever. Curry has loaned me the use of his pole. I'm not sure if I can say anything other than double entendres as I'm really tired. It's my default setting. Every corner we turn we expect to see the familiar thighs of Namchee, with her populated crotch, but no. It doesn't happen. A few of the guys try to cheer me up by saying that we have left Khumjung ages ago, or bypassed it somehow. I can't see how that could've happened. Another corner, still no Namchee.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Just as the sun had gone behind the hill, just as it started getting cold, just as the blue sky had turned lavender, we turn a corner and see below us a house on a hillside on the next corner. Going past that, more houses, the dirt road turns to rough paving, houses appear on either sides, lights are glowing secrets behind curtained windows. A few smiling guides are on street corners telling us where to turn. We're in a different tealodge to the one we were in on the way up. This one I think takes all of us. I enter and dump bags, see others, organise a room, re-organise a room as Joe really needs to be quarantined.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I sit down to eat and I think I drink 3 cans of coke. I clearly need the sugar. Others arrive, looking pissed off. I don't think we look the most welcoming as we're just as zombied out as they are. Spirits are at their lowest amongst the whole troupe but no one has the energy to say anything apart from the medics. Early to bed methinks. Night night.</p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-65356541494381066032009-09-16T22:50:00.003+01:002009-09-16T23:31:25.777+01:00The Trek Down. Gorak Shep to Pheriche Day 13, Trekking Day 12<span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" ><i>These journal entries are made up from notes and scribbles, reminders of the journey down. I couldn't write that much as you will see why later.</i></span><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"> <span style="font-size:100%;">We get up early the next day, some people have gotten up even earlier to go up to Kalapatthar, something which I hope I don't regret not doing. I know that the view of Everest is meant to be amazing from there but really, I should really have gone but I know that it'll just knacker me out for the rest of the day. I've had an amazing time getting up here, I've reached the goal of getting photos of the match, I've reached higher than any other Zubairi, I've pushed myself harder than I ever expected to. No, I'm going to stay in my bed for that extra hour. Joe had a better night's sleep I must say. There was no baby bear being attacked in the woods this time. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"> I wasn't looking forward to going over the Khumbu Glacier again. That journey up here was bad enough. It wasn't as if we were going to be going downhill, no, it was a constant going up to go down. Rocky but easier this time round, even though the first 45 minutes was going uphill as usual. This time I was travelling more in the group which was great. I think everyone's feeling glad to be heading home. We are in the first group to go. There's a 2nd group behind us and a third made up of the Kalapatthar climbers behind them. </p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"> <span style="font-size:100%;"> Going past Lobuche we didn't hang about though we stop to collect water from the spring there and made our way back up again. We were heading towards Pheriche and not Dingboche this time to go and visit the Himalayan Rescue Association. On a hill I get some slide photos of the mountain and a sticker for my friend Din and his currypuff business in Manchester: alittletasteofmalaysia.com. Of course, going up the hill, I trail behind but we pass an old woman with a beautifully wrinkled face who was stood watching and praying with her beads. She becomes a character in a poem that I've been fermenting in my head. I give her a low namaste with both ands and she returns it, smiling and starts to walk with us, a little further behind me. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">We get to the small plateau where the monuments are and take a rest. It still feels very sacred, this plateau with it's crown of mountains. More photos. I touch the boulder where Alex Lowe's name is carved by his friend, just for luck. Lucy, who usually finds descending difficult because of her knees is trailing behind so it's perfect excuse to catch up with her and sing our way down the hill. Eventually we reach Duggla (Thukla) again where we had that nice meal of noodles in spicy soup which was popular. So far in a morning we've done in a few hours what took us 2 days to ascend and I feel much relief that what we're doing is going to be fairly easy and spirits were up.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">While we were eating, there was another group of us that were coming down, much slower and there seemed to be a problem. Suddenly the available medics left and joined that group. James Markby was not in a good way. Immediately he was laid down and covered and had a line put in him. There was a group around him, assisting, fetching water, keeping him warm. One of the other photographers was taking newsworthy shots. When it was apparent that Markby was showing signs of returning back to normality it was decided that the rest of us should continue. Apparently there was a virus going around which he was showing signs of. Dehydration, D and V. The medics suggested that they will travel with him until Pheriche, our next stop, where the Himalayan Mountain Rescue clinic was situated.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Lucy and I seem to be going a different way from the way we came. I think we're lower down the valley, the ridge with the path way above us. The first lot of our group were way ahead and at the bottom of the hill, looking like specks. There was another group way behind us, looking like specks. Perhaps further behind them was another group. We'd seem to be split into smaller groups. Dr. Isla suggested that there be a group of sickkies as it was apparent that there were more people showing symptoms of the virus.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Lucy and I were taking it slowly as I didn't want to put any additional pressure on her knees. It being rocky descending didn't make it any easier. We finally got to the bottom of the hill and the valley floor stretched for miles before us, with the river breaking cutting it's rough way over the rocky floor. Way, way in the distance it was grassy and welcoming, with a few scattered farms. The first lot were ahead, looking like dots and had just about reached the grassy section. Way ahead of that was a village, which must be Pheriche. It looked like the others would reach it in half an hour or so.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">An hour later the first group were still dot sized but still hadn't reached the village. We'd got to the grassier section, taking stepping stones over the shallower part of the river. There were a few yaks here, cattle, being penned in stone walled fields. The grass. So green, so lush. "It could be the Peak District" noted Luce. She's probably right. I've never been to the Peak District. We'd not seen grass for days, and come to think of it, not much for about a week. It looked so green and rich. There was a baby yak, about the size of a full-grown goat which was so cute! Little baby yak! I hope Lucy's photo comes out.<br /></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Eventually the others reached the village and we got there probably half an hour or so after that. The sun was slowly going down behind the mountains and it was beginning to get chilly again.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">We got to our tealodge in Pheriche and we were amazed at the luxuriousness of it. Compared to the one on Gorak Shep, this was positively The Shangri-La. The hotel, not the place (which I never thought was a real place until I saw it on a map). The tealodge where we dined was actually full so I shared with The Chidge in the tealodge over the way, which wasn't as nice but the facilities were just as clean.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Everybody seemed to be coming down with more and more symptoms of the virus. After I'd put my bags into my room, and had got settled with a cup of sweet milky tea, Lucy and I saw others running past the large windows up the track with a stretcher. Was it Markby? Who was it this time? </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">About half an hour later they arrived and the offending person was whisked away to a quarantined room and dealt medical attention. Then came dinner. Then another talk by the medics about how some people will be travelling tomorrow in a smaller, quarantine group as there were quite a few who were ill and contagious. It's possibly the virus, it might just be really bad guts but the medics weren't taking any chances. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">So far today we'd done in 6 hours what it took 3 days coming up. We were in good spirits though everyone was beginning to get really tired and the ill people were making everyone a bit nervous and making people feel down. (Not the people themselves, just the fact that there was illness around. People don't like illness, it reminds us of mortality.)</span></p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-48891339935758424622009-08-24T00:38:00.009+01:002009-08-31T14:11:51.834+01:00Day 12, Trekking Day 11<p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Last night there was bad atmosphere in Camp Tenzing. A coupla guys didn't get picked for the team and the guys that were picked didn't feel that the whole thing was handled well. It's not an easy decision and it's not an easy job for anyone. The pressure has been on the Captains and vices to make a good choice. I guess the idea to film it gave the whole thing an unnecessary weight, taking it away from the camaraderie, the team spirit, the good feeling that everyone started this journey with. Shame really.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">There was an announcement made from that there may be people trying to sabotage the match tomorrow and that we'd better watch out for people who would want to do that. It was suggested that someone be posted to watch over the pitch so no one steals it. James Peterson and a couple of others decide to take it up and roll it up and take it inside to protect it. It'd be easier to roll out now that it had already been set out from yesterday.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Joe was really noisy in his sleep. We chatted for a bit, about his disappointment, his theories about who was picked and why. I don't know if this is normal for Joe, but he does makes noise in his sleep like a baby bear being molested. Perhaps it's bad dreams, perhaps it's the altitude. Perhaps it's the disappointment of not making the 11.<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">The next morning Joe was up early, putting his uniform on, the pink Tenzing 20Twenty uniform, like pajamas. Undaunted by yesterdays decisions, he wanted to play cricket and be involved in what was going to be a good day.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Babywiping down, getting changed in that wooden khazi, getting all my equipment together - 2 cameras (need to check on George), sketchpads, water, purification tabs, chocolate, I set out to the other teahouse.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">It's buzzing down there, Glen is about to make his selection. Apparently, they'd spoken to the people who hadn't made the cut earlier so this was no surprise to them. Yes, there was disappointment, but really, not as much as last night in our teahouse. After a rallying speech, the boys get ready for the match. I manage to get a set of batteries from George, he's feeling much much better, there's more colour in his face thank god.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Stepping out from their teahouse, the pitch had been set out already. There was an electricity in the air, the embankments around the oval were getting dotted with people who were there to watch the game. They'd heard about it from all they way up the track, from even before Lukla, the posters had been distributed all over the region. Some people had made it down from EBC to watch the match. Wow.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jKxc6fx5iic_vIFMoxqXhRY_oqwVh6AFSPjr6sX7MxSX7MzvYusrg_4Q82A2EEianIB5zb1lAJkJ-SDyfOn25k4yQw3xGnbSorFRdE-Vv0LsGJWy49AGEIC4-jLJSclLuZwpeQ0oaXrT/s1600-h/DSCF5193.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6jKxc6fx5iic_vIFMoxqXhRY_oqwVh6AFSPjr6sX7MxSX7MzvYusrg_4Q82A2EEianIB5zb1lAJkJ-SDyfOn25k4yQw3xGnbSorFRdE-Vv0LsGJWy49AGEIC4-jLJSclLuZwpeQ0oaXrT/s200/DSCF5193.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373310705543608850" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVE37wFREnZzYG2TAcdHmBG5NBh_A0gHlhKbLdrwH8M1DPMm5K_OI_glNRLi1_Djv0BNGOkxUv3u8q6DbmeCQmSbPARhqbfjLrU1t293rJoWxZbFiXfgM28UXXlfuDEKqQml2vKlpUY73/s1600-h/DSCF5182.JPG">Team Captains Glen and Haydn</a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVE37wFREnZzYG2TAcdHmBG5NBh_A0gHlhKbLdrwH8M1DPMm5K_OI_glNRLi1_Djv0BNGOkxUv3u8q6DbmeCQmSbPARhqbfjLrU1t293rJoWxZbFiXfgM28UXXlfuDEKqQml2vKlpUY73/s1600-h/DSCF5182.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVE37wFREnZzYG2TAcdHmBG5NBh_A0gHlhKbLdrwH8M1DPMm5K_OI_glNRLi1_Djv0BNGOkxUv3u8q6DbmeCQmSbPARhqbfjLrU1t293rJoWxZbFiXfgM28UXXlfuDEKqQml2vKlpUY73/s200/DSCF5182.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373310737402824818" border="0" />Yesterdays Avalanche<br /></a></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I'm not going to blog about the match itself as I really know not that much about the sport (a funny story that I was promised not to repeat by 3rd umpire Helen Curr was a few weeks before we left the UK, HC and Brooksie and I went round to Paola and Alex's house to have ice-cream and watch cricket so HC could explain things to us, from what she had learnt. Halfway through the DVD, I did have to ask 'So.... what's a run?' - I wasn't sure whether it was there and back or just there. But it did sound like I didn't know what a run was at all. The girls were in creases on the floor, until one of them sat up and looked at HC and said,'So, what is it?')</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I set up my spot near one end of the wicket, not too far from George. There were lots of photo ops from the day. Lots of photos of the guys and gals and the locals watching the match. From the opening speeches by James Markby, the goodwill hugs from friends on the opposing teams to each other, this was the moment that possibilities are open. Who was going to win?</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I'd make sketches of the mountains and the game while it was going on and every so often I'd make my rounds around the oval, to see if I can get a good angles of the match. At one point, I saw Joe Williams near the boundary and he called me over and asked me to take a picture of him, posing, walking away from the match towards me with Everest in the background. Something happened in the game and he turned away to run towards the match. I snapped one more photo of him starting to run. (<i>I wouldn't know how much this photo would mean to me until I got back to England, but more of that later).</i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJvVWYNrE7uEVu-ENRqS0RFoRSc7kb20ZYj8JsfPZZLiv-sPczzxZWQ6XSMxpJVyhBYXI455cxQhyphenhyphenqHytLyZpv8SSBBV1Z3u_ipZVp81lT5KjKBI22eSPVS4mkGYi1tWDvRur89xvX_SE/s1600-h/DSCF5247.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJvVWYNrE7uEVu-ENRqS0RFoRSc7kb20ZYj8JsfPZZLiv-sPczzxZWQ6XSMxpJVyhBYXI455cxQhyphenhyphenqHytLyZpv8SSBBV1Z3u_ipZVp81lT5KjKBI22eSPVS4mkGYi1tWDvRur89xvX_SE/s400/DSCF5247.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373314730979149570" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">You can real Alan Curr's blog about the match <a style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);" href="http://www.atestabovetherest.com/?p=144">here</a><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">.</span></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">In the 2nd half of the match, I went for a higher view of the pitch and went up Kalapatthar.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nlFaZreFqgs88jqHr8P2aEskyTmv4aep2vDaI-r6aOFqWdd5Yb7ASckz3uok0cdc1CGoo_AUU4M5fPdXc-RqORhlM1yB2aCkHZCTmkNq3ZZCJ2t-32uMJim39oOfUjWLpX-DfMWK1gCP/s1600-h/DSCF5290.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nlFaZreFqgs88jqHr8P2aEskyTmv4aep2vDaI-r6aOFqWdd5Yb7ASckz3uok0cdc1CGoo_AUU4M5fPdXc-RqORhlM1yB2aCkHZCTmkNq3ZZCJ2t-32uMJim39oOfUjWLpX-DfMWK1gCP/s200/DSCF5290.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373310746139097266" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"> Amazing. I came down and did more sketching. I also had to pose with the other Trektators while the the ITV guy took some shot of us cheering so they could edit into their programme.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmheYz6ctA5-JKRBQJbE17IoYQokQxBPcjCEvudkW-IFjTx73x-5PxnvHWZrwao7pf7Im0_pvcLfXQdYuTxQ5lTvHWAbgPJoVVYqIBTAOcHef1d05V4oFVpBt6nYAcT-K56TeH5rUCWH6g/s1600-h/DSCF5285.JPG">James Butler and Graham The Mallard<img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmheYz6ctA5-JKRBQJbE17IoYQokQxBPcjCEvudkW-IFjTx73x-5PxnvHWZrwao7pf7Im0_pvcLfXQdYuTxQ5lTvHWAbgPJoVVYqIBTAOcHef1d05V4oFVpBt6nYAcT-K56TeH5rUCWH6g/s200/DSCF5285.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373310728546698146" border="0" /></a></p> Suddenly the game was over. People cheering, team captains were celebrated, losers commiserated, champagne was poured, cake was presented to everyone on the teams and trektators, made by the chef teams of Nepali who came up with us. It was all over. Photos, photos and more photos. Celebration drinks. I had one beer and 1 swig of champagne as I was watching the pennies. I couldn't afford much as I'd spent my dosh sending updates to twitter and facebook. I had my first cigarettes since day 4 of the trek. Feel a bit sick. Up earlyish tomorrow for the long trek down. The decision has been made todescend in 3 days to Lukla instead o f 4. Sounds like a good idea to get there earlier but might it take it out of us? <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD69mjTpHR7mNFtaqzNTSwVbG9KLUQaX3IuPOTNC91d6tanS-JZi-P-MQ4Vr3MVgp-Wf8EZ4R2Dc0SMCnx7GKqORcPjvHo6urwLk6oTN-84FK_0Fou5BAciGRcbb-fOk6qLFtO8p4gZPdZ/s1600-h/DSCF5216.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD69mjTpHR7mNFtaqzNTSwVbG9KLUQaX3IuPOTNC91d6tanS-JZi-P-MQ4Vr3MVgp-Wf8EZ4R2Dc0SMCnx7GKqORcPjvHo6urwLk6oTN-84FK_0Fou5BAciGRcbb-fOk6qLFtO8p4gZPdZ/s200/DSCF5216.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373310714970343586" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Oh, and this was what Creative Minds, our promoter made of it: <a style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6xrk3EiVds">This Amazing Video</a><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><br /></p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-46289257499516023242009-08-18T00:05:00.003+01:002009-08-18T00:34:25.072+01:00Day 11, Trekking day 10<p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Last night it dawned on Joe and Simmo that there was a distinct possibility that the game might be this morning, and not tomorrow, as planned, as Kirt and Wes and the captains had decided to make best of the good weather in case it doesn't last. It has been sunny everyday since we got here and fairly warm in the daytime, apart from when that wind was blowing through out bones. Drisla had been trying to contact anyone on radio who was already up in Gorak Shep to see what the situation was but all night had no response and even this morning there was radio silence. It made breakfast a silent affair as the boys were thinking that they had missed their opportunity to make history. It was once in a lifetime for them. Though they were feeling much better healthwise, they were keen to get up the track to Gorak Shep to see if they could get on the game.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Earlier this morning, I was awoken by Drisla at about 5, it was low light outside but by the tone of the way she said, 'Zooby, you're snoring. <b><i><span style="font-size:180%;">Again</span></i></b>.' I kinda knew that I must've had a) a good sleep b) a rather large snoring session. Yes, I guess, I shared with Drisla for one night as the boys shared a room and we were keeping costs low by sharing. Because everything was pre-paid accommodation and food-wise, every time a person has something from the menu, it cost The Everest Test some dough.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Filling water bottles we made our way up the rocky track over the glacier. Now, I was expecting, when someone said the word 'glacier' to be white and pure and somewhat beautiful. Not really anticipating that it was covered in scree (not very often I get to use the word 'scree', but I like it, it makes it feel very adventuresome) and was rocky and brown. Once we were high enough to see the Khumbu glacial valley, we did see high ice walls and icepools which gave away the fact we were following the glacier.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Joe was a star. Although my pack had gone ahead with the rest of the team yesterday, my equipment pack of 2 cameras, sleeping bag, toiletries, 4 litres of water was heavier than ever. At this altitude, breathing wasn't the best as the air was thinner. At some points we'd be higher than we were sleeping at later on tonight (which is a good thing for acclimatisation, but a bad thing when you're feeling a little weaker than ever). Ever so often, when I couldn't carry on, he'd offer to carry my pack for a while, just so we could get on. I took him up on the offer every so often but really, I couldn't let him do it the whole time.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Halfway up while we were on our many swap rests, these two Aussie dudes came clambering down the track and we'd got talking to them. Drisla asked them where they'd just come from (well, where else, but just in case they'd come straight from Base Camp) and the dreaded question, whether they knew if the game was today.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">'<span style="font-style: italic;">Oe noe. The gayme's not teal tomorroe. Youe goies hev noe warries</span>.' He couldn't have sounded more laid back. I shall italicise his words just to make them look like they're relaxing. The boys' relief was unmistakable.<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">After about 2 hours (I think), we'd crossed the glacier, gone even higher, scrambled over sharp rocks, rested countless times, we made our way over another hill and there below us, looking like matchboxes, were the teahouses of Gorak Shep. The rest was a relatively easier downhill. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6u9Ck3lavxWpqhoDeRgVuCMKjp69txRHeinAJw01APj2fzSQa7xudqJrZZjzQXQQti24Y_pVUXbnf46-oNL0iaXpk9LLk6HqfWudSSk5aw8opR49L4CDooDmVzo8mHI6zh561xbeUg7N/s1600-h/IMG00158-20090420-1018.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6u9Ck3lavxWpqhoDeRgVuCMKjp69txRHeinAJw01APj2fzSQa7xudqJrZZjzQXQQti24Y_pVUXbnf46-oNL0iaXpk9LLk6HqfWudSSk5aw8opR49L4CDooDmVzo8mHI6zh561xbeUg7N/s320/IMG00158-20090420-1018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371075599199639202" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggjdKsKpOZRRNiFaQFq8YHVbvF-ihrRH8Js_k1TwCqRnCGi0JpLqWKx7wOvAvsVgv8NdV5mhFid4l30ko9PrnwXK00dzofqqHJ9eaAI8ZlULs3UoUll8QQnkYK4K4ZeEYI_tTs54QyxZ4I/s1600-h/IMG00157-20090420-1017.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggjdKsKpOZRRNiFaQFq8YHVbvF-ihrRH8Js_k1TwCqRnCGi0JpLqWKx7wOvAvsVgv8NdV5mhFid4l30ko9PrnwXK00dzofqqHJ9eaAI8ZlULs3UoUll8QQnkYK4K4ZeEYI_tTs54QyxZ4I/s320/IMG00157-20090420-1017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371075590348543090" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">When we got to the first teahouse, they said that we could eat as it was gone lunchtime. Joe and Simmo had to simulate entering the compound again as Wes wanted to film the last two players, lost heroes, re-joining the group. The guides were tucking in to a meal of dhalbatt which looked really tasty as we'd not really had any at this point, it was mainly fried potatoes and such the like. At least the dhall would have given us a source of protein which we were all missing... I said to Dharma, who was eating his lentils with gusto, 'that that looked really nice.' He said, 'No, you will have sandwiches,' smilingly, thinking I'd be pleased. My heart sank to think that I'll not have really tasted Nepali trekking cooking apart from potatoes.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">I'd received message from FuddA that 'the eagle has landed' via radio and that my backpack was settled in her room awaiting my arrival. I'd be sharing with Joe, which was cool as he was funny and he chatted about stuff, and I think we were banished to each other's company as both of us were really loud in whatever noises we make while sleeping.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">I went out onto the pitch after snacking on some dry cheese sarnies, feeling like a scolded child, for some reason. For some reason I get this image of my head of my friend <a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=683785248&ref=ts">Andrea Hall</a> while eating these sandwiches. I have no idea why. I think it's just the way I was eating sandwiches. Reminded me of Andrea. Out on the pitch there was some sort of commotion going on. There were two groups of people dressed in what looked like uniforms of some sort, lined up in an orderly fashion, one group of Asian (probably Nepali) and the other were whites (I can't tell whether they're European or Oceanic or North American, so I'm gonna call them 'whites'. If you think that's me being racist, that's tough titty. They were white. Nuff said. Kirt was was in the middle of all of this hubbub, talking to some elderly chap with a cap on.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">I walk around the site, the frozen lakebed. Like the rest of the 'glacier' I see no evidence of ice, or lake, or bed. A few people are at the far end of the oval, facing the other two teahouses where team Hillary are sleeping tonight. I check it out. Of course, it's slightly more welcoming, they seem to have got the better deal but at this late stage, who cares, you know. Who cares. I was excited to have reached Gorak Shep.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Some people go off to Everest Base Camp (or EBC, or even BC, as it's called by regulars) to check it out and check out the bakery. Yah. Bakery. I make an attempt to send some tweets and even check out facebook (why?) while here as there seems to be an internet connection here (I check my Blackberry just in case there is a signal. No) but at 25 rupes a minute, best left to do very little on it. Money is running out. That's why I thought I'd twitter. If you want to check out my tweets it's <a href="http://twitter.com/jamiezoob"><b><span style="font-size:130%;">here</span></b>.</a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Dinner around a noisy table. AlexFuddA says that she's running out of water. I say that we can go to the far side of the oval to check out the spring water there. I have 'muslims' which we can use to filter our water, referring to the two muslin filters that I brought with me for use with springwater. And muslims became the word du jour that made us laugh. No one is going to have a memory of this, or find it inoffensive apart from <a href="http://fud-on-everest.blogspot.com/">Alex</a> and me. Any chance I got to take my helpful little muslims out, they got used. It was getting dark when we started to take water from the spring. There were some locals who were there too, so we waited for one of them to be free. Ice cold! Oh my god! I'd never felt anything that cold.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">We head to our teahouse and the atmosphere is thick with something. The boys are sitting quietly and it is solemn. Ah. The team selection by captain Haydn and VC Goonit. Not an easy choice. Not sure where to look. Wes is documenting it on film with all the difficulties that entails, batteries running low, tape running out, not enough sound. The boys have to go into a room with Goonit, Haydn and Wes to be told whether they'd made the cut or not. Everyone thinks it's shitty and is a bit miserable about the whole thing. The chaps outside speculate on who is in and why they are in. It's not great. I can't really do anything to alleviate the tension so I go and check out what the other team is doing. They're not making their selection until the morning so the atmos might be a bit more relaxed.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">When I get there, I see that George Powell, the lead photographer, is stretched out on the sofabench with VixNix tending to him and Drisla not far. I think he's got a line in him. He had to have been assisted the rest of the way from BC as he was severely dehydrated, his eyes were listless when I was trying to engage with him. Apparently he'd been up to Kalapatthar earlier that day, then gone on to BC, without any rest, with Kirt and VixNix.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">I'd joked with him 'Get well Georgie, I don't know your camera!', which garnered a little smile, which made me feel a bit better. In all seriousness, I didn't know his camera, which was waaay better than mine (and besides, since my adapter went 'missing' on day 5, I'd never been able to successfully recharge my batteries for my digital, I was flying on slide film for the rest of the trip. I'm glad that I had 3 rolls left).</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">It turns out that the 'elderly chap' from earlier today is Russell Brice, one of the best known expedition leaders around and the others were part of the HimEx team - his clients and guides. A few months ago, when Russell Brice got wind of what Kirt was attempting to achieve, for a laugh, he got it in his head that he was going to challenge Kirt to a game even higher than the one that we were going to play tomorrow. </p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Tomorrow. Shittyfuckfuck. It's happening. This is where it's gonna be. After a year of my involvement, it's just hit me. It finishes tomorrow.</p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-57013787959084666722009-08-02T20:08:00.007+01:002009-08-12T16:25:54.449+01:00Day 10, Trekking Day 9 - Holed up in Lobuche<p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I woke up this morning after not feeling very well last night.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">After we got to the teahouse in Lobuche yesterday evening, I found a room and for the first time I was in a room by myself which was unusual. Everyone seemed to have organised who they were sharing with along the trek. When does this happen? I had a headache along the trek and who I would be sharing with wasn't really a concern, not that it was anyway, everyone's a good sort, but it would've been good to see if there was anyone I particulalrly got on with that wsa sans roommate. Not sure why I was bothered tonight of all nights. Though to be honest, it was a relief. <i>Not that 'relief' was going to be any of my activities this evening. </i><br /></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">After dumping my stuff on the bed, I made my way to the tearoom and had a milky tea with some paracetamol and ibuprofen. Not feeling well at all. After resting a bit listening to the chat from other people, I wasn't sure what was going on and I thought I might need a sleep. I got up and almost immediately needed to sit down again, dizzy, the room blurring like a photograph.<br /></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I asked for another tea and sat nursing it for a few more minutes to see if it was just temporary. I let Dr Nick know and he asked if I had taken anything, there was chat in the room and it was kinda comforting, not that I knew what it was about. I decided that I should try and sleep at least for a little bit.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Someone passed me on the stairs and said something but I'm not sure who it was or what he'd asked <i>(from a conversation I had recently with Curry, it was him. Apparently I wasn't taking anything in</i>,<i> who he was, what he had asked me and dubbed me 'Zombie Zoob' a this point in the book that he is writing about our adventures. I hope it gets published, I'd like to read it). </i>I slept, I think, for a while, Dr. Nick came up to check on me as I'd told him that I wasn't sharing with anyone. When it came to dinnertime I made my way downstairs for something to eat, feeling a little more myself. (<i>No, still, not a 'relief' reference)</i>.<br /></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">It was actually after dinner when I came down but they'd saved some for me and I sat with Paola and Alex and Brooksie. Apparently I looked like death. But I needed to eat and I was greatful for the feed. Not that I ate much of it. Another plateful of fried spiced potatoes really didn't appeal at this point. Kirt came along from the other teahouse and sat with us for a bit. Paola asked me about the poem that I read out last night. I coudn't say much about it, well, nothing intelligent and witty apart from the fact that it wasn't autobiographical, apart from the line 'We were on holiday in Scarborough'. The rest is just fiction with a little of what goes through my head daily. Kirt said that it was the strangest thing that he'd heard. I dunno. It's not so strange is it? It's comedic. <i>Alex recently told me that on the night people were a little wierded out by it, but she was proud that I'd read it out and that she was secretly thought to herself, 'Yeah, he's </i>MY <i>friend, I love it'. Hearing this recently made me smile inside.</i></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">So today I wake up and feel a hundred times better. Dr. Nick came to check on me at midnight (I think, or did I just imagine it). After my wipedown with my babywipes, I go downstairs to get breakfasted up and join the teams for the final push. Yes, today we reach Gorak Shep, the end point of our trek up to Mt Everest.Wow. </p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Joe Williams, it turns out was also taken ill last night and was given the option to stay on another night to fully recover. I asked Dr Nick if I could do the same and she said that it was probably the best idea. We would be joined by Drisla and Simmo as they were on their way up from Duggla. I went to the other teahouse as all our stuff had been collected by the porters, ready to be taken up. I took my sleeping bag and washing stuff out, my diary and writing things, to stay the night. On way way to the other house, I saw the route upto Gorak Shep. It didn't look particularly inviting. I've made the right choice.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Joe emerged looking tired and had some tea and breakfast, we were able to order food off the menu, something I was looking forward to.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">More tea and I sat out in the sunshine writing this blog. I'm in the middle of a conversation with some people from Seattle who were on their way up to Base Camp (or B.C. as it's known) and an Aussie bunch (one of whom "isn't on cipro, yet". Tasteful.)</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Then another two joined me at the table from up the track. They'd just come down. For some reason, my Malaydar was going off like mad. The chap speaking was an Indian guy from South Africa (I think they call them 'coloureds'). The Seattlites didn't really take to him as he seemed to know too much. "Nobody likes know it alls".<br /></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I had to ask. Yes, the other guy was Imran and was surprised as I was to find another Malaysian (yes, though I am semi-Asian, I'm still Malay. We sat chatting for a bit). He's on a 'spiritual quest' which piqued my interest as Malays aren't known for their spirituality. Belief in God, Islam and such the like, yes. But spirituality? Interesting. Not your typical songkok-wearing, tourism-friendly smile Malay here. Imran and the South African finished their feed and made their way down the track to Dingboche but as they were leaving I gave my card to Imran and he looked at it 'Wah, ACTOR!' he exclaimed, smiling, 'It's not every day that I get a card that says "actor" on it. I forget what it was that he does. <span style="font-style: italic;">This wasn't the last time Imran and I saw each other on the trip. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>I wanted to ask more about his spiritual quest. Perhaps he'll email me.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Readers will be interested to know that Imran has since been a keen reader of my blogs and comments once or twice.</span><br /></p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Then I met two English guys, Colin and Nick who had met the other team yesterday in the teahouse in Duggla. They'd left Drisla and Simmo who were apparently 20 minutes behind them so I could expect them soon. <i>They did arrive, but perhaps 2 </i><i>hours after Nick and Colin got there.</i> Colin used to work for the RSC and did LX for them before moving to Leamington Spa to do computer programming.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">When Drisla and Simmo got there, they settled and we got some lunch together with Joe. I was hyper-aware that this was probably the first time I'd spoken to Simmo and the first time he'd asked me anything. Bizarre, after 9 days of travelling together. But hey, I hadn't really spoken to anyone mid-trek, everyone's keen to compete with each other on some front or another. I don't go in for that, I find competitive chat tiring, very few of the chaps actually have <u>conversations</u> with each other, I've noticed. Must be a sportsman thing. I'm far too collaborative and silly. Perhaps not quite when I'm so far removed from comfort zones. If you join in I'll play along. Besides, I haven't got a cultural reference for 'Point Break'. It's never been on my list of 'must sees'.<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Simmo is a hard-landscaper and quite the humourist, but you have to listen really hard. <span style="font-style: italic;">I have since met his sister who apparently looks like him. She doesn't. Thankfully.</span></p><u> </u><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"> Joy of joys. We all have yaksteak. Feeling the colour coming back into my cheeks already.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><u><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMMfMo-lJwOAwuqqlpCrl33OQcRpayLqkPh___dHeVg0WYFePyG0UH4qf8Bxmlz7UVxbV62AibYZWXS-sy51BwYcteVNh61LwlbiQlIB2w7Q1BJBbFbO2O-5pvBFii86EA2atbQq9yB6J/s1600-h/DSCF5872.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMMfMo-lJwOAwuqqlpCrl33OQcRpayLqkPh___dHeVg0WYFePyG0UH4qf8Bxmlz7UVxbV62AibYZWXS-sy51BwYcteVNh61LwlbiQlIB2w7Q1BJBbFbO2O-5pvBFii86EA2atbQq9yB6J/s320/DSCF5872.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365449005643583874" border="0" />The Walker in The Hills<br /></a></u></p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-52204617814522459952009-07-27T03:07:00.006+01:002009-07-27T21:13:13.954+01:00Day 9 Trekking Day 8 Dengboche to LobucheSo today we're up early to get a start on the trek. We follow practically the same route up to the stupa that we did yesterday on our acclimatisation trek but then we go over the hump and along a ridge following the valley floor. The landscape is breathtaking. You have to stop and look around you to see these mountains which seem to rise out of nowhere like a stone titan's surfing waves.<p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Dr Lord gave us a little speech about the next section as we were in the Khumbu valley and from here on in it gets pretty dusty, if anyone brought facemasks, then this would be the time to wear them.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">We're following another river and eventually we cross it as a rocky point over a low wooden bridge. Someone noted that we more-or-less walked straight over. Usually at this pass we'd have to wait for people on the other side to cross first and it'd be the Himalayan traffic-jam. We see that above is an outpost called Duggla (or Thukla, depending on where you read your maps) where we had a memorable meal of spicy noodle soup. It was probably the best thing we'd had so far on the trip - It wasn't pasta and it wasn't potatoes. Noodles in soup with a smattering of vegetables.<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RgsMPn7hRaMgcbs7PpuJfKMxBme0ttjyr7F_4JaoSLU5sw3IlhzpJgmRGohWaPjS1UJaLbas9fnqzxXR46LbuznCcdT-v2-_ftQCsJoEa3h_25EDH1nyocpxjQdy0hP_Df9ShH5kwhtr/s1600-h/DSCF5878.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RgsMPn7hRaMgcbs7PpuJfKMxBme0ttjyr7F_4JaoSLU5sw3IlhzpJgmRGohWaPjS1UJaLbas9fnqzxXR46LbuznCcdT-v2-_ftQCsJoEa3h_25EDH1nyocpxjQdy0hP_Df9ShH5kwhtr/s320/DSCF5878.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363192102743434034" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">While we were eating we could see the trek ahead. A rocky hill that just seemed to go on forever. We were watching other trekking teams ascend and roughly timed them on their ascent. They seemed to take forever to disappear. Some of them we smaller than ants and weren't even halfway up the hill. It looked very daunting. I wasn't looking forward to it whatsoever. </p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">I was developing a slight headache so I tried sleeping for a bit and taking a paracetamol or two. I think I managed to sleep for about 15 minutes before I was woken up to gather my things and leave. Much refreshed and headache seems to have lifted slightly.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Hrt1YSk5PBehjfAt2cnx6AML6lR2iUEK7CGLGhU7zrYKyPs_8tHHlAB99_R3_Y5mHKPRTbnrDwzeBqKw5gSE_QJ23ceVOZKQYP5bf9wbecujChUIJs8hr0BUd91MGQT4xd2BrHQOAzsI/s1600-h/me+sleeping"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Hrt1YSk5PBehjfAt2cnx6AML6lR2iUEK7CGLGhU7zrYKyPs_8tHHlAB99_R3_Y5mHKPRTbnrDwzeBqKw5gSE_QJ23ceVOZKQYP5bf9wbecujChUIJs8hr0BUd91MGQT4xd2BrHQOAzsI/s320/me+sleeping" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363234891801726354" border="0" /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Hrt1YSk5PBehjfAt2cnx6AML6lR2iUEK7CGLGhU7zrYKyPs_8tHHlAB99_R3_Y5mHKPRTbnrDwzeBqKw5gSE_QJ23ceVOZKQYP5bf9wbecujChUIJs8hr0BUd91MGQT4xd2BrHQOAzsI/s1600-h/me+sleeping"><span style="font-size:78%;">(me and Dr Nick have 40 winks. Or maybe it was just about 20)<br /></span></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Simmo(nds) wasn't feeling very well so was left behind with Dr Isla Cox to rest for a day in Dukla (Thuggla). It was decided that he does have AMS and was presenting all the classic symptoms but we all went ahead leaving him in Isla's capables.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">The rocky hill that stretched above us was a bit of a chore but we took frequent rest stops. Trekking in the Himalayas seems to be a constant struggle to stay at a comfortable temperature. I'm wearing quite a heavy tog NorthFace down jacket, a windproof inner layer as well as a technical underlayer and generally when I'm stood still, it's fine but moving and especially with uphills, it gets pretty hot and sweaty zipping and unzipping the windproof, taking the down jacket off, gloves, hat, pack, moan, moan, moan.... it's beautiful here at the top. This a a holy place.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">We're resting for half an hour at what seems to be a basin shaped plateau<i> (which, I guess, isn't technically a plateau)</i> at the top of the rocky hill. At the crest of it we turned around to see the teahouse which looked like half a postage stamp. I hope Simmo is okay. There are prayer flags stretching from one peak of the crest to the other, forming a welcome gate to this place. There's a stupa here with more flags flying. In the base of the rocky basin there are what looks like granite boulders with carvings on them. We look around and there are memorials and monuments all over the place. Everyone seems to recognise names of people, perhaps more famous climbers that have tried scaling Everest. Walking around, I find a boulder tucked into a far corner where I find a simple carving to someone. It's stupid to cry over people you don't know but I guess, it's like watching films where you invest in the truth of the film and something sad happens, I can't help but cry. I don't know who this person is but I've invested in the truth of this mountain that it can be unforgiving and that there are dangers on it. I can only imagine what went on. Did they only make it this far? No. Surely not. These people are surely more heroic than I, though I am reminded that that some have fallen before this point of the route up to Everest. I suspect that our little trek is nothing to what ever Alex Lowe had gone through. If I get back down I will find out who this person is and what they did and why an anonymous friend carved their name in a rock. It's simple but beautiful, out of the way of the main route through this place. And sitting by the rock, looking around, it's like we're being watched by the Gods on all sides in their towering majesty. No wonder they chose this spot as the place to place the monuments to the fallen. They can rest protected.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">When we continued our journey, we are all a little subdued and more than moved by the sacrosanctity of this hill.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">Further along after much deep thought and subdued walking, I finally hit on the answer.</p> <p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;">"Mansion House. The tube stop with all the vowels in the alphabet is Mansion House!"</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwbaaXXCig5KZy6Bmrk100Twc1TNjbkZgIxoeGGphyphenhyphendyvRbC-cB8rXnvhKGb5R2Gu-IZav22LkElZYm2MxEwG34nxq_ryoVKdc7tEsq1PAqYfb_nJO5gHy7mYm6N3aFOzkGQ9SJZZWxLL/s1600-h/IMG00156-20090418-1357.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwbaaXXCig5KZy6Bmrk100Twc1TNjbkZgIxoeGGphyphenhyphendyvRbC-cB8rXnvhKGb5R2Gu-IZav22LkElZYm2MxEwG34nxq_ryoVKdc7tEsq1PAqYfb_nJO5gHy7mYm6N3aFOzkGQ9SJZZWxLL/s320/IMG00156-20090418-1357.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362959036126801538" border="0" /></a></p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-28362795576974483862009-06-21T20:24:00.006+01:002009-06-21T20:42:11.010+01:00Day 8 Trekking Rest Day 7<p face="verdana" style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Dingboche. Or is it Dengboche? The plan for the morning of this 'rest' day is to nudge 5000m and stay up there for an hour, shocking our bodies into acclimatising. The route up was pretty hard going really. We got some group shots and there was this stupa half way up where we took some more photos. The guides showed us the way that we were going the next day from that point. The valley lay on the other side of this hill where we were going (Lobuche).<br /></p><p face="verdana" style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlE_WAdysUFHheOmVzkyWCKRKIY-al2mMcl1s341NAfxo3aGaxgNUJl0as1ga8KHhE75WVJYFyNB_QB6J5rdPJGsnGo0shqtlS6IasyNYBRl4Nem82jZUvilRbGoGPX0GoeonHSxlc-Bu/s1600-h/CNV00013.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlE_WAdysUFHheOmVzkyWCKRKIY-al2mMcl1s341NAfxo3aGaxgNUJl0as1ga8KHhE75WVJYFyNB_QB6J5rdPJGsnGo0shqtlS6IasyNYBRl4Nem82jZUvilRbGoGPX0GoeonHSxlc-Bu/s320/CNV00013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349867292538851890" border="0" /></a></p><p face="verdana" style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Today was also Kinsey 'Kimbo' Hern's 28th Birthday and the guys had arranged a little something of a 'show and tell' for him, unbeknownst to himself. I was a little afraid that I didn't know Kinsey enough to write him a poem especially for him despite my asking him over the course of the past few days a random set of questions, which I thought might help my understanding of Kimbo. He's one of those enigmas that follows their own logic but seems rather odd to the outside world. I completely identify with that so I thought I'd re-write something that I wrote when I was 28. I'll take the references out of breasts 'giving up their milky goodness' and the passages lifted from Blake. And I don't think the girls would want to hear about 'fizzing at the bunghole' either. I mean it's just too too rude, even by my standards. Perhaps in quiet pubs in Hampstead but not when you're trying to climb a mountain. </p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">The climb up this particular hill was tiring and was meant to take only 2.5 hours to get up and 30 mins down. It didn't seem to be doing that. The trek up took nearly 4 hours for me and over an hour down. I was only able to rest for about 30 mins instead of the hour that we were meant to get. Not sure if that was any good for me. We reached about 4900 metres which is the height that we'd be sleeping in tomorrow night in Lobuche. The views of the Khumbu valley were amazing. I never expected the world to exist in a place of such beauty. Only in films. From where we were we could see the journey we will be taking tomorrow, all the way up this valley, all the way for what looked like miles and miles of steady sloping valley floor, past stone houses, past streams between mountains that stretched to the sky and ended in clouds like benign volcanoes. Beauty. Beauty. Beauty. As far as the eye can see.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYHepesp0fkuii51eepbwq0emD4ZpgrrWAsemO8hyphenhyphengYnKBaC1fLaNKU3iQVWC1i_xPna4wsAMK6yFnNIR_R0JP1PnqwdPmm1xhR90p1LRegzkkMzYpzc4GjMA3X-m4qdTqCNiIHvGppWq/s1600-h/CNV00014.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYHepesp0fkuii51eepbwq0emD4ZpgrrWAsemO8hyphenhyphengYnKBaC1fLaNKU3iQVWC1i_xPna4wsAMK6yFnNIR_R0JP1PnqwdPmm1xhR90p1LRegzkkMzYpzc4GjMA3X-m4qdTqCNiIHvGppWq/s320/CNV00014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349867298499712786" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Jameau Pederskin, Kimbo Hern and Jambo 'Kenya' Markby</span><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Kimbo wasn't sure how to answer ' Do you like wolves?' question. He was a bit back footed. I mean, it's a simple yes/no question. But no, he'd never met any. <i>(I knew I get Kimbologic to these questions, excellent). </i>What's your favourite sandwich? (Easy - Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato. <i> I like the fact he didn't say BLT. It shows a savouring of those words, like he wanted them right now. I fancy a nice sandwich at that time, no bacon though</i>). </p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">What would you usually be doing on his birthday? Did he expect to be doing this?</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Walking down I'd noticed that my hand had swollen up. Rather worrying. I thought this was the start of the angio-neurotic oedema. Hells teeth. It had gone by the time I'd descended. Speaking to Dr Nick he said peripheral oedema was quite normal at high altitudes. Oh good.<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">There was an internet cafe in Dingboche which was 25 rupees a minute. Updated my twitter. Some of the boys went to play snooker (or was it pool?) which the owners had helicopter flown.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">That evening was the Kimbo Birthday Surprise Show And Tell. I think that was even better than the Everest Factor because it was more personal and it had everyone (or most everyone) doing something or other for Kimbo. Goonit asked if I was going to sing but all I knew were ballads or Joni or lovesongs. Not really appropriate for Kimbo. Really. Nice looking as he is. Even I can't do that. Chris Martin (not from ColdPizza) emceed the event and a great job. We got more of a taste of his stand-up style, which I preferred to the charity gig that he did (ain't that always the way). Goonit and him did a song to start the proceedings.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">There was a damn fine bit of garage rap and beatboxing from MC Shark (Joe Williams) feat. Miles Nathan and Jules Staveley. There were also stories and jokes told by other people. <i>For the first time on the trip I'd heard Simmo speak and was pleasantly surprised at the joke he came out with, loving the opera impression he gives. Lucy Brooks shared with everyone a photo of Kimbo in his youth playing on the beach as they were childhood friends.<br /></i></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><i>Here's the poem I recited for Kimbo, should you be interested.</i></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">It was the Summer of My Youth</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">We were on holiday in Scarborough</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">When I came into myself.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">She was older than me</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Mousey haired, looking for marriage,</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Wore a green pinny</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">And worked behind the glass</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">At the BP garage</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Over the road.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">She came over on her tea-break</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">To smoke the fags</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">I'd bought my dad an hour ago.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">I kissed her body -<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">This was Yorkshire -<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">She smelt like kippers</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">I walked around the holiday home</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">And wore her like slippers.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">She said 'Can you prove your love?'</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">I slipped my hand in and wore her like a glove.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">The North sea spume splashed</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">On her promenade walls,</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">The spray ran down in rivulets</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">On her high harbour front.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Her mouth was full</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">With talk of years and ages.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">She protested I could be her son!</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">I replied, 'I'm the little brother you never had -<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">Now kiss me.'</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><i>I realise now that I missed a trick there, not rhyming 'front' with anything other than 'son' but hey, that was the re-write at the 11th hour. I recently recited this to a mixed group of artists and performers, some women were of the age the woman in the poem could have been and they found the last line incredibly sexy. I found that reaction a little bizarre but perhaps it means different things to different ages. Such is the power of Art.</i><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">The other question I asked Kimbo on the hill which I forgot about was "What would he usually be doing on his birthday? Did he think he was going to be doing this on his birthday?" Because he lives in the countryside of Herefordshireshire Kimbo doesn't usually spend his birthday with his friends because most of the time it's half term so they used to go on holiday with their parents <i>(how old are his friends?) </i>so he never usually gets to see his friends so this was kinda different for him. (Yes, that, and the fact that we were 4000 metres above sea-level.) I was happy that my comedy poem was part of the fabric woven into that birthday blanket. <i>(WTF is a Birthday Blanket? I think the altitude has either affected my handwriting or my mind!)</i><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyedooimiNrg6EtYhO7bDELnq_1Q5A2jutJsN9wEjHqAS2crGRwIaPVonye0ZSzw0xRRBTeiW07LRx_S_0GRw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-50308848863536115072009-06-17T01:34:00.003+01:002009-06-17T01:44:47.605+01:00Day 7, Trekking Day 6 Tengboche to Dengboche<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL7VR2Ul-d-uryDzYUDAZsknW37Y8vTCntimzB6OrCAZwm4yUKiPA2CtsqBH2NufiQ3VUKJ9cgSmHaGl9_h71DGnn2FovVJl_DpQ8A0DmpCEuWdl3uclLQSC7M2cgi-YsbNW11Z4Aq9dW3/s1600-h/DSCF5151.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL7VR2Ul-d-uryDzYUDAZsknW37Y8vTCntimzB6OrCAZwm4yUKiPA2CtsqBH2NufiQ3VUKJ9cgSmHaGl9_h71DGnn2FovVJl_DpQ8A0DmpCEuWdl3uclLQSC7M2cgi-YsbNW11Z4Aq9dW3/s320/DSCF5151.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348089887599081090" border="0" /></a><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">We were told that if we went to the early morning prayers we could ask the Rinpoche for blessings. From yesterday I knew that he was in Kathmandu so it'll be the assistant Rinpoche. Whatever that is. <i>Abbot. I've looked it up. </i>I'd noticed that during the prayers all the monks were presented with food and tea or maybe soup to eat. Some of it was biscuitty and wafery things, the sort you'd get in a Costcutter back home. Didn't look particularly ascetic.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNL-FgKLH6dHOhgxtLRlJKkeGOi_8LncAfxlupVwVZmLRdvMHbino0SRdKyQzd9dJ4tuh8sWCG_iKCDq__uI_sev71DiSsLS9sDxmhXteTi_qs7-F0E_AcVRrmHkJYdJh6CC6aqYSRD1z/s1600-h/DSCF5160.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNL-FgKLH6dHOhgxtLRlJKkeGOi_8LncAfxlupVwVZmLRdvMHbino0SRdKyQzd9dJ4tuh8sWCG_iKCDq__uI_sev71DiSsLS9sDxmhXteTi_qs7-F0E_AcVRrmHkJYdJh6CC6aqYSRD1z/s320/DSCF5160.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348090946720691650" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">On the way to Dengboche I was happily in the company for some of the way of Toovey and Hill(s) who devise list games with each other. The one I joined in on was naming the film where the hero had died. Now, I'm never the best with people's names anyway, unless I'm facebook friends with them so actors' names are the one thing I'm frightfully bad at. (Does that make me a bad actor?) But I managed to get quite high on the rounds. Jameau had posed the question what tube stop on the London Underground has the longest sequence of consonants. Easy. Knightsbridge. 6 consonants in a row. The other one was what tube stop has all the vowels in it. Hmmm I'll have to think about that one a bit more.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxjxRxvVhiH1feMHD9FdPSss8XP0qb8XRzXD8u0E5Hvi8ZDkg8GGpVzLXiwZRZTvs4GL9qoZQwS16Vxj9_WbaE2psn7G0oykBDM7oZmuKN6eNTsFzH9KLQgSWx04NH_hJmGi4RJPhhCgF/s1600-h/DSCF5154.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxjxRxvVhiH1feMHD9FdPSss8XP0qb8XRzXD8u0E5Hvi8ZDkg8GGpVzLXiwZRZTvs4GL9qoZQwS16Vxj9_WbaE2psn7G0oykBDM7oZmuKN6eNTsFzH9KLQgSWx04NH_hJmGi4RJPhhCgF/s320/DSCF5154.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348089894908877746" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">One of the things that I'd noticed was how little these people expected to live on, how little they needed. We passed a series of walled fields where we saw one of the locals were throwing rocks at a group of what looked like goats. I was going to ask him to stop as it seemed horrific that someone should be harming someone else's livestock. I'm glad I didn't as apparently they weren't goats but wild mountain deer and they'd broken down the wall and made an entrance and were slowly demolishing a farmer's crop of potatoes. I tried pitching some rocks at the deer but my efforts feel short of anything that was even in the deer hearing range so I gave up and said that we'd tell someone in the village further up the track. Pangboche was where we filled up on more chocolate and was able to stop for a toilet break.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;">We are so privileged living in the Western world. We want for everything and we get it so easily. We don't have to wait for a delivery from a passing train of yak to get the next bag of rice or potatoes or medicines, or we don't have to walk for 3 days to the next outpost to get stuff that we need. If we want food we just go to Tescos and get it, or heat it up in the stove (I don't own a microwave) or go out to a restaurant to eat. Alex Fudda made a good point saying how privileged we are on this trip. We turn up to teahouses and wait to be served, we can still shower if we want to pay for it, we sleep in beds.</p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><i>This is an extraordinarily short blog. What's going on? I remember walking into the village with Hill(s) and Butler at the time and we were being greeted by trekkers going down hill. We didn't quite understand their smiles and cheers of encouragement. What was that all about. Their encouraging 'Not long now boys' type chat just wasn't what we were wanting to hear. Give us a break ladies. Every cow or dog or yak that we passed Butler's one joke of 'Ah Mrs Martin, such a pleasure to see you' was trying to prove the comedy rule that a comedy line is funny once, thrice or twenty-seven times. I think that he was at about at the 23rd time that day. Was I going to stick around to wait for the 27th? It'd be a masochistic mission.</i></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><br /></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; font-family: verdana;"><i>Every shop we passed on the one fairly easy slope would claim that Dingboche was higher than the next shop by a good 40 metres, even though they were next to each other. Rather amusing. Perhaps they knew that by the time trekkers got to this point, they'd only look up at the shop they were going into and not actually at any others after that. Who knows?</i></p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-84917465359739952512009-06-11T01:03:00.011+01:002009-06-13T14:49:45.821+01:00Day 6 Trek Day 5 Khumjung to Tengboche (Tyangboche)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-ZlMnUX6i11mPhLTtcKYL4CLfxRFKerYLp8q_gPh6g49wqzlWOndRCTw9nhvpbEJXBr5Rpl8dqKB1lbuUCD1hiBPR9RQpL_OEMbCZcNohd6fUcepuJz-QjHfxjZcasEu-n5s4McIel7A/s1600-h/DSCF4890.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-ZlMnUX6i11mPhLTtcKYL4CLfxRFKerYLp8q_gPh6g49wqzlWOndRCTw9nhvpbEJXBr5Rpl8dqKB1lbuUCD1hiBPR9RQpL_OEMbCZcNohd6fUcepuJz-QjHfxjZcasEu-n5s4McIel7A/s400/DSCF4890.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346343421657404386" border="0" /></a><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">What scares me about journeys is not knowing exactly what is on the road ahead. It's like devising a play, I guess. You know you have certain goals but you don't know what accidental twists of plot will happen - what amazing scenes, what points of tension will capture the imagination, what difficult uphill paths will break you down. You push yourself to just keep going until that goal in reached. That's what I think I've learnt about myself so far</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">. No matter ho<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">w hard it is and the tears are trembling just on the rim of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">my eyes like the</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">y do in Japanese cartoons, I just keep going. Despite the constant fear of not finding the nex<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">t <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">toilet before the next urge takes me, I keep going. Somehow it's easier to keep<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> g<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">oi<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ng t<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">he more I'm by myself. If I was with others a bit more I'd p<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">robably argue myself down off this mount</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ain. For most of today I was trailing behind, not wanting to rush up the mountain. Today was going to be a 3-4 hour trek. Why are we going downhill? Not looking forward to the uphills a<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">nymore. More Downhill to go Uphill Frustrations. We found a bridge to hang the prayer flags from the schoolkids back in England. Reading some of them was mindblowing. T</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">hese kids. Not about playstations or more toys. Not about World Peace either. But something more local t<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">o t<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">hem. One flag asked for no more stabbings in the a<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">rea, another asked to cure their dad's cancer. Simple. Basic. Pure. Now<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> their payer<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">s are fluttering <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">hundreds of feet above </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">a river, thousands of feet above sea</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">-lev</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">el from a suspension bridge on <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">the roof of the world</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnrGa1A_Bh62UBOa4kySYo94FMM9AMH3ocdPNRKxyESaIymr3nYBQrR_3HRlIs0GqM6GEjdpuzK3JysMMqLaEqhRO5GsG-rX2M-Vp2bnxrbUbvoUU9rt6IPnu7qzAtYa6QOWu1jxhWK6S/s400/DSCF4931.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346343877345505906" border="0" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">After the b</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ridge we start to make our ascent and it goes fro<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">m quite rocky terrain near the valley to a lush greener terrain. Not that wooded but decidedly more deciduous than previous. Up the track on a gra<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ss<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">y hill were the tealodges at </span><a href="http://d30026567.purehost.com/introduction.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Tengboche (Tyang Buche)</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">. Others were already putting their packs in rooms etc. I followed the ridge further to the other teahouse as the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">first one had already been occupied. Someone says to me to follow the 2nd tea lodge and walk past it. The guide I was with pointed to something in the distance. So<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">mething I thought I'd never get to see. In this amazing landscape, with more pray</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">er flags flying high above our heads, a beautiful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> monastery to our right behi</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">nd the tealodges, way, way in the distance. Behind the ridge of Lho</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">tse in an almost cloudless early afternoon sky sitting protected. Serene. Inv<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">incible. Eve<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">rest. I put on my sunglasses. I am crying. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">What a faggot.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">After a while I stopped and thought, 'Where's Kirt?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> Where's my friend? I need a picture of this.'</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">After putting my stuff in a three-man room (I'm sharing w<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ith the Sharlands! Yayy, They're nice chaps. Don't take themselves too seriousl<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">y, I like that) and getting some milky tea some of the players practice cricket just to see what it's like at this altitude. It's going to be harder wh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">en they g<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">et up a<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">nother couple o<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">f thousand metres but might as well make the opportunity of </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">the time and the altitude to get used to it. I go exploring the monastery. I can see the G<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">eorge and Wesley are there already and have tried to take photos of the acol<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ytes and m</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">onks. I'm there to sketch. I took some film of the prayer wheels and some shots of the building. I was surprised that it wasn't as old as I thought but then one of the monks told me that the original was burnt in a fire and that it was rebuilt with<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> money donated by the Himalayan Trust. I had a fun time sketching. Curiosity always gets the better of people when sketching and they will crowd around looking ov<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">er your shoulder to see what you are doing. For some reason</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">, I never get fazed by this, not that I sketch in public at all. Perhaps it's the a<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">rt school brashness that<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> I still retain. I doubt it. I can remain unattached from this. Especially since it's quite a technical<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> drawing. One of the older monks comes up to me to see wh<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">at I'm sketching and nods in slow approval. He asked to take my pad and looked through it with more nodding and saying 'Very good,' while looking at the sketches of the players in Phakding. I wish I could take a photo <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">of him while he does that. but I guess that would be rude, while he's talking to me. I continue sketching. Some off the younger boys shuffle around me to get a better look at what I'm doing. I guess I'<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">m waiting until 4pm when we are allowed in the monastery itself to witness the prayer session. One of them says that Mingmo is</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> also a very good drawer and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I'm introduced to Mingmo but he's too shy to show </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">any of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">his dr</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">awi<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ngs.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9SbFswqFNV8mduANGdY8ZORFi4PzUtWhl32Dwj2L9_0GFwgF24FmIeoi9bdJ-gG-KZpnRHUxyEicksEtQqA3TOQ7E9OP_8VO74idCOviwDfPli4MFn8N_2el8VygaO8hp7tLCx-gE5Pv/s400/DSCF5018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346343437237449890" border="0" /><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8_SGzojYVFIKQhzDNi5XcrZRGCzfUzKod5ZN9aeTMP0Gk4o74kDSndCq2XARlT-PDMtfZS2TUuBl8TXZMgJ_hpMnGv4IlVziAWmYfd1XbYcMIHyg-U0OFmFvk6QE59sssU610bk3gqaq/s400/DSCF5021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346343429675133762" border="0" /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlTTapnSpyRN2F5sjGDmQ84hVOtZ5JvmStkXwCfDCqWI26OJo0eVXmkfRmfNOh3gZ4jjM7y5iSbpczvt3FLpV9VmT5V8VQv714sMqg7_bAeTiJj_NEspAY-R0bw9iurgdRPyCdiYhbG9_/s400/DSCF5023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346343433541090466" border="0" /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The doctors come up an</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">d take</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> pictures of the monks around me while I have them distracted and talks to them up at the top of the steps. An acolyte remains by me, watching intently, silently as I measure the building with my pencil. I've not done that for years but it's good to be doing i</span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">t now. Suddenly there's a low horn coming from somewhere. Up on the 3rd floor of the monaste<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ry two windows are open next to each other and two monks at either window are sounding the call to prayer with conch shells. Where do they get conch shells this high up the mountain?</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;">We get ushered into the inner courtyard to wait for <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">the monks to take their places inside the building. One of the monks is really old and has to be almost carried up the stairs. Inside, we take our shoes off, observe<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> to 'No flash' signs (apart from Alex Fudda who manages to not stop her aut<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">o flash and is asked to leave. Ooops!) and we're greeted by loud music of various horn</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">s, cymbals and pipes. It's quite dark apart from the lights from the windows and the flicker of the electric lights which sometimes go off and we're plunged<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> back into darkness.I get stuck into sketching the scene as the light is so low that I'm not getting a clear image. The sound of the monastery at prayers is amazi<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ng. It's the low drones of 30 voices all reciting the same verse at different points of their breath. Transfixing. I'm sat opposite the monk that looked through my sketchbook and sketched away. He reminds me of a friend's dad. I look up during </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">sketching once and I see that he's looking directly at me, his lips moving, the sound of is voice<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> mixed in with the other voices. He's noticed that it's him that I've been sketching a lot of. Oh shit, I've done it now, I've ruined his concentration. He smiles an<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">d starts to giggle but still maintains the chanting. Thank god. Must be all that meditation that they do. Either that or he's perfected the art of keeping his lips moving and it'll look like you're singing, as perfected by Jen</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> Gladstone at school.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSitcFetK96C7XEIfFJSIxdNJv-Dm4AeZSEWGM49DzFIBJWWLpOGKNZvEqcI3AcPMU4lJ4dOKiV9IBxmhTnFXpv_ozC3P8wn2MRO9j_Reks0-wHc6ahC7_Epec9_3unnleOpKLvGLvjqM/s400/DSCF5118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346343424146464466" border="0" /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Outside in the now chilly evening air I bump into Mingmo and a rounder monk who want to see my sketchbook. I show them the sketch of the building and the monk during prayer. The get excited and point at it and they did tell me his name but I didn't write it down. Apparently it was correct. I managed to get his surly demeanor. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I must be slightly affected by the altitude. I was convinced after dinner that David Kirtley had a speech impediment. I just didn't understand what he was saying, or trying to say. We had only been given a servi</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">ng and a h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">alf of food</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> and were all still a bit hungry. David who was sat next to me, kept on saying that in the other lodge, the other lot had fiths. I was sure he was trying to say that they had fish (something I was missing greatly) and spent an amusing five minutes trying to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">decipher what he was actually trying </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">to say. Perhaps I was going deaf and I needed to blow my ears out or something. But he kept on repeating it. I would perhaps have said it another way - 'The other lot had five helpings' pour l'example, but it amused me enough to think that Dave had a speech impediment. Eve<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">n though I know he speaks very wel<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">l.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p face="verdana" style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5h2PF5rVt4hfhaw4I9qR3boO9jkifrlBm7JNaANQvXO14iv3bYKGNk7Q0RgpN5j_hi6UzMK9ocKhjcA65VRf1fqwpyhZc42g3MoGaM8-sX_iTwuaVf0uXNQF18CerHDe8VhsuE1l04gK/s1600-h/DSCF4971.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5h2PF5rVt4hfhaw4I9qR3boO9jkifrlBm7JNaANQvXO14iv3bYKGNk7Q0RgpN5j_hi6UzMK9ocKhjcA65VRf1fqwpyhZc42g3MoGaM8-sX_iTwuaVf0uXNQF18CerHDe8VhsuE1l04gK/s400/DSCF4971.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346808624056723202" border="0" /></a></p><p face="verdana" style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt;"><br /></p>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-18737418803590458682009-06-06T10:03:00.012+01:002009-06-07T10:49:25.648+01:00Day 5 Trek Day 4 Khumjung April 14th<p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">‘Rest Day’</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Today is one of our acclima</span><span style="font-size:100%;">tisation ‘rest’ days. Which means we go up a mountain (and I think we’re going to breach 4000 metres) and then come back down to sleep at the lower altitude. I got up early to take some photos of</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Khumju</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ng and the mani stones that lined the avenue from the mountain pass. Got a great cow-yak </span><span style="font-size:100%;">photo.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqTM_C89ssXWM2wo46rbxhcn7JU8iSAK-agHChJG9cXEzcXvqv86WMMMAQwnnORIgyhyphenhyphenhujnCD8LzN1ZmKwBHJXQi_9-8GBLXlK1qSBjBn69hckzix01KwLi2B3kvlRSUE1kDEPl-lcuk/s1600-h/DSCF4653.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 106px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqTM_C89ssXWM2wo46rbxhcn7JU8iSAK-agHChJG9cXEzcXvqv86WMMMAQwnnORIgyhyphenhyphenhujnCD8LzN1ZmKwBHJXQi_9-8GBLXlK1qSBjBn69hckzix01KwLi2B3kvlRSUE1kDEPl-lcuk/s200/DSCF4653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344141231409164626" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">It’s also the day of the ‘Everes</span><span style="font-size:100%;">t Factor’. A piece</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> of bonding fun that was dreamed up by Jamo Peterson. Some of the players got involved in teaching </span><span style="font-size:100%;">the kids at the Khumjung School the finer points of cricket. (The kids are on holiday this week but from the turnout it looks like they came just for the experience of meeting us. From what I saw, there seemed to be at least 3 different ages of kids. Some were really young and didn’t really do much cricket training but seemed to play loads of catching games. British Bulldog was one of them. Very sweet to see our lot playing mit kinder. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAHMzY0P2sfKPRX-0jsNW1OtQrH8FxU3acQoNRbBIJ9LiDYRf91yQI21PdGUnpNgNo6IwqVC94nuBYjDO2R1ZC7f4jeM7z536bvAIJJmgtXWzq8QtoFTQD0ZOYri40Qh8gK2M9oKUizjg/s1600-h/DSCF4752.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 104px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAHMzY0P2sfKPRX-0jsNW1OtQrH8FxU3acQoNRbBIJ9LiDYRf91yQI21PdGUnpNgNo6IwqVC94nuBYjDO2R1ZC7f4jeM7z536bvAIJJmgtXWzq8QtoFTQD0ZOYri40Qh8gK2M9oKUizjg/s200/DSCF4752.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344143987794752402" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I got some lovely shots of people playing cricket and such the like with the slightly older kids. The Staveleys treated me to an apple pie and hotish chocolate which was a welcome treat. It was good to finally have some fruit, albeit tinned. When we got back to the teahouse, it was a great relief to see the Sharlands there. Neil looked much better than when I saw him yesterday morning and Tom was glad to be back with</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> the pack. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Before lunch we went to the Khumjung Hospital which gets a lot of</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> funding from various Hillary Foundations around the world, especially the Canadian branch. Hopefully our donations will help these good doctors get medical help to the local population. It was the only hospital in the district and seemed to serve around 7000 people, some of whom would travel the 3-4 hours to get to the hospital. The good doctor was one of three that was always on call at the hospital and s</span><span style="font-size:100%;">eemed particularly proud that the women in their catchment area were very good at getting their children immunised and particular about showing off their immunisation records. For the ante-natal clinics that they run, the women would travel to the hospital on foot for the miles to get the right medical help and advice. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClFK8HHUmT-0RogaKvtAlXP2_bnG2uLpmiBlHyNTwtTaWsHtY8MMi3n9YFromOf5rlv3sIKDKCSnf8QjQo5GfTw7Qth97B0N1IaurPh7UBS0a2W-kNd0d3kejHLeRgjY6B0gC6iPpzN1D/s1600-h/DSCF4791.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 91px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClFK8HHUmT-0RogaKvtAlXP2_bnG2uLpmiBlHyNTwtTaWsHtY8MMi3n9YFromOf5rlv3sIKDKCSnf8QjQo5GfTw7Qth97B0N1IaurPh7UBS0a2W-kNd0d3kejHLeRgjY6B0gC6iPpzN1D/s200/DSCF4791.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344145398041612754" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">A small lunch break back at the teahouse and then the trek up the hill t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">o acclimatise. Joe Williams and Chris Martin (not of </span><i><span style="font-size:100%;">Coldplay</span></i><span style="font-size:100%;"> fame) dressed in costume to get comedy photos up the peak. Apparently Chrissy has really low-hangers. I wasn’t sure. I just thought that his tights were bunching funnily. We walked past the hospital again up some low rolling hills to the peak where there was a boulder on which we took turns to pose. The HomoErotic Super Heroes (Joe and Chris) </span><span style="font-size:100%;">made comedy poses on the same boulder, while beyond them the hill fell away to what looked like a 3000+ metre drop to the bottom of the mountain.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVyaZg8sYvgZdqQKl2an4Lrd4An1Yye_eyRRTleY7u-1yaVg1dGaR1-XSXGhrUO9MDm-4tIv_H3eLTOWYq6fNXcXgUg5Jgkxlzeni4_YYyqr5l0G5ExtWk_Vf7g-AMjUXNz_TrTh42lxXF/s1600-h/DSCF4841.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 109px; height: 82px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVyaZg8sYvgZdqQKl2an4Lrd4An1Yye_eyRRTleY7u-1yaVg1dGaR1-XSXGhrUO9MDm-4tIv_H3eLTOWYq6fNXcXgUg5Jgkxlzeni4_YYyqr5l0G5ExtWk_Vf7g-AMjUXNz_TrTh42lxXF/s200/DSCF4841.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344146228421970914" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Now chat is important to most people, it really brings out our character and thinking. Somehow James Butler’s query of ‘Were the Jews involved in World War 2?’ earned him ‘Dick of The Day’ Award. Dick of the Day usually means wearing a cowbell on your pack (or around your neck) for the whole of the trek day. It must be more annoying than you think, especially after the first hour when you have this low-hanging thing hitting your legs constantly. </span><i><span style="font-size:100%;">My sympathies go out to Chris Martin and possibly his bedpartners.</span></i></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdTMUq_VMjdJA1KchWOv7ymT8APlYfXP7tKnpMB-cAkXFFRtMhGQrq_uVR2fCd-CbVo3HICenBKTYPHgPw_O9NVDhkT3AVhd1aoAVMZwIfv00k9v0wqDmfec9Ct7CkceFHJv-Dgmag-mX/s1600-h/DSCF4838.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 121px; height: 91px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdTMUq_VMjdJA1KchWOv7ymT8APlYfXP7tKnpMB-cAkXFFRtMhGQrq_uVR2fCd-CbVo3HICenBKTYPHgPw_O9NVDhkT3AVhd1aoAVMZwIfv00k9v0wqDmfec9Ct7CkceFHJv-Dgmag-mX/s200/DSCF4838.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344148634938195842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The afternoon on the ridge was fairly relaxed, I managed to get some nice photos of people and was able to enjoy myself amongst the chatter. The tightness around my head was noticeable and was a concern today. I took it as read that this is what normally happens when you ascend so I didn’t mention it as it wasn’t a headache. This constant worry about my brain is beginning to wear thin though. It just kinda makes me pensive and probably aloof. But that's all it is. It also kinda makes me want to be on my own a lot of the time. <span style="font-style: italic;">Must change that.</span><br /></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Back at the teahouse</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> after the trek down the teams got ready for the Everest Factor. Nerves were apparent, tensions were rising. Dinner out of the way and we start. Jamo takes the stage as emcee for the proceedings. I must say that I’ve never really appreciated James Peterson. I knew that he was amusing and had a wry Radio 4 sense of humour but seeing it translated to something useful is absolutely charming. He should consider it as a career. </span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The event itself was a bit of fun for the teams. Once the Hillarities realised that they had an actor among the teams, they tried to enrol me </span><span style="font-size:100%;">as honorary Hillarian. Sorry lads, teams have been picked. I’m a Trektator and proud. During last night’s rehearsal we’d heard that the Hillarities were doing the same song as us with the rather tedious 500 Miles. As Trektators, we’d decided to go with that first but change some of the lyrics to reflect the trek a bit more and that’d be our ‘edge’. It was also our weakest song.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I have no idea what the other teams sang (something to do with not recognising the song, or is that unfair? Haha) but perhaps because I just don’t know songs. </span><i><span style="font-size:100%;">I’m reliably informed that the Zingers did ‘Stand By Me’, the Hillarians did ‘Wonderful World’ and we did 500 Miles which saw the players tied and us with really low points. Rounds Two started with the Zinger</span></i><i><span style="font-size:100%;">s doing ‘Living On A Prayer’ which started with a bit of theatrical genius. Not the fact that the boys were in costume (underwear from Primark over leggings. Very erm…. Fetching) but the fact that they had flashing head torches providing a bit of atmosphere. Not that that was theatrical genius but Haydn Main’s head torch didn’t have a ‘flash’ setting so he had to manually flash it by flapping his hand in front of the light to simulate it. Titters for those that noticed. Toovey did his best screaming through a sore throat. The Hillarians did ‘Afternoon Delight’ which I didn’t recognise but it got laughs in appropriate places and Chris Martin’s vocal instrumentation was par. We did Summer Loving which was always Rachel and my Karaoke favourite, though I could never get the end harmony so I just encouraged everyone to sing the last chorus. I knew it was going to be a winner mainly because it was an acting song and I knew how to play it. I did have to turn down the offer of sex from someone, goddamit. Yeah, even these boys were looking good after 4 days of trekking. Round 3 started with the Hillaries doing 500 Miles which was done in earnest and probably better sung than our version, and it ha</span></i><i><span style="font-size:100%;">d a bit of action. We did ‘We Are The Champions’ which was hilarious as there was a line which the rest of us could never sing so we just left it to Helen Curr to do. I gave my best Mercury impression (just a lot lower. He is a tenor with a high belt). The Zingers made us all go outside in the cold to watch theirs. And despite the Hillaries making taunts at them, I was moved by the Haka which was Preston’s idea, and I believe done with the utmost respect and integrity. Back inside we had a break while the scores were totted up to which the Sherpa sang us two traditional songs which to us sounded like ‘Bring on the Milky Tea’ or sounds to that effect, but got them singing and dancing and enjoying the night with us.</span></i></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">It was a load of fun for every</span><span style="font-size:100%;">one and provided a perfect bonding-cum-light relief for everyone, showing each other that we don’t take ourselves that seriously. It ended up with the Sherpa coming first, garnering a perfect 10 from the judges, the Players got joint third and the Trektators got second place (or 1st in the Foreign Team category). I could say that it reflected the talent on board but I swear I saw Sharon Osbourne pass Simon Cowell his score, before even he knew what score he was giving. A fix? No… of course not. I'm sure it was all above board. Yeah. Right. But anyway, it was fun for everyone to be a bit silly for an evening.<br /></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I must say that even the judges had loads of fun. Ian Ditchburn’s Louis Walsh was double-entendre heaven. Dr Nick’s Randy Jackson was spot on, and Isla’s Sharon was aptly catty and sharp. Breck Lord’s Simon Cowell was amusing. Well, to me anyway. Whenever I hear Australians try to do English, they do end up sounding gay. But I suppose Simon Cowell sounds kinda gay and Breck was being accurate.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> I had my first cigarette in 4 days as I was finally in a good mood. Perhaps buoyed by people coming up to me and commenting on the quality of my singing (according to Joe Williams I have the voice of an angel, bless him, and wants me to sing him to sleep, ahaha) but perhaps it was the first time in 5 days I was able to relax a bit. Tomorrow we go to Tengboche. It’s a monastery, one of the highest, if not the highest, in Nepal.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiOzFYvdZaetZU6WNkuwIrU3188Es_bxlzYhcSWcOgpotx9Tp3qbt5mXL6gFS1Vo66Bm_RlpeDh5pTTvszYz7mP3z5SZLn6I1Ja612cHYdUAAUdRBm32kiuWTEhy-wMLwRIA9VVWuccMb/s1600-h/DSCF4658.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 112px; height: 84px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiOzFYvdZaetZU6WNkuwIrU3188Es_bxlzYhcSWcOgpotx9Tp3qbt5mXL6gFS1Vo66Bm_RlpeDh5pTTvszYz7mP3z5SZLn6I1Ja612cHYdUAAUdRBm32kiuWTEhy-wMLwRIA9VVWuccMb/s200/DSCF4658.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344142526519421634" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: verdana;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzuH_01OcE6VJ1SwHUDu8bDw9UiXJYTaPtiHH9B-UtvTcZ3bV_WOZB7kbkOma-lKXiuNZqFWdzPmbJ4mwU' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-62162781657238344162009-05-31T20:40:00.007+01:002009-05-31T21:59:51.868+01:00Day 4, Trekking Day 3. Namchee Bazaar to Khumjung.I wake up a little later than agreed, just in time to take pictures of the race from the window of our temple room. I hope they’re really careful. It’s David Kirtley (Richard ‘Kirt’ Kirtley-Wright’s cousin (I can see what it means to be a Kirtley. It’s in the nose shape)) and Mike Preston, (who’s smile can swallow darkness)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXKqnXV5k9JQzhXaC4ezAz49fwjK8hCt6OvnmJQ0UEKz9DlnGVRwV2rJb6gkOZiffBfNfSswuTt362z0KiB1cfW5YnlV1yHxbiGq_jc6eAwYPjf6UHq9xSqpU1wzi0eCPoRyVxxgt5KKol/s1600-h/DSCF4472.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXKqnXV5k9JQzhXaC4ezAz49fwjK8hCt6OvnmJQ0UEKz9DlnGVRwV2rJb6gkOZiffBfNfSswuTt362z0KiB1cfW5YnlV1yHxbiGq_jc6eAwYPjf6UHq9xSqpU1wzi0eCPoRyVxxgt5KKol/s200/DSCF4472.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342076209836896354" border="0" /></a>.<br /><br />It looks like it’s Preston that’s won from where I’m stood. Why are the Hillarians cheering? God knows. Confused. The whole thing is farcical anyway and I hope that it doesn’t get shown. If Jordan wanted the thing to be less like ‘The Sound of Music’ then he should speak to the people at the rear of the train. There are enough of us there to get dramas out of.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoW7MTsm9tAYUWVwMhLliTHyh3AlsO4XsN9lqh_SrCNSbgz-KrohTTTBBGqOVgXAVEGfCcKBctJ6Fz47fdBBFc-KgxwvhXtHjsTOQzlEsgrSSKVvrijV7q_vcqs_sfjINUZMfIIO9NL3j/s1600-h/DSCF4493.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoW7MTsm9tAYUWVwMhLliTHyh3AlsO4XsN9lqh_SrCNSbgz-KrohTTTBBGqOVgXAVEGfCcKBctJ6Fz47fdBBFc-KgxwvhXtHjsTOQzlEsgrSSKVvrijV7q_vcqs_sfjINUZMfIIO9NL3j/s200/DSCF4493.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342078245898881826" border="0" /></a><br />My god. Namche is probably on a 65º angle and heading up the steps of this hill towards Khumjung, we could see the layout of the town which basically on one leg of the mountain and curves down round the other, hugging the crotch, as it were. After stopping to regain my breath, I heard Dr Nick on the walkie-talkie who had stopped a few metres ahead of me radioing through instructions to the group behind us. Tom Sharland, who was nearby, stopped to listen intently, his ears focused and eyes trying to read Dr. Nick’s face. Someone wasn’t feeling well, someone who wasn’t feeling great last night was dizzy and light-headed. It was his younger brother Neil who was hit with AMS and was going to stay behind in Namchee with Dr. Ian to let his body catch up with the altitude. Tom with no more than a blink’s thought had disappeared down the mountain again to be with his brother. I was glad for that, I would like to think that I'd would have done the same for my brother. The Sharland’s are probably the fittest on the teams and had taken us through our training during the last 8 months and for one of them to be struck down with AMS just goes to show that it could be anyone. Perhaps Neil wasn’t taking it easy. Perhaps he was storming ahead. I was a little more than shaken to think that someone could get it at only, what, 3300 metres. I continue at an even slower pace up to the top of the stepped streets.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UHPn67aCpZLxUlUZIeR1-lIiBOJC9kSu-M6teaQDDhTadnSigzWnu_OETtLJqAPdQkCbN7IGEm7EceVhSZM93g-K0aNDd73Xz7tpFUoNhLFGws-E98texUBiZNPQnrPB6AXDIxBnRbkg/s1600-h/DSCF4514.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UHPn67aCpZLxUlUZIeR1-lIiBOJC9kSu-M6teaQDDhTadnSigzWnu_OETtLJqAPdQkCbN7IGEm7EceVhSZM93g-K0aNDd73Xz7tpFUoNhLFGws-E98texUBiZNPQnrPB6AXDIxBnRbkg/s200/DSCF4514.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342085007621722642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Eventually, the near vertical streets turn into a path that zig-zagged the rest of the way up the mountain. The trees seem to be more sparse on the hillside. I saw a helipad and a building on a mini plateau and then at the top of the mountain, the path turned into a tree-studded plateau. It was a lot more comfortable to walk there as it was flat, flatter than ‘Nepali flat’ which to us means a constant up and down but mainly staying at the same altitude over several miles. No, this was visibly flat. I found myself walking a little way behind Waters and Dr. Nick until they were no longer apparent as the trees grew ticker and closer together around the path. Still hilly, the terrain reminded me of a golf-course with bunkers (yes, bunkers) every so often. I got followed by someone who turned out to be one of our guides who eventually told me his name was Jitar and reminded me that it was okay to go slow with a reassuring 'bisari, bistari...'<br /><br />Dr. Nick was up ahead and pointed to a bank of cloud and a mountain peering out from the right of it. ‘That lump of clouds next to the mountain is Everest, apparently.’ The one that you can see is Lhotse. (Jitar wasn’t entirely sure).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMiF4I58Kydjf8DyTPP3mJjyI42RsuXYfS5q4yudKWsxV7CBwMr4f1l0uDyr8sKLZPRwuQLi1cOQroUKQYq12lZ1RslvHShQkFcQE15RVT5oZsNXaAB37ClsKfAiodz0S4ldZ4fRGMdRR/s1600-h/DSCF4527.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMiF4I58Kydjf8DyTPP3mJjyI42RsuXYfS5q4yudKWsxV7CBwMr4f1l0uDyr8sKLZPRwuQLi1cOQroUKQYq12lZ1RslvHShQkFcQE15RVT5oZsNXaAB37ClsKfAiodz0S4ldZ4fRGMdRR/s200/DSCF4527.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342087292206301554" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I really thought I was going to see Everest. Unexpected as it was, I was disappointed, but I thought I was going to see it. I was ready for it. Right at the top of the mountain is The Everest View Hotel. Famously this was the hotel that was built by a millionaire for other millionaires and was a fully pressured, fully oxygenated hotel with large windows facing Everest. On it’s opening day they helicoptered in some Japanese tourists who promptly collapsed on the trek from the helipad to the top as they weren’t acclimatised to the altitude. Jitar pointed out the hotel which looked like a Frank Lloyd-Wright building and I was heading up the steps to it when he motioned that we were carrying on ahead to Khumjung. Oh well.<br /><br />The rest of the descent was easy enough. Through the trees I could see the low stone walls and the wooden buildings with their joblot green roofs which made a complete contrast to Namche’s joblot blue.<br /><br />Waters and I decided to room together again as it was easier, we seemed to be the first bunch of people to get there. Really? I’m sure I was lagging behind.<br /><br />The others have got here and at tea it’s announced that tonight was the Everest Factor rehearsal night and that we should be performing after dinner tomorrow. I’m glad that we’ve got 2 nights here. It just means that the Sharlands can catch up with us without losing a day’s travel and that the rest of us can acclimatise further. Hopefully they can get back to us in time for stuff.<br /><br />After dinner we pile into respective groups’ rooms and rehearse. Before we left we chose to sing ‘Summer Lovin’ from Grease, ‘500 Miles’ and a toss up between a Queen song and something else, which I can't remember. A fun time rehearsing the songs and huddling up to get warm<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRkGQWiMvXS-APy8vAzxAwdJ09gVdfA_LZCu-oXTuMIsICDpcs9whykT8Gp0HLQT1J9GEs8rLAu7Ipj_WZmG8O9_7PNg5eMFJ1HJ1c9h1iW2CA0ElFOyov5GHuC3f57t9EkjdQkSS3_OSi/s1600-h/DSCF4631.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRkGQWiMvXS-APy8vAzxAwdJ09gVdfA_LZCu-oXTuMIsICDpcs9whykT8Gp0HLQT1J9GEs8rLAu7Ipj_WZmG8O9_7PNg5eMFJ1HJ1c9h1iW2CA0ElFOyov5GHuC3f57t9EkjdQkSS3_OSi/s200/DSCF4631.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342092277860055890" border="0" /></a>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-42916171532593403462009-05-17T19:34:00.006+01:002009-06-11T13:36:07.053+01:00Day 3: Trek Day 2 Phakding to Namche Bazaar<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSDh6kO7mTyfauxObY_XPQ3oSGdoJaFZDiLufNdqApyi8_2qa8m2l0JAlRAi3XtWrotV_ri4hPQrpHLJFOhCS2J4JCuu9vh2m48fJZiGxllBt45t3lhDdy0VNhDxLUT3crXXEGWzuavGTo/s1600-h/DSCF4340.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSDh6kO7mTyfauxObY_XPQ3oSGdoJaFZDiLufNdqApyi8_2qa8m2l0JAlRAi3XtWrotV_ri4hPQrpHLJFOhCS2J4JCuu9vh2m48fJZiGxllBt45t3lhDdy0VNhDxLUT3crXXEGWzuavGTo/s200/DSCF4340.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336977571816415906" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHaWY9McXrrzOwzc9Fnbs4rFp7bdJqWkEBfLMpNPBUVJNamfggUa0eRB5OJqwjTGCisE7MwWvuVxDcYuLdpZ11DQAAigeDaWv_QlAzCkKvSqcOeOPA0DcFdMmuN2oICxYaKo3EkVVZZhT/s1600-h/DSCF4337.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHaWY9McXrrzOwzc9Fnbs4rFp7bdJqWkEBfLMpNPBUVJNamfggUa0eRB5OJqwjTGCisE7MwWvuVxDcYuLdpZ11DQAAigeDaWv_QlAzCkKvSqcOeOPA0DcFdMmuN2oICxYaKo3EkVVZZhT/s200/DSCF4337.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336977576976719762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />It’s the solo walking that keeps me thinking about the other things like illness and such the like. When I’m travelling with people it’s fine but I often find myself trailing behind being not the strongest of people on the trek. I’m not comfortable with a raised heart rate… it keeps on making me think about my pre-existing condition as it sometimes sends clicking through my head along the scar line. Not an entirely comforting thought. I guess I wouldn’t have thought much about it had it not been for the call about 2 days before we left London from Dr Ian about my brain haemorrhage and subsequent operation that really got me thinking ‘Have I made the right choice in coming on this trip? Has the neurosurgeon I saw a year ago not thought it through?’ I knew that when I was given the ‘All Clear’ by the specialist last April that I had no recurring symptoms of my <a href="http://brainavm.oci.utoronto.ca/malformations/brain_avm_index.htm">arteriovenous malformation</a> (that resulted in my bleeding at age 12) I was on top of the world. 25 years of being in the clear. I wanted to celebrate by doing something amazing, something I’d never expected myself to ever do, but wanted to. When Kirt asked me to photograph a meeting between him, his friends and some people about a project he was starting I didn’t think much about it. By the end of the meeting and the spiel that Kirt and Charlie Campbell gave I was hooked, I knew that this was going to be the thing that I was going to do.<br /><br />What happens with Altitude Sickness (AMS – Acute Mountain Sickness), or how it was described to me, how I remember it, is that something chemical happens in your body because you’re over-breathing to compensate for the lack of oxygen and your brain produces a fluid to protect it (is that right? Even now I’m doubting this) and consequently starts to swell.<br /><br />When Dr Ian calls me up at work and discusses the silver clip that’s in my head that stopping the vein from bleeding, it suddenly makes me think. The Sunderlandese doctor is concerned that this swelling possibly might affect the silver clip. Somehow. I don’t want to think about it much more than that. He asks 'Has your insurance got a pre-existing condition clause.' No. 'Well, it might be a good idea to get one in case we need to get you off the mountain by airlift.' Immediately after I get off the phone I research a higher insurance package than my bank can guarantee. One that has helicopter rescue. F*ck it. It’s only £25 more than I’d have had to have got anyway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcx2AgkPxNi7rBh4jzML5bkteH5aVZOihMjuCu6C4-SE9XaIlcWPFIvhjqsgS9W2NwNir3kZGN9cyAC41RqlQFHWl1J-cyAuuwKKiV1b6KjfwybsOwcuPte9NWQ5tiekg-r9lYBU5r3hR0/s1600-h/DSCF4320.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcx2AgkPxNi7rBh4jzML5bkteH5aVZOihMjuCu6C4-SE9XaIlcWPFIvhjqsgS9W2NwNir3kZGN9cyAC41RqlQFHWl1J-cyAuuwKKiV1b6KjfwybsOwcuPte9NWQ5tiekg-r9lYBU5r3hR0/s200/DSCF4320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336973934865562306" border="0" /></a><br />Back on the trail from Phakding I really hope I don’t have to use it. It is a constant worry. I'm aware that I'm alone much of the time and that it's not that healthy for me to be walking by myself.<br /><br />The teahouses are very much like my Grandmother’s in Malaysia, except her house was half on stilts. And we were given beds. Twin beds. I was semi expecting, like my Grandmother’s house, to be sleeping on the raised floor of the main room, all of us, farting and snoring and having to deal with couples copulating in the corner. Not that that happened at my Gran’s.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZv4yO-J9VgeVUBIZmSTpKP-YLE4-N1v6n1i4FtVpmq9A_hpU8o1y0mN8H10BD9TrWCxsJZhwKUwawuKzMBx1cWe37ExdiNO6TDRfLLkingHuH30u7vvm2KJ_VBheYLGs3nLQaxaEHaKMf/s1600-h/DSCF4380.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZv4yO-J9VgeVUBIZmSTpKP-YLE4-N1v6n1i4FtVpmq9A_hpU8o1y0mN8H10BD9TrWCxsJZhwKUwawuKzMBx1cWe37ExdiNO6TDRfLLkingHuH30u7vvm2KJ_VBheYLGs3nLQaxaEHaKMf/s200/DSCF4380.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336977579726615138" border="0" /></a><br />I end up walking next to a guide called Lannam who asked me where I was from. I usually get asked this in London so I say “Aldershot is where I was born, Malaysia is where I grew up.” This time I said “I live in London but my father is Malay, my mother is from London”. He got all excited about this fact and was really happy. Lannam, it turns out, lived in Malaysia for two years and speaks a smattering of Malay. Joy of joys. I’m always one for learning a bit of the language before I get to places and beyond ‘Namaste’ and ‘dhanyabad’ I was getting bored of my vocabulary already. It was nice to be able to connect on some level with Lannam and speak with him. Malaysia and Nepal used to have work agreements and allowed the Nepali a certain amount of work visas, I believe, from what he was saying. He really had a good time over there and was able to earn a bit of savings. He was pleased that I could speak Malay to and for the rest of the trip called me ‘Abang’ (which means big brother. I am a year older than he is. He must have had a hard paper round).<br /><br />Before we left that morning, we're told that this is gong to be one of the hardest walks of the trek and says that the 800 metre climb in 2 hours after having walked up and down for 6 hours will be the hardest thing that we’re going to be doing on this trek. (I have my doubts at this point, about so many things, but I don’t voice them).<br /><br />Lannam’s two years working in Johor Bahru meant that we could exchange a few words about family and work and life and journeys. He’d worked in a plastic factory out there. I didn’t realise that Malaysia had foreign labour other than Indonesians. It is the hardest walk we have done so far and (ok, it’s only lunch) and I’m thinking we’ve not done the hard bit yet. I’ve really found my pace (or lack of) so having company in one of the rear guides was helpful. By the time we get to lunch, the fact that I’m Malaysian gets through to the other guides and I sit opposite Bil for lunch who says a few words in Malay. More surprises. It’s really overwhelming. Bil intended to go and work there so he learnt how to speak Malay. With learning anything, I more you practise the better you become at it. With the recession happening, the work agreements suddenly dried up and Bil never actually got to go and work there. Maybe one day.<br /><br />The rest of the walk we were still under the tree line which was quite good as the weather was very hot. It looks like that the trees are in bloom. I wish I could take a photo of the blossoms to ask my mum what they were as all the trees on the way seemed to be in bloom. It was a forest of green and pink in clumps <span style="font-style: italic;">(JZ: I later find out that we were walking in a forest of rhododendron. I always thought that rhododendron were a bush and not trees)</span>. It’s been good weather so far. And not cold either. Crossing many metal rope bridges (some to the tune of Indiana Jones) we seemed to be going up to go down. That was the disappointing thing about the trek, the fact that once you seemed to climb to the top of one hill, you saw the route ahead which seemed to be going down again. Didn’t we just climb 300 metres? Why are we going down another 150? Where was this 800 metre climb? Was that it? What do you mean that was only 150 metres.<br /><br />At lunch, it’s become apparently that Jameau Pederskin has the runs and has been suffering badly, poor fella. After lunch I worry that I might be suffering from the same thing. Perhaps it was the chillies that I have in my meal. We’ll see. Let’s just temper the diet as an experiment. Thankfully I only have to go twice at the lunch break. It was slightly comedy as it was the first time I’ve had to do anything in a squatty toilet for years. And then to suddenly feel you can let loose is somehow liberating but also worrying. And then there’s the unsatisfactory poo.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The unsatisfactory poo.</span><br />Just before a performance I usually like to have, what I call, a ‘satisfactory poo’. You know, one that leaves you feeling that you can let go on-stage (emotionally) and not worry about whether you’re going to ‘let-go’ anything else. When we were doing The Nightingale on tour for Yellow Earth, I introduced the concept to my Japanese friend Haruka who seemed to think that it was as important as I did. As we opened the show, we’d just check with each other with a quick, ‘Satisfactory poo?’ And whether it was a positive or a negative we knew as to whether each other were going to have a good performance or a slightly ‘held in’ performance. I wonder if Ralph Fiennes has the same discussion with his co-stars?<br /><br />(Ok enough about that.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTv5-OPCHPocVyugh7MuEQs7yVF-PvFDMyBiY58HaMTsrvaq92kGQPCbAVB3MV8abkwWW5d333HBEce7aimQeDOOiwJ8g7TWg7QpsL-7NlKBkz5qiv9k29ry_GknBN29i8IDGegDXoM0c/s1600-h/DSCF4390.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTv5-OPCHPocVyugh7MuEQs7yVF-PvFDMyBiY58HaMTsrvaq92kGQPCbAVB3MV8abkwWW5d333HBEce7aimQeDOOiwJ8g7TWg7QpsL-7NlKBkz5qiv9k29ry_GknBN29i8IDGegDXoM0c/s200/DSCF4390.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336977573274966994" border="0" /></a><br />Now that the knees are starting to hurt and the backpack is becoming a burden I must say that this portion of the journey is getting to me. Paola Fudakowska (who signs off her emails with Mini-P, or P-Fud, to differentiate between her and the taller sister Alexandra Fudakowska who was also on the trek) was usually within my sights as we’re both not the fastest on the trek. I also must point out that as one of the photographers, I am one of the few that get my pack carried and all I have to do is carry my daypack along with my photographic equipment. The rear guides were wondering why we were the slowest and I’m sure they were talking about us amongst themselves (the paranoia of the British traveler). They were also carrying daypacks but theirs were considerably much smaller than mine. Or flatter, at least. Halfway up the route to Namche Bazaar was a welcome sight of the group I was in sitting on a low wall in a cleared area where 2 orange women had set up shop. Now these had nothing to do with Restoration period Orange Women. As far as I know they weren’t prostitutes. What they offered was just as good. Fresh oranges for 80 rupees. I bought two. And lapped up the juices from my dusty hands with gusto.<br /><br />While we were sat down with our packs leaning against the wall, resting our legs. One of the guides picked up my daypack with his hand. He looked over at another and nodded and something tacit was exchanged. Did they say that they were going to carry my pack? I suspect not. I suspect they were just wondering what was keeping me back. Their investigation seemed to satisfy them.<br /><br />Goonit (ok his name isn’t really Goonit, it’s Gareth but prefers the name G-Unit. As I already have a friend who calls himself G-Unit, I call him Goonit. It makes sense in my head) tries to carry a pack that one of our porters is carrying. They place it gingerly on his head and it nearly snaps his neck off until they re-place it on the part of the head that the strap is meant to be placed at (I’m not sure where that is, I don’t try and find out).<br /><br />When we’d rested up enough we’d started our way up the mountain again. One of the orange women (it sounds so rude to call them that, they weren’t sluts at all) asked me what we were doing so I told her about the cricket on Everest thing and then she asked if we were going to Khumjung and I said yes, tomorrow and that we’ll be teaching the kids cricket there. She hoped to come along.<br /><br />Miles Nathan, one of Kirt’s friends who wasn’t a cricketer and one of the cameramen on the trip (there is a film being made of this, a docu-style film. Wes is the other cameraman and ‘director’.) is struggling with his pack and is being gently encouraged by Lucy Brooks, the Trektator team leader. He’s clearly exhausted and I hand him some nuts and chocolate from my scroggin pack, just to help him along. They carry on ahead while I keep at my slow pace. I’m equalled by one young Mongol-looking porter, who couldn’t have been more than 16 and who gets as tired as I do, mainly because his pack weighed a ton.<br /><br />For much of this trek I am by myself with the occasional sighting of people ahead or below me. A couple of times I have to stop just to admire the view. I keep on forgetting that we were in the most amazing landscapes on Earth. Most of the time, however, is spent looking at the ground as it’s uneven - sometimes it’s steps of rough hewn rock, sometimes it’s dusty path rising zig-zaggedly upwards. I remember looking up once to see where I was going and then being surprised by Wes scolding me with a rather inappropriate ‘If you see me holding the camera, don’t look directly at it.’ ‘What?’ I respond, rather incredulously, being insulted by this. 'If you see me holding the camera, don't look directly at it.' Right. I’ll remember that next time I want to see where I’m going, I’ll try to telepathically be aware of where you are in case you’re holding a camera in my face. Or when you're a director, paying me, you can talk to me like that, when you've had as many years in front of the camera as I have. Otherwise, you just come across as a c*nt. I’m wearing sunglasses FFS, and you’re standing in the bushes, I didn’t even realise you were there, you twat. Of course, I’m writing this hours after this happens and my sense of humour bypass has just about rerouted. But it still irks. The narrator in 'The Great Gatsby' was right. You never will have had the same experience as anyone else in life. It's funny how that bubbled up after not having read it for nearly 20 years.<br /><br />I get to a ‘Nepali flat’ part of the track and round the corner is a wooden shack with chocolate and drinks. I think I bought a Mars Bar or Snickers, it was only a few hours ago but I don’t remember. Lucy and Miles are there, resting. He’s been in a bad way, struggling with the climb. This has been the hard bit. According to the shop owner it isn’t long until Namche. About 30 minutes, Miles and Lucy assure me. They leave and I’m left sat on the wooden bench looking over the valley. Why am I here? What the fuck am I doing? I feel drained. I’m glad for my little scroggin pack which consisted of mixed dried fruit, mixed nuts – including brazils which were my favourite, and peanut M&Ms.<br /><br />True enough, it was up a bend in the next hill when there were more houses and the dusty track become more rocky road. I was stopped on the way by a policeman, telling me that I couldn’t go ahead, that I had to hang a right through a gate in a fenced area. We get talking about what we were doing, he’d seen the posters, one of which was on the blue police shack opposite the gate. He was married with 2 kids and that his daughter loved chocolate. Yes, she really liked chocolate and nuts. What’s that you’re eating? Badam <span style="font-style: italic;">(almonds)</span> and kismis <span style="font-style: italic;">(raisins)</span> and chocolate. Yes, my daughter likes chocolate. I laugh and give him the rest of my bag of scroggin. I’ve got another 3 quarter bags left somewhere. He says she really likes chocolate and leaves. No, she doesn’t like leaves. Well, I don't think so.<br /><br />I see Mark Jordan on a platform by a shop doing a few takes of his report to camera. The words ‘eccentric and English’ was what I heard. Nothing about being in Asia. Yes. Sense of humour bypass kicking in nicely. I’m going to start getting angry if he mentions that phrase again. There are non-English people on the trip too.<br /><br />Walking through Namche it looks like one of those places you seen in dungeons & dragons storybooks, it doesn’t look real. Through the dark streets only lit by the shop’s fluorescent lamps and kerosene from burners, I see shops on either side of the softly cobbled passages selling trekking gear, woolly yak-hair hats and last minute climbing equipment.<br /><br />By the time I get to the lodge, I’d been told by someone that I was in the upper lodge but ‘I’m sure that there’d be a cup of tea in the first one, waiting for you'. I stumble into the lower lodge looking for friendly faces but before anyone says ‘Hello, you made it, have a cuppa tea,’ I get a ‘You’re in the wrong place. You’re in the upper lodge.’ Which promptly gets met with a ‘Shut the fuck up’ from me. I know that, you hairy twat. ‘You’re in the wrong place.’ he repeats. I’d heard him the first time. Perhaps he didn’t hear me. ‘Shut the fuck up.’ I snap even louder and leave.<br /><br />Yep. Sense of humour completely bypassed by. (<span style="font-style: italic;">editors note: Sorry, Woodsy. I didn’t mean to snap. Hope I’m forgiven. You still have a hairy tw@t though.</span>)<br /><br />In the upper lodge I get ushered by the owner, who apologises and takes me to the prayer room which will be our makeshift bedroom. I’m not sure who it is that’s ushering me I barely know what my name is let alone care where I’m sleeping. Everything looks a little grey and I get put on a makeshift bed in the temple. I think it’s a temple and I’m sat down recovering slowly, eating chocolate, taking in the colourfully painted walls and drift off into the lying down position.<br /><br />Once I slowly start feeling myself again I realise that James Butler, who, for the size of him, looks more arm than man, Neil Sharland who, this evening, looks more pale than ale and Jonathan Hill(s) who looks to the side of you endearingly, are also in the room. Jonathan asks me if I’d mind sharing with someone else as Curry hasn’t quite got a room yet. Probably the wrong time to ask me anything. No, I can barely move and I’ve sunken in the bed, weighed down by love of it. Bless him, I think he probably realises that it’s all too much for me and when Curry arrives, not only does he manage to get him a room but is able to make it sound better than the one we’re in, despite it being a shared double bed. Curry, thankfully, thinks this is great, or doesn’t know what he thinks and takes it anyway.<br /><br />At dinner there is a pow-wow as Mark Jordan has decided that everyone is doing too well and that there is no drama on the event and that he wants something to happen. Toovey succinctly remarks that Jordan was ‘expecting a demolition derby but got the Earl’s Court Motor Show’ or words to that effect. <span style="font-style: italic;">(JZ: I note that he hasn’t quoted himself on his blog so I’ve quoted him here as I think it's very apt)</span>. What Jordan suggests is for two guys, one from each team, to hold a porter-race, i.e. to carry a porter’s load on his head and race up the stepped streets of Namche Bazaar. Absolutely stupid. It makes the groups feel a slight animosity towards our ITV cameraman as the idea is completely stupid, unsafe and risky. To me it’ll make the group look like we’re a bunch of rich eccentric English men having a laugh in amongst the foreigners in their own country. Please. They decided to sleep on it and consider how they feel in the morning, health-wise especially. I hope none of them agree to it. I can’t believe I’m still up (it’s about mmm 8.30pm).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqmTmPCygZBiRtid7hDXIFMOroFKKRb_Ce8GXLMlcoOacQwE1GcXUPeURBU9nwbJLT3yxxlc4RjndsnxaCXkupsfDDvFxb454VEvvzhIgqlPB2Ke2rLufbjNc8emKVoogs7_Hojk8xqUX_/s1600-h/DSCF4460.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqmTmPCygZBiRtid7hDXIFMOroFKKRb_Ce8GXLMlcoOacQwE1GcXUPeURBU9nwbJLT3yxxlc4RjndsnxaCXkupsfDDvFxb454VEvvzhIgqlPB2Ke2rLufbjNc8emKVoogs7_Hojk8xqUX_/s200/DSCF4460.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336864909575993778" border="0" /></a>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-68872476900882047952009-05-14T01:06:00.016+01:002009-05-14T17:36:12.264+01:00Day 2 – Kathmandu and Lukla. Trek Day 1.<br />.<br /><br /><br />Well last night I couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the fact we’d arrived in the evening, perhaps it was due to the fact that there was so much going on in my head or perhaps it was the thoughts about this aeroplane ride from KTM to Lukla. Last October 18 people, the entire passenger and crew list of the flight, died in a crash. I am sitting outside on the veranda of the villa. Poor Waters having to share with me. I think I snore. Loudly. I don’t know how loudly but I know I do snore. Now I’m sitting outside having my final cigarette until I see Kathmandu again. Yes, I’m going to keep my packet of fags here, even though, really, they only cost about £2 a packet and I can afford to smoke them, I don’t really want to smoke while on the mountain. That’ll be my deal.<br /><br />It's a full moon here in Kathmandu. The dogs on the hillside are just barking and barking, like they're fending off thieves. Hundreds of dogs in the darkness, scaring evil.<br /><br />Landing in KTM yesterday evening was easy enough, I don’t really remember the flight being turbulent or whatever in fact, I slept through most of the journey from Doha. I know that at the start of the flight, once we’d reached altitude, there was this scuttling sound in the air vents like there was a sudden influx of rats in the system and that the plane as suddenly going to crash and there was a flash of panic through everyone. Ok, maybe just me and Hillsy, teacher and white-knuckle flyer. I appear cucumber-like next to him. No, I don’t mean turgid. I mean cool. That noise, it turns out, was just the vent system working. Probably clearing the rats out of it.<br /><br />We woke up early to pack the two buses that were taking the two separate teams and (split) Trektators to KTM Domestic Airport, next to the International. I’m not an early morning man really, more a late night man.<br /><br />Kathmandu Domestic Airport is next to the international airport. It kinda does remind me of what KL Railway station was like (before they did it up in the 90’s but with domesticated animals. Ok, I’m embellishing, there were no domesticated animals. I was expecting sheep or goats or something from ‘Romancing The Stone’). We shuffled through the metal detectors and put our luggage on the scales. Yes, ALL our luggage on giant scales until the man at the desk told us to stop and that we were heavy enough. Yep, total weight limit per plane. Why weigh items one by one when you have to add it all together on a calculator at the end? Just put them all on at the same time. Simples. This was the first time I’d met Russell De Beer. I didn't know who he was at first but we exchange a certain look. I didn’t recognise him as he looked different from the facebook photos. I think he’d given himself a grade 2 haircut or something. From the bus to the airstrip I see a selection of aeroplanes that get progressively smaller until we see our airline. Yeti Airlines. Doesn’t inspire much confidence.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEYVGl2I5PEE5LgtRqHI3CP1qV9RZW-Tc5C5vZyLHY-7irkwiqvp7ZvmrznY7HB8aHAHWpBZzQ5LwJJY5z31fkkSAmS0bBq31G4IyXMFHarBUwu-UELpqgABKpJTp1BL3y3MiE-thipKx/s1600-h/DSCF4112.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEYVGl2I5PEE5LgtRqHI3CP1qV9RZW-Tc5C5vZyLHY-7irkwiqvp7ZvmrznY7HB8aHAHWpBZzQ5LwJJY5z31fkkSAmS0bBq31G4IyXMFHarBUwu-UELpqgABKpJTp1BL3y3MiE-thipKx/s200/DSCF4112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335466680471647362" border="0" /></a><br />Sitting in a compact tube with seats in rows of two and one, I note that we were all putting on brave faces, some of us knowing that in October last year all 18 passengers and crew died in a crash on the same route. I didn’t mention it to anyone in case they didn't know and wouldn't appreciate the knowledge. What was a little worrying was that you could see to the front of the plane into the cockpit (the door remained open throughout the flight, in fact) where you could see the pilot and the co-pilot reading off a check-list and scratching their respective heads.<br /><br />I have never felt more in God’s hands than in that moment before take-off. I remembered to take out that prayer that Dad made me write down and repeat it several times under my breath, careful not to let the others see me praying in case they thought I had half a keg of Samsonite strapped to my middle, fingering the red button marked ‘detonate’. I miss you Dad. It’s only been a day since we got here.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaHWgJmMLJ6O7a6Ge2DjAo1s5TbA9GFVXgBB3kWGfN-UjFPcY1mXhjsmoMEN01tji_o3uWgQ_mRITw3mxz2hPl1mqdRxCp2oGqLUpSK3dKfvBUA1XxoeZySDYoCVDZT87iJ6G2wtJoN1A/s1600-h/DSCF4126.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaHWgJmMLJ6O7a6Ge2DjAo1s5TbA9GFVXgBB3kWGfN-UjFPcY1mXhjsmoMEN01tji_o3uWgQ_mRITw3mxz2hPl1mqdRxCp2oGqLUpSK3dKfvBUA1XxoeZySDYoCVDZT87iJ6G2wtJoN1A/s200/DSCF4126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335467391940310194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Did I mention we had a stewardess? She was lovely. And perhaps a little pointless other than to look at. Ok, so she did hand out cotton wool and a boiled sweet. No gintonics, no warmed semi-tasty sandwich rolls.<br /><br />Take-offs usually send me straight to sleep. I could see that one of our guides, a Sherpa called Nir (Or what I assumed to be a Sherpa, he might actually be a Lama) was asleep in minutes after take-off. Lucky bastard. From my seat, looking out of the window, I could see the ornate carpet of Kathmandu fall far below us turning into fields and lakes and quarries and striated hillsides.<br /><br />A few minutes later and we were just above the clouds and looking out the window, not wanting to miss anything, to the left of the aeroplane I could see mountains, far, far in the distance. Snow covered peaks. Which one was Everest? I'm not sure but I wanted to see them. They were beautiful.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmovVhJnWxkjdgp_Rsl6-tLyDOK5iimX4lnlk8q5cgEU9X50NCsOHwt_7XTMbioZMduLlEnJqvaJk8R4Po8VOKKgCZV_by9Olqwpmf5Civ7D-Dpe1uTfFTiatc_t7WPOUAqA30Q4fbG-a/s1600-h/DSCF4158.JPG">Which one is Everest?<img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmovVhJnWxkjdgp_Rsl6-tLyDOK5iimX4lnlk8q5cgEU9X50NCsOHwt_7XTMbioZMduLlEnJqvaJk8R4Po8VOKKgCZV_by9Olqwpmf5Civ7D-Dpe1uTfFTiatc_t7WPOUAqA30Q4fbG-a/s200/DSCF4158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335476165783358194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lukla is a hillside town with a ridiculously short airstrip stuck between two higher hills. It seems to have one major street with a view of a mountain rising at one end of it, and various trekking equipment shops on either side selling colourful woolly hats which I might buy on the way back. And I'm not sure that the Starbucks is quite the real thing but hey, it gave us a laugh while waiting.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoiYHMjqxMJUUgUQeO_q42z3h4-D7-UuvPOhkyInXc8wo_UxIwLdEnqHvTHiw6z9cx2raya-ZU4cPE5732omfucUUQN99FSyniQha_EgGQC4tJnHlUoHSPCSWvlnPbeFetBL72hZdKlWYK/s1600-h/DSCF4228.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoiYHMjqxMJUUgUQeO_q42z3h4-D7-UuvPOhkyInXc8wo_UxIwLdEnqHvTHiw6z9cx2raya-ZU4cPE5732omfucUUQN99FSyniQha_EgGQC4tJnHlUoHSPCSWvlnPbeFetBL72hZdKlWYK/s200/DSCF4228.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335484166889923810" border="0" />They didn't do Caramel Lattes.</a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJ45PXgeRTsI4kBQlysfP_48kDyev-kIGnel8y90RUhWlswapbsb2CAGj9OxvNsw5Uw4vltlJn3E0iZuQs81hq0CiqSbUsucDMj3TAsczG_bx1M8JcpDP5YbUbm86sfpnDA_Hl0r6V53d/s1600-h/DSCF4222.JPG"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJ45PXgeRTsI4kBQlysfP_48kDyev-kIGnel8y90RUhWlswapbsb2CAGj9OxvNsw5Uw4vltlJn3E0iZuQs81hq0CiqSbUsucDMj3TAsczG_bx1M8JcpDP5YbUbm86sfpnDA_Hl0r6V53d/s1600-h/DSCF4222.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJ45PXgeRTsI4kBQlysfP_48kDyev-kIGnel8y90RUhWlswapbsb2CAGj9OxvNsw5Uw4vltlJn3E0iZuQs81hq0CiqSbUsucDMj3TAsczG_bx1M8JcpDP5YbUbm86sfpnDA_Hl0r6V53d/s200/DSCF4222.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335485271500466162" border="0" />Lukla</a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJ45PXgeRTsI4kBQlysfP_48kDyev-kIGnel8y90RUhWlswapbsb2CAGj9OxvNsw5Uw4vltlJn3E0iZuQs81hq0CiqSbUsucDMj3TAsczG_bx1M8JcpDP5YbUbm86sfpnDA_Hl0r6V53d/s1600-h/DSCF4222.JPG">Prayer Wheel Gate</a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qI9Vgt2gVHcJAFARv63lb73hKILcoob2ynWUGmYRxrYiB3JbliwBCPYvEe8OEK97a_fyD7bb0_th-9z7EuLHSXb4aV0vU5j4thmclKjzoNb-Re86H2Pz_N4ccXwxbHooZ2ai7ey087NW/s1600-h/DSCF4252.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qI9Vgt2gVHcJAFARv63lb73hKILcoob2ynWUGmYRxrYiB3JbliwBCPYvEe8OEK97a_fyD7bb0_th-9z7EuLHSXb4aV0vU5j4thmclKjzoNb-Re86H2Pz_N4ccXwxbHooZ2ai7ey087NW/s200/DSCF4252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335486439927076450" border="0" /></a><br />After a bit of a hold-up with the equipment arriving by plane and a speech by Kirt and Nir Lama (yes, he must be a Lama) we started Day 1 of our trek. As the website said, we start by descending. I don’t know what the track was going to be like but the first few hundred metres outside the town gate is roughly hewn paving.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQDCa6KRI10mivJOnEvVH6kjAhTS8_wn5iIcGp1dYYdqBpDp8gC2KhjXYX1vUuLAzHegiXzwbqzGkfSVTHd5S6DfYk5TGdc1sSDHFzQKoqfk0w_jiIaJEwE7GD9iD3CE1xVNYfjdqMDoD/s1600-h/DSCF4255.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQDCa6KRI10mivJOnEvVH6kjAhTS8_wn5iIcGp1dYYdqBpDp8gC2KhjXYX1vUuLAzHegiXzwbqzGkfSVTHd5S6DfYk5TGdc1sSDHFzQKoqfk0w_jiIaJEwE7GD9iD3CE1xVNYfjdqMDoD/s200/DSCF4255.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335483322075031954" border="0" /></a><br />We learnt that the prayer wheels (as described by Eddie Murphy in <a href="http://www.metacafe.com/watch/214013/the_golden_child/%29">The Golden Child</a> )would give us strength and courage for what we are looking for. We also were told to walk to the left hand side of mani stones as custom. The first time Brooksie told us this we saw her go off in a goose-chase of a direction so we followed her and joined the rest further down the track. Apparently, that’s what you have to do. I ask no questions, she read the guide before we left London.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9-pIGsn-DvrBa_9WGvjVzaPjY7Z9O0YSh4wRk6FMj2RI0L01fWPbm5465CW1eY-SA0DOwqpDBYUVr2XA3zikJAZFJ9X16XIq_6r6Og7xppk30LGFPK_DNSY9LPXXA2uZy7EA69sCrUIF/s1600-h/DSCF4296.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9-pIGsn-DvrBa_9WGvjVzaPjY7Z9O0YSh4wRk6FMj2RI0L01fWPbm5465CW1eY-SA0DOwqpDBYUVr2XA3zikJAZFJ9X16XIq_6r6Og7xppk30LGFPK_DNSY9LPXXA2uZy7EA69sCrUIF/s200/DSCF4296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335469458812527042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Dave Christie and I as ‘the elder’ of the group found ourselves falling to the rear or ‘finding our pace’ which, speaking strictly for me, meant really slow steps up.<br /><br />Oh yes, the surprise at Lukla was while I was writing my journal for this blog in the courtyard of the first teahouse where we ate a breakfast of pancakes and coffee, I heard a loud holler of my name. I look up and it’s Grizzly Adams. Who the hell? Of course, it’s Dane Cunningham, looking distinctly hairier than when I last saw him in London, going to Australia, about a year ago. He’d been in western Nepal doing the Annapurna circuit and looking well-travelled. A welcome sight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtWHgYHJ-qD8sP_nH4U9R0S_KAO8PmjE2Z92TXgfKuk4h2mw3yhXC6-VKz0d3HeIkHq2WQSDld4ZHighRaIHHlOwOKsv_0zFXoKW6fax1yMz3TUHsoB0dSZpcLrkZq9_R9b8rjaX0TEwI/s1600-h/DSCF4318.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtWHgYHJ-qD8sP_nH4U9R0S_KAO8PmjE2Z92TXgfKuk4h2mw3yhXC6-VKz0d3HeIkHq2WQSDld4ZHighRaIHHlOwOKsv_0zFXoKW6fax1yMz3TUHsoB0dSZpcLrkZq9_R9b8rjaX0TEwI/s200/DSCF4318.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335471148793418818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />By the early evening we reach the first teahouse on the trek in Phakding. It’s blue and white exterior and unpainted wooden interiors remind me of my grandma's. It’s bizarre that many things start to remind me of my childhood in Malaysia. It’s getting more and more intense. Little did I know that the next day the Malaysian upbringing would be a keystone to my Everest experience.</div></div>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-88234033531417984772009-05-13T23:37:00.013+01:002009-05-14T17:20:27.910+01:00Day 1 – The Aeroplane, Doha and Kathmandu<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNw7gGNowEGxzKOE7nHzP4aB7CFu9f6Eo0SJdhPufV7WGA2TV8lqe6CZYvSZDvrmSZLimeyLBDECqaj-RmceGg24lWb3S98fdMenuDkSKZ0Q6AAA1KoY_fcN3d4ucYzJWX3cFdX-Lhlm4/s1600-h/DSCF4022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNw7gGNowEGxzKOE7nHzP4aB7CFu9f6Eo0SJdhPufV7WGA2TV8lqe6CZYvSZDvrmSZLimeyLBDECqaj-RmceGg24lWb3S98fdMenuDkSKZ0Q6AAA1KoY_fcN3d4ucYzJWX3cFdX-Lhlm4/s320/DSCF4022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335442211725888674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Right, it’s twice now that my name has been spelt wrongly. On my passport it’s Jamie. Not James. Who on Earth does the checking for these things? On the insurance forms I note that someone, Woodsy, has put me down as a James. FFS. I hate the name James. It’s not on my passport. Am I being a bit moody?<br /><br />It’s the lack of sleep I suspect. We’re in Doha reading the Tenzing Bible, a bit of fun dreamt up by Goonit and Toovey. We’re all slightly tired by the flight over even though I slept straight after the chicken rendang (mmm yes, a Malaysian recipe… might be a good omen to the rest of the trip, and they didn’t do it half bad either, even though, really, rendang is strictly beef.) It does feel like I’m on my way to Malaysia…. (Can’t we go there instead?) I certainly don’t feel like I’m a trip to Mt Everest.<br /><br />I should perhaps mention the farce of the transfer lounge. Getting off the plane into a bus which seemed to drive us the length of Doha to the airport, we get shuffled to the transfer gates where we have to show passports, go through X-ray again and metal detectors. We’re all hot and sticky and people keep shoving and trying to take the velvet rope barriers down and create chaos out of this disorder.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKr6zWGZkRbUBQL8AszNg59AJD4Hwi3f2pnaHh9EHU5p6yKXcNouTaQaLjdg6bdOrnbyftwV14epXqtdgsatSqCW-kd_u-8WtHRTBFJ2gQpIZcGlh8xtaL5aUsOunSXniKCBP2ILAVZeW/s1600-h/DSCF4018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKr6zWGZkRbUBQL8AszNg59AJD4Hwi3f2pnaHh9EHU5p6yKXcNouTaQaLjdg6bdOrnbyftwV14epXqtdgsatSqCW-kd_u-8WtHRTBFJ2gQpIZcGlh8xtaL5aUsOunSXniKCBP2ILAVZeW/s200/DSCF4018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335442867424251938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Back on the plane now headed to Nepal, drifting in and out of sleep, all I can remember is people’s advice to me: ‘Climb, Bitch! Keep breathing’<br /><br />I get waken up by the aeroplane coming into land at KTM airport. Passport control – signing those pieces of paper with ‘where we’re staying’ info on it, making sure we tell the police our whereabouts (do people do this? I’ve never done this on holiday. Ever.) People seem to think that I know where we’re staying so I tell them. Kathmandu Guest House. Okay, so I do know where we are staying, did no one else find this out before we left?<br /><br />We’re greeted by friendly Nepali asking us to take our bags etc, offering to push our cart etc. Kirt warned us about this a few weeks ago. Don’t let them. We’ll be met at the airport by the people who are meant to meet us and they will help us load the vehicle. Whatever that vehicle that may be. We weren’t told. We’re then met by a different set of Nepali, wearing caps with our logo on it. Lei were handed out and given to the new honoured guests of…. Hang on a sec…<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-5ui1LZChhUPJSES-zHAV0oFmyKS8qUQeIhvYZ-r_BLgr9ad0cwmpsGFjTuMha9Gr6h0cXpsiNXa_KKSVUB9S6B2pVCZOxRV0COmqw9z0wMxbILSEzB0Sk8C5uLp-1Cfq5eurzByXIg9/s1600-h/DSCF4054.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-5ui1LZChhUPJSES-zHAV0oFmyKS8qUQeIhvYZ-r_BLgr9ad0cwmpsGFjTuMha9Gr6h0cXpsiNXa_KKSVUB9S6B2pVCZOxRV0COmqw9z0wMxbILSEzB0Sk8C5uLp-1Cfq5eurzByXIg9/s200/DSCF4054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335444381933532562" border="0" /></a><br />Ok. So why is EVERYONE given a lei and not me? What’s going on here? Is it because I is semi-Asian? It's a little joke that I have with myself throughout the trip. It doesn't end here.<br /><br />Yes the different set of Nepali who are smiling and knowing what we’re about seem to be our hosts. They seem very helpful and showing us to two mini-buses. Oh, there’s a big banner with our (my) logo on it. They must know what we’re about.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5d_AUc-I8smK9TtouqQ8gh15-8Ej6qNli7aEINaj4Hm4JtyAG4i6-2kmhuqm7f9hAZ0Z43a4HVtqpr_iNN-fIW9b8RSCOAuJVZ6YDxos9Lp6m4UN8NZg0wxOHzx444OSc-plPfIyGNDY/s1600-h/DSCF4089.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5d_AUc-I8smK9TtouqQ8gh15-8Ej6qNli7aEINaj4Hm4JtyAG4i6-2kmhuqm7f9hAZ0Z43a4HVtqpr_iNN-fIW9b8RSCOAuJVZ6YDxos9Lp6m4UN8NZg0wxOHzx444OSc-plPfIyGNDY/s200/DSCF4089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335452722584830722" border="0" /></a>Well, it’s the first night and we’ve landed in Kathmandu on time. The streets towards the hotel remind me of Kuala Lumpur that I remember as a kid. Much like the 70’s KL with lots of motorbikes and cyclists and trucks and cars all vying for space and speed and the accompanying discordant jazz orchestra. It's hot, dusty and the sun is a burnt orange in a lavender washed sky. I'm back in Asia. It feels great.<br /><br />It would seem that the buses don’t take us to the Kathmandu Guest House but instead some other hotel with villa complexes set in a parkland. I get off the bus and immediately I get greeted by a Nepali who apologises profusely and presents me with probably the blingest lei ever with silver tassels and large extended flowers. I have to get a picture of it. We’ve been put into this other guest house (which really I quite luxury and has a pool) as the KGH has double booked us – (how do you forget that you’ve booked 55 people on a group booking?)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wu_z9CH9kOVX8O25Rp8AZ6GOaBBo6L-SoqCMotcE2iWiTXnJXJgt_B-09fgxbF5Rc7SPSBvOx-3BV7AKUERnowsAs6G929hIWyGEUEO3MyQ6Ivn8p_Ghe_6S459W8ef8NUUamAdbnTaA/s1600-h/DSCF4097.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wu_z9CH9kOVX8O25Rp8AZ6GOaBBo6L-SoqCMotcE2iWiTXnJXJgt_B-09fgxbF5Rc7SPSBvOx-3BV7AKUERnowsAs6G929hIWyGEUEO3MyQ6Ivn8p_Ghe_6S459W8ef8NUUamAdbnTaA/s200/DSCF4097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335453590977832274" border="0" /></a>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-2983885536248749712009-03-31T23:18:00.003+01:002009-03-31T23:48:57.077+01:00I Thought I Would Be FitterSomehow after training since... mmmm June? I really thought I'd be buff by now. Yes so I don't manage to make ALL the training sessions and I don't do my 100 sit ups 3 times a week but I never thought I'd actually be FATTER. Now I understand that exercising gives me more girth. Arms are thicker (not too difficult, considering where they were at), upper back is a little more tight under the pits (I can do really good pull-ups, albeit only about 10 in total) and I won't need false calves under my Restoration stockings but WHERE THE FRAK HAS THIS SPARE TYRE COME FROM?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? This is despite the running, this is despite the fact I am physically more able than I was 9 months ago.<br /><br />There will be no picture of it until I can do an 'AFTER' photo. I can 'feel' a six-pack once I move the fatty huggables to one side. But hmmm, I'm flippantly thinking 'hmmm, that Everest Workout and Diet better work'. It's probably masking fear. yeah. Fat masking fear.<br /><br />For the time being, I'm <a href="http://twitpic.com/2n6p0">holding in</a>.Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-55655822304888829202009-03-30T22:02:00.003+01:002009-03-31T10:09:14.248+01:00Medic!We had the last official meeting for The Everest Test 2009 on Saturday, with talks given by various people where we found out various bits of news, good and bad. Now we have an official title sponsor we have now been renamed The Nokia Maps Everest Test 2009 which is great!<br /><br />One bit of bad news was that <a href="http://cbneverest.blogspot.com/">BN-BN</a> is no longer going to be with us on the trek, which is a real shame. Long live BN-BN. We'd rather have you safe and sound than almost certainly really ill. That's real heroism, knowing when to live and fight another day.<br /><br />As a nice little segue from illnesses to the medics, the medics gave us a rather serious talk, by way of introduction to themselves and their respective backgrounds. We all came away with more than a little fear in our stomachs. All the girls picked their favourite. I took notes. Crackles? In me lungs? Isla Fisher gave a good talk as did Ian Pitchblack. The other two (whom I have just met, so I can't remember their names as I'm not friends with them on facebook) were good talkers as well as informative and friendly. I look forward to getting to know them all properly on the trek. Hopefully I won''t have much dealing with them in a 'professional' capacity.<br /><br />I hope I don't get PMS on the mountain. Or whatever it's called. That'd be quite scary. I guess the other things I could get are HACO and HAPO, which could result in death, perhaps or worse. I've had HANO before but that was 10 years ago and it mysteriously cleared up just like it arrived. But a bit of debilitating swelling on the joints doesn't really compare with fluid-filled lungs... hmmm... do I really want to do this?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Unfortunately, yes.Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-56801635326714655432009-03-11T23:09:00.006+00:002009-03-12T00:50:21.605+00:00I Really Like Your Merkin.<br /><br /><br />Now that we are nearly set, with just under a month to go I’m able finally update this blog. I can’t remember the last blog I did, let alone the things that have happened since then. Yes, I can see that I did one on Monday night/Tuesday morning inserting a portion of a song lyric by Joni Mitchell, just to strengthen my resolve. I think the enormity of what I will be doing in April has just hit me, has just sunk in. Let’s face it, copypasting a song lyric does not a blog make. These blogs may not be chronological.<br /><br />At the end of Feb, Brooksie, VixNix, VickStaveley, Hely, Foody, Coxy (as I have just now named her, she probably needs some sort of outdoorsy army-style name), Agnes (Brooksie’s running friend) and I went to Gomshall in Surrey to wear in our boots.<br /><br />Not one for nambying it while walking I thought I’d pack my rucksack with heavy things to weight it. 2 pairs of shoes, a change of clothes, a 2l bottle of water, a compendium of hit songs from the 80’s (for guitar and piano) and a bag of uncooked rice. Yeah, Zooby knows how to pack for harsh conditions.<br /><br />I got to Gomshall earlier than the other London-based ladies (Isla coming up from Brighton and VixNix driving from Hampshire) and was greeted off the really unsecure railway crossing (basically, just walk on the tracks to cross to the other platform, how very 1950’s) to be greeted by VixNix with flasks of hot drinks and biscuits in the back of her car. The girl knows how to make a tired man welcome, I tell you! Isla is there too, tea in hand and warming herself by her car. Within minutes the rest of the ladies arrive – we took different trains from civilisation – they having left from Clapham and me from Charing Cross. After making a pitstop in the café of the caravan salesroom we set out.<br /><br />Now, Brooksie has apparently made this trip before and wanted to ‘go another way round the hill’. Her words.<br /><br />From the railway station, we wandered into a village called ‘Shere’ which, according to the Shere Tourist Board, is the prettiest village in Surrey. It certainly has a well-clipped cemetery and several country pubs. However, it was once we were out of the village that things started to go wrong…<br /><br />I am being unfair. Brooksie didn’t actually get us lost, we didn’t really get lost, we just took longer than we thought we would to get to the path that she had planned.<br /><br />Right, according to my blackberry, our lowest elevation was 327ft and our highest was 993ft which is a difference of 666 ft. I’ve just worked that out by the way but something tells me it was something to do with the incline – the fact that it was such a b*stard to ascend. Somewhat worrying. How high are we climbing up to - 16,945 ft? Yeah. That b!tch is gonna be some work. Altitude sickness, the headaches, the foot aches (our journey was about 4 hours and we covered 9.98 miles) the shoes fared well, no chafing, no blisters, great, in fact. We must remember to wear comfy shoes for as long as possible while we’re camped (or teahoused).<br /><br />When we got back to Shere, we headed straight to the pub and a welcome lunch (which had an extraordinarily wide selection of food on the menu, VixNix noted). You can see the trail here : <a href="http://www.trimbleoutdoors.com/ViewTrip.aspx?tripId=352159">Gomshall, Gomzle, Goms-hall</a><br /><br />Now it must’ve been the altitude (see my spoof video) as my ears hadn’t popped when we got down, but I thought I went slightly deaf. Apparently, on the train home, Brooksie commented on the fleece that I was wearing – ‘I really like your Berghaus’. It's not what I heard.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzNjHQdWuqbOiahbjL16xkZDZdyHpv7IksTstHckDpYPbEuRFA_28fA3oFsQ5Xud74xEW2bPl-_ldtUCe4IEg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-53416890499794596212009-03-10T01:04:00.005+00:002009-03-10T01:10:39.177+00:00Note To Self<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">.</span><br />You've got to shake your fists at lightning now,<br />You've got to roar like forest fire,<br />You've got to spread your light like blazes<br />All across the sky.<br />They're going to aim the hoses on you<br />Show 'em you won't expire!<br />Not till you burn up every passion<br />Not even when you die.<br /><br />Come on now<br /><br />You've got to try...<br />If you're feeling contempt -<br />Well then you tell it<br />If you're tired of the silent night<br />Jesus well then you yell it!<br />Condemned to wires and hammers<br />Strike every chord that you feel<br />That broken trees<br />And elephant ivories conceal.<br /><br /><br /><br />Judgement of the Moon and Stars<br /> jm 1972Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-61017612280816516932009-01-28T17:05:00.007+00:002009-01-30T15:40:32.447+00:00Better Git It In Your Soul!Thank you Charles Mingus for composing such a great piece of work.<div><br /></div><div>I have recently taken up jogging. From my last blog on the subject I have been taking this thing rather seriously since I have a new toy to play with. Mainly my GPS blackberry thingummyjig. It tells me where I've gone, how fast (and sometimes how high) I've gone in my last run. With every run, my speed tends to get faster though it has never been the same journey twice.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did attempt to make the same journey twice last night but after my little comment on C<a href="http://alaneverest.blogspot.com/">uzzer's blog</a> about getting lost whilst running, I seem to have been blessed with <a href="http://musicalstewdaily.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/john_lennon_2.jpg">instant karm</a>a. Yes. I got lost. In Peckham. Again. Mainly due to the music I've been listening to on my mp3 player. Perhaps I need an upgrade to a bigger iPod. The music I tend to like is usually of the more soulful variety - Joni Mitchell, Ray LaMontagne, David Gray, Aimee Mann and such the like. Not ideal running partners as most of them are in a minor key or with quite an <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">al dente</span> bpm (having said that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The Beat of Black Wings</span> is a great running song, though Vietnam war anti-heroes talking about being a pawn in a war don't make for great enthusiasm!) </div><div><br /></div><div>However <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">You Get What You Give</span> (The New Radicals) is amazing. It does cause sudden bursts of euphoria while running which are great as suddenly I start running faster almost to sprint levels, bypassing shoppers with that 'what de bway gwan teft?' look.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did have to raid my flatmate's cds for running music and the cds that I seem to be given for birthdays, Christmasses etc (that weren't on my wishlist). I must say, having given it a go for 3 listens Madonna's latest 'album' is rubbish. The writing is just so bad. If anyone ever wanted a reason for women over 45 to not do dance music, this album is it. Though her <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Anna Friel </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="">ong</span> is another euphoria-inducing track from 'Ray of Light'.</div><div><br /></div><div>The only problem with tanzmuzik while running is that at traffic lights, I tend to dance. And running while doing 'big fish, little fish, cardboard box' is a sight to behold. Yeah, I went clubbing in the early 90's.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I have enjoyed this week is the inclusion of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mingus_Ah_Um">Charles Mingus' 'Ah Um'</a> album. Recorded in 1959 it's great music to run to. Firstly because it great jazz (or technically it's 'hard bop') but because it's <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">so smokin'</span></span></span> it does feel like you're in a film noir being chased by the cops. In Peckham, this is not hard to imagine. </div><div><br /></div><div>It also gave me the reason to get lost in Peckham. Again. So smokin' was the music that I missed the turn, or turned too early or something (looking at the map, I was one street too early. I really wanted my GPS to be working this time. After 'enjoying' Alan Curr's attack of the grumps last week about getting lost, instant karma certain made it's presence known. So this week I am bereft of my 'lost map' of my journey which would have made an amusing picture.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hey ho.... as they say in Peckham. More later. Zooby Overandout.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-31425531391940501472009-01-15T21:54:00.012+00:002009-01-16T00:06:18.324+00:00Far Away From My Well Lit DoorWell, last week saw the new regime of training start for most people. I know that for me I was only doing the odd ab exercise or press-up to keep me in trim. It was a good week methinks. First of all it started for me New Years Eve when I went shopping to get some shoes. I came back with 4 pairs. A black smart pair (for formal occasions), a pair of simple walking shoes for everyday (I finally gave up my Rockports which were the most comfy shoes on Earth. For about the first 3 years!), my hiking shoes (beloved and be-expensive!) and a pair of <span style="font-size:78%;">a-hem.</span>... running shoes.<br /><br />I've never had a pair of running shoes in my life. I don't run. Well, when I do, I like to think that I run properly, without hurting my spine, shins or feet. Mainly because I run properly, <span style="font-style: italic;">through</span> the feet, not just slapping them down on the pavement like I see so many runners do. Was it my years of running barefoot at school? Yeah, not that I always forgot my kit and had to run in vest and pants, but this was Malaysia in the 1970's/early 80's. We didn't bother with shoes unless we were playing football. Now I have an aversion to round things flying through the air towards me - I lasted 2 weeks training on the school cricket team waaaaaaaay back in 1986 - so team sport was/is never my thing. It's why I enjoy <a href="http://www.abolicao.co.uk/">capoeira</a>. No balls, no shoes, just a <span style="font-style: italic;">roda</span> and a <span style="font-style: italic;">berimbau</span> and a love of movement. And while it's played together, it's not a team sport. More one-on-one. Oh yeah. And it's meant to be played in the heat. I can't wait to go back to it.<br /><br />But back to my running shoes. My first attempt at running (late last year, methinks) was first met with 'in those shoes?' from Brooksie. Hmmm... what's wrong with my Rockports? Ok, so they're a bit worn round the edges, but I love(d) them. Then I got a grilling from <a href="http://chrispalmereverest.blogspot.com/">Chris 'Kiwi' The Kiwi New Zealander Palmer</a> about my footwear. I have had easier footwear slangings from Gok Wan. But he was being very (and thoroughly) <a href="http://www.metrosafety.co.uk/">H&S</a> about exercise, which was very good. Yeah, Chris is from New Zealand, if no one knew that before, you might not tell from his accent. But yes, early January saw me walking into work with my new Reeboks in my bag. Then having planned my route I ran from work to home. I didn't think I'd make it. But I did. This be the route:<iframe style="width: 420px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.trimbleoutdoors.com/Maps/EmbeddedMap.aspx?tripId=325519&w=420&h=400" frameborder="0" scrolling="no">This site does not support embedded trip maps. View the trip &amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href='http://www.trimbleoutdoors.com/ViewTrip.aspx?tripId=325519&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;utm_source=embedmap'&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;here&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt; instead.</iframe>Perhaps I shouldn't have had my blackberry in my bag jiggling about as it does look like I was drunk and running through buildings. For a run, for my first <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> run of the year, of my life (I'm not really counting the one time I did running with the Everesters, that was more <span style="font-style: italic;">training, men. Training.</span>) I knew I was playing it safe - the last two thirds of the run is down the Old Bent Toad which I knew the landmarks of so well. And it's also along my bus route, which was a JIC. (IC I keeled over with a coronary, that is). The landmarks were helpful, for my first run. Tescoise Corner wasn't the great relief that I thought it was going to be but I knew that it was over half way. Seeing the familiar green lights of Asdanistan was better. My second run of the year, the next Monday, I had a meeting in town at <a href="http://www.spotlight.com/">The Spotlight</a> about my (hah) "career" which was better than I thought, and more helpful. I was going to run from town to Home but I'd forgotten my trakkie bottoms so I decided to go home first and run a different route that was the same length as my first just to see if I was a little faster.<iframe style="width: 420px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.trimbleoutdoors.com/Maps/EmbeddedMap.aspx?tripId=328725&w=420&h=400" frameborder="0" scrolling="no">This site does not support embedded trip maps. View the trip &amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href='http://www.trimbleoutdoors.com/ViewTrip.aspx?tripId=328725&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;utm_source=embedmap'&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;here&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt; instead.</iframe>Nope I wasn't faster. I'd taken the wrong turning in Peckham somewhere and decided that possibly it wasn't the best place to get lost in. This time the GPS was in the front pocket. It looks like I'm much more sober, at least.<br /><br />Along the run I got thinking, which is never a good thing for me to do. I began to think, 'ok, this is good for me, ok I'm getting healthier. But why sweet Lord, WHY?'. I remembered a car journey. I don't know how old I was. Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur. It was the <a href="http://members.aceweb.com/ronsmith/cars/37_05.jpg">Ford Cortina Ghia</a>, I believe, so Adam might be able to narrow down the time. I'm thinking 1978-82 but that could've been the Chrysler as it was a brown interior and they both had brown interiors, I believe... anyway, it was a journey, much like any other in the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur, going via highways but it was a holiday somewhere... possibly Cameron Highlands or Fraser's Hill or somewhere like that. It was a holiday. We'd stopped in traffic and nothing was moving. I was looking out of the car and I was watching this red lorry turn off into a dirt road. Dirt road. Malaysia. It's bright orange, almost like a terracotta. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXUzV7uNdQcuJJdzTLv-DARM9Y4B9dASLb5TrsVFq6nLk3VxyIYnU0rwWOkuAs_UJGJjODNF48ElFzdUKT7RMg8imHvuadqh7c814Ac5lNYedg53vOAsxdtpFU9bdjsXEqChRpwMqbal-/s1600-h/sm_p4muddy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXUzV7uNdQcuJJdzTLv-DARM9Y4B9dASLb5TrsVFq6nLk3VxyIYnU0rwWOkuAs_UJGJjODNF48ElFzdUKT7RMg8imHvuadqh7c814Ac5lNYedg53vOAsxdtpFU9bdjsXEqChRpwMqbal-/s200/sm_p4muddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291664733105418178" border="0" /></a>Bright orange mud.<br /><br />As the lorry was driving away I thought 'Where are they going? What do they do?' It was a lorry. Like any other lorry. It was a journey for them, like any other. Nothing special. I was perhaps around 8 or 9, but it was the first time I realised that the world didn't revolve around me, it didn't even revolve a<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanp0ZRhrVpH27L8Agoh6hw9eUA-Jvn2vR8rr5-wnIthHB8tipgq5E7YtPDnRAGHud5rbfCTKD-r4UBUFV_AsQuOpNCa-8e7cXJF4quwggJVEudlNnKkhrr9_xedblCJn0v4syOXcJswGZ/s1600-h/lori.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 415px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanp0ZRhrVpH27L8Agoh6hw9eUA-Jvn2vR8rr5-wnIthHB8tipgq5E7YtPDnRAGHud5rbfCTKD-r4UBUFV_AsQuOpNCa-8e7cXJF4quwggJVEudlNnKkhrr9_xedblCJn0v4syOXcJswGZ/s320/lori.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291665470951743826" border="0" /></a>round my family. Here we are in our air-conditioned car while these people were on a muddy track going off to work or delivering something somewhere that was nothing to do with us, or the people immediately around us... I don't know if this was the start of a self-awareness or something profound like that, or maybe it was fairly normal for people to realise that this world, it sometimes isn't about you. I like to think that I'm on this trip because it isn't about me, it's about the photos, it's about the Sherpa, it's about the people we're trying to help, it's about playing in the team. Which is what we did on Thursday and Saturday at Battersea Park. Much more what we're about. Not really compe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_YNksRNqAeqJLDXkrG8ZbXciGUFSQQmlv752lqPRo_E8QGZiQ1PnbgAHLSrmYzcJGTpEjL8SQEE9O5tsb5uRet_Oy5OgEHPghCGx3I8cmQiRNhyTkqC1fGZ-0tMPAIsG8YAwZiHUF9jrv/s1600-h/DSCF3054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_YNksRNqAeqJLDXkrG8ZbXciGUFSQQmlv752lqPRo_E8QGZiQ1PnbgAHLSrmYzcJGTpEjL8SQEE9O5tsb5uRet_Oy5OgEHPghCGx3I8cmQiRNhyTkqC1fGZ-0tMPAIsG8YAwZiHUF9jrv/s320/DSCF3054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291672602104038658" border="0" /></a>titive but simply <span style="font-style: italic;">encouraging</span>. In just under three months from now, up until the game, that's what we're going to be doing. Getting up that mountain. Together. As a team. Not competitive -<br /><br />encouraging.Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-31394398416046589912009-01-01T01:11:00.002+00:002009-01-01T15:49:57.069+00:00Happy New Year Everybody!!!!!Let's have a good one!<br /><br />Much love<br /><br /><br />ZoobyZoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-71829054770410933242008-12-23T16:48:00.009+00:002008-12-23T23:16:25.631+00:00It's Coming On Christmas, They're Cutting Down Trees<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVmTdVHUrQWNSd4BSv6DD5UNvoZCMn38z3rhBn2c06fKrHPn3zU7dvobGgUam9p8ErtXozEzMGsj7tMEDodcOhPWLFTjtu46gVjyY9PTqdGsH90Nb0BPSLOXsmqXuIAVHUjdUhwszmWva/s1600-h/kids.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 388px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVmTdVHUrQWNSd4BSv6DD5UNvoZCMn38z3rhBn2c06fKrHPn3zU7dvobGgUam9p8ErtXozEzMGsj7tMEDodcOhPWLFTjtu46gVjyY9PTqdGsH90Nb0BPSLOXsmqXuIAVHUjdUhwszmWva/s400/kids.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283033277645557138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bVwo9IQMWM0&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bVwo9IQMWM0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I'm so hard to handle<br />I'm selfish and I'm sad<br />Now I've gone and lost the best baby<br />That I ever had<br />I wish I had a river I could skate away on<br /><br />Oh, I wish I had a river so long<br />I would teach my feet to fly<br />I wish I had a river<br />I could skate away on<br />I made my baby say goodbye<br /><br />It's coming on Christmas<br />They're cutting down trees<br />They're putting up reindeer<br />And singing songs of joy and peace<br />I wish I had a river I could skate away on</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >(excerpt from 'River') Copyright © 1970; Joni Mitchell<br />Painting is called 'Skaters' also by Joni Mitchell 1994</span><br /><br />I just thought I'd send out that rather reflective Joni Mitchell song on this blog ("I make really sad Christmas songs"). I've been trying to learn how to play it on the piano for ages and I can just about do the simple chords. I feel as if I haven't openly quoted Joni enough in these blogs. She is a songwriting genius. Frank, beautiful, a voice that can shatter a heartache and also a painter. I am attracted to people who aren't afraid to take risks with their art, their feelings at the risk of their popularity. What's important to them is the truth.<br /><br />Anyway, it was at the works Christmas party on Friday when Lee Paddock (whose job title has 'Chief' in it. I've always liked that word, especially when used by streetkids for some reason) asked me to name 3 good things this year and 1 bad thing that has happened to me this year.<br /><br />Christmas is often the time for reflection over the past year and on the moments spur, over our Thai Christmas Meal (a Metrosafety tradition it seems) I came up with these:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(I would like, all ye you read this, to quickly whack me off a response along the same lines, and you don't have to be as verbose as I have been.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Three Good Things</span><br />1) I became an Exhibited Artist - something that in all my days I have never thought I'd have the guts to do.<br /><br />2) My blind spot which was diagnosed earlier this year (bottom left corner), is actually due to scarring from the AVM bleed 24 years ago, and not an indication of anything that is about to happen. That was confirmed by in April. By the end of April, I joined The Everest Test as a Trektator.<br /><br />3) I have met an incredible bunch of people who, over the past year, through some quite testing moments, I am really proud to call my friends. Hopefully friendships that will go beyond April (David Thomson, who sat opposite, said, "Yes, I can see that, and I'm quite jealous of that aspect of it, I'd really like to go up with you, if only just for that. You're very lucky."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">One Bad</span><br />1) I have realised I've wasted an incredible amount of time procrastinating, that I can actually do things that aren't within my means. Not just this year, but I realised it this year and I've begun to take a deep breath and leap. I regret not doing things. It's worse than regretting the things I've done. I wouldn't change a thing that I have. Well, almost. It's taken me 36 years to learn that.<br /><br />Anything is possible, you just have to allow yourself to make it happen.<br /><br /><br />Merry Christmas everybody. I hope you have a great one.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-57786251000103316352008-12-18T22:35:00.015+00:002008-12-23T23:27:30.541+00:00Waterloo Sunset<div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >If you travel via Waterloo frequently, using the travelators, one thing I like doing while walking on a travelator is looking down at the moving walkway ahead of me. Do this for about 15 seconds (don't worry the travelator at Waterloo Station between the Jubilee Line and Northern Lines takes a good 1 min 30 secs, so you won't find you've run out of travelator). After that 15 seconds of looking down, quickly look up at the rest of the tunnel ahead. Because of some strange <a href="http://www.coolopticalillusions.com/crazy/crazy_optical_illusion.htm">'eye thing</a>' the whole tunnel seems to be moving away from you in some freak 'trick of the eye' fashion. Please note, the travelator has to be fairly empty, so this is an 'off-peak' activity.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >I used to like walking up to escalators and grabbing on. The lurch you get when something suddenly takes you somewhere is exhilarating and you have to run faster to catch up. Like joining friends unexpectedly in the night and suddenly going on adventures to the other side of town, or Brighton/Glasgow, someone's rooftop. This small lurch of 'escalator fun' was always kinda fun, a little bit of joy while traveling - escalating - or even travelating - for that matter. Ok, yes, it's only an escalator, I was going in that direction anyway... but I think it's important to have a little bit of internal joy while doing mundane things. Some people read while traveling, some people listen to their Walkmen <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(pl. of Walkman?)<span style="font-size:100%;">.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I prefer that internal dialogue. It's good to be peripatetic. I'm glad I like it as under 4 months we'll be doing</span> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >a lot</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> <span style="font-size:100%;">of it for 18 days</span>.</span></span></span></span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >At the moment I've realised that I seem to be faster than the speed of escalators when I walk, faster than I used to. Perhaps it's just Christmas and the need to get things done is fairly time-sensitive, so there's no chance to dawdle. Perhaps since I've stepped on board The Everest Test 2009 Train Boarding for Nepal I've just become more focused, a little more intolerant of time-wasters. When I joined up for this attempt, my first response was like joining an escalator that was traveling at 100 miles an hour and I took a deep breath and leapt into that traffic. I think that this event, this attempt, this 'thing' has taken over my life. The people who I mention it to are really in awe that I've even considered doing this, let alone </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >actually</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" > doing it! I dunno. Perhaps I'm living my life a bit more, rather than just be a passenger on the travelator of someone else's.<span style="font-size:78%;"> I can't believe I'm paraphrasing my own poem there. Maybe that's what poetry notebooks are for.</span></span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >I've learnt a couple of things about myself recently.... More on that once I've had my peripatetic on it. I've learnt a couple of new words as well. Some thanks to <a href="http://www.yourdictionary.com/">Word Of The Day</a>. Some not. "Snoodling" being one of them <span style="font-size:78%;">(thank you <a href="http://chrissymeverest.blogspot.com/">Chris Martin</a>)</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >"Peripatetic" being the other.</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Definition 1: On foot, walking from place to place.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Usage 1: This word stays the same in both adjective and noun forms.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Also, peripatetics are journeys on foot.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Definition 2: Relating to the methods and thought of Aristotle, who</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">conducted discussions while walking.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Usage 2: The word gains a capital when you're talking about philosophy.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A peripatetic is someone who rambles on foot; a Peripatetic is an</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">adherent of Aristotle</span>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:monospace;"><br /></span></div></div><span style="font-size:100%;">I don't think I can give you a definition of snoodling. Muslim</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> upbringing. Nuff said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Anyway, I'm sure I promised a photo album from the London</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Freeze which happened about 2 weekends ago. That is to</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> come. I promise.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Traveling for some people is just a means to get to the destination. For us Trektators, it is the journey that matters most. It promises to be filled with lots of little pockets of joy and wonderment. What we pick up along the way, what we learn, the experience on the journey. 'Journey' has it's etymology in the French for 'day' - Ours will be 12 days up to watch some people play cricket on Everest and perhaps take some photos and a couple of days down again. I'm anticipating lots of learning on this journey and, after our little Trektator dinner on Wednesday, lots of fun.<br /><br />Meanwhile I'll be having a few rambles once the Xmas sales</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> are on and I can buy my trekking shoes from Blacks. I've</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> been highly recommended a brand called 'Rutger Hauer' or 'Bauhaus'.<br /><br /><br />Or</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> something like that.</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><pre style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></pre><br /></div>Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4344637704789349281.post-26133667035687629682008-12-09T09:35:00.003+00:002008-12-10T15:39:49.303+00:00Movies of Myself.<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx4FeLBeBROag00rjWlLn_32iCspJ9jsmZ0vxZiAnlfjSp7QfQRBp-gPNok2YR71jRPR2wCGYoPLCPvGMw8aA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />I guess I thought I'd make a little video of what I've been doing (or not doing) to raise dosh for charity and awareness for prostate cancer.<br /><br />FAQ's answered:<br />Yes, I do shave that quickly.<br /><br />No, it doesn't hurt.<br /><br />An evening.<br /><br />A month.<br /><br />15 months between us.<br /><br />We used to work together.<br /><br />Cumin seeds, coriander seeds, star anise, mustard seeds, heated in a pan, add oil, fry the onions until softened, add the curry powder made into a paste, fry until the oil rises, add the chicken pieces, add the potatoes. Add water. Cook until potatoes as cooked. Add coconut milk. Add green beans. Then cook for another 5 mins. Leave for 15 off the heat. Serve with rice.<br /><br />36. (I know. Comes from being semi-Asian)<br /><br />It's going to drop off.<br /><br />April 2009.<br /><br />Not on Everest, at Gorak Shep near the Base Camp to Mt Everest.<br /><br />My Dad is from Malaysia, my Mum is from South London.<br /><br />When I was 16.<br /><br />An actor.<br /><br />A painter.<br /><br />It's been mainly theatre and voice-overs, though I did do an advert for Maltesers when they sponsored Will & Grace (check my facebook vids). And I was a Palace Guard in 'The Phantom Menace' and 5 episodes of Grange Hill in 2000 playing the older, racist brother to a regular character.<br /><br />Portraits and abstracts.<br /><br />P!ssflaps.<br /><br />Pass. We don't talk about that in open fora.<br /><br />Pass. Now, you're flirting. Cheeky but that's not for here either. Off the record it's absinthe.<br /><br />Pass.<br /><br />Can I end this now? I have a knish and Christmas shopping that needs attending to.<br /><br /><br />-------------------<br /><br />Amazing weekend just passed. More of that later when I've learned how to picasa everything.... until then enjoy your week!Zoobyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084527401387684162noreply@blogger.com2