 Instead
we focus on the Tengboche monastery, not always by choice. At 5:00
am, we awaken to the cacophonous sounds of cymbals, drums, and horns
that shatter the darkness. Monks of all ages, in their burgundy robes,
chant and pray for four hours every morning, and four hours every
evening. We quietly enter the monastery, and listen to the chanting
for a long while. Only a few bare bulbs light the monastery, but the
wall hangings and frescoes are brightly colored. Images of the Dalai
Lama, made illegal in neighboring Tibet by the Chinese, are tacked
up on wooden beams. The fragrant scent of juniper incense fills the
monastery. A fifteen foot golden Buddha sits silently in the back
of the chamber, katas (prayer shawls) draped across his lap, his clairvoyant
eyes upon us all. We leave silently, agreeing that we prefer the peaceful
chanting of the monks in prayer to the loud banging at 5:00 am.
Day 18: We arrive in Syangboche on a sunny afternoon. It's noticeably
warmer at 12,000 feet than it was above 14,000. We are camped above
the STOL (short take-off and landing) airstrip, where, with any luck,
a helicopter will come to pick us up in the morning and take us back
to Kathmandu, and flights home. We all admit that we are ready to
return to civilization, ready to return to warm showers, flush toilets,
and bedrooms where ice doesn't grow on the ceiling.
On our last evening in the Himalayas, we wish
to thank Sona, Ang Chuldim, JB, Nima, and the rest of the crew for
taking such good care of us. So we take them to a little teahouse
near our camp for an end-of-trek celebration. In a little dark room,
with a dirt floor and with walls black with soot, we exchange toasts,
to a successful expedition and to friendship. While we drink San Miguel
beer, our guides drink chang, a local rice beer that they themselves
warn us away from. There is much singing and dancing. JB moves us
deeply with a traditional Sherpa folk song. We do our best to respond
in kind. It is a wonderful way to end the trek.
The next morning, clouds threaten our departure.
Sona, a gleam in his eye, tells us horror stories of people stranded
here for two weeks, waiting for the weather to clear, so we are a
little uneasy. When our helicopter finally makes it through a tiny
break in the clouds, it is chaos as we race to leave. As we say our
goodbyes to our friends, Sona drapes katas around our necks. His smiling
face is the last thing Deb and I see before we lift into the clouds. |
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