Our fearless traveler heads to bed after darkness settles in and clouds blot out all sight of Everest, but only then. They have received accommodations at the Rongbuk Monastery Guesthouse which is not bad at all, as far as buildings above 17,000 ft. go.
The rooms have four couch-like beds with two blankets per and are small enough to heat up a little when fully occupied. If you are looking for splendid architecture or beautiful interior decor, you might want to close your eyes. The guesthouse consists of three long concrete bunkers, two of which are rooms for the travelers, while the third is a small restaurant of sorts--very dark, very smoky, very loud, very warm. But the general attitude among the traveler's companions is one which desires sleep. Unfortunately the light (a bulb hanging from the ceiling) has no switch. Apparently when the power to the compound shuts down, the light will go off. Not waiting for an electrical malfunction, our traveler slips off into sleep beneath the yellow glow of his light. Excitement works its simulating effects on our traveler. Normally a later riser, he rises with the sun this morning in the hopes that he might catch a sunrise over the mighty mountain. But looking out the window, he is saddened because he cannot see across the monastery courtyard; fog has socked in the Rongbuk valley. Rolling over, the traveler tosses and turns for quite some time, waiting for both the clearing of the atmosphere and the awakening of his companions who are obviously not effected by the same excitement as our fellow. Finally, after some immoderate length of time which might even have exceeded half an hour, our traveler’s companions begin to get up. In a flash he is out of bed and putting on his shoes (such was the cold, our traveler was obliged to sleep in all his clothing). The general plan of action for the day is to eat breakfast and move up the road a few kilometers to base camp, where the traveler hopes to find accommodation for the evening.
After a tasteless breakfast, our traveler’s companions decide they are too tired, lazy, weak, unmanly, pathetic, and even lacking in the general spirit of adventure to hike these paltry few kilometers, not more than a mile, to the next camp. They vote to take the land cruiser. Our traveler, his sensibilities severely outraged by this, spurns their land cruiser and declares that he shall walk.
The air is cold with a freezing breeze that seems to cut our traveler’s ear form his head. Unlike some others, he is thankful at this point for his longer than not hair. He decides to follow the river which flows out of the massive Rongbuk glacier further up the valley. His breath while not coming easily, is not as taxed as he thought it would be above 17,000 ft.
Since it had been snowing for most of the night, the going among the rocks and boulders of the creek bed (which are all made slippery by a sheet of snow) is difficult. Also the road which leads to base camp, situated further up on the hillside east of our traveler’s path, at times moves close to the river, pinning our traveler between a cliff face and an icy blue-green creek. Our traveler thinks of crossing the river by hopping from boulder to boulder, but a search for a adequate path across is not found. He decides to continue on the best he can while looking for a better spot to cross.
He eventually finds this in the form of a large chunk of unmelted ice sticking out from the far bank. Our traveler figures he can leap most of the creek and land on the ice. But being the prudent soul he is, he chucks a few sizable rocks onto the ice just to make sure it is solid. Not a creak or crack is heard. in these sorts of maneuvers thinking generally is a hindrance and often a danger, so our traveler throws whatever caution he may have to the wind and hurls himself out towards the ice. He clears the water with more distance than he had hoped for, but this extra distance is converted to force upon his landing and the ice demonstrates a traitorous nature: it cracks. Fast feet and some ignominious crawling move our traveler out of danger as a large portion of the ice breaks free and slips off down the creek.
But the obstacle is passed and onward he moves. He quickly comes in sight of a dingy huddle of outfitter's tents across the creak which is billed as "Base Camp." Crossing back over he realizes in a bit of shock that this is nothing more than a seedy tourist post. The real Everest Base Camp is further up the road. In disgust our traveler shakes the dust from his feet and moves on. This hike lasts a bit longer, ranging over hills and ravines and generally shaping up to be a good deal steeper than the morning’s exercise. Only several minutes into this jaunt, before our traveler has lost sight of the road, he spots his companions resting on a stone in the now-shining sun. They remind him singularly of some form of lizard sunning itself in the warm, high altitude sun. Their excuse is that they are collectively not feeling well and are waiting for one of the many tourist horse carts to ferry them up the hill.
Continuing on, our traveler finally reaches a point on one of the gravel hills near the river bank from which he can see the real beginnings of base camp. This giving him new energy, he trots in the last bit and finds himself standing in Mount Everest Base Camp. The traveler has heard rumors that hiking past this point results in a beefy fine, but as yet having seen no sign, nor been told to stop, he decides to continue on as far as he may go. He passes a large bathroom on his left and a guy sitting on a chair to his right. As our traveler passes, the man in the chair makes a strange whispering noise which reminds our traveler of some horror film he has seen years back. Feeling it to be the best course of action to ignore these noises, our traveler forges on. This time he is brought about by a very foreign “Hello."
Through the broken English our traveler eventually comes to the understanding that he is not allowed to go any further. This is sad.
Our traveler begs in his bad Chinese to be able to go a little ways further “just to have a little look.” The whispering fellow consents to this and our traveler walks a few hundred yards down the road and around a small knoll. This is the closest he ever gets to Everest Base Camp proper. For, the small cluster of tents which he just passed near the whispering man is merely the outskirts of the much larger base camp. Before him extends a large plain, butting up to the chaotic mounds of dirt and gravel being pushed down the valley by the glacier. This plain is covered on three of its corners with large encampments of the various Everest expeditions this year. Their bright yellow and orange tents stand out sharply against the steely brown of the crushed rock plain. The whole scene gives our traveler an oddly majestic feeling, as if all these tiny bits of color somehow amount to the conquering of the mountain before them. And in the sun, the snow covered mass of Everest leaves the tents as oddly insignificant despite their aims. After standing around and gawking for a bit, like most tourists, our traveler turns his back on base camp, and walks back towards the unrestricted area. On his way back in he spots the warning for tourists which states in very broken English that all tourists without “climbing contracts” who venture past this sign are in trouble, literally the sign finishes: “We will punish you $200 US Dollars.” Punish however is begun with an ‘R’ and has the word “fine” scrawled under it. Our traveler has not yet given in to defeat. Not yet fatigued, he decides to try his luck further up on the hillside. As of yet nothing he has done can be considered "hiking," but perhaps the further up he goes, the better the terrain will get.
