Trekking to Everest Base Camp a few days at a time — Lukla >> Tengboche

Pollution from India often settles in Kathmandu, but spring 2025 has been particularly rough with uncontained wildfires introducing smoke so thick that a dark brown haze covered the whole valley. Given the horrendous air quality (officially indexed at 364 the day of our departure) and corresponding cancelled flights, we opted to chopper into Lukla instead of waiting for clearance to take a fixed-wing aircraft.

The appropriately-named Tenzing-Hillary airport happens to be the world’s most dangerous. Its runway ends with a steep cliff. Suffice it to say, it is critical to nail takeoffs and landings.

Our Plan B transportation avoided that peril and kept us better aligned with our original schedule for trekking to Everest Base Camp.

I squeezed into the red helicopter next to someone who coincidentally attended the same memorable Washington-D.C.-area house party as I had back in 1997. I won't disclose how this (old?) new friend and I quickly confirmed as much, but what a ridiculously small world and pleasant surprise to be seatmates on the other side of the world 28 years later, let alone to be endeavoring to climb the same mountain at the same time! A genuine pleasure to properly meet/see you again, Terry.

I took a quick video as we passed through populated residential areas, so you can get the idea. 

Even with extremely poor visibility, Everest would not be denied. I stole my first glimpse of her as we descended into Lukla. You can see that she towered majestically above all others, but remained far in the distance and mostly obscured. She was definitely flirting though….

As soon as we began our trek, we practically tripped over a street market spilling into the path—chickens were running around next to woven baskets of eggs and other goods for sale. After more than three hours of hiking, we had traveled only five miles due to the rugged terrain and altitude. Despite the ups and downs, we ultimately lost 700-800 feet in elevation on our way into Phakding. (For the eighth-grade-humor-level readers here—and you know who you are—I double dog dare you to say that village name out loud without cracking a smile.) There, we checked into our first tea house, which had a pleasant outdoor seating area where we were welcomed with lemon/ginger/honey tea. After dinner, we settled into our simple accommodations.

The next day, we made our way to Namche, crossing multiple cable bridges—festively adorned with colorful prayer flags—that swayed in the wind as they spanned river-carved gorges. Did I mention that I am severely afraid of heights? These bridges were hundreds of feet above the ground and caused my legs to tremble. I kept my focus straight ahead and tried not to look down. Trees and flowers were blooming early for the valley—winter was mild.

We entered Sagarmatha National Park. Sagarmatha is the official and local name for Everest, which I'm told means either “goddess of the sky” or “forehead.” (By the way, mountains in Nepal have female identities, so I refer to them accordingly.) We share the narrow path with mules, yaks, and porters carrying tremendous loads. Each of my two large duffle bags weighs 50-60 pounds. It was not unusual to see porters carrying three or four of them, hunched over and using short sticks of less than two feet as walking canes for additional support.

From American eyes, it was initially alarming to see how the porters operated. Perhaps, upon viewing the photo, you feel those same misgivings. It seems almost cruel or at the very least patronizing to hire them, but porters are 1) genuinely pleased to have the work, 2) vital to the local economy, and 3) esteemed members of their communities—well regarded for their tenacity and strength. They are compensated well given the ordinary standard of living in the area, and I have found them so far to be universally proud, dignified, and not demeaned for earning their pay honestly.

I share this aspect of the trekking experience delicately, but also with transparency because I have not frequently read about or heard other climbers discussing the financial realities in a third-world country like Nepal. There are pros and cons involved in how mountaineers catalyze economic activity and provide opportunities for porters to be employed. Since there are no roads to Everest Base Camp, you must either arrive by helicopter or transport yourself via foot over the course of twelve to fifteen days—with the assistance of yaks and porters. Many porters ultimately evolve into knowledgeable and skilled mountain guides. PaDawa sure did.

Upon entering the village of Namche Bazaar, you navigate through cobblestone-paved walkways between tea houses, cafés, and shops—indeed, the latter sold some of the best gear available outside of Alpine towns in places like Chamonix, France (although you have to be careful in deciphering counterfeit merchandise in Namche). We stopped for lunch at Sherpa Barista, which has a hall-of-fame wall displaying the pictures of renowned climbers who have stopped in over the decades, before settling into the basic rooms at our next tea house, which boasted en suite bathrooms and private showers!

The next day was a "rest" day, which does not indicate a slowing down in pace, but rather that we would not be moving to another location that evening. By climbing high during the days and sleeping lower at night, we stimulate the production of red blood cells necessary to transport oxygen to our brains—and acclimatize to the higher altitudes.

We visited Sagarmatha Next, which is a terrific charitable organization that supports the laudable efforts to remove human waste and other refuse from the larger Khumbu Valley and Everest itself. This nonprofit features the work of artists who have turned literal trash into elegant works of art, some of which were available for purchase.

On a related note, I practice Leave No Trace principles—reflecting the "take nothing but pictures; leave nothing but footprints" approach—so it was gratifying to observe what is being done to address the ongoing and problematic mess on Everest.

I savored my first decent glimpse of coy Ms. Everest. She was still shrouded, but it is difficult to express how awe-inspiring she is even being partially covered. Upon recognizing her unmistakable silhouette through the lingering haze, a lump grew in my throat and I felt near-euphoric anticipation. Everest appeals to our human spirit—to something deep within—and invokes a primal need to climb and explore. She calls out, asking exactly what you are made of, and demanding that you prove it. Back up who you think you are, who you claim to be, and show her…

In Tengboche, I awoke early and cold (guest rooms in the tea houses are not heated) and stepped outside just after sunrise. For this small effort, I was rewarded by stunning and relatively clear views of both Everest and Ama Dablum (the latter being PaDawa's favorite mountain).

Standing alone in the village square, it occurred to me that if you have a preconceived idea of the natural Himalaya punctuated by man-made monasteries with corresponding Buddhist monks inside, Tengboche is the manifestation of those visions. It is conjured from central casting.

Later, as we hiked toward the historic monastery, I asked PaDawa to teach me the Sherpa words for left (sounds like: philokpa) and right (sounds like: nalokpa). I suspect an understanding of these directionals will be handy in the coming weeks, and am trying to build my vocabulary in preparation.

This monastery in Tengboche was destroyed twice—by earthquake, then fire—and the new version has been relatively recently reconstructed. We removed our shoes before entering, and sat cross-legged against the outer wall of an ornate inner room, while monks chanted in front of a giant Buddha. At the conclusion of this fascinating Puja ceremony, the Lama blessed and adorned us with Tibetan Buddhist khatas, which are the traditional lightweight scarves provided as a gesture of respect, blessing, and positive intention. Often given as a welcome gift or as a token of special celebration or even as a remembrance of a person or event, khatas carry a deeper meaning of compassion as opposed to being merely functional attire or a decorative accessory—as fashionable as they are.