“The first hour and a half will be very difficult. Steep. Steep. Steep. The easy. Flat. For 2 hours.” Min told me this last night as well as this morning.

I’ve climbed stone steps for an hour and a half. It’s pouring down rain. With each step I am super careful. The mud sloshes beneath my feet. I take a step and my boot slips. I’m sure there are fates worse than slipping in glucky mud and donkey dung, but right now I can’t think of what they would be.

I continue to climb stone steps. It’s been 2 ½ hours now and I’m looking forward to the flat bits Min has promised.

We arrive to the “See You” guest house. I’ve been climbing for four hours straight. There was no flat bit. I want to turn to Min and ask, “Where was the flat part?” but I know it won’t do any good. I retire to my room to hang my wet clothes to dry.

For dinner we decide to order something new and share. Sort of like dining roulette. Mark orders chili fries and a Snickers roll. I order tuna roasty cheese. Julie orders spring rolls, and Tobin orders mixed momos. We order a large pot of ginger tea and a large pot of milk tea.

We receive a large pot and a small pot of black tea. We try to explain we ordered ginger and milk, not black, tea. Four people come from the kitchen – we finally get them to take back the black tea after a lot of pantomiming and pointing at the menu. Mark’s Snickers roll arrives first, a Snickers bar wrapped in chapati and deep fried. Next comes a plate of plain French fries. We inquire about the chili. The causes a bit of confusion. Again, several people come from the kitchen. They say normally there is chili powder, but not today. They offer masala salt instead. Julie’s spring roll arrives, vegetables wrapped in chapati and baked. Several people come from the kitchen, very agitated with me. They say they don’t know what my order is, this tuna cheese roasty. I try not to get defensive, but I’m irritated. Why are they yelling at me? I didn’t make it up, I chose it off the menu they gave to me. I just start laughing. I point to the menu under “House Special.” They nod their heads and look at the menu, not convinced. I offer to order something different, something like rice that they will know how to cook. No, no, no. They insist they will make my order. Half an hour later, the tuna cheese roasty arrives, a heart attack on a place: hash browned potatoes (sort of), fried canned tuna atop that, melted yak cheese atop that. We’re finally brought our pot of ginger tea. We pour it and the milk tea immediately comes out. At this point we’re all laughing – it’s an episode of Nepali Fawlty Towers.

It takes forever to get out of Marpha. Min stops at each store, at each guest house, and speaks to the owner. He buys several kilos of apples – two shopping bags full. I ask him why he’s bought so many apples and he tells me to take to his family. “In Pokhara?” I ask. “That’s five days away.” I’m imagining poor, bruised apples.

As he’s in one guest house, I strike up a conversation with a woman in the street. She asks me where I’m from. She then asks me how old I am. I tell her. We’re the same age. She laughs at this. She has four children and lives in a Tibetan refugee camp not far from the village. She invites me into her shop. I don’t really want to shop, but I have nothing else to do. Min is no where in sight. I look at the necklaces, the bracelets, the rings, the bags. I see some necklaces that are pretty. She assures me they are pure jade, pure lapis lazuli. I know they are not, but they are still pretty. We begin the bargaining process.

In India a friend and I were discussing bargaining. I mentioned that I don’t like haggling, that I feel bad trying to lower the price. She said that a seller won’t agree to a price if it’s not beneficial for him. She then related this to me: At the end of the deal, if the seller shakes your hand and smiles, you’ve paid way too much. If the seller shakes your hand but doesn’t smile, you’ve paid slightly too much. If the seller frowns, you’ve paid the right price.

After I pay, the women smiles widely and invites me back to her shop the next time I come to Nepal. Damn.

The man and woman are preparing to hit me with brightly colored orange steel beams. “Don’t,” I say. “I’ll scream and help will be here instantly.” They rear back to pummel me. I shriek as loud as I can.

“Lori! Lori! Bad dreams?” It’s Abby, shushing me. My heart is pounding and I’m having trouble breathing. “I’m so sorry. Yes. Nightmares…” Marlies and Sophie tap on the wall. “Are you okay?” Abby explains I’m having bad dreams but all’s okay. I hear the Israeli boys on the other side of us, also up now.

I return to sleep. This time haunted by a man with a gun who’s trapped me. This is going to be a long night…

We leave at 5:15 am, the only thing visible is our eyes. We have layers of thermals, fleece, jackets, gloves, scarves, hats, and bandannas wrapped around our noses and mouths. Out headlamps shine brightly. It’s pitch black outside and we begin the 600 meter ascent to Thorong La Pass. It’s snowed during the night and there is a fresh dusting on the path. I concentrate on the path in the darkness, not daring to look to the right, where a steep cliff tumbles into oblivion. A couple of times I slip on the icy spots that haven’t seen sun. Why am I doing this? Oh, yes, I’m on vacation. This is to relax and get away from it all. I’m definitely away.

We reach a tea house half way up. The sun is rising, over the mountains and through the clouds. We’re in the clouds! It’s beautiful. Everything is shades of white, of blue. We continue the climb. It’s getting colder and windier. My toes are virtually frozen, as are my hands. I ball my hands up inside my mittens, trying to create heat. It only sort of works.

And we’re here! What we’ve been working towards for a week and a half – Thorong La Pass. It’s bitterly cold. We take a few obligatory photos, then begin the steep descent on the other side. I’m surprised by how steep it is.

About 30 minutes over the pass I develop a massive headache, accompanied by waves of nausea. I know I need to drink more water, but I just can’t make myself do it. It’s too cold. I take a handful of Advil and continue downwards.

As the morning wears on, I feel myself growing weaker. I know I should eat something – I have crackers, cookies, candy and energy bars in my bag – but I just can’t. The nausea is too much. About every 45 minutes I tell Min I need to rest, I’m not feeling well.

We arrive to Muktinath around 1 pm. As Min puts me in my room, he says, “I’m so hungry! Let’s eat!” “Min,” I say, fighting the waves of nausea, “I don’t feel well. That’s why we had to stop so many times on the way here. I’m going to rest.” “You don’t feel well?” he asks, genuinely surprised. The miscommunication is killing me.

Min knocks on my door at 5:45 am. Ugh. “Good morning,” I muster, to let him know I am awake. I dress quickly, wash my face, and pack my bag so Durga can go ahead of us and book a room at Letdar.

We set out promptly at 7. We walk through workers harvesting both golden wheat and red buckwheat. The golden patches contrast with the red, making a beautiful patchwork. As we walk, the land today becomes more barren than on previous days, grey mountains spotted with orange and red shrubs.

We arrive to Yak Karka at 10:30 am and Min announces this is where we are lodging. I am surprised. Stopping at 10:30? That’s unheard of. We have another 6 hours of trekking to do. What is he thinking? But, indeed, we are stopping. I’m not sure why.

Mark, Abby, Tobin and I feel the need to continue walking. So we do. Straight up a hill. It’s a little difficult, because there isn’t a path, we’re stumbling through prickly bushes. We look around at mountains and decide to walk on the path instead. We run into a herd of yak. We wander. We’re cold. We head back to Yak Karka, a village of a dozen buildings.

As we’re entering town, Essie, Abby’s guide, calls to us. She motions for us to join her in a small shack. We enter. It can’t be more than 10’ x 10’. A thin mattress rests in one corner. In the other is a fire cum stove. We, along with five Nepalis, sit around the fire on benches maybe three inches off the ground. The woman of the house prepares tea for us. I have no idea why we are there, but I’m happy. I’m enjoying the warmth of the fire and the bitterness of the lemon tea. We’re sitting knee to knee, laughing and talking. The woman prepares a skillet of yak curry. It smells delicious. I’m wondering if I should eat it or not. What am I thinking? Of course I should. How often do I get served yak curry in a Nepali home? Silly me.

She passes around small, very small, plates of yak curry. Not plates, per se, more like tin tea saucers. Everyone is very polite, picking one or two pieces of meat with their right hand then passing the plate to the right. It’s crazy delicious. I savor the curry, the spices, the tenderness of the meat. I want more, but am unsure of the etiquette. A Nepali asks for more. I’m glad. We pass the meat again. I’m happy. I’m content. I’m warm. I’m satisfied.

I awake to Min knocking on my door. “Didi! Wake up,” he calls. I very sleepily arouse. “Good morning, Min.” “Come! Look!” I wander out in my layers of thermals, pajamas and fleece to the front porch. There, clearly, stands Annapurna IV. Its snow capped peaks pierce a bright blue morning sky, clouds distant. “Wow…” I say. “Wow….” I wander to a ledge, still in my flip flops and pajamas and sit and stare. This is so beautiful. I’ve come to love the solitude of the mornings on this trip – no one present but me and the mountains.

On the way back to the guest house, I notice a sign nailed to a tree. It’s an arrow and painted crudely it says, “toilet.com.” The dot com craze reach never ceases to amaze me.

We walk along the ridge, an easy walk, staring at the peaks along the way, the changing colors of the leaves on the trees, orange, yellow, red; the winding river below; the occasional waterfall; the intense brightness of the morning sun shining on all of this. We pass so many stupas, and prayer wheels, and prayer flags. It seems the higher we get, the closer people feel to a higher being.

We walk, and walk, and walk. We come upon a lone restaurant. “Hungry?” Min asks. “Yes,” I say and start towards the restaurant. He hesitates. “Maybe too crowded.” I look at the 10 or so people seated on the patio enjoying food. “Where, then?” “Next restaurant. Ten minutes away.” I look, and see nothing in my immediate line of vision. “Really?” I question. :”Yes. Ten minutes.” “Okay,” I say, and we continue.

Ten minutes later I’m staring at fields of yellow wheat and red buckwheat. “Min! Where’s the restaurant?” He laughs. “Ten minutes.” I’m annoyed. I’m hungry, I’m tired, my feet hurt and I’m not my happy self. I know this and I try not to be nasty. Ten minutes later, I’m staring at a landslide and dry rocks for as far as the eye can see. “Min! Where’s the restaurant?” He laughs. “Ten minutes.” I am so annoyed. “Min!” I feel like stomping my foot and throwing down my walking stick, but I don’t. I simply keep walking, wondering how many more “ten minutes” away the restaurant is.

Twenty minutes later we arrive at the restaurant. I can’t face another plate of rice. I order a mushroom veggie burger. Two patties smothered in yak cheese, no mushrooms, no bread, arrive. I fell like a spoiled brat. I want to say, “This is NOT what I ordered,” but I don’t. I eat it and am thankful.

We arrive to Manang. We go to the guest house where Min always stays and are told there are no rooms. He speaks to some porters on the path in Nepali then turns to me. “Very crowded. No rooms. Maybe you sleep with a stranger.” I’m completely annoyed. How can there be no rooms at 2 pm in one of the larger towns on the trek? I’m tired, I don’t feel well, and I’m fighting tears. “I don’t believe you.” In his mild mannered voice, Min says, “The porter says…” I interrupt him. “How far is the next town?” “Maybe one hour.” I know this means two or three. I’m adamant. “Then we will walk. Come on.” He does not like the idea. I know he wants to stay in Manang. This is our “rest” place, where we will spend two nights to acclimatize to the altitude. I know he wants to be in the same place as his porter/guide friends. I know his brother will be coming through tomorrow with another group. I also know I want a room to sleep in. I hear him speak. “No, I think you are too tired.” “Min, I don’t care how tired I am. I want a place to sleep tonight. If we can’t find one here, we walk.” He starts to talk in Nepali with the other guides. I start walking to the next guest house. He quickly follows. There are no rooms. We go to the next guest house. I see there are rooms, based on the open padlocks on the doors. We speak to the owner. I can tell he is reluctant to rent the room; I don’t know why. He relents. It is abominable. It is dirty, the walls are cracked and there are bugs. But it is a room. I lay down on my sleeping bag and cry.