April 25th, a holiday, a rainy day, but above all the day of departure. Arri, Cipi, and I arrive in the afternoon at Malpensa, excited for the adventure we are about to embark on, with our luggage loaded with everything necessary to face the Himalayan cold. At the airport, we meet our travel companions, Lorenza, a youthful fifty-year-old, and Federico, a biologist on a graduation trip.
After a long flight, including a lightning stop in Istanbul, we arrive in Kathmandu in the late morning. The visa process immediately plunges us into Eastern reality, with namastes and rather slow rhythms.
Once we obtain the visa, we exit what seems anything but an international airport in a capital city, albeit a small one.
An abundance of individuals take charge of us and load us onto a minibus, headed to the agency where we will complete the final formalities, not without first asking for a considerable tip, taking advantage of our initial slight disorientation.
The room acting as the agency has a faint lemon scent and is adorned with posters of high mountains, with a few CAI pennants symbolizing the longstanding relationship with Italy.
After paying the remaining fee for the trip and exchanging money into rupees (a few 50 euro bills become several tens of 1000 rupee bills each, with the signs of time decidedly evident), we set off towards Khurkhot, where we will spend the night before the flight to Lukla.
We immediately discover how uncomfortable Nepalese roads are, full of potholes and dirt stretches, traversed at full speed by minibusses, loaded with tourists, and vintage trucks, decorated in a colorful and folkloric manner, brushing against each other at the brink of contact.
After about an hour and a half, we stop at what in Italy would be called a rest area: we drink a Coca-Cola, never so good and always a certainty abroad, useful to cope with the already noticeable heat.
We set off again, following the path of a river that is the center of the little life we encounter along the way. Indeed, we see Nepalese people gathering on the riverbanks, on the bridges that cross it, and in the cornfields that line its sides.
When it is already dark, we reach our destination, somewhat exhausted: a small hotel that seems like salvation after the long journey.
We take a shower and for dinner, we try dal bhat, a typical Nepalese dish made of rice and vegetables, before collapsing into bed.
The next morning, we leave at 4:30 to reach the small Ramechap airport from where we will take the flight to Lukla. The journey is even more rugged than the previous day.
The airport is ridiculously small but pretends to be a serious airport with "checks" both on luggage and us.
The maximum weight for luggage is 15kg each, which of course we all exceed, but a small fee is enough to make everything forgotten.
When we approach the runway, the reaction is a mix of amazement and fear: there are indeed 6 small planes ready to take off, and one of these is ours.
We barely have time to wait, and we immediately board: it's a 20-seat propeller plane that fills our lungs with exhaust fumes when it starts.
The cockpit is separated from us, in the front row, only by two curtains, but there is a very kind hostess who reminds us of the safety procedures to follow on a flight.
The takeoff is quick, and we fly almost by sight, although the clouds all around prevent us from having an optimal view of our surroundings. After 20 minutes, a sudden drop in altitude warns us that the journey is coming to an end, with the landing on the famous Lukla airstrip: a short strip of asphalt, uphill, with a wall marking its end.
Despite these premises, the landing is much less traumatic than expected: we are finally in Lukla, where our trekking will begin.
We look around a bit bewildered but also aware that this is now the gateway to Everest for all mountaineers, past and future. We retrieve our luggage and head towards the lodge where we will have breakfast.
It's only a few meters but seemingly endless, because we also have to carry our checked baggage with us: we immediately understand that we will never thank the yaks enough for shouldering this load.
We discover at that moment that it will not be porters carrying our luggage, which makes us feel more serene about the weight of the additional things we have brought with us as a precaution.
We admire the peaks around us while waiting for breakfast (we will later discover that Nepalese preparation times are quite prolonged), noticing immediately how vegetation grows at much higher altitudes than in our areas: we are at 2860 meters, and we still see at least a thousand meters of plants going upwards.
At the same time, we notice how the snow line is much higher than we expected.
The latitude we are at, combined with the Himalayas' screening effect on the cold currents coming from the North, makes all this possible.
Meanwhile, our breakfasts are ready: we begin to get used to some local dishes like chapatis, some kind of warm flatbreads served with honey and jam... not bad at all!
Meanwhile, our porter is loading our luggage onto the backs of the yaks that will accompany us on our journey. Once everything is done, we can finally set off.
From above, we see the runway where we landed, and after taking the customary photos, we head towards the beginning of the trekking route. We are already amazed by the number of shops that populate it, where you can find everything you need for the journey, from hygiene products to technical clothing, the originality of which we doubt quite a bit.
Lama, our Sherpa guide, retrieves the trek permits necessary for walking in the Sagarmatha National Park for us: we are officially on our way.
The trail is wide and well-maintained, and is traversed by many trekkers, in both directions, of all kinds and ages, whose variety we will soon get used to.
It winds along the valley slope, slightly downhill towards our destination for the day, Phakding. This is of great help for my physical condition, which, although improving significantly, still remains precarious: the start of the journey gave me a bad sore throat, which I am fighting with anti-inflammatories and antibiotics.
We soon notice that, despite being at high altitude for us, there is bustling life here. Alongside the trail are dwellings, shops, and lodges: it is the Sherpa people, who settled in these areas directly from Tibet, and soon became a wealthy people, thanks to their peculiarities: in addition to livestock, mainly yaks, and agriculture, based on potatoes and vegetables resistant to the climate, the great fortune of the Sherpas was their skill in trade, especially between India, Nepal, and Tibet, along roads that only they were able to traverse with heavy loads on their backs.
Their trading skills have found fertile ground to grow in Himalayan tourism, trying, however, to maintain the peculiarities that characterize them.
Indeed, it is precisely in one of the lodges (literally we could call them inns, which offer accommodation and food) that we stop for the first time in Ghat, after about 1.15 hours, for what will soon become a tradition: mid-morning tea.
There is something for every taste, and we will gradually get to know them: mint tea, with fresh mint leaves to flavor it (until the climate allows them to be grown), ginger tea, with chopped or thinly sliced ginger immersed (it takes courage to eat it at the end of the drink), up to classic black tea or lemon tea.
We also encounter the first sacred monuments, such as stupas, white constructions with a square base, on which circular structures rise towards the sky, to support a golden pinnacle, decorated with the eyes of Buddha, or numerous rocks, on which strange inscriptions or paintings are carved, colored in black and white, or cylindrical structures, also abundantly decorated, to be rotated to bring good luck, attested by the sound of a bell inside the larger ones.
All these sacred symbols must be strictly passed on the left, Lama tells us, in order to hope for a bright future. At the end of the trekking, we will have abundantly earned it, we believe.
After this initial immersion in Nepalese religious beliefs, we reach Phakding, not before encountering numerous processions of donkeys and yaks, here used as a means of transport: 15-20 beasts, with water tanks and gas cylinders on their backs. We quickly get used to it.
The village is on the other side of the river that we cross on one of those bridges that are often seen in photographs, supported by metal ropes, shaky and adorned with colorful Nepalese prayer flags, which will accompany us continuously from now on.
Overcoming the hints of vertigo that come from looking too much into the void below the bridge, we reach the lodge, located at the highest point of the village. It is built of granite stone, extracted from the valley's rocks, like almost all the surrounding structures, with a tin roof and green-colored fixtures, which along with blue are the most popular colors for this type of detail.
Inside, there is a common room, with tables and benches for eating, and upstairs there are the rooms, all double, and it is entirely built of wood.
We take a seat outside, to enjoy a view that already seems wonderful to us, and we haven't seen anything yet, ready to enjoy the first, well-deserved, lunch: the menu is varied and we decide to try the chicken momos, but the choice turns out to be too spicy. Fortunately, a beer helps us soothe the burning throat.
After resisting the temptation of a post-lunch nap in the warm midday sun, we set off for a short walk to the temple overlooking the village. By now, it has clouded over, and when we reach the top, the valley is barely visible: we will discover, in fact, that almost all the flights to Lukla, after ours, have been canceled. We were very lucky!
The temple is very colorful, both on the outside, with red as the dominant color, and on the inside, where some monks dedicate themselves with extreme care to painting the walls with varied scenes, halfway between reality and fantasy, and meticulously detailed.
At the end of the visit, a young monk offers us milk tea, with a questionable taste, but which we cannot refuse and therefore drink, albeit reluctantly, to thank for the hospitality that took us by surprise.
We then return to the lodge, where, between a card game and a delightful hot shower, we wait for dinner. It gets dark quite early, and considering the early wake-up call the next morning, we decide to go to bed relatively early, just as it starts to rain heavily.
So, we ask Lama, already intimidated by the idea of having to march the next day in the rain, if he knows what the weather forecast is. Lama remains unfazed and responds with a laconic "sometimes it’s rainy, sometimes it’s sunny," which goes without saying, and will become the quote of the vacation.
The next morning, however, we are awakened by a blue sky, and we set off for Namche Bazaar. A long stage with a lot of elevation gain awaits us, and we are accompanied by a sun that soon forces us to undress and apply sunscreen. We follow the beautiful river along the valley slope and continue to cross small villages where we see scenes of daily life: porters with planks and wooden boards on their backs, girls in uniform, holding hands, going to school along the same path we are taking, men and women at work to transform rock into stones useful for building the increasingly widespread new lodges.
The clear sky allows us to see the first peaks in the distance: peaks of over 6000 meters begin to stand out on the horizon, well beyond the point that is our destination for the day, and which we can already imagine beyond the hill we see, 800 meters higher than us.
After about an hour's walk, we reach Monjo, home to the school where the girls we met were heading, and then Dhorsali, where we officially get the permits for trekking in the Everest park.
During these hours, we meet almost all the Italians we will meet along the way: first, three gentlemen, one of whom is from Lovere, who warn us about the crowds we will find along the way, but which we will only notice in the sections closest to the base camp.
Then a group of adventurers, who had the brilliant idea of reaching the base camp by bike, and who tell us how, for most of the time, they had to push them rather than ride them: necessary efforts to allow the comedian of the group to perform the highest-altitude comedy show and for the expedition's cook to cook a carbonara at the base camp. A tiring joke, I would say. We also meet another group of adventurersintheworld, returning from a shorter trek, just before our usual tea break.
After this break, we cross yet another bridge that takes us to the other side, where a continuous up and down and maneuvering between mules and yaks leads us to a much more scenic bridge: it is in fact located at the confluence of two rivers and is much higher than those we have crossed so far. For this reason, it has indeed deserved to appear in the Everest movie.
We then leave the valley and begin the much-feared and anticipated ascent: it is as tough as we expected, so we face it with numerous breaks, also necessary because the heat and thirst are felt very soon.
Along the climb, some begin to show the first signs of hunger, while we come across young porters, who climb at our same pace, despite carrying much heavier loads on their backs than ours. Perhaps for this reason, their looks, when they cross ours, discreetly tired, are slightly mocking. We are amazed by their clothing: they often wear normal shoes or even slippers, have Western-style hair, often colored, and are accompanied by high-volume music from smartphones or portable speakers.
Finally, the trail flattens out, and after the last efforts, we arrive in Namche Bazaar, which welcomes us with shops of all kinds, including those of technical equipment with the most famous brands for high-altitude mountaineering.
The main street makes us realize that we are in the tourism capital of the region: we find bars, restaurants, pubs, pharmacies, exchange offices, banks, even a hairdresser, in addition to numerous accommodations. In one of these, we find accommodation just in time for lunch.
In the afternoon, we take a stroll around the village, which is bustling with people: trekkers of all kinds, local inhabitants, and strange characters whose precise purpose for being there is not entirely clear. We arrive at the main entrance to the village, currently undergoing extensive renovation, from where we can see how all the houses have a decidedly rustic appearance. We soon understand why: we see workers busy making bricks by hand, scenes reminiscent of Italy in the 1960s.
For dinner, we enjoy a delicious yak steak, marveling at how the cuisine has adapted to the booming tourism, offering menus much broader and more Westernized than we expected, while we observe numerous photographs of the mountains on the walls of the lodge, mountains that we will soon see with our own eyes.
In the evening, we go for a beer at the pub: its walls are adorned with souvenir t-shirts of trekkers and mountaineers, a big screen broadcasting sports from around the world, and a small television showing mountaineering programs. It's frequented by people of all ages and types, united by a beer and a down jacket. There's even a pool table, and for a moment, it doesn't even feel like we're at 3440 meters. Suddenly, when the pub has already emptied out, at the time we usually arrive, the movie Everest starts playing on the small screen, and in the first 15 minutes of the screening, we see the places we've just passed: the airports of Kathmandu and Lukla, the suspension bridge, the arrival in Namche. We leave before seeing the places we still have to reach, as if we didn't want any spoilers.
The night, aided by the sleeping bags, the cold, the altitude, and the beer, is not the best, but in the morning, we wake up reasonably rested, invigorated by a clear sky. I have a slight headache, but in the meantime, my throat is getting better: the antibiotic is taking effect.
A chocolate pudding for breakfast and the departure uphill on steps are not the best combination to face the day head-on, but fortunately, the Sherpa cultural museum comes to the rescue of my digestion, where we learn some interesting facts about the place and the people who inhabit it.
Upon exiting, we see for the first time, in all its grandeur, the summit of Everest, looming at the end of the valley. There are no clouds obstructing our view, which extends over Nuptse, Lhotse, and Ama Dablam (a constant presence that will accompany us for many days). The view is truly splendid, and within us arises a small but great emotion.
We then leave the museum to head towards the Sherpa villages, the destination of this acclimatization day. Before reaching them, however, we take a break at the Everest View Hotel (3880 meters), which we reach after a steep climb, overcoming a elevation gain of over 300 meters: a few hundred steps, a lot of effort. The view is even better than the previous one, so the effort is well rewarded, even if the tea that accompanies it is not the cheapest: after all, we are in a high-altitude hotel, not a lodge, and the service is quite different.
Meanwhile, we also witness the landing of a novice helicopter pilot from the Nepalese army; we realize the importance of the wind, which on two occasions prevents him from landing, forcing him to repeat the approach maneuver.
For every helicopter that lands, there are many others that travel up and down the valley, taking advantage of impeccable weather conditions.
We are ready to continue, so we descend towards Khumjung, where we visit the school founded by Edmund Hillary: here, Sherpa children can receive a good education, benefiting from small, well-kept classes, but also from the numerous play areas.
The village is located outside the classic trekking route and is therefore more original. We see women sewing in the small courtyards of the houses, large fenced areas used for horse grazing, and men carrying baskets filled with straw on their backs. There is also a beautiful monastery, but it is closed: we'll make do with that.
We are on a plateau above 3800 meters altitude, and this begins to be felt, but we continue our walk reaching the neighboring village of Khunde. Here we can visit, with extreme interest, the small hospital, mainly dedicated to the local population: a young and kind doctor allows us to visit it, and we notice how there is everything necessary to manage the main emergencies, including even a small maternity ward, complete with an incubator, where 30 little Sherpas are born each year. Truly a little gem.
After the hospital, we head towards the temple, located at the top of a rapid but steep ascent: here, an elderly Tibetan lady offers us a cup of tea, accompanied by slightly stale Tibetan bread, but we cannot refuse. However, we can appreciate how the lady's facial features are different from those of Sherpa women, with a finer and elongated face, testifying to a different origin.
We eat a dish of freshly cooked potatoes and onions in the village, which are truly tasty despite being cooked on the fly. At 3 o'clock, we must be in Namche, the guide informs us, because there is a chance to attend a screening of a film about Everest climbs, so we hurry down, despite our stomach's objections.
Arriving in the village, we discover that it is not some form of organized screening to welcome tourists, but a simple initiative of a bar: we make the best of a bad situation, cursing Lama for making us leave with lunch still in our stomachs.
The documentary addresses the world of Everest climbs by Sherpas, a certainly different and interesting perspective, which makes us reflect on how for them it is first and foremost a hard job, but one that allows them and their families to live better.
After dinner, we repeat the walk through the streets of Namche in search of a place to spend the evening: we find a very well-kept bar, which a discreetly tipsy guy had recommended to us with an unmistakable "very good cappuccino"! I decide to trust him, and I can confirm that the Illy sign displayed outside the establishment was not placed there by chance.
The night goes much better than the previous one: it's a sign that we're acclimatizing a bit, for now without needing to resort to the supplies of Diamox that Cipi wisely brought along.
The next morning, we are woken up by an even clearer sky than the previous one, and so, after struggling to close the bags, we set off again, facing once again the long staircase that leads out of the inhabited center.
It may seem strange, but leaving Namche feels like leaving civilization behind: partly because there was the feeling of being able to find everything we needed there, and partly because it seems that from there on, communications with home will be impossible, as we will no longer find lodges that provide WiFi. Although strange, it feels like we're losing something, a sign of how the possibility of always being connected is now part of our everyday life.
The road we take winds gently along the right side of the valley, and we are accompanied by some stray dogs along the way. We've seen many of them, and we'll continue to see them: they're beautiful, albeit dirty and poorly cared for, sleeping leaning against the walls of houses, their paws facing the road. They have short, bristly fur, elongated snouts, and you never hear them bark. They seem friendly, seeking only a simple caress.
We pass through small villages made up of a few houses, in a dense forest of rhododendrons, their sacred plant. Some of these are in bloom and give us beautiful images. Just as beautiful continues to be the panorama, with Ama Dablam on our right, gradually getting closer.
In this dense forest, the road begins to descend to the river, which we cross with yet another suspension bridge. We stop for the traditional tea at the foot of the day's climb: 600 meters of almost vertical elevation gain that will take us to Tengboche.
We climb them with difficulty, stopping every 10-15 minutes: such a climb would test us even at home, let alone at these altitudes. The ground is sandy, and a lot of dust rises. The sun warms us, and all we can do is tackle the climb in a t-shirt. Once we find our rhythm, matching each step with a deep breath and managing the breaks wisely, which become increasingly frequent, we reach the end of the climb in just over an hour. Before us, Tengboche: a temple and a few lodges. We expected more, but we see the highly praised bakery in the guides and rush there. We feel we deserve a coffee, followed by a lunch of chicken burgers: the menu is, as always, very international. We lather ourselves with cream to resist the sun and test our oxygen saturation. We are still alive!
Meanwhile, we start getting to know Lama better: we chat often, even asking him to tell us trivial things, in his broken English and in our English adapted to his.
After lunch, a visit to the temple is a must: this is where mountaineers climbing Everest perform the *puja*, the traditional ceremony for good luck. We take off our shoes to enter, and inside we find two rows of seats on either side, with the monks' traditional red-orange robes. In front of us, there are statues depicting various forms of Buddha, while the walls are decorated with the same meticulous detail we had already seen in Phakding—a vibrant array of colors, perhaps even a bit overwhelming.
Even though this belief system is far from our own convictions, it’s still moving to be in a place that, for everyone attempting to climb the highest mountain on Earth, represents a space for a ritual of good fortune and protection.
We take some group photos outside the temple and then continue our journey toward Pangboche, immediately facing a steep descent. We continue along the left side of the valley, where the river flows vigorously below, offering stunning views until we cross it again.
A biting wind begins to pick up, but with one final effort for the day, we reach the end of the climb, marked by a picturesque passage through a decorated gate. We hope to see the village ahead of us, but we still have a few hundred meters of flat terrain to cover before we reach the lodge, which we arrive at in the early afternoon.
Just enough time for an outdoor card game, and we realize it’s time to go back inside; a hot shower, a wash at the outdoor sink, and we’re as good as new.
By then, the wind has died down and taken the clouds with it: a clear sky offers us splendid views of the surrounding snow-capped peaks. They’re so close that it feels like we could touch them. Soon, they’re bathed in the pink hues of sunset, making them even more enchanting, especially Ama Dablam, the solitary mountain, which demands to be photographed.
At dinner, a dish of rice with eggs, chicken, and vegetables provides an unexpectedly satisfying meal, and Lama shows us a collection of photos from other treks where he served as a guide: the landscapes of Mustang and the Annapurna region are very captivating, and he is justifiably proud.
However, the highlight of this lodge is the bathroom: the toilet seat is quite slanted, and not knowing this beforehand, it surprises us quite a bit.
The night is fairly restful, and the next morning we walk through the village along the main road: lodges and shops dominate the scene, bordered by dry-stone walls that delineate various properties.
The day is still beautiful, although the morning chill forces us to bundle up a bit more, with the excellent help of our down vests. Along the way, we encounter quite a few people. As usual, we pass the yaks carrying our luggage: we continue to marvel at how the porter accompanying them walks the trail in simple sandals, while we trekkers can’t do without our technical shoes, which by the end of the trip will have been put to the test.
The porters are truly something unique: they carry two or more backpacks, mysteriously securing them with ropes and straps to their foreheads, walking bent over without almost seeing the path ahead, and when they stop to rest, they are always careful to set down the load without excessive strain.
We ask Lama for more details about their lives, and he tells us that the cost of living for porters along the trek is becoming increasingly high. Unlike in the past, when they could freely sleep in the common rooms of the lodges, this convenience is no longer as common, and they now have to resort to special accommodations called porter's houses, which provide them with food and lodging, but for a fee.
For this reason, there are fewer and fewer porters available, especially for trekking agencies, which seem to be less generous than high-altitude expeditions. And this is why it’s sometimes necessary to rely on yaks, which are more expensive but always available. At least, that’s what he suggests to us.
Some of us are beginning to feel the effects of the altitude: we’re over 4,000 meters, and the vegetation around us is changing. The landscape is becoming more barren, with trees giving way to small shrubs growing on dry, sandy ground, where the trail gets lost and splits into paths carved by water during the rainy season. In this altered landscape, we spend an hour trekking through what seems like an otherworldly setting until we stop at a tea shop at the foot of the climb.
It’s a small stone house, emitting a pungent smell of smoke, though we don’t see any chimneys. After drinking our tea, I peek inside to tell Lama that we’re ready to set off again and take the opportunity to look around: I notice the walls are completely blackened by smoke, as I had imagined.
We then tackle the climb to Dingboche, a brief but intense ascent that stays in our legs but rewards us at the end with a beautiful view of the village. Preceded by a very picturesque stupa, Dingboche occupies a large plain beside the river. The fields are bordered by the aforementioned stone walls, without any apparent paths to navigate the maze of unknown geometric structures, among which the tin roofs of the houses stand out, with the names of lodges or shops painted in white. It’s mid-morning when we reach our lodge, which offers a splendid view from another angle of Ama Dablam. We decide to extend our effort for the day to ensure better acclimatization: a trail we spot on the opposite slope and a quick look at the map prompt us to head towards a panoramic point at the foot of the mountain.
We struggle quite a bit to find a passage that leads us to the river, eventually realizing that we’ll need to climb over some walls and trespass on private property. Once we reach the riverbed, we find the bridge that Lama had pointed out to us. Calling it rickety would be a compliment: it’s a metal beam with thick plywood boards on top, under which the cold, gray-blue river flows swiftly and fiercely. We cross it quickly and leave it behind.
The trail we had seen from the lodge has just the right slope to allow us to maintain a brisk but not overly strenuous pace. However, when we reach a clearing, the slope steepens. At this point, the pace is dictated by our breathing: one step, one breath, deep and strictly with an open mouth. Our heart rate adjusts, beating at significantly higher frequencies. Breaks become frequent and necessary, and each time we start again, it means searching for the right pace and resisting the pleas for help from our legs, which demand more oxygen.
As if that weren’t enough, a freezing wind rises from the valley, forcing us to bundle up with our Svalbard Islands down jacket and hat, which we wisely packed in our backpacks.
Abandoning the idea of reaching the 5,000-meter viewpoint, we decide to at least see the lakes marked on the map just above where we should be. We find them, but from a different spot than we expected, and more importantly, we only see the bottom: they are completely dried up, leaving only rocks and the barren ground that once made up the lakebed.
No big deal: we are right beneath Ama Dablam and take the opportunity for some group photos. Seen from below, the mountain is extraordinary: enormous seracs that seem to hang miraculously and protruding walls characterize this side of the mountain, which is why the ascent is done from the more accessible southern side. It will accompany us throughout the journey, but we won’t tire of its presence.
The cold in our hands and our hunger make us descend quickly, warming up as we reach the riverbank, which we cross over the usual rickety bridge. From here, we navigate through stone walls and fields with grazing yaks, eventually returning to the lodge.
For lunch, a hash brown, a softer evolution of rösti, satisfies us in the large common room of the lodge, where, as has become tradition, the tables and benches covered in carpets are arranged along the perimeter. The large windows, while not insulating much from the outside, offer a nice view of the village and the distant glimpses of the valley.
The sun is still shining, so we take the opportunity to do some laundry: the sink is, of course, outside, the water is freezing, and it’s also used for personal hygiene. We brush our teeth by turning on a tap that releases water from a blue barrel where it was previously collected.
The same system is used for the shower (a small room pieced together with some metal sheets): the girl who hands me the keys checks the water level in the barrel before giving me the go-ahead and says, "I think it’s enough for you..."—very reassuring.
The energy-saving lights in the room guide us toward dinner, which is unremarkable, and post-dinner activities, including card games and the company of a large Russian group, whose leader dominates the scene in the lodge, loudly explaining what they will do in the coming days.
We also try to figure out how to make the most of the days ahead, given a worsening weather forecast: a blanket of clouds has meanwhile reached the valley, preventing our laundry from drying properly.
When fatigue sets in, we retreat to our rooms, separated from the common room, where the cold, hard mattresses, and the new altitude we’ve reached do not help us rest well, resulting in frequent wake-ups.
The last wake-up comes when it’s already morning, revealing that despite our fears the night before, the sky is clear and nothing will stop us from our acclimatization hike to Chukhung Ri, 5,550 meters: the over 1,000-meter elevation gain leaves me hesitant, but we set off anyway, with much lighter backpacks.
Despite the sun shining high in the sky, we begin to feel a much sharper morning chill; we start off more bundled up and quickly leave the village behind, entering a landscape similar to the barren one of the previous day, ascending along the right bank of the river.
Along the way, we meet an Australian girl who, despite having a different pace, soon strikes up a conversation. We had noticed her in the previous days, eager to share her experience with others as she is traveling alone: her journey is ambitious, intending to complete the Three Passes trek, which also winds through the side valleys off the one we are following toward base camp. Our guide warns her that the passes are full of snow and that the necessary equipment is required, but the girl seems rather unconcerned about the danger, and we aren’t sure if Lama is being too cautious.
Despite the differences in perspective, one of the most beautiful aspects of this trek is encountering other people repeatedly, leading to spontaneous exchanges of greetings and smiles, driven by the shared experience.
Along the way, we stop near a memorial stele for Kukuczka and two other climbers who died on the south face of Lhotse, which is visible beyond the funerary monument. On the opposite side of the valley, we can see the Amphu Lapcha region, with hanging glaciers that seem sculpted with the sinuousness of drapery, miraculously suspended for kilometers.
After about an hour and a half, we arrive at Chukhung, where we stop at a well-kept lodge to refresh ourselves with some tea. Here, Cipi, who had already been feeling a bit unwell during the climb, decides to turn back to the lodge, where a bit of rest will surely do him good.
We decide to continue towards Chukhung Ri, but from the very first slopes, we know that we will soon abandon the ascent: it is steep and tough, and reaching the summit requires prolonged effort, as the elevation gain is about 800 meters.
Fede is the first to give up, while Arri, Lama, and I reach a viewpoint that offers us an incredible view: from Ama Dablam, passing by Amphu Lapcha, Island Peak, and Makalu in the distance, to Lhotse and Nuptse. And among these peaks, dozens of other snow-capped summits rise from expanses of glaciers, snowfields, and moraines. Magnificent.
We could be satisfied with this, but a small promontory catches our attention. Lama lets us make this unnecessary effort on our own, but once at the top, the view expands even more, and, most importantly, we are above 5000 meters for the first time, as the map later confirms.
We enjoy the achievement by taking some photos while a cold wind lashes our faces. In the distance, we see some people slowly making their way along the steep path leading to Chukhung Ri; by mutual agreement, we decide that our effort ends here, and we begin the descent, which we have fun tackling at a run. We then return to Chukhung and from there, at a good pace, to Dingboche, where we finally get a proper meal.
We didn't reach our goal, but we are still satisfied with the stunning views we enjoyed and the effort we made, which we hope will help improve our acclimatization.
The afternoon passes between reading, looking at the photos we've taken so far, and playing cards, which continues after dinner. The life in the lodge is enlivened by a lively English group, whose spirits, aided by a few beers, raise the decibels of the evening.
The weather forecast confirms the incoming deterioration, so we decide to abandon the excursion planned for the next day to Island Peak Base Camp and instead head towards Dougla, to get closer to the base camp and possibly shorten the stages we would have to cover in the snow or, worse, rain.
By 9 PM, everyone has already retreated to their rooms, and I am the only one left by the warmth of the stove in the common room. I realize it’s also time for me to go to bed, but not before enjoying a bit of the starry sky, which the not-too-cold night allows me to admire.
The next morning, we pack our bags again and set off. A steep climb under a cloudy, cold sky tests our digestion. Soon, however, we are walking on a plateau, where the gentle slope makes our march less difficult.
We quickly arrive at Dougla, a stop along the trail with a couple of lodges and little else, more of a stopover than a real village. We drop off our bags and, given the fair weather, lighten our packs to head towards Dzongla, extending our walk for the day.
Before setting off again, a shy sun makes an appearance, staying just long enough for us to begin to savor the new peaks around us.
The road to Dzongla is a continuous climb along the mountainside with some gratuitous ups and downs that make us, as before, appreciate how beautifully the alpine troops have marked trails in our mountains and curse all this unnecessary elevation gain.
Nevertheless, the views around us open up to peaks like Lobuche East and what remains of some glaciers, which have also not been able to withstand the harsh advance of climate change.
The sky gradually clouds over, except for a few bursts of sunlight upon our arrival, which allow us to see in the distance where the path climbs to the Cho La Pass, at 5400 meters, one of the three passes that make up the eponymous trek. Our detour has indeed taken us off the EBC routes, and this can be felt in a way that's hard to explain except by the more adventurous faces of those sitting at the lodge’s tables, like a young French couple we chat with, who had arrived there from Cho La, to Lama’s astonishment. We decide to have lunch here with fries and fried eggs, while a Japanese man orders noodles, which he slurps with astonishing noise: at first, we smile to ourselves, but as he persists, I get the classic fit of compulsive laughter, forcing me to run outside the lodge to avoid laughing in his face.
Meanwhile, a nice little dog that had followed us like a loyal family pet from Dougla joins our table. He falls asleep right under my legs, but when it’s time to leave, he won’t follow us.
After digesting our lunch, which is no small feat given the greasiness of the fries, we set off again, as the forecast and the sky promised an afternoon deterioration.
After a few minutes, a light snowfall begins, which soon becomes wetter and more intense. We quicken our pace, despite a shortcut that goes uphill, and in no time, we are back at the lodge in Dougla, not too wet but definitely cold.
The inside of the lodge, which isn’t insulated from the outside, is quite cold, but fortunately, while we drink yet another tea, the owners light the stove in the center of the room, fueled by dried yak dung. It will take hours for the heat to spread, even though the chairs around the stove remain the most popular spot and offer the opportunity for some conversation.
This is how we meet an Australian/South African couple and see again a mother and daughter from the Russian group, who had evidently split from the group for reasons unknown to us. So, at 4600 meters, while it has stopped snowing outside, in a lodge that is usually more of a stopover than a resting place, we rediscover the pleasure of the warmth of a stove and the human warmth that gathers around it. Dinner is then appreciated for its simplicity and goodness.
We then head to our rooms, freezing, ready to face one of the last nights at high altitudes, convinced we can get some rest. It won’t be quite like that, as at 1:32 AM, I find myself writing this personal account, listening to the rain that for a few moments taps on the roof while, a little farther away, the bells of the yaks can be heard.
Sleep doesn't come, so at 5 AM, I go out with the first light of dawn and discover that a 5 cm blanket of snow has fallen and continues to fall.
A hearty breakfast gives us the strength to tackle the steep climb that in just under an hour takes us to 4800 meters, at the pass leading to Lobuche, where there is a memorial in memory of those who lost their lives attempting to climb Everest or these and other mountains. It starts snowing more heavily, and there is fog, so we postpone a moment of reflection at this spot until our return and quickly head towards Lobuche.
With a slight incline, we reach it faster than expected and find ourselves facing what, in this snowy expanse, appears to be an outpost towards wild territories. We drink a tea, which lasts longer than usual, just to stay sheltered from the snow that has become heavier, but around 11 AM, we decide to head towards the EvK2CNR Pyramid, an Italian research center, near which our fellow countrymen have built a refuge, now managed by Nepalese, that is always praised for the services it offers, especially compared to the lodges in Lobuche. In about 20 minutes, we reach it, and the pyramid covered with solar panels immediately stands out.
We enter and immediately decide to try some spaghetti: there must be something Italian left. It’s the strangest carbonara I’ve ever eaten, but all in all, it’s quite good!
Once digested and with every possible device charged, we decide to treat ourselves to a hot shower, the real must of the place, but unfortunately, the two days of bad weather have deprived the lodge of the ability to have hot water, so we have to make do with increasingly useful wet wipes.
Clean and as fresh as possible, we explore the pyramid: despite a notice forbidding entry without a guide, we venture in, feeling somewhat authorized by the fact that we’re Italian.
Inside, we are amazed at the wealth of material we find, both in terms of what is necessary to operate such a structure (with all the solar panels providing energy) and regarding the experiments, which range from physiological tests, as evidenced by a treadmill and a stationary bike, to chemical or geological studies, some of which date back to 2016.
Here is the translation of your text into English:
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It saddens us to see how everything seems to have been abandoned, as if the will or the means to continue simply vanished: it feels like something was left unfinished.
We also reflect on the determination of the researchers who worked here, considering how isolated this place is, even though it's strategically located. Unfortunately, we can't appreciate the view because the sky remains overcast, despite the fact that it has stopped snowing.
The place is really crowded, not only with those staying here for the night, filling the room, but also with casual visitors coming from nearby Lobuche.
Dinner is warm and good, as are the rooms, which are warm and comfortable, allowing us to sleep better than on previous nights, except for a somewhat noisy roommate.
The next morning, we wake up feeling rested, greeted by a clear blue sky that allows us to capture a photo of the pyramid with the Pumori peak, another mountain over seven thousand meters high, which we had only glimpsed before, in the background. It’s the most scenic view of the pyramid, one we can't help but capture.
We immediately begin ascending a steep, pristine path, with only animal tracks visible in the snow. We curse the guide a bit, thinking that returning the way we came and rejoining the trail from Lobuche would have been a better idea.
But we are immediately proven wrong when, after a bend, the trail flattens out, offering us a splendid view of the Khumbu Glacier and the peaks of Nuptse, Pumori, and satellite peaks, as well as a view back down the valley we came from, now covered in clouds with only the snowy peaks emerging. The scenery from this trail is magnificent, especially compared to the view those coming from the Lobuche trail 150 meters below us get, which is far more crowded.
After a while, the two trails merge, and we realize just how many people are headed in the same direction as us, often moving slowly, forcing us to pass them by hopping over rocks off the beaten path. There’s even a woman being carried on horseback, which feels completely out of place. I imagine the horse, like us, suffers from the lack of oxygen.
We are walking with some ups and downs but mostly uphill, well above 5,000 meters, meaning we are walking suspended above Europe. This fact doesn’t go unnoticed: we all struggle to keep going, not just uphill but even on flat sections.
In the distance, we begin to see the glacier’s tongue, near which the base camp is located: we can even make out some tents, leaving plenty of room for our imaginations to turn those small orange dots into clear tent shapes.
This gives us the motivation not to slow down, and in about two hours, we reach Gorak Shep, where we can enjoy a hot tea at the lodge that will host us for the night. We also snack on something, aware that the effort is far from over, and even Arri, despite walking with a fever, decides to attempt to reach what is essentially the true goal of the trek. After about half an hour spent in this spartan lodge, we set off again. We pass a flat initial section, where the fallen snow has melted into mud, then climb onto the glacial moraine and proceed along the trail that winds among and over large boulders.
Occasionally, from the opposite side of the valley, we hear the sound of falling debris, reminding us that we are in an area where everything is in motion, even the massive rock that is Everest itself.
Ahead of us, the panorama becomes increasingly spectacular: the base camp basin (where we can now distinctly recognize the tents) is surrounded by towering peaks that loom ever closer and, above all, by massive ice formations.
After initially misidentifying it, we unmistakably identify the Icefall: it’s the most unstable part of the glacier that high-altitude Sherpas and climbers must cross multiple times during an ascent of Everest.
It lies between the base camp and camp one, so it’s necessary to pass through it every time one ascends to higher camps for acclimatization periods. For this reason, at the start of the climbing season, highly specialized Sherpas, known as Icefall doctors, secure it with ropes and ladders, trying to place them in the spots where the glacier moves the least.
We don’t even need to get close; we simply observe it from a distance and admire how the moving ice creates such magnificent sculptures.
This entire scene makes us linger longer than our bodies might prefer, but we don’t mind a few extra moments of rest.
After a brief descent, we finally arrive at the infamous base camp, which has no defined boundaries other than the scattered tents, inscriptions on rocks, and prayer flags strung everywhere.
After a few steps, we find a rock on the left, from which hundreds of flags hang, bearing the inscription: Everest Base Camp 5364 m. We then queue up for the obligatory photos and wait for everyone to arrive, all while gazing around in awe.
he field stretches for hundreds of meters before our eyes, skirting the glacier tongue descending directly from Everest, just as described.
After a while, we decide to venture in, walking along the gravel path beneath which the ice can be seen: we are, in fact, on the glacier.
On either side of the path, large tents used as kitchens or common rooms and small tents used as dormitories for the various commercial expeditions alternate. After noticing that the activity in the camp is much less than we expected, perhaps due to the lunch hour, we decide to start our way back, tired and hungry.
In less than an hour, we are back at Gorak Shep, where we enjoy a hearty meal while dozens of people continue heading towards the camp, despite the dropping temperatures and the increasingly cloudy sky. In Gorak Shep, even a few well-defined snowflakes begin to fall, nothing to worry about for those walking, but something that confirms it's wise to be in the lodges by early afternoon to avoid worsening weather.
The lodge is cold, and only around 4 PM do the lodge owners decide to light the stove, which soon begins to give us some warmth. Dinner, finally with meat, although with an excessive amount of garlic, is served at 6:30 PM. This gives us time, with full stomachs, to step outside and watch the last light of the day illuminate the nearby peaks with a rosy hue, quickly replaced by the cool tones that lead into the night.
We are at 5180 meters, the highest night of the trek, and we can still enjoy such a spectacle. A tinge of emotion fills us, especially in light of the day just passed.
We spend the evening reading in the lodge's common room, soaking up the last warmth of the stove before retreating to the frigid rooms. A short rest awaits us, as the next day we will depart at 4:30 AM to climb Kala Patthar, a nearby small mountain with a splendid view of Everest (or so we hope). The rest is brief and troubled: perhaps it's the cold, perhaps the high altitude, but after a couple of initial hours of sleep, I can't close my eyes again.
Around four, after an unsuccessful visit to the common room, I finally manage to fall asleep, but soon the alarm clock rings. We head out for Kala Patthar.
After a hot tea, we are already on our way. It's dark outside, and our steps are lit only by headlamps, as the path immediately becomes steep. I quickly begin to suffer from the cold in my hands and feet, as well as the enormous effort of the climb. There are more than a few points where I think about stopping, but seeing my climbing companions a few meters ahead of me spurs me on, and it’s worth it.
At dawn, we are a few meters below the summit, and before us rises the imposing peak of Everest, to the left of which we quickly see the sun rising, for an exciting and unforgettable sunrise.
After taking some customary backlit photos, we climb the last few meters that separate us from the summit of Kala Patthar, to officially say we've conquered it.
Here too, we take some time for a few photos and a glance at Everest, now difficult to look at due to the sun shining directly from that direction.
Meanwhile, my feet still haven’t warmed up, so we promptly decide to descend, and it’s only during the descent that some warmth begins to return to my extremities.
We arrive at the lodge quite exhausted, so much so that my plan to change clothes for the descent goes out the window, as I have little energy left.
The much-desired breakfast restores some strength with honey, jam, and peanut butter, and we are ready to tackle the descent.
It’s called a descent, but the reality is that the first stretch from Gorak Shep is a continuous up and down where the legs, already fatigued from the morning’s climb, struggle significantly. We encounter a lot of people, and in some spots, there’s quite a bit of traffic, which doesn’t quite fit in with these places. However, it’s noteworthy that only in this last stretch of the trek have we noticed such a crowd, which isn’t very noticeable in the previous stages.
We retrace the path from the day before, up to the point where the trail splits between the route towards the pyramid and the one that descends towards Lobuche. This time, we take the latter, heading down an unfamiliar path that winds along the valley beside the moraine debris mounds. The beautiful day allows us to once again enjoy other magnificent mountain landscapes, as well as scenes of daily life with yaks grazing freely, approaching us without fear. Our pace is brisk, partly because the trail is beautiful and slightly downhill, partly because we are eager to descend. We stop briefly in Lobuche for tea before continuing on.
Lama is also in a good mood, pleased with the successful trek and the achievement of our goals.
From Lobuche onwards, we follow the same path we took two days ago under the snow, and the change is radical. Even in this section, the panoramas around us are breathtaking, and while not slowing our pace, we take a few photos. After an hour, we arrive at the memorial for Everest victims. We stop, reading the names engraved on the tombstones, but above all, savoring the sacred atmosphere of this place—a balcony overlooking dozens of beautiful peaks—which is absolutely fitting as a spot to remember those who died in the mountains. Despite many people stopping here, voices are lost in the wind, and the silence is broken only by the fluttering of Nepalese flags hung everywhere, giving us a sense of life’s transience but also the lightness with which it can be faced.
After a few moments of beautiful and deep reflection, we set off again: the descent to Dougla is quick and enjoyable, as long as we’re careful not to be misled by the sand-covered rocks. In no time, we’re back at the lodge where we slept just three days before, and after a brief rest, we head towards Periche.
To get there, we descend along the side of the riverbed, which isn’t particularly full despite the season. The riverbanks are friable, and indeed, a few years earlier, a massive flood had swept away the small lodges of Dougla, probably built too close to the river. Not that the reconstructed ones are much farther, but at least they’re a few meters higher. The valley is lashed by a cold wind that hits our faces, forcing us to bundle up despite the warm sun. After an initial descent, a long plain opens up before us, making Periche seem like a mirage that, after a while, materializes with houses, dry stone walls, well-kept lodges, and shops: in this simplicity, it feels like we’ve returned to civilization.
We have a good lunch, which doesn’t quite fill us up given our hunger.
Nevertheless, we’ve regained the energy to finish the long journey today, which takes us to Pangboche. This time, however, we sleep in the upper part of the village, which features houses built vertically within a small mountain hollow. At the center of the houses, the red of the monastery stands out, one of the oldest, surviving through time, which we will visit the next day.
Our priority is undoubtedly a hot shower, and luckily we’re satisfied: never has a shower been such a great pleasure.
After a plate of chow mein, their version of noodles (excellent), and a couple of chess games, we collapse into bed exhausted.
In no time, it’s morning: I haven’t slept this well in days. What a beauty.
In the morning, after a breathtaking breakfast view where the monastery just in front of us stands out against the snow-covered mountain behind, we go to visit the monastery, where the remains (a head and a hand) of a yeti are also preserved. As in other monasteries, we see the scriptures and the monks’ robes, who are also not present here. However, the visit is very pleasant.
We then head towards Phortse, following a path that, when we saw it from the other side of the valley, appeared to run flat along the mountain slope: it’s not so. Once again, it’s a continuous up and down, with only one constant: the view of Tengboche and its monastery standing out across the valley, accompanying us until a descent opens up to our right, at the bottom of which we see Phortse, a typical Sherpa village with well-defined fields stretching along the mountain’s descending slope, interspersed with low buildings, mostly homes but also some lodges. We rush down and quickly reach the village, ready to quench our thirst with tea.
What we call a lodge actually seems more like the courtyard of a private home, and the hostess’s attitude reflects that. She doesn’t particularly care about us, except for the bare minimum. Taking advantage of our fatigue, Lama teases me: when I ask him for the bathroom, he points to a small structure a little distance from the house. I open the door and find a wooden floor with a hole in the center and dry leaves on the sides: I don’t let him win and pretend nothing’s wrong. It’s an experience too: “Nepali toilet,” he will later say, smiling when I point out that he had teased me a bit.
More challenges await us, so we set off, and after seeing the Cho Oyu summit in the distance, we descend to the river along a steep slope, followed, of course, by an equally steep climb.
Our legs are heavy from the days of walking and especially from the effort of the previous day, and every step is a massive struggle, especially because the steepness of the climb requires muscular effort, not just endurance. Taking a few steps at a time, alternating with numerous and frequent breaks, we finally reach the top. The arrival is beautiful, among yaks grazing freely and a few homes, around which we find children playing with little wheels, seemingly straight out of a world forgotten by time.
Ecco la traduzione in inglese del testo che hai fornito:
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**Translation:**
At the entrance to the stairs we had taken to leave it, it feels like we’ve returned to the city, even though it’s a village at 3440 meters. And it seems like an eternity has passed since the day we left.
As soon as we arrive at the lodge, without even sitting down, we decide to celebrate with a couple of well-deserved beers, ending our high-altitude abstinence.
After washing up again and filling our bellies, in the evening we replicate the toast with a Guinness at the Irish Pub: that’s why thinking we’d returned to the city wasn’t such an absurd thought after all. Namche, in its smallness, even offers you the chance to step into a pub adorned with t-shirts and flags, with foosball and billiards, excellent beer, and live sports—a place that even back home couldn’t compare...
We leave our signatures on the wall of the place (not vandalism, we notice that many before us have done the same) and head out around 10 PM, sleepy, leaving the pub with a few patrons who are decidedly in high spirits.
We are much more relaxed because it’s here that we can formally consider the trek completed: although there’s still officially one stage left, it’s here that we realize we’ve made it, and it’s here that we finally communicate back home that we’re all still well, thanks to blessed WiFi.
The next morning, even more rested, we set off towards Lukla: we now have more time to enjoy the sights and the demeanor of the people living in the villages we pass through along the way.
We can now dress lightly and protect ourselves abundantly from the sun as we quickly descend from Namche to the fateful suspension bridge, which this time we cross with much less attention.
The route is, in fact, identical to the one we took on the way up, and so it no longer captures much of our attention, and even the climbs we face are manageable: the only forced pause is due to the pass check, which is also conducted upon exiting at Monjo. We let Lama handle the Nepali bureaucracy, and then we continue our march, stopping only for tea. This stretch of road is a continuous up and down, and with our energy levels nearly depleted, our pace isn’t exactly brisk. Upon reaching Phakding, we decide to rest, taking advantage of the lunch break, but even so, things don’t improve.
Despite the presence of oxygen in almost unusual quantities after the days at high altitude, we’re forced into another pit stop where, fueled by carbonated drinks, we refresh ourselves, ready to tackle the last 200 meters of elevation gain that will take us to Lukla.
When we arrive, we’re so exhausted that we don’t even think about celebrating, but inside us rises the satisfaction of having made it.
The lodge is beyond the airport, so after walking through the village, we once again admire, somewhat fearfully, the runway that for us now means takeoff, which ends only at the edge of the mountain: you either take off or take off. A mythical control tower and the comings and goings of helicopters don’t reassure us, but a couple of beers and dinner at the lodge make us forget everything.
Adding to this is the exhaustion, which makes me fall asleep shortly after finishing dinner, right on the soft fabrics covering the benches in the dining room. Fortunately, I’m woken up and spend the night in bed; otherwise, the cold would have been felt.
The next morning at 5:30 AM, we’re already at the airport, ready to leave the mountains: having an early flight is always an advantage because the weather is much better in the morning, reducing the risk of flight cancellations.
In fact, our flight is on time, and this time, without the clouds we had on the way in, we realize how low the flight is: the peaks of the mountains below really seem within reach as we fly over them, green and lush.
The time to admire all this lasts only a few minutes because, just like on the way in, in 20 minutes we’re back on the ground, in the heat of Ramechap airport.
Here, we can finally shed our heavy mountain clothes and dress lightly while waiting for the ride to Kathmandu, convinced that Lama has gone to find our minibus.
After a few minutes of waiting, we see him arrive, but instead of a minibus, he points to a jeep: it seems he had to make do with finding a ride, and this is the best he could get.
The best translated means luggage loaded on the roof, and Cipi and I crammed into the trunk, sitting on two seats facing each other, playing Tetris to fit our legs and backpacks. All of this in the heat, which becomes increasingly oppressive.
We’re still quite sleepy, so we manage to nod off even in awkward positions, at least until the bumps in the road wake us up.
A stop halfway through the journey gives us the chance for breakfast: here, sweets are a mirage, so we settle for a chicken sandwich, with enough onions to wake anyone up.
Not us, apparently, because on the next leg of the journey, we continue as before, nodding off with our heads bobbing, until we reach the outskirts of Kathmandu. Here, the heat, combined with the chaotic traffic and the curiosity to see how the driver navigates it, keep us awake.
From the rear window of the jeep, our gaze drifts in the direction from which we came: the smog and dust create a haze that makes it impossible to see into the distance.
We can only imagine the mountains we’ve left behind us, and already a bit of nostalgia hits us, aware that we’ve experienced something truly extraordinary and, perhaps, unrepeatable.
