Chapter 7: The Last Mile
As we left the stunning vistas of Gokyo behind, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy. The journey that had consumed us for days was nearing its end. Our next destination was Renjo La Pass, the last high pass of our trek. Gopal dai, who had been our support and energy throughout this journey, looked at us with a mix of pride and nostalgia. “Today, we conquer Renjo La,” he declared, his eyes twinkling with excitement. At the same time, I could sense that he was also sad that our trip was going to end soon.
The trek to Renjo La Pass was challenging but invigorating. As we ascended, I felt a sense of déjà vu. The air grew thinner, the path steeper, and yet, each step felt easier than the last. Perhaps it was the experience we had gained, or maybe it was the realization that this was our final ascent. When we finally reached the pass, the view was breathtaking — literally and metaphorically. We could see the Gokyo Lakes, the towering Everest, and the endless sky meeting the earth in a harmonious embrace. It felt like a fitting farewell to the mountains that had been our home.
As we stood there, soaking in the grandeur, we were joined by some familiar faces — trekkers we had met on Day 3 and Day 5. Their eyes sparkled with the same blend of exhaustion and exhilaration that I felt. We exchanged stories of our ‘D Day’ at Everest Base Camp, each tale unique yet bound by the common thread of triumph and transformation. At that moment, I realized I was definitely not the same person who had started this journey, both internally and externally. Well, yeah, I had evolved, shaped by the mountains and the experiences they offered. At the same time, the mountain sun had completely taken a toll on my face (as it was the only part of the body exposed to the sun), and the fact that we had not taken a shower since Day 3 also took a toll on my body. But honestly, I did not bother about it.
From Renjo La, we descended to Marulung and then to Thame. Each village we passed seemed to greet us with a knowing smile as if acknowledging the transformation we had undergone. When we reached Namche Bazaar, it felt like a homecoming. The bustling market, the aroma of freshly baked bread, and the chatter of trekkers sharing their tales created a sense of community that we had missed. But this time, we were not just passersby; we were storytellers, brimming with experiences and insights that only the mountains could bestow.
Our arrival at the teahouse in Namche was met with a celebration that felt like a hero’s welcome. Streamers adorned the walls, and the air was filled with the scent of incense and the sound of traditional Nepali music. As we settled in, we noticed a group of new trekkers, their faces flushed with the excitement and uncertainty that I had felt two weeks ago. I shared my story, hoping to inspire them, but the atmosphere grew somber as we heard unsettling news. A man from Japan had gone missing during a solo trek, and another man, seemingly fit and in his early 40s, had been found dead in his room at an elevation of 5,000 m due to cardiac arrest. These stories served as a grim reminder of the mountains’ unforgiving nature, casting a shadow over our celebrations.
Our last day of trekking took us from Namche Bazaar to Phakding and then to Lukla. The path was familiar, but we were not the same people who had walked it weeks ago. We had laughed, cried, struggled, and celebrated together. We had faced our fears, pushed our limits, and found new facets of ourselves. As we boarded the flight from Lukla to Kathmandu, the airplane’s ascent felt symbolic, lifting us from an adventure back to reality, but leaving our hearts somewhere in between.
Kathmandu greeted us with its chaotic charm. The noise, the traffic, and the hustle and bustle felt jarring yet oddly comforting. I reached my hotel room in Thamel and, after a good shower, took a painkiller and slept like a log. Then, in the late evening, our group had a farewell dinner with Arjun and Gopal. It was a very difficult farewell; after all, we had all become like a family in a matter of a few weeks. Then I spent three days in Thamel, Kathmandu, wandering the streets and visiting temples and monasteries. On the last day of leaving Kathmandu, as I sat in a cozy café in Thamel, sipping on a cup of chai and flipping through the pictures on my phone, each image felt like a chapter of an epic tale — a tale of courage, friendship, and strong resilience.
As I prepared to leave Kathmandu for the next leg of my journey, I felt a surge of emotions. A part of me was reluctant to leave as if a piece of my soul had anchored itself to the Himalayas. I knew I was leaving, but I also knew I would return. The mountains had cast their spell, and I was irrevocably enchanted.
As I took the bus to my next destination, I looked out of the window, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of the mighty Everest. But all I saw were clouds, endless and ethereal, like the memories that now filled my mind. I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing that the real journey had just begun.
The End.
Monica
