Langtang
March 2022, Post-Covid. Knipenbjorg and Jan Trapp had arrived in Kathmandu. Trapp thought Knipenbjorg was a corrupt corporate lawyer in New York, Knipenbjorg thought Trapp lived in his parents’ basement. Only one of them was right.
Their destination was Kyanjin Gompa, a village in the Langtang valley overlooked by Langtang Lirung, a seven thousand meter high peak considered by locals to be a protective deity or “yu-lha”. The trek would take them 3 days and begin tomorrow after an 8 hour jeep ride to the trail head at Syabrubesi.
“You seen these momos they have here, man?” Trapp said.
“They’re just fucking dumplings Jan.” Knipenbjorg wasn’t interested in momo’s. He was here for work, not a fucking food cruise.
“Goddammit this momo, holy jabronies what is that?” Trapp picked some gristle from between his teeth and presented it on the end of his finger, “You see that man?”
Before Knipenbjorg could answer Trapp had flipped his stool over and started laying in to the kitchen staff at the small 24/7 eatery, “hey assholes, there’s fuckin gristle up in this momo, you know gristle, fucking cartilage, connective tissue that protects bones and joints, its inedible, fuck am I supposed to do here!?”
Knipenbjorg didn’t have time for this shit. He was 14 beers in but still not even tipsy. He hauled his 500-pound frame from the stool it was destroying and dragged Trapp from the establishment.
“Fuck Trapp, hell is wrong with you? — it’s only fucking gristle.”
“I’m sorry man, I don’t know what came over me, must be the altitude. How high up are we?”
“4000 feet — 4000 feet is fucking nothing, we’re trekking up to 13,000 feet, fuck are you going to do up there? Punch a Lama if there’s a hair in your soup?”
“Sorry man, I had a few beers on the plane, but it’s gotta be the altitude man, you know a guy died in the Adirondacks?”
“Fuck is the Adirondacks?”
“He died man, he was hiking on Mount Colden at 4000 feet, they found his body up there, must’ve been the altitude.”
“I don’t see nobody dropping dead around here Trapp. Look at these fucking people walking around, guy selling fucking watches over there, lady with a lollypop, none of them look like they’re about to keel over. I’m fine and look at me, I weigh 500 pounds, if an actor played me in a movie they’d get an Oscar for putting this much weight on.”
“You’re not fat dude.”
Trapp went back into the restaurant and handed a thousand-rupee tip to the waiter. “Sorry man, got a little angry there. Ugh, altitude…very high, here is very high,” He made a mountain with his arms, the fingertips a snow-capped summit, to help the Nepalese understand, “…here big mountain…very high mountain…sorry man.”
It was close to midnight. They headed back towards Tibet Guest House.
“Hold up dude, this gentleman wants to shine my shoes.”
It was the third time Trapp’s shoes had been shined since they’d arrived in Kathmandu two hours before. He was wearing canvas sneakers.
Knipenbjorg had work to do, “I’ll meet you at the fucking guest house.”
Check out Langtang Part 2 here:
