5670 meters

I’m trekking the holy kora around Mt. Kailash in Tibet. The air is getting thinner by the minute. In the shade it’s freezing cold and the temperature is somewhere around minus 5 degreesm, and if you add the head wind it’s probably as bad as 10 degrees below freezing. Most of the trek is either false flat or gradually steep uphill. I see the hill rising in front of me. The last kilometer and the last 300 meters of altitude that stand between me and the top of the pass at 5670 meters. Thankfully the sun has managed to stretch above the tall mountains at 7000 meters. The icicles my fingers and toes have turned into slowly start to defrost and the numbness is at retreat. A last sip of water, thou most of it has froze, before the painful, yet exciting, ascent begins. All I see is stones, Tibetan signs and a stray prayer flag here and there; all which lets me know that the pass is within reach. One step at the time; one step a second. By this time I’ve gotten used to random yaks loaded up with trekkers gear running past whenever, with the yak guy right behind whistling his commands. Right after the yak has passed a Tibetan will come running (at least compared to what us westerners are doing) up the hill in his traditional outfit, chanting his prayers while spinning his or hers prayer wheel and counting of their prayers on the bead necklaces they hold in their hand. More and more payer flags are becoming visible and I can only hope the top is close by. I have to yield to a horse coming running down the path before I can continue the climb which has turned quite painful. Every breath contains far too little oxygen, every step makes my knees ache and the thirst which comes with the heat is grueling. Alas, I cannot stop because there is no energy left to jumpstart me if I give in to thirst. I’m starting to let my mind drift and at the moment I’m wondering what Harry Potter’s going to be up to next (I’m halfway thru book four). Now I finally see it, the major pass with prayer flags painting a colorful picture in the midst of the mountains and snow. As I’m using the last of my stored up energy I hear a few of the guys up front yelling “Only 50 meters to go, Kiki!” I feel a second wind coming as 50 meters turn into 40, 30, 20, 10. I made it! Adrenaline is flowing thru every inch of my body as I’m greeted with “high fives” and cheers.

 So what to do when at 5670 meters? Eat an Oreo, probably the best one I’ve ever had. Needless to say, it’s also a Kodak moment so we huddle up for a group picture, lay down our prayer flags and realize that we’re all fairly hungry. It’s time to start our descent towards the lunch tent which allegedly is an hour away (that is, if they haven’t packed up and left for the season). Our expectations are low as we know pot noodles is the hottest – and the only – edible thing on the menu. We reach the tent and we all sit down for lunch. If one was to peek in it looks like we’ve all been slaughtered and piled on top of each other. We skip the pot noodles and chew on whatever snacks we have available before we gear up and re-motivate us for another three hours of walking thru a long, beautiful valley to get to our destination for the night. After the three longest hours the most of us have ever experienced we reach the guesthouse, pop open a beer and realize that once again pot noodles are today’s main course. We finish our beer and noodles, open our sleeping bags and dive into them. Lights out at 9 pm.

It’s been a long day, but absolutely one of the best days of my life. It’s doubtless the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done, thou it felt good putting my perseverance and stubbornness to the ultimate test. I’m proud and pleased with myself as I lay tucked in between my sleeping bag and numerous layers to keep me warm thru the cold, cold night. I take a last look out the window where I see the stars twinkling like diamonds and the Milky Way bright and white. Life above 5000 meters is not half bad.