"I take your bag sir," said the porter, instantly spotting the witless Brit fresh off a plane and thrust into the confusion of an unfamiliar, bustling city. "No thanks," I said. But something clearly got lost in translation. My rucksack was snatched from my arms and was off, disappearing into a crowd of taxi drivers, confused travellers and curious locals. “Great start,” I thought. I had just arrived in the capital of the Kingdom of Nepal, Kathmandu. It was a trip that would require a great deal of fitness, willpower and more importantly, clothes - all of which were in the bag that had just been rushed off to an unknown location. True to form, I panicked, believing I had probably been robbed and ignored all appeals for a tip from the porters now swarming around me until I had checked it had been put on the bus. Of course, I felt stupid when I realised it was. Of course, I was embarrassed. Of course, my fellow trekkers told me I had done the right thing. But none of them, I noted, had been remotely worried about their bags. "Welcome to Nepal. First time?" our beaming guide said, placing a wreath of flowers around my neck. "Why yes, how could you tell," I thought, but opted for a simple smile and nod instead. Dowa Sherpa (as he later introduced himself) had taught me an instant lesson: The Nepalese are honest, always friendly, and some of the most charming people you could ever hope to meet. Most international travellers find themselves in Kathmandu at the start of a trip to Nepal and it's an intoxicating experience. As we drove down from the airport through the madness of its busy, winding streets I found myself instantly hooked. It was dark but people lined every route, washing, eating and chatting by the side of the roads as buses and rickshaws fought for space. There were curious stares from children sitting in doorways and the old men, clearly perplexed at how our coach was going to fit down a road built for one bicycle. Despite my desire to explore the city, Kathmandu, was only a brief stop en-route to the main event - a seven day trek through the Everest region to Pike Peak (pronounced peekay), a mountain we were told offered stunning views of the Himalayas. There was only time for a bite to eat, a beer and a final shower in the capital before an early start and an epic bus journey to the start of our trek.
As we left civilization behind and began the slow climb into the Everest region, we began to get a glimpse of the terrain we would be tackling. The size of the task only truly hit me once we started trekking, but it began to dawn on all of us as our bus snaked its way higher in the foothills of the mountains. "It feels like we're going over the edge of the earth," said one girl in the group. I was inclined to agree. The trek itself began in Jiri, which felt like the last outpost at the start of a great adventure and looked like the wild west - with Sherpas instead of cowboys. We all felt excited as we set off, taking a gentle stroll up through a forest which quickly melted away to become a dirt track peppered with small villages, teahouses and porters (who earn their money carrying huge loads for tourists and businesses). But as the hours passed by, the hills got steeper (both uphill and downhill) and the group got more tired. After some eight to ten hours of trekking, we began to realise that the trip might be tougher than many of us first thought.
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