Since we only had a short day planned, we woke up at a leisurely 6:00 and left by 7:00, making us the last to depart. We took a slightly different way than we came, which was a bit steeper, but not too tough. WE arrived at the Tilicho View Hotel, near upper-Khangsar in the early morning.
The dustiness of the alpine trails had permeated all the clothing I wore. Taking my socks off produced a cloud that lingered in the air for a whole minute. Today was a perfect laundry day; the sun shone bright and there was a slight breeze in the air, great conditions for drying clothes. I filled bucket with lukewarm water and ran my bar of soap under the tap. Conjuring the timer dial from the washing machine, I imitated the process down the line. I even used a spin cycle to shake off the rest of the water after wringing. The clothes dried quickly. They came out mountain fresh ;-)
That evening, I met the group of travelers from the previous night's dining room. We all shared stories and experiences over a meal of dal bhat. Himalay stumbled in from the local bar, reeking of raksi. He sat down, listening to a young minded 33 year old tell of her naive opinions on things in the world for a while, then stormed out for a cigarette. He beckoned to Mike, the Brit and I through the window and complied.
Two seconds after standing next to him, he started his rant. "That cute Spanish girl, she make me crazy! I can't stand people like her and their Lonely Planet. They think they have a book and they know about the world. She don't know anything..." He rambled on for five minutes, bemoaning solo trekkers like myself and their choice of not hiring hard working guides and porter. He ripped on Lonely Planet for good while and how it seemed to replace the jobs of hard working people like himself. He especially hated the little Spanish girl who was cradling Mark, the Canadian in her lap, stroking his hair while he barred his soul. It was a weird night.
"Himalay, how much raksi did you have?" I asked.
"That one guide can't handle the raksi, he only had two glasses and he's drunk."
"Himalaya, you're drunk too."
"Yes, but I drank seven glasses of raksi."
We went to bed shortly after this. Himalaya, sitting awake for a long time, chain smoking in bed, ranting away. Finally, after a long time of talking. He looked around and said, "I think I have too much raksi. Raksi is not so good in the high." He had hardly finished the sentence before the light was out and him with it.
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