Sunday the 23rd, and it’s finally a real rest day. We turned down Pema’s offers to head out for yet another terrific view above the village, and we even temporarily suspended all bed tea and washing water calls on our rooms. We all slept in wonderfully and waited until it was sunny and warm outside before we rolled out of our wonderful, flat, indoor beds. We officially had no agenda today except to just relax. Well, actually I’m way off on that. We had a mandate that we were all supposed to take showers and change clothes today. No more stinking to high heaven. That meant a lot of extra water, so I helped out by fetching some water from the public faucet next to the Gomba. That is a very popular spot. People go there to wash clothes, take a cold shower, and wayward cattle stopped by for a drink of water and to drop off some dung. It was such a warm day that I felt I should do my laundry. I did it before in Phortse I think, but my socks never dried out. I gathered by clothes in a large aluminum wash basin and got a bar of soap. One of the hardest things about doing laundry this way is that you have to rub soap into the dirty spots with a bar of soap, and the soap is not loose with its lather. If I had just a cap full of liquid detergent the job would go by like a breeze, except for the part about wringing the clothes out. The little chore of washing my dirties was pretty relaxing, but I thought about how hard it must be for the Sherpani, who have so much work to do during the day. Washing clothes is just one thing they have to finish among a list of tasks that run all day long. I sat in the kitchen watching Mingma working for part of the afternoon, and it was amazing. I helped out a little with peeling potatoes, but it was a drop in the bucket.

For the rest of the day we’ve been lounging in the dining room, snacking on a big peperoni that we brought, watching some cheesey Nepali movies and leaving our memories of roughing it to rest for a little while. We recently got into a discussion about how the Nepalese government keeps track of the expeditions in the Himalaya, and what would stop anyone from hiking up Ama Dablam or past Base Camp of Mt. Everest. Well, other than the fact that you most likely die if you tried it on your own, and that it’s hard to sneak a big support crew up without anyone knowing. The government sends out a liaison officer or representative from Kathmandu with each expedition who simply keeps his eyes on the group and makes sure their papers are in order. He hikes all the way to base camp with them and then plants himself in a chair and eats all their food. Pema is really dissatisfied with that system though. He knows of many occasions where the officer could not acclimate well, so he conducted his job from a lower, more comfortable location. He still collects his fee and also has a huge bill ready for his food and lodging. Pema believes that the officer’s contribution to the group is nil, and for the fee he should have a lot more to offer. Pema says a very good idea would be to put a strong and experienced Sherpa in that position because he would do well at the high elevation, and he would be extremely valuable to the expedition group for his experience. He could also help out with the climbing work if anyone needs help above base camp. Naturally Kathmandu has a deaf ear to that idea.

It seems as though everyone has actually taken showers – we’re all so fresh and tidy now. I was the only one brave enough to shave, but the job was about all my razor could handle. I think using tweezers would have done just as well. I had three textures of potatoes today, and I haven’t even had dinner yet. In the morning we had starchy, doughy blobs in hot sauce, for lunch it was roasted potatoes in nak cheese sauce, then a little later I had potato pancakes. Finally Pema also remembered to have me try some Tibetan butter tea. I’ve heard other opinions about it before, from tepid to unpalatable, so I was really curious what it would be like. Pema says it’s a drink that he serves the monks when they come to read the prayer books in his chapel. It’s just black tea with salt, milk, and butter. Now you may ask why anyone would want to drink that combination, let alone make big pots of it. Maybe it makes a good chemical balance in the body or it’s nutritious. It’s an old recipe, so it was made for vastly different tastes from today, back when there was no hot chocolate or even sugar for your tea. Pema poured a cup for me, all mixed together, and I drew it to my lips in anticipation. Would there be a cloying in my gut from the thick butter, would my tongue wrinkle up from all of the salt? No, it just tastes like tea with a little butter and salt in it. The taste is not bad, but it doesn’t react well going down. Your mind is thinking it’s tea, but your stomach says, “Ewww. Why are you drinking this bad soup experiment?” I’m not disparaging the butter tea, just asking “Why?”

Along the main route leading out of Khumjung, up a hill then way down a hill to Namche, the road next to the Hillary school is lined with a rock wall and a long row of carved mani stone tablets. I see stone tablets like those quite often and the way the Tibetan characters are carved, and the way they appear to be worn by many years of erosion they seem more like ancient relics that should be in a large museum somewhere. They give a sense of ancient devotion to the faith and of the scale of time that the Sherpas and Tibetans have been grooming the trails. Near the Hillary school there is a crew of stone cutters working to chip away at the local supply of rocks to make amazingly even and flat walls. One stone at a time they chisel it down on each side to make it a perfectly formed brick. In the distance at most hours of the day you will hear this clanging, chipping sound from across the valley. I also noticed as I passed through Namche a couple of weeks ago on our way up that there is a crew working on constructing a pretty large building out of this stone, all the men chipping away. I guarantee it is tedious and strenuous work, but the results are unbelievable. The walls and building faces they construct are fine and perfectly planed. They are master craftsmen in their trade. The stones fit together so well, they use no cement, and the wall is certain to never topple over.