Rough Conditions
After Phortse the conditions of each village continued to worsen. Dingboche, Lobuche, and Gorak Shep were all impoverished communities filled with makeshift buildings and isolated from anything other than tourists seeking to reach Everest. The prices of even the simplest commodities increased significantly as village’s became more remote and higher in altitude. In Gorak Shep, the last village before Everest Base Camp, there is no fresh water other than bottled water, which costs $4.00 per bottle. Buildings were fashioned out of nothing more than thin sheets of plywood and sheet metal for roofs. Electricity relied entirely on solar energy, meaning cloudy days resulted in blackouts. There was no plumbing or running water, so waste was collected over time and had to be carried down the trail every so often for disposal. During the night, even at the end of May, temperatures were as low as 10ºF and winds blew incessantly. It was an experience of contrasts, as the conditions were absolutely dreadful, but the mountain scenery was simply stunning.

The foggy and windy trek from Phortse to Dingboche.

The small and isolated village of Dingboche. From this point on I had no outside contact due to lack of cell or satellite reception.

Arriving in Dingboche. It was not as deserted at Phortse, but still an eerily small and foggy town.

An overhead view of Dingboche with Ama Dablam in the background. You can tell that it is surrounded by mountains on all sides, making it quite disconnected from the rest of Nepal.

An unnamed peak shot from my teahouse window in Dingboche during the afternoon fog.

The village of Lobuche. This is one of the two villages that are abandoned during the off-season for trekking. Only one or two locals stay to maintain the property year-round.

The small settlement of Gorak Shep (to the left) was actually there original Everest Base Camp until it was shifted closer to the Khumbu Ice Fall (the small white patch of ice to the right). It is now the highest elevated settlement in the world.

Reality versus the Imagination
These conditions were temporary for me, but for the local Nepali people… this was their life. Crumbling buildings, trash everywhere, no running water, cold conditions, lack of resources, and the constant smell of feces. It may be easy to romanticize the idea of living in the remote mountains, surrounded by beauty and farming in an environmentally sustainable manor, but the reality of it is dark, difficult survival. Most of the people who live in these regions, wish to leave.

An up close view of Gorak Shep, which is composed of about 5 or so buildings made of plywood and sheet metal.

An example of the rooms at higher altitude. Most had very thin plywood walls and one lightbulb (which only sometimes worked).

Arriving at Base Camp
Of course, our final destination made the difficult journey worth every bit of trouble. After 9 days, over 100 miles, and 8,000 feet of elevation gain, we arrived at Everest Base Camp. Walking alongside the Khumbu Glacier as it cracked with a thunderous roar, surrounded by nothing but Mars-like fields of rock, and looking in every direction to see towering snow covered peaks—this was a surreal experience. We walked up the icy trail to a large monument dressed in Buddhist prayer flags with a small sign that read “Everest Base Camp – 5,364 meters.”

A memorial built to Rob Hall, the head guide of expedition that became known as the 1996 Mount Everest Disaster. A blizzard hit the summit, costing Hall’s life along with the lives of seven others.

Walking on top of one of the lower sections of the Khumbu Glacier on the trek to Lobuche.

The sign pointing out which way to Everest Base Camp. Without it the trail would be impossible to navigate.

Walking alongside the Khumbu Glacier, the highest glacier in the world.

The otherworldly landscape of the Khumbu Glacier as it stretches 15 kilometers alongside Nuptse and to Everest’s base.

Me posing in front of the Khumbu Glacier – only mere miles from the foot of Mount Everest.

A closer view of the Khumbu Glacier, which roared with loud cracks from ice shifts as we walked alongside its massive frame.

The camp was beautiful. Sitting atop the Khumbu Glacier, dusted in snow, and covered in bright yellow tents, it had an energy unlike any other place I have ever been. This was the epitome of exploration. Home base for the world’s bravest and most motivated climbers. We could stare straight ahead to see the Khumbu Icefall—the deadly, crevasse-filled gateway to Everest—only a football field away. From there it was easy to see the route, as it stretched between Nuptse and Everest’s Eastern ridgeline, up to the South Col (the lowest point between Everest and Lhotse). It was as though I could simply start walking in that direction and find myself on top of the world in no time at all. The reality, however, is much more difficult.

Our first clear view of Everest Base Camp. While the peak of Everest is not visible from this point, you can see where the Khumbu Icefall leads to the top (far to the left).

The bright yellow tents of Everest climbers serve as the quintessential landmark of EBC.

Because Everest Base Camp is situated on top of the Khumbu Glacier, all structures must be moved every five days or so to account for changes in the shape of the glacier itself.

My final arrival at Base Camp! It was a long and hard 14 days!

The whole crew pictured by the flag adorned monument for Everest Base Camp. American, Australian, English, and Nepali climbers all together!

Celebrating our accomplishment of making it to EBC together.

Our team congratulated each other, hugging and shaking hands, then took a number of photographs to commemorate our achievement. Standing in front of Everest revealed just why this mountain so deeply captures the world’s imagination. It is the embodiment of man versus nature. It is the quintessential example of humankind’s thirst for adventure. And it is the ultimate shrine to human curiosity. There is something about the unknown, the dangerous, and the mysterious parts of this earth that attract the human spirit. Perhaps it is admiration. Perhaps it is madness. Nonetheless, people will always climb mountains and Everest will always be a landmark achievement for any person that attempts it.

Kala Patthar (or Kala Pather) is the only location from which the peak of Everest is visible for trekkers. It is a small mountain (really more of a large, steep hill) that reaches 18,500 feet of elevation. It’s name means “Black Rock.”

Pumori in the morning glow while our team hikes toward Kala Patthar to catch a sunrise view of Everest’s peak. Its name means “Little Daughter” and was names by George Mallory—the first climber to attempt Everest in 1924.

The golden sunlit face of Pumori’s south summit.

Me after successfully summiting Kala Patthar. Standing tall at 18,500 feet!

Beginning the journey back home after completing Base Camp.

Everest’s Relationship with Nepal
For the last half century, Everest has been the driver of change in Nepal. There is a reason it is pictured on all currency and every Nepali brand seems to have ‘Everest’ somewhere in the name. Everest is Nepal’s currency. It is Nepal’s brand. People respect it, fear it, and celebrate it.

A sunrise view of Everest (the tall black peak to the right). This is the best view of its peak within trekking distance, as Everest is surrounded by other mountains including Nuptse (right) and Khumbutse (left).

Thanks to the international exploration of Everest, Nepal established a friendly relationship with the Western world long ago, ensuring it would never be conquered. Instead, it has profited from a mutually beneficial unwritten contract—the West can explore as long as Nepal can make money off of it. This has led its cultural, economic, and social diffusion. Nepal has taken what it likes from the West and left what it dislikes, making significant gains in overall development… thanks to the allure of the mountains. Now it is up to Nepal to take the next step in its growth.

Many successful (or unsuccessful) mountaineers fly back to Lukla via helicopter because making the 5 day trek back down after summiting Everest is the last thing on their mind. Helicopters are also used for emergency evacuations due to injury or altitude sickness.

Much to Be Done
One of the largest problems for mountain communities in Nepal is isolation. Mountain residents lack connection to the rest of the country and the world. Apart from satellite WiFi, they are separated from all other civilization by days of trekking across harsh and unforgiving terrain. However, locals and foreigners alike are against the building of roads throughout the region. They believe it would destroy the nostalgia of its primitive by-foot-or-yak-only transportation system and the adventurous feel of being in a remote place. While this is absolutely true, turning away from infrastructure growth and investment in these villages will result in the continual stunting of Nepal’s growth and a perpetual reliance on one industry—tourism.

Roads must be built to connect the people of Nepal. Towers must be built to transmit reliable communication. Schools must be built to educate students for a more skilled workforce. Hospitals must be built to make for a healthy and strong people. Businesses must be built in order to pull the region out of poverty and into the developed world.

The massive valley of Pheriche is a major transport route and a perfect candidate location for building a road. It stretches from Lobuche nearly all the way to Phortse.

There is a way for Nepal to grow, while simultaneously preserving its culture and environment. That is the purpose and ultimate goal of my next assignment—working in environmental conservation in the remote mountainous region of Annapurna. There I will explore the possibilities of a middle ground between economic growth and environmental sustainability.

Boarding the flight back to Kathmandu from Lukla—the official end of our alpine trek. We actually trekked to a higher altitude than this plane flew.

The Growth of the Khumbu Region
During my time in Namche Bazar and the journey to our next destination—Phortse—Ram was a fountain of knowledge for all of my burning questions. As I spoke with him, I slowly gained a better understanding of the economic system within the mountains. Most of my prior knowledge rested on research of the Everest economy, but the economy at large poses a much more complicated problem.

Wise ole Ram.

A significant portion of the mountain region relies on tourism. The earliest expeditions to the Himalayas brought an influx of money, as British, Swiss, and other foreign climbers needed food, lodging, guides, and porters. Over time, as global transportation became more inexpensive and widespread interest in trekking grew, so did the demand from tourists for goods and services in the Khumbu Region. Tea houses, shops, guiding companies, and even entire towns grew out of the influx of trekkers seeking stunning views and climbers summiting the world’s most alluring peaks. As a result, a region that once was filled with quiet, isolated, farming communities, grew rapidly into a hub for tourism.

This growth, however, did not come easily. Development in the Khumbu Region is difficult due to the high expense of transporting goods into the mountains. The entirety of civilization past Lukla is connected via a series of trails—none of which are paved. The same trails we used to trek to basecamp. There are no roads, no cars, and no motorbikes. The primary form of transportation is by foot. For this reason, economic growth and the movement of people and products is extraordinarily slow and remarkably expensive. In response, people have adapted by using makeshift methods for development. For example, buildings are fashioned only out of local stones that are hammered into shape and lumber carried up the trail. Only the most expensive structures use concrete, which is flown in via helicopter. These challenges have caused slow development across the mountains, with luxuries like electricity and plumbing hitting many areas only recently. Regardless, the growth inspired by tourism has been extraordinarily beneficial for the mountain communities, revitalizing what was once isolated, poor farming villages into hubs of activity for global travelers.

A man hammers local stone into the correct shape as he builds this wall.

Helicopters are used to fly in heavy materials like concrete or wood. They are constantly in the air throughout the base camp trek—either for cargo, sight seeing, medical emergencies, or transporting Everest climbers.

Tourism in the Mountains
The problem, however, is that tourism is a seasonal industry. As soon as the downpour of the monsoon season arrives, everything changes. Locals close up shop, leave the mountains, and head to Lukla, Kathmandu, or their home villages for the summer. There, they continue working, but in the underlying industry that permeates all of the mountains and much of Nepal—agriculture. An astounding 27 percent of Nepal’s GDP comes from the agricultural sector. People in the Khumbu Region typically grow potatoes or cabbage, as the high altitude prevents much else. The only other industry within the mountains is animal husbandry, particularly of yak and mule for transport.

A small cabbage farm near Phakding. Cabbage and potatoes are everywhere across the Khumbu and comprise the majority of it resources.

The animal husbandry business is huge in the mountains. Mules are often used to transport heavy items like propane, water, etc.

A mule transporting water down-mountain to some of the more isolated villages.

Horses are also sometimes used, although more for riding than cargo. Nepalis often decorate them with beautiful colors and Tibetan designs.

The other backbone of the Nepalese transport economy is yaks, cows, and a mixed breed of the two called gokyo.

A yak carrying what looks to be cement up to the high Himalayas.

Farming and animal husbandry are not nearly as lucrative as the tourism business. For this reason, many people go into the tourism industry in order to make enough money to support their families and afford the high cost of living that comes with being in the mountains. This means working as a guide for trekkers, opening a tea house, or becoming a shop owner. Unfortunately, all of these professions take upfront capital or extended experience, and in the mountains there is only one way to gain capital or experience in the mountains—becoming a porter.

The Porter Economy
The porter economy is perhaps the most visible profession across all of the Khumbu Region. Simply put, when yaks or mules are unavailable, porters are used to transport cargo across long distances by foot. In essence, they are the FedEx men of Nepal. Everywhere in the Khumbu Region, men lug massive loads on their backs across miles of rough terrain. There are two major types of porters: those who carry gear for tourists and those who transport goods for people and businesses.

A porter carries the duffel bags of tourists down mountain toward Namche Bazar.

Massive boxes in transit from Lukla to another mountain village on the back of a Nepali porter.

Porters for Goods
Porters carrying goods typically transport large loads of water, food, wood, and other products used by tea houses, shops, and homes. This is perhaps the hardest job across the Khumbu Region. There is no limit to how much one can technically carry, and they are paid by kilogram of weight—incentivizing them to carry as much as possible.

A porter in the Khumbu Region is typically paid about 65 NPR (Nepali Rupees) or $0.60 for every kilogram of weight carried per day. Many porters carry up to 80 kilograms for two days (which is 175lbs), meaning they would take home about 10,400 NPR or $93.00 for the total journey. Would you accept $93.00 for two days of carrying 175lbs on your back?

A porter carrying a large load across one of the many suspension bridges in the Khumbu.

The terrain, weather, and wind is difficult enough trekking. Imagine carrying nearly 200lbs of cargo.

Unfortunately, serving as a porter is quite seasonal, meaning that most porters work about 6 to 8 months out of the year. Assuming one was able to manage two of these $93.00 trips per week for 8 months, they would bring home 665,500 NPS or about $5,990 per year.

Given that the approximate average wage in Nepal is about 361,450 NPR or $3,240 per year, this seems like a good salary. However, the cost of living is substantially higher in the mountains, meaning much of a porter’s salary is taken up in food and housing. Ultimately, it is a difficult life, but it is the best way to start out a career in the lucrative business of tourism. Serving as a porter is one of the only decent-paying jobs available for a young low-skilled Nepali in the region. Unfortunately, there are more willing porters than there are jobs, making it a competitive industry. The most competitive, however, is serving as a trekking porter.

Porters have difficult lives. They tend to be younger due to the strength and resilience necessary for the job.

Porters for Trekkers & Tourists
Because many trekkers do not want to (or are not able to) carry all of their own gear, they hire porters to transport a duffel bag of supplies from village to village ahead of them. While it may seem nearly inhumane to make someone carry loads of your own gear across rugged Himalayan terrain, most trekking organizations carefully place weight limits on duffel bags and pay their porters significantly more than private businesses (how much I’m unsure). Trekking porters also receive free accommodations in tea houses along the trek as long as they purchase their meals at the tea house—a great deal!

My team’s duffel bags had to be set outside our doors every morning before 7:00am to ensure the porters had time to set up.

Porters working for trekking agencies usually carry two duffel bags which are 12kg each, plus a small bag for themselves. Total they should carry no more than 30kg—a stark contrast from the 80kg of businesses.

For these reasons, porter jobs for trekking agencies are far more coveted. In addition, it is a great way to meet people from around the globe and travel through the mountains. At the end of our trek, the entire team paid for our porters’ dinner. We were able to sit with them and (attempt to) communicate with them. Most were quite young, but extremely grateful for the opportunity to work with us. It was a special moment to see their faces all light up when we surprised them with heaps of Mars Bars for dessert!

A porter carries hikers’ large duffel bugs up toward Everest Base Camp.

Two young porters crossing the shallow section of the Dudh Koshi on their want to Lobuche.

Many porters begin as young as 15 or 16 to develop the skills and strength necessary to do the job. Ours were anywhere from 16 to 21 years of age. (Note: Nepal measures age by how many years you’ve lived through, not how many full years you have been alive. The New Year is technically everyone’s birthday).

Porters’ Methods
Rather than carry items by hand or on a pack, porters use ropes to tie two duffel bags together and fashion a large strap that goes over their forehead like a bandana. When worn properly, this bandana-like strap allows the majority of the weight to rest on their head, distributing throughout the spine and down to the legs—rather than solely resting on the back like a regular pack might. Whether or not this is truly better for one’s health I am unsure, but it seems to be the standard practice in Nepal.

Wicker baskets are often use in order to easily add or subtract items from a Porter’s load.

Headbands are attached to ropes that run throughout the load to distribute the weight down the spine.

Many porter’s also carry small poles during their journey. These are used to set the weight of their load on while while they rest, allowing them to take a short breather without removing the headband and load itself.

Porter to Assistant Guide
Depending on their level of experience and education, Nepalis work as trekking porters for 5 to 7 years before being promoted to the role of assistant guide. Assistant guides work under an older, more experienced guide who knows the region and trails extremely well. It is important that assistant guides have some knowledge of English and ample experience trekking throughout the mountains. They aid the trekkers by leading the way during treks, answering questions, ordering meals, filtering water, and many other things. It is a hard job, but one that is much more enjoyable than working as a porter. Our assistant guides—Surya and Biru—were both in their late 20s with ambitions to further their knowledge of the tourism industry. Most of all, they were a deeply important part of the team and became much like family to us.

Left to right: Ram, Biru, and Surya. They demonstrated the gold standard of guides and assistant guides.

Nearing Everest Base Camp, a porter lugs his load across the rocky terrain that runs beside the Khumbu glacier.

Assistant Guide to Guide
After many years working as an assistant guide, some are promoted to guide. This is the best job one can have in the tourism industry as you are normally quite well respected, know many people throughout the communities in which you trek, and are paid fairly well (by Nepal standards). Our guide, Ram, has been working for the same trekking agency for 25 years, earning him a reputation as one of the best, wisest, and most enjoyable guides one can have. He lives especially well for himself because although he works in the Khumbu Region, his home is back south where the cost of living is much lower, allowing him to make more and spend less. The best part of being a guide (or an assistant guide as well) is that one is able to forge relationships with travelers from all over the globe. All in all, it is a fairly good gig in Nepal.

Ram sitting with Surya behind him, at the highest point near Namche Bazar during out acclimatization day. His wisdom and kindness were much appreciated.

Summarizing Lessons Learned
During my time since Namche Bazar, I learned a great deal about the Khumbu Region. It is isolated, suffers from inequality, and allows tourists first priority at resources. The cost of living in the mountains is extremely high due to the difficulty of transport. Porters are overworked and underpaid unless taken care of by good trekking organizations. And unless a Nepali has the capital to start a tea house or tourist shop, the only available jobs are in farming or animal husbandry, which pay very little. This fare the mountain economy is shaping up to be quite similar to what I had expected—one dependent on tourism and suffering from poverty. Fortunately, there has been much growth in the past and there is much room for growth in the future. I also have much more to learn.

Beginning the Journey to Basecamp
Picking up where I left off—our journey began as soon as we finished our tea and breakfast at Lukla. The trek took us up steep rocky hills, past Buddhist stone carvings, over towering suspension bridges, and through charming Nepali farms. After a number of hours, we arrived at Phakding, a rather small village that sits alongside the Dudh Koshi—one of the major rivers that flows through the Khumbu Region (it’s name means “Milk River” for its white color). We had not yet caught an up-close glimpse of the impressive mountains one pictures when they envision the Himalayas. Instead, the landscape was filled with rolling green hills. However, the foreign atmosphere of our accommodations served as a reminder that these hills were far from Tennessean.

The team ordering tea in Lukla before we begin our long and arduous journey into the mountains.

Ram points to a Buddhist stone monument for good luck and explains its inscriptions.

A suspension bridge decorated in prayer flags hangs over the Dudh Koshi.

A quant Nepali farm just outside of Phakding.

Beautiful grain fields part of a farm along the Dudh Koshi.

The Dude Koshi or “Milk River.” Flowing from the Khumbu glacier up at Everest itself, it is known as a holy river. No one can swim in it.

The rolling foothills of the Himalayas. This was the scenery our first few days—a far cry from the mountains to come.

We stayed at a quaint tea house on the hillside called ‘The Mountain Resort.’ It’s bright amber wood walls, oriental tapestries, and dining hall lined with photos of successful mountaineers served as a reminder that I was in a completely different world. It was hard to believe that I was finally in the very region I had dreamt of visiting for many years—surrounded by the tallest mountains in the world and one of the most vibrant cultures in the far east. Exciting as it was, the realization that I was in this strange new place was equally intimidating. I had much to learn. Exhausted from the 4-hour bus ride to Ramechhap Airport, nerve-wracking flight to Lukla, and long trek to Phakding, I quickly fell asleep. The mystery of all that lied ahead burned in my mind.

Ram leads to way across the Dudh Koshi and into Phakding.

The small settlement of Phakding—our first introduction to a mountain village.

The view outside our tea house, “Mountain Resort.”

The Trek to Namche
The next morning we set out for Namche Bazar. An ascent of over 1,000 feet and distance of 7.5 miles, this was my first realization that the trek to Base Camp would be more grueling than I first imagined. The rocky, dry, and dusty trail resembled steep uneven stairs. On one side, the hills continued up into the sky. On the other, a terrifying drop off threatened 200-feet of steep cliffside down into the Dudh Koshi. With the heavy traffic of yaks, mules, and porters on the trail, it was not unheard of for bottlenecks on the trail to end in an incidental fall. Just last year, a man lost his balance when pushed by a yak. He fell over the edge, tumbling down the cliffside and into the river to his death. In the Himalayas, there are no safety nets, guard rails, or ambulances. It is real terrain with real, life-threatening consequences. In an effort to remind us of the dangers of such sharp drop-offs along the trail, Ram (our guide) continually called out, “Inside is safe side. Outside is suicide!”

Only a few minutes into the trek, the rolling hills suddenly opened up to reveal massive mountains looming in the distance. The drastic change from the day prior reminded me that we were truly venturing into the wild. The diversity of the landscape—and challenges of living within it—grew with every step, as we continued deeper into the mountains. Signaling our official transition into the backcountry was a large gate that read “Sagarmatha National Park”—the home of the tallest mountains in the world. The park, located in northeast Nepal on the Tibetan border, is among the most well-known, all thanks to one thing—Everest. In fact, Sagarmatha is the Nepali name for Everest, which comes from Sagar meaning “sky” and Matha meaning “head.” By crossing the gate, we were one step closer to the top of the world. While we had far to go, simply the knowledge that I was entering this land felt like a huge accomplishment.

The view on day two opening up to grand and distant mountain peaks.

The official entrance into Sagarmatha National Park and our queue that Everest was one step closer.

Namche Bazar
After nearly 8 hours of trekking, we arrived at Namche Bazar, the largest of the Sherpa villages. Tucked into the mountainside, Namche is home to approximately 1,600 residents. Like Lukla, it serves as a gateway to the high Himilayas, making it a popular destination for mountaineers and climbers alike. In addition, because the village stands at just over 11,000 feet of elevation, it is often used for acclimatization—so most trekkers stay for multiple nights to get used to the altitude. For these reasons, Namche Bazar’s economy rests almost exclusively on tourism. Everything is catered to Western travelers. It has stores filled with counterfeit brands, coffee shops with WiFi, an official North Face store, and even a tea house that bore the branding of ‘Comfort Inn.’ It was obvious… the locals knew their audience.

The front gates of Namche Bazar.

A Buddhist stupa near the front entrance of Namche Bazar. This serves as the heart of the village.

Massive prayer wheels decorate the walkway through Namche Bazar.

The surprisingly delicious coffee shop in Namche Bizarre with... Free WiFi?! (It never worked)

I had to try it—the coffee was fantastic! The cookie... like most food in the mountains... a bit stale.

A knockoff “Comfort Inn”—evidence of the audience the Nepalis are catering toward.

Some of the numerous counterfeit clothing brands—North face, Mammut, Black Diamond, etc.

Acclimatizing in Namche
Like most trekkers, our team spent an additional night in Namche Bazar for acclimatization. Normally, acclimatization days consist of climbing to a higher elevation then returning back to a lower altitude to rest again that night, conditioning your body to grow used to the thinning oxygen levels. In order to accomplish this, we ascended approximately 1,300 feet to a lookout point in Sagarmatha National Park. At this point stood a beautiful memorial to Tenzing Norgay—the Sherpa climber that summited Everest alongside Edmund Hillary during the first ascent in 1953. From this spot, we caught our first glimpse of Everest, looming far behind the summer haze and hidden by Nuptse’s jagged ridgeline. Looking at its massif against bright blue sky was a wakeup call to just how far our team had to travel—all on foot—before reaching the base of the mountain.

Me standing in front of the monument to Tenzing Norgay and his first summit of Everest back in 1953.

A glimpse of Everest—just peaking over the ridge line of Nuptse to the left. To the right Lhotse stands tall.

Next to the Tenzing memorial was a small plaque with two rocks resting upon it. These rocks were from the Dead Sea in Israel—the lowest point on earth. In a similar fashion, two rocks from the peak of Everest rest upon another monument 3,000 miles away at the Dead Sea. These humble memorials stand as a reminder of Earth’s the vast size and the unity of its people—that stones from the highest and lowest points in the world might be exchanged in an act of symbolism. Having visited the Dead Sea just last summer, this was a particularly special moment. I knew that in a matter of days, I would have stood at the lowest point on earth, as well as the gateway to the highest point on earth.

Two rocks from the Dead Sea in Israel rest on a monument to the connectedness of the world.

Learning about the Region
In Namche Bazar, my understanding of the people, culture, and economy of the region began to take shape. Prior to my trip, I had been excited about understanding one thing—the Sherpa. My goal was to learn about this near mythical people group and their relationship with the mountaineering industry. But I quickly learned that while the Sherpa are well known and celebrated for their impressive ability to navigate the mountains, they are not alone. In fact, Nepal is home to over 123 different ethnic groups, and many of them serve as part of the climbing and trekking industry in the Khumbu region. Not just the Sherpa.

In addition, because of the well-known stories and popularity of the Sherpa in their impact on the Everest climbing tradition, the word “Sherpa” is often overused. Tea houses, restaurants, clothing brands, and even food dishes are called Sherpa—all because the local Nepali people are aware of the Western fascination with the people group. Unfortunately, none of these things authentically belonged to the Sherpa ethnic people. In fact, it seemed almost rare that I encountered any Sherpa. None of my guides were Sherpa, none of the store owners were Sherpa, and few of the people I encountered while trekking were Sherpa. This was quite disappointing, but I later learned that there was a reason for their rarity.

One of the many misleading “Sherpa” lodges—not even in a Sherpa village.

The Mountain Conditions
One day I took a walk around Namche Bazar alone to take in the environment and make a few observations. I encountered numerous children and locals, all of which were extremely kind, although often reserved (with the exception of the kids). As I strolled through the community, I started to notice a theme. The accommodations for tourists, while basic and nothing special, were quite nice. They normally included a clean room with two beds, a blanket for each bed, one bath on hall, and a community dining area. Of course, the quality of the accommodations in the Khumbu Region declined as we gained altitude, but generally they were suitable.

A few of the many kids I met playing in the streets of Namche.

Our nice accommodations in Namche Bazar.

The beautiful tea/dinner hall open to all guests.

The locals, however, lived in awful conditions. Their homes were small shacks, often dirty and falling apart, and they lacked sufficient electricity or water. Only the shop or tea house owners enjoyed the same quality commodities as tourists, while their employees and the local agricultural workers lacked such spoils. Namche Bazaar is also the only village in all of the Khumbu with a major hospital—but even this hospital is still quite primitive. Any major medical needs require transport to Lukla or Kathmandu. In fact, it is not unheard of for pregnant women to take the two-day, 11 mile journey from Namche Bazar to Lukla before childbirth. When it comes to heart attacks, cancer, or other critical conditions, most mountain locals suffer or pass away. There is a reason that few live to be old in the mountains.

One of the homes of a local in Namche Bazar—notice the stark contrast to the tourist accommodations.

The locals hang their cloths up to dry, while we enjoyed nice driers. That is also a local bathroom just beyond the clothesline.

Despite their poverty, somehow these kids still had some sweet Nikes.

The Mountain Medical Institute—one of the two hospitals in Namche Bazar. This hospital is private, while the other is government owned.

Based on my observations, Namche Bazar suffers from major inequality—and tourists are part of the problem. While I have no hard data to verify this (and it is doubtful that I could ever retrieve such data), it seems as if the majority of utilities (water and electric) are consumed by tourists, leaving the locals with whatever remains. Given the lack of infrastructure and isolated location, Namche Bazar certainly does not enjoy copious amounts of water or energy. Electricity is supplied by a nearby hydro-plant, but relies on the flow of glacier-fed rivers. With the economic necessity of tourism, the locals seemed content taking a back seat.