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THE HIGHEST HOTEL
IN THE WORLD
The plane banked left, headed directly toward a massive wall of rock
and snow. Suddenly, as if Ali Baba with his forty thieves had called
out "Open Sesame," the rocks seemed to part and we were inside the first
line of mountains moving in a world of sheer cliffs. I leaned forward
in my seat, my breath clouding the front windshield of the tiny Pilatus
Porter. Slowly the peaks became more distinct as we rushed toward them,
until they filled my vision and left only a small area of sky above
our heads.
Our plane was as small
as a bird winging it's way among silent giants, their arms enfolding
us and their heads towering above. No wonder people spoke of the Himalayas
as being 'of the gods'.
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With only two weeks
to see all of Nepal I was delighted when I discovered 'a way to
the top' that would fit our schedule. The Hotel Everest View is
located at 13,000 feet in full view of Mt. Everest, which is 29,028
feet. Best of all, was a special hotel service; a plane that would
fly us from Kathmandu to a tiny landing field with the exotic
name of Shyangboche.
We were told that we'd need no more than a jacket, as by March
the heavy winter weather would be over. We were told too that
sometimes the flight had to be canceled in rough weather, that
there could be a cloud cover blocking our view even if we did
land, and that the hotel had oxygen and medical assistance. The
last bit sobered and excited me, bringing home the reality of
the height we were going to.
At 6 A.M. the day
of our hour long flight, we arrived at the Kathmandu airport,
where the sweet scent of gasoline, blended with the roar and whine
of engines and propellers. My traveling companion and I were the
only passengers on the six-person plane, a Pilatus Porter that
was designed specifically for short take off and landings, a necessity
at Shangboche, nestled like an eagle's aerie on a tiny plateau
between the horns of jagged peaks.
Our pilot, Rajees,
was a young Nepali man with shining black hair and aviator style
sunglasses.
I leaned close to
him to be heard over the engine's roar. "Where Is Everest?" He
pointed down the cue of peaks, "Half an hour more, madam. Can't
see it yet." "What do you think? Will it be clear?"
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He turned his head toward
me and smiled, "Oh yes, Madam. It will be clear. You can depend on it."
I laughed to myself for
my foolishness. I knew by now that the Nepali people always answer "yes"
if asked a direct question.
Rajees pointed ahead to
the right. "There is the field. See it?"
I nodded, mute with wonder
and excitement. A narrow flat space lay between snow covered cliffs.
As we approached, I could make out a couple of buildings, people and
sheep.
Then, so quickly I hardly
felt the wheels touch the ground, we were down and meeting a woman who
said she was an agent from the hotel.
She asked us to please sit on the bench and rest for half an hour before
ascending the mile-long path for the 45 minute walk to the hotel. "You
have come up quickly to a great height. Altitude sickness is possible
even for people who trek ten days to get here. Would you like some tea?"
We sat obediently on the
bench that rested against a stone building. There wasn't a cloud in
the sky, and the sun was intense. The clear thin air sharpened my senses;
the edges of objects were certain, the smells bright. A circle of mountains
-- snow covered masses of rock jagged and majestic -- enfolded us. Within
reach, they were yet unreachable in some mysterious other-wordly quality,
not unlike the moon. Together with the dense silence, I was slightly
giddy.
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Once
on the trail we meandered up the gentle incline from the landing
field over hills with few trees and only occasional scrubby brush.
A short way from the landing field was a row of mudbrick houses
near the trail and other homes perched down the side of the hill.
Residents of the tiny village, with no more than 20 houses, were
busy with morning activities. Women and children carried water and
cooked breakfast over open fires, a small naked boy watched a woman
weaving on a porch. A group children in school uniforms talked together
before class, the girls waving and giggling as we passed.
At each bend in the well maintained path I craned for a view of
the peaks. Thirty minutes into the climb it happened. Like a monolith
rising from a sea of brown dirt rose a pinnacle of white; a giant
out of storybooks I'd read as a child. Ama Dablam, perhaps the most
beautiful mountain in the world. We stopped, gaping wide-eyed as
children. Soon the whole range was before us --Everest, Ama Dablam,
Lhotse, Nuptse, Kwangde, Kantega -- clustered together like tall
friends who survey the world from a vantage so high that all that
lies below them is small and helpless in comparison. Guardians they
are, I thought remembering the many myths and legends the people
of this region tell about them
Located in the east part of Nepal bordering Tibet, Mt Everest is
Sagarmatha to the Nepali (Mother of the Universe, or The Mountain
So High that No Bird Can Fly Over It.) For the Nepalize, the mountains
are manifestations of the gods who unite the earth and sky and are
guardians of the land, its people and animals. |
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My breath was short when
we came to the hotel. Set on a small rise, built of rock and wood, it
was as gracious as the world around us. Wide steps led up to huge wood
doors and an expansive entry with high ceilings. Straight ahead, floor
to ceiling glass windows ran the eighty foot length of the wall to frame
the entire range of mountains.
"Now this is a picture
window," I said to our guide laughing.
The gracious hotel was
designed to face the panorama so that the lounge, sun terrace, bar and
dining room as well as the 12 private rooms have similar 'window walls'
facing the mountains. Outside the entry area was a long wide deck with
benches and tables.
A waiter poured tea for three people who sat at one of the long tables
with their large backpacks leaned against the stone rail at the edge
of the deck.
The hotel is in the Solu
Kumbu region, a popular trekking destination as much for its monasteries
and Sherpa villages as for the mountains.
The waiter smiled and greeted us: "Namaste" --I salute the god within
you) He pointed out peaks other sites, speaking in English. "Below us
on that high rise surrounded by firs and rhododendrons is Tengpoche
Monastery, the Buddhist center for the whole region," he said. Then
pointing left, he said, "There, that is Khumjung, the biggest village
in the Kumbu. Sir Edmund Hillary, the first to climb Everest in 1953,
built a school to educate our children." He smiled broadly. "You are
hungry? You will have breakfast?"
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The menu offeredus eggs,
meats andpastries. We ordered, then chatted with the trekkers who told
us about their adventurous two week walk to reach this spot; stories
of village life among people whose lives were lived in the harshness
of the heights. They would be continuing on to the Everest Base Camp
another seven days ahead, and 4800 feet higher.
I envied them the time
they had to immerse themselves in the culture of the most unusual Sherpa
people, but not for the clim to a higher altitude. I was beginning to
experience the first signs of our quick ascent, a headache and drowsiness.
We went to our room which
was large with two double beds and a bathroom, with running, but not
hot, water. Wide sliding glass doors framed our private view of the
mountain range and led outside to a spacious wood deck with comfortable
chairs.
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After a rest, we decided
to take a walk before dinner. The sound of our feet crunching pine needles
and small rocks intruded into the deep silence on the deer trail that
zigzagged between rhododendron and fir trees. Clouds had begun to form
around the peaks. Wind blew the mist around like white curtains that
covered and then revealed the mountains. As the sun broke through the
clouds the whole environment was a play of light and shadow in continual
change. When the mist had swept over us, the air was thick with millions
of tiny lights that seemed to dance around us. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief
wondering if the altitude was causing me to imagine things. Mesmerized,
we sat down on the damp grass and gave in to the enchantment.
By dinner time my head was throbbing. I took a couple of aspirin and
went to eat with the hope that food would help me acclimatize.
The dining room opened
out to the porch that ran the length of the building. Wide windows extended
across the sixty foot room with elaborately set tables placed beside
the windows. Ancient black stones were incorporated into the inner walls
inscribed with Tibetan Buddhist sayings.
We'd heard that the hotel prided itself on its gourmet food, which turned
out to be no idle boast. A delicate, perfectly seasoned asparagus soup
was followed by veal cooked to perfection with tiny roast potatoes.
Dessert was a fine flaky apple turnover.
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But after dinner
my head felt like it might explode, and I had the odd sensation
of falling asleep on my feet. I could hardly keep my eyes opened.
Alarmed, my friend
put me to bed, and went to speak with the manager who came back
with an oxygen tank and mask. By then I was slightly incoherent
and only remember being instructed on how to breath, and the huge
relief as the pain in my head subsided, and I fell into a heavy
sleep. I dreamed wild hallucinatory dreams that made no sense
on waking, but left me with a deeper feeling of this exotic place.
I'd heard that people often have unusual dreams at high altitudes.
Mountaineers stress the hallucinatory effect of the thin air and
the difficulty of knowing real from imaginary at such heights.
This crossover of inner and outer realities has often led people
to their deaths as their ability to think clearly was diminished.
In May of 1996,
five climbers died near the top of Mt. Everest. Two of the five
had been to the top before so were not inexperienced. Their tragic
deaths were one more in a series of misadventures on Everest.
Some people say that their deaths were caused by a rogue storm,
while others postulate the effects of thin air on judgment. We
will never know.
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In the morning, my head
still ached, although less intensely. But we opened the curtains to
discover a completely white world. Several inches of snow had fallen
in the night and the morning sun shimmered brilliantly over all.
After breakfast we said
goodby to the staff who'd been so gracious and warm in our short stay.
Though I longed to stay, my body wasn't able to manage the strain. But
the mountains had revealed their beauty and left me grateful. I longed
sometime in the future to delve further into the mystery that beckoned
like the Tibetan horns that echoed across the canyons calling monks
to prayer.
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