Backpacks and Bra Straps (32 page)

“I think I laughed more today than I have in the past five months put together,” I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

“Yeah, but sometimes I wish I had brought my own sleeping bag,” Steph said, peeling off a clump of long, black hair from the thick woollen blanket. “These are really disgusting.” To avoid fighting over Stephanie, Bree and I always made her sleep squished in the middle of the bed.

“Oh man, I know,” I said, continuing to giggle. “It’s these blankets. They smell so bad. I bet they’ve never been washed – ever. And then all they do is spray air freshener all over them.”

“And that makes my head ache,” Bree said.

“Oh, stop making me laugh. It’s hard enough to breathe up here,” I said, my cheeks sore from smiling.

When we’d finally settled down, our usual night-time conversation was almost always interrupted by tossing and turning and complaining.

“I’m so cold, come cuddle with me,” I’d whine, rolling over and throwing my arm across Stephanie and pulling her closer. Even with five or more blankets over me I could never seem to retain enough heat.

“I’m so squished, I can’t breathe,” Bree groaned, thrusting an elbow into Steph’s side.

“Ouch, stop it. You’re hitting me.”

“Well, I can’t breathe so move over.”

“I can’t move over on this side, I’m falling off the bed,” I shouted over Steph at Bree. “You move over!”

“I’m crammed against the wall, I can’t move over, either.”

“These blankets stink,” Steph moaned between us, half asleep.

“My stomach hurts.”

“Pass the water, please. My throat’s really dry.”

“Stop kicking,” Steph said, while tugging at the blankets.

“I’m just trying to get closer. I’m still cold.”

“Who’s snoring? Is that you, Steph? Shut up.”

“No. You shut up. It’s someone in another room. I’m falling through the beds. We need to push them back together.”

“Okay, fine. Get out and push them together.”

“No way. It’s too cold. I’m not going out there.”

“Well, I’m going to go through the wall into the other room if we don’t do something quick,” Bree said.

After we got up to push the beds back together, Steph said, “I have to pee, someone has to come with me. Bree?”

“Not me.”

“But you have to. It’s too dark and scary out there. It’s like
The Blair Witch Project,
times four.”

“Okay fine… You’re such a baby.”

“Whoa, wait for me. You can’t just leave me in here alone. I’m coming, too,” I said, as they both trampled over me to get out of the bed.

We’d finally settle down, but we went through pretty much the same routines every night. Getting a good night’s sleep didn’t happen too often…

Sherpa Chaperone
38

A
wake-up call from outside our cardboard-thin walls and a tap on the ankle woke me. It was Mountain Dendee.

“Come. Eating breakfast. You ready? We go,” he whispered ever so gently. Waking up to his soft voice and good looks was much easier on the eyes and soul than Ammon’s typical “Get up!” or, worse yet, the “Passport! Passport!” greeting we got from the two stern Russian soldiers on the train.

Stepping into my flip-flops and dragging the girls out of bed, I made my way with them to the communal area for breakfast. The views from the big windows were a perfect motivation to start the day. The sun was freshly ascended in the sky, making the snowy mountain backdrop sparkle.

“I’m so sick of this porridge,” Bree said. “Actually, I never even liked porridge to begin with.”

“After surviving mutton, I think I can handle a bit of porridge,” I said, “though it would be nice to have something else for a change.”

“Are you kidding me? This stuff is awesome. I love it,” Ammon said.

“Because it’s filling?” I asked.

“Or because it’s the cheapest thing on the menu?” Bree said, taking the words right out of my mouth.

“Both. And because it’s healthy and gives you lots of energy.” Taking a big spoonful of crystallized brown sugar from the pretty, glass jar on the table and sprinkling it in his bowl, he added, “Plus, I love this big, grainy sugar. And obviously, you can’t go wrong by eating what the Sherpas do.”

“I love it too,” Mom said. “And I never even liked porridge before.”

“But I’m not sure I want to eat the same way as them,” Steph said, referring to how the Sherpas scooped their meals into their mouths with their right hands. Despite our minor complaints, Mom convinced us to get yet another bowl of oatmeal down for breakfast before starting a long day.

“Everyone always says you lose weight while trekking. They even have adjustable jackets because of it,” Ammon said, showing us the belt on his rented one. “But I’m sure I’ve gained weight. This food has been amazing.”

“Yeah, you could use a bit of fat on you, but I’m gaining weight, too,” Steph protested.

“Well, you have to keep eating,” Mom said. “No dieting allowed. We need to stay strong and healthy for this. And don’t forget to put your hard boiled eggs in your pockets for later.”

By 8 a.m., we were putting foot to dirt on the trail. The crunch of brittle leaves was softened by the morning dew. The higher up we went the colder it got, especially in the mornings. Luckily we all had great quality, light-weight clothing we’d chosen especially for the climb. Despite the chill, once we started walking I quickly warmed up in the sun. Throughout the day we were slowly able to peel off more layers of clothing. The cold air on my face early in the morning made me feel good – fit and healthy. I was beginning to see the upside of exercise in the fresh morning air, something I’d never experienced in my former life. So many unknown aspects of my character were exposed on this trip. Things were changing for all of us.

“Bree,” Steph snapped. “Why do you always have that thing in your mouth? Stop it.”

“I always brush my teeth on the go. I do it to pass the time.”

“Always? Well, I’ve never seen you do it before, and I’m your best friend, so I would know. I know every one of your habits, right down to how you pick and eat your scabs,” Steph said, crinkling her nose. “Obviously this is a new one you’ve picked up.”

“Yep, it is,” she said. “That’s ‘cause I never had so much time to kill in my life. Music and brushing my teeth helps.”

“You’re so weird.”

Ammon and I, on the other hand, spent hours in our world classroom. His latest lessons for me were all about the theory of light, sound waves, and gravity. I loved that he always had an in-depth answer to any question I came up with, and he had someone who was determined to learn from him. He is a teacher at heart, so that gave him a great deal of satisfaction. I really looked up to him as a proud little sister, and we were able to bond more than we ever had before. Walking the trail with its gorgeous mountain scenery, smelling the fresh earth, and having such great company was the best classroom I ever could have imagined.

Our Sherpas were busy singing away together with some of their friends we’d picked up along the way. They sang a mixture of English and Nepali songs that drifted past the parade of yaks and hikers like flower petals over the water. Their favourite song was “Sometimes Trekking, Sometimes Rafting,” and we’d had it stuck in our heads since day one. Each day we’d add new lyrics to their melody like “Sometimes Eating, Sometimes Farting.”

Some of the other trekkers’ Sherpas we had only seen once; others had reappeared again and again. We’d see them passing us on the trails, bump into them at a little cabin where we stopped for lunch, or chat over a cup of hot chocolate in a guesthouse at night. It was difficult to memorize our new Nepali friends’ names, so Bree insisted on finding a temporary moniker for each and every one of them to distinguish them on our two-week trek.

“He’s like an adorable cross-eyed fish. His name is definitely Bubbles,” Bree said, and then tilted her head toward one who was often picked on by the rest, “and he’s Outcast.” Someone had just smacked his hat from his head, sending him running down the path to catch it.

“That one is so like Pinocchio,” Bree continued. I chuckled. As always, I appreciated her enthusiasm, but I personally didn’t see the connection between Pinocchio and a man with such a cute button nose.

Bree was on a roll now, pointing at each one in turn. “And he–

“The one on the black yak?” I asked.

“Yeah, him. He looks like… He’s the Mad Hatter!” she declared.

“Wait. Fish eyes – which one is that again?” I said.

“Weren’t you listening at all? Hmmm, the one… Right… Okay, you’ll see him as soon as we get round the next bend. He’s got a blue hat on.”

“Are you talking about Pinocchio?” Steph asked.

“No. He’s the one three ahead of us. And that one looks like Grady, mixed with Teak from the Ewoks movies.”

“No he does not,” I protested. “Grady doesn’t look like a freaking Ewok.”

“Okay fine, I’ll just call him Teak. And whoa, now. That one’s so cute. He looks like Orlando Bloom.” Bree was making us all dizzy from spinning around to identify them all.

The Creepy Guy and Turtle moved effortlessly past us. Turtle turned around and waved to us as they passed, smiling as he sang along with the others. So far the only person allowed to keep his original name was Dendee, because she thought the comparison between Crocodile Dundee and Mountain Dendee made him appear fierce – a characteristic I would never associate with the sweet Dendee I knew.

Bree spotted the last two behind us on the trail that day and promptly dubbed them Dopey and Saruman, but I never found out why….

The higher we went, the less comfortable our lodgings became. There was some variety in the lodging prices, but the quality was always about the same. There wasn’t really a way to provide luxuries when everything was brought in on the backs of people or animals. Electricity was rarely available, so we had to use lots of candles at night. It also kept getting colder, and hot water was nothing more than a vaguely remembered luxury.

“A hundred and fifty rupees for twenty litres (5.2 gal) of warm water for the shower? That’s three times the price of the room itself, and
way
more than it cost lower down the mountain. I knew I should’ve taken one then,” Steph said. She wasn’t quite clear on the conversion rates yet, so she didn’t realize that a hundred and fifty rupees only came to about two dollars and fifty cents, but even so, the rate had definitely gone up. Her shock at the increased cost made me laugh, though. It was amazing how quickly our financial conservatism had rubbed off on her. “I can’t believe that,” she continued, “but I can’t stand it anymore. I’m so dirty. I haven’t had a shower in, like, four days, and we’ve been sweating like crazy. Super gross!”

“See, I told you you’d learn to appreciate the little things with us,” Bree said.

“There’s only one thing left to do,” I said. “We’ve got to split the shower three ways.”

Given that there was no sewage or piping, our warm water was poured into a big bucket placed on top of the wooden, outdoor shower hut. The water then flowed quickly from the shower head within, so we couldn’t afford to spare a second or a single drop. The three of us barely fit into the small space, and we were literally tiered, one under the other, to make sure we caught every drop. While I scrubbed the shampoo onto my head, Bree was busy rinsing hers out, while Steph scrubbed both our faces with soapy hands, saying, “face wash, girls, face wash!” Stepping from the warmth and waiting between turns was pure torture. To prevent the water from freezing on our skin we squealed as we jumped up and down. Vulnerable and nearly naked, we giggled from both the sheer cold and the absolute absurdity of our situation.

In the small, wooden shack, it was hard for the three of us to manoeuvre without knocking our clothes off the tiny nails we’d hung them on. Shirts and socks dropped onto the soaked concrete floor. Whenever an article of clothing fell, we’d shriek and pick it up as fast as possible, sometimes bashing heads in the process. Because there was no room for each of us to have a dirty and a fresh set of clothes, we had to put our old, now-wet clothes back on. To top it all off, we only had one towel between the three of us.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” Bree said. “Now, on the count of three. One, two, three!” Ducking out the door, one after the next, we ran like mad with icy-wet hair and steaming bodies, the last of our body heat dispersing into the thin air. Bolting across the open courtyard below the panoramic restaurant, it was hard not to notice all the guys up on the deck who, gentlemen that they were, quickly turned their heads away when we rushed out. We ran back to the cold room across the courtyard, up a narrow ladder staircase, and down a long, open-air hallway.

Crashing into our room, I said, “Oh no, I don’t even want to think about what those guys must’ve been imagining, knowing how guys are. I’m so embarrassed. I’m skipping dinner. There’s no way I can face them.”

“Oh, who cares?” Bree said while Steph whined, “It’s so cold. Why can’t they turn up the heat?”

“Maybe there aren’t enough of us to justify it,” I said.

“They’re not going to waste their precious resources on the likes of you three,” Ammon said through the wall.

“Are you spying on us?” Steph said to the wall with an accusing expression.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You guys are so loud, who needs to spy?”

Jumping to keep the blood from freezing in our veins, we even tried to conserve the heat from the small candle sitting on the desk. Rummaging through the pile of clean-ish clothes we’d left out, Bree confessed in a panic, “Oh no. No, no, no. I stepped on my retainer. Oh man, it’s crushed to pieces.” Slowly sitting down on the bed, half dazed and gaping at the three broken pieces in her hand, she said, “What am I going to do now?”

“How on earth did you manage to do that? Isn’t it supposed to be in your mouth?” I said.

“I have to take it out to eat, and I guess I just forgot it in my coat pocket, and I stepped on it. Mom’s going to kill me.” Looking to me in desperation, she begged, “Please, Savannah, you have to take the blame for this one. Tell Mom you did it. Please???” Since forever, we had taken the blame for each other’s mishaps. For some reason, we found it a lot easier to take responsibility for something we hadn’t done. We were happy to trade taking the blame in return for a long list of IOUs to be repaid later. Bree had once taken the blame when I’d accidentally locked the car keys in the trunk and saved me from even more guilt than I felt already.

“Fine. I don’t care. Not sure what you’re so afraid of, though. It’s you who should be upset that your retainer is broken, not Mom,” I said. Bree was missing five of her permanent teeth, and after a great deal of expensive orthodontic treatment, there was only one gap left where a right eye tooth would’ve been. The orthodontist had created a retainer especially for her with a fake tooth to replace the one that was missing, and she wore it religiously.