I tremble like an old lady, my body lurching forward on the snow-covered trails leading to the foot of the highest mountain – Nepal’s Mount Everest Base Camp (EBC). My legs are sending SOS signals to my brain, but my trekking poles – my only lifelines – dig into the snow, keeping me from face-planting.
Then – bam! My porter and guide, Dhurba Nepali, suddenly bursts into Nepali poetry: Changa udera gayo pani, dhago ta rahe rahancha; timi jati tada rahyo pani, timro samjhana ra yaad ta auncha. Translated, it means: “Even after the kite soars, the thread remains; no matter how far you go, you are always remembered.”
“Wah Wah (Wow),” I praise him, grasping for both breath in that thin air, and the depth of his words, as…
