Remote

The shop was smaller than a walk in closet.  Every crevice held knock off trekking gear leaving only a few feet to maneuver in the pitch dark.  My brother and I debated the merits of a lumpy sleeping bag while an eager shop owner held up a flash light.

My plan was loose and my husband was pacing worriedly.  I was taking his only child six hours away to the remote regions of Nepal armed only with a map and the promise that a guide would meet us at the tea house at our final destination.  As we left town my confidence dwindled.  The road quickly became a series of potholes tied together with slivers of pavement.

We bounced along in our over-sized SUV that we had lovingly named "The Beast" and the smog of Kathmandu began to clear.  I was reminded why this trip was worth it.  Kathmandu is every shade of brown.  Brown smog sits on the city.  Brown dirt coats brown trash lying on the brown street.  Outside of the city the landscape slowly becomes shades of deep green. Terraced hillsides grow into the massive snow topped Himalayas.

We honked a loud warning as we rounded every turn on the switchback road and narrowly missed a head on collision with a speeding bus. I stopped at our first military check point testing my novice Nepali language skills.  The guards smiled at my attempts and we passed through without incident.  As we drove through tiny mountain villages young men laughed at a girl driving - a sight rarely seen in Nepal.

At the mountain town of Sarabu Besi we unloaded our car.  A slight woman in a long dress greeted us at the tea house.  She had dark hair and distinctly Tibetan features.  We inspected our gear and looked up at the Mountain.  In the morning we would begin a three day uphill climb to reach the glaciers at nearly 15,000 feet.