Friday 11/6
Sitting on a cedar bough covered dirt floor, in a low
slung, stark and cold stone hut, I watched as a sun
darkened and weather etched woman laid out a large tarp in
the middle of the floor. She had two large containers
filled with steaming rice, and in an explosion of vapor,
she disappeared like an apparition, as she dumped the
contents on the tarp, separating and stirring the thick
clumps and adding substances one can only guess at. Satisfied with her handiwork, she placed the rice in a
large carrying sack, to be consumed later on the trail by
the porters.
I have been sitting around the cooking fire this evening
with the Sherpa family that owns this Tea House. It’s
really only a converted summer hut used for the Yak
herders and is the last and only one on the approach to
Mt. Mera. We are in Tanglet.
The little girl, perhaps six, is super cute. The father
informs me that he also has four sons. Children are the
same everywhere. Break down the barrier of shyness and
they love to play, And so we did. I tickled her and tossed
her in the air. We made faces and animals with our hands,
one on one. My rapport with the child brought me into the
family circle and I was pleased.
