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Return to the Pheriche Backgammon Club
I left Pheriche one Monday morning March on a medical escort to Namche, leaving group D in the care of Gabriel and Sarah. The workload had been gradually increasing, but problems were still largely surmountable- gastroenteritis and mild altitude sickness â€" the sensible ascent profile doing most of the work. By contrast, our neighbours, the Himalayan Rescue Association had already evacuated several patients by helicopter with HACE and HAPE, the unifying thread being that they had all ascended too quickly.
Things were otherwise well in Pheriche. The food had been excellent, the Dhal Bhat (meat or vegetable curry with lentils, rice and poppadums) with fresh green chilli paste proving a most popular dish and the recent discovery of egg and chips fast becoming the number one lunch- an instant classic for all apart from Sarah who persisted with soup and chips, an obscure combination at best, though perhaps not so out of place on a menu that includes deep fried mars and snickers. On an entertainment front, we had tired of cards and the Pheriche Backgammon Club was in full effect. Boom! A handmade playing cloth by Sarah, black and white stones handpicked from our local Himalayan river bed and dice hand-shaved from candles by Gabriel Jones (of the Gabriel Jones dice company fame), the sides still somewhat uneven (and with them the odds), the tell tale sign as any connoisseur will tell you of the so called Pheriche diceTM.
Our only problem was beer, alcohol prices being inversely proportional to barometric pressure, the cost of a coke can size of Everest beer being 500 rupees (roughly £4) such that a mere can a night had driven us close to bankruptcy. The problem had been eased by Sundeep’s kind gift of Pimms, a most appropriate choice in Pheriche: where summer is always in the air, where strawberries grow on trees and where there is always talk of tennis. Nonetheless, alcohol prices were steep, chocolate was as rare for us as it was for Charlie Bucket (before his visit to the Chocolate Factory of course) and Pringles were like (gold) dust. Prohibition was, in effect, in effect. Get some Snickers, they cried as I left...and some beer.
The trip to Namche was uneventful, the long walk broken by lemon tea in Pangboche and dhal bhat in Phak Ding, my lungs breathing deep the oxygen that increased with every step (apart from the steps uphill). Arriving in time to catch the shops, I headed into town, for coffee and cake and to find a good price for the items I had been tasked with purchasing. Such was the volume of acquisitions that I found myself with no option but to buy another rucksack, a 70 litre South Col bag from the highest Mountain Hardware store, the cost of which far eclipsed everything else, a fact which came as no surprise to Gabriel and Sarah who had already nicknamed me Richard Gear, something I did not mind, if not for my cinematic back catalogue (though I had once bought a VHS copy of Pretty Woman- because of Julia Roberts perhaps?).
After a pleasant evening in Club Namche, where I ably demonstrated my lack of pool skills, it was time to head back to Pheriche, the climb up Tengboche hill now all the more painful, the reward- a double espresso and chocolate brownie at the hilltop bakery â€"all the more deserved. The once ice covered slope to Deboche now mud I slid through the rhododendron forest, not an elf or hobbit in sight, arriving shortly at the Rivendell Lodge, a soviet style interpretation of JRR Tolkein’s masterpiece where we had stayed on the way up. Crossing the bridge across the gorge high above the river, which mirrored the failed former bridge below it I left Deboche, the landscape slowly giving way to the altitude, trees giving way to tundra, green to brown and thereafter black and white, the only hint of colour the tiny yellow butterflies dotted on rocks and prayer stones.
Passing between teahouses I played a game of spotting the XE2 stickers placed in the windows by the logistics team on the way up, a sort of modern day ‘Where’s Wally’, a game I continued until the thrill of the chase gave way to boredom and futility- the stickers were everywhere, I was the wally. And then I stopped in Pangboche, maintaining British traditions, for a cup of afternoon tea. The wall being built above the terrace was a couple of rows higher than it had been the previous morning and as I stared at the teahouse window scanning the array of stickers, faintly aware of the play of hammer on stone, I was struck by the sudden realisation, like the detective at the end of the Usual Suspects (‘when I was picking coffee beans in Guatemala...way back in Skokie, Illinois...’), that there was no sticker. I looked up suddenly, scanning the village for a man easing his way out of a fake limp, but there was no-one, the wall builders had vanished, the town was quiet, the sky was dark. Then, from the darkness of the teahouse a man emerged. ‘More tea?’ ‘No thank-you’, I replied. The conversation progressed, until it became apparent that I was a doctor and then came the history of recurrent fits, gastritis, alcoholism, rehab, MRI scans, blood tests. It was clear that there was nothing new I could offer. I listened patiently and as storm clouds gathered I made my excuses and left. Was there anything in my bag that could help, he asked as I stood up. There wasn’t, I said, a grimace creeping across my face, the 24 cans of Tuborg weighing heavy on my back as I walked on into the late afternoon.
I was soon at the top of the pass, my erstwhile hometown visible in the distance, a vicious wind whipping up the air. ‘In Pheriche’ a film trailer might say in that familiar deep and husky voice, ‘there are no trees to stop the wind’. Quickly, I walked to the river, crossed the bridge and was home. At the lodge there was now running water and flushing toilets. Little else had changed. I ordered a beer and a meat dhal bhat and slipped into the nearest chair. We were offered complimentary vegetable pakora- an out of the blue instant culinary classic. It was good to be back. Later, in my sleeping bag, the bedroom cold as ever, I drifted off to sleep as yak trains passed through the night, bells ringing like ice crystals in the clear night sky.
Jim Moonie - XE2 Medical Officer - Pheriche
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