We got up at 600AM the next morning to catch a one hour flight to Mt. Everest on Yeti Airlines. Sure, you can spend a minimum of 3 months and $100,000 trekking to Everest but for $150 do the whole deal in 60 minutes. Either way you get a certificate of having done the mighty Chomolungma ("Mother Goddess of the Universe") as its known to the sherpas.
I had recently proven my manhood by enduring the 24 hour flight from LAX to Kathmandu not to mention having finished Peter Matthiessen's "The Snow Leopard" on the plane. Matthiessen's detailed account of what its like to spend the night in a rain soaked sleeping bag in the Himalayas (as he pondered the koan given to him by his Zen Master: "All the peaks are covered with snow---why is this one bare?") is the Eastern counterpart to Proust's 50 page description of a Madeleine cookie.
Back on the ground we faced a danger more frightening than doing Everest without oxygen: the taxi ride back into Kathmandu. There is no other way to do it. We'd been invited for breakfast at the three star hotel managed by two of Lauren's Nepalese friends. I won't give their names or the hotel because then I couldn't say how much I envied their life of managing the hotel by smoking the best Nepalese grass and playing ping pong all day on the viewing deck on top of the hotel. We had a delicious Nepali breakfast and then got out the paddles.
I was expecting to be easily beaten by anyone who plays hours of daily table tennis but I hadn't factored in the world's most powerful majijuana. I could have beat them with my eyes closed. I probably had some kind of contact high because I began to see my worthy opponent as a yeti with gold jewelry. Then he morphed into cookie monster. We went back to Lauren and Mer's apartment and took a three hour nap. I was beginning to see the attraction of this place.
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