Book description…
“Over 700 climbers have reached the summit of Everest itself, and it has become the sport of the wealthy. Permit fees run about $10,000 per person; most expeditions have base budgets beginning at $300,000. These groups, obviously well supplied, plus the many independent, low-budget travelers, leave behind massive amounts of litter and sometimes a shameful record of exploitation of their largely Sherpa porters. Douglas, a British climber and an editor of Climber magazine, reports skillfully on the two-edged sword of ‘adventure travel.'”
My comments…
Chomolungma — “Goddess Mother of the World” — is the Sherpa name for Mount Everest. Ed Douglas’ book — part travelogue, part social commentary — explores the dark side of the mountain: the environmental and cultural impact of a half-century of tourism since Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay reached the top.
Douglas is original, funny, perceptive and a good writer. I like him even though he’s English.
The book illuminates much more than its primary themes. While it isn’t meant to be a “how to behave when you go to Nepal” guide, there’s a lot I can infer from Douglas’ stories: It’s a serious breach of etiquette to eat with your left hand, which is reserved for outhouse matters. The distinction between a guide and a porter is significant and to confuse the roles is an insult. (A guide is the more prestigious.)
Douglas has a delightful way of reporting on big issues as he travels around, and then zooming in on small things. A meal of yellow potatoes leads to a history of potato planting and uses in the high country. After watching porters with their imponderably heavy loads, he tells us about medical studies of the long-term effects of tumplines on the neck and back. That sounds a little prosaic but it’s mostly quite interesting (though he does dawdle a little too much sometimes).
I’ve never planned to go someplace that’s so blatantly fraught with difficulties, and this book makes that idea even more intimidating: tales of festering blisters, soggy mattresses in filthy lodging, life-threatening altitude sickness, planked and wobbly suspension bridges over mighty gorges, frequent encounters with never-cleaned outhouses with shite splattered everywhere, endless grueling hiking up and down and up and down and up and down, all kinds of nasty disease and infection, and who knows whatall.
In light of the hardships (did you know that only creatures Buddhists will kill are lice?) I wonder why so many westerners go. The people, traditions, religions and incomprehensible beauty of the place must ultimately dwarf the bad stuff. Douglas’ writing conveys some of that magnificence (naturally, without romanticizing it), but I suspect that to really get it, You Have to Have Been There. I hope that a few months from now, I’ll really understand. In the meantime, I need serious Buddhist/mindfulness meditation techniques. And after returning from a flat, mile-long walk a few minutes ago, I realize I also need serious exercise.
After all these expressions of anxiety, it’s important to note that my trepidation belies my huge excitement about the trip.
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