The morning of my 32nd birthday didn't start out all that great: my porter Lhakpa didn't want to leave the guest house and get on the trail. Or maybe he felt he couldn't.

I told him to or three times I was ready to leave, and finally I walked out the door without him. When he didn't follow I yelled for him, then I went back to the guesthouse. When I walked inside, I saw him and the proprieter of the guesthouse in a very serious conversation. I understood none of the language they were speaking, but the innkeeper looked very stern, and Lhakpa looked very deferential and sheepish. Obviously Lhakpa owed him something—money? an explanation? a pledge to behave better next time?—and it was clear that Lhakpa wouldn't be leaving until it was resolved.

Lhakpa finally left with me. I never got an explanation—although Lhakpa was, by that time, starting to exhibit a troublesome fondness for alchohol. But, a couple hours later, we came to the fifth lake of the Gokyo valley—one of the most beautiful lakes I'd ever seen. And the innkeeper at the guesthouse in the village of Gokyo was able to bake me a birthday cake that night.

All images ©2002-2003 by Dietrich Neuman