I checked the little thermometer on my pack this morning—40 degrees in my room. Each night we stay in a teahouse/lodge. Some are nicer and more comfortable than others, but they all share some characteristics. The rooms are quite compact, usually two twin beds, although I seem to have lucked out with a single, which usually contains one full-size bed. Most always, the walls are of plywood, the windows single pane. Indoor-outdoor carpeting, usually green, covers the floor. A thin mattress, covered by sheets and blankets of dubious cleanliness, sits on a wooden platform. We all just use our sleeping bags on top of the bed. I brought a cotton pillowcase from home that I slip over the pillow that is provided.
Bathrooms are down the hall—no multi-stall set-ups here. At the nicer lodges, there is one toilet, which on a good day actually flushes. When it doesn't flush, the user must scoop a bucket of water from a large barrel and pour it into the toilet, which often leads to a splattered toilet seat. At the more basic teahouses, the squat system prevails. Picture a porcelain squatter with foot grips (except many people can't seem to figure out where to put their feet, leading to "missing" the hole), sometimes encased in ice (making the process a dangerous undertaking). Now imagine rushing to the bathroom in the middle of the night, trying to hurriedly lock the door, and squat over a slippery hole—a rather formidable event. As we got higher in the valley, the "Go Girl" pee funnel/pee bottle option became far more desirable.
All toilet paper gets thrown in a plastic bin in the corner of the bathroom. Somehow, this was lost on many, toilet paper inevitably ending up in the toilet and clogging it. Yes, I know, more than you needed to hear about the toilets.
One sink, cold water only, sits outside the toilet area. Sometimes a shower is available, but I can't describe it because I haven't opted to explore that route yet. If I had brought a towel larger than my 8x10 camp towel, I might consider dealing with my filthiness. But then there's the issue of trying to dry my hair (which would not dry on its own overnight) and getting back into dirty clothes again. Would I really feel that much better? For now, Wet Wipes rule.
The dining room has tables and bench seats around the perimeter, beneath large picture windows. In the center of the room sits a wood stove that, when fed, can pump out an extraordinary amount of heat. At the lower altitudes, wood and cardboard scraps feed the stove. At higher altitudes, yak dung is used for fuel. Interesting odor. During dinner, it is usually preferable to sit on the window side of the table rather than towards the stove. This room is also the gathering room—games of chess, Euchre, rummy, and backgammon are common. Snack items and a few beverages—candy bars, Coke, Pringles, toilet paper, and bottled water—are sold at a counter.
The hallways, often stone, are frigid underfoot (another reason to opt for the pee funnel). For some reason, the front door to the teahouse is often wide open, presumably because if the building's not heated, then there's no heat to escape.
These teahouses are our lodgings for one, sometimes two, nights. Our crew of 9 trail Sherpas ("Sherpas" used loosely because a couple of them are from different Nepali tribes) work day in/day out to help us, always smiling. They serve us food and drink, fill our water bottles, deliver our duffels to our rooms and pick them up when we leave, lead us on the trails, and accompany anyone needing extra help. If someone even mutters a desire for anything (honey for bread, hot sauce, or a different hot drink), it magically appears without a formal ask. They are a joyful, kind, peaceful, generous, and entertaining lot.
Bathrooms are down the hall—no multi-stall set-ups here. At the nicer lodges, there is one toilet, which on a good day actually flushes. When it doesn't flush, the user must scoop a bucket of water from a large barrel and pour it into the toilet, which often leads to a splattered toilet seat. At the more basic teahouses, the squat system prevails. Picture a porcelain squatter with foot grips (except many people can't seem to figure out where to put their feet, leading to "missing" the hole), sometimes encased in ice (making the process a dangerous undertaking). Now imagine rushing to the bathroom in the middle of the night, trying to hurriedly lock the door, and squat over a slippery hole—a rather formidable event. As we got higher in the valley, the "Go Girl" pee funnel/pee bottle option became far more desirable.
All toilet paper gets thrown in a plastic bin in the corner of the bathroom. Somehow, this was lost on many, toilet paper inevitably ending up in the toilet and clogging it. Yes, I know, more than you needed to hear about the toilets.
One sink, cold water only, sits outside the toilet area. Sometimes a shower is available, but I can't describe it because I haven't opted to explore that route yet. If I had brought a towel larger than my 8x10 camp towel, I might consider dealing with my filthiness. But then there's the issue of trying to dry my hair (which would not dry on its own overnight) and getting back into dirty clothes again. Would I really feel that much better? For now, Wet Wipes rule.
The dining room has tables and bench seats around the perimeter, beneath large picture windows. In the center of the room sits a wood stove that, when fed, can pump out an extraordinary amount of heat. At the lower altitudes, wood and cardboard scraps feed the stove. At higher altitudes, yak dung is used for fuel. Interesting odor. During dinner, it is usually preferable to sit on the window side of the table rather than towards the stove. This room is also the gathering room—games of chess, Euchre, rummy, and backgammon are common. Snack items and a few beverages—candy bars, Coke, Pringles, toilet paper, and bottled water—are sold at a counter.
The hallways, often stone, are frigid underfoot (another reason to opt for the pee funnel). For some reason, the front door to the teahouse is often wide open, presumably because if the building's not heated, then there's no heat to escape.
These teahouses are our lodgings for one, sometimes two, nights. Our crew of 9 trail Sherpas ("Sherpas" used loosely because a couple of them are from different Nepali tribes) work day in/day out to help us, always smiling. They serve us food and drink, fill our water bottles, deliver our duffels to our rooms and pick them up when we leave, lead us on the trails, and accompany anyone needing extra help. If someone even mutters a desire for anything (honey for bread, hot sauce, or a different hot drink), it magically appears without a formal ask. They are a joyful, kind, peaceful, generous, and entertaining lot.
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