The Lion of Khum Jung

Chapter 4-2

After they unloaded the plane and collected their gear, Frank led them into the quaint village nestled in the sleepy foothills of Sagarmatha. Sagarmatha was the national park reserve that encompassed many of the legendary peaks sought after by climbers, Everest not the least of them. As they tramped down the main street dividing the village, Sangye and he bade old friends good morning.

Lukla was one of Frank’s favorite oases up in the mountains. Its cozy relaxed atmosphere and unfailing folk provided a welcome doorway into the land he loved. Today, the sun was shining and an endless blue sky soared above.

He hitched his pack up on his shoulder and strode down the broken macadam-paved street for another hundred meters until he came to a small sign with the words Juniper Hotel on it. The Juniper Hotel, or teahouse, was owned and operated by Ang Nyi-ma Lha-mo or just Lotti, as she was known to most. Lotti was a small, venerable old woman of sixty-eight who was beloved by all who knew her, and she treated Frank like a son. Just now, he could see her in his mind’s eye standing by the front door looking back at him with laughing brown eyes and a broad smile that lacked a couple of front teeth.

Turning around to make sure he still had everyone with him, he pointed to the narrow alleyway on his left that led back to the three-story cut-stone and tan stucco-faced hostel. “Okay, this is our digs for tonight,” he called back. “Once we’re settled in, you can poke around town if you want to while I check on the rest of our gear and supplies coming in from Kathmandu.”

To Sangye, he said, “Do me a favor; call Daku and double check to see if our gear’s on schedule to fly out on time.”

Sangye pulled his cell phone out and drifted ahead down the street as Frank and his clients ducked into the alleyway and went down a small stairway between the street shops. At the end of the alleyway behind the one-story masonry buildings was a small sunlit courtyard. Piled against one wall was a long shoulder-height stack of firewood. His Sirdar, Ang Da-wa Phu-Dorje, who was plucking pieces off of it, turned around just as Frank set his pack on the ground.

“Namaste,” Da-wa said. “How was your flight?”

Frank went over and embraced the short, stocky man. Pulling back to look at his round coffee-colored face, he said, “It was good. So, we all lined up for today? Got a lot of gear coming in.”

The Sherpa returned one of his patented broad smiles. “They’ll be here right after lunch.”

“Good. How many hands do we have?”

“Fifteen, I thought would be enough,” Da-wa said, and glanced around Frank’s shoulder. “Good-looking group we have coming in.”

Frank turned back to see his clients piling in behind him. Clearing his throat, he said, “Folks, this is Ang Da-wa Phu-Dorje, your lead guide for the expedition.”

“But you can call me Dave,” the Sirdar said. He went over and started shaking hands with them until he came to the Widow. Smiling politely at her, he dipped his head slightly in respect before passing by her to finish greeting the rest of the men.

As the Sirdar finished up saying his hellos, Frank saw Sangye had returned. When the man gave him the thumbs-up that everything was going as scheduled, Frank spoke up. “Everyone, just leave your packs and gear out here for right now.”

Afterward, Frank called Da-wa over. When the Sherpa came close, Frank made his voice low and broke into Lhasa. “Any news on Patterson?”

“Not yet. Something you should know, though. Cho-pal and Sun-jo say Park soldiers checking permits very close now. Something going on in Monjo, I think.” He gave Frank a wary glance then bent over and cinched the cloth strap around the firewood that was sitting at his feet. After he picked the bundle up, he took hold of Frank’s hand and squeezed it. “Anyway, come. Lotti has tea brewing and wants to get started with lunch.”

As her guests passed by single file into the adjacent receiving room, Lotti stood back to get a good look at them. As ageless and enduring as the mountains, she had remained unchanged by the gradual influx of technology creeping up the slopes of the majestic Himalayas.

Wiping her hands on her tattered apron, she handed Frank a cup of masala tea and said, “You’ve lost weight. Are you eating okay?”

“I’m doing just fine, Lotti, and how are you?” Frank said.

“I’m very good. The rooms are ready upstairs. Come, I’ll get the keys for you.”

Frank followed her into the main dining room and waited while she dug them out from underneath the transaction counter. Looking around, he noticed she’d purchased new tables and chairs for the large, rectangular wood-paneled room. Also, there was a new cast iron potbellied stove that had replaced the old, worn-out drum-style one that had stood in the center of the room for over twenty years. As usual, the café-style curtains hanging over the long ribbon of narrow windows were crisp and colorful, and fresh flowers were placed in glass vases on the tables.

As she rummaged around behind the counter, her reedy voice floated out. “So, how are things up in Khum Jung? I hear you are building a new classroom at the high school.”

“Not much gets past your ears, does it?” Frank replied with a smile. “But, yes, things are going well up in Khum Jung.”

She stood up and handed him the keys. “That is good. Well, why don’t I let you introduce me to my guests.”

Frank drained his tea with one long gulp and headed for the receiving room where the group was busy talking among themselves. Getting everyone’s attention, he introduced Lotti and gave a bit of history about her teahouse, which had the distinction of having housed Tenzing Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary several times in the early seventies. As he went around handing out room keys, Lotti followed him, getting their names and where they were from. Lotti loved finding out about guests who stayed under her roof.