The snowstorm continued overnight into the morning, so there was no point in climbing Kalapattar to see Mount Everest. Everybody was ready to retreat. My partner also decided to leave, but couldn’t separate from his heavy backpack. He would not keep up with the group with his heavy bag. I argued that hiring a porter would prevent him from being exhausted, and would contribute to the local economy, why not? He had none of it. By the time the last group was about to depart, he urged me to join them, who planned to move at a fast pace since they only needed to carry their small daypacks; my partner wanted to go down with his full luggage at his own pace (He ended up arriving in Kathmandu three days later).

The youngsters, all anxious to get down, raced in the heavy snow and I could barely keep up with them. We were backtracking except for a portion between Lobuche and Tengboche where we took a parallel route via Pheriche instead of going through Dingboche; however, it did not feel like the scenes repeating since we were oriented in the opposite direction, and the landscape had been redecorated by the snowfall. It had the feel of a new route altogether. The backtrack in this case paid off.

On the first day, we rushed 15km/9.5ml, reaching a village called Pangboche of 4,000m/13,100ft, and freezing our buns off again that night. The snowstorm halted on the second day. The white mountains projecting to the turquoise sky presented the unique beauty of the Himalayan Mountains. When passing through Tengboche, Mount Everest graced us once more. I wondered if anyone regretted not going to the top of Kalapattar...

We bagged another 14km/9ml, skipping Namche Bazaar and settling at Monjo of 2,800m/9,200ft. The resourceful guide took us to a teahouse called Summit, which was unforgettable for this trip. To our pleasant surprise, it had an attached bathroom with a shower; more surprising was to discover there was hot water! This was my first decent hot shower since leaving Kathmandu 10 days ago. At dinnertime, everyone came in high spirits as if all had gained a new page in life. This was also the first time we touched alcohol, to celebrate. That night the room was again like an ice cave, but after the hot shower, a little bit of liquor, plus thinking about tomorrow being our last night, I believed everybody slept well.

The following day we took less than four hours to set foot in Lukla, the last stop. No one expected to be greeted by the bad news: the airport had been closed for two days due to the weather. Lukla was a small place; the cumulation of three days’ worth of hikers burst almost all the teahouses. Not only returning to Kathmandu by tomorrow was an issue, but where to stay for the night also became a question. A friendly guide made a good effort to find me a room in a teahouse next to the end of the runway, otherwise I would spend the night in somebody’s dining room.

Another buns-freezing off/no shower night; but it was worse to think about the uncertainty of the remaining trip: Lukla airport was known to be closed for multiple days in bad weather. I couldn’t fall asleep that night.