It’s weird, isn’t it? That part of travelling. The part where you cross paths with strangers who fade off into the distance never to be seen – by you – again. The person you keep awkwardly bumping on the plane arm rest, the taxi driver who tells you his life story in the space of 7 minutes, the child that decides to untie and then re-tie your shoelace at a bus stop, the Elvis impersonator who renews your parents’ wedding vows in Vegas when you were 8 years old.

I think about those people a lot. Sometimes, I think I might think about them more than the actual characters in my life. I wonder where they are now. Did he make his flight connection? Did he manage to pay his rent this month? Who did she grow up to be? Does he still think describing my mum as my dad’s “hunka hunka burnin’ love” was funny and not at all traumatising? I wonder.

In March last year, I completed the 14 day round-trip hike to Everest Base Camp. For me, this was more a pilgrimage than a holiday, given that it was about five years in the making thanks to dreaming, saving and covid-induced hibernation. It had been such a long time coming that when it came I felt like I was watching another person live my life. So when the kid with braces who carried my bag up to my hotel room in Kathmandu asked me in the elevator, “Annapurna or Everest?” It didn’t even sound like my own voice that replied, “Everest”. How was I finally here?

I think about him. The Boy With The Braces. How many Westerners like me does he see a month? All bright eyed and ready to go with their overweight backpacks and air of entitlement? I wonder if he’s always wanted to work in hotels.

On Day 7 of the trek, we stopped at a teahouse – a small lodge situated in a village called Phortse. I wasn’t even through the door before a felt an extra weight somewhere around my knee. A little girl, not more than four, Hello Kitty hair-clipped up to her eyeballs, had latched herself on to me and wouldn’t let go. “She learnt English on YouTube,” her mum told me. The little girl and I threw a ball back and forth for 15 minutes or so, then I went outside and waved goodbye while she patted a dog. I wonder if she’s always been fond of dogs.

On the flight from Lukla to Kathmandu, I sat next to an aging Nepalese man. I was terrified, gripping the headrest of the seat in front of me as if that was the difference between flying and falling. “Did you know I was married when I was 16?” He began. “My wife was 14. It was an arranged marriage and that day was the first day we met. I have two daughters – one lives in England and one lives in Germany. They invite me to visit but I tell them I don’t want to go – I like it here. Everyone wanted me to have a son too. But I told them I didn’t need a son – that I would never need more than my girls. And I was right.” I don’t know why he told me. I wonder what his girls’ names are.

The traffic back to Kathmandu at midday had us crawling. An overcrowded bus pulled up next to us. I locked eyes with a woman. Perfect hair, beautiful acrylic nails, eyelash extensions – standing out in the poverty that surrounded us both. She wouldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than me. I smiled at her. The surgical face mask she was wearing covered her returned smile, but the crinkles at the corner of her eyes told me it was there. We held eye contact for a few seconds, then she raised her hand and waved. I gently waved back. Then the bus turned a corner. I wonder if we could have been friends in another life.

It’s weird, isn’t it? That part of travelling. To intersect, just for a moment, with these fully formed, completely rounded people who are now just brief interactions in my story, and to know that in theirs I’m just another Western girl in the elevator, an English speaking visitor who can throw a ball, a nervous flier who should have popped a Valium, and a potential friend just trying to get home.

I know they may never think of me again, but I think of them, and the stories they’ve given me – these people who were, and the mountain that linked us.

And after 14 days of trekking, I’m really starting to think that maybe they were the whole point.

 

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