Daily Chronicles

We met our Sherpa and porter team in the morning, exchanged our now-familiar greetings, and after breakfast, set off.

The same stone steps we had climbed the previous day stood waiting—almost mockingly. We tackled them anyway and pushed on. Yaks became more frequent companions now, their bell rhythms slowly turning into a familiar soundtrack.

The trail unfolded with a comforting variety: restroom stops, small markets and convenience shops, stupas and prayer flags, hanging bridges, narrow paths carved into ridges, and deep gorges cutting through the land.

There was downhill, uphill, and the occasional flat stretch—rare but appreciated. The landscapes kept changing, but one thing remained constant. Ama Dablam !!!

She stood tall ahead of us, elegant and unmistakable, almost as if we were walking toward her. It felt that way for most of the day.

With no shortage of views, no shortage of rice-and-daal at lunch, and no shortage of good wishes flowing in from friends and family back home, we kept moving forward. It was adorable when our sweet guide pointed out to his “Gaav” (village) . He smiled, saying he would get to go home after the trek season.

By late afternoon, we reached Tengboche Monastery, the spiritual heart of the Khumbu. Our timing couldn’t have been better—the monks were beginning their evening prayers. We soaked into the hymns.

Chanting rose into the thin mountain air, drifting across the courtyard and into the surrounding peaks. It was one of those moments that makes you stop—not out of fatigue, but reverence. The calm it brought to our trekker souls is hard to describe.

We ran into Preet again, exchanged smiles, clicked a few photos, and continued on.

Another hour and a half of walking brought us to our teahouse in Tengboche.

The familiar routine followed: evening snacks of Good Day biscuits and crackers, a few cool-down stretches, and then dinner.

Later, we stepped outside for some stargazing. With no light pollution and near-complete silence, the sky felt impossibly close. One could faintly see the Milky Way in the sky. Like curious children, we looked up, clicking whatever photos we could manage. We were the only ones outside—quiet, cold, and completely mesmerised.

Inside, the teahouse was noticeably simpler. Dim lights lined narrow hallways and the small dining room. Wi-Fi was scarce and unreliable. The walls were thin, sinks were in common areas, and privacy was a luxury.

Listening to each other’s snores through those thin walls, we eventually drifted off to sleep—tired, content, and steadily climbing higher.