It was 1992, and I had just completed my board examinations. My mother asked whether I would like to trek to Mount Everest Base Camp in Nepal. My parents—especially my mother—had already introduced me to trekking and mountaineering, so the answer came easily. At fifteen, this felt like the opportunity of a lifetime.
Six trekkers, one fifteen-year-old boy
We were a group of six: my mother, four of her friends from the Ladies Mountaineering and Trekking Club, and me. I was the only boy and the only male member of the group. From Kathmandu we boarded a very small aircraft for Lukla, where our trek would begin.
The flight itself made a lasting impression. I remember the compact mountain airstrip and, beside the runway, the wreck of a small aircraft. For a fifteen-year-old arriving in the Himalayas, it was an unsettling reminder that this was not an ordinary journey.
It was a pure, raw trekking experience: no GPS, no internet, no Google Maps—nothing except the trail, our guide and the mountains.
On the trail from Lukla
We hired a young Nepali porter-guide who travelled with a mule, carried our luggage and showed us the path. From Lukla we walked to Phakding and then onwards to Namche Bazaar. The route continued through the high Himalayan settlements towards Tengboche, the Dingboche region and Kala Patthar, before the final journey to Everest Base Camp.
Namche Bazaar was one of the most memorable stops. Trekkers and mountaineers from around the world converged there. We listened to their experiences, learned from them and rested so that our bodies could acclimatise to the altitude. It felt like a true mountain crossroads.
When the group had to turn back
Altitude changed the journey for our group. Some members became unwell and had to return. My mother was fit enough to continue, but one of her friends could not go back alone, so my mother accompanied her. In the end, only two members of our original group reached Everest Base Camp.
It was a difficult moment. I was moving towards a destination we had planned together, while my mother—who had introduced me to the mountains—had to turn back out of concern for a friend.
The summit window
As we approached Base Camp, the mountain was emerging from several days of severe weather. Expedition teams had been waiting for the skies to clear before attempting the summit. By the time we arrived, the camp was filled with the release and celebration that followed a successful climb.
The highlight of my journey was meeting mountaineer Santosh Yadav with the Indo-Tibetan Border Police (ITBP) expedition at Base Camp. I remember the happiness around their camp after the successful summit. In my recollection, it was her first successful Everest summit. I was exhausted, but the joy of meeting an Everest climber there—at fifteen, after walking all that way—knew no bounds. We took photographs together, and the team warmly invited me to remain and share in the celebration.
Mount Everest is not visible throughout the trek—and it cannot be seen from Everest Base Camp itself. We saw the peak from selected points along the route, but being at Base Camp does not mean standing beneath an unobstructed view of the summit.
The locked hut
On our return towards Lukla, we stopped overnight at a village hut somewhere around the Dingboche or Deboche stretch; after so many years I cannot be certain of the exact place. We were so tired that we fell asleep almost as soon as we entered.
The next morning we woke to discover that the owner was missing—and that she had locked us inside. For a moment, we were frightened and did not know what to do. She returned about an hour later. She had gone to graze her cattle and had locked the hut to keep us safe from wild animals. What began as a scare became one of the funniest and most unforgettable memories of the trek.
Two days waiting in Lukla
Bad weather disrupted flights from Kathmandu, and we had to wait in Lukla for two full days. I remember that different fare arrangements appeared to apply to local and foreign passengers, and the more expensive alternative felt far beyond what I should spend. I badly missed my mother, who was already back in Kathmandu, but I restrained myself and waited.
Eventually, a regular flight became available. When I reached Kathmandu and saw my mother again, I was tremendously happy. The trek had taken me to Everest Base Camp, but that reunion was an equally powerful ending to the journey.
What remains
More than three decades later, I remember the absence of technology, the people we met, the altitude, the uncertainty and the exhilaration of reaching Base Camp at fifteen. It was not a polished or predictable expedition. It was a raw encounter with the Himalayas—and one of the journeys that shaped my lifelong love of travel.