Day 4: Namche Bazaar to Phortse Tanga
Distance: 5.47 miles
Elevation Gain: 2,156 feet
Today was a turning point—literally and figuratively. We left the main Everest Base Camp trail and veered off toward Gokyo Lakes, taking a quieter, less-traveled path. The crowds thinned out almost immediately, and it was a very welcome change.
Into the High Mountains
The climb today was steep in parts, but the rewards were everywhere. This was our first day of constant big mountain views—snow-dusted giants rising around every bend. It felt like we had officially entered the high Himalayas.
I also took some of my favorite photos of the entire trip today. One image in particular, taken during a quick rest break, looked oddly familiar once I got home—turns out, it was almost an exact match for a souvenir painting I had bought in Kathmandu before we even started trekking. Somehow I had managed to stumble into the very scene the artist had painted without even realizing it.
Later that day, I caught a glimpse of a Himalayan tahr—a large, shaggy mountain goat-antelope hybrid—roaming near our guesthouse. I managed to grab a quick photo before its stink eye managed to scare me off.
A Very Rustic Retreat
Our stop for the night was in Phortse Tanga, a small village that’s not part of the usual tourist route, which made it feel wonderfully remote. Because most trekkers push on to larger villages, Phortse Tanga remains tiny—just a few guesthouses nestled into a quiet river valley.
Our guesthouse was brand new, which basically meant it was still under construction. Most of the interior was made of unfinished plywood, and the walls were thin enough to hear everything. That said, we did get a private room with an ensuite bathroom—a rare bit of luxury at this point in the trek.
Unfortunately, the toilet leaked so badly we had to ask them to shut the water off to keep it from flooding our room. But hey—almost luxury still counts, right?
The Best—and Worst—Meal of the Trek
Dinner that night was… an experience. Our guesthouse offered spicy Korean ramen, which sounded like a glorious break from the usual dal bhat and garlic soup rotation. It was loaded with vegetables and canned tuna, and it was delicious—easily one of the tastiest things we ate on the entire trip.
Unfortunately, it also gave both of us our first bout of GI distress. Whether it was the spice, the tuna, the altitude, or just our stomachs deciding to rebel, we were not feeling great afterward. Delicious? Yes. Regrettable? Also yes.
Day 5: Phortse Tanga to Machermo
Distance: 5.57 miles
Elevation Gain: 2,965 feet
Guess what? We climbed. A lot. Noticing a trend here?
Today we passed the 14,000-foot mark, a milestone where altitude starts to mess with even seasoned hikers. Thankfully, both Karin and I were still symptom-free—no headaches, no nausea, no fuzzy-headed altitude hangover. Credit to our slow pace, acclimatization days, and maybe the Diamox doing its job.
This section of the trek felt quiet and authentic, as we passed through a series of tiny villages, many of which are only inhabited during trekking season. It’s hard to fathom what life is like up here—where for five months a year, nearly everything you need is carried in strapped to your head, or if you are lucky, on the back of a dzo or donkey. No roads. No easy way out. Just trails and resilience.
Day 6: Machermo to Gokyo
Distance: 4.57 miles
Elevation Gain: 1,388 feet
Today was a much-needed break from relentless climbing. The trail from Machermo to Gokyo is gentler, and under normal circumstances, it also delivers some of the most breathtaking scenery on the trek.
But not for us.
Despite choosing a season known for clear skies and crisp days, we woke to clouds that thickened as we climbed, eventually turning into snowfall. The grandeur of the mountains was reduced to a quiet, eerie greyness. It was beautiful in its own way—peaceful, subdued—but it also meant we missed what’s supposed to be some of the most dramatic views on the trail.
We arrived in Gokyo, a surprisingly large village nestled beside the pristine turquoise lake of the same name. It felt like something out of a fantasy novel—minus the visibility. On a clear day, you can see Gokyo Ri, the mountain just beyond the village, which offers some of the best panoramic views of the entire Himalaya, including Everest itself.
Summiting Gokyo Ri was the plan for tomorrow. At least… it was.
Day 7: Gokyo Acclimatization Day (aka: Not Climbing Gokyo Ri)
This day was supposed to be one of the best viewpoints of our trek—Gokyo Ri. We were meant to start before dawn, climb in the crisp morning air, and arrive at the summit just as the sun lit up Everest, Cho Oyu, and the Gokyo Lakes below.
But the mountains had other plans.
A few inches of snow overnight made the trail too slippery and unstable for a safe early ascent. Our guide offered a possible afternoon climb, but by then clouds were predicted to roll back in—meaning we’d hike up and see… nothing. To top it off, my cold had officially leveled up to bronchitis. I could barely speak three words without a violent coughing fit. Everyone agreed: pushing it today might jeopardize the rest of the trek.
So instead of summiting a Himalayan peak, we had a slow morning, huddled in the tea house, sipping ginger tea and trying to warm our feet by the stove. After breakfast, Karin and I wandered down to the local pharmacy, preparing to argue my case for antibiotics. Turned out all I had to do was say “azithromycin,” hand over the equivalent of $6 USD, and I was all set. Antibiotic stewardship be damned, I was grateful.
A Surprise Favorite Day
In the afternoon, we went exploring. No agenda. Just wandering.
Our guide took us up a trail toward the glacier we’d be crossing the next day. (Spoiler alert: not a postcard glacier—more like a heap of dirty snow and rocks, but still impressive in scale.) We followed animal tracks up a hill and down the other side, to a small lake we hadn’t seen the day before due to fog and clouds.
There, in that quiet, windswept place, I built my first-ever cairn. (I hear you, Leave No Trace purists. But I also challenge you to walk a mile in the high Himalayas without seeing a cairn. They’re everywhere—and something about them speaks to me.) I’ve been drawn to cairns since childhood, and building one in the Himalayas felt oddly personal and symbolic
That evening, we returned to the tea house and crammed around the yak dung stove once again to keep from freezing. We shared conversations that night with trekkers from France, Austria, and Israel ranging from topics about hiking and politics, to the mysterious intricacies of backgammon. It was one of the most memorable social moments of the trek—unexpected and exactly what makes travel so enriching.
Day 8: Gokyo to Thanga
Distance: 2.41 miles
Elevation Gain: 709 feet
This was a short day on paper—but the kind of short that still manages to kick your butt.
The route out of Gokyo took us over the Ngozumpa Glacier, the longest glacier in the Himalayas, and every step was an exercise in concentration. Think uneven, ice-covered rocks, hidden patches of snow, and just enough shifting ground to keep you constantly on edge. It wasn’t technical, but it demanded focus.
Eventually, we descended into the valley village of Thanga, and something about this place stole my heart.
Nestled between towering peaks with a small stream weaving through its center, Thanga felt peaceful in a way few places ever do. As the sun began to dip behind the ridgelines, lighting the mountains in ever-changing pinks, golds, and purples. I found myself constandtly abandoning my card game with Karin to run outside and try to capture it—but of course, no photo could do it justice.
There was magic in that light—and in the silence.
Little Luxuries at 15,000 Feet
Perhaps the best surprise of all? We were still in a private room.
All of my research had prepared me for this stretch of the trek—past Gokyo and toward Base Camp—to involve dorm-style sleeping arrangements. Not ideal when you’re coughing incessantly all night. I had been dreading the guilt of keeping everyone awake, rather than just Karin and our immediate neighbors.
But somehow, we never had to share. Every single night, all the way through to Gorak Shep, we had our own room—paper-thin plywood walls and all. Was it warm? Not really. Was it quiet? Not even close. But was it our little space to crash, cough, and recharge? Absolutely. And that tiny bit of privacy felt like pure luxury.
Up next: Days 9-11, some of the biggest days of the trek. As always, see Instagram at The_NomadsWay for further pictures