Everything then got covered in cold, Freudian slip, cloud.
All we can see is white we're so high. The walks are really hard. Stumbling, trudging up hill, like walking with flu. And the steep descents hurt our knees.
Ah my slanty writing in my diary looks like Bob's. I miss her.
Oh I forgot: At lunch Josh asked if it's safe to eat cold chips. Chantal probably knows as her Mother is a Doctor. She uses this as her evidence for everything.
The guesthouse is nice. Big communal room with benches all around which we bring our blankets on to for cuddling. Been feeling really low and need lots of closeness. Trying to use the girls rather than pouncing on Joe and scaring him, or my dear Pemba. Oh i'm so cold.
El kindly let Josh have an Ibuprofen. This was the start of 8 hours of him wretching brown (snickers) saliva over his hands, trousers, the table, our dinner. I moved for pudding. He was convinced he had it stuck in his throat and needed an operation. Pemba gave him two options finally.
1) Descend in the dark 8 hours down to Namche to see a Doctor
2) Be helicoptored to Katmandu in the morning.
I was so fed up of it I was willing to take one option myself.
He went to bed and we played a game of celebrity name on the forehead before we retired ourselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment