A Rucksack Full of Cheese: The Daily Program

Oct. 4-9

I sometimes slept with earplugs or headphones, depending on the proximity of my tent to someone snoring, village dogs/bark-machines, or soothing river rapids. On naked-ear mornings, I'd usually wake up to "the boys" (our cooks and horsemen) singing as they heated water and harnessed the mules. At 6am hot tea and coffee were brought to our tents, followed soon after by warm washing water, which the tidier amongst us likely used to cleanse their faces, but I merely rinsed my hands in after tying my muddy/mule-poopy shoelaces. I'd get dressed, pack my things, and be prompt for 7am breakfast.

Generous portions of toast, porridge, scrambled eggs, occasionally pasta, and once, to mild shock, chickpeas were pressed on us, accompanied by jam, honey, peanut butter, milk, juice, muesli, and endless tea and coffee. One of the Czech women always hoped for "eggy bread," a version of French toast that we all loved and smothered in honey and jam. Stuffed and toothbrushed and rain-jacketed, we'd start hiking by 8am.

Lunch often struck me as colonial-genteel: after hiking four or five hours, we would come to a large blue tent sheltering fourteen camp chairs in a semicircle. One of the cooks would hand out juice boxes, dishes, and mugs, and pour hot water. As we rested our feet they would unpack warm rice and entrees from a large insulated container. Typically there was a steamed or sautéed veggie or two, sometimes finely diced meat, or paneer cheese. Dessert was almost always fruit, until they spoiled us the last week with chocolates -- most memorably little KitKats on a lakeside in howling sleet.

After either a steep climb or more leisurely stroll, we'd straggle into camp about 3 or 4pm. I'd instantly remove my soggy shoes and socks and change into my "evening wear" -- an assortment of pajamas, dry sweaters, and a giant loaner down coat. We'd all gather for tea and cookies or, thrillingly for me, popcorn. I would try to participate in gracious small talk while barely masking my exhaustion, and attempt subtlety about eating as many cookies as possible.

I'd while away the time until dinner writing some notes on the day, reading, listening to old podcasts, and attempting to spread out my wet things in my wet tent. 7pm was one of the best moments of the day -- SOUP! Huddled in our many layers by dim lantern light, we'd all buzz about what kind of soup it would be, and await the wonderful warmth it imbued. Hats came off and smiles lit every face as we spooned life-affirming broth, clutching the warm bowls in our mitts. The rest of dinner was a carb fest, sometimes pasta AND potatoes AND rice, often lentil daal, and some mixed veg. We learned that the food wasn't particularly representative of Bhutanese cuisine, with the exception of chilis and cheese and momos (dumplings). The food was always tasty and varied, but not much lives up to the full-body experience of soup -- although gingery fried potatoes were also beloved.