We set off on to Dingboche early on as we had allot of distance to cover. The walk covered a good 10 miles or so, but with only 200 metres elevation in total. Annoyingly we initially had to descend 300 metres, and even more annoyingly I had to do it with the sound of the bell clanging in my ear as I'd been awarded the Dick of the Day the previous evening for my water-sterilising lunacy. I didn't have far too look for the next recipient though, as at our next water-stop Chris Martin straddled the water supply so it looked like he was pissing, before turning around and unzipping his trousers. If it weren't for the pained screams of everybody, he would've pissed directly into the water we were filling our bottles with.
Thankfully this water was clean, as plenty of the guys had drunk from the water given to us the day before. The water itself was fine, it was just the unwashed kerosene bottles that it was poured form that caused the issue, particularly with Wes, who was really struggling, and probably didn't appreciate people singing 'the sweet taste of kerosene' lyric from Revelry by Kings of Leon over and over again.
At lunch an aussie guy, trekking on his own, stopped in to have a chat with us. Again he said we were the talk of the town up there and to expect a crowd on match day. It was 10 minutes after this conversation that I felt the rush in my bowels that nobody wants too, particularly in this part of the world. After the evacuating process behind a rock, I followed Kirt's instructions to light the toilet paper that I'd used. Unfortunately this then caught onto an adjoining bush and I had to stamp out the small blaze, kicking up some faeces in a Dennis the menace style prank-victim fashion. Another hour passed and I'd twice repeated the process.
This day was all-round dull day. No scenery to look at, and very little chat from some exhausted trekkers. The only talk of note came form the pretty ordinary 'bell' puns that were made towards me, which was a welcome relief from the constant recitals in my head of My Doorbell and Ring My Bell that were sending me mental.
After 7 long hours of trekking we arrived in Dingboche. As I was one of the first I got granted a single room, which I passed on to Wes who was feeling ill. He didn't want the room so I ended giving it to Marcus as penance for my first night's snoring and sleep-talking that disturbed him throughout our only night rooming together.
About 20 minutes after I arrived, Breck and Glen walked in sharing an extra bag between them, and following them was Haydn, Team Tenzing's captain, looking a shadow of a man. Haydn had confessed to me at an earlier stop that he really struggled with hydration, as he never normally drank water (It's normally Pepsi Max), and he also shunned breakfast every day. This combination came back to haunt him as the medics inserted an IV line and his participation in the rest of the trip came into serious doubt.
At rest-stop previously mentioned, Breck had said that we need to look into hiring extra porter's to carry our bags. Not a single other trekker was carrying their packs, whilst we were trying to set a world record after trekking under a massive disadvantage. Lumbered with a heavy, awkward pack, I tended to agree with him.
That night was a battle to do even basic tasks such as eating and talking. Everybody looked miserable and we headed to bed looking forward to a rest day.
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