Days trekking up and down mountain paths

Sleeping with bedbugs under mosquito nets

In trail-side tea houses with no hot water

Living on rice and beans and wild garlic soup.

We arrive world weary, sore and exhausted.

Flop down with mugs of chai, rub our swollen feet.

Our sherpas, having carried our bags and sacks so far,

Abandon them in haste, and throw themselves with glee,

Into a game of football on top of the world.