We were fortunate to spend the night in a Brokpa village that also happened to be the family home of our guide, Pema. His family put on a celebratory ceremony to welcome him back, to which they very kindly invited us too. Along with the chanting and music, there was also a superlative spread of scrumptious snacks and, naturally, lashings of ara…

It was a beautiful evening and also, for me, a welcome distraction. Things were taking their toll: the lack of any really credible stories in the last days, the ticking clock in my head as our visa expiry dates loomed, the knowledge that my hubris was going to be broadcast to the world, the nagging doubts about why I was really doing this and what it said about me, and the extreme physical exertion of trekking through Sakteng.

They had combined to put me very much on edge and, as a result, I was starting to get quite angry at Richard’s scepticism and I risked causing a bust up between us. Precisely because I was beginning to feel he might actually be right, but of course couldn’t bring myself to accept it.

So then, another cup of ara? Oh, please don’t mind if I do.