he last ten days are marked by the most intense peaks and valleys of emotion I have ever felt. From horror of watching the bodies long lined out of the ice fall on Good Friday, to the still burning desire to climb the mountain a couple of days later superseded by the realization of the bigger picture around the long term need for change for the Sherpa community.
Walking down a vacant road on the way to Padum, capital of the ancient kingdom of Zanskar, about five kilometers off the river, I pass a Tibetan monk with his distinctive red kasaya wrapped obliquely about his shoulders. He stops, and in halting English asks my age. When I tell him, he looks me in the eyes and says, "Ah, you have short life left." It's a daunting thought.