<figure><img width="1250" height="789" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111152/636b86b89c7e80680e06786fjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>International mountain guide Lhakpa Rangdu Sherpa of Happy Feet Mountaineers agency. Photo: HAPPY FEET MOUNTAINEERS</figcaption></figure>For decades, foreigners have noted and celebrated the good-natured cheerfulness of Nepal's Sherpas.  One western climber, in a preface to Tenzing Norgay's autobiography, noted that Norgay epitomised ‘the tolerance and good humour … for which they [the Sherpa] are renowned … they are indeed a happy people, as anyone who has travelled with them will know, tolerant and good-humoured to a high degree, finding enjoyment in almost anything they do, interested in everything and with a strong sense of fun’.As with any cross-cultural generalisation, this seemingly simple statement is actually far more complicated than it seems. Were the Sherpas really so cheerful, more so than any other group of people? Did the foreigners who repeatedly commented about Sherpa cheerfulness have a wide and deep enough view to make such a broad generalisation? Did they really understand the Sherpas? And was this a note of praise, as it seems, or actually a variety of backhanded compliment -- something that seemed positive but actually hid a more negative judgement, in this case of Sherpa as childlike? If Sherpas really were more cheerful than other groups, why was this so?In the late 1990s, a fascinating and important debate broke out among anthropologists about Sherpa culture and western perceptions of Sherpas. Their cheerfulness became a key topic of conversation. In his book Tigers of the Snow (1996) Vincanne Adams outlined her view of ‘virtual’ Sherpas, and Sherpa culture as a complex reflection of Western ideas about Sherpas. Westerners had so much economic, political, and cultural power that their thinking about Sherpas -- based on their own hopes and dreams -- shaped actual Sherpa interactions with outsiders.  ‘Sherpas are produced both by a Western gaze and by Sherpas who are the object of that gaze,’ she wrote (p. 228).Over the years working in expeditions, dating back to the early decades of the 20th century, the argument goes, Sherpas had learned what the foreign climbers valued and rewarded, what the climbers wanted to see -- loyalty, camaraderie, and cheerfulness -- and gave it to them.  Sherpa culture involved a kind of performance, half deliberate but also unconscious, ultimately driven by a script written by outsiders. It was a kind of Sherpa play about Sherpas for the western climbers.In Life and Death on Mt. Everest (2001), anthropologist Sherry Ortner took a different view. She did not deny the power gap between western climbers and Sherpas, noting that Sherpas would not have carried loads and risked their lives for outsiders if they had more economic power. But she felt that, despite these real power differentials, other factors -- particularly strong cultural and economic forces that spring from within an ever changing Sherpa society -- better explained Sherpa behaviour and meaning-making more than Western ideas about them.One of the chief examples she gave was Sherpa cheerfulness. In the early years of climbing, western climbers noted again and again that Sherpa male climbers were friendly and liked to joke around. Even after a hard day's work carrying loads on steep, dangerous mountainsides, they smiled and cheerfully attacked challenging tasks.Sahibs often commented, Ortner notes, on ‘a certain good-humoured or good-natured style of Sherpa 'character' or 'temperament,' including a tendency to smile or laugh easily, a willingness to enter into joking and teasing, and a generally affable manner that often made interacting with Sherpas pleasant and enjoyable’. (p. 58). <figure><img width="2500" height="1836" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111152/636b86bb9c7e80680e067870jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>According to Vincanne Adams's framework, Sherpa cheerfulness should be understood as a kind of ‘virtual’ reflection of western hopes for what they wanted Sherpas to be. Western climbers liked to believe that in the Himalaya they had broken free from the corrupting influence of modern life, and found ‘real’ nature and ‘real’ people -- Sherpas who were as pure and untouched as the mountains of the westerners' Romantic imagination. Certainly this Romanticism reflects a powerful current in western thought. There is a long history of outsiders creating an image of supposedly premodern or traditional ‘others’ who are happy, tough, and true. These depictions usually reveal less in fact about the 'noble savages’ and rural non-western places they presume to describe, and more about the desires and obsessions of Western society that created them.  And certainly many Sherpas experienced in dealing with Westerners have picked up on these Romantic fantasies and know how to play to, and play with them. If anything, in recent decades, Nepali knowledge about Western Romantic fantasies about non-western people and places has grown more widespread, as tourism has spread deeper into Nepali culture.  And ironically, Nepal's urban middle class, in their new excitement for rural tourism, has begun its own chase-your-tail search for the ‘authentic’ pre-modern that very much resembles what western climbers have searched for. Climbing money was ‘authentic’ because although real and deeply felt, these meanings were not fixed and unchanging but rather the result of shifting historical patterns. Adams helps us understand these complicated cross-cultural dynamics. In Life and Death, Ortner agrees that Sherpa cheerfulness did in fact often match the illusions -- the fantasies -- that Westerner ‘sahibs’ liked to tell about non-European others. ‘The sahibs' intense romanticism, their desire to experience mountaineering as an escape from modernity,’ she writes, ‘link up with the view of the Sherpas (like the mountains) as untouched, innocent, unspoiled.’ (p. 45) Cheerfulness was an outward sign of innocence. But the Sherpas smiled and joked, Ortner insists, not because of Western desires for premodern Asian ‘others’ to be happy but for their own reasons. In fact, she says they were actually happy. Not because Sherpas are essentially happy by nature, but because, in the early decades of the twentieth century, various historical factors had aligned to make the Sherpas, particularly the men who went into expedition work, genuinely happy. Ortner walks us through these historical factors. One was their Buddhist faith, which celebrated peacefulness and a non-attachment to material desires, as anthropologist Christoph von Fürer-Haimendorf noted. Another was a tradition of trade, which had fostered an easy way with outsiders, as anthropologist Mike Thompson says. But other historical factors played a big role as well, Ortner argues. Many porters came from poor Sherpa families, for whom life was extremely hard and, as Rana-era taxes grew steeper, growing harder. Portering was a good job, even though it involved strenuous physical labour, and good work was appreciated. And even if it was wage labour, it was better than what other early mountaineering groups faced. In addition, Ortner notes how in the 1930s and 1940s, Sherpas had successfully pushed their Western bosses to improve wages and working conditions. These Sherpas could look back and see how their work situations had improved in part because of their own striving. It was hard not to feel good about that. But to say Sherpas carried packs for the money, that they were cheerful because they were making good cash, was not to say they had been corrupted. Many Westerners thought of mountain climbing as idealistic ventures in pursuit of a higher vision, and liked to think that their Sherpas did it out of loyalty or because they subscribed to similar high-minded motivations. Some even went so far as to describe Sherpas who showed a perfectly natural desire for money as somehow ‘un-Sherpa’ or corrupted. Instead, Ortner emphasises that Sherpa porters usually wanted money so they could pursue traditional Sherpa activities. Money to Sherpa climbers meant many many things, Ortner says: ‘It may mean simply making a financial profit; it may also mean supporting kin or sending kids to private schools in Darjeeling, or traveliing or sponsoring religious rituals, or contributing to the financing of a monastery.’ (p. 67) The point was that, Ortner says, even though wealthy idealistic westerners may see climbing for money as an impure corruption, for Sherpas, money earned from climbing actually led to ‘something we may think of as an 'authentic' Sherpa cultural universe, a framework within which they articulate their own desires in something like their own terms’. Climbing money was ‘authentic’ because although real and deeply felt, these meanings were not fixed and unchanging but rather the result of shifting historical patterns. I like thinking about the happiness of Sherpa expedition porters in the early twentieth century because it helps us understand the complicated dynamics shaping the increasingly numerous encounters between Europeans and Asians during the twentieth century.  The story of Sherpa climbing culture shows the very real but shifting power dynamics at work in these encounters, but also the real but shifting forces within Nepali (and other Asian) cultures that shaped how individual Nepalis gave their own meanings to the encounters. Ortner provides a model for thinking about history, culture, power, meaning-making, and agency that is very useful. It is a model that I have used in my own writings to understand how different Nepalis -- from Kathmandu-based planners to field based program implementers to Tharu men and women of different ages -- gave their own meanings to the international development programs that transformed places like Chitwan in the 1950s and 1960s. The debates about Sherpa happiness also help broaden our idea of history. So often in Nepal people think of history as merely political intrigues within Kathmandu. Those intrigues are, of course, important, but so are the difficult and dangerous work that mountain porters did carrying loads in remote areas and the rich, and the fascinating meanings they gave to that work. Read also:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/was-tenzing-a-tibetan-nepali-or-indian-it-does-not-matter/"> Was Tenzing a Tibetan, Nepali, or Indian? It does not matter.</a>, Lhakpa Norbu Sherpa

Tom Robertson

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Why are Sherpas always happy?

<figure><img width="1400" height="1050" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110915118/636bb44c9c7e80680e07bb95jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>ken Hutt launches off from 7,200m on Cho Oyu in 2014. All photos: KATIE RIVERS</figcaption></figure>Approaching 62 years old, and after retiring from a police rescue squad in 1996, Ken Hutt needed some adrenaline replacement therapy.He had watched the documentary, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEpKNla63Kw">Miracle In The Storm</a>, about a paragliding competition in which a German flier was sucked up to 9,947m, blacked out and only just came to in time to land it. Another Chinese competitor was also lifted by the same storm, and was killed by lightning.A year after watching the documentary, Hutt was trekking to Everest Base Camp, acclimatising himself before paragliding off the summit of the world’s sixth highest mountain, Cho Oyu, when he started to suffer from altitude sickness.It was April 2014, and an avalanche had just killed 16 Nepali guides on the Khumbu Icefall. Above him, helicopters with stretchers dangling ferried bodies down the mountain.“I’m sitting on the glacier next to Lobuche, watching them, one after the other, feeling really sick,” he recalled. “It was only 5,000m, and I’m supposed to be climbing this 8,000m mountain and flying a paraglider off it.’”His adventure was being sponsored by the Gates Foundation, which was going to triple every dollar he made to help polio eradication. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/polio-hunt/">Nepal got rid of polio in 2000</a>, but the disease still afflicts children in parts of South Asia.  His team crossed the Nepal-China border into Tibet where a friendly local bureaucrat, sympathetic to <a href="https://www.rotary.org/en/our-causes/ending-polio">Rotary’s ‘End Polio Now’</a> campaign allowed him to fly off the mountain. Hutt started climbing, and never felt another pang of altitude sickness. <img width="2464" height="1632" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110915118/636bb4509c7e80680e07bb96jpeg.jpg" alt="">He got to 7,200m and had the choice of flying from there, or proceeding to the 8,188m summit with the rest of the expedition. But he couldn’t do both. Next morning, he stuck his head out the tent and it was a glorious, clear day with a 6 knot breeze wafting up the mountain. Perfect for flying. The guide wanted him to summit, but he decided that since the whole idea was to raise money for polio, summiting that mountain was not going to raise any money, paragliding off it was. “In hindsight, I’m pretty disappointed I didn’t summit. I was pretty fit. I was feeling really good,” Hutt says. He pulled the super lightweight (2.7kg) glider from his pack and suddenly became acutely aware of his own inexperience, and the fact he had only flown this particular glider once before -- off a tiny hill near his home south of Sydney. He would be flying in air one-third the thickness, hanging from a glider too small to carry his weight plus the ice axes, sleeping bag, rope and food he had to carry for self rescue.“All the Sherpas were saying it was ridiculous you shouldn’t do this, but once I started to spread the glider out they all started getting really excited about it,” Hutt says. The wind dropped from 6 knots to almost nothing. In the absence of a breeze, Hutt had to launch by running down the slope. After a hop and a skip he was airborne.Then he realised he was not breathing: “I’ve been flying for half a minute or something without taking a breath. All of a sudden there was no air to breathe. Just trying to suck it all in. Nothing.”He tried to come down fast as he could. Landing was something else again. He could not locate the prayer flags he had put up as windsocks at Cho Oyu base camp.“The scale is huge. You have no idea how fast you’re flying, how much sink rate you have. All I did was head to base camp. It was about 13 km on a line of sight. I started to do circles to lose altitude. I lined up base camp, thinking I’m going to have to land on the rocks. ” <figure><img width="2002" height="3000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110915118/636bb4539c7e80680e07bb97jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Australian ex-policman Ken Hutt is planning on paragliding off Mt Everest after the pandemic.</figcaption></figure>He was flying at 50km an hour through the thin air, and the noise through the risers was deafening. He landed on scree, and intentionally turned to touch down on his back where an ice axe wrapped in a down sleeping bag protected him.“I opened my eyes and right in front of me was the summit of Cho Oyu,” he said.Now, all Hutt needs is the right permission from the Nepali authorities and the right pandemic case numbers to get cracking on his mission next year at 62 to be the oldest person to fly off the top of Mt Everest. But his trip is in the hands of the gods and Nepal’s bureaucracy.Hutt was told he had verbal approval for the flight from Tourism Minister Rabindra Adhikari, who later died in a helicopter crash. So, Hutt led a trek of Rotarians to Everest Base Camp which raised $180,000 for the End Polio Now campaign. Hutt knows the dangers, but the lure of the Himalaya is more powerful. He adds: “You are being unfair to family. Mountaineering is selfish and dangerous. Throw in a paraglider in the high mountains and the danger doubles.”So, people ask Hutt why he keeps doing it, and his answer is: “If you’ve got to ask you’re never going to understand anyway.”<hr/>PARAGLIDING FROM MT EVEREST1988: French adventurer Jean-Marc Boivin was the first person to paraglide off Everest. He died 17 months later in a BASE-jumping accident.2011: Two Nepalis, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/Connecting-dots/Sano-Babu-paragliding-world-cup,1029">Sano Babu Sunuwar and Lakpa Tshiri Sherpa</a>, flew off Mt Everest without permission, then kayaked down to the Indian Ocean.

Aussie paraglider to jump off Everest

It is only April, and Himalayan expeditions are already making rotations to acclimatise on Annapurna and Dhaulagiri, and will soon be making summit pushes.&nbsp; On Mt Everest, Icefall Doctors are fixing ropes and ladders into the Western Cwm as international climbers arrive at Base Camp. Spring 2026 is going to be the busiest and most crowded so far in the Nepal Himalaya. The main reason is that China has closed expeditions from the north side for eight-thousanders Everest and Cho Oyu, and also Xixapangma.&nbsp; The closure is informal, from what one can make out. The Chinese have not put out any official statement, but there are no permits either. The reason seemingly was the ‘Rising Dragon’ firework display last September by pyrotechnic artist Cai Guo-Qiang near Xigatse.&nbsp; Working with outdoor wear company Arc’teryx, Guo-Qiang set off an impressive sequence of orange and white fireworks that wound up a mountain. The spectacular display was criticised for damaging the fragile ecology of the Tibetan Plateau. But this cannot be the only reason the north side is closed. Experienced Everest blogger Alan Arnette anticipates that about 125 climbers will shift to the Nepal side of the mountains, and expects there to be up to 900 summits this spring — up from the highest spring number so far of 876 climbers on top in 2019.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260404050428_8c31812bf38f699c4faa74f25814a6ddaee397f71a629e549023f29250f05082.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260404050428_8c31812bf38f699c4faa74f25814a6ddaee397f71a629e549023f29250f05082" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="mountaineering"> <figcaption>Photo: KARMA TENZING</figcaption> </figure>  The early Base Camp arrivals are having problems with their first rotations because of heavy snow this season. Unlike previous springs, this year has seen back-to-back blizzards at high altitudes since February. The increased snow load on the slopes have increased avalanche danger right across the mountains.&nbsp; There has been an increase in numbers on Everest despite the West Asia war, flight disruptions, LPG shortage and new regulations. The permit fee has gone up for the first time since 2015 from $11,000 to $15,000 this year.&nbsp; The Tourism Bill passed by Nepal’s Upper House last year would have required climbers to have first summitted a 7,000m peak in Nepal before attempting Everest. However, the Department of Tourism has confirmed that there are no new experience requirements this season. Some want this rule changed to include 7,000m peaks anywhere in the world. That could be one reason people are rushing to climb Everest before the Nepal government changes its mind and enforces the new regulations on prior experience on Everest. “It’s probably going to encourage a lot of people that simply are not ready to go,” reckons Alan Arnette. “Once again, we may see a lot of inexperienced people on the mountain trying to get in before the rule comes into place, if it does.”&nbsp; Arnette has always been sceptical of Everest regulations, and points out many instances where rules have been announced but not implemented over the ten years that he has been tracking them. For example, a helicopter ban to Everest Base Camp was announced last year, but rescinded. A rule requiring climbers to bring down waste was never seriously enforced. Since there is so much money involved for the government and for the operators, any any rule that would reduce revenue is never fully implemented. This year there is another ‘High-Altitude Trash Quota’ rule requiring climbers and guides operating above Camp 2 to collect and bring down at least 2kg of waste from the higher camps.&nbsp; The Nepal government has tried to diversify peaks on offer by reducing the royalty on climbs, but the draw of Everest, Annapurna and other eight-thousanders seems to be too great. Even when the permit fees for some remote peaks like Kangri Shar, Himlung and Api, were reduced to $400, there are few takers.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260402120436_a90cd44858e97086f773aa1fbd592b3434bb07d89cd4a1843b2ca32a84e7c72d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260402120436_a90cd44858e97086f773aa1fbd592b3434bb07d89cd4a1843b2ca32a84e7c72d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Photo Damien Francois"> <figcaption>Photo: DAMIEN FRANCOIS</figcaption> </figure>  TIME LAPSE Clients and expedition operators have been trying to shorten the time needed to complete an Everest expedition from the city of origin to the top and back. Since Nepal has no rules about spending a certain number of days in acclimatisation, this has allowed some expedition organisers to use new technology.&nbsp; Austrian operator Lukas Furtenbach last May led a group of four British ex-military clients to the summit within a week of leaving London. This climb was scrutinised because the group had practiced breathing xenon gas, a substance that increases the count of red blood cells and is banned in competitive sports. The climbers had also trained for months at home in hypoxic tents, and used supplemental oxygen during the actual climb.&nbsp; The success of that expedition prompted an investigation by Nepal’s Ministry of Culture, Tourism, and Civil Aviation, but there was nothing it could do because the team had taken the xenon in Germany two weeks before their trip. But even if they had administered the gas in Nepal, it would technically not be illegal. Furtenbach is firmly in favour of speed, and of using the gas. “The only reason why we are working with xenon is to make climbing safer, to protect climbers from high altitude sickness,” he says, arguing that the less time climbers spend on the mountains, the less their exposure is to disasters, sickness, and they also generate less trash.&nbsp; His firm, Furtenbach Adventure, offers a three-week Everest South Flash expedition, at a cost of €100,000, using custom oxygen systems. Other expeditions take up to two months.&nbsp; A young American duo of Ryan Mitchell and Justin Sockett got to Everest Base Camp five days ago. They are preparing for an oxygen-free summit attempt.&nbsp; ‘ Being around these mountains for one day has already brought me so much joy. Every time I come back to the Khumbu I feel more familiar and connected,’ posted Mitchell. He and Sockett have since summitted Lobuche East (6,119m) as they continue to acclimatise and wait for the Khumbu Icefall route to be fixed.&nbsp; There are other sans-O2 trips planned this climbing season in Nepal. Norwegian Kristin Harila, the fastest in the world to climb all 14 8,000ers (in 92 days), is attempting the Nuptse, Lhotse, and Everest three-peak climb without supplemental oxygen. American Tyler Andrews and Ecuadorian Karl Egloff are continuing their race to break records in Everest. While Andrews is attempting the Fastest Known Time from Base Camp to the top without oxygen, Egloff is taking it a step further and going for a round trip: from Base Camp to the summit and back in record time.&nbsp; Both Egloff and Andrews had attempted these climbs in 2025 spring, but abandoned around 7,000m due to bad weather.&nbsp; Kami Rita Sherpa wants to extend his all-time record of total Everest summits to 32, while Kenton Cool from England is chasing 20, a non-Nepali record.&nbsp; The first summits of the season will be in late April, or early May depending on weather. Besides Everest, there are a lot of interesting climbs on lesser known peaks.&nbsp; The Japanese trio of Masayuki Takenaka, Tatsuro Sugimoto, and Ryota Nomura, for example, are attempting the unclimbed Jarkya Himal (6,473m) near Manaslu. &nbsp;&nbsp; <h2>Fake rescues</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260402120436_600c0176e24327fd3dfcfd634e4b871f3e5314aa00eb4885ad137ac6f9c4a3b6.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260402120436_600c0176e24327fd3dfcfd634e4b871f3e5314aa00eb4885ad137ac6f9c4a3b6" data-rendition-name="original" width="800" height="519" loading="lazy" alt="Fake rescues"> </figure>  This year’s spring climbing season has coincided with Nepal’s new government taking action against alleged perpetrators in fake rescues and insurance fraud. The Central Investigation Bureau (CIB) has already arrested more than a dozen trekking agency executives, hospital managers and helicopter company executives for medevac insurance fraud. Climbers are known to fabricate medical emergencies, get flown down from as high as Camp II on Everest, and then submit false insurance claims.&nbsp; Sometimes one flight is made to look like many using fake invoices. Trekking companies are also involved in fake rescues of hikers who just get tired of walking.&nbsp; Too many fake claims could lead to insurer’s losing confidence in the industry, and increased premiums, leading to delayed responses in real accidents.&nbsp; As a result of the scandal, there is now more scrutiny from the government about rescues. Already, helicopter operators have to wait for permission before carrying out rescues while their application is vetted.&nbsp; The worry is that this could cause unnecessary delays when time is of the essence in mountain rescue. Already, medevacs are delayed because of the bureaucracy needing permits to fly to sensitive regions bordering China. Last year, a climber died on Himlung because helicopter rescue took too long while operators ran from door to door in Kathmandu to obtain necessary permits. <h2>Mingma David Sherpa, MP</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260402120432_05c1600440327f4ae4bcae641b634714951f45702080a88d4e2628587190aa25.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20260402120432_05c1600440327f4ae4bcae641b634714951f45702080a88d4e2628587190aa25" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="958" loading="lazy" alt="Mingma David Sherpa"> </figure>  Meet Mingma David Sherpa, Nepal’s first mountaineer to be nominated to Parliament. Sherpa is a self-made professional climber from Rolwaling, who rose up from an expedition porter to a record-breaking mountaineer and expedition organiser. As an insider, he is now in a position to streamline laws related to Nepal’s trekking and mountaineering sector. He is co-owner of EliteExped with Nims Purja, and in 2021 the two were part of a team of Nepali climbers to be the first to make it to the top of K2 in winter, the second highest mountain in the world in Pakistan.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260402120432_c4ec586e7a27b09a72e61925a3897d843f864563d9e82a3fd3e25293e22cbe54.png" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20260402120432_c4ec586e7a27b09a72e61925a3897d843f864563d9e82a3fd3e25293e22cbe54" data-rendition-name="original" width="2082" height="1396" loading="lazy" alt="Mingama David Sherpa"> </figure>  Mingma David was also on Purja’s Project Possible to climb all the 14 eight-thousanders in six months, shattering the previous record of seven years. He was featured in Purja’s documentary 14 Peaks: Nothing is Impossible.&nbsp; At age 30 he became the youngest climber to reach the top of all 14 eight-thousanders for which he was awarded the Piolet d’Or. Mingma David has taken part in dozens of successful rescues of fellow climber, including the highest ever long-line rescue on Dhaulagiri and saving the life of fellow-climber from 8,600m on Everest. <h2>April Fool</h2>  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260402120432_775afff27d4a2889a60730aa25bbc5f8eb8ea343528c8c031a6febbfd74814c4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260402120432_775afff27d4a2889a60730aa25bbc5f8eb8ea343528c8c031a6febbfd74814c4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1365" height="1820" loading="lazy" alt="Furtenback Adventures"> </figure>  The Austrian expedition outfitting company Furtenbach Adventures spoofed the anticipated crowds on an April First post on social media this week, showing ‘a fully galvanized, weather-resistant steel staircase, complete with a sturdy handrail’ to make the Hillary Step bottleneck on Mt Everest less dangerous.

Nepal Himalaya Spring 2026

As a direct fallout of the Israel-American war on Iran, Nepal on Monday nearly doubled the price of aviation fuel in a move that is going to impact during the spring peak tourism season. The steep price hike of jet fuel appears to have been made to cushion the impact on the general public. The price of petrol, diesel and cooking gas were also hiked for the third time in a month on Thursday.&nbsp; Aviation turbine fuel (ATF) will now cost $2,237/ton up from $1,207. The cost of ATF in Kathmandu was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/sky-high-fuel-price-hits-nepal-s-tourism-airlines" target="_blank">already one of the highest among Asian airports</a>, and this price hike will affect mostly long-haul flights to Istanbul, Seoul and Narita for airlines that need to refuel in Kathmandu.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260404130420_4ae075d1e871fc5608cf242d6e309005d30cfdb6e6d0ecfb45ca7388a851c6aa.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260404130420_4ae075d1e871fc5608cf242d6e309005d30cfdb6e6d0ecfb45ca7388a851c6aa" data-rendition-name="original" width="1784" height="1294" loading="lazy" alt="aviation turbine fuel prices"> </figure>  Domestic airlines, which paid Rs127 per litre, will now have to pay Rs251 for their turboprop planes. “We have no recourse but to pass this on to passengers as a fuel surcharge,” said one executive of a domestic airline in Nepal. As it is, Nepal Oil Corporation levied a hefty tax on petrol and ATF in order to subsidise diesel and cooking gas. Many analysts were expecting a fuel price hike, but the near-doubling of the price of ATF means the new Nepal government is trying to protect ordinary citizens from raising the price of diesel and LPG even more than it has so far. Aviation fuel in Nepal is trucked in on tankers from Indian refineries and its price is highest in Kathmandu, and less in Bhairawa and Pokhara — transportation costs being higher depending on distance. But even in Bhairawa, ATF prices have doubled for the only international airline that serves it, Thai AirAsia.&nbsp; Most airlines flying Kathmandu from nearer airports in India, the Gulf and Southeast Asia will be less impacted because they can fly in on full tanks and need minimum refuelling in Kathmandu. But carriers like <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/high-cost-lays-aviation-low-in-nepal" target="_blank">Turkish Airlines</a>, Cathay Pacific, Korean Air, &nbsp;and Nepal Airlines which fly wide body aircraft on long-distance routes will be hit hardest.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026040305040_a40db74375ebe0c28e7c35477bc262df9ae392a84e7bfa4033996181d69e0209.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="2026040305040_a40db74375ebe0c28e7c35477bc262df9ae392a84e7bfa4033996181d69e0209" data-rendition-name="original" width="1032" height="689" loading="lazy" alt="sky high prices"> </figure>  However, ATF costs have also been raised in regional airports like Hong Kong, India and Singapore. Aviation fuel at New Delhi airport has risen to $1,698/ton. Korean Air is adopting emergency measures to reduce expenses to make up for rising fuel costs. South Korea gets nearly all its fuel from the Gulf, and the blocking of the Strait of Hormuz has been especially damaging for the country. Fuel makes up more than a third of the operating cost of airlines, and even a small increase in ATF prices can make a big difference. Crude oil prices have increased 50% since the West Asia war began on 28 February, and global ATF prices have doubled.&nbsp; Airlines in Asia, including Nepal, face a double shock. The first is the higher fuel cost, and the second is that fewer people are travelling. Nepal’s tourism arrivals fell in March compared to February. India has added up to 20% fuel surcharge on domestic flights, and has reduced flights by 12%. Chinese airlines have also been affected, with China Eastern preparing for a significant impact of the Gulf war. It has added fuel surcharges to new tickets, as have Cathay Pacific, Thai International and Air Asia. Vietnam has drastically cut the number of domestic flights, and the Philippines will ration ATF. Australia imports 90% of its ATF mainly from China which has stopped export to ensure domestic supply to its own airlines. Carriers like Qantas have curtailed flights, changing aircraft type on long-haul routes, and a fuel surcharge of up to 20% have been added to tickets. Most Asian airlines are adding fuel charges only to new tickets, and the increase will not affect the price of pre-sold tickets issued for April and May.

Fuel price shock hits Nepal aviation

Along with the Sherpa community, it is perhaps Kathmandu Valley’s Newāh Civilization that has been the most studied by anthropologists, architects, historians and social scientists.&nbsp; Tomes have been written about the built environment of the Valley’s former kingdoms, the influence of Indian culture, and how it in turn inspired the temples, monasteries and monuments in Tibet, through China right up to Korea and Japan. Lately, there has also been an attempt to recognise and preserve not just the brick and mortar landscape of Kathmandu, but also the intangible heritage of the Newāh people. A critical component of the ancient festivals in the streets, alleys and baha of the inner cities are ritual plays and dance. Gérard Toffin is a social anthropologist with the Centre d’Etudes Himalayennes at the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (CNRS) in France, and has been researching in the region since the early 1970s, focusing on Newāh society and especially its Jyapu farmers. Lately, his work has focused on indigenous theatrical performances, and how they are evolving with modern influences.&nbsp; RECORDING RITUALS The result of his study is this hefty ethnographic book, Newar Theatrical Performances: Religious, Royal and Comic Aspects, delving into sacred performances. This is the first-ever detailed documentation of the minutest aspects of traditional plays and holy ceremonies of Kathmandu Valley. This book is not for the package tourist on a quick walkabout of Patan, the details and terminology can be daunting even for natives to navigate. But this is what social science research is supposed to do – take a deep dive into cultures that we take for granted either because we are a part of it, or because we have never bothered to find out its meaning.&nbsp; Dance forms with mythological themes, masked processions, gestures, facial expressions of the performers, have all been passed down from one generation to the next, adhering to age-old codes. The world is moving at an accelerated pace because of TikTok-induced globalised connectivity, but traditional gender or caste dynamics and hierarchies are carried over intact in many of these performances. It is as if traditional theatre itself is a time capsule giving us a peep into the past. Some of the performances and dance are in danger of going extinct as the population ages and the young migrate out. However, there has been a cultural renaissance among the Newāh guthi overseeing these ritual plays, dances, or chariot processions. The next generation of apprentices are being trained. This pride in heritage means that Kathmandu Valley civilization is not as endangered as it may appear.&nbsp; Gérard Toffin’s book is an important ethnographic work that will help preserve the Nepal Valley’s unique blend of urban-rural, cosmopolitan-agricultural, Hindu-Buddhist, indigenous-national. The Tantric choreography of Newāh theatre, just as the kama sutra depictions on erotic temple art, show Indian influence, but Toffin says they have been ‘Newarized’.&nbsp; One example is the sexually-explicit shadow play staged every year since 1690 CE by Jhyalcha Guthi in Patan that exposes the infidelity of King Yog Narendra Malla. Toffin devotes a whole last section of his book to irreverent plays (khyalah) that ridiculed the rich and powerful, the royals and upper castes and their shenanigans.&nbsp; He examines the importance of comic relief at a time when death was ever-present in historic Kathmandu with its frequent epidemics. One cholera outbreak in 1885 is estimated to have killed 10,000 people – a fifth of Kathmandu’s population at the time.&nbsp; The Saparu festival in Kathmandu and Mataya in Patan memorialised through street processions those who had died the previous year – and this was institutionalised into Gai Jatra by King Pratap Malla in the 17th century to console his queen after their second son was killed by an elephant. Families were asked to file past the palace to show the queen that she was not the only one grieving.&nbsp; Pratap Malla also allowed clowns, burlesque plays, and satirists to make the queen laugh. The Rana and Shah regimes which suppressed free speech continued the Gai Jatra tradition to allow citizens to let off steam. Rulers were lampooned, and the performances involved scatological jokes, cross-dressing and lewd acts.&nbsp; Interestingly, the Nepal Bhasa word ‘pyakha’ means both ‘dance’ and ‘theatre’ (today also ‘cinema’, as Toffin notes) and so the performances were also a combination of ritual dance, traditional music and a stage play. Stories involve gods, goddesses and mythological characters, and are passed down through generations of performers. (See adjoining article on Pāhāñ Charey.) Street performances by masked dancers, like in the ‘Katti Pyakha’ in Patan, enact divine themes. The moving deities demand as much reverence as their static idols in the inner sanctum of temples. The book devotes a whole section to the importance of cultic masked dances where the performer is possessed by the spirit, and goes into a trembling trance.&nbsp; Some of this is now simplified and secularised into performances for tourists in hotels, but the genuine original masked dance troupes still parade down the streets, proving that ancient and modern are made to co-evolve in ways that only Kathmandu knows how.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260329140352_aace3ece2e2cc577aa478d83de4b34930e6ff9c088d5f5e3f02fa178d124a60d.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260329140352_aace3ece2e2cc577aa478d83de4b34930e6ff9c088d5f5e3f02fa178d124a60d" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="Newa theatre book details NT"> </figure>

All the world’s a stage in Kathmandu

Nepal is known internationally for its successful community forestry programme, and the country has doubled its forest cover to over 45% in the last 25 years.&nbsp; But the opposite is true for densely populated urban centres like Kathmandu Valley which have turned into concrete jungles, with no remaining open spaces. Air pollution is increasing to hazardous levels, and the urban heat bubble means the temperature in the city is 2°C-3°C higher than in the outskirts. But there is a solution with a proven track record from similar densely populated cities in Japan — the ‘Miyawaki Method’ of growing local varieties of trees in any small patch of land in the city and turning them into compact forests. Named after Japanese botanist Akira Miyawaki in the early 1970s, carefully selected native trees and plants grow in tiny plots of land, or even in household backyards. They regenerate degraded urban soil, and help restore some greenery and biodiversity back to sterile city centres. The group Lily Leaves has planted Miyawaki forests in six sites across Kathmandu, and is on a mission to green all the river corridors in the Valley. So far, it has planted more than 17,000 trees belonging to nearly 40 species in patches of land along the Bishnumati and Swayambhu, and is eyeing the UN Park area along the Bagmati. “It is extremely important to connect with nature and greenery in cities,” says Lily Katuwal of Lily Leaves. "Besides restoring nature, these forests also clean air pollution and reduce summer temperatures.” Unlike traditional reforestation where trees of the same species are planted in bulk at a distance of 3-4m, Miyawaki prioritises native varieties best suited to Kathmandu Valley’s microclimate. The saplings are packed densely together, spaced only 60cm apart. After they start growing, native grass and undergrowth also thrive. The most recent plantation was along the banks of the Bagmati in Sanepa where, in addition to camphor and jacaranda which are grown in the area, native species such as kabro (Ficus lacor), kanike (Forget-me-not), parijat (Night-flowering Jasmine or Coral Jasmine), chanp (Plumeria), harro (Ink Nut) and barro (Bahera) were planted. A new site in Kirtipur is being readied for the next plantation. Miyawaki has been carried out elsewhere in various parts of Nepal, primarily in Dhanusha which has seen forest regrowth that has brought back insect, bird, reptile and amphibian life.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260402120428_e70c196852945760d082fc73ee18ea6883d13c16186893c00c10fd0a0ea12105.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260402120428_e70c196852945760d082fc73ee18ea6883d13c16186893c00c10fd0a0ea12105" data-rendition-name="original" width="1201" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Planting seeds for a greener Kathmandu"> </figure>  EMPOWERING WOMEN Lily Leaves employs just 17 women, six of whom have hearing disabilities. Many have been neglected or abandoned by their in-laws for various reasons. They have a livelihood and learn new skills so they can also find jobs elsewhere.&nbsp; “We trained them in plantation and other skills including tailoring, as well as jewelry, bag and reusable pad making,” says Katuwal. “They are now experts in planting trees.”&nbsp; Lily Leaves gets support from Pipal Tree International in the UK and Nepal, and hopes that the idea of compact urban forest spreads. This is especially important in areas like Taudaha, which is an important stopover for migratory birds. Once noted for its aquatic and avian biodiversity, Taudaha has become lined with concrete and has turned into a loud picnic spot. Urban expansion has encroached upon what used to be the floodplain of the Dhobi Khola, Bishnumati, Bagmati and Manohara rivers. The open spaces along the river corridors are being turned into green belts haphazardly. For many wards, the concept of green space is to have cement pavements and ornamental hard-to-maintain potted plants instead of allowing urban forests to grow back naturally. “Apartment buildings and housing colonies that are being constructed can include green spaces that can increase the real estate and rent value of property,” Katuwal says. “Engineers designing the buildings can suggest such changes so that we remain connected with nature.” Although Lily Leaves needs to have permission from local ward and municipal councils before implementing any program, it continues to face challenges in ensuring smooth coordination.&nbsp; In one such plantation along the Bishnumati River corridor, for example, a heavy earthmover uprooted young trees that were just beginning to thrive. Despite this setback, Katuwal’s team returned to replant them. The land mafia often covets the last remaining open spaces in Kathmandu, deploying local strongmen to try to take them over. &nbsp;They tear down fences, uproot saplings and loot tools. There is a lack of awareness about the importance of greening the city. But now that the former mayor of Kathmandu Balendra Shah is prime minister, national awareness could translate into more urban forests not just in Kathmandu but also in overcrowded urban centres across Nepal. Says Lily Katuwal: “We just plant the seed in people’s minds. Once people in the neighbourhood see that restoring nature lifts their quality of life and increases land prices, there is support. That is when the power of a good example spreads, and communities build on the idea.” &nbsp;

sherpas

Why are Sherpas always happy?

Aussie paraglider to jump off Everest

Nepal Himalaya Spring 2026

Fuel price shock hits Nepal aviation

All the world’s a stage in Kathmandu

Planting seeds for a greener Kathmandu