Snow? Where had that come from?
My guide, Rinchin, had made sure that I got a room with a view of Mt. Everest. Except the fog had messed up his plan.
But at seven, Rinchin peering into my big window. (Fortunately, I was clothed, though I was blowing my nose.)
I hurried outside with my camera.
"It has never disappointed me yet, not in a hundred times of coming here," he murmured as we stood in the center of the tiny village, between the stupa of Rongphu Monastery and our guesthouse. He even took a few photos with his phone.
"We were lucky because it snowed. Snow is good luck."
Yep. I was glad we'd gone hours out of our way, put up with filth and rain and a breakfast pancake made palatable only by the single-serving Nutella I'd been carrying since Bangkok, and didn't even mind that we had to take the old road—("The driver wants to know if you've even been on a road like this." "Tell him I've been on roads worse that this.")—all the way back to the new road today since we were heading south.
Because the mountain was stunning.