I trekked from Glasgow to Everest Base Camp

This is the story of how I, a spectacularly silly 20-year-old with far too much free time and an inflated confidence in my own knees, somehow fundraised a heap of money for Amnesty International and then toddled off to climb to Everest Base Camp.

This whole saga happened through Glasgow Uni’s Challenge for Change Society, in partnership with the company Choose a Challenge. The idea is simple in theory and slightly deranged in practice: you raise money for a charity, do your good deed for the world, and then, as a reward, you get shipped off to complete some sort of heroic challenge you’re almost definitely underqualified for.

So here’s a day-by-day rundown of the shenanigans, triumphs, oxygen-related tantrums, and general buffoonery that unfolded. Strap in. Or lace up. Or hydrate. Whatever hikers do.

Day one and two were pure airports-and-anxiety energy. Leaving the UK felt like clocking out of reality. After a full day of flying, we landed in Kathmandu, a city so loud and alive my senses considered unionising.

We wandered about, met the “Choose a Challenge” crew, and sat through a briefing that mostly reassured us we would probably not die. Then we braved the chaos outside, dodging mopeds doing warp-speed and guarding our water bottles from outrageously cheeky monkeys with zero respect for personal boundaries.

Then came day three, my villain origin story.

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Let’s begin with this: the flight to Lukla is a jump-scare. It is quite literally the world’s most dangerous airport. It feels like the plane is held together with superglue and optimism. Gorgeous views though. The flight attendant – no joke – was praying as we came in for landing. Safe to say that didn’t fill me with confidence, but she did give us sweets so all was well.

The trek to Phakding should’ve been chill, but my body decided to crash harder than a Windows XP laptop. Miserable, dizzy, convinced I’d have to quit before even starting, I was basically a tragic Victorian child. Enter Romesh: legend, sherpa, and the man who revived me using sugary sweets, water, and the sheer force of Nepali kindness.

We walked together the rest of that day, and he told me he’d never left Nepal but dreamed of seeing Manchester United play one day. If you’re reading this, Romesh, I owe you about three organs and a match ticket. One day, I’ll get you to Old Trafford. Hold me to it.

Day four was Phakding to Namche Baazar, this day was basically StairMaster from hell. We crossed suspension bridges that swung like they were built by a guy who thought “structural integrity” was optional.

Oh, and Nepal banned social media that day. VPNs became national treasures. My friends were messaging me like, “Why is your Bitmoji in Tokyo?”. Listen, a girl’s gotta update the gram. Even at 3,400 metres.

Day five was acclimatisation, aka “we climb higher but pretend it’s restful.” Later, we explored some of the local cuisine: read “world’s highest Irish bar”. We signed our names on the tables, amongst hundreds of other travellers signatures, and only a few seething political comments. Seeing a random Scottish flag on the wall made everything suddenly feel cosmic. We added our initials like absolute menaces. That was the moment it sank in: we were in the actual Himalayas. The real ones. Not a Windows screensaver. Wild.

Day six, Namche to Thyangboche, felt like walking through someone’s fever dream. Fog, yaks, a hilltop monastery. Inside, we were told no phones allowed… until I spotted a monk with an iPhone sitting right beside him. Prayer at 4pm, shitposting at 5pm. If you ever feel bad for doomscrolling when you have a paper due, just know that Tibetan monks also fall victim to the occasional doomscroll. You’re not special xx

Day seven took us to Dingboche, home of “Café 4410” and the best chocolate cake of my entire existence. Or it would’ve been, if my mate hadn’t stolen the last slice. This betrayal will be mentioned in my will. May karma forever nibble at your ankles.

That night we played Irish Snap so violently I’m still missing layers of skin, card game turned bloodbath. Then went outside to watch a lunar eclipse, played Splat by the river (if you don’t know this game, you’re missing out), and ran around pretending to be tigers? Altitude made us insane apparently.

Day eight was more acclimatising. I think. Honestly the days start blending around here like a bad slideshow.

Day 9: Dingboche to Lobuche. Casual reminder that this was the day the Nepalese government collapsed, Kathmandu rioted, and the airport caught fire. BBC had it as headline news while we were casually trekking into the clouds, with absolutely zero signal to tell our mums we weren’t dead.

Parents at home: panicking. Us: eating melted-together out-of-date digestives and taking pictures of rocks. Thankfully the riots quietend down and Nepali Gen-Z elected a new leader…via Discord. No I’m not joking. Glad it all worked out for them. Truly iconic.

Day 10 took us to Gorak Shep, the coldest place on earth. Base Camp itself was basically a big rock surrounded by other smaller rocks. One fell on my foot. Thrilling all the same. Here’s a pic I’ll show my grandchildren to prove I was cool in my 20s.

Day 11: Kala Pattar – one of the Himalayan Peaks along the Khumbu Valley. The itinerary said “tough.” It lied. That hill tried to kill me. We saw absolutely nothing except fog so thick you could chew it, but the shared suffering was sweet.

I offered my mate an AirPod to keep the morale up and he said, “I’m already miserable, I don’t need Taylor Swift to make it worse.” Stunning. Still very rewarding to see my mates up top of a miserable pile of rocks, and nibble sadly on a frozen Kendal mint cake, one of the best experiences of my life.

Day 12: Back to Namche, aka civilisation, or at least a semblance of it. We celebrated with pizza, “Tipsy Yak” cocktails (basically battery acid in a glass), and live music. One of our group literally hopped up on stage, nicked the lead singer’s guitar, and played Oasis until his fingers bled. That’s some rockstar shit.

Day 13 and onward: the Lukla lock-in. Weather trapped us for four days as flights couldn’t get out in monsoon weather – who knew? Anyway, when in Rome (or Lukla)… 30 Weegies descended on this small town and drank it dry, creating an artificial scarcity of beer.

We broke the ceiling of the saddest Irish bar on earth, played “ring of fire” with unhinged passion, and terrorised the rooftops with foggy deep-chats. After befriending a few wild dogs, we eventually escaped, returned to Kathmandu, bought stupid colourful trousers, hit the 23rd best club in the world, and drank tequila like we were allergic to dignity. Glasgow airport was a welcome sight, but it was bittersweet to be back home.

I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Maybe next time, we aim for the summit? Altitude makes you bold.

If this sounds like your cup of tea (or you simply crave the kind of bragging rights that let you become delightfully unbearable at family dinners), then absolutely get involved. The society is heading back to Everest Base Camp next summer, but also flinging people up Kilimanjaro, across the Morocco Atlas Mountains, and into the questionable life choices involved in running the Budapest Marathon.

I had the time of my life, gathered some lifelong friends, and, if rumours are to be believed, may have even stumbled into a new boyfriend along the way. So yes. Come join the chaos. The mountains are calling, and they’d really like to see you struggle in stylish activewear.

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