I was following pole after pole while climbing to the top. Poles which are meant to guide me along the often ambiguous path leading to the highest pass in the world, set high mid the Himalayas of Nepal. Winds were dry and cold, apt for a desert set 5000 metres into the sky, my legs were sore, my heart pounding, bruises peeking through the tapes I had hidden them with and eyes eagerly searched for what I imagined to be a board draped in fluttering, colorful prayer flags. 

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