No, that is not the name of the mountain behind me. Also, before anyone thinks I'm trying to ruin the majesty of the moment or disparage the memory of all the trekkers who’ve come before me -- and all that this pile of TIBETAN PRAYER FLAGS symbolizes -- trust me, I am not.

However, every time I saw one of these old, weather-beaten piles of prayer flags along the EBC, without fail, I thought about the talking trash heap from my childhood. Yes, I thought about Fraggle Rock, and, yes, I was a little disappointed when the piles of Tibetan prayer flags never came to life and talked to me.

But that's no big deal, if the flag piles on the EBC did come to life and talk, they probably WOULDN'T SPEAK ENGLISH anyways.

Thanks to the altitude sickness and the sleep deprivation and SO MANY OTHER THINGS, I already had very little idea what was going on each day in the Himalayas. So a talking, non-English-speaking trash pile would have just been one more thing to deal with. Ugh.

Besides, it wouldn't last a day. It would open its mouth, to impart its countless tales of untold wisdom, and likely some Nepali person would instantly SET IT ON FIRE AND BURN IT to the ground.

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Want another blast from the past? Let's talk about Z CAVARICCI!

These young monks somehow got all my old pants...