“We Spit on the Mile High Club”

    Two Nepalese mountain climbers were married atop Mt. Everest some weeks ago.

Don’t know, Moni Mulepati and Pem Dorjee, but we think it’s all downhill from here. You’re cool, Katmandu cool, if you don’t mind us saying so. As cool as your red forehead-dots turning blue, that’s how cool you are. Bless your little frost-bitten noses. Too bad the champagne wouldn’t pop – Cold Duck is what we heard – because in that thin air corks can really fly. Wouldn’t it be ironic if the cork from the Cold Duck flew down the hill and knocked a duck cold?

Okay, maybe that’s just us.

The 29,035 Foot Knot Tiers, we’re going to call you. As far as we know, you’re the marriage height record holders. How about the Himalayan Hookups? Do you like that? Merger on the Mountain? You need a hook. How about Mixed Marriage on a Mountain? We know she’s a Newar and you’re a Sherpa and you’re in an arrangement marriage country where locals like to caste aspersions.

And don’t let anybody tell you your little mountain climbing venture (oops, did we say little) didn’t come without excitement. It’s not every day a MI-17 helicopter crash lands at your base camp as it’s coming up to sweep you away. We think it’s all those tin cans well-wishers tied to the chopper. And rice? Not a good thing to throw in a helicopter engine. Luckily, neither the pilot nor anyone else was hurt. However, the pilot a little pissed about the “Just Married” graffiti on his windshield, we were told.

We also understand your wedding singer didn’t make it all the way to the top. “The Hills are alive…” we love that. “With the sounds of cracking vocal chords…” “If I had a hammer, I’d climb myself a mountain, I’d marry me a Sherpa without getting first a ‘Sure Pa’…” We hate you had to miss that. We understand the view as you said ‘I do’ was breathtaking. We’re a little concerned about the stability of your Polaroid Swinger camera. But isn’t that flash bar neat?

And how about Mom and Dad thinking you were joshing them when you came down and told them you were married on a mountain and you’d like to use the honeymoon suite – their bed. And they said, okay, but it will be crowded. These are great stories you’ll have to tell your little mountain climbing grandchildren someday. “Where did you and grand-dad get married, Nana?” And you always point up… and then you pull out the pictures… and they always giggle at the one where your noses are rubbing each other… and then you explain you came down the mountain stuck that way. These are memories lowlanders will never have.

You’re off to a good start. You both love mountain climbing. That’s good in a marriage. You’re tethered to one another. When you yell at your spouse, the echoes make it sound like a whole bunch of neighbors have joined you. You can both shop at the same boot store. We’re still trying to find you a hook, something to turn heads when you walk into Mountain Climber’s Supply. How about the Matrimonial Mountaineers? Khumba Cohabs? The Piolet Pair? Mountie Mates? Young Yak Train Lovers? Rocky Roaders? You get that one? Everyone else takes the highway, but you guys go up. You take the rocky road. In case you don’t know that’s a great ice cream, popular in warmer climates. Okay, how about this: Top of the World Twosome? Can you live with that?  Yes?