SHOWER TOOK ABOUT AN HOUR TO PREPARE. The water had to be heated over an open fire and carried in buckets up a ladder. There was a plastic tap and, if you used it carefully, you could both soap and rinse. He'd had one the day before but that had been the first in three weeks. This one might make him clean. He leaned on the dry stone wall and looked out over the town. Five men walked past, their backs bent by loads of wood in baskets slung from their foreheads. With them was a young Sherpa he'd met on the trail, who'd been hired to guide some Australians to Everest. "Namaste. Welcome to Namche." "Namaste. How're you doing? Meet the group?" "They fly tomorrow. I get everything – wood, porters, all ready." "I thought trekking parties were supposed to carry kerosene?" "Sure, sure, no wood, no campfire." "Yeah, but ... what about the forest? The rate things are going, you won't have any wood in thirty years." "We always use wood." "There won't be any. And then the rain'll wash the soil away, there won't even be potatoes and ..." "We need wood. How that porter make money if no sell wood?" "What did he do before tourists came here?" "You people, you tell me all the time. Why not you tell your people, you make more bombs, maybe we no need wood then. I must go. See you at Base Camp." The guide headed after the porters. The lady came out and waved that the shower was ready. He picked up his soap and towel. He knew the water would cool down fast.