WHEN I woke up around 7:10 a.m. June 25, my first hope was that we might be lucky enough to see the true, whole face of Mount Qomolangma because the rain had stopped.

It was quite cold in our tent, and everybody else was still asleep. I couldn’t sleep well at night due to my reaction to the high altitude.

Lying in the warm Tibetan bed, I wondered if I should get up early to see the sunrise and take some photos. About 10 minutes later, my urge to take some sunrise photos of Mount Qomolangma became too much.

Carrying my camera bag, I quietly walked out of the tent. As dawn broke, I looked around the Base Camp to see several Tibetans cooking on stoves outside their tents.

Then I looked up at Mount Qomolangma only to find the peak was still shrouded in cloud. Braving the chilly morning wind, I wondered if it had been worth me getting up so early.

But I didn’t want to go back to bed. So, I decided to walk to a brook which runs down from the foot of the mountain and winds its way south about 200 meters from the Base Camp.

A s I was making my way towards the brook, I could see a heavy cloud hovering above the Base Camp, which made me worry that a storm might be coming. But the cloud moved quickly and was almost gone in a few minutes. Then as I turned my head to see Mount Qomolangma, all of sudden, a magical moment occurred.

The shroud of cloud on the mountain peak suddenly disappeared and I could finally see the true, whole face of Mount Qomolangma against a clear blue sky! It was 7:39 a.m. June 25, a moment I will never forget for the rest of my life. The mountain just stood there majestic and awesome!

The peak took on a huge triangular shape, with snow on the northeast slope shining in the bright morning sunlight. Without hesitation, I pressed the button on my camera to capture the mountain’s grandeur.

Tibetan people call the mountain “Goddess Mother of the World.” But I saw the peak as more like a king than a queen, from its appearance.

“I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. The peak’s appeared!” I couldn’t hold back my excitement and kept shouting for at least two or three minutes.

My loud voice must have woken the sleeping crowd at the Base Camp. Soon, five of my group emerged from the tent, and other tourists expressed their excitement. Within minutes, more people rushed out of their tents and began shouting just as I had.

As the others were still shouting, I walked up to the brook and took more shots. My camera suddenly captured a Tibetan girl, who was ready to fetch water from the brook.

I recognized her, because she worked at the Base Camp as a waitress. So, I asked her to pose for pictures. She agreed. But, as I finished she asked me for money. I wasn’t complaining but it was a bit unexpected. I gave her five yuan. However, I was more disappointed at the poor quality of the photos because I forgot to use a flash.

When she walked away, another Tibetan girl who also worked at the Base Camp also approached the brook. So I asked her if I could take her picture for five yuan. The girl, named Zaxi Danren, happily agreed.

Switching on the flash I didn’t waste any time and bingo, this time, I took a great shot. The picture shows a smiling Tibetan girl, the winding brook and the awesome peak, which is one of my best memories.

Back at the Base Camp, I met Gema Ciren, the owner of our tent, who was trying to sell fossils to a couple from Guizhou Province. Ciren, 18, had dropped out of school after he finished three years at an elementary school in his hometown Zhaxizong, 70 kilometers away.

Selling fossils is one of his few ways of making a living. Though still young, Ciren was a tough salesman. I had to bargain with him for a while to get a pair of fossilized sea snails, which he had collected somewhere on the northeastern slope of the peak, more than 6,000 meters above sea level.

His efforts have paid off and selling fossils has proved profitable. Ciren saved his earnings for three years and opened his own tent-style hotel early this year. Ordinary Tibetans like Ciren now enjoy a better life and seem to be blessed with a promising future as more tourists make a pilgrimage to the scared mountain.

After we left the Base Camp, we headed to the Rongbuk Monastery, the highest Tibetan Buddhist monastery in the world. The six people in our group were the only tourists there and we stayed just a few minutes to take a few snapshots.

Then we were on the road to Shegar (the township I mentioned in last week’s article) before bad luck befell us. Our car broke down three times on the bumpy road, which was quite an unpleasant experience as we couldn’t find anywhere for lunch before arriving in Shegar. Tired and hungry, we finally reached Shegar after 5:30 p.m. and chose to eat again at the restaurant we had visited on our first day there.

A few days earlier I had left a few words on the restaurant’s wall. On my return I found the wall still bore my signature. “I love Tibet, and will come back” — my passion for the sacred plateau will not fade.

Newman Huo

WHEN I woke up around 7:10 a.m. June 25, my first hope was that we might be lucky enough to see the true, whole face of Mount Qomolangma because the rain had stopped.

It was quite cold in our tent, and everybody else was still asleep. I couldn’t sleep well at night due to my reaction to the high altitude.

Lying in the warm Tibetan bed, I wondered if I should get up early to see the sunrise and take some photos. About 10 minutes later, my urge to take some sunrise photos of Mount Qomolangma became too much.

Carrying my camera bag, I quietly walked out of the tent. As dawn broke, I looked around the Base Camp to see several Tibetans cooking on stoves outside their tents.

Then I looked up at Mount Qomolangma only to find the peak was still shrouded in cloud. Braving the chilly morning wind, I wondered if it had been worth me getting up so early.

But I didn’t want to go back to bed. So, I decided to walk to a brook which runs down from the foot of the mountain and winds its way south about 200 meters from the Base Camp.

A s I was making my way towards the brook, I could see a heavy cloud hovering above the Base Camp, which made me worry that a storm might be coming. But the cloud moved quickly and was almost gone in a few minutes. Then as I turned my head to see Mount Qomolangma, all of sudden, a magical moment occurred.

The shroud of cloud on the mountain peak suddenly disappeared and I could finally see the true, whole face of Mount Qomolangma against a clear blue sky! It was 7:39 a.m. June 25, a moment I will never forget for the rest of my life. The mountain just stood there majestic and awesome!

The peak took on a huge triangular shape, with snow on the northeast slope shining in the bright morning sunlight. Without hesitation, I pressed the button on my camera to capture the mountain’s grandeur.

Tibetan people call the mountain “Goddess Mother of the World.” But I saw the peak as more like a king than a queen, from its appearance.

“I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. The peak’s appeared!” I couldn’t hold back my excitement and kept shouting for at least two or three minutes.

My loud voice must have woken the sleeping crowd at the Base Camp. Soon, five of my group emerged from the tent, and other tourists expressed their excitement. Within minutes, more people rushed out of their tents and began shouting just as I had.

As the others were still shouting, I walked up to the brook and took more shots. My camera suddenly captured a Tibetan girl, who was ready to fetch water from the brook.

I recognized her, because she worked at the Base Camp as a waitress. So, I asked her to pose for pictures. She agreed. But, as I finished she asked me for money. I wasn’t complaining but it was a bit unexpected. I gave her five yuan. However, I was more disappointed at the poor quality of the photos because I forgot to use a flash.

When she walked away, another Tibetan girl who also worked at the Base Camp also approached the brook. So I asked her if I could take her picture for five yuan. The girl, named Zaxi Danren, happily agreed.

Switching on the flash I didn’t waste any time and bingo, this time, I took a great shot. The picture shows a smiling Tibetan girl, the winding brook and the awesome peak, which is one of my best memories.

Back at the Base Camp, I met Gema Ciren, the owner of our tent, who was trying to sell fossils to a couple from Guizhou Province. Ciren, 18, had dropped out of school after he finished three years at an elementary school in his hometown Zhaxizong, 70 kilometers away.

Selling fossils is one of his few ways of making a living. Though still young, Ciren was a tough salesman. I had to bargain with him for a while to get a pair of fossilized sea snails, which he had collected somewhere on the northeastern slope of the peak, more than 6,000 meters above sea level.

His efforts have paid off and selling fossils has proved profitable. Ciren saved his earnings for three years and opened his own tent-style hotel early this year. Ordinary Tibetans like Ciren now enjoy a better life and seem to be blessed with a promising future as more tourists make a pilgrimage to the scared mountain.

After we left the Base Camp, we headed to the Rongbuk Monastery, the highest Tibetan Buddhist monastery in the world. The six people in our group were the only tourists there and we stayed just a few minutes to take a few snapshots.

Then we were on the road to Shegar (the township I mentioned in last week’s article) before bad luck befell us. Our car broke down three times on the bumpy road, which was quite an unpleasant experience as we couldn’t find anywhere for lunch before arriving in Shegar. Tired and hungry, we finally reached Shegar after 5:30 p.m. and chose to eat again at the restaurant we had visited on our first day there.

A few days earlier I had left a few words on the restaurant’s wall. On my return I found the wall still bore my signature. “I love Tibet, and will come back” — my passion for the sacred plateau will not fade.