There were amazing views as we towered over the landscape a day before Gosaikunda. There were amazing sunsets. We watched the fading sunlight mix with the dark blues of the night to make a brilliant, indescribable color. There were moments of triumph as we took off our packs after hours of hiking up steep and sometimes treacherous uphill. But for me, these moments were just a compliment to the real part of the trek. The true trekking experience for me, the parts that made the trip an unforgettable experience, were the ones no one will understand back home. Laughing as we took apart wet tents with freezing hands. Huddling together for warmth under a pile of sleeping bags as the cold bit through the eating tent. Battling for the milk tea in the afternoon. Looking back at the trek, I don’t remember the scenery first, I remember the laughter. The moans of exhaustion when the wake up bell rang in the morning. The sharp thrills when we went exploring new areas of the mountains. The excitement while playing endless games of cards. The odd mixture of fear and laughter as the narrow mountain path was suddenly blocked by a imposing Zhou. People back home will always ask about the landscape, ask if we saw Everest, ask how high up we trekked, ask how hard it was, ask about the stars. But for me, all I’ll do is shrug my shoulders, say a few “yea’s,” say a few “nah’s,” and get back to my business. Because for me, the people that I slept in a tent with, struggled to set up the poop tent with, crossed rope bridges with, talked about dreams with, looked at the stars with, and froze with mean everything. Without them, a trek would be just a trek. With them, it’s so much more.