Lining the walls are masses of framed photographs: a copy of the famous image of Tenzing standing atop the summit, signed by Hillary; an earlier summit attempt in 1924; Tenzing with various world leaders.
Inside cabinets are dozens of medals Tenzing received over the years, including the George Medal – a prestigious British bravery award – and the Star of Nepal.
We arrive in Darjeeling after nightfall following a three-hour drive from Bagdogra airport, which means we miss out on the exceptional view from the guesthouse’s front balcony.
The following morning, however, the jagged white tops of the eastern Himalaya are visible in the distance, with the 8,582m-high Kanchenjunga rising above them. In a few days, we’ll be up close and personal with peaks of this size.
At the foot of our bed is a black-and-white photograph of a middle-aged Tenzing and his wife; she is wearing traditional Tibetan dress and they are both laughing, the camera catching them mid-movement. It’s a tender, intimate insight into the famous man and one of many personal touches dotting the guesthouse.
The starting point for the trek is the village of Dhotray, two hours from Darjeeling.
It begins easily enough, a flattened track on the side of a gentle slope in mild, sunny weather. Jamling was right, I think, this is so easy a child could do it. In winter. However, such confidence soon passes. Perhaps it’s the altitude, the clean, uncorrupted air or the exercise, but I soon find breathing to be increasingly difficult and hobble along taking deep, gasping gulps.
About an hour later we pause at a rest stop marked by a bench, where our porter is waiting for us, having run ahead despite carrying our rucksacks and sleeping bags in a sling from his forehead. We take in the view for a while, before continuing on. Increasingly, my nausea subsides and I start to feel stronger.
The trek takes us through terrain that varies from flinty and rocky to lush and green, from gently rolling, sunshine-dappled hills covered in mountain flowers to shadowy valleys blanketed in mist. Along the way, Buddhist stupas covered in prayer flags dot the landscape.
After about four hours of walking on day one we reach our rest stop for the night, a teahouse in the small border village of Tumling, which is already draped in dark afternoon fog. The following morning I am served the best breakfast of my life: hot tea with husang, a twisted length of deep-fried dough.
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