If someone were to ask me where I had the best cup of tea ever, my memories would go to a little guest house at one of the highest monasteries in the world. Rongbuk, Tibet.
To paraphrase a song; Baby, it was cold out there. It was cold everywhere except the dining area, which was heated by a small stove, heated with yak dung. On that little stove there was an endless pot of tea, poured into old mugs, tightly clutched to warm up numb fingers. The dark mixture was seasoned with lemon and ginger, soothing any nausea that might come with the altitude.
This is not your normal destination and far from what you might expect from your usual guest house. The toilets are located to the right of the barley bags in the unheated building used for storage. There you will find unisex stalls with open dividers and square holes cut into the thick cement floors. It is so cold that there is no odor. (I was pretty sure my deposits froze solid before hitting the bottom). It was, after all, late October and minus 18 Celsius. And if you need the facilities at night, take a head lamp and try not to trip over any stray yaks.
My roommate and I had a simple room overlooking Mount Everest. When we arrived, there were colorful thermoses filled with hot water at each door. You pour the water into the basins located in you room and wash up as quickly as possible – before the water iced over. The thermoses showed up again when we prepared to settle down for the night – under thick yak hair blankets and wearing our coats and gloves. Did I mention it was cold? It was also a night none of us would ever forget.
To this day I make lemon ginger tea on those days where the chill is in the air, and I need the comfort of hot tea.