Tea in the Library (14 page)

The kitchen fit out was a whole extra adventure of its own. Jo and I started with this method: first we listed the dishes we hoped/ expected to have on the opening menu. We then listed (a) the utensils needed to make those dishes; (b) the major appliances needed to cook them; and (c) the storage containers needed for the ingredient for these dishes. It was very scientific and well-thought through, and I must say that it produced a very comprehensive list of utensils and kitchen equipment. Maybe too comprehensive. There was a large rice cooker stored in the back room for some months, after risotto was only briefly on the menu.

Ordering of the kitchen equipment was conducted over several cappuccino sessions with Jo, Craig and the shopfitters' chosen kitchen equipment supplier, Jennifer. We pored over catalogues, listened to advice, compared our wish-list, and decided on a long list of items. Of course, fitting out a commercial kitchen is no small undertaking, and it is a miracle that we did as well as we did, ignorant as we were. We may have ended up with too many things, but we didn't miss any essential items. The only extra fitting purchased later was an additional fridge. (We needed an ice machine, but hung out for that). As to surplus, the rice cooker was definitely overkill 
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we did a great risotto for a while, but that's about all it was needed for; we also managed to later return a massive gas cooker appliance with a wok ring. We bought about 50% too many cups, chinaware and glasses. The stainless steel fittings in the kitchen were good quality, but not in a very practical configuration. We changed them around a bit after initial installation, and they eventually worked fairly well. We never had a deep fryer (no chips and Coca Cola at Tea In The Library), and the sinks and dishwasher seemed adequate (except for the latter breaking down intermittently).

Beyond our office space, there was a small storage area which housed the fuse boxes and our stationery (bags, etc) and marketing materials. Beyond that storage area was an entrance to a low-ceilinged space that housed the gas metering equipment and other utilities for the whole building (an eight storey high residential block). We called this (very politically-incorrectly) “The Gas Chamber”, and strictly we were not entitled to use it as storage, because of the need to access the services. However, our “stuff” inevitably spilled over into this space, and there were many boxes of brand new china and glassware, as well as several high stools and small seats (no room for them
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Craig's CAD relativities again), and cartons of wine and beer, in The Gas Chamber at any given time.

To complete all the minor kitchen gadgets needed, Jo and I arranged to meet at Jennifer's warehouse one Saturday morning at Rhodes. I arrived a little early, found the warehouse, and parked my car. Shortly after, Jo arrived in her car, and tottered out. I use the word “tottered” advisedly, as she was suffering rather a bit from a great night out, and was still a tad hung over. She and I and Jennifer and a long list did the rounds of the warehouse shelves, selecting spatulas and colour-coded chopping boards and measuring jugs and all the paraphernalia that is needed in a kitchen. It's certainly surprising how quickly a budget can be consumed. We left with the sense of a job well done.

On the IT side, another contractor was needed, and quotes were exchanged, modified and eventually accepted, for a LAN (‘local area network') with a server and five terminals
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three POS (‘point of sale') and two in the office. Four of these ran our book software system of choice, “BookNet”.

So there was our shop
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our neat little premises, with a stainless steel kitchen, lined food storage, ladies' & gents' refurbished loos, an office with benches for receiving books and the hub of our own computer system, and out in the shop itself bookshelf-lined walls, carpeting, a fireplace and cloth-covered tables with comfy upholstered wooden chairs.

Of course it didn't all appear in a day. The fitout took about four months. I signed the lease in August, with four months' rent relief to enable fitout before trading. Ed and Craig began work. Louise, Todd and Jo were lined up to start work a few weeks before opening (Todd having ordered our first books for delivery in October), and all seemed on track.

At this point I left for Everest.

Gorak Shep is a god-forsaken hell-hole, more than 5,000 metres above sea-level. One the one hand, you have to dodge the frozen turds (human and yak) at your feet. On the other hand, if you raise your eyes you are looking straight up at mountains so high you can barely see their peaks with your neck bent back. The few scrubby wooden lodges which make up the settlement are at the foot of Kala Patar, a stony, bare, steep cone of brown rocks that rises higher than 5,400 metres above sea level. I am told that from the peak of Kala Patar there are 360 degree views of the incredible Himalayas, up close, that are worth the excruciating climb in thin air. I will have to take other people's word for that. When I arrived in Gorak Shep, after nine days of walking in ever-increasing altitude, I could barely stand. In fact, come to think of it, I couldn't stand
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only lie gasping. I have no memory of the day's trek up from Lobouche, and my main memory of arrival at Gorak Shep is of lying exhausted, and refusing (yet another) bowl of instant noodles.

So I didn't attempt Kala Patar with my trekking companions. We had shed two of our number the day before, when Don was struck with a headache so severe that he needed a session in the Gamow Bag (a portable hyperbaric chamber used for artificially reducing the effects of altitude), and had decided to descend to avoid altitude sickness. His girlfriend Viv, who had also been suffering fairly severe headaches, decided to go down with him. We all had headaches, to greater or lesser degrees, and had been nursing them for most of the trek, as we gradually climbed higher and higher. Rest days, lots of water, trying to eat and sleep when you body doesn't want to
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these were the “cures”.

In our group of about fifteen trekkers, I was by far the slowest. Despite a big effort at training, I was coming from a long way behind. I had only a little experience of serious trekking; but I did have a very strong desire to see the Himalayas, and especially to look on Everest and the other 8,000 metre peaks. With the support of the trek leader, John, and my terrific companions, I had made it up above 5,000 metres, and I had indeed seen those magnificent mountains. The sight of those giants, from their very feet, was absolutely awe-inspiring. So there was no reason not to stay flat on my back in my sleeping bag at Gorak Shep, right?

The trek to Everest Base Camp was about three to four hours further on. When we woke pre-dawn the next day, the water in the wash-buckets was frozen solid. Breakfast was kerosene-flavoured chapatti and tea. The trail led out across rocky moraine along the side of the Khumbu Glacier, with the conical peak of Pumori and the incredible snowy slopes of Lhotse looming on each side. The glacier creaked and crashed out of sight. The trail dragged over small boulders, up and down, up and down. At that altitude, it took just five slow steps before my heartbeat was racing as if I had done a quick sprint around the block. So it was five slow steps, then a minute or two to allow the heartbeat to subside; repeat. Progress was excruciatingly slow. I fell further behind than usual (if that was possible.) The Sherpa boys in our party brought up the rear, carrying my day-pack and making sure I didn't completely fall off the radar of the group.

Shortly after setting out in the morning, the youngest member of the team, Karel, a big strong young man, sat down on a rock and announced that he couldn't go any further. He had climbed Kala Patar the day before, and had become physically distressed. He seemed to have recovered, but the effort of climbing higher was now beyond him. He wisely decided to turn back.

What was I doing here? I was far and away the weakest in the party. But I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. Just another few steps. After about three hours, we trekked down a long, long rocky slope, heading to the snow field that roughly marks “Base Camp”. I despaired of ever being able to climb back up, but that thought was compartmentalized for later! I followed my friends onto the snow, where they were whooping and hollering with the thrill of having reached the objective after so long and so much effort. I stumbled over to a rock, sat down, and promptly burst into tears. Fatigue of those proportions is a weird thing. John, the leader, came over to bestow a hug, and the words “You made it!” I had indeed. Quiet satisfaction. Don't think about the headache, the nausea, the climb back up that slope, the three hours back to the execrable Gorak Shep.

On the return, John placed me and Ravi, the other slow guy (he was from Singapore
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we were a long way from the equator!), directly behind him in a caterpillar line of trekkers. He paced us out of there methodically and slowly. Step after step after step, with every one of them a huge physical effort. But the mental effort to keep at it was even more important. We made it back; I promptly threw up, and then passed out in the sleeping bag again. The next day we began the descent, and every stage of the downward journey had us sucking in thicker and thicker air until we were jumping and grinning where we had been wheezing and groaning on the way up. The miracle of acclimatization.

The point of this story
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coming as it does right in the middle of the roller-coaster ride of opening the bookshop café
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is that it illustrates my strong belief at the time that focusing intently on an objective that is passionately desired is the best tool for successfully achieving the goal. Our trekking party of good friends was of like mind. We were all there for different reasons, and some were doing it tougher than others. But deep and meaningful discussions along the trail and around the Sherpa stoves at night showed that focus and commitment to the goal were common to us all.

This trip had been planned long before the shop project took on a life of its own, and there was no way I was going to cancel this long-held dream to pursue another. I was away about four weeks in total, and was hardly missed. I arrived back in Sydney to find the premises virtually fitted out. A few more weeks
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and some books 
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and we would be ready to open.