The woman spoke no English, but smiled unceasingly while she violated my personal space, nudging the steaming mug at me. I could only wonder about the void where her two front teeth once hung. As transfixed on the smile as I was, I soon snapped out of the trance and felt the hot mug burning my hand. As I looked down at the cup I could see oil droplets separating on top from the rest of the concoction. The shiny circles appeared to be dancing on the top of the hot liquid. Mostly out of politeness, and an unwillingness to offend my toothless hostess, I took a sip. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. Sweet and salty, and more floral tasting than I expected. I sipped a bit more. It was five o’clock in the morning and I was just north of Tengboche Nepal, on my way to Everest Base Camp. Through gesticulation and grunting mostly, I deciphered that I was drinking some sort of tea with the butter or cheese, or worse, from a Yak mixed in.