Moni Mulepati, thirty-three, has shared her remarkable wedding story so often you sense she’s a little impatient with yet another retelling. But the Nepal native knows her headline-making marriage in 2005 helps promote the Himalayan Bazaar, which her husband, Pem Dorjee Sherpa, co-owns, and where she works. And her businesslike manner softens as she recalls the brief ritual on top of Mt. Everest, where the two put on garlands, and he covered her face with orange powder.

Theirs was the first marriage ever at the summit of the world’s highest mountain. “I was crying–I was so happy!” Mulepati recalls. “It is like my dream come true!”

But anxiety mingled with exhaustion–in the final thirty-six hours of the dangerous summit, she’d had four hours of sleep–as she and Sherpa replaced their oxygen masks and descended. Mulepati knew her parents would be shocked if not outraged–they thought she and Sherpa were just pals from their intensive mountain-climbing class. Sherpa, embarrassed, had stood by while Mulepati’s mother eagerly showed her daughter photos of “eligible” men–high-caste, well-educated Hindus like themselves. While Mulepati, raised in the big city of Kathmandu, had attended college in Thailand, Sherpa was a farmer’s son from a remote village who had been supporting himself since age twelve.

When they reached base camp, Mulepati called her aunt and asked her to tell her parents about the wedding. “If we are not accepted,” she warned, “we are not coming home.” Her father finally called and said, “Come down safely. We accept you and Pem.”

Though the media declared the wedding “made in heaven,” Mulepati’s parents weren’t the only Nepalese who were shocked. “It’s very hard to go against your parents in Nepal,” Mulepati explains. “Our marriage was a door opener. I’m from a Hindu family and my husband is Buddhist. It sent a good message to everyone.”

Small and slim, Mulepati arrives for an interview with the couple’s two young daughters (Sherpa is traveling in Nepal). Seven-year-old Pelzom, wearing a striking dress, cradles a doll, while her nine-month-old sister, Mezel, sits alertly in her stroller. “She never sleeps,” sighs her mom. Asked whether it’s harder to climb Everest or raise kids, Mulepati–one of just five Nepalese women to summit–replies that being a mom “is much, much harder.”

A small “Everest Museum” in the store on Main St. tells the story of the couple’s marriage; newpaper articles and photos are displayed, along with Sherpa’s oxygen tank and ice axe. The couple sometimes gives talks about their climb or about the country.

Almost everything for sale was made in Nepal: winter hats, mittens, sweaters, scarves, jewelry, and the popular “singing bowls,” which emit tones when the rim is rubbed.

The couple, and the store, are both here thanks to Heather O’Neal, a lifelong Ann Arborite who fell in love with Nepal as a college student. After Sherpa guided her on a trek (an extended hike–she’s not a mountain climber), she was so impressed with his competence that she partnered with him to lead tours that she organized through her company, Of Global Interest.

O’Neal also began buying Nepalese clothes and jewelry and selling them out of her west-side garage. A couple of years ago, she invited Sherpa and Mulepati, then living in Colorado, to set up shop on Main. Sherpa now does all the buying in Nepal.

Sherpa is quieter than his wife, with strong features and a relaxed smile that belies his remarkable accomplishments. In an interview before he left for Nepal, he explained that he grew up in Chyangba, a farm village poised on a hillside at an altitude of 11,500 feet that even today can be reached only by foot. School was a two-hour walk away.

His father struggled to pay tuition so that Sherpa, his gifted second child, could continue his studies. But, concerned about the family’s sacrifice, Sherpa ran away at age twelve to the airport town of Lukla, where he earned room and board at a hotel by working as a dishwasher and cook. Two years went by before his father arranged a meeting with him near Sherpa’s workplace.

He eventually moved to Kathmandu, hoping for better opportunities in the country’s largest business–tourism. He worked first at hotels, then became a porter in climbing expeditions, first on smaller mountains, then on Everest, which he summited once before his wedding climb.

Some who’ve climbed Everest suffer depression afterwards, haunted by the sense that life will never again be so thrilling. But Sherpa feels no wistfulness. While affluent foreign visitors are “climbing for dreams,” he explains, “we are working to make money.” (With a guide’s practicality, he notes that “the Americans are better tippers than Israelis or French.”)

Whatever their motive, all who climb Everest face the same dangers. Though about 4,000 people have climbed the mountain, more than 250 people have died in the attempt. This spring, in the deadliest day in Everest history, sixteen Nepali guides were killed in an avalanche.

Sherpa juggles his unconventional career with efforts to help his family’s village. With financial support from wealthy Americans he met through his work, he arranged for a team of dentists to work there for a week in 2008 (Mulepati translated for them). He also helped arrange construction of a village school.

His current project is his most ambitious: bringing modern stoves to all the homes in the village, replacing the smoky open fireplaces that cause many respiratory problems. Last month, he was leading a trek of project donors into his hometown. Presently, there’s funding for about fifty stoves, enough for about half the village.

Mulepati Skypes daily with her parents back home; Sherpa talks to his parents about once a month. He has thought about bringing his parents here so, as they age, they can enjoy modern conveniences and good health care. But he has observed other situations where older Nepalese arrivals are unbearably lonely in the States, despite their children’s efforts. He believes they will remain in their home–but now with a smokeless stove.

For their part, the couple married on Everest have adapted easily to American ways, while holding to their own traditions. They speak Nepalese to Pelzom, who learned English easily at her preschool. They have both Buddhist and Hindu shrines in their home, and they are active in Ann Arbor’s tiny Nepalese community, enjoying Nepalese holidays together.

The couple have their green cards, permitting them to live and work in the United States, but are not yet citizens. When her mother mentions this, Pelzom, who was born here, suddenly asks, “I’m an American citizen, aren’t I?” Assured that she is, she smiles.