Day 1 - E.B.C
Kathmandu - Lukla - Monjo (March 19th, 2010)
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! 4 a.m. came way to early. A good nights sleep thwarted by nerves, anticipation and procrastinatory packing. Bumping around the dimly lit hotel room, we anxiously completed our final pack. Socks, Boots, Jackets….Check. Undies, Iodine, Nepali version granola bars…Check. But it wasn’t until slipping on our brand new, “North Fake” wik-away tops and crisp new trekking pants that the true sense of what we were about to embark on, avalanched through our naively keen brains. We’re going to bloody Mount Everest!!
Hitting the chilly, pre-dawn streets of Kathmandu, I was surprised to find the insanity of day, dulled by night’s desertion. Like zombies in the night, a few reasonably awake cab drivers approached and the expected price haggle ensued. Choosing the cheapest bidder, Clay and I climbed into his previously employed “bedroom” (the cab’s back seat) and zoomed off.
Arriving to Kathmandu’s domestic terminal after an effortless, traffic-free cab ride left us completely ill-prepared for what lie ahead!
A mob of weary porters, stressed tour guides and anxious trekkers were already mounting at the terminal entrance. Securing two spots towards the front, the only way to maintain our forward position was to fight back! Forced to utilize my trekking poles sooner then anticipated, I used the pointy metal ends to ward off challengers! “Take that you brash Brit! And that, you power tripping tour guide!!.
When the terminal doors finally opened at 5:30 am sharp, the mob surged forward. Clay, asserting his position by whatever means necessary, created a gap just large enough for me and my bag to squeeze through. Flashing my passport at the disgruntled security guard, I wedged through the sliding door pulling Clay in after me. Phew! We were in the terminal!
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! 4 a.m. came way to early. A good nights sleep thwarted by nerves, anticipation and procrastinatory packing. Bumping around the dimly lit hotel room, we anxiously completed our final pack. Socks, Boots, Jackets….Check. Undies, Iodine, Nepali version granola bars…Check. But it wasn’t until slipping on our brand new, “North Fake” wik-away tops and crisp new trekking pants that the true sense of what we were about to embark on, avalanched through our naively keen brains. We’re going to bloody Mount Everest!!
Hitting the chilly, pre-dawn streets of Kathmandu, I was surprised to find the insanity of day, dulled by night’s desertion. Like zombies in the night, a few reasonably awake cab drivers approached and the expected price haggle ensued. Choosing the cheapest bidder, Clay and I climbed into his previously employed “bedroom” (the cab’s back seat) and zoomed off.
Arriving to Kathmandu’s domestic terminal after an effortless, traffic-free cab ride left us completely ill-prepared for what lie ahead!
A mob of weary porters, stressed tour guides and anxious trekkers were already mounting at the terminal entrance. Securing two spots towards the front, the only way to maintain our forward position was to fight back! Forced to utilize my trekking poles sooner then anticipated, I used the pointy metal ends to ward off challengers! “Take that you brash Brit! And that, you power tripping tour guide!!.
When the terminal doors finally opened at 5:30 am sharp, the mob surged forward. Clay, asserting his position by whatever means necessary, created a gap just large enough for me and my bag to squeeze through. Flashing my passport at the disgruntled security guard, I wedged through the sliding door pulling Clay in after me. Phew! We were in the terminal!
Greeted by a handful of insubstantial check-in desks, we hastily tried to locate our carrier. “Yeti Air”? Nope. “Buddha Air”? Nope. “Sita Air”? Yep, that’s the one!
With bags checked, airport departure tax paid, and tickets in hand we were only missing one thing. Or, should I say person. Steve! Our fearless American trekking pal (befriended on a previous hike in the Annapurna Mountain Range), had yet to check in. Now, if it were anyone else running late, I wouldn't have batted an eye, but if there was one characteristic of Steve’s that stood out above the rest, it was his sickening ability to be on time, if not early, everywhere we traveled! So....where was he now? Our flight was leaving in T-minus 24 minutes and Steve was MIA. |
Nervously milling around the terminal, Clay and I hopelessly counted down the minutes to departure, when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw flames! Faster then a bolt of red-haired, ginger lightening, Steve ripped across the terminal at a record breaking speed! Managing to check in, pay his departure tax, and clear security in five minutes flat. Obviously frazzled, Steve babbled on about a defective alarm to which Clay and I simply responded, “Yeah right Steve, somebody probably had one too many Kingfishers (beer) last night...” No matter the cause, the three of us were together again with our next great adventure lying directly ahead.
A handful of carriers operate the Kathmandu to Lukla route. All departing at the same time (6:30 am) and all from the same gate. You do the math. Organized chaos! The only notification of boarding time came in the form of a minuscule Nepali woman barking flight details. Electric signs or overhead speakers may have been slightly more efficient…
A handful of carriers operate the Kathmandu to Lukla route. All departing at the same time (6:30 am) and all from the same gate. You do the math. Organized chaos! The only notification of boarding time came in the form of a minuscule Nepali woman barking flight details. Electric signs or overhead speakers may have been slightly more efficient…
Eagerly awaiting our flight to be called, Clay, Steve and I enjoyed a quick brekkie of lady finger bananas and glucose biscuits. A slightly sweet, milk based cookie, glucose biscuits are comparable to a vanilla wafer, ginger snap hybrid. They sport the color of a ginger snap but the flavor of this muted childhood favorite, vanilla wafers. Nothing can accurately describe these little cookies except, YUM! Mash a lady finger banana between two biscuits for a breakfast sammie that can’t be beat. |
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“Sita Air…Now Boarding!” The last flight to be called, we excitedly filed onto the tarmac and into the awaiting transfer bus. The ensuing ride was a bit like going to a pet store to choose the cutest puppy. Except in this case, the cute puppies were 14-seater, twin-engine planes. Each plane born of modest beginnings (mountain cargo transfer planes) but jazzed up with newly decorated exteriors embracing their new purpose…trekker transportation. Some planes sported jovial Yeti’s, others magnificent Himalayan panoramas. Which one did we get…the mutt. The ugly duckling of the aerial litter. A completely nondescript, pallid white plane with more food supplies and expedition gear loaded, than people.
As if the site of our winged chariot wasn’t comforting enough, Steve chose this particular moment to educate me on the flight itself. One of the most dangerous flights in the world!
Situated on a precarious cliff side, 9,000 feet up, the small Sherpa village of Lukla is home to one of the highest and most dangerous airports in the world. Concealed in a jumble of lofty mountains, Lukla gets lost in what is known as, “The Himalayan Bermuda Triangle”. An off the radar zone where high-tech, computerized flight equipment cease to function and pilots must fly 100% visually. If a pilot miscalculates the angle, grade or distance of the landing, your trip to Everest would be cut severely short. “Yeah, thanks for the pre-flight briefing Steve.”
Carefully ducking into the small cabin, one narrow aisle separated 2 rows of 7 seats. Hardly big enough for a pint-size Nepali flight attendant let alone three full-grown Westerners, it was pretty obvious in-flight movies and complimentary cocktails were not apart of the service. Securing the first 3 seats on the right, it wasn’t until after lift off the flight attendant informed us the Himalayan scenery would be best viewed from the left side of the aircraft. Needless to say, the polite Nepali Sherpa to my left and I got very close during the 30-minute flight.
A quick taxi onto the short runway, followed by the deafening groan of the engines and we were off! The bustling streets of Kathmandu soon replaced by rows of vibrant rice paddies and a dramatic Himalayan backdrop. The mountains that once seemed so distant were now upon us, flying what felt like inches from the endless array of glorious peaks. My mind was in the clouds, my thoughts were on the pristine peaks, and my breath was...well...gone. Stolen by the inspired vista.
Situated on a precarious cliff side, 9,000 feet up, the small Sherpa village of Lukla is home to one of the highest and most dangerous airports in the world. Concealed in a jumble of lofty mountains, Lukla gets lost in what is known as, “The Himalayan Bermuda Triangle”. An off the radar zone where high-tech, computerized flight equipment cease to function and pilots must fly 100% visually. If a pilot miscalculates the angle, grade or distance of the landing, your trip to Everest would be cut severely short. “Yeah, thanks for the pre-flight briefing Steve.”
Carefully ducking into the small cabin, one narrow aisle separated 2 rows of 7 seats. Hardly big enough for a pint-size Nepali flight attendant let alone three full-grown Westerners, it was pretty obvious in-flight movies and complimentary cocktails were not apart of the service. Securing the first 3 seats on the right, it wasn’t until after lift off the flight attendant informed us the Himalayan scenery would be best viewed from the left side of the aircraft. Needless to say, the polite Nepali Sherpa to my left and I got very close during the 30-minute flight.
A quick taxi onto the short runway, followed by the deafening groan of the engines and we were off! The bustling streets of Kathmandu soon replaced by rows of vibrant rice paddies and a dramatic Himalayan backdrop. The mountains that once seemed so distant were now upon us, flying what felt like inches from the endless array of glorious peaks. My mind was in the clouds, my thoughts were on the pristine peaks, and my breath was...well...gone. Stolen by the inspired vista.
Wide-eyed and grinning like school children, Steve and I couldn’t peel our eyes, or cameras, from the window. Clay, on the other hand, was more amused by the cockpit and all the fancy devices he’d love to get his hands on. Conveniently left open for the passengers viewing pleasure, we had a birds eye view of the cockpit, the pilots and what lay ahead...mountains!! One big mountain in particular! “Holy smokes captain, shouldn’t we be turning by now?” Just when I was completing my second, “Hail Mary”, and staring into the eyes of death, the captain crackled onto the loud speaker, “Prepare for Landing”. “Landing? Land where man?" |
Completing two wide downward spirals, I caught my first glimpse of the meager airstrip. An abbreviated line of tarmac, scarcely longer then a football field, originating at the edge of a 9,000 foot sheer cliff face and terminating at the base of a giant mountain.
Picking up speed on the approach, my eyes were uncomfortably glued to the front windscreen and the enormous mountain face now filling it. “THUD...ERRRRRR!!” Practically thrown from my seat on impact, our break neck speed was drastically reduced to a crawl in a matter of seconds. Hanging a sharp right at the end of the runway, we cruised into the small airport parking lot as sure as the sun would rise. Phew, we had survived...I mean arrived! Tenzing-Hillary Airport, named in honor of the first two men to summit Everest, Sir Edmond Hillary and Tenzing Norgay
Picking up speed on the approach, my eyes were uncomfortably glued to the front windscreen and the enormous mountain face now filling it. “THUD...ERRRRRR!!” Practically thrown from my seat on impact, our break neck speed was drastically reduced to a crawl in a matter of seconds. Hanging a sharp right at the end of the runway, we cruised into the small airport parking lot as sure as the sun would rise. Phew, we had survived...I mean arrived! Tenzing-Hillary Airport, named in honor of the first two men to summit Everest, Sir Edmond Hillary and Tenzing Norgay
Shuffled off the plane and onto the tarmac, our bags hadn’t even been unloaded when the next lot of passengers were hurried on board. Swapping fresh and eager trekkers for tired, smelly ramblers, Sita Air was on a return journey to Kathmandu in less then 20 minutes.
Stepping into the brisk Himalayan air, I was surprised to discover just how cold it was at 9,000 feet. Attuned to the sweaty heat of Kathmandu, the icy air swept over me like a popsicle in a deep freeze. “Brrr! To the terminal boys!!” Pushing through the hoards of anxious guides and sherpas crowding the tarmac entrance, we raced into what we thought to be a comfortably heated terminal. Wrong! I reckon it was colder inside then out. Snatching our bags off the senescent luggage carousel, we darted out the door and towards the closest teahouse. Surely, the teahouse would be heated! Strike two, Wrong again! Desperate for some pre-hike warmth, we slurped down our first (of many) overpriced cups of Nepali tea and begin the process of layering up! Down vest, down gloves, thermal socks, woolen hat... map?? I knew we forgot something. Reason # 712 why Steve is the perfect trekking buddy - he brought a map.
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A quick stop at the national park registry building was now all that stood between us and Everest….and about 7 days of climbing. With park permits in hand, the rangers hardly glanced at our documents before stamping us in. “Good luck”, they chuckled.
Ambitious out of the gate, our initial plan was to hike from Lukla to Namche Bazaar. An intense 8-hour slog. However, after taking into consideration our previouos nights insomniac sleep, not to mention Steve’s refuted hangover…we decided to keep Day 1‘s trek to a “paltry” 5 hours.
Descending downwards almost immediately after starting the hike, I was beginning to think we chose the wrong path. “Shouldn’t we be going up?” But, as I soon learned, to go up, one must invariably go down...a tormenting trend continued throughout the trek. In this case, dropping some 700 feet to the Dudh Koshi River before beginning the 1,400 foot ascent to the small village of Monjo.
Arriving by mid-afternoon, we shopped around for the best (and by “best”, I mean cheapest) teahouse. A steal at 50 Rupees per person (about .80 cents USD), we collapsed on our respective beds to catch up on sleep robbed the night before.
Ambitious out of the gate, our initial plan was to hike from Lukla to Namche Bazaar. An intense 8-hour slog. However, after taking into consideration our previouos nights insomniac sleep, not to mention Steve’s refuted hangover…we decided to keep Day 1‘s trek to a “paltry” 5 hours.
Descending downwards almost immediately after starting the hike, I was beginning to think we chose the wrong path. “Shouldn’t we be going up?” But, as I soon learned, to go up, one must invariably go down...a tormenting trend continued throughout the trek. In this case, dropping some 700 feet to the Dudh Koshi River before beginning the 1,400 foot ascent to the small village of Monjo.
Arriving by mid-afternoon, we shopped around for the best (and by “best”, I mean cheapest) teahouse. A steal at 50 Rupees per person (about .80 cents USD), we collapsed on our respective beds to catch up on sleep robbed the night before.