Speechless
It doesn’t happen often but today the rare event has occurred - words failed me. Well, more accurately, I can’t seem to conjure up any suitable words to describe our epic day.
Somewhere during the day I was thinking bitterly, why didn’t someone stop me? Where are all my trusted allies when I need them? The person to say- don’t do that, it’s mad.
Well it is mad but I’m glad none of you stopped me.
Ann and I have had a day that required some fairly deep reserves of grit and stamina.
It began at 4.15am when we got up to catch the tiny plane up to Lukla but actually, neither of us had much sleep and Ann probably only about an hour (I got a bit more aided and abetted by a few wines earlier!).
It was hellish hot and somehow sleep eluded us so we capitulated, got up, bundled our incredibly heavy packs downstairs and piled into the waiting car- expertly driven by Ann’s patient and obliging Kathmandu friend, Anil.
He drove us through the dark and dusty 5am streets of Kathmandu where there are almost no street lights and walkers loom out of the darkness every few yards.
It was a surreal experience for me, and reconjured memories of last time I was here so very long ago.
Dawn was breaking and the air fragrant as we made our way into the airport to begin yet another brutal airport experience in the harsh flickering fluorescent light - the half strip search, the blank faces and the sweaty unease about what they will make you do next. All the while trying to keep track of your stuff and not look guilty.
We were summarily despatched in a rackety bus towards a tiny tinny looking plane with a kind of dodgy looking hose pipe, not much bigger than a garden hose, attached to it- I assume this is re fueling! And about six men stood round and looked at it - we sweated on the bus on the tarmac like refugees.
People keep on saying that Luckla airport is the must dangerous in the world - there is also the small matter of some really hokey looking planes as well.
Ann kindly made sure I got a window seat - and I blithely sat taking photos of little terraced villages and steep wooded hills. It was charming and then fuck, there it was- right I front of me - the might of those Himilayas - speechless is a very paltry description of the shock, the sheer might of those mountains up close. Unfortunately I’m not much of a photographer so this image doesn’t really convey the might of what I saw.
I was not prepared for it at all.
Nor was I prepared for the incredibly taxing slog up the stone paths that came next. After a bit of jiggery pokery at the airport, off we went, up and up and along and up and down and up again. And huge swing bridges looking very flimsy high above raging torrents. It was hot, steep and there we were, two old (er) ladies, (sorry Donna about mentioning old but I really feel it right now), no sleep and thin air- not your dream scenario.
We survived- but somewhere in the afternoon, I wondered if I would.
And now, we are trying to figure out how to make out our packs lighter, and which version of potato we will eat tonight!
