Relative Something

The itinerary for Monday, 06 April, indicates that we fly to Lukla, as if it was just that easy. Little did I know. The morning was rife with anticipation for this dramatic milestone in our adventure and I was maybe piling on a bit extra of my own expectancy with my interest in moving on from Kathmandu. We arose, bright and early, and headed down to the lobby to find our promised boxed breakfast and to see that our bags were ready to be loaded in the van. Representatives from Tiger Mountain would arrive and load our bags and drive us to the airport. Gary and I dove into our breakfast right there on the lobby floor. Some pastries, fruit, a juice box, and a hard boiled egg! I’m happy with the offerings.

We depart regardless the fact that not everybody’s bag is ready to go. Despite all the planning and preparations he has communicated to us toward avoiding just such an outcome, it turns out that Jim’s duffel, which he meant to take along today, has somehow been confused with the bags that were being stored at the hotel while we are trekking, and it wasn’t located in time. It will have to be sent along at a later opportunity. Soon we are navigating the streets of Kathmandu and I appreciate the chance to witness the early morning activities and get a sense that it isn’t always as chaotic as what I had witnessed during the driving we had experienced over the previous two days.

At the airport, there is plenty of activity and our van is greeted by many eager and willing hands to assist with our gear. The guide from Tiger Mountain appears to tolerate the confusion and it is virtually impossible for us to discern who is our designated handler and who is a freelancer working his options. It is very difficult to ascertain whether the person grabbing your bag truly has your best interests in mind. All they want is a tip for their efforts. Then there is the entryway to be navigated. There are many groups interested in getting inside and they all seem to shoulder their way forward at the same time toward a door that is being guarded by one individual who watches to see if there is room on the other side and decides when to let anyone advance. Our group gets separated for a moment and it seems quite a feat to get back together again.

Bags must be xrayed and individuals pat-searched. Two lines are formed, based on gender. It is interesting that this same routine is repeated –at least the pat-search and carry-on bags zipped open and checked– several more times, in sequence. We can’t imagine what they suspect might be changing between each inspection. After the first layer, we reach the place where they will weigh our bags for the strict limit of the Twin Otter plane that will fly us to Lukla. Luckily, they pile all the bags on the relic of a scale at the same time, so we don’t know whose bag is over or under, just that the whole group is good or not. The ambient noise here is pretty high and the tension of anticipation is significant. We pass!

Suddenly, we are jarred from our sleepy state of waiting and told to advance by stepping over the scale and moving into the next staging area where there is seating. It is pretty crowded and we have to settle for a spot far from the front windows and the door offering access to the tarmac. It is impossible to discern the words coming through the PA speaker that seems woefully undersized and severely over-driven, regardless of whether they were even speaking English or not. We must rely on Jim to figure out when our flight is called. He spends a lot of time hovering by the front. That leaves us free to chat and take turns telling stories and finding ways to pass time. I give a short juggling lesson and David proves to be a quick study. Pam discovers her special pens are leaking when she pulls out her stuff to work on her journal.

The skies don’t appear to be altogether bad; the sun seems to peek through occasionally. But it must not be clear enough at Lukla, because there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of progress from the many groups waiting. Hours go by. Off and on we hear airplanes, but they could be headed anywhere. Our hopes ebb and flow. Eventually, a group planning to climb Everest that was waiting near us, gets up and rushes to the front. That generates new energy in us. Then it is reported that they have returned and that our flight has been canceled.

That was a lot of waiting to not fly. Bummer! We end up gathering our bags, now holding them close and lugging them ourselves through the gauntlet of tip-seekers, and making a return trip to the Yak & Yeti hotel. The plan is to do it all again the next day. We learn that an additional night at the hotel was not part of our original fees and we will need to pay Jim for rooms. We re-register and get new rooms. At least we qualified for the free ‘welcome’ drinks. We sit together in the lounge area –even though sit together is what we just did all day long– and debrief our experience. It is cathartic.

We’ve got one more night to kill in Kathmandu. Gary, David and I wander out to the nearby main-drag, Durbar Marg, and just sit and observe activity. Later, we have dinner at the hotel. Fearing a repeating scene, ala the movie, “Ground Hog Day,” we set our sights on better weather for the morning.

This day was not all bad, but it was not one of the highlights of the trip for me, either. All that waiting wears on you. I slept soundly that night.