Relative Something

Since my travels to Nepal in 2009, I continue to watch the news headlines from the region. I know people there. The news has an added poignancy for me now. I guess it is doubly so when the news involves one of the planes that fly tourists and trekkers into the high mountains. Once again, just such a plane has crashed near Katmandu. I have very strong memory of what flying in one of those planes is like. Reading about these crashes cuts to my core.

I went back to look at what I wrote of my first experience, standing on the tarmac, watching the variety of personnel informally wandering around. I am very happy I knew a lot less about what I was getting myself into at the time, than I know now.

From the article I linked to above:

While it’s too early to speculate on the cause, Kaul said, in general, aviation safety in Nepal is a concern. Many foreign tourists don’t appreciate this, he added, assuming the landlocked mountain nation maintains the same standards they enjoy at home.

“I’m not sure Nepal has the resources to invest or the technical ability within the government to ensure the system is safe,” he said. “Those who use mountain flights take for granted that the airline and the system are safe.”

And here, again, is my description of the time I was there, back when I naively assumed I wasn’t taking quite such a risk:

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When it arrives, the pilots cut the engine on the side where the passengers and bags are loaded, but leave the other one running. We get off the bus and line up to wait for the returning passengers to file out of the plane. I watch for their expressions, but don’t get a clear reading of any particular emotion. Later, I will understand this completely. A guy shows up with thermoses and sets them down on the tarmac to prepare tea for the pilots. The young man choreographing all the activity on the runway begins directing those in our line to climb aboard. He compliments the look of my hair and just as I’m about to feel pleased over it, he says the same thing to Gary, right behind me.

The Twin Otter seats about 15 people including one flight attendant who presents a tray with hard candies and cotton for plugging our ears. Each seat is on a window, with an aisle down the middle. To my surprise, taxiing down the runway brings me to tears. It makes me wonder if this trip means more to me than I am aware. It does bring to mind my mother, since I am honoring her with this trip, and suddenly tears are understandable. I learn later that others on the plane were similarly moved, so there is something dramatic in the moment.

My hope is rewarded when the pilot revs the engines and we accelerate down the runway. It feels like a peak experience, but it isn’t, because it just keeps getting better with each passing minute. Airborne, the visuals are an awesome array of hills, ravines, and terraces as seen out my window from above. Then I turn and spot it through the windows on the other side of the plane… snow-capped mountain peaks of the high Himalayas. It is an indescribable, overwhelmingly mind blowing rush. This must be what I was after.