Everest Trek - the Flight to Lukla

For the trekker flying from Kathmandu to Lukla - starting point for treks into the Everest region - the experience is not unlike a military operation.  The deciding factor in its success is the weather and when that fickle window opens, it’s a mad rush to get as many planes into the air and boots on the ground as possible.  Between the aircraft taxiing to a halt on the apron at Lukla and its takeoff no more than six minutes later, the plane disgorges 18 passengers and their gear; bundles of mail, bags of rice and other oddments – and then re-loads with an outgoing consignment of passengers and their gear.  A minute after that plane is airborne, the next one is inbound.  When the weather is good (“good” meaning at least 5000m of visibility), Lukla Airport receives and dispatches over 60 flights – most of them before lunchtime (which is roughly when conditions begin to deteriorate).  When it’s not, I’m told the resulting bottleneck can last for days.  Everyone obsesses about the weather when it comes to flights in and out of Lukla: at the start of one’s trek because one can’t wait to start the trip of a lifetime, at the end because one can’t wait to get back to civilisation. 

Lukla Apron - pic courtesy of Himalayanworkshops.com

The journey to Lukla begins at 5am amidst the darkened, moldering tenements of Kathmandu’s Thamel District.  The city sleeps late so the streets are eerie and deserted - only the occasional stray is witness to the nervous huddle of travellers waiting on the pavement for their taxi.  The experience progresses to the heavily congested domestic terminal of Tribuvhan airport and, weather permitting, concludes an hour or so later on the gloomy, windswept apron of, (according to the History Channel), “the most extreme airport in the world”.  It is a transformative experience:  the senses, still reeling from the chaos and filth of Kathmandu, are now besieged by the sheer immensity of the Himalayan massif not to mention the landing itself which, even in professional circles, is regarded as audacious.  Then of course there’s the clamour of porters jostling like an army of impatient fishermen hoping to hook a client.  There’s the crisp, thin air and the rolling green hills of the lower Khumbu valley, which, anywhere else, would easily qualify as mountains.  Here they are just hills.

Tenzing-Hillary Airport, gateway to Everest and the staging area of high adventure.  But also of great tragedy.  Built in the late 60s and only tarred in 2000, the place has seen its fair share of accidents.  Seven of the 10 recorded on Wikipedia took place between 2005 and 2009, the worst of which led to the deaths of two Yeti Airlines crewmembers and an entire party of German trekkers.  Only the pilot survived.   They are remembered on a chorten beside the path to Phakding just beyond the town gate.

So it was with relief that we exited the Tara Airlines De Havilland Twin Otter and stepped out onto the apron – relief and extreme exhilaration because the landing eclipsed even my wildest memories of roller coasters I’ve ridden.  As I paused, I noticed an outgoing group of trekkers being buffered in the propwash.  Unkempt and with the faces of one or two of them bearing a vaguely haunted look, the moment reminded me of that opening scene in Platoon in which the new recruits disembark on the runway at Saigon – all clean and innocent in their drab combat gear - only to encounter a detachment of hollow-eyed, battle-hardened grunts.  “What horrors lie in store?” they wonder.

But there was little time to think too much about it – no sooner had we stepped up onto the high street, we were ushered into a cozy lodge where a hot cup of tea awaited us.  Half an hour later, after a few final adjustments to our gear, we hit the trail – destination Phakding – a small village 2.5 hours walk hence and a descent of about 300 metres into the Dudh Khosi Valley.  We would spend our first night there.

A day of Contrasts: Dubai to Khatmandu

To the visitor standing on the observation deck of the 124th floor of Dubai’s Burj Khalifa, it is quite obvious that the city has a point to prove, possibly just as a world-class metropolis but more likely as the poster child of the modern Islamic state.  The Burj, nearly a Kilometer high, took 7 years to build and though its architecture is classified as Islamic, was the work of a polyglot team of builders, craftsmen and designers.  The city is also the hub of the world’s biggest airline and a gateway to places on the globe that even a decade ago were practically inaccessible to the traveller. 

More than 600 metres below us, the city and its artificial lakes pulsated in the mid-morning heat, resembling more a sepia-toned, space-age board game than a city. 

Later that day, Martin and I visited both of Dubai’s premier shopping destinations, the Dubai Mall and the Mall of the Emirates. We returned to the airport in the afternoon gob-smacked both by the scale of development and the seething opulence.  In the latter venue, for example, Arab ingenuity coupled with lashings of Oil revenue had conspired to create the Ski Dubai amusement park complete with the only indoor black diamond run in the world, snowboard features, ski lifts, toboggans and even penguins (this in a city where summer temperatures soar into the late forties and beyond).

View from the 124th floor of the Burj Khalifa - to the left is the Dubai Mall, probably 3 times bigger than Durban's Gateway Mall

But the shock to the senses was only half finished as we boarded our flight to Katmandu.  Not four hours later, as our jeep weaved hither and yon through the city’s maze of backstreets and alleyways the violent contrast between one of the world’s richest settlements and one of its poorest was now playing itself out with dramatic effect.  In the lugubrious play of the headlights on the moldering tenements and pockmarked streets I occasionally caught glimpses of scrawny strays, broken pipes oozing non-descript liquids and in a few instances, the apparently lifeless bodies of people lying prostrate amidst discarded litter on the pavement.  The city had its own smell too and it would take some getting used to.

The final flourish in this game of opposites came in the form of our hotel, a decidedly mediocre place (I am being charitable) called “The Moonlight Hotel”.  Not only did The Moonlight stink but it promised a cornucopia of insect life too.  Despite howls of protest from some of our team, we had no choice but to make do.

Our hotel woes were soon forgotten however.  The euphoria of awaking in this ancient, bustling city launched us into the new day and soon we were busy with last minute itinerary adjustments, money changing and above all, the purchase of some crucial items of equipment.  

While Katmandu sounds like the last place you would choose to procure hiking and climbing gear, the reality is quite the opposite.  Its proximity to China’s sweatshops and knock-off bazaars guarantee a profusion of stores stocking keenly priced merchandise.  These places in no way resemble the Cape Union Mart, Due South or Trappers outlets we are familiar with back home.  Mostly, they are tiny, grubby cubbyholes no bigger than your bathroom into which the trader has crammed an astonishing array of inventory.  Floor to ceiling is a treasure trove of some of the biggest brand names in the outdoor game including North Face, Sherpa, Mammut and Marmot.  Fleece jackets, backpacks, thermal gear, waterproofs, sleeping bags, Gore Tex accessories, gloves, trek poles and you name it abound.   What the city’s traders don’t stock simply isn’t worth owning.  (Some places even sell the type of boots and ropes you’d need if you were tackling an eight-thousander though such articles are of very dubious quality and in most instances look old enough to have been looted from the mummified bodies that litter the slopes of Everest’s Death Zone.)  Rumour has it that there is one tailor in Kathmandu in possession of sewing machine that can put the North Face Logo onto almost any unbranded item.  He is said to be one of the richest men in the city.

Weird and wonderful architecture in Thamel District

My advice to any trekker going to Nepal is to not spend a cent on anything but your hiking boots before leaving – ensuring you have a full day in Katmandu to shop yourself silly.  The prices are extremely good and everyone is open to negotiation. 

My second bit of advice to the traveller is to restrict one’s early movements to the city’s Thamel District.  The sight-seeing of temples and religious shrines should be saved for when you get back from your trek/climb/pilgrimage or whatever it is you are going there to do.  Sure, Thamel is very touristy but it is impossible to get lost there and the shopping is great.  Thamel is also the home of Pilgrim’s book shop, an iconic landmark which stocks practically every title you might need – including every single book on mountains and mountaineering which has ever been written.  If you are a bibliophile, budget for at least two hours to experience the full benefits of the shop.  Behind and to the right of Pilgrim’s are two excellent restaurants that offer a huge choice of ethnic and international cuisine as well as free WiFi.  I have happy memories of my afternoon there.

Martin studying maps in Pilgrim's Bookshop

While in this charming, bustling suburb we took a rickshaw ride to orientate ourselves.  The rickshaw operators must surely rank amongst the most cadaverous and undernourished of the city’s citizens so it was nice to put some business their way.  It’s a pretty exciting ride too and rickshaws seem to have right of way regardless of traffic conditions.

Ghurka Knives for Sale in Khatmandu - Beware of Imitations!

As the day wore on, news began to filter in about a mountaineering tragedy that had taken place the night before high on the slopes of the world’s 8th highest mountain.  A team of climbers hoping to conquer Manaslu was fast asleep in their tents when an early morning Avalanche obliterated their camp.  9 climbers were dead and a few were still missing.  2 of the dead ranked among the world’s finest freestyle skiers.  They were hoping to conquer the mountain and then be the first to ski down.  For sheer shock value and morbid drama you couldn’t have asked for more – photos in the morning papers showed 9 sleeping bags containing the bodies of the deceased being loaded onto helicopters.  This must surely have been one of mountaineering’s worst catastrophes in years.

Not the sort of news you want the day before you set off on a major trek

Late that afternoon we crammed into the air-conditioned office of Mr Prem Khatry, CEO of Ace the Himalaya, for a final briefing.  His confident air, professionalism and the courtesies he extended impressed us. 

“What sort of mountains do you have in your country?” asked Prem.  

“Our highest is about 3300 meters,” someone said proudly.  

He smiled politely and nodded.  “In Nepal anything below 5000 meters is considered a hill”

Prem went on to explain that the 150km drive by jeep to the trailhead at Syange north of Pokhara would take at least 8 hours.  How a road trip could take that long even on a bad road seemed so difficult to compute that most of us dismissed the thought out of hand and imagined Prem was pulling our legs.

Each person was then issued with a T Shirt that proudly bore the company’s logo as well as a hat and duffle bag.  “Please use these bags instead of your own - If they break along the way – often they do - we’ll be quite happy to replace them on your return.” 

As I got into bed that night, I looked at my new bag.  As a piece of luggage, it ranked among the toughest I had owned.  At the same time, I reflected on the prospect of an 8 Hour road trip, a distance that would take only 90 minutes to cover back home.  Finally I reflected on the fact that anything below 5000 meters in Nepal was nothing but a hill?     

Just what type of journey had we signed up for?  

This question, coupled with the sensory overload of my day in Katmandu, meant it took hours to fall asleep.

The not so desirable Hotel Moonlight