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The Feeling You've Cheated Death
My eyes opened as my watch made its final chime for the morning. Four hours wasn't much but an hour up on yesterday. I rushed over to the window to inspect the weather, all I knew was that I couldn't hear rain and that's what mattered. I had a nice hot shower and a good clean before the trek then readied my bag for the flight. As I did so, I thought I'd left the shower running but I was mistaken, it was the rain pouring down. Rarely in the UK do we get such strong rain and normally, especially in warmer climes I would embrace it but not today. Today I needed good weather but I didn't have much faith. Even so, I excitedly got ready in anticipation of the trek, I couldn't wait. I got changed and put my boots on for the first time, they felt good.
I picked up my luggage, my bag feeling heavier than it once did, and went to reception. It was dark and quiet, exactly how I had left it the night before with no one to check me out. I couldn't leave as I hadn't yet paid. I filled my platypuses up with water but my knocking on the counter, the glugs of the water cooler nor the rustling of my bags caught anyone's attention so I shouted for someone. I heard what sounded like a man breaking wind and then snorting. A man had been sleeping in the darkness of the reception waiting room so I couldn't see him but he must have been there last night too. I checked out in time for the tooting of the taxi waiting in the rain outside. The drive was slow and the crater-riddled roads flooded. The dim lights of the tiny battered car did little for visibility. The driver was, quite rightly, complaining that he has to pay road tax and still the government does not fix the appalling road. I sympathised but admitted UK roads are far smoother. He also expected me to return to the hotel, as did the man at the hotel - they both said there hadn't been a flight to Lukla in ten days. Worried, I tried to remain positive.
The sun had begun its attempt to penetrate the cloud and rain but was so far doing a poor job by the time I was at the airport. I was led to the domestic terminal building by two men, one man insisted that he carried my bag the other had a brolly over my head. I could smell the scent of damp paper as wrapped goods tied with string were unloaded from the cars that pulled up to deposit their packages. It wasn't long before I was inside the terminal building, through security and at one of the few wooden check in booths that looked like they'd be more at home selling vegetables. I went to purchase my airport tax from the onsite 'bank' then weighed my bag on some very old scales. I got through security and took my seat to wait for my plane. I expected to be waiting a while but after an hour my plane was ready to leave so we were rushed into a bus to take us down the runway to the plane that was waiting in the rain.
I wasn't sure whether the short drive by the side of the runway was a telling story or just a parking area for old planes. There were some disconcertingly damaged planes, some completely mangled. Some were in bits whilst others just looked old and in need of repair. I ignored all this though, we were about to leave. I could feel my heart flutter and my stomach tighten with excitement. While I waited for my turn to run to the plane, the pilot came out to check the exterior and with his hand, gave the rudder a wiggle to make sure it worked - technical stuff this flying malarkey. We boarded the plane one by one, greeted by a stewardess and given seats. I was lucky and got a window seat. The interior needed some work, the plane was clearly quite old and there was no door to the cockpit so we could see into where the pilots were preparing for flight. The stewardess dressed in green and gold embroidered silk came down the aisle handing out boiled sweets and cotton wool for our ears. I buckled up and, without any safety instructions, though I made sure to read the card, we were off. The noise and shuddering from the propellers was intense but I tried to restrain my grin as we taxied to the runway. Before I realised what was happening we were back where we started. They'd unsurprisingly closed Lukla airport so we had to disembark and go back to departures. Still a little high from the short outing I was positive that it would reopen before long. Departures was now much busier but I found a seat next to three unimpressed Brits that had been waiting for the ten days that I had heard about. They were thinking about giving in but I didn't even really have one day to spare let alone ten so I started to worry. In came a group of people that I judged instantly as being American - few women with bum bags and a Japanese man. Their flight was called and they hurried through to the bus. I sat chatting to the friendly Brits, we exchanged travels stories as we waited. It was nice to get a conversation and not be asked for money at the end of it. Suddenly, all the Nepalese people in the room jumped up to the television in the middle of the hall. Curious, we thought, it was probably a news bulletin and nothing for us to worry about. I decided to ask for news of my flight. I couldn't believe my ears. The plane I had just been sat in, the one that was very nearly airborne with me inside had been used by another company - it had crashed! I laughed in disbelief and questioned her three times. My plane had crashed, the 14 passengers inside and the two pilots all dead. Gone. No longer living and it happened while I was there. I saw them leave. There, sat laughing in departures with three new friends over jokes of being conned by people trying to get money from us. The gravity was so strong I couldn't feel it. I was numb, shocked and numb. Those ladies with the blonde hair and the bum bags that just walked past me, that I just squeezed through to get to the bin were all dead in many pieces and dispersed among the mountainside into which they crashed. The room was electric and then silent within minutes. Just like the lives of the people that boarded that plane, that plane that I was strapped into. I couldn't believe those people were dead, their families none the wiser and I couldn't belief that it was so nearly me. The horror and intensity was beyond me. After my stunned state had worn off a little my first thought was that I had to get back and email friends and family to tell them I was alive and well, well maybe not well, but alive at least. I expected it to be on the news and didn't want people to worry. The lady said that all flights had been cancelled due to the crash and she explained what had happened. To get to Lukla the plane had to fly over a mountain ridge one that is invisible in cloud. The flight was one of their Mountain flights that only flies to Lukla and back just for the journey and the view, hence why they could take off with Lukla being closed. Due to poor visibility they got into trouble and had a failed landing at Lukla so they decided to head back to Kathmandu. The small planes don't have satellite navigation so they rely heavily on visibility. That, together with a short angled runway tucked onto a mountainside at high altitude and with generally poor weather conditions makes it the most dangerous landing in the world. The pilots, unable to see the approaching mountain, obliviously flew straight into it. Apparently fuselage and body parts were scattered over the remote and inaccessible area.
I got the taxi back with Bepin as I found out that we were staying in the same hotel. The security man laughed sympathetically as I trudged back to the desk in the hope they'd have a spare room, it seemed everyone knew of the crash. We had breakfast together and then managed to get our old rooms back. I sat down to think about what had just happened. Shock is the only word I can use but it amplified once I was alone. It started to sink in, which wasn't a pleasant experience. I wished I'd not joked about not returning home and I wished the accident hadn't happened but none of that was useful. It was difficult to know what to make of it. I wasn't sure how I should react so I just got on with contacting people and writing about my experience. As I sat at my desk the rain continued to come down but eventually, after much writing, talking to family and eating of chicken biryani, the clouds started to fade. Over the course of the afternoon a dramatic transformation took place around Kathmandu that revealed its natural barrier of mountains all around. It was magnificent to see but that just made me want to do the trek even more. After about twenty hours the rain finally gave way and I decided that I would go and explore.
I started walking down the road to Durbar Square, it was my first chance to really see and appreciate Kathmandu. South of the hotel was less touristy with the shops being mainly food and everyday goods. The architecture I found fascinating. The buildings were tall and tightly packed but looked dilapidated and old, even unused. They were build out of brick or stone with thick wooden doors, window frames and buttresses, all carved with various shapes. They were very attractive, in an ancient kind of way, every one different but similar in style. Each floor was miniature with the top of the door coming to about my shoulder height but that was no problem for a lot of the Nepalese people. It had the effect of making Kathmandu seem even more exotic and mysterious. Like Alice and her Wonderland, who could say what was behind that tiny little door. As I passed women frying some momos, a local small Cornish pasty crossed with a Chinese dumpling, I stepped into the square.
It was the former residence of the Kings of Nepal, as it was partly a palace, and the place each successor was crowned. The square was only in name and not in shape as numerous pagodas stood impressively on top of steeply stepped stone mounds. The other buildings in the square had woodwork similar to that of the shops and pagodas but they were much more decorative. The whole place was alive with people. The steps of the pagodas were laden with local people just like the streets. Women with sheets sat on the floor selling neat piles of vegetables, limes and many other food stuffs. Through the minute windows were bags of intensely coloured spices where a man with scales would carefully weigh out the spice against iron weights. Two men trawled the streets with a statue of Ganesh, just one of the thirty two Hindu Gods, allowing people to touch it and then their head in respect. Candles were lit and placed inside the temples. Brightly coloured flowers, mainly oranges and reds, were sewn together to form garlands that were placed around the Gods' necks. It was a religious festival, the people seemed wonderfully happy as they danced around on the cobbled streets. As I was taking a photograph, a little girl came up to me and explained that I couldn't celebrate, I wasn't part of the festivities. She pointed to her wrist and then her father's wrist who sat next to her with a bowl of tikka, the red die that is put on the forehead of Hindu people, and two bundles of string. She wanted me to have a bracelet, apparently called a rakhi, and become part of her culture, have good luck and live a long life. I was touched by her generosity and thanked her greatly. I crouched down to allow her father to wrap the yellow and red string around my hand and as he did so a small group surrounded me to watch. I didn't necessarily believe in what they did but I was so pleased with just being accepted. After, I didn't attract quite so much attention although a monk did later try and smear tikka on my head which I had to politely refuse several times. Bebin, Cherie and Jim all did not like Kathmandu. Granted, there isn't an awful lot to do and they'd been there ten days just waiting for a plane but I loved it. Durbar Square really did show me that the Nepalese people lived for themselves, not the tourists. They hadn't changed to meet international pressures, though they wore more North Face than perhaps they once did. They were friendly and genuine and liked other nationalities but that didn't change who they were. To some tourists, Dubar Square is a poorly maintained, dirty, busy place that lacks interest. To me it was a showcase of what Nepal and its people are really about and I'd not only experienced it at its best, I had been accepted into it.
I was feeling much better, and more positive, after the atrocity of earlier thanks to the liberating experience of Kathmandu. It started to rain again which made me a little nervous for the flight but I had to make one last attempt at catching that plane.
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