A Different Kind of Luck

Yesterday I felt lucky to be alive. Day 2 of my supposed trek was different. It started well as the rain that was there on waking up died down. The clouds started to part and the mountains were again easy to see. I was feeling positive so busied myself with getting ready. It was the same situation as the day before, though minus the flatulence, and the taxi arrived on time. Bepin came down and we jumped in and sped off. There had been a major accident which included a bus that looked like it had been dropped from a height nose first. I'm sure it hadn't but you never know out here. We checked in without hassle, Bepin was a pro by this point, but the departures lounge was dead. Perhaps it was a remnant from the tragedy of the day before, if so, it would have been the only sign. In the UK there would have been flowers, perhaps a plaque, handmade cards and letters from children but there was nothing. The day was just the same as any other to everyone else, or so it seemed. In a way, accidents at Lukla were a relative norm but I wasn't and couldn't get used to it. Those peoples' footprints were still on the floor, their voices still in the air.

We met up with Jim and Cherie and again discussed what had happened. There were now several speculations as to the whole event and what actually happened. The details didn't matter though, except maybe that just twenty five kilograms of body parts were found at the site from sixteen people. It was our last day to try for Lukla. The PA system crackled.

"Yeti Airline mountain flight number 301 and 302 ready for boarding. Yeti Airline mountain flight 301 and 302."

My stomach began churning instantly, my eyes wide and heart pumping. I couldn't help but wonder if I was witnessing another set of lambs for the slaughter. Did they know what had happened yesterday? Did they care? I was waiting for the same flight but with a dangerous landing in Lukla, so I was no one to judge. We waited a few hours but no news from Lukla, our chances grew slimmer with every minute. I was really worried now as there was so much riding on this trip but it was not worth my life. I didn't know whether to follow Jim and Cherie to Annapurna to do a shorter trek or wait at Lukla for a flight and not reach Base Camp. It was a hard decision and fortunately one that I didn't have to make. A Chinese man dressed in a black turtle neck jumper and a smart waistcoat approached us. He wanted to know if we wanted to get a helicopter to Lukla as flights were not looking hopeful. I'd already enquired about helicopters but I was told that I would have to find five people that all wanted to pay $700. I'd done research the day before and emailed several people but they were all far too expensive. Bepin and I had discussed helicopters and we'd like to get one but wouldn't pay a fortune. The man from Air Dynasty was open to offers and he went down to $370 then to $250 but we told him that we would definitely fly if we could pay $200. He left us to find out if that would be possible and that he'd be back in half an hour with a decision. It was an extremely good price, even the flights were $130 so we knew we'd got a bargain if he accepted it. Our hopes seemed dashed as an hour passed by and still no return. I scoured the departures hall, even asked to go back through security and out into the airport terminal to try and find him. It was no good, he had gone. We were back to hoping for flights. Cherie was still disturbed after the crash and really didn't want to go to Lukla but Jim didn't seem bothered either anymore. I think they thought I was a little stupid for wanting to go so much but it was easy to see why they had lost interest. I was still desperate to go and pinned everything on the Chinaman.

Finally he returned! The helicopter was primed and ready, the pilot was on standby and all we needed to do was agree to $200, which we did. The race was now on, the adrenaline was pumping - we had to meet our flight slot. We ran to Yeti to cancel our flights and request a refund. Our cases were offloaded and we marched to the ATM at the International terminal to get money to pay for the helicopter. We re-bought our air tax and then picked up our departure cards. We charged through security and it was time to fly. I was barely able to speak through my beaming smile but I said farewell to Jim and Cherie who didn't want to go on the helicopter. We were on the tarmac with the red and black helicopter shining back at us, a few photos later the final checks had been made and we jumped in. Bepin jumped in the back to find the reason for the cheap price and the fact there was only two of us - the rest of the helicopter was full of noodles! They were to be taken to Lukla and then Sherpa'ed to various villages. I was in the front, my camera at the ready. I had my iPhone too for the odd video. I was buckled in but as the door was about to be slammed my iPhone dropped to the floor. I shouted, desperate not to leave it behind. It was damaged, the corner chipped and scraped but I couldn't find it in me to care about material goods when we had been cleared for take-off. A few flicks of switches and a whiskey, foxtrot and tango later we were about to fly. The rotor blades sliced through the air, the man in front put both thumbs up, a pull on the joystick and we were airborne. Floating gracefully over Kathmandu, but moving with a purpose, we headed for the misty mountains. It was a feeling and a vista I doubt I will ever forget. To have a dream ripped away from you and then it given back is just the most amazing feeling. One that lasted over an hour as we flew.

The lowlands lasted a minute or two before we were about to plough into a ridge. There was no going round it so over we went, almost clipping the trees on the way but over the brim was one of the most breath-taking views, if not the most breath-taking view I'd ever seen. I'm sure it would be broken once more at Everest but for now, in that moment, it was heaven. Over the ridge the land dropped sharply but I got my first, amazing view of the Himalayas, partly shrouded by cloud, it was like a fairy tale scene. The stark grey rock contrasted with the white of the clouds and the green of the valleys. Words, nor pictures could capture that moment.

We continued into a valley with the land rising up to meet us. The pilot was very good as he stayed low to the ground and avoided every single cloud that was there, making diversions over mountains and ridges if necessary. I was glad he knew the landscape. We'd sweep round corners, banking heavily and causing trees to billow. We flew over, under or in between the clouds. I could see the Himalayan people farming, hoeing their land, and birds gliding in the thermals below. It was like a stupendously exhilarating ride through Lord of the Rings. The valleys were very deep, the sides very steep and the interlocking spurs had sharp contours. The cloud looked so harmless but near the higher altitudes the peaks were clearly being lashed with rain. Bright green paddy fields cut like steps into the mountain sides added colour. I noticed the occasional house and small temple but no roads of any kind, not even footpaths. These people were some of the most remote in the world and I'd seen them. I really did feel privileged to be getting this rare experience that so few can say they've had.

The pilot slowed, my stomach trembled. Why was he slowing? What was that new noise coming from the engine? Why is he looking around like that? We pulled through a very high and narrow valley. A great ravine that was about to swallow us whole. Around a corner we gained altitude slowly. I could see some houses, wait, a runway - it was Lukla! We were there, we'd actually made it. I was drunk with happiness. It appeared from nowhere. We flew straight in, at a fair pace too, over the runway we swooped down to the helipad. The surrounding houses windows and balconies, and the footpaths all around the airport were packed with trekkers. They were all waiting for us, they knew about our flight, the first in ten days, and they were watching as we landed. There were people laughing, cheering and taking pictures. It was easy to be depressed about potentially not being able to get to Lukla but I hadn't considered that there might be ten days' worth of people waiting to fly back to Kathmandu. I, again, felt like a celebrity but in an honoured, privileged kind of way. I couldn't believe that all those people were waiting for us, just to see us land. As we touched down people ran across the tarmac to greet us. My door flew open, the noodles were removed and dumped on the runway before we were unbuckled and pulled from the aircraft. We'd made it and it couldn't have felt any better or been anymore special.

Now that I was in Lukla, I couldn't see how they ever thought to build an airport there, let alone how any aeroplane manages to land. The runway was short and very steep. There were numerous houses clustered around the runway and, directed by armed soldiers, we headed straight out onto the cobbled paths. We needed food to sustain us through the first leg of our journey. It was now Day 1 of the trek!

Day 1: Genesis

There were no tourists inside the place we chose but we asked if they could make us some food. After some Nepalese mutters between various people, they agreed and we took a seat at one of the wooden tables. They weren't tables like our tables though. They were like short wooden desks with a degree of decorative woodwork. We both ordered dal baht, something that would become somewhat of a staple on the trek. I went for the meat version before Bepin reminded me that meat in the Himalayas has to come some distance and is best avoided. The food was tasty, though it took some to time to come as it was freshly made. Bepin was not as impressed as I was as, being from an Indian background, he was used to the best homemade curries on a daily basis. I was surprised to see that they had Coca-Cola and Mars Bars on sale. They were very expensive but good energy for the trek. I repacked my rucksack, now my daysack was redundant, ready for the trek and shuddered with the weight of it as I strapped it to my back. With my camera gear in it and a litre of water the thing now weighed twenty kilos. Probably an unwise weight but no doubt the trek and my body would let me know.

I wasn't prepared for the Himalayan architecture. The buildings were far more attractive than I'd anticipated. Each one was a stone box made from grey granite from the mountains. They all had wooden windows and doors which were painted a myriad of colours, each house had its own colour scheme and style. They had a rustic, but well made, oriental feel to them. They made me think of Tibet and I could imagine them withstanding the harsh winters of Nepal. Fluffy black dogs lay sleeping on doorsteps while even fluffier small white dogs barked constantly. There was a main footpath to Lukla that had shops and teahouses on it. Local people were milling around looking bored, presumably due to the lack of trekkers. Men were outside playing table tennis and another game that involved a sandy board and some plastic discs. I was amused by the presence of a fake Starbucks. There was a new shop being built. Big wooden beams were being planed by hand while the stone bricks were being chiselled into perfect cubes. It was impressive to see such a high level of craftsmanship which has been lost in so many areas of the world. We were soon out of Lukla and through the gateway to the Everest trek, and many more besides.

The path was uneven and made of dirt and stone. We were following the river up the valley. The sides were steep and covered with pine trees. It was such an amazing feeling to be in the Himalayas. The pictures I had seen beforehand did not do the place justice though there aren't that many pictures of the ascent up to Base Camp from the earlier days. There were clouds all around but spots of blue sky as well so we could see the high peaks on either side of us. It really was beautiful. The bouncy suspension bridges were terrific fun to cross. They had multi-coloured prayer flags, a bit like bunting, tied to them which billowed in the wind. Each little flag had its own prayer on it and the wind was supposed to renew and spread the prayer across the land with each gust. I thought it was a nice idea. There were prayer flags everywhere though, not just on bridges. They were from house to house, tree to tree, and anywhere where they might catch the wind. It really livened up the area and put a smile on my face, not that the natural environment needed any help with that.

It wasn't long before we came across our first domestic animal. It was the humble cow. It was alone grazing on the verges of path. There was some debate as to whether it was a yak but I was sure it was a cow. The fur, the horns and the body shape all said cow to me. Of course, me being me, I had to have a quick stroke. She was very friendly and seemed to enjoy the affection. She was clearly well handled and once we started to move she wanted to come with us, in fact she did for a few hundred metres before a lush hillside looked more inviting than our company did. She would have made a useful bag carrier too.

The path was not that steep on average but it was very up and down. My bag was so heavy on my shoulders that I over-tightened my waist straps to take the weight off them but that eventually led to trauma and bruising around my hip bones. I think there may have been an element of altitude to the first day but the main thing for me was the sheer weight of my pack. We walked past many little houses that dotted the route. Most had small fields where they grew crops to give them fresh food. Streams fell from the mountainsides all along the path which became small tributaries to the raging torrent of a river that had carved the valley itself. We came across Mani stones that were large boulders in the middle of the path. They had mantras carved all over them that were embossed and painted white. There were several along the route and inspiring to see. Gompas also decorated the route. They too were religious but they were miniature temples of white plinths with gold spires on top. They were usually accompanied by prayer wheels which were either small biscuit barrel sized objects or the size of a human being. Either way, they were both made of brass and had prayers carved onto them with an axel in between allowing passers-by to spin them to spread the prayer. They were not actual wheels but tall cylinders which, almost like bells, but had not sound. The larger ones had their own stone hut with the interior brightly painted with various scenes.

I felt extremely lucky ever since arriving. For being able to actually get to Lukla, for doing so in a helicopter, for having fantastic weather once there but also for the bad weather. As I've already said, the bad weather made flights impossible for ten days prior to my arrival. This meant no trekkers were able to trek for ten days allowing us to have the Everest Base Camp trek all to ourselves, expect for maybe a handful making the return journey. It was another extreme positive about my situation and my visit to the Himalaya. This was even more of a benefit when we later saw some statistics on the number of people that had done the trek so far in 2010. For example, over five thousand people did the trek in April! I struggled to see how the route would cope with that many people. It didn't matter though, it was all ours.

The weather did turn a little wet during our approach to Phakding, the first of our overnight stops. I came to realise that the tea houses were not dilapidated shacks where trekkers effectively camped indoors. They were extensions, substantial in some cases, of peoples' homes. They were far from hotels, though some were named as such, as they offered very basic accommodation in small wooden boxes but I was very pleased with that. We found a recommended teahouse and without even walking through a door a friendly face greeted us. He, like many before him, was mystified how we'd managed to start the trek. Everyone seemed impressed that we'd managed to get a helicopter out to Lukla. I was certainly proud to say it. He showed us the rooms which were as above but clean and they even had a foam mattress and a pillow. We were both very impressed and snapped up the shared room for just 50p each per night. I was glad to get the dead weight off my back. I sat on my bed, tired but happy. We'd completed our first day of walking and now it was time for food! The menu was basic but had various dishes I would have eaten. I opted for noodles since I'd already had dal baht that day, and a green tea. The dining room consisted of benches around the sides of the room with Tibetan carpets on for comfort. The same style tables as in Lukla made up the next row and a potbellied wood-burning stove in the centre to provide warmth. It had not been lit as there was no need for it. There was even a television and a small bar.

Our host put on a DVD for us to watch while we waited for the food to arrive. It was Into Thin Air, a harrowing film about a disastrous Everest Summit attempt in 1996 where five people died. It had some terrible acting and I didn't like how they'd filmed it but the story was, above all, the thing that grabbed me. Perhaps it would not mean an awful lot to people that could not connect with Everest but we'd just started the trek to Base Camp and it was all too relevant. There was catastrophe after catastrophe that lead to many deaths on the peak that 'cannot be conquered', though arrogant folk do try. It was maybe the fact that the film was of real people and the story was a true one that made it so poignant. I won't retell the story; you'll just have to watch the film. It made me think an awful lot about what it means to summit Everest and how I now did not want to be part of the club. One in four people die trying to reach the top of the world which meant 25% of all the people at Base Camp would die. It was a disturbing statistic that I didn't like and found hard to digest. Whilst my trek will mean more to me than words can describe, it really will be a monumental achievement, it just seemed trivial in some ways compared to what those brave people attempt to do in face of the facts. I remained resolute though, everything is relative and for me, at this time in my life, I might as well be attempting to reach top of Mount Everest.

One filling meal later we retired to our room. Unable to carry on with my comfortable but heavy rucksack we both decided to bin the ballast. For me that wasn't much as the things that were really weighing me down were my gadgets and completely indispensable. I shuffled into my sleeping bag as the rain came down outside. My heart rate was 64bpm, twelve up from the day before. Whether I felt it or not, I think the altitude was having some effect.