Day 18: Jorsale - Lukla - Kathmandu: Plane vs Wind

Trekking Day 15 Kilometres: 16.2km on trail Maximum Elevation: 2840 Sleeping Elevation: 1580 Morning Temperature in Tea House: 6 degrees celsius Rupees: Breakfast: 800, Lunch: 800, Room: free, Other: 0 

The final day of walking had arrived and, as much as yesterday had nearly killed me, I was glad to be setting out from the bottom of he killer hill rather than the top of it. I ate breakfast happily with stomach cramps gone then we set out early. Problems struck on the first swing bridge. We were half way across when we saw the train of yaks coming. Their owners did not stop them in time and before we knew it they were on the bridge with us. Wide, strong animals with hooves that can crush your feet and horns that can impale you at a glance. At about half a tonne, the flimsy wire fence we were pressed up against seemed insignificant and paled in comparison to the fact that these yaks could pick us up and flip us off the bridge if they decided to. With their loads making them even wider, we considered turning back before their owner beckoned us forward. It was the wrong move. Before long they had pushed us hard against the wire, the rushing water of the river loud below us. Squashed by one, a second came behind then decided to come up beside. His horns just inches away I could do nothing but hope he waited his turn in line and didn't attempt to squeeze beside me. One, two, three, four yaks pushed past us as I heard squeals come from my mouth. When given a chance we raced off the bridge and thanked our lucky stars we had made it through. 

The problem with taking the same track down as you took up, is you know exactly what is coming. We knew that there were some serious steps to conquer on our way up into Monjo. Once we got up there, a sign indicated it would be a six hour walk to Lukla. When I read it outloud the man in the tourist checkpoint booth shook his head. He reckoned we could do it in four and this was enough motivation to kick out butts into gear. The rhododendrons were beginning to bloom now, among a range of other colourful flowers. The weather was warm enough for us to actually sweat for the first time in a long time and the sky was crisp blue. We made good progress. 

Walking through Chuplung, the never-ending village, we saw planes. Not helicopters. Planes. And they were still flying. In our bellies we felt a flutter as the thought crossed our minds and then our lips... could we possibly fly out today instead of tomorrow? Pema had told us that we would have no trouble getting an earlier flight and the great thing about the mountains is, you can change your flights without penalty. It was the beginning of the second busiest season of the year which meant lots of planes coming in, and not a huge number of people needing to get out. Additionally, as always, lots of people fly in but many get helicoptered out and therefore their seats on the planes are left vacant for people like us to snavel. Because it's Nepal, the final leg of this trek is uphill. In front of you, you see a big wall of hill, with planes flying on the other side, and you slowly make your way up. Passing us were fresh, eager, bubbly hikers who had just stepped off the plane. The fresher they looked, the closer we were to Lukla. We stepped through the official gate into town and highfived. We had made it. Our celebratory mood was squashed quickly when the Tara Air office we had been told to visit was bolted shut. Shit, now what. We headed to the airport to find a deserted departures building. When we finally found someone to ask, we were directed down a hallway to a friendly man in yet another Tara Air office. "You want to fly today?" he asked. I nearly reached over the counter and hugged him. "The wind is bad so planes aren't flying, but maybe later today. Don't go far." We were in limbo. We smashed some food across the track at Sherpa Lodge but we needn't have hurried. Four hours of sitting in the airport waiting room later, the wind hadn't changed. Still we sat within the pale pink walls of the departures building. Mostly deserted, our voices echoed and the linoleum tiles came away from the floor. Four desks, one in each corner of the room, were empty but for a thick layer of dust. A PA system that was never used and a fire extinguisher that had long been forgotten hung from walls where the paint peeled. Mound grew from the ceiling between disconnected wires that hung freely. We watched out the window as prayer flags fluttered and more tourists hoping to get out today arrived from Namche. We were all dirty, sore and tired and were being teased with the idea of a hot shower. Another half hour later, a lady came by and calmly whispered that the weather was clearing slightly. We should go and check in. We didn't dare believe it just yet. We knew better than to get excited. This was Nepal. The Himalayas. Anything could happen. After showing them a printout of our ticket, there was no computer check or security. They simply weighed our bags, asked our country and ushered us through to the next waiting room where again, we waited unknowingly. We watched the prayer flags and two small kids playing on the tarmac with the ground control men. It didn't look good. Suddenly, the kids were shooed off the tarmac. A man pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket. Could this really be happening. I hung my head out the window and the seven of us waiting were hurriedly beckoned onto the runway. The tiny place landed, fresh-faced hikers disembarked and looked at us uneasily wondering whether this was what they would look like in two weeks time. The pilots were offered tea while we, and our luggage, were thrown aboard. Less than a minute later the plane revved at the top of the runway, only part of which we could see before it dropped off over the cliff below. We touched town in Kathmandu and I wiped my sweaty palms on my dusty pants before breathing a sigh of relief. We found a taxi driver who had no idea where we wanted to go, already had a passenger but was willing to take us anyway. We were greeted at our familiar hotel with a smile and when I poked my head inside our allocated room and saw a rain-head style shower, I knew all was right in the world. We took turns scrubbing and soaking ourselves silly. Just when I thought I was clean, I dried myself and noticed the towel taking off thick layers of dead skin. Chris suggested I get back in the shower and give it another go. It didn't matter that we had somehow purchased moisturiser instead of body wash and that Chris had unknowingly used that to clean himself. We were a whole lot more respectable that we were. Downstairs we basked in naan, curries, rice and beer. We had made it.