A yomp in Nepal by Uncle Grumpy

EVT/08/07 The Ultimate Everest Trek Oct 27-Nov 17 2007.
This is a brief account of a yomp in Nepal, recounted from diary scribblings made at the time and by picking over fading memories once back home in Huddersfield.
It was a KE Adventure Travel holiday of Lake Road, Keswick, lovely part of the world but best avoided on bank holidays and weekends. Keswick Pencil Museum is well worth a visit, it’s also home to 67 outdoor clothing outlets, the highest concentration of woolly sock shops in the civilized world.
27.10.07
Well, the day has finally arrived, I've packed and re packed the kit bag for the last time, loaded my yellow Netto hand baggage shopping bag with passport, e-ticket (I never found out what one of those was), wallet of dollars, toothbrush and book, I then drove down to deposit my car in our office car park and took the short walk to Huddersfield railway station. The kit bag proved to be an blummin' awkward lumpy thing to carry and I wondered whether my big rucksack may have been a better receptacle, oh never mind, I was on my way. In a few hours time I'd be meeting up with my oldest and best mate Andy and his missus Janet at Heathrow, who were flying down from Edinburgh, we'd then long-haul it to Kathmandu via Bahrain to meet up with our K.E yomp group, yomp leader and yomp staff (cooks, porters yaks etc) how exciting!
I entered the station to be welcomed by the unwelcome news that: 'Due to engineering works we regret to inform you that there are no trains at all and you'll have to go by bus, ha ha!'. Oh great. I went to look for a bus along with a handful of other disgruntled wannabe rail travellers. This always seems to happen to me, buses are ok, but I wanted a train, a fast, sleek train that would smoothly and efficiently deliver me to terminal 3, Manchester airport in 55 minutes, instead, 55 minutes later I was stuck on the M62 crawling along at 23 MPH anxiously glancing at my watch. Half an hour later I was sitting alone on my bus which was parked in central Manchester (everybody else had jumped off at Piccadilly) my bus driver was stopping passers-by to ask for directions to the airport. I tried hard to remain calm but a seed of terror had been planted, every traffic light seemed determined stay on red for 25 minutes, the bus seemed incapable of speeds in excess of 23 MPH and my driver was having difficulties following Manchester Airport signs.
In what seemed like 18 months later the bus finally lurched into a Manchester airport bus terminal, I muttered my gratitude to the stressed driver and sped into terminal 3 where my BA flight was boarding. The helpful and hoplessly optimistic lady at check-in assured me that my lumpy kit bag would arrive in Kathmandu at the same time as me.
Sitting on the plane awaiting blast-off I thought about the 7 long years since I last travelled by this strange and terrifying mode of transport when a girlfriend and I visited Nepal, such was the misery of the flying experience that I swore I would never do it again. It’s funny how time fades the resolve. This time would be better wouldn’t it?
3 hours later and we still hadn't moved, great flying innit?! Apparently there were 3 surplus bags in the hold that shouldn't have been there, so we couldn't go because they were bound to explode. The baggage manifest didn't balance and there were a lot of people standing around scratching their heads, finally we all had to walk off the plane to identify our bags. I could have walked to London by now!

Eventually we got airborne and 55 thrilling minutes later the wings hadn't fallen off and we landed at Heathport Airo, the busiest airport in the known universe. Unfortunately we were over 3 hours late and all had missed connecting flights so we were asked to queue at the transfer desk queue (a long and slow moving queue) to be re-booked onto alternate flights. Like a fool and simple country lad, I thought I'd leg it across Heathport to see if my Gulf Air aeroplane to Bahrain was patiently waiting for me. Unfortunately the distance between terminals 1 and 3 is about 40 miles, the shuttle bus service for bridging this great distance had ceased operating hours before and walking wasn’t encouraged. Well and truly scuppered I went to join the long and slow moving flight transfer desk queue as my plane, my friends and my holiday flew off without me.

28.10.07
0115 At the Heathrow Hilton, by far the poshest gaff I've ever stayed in, sitting in a vast refectory area waiting for a £21 burger and chips that BA will pay for (they’d better) I've been booked onto a flight leaving for Doha later that morning, then a badly connecting flight to Kathmandu 7 hours after. Oh the joys of flying! Sleeping was difficult at the Hilton, my overnight Netto bag contained few overnight necessities. I used all the tea/coffee making facilities and the numerous complementary bathroom squirty things and watched the 72" plasma T.V until the phone rang at 0300, it was the transfer desk, they'd found me a better flight via Bahrain leaving 0930, this sounded like my original flight plan plus 12 hours, so I said ‘yes, let’s do it’.
0630 Packed my Netto bag and walked down a long covered walkway into Heathrow which was milling with people pushing around vast amounts of luggage (what on earth are all those oversized packing cases filled with?) I then queued my way through several security gates, check-in, more security gates and eventually got 'air side' which basically means into a vast retail park specialising in alcohol and perfume, I declined both since all I wanted was a reasonably priced cup of tea and an aspirin ( I got neither)
1815 lost all track of time & space, all I know is that we're 40,000 feet up and zooming eastward at 500 mph, I tried not to think about this as I went for a wee. Down below is the Middle East, land of oil, religious strife and a popular stopping off spot for long haulers who are encouraged to buy even more alcohol and perfume.
2100 Bahrain transit zone. Blimey, it’s hot here. 5 hours to kill, just had coffee with a very agreeable young lady who's on her way to Karala in India for a cycling holiday, she laughed at my Netto bag and I told her I'd like to go cycling with her.
After she'd gone to Kerala without me I did some people watching, there was a fascinating variety of races and colours in Bahrain Transit Camp, Indians (wrapped in blankets asleep) Nepalese, white robed Arabs, veiled women, Japanese with surgical face masks and a few grungy westerners. This building is 410 strides long. Flight delayed for an hour, feeling dazed and confused.
I checked and re-checked the length of the building which was still 410 strides. Yawn!

29.10.07
Finally, after hours of boredom we got on board (0100) As gate 16 opened and I joined a very long queue, apart from me and a Portuguese girl (teaching Spanish in Pokara) this flight was filled with young Nepali men on their way home from their jobs in Qatar and Saudi. Feeling fed up of this flying lark now, everybody seems repressed, resigned and hopeless, it's so devoid of dignity. Got a splitting headache, my seat is uncomfortable and some comedian has just said 'please enjoy your flight' . To add insult to injury we’ve been paraded through 'business class' to get to 'doss class', how the other half live eh?
Ugh, flying is torture, feeling stressed and I've got a blood clot heading towards my brain. I've concluded that sitting in any comfort is only about as long as a feature film (2.5hrs max) I've been sitting in this rotten seat for about 8 weeks.
1115 and we've landed but unfortunately not in Kathmandu, we've been diverted to Dhaka due to bad weather. We circled around for a bit then set off to Bangladesh (2hrs) hurrah, never been here before. We've been sitting on the runway whilst Bangladesh prepares to be invaded by Nepal. It's getting hot and pongy in here.
Like a fool, I thought we'd just sit here a while, fill up with petrol then we'd be on our way back to Nepal....dream on, apparently we're here for up to 24 hours because the captain's hours are up and he needs a stiff drink and a long sleep. Ho hum, good this innit?
We've been disembarked from the aircraft into a holding area where many hours passed by as Gulf Air cleared funds to have us all watered and fed and the Bangladesh immigration were mobilized to grant us all entry visas, this of course took forever. To make matters worse the Nepali chaps spoke neither Arabic nor English so there was a good deal of confusion. At one point the captain, crew and trolley dolly's minced by in their corporate school uniforms, they’d be be off to their 5 star captain's hotel for a night pampered luxury.
I'd been keeping in touch with Andrew and Janet by good old text messaging, I'd also phoned KE's Mr. Fixit in Kathmandu (Rashif) so people knew I was temporarily detained in the wrong country and that I'd catch up eventually. They flew out to Luckla today so the weather can't have been that bad at Kathmandu airport can it?
1700 Every half hour groups of 20 or 30 of us are let out, I assume to be 'processed' then shipped out into Dhaka to be hotelled, I hung back, preferring to stay put where at least I could keep my eye on our aeroplane and make sure it didn't sneak off.
1800 I was marched out with the last bunch to queue briefly at immigration to be stamped with a visa (I liked that bit) and then onto a battered old bus. Dusk in Dhaka, a bewildered bunch of Nepali men and me, I seem to be the only whitey in town, the heat was unbelievable, the city was full of sights, sounds and smells I recalled from my travels in India 12 years before.

We rattled and bounced our way along impossibly chaotic roads to the Skylink Hotel. The staff were welcoming and friendly, my Nepali companions seemed in good cheer, in fact they remained remarkably sanguine throughout, a plane-load of Brits would have hijacked the aeroplane, demanding burgers and compensation.
I was allocated a single room, in typical sub-continental style nothing seemed to work, the mozzy screen had a fist-sized hole in it, oh how the little blood suckers feasted on my pink tasty flesh, the AC made noises but only added to the tropical heat, the T.V crackled, flickered then expired. 2230 A knock on my door as I struggled to snooze with my head on an un-yielding pillow and the overhead fan rattled madly, threatening to spin free and slice head from body. It was supper time, and most welcome it was too, dhal curry with meaty bits. My Nepali friends were tucking in without cutlery, skilfully rolling mouth sized balls of rice and curry. It amazed me how un-messy and efficient the whole process was, I of course opted for spoon and fork, making a splashy mess on my already filthy t-shirt.

Afterwards I took a stroll around the block, I felt a mixture of emotions, terrified and thrilled, Dhaka felt so strange and foreign, I felt alone and wondered if marooned air travellers ever got stuck in Bangladesh forever, Dhaka was certainly the place to get lost in, a vast sprawling city of 14 million people. The dusty polluted night cast a strange defused light over everything, I pondered over the turn of events which had brought me to this place, looking back now, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!

30.10.07
0230 Awoke with a start, there seemed to be a gun battle going on outside, blimey, then I remembered that most businesses employed armed guards who were probably letting off a few rounds to shoo off the packs of hungry looking dogs I’d seen earlier. I was restless, too hot to sleep and I kept imagining that Gulf Air had left without me. I found 4 night staff chaps in a large office, they invited me in to share tea and cigarettes whilst we watched a cheesy American movie. They were intrigued by my white, mozzy bitten skin and wanted to know all about Manchester United and Lady Di. I finally retired to my room to discover a large flat cockroach inside my boot, poor thing, hoping death had come quickly and without pain, I washed my foot in the sink, thankfully I hadn’t been wearing socks (nobody does in Bangladesh)
0530 Breakfast of boiled egg, toast and tea, we were then reunited with our passports, said farewell to the Skylink and driven by the same battered bus along the same battered streets back to the airport where we joined the long lines of passengers from our flight. The soldiers around here have blue tin helmets and carry ancient looking carbines. We queued through numerous security checkpoints and immigration to have our passports stamped (I liked that bit) and finally into the airless hanger/holding zone/ paddock where we had spent so many hours yesterday. I noticed with relief that our aeroplane was still there with captain sitting up front with engines on, things were looking up.
Several hours later and I'm sitting uncomfortably in riff raff class on our Air Bus A330 at Dhaka airport, bad weather at Kathmandu. Jesus. I marvelled at my fellow sufferers, the patience and good nature of the Nepalis is remarkable, they seem so natural and easygoing and not hung up on the niceties and not niceties of life that preoccupy and exhaust us in the west. Respectful and accepting, we could learn so much from them.
2045 At Hotel Shanker. In Nepal at last! Finally blasted off amid much cheering, 2hrs later we landed at Kathmandu amid much more cheering. Hurray, this joy was short-lived however as my kitbag failed to appear on the grab-a-bag conveyor baggage claiming belt thing. The truth be known, I would have been astonished if it had appeared amongst all the washing machines, plasma TV’s and HI FI’s, even so, I felt suddenly fed up with this whole stupid holiday, 4 days of frustration to be left sitting in this filthy airport with nothing more than a Netto bag for luggage. I went off to fill a few lost baggage bits of paper in the lost baggage office, I felt resigned despair as I imagined my bag somewhere ridiculous like Cape Town or Luton.
I walked miserably from the airport to be greeted by the 00’s of would-be porters that crowd around the entrance to greet the incoming flights, ‘sorry lads’. I spotted a chap holding up a KE sign, it was Mr. Rajif Fixit, who’d been expecting me (for the last 3 days) he was anxious to get me on the evening flight to Luckla so I could begin catching up with my holiday, however, the missing bag scuppered this arrangement so plan B was a night in the sumptuous Shanker Hotel, a 30min ride through the mêlée that is Kathmandu. The Shanker is basically a palace, full of magnificent and ornate ostentatiousness, where a uniformed doorman greets you with a salute, even if you’re a filthy git with a Netto bag (now with a hole) I was shown to my room where I collapsed and slept soundly for 18 minutes.
I arranged to meet Rajif at 1800, we were going back to the airport to meet the evening Gulf Air flight, and with a bit of luck my bag would accompany it. I wasn’t hopeful. Before I could play catch-up I would have to spend a day in Kathmandu buying replacement gear, given that shopping makes me go funny, the idea filled me with dread. So, back to watching baggage go by, it felt like Bruce’s Generation Game…washing machine… 72’’colour telly…big bundle of Persian rugs…micro-wave oven…KE bag??!!!!... KE bag!!!! I could have whooped like an American, (but didn’t) I forgave British Rail, British Airways, George Bush and Gulf Air, my holiday could now begin. In a fit of absent mindedness I tipped 2 airport baggage boys 500 rps each (5rps would have been more appropriate) as I fumbled with a fistful of unfamiliar banknotes whilst jumping into the back of a taxi, Idiot! It only dawned on me afterwards, not surprisingly the gleeful duo quickly vanished into the crowd with their fortunes, oh well, I’m sure they’d use it to buy themselves a university education.
That evening in Shanker I got washed and scrubbed to celebrate being re-united with my soap and fresh clothes, I ate a monster tea in the golden ball room buffet style restaurant. Feeling loads better I strolled like the king through lush gardens, taking in the warm evening air. The Shanker is a tiny enclave of palatial splendour set in the midst of a crazy old city.
That night a flock of unidentifiable birds roosted just outside my window, mozzy bites itched like mad.
01.11.10
0530 early start, had coffee and egg then rode out to the airport yet again, Kathmandu in a haze of early morning pollution, the early rush hour was just getting underway with bicycles, rickshaws, scooters, hens, buses, belching trucks, goats, cattle and little tinny taxis all taking to the road in a great convergence of black smoke, flesh, metal and honking. Amazingly the traffic flows freely. The absence of traffic lights, roundabouts, speed humps and a plethora of road signs seem to assist free flowing traffic. As I’ve already said, we could learn an awful lot from these people.
The domestic flight depot was a crush of humanity, mostly white, western types getting the hell out of Kathmandu to the tourist trek/yomp regions of Nepal, it all seemed fairly chaotic but clutching my Yeti Airlines ticket I eventually squeezed onto a bus for a ride to our Twin Otter.
0700 Sitting on the runway besides our little plane, all around were similar planes with little groups of passengers and captains sitting, waiting, waiting, waiting. Large military helicopters kept clattering loudly overhead, a lot of soldiers were doing marching practice. Apparently this airport can be shut for days due to low cloud, there wasn't a cloud in te sky. Yawn, a Japanese girl gave me a gob stopper.
0830 Suddenly a secret signal must have been given, we were asked to get on board, 18 folk; 2 Japanese girls, 2 Germans, me and a large party of Australians who were of course all Crocodile Dundee look-a-likes, will we all fit in? I got the back seat with the air hostess (wayhey!) with leg room, next to the emergency exit so I’d be first out when we crash, maybe flying is alright really. All around planes spluttered to life and headed for the runway, 3 minutes later we rocked and rolled into the air, a large gap around the door was blasting cold air onto my air hostess, I used my rucksack as a draft excluder and she gave me a boiled sweet.

This aeroplane is definitely ‘well used’, up front I could see the captain tapping dials and twiddling knobs, the engines roared and the wind whistled through the gaps. To the left huge white mountains came into view, below, the Kathmandu valley which was soon replaced by green terraced foothills dotted with thousands of hill farms, a fascinating scene.
35 minutes later, captain put us down on a dramatic, short, upwardly sloping runway of Lukla airport, cleverly engineered onto steep ground in front of the town. I collected my bag which, remarkably had accompanied me on the same flight. I was met by a moustached KE chap (sorry, I can’t remember his name) and a 14yr old porter lad called Mingma, who’d been hired to lug my lumpy bag up the hills to Namche Bazaar, two days yomp away, I hoped to do it in one. Walking up into town there was a good view down the runway, it looked more like a ski-jump.
No motorcars up here, it was pleasing to hear all the sounds that are normally drowned out by the roar of combustion engines, the air was fresh, the scenery was stunning and I was ready to stride out after days of inactivity.
Mingma proved to be an able young porter as we made good progress along a well trod yomping route, stopping at regular intervals for refreshments at the numerous tea houses on route, including a plateful of spaghetti cheese for dinner. I worried that Mingma was a little young to be portering on a school day and that I was encouraging child labour, oh dear.
We entered Khumbu National Park where a charge of 1000rps was levied, a bit later on was a Maoist checkpoint where I parted with a further 500rps to a group of young men in fatigues, they issued a receipt and it was all very friendly and efficient, although to refuse them a donation would have been foolish. This organization had been waging a civil war until a recently agreed ceasefire, the resulting promised elections were being repeatedly cancelled. Maybe Nepal will soon become a republic, judging by the number of red flags flying, they seem to enjoy popular support around here.
This main ‘road’ between Lukla and Namche is a major trunk route, busy with heavy goods hauled by yak and porter teams. The road surface ranged from dusty and potholed with loose boulders to beautifully dry-stone paved, the quality of the work was breathtaking, great credit to the skill and hard work of the stone masons and quarrymen.
Before climbing steeply to Namche we crossed and re-crossed the mighty Dubh Kosi river over a series of amazing wire suspension bridges festooned with prayer flags, next to these impressive structures were the abandoned old lattered rope bridges, these were often damaged or washed away during the annual monsoon deluge.
As we ascended the temperature dropped markedly and soon we were into mist, a cold clammy hill mist, reminiscent of the Pennines or Scottish Highlands. With growing excitement we entered the Sherpa capital of Namche, I knew my yomping friends would be hereabouts, but where? Suddenly, from inside a tea house I heard Janet’s unmistakable Darlington accent ‘’He’s here, he’s here!’’ Janet rushed out and gave me a big hug, it was a pivotal moment that should have happened at Heathport several days earlier. Better late than never I suppose.
I was soon sitting with an amiable bunch of strangers with a big KE mug of tea, introductions over I soon felt at part of the gang although it did take me a while to remember everyone’s name.
2030 Head torch on, in sleeping bag, in tent, a fine old fabric Vango ridge tent. Tea was tasty and substantial, soon after pudding everybody went to bed. Blimey.

01.11.07
Oh dear, an uncomfortable night beset with problems, at over 3440m I felt somewhat breathless, a consequence of coming straight up here from Kathmandu in one day, my companions had done the same journey in two stages, allowing vital acclimatisation. I recalled similar effects of high altitude 7 years earlier in Nepal during a Christmas yomp to the Annapurna Sanctuary. On this trip we were going an awful lot higher, gasp!
Another problem involved the nocturnal barking of dogs, hour after hour they woofed away, my addled brain imagined they were employed by Namche neighbourhood watch committee to woof incessantly at some unseen red eyed, yellow fanged menace, whatever the reason, nobody shouted ‘SHUT THE **** UP! and nobody in Namche had a good night’s kip.
Yet another problem was the freezing temperature, my four season Vango hollow fill Nite Star sleeping bag, veteran campaigner of dozens of Scottish hill walking expeditions struggled to keep me warm, my foam sleeping mat failed miserably to prevent the permafrost attacking my brittle bones. I put on layer after layer of additional clothing but the cold just kept seeping in. The only highlight of that miserable night was when I got up for a wee, in the pre dawn light was a stunning mountain vista, snowy giants towering impossibly skywards. If I had any breath left, this moment would have taken it away.
Today was described as an ‘acclimatisation day around Namche’ on the itinerary, thank goodness, it would give me chance to draw breath, get into the rhythm of camp life and marvel at the fantastic mountainous setting of this place. The day started with ‘bed tea’ when two of our Sherpas; Sikram, Rana or Binnod (forgive me if I’ve mangled the correct spelling) would dispense this essential elixir brew of life, poured into our KE mug, after 20 minutes a bowl of hot washing water magically appeared, I learnt that the trick was to rapid-shave before it got cold (after about 7 seconds) if brave you could have a quick splash under the arms whilst still cocooned in sleeping bag. Later, we assembled in the tea house for breakfast; porridge, omelette, Tibetan bread, gallons of tea or coffee, all delicious and available in vast quantities. We trudged up the hill at the back as the sun appeared and it was suddenly quite hot. We walked through an army training ground (razor wire and trenches) to a view-point where Everest/Sagamatha/Chomolungma (so big they named it thrice) was peeping over the horizon, as the world’s mightiest mountain, she’s surprisingly difficult to spot. The army’s presence was a tad unnerving, even though they weren’t blasting away at Maoists or tourists today, signs warned against pointing our cameras in the wrong direction (so we didn’t). We visited the Museum of Sherpa Culture, I’m not really a big museum fan but it had a large collection of fascinating old photographs. I leant that Sherpas are relative newcomers to Nepal, arriving from Tibet some 300years ago, more recently this natural migration over the Himalaya became a flood of refugees fleeing from the Chinese invasion of Tibet in 1949.
There was a Tibetan market in Namche, a mixture of jumble sale and peace camp, the Tibetan stallholders who looked like extras from ‘Pirates Of The Caribbean’ were selling Chinese bric-a-brac and genuine ‘Hortn Face’ down jackets, an interesting ‘Chinafication’ of a well known brand. Whilst wandering through the market a mean looking yak decided to stampede through and over some stalls, shedding it’s load and making us dive for cover. ‘Local man squashed by grumpy yak in Nepal’ would have made an interesting headline in the Huddersfield Daily Examiner.
I was anxious not to suffer another shivery night, Andrew, Janet and others, all outdoor equipment impresarios, had already expressed their concern at my collection of rubbish stuff, we were going up and it was going to get colder, much colder. With this in mind I bought 2 fleece sleeping bag liners (600rps) and a Thermarest airbed (2200rps) I was, however determined to tough it out with my faithful old sleeping bag, my companions all had high tech super duper wick wad 12 season sleeping bags filled with bits of dead birds. Namche must have the second highest concentration of outdoor clothing shops in the world, many of which sell second hand climbing stuff.

02.11.07
Had a better night thanks to my new equipment and some ear plugs made from moistened toilet paper (not as grim as it sounds) I still thought I should have more reserve layers so I headed back into town to buy a third fleece sleeping bag liner (600rps)
Walked to Kangjumna today(I think) the forested slopes gave way to more scrubby vegetation, a lot of juniper and spiky shrubs. The ground must be deeply frozen until spring, everything seemed freeze dried, I marvelled at the specialist nature of the fauna, having to cope with drought, monsoon drenchings and daily extremes in temperature. All around us the mountains loomed impossibly. Nepal is so ‘vertical’, looking down from where we’d come from, the Dubh Kosi had vanished out of site at the base of an almost sheer cleft thousands of feet below which climbed vertically up the opposite bank, heavily forested at first, then scrub, then rocky outcrops, then crags and shattered cliffs and finally icy fingers of snow, hanging glaciers and towering knife edge pinnacles probably 15,000 feet above our view point. It’s difficult to imagine the scale of it all, it’s enough to give you a funny turn. I had a funny turn then trudged onwards and upwards.
We arrived at our camp at lunchtime, a peaceful spot behind a tea house, very tranquil compared with Namche. I felt a bit like a pampered poodle as our crew busily erected our tents in the terraced garden and prepared our next meal. The campsite dog was fluffy and friendly, although I did take him to one side and warned him not to woof after sundown. He didn’t, ’good boy!’
Clouds gathered and by dusk a chill, clammy mist had descended as I went for an amble around the neighbourhood. The birch trees around here were draped with what looked like feathery strands of lichen. Everywhere were huge angular blocks of granite that I mistook for the gable ends of large buildings, many were covered in prayer flags, some had simple stone shelters built under them with evidence of campfires. I later found out that porters used such places for their overnight accommodation. This made me bother even more at the vast gulf between us with everything and them with now’t.
Tea appeared at 1800 which was tasty and lavish, the variety, quality and quantity of the grub never ceased to impress me. Going hungry on this trip seemed unlikely. We were all in bed shortly after 2000.

About time I introduced my companions:

Andrew and Janet: My old chum and his missus, now living in Scotland with a taste for Munro bagging. I don’t see them enough these days so this trip was a great opportunity to catch up. Andrew was the first to get unwell, blamed on a dodgy prawn curry in Kathmandu (bad choice) but enjoyed good health generally.
Janet suffered with a variety of ills and bouts of sickness, but her fighting spirit shone through, her trousers got increasingly baggy.

Ian: Andrew and Janet’s neighbour. He’s ‘something to do with computers’ and a veteran of 11 KE trips. His swanky watch had an altimeter and thermometer. ‘How high are we Ian?’, ‘How cold is it Ian?’ He was always happy to oblige. Had spells of ill health and not eating. Coughed spectacularly and had a broken toe. I was jealous of his sleeping bag.
Cathy (sorry if it’s Kathy Cathy) and Dave:

Caving enthusiasts from somewhere near Bristol, Dave (I think) was something to do with clutch linings. Both suffered health problems but batted on heroically. Dave’s HAPE episode could have been extremely serious, and he puzzled the medical world by suffering the symptoms as we descended. He became the spit of Grizzly Adams. Cathy weakened through not eating enough, looking like a ‘wrung out dish cloth’ as Janet once observed. Both remained in remarkably good spirits throughout.

Chris and Garry: From the Midlands, Ex-army, now both lorry drivers. Chris suffered early on with sickness and turbulence but finished the trip in rude health. Garry was good at coughing and did some spectacular poopings. I marvelled at their tent sharing ability. A lot of good banter with these two, often seen striding out at the front of our group.

Sally: Our trek leader, twenty something, attractive and able. She kept us all in order, concerned herself with our welfare, lending a sympathetic ear and giving us the benefit of her seeming boundless knowledge of….well, everything really. She administered the drugs, told the jokes and liaised with our Sherpas.
She remained cheerful throughout despite being the group’s undisputed coughing champion.
I will always be indebted to Sally; she lent me her spare sleeping bag when things got really cold, this little act of kindness probably saved my scrawny neck.

Rana, Sikram, Binod, Treejan: Our four hard working sherpas. They watched the weather, guided us up and over mountains and glaciers. They served the food, watched over us at night and stopped us striding over the edge. They organised the porters and yaks, they ran on ahead to ensure there was room for us at the next halt, they put the tents up and took them down, a finger numbing job when they’re frozen hard. They dug the pit in the bog tent, they brought us our early cup of tea. Well done chaps.

Cook & his two assistants: These chaps were amazing, the food just kept on coming, prepared on big noisy kerosene burners in smoke filled, cramped and dark cook houses.
Soup, popcorn, pizzas, pasta, frankfurters, salads, fried egg, omelette, coleslaw, giant cakes, tuna, baked beans, green beans, prawn crackers, yak meat, sponge pudding, pancakes, cauliflower cheese, spaghetti, tinned pears and fruit salad, chocolate custard, vegetables, enough Tibetan bread to fill the Dubh Kosi valley and potatoes in all manner of guises. The Nepali national dish of dhal baht was always on hand if you wanted to go native. After our meal the washing up, everything scrubbed to a fine polish. After breakfast all the kitchen hardware was loaded into wicker baskets and hauled to a pre-arranged location where dinner was prepared, after dinner, more washing up then off to the next place to repeat the whole process. Our kitchen often overtook us en-route, the clanking of aluminiumware warned us to step aside as our chaps skipped effortlessly past. Top performance guys.

Porters: Often the unseen backbone of the whole trip. My Mingma was paid off in Namche and returned home to Lukla, I hoped he hadn’t missed much school on my account. I think we had about six porters, occasionally seen sorting out their loads in the mornings. KE take steps to try and ensure that their porters are well equipped, well paid (for porters) and don’t carry excessive loads. We saw many hundreds of porters during our trip, without their efforts the remote areas of Nepal would be uninhabitable. Porter welfare is a concern.

Unfortunately, we did see loads which were clearly too large for the carrier, often without warm clothes and wearing flip flops. Our porters were given an allowance for overnight accommodation, but we suspected that they often slept out in the cold, preferring to pocket the money, camping out in the company of fellow porters. There’s probably no tougher breed of people in the world. To a man (and woman) they’re all strong and lean. The tragedy is, you rarely see an old one.

Yaks: These iconic symbols of upland Nepal are fascinating, they amble along, seemingly without a care in the world. Their handlers drive them forward with shouts, whistles, a prod with a stick or a well aimed rock. Despite all this encouragement I suspect they go at yak speed, no faster, no slower. We had four, two black, two brown. It’s hard to imagine what they find to eat, the meagre vegetation at altitude looks so dry and lifeless, however, we were told they feasted on our left over food (there was lots of it) You always know when a yak train is approaching, most of them sport clanging yak bells around their thick woolly necks, upon hearing these approaching bells, get out of the way or be sent head first down the mountain to a messy death.

03.11.07
Despite my 3 thermal liners and air bed, I was a bit cold in the night. Ian complained about being too hot, git! During the night someone was being sick, Garry was the likely suspect, he looked decidedly grim at breakfast. I tucked in, my appetite was healthy and I was enjoying the status as expedition gannet (for now). Clouds emerged from the valley and by dinner time the mind boggling views had disappeared. Dinner was at an abandoned farm house. Despite tough going, the countryside was pleasant, nice walking under a birch trees and cliffs, past waterfalls and occasional villages on wide sandy paths (all this sand must get washed away in the monsoon) We arrive at Dole (4050m, gasp!) where our tents are already up, no sign of our yaks, I suspect they’re allowed to wander in search of grazing. Some of our bags are late turning up as one of our porters is unwell, we’re all concerned. We later hear he’s had to go home, our best wishes to him. Hopefully a new porter was hired to replace him, but I never found out. Chris and Cathy are not too cracky. Andy kindly lent me his unused fleece liner, I now had four which must be a world record.

04.11.07
A long, cold night, I got my fleece liner-sleeping bag-thermal-wicking-base layer-wad-sock and underpants combo to work, I was snugly cocooned but dreaded having to get up for a wee which happened frequently (effects of altitude on the bladder methinks) We walked above the tree line today into a landscape of upland heath, stunted juniper and close nibbled, dead looking grass, new mountains came into view. Stopped for lemon tea at ‘bog spot’. I found a nearby stream to have a quick douche in; bracing!
At Machermo tonight (4410m, that’s 14,000ft in real money) the clouds are down again and the temperature has plummeted. Strangely, everybody seems to be washing their socks and underpants. Not me though, my underpants may not be clean, but they are warm.
We went up to a nearby medical centre set and run by British Doctors. Foundered by Jim Duff, Bonnington’s SW ridge expedition doctor. The centre was modern and well equipped (bloody cold though) whose primary function was to assist porters and investigate the sometimes lethal effects of high altitude sickness (HAPE/HACE). We listened to a talk, very interesting, expedition porters were often expected to work at dangerously high altitudes. Unlike the Sherpas, porters are not from the uplands and are just as likely to suffer as we are. Thanks to current research, much more is understood about this condition and death rates are falling amongst both climbers and porters.
Tried playing cards but I never grasped the rules of what seemed like a deliberately complicated game, due to effects of high altitude of course (I bet they l thought I was being thick) A late night, we stayed up till 2015.

05.11.07
A day acclimatising at Machermo. Had a bad night, basically I kept forgetting to breath, not a good idea when you’re meant to breathe even harder at these ridiculous altitudes, suddenly I’d be wrenched from fitful sleep, sit bolt upright in blind panic, gasping for air. ‘’BREATHE YOU FOOL!’’ Not nice. I discussed this with the others, both Sally and Dave had experienced similar problems, at yesterday’s lecture, the doctor spoke about the difficulties of getting decent sleep at altitude. I don’t think anyone did.
There are some interesting fields behind our campsite, surrounded by drystone walls using rocks pulled from the riverbed, reminds me of the Pennines.
We went for a trudge up the hill at the back to an altitude of 15,500ft according to Ian’s trusty wristware. The clouds stayed stubbornly down today, no views and no warmth from the sun, again, reminding me of the Pennines. Meals were frequent and lavish, even though half the group weren’t eating, the amount of uneaten food that was taken away was upsetting. Garry, Cathy, Andy, Janet, Dave, Sally off-colour, what a load of old crocks!
It’s funny how a bunch of strangers soon becomes a closely knit group of close friends after just a few days of shared experience, the strongest common denominators were food, health and everything pertaining to toilets. Excessive or explosive bowel movements were discussed in detail at every opportunity, as was the state of the latest tea house bog or the depth of the pit inside our toilet tent which never actually overflowed, but it came pretty darned close on a couple of occasions.
Some of our company where being administered something called Diamox, I never succumbed to it’s temptations, whatever benefits it claimed to provide remained a mystery to me. Dave and Garry said it made things tingle.

06.11.07
Better night, I propped up my head using boots as added pillow bulk, this seemed to make it easier to breathe. I was still cross with myself for forgetting to perform this normally automatic bodily function. It snowed a little in the night, this soon evaporated when the sun made a welcome appearance. We climbed steadily today following a river, creamy with boulder clay. Little towers of rocks called chortons were everywhere, they seem to have some Buddhist religious significance but I suspect most have been built by yompers with time to spare. Andrew and I soon had another one built. Arrived at Gokyo (4800m, this is getting silly) We were now in the realm of glacial detritus, great heaps of moraine with a turquoise lake sitting in front of snow-capped peaks, it all looked impossibly picturesque. Gokyo was a jumble of tea houses with colourful corrugated tin roofs. Our tents, again, had mysteriously arrived before us, mine was next to the bog, great. Went for a walk up a huge pile of lateral moraine with Sally, Ian, Andy and Janet. Peering over into a glacial abyss, a freezing mist descended and a sneaky wind whipped up me trouser leg, I soon felt chilled to the bone and miserable. God, this is a rubbish holiday.

07.11.07 A dreadful night, the metal bog door squeaked and banged at regular intervals. Annoyingly I kept forgetting to breath again. My water bottle froze and there was frost on the inside of the tent, if I put any more layers on there would be insufficient room for me in the sleeping bag, great camping, innit?

Bed tea at 0500 then after breakfast some of us made an ascent of Gokyo Ri (5360m, good grief!) starting out in frozen, murky pre-dawn blackness (Ian, Chris and Cathy were in sickbay) Poor Janet set out but returned with Sally after feeling unwell. Andy, Garry, Dave, Rana and myself got to a misty, prayer flagged summit. A few hopeful yompers were sitting around awaiting a view, which apparently was stunning, we never found out. We felt cheated as the weather cleared on our descent, but never has the warm sunshine been more welcome as it thawed our frozen bones.
After an early lunch the we set off to Dragnag which involved crossing the Ngozumba (or something) glacier, rather than ice, it consisted of mountains of boulder and rubble debris, like a gravel pit without the bulldozers, the ice lies underneath, all this mess is slowly being carried south to eventually end up in the Indian Ocean. Looking the other way you could see where the glacier originated, on the snowfields and ridges of distant mountains, terrific stuff. Dragnag consisted of three teahouses with a mountain stream emerging from a steep craggy valley, this was the following day’s route to the Cho La Pass. Sally, God bless her, lent me a spare sleeping bag to add to my impressive array of bed time apparatus, no more cold nights for me eh?
At dusk Andy and I went to have another look at the glacier, we sat briefly (far too cold for sitting about for more than approx 8 seconds) and listened to it’s rock falls and rumblings, mother nature at work. On our return we spotted a porter encampment under a massive rock and wondered how on earth they managed to stay warm at night. How rich and privileged we are.
That evening we all crammed into a tiny room, tea was served and a yak dung stove was lit, through the smoke a thin light was cast by low voltage solar lightbulbs, I read until my eyes hurt and was in bed by 2030, dirty stop out.

08.11.07
Despite being bitterly cold I had a toasty warm night, we were up at 0500, somehow a breakfast was produced and eaten. Ian announced that it had been -3.5C inside his tent, how ridiculous! Today was the crossing of the Cho La Pass (5420m, you’ve gotta be kidding!) we climbed up through a deeply frozen landscape, and longed for the sun’s warming rays. This was a long hard climb and despite all the recent health issues amongst us, everyone dug deep into reserves of stamina to emerge triumphant at a snowy col where we were up close and personal with some impressive mountains. These young rocks have been contorted, re-shaped and re-formed by heat and pressure, bands of crystallised granite were overlain with a blue coloured marble and a red, iron rich rock, in places it had been contorted into near vertical bands.

On top of the Cho La pass, evidence of the work of mountain building techtonics surround us as unimaginable forces heave India into Asia, a veritable paradise for geologists.
A glacier sat on the other side of the pass, every few minutes it let out a sharp resounding crack that made everyone jump, weight and gravity were busy helping this frozen river on it’s long, slow journey the Indian Ocean. We descended over snow then steep boulder strewn ground, an hour before Dzongla we had a pleasant surprise when we came upon our kitchen where hot juice and soup was administered to a grateful bunch of yompers.
A big, rough walk today but everyone seems in good form.

09.11.07
Oh dear, I can’t remember much about our night at Dzongla, I must have been delirious or something. No doubt it was a warm balmy night and we disco’d and drank cocktails till dawn.
Janet and Dave not so good (all that dancing, all those cocktails) our party got split up today, Garry, Chris, Rana and myself went on ahead in a snow shower to Labuche Village for a long lunch at the ‘Above The Clouds Lodge’. Labuche was a tangle of tearooms, remembered for the wreckage of an aircraft in the river and a solar cooker which looked like a large satellite dish with a bubbling cooking pot in front of it, neat.
After a good day yesterday, everybody was being rubbish today, Cathy, Dave and Janet were hoping to stay in one of the guest houses at Gorak Shep (5240m) one of our Sherpas would run on ahead to sort out. The afternoon’s walk climbed alongside and then onto the vast lateral moraines of the Khumbu glacier. Feeling strong, I strode out, leaving the others behind and catching up with the kitchen, porters, yaks and finally Rana and Sikran, who were happy to see me ‘up front’, I was offered a cigarette (refused) but they didn’t let me help put the tents up. Gorak Shep was perishingly cold, a frigid grey mist descended, snow flurries added to the feeling that this was the coldest place in the world, ever. BRRR!
Andy and Janet, Cathy and Dave got rooms in the nearby Gorak Shep Hilton. That evening in the common room a lot of singing and dancing to celebrate the diwali festival, there were police men here who were investigating the death of a German tourist who had succumbed to high altitude sickness the previous day, Grim stuff.
Treejam said we may not be able to get to Everest Base Camp if the snow got too deep, when I went outside to clean my teeth, it was snowing like mad.

10.11.07
Ian announced a temperature of -10.5C inside his tent for heaven’s sake. My sleeping arrangement worked pretty well, with four fleece liners and two sleeping bags, getting in and out took some degree of contorting and wriggling. It’s a good job I’m long and narrow otherwise the system would have failed, but after getting up three times in the night for a wee, I’d fallen out with my bladder.
The weather was fine, 2 inches of fresh snow was not sufficient to abandon our trip up to Base Camp. The walking from Gorak Shep was hard going mostly along untidy moraines, the views became hopelessly dramatic as the sun warmed our extremities and evaporated the recent snowfall. Giant mountains crowded in from every direction, there were distant rumbles of avalanches. The rubble strewn Khumbu glacier joined forces with great towers of ice which come tumbling down from the Western Cwm Glacier through the narrow Khumbu ice fall. Behind all this amazement, to the left of Nuptse, Mount Everest’s famous outline was in clear view, perfectly framed in front of a deep blue sky, a great plume of snow being blown from the summit. A magical moment.
We finally arrived at Base Camp, if you were expecting a nice flat meadow with a toilet block you’d be disappointed. The camp’s only permanent structure seemed to be a flag festooned memorial. The ‘campsite’ is just an unforgiving chaotic jumble of moraine, in and amongst the boulders were numerous tents in various states of disrepair, these belonged to Thailand’s first Everest expedition. We had arrived just as they were preparing to leave, having got to camp 4, they’d been thwarted by 80 MPH winds and extreme temperatures.A huge disappointment, the expedition was to celebrate the king of Thailand’s 80th birthday. The decision to abandon the summit bid was a difficult but a correct one, as all the climbers were down safely. Winter climbing expeditions in Himalia are notoriously deadly. We were honoured to be invited into their mess tent for a cup of tea. One of the climbers, an impressive looking fellow with a beard, dressed in a red down suite looked tired but hap py to be down, even if his tea and biscuits were being nicked.
Expeditions have to pay a 20,000 dollar fee which is refundable as long as nothing is left behind. (I wonder if this applies to dead climbers which litter the place) After the Thais leave, Base Camp and Everest will be undisturbed until next spring when Nepali climbers put new fixed ropes to the summit, then the new climbing season gets underway when hundreds of wealthy ‘client’ climbers get their chance of glory, being guided and sometimes man-hauled to the top. The Everest ‘industry’ is a great source of revenue for Nepal, but the cost in human lives is high, climbers, Sherpas and porters perish each year.
Apparently as many as 6 expeditions can be here at once, hundreds of climbers fighting each other for the least bumpy patch of ground to pitch their tent, it must be bonkers.
After taking millions of photographs we returned to Gorak Shep, a tiring slog, the views became obscured by mist and light snow began to fall, we passed numerous yak teams heading up to collect the Thai’s camp.
What a terrific day, to have visited to such a famous and iconic place, probably on a par with Sydney Opera House, Stonehenge or Huddersfield Railway Station, I felt privileged to have been. The future of Base Camp seems uncertain, the approach to Everest from the Tibetan side is far easier because 4X4’s can now be driven to their base camp, the Chinese are no doubt very keen to exploit this fact by offering cheaper climbing permits. Bleedin’ capitalists!

11.11.07
How much colder can it possibly get? Had to get up 3 times for a wee yet again, not funny, I hate camping! Today we leave the coldest place in the world, ever and head downhill, hurrah, but first those able bodied enough climbed up Kala Patthar (5545m/18,200ft get out of it!) an act of pure lunacy. We sat in a smoky cookhouse eating porridge then set out to climb the long, dusty, deeply frozen slopes, mercifully, the sun soon emerged and we’re treated a vista of unimaginable proportions, to the north the horizon was crowded with 20,000ft peaks, whose connecting ridges mark the border with Tibet. To the west lay Everest and Nuptse, to the south the Khumbu glacier and a the deeply indented valley indicating our route home. Behind the prayer flagged summit boulders of Kala Patthar a pinnacled ridge rose ever upwards to remind us that this walker’s ‘peak’ is but a minor bump on the side of the mighty Pumori (7145m) which we’ll have to leave for another day.
Downhill at last, we joined the rest for a late breakfast then descended to Pheriche, for the first time on the trip I felt distinctly yuck. The weather became an unwelcome combination a grey murk with a freezing, persistent head wind, we saw Pheriche village several miles down the valley, our orange tents clearly visible, but covering those miles became a grim treadmill, the most difficult of the whole trip.
Finally arrived, I felt weak and exhausted, I retired to my frozen tent and slept soundly for 12 minutes, it was cup o’tea time.
Our tea house was posh, the stove was warm and the Thai climbers were staying here, I bet they can’t wait to get home.
Dave has HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema) a condition where fluid seeps into the lungs, the sufferer can drown if not brought rapidly down to lower altitudes, fortunately Pheriche has a medical centre run by U.S doctors where the diagnosis was made, they kept him in for observation and gave him various pills and potions including Viagara, a pioneering treatment which somehow helps ease the symptoms (I bet it does!) Basically he’s been struggling along with half a lung, it’s a real credit to his fitness and dogged determination that he’s still with us.
Sally’s being chatted up by some yank, Andy and Janet have gone off in search of a hot shower (failed) We all contributed 200rps so our guys could buy chang (a fermented millet and rice concoction, a bit like a chewy cider) to celebrate the end of diwali.

12.11.07
Slept better at this lower altitude (4350m, not that low then?) It’s still deeply frozen here but not the bitter chill of previous nights. Rana and Sikran looked rough after last night’s chang party. Dave had an early morning check-up and was discharged with permission to carry on down the hill (going up and he’d have been scuppered). The exit from this valley was very pleasant, crossing a funny looking bridge, our yaks sensibly chose to wade across.
We entered the deep, forested valley of the Imja Khola (or something) and joined a path busy with yompers, yaks and porters, we traded many ‘Namaste’s; without doubt the most used word in Nepal. We past a gang of path builders, skilfully splitting rocks with hammers and wedges, then manoeuvring them into a fine looking, permanent pavement, they’d never be short of work as most paths surfaces are eroded channels of dust (mud when wet) A stiff breathless climb to the monastery village of Thyangboche for dinner, where we sat with a mangy dog on the village green in warm sunshine and had a delicious picnic, although Chris and Janet jumped ship and feasted on yak burgers in a nearby bakery. After dinner we had a look in the monastery, an amazing riot of Buddhist paraphernalia, we gawped, put rupees in the collection box and spun prayer wheels.
A bit later on we saw water powered prayer wheels with bells, what a fantastic way of achieving nirvana. The Cof E should introduce prayer wheels, I’m sure they would revive dwindling attendances.
We crossed the Imja Khola over a brand new cantilevered bridge, then climbed steeply to our campsite at Kangjuma. Today’s walking was good, breathing became easier although the dust was causing much coughing and spluttering. There’s another camping party here consisting of three laughing English headmasters. Felt grim, so tea was limited to mushroom soup. It would normally pain me to witness all the uneaten food, but tonight it didn’t, take it away!
That evening we discussed tipping, we were rapidly approaching the end of our yomp and it is normal to give a tip or bonus, we all agreed to contribute 5,000rps which would then be apportioned amongst our staff. Such is the layered structure of the Nepali cast system, protocol advises that the biggest share of the ‘tip pot’ goes to the Sherpas, whilst the porters get the smallest. Kind of unfair in a way, Andy, (being a long time defender of the principals of socialism) in particular was unhappy with this and it was decided that he and Janet would distribute their share in a more equitable way.

13.11.07
Despite the freezing temperatures, last night was positively balmy, I dispensed with 2 liners and slept well, despite having to get up 3 times to attend to my naughty bladder. We walked down to Namche, re-joining the path we came up on, I found a quiet spot in a vegetable patch to strip out of my long johns, watched over by a bored looking yak that was busy munching it’s way through somebody’s prize cabbage. Into Namche to change money, then we met at the boozer to allocate the tip pot, our table strained under piles of banknotes and envelopes. All this cash was making me feel nervous so I handed over my wodge of dosh and left it to our resident accountants to sort out.
We had dinner at our old tea house, it was like coming home.
The yak man was paid off, and his yaks were replaced by the nak man and his naks (female yaks) Yaks (male yaks) aren’t suitable at lower altitudes because they get over-heated, the naks on the other hand are lowland creatures and take over load carrying duties from the yaks, (Eh?) similarly, naks can’t go high because they get too cold (I know the feeling)
The above paragraph sounds like a load of nonsense, I couldn’t decide whether or not we were being spun an old wife’s tale.
Our last night under canvas was at Monjo, a steep drop from Namche to the Dubh Kosi, which we crossed and re-crossed several times, dirty prayer flags all over the place. I was feeling rough and had a quiet vomit, oh dear. We walked out of the Khumbu National Park as a cold rain began to fall, for the first time we all got into our pak-a-macs, I felt grumpy.
We past the site of a catastrophic land slide a few years earlier which had created a dam across the river, a few days later, swollen by monsoon rains the dam collapsed causing much destruction downstream. In a country as precipitous as Nepal, this sort of natural disaster must be happening everyday. A platoon of squaddies ran past, we couldn’t decide whether they were out jogging or chasing Maoists.
At Monjo we drank chang and sat around a lovely hot stove as the rain fell outside. By bedtime I felt suitably sloshed but knew that my bladder would punish me by working overtime.

14.11.07
A frosty morning so long johns went back on, Garry, Andy and I watched a bird (feathered one with show-off tail feathers) I felt a bit rubbish again and couldn’t give breakfast the justice it deserved. It felt like quite a tough morning’s walk down to Lukla, I had two more vomit moments, it was last night’s chang warmed up.
We were now in fairly well populated area, smoke from wood and yak dung fires hung in the air. Nepal has one of the highest concentrations of lung disease in the world and it’s not difficult to see why, amazingly, many houses have open fires with no chimneys, if the doors and windows were shut, smoke is often seen seeping out from under the eaves.
Lukla is a busy little place where yompers fly in and out, porters are hired and fired, yaks and naks get confused. We check in at the Buddha Lodge right next door to the airport and I could see the steeply sloped runway from my room (yikes, we’ll be hurtling down there in the morning!).
I was sick again, the room was cold and I slept soundly for 14 minutes. It was almost time to say farewell to our crew (all 17 of them) I had decided some time ago to give away some of my stuff at the end of the trip so I sifted through my bag and made a heap; Sunglasses, 1 sleeping bag(not Sally’s), 2 fleece liners(not Andy’s), hat, ice axe, assorted chocolate bars, not so warm jacket, walking pole, gloves, bed roll, 2 long sleeved tops, 2 tee shirts, first aid kit, sandals. I took my heap up to the dining room where it was joined by other contributions and 17 little heaps were expertly made up by Sally (she’d done this sort of thing before) each heap was numbered and 17 numbers were put in a hat, ace, we were going to have a raffle. Everyone assembled, amid much jollity 17 envelopes and 17 heaps of stuff were duly distributed, after which, many rounds of applause, much hand shaking and goodbyes. A rather sad moment, they’d all done a splendid job with good grace and humour, we’d been impeccably well looked after. I hoped that they thought we were a decent bunch too.
Jugs of chang and another peculiar tasting brew came out, I felt like a party pooper with my bottle of coke and all I had for tea was soup. My stomach churned, health wise I was ending this trip on a bit of a downer.

15.11.07
A comfortable and warm night at the Buddha with only minor interruptions from barky dog and over-active bladder. At 0630 a big helicopter that had been tethered just outside roared to life and clattered into the air. A final breakfast (I managed porridge, fried egg, Tibetan bread and tea) and farewells to Treejan, Sikram, Rana and Binodd. We all felt sad to be leaving these good people and this extraordinary part of the world but it would be good to feel warm and breathe some polluted, oxygen rich air. The airport was already a chaotic scene, by 0800 Twin Otters were roaring in and out every few minutes, yompers and porters milled around in excited clumps. A lot of soldiers watched proceedings crouched behind piles of sandbags, another reminder of this country's political fragility.
We got aboard ours by 0830 and got launched down the ski jump (seat of pants stuff) and into the air for the 35 minute flight. Gazing down at rural Nepal, it struck me just how remote it all was, access to the patchwork of hill farms and villages being by foot and hoof. We only saw metalled roads with vehicles once over the Kathmandu Valley, a few minutes before landing.
Our bags had of course been left behind, they followed on the following flight, as we waited I felt uncomfortably hot in my long johns.
Kathmandu, as usual, was a scene of disorganised chaos. The Shanker, as usual, was a scene of utter splendour and shankiness, we checked in then all retired to make use of the sumptuous facilities. I showered 18 days worth of muckiness into Kathmandu’s drains, put on some fairly fresh underpants, t shirt and Shanker trousers then hit town. We walked into Thamel, (the touristy quarter of Kathmandu) and all met at the Northfield Café for an enormous dinner. It seemed strange to be sitting outside on a warm afternoon enjoying a beer when the biggest mountains in the world, yaks, permafrost and kerosene burners were a mere 35 minute Twin Otter flight away. Garry, Ian and Chris turned up looking freshly scrubbed and smoothly shaved, another sign that our trip was rapidly reaching it’s conclusion. Lunch eaten (well most of it anyway) I employed the services of Andy and Janet to accompany me on a shopping expedition down Thamel’s main strip. Up and down we went, shop, shop, shopping like there was no tomorrow, we fought off the tiger balm hawkers (‘no tiger balm today, thank you’, to the reply, ‘tomorrow then, tiger balm tomorrow!’) We haggled for bargains, visited the barbers and I had a shoe shine from an amazingly persistant chap with perfect English.
With bags-a-bulging we went for an Everest beer at Rumdoodles (named after the fictitious 40,000.5 foot mountain) and then met everyone for tea at New Orleans, Unfortunately, shopping had made me go funny, (it never fails to do so) I struggled with another plateful of food and after banging out a quick tune (badly) on Nepal’s only piano I made my apologies and walked back to Shanker with Cathy and Dave.
God, this city is filthy, at night, piles of rubbish are set alight, whether this is the homeless trying to keep warm or local businesses protesting about the non-collection of refuse is difficult to determine, but the pongy pollution is unbelievable. We were glad to get back to our sparkling Shanker, where rich pink westerners can isolate themselves from the grim reality going on outside. I felt feverish and wretched, and collapsed onto my feather bed to fall into much needed unconsciousness.

16.11.07
By morning I hadn’t expired, so walked down to the ballroom for breakfast, giving and receiving multiple ‘Namaste’s. The Shanker seems to employ many hundreds of amiable staff, all impeccably turned out in their maroon uniforms.
Around our table there were a few sore heads, some had partied hard into the wee small hours, and someone (you know who you are, Garry) had fallen into a storm drain as they staggered home, excellent behaviour! I avoided eating the famous Shanker buffet breakfast arrangement, opting instead for fruit salad and 2 gallons of coffee, after which I head back into town with A&J to spend our remaining rupees. At midday we checked out, stacked our bags in reception and had our ‘last supper’, this time I ate a hearty Shanker amount of food, and most yumptuous it was too. We spent the afternoon relaxing in, and around the swimming pool dressed in a borrowed assortment of amusing Shanker swimming costumes. A group of bronzed muscle bound Kiwi lads turned up, they were taking part in something called The Everest Marathon Challenge, the fools! I suddenly felt very ‘English’ with my tin ribs and knobbly white knees. Sadly, it was soon 1700 and time for our final ride to the airport through Kathmandu’s not easily forgotten streets. It was time to say our farewells to Sally and Rajif. After waving us goodbye, Sally was off on a mountain climbing jaunt to kill a bit of time before her next KE commission. Oh to be a young, free spirited adventurer! What a girl, it’s been good to know you, if only for a few days.
P.S thanks again for lending me your sleeping bag and I’m sorry that I lost the tightening straps. (I found them when I got home of course)
Numerous hours later and we’re sitting, zonked out at gate 17, Bahrain airport.
Departing kathmandu was entertaining when a power cut plunged the check-in hall into pitch darkness, after which the Gulf Air computers blipped and spluttered, throwing out spurious baggage tickets which ended up on unsuspecting bags. A drunken fellow with an attitude tried muscling in at the front of the queue, not realising it was an English queue, the poor chap was sent packing, never to be seen again.
We got ‘airside’ and entered the disagreeable world of long-hauling, my seat was thoroughly uncomfortable and next to the toilet. My ‘in flight entertainment’ wouldn’t work and I lost my pen. To make matters worse, Cathy, Dave, Chris and Garry had been upgraded to business class, some people get all the luck! With splitting headache I was at least thankful I didn’t have a turbulent bottom problem, can you imagine anything worse?
Bahrain airport was dreadful on account of some extremely dodgy Christmas displays that had appeared (well it is Christmas in about 18 weeks), carol singing santa’s and polar bears reminded me why I disliked the festive season, and no, I don’t want to buy your poxy Christmas perfume, buttock firming and moisturising lotion. I found Cathy, Dave and Ian who clubbed together and bought me a Costa coffee with some Bahraini Schillings, I used this to wash down a number of headache tablets.

17.11.07
0900. Ah, Heathport, yawn.

On the Bahrain/Heathport flightI had a window seat with empty seats besides me, how nice, you would have thought, however this extra space still didn’t enable me to get comfortable. I tried to distract myself by looking out of the window at Bulgaria. Why oh why can’t airlines give passengers the option of lying flat? It would make a lot of sense to take all the crummy seats out and let everyone take aboard pillows and soft furnishings. I had a great view of the Essex coastline as we hurtled back to earth with wings flapping.
Once through all the security checkpoints, Heathport was vast, clean and cool with an air of quiet affluence about it, Christmas was of course in full swing, I felt feint. We had a brief gathering down one of the never ending corridors to say bye bye to Cathy and Dave (bus to Bristol) Chris and Garry (train to the Midlands somewhere) well done everyone, it’s been a pleasure.

Had a Costa breakfast with A&J, Costa’s are all over the place, it seems to be a global brand like MacDonald’s or The Spice Girls, God help us all. Gone are the days when a rounded jolly lady dispenced tea from a large urn, or you could get a proper mug of instant for 50p, 'help yourself to milk and sugar luv'. These days it's all poncy overpriced continental sludge served in cardboard cups.

Their Edinburgh flight was eventually called so it was another round of goodbyes with A, J and Ian, terrific performance guys, hope to see you oop Jockland soon.
A 30 minute delay then a short BA flight to Manchester, a hole in the clouds treated me to a nice view of the soggy old Derbyshire Pennines, the captain turned the engines off and we drifted miraculously onto a long strip of tarmac.
My bag had arrived in Buenos Aires so I wasn’t surprised when it failed to appear at grab-a-bag, I was getting used to this, empty handed I strolled from the airport to the station where a train was waiting to whisk me effortlessly back to sunny Huddersfield.

It's amazing what you can fit into three short weeks innit?
The rest, as they say, is history, my bag arrived eventually, Babs (my partner) seemed pleased with the clothes that I’d bought her (thank you Janet for the modelling and advice service) the ‘man flu’ I brought back cleared up after a few days.
Nepal is a tiny country beset with problems, squashed between two emerging superpowers, with luck, Nepal’s future will be a peaceful one with free and fair elections taking place soon. For me, getting there wasn’t without incident and I still think that flying is a dreadful way of getting about, but time will eventually deaden bad memories, I keep getting maps out and looking at Island Peak (6160m, heaven's above!) hmm, tempting but not before I’ve purchased a nice thick down jacket and sleeping bag.
PS, To offset my carbon footprint from this trip I’ve instructed Babs not to put the central heating on, but don’t worry, I’ve lent her my jumper to put on.

Save the planet.

Matthew Shaw, December 8th 2007

unclegrumpy483@hotmail.co.uk