Nepal Revisited 11
The REAL end of the Journey
We got up at the crack of dawn so we could be first in the queue at the airport when it opened at 7.30. It's 'first come, first served' for seats on the 14 seater plane and if only one or two flights actually go because of adverse weather conditions, you don't want to be at the end of the line. It was absolutely freezing when we got up - so bad in fact, for the first time ever, I put my clothes on over my pyjamas - I just couldn't bear the thought of removing ANY article of clothing.
We had a cup of tea at the hotel, teeth chattering in the freezing lobby, then headed over to the airport that was right opposite. We weren't the first there but close enough to the top of the queue to get on the first flight. I have to admit we smiled a little smuggly when a couple that had sauntered up after us were told they'd have to wait on the next flight.
There was a bit of nail-biting as 7.30 came and went without any sign of the flight from Pokhara. Finally at about 8.15 it appeared and I then had a chance to start panicing about having to get on such a small airplane that just might plough into the side of of one of the bloody huge mountains that surrounded us. I eventually lapsed into this 'what happens, happens' torpor and allowed myself to be led onto this tiny airplane and buckled myself in. The air hostess looked cheerily unworried as she handed around a basket of boiled sweets which was comforting - until I realised that as a Buddhist she believed in reincarnation so didn't reallly care if she died or not.
The tiny plane
We took off and it was scary as hell. The batteries died in Ian's camera but I was too busy clutching the seat to use mine so I passed it over to him. He took a couple of snaps but the windows were very scratched so the results weren't great.
View from the plane
It only took 25 minutes to cover the distance that had taken us 8 days to walk and Pokhara seemed like a bustling metropolis after our time up in the mountains. We had a great breakfast in a place down by the lake we'd heard about from Carolyn. It's called Mike's Breakfast and there are 2 branches - one in Kathmandyu and one in Pokhara. Apparently the original one in Kathmandu was opened by some American hippy called Mike back in the 60s and all it serves is American style breakfasts - muffins, pancakes, eggs benedict, hash browns etc etc. It was bloody fantastic!
We did a bit of shopping after breakfast - yak wool shawls, silk pashminas and embroidered wall-hangings - then set off on our long drive back to Kathmandu. It was really hard to believe that the trek was over - that we'd done it, with no mishaps, no arguments, no illnesses. All we had to do now was survive our few days back in Kathmandu and we'd be heading home.
We got up at the crack of dawn so we could be first in the queue at the airport when it opened at 7.30. It's 'first come, first served' for seats on the 14 seater plane and if only one or two flights actually go because of adverse weather conditions, you don't want to be at the end of the line. It was absolutely freezing when we got up - so bad in fact, for the first time ever, I put my clothes on over my pyjamas - I just couldn't bear the thought of removing ANY article of clothing.
We had a cup of tea at the hotel, teeth chattering in the freezing lobby, then headed over to the airport that was right opposite. We weren't the first there but close enough to the top of the queue to get on the first flight. I have to admit we smiled a little smuggly when a couple that had sauntered up after us were told they'd have to wait on the next flight.
There was a bit of nail-biting as 7.30 came and went without any sign of the flight from Pokhara. Finally at about 8.15 it appeared and I then had a chance to start panicing about having to get on such a small airplane that just might plough into the side of of one of the bloody huge mountains that surrounded us. I eventually lapsed into this 'what happens, happens' torpor and allowed myself to be led onto this tiny airplane and buckled myself in. The air hostess looked cheerily unworried as she handed around a basket of boiled sweets which was comforting - until I realised that as a Buddhist she believed in reincarnation so didn't reallly care if she died or not.
The tiny plane
We took off and it was scary as hell. The batteries died in Ian's camera but I was too busy clutching the seat to use mine so I passed it over to him. He took a couple of snaps but the windows were very scratched so the results weren't great.
View from the plane
It only took 25 minutes to cover the distance that had taken us 8 days to walk and Pokhara seemed like a bustling metropolis after our time up in the mountains. We had a great breakfast in a place down by the lake we'd heard about from Carolyn. It's called Mike's Breakfast and there are 2 branches - one in Kathmandyu and one in Pokhara. Apparently the original one in Kathmandu was opened by some American hippy called Mike back in the 60s and all it serves is American style breakfasts - muffins, pancakes, eggs benedict, hash browns etc etc. It was bloody fantastic!
We did a bit of shopping after breakfast - yak wool shawls, silk pashminas and embroidered wall-hangings - then set off on our long drive back to Kathmandu. It was really hard to believe that the trek was over - that we'd done it, with no mishaps, no arguments, no illnesses. All we had to do now was survive our few days back in Kathmandu and we'd be heading home.