The Kathmandu airport proved to be as confusing as I expected. At around 8:20, the gate I was directed toward announced they would be boarding the flight to Lukla. With my 8:30 boarding pass in hand, I confidently strolled through the gate and followed the crowd to a bus that would take us to our flight. Once there, a man asked us to show him our boarding pass, and while everyone else pulled out a blue ticket, I confusingly held up my red pass. With an exasperated face, the attendant told me I was seconds away from riding toward the wrong bus and hurriedly escorted me off. Having given up the idea of self-efficacy with Nepali transport long ago, I cracked a joke about my own foolishnes and headed back to the terminal with an unshamed smile. Being able to laugh at your mishaps has become necessary, as the other option is a crippled self-esteem, scared to do anything at all. So, I sat with a grin and waited for my correct bus.
2 full hours after our schedule departure, I was led into the correct bus ths time and rode to plane. As the ten seat plane gained altitude, all the soon-to-be trekkers eagerly snapped photos. With my camera lens focused on the green rolling hills underneath the plane, it took me a couple minutes to notice that huge snowwy peak lie on the horizon. I couldn't identify which mountains were which, but I knew that among these lie the largest in the world. Then it hit me. The Himalayas are mountains on top of other mountains. It was like Mother Earth had twins. The older brother peaks looking down on their younger hills, who in themselves are perfecctly formidable mountains in themselves.
When the plan had been in the air for about 1/2 hour, my vantage point revealed that we were heading directly toward a mountain. This concerned me little. If busses can driver over waterfalls then planes can fly into mountains. My hunch was correct, for as we flew closer to the mountain, a short, upward slanting runway appeared. We landed and the plane slammed on the emergency brakes, stopping us mere few feet before a barricade that protected the village from the planes.
Exiting the spine-tingling plane ride, I walked to a cafe with a good view of the airstrip and ate some lunch. Watching the planes take off a strip that ended in a complete mountain drop, I was overcome with insanity. It's a different sort of insanity that normally plagues me (and I imagine many others as well.) It wasn't that insanity and unrest caused by a monotonous and strangely unfulfilling life. No, this was different. It was the same feeling I got at the Phoenix airport before my flight to India departed. It was the feeling I got lying on top of a Nepali bus all by myself, staring at the stars as the bus roared through the hills. It's an insanity that arises when I actually take the risk to fully live, and the places this drive leads are astounding and unbelievable. This insanity is one of the best feelings in the world, and I hope all people are lucky enough to experience it at some point in their lives.
With a "moment" still lingering in my bones, I set off on my 17 day trek through the Himalayas and to the seat of Mt. Everst.
2 full hours after our schedule departure, I was led into the correct bus ths time and rode to plane. As the ten seat plane gained altitude, all the soon-to-be trekkers eagerly snapped photos. With my camera lens focused on the green rolling hills underneath the plane, it took me a couple minutes to notice that huge snowwy peak lie on the horizon. I couldn't identify which mountains were which, but I knew that among these lie the largest in the world. Then it hit me. The Himalayas are mountains on top of other mountains. It was like Mother Earth had twins. The older brother peaks looking down on their younger hills, who in themselves are perfecctly formidable mountains in themselves.
When the plan had been in the air for about 1/2 hour, my vantage point revealed that we were heading directly toward a mountain. This concerned me little. If busses can driver over waterfalls then planes can fly into mountains. My hunch was correct, for as we flew closer to the mountain, a short, upward slanting runway appeared. We landed and the plane slammed on the emergency brakes, stopping us mere few feet before a barricade that protected the village from the planes.
Exiting the spine-tingling plane ride, I walked to a cafe with a good view of the airstrip and ate some lunch. Watching the planes take off a strip that ended in a complete mountain drop, I was overcome with insanity. It's a different sort of insanity that normally plagues me (and I imagine many others as well.) It wasn't that insanity and unrest caused by a monotonous and strangely unfulfilling life. No, this was different. It was the same feeling I got at the Phoenix airport before my flight to India departed. It was the feeling I got lying on top of a Nepali bus all by myself, staring at the stars as the bus roared through the hills. It's an insanity that arises when I actually take the risk to fully live, and the places this drive leads are astounding and unbelievable. This insanity is one of the best feelings in the world, and I hope all people are lucky enough to experience it at some point in their lives.
With a "moment" still lingering in my bones, I set off on my 17 day trek through the Himalayas and to the seat of Mt. Everst.
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