TRAVEL | NEPAL | MT. EVEREST
The Chance to See Mount Everest is a Dream For Many
Whether mine would be fulfilled was uncertain
Who travels to Kathmandu, Nepal, and passes on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Everest?
THAT EVEREST
That Everest that at 29,031 feet is the tallest peak in the world.
That Everest that has mesmerized me for decades after living in Alaska and meeting mountaineers who climbed Denali, the tallest North American peak.
That Everest that has swallowed more than 300 attempting its summit.
That Everest that has been navigated by intrepid sherpas, risking life and limb and saving countless souls.
That Everest that has been portrayed in numerous riveting movies and books.¹
Visa run
It was my second visa run exiting India to fulfill its ever-evolving rules regarding allowed stays.
My prior odyssey had been a mind-numbing, down-and-dirty, gruesome overnight to a grungy burg, the name forgotten the instant you escaped.
That junket was a 17-hour grind via a conglomeration of seven transports. Train to bus to oxcart (yes, it was a remote outpost!) to motorcycle to truck to van to car, and reversed a day later.
Coming in, I hadn’t the foggiest notion of what to do, where to go, or the actual location of the amorphous Indian-Nepal border, designated amidst a dusty lane and scraggly grasses. No sign, fence, or marking indicated crossing from India into Nepal.
No help was to be had from Google Maps because Wi-fi was non-existent. Nor was there aid from a pack of “you-foreigners-are-clueless-but-we’re-here-to-help-you” bikers who descended upon me like vultures, shrieking at a high pitch, “Come with me!”
That was until you agreed to their tenfold exaggerated price. Or wisely figured out the check-in station was a 300-meter jaunt away.
Though not a fearful traveler, the place was creepy, befitting a Coen Brothers or Quentin Tarantino flick replete with nighttime boozy card players eyeing the middle-aged, single white woman with suspicious disdain. Let’s just say I didn’t wander after dark.
Six months later, when it was time to depart India again, I decided to chalk that ramble off as a once-in-a-lifetime nightmare, with no repeats necessary during this incarnation. I coughed up the rupees to fly to Kathmandu.
To go or not to go
After a few days of playing tourist in the charming capital city, shopping for cashmere, and interacting with delightful locals, I still remained uncommitted whether or not to sign up for an Everest trip.
Whenever ambivalent about a decision, I reverted to the ubiquitous legal pad columns of “pros” and “cons.”
Cons: 1) Flight in a small aircraft, 2) Numerous crashes over the years with no survivors, 3) Not inexpensive, 4) Flights departed extremely early for this died-in-the-wool owl, and 5) No guarantee of seeing the mighty mount if inclimate weather.
Pros: 1) The most obvious — It’s Everest! Did I want to admit to being lazy and unwilling to sacrifice some shut-eye? 2) Many spend more money on a round of golf or swanky dinner, 3) Pilots have flown the route hundreds or thousands of times, 4) Planes have gone down, but that can occur anywhere. Dying in a crash has always been less frightening to me than myriad other ways of perishing anyhow. And, what a fetching story: “She died en route to see Everest,” and 5) No takeoff if bad weather. That’s fine; there are few guarantees in life.
The ungodly early departure time was the primary deterrent. I have always detested rising in the wee hours. My body clock is that of a vampire, requiring eight hours slumber.
Decision made
The pro arguments prevailed. Foregoing such a monumental opportunity would prove a too-embarrassing admission of sloth.
Every hotel, tour company, and guide in town had connections. After researching and liking the sound of “Buddha Air,” I made a reservation there. Flights were scheduled all day, but someone had recommended booking an early morning one.
Once committed, I queried every Tom, Dick, and Harry about recent conditions. Had trips been successful? Were they aware of cancellations?
In a city where revenues revolved around mountaineering, tourism, and Everest, no one would be the bearer of anything remotely resembling bad news. Hence, all reviews were glowing.
Never prepared
I’m a poster child for arguably one of the world’s most disorganized travelers. I tend to be a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type.
Miraculously, at the final moment, though, I had the foresight to toss a fancy-schmancy “real” Nikon camera with two detachable lenses into my bag, purchased under my delusion of becoming a serious photographer.
Despite tutorials from my friend Bill, a gifted photographer and instructor, I’d made dismal progress in improving my marginal skills. Now, I hurriedly engaged in a mini-cram course, and only the afternoon before my trip.
The manual was confusing, and Internet sites were unhelpful. I even took to the streets to practice, accosting an unsuspecting foreigner only because he had the misfortune of carrying a bona fide camera. Though offering suggestions, he likely considered me a straightjacket candidate.
I crammed photo tips: Clean the window of the plane. Hold the camera directly against it. With three cameras, two being cell phones, I might score a decent shot or two — IF the flight actually lifted off.
The morning of
I fell asleep at a decent hour the night before. But if something significant was scheduled for the following day, I feared oversleeping, slept fitfully, and managed only three hours.
Aware that wake-up calls in small hotels in that part of the world were hit or miss, where the night crew slept through their shift, I’d set two backup alarms. That proved prudent because the call never materialized. After fumbling half-comatose through a shower, at 5:10 a.m. I crawled down two flights of stairs.
Nary another creature nor mouse were stirring. The night manager, and likely non-wake-up calling culprit, was sacked out on a lobby sofa. An empty whiskey pint graced the coffee table.
Awakening Rip Van Winkle to inquire about my taxi, he, barely coherent, began phoning. There was no answer from the driver he claimed to have confirmed with the prior night.
He made more calls, finally reaching someone. I understood none of their Nepalese conversation. Staggering outside, he returned to inform me he’d snagged a street taxi.
At night, for whatever bizarre reason, the hotel had lowered the front metal grated door a couple of feet, unbeknownst to me. In my marginally alert state, I plowed wham-bam into it. Lovely…a mini-concussion. There was no blood, but a charming egg would likely materialize.
Already, the day was shaping up, and it wasn’t yet 6 a.m. Self-talk: Think positively. These are not necessarily bad omens.
Traffic was scarce at that wee hour, and we arrived well before the required time. Drat. I could’ve caught an extra thirty minutes of zzz. Self-talk: Quit whining. You may see Everest today.
The airport and the wait
Oddly, the terminal door wasn’t open, which was peculiar given the 6:30 Everest departures. I wandered back to the taxi still in the lot to inquire if this was the correct terminal.
“Buddha Air?” the driver replied, “No,” pointing down the road to another building, the domestic terminal.
When hailing the cab, the hotel chap obviously hadn’t mentioned my destination. The driver assumed I was leaving the country; we were at the international terminal. He gave me a lift to the domestic one.
My brain was ticking: This feels just like India. Self-talk: India has taught you something. At least you didn’t sit in front of the wrong doors for an hour and miss the flight.
The small terminal was abuzz. Check-in was a disorganized rigmarole. Perhaps everyone was sleep-deprived or had drunk an abundance of whiskey.
Eventually, we were shepherded into a minuscule metal quonset building crowded with fifty waiting passengers. Its bare-bones amenities consisted of a coffee counter, book stand, and toilets.
More waiting
Progress, at least, but more waiting.
After heading to the bathroom, I returned to futz with my camera, still hopeful for an ethereal bolt of clarity.
Self-talk: You couldn’t have considered learning this earlier and practiced a few times? But, hey, it’s ONLY Mt. Everest. At least, it’s nothing significant.
The monitor indicated all flights were 6:30 departures. A good omen, it was a brilliant sunny day. Nevertheless, the weather could change suddenly. When checking in, I learned that two days earlier, the first flights left, but the 8:00 ones were canceled.
Flights called
Anticipation was escalating. Flight 101 was boarded, then 200. Mine was 300, but they skipped it, boarded 400, and then 500. Oh no, was there something wrong with our plane? Finally, our flight was announced. Whew!
Expecting to walk onto the plane, instead, we hopped on a shuttle bus — a typical drill in both Nepal and India — that poked along at a snail’s pace to the farthest plane on the tarmac.
But before moving, we continued waiting. Finally, a dour Indian couple and teen girl sauntered on as though they had all the time in the world. Their dilly-dallying was probably why our flight had been skipped. It was classic; Indians were always late for everything. I swore none owned a timepiece.
Across from me on the bus was a guy holding an identical Nikon to mine. Excited to query him, I’d figured out how to change the exposure level but was having difficulty adjusting it back. He knew even less than I, having purchased the camera for his wife for Christmas. She, too, had been reading her manual.
From him, I learned an invaluable tip — for future travelers. The first Everest departure flight is 101, whereupon the pilot radios back about the weather. Hence, booking the first flight is the safest bet.
On board
My first reaction upon boarding was a silent giggle. I had wondered what type of plane had only window seats. Duh! It was a standard small fixed-wing with two seats on each side. But only the window ones were sold.
Excitement mounted, but along with anxiety. I’d been in a similar situation a few years prior, where after three days of shuttling between hotels and the Delhi airport to fly to Dharamshala in the Himalayan foothills, all passengers were seated, belted, and awaiting take-off.
While queuing to board, a wise traveler had proclaimed, “We can’t count on it until we’re airborne.” Sure enough, the announcement came: Bad weather. Flight canceled.
Until cleared for take-off, no announcements were made about our likely departure. A collective holding of breath by us all: Please, let’s make it.
However, by then, always the eternal optimist, I was convinced we’d be good to go. The Universe had cooperated nicely thus far. And, I’d taken a brain hit; that must count for something to the travel gods.
While awaiting the magic words, a flight attendant walked the aisle with handouts identifying the other peaks in addition to Everest we’d be passing. Six of the eight highest mountains in the world are either in Nepal or on its borders. No wonder they’re proud of the resplendent treasures.
Then, the pronouncement. We were cleared for take-off. My stomach leaped. Tears welled. I really was going to see Everest today!
There wasn’t a preferred side of the plane, the pilot having reassured that everyone would see Everest. Leaving Katmandu, the sight below was nothing short of otherwordly. There are mountains, and then there are the fabled Himalaya. How fortunate I felt to witness their commanding grandeur.
Our rows reveled in mountain views first. Passengers from the other side moved over, crowding us in our seats for a glimpse. The flight attendant walked the aisle, naming the various peaks. The vision of pristine snow-capped magnificence for miles and miles in all directions was divine.
Then, there it was — Everest! Words are inadequate to capture my emotions.
Each passenger was invited into the cockpit for even more mesmerizing views, with the pilots pointing out Everest. I scored two trips!
Some might be disappointed because the plane didn’t fly close to the mountain. But it was sublimely spectacular for me.
Back on terra firma
We left about seven and were back by eight. Before landing, t-shirts were available for purchase that read: I didn’t climb Everest, but I reached it with my heart! How could I not buy one? We received signed, verified certificates also.
The finale
When bused back to the terminal, everyone was wickedly thrilled, except for the dour, obviously well-off Indian trio in designer togs. No smiles or enthusiasm whatsoever from them, just glowering.
My thoughts: Why do these types bother to travel? If Everest can’t bring a smile to people’s faces, how dreary their lives must be. (Sorry, I don’t tolerate kindly insufferable, self-important tourists). A delightful Australian couple with whom I chatted were as awe-struck as I.
Back in the parking lot jammed with taxis, I found my guy easily. Off to the hotel we bounded.
I couldn’t quit smiling. Sleep deprived. Who cared? Concussion. Who cared?
I had seen Everest!
Conclusion
I would take the trip again in a heartbeat. Perhaps I’d drop five times more for the helicopter ride that lands at base camp if still permitted.
The proliferation of visitors and climbers continues to be a delicate balancing act between a country desirous of economic benefit and daunting environmental concerns. But, alas, as long as there are adventurers, they will go to Everest.
Footnote: 1. Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer is an exceptional read about the 1996 catastrophes on Everest. Unable to put it down, it’s of the into-the-wee hours-sleep-depriving genre.
My initial scoff to the recommending friend was, “I don’t want to read a book about a bunch of climbers dying on Everest.”
She wisely advised, “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
Amusingly, when thereafter suggesting it to my nephew, himself a voracious reader, his reply was verbatim. I begged him to at least commence it, giving him my copy. He, too, was captivated and devoured it quickly.
Everest Trivia:
1. Mt. Everest is situated on the border of Tibet and Nepal. Its official height has increased a few feet over the years.
2. Sir Edmund Hillary, a New Zealand mountaineer, and Nepalese Sherpa Tenzin Norgay were the first to summit Everest on May 29, 1953. Prior to their success, 24 died in 15 expeditions attempting it.
3. There have been 11,996 recorded summits through January 2024.
4. The official tally is 330 dying on Everest, either in attempted summits or descents. It’s too dangerous to retrieve bodies. Hence, many corpses litter the mountain, nearly perfectly preserved from having remained frozen.
Your time is valuable. I’m honored you chose to spend some of it here. Victoria 🙏
© Victoria Kjos. All Rights Reserved. 2024.
