Going to a Wedding

May 30

We had a lazy morning and late start from Namche Bazaar today. Everyone was just wandering around the village getting coffee and pastries (no porridge this morning for me), checking email at the internet cafes and doing a little shopping. Since this is the end of the spring trekking and climbing season, there are very few tourists left.



We left Namche after lunch for the two day trek to the airport at Lukla. The weather has been good and hopefully it will hold. When we were u the valley, bad weather had closed the airport for two days and hundreds of trekkers were backed up waiting to get back to Kathmandu. Since all flights are VFR (visual flight rules) into Lukla, any little bit of fog or clouds will close it down.

Although the trek out was leisurely, the first two hours was tortuous. We had to drop about 2,100 feet in elevation over a couple of miles. With marathon-sore quads, it was quite tough. This group of fit athletes were grunting and groaning to get down the hill with as little pain as possible.

In contrast to the first two weeks where we were all eager to get to the hike and up the mountain as quickly as possible each day, now there was no urgency, no rush. I think that we stopped at just about every nice teahouse we came across for a drink or candy.



There were a few trekkers coming up the trail beginning their hikes up the valleys and struggling with the altitude and climbs like we did two weeks ago (was it that long ago?). But mostly, the trail was populated with porters carrying their huge loads. What they can manage never ceases to amaze me.

We stopped for the night at Monjo and one last night of camping. It was relatively warm. Instead of the freezing cold, our only problem was bugs in the tent that night.

May 31

Our final day on the trail. The hike to day was mostly uphill to Lukla but not too far. Again we took it leisurely.

We reached Lukla at about 1:00 and stopped at the best coffee shop in town -- illys, a European company. They really made quite good lattes and baked goods. (It was better than the “Starbucks” across the street.)

We went to the Shangrila Lodge where we would be staying for the night. It is situated on the top of a 30 ft rock wall at the end of the airport runway. Literally. You sit in the dining room and watch planes flying directly towards you and landing a couple of yards away. They always stop. They have to.

Since I hadn’t had a decent shave since we started the trip (cold water, no mirror), I went to the local barber to get a hair cut and a shave. Sorry Mr. Adams, I couldn’t wait to get back to Richmond. Not only did I get the usual, but he gave me a head massage which consisted of pounding and slapping my scull. I have a video of it that I’ll post when I get back. It’s priceless.



On the way to the barber, we heard some singing and then many very elaborately dressed people began pouring out of two buildings banging drums and cymbals, burning incense, and chanting prayers. We quickly leaned that it was a Sherpa wedding and we were right in the middle of it. Village life went on as usual around them -- porters carried their loads, trekkers came and went right through the wedding party. No one seemed fazed. We watched for a while and then moved on, although Gerry was trying to wrangle an invitation to the wedding reception from some of the old ladies in the group.



Gerry had been on pretty good behavior most of the trip and was ready for one of his renowned “sessions”. We visited several of the local establishments, starting with the outside bars in the afternoon and moving inside when it got dark. Of course, we had to go to the Irish Pub. It wasn’t very Irish; it was more disco.



We finished up at a pool hall with a couple of the sherpas. A bunch of drunk college kids from the U.S. (the institution will remain unnamed) came in. We played a game of pool against a couple of the frat boy types. We had seen them on the trail a couple of times and they were the most out of shape bunch we ran across in the entire trip. We were bad, but they were worse and we beat them. They were not very happy -- beaten by an Irishman and someone as old as their father. When they found out that we had run the marathon a couple of days before, they couldn’t believe it. They were getting rather obnoxious and acting like they probably do in their college bar back home. They did not represent Americans very well.

We left to go back to the lodge and the final gathering of the group and the sherpas and support staff that helped us for the past two weeks. For most of them, this was their last day and they would be trying to pick up another job in the morning.

It is traditional that trekking groups pool some money for tipping the staff at the end of the trip. Fortunately, Sanjay from India took on that task (while we were having fun at the bar -- sorry Sanjay). I made a little speech thanking all of the staff for their help and support during the past two weeks and then one by one they came forward for their tips. It was very humbling experience. We had 53 people supporting about 25 runners and trekkers -- yak men, porters, cooks, cook boys. They did everything for us. Here they were extremely appreciative of a 1000 or 1500 rupee tip ($13 - $20) for two weeks worth of work. A waiter in Richmond gets that for serving a couple of entrees and a bottle of wine. It’s hard to put into perspective.



Afterwards they put on some Nepali music and everyone had a good time dancing or trying to. Most Nepalis don’t drink, however, so there wasn’t the usual carousing and carrying on. Even Gerry was well behaved.




June 1

The morning dawned cool and clear. The planes would be flying today! We packed up and headed down to the airport at 6:15 to await the arrival of the first planes.



The scene was a little less hectic than the Kathmandu airport. Security was as useless as in Kathmandu. (“Do you have anything bad in your bag?” “No.” “OK. Go ahead.”)

The siren went off which meant that the planes had left Kathmandu and would arrive shortly. Everyone was jockeying for the door to make sure that they got on board.

The tarmac is quite small but can handle four planes. They also can turn around a plane faster than any other airport of landing -- 10 minutes to land, unload, load and take off. Southwest Airlines eat your heart out. That’s why everyone was crowding the door. If you go to the restroom, you’ll probably be left behind.

We got in our plane, taxied out to the end of the runway, the pilot revved the engine and we were off. It’s sort of like going off a ski jump: the downhill runway ends at the edge of a cliff and then it’s 2,000 ft straight down. It’s exciting. In about 35 minutes we were back in Kathmandu.

It was a shock to be back in the city after two weeks in the mountains -- the crowds, the noise, the smells. Instead of yak bells, we had the constant blaring of horns and beeping of scooters. It took quite a while to get back to the Hotel Shanker but we finally made it.

The afternoon was spent getting things unpacked or reorganized, taking a long shower, sending some laundry out (poor laundry workers), and catching up on email and blog postings.

We had decided to meet at a place in Thamel at 6:30 for beers before dinner. Gerry had heard of a “great Irish bar called O’Casey’s”. Although I had a general idea where it was, I wandered around looking for it and kept asking the locals. They kept pointing me around the corner but I couldn’t find it. Finally, I asked another shop keeper. He said it’s right here and pointed up to a sign: “K.C.’s”. So much for the Irish.

K.C.’s was actually quite a nice place. It was an outside balcony about three floors up. It was cool and restful and well above the bustling streets. I found a couple of other in our group there and Gerry came a few minutes later sheepishly. We each had an Everest beer (they serve them in 650 ml bottles; they are like jumbos) and then went on to the Rum Doodle Restaurant for dinner.

The Rum Doodle is a famous Kathmandu restaurant where all of the climbing expeditions stopped at on their way out of Nepal for a little drinking and retelling (and lying, I’m sure) of their recently completed adventures. They would always leave something signed by the expedition members.

The restaurant recently moved into new quarters and doesn’t have the appeal of the quirky old place it used to be. But the food was good, if a bit Westernized, and the beer was cold. We had a good time and signed a big cardboard foot (a yeti foot?) and tacked it up to the wall.



During the dinner the power went out. The restaurant had a big generator that kicked in, but the city power remained off. The walk back to the hotel was darker than usual. There are no street lights in Kathmandu but the shops usually have some lights on which helps to see where you are going. With the power outage, only places with generators had any lights.

We walked carefully back in the black night. As we were passing under some old trees, I suddenly felt something hit my shoulder. I put my hand up and felt a warm gooey substance. Yuch, bombed by a bird at night. It was a white shirt and my last clean one. More on the bird incident in tomorrow’s post.

That’s all for now.