Lukla Back to Kathmandu

I imagine taking off in a plane from the Lukla airport is much like launching from an aircraft carrier.

We headed back to Kathmandu from Lukla on the second morning plane. The sky was clear and windless.

The Twin Otter (DHC 6/300) landed shortly before 7 AM. The flight attendant hustled the passengers off while ground crew blew whistles to keep them moving in the right direction. Others emptied the rear hold of baggage.

A Twin Otter waiting for passengers

With everyone off, the 16 awaiting passengers were urged forward and up the steps. Inside we were encouraged to hurry toward the front and fill the seats. As we settled in, ground crew loaded the luggage. From the time the plane landed until we were loaded didn't exceed 10 minutes.

The twin-engine plane taxied to the horizontal patch at the top of the runway. The flight crew applied the brakes, revved up the engines to a scream, and released the brakes. The plane lurched forward, picked up speed as it started down the 12% incline, and rose into the air about 30 meters from the end. The ground dropped vertically below us as the plane passed the end of the promontory on which the runway sits.

The Lukla airport has room for just four planes to park at once. In peak periods, a plane is either landing or taking off every 5 minutes. Most of that traffic is to ferry trekkers. The nearby heliport can accommodate 4 helicopters at once and is often full.

With that volume of traffic and with planes in constant use, there are risks. A month before my journey started, a plane carrying trekkers to Lukla hit a bird on takeoff at Kathmandu and crashed. There were no survivors. Google searches tell me Nepal has one of the worst aviation safety records, with 6 fatal crashes in the last 2 years. I knew that going in. Yah takes yer chances.

After a perfect 30-minute flight, we landed in Kathmandu, a place with a whole different type of traffic. Like many South Asian cities, the rules of the road are as mysterious to we Westerners as the Nepalese alphabet. The roads are shared by cars, trucks, peddle rickshaws, motocycles, bicycles, pedestrians (limited sidewalks), dogs and the occasional monkey. There are traffic lights only on a 20-km divided highway build by the Japanese, few posted speed limits and few stop signs (both always ignored).

Drivers use both their lane and the oncoming lane as if they owned both. Inside a taxi, one thinks a crash is possible any second; yet, the scrum of vehicles seem to miraculously miss each other. Part of the reason is that top speeds rarely exceed 30 kph. After a time, one realizes there is intelligence and unspoken consensus behind the traffic chaos.

I am booked into the Shanghai-la Hotel. What a treat to have a heated room and a shower. I put my trekking clothes in a bag for the hotel's laundry service. I then took a shower—my first in 9 days. Despite all the exertion trekking, I was remarkably un-stinky. Maybe that is due to low stress, a mostly vegetarian diet, or the benevolence of Buddha—I don't know.

The hotel has a patio restaurant next to its lovely garden. There are poinsettia trees here (15 feet high) in bloom. Strange birds tweet in the shrubs and exotic looking trees. 

I did a bit of sight-seeing with my fellow trekker Peggie. We took a taxi to a big market area called Thamel. While I didn't much care about the shopping, I did like the Garden of Promises, a restored palace garden that once belonged to a minor noble.

In the mountains, I saw no varieties of squirrels or chipmunks. In North and South America, members of that family abound. I found their absence here curious. Finally in that garden oasis in Kathmandu I spotted a chipmunk-like mammal called a palm squirrel.

What is common in Kathmandu is monkeys.

Tomorrow we mount vehicles for a bumpy 4-hour drive to a resort near the Royal Chitwan forest near the Indian border.