“Ah you go to Lukla!” the taxi driver exclaimed loudly; “very dangerous!”
“Thanks for that” I thought, as we drove through the dark empty streets of Kathmandu towards the domestic terminal. I was booked on the first flight out of the city, on the advice of the booking agent who suggested that Lukla can be open one minute and closed the next, due to unpredictable weather patterns in this tiny airport perched on the side of a hill at the start of the Himalaya’s. I wanted to be sure to get there - safely.
Ten anxious tourists sat hunched into the tiny plane, nervously discussing Lukla’s reputation whilst consoling each other with the fact that it promised to be another stunning winters day - seemingly the most settled weather was in December. As the plane taxied down the runway, a young Nepali woman walked the isle with a basket of white fluffy stuff - the man opposite looked at it, bemused; “it’s for your ears” she said, “cotton wool”.
Before I knew it we were off the ground, and there was a sense of urgency in the ascent out of Kathmandu.
Kathmandu, the largest city of Nepal, sits at an elevation of 1400m above sea level. It is housed in a large valley called the Kathmandu Valley, surrounded by four mountain ranges all with an average elevation of 2800m. It is necessary, therefore, for aircraft to rapidly ascend when leaving the city, and particularly heading towards Lukla - some 30 minute flight away - as the land just seems to fold upwards in never-ending steps towards the planet’s highest mountain.
The plane travels so close to the surrounding mountains that it seems as if they are just an arms-length away.
As the morning starts to emerge, and the sun begins to spread the first of it’s rays through the deep valleys below, it highlights a stunning mist-draped landscape; layer upon layer of hills and valleys; a golden-pink hue marinating all that lies in the sun’s path. Too stunning for words.
Image by Andrew Bain
As I sat in mouth-wide-open awe at the beauty I was witnessing, I forgot all about being on a tiny plane flying into the worlds most dangerous airport.
Nepal from the air is just so beautiful - layered agricultural plots for crop growing, dominate the landscape alongside snow-capped mountains. Small villages in the most impossible locations are dotted along the flight path, dirt tracks connecting them all - no roads - and we were flying low enough that I could see people on the tracks far below.
Suddenly, I could see an airstrip to the right, on the side of a hill.
I could see that the airstrip ended abruptly - there was certainly no room for mistakes in either landing or stopping! The airstrip at Lukla is about 500m long and is on a nearly 12 percent gradient - planes land uphill, and take off downhill; it is the most bizarre thing to watch a plane take off as it disappears below the houses near the runway. Suddenly, no longer than a minute or two after I saw the airstrip far below, we were on it.
It was an abrupt landing - seemingly dumping us from the sky - everyone cheered. We were very quickly ushered from the plane, as the turn around time for flights in and out of the small village, is extremely quick.
“Watch your bags, watch your bags!”
I heard someone with an Irish accent yell. One of the flight passengers came up to me and said “keep an eye on your bag or it will go walking without you’. I went into the small baggage claim room - no bigger than a bathroom, just in time to see a Nepali guy taking my pack and about to open the top. “no-no!” I yelled, “thats my pack!”, waving my ticket with number ten printed on it - matching the one stuck to my pack.
“You want a porter?” the man asked me - “no” was my response … “I’ve got this” I thought …. “Ive totally got this ….”
Lukla was cold . I was now at 2860m and would be descending to Phakding at 2610m. The walk would take me two to three hours and I was chomping at the bit to get started. I pulled my puffer jacket from my pack and put it on then went in search of a pre-hike coffee.