Runways of Terror (Everest - Part 1)

The journey to Everest National Park starts out with patience and managing expectations - a 7am flight to the notorious Lukla airport. Terrifying due to it's history of oopsies and world renowned for delays and cancellations, I experienced the typical treatment.

The domestic side of Kathmandu airport isn't anything like what you usually see in an airport. It's more akin to a terminal of a busy pier. Chaos, chaos, chaos. Buggies, boxes, odd objects, peeling paint. No screens listing flights or statuses. Throngs of people everywhere, backpackers and locals alike.

7 am comes and goes. As does 8, 9, 10 … I'm thinking this might be a Delta flight operating under a pseudonym.

I ask my guide Anil what's the hold up and each time I get a different answer - the weather in Lukla, the weather here, the plane broke. I suspect he's just making things up but he won't admit that he doesn't know.

Finally around 11 we get news - and what good news it is!

“We will go by helicopter”.

This was NOT on my bingo card, but I am delighted. My first helicopter ride AND avoid the notoriously bad Lukla landing.

The helicopter also operates on NST (Nepali Standard Time). Two hours later we pile into the back of a pickup truck and drive over to the helipads.

My excitement turns a bit into nervousness as I strap into the shotgun seat, leaving the 4 other guys to squeeze together in the back. For the record I did half-heartedly offer to sit in the back.

The pilot is doing calculations on a piece of paper and pressing all sorts of buttons. If he was a dog he would identify as a Rottweiler. Definitely ex-military. He didn't speak one word on the entire flight, or maybe he purposely turned all our comms off.

I soon discover that the helicopter is like being in a glass bubble that moves with the wind. Cue faint motion sickness. As we climb higher it occurs to me that slicing through the air in an enclosed metal bullet is a lot more comforting. Here you have a 360 glass view to ponder what kind of splat you'll make and weigh chances of survival.

I glance over at the pilot - lo and behold he's TEXTING and flying! Is that allowed?

We coast for 40 minutes, flying through valley after valley. It's never ending - we cross one mountain, only for another one to appear. I see some streaks of what look like dirt roads, but no clear highways. The north side of the country has no flat area to speak of - which explains why going travel to Lukla by air is 40 minutes but by road is 18 hours.

And then I see an impossibly short runway on the side of a hill. But since we don't need that this time, we effortlessly glide into the landing.

Weeks later on my way back out, I was not so lucky. After 5 hours of delays, I board a tiny steel van with wings that seats 24 people. The van starts at the top of the runway and then races down, hopefully getting enough speed before the road cuts off into thin air.