Twin Otter to Lukla

How lucky were we. Rudely awakened and getting into a taxi to the airport at 4.45am hundred hours we could at least look up to a clear, unclouded sky. Lukla airport would be operational and we were on our way.

Dan’s face bore the effects of late nights and lascivious behaviour.

My face was hidden, aged and gaunt in the first light of day. Lined and baggy. Like my trekking trousers. Smelly and drained, like an open tin of tuna. Pale and hairy, like my bottom. Ey!!! Enough! It’s an embarrassment for your wife, children, grandchild and friends, whose standards couldn’t possibly be as low or lower than those of DG (dirty old devil) Smith.

Avoid this man at all costs! He’s rude.

The flight was on an old twin otter. Full of trekkers, at least 14 of us, including me, Nir and Dan Boy.

It felt like we only just made it over a mountain ridge. I’ve deleted the sound to save you from contempt at my cowardly commentary.

And this one contains my verbal dignity during a bumpy landing. I knew everything was fine. I was just kidding on the previous vid. I’m brave. (In front of the shaving mirror).

And then we were freed into the Himalayas to play. We met up with Bikram and Amit, who will be carrying our rucksacks. I can’t do it anymore. Not at altitude. I’m old and soft.

As soon as we arrived in Lukla; well, shortly after, we bumped into a couple who were on our flight. And guess what? They were from Otley. I travel 4,672 miles to meet people from around the corner who support Dirty Leeds. Will they not leave me alone? Look at the motion on that left hand. Seventy years old next week and the lass was trying to smack me for being a Blade! Disgusting.

The day was early and still sunny, and maybe too sunny. We walked up the valley of the Milk River, and me and Danny Boy were carrying day sacks, smaller rucksacks, with our make up and mobile phones in. And they were making us sweat like sweaty sweaters. When we stopped for breakfast further down the track our backs and sacks were dripping wet.

We’re doing a trek around three passes in the Himalayas, including EBC (that’s what Everest Base Camp is known as for the annoying Cognoscenti) and the impression of Himalaya is of frostbite to any items that stick out away from the body core. Oooer! Well, for the first day or two we’re going to be warm and maybe wet, depending on the monsoon. Now the monsoon has held off so it’s dry, so we’re not wet. Well we are, from the sweaty backpack. But not yet from the monsoon.

The route is set out below, and we’re going clockwise.

So, back to where we stopped for breakfast, there were three Buddhist monks sitting by the opposite wall performing some kind of religious ritual for themselves. The place was otherwise empty.

Spiritually uplifting for five minutes but when it takes an age to cook your scran and these lads are ranting for 45 minutes it does your box in.

We eventually set off after putting on loin cloths, ringing hand bells and thanking the Lord for Siddhartha. Well we didn’t really. I just made that up. We just buggered off after we ate.

Then two hours later we found our tea house. Rest and peace at last.

Night night.