Namche to Lukla – The Rovers Return

We set off late, but still on time for our target of Lukla before nightfall. Last night had been fun but today was the business end. Our tickets were flexible and maybe we could get a flight back to Kathmandu tomorrow morning. Bye bye Namche.

We might eat meat soon. You don’t eat it up here as it comes up on blokes’ backs and you can smell the rotting flesh as they walk past. Goodbye dodgy plug sockets and dangerous electrical connections.

Goodbye prayer wheels.

And away…….. Down to and over the high swinging bridge.

This is easier than the uphill struggle when we began our trek. We’re acclimatised to the level of oxygen, to be honest it feels normal. And being back in the forest again offers cover from the sun. Cold waterfalls, made of melted ice, bring cool air down which stays under the tree canopy.

However this is a long trek today and I began to feel the effects of the last fortnight of slog catching up with me.

I made it down to Phakding and that was me done. Late afternoon and time for some rest.

Dan wanted to push on to Lukla and reach Kathmandu tomorrow morning. He wants to visit Tibet whilst he’s here. I want to follow him down and then go to Pokhara. A lakeside resort for aching trekkers.

We parted, and it was such sweet sorrow. Dan took Amit and I would stay overnight with Nir and Shane. Oh look! An Irish bar in Phakding with a pool table. Be rude not to.

Chicken Dal Bhat for tea and a very tasty one too. Followed by an early night.

In the morning we set off for Lukla, thinking about Dan and whether he had taken off yet. There was rain on its way and the chances of us getting a flight tomorrow in poor visibility were diminishing.

A late morning cup of tea at this pleasant little cafe was eventful.

A troop of two hundred soldiers marched down the mountain, rain soaked but ready for action. Are you invading China?

The cafe had a field of wheat and veg, and a side patch of marijuana.

That’s self-sufficiency for you.

Mid-afternoon we made it up to Lukla, to meet Dan on the way in. He was chomping at the bit to get down off the hills but only the first three flights took off and then they were grounded by the rain. To make things more miserable I tripped over a raised paving stone and fell head first onto a rock.

It hurt like hell and I was bleeding a lot. Now is not the time or place to get subdural haematoma. No flights in or out and no hospital. The lads got me to the hotel and a New Zealander nurse, on a trekking trip with her husband, helped staunch the bleeding, patch me up and get an ice pack on my bonce.

I didn’t feel much like eating, so I went to bed. To lie in cold obstruction and to rot? Or to allow sleep to knit up the raveled sleave of care, balm of hurt minds? The latter.

Night night.