Day 1 / Friday March 19th / Day 190 / Start: Kathmandu (4,400ft) – End: Monjo (9,301ft)
When the clocked rolled over to March 19th I was firmly fixed at a U.S. government owned desk and firing away on the keystrokes trying to summarize six days in the Annapurna Range and four in a hazy place called Kathmandu. I found myself a temporary guest of the U.S. Defense Attaché to Nepal as a best friend from home had put me in touch with his step sister who was married to the attaché and living in Kathmandu with their two year old son. The attaché, a West Virginia native, is nothing short of an all round stud. A physically imposing ex-Green Beret, Bryan was on final countdown for his own departure to Everest Base Camp. But unlike this sally Bryan will not be taking pictures of the summit from afar…instead he’s attempting to have his picture take on the summit in late May.
I finally turned out the lights around 3am on Friday morning. When I next opened my eyes at 5:30am, having slept through my trusty Nokia alarm clock, I bolted into action just as Bryan knocked on my door. I threw on clothes, splashed water in my face, and after shaking hands with Bryan took off through the compound’s front gate. T-minus 52 minutes until Clay, Reggie, and I were to depart for Lukla. F.
I hustled out to the main drag and didn’t flinch when the cabby demanded 350 rupee. Just drive like its India, I told him. Certainly one of those disorienting early morning drives where your sleep deprived body & mind goes from zero to 60 in a matter of minutes. We all know the feeling:…”Wake up! You’re flight out of McCarran leaves in 45 minutes! Get up!” We pulled up to the domestic terminal at Kathmandu airport just before 6am. I was momentarily horrified to find a mob of seventy-five people tightly crowded around the tiny double-door entrance to my terminal. I hadn’t the slightest clue what this meant but I wasn’t about to linger in the back and wait to find out. I forcefully inserted myself into the mosh pit and wedged forward until I was close enough to flash my passport at the heavily armed door guard. He grabbed my arm and yanked me in. Just like check-in at LAX. I immediately made eye contact with Clay and Reggie who were calmly stewing about the Sita Airlines ticket counter. We all rejoiced and traded nervous smiles as it was anyone’s guess what was soon to follow.
I checked my bag and made my way through to the waiting area. I tell ya, nothing can solidity the Wild West feeling of a Third World country like a disorganized and chaotic airport terminal waiting room. With something like six airlines running the same route (Kathmandu to Lukla) at exactly the same time (6:30am) and with no electronic means to efficiently announce anything, the ensuing cluster-F is both comical and frightening. Frightening because you’re about to entrust your life to the people running this circus. Frightening because after all this is air travel…Third World air travel…Third World air travel in the Himalayas. Flashback a week before to Pokhara: I had read about the Yeti Airlines flight from Kathmandu to Lukla in 2008 that crashed on final approach to the mountain airstrip in bad weather and killed all twenty passengers. But when I caught a travel agent showing his colleague several grisly email wreckage pictures I realized the flight would be anything but routine.
Just as the rising sun broke the flat horizon and lit up the morning sky, a Sita Airlines shuttle pulled up and all twelve of us boarded. As we pulled onto the tarmac with the brisk morning air blasting through the windows and looks of tense excitement hanging on everyone’s face, I knew we were about to make history. The impending thirty minute flight would represent the kind of travel lore you proudly recount over bourbons and need not embellish. I knew it. Clay knew it. Reggie knew it. Down the runway we went passing aircraft after aircraft, each seemingly smaller than the previous. Buddha Air…Yeti Air…Gulf Air…Nepalese Air…Agni Air…and finally Sita Air. Oh my….
The moment you duck your head inside the cabin you know you’re in for a ride. Two single file rows line either side of the aisle and allow for no more than sixteen passengers. With Clay, Reggie and I landing the first three seats on the right side we were as giddy as sugared up third graders at recess. The stewardess didn’t offer peanuts or coke, instead it was candy and cotton…for your ears. And as for a secure cockpit…forget about it. From my vantage I might as well been sitting in the backseat of Mom’s old Woody wagon. For all intents and purposes we were flying Lao Che Air Freight (for the three of you who get the reference). Noooo moooore parachutes!
As we taxied out to the runway both Reggie and my cameras never stopped rolling. The nervous laughter, wide eyes, and mounting tension was just too rich to miss. The petrified French woman to my immediate left wasn’t quite as amused. As we neared the runway both Clay and I did our best to request a “rolling start” from our pilots. Whether they heard us or not we were indulged all the same as the plane rounded the bend and the engines roared to life. One for the money…two for the show…three to get ready…
The capital city of Kathmandu is at roughly 4,400ft. The village of Lukla and the start of the Everest Base Camp trek is at 9,317ft. The flight lasted approximately thirty minutes but went by in a flash. The three of us were each glued to something. Reggie and I to the windows and Clay to the cockpit instrumentation. I kid you not, there was a small mental sign on the instrument board that read: “NO ACROBATIC MANEUVURERS INCLUDING SPINS, APPROVED.” As we climbed out of the Kathmandu Valley my eyes locked on the mountains to our left as the foothills below quickly gave way to the snow capped giants of Sagarmatha National Park. That’s when it really hits you, when the tingles begin dancing up your spine. Here you are in a tiny winged box fifteen thousand feet above sea level but appear to be merely skimming the mountain tops below. The noise deafening from the lack of a pressurized cabin. And out the window highlighted by a beautiful blue backdrop are the highest mountains in the world. And then for a fleeting moment It came into view. A snowless black pyramid standing taller than all others. I remember marking the time I first laid eyes on the roof of the world: 7:05am. I’m sure one day I’ll be asked to reflect back and pinpoint a single event or moment which stood out amongst all the rest, and that momentary feeling of complete awe and adventure will surely flash in my mind when called upon for the pinnacle.
As the mountains grew larger and the clock wore on we knew Lukla was fast approaching. In short time the captain came on and did his thing. Hold on to your britches people, we’re coming in. Due to the tightness of the mountains there is no room for a traditional and slow decent into Lukla, instead our captain performed two tight circles and corkscrewed our elevation down. We all thought we were in a holding pattern until into the mountains begun to grow around us. It was nice move. With the mountain walls towering overhead and eclipsing the sun, we leveled out in the dark valley for final approach into a place that sits on the World’s Most Dangerous Airport list: Tenzing-Hillary Airport. (Go ahead and YouTube it). Clay and I watched out the front window as the pilots effortlessly glided us onto the inclined airstrip before yanking us into the parking lot. If any westerner on that flight didn’t let out a huge sigh of relief when those blades came to a halt they’d be fibbing. With that we had arrived…
Long before we boarded the plane that morning Clay, Reggie and I determined, as we had done on the Annapurna Base Camp trek, to carry our own weight (i.e. no porters) and to lead ourselves (i.e. no guide). This arrangement is certainly not for everyone but for the three of us we wouldn’t have had it any other way. The Everest trek is identical to Annapurna in that lodging facilities (aka ‘teahouses’) are readily available along the trail to provide food, water, and shelter as needed. We had all read guide books and spoken to various sources regarding pacing and days needed to complete the trek, but with that information intended to cover such a wide disparity of ages and abilities we figured we’d be better served just responding to our bodies and moving at a clip we felt comfortable with. For example we met some hardcore people on Annapurna that completed EBC in 10 days. The ultra conservative guide books however recommended 12-14 days. Having been to EBC numerous times Bryan was an invaluable planning resource. Pretty cool sitting down with an ex-Green Beret who’s preparing for an Everest expedition and discussing everything from budgeting to clothing to lodging to acclimatization. In the end you aggregate all the information and formulate your own game plan. Ours was pretty basic: wing it.
The obvious beauty of independent trekking is that the three of us had complete control and authority over our adventure and experience. We dictated when to stop, when to eat, where to sleep, and most importantly how hard to push ourselves. By the beginning of Day 1 Clay, Reggie and I had already formed a strong kinship and shared excellent chemistry. The shared experience of ABC plus three days in the urban settings of Pokhara and Kathmandu had put all of us on the same page. We were in essence a happy, inappropriate, dysfunctional little family. One Kiwi & Two Yanks…coming to Thursdays this fall on FOX. We knew how each other worked and what each was capable of. Perhaps the most important common understanding was that we all suffered from ADD. None of us are the type of people to adhere to a playbook or follow conventional wisdom. We figured if the masses were hiking two hours a day why should we have trouble hiking five if our bodies felt good. That said…capable athletes + short attention spans + high altitude trekking – restraint – patience = potentially harm.
If memory serves roughly 25 people die per year while attempting to climb the 19,340ft summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. Not because they fall off something but rather their bodies can’t adjust quick enough to the oxygen depleted environment. I don’t have any stats for Everest Base Camp but with over 30,000 trekkers (excluding expeditions) entering the park in 2009 alone I have to assume fatal cases of AMS (acute mountain sickness) do occur in small numbers.
Per Bryan, in an effort to minimize AMS it is recommended not to sleep at an elevation 1,000-1,500ft higher than your previous night’s sleep. This was one piece of advice I always injected into our conversations when planning our days ahead. On our Kilimanjaro summit day my father and I slogged from 15,500ft at midnight up to 19,340ft just after dawn before returning to 15,500ft by noon. Despite the significant gain in elevation, as our head guide explained, we spent so little time on the summit that we essential “tricked our bodies.” It was to be different on our approach to base camp.
The summit of Mt. Everest stands at 29,029ft…and grows a few hairs per year. No joke. The highest and last set of accommodations for trekkers is at a cluster of lodges called Gorak Shep at an elevation of 16,863ft. From GS it’s a two to three hour hike further up the Khumba Glacier to the tent village that represents Everest Base Camp at 17,598ft. One would think reaching Everest Base Camp would be the pinnacle of the trip but there’s a sort of twist to the ending. Everest Base Camp sits at the base of the notorious Khumba Icefall (if you’ve ever seen people traverse those black bottomless crevasses with narrow steel ladders on an Everest special you’ve seen the Khumba Icefall), and from there no views of Everest are available. So for those that want not only Base Camp cake but a serving of icing as well there is Kala Patthar. Virtually every postcard in Kathmandu and iconic photograph of Mt. Everest taken from the Nepalese side is shot from the 18,208ft summit of Kala Patthar.
The ultimate takeaway is that no one simply races up to Gorak Shep, snaps a photo and descends. To conquest Base Camp and snap that memorable photo of Everest you need to spend at least one night at Gorak Shep. And that’s one very uncomfortably, very cold night at almost 17,000ft. 
With no schedule, no strings attached, a map, and a rough outline from Bryan the three of us set off from Lukla for Everest Base Camp at 8:30am on Friday morning. I knew immediately following my initial steps that my Everest experience was going to be drastically different from Annapurna for one reason: weight. In packing for Annapurna I hadn’t much of clue, but then again that was precisely its purpose. The knowledge gained about what gear was required for high altitude trekking had manifested into painful kilograms on my back. The bulk of the weight came from two necessary yet brutally heavy pieces of rental equipment: one down sleeping bag and one down jacket. Necessary life savers at high elevation, they were painful dead weight early on. I can’t stress enough how game changing the extra weight and larger pack was. When I eventually concluded the trek and weighed my bag I wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn its contents weighted 15.5kg…34lbs. Where before I had been skipping around ABC like Mary Poppins with a tiny ill-equipped bag I now found myself lumbering with each step. With none of us having slept a damn the night before we were all perfectly content to knock off after five hours at a village called Monjo, having put ourselves in good position for the following day’s climb.
On any given trekking day in Nepal we spent between two to eight hours on the trail, leaving a significant chunk of time to be spent hanging out. Enter the world of trekking teahouses. With anywhere from five to fifteen lodges to choose from at any major stopping point we quickly refined our evaluation criteria:
1). Price. 100 rupees ($1.30) = deal. 200 rupee = no deal. The room rate is essentially static while food prices increase with elevation.
2). Depth of food menu. We’d find ourselves having conversations like “the room is a dungeon but the oat porridge is only 120r.”
3). Thickness and comfort of pillow. Rock hard pillow? Immediate deal breaker.
4). Toilet: Western vs. squat?
5). Common room fire place?
We also streamlined our negotiation process by sending in the attractive blonde American to deal with the Nepalese male owners. In each instance 100r bought a bare-bones wooden box complete with two beds, a window, and a dim overhead light. Running water from a facet became a luxury the higher you went until it disappeared completely, so routines like washing your hands and brushing your teeth involved your water bottle and some balance. The room key was always a sturdy padlock. Paper thin walls meant when one person woke up, everyone woke up. Paper thin windows and insulation also meant little variance between the outside and inside temperature. Just the basics here people.
Despite a few odds and ends the conditions were the same for everyone. From the uber-wealthy Korean businessman outfitted with the flashiest new gear all the way down the line. It became a level playing field in accommodations and hygienic standards. Unlike the owners along the Annapurna trail the Everest purveyors are intent on mining their clientele for every last rupee. Would you like to use an electrical outlet? Got as high as $4usd per hour. Would you like a hot shower for ten minutes? That’ll be five bucks. And don’t even think about bringing outside food into a dining room. They’ll chop your hand off like its Riyadh. The price of basic food essentially triples from Lukla up to Gorak, but that’s how it is in the high Himalayans where everything is flown to Lukla and carried up the mountain on a Sherpa’s back. So as much as you cringe at the thought of paying $3usd for two eggs at 15,000ft when the same costs $0.10 in Kathmandu you learn to respect and accept and admire the mountain economics. You want a hot shower? Be prepared to pay for fuel costs to Lukla, Sherpa costs to lug a propane tank up the mountain, and a profit margin to the house.
Day 2 / Saturday March 20th / Day 191 / Start: Monjo (9,300ft) – End: Namche Bazar (11,286ft)
After a good night’s sleep we hit the trail at 9:30am for the four hour assault up to Namche. After crossing a thrilling high wire bridge the trail climbed 2,000ft consisting entirely of switchbacks. During this stretch we got our first views of Everest up the valley floor. That was something. We arrived into Namche after lunch and quickly found a lodge…the pickings aren’t slim. Namche is an unforgettable place. A maze of narrow alleys leading to tiny shops and dead ends, all perched brilliantly on a not-so-gentle slope complete with one helluva view. 
Day 3 / Sunday March 21st / Day 192 / Start: Namche Bazar (11,286ft) – End: Pangboche (12,893ft)
It’s a rare but great moment traveling when you can pinpoint exactly what your friends are doing at any given moment half a world away. That’s how March 21st began when I looked at my clock at 6:30am and pictured an ensemble of tuxedo-clad friends hitting the dance floor in Houston, TX at 8:30pm on Saturday night in celebration of a dear friends wedding. You win some and you miss some, but the view from bed that chilly morning reminded me I was exactly where I belonged.
Mornings start out relatively easy at low altitudes and predictably increase in misery as the elevation increases and the temperature decreases. Almost like clockwork Clay, Reggie and I would find ourselves in adjoining rooms so the day would comically commence with a knock on the paper thin wall followed by a “how did everyone sleep?” Morning is always the starkest reminder of how unhygienic you’ve become when you’re forced to choose a starting lineup from a bullpen of soiled shirts and socks. Roll on some deodorant, brush your teeth, repack your bag and make your way to breakfast. The first meal of the day always meant three things: porridge for Reggie, a few morning F-bombs for Clay, and an unfolded map for me.
Day 3 turned out unexpectedly to be one of the hardest days of the trek, with no one to blame for the hardship but ourselves. We elected that morning to tackle an alternative route to our destination that appeared only slightly longer on the map than the traditional superhighway traveled by the masses. The change in elevation on our path less traveled appeared gradual. Seven hours later we learned the hard way to pay dear attention to contour lines on a map. Despite a truly painful day on the trail we were glad to have the extra conditioning under our belts. The tired evening in Pangboche began a comical routine that would play out every evening henceforth. Around 7:30 or 8:00 one of us would inevitable look at the wall clock and joke about the hour getting late. Within minutes we’d all retreat to our respective ice chests and be fast asleep by 8:30. Like clockwork.
Day 4 / Monday March 22nd / Day 193/ Start: Pangboche (12,893ft) – End: Dingboche (14,468ft)
In light of our disregard for the traditional extra day acclimatization day in Namche, plus our grueling seven hour marathon the day before, we opted for a short three hour day up to Dingboche. Just off the trail in a tiny local hut I added yak to keep water buffalo company on my list of new meats consumed. We landed in a fine lodge a little before noon and set in for a long day of lounging, Clay with Robert Ludlum…Reggie with Harry Potter…and me with Congressmen Charles Wilson. Each day as I chipped away at my book the common room fire get a little extra help from the spent pages of Charlie Wilson’s War. Nothing personal, just weight. The Sherpas always found the mutilation fascinating. That afternoon I treated myself to a hot shower. Best $5usd I spent all week.
Day 5 / Tuesday March 23rd / Day 194 / Start: Dingboche (14,468ft) – End: Thokla (15,157ft)
The accepted practice to combat the effects of AMS on the Everest trail is to spend an extra acclimatization day in both Namche and Dingboche. For three attention deficit disorder candidates who felt physically fine the idea of lingering inside the Peaceful Lodge in Dingboche for another 24 hours held zero appeal. We had however become more and more caution about continuing our ascent at our current breakneck speed. The agreed solution was to move just two hours up the trail to Thokla, an increase of only 700ft. We figured the minimal elevation gain would act similar to an acclimatization day, but really what the hell did we know.
I volunteered to head out solo at 8am to secure two rooms at the lone lodge at Thokla. The leisurely two hour stroll in the clear still morning air was nothing short of breathtaking. The air was still and the valley quiet. As far as the eye could see in every direction natures finest was on display in jaw-dropping scale. I felt blessed to be gazing upon such a sight in a complete isolation and seclusion.
Thokla turned out to be that one rest stop off the Jersey Turnpike which no one visits. Accordingly it was dim, drab, and smelly but run by a family that couldn’t have been more appreciative to have the business. The food was poor, the squat toilet bathroom was foul, the bedrooms were dreary, and the running water was nowhere to be found. But despite all that Mr. T’s guitar sounded perfect.
Day 6 / Wednesday March 24th / Day 195 / Start: Thokla (15,157ft) – End: Gorak Shep (16,863f)
It’s not easy to nab a decent night’s sleep at 15,000ft nor is it possible to sleep in worth a damn when you’re going to bed at 8pm, so by 7am Clay, Reggie and I were packed, paid, feed, watered and ready to knock off the remaining five hours up to Gorak Shep. The extra 20 hours at elevation had helped but we were all a bit nervous. If the effects of AMS brought on by our rapid ascent were to finally catch up with us today would be the day. It was a wait and see, but spirits were sky high when we walked out into the brilliant blue morning sky. Five hours later we steeped foot onto the Everest’s doormat: Gorak Shep.
Life at almost 17,000ft is different. To start with you don’t really do anything particularly fast. Your moves are slow and methodical. It’s often easy to find yourself short of breath and playing catch up. Life at 17,000ft is a place of extremes. When the sun sinks behind the mountains and shadows darken the valley things get cold in a hurry. Thermal layers and down insulation quickly become all the rage. Conversely when the sun rises from behind the mountains and illuminates the valley a single layer of cotton will suffice for warmth. Our accommodations at Gorak Shep were surprisingly good. The rooms were clean and the kitchen was the best we’d had on the mountain. The frigid cement box that served as the squat toilet, however, was the stuff of Third World nightmares (details to be provided in person).
Day 7 / Thursday March 25th / Day 196 / Everest Base Camp (17,598ft) & Kala Patthar (18,298ft)
Despite the modest increase change in elevation the three hour one-way trip up to Base Camp was tediously slow. Just when you thought the hardest part was over you face the boulder field of the Khumba Glacier. Inevitably we made our way into the cluster of yellow expeditionary tents and celebrated with a group hug. Everest Base Camp. We had checked the box.
I made my way down to the ice line and attended to business. At the foot of the Khumba Icefall I selected a location and assembled a small pile of rocks, into which a certain laminated picture was firmly secured. I took a seat and extracted two tiny bottles of Smirnoff vodka. With a few joyous words I toasted my grandfather to my right and Everest straight ahead. Tom O’Neil Sr. would have had two words for the occasion and the view: very good.
That afternoon with all tanks running on empty, Clay, Reggie and I set off from Gorak Shep at 3:30pm to tackle the final piece of our Everest puzzle. A little after 5pm, exhausted and dehydrated, we reached the summit Kala Patthar. I snapped these pictures just minutes before Everest disappeared from sight in a sea of fog. Indescribable.
Day 8 / Friday March 26th / Day 197 / Start: Gorak Shep (16,863f) – End: Namche Bazar (11,286ft)
Fate and chance have an interesting way of influencing the experience of a solo traveler. There are a million events that could have conspired to keep Clay, Reggie and I from meeting that fateful morning in Pokhara, but thankfully they didn’t. And because they didn’t my memories of Nepal will forever and fondly be married to a gun slinging Kiwi from New Zealand and a Nebraskan native with a heart of gold. Despite their insistence I join them on their three day crossing of the Cho La Pass, I had had enough. I was ready to return to civilization. So at 6:30am I knocked on their door, expressed my gratitude for their friendship, and walked out of their lives. Thus began my own personal marathon…
Everything changes on the way down. For starters your mind, freed from the tireless process of evaluating the pain and suffering that accompanies the ascent, begins to run freely again. Creative juices start to flow as the planning department goes back to work. Secondly your body shifts gears into neutral and simply coasts. With each step you take the increasing oxygen aids both your mind and legs. It’s pretty simple: the faster you descend the faster you descend. As the day wore on I found myself in a trance-like state pushing my body to limits I hadn’t in some time. When I arrived into Namche at 4:45pm I had walked virtually uninterrupted for just over ten hours and had erased the 25km which had taken us four days to ascend. An unforgettable day.
Day 9 / Saturday March 27th / Day 198 / Start: Namche Bazar (11,286ft) – Lukla (9,317ft)
I don’t know what adjectives can do justice to the agony of the six final hours on Day 9. I had not showered in five days, my shirts and socks were foul beyond belief, and my right wheel was in severe pain. Add to which the fact I had gorged myself on pastries and empty junk food the night before in Namche so I was truly running on vapor fumes. It was brutal. I took not a single picture or frame of video minus the super badass Indian Jones-style bridge below. Because let’s be honest…I always have time for Dr. Jones.
Around 2pm I heard a most beautiful sound: an airplane engine. It was Lukla. It was over. I had done it. Seven days up…sixteen hours down. I walked directly to the airport terminal in hopes of landing an afternoon flight only to find it empty minus the baggage scales. After weighing the contents of my bag I slipped off my shoes and slowly stepped onto the scale. I knew what I was about to discover was going to be both shocking and historic. And it was. Two days before my 31st birthday I weighed in at 76.5kg. I’ll let you do the conversion on your own.
I tracked down a Sita Air rep, secured myself a seat on the 7am flight the following morning, dumped my bag at the Himalayan Lodge (a trusty sand wedge from the airport runway) and went about mauling various plates of street food. In bed in the sleeping bag for the last time…by 8:45pm…
Day 10 / Sunday March 28th / Day 199
Never have I been so ready to get somewhere as I was the morning of Sunday March 28th. The deed was done. The mission accomplished. It was time to be getting’ on with the getting’ on. All this was dependant on a successful departure from Lukla. When bad weather (or strikes) hit Kathmandu or Lukla all travel grinds to a halt. Apparently it’s not uncommon for Lukla to shut down for 3-4 days at a time. Despite a violent thunder storm the night before the skies were clear at 6:30am when I walked out of the Himalayan Lodge. It was business as usual. The crowd of westerners was all smiles when that familiar engine noise began echoing off the mountain walls. The birds were on final approach and after landing it was just minutes before I was back in shotgun in a familiar aircraft gazing out the window. As we pulled out of the parking lot towards the runway I caught a glimpse of ten wide eyed Everest rookies fresh from Kathmandu. They all wore a familiar look of excitement and naiveté. I could only smile and exhale relief. At that moment, en route to Kathmandu and the final act of this adventure I wouldn’t have traded places with those kids for all the dal baht in Nepal.
As the plane lifted off from Lukla I mentally shifted gears. Despite the triumph of Everest there would not be a minute to catch my breath. I was comfortably sitting on a one-way flight from Kathmandu to Shanghai that left five days later on April 2nd at 11:45pm. I knew however that of the two weekly flights served by China Eastern Airlines, the next available was that evening at 11:45pm. When the thirty minute flight landed in Kathmandu I went to work. I marched over to the international terminal and learned that to change my ticket I’d have to visit the official CEA office in the city. I mean the nerve I had to think I could change my flight at the actual airport!?!? I grabbed a cab and dashed for the crowded and sweaty streets of central Kathmandu. When a female agent arrived to open the CEA office doors at 9:30am I was sitting there waiting. What followed was the classic aviation emotional rollercoaster. One minute I was locked and loaded on both legs from Kathmandu to Kunming and Kunming to Shanghai. The high. The next they couldn’t put me on the first leg. The low. The next they could. The high. Finally they were adamant the first leg was oversold and I was out of luck. The low. The best I could do was demand they create a standby list and put my name atop it. If anyone missed the flight I was going to China, if not I doomed to linger in Kathmandu for five days.
At 10:30am I marched out of the office to get my house in order under the assumption the travel Gods were going to smile on me. I returned my sleeping bag and down jacket and converted $300usd worth of Nepalese rupees into dollars. I assumed the currency would turn to unconvertible monopoly money in China. By noon I was in a cab heading back to the start of this great chapter, the defense attaché’s compound. I spent the afternoon getting my life and backpack in order following an unforgettable (and free!) hot shower. At 8pm I said my thanks and goodbyes and headed back to the airport. I was to turn 31 in four hours and there was only one thing I wanted as a present.
The CEA ticketing counter had been informed of my situation and said they’d make a decision at 10:30pm, so for two hours I sat and watched as an army of Chinese checked in. At 10pm I impatiently approached the counter with a wide smile and calm demeanor. The head man in charge convened his people and they held a powwow. I don’t know what they discussed but when they returned they took my passport and started punching the keyboard. I took this to be a positive sign and stood in silence. Within minutes they informed me there was a single no-show and were producing me a ticket. As the ticket minion was finalizing my birthday present I noticed a smartly dressed Chinese businessman quickly walking towards our counter, luggage bag in tow. My heart sank. I knew it was too good to be true. The head man saw him, looked back at me, and kind of froze. Just then the ticket minion handed me my passport and ticket. I grabbed them, turned, and walked as fast as possible away from the situation. If I could make it to customs before they reconsidered I was clear. I rounded the bend out of sight, broke into a sprint, climbed the stairs and fell in behind six Chinese waiting to be formally stamped out of Nepal. My heart was racing. I was convinced an agent was going to run up, yank me out of line and spoil my week. Five Chinese to go. Three. Two. One. My turn. Stamp stamp stamp… it was done. I was officially out of Nepal and on my way to the waiting area. What an eff’ing awesome feeling.
When the clock rolled over to March 29th we had been airborne for two minutes. 365 days earlier, when the clock rolled over, I was holding a shot glass of expensive tequila surrounded by best friends in Cabo San Lucas celebrating my 30th. Unforgettable midnight bookends to the single greatest year of my adult life.
….
And just as the flight from Bangkok to Mumbai raised the curtain on Act Two, the flight from Kathmandu to Kunming began the third and final act of this wild walkabout.
….
Day 11 / Monday March 29th / Day 200
I touched down in China at 5:30am on my birthday. By 7am I held a birthday beer in hand. By 7:50 I held another. By 8:30 I held a third. By 10:30 I was passed out on a flight to Shanghai. By 2pm I was on a subway heading to central Shanghai. At 2:44 I ascended an escalator and emerged into a completely foreign and strange world. By 4:30 I had carved myself a new look for Act Three. By 5pm I was fast asleep…
Just your typical eleven days in Asia…
As always, thank you for reading.
As always, I apologies for the numerous gross grammatical errors. I’m tired. And please excuse the funky picture layout. This is China. Things are strange here.
Indefinitewalkabout's Blog 
