Landing in a Prop Plane

'We're landing there! I was seized by giggles.

'Yup!' Neil, a rangy Californian next to me grinned. 'Thats Lukla Airport. Crazy isn't it!'

The small prop plane was cramped. About twelve passengers were hunched over in small seats, but the cockpit door was open and we had almost a pilots view of the mighty mountains ahead of us.

We had headed north and east of Kathmandu for about forty minutes, weaving and twisting through mountains for the last twenty. At times the valley walls were only a hundred or so metres to our left and right. Ahead of us snowy mountains reared to incredible heights.

Our destination Lukla, was perched on a small flat ish ledge of one of the mountains. The runway was a steep slope ending in northing. This was rushing up towards us.

I don't really get nervous in these situations. The pilots are professionals who have done it a thousand times. But it seemed such a ridiculously small and remote and unfeasible landing strip that I couldn't help the laughter.

We landed safely, the pilot got a round of applause, and we started walking.

The first day, to Phakding, was only a couple of hours along mostly flat path. Stone lodges and guesthouses appeared in small clumps, trees and foliage in between, the milky river below us. Occasionally trains of yaks and donkeys would pass us, and porters bearing improbably loads. It was warm and pleasant.

At the guesthouse, I slept all afternoon whilst Mark explored. Unfortunately, when I rose at sundown, I discovered he had locked me in the room. I had to bangon the foor for what seemed like hours before a German came up the stairs and heard my distress.

Dinner and some cards and we were back in the bedroom by 9pm.

'Ok, breakfast at 7, leave at 7.30' Indra said. 'Sleep well'.