One of the troubles of remote places at high altitude is that instability of the weather - flights were routinely delayed or cancelled. We had heard that last month, there were no flights for three weeks, leaving people stranded with no way to get back down apart from a five day walk to Jiri and then a twelve hour bus ride.
The weather was fine in Lukla, but there was reported fog in Kathmandu. Only four of twelve flights had got through yesterday, leaving a backlog today. We would be lucky if we got on a flight.
Indra had already left for the airport, but he came rushing back in. 'Quick, quick, bags now!'.
The hotel manager led the way darting through the muddy town, dodging yaks, Mark and I struggling with the heavy bag behind. Without Mundre to carry gear, our pace was a lot slower.
We made the airport, but the manager dissapeared. 'Where is he?' Indra was looking round desperately as a lot of other hopeful travellers piled in.
'There!' THe manager came running to us, waving boarding passes in the air. 'Quick you go!'. We said our thanks, and hustled through the rather lax security.
'Tara Air and Hotel Mehra same family', Indra confided us as we sat in the departure lounge. 'If anyone could get us out of here, he can'.
But there were a lot of other people with boarding passes, and the planes were still not getting through, Our tickets indicated that we would be on the fourth flight out, if it got there.
The waiting started. We paced round the departure lounge, a room about four metres square, looking at the rather bizarre posters on the wall.
'Plane coming yet?' We asked Indra as he returned from the information desk.
'No news. hopefully plane is in the air'.
Half an hour ticked by, and then another, then a third.
'Whats that? Is it? Yes, I can hear an engine!'
We crowded round the window, and sure enough, a plane landed and quickly taxied in. 'Praise the Lord Harry!' Mark exclaimed.
But it was a small plane, with room only for cargo, and was not taking passengers.
'We've got to get off today', Mark was looking desperate. I cant stand the cold any more.
Half an hour later, another plane got through, this time a passenger plane.
'Yes!' Mark punched the air.
'Hang on, thats Yeti air. Aren't we with Tara?' Our hope turned to disappointment as a group with Yeti boarding passes pushed past us.
'German bitch!' Mark came back to me. 'She waved her boarding pass, smiled at me and said ciaow!' We were getting a bit hysterical now, laughing maniacally at the posters, each other, and anything that occurred to us.
Finally, a plane appeared that was a passenger plane, was our airline, and was good to go. With a relief bordering on ecstasy, we boarded and took off.
The trip up to and down from Everest had been astonishing. Both inwardly and outwardly I had discovered depths and reserves of energy that I didn't know I had. I was leaner, fitter, more confident, and sure of my direction than I was when I started.
I am not sure if I will return. Part of me still wants to follow up the story of Padmasambhava, climb up to his cave and meet the old monk with the stories, but another part of me knows that I have done what I need to do here and don't need to come back.
I would recommend to anyone to come to the heights of the Khumbu Valley. Discovering the awesome landscape of the Himalayas, and having time and space to find the dizzying heights of the mountains within. The path you take, both within and without, can be as difficult or as easy as you make it.
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