It is now approaching 3 weeks since my last blog and I apologise to all those who have continued to visit this site hoping for an update, or closure. This has been a tumultuous period in my life and the lack of a blog hasn’t been through lack of interest but uncertainty about how I felt about what happened on the mountain and what has happened since. However I now have my head sorted and I am ready to write to you once again. Thank you for bearing with me.
We were scheduled to fly out of Lukla on the second Yeti Airlines (I kid you not!) flight of the day, at 8 o’clock in the morning. Advised to get to the check-in hall of Hillary-Tenzing airport at 7 we had just a short walk from our hostel, which was right next to the runway. The morning was crisp, clear and cloudless. We heaved a huge sigh of relief as we saw the first flight depart safely and on time as we made our way to the terminal building. At least there was now a fair chance that we would get away roughly on time too.
The check-in area, a low-ceilinged unlit room (presumably as the power was down again rather than for cost-saving reasons) with makeshift looking check-in desks staffed by people already showing signs of extreme stress even at this early hour, was bedlam. It was completely rammed with anxious trekkers and mountaineers jostling for position in front of desks bearing the names of the various operators: Yeti Airlines, Buddha Air, Tara Airlines and Nepal Air. Hold luggage, typically rucksacks, were weighed and stacked in piles around the outside of the room before being carried outside and piled on the runway apron. No swish luggage transport systems here! Hand luggage also had to be weighed with the inevitable arguments over what constituted hand luggage and what had to go in the hold. Items accepted by the desks as hand luggage then had to be searched by the security team and the jostling for position started all over again. Somehow it all worked though and if you were able to take a step back and ease the tension it was actually quite fun. Eventually all of our team’s hold luggage disappeared, our hand luggage was tagged with ‘checked’ labels, and we headed through the scanner into the departures area. Had I realised then that 3 weeks later I would still not have any of my hold luggage I might have looked whistfully back one last time. However that thought didn’t occur to me as I headed to the refreshment counter. There being no fried eggs I made do with a bag of crisps and a paper cup of black tea.
Almost surprisingly, given the mayhem in the check-in hall and the fact that we were about to be flown out of the airport rated by some commentators as the world’s most dangerous, the departures lounge was remarkably calm. Even more surprisingly we were ushered outside into a queue beside our plane roughly on time, and in due course we boarded. With 2 seats down the left side of the plane and one down the right it was immediately clear why larger hand luggage was consigned to the hold. Even so the stewardess had to climb over several bags in the aisle in order to make her way to the front of the craft handing out a boiled sweet and 2 wads of cotton wool to each of us. If there was a safety announcement I didn’t hear it due to watching as a pile of bags was loaded into the hold. Before you consider this to be good news I should advise that the pile in which our bags had been placed remained on the runway. I was assured this was quite normal and our bags would follow. For all I know they may still be there although I have heard that they made it to Kathmandu about 2 weeks later and there is a sporting chance of them making it to Heathrow around mid next week. You have to laugh.
I’m not sure that seeing the pilots wiping their brows just before take-off contributed to a relaxing approach to the runway but at the appointed hour the engines screamed, the propellers whirred, and we headed at breakneck speed down the runway seemingly only at the last minute to take to the air. My view of the mountains unfolding was a little obscured by the engines but nonethess the vista that opened up was magnificent. Green hills, dotted with farm dwellings but otherwise unspoiled by mankind, gave way to serried ranks of magnificent diamond-white peaks of which Mt Everest was but one. Receding quickly during the 40 minute flight to Kathmandu the high mountains gave way to the progressively more populated Himalayan foothills and eventually the lower hills that border the Kathmandu valley. Seeing the progression from sparsely populated uplands to relatively densely populated lowlands at aircraft speed it struck me that this was akin to a human development timeline. At first there were just a few apparently unconnected dwellings, then a few more with some evidence of farming and thin straggly paths between them but still the hills were overwhelmingly green. After a few minutes the pathways were noticeably thicker and the density of houses increased together with the amount of brown flecking the green. Shortly after some terrace farming was evident as the number of farmsteads increasingly outnumbered the plots of flat land and farmers moulded the hillsides to their needs. Later still whole hillsides appeared to have been sculpted by a giant rake scoring the earth with parallel lines. Such intense farming of course needs a network of roads to keep it supplied and to transport produce and, sure enough, the little pathways had been developed into discernible grey ribbons of metalled road. Then all too quickly the ribbons became wider, the houses became bigger, and visibility decreased as we came into the Kathmandu valley itself. Before long we began our descent into Tribhuvan airport and all sight of mountain tranquillity was lost as we bumped safely onto the tarmac. Not needing to wait for hold luggage was in fact a blessing and we were able to head immediately for the minibus that waited to take us back to the city and such luxuries as hot showers and cold beer.
Agreeing to meet up for dinner most people availed themselves of both the above before taking a siesta. My first port of call was a shop to buy some trousers, socks and a t-shirt to replace those in the bag back in Lukla. I would have bought some new pants too but failed completely to find a shop that sold such essentials so made do with shorts. Having availed myself of this new rigout I was able to consign what I had travelled in to the hotel laundry. Given that these had been worn for several days at basecamp and during the trek out I suspect you won’t wish me describe them.
After the most glorious 2 showers (one wasn’t enough) and finding myself quite pleased that the towels provided by the hotel were brown (clearly they were used to grubby mountaineers) I headed down to the bar for a gloriously cold beer to write ‘The Long March’. Who needs a siesta!
At about 5:30 Tim and I headed to the Northfields Cafe where we were to meet up with the others, scattered as they were across several different hotels, at around 6 pm. Thereafter we ate together in the K-Too Beer & Steakhouse Restaurant, and boy did we eat! The food in basecamp was great and that on the trek out was fine too, but neither could quite match the fare on the menu of a good Kathmandu restaurant and we tucked-in! Needless to say there was beer and wine to be enjoyed too and having repaired en masse to Sam’s bar afterwards inebriation, if not actually upon us, could be seen from where we were. Any concept of sobriety, with the exception of one of our number who remarkably was teetotal yet as daft as the rest of us, went completely out of the window when, at being ejected from Sam’s at midnight after 2 of our number tried to set fire to their chest hair, we found our way to the Fire Club. This venue is effectively a bar and disco (old fashioned I know but that’s what it is) with a lounge area with large screen TVs showing football. Needless to say our attention focused at the other end and before too long ‘stuff’ was being strutted in the midst of multicoloured ceiling-mounted lights, the reflections of multiple mirrors and the inevitable 60’s ‘shiny disco balls’. The dance floor was surrounded by what looked lake crash barriers while the DJ appeared to be behind reinforced glass. It was just that kind of place. Before too long some of the local lads attempted to move in on the ladies from our group and the inevitable bundle ensued. Nothing too serious but the point had to be made. At some stage one of our group unaccountably lost his trousers and while he was perfectly decently covered underneath the fact that he remained on the dance floor upset the management and decorum had to be restored, but only after this individual featured in a topless photo with some of the other male members of the group. This part of the evening was drawn to a close when firstly we decided to pin our credibility on the arm-wrestling prowess of one of our team, who promptly lost, and more finally when the arrival of 2 o’clock signalled the end of the music and closure of the bar.
Into the street we poured, with any association with liquid indicated by the use of that word being entirely intentional, with some members still declaring that the night was yet young. This was belied by the complete darkness we encountered; the depth of which was relieved only by the occasional still-lit neon signs suspected at drunken angles from the buildings which seemed to crowd over us shutting out the sky. Then from nowhere appeared a squadron of rickshaws. These 2-person vehicles are based upon sturdy bicycles and typically feature a simple padded seat of dubious cleanliness and a hood similar in construction to that of an old-fashioned pram but more for decoration than protection. During the day these would have been propelled at ludicrous speed around the backstreets of Kathmandu were it not for the nose to tail traffic, the hordes people and the potholes. During the night however two of these are not an issue and given that they are unlit can give the unwary a nasty shock as they appear from nowhere. So it was that seemingly from that very place, and as if by magic, about a dozen rickshaws appeared to help us on our way. The problem was that there was no consensus on where to go. Open bars were at a premium (mercifully) and we had just left the latest-opening club. Then someone suggested a casino which while probably not being a smart idea did achieve a measure of support. As a result there were several rousing choruses of ‘we want chips, we want chips’ from the recently disgorged which sat badly with another group of later-nighters stumbling along the gutter from our right. For reasons which I don’t entirely fathom we ended up getting into a bit of light hearted bother with these folk which could probably have been passed-over in this narrative were it not for a particularly comic incident which ensued. Following an altercation between one of our number and one of the intruders the latter and one of his cohorts leapt into a rickshaw in order to execute a smart getaway. Meanwhile the former jumped onto the rear of the rickshaw to prevent the protagonists escaping, completely ignoring the laws of physics (specifically those of balance) and more importantly ignoring the empty driver’s seat. Thus the contraption tipped backwards depositing the occupants and their assailant into the pitch-black gutter in a big heap of uproarious laughter. That was the end of the argument and the rickshaw driver was passed a modest sum for his troubles. There ensued a renewed call for ‘chips’ at which point the collective mass of drivers assured us they would take us to the casino; or at least that’s what we thought they said before we all jumped aboard and headed through darkened streets. Arriving a few minutes later at one end of a darkened alley we were ushered towards a dim light some metres away at the other end. The braver souls led the way pushing open a heavy door to reveal a clean open space strewn with carpets and cushions. This was clearly not a casino and the more conservative in our group pretty quickly made expressions of discontent. These quickly turned to howls of laughter when the owner appeared branding menus, clearly a little surprised to see such a gathering at this hour in his pizza restaurant! The evening was subsequently drawn to a close with the lead rickshaw driver being berated along the lines of ‘my dear man, we asked for betting chips, not pizza and chips’. Please be assured that I don’t hold this up as an example of good behaviour by visitors to the fine city of Kathmandu and the consumption of alcohol is no excuse (particularly in the case of the teetotal) but at the end of the day (or night) no harm was done, the rickshaw drivers all got paid and had a great laugh at our expense, there was nary a black eye to show for the altercation on either side, and the trouserless one was reunited with his strides the following day.
The days that followed while we awaited our flights home passed without significant incident. We typically took lunch in the Northfields Cafe and Jesse James Bar, dinner in a different restaurant each evening all eating together, and post-dinner refreshment in Sam’s where we became quite well known to the owner Vereena (Sam is her husband) and her staff due to our humour and good cheer. I was delighted one evening in Sam’s to meet Mark Horrell whose books ‘The Wrath of the Turquoise Goddess’ and ‘The Chomolongma Diaries’ had been the inspiration for me writing ‘The Turquoise Goddess; Not Just about the Summit’, which has now sold more than 30 copies. I know that doesn’t make it a best seller but I’m chuffed to bits and a Kindle version is only a few days away.
Tim and I flew out of Kathmandu on Saturday 3rd May, nearly 2 weeks ago to be reunited with our families all of whom shared our disappointment at the turn of events on the mountain, yet were overwhelmingly glad that we had returned safely. The days sinse have given much opportunity for reflection and for reviewing the way in which happenings on Everest were reported in the media. I believe you all know now that there was never any argument between the sherpas and the climbers. Nor did the Nepalese government close the mountain. Nor again was the Khumbu Icefall too dangerous. The mountain was closed by what amounted to strike action by a few militants, enforced by menaces, in support of a better financial deal from their government in the wake of the dreadful avalanche tragedy. When those menaces, more specifically threats of maiming visited on individuals and their families, became widespread and credible and no move was made by the authorities to counter them, expedition leaders had no choice but to act decisively to protect their Sherpa employees and client climbers by withdrawing from the mountain. Do I blame the militants for their actions? No! Despite the fact that the climbing sherpas are among the highest paid workers in Nepal the amount paid to them in the event of tragedy by their government is a tiny fraction of what the government makes from mountaineering. I just wish that a resolution could have been found in time to enable climbers to continue this season. However, regrets are pointless. While continuing to be dreadfully sad for the loss suffered by the families of those killed in the avalanche accident I enjoyed my time in Nepal enormously, and I will return.
I have also not dwelled upon events in Nepal too much since returning home as a result of deciding to leave my present employment. I have worked for my current company for nearly 13 years and believe now is the right time to make a change, not least due to the amazing reaction of you, my readers, to my blog. A number of you have been kind enough to comment favourably upon my writing and this, combined with the immense joy that I found in writing for you, has made me think seriously about pursuing this as a potential new venture. If it all goes horribly wrong then I will return to ‘regular’ work later this year. I certainly won’t be burning my suit just yet!
Next week I am taking a few days in Scotland to walk the West Highland Way, something I have always wanted to do, and I will blog each evening provided I have coverage. Gaining your interest in an expedition to Everest might be considered easy given its prominence in peoples’ imagination. Whether I can keep your interest in a walk through Scotland remains to be seen. Without in any way wishing to be judgemental there is a distinct difference between Everest and Ben Lomond. Let’s see eh? Either way when I return I will write a short book on my experience on Everest, and complete the Kindle version of ‘The Turquoise Goddess’. I shall then set about seeing if there is any future at all for me as a writer. Given that collectively you are my readership and inspiration I want to share this journey with you and will create a new blog for this.
So this really is the end of the ‘Andy on Everest 2014’ blog and it remains only for me to conclude with the focus on ‘today’ as indeed this blog was started back on 1st March with a series of ‘today’s’.
Today I thank my darling wife Clare for her unstinting support for me and my dream to climb Everest. Your consent to try again one day, given freely whilst I was still in basecamp, is beyond expectation.
Today I thank the Himalayan Guides Team 2014, leaders, co-climbers, and the best sherpas in the world, for your hard work and companionship on the Big Hill. Each of you has been an inspiration to me.
Today is my last day in the office and I thank all my colleagues at all levels for your support and encouragement for my endeavours, and especially those who took on extra work to allow me to follow my dream. I hope you get to follow yours one day.
Today I Iook forward with tremendous excitement to whatever, and I mean whatever, the future holds.
Today I thank you all, whoever you may be: colleagues, friends, family, occasional readers or schoolchildren. You have given me the confidence to try something new, a remarkable gift unthinkable just a few weeks ago. I will share this with you.
Finally, I repeat my conclusion from one of my later blogs. One which struck a chord with many of you, and which caused a complete stranger to say to me: ‘you write exceedingly well and seem to observe things that other miss - the joy of life’:
Oh sweet heaven how I am blessed this day!