GO OR NO GO: Grounded at Nepal's Ramechhap Airport

OCTOBER 2024

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Chelsea reads this on Audio Tale - 12 minutes

RAMECHHAP, Nepal — The alarm is blaring - is it already 5 o'clock? We spent the night at Hotel Alina Chuchure in the Ramechhap District after a grueling eight-hour drive from Kathmandu, and are now preparing to disembark on a flight to Lukla.

Our primary mission is to make our way to Everest Base Camp, but the more pressing task at hand is to actually get to the start of the trek.

That means... ugh... back to the van. At least this will be a short trip. Less than 10 minutes.

We meander through the small village as the sun starts to rise. We turn left off the main roadway into a community of multi-story concrete homes and a handful of small businesses. Thick green grasses and fruit trees surround the structures.

We arrive at the Trekkers Transit Cafe for breakfast and try to kill time before the airport opens, which is just a few blocks away. The two-story building hosts the main restaurant on the lower floor. The second floor has extra seating, bathrooms and a balcony.

We're on the ground floor; our group claims a handful of tables in the corner. Fellow trekkers come and go as we continue to wait. Music bleeds over the murmurs of the travelers from two large TVs playing 4 Non Blondes “What’s Up.” 

“And so I wake up in the morning and I step outside,

And I take a deep breath and I get real high

And I scream at the top of my lungs

‘What’s going on?’”

Before the song continues to the chorus' first guttural “hey-ey-ey,” our guide, Jamin, bolts out the restaurant door and stands outside, arms crossed and jaw clenched. Jamieson and I get up to join him and ask what’s going on.

Poor choice of words.

“I hate that song,” Jamin says. “I absolutely despise it.” The irony isn’t lost on me that he literally stepped outside as the lyrics continue ringing from the TVs. 

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We finish eating and go back outside, taking a seat on the dust-coated concrete steps and barriers so other patrons have a chance to sit and eat. Another one of our guides, Raj, is already inside the airport poised to give word when it's time to head over to the gates. I doubt that's happening anytime soon now that fog has rolled in, hanging over the valley.

Jamieson and I get to our feet and decide to wander. The streets are filling up with more and more trekkers by the minute. Bus after bus, van after van, come and go to drop off more and more people, gear, and guides. It isn’t long before all the nearby stoops and walls are covered with others just like us, waiting to begin their trek.

We yearn for the rhythmic drone of an airplane engine. Still no sign. What I do hear is the chatter of confused travelers, laughing locals, and packs of dogs yipping and growling amongst each other. Canines cast out from the pack are usualy found near the entrance to the restaurants in hopes one of us will take pity and share a bit of their breakfast. 

The rest of our group is also getting restless. They, too, go on short walks. If you continue along the airport fence line, you come across a compound of goats whose kids excitedly leap between concrete pillars and race under a rusted corrugated metal shelter.

The best way to pass the time is to observe fellow travelers. 

One group, hailing from some European nation, all wore matching outfits making them easily distinguishable in the crowd. Another group appeared to be led by a fellow both in deep conversation and with his finger deep in his nose, making it difficult for any of us not to stare. 

The most memorable was one young woman we dubbed “The Influencer” due to her social media worthy hygiene routine. This particular traveler wore a long-sleeved neon pink shirt, making it difficult not to spot her in a crowd. She blocked the only public sink of the crowded cafe's second-story bathrooms for more than 10 minutes as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and then drank water directly from the tap. The rest of us stood around patiently waiting for her to finish, while also grimacing.

We could only imagine what would be in store for her in the hours ahead.  

INTO THE AIRPORT

Eventually we are given the go-ahead to file inside the airport. We gather our belongings and make our way past the gate. Backpacks and duffels are weighed and items separated between carry-on and cargo.

Cargo items are left behind in a pile as we are ushered into a small building with two X-ray machines. Agents point to the conveyor belt where we set our bags, only the conveyer belt doesn't appear to be on. The attendants push the bags through by hand before promptly returning them to us.

From there, we are separated out: men one direction and women another to their respective search areas. Privacy is obliged by a thin black cloth acting as a temporary doorway. One member of our group is almost stripped of her trekking poles, and a set of intimidating toenail clippers are confiscated from another. By the time I enter, the agent grabs at my pants pockets and squeezes my pants legs around my hiking boots. Satisfied with finding nothing, she points to several photos of guns, knives, and explosives - inquiring if I have any on my person. I shake my head back and forth indicating no to all the items listed and am then cleared to enter the next section of the airport. 

The waiting area is a large room with rows of metal benches, three seats per bench. Our group moves to the furthest corner section, taking it as our new home base by moving three of the rows into a U-shape. It has a good view of the runway where we can watch planes landing and leaving at a good pace. According to Jamon, we are listed to be among the first to leave today, minus anyone held over from the previous day’s flights. We are optimistic our names will be called in no time.

Ignorance is bliss.

Time continues on. Groups are called. Trekkers disembark. We remain in our seats. 

“Not this one, the next one,” Jamin says, leaning out from one of the room’s only open windows, taking in the subtle breeze and a breath of fresh air. 

Those trying to pass the time beyond the respite of the window are forced to accept humidity’s sticky embrace. The stagnant heat is intensified by the lingering body odor of dozens upon dozens of trekkers from across the globe, each anxiously waiting to start their journey. All wait as patience wanes, boredom settles, and the tolerance of the airport’s toilet situation clearly reaches its limits. 

As far as amenities go, there is a small shop to purchase food and drink. We stick to bottles of Coca Cola and refrigerated Snickers bars. One member of our team opts for a plate of an egg and noodle dish.

Facilities are a different situation entirely.

Every soul in the room shares a handful of squat toilets - half for men and half for women, though it appears no one is honoring the separation. The odor emanating from the rooms is strong enough to leave entire rows of nearby seats empty, even though plenty of folks are left standing. Nature unfortunately has upped its urgency, and I am forced to venture to the side marked “Women's”.

As I approach, a middle-aged man, face a sickly green, sweat beading above his brow, bursts from one of the stalls clutching his stomach. I pause, hold my breath and enter to find a room I can only describe as covered in desperation and despair. The squat toilet is overflowing with the murky, thick evacuation of ill travelers. The stench works its way into my nose despite me not drawing in air. I do my best to make haste, while also being careful not to step in what the others left behind. 

Members of our team have already fallen victim to illness, with one finding their only solace huddled in the far corner, resorting to sitting on the ground leaning against the wall near the end of a row of grey chairs. She has become far too familiar with the less than ideal restroom facilities. This corner of the floor is a well deserved upgrade from the overflowing hole in the ground. 

Another teammate is stretched out onto the floor, using his pack as a pillow. A third has commandeered a trio of seats for a bed. One of our guides can barely keep his eyes open, and has drifted off to sleep in a side snuggle with his bag. Jamon remains perched on his window ledge, staring out as though trying to will our plane to appear.

Another plane lands. Then another. And another. The lyrics from Jamin’s most hated song are starting to mock me:

“25 years and my life is still…

Tryin’ to get up that great big hill of hope…

For a destination.”

It’s poetic, really. And a bit too on the nose.  

TWIDDLING OUR THUMBS

No destination yet. We need a distraction. 

To pass the time, we decide it would be funny to come up with trail names; considering the number in our party, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs seems the logical route.

We rip up scraps of paper, and drop the names into a hat. First to draw is Lucia: "Happy". Up to this point, that is a perfect reflection of her up-beat attitude (especially if there was a stray cat nearby). Next is Tom, who chooses "Sleepy" (ironic considering he is still lying on the floor fresh from a nap). Jamieson's slip of paper says "Bashful." He playfully points to the dimple on his left cheek, batting his eyes. Another perfect choice.

Brandy pulls "Dopey" from the hat and laughs as she points to her blonde locks. "Grumpy" goes to Jamin, who is still perched on the open window sill, glaring at planes as they continue to leave without us. Seth is assigned "Doc", which he is satisfied enough with. My slip of paper says "Sneezy", which was fitting considering the outrageous sneezes I'd already had so far on the trip from the dirt and dust kicked up during the previous day's drive. "Snow White" finds its way to Krista, who takes the name with a huge smile - and her "Prince Charming"? That the entire group agrees that will be Raj. 

High-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to Everest we go!

No?

The group shares a good laugh, but soon the giggles are replaced once again with silence, boredom, and restlessness. Seth attempts to raise our spirits by passing a bag of gummy candy around that he brought from home. The only problem is in the heat the entire bag congeals into one giant sticky glob of rainbow colors that is about as appetizing as the restrooms. 

By the time 4 o’clock rolls around, we receive the news killing the lingering hope and optimism we've been clinging onto.

There are no more flights today. We are grounded in Ramechhap. 

Two members of the team, now extremely ill, are helped to the back of a pickup truck for a ride back to town. Tom cheekily creates a hand signal for their particular ailment. It's the perfect visual of both ends unfortunately activating at the same time.

While hilarious, we are all very aware it’s early in the adventure - any one of us can fall victim to the same torrential turn of fate at any time.

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After waiting for the dust to clear, the rest of us decide to get some semblance of trekking in and continue on foot. We trot along as the sun reaches its magical golden hour and casts a beautiful glow across the valley. For a moment, the frustrations and discomfort of the day fall away as we take in the sights. 

We make it back through the doorway of the familiar Hotel Alina Chuchure. The first night here was planned, but due to the unexpected lack of flight, the staff have to do some quick adjustments in order to make room for us.

Staff lead us up the same stairway as the night prior, only this time we continue through a gate and arrive at the door of a room with a welcome mat outside. The door opens to two large beds side-by-side, a dresser filled with clothes, and a large walk-in bathroom bigger than our previous night’s room. The closet has clothes already in it. It doesn't take us long to deduce we are staying in the owner’s accommodations, with them sleeping on the kitchen floor. We object, saying we could take a spot in the common area, but our hosts insist we keep the room. 

We meet downstairs for a second group dinner, eat our fill, leave substantial tips, and return to our rooms in hopes our fortunes change for the better tomorrow. We only have one day for contingencies built into this plan, and we’ve already burned it at the Ramechhap airport. 

We can’t afford another miss or the entire mission could ultimately be scrapped.