Gate 54, Terminal 2 of the Changi Airport in Singapore is a cheerfully noisy place notwithstanding the early hour local time. Children and adults alike chatter excitedly and laugh, although from a stolen glance one could make the reasonable assumption that the more animated patrons of Changi are, by and large, not congregating here waiting for a connecting flight. The stony-eyed, more dishevelled patrons like myself are scattered throughout and we are quiet or even downright mute, but who could expect more of someone into their 26th hour of wakefulness with nary 2 or 3 hours light drowsing to rest. I possess hardly the cognitive function to keep myself awake and it is only in fear that I succeed. Fear of the unknown. Of falling into such a stupor that I miss my connecting flight. Of losing my documents, my phone, my hiking boots. The latter are tied to my pack, a lumpy pillow for my head upon an even lumpier bed of hard unforgiving chairs. And it is ever so amusing this weary, dull but still present excitement and nervous anticipation. For I am excited. And I am ever so nervous, but determinedly so.
The reality of it all did not strike me until I was through Australian Customs. It was the same for Thailand last year. I was purchasing last minute items for this trek right up until 21:00 EST before my flight which was scheduled for 01:05 EST the following morning – substituting gear that I had for technically superior and lighter options, equivocating on that damn camera tripod issue – and still the whole trip existed to me as little more than a fanciful dream. I was so engrossed in the motions of preparing for it that it had not yet become real to me. And then I had cleared Customs and the grin on my face grew to such fantastically foolish proportions because I WAS ON MY WAY!
For now, however, I am waiting until my wristwatch reads 08:20 Hrs and boarding can begin. It will be, then, only a few short hours until Kathmandu, Nepal. The dream of my adult lifetime: who knew that it would one day be a distinct possibility instead of the dream forever unrealised by physical, structural limitations. My cheeks are burning and my eyes are dry. My skin stings where I touch or rub it, especially around my eyes, nose and mouth, and I long only for a shower. But yet, I am so excited also.
Wednesday, 9 October 2013 15:15 Hrs (Kathmandu)
The utmost enormity of the Himalayas cannot be understood from photographs or video footage. Never could these mediums truly convey the intimidating bulk of it. Appearing on the horizon, almost as a bank of clouds at first, visible above the plane’s wing and not under it, visible as though it were at higher altitude than us, a suggestion of snow peaked land that as it draws ever nearer is refined until yes! that is it! Everest is second from the right, the pilot informs the chittering cabin, affirming our suspicions that this undefined white mass rising above the haze that is the curvature of the earth is not a cloud at all. And then the aisle floods as passengers in rows A through C try to glimpse that most infamous of mountain ranges, the tectonic plates colliding beneath them, forcing them ever up, UP!
It was not for long, however, as our first glimpse of Everest and K2 and the many others prefaced our increasing descent into Kathmandu and the apparently flat countryside beneath us resolved into mountains of impressive incline, both wooded and farmed. The farm land had the distinctive terracing as seen in other locales of steep incline such as Peru. I do not know why, but this surprised me. I had prepared myself for the tundra and scree and barren landscapes of Khumbu, not dense forest as blanketed the earth around Kathmandu. The houses were largely uniformly cuboid in arrangement with flat rooftops. Occasionally there was a flash from these passing rooftops becoming more frequent the further into Kathmandu the plane travelled. Solar panels, large and gleaming in the noonday sun, they had been erected upon many buildings, perhaps to ward away the frequent brownouts of which there were three very short ones in quick succession not long after I had washed the grit and grime of travel from my skin and hair. Standing in the pitch black bathroom, I was glad that I had expected it or else it would have come as a mighty shock. They were, thankfully, not even a minute in length. Not time enough even to reach for my phone to light the room.
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