Trip to Nepal 2010 - Alessandro and Elena

1/11/2010

Up at 7.30, FCO airport at 9, scheduled departure at 11, actual departure at 16.30!!!

Arrival in Doha at 22.00 (local time). Departure for Kathmandu at 4.30. Arrival in Kathmandu at 9.30. An endless wait for the luggage… there were more colour TVs on the conveyor belt than suitcases! Arrival at the Thamel hotel at 14.00. In Kathmandu the traffic is heavy, with few rules and easy rear-end shunts, and cows graze in the middle of the road! Poverty shows itself straight away, it looks like India. The hotel is in decent condition compared with what surrounds us. We are tired from almost no hours of sleep, but the wish to walk the streets of the city is stronger. The street is swarming with cars, motorbikes, rickshaws, bikes and pedestrians in general chaos: we struggle to walk without getting run over. I'm afraid of losing Ale, so even in single file I keep his hand anchored to mine! We stop at the countless shops selling fake gear, but nothing convinces us. You can glimpse poverty on every corner, stalls selling anything and everything… even plates made of leaves woven together… it doesn't take long to give us a proper headache, and so at 18.00 we go back to the hotel. A shower at last and straight to dinner (decent).

3/11/2010

Up at 4.30! At the airport at 6.30; it hardly looks like an airport, more like a port! At 7.00 we climb into a twin-engine plane, forget Ryanair turbulence! From 1300 m we get to 2800 m in half an hour! Lukla airport at 7.30: a short, uphill runway!

Cold!!!! But keeping up with the pace of our Sherpa Lapka you warm up straight away. We wait in the nearby lodge and admire the view, sipping a delicious tea. Planes keep landing, labouring up the slope! At 9 we start walking towards Phakding, which turns out to be a real stroll in nature. Even though it's November, there are lots of tourists. On the path there is a constant coming and going of porters, who keep themselves to themselves. These characters, 160 cm tall, are real forces of nature: sometimes you see them arrive with enormous loads, whose actual weight I'm afraid to know, and compared with them I shamefully try to labour uphill with my little rucksack. On the path they have all my respect and I step aside to let them pass; I have never seen them wobble. Although they make superhuman efforts, sweating a lot and not changing their clothes very often, they don't smell bad like our beloved city tramps; instead they have a particular smell, of “mountain”. Besides them, along the way you also come across more than one specimen of a cross between a cow and a yak, called Dzopkio, loaded beyond belief with tourists' luggage. These animals, although docile, have protrusions on their foreheads that don't inspire much confidence, and after they have gone by the path becomes a minefield of dung, so you can't afford too many distractions gazing up at the view. Around 14 we reach Phakding; our overnight stop is at the Everest hotel. We have lunch with local food (noodles given a Nepalese makeover and a delicious vegetable fried rice that would make Chinese cooking jealous) and then we take a little stroll, enjoying the lovely sunny day. We sit on a low wall and read the guidebook. Meanwhile we see all sorts go by: lots of porters, and looking more carefully you can also spot the many boys among them, sometimes only twelve years old. The luckiest wear closed shoes in good condition, the others (the percentage is around 50%) wear flip-flops… every comment finds its place… and the little village is swarming with beautiful children, with features and eyes so finely shaped that I could stay and look at them for hours. They play and pass the time with really very little, but the smile never leaves their faces.

You see people in the street bent over, washing clothes and dishes in basins, and I get a bit of a lump in my throat.

Darkness falls and the air turns bitter, everyone holes up, us included. We have dinner at 19 with some good momos (ravioli) and an omelette, and get ready for the night… our room is freezing to say the least; the draughts from the windows and the uninsulated roof make themselves felt. Although we had curled up in our sleeping bags dressed in our fleeces, the cold kept biting… how the night went, I leave to your imagination.

4/11/2010

Up at 6.20! We had brought our life-saving medicines, but the wet wipes turned out to be even more life-saving.

Breakfast at 7.30 with the usual, very good lemon tea, and at 8 we set off for Namche Bazar. The route is fairly demanding, because you go from the 2600 m of Phakding to the 3440 m of Namche. The very beautiful, green landscape hides the tiredness of the height gain from us a little, but our legs remind us of it later. It's another splendid day, not a cloud in sight, every glimpse is good for a souvenir photo! Every now and then I hear some not exactly gentlemanly sounds… it's the porters, spitting. After 2-3 hours' walking we finally reach Namche Bazar (at 14). We choose the Sherpaland hotel and go for the room with a bathroom at 30 dollars! It seems a dream compared with the previous room (300 rupees = 3 euros) … after a hot shower we explore the little town, where there's everything: from the bar with Lavazza coffee savoured to the last drop, to pizza, fairly tasty, to a massage centre, a pharmacy and lots of other things I would never have expected to find at these latitudes. Unfortunately the places ration the electricity, because it is produced by burning kerosene. We also met an Italian with sores on his hands (on his way back from Baruntse); I thought they were the result of early frostbite, but he reckoned they were caused by the interaction between cleansing gel and sun cream

Dead tired, we go to bed at 21 under a soft duvet (I repeat: a dream).

We had lunch with some delicious rice stir-fried with vegetables and eggs. We set off again towards the nearby forest, which leads to a beautiful Japanese hotel, from which we could admire a unique view (Everest included).

Back in Namche Bazar at 17, lento pede, trying to spare our knees by making good use of the sticks. A wonderful shower, dinner and straight to bed, because tiredness had the upper hand.

6/11/2010

Up at 7, breakfast at 8 and off to Phortse Thenga. (The waiter who served us breakfast had hands covered in warts).

Another splendid day lets us enjoy a caliente sun! After several ups and downs and several flights of stone steps, we reach Phortse Thenga, 3630 m, without too much effort, at 14. We go for a lodge at just 200 rupees… a hovel… as long as the sun was shining on the valley it was fairly pleasant in the dining room, reading together with all the other guests; at 17 the sun disappeared and our teeth started chattering, even though we were wearing 3 fleeces. When at 17.30 a guy arrived with some wood to light the stove, we all cheered with joy! It's incredible how, round here, people are guided in what they do by the cycle of the sun! At 18 we had dinner, and at 20.30, when the stove, no longer fed, had stopped giving off its sweet warmth, we resigned ourselves to going to our freezing room, and into the sleeping bag with a down blanket on top, trussed up like a sausage.

7/11/2010

Up at 7.30; we discovered we had slept at +5°. Ale was tormented by a blocked nose, but then the medicines won the day. We got talking with an American couple (she of Chinese origin), who told us it's the second night they've spent here, because they were forced to turn back because of her altitude headache (they had gone up too quickly). Breakfast at 8.30 and off at 9 for Dole. Today the route is short, about 2 hours. With a stunning clear sky contrasting with the whiteness of the snowy peaks, we reach Dole, 4110 m, at 11.30 without even breaking a sweat. We choose the Yeti hotel, built of stone and nice and sunny; the room faces south and costs 200 rupees. At these prices the bathroom is always shared: another day without a shower, nobody will die of it, what matters is being warm. I took a look at the bathroom, but closed the door again straight away… it's a squat toilet, but not like the ones you usually see: it's on the first floor, walls, ceiling and floor all made of wood, and at the bottom simply a hole… I'll say no more… but what could you expect in places like this; you should be glad there is one! Today the splendid sun disappeared behind the high peaks at 14.30! Every now and then we feel a slight tingling in our feet: the Diamox (a drug against altitude sickness) is making itself felt.

Nothing is thrown away here, everything is reused: lovely meadow blossoms are shaped into omelettes, put out to dry in the sun and used as fuel along with the wood!! In this lodge too we met an Australian lady who had had to stop because of this blessed headache/altitude sickness, left behind by her group, which carried on.

This evening I too come down with a sore throat. At 21, off to bed in a hurry

8/11/2010

Up at 7.30; this morning we had a good long sleep (again at +6°). Are we perhaps getting used to it? Breakfast at 8.15 and off at 8.30 for Machermo, 4470 m. A fine day, the sky slightly hazy; the route was more or less easy today too, but to grab one of the best rooms at the Namgyal Lodge we had to lengthen our stride and not let several groups overtake us. Quick photos as a result. The surrounding mountains are a splendour and the sight is rewarding. Ale advises me to look at the ground less and at the peaks in front of us instead: it's not every day you have 8000-metre peaks to admire. At the head of the valley you can admire Cho Oyu, gleaming white with snow. At 14 we reach Machermo and the lodge is really nice; we go for the room without a squat toilet at 300 rupees (the one with just a squat toilet, no shower, they wanted to palm off on us for 20 dollars). We soon discover that there are no washbasins, just a pretty blue jerrycan in the sun with a tap at the bottom… I have never washed my face in a more rewarding way!!! The dining room is packed to bursting, unfortunately! In Italy we had chosen various books to enjoy in the hours of relaxation, but the truth is that here the light is dim, because it is produced by solar power or with kerosene, so you can barely see what's served on your plate. We go to bed at 21 to recharge.

Arrival in Gokio at 12. This cluster of houses overlooks the third lake, a beautiful one, whose splendid emerald colour you can admire! We go for the Gokio Resort (300 rupees), in a commanding position. As soon as we've settled into our room, the hot shower is pure joy!!! We have lunch and take a walk around the area. For dinner we try the typical dish “dal bhat” (rice with lentils and vegetables), very good and nourishing. Between a book and a little music, it's time to go to sleep.

10/11/2010

Up at 7, off at 8 towards the Gokio Rì, a height gain of 520 m! We realise we are almost the last on the ascent: some people set off at 6 or, even worse, at 4! The path is steep right from the start, among stones and loose earth, and the altitude makes itself felt at once with a racing heart, heavy legs and shortness of breath. Photos are excuses for stops, but the sherpa urges us not to waste too much time, because there are condensation clouds that are unusual for that hour. So on top of the clouds there's also a cloud of worry. Ale spurs me on and the sherpa doesn't spare me smiles to encourage me. As we climb we hear the call of the eagle, which Ale recognises and which in the end deigns to show itself! In 2 hours we reach the summit, the 5360 m of the top of the Gokio Rì, and all the toil and effort vanish at the sight of the most longed-for summit: Everest! After such a slog I think it's even more beautiful! Ale shoots a nice 360° film in honour of the Aria Sottile group. Just time to munch a few almonds and then down, because the wind is cold and annoying. The descent is pleasant and in an hour we're back in Gokio, tired but happy and rewarded. As soon as we get back to the lodge, the lake and the whole landscape are covered by real clouds. Lunch, followed by a well-earned rest.

Alessandro continues the story...

11/11/2010

Today's stage involves crossing the N'Gozunpa glacier.

We cross this mass of ice covered in stones and rubble; it's a lunar landscape, with pools of water topped by a thin crust of ice. It's pleasant, there's no height gain, and the view of Cho Oyu, 8153 m, to the north is crystal clear. My thoughts go to the Italian mountaineer W. Nones, who died on that mountain two months ago. And yet it isn't a summit that inspires fear. We reach Tagnag, 4750 m, a cluster of lodges at the foot of the Cho-Là pass. We see a tiny calf running around the lodge, and in the afternoon, while we bask sitting in the afternoon sun, we see a helicopter land and unload goods, while it takes on a laptop brought out by someone from the lodge!?

Helicopters are the only concession to modernity in this place stuck a century ago; how useful they are we understand when, during these days, we see them regularly flying over on their way to rescue, somewhere or other, the tourist of the day struck down by altitude sickness. Just today the sherpa tells us that a helicopter has crashed on Ama Dablam while trying to reach some mountaineers stranded high up.

12/11/2010

Today is the Day with a capital D. It's a matter of crossing from the Gokio valley to the better-known Khumbu valley, over a bogeyman of a pass, the Cho-Là (5350 m).

The alarm goes off, incredibly, at 3.30: the sherpa wants to leave at 4.30 to reach the pass while it's still frozen, since it's wise not to risk rockfall from the thaw; in September two porters died there in a rockslide.

At 4 we eat the breakfast left out on the table for us the evening before, and at 4.30 we step over the threshold and plunge into an icy, silent darkness. In front is the porter, then me, then Elena, all closely watched over by the sherpa, who points the beam of his torch towards us. I'm dumbfounded: I'm walking blind, with the feeble glimmer of my torch. I think about how long it is until dawn. We listen to the flow of the nearby stream; every now and then we can't help kicking a stone. When I hear the tense sherpa whispering a prayer, I'm afraid. But when you're focused –I say– things always turn out well.

Dawn arrives and around us appears a stony landscape, petrified by the cold; the light is bluish. Now we begin to realise that it's properly freezing too: it must be 10 or 15° below zero, the moss is white with frost, the ground is hard. We come out on top of a rise at around 7: are we there? Not a chance, we have to drop down into a little valley and then tackle the final gully of the pass, set between the rocky ramparts. We're above 5000 m; behind us the valley is covered by the morning clouds; we don't have the sun yet, but we're still in this bluish glimmer. The climb up the gully turns out to be a brutal pull. Elena is pushing herself hard, and she has a bit of a cold too. She and I climb and rest at the same intervals. Every now and then I look up to see if there's any suspicious stone. The porter is already at the top, but having dropped his mega-load he comes back down and, in a fine gesture, offers Elena his arm to pull her up the last few dozen metres of the climb. At last I reach the pass, and find an Englishman who gives me the welcome and asks if I've seen his group anywhere behind.

On the other side we are facing east, so the sun is shining and there's a glacier and quite a lot of snow. After a restorative stop we eat something and go down. The sherpa is beaming: the dangers are behind us now; the only real danger of the trek was this pass. It's about 8.30. We walk over the snow-covered glacier, following the tracks, and see a fine crevasse. The porter puts socks over his shoes for more grip; every now and then I slip a little, and slow down.

On the way down we meet people going the other way, and I feel sorry for them. It's really tough. At 12 we reach Dzongla, 4800 m, for lunch in a rather dirty lodge; luckily it's full, so we're forced to stretch our stage straight on to Lobuche. After lunch the sherpa goes ahead to book the accommodation; we and the porter follow him at our own speed. We never seem to arrive; the porter asks to stop more often than we do; Elena is in a devil of a hurry to get somewhere warm. We enter this valley along a path heading north, contouring along the east side; freezing fog sets in too, so you can't judge distances; more than once I stop other trekkers to ask how far it is. I feel like a medieval wayfarer crossing wild valleys in desperate search of human buildings. We drop down to the valley floor, no houses in sight; I almost have mirages, mistaking distant stones for houses, and I keep going. Until I see a sliver of a little house behind a bend: we've made it; I turn round and signal to Elena that we're there. We have walked 34 km, as well as crossing the fearsome Cho-La Pass. We arrive in Lobuche (4910 m), a rather gloomy little village, and there were very few places left; our room is terrible, next to the toilet, north-facing: a fridge. At night it's -1° in the room.

At first sight I think they're really well off here: warmth, electricity, easy web connections, peace and quiet, a beautifully kept setting (Italian style). Then another young man arrives and calls our biologist away: it seems one of the people at the base is unwell; he was working on an antenna on a nearby hill. From a distance I gather it's a fit of hysterics. How strange. Who knows, perhaps isolation isn't easy for just anyone to bear.

We carry on without being able to say goodbye to the biologist and head off to Gorak Shep, a camp of lodges standing on the dry bed of an ancient lake. It's the old Everest base camp; today's camp is below the mountain's icefall. Even though it's midday we're below zero. Our lodge is decent, and the staff are all young. And indeed, to work at 5200 m you have to be young and physically perfect. The oddity is that on the sandy flat they've set up a beach volleyball court, where young Nepalese (lodge workers and porters) play volleyball, rather well too, some of them barefoot; we stay at the edge of the court watching them, admiring them, thinking that for them there are no limits. They were born here in the high mountains, they're very young, and their youthful enthusiasm can't be stopped by the weather.

14/11/2010

We wake after the usual below-zero night in the room (-2°). Today is one of the most rewarding days, the day you make the trip to Nepal for: we'll climb to the record altitude of 5550 m on Kala Pattar (= black stone in Nepali), a mountain that lets you see a view which, as the Lonely Planet says, is usually reserved for professional Mountaineers, or for those who fly in a helicopter. From Gorak Shep you can see nothing except the gigantic Nuptse (7879 m).

We set off while the sand is still covered in frost. We take the path early in the morning. We climb with the advice to go slowly, slowly (bistari-bistari, they say in their language). The sherpa goes like a dream, he's happy, and our porter comes too, even though he doesn't have to. The climb is on hard rock under a mild sun. We realise that keeping our usual rate of ascent (in the Apennines, when we push, reading the altimeter, we climb at 10 m/min; here at most you can get close to 5 m/min). Elena asks me if she can climb at her own pace, with method and regularity. I go ahead, since visibility is excellent and the route has no dangers. Here there are only stones and hard earth; not even moss grows. I see the rocky point of the summit far off. It's still very cold; we're well wrapped up in our jackets. From the north ridge of Nuptse the summit of the roof of the world peeps out, the one called “Goddess Mother of the World”. If Nepal lives off tourism, it's thanks to this Goddess. The sky before our eyes is cobalt blue. The air is really thin, very pure; we're a few km from the stratosphere. We don't realise it. All our effort goes into breathing. I adopt my running breathing rhythm, for me it's a habit, and I carry on. In front of me there's a girl, probably Russian, who is moving slowly but steadily; she shows no sign of making room for me, so I decide to cut a bend and overtake her. I do it with three or four quick strides and get in front: an intense breathlessness sets in, I get worried, I stop at once; for about ten seconds it doesn't ease, and I wonder whether I should run back down to escape the thin oxygen at this height. Then fortunately my heart stops pounding like mad and I get back to an acceptable breathing rhythm. I set off again, or else the girl will catch me up and overtake me again. I reach 5400 m, and see a spectacular view of Pumori, 7165 m, standing out snow-white against the blue sky, to the north behind the ridge of Kala Pattar, and I take a great photo. I wait for Elena, who arrives calmly, a bit chilled; she isn't tired, she's used to climbs, like several other admirable girls here who follow their partners. We reach the summit together and join other people perched on the stones. The summit ends in a point: some people climb onto the highest spot. I don't dare: behind it there's a sheer drop of at least 200 m, terrifying. Elena listens to me and stays two metres back, like me. Everest is ten km away as the crow flies, with its lopsided look and its smooth rocky north face, striped horizontally. There are other wonderful mountains: one in particular, to the north, with a trapezoidal face, snow-covered and with parallel vertical stripes, like organ pipes, looks like a drawing; Nuptse is grandiose, a pity it hides the South Col of Everest, the site of camp two or three on the normal route; the icefall, a treacherous stretch for mountaineers, can be seen with its buildings of ice; you can see the summit of Lhotse (8501 m) with a cloud of snow puffing off it; then our sherpa spots a mountaineer on Pumori, a dot on a snowy ridge, struggling upwards. We take photos and shoot films. We eat, and then the cold sends us back down after about 25 minutes up there.

We go back to Gorak Shep and in the early afternoon go down to Lobuche, 4900 m, to spend the night. There we'll be in the least shabby lodge of all, which however is crammed with tourists, mostly French. An unpleasant evening, because of the crowded, poorly lit room, and the usual cold.

16/11/2010

Having woken up a little later, today we're going on an outing into the nearby valley towards Chukhung (4730 m), on the way to Island Peak (6190 m), a mountain that is possible even for non-professional mountaineers. We had ruled out anything of the kind from the start, because it meant a night in a tent at base camp at 5000 m… We see a house being built: a worker with a chisel turns stones into bricks; you have to admit that their buildings in dressed stone are really very handsome. In two hours we reach the little cluster of huts at Chukhung, under a hazy sky. We're in sight of the Lhotse glacier, whose summit is hidden from here (you would have to climb to 5500 to see it), but we have a fine view of the south face of Lhotse Shar, one of its subsidiary summits (8386 m). It's a wall of brown rock, with horizontal striations, rising vertically from its base for 3 km. The sherpa says it's an utterly inaccessible face. It fascinates me with its menacing look; I think it's the same feeling I would have if I stood in front of the Rupal Face of Nanga Parbat. I reflect on how the mass of tourists pours in to look at Everest and perhaps doesn't notice that here there's a vertical sweep of rock of 3000 m (of Everest you only admire the summit massif, which rises clear of the nearby cols and shoulders, which are at 8000 m). My friend Pietro M., who had been here about 25 years ago, had recommended it to me.

17/11/2010

Today we'll go to Tengboche, the village of the Buddhist monastery, at 3820 m. The walk is downhill at first, to reach a bridge over a river; we're back among the woods; we see a couple of blue sheep (the colour is brown), which look more like goats. We cross another suspension bridge, then tackle a hard climb back up (we thought they were over). We reach Tengboche at around 14. Here we head for a pastry shop with an espresso machine: how lovely! Then we go to see the monastery. The monks are all dressed in amaranth and orange; even their down jackets match. There are some of 60 years old and child lamas. They let us in without our shoes, and in a hall with various statues of Buddha and beautiful frescoes they seat the tourists along one side, and begin their ceremony, with chants, readings and a few sips of hot tea, which a very young monk keeps pouring for them. We admire these monks, who profess perhaps the most peaceful religion of all. If it weren't for the cold freezing our shoeless feet, we too would be in mystical ecstasy with them. They don't ask for any money, but we walk round the whole monastery until we find a wooden bowl for offerings.

The day is a bit cloudy; the weather is no longer fair as it was over the last 2 weeks; we thank the weather for sparing us when we were at 5000 m.

When the sky opens we see Ama Dablam, 6856 m, the most beautiful mountain in the area, a slender, soaring cone, known as the Matterhorn of Nepal.

18/11/2010

Today we'll close the loop of the trek, returning to Namche Bazar (3440 m). We dream of going back to the Sherpaland Hotel, the only clean hotel, with real beds with mattresses and a bathroom with a western-style shower.

Along the way, while we were having lunch at an inn, we see two eagles wheeling up and down along the valley; they have dark plumage and a white neck, they never flap their wings, they're just like gliders, they follow each other, probably a pair, as they are known to be monogamous animals; you can tell how gigantic they are because, strangely, each of them is followed by one or two crows, which are mere dots by comparison. How wild and natural this valley is you understand from this: two eagles flying fifty metres or so from us, several times, without being afraid of us.

In the afternoon in Namche we go shopping, and at last we get online to send e-mails: we're back in the civilised world. This evening we eat a pleasant pizza in a place recommended by the Lonely Planet, and then at last we sleep in the warm (even so, it's still only +10° in the room at night).

The woods and the milder air are comforting. Down the valley the cloud cover is heavy; our sherpa hears from a passer-by that Lukla airport has been closed for 4 days because of zero visibility, and many tourists have piled up in Lukla; some have paid for a helicopter to get down to Kathmandu.

I ask around and it seems some flights have already left today. After all, this is the dry season; 4 days of cloud at Lukla must be an anomaly, it will have to end sometime; unfortunately, though, the wind keeps blowing from the south, bringing unhealthy, damp air from India.

We have lunch at Phakding and then set off again; the walk never ends, we're tired. We see some French people actually running, among them a girl who looks as if she's in a race, she's pushing so hard. We reach Lukla at around 16; quite a lot of tourists are hanging about along the main street, in front of the bars and various places. I shudder at the thought of being one of them; we meet again an English lad we had got to know in Gokio, who was doing our circuit one day ahead of us: he'll have his flight the day after tomorrow.

Our hotel can't give us the room we booked, because whoever was in it the night before won't leave the room, since their flight has been postponed. We wait an eternity in the dining room, while the sherpa stays at reception to try to sort it out. I feel tired and on edge. Elena copes better with the tension. In the end we won't get the room there, but they guarantee us one in a hovel at the start of the village. We go there, in the dark, at around 18. The room is large and all in plywood, acceptable anyway. We have dinner with a party of Arab trekkers and the inevitable French (the predominant tourists in Nepal).

During the night Elena wakes me up terrified: you can hear the patter of little clawed feet on the thin wooden ceiling; not very convinced, I assure Elena it's a crow, but these aren't the hopping steps of a bird, they're the gallop of a mouse. Which ran from one end of the ceiling to the other a couple of times, sending Elena into a panic, before finally vanishing.

20/11/2010

We wake up and look hopefully at the sky: it's bright, but the peaks are barely visible; there are clouds. We hurry to the inn near the airport, but an hour goes by without anyone knowing what we'll do. Then the sherpa takes us to a lodge by the airport entrance. We see planes arriving in dribs and drabs, filling up and leaving again. A guy from the airport gives us a ticket with a queue number. We wait for hours. I'm anxious, because there's no certainty at all: the clouds could thicken and the flights would be stopped. Midday passes and we're still waiting, then suddenly the sherpa has us dash into the airport hall; we check in our luggage (they stick a label on it and throw it in a corner to wait), then they make me pay some incomprehensible tax (a tip for the airport, a bribe?); shortly after, the sherpa, jubilant (rather a man of few words today), tells us that we've been assigned to plane 5, and confides that we've been lucky. Now we go to the gate, where we find other hopeful tourists. The order of assignment is random, in the sense that each plane arriving from Kathmandu isn't filled according to the order of the queue numbers. A pessimist, I watch the cloud base coming down, and I sit there in silence. The cold in there is unpleasant. We eat a snack for lunch. Then, after watching two or three aircraft leave, the news arrives that they've stopped the flights from Kathmandu because of fog. Some soldiers suggest hiring helicopters, since they can't promise anything. My sherpa contacts the agency, and tells us to be patient. After a bit of nerve-racking waiting the news reaches us that our flight is coming up from the valley. Elena talks to two Italians, one of them a pilot, who candidly tells her that if he were in her shoes he wouldn't fly (but he's jealous). In the end we take off in our twin-prop: the relief of escaping the cold and getting down somewhere warm is greater than my usual fear of flying, which Elena has too this time, though she usually doesn't. In 40' we're down, at last in the mild air (although we're still at 1300 m).

By taxi it takes quite a while to reach the hotel, a few km away, because of the apocalyptic traffic and the daily chaos of the capital.

We spend the last hours of the day on the hotel terrace, unable to believe we can enjoy the sun, and above all that we feel warm.

21/11/2010

A day of strolling, of breakfast at a western-style bar, and of pizza at a place founded by an Italian emigrant. Departure in the evening on the first flight to Doha, in a terribly hot plane; the stewardess wouldn't admit to me that the air conditioning was broken. Arrival in Rome on the morning of the 22nd, in cold, rainy weather, but for us it was summer by comparison.

THE END