Himalayan High: Lukla’s Tenzing-Hillary Airport

While Kathmandu is a unique and interesting city, it certainly isn’t a destination that draws you to Nepal. For most travelers to the region, myself included, it was simply a stop over until we could get on with our real journey, namely the trek to Everest Base Camp. After spending a day in the noisy Nepali capital city, I was more than anxious to get out of town, and get started with our hike.

The first stop for anyone traveling to Everest is Lukla, a small village located at 9380 feet (2860 meters). The town has the distinction of the only true airport in the Khumbu Valley region, and there are daily flights from Kathmandu. Named after the first two men to stand atop Everest, the Tenzing-Hillary Airport is the third highest in the world, but is best known for its unique landing strip, which runs 1729 feet (527 meters) in length, and actually goes up the side of a mountain at a 12% grade. That incline helps to slow down incoming planes at a more rapid rate, and actually assists aircraft on take off by helping them speed up more rapidly.

I set out from Kathmandu aboard a Twin Otter airplane, a utility aircraft that has been in service around the world for decades and is often employed in remote regions of the world. The plane seats 20 and is designed for short take offs and landings, perfect for getting in and out of Lukla. As luck would have it, when my trekking group scrambled aboard the plane in Kathmandu, I ended up in the very back of the plane, which gave me an excellent view into the cockpit, something that would later prove to be a bit scary as we made the approach into Tenzing-Hillary Airport.On the 45-minute flight from Kathmandu to Lukla you could practically feel the anticipation inside the cabin of the plane. We were all excited as we left the city behind and began to catch our first glimpses of the Himalaya themselves. Peering out the side windows, I caught sight of several snow capped mountains in the distance, while forests of rhododendron’s passed by on the slopes below. It was springtime in the Himalaya, and the whole region was in bloom.

Before long, we were making our final approach to Lukla, and my vantage point at the back of the plane, gave me an unobstructed view right into the cockpit, where I could watch both the pilot and copilot go about their business. This is a bit of an unusual sight, considering that most of the time when we fly, you can’t see what is happening up there, but on that small, Twin Otter, I could see exactly what the pilots saw, and in this case, that was a pretty scary sight.

Most of the flight, the view out of the cockpit window was generally what you’d expect, consisting of open sky or the occasional distant mountain. But as we came in for a landing, that view suddenly changed, and for a short time all I could see was a mountain wall looming directly in front of the aircraft. For several very long moments, that granite face blocked out all other views, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that we were about to fly directly into that rock face.

But the plane kept banking to one side, and slowly, ever so slowly, that gray wall of granite slid out of view, and a runway materialized, almost out of nowhere, in its place. The aircraft was in perfect position to land, and before we knew it, we were on the ground, rolling up the runway, and coming to a complete stop on the tarmac. After that, it was only a few minutes and we were out of the Twin Otter and on the ground in the Himalaya at last.

Once off the plane, there was little to do. We retrieved our backpacks almost immediately, and soon after that, we were on our way. Quite literally on our way. The stairs that lead up, and out of the airport run directly onto the trail that runs directly into the village of Lukla, and eventually the Khumbu Valley itself. The very same trail that will eventually lead to Everest Base Camp as well.

Next: On The Trail (Part 1)

Tenzing-Hillary Airport, Lukla, Nepal from Kraig Becker on Vimeo.

Himalayan High: Kathmandu – Gateway to the Himalaya

Whether you’re headed to Everest Base Camp, hiking the Annapurna Circuit, or continuing your journey on to Bhutan or Tibet, you’ll invariably have to go through Kathmandu, the colorful, chaotic, and at times confounding, capital of Nepal. It is truly the gateway to the Himalaya, offering travelers, backpackers, and climbers access to a host of adventure opportunities, with the world’s most spectacular scenery as a jaw-dropping backdrop.

From the time you leave Tribhuvan International Airport, the city is an assault on the senses, with the constant noise of traffic, the smell of incense (often used to counter the smell of trash), and the sights of the busy market places, awash in a myriad of bright, garish colors. The narrow, twisty streets are clogged with cars, the sidewalks are teeming with people, and air is thick with smog. But despite all of that, there is a certain allure to the place. An undeniable energy that hints at the adventures that lie ahead.

For more than 2000 years, Kathmandu has been a crossroads of trade and culture, and that is still reflected in its make-up today. Hindu and Buddhist temples are a common sight throughout the city, and the population is a very cosmopolitan mix of Nepali, Tibetan, and Indian people, with a healthy dose of ex-pats from around the globe thrown in as well. Walking the streets of Kathmandu, I heard a dozen different languages being spoken, and saw people representing cultures from around the globe, which only further enhanced the city’s reputation as a destination for globetrotters and adventurers alike. A visit to Kathmandu is a bit of an adventure in and of itself actually, as even before you head to the mountains, you’ll have to learn to deal with discomfort. In the spring, when the climbing and trekking season begins, travelers descend on the city in droves, over taxing an already strained infrastructure. As a result, rolling blackouts are a daily occurrence, and worse yet, the hot, dry, and dusty conditions, prevalent in the months before the arrival of the monsoon, can have an adverse effect on the water supply. It was not uncommon to turn on the faucets or shower in my hotel room, only to find that the water was a lovely shade of brown.

But perhaps the biggest challenge to travel in Kathmandu are the Maoist rebels, who frequently call for general strikes in protest of the current government. These strikes are a disruption to both commuting and commerce throughout the city, bringing the place to a standstill, while Maoist supporters rally to their cause in large numbers. The strikes can last for days, and be crippling to business. Worse yet, they can strand travelers in their hotels and prevent them from departing the city as planned. While I was in Kathmandu we received word of an impending strike the morning we were scheduled to leave for the Himalaya, and as a result, we were up ahead of the sun in order to catch a bus to the airport, before the streets could become clogged with traffic and protesters. That bit of planning put us in the terminal hours before our flight to Lukla, but allowed us to get out of the city on schedule.

The city isn’t just a series of challenges for visitors however, and no trip o Kathmandu is complete without a visit to Thamel, a popular area for travelers looking for good places to eat, shop, and take in some of the local culture. This popular tourist district is a maze of narrow streets, but offers up all kinds of unique experiences, including local bakeries, street vendors, and shops selling hand crafted items of all kinds. You’ll want to be wary of the beggars and pickpockets that frequent this part of town however, and I was approached on more than one occasion with offers to sell me hash as well.

Thamel is a great place for climbers and trekkers to pick up that last piece of gear they need before they head out to the mountains, as gear shops line the streets, offering cheap prices on authentic and knockoff equipment from North Face, Mountain Hardwear, and Patagonia alike. You’ll also find plenty of prayer flags, statues of Buddha, and replica prayer wheels mixed in with the backpacks and trekking poles, and when you’re finished shopping, you can grab a bite to eat from a variety of restaurants with cuisines from around the globe. I’d recommend stopping by the Rum Doodle, which is famous for its steaks, and the fact that Everest summitteers eat for free.

A short walk from Thamel is Durbar Square, a perfect place to soak up some of the history of Kathmandu. There are over 50 temples and palaces in this district alone, each with its own unique architecture and character. And for a bit of tranquility in the middle of this noisy and chaotic city, stop by the beautiful, and blissfully quiet, Garden of Dreams, which is also not far from Thamel, but feels like it is a million miles away with its carefully groomed lawns and colorful flower gardens.

But really, all of these experiences in Kathmandu, both good and bad, are just a prelude to what really brings you to Nepal. A Himalayan adventure of a lifetime. In my case, that meant a trek to Everest Base Camp and a once in a lifetime hike through the most incredible scenery on the planet. Soon, I would trade the heat and smog of the city for clear blue skies, roaring glacial rivers, and incredibly thin mountain air. Something I was more than ready to experience after two days in the Nepali capital.

Next: Lukla’s Tenzing-Hillary Airport

Letter from Kathmandu: Brokedown Palace

Waiting at the ticket booth to Narayanhiti — Nepal’s Royal Palace — I felt like a Chinese commoner entering the Forbidden City for the first time. It’s not too much of a stretch. Nepali Kings, like Chinese Emperors, were touted as divine rulers: avatars of the Hindu god Narayana, the Great Preserver.

Ever since my first visit to Kathmandu in 1979, I had glimpsed Narayanhiti only through its high gates, or past the tall trees that shelter the grounds from view. But in February 2009 — less than a year after the former Kingdom became a Republic — the private residence was converted into a public museum.

Nepal was under royal rule for most of the past 500 years. What we need here, just to get it out of the way, is a brief history of Nepal’s king situation over the past 50-odd years.

In 1955, King Mahendra took the throne. He was an interesting guy who enjoyed black-and-white photography, admired Elvis Presley, and teased his subjects with the notion of democracy. Mahendra and the former kings didn’t live in Narayanhiti; they stayed in the old palace, or durbar, in what’s now Kathmandu’s historic quarter.

Shortly after Mahendra died in 1972, his eldest son — Birendra — was coronated, and moved into the recently completed Narayanhiti. As a leader Birendra was rather like George W. Bush, but without the wit and charm. The intelligentsia got fed up and in 1990, a massive “Peoples’ Movement” wrested power from the throne. But Birendra remained on as king; he was allowed to stay in Narayanhiti with his wife and family, serving as a unifying symbol of ethnically diverse Nepal. When he was killed in 2001 (more on this below), his brother, Gyanendra, took over. Nobody liked this guy — so in 2008 there was another People Power revolution. Gyanendra was shown the door, and the Palace became a museum. Whew.

After checking my daypack and passing through security, I entered the sprawling, grassy grounds. Far behind me, beyond the silver gates, lay Durbar Margh: Kathmandu’s frenetic boutique boulevard, sort of a cut-rate Champs d’Elysees. Its taxi horns and motorcycles faded into the background.

The architecture of Narayanhiti is hard to describe. Completed in 1969, it was designed by an American architect named Benjamin Polk. The building is grand without being impressive, stately without conveying any emotion, and the first reaction most people have when beholding the building is, “Hunh?” Still, it was a thrill to approach the sequestered palace and climb the marble stairway flanked by statues of horses and mythical beasts.

Though the building is grand from the outside, the inside felt cloistered and cold, with small windows, dark paneling and shabby decor that looks as though it hasn’t been changed since Paul McCartney and Wings recorded “Live and Let Die.” With its narrow corridors and stuffed tigers (not to mention crocodiles, deer and rhinoceroses), the place has a strange juju. One cannot use the word “comfy” to describe a single room. This applies especially to the bedroom for the “First Lady of the Visiting Head of State,” which features a macabre poster showing a little girl morphing into a wrinkled crone. Below, in Nepali, is the phrase (roughly translated) “Yikes! This is Our Fate!”

Knowing Birendra’s fate, it’s a poignant experience to stand at the roped-off threshold of the late king’s office — a retreat as modest as the throne room is ostentatious. There’s a large wooden desk, a middle-of-the-line bookshelf stereo, and shelves filled with a strange assortment of books: Freedom in Exile, by the Dalai Lama; 1001 Wonderful Things, by Hutchinson; Hindu Castes and Sects. There is a picture of Mount Kailash on the wall. The image of the holy mountain, long a pilgrimage spot for Tibetan Buddhists, intrigues me. Was Birendra a spiritual man? A king of hidden depths? We’ll never know — but I’m inclined to doubt it.

Perhaps the most surprising room in the palace is the office of former King Mahendra, with its art deco furniture, vintage photographs and large globes of the planet earth and celestial sphere. I’m not saying I could live in it, but it would be a great set for a sitcom about a gay Nepali ad man.

Much of it you’ve seen before, in other former palaces. There are the usual salons lined with glass cases filled with useless gifts from visiting dignitaries: bronze medallions, filigree peacocks, a crystal paperweight from New York City Mayor Edward Koch. The walls are arrayed with photographs of distinguished visitors — even the humblest of them more significant, on an international scale, than their host.

The opulent Gorkha Hall does everything it can to contradict this bit of realpolitik, with its soaring, Gaudi-esque columns and — most important — Ceremonial Throne. Every King needs one of these, and this one is a beauty. More than half a ton of silver and 30 tolas of gold (nearly a pound) were used to build the settee-sized, velvet-cushioned seat of power. Silver elephants support the legs. A canopy of nine gold nagas (snake gods) shaded the King’s head, and thick gold serpents served as his armrests.

But even these nagas, despite their best intentions, could not protect Birendra from his own son. On June 1, 2001, during a social function at the Palace, the drunk and besotted Crown Prince Dipendra allegedly went insane, and gunned down his entire family — the King, Queen Aiswarya, his sister, and several other relatives — with automatic weapons.

The venue for the infamous Royal Massacre, it turns out, was a separate building: an older complex of rooms on the grounds behind the palace. That structure has now been demolished. Only the foundation remains, as if it were an ancient ruin. Cardboard signs indicate, by number, the overgrown sites where the murders occurred – including the little garden bridge, still standing, upon which Dipendra reportedly took his own life. These landmarks are weird abstractions, and a sobering reminder of how the new government immediately destroyed every shred of evidence that might shed light on the real motives for (and perhaps the real perpetrators of) the killings.

It’s often true in Asia that places look better from a distance. I left Narayanhiti feeling underwhelmed and a bit sad. Partly it was for the palace itself: a place that seemed devoid of any warmth or vibrancy. But I was sad for Nepal as well. The one thing the floundering country most desperately needed, and truly deserved, was a great king, a leader who, like Thailand’s King Bhumibol or Bhutan’s Jigme Singye Wangchuck, inspired their subjects by example.

Instead, Nepal got kings like Mahendra — who told one of his engineers during Narayanhiti’s construction, “It is worthless to give grandeur to my palace, because the people will never be ready to admire it even if I make something as grand as the Taj Mahal.”

It’s bad practice, among kings, to blame your subjects for your own lack of imagination. That was Nepal’s story for the past few centuries. Today, the new republic’s commoners stagger out of Narayanhiti in a daze, having spied at last the man behind the curtain. He put on quite a show — but the show is over. I hope they find the heart, brains and courage to take over from here.

Jeff Greenwald is a writer and performance artist. His books include Mr. Raja’s Neighborhood: Letters from Nepal, Shopping for Buddhas, and The Size of the World. He has written for The New York Times Magazine, National Geographic Adventure, Outside, and Salon.com, among other publications. For more, visit jeffgreenwald.com.

The Indomitable Miss Hawley

There are a number of legendary men who cast large shadows over the world of mountaineering. Men like George Mallory, Sir Edmund Hillary, and Reinhold Messener, whose exploits in the mountains are told around campfires from the Karakorum to the Andes. But there is a woman who stands with these legends and casts a large shadow of her own. Her name is Elizabeth Hawley, and even the most accomplished mountaineers must pay homage to this Himalayan Queen.

The 85 year old Miss Hawley, as she is known amongst the climbers, first traveled to Nepal in 1960, and she hasn’t left since. She became transfixed by the mountains and the culture of the people that live there, and was drawn to the men who climb the big peaks of the Himalaya. Her training as a journalist compelled her to tell their stories, and soon, she was chronciling all of the major climbs.

Today, nearly 50 years later, she is recognized as the utmost authority on Himalayan climbing, and she still meets with each and every expedition that comes through Kathmandu. Miss Hawley is known for her incredible memory, and she will usually quiz climbers about their plans before they set out to the mountains, and then mercilessly debrief them about the climb upon their return. Often times she has the final say on whether or not an expedition is deemed as having successfully reached the summit, and her Himalayan Database is updated yearly to reflect all the latest climbs. Once entered into that database however, a mountaineer is immortalized, and their story is certified by the indomitable Miss Hawley.

To find out more about this amazing woman, checkout her biographay I’ll Call You in Kathmandu.

The Logistics of Everest

As we mentioned last week, the Himalayan climbing season is in full swing, and the first teams of mountaineers should be arriving in base camp on Mt. Everest this week. BC on Everest falls at approximately 17,500 feet, higher than most mountains in the world, but it is only the beginning of the climb that hundreds of people have paid as much as $65,000 each, and devoted two months of their spring, not to mention countless hours of training, to attempt.

The first of those numbers is the one that usually gets people to raise their eyebrows. $65,000 is the upper end of the spectrum when it comes to climbing Everest, and it is possible to go for as little as half of that, which is still quite a sum of money of course. But when you’re climbing the highest mountain on the planet, do you really want to go on a “bargain” rate? The money goes to cover the cost of supplies, bottled oxygen, guides, Sherpas, and more.

Once non-climbers get over the sticker shock of how much an Everest climb costs, they then focus on the two months that it takes to complete the task, and they often wonder how come it takes so long. The two month time line includes when the mountaineer sets off for Kathmandu and continues up until they depart Nepal for home. Upon arriving in the Napali capital, there is usually a few days spent there acquiring permits and organizing gear, before they fly to Lukla and begin the roughly ten day trek to base camp, or head to Lhasa in Tibet, depending on their chosen climbing route.

There are a number of paths that climbers can take to reach the summit of Everest, and they can vary greatly in difficulty. The two most popular routes are the North and South Col routes. The North Col falls in Tibet, and thanks to the borders of that country being shut down for over a month, there are few teams climbing from that side of the mountain this year. Instead, the vast majority are climbing the South Col route, which is the same one that Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay used back in 1953 when the made the first successful ascent.

No matter which side you climb from however, the approach is similar. Teams will establish a series of camps at various altitudes on the mountain. Each time they go up they will build one of these camps, leaving behind supplies that they will need when they make their final summit push. After the camp is created, they will spend the night there to acclimatize to the altitude, before descending back down to base camp to rest, recuperate, and resupply before repeating the process, going higher on the mountain, until all four of the required camps are complete.

On the South Side of the mountain, Camp I is located at 19,900 feet. From there, the climbers go up a bowl shaped valley called the Western Cwm to establish Camp II, also known as Advanced Base Camp, at roughly 21,300 feet. Moving up the Lhotse Face, they will build Camp III at 24,500 feet, before finally creating Camp IV at 26,000 feet, just below the region of the mountain dubbed “the Death Zone”, so named because the air is so thin at that altitude, that the human body actually begins to break down due to the lack of oxygen.

The creation of these camps takes several weeks, thanks to the slow process of moving all the equipment up the mountain, and the equally slow acclimatization process. Once the camps are ready however, the teams will then wait in BC for a weather window to open. They need to have several days of good weather to make a summit attempt, and it can sometimes take awhile for such a window to open. In the meantime, they sit, and wait, and hope that they can finally get underway. Many experienced climbers say that the boredom that stems from sitting, and waiting, is the hardest part of the climb.

When the opportunity does come, the teams will set out from base camp, moving up the mountain, one camp at a time, spending the night at each before continuing upwards the next day. When they reach Camp IV, they’ll rest and prepare for Summit Day, which begins at midnight, with the climbers setting off in the dark for the summit with the hopes of reaching their goal.

If they’re lucky, they’ll get to the highest point on the planet by mid-morning, but slower climbers will straggle up to the summit into the early afternoon. There is a cut off point in which guides will turn their teams around if they are taking too long however, as they don’t want to be caught above 26,000 feet, after dark, when high winds, sudden storms, and low oxygen can be deadly.

Upon reaching the summit, the climbers will spend just 10 or 20 minutes there, before turning back down. The experienced climbers know that the summit is just the halfway point, and you still need to descend safely for it to be a successful climb. Most will end up spending the night back at Camp IV before completing their descent the next day, arriving back in base camp, where it all started.

In a day or two, they’ll begin the long trek back down the Khumbu Valley to Lukla, hop a flight to Kathmandu where they’ll spend another few days, before at long last, they’ll turn for home. By this point it is usually late May or early June, nearly two months since they set out after their dream.