Destination Kathmandu

Other than border towns in Mexico and Canada, I'd never been out of the U.S. before.  Flying to Asia by myself was terrifying, but I was thrilled that my dream was finally coming true.  On March 23 I left San Francisco.  Destination: Kathmandu.

Kim Bannister, our trekking guide, greeted me with a "Namaste" and draped a ceremonial kata scarf around my neck.  The attractive and energetic blonde from Connecticut lives at the Kathmandu Guest House in between her busy schedule of leading treks throughout Nepal, Tibet and India.  Fluent in Nepali, she promptly got me to my room so I could rest from the brutal 24-hour flight.

Peering down from the balcony onto the lovely courtyard, my excitement overrode the jet lag.  The hotel was once a Rana palace, and my eyes drank in the architecture, the palm trees, and the gilded statue of Buddha in the garden.  After I napped, Kim took me out onto the streets of Thamel to experience the bustling tourist district.  It was a delightful orgy of sights, sounds and smells.

The other clients who would be joining us on the trek, Eric and Kari, arrived the next day.  Kari is a lovely Norwegian who looks a decade younger than her 67 years.  Her husband Eric, 63, was a former New Yorker who'd become a citizen of Norway.  I liked them immediately, and even though they were extremely fit Nordic skiers and long distance runners, I was glad they weren't youngsters in their 20s.  As we sat in the courtyard, Lhakpa Dorji, who would be guiding the trek with Kim, stopped by to meet us.  I was pleased with our small group and felt like I was in competent hands.  We toured the sights of Kathmandu together, getting to know each other as we circumambulated the Bodhnath stupa, shopped for trinkets in Durbar Square, and visited Swayambunath, the monkey temple.

The extraordinary flight to Lukla gave us our first glimpse of the mighty Himalaya—and quite possibly our last glimpse of life on Earth!  Barely easing over the prominent ridges, the little 17-seat Twin Otter roared up the sloped landing strip at 9300 feet, much to our relief.  After a jaw-dropping scan of the peaks towering two vertical miles above us, I shivered in the morning air.  As I gulped my first cup of delicious milk tea, I wondered if my gear would be adequate.

Although we had three porters to carry our duffels, I arranged to have a personal porter to carry my daypack, because I wasn't certain how well I would do in the high altitudes. Lhakpa Sherpa met us in Lukla. He spoke very little English but seemed pleasant enough. To avoid confusion, our guide became "Lhakpa 1" and my porter was "Lhakpa 2."  (Unless otherwise noted, "Lhakpa" refers to my porter, since he was faithfully by my side at all times while trekking.)

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