Stranded At Tumlingtar!

Dawa began making a number of phone calls at the lodge opposite the airfield (the 'Hotel Makalu').

Its proprietor, the local Mr Big, slithered around in his flip-flops without lifting his feet. He had a huge belly, covered by a soiled old tee shirt, which overhung floppy shorts. His neat goatee beard seemed a little at odds with the rest of his outfit, but he was the only person with unquestioned right of way airside in the airport.

He was rich enough to afford a telephone with an automatic dialler. He displayed his wealth by having the ringing sound set on Very Loud, so everyone would know that he had the telephone in the village.

He had electricity; every so often one would have to give the central column (where the switches were) a thump when the lights went out. One did not want to think what the wiring was like.

At length Dawa reported back. They had promised him a flight at around 9 30 am tomorrow morning. Meanwhile we could stay at the Hotel Makalu. Our rooms were two flights up a rickety external wooden staircase. As we dragged our rucksacks and red bags up the steep steps, we realised that the nails holding the stairs together were beginning to go. Each of us quietly prayed that the inevitable collapse would take place next week rather than today.

When we saw the rooms, we noted that they had their own form of air conditioning: holes left in the walls at the construction stage for pipes or wires had never been filled in.

In the garden was a toilet tent. It was superior to the one we had been using, because it had a working door-zip and a crossbeam you could crouch on. This was at the far end of the garden, past a number of building works of various epochs, and past where the chickens and dogs lived, but not quite as far as the stall for the big sow.

Having discovered that Dawa had some money, we ordered some dahl bhatt and some beers - our first since Kathmandu. We were not expecting the cooking to be up to much, but the food was splendid. We had wonderful rich greens along with fine dahl and rice - and as many helpings as we could eat. Sheer heaven!

As we ate, Steve noticed a repeated nudging of his leg. At length he was obliged to look under the table. There we found two chickens, two dogs and a young billy goat. The nudging was causing by the goat practising its butting against his leg.

Next morning, we were sitting outside the lodge at 7 am when we had a stroke of luck. The airfield siren went off - meaning that a plane was approaching. Shortly afterwards someone ran over from the airfield to tell us to get our stuff over there. It was a plane from Gorkha Air, but it was going to take us back to Kathmandu.

We were back at the Hotel Utse in time for a late breakfast. An hour or so later I had visited Kathmandu's new cash machine and had a pile of pristine notes sufficient to pay off my debts of the last few days and cater for any incidental expenses. Later that night we had the traditional dinner in Rum Doodle's climber's bar and said our farewells to Dawa and Dendi and Tim (who was on a different flight the day after ours). Our flight home was tomorrow morning. Everything seemed to have worked out rather well in the end...but there was another twist or two yet to unfold.

Dinner at Rum Doodle. (Note all those freshly shaved chins)

Next At Last Everest, But Not That Everest Back Slippers Before The Snows