23rd January 2017

This week, we had the pleasure of looking after Mia for a couple of days. Lee dropped her off on his way to court in Northampton, and Sarah picked her up the following day after work. Sue had a U3A walk on the first day, which caused a bit of a scheduling conflict as I had a funeral to attend that afternoon. Fortunately, Charlotte came over to join Mia and me for a five-mile walk through the tunnels along the disused railway line to Oxendon.

For lunch, we enjoyed the largest ‘small pensioner’ cod fillets with chips I’ve ever seen; they more than filled a small hole! Thoroughly stuffed, I left Charlotte to dog-sit while I drove to Kettering Crematorium. A good friend’s wife had passed away just after Christmas, and I met up with some old acquaintances to pay our respects.

By the time I returned, Sue was back in charge, and Charlotte had headed off to meet a new friend for coffee.

The following day, Mia and I went on our usual walk to Foxton for lunch and refreshments. Despite the miserable weather – cold, damp, and with visibility rarely exceeding 100 metres, we managed to stay out for seven hours. We encountered very few people along the way, and even the Black Horse seemed to be struggling for customers.

Sarah collected Mia later that afternoon. Before heading home, we discussed her upcoming wedding and made a few adjustments to the invitations she had prepared.

On Saturday (21st), after lunch, Sue and I drove down to the Mercure Hotel in Hayes. After checking in and taking a stroll around the area, we settled in for an idle evening of TV and sandwiches. Unfortunately, I watched Leicester Tigers come completely unstuck against Glasgow Warriors, not the highlight of my evening.

The next morning, we woke to hard frost and clear skies. After coffee, we ventured out again, wandering through some nearby parkland. The main topic of conversation was the staggering amount of rubbish scattered everywhere. Londoners, it seems, take little pride in their surroundings!

We had a pleasant lunch in a local pub, though apart from one gentleman quietly reading his paper with a single pint, we were the only customers. Has London forgotten about Sunday lunch traditions?

Later, we caught the Hoppa bus to Heathrow. With two hours to wait before check-in, we passed through security swiftly and settled into departures. Our Oman Air flight to Muscat boarded on time but took off 15 minutes late, making our already tight transit window even narrower.

The flight was impressive – plenty of tasty food, and a decent selection of in-flight entertainment. We watched ‘Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children’ but found it overhyped and underwhelming.

After a fitful sleep and breakfast, we landed in Muscat. I counted four runways and endured a 15-minute taxi across them. Why do they need such a large airport? I’m not sure. Heathrow could only dream of such space! A warm, 10-minute bus ride delivered us to the terminal.

Hurrying alongside other transit passengers, we navigated passport control and then hit a horrendously long security queue. Thankfully, with the flight to Kathmandu already boarding, we were ushered into a shorter line. Sue was stopped at an X-ray machine to remove her boots, and as luck would have it, her belt snapped in the process. She ended up chasing after me, barefoot, one hand clutching her rucksack and belt, the other holding up her trousers. Naturally, our gate was at the far end of the terminal and down a level.

We made it, just! We were among the last to board, though a quick word with the stewardess ensured we were seated together after take-off. Lunch was distinctly Nepalese, and Sue had to steer clear of the ferocious-looking black chillies lurking in her vegetarian option.

Landing was tricky; we completed four circuits before finally approaching some rather ominous-looking mountains. As the plane levelled out over the Kathmandu Valley, the sprawling metropolis below painted a picture of dust, ramshackle buildings, and struggling infrastructure. No doubt the earthquake had left its mark.

Disembarking, the pollution was immediately noticeable, a thick haze hanging over the city, a stark contrast to the pristine, snow-capped mountains rising to the north against the deep blue sky. Our presence, I suppose, would only add to the problem.

Visa and immigration procedures were sluggish, but during the wait, we met a couple of ladies travelling with the same company as us, from Yorkshire, as it happens. We had a pleasant chat.

We were among the first to collect our suitcases, locate our guide, and be led to a waiting minibus. Eventually, the Yorkshire ladies joined us, along with another couple from Manchester (though I won’t hold that against them… yet).

After a brief introduction from our guide, we set off towards our hotel, the Rama Inn Boutique Inn. The journey was an experience in itself; the roads were in disrepair, the traffic was claustrophobic, and the pollution and almost suffocating. It made riding a tuk-tuk through Bangkok feel like a leisurely glide through the countryside.

Kathmandu, with its population of five million, operates on infrastructure seemingly designed for just one million. To make matters worse, it feels like every resident owns a poorly tuned moped or car. Traffic jams were frequent and chaotic, with motorbikes weaving precariously between buses and cars. Most moped riders wore masks, as did many pedestrians. We would soon understand why.

Thankfully, the Rama Inn Boutique Inn was a pleasant surprise. Tucked away on a quiet side street, it offered a welcome reprieve from the relentless street noise and pollution. Our room on the fifth floor was spacious, with excellent WiFi (at least for now) and all the modern conveniences we could ask for.

From the window, the distant hum of the city below seemed less intrusive, allowing us to finally exhale and settle into our adventure.

Eager to explore, we soon set off into the heart of the city. Crossing a road here is akin to walking along the back of a crocodile; you’re never sure if it will turn around and bite you. We employed the tactics we’d perfected in Vietnam: follow the locals and grit your teeth. The key difference, however, was that here, you run the added risk of toxic fumes claiming your life before you even reach the other side. The air, thick with exhaust and dust, added a layer of danger to every crossing. Still, with every step, we were getting deeper into the vibrant pulse of Kathmandu.

Returning to the hotel, we hit the sheets early, ready for a very early start the next day. Everest, here we come!