The Kathmandu Trip
Well I made it (just). Midlife Crisis Jayne from leafy Lingfield is now in Kathmandu 4469 miles from home. I am actually very proud of myself for getting here all on my own. To be honest, I very nearly failed as early as Gatwick when I found it virtually impossible to lift my ‘super’ rucksack onto the baggage belt.
Mrs Moody from Turkey Travel (aka Turkish Airlines) then pointed out that I had only paid for 30kg and had in fact 34kg of shoes and mosquito spray. That is only 8 lbs which is nothing, unless it has attached itself to my hips, then it is a bloody disaster. Anyway I managed to talk her down, but realised at that point there was no chance of talking her up to a free upgrade to Business Class.
Large Passenger Alert
My trip to Istanbul was uneventful but disaster struck on the second flight, to Kathmandu. As it was a night flight I was looking forward to a nice long sleep in my extra leg room seat, but when I got to seat 24A the world’s largest man was already wedged in ther.
I politely pointed out to the XXXXXL Yank that he was in the wrong seat. I then had to watch as he grunted and sweated and attempted to extricate himself from between 2 arm rests and wedge it all into the seat next door.
As soon as we took off the supersize lump decided to fall asleep, and snore. Each snore reverberated around the cabin at 100 decibels as it found its way out from the vast adipose depths. Then it just got a whole lot worse. XXXXXL decided to lean on me, making me into a human pillow between his hulk and the window. You have no idea how cold your left ear can get when it is pressed against an airplane window at 39,000 feet for 6 hours…
I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I arrived at Kathmandu. There was a cute little Nepalese man waiting for me, who bowed and said ‘Velcome to Nepal, Mrs Veb’. ‘Phew I have made it!’ I thought, but then we got in his little van and headed into the kamikaze craziness of the capital. No rules, no brakes, no tyres and no safety chips. The journey in the 1952 Toyota minivan was utterly terrifying.
At one point my Little Man overtook a moped and we ended up on the wrong side of the road with 3 motor bikes and a donkey and cart heading straight for us. The problem is that Hindus believe in fatalism, so when your number is up, your number is up.
I do not share this belief but at that point I prayed to every bloody god under the sun (Hindu and otherwise) to spare me. It seemed such a damn shame to get wiped out, without at least trying my mosquito net.
Needless to say we made it, and I now go by the name of ‘Jamuna’. But that’s another story…
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