I Want To Have My Mountains & See Them Too

I learned the meaning of mountain in Nepal.

Having grown up in one of the flattest parts of Canada, a mountain to me was always something off of which I could launch a toboggan. In Nepal, a mountain is not a mountain for its curved slopes and tobogganing potential but for the fact that its peaks break through the clouds, and its peaks are the first part of the earth that greet the sun every morning.

In Nepal, the mountains are something to see.

Earlier this year, I traveled through Nepal – Lumbini, Chitwan National Park, Pokhara, Kathmandu. I had a flight booked the morning after my arrival in Kathmandu, direct to Qatar. I know myself well after almost 10 years of solo travel (and if it wasn’t solo, the travel was still dealing with myself and my tendencies), and I knew that after more than two months away from all my friends and family and anything familiar, I would be antsy to jump at what came next: visiting my friends Colin and Claire. Rather than staying on extra nights in Kathmandu, as I very well could have done, I decided to book a flight out as soon as I could – read: the morning my tour officially ended.

Final Nights, Final Laughs – Kathmandu, Nepal

While in Nepal, the option of a Mount Everest flight arose. The only time this was taking place was the morning I left. The early morning flights departed before sunrise, but this cut things too close for me to catch my own morning fight out of the country. When I realized this, I felt deep disappointment. When would I be back in Nepal, after all? When would I get another chance to see Mount Everest (and all the other neighbouring peaks) up close? The flights are supposed to be spectacular; each passenger gets a window seat, and everyone has a chance to sit in the cockpit and receive a one-on-one guided tour of the peaks. As I heard about it, I knew I wanted to do the flight.

More importantly, I wanted to see my friends.

I debated back and forth but finally accepted that Mount Everest wasn’t in the picture this time around. As solace, I was told every flight leaving Kathmandu gets a view of the mountains anyway.

Bidding Kathmandu Adieu

Despite what should have been a comforting thought, I still couldn’t help feeling like I was missing out.

A dribble of anxiety filled me when I went to the airport that morning. In my mid-trip nerves (probably having something to do with a generalized, lingering anxiety and my heebie-jeebies about this guy), I forgot to request a window seat and ended up with an aisle seat. I reassured myself that I would still be able to see something out the window. I had to.

Once I boarded the plane, I found my seat. I was flying with Qatar Airways, and most people who hear this assume I was in the lap of luxury, experiencing the height of airline glamour and finesse. False. The situation was a zoo.

The lady who was meant to be sitting in the middle seat beside me was standing in the aisle, talking loudly on her mobile phone before and during taxi. Other people nattered on their mobiles and took their time putting away their belongings. I practically gave myself whiplash as I looked around trying to figure out where the flight attendant was and why she wasn’t policing the situation better. I felt like the brown-noser in primary school who was excited about telling on someone. When I made eye contact with the flight attendant, she just gave me an awkward slanted smile and continued about her business. Eventually the lady wanted to shove her way into her seat. She was too large to fit with me sitting there, buckled in, so I had to get up while the plane was moving in order for her to wiggle into her spot. The lady beside her at the window, thumbed her prayer beads quickly and her lips moved in a quiet flurry.

Eventually our flight took off.

The only view I had of the great mountains of Nepal was through a sliver of the window leftover once the two ladies beside me had positioned themselves to look out. I could virtually see nothing. I tried to snapshot things mentally so I could piece the fragments together later, but the visual just wasn’t vivid enough. The only memory I possess is that of moving back and forth in order to compete for a small slice of window. All the while, both women kept their fingers moving rapidly along their prayer beads. Not only did I see nothing of the mountains, but their frenetic praying made me feel certain we would crash.

And amidst all the disappointment of not seeing those peaks, I realized something: how lucky I am.

I was departing Nepal to visit two of my best friends in Qatar. Location aside, the highlight of that statement remains: my best friends. Through all the shit and muck a gal can experience, having a pair like them (anywhere in the world) is the greatest blessing of all.