I barely made my flight to Kathmandu. The flight out of Istanbul was so delayed that when I arrived in Qatar, I was left with twenty minutes to get to my connecting flight. Minutes evaporated in the sweaty heat as I boarded the inter-terminal bus and navigated my way through the crowd of bloodshot eyed passengers in the security check cue. The second I got my bags back from the x-ray machine, I ran. I ran like I haven’t ran in ages‑ thankfully it was a small terminal, and I managed to make it to my gate, red-faced and breathless, the last person admitted as the gate closed.
Four and a half hours were spent in a variety of contortions as I tried unsuccessfully to get some sleep. I was awakened by pink sunlight and pale clouds. As we moved closer to Kathmandu, I began to see somewhere in the distance, something sharp and dark, jutting out from the beneath cloud cover. Those familiar faces, those magical beings, the Himalaya.
My heart ached with a certain joy and longing as a bright tapestry of memories unfolded before me.
What will this adventure bring? Where will I go? What will I see? Who will I meet?
What will I discover?
We landed with a sway, and I with a smile.