Daily Chronicles

Friends from our batch, still limping their way through recovery after completing the Khopra Ridge Trek, woke up early just to see us off. It was one of those quiet gestures that stay with you—simple, warm, and deeply meaningful.

The six of us, our backpacks, and six large blue duffel bags were squeezed into a van and transported to Kathmandu Domestic Airport. We had been warned: mornings here can be chaotic. With dozens of local flights operating simultaneously, the terminal buzzed with energy and impatience.

At the Sita Air counter, our duffels and daypacks were weighed and cleared. Some of our duffel bags were slightly heavier than the 10 kg limit. USD 1 per extra kilo was paid to cover those. In consideration of how much our porters could carry on their backs on the trail, we had been careful not to go way over. After luggage check in and security clearance we waited, watching tiny aircrafts take off and land, lines of trekkers moving steadily toward their own Himalayan dreams.

Our destination was Lukla—the gateway to Everest and home to what is often called the world’s most dangerous airport. Infamous for weather-related cancellations, the tension was palpable. We distracted ourselves with snacks and breathing routines.

The runway is just 527 metres long, sloping upward at a 12% gradient, ending abruptly in a mountain wall at one end and a sheer cliff at the other. Landings (and take offs) here are fast and final—no second chances.

Luck was on our side. Clear skies. Calm winds.

We boarded a tiny 12-seater Dornier aircraft, our group of six joined by our main guide and a few other trekkers. Everyone instinctively chose the left-side seats. For the next 30 minutes, we were rewarded with spellbinding views of the Himalayan ranges unfolding beneath us.

And just like that—we were on the ground. Landing at Tenzing–Hillary Airport, we stepped out at 9,383 feet (2,860 m). What we’d seen from the air was only a teaser; the real magic lay ahead.

A short walk brought us to our first teahouse, where we met our porter team, personal sherpas Nima and Suk, and assistant guide Bhoktha along with porters Mingma and Sonam. Quiet men, unassuming—until you noticed the strength in their eyes. Our blue duffels were lined up and ready to be carried after we took our much needed trek poles out of there.

Breakfast followed. Bathrooms. Device charging. Trek boots on.

Some of us popped our first 125 mg dose of Diamox—the ritual pill of those who prefer not to flirt with Acute Mountain Sickness.

Lukla is a small mountain town with one main cobbled street leading to the airport. No vehicles here—only two-legged trekkers and support staff along with four-legged friends for transportation. Shops selling souvenirs and trekking gear, cafés, and bakeries lined both sides.

Prayer flags fluttered overhead. Children played cards and Uno by the roadside. From a local shop, we picked up mini Nepali prayer flags, tying them onto our backpacks alongside custom luggage tags made by a dear friend.

Day 1 was mostly downhill—warm, pleasant, and surprisingly easy. Some of us walked in short sleeves. Happy feet , steady pace. Soon, we passed through the Pasang Lhamu Gate, built in honour of the first female Sherpa to summit Everest.

The trail wound through villages filled with prayer wheels (mani khorlos), stupas, and carved mani stones etched with Om Mani Padme Hum. Our guide reminded us: pass them on the left, spin wheels an odd number of times, never climb stupas. We followed every rule—superstition or respect, we weren’t taking chances.

Along the way, we crossed returning trekkers, mules, and dzopkyos—the sturdy yak-cow hybrids used to haul supplies. We also crossed our first suspension bridge of the trek—one of many to come.

Lunch was at a roadside teahouse. Dal Bhaat—the favourite Nepali meal, which would soon become a staple—was wholesome and filling, especially paired with our now-favourite honey-ginger tea. Water bottles were refilled. Restrooms were basic but clean—privacy ensured by a wooden log across the door. It worked.

Our first stop was Phakding, at 8,563 feet (2,640 m). Our teahouse in Phakding, Khumbu Traveller’s Guest House, exceeded expectations. From every window, silver peaks stood quietly, glowing in the afternoon light.

The rooms had comfortable beds, warm blankets, and attached bathrooms. Hot showers were available for a fee. Power points were scarce, so the reception desk became a charging hub—phones, cameras, power banks plugged in wherever space allowed.

With time to spare, a few of us explored the village and discovered surprisingly good bakeries. An apple cinnamon roll and a slice of cake later, we were sold.

Placing the order for breakfast the previous night would help us start the trek on time, Dilman explained. We were also reminded the importance of dressing up in layers to handle the continually and unexpectedly changing weather in the mountains - “weather is second to second change” Dilman smiled. Dinner was ordered—garlic soup, familiar staples. Water bottled were filled with hot water for a fee. Full stomachs, eager hearts - we reviewed the route and schedule for Day 2 before turning in.