I didn't quite finish the account of my trip to Nepal - that is, I didn't include getting back home - so, for the sake of completeness here's what happened. From those of you who are familiar with the story I have had much sympathy, but I have to say it is largely undeserved for, though uncomfortable, the experience was very much part of the whole trip and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
To start with, I met up with a very interesting lady at the airport in Kathmandu, a Brit now living in Sweden who had just done the Annapurna trail. Like me, she had the feeling of time running out, and infirmity steadily approaching and felt it was "now or never". She said it was extremely challenging and she definitely needed to have left it no longer - she was 65, by the way, and with no particular health issues. From her account, I am sure I was right not to attempt it. She was going on to a two week tour of Rajisthan, S India. We chatted comfortably as our departure hour came and went and announcements in Nepalese caused minor eruptions of activity. Seeing our confusion, a lovely Nepalese gentleman took it upon himself to interpret and to seek information. He was a Gurkha named Sher, returning home to London after a family visit. We eventually left 2 hours late, after waiting for the Kathmandu pollution to lift away and fortunately our connecting flight from Delhi was waiting for us.
But this was Friday December 17th and, as we approached Europe on Saturday 18th, Heathrow closed due to the snow and we were diverted to Brussels. This turned out to be just like all the acounts you've ever heard reported, the prime problem being lack of information. There was only one restaurant/cafe open and no fast-track for drinks only so the queue was never-ending, and it was several hours before bottled water was brought in by the Red Cross. Each flight looked for news from their airline and some were better than others at this. There were no tannoy announcements and the best way to find out what was going on was to follow any moving group of people. Often this would lead only to another airline's information provider but occasionally it would be general information about camp beds or meal vouchers, and if you were lucky you'd find yourself listenening to information from your own airline.
We managed to miss out on the first batch of camp beds and were told by our airline that there were no hotel rooms to be had in Brussels, so lay down on the tiled floor. Sher was immediately asleep but I wasn't that efficient, so at 1a.m. I decided I might as well join the cafe queue with my meal voucher. It took me till 4.30 before I had my meal on my tray!
Next day there were rumours of Eurostar tickets and connecting flights, but the worst situated were those passengers who were non-European, who could therefore not leave the airport and had no option but to wait for a flight.
We were told that there were 117 Eurostar tickets for EU passport holders and rushed to baggage claim to collect our luggage and tickets but after a couple of hours and no luggage appearing, it seemed there were only 54 tickets and I missed out. However at least I was
accommodated in a hotel that night, unlike Sher who couldn't leave the airport.
Next day there was to be a flight at 6.30 am but we sat on the tarmac for 4 hours as there was no deicing fluid available. Frequent texts from Jon telling me that Heathrow was going to close again and Was I on my way yet? No, still waiting. Anyway, thankfully we did eventually take off, one of the last planes to land that day, Monday 19th.
Quite an adventure, but I don't think I'd like to repeat it.
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