Helicopter flight through the Himalayas

“Sometimes the detour is the real journey.” – Unknown

The next morning started with a small miracle: we could sleep in. Bibek sent a WhatsApp message saying the weather was still too rough for planes to fly, so our 5 a.m. wake-up could be postponed. For a moment, I melted back into the blankets, grateful for the unexpected reprieve, but unable to fall back asleep. What if the weather changed and we had to get up quickly? It happened as I imagined. At 6 a.m., another ping broke the calm—Bibek urged us to put our duffels in the van ASAP. I jumped out of bed, nudging Kiki into action, heart racing with the sudden urgency. We stumbled into our shoes only to discover—false alarm. We still had time for coffee. Nepal was already teaching us patience, or at least trying to.

We finally drove to the airport when everyone was ready. Bibek was there ahead of us, focused, scanning the horizon. The air buzzed with restlessness. The sky remained stubbornly clouded, the mountains hidden. All around, helicopters lifted off one by one, like dragonflies darting into the mist, while planes sat silent. Kiki found goats to pet, making goat sounds, imitating them.

Hours blurred together as we sat waiting in a crowd of hundreds—some stranded for days. The terminal felt more like a holding pen, with weary travelers sprawled on backpacks, vendors calling out over the noise, and hope rising and falling with every whisper of news. We passed the time with a card game, trying to laugh through the uncertainty, but a creeping sense of futility settled in as noon approached. When the official announcement came—Lukla airport closed—we felt the bottom drop out of our stomachs.

Only helicopters were allowed. A hush fell over our group before the inevitable debates began: do we wait it out or bite the bullet and pay? The forecasts looked grim. Eventually, the decision was unanimous—if a helicopter could get us into the mountains, then so be it. A once-in-a-lifetime experience, we told ourselves, even as we secretly winced at the cost.

Then, like a scene from a play where the script changes mid-performance, Bibek stormed in, practically glowing. “Planes are flying again!” he shouted, eyes wide, hands flailing. In seconds, we were on our feet, duffels slung, rushing toward the runway. When a small plane roared overhead, the entire crowd outside erupted in applause and cheers. For a heartbeat, we believed we might make it the old-fashioned way.

But joy is slippery in Nepal. The people who had been waiting for a week were given priority—rightfully so—and we found ourselves back at square one, pressed together in the cramped terminal as Bibek tried every trick to get us on a flight. His phone buzzed endlessly, his voice sharp as he negotiated, but to no avail. The weather turned again, grounding the remaining planes.

Frustration crackled in the air. Stranded trekkers muttered in every language, some arguing heatedly, others pacing like caged animals. Our group splintered into two: one half managed to secure a helicopter almost immediately, while the rest of us—Alfred, Bibek, Kiki, and me—were left behind, watching the minutes crawl past. Three hours of restless waiting later, our turn finally came.

There was no security line, no boarding call, no polished choreography of modern airports. Just Bibek waving frantically, us running across the tarmac, duffels hastily tossed into the belly of the machine. We were pushed inside—Kiki in the front with the pilot, the rest of us crammed into the back—and then the blades thundered to life. My heart leapt as the ground slipped away.

The views allowed only one emotion: marvel. Below us, rivers traced silver paths through valleys, terraced rice fields clung to impossible slopes, and small villages dotted the ridges like scattered beads. The higher we flew, the more the clouds swirled around the peaks, half-concealing and half-revealing their jagged crowns. It felt like we were gliding into another world—mystical, untamed, and utterly alive.

What began as a day of endless waiting ended with the gift of flight through the heart of the Himalayas.

Eventually, we arrived in Lukla late in the afternoon. Lunch waiting, the trek was about to begin.