Stuck in Lukla

Early in the morning, we regrouped for a hearty breakfast, all our luggage stacked neatly by the door, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. The air in the dining room felt heavy with expectation. Bibek, half-joking but also half-serious, fasted to appease Hanuman, the monkey god, asking for clear skies and safe flights. Unfortunately, Hanuman wasn’t ready to let us go just yet.

The clouds hung low over Lukla, thick and unmoving. Too cloudy for the small planes to land or take off safely. It stirred uneasy memories of our arrival, not by plane, but by helicopter, after days of uncertainty and weather delays. From a tiny window in the teahouse, we kept glancing upward, searching for breaks in the grey, as if sheer will might part the sky.

Time stretched strangely. We played cards, journaled, packed and repacked our bags, and paced the narrow hallways. Restlessness crept in. Eventually, Bibek suggested we explore Lukla rather than waiting inside, telling us to keep our phones close. If the skies opened even briefly, we’d need to move fast.

We waited the entire day for good news. The exhaustion from the trek finally caught up with us, settling deep into our bones. Our bodies wanted to relax, to switch off, but our minds stayed alert, suspended in this in-between state of not-quite-finished, not-quite-home.

The tension weighed differently on each of us. Sienna was the most stressed; her flight from Kathmandu to Australia was scheduled for the following evening at 9 pm. Christoph, too, was anxious; he needed to reach Kathmandu in time to ship luggage back to Vienna before continuing his travels through Southeast Asia. The mountains had tested us physically, but now logistics and time pressed in their own quiet, unforgiving way. Kiki and I had calculated a couple of flexible days. We had read online that the weather in the Nepali highlands could be unpredictable, and it proved true during this trip.

They started looking into booking a helicopter for the next day. That realization landed softly but heavily: this might be our last night together as a group. And somehow, that called for celebration.

So we went to the pub beneath the teahouse. A dimly lit room with sticky floors, mismatched chairs, and music that was, objectively, terrible. But after a couple of beers, the music improved, or maybe we just stopped caring. Laughter came easily. Bodies that had carried us across glaciers and passes now swayed clumsily on the dance floor. Eventually, Sienna took over the DJ booth, and suddenly the place came alive. It felt good to release everything we’d been holding in.

Around 10 pm, we drifted back to our rooms, tired in a different way now. Lighter, warmer. As I lay in bed, I hoped that by morning Hanuman would finally be satisfied, the clouds would lift, and we’d all be allowed to leave together.

Lukla is a cosy but tiny town. A handful of cafés, short streets, and little else to do. One day of sitting, waiting, and watching the sky was more than enough. We were ready to move on.