Fog Creeps

A dusty, open faced ceramic wall clock in the corner of the Nepali tea room declared the time as two o’clock in the afternoon. Clouds have descended over the military base like aliens waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting B grade American movie. The small hand on this timepiece takes an hour to move to the next number with ticking that only seems to become slower as the seconds pour themselves into being. Watching the clock won’t bring the planes in from Kathmandu today. The fog creeps over the distant mountain and twenty degrees fall in the expectant air around me. Watching the runway won’t get me home today.
As I search for a familiar face in this sea of military and trekking individuals, I wonder how, on the 1st day in December 2003, I found myself sitting alone, freezing and bewildered beside an empty air strip in Lukla, 2800 metres above sea level in the Himalayas.