Nepal trip

Scoil phobail sliabh luachra, rathmore

Dear Mam,

If you are reading this, then you have reassured me that Nepal has a postal service. I know you and the family are concerned for my safety on this daring expedition and so I hope this letter can give you some comfort. I have a lot to say but I have to keep it short because a strong wind ripped my backpack off my shoulders and blew my belongings all over the path to base camp. I scrambled what I could and managed to grab the essentials, so “Don’t Worry”. I hope to tell you all on these remaining two pages. My misadventure began in departures of Dublin airport. I was treated to a full body massage, after carelessly leaving my mobile in my jackets inside pocket. The security guard tut-tu ted and waved me on. Sitting back on my seat in the plane I thought I could relax now, all drama over. I was delighted to notice the air hostess giving me the glad eye and coyly whispering to her comrade about me. It was halfway into the flight when I finally noticed a purples hair bow attached to my hair courtesy of the nine year old girl sitting behind me. My embarrassment didn’t last long though, it was replaced by terror, when our plane lost altitude rapidly. We dropped several thousand feet and our oxygen masks were lowered in front of our faces. There was a palpable hush throughout the cabin alongside muffled tears and muttering and everyone held their breath. It must have beer three minutes before I heard the captain’s voice reassuring in his Irish brogue come on over the tannoy signalling to us that all was OK again. I consider myself to be very fortunate now to be writing this letter to you and not be in a big pile of heated metal at the side of the Himalayas. Nepal’s airport is the smallest in the world. I thought we had landed at Woodies on the Kinsale Road roundabout. One slim building stood alone in an Arctic climate. Exiting the airport, I reached for my hat as a sharp frosty wind pierced my ears. I felt like the Tom Crean of Rathbone. All I needed to complete the look was a three-week stubble and a hip flask. I had a new respect for the heroic Charlie Bird who battled cold and frostbite on his TV documentary a few weeks back. This cold was intense, beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. I ventured along a path which got wider and steeper each step I took. When I finally reached the base camp all I wanted to do was to fill the hot water bottle and have some warm refreshing tea but, unfortunately the water bottle and Lyons pyramid bags had spilled from the rucksack so I’ve had to talk without the tea.

As my tent quivers in the blizzard around me, I’ll finish up and brace myself for the forthcoming adventures.

Your loving son,