As we approached Lukla in our de-commissioned Russian helicopter, cotton wool in our ears and eyes fixed on the tiny landing strip, the sight was one of wonder. The whole town seemed to cling precariously to the mountain side. Yet as we slipped and stumbled our way up the snowy path, the locals stood and wached barefooted, with grins warm enough to melt even the coldest of toes.
Favourite spots:
The view from above Lukla, looking down the valley as the small grass airstrip that hangs off the side of the mountain like the flight deck of an old aircraft carrier.
What's really great:
On the final night of our trek, I sat by the roaring fire in the 'hotel' bar (there is only 1 as I recall - it's a tiny place), drinking and singing with new friends and putting off as long as possible the short walk to my cold tent outside.
Sights:
It doesn't matter where you look, the views are staggering. A truely beautiful part of the world, and so tranquil.
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