“All of Europe?”

The weather at Lukla’s notorious airport held. Thankfully, our plane was the last to depart for three days. But then my travel luck took an odd turn.

            We had returned to Katmandu on schedule. The doorman at the hotel was there to greet me. He had wished me well when we departed.

“Welcome back sir. I am pleased you had a successful journey.”

“Namaste my friend, it was awesome. The goddess is very beautiful.” (Mount Everest is called Chomalungma which means, ‘Goddess mother of the Earth’)

“Thank you sir, we love her.” And then he said, “I am sorry to say sir that you may have to be our guest a few days longer.”

I said, “Why, what’s going on?”

And my perfectly uniformed pal said, “Volcano ash has covered all of Europe.”

“What do you mean, all of Europe?”

“Yes sir, all airplanes heading west are grounded.”

Ash from the Iceland volcano, Eyjafjallajökull (E10), had closed Europe to all air traffic for the foreseeable future; my tickets took me through Frankfurt, I was stuck in one of the most polluted cities in the world.

I phoned home and Kristin answered on the second ring. Like my call from Africa after our summit of Kilimanjaro, I choked up and could barely speak, then,

“Hi baby, this is Katmandu calling.”

“Hello climber-boy, I read your emails, sounds like you had a wonderful time.”

“No question about it, but it looks like I’m stuck here because of the Icelandic volcano ash.”

“Yes, it’s all over the news here.”

“Listen, I’m not sure when or how I’ll get home. Don’t go to Chicago on my arrival date. I’ll call you when I figure out what my plan is.”

Then, my always-practical bride says, “Does your trip insurance cover flight delays?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, hang in there and call when you know something.”

“Ok. I can’t wait to tell you about this adventure. I love you.”

“I love you too, bye.”

My roommate Jacques was first to attempt departure only to return in a few hours. Airports feeding Europe were not accepting new passengers. We had traveled with a company called, Himalayan Experience (HimEx). My air tickets had been purchased through Air India. My first-world thinking was, “I’ll just change my tickets and reroute east.” Our HimEx representative took me to the Air India offices in Katmandu only to find them locked and deserted. We agreed my best choice was to fly to Delhi, obviously the home of Air India, and see if they could help me return home.

In Delhi, Air India was only issuing telephone numbers, “Please leave a message, we will return your call.” I didn’t have a phone or a place to stay. There was no traveler’s assistance or an agent to reroute my trip. I was on my own halfway around the world with a ticket I couldn’t use.

            I found a quite spot with my sixty pounds of luggage and assessed the situation. Okay, you need money to do anything. I dragged my stuff over to the currency exchange booth, but the guy saw the Nepalese rupees in my hand a waved me off. Next was hauling my load over to an ATM. The card had a 10,000 rupee daily limit, so I had $170.00 to work with.

The cabs in Delhi are prepaid at the airport, which means you need a destination. I walked over to the cab booth and asked, “Best English, please?” One hand went up and I told him I needed a hotel near the airport for $80 to $100 dollars; he understood and handed me my document for the cabby. The hotel had a suite available and I took it. The hotel filled the following day owning to the other stranded travelers adapting similar strategies. I explained my situation to the manager,

“I have a ticket flying west, but I’m prepared to purchase a new ticket heading east if necessary. Can you or someone else help me?”

He thought of a moment and said, “I know some people, let me make some calls.”

The next morning he offers me a flight: Delhi, Bangkok, Tokyo, Honolulu, LA and Chicago for $3000 and I said no, I want to spend closer to $2000. Had I picked this flight, I’d still be in the air somewhere. Later, he calls with a direct flight Delhi to Newark for $2200 and I took it. Then he says, “You must drive to Old Delhi to buy ticket, they charge your card 1/3, 1/3, 1/3…I have car waiting.” I’m thinking what the hell have I gotten myself into?

We drove into the very bowels of Old Delhi and I began to wonder if I’d survive with both my kidneys. Nobody I loved knew where I was. I could have easily become an episode of ‘Unsolved Mysteries’. We wormed our way into this hole-in-the-wall place that looked like a travel company closet. I’m expecting Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet to appear. Lukla was scary, but so to was Old Delhi. In desperation, I looked at the driver,

“You wait for me.”

And he said, “Yes Sir, I wait.”

Once inside, my ‘agent’ offered me a drink. I said, “No thanks” thinking of my vital organs and I was outnumbered three to one. He dutifully charged the card three times, gave me my papers and with hasty relief, I jumped in the cab with kidneys and spleen intact.

That same night, I stood fidgeting in line at the mostly deserted airport, the proof of success would be if the guy hands me a boarding pass. Just to make things interesting, he asked me to step to the side for a while. I fiddled with my charge card looking for the international customer service 800 numbers in case I had to hold the charges. But he called me back up and suddenly, there the beautiful little thing was, my golden boarding pass, Willy Wonka couldn’t have done better. Many of my fellow trekkers were stuck in Katmandu for two weeks; I was one lucky traveler…I was going home.

The flight was on the US carrier, Continental. Entering the doorway, I was greeted by a crew from the USA. The pilot came on and said, “Good evening from the flight deck. Our route will now be taking us over the North Pole to miss the ash cloud. This would take more time, probably fourteen hours, but agents would be available in Newark to assist with connections. I didn’t care. I was going home. I had acquired the means to sleep on the plane while I was in Namche Bazaar. I was in the middle seat. Two hours into the flight I informed the lady in the window seat of my plan, “I’ll be sleeping so just climb over me if you need to and don’t worry about disturbing me.” To my delight she said that she had a similar plan. I bid my neighbors farewell, and woke up as we began our descent into Newark. I marched off the plane at 7:00 am, rested, refreshed and void of any jetlag.

As promised, after I cleared customs, there was a bank of agents ready to help me get home.

“Good morning Mr. Abell, how may I assist you?”

“Well my original connection was to Chicago, but if you have something to Milwaukee, that would be perfect.”

“I have a window seat to Milwaukee leaving in an hour.”

She checked my sixty pounds of gear and handed me my boarding pass. I love America.

I called Kristin and gave her the good news. Milwaukee is only an hour from home.

When I greeted her at the airport, I placed a Khata scarf from the Tengboche Monastery around her neck and gave her a kiss. Bless her heart, her first words were, “You’ve lost weight.” And I had, ten pounds.

We have a family tradition when returning from foreign countries. If we have a sensible arrive time, we stop at a Milwaukee custard stand called, Copps. It’s right on the way home. You know, a traveler misses soul food, hadn’t seen a cheeseburger in six weeks, maybe it’s a Wisconsin thing…it was marvelous.

            I don’t remember what I said to my wife on the drive home. Three weeks in the Himalaya, the suffocation up high and my father’s ashes going up the mountain, carried enough fodder for stories galore. I know I blabbed away sharing the spectacular moments out of context as they triggered through my thought process and I was exhilarating to be home, but I still can’t pronounce, Eyjafjallajökull.