ABSTRACT
When I first decided to fly to Nepal in the autumn of 1977, it seemed as remote from the U.S. as any inhabited place could be. Only two airlines, Air India and the government-run Royal Nepali Air Corporation, landed in Kathmandu. My journal records the route-New York to London to Frankfurt to Tehran to Delhi and, finally, RNAC to Kathmandu-and its frustrations:
We left New York at 3 a.m., six and a half hours late. Three of these were spent in the plane sitting on the runway. Seven more hours to London, where travelers from every nation were packed into the airport. Strikes plus fog. On to Frankfurt, where we sit helplessly for three and a half hours, forbidden to leave the plane . . . On to Tehran where we are again forbidden to leave the plane. Hours pass. It seems we can’t leave Tehran because the main runway at Delhi is closed for repairs. And our 747 can only land on the other runway in certain favorable weather conditions. We sit in the plane and wait for certain favorable weather conditions to occur. Outside my window, two men in white coveralls take off their shoes and prostrate themselves on the runway facing Mecca.
