Now, there are a lot of stereo-types when it comes to Asian bureaucracy and lots of holiday makers like to head home having slipped a guy a ten euro note; more to buy the feeling of 'know how' than to actually change their current predicament in any way. This however was on a whole other level. We were given a 'broker', an unofficial 1980's gang member who would try their best, for a fee of course, to help us find our way around our problem. At first they conferred and winked confidently with one another as they highlighted the official with the right weaknesses; we were told they would simply pay a smaller fee to the right person and it would all be cleared up the next day. They were denied. We were handed off to another clearly more experienced handler who tried a different avenue, however even though we couldn't understand the conversation it was pretty obvious people weren't happy with them and by association, us. We were told simply: no. We would have to pay £200 to get the box of boots, now worth roughly nothing, and that was that. This had taken a good two and a half hours of backwards and forwards, surreptitious conversations all while we followed around like lost sheep every now and again throwing a pleading murmur or sad look over a shoulder. Enough was enough, we had spotted the room where the decision makers spent their time drinking tea and debating the particular cases brought to them by greasy palms and slick hair cuts. 'We need you to cry'. I stormed into the room and unleashed a life times frustration at what these people represented. Perfectly normal human beings who through arbitrary chance have found themselves with some modicum of power over the inane. Along with every desire to use it to it's full extent. In England, these Gods of the mediocrely important hide behind walls of e-mails or peons with whom you cannot possibly be angry because you 'know it isn't their fault'. So there was something beautiful about the raw face to face nature of this place. I was stood in front of the people who I needed to convince and this is something that I can do. At the height of my tirade the real power kicked in, on cue a single tear rolled down the tired cheek of a weary, scared exhausted traveller who just happened to catch the eye of the hard old man steeling himself to once again reject my most passionate protests. He cracked. With a frustrated: "Ok, shut up enough for me to fix it and go sit outside!" We got our boots back. For free. We just had to wait three more hours, eat free food, and admire a lovely lady who spent her days keeping a team of men under control with a seemingly impossible blend of Miss Honey and Miss Trunchbull. I can't lie. This was one of the best days I had in Nepal. There is a satisfaction that our world has secretly robbed us of, the need to deal with a real person who has the power to change the situation and try yourself against that decision. It's beautiful. The bus ride back past miles and miles of queues for petrol was a victory lap.
The long walk down was supposed to be easy, it was invigorating having more and more oxygen with each step and the mood was higher in the group. We met up with some friends who hadn’t made it and ended up walking and taking breaks together. We met people who had injuries and were being carried down on horse back, it didn’t seem to matter though, the challenge completed fear and danger seeped slowly further away from reality. We decided to shorten the return and make the days longer, hoping to speed our way back to the plane. Arriving back