Annapurna Hardcore — Part 2: The Airport Olympics (How We Finally Got to Nepal)

For part 1 go here.

We arrived at Cape Town International four hours early, convinced the biggest threat to our Annapurna trek was being bumped off the flight.

We were wrong.

Cape Town: The Warm-Up Round

The airport was absolutely chokka. The departure hall looked like the entire city had decided to go on holiday at the exact same moment.

We had come early to be responsible travellers — calm, organised, sensible people who were definitely not going to let weeks of flight chaos end in disaster at check-in.

Instead, we joined what felt like an endless queue that moved with all the urgency of a Himalayan glacier.

At one point, confused tourists accused us of cutting the line when we were simply trying to regroup with our own party. Nothing bonds a trekking team faster than defending your place in an airport queue.

Eventually, boarding passes were secured. Bags had to be shlepped to the other side of the airport because the conveyor belts were faulty. Friends appeared to wish us well.

Security and immigration were conquered.

Victory.

Naturally, our flight was then delayed by an hour and a half.

Addis Ababa: Where Things Got Competitive

We landed late in Addis Ababa in a full downpour, already behind schedule and staring down impossibly tight connections.

Our group split like a complicated family tree:

two had left Cape Town earlier and were already en route to their connecting flight via Bangkok,
eight of us arrived together,
four more heading toward Bangkok,
four toward Delhi.

Every connection was technically missed.

And yet — miraculously — the airline held the flights.

What followed can only be described as an airport action sequence.

Airport staff appeared, urgently waving us forward through priority channels, shouting destinations like drill sergeants:

“Delhi! Delhi!”
“Bangkok! Bangkok!”

We ran.

Shoes untied. Backpacks bouncing. Adrenaline doing most of the work.

Security ushered us — we dropped bags and belongings into trays while staff urged us to move faster. In the chaos, some valuables were abandoned in security bins — sacrifices to the gods of international transit.

We sprinted down staircases in untied hiking boots, risking life and limb while being cheered on by airport staff who seemed personally invested in our success.

There were no proper goodbyes. One moment we were a group; the next we were fragments heading toward different gates.

Chucky, Bashe, Blommie and I were swept toward the Delhi connection, running through rain toward the aircraft stairs, still trying to process what was happening.

Later we learned that Neesha had been accidentally left behind by an airport bus and required a special retrieval mission — proof that even when you think the drama is over, travel has one more plot twist ready.

Somehow, unbelievably, everyone made their flights.

Delhi: The Unexpected Calm

After the chaos, Delhi felt almost surreal.

Transit was smooth. Boarding was orderly. The pace slowed enough for exhaustion to finally catch up with us.

Sleep, however, did not. Some of us simply cannot sleep on planes, no matter how many time zones we cross.

The reward came in the form of unexpectedly excellent airplane food — a small but deeply appreciated victory after days of uncertainty.

From Delhi, Air India carried us onward to Kathmandu.

For the first time in weeks, nothing changed.

Arrival: The Moment It Became Real

We landed on schedule.

Waiting for us was our guide, Durbah, smiling warmly, holding garlands.

After cancelled flights, reroutes, sprints, rainstorms, and sleepless travel, the welcome felt almost unreal.

Suddenly, we weren’t passengers anymore.

We were in Nepal.

Meanwhile, our Bangkok contingent faced one final delay and arrived later that evening — exhausted but triumphant. When we finally reunited over dinner, stories poured out faster than the food arrived.

Everyone had a version of the same story:
running through terminals,
near misses,
confusion,
laughter born from sheer relief.

We compared flight dashes like athletes swapping race stories.

And somewhere between the retelling and the laughter, it hit us:

We had actually made it.

After everything it took just to get there, Annapurna already felt earned.

Annapurna Base Camp — we were finally on our way.