The Pokhara Airport Express: A Masterclass in Flexible Aviation

There’s a fundamental truth about Nepalese domestic aviation that nobody tells you until you’re standing at Pokhara airport: if you have a ticket and you’re physically present, you will get on a plane. Not necessarily your plane. Not necessarily the one on your ticket. Just… a plane. With a seat. Probably.

The Setup

We were approaching Pokhara airport to fly back to Kathmandu. My flight was listed first on the schedule. This information turned out to be decorative rather than functional.

Approaching the airport from our van at 9:01 AM—blissfully unaware of the beautiful chaos awaiting

Everyone in our group, with the wisdom of those who’d flown domestically in Nepal before, urged me: “Go to the counter first. Just run.”

So I ran.

The Conversation

Me: (slightly out of breath, presenting ticket)

Check-in Guy: (not even looking at my ticket) “There’s a flight leaving now. Can you run and catch it? Don’t think it’s taxiing yet?”

Me: “Huh? What about my check-in bag?”

Check-in Guy: “You just take it in. Put it somewhere in the back.”

Me: (processing this information) “Do I get a seat?”

Check-in Guy: “You should… if you run fast.”

Me: (desperately clinging to the illusion of airport procedures) “What about security check?”

Check-in Guy: (cranes neck toward policeman in blue uniform, says something in Nepali, then turns back to me) “Go. Go.” (points toward a plane on the tarmac)

No Security Checks

Let me repeat that for emphasis: NO SECURITY CHECKS.

I ran.

The airhostess was literally about to pull in the boarding stairs. She looked at me—this wild-eyed passenger sprinting across the tarmac with a backpack—and made a decision in real-time. She looked around the cabin, counted seats in her head, and found me one. The last one.

If that seat hadn’t existed, I’m fairly certain I would have spent the flight to Kathmandu serving snacks and demonstrating the safety features I’d just completely bypassed.

My bag? Went into what I can only describe as a broom cupboard. Not a designated luggage compartment. An actual broom cupboard.

Nine minutes later at 9:12 AM—already airborne and contemplating the elastic nature of aviation schedules

The Lesson

That, my friends, is the domestic flight experience in Nepal. Schedules are suggestions. Security is negotiable. Luggage compartments are wherever there’s space. Seats are first-come, first-served, with bonus points for cardio.

And somehow? It works.

I landed safely in Kathmandu. My bag arrived in the broom cupboard it departed in. And I had a story that perfectly captured what I’d learned over the past ten days in Nepal: plans are just frameworks, and sometimes the best way forward is just to run when someone points at a plane.

Would I recommend this system? No.

Did it get me to Kathmandu on time? Define “on time.”

Was it memorable? Absolutely.

Welcome to Nepalese aviation, where “if you have a ticket and you reach the airport, you will be put in a plane with a seat” is both a promise and a warning.