VNBW to VECC

World Heritage Sites Air Adventures: Peaks, Prayer Flags, & Palaces
Flight Log #001 – July 4, 2025
Ramen, Runways, and Revelry Edition
Log Entry by Michael Palin, Guest Co-Pilot

The day began in Bhairahawa, where the air was thick with anticipation, adventure, and the faint aroma of jet fuel and cupcakes. It was Independence Day for Captain Cropduster and much of the crew, and the stars and stripes fluttered from the cockpit window as we prepared for takeoff. The galley was a patriotic sugar bomb, the Tiger Shark Squadron’s support aircraft were promising a celebratory display of chaff and flares, and even the dogs, Lani and Kai, were decked out in their best bandanas, ready for whatever the skies might bring.

Before we could even think about altitude, Cropduster—ramen addict, noodle whisperer, and self-appointed broth critic—dragged us to Buffalo Broth House. The “Lumbini Sunrise Ramen” was so good it nearly made me file a flight plan for a second bowl: gingery chicken-miso broth, hand-pulled noodles, lotus root, and a soft-boiled egg, all dusted with Himalayan pink salt. Cropduster called it “pre-flight fuel for the spiritually ambitious.” I called it breakfast.

With bellies full and spirits high, we soared over Lumbini, birthplace of Buddha, and Chitwan’s grasslands, where the rhinos are photogenic and the tigers are camera-shy. Kathmandu Valley soon appeared—a riot of temples, stupas, and pigeons. After landing, Cropduster led us to Stupa Slurp Shop, where the “Valley Pilgrim Ramen” (mushroom-herb broth, yak chashu, wild greens, and a swirl of chili oil) was so earthy I half-expected enlightenment with every slurp. Cropduster gave it a reverent nod and a second helping.

Then came the day’s high-altitude highlight: our climb from Kathmandu in “Pāpulō,” the DHC-5 Buffalo, bound for Everest Base Camp. The air thinned, the landscape grew impossibly grand, and soon we were circling, engines straining, as we gained the precious altitude needed to crest the world’s highest peak. By the time we lined up to fly over Mount Everest itself, Captain Cropduster and I were both on oxygen masks, sounding like a pair of asthmatic Darth Vaders as we marveled at the roof of the world glinting in the sun.

Meanwhile, Lani and Kai—our ever-dignified canine crew—were enjoying a far more civilized ascent in the Tiger Shark Squadron’s C-17. While we wrestled with oxygen lines and Himalayan turbulence, the dogs lounged in pressurized comfort, window seats and extra treats at the ready. I like to think they were swapping stories with the loadmasters, perhaps critiquing our flight path or simply napping through the drama.

After Everest, we descended into Paro, Bhutan, hearts still pounding from the high-altitude adventure. Paro’s Thunder Dragon Noodle Den was our next stop, and Cropduster was already waxing poetic about their “Himalayan Thunder Ramen.” The bowl arrived steaming—a warming pork and ema datshi broth, buckwheat noodles, crispy chili tempura—“a bowl that could make a yeti weep with joy,” Cropduster declared. I just wept with relief that we’d landed.

The final leg took us to Kolkata, the city’s railway heritage and river life coming together in a vibrant, chaotic symphony. As we descended over the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest, I may have spotted a Bengal tiger, or maybe it was just Cropduster’s reflection in the window, dreaming of noodles. At Howrah Ramen Junction, the “Bengal Tiger Shoyu” (soy broth, river fish, pickled mustard greens, lotus root chip) was as bold as the city itself. Cropduster took notes, stamped our Ramen Passports, and declared the day a culinary triumph.

Every landing brought us to a new World Heritage Site—Lumbini’s sacred calm, Kathmandu’s ancient chaos, Paro’s Himalayan majesty, and Kolkata’s mangrove mystery. The crew’s radios buzzed with global greetings, and the Scottish contingent serenaded us with “Born in the U.S.A.” on bagpipes, which is exactly as subtle as it sounds.

As the sun set and fireworks began to pop across the horizon, the crew gathered around steaming bowls, swapping stories and laughter. Cropduster presided over the ramen ritual, stamping each “Ramen Passport” with the authority of a true noodle aficionado. For him, every landing is a new opportunity to chase the next great bowl, and every bowl is a story—sometimes soothing, sometimes fiery, always unforgettable.

So, as the day closed and the logbook filled with new tales, one thing was certain: wherever the World Heritage Sites Air Adventure lands, Cropduster will be there, chopsticks in hand, ready to judge, savor, and share the joy of ramen with the crew. And as for me, I’m grateful for the adventure, the camaraderie, and the endless quest for the world’s wonders—one World Heritage Site (and one bowl of ramen) at a time.

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