We listened to the rain waiting for sleep. Monsoon is more than just heavy rain. It has a timeless permanence, as if it has never and never will stop.

Later, we learned that the period of wet weather that greeted us on arrival was the heaviest downpour in Nepal's recorded history. Kathmandu drained quickly, too quickly for the homes and roads and livelihoods and lives that were washed away below us in the valley. Whilst we flew from Kathmandu to Nepalgunj some 200 people died in the floods below.

We spent our third day in Nepalgunj airport, in a stew of anxious travellers at more than 30 degrees and near 100% humidity. Although the skies were clear today, the chaos of cancelled flights due to yesterday's rain carried over into more disruption. Most roads in the low country were also closed or affected in some way.

But it was mechanical trouble rather than weather that slowed our journey. Summit Airlines may well only comprise one little plane, and whilst a part was flown in from Kathmandu the local engineers were unable to fit it. By around 4pm they decided they needed an expert. No flights today.

We joined a rabble of other disappointed travellers outside in the afternoon heat. Norbu made phone calls and we searched the internet. It seemed that Summit's little plane was scheduled for other regions tomorrow, and so we would be two unscheduled nights in Nepalgunj before they could take us on our way. The two parties of western trekkers seemed much more affected by that news than the freshly painted bride on her way to be married. CLP chatted with her a little, and we wondered if she has met the groom.

Summit's little plane is committed to other parts tomorrow. The prospect of a 24 hour jeep ride on flooded roads was discarded almost as quickly as the $10,000 helicopter ride. Instead, we purchased playing cards and resigned ourselves to two nights in Nepalgunj's overbooked guest houses.