Yesterday began just like any other day. Sat crossed legged on the straw floor of our bamboo garden hut, we chatted trivially over peanut butter and banana sandwiches about our plans for the day, before waking ourselves up in a spine chilling icy cold shower. It was the average morning of a budget conscious backpacker in Nepal.

Leaving Claire behind to relax in the guesthouse, Danielle and I headed into the main town under a threatening sky, to rummage through the delights of Pokhara’s colourful lakeside stalls.

Inside a dark and dusty shop, stacked high with yak furs and “cashmere” shawls, we stood bartering with a Nepalese man in broken English, a shopping ritual we have quickly become accustomed to. Suddenly the lights in the store flickered on and off, plunging us almost into darkness, before a stampede like rumbling echoed through the open door. Pushing past us mid-sentence without saying a word, the formerly sale-eager owner frantically ran from the shop leaving us and his livelihood behind.

At that moment the street outside burst into a chorus of screams and shrieks from people and animals alike. Locals and tourists ran in all directions eventually forming a sea of bodies down the centre of the road. For a second I stood confused and then as the ground began to tremor beneath my feet, it hit me, this was an earthquake. It was as if my mind had been kicked into survival mode, scanning for falling debris, ground cracks, electric wires, and injured people, I grabbed Danielle by the arm and dragged us into the chaos that now swept the previously relaxed streets of Pokhara. Diving between the masses, we quickly made our way into the crowds and tried to dodge the tangled streams of power lines which now swung wildly over our heads. Our hearts pounding in our chests, we stood huddled together helplessly watching as chaos unfolded around us. It was as if time had stopped. Windows rattled violently in their already crooked wooden frames. Buildings and concrete structures swayed and spewed out bricks onto bystanders below. The unsecured contents of bottle shops tumbled and smashed creating a river of red across the paved walk ways. And then the quake hit its climax. As if standing on the rolling waves of a stormy sea, we were thrown uncontrollably from side to side. The floor visibly shifting in either direction. Random travellers gripped onto us for safety, their faces white with fear.

After what felt like an eternity, the chilling shaking began to ease. Racing back along the main street towards our quaint little guest house where we had left Claire earlier that morning, we passed local men brought to their knees, crying, unable to breathe. Families flocked around women who had passed out, unable to cope with the terror. Groups of hysterical travellers gathered together looking around dazed and in shock. It was a scene I have watched ten times over from the safety of my home in England. But this time it felt real. We were actually amongst it.

Arriving at the guesthouse we were pleased to find Claire and the Nepalese family we are staying with unharmed by the morning’s events. Cut off from TVs; internet and the English language, we sat on a derelict field through the aftershocks with fellow travellers, excitedly sharing stories, completely unaware of the scale of devastation and loss of life that had occurred around us.

Soon after the ground settled, we headed to a Thrakali kitchen in search of Dal Bhat and watched locals glued to hand held radios, but unable to understand the content or ask questions, it was from a local shop keeper that we learnt the true devastation of the quake.

A stomach turning realisation swept over us. This wasn’t a cool or fun experience anymore. This was a serious disaster. People had lost their lives. And we were truly lucky to still be here.

Hours passed before we were able to make contact with friends, family or the outside world. But eventually one by one as Wi-Fi connections were restored, the news began to filter in through the desperate calls and messages of loved ones. ‘7.9 on the Richter scale’. ‘The biggest quake the Himalayas have experience in over 80 years’. ‘Over 1000 dead, many of whom were tourists.’ ‘Avalanches and ice falls have flattened Everest Base camp’.

We were left in total shock. Guilty for feeling thankful that we were safe and well when so many others had lost their lives, and bemused by how a couple of seemingly unimportant, split-second decisions that we had made in the lead up to the quake had been the difference between me writing this blog today or being one of those unfortunate enough to be in the Everest region or Kathmandu at this horrific time.

It’s now just over 24 hours since the first earthquake hit Nepal and the death count continues to rise. We were awakened by a couple more quakes in the early hours followed by a series of tremors, in fact we’ve just had another fairly big one as I write this now. But other than reported road blocks and cut-off water supplies, Pokhara feels unharmed and relatively safe. So for the time being, despite wanting to help with the humanitarian aid in Kathmandu, this is where we will stay.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to all of those who have lost their lives or loved ones in this saddening disaster, to those selflessly risking their own lives to help others, and hoping for the safe return of all those who are lost xxx