Nepal.
At last we have arrived after 22 hours on three different airplanes, and two long nights of anticipation, one on my friend Lesley and Billy’s floor and the other in a hotel in Bangkok, we are at last on the other side of the world. As we were landing my eyes were pressed up against the window trying to pierce through the clouds so that I might get a glimpse of the mountain giants, maybe Everest, but the clouds were too thick. Once we descended more into the Kathmandu valley I was in awe over the beautiful, lush green terrain and deep river valleys. It is so incredibly green, like nothing I have ever seen before. Little brick houses dot the landscape and grow more numerous the closer we get to Kathmandu. The buildings remind me of the game Tetris, where bits and pieces of whatever can be found are stacked one upon the other. I get a sense that Mother Nature still rules here even in the city she keeps things subdued to her will. There are no polished surfaces, no perfect paved roads, no divisions of land; it seems a place where there is a struggle between modernization and that which crumbles back to the earth...back to nature. The plane hits the runway with a light jolt.....now my journey begins.
note: I wanted to clear this up before I really get into the trip to avoid confusion not only with those reading, but also myself. You see I am traveling with my husband, Tony and my best friend Tony Bryant and trying to write my experience with two Tony’s might cause a mix up as to which I’m talking about. To make it easier I will refer to my husband as Tony and I will refer to Tony Bryant as AB, which are his initials. I don’t think they’ll mind...”they better not.
The airport is small, only four gates and our plane is the only arrival. There is a nice warm breeze blowing as we exit the aircraft onto the ramp. I notice in the grass two women dressed in bright red saris watching our caravan march into the terminal all of which are decked out in earth tone fleeces and hiking boots. I’m not sure what these women are doing, but it looks as though they are cutting the grass by hand. Perhaps the airport is also used as a farm, not something that would ever be considered at home. Inside the terminal we stand in long lines waiting for the customs agent to issue our visas. I did not notice before, but looking at everyone from our plane I’d swear to you that they are all under the age of thirty. I can’t see Nepal attracting a vast number of people from an older crowd, but I didn’t expect to notice all the young people at once.
Finally, after about thirty minutes of waiting we are stamped and cleared to venture into Nepal. We strap on our backpacks, secure our money and passports, and head for the taxi stand. We walk out the doors and realize that we have stepped right into a huge storm of over a hundred Nepalese men. We are immediately swallowed up by this tsunami of people who have been eagerly awaiting our arrival. Twenty hotel business cards and brochures are thrown in my face along with a million shouts, “Madame I have good place for you, look at brochure.” “No look at this one, very cheap.” “This way madam, follow me I take you to good place.” I’m clutching onto Tony’s backpack while we both try to follow AB who searches for the taxi stand. I yell at AB, "Where do we go?!" He throws his arms up and continues through the mob. It is impossible, we can’t see and people are pulling at us and blocking our view with hotel advertisements. I’m just looking at the ground, shaking my head no over and over again, and trying to contain myself so that I don’t freak out. A police officer approaches us yelling something and I think he is yelling at us for not knowing where we are going, but then he pulls out a club and with all his might slams it into the backs of the men pulling and tugging at us. Holy shit, I’m thinking we are in a riot. I’ve never seen people get hit so hard that close to me, and as much as he beats these men it doesn’t really stop them from swarming us because when one falls another jumps right in. We seem to be walking endlessly in circles only finding more masses of people trying to lead us their way. We find ourselves trapped against the wall of the terminal and there is some sort of commotion between AB and some Nepalese, but I can’t see or hear a thing because I am snuggled tightly against Tony’s backpack and all sounds ahead of me are muffled. I am being pulled and tugged by people and I’m starting to get panicked, and I look to the sky praying, please get me out of here. Suddenly, the crowd spreads and we are following someone towards the parking lot. We must have at last found a taxi or someone who knows our hotel I don’t know because AB is in charge of that. Still as we walk to the cab we are followed by ten people who continue to show me brochures and I just stare down at the ground and pretend not to notice them. We take our packs off to put them in the trunk and right away they are grabbed by one of the men who followed us and put in the cab. He wants a tip for this which annoys the three of us because we didn’t need his help he just grabbed them. The driver and another Nepalese jump in the car with the three of us crammed in the back while the fellow who put our bags in the trunk continues to beg AB for a tip. We ignore him and the cab takes off with him yelling behind, “Tip, tip!”
The man in the passenger seat smiles brightly at us and asks in a gentle voice, “What hotel are you going to?” He looks like Ralph Macchio when he played Johnny in The Outsiders. His hair is greasy and curling around his face and his faded jeans and sleeveless jean jacket cling closely to his thin body. AB tells him the name of our hotel, the Shakti and "Johnny" looks at the driver with a puzzled glance. “Shakti?” Um, I’ve never heard, do you have address?” We don’t, and we don’t even know how to spell the name of this place. It was recommended to AB by a friend back home, but we forgot to get the location or the phone number to the place. “Well, if you like, I have a hotel that you can stay at , it is very nice and quiet.” He hands us a brochure. “You can just look, and if you don’t like I will take you somewhere else, it is no problem.” Feeling hopeless we agree to look at his hotel. I have a suspicion that he and the driver really do know where our hotel is, but are lying so they can make their promised commission from the hotel he wishes us to stay in. Oh well, I don’t care, I’m too overwhelmed to argue, just take me somewhere safe! His name is Kiran and as we drive through the dusty streets he tells us about Kathmandu. I do admit while I feel taken I do like this guy, perhaps it is his gentle manner that comforts me as I take in my first images of Nepal.
The streets are clouded with pollution and dust from the mixture of dirt and fumes kicked up by vehicles on the crumbling road. Garbage is scattered about on the sides of streets and in some spots children play in the debris as if it were a playground. Bandanas cover faces of people selling goods on the sidewalks to protect them from inhaling the toxic fumes. Cows are lying on the road with their tails at war with millions of biting flies. Withered torn clothes of the poor are mixed with beautiful elegant women adorn in gold jewelry and the brightest colored saris. My ears are filled with the noises of automobile horns beeping endlessly, while Kiran tries to point out some of the famous landmarks on our way to the hotel. Sometimes I can’t help but cover my eyes as it looks like we will have a head on collision with another car, bus, rickshaw, motorcycle or truck. There is no order, no right or left side of the road, not even a stop and go, as far as driving is. It seems to be a matter of honking your horn and playing a game of chicken, because a two lane road over here is the size of what we would think is an alley. We are stared at by those passing by seeing that we are not Nepalese.....here we are alone; we are minorities for the first time.
The hotel was tucked off in an alley away from the noisy streets. As we enter the lobby we are greeted by three smiling young men who then rush out to our taxi to fetch our bags. Kiran shows us one of the rooms consisting of two small beds and a bathroom. It looks clean and sounds quiet so we agree to take the room for a whopping nine dollars a night.
I flop down on the bed and take a big sigh of relief, we made it. I just want some peace and quiet for a little bit because I am feeling pretty tense from today’s little adventure. I think we all feel a little overwhelmed and confused on where we should begin now that we are here. AB and Tony decide to go buy a map of the city while I stay behind and rest for a bit. As I lay on the thin mattress I can hear the faint echoes of AB and Tony walking down the steps. Pigeons are fluttering on the window sill and the clanging of dishes can be heard from inside the neighboring buildings. I close my eyes not to sleep but to absorb this new place and rid myself of the culture shock. I must have laid there for an hour, but it only seemed like a couple of minutes when I was startled by AB and Tony returning. They both look flustered and I ask, “How was it?” They both sort of roll their eyes as they tell me how a man playing a fiddle followed them to and from the map shop trying to persuade them to buy his fiddle. AB says that they were approached continuously by individuals trying to get them to buy souvenirs and such. I lay back down on the bed covering my eyes thinking to myself, “Maybe Nepal was the wrong place to go to find solitude from materialism.”
Later that day we all walk together into the city where again we become fresh carcasses for a flock of circling vultures. We are in the tourist district called Thamel which is littered with all sorts of souvenir shops and restaurants. People wander the streets selling souvenirs and just as AB had warned, as soon as we are seen they flash these articles in our faces. “Look madam, elephant statue, good price”. or “Sister come look at this!” The two most popular items seem to be some sort of large curved knife which I later discovered is called a Gorkha knife which was used by ancient Nepalese soldiers to keep out invading countries, and the other item being tiger balm. I can only guess that tiger balm must be the thing to sell to trekkers who have weary and aching muscles after their Himalayan journeys. You learn to say NO a lot and never ever make eye contact or stop and look at something to long or you will be bombarded by merchants who will stop at nothing to get you to buy what they have. There is no doubt that the things we are seeing are beautiful, but this is not what we came for. We eat dinner at a traditional Nepalese restaurant sampling our first but not our last dal bhal set. Dal Bhat consists of rice, curry vegetables and bean soup and it is the most common dish that the local people eat here. It is spicy and my warm coke enhances this effect causing me to have a little bit of a belly ache later that night. There is not much else to do in Thamel other than eat and shop. The city shuts down around 8:30pm and as quick as the streets were filled with traffic and people they empty. Steal shutters are pulled down over the wears that had been so eagerly forced upon us making each closing vender look like it has been out of business for years. Everyone retreats back into their own dark corner awaiting the next day of routine. It's strange how quickly all becomes quiet in a place that seemed to be screaming at us when we arrived. I settle down in our room and stare at the ceiling fan roaring a hypnotizing sound which puts me to sleep.
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