Kathmandu - Let's Go Out to Dinner and the Internet

Waited in the "No Visa" line for at least an hour after getting off the airplane in Kathmandu. Somhow I ended up in a herd of Japanese tourists, so there I am, towering over all, reading my book, waiting for the line to progress. $30 US gets you 60 days, and then at the end of this calendar year and beginning of the next one, I can easily get another 60 days. That works out well for my plan - - Kathmandu, the Khumbu and then Makalu until mid-December, then on to Darjeeling and the Indian state of Sikkim for December-January. By then I will want a beach and run south.

The transfer in Bangkok was whirlwind - - about 30 minutes and I was back on the plane to Kathmandu. Strange sight: there is a golf course right next to the runway, paralleling it. No fence, no barriers, you could just walk right off the green and onto the tarmac! The noise of the 747s landing must be a bit distracting while you are putting. The city looks interesting. I am glad I will have a day lay-over in Bangkok on the way back.

We were in the clouds for most of the flight and then suddenly the Himalayas filled the horizon on my side of the plane. Everyone craned their heads and crowded some of the aisles and windows to see the mountains. "Which one's Everest, where's Everest?" all these people ask each other (. . . it's the big one with the snow on it . . . ha!). The sight of the range is fantastic, and I am re-invigorated in my choice to come. At the same time I am struck by the thought that each person who looks at the mountains feels something very different, or perhaps nothing at all. All these people have come for a variety of reasons, or maybe even for something that has nothing to do at all with toiling around and in these mountains. I see some of those people, who gaze disinterestedly at the tourists. They are simply on their way back home or to some business meeting.

The taxi ride from the airport was a whirlwind journey. The disorientation of travel is well-fixed in my brain now, and the hallucinogenic cloud has set in, making all sights and visions seem sureal and yet very present at the same time. I have to make a conscious effort to wipe the big-goofy-white-guy grin off my face, but I can't help it - - I'm happy to be in the flow of it.

Taxis are pre-paid at the airport and you take your receipt out to the vehicle waiting line where a Nepalese cop with a big stick is whacking disallowed interlopers and vehicles that stray into this area where travel-disoriented tourists are stumbing around. I begin in a taxi with two people; the driver and a passenger up front, but outside the airport the taxis stops and a differet passenger trades with the one up front. This is Dev Raj, and he proceeds to try and sell me a variety of things. "You have hotel?" I already do, and it is where I paid to head, but he insists his is better, and that I should just stop and look. He is not pushy, but rather just very interested in figuring out what it is I just might need. When one thing is offered and refused, he tries a different one. We go through several guest house names, flights to Lukla (which I do need to get to the Khumbu region . . .) and "the best" tea houses. All of this sales pitch goes on while the driver wends his way through the traffic, British style for the most part (left side of the street, driver on the right-hand side of the car), but weaving to the left and right side of the road to avoid the other drivers weaving left and right as they all avoid the pedestrians and ever-present motorcycles. The motorcycles! Obviously the preferred mode of transport, they are everywhere and the drivers are very motivated to cut whatever corner it takes to get ahead.

I arrive at the Lhasa Guest House and get a great room up three floors with nice windows overlooking a courtyard. I poke at my ridiculous pile of luggage for a minute and then decide to go stumble around the street, which should be a treat in my travel-delerious state. It is, and the traffic on foot is even more insane in the narrow, tall streets of the Thamel (read:tourist) region, again mostly motorbikes and the scattered few compact cars all beeping (did I mention the beeping?) and swerving around the pedestrians.

I find a place to eat, "The Funky Buddha," and pay 160 Rs, which is less than two dollars for curry, rice and tea. 40 Rs buys me an hour of internet access, and so you find me here, writing this to you, and that is where I shall leave it. It is finally dark, so I think it is fair to go to sleep!