Travel Day Impressions

Note: I have added the last of the pictures to the “Nepali: Another 25 Days” album. Enjoy!

Impression: Nepali Hospital

On the way to the hospital I passed several tables with severed pigs heads for sale.

My malaria pill bottles were unopened and I decided that I should donate them, an option I’d heard was a possibility in Nepal. It took a few times asking shopkeepers and pedestrians, but eventually the courtyard containing hospital, emergency room and pharmacy was in front of me. It was disconcerting, because the pharmacy was a counter under a tin roof, open to the noise, heat and pollution of the Kathmandu air. There was any entry door to the hospital, but the emergency room had no doors and I could see three beds with people in them. The pharmacy wouldn’t take my meds and directed me into the emergency room. Uncomfortable normally in hospitals, I was even more so in this case. Doctors inside informed me that Chitwan would be a better place to donate them, but eventually I convinced them to take the pills. I’m slightly ashamed to say I high-tailed it out of there.

The pigs heads were staring at me as I walked back to my hotel; the butcher continued his bloody work on the ground next to the tables on which the heads lay.

Impression: CS

My first week in Kathmandu, a local Couchsurfer had sent me a message telling me about a weekly get-together in Thamel, involving meeting people, learning to dreadlock hair and possibly some henna demonstrations as well. During my twenty-six days in Nepal, I managed to make just one of these meetings, and that occasion was on my last day in the country for just half an hour before my taxi picked me up for the airport. I ducked into the tattoo parlor area where the meeting was taking place and was immediately greeted by a mixed group of people in a tiny back room. As most of my Couchsurfing experiences have been, this was a welcoming, excited and friendly experience. I met a dozen people in just a few minutes; watched the organizer, Zen, as she explained how to use a tiny hook-tool to turn a hank of sample hair into a dreadlock; accepted and drank a cup of tea; bonded with a Norwegian-Swedish couple over shared Nepali bus experiences; and was sent on my way with waves, hugs and wishes of smooth travels.

Impression: Nepalis on a Plane

They piled onto the plan like it was a bus: bags tossed everywhere, seat assignments ignored, conversations light and jovial and anticipatory. The flight attendants – a gentle giant of a soft-spoken guy, and a hard-ass lady who seemed likely to punch someone in the face at any moment – were carefully explaining to every non-Western passenger where their seat was and what to do with their luggage. It was mostly to no avail. A young Nepali guy looked at his ticket as he stood next to my seat, glanced around with a frown, shrugged, and sat in the row behind me. I overheard him reciting, “Seat 4C, 4C, 4C,” just like the flight attendant had told him. He was in 5C. I showed him where the numbers were posted and he quickly changed seats. I have no idea if he was confused or just trying to sit next to his friend.

Later, I watched as the flight attendants explained using the toilet to two young toughs, who bobbed their heads from side to side doubtfully in response and took turns. Afterwards, I noticed the flight attendant peer into the toilet cubby, flush, shake his head and then return to the aisle to direct people.

Before the plane took off, there was a mass rush to the front of the plane as the Nepali passengers noticed empty seats. The female flight attendant didn’t pop anyone on the nose, but seemed barely to suppress the urge as she pointed imperiously back to their seats.

And at the Dubai airport, where most of the Nepali’s seemed to be transferring to a new flight, like me, it took over an hour for them to file, one by one, through the medal detector. The shrill beeeep of the machine went off during the entire time as each one was directed, by mime, to remove his belt or sunglasses or other medal objects from his person.

It must be hard to fly for the very first time as an adult!

Impression: Dubai Airport

While I’d like to say that it never even crossed my mind, it wouldn’t be true. I was well aware when we landed, and as I wandered the transit waiting area amongst veiled women and turbaned men, that it was September 11; that I was an American in an Arab country; and that my passport had Israeli stamps in it. The first didn’t make me nervouse; the second made me more aware of my surroundings; and the last factor had me nervously shifting my weight as the airline employee typed away to issue my onward ticket.

The thing is, it was an airport experience like any other. The air conditioning was a bit too strong, perhaps, and the lights far too bright, and the seats way too uncomfortable. But as people milled about, or slept, or stared sleepily at tv screens, computers or books, my most persistent emotion wasn’t fear, or suspicion, or self-preservation. It was curiosity. I watched three women, only their hands and eyes visible outside their black coverings, as they shooed children away to play, chattered with each other, and tried to get comfortable. A white robed man with an Arab head-dressing strolled along, deep in discussion with a similarly dressed friend. There were all degrees of dress amongst both men and women, leaning towards the conservative trend for both sexes and all ages.

I was curious. If it weren’t four in the morning and my brain wasn’t grinding to a slow but inevitable halt, I would have liked to try striking up a conversation with one of these people I know so little about. While eating a snack, I shared a table with a woman and her infant, who snored away blissfully. We didn’t speak each other’s languages, but smiled tentatively and made mimed offers to share our food, both declining but still smiling.

Half of my layover of eight hours in Dubai was spent sleeping (or trying to sleep). The other half had me watching, groggily, the rhythms of a different culture and lifestyle. I hope someday to go back to the UAE and learn, first-hand, about this fascinating place and it's people.

--Z