I arrived in Kathmandu, Nepal, late at night, dazed and exhausted after a journey of several days and many delays. Propelled by a human wave toward the immigration counters, I was then spit out into the baggage claim area where an ancient carousel slowly emptied with no sign of my belongings. Suddenly there was an unintelligible announcement and a mass movement to another conveyor where, miraculously, my duffel tumbled down the chute and onto the sputtering belt. I pushed into a jumble of men to retrieve it. There were very few women at all on my flight from Abu Dhabi and there were certainly no women traveling alone; for one of the first times in my life, I felt a bit intimidated as I heaved my bag onto my back and prepared to leave the hectic airport.
Walking as purposefully as possible out into the dark, I was immediately swarmed by dozens of men trying to take my bags and put me into their cars. I kept shaking my head NO and searching for the driver I’d arranged to pick me up, but the airport police insisted that I move on, rushing me past all the men with signs. I never saw my driver and he did not identify me – how, I don’t know; I’m sure I was the only foreign-looking single female in the entire airport. Finally, after wandering a shadowy parking lot with cars backing up and jerking forward chaotically, I defied the traffic police and went back through the line of people with signs and found my driver.
The airport had been a mere warm-up; the ride into town was my true baptism into the reality of Kathmandu. I’d heard the city was dirty, but it was the filthiest place I’d ever seen. Apocalyptic was the word – all rubble and dust and smoky haze in the air, dogs roaming everywhere, garbage strewn everywhere, dogs eating garbage everywhere.
Electric lines converged in snarly tangles overhead, and the acrid smoke of small fires singed my throat while their eerie light cast a sickly orange glow over the wasteland. The car jounced and rattled over potholes on the good streets; on the bad ones there was no pavement, potholed or otherwise, to speak of. Staggering into my lodging half an hour later, I located my nearly subterranean room with a rock hard bed, badly stained carpet, dribbles of water from a calcified faucet, and a powerful aroma of mildew.
Morning and daylight did not illuminate any formerly unseen beauty; in fact, a slight feeling of jet-lagged queasiness quickly grew to full-fledged nausea. The city broke over me like a rogue wave; every time I came up for air, another sound or smell or sight seemed to knock me to the ground. I jumped out of my skin every time a noisy motorcycle swerved past me, and I shrank to avoid touching their hot exhaust pipes as they brushed against my bare legs. Gaps in the gridlocked human mass revealed cow flanks and tails, swaying sassily like Hindu royalty down their red (or asphalt) carpets.
Today – a special Hindu slaughter day – blood pooled in small rivers in the streets as goats were led bleating to their sacrificial deaths. Dusty simians at Swayambhunath, the monkey temple, scratched lewdly at their private parts as we walked up the stairs, and the view from the top was a jumble of poorly constructed buildings as far as the eye could see in the smog-infested valley below.
As the afternoon faded, I became wholly unable to escape the smells and sights of animals, garbage, and pollution. I had met the first city on earth that I might truly hate.
***
Two weeks later, I returned to Kathmandu after a blissful and invigorating trek in the Himalaya. After weeks of unheated mountain lodges and cold showers, the same Kathmandu hotel suddenly seemed like a retreat, my first surprise. I lucked into a clean room on the top floor with a view out over a pond, gardens, and a Hitchcockian gathering of pigeons and crows each afternoon.
On the streets, the assault of exhaust, beasts and their dung, the incessant horn honking, and tightly-packed crowds were still there, but I found myself embracing the bedlam this time around, surrendering to the entropy of Kathmandu. Even the smells seemed tamer; in Thamel, pot smoke wafted and mixed with saffron and cumin and garam masala. The Asan Tole market cows bumped my legs, but this time my nose perceived sweet hay over dung. Suddenly and inexplicably, I found myself beguiled instead of repulsed.
With my fellow trekkers, I settled into tiny cafes for momos and Ghorka beers. We roamed Little Tibet, where the largest stupa in the world sits like a pacific Buddha in a bustling square of Tibetan shops, homes, and restaurants. Visibly cleaner, quieter, and calmer than any other part of Kathmandu, Little Tibet was literally a breath of fresh air. Even a morning at Pashupatinath, a temple and series of cremation sites along the Bagmati River, could not faze me now. It was still disturbing to watch as bodies burned on their pyres on the ghats, the ashes swept into the holy river that flows from the Ganges, and to see the super-weird sadhus, holy men with long white beards and painted a ghostly white color. The sadhus seemed lost in some higher mental realm; in fact, many of them were high in a more worldly way – pretty much stoned according to our local guides – and I smiled at their lassitude rather than shrinking from their freakish appearance.
Kathmandu in my final two days was more than tolerable; it was fun! I accepted the disorder and wandered for hours out in the streets that were a human and animal mosh pit. My senses were still flooded, but they were no longer overwhelmed or shocked as they were in those first days here. Walking among people, cattle, dogs, and honking vehicles was becoming routine, and my newly serene attitude opened me up to more interactions with the local shopkeepers and vendors. One afternoon I settled in with a friend and an especially friendly jewelry seller for a cup of chai; he sold me more than I planned to buy (including the endless knot medallion I use as the gravatar for my blogs), and I remember that relaxing chat as one of the best memories of my time in Kathmandu.
On my final walk back to the hotel, I saw a sparking electrical box on a pole and just as I beat a hasty retreat to get behind a corner wall, the thing exploded and sent sparks and smoke throughout the entire block. A sign that it was time to leave the Danté-esque landscape of Kathmandu, I thought, but not enough to keep me from going back. I fell in love with that crazy city when I gave it a second chance, and I have every intention of returning.
***
Have you ever changed your tune on a place? (I could write another whole post on the hate-to-love transition I experienced with Lima, Peru!)
Click here to see other interpretations of Transitions.
Amy Sampson said:
Um, yeah… I don’t think I would have made that transition. LOL
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lexklein said:
Ya never know! Sometimes things surprise you!
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Amy Sampson said:
I dout it. I’m kind of a princess. lol
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konviktion said:
Reblogged this on vulvulaiya.
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badfish said:
This is simply a great reminder of how relative things are here on planet Earth. I don’t think I hated Katmandu, nor thought it was the most disgusting place I’d ever been (that would be Jakarta for me!!!), but I know exactly what you mean. And when I returned to Katmandu after a trip to Pokara, I liked it even more than when I first arrived. So maybe there is something to leaving, and returning? When was this? You were alone?!!
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lexklein said:
I think the first reaction was somewhat tainted by the late hour and the fact that I was feeling pretty vulnerable arriving there alone. Yes, I was alone the first and last days of my time in Nepal; I went for a trek on the Everest Base Camp trail but no one I knew would do it with me, so I met strangers there to do the hike as a group. I often do that, but it was just much more dramatic to be alone there and at that time of night to start out!
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badfish said:
Oh, right. You are jogging my memory…I also arrived very late, and am now remembering the chaos. My plane was late, and the hotel had just given my room away just before I arrived. You’ve got some nerve to travel alone. I’m glad I’m not a woman, scary enough being a fish.
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lexklein said:
Oh, also … I totally agree about how relative things are. I always say it has everything to do with expectations. I did not expect to land at night and I did not expect the city to be as chaotic as it was (despite reading that many times!), so I was shocked. Coming back, I expected it to be a shitshow, so when it wasn’t a total mess, I was pleasantly surprised and really let myself enjoy it!
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badfish said:
Exactly. And how big is the “knot” and is it hand carved, or lost wax?
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lexklein said:
I haven’t the foggiest idea how my medallion was made, but it’s about the size of a quarter. I’ve gotten superstitious about its power since I got it in 2012 and almost never leave the house without it around my neck!
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badfish said:
Oh…I pictured it much bigger in my mind. I did tell you I almost used one of those knots as my gravatar. I was amazed when I saw yours. And I can see why you’re attached to it, or it to you in such a powerful way.
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lexklein said:
Once again great minds think alike! 🙂
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badfish said:
great minds, indeed…you thinking of going back to Nepal?
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lexklein said:
Oh, I’d love to but who knows when? I want to go to Pokhara, do the Annapurna Circuit, and see the Terai, among other things. I’m kind of on a Hispanic kick these days – Colombia and Nicaragua coming up in the next few months – but I really want to get back to Asia very soon. How about you?
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badfish said:
I loved Pokhara…after my dismay in Katmandu. I would love to go to Colombia, but it seems scary, though I’ve lately read that it is now cool???
As for me…well, listen, I have to go off to The Maldives and live in one of those over-water bungalows for Xmas. I know, I know…but somebody’s gotta do it.
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LaVagabonde said:
I think there’s something about returning to the world after a trek in the wilderness that makes us more tolerant of noisy, filthy cities. I experienced something similar in Papua New Guinea. That photo of the cow made me laugh. S/he looks so awkward.
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lexklein said:
Returning from the wilderness and returning in general, I think! As I responded to Badfish, expectations often color my reactions as well. I really did not expect Kathmandu to be as bad as it was, so my late arrival and shock added to the negative feeling. Coming back, I DID expect it to be awful, so when anything was better than before, I not only tolerated it, I began to see its crazy, chaotic beauty. The cows were actually so sweet; they look confused half the time, but they seem to know they are loved!
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snowsomewhere said:
I really enjoyed reading this! Great story – and great relflexes on ducking away from that electricity box! I have mixed feelings about some places I’ve visited, and some places I just plain disliked, but I haven’t really experienced a transition like that – at least not yet! But I guess how you experience a place can really have a lot to do with the mood you’re in, your own energy levels at the time, and the people you spent time with there. By the way, there seem to be lots of read clothes on the people in the street photos. Is there some meaning behind that?
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snowsomewhere said:
autocorrect… I meant red clothes…
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lexklein said:
Thanks! So observant of you to notice all the red clothes … I just looked up Dashain, the Hindu festival they were observing in the days I was there to see if red apparel was a part of that. It does not seem like red in particular is required, but they do all buy new clothes for Dashain, and maybe red is a popular clothing color! I so agree on the effects one’s own mood and energy level have on perceptions; I was so exhausted by the time I arrived after days of travel that I was probably primed to hate any place!
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snowsomewhere said:
A good night’s sleep can do miracles 🙂
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abitofculture said:
I thought Bangkok was okay when I went there for the first time, but when I returned after a week in Cambodia I thought it was absolutely fantastic and so civilised. The thing I remember the most was the well tarmacked roads!
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lexklein said:
I could totally see that one! I haven’t been there (at the top of my list), but it’s easy to understand the difference in its appeal on a stand-alone versus a compared-to-Cambodia basis.
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Alison and Don said:
I so enjoyed reading this fabulous description, and of your changing perception of it. It reminded me of our first foray into India. The senses are assaulted, and there’s hardly any describing it. Now I would just expect it, and appreciate the vibrant energy and aliveness of it all. Quick thinking with the electrical box! I don’t think I’d have thought to get out of the way!
Alison
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lexklein said:
Thanks, Alison. In all your wanderings, there must be places that just bonk you over the head at the outset, but luckily you are always able to stick around long enough to let places grow on you. I try to do that, but with my shorter time availability right now, there are times I get a only a one-shot look at a place and might be tempted to judge it poorly. In spite of that, I think I’ve liked (in some way) almost anywhere I’ve ever been! (With the hissing and popping from that electrical box, I think you would have run! 🙂 )
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Alison and Don said:
I think I’ve liked everywhere I’ve been too, in one way or another.
A.
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gallivance.net said:
Lexie, you’ve done an excellent job of describing Kathmandu, and lots of other places in the world. Your tale of airport arrival is particularly well done, and reminiscent of many of my personal arrivals around the world. Places like Kathmandu are in my “in your face” category – Varanasi comes to mind as well – a total assault on every sense. But for me, I will always be grateful for Khartoum. It was our first overseas assignment and after a few weeks there, I realized that I could travel and get by anywhere. It was wonderful prep for chaotic, “earthy” places like Nepal. ~James
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lexklein said:
Thank you, James! I can only imagine some of the places you’ve arrived in and had to adjust to! On first arrival, these in-your-face, earthy places are such a jolt, but I really think that over time, many become favorites for the very reason that they are so different from our everyday existences. (Just went back and read your post about Khartoum – wow, that was really an adventure!)
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lisadorenfest said:
I think this is my favorite piece that you have ever written. True travel journalism. I certainly know that feeling of ‘transition’ and how my opinion of a place changes based on where I have arrived from. I am actually going through one of those ‘transitions’ now here in Sydney (has kind of kept me silent lately). I wonder what it would have felt like to arrive here from Chicago or NYC rather than from six months in the tropics. Probably would have seemed quaint and quiet instead of busy and somewhat overstimulating.
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lexklein said:
Wow – thank you! I’d been working on that piece for a long time and the “transition” prompt made me finally finish it up and get it posted. I am such a repeat traveler, and I often find my love for a place grows over time, but Kathmandu was an extreme example. I have been wondering about you ‘transitioning’ from sea to land, quiet to din, and (maybe?) deck to desk. Hope everything in Sydney is good even if a bit crazy!
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AnnaKristina said:
Interesting to read what you thought of Kathmandu. I loved the chaos but like you, my first few hours in Nepal were not pleasant and I feared that my trip through Tibet into Nepal was going to end on a bad note.
I haven’t written extensively about it, but I did mention it in an article I wrote on someone I met in Kathmandu. Have a read, if be interested to hear what you think of my initiation into Nepal!
Great post 🙂
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lexklein said:
I think you win in the I-might-be-in-danger category! Wow – that was an intense intro for sure! Thanks for sharing.
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AnnaKristina said:
Thanks for reading!
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James said:
This is fabulous, Lex. I am now reading this from a hotel room in Thamel and I can just imagine what you saw and experienced in vivid detail! Because we arrived from Calcutta, Bama and I had the opposite impression of Kathmandu. Yes it is dusty, but it strikes us as being a lot gentler, less chaotic, and cleaner. I think India has made us blasé to any filth or cows or crazy traffic.
That said, the baggage reclaim at the airport was utter pandemonium, especially with multiple flights coming in from India and everyone fighting over the same carousel. Even the ladies would push and shove their way to the very front where Bama was standing – people would just take up the tiniest sliver of space, whether it was real or imagined. Standing in the second row, I was pushed by a persistent granny and blocked by an old man who stood there like a stone barrier. Because they were speaking Hindi, I’m pretty sure those passengers were north Indians and not Nepalis!
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lexklein said:
When I saw your “like” a few minutes ago, I remembered you were in Nepal right now! I am actually jealous – I ended up loving Thamel by the end! A couple of places I really liked: Namaste Cafe (upstairs/rooftop place with the best momos), Fire & Ice (when you need some non-Asian food – great pizza and beer), Northfield Cafe just for its garden setting (food was so-so) and Dechenling Garden of Joy for a more upscale meal. Hope you are enjoying Kathmandu; I can’t wait to read about everything you guys do in Nepal!
I can totally see your opposite reaction; our perceptions are so linked to where we’ve come from in every sense. (And I loved your description of that baggage claim scene. 🙂 )
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James said:
Thamel surprised me too – I was expecting something on par with Khao San Road (which I happily avoided while in Bangkok) but Bama says Thamel is much, much nicer. It may have to do with the kind of travellers who come here… I find trekkers and mountaineers a lot more respectful than those who go to Thailand for a no-holds-barred, booze-fuelled beach holiday.
And thanks for the recommendations! We came close to eating at Fire & Ice the other day but decided on Gaia – our favourite place – because it is just down the street from the hotel, has generous portions, fast service and a good mix of Nepalese and non-Asian dishes on the menu. The only downside is that it doesn’t serve momos, so we might just head to Namaste Cafe for lunch! 🙂
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darwinontherocks said:
This was a great post to read. I felt I was there with you, I love how you managed to transcribe your feelings in this text. I agree with the others, it’s easier to cope with big city when you come back from the jungle/wilderness.
I’ve never had that experience before ! Usually I don’t really change my mind about a place.
I’ve missed you ! 🙂
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lexklein said:
Once again, it’s great to have you back in the blogging world! Thanks for your nice comments on the post; it was fun to relive my introduction to Kathmandu by trying to get it down in writing. It’s funny you’ve never had that experience! I feel like I often change my mind about a place – usually in a positive direction, but very occasionally I will initially like a place and then come to find it less attractive or interesting.
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Hanne T. Fisker said:
Such great read. It certainly brought memories back from my time in Nepal. After a trek in the Himalayas I swore never to set foot there again. Two months later I was back and kept extending my flight and stayed for 3 months more… 😉
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lexklein said:
Thanks! It’s surprisingly addictive, isn’t it?! I still dream of my weeks in the Himalaya and Kathmandu. Where were you for the three months and what were you doing? (I’m fascinated – not trying to be nosy!)
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Hanne T. Fisker said:
It sure is! First month I hiked the Annapurna Circuit. Then when I returned I hiked Annapurna Basecamp, Langtang and many smaller ones I don’t recall the name of. Spend quite a while in Kathmandu too, did some brown water rafting and also went South to a national park, I think it was called Chitwan. There was a lot of floods on my return, water coming in the bus as it was driving through some pretty rough roads 🙂 I just realised, it was all in all four months I spend there… it’s a while ago, can imagine Kathmandu has changed a lot, however from your photographs it looks much the same… 🙂
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lexklein said:
So cool – I envy your time there! I will go back some day, I’m sure.
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Hanne T. Fisker said:
Will love to hear about it if you do. I always thought I would go back, but somehow I keep being pulled other places and directions… that’s what wandering feet do, isn’t it?! They seem to have their own compass rose full of surprises 🙂
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