Chapter Six: Arrivals In The Mountain Kingdoms

After a longer than expected delay aboard another abysmal flying coffin, we sailed the skies over the Himalayas and descended down into the city of Kathmandu. Unfortunately for us, this meant that our flight was two hours delayed and so we arrived in the dead of night instead of the intended light of the afternoon. As a result, there were no mountain vistas to behold out of the side windows, only the blackness and occasional spattering of lights. Regardless, we arrived safely in one of the most uneasy and treacherous landing strips in the world.

Making our way to the customs area, there was a sheer and obvious difference between the two country’s airports. Walking the gantry to the main building there were copious greeting signs and well wishes mixed in with a cocktail of serene Buddhist quotes and a welcoming sense of tranquility and equilibrium that was far away from the tense and chaotic atmosphere of Bangladesh. Arriving at the immigration hall, various documents were signed and our brains farted out - in classic short term memory loss fashion - that passport photographs were indeed required to be produced for entry. These photographs were still on the bedside table back home, thousands of kilometers away. I had been told by various sources that the local photo booth racket inside of the airport would charge an exorbitant amount to produce photos on the spot. And really, why wouldn't they? You can't enter without a photo . . . and there's only one guy doing them. The definition of a racket.

Not being in possession of any local currency it was a trip to the money changer on the other side of the room where it seemed logical to with draw a couple of hundred dollar bills since there would still need to be hotels and taxes to pay and taxis to obtain. With that done, it was back to the photo booth for said mug shots. After sixteen hours of travel mixed between trains and rickshaws, two separate flights with hours spent in transit limbo on a stomach filled with only Pringles and half a sandwich and little to no sleep, the photos were less than glamorous but would no doubt do the trick. And at a price of 50 c, who could argue? Unfortunately being such a cheap price versus the wads of cash just exchanged, we had to return back to the money changer to break down this phenomenal amount of currency into smaller denominations that would be accepted by our photographer. Eurgh.

Once through the customs checkpoints, we descended the stairs to what was presumed to be the baggage area to reacquaint ourselves with our belongings and proceed to the land of mystics and spirituality. At the bottom of these stairs, the over-tired expression and sheer desire for sleep must have been quite evident on our blank and dead-eyed faces as a smiling worker beckoned over and queried if we would require a trolley for our bags. Not wanting to carry what was the equivalent of a bag of cement on my back I vaguely shrugged in indifference and he rushed into action. He pulled our bags onto the trolley and rushed his way through to the exits. Sarah, in her infinite wisdom, pleaded with me to tell him to stop and say no, and whilst agreeing with her, in my exhausted and semi-conscious state, I could not catch up with the man to reason nor had the energy to yell across the hall. By the time we met back up, he was outside the terminal and discussing sly plans with taxi drivers. Evidently such help is not without its costs and as the locals surrounded us and started probing us with a barrage of questions and passively aggressively informing us that compensation for his helpfulness was in the form of ten dollars. Whilst fatigue and general misanthropy had at this point truly sapped away the energy and politeness that inhibited any of my being, all I wanted was to be left alone for a time to collect my thoughts. Waving off the sway of taxi drivers bidding for our attention, we thusly scurried to the vacant area to the side of the gates to sit down and consume cigarettes and plot our next course.

A hotel had been booked for the night which, in theory, was the closest to the airport. The idea was to check-in, sleep, check-out and then be on our way into the centre of town. After our moment of chain smoking in the crisp mountain air in a direct attempt to recharge the bodily equilibrium of nicotine, we re-adjusted and felt our sense of self restore and mild levels of socialization recover. I begrudgingly made my way back to the taxi ranks and a price was eventually agreed to take us to our hotel. Half way down the exit road of the airport, our trusted driver stopped the car on the side of the road and made some phone calls to query the exact location of our hotel. It seems that assurances of supreme knowledge no more than a minute before had been made up as he went along and with questionable expert advice over the phone we were on our way again. Approximately two hundred meters. To the hotel directly opposite the airport entry. We literally could have walked there, even in our most haggard of states. With our ten dollars pre-paid and offers of hash politely declined, we alighted, removed our bags and made our way to the entrance. Regardless of being the victim of the fresh fish tourist scams, I was glad to be at the hotel and more than keen to just find refuge in sleep.

Greeted with friendly, warm smiles at the front desk, we were quickly checked in and brought to our room on one of the upper floors to be left to our own devices. The room itself was very clean, if not slightly small, with a small TV on one side and a double bed on the other. Whilst I was unconcerned with our lodgings my traveling scoundrel had reservations. Being one that shies away from human touch and any sense of closeness, mixed with the fact that she had no romantic inclinations towards myself in the way one that is stoically asexual does, she had concerns with sharing a bed. Let me backtrack a little here.

Sarah and myself had become friends nearly fifteen years earlier while we were back in high school. We attended rival schools and had met in conjunction through mutual friends and the love of trolling Christian forums on the internet. We had spent many of these years smoking cannabis in primary school parks and parking lots as well as eating mixtures of drugs at illicit raves in warehouses scattered around Perth. Whilst I always had a soft spot for this delinquent hood rat, during these years she had been spoken for and our relationship remained platonic. Being a couple of years older, I finished school first and we lost touch as our lives went in different directions. It disappeared completely as a result of a combination of many years without having the Internet and both of us being in intense, long-term and time consuming relationships. It was not until recently that our friendship had rekindled and we had started spending time with each other as we both began to emerge from some dark times in our lives. Whilst we would spend many hours a week talking to each other over new technologies, we had physically spent an entirely small amount of time together on the whole. But still, this illustrious she beast from my past had agreed to come with me on this adventure into the unknown, which would also be her first trip away from home soil. As we were both naturally introverted with elements of misanthropic anti-social and schizoid behaviours, neither of us had in reality spent too much time with anyone and the expectations of fiery outbursts and violent confrontations were high. However, this was not to be the case, our mind sets seemed to complement each other and were somewhat tolerant of each other's quirks, to the point that I was finding her eccentricities to be a calming influence and had reinvigorated emotional responses that had long since been dormant. While my affections for this strange creature seemed to increase the more time that we spent together, it had however been made well known that such things were not reciprocated and it would be a fools errand . . . but I am a glutton for punishment.

At any rate, it was agreed that a celebratory drink of multiple scotches was in order to commemorate our escape from the wild lands of Bangladesh, the survival of suspect aeroplanes and our triumphant arrival to the mountain kingdoms. This mission would, of course, entail that I would be the one required to venture the unknown blackened streets to find suitable mixers for this nourishment. As I exited the hotel, I queried the front desk and door security as to where such items could be purchased and was directed down the street. There was a chill in the air, which was unsurprisingly due to the fact that we were in the high mountains at night in the northern hemisphere in December. It was vastly different to the warm humidity of the Bangladesh lowlands but still, shorts, thongs and t shirt were the order of the day.

I ventured outside and surveyed the scene. The shops directly surrounding the hotel were blacked out, although there was a hive of activity in the streets. There were multiple small hatchback type cars, rickshaws mixed amongst motorbikes and large tourist buses scooting around the roads, whilst the local population huddled in small groups around small roadside fires. Walking the path to the left of the hotel, I passed a cow tied up to a large sign denoting the presence of our hotel as well as a military jeep with driver and passenger sound asleep. Continuing my walk and finding nothing but closed shops, I double-backed to the hotel and found that the restaurant inside the building was still open and I was able to purchase a single cola for our refreshment.

Upon returning to the room the duty free scotches were brought out from their bags and given their due respect as the only English-speaking program on television provided background entertainment. Funnily enough, ‘The Last House On The Left’ - a movie about a bunch of teenagers being raped and the violent retribution by their family. Comforting viewing. As would be the tradition for the majority of the trip, once we were to share a bed, I fell fast asleep on my side whilst Sarah, in her insomnia, stayed up writing e-mails and watching movies to some godforsaken hour of the early morning. At some point, the she-beast eventually must have fallen into a slumber, as we awoke on opposite sides to pangs of hunger. A complimentary breakfast was surely on the cards before we would venture our way over to our next designated hotel in the heart of Thamel.