Tyson Goes OutsideEverything outdoors and adventure!

Aug 29th Nepal Notes Part 1: Hard Landing in Kathmandu

I apologize for the delay posting stories of my big trip from 2023. I had initially written them into a book that alternated with unsent letters to my ex-wife/former travel partner. At the time it was therapeutic, but it would feel weird to share, especially online after this much time. This will obviously be a massive multi-part series and I am hoping to post a story a week if my editing schedule allows it. If you follow my Facebook page or subscribe through this website (right hand side if you’re reading on a computer) you will be among the first notified when I post a story. Otherwise, just check in once in a while. Comments and questions are encouraged. I hope you like the stories, I sure enjoyed making the memories.

Getting organized

Packing for a trip is always exciting, you have to imagine all the things you’ll get up to and all the things you’ll need. In this case I was packing for the cold climate of the Himalayas in northern Nepal. I needed a down jacket and base layers, mitts and toques. I also knew that central and southern Nepal are tropical so I needed shorts and t-shirts too. It was like packing for two trips. Everything you bring on a trip you have to be willing to wreck or lose because there’s always a chance of both. Many people opt to fill a huge backpack and then carry a small backpack on their front as well. I hate doing this, my goal is to make it all fit in one 58-liter pack and make it light enough to carry on a hike up the mountains. By the end, my wardrobe was lean. My only real luxuries were two books and my crocs. I packed and unpacked my bag over and over for a month, I made countless lists, I needed to feel prepared. Usually with two or more people you can reduce gear by sharing but this was a solo trip, my first real solo trip, I had to be self-sufficient. 

Hard Landing in Kathmandu

My flight left Edmonton at 8pm on a Sunday. I had been up all night with anxiety and excitement. I first flew to Vancouver, then to Hong Kong, then to Kathmandu. Between flights and layovers, it took 40 hours. Unfortunately, I was unable to sleep during any of the flights or waiting in-between, resulting in me being awake for close to 50 hours. On the last flight, the airline food placed in front of me started an emotional unraveling. I was sleep deprived, scared, and full of self doubt. My food was some form of curried chicken which was just greasy chicken cubes in green spicy sauce. I simply could not eat it due to the heat. I forced down some of the rice which was also, somehow, spicy and immediately I felt unwell. It was at this point that I started to feel very much in over my head. Make no mistake, I was running away, and now I was questioning my sanity and my resolve. I sat in the cramped seat, stomach gurgling, holding back tears, trying to calm myself down. This was quicksand and I knew it, I needed to relax, because if I panicked, if I squirmed , I would sink, and there was no one to save me. I kept together and the plane landed, I now had to navigate the customs website on my phone, I felt as though I had spent the evening drinking. I struggled to think straight and the fluorescent lights of the airport filled my eyes with sand. With squinted eyes, I did my best and was able to get my entry Visa and get through, being a Canadian tends to make travel smoother. It was midnight local time and raining. I hopped into a taxi and told him I wanted to go to Planet Nomad Hostel. He knew where the neighborhood, Thamel, was but was unfamiliar with the hostel and, in Nepal, addresses mean nothing. He couldn’t find it on his phone so I used my offline mapping app to find the hostel that I remember being next door. We swerved through the crowded streets and around the piles of rubble. It was becoming clear to me that Nepal was even more of a developing nation than anywhere in South America I had been. The driver was also doing his best to sell me on anything he could think of: drugs, alcohol, a hiking guide, “a party”, you name it. It was the first of many many times I would be offered the sale of drugs in Nepal. As a rule, about every 50m someone in Nepal would ask me if I smoked hash or would simply look at me and say “smoke?” while miming smoking a joint. I declined the driver’s offers and he dropped me off at the end of an alleyway assuring me that Nepal was very safe and I could walk the last few minutes from here. Nepal is safe, but as a rule, I don’t like walking down alleyways in the dark while it’s raining, especially when both sides of the alley are lined with tall brick walls with barbed wire at the top. This tells me locals take security seriously and so should I. I wasn’t in a place to argue and asking him to walk me seemed like it would increase the danger. As I paid, he really pushed for me to tip him in either Canadian or American currency, I wasn’t about to hand him a $20 in the mood I was in. I paid and tipped in Rupees and slowly got out of the cab, hoping for the best. As I walked down the alley, I remembered vividly, the nearly $2000 I had in my backpack. Before the trip I was told ATMs were rare and unreliable. Every try walking like you’re not carrying a lot of money?

Without interruption, I made the walk to my hostel which, online, boasted “24-hour reception” only to find that was a lie, or perhaps a translation error. The place was closed up, and locked up. There were some people at the hostel next door, who let me in by simply reaching through an open window beside the door of my hostel and opening the latch. Not a confidence inspiring move. I walked in to find a dusty desk, water damaged books, and a fish tank half empty. There was a sign saying “reception on 5^th floor”. I lugged my way up the stairs and found nothing on each floor, just closed doors. Eventually I made it to the rooftop patio where two guests were sitting and smoking weed. They immediately offered me some in response to my problem. I had a bit of a chuckle that I had been in the country for an hour and had been offered drugs twice. None of us could figure out how to call the hostel phone number with our cell phones on Wi-Fi only. Eventually, one of the guys shot up and announced he just remembered that the owners live at the hostel and he knew which room. He ran off and shortly after, a lovely Nepali woman led me into my private room. It was a stuffy room with bunk beds and a little table by the door. The toilet and shower were shared. Each floor had a bank of toilets and 1 shower opposite the stairwell. Each floor had four rooms, I believe, two private and two dorms. 

I laid down on the hard mattress and all I could smell was the dingy stuffy bedding, it just smelled old, like it had been in a suitcase in a garage for a few years before being laid out on the bed. Likely a result of Kathmandu’s dusty and polluted air. My watch was still set to the time at home, 1pm Tuesday afternoon (Remember, I started Sunday). The time in Kathmandu was 12:45 am, Wednesday. My body was upside down with jet lag. I sat up and texted my friends, Troy and Adrian, on a group chat. I filled them in and they encouraged me to get some sleep. They were right, but first I just sat on the edge of the bed and cried. I was done, I was burnt out, and my stomach felt like it was full of molten glass. Had someone knocked on my door and told me there was a plane leaving for Canada in the next few hours, I would have probably been on it. 

Finding My Feet

The following morning, I had a single goal for myself, get a phone charger. Nepali electrical plugs seem to be any of three universal standards and all are loose, the charger I brought was intermittent at best. I looked at the map on my phone, checked how much local money I had, and took one small step out of the safety of the hostel. I was terrified to walk the narrow busy streets, people, carts, bikes, scooters, cars, and vans whipped by. It didn’t take me long to find a charger. It was a small victory, but I needed a win. That afternoon, I also took in a local site, The Garden of Dreams, a walled off garden, beautifully manicured, and nearly vacant. I now had to figure out food, nothing looked or smelled edible to me, so far I had a bowl of fruit for breakfast and supper was a “chicken sandwich” which was cold chicken in a bun. I met a girl, Rita, at the hostel and she was eating a noodle soup, she informed me it was called “Thukpa”. I noted it on my phone and it became a staple for me for the rest of my trip. That night, I stayed up late with guests at the hostel. I think everyone knew what it was like to be alone. I met a Russian man, who I suspected of being a draft dodger, not that I hold that against him. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to fight a politician’s wars. I also met Natalie, who would turn out to be someone who really changed the trajectory of my tip (and several future trips after this). We all sat on the rooftop smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. I gave Natalie a hard time as she had mentioned she was a nurse and I swear saw her smoking too, though she now denies it.

The next few days in Kathmandu were mostly just acclimatization to food, weather, and the city’s chaotic streets. Rita and I went to the monkey temple (Swayambhu Nath). It was a lot of stairs straight up in the blazing sun but it was definitely worth seeing. I had picked up a cough when I arrived and, after a few days, it wasn’t slowing, I picked up a pack of Indian made “De-Cold” and it seemed to help a little, but I still wasn’t 100%. I didn’t know Natalie well, but when I bumped into her in the stairwell, I asked her professional opinion on it. She said the doses were pretty conservative and it looked safe to her. It was a small gesture, but at the time it meant a lot to me. 

Nepali Bureaucracy

I wasn’t in a position to spend much time in Kathmandu as the Nepali government had brought about new rules requiring a hiking guide for the Annapurna circuit. The new laws took effect on April 1^st and I landed in Nepal on March 21^st. My plan was to get my permits and get onto the trail before the rules came into effect. Getting them required me to make the hour-long journey through the narrow, crowded, streets to the tourism board. I walked from my hostel in touristy Thamel selling prayer flags, handbags, and knock-off technical gear, through to the local markets selling pots and pans and foods I didn’t recognize. I waited my turn in the office, filled out my paperwork, and paid my fees. Sadly, I was one passport photo short of what the paperwork required. The man behind the counter politely walked me out the door, across the parking lot, and onto the street and casually pointed saying there was a photo shop that way somewhere. I had half an hour before the tourism office closed at 3pm. I speed walked the five blocks and finally stumbled into a cluttered business with pictures of cameras out front. I gestured and showed my few passport photos to the family of 6 all looking at me. They spoke no English and I spoke less Nepali. It’s funny, my rather primitive mind kept trying to revert to my minimal Spanish. My time in South America must have conditioned me to “if not English, try Spanish”. Spanish did not help the situation.  I wanted more passport photos, and they understood that, but instead of taking pictures they scanned my old one and printed me off six. They also had a bit of a laugh at my photo because in it I had a funny waxed moustache. I had grown it out for fun when working up north where moustaches were all we were allowed for facial hair. I ran back to the tourist office in the nick of time and received my TIMs card (Trekkers Information Management System). I was also fast talked into a ten-dollar map that I never looked at again, but still carried the rest of the trip. It now resides on my bookshelf, folded neatly under my national park maps. I was very thrilled with myself that I had survived dealing with a foreign government and its paperwork and red tape. Historically I have struggled with my own government’s systems. 

Making Friends

I came back to the Hostel and got to chatting with folks and it came up that Natalie was also going to do the Annapurna Circuit, but she would be a few days behind me. She wasn’t originally planning to come to Nepal on her trip and was somewhat unprepared. I offered to show her my maps and guide book. She strolled right into my room and made herself comfortable sitting on my bed and we went through what info I had. The conversation then turned to hiking gear and equipment. I am definitely a gear junkie and can easily drone on for hours. This turned into a full show and tell of my gear and an explanation of my preparations for the trip. It was strange to me to have an almost complete stranger this comfortable around me. It may sound odd to some but, I am a big guy and not one known for his handsome looks or smooth talking. To that point, I once had a wrong number video call my cell phone, see my face, say “EW! What the fuck?!” and hang up… I was at work, that’s how I looked out in the world. I think about that a lot. I grew up being told how statistically dangerous men are to women and how scared they are of us. It has always made me keep my distance from them for fear of scaring them or even making them uncomfortable. I have more than once, on a late-night walk home, crossed the street and taken a different route to avoid people thinking I am following them. Suddenly, here was this unfamiliar person, treating me like an equal instead of a monster or wild animal to be wary of. She just made herself at home in my space and seemed very comfortable doing so. I made sure to exchange numbers with her so I could give her tips on where it was good to stay on the trail since I would be days ahead of her. 

I decided I best get a sim card and get an actual phone plan. It was clear to me that my offline mapping application was not up to the task. The streets changed too fast in Kathmandu. I had missed my chance to get a sim card and phone plan in the airport and had been told that they take your fingerprints when you get a phone plan in Nepal. I found a travel agency that sold sim cards. I filled out some paperwork and saw there was a section to put my fingerprints. The salesman behind the desk said “you don’t need that. I can just take a picture” and promptly took a photo of the pad of my thumb. I think about that a lot since, I can’t imagine his phone camera had the quality for that idea to work. Surely it wouldn’t hold up in court, and what crime would I have to commit that my phone and my fingerprints were both involved?

The day before I left for Annapurna, I had my first date in a long time. I met with a local girl, Mamita, that I had met through Tinder. We went for tea. She was really nice, but it was clear within minutes that we came from very different worlds. My romantic intentions died quickly but I was so interested in talking to her about life in Nepal. She had moved from a small town and was pursuing a career as a news broadcaster, in Canada that’s a big deal, but she said there are so many news stations there, it’s more of a starting point. She shared her desire to go to school in either Europe or North America, I don’t think she was fishing but some small part of me worried she was only talking to me in hopes of getting into my country. We paid and went our separate ways. I was shocked how much cheaper tea was outside of the tourist side of town, about one third the price.