Katman-Who?

We have close friends who will be visiting Nepal next January. They were just saying that they'd like to "pick my brain" since I travelled there nine years ago. Well, I do have serious thoughts as well as published travel essays and articles I could share. But what follows is the unedited truth about a journey to that country!


KATMAN-WHO?


One afternoon in the foothills of Nepal, a sign beckoned to me from half a mile away: “HOT SOUR-FIFTEEN RUPEES”. (Hot shower-about a quarter.) I hadn’t washed in five days and therefore scrambled as fast as I could, after slinging a sweaty tee shirt around my neck to use for a towel. It turned out that a Tibetan family were the proud owners of a solar powered shower. After climbing inside and removing my clothing, I was amazed to find the grandma hopping in with me. She gestured to the water spigot, evidently just wanting to check the temperature. “Did she scrub your back?” My daughter later inquired. “That’s the best part!”

When I told a friend that I was headed for Katmandu, he responded “Katman-who?”. But most people in my offbeat university town knew where I was going. After alI, I have neighbors who’ve escaped avalanches in the Himalayas. They know that Katmandu is Nepal’s capitol city where cows meander unscathed along the main boulevards, because they might be the reincarnation of someone’s ancestors. Crossing the street means dodging water buffalo, stray dogs and “tempos” ( tiny taxis which are boxes containing a bench and a driver’s seat, all on three wheels). During our stay, we learned to form a human chain and run.

My husband, David, and I were in Nepal with our twelve year-old son, Jason, visiting our daughter Jess who was studying abroad. Do you remember when abroad meant theater in London or discos in Paris? Now it’s often Botswana or Bhutan.
Although the plane fare feels like an investment in a small business, the cost of living is cheap. Neither dining on rice twice a day nor mud hut accommodations rate five stars in the Michelin guide.

As we waited on the tarmac at Tribhuvan International Airport in Katmandu, David leaned over and whispered: “ The only way we’d have to go further to see Jess would be if she becomes an astronaut and we have to shuttle to the moon.” We had flown west from Boston sleeping in San Francisco, refueling in Tokyo, spending a night in Singapore, and a brief stopover in Bangkok.

Inside the Katmandu terminal, it took us an hour to find the right visa line because all the signs were in Nepali. As I peered around furtively trying to figure out where to go, the heavy set woman behind me dressed in “kurta salwa”, the native costume of a tunic over wide legged pants, stared at me with a fixed gaze. I pulled out my pocket mirror to check for airline lettuce left between my teeth or a pimple sprouting on my chin. Jess eventually told me that it’s culturally correct for Nepali people to stare, and she herself had gotten into it. What a relief to lose all pretense at sophistication and freely ogle and gawk!

Jason was wearing his hair long at the time, but Nepali boys are close-cropped. People immediately surrounded my son and inquired: “Kati?”. (Is it a girl?) Fortunately he’s good-natured. Talk about the complexities of a preteen grappling with his sexual identity.

Our daughter was impressed when she saw her family checking into a hotel with flush toilets and purified water. She was used to hovering over holes in the floor and putting iodine tablets in her water if she couldn’t readily boil it. Our indigenous experience was yet to come. David had read up on trekking beforehand. Fortified by memories of his once nubile wife as a nineteen year-old bride camping and hiking her way through Nova Scotia, he couldn’t wait to set out on foot in the Annapurna Sanctuary.

Because roads are scarce in rural Nepal, David was certain that a trek was the only way to absorb the scenery and village culture. He hadn’t factored in my forty something body with its expiring knee parts. At one point, we walked up one thousand stone steps. Our ascent was the equivalent of hiking Mt. Washington in a day, yet we were reaching an altitude of ten thousand feet.

The elderly Nepalis and Tibetans skipping along in rubber thongs demoralized me until I saw one older man being transported in a basket secured on a porter’s back. “ How do I order one of those?” I asked our guide, Lakpa. He spoke no English but smiled a lot as he balanced my carry-on suitcase above his shoulder, while hovering at my elbow, ready to grab me if I started to slip.

David, Jason and I had two tents each night, but Jason wouldn’t stay alone. The second honeymoon wasn’t to be, but who could blame him? Even I lay awake listening to yaks yowling in the distance, and elbowing David each time I needed to venture out to the facilities. The three of us slept lined up in a two-person pup tent, with David in the center since that way he had the most length for his nearly six-foot frame. Having no room to stretch, he ached each morning when Lakpa knocked on our tent pole with hot tea.

Our campsite always included a “charpi”, a gap in the ground toilet surrounded by a flapping canvas tent. Foolish me had thought that we had packed our headlamps for night reading. In fact, we needed them in the “charpi” for delicately balancing ourselves after the sun went down. As for all those guidebooks suggesting that women trek in skirts instead of shorts out of respect for the Nepali culture where women cover their legs, I’d say skirts make sense for easier squatting.

After a particularly nasty “charpi” experience in the village of Ghorepani where strangers had clearly missed their shot, I spent the next day complaining. That evening when we came to the town of Tikedhunga, Lakpa pointed to what looked like a real outhouse with four walls. Inside were a roll of tissue, a waste bin, and a sparkling porcelain hole in the ground. Finding toilet tissue was in itself, a novelty. Using my little metal can filled with water, I had already become adept at what I fondly termed: “splashing and dashing”.

“For you, Madam...good one!” Lakpa grinned happily, while motioning in the direction of our “charpi” of the night. I would have hugged him were it not for the Nepali taboo against male/female affection. Later as I lowered myself over that shiny porcelain space, it almost seemed like home.


If You Decide To Go:
1) Our travel arrangements were handled by Yeti Travel, located in Durbar Marg, Katmandu. Other possibilities in Durbar Marg are Adventure Travel Nepal and Everest Express. Yeti Travel contracted our trek with the Annapurna Trekking Company. Among the myriad of trekking company options are International Trekkers and Lama Excursions. There are lodging and meal options to fit every budget.
2) Numerous carriers fly to Katmandu, but Thai International is regarded as the most reliable. With Royal Nepal Airlines, we experienced delays of up to twelve hours.