k-k-k-kathmandu

18:02 15 September, Hotel Florid in Kathmandu

Before I get into this post, I would first like to draw your attention to the time stamp I have placed on this entry. While it is currently 18:02 (that's 6:02 PM) in Kathmandu, back home in New Hampshire, the sun is rising in the sky at 8:17 in the morning. At first glance, you might miss the oddity of the discrepancy, as we most often simply look at the numbers preceding the colon when evaluating discrepancies in global time. But here in Kathmandu, as with the rest of the country of Nepal, I am a puzzling 9 hours and 45 minutes ahead of Eastern Standard Time. There are a small smattering of countries in the world whose times are plus or minus Greenwich Mean Time by half hour factors (India and Newfoundland provide two stable examples, while Iran and Venezuela follow this system just to insulate themselves from the corrupting Western influence of a well-functioning system) but Nepal is the only place in the world that is off the standard by quarter hour factors. I have no explanation for this phenomenon, so I suppose I should instead carry on with the story of how I got here.

After boarding a fully-booked 747 in Dubai for the hour-long flight to Doha, Qatar, I mulled around the crowded terminal in what could generously be called a zombie-like state. I am not accustomed to long periods without sleep, and at the 26-hour point, I was only beginning to feel the affects. I knew that I was in trouble when I found myself starring with genuine interest at the flavor options available at a closed coffee shop. "Cinnamon-Vanilla," I thoughtfully mused, "what a fascinating combination of traditional flavors." Fortunately for my mental state, I happened upon an open coffee shop, where I purchased a large coffee for an unknown sum in whatever ridiculous denomination is employed by the country of Qatar (going by the regional standard, I'm guessing: "Qatari Shutaki'aki'aki'its".) Whatever the cost, it provided enough stimulation to move me through the boarding process and onto yet another fully-booked 747, which promised to take me out of the Middle East and into Kathmandu.

I was surprisingly alert, most likely caused by the massive reintroduction of caffeine into my primarily decaffeinated system, and spent the first half of my flight watching "Angles and Demons" (a fast-passed Dan Brown thriller with few redeeming qualities other than it role in further proving the saying: "the book was better"). Having reached the slightly predictable conclusion (Tom Hank's character turns out to be the reincarnation of Christ, sorry to ruin it for you) I hastily reprogrammed my console to show "State of Play". "State of Play" has the distinction of having the least descriptive title of any movie in history. The phrase "state of play" is not especially well-used in the English vernacular, but as far as I can surmise its connotation, the phrase has no real link to the plot of the film. This is unfortunate, as the film itself is quite brilliant. Russel Crowe, Ben Affleck, Rachel McAdams and Helen Mirren (credit due to imdb.com for those names) do an excellent job of portraying fascinating characters entangled in an engrossing plot. Therefore, it was with great disappointment that the film was cut short in the dramatic final minutes by the descent of our plane into Kathmandu International Airport.

Descending upon the verdant green of Nepal.

Leaving behind the plane as I make my way to passport control.

Not that I'm complaining. I was, after all, landing in Kathmandu, a city whose very name conjures up exotic images of the Orient. Speeding down winding streets in the back of a rickshaw, passed spice shops and cashmere merchants. Planning adventures up winding mountain passes that reach snow-capped peaks. Plowing through jungle growth on the back of an elephant, passed ancient temples and one-horned rhinos, the lurking presences of Bengal tigers never far off until you break out onto the rolling highland plains that peer down on India. This is why I have come to Nepal, and it has not disappointed.

A traditional Nepali meal, loaded down with more curry than my spice-averse pallet could handle.

Dessert: anise seeds and sugar crystals. Try using toothpicks as chopsticks to pick up something as small as rice grains sometime... it isn't easy.

I am spending my first four days in Kathmandu, planning out an adventure that will hopefully be very similar to the one described above. My hotel is a charmingly ramshackle four story abode that is exposed to the city's frequent brown-outs. There is, however, a Western-style toilet adjacent to the squat toilet that will become a norm (if not a luxury) once I leave Kathmandu; and with enough determination one can compel hot water to come out from the shower head. Shopping around for provisions, talking to trekkers and guides, and popping the first of my weekly anti-malarial pills (which will become a feature of my diet through December) has only added to my sense of excitement about the adventure to come. I will be spending most of this time away from the internet and unable to post blog entries, and for this you have my apologies but not my regrets.

The streets of modern Kathmandu.

This promises to be a wholly new chapter in my travels, and one that I have been looking forward to ever since I first considered the possibility of a trip abroad after my college graduation. It was, in fact, around this time last year - right before the collapse of Lehman Brothers and the ensuing economic crisis thrust my internship in Washington into overdrive - that I idly checked flight costs from BOS to KTM. I could not have guessed then that in one years time I would be writing this journal entry from the terrace of a budget hotel in Kathmandu, having come halfway around the world to get here, and with the other half still ahead. Now, however, is not the time for sentimentalism. It is time for sleep, where I can enjoy one of my few remaining nights with a mattress and four walls around me before setting off for adventure in the wilds of Nepal. I could not be more excited at that prospect.