KATHMANDU, NEPAL
At 4:30 the next morning, I hauled my luggage the quarter-mile to the airport for my flight to KATHMANDU, with a 3 hour layover in Delhi. Arriving in Delhi, I finally figured out that I needed to go to the international terminal. This proved to be a challenge, but I had plenty of time, and I eventually figured it out. I had been checking the weather in KATHMANDU for weeks and was again nervous because the forecast showed rain, often 100%, every day.
In KATHMANDU, I retrieved my luggage and found my guide waiting with a sign from “Third Rock Adventures.” He placed a flower lei around my neck, took a photo of me, and introduced himself as Rishi. We loaded up the nicest car I had seen since leaving the US, a gleaming silver Jeep, and I got my first look at the sprawling, densely populated city of KATHMANDU with nearly all buildings being five stories tall or less, other than those around the airport.
I dropped my belongings off at the hotel “Yatri & Buddy,” finding the room more than adequate. Rishi met me in the lobby with a bag in hand with a special gift. It was a Third Rock Adventures hat and a T-shirt. Upon seeing the shirt, I remarked that it seemed a bit small, given the likelihood of it shrinking after washing. I decided to try it on to be sure. “A bit small,” I said, but Rishi assured me it was an XL, their largest size. With that settled, we made our way to their office to meet Naba, the owner, and settle my balance.
About a month before leaving home, my travel plans were quite vague. My only intention was to arrive in KATHMANDU and “wing it.” However, fate had other plans. I ran into a neighbor, Brian Kuntz, at Crandall Park nearby. Our acquaintance was brief, and I had even forgotten his name. Nevertheless, per his request I shared a condensed version of my previous trip to Tanzania and mentioned my upcoming journey to Nepal. To my surprise, Brian immediately exclaimed, “I went last year!” He inquired about my choice of a tour agent, and I confessed I hadn’t selected one yet. After some thought, he said, “Third Rock Adventures, contact Naba. He will take care of everything, whatever you want.”
Taking his advice to heart, I contacted Naba, discovering that he owned the business. Our WhatsApp correspondence was not only welcoming but also highly professional. Now, it was time to meet Naba in person. As we strolled through a charming restaurant on our way to his office, Naba spotted us and called us over to join his table, where he was entertaining some clients. To my surprise, the couple at the table was from Spain and Britain. They were a delightful pair, likely in their mid-30s. It felt unusual to be sitting at a table with mostly white people. The couple had just returned from an extended vacation, including a visit to BHUTAN. They raved about BHUTAN despite the less-than-ideal weather they had encountered. They shared breathtaking photos of Everest peeking through the clouds during their flight, and Naba promised to help me secure a seat with a view of Everest on my flight to BHUTAN. Naba was gracious but had to juggle his numerous phone calls and business responsibilities. This made my attendance advantageous to him as I helped occupy his clients. “Order more food and beer”, Naba kept calling out. And why not? I later learned that Naba owned the restaurant, the hotel, and 5 others!
As a wonderful host, Naba continued to encourage us to order more food and kept the cold beer flowing. I had been craving a green salad since leaving home but had been unable to find one. I even brought my own oil and vinegar dressing and biscuits to ease my homesickness. When I asked Naba about the possibility of a green salad, he informed me that it was not readily available in Nepal. Nonetheless, he had the waiter bring a plate of assorted vegetables with Russian dressing. I shared my story about bringing my dressing and biscuits from home, and Naba graciously invited me to join him for dinner the following night. He requested that I bring my dressing along for him to try. As it turned out, my salad concoction led to a free dinner at a fantastic restaurant with one of KATHMANDU’s influential figures.
After bidding farewell to the delightful couple, I took care of business at Naba’s office and eagerly anticipated our dinner the following evening. Returning to my hotel with Rishi, we agreed to meet in the lobby the following day at 10 AM to explore KATHMANDU. However, my circadian clock remained disrupted, and I found myself napping in the late afternoon, unable to sleep at night. In the wee hours of the morning, around 3 AM, I started scrolling through the limited English TV channels.
To my surprise, I stumbled upon a captivating sight: Prisoner #PO1135809, accompanied by a Trump mugshot. After catching up on the story, I turned off the TV and returned to Netflix on my iPad. Later, when I switched the TV back on, the Trump mugshot was EVERYWHERE – BBC, various European stations, Indian channels, and various Asian networks. Although I couldn’t understand the languages being spoken, it was evident that Prisoner #PO1135809 had made quite an impact worldwide, and I felt Trumps being a prisoner would be recognized world wide. His fellow cohorts would soon follow. This unexpected discovery marked the beginning of another great and eventful day.
I headed out on my own at 5:30 AM and witnessed KATHMANDU coming to life. Merchants were opening their doors, while children were heading to school. I was surprised to see so many hiking and tour guide businesses, but later learned that most wouldn’t open at all that day because we were in the monsoon season. Trash was everywhere, but city workers and the merchants were busy cleaning it up, as were the numerous stray dogs. Rickshaw and taxi drivers kept targeting me as the only white guy, repeatedly saying “Taxi” about every minute. The heat was off since it was safer and cooler here than in India, and that felt good.
I discovered two great places to meditate: a beautiful Hindu temple one block from my hotel and the sacred Monkey Temple that Rishi would take me to later that day. At 10 AM, I had my backpack filled with rain gear and met Rishi in the lobby. The first thing he asked me was, “Do you have rain gear?” I replied, “Yes, but we won’t need it.” The forecast shows rain every day, and Rishi looked at me curiously. Then I said sarcastically, “When you travel with me, it only rains when we are indoors.” We would be outdoors together for the next several days, with many of these days involving long hikes, carrying limited clothing, and in monsoon season getting wet seemed inevitable. He smirked, then smiled, and off we went. He asked if I wanted to walk, and I said yes, as I wanted to continue experiencing KATHMANDU on foot.
We walked through KATHMANDU for about two hours that morning, giving me an opportunity to ask questions about some of the things I had observed earlier. Similar to India, cattle roamed freely, with cows being considered sacred and protected. We passed a stand where I saw red meat, so I asked Rishi if it was acceptable to sell beef here. His answer was “Water buffalo.” I guess that’s fair game.
It took about 45 minutes to get to the sacred Monkey Temple, which had both Buddhist and Hindu temples. These faiths ruled here in Nepal, unlike India, which also has a fairly large Muslim population. Plenty of monkeys resided there, as it was surrounded by jungle, and people fed the monkeys, even though signs said not to. While the Monkey Temple was a unique and fulfilling place to meditate, the smell of incense was sometimes overpowered by the smell of the monkeys! One of the highest points in KATHMANDU, this was a great place to overlook this nearly 2000-year-old city.
After our visit, Rishi asked what I wanted to do next, and I told him he should take the rest of the day off unless he would allow me to treat him to lunch. He agreed and took me to a nice Tibetan restaurant that was quite good and inexpensive. As we walked back, he told me that KATHMANDU was in the process of upgrading masses of jumbled up and tangled wires that dominated poles and buildings everywhere. Everything would be underground. It appeared that with COVID behind us, the tourist trade was again boosting the city’s economy, and things were somewhat modernizing. We got back to my hotel, and it never rained.
Rishi then asked if it was a good time to go over my gear for our big Trek to the HIMALAYAS. I agreed, and we went to my room. I was ready. Everything was laid out in anticipation of placing each item into one of three piles: one to stay in the hotel, one to go in my duffel bag that the porter would carry, and one for my backpack. As I held each item up, Rishi would either say, “Need” or “No need.” If he said “Need,” we decided whether I would carry it or the porter. Anytime I picked up rain gear, Rishi said “Need.” I would say, “Don’t need… but just in case,” and he would chuckle. I didn’t mind carrying some weight, and when we were done, my pack was the same weight as the porter’s duffel. With plenty of room left in the duffel, Rishi asked me if it was okay for the porter to put his stuff in with mine. I said sure. I wrapped any clothing or anything that shouldn’t get wet in a double plastic bag, and the task was complete.
Checking the weather was a constant thing for me, and it always seemed threatening because it called for rain. I remained amazed by how truly fortunate I had been in the monsoon season in India. Now, planning to hike in the foothills of the most spectacular mountain range in the world, getting rained on was not the only issue. The sky had been covered in clouds since leaving New York. Would I get to SEE the Himalayan Mountains?
I met with Rishi in the lobby of my hotel, and he walked me to Naba’s restaurant for our 6:00 dinner. Though I wasn’t wearing it, Naba commented that maybe the t-shirt he had given me might be too small; Rishi must have said something. I agreed and said it’s just a bit small, and it will likely shrink. He said that it wouldn’t shrink as “It is of very good quality,” but he smiled and said, “It’s an XL but a Nepali XL. I will see if I can get you a XXL.” That sounded ridiculous because I never even fit into the XLs back home.
Rich Citro Adventures 