Gnima (pronounced Neema) greets us in the hotel lobby with his customary “namaste” with palms pressed and a slight bow. We like Gnima—he is gentle and quiet. And, as we eventually find out, very smart and not particularly assertive. We pile into a rickety taxi with our duffles packed (no more that 15 kg each please) piled on top and head for the domestic airport. We are excited with anticipation at finally making it to the mountains and get a move on. Like Kathmandu traffic, the domestic airport is a scene of chaos. It is packed and noisy with people sitting on the floor or on their luggage, maneuvering for position when an airline rep shows up at the oversized lemonade stands that are airline counters. We shove our way through security to find that flights have been delayed due to weather. Ok, fine. All dressed up and no place to trek, we sit, as Gnima encourages us to do, and wait.
The Kathamandu domestic airport is great for people watching. The room is full of native travelers and foreign trekkers, piles of luggage and cups of milk tea. Birds roost in the rafters and florescent light fixtures and fly about the room. Women seem to be dressed in their finest saris for their journey. Bright reds and yellows, lavenders and greens, pinks and oranges. Two small, young Nepali boys find Chris of interest —being a muscly black man I suppose — as he peruses his “Birds of Nepal” book. They happily bring us cookies and chocolate and giggle off across the room. Too cute for words. But finally, sadly we are sent home early with the rest of the disappointed trekkers. All flights are cancelled for the day and we make our way back to the Annapurna.
Durbar Square is a medieval area of more beautiful and ornate palaces and temples. Since we have an unexpected afternoon, Chris and I have checked the map to find a seemingly easy route to this destination and venture out. By map, a street crosses at an angle and ends up at the entrance to the square. But we discover that our angled street is the shopping and social center of Kathmandu. Pashmina scarves to copper cookware to flip flops are on sale. Sidewalks are piled with unidentifiable clothing items being sold at a frenzied bargain. Being a single lane wide the street is wall to wall with people. Not just people but motorcycles and cars as well all jockeying to get ahead. And lets not forget the incessant honking. We are overwhelmed but keep moving forward, flowing with the slow steady, noisy stream. We squeeze and weave our way between cars and motorbikes. The shopping looked good but neither of us wants to stop. Not being a fan of crowds, it’s way over the top for me and I resist the urge to back myself up to a wall and freeze—anything to get out of the middle of it all. Let’s just get to Durbar Square before I lose it, I think.
Having made it to the square without being trampled, we wander more easily. More drag queen holy men look for paid photo ops from the tourists. A large cow stands motionless and dazed among the temples as if drugged. More cheap souvenirs sellers pop out of shadows or from behind statues. We are followed by wannabe tour guides who don’t take no for an answer. They don’t leave us alone as they ramble on about deities and history even as we turn our backs and walk away. We make our escape to a rooftop cafe to discover a different world above the chaos of Kathmandu street life. Roof gardens mingle with ancient rooftops as Chris and I chow down on dal bhat and rice with vegetables. With the outline of the Himalayas silhouetted against a yellow sky, I sip my lemon soda and watch the many kites flown by youngsters high above along with, coincidentally, kites (birds) circling even higher in the late afternoon sunny haze. But, sadly, we have to leave and psyche ourselves up to wade into the melee of the angled street. We are fully and completely done at this point with crowds and look forward to an evening hiding out behind the guarded gates of the Annapurna.
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Chris and I find our perch at the domestic airport and settle in for another wait for a flight to Lukla. Like the day before, we push our way through security and find the volume on the chaos cranked even higher. Because of the previous days flight cancellations there is a back-up to get out. Luggage is now piled shoulder high in places and the floor is covered with lounging travelers. Our airline’s lemonade stand is crowded with pushy trekkers and guides. We had been hopeful when we woke since the day was obviously clear and bright. Not a cloud in the sky. So we sat parked, attentive and anxious as trekkers filtered out to their flights. I will spare you the dull details, but, again, we do not get on a flight. Again, we make our way back to the Annapurna fairly disgruntled and frayed from 8 hours of waiting with little food except a milk tea and a couple biscuits. It was on this day that we discover Gnima’s non-assertive tendencies as he seemed to circle the airport waiting area aimlessly as we watch the other guides jockeying for flights. We ultimately express our frustration with our trekking agency. We are encouraged to be very buddhist about the situation, “it is how it was meant to be,” we are essentially told. As we see our trekking days shrink, this doesn’t sit well with two agitated New Yorkers. But patience is asked of us, and weather permitting, we will get on a flight the next day.
Photos from this trip can be viewed here.
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