I have pretty much entirely forgotten all Tibetan….

This is from about a week ago, right after I left Kathmandu.  I am now in Rajasthan with Alexa, and will blog about that later, but this is the first time I have found wireless internet, and thus been able to post. 

 “The city of Geneve is as contradictory and enigmatic as a living person. I could fill in an identity card. Nationality: Neutral. Gender: Feminine. Age: (discretion intervenes) looks younger than she is. Civil status: separated. Distinguishing physical characteristic: slight stoop due to short-sightedness. General remarks: sexy and secretive. “

 Just as John Berger does, I could fill out an identity card for Kathmandu. Or a personal add. Or a facebook profile. Or a Craig’s List Missed Connection. It’s crasser than Beger’s work, but that is more of KTM’s style any way.

Settling on the latter, here we go.

You were the dusty woman of indeterminate age (she has recently undergone some surgeries, but more on a whim than out of self consciousness) in the garish dress. You sat oblivious to propriety and mud on a stoop surrounded by civil unrest and motor cycles. I was the naïve youth attempting to navigate your streets and dodge your ruble and garbage piles. You laughed at my stumbling progress, but in a good-natured way. My first impression was of claustrophobic grunge. But you laughed, you are used to being easily judged. We could meet in a dark hole in the wall. All the good restaurants are dark holes in the wall. Generally in the most literal sense. There will be a cloth hanging over the crooked door frame and buckets of dongpa on the table. The power will go out (one of your tricks) and we will be forced to confront our silence in the darkness.

Kathmandu is a city it takes a while to like. You might not get her sense of humor at first. Her jokes are not always in good humor, although when you get to know her, you will understand her comic genius. It starts with the ability to look on with amusement at any situation. It is a coping device she has developed, and it serves her well. Though there are times when you wish she could just cooperate. She is without pity, but that does not mean she is not compassionate. Her exterior is rough, as is necessary. Yet she is full of unexpected twists and turns, has lived through turmoil and keeps getting up when knocked down. These tricks she plays, they are tests to your character, and she watches your response casually, with a raised eyebrow. A challenge.

She waits patiently, wanting to see how it all plays out. She is prone to flashes of anger, but is more accustomed to uttering sarcastic comments from a corner, where she leans with a cigarette.  She always leans. She would have got along well with boys at school, always willing to climb the highest tree, or eat the grossest thing for the amusement of all.  She’s the girl you want to come to the party. Someone’s else’s party, that is. You wouldn’t want to have to deal with the mess she’ll leave behind, but god, you just want to watch her run wild. She has a sweet side, but she keeps it hidden most of the time. She has a self destructive side, and when is surfaces there is no stopping her. It is best to just leave her alone.

So we have left Kathmandu. Left the city to its own devices, amidst maoist strikes and postponed government meetings. Gone to shelter in her neighbor, Delhi, whom I know nothing about, except that he pretends to be English, having groan up around the Brits. But he is not. It surfaces in unexpected places, with a mixture of embarrassment and pride on his part.

We didn’t have to walk to the airport, as we thought me might. The strike was postponed in favor of a 3 day country wide one, involving torch carrying mobs 2 days later. The uncertainty was her last trick played on us. Well, that and the airport officials’ prolonged inspection of the statue my friend bought. It opens. To hold mantras. I didn’t think about how this might become the perfect vessel for carrying drugs. The airport staff, apparently, had thought of it.

So Brian and I sit in this unappealing hotel room. The foundation has more cracks than I have split ends (and after a semester without any hair implements, there are a few, believe me). We are lost in this sprawling city. With its sidewalks and regulated buses and municipal services. We haunt a single coffee shop and local restaurant, not wanting to venture far. When we do, it seems to go wrong. We tried to go to a temple that has a robot show, but it was closed. We tried to see a movie, but it was sold out. We went to one museum and were too tired afterwords to go to any others. So. Many. Bronze. Statues.

But Alexa comes tomorrow, and we go off to Rajashtan. We could be going to Afghanistan for all I care– that girl can make anything fun.

Although, I am pretty glad that we aren’t going to Afghanistan…

“I am on a lonely road and I am traveling, traveling, traveling, traveling; looking for something, what can it be?  Oh I hate you some, I hate you some, I love you some

oh I love you when I forget about me; Oh I want to be strong, I want to laugh along, I want to belong to the living; alive, alive, I want to get up and drive; I want to wreck my stockings in some jute-box dive”

So, I learned to like Kathmandu. I learned to like the other kids on my program. This summer, when I started this blog as a way to amuse myself when I was lonely, because Bekah was gone off traveling, I wrote profiles of the expected characters to be encountered.  I was right for a lot of it, but not entirely.  We all got along.  All 14 of us.  Which may not sound like a colosal feat, but when you are the only people you see for 3 months, it really is.  There was no drama, no fighting.  I shared a bed in a cold room with  2 girls for more than 3 weeks and never got tired of them.  I will miss everyone.  They are all lovely people, and we have shared something that no one else can imagine. Don’t get me wrong, I plan on describing it and making all of you watch a slide show featuring about 1000 pictures, but if you weren’t on the mountain, you can’t imagine the trek through Mustang. If you weren’t climbing those 302 steps, you can’t imagine daily life in Dharamsala, if you didn’t squeeze into that microbus with 60 other people, you can’t know Kathmandu.

Too much happened to talk about here. But ask me, and I’ll tell you. About the time I chased that drunk boy around a hill top in the rain and dark; or when I went to the golden temple 20 minutes from the Pakistan border– getting there took 5 hours and 2 buses, getting back took 10 hours, 5 buses, a rickshaw, and a taxi; or drinking with our Tibetan teachers, or staying in the monastery and why we had to be back by 7:30; or Nate bargaining for taxis– or anything about Nate; or the King of Mustang serving us warm tang. I could go on and on. Believe me, you will soon be tired of my pretentious inserts in unrelated conversation: “that reminds me, this one time, when I was living in Nepal, the most outrageous thing happened……” I apologize in advance, because I will for some time be THAT guy.