I like the tempo the best. It’s the ratty ‘ol three-wheeler that fits 10 passengers on a regular load, about 14 on a super busy-we need to step it up and make more money sort of load. It’s more satisfying to beat on its clunky metal roof, the signal we use when we want to get off, than on that of a micro. The micro’s short for micro bus, one of those vans that seat maybe 10 people in the States. In Nepal some clever interior manipulation has been done and it will hold anywhere from 18 to 25 people, the latter involving some major twisting of limbs and hunching over. You can absolutely get your daily yoga on if you manage to squish into one during rush hour. This micro has some soggy lining on the ceiling that makes the beating experience notches below the tempo. Air flow within the vehicle is usually non-existent and the heat and sweat generated is not for the faint of heart. The only thing that may be worth it is to sit right by the guy who collects the money, opens/closes the door and yells out destinations aka the conductor. He also seems to have another job, which is to hang out the window and frantically wave other vehicles and things away from smashing into the side. It seems to work. Strangely enough, I haven’t heard any crashing sounds on the streets yet. If you’re lucky enough to have someone that can translate, or if you’ve been secretly perfecting those Nepali skills, you may hear these conductors trying to get passengers by saying that they are the last micro headed for that certain destination. I’m eager to hear of other lies they conjure up, those sly businessmen. How brilliant.
You learn to intently focus on your surroundings here. Not like in the US or Japan where you can go on having no clue what goes on between your starting point A and destination point B for the 30 years of your commute, because a voice (both automated and human) will tell you when exactly you need to get off. In Nepal, observation and detail become your second nature. The street names are obscure and destinations are entrenched in local jargon. Walking to my internship is the same. I find myself constantly praying that no one decided to repaint that wall or that gate a different color. Kalpana told me that if someone is coming to the office for the first time, they would have no choice but to take the one route that goes past major landmarks. Never mind that so many streets lead to it – the only explainable one is the one where you turn at the sign for the Sri Lankan Embassy and continue in some relation to the famous temple in the area.
The prize that comes in exchange for convenience is an intense connection to the city that you are a part of. The labyrinth of wide, narrow, rocky, dusty…they all flow through your body like veins. You move through the heat and smog as part of it. The tempo doesn’t provide any shelter like an air-conditioned subway or cab in New York, it just gives you wheels. You know if the rain is coming, because you smell it in the wind. You know when you’re nearing a chowk, because you feel the tempo dodging people more frequently.
I’m a pro at this public transportation now, completely self-proclaimed and topped with a naïve foreigner grin. A little over one out of every two attempts gets me to my destination, and I swear the statistics are rapidly changing in my favor. For being here for two weeks, I call that success. Then of course, I always manage to bang my head as I get on and off the tempo. That totally messes up my flow, not to mention it blows my cover as a pseudo-local. It’s also when the drivers are courteous enough to ask everyone where they are going, when my cool Nepali façade is ripped away. Chakrapath, Naryan Gopal chowk, Maharajganj. Thamel, Jawalakhel, Pulchowk, Bhatbhateni, Ratna Park, Sundhara. The names of places I can deal with, thanks to my religious studying of the Kathmandu Valley map every night. When the drivers get even nicer and start asking things in detail, then it’s all over. But I’m not afraid to get lost here – I feel that term is so irrelevant, like it is in Manhattan.
Check back with me in another week – I may be considering becoming a driver for tempo route 5.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
What happened between Shenzhen and Kathmandu Part 1.
My last meal on the night of June 4th consisted of "corn soup" that had an obscene amount of cubed ham in a questionable broth and a spaghetti dish that my mind refuses to remember anything about.
It was my meager attempt at a "last Western feast".
I was in China, what the hell was I thinking.
Just because I'm in an airport and just because the restaurant has some English name does not mean diddy squat.
My long day of travel and hopping borders with bags heavier than myself had robbed me of my self-proclaimed seasoned traveler badge.
Or maybe it was what happened earlier when I was going through security.
I had gotten slightly nervous as the line got shorter, suddenly unsure of the rules China had for carrying on liquid. As I proceeded to put my bag through the machine the officer glanced at my Japanese passport and asked "Do you have umbrella?"
My mind, full of 3ounce bottles and ziplock bags, froze with confusion.
"...Umbrella?"
The next thing I know, the officer is pointing at me and yelling "KASA!! KASA!!" Japanese for "umbrella".
CALM DOWN DUDE I HAVE NO UMBRELLA ON ME AND EVEN IF I DID I WOULDN'T HAVE ATTACKED YOU ALTHOUGH NOW YOU HAVE PRETTY MUCH GIVEN ME A REASON TO
As I boarded my plane, I found myself glancing around and checking if anyone had an umbrella on them.
+++++++++++
The flight to Chengdu was a little over an hour and rather uneventful. I was sleepy and sweaty.
The airport was dark and unwelcoming to the last flight of the day. My fellow passengers and I scurried across the deserted lounges in silence, eager to put an end to the day.
At baggage claim I eyed a "Welcome visitors" sort of counter, fully aware of the fact that this lame airport was closing for the night and not letting me stay to catch my 7:30 flight.
I approach the 3 ladies. "Do you speak English?"
I find out quickly that their smiles were for Chinese speakers only.
They giggle and look away, communicating with their eyes to each other.
They're trying to figure out who has to deal with me.
Finally, one of them is chosen and I just say "Airport hotel".
She pushes my luggage cart for me and all I can do is put my full faith in her.
It's almost midnight in Chengdu.
I am hauled into a van and all I know is that it says something on it in Chinese that probably means pick up and welcome.
There is another girl and a man aboard. My standard for emotional comfort has dropped drastically and their presence is enough for my tired body. The van roars into the dark night, that darkness that's somehow always present around airports.
No one wants to live close to airplanes taking off and landing.
We pull up to one of the gaudily lit up hotels in the vicinity. Only the front desk has a light and the rest of the lobby is dark.
I find out instantly that "airport hotel" does not translate into "we speak English".
Again, I am the strange Asian that has no Chinese skills.
And now, I am also the crazy girl who is trying to pay with a credit card in a ratty ass hotel.
"No no. No card."
In my mind, I curse at the airport lady who had confidently told me that card would be accepted.
I'm 50 yuan short on cash.
Again, people are congregating trying to figure out what to do with the weird freak of nature.
A guy is nominated to take me to an ATM in his car.
He speaks no English and after a few attempts, he is convinced that I really don't speak a word of Chinese. He looks up at the ceiling and laughs in amusement.
The first ATM rejects me, saying that it is out of order. I get nervous, wondering if it's my card.
We have to go and find another one.
The next one, to my huge sigh of relief, churns out some yuan. I have no shame saying that I have never been so happy to see Mao's face.
I share my excitement with my driver and he takes it as some sort of sign to kiss me.
The bastard got nowhere near and I cursed at him.
Anything could have happened on the way back to the hotel, even though we were about 2 minutes away. I wasn't afraid, but I was prepared to roll out of the car in a flash.
That night I just sit up on my bed and snooze for 2 hours.
It was my meager attempt at a "last Western feast".
I was in China, what the hell was I thinking.
Just because I'm in an airport and just because the restaurant has some English name does not mean diddy squat.
My long day of travel and hopping borders with bags heavier than myself had robbed me of my self-proclaimed seasoned traveler badge.
Or maybe it was what happened earlier when I was going through security.
I had gotten slightly nervous as the line got shorter, suddenly unsure of the rules China had for carrying on liquid. As I proceeded to put my bag through the machine the officer glanced at my Japanese passport and asked "Do you have umbrella?"
My mind, full of 3ounce bottles and ziplock bags, froze with confusion.
"...Umbrella?"
The next thing I know, the officer is pointing at me and yelling "KASA!! KASA!!" Japanese for "umbrella".
CALM DOWN DUDE I HAVE NO UMBRELLA ON ME AND EVEN IF I DID I WOULDN'T HAVE ATTACKED YOU ALTHOUGH NOW YOU HAVE PRETTY MUCH GIVEN ME A REASON TO
As I boarded my plane, I found myself glancing around and checking if anyone had an umbrella on them.
+++++++++++
The flight to Chengdu was a little over an hour and rather uneventful. I was sleepy and sweaty.
The airport was dark and unwelcoming to the last flight of the day. My fellow passengers and I scurried across the deserted lounges in silence, eager to put an end to the day.
At baggage claim I eyed a "Welcome visitors" sort of counter, fully aware of the fact that this lame airport was closing for the night and not letting me stay to catch my 7:30 flight.
I approach the 3 ladies. "Do you speak English?"
I find out quickly that their smiles were for Chinese speakers only.
They giggle and look away, communicating with their eyes to each other.
They're trying to figure out who has to deal with me.
Finally, one of them is chosen and I just say "Airport hotel".
She pushes my luggage cart for me and all I can do is put my full faith in her.
It's almost midnight in Chengdu.
I am hauled into a van and all I know is that it says something on it in Chinese that probably means pick up and welcome.
There is another girl and a man aboard. My standard for emotional comfort has dropped drastically and their presence is enough for my tired body. The van roars into the dark night, that darkness that's somehow always present around airports.
No one wants to live close to airplanes taking off and landing.
We pull up to one of the gaudily lit up hotels in the vicinity. Only the front desk has a light and the rest of the lobby is dark.
I find out instantly that "airport hotel" does not translate into "we speak English".
Again, I am the strange Asian that has no Chinese skills.
And now, I am also the crazy girl who is trying to pay with a credit card in a ratty ass hotel.
"No no. No card."
In my mind, I curse at the airport lady who had confidently told me that card would be accepted.
I'm 50 yuan short on cash.
Again, people are congregating trying to figure out what to do with the weird freak of nature.
A guy is nominated to take me to an ATM in his car.
He speaks no English and after a few attempts, he is convinced that I really don't speak a word of Chinese. He looks up at the ceiling and laughs in amusement.
The first ATM rejects me, saying that it is out of order. I get nervous, wondering if it's my card.
We have to go and find another one.
The next one, to my huge sigh of relief, churns out some yuan. I have no shame saying that I have never been so happy to see Mao's face.
I share my excitement with my driver and he takes it as some sort of sign to kiss me.
The bastard got nowhere near and I cursed at him.
Anything could have happened on the way back to the hotel, even though we were about 2 minutes away. I wasn't afraid, but I was prepared to roll out of the car in a flash.
That night I just sit up on my bed and snooze for 2 hours.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
June 4th en route to Chengdu
It's 6:55pm and I'm lugging myself into line at the first border. It's long, but moving smoothly. I blend in among the mass of Chinese, but everyone else looks like they just went on a weekend shopping spree with H&M bags and loads of "Western" snacks bought by the bulk. I look away as a man picks his nose and rubs it on the line separators.
I exit Hong Kong.
I stand in line to enter China. I see a table in the far distance with some sort of forms. My memory reel tries to kick into full speed, back to '07. Back to when Sarah and I were crossing the same border. I've filled out so many immigration forms, this one is lost among all other.
The line is shortening at a fast pace and I'm going to have to hurry. There's a lady lingering nearby, heading a group of tourists.
"Excuse me. Do I need to fill out a form?" I gesture, in case she doesn't understand.
She looks tires as she glares at me. After a split second and a heaving sigh, she yells at me.
"I DON'T KNOW!"
It's shrill. And loud. It attracts much attention.
I turn back to face the front, as if nothing happened.
I feel a light tap on my shoulder, and it's a man clearly feeling sorry for me. He points to the forms and nods.
I step out into Shenzhen. It's so dark, the air heavy with that China smog. Rows of buses stretch down far. I just walk towards them. What else am I to do?
And out of nowhere, my mind recognizes the uniform a girl is wearing. I walk up to her and point to the sticker on my chest, the one those ladies in Hong Kong warned me repeatedly not to lose.
Bingo.
She nods, talks at a deathly fast pace, hears my sheepish apology and becomes embarrassed. Our conversation is over now and I just follow her.
The bus starts off into the smog, stretch two of my journey to Shenzhen Airport. We're on a highway and it's randomly dotted with pedestrians that look like they are trying to cross. There are at least 4 lanes of cars whizzing by.
Then we pass by a man on a bicycle that is going against traffic.
I pray they don't get taken out.
At the airport, the bus is deserted immediately because everyone is traveling so light. I struggle to situate my luggage. As I walk towards the entrance, everyone stares. To them I must look like a Chinese girl traveling alone like a runaway. I see no single women. I see no backpacks that are threatening to squish its carrier.
The girl at the check-in counter stares at the monitor as she flips through my passport. She looks confused. She yells at someone at the other counter and they call another guy over. Now all 3 of them are hunched over the computer. They don't talk to me because I had already diappointed the girl by not being able to speak Chinese. She had disappointed me by speaking almost no English regardless of the fact that we are in a rather international airport.
I pick up "KTM" in their conversation, followed by a question mark. They are wondering what the hell that is.
"I'm going to Kathmandu"
They stare at me blankly and my comment is dismissed.
I exit Hong Kong.
I stand in line to enter China. I see a table in the far distance with some sort of forms. My memory reel tries to kick into full speed, back to '07. Back to when Sarah and I were crossing the same border. I've filled out so many immigration forms, this one is lost among all other.
The line is shortening at a fast pace and I'm going to have to hurry. There's a lady lingering nearby, heading a group of tourists.
"Excuse me. Do I need to fill out a form?" I gesture, in case she doesn't understand.
She looks tires as she glares at me. After a split second and a heaving sigh, she yells at me.
"I DON'T KNOW!"
It's shrill. And loud. It attracts much attention.
I turn back to face the front, as if nothing happened.
I feel a light tap on my shoulder, and it's a man clearly feeling sorry for me. He points to the forms and nods.
I step out into Shenzhen. It's so dark, the air heavy with that China smog. Rows of buses stretch down far. I just walk towards them. What else am I to do?
And out of nowhere, my mind recognizes the uniform a girl is wearing. I walk up to her and point to the sticker on my chest, the one those ladies in Hong Kong warned me repeatedly not to lose.
Bingo.
She nods, talks at a deathly fast pace, hears my sheepish apology and becomes embarrassed. Our conversation is over now and I just follow her.
The bus starts off into the smog, stretch two of my journey to Shenzhen Airport. We're on a highway and it's randomly dotted with pedestrians that look like they are trying to cross. There are at least 4 lanes of cars whizzing by.
Then we pass by a man on a bicycle that is going against traffic.
I pray they don't get taken out.
At the airport, the bus is deserted immediately because everyone is traveling so light. I struggle to situate my luggage. As I walk towards the entrance, everyone stares. To them I must look like a Chinese girl traveling alone like a runaway. I see no single women. I see no backpacks that are threatening to squish its carrier.
The girl at the check-in counter stares at the monitor as she flips through my passport. She looks confused. She yells at someone at the other counter and they call another guy over. Now all 3 of them are hunched over the computer. They don't talk to me because I had already diappointed the girl by not being able to speak Chinese. She had disappointed me by speaking almost no English regardless of the fact that we are in a rather international airport.
I pick up "KTM" in their conversation, followed by a question mark. They are wondering what the hell that is.
"I'm going to Kathmandu"
They stare at me blankly and my comment is dismissed.
June 4th en route to Shenzhen airport
It's 5:20pm and I'm looking nervously at the traffic and my watch. I know we're just around the corner from the place where the coach to Shenzhen Airport will leave from.
Alex and I had hugged good bye over an hour earlier as she left for the dorm room she will be calling home for the next 2 months. When we meet again, words and thoughts will be in much abundance. Now I am on my way to what this summer is really all about.
The driver says something to me. It's been a while since I have been in a place where I haven't the faintest clue what people are saying. All I see is his left hand flailing around and my eye and brain only follow the ridiculously long fingernail on his pinky.
I say "Shenzhen Airport. Bus." and I repeat, emphasizing "Shenzhen" in several versions of my made-up Chinese accent with the hopes of getting something accomplished. The bellhop at the hotel had told the driver where I needed to go, so he must know. Right?
He speaks some more. The pace of his speech intensifying. I continue to expect some sort of clue from his fingernail. It's now 5:27 and I know for a fact that there is a coach leaving in 3 minutes.
All of the suden, he rolls down the window and yells. Uniformed ladies yank open the door and one slaps a sticker on me as the other rushes to a nearby ticket booth. I attempt to hoist my huge hiking bag on my back without falling over. It's the size and weight of a young child. I don't know if I'm supposed to be rushing - I had yet to learn if Hong Kong was a punctual place. The swarm of people traffic tripping over me in the crowded intersection doesn't help.
The uniformed ladies eye me warily as a struggle.
"You have to carry bag!! Border!!"
My only concern at this point is to get on this bus. I just laugh weakly as I battle a mental image of myself sinking into the ground on the border, weighed down by my massive bags.
Alex and I had hugged good bye over an hour earlier as she left for the dorm room she will be calling home for the next 2 months. When we meet again, words and thoughts will be in much abundance. Now I am on my way to what this summer is really all about.
The driver says something to me. It's been a while since I have been in a place where I haven't the faintest clue what people are saying. All I see is his left hand flailing around and my eye and brain only follow the ridiculously long fingernail on his pinky.
I say "Shenzhen Airport. Bus." and I repeat, emphasizing "Shenzhen" in several versions of my made-up Chinese accent with the hopes of getting something accomplished. The bellhop at the hotel had told the driver where I needed to go, so he must know. Right?
He speaks some more. The pace of his speech intensifying. I continue to expect some sort of clue from his fingernail. It's now 5:27 and I know for a fact that there is a coach leaving in 3 minutes.
All of the suden, he rolls down the window and yells. Uniformed ladies yank open the door and one slaps a sticker on me as the other rushes to a nearby ticket booth. I attempt to hoist my huge hiking bag on my back without falling over. It's the size and weight of a young child. I don't know if I'm supposed to be rushing - I had yet to learn if Hong Kong was a punctual place. The swarm of people traffic tripping over me in the crowded intersection doesn't help.
The uniformed ladies eye me warily as a struggle.
"You have to carry bag!! Border!!"
My only concern at this point is to get on this bus. I just laugh weakly as I battle a mental image of myself sinking into the ground on the border, weighed down by my massive bags.
June 2nd. Anthropological study takes place in unexpected settings.
Earlier, Alex and I found ourselves led to the executive lounge on the top floor of the hotel, enjoying a buffet over hazy, drizzling Hong Kong. Why were we there, among businessmen and a random assortment of high class people? We had become accidental "executives" with access to luxurious amenities. We weren't complaining.
We're back again at that lounge. They had told us we would get free drinks and appetizers.
The fog seems thicker, the raindrops bigger and harder. This time I'm showered, with less hair and a full stomach. Our venture out into the mall has made my hair even shorter and our appetite saturated with Korean food.
It's odd. Alex points out , no one is offering us service. Other tables around us get their plates filled, wine offered. Time lapses. We sit and wait. Everything moves around us.
Is it because Alex looks Filipina?
Is it because we're two Asian females?
Is it race? Ethnicity? Gender?
Others in the room are white families, white couples, Asian couples, inter-racial couples.
You do the math, we can only speculate.
"Is there a problem with our table? Because we haven't been served. I just want a glass of wine."
Alex is a feisty one. I love this girl.
15 minutes later, a smiley waiter offers us wine. The same dude in that maroon shirt that has ignored us for the past hour. I get a foul taste in my mouth as I watch the clear wine being poured into Alex's glass. It's an awkward silence, the sound of liquid collecting into a container.
We're back again at that lounge. They had told us we would get free drinks and appetizers.
The fog seems thicker, the raindrops bigger and harder. This time I'm showered, with less hair and a full stomach. Our venture out into the mall has made my hair even shorter and our appetite saturated with Korean food.
It's odd. Alex points out , no one is offering us service. Other tables around us get their plates filled, wine offered. Time lapses. We sit and wait. Everything moves around us.
Is it because Alex looks Filipina?
Is it because we're two Asian females?
Is it race? Ethnicity? Gender?
Others in the room are white families, white couples, Asian couples, inter-racial couples.
You do the math, we can only speculate.
"Is there a problem with our table? Because we haven't been served. I just want a glass of wine."
Alex is a feisty one. I love this girl.
15 minutes later, a smiley waiter offers us wine. The same dude in that maroon shirt that has ignored us for the past hour. I get a foul taste in my mouth as I watch the clear wine being poured into Alex's glass. It's an awkward silence, the sound of liquid collecting into a container.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
June 2nd
There it is. The paper mache facade of Hong Kong. Those words seem appropriate. Most of the buildings are old, their exteriors looking like soggy cardboard. Grey, faded pastel, all with a thin screen of haze.
But I don't find it fitting to describe them as dirty.
As the bus, en route to our hotel, ascends from the raised expressway onto the city streets, I feel exposed all of the sudden. We're in the middle of it all. A place where comfort meets bewilderment.
But I don't find it fitting to describe them as dirty.
As the bus, en route to our hotel, ascends from the raised expressway onto the city streets, I feel exposed all of the sudden. We're in the middle of it all. A place where comfort meets bewilderment.
Sometime between 5/31 and 6/2, between seas and continents
My body hates me.
It's hated me for the past month, when the days bled into finals and days/time/normal life cycles meant absolutely nothing. Tasks were never-ending and Nepal was nowhere in sight.
My body and emotions were still tense and confused as my brain forced it into comprehension mode: have fun in Atlanta. When we're back, just follow this To Do list.
Atlanta came, passed with the sweetness it always has.
All there remains in my memory of the last few days in NY are mountains of crap that seemed to have been thrown up from the depth of my room, and fighting heartburn and some bizarre form of skin condition I had never experienced. My body hates me, but it's been good-hearted enough to keep me going and to fight off nasty colds and fevers.
The time left to Hong Kong now reads 1 hour 42 minutes on the fancy display I completely failed to utilize on this long flight. Flight attendants have surprisingly high-pitched voices that complemnt their tiny bodies.
I am not an Asiian here. My hair is matted down with oil, my face feels like a mask I cn't take aoff, and all I can think about is taking a shower.
And I still can't believe I'm en route to Nepal.
It's hated me for the past month, when the days bled into finals and days/time/normal life cycles meant absolutely nothing. Tasks were never-ending and Nepal was nowhere in sight.
My body and emotions were still tense and confused as my brain forced it into comprehension mode: have fun in Atlanta. When we're back, just follow this To Do list.
Atlanta came, passed with the sweetness it always has.
All there remains in my memory of the last few days in NY are mountains of crap that seemed to have been thrown up from the depth of my room, and fighting heartburn and some bizarre form of skin condition I had never experienced. My body hates me, but it's been good-hearted enough to keep me going and to fight off nasty colds and fevers.
The time left to Hong Kong now reads 1 hour 42 minutes on the fancy display I completely failed to utilize on this long flight. Flight attendants have surprisingly high-pitched voices that complemnt their tiny bodies.
I am not an Asiian here. My hair is matted down with oil, my face feels like a mask I cn't take aoff, and all I can think about is taking a shower.
And I still can't believe I'm en route to Nepal.
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