Re-setting Clocks

Dear dedicated reader,

I had to set my clock 15 minutes forward today.

Apparently in an attempt to differentiate itself from the overpopulated country shadowing it from the left, Nepal has elected to be 5 hours and 45 minutes ahead of Greenwich Mean Time, as opposed to India’s 5 hours and 30 minutes. Or so I discovered today at approximately 7:48 pm, or 8:03 pm, depending how you look at it.

This quirk is itself only one of the small that have punctuated my early experience of Kathmandu. Having arrived here yesterday afternoon armed only with my visa in need of renewing and the standard traveler’s aid otherwise known as the Lonely Planet, I can honestly say I was completely unprepared.

Nestled in the Himalayas beneath sprawling snow-capped peaks, it is easy to imagine that living here bestows upon its inhabitants a sense of cosmic alignment and direction that is lost to those of us who are only passing through as itinerant wanderers. This feeling is reinforced by the muddled way in which those of us not in the know are forced to meander the unnamed streets of this smiling metropolis. Yes, you read right: none of the streets in Kathmandu have names. The result is that most advertisements you see not only include the name of the place and an endorsement of their products, but also a detailed line drawing replete with landmarks illustrating how to get from the location of the advertisement to the store itself.

This reality is particularly terrifying in the tourist haven (or hell) of Thamel where every narrow alley which passes for a thoroughfare looks exactly the same, lined with t-shirt shops, guesthouses, and trekking travel agencies all selling and advertising the exact same services. The effect on the hapless tourist is like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods, except any trail of bread crumbs would likely be eaten by stray dogs, cats or errant cows.

Lucky for me, my best friend Kate (and my travel partner for the next 15 days) arrived from the US the day before I did and was able to secure us a spot in a lovely guesthouse just outside of this maze of Daedulus called the Tibet Peace Guest House. It is located next to an English Medium School (I just can’t get away!) from which I heard the familiar sounds of chanting issuing forth this morning as we made our way to find filter coffee. After twenty four hours here, I’ve noticed that everything feels familiar: the signs are written in Devanagari script (same as Hindi), the language shares many of the same words, the people dress in the same fashion (plus nice thick sweaters), the traffic emits the same diesel fumes and the country, like India, is largely Hindu. Even the tourist outlets seem to sell the same hippy styled clothing, the same embroidered t-shirts, the same wooden carved chess sets.

The fifteen minutes of difference seems to come mostly in the attitude in which people approach their interactions with each other. Last night at dinner, I smiled at a waiter and he actually smiled back at me. I was slightly shocked. Having spent the last two weeks traveling in India, I was expecting the grittiness with which most foreigners are man-handled, especially in well worn grooves of the tourist industry. What I’ve found couldn’t be more different: Street hawkers simply smile and walk away if you say “No, I don’t actually want to buy some tiger balm, whatever that is” and taxi drivers greet you by saying “I value the divine in you (the literal meaning of namaste). Do you want a taxi?”

Over the past twenty four hours, I’ve found that this absence of abrasiveness has me re-setting my own clock. My urban shield, built up since leaving Kadod, is still feeling out what defenses are actually needed and which can be abandoned in favor of trustfully and positively interacting with other human beings. What calibration is needed I have yet to figure out exactly, but I suppose I have 14 more days.

Best,
Cat