Chapter 10
The Crossroads of
“Success is the ability to go from one failure to another, without loss of enthusiasm -W. Churchill
“Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart” –Confucius
The rambling old bus vibrated, along with a deep concordant rumbling noise, as it coasted into the large bus terminal in
“G’day mates! I enjoyed our trip immensely. I’m looking forward to a steak dinner, aren't you now? See ya ‘round, gents.”
With a great big smile, and a wave, he melted into the crowd, and began searching for his wife. The cab left the bus terminal with cloud of dust in its wake. Tom looked out the back window to see his departing new friend fade away, into the fog of dust.
Daniel had told them that the Thamal district was the area where all the hikers and pack packers stayed; so Tom instructed the cab driver in that direction, so they could find a good guesthouse. They tried the
“There are much more reasonable guesthouses up the road,” the man at the main desk suggested.
After stopping in a few guesthouses, they found one that was quiet, and run by a friendly Tibetan woman. Tom instantly liked the woman, yet Jacques, being characteristically French, was reserved and dubious. While Jacques waffled, Tom made a decision.
“We’ll take a room. Thank you,” he told the woman. She smiled, and handed Tom a key to a third floor room. Jacques was less than pleased, but went along with Tom’s decision.
“She’s nice, and sincere. I want a place where we can trust the people, and not have to worry that our stuff might be stolen. We can’t get too much cheaper than this, and it’s clean and has hot showers!”
"Ok, for tonight. But I need to find my friends.”
“Where are they staying?” Tom asked naively.
He didn’t know who Jacques’s friends were. He had assumed that they were other Frenchmen, or travel partners; but Jacques didn’t elaborate to clear up Tom’s misconception.
“I don’t know. I will have to look for them tomorrow,” he said, distantly.
Tom took Jacques’s odd behavior for tiredness. It had been a hell of a bus ride....one Tom would never forget; nor replicate, if possible.
“Once was enough, thank you,” Tom reminded himself. “Too random! No fiery crashes with piles of screaming people, crushed bones, and torturous death, for me!” Tom joked to himself.
Jacques’s exhaustion was to be expected.
“And crankiness? Well, that’s a French cultural trait, no?” he quipped, silently.
“That's fine. Lets get a shower, clean up, and go downstairs to dinner,” was all that Tom said aloud.
“There are a lot of local people at the restaurant here. That’s a good sign, eh?”
“Oui,” Jacques replied vacantly.
Dinner tasted great to Tom. After his long stay in
“Lets see,” the waiter repeated: “That is one Veggie Cheese Chow Mien, two mango milkshake, two banana custards, Veggie Tofu Fried momo, Tsampa porridge with lots of banana; and, two hot milk coffee?” he finished, breathless.
“You sure you want all of those things? For just you two, Mr. Tom?” The timid waiter asked Tom incredulously.
“Yep, I’m hungry, and your food’s great. Its time to gain back the weight I lost in
“Oh, o.k. sir.”
Jacques ate as much as Tom, but appeared even more distracted than he’d been the night before.
“As soon as poss-ci-ble, I must meet up with my friends. Sooo, I will look today for them.”
“Sure, that sounds great. I’ll just walk around town, and get familiar with the place.”
Jacques smiled at Tom. It was one of his caring smiles, the kind that warmed Tom inside. Jacques communicated how much he liked Tom through his smiles. Being French, and a guy, he didn’t talk as much as he tried to show his feelings. Most people got zero attention from him, while practical and business interactions warranted only cursory involvement. Undivided attention, and beaming smiles, was his gift to those whom he liked. But this time, Tom saw a little melancholia in his friend’s wistful smile. Something didn’t add up. Something felt odd to Tom. He just didn’t know Jacques well enough to discuss it, or to understand it on his own; so he let it go.
They parted ways outside of the guesthouse, each going down the street in different directions. He struck out alone to explore the city, while Jacques looked around for his friends. Tom had little interest in spending the entire day hunting people down with inadequate information; and Jacques didn’t really offer to bring him along either. Tom concluded that they just needed time alone.
******
Later that night, Tom lay on his bed. Unable to sleep, due to his unwillingness to accept his present reality. The note was short and to the point. It wasn’t mean, hurtful, or bad in any way. In fact, it was a rather nice note. But Tom still felt the pang of loneliness.
“Hey Dad:
I found room in a small hotel just off of
-Jacques”
They had grown so close, so quickly, that Tom had gotten used to Jacques’s company. He was an artist type, so he was a bit sketchy; but he was wonderful to be around. Jacques enjoyed Tom’s company as well. So Tom had expected to travel along with him for a long time; and he was looking forward to exploring
The confusion with Jacques signaled to Tom the beginning of the end for their relationship, and that saddened him immensely. Even without staying on
“Its cleaner this way,” thought Tom to himself.
“I’ll just stay here in this guesthouse, and let him stay in that mess.”
So it was, that Tom decided to sever ties with Jacques; and to begin traveling alone again.
“I just won’t stay in
But loneliness struck him hard. He felt the acute loss of a close friend, in a foreign place. As a result, the place seemed a little more dangerous, a little more cold and uninviting; and, a lot more bizarre.
For Bizarre it was. Bizarre was the only way Tom could describe his first day in Kathmandu; and all he’d done was to wander the streets of the city, and stuck his head into hundreds of little shops.
“
He remembered a very old black and white film that showed a historic version of
The city had always been a gateway for Everest climbing parties. Since the Chinese had taken
“It should be wild,” he thought. “With exotic goods, foods, and animals everywhere. Full of people who are squabbling, talking, or negotiating in odd foreign languages.”
He was sure wrong.
It had been a place to prepare mountain climbers for Everest, and to fleece them in the process. An ancient place, from unknown origins, with mysterious temples devoted to even more inscrutable Gods. But basically, it was a place to find guides, hiking boots, ice picks, and ropes with stakes. All the necessary supplies for arduous, and likely deadly, trips up
To describe the
“I never expected it to have shrines to Bob Marley!” he reflected.
Stopping for a break, Tom had wandered into a building for a cold drink. He dared not drink anything being sold on the street, unless it was hot from being boiled. He didn’t want his trip ruined or delayed by a horrible case of intestinal sickness; and he needed something cold to lower his body temperature. It wasn’t particularly humid, as it had been in
“Nothing can be considered out of place in this crazy city,” he commented to himself, as he climbed the flights of stairs to the third floor.
“So what if restaurants are on the third floor? What Evveeer.....” he whined as he ascended the steps.
The steps were wooden and rough cut, as were the railings and the woodwork on the walls.
“Obviously, not many carpenters live here,” Tom thought. “Yet the marble floors are flawless.”
Again, he was puzzled by striking incongruities. After the landing he turned left, and up the final few stairs. He was rewarded to find an open door into a barroom. People were talking, drinking, and eating.
“Yeah!” thought Tom, “Something clean!”
As he walked through the door though, every head in the room turned to look at him; and all conversations stopped. There were few people, and the place was relatively small. Dingy red pillows were arranged on the floor, around low Japanese styled tables. The walls had various types of red fabric draped on them, and large pictures of Bob Marley and his friends were hung in prominent positions. The main picture of Marley showed him smoking a huge doobie, and it was surrounded by a wide frame that was encrusted with real smoking paraphernalia ......all glued to it, randomly. Tom then noticed that everyone in the room was smoking.
“They’re all smoking weed! The finest weed no doubt, but weed and hashish nonetheless. If I stay in here too long, I’ll get high on the secondhand smoke for free,” Tom joked to himself. “Too bad I don’t want to get fucked up today....”
His observations and comments ran through his mind in a few seconds. Without missing a beat, and retaining a nonchalant attitude, he turned on his heel and faced the bartender behind the small bar.
“I would like an Orangina soda, please,” he requested casually.
That broke the silence, and conversation in the room started again.
“They really don’t give a damn who I am, just so I’m not a cop,” he thought. “Even that probably doesn’t worry these folks too much. It just means giving up a few more Rupees for the cop to leave,” Tom observed quietly.
“Oh well, live and let live.....” he commented blithely.
“At least I got off that hot and noisy street! Cool your jets, man.....” he joked to himself.
Tom wasn’t really shocked by the smoking room, or the open sale of hash on the streets. It was the whole Rosta music, and Bob Marley obsession that surprised him. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have thought up something that surprising and utterly bizarre.
The rest of his day held many such incongruent surprises, as he walked up and down the main streets of the Thamel district; and then proceeded to the marketplace called
There, surrounding the square and in its general vicinity, he found the ancient buildings that he had sought - many of them in the center of a big open plaza. The most striking was a monstrous pagoda styled building that rose five or six stories high. Its wide flaring roofs were supported by hundreds of wooden brackets. Intricately carved teak rafters, and eaves, comprised a stylish roof system that seemed to defy gravity. One story sat upon another, rising like an oriental wedding cake, into the sky. The few areas not covered with dark brown, heavily carved, teak window screens and balconies were stucco-like; and painted a faded reddish pink. Tom had only seen buildings like it in obscure pictures from the orient. Yet the style wasn’t oriental, even though it was heavily influenced by oriental design.
It was a wonderful feeling to lean up against the ancient building, and to survey the open square and the surrounding buildings. Birds flitted through the open space, and monkeys hung in the shadows - lingering around ancient shrines covered in red wax and fruits. Tom closed his eyes, and tried to visualize what the area must have looked like, and felt like, a few hundred years before. It would’ve fit his exotic images quite well.
“Sans the camels, of course,” he quipped at his own silliness.
Then he sat down, with his back still to the ancient building and his eyes closed, and tried to visualize a time regressed view of the place - before the British-styled buildings had been built around the perimeter. A time when the jungle provided a quiet and soothing backdrop to the ancient temples and structures, absorbing the clamor of the thriving marketplace.
It was a wonderful image, and somehow Tom knew that it was uncannily accurate. Staying in this state for an hour or so, he achieved a state of inner calmness. His calmness came from a deeper understanding of the soul of
It was a frivolous yearning, but valid nonetheless. He often wondered why cities and societies found that concrete, noise, congestion, and disassociation of people from each other and nature, were ‘evolutions of a culture.’
There was just enough left in
This faint, very small, glimmer of hope was much less than he expected to find once he stepped out of his birth world, and back into the ancient past - as preserved in ‘less developed’ foreign countries. But it was reassuring nonetheless.
“There’s still hope that we can ‘get it,’ and make corrections before it’s too late,” he thought to himself.
“We can’t relegate our past, richer, lives to a dry museum exhibit. We need to go back to truly living life, in order to reconstruct and to preserve our true natural state. That’s how we can protect it from extinction, and to keep it from becoming a condescending academic curiosity in a sterile space.....nothing more than a trite example of ’primitive life,’ for the truly parasitic ‘sophisticate,’” he realized.
He knew that to accomplish this ’return to life,’ meant having to develop respect. Respect for the good things of the past, and the integration of new things with that life-centered reality….instead of the complete, blind, dominance of new over old.
“Why do we allow the arrogance of ignorance to rule over wisdom and deep knowledge?” he wondered.
“Why is it that we allow the barbarians in us to rule how we live life? Thereby demeaning our lives, in favor of the base desires for immediate, and self, gratification? When do we begin to measure our quality of life in terms of fulfillment, actualization, and contribution to life - versus self absorption, profligacy, and thievery?”
Tom welcomed the realizations that came with his visualization experience, yet he didn’t want to fall into despair. So he consciously cut off his train of thought, and opened his eyes to current reality. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He wished that he could close his eyes, and go back in time again. Part of him saw the benefit of that exercise, but another part of him saw the possible trap of getting stuck there. He’d met many historians, archeologists, anthropologists, and just regular people, who preferred to live in the past. He didn’t want to do that, but he was painfully aware that the other extreme ruled........forgetting the past, by encouraging a zest for unbridled growth for growth sake; and the blind accumulation of wealth. Both held the attractions of being new, bold, and providing a feeling of power. But often they were achieved at the expense of hard earned human gains. Trading a stable and happy life for arrogant conquest felt powerful; but it lacked sustainability, and only led to a feverish and insatiable quest. A quest for more.
Tom walked away from the ancient building, and into the square itself. The interior of the square was full of vendors who laid out their wares on blankets. Each sat cross legged, or stood, by their assorted trinkets. Everyone spoke Hindi or Nepali, and eyed him jealously. Tom however, had no interest in buying ‘authentic’ antiques from Indians that were recently made in
He found a government looking building that appeared to be open, although there wasn’t a sign to say what it was. It was of mid-1800’s classical architecture, made of smooth cut stone; and it was very clean, nearly pristine, inside. It stood in stark contrast to the dog eared appearance, and filth, of the surrounding buildings. It stood out in its cleanliness, and obvious order; yet it looked unoccupied, even with all of the lights on inside. Walking inside the large door, Tom found himself in an elegant entryway with offices to either side, and a long hallway ahead of him. A stately woman of indeterminate age lifted her head from her work at her desk, and greeted Tom politely in very proper English. Her age was indeterminate because her clothing and bearing were of a different age altogether. She looked every bit like a character out of an Agatha Christie novel - a ’Mrs. Marple’ with an official attitude.
“Good God,” thought Tom, “she must’ve been stationed here when
The building was a time capsule itself. Everything was as it must’ve been then, and she was dressed in clothes from the same period. Her long dress contained just the right amount of lace, as it was strategically placed over her breasts, around her neck, cuffs and hems. Even her hairstyle fit a bygone era. The whole scene flipped Tom out, but he was also very happy to meet someone who spoke wonderful English.
She was very proper and polite, even though she reprimanded him with: “You shouldn’t be in this building!”
Continuing on, speaking almost to herself instead of Tom, she rationalized: “But then again, I am tiding up for my departure; and, the office is officially closed. I suppose it’s alright to speak with you,” she finally concluded.
“Well, thanks,” said Tom meekly. “I’m looking for the farmers market. Where I can purchase food and spices? Could you direct me to the right location?”
It was the best he could muster of proper Brit, and he grinned inside to even attempt it.
“Jesus,” he exclaimed to himself. “I’m in some kind of bizarre time warp here! It feels like a twisted ‘Charlie Chan’ movie for God’s sake; where I‘m asking directions from ‘Mrs. Marple.’”
Even with his internal turmoil, he projected the exterior image of a composed European student on holiday.
“Oh, my dear. Don’t you know? You are at the market!” she said in a ‘pity you your ignorance’ tone of voice.
“But, it wasn’t anything like I expected,” Tom squeaked out. “It’s all Hindu hucksters selling bogus Tibetan artifacts. Made in
“No, no, young man. The market is only open in the mornings, and closes by noon. Come by tomorrow in the early morning. You’ll find what you want then.”
Feeling stupid, Tom thanked her and took his leave. As he walked across the nearly deserted plaza, he looked back at the small narrow building that he’d just left. The clean, plain, and simple old sandstone glowered like a sore thumb - in its cleanliness, and order. Still puzzled by this incongruity, Tom began to understand that
“So,” thought Tom, “the mysterious, old, anything goes, devil-may-care
He resolved that he wouldn’t take anything in
“Oh my God,” thought Tom, “you’d have to be a real idiot not to see these are downright cheesy fakes. For God’s sake, they all look the same!”
The vendors had enough sense to not sit right next to one who sold the exact same things, but you only had to look along the rows to see the pattern. One sold statues, while the next pandered knives. The following one sold brass singing bowls. Then, the next sold statues and incense.
“Pluueesse,” thought Tom.
He couldn’t even fake a belief in their absurd lies of authenticity, so he took a sharp right and headed towards the protection of the buildings skirting the plaza. It was just in time. As Tom turned his back, he heard a rush of shouts and pleas.
“Buy now! Real antiques of
“I give you better deal!” said another.
“Look at the quality of these beautiful statues.......” said yet a third.
Tom pretended not to hear anything, and kept moving. It was the only way.
“Once engaged, they have you; and, if nothing else, you lose lots of time,” he reasoned.
Sometimes, just walking by sparked arguments between vendors. Tom wanted none of this. He had come to
“Talk to the hand; cuz the face doesn‘t want to hear it!” she’d say.
It seemed harsh and mean, but it really wasn’t. It just was a very clear way of saying: ‘I know you’re trying to sell me trash, and I’m not so dumb as to buy it. Leave me alone.’
It was amazing how well it worked. As he did it more his hand movement became more subtle, yet the effect was the same. They stopped mid-sentence, dead in their tracks, and turned on the next tourist without a pause.
“It’s all a game,” thought Tom. “And this is the first barrier towards really understanding these people.”
He was proud of himself for passing his first test. It allowed him to feel detached from the overwhelming press of activity, and that was good. But the isolation also reinforced his feelings of loneliness. As these thoughts played in his head, Tom reached the edge of the plaza. With his new understanding and awareness of the place, he wanted to look at it again - with a different perspective. Without the distractions of the vendors, he noticed other things that he’d missed before. The huge stone municipal building wasn’t being used. The ancient building was ‘closed for renovation,’ and the buildings all around the plaza told their own individual stories. What they were, exactly, wasn’t clear on the surface; but it was odd how inconsistent they were from each other. The streets were more consistent than the other streets around the Thamel district, but there were major clashes. Clashes in culture. Clashes in age and design. And, most importantly, clashes in ideologies.
“Curious, very curious,” Tom mused. “This is going to be a challenging puzzle,” he said out loud, with more than a little pleasure at the prospect.
He then stopped in a pastry shop, and picked up a pizza thingee. He called it a ‘thingee,’ because looked like a single serving rectangular pizza; but when he bit into it he had a surprise. He’d expected a warm, bland, mozzarella flavor - with a bit of tomato. What he got, nearly gagged him. Local ingredients replaced items he expected to taste. The cheese was the most notable difference.
“What’s wrong with this pizza? It tastes old and rotten!” he snapped at the man behind the pastry counter.
“No, no sir! It is fresh today! We never sell old pastry.”
“But, the cheese.....” Tom’s voice trailed off.
“That is Yak cheese, sir. Maybe different than you have at home?”
“Ugghhh, yeah, it certainly is...”
Embarrassed now, for potentially offending the shopkeeper, Tom apologized.
“I’m sorry. Its ok. I was just surprised by the strong flavor.”
“Yes, sir. Very distinctive flavors, yes? You will like. Its just different. Very, very good Yak cheese.....with many high fat content.”
“Why is high fat good?”
“It helps the body endure hard treks, and heavy exercise.”
Stunned by both the man’s forthrightness in explanation, and by his apparent sensitivity to Tom’s approval, Tom replied politely: “Why, thank you very much, then. I appreciate your helpful knowledge and advice. I’ll eat much Yak cheese now!” he said with a big smile.
“Thank you,” answered the man, and he beamed at Tom’s compliment. Then he added: “That's good. Because that's all you get here!”
Tom chuckled with the shared joke, and moved on.
“Another lesson,” he reflected. “These people are smart, but treated like dumb shits by the arrogant hikers coming through
Then Tom realized the benefit, and responsibility, of having American dollars. In
“Having this many desperate people around, with this much cash on me, leaves me as a target,” he cautioned himself.
He realized that the $300 USD in his pocket equaled 12,000 Rupees - a fortune to the local people.
“Target indeed,” he reminded himself.
“Extremely rich people, walking right next to starving and desperately poor people. This is just like being in
“I’d better keep minimal money on me, my mug money concealed, and leave the bulk of my cash back at the guesthouse. I think I’m safer appearing as a poor student; and more likely to really get to know people at ground level. Leave the attitude as well, and respect their world as it is - if you really want to learn and understand it,” he instructed himself.
As Tom did his mental math, and reconsidered his approach to
“Hmmm, maybe that’s where I’ll find the old
He looked for the first time at the street names. They were odd names, and they didn’t follow any apparent pattern. Where he’d grown up the street names were numbers one direction, on all parallel streets, and tree names on the perpendicular streets. It was easy to find your way around. 1st, 2nd, and 3rd streets came before 5th, 6th, and 7th. Then uniqueness was brought on by the crossing streets that had names like Oak, Maple, and Elm. In
“People must just know their way around their town,” Tom concluded. “Who needs street signs if you grow up on one block, and die on the next....traveling nowhere.... ever?”
Then Tom spotted a large worn and faded street sign. As he got close enough to read it, he laughed out loud. It was
“It must’ve been a trip,” thought Tom. “No wonder some folks never left it.”
Now however the street was dark, foreboding, and empty of traffic.....save the occasional rat who crossed the street in the shadows. This new observation helped Tom understand
“Hence the ‘live and let live’ philosophy, the conflicting architectures, and the hidden ancient temples,” he concluded.
As
“Yeah,” he concluded. “The old
He could tell that people were either long term inhabitants, or tourists for a few days.
“That's why the vendors can survive selling trash and fad items, and why there’s a concealed culture that includes many types of people.”
Tom supposed that was probably true of many tourist cities; but in
Once Tom had completed his general survey exercise of the square and its people, he was surprised to notice one man in particular. He’d had seen him many times before, outside of shops that he’d just visited. If he hadn’t been performing his ‘assessment,’ Tom wouldn’t have noticed him - particularly since he kept moving. Carefully keeping his sweeping gaze directly off of the man, Tom slowly caught enough glimpses of him to provide positive identification.
“Hmmm, why would anyone tail me?” he wondered. “No one knows me, nor even knows I’m here.
I’m getting paranoid,” he chastised himself.
But to test his assumption that he was being followed, Tom quickly moved in and out of antique, backpacking, and clothing stores alike. After seven stops, Tom still saw the guy lingering on the street - ostensibly looking at a nearby shrine. His disinterest in everything other than Tom was apparent. Tom began to get concerned.
“Obviously the only thing he wants is my money. I’d better keep in crowds, and not wonder off on some empty side street alone,” he counseled himself. “That wouldn’t be very smart....”
So the game of tag began.
Tom purposely stopped at more shops than he ordinarily would, to shake his observer.
“Oh hell, I need hiking clothes. I might as well get them while playing this game,” he decided.
As Tom worked his way down the crowded street, he shopped for pants. The busy street linked
“I can get pants, watch my follower, and get home in time to get ready for dinner with Jacques. What fun! An adventure!” he convinced himself.
All of the old shops on the entire street had been taken over by tourist shops, that contained more ’authentic Tibetan treasures,’ or hiking supplies. One shop sold backpacks, another sleeping bags, another sweaters and hats; and yet another, hiking clothes. Then, the sequence of shops repeated itself for over two miles of road.
“This is totally silly,” thought Tom. “It’s worse than Dubar square, at least there its temporary. Here, the shops are entrenched and full of tourist junk.”
The tourist shops had replaced homes and traditional mountaineering shops. Half of their inventory was spread out into the street, to make their tiny shops appear larger. There were hiking boots from
“I’m going to have to sift through a bunch of junk stores to find anything good,” he told himself bleakly.
As he went in and out of stores, the pattern became evident. All of the merchandise was exactly the same from store to store. It was from
“But where there’s money to be had, strange bedfellows are to be made, eh?” he commented to himself cynically.
Tom decided on buying a pair of olive colored pants that had zippers on the legs, so that they could be made into shorts quickly and easily. They weren’t the best of quality, but Tom knew that he’d hike with them, and then give them away to local people anyway.
“So why waste a lot of money on them?” he concluded.
Given the identical inventory of all the stores, it was easy to go into one shop and ask the price for the pants he wanted, then proceed a few stores down the street, find the exact same pants, and ask their price. He kept doing this, to get an idea on pricing, and to keep tabs on his tag along buddy. After a while, it became funny how the man followed Tom. An interesting thing, however, was how he talked to the shopkeepers Tom had visited.
“This is getting weird. What can he be talking to them about?” Tom wondered.
Then the guy did a really odd thing, and passed Tom up - walking down the street ahead of him.
“Glad he’s finally gone,” thought Tom. But he resolved to remain alert. He’d learned in
The prices of the pants seemed expensive to Tom, given the exchange rate, and the local economy. He thought it was funny that while the shopkeepers pretended to bargain, their prices consistently fell into the same price range. The prices always got cheaper as Tom walked away from the shopkeeper, but they never went below $20 US.
After a while Tom got tired of the exercise, and decided to buy a couple of pairs at the next shop. Just as he walked into the pants shop, his follower came out of the shop - making a point of not looking at him. From experiences of being cruised, Tom knew that if someone went out of their way to not look at you, they were really wanting to look at you.....but not when you could see it. Ignoring the whole situation for a while, Tom asked the shopkeeper the price of his pants.
“For you sir? Eighteen dolla!”
Tom was really puzzled.
“Why is his price suddenly lower that all of the rest of the shops?” he wondered. But, not wanting to buy from a friend of his stalker, Tom replied: “Thank you, I might come back to buy tomorrow. I’m just looking today.”
Tom left the shop, and proceeded to the next pants shop a couple of blocks further down the street.
Just outside the shop, Tom stopped to buy some fried breads from a woman. She sat, cross legged on the dirty rock street, facing a gas burner under a large wok-shaped pan full of oil.
“God knows what kind of oil it is,” thought Tom.
But he was really hungry, and he knew that the hot oil would kill anything really bad. He’d seen the woman earlier in the day, when she opened up her little street kitchen with her husband. Then, even before she was ready to open, a group of local people crowded around her - waiting for some of her fried food. Everyone seemed to like her little doughnuts, and waited their turn in anticipation.
It reminded Tom of street vendors in
Now however, there was only one person in line. So Tom stopped and waited. When the person ahead of him left, the woman looked up from her pan of hot oil to Tom. She smiled, recognizing him from earlier in the day. Tom was totally ignorant of the language, so he mimed the hand signals and sounds that the other people had done before him. The woman’s smile broadened, as if in thanks for the courtesy, and said something nice. Then she handed Tom a small brown bag full of hot doughnuts. Tom handed her a 5 Rupee note. He knew that it was more than they would cost, but not so much that it would seem absurd. She gave him 3 Rupees in change, and said thanks.
Tom was surprised at how cheap they were, but looked forward to eating them once they cooled. He stood up, turned towards the pants store across the street, and went to buy his pants. Again, his stalker left the store just before he walked in. Tom decided to ignore the whole stalker thing. He was tired from his busy day. He wearily asked the shopkeeper the price of pants, and they started the same tedious process of negotiation.
“For a stupid pair of pants,” he said to himself in disgust.
Tired from a full day of culture shock, and confused by all the bedlam of the street, Tom lost his patience and blurted out: “Cut the bullshit, I‘ve been all down the street. What’s your best price?”
“For you? Fifteen dollar each, sir.”
Relieved to finally get a reasonable price, Tom just pulled out cash.
“Give me two, in olive color.”
“Olive color, sir? What is that color? We don’t have such a color.”
“Yes, you do. I see them over there on the shelf,” countered Tom, now more politely.
“Oh, that. That is army green. Are you sure you want army green?” he asked incredulously.
“Sure I’m sure. Here’s the money.”
"Ok. Its you the one to wear them,” he said with resignation.
After the transaction was done, Tom felt like the shopkeeper.....now happy for the sale...would answer a few questions.
“Tell me. When I came into the store, a man came out. Did he speak to you?”
“But, yes he did. He is my brother!”
“Your brother?”
“Yes, I have many brothers on this street.”
Finally understanding that his stalker was an information gopher for the shopkeepers, Tom laughed at his past worries of intrigue. The whole thing was really funny. Feeling relaxed, he knew that he had an opportunity to score some points with the shopkeepers.
“And, humor is going to be the most effective way to do it,” he strategized silently.
“Yes, I think I met all of your brothers today! It took a long time for the price of pants to come down!” he said with a bold laugh.
The shopkeeper was obviously surprised, but laughed at his joke. The man responded quickly.
“Yes, you did! Have a good day sir. Oh, do you stay long time in
“Yeah, I might, it’s a very interesting place. Once you get past the outside appearances.”
“Quite true. Many things are not as they appear, are they?”
“No, they are not.”
“Well, stop in again, and we shall have tea together!” he invited jauntily, and sincerely.
“Thank you, I’d like that. See you later, I must go meet a friend.”
"Ok, sir, have a most good day.”
“Thanks.”
Walking away, Tom began laughing again at his ignorance and unfounded worries. Yet, he didn’t beat himself up too badly either.
“It’s a complex culture. At least I’m learning and seeing the real thing,” he commented to himself.
Experiencing reality .....real reality.....was very important to Thomas. He was fed up with the un-reality of the
“Most people have fallen into the trap of believing their own bullshit, all the spin control, and the marketing; and are so deep within it that they couldn’t ever come clean like the shopkeeper just did,” he commented to himself. “Bizarro as it is, this place is very real. But I’ve had enough reality for one day!”
He was talking to himself, out loud now, as he blindly walked the last half mile to his guesthouse. He could feel the creeping, slightly overwhelming, crawl of culture shock lurking around his subconscious. At times like these he knew he had to chill out, and isolate himself for a while, in order to assimilate all that he had experienced. He didn’t know if isolation was good or not, but it seemed to be the only way to cope with a large influx of new sensory information. And, he’d certainly received an overload this day.
When he reached his guesthouse, he was greeted warmly by Pasang.
“Did you have a nice day, Mr. Thomas?”
“Yes, I did. But now I’m beat,” he said as he walked through the room. “I’m going to my room for a while, and I’ll come down for dinner soon. Should I order now? Will that be easier for you?”
“No, that’s fine. See you later. Oh, your friend.....”
“Yes, my friend too....” Tom repeated in a mental stupor. He walked out of the room, away from her, and up the stairs in a daze.
“What was that she said?” he asked himself, in his now befuddled state.
Once he reached the relative familiarity of the guesthouse, and felt he could let his guard down and relax, he found that he was drained and exhausted...... emotionally as well as physically.....and it hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Just make it to your room and crash,” he told himself.
He didn’t want to talk about Jacques, he just wanted to lay down. She’d be able to see him herself, at dinner. Tom didn’t want to explain why they’d spent the day apart.
“She’s just wondering where Jacques is, I bet,” he said aloud. “But she said it with a question. I wonder what’s up?”
He was up the three flights of stairs and in front of his room before he knew it; but he was no longer sure what he’d find inside. As he opened the door, he could see the note on his pillow. Looking around the room, he saw that Jacques’s backpack and other belongings were all gone.
“He’s gone?” Tom said with a sigh, as he sat down to read the note.
************
The next evening they met for dinner. Jacque’s eyes were glassed over with the remnants of whatever drugs he’d taken, and he appeared sad to Tom - full of regret, but unable to deny the chemistry that drove his actions and life. Tom gave him a flight pass for a roundtrip to
“Now you can practice your drawing; and when you’re done here, you can learn from the aborigines all about your dideridoo!” Tom said with a laugh.
“How can I thank you, Toe-mas?”
“Do your best to clean up, and don’t forget how wonderful real life can be. I’ll be leaving
“I will do my best, Toe-mass,” he said with a tear in his eye.
“That’s all any of us can do, big guy! Take good care,” Tom said as he took his leave.
As the days passed, Tom began to better understand Thamel. It was a hyper-manic melangé of motion, color, and cultures. In this district of Kathmandu, the old buildings had been modified at street level to accommodate little shops containing jewelry, Trekking supplies, Yak wool sweaters, cotton clothes, religious Thanka art, and brightly colored silks. As the shopkeepers rolled open their steel shutters each morning, the street hawkers and beggars began their dance of sales in a river of motion. Like sand crabs, they followed the ebb and pull of the human tide.
The beggars, though, competed with the vendors for the tourist’s money. The Nepali seemed disgusted with the beggars. At first, it seemed insensitive and harsh, until the whole story was told.
“Lazy, they are just lazy!” a shopkeeper friend told him.
“They move here from
Tom was shocked by these kind of comments, until he realized that the shopkeepers were proud, hardworking people who knew that in
“There are so many packed into the cities of
Tom heard this, and shook himself out of his thoughts. As he came back to reality, he found himself across the desk from another friend, an established tour operator at the
“
Tom simply nodded his head in grudging acceptance. He was overwhelmed with these hard hitting realizations. He knew them to be true, because they’d been confirmed firsthand through his personal experiences with all three cultures. Tom was very frustrated, because he’d spent fruitless weeks trying to get into
“If cell phones hit Thamel, the travel agents would really have the tourists at a disadvantage,” he reflected silently. “If it’s tough to get competitive prices now, what would happen if they all could call each other easily? Price fixing is already in an impossible state.”
Now, as a tourist in
“What would happen if they all talked to each other?” Tom wondered aloud.
“What, sir? Did you ask me a question?”
Quickly regaining his balance, Tom replied.
“No, I was just talking to myself.....again. This place will do it to you. What do you suggest that I do?”
“Well, since the Chinese are being impossible now....I suggest waiting until they are not.”
“How long can that take?”
“Who knows, they are Chinese! Such a silly question!”
“Yeah, right. Sorry to ask such dumb questions, I’m just frustrated, and want to get to
“I understand, but one must learn patience. Things happen in their own time.....regardless of what we may want sometimes. I suggest that you hike through the
“Yeah, you’re right. Can you book me on a bus to the beginning of the circuit?”
“Surely, Mr. Tom.”
Tom had finally accepted the fact that the Chinese Premier was upset with something in
Tom had taken two long, and expensive, cab rides to the far side of Kathmandu to secure a Visa for travel into
“These certainly are entertaining reading, eh mate?” a British tourist commented to Tom. “You seem quite taken with the shite!”
Laughing, Tom replied with equal disrespect for the propaganda posters. “No, not so taken as amazed at the audacity of them all. This one here shows an excerpt from a University text where ’the most respected professor Chen discovered the archeological wonder of the decade,’ a huge statue of Buddha in
“What's so wondrous about that, mate?”
“My point exactly! First, they didn’t just find this statute that ’proves the theory that
“Oh, my man, you are taking it way too serious, you know. It’s no different than the
“Sorry, but I beg to differ. We form academic committees to prove something; then, it can’t be disputed! It’s not always more subtle, but it’s thorough!” Tom laughed. “Yeah, I guess we have our own bullshit, but it doesn’t seem so blatant,” Tom admitted.
“That's because you know the truth about
“Oh, not that one again! Everywhere I go, I get crap about land mines. The average American doesn’t know everything that’s made in American factories! How can I stop something I don’t even know about?”
“My point, exactly! Are you much different than the average Chinese?”
“We think so.”
“Now who be fooling who, then?”
“Yeah, I get what you mean. We think we aren’t being deceived?”
“Bingo, mate!”
“Hey, I’m just here to get my Visa and make fun of the Chinese propaganda! Not to think about American responsibility!” Tom said, with exaggerated seriousness, as he tried not to laugh out loud.
“Now I know you truly are American. Ignorant, and proud of it!”
“You’re too funny! At least, you make this wait tolerable,” Tom said, as he finally broke a smile.
“Yeah, but we are a wastin our time today I think,” he said as he motioned ahead at the long line inside the building.
“We’re almost up to the door, though,” offered Tom, in encouragement.
“A, lookie ear, now!”
Just as they reached the door, an armed guard came out, and shut it in front of them.
“Do you think he heard us talking?” asked Tom.
“Naw, they don’t give a fuck bout nothing. It’s funny for them to see us all wait and beg for Visas. Guess we’ll ‘ave to be coming back, in the morn.”
The second time Tom went, a couple of days later in the week, the Chinese embassy never even opened. There wasn’t a ’closed’ sign, nor any information. The only official people there were completely non-communicative guards with rifles. People stood in line for two hours before opening, only to wait another two after the expected opening time, until they realized that it wasn’t going to open at all. The Chinese, evidently, didn’t care who waited, nor for how long. It was just the first indication to Tom of Chinese humor. Tom was at his limit with the Chinese attitude even before he started, so he decided to heed the travel agent’s advice, and take a few weeks hiking through the Annapurna Mountain Circuit. He desperately needed some peace.
“Maybe I’ll find some in the mountains. This city is getting on my last nerve!” he said to himself. Then, he returned from his thoughts and memories and spoke to the tour company owner.
“I think you’re a wise man, and I appreciate your helpful advice,” Tom told him sincerely. “You’re certainly the most reputable and honest agent I’ve met yet.”
Surprised both by Tom’s compliment, and his sudden return from his dream state, the man continued on with his description of the Annapurna Trek.
“It is supposed to be the best trekking course in the world. Because of the many different altitudes, and protected valleys, there are many different microclimates and protected micro ecosystems. This makes the vegetation and animals very very different throughout the hike. Because of these things, you will find yourself traveling from jungle to forest, to desert, and finally to snow topped mountains. It is quite beautiful! Most enjoyable hiking.”
“Sounds great to me. Then by the time I return, the Chinese Embassy should be reopened and the backlog cleared away. I’m tired of waiting days in line, only to be laughed at.”
“But what of your bird?” he asked Tom quizzically, changing the subject.
“Oh, I’m going to take her with me. She travels well, and likes to perch on my shoulder. She’s my little travel partner, huh sweetie?” Tom replied as he gently tapped the little parrot’s feathered head with his right forefinger.
“She is a fine bird, where did you find her? She is very well trained,” he said with overeager interest.
“A bird vendor on
“She must have belonged to a very special person.”
Puzzled by that statement, Tom thought about it for the first time. She was tamer than any bird Tom had ever seen, and he’d taken it for granted that she was so good. Reflecting back on the other birds the man had, his was the only one, of fifty or so, that was let out of its cage. And then, the man had been a devil to bargain with! The man wanted 4,000 Rupees for the bird, but Tom refused numerous times until they settled on 2,500 Rupees. At the time, Tom was upset, lonely, and needing a friend. The bird had jumped onto his shoulder the minute he sat next to the vendor at a roadside café. She preened comfortably there, while Tom sat and drank his coffee. A passing artist even made a sketch of them. When Tom got up to leave, and tried to hand the bird back to the vendor, the man was surprised and offered to sell the bird to him. He could see that that were a good match. Tom never expected the guy to sell such a special bird, but that’s how it had all begun. Before long, Tom was carrying the bird home; and then, over the weeks, all over
“It’s just another puzzle in this crazy place,” thought Tom.
Aloud, he only confirmed the man’s statement.
“Yes, I was very lucky to find her. I’ll take her home to my daughter in the States, after my trip.”
“But, won’t it be too cold in Thorung mountain pass for the bird? It is over 5,400 meters in elevation. These birds don’t live up there.”
Touched, and intrigued, by the man’s concern for the bird’s welfare, he was even more amazed that the guy cared more for the bird’s welfare than his.
“I‘ll never understand these people,” he thought.
“No, I heard that she’ll be ok. I’ll hold her under my jacket if I need to. She’s quite friendly, and likes to snuggle. She acts more like a cat than a bird, and is very smart.”
“This I can most certainly see. I buy her from you!”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to sell her. She’s a present for my little girl.”
“She is a most lucky little girl.”
“No, I am a most lucky dad! So, when do I leave for my trek?”
“Come here, at the main bus station, in two days hence. Early morning, don’t be late! They will not wait for anyone.”
“Thanks again, I’ll see you again upon my return.”
“You are most welcome. Now, I must meet with some errant employees. Such work to be done!”
Tom knew when he’d been dismissed, so he left the tiny office and walked through the nearby bookstore. It was a fascinating store, with floors and rooms full of books. Extraordinary books. Tom liked to linger there, and sometimes sat in their adjoining café to read. Today however the café was empty, so he opted for the
“Yes, I am here for nine months, actually. This is my season for tours. Then, of course I reside in
“Yeah, I know,” Tom said with clever smile. “In fact, I just met one today?”
“By all means, who?”
“You, of course! I’ve never known anyone who was so successful at travel tours. Well, not one who wasn’t all rough around the edges.”
“Just so, my dear man. Just so. Mine is truly a unique case. I just find cloak and dagger intrigue so enticing. I simply can’t help myself.”
“See, I wasn’t wrong, was I?”
“And, you aren’t what you appear to be either,” he said in a quieter tone of voice to Tom. “You are certainly not a simple student with a silly bird. No matter how charming the feathered thing may be! Is it all hush, hush, your work?”
“No, I’m just a guy traveling about on a spiritual journey.”
“Really? Just like that, eh? There is a lot of that going around, these days. I do quite well off of those kind of folks.”
“Well, I’m not a new age wanderer, I’m simply spending some well deserved quiet time alone. I wanted to just knock about, but in
“Naturally,” he replied in a thoroughly drool, British, way.
“Well,” the man continued, “I suggest that you read the writings of Dervla Murphy. She was a spinster of sorts from
“Well, maybe they’ll regain their lands again.”
“I daresay, it won’t be in my lifetime. No, it’s a done deal! The Chinese have won. Hands down.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t give up on the Tibetans quite yet,” countered Tom. “If other countries really understood what was happening, they’d fight the Chinese. Especially in places like
“On the contrary, my dear fellow. I find the Chinese very entertaining in their efforts. They are much more clever than people really know. I think what they are doing in
Suddenly, the man stopped mid-sentence. He had gotten too comfortable with Tom’s subtle probing, and began to tip his hand. None of this was lost on Tom, yet he had what he wanted. More solid proof to back his theory that
“Yes, this runs deep,” thought Tom.
Then, he replied to the man’s statement as he rose to leave.
“Yes, I think you’re right. They’ve been very clever in how they have been achieving their gains,” Tom said obliquely. “But sometimes, too deep a game can be lost through outright actions. Secrecy is their main tool, once that is gone....” Tom’s voice trailed off purposely, for effect.
After a sufficient pause, he continued: “If you invest heavily in deep manipulation, then it’s nearly impossible to be openly active; because that means exposing your prior mechanizations. Once people realize that they’ve been played, they get angry and fight back. It’s a form of betrayal that knows few limits in its retaliation. Once trust is gone....” Tom concluded, leaving his thought hang....uncompleted.
The man laughed at Tom’s insight.
“You are a clever one, yourself. But things are now in motion that can’t be stopped. It’s too late,” he said proudly.
“It’s never too late to clean house,” replied Tom. “Well, it’s been wonderful chatting with you, but I have to be running. I’m to meet a friend for an early dinner, and I have a lot to do,” commented Tom, to end the meeting politely.
He felt everything but polite, but chose to remain outwardly calm. The man turned his stomach. He had betrayed his homeland, and his sincere customers who had trusted his objectivity. Therefore his words and integrity were suspect, and his character vacant. He was the worst sort of man. A charlatan, and sadistic con artist. Tom knew that he wasn’t going to be able to hide his disgust for long.
“We shall talk again,” stated Tom boldly.
In saying such, Tom demonstrated his level of understanding, and his self confidence in a dangerous game. It was a challenge among equals.
“Most certainly,” the man quipped in return. “I’ll be staying here at The Kathmandu guesthouse. Come see me anytime. It’s so hard to find entertaining conversationalists these days,” he lamented with a tinge of debauched indolence.
“Yes, the game is afoot,” finished Tom, as he walked away.
As he walked from the fortuitous meeting, Tom congratulated himself on being accurate in his theories; but he was also very concerned with the implications of the information that he had learned. It was much worse than he had expected, and he could see that the real message of the Tibetan situation had to get out quickly before it was too late for them, and too late for many others. He was beginning to see the outlines of a very clever, very patient, long term, Chinese expansion plan that affected more than just Tibetans. They were just a good example of what would be done when the Chinese leadership was allowed too much absolute power. That had to be curbed, before it got out of control.
“God,” he told the bird. “We’ve got to get out of this town, and into the mountains. I’m at my limit.”
With his increased awareness, many things jumped out at him. Things that he would’ve just passed over earlier in his life. He didn’t want to live in denial and ignore everything bad, but he also didn’t want it to rule his outlook on life either. He realized that he had to guard himself, because he could easily become overly serious and bitterly cynical if he wasn’t careful.
“Ignorance may seem like bliss, little girl, but it isn’t. It’s only an accident waiting to happen,” he told his bird aloud, as he walked back to his guesthouse.
“But deep awareness can just as easily be overwhelming or quite depressing. Especially if you feel as alone as I do in seeing things, and people, for what they really are. This could make anyone crazy and paranoid!” he said jokingly to the bird. “See, I’m even talking to a bird!” he laughed.
“I just have to find some people who share my values, and are equally aware, so that I don’t feel so alone. Someone that can talk with me. Sorry dear, but there’s only so much that we can discuss,” he said with feigned disappointment to the bird on his shoulder.
But his joking didn’t help too much. Suddenly, the world seemed very cold and harsh to Tom.....and not a little bit lonely.
Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World…the American Delusion, a Parody of life ( L'illusion Américaine, une Parodie de Vie); is copyright protected, by author, Patrick Mahoney. Online Internet Reproduction/Propagation/Quotation Encouraged, with this citation. Any Printed reproduction, other than for personal reading, requires written permission by author, patrickm at http://patrickm.gather.com/ or patrick1000000000@yahoo.com
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