Top of the world

Part adventure, part holiday, part mission – a visit to Kathmandu can be many things at once.

You tend to get a good sense of the country you’re in by the airport itself and, after landing at Tribhuvan Airport, Kathmandu, the heat and the smell were intoxicating my senses already!
The airport looked like a rundown prison ward surrounded by ominous barbed-wire fences and dry overgrown grass. Inside, the dim rattle of rusty fans blew dense hot air in circles. Definitely a far cry from the luxurious ten hours I had spent lounging around in an air-conditioned Singapore airport on my stopover, but hey, ‘I’m here for an adventure,’ I kept telling myself.
Eventually I made my way out to the familiar barrage of ‘yes ma’am, hello ma’am, come and ride my red Ferrari ma’am’. By Ferrari, he was referring to his rickshaw, painted red, with a big FERARI sticker on the front window, ‘That was inventive,’ I thought to myself with a grin stretching across my face.
My plan was to meet up with VolNepal, a volunteer service aimed at supporting communities, orphanages and schools across Nepal, and after searching through crowds of men dressed like they were from the 70s and other lost-looking travellers, I realised my Nepalese liaison was nowhere in sight, so I started to follow a group of foreigners who looked like they knew where they were going.
Kathmandu is situated in a picturesque valley surrounded by the staggeringly beautiful Himalayas. Being the obvious tourist attraction meant every second stall sold fake designer hiking equipment, and every second man offered themselves as ‘official’ porters and guides.
Kathmandu is also famous for its part in the ‘Hippy Trail’ back in the day, so as much as I wanted to meet the locals, the foreigners who made a home here were just as fascinating. I noticed one woman wearing a mixture of layers and colours of the traditional Nepalese dress, but realised Nepalese woman don’t normally wear their hair in a dreadlock ponytail reaching their lower back.
I followed this woman, who looked so at ease in these convoluted back streets and she was not once approached by anyone selling her trinkets and handmade crafts. I lost sight of her as I dodged an oncoming feral dog and a cycle rickshaw that made no effort to dodge me.
Lost and disorientated in this labyrinth of tiny alleyways, I eventually found my way back to the hostel, all the while pondering what it would be like to be that elusive woman living in this wild and fascinating city.
The next morning, my guide Harry arrived. A short, mid-30s, quietly spoken man with a limp handshake and wry smile greeted me.
After a few pleasantries, we headed outside and Harry motioned toward his scooter expecting me to sit on the back.
Horrified, I imagined myself hurling through the back streets of Kathmandu, with a 15kg backpack and camera gear clutching for dear life to a man I had just met, and suddenly hitting a pothole at speed.
I politely suggested we take a taxi, and after half an hour of bargaining (thanks to Harry who got a far better, ‘I’m a local, don’t even try it’ deal), we were on our way to the outskirts of Kathmandu to meet a group of local kids from a community-run orphanage.
I had never before been to an orphanage. From a very young age, I remember watching World Vision advertisements on television and had always wanted to see firsthand what the realities of life are like for these children. Now, careering along a bumpy road, I was about to experience it.
We arrived in some town, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Wide curious eyes followed us as we made our way down a maze of muddy lanes. Crossing though backyards of tiny cement houses we arrived at Fresh Nepal, an orphanage run by VolNepal.
I was greeted by an excitable man named Dev; a big man with a big grin and an infectious ‘can do’ attitude.
I sat waiting, sipping my steaming hot milky tea, while the children started filing in to the small room.
One by one, they introduced themselves, about fifteen in total, all standing from youngest to oldest in a uniform and proper manner. “Namaste, my name is, ‘something long and exotic sounding that I would definitely not remember’.
I was anxious to break the formal mood, so as soon as I suggested they show me some games, the children jumped up and ran full speed at me; some proudly displaying their most prized toy and others sniffing and stroking my hair. One girl yanked my arm out to compare skin tone, and as she pointed with a confused frown at my arm, I tried to explain (in basic English) what a freckle was. The look on her face told me she thought my freckles were some strange foreign disease, and she promptly let go of my arm.
I walked outside to see a group of boys forming one long line in front of a particularly muddy patch of land. From a low tiger crouch, they shot up and flew across the mud like a surfer balancing on a wave. The boy who slid the shortest distance or, in this case, fell over, was eliminated from the game.
After a good ten minutes of serious mud sliding and subsequent elimination, the winner celebrated his victory with an Elvis-like hip shake and was picked up and carried on the shoulders of the other boys.
Throughout the game, not one ounce of jealousy or petty arguments took place. I pictured this game in New Zealand and envisioned fighting, tears and accusations of cheaters, but not here, it was just pure joy.
I had the sudden urge to pick them up and take them all home with me and become the next Angelina Jolie … sigh!
After that day, I knew I was in for the adventure of a lifetime in this stunning and exotic country. One month lay ahead with more visits to orphanages and schools across Nepal, then finally on to tackle the mighty Himalayas – in jandals – but that’s another story.
Lucy Rice
www.lucyrice.carbonmade.com
www.volnepal.np.org/