Six weeks after Justin proposed, endless stress filled days of planning, and a few meltdowns later; inevitably our wedding day came, and it went. All of our preparation for one day amounted in a blurred whirlwind of family, friends, and festivities. We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day to celebrate, and we were thrilled to share it with those we loved, and a few rangers, too; who had nothing better to do than try to be the rain on our parade.
Working full time, planning a wedding (in six weeks with a limited budget), and trying to prepare (vaccinations, permits, finances, visas, research, etc) for an international lifestyle, left us with very little time to physically, mentally, or emotionally prepare for our non-traditional honeymoon in Nepal. We married on Saturday and by Monday morning what were we doing? Not packing for Nepal. Not preparing our paperwork, or packing to move to another country. No. We were painting. Justin had a job to finish, and there I was on my second day of marriage up on a ladder, paint brush in hand. This left us with very little time to ready for Nepal, thus resulting in an all night, last minute rush of packing on Tuesday. We could have used another week, or a lifetime, to prepare to leave. I don’t know if you can ever truly be ready for an adventure like this one.
Wednesday morning came whether we were ready or not. We jumped in the car to hurry to my parent’s house, and of course in classic Justin & Kassi style - we ran out of gas on the way! We were disoriented to say the least when we finally reached the airport in Vancouver, B.C.
The tightly packed airplane proved to be a challenge for Justin’s long limbs, which less than an hour into our first flight knocked orange juice all over me and the backside of my seat. How it landed there, and why orange juice never dries, will always be a mystery to me. I was saturated and, by the end of the 14-hour flight, smelled of fermented orange juice. I could only laugh, although Justin was thoroughly disgusted with himself. What can you do? If the past few weeks were to be any indication of what our future was to hold, then I should have enough stand-up comic material to make a fortune!
Our arrival in Kathmandu was a sensory overload of sights, sounds, and smells that I believe would be challenging even to the most seasoned traveler. If a relaxing honeymoon vacation was what we wanted then we should have rethought our Nepali choice. After being thrust into a ‘cab’ and driven by a teenager through poorly-lit backstreets of the city, we started to catch a glimpse of what our life in Kathmandu would hold. The emaciated form of cows and dogs stood side by side eating from the streets piled shin deep in garbage and rubble. The gut wrenching odors of human waste, rotting food and dead animals drifted through the car. On a number of occasions I caught my stomach wanting to show a physical response to the stench. What seemed a lifetime later, we somehow made it to our hotel; exhausted, overwhelmed, and in desperate need of a shower. Our hotel room is clean for the most part, except the shower curtain that looks as though someone had a terrible bout of explosive diarrhea, but for the time we are grateful for the Western amenities: air conditioning, lights, a toilet, running water, and hot showers.
Taking to the streets in the district of Thamel was less ‘civilized’ than we would have imagined, but we likened quickly to bartering for everything, dodging cars, bikes, buses, and anything else that flew at us. Not only do the cars drive on the left side of the road, weave in and out of bikes, motorcycles, and pedestrians, they squeeze through streets so narrow that a Ford F150 would have to fold in its mirrors. The relentless communication of horns creates a deafening cacophony, and the crowded streets bring more challenges than simply avoiding becoming a victim of vehicular homicide. “You want a bag of weed?” come gruff voices through toothless grins, and spittle. Pressing in only inches from your face, I don’t believe that they are aware of personal space. Our fair skin proves to work against us time and time again. We are charged higher prices, are constant targets for hassling, and I have never had to say the word ‘no’ so many times in my life. By one o’clock fatigue settles in from the restless atmosphere, unfiltered car exhaust, and the adrenaline rush of fear and excitement. We retire to our hotel to rest up, plot our mountain escape, and practice our Nepalese – well, Justin does; I simply sleep.
We decide to walk an hour to the Monkey Temple, and I am forced to wear my scarf around my neck so that I may easily cover my nose and mouth to ward off the foul smells. We cross over a river so polluted by every cast off of human kind that it is impossible to see through the water. I feel tremendous gratitude for our clean water back home, and slightly disgusted that such filth could come from my own race. The smell of burning garbage rides the small breeze that dares to waft through the city, and my gag reflexes rear back. The sun beats heavily upon us and sweat pours down our backs. People stare as we walk by, and we take in our surroundings with heavy hearts. Justin continues to impress me with his quick adaptability to new languages. “Swayanbhunuat Stupa samma kun baaTo jaaccha? (Which trail leads to the Monkey Temple?)” He asks an old man along the path. The man smiles in recognition, and responds by telling us the way. Lucky for us he uses hand gestures, and eventually we find the Monkey Temple.
Nepal – beautiful, seemingly endless natural surroundings, emerging from a rich cultural heritage – and yet smothered in oppression and drowning in rapid urbanization. Kathmandu has proven to be an adventure that we won’t soon forget. We long for the day we are prepared enough to run away into the mountains. That day will soon arrive, but not without a few new friends, and stories along the way. . .
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