Back to Reality

During my first two days in Kathmandu, I left the guest house several times to walk around and explore Patan. Each time I took my guidebook with the map, a small snack, some water, and my hand sanitizer at a minimum. In those days I practiced getting lost and then found, crossing busy streets, and eating in various restaurants of varying reputability. I felt confident in my ability to navigate my way around Patan, take care of myself, and venture out alone in this tourist friendly country. On the third day, I headed out of the guest house without much thought to anything.

Being that it was Monday, I decided to see if I could find exactly where I could enter the university campus. With my to-do list notebook in hand I walked down the street at my usual quick pace. After the expected ten minutes of walking, I saw the main gates of the campus, but they were closed. As I quickly approached them, I felt a rush of blood to my head, an uneasy lack of balance, and the feeling that I was about to pass out. Instinctively, I turned around to look at where I had come from. All I saw was this familiar part of the main road, where I knew it was ten minutes back home. Ten minutes walk seemed like eternity at the moment. A man that had been walking behind me took a long look at my face as he passed, surely seeing the panic I was displaying. Fortunately, my whole life didn’t pass before my eyes, just the recent events. The breakfast I had skipped in lieu of two cups of black tea. The newspaper article I had read that morning about the high levels of pollution in the valley that day. The one mile elevation change I had made 3 days ago. The bottled water in my room that I hadn’t touched this morning. I saw a staircase nearby and decided to sit down.

Sitting down hadn’t helped too much. I wasn’t going to fall over, but not much else was better. In my haze I decided to correct the situation as best I could. I needed food, but was out of range of my usual restaurant choice. I got up slowly and walked a block down, where there were two restaurants across the street. Hoping that I wouldn’t pass out crossing the street, I waited for the best two second break in microbuses and motorcycles and crossed to the center divide. I waited there for another break in traffic and then made my way into a very clean and large restaurant. I was relieved to step inside, only to have my hopes crushed when they told me that they didn’t open for another two hours. I stepped out on the street again, back at square one. I walked into the small and dingy tandoori restaurant next door. I ordered hot lemonade and a chicken dish from the menu. Sitting not far from the tandoori oven, I watched as the cook/cashier/owner put a few bite sized pieces of chicken in. As I waited, the smoke from the oven filled the small restaurant with the only fan there insufficient to clear the air. As I felt sicker I called over the waiter and pointed to a coke in the refrigerator. I drank it down instantly, trying to get some quick sugar energy into my system. I also realized the size of the dish I had ordered was too small, so I called the waiter back again and ordered a curry with rice dish. He asked, “With rice?” I confirmed, thinking that the rice was the only thing I cared about.

As my first dish arrived, I ate the undercooked chicken and turned away from the table to put my head between my knees. I rested there for a minute and the cook came over to ask if I had a headache and offer me some pain killers. I politely declined, thinking that any drugs on this empty stomach would make things much worse. Next the curry with rice came and I ate it quickly in the chokingly smoky restaurant. I thought about taking a break to go outside, only to realize that the pollution from the roadside was what sent me in here in the first place. Upon finishing the meal, I let it sit for a minute, feeling worse. I got up to give the phone number of the guest house to the cook but took it back when I realized that it would do no good. You can’t call a taxi in Kathmandu, you just have to go out to the street and find one. I sat back down thinking about basic human needs and what was missing. I called the waiter over and ordered a large bottle of water. In a few minutes I had drank it down, paid my bill, and was ready to head out to the street to hazily find my way back to the guest house.

Stepping outside, I sat down in front of the restaurant to gather my energy under the roadside pollution. Realizing I needed to go to the bathroom, I went back in and asked for the restroom. I was directed to the room with the expected eastern toilet and water tap dripping into a bucket. My heart sunk a little as I realized that my hand sanitizer was at the guest house. At least I had eaten already. After using the facilities, I stepped back out on the street, this time with the fullest understanding of the cultural rule in which the right hand is the only acceptable hand for eating with. Feeling slightly better, I decided to start a slow walk back home. The whole way I fought the urge to walk faster and get home quicker, knowing that this was a slow march that couldn’t be sped up no matter how bad I wanted it to end.

Arriving at the guest house, I lied down in my bed. Glad to be safely back home, but back in the reality of my physical limitations. Across the next few days, I ventured out carefully, remembering the newspaper article stating that things would not get better until the next rain, which was a ways in the future. Headaches became the norm. I got used to feeling lightheaded when I stepped outside a building onto the sidewalk. I often mimicked some of the locals and held my shirt over my nose and mouth when walking on a busy street. In a cab ride across town I rolled down the window completely, in case I was going to be sick. Yesterday, I decided to venture out and get a pollution mask that the occasional motorcyclist and pedestrian wore. I made sure to walk slowly the entire way. I found one at the local supermarket, next to a sign that read, “We have Mask.” Of the various choices of regionally made masks, I chose the one from Bangkok, thinking that they would know best how to make a pollution mask. Stepping outside I donned the mask made for a much smaller person, accepting that nothing in this region of the world came in my size.

After a few days worth of use and non-use, I can definitely say that it helps. I took it on and off several times, finding that it did make a difference. After a few sizing modifications, it fill well enough to work on a repeat walk up to the university and back. I will definitely be wearing the mask until the pollution is knocked out of the sky by the monsoon season. Although, when I wear it I do feel like a G.I. Joe action figure I once owned as a kid.





The top is a view of a sunset with no rain for the past 90 days.
The bottom is a view of the afternoon, shortly after a very light and brief rainfall.