Alexander - The Nepali Flat

Arriving in Kathmandu

They say that humans are made up of 60% water. Well for a Scotsman named Andy, who was sitting next to me on the flight from Kuala Lumpur to Kathmandu, that may be a little on the light side. About halfway through the flight, I looked over to see him, in the aisle seat with no one in between us, begin to flow (there is just no other word for it) in a downward motion towards the floor. I was reading Lonely Planet: Trekking in the Nepal Himalaya , but I closed the book and put it aside, for there was a far more interesting spectacle unfolding right next to me.

The flow was a little slow at first, but then accelerated after reaching the point of no return - a little above the hip region - and within seconds Andys whole body was on the floor of the plane. The only thing preventing him from going further was the seat-belt, which was now secured around his neck.

I better do something, I thought.

I nudged him awake, and he looked around, utterly confused.

Oh Jesus not again! he cried out loud. Ive got to stop falling asleep with my seatbelt on.

I think thats exactly what youre supposed to do, I countered.

Aye, but you wont end up choking yourself.

His facts were irrefutable, so I opened my book once again, smiling as I heard his seatbelt un-click. Moments later I glanced over and realised that the human waterfall was in full flow once again. I gained some kind of guilty pleasure in watching this, like picking your nose at a set of traffic lights; because let us be fair, travelling is wonderful, but flying is about as boring as bat shit.

We were sitting in the first row of economy, with only a curtain separating us and business class. As the flow progressed, Andys feet ended up in the front cabin, followed by his legs. He slipped entirely off the chair without even flinching, his lower body now in business class, with the rest of him in the aisle in economy. I let it go. He could no longer harm himself.

Sir, sir! You cant do this! hissed the air hostess once she realised what had happened. She scurried off towards the back of the plane, with Andy still out for the count, and came back with a glass of water. Wake up, wake up and drink! she pleaded further.

Oh not again! Shouted Andy once again, this time loud enough to disturb people a few rows back. How long since I almost strangled myself?

That was literally about three minutes ago.

Shes trying to give me water, look. She thinks because Im Scottish I must be drunk.

If its any consolation to her, I thought that too.

*

This was my first time in Nepal. I had been planning to come here to trek in the Himalayas for almost a decade, but life sometimes gets in the way of living. The opportunity finally presented itself again and this time I seized it with both hands.

I arrived in Kathmandu on the last day of February, 2014. I arrived in a different world. We wandered like sheep through an old, tired-looking red brick building and it immediately became obvious who had been here before and who hadnt. The experienced few had printed off their visa documents, filled them out, had two passport photos ready and bee-lined for the two immigration officials waiting to process the entire flight.

I sensed a shit-fight, so I quickly filled out my visa application form, before fumbling in my bag for the passport photos that I thought I might need. They must be in here somewhere , I thought, although I was fast approaching the last possible hiding place.

Do you want these in a little envelope so you dont lose them? I remember my girlfriend at the time, Jo, asking me before I left.

Nah, theyll be alright just flapping around loose in this book, Id said, or something ridiculously stupid like that. Well they were lost. Of course, she was right.

There was a little Nepali guy wandering around with an ancient camera, offering poor souls such as myself the opportunity to have their passport-sized photos taken. For $5 US, he could make it happen.

I need photos, but I only have Australian dollars, I said, immediately and naturally dumbing down my accent so that he could properly understand me.

No problem, sah, just change money over there, he said.

I wandered over to the only currency exchange place in the terminal and just kind of stood there and waited in front of an empty desk.

Were closed! boomed a voice from somewhere that I couldnt see. That was the end of that. I spied a solitary ATM a little way down. I skipped off towards it, but was dejected as I read the words OUT OF SERVICE sticky-taped across the screen. I sighed and headed back to my little photographer mate.

Sorry man, that place is closed and the ATM is out of service.

No problem, you got little money?

I only have fifty dollar notes, I said while staring sheepishly at the floor.

The man looked at me with pity. He probably guessed this was the first time I had travelled anywhere. In my defence, I had not been to an airport without 24hr currency exchange and/or a working ATM; and when Id asked the exchange man in Kuala Lumpur if he had Nepali money, he just laughed without even dignifying my enquiry with a response.

No problem I fix, he said while ushering me into his little photo booth. He snapped my tired-looking face. Get in queue.

The queue was huge. Every single person on the plane was ahead of me and the line was not moving. I saw Andy ahead at the front and he was trying to get my attention. He was frantically waving at me to join him, but I made a gesture that said Im still waiting for my passport photos , holding an imaginary camera up to my face and clicking the shutter button. He gave me a strange look and then turned back around. It was the half British part of me. I was just too good at queuing. All of a sudden the little camera man forcefully grabbed my arm and to my horror began to drag me to the immigration officer.