I travelled to Nepal and hiked the Poon Hill loop in the Annapurna trekking circuit for five glorious days to celebrate my 36th birthday. I brought a little black journal with me and scribbled some notes in an attempt to document my solo mission.
As soon as I returned to the UAE, I immediately misplaced the little black journal but just found it again. So here we go...
MONDAY (Day 1) 9.45am -- Abu Dhabi International Airport
The man behind the counter gave me a confused look when I ordered a plain green tea instead of a double mocha frappuccino or some other proverbial over-priced expat beverage. Yes, it was true: a man of my pale (sun-burned) complexion does enjoy hot tea. Especially when that man had been battling a mystery sickness that lingered for several days leading up to his adventure in the Himalayas.
Here I am. At the airport. In Abu Dhabi. Solo.
It was just me and a bunch of what I could only assume were Nepalese men. They looked tired. They were ready to go home. For me, my mission was just beginning.
In front of me was Nepal. Behind me, almost as far away as possible, was a gaggle of white people who appeared to huddle in one area of the airport gate as if quarantined away from the brown haze that would inevitably consume them.
I wore my old hiking gear from 2009. So naturally, I thought I had street credit.
But the task at hand was to grab some sleep on the plane so I could rid myself of this sickness once and for all. Sleeping on planes had never been a tall order for me.
The plan became that much easier when the check-in lady swiped my ticket stub and then said I needed a new boarding pass. As I boarded the plane, I didn't really think to look at the new one until one of the flight attendants onboard escorted me to a business class seat. Wait a second, I didn't buy a business class seat. Right about the time when champagne and orange juice arrived, I realized only one person could have pulled this off.
Once again, my amazing wife Miranda had pleasantly surprised me. We exchanged a few quick text messages before the plane filled with passengers. I told her that I loved her.
Wheels up. Champagne down. Sleep.
MONDAY (Day 1) 7.23pm -- Eco Hotel restaurant in Kathmandu
Flying into this city was like landing in a war zone. The remnants of last year's earthquake were very present even before we touched down on the decrepit airport runway.
The arrivals terminal we were bussed to was deserted but the workers near the visa operation were helpful and everyone spoke English, which was an unexpected delight.
Something that was expected and lived up to the hype: the country smelled like shit. The smog and pollution was in your face within minutes. The street traffic? Fucking insane.
After clearing through immigration with ease -- my minted US passport granted me a license to pillage -- I walked outside where the real shit was going down. A few friendly taxi barkers took aim at the tallest white man in the room. I had been riding some kind of wave where I was confident enough to engage but it was quite obvious I was not going to bite. The barkers were polite -- they were not pushy at all -- took their loss and just moved on to the next potential pay day.
Then I emerged outside the arrivals gate. Before I embarked on this journey, I had signed up for one of those everything-included packages. Transport, accommodations, food, hiking permits... the works! But as I debuted in this country, I just assumed there would be someone holding up a sign with my name on it. On what can only be described as an ATM receipt with the word "Aaron" scribbled on the back of it, a very excited Nepalese man, the holder of such a meager sign, summoned my attention. I think he was told to keep an eye out for clueless men who squinted at the many signs with people's names on them.
Fresh meat.
A simple thumbs up were exchanged between us and before I knew it, he had rushed around a security wall and forced my loaded bag off my back. He must have asked if I was Aaron at least three times just to make sure. No last names were used.
We walked about 15 meters before he quickly opened the back passenger door to a dirty sedan with a driver already in it. He tossed my bag into the backseat like a sack of potatoes, I got in shotgun but the guy prevented me from closing the door. Then he mumbled something that ended with "tip, tip?"
I suddenly sprang to attention because this vulcher's inquiry reminded me that I had not hit a cash machine yet. The last time I landed in a foreign land and did not get local cash out, the punishments were severe. When I came back, I tried to hand him 50 rupees but he did not accept because it was such a small amount to him that he thought it was disrespectful.
He threw a little attitude at me so I just hopped in the car and closed the door on his face. I wasn't trying to make a crass first impression but the driver immediately put his foot on the gas and then we were off.
"Don't worry about him," the driver said. "They all think they deserve money because they hold a sign. Me? I'm driver. We know everything about Kathmandu. Do you want any drugs? Do you want prostitute?"
Welcome to Nepal.
As soon as I returned to the UAE, I immediately misplaced the little black journal but just found it again. So here we go...
MONDAY (Day 1) 9.45am -- Abu Dhabi International Airport
The man behind the counter gave me a confused look when I ordered a plain green tea instead of a double mocha frappuccino or some other proverbial over-priced expat beverage. Yes, it was true: a man of my pale (sun-burned) complexion does enjoy hot tea. Especially when that man had been battling a mystery sickness that lingered for several days leading up to his adventure in the Himalayas.
Here I am. At the airport. In Abu Dhabi. Solo.
It was just me and a bunch of what I could only assume were Nepalese men. They looked tired. They were ready to go home. For me, my mission was just beginning.
In front of me was Nepal. Behind me, almost as far away as possible, was a gaggle of white people who appeared to huddle in one area of the airport gate as if quarantined away from the brown haze that would inevitably consume them.
I wore my old hiking gear from 2009. So naturally, I thought I had street credit.
But the task at hand was to grab some sleep on the plane so I could rid myself of this sickness once and for all. Sleeping on planes had never been a tall order for me.
The plan became that much easier when the check-in lady swiped my ticket stub and then said I needed a new boarding pass. As I boarded the plane, I didn't really think to look at the new one until one of the flight attendants onboard escorted me to a business class seat. Wait a second, I didn't buy a business class seat. Right about the time when champagne and orange juice arrived, I realized only one person could have pulled this off.
Once again, my amazing wife Miranda had pleasantly surprised me. We exchanged a few quick text messages before the plane filled with passengers. I told her that I loved her.
Wheels up. Champagne down. Sleep.
Flying into this city was like landing in a war zone. The remnants of last year's earthquake were very present even before we touched down on the decrepit airport runway.
The arrivals terminal we were bussed to was deserted but the workers near the visa operation were helpful and everyone spoke English, which was an unexpected delight.
Something that was expected and lived up to the hype: the country smelled like shit. The smog and pollution was in your face within minutes. The street traffic? Fucking insane.
After clearing through immigration with ease -- my minted US passport granted me a license to pillage -- I walked outside where the real shit was going down. A few friendly taxi barkers took aim at the tallest white man in the room. I had been riding some kind of wave where I was confident enough to engage but it was quite obvious I was not going to bite. The barkers were polite -- they were not pushy at all -- took their loss and just moved on to the next potential pay day.
Then I emerged outside the arrivals gate. Before I embarked on this journey, I had signed up for one of those everything-included packages. Transport, accommodations, food, hiking permits... the works! But as I debuted in this country, I just assumed there would be someone holding up a sign with my name on it. On what can only be described as an ATM receipt with the word "Aaron" scribbled on the back of it, a very excited Nepalese man, the holder of such a meager sign, summoned my attention. I think he was told to keep an eye out for clueless men who squinted at the many signs with people's names on them.
Fresh meat.
A simple thumbs up were exchanged between us and before I knew it, he had rushed around a security wall and forced my loaded bag off my back. He must have asked if I was Aaron at least three times just to make sure. No last names were used.
We walked about 15 meters before he quickly opened the back passenger door to a dirty sedan with a driver already in it. He tossed my bag into the backseat like a sack of potatoes, I got in shotgun but the guy prevented me from closing the door. Then he mumbled something that ended with "tip, tip?"
I suddenly sprang to attention because this vulcher's inquiry reminded me that I had not hit a cash machine yet. The last time I landed in a foreign land and did not get local cash out, the punishments were severe. When I came back, I tried to hand him 50 rupees but he did not accept because it was such a small amount to him that he thought it was disrespectful.
He threw a little attitude at me so I just hopped in the car and closed the door on his face. I wasn't trying to make a crass first impression but the driver immediately put his foot on the gas and then we were off.
"Don't worry about him," the driver said. "They all think they deserve money because they hold a sign. Me? I'm driver. We know everything about Kathmandu. Do you want any drugs? Do you want prostitute?"
Welcome to Nepal.
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