No! Not THAT! That happened over a half century ago and really not worth remembering.
I am speaking about my very first overseas solo journey.
My bucket list had been taped to my bathroom mirror long enough for the tape to become permanently stuck. At least twice a day one word kept jumping out at me. Kathmandu. I had washed a lot of dishes dancing to Bob Seger’s song by the same name – until it was on permanent replay in my head.
It was time to go!
So, I got a passport, bought a pair of baby blue Keens (still have them!) and made the biggest newbie mistake – I bought a backpack without research. It looked really trendy, in army green with dozens of pockets and an adorable day pack zippered to it. It also weighed 10 pounds more after a previously unexperienced phenomenon called monsoon rains. I also packed three pairs of jeans. You do the math.
I have to be honest here and say that my excitement fizzled out fast when I arrived at the airport 6 hours before my flight. Terror began to set in, and panic joined the party. Along came hot flash to add some sizzle. I promptly sweat through my carefully coordinated “travel outfit”, my 24-hour make-up called it quits and any semblance of a hair style disappeared. Off to a great start.
I also discovered the biggest downside to solo travel for an older woman with a ridiculous backpack. Trying to maneuver my body and pack into a small bathroom stall while still closing the stall door is not one of my shining travel memories. Don’t ask how I got out.
My red eye flight landed first in Hong Kong and then on to Kathmandu’s Tibhuvan International Airport. It was 1 AM and a driver from a guest house in Bhaktapur was to meet me. I stepped out into chaos. Every taxi driver was jostling the other to get a customer as I (and my ^%$%% pack) waded through the masses looking for a sign with my name.
Now, put your imagination to work here. Dark, dusty, walls of people, loud voices in another language – and one old broad totally out of her element and exhausted beyond belief. I just wanted to go home. And I needed to pee again.
Then, like the parting of the red sea, I see an opening. There stood a driver with a very, very small piece of paper with what appeared to be my last name. He was leaning against a vehicle. A Frankenstein of a vehicle. Put together by pieces of cars that had died. The driver offered a huge, shining smile, grabbed my pack and other than “Hello, hello, hello!”, did not speak a word of English. Off we went.
Electricity is not a given in many areas of Nepal and a brown out was happening. As we drove to Bhaktapur, the only light was from the one working headlight. I could see shadows of buildings. Some casting shadows from candlelight, other mere shells damaged by earthquakes. On a scale of one to ten, my security levels were about minus one thousand. This lowered even further as we enter Bhaktapur’s narrow stone alleyways and shadows of dogs and other four-legged creatures flashed against ancient walls ….
The car came to a stop and the driver pounded on a hobbit sized door at the bottom of a short flight of stone steps. After a few minutes, the door opened and the host of the guest house came out, handled me a lit candle, hoisted my pack onto his back and led me up narrow stairs to a room. Another candle was lit, my host wished me a good night and left. I sat on the bed and my exhaustion kicked in and I passed out, fully clothed. Go ahead. Murder me. Just don’t wake me up in the process please.
A few hours later, the deep echoing sound of a gong being struck woke me up. My eyes were drooping shut when the gong was struck again. And again. Stumbling across the room, I opened up the shutters to see what the noise was all about – and my heart stopped in awe.
Taumadhi Tole. A living heritage of Nepal. This was my first view of Nepal. I watched the local farmers and artisans set up their wares around the square, the monks walking for their morning offerings and locals doing their shopping for their daily meals. It was as if I stepped into Bhaktapur’s history.
And it was at this moment that my love for travel began.