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streets teeming with colour and urban roadside markets. I was not prepared for the breathtaking pollution, hordes of skinny animals, overwhelming car, motorbike and human tra c and over- eager beggars and hustlers, asking to carry my bags for a “tip” or demand I buy them milk to stave o death (don’t give anyone your bag, don’t buy anyone milk). It was immediate culture shock, abrasive and frightening.
I had never felt more obviously, phys- ically unlike everyone around me and psychologically unprepared for the dai- ly hustle of the over-crowded, under- developed streets. I felt stares from the airport gates to the car and from the car to the hotel. ese hungry stares saw a vulnerable, lonely traveler — one who could easily be parted from her “tips.” I didn’t feel unsafe, per se. No one touched me in a violent or sugges- tive way. But so many people looked and followed closely, asking if I needed a hotel or a taxi or directions in return for a fee or tip.
I wondered if I made a mistake, ying into Nepal alone. When I arrived at my rst hotel, the Spartan Blue Horizon in the famed amel district in Kathman- du, I felt weak. I hadn’t slept properly or eaten well, but that wasn’t the source of my fatigue. I felt shockingly out of
my element, alone and painfully out of place in a di erent world.
Diana had arrived a few days prior and was touring the city with our oth- er friend Kim, an experienced travel- er who had mastered the challenging streets of Delhi and Cairo and was comfortable in quaint (if not noisy) Kathmandu. I texted her and Kim im- mediately, saying the yellowed walls of our hotel room were scaring me. I said I lost $20 to a “baggage handler” and that my hair was greasy and my teeth felt like they were wearing dirty eece jackets.
Actually, I think I said that when they arrived. I think my only text said “OMG!”
I was not at all the worldly, patient, awestruck and “chill” traveler I thought I would be. I was terri ed — of the noise, the tra c, the sad and mischie- vous-eyed requests for tips and spare rupees, the broken curbs and down- trodden dogs and forlorn cows. I was even afraid of the shower spout and how it would fail to wash my journey out of my heavy, dirty hair (it worked just ne).
It Got Better
A er Kim and Diana and arrived,