Kathmandu Streets

My feet heavily drag through the dusty parking spots at the crew terminal. At ten at night, the digital thermometre marks mind-numbing thirty eight degrees Celsius, the Qatari capital now enduring the summer months at full heat.
Without denial and feeling officially exhausted, I sigh in resignation at the flying time announced for our flight to Kathmandu, scheduled at almost six hours.
The flight carries a mixed bag of passengers ranging from backpackers clogging the overhead bins with colourful rucksacks, to the omni-present yet invisible labourers. Two insights of the same world merge at once, for the backpackers are running away from the ethereal urban landscape of the Western world and the labourers are returning home from building such landscapes of sterilised utopia.
Fatigue becomes critical on this sector. Two cups of coffee before service and I manage to serve all my meals, another two cups of coffee and the dimmed cabin lights only broken by accidentally pressed call bells play tricks on my tired brain.I comfort my weight on the crew jump seat and I watch at every minute passing by, desperately waiting to land and find a bed.
The aircraft finally points its nose down and we start our descent amidst a mountainous fog, the green valley showing its real soul only on final approach. Kathmandu is one of the most difficult airports in the world and only specially trained crew enjoy the privilege of soaring over its valley.

Nepal hits you. The crowded terminal exudes a stale air of asbestos and sandalwood, the baggage room busy with passengers piling up canvas bags and selotape-wrapped boxes in the corners, the half-open door letting some air in, whilst the windows vibrate at the echoing reverse thrusts from the planes landing in the runway.
Outside the terminal, small children beg for money. Their round dark eyes capable of drilling through the soul are to be ignored, crew instructions.
Our crew bus weaves and splatters through the muddy streets of the Nepalese capital. The recent monsoon rain enhancing the rotten smell of thoroughfares covered in a tapestry of rubbish, the beaten tuk-tuks fighting their battles amidst clouds of intoxicating smog.

At the hotel, the tall walls separate the mess from the chaos. A blue infinite pool replaces streams of murky water, a lavish brunch replaces the chapatis eaten by the dusty kerb.

The striking poverty has made me forget about the fatigue and I hire a taxi for four hours at a cost of twenty US dollars. The driver meets me at reception and introduces himself as Sanjeev, his beaten up Tata sedan ready to show me Kathmandu’s best.

At late morning, the hand-painted street sign reads Durbar Square. I see no tourists around, despite being the main square in the city. Instead, I see locals assembling in a rendezvous of pure faith.
Prayers are heard, red candles are lit around the painted concrete figures of Vishnu and Sheeva and meters away from where I stand, the sacred kumari peaks out of one of the remarkably carved wooden windows.
Handpicked from a pool of thousands of girls, the fortunate kumari will spend her childhood locked and worshiped in the temple, her feet never touching the floor until menses takes over her body, liberating her from purity and returning the now woman back into the world of mortals.

Stores overflowing with empty backpacks occupy the footpaths at Thamel Market, the place at times making no sense in its core of food stalls brewing pale yellow curries, which customers eat on the floor with their plates nestled in between their clutched knees.

Petrol running low, the car takes a few turns and struggle to climb the steep stony road to the top of Swayambhunath. Best known as the Monkey Temple, the primates play and scratch louse whilst tourists and locals alike feed them ripe bananas against the colourful tile boards.
Beneath the hill, the valley of Kathmandu stretches its tentacles in a sea of half-finished apartment blocks, slums and muddy water streams, the struggles of two and a half million people suspended as a loud echo of car horns to be offered to the Himalayan gods.

Once I return to the hotel, the night draws a dark city landscape, the poverty behind the hotel walls now concealed by the lack of electricity and the mountain draft.
I meet an equally lost crew at the lobby and we indulge in small dishes of spicy curry, rosewater-dipped cheese and millet-based glasses of tongba, the legendary ghosts believed to infest the hotel rooms at this time perhaps merciful of my lack of sleep.

The return flight is better translated on the following diary entry:

‘Flight back was really nice, received a compliment form from one of my passengers and something that made my day: two pretty Russian passengers were chit-chatting and pointing at me when I was doing my meal service. Curious, I asked: ‘ What happened?’ and one of them said in a shy way: ‘ We think you are a really handsome man’…never felt so blushed in my life!’

We serve dubious-smelling mutton and I briefly glance at Mount Everest in the distance. The valley of Kathmandu hides under the black clouds and once again, I land in Doha shortly before midday.

A letter on my mailbox has a wrinkled swap form on it. A decent enough deal, I have now swapped one of my Osaka/Incheon flights for a back-to-back Vienna trip.
The sun is shining and despite the fifty degrees Celsius on the thermometre, I rejoice on what I have just seen.

Thank you Kathmandu, see you in a bit.

6 thoughts on “Kathmandu Streets”

  1. Great post! Thank you for describing the Nepal trip–amazing. Keep up the great work, I look forward to every update.
    EM in the USA

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  2. Sounds like you're having a great time! Thank you, for sharing your trip with us! Sounds like you're getting to go a lot of great places…Nepal sounds wonderful (except for the poverty of course) can't wait to hear all about Vienna: )

    and by the way, you're very handsome;-)

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  4. Hi, I really enjoy reading your posts. I am actually on hold with Qatar Airways, hopefully I'll be doing my medical checks soon!
    Could you please tell me how long your layovers are usually. Sounds like you're really enjoying being Cabin Crew!

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  5. I am a fan of your blog and keep checking it constantly. Enjoy every story that you tell us. Thank you for sharing them. It would be so nice if you could also post some of the experiencies you are having in your days off in Doha. You write so well that I bet it would be very interesting to see a western point of view about how it´s like to be living in a muslim country.
    Once again thank you for sharing your stories with us.
    Your reader from Brazil, Ari.

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  6. Hey I just found out about your blog and I love reading your post. The way you write and describe your adventure is totally different from any other cabin crew blogs. I totally feel the excitement and it seem that Im also part of the trip. I really regret my decision for not taking QR offer a few years back :(*knock head*

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