There and back again…

‘Where you go Ma’am?’

‘Kathmandu’

‘Kathmandu??? Ok, sit here.’

I take a seat in a small room in a building somewhat larger than a demountable, but barely so. I am surrounded exclusively by Nepali men. I watch these men. They are calm, at ease. Some were even bold enough to move to seats that were empty in our flight to this first stop.

These men have a confidence that I did not observe in the Nepali men as I left Kathmandu a month earlier. A midnight flight surrounded by eager, anxious eyes. They huddled together, not a hair space between them. Uncertainty in their faces as they fixed in an awkward makeshift line not daring to make a move towards the men in white sheets behind big fancy desks. Holding uneasily to their brothers’ side as they clutched their pink papers and little dark green books.

Official men a foot or two higher emphatically point, as the brothers timidly shuffle towards the counter. They each carry a small stringed bag on their back. A couple of them carry a medium sausage duffel bag, their small brown hands each clutch a simple woven handle.

As I found my bag on the conveyor belt, I watched a white sheeted man shout at the young bai’s worriedly looking about.

This time, the journey home, I wait for my well travelled backpack to emerge from the 70s style luggage belt. I am forced to stand closer to the conveyor belt than I’ve ever been before as I watch the young men push against each other to get a glimpse of large TVs wrapped in cardboard and packing tape, and woven hessian bags over large square boxes.

At the Souq Waqif in Doha

This blog post contains some observations on the vastly different experiences living in Doha, Qatar and Kathmandu, Nepal. I would love to hear what you think!

Restaurants…

Sitting on a hard wooden bench, beeps of horns, traffic noise and the cool of a late summers evening after the rain. I’m comfortably wearing pants and a scarf around my neck. Bags of clear plastic water hang from the roof. I thought this was something mystical.

‘Its to keep away the flies, but I’m not sure if it actually works.’

I drink in the cool air and await the squidgy softness of the momos, soon to love my oesophagus and filter down into my appreciating stomach.

….

I maneuver myself ever so slightly, becoming just that little more precisely comfortable in my pink and green cushion striped chair. I clutch my steaming soy chai latte and watch the immaculately white robed men strut past, catching glimpses of sparkling silver watches behind their perfectly pressed cuff linked wrists. Jet black abayas follow behind, hints of fashion decorating slits of eyes, and pointed shoes.

Me in one of the famous Doha Malls

‘I go to the Mall to drown a few hours. There isn’t much else to do here.’

My driver’s summation of the tops things to do in Doha. The white glean of the walls and shimmer of the floors makes me want to reach for my sunnies. Loud shops and brighter advertising surrounds everywhere I look.

Transport…

I straighten my back and tighten my grip around the hard plastic handle behind. Tiny 1980s Suzukis just scrap my knee. Summer drizzle spreads over my rato gala, (red cheeks). We move between the rocky curb and cars in lightening pace. I stare at my drivers back. Its just better not to look up.

…

I place myself down with ease, gratefully breathing in the air-conditioned comfort of the Mercedes.

The Souq Waqif

‘Where would you like to go Ma’am?’

‘The Souq Waqif, please. Thank you.’

‘Is Ma’am comfortable?’

‘Yes, the air-conditioning is perfect, thank you.’

…

The bashed off white van rushes past, ‘NUTDISA, PARK, ICKABATE, BEROASDFNOT!’

‘GOLFUTAR?’ I hope that my voice is heard.

‘Yes, yes.’

This is the usual view in the microbus.
The people are literally on top of me.

I barely have time to put my right foot into the van before it zooms onward. I look around fruitlessly for a place to sit. The yeller points to a seat that is already taken. I look at him and the occupiers quizzically. They inch. I attempt to rest half a cheek down, ending in balancing most my weight on my bent left leg pushed against the side of the ‘isle’ chair besides us.

A minivan that would, in any other circumstance, fit 10 people relatively comfortably, now holds 25 bodies of varying sizes, pushed into each other like aeroplane overhead compartments, one jolt and its sure to spill. I try to find a space to breathe in amongst the saris and well worn shirts.

This is the ‘microbus’, Kathmandu’s primary form of public transport. It cost me 15 cents for a 30 minute ride.

A space to capture a relatively empty microbus – usually
there is no space to bring out a camera!

Evenings…

‘Nothing inspires like excess!’

My couch companion, Doha.

The TV blares out as I sit with a large curled up cat on an even larger sofa. The airconditioning is set to a perfect 23 degrees. I have a cup of ‘Love’ (my favourite Pukka herbal tea brand) and a cup of strong black beside me. I am nibbling on some organic dark chocolate with mint whilst cruising Facebook and watching for the first time ever ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians’.

I switch it off in 10. For some odd reason I thought it may improve with the passing of minutes. Sometimes my patience and hope for something better even surprises me.

Traditional celebratory singing @ the Souq Waqif, Doha

….

It is 8pm and its pitch black. No wifi, computer battery is low. The windows emit a slightly lighter shade of incredibly dark. Monsoon rains hit the roofs above with determination, rivers pound the concrete outside.

I pull my blanket up closer and curl into it. Buzzing sounds surround the wafer thin sheath above my bed. Please let them be outside the net. I try to adjust my body to the hard surface beneath me. If I could just move myself in such a way that this bed could become comfortable.

I close my eyes. Eventually I drift into dreams.

Back to Nepal, just a little contrast from Doha!

Going out…

I make my way through the wide eyed security guards on the lower level. I ask for the Belgium Cafe. The guard describes each exact step I need to take to get up to the first level.

Beach @ the Katara centre, Doha

Shuffling through the crowded smokey bar and not one abaya or thobe. But more white faces I’d seen since leaving Australia.

Is every ex-pat in Doha here? Well at least every ex-pat who smokes.

I join an ex-pat meet up group and scan the menu. Great, the cheapest beer: $15. Totally catering for white wages here in Doha and not long term travellers, obviously.

‘What do you do?’, ‘Where are you from?’, ‘How long have you been here?’. Conversations surrounding safe subjects echoed around me as I slurped my beer.

….

Preparing a Newari veg feast for friends

The cement floor is bumpy and cool against my legs as I sit down. Dried leaf plates, flattened dry rice, small black translucent beans, potatoes and bamboo shoots, spiced tomato and soya nuggets, potatoes and green beans. Bite into the hard and soft.

Typical Newari cuisine, KTM

‘You like Nepal?’ a young girl asked me eagerly.

‘I love Nepal’, big smiles ensued by my fellow floor sitters.

‘What you like about Nepal?’

‘So many things: the mountains, the friendly people, the food: I love khana and momos, the colour everywhere, colour in the women’s dresses, the diverse and interesting culture!’. It’s always when I describe the food for some reason I see the smiles around me grow to watermelon strength.

Love the colour of Nepali women!

Laughter, banter and fast talking follows. A young man picks up a guitar, croons a little louder as he awkwardly strums. He smiles as he sings out the words with more force. The hum of surrounding voices join in. Hours pass in group singing, clapping and joy with the moment.

Morning routines…

The CBD at the end of Cornish, Doha

I throw the washing into the machine. I move the dial to the ‘Quick 30’ and walk out the door.

Its 8.30am. Sweat slides spontaneously down my back as I walk the 30 metres to the air-conditioned gym. Putting on my sunnies I crank up the running machine.

“The more I want the less I’m free.” My automatic response to my favourite hip hop song spurs out of me in my solitary glass walled exercise experience.

Kettle on, hummus opened, I munch as I fling the perfectly perfumed clothes over the hanger.

…

The Monkey Temple, KTM

Slap, slap, pause… slap. My wet feet uneasily slide across the polished stone staircase.

I reach the top of the three flights without a puff.

The cool of the water splashes against my legs as I squat and methodically punch the clothes around the shallow green bucket.

The sun dances around me as I wring the clothes one by one and hang out to dry. Spotted clouds gather around the light blue sky. The cool air circles my body and I smile. Home.

View from my home in KTM.