Nostalgia in Kathmandu

The day before the new batch of trainees arrived in Nepal, I had a day off and decided to live it up.

I began at the weekly farmer’s market, which a few of us had discovered on a previous trip. Beneath a large tent, a crowd of people moved amidst the farmers, bakers, and other food artisans offering samples of honey, cookies, cheese, salsa, and more. The venders and patrons were an interesting combination of expatriates and Nepalis, conversing in Nepali, English, French, or Italian depending on the pairing. I bought a few avocados (which I later made into guacamole...)



... dried strawberries, a glass of wine, a panini, and bagel with cream cheese—all things unavailable within several hundred miles of my village. It was like being back in Vermont.

Next I headed to the Garden of Dreams, a once private estate that has been restored and converted into a park. Its fountains, pavilions, greenery, and high walls serve as a peaceful egress from the hustle and bustle of Kathmandu. I had to wander carefully, however, as the garden is full of semi-secluded benches with Nepali couples holding hands and kissing. I sat down on a vacant bench to read some Dostoevsky, and for a time lost all sense of time and place.

In the early afternoon, I made my way to Kathmandu’s Civil Mall to catch a movie. The film-going experience is something I’ve missed immensely since coming to Nepal, and watching a Hindi movie in a rundown theater (as I did six months ago) just isn’t the same. Waiting in line, I met a Nepali guy who also happened to be traveling alone. We struck up a conversation and decided to sit together. I paid about $4.50 (which is expensive by Nepali standards) to see Guardians of the Galaxy in 3D, selected my seat on the touch-screen display, and ascended the stairs to the floor where the movie was to be shown. Being forty-five minutes early, I decided to wander around for a bit. I came across a bowling alley and an arcade, where I spent $0.50 playing the basketball shooting game.

The theater was very nice, with comfortable seating, air-conditioning, and a huge screen. As the movie started my new friend offered me some of his popcorn, and I gave some of my dried strawberries to him. Watching an American movie in a theater full of foreigners was a unique experience—there were times when I was the only one in the theater who laughed (having understood some cultural reference or play on words), and other times when everybody in the theater laughed but me (probably due to cultural discrepancies in sense of humor). There was an intermission halfway through, which was something I’d never experienced before.

When the movie ended, my friend invited me to go to a motor show. Despite my not having a pass, the people at the gate let me right in. We wandered around the new models of motorcycles and cars, chatting about life in the Nepal and the US.

I had never been to a motor show in the US and, not being a gearhead, found it uninteresting. Neither, as it turns out, did he. Later, we sat with some of his friends and had ice cream. As it started getting dark, I took my leave and headed back to my hotel.

A year ago, I would have said nothing was particularly special about my day. You can do all the things I did—go to a market, park, movie, or expo—without much effort in the US. This time, though, everything felt extraordinary. The flash of lights of an arcade, the crash of bowling pins, the buttered upholstery smell of a movie theater, the flavor of a hearty chili, the anonymous intimacy of a park bench—these represent just a few items from the volumes of sensory and cultural familiarity I’ve yearned for over the past year. When I do return in just over thirteen months, I hope, for as long as possible, that I will relish these everyday pleasures as much as I did on that Saturday in Kathmandu.