Monday, August 31, 2015

Our Cracked Fate - Part 1

“The mobile you are calling is switched off,” chirped the recording on the other end of the phone. Sitting in the Kuala Lumpur International Airport outside my gate, waiting to board a flight to Nepal, I sighed and hung up. I had been getting the same message for almost a week now, but it hadn’t yet deterred me from attempting to call Lama a few times a day. Ever since he entered the Langtang Valley with his clients six days earlier, his phone had been unreachable. Mobile reception is not exactly reliable in Nepal, and having been in the Langtang region myself in the past I know that outside of cities you’re pretty much on your own. Must be one of the things tourists love most about it. But I wasn't a tourist, and I didn't love it. I wasn’t worried; just missed hearing his voice.

Across from me two older women were attempting to take an airport selfie, chattering excitedly about their trip plans. Dressed in hiking shoes, quick dry pants and laden with fancy, brand new, back-packs it was clear they were also off to Nepal. I smiled, thinking of my first trip to Nepal, almost two years ago. The photos my friend Taryn and I took at every step along the way, documenting the whole immense pilgrimage – or so it seemed at the time. Today it’s just another long flight. After a nerve wracking trip across the Indian Ocean with Malaysian Airlines from Sydney to Kuala Lumpur, I hadn’t slept much and was just looking forward to (hopefully) surviving the next short flight and getting home to take a nap. But I am still a Canadian, and so I had to offer to help with the photo.

“Would you like me to take it?” I offered.

“Oh, yes. Thank you!” They cheerfully accepted my offer.

“One, two, three.” I counted down before snapping then had them check and approve the photo before returning to my seat. “Off to Nepal are you?”

“Yes! Are you as well?” (In a black leather jacket, fashionable top and black tights, I don’t exactly blend in with either crowd that you would generally find waiting for a flight to Kathmandu – I’m not a Nepali woman wrapped in a brilliantly coloured sari, nor am I a foreigner decked out in the latest trekking gear.)

“Yep,” I smiled at the thought. Looking forward to getting home and beginning the new start in Nepal that stretched before me. On Monday I was about to start a new job, on a three year contract, with an organisation I had been trying to work with for almost a year. We chatted the rest of the time until boarding away. Their names were Louise and Carole, they were going to stay with a friend who had lived in Nepal for many years and do a short, off the beaten path trek near Pokhara. I gave them some advice on things to see and do and eat while in Kathmandu. And more importantly: advice for the dreaded immigration process.

As we filed on board and I got settled in my seat I took a deep breath and silently hoped for the best for this four hour flight. I was almost there, but I had a lingering feeling that I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I’ve made it this far, I thought, if I can just get through the next four hours, everything will be okay. I didn’t want to get on the flight. I hadn’t wanted to get on the last one. Driving to the Sydney airport the night before, I felt like I didn’t want to go. Then again, I had the same bad feeling a week ago on the flight to Australia; this irrational fear that something terrible was going to happen. The strangest part was that my anxiety did not stem from the possibility of dying, it was rooted in the idea that if I died I would never see Lama again. I chalked it up to my growing nervousness of flying.

Three and a half, relatively turbulence free, hours later and we were almost there. Finally this whole flying ordeal is almost over! I peered out the window hopefully, but couldn’t see the massive snow-capped peaks, just a few specks of houses far below. Crouching precariously at the feet of the Himalayas lies my poor, poor Kathmandu. Like living in the shadow of any great giant, it exists under the constant threat that at any moment the giants may squash it with an off-hand motion – rolling over in sleep or swatting a pesky insect. My Kathmandu. When did it become mine? I don’t know. The moment I stepped off the plane? Maybe not so soon, but not so long after either. There’s something about this dilapidated city, worlds different from the “normal” I had always known, that still makes it home.

Two years after landing in Kathmandu for the first time, with no idea about Nepal, or even Asia, here I was: coming back again, and this time to sign myself up for the next three years. Something I never would have expected when I accepted that first, six month contract in what feels like a different life.

When I arrived in June 2013 I was as bright eyed and bushy tailed as they come. I was ready for a new adventure, wherever it might take me. After the previous years in Ottawa, having spent time unemployed, spent time in bad jobs, spent time waiting for someone else, being let down, I wanted to make a major change in my life, get out and try something new, take control of my life and finally steer it in the direction I wanted it to go. Funny now, isn’t it? Because we all know life doesn’t really like to be steered, nor do we often know where it is we want to go.

Through countless ups and downs, hard times at work, and even harder times in my personal life, I had struggled to stay in Nepal. I can’t rationalize why. I had just felt that it was where I was meant to be, that the reason would eventually present itself.

Then, as the plane broke through the turbulent clouds and the city came into view below, I was happy. I was going back to finally have some stability for the next years; to be able to really start my life with the person I wanted to be with. Finally, it seemed, the struggled had paid off, had made sense.

When the wheels touched down and the engines slowed us to a taxi I was gleeful – it was over! I made it! I was back safely now, and soon I would be at home, resting in my comfortable bed, emptying my suitcase back into my closet, taking a refreshing shower in my own bathroom, going for a run and meeting my friends for drinks later. It was all set to be a great weekend.

When we were allowed to turn our phones back on I dialed again, just in case he picked up, just to tell him I was home. No luck. I wasn’t surprised. I had already calculated that, based on my assumptions about how quickly his trekking group would move, when they had entered the valley and where they last had cell phone reception, that he should be coming out of the valley on Sunday – tomorrow – and I should hear from him then. But that didn’t deter me from trying an extra couple of times, just in case I got lucky.

I found Louise and Carole in the immigration hall and pointed them in the right direction. I had to go to a different line to collect my gratis visa, which my new employer would turn into a working visa after I started on Monday. I have so many visas from Nepal in my passport that I am always nervous going through immigration now; irrationally worried that they will think I’m suspicious and won’t let me in. It took some time, but finally I got that beautiful blue stamp of legitimacy in my passport. I tried to call again as I bounced down the stairs to baggage claim. Guess what honey? I’m legal! No such luck.

After locating my flight on the arrivals board to see where my luggage would come out, I patiently went to stand by carousel three. No one else was there, and nothing was moving. It always takes forever to get luggage in Kathmandu. I am convinced they bring it from the plane by hand, one piece at a time. I went to use the washroom. After exiting the rest room I located Louise and Carole in the throng of people crowded around carousel one.

“Hi ladies,” I approached them. “Our luggage is actually coming out on carousel three, over there.” I pointed to the empty baggage carousel across the room.

“Oh, thank you! I don’t know why, we didn’t even check! How did you know that?” I pointed to the small dilapidated screen displaying flights. “Oh silly us, we just went where the crowd was.”

“No worries. It will probably take some time, but it should be coming out over here.” We crossed the small arrivals hall together, taking a place near the belt and continuing to chat on and off about Nepal and the interesting things to do on vacation.

And then, as I stood, impatiently waiting to see my small blue suitcase appear through the black rubber flaps of the luggage carousel, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I felt the ground begin to vibrate through the soles of my feet.