Shipping to the Dock of the Bay

(Nothing like a few weeks of meetings and email avalanches to keep the blogging away.... but I'm back.)

I am quite sure that when Otis Redding put together his lovely nugget about "sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time....." he was not thinking of personal effects shipments that cross various oceans to be reunited with their hopeful owners posted far far away. But that particular line could in fact mirror EXACTLY what often happens to such shipments in the life of those who like to move from place to place.  I mean, taking out Frisco for a more relevant Bay --"I left my home in Georgia....headed for the Bengal Bay.....looks like nothings going to come my way..."

(disclaimer: this is not my shipment --mine is much smaller. But it adds visual flavor)

Where to begin. Usually it starts at what is called the "home of record", meaning whichever location the forementioned person is administratively anchored --meaning, that home is going to be the place where you get your annual leave ticket to, the place to which your "master address" is linked and the place from which your beloved personal goods get inventoried, packed and wrapped, and stuffed into boxes and sent off to the nearest port for loading onto a container. You hope for an eventual reunion. Recall those Rush Hour scenes where Jackie Chan hops from container to container in the dark Hong Kong harbor dock, searching for the bad guys? He's likely hopping on my personal effects that are waiting around for the next round of paperwork clearance and release.

The next thing that happens once you wave farewell to your shipment is, well, nothing. You just go about your business, and try to eek out information from a kind but overworked shipping company agent your organization has hired to manage the crazy relocations of your colleagues. (you think Atlanta to Nepal is a strain, try oh, Kinshasa to Kabul. Kudos if you know the countries in which those capitals are located). Just as the sun will set and the moon will rise, you can count on an information vacuum, with nebulous updates such as "what will likely happen, is your shipment will go to Charleston, sail through the Panama Canal, head over the Singapore, make its way to Calcutta and then once released from customs (good god!), be offloaded onto a truck and head towards the Indo/Nepal border where it will be inspected (another good God!) and then once cleared, arrive in Kathmandu warehouse. Great, so that's not even mentioning dealing with Kathmandu traffic and the police. Can we have a final Good God please! What happens in a Calcutta port, you may ask? Click here: Calcutta Port

So, after several months in country, your news starts pebbling in..."please sign this paperwork, it sounds as if your shipment will arrive soon." False alarm, that was someone ELSE's shipment. So, have I just signed for another shipment? Where is MY shipment? Mine Mine Mine. Nothing like demonstrating pre-school behavior when tracking your personal effects. Yippee. Its arrived in Calcutta! But wait, it's under lockdown until the Nepal paperwork is authorized in the ministries, couriered to Calcutta (only hard copy signatures, thank you very much ) and then passed around the various hands in the Calcutta ports. By this time, images of dock workers sleeping on my brand new plush king bed dance through the mind's eye, while in KTM another hotel room has to be found since you could not extend your hotel room due to the influx of Dutch and German tourists arriving for trekking season. Why don't they all just stay in Europe and stop bothering us over here?

But at long last, hope appears. An email confirms that "your personal effects shipment left Calcutta and is expected at the Indo/Nepal border on 10 October. Shipment is expected in KTM a few days later." something about that "few days later" rings an unwelcomed bell. Isn't something happening starting 15 October? wait...it's ...it's...right. Dashain. The biggest Hindu festival in Nepal. Everything closes down. It's like saying "oh, your shipment will arrive on 24th December in NY." what then? "No worries, madame, it will remain at warehouse till after Dashain Festivals are completed.." which is when? 10 days later.

I can hear Otis singing again the lyrics below, with new insight from the perspective of a shipment. You can too, by clicking  here:  Sing it, Otis!

Sittin’ in the morning sun

I’ll be sittin’ when the evenin’ comes

Watching the ships roll in

Then I’ll watch ‘em roll away again

Just sitting on the dock of the bay

Watching the tide roll away

Sitting on the dock of the Bay

Wasting time

I left my home in Georgia

Headed for the Frisco (Bengal!) Bay

Cause I’ve had nothing to live (wait) for

Looks like nothings’ going to come my way

Just sitting on the dock of the bay

Watching the tide roll away

Sittin’ on the dock of the bay

Wasting time

Looks like, nothings going change

Everything still remains the same

I can’t do what 10 people tell me to do

So I guess I’ll remain the same

Sittin’ here resting my bones

And this loneliness (paperwork) won’t leave me alone

Two (six) thousand miles I roam

Just to make this dock my home…

Just sittin’ on the dock of the bay

Watching the tide roll away

Sitting on the dock of the bay,

Wasting time…..

A Room with a View

This post will let the pictures do the talking.

The important thing about moving to a new place and creating a new home is, well, finding a home. The central factor to finding a good home is generally the same around the world: location location location. And Kathmandu --technically, Patan, across the river where I'm living --is no exception. With an infusion of international organizations and UN scale up in the last 5 years, housing prices have shot up faster than your blood pressure when negotiating a decent taxi fare. But fear not, as there is an endless supply of real estate 'agents' trolling the lanes and neighborhoods who can sniff out a homeless expat from a mile away and are creepily eager to provide their "support". I've been no exception to grabbing on to any potential house leads, eagerly anticipating every appointment with the hopeful glow of a giddy teenage girl on her first date. And the scary thing is, the questions about my potential house have been similar to those days back in high school, while Duran Duran crooned on about being hungry like a wolf or A Flock of  Seagulls lamented some kind of space age love song (what was that song about, anyway?) Questions such as : is this going to be good? Will it lead to a second date? How much is this going to cost? What comes with it? Other wonderings include what secrets you might find out later, after you've already committed and how to get out if things go poorly. Not to mention all that maintenance that comes with both a house and a relationship.Maybe we've all been preparing for househunting for a while now...

But luckily there is such a thing as temporary housing to take the edge of all that angst. And its even better when it comes with a lovely view and fresh air. ....

As can be seen, Patan and Kathmandu are surrounded by a ring of mountains and hills...the Kathmandu Valley hugs close the now several million inhabitants who squeeze themselves into any corner. Not to be outdone, these hills also hold lots of little respite hiking and relaxation points for all those folks who gets stressed out every day by this (ignore the chatter in the car)"This" being the lack of any traffic lights in the entire valley.

or this:

Personally, I'm finding that the best approach is to draw on those clever Romans: When in Nepal, do as the Nepalis do and leave road driving to the experts: the rickdraw drivers. This is the best way to check things out without losing your mind or your way:

Now, if the househunting thing really gets you down, you can always take a break and just get out. As in, out of the city. Out of the area. And into the far west of Nepal, with views that make everything seem better:

Just Exhale.

Something New Something True

Anyone who is armed with a passport, thirst for travel and a complex tangle of desires to make a home while "on the roam"  knows the feeling: leaving the clouds after a long flight, gazing with somewhat unfocused eyes out the window, you feel the sigh of relief when the wheels screech down and the plane eventually comes to that jerky roll-stop-bing signal to unbuckle the seat belt time and begin the crush to exit the plane phase. Standing there in the aisle --wondering "why did I jump up only to stand here now, with my bag and carry on crap wedged between my knees."--eventually you are among the liberated crowd to go and fight the next battle for finding your wrinkled money to buy your visa and to develop a  flash of religious fervor to pray to the luggage gods that you will in fact be reunited with your bags. This time you *really mean it*. Using your sharpened elbow skills to yank your stuff off the belt  (why is there always THAT person standing right in front of where you need to be to reach your bag?! The divine reincarnation of THAT person anywhere in the world to me ranks up there with other global mysteries such as the logic behind economy seat spacing and if plane seat cushions really do in fact work as flotation devices). Dealing with customs is just too much to even think about, much less write about.

Brand new tag after maiden transpacific flight to KTM.

Having been rejoined with your temporary home in a suitcase, it begins again. Something new. A new way to find a taxi or to swat away a taxi. A new SIM card. A new hotel number. A new time zone. Soon, a new supermarket, cafe and pharmacy and bookstore. But right now, still at Airport Number I've Lost Count,  you begin to find the person with your name sign, who has probably spent some time already looking for you past all the  "I live here" faces that come out from the international arrivals terminal. I have a theory that all drivers sent to pick up arriving expats are encoded with a secret language that only they share to help each other spot their human cargo. With the lift of an eyebrow and a twitch of the face, they can communicate things like "is that one yours? no, dressed like a hippie. They'll take the bus." "How about that one? No, looks too well dressed for my non profit pick up...she's got the Hyatt Regency van pick up.." ..."oh, I bet that's her,  trying to look friendly and open but with the edge of someone whose been flying for 36 hours. Good luck finding yours!" This connection marks another new: a meeting of people who will usually end up spending significant time together driving to the office,  looking for housing and maneuvering embassy car security for meetings.

Something true remains amid all the newness. True curiosity. Where DO people here learn to drive? oh right, not necessary to learn. Another traffic culture embracing the Nike culture to Just Do It. If the world is my oyster, it is also the place of endless opportunity to lose your life just crossing the street. True kindness as in "here madame, let me organize your 4 suitcases and waltz them through customs for you without a care." But right, that kind of kindness comes for a price of about $5 if you can bargain, and $10 if you think "well lets' see, in the States or Europe, I'd have to pay..." and get lost in that useless comparison.  True patience. Patience with all the new and old things, and everything in between. Truly important questions: What is the exchange rate here again? Where can I get bottled water? Is it fine for a woman to grab a taxi off the street or should the hotel call one? Why do people appreciate hearing dogs bark all night? and wait, what? There is a 15 minute time difference between here and India?!

Truly a new start here in Kathmandu.