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.