Over the River and Down the Hill, to the Custom's Office we go!

December 15, 2009
I have the best mother in the world. No, really, I do. Throughout college, she sent me packages every now and then, just because, filled with fun stuff for my friends and me. Well, now that I’m around the globe, every week she sends some sort of mail/package for me. I share her love of the world’s vast mail system. I find it fascinating that with a few little squiggles on an envelope, that envelope will travel from Kathmandu all the way to the other side of the world, all for only 50 cents! But here, I’ve REALLY enjoyed all the packages and post cards and letters from home, because they’re my support when I’m homesick for another Westerner. I hadn’t realized the power of the “senders” of missionaries before, but my respect for them has increased one hundredfold! They are definitely the strength and encouragement behind the world’s missionaries!

Anyway, back to my mom being the best in the world. I had a package from her at customs again, and Krishna’s been really busy with church and Christmas stuff and with the fuel shortage, so he asked me to go pick it up myself. Which I was more than happy to do, since I hate feeling like I’m imposing on him to get a ride across the city- that and I’m a fiercely independent person, so I love the chance to do something for myself! So, he drew a map for me, and I figured, hey, I’ve been there like 4 times already, so I should be fine! And after school, off I rode on our bike.

Well, I’m not the most directionally coordinated person in the States, so put me in a foreign city with another alphabet system and maybe one road sign (in another character system) ever few miles, and I might get lost. There are these roundabouts spitting you out on any one of 3-5 roads and street shops everywhere, creating a vague sense of déjà-vu everywhere you look. Well, I did fairly well on my way to the customs office, only taking the wrong turn twice at one roundabout, realizing 5 or so minutes later that I was pretty sure I didn’t recognize the houses surrounding me. Then, at another roundabout, I stopped and studied the map fiercly, intent on not taking the wrong road again! Fortunately, a kind man who was probably amused by the white girl on the old bike wearing a baseball cap and gripping a sweaty piece of paper as if her life depended on it (which it may have, in reality!) stopped and asked me where I was going. I showed him, and he immediately showed me which road to take, to my relief.

I do have some landmarks in mind as I ride through the city, the biggest being the long bridge over this murky, trash laiden river dividing the districts of Kathmandu (where customs is) and Lalitupar (where I live). And after the bridge comes this statue and then this 10-story tall round pencil of a building which looks like it would fit better in New England as a light house providing the way for ships, but it’s nice for those foreigners who need a tall landmark in a land of 3-story shops.

Well, I made it to the post office and customs in about 45 minutes, and was pleasantly surprised at the ease of claiming my new treasures! After explaining to the customs officials what small white boards are (my mom’s genius idea for helping me tutor 3-5 kids at once!) and that I live in a children’s home, they were incredibly lenient on the custom’s fees, and I managed to escape leaving only 150 rupees (2 dollars, almost exactly) in their hands.

After loading the new treasures into my backpack, I headed off, but I couldn’t go back the same way because the road I came in on was a one way street. So, I headed down the street, recalling buildings and parks from riding as a passenger with Krishna. Slowly, the buildings faded from my memory, and I was completely unsure of where I was. I had thought that riding through Kathmandu on a motorcycle was about as real as it gets, but the bike might be even more real. Up and down hills my legs strained, and I was sure my knees were going to give out if my lungs didn’t beat them to the punch!

Finally, I reached the verdict that there was no way I had ever seen this before, so I wheeled around, riding up and down the hills once more, until I was back into familiar territory. Up this street, down that one, now where is that palace?! Oh! There it is! And there’s the statue! THERE’S THE BRIDGE! YESSSSSSS! I know where I am. And it’s only been an hour and 15 minutes since I left the post office! So, another seamless 20 minutes up and down streets with the confidence of a pro basketball player playing street ball with armatures, and finally, our hostel was in sight. I don’t think it’s ever been so beautiful. As I crackled off the bike, the kids all inquired where I had gone. To the end of the world and back, I thought, but with a laugh I simplified the conversation with a mere “To the post office.” And while I anticipate I’ll take a few wrong turns next time as well, I know I can make it home eventually!