April 22nd 1984

The hotel also offered “free” breakfast included as part of their exorbitant nightly fee, so I took advantage of that too.  It was better than the cocktail, but still not wonderful, especially since, judging by the signs outside the cafes around town, one can pick up a better one for next to nothing.  I packed up + checked out after lunch, + walked down to the Tibet Guest House.  Met G on the way – he was dressed in a perfectly white suit, driving a new car… down a potholed dirt street.  He couldn’t have looked much more out of place.  He was a bit surprised to see me moving, since he was under the impression I would stay at least until Val arrived, but he had given me a free rein, just so long as I brought her + the cases to the Tibet, so I had decided to check in to the Tibet first, + then go to meet her.  Much easier on my peace of mind that way.  He told me to mention his name to the reception at the Tibet, which was just as well.  When I arrived they were just explaining to a couple of travellers that they had no rooms left, but I whispered the magic name, + somehow a room became available.  It’s nice, for once, to have influence, even vicarious influence.  Like being a free-mason, or a member of the Mafia.  I was given a splendid room too.  It was on the top floor, so meant a hefty climb up a dozen flights or so, but it was on its own, surrounded by a roof-top patio – quite the penthouse suite.

I wandered around town briefly, but wasn’t able to relax + enjoy the place, so when I saw a vacant taxi, I climbed in + went out to the airport.  Really an amazing old place, what one imagines a 19^th century airport would have been like if they’d had airports in the 19^th century.  I wanted to find out what time Val’s flight was expected – a simple enough task in most international airports, but here I had to go into the departure lobby, + pay R1 govt tax for the privilege.  I might as well not have bothered.  There were about 4 guys standing around the RNAC desk, but they couldn’t agree on a time between them.  So I gave up + went out to the specially-constructed stand for welcoming + saying goodbye to friends + relatives.  I might, or might not, be in for a long wait – at least I would be able to see what was going on.  The viewing gallery, like the rest of the airport, had seen many better days – the paint was peeling, the glass was cracked, the rubbish swept into a corner.  I stood there, nose pressed against the window-pane, like a kid at a sweet-shop, for about an hour – one small domestic plane left during that time, another bigger plane was sat on the tarmac.

Eventually, another the same – a Boeing 727 – swooped in from the mountains, + raced along the runway, gradually slowing, then turning + crawling back to rest behind its brother.  I spotted Val as soon as any part of her could be spotted, her legs + skirt beneath the wings of the front plane.  She walked around with the other passengers, passing directly beneath me, but tho’ I tapped fiercely on the window, she didn’t look up.  My neighbours were greatly amused, at any rate.

So… she’d arrived.  All she had to do now was get safely thro’ customs.  And all I could do was stand + wait.  Which I did, with all the patience I could muster.  I had to wait about half an hour, which was just about long enough – any more + I should have begun to worry that something had gone wrong.  And then thro’ she came, no police escort, no handcuffs, just a porter.  We greeted each other with considerable reserve in the circumstances, + then straight into a taxi + back to town.  We talked only of trivial things on the journey, because of the flapping ears of the taxi-driver, so it wasn’t until we were safely ensconced in G’s room – he had left a message with reception that we were to go straight to see him – that I discovered she had had a far rougher ride thro’ customs than I had.  The guy had emptied a case, felt the lining, commented on the weight of the lid… + Val had smiled throughout.  I’m not sure I could have maintained my cool in such circumstances – she’d done bloody well.

G took the cases away, bought our duty-free from us – a handy profit there – + we went out.  I was keen to show Val the town, as well as the cake-shops, the book shops, the clothes shops.  I was delighted that she was as taken with the place as I had been, + we strolled round for a couple of hours.  We wandered further than I had ventured, + somehow the city became more + more mediaeval, more primitive than Dickens’ London.  Maybe Tudor or Stuart.  Like them, the houses of Kathmandu are mostly wood + simple clay.  The streets are narrow – no thought for the motor-car.  The houses jut out as they go higher, so that the people on the top floors on opposite sides of the street can virtually reach out + shake hands.  And out of the windows comes spitting, washing-up water, God knows what else.  There are many travellers on the street, but they seem to blend in so much better than in other tourist centres; that, or they’re ignored more.  On the smaller streets, the shops are minute, 6 ft square, + in many of them can be seen craftsmen working at some detailed craft.  It hasn’t been many places that I have felt excited about just walking around.

We returned to our room to freshen up, then, at what seemed an eminently suitable hour, went out to eat.  I had enjoyed my Italian meal last night, + Val was keen to have some too, so we returned to the same place.  We were taking our time, however, strolling along, when we were hailed by a couple of familiar faces.  It was Robert + Audrey, an Australian couple we had first met when we had shared a tiny guest-house with them below Mt Bromo, + then had run into again in Singapore.  We stood + chatted with them for about half an hour – things had certainly not gone their way.  They had bought a video system in Singapore, intending to sell it in India +, make a big profit, but customs had spotted it when they entered, + written it down in their passports.  This was solvable – they planned to go back into India by land, where, by all accounts, the customs checking is very cursory – but worse, Robert had been very sick, had become very weak, + all their plans – the Everest base Camp trip – had been abandoned.  It was a sorry tale, + contrasted only too forcibly with our own relative success story, for, somehow, we came to tell them of our own most recent achievement.  Nothing to be proud of, indeed, but it must have appeared very easy money compared with their struggles with the video.  We also chatted about grass – Robert had some excellent stuff, he said, that he’d bought in S. India, + invited us along to sample some.  This invitation we were pleased to accept, + we told them we’d come along as soon as we’d eaten.

Our meal was, once again, splendid, a lasagne that would not have been out of place in any Italian restaurant I have ever visited.  And then we undertook the trek down to their lodge.  They were staying down on Freak St – the most famous hippy street in the world – which was, they told us, down the other end of town.  It was as well we’d met them, for I’d been under the impression we’d already walked along it, + it wasn’t a place I wanted to miss.  I was relieved when we arrived there – I don’t enjoy late-night walks to places I don’t know in a city I don’t know.  I’m not really an adventurous sort at all, not the sort of person to be engaged on this sort of trip.  R + A’s room came as a shock, resembling nothing so much as a cell, + a dark + smelly one at that.  There was just about enough room for 2 beds with a gap between them to swing one’s legs.  No wonder he’s sick – what a place to convalesce.  I’d hang myself within a week, + they’ve been here more than 2.  We spent, nonetheless, an enjoyable drug-enhanced evening.  Robert had constructed a bong out of a coke bottle half full of water, a length of plastic tubing, + a small cone-shaped funnel.  It worked splendidly, + the grass was all R said it was.  I was soon reduced to my usual gibbering wreck like state, the major consolation being that the other 3 found me immensely entertaining.  When the time came to go, Val had to lead me back.  Even so, my paranoia was barely containable.  R gave us a small package of the stuff to take away… a present.

If anything, this account downplays the peril of Val’s trip through customs, when they had given her a very tough time indeed. But she is made of stern stuff, so surviverd – I have no idea how I would have explained things to the Jonas family had she found herself in a Nepali prison.

Otherwise, things could hardly have been better. Kathmandu was delightful (and I was more thsn derlighted that Val shared my opinion), we had a good place to stay, some good food, even company and drugs. And so far as we could tell, the place was eminently affordable.